Interlude
Some nights Justin comes
home from a shift at the diner and can tell what kind of sex Brian wants to
have by how he’s running on his treadmill.
Hard, fast sprinting means he will be exhausted and panting afterward, and really
in no mood to make any sort of effort. He will lie on the bed, motionless, and
let Justin undress him slowly. He might twitch a little if Justin’s tongue
tickles his ribs the right way, but usually he is exceptionally still and silent.
The only other move he makes is to tangle his hand in Justin’s silky hair
when Justin sucks him off.
Smooth, easy jogging means Brian is pacing himself, and Justin will reap the
rewards of that. Brian can fuck for hours if he feels like it, and never, ever
lets Justin come before he wants him to. Brian has perfected the art of knowing
exactly where Justin’s peak is, and keeps him there until Justin lies whimpering
and pleading beneath him, begging Brian to just get him off already before he
passes out from the agony.
* * *
One time Justin comes home and finds Brian wearing his gym shorts and Nikes,
sitting on the edge of the treadmill with a defeated expression.
“I lost the fucking Thompson account.”
“Asshole. Even after you took him to the Penguins game?”
Brian shrugs. “Hockey wasn’t his thing.”
“You don’t need that account. What was it? Cereal?”
“Granola bars.”
“Fuck ‘em.”
That night Brian watches Justin jerk off in front of him. Justin knows it’s
one of Brian’s favorite things, so he puts a little effort into it. He
fixes Brian with a steady gaze and makes sure his tongue keeps his bottom lip
wet. He uses a lot of saliva for lube, until the tip of his cock is glistening
with pre-come and then he uses that too. Slow and steady rhythm, until Brian
can’t help but take his own cock in his hand and match Justin’s strokes,
and the two of them try to outlast each other. Justin has learned a trick or
two, however, and when he starts playing with the glinting silver ring in his
nipple, Brian groans “cheater,” and comes. Justin follows suit a minute
later, and Brian watches with approval.
* * *
Tonight Justin finds Brian already cooling down, so he has no idea of the sexual
mood. Brian watches MTV with a thoughtful expression. From the kitchen, Justin
can see Britney Spears writhing around in what she imagines is an arousing way.
“She’s pretty,” Brian comments. Justin snorts and starts ripping
lettuce for a salad. “What?” Brian asks, unconcerned. “I can
appreciate aesthetic beauty. Look at me.”
Justin throws a dishcloth at him and Brian says, “Get over here,”
so Justin does. Brian cuts his cooldown short and tugs Justin to the shower,
where he pulls them both under the spray completely clothed. Brian watches as
Justin’s hair turns a dark honey color and the warm water brings a flush
to his skin.
Justin makes an impatient move to get rid of his clinging, wet khakis, but Brian
says simply “no,” and hauls Justin up against his length. Leaning
back against the shower wall, he plants his hands firmly on Justin’s ass
and fits his thigh neatly into the vee of Justin’s legs. Justin snuggles
there, aligning himself just so, and Brian has to grit his teeth when their
material-covered cocks brush.
Justin has always been charmingly open about taking his own pleasure from sex,
so Brian watches with drowsy eyes, letting the water lull him. Justin hitches
against him, his face pressed against Brian’s wet t-shirt, and starts a
slow, steady grinding that soon has Brian biting the inside of his cheek to
keep from groaning Justin’s name. He keeps his hands relaxed against the
seat of Justin’s khakis, letting Justin stimulate them both with his sliding,
circular movements.
He can feel Justin like steel through the thin fabric of their clothes, knows
his own cock is just as hard, can count the pulsebeats in his dick as Justin
rubs against him. The water pounds, relentless, and Brian turns his face into
the spray. Justin is rigid beneath him, close to coming, Brian can tell, and
he isn’t too far away himself. Justin has a hand braced against the tile
and the other is gripping Brian’s hip, bunching the material of his nylon
shorts, thrusting up against him with urgency. He is gasping softly, the water
running in rivulets over his cheeks and turning his eyelashes into dark points.
Brian waits, praying praying praying not to come but not quite able to push
Justin away. He waits.
And then Justin is drawing a sharp breath, slamming his hand against the wall
and pressing his crotch hard into Brian’s, holding himself still while
his body shudders. It lasts nearly eight seconds – Brian counts –
and then he relaxes slowly, letting go of Brian’s shorts and resting his
head against Brian’s chest.
Brian is wondering if it would be worth the trouble to peel off Justin’s
pants, find a condom, put it on, and shove his cock in, or if he should just
finish himself off with a well-timed stroke or two, when Justin slides down
Brian’s body and takes his shorts with him. Problem solved, he thinks,
and then there’s really no coherent thought after that because Justin has
taken his dick in his mouth.
The boy can give head like no one Brian has ever had. Brian knows he’s
taught Justin what he likes, but somehow Justin capitalizes on all of it and
makes a blowjob some sort of mindblowing experience. Brian wishes he could draw
it out this time, savor the heat of the shower and the moist mouth on his cock
and the pull in his balls, but Justin’s slow rubbing has already brought
Brian to his breaking point.
The sound of Justin suckling at him reaches his ears and Brian has to hold back
from slamming between Justin’s lips, holding his wet head in two hands
and just fucking his pretty mouth. He thinks maybe he can hold off, wait just
a few minutes more so he can relish the soft tongue licking at him, and then
Justin reaches around to insert one slippery finger in Brian’s ass.
Brian bucks, hissing in surprise, and can hear Justin chuckle in the back of
his throat. Fucker. Justin knows Brian’s at his edge, so he keeps his finger
firmly in place while he takes as much cock into his throat as possible, and
Brian just can’t take the combination. He comes with a wrench and a groan,
muscles trembling, eyes squeezed shut.
Justin swallows neatly, licking him clean like a small, fussy kitten. Brian
keeps his eyes closed and lets the spray beat down. Feels the lean, tight body
slide back up against him, and when he looks, there are blue* eyes brimming
with something he pretends not to recognize.
The water turns cool and Justin starts to shiver, so Brian shuts it off. Wet
clothes are peeled and left in a sopping heap on the shower floor.
The bed somehow seems more inviting than primping himself to go out, so Brian
crawls into it and is rewarded with a grinning and naked Justin following close
behind.
“It’s early,” Justin says, checking the clock. “What’s
wrong?”
“I can’t go to bed early?”
“It’s eight-thirty.”
“I didn’t say sleep.”
~End
*This word used to be a synonym for "blue", but it came too close
to being Polish and my paranoia begged me to change it.
~End