Fanfic: Horsepower
Title: Horsepower
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Rating: NC-17...ish
Pairing: Brian/Justin; some Ethan/Justin and hints of Justin/Connor James
Timeline: Early Season 3 to Post 513
Summary: I'm not a car person, and never have been. I wonder it's because it is Brian's...
Notes: Yeah, started out as me wanting to write something about Brian's car being a metaphor for the man himself, and it grew out of control. I'm not at all sure I like the last part, though, especially considering it's the first time I've written anything quite of that nature, but I kept feeling like it wouldn't be right if it didn't end up with Justin getting what he wanted...
---
1.
“You want a ride?” I turn around to see Brian standing from the diner booth and pulling on his coat. He looks at me expectantly and says, “The office is in that direction.”
I hesitate slightly. Ethan doesn't like me associating with Brian, and while I normally wouldn't care, I don't feel like arguing with him. To buy myself time, I pull out my phone to check the time. Ethan will be in class, and what he doesn't know won't kill him. And as much as I don't want to be in a relationship with Brian, I still like him, and accepting a ride might dispel any ideas the Brian may have gotten while I was working on the Carnival poster with him.
God, I think. It must have seemed like I didn't want to near him because I was disgusted. Or I thought he would jump me. It had been completely the opposite, actually; being close to him, smelling the traces of his cigarettes and cologne, feeling the heat radiate from his body, made me almost afraid I would jump him.
I stick my phone back into my pocket and shrug. “Sure. Why not?”
He'd parked around the side of the building. It's the first time I've seen his new car-the one that Emmett had joked about being Brian's new penile extension. I only know enough about cars to know that sport cars are generally compensation for something, although I'm not sure that Brian really needed to compensate for his dick size. I have to admit, though, there is something distinctly phallic about it.
I start to get it when he turns on the engine, and I think about Leda describing how it felt to ride a bike. There's just something about feeling it roar between your legs, she had said. Something indeed. There's something about the Stingray that suits Brian well; maybe it's the sleek, sexy exterior, or maybe it's the fact that there isn't much room inside for more than one person with baggage, but it's better for him than the jeep had been. Great for a fast, fun ride, not so much for traveling long distances.
~ ~ ~
I wake up and realize with some embarrassment that I'd come all over myself. I glance over at Ethan, glad to see I hadn't woken him, especially considering what my dreams had been about. Slowly, I pull myself out of bed and make my way to the bathroom.
“Jus?” Ethan calls. Maybe I shouldn't have moved. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I'm fine.” Except that I just had a very wet dream about my ex, and that fucking car. I close my eyes and lean against the sink, still envisioning Brian pushing me onto the hood of the 'Vette and ripping my clothes off. Great, I'm getting hard again.
“You coming back to bed?” Ethan called again.
“Yeah,” I said, willing my dick down.
Brian wouldn't have asked if I was okay. He would have stayed in bed and just waited for me. Or he would have gotten up, a little voice in my head says. He wouldn't say anything, just wrap his arms around you.
I suppose Ethan could do that, but it wouldn't be quite the same. A lot of it had to do with how tall he was; he was about my own size, and his chest wasn't as broad as Brian's, so would never be able to wrap himself around me quite the same way. But that wasn't all. He didn't have quite the same underlying strength that Brian did.
It occurs to me that I can't remember the last time I had two orgasms in one night. Yeah, Ethan makes soft love to me, but sometimes I do miss the all-night fuck sessions.
Poor, sweet Ethan, I think. He's like a BMW...he's got everything you could want, except the horsepower.
Now I have to return to bed. Ethan has learned not ask too many questions when I wake up at night. I think of dry, wrinkled vaginas, and nearly gag, but it gets rid of the erection.
~ ~ ~
2.
I give a smile as I hear the purr of the engine coming up behind me. I know without looking who it is; not many people at PIFA can afford a car like that. I turn my head to look, and Brian pulls the car up to the curb.
“Lunch, Taylor?” he asks.
“You know, Mr. Kinney, you might get in trouble if you get caught fraternizing with your employees,” I reply with a smirk.
I can see his eyes darken from here; he gets a little high from having some sort of power, however superficial, over me. I'm getting off on people staring at me talking to the gorgeous guy in the hot car as they walked by. I'm done denying that I'm an exhibitionist, and I want people to know that he's mine as much as he likes to show off that I'm his.
Still, I haven't quite gotten up the courage to admit to my relatively new fetish. And I know that this car is his baby, in that typical man fashion. The Mies van der Rohe table was a spending binge on one level, to show himself that he still had the money and cajones to put his feet on a table that cost more than most people make in a month. But not the Stingray; you don't eat in the car, you don't blow him in the car, and I have to assume that it also means you don't fuck on the hood of the car.
Maybe if I make it very enticing, he'll do it without thinking. I have visions of offering myself with a leather cock ring on and a dildo up my ass, but it doesn't have quite the same appeal as Brian initiating the sex. I realized at some point post-Ethan, pre-Brian, that Brian's need to fuck me right-the-fuck-now was how he made me feel beautiful, more than Ethan actually telling me.
“Justin.”
I snap back from my thoughts, and Brian is looking at me with raised eyebrows. I get into the car, feeling the motor underneath me. I lean forward and kiss him, long and deep. He can see that I'm turned on, and he gives a wicked smile, raising an eyebrow. It's been seeming, lately, that we're constantly horny, much more so than normal, which for Brian is really saying something. Just the other day, Deb commented that we were like “fucking newlyweds, all over again.”
I buckle my seat belt; Brian likes pushing the speed limit in this car-who wouldn't?-but it makes him something of a dangerous driver. I think that it's that slight danger about him that I've always loved.
~ ~ ~
3.
Lots of people in L.A. have expensive sports cars, but none of them really turn me on the way Brian's does. It strikes me as a little strange, but then it was strange for me to get turned on by it at all. I'm not a car person, and never have been. I wonder it's because it is Brian's; I've been fucked by larger dicks than his, even by more shapely ones, but none are quite as perfect or beautiful as his.
One night, I let Connor James fuck me on his car, on a cliff overlooking the city. My skin squeaks on the metal of the hood, and he has to lean way over me because of the low height of it. It's completely wrong, and for the first time I just want him to finish and get the fuck out of me. He's hot, rich, a movie star, but in the end just a cheap imitation of Brian.
Months later, when Brian tells me that he didn't think I was ever coming back, I think about that night. I think about how wrong it was. L. A. is full of gorgeous, successful assholes with expensive cars, but the fact was that the only gorgeous, successful asshole I wanted was in Pittsburgh.
I've been around the block in a completely different way than Brian, and nothing quite seems to compare. I'm sure it's the same for him-I know for a fact that he's been with other guys who are hotter by most conventions, but it's not right, not the way he and I are. I'm sure he's never found a guy who fits against his chest, under his chin quite the way I do; I know I haven't found anyone who surrounds me quite as well as he does.
~ ~ ~
4.
I don't know many people in New York who drives their car. The guys who own really nice cars live outside the city, and find a place to park before taking public transportation everywhere. It's stupid to own a car in a city where everyone quite literally lives on top of each other.
I'm fine with this, because I'm not a car person. I don't get turned on by cars. Except that one time, the first time Brian comes to visit, and he drove the entire distance. He pulls up, and I recognize that wonderful purr of the engine even from my apartment. I look outside just as he's getting out of the green Corvette, and it's summer so he's sweating in his white wife beater and jeans, and his hair is in complete disarray. I've never seen anything as beautiful in my entire life.
He looks surprised as I come bursting out of the apartment in flip flops and throw myself on him. I feel like I'm trying to climb inside him as I kiss him. He backs up slightly, and for a thrilling moment I hope he's about to lean against the side of the car, and maybe I can push it further. Never mind that it's broad daylight in New York, so a given that someone I don't want to watch will be.
But he doesn't. Instead he pushes me toward the apartment I've been sharing with Daphne's friends, one of whom is straight. I'm just glad that I have my own room. My roommates don't ask what's going on when I ignore them on the way to my bedroom, and I can assume that they saw from the window and correctly deduced that this was the boyfriend. And I'm glad that Brian and I are both fairly quite lovers because I have every intention of riding him long and hard, roommates be damned.
God, I've missed his cock.
~ ~ ~
5.
Ten years, and even though there is nothing we haven't done, the sex remains phenomenal. Well, almost nothing we haven't done.
It took me until recently to tell Brian about my fantasies of him fucking me on the hood of the 'vette. He was quiet when I did, just laying back in bed and puffing on his cigarette. I'm sure that by now he's forgotten, or perhaps hopes that I was pretending to have.
It's a cool summer night, and I hear the roar of the 'vette as he pulls up to Britin. When he doesn't come inside, though, I go out to see what he's doing. Instead of lingering inside the car, the way I had expected, he's sitting on side of the hood, smoking, and he grins at me around the cigarette.
“Brian?” I say.
Instead of responding, he beckons me over. When I approach, he takes another drag, then pulls me forward and shares the smoke with me as we kiss. When we part, I open my mouth to ask, but he shuts me up with another kiss, before standing suddenly and whipping us around.
I smile excitedly as he yanks my shirt over my head, and wonder why I didn't share the idea with him earlier; Brian loves games, always has since the day we met, and this is something new, which he loves more than games. He pushes me backward, and I land with a thunk on the hood. I lean back as he pulls the loose pants I'm wearing from my body, and he gives a sound of approval when he sees that I'm not wearing any underwear.
He suddenly grabs my ankles and pulls as he walks around in front of the car. My ass squeaks against the shiny green metal. Suddenly, he steps back and looks at me expectantly, and I realize that he wants a show. With a smile, I spread my legs and let my hands wander on the insides of my thighs, avoiding both my crotch and my hole. It's a little hard to move as my skin sticks to the aluminum, but unlike that night in L.A., I don't particularly mind.
As I finger myself, I hear Brian make an impatient noise, and then the sound of the zipper on his trousers coming down. He doesn't undress, though, just pulls out his cock. Being completely naked while he's still wearing some expensive suit always makes me even hornier. It's something that has carried over from my intern days at Vanguard; I'm sure that it's all part of the power play that I've always known gets him so turned on.
Finally, he throws my legs over his shoulders, pushing roughly into me. He's lubed, but it's still burns, deliciously so. He's rough, whispering in my ear that he should have done this in the alley behind Babylon, somewhere that anyone could have seen me. I think maybe I'll get him to, although I refuse I strip naked; still, we're a pair of exhibitionists, and there's a difference between doing this kind of thing in the drive of our country manor and in the city where there's always the chance of seeing us fucking on the hood of a Corvette Stingray-the only one in the world that I've ever found sexy. And while we're not the youngest couple on Liberty Avenue, me on the verge of twenty-eight and Brian pushing forty, we're most likely still the hottest.
Moments after I shoot, I hear Brian give a deep groan. After another moment he stands up and pulls off the condom.
“I should have asked you to do that when I first thought of it,” I say breathlessly, .
Brian shakes his head. “I wouldn't have let you back then. It was still a little too new, and I wouldn't have been able to afford any damage.”
I stand, feeling the car lift as my weight comes off it. I examine it for a minute, then look back at Brian.
“There's no damage.”
“Not I risk I would've taken.”
I pick up my discarded clothes, and Brian wraps an arm around me as we walk back into the house together. Tomorrow I'll paint. All most people will see are sleek, dark green lines, maybe with a distinctly phallic feel to it, but it will have an underlying strength to it. I won't name the painting, but a =few people will see the painting for what it is.
As for tonight, though, I intend to have at least two more orgasms before I knock off.
---
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Rating: NC-17...ish
Pairing: Brian/Justin; some Ethan/Justin and hints of Justin/Connor James
Timeline: Early Season 3 to Post 513
Summary: I'm not a car person, and never have been. I wonder it's because it is Brian's...
Notes: Yeah, started out as me wanting to write something about Brian's car being a metaphor for the man himself, and it grew out of control. I'm not at all sure I like the last part, though, especially considering it's the first time I've written anything quite of that nature, but I kept feeling like it wouldn't be right if it didn't end up with Justin getting what he wanted...
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1.
“You want a ride?” I turn around to see Brian standing from the diner booth and pulling on his coat. He looks at me expectantly and says, “The office is in that direction.”
I hesitate slightly. Ethan doesn't like me associating with Brian, and while I normally wouldn't care, I don't feel like arguing with him. To buy myself time, I pull out my phone to check the time. Ethan will be in class, and what he doesn't know won't kill him. And as much as I don't want to be in a relationship with Brian, I still like him, and accepting a ride might dispel any ideas the Brian may have gotten while I was working on the Carnival poster with him.
God, I think. It must have seemed like I didn't want to near him because I was disgusted. Or I thought he would jump me. It had been completely the opposite, actually; being close to him, smelling the traces of his cigarettes and cologne, feeling the heat radiate from his body, made me almost afraid I would jump him.
I stick my phone back into my pocket and shrug. “Sure. Why not?”
He'd parked around the side of the building. It's the first time I've seen his new car-the one that Emmett had joked about being Brian's new penile extension. I only know enough about cars to know that sport cars are generally compensation for something, although I'm not sure that Brian really needed to compensate for his dick size. I have to admit, though, there is something distinctly phallic about it.
I start to get it when he turns on the engine, and I think about Leda describing how it felt to ride a bike. There's just something about feeling it roar between your legs, she had said. Something indeed. There's something about the Stingray that suits Brian well; maybe it's the sleek, sexy exterior, or maybe it's the fact that there isn't much room inside for more than one person with baggage, but it's better for him than the jeep had been. Great for a fast, fun ride, not so much for traveling long distances.
~ ~ ~
I wake up and realize with some embarrassment that I'd come all over myself. I glance over at Ethan, glad to see I hadn't woken him, especially considering what my dreams had been about. Slowly, I pull myself out of bed and make my way to the bathroom.
“Jus?” Ethan calls. Maybe I shouldn't have moved. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I'm fine.” Except that I just had a very wet dream about my ex, and that fucking car. I close my eyes and lean against the sink, still envisioning Brian pushing me onto the hood of the 'Vette and ripping my clothes off. Great, I'm getting hard again.
“You coming back to bed?” Ethan called again.
“Yeah,” I said, willing my dick down.
Brian wouldn't have asked if I was okay. He would have stayed in bed and just waited for me. Or he would have gotten up, a little voice in my head says. He wouldn't say anything, just wrap his arms around you.
I suppose Ethan could do that, but it wouldn't be quite the same. A lot of it had to do with how tall he was; he was about my own size, and his chest wasn't as broad as Brian's, so would never be able to wrap himself around me quite the same way. But that wasn't all. He didn't have quite the same underlying strength that Brian did.
It occurs to me that I can't remember the last time I had two orgasms in one night. Yeah, Ethan makes soft love to me, but sometimes I do miss the all-night fuck sessions.
Poor, sweet Ethan, I think. He's like a BMW...he's got everything you could want, except the horsepower.
Now I have to return to bed. Ethan has learned not ask too many questions when I wake up at night. I think of dry, wrinkled vaginas, and nearly gag, but it gets rid of the erection.
~ ~ ~
2.
I give a smile as I hear the purr of the engine coming up behind me. I know without looking who it is; not many people at PIFA can afford a car like that. I turn my head to look, and Brian pulls the car up to the curb.
“Lunch, Taylor?” he asks.
“You know, Mr. Kinney, you might get in trouble if you get caught fraternizing with your employees,” I reply with a smirk.
I can see his eyes darken from here; he gets a little high from having some sort of power, however superficial, over me. I'm getting off on people staring at me talking to the gorgeous guy in the hot car as they walked by. I'm done denying that I'm an exhibitionist, and I want people to know that he's mine as much as he likes to show off that I'm his.
Still, I haven't quite gotten up the courage to admit to my relatively new fetish. And I know that this car is his baby, in that typical man fashion. The Mies van der Rohe table was a spending binge on one level, to show himself that he still had the money and cajones to put his feet on a table that cost more than most people make in a month. But not the Stingray; you don't eat in the car, you don't blow him in the car, and I have to assume that it also means you don't fuck on the hood of the car.
Maybe if I make it very enticing, he'll do it without thinking. I have visions of offering myself with a leather cock ring on and a dildo up my ass, but it doesn't have quite the same appeal as Brian initiating the sex. I realized at some point post-Ethan, pre-Brian, that Brian's need to fuck me right-the-fuck-now was how he made me feel beautiful, more than Ethan actually telling me.
“Justin.”
I snap back from my thoughts, and Brian is looking at me with raised eyebrows. I get into the car, feeling the motor underneath me. I lean forward and kiss him, long and deep. He can see that I'm turned on, and he gives a wicked smile, raising an eyebrow. It's been seeming, lately, that we're constantly horny, much more so than normal, which for Brian is really saying something. Just the other day, Deb commented that we were like “fucking newlyweds, all over again.”
I buckle my seat belt; Brian likes pushing the speed limit in this car-who wouldn't?-but it makes him something of a dangerous driver. I think that it's that slight danger about him that I've always loved.
~ ~ ~
3.
Lots of people in L.A. have expensive sports cars, but none of them really turn me on the way Brian's does. It strikes me as a little strange, but then it was strange for me to get turned on by it at all. I'm not a car person, and never have been. I wonder it's because it is Brian's; I've been fucked by larger dicks than his, even by more shapely ones, but none are quite as perfect or beautiful as his.
One night, I let Connor James fuck me on his car, on a cliff overlooking the city. My skin squeaks on the metal of the hood, and he has to lean way over me because of the low height of it. It's completely wrong, and for the first time I just want him to finish and get the fuck out of me. He's hot, rich, a movie star, but in the end just a cheap imitation of Brian.
Months later, when Brian tells me that he didn't think I was ever coming back, I think about that night. I think about how wrong it was. L. A. is full of gorgeous, successful assholes with expensive cars, but the fact was that the only gorgeous, successful asshole I wanted was in Pittsburgh.
I've been around the block in a completely different way than Brian, and nothing quite seems to compare. I'm sure it's the same for him-I know for a fact that he's been with other guys who are hotter by most conventions, but it's not right, not the way he and I are. I'm sure he's never found a guy who fits against his chest, under his chin quite the way I do; I know I haven't found anyone who surrounds me quite as well as he does.
~ ~ ~
4.
I don't know many people in New York who drives their car. The guys who own really nice cars live outside the city, and find a place to park before taking public transportation everywhere. It's stupid to own a car in a city where everyone quite literally lives on top of each other.
I'm fine with this, because I'm not a car person. I don't get turned on by cars. Except that one time, the first time Brian comes to visit, and he drove the entire distance. He pulls up, and I recognize that wonderful purr of the engine even from my apartment. I look outside just as he's getting out of the green Corvette, and it's summer so he's sweating in his white wife beater and jeans, and his hair is in complete disarray. I've never seen anything as beautiful in my entire life.
He looks surprised as I come bursting out of the apartment in flip flops and throw myself on him. I feel like I'm trying to climb inside him as I kiss him. He backs up slightly, and for a thrilling moment I hope he's about to lean against the side of the car, and maybe I can push it further. Never mind that it's broad daylight in New York, so a given that someone I don't want to watch will be.
But he doesn't. Instead he pushes me toward the apartment I've been sharing with Daphne's friends, one of whom is straight. I'm just glad that I have my own room. My roommates don't ask what's going on when I ignore them on the way to my bedroom, and I can assume that they saw from the window and correctly deduced that this was the boyfriend. And I'm glad that Brian and I are both fairly quite lovers because I have every intention of riding him long and hard, roommates be damned.
God, I've missed his cock.
~ ~ ~
5.
Ten years, and even though there is nothing we haven't done, the sex remains phenomenal. Well, almost nothing we haven't done.
It took me until recently to tell Brian about my fantasies of him fucking me on the hood of the 'vette. He was quiet when I did, just laying back in bed and puffing on his cigarette. I'm sure that by now he's forgotten, or perhaps hopes that I was pretending to have.
It's a cool summer night, and I hear the roar of the 'vette as he pulls up to Britin. When he doesn't come inside, though, I go out to see what he's doing. Instead of lingering inside the car, the way I had expected, he's sitting on side of the hood, smoking, and he grins at me around the cigarette.
“Brian?” I say.
Instead of responding, he beckons me over. When I approach, he takes another drag, then pulls me forward and shares the smoke with me as we kiss. When we part, I open my mouth to ask, but he shuts me up with another kiss, before standing suddenly and whipping us around.
I smile excitedly as he yanks my shirt over my head, and wonder why I didn't share the idea with him earlier; Brian loves games, always has since the day we met, and this is something new, which he loves more than games. He pushes me backward, and I land with a thunk on the hood. I lean back as he pulls the loose pants I'm wearing from my body, and he gives a sound of approval when he sees that I'm not wearing any underwear.
He suddenly grabs my ankles and pulls as he walks around in front of the car. My ass squeaks against the shiny green metal. Suddenly, he steps back and looks at me expectantly, and I realize that he wants a show. With a smile, I spread my legs and let my hands wander on the insides of my thighs, avoiding both my crotch and my hole. It's a little hard to move as my skin sticks to the aluminum, but unlike that night in L.A., I don't particularly mind.
As I finger myself, I hear Brian make an impatient noise, and then the sound of the zipper on his trousers coming down. He doesn't undress, though, just pulls out his cock. Being completely naked while he's still wearing some expensive suit always makes me even hornier. It's something that has carried over from my intern days at Vanguard; I'm sure that it's all part of the power play that I've always known gets him so turned on.
Finally, he throws my legs over his shoulders, pushing roughly into me. He's lubed, but it's still burns, deliciously so. He's rough, whispering in my ear that he should have done this in the alley behind Babylon, somewhere that anyone could have seen me. I think maybe I'll get him to, although I refuse I strip naked; still, we're a pair of exhibitionists, and there's a difference between doing this kind of thing in the drive of our country manor and in the city where there's always the chance of seeing us fucking on the hood of a Corvette Stingray-the only one in the world that I've ever found sexy. And while we're not the youngest couple on Liberty Avenue, me on the verge of twenty-eight and Brian pushing forty, we're most likely still the hottest.
Moments after I shoot, I hear Brian give a deep groan. After another moment he stands up and pulls off the condom.
“I should have asked you to do that when I first thought of it,” I say breathlessly, .
Brian shakes his head. “I wouldn't have let you back then. It was still a little too new, and I wouldn't have been able to afford any damage.”
I stand, feeling the car lift as my weight comes off it. I examine it for a minute, then look back at Brian.
“There's no damage.”
“Not I risk I would've taken.”
I pick up my discarded clothes, and Brian wraps an arm around me as we walk back into the house together. Tomorrow I'll paint. All most people will see are sleek, dark green lines, maybe with a distinctly phallic feel to it, but it will have an underlying strength to it. I won't name the painting, but a =few people will see the painting for what it is.
As for tonight, though, I intend to have at least two more orgasms before I knock off.
---