In His Kiss

Chapter 30

Justin is gone.


After Justin left, Brian did not make it to work until a quarter past ten. As he had requested, Cynthia had rescheduled his whole morning. He would be staying at work until eight, which was not uncommon, though usually he did not schedule actual meetings after five. She had a list of clients he needed to call back and a contract for him to sign. Though as efficient as ever, she seemed a bit subdued, but as they had never discussed private matters before, Brian decided to ignore it.

He worked for several hours without interruption, putting the finishing touches on the Click-clack Bed presentation. He hated the name of the company, but once he accepted there was nothing he could do about it and ignored it, he was able to dismiss it from his mind and not let it influence his work. By the time his first appointment arrived, mid-afternoon, he was ready for his presentation the next day.

His success in attracting clients and retaining them, as well as in selling his campaigns depended entirely on the image he projected during meetings. He had an amazing physical presence, a seemingly unflappable self-assurance and endless charisma and charm. Though it looked that way, it was not effortless. It required great concentration and preparation and rehearsal.

After a full afternoon, once the adrenaline died down, he often felt wrung out. But that’s what drugs were for. Even after a horrendously difficult day, he could go on and party half the night. However, once in a while, he aspired to some quiet time. He got up, loving the burning pain in his ass. He decided to order Thai food in and spend the rest of the evening relaxing at the loft.

The idea of going out cruising, for some reason, held no attraction whatsoever. He might as well take it easy, since, as he did every year at this time, he was planning on working all weekend. He had said goodnight to Cynthia and was halfway to the elevator when she called him back.

“Brian! Wait!”

When he turned around she was getting something out of the closet.

“This came for you this morning but you got here so late, I totally forgot about it.”

She brought him a brown paper and bubble wrapped package, a painting, obviously.

Brian held it for a second and asked, “When did it come exactly?”

“First Fed-Ex drop. Around 7:30 this morning.”

So Justin had to have taken it to a Fed-Ex office before five last evening at the latest. He had wanted him to have it regardless of what happened last night. Brian realized he was just standing there, Cynthia watching him.

“Is it one of Justin’s?” she asked, finally.

“Yes. Thanks. Goodnight.” He turned around and left, knowing that she was disappointed that he had not opened it to show it to her, but he was not ready to look at it himself, especially not with someone else there.

He went home and put it, still wrapped, on the dining room table. He changed into a pair of black running pants and a long sleeve t-shirt and ran on his treadmill at an easy pace until his Thai food arrived. By then, the heat had warmed up the loft, and he peeled off his shirt, wearing only a black wife beater.

He ate standing in the kitchen, as was his habit, directly from the containers. Though he knew very well Thai people ate with a knife and fork, he always ate his Thai food with chopsticks, a quirk he shared with Emmett. He had not seen Emmett in a while. All his friends, except perhaps Mikey, would have been surprised to know the depth of affection Brian felt for them.

Emmett was no exception. Brian admired a man who could be so uncompromisingly gay, who was able to navigate the waters of promiscuity and commitment according to his whim and not some hard-set rules. He also truly loved Emmett’s fashion sense. And the man could dance, something Brian definitely could not. Brian was really looking forward to being home for Christmas.

He started watching Casablanca but got bored. He leafed through Architectural Digest, put it down, and took up the New Yorker. The article he began to read soon lost his interest. He got up, poured himself a drink and watched the glitter of the New York night.

It suddenly occurred to him that, subconsciously, he had been waiting for his cell phone to ring and he remembered that tonight Jeremy would definitely not be calling. He went to the bathroom and took a shower. His ass was sore, but he did not dwell on it. There was a condom wrapper in the soap dish. He did not throw it away. He always changed the sheets after someone spent the night, but did not do so this time. He had been lying in bed for a while when he rolled to the side and caught Justin’s scent on the pillow. He got up again, got some scissors and unwrapped the painting.

He put it on the seat of one of his dining room chairs, resting on the back, and sat staring at it. He saw the water and the eddies, the peach blossoms in the spring, the first snowfall of the season. Magical. Then he let himself feel it, and it was their kiss, all over again. Fuck.

He got up and slipped the painting back into its wrapping. Then he took it and slid it onto the unused top shelf of the linen closet. Back in bed, he breathed in Justin’s scent and went to sleep.

***

The next day, he went to the gym before work, and hit the ground running. He would be gone between Christmas and New Year's and a lot of campaigns were due to start in that period. Thanks to Cynthia’s skills, his schedule was bearable, but only just.

He was eating a Granny Smith at his desk at lunch when she brought him a sheaf of papers, looking like the cat that ate the canary. Brian took one look at the top one and smiled back at her. He picked up the phone.

“Sam, you got a minute? Come on up!”

When Sam came in, he handed him the top page. It was the stats on the “Body By Design” ads. Membership was up an amazing 28%, even before the big New Year’s resolution swell. The clients were ecstatic. It was by far the most successful campaign BBD had had and actually the most successful campaign any gym had ever had. Brian was thrilled. Getting them to buy the four different approaches had been a hard sell, and had taken all his convincing skills, but he had been very sure about it and now felt vindicated.

Sam and Brian actually exchanged high fives, something neither of them ever did.

“I wish Taylor was still here,” said Sam. “He deserves most of the credit. Let me take this downstairs. I know Julie and Randy will get a kick out of it. We can use a morale booster right now. Alan has been on the war path.”

He left, waving the sheet in the air and whooping.

Taylor. Sam had told him, of course, that Justin had done 90% of the work on the design of the four-approach campaign. Brian got suddenly excited at the idea of calling Justin and telling him how successful it was, but then remembered he had no idea where Justin was or how to reach him. And he suddenly hated that feeling.

He took out his phone, quickly went through his phone book and dialed a number, his fingers tapping the desk impatiently.

“Jamilla’s cleaning service,”

Jamilla’s cleaning service (Jam and her brother-in-law Enrique) came to the loft three times a week.

“Jam, it’s Brian Kinney.”

“Mr. Kinney? We’re at your loft now. Something wrong?”

“Have you changed the sheets yet?”

He heard Jamilla speak in rapid Creole with her relative.

“Enrique is about to do it.”

“Please don’t. Leave the sheets on, please.”

More rapid Creole.

“Okay, Mr. Kinney. He makes the bed anyway though, all right?”

“Yes, please make the bed. Just don’t change the sheets.”

“All right, Mr. Kinney. No problem.”

“Good. Great. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Bye, Mr. Kinney.”

Refusing to think about what he had just done, Brian worked non-stop until two, when the Click-clack brass was coming to be dazzled.

And dazzled they were. The TV ad alone was totally brilliant. A young couple, in a minuscule New York apartment, decorated to make the best of the sixteen square meters, sits in a comfortable looking couch. They start kissing, removing a sweater, toeing off some shoes. Next, they get up, and transform their couch (Click, clack) into a very comfortable looking bed, where they continue making out.

The amazing thing about these beds was that when you unfolded the couch, they were actually fully made, with pillows and all, ready to be slept in, and that it only took two easy moves to change them from one configuration to another.

The camera’s focus then changed to bring the discarded shoes into sharpness, as the shoe laces wrapped around each other, then zeroed in on the discarded sweaters that wound together suggestively, as, very out of focus the good looking young couple could be imagined making love in the darkening room.

It was a piece of art: Suggestive, yet demonstrating the product beautifully, and discreet enough to be shown at prime time.

The magazine spread was the morning after, a full page cut in three sections, young lovers waking up wrapped in each other’s arms, folding the bed in their underwear (he, wearing only fitted boxers, she a lovely lace slip) Click, clack, and the last image of his hands reaching for the keys on the occasional table sitting next to the reconstituted, good looking couch.

The clients loved it, as they well should. It was perfect for the demographics they were trying to reach, it was hip, sexy, and incredibly flattering to their product. There were big smiles, signatures at the bottom of fat contracts, handshakes and appreciative noises, exactly what Brian strove for. He would have loved for Justin to sit in on this one, watching him at his best. Though he didn’t need anyone else’s approval, of course.

He was still working well past seven when Sam knocked on his door and entered, holding two beers in his hand.

“Time to quit, Kinney, and savor the satisfaction of a job well done. Cynthia told me Click-clack went great, and after the 'Body by Design' results I’d say you had a very good day.”

“We both did. You guys downstairs kicked ass on both campaigns as well.”

“We did, but in both cases we only executed. The creative drive was yours for Click-clack, and Justin’s for BBD. It’s easy to build great products on great ideas.”

“It’s easy to fuck them up, too.”

“Point. Well, here's to finishing up the year with a bang! I’m off next week, and you the week after, so we’re done for 2005. Merry Christmas, Kinney, and Happy New Year.”

They clicked their long necks together.

“To you too, Sam.”

Sam was about to leave when he turned back.

“Can I ask you something? Why didn’t you offer Taylor the job? He mentioned at one time there was some kind of history between you. Is that why?”

“He did, did he? Well, regardless of what Mr. Taylor might have said, I didn’t offer him the job because I don’t think he’s the right person for it. Nothing personal.”

Sam looked at him for a moment, and finished his beer.

“He never said anything in particular, Kinney. A very discreet young man, Justin Taylor. But as for your 'Nothing personal', I can recognize a crock of shit when I hear one. Whatever the problem may be, he is the right person for the job. He is brilliant, and it’s a huge loss for our team.”

He raised his empty in salute, placed it on Brian’s desk and left without another word.

Brian put down his half drunk beer, got up, and filled a tumbler full of J&B from his bar. He sat back down, his feet on his desk, feeling again the faint twinge in his ass he had been both loving and ignoring.

Justin would have taken the job. It was a great opportunity. He worked four hours a day as a busboy, for fuck’s sake. Four hours a day at Plexus as a real employee in the art department, even at starter pay, would have paid ten times better than the busing job, never mind the experience in his field and the fact that he loved the job.

But Brian would have never gotten to fuck him. He thought back to that night. For some reason he had avoided doing so. It had been the best fucking night of his life, hands down. Well worth the wait. Justin was an amazing lover. The best morning after of his life, as well. He remembered the gentleness Justin had used in preparing him and the awesome skill he had shown as a top when Brian had asked him to fuck him hard. He ignored his rising erection.

He’d had Justin now. It was over, done with. Brian could let him know, now, about the job offer. Cynthia could anyway, she had all his references.

He got up, took his overcoat, scarf and gloves out of the closet and went to talk to Cynthia about it. She was of course still working. He walked over and sat on the corner of her desk.

“Cynthia?”

“Yes, Brian?” He fully intended to tell her to contact Justin with the job offer, but somehow… didn’t.

“… I’m off for the night. You should go home too.”

“You are so right.” She dropped what she was doing and got up. “I need to get a life,” she said.

“You have a life. You are Brian Kinney’s personal assistant.”

“Of course! What was I thinking? Oh, yeah, a life where I actually get laid once in a while.” She grabbed her elegant coat and minuscule purse, and walked with Brian to the elevators.

“If I didn't know better, I might actually feel sorry for you. But I’ve seen how young Mr. Bower from accounting looks at you, and Joe Hartman, from Brown Athletics, and Phil Something or other, from the legal department…”

“Are you keeping tabs on me?” She pressed the call button for the elevator.

“Not at all. Just one player admiring another. Though I would worry about Bower; he seems pretty smitten.”

“I happen to be pretty smitten myself,” admitted Cynthia.

“God forbid. You’re not going to go all bourgeois on me, are you?”

“Oh, right, because you’ve never been smitten.” She rolled her eyes at him.

“Nope. Not in my vocabulary. I don’t believe in love. I believe in fucking.” He meant it. He did.

“cough,*Justin*,cough.”

“My point exactly. One time only, no repeats.”

The door opened to the parking garage. Holding the door open, Cynthia turned to Brian.

“Oh, so you won’t mind if I contact him about Sam’s job offer, then?” She was grinning.

Fuck… Fuck.

“Not in the least. That’s an excellent idea.”

Cynthia looked at him dubiously. “I guess I’ll contact him on Monday.”

“You do that. I understand he’s a greatly valued member of Sam’s team.”

She looked at him and shook her head. “And you, Brian Kinney, are an idiot. But if it makes you happy to keep your head up your ass, be my guest. At least the kid will have a decent job and Plexus another great creative manager.” She let go of the door and walked toward her car.

In the elevator, Brian pressed L, and leaned against the wall. He had meant to ask her to contact Taylor, hadn’t he? Mission accomplished… Right.

God, he needed a drink and a fuck. Now!

He took a cab to a trendy bar for the movers and shakers of Wall Street. Most of the clientele were still wearing work attire. These Wall Street types didn’t like to waste time between their job and their alcohol. He picked up a blond, one with a cute ass in an Armani suit and fucked him against the stall wall in the bathroom, but he couldn’t come, even after the trick had let loose twice.

Annoyed, he pulled out, turned the blond around and pulled off the condom as he pushed the guy to his knees. After ten more minutes he was getting nowhere. He pulled out of the trick's mouth with a pop saying, “Never mind”, tucked himself in and left the guy to scramble up alone.

He took a cab home, took a long shower, put on club clothes and headed to a club he had not gone to in a while. After two tablets of E and a couple of drinks, he started to relax. He took a handsome shirtless black kid with velvety lips to the darkened back room. He had a mouth like a furnace and Brian came deep in his throat.

Running his hands along the kid's perfectly cut torso, he felt himself harden again. He turned him around and fucked his muscular ass while jerking his impressive cock. The kid came quietly but violently, squeezing Brian's orgasm out of him almost painfully, he was so tight.

Brian stayed put a moment, his chin on the kid's shoulder, then pulled out gently. He got a towel, cleaned the kid up, and pulled his pants back up while the boy was still leaning against the wall, his head in the crook of his arm. Then Brian sorted himself out and gently massaged his trick's neck and shoulders. Finally, he turned back to Brian, and kissed him, long and hard. His breath had the sourness of pot, and his sweat smelled very masculine. His body was truly beautiful and the softness of his lips was exotic.

“No one has ever fucked me that good,” he said. “I came so hard. I thought I was gonna pass out.”

“You have a beautiful body and a beautiful cock,” said Brian, meaning it.

The boy smiled. “You want more of it?” he asked, pretty sure of himself. Brian thought about that beautiful black body, lying under him, with his ankles on his shoulders as he fucked him face to face and almost asked him back to the loft, but then he remembered the sweet smelling pillow, and Justin’s body trembling under his, and Justin’s amazing smile as Brian pushed into him, and he had to get out of there.

“Thanks, but no thanks. See you around.”

“I hope so,” said the trick, disappointed but not giving up.

Brian leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Sorry, kid. I don’t do repeats.” He clapped him on the shoulder and left.

Back at the loft, he took a long shower again, erasing the scent of the trick from his body. He brushed, flossed, and brushed again, then slipped under his duvet. Justin’s scent, his sweat and come, mixed with something citrusy and clean, still clung to the sheets. He buried his face in Justin’s pillow.

He should have eaten something besides two tabs of E, because his stomach felt strangely hollow. He fell asleep and dreamed of that night, of that smile, and of the sound that had come out of Justin’s core as he was pumping into him, deep and slow, and kissing him, their fingers entwined together, looking into each other’s eyes. He woke up once again with come on the sheets, hugging that stupid pillow and wishing it was a smooth back with a head of wheaten hair instead. Fuck.

He got up and stripped the bed, put the sheets in the laundry basket, and made it anew. He took a quick shower, and got rid of the condom wrapper from the soap dish. He dressed in his favorite Zegna suit, and took his clubbing clothes along, so he wouldn’t have to return to the loft before heading out after work.

He worked a long, hard day, almost all of it alone. Nothing would bring Cynthia here on a Sunday, and the people who did show were only there for a couple hours before leaving. He went to Essengy that night. He had been there hardly half an hour when he pushed his cock up a guy’s ass. He had the tattoo of a pair of wings on his shoulders and curly hair. He let the guy take care of his own prick as he fucked him hard and relentlessly. He came, though it was not very satisfactory. This guy’s hole must have seen a lot of traffic. He had not needed any prep, and was not all that tight. Brian left him to clean himself up and went back to the dance floor, looking for someone else.

There was a young kid, with a dark ponytail and liquid eyes, who looked like he was no more than eighteen. He was getting a lot of attention, but when Brian got in his face, the kid lost interest in anyone else. They danced for a while, their lower bodies tight against each other. Brian started running his hands over his ass and rubbing their cocks together.

“Let’s go fuck,” said the kid.

“How old are you?” asked Brian. He wanted to take this one home, but not if he was underaged. The last thing he needed was to be arrested for statutory rape.

“I’m nineteen,” said the kid.

“Show me your ID.” The boy laughed but complied. It looked perfectly genuine, and coincidentally, the kid’s name was Brian. A fake ID would have made him over 21, so he could drink as well as get into the clubs, so this was the real thing.

“All right. Come on.”

The boy had been ready to go to the lounge, but looked hesitant at leaving with Brian.

“Ask Jeremy. He’ll tell you I’m safe.”

Jeremy smiled at the kid and said, “Trust me, kid, you’re in for a good time.” He whistled for a cab.

That was apparently all the reassurance the boy needed. On the way to the loft, he was all over Brian, and came in five minutes when Brian gave him head.

At the loft, Brian started the shower and they went in together. The kid was thin, but his skin was good and the little flesh he had was firm. Brian soaped him up himself, wanting to make sure it was done right. Then he took him to bed and rimmed him, loving the boy’s progressive loss of control, though he tasted sour and smelled slightly unpleasant despite the soaping Brian had carefully given his crack in the shower.

By the time Brian fucked him, the boy was barely coherent in his need. Brian took him from behind, on his hands and knees, hard and fast, gripping his hips, knowing there would be bruises by morning. The kid came a first time as he was biting his neck and a second time with Brian pulling his head back by the hair and pinching his nipples.

He then collapsed onto the bed, and Brian kept fucking him, deep and slow now, He slid his hand between the boy’s body and the bed, and slowly jerked him off, in time with his thrusts. He felt the kid shudder as he wrung one more orgasm out of him, and let himself go, as the boy’s sphincter was pulsing around him.

The boy had passed out with his last orgasm. Brian pulled out, threw away the condom, found the kid’s ID in his pocket and called a cab, giving the company the address on the license as the destination. Then he shook the boy awake and told him to get dressed.

“Can’t I stay the night?”

“No. Is the address on you license where you want to go? I called you a cab.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Don’t worry, I paid for it.”

The kid was still lacing his trainers when the phone rang, signaling the cab had arrived.

“Go. You can do that in the cab.”

“I’m thirsty!”

Brian went to the fridge, got out a bottle of water, handed it to him and pushed him out the door.

“Go on. Get out of here.”

He felt incredibly relieved when he slammed the door shut on the shell-shocked teenager, and leaned against it, sliding down to the floor. The second he had come deep in his ass, the boy’s presence had felt wrong. He could not get him out of the loft fast enough. Maybe he would stop bringing tricks home for a while. Too much bother.

He got up, stripped the bed, throwing the sheets in the corner of the room since his hamper was full. He put on crisp new linens, and went into the shower to rinse off.

Still wet, he dug a pillowcase out of the hamper and buried his face in it. It was the right one. He put it back on one of his pillows, right on top of the clean, ironed one and fell asleep, Justin’s faint scent making him feel relaxed and strangely content.

***

He worked seemingly nonstop for the next two days. The first night he went to Gillian’s and paid for a masseur to take care of all his needs. The guy was a pro, and gave him a great full body rub, and a fantastic blowjob before riding his cock, doing all the work to bring Brian to a very satisfying orgasm. He left a large tip and went home quite early, fully relaxed.

Jamilla and Enrique had been at the loft. All towels and linens were fresh and all the sheets had been taken to the laundry. Brian got the painting out of the linen closet, unwrapped it and balanced it on the handles of the sliding partitions across from his bed. Because he loved that painting, that was all. He fell asleep looking at it.

When he arrived at the office the next day, he nonchalantly asked Cynthia if she had reached Justin about the job.

“Oops, I forgot!” she said. “I’ll get right on it.”

Of course she had never forgotten a thing in her life, but Brian accepted the fiction without argument.

“He’s out of town,” he said. “Did he leave you a phone number where to reach him?”

“No, but I do have his cell number,” she said, smiling.

“Why don’t you give it to me. I’ll take care of it.”

She typed a few words on her keyboard, wrote the number on a post-it and handed it to him without any argument, which would have been completely out of character for her had she indeed expected Brian to be calling Justin about the job opening. He took it, thanked her and went into his office, ignoring her shit-eating grin.

He used his cell phone to dial the number several times throughout the day and each time it went directly to a voicemail that used an automated message. Since he had no clue what he was calling for, he left no messages.

He worked hard all day, leaving for the airport directly from the office, still talking on the phone to Alan about year-end numbers in the limo. His 9:00PM flight was delayed off the tarmac by the weather in the midlands and was almost canceled. They landed in Pittsburgh in what still looked like a blizzard to Brian, and he did not get to his suite until close to midnight.

He took off his suit and fell into bed, switching on the TV. He fell asleep with his shirt still on. When he woke up, there was four feet of fresh snow on the ground. He decided to stay and enjoy the hotel facilities until it was time to go to Debbie’s. The roads should be cleared by then. He worked out, swam, had a facial, a massage, a wax job and a manicure-pedicure.

Back in his room, he broke down and decided to try and call Justin again, but he had not plugged in his phone the night before, and it was out of batteries. The car storage had delivered the ‘Vette the day before. When he left the hotel, in his own wheels, with the carefully chosen gifts for everyone, he almost felt human again.
 

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