Homecoming
Homecoming is the second of the two fics I posted at the Clusterf*ck Challenge. It's a fic that I'd been turning over in my mind for ages, and it serendipitiously jelled for me just in time for the Challenge. As usual, chering beta'd and made suggestions. Thank you, chering.
Homecoming is a post-513 fic.
Brian’s tongue was pressing into my mouth, plunging deeply. I shouldn’t have been able to think, much less talk, after that kiss, but there was one thing I had to be sure of before I let myself lose my mind. “I hope you’re serious about wanting my drawers in your drawer again,” I said.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Did I say that? You’re turning me into a fucking lesbian.”
“This time I don’t intend to take them out again.”
“Good.” His eyes smiled. “Can we stop chit-chatting now and fuck?” He pushed on my side, and I rolled on to my stomach.
Brian sat back, kneeling between my legs, and began working his way up their inner sides, beginning with my feet, first one leg, then the other. I had a lot on my mind. I almost had to admit I was worried about living with him again, so it wasn’t until his mouth approached my balls that my mind started shutting down as my ass rose up.
It had been five years since we lived together, and we were different people from that day when a 20-year-old twink left for the big city. Since then, we’d spent quite a few nights together, fucking - I’d left Pittsburgh, but family pulled me back three, four, five times a year - and whenever I was in town, I usually spent a night or two at the loft.
Thank God for Britin, I thought now. All those rooms…each of us can have our own space to escape to when we need to. Then Brian was pulling my ass checks apart, and a very wet tongue was pressing into my asshole. My mind finally clicked off and my body took over.
Brian was in no hurry. He took his time rimming me, one hand wandering my body while he did so. Even though more than three months had gone by since we’d been in this bed, naked and horny, he had not forgotten what turned me on. He knows every erogenous spot on my body, some the obvious ones, others not so common, and he touched them all.
By the time I felt the chill of cold lube running down my ass crack, I was crazed with lust. I needed him inside me again, deep inside me. He might be enjoying seeing me squirm and hearing me beg, but I was done playing. I reached for his cock…hard, slick with lube and come, and twitching against my palm…and I angled myself toward it. Brian made a guttural sound, and then he was pressing hard against my sphincter. I shuddered as my body fought the intrusion, and Brian held still until I said, “Now.” Then he bore down in earnest.
He pushed further and further in with each subsequent snap of his hips, and I moaned and pushed back. Finally, after what seemed like both a very long time and no time at all, his hand closed around my cock, and I was pumping into it. I felt him come, and then we were collapsing on the bed in a welter of arms, legs, come, and sweat.
After we’d done some sketchy cleaning up, we lay together, Brian on his back, me with my head tucked under his arm and my leg across his thighs. I said, “I’m kind of annoyed at the movers I hired. My stuff won’t be leaving New York until Monday.” Today was Saturday or…I squinted at the clock…early Sunday. “I didn’t have enough stuff for a full load, and they didn’t let me know until they packed me yesterday.”
“Um.”
I got the feeling that the location of my belongings was not of great interest to Brian. I was interested, however. I wanted to get settled in and start painting again. I had a commission I hadn’t started, and now Brian had my creative juices stirring, along with other juices.
“I told the movers I’d call Monday morning…tomorrow…to get an estimate of when they’d be at Britin so that I can be out there to meet them.”
Brian didn’t say anything, but the way he didn’t reply changed. Instead of his post-coital laziness, I thought I felt a bit of tension in his body and a reluctance to speak. “Brian?” I asked.
He turned his head and looked at me. “I sold Britin,” he said.
I sat up fast. “You sold Britin?”
“Yeah. About a year, year and a half ago, I got the feeling that you weren’t coming back and I put it up for sale.” He pushed himself into a sitting position, propping his shoulders against the head of the bed.
“Without asking me? Without even fucking telling me?”
He looked mildly guilty. “Well…you know….”
“No, I don’t.” I know that Brian Kinney can still be a fucking asshole.
“Christ, it was never the right time. One time you were here when I was just starting to think about it, then there was that year when I didn’t see you from Christmas until the following Thanksgiving, and by that time….”
“It was a done deed….”
“And I had other things on my mind when we did get together….” He slouched down a bit, approaching the horizontal more closely.
“I can’t believe my mother never said a word to me.”
“Justin, your mother is a professional. She keeps her business strictly separate from your personal life.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I rolled my eyes and lay back down, cradling my head on my arm. I looked up at Brian. He was watching me calmly. “I’ll bet you asked her not to say anything.”
He just smiled, and I knew I was right. I sighed and pulled my pillow under my head. I was surrounded by traitors.
Brian slouched down until he was almost lying flat again. Only his head was now propped against the headboard. He smiled to himself. “I sold at almost the top of the market,” he said. “I made a bundle.”
Of course, that makes it all right, I thought.
Brian stretched out and rolled over, his back to me. I lay next to him and listened to his breathing become more regular and slower, until I knew he was sleeping. I was wide awake. How are we going to manage, living on top of each other? I need to find some place to paint; I can’t set up here. And my other stuff and all my clothes, where am I going to put all that? I’ll need to rent a storage unit for some of it…most of it. It’s not just that there’s no room here, but my few bits and pieces aren’t in Brian’s style at all. God, this is so fucked up.
It was about 4:00 a.m. when I finally realized something: Brian hadn’t told me about the sale until I was in his bed, freshly fucked. He’d known that if he told me over the phone, before all my belongings were safely packed and on the moving truck…if he’d told me when I could do something about my cold feet, I might never have come back. He did want me here; that was solid evidence. I finally relaxed enough to fall asleep.
I was awakened at 10:06 Sunday morning by a hot, wet, expert mouth taking care of my morning woodie. I was pretty sure one of Brian’s major motivations was to suck up to me, so to speak, after last night’s thunderbolt, and if so, it was working. I’m no good at holding a grudge anyway, so by the time Brian finished fellating me, if he’d told me he’d sold the loft, too, and we were going to be living on a park bench, I probably would have just smiled weakly.
Since he was already dressed, I didn’t offer to return the favor. Instead, I rolled out of bed and tottered on weak legs to the bathroom to pee and otherwise get ready for the day. After I’d showered, brushed my teeth, and shaved, I grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen - one of Brian’s more appealing traits is that he makes coffee after he pees and before he does anything else - and started to get dressed. Brian shut down his laptop and followed me into the bedroom.
“Breakfast at the diner?” he asked.
I shuddered. My first appearance there was going to be a madhouse, especially if it took place at 11:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning. There would be kissing and hugging and a myriad of questions that I now did not have answers for. “Would you mind if we went somewhere else?”
Brian curled his lips over his teeth. “Doesn’t the widdle boy want to see all his fwiends?”
“Not all at once and on an empty stomach, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay.” He thought for a moment. “We’ll get the car out. There’s a little place, just north of the city, that serves a great breakfast.”
“Sounds good.”
An hour later we were speeding along the Interstate, Brian with his foot on the accelerator, me with an eye out for cop cars. I thought about asking him how much farther it was to his ‘little place,’ but I decided against it. I didn’t really want to distract him from the road, not at the speed he was going. As it turned out, he pulled off at the next ramp.
We were in a nice residential neighborhood of single houses, well-kept-up, each with its yard, each with its painstakenly cultivated lawn. No shopping centers, no strip malls, just gas stations and Mini-Marts on the larger corners. A few corners were occupied by restaurants that looked like they might serve a decent breakfast, but Brian kept going.
Shortly the nice residential neighborhood turned into a very nice neighborhood, indeed. Some of the houses were sleekly modern, glittering with windows; others were Tudor-style; still others were rambling Colonials. Some were set so far back from the road that they were out of sight, a few hid behind high walls. All were large, expensive, and well-maintained, probably by hired help.
I said, “The restaurant is around here?” It didn’t seem likely. I hadn’t seen any commercial establishments in the last five miles of quaint, winding road.
“We’re almost there.”
“Oh.”
The area underwent another, more subtle change. The houses were still large but they were set further back from the road, and they were usually farther apart. Small patches of woodland started to appear between houses. Oddly enough, the area, while still obviously expensive, didn’t seem as ostentatious or as competitive as the last neighborhood.
Brian slowed down and drew nearer to the curb. He was looking down, searching for something. Finally, after our slow progress had drawn two irritated blasts from horns and one middle finger, he said, “Hah,” and pulled to a stop.
I said, “Hah?”
He was looking at a wooded area, one that began as a sort of open meadow, then sloped down into the woods. There was a nice-looking ranch house to the left and more trees, closer together, to the right. Brian got out of the car and stretched. He looked back at me and said, “C’mon. Get out and take a look.” He took a few steps into the meadow.
I got out, and as I joined him, I looked down to see if I could figure out what he’d been looking for out of the car window. It wasn’t hard to find. Someone had painted 4711 on the curb in large white letters.
I stopped next to Brian and said, “What am I looking at?”
“I’ll show you,” he said and started pushing his way through the almost knee-high grass, dotted with Queen Anne’s lace, toward the woods. The woods were made up of maples and a few oaks; the ground would be slippery with leaves come fall. Right now, however, the little trail that led through them was easy to navigate even though the ground was sloping steeply. Several more yards, and the slope ended at the bank of a little creek, rippling cheerfully over smooth stones. Brian stopped and stood looking down at the water.
We stood silently, side by side, and I listened to the water and the sound of children calling to each other off to the left and a bird aggressively announcing its territory from a tree to my right. I felt peaceful.
Brian said, “I love watching the water. See? There’s a minnow or something.” He pointed at a silver dart in the clear water.
“You’ve been here before?”
“We own it.”
Another thunderbolt! “We own it?” I said, my voice rising.
“Yeah. I bought it before I’d even sold Britin.” He paused. “You like it?” His voice was hesitant.
What was not to like? “I love it. It’s beautiful. The trees, the stream…it’s all just…just beautiful.”
“It is. It’s fucking beautiful.”
We stood for another moment or two, and then I said, “What are you going to do with it?”
“Me? Nothing. You are going to build us a house.”
I thumped on my chest, trying to restart my heart. “Me? I know nothing about building a house.”
“You’ll hire people who do.” He smiled. “I don’t expect you to come out here with your hammer and nails and build it yourself.”
“Wow.” I looked around me. I could see the potential in the site, but where to start…I had no fucking idea.
“I trust you to build a house that will have what I need to be happy in it, what you need to work and live here, and what the house needs to be true to this site.”
“Wow.” I am not a sparkling conversationalist when over-whelmed. Fortunately, there are other ways to communicate. I went up on my toes, pulled Brian’s head down, and kissed him, all my emotions fueling the kiss. It went on for a while. When we both had to catch our breath, I didn’t say, “I love you,” again. I’m not much more comfortable with that than Brian is, and besides, the roiling mixture of emotions I was feeling were too complex to be expressed in words. Love, anxiety, worry, awe, and plain old confusion were present in the mix, along with a bunch of other, unidentified stuff. I just stood there, trying to sort through the muddle in my brain and breathing hard.
Brian said, “I’d fuck you here and now, but I think we may have some poison ivy around here. I don’t know what the fuck it looks like, but you need to find out and get rid of it.”
You know, when Brian says he’s not romantic, he’s not kidding.
You’ve heard the saying, “Actions speak louder than words?” Whoever first said that must have had Brian Kinney in mind. Buying this lot was one of those actions, another pledge to us.
I shielded my eyes from the rising sun and squinted off into the horizon. “We’ve got a lot of work to do,” I said. I followed him as he began to make his way back to the car.
“Wrong. You’ve got a lot to do. My job is done.” He turned and cocked an eyebrow at me. “You’re here, you’re staying, and I know you: you’ll do a great job, with some guidance and advice from me, of course.” He opened the car door. “Now let’s get some breakfast. I’m starved.”
I thought, We better be going somewhere where I can get a Bloody Mary with my eggs. I need one.
Homecoming is a post-513 fic.
Brian’s tongue was pressing into my mouth, plunging deeply. I shouldn’t have been able to think, much less talk, after that kiss, but there was one thing I had to be sure of before I let myself lose my mind. “I hope you’re serious about wanting my drawers in your drawer again,” I said.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Did I say that? You’re turning me into a fucking lesbian.”
“This time I don’t intend to take them out again.”
“Good.” His eyes smiled. “Can we stop chit-chatting now and fuck?” He pushed on my side, and I rolled on to my stomach.
Brian sat back, kneeling between my legs, and began working his way up their inner sides, beginning with my feet, first one leg, then the other. I had a lot on my mind. I almost had to admit I was worried about living with him again, so it wasn’t until his mouth approached my balls that my mind started shutting down as my ass rose up.
It had been five years since we lived together, and we were different people from that day when a 20-year-old twink left for the big city. Since then, we’d spent quite a few nights together, fucking - I’d left Pittsburgh, but family pulled me back three, four, five times a year - and whenever I was in town, I usually spent a night or two at the loft.
Thank God for Britin, I thought now. All those rooms…each of us can have our own space to escape to when we need to. Then Brian was pulling my ass checks apart, and a very wet tongue was pressing into my asshole. My mind finally clicked off and my body took over.
Brian was in no hurry. He took his time rimming me, one hand wandering my body while he did so. Even though more than three months had gone by since we’d been in this bed, naked and horny, he had not forgotten what turned me on. He knows every erogenous spot on my body, some the obvious ones, others not so common, and he touched them all.
By the time I felt the chill of cold lube running down my ass crack, I was crazed with lust. I needed him inside me again, deep inside me. He might be enjoying seeing me squirm and hearing me beg, but I was done playing. I reached for his cock…hard, slick with lube and come, and twitching against my palm…and I angled myself toward it. Brian made a guttural sound, and then he was pressing hard against my sphincter. I shuddered as my body fought the intrusion, and Brian held still until I said, “Now.” Then he bore down in earnest.
He pushed further and further in with each subsequent snap of his hips, and I moaned and pushed back. Finally, after what seemed like both a very long time and no time at all, his hand closed around my cock, and I was pumping into it. I felt him come, and then we were collapsing on the bed in a welter of arms, legs, come, and sweat.
After we’d done some sketchy cleaning up, we lay together, Brian on his back, me with my head tucked under his arm and my leg across his thighs. I said, “I’m kind of annoyed at the movers I hired. My stuff won’t be leaving New York until Monday.” Today was Saturday or…I squinted at the clock…early Sunday. “I didn’t have enough stuff for a full load, and they didn’t let me know until they packed me yesterday.”
“Um.”
I got the feeling that the location of my belongings was not of great interest to Brian. I was interested, however. I wanted to get settled in and start painting again. I had a commission I hadn’t started, and now Brian had my creative juices stirring, along with other juices.
“I told the movers I’d call Monday morning…tomorrow…to get an estimate of when they’d be at Britin so that I can be out there to meet them.”
Brian didn’t say anything, but the way he didn’t reply changed. Instead of his post-coital laziness, I thought I felt a bit of tension in his body and a reluctance to speak. “Brian?” I asked.
He turned his head and looked at me. “I sold Britin,” he said.
I sat up fast. “You sold Britin?”
“Yeah. About a year, year and a half ago, I got the feeling that you weren’t coming back and I put it up for sale.” He pushed himself into a sitting position, propping his shoulders against the head of the bed.
“Without asking me? Without even fucking telling me?”
He looked mildly guilty. “Well…you know….”
“No, I don’t.” I know that Brian Kinney can still be a fucking asshole.
“Christ, it was never the right time. One time you were here when I was just starting to think about it, then there was that year when I didn’t see you from Christmas until the following Thanksgiving, and by that time….”
“It was a done deed….”
“And I had other things on my mind when we did get together….” He slouched down a bit, approaching the horizontal more closely.
“I can’t believe my mother never said a word to me.”
“Justin, your mother is a professional. She keeps her business strictly separate from your personal life.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I rolled my eyes and lay back down, cradling my head on my arm. I looked up at Brian. He was watching me calmly. “I’ll bet you asked her not to say anything.”
He just smiled, and I knew I was right. I sighed and pulled my pillow under my head. I was surrounded by traitors.
Brian slouched down until he was almost lying flat again. Only his head was now propped against the headboard. He smiled to himself. “I sold at almost the top of the market,” he said. “I made a bundle.”
Of course, that makes it all right, I thought.
Brian stretched out and rolled over, his back to me. I lay next to him and listened to his breathing become more regular and slower, until I knew he was sleeping. I was wide awake. How are we going to manage, living on top of each other? I need to find some place to paint; I can’t set up here. And my other stuff and all my clothes, where am I going to put all that? I’ll need to rent a storage unit for some of it…most of it. It’s not just that there’s no room here, but my few bits and pieces aren’t in Brian’s style at all. God, this is so fucked up.
It was about 4:00 a.m. when I finally realized something: Brian hadn’t told me about the sale until I was in his bed, freshly fucked. He’d known that if he told me over the phone, before all my belongings were safely packed and on the moving truck…if he’d told me when I could do something about my cold feet, I might never have come back. He did want me here; that was solid evidence. I finally relaxed enough to fall asleep.
I was awakened at 10:06 Sunday morning by a hot, wet, expert mouth taking care of my morning woodie. I was pretty sure one of Brian’s major motivations was to suck up to me, so to speak, after last night’s thunderbolt, and if so, it was working. I’m no good at holding a grudge anyway, so by the time Brian finished fellating me, if he’d told me he’d sold the loft, too, and we were going to be living on a park bench, I probably would have just smiled weakly.
Since he was already dressed, I didn’t offer to return the favor. Instead, I rolled out of bed and tottered on weak legs to the bathroom to pee and otherwise get ready for the day. After I’d showered, brushed my teeth, and shaved, I grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen - one of Brian’s more appealing traits is that he makes coffee after he pees and before he does anything else - and started to get dressed. Brian shut down his laptop and followed me into the bedroom.
“Breakfast at the diner?” he asked.
I shuddered. My first appearance there was going to be a madhouse, especially if it took place at 11:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning. There would be kissing and hugging and a myriad of questions that I now did not have answers for. “Would you mind if we went somewhere else?”
Brian curled his lips over his teeth. “Doesn’t the widdle boy want to see all his fwiends?”
“Not all at once and on an empty stomach, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay.” He thought for a moment. “We’ll get the car out. There’s a little place, just north of the city, that serves a great breakfast.”
“Sounds good.”
An hour later we were speeding along the Interstate, Brian with his foot on the accelerator, me with an eye out for cop cars. I thought about asking him how much farther it was to his ‘little place,’ but I decided against it. I didn’t really want to distract him from the road, not at the speed he was going. As it turned out, he pulled off at the next ramp.
We were in a nice residential neighborhood of single houses, well-kept-up, each with its yard, each with its painstakenly cultivated lawn. No shopping centers, no strip malls, just gas stations and Mini-Marts on the larger corners. A few corners were occupied by restaurants that looked like they might serve a decent breakfast, but Brian kept going.
Shortly the nice residential neighborhood turned into a very nice neighborhood, indeed. Some of the houses were sleekly modern, glittering with windows; others were Tudor-style; still others were rambling Colonials. Some were set so far back from the road that they were out of sight, a few hid behind high walls. All were large, expensive, and well-maintained, probably by hired help.
I said, “The restaurant is around here?” It didn’t seem likely. I hadn’t seen any commercial establishments in the last five miles of quaint, winding road.
“We’re almost there.”
“Oh.”
The area underwent another, more subtle change. The houses were still large but they were set further back from the road, and they were usually farther apart. Small patches of woodland started to appear between houses. Oddly enough, the area, while still obviously expensive, didn’t seem as ostentatious or as competitive as the last neighborhood.
Brian slowed down and drew nearer to the curb. He was looking down, searching for something. Finally, after our slow progress had drawn two irritated blasts from horns and one middle finger, he said, “Hah,” and pulled to a stop.
I said, “Hah?”
He was looking at a wooded area, one that began as a sort of open meadow, then sloped down into the woods. There was a nice-looking ranch house to the left and more trees, closer together, to the right. Brian got out of the car and stretched. He looked back at me and said, “C’mon. Get out and take a look.” He took a few steps into the meadow.
I got out, and as I joined him, I looked down to see if I could figure out what he’d been looking for out of the car window. It wasn’t hard to find. Someone had painted 4711 on the curb in large white letters.
I stopped next to Brian and said, “What am I looking at?”
“I’ll show you,” he said and started pushing his way through the almost knee-high grass, dotted with Queen Anne’s lace, toward the woods. The woods were made up of maples and a few oaks; the ground would be slippery with leaves come fall. Right now, however, the little trail that led through them was easy to navigate even though the ground was sloping steeply. Several more yards, and the slope ended at the bank of a little creek, rippling cheerfully over smooth stones. Brian stopped and stood looking down at the water.
We stood silently, side by side, and I listened to the water and the sound of children calling to each other off to the left and a bird aggressively announcing its territory from a tree to my right. I felt peaceful.
Brian said, “I love watching the water. See? There’s a minnow or something.” He pointed at a silver dart in the clear water.
“You’ve been here before?”
“We own it.”
Another thunderbolt! “We own it?” I said, my voice rising.
“Yeah. I bought it before I’d even sold Britin.” He paused. “You like it?” His voice was hesitant.
What was not to like? “I love it. It’s beautiful. The trees, the stream…it’s all just…just beautiful.”
“It is. It’s fucking beautiful.”
We stood for another moment or two, and then I said, “What are you going to do with it?”
“Me? Nothing. You are going to build us a house.”
I thumped on my chest, trying to restart my heart. “Me? I know nothing about building a house.”
“You’ll hire people who do.” He smiled. “I don’t expect you to come out here with your hammer and nails and build it yourself.”
“Wow.” I looked around me. I could see the potential in the site, but where to start…I had no fucking idea.
“I trust you to build a house that will have what I need to be happy in it, what you need to work and live here, and what the house needs to be true to this site.”
“Wow.” I am not a sparkling conversationalist when over-whelmed. Fortunately, there are other ways to communicate. I went up on my toes, pulled Brian’s head down, and kissed him, all my emotions fueling the kiss. It went on for a while. When we both had to catch our breath, I didn’t say, “I love you,” again. I’m not much more comfortable with that than Brian is, and besides, the roiling mixture of emotions I was feeling were too complex to be expressed in words. Love, anxiety, worry, awe, and plain old confusion were present in the mix, along with a bunch of other, unidentified stuff. I just stood there, trying to sort through the muddle in my brain and breathing hard.
Brian said, “I’d fuck you here and now, but I think we may have some poison ivy around here. I don’t know what the fuck it looks like, but you need to find out and get rid of it.”
You know, when Brian says he’s not romantic, he’s not kidding.
You’ve heard the saying, “Actions speak louder than words?” Whoever first said that must have had Brian Kinney in mind. Buying this lot was one of those actions, another pledge to us.
I shielded my eyes from the rising sun and squinted off into the horizon. “We’ve got a lot of work to do,” I said. I followed him as he began to make his way back to the car.
“Wrong. You’ve got a lot to do. My job is done.” He turned and cocked an eyebrow at me. “You’re here, you’re staying, and I know you: you’ll do a great job, with some guidance and advice from me, of course.” He opened the car door. “Now let’s get some breakfast. I’m starved.”
I thought, We better be going somewhere where I can get a Bloody Mary with my eggs. I need one.