Brian/Justin
NC-17
“Just
cut it off,” Brian murmurs as he moves to stand behind the perplexed boy, who’s
fingering his long locks in front of the mirror just like every other morning
this week. Brian sort of means it, sort of doesn’t. Really, he just wants the
kid to shut up about it and if cutting it off will do that…then fine.
Brian presses his body into Justin’s, then he watches the other man’s hands
flatten over the cool surface of the sink, legs part, mouth opens. This all
happens because Brian’s tongue is painting broad, wet strokes on Justin’s neck.
He loves the way skin tastes in the morning.
“Cut. It. Off.” He huffs a little as his tongue moves south. He’s tired of
talking about The Hair, he’s tired of dealing with The Hair. Sure, he kind of
likes taking fistfuls of it and tugging, hard, when he comes down Justin’s
throat. But, he’ll find other things to pull on.
Justin’s been bitching about it for weeks. It’s too long, it’s too hard to take
care of, it’s in his eyes, it takes 20 extra minutes to get ready in the
morning. The laundry list of why The Hair is a pain in the ass far outweighs
the fact it’s pretty and fun to pull on. Brian just wants Justin to not
complain about it anymore.
He’s considered taking the clippers to it in the night, but he knows that might
have a very real and direct effect on how much sex he gets for a good, long
time.
The Hair will only go when Justin is ready. But, Brian’s pretty sure he can
hurry the process along with the right kind of persuasion. His tongue dances
over pale skin and his fingers touch and brush and press and knead territory
that has become all too familiar, and yet never boring.
Justin’s back arches and his ass thrusts backwards, searching for...anything.
Brian gives in and sticks his tongue where it’s warm and bittersweet and a
little too familiar. Hands pressed firm as they part the most perfect part of
the boy. What's going on down here is much more impressive than The Hair.
There’s no hair down here, Brian thinks. Well, a little, but it’s short and
blond and soft and barely there. He likes the silky bristle of it on his lips
and the skin around his mouth. He thinks short, stubbly hair like this on top
of Justin’s head wouldn’t be so bad. It might actually be okay.
He hears a sharp hiss and a low moan and he smiles. The tip of a tongue applied
in just the right spot turns Justin into the biggest whore in Pittsburgh. He
won’t even get in to how sexy that is. Two thrusts and the moans start, four
and the whimpering begins, six, eight, then there’s trembling, ten he's
pleading, twelve, thirteen, all out begging, fourteen, screaming, fifteen,
shaking, sixteen, stillness.
Then Justin’s knees give out. Brian holds the slim waist so tightly he knows
his fingers will leave marks. He also knows he’ll catch Justin staring at those
marks for days and every time he happens upon this, he’ll get instantly hard
wanting to fuck Justin mercilessly, fitting his fingers over those bruises as
he does it.
He wonders sometimes if Justin just likes the way his skin looks bruised or if
it has to do with how the marks got there. He supposes it is the latter, but he
doesn’t want to think about what that means so he pushes the thought into the
recesses of his mind where so many uncomfortable topics mingle over cocktails
for all eternity.
When Justin’s breathing is back to normal Brian stands and releases his vice
grip. Justin wobbles, but recovers quickly. Brian rests his chin on Justin’s
shoulder and peers into the mirror to assess the blond mop carefully.
“Just cut it.” Brian gives a slight smile. He slowly rubs his hard-on into the
small of Justin’s back, just to remind him that they aren’t done yet.
“Really?” Justin’s eyes are questioning him in the reflection.
“Yes.” Brian reiterates in an ‘I’m-over-this-conversation’ tone.
“I didn’t think you’d let me,” Justin turns around and lets his hands fall on
the broad, tan chest that’s now at eye level.
“Let you? It isn’t my decision to make.” Brian leans down to kiss full, pink,
disgustingly perfect lips. Then he runs his hands through the long locks he
knows will be gone before sunset. He takes a fistful in each hand and tugs
lightly, trying to memorize the texture and detail and color and scent as he
tells himself it’s only hair. Only. Hair.
Justin pulls away, “I thought you liked it this way?”
Brian nods, “I do. And I’ll like it short. Just quit bitching about it.”
Justin smiles and kisses him again, then drops to his knees to even the score.
Brian backs up to the counter, resting his ass against the ledge so that his
hands are free to clutch The Hair one last time.
He keeps his eyes open through every second. He twists and pulls and nearly
tears at the perfectly golden, impossibly soft, slightly long Hair that, though
he’d never admit it, he will miss.
When he comes he leans over far enough to run his face through The Hair. He
pulls at it with his fingers, inhales it with his nose, denies that it matters.
When they’re washed up and dressed up and ready to face the world he confirms
one last time, “Cut it.”
Justin nods, runs a hand through his hair and smiles, “I will.”
“Good,” Brian looks back one last time as he walks out the door, ignoring the
pang in his chest as he thinks ‘it’ll grow back’.
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