Erin
Rating - NC-17 (was there any doubt)
Disclaimer - I own Randy Harrison, I kidnapped him on his way home the other
night and he's now in the back of my super small closet with all my summer skirts.
Warnings - This is a totally and truly spoiler free fic (yay for me, all the
virgins please bow down and say 'thank you erin...').
*************
When the phone calls stop coming with any regularity, I start sleeping less
and less.
When the postcards with palm trees no longer frequent my mailbox, I start drinking
more and more.
When the last of his scent is gone from the sheets and the towels, I pack up
what he’d left in the loft and drop it off at Jennifer’s on an otherwise average
Monday night.
**
”He’ll come home. Of course he’ll come home!” She holds the box while ushering
me inside. She insists I stay for coffee, but I balk about having places to
be.
“Brian, you’re not going anywhere.” She forces me into a chair at her kitchen
table and pulls a bottle of whiskey off a high shelf.
I sigh and give her a smirk. “Well if by ‘coffee’ you mean hard liquor, then
you have my ear for at least ten minutes.” She lets out a strained laugh and
pours us both a generous glass.
She looks tired, but probably not half as tired as I do. She places a cold,
smooth hand over mine. I wince, but I don’t pull away.
“He’ll come home,” she whispers, this time trying to convince us both.
“He won’t,” I sound more harsh than I mean to.
“You don’t know that,” she shakes her head and runs a finger around the rim
of her glass. It makes that beautiful high pitched scream that crystal does.
We sit in silence and drink. When I finish my whiskey I choke out a laugh and
say, “What is that ridiculous saying…if you love someone set them free.”
I am implying her, but her eyes lock on mine and she cries tears that are meant
for me.
**
He sighs into the phone for the third time in thirty seconds. My whole body
tenses, I can feel it coming. Something swells inside of me, but I’ll be damned
if I let it take me over.
This is the first time we’ve talked in weeks. The conversation’s been strained
at best.
“Just say it,” I work to keep my voice even and calm and, of course, unemotional.
“Brian,” he sighs again. I hate it when he sighs at me, like talking to me is
such fucking torture.
“Justin, it was inevitable. It’s not a surprise. You’re not breaking my little
heart.”
“Fuck you.” He hangs up.
**
The phone rings again at 5 a.m. I’m fast asleep with my face on my keyboard.
It’s not the first time this week I’ve worked until I passed out. Seems easier
than getting into the bed and admitting something’s missing.
“What,” I don’t hide my exhaustion or my anger, there’s only one person this
could be.
“I’m sorry I hung up. This is really hard for me.” His voice cracks and I push
the visual of his eyes, set to overflow, from my mind.
“Fuck you.” This time I get to hang up. I go to bed unsatisfied.
**
It takes a week for me to call him back.
“Hmmm,” his voice sounds small and muffled from the miles in between.
“Hey,” I woke him; it’s just after 3 a.m. in California.
“Hey,” he is quickly alert, I hear the sheets rustle.
“How’s things?” I lie back in bed and light a cigarette.
“Good, good…and you?”
”Same old…a new day, a new client, a new mediocre blowjob.” I pause to inhale,
let the smoke swirl around in my brain. I continue, “I do miss you - for that
if nothing else.”
He lets out a laugh and my heart beats faster. It’s been a long time since I’ve
made him laugh. Nearly forgot what it sounded like, how much I like the sound
of it.
“For that if nothing else?” He laughs more, “I miss you too, asshole. You know
I do.” Suddenly his voice gets serious, “God, more than you know. More than
I knew I would…”
I cut him off, “Justin, don’t. Tell me what you need to tell me.”
He sighs, again with the fucking sighing. He finally whispers, “I’m staying.”
It’s all he says. It’s all he has to.
**
After he admits that he’s not coming back things change. We play half-hearted
phone tag but never really connect. I hear three days too late that he came
to Pittsburgh for a weekend in August for his mom’s birthday. Initially I’m
not surprised he didn’t tell me, but the more I think on it the more it bothers
me.
I pick up the phone at 4am on a Tuesday because I know he’s sure I won’t.
“Yeah,” I’d just fallen asleep.
“Hiya,” his voice is high and full of surprise, and he sounds a little drunk.
“What?” I take some pleasure in being an asshole to him.
“What’sup?” He’s slurring.
“I was sleeping,” there’s an edge in my tone, something raw and unfettered.
I reel it in.
“Oh. Sorry. Are you awake now?” He giggles in this nervous way he has when he
can’t read my mood.
I sigh, “I’m fucking talking to you, aren’t I?” I light a cigarette.
“Yeah.”
“So talk,” I inhale.
“Uh…” further proof he didn’t expect me to answer.
I clear my throat, “You can start by explaining why you came to town without
telling me.”
He lets out a little shocked sound, “I, uh, Brian, it was, I didn’t…”
“Stop. Fuck you. You could have at least called.”
“You never answer,” he’s sobering up quickly.
“I answered tonight.”
“You did,” he sighs. “I’m glad. I just wanted to hear your voice. I call to
listen to your voicemail message.” He pauses but starts to talk again, “I had
too many martinis at this party tonight. I fucked a bartender who looked like
you, but he wasn’t as hot. And he was a lousy lay. When I got his dick out it
was like maybe six inches. And it made me so…so…homesick for you. I know you
don’t want to hear it. But I am. I really am.”
He has no idea how much I want to hear it. I make a joke about him being a size
queen and then I let him keep talking. Listening to him ramble feels like home
in a way nothing else ever has. I let him talk until the sun comes up on the
east coast.
**
After that things shift again. I start answering when he calls and I listen
to him ramble when he needs me to. We’re almost back to where we started, but
there is no light at the end of this tunnel. It’s dark and we’re feeling our
way around, but we’ve always done pretty well in the dark. I have days when
I don’t think about him - off starting his own life. I have days when
it’s the only fucking thing I can focus on.
**
“This can’t continue.”
“No, I guess it can’t.”
“It’s fucking ridiculous.”
“What do you want to do about it?”
“I have a thought.”
**
“Hey,” I answer the door in a state of half-undress. My tie is loose and hanging
around my open shirt. He grabs both ends and pulls me to him roughly. He kisses
me like it’s been years, and not weeks, since he last had the chance.
“Hey,” he smiles as he releases me. He drops his bag and starts to strip. I
lock the door and turn off the television. We meet in the middle of the king
size bed in sixty seconds. I stopped caring how eager I seemed somewhere along
the way.
We roll around and fight for dominance and he whispers about how much he’s missed
me and how amazing I taste and a hundred other things that make me horny as
hell.
**
It’s late and after four rounds we’re exhausted. I can hear his stomach growl
as he yawns, but I’m not done with him yet.
I pin him to the bed and straddle his thighs. I examine the red welts from teeth
and fingernails making living art all over his body.
“Brian,” he huffs a laugh. “I can’t go again.” He shakes his head, but his eyes
glitter with lust.
I raise my ass up and settle it over his cock. I let his dick (already half-hard
again, such a slut) slide between my cheeks and I rock back and forth a few
times, leaning down to kiss him in between.
“Somebody’s needy lately,” he laughs into my mouth.
I push off of him and move away, facing the wall. “Fuck you,” I mean it to be
more forceful. I hate it when he’s right. I’ve been having him fuck me way too
much lately.
He slides up behind me, affixes himself to my back like a second skin. He kisses
my ear and I wait for him to say something that’ll make me want to kill him.
I mentally prepare myself for a cold shower and an angry jerk off session.
“It turns me on,” is all he whispers before peeling himself away from me and
pushing me back to rearrange me on to the bed. He puts me on my side facing
him and slides up close enough so that our bodies touch from shoulder to thigh.
He breathes slowly over my face and runs his nails over my stomach. No one else
knows that drives me crazy.
I arch into his touch and let any residual anger melt away. I sigh and relax
into the mattress, let him do his thing. He puts one arm around my waist, pulls
me close. He lets his hand stroke up and down my back before coming up to my
neck and forcing my lips to his. We kiss a long time, he ruts against me slowly.
His hard cock presses into the base of my belly. His left thigh comes up between
my legs, giving me something to move against.
We hump like that until we’re panting. He finally pries his face from mine and
backs up until I can focus on his smile. He runs a hand down the front of my
body, lets his fingers play over the head of my cock until he elicits the moan
he’s looking for. Then he snakes his fingers between my thighs and back up behind
my balls. He strokes my hole and I can see his pupils dilate just at the thought.
He presses the tip of a finger inside of me. He feels my body tense and fight
against it. It’s never easy for me like it is for him, even when I want it,
even when I ask for it.
I bear down and his finger slides all the way in, a second one joins on the
next stroke and surprises me. I jump and he laughs and kisses me. He bends his
fingers and stretches me a little. He holds still until I move my hips and then
he presses against my prostate. I bit his collar bone hard enough to break skin
and then our mouths mash together again. He sucks my tongue and bites my lips.
He adds a third finger and starts fucking me in earnest. My hips move back and
forth. My stomach quivers and shakes against his cock.
“Justin,” I warn him. He knows I don’t beg, barely ask. But, I will threaten.
“Just…wait,” he goes back to kissing me, it’s deep and heavy and wet. It takes
my breath away.
His hand starts to move faster, he’s pushing his fingers in deep. He works them
at the perfect angle, the perfect pace. He knows how to take me to the edge,
but he doesn’t let me fall. He reels me back in, keeps kissing me like he’s
mad.
“Justin,” I tear my mouth away and warn him again. I piston my hips, bumping
my cock into his stomach a few times. He coils away and laughs. Nothing’s funny.
“Fuck you,” I start to pull away, I wince when his fingers slide out. He grabs
my arm hard and pulls me back in. Gets too close to my face and says, “Brian.”
And he kisses me. Kisses me like he sometimes does when he has something to
say but can’t say it. I wonder who taught him to speak this language.
So I sigh, but I kiss him back. Let him just keep kissing me, probing me with
his tongue and man-handling the back of my head, trying to get impossibly deeper
into my mouth. He wants to take every ounce of breath away from me.
He gets frantic, panting and sucking and trying to rip my tongue out of my mouth.
Finally I get out of his iron grip and grab the sides of his face, “Justin…Justin…,”
We both breathe hard and stare through the dark into the other’s eyes. I want
to see what he needs.
“Just let me…”
“Tell me…” I whisper and kiss him.
“I just…just let me…I need you,” and suddenly his eyes are wild and I understand.
I feel like that, like I need him in ways he can’t understand.
I nod, “Okay. Okay.”
So he kisses me again, it’s slower and more calculated, but still deep and searching
for something. He clutches me close to him and pulls hard on my hair. He moves
a hand down between my thighs again, fingers at my forgotten ass.
“I need you,” his voice is husky from the struggle, the emotion. I spread my
legs to give him access.
“No…I need you,” he stares at me.
I take his hand and press his fingertips to my hole, “No one’s stopping you.”
He shakes his head, looking frustrated, but he slides a few fingers inside me
anyway. My head snaps back as a moan escapes.
He pulls my face to him again and presses our open mouths together. Our lips
are red and burned and wet and sensitive. I feel his tongue trace the edges
of my mouth.
“I need you.” His voice is barely there, desperate and pleading. His hand moves
faster and his teeth worry my lower lip between them. My heart pounds and my
blood races. I suck on the air, trying to get more.
“Justin…Justin…” I can hardly breathe.
When he finally lets me come I collapse against him and erupt all over his stomach.
His fingers stay inside, keep me full and probe a few last gentle times, making
my back arch and my dick quiver.
I reach for him instinctively, only to find he’s already come. He rolls back
and stares at me as he mixes the milky liquids together on his belly. We both
watch his pale fingers slide through the mess as it starts to dry. I lean over
and push his hand away so I can drag my tongue through the puddle. I swallow
it down just before I kiss him.
When we settle under the sheets, I pull his back to my chest and wrap my arms
around him too tightly. I press my face into his neck. I can feel his pulse
and I count the beats, letting it lull me into something close enough to sleep.
After I hear him snoring I whisper in his ear, “I need you.”
**
I wait until the sun comes up to wake him. We’ve only had a few hours of sleep
and he’s groggy to say the least.
I press my body on top of his and kiss his neck until he murmurs, “Not yet.”
“Yes,” I whisper and kiss him.
“No,” he refuses to open his eyes.
“Yes, we need to fuck and eat. We only have two hours until your flight.”
“When’s yours?” He mumbles and starts trying to wake up.
“Hour after yours.”
“You comin’ to the airport with me?”
“Yeah,” I kiss him and feel his lips turn up in a smile. He loves when our planes
are leaving close enough to the same time that we go to the airport and wait
together.
“I hear Chicago is nice this time of year…too bad we missed it,” he laughs.
Justin stopped plotting sight seeing tours and cooing over 5-star hotel suites
months ago.
”Dallas is going to be hot,” I snake my hand down and find his cock already
growing. I smile, his youth is still a virtue.
“We never go outside,” he giggles as my fingers wander over his thighs, tickling
him slightly. He yawns and cards his fingers through my hair, pushing my head
down.
I take the hint and throw off the comforter, moving down so my face is over
his crotch.
“I’ll have Cyn email you the ticket to Dallas this week, it’s at the end of
the month.”
“Mmm,” he looks down at me and gives a sad smile, “I’ll miss you.”
And just as I’m about to reply in kind he thrusts his hips upwards and adds,
“Now suck my dick, we’ve got planes to catch.”
**The End**
*Title swiped from Howie Day’s Collide
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