Three Thousand Miles


Justin takes the job with a minimum of angst. He goes to California and Michael calls him on the fourth day.

“Call Brian, oh my God. Call Brian now.”

“Why?” Justin breathes into the phone, panic harsh and heavy. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Michael sighs, his frustration evident through the phone line. “He’s gone insane, is all. I’ve never seen him pretend so hard that he didn’t care about something. He doesn’t use the M word, but I know he’s thinking it.”

“The M word.” Justin is too tired to decipher Michael’s coding; Brett keeps him up till two a.m. most nights looking at the dailies, then rouses him by seven for the day’s shooting.

“Miss!” Michael shouts, and Justin has to hold the phone away from his ear. “He misses you! And you haven’t called him!”

“Michael,” Justin says patiently, “it’s been four days. Not a lifetime. And I’m so fucking busy, Jesus, Brian knows how goddamned busy I am! And so do you, for that matter. God.” Justin hates the defensiveness in his voice but Christ, he’s so tired, and truth be told, he misses Pittsburgh fiercely.

And Brian.

Thankfully, Michael segues into asking about the shoot, and Justin can provide answers that make him happy for another ten minutes.

He goes to bed thinking of Brian and wakes up in the middle of the night with sticky, wet sheets like a teenager.

* * *

Justin doesn’t get to call Brian for another day and a half, and of course Brian doesn’t answer the phone at home. Justin leaves a message.

“Hey, it’s me … things are good, LA is kind of nuts. Fuckable guys on every corner, you just have to make sure they aren’t charging you. So, uh … okay. Brett says at least another two weeks until I get some time off. Crazy. Um, I’ll try your cell.”

But he’s called away by a producer, and doesn’t get another free moment until well past midnight. He knows it’s three in the morning in Pittsburgh, so Justin falls exhausted into bed for the sixth night in a row.

There is a voicemail message for him on his cell in the morning.

“If there are such fuckable guys on every corner, what the shit are you calling me for?”

He listens to it three times that day and tries to hear “I miss you” in the words, but doesn’t.

* * *

Another two days, and Justin is finally rewarded with a work-free evening. Brett sends him home before nine o’clock with instructions to go have some fun, but getting to bed before midnight sounds like the most fun of all.

Grubby clothes hit the floor – no one told him movie sets were so dusty and dirty all the time – and Justin manages to douse himself in the shower to wash the worst of it off. It reminds him of Brian and Brian’s habit to always shower before coming to bed. Justin used to like to pretend it was because Brian didn’t want the smell of other tricks on him when he got in bed with Justin. Then he realized Brian just had a cleanliness fetish.

He uses the towel and leaves it on the floor for the housecleaner, climbing naked between crisp sheets that smell like lavender. Closing weary eyes, he expects sleep to come quickly.

An hour later, Justin stares at the ceiling fan and wishes he were home. He turns his head and looks at the phone on the nightstand, and then the receiver is in his hand and he’s not sure if he even dialed, but three thousand miles away, the phone is ringing.

“It’s one fucking a.m.”

“Hi, Brian.”

“One a.m.!”

“Were you asleep?”

“No.”

Justin smiles and turns to his side, snuggling into the pillow with the phone. “Why are you up?”

“Why did you call?”

“Because I haven’t talked to you since I’ve been gone. Or did you not notice?”

“You’re gone?” Brian’s voice is warm and Justin hears the tease.

“Fuck you.”

“Can’t. You’re gone.”

“Yeah,” Justin says, and hopes the wistfulness doesn’t come through, but Brian is too perceptive not to notice.

“Aw, Spielberg. Hollywood wearing you down?” His voice is calm, and Justin closes his eyes and tries to breathe it in.

“I guess. Maybe a little.”

“Welcome to life. No hot guys to distract you?” Justin can hear him pulling the sheet up over himself, and he pictures Brian in bed, long and lithe.

“Yeah, there’s some. I’m just busy, though. Too tired to fuck.” Justin laughs a little, amazed at himself.

“Not possible,” Brian snorts.

“You have no idea,” Justin sighs.

“I find it hard to believe that your dick lets you sleep. You must be jerking off a lot.”

“Hardly,” Justin laughs, “but I had a wet dream the other night.”

“Ah, youth,” Brian replies. “Adolescence isn’t so far behind you. So, who starred? Brad Pitt? Jude Law?”

“Brian Kinney.”

There is a beat of silence. Then, “How was I?”

“How do you think? You were amazing.” Justin closes his eyes and recalls it, the shadowy dream-sequence that was mostly images and breathing.

“Course I was. Did you suck me off?”

“At one point.”

“There was more?” Brian tries to sound bored but Justin hears the note of underlying interest.

“There was a lot more.”

“So? Tell it.”

“I can’t remember a lot of it,” Justin admits, and Brian exhales noisily on the other end.

“Jesus Christ, you’re dense. Make something up.”

“Okay,” Justin says with confusion, then gets it. “Oh! Make something up. Okay.”

“You take a lot of the spontaneity out of phone sex.”

“Shh. I’m making something up.”

Brian starts to sigh something that is probably sarcastic, but closes his mouth as soon as Justin starts talking. It gives Justin confidence. “So I think we were at Babylon, but no one else was in the back room. Just us.”

“No audience?”

“My dream,” Justin reminds him, and Brian chuffs a laugh.

“Your dream. Got it. Were the floors sticky?”

Justin ignores him and keeps talking. “So it was just us, and the music was all thumpy and low, you know how sometimes you can feel it pulse in you?”

“Mmm,” Brian agrees, and then falls silent again.

“And we were naked, I have no idea where our clothes were. Yeah, I remember this part of it, because we were covered in glitter.” Justin closes his eyes and remembers how Brian had looked in his dream, honey-colored and sparkling, and feels a stirring in his cock. “And we kissed forever. We just made out right there against the wall, and grinded a lot.”

“Yeah?” Justin hears the half-smile in Brian’s voice, and imagines how he’s lying on his back, one knee drawn up and possibly a cigarette in his left hand.

“Yeah. And you were really, really hard.”

Brian shifts positions, Justin can hear him change the phone to the other ear and settle himself. “I’m always really hard.”

“No, it was like … wow. Like rock. I remember being so horny, all I wanted to do was take you in my mouth and suck you so bad.” Justin keeps his eyes closed and remembers it, feeling more than just twinges in his cock now. His dick swells beneath the sheets and he suddenly misses home and Brian more than ever.

“That sounds more like reality than a dream to me,” Brian says, but his voice has gotten low and smooth and Justin recognizes it as the tone Brian uses when he’s turned on.

Justin snakes one hand beneath the Egyptian cotton sheet and encircles his cock. He holds himself lightly and keeps talking. “So then I started kissing my way down your chest, and you tasted sweet, like that one time we used the edible dusting powder? And it tasted cinnamony, remember? That’s what it was like. And I kept licking it off your chest and you held my head.” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “Hey, maybe I do remember more of this than I thought.”

“And?” Brian’s breathing has deepened almost imperceptibly.

“Yeah, and. And so I kept going lower, and by now you were like, oh man. So, so hard, Brian, I remember I kept thinking how hard you were and how it was going to feel down my throat, and by now my dick was totally throbbing.” Justin strokes himself slowly now, breathing deep breaths through his nose, and pretends he isn’t alone in a strange bed.

“Are you jerking off?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“Maybe.”

Justin grins to himself and knows what “maybe” means. “Okay, and then, and then I was kneeling down.” He is vaguely aware that his voice has dropped to a near-whisper and that the strokes on his dick are harder, more purposeful. He wishes randomly for lube and then remembers the small bottle of lotion in the nightstand drawer. “Hang on.”

“Great timing,” Brian grumbles on the other end.

Justin yanks the drawer out and snatches the lotion, flipping the cap with his thumb. He squeezes a palmful and drops the bottle on the floor. “Ohhh, better,” he murmurs into the phone as he coats himself liberally. “I was giving myself rugburn.”

“You were kneeling,” Brian prompts, and Justin can hear the slightest bit of impatience.

“Right. And then, um. I think I probably took the head of your dick in my mouth…” Justin trails off, suddenly unsure and inexplicably embarrassed.

“Jesus Christ. You could never make a living working a nine-hundred number.”

“You do it,” Justin pleads. “I wanna hear your voice.”

“God. Fine.” Brian clears his throat. “We’re not in Babylon, that’s for fucking sure.”

“Where are we?” Justin closes his eyes again and lets Brian lull him.

“In a cabana. In the tropics.”

“Okay.”

“You’re on your stomach, sprawled out under me. I’ve already been rimming you until you beg, like always. Alternating with one finger and then my tongue. Feel it?” Brian’s voice has dropped back down to the low, crooning tone he uses when murmuring to Justin in bed, and Justin draws in a breath.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Your ass is so tight, I can barely get my tongue in, especially when you clench it,” Brian continues. “All I can think about is getting my cock in there.”

“That’s all I’m thinking about now,” Justin says. “God, I wish you were here so bad. I just want you to fuck me.” He slides his thumb over the head of his dick and feels the slippery wetness there.

“Tell me how,” Brian encourages him. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” Justin whimpers, pumping himself faster.

“Yes, you do,” Brian chides. “You know what you like.”

“Hard,” Justin says. “I like it hard. I like it when you use my hair to pull my head back and suck on my neck. I like it when you use too much lube so you just slide in with no pushing, and you tell me how tight and hot it is, and I could come just from that.” He also discovers he could come just from the sound of Brian’s voice purring at him, and strives to make it last just the littlest bit longer.

“So tight,” Brian whispers, and Justin hears the strain in his voice. “So fucking tight and warm, and you’re rubbing your cock against the bed while I fuck you.”

Justin rolls his bottom lip into his mouth and wets it. “Put your hand under me, jerk me off while you fuck me.”

“What else?”

“Do it slowly. Like we’re going to fuck all night, and who gives a shit about anything else. Go slow.” Justin arches his neck on the pillow, his cock throbbing beneath his fingers.

“Slow,” Brian agrees, his voice careful and controlled. Justin wonders how close Brian is to coming, and then realizes that he’s too close to the edge to think about it. “Justin?”

“Hmm?” Justin is gasping now, fisting his cock rapidly.

“Don’t come.”

“What!”

“Don’t,” Brian says firmly.

Justin takes his hand away, his cock swollen and hurting. “Fuck you,” he half-laughs into the phone.

“Just listen,” Brian says. “And picture how I’m fucking you. Can you?”

“Jesus,” Justin groans, and his fingers itch to grab his twitching cock.

“It’s slow,” Brian tells him. “Long, easy strokes in, short, quick strokes out. And you’re being such a good little boy, you’re not touching yourself, you’re just letting me do all the work. Such a good boy.”

Justin grabs the sheet with trembling fingers and squeezes it, thinking that he just might possibly come without laying a hand on himself. “Brian, I’m gonna come.”

“Not yet,” Brian says sharply. “You wanted me to do this. Follow the rules.”

Justin makes a frustrated sound into the phone, but wills himself to think of other things. “Okay. Not yet.”

“Hands off your dick.”

“Okay, Brian! Jesus!”

“I’m pulling you up to your knees. We’re both kneeling, can you picture it? You’re in front, and I can hold your cock that way. My dick is sliding in and out of your ass, and you’re fucking my hand, and you’re leaking pre-come all over the place.” Brian whispers urgently to him, and Justin curls his toes into the bed.

“You’re good at this,” Justin murmurs.

“I know. Do you want to come?”

“What the fuck do you think?”

“Tell me.” Brian is nearly groaning now, and Justin knows Brian would never let him come unless he was about to himself.

“God, let me come, Brian, please,” Justin begs, his hand already creeping toward his pulsing dick.

“Do it.”

Justin manages two short strokes before his orgasm hits in a shuddering wave and he gasps into the phone, hearing Brian groan softly at the same time. He wants to sob in relief as it washes over him, and he feels his come land warm on his stomach.

For a long time, there is only the hiss-crackle of the long distance line and Brian’s slow breathing. Then Justin can hear the flick of a lighter, and the forgotten homesickness comes back with a vengeance. He can see Brian’s bedroom perfectly, and knows Brian wears the drowsy, relaxed look that he always has after sex. Justin swallows hard over the lump in his throat. “So, I guess I’ll talk to you soon,” he offers.

“What, you fuck and run now?”

Justin laughs, relieved. “Thought you might want to get to bed.”

“I’ll let you tell me about Hollywood first,” Brian says magnanimously.

“That’s very generous of you,” Justin grins.

“Yes, it is.”

* * *

In three weeks, Justin gets to the studio lot at his normal time and Brett tells him he can go home at noon.

“Half day? I’ve never worked a half day.”

“You think we can’t get along without you, Mr. Taylor?” Brett smiles his Los Angeles smile – the one with too many teeth – and Justin shrugs.

“Hey, I’ll take it.” He eats lunch with the crew and goes home at twelve-thirty.

Justin finds a black duffel bag just inside the doorway of the guest house. When the owner of it walks out of the bedroom, Justin finds himself unsurprised.

“Hey,” Brian says, and flops down on the couch in front of the flatscreen tv.

“Um. Hey.” Justin moves to stand in front of him, absurdly pleased. He wonders if the smile on his face is as stupid as it feels.

Brian arches a brow. “If you’re just going to stand there, you need to move to the left so I can see the television.”

Justin pounces him, knocking him backward into the sofa cushions. He straddles Brian’s lap and kisses him soundly. “What’re you doing here?”

Brian heaves a put-upon sigh. “I had to come.”

“Why?”

“You are the worst phone sex I’ve ever had. If I want to fuck you, I obviously have to do it in person.” Brian shakes his head sadly.

“How long can you stay?” Justin asks eagerly, and figures he’ll be offended later.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“On how long it takes to round up clients for Kinnetik in Los Angeles.” Brian looks bored but Justin isn’t fooled.

He does quick calculations in his head. “Um. Rage has about five months to go.”

Brian shrugs elegantly. “Sounds about right.”

* * *

Brian fucks him good and proper over the couch, in the shower, and on the bed. Sated and sleepy that evening, Justin lies next to him. “Am I really the worst phone sex you ever had?”

Brian looks at him and rolls his eyes. “Not the worst. But close.”

“I’ve never done it before,” Justin admits. “I’ve never had to. I guess we’ll have to work on it.”

Brian gestures with his chin toward his luggage. “No,” he says thoughtfully. “We won’t.”


~End

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