ONE MORE TIME
Gap-filler for Episodes 5, 6, 7
The first person Brian noticed upon entering Woody's was Justin. He stopped in the doorway, recognizing that familiar blond head from across the room, even from the back. Justin had his shirt off, and was talking to a tall, broad-shouldered guy with a receding hairline and a close-cropped goatee. Phil (or Bill), that was the guy's name; Brian had had him years ago, when Phil (or Bill) was maybe thirty and damn hot. So the kid was attracted to older guys. Brian was relieved that Justin had attached himself to somebody else for a change.
Moving left instead of right as he normally would have, so he would not have to pass close behind Justin, Brian circled the bar and found an empty stool, ordered his usual double Absolut, and began perusing the crowd. In a few moments he became aware that the kid was sashaying toward him.
"If you take off your shirt, you get a free drink." Justin leaned on the bar next to Brian and smiled provocatively.
Brian hunched his shoulder slightly away, looked down his nose at the kid. "I don't show my tits for a watered-down Bud," he said dismissively.
"Get me a beer?"
"Get your own."
"I can't, I'm too young," Justin flirted outrageously.
"That's your problem." The kid needed to learn subtlety, he was not the least bit intriguing. Brian noticed that Justin had started brushing his hair forward, it looked better that way. The lighting in the bar gave his pale skin a golden glow, his small nipples were rosy pink. Some guy would pick him up soon, Brian had no doubt; despite his annoyance, he had to admit that the kid had a certain beauty, a certain appeal. And he was a hell of a fuck. Too bad Brian didn't do repeats.
Except, of course, that he already HAD done repeats with this kid. Bad judgment. It was not a good idea to encourage boys like Justin. "Your mother's probably looking for you," Brian told him disparagingly, taking a sip of vodka, turning away to survey the crowd again. He spotted a hot one, dark and lean, standing on the other side of the bar.
"She's pathetic. She took me to a waste-of-time therapist."
"Maybe she's trying to understand you." The conversation was beginning to bore Brian.
"I don't want her to understand me, I want her to leave me alone!" Justin laughed, but his teen angst came through despite his attempt to appear unconcerned. Brian decided to ignore the kid, but Justin never gave up easy. "What did your parents do," he asked, "When they found out you were, you know, gay?"
"They didn't do anything." As if. As if he would tell those old farts anything important about his life. "Because I never told them."
"It's not their life. I don’t need their approval." Brian stood up and turned to look in the mirror behind him, made eye contact with the dark young man across the bar, and turned away, walked off around the end of the bar and whispered in the guy's receptive ear. He pushed all thought of Justin away from him as he led the way out the back door of Woody's; the guy followed him to his jeep and Brian drove them quickly away.
The moment Brian slid open the door of his loft, the guy was all over him. He had a curving mouth and was hard and lean, the way Brian liked his tricks, and immediately started begging for a fuck before Brian could even close the door. As the trick slid his hands underneath Brian's silk tee, from the corner of his eye Brian saw a figure dart in through the open door and he turned to see Justin, red-cheeked and breathless, his eyes anxious.
"Fuck!" Brian turned away, furious.
"Jesus, who's this?"
"The president of my fan club," Brian sniped. "What do you want?" he demanded.
"My mother's out of control! Now she's following me!" Justin was breathing hard, and was eye-balling the trick, who was glaring back at him.
Brian snarled, "That must be an inherited trait."
"I'm not going home."
"Well, you're not staying here!"
"I have no place else to go! Do you want me to sleep on the street? I could get killed."
Brian was ready to pick up the little drama princess and throw him head-first down the stairs, when suddenly the dark-haired trick turned and spit at the kid, "Why don’t you get lost, you little asshole, I was here first."
"Better yet," Brian was surprised to hear himself saying, as he watched himself grab, not Justin but the trick, and twist him around, thrusting him out the door, "Why don't YOU."
"Fuck you!" the guy snarled.
"Yeah," Brian replied condescendingly, "You're the bottom, remember?" He slid the door shut with a bang and turned to glare at Justin, who was smiling tremulously back at him.
"Thanks." His voice was shaking.
"Look," Brian said harshly, furious at the kid and at himself, "I told you before: I'm not your partner, I'm not your lover, I'm not even your friend. You're not anything to me."
"I could be, if you gave me a chance," Justin entreated, spreading his arms. Brian went off on him finally; he'd had enough. Told him he sounded like a teen drama; told him he didn't need anybody, a harsh life-truth the kid had to understand.
"You're all you need. You're all you've got," he growled at the boy, who looked back at him, bewildered and hurt. Those eyes. Brian felt himself soften, damn it. His arm reached out, his hand caressed Justin's face, before he caught himself up again. Grabbing a knit throw, he pushed it into Justin's arms. "The couch. Just for tonight."
Brian turned away, then threw back over his shoulder, "And don't jerk off on it!" Without another glance, he went up the steps to his bedroom, stripped and got into bed. But not to sleep. It was only what, midnight? Home alone in bed at midnight on a Friday night, horny as hell. 'You will NOT fuck that little bastard,' he ordered himself. He could damn well go to sleep horny for once in his life, couldn't he?
Apparently not, he had to admit, after an hour of thrashing around on the bed. He thought about going out, dropping into Woody's again. But he didn't want to run into that shit he'd kicked out of his loft earlier. He could easily get a blowjob in the alley behind Woody’s, or in a dozen other places around Liberty Avenue. He could take a shower and jerk off. Or he could have a couple drinks, Jim Beam would eventually put him to sleep, and he didn't have to worry about hearing the alarm, tomorrow was Saturday. Brian slipped out of bed, hesitating when he reached the sofa, listening to Justin's even breathing. Good, the kid was asleep. He tiptoed around the end of the sofa and carefully lifted the bottle of whiskey from the liquor cart without clinking the other bottles, then turned around to go back to the bedroom.
Brian paused to look down at the boy stretched out on the sofa, arms thrown above his head. The soft knit cover had slipped down over his knees. The sight of that little beauty sprawled nearly naked, gray briefs bunched around his sizable dick, set up a stirring in Brian's loins. He loved that word 'loins.' Such a meaty, biblical, carnivorous word. The kid was well-hung for a teenager, Brian had to admit. Hell, he was well-hung, period. Brian remembered the shape of Justin's cock, the satiny knob, the sweet-as-honey taste of the boy who was so eager to do anything to please Brian in bed. Brian's hand went to his own cock, gave it a comforting rub, all the while telling himself 'no.'
As he hesitated, Justin opened his eyes and looked up at him, blinking, half asleep. "Brian," he breathed, then gasped and sat up on the sofa. "Brian."
"Go back to sleep."
Brian's dick twitched again and he told it 'no.' By now he had a raging hard-on, and he saw Justin staring at it. He stood frozen to the rug, his feet trying to lead him away, his dick digging in its heels. He stared at Justin, willing the boy not to move. When instead Justin stood up, Brian almost sighed. Staring at Brian, wide-eyed with - with what, exactly? fear? - Justin slowly walked toward him. When he got close, Brian could smell him. He remembered once giving Michael a lecture on the various odors of sweat, some nasty, some hot, some both. Justin didn't fit into any of the twelve categories Brian had once ticked off on his fingers to impress Michael. Justin smelled like. . . Justin smelled like. . . Justin smelled like a delicious juicy boy who had just woken up on his couch.
Reluctantly, Brian reached out and put his hand on the back of Justin's neck, pulled him forward across that last short space of floor that the boy had been afraid to cross uninvited; bent his head, kissed those full lips that opened up to him like a rosebud wet with dew. He was a poet, a fucking poet. He felt Justin shiver as he slid his arms around Brian's neck, heard Justin breathe his name, "Brian. . ."
Just one more time, Brian told himself; one more time and then never again. Never again.
Setting down the whiskey bottle on the coffee table, Brian ran his hand down Justin's back, slipping his fingers under the waistband of the briefs, cupping the boy's incredibly perfect ass. He tugged and the briefs pulled away, he could feel Justin's cock spring free and slap up against Brian's own, both of them hot and pulsing. A sense of urgency overtook Brian, there was no time to get to the bed. Instead he pushed Justin onto the sofa, pushed him down on his back, and knelt between the boy's open legs. In the dim light from the kitchen, Brian saw Justin's cock pointing toward the ceiling and, taking a deep breath, Brian opened his mouth wide and slid it down that meaty pole, felt it glide all the way down his throat. He was rewarded with a groan, and a moan, and the moans increased in volume and urgency as he alternately licked and sucked Justin's throbbing cock.
"Wait-wait," Justin gasped, grabbing Brian's head and trying to pull away.
"Come on," Brian's lips managed to form the words without stopping his ferocious attack, "Come in my mouth, Justin, come now!"
With a loud, gasping cry, Justin obeyed, and Brian felt the boy let go with a vengeance; he swallowed and swallowed and continued to kneel between Justin’s legs as the boy's moans grew quieter and quieter and he lay still.
Hoisting himself up, Brian leaned over Justin and clasped that golden head with both hands. "Taste yourself," Brian ordered him, his juicy lips kissing Justin's mouth. "Do you like it?"
“Yes-yes-yes-yes," Justin agreed with enthusiasm, struggling to sit up. Brian moved and sat next to him on the sofa, and watched as Justin eagerly twisted his body, slid off the sofa to kneel at Brian's feet; watched as Justin used his hands to spread Brian's legs apart, then bent his head to take Brian's cock into his wonderfully wet, hot mouth. Gently Brian twisted his fingers in Justin's short hair, held onto his head as Justin enthusiastically attacked Brian's cock. Brian slumped back against the sofa, gave himself up to sensual pleasure, gave himself permission to come quickly, and soon he felt his body spasm and jerk as Justin brought him off. He tried to pull out; Justin had never swallowed him before, but this time Justin shook his head, gazing up at Brian's face, and ecstatically swallowed all that Brian had to give.
Brian laughed and gasped with pleasure. He reached down and pulled Justin up, pulled Justin onto his lap, wrapped his arms around the boy and kissed him some more. It wasn't often he wanted kisses afterwards, it wasn't often he wanted to hold someone close in his arms, not let them go. They sagged together against the sofa, catching their breath, hugging each other tight.
"I love how you laugh like that sometimes," Justin whispered.
Brian began to come to his senses. Betrayed by his cock again, he thought to himself. He made himself push Justin off his lap, silently cursing his own aberrant behavior. “Move,” he said roughly, and caught the confused look on Justin’s face from the corner of his eye. Brian stood up, grabbed the whiskey bottle by the neck, and walked away from the sofa.
“Can I come to bed with you now?” Justin asked.
“No.” Brian felt himself growling like a bear. He didn’t turn around. Didn’t want to see Justin’s face. “Go to sleep,” he said, detouring through the kitchen to pick up a glass.
Brian kept walking, went into the bathroom and shut the door. He leaned against the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. “Shit,” he said, and poured an inch of scotch into the glass, tossed it back. Then he took a piss, flipped off the light, and returned to the bedroom. Without a glance toward the living room sofa, Brian pulled back the duvet and crawled into bed. He waited, listening carefully to see if the boy would come sneaking into the bedroom. What would he do, he asked himself, if Justin slipped into the bed beside him? After a few minutes, Brian concluded that the kid was not coming. Almost disappointed, Brian sighed, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.
A throat-clearing sound near the foot of the bed awoke him next morning, he sat straight up and blinked against the bright sunlight streaming from the living room windows. Justin stood directly in a shaft of light, his rumpled blond hair turned to gold by the sun, his hands clasped nervously in front of him. He'd put his briefs back on for some reason, but Brian could see the boy's morning wood straining beneath the soft fabric.
"What are you doing here?" Brian asked, as if he didn't remember the night. He licked his lips, and imagined he could still taste the boy's flavor in his mouth.
Brian watched a silent movie of emotions play over Justin's face, the kid was transparent as glass: Surprise, disappointment, sadness - all because Brian had so easily forgotten their midnight tryst. Then the kid raised his chin, cleared his throat again and said, "Can I take a shower?"
Torn between wanting to throw the boy out the door and wanting to pull him down onto the bed for another go-round, Brian's good sense kicked in, for a change. "Yes," he said, making his voice harsh, "But then get your ass out of my loft. And don't come back again without an invitation." He narrowed his eyes and put on his meanest face. He didn't wait to watch the effect of his words on the boy; instead, he threw himself back down, pulled the sheet up over his head, and willed himself back to sleep.
Somewhat surprisingly, listening to the soporific pounding of the shower spray, Brian did go back to sleep. When next he awoke, the apartment was empty. Without getting up and looking around, he could feel the silence, could feel the void left by the absence of the kid. 'Good,' he told himself; then 'Good,' he repeated.
Sliding out of bed, Brian went into the bathroom. At least the brat had not left a mess, he'd hung up his wet towel and there were no puddles or wet footprints on the bathroom floor. As Brian grabbed his dick and aimed at the toilet, he glanced over his shoulder at his reflection in the mirror. 'You're a fool,' he said out loud. He was, too. He was a fool to have let Justin stay last night. Or. . .or was he, just maybe, a fool to have sent Justin away, unfucked, this morning?
Nonplussed, Brian stared at the boy in the munchers' living room: It was Justin, relaxed and smiling, kneeling on the floor at the coffee table directly across from Lindsay on the sofa. Melanie explained high-handedly that they had run into each other on the street, and Justin eagerly corroborated, "It was like this weird coincidence!"
"I bet." Brian was momentarily unsure how he wanted to respond to this further evidence of stalking by the little blond shit making himself at home right under Brian's nose. He decided to be casual, and walked past the brat, tapping the back of his head, as he crossed the living room and threw himself down in a chair.
Brian noticed that Justin was holding a large sketchpad, drawing something; Brian slid his eyes sideways to get a look at the sketch without appearing the least bit interested. It was a sketch of Lindsay holding Gus, and Brian was surprised to see that the drawing was good. Very good. He couldn't see well enough without standing up, which he refused to do, but from his angle, the sketch looked very much like Lindsay.
Lindsay herself was glancing through a stack of sketches, and telling Justin how good they were. Brian stayed leaning back in the chair, he was not interested in looking at some kid's pencil drawings. That is until Lindsay held one up for him to see. Startled, Brian looked at a picture of himself, asleep in his bed, stark naked, his cock hanging out.
Then that bitch Melanie chimed in gloatingly, "Circumcised - just like I thought."
Annoyed, Brian demanded, "When did you draw that?"
Justin smirked. "When you were asleep."
Brian was not often at a loss for words; this was an exception. He heard Lindsay inviting Justin to exhibit in the upcoming GLC show. Anxious to get back to feeling normal, Brian sniped that the Gay and Lesbian Center was a safe haven for fags who couldn't get laid. Then Melanie tried to stab him again by telling Justin he could meet some YOUNG guys at the Center. As if Brian cared what Justin got up to, or with whom.
When Justin agreed to participate in the show, Brian threw one of Gus' stuffed animals at the kid and chimed in, "Good! It will give him some activities so he'll stop stalking ME."
Instead of stammering an anxious denial, the damned brat turned around and threw the stuffed animal right back at him. Hard. "Don't flatter yourself," Justin laughed, before returning to his sketch pad.
Brian was surprised. Part of him was pissed, but another part of him thought, 'Hmmm.' Then, when he heard Lindsay as good as promising that Brian would come to the art show, the angry part of him came forward to mouth at her silently, "Bitch!"
A few minutes later, Lindsay announced that Justin was staying for dinner and invited Brian to stay, too. He got quickly to his feet; "Can't, I have plans," he said, bent down to give Gus a kiss goodbye, then quickly fled from the domestic scene at Muncher Villa without giving Justin another glance.
He might have known that Lindsay would not let him off the hook; she showed up early one morning at his loft; he was alone and hung over, and as he shared his breakfast cereal and coffee with her, she worked on him to come to the GLC art show. Over the years, Lindsay had talked him into doing any number of unpleasant things he didn't want to do, but it was not going to work this time. Brian had the good sense to know that he should not be encouraging that God-damned kid. Brian wanted nothing to do with a teenager, any teenager, much less the sensitive, complex, hungry, intoxicating Justin Taylor. In no uncertain terms, he refused Lindsay's every entreaty to come to the show.
Which was why he was amazed when he found himself walking up the steps of the GLC on Saturday morning. He noticed Justin first thing as he entered the exhibit room and he expected the kid to come rushing forward, but Justin apparently had not seen him. Lindsay did, and she grabbed his arm, planted a big kiss on his cheek, thanking him for coming. "Whatever," he answer casually, then spied Michael with that fucker David, another annoyance to spoil his weekend.
After a few minutes he found Justin, leaning up against a pole near the makeshift bar, so he approached and they said 'Hey.' Brian was pleased to discover that Justin was not going to try hanging all over him, but merely pointed out the place where his drawings were displayed. Michael and David were hovering in that area, so Brian strolled over toward Mikey, giving David a smirking elevator-eyes glance as he passed. He should have punched that fucker's snide face in, he thought a moment later, after Michael told him David claimed Brian had made a pass at him at Woody's. As if. As if he had any interest in boring old fuckers over forty.
Brian was surprised when he looked at Justin's sketch of him. It looked different, framed and hanging on the wall. He was surprised that it was so good, surprised that the kid had created such a realistic likeness. Brian knew his ego was healthy enough; he knew he looked damned hot, but still it was a shock to see a drawing of him lolling on his bed. To see himself through the eyes of someone else. Justin had captured something of Brian's real self in that drawing. He was not sure what, and he was not sure he liked it. Tearing his eyes away, he studied Justin's other sketches. The boy was good, there was no doubt about that. He had real talent.
Later, catching Justin alone, he came up behind him and caught him in a hug. "Who was that guy you drew?" he asked, referring to another nude sketch, this one of a young man with a well-defined round ass. Justin said it was just somebody he went to school with, and when Brian told him he should do the guy, Justin laughingly admitted that he already had. Brian laughed too, and they kissed. Christ, what was it about this kid that made Brian want to put his hands on him, strip off his clothes, throw him over the grand piano and fuck him, right in the middle of the GLC art show? Back off, he told himself, releasing Justin after a single brief kiss. Lindsay appeared and shoved Gus into his arms. A few minutes later, Brian grabbed the chance to slip away.
Brian left the art show, but not before stopping at the reception desk downstairs to buy Justin's drawing of him. He insisted that his purchase be kept anonymous; nobody needed to know about it. He arranged to have the picture sent to his loft. Later, at Babylon, Justin and his little girlfriend showed up, and the girl bragged that someone had bought Justin's sketch. Brian pretended to think Ted had bought the drawing and was enormously amused by Ted's denial. Then he spied the clerk from Mikey's comic book shop making eyes at him across the dance floor, and Brian took off in hot pursuit.
The clerk turned out to be a dud, really boring in bed. Brian pulled the bedsheet over the guy's enormous mop of curly hair as the guy laboriously gave him head. Almost disinterested in the guy's activities under cover, instead Brian lay staring at Justin's drawing, which he'd hung on the wall of his bedroom. He couldn't stop looking at it. The drugs he'd taken made his head swim, made his eyes blur slightly. As he lay quietly while the guy's tongue, rough as a cat's, worked over his cock, Brian wondered what Justin had been thinking when he sat sketching Brian. Had he been full up with pleasure, after their fuck? Had he become aroused as he drew Brian's naked body in repose? Was he hoping that Brian would wake up and fuck him again?
Slipping into orgasm without any real pleasure, Brian felt his body jerk once, twice, then he slid over sideways on the bed and felt himself passing out - from the drugs, from the orgasm, from ennui. Visions of the golden boy who had drawn his picture were imprinted on his eyelids as his eyes fluttered closed and he slept.
Brian didn’t see Justin for awhile, and he hoped he never would again. The kid was a thorn in his side, a nuisance, it wasn’t normal for Brian to think about tricks after he’d fucked them, it messed up the natural order of the universe. He’d put Justin’s framed sketch in the back of the closet, facing the wall. The image of that cherubic blond with the cheeky grin faded more and more each day, until by the end of the week, Brian could barely remember what the boy looked like.
Or anyway that’s what he’d thought, till the kid came breezing into Woody’s on Friday night, just in time to catch a billiard ball Michael had sent flying through the air. Justin marched straight up to Brian as if he had a right to be there, uninvited. “Guess what I got today,” he beamed, then lifted his shirt to expose one of his rosy pink nipples pierced with a shiny gold ring.
Brian tried to get rid of him; he did. He belittled the piercing, he refused to answer the kid’s question about Studs-n-Suds, he even refused to answer when Justin asked if Michael had a boyfriend. Then he ruined it all by reaching out his fingers to pinch Justin’s tiny nipple. Despite its owner’s apparent disinterest, Brian’s cock was alive and well and making its presence felt. Michael left; Ted and Emmett moved away, and Brian was left alone with Piranha Boy.
At first he had no intention of taking Justin home with him. Instead, he decided to tease the kid, get him sexually aroused, then ditch him in the alley and drive away, alone into the night. That would teach him a lesson, and would safeguard Brian from the treason of his own cock.
His plan started off okay: he circled the pool table, taking his time making each shot, and every time he passed Justin, he’d brush him with his body, push him aside gently with his hip, put a hand on Justin’s shoulder to move him slightly. When Brian was finished making all his shots, he had the satisfaction of knowing that his plan had worked: Justin was practically bristling with lust, he could smell it on him, he could see it in the kid’s eyes that kept drifting to Brian’s cock, he could sense it in the way Justin’s small pink tongue kept slipping out to lick his full bottom lip.
Trouble was, Brian had aroused himself, as well.
It was early; there was still plenty of time to pick up someone in Woody’s, or to drop in at Babylon - for some back-room action or to find a lean and hungry trick. He could do that, or. . . Surreptitiously glancing around Woody’s to be sure Ted and Emmett had left the bar, Brian made a decision: He could have one more time with Justin. Only one more. Nobody would know, nobody could tease him for breaking his own rule about repeats. Then he’d send the boy away with a flea in his ear. Brian knew he was capable of making the kid understand that it was over, finito, the end. That it would NEVER happen again.
Sinking the last ball, Brian racked his pool cue and grabbed his jacket from the back of a nearby chair. As he shrugged it on, he gave Justin a glance, then turned and headed for the back exit. For a moment he thought he’d miscalculated, but as he pulled open the back door, he was aware that Justin was right behind him. On his tail. So to speak. Brian smirked and headed for the jeep. He’d parked several blocks away, and by the time he reached the jeep and put his key in the lock, he could hear Justin panting, almost gasping from the effort of keeping up with Brian’s long strides.
Turning sharply around, Brian demanded, “Coming?”
Justin answered breathlessly, “I think I already did, back in Woody’s,” and Brian laughed in spite of himself. He grabbed Justin’s hips and roughly pulled him close, then slipped his hand down to rub Justin’s cock; it was hard all right, and damn big. He always forgot what a great cock this kid had. Most guys with a great ass had a small cock, and vice versa; he and Michael had done a statistical survey once, years ago, and had proved the theory correct with an accuracy rating of plus or minus ten percent . They’d included themselves in the study, of course. Brian knew that his own cock was fantastic but his ass was only good, not great; Michael had a great ass and a mediocre dick. That Justin had both assets was the exception that proved the rule.
“Exhibit A,” Brian said out loud, rubbing Justin’s cock, then before the kid could ask what he was talking about, Brian kissed him hard on the mouth, turned him roughly around and pushed him back against the side of the jeep, then pressed his own body hard against the boy.
Brian was surprised to feel Justin push him away, but when the kid gasped and pleaded, “Don’t fuck me here, take me home,” he almost laughed again.
“Okay,” he agreed, “Get in.” Justin ran around to the other side of the jeep and jumped in, and they were off.
Inside the loft, almost before Brian could slide the door shut, Justin was throwing off his clothes and running up the steps to the bedroom. “Hurry!” he shouted, and Brian felt himself smiling again. He remembered the naïve, scared little boy that Justin had seemed, just a few weeks ago; not shy, he had not been shy, but he had been terrified of getting fucked. And Brian, despite being higher than a kite, had gone slowly and gently with the boy, and he was glad. He had not wanted Justin’s first time to be rough and ugly.
Brian pulled off his jacket, threw it on the back of the sofa and followed up the bedroom steps. “Hurry!” Justin urged again; he was jumping around on one leg, pulling off a sock.
Putting his hands on Justin’s shoulders, Brian gave him a small shake. “Slow down,” he insisted, “We’ve got all night.”
“I can stay tonight?” Justin paused, holding a sock in each hand.
“Yes, of course.”
”In your bed? I can sleep in your bed, too?”
Then Brian remembered their previous encounter, when he’d practically thrown the kid out on his ear. And he felt what, for him, passed for regret. Well, not really regret; Brian didn’t do regret. But he was almost sorry he’d not let the boy get in bed with him, last time.
“Oh, Brian!” Justin exclaimed, “Oh boy!” Then he bent his head and started unbuttoning Brian’s jeans. Bemused by Justin’s enthusiasm, Brian let the kid undress him. But as soon as he was naked, Justin leaped onto the bed and crawled over to the bowl of condoms. Brian lay down and pulled Justin into his arms, removed the condom from his hand and put it back in the bowl.
“Slow down,” he ordered again. Justin took a deep breath, then another, closed his eyes. He was shaking. With a sigh, Brian took pity on him. “Okay,” he said, remembering seventeen all too well; the kid needed to get off quickly, and then they could have a nice, long fuck. “Why don’t you show me how you jerk off?”
“Huh?” Justin’s eyes popped open, he was startled. “You mean, umm?”
“Yeah,” Brian agreed. “Lie here next to me and jerk yourself off, I’ll watch you.”
“But I want you to fuck me,” Justin said, rebelliously.
“I will.” You bet your ass I will, Brian promised silently. “Later. Let’s get you off first, you’re ready to pop right this second.”
“You’re going to watch me?” Justin was surprised. “Won’t I be embarrassed?”
“No, you’ll enjoy it,” Brian promised, suppressing a smile. He turned on his side to face Justin, leaning his head on his hand. “Touch yourself now. Show me how you do it.”
Slowly Justin settled on his back next to Brian and reached out to touch his engorged cock with his left hand. Despite Brian’s assurances, Justin was blushing, and he started off slow, but within moments he was stroking faster and faster, and of its own volition, his right hand slipped up to caress his left nipple. Brian watched how he pinched and rubbed it, making notes for future reference. Eyes closed, Justin quickly brought himself to the point of orgasm, and Brian lifted himself up and planted his lips on Justin’s mouth at the instant of climax. Justin cried out, his breath coming in Brian’s mouth, his cock shooting onto his stomach and chest. Brian put his hand on top of Justin’s and helped him finish squeezing off the final drops; and when Justin turned and pressed his body against him, Brian didn’t pull away, but let the boy melt into his arms, and held him tight for a while.
Soon Justin leaned back and glanced at Brian, who kept his face unreadable. “Do you want to fuck now?” he asked.
“But you’re hard,” Justin said, as if Brian hadn’t noticed the condition of his own cock.
”I’m not seventeen,” Brian replied tartly, “I can wait.”
“Okay.” Justin sighed and snuggled his way back into Brian’s arms, and let his body relax. Brian continued to hold him, surprised at himself. He was comfortable; the fit of their two bodies crushed together felt good. Brian’s face was almost buried in soft, fine blond hair that smelled like spring rain and tickled his nose. One arm was around Justin’s shoulders, his other hand tucked beneath Justin’s warm round ass cheek. He was aware that Justin had suddenly disappeared into sleep. Despite his hard-on, despite the fingers of his right hand going numb beneath that really fine warm ass, Brian also felt himself drifting away.
Justin was the first to wake; only a few minutes had passed. He pulled backwards and said, “Oops.”
“Hmm?” Brian yawned and stretched his arms over his head.
“I forgot to, umm, clean up.” He touched Brian’s belly and then his own, both still sticky. Brian rubbed his fingers on Justin’s chest, then touched the skin around Justin’s eyes and his own.
“It’s the secret ingredient in all those anti-aging creams,” Brian declared. “Guaranteed to banish wrinkles.”
“You’re full of it.” Justin reached over Brian’s shoulder and pulled a handful of Kleenex from the night table. “Somebody told me you work in advertising and that’s why you’re such a good bull-shitter.” He rubbed both their abdomens and chests with the tissues.
”Who told you that?”
“I don’t remember,” Justin answered tactfully. “But tell me about your job?”
Brian sat up on the bed. “I thought you wanted to fuck.”
“I can wait a while now. Maybe we could eat something first?”
Getting up and leading the way to the kitchen, Brian asked over his shoulder, “Didn’t you have dinner?”
“Well yeah, HOURS ago. Do you have any food? I don’t remember any food in your refrigerator before.”
“I don’t know,” Brian answered honestly, pulling open the refrigerator door. They stood gazing at a six pack of Moosehead beer, three liter bottles of water, and a white Chinese take-out container that Brian said was a couple weeks old. They were both afraid to open it. There was also a jar of Dijon mustard, and a bottle of fat-free Caesar salad dressing that was a strange shade of green. A quick review of the cupboards turned up a can of tuna and half a plastic packet of jasmine rice; Brian said he had no idea how it got there, since he never cooked.
“Never?” Justin was amazed. “No wonder you’re so skinny.”
“I am NOT skinny,” Brian denied. “If you’re really hungry, I’ll call for some take-out.”
“NOT pizza. Thai or Chinese or Italian. Look in the second drawer beneath the cupboard on the left, there’s some menus.”
They settled on Chinese and Brian made the call, then he said they’d better put some clothes on before the delivery boy arrived. Justin followed him back up the steps and Brian slid open the closet door, pulled out his black silk robe. Justin was picking up his scattered clothing from the floor when he suddenly cried, “What’s that?” pointing at the closet.
Justin brushed past him and reached into the back of the closet. Pulled out a framed drawing and turned it around. He gazed, speechless, at his sketch of Brian from the art show.
“You bought it.” He sat down on the foot of the bed, holding the picture. “My God, YOU bought it!” he exclaimed, looking up in amazement at Brian.
Brian felt his face flushing. “Yeah,” he agreed, keeping his voice flippant, “I didn’t want everybody staring at me naked in the art gallery.”
“Lindsay said everybody in Pittsburgh’s already seen you naked, so you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not everybody,” Brian denied, “I’m sure there’s a few lesbians who haven’t seen me yet.”
Justin laughed. “As if you’d care.” He paused, then asked tentatively, “Did you – did you buy it because you like it?”
Brian stared back at Justin, not wanting to answer. He really didn’t know why he’d bought the sketch. He was saved by the bell from answering, literally. His buzzer sounded, proclaiming the take-out delivery. “Put your clothes on, let’s eat this food you’re starving for,” Brian said, turned and hurried to the door to hit the buzzer.
Sitting on high stools at the counter, they ate mu-shu pork and pan-friend noodles, using carved ivory chopsticks Brian produced from a kitchen drawer. “These are beautiful,” Justin admired them, turning them over and over to study the carvings. “But isn’t ivory illegal?”
“Yeah, elephants are on the Endangered Species list, and you can't buy new ivory. But these are antique, over a hundred years old,” Brian explained. “I got them in Hong Kong years ago.” Brian wondered why he'd pulled out the chopsticks tonight; normally he just used a fork.
“You’ve traveled a lot, huh?” Justin mumbled through a mouthful of noodles.
“Some.” Brian laid down his chopsticks after only a few bites; he really hadn’t been hungry, but he enjoyed watching Justin eat; the kid could handle chopsticks as well as Brian did himself. “Mostly I’ve traveled for the agency, but there’s lots of other places I’d go if I had the time.”
“I’ve only been to New York and London, with my parents. And I was just a kid in London, I hardly remember it. I liked the castles best of all, and the big doubledecker buses. What I’d really like,” he sighed heavily, “Is to go to Paris. Maybe live there a while, drawing, see all the art museums.”
“The best museums in the world,” Brian agreed, “Especially the Louvre, of course.”
“Oh, have you seen the Mona Lisa?” Justin asked eagerly.
“Yeah, it’s kind of disappointing,” Brian said, pushing some noodles around on his plate. “It’s really small, and they’ve put bulletproof glass in front of it, somebody attacked it once. There’s all these tour groups squeezing together trying to see that one tiny picture, totally missing a fantastic Leonardo da Vinci painting right next to it.”
“I’m glad you like art,” Justin smiled, and asked ingenuously, “Do you think my drawings are good?”
“Yeah,” Brian agreed. “They’re not bad. Are you finished eating yet?”
“Almost.” Justin gobbled a few more bites and Brian got up, wandered away into the living room. He pulled back the curtain and stared down at the street. He didn’t want to talk with this boy, he didn’t want to get to know him, he didn’t want to like him. Brian didn’t need to be friends with some horny high school kid. They had to stop this damn chatting and get back to bed, get back to sex, he’d completely forgotten his plan to fuck the little bastard and send him on his way. The sound of running water brought him back to the kitchen, surprised to find Justin rinsing their dirty dishes and putting them into the dishwasher.
“Don’t put the – “
Justin answered quickly, “I didn’t, I washed and dried the chopsticks by hand already and put them away.”
“Good,” Brian nodded. “Now if you’re done wasting time eating, let’s go fuck.”
Justin laughed, closed the dishwasher and turned to slip his arms around Brian’s waist, inside his silk robe. “Thanks for the food,” he murmured. “I’m ready. Except,” he laughed again, pulled away and rubbed his tummy, joking, “I’m so full now, I don’t think I can get my legs up.”
“You won’t need to,” Brian promised, taking Justin’s hand and leading him up to the bedroom. “I’ve never fucked you from behind before, have I?”
“No,” Justin agreed, “Is it as nice as frontways?”
“Yeah,” Brian promised. “Oh yeah.”