Fic: Riding in Cars with Boys [BJ Valentine's Sex-A-Thon - Day 6]
Title: Riding in Cars with Boys
Author: museme87
Pairing: Brian/Justin
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,513
Warning: strong language, sexual situations
Summary: Justin finds out the hard way that Brian Kinney doesn't do dates, but he does do blond twinks.
Author's Note: Written for my BJ Valentine's Sex-A-Thon project for the prompt of It's your chance to do it in a specific location, which earned 9 votes. The title was taken from the Drew Barrymore movie of the same name, but this has nothing to do with teen pregnancy. It was just a very fitting title for the scenario.
This whole thing is still kind of surreal to you. Surreal and nerve-wracking. You're not sure whether you should stare at your lap or the glove box or the really, really hot guy in the driver's seat. Your dick tells you that Brian's the obvious choice, your brain that you shouldn't be making eye contact, and a voice that sounds strangely like your mother's that you shouldn't be in this stranger's car at all.
But you are.
And okay, so he's not really a stranger. You don't think you can call a guy that's had his dick up your willing ass a stranger. And he sort of is the love of your life, despite the fact that you don't even know what he does for a living. You think that's got to count for something, though-love.
It doesn't really help ease your discomfort though. Not that you don't want this! Because, you totally do! You didn't think you'd get a chance to see Brian again, having heard rumors that he has a one-fuck-only policy. It makes you feel special. Crazy special. Sure, he calls you a stalker, but he can't really mean that. At least, not in a bad way. Not if he's coming back for more.
And he did say he loved you.
So what if he was shooting his load at the time? It's not like there's some direct correlation between orgasm and increased likelihood of lying. And how else are you going to explain his sudden, reemerging interest in your ass? There's got to be something there.
Even if there's not, you won't sweat it. Any opportunity to be fucked by Brian shouldn't be wasted. Your stomach will settle soon, will stop churning from the newness of all of this. Well, you hope.
It really doesn't help your queasiness, though, when you're alone in a car with a man who has the face of God. You want him so badly it hurts, and you're afraid you might fuck it up somehow. You'll show your age, say something totally childish, and he'll dump you on the curb. Or you'll realize the hard way that you have bad breath, despite the fact that you brushed your teeth at least five times before you left your house for Liberty Avenue. It'll be something so stupid and preventable, but you'll lose this guy that you're pretty sure you'll die without and-
"You're quiet."
You snap out of it, eyes moving to meet him. "Huh?"
"I usually can't get you to shut up unless my dick's in your mouth."
"Oh."
Lame. You're so completely lame, and this totally sucks. You're a smart kid. You know the GDP of every country in Europe, can speak some decent enough Italian, and have a firm handle on numbers. You're an artist, country-club groomed, good at sports. You're well-rounded for fuck's sake. Conversation should be easy, but all you can manage is a pathetic oh. Brian Kinney is not going to be impressed by that.
Then again-considering the fact that you've maybe held two brief exchanges in your entire life together (which roughly amounts to a week)-he's probably not interested in you for your witty repartee and catalog of fun, historical facts.
You sulk a little in your seat, unsure of why that stings as much as it does. He probably doesn't love you after all, so it's probably really stupid to think this will go beyond one or two fucks, no matter how badly you want it to. You're pretty certain that you could spend the rest of your life getting fucked by Brian; what he's shown you has got to be just the tip of the iceberg.
Actually, you're pretty certain that you could spend it doing other things with him too. Like dinner. Movies. Late night cuddling. Commitment ceremonies. You'd be okay with that. You're not really sure he would be, though. Not that you know him well enough to say. Hell, he could be looking for love in all the wrong places. Lucky for him, then, that he found you.
"So…do you like movies?" you ask.
He looks at you like you've just grown another head. "Sure."
"Because What Lies Beneath is at the cheap seats now. You know, the new thriller with Harrison Ford. Anyway, I've been thinking about seeing it. Thrillers are always so hit-and-miss that I wanted to wait in case it bombed. Save myself the six bucks, right?"
"Yeah, kid."
You get the distinct impression that he's missing the point. So after a few pregnant pauses and one very deep breath, you decide to just go for it.
"Do you want to see it?"
You watch as his brow rises. "What the fuck?"
"With me, I mean. If it's not your thing, that's totally cool. I think X-Men is still playing there too. I'd be up for seeing it again. I missed some parts because Daphne and I hit Buffalo Wild Wings before we went to the theater. I drank so much pop that I had to piss at least four times. But those wings make you really thirsty and-"
His glare cuts you off. "Are you asking me out on a fucking date?"
"…Maybe?"
You hate how meek you sound. What you hate even more is that Brian pulls the Jeep off the road and parks in some seedy, empty lot. That stupid voice in your head-the one that sounds like your mother-is back, telling you all about the dangers of being in abandoned areas with people that are maybe sort-of-strangers.
"What the hell do I look like?" Brian asks, turning off the Jeep.
"It was just an invitation."
"I don't do dates. And I don't do boyfriends."
You stare at your hands in your lap, feeling like the biggest idiot in the entire world. Of course he wouldn't want you. You're just some kid. And he…well, he's a god among men. A person shouldn't fall in love against those odds. Well, a smart person shouldn't. Silly, little twinks like yourself? You do. You fall and fall hard. You ought to just get lost now, ask him politely to take you back to your neighborhood. Beg him for a goodnight kiss so that you have jerk-off material for the next century or so.
But before you even manage to form the words, you feel his fingers on your chin, directing your face to his. You don't meet his eyes, not until he says your name in a low rasp. It sends a chill racing through your body.
You want him.
"What I do is hot twinks with great asses."
You can't stop from smiling shyly. "You think I have a great ass?"
"Maybe the best ass I've ever had."
Whatever thoughts you have about getting hurt fly right out the window when he tells you that. Your mouth is on him suddenly, desperate for the taste of Jim Beam and cigarettes. His tongue flicks across your lips before you can even think straight, your dick hardening in your jeans. You want him all over you. You want to feel him in the morning. Next week. Next year. Forever.
"Brian," you moan, his hand making quick work of your button and fly.
He draws you out, and you're both shifting around in the front seats of the Jeep awkwardly to assume position. It's really not roomy enough up here, but there's no way you'll ever make it to the back. Brian must be thinking the same thing because he makes do. It's uncomfortable as hell for a few moments. Then he takes you into his mouth, sucks you so hard and so deeply that you could be on a crashing plane and not give a shit.
You've never really been blown before. This, though? You're not really sure it can be called a blow job. It feels like it belongs to a category unto its own when it's Brian's lips molded around your dick, Brian's tongue tracing a thick vein up your shaft, Brian's hollowed cheeks sucking you until you can't see straight.
Somehow your hands end up in his hair. Somehow you're wedged between the door and the seat, seatbelt digging into your lower back painfully. But you only move to buck up, to fuck his incredible mouth. Brian tries to steady your quivering, pumping hips. It's no use though. You can't stop your erratic thrusts.
Brian Kinney is giving you a blow job.
And you're cumming before you even know it. You don't think he's been at it for five minutes. Fuck, three minutes even! It's embarrassing. Or it would be if it weren't for the fact that your body is electrified with the most incredible feeling ever, making you completely senseless. You cry out his name over and over again. You tell him that you love him.
He can't spare you a morsel of affection when he lets go of your cock with a wet pop!. And you're so at peace with the world that a slight like that doesn't even hurt.
Author: museme87
Pairing: Brian/Justin
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,513
Warning: strong language, sexual situations
Summary: Justin finds out the hard way that Brian Kinney doesn't do dates, but he does do blond twinks.
Author's Note: Written for my BJ Valentine's Sex-A-Thon project for the prompt of It's your chance to do it in a specific location, which earned 9 votes. The title was taken from the Drew Barrymore movie of the same name, but this has nothing to do with teen pregnancy. It was just a very fitting title for the scenario.
This whole thing is still kind of surreal to you. Surreal and nerve-wracking. You're not sure whether you should stare at your lap or the glove box or the really, really hot guy in the driver's seat. Your dick tells you that Brian's the obvious choice, your brain that you shouldn't be making eye contact, and a voice that sounds strangely like your mother's that you shouldn't be in this stranger's car at all.
But you are.
And okay, so he's not really a stranger. You don't think you can call a guy that's had his dick up your willing ass a stranger. And he sort of is the love of your life, despite the fact that you don't even know what he does for a living. You think that's got to count for something, though-love.
It doesn't really help ease your discomfort though. Not that you don't want this! Because, you totally do! You didn't think you'd get a chance to see Brian again, having heard rumors that he has a one-fuck-only policy. It makes you feel special. Crazy special. Sure, he calls you a stalker, but he can't really mean that. At least, not in a bad way. Not if he's coming back for more.
And he did say he loved you.
So what if he was shooting his load at the time? It's not like there's some direct correlation between orgasm and increased likelihood of lying. And how else are you going to explain his sudden, reemerging interest in your ass? There's got to be something there.
Even if there's not, you won't sweat it. Any opportunity to be fucked by Brian shouldn't be wasted. Your stomach will settle soon, will stop churning from the newness of all of this. Well, you hope.
It really doesn't help your queasiness, though, when you're alone in a car with a man who has the face of God. You want him so badly it hurts, and you're afraid you might fuck it up somehow. You'll show your age, say something totally childish, and he'll dump you on the curb. Or you'll realize the hard way that you have bad breath, despite the fact that you brushed your teeth at least five times before you left your house for Liberty Avenue. It'll be something so stupid and preventable, but you'll lose this guy that you're pretty sure you'll die without and-
"You're quiet."
You snap out of it, eyes moving to meet him. "Huh?"
"I usually can't get you to shut up unless my dick's in your mouth."
"Oh."
Lame. You're so completely lame, and this totally sucks. You're a smart kid. You know the GDP of every country in Europe, can speak some decent enough Italian, and have a firm handle on numbers. You're an artist, country-club groomed, good at sports. You're well-rounded for fuck's sake. Conversation should be easy, but all you can manage is a pathetic oh. Brian Kinney is not going to be impressed by that.
Then again-considering the fact that you've maybe held two brief exchanges in your entire life together (which roughly amounts to a week)-he's probably not interested in you for your witty repartee and catalog of fun, historical facts.
You sulk a little in your seat, unsure of why that stings as much as it does. He probably doesn't love you after all, so it's probably really stupid to think this will go beyond one or two fucks, no matter how badly you want it to. You're pretty certain that you could spend the rest of your life getting fucked by Brian; what he's shown you has got to be just the tip of the iceberg.
Actually, you're pretty certain that you could spend it doing other things with him too. Like dinner. Movies. Late night cuddling. Commitment ceremonies. You'd be okay with that. You're not really sure he would be, though. Not that you know him well enough to say. Hell, he could be looking for love in all the wrong places. Lucky for him, then, that he found you.
"So…do you like movies?" you ask.
He looks at you like you've just grown another head. "Sure."
"Because What Lies Beneath is at the cheap seats now. You know, the new thriller with Harrison Ford. Anyway, I've been thinking about seeing it. Thrillers are always so hit-and-miss that I wanted to wait in case it bombed. Save myself the six bucks, right?"
"Yeah, kid."
You get the distinct impression that he's missing the point. So after a few pregnant pauses and one very deep breath, you decide to just go for it.
"Do you want to see it?"
You watch as his brow rises. "What the fuck?"
"With me, I mean. If it's not your thing, that's totally cool. I think X-Men is still playing there too. I'd be up for seeing it again. I missed some parts because Daphne and I hit Buffalo Wild Wings before we went to the theater. I drank so much pop that I had to piss at least four times. But those wings make you really thirsty and-"
His glare cuts you off. "Are you asking me out on a fucking date?"
"…Maybe?"
You hate how meek you sound. What you hate even more is that Brian pulls the Jeep off the road and parks in some seedy, empty lot. That stupid voice in your head-the one that sounds like your mother-is back, telling you all about the dangers of being in abandoned areas with people that are maybe sort-of-strangers.
"What the hell do I look like?" Brian asks, turning off the Jeep.
"It was just an invitation."
"I don't do dates. And I don't do boyfriends."
You stare at your hands in your lap, feeling like the biggest idiot in the entire world. Of course he wouldn't want you. You're just some kid. And he…well, he's a god among men. A person shouldn't fall in love against those odds. Well, a smart person shouldn't. Silly, little twinks like yourself? You do. You fall and fall hard. You ought to just get lost now, ask him politely to take you back to your neighborhood. Beg him for a goodnight kiss so that you have jerk-off material for the next century or so.
But before you even manage to form the words, you feel his fingers on your chin, directing your face to his. You don't meet his eyes, not until he says your name in a low rasp. It sends a chill racing through your body.
You want him.
"What I do is hot twinks with great asses."
You can't stop from smiling shyly. "You think I have a great ass?"
"Maybe the best ass I've ever had."
Whatever thoughts you have about getting hurt fly right out the window when he tells you that. Your mouth is on him suddenly, desperate for the taste of Jim Beam and cigarettes. His tongue flicks across your lips before you can even think straight, your dick hardening in your jeans. You want him all over you. You want to feel him in the morning. Next week. Next year. Forever.
"Brian," you moan, his hand making quick work of your button and fly.
He draws you out, and you're both shifting around in the front seats of the Jeep awkwardly to assume position. It's really not roomy enough up here, but there's no way you'll ever make it to the back. Brian must be thinking the same thing because he makes do. It's uncomfortable as hell for a few moments. Then he takes you into his mouth, sucks you so hard and so deeply that you could be on a crashing plane and not give a shit.
You've never really been blown before. This, though? You're not really sure it can be called a blow job. It feels like it belongs to a category unto its own when it's Brian's lips molded around your dick, Brian's tongue tracing a thick vein up your shaft, Brian's hollowed cheeks sucking you until you can't see straight.
Somehow your hands end up in his hair. Somehow you're wedged between the door and the seat, seatbelt digging into your lower back painfully. But you only move to buck up, to fuck his incredible mouth. Brian tries to steady your quivering, pumping hips. It's no use though. You can't stop your erratic thrusts.
Brian Kinney is giving you a blow job.
And you're cumming before you even know it. You don't think he's been at it for five minutes. Fuck, three minutes even! It's embarrassing. Or it would be if it weren't for the fact that your body is electrified with the most incredible feeling ever, making you completely senseless. You cry out his name over and over again. You tell him that you love him.
He can't spare you a morsel of affection when he lets go of your cock with a wet pop!. And you're so at peace with the world that a slight like that doesn't even hurt.