If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be a Mystery, Would It?

Chapter 26

POV: BRIAN

Jesus, that was intense. What a fucking drama princess, I swear. But I'm glad he got that out. I'm glad he talked about it. And God, I hope he gets past this. We get past all this. He's been through shit. No thanks to me. I watch him from the bedroom as I change my shirt. He's busying himself with dinner. I called Lindsay and we rescheduled for this Friday. Neither Justin nor I could muster the energy to go over there tonight.

"So, what's for dinner, Wolfgang Taylor?" I ask, hobbling into the kitchen.

He smiles. Good. And his face is getting a little less puffy. "Chicken Cacciatore. You like?"

"I don't even know what's in Chicken Cacciatore, actually." And I don't. Never had it.

He just looks at me, completely shocked, and I can't help but laugh a little.

"You've never had it? Debbie never… No shit! It's right up your alley, Brian- chicken with lots of veggies in a red sauce. Capers-"

"Fuck capers. No capers. I don't have any capers in this loft and if you bring any in, I'll fucking toss them. I hate those things."

He sighs. "Fine, I'll leave out the capers. And there's sherry, and wine... And I'm going to make the low-fat version, just for you."

"Yippee skip. Even so, I'm sure by the time these fucking limbs of mine heal, I'll be a fucking cow. Haven't been to the gym in ages." I mutter.

"Brian, you're a fucking rail. Don't worry about that."

I just roll my eyes and reach over to pull his head to me for a kiss. A soft kiss. Slow. A 'comfort kiss' Justin once called it, and when I open my eyes, I see him looking at me with -Gawd- love in his eyes.

"You just don't see yourself sometimes, you know that? You don't recognize things about yourself. How good you are. You take on too much responsibility for stuff, for other people." He says softly.

Uh huh. Bullshit. "And you're the expert?"

"Yes. In fact, I am."

"Ah. I see." I pull him to me for another kiss. "So, what am I thinking right now?"

He peers at me with exaggerated intensity. "You're thinking you wish I was a woman."

I snort. "If you're the expert, the world will never know the real Brian Kinney."

"Okay, then how about this: your headache is lessening and you're hornier than hell because you've only gotten off once in days and you want me to suck you dry."

Much better. I cock an eyebrow. "Bedroom. Now." I growl.

Once on the bed his hand reaches under the waistband of my (fucking) sweats and he begins massaging my semi-stiff dick slowly. In no time, I'm as hard as a rock and I pull him in for what's definitely not a 'comfort kiss'. "Mmrph." He utters as our tongues explore each other's mouths with an urgency we haven't had for quite a long time. I can feel the slickness my pre-cum already moistening his hand and I know I'm not going to last long. He pulls his face away, looking into my eyes with absolute lust, licking his now swollen lips and he gives me a look like he wants to devour me.

Which, to my luck, he does. He gets up and moves between my splayed legs and pulls my sweats down to my ankles- ever the sensitive boy, he is careful of my fucking wound. I look down at him and he's staring at me, still licking his lips. He dips his head down to slaver my balls and then trails his tongue up my cock, "mmm'ing" and "uhhh'ing" the whole time. When he takes my cock into his mouth my head drops back and I moan. No one gives head like Justin and sometimes, as much as I love to watch him, I just can't help closing my eyes to simply experience it. His hand wraps around the base of my cock and I feel his tongue roll around the head and then he engulfs my entire penis and I feel the soft tissue in the back of his throat.

"Oh God…" That must be me because Justin's mouth is full- but that's the only reason I'd know that because I'm so fucking lost right now I can't think. Justin swallows with the head of my dick at the back of his mouth and I yelp. He begins to slowly pump my dick with his mouth and fist and I groan impatiently for him to quicken the pace because I'm about out of my head. He starts to go faster and I force myself to open my eyes and look down at him, to watch him. "Fuck me!" His eyes are intent on my face and the sight of Justin, his mouth full with my cock, his eyes watching me with lust and-- it's just fucking too much and I can feel that familiar tingling in my balls. I feel him moan with my cock in his mouth and he must sense I'm about to shoot because he pulls up slightly, still sucking, and catches my cum in his mouth and I shoot and shoot and shoot what seems like fucking days worth of cum… and he milks my dick for every last drop. My head falls back onto the bed and I moan. "Jesus. Jesus. Fuck…" I mutter. Or maybe I have been this whole time. I feel his tongue swirl softly one last time around my cock before he pulls away. He raises up and leans over me between my legs to kiss me. I suck my cum from his mouth and it mingles between us as we kiss and swallow.

"You have the most incredible taste, Brian." He says, breaking the kiss. "I can't get fucking enough of it."

"Even that time? My God, I came hard." I breathe.

"Fuck, Brian, that was hot. Mmmmm…" He says, kissing me again. "Mmmmmm. Goooood." Then he shows me his hand, which is covered in cum- he must have gotten himself off getting me off. I take a big long lick and lean up to kiss him, letting him taste himself. "Mmmmm…"

Yeah. Mmmm is fucking right. "Justin, we could bottle your cum and sell it for millions. Fags everywhere would be gobbling it up." He laughs at that. But I'm not sure I'm not right, actually. And it would be far better than trying to market my high school attempt at synthetic cum. Unless we marketed that as fucking glue.

"Maybe we should go into business together. Bottle our cum and sell it." He says, chuckling and laying his head on my chest.

"Uh huh. We'd make a mint. And fuck. Have a helluva lot of fun making the product."

"What would the slogan be?"

"I think you've already said it. Mmmm- mmmm good."

He laughs. "I think that one's been taken."

We lay there for a little while, Justin on top of me between my naked legs, his head on my chest. His finger traces lazy circles around my right nipple through the wife-beater. I'm beginning to doze when: "Brian?"

Uh oh. Inadvertently I must tense up and he must sense it because he slaps my chest lightly, "Stop it. I'm not going to talk about that. I just wanted to know if you wanted to help me with the fucking Chicken Cacciatore."

Oh.

"Oh."

"Well?"

I shrug. "Sure, I guess. 'Course, I'm pretty useless though at the moment." I raise my cast to remind him.

"You aren't useless. You can measure wine, can't you?"

"I can drink wine. I've never tried measuring it though."

He just laughs and shifts, getting up to pull on my sweats. "I'm sure you can do both, Brian." He snaps the waistband when it gets around my middle. "C'mon."

I grunt as I sit up. "We should try something with a cum base, you know that?" I think aloud. Justin laughs again and pulls me all the way up as I grab my crutches to support myself. "What? You think I'm kidding?"

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