Fantasy Season 5: Breaking Away - Episode 502
I really appreciate all of your comments (even though I mistakenly deleted my last post and all of the corresponding comments along with it ). It's a blast to write, but it's nice to know someone is reading on the other end.
mmmorpheusq Kisses and hugs for your tremendous help and unyielding patience. I'm so lucky to have you.
BREAKING AWAY
502
BRIAN
“Just make it happen. What more can I possibly say?”
Ted stutters some more, repeating himself: “I know, I know.”
“Theodore, you’ve done it before, I have confidence in you, now just leave me to my peace and tranquility. Bother Cynthia - that’s why she gets the big bucks. Got it?”
Ted finally retreats and we disconnect. He’s so overly concerned with some prospective client. He’s helped me nab bigger fish before, I don’t see why he should be so worried about this small fry account. He probably thinks now that I’m healthy again, I’ll be faster to bite his head off if he fails. Of course I’d fire his ass in two seconds flat if he ever betrayed me, financially or otherwise, but even I, as surprising as it might sound, have lost accounts - to companies too shortsighted or financially weak to see my brilliance or afford my price tag. Ted will get that account or not; I just want to bask here, sipping my lesbionic tropical drink, replete with maraschino cherry and pineapple spear, watching the tanned and toned bodies of male specimens parade their wares before me. I never thought looking could be such a turn-on.
Too bad I keep checking my watch to see what time Justin will be here. I know he’s here for work and I’m totally capable of taking care of myself, but hey, he’s a nice eye-piece as well, though not exactly tanned and toned and I want him to stay that way. Fuck. He’d better stay that way. Christ, he’ll be too busy drawing story boards and shit to hit the gym or the pool, much. Funny, he’s nothing like my typical physical type, and yet he’s so perfect. I feel myself grin and some stud on the beach before me thinks I’m leering at him. I wave him on.
JUSTIN
Bringing Brian to the pre-production meeting is like thinking up the best Show & Tell ever. What a hit. He is amazing. I mean, of course he looks great, that goes without saying, but he knows all the right things to say to blow everyone out of the water. The whole team is breathless; and it really blows me away how modest Brian is, which is hardly his strong suit. He jokes about being just a pretty face, how all the heavy lifting was done by me and our friend Michael, the plural of which is not lost on me. He also says he was glad his moody behavior gave us so much motivation and that he hardly deserves our adoration, but is always glad to help out his friends.
One of the set designers corners him while I’m midway through discussing lighting with a bunch of other designers. I tune out the designers and eavesdrop on Brian’s conversation:
“Mr. Kinney, so glad you could meet with us…”
“Please call me Brian.”
“Um, sure, right - - Brian. I know you’re close with both of the creators of Rage - - have you used your friendship to alter Rage in any way, anything you didn’t agree with from early drafts of the comic?”
“I really haven’t had that much input, besides making sure they built up my chin. They’re the talent - I’m merely the shell they based him on.”
Everyone fawning around Brian laughs - he looks up and our eyes meet. He smirks and rolls his.
“Mr. - oh, I mean, Brian, were you offended by any of the blatant sexual behavior, the liberties the creators took with your likeness?”
”None whatsoever and I’m not sure what you mean by liberties.”
More laughter.
I see Connor James approaching us. Most of the actors are not present, but I know Connor was intrigued, so he showed up. I watch him inch his way up to Brian and they have an exchange I can’t hear since one of the costumers starts chatting me up. I eye Connor and can tell Connor is intimidated, which kind of thrills me in a sick way. I mean, he’s a big star, but Brian… well, Brian is Brian. At one point Connor is standing really close to him and I see Brian clearly has a few inches on the super star; come to think of it, in more ways than one.
“So, enjoying yourself?” Brett somewhat startles me and the costumer nods at me and moves on. Brett is the only one prepared for Brian’s charm, having met him briefly that night in Babylon - a low point in our relationship and something I don’t often reflect upon, me trying to act like I didn’t know Brian had cancer, begging Brian to take me home on account of fake food poisoning, so I could get him to rest. God that was horrible. I shake the image away to respond to Brett.
“Yeah, I’m really happy Brian was able to swing this trip. We’ve never been away together before.”
“Oh - and you’re so busy. I wish we didn’t have such a tight schedule,” Brett halfheartedly apologizes.
“We knew exactly what we were getting ourselves into,” I explain. “It’s still worth it, and the house is amazing. Besides, we’re going to be apart so long, even if we work out a visit or two before my work on the film wraps.”
“You worried?” Brett inquires, which kind of throws me.
“What would I be worried about?” I’m puzzled. “You know the way we operate.”
“Justin, a sexually open relationship is not immune from trouble.”
I stare at him, trying to figure out why he is counseling me about this.
“Brett, I appreciate your concern, if that’s what it is, but Brian and I are committed partners and while I’m sure we will miss each other, I’m not worried.” I give him one of those “got it?” looks and hope this conversation is over.
Brett squeezes my shoulder and adds a final “No prob, just looking out for our esteemed assistant art director.”
Out of my peripheral vision I catch Connor heading toward the bar and Brian turning toward us; I see he’s had enough.
“Is it a wrap?” he whispers seductively in my ear and I grin at Brett.
“I think we’re out of here. See ya tomorrow.”
“Bye Justin, thanks for coming Brian,” Brett offers.
“My pleasure Brett, and Justin, speaking of pleasure…”
I cut him off with a wide-eyed, “Time to go!” And, with that I direct Brian out of the sound stage toward the Jeep, which Brian insists on referring to as the Cherokee, to distinguish it from a real Jeep. We’re going to hit some hot spots in West Hollywood, WeHo - the gay Mecca.
BRIAN
God, it’s good to be away from the Pitts. This club Brett recommended is utterly amazing, the clientele right out of GQ. Justin and I inch our way toward a second-level bar, do a few shots and then just people-watch.
“Wanna dance?” he asks, pointing to a less crowded area of the floor.
“Of course, in a few,” I mutter while he scans the crowd.
He seems more focused than just absorbing the general beauty of the patrons.
While gazing intently below he adds, “Trying to decide if we might do take-out, after we dance, later.”
I nuzzle up to him and let my forehead brush against his soft luscious locks; Jesus he has great hair.
“I’m only hungry for one thing, let’s find out where that might be appropriate in these here parts,” and I put my right hand on his stomach and worm its way down his waist band, thankful he’s commando for a change, and fondle him seductively. Like I have to try to be seductive.
“Hmm. Nice. I just thought maybe you’d want some company tonight.”
I remove my hand abruptly and stare at him coldly. “You said you didn’t need to work tonight. I told you I was fine with your schedule, but after showing me off like some prize pony you said you were mine for the evening. If things changed…”
He shuts me up with a kiss, and I’m mildly embarrassed I ranted so long on him. As if I didn’t have last minute schedule changes more often than not. I begin to apologize - in Kinney fashion of course.
“I was being a cunt, I just -” and again he cuts me off with a kiss.
“Brian, I just thought you’d like to take home a few guys with us, have some fun in the pool, you haven’t had much variety this week and I want you to have a good time.”
He smirks at me and for some reason I am immediately transported to the pickle king’s mansion on that infamous muncher wedding day. Helping to zip Lindsay’s pathetic frock, hearing Lindsay reject my offer of a honeymoon trip. Hearing her tell me to go to Miami and fuck a thousand guys for her. Like I didn’t even owe it to my son to see his mommies get hitched, or whatever the fuck they did that day.
What have I done to make those who love me most NOT truly understand me? Am I that much of a shit?
Well, there are merits to rhetorical questions. I guess.
“Sounds fun,” I admit. “But, what I really want to do is plow your smooth tight ass tonight.” We both chuckle at the reference to Justin's foray into the hustler world. What were we thinking?
He looks puzzled. “Really? You’ve been ogling everything that moves here, you can have me any old time.”
“And I intend to - now come on, I’m the top, remember?” After which I drag him around and, like a comedy of errors, it takes me three tries to find a room where fucking is permitted, so by the time I spin him around tugging off his pants, we’re both laughing hysterically. But, as I lean over his smooth back, his shirt pulled up high against his neck, and I caress my cheek against him making little kissy sounds, I open my eyes and check out the pairs around us, the floor, the walls, and it’s really pristine. Some cleaning crew they must use. Very impressive. Babylon is such a pit.
JUSTIN
We are having the most amazing evening - out of a dream really. Drinking and fucking and dancing at one of the three clubs Brett said were a must - then Brian humors me with more drinks and some nibbles at an outdoor café before he insists we go to Malibu for an evening stroll. An evening stroll/fuck session is more like it. But the first round is different, tender almost, well as tender as it can be with sand up every crevice known to man and then some.
Brian positions me gently on my back beneath him, kissing me deeply - exploring my mouth with his tongue, claiming every molar one at a time. He scoops his hands under my armpits and holds my back with possessive force, pushing my upper body into his embrace; my ass deeper into the sand. Of course my body cushions Brian and protects his orifices from intruding granules.
He spreads my legs to check if there’s enough lube left over from the club -lingering a little longer than necessary- exploring me, torturing me, kissing me all the while, sucking on my lobes and chin, then gently biting my nipples, just enough to drive me wild.
He stops for a moment to grab the lube from atop our discarded clothes. Gently, he spreads my legs again and inserts a ton of lube, way more than necessary.
“What do you have in mind?” I ask him cautiously.
“Shhh,” he licks circles around my nipples. “There’s so much sand up your ass, I don’t want to rub the condom raw, not to mention my dick. We can swim later to clean it all off.”
“Hmmm.” I spread my arms flat to my sides, just letting him do with me what he may. And it’s heaven, Brian working his fingers and then his dick into me, pounding the sand so far up me I don’t want to think about how it’s going to get out, but his thrusts are slow and deliberate, his right hand working my cock while his mouth continues his ministrations to my face and upper body.
It’s a drawn out fuck, love making truly, and I just lay back and soak it all in, holding off as long as possible, though Brian always wins there; endurance being his specialty. Afterwards, Brian lies on me, crushing me really, while we recharge for round two. Eventually, I inch him onto the sand next to me.
When our hearts calm down I straddle Brian, intent on riding him this time. His dick is sandless, protected by the rubber, but I’m a sticky gooey mess. I should squirt some lube up his ass so he can share in the pleasure, though his pubes are weighted down with muck, sandy jizz probably; he should have shaved.
While he tries to wipe the goop off his hands with little success, I climb on his dick and have a fun ride while he pretends to buck and throw me off. It’s a good spirited fuck.
Yet throughout it all, I have this knot in the middle of my chest, this feeling of unease that I can’t seem to shake. These horrible painful images keep rising to the surface from where I’d buried them, hopefully for good.
Alone in my hospital room, willing Brian to visit me.
Banging on the loft door after Brian refused to let me in.
The look on Brian’s face, fucking that trick when I returned from Vermont.
The look on Ethan’s face, when Brian pretended to introduce me to him.
Brian pulling back the covers to admit me to his bed, even though he knew I’d betrayed him.
Brian’s unmasked face watching me leave the Rage party with Ethan.
At Kinnetik, Brian announcing he’s going to Ibiza.
Standing in the loft foyer, yet again, when Brian physically threw me out after Michael told him I knew he had cancer, my DVDs strewn on the hard floor around me.
Fuck me. I can’t do this. I don’t have time to become an emotional wreck right now.
BRIAN
I know he’s upset about something, bothered at a minimum. We’re walking hand in hand by the shoreline, scantily clad is an overstatement. It’s almost morning, so nobody is around, or at least nobody who cares. I’ve been the model boyfriend and yet - something isn’t right. Do I wait for him to blurt it out or do I pry it out of him and ruin the mood? Subtlety is not my strong suit, but I give it a shot.
“One more quickie before I bring you home and settle you into your bed?”
“Enough with the settling me in, it’s like your phrase of the week,” he bumps me with his hip.
“Well, if I recall correctly that is the purpose of this trip, to help settle you in, oh, and have an all-expense paid vacation as well,” I smile sideways at him.
“I’m settled already, I’ve got the leased car, the house is stocked, I know how to get back and forth to the studio. You’re done.”
I hold my heart in mock pain. “No more use for me?”
“Fuck you. It’s just the settling in part that’s done.”
“Justin, I plan on settling myself into you repeatedly for the remainder of my stay, so get over it.”
“Asshole” and again he bumps me. I really don’t understand what’s up his ass, and it’s obviously not me.
Pulling Justin into a tight embrace, I start a flurry of butterfly kisses over his forehead, then eyes, nose. At his nose he starts to giggle and fight me. I don’t let him move. He forgets sometimes that I really am exceedingly stronger than he, at least physically I am, when I want to be.
“The gerbils are doing overtime inside that beautiful widdle head of yours. Care to give them a rest?” He gives me a puzzled look.
“Justin.” I use my authoritative voice.
Silence.
”Justin,” I try again, maybe I’m losing my edge.
“That’s my name,” he snarls and I’m caught off guard as he pulls away and moves quickly over the sand toward the area where the car is parked. I just stand there, thoroughly baffled. Fuck it. If he’s upset about something why can’t he just say it?
Of course, it’s beyond me to just fucking ask him what’s up. I can cajole him, I can seduce him, and I can order him around; but as direct and blunt as I am with everyone else, I just fucking will not ask him.
“Justin, wait up!” I yell in the direction he vanished.
No answer.
Christ. I find myself running up the sand, dick exposed and bobbing beneath my tank top, the sole garment I’m wearing. Not only do I want to talk to Justin, but only he knows where we left the rest of our clothes.
I’m just about to shout louder for him when I see a figure sitting on the sand, huddled next to our pile of discarded apparel.
“There you are. I couldn’t find you.”
Nothing.
I sit down next to him and put my arm around him. He doesn’t protest, but he doesn’t melt into me either.
“What’s wrong?” There, I did it. I asked him. Wow, that was not so hard after all.
He looks at me and shrugs.
“I’m trying to do this right,” I point out, “So a little cooperation on your part would be greatly appreciated. I’d like to know what you’re thinking about. You don’t seem right, and for once, I don’t feel like I’ve done anything to upset you.”
Justin's only reaction is a weak snort.
I want to say his name, but seeing how he reacted before, I decide to wait him out.
“Brian.” He stops.
“I’m here and I’m listening.” I rub his arm soothingly. “If you don’t want to talk about it, then just tell me that and I’ll drop it. But I feel like there’s something you want to say -- and we don’t have all the time in the world, at least not in person.”
He nods, “I know. It’s just…” He sighs again.
My patience for this warm and cuddly version of myself is waning.
“O.K.” I give in, standing up and pulling him to his feet. “Let’s go home, tomorrow is another day.”
We both fumble around for our pants and carry the rest of our shit back to the car. It’s not my car, so I don’t care how much sand we muck it up with.
Justin buckles himself in and I drive us home in silence. After I have us safely in the garage with the electric door closing behind us, I notice the blond cherub has fallen fast asleep, probably was asleep the whole trip, while I thought he was just brooding. Great.
I leave him in the car and head into the house, dropping our sandy shit in the mud room and picking up some clean towels to better remove beach debris. Then I climb the winding staircase to our bedroom and pull back the covers on the massive made-for-an-orgy sized bed. A giant white fur ball snarls at me, not appreciating such an abrupt arousal, and it vacates our room for another location more conducive to its marathon nap sessions. Good riddance.
Now to retrieve my sleeping angel.
JUSTIN
I’m barely aware of being carried from the car like my Dad used to do when I was five years old. That is until Brian stumbles and my shoulder hits a door jamb.
“Ow!”
”Shhh,” he murmurs. “Almost there.”
Now I’m totally awake and realize that Brian is carrying me, in a very Ragian way, up to his lair, I mean our bedroom. Of course, when he gets to the bed, he plops me down hard.
“I’m taking a shower,” he informs me abruptly. “Go to sleep. The sun will be up before you know it.”
I blink a few times and watch Brian’s normally tempting ass enter the bathroom and leave me to slumber by my lonesome. I think I ruined our perfect night. With that thought, I pull off my pants and shirt - - glide my sandy ass into bed. I’ll have to strip the bed tomorrow. A sigh or two later, I roll over deciding to take Brian’s advice; in moments I’m asleep.
End 502
mmmorpheusq Kisses and hugs for your tremendous help and unyielding patience. I'm so lucky to have you.
BREAKING AWAY
502
BRIAN
“Just make it happen. What more can I possibly say?”
Ted stutters some more, repeating himself: “I know, I know.”
“Theodore, you’ve done it before, I have confidence in you, now just leave me to my peace and tranquility. Bother Cynthia - that’s why she gets the big bucks. Got it?”
Ted finally retreats and we disconnect. He’s so overly concerned with some prospective client. He’s helped me nab bigger fish before, I don’t see why he should be so worried about this small fry account. He probably thinks now that I’m healthy again, I’ll be faster to bite his head off if he fails. Of course I’d fire his ass in two seconds flat if he ever betrayed me, financially or otherwise, but even I, as surprising as it might sound, have lost accounts - to companies too shortsighted or financially weak to see my brilliance or afford my price tag. Ted will get that account or not; I just want to bask here, sipping my lesbionic tropical drink, replete with maraschino cherry and pineapple spear, watching the tanned and toned bodies of male specimens parade their wares before me. I never thought looking could be such a turn-on.
Too bad I keep checking my watch to see what time Justin will be here. I know he’s here for work and I’m totally capable of taking care of myself, but hey, he’s a nice eye-piece as well, though not exactly tanned and toned and I want him to stay that way. Fuck. He’d better stay that way. Christ, he’ll be too busy drawing story boards and shit to hit the gym or the pool, much. Funny, he’s nothing like my typical physical type, and yet he’s so perfect. I feel myself grin and some stud on the beach before me thinks I’m leering at him. I wave him on.
JUSTIN
Bringing Brian to the pre-production meeting is like thinking up the best Show & Tell ever. What a hit. He is amazing. I mean, of course he looks great, that goes without saying, but he knows all the right things to say to blow everyone out of the water. The whole team is breathless; and it really blows me away how modest Brian is, which is hardly his strong suit. He jokes about being just a pretty face, how all the heavy lifting was done by me and our friend Michael, the plural of which is not lost on me. He also says he was glad his moody behavior gave us so much motivation and that he hardly deserves our adoration, but is always glad to help out his friends.
One of the set designers corners him while I’m midway through discussing lighting with a bunch of other designers. I tune out the designers and eavesdrop on Brian’s conversation:
“Mr. Kinney, so glad you could meet with us…”
“Please call me Brian.”
“Um, sure, right - - Brian. I know you’re close with both of the creators of Rage - - have you used your friendship to alter Rage in any way, anything you didn’t agree with from early drafts of the comic?”
“I really haven’t had that much input, besides making sure they built up my chin. They’re the talent - I’m merely the shell they based him on.”
Everyone fawning around Brian laughs - he looks up and our eyes meet. He smirks and rolls his.
“Mr. - oh, I mean, Brian, were you offended by any of the blatant sexual behavior, the liberties the creators took with your likeness?”
”None whatsoever and I’m not sure what you mean by liberties.”
More laughter.
I see Connor James approaching us. Most of the actors are not present, but I know Connor was intrigued, so he showed up. I watch him inch his way up to Brian and they have an exchange I can’t hear since one of the costumers starts chatting me up. I eye Connor and can tell Connor is intimidated, which kind of thrills me in a sick way. I mean, he’s a big star, but Brian… well, Brian is Brian. At one point Connor is standing really close to him and I see Brian clearly has a few inches on the super star; come to think of it, in more ways than one.
“So, enjoying yourself?” Brett somewhat startles me and the costumer nods at me and moves on. Brett is the only one prepared for Brian’s charm, having met him briefly that night in Babylon - a low point in our relationship and something I don’t often reflect upon, me trying to act like I didn’t know Brian had cancer, begging Brian to take me home on account of fake food poisoning, so I could get him to rest. God that was horrible. I shake the image away to respond to Brett.
“Yeah, I’m really happy Brian was able to swing this trip. We’ve never been away together before.”
“Oh - and you’re so busy. I wish we didn’t have such a tight schedule,” Brett halfheartedly apologizes.
“We knew exactly what we were getting ourselves into,” I explain. “It’s still worth it, and the house is amazing. Besides, we’re going to be apart so long, even if we work out a visit or two before my work on the film wraps.”
“You worried?” Brett inquires, which kind of throws me.
“What would I be worried about?” I’m puzzled. “You know the way we operate.”
“Justin, a sexually open relationship is not immune from trouble.”
I stare at him, trying to figure out why he is counseling me about this.
“Brett, I appreciate your concern, if that’s what it is, but Brian and I are committed partners and while I’m sure we will miss each other, I’m not worried.” I give him one of those “got it?” looks and hope this conversation is over.
Brett squeezes my shoulder and adds a final “No prob, just looking out for our esteemed assistant art director.”
Out of my peripheral vision I catch Connor heading toward the bar and Brian turning toward us; I see he’s had enough.
“Is it a wrap?” he whispers seductively in my ear and I grin at Brett.
“I think we’re out of here. See ya tomorrow.”
“Bye Justin, thanks for coming Brian,” Brett offers.
“My pleasure Brett, and Justin, speaking of pleasure…”
I cut him off with a wide-eyed, “Time to go!” And, with that I direct Brian out of the sound stage toward the Jeep, which Brian insists on referring to as the Cherokee, to distinguish it from a real Jeep. We’re going to hit some hot spots in West Hollywood, WeHo - the gay Mecca.
BRIAN
God, it’s good to be away from the Pitts. This club Brett recommended is utterly amazing, the clientele right out of GQ. Justin and I inch our way toward a second-level bar, do a few shots and then just people-watch.
“Wanna dance?” he asks, pointing to a less crowded area of the floor.
“Of course, in a few,” I mutter while he scans the crowd.
He seems more focused than just absorbing the general beauty of the patrons.
While gazing intently below he adds, “Trying to decide if we might do take-out, after we dance, later.”
I nuzzle up to him and let my forehead brush against his soft luscious locks; Jesus he has great hair.
“I’m only hungry for one thing, let’s find out where that might be appropriate in these here parts,” and I put my right hand on his stomach and worm its way down his waist band, thankful he’s commando for a change, and fondle him seductively. Like I have to try to be seductive.
“Hmm. Nice. I just thought maybe you’d want some company tonight.”
I remove my hand abruptly and stare at him coldly. “You said you didn’t need to work tonight. I told you I was fine with your schedule, but after showing me off like some prize pony you said you were mine for the evening. If things changed…”
He shuts me up with a kiss, and I’m mildly embarrassed I ranted so long on him. As if I didn’t have last minute schedule changes more often than not. I begin to apologize - in Kinney fashion of course.
“I was being a cunt, I just -” and again he cuts me off with a kiss.
“Brian, I just thought you’d like to take home a few guys with us, have some fun in the pool, you haven’t had much variety this week and I want you to have a good time.”
He smirks at me and for some reason I am immediately transported to the pickle king’s mansion on that infamous muncher wedding day. Helping to zip Lindsay’s pathetic frock, hearing Lindsay reject my offer of a honeymoon trip. Hearing her tell me to go to Miami and fuck a thousand guys for her. Like I didn’t even owe it to my son to see his mommies get hitched, or whatever the fuck they did that day.
What have I done to make those who love me most NOT truly understand me? Am I that much of a shit?
Well, there are merits to rhetorical questions. I guess.
“Sounds fun,” I admit. “But, what I really want to do is plow your smooth tight ass tonight.” We both chuckle at the reference to Justin's foray into the hustler world. What were we thinking?
He looks puzzled. “Really? You’ve been ogling everything that moves here, you can have me any old time.”
“And I intend to - now come on, I’m the top, remember?” After which I drag him around and, like a comedy of errors, it takes me three tries to find a room where fucking is permitted, so by the time I spin him around tugging off his pants, we’re both laughing hysterically. But, as I lean over his smooth back, his shirt pulled up high against his neck, and I caress my cheek against him making little kissy sounds, I open my eyes and check out the pairs around us, the floor, the walls, and it’s really pristine. Some cleaning crew they must use. Very impressive. Babylon is such a pit.
JUSTIN
We are having the most amazing evening - out of a dream really. Drinking and fucking and dancing at one of the three clubs Brett said were a must - then Brian humors me with more drinks and some nibbles at an outdoor café before he insists we go to Malibu for an evening stroll. An evening stroll/fuck session is more like it. But the first round is different, tender almost, well as tender as it can be with sand up every crevice known to man and then some.
Brian positions me gently on my back beneath him, kissing me deeply - exploring my mouth with his tongue, claiming every molar one at a time. He scoops his hands under my armpits and holds my back with possessive force, pushing my upper body into his embrace; my ass deeper into the sand. Of course my body cushions Brian and protects his orifices from intruding granules.
He spreads my legs to check if there’s enough lube left over from the club -lingering a little longer than necessary- exploring me, torturing me, kissing me all the while, sucking on my lobes and chin, then gently biting my nipples, just enough to drive me wild.
He stops for a moment to grab the lube from atop our discarded clothes. Gently, he spreads my legs again and inserts a ton of lube, way more than necessary.
“What do you have in mind?” I ask him cautiously.
“Shhh,” he licks circles around my nipples. “There’s so much sand up your ass, I don’t want to rub the condom raw, not to mention my dick. We can swim later to clean it all off.”
“Hmmm.” I spread my arms flat to my sides, just letting him do with me what he may. And it’s heaven, Brian working his fingers and then his dick into me, pounding the sand so far up me I don’t want to think about how it’s going to get out, but his thrusts are slow and deliberate, his right hand working my cock while his mouth continues his ministrations to my face and upper body.
It’s a drawn out fuck, love making truly, and I just lay back and soak it all in, holding off as long as possible, though Brian always wins there; endurance being his specialty. Afterwards, Brian lies on me, crushing me really, while we recharge for round two. Eventually, I inch him onto the sand next to me.
When our hearts calm down I straddle Brian, intent on riding him this time. His dick is sandless, protected by the rubber, but I’m a sticky gooey mess. I should squirt some lube up his ass so he can share in the pleasure, though his pubes are weighted down with muck, sandy jizz probably; he should have shaved.
While he tries to wipe the goop off his hands with little success, I climb on his dick and have a fun ride while he pretends to buck and throw me off. It’s a good spirited fuck.
Yet throughout it all, I have this knot in the middle of my chest, this feeling of unease that I can’t seem to shake. These horrible painful images keep rising to the surface from where I’d buried them, hopefully for good.
Alone in my hospital room, willing Brian to visit me.
Banging on the loft door after Brian refused to let me in.
The look on Brian’s face, fucking that trick when I returned from Vermont.
The look on Ethan’s face, when Brian pretended to introduce me to him.
Brian pulling back the covers to admit me to his bed, even though he knew I’d betrayed him.
Brian’s unmasked face watching me leave the Rage party with Ethan.
At Kinnetik, Brian announcing he’s going to Ibiza.
Standing in the loft foyer, yet again, when Brian physically threw me out after Michael told him I knew he had cancer, my DVDs strewn on the hard floor around me.
Fuck me. I can’t do this. I don’t have time to become an emotional wreck right now.
BRIAN
I know he’s upset about something, bothered at a minimum. We’re walking hand in hand by the shoreline, scantily clad is an overstatement. It’s almost morning, so nobody is around, or at least nobody who cares. I’ve been the model boyfriend and yet - something isn’t right. Do I wait for him to blurt it out or do I pry it out of him and ruin the mood? Subtlety is not my strong suit, but I give it a shot.
“One more quickie before I bring you home and settle you into your bed?”
“Enough with the settling me in, it’s like your phrase of the week,” he bumps me with his hip.
“Well, if I recall correctly that is the purpose of this trip, to help settle you in, oh, and have an all-expense paid vacation as well,” I smile sideways at him.
“I’m settled already, I’ve got the leased car, the house is stocked, I know how to get back and forth to the studio. You’re done.”
I hold my heart in mock pain. “No more use for me?”
“Fuck you. It’s just the settling in part that’s done.”
“Justin, I plan on settling myself into you repeatedly for the remainder of my stay, so get over it.”
“Asshole” and again he bumps me. I really don’t understand what’s up his ass, and it’s obviously not me.
Pulling Justin into a tight embrace, I start a flurry of butterfly kisses over his forehead, then eyes, nose. At his nose he starts to giggle and fight me. I don’t let him move. He forgets sometimes that I really am exceedingly stronger than he, at least physically I am, when I want to be.
“The gerbils are doing overtime inside that beautiful widdle head of yours. Care to give them a rest?” He gives me a puzzled look.
“Justin.” I use my authoritative voice.
Silence.
”Justin,” I try again, maybe I’m losing my edge.
“That’s my name,” he snarls and I’m caught off guard as he pulls away and moves quickly over the sand toward the area where the car is parked. I just stand there, thoroughly baffled. Fuck it. If he’s upset about something why can’t he just say it?
Of course, it’s beyond me to just fucking ask him what’s up. I can cajole him, I can seduce him, and I can order him around; but as direct and blunt as I am with everyone else, I just fucking will not ask him.
“Justin, wait up!” I yell in the direction he vanished.
No answer.
Christ. I find myself running up the sand, dick exposed and bobbing beneath my tank top, the sole garment I’m wearing. Not only do I want to talk to Justin, but only he knows where we left the rest of our clothes.
I’m just about to shout louder for him when I see a figure sitting on the sand, huddled next to our pile of discarded apparel.
“There you are. I couldn’t find you.”
Nothing.
I sit down next to him and put my arm around him. He doesn’t protest, but he doesn’t melt into me either.
“What’s wrong?” There, I did it. I asked him. Wow, that was not so hard after all.
He looks at me and shrugs.
“I’m trying to do this right,” I point out, “So a little cooperation on your part would be greatly appreciated. I’d like to know what you’re thinking about. You don’t seem right, and for once, I don’t feel like I’ve done anything to upset you.”
Justin's only reaction is a weak snort.
I want to say his name, but seeing how he reacted before, I decide to wait him out.
“Brian.” He stops.
“I’m here and I’m listening.” I rub his arm soothingly. “If you don’t want to talk about it, then just tell me that and I’ll drop it. But I feel like there’s something you want to say -- and we don’t have all the time in the world, at least not in person.”
He nods, “I know. It’s just…” He sighs again.
My patience for this warm and cuddly version of myself is waning.
“O.K.” I give in, standing up and pulling him to his feet. “Let’s go home, tomorrow is another day.”
We both fumble around for our pants and carry the rest of our shit back to the car. It’s not my car, so I don’t care how much sand we muck it up with.
Justin buckles himself in and I drive us home in silence. After I have us safely in the garage with the electric door closing behind us, I notice the blond cherub has fallen fast asleep, probably was asleep the whole trip, while I thought he was just brooding. Great.
I leave him in the car and head into the house, dropping our sandy shit in the mud room and picking up some clean towels to better remove beach debris. Then I climb the winding staircase to our bedroom and pull back the covers on the massive made-for-an-orgy sized bed. A giant white fur ball snarls at me, not appreciating such an abrupt arousal, and it vacates our room for another location more conducive to its marathon nap sessions. Good riddance.
Now to retrieve my sleeping angel.
JUSTIN
I’m barely aware of being carried from the car like my Dad used to do when I was five years old. That is until Brian stumbles and my shoulder hits a door jamb.
“Ow!”
”Shhh,” he murmurs. “Almost there.”
Now I’m totally awake and realize that Brian is carrying me, in a very Ragian way, up to his lair, I mean our bedroom. Of course, when he gets to the bed, he plops me down hard.
“I’m taking a shower,” he informs me abruptly. “Go to sleep. The sun will be up before you know it.”
I blink a few times and watch Brian’s normally tempting ass enter the bathroom and leave me to slumber by my lonesome. I think I ruined our perfect night. With that thought, I pull off my pants and shirt - - glide my sandy ass into bed. I’ll have to strip the bed tomorrow. A sigh or two later, I roll over deciding to take Brian’s advice; in moments I’m asleep.
End 502