Spin and Fall

Chapter 13

After talking to Ted Wednesday night, Justin hardly slept. He woke up from his nightmare four times that night, and found that the only thing that made him feel better was to hug himself in a very hot shower. He was afraid to take Xanax like he had Tuesday, and ending up trapped again in the dream. He missed Brian so much in his despair and exhaustion that he cried for him for an hour in the dark.

Knowing there would be no sleep for him that night, he got up at dawn on Thursday and went to the gym. Terry was surprised to see him, since he’d never come before when Terry was on duty early in the morning. He seemed really glad to see him though, but evidently noticed how tired Justin looked and even remarked on his weight loss. Touched by his concern, Justin explained to him he had a problem with nightmares that was medically treated, but that the treatment was not quite cutting it, which in turn led to sleeping difficulties. He also described the downfall of sleeping pills in regard to the nightmares.

Terry let him go about his workout, but came back as he was stretching, having apparently given some professional thought to his predicament.

“Hey Justin. I was wondering.”

“What?”

“What happens if you are truly, physically exhausted? Do you think you might sleep better?”

“I’m usually tired when I go to bed.”

“Yeah, but I’m talking physically wiped,” Terry clarified. “You see, I’m training for a long course triathlon. Tonight is short bike, full run. If you came back tonight around eight, we’ll bike for an hour, and then run thirteen miles, a half marathon. I think you can wing it, I’ve seen you run, but you will be totaled. You’ll be in bed by 11:30, and really, you should sleep without dreams…”

Justin thought about it. It certainly was an option he had not explored, but it sounded feasible. A half marathon was twice the distance he ran almost every day. It was a tempting challenge. He smiled at Terry. “You’re on, big boy. I’ll see you tonight.”

Terry looked really pleased to be given a chance to help. He clapped Justin on the back and went back to work. Justin finished his circuit, showered and realized he would make it to the Art Department at eight, therefore arriving before Stuart. He stopped at a bakery, and got him a chocolate-dipped biscotti, hoping it was the right thing. He put it on his blotter, went to his own desk and started working.

When Stuart arrived, he was carrying two large lattes, which he’d evidently made as soon as he got in, one for himself, and one for Justin so he would find it on his desk as he arrived, something Stuart thoughtfully did every morning.

“Oh, Justin! You’re here bright and early,” Stuart said with a genuine smile. “Here’s your latte, and Sandy is coming down at 9:00 to get help with her request for art on her new account, mostly because she’s not quite sure what she wants and is hoping for your opinion.”

“Thanks, Stuart.”

Then he heard the rustle of paper as Stuart looked in the bakery bag. He came back, the treat in his hand.

“Oh, my gosh, Justin. That’s so thoughtful. I mean you are great at saying thanks and letting me know I do a good job, but this… Well, this is just so nice. I’m sure you’re aware how much I like my new job. I know Cynthia loves hers, but gee, she has to work with Brian! You’re a pleasure to work with, really. This is the perfect treat, yummy but not too fattening. So, thank you.”

He went back to his desk, and made no more fuss. He was really a great personal assistant, and he did make amazing lattes…

The morning went by fast. Justin spent a lot of it helping Ingrid with an account that was giving her problems. They bounced ideas off each other, and eventually found a resolution. Since Brian had pushed back their work on Lucifer Shoes until the next week, he had no occasion to see or talk to him.

They usually communicated by e-mail, either for work or for personal reasons, a couple times a day. After lunch, he was excited to get a g-mail from Aidan and then remembered the twink, and felt it like a physical ache. He opened the mail anyway.

JT

Friday seems so fucking far away. I just had a meeting with a total pinhead, and he drove me insane. I know it will be funny, but only once I’ve told you about it.

Speaking of funny, check out the police report page 5 of the PG… I didn’t know Emmett hung out at the public library…

Miss you.

Aidan

Justin checked page five. A tall male had been caught masturbating in the cookbook section, but had escaped without being apprehended. He had left DNA evidence on a Muffin Recipe book. Justin did chuckle, picturing his friend running away between the stacks after being a little too excited about a new recipe for his catering business.

It was stupid, but meant to make him smile and relieve the monotony of the workday. It was what Aidan and JT did for each other, remaining connected between their nights together. Last week, he had loved it, carrying the knowledge of their complicity around in the back of his mind all the time, a constant source of joy. Now it was the opposite. It was painful to be reminded that what Justin had thought was the cornerstone of their relationship, their amazing sexual connection, was actually only fulfilling to him.

Aidan’s choice for that evening showed that fucking his alter ego was more physically satisfactory to him than being with Justin. Their enjoyment of each other’s company was real, hopefully, and their conversation as rich and fascinating as ever. They could still be friends, probably. But he had cherished the wholeness of their relationship. And it had been based on a lie.

He could not bring himself to answer the e-mail, to act as if all was well, as if nothing had changed. They would talk the next day, thanks to Ted’s insistence, though Justin could not imagine anything coming of it. They were at an impasse.

He barely made it to the bathroom before he threw up his lunch. He washed his face and brushed his teeth with the travel kit he’d taken to carrying with him. He had to stop letting this crap affect him physically. It was ridiculous. What the hell was the point of taking his damned meds if he dreamt anyway and threw up at the least upset? He would start tapering down tonight. He didn’t need fucking chemicals in his body.

That evening, he drank a protein shake and went to the gym. Terry was there and happy to have someone train with him. His upbeat attitude and his triathlon stories were a real relief, taking Justin out of his own world. He biked twelve miles to Terry’s eighteen, amazed Terry could talk while putting out the kind of effort he was. Then again, biking was not Justin’s sport…

The run was great. As usual, the first two miles sucked, but after that it was totally smooth sailing. It was Terry’s nemesis though, and he had set the speed for six and a half miles an hour, which Justin had no problem doing. They finished their two hours of running and the endorphins felt marvelous. Terry took him to the staff shower, where they made out and jerked each other off, all good, good, good…

Terry told him not to stop anywhere on the way home, because the endorphins would wear off and he would be totally exhausted then. Justin followed his recommendation and was opening his mail when he pooped out. Laughing at himself he literally had to drag himself to the bedroom, barely finding the energy to take off his jacket and gym shoes before falling into bed, forcing himself to turn off the light.

 

******
 

When his alarm went off at seven, Justin was still belly down on the bed. He'd not moved at all. He smiled. No dream. A perfect night of deep recuperative sleep. Fuck the drugs. He was going to train for a triathlon. He chuckled, got up and stretched. He felt fucking great. He showered, shaved, and chose his favorite summer suit: a pink seersucker he wore with a pale green shirt and a pink silk tie.

He arrived at the office to find his usual perfect latte on his desk, and checked his work e-mail. There was nothing earth shattering. He checked his g-mail, more out of habit than anything.

JT

All I could think about last night as I was having dinner with Mikey and Ben, was how much I wish I’d canceled and spent the evening with you instead…

I went to Babylon later where a blond twink reminded me of you. But no matter how much like you they look or dress, or smell, they are not you. So, I fucked this tall, dark Italian instead, and I will wait impatiently to see the real you tonight, when you can fuck me until I forget my name.

Because being fucked by you, is a thousand, a million times better than fucking any trick.

We need to talk. There are a couple of things I need your help with.

Aidan


He read Aidan’s note twice. Ben and Mikey? That was his previous engagement? He had mentioned before trying to have dinner there at least once a week, on top of a couple of lunches alone with Michael at the diner, so they could morph their friendship from drug and alcohol abuser/enabler, which it had been for so many years, into something healthier for the both of them…

And “no matter how much like you they look or dress, or smell, they are not you…” Did that mean that after four months Brian had given up playing Dr. Frankenstein and building a fuckable copy of Justin piece by piece?

“Because being fucked by you, is a thousand, a million times better than fucking any trick.” Did he mean this? What had the twink been about then?

Could it be that the sex between them was as wondrous to Brian as it was to him, but that the small piece needed to make it perfect was missing, a piece he had tried to find with that kid? Maybe Brian wasn’t unhappy with what they had, he just wished there was one thing more. He remembered what Brian had once told him, “It fills me with sorrow that I can never show you, in the best way I know how, how I feel about you.”

Brian was a top. The natural way to express his feelings was being denied him. He thought about how possessive Brian was when he fucked Justin’s mouth, about what he’d said to him while fucking that kid. “I need it; I need to fuck you… Don’t give this to anyone else, you hear me? Bad enough you suck them, rim them and fuck them, but this is mine, your ass is mine, you are mine, Sunshine…”

Justin had to admit that he loved the fact that Brian didn’t bottom for anyone but him. He didn’t want that trick they’d had a threesome with to fuck Aidan… He closed his eyes to imagine, while trying hard to separate himself mentally from the logistics of it, what it would be like to belong to Brian that way.

The wave of longing he felt for just a second was more of a tsunami. It was the way it was meant to be, because his greatest show of love would be to receive his lover inside him. He knew this, had always known this. He suddenly dry-heaved, the nausea overwhelming as his body broke into a sweat. “Don’t go there. Don’t think about this, don’t remember…” He was hyperventilating, his hands like claws on the edge of his desk, small black dots dancing in front of his eyes…

“…breathe deep, Justin, nice and slow… There, there, relax, slow down, take it easy…”

Stuart was holding the small paper bag his pastry had come in the day before in front of Justin’s nose and mouth, his bony hand on the back of Justin’s head. Justin’s heart rate was coming back to within human range instead of hummingbird’s and his body was overcome by a wave of soothing relief. Start’s voice was a comforting and calming anchor.

“There… Great job, Justin. All better. You hold that bag, and I’ll go get you a nice latte. I’ll be right back. Just take it easy for a minute and think of the Wilmoor account…”

Justin did as he was told and just kept adding carbon dioxide back to his bloodstream, and thought about what approach could best serve the flower bulb-selling company. So many exciting possibilities. Soon, the bag was out of his hand and the latte sat in front of him, while a refreshing cold cloth was on his neck.

Stuart was smiling at him, as if he brought people down from major panic attacks every day. “You know what the best thing is?” he said, as if he was continuing a conversation, “I just picked up your dry cleaning this morning… I know, I know, you said I don’t have to do that, but I was picking up mine, so what’s the dif? And you had that pale yellow shirt in there.

“Sooo, I hung it behind the door. You can take off your jacket (love the seersucker, by the way), take off your tie, remove your soaked green shirt, wipe off with that cool cloth and put the yellow shirt on. It won’t look quite as good as the green, but it will still be very, very nice. Now, I’m going to bring everyone else their morning drinks, because they’re just about to roll in, and then I’ll make sure you’re ready for her before I send in that little intern you’re interviewing at nine. OK?”

Justin had to smile back at him. “Thanks, Stuart.”

Start looked at him with a light of humor in his eye. “All in a day’s work.”

They both cracked up, and Justin felt a wave of deep affection for the kooky man who, despite his weird mannerisms and funny priorities, always seemed to provide him with whatever support he needed.

He hired the young intern to assist each artist in turn one day a week. She was very young, just starting the art program at PIFA. They had to do a three-week stint in an art department. She seemed hard-working, and if the art in her portfolio was a little shaky, it was also pretty creative. She’d do fine.

Later in the day, Justin replied to his g-mail.

Aidan,

You cannot have any idea how much I needed to read what you wrote.

I am glad you are seeing Michael so regularly. He really loves you.

As for the rest, I don’t think we have ever needed a night together more than we do right now. Yes, we need to talk. There are a couple of things I need your help with as well. But first, I want to make love, to be yours in every way that I can.

Later.

JT.

He worked hard all day and was ready to go as usual, at 6:30. He looked around for his green shirt, but Stuart had taken it away. He looked at the man’s desk. There were three perfectly sharpened pencils exactly parallel to the edge of a yellow pad, with yellow stickies lined up on the edge of the desk like soldiers. His vase stood empty, rinsed, dried and upside down, waiting for Monday’s bouquet, and the photo of his short-haired, bespectacled wife was at an exact 45 degree angle to the desk corner. Justin grinned and walked out.

 

******
 

When Brian, who’d been checking ridiculously often, saw he had a message in his g-mail box, his heart started beating harder. It had escaped his attention until that morning that his last two messages had gone unanswered, and he had been hoping very hard that this one would not.

He opened it, and had never felt so relieved in his life. He held his face in his hands for a moment, and swallowed hard, eyes closed.

Thank you, Ted. Had his old friend not stuck his neck out, Brian would have been clueless that a problem even existed. Yet, obviously, it did, and without Ted’s timely and quite gutsy intervention, Justin would have probably ended their relationship. Brian could not even contemplate what that would have meant.

Brian left the office at 7:00pm after his usual twelve-hour day. He picked up a couple of things he’d ordered a week before from a small café not far from his loft. There was a fruit platter, because Justin loved fruit, some gazpacho, some cold tomato soup and a Waldorf salad, because it was too hot to eat warm foods, and four flavors of homemade ice cream, because he had had a fantasy of eating some off Justin’s pale chest. He doubted he would fulfill that fantasy today. He would just store them in the freezer with his Sake and vodka, as a surprise for some other time.

He put everything away as soon as he got home and decreased the temperature of the air conditioning from 85 to 73. Left without the air on, the loft’s temperature could climb over 100 with the sun shining through the windows, but cooling the enormous space to the seventies all day seemed like a ridiculous waste of energy. His heat exchanger was very efficient. By the time he left the shower, the loft would be at the requested temperature.

He put on his jeans and a wife beater, and got himself a tall glass of iced tea, a special brand he bought at Trader Joe’s by the gallon in the summer. He looked at the clock. 7:45. What did he usually do while waiting for Justin? He usually either waited impatiently planning the way he was going to pounce on him, or read something JT might have mentioned in an e-mail, or set out food for dinner. He’d never felt nervous about his visits before, just happy and excited.

Tonight he was anxious. He could feel Brian Fucking Kinney pushing to come to the fore, with his usual defensive mode. Strike first and strike hard, where it will do the most damage, then retreat to a world of peaceful uncaring, where nothing matters enough to hurt, no one matters enough that you have to give a shit about their feelings.

Brian Fucking Kinney wanted to ask Justin what he fucking expected from him? Brian was a top! How much longer was he supposed to take it up the ass? So he’d fucked some twink that looked like Justin. So fucking what? Justin didn’t like it? Fine. He could give Brian what he needed. The bedroom was that-a-way. Justin still wouldn’t bottom? Well, Brian was done bottoming as well, so he guessed that was that. Justin could close the door on his way out, Brian had to get on the internet and find a fuck for the night. Someone who would be happy to take it up the ass for Brian Kinney, repeatedly, and Justin could go to Babylon and eat some ass in public, since he enjoyed that so much.

And Justin would leave, and Brian wouldn’t care. He would fuck blond ass all over town, and enjoy it. He’d probably never need to bottom again. He would fuck, and kick tricks to the curb, and if he felt anything he could drink it away, smoke it away, snort it away. His Art Director was always perfectly professional and courteous, JT having only shown up at the office that first day, in the janitor’s closet. They could still put out great work. And if for some reason they couldn’t, there were other Art Directors out there looking for work.

But because he was Brian Aidan Kinney as well these days, instead of refilling his iced tea glass with J&B as Brian Fucking Kinney was asking, he lay down on the couch, letting himself really consider that alternative and its consequences.

No more laughter over stupid or absurd ideas for campaigns to sink Vangard, nor turning those absurd ideas into winning proposals, like “The Naked Truth” or “The Dolphin Boy” or “The Singing Cows”. Chaos anew between ad execs and the Art Department. No more fabulous lattes or magic font matching, because Brian had no doubt what Stuart would do if Justin left. No more glimpses of the impeccably dressed Art Director walking the corridor, knocking the breath out of Brian every time, because he was so damn beautiful…

No more evenings with JT. No more sustaining conversation, funny banter, stupid puns. No more freedom to discuss even the most esoteric subjects, the craziest ideas, the silliest topic. No more laughter that doesn’t stop, the kind where they dared not look at each other, over the most idiotic thing. No more of those magical moments when, in the middle of something, their eyes met, and Brian saw raw hunger for him in Justin’s, and his body responded instantly, and they fucked like their lives depended on it.

No more times when some little thing about Justin, like the way he pushed his hair back, or the way he clicked his tongue in annoyance looking for the right word, or the way he cruelly bit at the cuticle of his thumb as he sketched something suddenly made Brian want him so much, his dick almost ached from filling so fast. Justin always seemed to smell Brian’s arousal in the air, because he would look up and he would know and he would be ready for him, always ready, always ardently answering his desire.

No more love-making.

Sometimes, you surrender and accept freely that he is the one giving, and you are receiving. And he makes love to you as if your body whispers your secrets to him, because he knows all that you like, all your hidden desires. He knows how far to take you, how close to bring you back, and you are so in love with him, with his mouth, his tongue, his fingers, his cock, that you beg and moan and scream his name, and give him everything, everything along with your essence.

Sometimes it is you who leads, you who drives his body to the brink. You, with him inside you, captive and at your mercy, who sets the rhythm, who gives the pleasure, who holds him down with your weight, your tongue in his mouth, surrounding him, reducing his world to your body on his, around his, over his. You see the love in his eyes, in how he gives himself to you and trusts you, and you watch him, as his lids flutter, as the dew of perspiration appears on his skin, as a soft pink shades his face and neck, and his teeth bother his lower lip. You say his name and his blue eyes are lost, so far gone in utter bliss he cannot find his way, until you whisper it to him, “Come, come now, Justin…” and you feel it inside, his release at your command, as his face is suffused with his love for you, and with unadulterated joy when he feels you spill your seed against his alabaster skin, when he knows you share his heaven with him.

Sometimes it is a battlefield, where you fight each other with pleasure, each trying to get the other to yield and surrender, and you bite and suck and tease until you are both insane with lust. Still, when he pushes inside you it’s unresolved, and you roll and bite and push against his cock when he needs to slow down, and he pumps inside you so slowly you growl in discontent. You try to take over, and he tries to buck you off, and all this time as you wrestle the pleasure builds and builds and neither of you wants to let go and you fuck to exhaustion, with orgasms so violent you pass out.

Sometimes you play, and it’s easy and fun and beautiful, and you both give all you can and smile and kiss, call out to each other, fingers intertwined, eyes locked, one pleasure, one body, one soul for that supreme moment when you share the orgasm that carries you away.

Brian Fucking Kinney knew good sex. He’d had a lot of it. But before the first time Aidan had sex with JT in Seattle, he knew nothing. There is sex, and there is sex with JT and they just aren’t in the same category. And when sex with JT surreptitiously became “making love” with JT, yet another door he didn’t even know was there was opened.

Yes, it was all wrong. He was a top, and no matter how kind and giving JT could be, in the end it was still JT’s cock up Aidan’s ass that connected them together, which was the opposite of how things should be. But it was still the best, most amazing, most pleasurable sex Brian had ever known. And even Brian Fucking Kinney knew by now that he could live without the sex, but he couldn’t live without the love. To live, really live and not just survive like some pathetic shadow of himself, he needed Justin’s love.

So Aidan, Brian, stretched out on the couch and told Brian Fucking Kinney to go fuck himself. He would fuck Justin instead, thank you very much. And if he had to care, he would care, and if it hurt, he would take it like a man. And he would listen to his heart, and talk to the man he loved and, gasp! apologize when needed. Brian chuckled to himself. He got up and went to pee. Iced tea will do that to a person. He looked at the clock. 8:15. Justin usually arrived between 8:00 and 9:00, yet he felt as if Justin was late. He checked his e-mail, just to be sure. Shit. His stomach dropped unpleasantly. There was one from JT.

Aidan

God, please be naked when I get there, and fuck, might as well be prepared and lubed too. You can do with me as you wish, but I just need this, need you, need that closeness.

I say please, because I have manners, but I need our connection so much that if we’re not fucking two minutes after I get through your damn door, I will just have to bite your ass. Hard.

And just so you know how much time you have before I get there, needy and demanding, I should arrive at 8:25, give or take a minute.

My dick is so fucking hard imagining you preparing yourself, I don’t think I can button my fly.

Guh,

JT

Brian burst out laughing. Fuck, he needed a reminder of the perfection of their connection as much as JT did. He went to his bedroom and took off his clothes. He was hard already, just thinking about how soon JT was going to come through that door. He got out the lube and a condom. He started jerking off slowly, pushing one, then two, and then three fingers in his ass, eyes closed. He pictured himself preparing Justin in the same way, opening his sweet pink hole with plenty of lube while pumping his cock gently. He squeezed the head of his own cock hard and pushed through his fist, picturing Justin in all his pale glory, lying on his back, calves on Brian’s shoulders, as he breached his tight entrance. God, oh, god. He almost came, the image was so powerful.

The loft door rolled back and Brian smiled, hearing as Justin hopped on one foot as he took off his shoes and socks while moving, then the sound of his belted jeans hitting the floor, and then there he was, in all his naked magnificence, his cock hard and glistening with precome, with the most gorgeous smile.

“You got my e-mail.”

“Evidently.”

Justin laughed happily. “Thank god. How do you want me?”

Brian smiled at him. “In charge,” he answered. He wanted JT. He wanted the man who could make him forget his own name. And he got him.

Later, as Justin was lovingly cleaning the come off Brian’s chest with a warm wash cloth while Brian enjoyed the most profound post coital glow, he wondered how such a small man could make him feel like he weighed nothing, flipping him, turning him to his whim with ease, often while doing something quite spectacular with his mouth or fingers to some part of his anatomy.

Justin came back and slipped in bed next to him, resting his head on Brian’s shoulder. They stayed like that for a while, enjoying the closeness and the warmth. Just when Brian was wondering how he should start the conversation he knew they needed to have, Justin said, “I met Kyle last Tuesday.”

He moved off Brian’s shoulder and got on his elbow. Brian mirrored him so that now they were lying face to face.

“You did.” Brian tried to be as matter of fact about it as Justin was.

“I know it would be easier if I could actually explain to you why I can’t bottom, but I can’t talk about it. I freak out just thinking about it. I love you, Brian. If I could bottom for you, I would. I just can’t. And I realize now, after my freaky meeting with my twink replacement, exactly how difficult it’s been for you to have to do without this aspect of sex in our relationship. I feel we’re at an impasse, and I don’t know what to do.”

Brian looked at his beautiful boy. Justin had just made love to him and as usual, had given him what seemed like hours of incredible enjoyment followed by the kind of orgasm that Brian wanted to die from in about fifty years. Now, Justin was tackling head-on a very difficult conversation, and in the process, completely letting Brian off the hook for something Brian knew from Ted had hurt him terribly. He was forgetting recriminations to just attack the problem at its source. Justin could not see a solution, and was not pretending otherwise.

Brian felt an amazing surge of love for that man and his courage. He owed him the truth, and an apology.

“I told you at the beginning of our relationship that I would take what you could give, and I implied that topping tricks was be enough to satisfy my needs. I did believe it at the time. The truth is, however, that though I absolutely love our physical relationship, and I top tricks four or five days a week, I feel a constant unquenchable desire for you, to take you, to be inside you, to fuck you that way. Knowing it’s impossible, and knowing that feeling guilty about it would bring back your dreams, I tried to find a substitute to assuage my desire. But my body knew it was a lie, my heart knew it was a lie and it was a violation of your trust. I’m sorry I did it. I should have talked to you instead.”

Justin rolled back and lay staring at the ceiling and sighed. “When I met him, I must admit it was not the most pleasant of surprises. At first, I thought he was more than a recurring trick, that maybe… you had feelings for him and that was a painful thought. Then, when I realized what your relationship with him was, well, it still hurt, but for other reasons… But maybe, if he gives you what you need, something which I can’t, maybe it’s all right.” A tear rolled down the side of his face. “I certainly have no viable alternative solution to offer.”

Brian caught the tear on his thumb. “Justin.” The blue gaze met his. Justin’s eyes were dry. He would only waste one tear on regrets. “There is a vast difference between what I need, and what I want. I want to fuck you, to be inside you. I want it so bad it hurts. But I can live without it, even if it is a constant battle. I need you. I need us. That, I know for sure I could not possibly live without…”

Justin smiled at him. “Brian, get a hold of yourself. Your lesbian side is showing.”

Brian chuckled. “That’s all the respect I get for expressing my feelings?”

“It’s not the feelings. They are very much appreciated, and completely shared. It’s your surprising use of purple prose in that last sentence…”

“Jerk.”

“Lesbian.”

“Call me a lesbian again and I’ll spank your ass!”

“Lesbian.”

Brian tried to roll Justin over to follow up on his threat, but Justin held firm and started tickling him, an illegal defense, Brian thought. So he bent down and swallowed Justin’s cock to the root, which stopped the tickling attack instantly.

“Oh…” said Justin.

Brian loved to suck him, to play and circle the elastic, spongy head with his lips and tongue, to press it against the roof of his mouth, to take it in deep. Justin was letting him know with his moans and the arching of his back just how nice it all felt. Justin understood him so well. He had known just when to call a break to their conversation, before the emotional load of it became too much for Brian, and he felt the need to retreat. Brian let go of his cock, and said, “Take it back.”

“Uh?”

“Take it back…”

“What? Oh… You are not a lesbian. You are a beautiful, gorgeous, macho gay man. Now fucking suck me!”

Brian wasn’t sure if he wanted to continue with the blowjob, or roll Justin over by surprise and spank his pretty ass bright pink… Well. He had taken the insult back. He would suck him now and spank him later.

He had been enjoying his task for a few minutes when Justin begged, “Brian, turn this way, I want to suck you too,” which Brian admitted was an idea with merit. What ensued was proof of their competitive spirit, as both men did everything in their power to make the other one come first. It was a draw really, and unlike in most competitions, both contenders were definitely winners.

They rested each with their heads on the other’s thigh.

“Niabsel,” said Justin.

“What?” asked Brian, who was still a bit slow on the uptake.

“Niabsel. That’s what you are. The magnificent and total opposite of a lesbian. I love your blowjobs. I love sucking you. You taste so good. Like fruits or something. I like fruit. I could eat a fruit. I’m kinda hungry. Got any food?”

Brian cracked up. “And that would be the linear thinking that makes you such a creative genius. Yes. There’s food in the fridge. Including fruit.”

“Let’s go eat.”

They both put on their jeans and shirts, and Justin put on his socks. He liked to pretend ice-skate on Brian’s shiny floors, which Brian thought both ridiculous and endearing. They sat at the bar and ate the cold soups, wondering if yag meant straight or sad, and challenging each other with antonyms, basically the sort of conversation that Brian knew he could only have had with Mikey, if Mikey had even known what an antonym was. Justin was his lover, his best friend, his creative partner at work, his intellectual equal.

“I wish you would stop tricking.” What the fuck? Brian opened his mouth for a tablespoon of soup, and this escaped instead?

“Uh?” Justin was looking at him, completely thrown, a spoonful of soup halfway to his mouth.

“Never mind. Please ignore this last statement. Famous, I think. That would be the best antonym for notorious.”

“Fuck antonyms. You think I should stop tricking? Why? You trick. We both do. We enjoy it, we discussed it. What the hell?”

“As I said, just ignore it, Justin. It was a random immature thought not meant for actual verbalization.”

“Immature as in juvenile, or immature as in not fully developed?”

“The second. But either way, best forgotten.”

They ate for a while in silence. Why would he say such a thing? Yes, he hated Justin tricking, but it was completely his issue, and ultimately had nothing to do with Justin. Justin had basically given him the green light to continue fucking Kyle if he desired to do so for god’s sake! (Which he did not, but that was beside the point). …Ha. That was it, of course. Brian Fucking Kinney resented being given permission to trick whomever the hell he pleased and however he pleased. If he needed permission, then so did Justin, and godammit, he did not have it. Brian wondered for a moment if he was starting to develop a personality disorder, but decided that he was just encountering the dichotomy of any man’s nature.

“I’m sorry, Brian. But fully formed or not, your statement is going to bug the shit out of me if we don’t clarify it. OK?”

Brian sighed. He’d been afraid of this. He’d already been caught showing some serious lesbian tendencies once that evening. Now this. Fuck.

Since Brian was not coming forth with an explanation, Justin apparently took it upon himself to dig out the truth.

“You don’t like my tricking.”

Fuck. “No.”

“You want me to stop.”

“No!”

“You’d like me to stop?”

“…Yes.”

“You’d like both of us to stop.”

“No.”

“You would like me to stop, but you want to continue tricking?”

Finally, Brian felt he had to defend himself. Stated like this, it sounded too unreasonable, even for him.

“I trick. You don’t trick. You don’t know how to trick…”

“Does that include Kyle?”

“That’s kind of unfair and you know it, but believe it or not it would include Kyle, yes. I don’t know Kyle. I don’t have a relationship with him. I don’t fuck my friends.”

“I think your issue is more that I befriend my fucks. But they’re still tricks, Brian.”

“You have… relationships with them.”

“I trick differently than you trick. I fuck again the tricks that are particularly good…”

Justin’s cell phone chose that moment to ring. He picked it up. He had put his finger on the problem Brian had with his tricking. He fucked the good ones again. How good were they? As good as Brian? Was that what Brian was, a particularly good trick? Fuck.

“…Yes, I slept like a baby… No, no nightmares at all, thank god. I’ve been tapering the meds…”

Who the fuck was Justin talking to? He’d told someone else about his nightmares? About his fucking meds?

“I’d love to, but the swimming… Yeah? Sunday night? You’re on! There is a lifeguard, right?” Justin chuckled. “In case I start drowning?”

Sunday was one of the days when Justin and Brian sometimes shared an evening together. That Justin should give it away without consulting Brian was…was just not right.

“… Yeah. Only a couple times a week though. I have to save some evenings for Babylon. I need to fuck as much as I need to sleep… Oooh the big bad top can only take it up the ass once a week, eh? Yes, it is for a good cause! Right. See you Sunday. Bye.”

Justin was chortling to himself as he put his phone away. He seemed to sense the tension coming from Brian.

“That was Terry, the personal trainer from the Gym. He participates in triathlons. He suggested extreme exercise to help with my sleeping problem, and it worked!” Justin was smiling at Brian tentatively.

“That’s exactly what I’m fucking talking about,” said Brian, throwing his napkin down and pacing.

“It bothers you that… what? A personal trainer at the gym I work out at noticed I looked exhausted, wondered why I was there at five in the morning and had a useful suggestion as to how to improve my sleep?”

“He was a trick, Justin.”

“And now he’s a friend. So what?”

“And now that he’s a friend you’re never going to fuck him anymore?”

“I didn’t say that… As a matter of fact, when we worked out together Wednesday, we gave each other hand jobs, and since he likes the company while training, he just volunteered to let me fuck him once a week, so I can do both in one night, train and fuck…”

“Don’t, Justin. Just fucking don’t!”

“For god sakes, Brian, it’s just fucking. It means nothing.”

“He’s your friend! It means something!” It was like talking to a fucking wall!

“It means he’s a fuck buddy. They come and go. We fuck for a while, and I never see them again…”

“OK. Fuck it. It’s not an immature thought. It’s a genuine request. Please, Justin, don’t trick anymore.”

“But you can trick.”

“I know how.”

“This is absurd. We see each other three times a week, Brian, and yes, I grant you the sex on those nights is plentiful and fantastic. But I need to get off every day, usually two or three times a day, just like you. What am I supposed to do for a fuck the four days a week you’re unavailable?”

“Welcome to my world! You’re unavailable every fucking day of the week!” God. He did not mean that. That was a fucking low blow. Justin had flinched as if he’d been physically hit.

He seemed to manage to overlook it though, probably understanding it was one of those things one said in anger but didn’t mean.

“I love you Brian. Just give me a reason that makes sense and I’ll consider it.”

“I can’t.” It was too fucking humiliating. Brian Fucking Kinney didn’t do jealous.

“Brian, asking me to stop tricking is huge. You have to give me a reason.”

“I can’t. You can’t tell me why you can’t bottom, can you?”

Justin got up from his stool and put on his shoes. “I’m sorry, Brian. I’m willing to have a discussion with you, even a confrontation. But your last two statements show that you are not willing to fight fair, and I’m not willing to take a beating just because you are unable to control the inappropriateness of your answers.”

He walked towards the door.

“Justin!”

He kept walking and opened the heavy door.

“JT!”

He stopped, his back still to Brian.

“You kiss them passionately, just like you kiss me, you suck them till they think they’ll die from it, just like me, you rim them till they beg, just like I do and you fuck them until they scream your name, just like me. You talk to them, you laugh with them, you fucking confide in them. What is there left for me, JT? What is there left that you don’t whore out in the back room, which is mine and mine only?

Justin turned around, and it was as if the light had gone out of his eyes. He answered, his voice soft and quiet, yet perfectly audible.

“My heart.” He slammed the heavy door shut, and was gone.

TBC....


And this would be Terry.

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