My Boyfriend's Back
Brian’s POV
I’m fucking some trick when I hear the loft door open and then slide shut. He’s here.
I continue what I’m doing, grunting appropriately, but my senses are tuned to the slightest movements in the main area of the loft. I hear Justin drop his bags and move almost silently across towards the steps to the bedroom. I guess his plane was on time. Thank goodness for that, or I would have had to fuck this guy again. He’s all right, but nothing to write home about. I chuckle silently to myself. That would be some letter to send to Joanie.
I intended for Justin to find me fucking, and so far my plan is going according to schedule. I knew he was coming, knew he was rather dejected by the cancelation of the Rage movie. We had talked on the phone, and I decided that he should take a cab to the loft rather than me picking him up.
I had a couple of reasons for that decision. I didn’t like the thoughts of a public reunion in the airport. I wasn’t sure if I could trust myself to handle that. I still can hardly believe that he’s come back. I was sure he wouldn’t. If the movie hadn’t been dumped, he probably wouldn’t have. He loved L.A. and all the glamorous trappings that went with it. If I had to stand around the airport and wait for his plane to land, I thought I might go out of my fucking mind. I would be worked up to such a state that maintaining my cool, don’t give a shit façade would be next to impossible. And I’m not going to let that façade slip, at least not until I know where Justin and I stand.
Although I’m fucking this guy, all I’ve been able to think about is Justin coming back. I wondered if he’d look the same after his months in Hollywood. He might be fat or strung out on coke or … as fucking beautiful as I remembered him to be. I don’t know which of those would be harder to handle.
The other thing I wasn’t sure of was whether he really wanted to come back here. I don’t want him to settle for me if he’d rather be someplace else. I don’t think I could stand that. By making him take a cab from the airport, it gave him an out. He could always tell the cab driver to take him to his mother’s or Debbie’s. I just had to be sure that he’d come here. And now he has.
I look at him as he appears at the edge of the glass partition. I know he’s seen our shadows through the glass. He knows I’m fucking someone. I want to see his reaction. At first his face is unemotional. He’s watching. Maybe he’s remembering what it was like when we fucked. That’s what I’m thinking about as I plow into this guy’s ass and lean my head back, emitting a mighty groan. Then I’m coming and so is the trick.
I look at Justin and he’s smiling. I know he likes to watch my face when I come. I smile back at him as I make a couple of final thrusts.
“So, how was your flight?” I ask, before I pull out.
He shakes his head and grins. “Not bad.”
“We’re done,” I say to the trick. I slip the condom off my dick and throw it in the wastebasket near the bed.
“I’m up for a threesome,” the trick replies as he turns onto his back.
“I said we’re done,” I repeat harshly, glaring at the guy.
“Okay, fuck it,” he says sitting up and grabbing his jeans from the floor beside the bed.
Justin is watching all this. I slide off the bed and stand up, waiting for the trick to get his clothes on. Justin watches me and I feel my dick start to swell.
“Show my … guest out, would you, Justin?” I ask. “I’m going to take a shower.”
I get wet quickly and wash my dick, letting the warm water run all over my body. I want it to wash off the sweat and any possible smell of the trick. I half expect Justin to come join me in the shower. That would make his homecoming even better. But he doesn’t.
There’s a grain of worry in my head as I towel off. I walk back into the bedroom, naked. I’m hoping Justin is lying naked on the bed waiting for me, but he’s not. A grain of worry starts forming in my brain.
I pull on some sweats and start down the steps from the bedroom. I see the back of his head as he sits on the sofa.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Thinking.”
“About what?” I don’t usually ask such questions. I don’t usually give a shit, but this time I’m really curious. I want to know what he’s thinking and feeling now that he’s back.
“Sit down for a minute,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow. Here it comes, I think. He’s going to tell me that he made a mistake, that he wants to go back to L.A. or New York or fucking Timbuktu. He’s going to leave once again, and I don’t think I can stand it. I sit as far away from him on the sofa as I can.
He continues to stare at the curtains covering the loft windows. He doesn’t say anything. Finally I can’t stand it any longer. “What’s up?” I ask hoping my voice sounds normal.
“I wanted to tell you why I came back.”
“Because you had no other choice?” The sarcasm in my voice sounds cruel … even to my ears.
He looks at me then. “No, because I had no reason to stay there. They canceled the movie.”
“We already discussed that,” I remind him. This all seems so pointless. Why doesn’t he just tell me that he’s going somewhere else and I can get back to what I was doing?
“I need to figure out what to do with my life,” Justin says.
“No shit!”
“Brian, I thought I had a career in Hollywood, but now that’s gone.”
“So, you find something else.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It is easy.”
“I want to paint.”
“Paint?”
“Yeah, really get into my art. And I don’t mean comic book characters.”
“Then you should do that.”
“I should?”
“Absolutely.”
“But…”
“No buts, just do it,” I say. I stand up and move over to the bar cart. A shot of Beam is calling my name.
He is silent for quite a while. I empty the glass down my throat and pour another. I wish he would just go, start his life as an artist … without me. Then I could really get sloshed.
“Brian,” he says finally.
“Yes.”
“Did you miss me while I was gone?”
“Sure,” I say in the most flippant voice I can muster.
“Tell me how much.”
“How much?” I ask wondering what the fuck he’s driving at.
“Tell me how much you missed me.”
I swallow hard. This is a test. I know it’s a test. I missed him more than I can ever explain, even to myself. But I can’t tell him that.
“I want the truth,” he says when I don’t answer.
“The truth?”
“The truth.”
“It felt like you were a million miles away, and I was sure you were never coming back,” I say managing to keep my voice from quavering.
“How much did you miss me?”
“I thought there was only one chance in a million that you would come back … and yet, here you are.”
“So, how much did you miss me?” Justin repeats. He isn’t going to let up.
“Haven’t I answered that?”
“No,” was the simple answer.
“I … missed you more than I can express,” I finally blurt out. “I couldn’t say that though, because I didn’t want to admit that I missed you, since you weren’t coming back.” I felt tears behind my eyes and I fought them with all I had. I gripped the edge of the bar cart, holding on with all my might.
“But I am back.”
“Are you?”
“I’m here … right in front of you,” he says as he moves over to stand in front of me.
“But do you want to be here?” I ask. “Or are you just settling.”
“I’m right where I want to be … if you want me here.”
I stare into his eyes. “I want you here.”
“How much?”
“A ………. Lot,” I finally admit as I take another sip of Beam to steady myself. I wait for his reaction to my stupid admission.
Then Justin throws himself into my arms, and the not quite empty glass of Beam falls to the hardwood, smashing into pieces.
“Shit!” I say.
“Leave it and take me to bed,” Justin says with a happy smile.
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent!”
I scoop him up and carry him up the steps to the bedroom. I dump him on the bed and start pulling off his clothes.
“You missed me so much,” he laughs as I undress him. He sounds like that teenager I brought back to the loft after the bashing. “You so love me!”
“Maybe I do,” I laugh as I pull off his pants. I stretch out over top of him.
“Tell me how much,” he prods.
“What’s with all this quantitative shit?” I gripe.
“I want you to say how much you love me,” he declares.
“I missed you a lot and I’m glad you’re here.” That's as far as I'm prepared to go with these declarations.
“Say how important I am to you,” he demands. He's relentless, but he knows I’m not going to say the L word.
“You’re one in…”
“A million?” he says hopefully.
“No, you’re just one.” His face falls. “The only one!” I add.
That famous sunshine smile blinds me for a moment, before I ravish his mouth, and then the rest of him.
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