In His Kiss

Chapter 20

All work and no play.


Brian rested his head on the back of the seat as the cab made its way back to Manhattan. He had been looking forward to fucking Justin before. Now he truly couldn’t wait. His cock got hard again just thinking about the noises Justin had been making while he sucked him off.

He knew how to give unforgettable blowjobs, but this one had been inspired. Justin’s dick was gorgeous, straight and pale with a lovely very large pink head, nestled in soft dark blond curls. It tasted amazingly good. His balls were larger than his own, the sack waxed clean. His scent, after a full day, was strong and mouth wateringly delicious. Brian would have loved to spend even more time breathing in his crotch. He had wanted to rim him so badly he could taste it.

And Justin was so wonderfully responsive. He had sighed, and moaned, and fucking purred, his cock jumping in Brian’s mouth in response to a lick, swelling when he took it down his throat, and leaking abundant precome with every suck. Just as when they kissed, Justin had totally surrendered to his care, his knees falling open as far as they could go, the reflexive tilt of his hips bringing his balls and even his hole within easy reach. Brian had let that last alone, though. He would keep that particular delight for later.

It had been literally years since he had been the giver and not the receiver of a backroom blow. Still, he would have remembered if it had ever been this enjoyable. He had surprised himself feeling his balls tighten at Justin’s final moan, and his own orgasm erupt at his cry of ecstasy and at the pulsing flood of come in his mouth.

He knew it would have taken him no time to rise to the occasion and come again in Justin’s mouth if he had let him reciprocate, as Justin obviously intended, but he also wanted to save that for later. He was not usually into delayed gratification, but since it was forced upon him, he was going to make the most of it. For a second, he visualized Justin’s luscious lips around his cock. The stuff that dreams are made of…

This game couldn’t go on much longer though. He decided to take a break from Justin for the next few days. The situation was getting out of hand. He had kissed him at work. Safely in the elevator, but still. He had taken him out to dinner for fuck sake. He’d had to feed him, obviously, since he had kept him from home, but it still was fucking weird.

When he got home, it was barely one-thirty in the morning. He was asleep by two.

***

The next few days were busy at work. He did find time to run a check on Jessica Hammon. Her reputation was excellent. Justin was in good hands.

Tuesday night, he was too tired to go out. He called a service, and they sent him a nice looking hustler, who looked a bit like a young Drew Boyd. He fucked the hell out of him, glad he didn’t have to worry about pleasing anyone but himself. The hustler came anyway, messing up his clean sheets. Dammit.

He had to take an unplanned overnight business trip with Julie on Wednesday to deal with a crisis at Brown's. He hated their new representative, Maureen McClintock. She was a twat. Thankfully she solved that problem by being fired in the middle of the meeting.

Brian had momentarily worried when her emergency replacement had been called in mid-meeting by Leo Brown himself, after Maureen walked out in a huff. He looked like a good ol’ boy, an ex-football player slightly gone to seed, and obviously from the Deep South. Brian and Drew Boyd, who had also been summoned like some servant by the aforementioned bitch, for no apparent reason other than the fact that she could, had exchanged a look of concern over the table. The guy looked like someone who liked his faggots tarred and feathered.

Luckily, nothing could have been further from the truth. Behind his red neck exterior, Bob Hicks was sharp as a tack, and made a couple of suggestions that showed a keen understanding of Brown’s demographics, including the power of the openly gay sexuality of their underwear model on the straight female population.

Bob admitted over dinner with the three out of town guests that he had wanted the position, but that he hadn’t had a chance, with his lowly BS from Alabama University, against the Yale MBA of the woman he now replaced.

“You scare the shit out of Leo,” he said to Brian. “Too smart by half. He felt you needed someone just as smart to contend with. He also thought you’d be bothered by my exterior. He thinks all rednecks are closet homophobes, which is bullshit. I say life’s too short. Fuck as much as you want, as often as you can, wherever it brings you the most satisfaction. I’m straight, and a Baptist, but I think if God didn’t intend men who feel like it to fuck each other, why the hell would he give us a prostate?”

At that point, Drew actually laughed so hard he sprayed half his drink on the table. Julie looked completely clueless. Brian promised himself to embarrass the hell out of her with a very detailed explanation on the flight back, and to also share that little nugget of Christian wisdom with Debbie Novotny, where it would do the most good.

***

Back at the office by 10:00AM on Thursday, straight from the airport, he had a full day of work ahead, with a couple of meetings Cynthia had had to reschedule the day before. Even she looked a bit frazzled.

They didn’t leave the office until well after nine, running over the next day’s schedule in the elevator. As soon as he got home, he turned off his phone and went to bed, really beat. He was up again at four, suddenly concerned about a presentation he was giving in the afternoon, to first time potential clients, for which he felt woefully unprepared. At six, feeling only slightly better about it, he showered and put on his favorite Armani suit, almost regretting he had no such thing as a lucky tie.

He got to the office at seven, meeting Cynthia in the elevator. They exchanged conspirators’ smiles. She was the best. He mentally readjusted her already very generous year-end bonus upward. He couldn’t do it without her.

At ten, she brought him a quadruple espresso with enough sugar to give an entire preschool class a sugar high. At noon, she brought him a Granny Smith and a bottle of Evian. After the meeting he had (unnecessarily) been worried about, she handed him a wrap and another espresso. At seven, in lieu of dinner, they dug into her reserves of high protein power bars. At eight-thirty, he put on his new Dior coat and left his office, got her coat out of her closet, and helped her in it. When she protested, he opened her top drawer, and pushed her unfinished project in, hiding the mess.

“Come on. Let’s go home.” He rode the elevator down with her to the garage, and walked her to her car, as he usually did anytime they left late. Though she had never said anything, he knew she appreciated it. He went back up to the lobby and stood, staring at Justin’s painting for a moment, before stepping into the snow outside and hailing a cab.

He went home, showered, and worked another three hours, hoping to free himself the next evening. He fell into bed, and slept soundly until the phone rang. It was Cynthia.

“Brian, it’s seven-twenty. You’re meeting Sidoff at 8:00. Can you make it?”

Fuck. He hadn’t set his alarm.

“Call me a cab. I’ll be there.”

He wet his hair and scrubbed his face at the sink, dressed and ran downstairs. He shaved with the cordless razor he took on plane trips in the cab and chewed a stick of gum. He was inside his office with three minutes to spare. Cynthia came in with mousse on her hands, and fixed his hair while he got his papers out, and then handed him his morning jolt of caffeine.

In a rare demonstrative move, he gave her a peck on the cheek as she was leaving to let the clients in. She smiled and rolled her eyes. He was brilliant, and impressed the hell out of them. Maybe it was the extra sleep. They signed on for the initial campaign, with the little Jeffrey Sidoff in the headmaster’s office with his parents, and for the following one with the dueling women.

He took a half an hour at lunchtime to go to the gym on the 34th floor and shower quickly. After a minute of hesitation, smiling a little, he retrieved some casual clothes from his locker and folded them into his gym bag. His afternoon was full, and he already knew he would be returning the next day to finish preparing a couple of projects. At 5:00PM, he went and sat on the corner of Cynthia’s desk, his coat on and his gym bag in his hand.

“I’m calling it a night,“ he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Will you need me?” asked Cynthia.

“No, just some stuff I have to work on with Sam.”

“Good. I hate working weekends.”

“I know. Why don’t you finish up and go home?”

Brian took the elevator down, and entered the Art Department. It was full of activity, every person there still working. He looked toward Justin’s station. He was shaking his right hand, as if he had a cramp, and apparently coloring with his left. Brian came to stand next to him.

“I didn’t know you were left handed.”

Justin looked up at him, with a guilty expression. “Hey. I’m not. I just got a cramp.” His hair was a mess, as if he had ran his hands through it a lot, and he looked like he needed a break. Brian wanted to kiss the stress right out of him.

“Why don’t you call it a night?”

“I have at least three more hours of work, that’s why.”

“Everyone here is coming back tomorrow,” Brian pointed out. “Would you rather work three more hours tonight and go home to bed, or spend the evening with me, and come back tomorrow for three hours?”

“Brian, coming back makes no sense for me. I have an hour commute in both directions, longer on the weekend.” He sounded so tired.

“Not from my place you don’t.” Had he just said that out loud?

Justin put down his brush, and rubbed his hands on his face. “I am not spending the night at your place, Brian.” Thank God one of them had a brain.

“No. You’re absolutely right.” A vivid picture of Justin lying naked on his bed flashed in his mind. He ignored it, though his cock did not. “Bad idea. So… how about I pick you up at your place tomorrow morning on my way in?”

Justin looked at him for a second and then smiled. “OK.”

Brian loved that smile. “Good. I need to talk to Sam for a sec. Wait for me in front?”

Justin nodded, and started cleaning up. Brian knocked on Sam’s opened door and stepped in.

“So…what do the boards for Secton look like?” he asked.

“Like shit,” answered Sam resignedly, passing them to him.

Brian agreed. The model looked stiff, the watch too small for his wrist, the lettering too small, and… well. They looked like shit.

Justin knocked on Sam’s door. “I’m bushed, Sam. I’ll come back and finish tomorrow, since everyone else will be here anyway.”

“Justin, you’re an intern. We don’t pay you enough to work weekends. You really don’t have to.”

“I do. I’m not finished, and I just don’t want to stay till nine again tonight.”

“Someone else can finish.”

“Bullshit. Everybody’s swamped. See you tomorrow.” He turned and left.

“We should give him a bonus,” said Sam. “He stayed late every night this week.”

“Talk to Marcus,” said Brian. “But you know how he is… Why don’t you go home to Katie. You’ll be here all day tomorrow anyway and you know it.”

“I’m not going home when everyone else is still here,” Sam answered.

“So send them home too. You can all start fresh in the morning. You’re all coming in anyway.”

Sam looked at him for a second, and smiled. He walked into the main room and clapped his hands, getting everyone’s attention. “All of you who are coming back tomorrow put everything down. You’re going home, Mr. Kinney’s orders.”

There was a lull, and suddenly everyone started to pack it in for the night, people smiling and joking.

Sam stepped back into his office. “There. You are now the most popular guy in the room. I’m going to call Katie and tell her I’ll be home for dinner.” He picked up the phone as Brian headed to the elevators, wanting to beat the crowds. When he got outside, a cab was pulling up in front of Justin. They both got in, and left.

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