Negotiations 31
Hi, everyone! Apologies about the wait for this chapter. There are several things at play at this point in the story, and my mind refused to settle on one or two without a lot of convincing. Sometimes the extra time and frustration is worth it, and I think that happened here--at least for me. A component emerged this morning that made the pieces fit together. As always, I appreciate your comments. They keep me writing. ~Plum
Go back to Negotiations 30 or start from the beginning.
NEGOTIATIONS 31
JUSTIN'S POV
I’m at a payphone trying to call home
all of my change I spent on you
I get two calls from Brian on Friday; the first, happens around ten a.m., and I answer from my comfy spot on my futon in my studio with some of that killer cheese in my mouth. He says he’s calling just to check in, but I have to ask, “Um, why are you quasi-whispering?” as I swallow the rest of my snack.
“I hate when you talk with your mouth full,” he chastises me.
“I swallow, “Sorry.”
“I’m at my desk and now that Hillary is here in the next office, I don’t know if she’s an eavesdropper.”
“Anyone who works with you is too busy to eavesdrop. How’s your day going?”
“It’s fucking nuts,” he says, his tone exasperated.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I shouldn’t have stayed home yesterday, basically...but I’m so glad I did,” he admits.
I get what he means, “Because it made last night happen?”
“Yep. How’s your day going?”
“Lots of painting and snacking, typical nose to the grindstone day for me.”
Brian snort-laughs and then gets serious, back to his raspy voice, “Will you do something for me?”
“Uh, sure. You want something special for dinner or something?”
He laughs again, “No, I want you to jerk off for me.”
“Like right now?” I ask.
“No, like three weeks from now; I’m giving you a heads up--”
“Ha, no pun intended.”
“Yes, right now.”
“Okay. I will,” I concede.
“Good. Are you in your studio on that ancient futon?”
“Yep.”
“Lie down.” I accidentally throw my paper cheese plate like a frisbee and it zooms across the room and lands beside the trash can while the actual cheese took a hard left and ended up under my sink. “Hurry up,” Brian nags me, “I don’t have all day.” (He’s such a romantic.)
“I’m lying down.”
“Are you hard?” he asks me.
“Halfway.”
“Okay, well, I can fix that. I want you to listen to me.”
I unzip my jeans and slide my hand inside my briefs and touch myself. “I’m listening.”
What spills out of Brian is less of a masturbation prompt and more of a confession; this is why he's worried about eavesdroppers. I can picture what his face must look out, pained, tired - but in a good worn out way - as he speaks, “I cannot stop thinking about last night. I can’t stop thinking about you, about how fucking amazing you are when you give yourself over to me.”
“Thanks,” I say. I’m smiling wide and getting harder by the second. “See what we can do when we trust each other?” My cock beads and I tease myself.
“Will you come for me?” he requests, “Because you weren’t in our bed this morning, so you owe me something.”
“Yes, but then I’m not gonna want to paint anymore. I’ll want to take a nap.”
“You need to take a nap; you were up at the butt crack of dawn.”
“True.”
“Do it, Justin. I have less than five minutes before a meeting.”
Brian encourages me as I focus; even on the phone, he reads me perfectly. My breathing and the sounds I make give everything away, but that’s okay because this morning it belongs to him anyway.
…..
“I love you, Brian. Hope your day gets better.”
“It just did. See you tonight.”
……
Lying there on my trusted futon, a permanent fixture in my life for historical reasons including the fortuitous amount of inspiration baked into it that I refuse to part with, I decide to take a shower, grab my keys and set out to give Brian a surprise tonight.
************
but that can't happen to us
cause it's always been a matter of trust
Later, around three fifteen that afternoon, I’m standing in our laundry room when I hear the garage door go up. As I get to the kitchen door that leads into the garage, Brian’s exiting his car with an irritated look on his face. He wrestles to get his suit jacket and briefcase out. His hair is all over the place like he’s been running his hands through it and his tie is all wonky. “Hi! What’re you doing home so early?”
He looks up at me as he approaches the few stairs into the house, “Delegated some stuff.”
I lean forward to kiss him from my higher vantage point, and he complies. Within less than a minute, he’s making his way up the stairs to our bedroom, a tired step by step. I follow, wary of his mood. I wait on our bed, kneeling in my jeans as Brian sheds his work attire and pulls on a pair of jeans and one of his dozens of black fitted t-shirts. I put my hand on his shoulder when he sits down near me. “Are you okay? You seem out of sorts.”
“I’m very out of sorts,” he confirms.
“Something happen at work?”
He shakes his head as he’s yet to really make eye contact with me, “No, other than the fact that I can’t concentrate on anything anymore except what you and I did last night.”
I move closer to him, rub his back and eventually gingerly hug him from behind, my chin resting on his shoulder. “This is a bad thing?” I ask.
“This is a frustrating thing,” he says as he finally turns his head to look at me. He holds one of my hands against his chest. “Let’s go out. I need to talk this out, and I can’t do it here.”
“Okay, that’s fine. Where to?”
His surprise will have to wait.
********
oh I think that I found myself a cheerleader
she is always right there when I need her
We end up at a bar located about two miles from our neighborhood called The Gaight. It’s owned by hetero neighbors of ours, a married couple, Seth and Mari Frontward. They bought the place before I ever moved back in with Brian and decided that in this wealthy nook of West Virginia, they wanted a bar that no one could really identify as a gay bar or a straight bar. It sort of just depends who shows up at any given time. So, they merged the two words, and named it The Gaight. In conservative West Virginia, it sits in a rare liberal pocket so lots of gay people get engaged here or hold receptions. Brian and I come here now and then. The decor looks like it came right out of Crate & Barrel, lots of neutral tones, arrows and antlers everywhere. Not real antlers, mind you, the kitschy kind people put on rabbits. We wave hello to Seth who’s tending bar when we come in, and Brian, with a firm grasp on my hand, pulls me to a hightop table in the corner. He sits with the view of the entire bar; I end up facing him and the window. A girl takes our order, and Brian gets irritated with me when I order a mushroom appetizer. “What?” I say, “I’m hungry.”
“Okay, whatever,” he sighs.
Brian’s finger runs up and down the condensation on his beer glass as I probe him, “So what do you need to talk about? What’s going on?”
He’s clearly agitated, “I’m losing my mind. This morning, I drove past my exit for work. I can’t focus; I feel like I’m in a fog.”
“Since last night you mean?” I clarify.
He nods, “Yep.”
I give a cursory glance over my shoulder to make sure that we’re as isolated as I think we are before I continue the conversation, “You’re freaking out a little because you feel like you’ve lost some control?”
Brian raises his face and looks at me hard, “How do you do that? How the fuck do you figure things out so quickly?”
I shrug, “I just know you and feeling out of control triggers you, for lack of a better word.”
“That’s not true,” Brian disagrees.
“When you had cancer, that monster you became. Remember him?”
“Okay, fine. God, I hate that you know me this well.”
“Duh, I’m your husband, Brian.”
Brian’s voice goes down a decibel as he confides in me, “I thought the feelings of losing control would come when I’m not in charge, like when we switch, but this is way worse; this is actively fucking with me.” I try to catch a mushroom before it falls on the floor and nearly topple off my stool. Brian catches me fast and gets me back on solid footing. “Jesus, don’t kill yourself,” he scolds me.
“Whoops, thanks, sorry.” Brian waves at our waitress for another round. When they’re delivered, Brian watches as she walks away, making sure she’s out of ear shot, and then looks at me expectantly, like I better have an answer for what’s happening to him, but I just have more questions, “Can I ask you what you think is causing this? What happened last night that’s got you off balance? Are you unsettled because we brought Josh in or something?”
Brian shakes his head. “No, that’s the crazy part. I think it happened because he was there.” He takes a deep breath, “I’ll try to explain this as best I can.”
“Okay.”
“So, you were laying on my chest while he punished you. And for the first time, I felt a completely new sensation; I could feel every flinch when you were experiencing pain, every squeeze as you were clinging to me to get through it, but in a completely different way. I’ve never been on that side of the equation without being the one who’s inflicting the pain; I mean, without Josh or a third person, that side doesn’t even exist.”
“Ah, so this was algebra when you’re used to basic math.”
"Yeah, kind of."
I correct him, "But he didn't punish me, you did. He doesn't have that privilege or that right. That's all yours. He was just a vessel."
"I could feel this wicked pleasure you were experiencing. You were physically grateful for it.”
I interject, “Not just physically; it went way beyond that.”
Brian smiles at me, a sweet, appreciative smile, and then reaches out and cups my face but only for a second, “See, this is why we can’t talk at home.”
“Explain.”
Brian leans in, his elbows on the table, his voice sweetened, “Because if we were at home right now, we’d already be fucking.”
Our faces separate as I confirm, “Oh, yeah. True. But I’m glad you’re talking to me; I want to help you or distract you, whatever you want, and, I mean, being in public has never stopped you from fucking me before.”
Brian laughs and nods his head, “Very true.”
“So keep going, keep talking. I like it.”
Brian inhales and closes his eyes for a few seconds like he’s summoning extra energy before he speaks, “Last night in the tub you said that I was flying, that you could feel it--”
I smile at him, “You were. It was beautiful to feel you that free, and it really turns me on...a lot.”
Brian reaches across the table and wraps a hand around my wrist, “Well, that’s very nice to hear, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t land this mother fucking plane.”
His tone is so calm and so sincere that I laugh, a laugh that Brian does not appreciate. But that’s when I realize what’s wrong with him; it makes sense. It’s why he looks so utterly worn out. This has probably never happened to him before. I test my theory, “You’re still in the headspace, you mean?”
“Yes, and it’s driving me crazy. I cannot get out of it.”
“You’re not used to this. It’s top space, but it’s the remixed extended version. You get there from time to time, but never like last night. Last night you went much, much deeper.”
His impatience can sometimes border on the adorable. “Okay, whatever you say, but that doesn’t fix it,” he argues.
“Okay. But you’re home now; it’s the weekend. Why try to change it?”
Brian’s eyes widen as if my question is misguided, “To know that I can. I can’t just be like this.”
“Well...maybe you just need to blow it out. Turn it up to eleven and leave it all on the field, you know?”
Brian’s not impressed, “This is your solution?”
“Well, ignoring it seems impossible for you, so it’s either that or I take over, and you come crashing out of this headspace into another one, and I don’t know if that’s really advisable.”
“Huh,” Brian sort of grunts.
“I think I can help you, though.”
Brian has his fists stacked in front of him, his chin resting right there, “Help me, how?”
I’m going to opt for door number three here: distraction. “Well, I have a surprise for you tonight. Something you’re really going to like.”
He looks a little happier, “Really? What is it?”
“Well, I’m not going to tell you.”
“Can I guess,” he asks, “Like yes/no questions?”
“Sure, why not,” I offer.
“Okay,” Brian begins, “Is it something I’ve specifically asked for?”
I pause and consider his question, “Not exactly. No.”
“Okay, scratch that. Did you buy it today?”
“Um, yes.”
“Okay. Was it more or less than one hundred dollars?”
“Less.”
Brian begins rubbing his chin as if he’s some old wise man solving society’s problems. “Okay. Do you have it with you now?”
I pause before I answer, “Yes.”
“Give it to me,” he demands.
“Nope.”
“Why not? You have it with you, and I’ve had a shitty day. C’mon,” he protests.
“It’s not something I can actually give you.”
“Okay, okay…” he recaps excitedly, “So you bought it today for less than a hundred dollars...and you have it with you now...but you can’t give it to me…. Can I have it in the car?”
None of these are really yes/no questions, but whatever, “I guess you could but no.”
“Why not?” Brian inquires.
“Because it wouldn’t be appreciated enough.”
Brian’s eyebrows go way up, the corners of his mouth follow, “Okay. So, basically, you’re saying we should get out of here and go home and then I can have it?”
Sometimes he’s like a five year old, “Pretty much.” Like next, he’s gonna ask me for money so he can go get a toy at the dollar store.
Brian immediately waves our waitress over and settles up in cash. We’re in the car heading home in less than five minutes. We’re standing in our kitchen in ten minutes and Brian’s pointing to the floor, “Do you want to go up or down?”
Considering his current headspace dilemma, I decide to take that out of the equation for now, “Up. To our room.”
********
gonna use my arms
gonna use my legs
gonna use my style
gonna use my sidestep
gonna use my fingers
gonna use my, my, my imagination
This walk up the stairs is completely different from the one a couple of hours ago; he’s got spring in his step this time. This makes me happy. Once we’re in our bedroom, he turns to me with concern on his face, “How’s your ankle? I didn’t even ask.”
“It’s okay. It’s still weak, but the pain has gone down considerably.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, I’m ready,” he announces with a clap of his hands in the center of our bedroom like he’s preparing to conduct a giant orchestra. “Give me my surprise.”
“You’re going to have to find it.”
“What? That’s not fair. I want it now,” he objects.
“Start looking,” I instruct him.
He looks around the room, gathering his thoughts, “Okay, you have it on you, but I couldn’t appreciate in the car….”
“Correct.”
He comes up to me, his hands dipping into the front pockets of my jeans. He comes up empty. He tries the back pockets. Nothing. Again, he ponders, “Okay, I get it.”
“You do?”
“Yep, it’s up your butt.” I roll my eyes at him as he pulls me close and puts his hand inside my underwear. He quickly determines that he’s wrong. “Did you pierce something? Or get a tattoo?”
“Nope.”
“Then what the fuck, Justin? Is it in your shoe?”
I laugh at his frustration, “No.”
“Open your mouth.”
“Aaahhh.”
“Damn it, I’m lost.”
“Would you like me to show it to you now?”
“Fuck, yes, I would like that.”
I love his frustration sometimes, especially when I’m the one who can make it go away, “Okay, c’mere.”
Brian looks confused and suspicious as he comes toward me. I drape my hands around his neck and kiss him, try to settle him down a little, get him in the mindset I want him in. The affection puzzles him, but he plays along as I move backwards step by step until I bump into our bed. “Okay, give me a little space.”
I can’t help but wear an anxious grin as I slide my pants down, my underwear tangled up in them. When Brian sees what I’m giving him; his eyes expand into two huge dark orbs as he stands beside our bed. As if he’s in a trance, he stares at my face as he unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out. He strokes himself slowly like he’s watching me on big screen or something. “Brian, you look like you’re in shock.”
“I just...,” he starts, “I don’t know what to say.”
Propped on my elbows, my legs open revealing my newly waxed skin, I wave him in. “Enjoy it. It’s all for you.”
He approaches me with caution, lowers himself and runs his lips over my sensitive canvas, taking time and care to appreciate the hairless terrain. “I can’t believe you did this for me. How badly did it hurt?”
“It’s not a walk in the park but it’s worth it just to see that look on your face.”
“Was it a guy?” he asks as he runs his face up my cock.
“No,” I lie, “Some older lady.”
“Jesus Christ. This is beyond smooth.”
“I wanted to give you something special after what you gave me last night.”
“I mean, I don’t even know what to say,” Brian admits as he explores my lower body; my eyes bounce from his hands to his face and back again. His fingertips pass over a smooth spot right before his lips do. He loves my body on a whole new level now and I want to shout that around the world. He continues as he explores me, “This makes me want to do so many dirty things to you...over and over and over.”
“Good. I’m so glad you like it.”
He pushes my legs further apart, and I moan. Most of Brian’s body is on the bed now as he tastes me. I play with his hair, enjoy the soft strands in my fingers as I try to keep from wanting to come all over him. I can feel the connection between us begin to tighten like a trapeze wire; I can almost pluck it out of the air. “Oh my god. This is one of the happiest moments of my life,” Brian admits and then he stops and looks up at me as he finishes his thought, “This could make me become a terrorist.”
I sit up a little, “Excuse me?”
“Like the seventy-two virgin thing. Like I would be a terrorist if I thought I would end up in heaven in this exact moment.”
I roll my eyes and laugh at him, lying back on the bed. I close them as Brian starts to investigate every inch of his present. Just feeling him between my legs puts me in this peaceful state where all is right with the world. “This feels so so good. Like it tickles and makes me hard at the same time. Jesus Christ, I love this.”
“I can tell,” Brian answers. And then I ask him, “Don’t shave this weekend, okay? I want to feel it like this.”
“My little masochist,” Brian growls. He teases me now, his mouth gently sucking my balls, his fingertips running back and forth beneath them. He looks for evidence of what he suspects, “You bleached, too?”
“For you.”
Brian starts backing up, letting his body slide onto the floor as he maneuvers me to the edge of the bed. My feet start out on his shoulders, and when I try to move them, Brian holds me still and kisses every inch of me that’s near an erogenous zone. He’s torturing me on purpose. I try to at least open my knees more, and he blocks that too. I try to move one leg straight up and that surprises him and I win-for the moment. Sort of.
“Justin, you almost clocked me. Watch it.”
“Sorry. You’re making me crazy, like seriously fucking crazy,” I defend.
“I like seeing you desperate.”
“Oh my god, just eat me, please.”
Brian reprimands me for being hopelessly slutty as he pushes my legs back. I slide my hands under my knees to give him all the room he needs. He’s cautious at first, like maybe his tongue won’t like the way I taste...as if. But then he gets forceful, rimming me like this might be the last time he consumes me because this time it’s for keeps. He’ll devour and digest me until there’s nothing left.
Praise be.
I’ve wanted this all day; this exact moment, having him completely focused on pleasing me; it’s maddening and peaceful all at once. A delirium begins to overcome me. I look at a clock beside our bed and realize I no longer believe in time. I worry about the intensity of my need and wonder if this will just be who I am from now on--desperate, demanding...clinically horny? My moaning sounds maniacal (at least to me) as time passes. And then Brian stands up and pushes me back toward the center of our bed as he works his jeans to the floor. We stare at each other as he yanks his shirt off and then clobbers me with ecstasy. His hands zoom underneath my shirt and make it disappear over my head, the material skimming down my arms like they’re greased with oil. “Feel how badly I want you?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Well, multiply by about a thousand,” he says, pushing inside me. He fucks me and fucks me and I just hang on as the storm that he’s become engulfs me. I get hit with wave after wave of pleasure, keeping me underwater so long I can no longer breathe and no longer care.
I no longer need oxygen. I need this.
But then Brian stops, prompting me, “Oh god, please don’t stop. Brian...please.”
He looks down at me, resting his forehead on mine as he speaks, his eyebrows raised, “You know what this reminds me of?”
“Really good sex?” I try, stating the obvious and trying not to sound irritated.
It doesn’t work, and Brian laughs at my impatience, “Like our honeymoon, like really being inside you for the first time.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet.” That’s a powerful memory for me and yet something I haven’t thought about in a really long time. I reach up and tilt Brian’s his head down so I can kiss him. I feel my body go weak as the emotions I feel for him get stronger. He slides his hand between us and strokes me, happy when I moan. I forgive his pause; this is worth it. Plus, he doesn’t care about my time table. He’s transferred himself to a different dimension. This dimension is also well known for its stellar fornication, so I’m not going to protest this transfer. “Slow down if you want,” I offer. “It just means that I get to watch you be pleasurably discombobulated for even longer.”
He smiles, “You do realize that there are words that should not be uttered during sex, don’t you?”
“I don’t think I have that gene,” I admit.
“Oh, you definitely do not. But you are right, this is a bit discombobulating.”
I bounce my eyebrows, “Explain.”
“Well, it’s like sensory overload, like I’m even more inside you or something. Like there’s literally nothing between us.”
“There isn’t,” I concur. “Well, except that I lied. It wasn’t an old lady.”
Brian laughs a little, his hand on my forehead, “Good. I’d rather it was somebody who understood exactly what he was doing.”
“He was an old queen, like way too tan and way too flamboyant. He called me ‘sweetie’ through the whole thing. He sort of reminded me of Barry Manilow. He was from another time.”
“Very stereotypical then?”
“Yes, and I told him it was my first time, and he was all excited to explain everything to me, and he talked the entire time-“
“To keep you distracted from the pain-“
“Right, so he sees the ring on my finger and asks me how long I’ve been married and I told him and he stopped and said, ‘Sweetie, how old are you?’” Brian grins and starts nodding his head. “So I told him, and he said, ‘Honey, I hope this man of yours knows what a jewel he’s found in you. You barely look twenty-nine.’”
“What did you say?” Brian asks.
“I said, ‘He does. That’s why I’m doing this. It’s for him,’ and he goes, ‘Then let’s do it up right. We never get committed guys in here. Most of my customers are guys who want to pretend they can pass for a twink - and trust me - they can’t. I’m good, but I’m not a miracle worker.’”
“He did a good job.”
I want to get back to why I did this because it’s important to me that Brian understands. “You let me fly last night,” I remind him, tucking his falling hair behind his ear. “I was free to be myself and you trusted me completely. I trusted you completely. I can’t even describe how much I love you for that.”
Brian kisses me, a sweet, appreciative kiss, “This is gonna sound corny, but I felt honored to take you there.”
“It’s not corny. It’s the product of what we’ve built together. We were in exact alignment so we moved forward.”
“Will you ride me for a bit so I can see my present?”
“Of course, I would be honored to mount your esteemed phallus.”
“Jesus Christ. It’s like I’m fucking the world’s hottest dictionary.”
********
cause I gonna make you see
there's nobody else here
no one like me
I'm special, so special
I gotta have some of your attention give it to me
We change positions, and Brian wraps his hands around the top of my legs, his thumbs rubbing my bare skin; he watches me with an expression of intense delight. Sometimes he strokes me, sends me signals to speed up or slow down. I want nothing more than to please him, to satisfy him, to show him how much I love him. When I lean down to kiss him, he grabs me and flips both of us. We make love so intensely that I don’t even think there’s anything underneath us. I can’t feel the sheets; I can only feel him. Brian has this tuning fork ability he uses to get our bodies in sync. I used to be so overwhelmed by it when I was younger; it would put me under a spell after we’d fuck. He’d be in the kitchen downing a huge bottle of water or rolling a joint, and I’d still be lying in bed wondering when it would stop hovering like a magic carpet. And back then, those fucks were always about proving to me that he could satisfy me anytime, anywhere, and any way I wanted (and the guy after me.) He was always reinforcing his prowess like somehow I’d forget whose bed I’d stumbled into. But now, well, it’s not about that anymore. I mean, on the surface, sure, he can still be that guy, but proving that to me is no longer why we fuck.
…...
Now we fuck for the pleasure-filled fuel we need to lay bare the inventory of our hearts.
And the more enriched and complicated our intimate life has gotten, the longer we leave our inventory out in this private marketplace. And now we have many ways of getting here; there’s no longer only one well trodden road. New paths emerge almost everyday.
“My bare boy,” Brian whispers into my hair, “Thank you for this.”
I urge Brian to lift his head so I can look at him and tell him, “There’s literally nothing I won’t do for you. Nothing. Anything you or your big beautiful cock wants is yours.”
Brian smiles at me, traces my cheekbone with his finger, “You are the sweetest boy in the world.” Sometimes his smile in my direction is as satisfying as having him inside me. My entire body hums with joy.
“I want to tell you something,” I divulge when Brian’s lips are behind my ear. He whispers his answer, “Go ahead.” I rub his upper back as I talk, “It’s important to me that you feel how much I love you--”
“I do.”
I press my palm against his chest, “No, I don’t mean just in your heart. I mean I want you to feel it in every centimeter of your skin. I want every pore on your body to be bursting with love…”
He teases me, “You want to max me out like a credit card with a ten percent cash back reward?”
“Fuck, yeah,” I agree, “Maybe higher. Maybe twenty percent.”
“Now you’re just playing with fire, Sunshine. Reel it in.”
“Tell me that you feel it, that every inch of you feels it.”
“Justin, I can’t stop feeling it. Let me return the favor.” And then he kisses me and part of it is to shut me up, but I don’t care. My connection to him has upgraded again to some kind of emotional ethernet, a signal so strong I trust it implicitly.
Our fucking resumes with Brian encouraging me, pushing on my thighs, “Stay tight; cling to me.” He nudges my feet below his ass, and in the process of our readjustment, my toes slide between his cheeks. He stops moving and looks at me.
I look at him.
We look at each other.
I take stock of our diagonal position on our bed, of how far each of us can reach before I make the offer, “If you can reach my drawer, I can do this for you.” Brian thinks for a few seconds and then he goes for it, his first reach bringing me lube, his second the slim black plug that I probably haven’t used in years. “I’ll go slow; I’ll do whatever you want,” I tell him. He considers what he wants without looking right at me, his body raised and propped at a slightly upward angle, a triangle formed by our upper bodies. I stroke his face with my hand trying to impart a generosity of patience. After nearly half a minute, Brian looks down at me and discloses, “I’m afraid I’ll come like instantly.”
I nod, “Okay, just pull out for a minute.” He does so in a resigned fashion which makes me laugh a little; we lie on our sides facing one another; Brian props his leg over mine. I slick my fingers for him, making sure they’re a comfortable temperature before I open him up. He buries his face against my shoulder accepting the pleasurable intrusion. I keep one hand around his shoulders, holding him against me. “Stop me if I get you too close,” I tell him.
He hugs me tightly, “I will.” The only sounds I hear in this intimate space are my breathing and Brian’s low moans. The bass in his voice reverberates against my upper body as my ministrations are intentionally slow and deliberate. Soon his hips start to move in concert with my hand and he whispers into my neck, “Do it now.”
I replace my fingers with the plug very slowly as I don’t want to accelerate his time table. As soon as I’m done, his dominance returns; he rolls me onto my back again, his cock disappearing inside me. I study his face during the transition to make sure he has the control he wants, and when he’s ready, he squeezes my thighs around him. I cling to him like he wants, one foot crossed over the other positioned at the base of the plug.
“I don’t want this to be over,” Brian admits.
“I want to max out my card,” I counter, “It’s all I’ve wanted all day.”
His hips begin to move, building a tentative yet methodic rhythm. I gauge his physical desire and purposely stay a few seconds behind because I want him to want this. I feel like we’re walking a tightrope now, both together and apart at the same time. Beads of sweat form on Brian’s forehead soaking his hair. It’s a gloriously laborious fuck. Carefully, I press on his plug, holding it a little deeper inside him. Brian bites my earlobe, his voice encumbered by his heavy breathing, “Fuck. Jesus...fuck.”
I try to comfort him, “Just enjoy it. Forget the rest.”
There’s a palpable level of distress in Brian’s voice, “Are you close? I can’t tell like this.”
I offer some levity, “Your wires are crossed.”
He exhales on top of me, “But it feels soooo good.”
“I’m beyond close,” I reassure him, “I’m waiting for you to get to the top of this mountain.”
“Yeah?” he asks. He sounds a little nervous.
I’m not nervous at all. I’m confident. “Yes, and I’m kind of tired of waiting. Come and get me.”
…..
I almost suffocate during the turbulent rescue, trapped underneath Brian when he orgasms, feeling myself shoot and then ooze between us. He almost tries to reject the pleasure he’s experiencing, but I clamp my body around his and keep everything where I want it. He pants on top of me and tries to form words, a task he immediately fails. He keeps trying, and I finally understand what he’s saying, “I can’t see. I think I went blind.”
“You’re not blind,” I assure him.
“Then I’m dying because I’m going toward a light.”
“You’re not dying. That light you see is me.”
Brian sighs, his head dead weight, his face pressed into my neck, “Oh my god, you’re right. That light…. It’s fucking sunshine.”
Negotiations 32
Lyrics from Payphone Maroon 5 (featuring Wiz Khalifa), A Matter of Trust Billy Joel, Cheerleader Omni, and Brass in Pocket The Pretenders twice.
Note: Someone needs to vid Brass in Pocket by The Pretenders from Justin's POV because it's almost word for word Justin's season one arc. :)
Go back to Negotiations 30 or start from the beginning.
NEGOTIATIONS 31
JUSTIN'S POV
I’m at a payphone trying to call home
all of my change I spent on you
I get two calls from Brian on Friday; the first, happens around ten a.m., and I answer from my comfy spot on my futon in my studio with some of that killer cheese in my mouth. He says he’s calling just to check in, but I have to ask, “Um, why are you quasi-whispering?” as I swallow the rest of my snack.
“I hate when you talk with your mouth full,” he chastises me.
“I swallow, “Sorry.”
“I’m at my desk and now that Hillary is here in the next office, I don’t know if she’s an eavesdropper.”
“Anyone who works with you is too busy to eavesdrop. How’s your day going?”
“It’s fucking nuts,” he says, his tone exasperated.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I shouldn’t have stayed home yesterday, basically...but I’m so glad I did,” he admits.
I get what he means, “Because it made last night happen?”
“Yep. How’s your day going?”
“Lots of painting and snacking, typical nose to the grindstone day for me.”
Brian snort-laughs and then gets serious, back to his raspy voice, “Will you do something for me?”
“Uh, sure. You want something special for dinner or something?”
He laughs again, “No, I want you to jerk off for me.”
“Like right now?” I ask.
“No, like three weeks from now; I’m giving you a heads up--”
“Ha, no pun intended.”
“Yes, right now.”
“Okay. I will,” I concede.
“Good. Are you in your studio on that ancient futon?”
“Yep.”
“Lie down.” I accidentally throw my paper cheese plate like a frisbee and it zooms across the room and lands beside the trash can while the actual cheese took a hard left and ended up under my sink. “Hurry up,” Brian nags me, “I don’t have all day.” (He’s such a romantic.)
“I’m lying down.”
“Are you hard?” he asks me.
“Halfway.”
“Okay, well, I can fix that. I want you to listen to me.”
I unzip my jeans and slide my hand inside my briefs and touch myself. “I’m listening.”
What spills out of Brian is less of a masturbation prompt and more of a confession; this is why he's worried about eavesdroppers. I can picture what his face must look out, pained, tired - but in a good worn out way - as he speaks, “I cannot stop thinking about last night. I can’t stop thinking about you, about how fucking amazing you are when you give yourself over to me.”
“Thanks,” I say. I’m smiling wide and getting harder by the second. “See what we can do when we trust each other?” My cock beads and I tease myself.
“Will you come for me?” he requests, “Because you weren’t in our bed this morning, so you owe me something.”
“Yes, but then I’m not gonna want to paint anymore. I’ll want to take a nap.”
“You need to take a nap; you were up at the butt crack of dawn.”
“True.”
“Do it, Justin. I have less than five minutes before a meeting.”
Brian encourages me as I focus; even on the phone, he reads me perfectly. My breathing and the sounds I make give everything away, but that’s okay because this morning it belongs to him anyway.
…..
“I love you, Brian. Hope your day gets better.”
“It just did. See you tonight.”
……
Lying there on my trusted futon, a permanent fixture in my life for historical reasons including the fortuitous amount of inspiration baked into it that I refuse to part with, I decide to take a shower, grab my keys and set out to give Brian a surprise tonight.
************
but that can't happen to us
cause it's always been a matter of trust
Later, around three fifteen that afternoon, I’m standing in our laundry room when I hear the garage door go up. As I get to the kitchen door that leads into the garage, Brian’s exiting his car with an irritated look on his face. He wrestles to get his suit jacket and briefcase out. His hair is all over the place like he’s been running his hands through it and his tie is all wonky. “Hi! What’re you doing home so early?”
He looks up at me as he approaches the few stairs into the house, “Delegated some stuff.”
I lean forward to kiss him from my higher vantage point, and he complies. Within less than a minute, he’s making his way up the stairs to our bedroom, a tired step by step. I follow, wary of his mood. I wait on our bed, kneeling in my jeans as Brian sheds his work attire and pulls on a pair of jeans and one of his dozens of black fitted t-shirts. I put my hand on his shoulder when he sits down near me. “Are you okay? You seem out of sorts.”
“I’m very out of sorts,” he confirms.
“Something happen at work?”
He shakes his head as he’s yet to really make eye contact with me, “No, other than the fact that I can’t concentrate on anything anymore except what you and I did last night.”
I move closer to him, rub his back and eventually gingerly hug him from behind, my chin resting on his shoulder. “This is a bad thing?” I ask.
“This is a frustrating thing,” he says as he finally turns his head to look at me. He holds one of my hands against his chest. “Let’s go out. I need to talk this out, and I can’t do it here.”
“Okay, that’s fine. Where to?”
His surprise will have to wait.
********
oh I think that I found myself a cheerleader
she is always right there when I need her
We end up at a bar located about two miles from our neighborhood called The Gaight. It’s owned by hetero neighbors of ours, a married couple, Seth and Mari Frontward. They bought the place before I ever moved back in with Brian and decided that in this wealthy nook of West Virginia, they wanted a bar that no one could really identify as a gay bar or a straight bar. It sort of just depends who shows up at any given time. So, they merged the two words, and named it The Gaight. In conservative West Virginia, it sits in a rare liberal pocket so lots of gay people get engaged here or hold receptions. Brian and I come here now and then. The decor looks like it came right out of Crate & Barrel, lots of neutral tones, arrows and antlers everywhere. Not real antlers, mind you, the kitschy kind people put on rabbits. We wave hello to Seth who’s tending bar when we come in, and Brian, with a firm grasp on my hand, pulls me to a hightop table in the corner. He sits with the view of the entire bar; I end up facing him and the window. A girl takes our order, and Brian gets irritated with me when I order a mushroom appetizer. “What?” I say, “I’m hungry.”
“Okay, whatever,” he sighs.
Brian’s finger runs up and down the condensation on his beer glass as I probe him, “So what do you need to talk about? What’s going on?”
He’s clearly agitated, “I’m losing my mind. This morning, I drove past my exit for work. I can’t focus; I feel like I’m in a fog.”
“Since last night you mean?” I clarify.
He nods, “Yep.”
I give a cursory glance over my shoulder to make sure that we’re as isolated as I think we are before I continue the conversation, “You’re freaking out a little because you feel like you’ve lost some control?”
Brian raises his face and looks at me hard, “How do you do that? How the fuck do you figure things out so quickly?”
I shrug, “I just know you and feeling out of control triggers you, for lack of a better word.”
“That’s not true,” Brian disagrees.
“When you had cancer, that monster you became. Remember him?”
“Okay, fine. God, I hate that you know me this well.”
“Duh, I’m your husband, Brian.”
Brian’s voice goes down a decibel as he confides in me, “I thought the feelings of losing control would come when I’m not in charge, like when we switch, but this is way worse; this is actively fucking with me.” I try to catch a mushroom before it falls on the floor and nearly topple off my stool. Brian catches me fast and gets me back on solid footing. “Jesus, don’t kill yourself,” he scolds me.
“Whoops, thanks, sorry.” Brian waves at our waitress for another round. When they’re delivered, Brian watches as she walks away, making sure she’s out of ear shot, and then looks at me expectantly, like I better have an answer for what’s happening to him, but I just have more questions, “Can I ask you what you think is causing this? What happened last night that’s got you off balance? Are you unsettled because we brought Josh in or something?”
Brian shakes his head. “No, that’s the crazy part. I think it happened because he was there.” He takes a deep breath, “I’ll try to explain this as best I can.”
“Okay.”
“So, you were laying on my chest while he punished you. And for the first time, I felt a completely new sensation; I could feel every flinch when you were experiencing pain, every squeeze as you were clinging to me to get through it, but in a completely different way. I’ve never been on that side of the equation without being the one who’s inflicting the pain; I mean, without Josh or a third person, that side doesn’t even exist.”
“Ah, so this was algebra when you’re used to basic math.”
"Yeah, kind of."
I correct him, "But he didn't punish me, you did. He doesn't have that privilege or that right. That's all yours. He was just a vessel."
"I could feel this wicked pleasure you were experiencing. You were physically grateful for it.”
I interject, “Not just physically; it went way beyond that.”
Brian smiles at me, a sweet, appreciative smile, and then reaches out and cups my face but only for a second, “See, this is why we can’t talk at home.”
“Explain.”
Brian leans in, his elbows on the table, his voice sweetened, “Because if we were at home right now, we’d already be fucking.”
Our faces separate as I confirm, “Oh, yeah. True. But I’m glad you’re talking to me; I want to help you or distract you, whatever you want, and, I mean, being in public has never stopped you from fucking me before.”
Brian laughs and nods his head, “Very true.”
“So keep going, keep talking. I like it.”
Brian inhales and closes his eyes for a few seconds like he’s summoning extra energy before he speaks, “Last night in the tub you said that I was flying, that you could feel it--”
I smile at him, “You were. It was beautiful to feel you that free, and it really turns me on...a lot.”
Brian reaches across the table and wraps a hand around my wrist, “Well, that’s very nice to hear, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t land this mother fucking plane.”
His tone is so calm and so sincere that I laugh, a laugh that Brian does not appreciate. But that’s when I realize what’s wrong with him; it makes sense. It’s why he looks so utterly worn out. This has probably never happened to him before. I test my theory, “You’re still in the headspace, you mean?”
“Yes, and it’s driving me crazy. I cannot get out of it.”
“You’re not used to this. It’s top space, but it’s the remixed extended version. You get there from time to time, but never like last night. Last night you went much, much deeper.”
His impatience can sometimes border on the adorable. “Okay, whatever you say, but that doesn’t fix it,” he argues.
“Okay. But you’re home now; it’s the weekend. Why try to change it?”
Brian’s eyes widen as if my question is misguided, “To know that I can. I can’t just be like this.”
“Well...maybe you just need to blow it out. Turn it up to eleven and leave it all on the field, you know?”
Brian’s not impressed, “This is your solution?”
“Well, ignoring it seems impossible for you, so it’s either that or I take over, and you come crashing out of this headspace into another one, and I don’t know if that’s really advisable.”
“Huh,” Brian sort of grunts.
“I think I can help you, though.”
Brian has his fists stacked in front of him, his chin resting right there, “Help me, how?”
I’m going to opt for door number three here: distraction. “Well, I have a surprise for you tonight. Something you’re really going to like.”
He looks a little happier, “Really? What is it?”
“Well, I’m not going to tell you.”
“Can I guess,” he asks, “Like yes/no questions?”
“Sure, why not,” I offer.
“Okay,” Brian begins, “Is it something I’ve specifically asked for?”
I pause and consider his question, “Not exactly. No.”
“Okay, scratch that. Did you buy it today?”
“Um, yes.”
“Okay. Was it more or less than one hundred dollars?”
“Less.”
Brian begins rubbing his chin as if he’s some old wise man solving society’s problems. “Okay. Do you have it with you now?”
I pause before I answer, “Yes.”
“Give it to me,” he demands.
“Nope.”
“Why not? You have it with you, and I’ve had a shitty day. C’mon,” he protests.
“It’s not something I can actually give you.”
“Okay, okay…” he recaps excitedly, “So you bought it today for less than a hundred dollars...and you have it with you now...but you can’t give it to me…. Can I have it in the car?”
None of these are really yes/no questions, but whatever, “I guess you could but no.”
“Why not?” Brian inquires.
“Because it wouldn’t be appreciated enough.”
Brian’s eyebrows go way up, the corners of his mouth follow, “Okay. So, basically, you’re saying we should get out of here and go home and then I can have it?”
Sometimes he’s like a five year old, “Pretty much.” Like next, he’s gonna ask me for money so he can go get a toy at the dollar store.
Brian immediately waves our waitress over and settles up in cash. We’re in the car heading home in less than five minutes. We’re standing in our kitchen in ten minutes and Brian’s pointing to the floor, “Do you want to go up or down?”
Considering his current headspace dilemma, I decide to take that out of the equation for now, “Up. To our room.”
********
gonna use my arms
gonna use my legs
gonna use my style
gonna use my sidestep
gonna use my fingers
gonna use my, my, my imagination
This walk up the stairs is completely different from the one a couple of hours ago; he’s got spring in his step this time. This makes me happy. Once we’re in our bedroom, he turns to me with concern on his face, “How’s your ankle? I didn’t even ask.”
“It’s okay. It’s still weak, but the pain has gone down considerably.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, I’m ready,” he announces with a clap of his hands in the center of our bedroom like he’s preparing to conduct a giant orchestra. “Give me my surprise.”
“You’re going to have to find it.”
“What? That’s not fair. I want it now,” he objects.
“Start looking,” I instruct him.
He looks around the room, gathering his thoughts, “Okay, you have it on you, but I couldn’t appreciate in the car….”
“Correct.”
He comes up to me, his hands dipping into the front pockets of my jeans. He comes up empty. He tries the back pockets. Nothing. Again, he ponders, “Okay, I get it.”
“You do?”
“Yep, it’s up your butt.” I roll my eyes at him as he pulls me close and puts his hand inside my underwear. He quickly determines that he’s wrong. “Did you pierce something? Or get a tattoo?”
“Nope.”
“Then what the fuck, Justin? Is it in your shoe?”
I laugh at his frustration, “No.”
“Open your mouth.”
“Aaahhh.”
“Damn it, I’m lost.”
“Would you like me to show it to you now?”
“Fuck, yes, I would like that.”
I love his frustration sometimes, especially when I’m the one who can make it go away, “Okay, c’mere.”
Brian looks confused and suspicious as he comes toward me. I drape my hands around his neck and kiss him, try to settle him down a little, get him in the mindset I want him in. The affection puzzles him, but he plays along as I move backwards step by step until I bump into our bed. “Okay, give me a little space.”
I can’t help but wear an anxious grin as I slide my pants down, my underwear tangled up in them. When Brian sees what I’m giving him; his eyes expand into two huge dark orbs as he stands beside our bed. As if he’s in a trance, he stares at my face as he unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out. He strokes himself slowly like he’s watching me on big screen or something. “Brian, you look like you’re in shock.”
“I just...,” he starts, “I don’t know what to say.”
Propped on my elbows, my legs open revealing my newly waxed skin, I wave him in. “Enjoy it. It’s all for you.”
He approaches me with caution, lowers himself and runs his lips over my sensitive canvas, taking time and care to appreciate the hairless terrain. “I can’t believe you did this for me. How badly did it hurt?”
“It’s not a walk in the park but it’s worth it just to see that look on your face.”
“Was it a guy?” he asks as he runs his face up my cock.
“No,” I lie, “Some older lady.”
“Jesus Christ. This is beyond smooth.”
“I wanted to give you something special after what you gave me last night.”
“I mean, I don’t even know what to say,” Brian admits as he explores my lower body; my eyes bounce from his hands to his face and back again. His fingertips pass over a smooth spot right before his lips do. He loves my body on a whole new level now and I want to shout that around the world. He continues as he explores me, “This makes me want to do so many dirty things to you...over and over and over.”
“Good. I’m so glad you like it.”
He pushes my legs further apart, and I moan. Most of Brian’s body is on the bed now as he tastes me. I play with his hair, enjoy the soft strands in my fingers as I try to keep from wanting to come all over him. I can feel the connection between us begin to tighten like a trapeze wire; I can almost pluck it out of the air. “Oh my god. This is one of the happiest moments of my life,” Brian admits and then he stops and looks up at me as he finishes his thought, “This could make me become a terrorist.”
I sit up a little, “Excuse me?”
“Like the seventy-two virgin thing. Like I would be a terrorist if I thought I would end up in heaven in this exact moment.”
I roll my eyes and laugh at him, lying back on the bed. I close them as Brian starts to investigate every inch of his present. Just feeling him between my legs puts me in this peaceful state where all is right with the world. “This feels so so good. Like it tickles and makes me hard at the same time. Jesus Christ, I love this.”
“I can tell,” Brian answers. And then I ask him, “Don’t shave this weekend, okay? I want to feel it like this.”
“My little masochist,” Brian growls. He teases me now, his mouth gently sucking my balls, his fingertips running back and forth beneath them. He looks for evidence of what he suspects, “You bleached, too?”
“For you.”
Brian starts backing up, letting his body slide onto the floor as he maneuvers me to the edge of the bed. My feet start out on his shoulders, and when I try to move them, Brian holds me still and kisses every inch of me that’s near an erogenous zone. He’s torturing me on purpose. I try to at least open my knees more, and he blocks that too. I try to move one leg straight up and that surprises him and I win-for the moment. Sort of.
“Justin, you almost clocked me. Watch it.”
“Sorry. You’re making me crazy, like seriously fucking crazy,” I defend.
“I like seeing you desperate.”
“Oh my god, just eat me, please.”
Brian reprimands me for being hopelessly slutty as he pushes my legs back. I slide my hands under my knees to give him all the room he needs. He’s cautious at first, like maybe his tongue won’t like the way I taste...as if. But then he gets forceful, rimming me like this might be the last time he consumes me because this time it’s for keeps. He’ll devour and digest me until there’s nothing left.
Praise be.
I’ve wanted this all day; this exact moment, having him completely focused on pleasing me; it’s maddening and peaceful all at once. A delirium begins to overcome me. I look at a clock beside our bed and realize I no longer believe in time. I worry about the intensity of my need and wonder if this will just be who I am from now on--desperate, demanding...clinically horny? My moaning sounds maniacal (at least to me) as time passes. And then Brian stands up and pushes me back toward the center of our bed as he works his jeans to the floor. We stare at each other as he yanks his shirt off and then clobbers me with ecstasy. His hands zoom underneath my shirt and make it disappear over my head, the material skimming down my arms like they’re greased with oil. “Feel how badly I want you?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Well, multiply by about a thousand,” he says, pushing inside me. He fucks me and fucks me and I just hang on as the storm that he’s become engulfs me. I get hit with wave after wave of pleasure, keeping me underwater so long I can no longer breathe and no longer care.
I no longer need oxygen. I need this.
But then Brian stops, prompting me, “Oh god, please don’t stop. Brian...please.”
He looks down at me, resting his forehead on mine as he speaks, his eyebrows raised, “You know what this reminds me of?”
“Really good sex?” I try, stating the obvious and trying not to sound irritated.
It doesn’t work, and Brian laughs at my impatience, “Like our honeymoon, like really being inside you for the first time.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet.” That’s a powerful memory for me and yet something I haven’t thought about in a really long time. I reach up and tilt Brian’s his head down so I can kiss him. I feel my body go weak as the emotions I feel for him get stronger. He slides his hand between us and strokes me, happy when I moan. I forgive his pause; this is worth it. Plus, he doesn’t care about my time table. He’s transferred himself to a different dimension. This dimension is also well known for its stellar fornication, so I’m not going to protest this transfer. “Slow down if you want,” I offer. “It just means that I get to watch you be pleasurably discombobulated for even longer.”
He smiles, “You do realize that there are words that should not be uttered during sex, don’t you?”
“I don’t think I have that gene,” I admit.
“Oh, you definitely do not. But you are right, this is a bit discombobulating.”
I bounce my eyebrows, “Explain.”
“Well, it’s like sensory overload, like I’m even more inside you or something. Like there’s literally nothing between us.”
“There isn’t,” I concur. “Well, except that I lied. It wasn’t an old lady.”
Brian laughs a little, his hand on my forehead, “Good. I’d rather it was somebody who understood exactly what he was doing.”
“He was an old queen, like way too tan and way too flamboyant. He called me ‘sweetie’ through the whole thing. He sort of reminded me of Barry Manilow. He was from another time.”
“Very stereotypical then?”
“Yes, and I told him it was my first time, and he was all excited to explain everything to me, and he talked the entire time-“
“To keep you distracted from the pain-“
“Right, so he sees the ring on my finger and asks me how long I’ve been married and I told him and he stopped and said, ‘Sweetie, how old are you?’” Brian grins and starts nodding his head. “So I told him, and he said, ‘Honey, I hope this man of yours knows what a jewel he’s found in you. You barely look twenty-nine.’”
“What did you say?” Brian asks.
“I said, ‘He does. That’s why I’m doing this. It’s for him,’ and he goes, ‘Then let’s do it up right. We never get committed guys in here. Most of my customers are guys who want to pretend they can pass for a twink - and trust me - they can’t. I’m good, but I’m not a miracle worker.’”
“He did a good job.”
I want to get back to why I did this because it’s important to me that Brian understands. “You let me fly last night,” I remind him, tucking his falling hair behind his ear. “I was free to be myself and you trusted me completely. I trusted you completely. I can’t even describe how much I love you for that.”
Brian kisses me, a sweet, appreciative kiss, “This is gonna sound corny, but I felt honored to take you there.”
“It’s not corny. It’s the product of what we’ve built together. We were in exact alignment so we moved forward.”
“Will you ride me for a bit so I can see my present?”
“Of course, I would be honored to mount your esteemed phallus.”
“Jesus Christ. It’s like I’m fucking the world’s hottest dictionary.”
********
cause I gonna make you see
there's nobody else here
no one like me
I'm special, so special
I gotta have some of your attention give it to me
We change positions, and Brian wraps his hands around the top of my legs, his thumbs rubbing my bare skin; he watches me with an expression of intense delight. Sometimes he strokes me, sends me signals to speed up or slow down. I want nothing more than to please him, to satisfy him, to show him how much I love him. When I lean down to kiss him, he grabs me and flips both of us. We make love so intensely that I don’t even think there’s anything underneath us. I can’t feel the sheets; I can only feel him. Brian has this tuning fork ability he uses to get our bodies in sync. I used to be so overwhelmed by it when I was younger; it would put me under a spell after we’d fuck. He’d be in the kitchen downing a huge bottle of water or rolling a joint, and I’d still be lying in bed wondering when it would stop hovering like a magic carpet. And back then, those fucks were always about proving to me that he could satisfy me anytime, anywhere, and any way I wanted (and the guy after me.) He was always reinforcing his prowess like somehow I’d forget whose bed I’d stumbled into. But now, well, it’s not about that anymore. I mean, on the surface, sure, he can still be that guy, but proving that to me is no longer why we fuck.
…...
Now we fuck for the pleasure-filled fuel we need to lay bare the inventory of our hearts.
And the more enriched and complicated our intimate life has gotten, the longer we leave our inventory out in this private marketplace. And now we have many ways of getting here; there’s no longer only one well trodden road. New paths emerge almost everyday.
“My bare boy,” Brian whispers into my hair, “Thank you for this.”
I urge Brian to lift his head so I can look at him and tell him, “There’s literally nothing I won’t do for you. Nothing. Anything you or your big beautiful cock wants is yours.”
Brian smiles at me, traces my cheekbone with his finger, “You are the sweetest boy in the world.” Sometimes his smile in my direction is as satisfying as having him inside me. My entire body hums with joy.
“I want to tell you something,” I divulge when Brian’s lips are behind my ear. He whispers his answer, “Go ahead.” I rub his upper back as I talk, “It’s important to me that you feel how much I love you--”
“I do.”
I press my palm against his chest, “No, I don’t mean just in your heart. I mean I want you to feel it in every centimeter of your skin. I want every pore on your body to be bursting with love…”
He teases me, “You want to max me out like a credit card with a ten percent cash back reward?”
“Fuck, yeah,” I agree, “Maybe higher. Maybe twenty percent.”
“Now you’re just playing with fire, Sunshine. Reel it in.”
“Tell me that you feel it, that every inch of you feels it.”
“Justin, I can’t stop feeling it. Let me return the favor.” And then he kisses me and part of it is to shut me up, but I don’t care. My connection to him has upgraded again to some kind of emotional ethernet, a signal so strong I trust it implicitly.
Our fucking resumes with Brian encouraging me, pushing on my thighs, “Stay tight; cling to me.” He nudges my feet below his ass, and in the process of our readjustment, my toes slide between his cheeks. He stops moving and looks at me.
I look at him.
We look at each other.
I take stock of our diagonal position on our bed, of how far each of us can reach before I make the offer, “If you can reach my drawer, I can do this for you.” Brian thinks for a few seconds and then he goes for it, his first reach bringing me lube, his second the slim black plug that I probably haven’t used in years. “I’ll go slow; I’ll do whatever you want,” I tell him. He considers what he wants without looking right at me, his body raised and propped at a slightly upward angle, a triangle formed by our upper bodies. I stroke his face with my hand trying to impart a generosity of patience. After nearly half a minute, Brian looks down at me and discloses, “I’m afraid I’ll come like instantly.”
I nod, “Okay, just pull out for a minute.” He does so in a resigned fashion which makes me laugh a little; we lie on our sides facing one another; Brian props his leg over mine. I slick my fingers for him, making sure they’re a comfortable temperature before I open him up. He buries his face against my shoulder accepting the pleasurable intrusion. I keep one hand around his shoulders, holding him against me. “Stop me if I get you too close,” I tell him.
He hugs me tightly, “I will.” The only sounds I hear in this intimate space are my breathing and Brian’s low moans. The bass in his voice reverberates against my upper body as my ministrations are intentionally slow and deliberate. Soon his hips start to move in concert with my hand and he whispers into my neck, “Do it now.”
I replace my fingers with the plug very slowly as I don’t want to accelerate his time table. As soon as I’m done, his dominance returns; he rolls me onto my back again, his cock disappearing inside me. I study his face during the transition to make sure he has the control he wants, and when he’s ready, he squeezes my thighs around him. I cling to him like he wants, one foot crossed over the other positioned at the base of the plug.
“I don’t want this to be over,” Brian admits.
“I want to max out my card,” I counter, “It’s all I’ve wanted all day.”
His hips begin to move, building a tentative yet methodic rhythm. I gauge his physical desire and purposely stay a few seconds behind because I want him to want this. I feel like we’re walking a tightrope now, both together and apart at the same time. Beads of sweat form on Brian’s forehead soaking his hair. It’s a gloriously laborious fuck. Carefully, I press on his plug, holding it a little deeper inside him. Brian bites my earlobe, his voice encumbered by his heavy breathing, “Fuck. Jesus...fuck.”
I try to comfort him, “Just enjoy it. Forget the rest.”
There’s a palpable level of distress in Brian’s voice, “Are you close? I can’t tell like this.”
I offer some levity, “Your wires are crossed.”
He exhales on top of me, “But it feels soooo good.”
“I’m beyond close,” I reassure him, “I’m waiting for you to get to the top of this mountain.”
“Yeah?” he asks. He sounds a little nervous.
I’m not nervous at all. I’m confident. “Yes, and I’m kind of tired of waiting. Come and get me.”
…..
I almost suffocate during the turbulent rescue, trapped underneath Brian when he orgasms, feeling myself shoot and then ooze between us. He almost tries to reject the pleasure he’s experiencing, but I clamp my body around his and keep everything where I want it. He pants on top of me and tries to form words, a task he immediately fails. He keeps trying, and I finally understand what he’s saying, “I can’t see. I think I went blind.”
“You’re not blind,” I assure him.
“Then I’m dying because I’m going toward a light.”
“You’re not dying. That light you see is me.”
Brian sighs, his head dead weight, his face pressed into my neck, “Oh my god, you’re right. That light…. It’s fucking sunshine.”
Negotiations 32
Lyrics from Payphone Maroon 5 (featuring Wiz Khalifa), A Matter of Trust Billy Joel, Cheerleader Omni, and Brass in Pocket The Pretenders twice.
Note: Someone needs to vid Brass in Pocket by The Pretenders from Justin's POV because it's almost word for word Justin's season one arc. :)