Fic: QAF "Toys for Boys" (1/3)
Title: “Toys for Boys” (1/3)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: You would be amazed by what technology can do these days! Brian/Justin from Brian's point of view.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to CowLip and Showtime. *eyeroll*
Feedback: Yes, please.
Author’s Note: Harmless PWP, because happier_bunny demanded porn. References things that happened in 105, but it is set in early season four.
Title: “Toys for Boys” (1/3)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: You would be amazed by what technology can do these days! Brian/Justin from Brian's point of view.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to CowLip and Showtime. *eyeroll*
Feedback: Yes, please.
Author’s Note: Harmless PWP, because happier_bunny demanded porn. References things that happened in 105, but it’s set in early season four.
Part One: Rubber Capital of the World
“Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. So you’re in Altoona?” Justin cracks the same joke I made years ago at Ryder. It seemed funnier then.
“Akron, you twat. You know, Ohio?” I stretch out on the bed, kicking my shoes off over the edge. Bed’s too soft. I’m gonna end up with a backache tomorrow morning. Fucking hotels.
“Oh right. Rubber capital of the world. Think you’ll find the Fountain of Perpetual Condoms while you’re there?” I hear him snickering on the other end of the line.
“I wish. It’d save money and I’d never run out.” God, I miss my bed. I miss my bed. I miss Justin in my bed.
“Well, be sure to ask tomorrow. After you make the pitch.” I smile at that. Thinks he’s such a wit.
“Will do, genius. After I land the Telson Tires account, I’ll ask Marvin for the key to the super-secret condom warehouse he’s got stashed behind his steel-belted radials factory.” My eyes drift shut. Never wanted to come to fucking Akron in the first place.
He must have heard the touch of doubt in what I said. “You’ll do fine. Now that Remson’s on board, you’re ready to dazzle ‘em all. Just be your brilliant self.”
Where do you get this shit from, your mother? “Your faith is touching, Sunshine. I told you before, the only reason I’m here is that I wouldn’t give him an appointment in Pittsburgh. He doesn’t want Kinnetik, he just wants my cock.”
A pause, then “If he only wanted cock, Brian, he wouldn’t have paid to fly you there. It’s only 100 miles, you could have driven. He wants Kinnetik.”
Yeah. Right. I saw him in that hotel room, sweetheart, and you didn’t. He wants cock.
I guess I'm quiet too long, because Justin finally asks, “You okay?” Soft, like he didn’t want to hurt my feelings.
“Yeah.” I don’t even sound convincing. Christ, we need this account to get other regional ones. We can’t survive on one big account alone. Fucking Marvin Telson.
I can hear tapping on a keyboard, then Justin says, “Hey, you’ve got wireless there, right?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Get on email.”
“You’re joking, right? I’m talking to you and you want me to look at my email? Remind me to check those meds you’re taking when I get back home.” But I do what he asks, booting up the Mac and let it make the connection. Getting the wireless to recognize my laptop will be slow going.
“I’ll be right back. Hang on.” I shake my head, wondering if he was headed for the john. I pour a little more JB from the mini-bar, take a drink, a small one. This late at night, I shouldn’t get hammered. Not with a pitch first thing in the morning.
It takes a few minutes for me to get online, and over the phone I can hear huffing, and some noises that are too muffled to identify. “What’re you doing?” I unbutton my shirt, throw it in the direction of my shoes, and lie back again.
But Justin doesn’t answer me. Finally, the wireless starts working, and then I can hear him typing some more, a few clicks of nails-on-keys. I leave the laptop on the bed, pull a pillow up behind my head. I type, pinging the email account Justin uses to write me, and something pops up.
01:37EST New Mail from JTPaints@gmail.com
Subject: Take your mind off of things
Attachments: Photograph 1, Photograph 2
Take a look at these, okay? J.
I can’t resist. I click the first attachment, and it's not what I expected. As if I knew what to expect anymore from my buzzcut, nonconventional, not-my-boyfriend boyfriend.
Why you sneaky little….
“Justin, why am I looking at a picture of your back?”
I can hear him picking up the phone again, walking away from the computer. “Look at the detail.”
Okay, it’s the bedroom. Sheets a little crumpled under his body. He’s lying on his stomach, and I can see one eye open, his head turned to the side. Looking back at the camera. At me.
I swallow, asking, “How the hell did you--”
“Tripod. Borrowed it from Darryl for a school project, forgot to give it back to him.” I can hear him crawling up on the bed again.
My breaths are getting shallow, as I look at the picture a little longer. His body is the ultimate piece of Taylor art. That beautiful ass. Just the slightest hint of hair where hips meet waist, and then smooth perfection.
“You can zoom in. Enlarge it.”
I hear his voice saying that, like it’s a suggestion, but it’s not. He wants me to do it. I expand the image, filling the screen. The beauty of digital photography: seventeen inches of high resolution, 1680-by-1050 pixels, 1.7 million colors of contrast, showing me everything. That gorgeous back, the tiny freckle at his shoulderblade. Fuck. Me.
I’m barely breathing, I’m so hard from looking at this. Looking at him. Justin.
“Brian? I’m on the bed. Like in the photograph.” My eyes are drawn to the same spot, over and over, no matter how much I look at some other place on the screen. Twin dimples at the rise of his butt, the slightest dip and then a valley between his cheeks. I have to get my slacks off or I’m going to cream them if I keep looking at this.
He must hear the zipper going down, because he laughs. “I was going to suggest that. Before you see the next picture.”
Oh. My. Fucking. God. Justin. What have you…. I get my pants down clumsily, and the briefs come off after that, my heart racing as I wonder what he’s put in the second photograph. “Are you…you just took that picture. You’re naked. In bed?” I have to confirm it, as my fingers reach down to touch swollen flesh, wrapping fingers around the upright evidence of what I need.
“That’s right. Naked. In bed. Waiting for you.” His voice has dropped that extra notch, the kind he saves for my ears alone.
Christ, I’m gonna die right now if I don’t touch you! “Funny. I’m naked. In bed, too.” The glib remark covers up the fact that now I’m jacking off, medium-fast, a firm grip at the top as the skin slipslides inside my palm. My eyes can’t leave the screen, the incredibly tight skin of his ass.
Justin hears the catch in my voice, knows exactly what I’m doing, and chuckles. “Yeah. I can tell. So. You gonna tell me about it, or do I have to guess?”
“You guess,” I huff.
I can’t stop now to tell him what’s happening anyway. The picture on the screen reminds me of what I would do if I could touch him. Hold him down. Push myself into that tight little ass and hold on for the ride of my life. Forget everybody and everything except how it feels to be inside him, my hand tangled up in his hair. Feeling him underneath me, around me, a part of me.
“You need to open the second picture.” My fingers are stroking faster, one finger rubbing against the ridged edge, then back down again, a rhythm that it knows and loves better than anything. Oh yeahhhhhhh.
My chest is rising, falling, too fast, in time to the strokes I give, but I can click the link with my left hand while I jerk with the right. Barely.
A new picture fills the screen. He’s still on the bed, on his stomach, but things have changed. Justin’s hands, reaching back, pulling those taut cheeks apart, and I can see a glimmer of something at the darkened pink hole. It glistens. Next to his hip, I see the lube, top open.
“I’m ready,” he says huskily. “Want you. Want you now, Brian.”
Good thing the boy’s in Pittsburgh or I might just kill him for giving me a heart attack by email. My hand is speeding up, stroking my dick a little faster, some moisture gathering at the head and my thumb rides over the top, spreading it. Another drop rolls down, slides over the back of my fingers.
He hears my groans, getting closer, and asks in that low voice again, “Do you want me?”
If I wanted you any more than I do at this instant, I’d be on a plane back to Pittsburgh! “You’re…a fucking…cocktease…,” I gasp out, between strokes. I almost never talk when we’re fucking, but this is different. He turned me on, he can damned well take the consequences!
“Cocktease?” I can hear that smirk even if it is 100 miles and a cellphone away. “A cocktease doesn’t let you come. I want you to come, Brian.”
The self-confidence, the desire I hear in his words-Christ! I’m squeezing right beneath the head, the soft-firm grip letting me control the pace, while I rub the pad of my thumb through the slit, over it, around and around, getting dizzy from how the tingling is growing at the base of my spine.
My eyelids have shut, I’ll have to raise them if I want to look at the picture again. That body, that place he wants me to be. Every nerve in my body is hardwired to my cock, ready to fire. Fuck, I’m so hard! If I’m not careful, I’ll spray the screen when I come. A sound rises up out of my throat, in the gap between what I want and what I can have.
“Come for me, Brian.” He knows I’m close. He knows that sound, how I sound, in the instant before.
“Come now.”
God, I want to! My neck, back arch up, the tensing behind my balls growing stronger. Demanding.
All-consuming.
Overwhelming.
“Do it."
And I do.
+++
He doesn’t have to say anything, though I can hear the smile in what he says next.
“Read your email before you take a shower tomorrow morning.” He gives a short laugh, hangs up, and I lie there, sweaty, dazed, and absolutely certain that the meeting with Telson could not matter less.
I need to rebook on an earlier flight.
Part Two
Rating: NC-17
Summary: You would be amazed by what technology can do these days! Brian/Justin from Brian's point of view.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to CowLip and Showtime. *eyeroll*
Feedback: Yes, please.
Author’s Note: Harmless PWP, because happier_bunny demanded porn. References things that happened in 105, but it is set in early season four.
Title: “Toys for Boys” (1/3)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: You would be amazed by what technology can do these days! Brian/Justin from Brian's point of view.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to CowLip and Showtime. *eyeroll*
Feedback: Yes, please.
Author’s Note: Harmless PWP, because happier_bunny demanded porn. References things that happened in 105, but it’s set in early season four.
Part One: Rubber Capital of the World
“Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. So you’re in Altoona?” Justin cracks the same joke I made years ago at Ryder. It seemed funnier then.
“Akron, you twat. You know, Ohio?” I stretch out on the bed, kicking my shoes off over the edge. Bed’s too soft. I’m gonna end up with a backache tomorrow morning. Fucking hotels.
“Oh right. Rubber capital of the world. Think you’ll find the Fountain of Perpetual Condoms while you’re there?” I hear him snickering on the other end of the line.
“I wish. It’d save money and I’d never run out.” God, I miss my bed. I miss my bed. I miss Justin in my bed.
“Well, be sure to ask tomorrow. After you make the pitch.” I smile at that. Thinks he’s such a wit.
“Will do, genius. After I land the Telson Tires account, I’ll ask Marvin for the key to the super-secret condom warehouse he’s got stashed behind his steel-belted radials factory.” My eyes drift shut. Never wanted to come to fucking Akron in the first place.
He must have heard the touch of doubt in what I said. “You’ll do fine. Now that Remson’s on board, you’re ready to dazzle ‘em all. Just be your brilliant self.”
Where do you get this shit from, your mother? “Your faith is touching, Sunshine. I told you before, the only reason I’m here is that I wouldn’t give him an appointment in Pittsburgh. He doesn’t want Kinnetik, he just wants my cock.”
A pause, then “If he only wanted cock, Brian, he wouldn’t have paid to fly you there. It’s only 100 miles, you could have driven. He wants Kinnetik.”
Yeah. Right. I saw him in that hotel room, sweetheart, and you didn’t. He wants cock.
I guess I'm quiet too long, because Justin finally asks, “You okay?” Soft, like he didn’t want to hurt my feelings.
“Yeah.” I don’t even sound convincing. Christ, we need this account to get other regional ones. We can’t survive on one big account alone. Fucking Marvin Telson.
I can hear tapping on a keyboard, then Justin says, “Hey, you’ve got wireless there, right?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Get on email.”
“You’re joking, right? I’m talking to you and you want me to look at my email? Remind me to check those meds you’re taking when I get back home.” But I do what he asks, booting up the Mac and let it make the connection. Getting the wireless to recognize my laptop will be slow going.
“I’ll be right back. Hang on.” I shake my head, wondering if he was headed for the john. I pour a little more JB from the mini-bar, take a drink, a small one. This late at night, I shouldn’t get hammered. Not with a pitch first thing in the morning.
It takes a few minutes for me to get online, and over the phone I can hear huffing, and some noises that are too muffled to identify. “What’re you doing?” I unbutton my shirt, throw it in the direction of my shoes, and lie back again.
But Justin doesn’t answer me. Finally, the wireless starts working, and then I can hear him typing some more, a few clicks of nails-on-keys. I leave the laptop on the bed, pull a pillow up behind my head. I type, pinging the email account Justin uses to write me, and something pops up.
01:37EST New Mail from JTPaints@gmail.com
Subject: Take your mind off of things
Attachments: Photograph 1, Photograph 2
Take a look at these, okay? J.
I can’t resist. I click the first attachment, and it's not what I expected. As if I knew what to expect anymore from my buzzcut, nonconventional, not-my-boyfriend boyfriend.
Why you sneaky little….
“Justin, why am I looking at a picture of your back?”
I can hear him picking up the phone again, walking away from the computer. “Look at the detail.”
Okay, it’s the bedroom. Sheets a little crumpled under his body. He’s lying on his stomach, and I can see one eye open, his head turned to the side. Looking back at the camera. At me.
I swallow, asking, “How the hell did you--”
“Tripod. Borrowed it from Darryl for a school project, forgot to give it back to him.” I can hear him crawling up on the bed again.
My breaths are getting shallow, as I look at the picture a little longer. His body is the ultimate piece of Taylor art. That beautiful ass. Just the slightest hint of hair where hips meet waist, and then smooth perfection.
“You can zoom in. Enlarge it.”
I hear his voice saying that, like it’s a suggestion, but it’s not. He wants me to do it. I expand the image, filling the screen. The beauty of digital photography: seventeen inches of high resolution, 1680-by-1050 pixels, 1.7 million colors of contrast, showing me everything. That gorgeous back, the tiny freckle at his shoulderblade. Fuck. Me.
I’m barely breathing, I’m so hard from looking at this. Looking at him. Justin.
“Brian? I’m on the bed. Like in the photograph.” My eyes are drawn to the same spot, over and over, no matter how much I look at some other place on the screen. Twin dimples at the rise of his butt, the slightest dip and then a valley between his cheeks. I have to get my slacks off or I’m going to cream them if I keep looking at this.
He must hear the zipper going down, because he laughs. “I was going to suggest that. Before you see the next picture.”
Oh. My. Fucking. God. Justin. What have you…. I get my pants down clumsily, and the briefs come off after that, my heart racing as I wonder what he’s put in the second photograph. “Are you…you just took that picture. You’re naked. In bed?” I have to confirm it, as my fingers reach down to touch swollen flesh, wrapping fingers around the upright evidence of what I need.
“That’s right. Naked. In bed. Waiting for you.” His voice has dropped that extra notch, the kind he saves for my ears alone.
Christ, I’m gonna die right now if I don’t touch you! “Funny. I’m naked. In bed, too.” The glib remark covers up the fact that now I’m jacking off, medium-fast, a firm grip at the top as the skin slipslides inside my palm. My eyes can’t leave the screen, the incredibly tight skin of his ass.
Justin hears the catch in my voice, knows exactly what I’m doing, and chuckles. “Yeah. I can tell. So. You gonna tell me about it, or do I have to guess?”
“You guess,” I huff.
I can’t stop now to tell him what’s happening anyway. The picture on the screen reminds me of what I would do if I could touch him. Hold him down. Push myself into that tight little ass and hold on for the ride of my life. Forget everybody and everything except how it feels to be inside him, my hand tangled up in his hair. Feeling him underneath me, around me, a part of me.
“You need to open the second picture.” My fingers are stroking faster, one finger rubbing against the ridged edge, then back down again, a rhythm that it knows and loves better than anything. Oh yeahhhhhhh.
My chest is rising, falling, too fast, in time to the strokes I give, but I can click the link with my left hand while I jerk with the right. Barely.
A new picture fills the screen. He’s still on the bed, on his stomach, but things have changed. Justin’s hands, reaching back, pulling those taut cheeks apart, and I can see a glimmer of something at the darkened pink hole. It glistens. Next to his hip, I see the lube, top open.
“I’m ready,” he says huskily. “Want you. Want you now, Brian.”
Good thing the boy’s in Pittsburgh or I might just kill him for giving me a heart attack by email. My hand is speeding up, stroking my dick a little faster, some moisture gathering at the head and my thumb rides over the top, spreading it. Another drop rolls down, slides over the back of my fingers.
He hears my groans, getting closer, and asks in that low voice again, “Do you want me?”
If I wanted you any more than I do at this instant, I’d be on a plane back to Pittsburgh! “You’re…a fucking…cocktease…,” I gasp out, between strokes. I almost never talk when we’re fucking, but this is different. He turned me on, he can damned well take the consequences!
“Cocktease?” I can hear that smirk even if it is 100 miles and a cellphone away. “A cocktease doesn’t let you come. I want you to come, Brian.”
The self-confidence, the desire I hear in his words-Christ! I’m squeezing right beneath the head, the soft-firm grip letting me control the pace, while I rub the pad of my thumb through the slit, over it, around and around, getting dizzy from how the tingling is growing at the base of my spine.
My eyelids have shut, I’ll have to raise them if I want to look at the picture again. That body, that place he wants me to be. Every nerve in my body is hardwired to my cock, ready to fire. Fuck, I’m so hard! If I’m not careful, I’ll spray the screen when I come. A sound rises up out of my throat, in the gap between what I want and what I can have.
“Come for me, Brian.” He knows I’m close. He knows that sound, how I sound, in the instant before.
“Come now.”
God, I want to! My neck, back arch up, the tensing behind my balls growing stronger. Demanding.
All-consuming.
Overwhelming.
“Do it."
And I do.
+++
He doesn’t have to say anything, though I can hear the smile in what he says next.
“Read your email before you take a shower tomorrow morning.” He gives a short laugh, hangs up, and I lie there, sweaty, dazed, and absolutely certain that the meeting with Telson could not matter less.
I need to rebook on an earlier flight.
Part Two