Negotiations 25
Hi, everyone! This chapter put me through the wringer. I was so frustrated at one point that I just came in here and started posting a rant AT the actual chapter. I don't want to go into the reasons why before anyone reads it, but if you're interested, I'll explain in the comments. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know. The next chapter is already forming in my head so I knew it was time to let this one stand on its own. ~Plum
BRIAN’S POV
We find ourselves in the restaurant of The Muse Hotel. It’s a quirky place, and while Justin concedes he’s never eaten here, he says he’s been to this bar a number of times. “With Kai,” he says, “That Japanese guy at my show last night.”
“The one wearing all black with spiky hair with the red streak?” I gesture to my own head.
“Yeah, he’s an artist, too, and a friend of mine. I mean, I see him at shows all the time.”
“What kind of artist is he?” I ask, “And is he even thirty?”
“Early thirties. He’s a painter, too, but his art isn’t for mixed company. It’s sexually graphic.”
“Please don’t tell me it’s vaginas.”
Justin laughs, “No, he’s gay. That’s why he was there last night. We have a lot of the same customers but for very different reasons. He’s what you would call a…. professional switch.”
“He’s an escort,” I counter.
“It’s not about fucking. He services the kind of men who have very specific kinks, and then he uses that inspiration to make some really disturbing art.”
“That’s just weird.”
Justin nods, “It is,” as three different appetizers are delivered to us along with these obnoxiously hipster cocktails that have completely unnecessary ingredients in them like lavender and fucking elderflower. I consider dumping mine in a fake plant. Justin’s is called: Death in the Afternoon and it contains champagne and absinthe. I don’t even know what these itty bitty appetizers are, but I’m hungry, so I’m just woofing them down. Justin’s sucking his drink with a straw and giving me random and weirdly intense looks.
“There’s no way in hell that drink tastes good,” I tell him.
“It’s awful,” he says, “But in a good way.”
“What does that even mean?”
He shrugs as I get up and tell him I need to piss, “Be right back.” I wander through the eclectic lobby until I find the men’s room. I think Justin likes this place because it has a strange Warhol vibe to it. The bathroom is trying too hard.
When I get back to our table, Justin’s not there. I turn my head to locate him, and a voice surprises me; I jump a little, “So sorry. He said to tell you he’d be right back,” our waiter -who’s standing way too close to me-- says as he hands me a drink, “He also said to give you this. It’s high shelf as requested.” I thank him and sit down with my whiskey as he starts clearing our table. This is one of the sweet things Justin does for me; he reads my mind when I’m not satisfied with something and endeavors to fix it. “Can I get you anything else, sir?” he asks.
I pick up the small menu on our table, peruse it, and say, “These steak medallions. Are they good?”
“Very.”
“Bring me a double order. I could eat like a straight man.”
Our waiter finds this joke relatable, “Been there, done that.”
“Medium rare,” I say, and he nods. “And a glass of water.”
“Of course. Oh--,” he says looking past me, “Here he comes now.”
“Thank you.”
Justin comes back into the restaurant and sits down next to me reeking of some sort of smiley yet suspicious aura. “Where were you?” I ask.
He dodges my question, “Did you order something else?”
“Yeah, some steak things. I’m starving. There’s enough to share.”
“Okay, cool.”
Just then, my phone lights up, and I glance over to see that a credit card transaction of over five hundred dollars was charged. I turn to him while realizing that he’s nudged his chair closer to mine at our round table, “What did I just buy for five hundred dollars?”
“Shit,” he says, “I forget you get those alerts.”
“Answer my question, please.”
He rolls his eyes at my badgering, and gently slaps his hand on the table. When he lifts it up, there’s a key card there. I move my eyes from the card to his face; he puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes. I realize that we’re married and all, but his moves could be a bit more stealth. The steak’s delivered to our table, and Justin points to his deadly drink, his eyes fixated on our waiter as he says, “Another please.”
I try again, “Why did we get a hotel room when we already have one?”
Justin sighs as he picks up a medallion, “I need a favor.”
“Okay, what can I do for you?”
As his second drink arrives, he looks at me and in a serious voice he would use to tell me he totaled one of our cars or something, he states, “I’m really horny.”
I laugh aloud; it startles him, he blushes and then smiles at me. I question him a little more, “You’re so horny that you can’t wait until we get back to our original hotel room?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” he tells me, and then he reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a Viagra single pack. I just got these a week ago; he went thru my briefcase because he knows full well that I stash pharmaceuticals in there. This snooping thing is one of Justin’s less endearing qualities. He sets it on the table, “I need you to take this.”
“Now?”
“Please.” I swallow the pill with my eyes fixed on his, and he squeezes my hand and says, “Thank you.”
I begin to wonder what’s going on with him, and why we really need this bonus room. He mistakes my uptick in curiosity for concern and apologizes for I don’t know what, “It’s wrong, okay. I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I tried to ignore it.”
Now, I have a choice here. I can stop this misunderstanding or I can let it play it out, maybe even help it a little, so I figure, why not? I’m borderline bored anyway. I put my arm on the back of his chair, pretending I’m informed, “You don’t need to ignore it. It’s okay.”
This was probably a mistake because Justin looks up at me with this unfiltered vulnerability on his face almost breaks me into a million pieces even as I remain in the dark. He lays his head on my shoulder and whispers, “I love you.” Our waiter’s circling back at the very same moment and upon observing our public intimacy, turns quickly on his heel and walks away. Justin downs the rest of his afternoon concoction as I survey the table and motion for our waiter to return. “What’s our room number?” I ask him.
“Six twenty three.”
…...
I walk toward the elevator, and Justin pulls me back. “What?” I question.
“Let’s just give it a couple minutes,” he pleads, “I need a little time.”
For what?
His mood’s strange, but I just walk with him around the lobby looking at all of the random wacky art. I feel this struggled vibe coming off of him. I decide, “Okay, I’ll go smoke. You come get me when you’re ready.”
He seems relieved, “Okay. Thanks.”
What in the hell is going on with him?
*****************
When I find him again, it’s less than ten minutes later. He’s somewhat nervously perched on a bright yellow upholstered bench right inside the door of the hotel with his hand curled around a brown paper bag. I end my smoke break, re-enter, sit down next him, smile and ask, “You okay now?”
“Better, but I still feel a little guilty,” he says with a sigh.
Perhaps examining this bag in his hand will shed some light; he gives it up easily and I hold it up as the brown paper unravels. I open the bag, look inside and laugh. There’s a pack of gum and a small bottle of lube from the hotel gift shop. “Whatever’s bothering you, it’s not keeping you from spending my money,” I tease.
“Stop it. I made a killing last night.”
“Yes, you did, but you didn’t use your credit card to pay for this adventure. You chose to use mine.”
He turns his body to face mine and confesses, “I like the way I feel when I spend your money.”
I flirt with him to relax him, “I like the way I feel when you spend my money.”
…...
It’s just us in the elevator, and mentally, I’m trying to prepare myself for what’s in room six two three. Or maybe who? I don’t let go of his hand until we’re standing in front of our room. Our key card works and as I go to turn the knob, Justin stops me, his hand on my arm, “I meant to tell you, all the rooms on this floor are themed. I picked this room on purpose.”
I have no idea what that means or what I am walking into...
Three or four steps inside though, and I know exactly why he picked this room.
It’s...well…
...completely…
blue.
There are blue LED tube lights running along the top of the walls right below the ceiling. The carpet is blue, the bed is blue, the sheets are blue, and even the glasses and ice bucket are blue. The only area with normal lighting is the bathroom. But even in there, the towels and tile are, of course, blue.
“Every room on this floor is a different color,” he says.
“I like it.”
“It’s soothing,” Justin offers.
“It’s familiar,” I respond, and as I say that, he looks at me with those blue eyes of his as some type of recognition flashes across his face and he smiles. We both seem to be momentarily infected with a little nostalgia. Justin steps closer to me, raising his arms and hooking them around my neck. We kiss, and it’s a moment I won’t forget because somehow the past, present, and future is wrapped up in it. “Are we expecting company?” I ask him.
“No,” he dismisses, and I can tell he thinks it’s a stupid question but whatever. I’m a lot of things but psychic is not one of them. Justin’s in front of me and, oddly, both nervous and aroused. And I need to decide what my priorities are. If I’m allowed to have any….
“Take your clothes off,” he says, but the tone in his voice is not commanding which confuses me, but, again, priorities. I simply perform the task while never taking my eyes off of his and while trying to respect his affect even though I can’t read it very well. Uncertainty is an aphrodisiac in its own way.
Justin comes closer to me, a mere few inches, and rests his head on my chest. I wrap my arms around him taking care to mirror him and not to make moves of my own. And then I get that same sensation I got in the restaurant because he keeps whipping out his vulnerability and waving it in my face. I get chills over my entire body, and he whispers, “Sorry” and kisses my chest in apology.
The ambient noise of car horns and sloshing tires fills any space between us when we are silent. Those sounds are just one more thing that makes this room remind me the loft in the early days. “I need you to fuck me,” he says.
“This is the favor?” I ask.
“The way I deserve to be fucked,” he adds.
Okey dokey.
He’s such a fascinating little creature sometimes. I just want to examine him from head-to-toe and try to understand why he is the way he is, but I can do that another time when he’s not telling me to fuck him.
I let my hand float lower on his back, my fingers dipping inside his jeans as I respond, a small step forward with an indelible truth, “That’s not a problem. At all.” Justin sighs a little letting only a miniscule amount of relief escape and then asks me, “Do you know what I mean when I say ‘the way I deserve to be fucked?’”
“I think so.”
“You probably do,” he concedes, “You know everything about me.”
“Uh, no, not everything,” I respond, “Not by a long shot.”
“In bed,” he reassures me.
I respond, “I’m not sure about that. If I knew everything, I’d be inside you right now.”
He looks up at me, his eyes narrowed as he puts his hand on my face, and then he rises up on his toes and kisses me in a very you belong to me sort of way, and, again, the chill returns. The barrage of please just take me signals he’s sending me right now is almost overwhelming.. He’s unbuttoned his jeans, though, and he’s not stopping my hand from rubbing his ass or teasing him with my fingertips. He’s gotten us both invested in this delightful torture. And then he says, “You know everything about fucking me in a room as blue as this one.”
This hipster concoction he guzzled has done a number on him.
“There’s always more to learn,” I counter even though, admittedly, I have no clue what I’m arguing this point.
Justin’s body shifts then, both of his arms around my neck, his mouth pressed against mine. If what we did in the movie theater was foreplay; this is the extended remix, and I’m definitely here for it. He starts relocating my hands, showing me what he wants me to do; in this case, it’s pushing his jeans down as he kicks his shoes off. I help him with his shirts, layered for this brutally cold weather. His sweater ignites a copious amount of static electricity in his hair as I yank it off, and the crackling sound seems right on cue.
And then, Justin’s urging me backwards. I glance and see that there’s a chair behind me so I sit. He kneels on the floor between my legs. His lips kiss the inside of my thigh, they skate around my dick; his tongue teases me, rolling my head around just inside his mouth. My heart revs a little in anticipation. I was certainly not expecting an oral worship, but I’ll take it. Soon, I’m emitting a stuttered pant because it’s become impossible to take in a full breath. He gifts my cock with a few long pulls while he licks my balls. I keep swallowing hard, licking my lips, and letting my legs spread further and further apart. At one point, he lets out this little approval moan; he wants me to know he’s enjoying himself. I put my hand under his chin, my thumb strokes his cheek, “You’re making me crazy.”
“Good,” he says.
I inquire, “Have I done something to deserve this?” Because I truly have no idea.
“Not yet...really, but you will.” His reply seems like something a leprechaun would say to you if you snuck up on him, and then I forget about ridiculous thoughts like that because Justin swallows me completely.
My eyes roll back in my head as he does it, my back arches forward, and he uses his strong floor position to hold me where I am. I place my hand on the back of his head and hold his mouth at the base of my cock and raise my hips until he bucks because he can’t breathe. I relent, and he sucks hard, stealing ecstasy from every pore in my body and sending it all to my shaft. He makes a delicious noise when I start to come, wrapping his arms around my waist. I can feel him swallowing, an indescribably pleasurable sensation. “Justin,” I say in between breaths, “That...was...beautiful.” (That act alone was worth the five hundred dollars and change.)
“Do you remember when you used to make me do this before we fucked?”
“Yes, because, if we didn’t, I lasted about five seconds inside your tantalizingly tight little ass.”
“Even with a condom,” he jokes, and then he gets serious, “It made me feel special.”
I don’t know what he’s trying to do to me, but it’s working, “You are special. I wanted to stay inside you as long as I possibly could.”
Justin looks up at me, his expression almost piercing a hole through my heart, “I remember the first time you told me I did a god job--”
“Well, you were born to suck cock, and I mean that in the most flattering of ways.”
“Shut up. It’s weird. but it’s like, when we walked in here, I could taste your cum in my mouth,” he admits to me.
I laugh a little and tossle his hair, “A sense memory. Those are powerful things.”
“Do you have any?” Justin asks me as he climbs into my lap, straddling me.
“Oh, sure.”
“Tell me one,” he says.
I think for a minute and remember, “Well, this is sort of one: ‘til this day, when I wake up in the middle of the night and our room is completely dark, I can’t remember what bed I’m in for the first minute or so. Do you have that sensation sometimes?” I ask him.
“Yeah, especially if I’ve been painting non-stop and fall asleep in the studio. I sometimes think I’m back here in New York, in my studio, and then I snap out of it and realize I’m in our house.”
“Right, so I reach to see if you’re with me, and when I touch you, I immediately assume the bed is low to the floor, that we’re at the loft. I’ve gotten up to piss and almost fallen out of bed more than once. It’s hard for me to imagine us in bed together anywhere else when I’m not fully awake. It’s especially bad if I go to sleep drunk.”
Justin laughs, “I do that, too, only I wake up hungry and think the kitchen is only a few feet away. I’d probably be really fat today if it was on the same floor.” We both find this funny, but even as we enjoy that moment, our discussion, his mention of the kitchen, makes me realize something unsettling; I look away from him, focus my eyes on the window.
“What?” he says, his hand on my face as he turns it back toward him which I resist.
This realization is wholly inconvenient, especially right now. It has some nerve popping up when Justin is naked and aroused and in my lap. I consider not telling him, but, this is Justin, and I have accidentally let some emotion slip out so that will never fly. I take a deep breath, “Uh, I just realized….” I stop because I really don’t want to say this aloud.
He drank the drink, but somehow I’ve metabolized its contents: Death in the Afternoon
….
Concern clouds Justin’s face.
….
I squeeze the bridge of my nose and close my eyes trying to ignore the frustration I feel.
…...
“Brian, please tell me; secrets make me uncomfortable.”
“Okay, but it’s not a secret; I just realized this right now.”
“Okay, I understand.”
Here goes nothing…
…...
Very deep breath…
…...
“Okay…. I think that’s why I left... Joan... on the kitchen floor. She was bleeding from the head, like you--I couldn’t--it reminded me of-.”
Again, I stop talking.
…….
Justin’s mouth falls open a little in shock; he breathes deliberately.
……
We just look at each, our eyes communicating while everything else has shut down.
……
As cliche as it is, this moment between us has stopped time.
…...
He tentatively rubs my shoulders, tries to comfort me, “It’s why you didn’t tell me. ...I get it now. It’s okay. ...you didn’t know you were hiding it from yourself.” His arms incircle me but don’t tighten like he’s afraid a real hug will shatter me, “Shit, I’m so sorry, Brian. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
“I didn’t even know until now,” I tell him; pressure builds in my face...swelling. I press it harder against him. His heart’s racing. “Just let me--” I tell him. “Please just let this happen.”
“Okay, I will. I understand.”
A small army of tears arrives in my eyes; they sting as they leak, anxious to exit. I refuse to let another round follow that one.
“It’s okay; I’m here,” he reassures me, “I’ll always be here.”
This emotional surge baffles me because none of it is about Joan; it’s all about him. I didn’t even know this correlation in therapy yesterday; Jon didn’t even try to make it for me. Justin’s wiping my tears away as fast as they fall.
…...
And then it’s over; the realization has retreated. All hail the ‘power cry.’
…...
When he finally speaks again, I can tell that he cried a little, too. “Head is weirdly powerful, isn’t it?” I look at him and laugh because what a stupid thing to say and be right about, “That’s how well I taught you, Grasshopper.”
“It’s true,” he says, “But if you want to leave this place now, I understand.”
“I don’t want to leave. We’re getting our five hundred dollars out of this spooky, strange room.”
He explains, “I’ve wanted to bring you here for a long time and to this specific room, but I had to wait for the right situation. And, I mean, it’s not like we can stay in a one color room for an entire weekend. We’d go bonkers.”
I pause, then ask him, “Have you been here before? To this room?”
Justin smiles, “My friend, Kai, he’s had ‘sessions’ on this floor. He has a client who likes to use all these different colored rooms, so I came with him one time to help him set up.”
“Set up what?” I ask because my mind is pinballing with the possibilities.
“His easel and stuff. There’s a lot of edible body paint in those situations. We had to sneak the paint and drop cloths in in suitcases.”
“You didn’t stay for the festivities?”
He shook his head emphatically, “Uh, no. I’m not even supposed to know who the client was. I was long gone.”
……
It’s completely dark outside, and the lights of the city are reflecting in our windows. I wonder if the restaurant has filled up downstairs and how many determined theater patrons are navigating this weather. The room has gotten bluer now that sunlight is no longer contributing to the color spectrum. Justin’s fair skin gives off that coolest hint of pink on my lap. “You’re no longer listening to me,” he announces.
“Sorry, I got distracted.” I put my hands on his waist, “You want me to fuck you, correct?”
“Yes,” he says; he smiles and then leans forward against me. We sit together in this chair as I hold him and rub his back. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. He becomes coy and flirtatious and very affectionate; he distributes small kisses across my shoulder and up my neck. In a hushed voice behind my ear, he tells me, “I need you to follow my lead.”
“Of course.”
He gets up from my lap, and as I start to follow him, he shakes his head and nudges me back down. Then he smiles at me as he bends over the small round table next to us and locks eyes with me. It’s an act tasks that takes just a few seconds, but it’s a message I understand immediately. I put my palm on his bottom and ask him, “So this fuck you say you want, it needs to be--”
“Relentless,” he answers.
“So...deep? Hard? And time consuming?” I ask.
“Please.”
“But I’m sensing that we need to warm things up first?”
“I can’t recall the last time a good spanking lead to a bad fuck,” he says.
“Right.” I hold my hand up. “Unfortunately, all I have is my hand. I wasn’t notified that I needed to come prepared.”
“You have everything you need,” he reassures me.
I rub his ass again, and tell him to close his eyes. He does, and I slip my finger tips inside his briefs to tease him before I guide his underwear completely off, and then run my hand up the inside of his leg. His breathing stops and starts as I touch him; he actively holds it and then releases it in tiny gasps when he likes where my hand’s going. I curve my hand around the top of his thigh and squeeze. I lean forward and put my left arm on his lower back, effectively holding him still. His eyes open, and he stares at me, his face flushed with arousal, his lips red and slightly parted as I begin to spank him, his plump cheeks warm in response to the force I’m delivering. Justin’s fingers grip the table on every blow forcing him to get steady on his toes and audit his position. This table’s just the right height to keep him off balance. More than once, I stop administering pain and just kiss his pink bottom, rub and remind him that, “It’s a privilege to punish you.”
“Brian, I think I’m dripping,” he says and he makes it sound hopeless, like he’s lost control of his body.
I let my hot hand wander between his legs to see if he’s right. “Your cock’s making a mess,” I tell him as I rub the evidence up and down his dick, “But that’s okay. I can take care of that.”
He just nods at me from the trance he’s in. I feel high as a kite when Justin’s in this altered state; the euphoria becomes mutually contagious. I stand up and position my body on top of his, let the warmth from his spanking bleed into my skin, too. He moans as I stroke his hair, as I kiss the back of his neck. His skin is damp with sweat; I uncurl his fingers from the edge of the table. “I’m going to move you,” I tell him, “Because you’re stuck to the surface.” He just moans as I urge him carefully up and off the table, ungluing his chest and stomach inch by inch. I guide him to the bed, letting him lie down on his back, intent on making sure he gets the fuck he needs. I push his bent legs back and tell him to, “Hold them. Show me what you want.” Justin slips his hands under his knees and spreads them as wide as he can. With lubed fingers, I feel how tight he is as I lean on him, my body weight making it impossible for him to move. I kiss him and ask, “Does this feel good? Your hot bottom filled up?”
“Yes,” he says after he kisses me back, “More.”
“I can make you come like this, can’t I?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I can even milk you, can’t I? Make you come in the worst way?”
“Yes, sir, but please don’t.” When I don’t agree immediately, he presses me, “Please, Brian, don’t.”
“Because you want to come like a good little boy with a big cock in your ass, right?”
“With your cock,” he moans.
I wonder sometimes if my cock knows just how lucky it is, if it understands that the privilege that’s befallen it carries some real responsibility. I feel like it’s jogging in place between my legs, waving me down and yelling, ‘Put me in, Coach!’
It’s right about one thing, though, this is partly a game.
I want to toy with my prey a little, so I take advantage of my long fingers inside him and my other hand on his cock, showing him just how far I can take him while my dick waits impatiently for my call. “Brian, please,” he begs, “Please take me.”
“You have control issues, Justin.”
“Mostly in bed,” he says with a sly smile. I roll my eyes, and change my tactics. I make him hold still as my cock teases him, my hands splayed on his thighs, my thumbs circling his hole. He expresses audible displeasure at being toyed with, so I lean down and kiss him, comfort him, and then tell him, “Now, shut up. Unless you’re moaning from pleasure, I don’t want to hear shit out of you.”
“You’re so mean,” he complains.
“Mean?” I ask as I stroke his cock, “Is this mean?”
He resists me, squirms underneath me, tries to divert me with subversive affection, tries to let go of his legs and run his fingers through my hair, “Inside me,” he begs again.
“Did I say you could touch me?”
“You’re fucking evil, Brian,” he says. It’s secretly a compliment but we both pretend not to know that. Justin returns to his initial position, holding his legs apart,
and I let him feel the just the tip of my cock, slipping in and out of him. I watch my shaft, all shiny and raw, and every time he tries to move to take it, I slap his thighs. Eventually, I lean down and whisper to him, “I wish I had your paddle right now so I could teach you a lesson.”
“You’d hurt me?” he asks but it’s not a question born out of fear; it’s a wish born out of a raw desire that’s mapped Justin’s entire face.
I look down and watch my dick dipping in and out of him, and it’s so fucking beautiful. I tell him, “I want to paddle you for thinking you have the right to resist me because you don’t.”
“Oh god.”
“The only right you have is to be the absolutely perfect receptacle that you are.”
“God, I fucking love you.”
“You’d better because this tight ass of yours adores me.” And with that, I push all the way inside him; I feel his body tighten and then extend; his moan can probably be heard down the hall. He’s so far down the pleasure highway that I just lie down on him, my arms encircling his head and shoulders as my hips administer this wicked pleasure for both of us. He kisses my face, my neck, everywhere he can while he’s thanking me over and over, “Fuck, yes. Fuck me.”
“You’re so much prettier when you’re desperate.”
“Make me come,” he begs, “Please.”
Our bodies, held together by some vicious desire, sync as we fuck. His needs become mine. Mine become his. What was initially relentless becomes more intimate. He whispers into my ear, a feverish request; his breathing getting more intense, “Tell me….”
I smile down at him, “What?”
“You know.”
“That I love you?” I ask.
“Stop fucking with me!”
My lips are barely an inch from his, “That you’re a good boy?” Pleasure infects him; it rolls from his head to between his legs. His tight bottom squeezes my cock. I continue, “You are; you even let me know you needed this. That makes you a very good boy.”
Justin moans and seals himself to me, whispering evidence of gratification, and then, “Fuck, I’m gonna come.” He holds onto me, squeezing our bodies together as the pleasure pulses out of him. He steams appreciation into my ear, ”That was fucking incredible, Brian.That was everything I needed.”
“My pleasure.”
…...
He’s gone now, flying completely free even as he’s captured in my arms. His warm body feels close to liquifying. I hold him more tightly just in case. We’re quieter as the minutes pass, and I just listen to the sounds our bodies make, to Justin’s breathing. I can feel his pulse inside my own body. I could feel his surrender as it was given to me; I don’t even have to reach for it. In this dark room, we are cocooned together in this blue light, a mandatory merger.
For whatever reason, he needed this.
…...
He needed me.
…….
When Justin begins to come back to the here and now, his skin peels away from mine in small increments, his eyes begin to focus and scan the room. Slowly, he reorients himself, and eventually, they land on my face. He smiles. I smile. We kiss, and I ask as our faces part, “You okay?”
“I don’t think I can talk,” he observes, “My lips are numb.”
“I can understand you perfectly well.” He pulls at his lips seemingly confused as to how they’re able to function. I suggest to him that we relocate beneath the sheets, and he nods like he’s helping me when in actuality he’s practically dead weight that I’m maneuvering on this blue bed. I don’t complain; he can’t help it. I pull his body against mine under the blankets; he’s facing away from me but you couldn’t slide a post it between us. He guides my hand between his legs guides it to his inner thigh. Going to be sore tomorrow,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into his hair, “I didn’t think I spanked you that hard.”
“My thighs,” he says, and I realize he means from the position he was in. “Massage,” he orders, squeezing my hand. I get to work on the task, and he goes back inside himself, moaning softly as he responds to my touch. If I wasn’t exhausted, this would be too much to take, all these erotic sounds and movements he makes.
He tilts his head back, kisses me and then asks, “How’d you make that fuck so dirty?”
“It’s a gift.”
He sighs as he concludes, “A gift that I get to unwrap over and over again.”
“Yeah, you do, because it has your name on it.”
Justin responds, “I don’t know how you can take something so familiar to me and make me love it and fear it at the same time.”
I lean down and whisper in his ear, “I like to fuck with you sometimes.”
‘You more than like it, Brian.” He rubs his forehead and his temples trying to center himself as he speaks, “But, now, I want to tell you something; I actually sort of need to.”
“Go ahead.”
He rolls in my arms so he’s facing me, “It’s been bugging me since yesterday.”
“I’m listening,” I emphasize.
“Okay, this might be painfully obvious at this point, but there are some parts of me that can’t just be without certain parts of you for very long...at all.”
“Ah, I see.”
“And then there are other parts of me that want to light this thing we have on fire and see how hot it burns.”
He surprises me, “Whoa, okay.”
“Like there’s a part of me that wants to tie you up so tightly that you can barely flare your nostrils on your own and just leave your cock free for me.”
“Wow.”
Justin continues, his fingers stroking my face, “And I want to fuck you like that for hours, over and over, until you’re exhausted, until you have blisters from being ridden that much and then when I untie you, you still don’t move because you can’t.”
“How very savage of you.”
“But then in the next moment, I need this other side of you, and I--,” he stops and looks away, conflict evident on his face.
Ah ha. Bingo. The secret is spilled.
“So that’s what all this angst has been about downstairs, all that guilt and anxiety? You needed to submit for a few hours even though it’s not your turn?”
“Don’t make me sound stupid, Brian.”
“I don’t mean to. I think it’s rather adorable, really.”
Justin admits to me, “I literally do not understand how you can change your head space so quickly and with no effort whatsoever.”
“Because you needed me. It’s that simple. Literally.”
“Brian, come on. It’s only been a couple of days. I’m ashamed,” he says, and he means it, covering his face with his hands in exasperation.
“Why do you put this kind of pressure on yourself?”
“I don’t know,” he bemoans, “It’s such a stupid problem in the grand scheme of things.”
“Listen to me. You’ve made some very deep and intense trips into subspace lately, and you’re fucking fearless on that journey. And maybe there’s a little bit of you that hasn’t quite packed up and left yet?”
“I like it here,” he admits.
“Oh, I know.”
He’s gotten so adept at this that he can multi-task while he’s in subspace. Incidentally, I find it to be grossly unfair and consider it an unspoken, one-sided challenge in our relationship, but I digress….
Justin seems to be in agreement, “But I never thought of it that way, that I’m not ready to leave.”
“Well, you probably have a job there now, like you’re a professor at Subspace University and get a real paycheck and everything,” I tease him, and he claps right back, “I’ll bet I have tenure, too.”
“Oh, no doubt.”
“And a hot teaching assistant.”
“Okay, time to go.”
“And lab hours with lots of hand on learning.”
“Pack your shit; the train’s leaving the station,” I say.
Justin’s smiling and laughing, but I ]make sure he understands, “If you’re the one in charge, then you decide what happens, so what happens can be anything you want….or need.” This seems to make him happy, so I continue, “And you’re always entitled to this, Justin. You don’t have to work for it or earn it. It’s automatically yours.”
He gives me a sly look, “Sometimes you make me beg.”
I roll my eyes and concede the point, “Yes, but you like to beg.”
“True, but I want to be fair to you, Brian. I’m kind of obsessed with it.”
“Let me decide what’s fair to me and what I need, okay? And if something needs to be adjusted, I’ll let you know.”
“Do you promise?”
“One hundred percent, and we both need a little latitude in this situation, don’t you think? We’re both trying to work against type.”
Justin’s eyes widen, he looks up, he kisses my chin, “I want you to know that I thank the universe every day that you’re my husband, Brian.”
“That’s very sweet. I send a thank you note to the factory I ordered you from at least once a year.”
He rolls his eyes at me, “Ha. Ha. Ha. How much are tickets to your one man show?”
“I’m afraid it’s sold out.”
***************
JUSTIN’S POV
After a dinner date, Brian and I finally arrive back at our original hotel. It’s after eleven, and I invite him to take a jacuzzi with me since we have one in our room. He agrees after one last cigarette, and we raid the mini bar, stacking all of the vodka and whiskey bottles on the edge of the tub. We both drink our fair share, but Brian, I discover, is much drunker than me as we try to get out and dry off. I should’ve caught onto this sooner when, during a conversation about our relationship, Brian described our union as part condiment…
I began, “Can I tell you something I’ve noticed about us?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, here’s the thing: everyone around us, all of our friends and family, their lives are always expanding. They’re having kids, or adopting, or renovating old houses or testing their DNA to find unknown relatives--”
“Yeah, no. I’m not doing that,” Brian flatly rejects.
“Exactly, and you and I, our world gets smaller and smaller. I mean, we can’t actually put the dungeon on our Christmas cards,” I point out.
“Do we send out Christmas cards?” he asks. “Are you snapping pics of me throughout the year and then photoshopping a Santa hat on me?”
“We did one year. It was weird. All it did was increase the number of cards people sent us the next year by a ridiculous amount, so I decided, ‘Fuck that.’ “
Brian summarizes, “We’re like an ever-tightening pretzel, you and I, dipped in the most expensive of mustards.”
He was completely serious.
That comparison should’ve been my hint that he was more sauced than me. Instead, I discover it as we dismount the jacuzzi because he’s very wobbly and finds it funnier than it should be. I hold him steady as he yanks a towel from the wall. “Why are you doing that?” he asks me, staring at my hand wrapped around his bicep.
“Because you’re like a tall pine tree in a windstorm right now.”
Brian laughs and points to his skull, “It’s windy up here.”
I wonder if drinking and Viagra don’t mix. Perhaps I should google this?
I get Brian sufficiently propped and turn to take a piss, and that’s when I feel him behind me, on me, his hands helping me hold my own dick. His chin digs into my shoulder. I turn my head as much as I can and inquire, “Why are you so fucked up?”
I can feel him smile against my shoulder.
“Answer me,” I demand.
“Oxy,” he says.
Now, it makes sense. He was very touchy feely in the jacuzzi and every bit of that narcotic and liquor sped through his bloodstream in that hot water. He gave me a foot massage while we were in there, but only after he’d asked me to stop singing songs from The Greatest Showman soundtrack which I listen to religiously, and Brian’s extremely sick of. He picked up my foot and started massaging it which I appreciated until I figured out that he knows I can’t sing when he’s touching my feet. I’m not even going to harass him about the Oxy because we own a gay dance club and opiates are practically grown on the premises. It’s utterly pointless. The next time he speaks, he’s asking me to do him a favor in a ridiculously sappy voice, “Will you help me get ready for bed?”
I sigh, “Yes. Sit here; I need to get a chair.” I return to the bathroom to find him sitting on the toilet, his towel on the floor and an unlit cigarette in his mouth. I inform him, “If you are taking a shit, I rescind my offer. You can figure this out yourself.”
He laughs with his entire torso, his shoulders heaving up and down, “I just wanted to piss you off. I don’t have to shit.”
“Sit in this chair, you idiot.”
He flips it backwards and plops down, his face resting in his hands. I discard his stupid cigarette, and start unpacking his toiletry kit. We could be at the apex of a zombie apocalypse, and Brian would still insist on his full face routine. One of the jars rolls into the sink, and he snaps, “Be careful! Jesus!”
“Do not yell at me.”
“That shit’s expensive,” he adds.
“Really? Who do you think actually orders and stocks this stuff for you? Your other husband?”
He grins, “You’re right. It’s my other husband.”
“Is he the one that fucks you when you get home from work on time?” I ask.
Brian talks to me in the mirror, “Yes, but this is the first I’ve seen him all day. Welcome home, honey.” He tries to slide his hand up my towel and I jerk away which leaves me standing there naked with exfoliating scrub and a washcloth. “Whoops,” he says.
“Sit up straight.”
He makes a huge production of sitting up straight, and I hold his head back and start washing his face. He has his hand wrapped around the top of my thigh. “This feels good,” he admits.
“Well, I have a youthful, toned body.”
“I mean the facial, genius.”
Everything from this point on has to go in a strict order that I memorized years ago. Brian’s been in bed sick with the stomach flu, and I’ve sat next to him and done his entire face care regimen. Nothing stops this routine. I rinse his face very well. Apply toner. Pat dry. Apply face serum, then neck serum, then eye serum and lip serum. Then we wait thirty seconds in silence as all of that sinks into his pores. This is the closest I’ve ever seen Brian come to praying. Finally, we moisturize. His face, his neck, his eyes. And then, finally, we’re done. I put everything away, zip his bag and push it back against the wall. He pulls me close, kisses me, thanks me and gets up, dragging the chair out of the bathroom. I then tend to my skin care regime which is washing my face with his cleanser and using whichever product he has the most of to finish it off. When I exit, I begin turning off all the lights on all over the suite. I pull the sheets back on our bed and slide in beside Brian. The drapes are open, and the lights of the city crisscross on Brian’s back. His head’s resting on his crossed arms. “We have to get up and go tomorrow. Our flight is just after noon,” I remind him.
“I remember.”
“Are you hot?” I ask because he’s actively avoiding the covers.
“Yeah, Oxy makes me sweat on top of the liquor.”
“That’s why you shouldn’t mix shit, Einstein.”
“You’re giving me dejavu,” he claims.
We both laugh at that. “All these years later, and you still do dumb shit,” I point out.
“And love the same guy,” Brian replies. I smile and lean over to kiss him and tell him good night. I roll away from him and curl the covers around me. He won’t fight me when he’s burning up. I try to sleep; I close my eyes and let the day’s events play back in my mind. And that’s when my thoughts stop on one moment….
“Brian, are you awake?”
“Nope.”
I roll back over and put my hand on his shoulder, “I’m really proud of you, of the work you’re doing. You kind of amazed me today, having that breakthrough and being able to work through it.”
“Well, life is a learning process. People evolve, and I am a people.”
“You are a drunk people,” I point out.
“Even drunk people evolve, apparently.”
“Okay, I just wanted to tell you that. Good night; I love you.” I kiss him, my hand on his cheek. As I start to roll away, he pulls me back, “I need to tell you something, too.”
I smile, “Go ahead.”
“You forgot one of my serums.”
“No, I didn’t. I put them all on the counter; I used them all--”
“You forgot the cock serum.”
“Is that right?”
“You used it last night, but not tonight.” He sees the confused look on my face, and explains, “Last night you put it right on my butt, remember?”
Honestly. “Yes, I remember.”
“It doesn’t work when you apply it like that. You have to put it in my butt, like an injection.”
“Well, thanks for the beauty tip.”
He tightens his grip on me, “I would like my injection now.”
I roll my eyes at his request, and inform him, “I’ll fuck you tomorrow night when we get home. Right now, I’m exhausted and not even hard.”
“I can fix that,” he offers.
“We overdid it last night, remember? You were in pain?”
“I’m feeling zero pain right now,” he argues.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that, but I’m really worn out, Brian.”
“Don’t reject me; I don’t handle it well.” I just stare at him, trying not to laugh. He touches his nose to mine and whispers, “Please.”
I slide my hand down his stomach to his cock, and to his credit and my amazement, he’s very hard. I stroke him. He moans and reminds me, “You made me take a pill, remember?”
“Ah, I did.”
“It hasn’t worn off.”
Our embrace becomes more intimate; Brian presses us together, his hand on my ass. “Can we compromise?” I ask him.
“Maybe. What are you offering?” he asks.
I put my arms around his neck and kiss him and then talk to him, our mouths maybe an inch apart, “I want both of us to be sober the next time I fuck you, and I want you to be a little desperate because I made you wait.” I run my hands over his broad shoulders, down his back, and rub his ass; he moans at the attention. “But if you need to come right now, I’ll help you with that.”
“Deal, he breathes into my hair.
“Roll onto your stomach.”
We untangle for this, and I lie on top of him and whisper behind his ear, “I’m going to rim you until you can’t take it anymore.” Brian smashes his face in his pillow and moans into the fabric as I kiss my way down his neck, his back, and the cleft between his cheeks. “When I lick you, I want you to think about how you feel when I’m inside you. I want you to feel how tight you are and how my cock fills you up. Understand?”
“Yes.”
He parts his legs for me as I tease him, and when he feels my tongue swirl around his hole, his hips continue to tilt, offering himself to me. “I want you to remember how helpless you are when you bottom for me, how every decision about your pleasure and release is no longer yours to make.” Brian groans and makes it physically clear to me that he wants to pull his knees in. He tries and I push him back down and hold him there, my thumb pushing against his entrance. “I told you; I’m not fucking you tonight.”
“I want to jerk off,” he begs, his voice expressing his raw need.
“Okay,” I relent, and release the power I have. His body shifts forward, and he scrambles to tuck his long legs beneath him. I drag my tongue up the inside of his thigh to his crack, and he starts to touch himself. I cup his balls as my tongue fucks him, and his hips rock back and forth into my face. He starts to plead for more, and when I tell him that I still won’t fuck him, he sends a bottle of lube with amazing precision between his legs. “Please, improvise. I want to come like this.
“Okay,” I agree because he may be drunk and high, but he’s also rabidly aroused. When I slip a wet finger inside him, he’s delirious, “Fuck, yes.”
Two inside, carefully, and his breathing is heavy; he starts to sweat. I take my time at first, stretching him, pushing deep and holding him there. He pumps his cock, until I reach for his hand, and put just a little lube in it. Brian’s breathing gets frenetic when he wets his cock, and I let my fingers fuck him. When I turn my fingers and let the pads of my fingers touch his prostate, he bucks, swears, and starts the familiar set of actions that always precedes his orgasm.
I put my hand on his ass and tell him to hold still, and then I work my hand like a piston inside him. I see his eyes roll backwards. “Goddamn,” he spits out.
“You like this?” His answer is just a crazy stream of curse words and superlatives. “I want you to come with your ass stuffed like this, Brian.”
“I’m coming-- oh, fuck….fuck, Christ--”
He exhales loudly as he comes, his body sinking back onto the bed. I lie on top of him, kiss the back of his neck, “That was beautiful.”
“That felt so good.”
“Tomorrow night, you’ll get the real thing. I want you to sleep now.” I lie down beside him, and he props himself on my chest and gives me a long, deep kiss. “I love you, too,” I tell him. He sleeps pressed against me, his arm draped over my stomach. His body is still hot, there’s still a sheen of sweat. I wait a few minutes until I’m sure he’s out, and then I cover him with the sheet and partway with the blanket. I turn back on my side and make my own cocoon, but I stay close to him. It’s where I want to be.
All that cock serum, though? Once again, it went to waste.
Negotiations 26
BRIAN’S POV
We find ourselves in the restaurant of The Muse Hotel. It’s a quirky place, and while Justin concedes he’s never eaten here, he says he’s been to this bar a number of times. “With Kai,” he says, “That Japanese guy at my show last night.”
“The one wearing all black with spiky hair with the red streak?” I gesture to my own head.
“Yeah, he’s an artist, too, and a friend of mine. I mean, I see him at shows all the time.”
“What kind of artist is he?” I ask, “And is he even thirty?”
“Early thirties. He’s a painter, too, but his art isn’t for mixed company. It’s sexually graphic.”
“Please don’t tell me it’s vaginas.”
Justin laughs, “No, he’s gay. That’s why he was there last night. We have a lot of the same customers but for very different reasons. He’s what you would call a…. professional switch.”
“He’s an escort,” I counter.
“It’s not about fucking. He services the kind of men who have very specific kinks, and then he uses that inspiration to make some really disturbing art.”
“That’s just weird.”
Justin nods, “It is,” as three different appetizers are delivered to us along with these obnoxiously hipster cocktails that have completely unnecessary ingredients in them like lavender and fucking elderflower. I consider dumping mine in a fake plant. Justin’s is called: Death in the Afternoon and it contains champagne and absinthe. I don’t even know what these itty bitty appetizers are, but I’m hungry, so I’m just woofing them down. Justin’s sucking his drink with a straw and giving me random and weirdly intense looks.
“There’s no way in hell that drink tastes good,” I tell him.
“It’s awful,” he says, “But in a good way.”
“What does that even mean?”
He shrugs as I get up and tell him I need to piss, “Be right back.” I wander through the eclectic lobby until I find the men’s room. I think Justin likes this place because it has a strange Warhol vibe to it. The bathroom is trying too hard.
When I get back to our table, Justin’s not there. I turn my head to locate him, and a voice surprises me; I jump a little, “So sorry. He said to tell you he’d be right back,” our waiter -who’s standing way too close to me-- says as he hands me a drink, “He also said to give you this. It’s high shelf as requested.” I thank him and sit down with my whiskey as he starts clearing our table. This is one of the sweet things Justin does for me; he reads my mind when I’m not satisfied with something and endeavors to fix it. “Can I get you anything else, sir?” he asks.
I pick up the small menu on our table, peruse it, and say, “These steak medallions. Are they good?”
“Very.”
“Bring me a double order. I could eat like a straight man.”
Our waiter finds this joke relatable, “Been there, done that.”
“Medium rare,” I say, and he nods. “And a glass of water.”
“Of course. Oh--,” he says looking past me, “Here he comes now.”
“Thank you.”
Justin comes back into the restaurant and sits down next to me reeking of some sort of smiley yet suspicious aura. “Where were you?” I ask.
He dodges my question, “Did you order something else?”
“Yeah, some steak things. I’m starving. There’s enough to share.”
“Okay, cool.”
Just then, my phone lights up, and I glance over to see that a credit card transaction of over five hundred dollars was charged. I turn to him while realizing that he’s nudged his chair closer to mine at our round table, “What did I just buy for five hundred dollars?”
“Shit,” he says, “I forget you get those alerts.”
“Answer my question, please.”
He rolls his eyes at my badgering, and gently slaps his hand on the table. When he lifts it up, there’s a key card there. I move my eyes from the card to his face; he puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes. I realize that we’re married and all, but his moves could be a bit more stealth. The steak’s delivered to our table, and Justin points to his deadly drink, his eyes fixated on our waiter as he says, “Another please.”
I try again, “Why did we get a hotel room when we already have one?”
Justin sighs as he picks up a medallion, “I need a favor.”
“Okay, what can I do for you?”
As his second drink arrives, he looks at me and in a serious voice he would use to tell me he totaled one of our cars or something, he states, “I’m really horny.”
I laugh aloud; it startles him, he blushes and then smiles at me. I question him a little more, “You’re so horny that you can’t wait until we get back to our original hotel room?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that,” he tells me, and then he reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a Viagra single pack. I just got these a week ago; he went thru my briefcase because he knows full well that I stash pharmaceuticals in there. This snooping thing is one of Justin’s less endearing qualities. He sets it on the table, “I need you to take this.”
“Now?”
“Please.” I swallow the pill with my eyes fixed on his, and he squeezes my hand and says, “Thank you.”
I begin to wonder what’s going on with him, and why we really need this bonus room. He mistakes my uptick in curiosity for concern and apologizes for I don’t know what, “It’s wrong, okay. I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I tried to ignore it.”
Now, I have a choice here. I can stop this misunderstanding or I can let it play it out, maybe even help it a little, so I figure, why not? I’m borderline bored anyway. I put my arm on the back of his chair, pretending I’m informed, “You don’t need to ignore it. It’s okay.”
This was probably a mistake because Justin looks up at me with this unfiltered vulnerability on his face almost breaks me into a million pieces even as I remain in the dark. He lays his head on my shoulder and whispers, “I love you.” Our waiter’s circling back at the very same moment and upon observing our public intimacy, turns quickly on his heel and walks away. Justin downs the rest of his afternoon concoction as I survey the table and motion for our waiter to return. “What’s our room number?” I ask him.
“Six twenty three.”
…...
I walk toward the elevator, and Justin pulls me back. “What?” I question.
“Let’s just give it a couple minutes,” he pleads, “I need a little time.”
For what?
His mood’s strange, but I just walk with him around the lobby looking at all of the random wacky art. I feel this struggled vibe coming off of him. I decide, “Okay, I’ll go smoke. You come get me when you’re ready.”
He seems relieved, “Okay. Thanks.”
What in the hell is going on with him?
*****************
When I find him again, it’s less than ten minutes later. He’s somewhat nervously perched on a bright yellow upholstered bench right inside the door of the hotel with his hand curled around a brown paper bag. I end my smoke break, re-enter, sit down next him, smile and ask, “You okay now?”
“Better, but I still feel a little guilty,” he says with a sigh.
Perhaps examining this bag in his hand will shed some light; he gives it up easily and I hold it up as the brown paper unravels. I open the bag, look inside and laugh. There’s a pack of gum and a small bottle of lube from the hotel gift shop. “Whatever’s bothering you, it’s not keeping you from spending my money,” I tease.
“Stop it. I made a killing last night.”
“Yes, you did, but you didn’t use your credit card to pay for this adventure. You chose to use mine.”
He turns his body to face mine and confesses, “I like the way I feel when I spend your money.”
I flirt with him to relax him, “I like the way I feel when you spend my money.”
…...
It’s just us in the elevator, and mentally, I’m trying to prepare myself for what’s in room six two three. Or maybe who? I don’t let go of his hand until we’re standing in front of our room. Our key card works and as I go to turn the knob, Justin stops me, his hand on my arm, “I meant to tell you, all the rooms on this floor are themed. I picked this room on purpose.”
I have no idea what that means or what I am walking into...
Three or four steps inside though, and I know exactly why he picked this room.
It’s...well…
...completely…
blue.
There are blue LED tube lights running along the top of the walls right below the ceiling. The carpet is blue, the bed is blue, the sheets are blue, and even the glasses and ice bucket are blue. The only area with normal lighting is the bathroom. But even in there, the towels and tile are, of course, blue.
“Every room on this floor is a different color,” he says.
“I like it.”
“It’s soothing,” Justin offers.
“It’s familiar,” I respond, and as I say that, he looks at me with those blue eyes of his as some type of recognition flashes across his face and he smiles. We both seem to be momentarily infected with a little nostalgia. Justin steps closer to me, raising his arms and hooking them around my neck. We kiss, and it’s a moment I won’t forget because somehow the past, present, and future is wrapped up in it. “Are we expecting company?” I ask him.
“No,” he dismisses, and I can tell he thinks it’s a stupid question but whatever. I’m a lot of things but psychic is not one of them. Justin’s in front of me and, oddly, both nervous and aroused. And I need to decide what my priorities are. If I’m allowed to have any….
“Take your clothes off,” he says, but the tone in his voice is not commanding which confuses me, but, again, priorities. I simply perform the task while never taking my eyes off of his and while trying to respect his affect even though I can’t read it very well. Uncertainty is an aphrodisiac in its own way.
Justin comes closer to me, a mere few inches, and rests his head on my chest. I wrap my arms around him taking care to mirror him and not to make moves of my own. And then I get that same sensation I got in the restaurant because he keeps whipping out his vulnerability and waving it in my face. I get chills over my entire body, and he whispers, “Sorry” and kisses my chest in apology.
The ambient noise of car horns and sloshing tires fills any space between us when we are silent. Those sounds are just one more thing that makes this room remind me the loft in the early days. “I need you to fuck me,” he says.
“This is the favor?” I ask.
“The way I deserve to be fucked,” he adds.
Okey dokey.
He’s such a fascinating little creature sometimes. I just want to examine him from head-to-toe and try to understand why he is the way he is, but I can do that another time when he’s not telling me to fuck him.
I let my hand float lower on his back, my fingers dipping inside his jeans as I respond, a small step forward with an indelible truth, “That’s not a problem. At all.” Justin sighs a little letting only a miniscule amount of relief escape and then asks me, “Do you know what I mean when I say ‘the way I deserve to be fucked?’”
“I think so.”
“You probably do,” he concedes, “You know everything about me.”
“Uh, no, not everything,” I respond, “Not by a long shot.”
“In bed,” he reassures me.
I respond, “I’m not sure about that. If I knew everything, I’d be inside you right now.”
He looks up at me, his eyes narrowed as he puts his hand on my face, and then he rises up on his toes and kisses me in a very you belong to me sort of way, and, again, the chill returns. The barrage of please just take me signals he’s sending me right now is almost overwhelming.. He’s unbuttoned his jeans, though, and he’s not stopping my hand from rubbing his ass or teasing him with my fingertips. He’s gotten us both invested in this delightful torture. And then he says, “You know everything about fucking me in a room as blue as this one.”
This hipster concoction he guzzled has done a number on him.
“There’s always more to learn,” I counter even though, admittedly, I have no clue what I’m arguing this point.
Justin’s body shifts then, both of his arms around my neck, his mouth pressed against mine. If what we did in the movie theater was foreplay; this is the extended remix, and I’m definitely here for it. He starts relocating my hands, showing me what he wants me to do; in this case, it’s pushing his jeans down as he kicks his shoes off. I help him with his shirts, layered for this brutally cold weather. His sweater ignites a copious amount of static electricity in his hair as I yank it off, and the crackling sound seems right on cue.
And then, Justin’s urging me backwards. I glance and see that there’s a chair behind me so I sit. He kneels on the floor between my legs. His lips kiss the inside of my thigh, they skate around my dick; his tongue teases me, rolling my head around just inside his mouth. My heart revs a little in anticipation. I was certainly not expecting an oral worship, but I’ll take it. Soon, I’m emitting a stuttered pant because it’s become impossible to take in a full breath. He gifts my cock with a few long pulls while he licks my balls. I keep swallowing hard, licking my lips, and letting my legs spread further and further apart. At one point, he lets out this little approval moan; he wants me to know he’s enjoying himself. I put my hand under his chin, my thumb strokes his cheek, “You’re making me crazy.”
“Good,” he says.
I inquire, “Have I done something to deserve this?” Because I truly have no idea.
“Not yet...really, but you will.” His reply seems like something a leprechaun would say to you if you snuck up on him, and then I forget about ridiculous thoughts like that because Justin swallows me completely.
My eyes roll back in my head as he does it, my back arches forward, and he uses his strong floor position to hold me where I am. I place my hand on the back of his head and hold his mouth at the base of my cock and raise my hips until he bucks because he can’t breathe. I relent, and he sucks hard, stealing ecstasy from every pore in my body and sending it all to my shaft. He makes a delicious noise when I start to come, wrapping his arms around my waist. I can feel him swallowing, an indescribably pleasurable sensation. “Justin,” I say in between breaths, “That...was...beautiful.” (That act alone was worth the five hundred dollars and change.)
“Do you remember when you used to make me do this before we fucked?”
“Yes, because, if we didn’t, I lasted about five seconds inside your tantalizingly tight little ass.”
“Even with a condom,” he jokes, and then he gets serious, “It made me feel special.”
I don’t know what he’s trying to do to me, but it’s working, “You are special. I wanted to stay inside you as long as I possibly could.”
Justin looks up at me, his expression almost piercing a hole through my heart, “I remember the first time you told me I did a god job--”
“Well, you were born to suck cock, and I mean that in the most flattering of ways.”
“Shut up. It’s weird. but it’s like, when we walked in here, I could taste your cum in my mouth,” he admits to me.
I laugh a little and tossle his hair, “A sense memory. Those are powerful things.”
“Do you have any?” Justin asks me as he climbs into my lap, straddling me.
“Oh, sure.”
“Tell me one,” he says.
I think for a minute and remember, “Well, this is sort of one: ‘til this day, when I wake up in the middle of the night and our room is completely dark, I can’t remember what bed I’m in for the first minute or so. Do you have that sensation sometimes?” I ask him.
“Yeah, especially if I’ve been painting non-stop and fall asleep in the studio. I sometimes think I’m back here in New York, in my studio, and then I snap out of it and realize I’m in our house.”
“Right, so I reach to see if you’re with me, and when I touch you, I immediately assume the bed is low to the floor, that we’re at the loft. I’ve gotten up to piss and almost fallen out of bed more than once. It’s hard for me to imagine us in bed together anywhere else when I’m not fully awake. It’s especially bad if I go to sleep drunk.”
Justin laughs, “I do that, too, only I wake up hungry and think the kitchen is only a few feet away. I’d probably be really fat today if it was on the same floor.” We both find this funny, but even as we enjoy that moment, our discussion, his mention of the kitchen, makes me realize something unsettling; I look away from him, focus my eyes on the window.
“What?” he says, his hand on my face as he turns it back toward him which I resist.
This realization is wholly inconvenient, especially right now. It has some nerve popping up when Justin is naked and aroused and in my lap. I consider not telling him, but, this is Justin, and I have accidentally let some emotion slip out so that will never fly. I take a deep breath, “Uh, I just realized….” I stop because I really don’t want to say this aloud.
He drank the drink, but somehow I’ve metabolized its contents: Death in the Afternoon
….
Concern clouds Justin’s face.
….
I squeeze the bridge of my nose and close my eyes trying to ignore the frustration I feel.
…...
“Brian, please tell me; secrets make me uncomfortable.”
“Okay, but it’s not a secret; I just realized this right now.”
“Okay, I understand.”
Here goes nothing…
…...
Very deep breath…
…...
“Okay…. I think that’s why I left... Joan... on the kitchen floor. She was bleeding from the head, like you--I couldn’t--it reminded me of-.”
Again, I stop talking.
…….
Justin’s mouth falls open a little in shock; he breathes deliberately.
……
We just look at each, our eyes communicating while everything else has shut down.
……
As cliche as it is, this moment between us has stopped time.
…...
He tentatively rubs my shoulders, tries to comfort me, “It’s why you didn’t tell me. ...I get it now. It’s okay. ...you didn’t know you were hiding it from yourself.” His arms incircle me but don’t tighten like he’s afraid a real hug will shatter me, “Shit, I’m so sorry, Brian. I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
“I didn’t even know until now,” I tell him; pressure builds in my face...swelling. I press it harder against him. His heart’s racing. “Just let me--” I tell him. “Please just let this happen.”
“Okay, I will. I understand.”
A small army of tears arrives in my eyes; they sting as they leak, anxious to exit. I refuse to let another round follow that one.
“It’s okay; I’m here,” he reassures me, “I’ll always be here.”
This emotional surge baffles me because none of it is about Joan; it’s all about him. I didn’t even know this correlation in therapy yesterday; Jon didn’t even try to make it for me. Justin’s wiping my tears away as fast as they fall.
…...
And then it’s over; the realization has retreated. All hail the ‘power cry.’
…...
When he finally speaks again, I can tell that he cried a little, too. “Head is weirdly powerful, isn’t it?” I look at him and laugh because what a stupid thing to say and be right about, “That’s how well I taught you, Grasshopper.”
“It’s true,” he says, “But if you want to leave this place now, I understand.”
“I don’t want to leave. We’re getting our five hundred dollars out of this spooky, strange room.”
He explains, “I’ve wanted to bring you here for a long time and to this specific room, but I had to wait for the right situation. And, I mean, it’s not like we can stay in a one color room for an entire weekend. We’d go bonkers.”
I pause, then ask him, “Have you been here before? To this room?”
Justin smiles, “My friend, Kai, he’s had ‘sessions’ on this floor. He has a client who likes to use all these different colored rooms, so I came with him one time to help him set up.”
“Set up what?” I ask because my mind is pinballing with the possibilities.
“His easel and stuff. There’s a lot of edible body paint in those situations. We had to sneak the paint and drop cloths in in suitcases.”
“You didn’t stay for the festivities?”
He shook his head emphatically, “Uh, no. I’m not even supposed to know who the client was. I was long gone.”
……
It’s completely dark outside, and the lights of the city are reflecting in our windows. I wonder if the restaurant has filled up downstairs and how many determined theater patrons are navigating this weather. The room has gotten bluer now that sunlight is no longer contributing to the color spectrum. Justin’s fair skin gives off that coolest hint of pink on my lap. “You’re no longer listening to me,” he announces.
“Sorry, I got distracted.” I put my hands on his waist, “You want me to fuck you, correct?”
“Yes,” he says; he smiles and then leans forward against me. We sit together in this chair as I hold him and rub his back. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry. He becomes coy and flirtatious and very affectionate; he distributes small kisses across my shoulder and up my neck. In a hushed voice behind my ear, he tells me, “I need you to follow my lead.”
“Of course.”
He gets up from my lap, and as I start to follow him, he shakes his head and nudges me back down. Then he smiles at me as he bends over the small round table next to us and locks eyes with me. It’s an act tasks that takes just a few seconds, but it’s a message I understand immediately. I put my palm on his bottom and ask him, “So this fuck you say you want, it needs to be--”
“Relentless,” he answers.
“So...deep? Hard? And time consuming?” I ask.
“Please.”
“But I’m sensing that we need to warm things up first?”
“I can’t recall the last time a good spanking lead to a bad fuck,” he says.
“Right.” I hold my hand up. “Unfortunately, all I have is my hand. I wasn’t notified that I needed to come prepared.”
“You have everything you need,” he reassures me.
I rub his ass again, and tell him to close his eyes. He does, and I slip my finger tips inside his briefs to tease him before I guide his underwear completely off, and then run my hand up the inside of his leg. His breathing stops and starts as I touch him; he actively holds it and then releases it in tiny gasps when he likes where my hand’s going. I curve my hand around the top of his thigh and squeeze. I lean forward and put my left arm on his lower back, effectively holding him still. His eyes open, and he stares at me, his face flushed with arousal, his lips red and slightly parted as I begin to spank him, his plump cheeks warm in response to the force I’m delivering. Justin’s fingers grip the table on every blow forcing him to get steady on his toes and audit his position. This table’s just the right height to keep him off balance. More than once, I stop administering pain and just kiss his pink bottom, rub and remind him that, “It’s a privilege to punish you.”
“Brian, I think I’m dripping,” he says and he makes it sound hopeless, like he’s lost control of his body.
I let my hot hand wander between his legs to see if he’s right. “Your cock’s making a mess,” I tell him as I rub the evidence up and down his dick, “But that’s okay. I can take care of that.”
He just nods at me from the trance he’s in. I feel high as a kite when Justin’s in this altered state; the euphoria becomes mutually contagious. I stand up and position my body on top of his, let the warmth from his spanking bleed into my skin, too. He moans as I stroke his hair, as I kiss the back of his neck. His skin is damp with sweat; I uncurl his fingers from the edge of the table. “I’m going to move you,” I tell him, “Because you’re stuck to the surface.” He just moans as I urge him carefully up and off the table, ungluing his chest and stomach inch by inch. I guide him to the bed, letting him lie down on his back, intent on making sure he gets the fuck he needs. I push his bent legs back and tell him to, “Hold them. Show me what you want.” Justin slips his hands under his knees and spreads them as wide as he can. With lubed fingers, I feel how tight he is as I lean on him, my body weight making it impossible for him to move. I kiss him and ask, “Does this feel good? Your hot bottom filled up?”
“Yes,” he says after he kisses me back, “More.”
“I can make you come like this, can’t I?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I can even milk you, can’t I? Make you come in the worst way?”
“Yes, sir, but please don’t.” When I don’t agree immediately, he presses me, “Please, Brian, don’t.”
“Because you want to come like a good little boy with a big cock in your ass, right?”
“With your cock,” he moans.
I wonder sometimes if my cock knows just how lucky it is, if it understands that the privilege that’s befallen it carries some real responsibility. I feel like it’s jogging in place between my legs, waving me down and yelling, ‘Put me in, Coach!’
It’s right about one thing, though, this is partly a game.
I want to toy with my prey a little, so I take advantage of my long fingers inside him and my other hand on his cock, showing him just how far I can take him while my dick waits impatiently for my call. “Brian, please,” he begs, “Please take me.”
“You have control issues, Justin.”
“Mostly in bed,” he says with a sly smile. I roll my eyes, and change my tactics. I make him hold still as my cock teases him, my hands splayed on his thighs, my thumbs circling his hole. He expresses audible displeasure at being toyed with, so I lean down and kiss him, comfort him, and then tell him, “Now, shut up. Unless you’re moaning from pleasure, I don’t want to hear shit out of you.”
“You’re so mean,” he complains.
“Mean?” I ask as I stroke his cock, “Is this mean?”
He resists me, squirms underneath me, tries to divert me with subversive affection, tries to let go of his legs and run his fingers through my hair, “Inside me,” he begs again.
“Did I say you could touch me?”
“You’re fucking evil, Brian,” he says. It’s secretly a compliment but we both pretend not to know that. Justin returns to his initial position, holding his legs apart,
and I let him feel the just the tip of my cock, slipping in and out of him. I watch my shaft, all shiny and raw, and every time he tries to move to take it, I slap his thighs. Eventually, I lean down and whisper to him, “I wish I had your paddle right now so I could teach you a lesson.”
“You’d hurt me?” he asks but it’s not a question born out of fear; it’s a wish born out of a raw desire that’s mapped Justin’s entire face.
I look down and watch my dick dipping in and out of him, and it’s so fucking beautiful. I tell him, “I want to paddle you for thinking you have the right to resist me because you don’t.”
“Oh god.”
“The only right you have is to be the absolutely perfect receptacle that you are.”
“God, I fucking love you.”
“You’d better because this tight ass of yours adores me.” And with that, I push all the way inside him; I feel his body tighten and then extend; his moan can probably be heard down the hall. He’s so far down the pleasure highway that I just lie down on him, my arms encircling his head and shoulders as my hips administer this wicked pleasure for both of us. He kisses my face, my neck, everywhere he can while he’s thanking me over and over, “Fuck, yes. Fuck me.”
“You’re so much prettier when you’re desperate.”
“Make me come,” he begs, “Please.”
Our bodies, held together by some vicious desire, sync as we fuck. His needs become mine. Mine become his. What was initially relentless becomes more intimate. He whispers into my ear, a feverish request; his breathing getting more intense, “Tell me….”
I smile down at him, “What?”
“You know.”
“That I love you?” I ask.
“Stop fucking with me!”
My lips are barely an inch from his, “That you’re a good boy?” Pleasure infects him; it rolls from his head to between his legs. His tight bottom squeezes my cock. I continue, “You are; you even let me know you needed this. That makes you a very good boy.”
Justin moans and seals himself to me, whispering evidence of gratification, and then, “Fuck, I’m gonna come.” He holds onto me, squeezing our bodies together as the pleasure pulses out of him. He steams appreciation into my ear, ”That was fucking incredible, Brian.That was everything I needed.”
“My pleasure.”
…...
He’s gone now, flying completely free even as he’s captured in my arms. His warm body feels close to liquifying. I hold him more tightly just in case. We’re quieter as the minutes pass, and I just listen to the sounds our bodies make, to Justin’s breathing. I can feel his pulse inside my own body. I could feel his surrender as it was given to me; I don’t even have to reach for it. In this dark room, we are cocooned together in this blue light, a mandatory merger.
For whatever reason, he needed this.
…...
He needed me.
…….
When Justin begins to come back to the here and now, his skin peels away from mine in small increments, his eyes begin to focus and scan the room. Slowly, he reorients himself, and eventually, they land on my face. He smiles. I smile. We kiss, and I ask as our faces part, “You okay?”
“I don’t think I can talk,” he observes, “My lips are numb.”
“I can understand you perfectly well.” He pulls at his lips seemingly confused as to how they’re able to function. I suggest to him that we relocate beneath the sheets, and he nods like he’s helping me when in actuality he’s practically dead weight that I’m maneuvering on this blue bed. I don’t complain; he can’t help it. I pull his body against mine under the blankets; he’s facing away from me but you couldn’t slide a post it between us. He guides my hand between his legs guides it to his inner thigh. Going to be sore tomorrow,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into his hair, “I didn’t think I spanked you that hard.”
“My thighs,” he says, and I realize he means from the position he was in. “Massage,” he orders, squeezing my hand. I get to work on the task, and he goes back inside himself, moaning softly as he responds to my touch. If I wasn’t exhausted, this would be too much to take, all these erotic sounds and movements he makes.
He tilts his head back, kisses me and then asks, “How’d you make that fuck so dirty?”
“It’s a gift.”
He sighs as he concludes, “A gift that I get to unwrap over and over again.”
“Yeah, you do, because it has your name on it.”
Justin responds, “I don’t know how you can take something so familiar to me and make me love it and fear it at the same time.”
I lean down and whisper in his ear, “I like to fuck with you sometimes.”
‘You more than like it, Brian.” He rubs his forehead and his temples trying to center himself as he speaks, “But, now, I want to tell you something; I actually sort of need to.”
“Go ahead.”
He rolls in my arms so he’s facing me, “It’s been bugging me since yesterday.”
“I’m listening,” I emphasize.
“Okay, this might be painfully obvious at this point, but there are some parts of me that can’t just be without certain parts of you for very long...at all.”
“Ah, I see.”
“And then there are other parts of me that want to light this thing we have on fire and see how hot it burns.”
He surprises me, “Whoa, okay.”
“Like there’s a part of me that wants to tie you up so tightly that you can barely flare your nostrils on your own and just leave your cock free for me.”
“Wow.”
Justin continues, his fingers stroking my face, “And I want to fuck you like that for hours, over and over, until you’re exhausted, until you have blisters from being ridden that much and then when I untie you, you still don’t move because you can’t.”
“How very savage of you.”
“But then in the next moment, I need this other side of you, and I--,” he stops and looks away, conflict evident on his face.
Ah ha. Bingo. The secret is spilled.
“So that’s what all this angst has been about downstairs, all that guilt and anxiety? You needed to submit for a few hours even though it’s not your turn?”
“Don’t make me sound stupid, Brian.”
“I don’t mean to. I think it’s rather adorable, really.”
Justin admits to me, “I literally do not understand how you can change your head space so quickly and with no effort whatsoever.”
“Because you needed me. It’s that simple. Literally.”
“Brian, come on. It’s only been a couple of days. I’m ashamed,” he says, and he means it, covering his face with his hands in exasperation.
“Why do you put this kind of pressure on yourself?”
“I don’t know,” he bemoans, “It’s such a stupid problem in the grand scheme of things.”
“Listen to me. You’ve made some very deep and intense trips into subspace lately, and you’re fucking fearless on that journey. And maybe there’s a little bit of you that hasn’t quite packed up and left yet?”
“I like it here,” he admits.
“Oh, I know.”
He’s gotten so adept at this that he can multi-task while he’s in subspace. Incidentally, I find it to be grossly unfair and consider it an unspoken, one-sided challenge in our relationship, but I digress….
Justin seems to be in agreement, “But I never thought of it that way, that I’m not ready to leave.”
“Well, you probably have a job there now, like you’re a professor at Subspace University and get a real paycheck and everything,” I tease him, and he claps right back, “I’ll bet I have tenure, too.”
“Oh, no doubt.”
“And a hot teaching assistant.”
“Okay, time to go.”
“And lab hours with lots of hand on learning.”
“Pack your shit; the train’s leaving the station,” I say.
Justin’s smiling and laughing, but I ]make sure he understands, “If you’re the one in charge, then you decide what happens, so what happens can be anything you want….or need.” This seems to make him happy, so I continue, “And you’re always entitled to this, Justin. You don’t have to work for it or earn it. It’s automatically yours.”
He gives me a sly look, “Sometimes you make me beg.”
I roll my eyes and concede the point, “Yes, but you like to beg.”
“True, but I want to be fair to you, Brian. I’m kind of obsessed with it.”
“Let me decide what’s fair to me and what I need, okay? And if something needs to be adjusted, I’ll let you know.”
“Do you promise?”
“One hundred percent, and we both need a little latitude in this situation, don’t you think? We’re both trying to work against type.”
Justin’s eyes widen, he looks up, he kisses my chin, “I want you to know that I thank the universe every day that you’re my husband, Brian.”
“That’s very sweet. I send a thank you note to the factory I ordered you from at least once a year.”
He rolls his eyes at me, “Ha. Ha. Ha. How much are tickets to your one man show?”
“I’m afraid it’s sold out.”
***************
JUSTIN’S POV
After a dinner date, Brian and I finally arrive back at our original hotel. It’s after eleven, and I invite him to take a jacuzzi with me since we have one in our room. He agrees after one last cigarette, and we raid the mini bar, stacking all of the vodka and whiskey bottles on the edge of the tub. We both drink our fair share, but Brian, I discover, is much drunker than me as we try to get out and dry off. I should’ve caught onto this sooner when, during a conversation about our relationship, Brian described our union as part condiment…
I began, “Can I tell you something I’ve noticed about us?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, here’s the thing: everyone around us, all of our friends and family, their lives are always expanding. They’re having kids, or adopting, or renovating old houses or testing their DNA to find unknown relatives--”
“Yeah, no. I’m not doing that,” Brian flatly rejects.
“Exactly, and you and I, our world gets smaller and smaller. I mean, we can’t actually put the dungeon on our Christmas cards,” I point out.
“Do we send out Christmas cards?” he asks. “Are you snapping pics of me throughout the year and then photoshopping a Santa hat on me?”
“We did one year. It was weird. All it did was increase the number of cards people sent us the next year by a ridiculous amount, so I decided, ‘Fuck that.’ “
Brian summarizes, “We’re like an ever-tightening pretzel, you and I, dipped in the most expensive of mustards.”
He was completely serious.
That comparison should’ve been my hint that he was more sauced than me. Instead, I discover it as we dismount the jacuzzi because he’s very wobbly and finds it funnier than it should be. I hold him steady as he yanks a towel from the wall. “Why are you doing that?” he asks me, staring at my hand wrapped around his bicep.
“Because you’re like a tall pine tree in a windstorm right now.”
Brian laughs and points to his skull, “It’s windy up here.”
I wonder if drinking and Viagra don’t mix. Perhaps I should google this?
I get Brian sufficiently propped and turn to take a piss, and that’s when I feel him behind me, on me, his hands helping me hold my own dick. His chin digs into my shoulder. I turn my head as much as I can and inquire, “Why are you so fucked up?”
I can feel him smile against my shoulder.
“Answer me,” I demand.
“Oxy,” he says.
Now, it makes sense. He was very touchy feely in the jacuzzi and every bit of that narcotic and liquor sped through his bloodstream in that hot water. He gave me a foot massage while we were in there, but only after he’d asked me to stop singing songs from The Greatest Showman soundtrack which I listen to religiously, and Brian’s extremely sick of. He picked up my foot and started massaging it which I appreciated until I figured out that he knows I can’t sing when he’s touching my feet. I’m not even going to harass him about the Oxy because we own a gay dance club and opiates are practically grown on the premises. It’s utterly pointless. The next time he speaks, he’s asking me to do him a favor in a ridiculously sappy voice, “Will you help me get ready for bed?”
I sigh, “Yes. Sit here; I need to get a chair.” I return to the bathroom to find him sitting on the toilet, his towel on the floor and an unlit cigarette in his mouth. I inform him, “If you are taking a shit, I rescind my offer. You can figure this out yourself.”
He laughs with his entire torso, his shoulders heaving up and down, “I just wanted to piss you off. I don’t have to shit.”
“Sit in this chair, you idiot.”
He flips it backwards and plops down, his face resting in his hands. I discard his stupid cigarette, and start unpacking his toiletry kit. We could be at the apex of a zombie apocalypse, and Brian would still insist on his full face routine. One of the jars rolls into the sink, and he snaps, “Be careful! Jesus!”
“Do not yell at me.”
“That shit’s expensive,” he adds.
“Really? Who do you think actually orders and stocks this stuff for you? Your other husband?”
He grins, “You’re right. It’s my other husband.”
“Is he the one that fucks you when you get home from work on time?” I ask.
Brian talks to me in the mirror, “Yes, but this is the first I’ve seen him all day. Welcome home, honey.” He tries to slide his hand up my towel and I jerk away which leaves me standing there naked with exfoliating scrub and a washcloth. “Whoops,” he says.
“Sit up straight.”
He makes a huge production of sitting up straight, and I hold his head back and start washing his face. He has his hand wrapped around the top of my thigh. “This feels good,” he admits.
“Well, I have a youthful, toned body.”
“I mean the facial, genius.”
Everything from this point on has to go in a strict order that I memorized years ago. Brian’s been in bed sick with the stomach flu, and I’ve sat next to him and done his entire face care regimen. Nothing stops this routine. I rinse his face very well. Apply toner. Pat dry. Apply face serum, then neck serum, then eye serum and lip serum. Then we wait thirty seconds in silence as all of that sinks into his pores. This is the closest I’ve ever seen Brian come to praying. Finally, we moisturize. His face, his neck, his eyes. And then, finally, we’re done. I put everything away, zip his bag and push it back against the wall. He pulls me close, kisses me, thanks me and gets up, dragging the chair out of the bathroom. I then tend to my skin care regime which is washing my face with his cleanser and using whichever product he has the most of to finish it off. When I exit, I begin turning off all the lights on all over the suite. I pull the sheets back on our bed and slide in beside Brian. The drapes are open, and the lights of the city crisscross on Brian’s back. His head’s resting on his crossed arms. “We have to get up and go tomorrow. Our flight is just after noon,” I remind him.
“I remember.”
“Are you hot?” I ask because he’s actively avoiding the covers.
“Yeah, Oxy makes me sweat on top of the liquor.”
“That’s why you shouldn’t mix shit, Einstein.”
“You’re giving me dejavu,” he claims.
We both laugh at that. “All these years later, and you still do dumb shit,” I point out.
“And love the same guy,” Brian replies. I smile and lean over to kiss him and tell him good night. I roll away from him and curl the covers around me. He won’t fight me when he’s burning up. I try to sleep; I close my eyes and let the day’s events play back in my mind. And that’s when my thoughts stop on one moment….
“Brian, are you awake?”
“Nope.”
I roll back over and put my hand on his shoulder, “I’m really proud of you, of the work you’re doing. You kind of amazed me today, having that breakthrough and being able to work through it.”
“Well, life is a learning process. People evolve, and I am a people.”
“You are a drunk people,” I point out.
“Even drunk people evolve, apparently.”
“Okay, I just wanted to tell you that. Good night; I love you.” I kiss him, my hand on his cheek. As I start to roll away, he pulls me back, “I need to tell you something, too.”
I smile, “Go ahead.”
“You forgot one of my serums.”
“No, I didn’t. I put them all on the counter; I used them all--”
“You forgot the cock serum.”
“Is that right?”
“You used it last night, but not tonight.” He sees the confused look on my face, and explains, “Last night you put it right on my butt, remember?”
Honestly. “Yes, I remember.”
“It doesn’t work when you apply it like that. You have to put it in my butt, like an injection.”
“Well, thanks for the beauty tip.”
He tightens his grip on me, “I would like my injection now.”
I roll my eyes at his request, and inform him, “I’ll fuck you tomorrow night when we get home. Right now, I’m exhausted and not even hard.”
“I can fix that,” he offers.
“We overdid it last night, remember? You were in pain?”
“I’m feeling zero pain right now,” he argues.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that, but I’m really worn out, Brian.”
“Don’t reject me; I don’t handle it well.” I just stare at him, trying not to laugh. He touches his nose to mine and whispers, “Please.”
I slide my hand down his stomach to his cock, and to his credit and my amazement, he’s very hard. I stroke him. He moans and reminds me, “You made me take a pill, remember?”
“Ah, I did.”
“It hasn’t worn off.”
Our embrace becomes more intimate; Brian presses us together, his hand on my ass. “Can we compromise?” I ask him.
“Maybe. What are you offering?” he asks.
I put my arms around his neck and kiss him and then talk to him, our mouths maybe an inch apart, “I want both of us to be sober the next time I fuck you, and I want you to be a little desperate because I made you wait.” I run my hands over his broad shoulders, down his back, and rub his ass; he moans at the attention. “But if you need to come right now, I’ll help you with that.”
“Deal, he breathes into my hair.
“Roll onto your stomach.”
We untangle for this, and I lie on top of him and whisper behind his ear, “I’m going to rim you until you can’t take it anymore.” Brian smashes his face in his pillow and moans into the fabric as I kiss my way down his neck, his back, and the cleft between his cheeks. “When I lick you, I want you to think about how you feel when I’m inside you. I want you to feel how tight you are and how my cock fills you up. Understand?”
“Yes.”
He parts his legs for me as I tease him, and when he feels my tongue swirl around his hole, his hips continue to tilt, offering himself to me. “I want you to remember how helpless you are when you bottom for me, how every decision about your pleasure and release is no longer yours to make.” Brian groans and makes it physically clear to me that he wants to pull his knees in. He tries and I push him back down and hold him there, my thumb pushing against his entrance. “I told you; I’m not fucking you tonight.”
“I want to jerk off,” he begs, his voice expressing his raw need.
“Okay,” I relent, and release the power I have. His body shifts forward, and he scrambles to tuck his long legs beneath him. I drag my tongue up the inside of his thigh to his crack, and he starts to touch himself. I cup his balls as my tongue fucks him, and his hips rock back and forth into my face. He starts to plead for more, and when I tell him that I still won’t fuck him, he sends a bottle of lube with amazing precision between his legs. “Please, improvise. I want to come like this.
“Okay,” I agree because he may be drunk and high, but he’s also rabidly aroused. When I slip a wet finger inside him, he’s delirious, “Fuck, yes.”
Two inside, carefully, and his breathing is heavy; he starts to sweat. I take my time at first, stretching him, pushing deep and holding him there. He pumps his cock, until I reach for his hand, and put just a little lube in it. Brian’s breathing gets frenetic when he wets his cock, and I let my fingers fuck him. When I turn my fingers and let the pads of my fingers touch his prostate, he bucks, swears, and starts the familiar set of actions that always precedes his orgasm.
I put my hand on his ass and tell him to hold still, and then I work my hand like a piston inside him. I see his eyes roll backwards. “Goddamn,” he spits out.
“You like this?” His answer is just a crazy stream of curse words and superlatives. “I want you to come with your ass stuffed like this, Brian.”
“I’m coming-- oh, fuck….fuck, Christ--”
He exhales loudly as he comes, his body sinking back onto the bed. I lie on top of him, kiss the back of his neck, “That was beautiful.”
“That felt so good.”
“Tomorrow night, you’ll get the real thing. I want you to sleep now.” I lie down beside him, and he props himself on my chest and gives me a long, deep kiss. “I love you, too,” I tell him. He sleeps pressed against me, his arm draped over my stomach. His body is still hot, there’s still a sheen of sweat. I wait a few minutes until I’m sure he’s out, and then I cover him with the sheet and partway with the blanket. I turn back on my side and make my own cocoon, but I stay close to him. It’s where I want to be.
All that cock serum, though? Once again, it went to waste.
Negotiations 26