Late... LATE birthday present
This is the really really late birthday present for malli_!
If you like this, applaud her because I would have never written it if it hadn't been for her birthday.
Title: Weird, WEIRD
Author: 0corona0
Rating: A lot of swearing, the word "cock" is mentioned and there aren't any graphic, but some sex scenes. Makes it NC17, doesn't it?
Pairing: Uhm... uhuhm... BLAME malli_! *giggles uncontrollably* Brian/Ethan
Warnings: Unbeta'd, so I don't really want to know how many grammar mistakes there are. I gave my best and hope that it's enough.
Spoilers up until late Season 3! Obviously, same timeline.
Summary: "Thank God, because these are really creepy stories." Imagine Brian and Ethan living together.
Disclaimer: All belongs to Showtime, I don't make money, it's for fun, don't sue.
A/N: Happy HAPPY Birthday, honey! I know it's late, but, well... it's definitely something special. *G* It's the first thing I've written in a long, loooooong time, so I don't expect it to be overly brilliant, but I like it so much because I really wanted to write it after she had put this idea into my head.
Ethan’s damn violin music already greeted Brian in the elevator.
It was so loud that it could be heard out in the streets and in every other apartment in the building, not to mention the buildings right and left to this one. Not to mention the café on the other side of the street where they got extra good tips for the “background music”. Not to mention every part in Brian’s exhausted, frustrated, overworked, horny mind.
And when Brian was exhausted, frustrated, overworked and horny he was no one to joke with.
He slid the loft door open forcefully, stormed in and slammed his briefcase down onto the counter.
“Stop torturing the fucking cat!”, he snapped at the boy who was standing in the middle of the room, continuing playing imperturbably despite his arrival. Okay, so work had been really stressful and back-breaking. He was allowed to be pissed at everyone and everything.
When Ethan heard his boyfriend’s voice though, he stopped playing immediately and looked hurt into his direction, the slightest hint of arrogance already forming on his face, mixing up with the concern which was plastered on the mien to cover it:
“What is wrong, honey?”
Brian huffed at the worry in Ethan’s voice, rushed to the fridge without answering, took out a beer and downed it in two gulps, throwing the door shot so forcefully that a whiskey bottle came crashing down, spilling its expensive liquid all over the floor.
“Fuck”, he cursed, but didn’t really care anyway. Fuck the floor.
“Brian?”
The ad-exec closed his eyes and tried to relax, but Ethan’s voice - which never seemed to get rid of a certain french accent (the little fucker did it on purpose, Brian was sure of that) and remained him constantly of this fucking guy Lindsay had wanted to marry when she had lost her mind temporarily - didn’t help much to smooth his bitch of a headache out.
Ethan walked up in front of him, careful not to step into the mess Brian had caused, and took his lover’s face into his hands. His thumbs stroked the cheeks gently, his brown eyes looked up into Brian’s with sympathy and pity.
“Tell me, love”, Ethan almost whispered, keeping a firm distant between their bodies.
Fuck sympathy, fuck pity and especially fuck talking! All Brian wanted was a hard, animalistic fuck, right here and now. He wanted to rip Ethan out of his clothes, throw him onto the floor and fuck him heartlessly.
And since Brian always had been the one to reach for what he wanted, he said nothing and instead pressed his body flush against Ethan’s, grinding his hard-on against the smaller boy.
And what did the little fuck do? He fucking backed away!
“No, Brian”, the musician said firmly, “we need to communicate so this can work. Tell me what is bothering you, after that we can make love.”
Make love. Brian thought he’d vomit right there and then onto the floor. Communicating.
Fuck, it had only been a bad day at work, not some fucking emotional problem. A quick fuck to release his tension, then he’d be okay. But no fucking communicating! He knew he should have let Cynthia blow him before he went home.
Double fuck. Now he was already seriously considering allowing his female secretary to blow him. He needed to get out of here!
Brian turned around, still not saying anything, grabbed the phone and hit speed dial 1.
“Hello?”
“Save me, Mikey!”
“Oh shit, this fucking arrogant kid’s bothering you again?”
“Do you need to ask? Get me the fuck out of here!”
A lightly shaking hand was rested onto his shoulder, pushing down the slightest bit, then Ethan was speaking, not bothering to wait until he had ended the conversation with his best friend:
“You can’t keep running away, Brian. I love you. Let’s just talk about it, okay?”
Brian tensed so violently that he heard his muscles cracking.
“Mikey”, he said in a hoarse voice, “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Brian!”, Ethan hissed, sounding pretty upset, but he couldn’t care less. Without looking back, Brian stormed out of his own goddamn loft, still in his suit, never haven taken a shower. Fuck it. He could do that at Micheal’s.
Same night, only a little later:
Brian slammed into Ethan so forcefully that the bed banged against the wall. Banged again and again while the older man pushed violently into his boyfriend - no time for a fucking slow fuck tonight. Ethan always got his fucking slow fucks, but today it had been fucking frustrating at work and even more frustrating to hear that Debbie was royally pissed at him for supporting Stockwell’s campaign. He hated it when Debbie was mad at him, it was this damn situation in which he noticed just how much he loved and needed her and, fuck, he would never ever admit that! He didn’t love, nor did he need anyone!
Besides, the boy had refused to fuck right after work, so a little punishment was appropriate.
So fuck Ethan and his slow fucks. Just ram into him, in and out, in and out, in and out and… stop complaining, you fucking wimp!
“Brian… Brian, what the fuck’s wrong… slow down, slow down… .”
The ad-exec didn’t even think about it. Ethan was so beautifully fucking tight and the pain in the boy’s system made his muscles contract around Brian’s cock. Fuck him if he was a heartless bastard and didn’t care, but right now Ethan’s suffering was pretty welcome to him. Suffer for me one time, baby boy, and tomorrow you’ll get your fucking virgin-fucks. Love-makings. Whatever.
“STOP!”, Ethan suddenly screamed, pushing at Brian’s chest with all his strength (not that he stood a chance) and so loudly that seconds later, the neighbours would began to pound against the wall.
Fucking great.
Brian groaned even more frustrated and pulled out of Ethan. Fuck this kid. He knew he should have flipped him onto his back to fuck him, but Ethan always wanted the fucking eye-to-eye thing. Why did he ever get involved with him? Why the fucking fuck?
“Christ, Brian! What’s wrong with you?”, the musician snapped, covering himself with the blanket, wrapping his fragile body into it.
Brian sighed deeply, really really deeply and thought about the professor’s tactics. Calming down. Just-calming-the-fuck-down. Give people what they want so you can fuck them (the world was so fucking easy).
“Debbie - you know, Micheal’s mother…?”
Ethan nodded, the anger on his face having quickly changed to concern and now turned just as fast into boredom.
“She’s mad at me because I’m developing Stockwell’s campaign.”
Immediately, there was anger on Ethan’s face again.
“That’s why you’re fucking me as if I was some piece of meat?! That’s why you come home all angry, insult me and my music, yell at me, run away and don’t come back until eleven? Because some fucking friend’s mother of yours doesn’t approve of the things you do? Well, fuck yourself, Brian!”
The sheets were crushed together in Brian’s fists and he closed his eyes in pure desperation. Ethan just didn’t got it. He would never get that Debbie was closer to being Brian’s mother than anyone else, including his real one, would ever get. Not as if Ethan cared. Not as if the boy cared about his family at all - about his real family: Mikey, Debbie, Vic, Lindsay, Gus, Emmet, Ted, yes, fucking yes, even Mel and Ben, alright?! Alright. In Ethan’s fucking mind, the fiddler was the only one Brian loved, the only one Brian’s time was devoted to.
And still he was there with him, lying in his own fucking bed and fucking apologising in his own loft so that he’d get release for his fucking boner.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll be gentle, ‘kay?”, Brian said, eyes lowered, face empty, voice defeated. Fuck, Brian Kinney had been destroyed by some romantic twink. He was already speaking like the fucking teenager.
Ethan smiled gently and relaxed again, quickly loosing the blanket and spreading out on the dark-blue sheets.
“Make up for it”, he whispered, obviously in a tone which was supposed to sound seductive, and lifted his ass of the bed.
Brian was so near to rolling his eyes. He didn’t. He was so near to getting the fuck away as long as he still could. He didn’t, because who knew what the lunatic musician would do to his loft if he left now.
Instead, he leaned down and gave Ethan the rimjob of his life. When the boy was moaning and whimpering under him - God, how he loved the sounds Ethan made! - Brian finally got what he wanted too and was allowed to “make love” to his boyfriend. Fuck this shit. All he had wanted was a quick hard, animalistic fuck, but here he was, gently easing in and out of Ethan, keeping their hands locked, stroking his sides reassuringly, covering him in soft kisses.
He hit Ethan’s prostate with every push and the boy was already far gone into oblivion. Hopefully, please, please too far gone to--
“Say… it”, the student moaned just in that moment, almost not getting the words together.
Brian held still for a moment and closed his eyes, holding his breath. He didn’t want to, but he had to. Ethan was never too far gone, never.
“I love you, Ethan”, he choked out and then used the obvious bliss these meaningless words caused to slam hard into the boy.
Ethan came shrieking Brian’s name (he sounded like those fucking cheerleaders in High School and Brian’s dick almost got soft at the memory) and while he was captivated by his orgasm, the older man pushed violently into him two times before shooting himself. Then he collapsed onto Ethan, more because the boy wanted him to and less because he had to.
“Say it”, Ethan murmured again, his soft lips and warm breathing near Brian’s ear. “Say it.”
And suddenly Brian’s face was lit up with the most honest smile he had ever smiled and he kissed Ethan gently, lovingly, softly. The sparkles were practically flying between them when he obeyed willingly, meaning it all:
“I love y--“
“NO!”
Justin woke up from the suppressed cry he had let out, shaking like a leaf. Fucking god, this had been creepy. He closed his wide-opened eyes and tried to relax, not meaning to wake Ethan. Ethan always wanted to talk about Justin’s fucking nightmares, and to be honest, he had no intention of telling his boyfriend that he had dreamt of the musician being fucked by Brian… .
Brian!
Slowly reality was kicking in again and Justin could not avoid to wonder why it was that Brian was lying spooned up behind him, just like the night before he left him-don’t you fucking think about it!
Then he remembered. Yeah. He was back together with Brian. Lying in the loft. In Brian’s bed. In Brian’s arms. Yesyesyesyes YAHEE!
And he was all sweaty from the most ridiculous nightmare in his life.
But a nightmare nevertheless.
Justin trembled lightly and tried to pull himself together, not wanting to cry now. He had learned to cope with nightmares and after a while, Ethan had gotten used to them too. But he had always wanted to talk about them. Fuck talking. Brian had known when to shut up and let Justin cry and then not to mention it in the morning.
Just like this time, when the blond felt the arm around his waist tightening, pulling him as close as possible so that Brian could provide him comfort, and his… whatever the fuck Brian was second hand moving up to gently caress his neck and comb through his hair. Oh, and of course a hard-on pressing against Justin’s ass, but Brian Kinney was Brian Kinney. Next thing, Brian was nuzzling into Justin’s neck, kissing it lightly. Over the past one and a half year, the ad-exec had become an expert about Justin Taylor waking up from nightmares, knowing exactly what to do.
Just like this time, when he mumbled sleepily, somehow sensing that Justin needed to get some weird thing out of his system: “What’s up?”
Justin took in a deep breath to grasp that he really dreamt something so ridiculous, then he closed his eyes and relaxed back against Brian. Fuck it. The older man would probably understand.
“Dreamt that you and Ethan were fucking…”, Brian let out a strangled hiss as if he was dying, “…nope, let me correct that…”, Justin continued unimpressed and turned around so he could face his - oh, fuck it: so he could face his lover: “You two were making love.”
Blue met hazel and suddenly Brian dived down to kiss Justin, passionately, wildly, and so Brian-like full of love that the boy thought he’d choke on the strong emotions (and on that skilled tongue).
“That is the most disgusting thing that has ever been dreamt on this planet.”
Brian began to reach down to massage Justin’s already hardening cock, all of sudden not sleepy anymore, but Boy Wonder didn’t want to give in that easily. One more thing needed to be said:
“You even said you loved him. Two times.”
Brian snorted so despisingly that Justin was sure Ethan could feel in this very moment, wherever the fuck he was, how much contempt was directed towards him.
“We’re taking you to a fucking therapist first thing in the morning. Then to the doctor, then to the hospital.” He continued stroking Justin’s cock which was rock hard by now, and smirked.
“So… what else is up?”
Justin moaned loudly and decided that the first part of his dream hadn’t been all this important… .
Next day
The next day at work sucked royally for Brian. Not only that he had more work to do than ever, the art department had also fucked up two important layouts and left for the weekend without fixing it. So that had been left for him to do. Fucking great. Added to that was that Debbie had treated him like air this morning in the diner, fussing over all of them besides him and sending this “I’m so fucking disappointed” look which he hated almost as much as the memory of Justin lying on cold cement, not moving… .
And last but not at all least, Justin’s hand had started to hurt vigorously this morning only after drawing for two hours. At first, the boy had tried to hide it, so Brian had not noticed anything on his first round through the art department (he had started doing more walks through their departments since a certain inturn had started working there). On his second round, he had caught Justin massaging his hand, but the blond reassured him that everything was fine.
Shortly before lunch break, Justin had walked into his office with such a pained expression that Brian wanted to scream at him for putting himself through this torture and asked for the afternoon off to see a doctor. Brian nearly yelled at him to get the fuck out and just fucking go to let someone make sure his hand was alright, and then to wait for him in the loft if somehow possible.
So he hadn’t received a blowjob at lunch time, hadn’t given one at lunch time and hadn’t had a helping hand for the long extra hours. Plus, he hadn’t had the time to check on Justin - if something was permanently wrong with his hand because he had drawn so much in the past weeks, Brian would make sure to burn every fucking pencil on this goddamn earth.
So, when he stepped out of the elevator and slid his door open, he was exhausted, frustrated, overworked, worried and horny.
And when Brian was exhausted, frustrated, overworked, worried and horny he was no one to joke with.
He found Justin sitting at his desk, staring concentrated at a huge piece of paper and… fucking drawing!
For a moment, Brian thought he would explode, but at this very moment Justin turned around and flashed him a bright, patented sunshine smile. “Hey”, the young man called, a hungry, happy expression on his face.
Brian didn’t smile, or answer at all, just looked away and threw his briefcase onto the kitchen counter to collect himself, so Justin turned back to working on Debbie’s birthday present: a big drawing of her, having her arms thrown around Micheal to her right and Brian to her left, pinching both of their cheeks. The two men had an annoyed expression on their faces, but still smiled softly, their own arms hugging the woman in their middle closer and their hands meeting and intertwining at her back. It was fucking cheesy, but Justin knew that women were sucker for things like that.
Brian approached his lover from behind and waited for Justin to lift his pencil from the paper. When he did, the older man stilled his wrist immediately and squeezed gently, being so relieved to feel Justin’s pulse against his thumb.
“Get this fucking thing out of your hand, or I will rip you a second asshole”, he murmured calm like the dead into Justin’s ear, both of his hands starting to massage the young man’s hand carefully, but confidently. He had done this endless times, he knew how to do it.
Justin let the pencil drop out of his hand without hesitation (his hand was already hurting like a motherfucker, anyway), dropped his head back and started fucking purring. Shit. Brian rubbed his growing hard-on against the chair and felt totally pathetic, but for a bit of friction, a man would do anything. His gaze dropped down onto the picture and lightest of all smiles lifted his lips.
“You know, Debbie might not appreciate me on this picture.”
A sly grin had replaced Justin’s sunshine smile and the boy shrugged: “Doesn’t matter. The title says Mother & Sons, so you belong there.”
Brian bit back a sniffling sound which he would never allow anyone to hear an nuzzled into Justin’s neck (just because he knew it drove the younger man wild), biting the pale skin to express his need for a certain blond.
“What did the doctor say?”, Brian asked while sneaking one hand down to Justin’s crotch, rubbing his cock through the denim.
“Hm hm”, was all the artist replied, but not quite enough an answer for Brian.
“I think I didn’t hear you, sunshine”, he teased and pressed down onto Justin’s cock, his attention still in equal measure divided between his boy’s hand and lower abdomen.
“Must be the age”, Justin moaned and then yelped when Brian pushed with a little too much pressure, “and the doctor said that I have been drawing to much lately and that I obviously have had the need to grip things pretty hard lately.” Justin grinned naughtily and Brian let out a snorting laughter when they both remembered all the incredible fucks, especially this one incredible fuck, when Justin had gripped the legs of the table so hard that both of his hands had had a cramp after it.
Breaking free of his memory and more than ready to make a new one, Justin released himself from Brian’s arms, stood up and pulled his lover closer, sealing their mouths together in a searing, hard kiss from which they both came up panting.
“But… they said… that lots of fucking… can make it… better”, Justin said, sucking breaths in between the words.
Brian smirked happily. The life he had missed.
Then Justin pulled him close again and hissed: “Fuck me!”
And that was what they did for the rest of the night and into the early morning. Both of them were late for work the next day, but Justin never had nightmares about Brian and Ethan again.
Thank God, because these are really creepy stories.
END
It's also this story's fault that I dreamt about Brian last night. It really is, I swear, because I wrote on it before I went to bed! It has nothing to do with the fact that I'm a crazy freak. *whistles innocently* Nothing much happened in this dream, but I sat next to him on a bench and he gave me the original version of Chain Of Fools! I was delighted and kissed him. Heh. End of the story, unfortunately, because then my brother dropped in to wake me.
If you like this, applaud her because I would have never written it if it hadn't been for her birthday.
Title: Weird, WEIRD
Author: 0corona0
Rating: A lot of swearing, the word "cock" is mentioned and there aren't any graphic, but some sex scenes. Makes it NC17, doesn't it?
Pairing: Uhm... uhuhm... BLAME malli_! *giggles uncontrollably* Brian/Ethan
Warnings: Unbeta'd, so I don't really want to know how many grammar mistakes there are. I gave my best and hope that it's enough.
Spoilers up until late Season 3! Obviously, same timeline.
Summary: "Thank God, because these are really creepy stories." Imagine Brian and Ethan living together.
Disclaimer: All belongs to Showtime, I don't make money, it's for fun, don't sue.
A/N: Happy HAPPY Birthday, honey! I know it's late, but, well... it's definitely something special. *G* It's the first thing I've written in a long, loooooong time, so I don't expect it to be overly brilliant, but I like it so much because I really wanted to write it after she had put this idea into my head.
Ethan’s damn violin music already greeted Brian in the elevator.
It was so loud that it could be heard out in the streets and in every other apartment in the building, not to mention the buildings right and left to this one. Not to mention the café on the other side of the street where they got extra good tips for the “background music”. Not to mention every part in Brian’s exhausted, frustrated, overworked, horny mind.
And when Brian was exhausted, frustrated, overworked and horny he was no one to joke with.
He slid the loft door open forcefully, stormed in and slammed his briefcase down onto the counter.
“Stop torturing the fucking cat!”, he snapped at the boy who was standing in the middle of the room, continuing playing imperturbably despite his arrival. Okay, so work had been really stressful and back-breaking. He was allowed to be pissed at everyone and everything.
When Ethan heard his boyfriend’s voice though, he stopped playing immediately and looked hurt into his direction, the slightest hint of arrogance already forming on his face, mixing up with the concern which was plastered on the mien to cover it:
“What is wrong, honey?”
Brian huffed at the worry in Ethan’s voice, rushed to the fridge without answering, took out a beer and downed it in two gulps, throwing the door shot so forcefully that a whiskey bottle came crashing down, spilling its expensive liquid all over the floor.
“Fuck”, he cursed, but didn’t really care anyway. Fuck the floor.
“Brian?”
The ad-exec closed his eyes and tried to relax, but Ethan’s voice - which never seemed to get rid of a certain french accent (the little fucker did it on purpose, Brian was sure of that) and remained him constantly of this fucking guy Lindsay had wanted to marry when she had lost her mind temporarily - didn’t help much to smooth his bitch of a headache out.
Ethan walked up in front of him, careful not to step into the mess Brian had caused, and took his lover’s face into his hands. His thumbs stroked the cheeks gently, his brown eyes looked up into Brian’s with sympathy and pity.
“Tell me, love”, Ethan almost whispered, keeping a firm distant between their bodies.
Fuck sympathy, fuck pity and especially fuck talking! All Brian wanted was a hard, animalistic fuck, right here and now. He wanted to rip Ethan out of his clothes, throw him onto the floor and fuck him heartlessly.
And since Brian always had been the one to reach for what he wanted, he said nothing and instead pressed his body flush against Ethan’s, grinding his hard-on against the smaller boy.
And what did the little fuck do? He fucking backed away!
“No, Brian”, the musician said firmly, “we need to communicate so this can work. Tell me what is bothering you, after that we can make love.”
Make love. Brian thought he’d vomit right there and then onto the floor. Communicating.
Fuck, it had only been a bad day at work, not some fucking emotional problem. A quick fuck to release his tension, then he’d be okay. But no fucking communicating! He knew he should have let Cynthia blow him before he went home.
Double fuck. Now he was already seriously considering allowing his female secretary to blow him. He needed to get out of here!
Brian turned around, still not saying anything, grabbed the phone and hit speed dial 1.
“Hello?”
“Save me, Mikey!”
“Oh shit, this fucking arrogant kid’s bothering you again?”
“Do you need to ask? Get me the fuck out of here!”
A lightly shaking hand was rested onto his shoulder, pushing down the slightest bit, then Ethan was speaking, not bothering to wait until he had ended the conversation with his best friend:
“You can’t keep running away, Brian. I love you. Let’s just talk about it, okay?”
Brian tensed so violently that he heard his muscles cracking.
“Mikey”, he said in a hoarse voice, “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Brian!”, Ethan hissed, sounding pretty upset, but he couldn’t care less. Without looking back, Brian stormed out of his own goddamn loft, still in his suit, never haven taken a shower. Fuck it. He could do that at Micheal’s.
Same night, only a little later:
Brian slammed into Ethan so forcefully that the bed banged against the wall. Banged again and again while the older man pushed violently into his boyfriend - no time for a fucking slow fuck tonight. Ethan always got his fucking slow fucks, but today it had been fucking frustrating at work and even more frustrating to hear that Debbie was royally pissed at him for supporting Stockwell’s campaign. He hated it when Debbie was mad at him, it was this damn situation in which he noticed just how much he loved and needed her and, fuck, he would never ever admit that! He didn’t love, nor did he need anyone!
Besides, the boy had refused to fuck right after work, so a little punishment was appropriate.
So fuck Ethan and his slow fucks. Just ram into him, in and out, in and out, in and out and… stop complaining, you fucking wimp!
“Brian… Brian, what the fuck’s wrong… slow down, slow down… .”
The ad-exec didn’t even think about it. Ethan was so beautifully fucking tight and the pain in the boy’s system made his muscles contract around Brian’s cock. Fuck him if he was a heartless bastard and didn’t care, but right now Ethan’s suffering was pretty welcome to him. Suffer for me one time, baby boy, and tomorrow you’ll get your fucking virgin-fucks. Love-makings. Whatever.
“STOP!”, Ethan suddenly screamed, pushing at Brian’s chest with all his strength (not that he stood a chance) and so loudly that seconds later, the neighbours would began to pound against the wall.
Fucking great.
Brian groaned even more frustrated and pulled out of Ethan. Fuck this kid. He knew he should have flipped him onto his back to fuck him, but Ethan always wanted the fucking eye-to-eye thing. Why did he ever get involved with him? Why the fucking fuck?
“Christ, Brian! What’s wrong with you?”, the musician snapped, covering himself with the blanket, wrapping his fragile body into it.
Brian sighed deeply, really really deeply and thought about the professor’s tactics. Calming down. Just-calming-the-fuck-down. Give people what they want so you can fuck them (the world was so fucking easy).
“Debbie - you know, Micheal’s mother…?”
Ethan nodded, the anger on his face having quickly changed to concern and now turned just as fast into boredom.
“She’s mad at me because I’m developing Stockwell’s campaign.”
Immediately, there was anger on Ethan’s face again.
“That’s why you’re fucking me as if I was some piece of meat?! That’s why you come home all angry, insult me and my music, yell at me, run away and don’t come back until eleven? Because some fucking friend’s mother of yours doesn’t approve of the things you do? Well, fuck yourself, Brian!”
The sheets were crushed together in Brian’s fists and he closed his eyes in pure desperation. Ethan just didn’t got it. He would never get that Debbie was closer to being Brian’s mother than anyone else, including his real one, would ever get. Not as if Ethan cared. Not as if the boy cared about his family at all - about his real family: Mikey, Debbie, Vic, Lindsay, Gus, Emmet, Ted, yes, fucking yes, even Mel and Ben, alright?! Alright. In Ethan’s fucking mind, the fiddler was the only one Brian loved, the only one Brian’s time was devoted to.
And still he was there with him, lying in his own fucking bed and fucking apologising in his own loft so that he’d get release for his fucking boner.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll be gentle, ‘kay?”, Brian said, eyes lowered, face empty, voice defeated. Fuck, Brian Kinney had been destroyed by some romantic twink. He was already speaking like the fucking teenager.
Ethan smiled gently and relaxed again, quickly loosing the blanket and spreading out on the dark-blue sheets.
“Make up for it”, he whispered, obviously in a tone which was supposed to sound seductive, and lifted his ass of the bed.
Brian was so near to rolling his eyes. He didn’t. He was so near to getting the fuck away as long as he still could. He didn’t, because who knew what the lunatic musician would do to his loft if he left now.
Instead, he leaned down and gave Ethan the rimjob of his life. When the boy was moaning and whimpering under him - God, how he loved the sounds Ethan made! - Brian finally got what he wanted too and was allowed to “make love” to his boyfriend. Fuck this shit. All he had wanted was a quick hard, animalistic fuck, but here he was, gently easing in and out of Ethan, keeping their hands locked, stroking his sides reassuringly, covering him in soft kisses.
He hit Ethan’s prostate with every push and the boy was already far gone into oblivion. Hopefully, please, please too far gone to--
“Say… it”, the student moaned just in that moment, almost not getting the words together.
Brian held still for a moment and closed his eyes, holding his breath. He didn’t want to, but he had to. Ethan was never too far gone, never.
“I love you, Ethan”, he choked out and then used the obvious bliss these meaningless words caused to slam hard into the boy.
Ethan came shrieking Brian’s name (he sounded like those fucking cheerleaders in High School and Brian’s dick almost got soft at the memory) and while he was captivated by his orgasm, the older man pushed violently into him two times before shooting himself. Then he collapsed onto Ethan, more because the boy wanted him to and less because he had to.
“Say it”, Ethan murmured again, his soft lips and warm breathing near Brian’s ear. “Say it.”
And suddenly Brian’s face was lit up with the most honest smile he had ever smiled and he kissed Ethan gently, lovingly, softly. The sparkles were practically flying between them when he obeyed willingly, meaning it all:
“I love y--“
“NO!”
Justin woke up from the suppressed cry he had let out, shaking like a leaf. Fucking god, this had been creepy. He closed his wide-opened eyes and tried to relax, not meaning to wake Ethan. Ethan always wanted to talk about Justin’s fucking nightmares, and to be honest, he had no intention of telling his boyfriend that he had dreamt of the musician being fucked by Brian… .
Brian!
Slowly reality was kicking in again and Justin could not avoid to wonder why it was that Brian was lying spooned up behind him, just like the night before he left him-don’t you fucking think about it!
Then he remembered. Yeah. He was back together with Brian. Lying in the loft. In Brian’s bed. In Brian’s arms. Yesyesyesyes YAHEE!
And he was all sweaty from the most ridiculous nightmare in his life.
But a nightmare nevertheless.
Justin trembled lightly and tried to pull himself together, not wanting to cry now. He had learned to cope with nightmares and after a while, Ethan had gotten used to them too. But he had always wanted to talk about them. Fuck talking. Brian had known when to shut up and let Justin cry and then not to mention it in the morning.
Just like this time, when the blond felt the arm around his waist tightening, pulling him as close as possible so that Brian could provide him comfort, and his… whatever the fuck Brian was second hand moving up to gently caress his neck and comb through his hair. Oh, and of course a hard-on pressing against Justin’s ass, but Brian Kinney was Brian Kinney. Next thing, Brian was nuzzling into Justin’s neck, kissing it lightly. Over the past one and a half year, the ad-exec had become an expert about Justin Taylor waking up from nightmares, knowing exactly what to do.
Just like this time, when he mumbled sleepily, somehow sensing that Justin needed to get some weird thing out of his system: “What’s up?”
Justin took in a deep breath to grasp that he really dreamt something so ridiculous, then he closed his eyes and relaxed back against Brian. Fuck it. The older man would probably understand.
“Dreamt that you and Ethan were fucking…”, Brian let out a strangled hiss as if he was dying, “…nope, let me correct that…”, Justin continued unimpressed and turned around so he could face his - oh, fuck it: so he could face his lover: “You two were making love.”
Blue met hazel and suddenly Brian dived down to kiss Justin, passionately, wildly, and so Brian-like full of love that the boy thought he’d choke on the strong emotions (and on that skilled tongue).
“That is the most disgusting thing that has ever been dreamt on this planet.”
Brian began to reach down to massage Justin’s already hardening cock, all of sudden not sleepy anymore, but Boy Wonder didn’t want to give in that easily. One more thing needed to be said:
“You even said you loved him. Two times.”
Brian snorted so despisingly that Justin was sure Ethan could feel in this very moment, wherever the fuck he was, how much contempt was directed towards him.
“We’re taking you to a fucking therapist first thing in the morning. Then to the doctor, then to the hospital.” He continued stroking Justin’s cock which was rock hard by now, and smirked.
“So… what else is up?”
Justin moaned loudly and decided that the first part of his dream hadn’t been all this important… .
Next day
The next day at work sucked royally for Brian. Not only that he had more work to do than ever, the art department had also fucked up two important layouts and left for the weekend without fixing it. So that had been left for him to do. Fucking great. Added to that was that Debbie had treated him like air this morning in the diner, fussing over all of them besides him and sending this “I’m so fucking disappointed” look which he hated almost as much as the memory of Justin lying on cold cement, not moving… .
And last but not at all least, Justin’s hand had started to hurt vigorously this morning only after drawing for two hours. At first, the boy had tried to hide it, so Brian had not noticed anything on his first round through the art department (he had started doing more walks through their departments since a certain inturn had started working there). On his second round, he had caught Justin massaging his hand, but the blond reassured him that everything was fine.
Shortly before lunch break, Justin had walked into his office with such a pained expression that Brian wanted to scream at him for putting himself through this torture and asked for the afternoon off to see a doctor. Brian nearly yelled at him to get the fuck out and just fucking go to let someone make sure his hand was alright, and then to wait for him in the loft if somehow possible.
So he hadn’t received a blowjob at lunch time, hadn’t given one at lunch time and hadn’t had a helping hand for the long extra hours. Plus, he hadn’t had the time to check on Justin - if something was permanently wrong with his hand because he had drawn so much in the past weeks, Brian would make sure to burn every fucking pencil on this goddamn earth.
So, when he stepped out of the elevator and slid his door open, he was exhausted, frustrated, overworked, worried and horny.
And when Brian was exhausted, frustrated, overworked, worried and horny he was no one to joke with.
He found Justin sitting at his desk, staring concentrated at a huge piece of paper and… fucking drawing!
For a moment, Brian thought he would explode, but at this very moment Justin turned around and flashed him a bright, patented sunshine smile. “Hey”, the young man called, a hungry, happy expression on his face.
Brian didn’t smile, or answer at all, just looked away and threw his briefcase onto the kitchen counter to collect himself, so Justin turned back to working on Debbie’s birthday present: a big drawing of her, having her arms thrown around Micheal to her right and Brian to her left, pinching both of their cheeks. The two men had an annoyed expression on their faces, but still smiled softly, their own arms hugging the woman in their middle closer and their hands meeting and intertwining at her back. It was fucking cheesy, but Justin knew that women were sucker for things like that.
Brian approached his lover from behind and waited for Justin to lift his pencil from the paper. When he did, the older man stilled his wrist immediately and squeezed gently, being so relieved to feel Justin’s pulse against his thumb.
“Get this fucking thing out of your hand, or I will rip you a second asshole”, he murmured calm like the dead into Justin’s ear, both of his hands starting to massage the young man’s hand carefully, but confidently. He had done this endless times, he knew how to do it.
Justin let the pencil drop out of his hand without hesitation (his hand was already hurting like a motherfucker, anyway), dropped his head back and started fucking purring. Shit. Brian rubbed his growing hard-on against the chair and felt totally pathetic, but for a bit of friction, a man would do anything. His gaze dropped down onto the picture and lightest of all smiles lifted his lips.
“You know, Debbie might not appreciate me on this picture.”
A sly grin had replaced Justin’s sunshine smile and the boy shrugged: “Doesn’t matter. The title says Mother & Sons, so you belong there.”
Brian bit back a sniffling sound which he would never allow anyone to hear an nuzzled into Justin’s neck (just because he knew it drove the younger man wild), biting the pale skin to express his need for a certain blond.
“What did the doctor say?”, Brian asked while sneaking one hand down to Justin’s crotch, rubbing his cock through the denim.
“Hm hm”, was all the artist replied, but not quite enough an answer for Brian.
“I think I didn’t hear you, sunshine”, he teased and pressed down onto Justin’s cock, his attention still in equal measure divided between his boy’s hand and lower abdomen.
“Must be the age”, Justin moaned and then yelped when Brian pushed with a little too much pressure, “and the doctor said that I have been drawing to much lately and that I obviously have had the need to grip things pretty hard lately.” Justin grinned naughtily and Brian let out a snorting laughter when they both remembered all the incredible fucks, especially this one incredible fuck, when Justin had gripped the legs of the table so hard that both of his hands had had a cramp after it.
Breaking free of his memory and more than ready to make a new one, Justin released himself from Brian’s arms, stood up and pulled his lover closer, sealing their mouths together in a searing, hard kiss from which they both came up panting.
“But… they said… that lots of fucking… can make it… better”, Justin said, sucking breaths in between the words.
Brian smirked happily. The life he had missed.
Then Justin pulled him close again and hissed: “Fuck me!”
And that was what they did for the rest of the night and into the early morning. Both of them were late for work the next day, but Justin never had nightmares about Brian and Ethan again.
Thank God, because these are really creepy stories.
END
It's also this story's fault that I dreamt about Brian last night. It really is, I swear, because I wrote on it before I went to bed! It has nothing to do with the fact that I'm a crazy freak. *whistles innocently* Nothing much happened in this dream, but I sat next to him on a bench and he gave me the original version of Chain Of Fools! I was delighted and kissed him. Heh. End of the story, unfortunately, because then my brother dropped in to wake me.