Gap Filler for ep 219
Brian and Justin’s POV (Brian in italics)
Rated NC 17
I slide the steel door open, heavy and cold as it always is…an appropriate
entrance to a place where Brian lives. He’s still in his work clothes,
brooding over an account no doubt. He worked hard before, but this is getting
ridiculous. He brings work home every night now. Always has so much to do. As
if he ever had time for me before. Now anything that was left for me is gone.
His free time goes to Babylon and coke and tricks and drinking. Hard to fit
it all in I guess. Hard to fit me in.
“You’re working late.” The comment rolls of my tongue naturally, but I have to
force myself to not seem suspicious. Coming home from Ethan’s and running to
the shower for the last few weeks has been hard. Half the time he’s not here. I
sigh with relief to find the loft empty. I hate that I find myself hoping and
wishing and praying he’ll be working late or out with the guys or anywhere but
here, each time I ride up that elevator. I want to look forward to seeing him,
but I just don’t.
He replies with an eye roll, “Well, that’s one of the benefits of being a
partner, give someone something to do they fuck it up and then you have to do
it yourself.” He is a perfectionist; it is one of his best qualities and one of
his worst. It got him where he is in his career. A partner at the biggest firm
in Pittsburgh at the age of
30. He makes more money than anyone would ever need. But at what cost?
Looks who’s home late, as usual these days. Where is he until all hours? Used
to always be home, cooking me dinner, working on a project. Now the loft is
always empty when I get home. He always rolls in hours later claiming he had to
study. I know PIFA is hard, but it’s art…he could draw an amazing portrait with
his eyes closed, how much after-hours work goes into natural talent?
Fuck, he’s giving me shit about work again. Don’t start Justin.
“You asked for it,” I say it with a little guilt trip in my voice. Does he
know I resent the work he brings home? Does he know it has taken on a life of
it’s own? I actually find myself with feelings of resentment toward inanimate
objects. Storyboards and media plans and creative pitches. I want to burn them
when he’s not looking. But it’s his art, and he’d never do that to mine (just
piss on it from time to time). So I grin and bear it.
“Yeah, and I got it,” he replies a little exasperatedly. I think it is all even
more than he bargained for.
“Where have you been?” he adds. I hate the question. It makes my stomach churn
and my face get hot. It makes me ridden with guilt. It makes me pray he doesn’t
see through my lies.
“Studying and I had to get these.” I hold up the Rage promotional poster. The
answer in and of itself is not a lie. I was studying and I did have to make
copies the Rage poster I’m going to hang with Michael tomorrow. It is what I
did in between, what I’m leaving out, that is the lie.
“What do you think?” I unroll a poster in a quick attempt to lighten the mood
and change the subject and get as far away from my lie as I possibly can.
Turning the focus to Rage, the superhero embodiment of Brian, seems the right
thing to do. He grabs the poster and gives it a once over. Then, with a
relatively approving gaze he says, “My own little advertising genius,” I know
he’s being slightly sarcastic, but must be impressed by the fact Michael and I
produced it ourselves. “I told you I’d help you,” he adds it quietly and with a
hint of hurt in his voice that makes my eyes go soft. I suddenly realize he really
wanted to help. But, he didn’t have the time anyway. And I tell him so, “You’re
busy.” I start to walk away, the shower is calling me. Hot water and expensive
soap need to wash my sins away.
The shower? Again? He’s forever taking fucking showers when he gets home. It’s
40 fucking degrees outside and I doubt you break a sweat drawing a picture.
What is this about? What isn’t he telling me? Maybe he’s fucking around a lot.
He’s allowed, why is he being so damn secretive about it? All I want to do is hold
him, touch him, kiss him, show him I missed him all day. All he wants to do is
shower.
“Come here,” the sexuality in his voice makes my dick twitch. Which I can
hardly believe, considering how many times Ethan made me come today. I bite my
lower lip and continue to walk away; I can’t let him get close to me. “I need a
shower, I stink.” It is true. I probably don’t smell nice. Hours of tumbling
around in Ethan’s bed have left my skin salty with sweat and other bodily
fluids. I don’t even want him to kiss me. He’ll know with one taste.
I manage to get away again. This is the third or fourth time we’ve played this
scene since I started seeing Ethan. I used to always be home when Brian got
here, and half the time we’d go straight to bed. He always needed some serious
stress relief right after work, and there’s nothing better than a good fuck.
But, now, I’m always the one rolling in later. And I can never go straight to
bed. I’ve thought about showering at Ethan’s…but the risk is too high. Brian
would be able to tell I’d just showered, and that would seem even more
suspicious. There is no right or wrong way to do this I guess. To cheat on the
person you love. The person you’d though you’d be with…for a long time. I know
I’m making all the wrong choices. But, somehow I can’t stop myself.
“From studying?” the ways he says it, it hits me…hard, makes me stop and turn
back to look at him. All I can do is force a stupid smile and give a stupid
answer, “Sweating over a project.” I watch his eyes for a minute more. Do we
both know that’s a lie? Or am I just seeing things that aren’t there?
I had to say it. I had to put the little ‘from studying’ jab in there. I needed
to see his reaction. It wasn’t what I was hoping for. Why isn’t he being honest
with me? What the fuck does he have to hide from me? I have this bad feeling,
sitting deep in my gut…it’s making me a little nauseous. What the fuck is
this kid doing to me?
With the water running down my body, scorching every inch of me I start thinking
about what I really want and what I really need. I thought I knew, but a thousand
different scenarios run in my head and confuse me and make me sick. I love Brian,
I really do. And I want him, but is that enough? Things in bed between us are
amazing. I’ll never find that with anyone else. The lust and desire and need
and the insatiable appetite for fucking at all hours of the day in every imaginable
position in every possible locale. He returns it all to me tenfold. You can’t
expect that from another person, you don’t usually find that in another person.
But, with Ethan…making love…not just having sex…is an entirely different
experience. If Brian and I could take what is amazing about our fucking and add
love to the equation I think we might both explode from the force of it. But, I
fear with Brian I’ll never get the chance to know what that’s like. With Ethan,
it’s easy. He gave it all to me the first night we slept together. He let his
guard down, dropped the walls around him. He was vulnerable and careful and
passionate and needy and so, so good at what he was doing. I don’t know that I
can ever break down all of Brian’s walls, he spent so long building them up.
I feel light-headed and woozy from my own indiscretion and my own indecision,
when I suddenly feel him right behind me, “You scared me.” He did, I’m jumpy
these days. Guilty conscience I suppose.
Why did he get scared? How many times have I surprised him in the shower? If
I’ve done it once I’ve done it a hundred times…maybe a thousand. He knows I
love fucking in here. What is he feeling that he isn’t saying? God I’m fucking
horny as hell and there’s enough subtext in here to make my dick soft. I wish
he’s just come clean so we could move on.
”Relax, it’s not that kind of shower scene.” I say to him, my eyes heavy with
sex. He lifts a bar of soap and starts to stroke it over my chest. I kiss him
lightly. I check his eyes to see if he wants to do this. I never before would
have questions Justin’s eagerness to fuck. But with the way he’s been acting
lately…
”I thought you had work to do?” I add a little coyly and he replies with equal
sarcasm, “Well I got all sweaty too.” His voice is cute and slightly annoyed.
In classic Brian fashion he just wants to fuck. He kisses me then, and it is
breathtaking as always. I let out a little sigh. I miss his lips all day when
they’re away. Even when someone else’s replaces them.
He draws back from me and our eyes meet. We are each searching for something. I
am looking for understanding and compassion. He’s looking for the truth. And I
want him to see it. See it all in my eyes. I want him to see what I need that
he isn’t giving me. I want him to see why I’ve turned to someone else to get
what I’m missing. I want him to offer up those things and promise to always
give them to me from now on. But, he doesn’t see what I need…he never has.
Maybe I should tell him. Maybe I should come clean.
“Brian?” Oh shit, he’s staring at me with those hurt, puppy dog,
confessional eyes.
Here it comes. I feel like I have to take a deep breath and brace myself. He’s
gonna spill whatever the fuck is wrong with him all over this shower. Am I
ready for it? Can I deal with whatever he’s about to say? Fuck, at this point I
just want to know. It’s easier to tackle an opponent you can actually see. If
he just tells me what the fuck his problem is maybe we can talk about it and
get on with our fucking lives. I know he hasn’t been happy lately, it’s been
written all over his face. Ever since the snowboarding trip that wasn’t, he’s
been looking at me like I owe him something, like he’s waiting for something.
Say it Justin, just fucking say it…
“Brian?” Oh shit, I’m gonna tell him.
Then there’s a pause, a moment. It’s silent and we’re staring and our hands
stop and my heart stops. There are so many directions I can choose to go inside
of this moment. So much I could say. I could make it better right now. Come
clean, easy to do in a shower it would seem. I bet he would forgive me, I think
he wants to. Just tell him. Just say it all. He’s waiting for me to. There is a
look behind his brooding hazel eyes that says he needs to hear me confess even
more than I want to. Or am I reading too much into it? Does he even suspect me
of being unfaithful?
How have I broken all of the rules when he has abided by them all? I feel my
stomach churn. I make myself sick, but in some way I know I can’t stop this
wheel from turning. I have to go down this road. I don’t know if I’ll end up
with Brian, but I can’t keep being with him like this. Something has to change.
I need so much more than this.
I let the moment pass, don’t say anything. I let my confession flow down the
drain with the hot, soapy water that swirls around us. I just lean up and kiss
him, lightly. It’s almost like goodbye. I know the end is inevitably near, even
if I won’t tell myself that…even if I won’t let myself believe it. I turn away
from him. I want to cry. I can’t let him see my guilt-ridden face. I’ll let him
fuck me. It’s all I can do right now.
Fuck me. He let it slide by. Decided not to talk. Is he that scared of what
I’ll do? Is he that worried about how I will react? He can’t even tell me what
is making his life miserable. Well I’m not going to push it. Maybe it’s
nothing. Maybe I’m crazy and making shit up. It’s probably the whole 'I Love
You' thing again. I wish he didn’t need to hear that so badly. They’re just
words Justin. Only words.
I sigh and move closer to him as he kisses me lightly. I nudge him a little to
turn around. This mental mind fuck has been fun, but I’m ready for the real
thing. God he has a beautiful ass. I kiss his back, run my hands over his body.
I never knew how much I would love getting to know someone’s body so
intimately. I always assumed it would be boring so I avoided it. Justin’s so
far from boring I could laugh at myself. My dick has memorized the warmth
inside of him. My hands know their way over every inch of his skin. My lips
have touched him in places no others ever will. I’ve heard him moan in ways no
one will ever hear.
I am facing the shower glass and I run my soapy hands over the surface. I am
trying to skew the vision of my own reflection. Staring into my own eyes is
not something I’m particularly fond of doing these days. Looking in the mirror
is getting to be something I do less and less.
I hear him rip the condom wrapper with his teeth and spit the strip of plastic
to the floor of the shower. I can feel him move the little package to just
behind my ass as he removes the latex and discards the rest. He reaches his
left arm around and takes my hand, from where it is sliding down the glass
door, and brings it behind me. He guides my hand to his dick, wanting me to
roll the condom on him. He still prefers it when I do it, after all this time.
I turn my head to the side to look at him. He pushes his lips to mine, kissing me
hard. I move awkwardly to maneuver my hand as I roll it all the way up his
shaft, while keeping my head turned the opposite direction in contact with his
mouth.
I lean further forward as he takes his wrapped dick and guides it slowly into
my ass. I’m still sore from this afternoon and a low grunt escapes my lips as
he pushes into me. I wonder if he recognized that noise? I wonder if he can
feel that someone else has been there today? I wonder if it would matter more
that I let Ethan fuck me? I wonder if it would hurt him more than I let Ethan
kiss me?
I grab my cock and plant it at the base of his hole. I put my free hand in
front of him to tip him over a little more and brace him for my entrance.
Sliding in slowly, I let a pleasure-filled grunt escape my lips. It always
feels so good to be inside of him. Hmm, was that easier than usual? Of fuck,
now I’m fucking with my own head. What the hell is wrong with me? Justin
doesn’t let anyone else fuck him…just me.
I sigh and forget the bullshit running through my mind. There are more pressing
issues that need my attention. The cool tile beneath my feet is slick with soap
and water. I brace myself and start a long, slow rhythm inside of him. I know
every trick to drive Justin up the fucking wall. A slow shower fuck will surely
remind him why he needs to stop working so late on those school projects. As
the water saturates his skin and his nostrils fill with the sweet minty aroma
from our body wash I will fuck him slow and hard and long until his knees shake
and his body shivers and his lungs forget how to fill with air. Then when he
thinks he’s going to pass out or fall down or die I’ll make him come all over
the place.
He is finally all the way in and the burn of the initial entry is fading away. I relax a little around his dick and settle my feet a little further apart. Sensing that I’m ready for more he begins to thrust in me…very…slowly. Brian’s hips make an agonizing slow pull and push behind me. I hear his breathing deepen and little moans pour from his mouth. I arch my back into him, to let him know it feels good. Because it does. Even if I am a little sore, Brian being inside of me could never be a bad thing.
I
lean my head back into him and he runs a hand up my chest to my throat. He
pulls my head back onto his chest and kisses my neck before releasing me. His
hands fall back to my hips then as he starts a more deliberate thrust into me.
My hands fall forward onto the glass again and slide around trying to find
something to hold on to. I just need something to hold on to.
A few more moments of deep, long, perfect, spine tingling plunges and I all but
forget what exists outside of this moment. Brian’s lips are on my back. Brian’s
hands are on my skin. Brian’s dick is in my hole. I can feel his heartbeat
through his skin. I can hear his breath like it’s in stereo. My senses are
heightened to a realm somewhere outside of this world. His fingers move over me
like little trails of fire. The water beats down on me, leaving marks on my
skin. The steam fills my lungs and makes me yearn for more air. My head gets
light and starts to spin. My eyes try to focus but are filled with flashes of
bright color.
My hands move atop his where they sit on my hips. I press them there tighter,
wanting him to grip me with more force.
Burn marks in me. Take me. Own me. Punish me.
He takes his favorite bar of soap, this French all-natural botanical stuff that
smells like mint, down from the shelf and covers his hands with it. When they
are dripping with lather he leans over my body and runs his hands around to the
front of me. He holds me tight and kisses my neck for a moment before sliding
his hands down to my cock. Pulsing and dripping and waiting for him, he starts
to run his soapy hands all over it. I buck back a little in response and he
whispers, “Easy sonny boy, I’m just getting started.” The words send a chill
down my spine that makes my whole body shake.
He starts to work my dick hard. I can tell he must be close to the edge and
he’s trying to catch me up. His deep thrusts and his rough tugs work to fall
into a rhythm, and they do. I take both hands and plant them firmly on the
glass in front of me. My knees are starting to shake and I need support.
See I knew I’d get him there. His hands are flying all over that glass hoping
for something to hold on to. But, he isn’t going to find it. I bet whatever was
bothering him is the furthest thing from his mind now. This is what I love
about sex, outside of the obvious reasons: it helps you forget. When Justin and
I get going all I can hear is panting and all I can feel is pleasure. I don’t
think about work or life or all my fucking problems…just how fucking good he
feels.
Now, there’s no way I’m going to let him slump against the wall and ride this
one out. We’ve fucked a million times and I always find a way to surprise him.
I grab his hands off the wall and start to move him away from it. He goes to
protest, but I won’t allow it.
“Uh
uh…” he says quietly with a little tsk-tsk and he backs me away from the wall.
My eyes fly open from their half-shut-with-lust state and I turn my head to
look at him. He grips my hips hard and pulls me around to face the back wall of
the shower, putting me directly under the stream of water. I sputter as it
pours down on my face and try to protest but he only hushes me with a hand over
my mouth momentarily.
Pulling my body back into his he takes his hand and angles the head of my dick
up into the steady stream of water. The contact of the water pressure against
the tip of my pulsing cock is more than I can bear. “Brian!” I whine and try to
back up out of it, but he holds me firm. He kicks my feet apart a little with
his own and then starts to pump in me again. His hands are working my cock,
manipulating it under the stream of water. He’s breathing hard now, working to
get to the finish line. He bites my neck a little and sucks on my ear. My mouth
has fallen into a permanent state of jaw-drop and my hands are behind Brian’s
body gripping him for dear life. I can barely hold myself up and it’s his
fault, so he can carry my weight.
My body starts to writhe in front of him. He still won’t move my dick from
under the water. It beats down on every inch of my shaft making each stroke
more intense. Little whimpers come out of my open mouth which each deep thrust.
I’m getting so close and he knows it. His lips come to my ear and he says just
above a whisper, “Come for me, come for me…” And like a trained animal I do.
All over the back wall of the shower. My body bucks and sways and falls
forward. Brian wraps an arm tightly around my waist so I don’t fall over. And,
of course, he wants to keep his dick in me to get the most out of my orgasm.
I
push back against him so hard he falls into the glass behind him. I hear his
ass smack against it and an “Ugh” comes out of his mouth. The tight rings of
muscle in my ass grasp at his cock deep inside of me. They pull every bit of
pleasure out of it. He starts to come in me. Primal noises pour from his mouth.
They fill the shower. The acoustics make them bounce around in surround sound
and fill my ears.
When we’re both spent and panting he leans over me for a moment. Then he stands
up straight, pulling me with him. He discards the condom and cleans us both,
and the wall as well. Pulling the detachable showerhead down he sticks it right
next to my crotch and smiles. He knows I loved every minute of that torture.
Turning
off the now lukewarm water, he flings open the door and steps out as I follow.
He grabs a towel off the warming rack. He moves the hot cotton all over my
skin. He uses his hands to wipe the glistening drops of water from every inch
of me. He steps back as he finishes and his gaze meets mine. Something flashes
in his eyes.
Does he know?
What is he staring at? Must be that first-class orgasm I just gave him.
Maybe he wants another round? I have work to do, but it can wait a little
while.
I smack his ass and hang the towel back up. His eyes follow me with a
suspicious gaze. I still don’t know why the fuck he’s acting so strangely. I
press my lips to his hard and for an extra-long moment. I keep my eyes open
during the kiss and so does he. I back away. I was trying to reassure him of
something…I don’t even know what…but it doesn’t seem to have worked.
Why did he kiss me like that? He kept his eyes open like he was looking for
something. Is he trying to find the guilt in my eyes? Is he trying to see
through me?
We stare a moment longer and he takes my hand and motions toward the bed. I
want to get in it with him, I want to let him fuck me again, I want to fall
asleep in his arms. But, first, I really need another shower. I pull away and
open the shower door, “Where the fuck are you going?” Confusion flashes in his
eyes.
Where the fuck is he going?
“Let me rinse off, I still feel sticky.” He feels sticky? What the fuck? Forget
this, I have a pitch to finish writing. I’ll deal with his obsessive-compulsive
disorder later.
He gives me an exasperated huff and walks away.
Just let me shower Brian. Let me come clean.
End
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