Gapfiller for 218
Brian and Justin's POV
Rated NC-17
Justin
When I heard the elevator making its not-so-quiet ascent to our floor I knew he was finally home.
I sigh with relief because I ache to see him. We were only in the same room together last night for five minutes while I threw my laundry from my trip in the hamper and he mindlessly fucked that ugly twink. That guy really wasn’t that hot. Brian knew I’d be home around then too. He knew when the return plane tickets were; he knew about what time I’d walk in to the loft. He planned every second of it; even if he’d never admit it…even to himself. Somewhere deep in the pits of his intricate, steel-trap of a mind the wheels turned when he brought that one back to our loft. Some little voice deep down inside him told him to fuck him in our bed, facing the door, slow enough to last until I got there to witness the show. And a show it was. If he wanted to hurt me, he did…a little.
It isn’t anything I wouldn’t expect, but part of me was waiting to run into his arms when I got back from Vermont. Tell him I missed him, tell him I love him, tell him I wish he’d been there. Because I had so badly thought those things and wished those things. But, the moaning trick kept my lips sealed. I left and went to Michael’s to tell he and Ben about my trip. They were happy to see me; I didn’t even mention how I’d found Brian. Not that it would shock or upset them. I think a little part of Mikey still takes pleasure in Brian treating me the way he would any other fuck. But, I’m not. I’m really not.
He crosses the loft behind where I sit at my art table, formerly a place to eat meals. He’s home late I tell him. He got a new campaign he tells me. I congratulate him and wait for him to volley my conversation back to me. Ask me about my day, tell me he missed me since I’ve been away. Surely he missed the sex, missed my presence, missed my smell and my touch and my love. Didn’t he?
I wait, but for nothing. I start mocking a conversation in my best Brian-voice. He seems to not notice what I’m doing. It’s such a loud cry for attention I might as well be screaming. He undresses partially and then bounds out of the bedroom toward me. “Who the hell are you talking to?” I shouldn’t be hurt or surprised by the comment, yet somehow I am both. “No one.” He quickly adds, “And what’s with the little voice?” He pops a beer, “Are you planning to become a ventriloquist?” He kneels next to me and I say more quietly to him, with a face that reveals how I really feel, “That’s one way to hear what you want.”
What I want to hear is a real conversation. Something normal, something tangible, something meaningful. I know it’s too much to ask, but I’m starting to believe it shouldn’t be. Sliding his soft fingers in the hair at the base of my neck, mimicking a ventriloquist controlling his dummy (and there is irony in that) he asks me how my trip was. I respond softly as I stroke his hair, “Not much fun without you.”
He drops his eyes, “Why didn’t you tell me you were going?” I sigh at this, as if I needed to tell him. As if he would have joined me.
“I didn’t think you cared.” He looks pensive for a moment, almost like he wants to scold me for even thinking he didn’t care…and I wish he would.
But, pulling his latest campaign in front of us as a representation of all things job related, he simply says, “I had things to do.” And so did I.
“Did you miss me?” My voice cracks and my heads turns swiftly away. I wince at my own idiocy. Don’t ask the question if you can’t handle the answer Justin, or the complete lack of one. Fuck…
Brian
Did I miss him? I fucking missed him every second. I’d never tell him how I slept alone every night, I stayed in almost every night, I went to bed early and I dined alone. I waited for him to come home early because he missed me. I found myself watching the door at the most bizarre of moments. If he hadn’t fucking walked in when I was fucking that kid from Woody’s he wouldn’t be acting this way now. So unsatisfied with me, so unsure of what we have. Justin doesn’t need to ask me if I missed him. He has to know that I did.
I stop dead in my tracks when the words leave his lips. They hit me in the gut and make my breath pause. I do an about face and watch the back of his head. I can see the skin on his neck tense. He wish he hadn’t asked the question. He knows he won’t hear what he wants. I’m not going to gush and tell him how badly I wanted him here. I’m not going to wail and say I wished I’d been with him. I’m not going to tell him how eerily quiet the loft is without him here. How cold and empty our bed is without him in it. I won’t tell him how every time I brushed my teeth I stared at the empty space in the holder where his toothbrush should have been. Absolutely none of those things will pass my lips. Because he shouldn’t fucking need to hear them.
I’ll show him how much I missed him…kneeling close to him gave me a raging hard on. Smelling his hair, his skin, his breath…it made me want to grab him and hold him and kiss him and taste him and feel his body close to mine again. I missed every inch of him. I’ll show him that. That’s more than any words I could ever say would ever give him.
I walk up behind his chair and run my hands from his shoulders to his waist as I let out a deep sigh. I grab his hands that are sitting idly in his lap and pull them up over his head as a means of getting him up and out of his chair. He twists as he stands to face me. I pull him close for one long see-there-I-missed-you-you-little-twat kiss and then I shove him against the nearest object he can brace himself against: the metal support beam that helps hold the loft above our heads. I’m not about to walk 100 feet to the bed when I can take him right here. He’s been gone for a week and it’s been at least 8 days since I’ve had my dick inside of him. Those eight days seem like eight years.
Kissing the back of his neck I slide my hands up the back of his t-shirt and then rip it up off over his head. He purrs a little as he throws his arms up and I’m happy to hear he wants this. I know he’s missed my fingers as much as they’ve missed his skin. I put his hands up on the pole, showing him that I want him to brace himself. To ready himself for a nice, long fuck.
Pushing
my body into his I kiss his shoulders a little more, bite him lightly. His
entire body presses into the pole and I know the cool metal must be torturing
his warm cock. Hooking my thumbs under the waistband of his pants I pull them
down to pool at his ankles. I run my hands up his body. I love every inch of
Justin, he’s so fucking perfect. So fucking beautiful.
My pants are all that is left between us, and they’re gone within moments.
Pressing my hot skin into his he moans a little. I know he’s ready. So am I. I
had a condom in my pocket (like the scouts say, always be prepared) that’s
being torn open by my front teeth now. I slip it on my dick, the whole time
sliding my skin against his…torturing him a little before I fuck him.
I press the tip of my dick to the base of his hole. He sucks in a deep breath
and grips the pole harder. I watch his knuckles turn white and his expand. The
anticipation is killing him. I’d love to tease him a while longer, make him
hold that breath until he was light-headed and dizzy…but I don’t have it in me
tonight. I need to be inside of him…now. Sinking in deep with a very deliberate
thrust, I see him wince. He’s still so tight that it hurts him a little in the
beginning with no lube, even after the millions of times we’ve done this. But
that dose of pain before the pleasure makes it that much sweeter. Riding the
fine line between agony and ecstasy can make sex an even more ethereal
experience than it already otherwise is.
I hold myself inside of him for a long moment. I let my hand slide up his arm
and lace my fingers into his where they grip the beam. I watch his right leg
ride up the side of the pole, giving me more access and making it easier to
pump inside of him. I drop my knees a little and start to thrust. He gasps and
pushes back at me as I move in and out of him. I’m not going fast, but
I’m not going slow. I want this to last for a little while. I want him to feel
how much I missed him.
He backs into me even more, creating a space between the pole and his body. His
head rolls back, alongside my neck. I lean around to kiss him and let my hand
fall down to stroke his dick. He responds with a deep moan. I can tell he’s
needing the contact of my lips, more than the contact of my dick, but it’s
difficult from this position and I take my mouth away. I move my feet a little
to gain more stability. He’s leaning so far back into me now I think I might
fall over from the weight of us both; heavier tonight from the weight of his
hurt and the weight of my guilt.
Justin
Fuck…me…this…pole…is…cold. My dick twitches and keeps hitting the cool metal,
making me back away from it and into Brian’s warmth. I’m sure holding me up
while he’s fucking me isn’t easy, but I’m more concerned about the well-being
of my dick than of his thighs. I roll my head back against his neck in the
hopes he will see I want him to kiss me. I crane my head to the side to make it
even more obvious and he does lean down and brush my lips in response. It
wasn’t the passion I was looking for, but it’ll do.
When I asked if he missed me, this wasn’t the answer I was looking for. This
answer is good in it’s own way, very good. But, still…I need Brian to talk to
me, to tell me how he feels sometimes. I’m tolerant about a lot of what goes
unsaid, for instance the never-said “I Love You” that looms above us like a
dark cloud the majority of every goddamned day. There are moments though, when
the cloud isn’t there, when I let myself forget all the things Brian has never
said and I review all the things he has. I think about what he’s done for me
and meant to me. I think about how he’s saved my life in so many literal and
figurative ways. For those moments I can forget the rest of it, but those
moments are becoming few and far between. And even now, with him inside me,
breathing in my ear, lips on my back…the cloud is dark above us, threatening a
soul-rattling storm.
Brian would sooner make me come a thousand times than let me hear he missed me,
and that is exactly why I need to hear it so badly. Knowing there’s no water
for miles only makes you thirstier. And I thirst for him to tell me things, for
words to pass his lips, for emotions to be verbalized…but he’d sooner let me
die of thirst than utter one single word I want to hear.
I grip the pole tighter as his pace quickens. He laces his fingers in mine and
I sigh at the sweetness and simplicity of the gesture. I’m trying to take all
of the sad thoughts bouncing around my brain, making my head hurt, and kick
them out. Force them to relocate somewhere else, just for a minute…just so that
I can enjoy this. He’s moving in me faster now and it starts to thump inside of
me…feels so good…helping me forget what’s wrong. In a way I can feel an orgasm
start long before it approaches. And I focus on that and try to push everything
else away.
First my blood starts to boil just a little under my skin. My temperature rises
and the beads of sweat start to slide all over my skin. Racing down my spine,
into the crack of my ass. Over my temples and across my lips. In between my
fingers and past the backs of my knees. I start to feel my gut get full and
tingly. My balls rattle with a yearn to release something deep inside. My dick
twitches to the rhythm of Brian pounding inside of me. I can feel my pulse in
my prostate. I can feel my breath working overtime to enter and exit my lungs.
Red blotches start to bloom all over my chest. I involuntarily arch my back and
curl my toes. This can go on for seconds, or minutes or hours. It all depends
on the level of control I want to exercise, the amount of concentration I can
grasp.
Tonight
I have no control and I can’t possibly think about concentrating on anything
except coming. I just want to feel good for a few moments. I want Brian to feel
good for a few moments. I want us to feel it together.
I’m thinking it about it so hard it’s making the actual act difficult. Usually
this isn’t something I have to think about at all. Brian makes it happen without
any effort. But, tonight, things are different. The words he has refused to
say flash in big, bold neon letters in my brain. They flash in front of me and
take hold of my dick. They tell me if he doesn’t say them, they won’t let me
come. Oh god, I have to ask him…
Brian
“Oh…fuck…I’m…going…to…come.” I grunt it in his ear because I know it will push
him over the edge. Justin’s so into words and utterances and noises. I know
how to say just the right thing to make his whole body twitch and call my name.
He starts to shake a little and I can tell he’s nearly there. I grip the pole
tight and he places his hands over mine this time. Just when I think he’s going
to explode I feel him calm slightly. My eyes open and I watch him in front of
me and then I hear him say, “Tell me you missed me.” The words are soft and
sweet and pleading and pathetic. They’d make my dick go soft except I’m so fucking
hard that it is an impossibility.
“Please Bri.” He whispers it again and I wonder if he’ll even be able to come
if I don’t do it. Why can’t I say it? It is three fucking little words. Not
unlike the three little words I’ve never been able to say to him. Maybe will
never be able to say to him. But, these words are easier, they don’t hold as
much value, pack as much punch, or leave such deep marks. I could say them and
he’d be happy. This feeling of guilt would go away. Or would it?
I feel him shaking again, but this time I don’t think it’s because he’s about
to shoot. Suddenly I feel so unlike having sex I want to pull out of him and
finish this on my own. But, I can only imagine the effect that would have on
this moment. That action would say more than those three stupid words every
could. So I’ll say them.
I drop my lips to his left ear and they are parted, ready to give him the gift
he so desperately needs. But then, as if he’s resigned to the fact I am not
going to say them, Justin starts to come. He comes hard and fast and it’s almost
agonizing to watch him double over and hold the beam for support. My dick is
twisted and tortured by the pulsing, pulling contractions in his ass. His hot
hole is begging for me to release in him, and I do. I’m honestly surprised by
it. There are so many other things going on in this moment that I can hardly
enjoy what’s happening. It might be the least pleasurable orgasm I’ve ever had.
Justin
I had to get it over with. I’d been letting myself ride on the edge for the
longest time. Then I asked him, just whispered to him to tell me that he missed
me. It was stupid, and not at all thought out. Somewhere in my brain a naive
idiot resides who still thinks I have the power to change Brian Kinney. He stands
up in there and hushes the more rational part of me who knows better. He screams
at me to do things like make romantic gestures and ask Brian ridiculous questions
that I know will go unanswered. He got the better of me in the heat of the moment.
He thought that in the seconds before coming Brian might just be fooled into
saying what I need to hear. The rational part of my brain kind of agreed with
that. So I said it and then I waited.
After an agonizing pause I grabbed my dick and started to pump like a man with
a mission. I knew as soon as I came he would to and I could get away from this
fucking cold pole and away from his fucking cold heart. I feel dirty. I feel
like a used trick. But I have no home to go to, no walk of shame down the street
wearing the clothes I came in wearing last night. I live here, I sleep here,
I have to be ashamed here.
He finishes shooting and pulls out of me abruptly. It’s been a long time since
we parted without kissing or touching or holding. It feels empty and strange
and wrong. I hear him back up. He won’t say anything now, but for once neither
will I. I turn away from the pole and face him. Our eyes meet for a brief moment,
I try to read what his are telling me. As usual, they’re saying nothing, just
like him. I walk past him and our arms brush. I linger a moment as our skin
collides, wanting him to reach out and grab me and pull me close and tell me
something, anything. But the moment passes and I continue to the bathroom. I
close the door and hide inside. I let the hot water from the shower wash away
the warm tears running down my face.
Why do I fucking do this to myself?
End
Feedback to throughthelens78@yahoo.com