End of Part One
I've been thinking about it the last couple of days, and at first, what I was going to do was continue to write and post the story here. However, after brainstorming and outlining the remainder of the chapters, I realized that there isn't really that much left for me to write.
So, the new plan is, I'm going to post this final segment, and it'll be the end of "part one." I'm not going to leave it as a cliffhanger, or anything that really makes you question where they are in their relationship. Over the next two weeks I'm going to finish the story off, and begin posting the proper, edited chapters to queerasfandom. I'm just estimating, but if I post a chapter every few days, you guys will get the beginning of part to just before the Christmas holidays.
Okay, so that's it for Nanowrimo 2005. Thank you to everyone who commented/left me feedback along the way -- I appreciated every single one, even if I didn't reply. So unless I explode or something, I'll see you all back here for 2006!
References/etc. will be contained in the final final post, which I'll make public after this part.
And like always, enjoy!
“You live here?” Justin asks, his eyes flickering up to the ridiculously tall set of buildings before him. All built in stone or plaster, they look as though they fell out of some independent educational film about the Holocaust.
Tightening the jacket around his chest, Brian smirks and doesn’t bother with an answer, knows Justin wouldn’t hear it over the thoughts in his head, anyway. So he nods toward the front door instead, huge and set on a rise of concrete steps.
“Better than the centre, I hope.”
…
He closes the front door behind them both and begins to shrug his jacket off, awkwardly reaching up with one hand to flip the lights on. He reaches the switch and hits it, watching as the hall and attached living room flood with white light. Brian throws his jacket over the back of a chair, and follows Justin further into the space.
“So how much do you pay for a view like that, exactly?” The blond laughs, gesturing to the massive floor to ceiling windows that come close to dwarfing everything else in comparison.
Laughing, Brian kicks off his shoes and moves over to the refrigerator.
“Enough.”
Justin smiles and begins to pull his own jacket off, still soaking in the environment around him, oblivious to Brian as he searches around in the fridge for a couple bottles of water. The blond runs his hand over the kitchen counter as he walks by, his eyes tracing over the bar tools in front.
“You have a really nice place.” He nods, glancing up, over to Brian. Brian shrugs and hands him the water bottle before twisting the cap off of his own.
Answers, “It does the trick.”
…
“Fuck, Brian.” He gasps, body hitting the side of the counter, back arching against the tiled tops. Smirking, Brian wraps his hands around Justin’s hips and pulls their bodies tight together, skin and clothes and everything they are flush. The blond slides his hand into the hair at the back of Brian’s head and grins. “You know, I like the way you take care of your clients.”
Brian smirks, presses his hips forward, slowly grinds them in a fat circle. Asks, “Oh yeah? And how do I do that?” before both of his hands are in the middle of Justin’s back, sliding under his t-shirt and over his skin. Justin’s breath hitches, and he lets his forehead fall against Brian’s shoulder.
They twist and turn back and forth for a moment, battling between wills and wants, before Justin presses forward with his hips stomach chest and Brian starts to walk them both backward, the two bottles of water still sitting on the counter, forgotten.
The thing about this is that Justin doesn’t understand it. He just fucking, he can’t. And he’s tried -- insomnia is never something he’s enjoyed having, because it really makes you think. It’s you and the dark and your brain, and when that happens, what else is there to do but think? And despite all the days and weeks that he’s laid awake all night, he has yet to figure this out. This thing.
It’s the way his stomach curls into five different knots and it’s the way that the skin outside of it heats up. He knows sex -- he was sex, for Christ sake, has been for longer than he’d ever remember -- but he doesn’t know this.
Not yet.
He bumps against the back of something, unable to look down because Brian’s mouth is on and in and around his, sucking and so fucking hot. His hands splay out behind his body, ready to catch himself if he falls, but Brian’s got him around the waist so it doesn’t matter anyways. His fingers hit what feel like cushions, heavy fabric, and he guesses that he’s on a couch. Not leather, it’s not soft enough.
“Brian.” Justin whispers, his fingers pressing on the back of Brian’s neck. The skin is warm and makes Justin’s fingertips feel the same way. Brian pulls back enough so their lips are no longer touching, raises his eyebrows and tightens the grip on the blond’s ribs, holding carefully. All of a sudden Justin starts laughing, lungs breathless, and then presses his palms to either side of Brian’s head, holding him steady. He whispers, “Fuck,” because it’s like that’s all he can find himself capable of saying anyways, and then Brian’s kissing him again.
He’s pulled back away from the couch and somehow his legs are moving, shadowing Brian’s footsteps as he leads them both to somewhere Justin hasn’t been yet. He doesn’t open his eyes, won’t and can’t, stops breathing when his body is knocked against the inside of a doorframe, but it isn’t because he’s lost his breath.
Along the way, somehow he lost everything. And despite it all, he kinda thinks that Brian did too.
Justin opens his eyes and grins again, hand sliding over Brian’s stomach as his body is maneuvered around, until he’s walking backwards into a room, dark and black and everything that reminds him of some place he knows for sure that he’s already been -- the beginning.
And Brian knows what might happen. What will happen. It registers over and over inside of his head, these alarm bells ringing off, never quieting down. But it doesn’t stop him from reaching to turn the light switch on. It doesn’t stop the lamps from flickering, from flooding the room with light that is the opposite of fluorescent.
These thoughts, they’re only thoughts.
Brian doesn’t think they mean anything.
Kicking off his shoes, Justin clumsily shuffles back towards the bed, eyes closed fingers pulling his hips flat against Brian’s. He hits the foot of the bed and slowly moves back, waiting for Brian to move with him as he finally gets his last shoe off.
And he hears it hit the ground, but it sounds far off, like it’s happening in the other room, anywhere but here.
He pulls away from Brian and grins, reaching forward to undo the line of buttons down the front of Brian’s shirt. Brian pulls back and stands still, watching Justin’s face, waiting as his fingers move, pressing over warm tattooed skin. His hips relax and move forward, bumping against Justin’s forearms, and he watches as the blue eyes flicker up to meet his.
“Don’t do that.” He smirks, shaking his head. Blond hair that the centre hasn’t paid to be trimmed falls into his eyes, and he looks back to the buttons. “I can’t concentrate.”
Brian laughs and bends down again, tongue sliding into Justin’s mouth, hands moving forward again until they’re on Justin’s stomach, covering what they both know is there.
“Brian.” Justin breathes, trying to pull back, his fingers still working down the white shirt that is most likely more expensive than the sidewalk Justin walks down every day. Brian pulls away and shifts back, tongue running over his own bottom lip as he watches Justin get the last button undone.
He shrugs his shirt off and stands up, pushing his knees off of the ledge of the bed so he can undo his pants. Justin’s eyes flicker over Brian’s arms, his chest.
“I fucking knew it.” He breathes, smirking and pushing himself forward to wrap his fingers around the skin of Brian’s wrist. He barely makes it past half way around, but he pulls the arm forward to study the artwork that is imprinted into it. “I knew you had more.”
Brian smirks, tongue in cheek, wiggling his hips out of his pants and pushing them down just enough before he’s moving back on top of Justin, his hands in blond hair and lips working down the pale neck.
His fingers begin to slide down Justin’s chest, taking the zipper of his jacket with them, and they listen as each tooth unclicks unhinges undoes, all these words that never meant anything else to Brian other than sex.
“Wait.” Justin whispers, his hand resting on the back of Brian’s head.
Brian looks up, waits for Justin to continue, but when it’s obvious that the blond has begun to fumble, he raises his eyebrows and asks, “What?”
“Nothing.” The kid says, but it’s too quickly and with too little esteem -- Brian doesn’t believe a word. He leaves the zipper undone and moves back up Justin’s body, until his hips are on Justin’s stomach and Justin feels himself get harder from the feeling of Brian’s weight on top of him.
Keeping his eyebrows raised, Brian repeats, carefully, “What.”
“Brian.” Justin murmurs, one corner of his lips twitching up. “Nothing!”
This times Brian’s eyes narrow and he leans in, mouth too close to the corner of Justin’s, so close he can taste Brian’s breath as he whispers, “Fuck you nothing, it’s something.”
“No, it’s not.” Justin promises, shaking his head. He moves his hand to the back of Brian’s neck and lightly pinches the skin there, watching as Brian squirms before pulling his hand away. “I just…” He shrugs. “You know.”
Brian waits a moment for that thought process to finish, but it doesn’t.
“Obviously I don’t.” He whispers then, almost going cross-eyed from looking down at the body beneath him, their eyes too close to focus properly. Justin is this warm blond blue pale blur beneath him, and he wants to wrap his hands around the situation and just pull.
Licking his lips, Justin’s eyes flicker over to the windows beside Brian’s bed. He thinks for a few moments, and Brian is so close he can see the wheels turning inside of Justin’s eyes. Brian feels like he can see inside of Justin’s head.
“I’ve just…” He trails off, and then glances back to look at Brian’s face. “I’ve uh, I’ve never been fucked… outside of the job?”
They both pause, then, falling silent, still with Justin’s palm pressing against the skin of Brian’s shoulder. They watch each other’s eyes, and Brian blinks before shaking his head, answering,
“I knew it was something.”
…
They start, and they can’t stop.
It’s like running down a hill, this angled ground that breaks gravity into shards and each broken piece presses on your back, forcing you until your shoulders begin to move over your running feet, and you feel yourself falling. Gravity takes hold, and it’s impossible to stop -- even if you wanted to save yourself from everything that you know it will bring.
Because when you run too fast you fall, broken skin on pale knees and all. And that’s just how it is. But you can’t stop -- couldn’t -- even if (and when) you tried.
“Fuck.” Justin whispers, breath hot and he can’t breathe but he can’t die either, is incapable of doing anything else other than this. Brian grinds his hips down against the body underneath him and closes his eyes, presses his forehead flat against the skin on Justin’s shoulder.
His hands move down and over his own hips, and Justin tries to push his underwear off, elastic stuck to the sticky bones of his body. He moans softly and it sounds more desperate than necessary, but makes Brian press down against him all the same.
Brian Kinney, the court finds you guilty --
“Fuck me.” Justin whispers, fingers moving over Brian’s ears, down the sides of his neck. Moving his hands over the skin of Justin’s stomach, Brian breathes, he breathes and he tries but he’s too far gone to stop. Justin arches his hips and closes his eyes, “Just fuck me.”
One count of sexual battery by an authority figure --
His back is arched and he thinks he’s going to snap, tension wound up so tight from every fucking moment of every life he’s ever lived before this, until it breaks and he’s just falling in resolve. His fingers knot in the hair on the sides of Brian’s head and he feels his chest breaking into shards of something that he’s on the brink of learning.
One count of statutory rape --
He presses his forehead against the pillow beside Justin’s head and he’s breathing so hard he imagines asphyxiation, wonders if a coroner would ever account his official cause of death to body implosion. His fingers slip against the sweat of Justin’s hips and he tries to hold them, white indented finger marks against red skin that is just so fucking ready. He feels his pulse in places he never knew it existed before.
Sexual exploitation of a young person by an adult of legal authority --
Legs hitch and tighten around Brian’s waist as he presses forward, all of his weight and days before this landing on Justin’s stomach, his chest, in places he’s never considered carrying anything before. Brian’s teeth are tight and he can only inhale and exhale through his nose, sudden snaps of clear oxygen that keep a line of sobriety running through his head. He feels Justin’s heels press into the base of his back, and he comes.
One sexual offense of anal intercourse with a child. It can be said for me and every other authority figure in this room that we are disappointed that a man who is so well aware of the law would commit such gratuitous crimes.
He couldn’t stop.
Final Word Count: 57,697/50,000
(As of November 30th, 2005 -- 11:45PM)
So, the new plan is, I'm going to post this final segment, and it'll be the end of "part one." I'm not going to leave it as a cliffhanger, or anything that really makes you question where they are in their relationship. Over the next two weeks I'm going to finish the story off, and begin posting the proper, edited chapters to queerasfandom. I'm just estimating, but if I post a chapter every few days, you guys will get the beginning of part to just before the Christmas holidays.
Okay, so that's it for Nanowrimo 2005. Thank you to everyone who commented/left me feedback along the way -- I appreciated every single one, even if I didn't reply. So unless I explode or something, I'll see you all back here for 2006!
References/etc. will be contained in the final final post, which I'll make public after this part.
And like always, enjoy!
“You live here?” Justin asks, his eyes flickering up to the ridiculously tall set of buildings before him. All built in stone or plaster, they look as though they fell out of some independent educational film about the Holocaust.
Tightening the jacket around his chest, Brian smirks and doesn’t bother with an answer, knows Justin wouldn’t hear it over the thoughts in his head, anyway. So he nods toward the front door instead, huge and set on a rise of concrete steps.
“Better than the centre, I hope.”
…
He closes the front door behind them both and begins to shrug his jacket off, awkwardly reaching up with one hand to flip the lights on. He reaches the switch and hits it, watching as the hall and attached living room flood with white light. Brian throws his jacket over the back of a chair, and follows Justin further into the space.
“So how much do you pay for a view like that, exactly?” The blond laughs, gesturing to the massive floor to ceiling windows that come close to dwarfing everything else in comparison.
Laughing, Brian kicks off his shoes and moves over to the refrigerator.
“Enough.”
Justin smiles and begins to pull his own jacket off, still soaking in the environment around him, oblivious to Brian as he searches around in the fridge for a couple bottles of water. The blond runs his hand over the kitchen counter as he walks by, his eyes tracing over the bar tools in front.
“You have a really nice place.” He nods, glancing up, over to Brian. Brian shrugs and hands him the water bottle before twisting the cap off of his own.
Answers, “It does the trick.”
…
“Fuck, Brian.” He gasps, body hitting the side of the counter, back arching against the tiled tops. Smirking, Brian wraps his hands around Justin’s hips and pulls their bodies tight together, skin and clothes and everything they are flush. The blond slides his hand into the hair at the back of Brian’s head and grins. “You know, I like the way you take care of your clients.”
Brian smirks, presses his hips forward, slowly grinds them in a fat circle. Asks, “Oh yeah? And how do I do that?” before both of his hands are in the middle of Justin’s back, sliding under his t-shirt and over his skin. Justin’s breath hitches, and he lets his forehead fall against Brian’s shoulder.
They twist and turn back and forth for a moment, battling between wills and wants, before Justin presses forward with his hips stomach chest and Brian starts to walk them both backward, the two bottles of water still sitting on the counter, forgotten.
The thing about this is that Justin doesn’t understand it. He just fucking, he can’t. And he’s tried -- insomnia is never something he’s enjoyed having, because it really makes you think. It’s you and the dark and your brain, and when that happens, what else is there to do but think? And despite all the days and weeks that he’s laid awake all night, he has yet to figure this out. This thing.
It’s the way his stomach curls into five different knots and it’s the way that the skin outside of it heats up. He knows sex -- he was sex, for Christ sake, has been for longer than he’d ever remember -- but he doesn’t know this.
Not yet.
He bumps against the back of something, unable to look down because Brian’s mouth is on and in and around his, sucking and so fucking hot. His hands splay out behind his body, ready to catch himself if he falls, but Brian’s got him around the waist so it doesn’t matter anyways. His fingers hit what feel like cushions, heavy fabric, and he guesses that he’s on a couch. Not leather, it’s not soft enough.
“Brian.” Justin whispers, his fingers pressing on the back of Brian’s neck. The skin is warm and makes Justin’s fingertips feel the same way. Brian pulls back enough so their lips are no longer touching, raises his eyebrows and tightens the grip on the blond’s ribs, holding carefully. All of a sudden Justin starts laughing, lungs breathless, and then presses his palms to either side of Brian’s head, holding him steady. He whispers, “Fuck,” because it’s like that’s all he can find himself capable of saying anyways, and then Brian’s kissing him again.
He’s pulled back away from the couch and somehow his legs are moving, shadowing Brian’s footsteps as he leads them both to somewhere Justin hasn’t been yet. He doesn’t open his eyes, won’t and can’t, stops breathing when his body is knocked against the inside of a doorframe, but it isn’t because he’s lost his breath.
Along the way, somehow he lost everything. And despite it all, he kinda thinks that Brian did too.
Justin opens his eyes and grins again, hand sliding over Brian’s stomach as his body is maneuvered around, until he’s walking backwards into a room, dark and black and everything that reminds him of some place he knows for sure that he’s already been -- the beginning.
And Brian knows what might happen. What will happen. It registers over and over inside of his head, these alarm bells ringing off, never quieting down. But it doesn’t stop him from reaching to turn the light switch on. It doesn’t stop the lamps from flickering, from flooding the room with light that is the opposite of fluorescent.
These thoughts, they’re only thoughts.
Brian doesn’t think they mean anything.
Kicking off his shoes, Justin clumsily shuffles back towards the bed, eyes closed fingers pulling his hips flat against Brian’s. He hits the foot of the bed and slowly moves back, waiting for Brian to move with him as he finally gets his last shoe off.
And he hears it hit the ground, but it sounds far off, like it’s happening in the other room, anywhere but here.
He pulls away from Brian and grins, reaching forward to undo the line of buttons down the front of Brian’s shirt. Brian pulls back and stands still, watching Justin’s face, waiting as his fingers move, pressing over warm tattooed skin. His hips relax and move forward, bumping against Justin’s forearms, and he watches as the blue eyes flicker up to meet his.
“Don’t do that.” He smirks, shaking his head. Blond hair that the centre hasn’t paid to be trimmed falls into his eyes, and he looks back to the buttons. “I can’t concentrate.”
Brian laughs and bends down again, tongue sliding into Justin’s mouth, hands moving forward again until they’re on Justin’s stomach, covering what they both know is there.
“Brian.” Justin breathes, trying to pull back, his fingers still working down the white shirt that is most likely more expensive than the sidewalk Justin walks down every day. Brian pulls away and shifts back, tongue running over his own bottom lip as he watches Justin get the last button undone.
He shrugs his shirt off and stands up, pushing his knees off of the ledge of the bed so he can undo his pants. Justin’s eyes flicker over Brian’s arms, his chest.
“I fucking knew it.” He breathes, smirking and pushing himself forward to wrap his fingers around the skin of Brian’s wrist. He barely makes it past half way around, but he pulls the arm forward to study the artwork that is imprinted into it. “I knew you had more.”
Brian smirks, tongue in cheek, wiggling his hips out of his pants and pushing them down just enough before he’s moving back on top of Justin, his hands in blond hair and lips working down the pale neck.
His fingers begin to slide down Justin’s chest, taking the zipper of his jacket with them, and they listen as each tooth unclicks unhinges undoes, all these words that never meant anything else to Brian other than sex.
“Wait.” Justin whispers, his hand resting on the back of Brian’s head.
Brian looks up, waits for Justin to continue, but when it’s obvious that the blond has begun to fumble, he raises his eyebrows and asks, “What?”
“Nothing.” The kid says, but it’s too quickly and with too little esteem -- Brian doesn’t believe a word. He leaves the zipper undone and moves back up Justin’s body, until his hips are on Justin’s stomach and Justin feels himself get harder from the feeling of Brian’s weight on top of him.
Keeping his eyebrows raised, Brian repeats, carefully, “What.”
“Brian.” Justin murmurs, one corner of his lips twitching up. “Nothing!”
This times Brian’s eyes narrow and he leans in, mouth too close to the corner of Justin’s, so close he can taste Brian’s breath as he whispers, “Fuck you nothing, it’s something.”
“No, it’s not.” Justin promises, shaking his head. He moves his hand to the back of Brian’s neck and lightly pinches the skin there, watching as Brian squirms before pulling his hand away. “I just…” He shrugs. “You know.”
Brian waits a moment for that thought process to finish, but it doesn’t.
“Obviously I don’t.” He whispers then, almost going cross-eyed from looking down at the body beneath him, their eyes too close to focus properly. Justin is this warm blond blue pale blur beneath him, and he wants to wrap his hands around the situation and just pull.
Licking his lips, Justin’s eyes flicker over to the windows beside Brian’s bed. He thinks for a few moments, and Brian is so close he can see the wheels turning inside of Justin’s eyes. Brian feels like he can see inside of Justin’s head.
“I’ve just…” He trails off, and then glances back to look at Brian’s face. “I’ve uh, I’ve never been fucked… outside of the job?”
They both pause, then, falling silent, still with Justin’s palm pressing against the skin of Brian’s shoulder. They watch each other’s eyes, and Brian blinks before shaking his head, answering,
“I knew it was something.”
…
They start, and they can’t stop.
It’s like running down a hill, this angled ground that breaks gravity into shards and each broken piece presses on your back, forcing you until your shoulders begin to move over your running feet, and you feel yourself falling. Gravity takes hold, and it’s impossible to stop -- even if you wanted to save yourself from everything that you know it will bring.
Because when you run too fast you fall, broken skin on pale knees and all. And that’s just how it is. But you can’t stop -- couldn’t -- even if (and when) you tried.
“Fuck.” Justin whispers, breath hot and he can’t breathe but he can’t die either, is incapable of doing anything else other than this. Brian grinds his hips down against the body underneath him and closes his eyes, presses his forehead flat against the skin on Justin’s shoulder.
His hands move down and over his own hips, and Justin tries to push his underwear off, elastic stuck to the sticky bones of his body. He moans softly and it sounds more desperate than necessary, but makes Brian press down against him all the same.
Brian Kinney, the court finds you guilty --
“Fuck me.” Justin whispers, fingers moving over Brian’s ears, down the sides of his neck. Moving his hands over the skin of Justin’s stomach, Brian breathes, he breathes and he tries but he’s too far gone to stop. Justin arches his hips and closes his eyes, “Just fuck me.”
One count of sexual battery by an authority figure --
His back is arched and he thinks he’s going to snap, tension wound up so tight from every fucking moment of every life he’s ever lived before this, until it breaks and he’s just falling in resolve. His fingers knot in the hair on the sides of Brian’s head and he feels his chest breaking into shards of something that he’s on the brink of learning.
One count of statutory rape --
He presses his forehead against the pillow beside Justin’s head and he’s breathing so hard he imagines asphyxiation, wonders if a coroner would ever account his official cause of death to body implosion. His fingers slip against the sweat of Justin’s hips and he tries to hold them, white indented finger marks against red skin that is just so fucking ready. He feels his pulse in places he never knew it existed before.
Sexual exploitation of a young person by an adult of legal authority --
Legs hitch and tighten around Brian’s waist as he presses forward, all of his weight and days before this landing on Justin’s stomach, his chest, in places he’s never considered carrying anything before. Brian’s teeth are tight and he can only inhale and exhale through his nose, sudden snaps of clear oxygen that keep a line of sobriety running through his head. He feels Justin’s heels press into the base of his back, and he comes.
One sexual offense of anal intercourse with a child. It can be said for me and every other authority figure in this room that we are disappointed that a man who is so well aware of the law would commit such gratuitous crimes.
He couldn’t stop.
Final Word Count: 57,697/50,000
(As of November 30th, 2005 -- 11:45PM)