The New Us Stories
You can pick yourself up from the floor now and close your gaping jaw. Yes, I've written you a letter. And enclosed it within a Valentine's Day card. And attached a picture of me to the front. Well, hey, stranger things have happened. Emmett once tried to go straight, didn't he?
I guess I'd just like you to know that I've made some decisions.
While coercing you to make your mark on the art world in the Big Apple was admittedly ill-timed on my part, I still feel that it was a necessary move for your career and I know it won't be long before you're kicking ass and taking names. But now that you've been gone for a couple of weeks, I see where I've made my mistake. Allowing our last night together to be overshadowed by ambiguity wasn't one of my finer moments. It's Only Time is about as lame as Don't Ask, Don't Tell, as far as all-time fucked up slogans go.
Deciding I've outgrown my 'no apologies, no regrets' philosophy of life, I can say that I regret telling you it doesn't matter when or if we ever see each other again, and I apologize for sending you out into the world with the uncertainty of what would happen to us hanging over our heads like a dark cloud. Thinking only of you and how I wanted you to be free to grow, to experience, to create, I believed I was doing the right thing. I didn't want you to feel tied to me and to Pittsburgh. What I failed to consider, however, was what a change of that magnitude would do to not only you, but to me as well.
I don't mind telling you that I miss a lot of things I never thought I would. The place just doesn't seem right without all your crap spread out everywhere, without the mess in the kitchen every night after you make dinner, and without your warm sleeping form in bed every morning - dead to the world when I leave for the office. I mean, there's no one to hog the duvet now.
Asking you to marry me wasn't a fluky, ill thought-out idea resulting from Babylon's bombing, Justin. I never would have asked you if I hadn't wanted you to be my husband with everything I am and ever will be. That's why I've decided to keep the wedding rings we selected and the house in the country I bought you. I still want to marry you and I can only hope that you haven't changed your mind about wanting to marry me. Why should we be apart?
After weeks of weighing possible scenarios, I've decided to open a branch of Kinnetik in New York. You know, just to keep me busy while you're taking the art world by storm. We can live there for as long as you need to. Ted and Cynthia can start earning the ridiculously handsome salaries I've been paying them by running Kinnetik here in Pittsburgh.
When you're established enough that it doesn't matter where you paint, we can come back. I've always thought that any one of the enormous rooms in our country manor would make a beautiful studio for you. I'm sure I can find a qualified suit to run the New York branch of Kinnetik if Ted doesn't want it.
So, once again, I ask you: Justin Taylor, will you marry me?
Brian scanned the letter he'd written to Justin one last time, neatly folding it and slipping it into the envelope with the card. He felt happily satisfied now that his thoughts had been captured in written form - in his personal handwriting, no less.
Slowly opening the drawer in his computer desk, he laid it carefully among the bills waiting to be paid. At least he'd be sure to run across it on the first of every month, he thought, gently closing the drawer. Yeah, he nodded, it would be safe and sound right there until the time came to show it to Justin. Even if the opportunity never arose, Brian was still pleased with himself for getting his innermost feelings on paper.
"Maybe someday," he sighed, a light knock on the loft door shaking him out of his reverie. "Promptness," he said aloud to no one in particular, sliding the door open. "I like that quality in a trick."
Justin stared at his cell phone, silently debating whether or
not he should call Brian. They hadn't spoken since their last night together in
Brian's bed, weeks earlier, because he hadn't wanted him to know how miserable
he'd been in New York. Moving hundreds of miles away from his friends and family
in an attempt to make a name for himself in the art world might have been
slightly workable if only his creative juices hadn't dried up the instant he set
foot in the unfamiliar city. But now, still stymied and achingly homesick, he
wondered what the harm would be in hearing Brian's voice.
"Hey! You finally called!" Brian practically shouted into his phone when he'd seen Justin's number displayed on his screen. "Making millions yet?"
"Brian," Justin laughed, a breath of relief at the warm reception escaping his lips. "I needed to hear your voice. It's been so long."
"Yeah, too long." Brian clanked his door closed after showing his visitor out.
"Who was that?" Justin asked, quickly picking up on the activities in the loft. "A hot trick? Did you suck him? Did you fuck him? How was he? Tell me!"
Brian lit a cigarette. "Inferior," he exhaled slowly.
"Aww, poor Brian," Justin teased, "can't get a decent piece of ass, now that his Sunshine's gone away!"
"Truer words were never spoken. How are you doing, Justin? Do you need anything?"
Taking another drag from his cigarette, Brian easily detected the shift in Justin's voice. "You've got me. What's the problem?"
"I can't paint, Brian. This has never happened to me before. Every time I pick up a brush, the result is something a fucking two-year-old would produce. I'm blocked."
Brian looked wistfully out of the loft's window. Maybe their brilliant little scheme hadn't been the most well thought out in the history of schemes. "What's it going to take to turn this dry spell around?" he asked pragmatically.
"You." Justin pulled a beer from his fridge and took a long swig.
"You keep saying that."
Hesitating for a few seconds longer, Justin let it rip. "Brian, I miss you so much. Nothing is right over here. I wake up, trudge through the city to my studio, try all day to create something I can be proud of, but it doesn't happen. For weeks now, nothing happens." Kicking his shoes off, he plopped on top of his bed, tired of the whole stupid experiment. "I can't paint being so far away from you."
"If we changed that one little detail," Brian grinned broadly, "do you think it would help?" He'd have Cynthia make his travel arrangements in the morning.
"Really?" Justin perked up. "You'd come for a visit? That would be so perfect! I could probably morph into goddamned Picasso after a weekend of you fucking me into oblivion!"
"One can only dream." Walking over to his computer desk, Brian removed the red envelope from its hiding place in the drawer. Scrawling Justin's New York address on the front of it, he made another decision on the spot. "Justin?" he asked, reaching into the back of the drawer for a stamp.
"Don't forget to check your snail mail every day."
2) THE BEST TIME OF OUR LIVES
"Christ, Justin! This is where you've been living? And I do use that term loosely!" Brian rubbed his furrowed brow and glanced around the minuscule fifth floor walk-up one more time, hoping another two thousand square feet of inhabitable living space would miraculously pop up out of nowhere. "If I'd known you were trying to survive in these dismal conditions, I would have gotten my ass up here a lot sooner - if for no other reason than to fuck some sense into you!" He draped his coat over Justin's lone kitchen chair, inwardly shuddering at the thought of what creepy crawly he might find in it when he retrieved it later.
Rising on tiptoe, Justin kissed Brian's lips. "Clearly, you know nothing of the New York City experience," he started to lecture. "Granted, this place is small, and I get enough exercise to keep me from ever having to join a gym by merely climbing the stairs to get to it. But, hey, that's what it's all about here. You start out like this, and you work your way up to bigger and better things as your situation improves."
"Yeah, I get it," Brian winced. "The starving artist and all that shit." Snaking an arm around Justin's hip, he pried his fingers down into the waistband of his jeans, groping a handful of choice flesh. "Although your ass is still plump and firm. You don't seem to be starving it!"
Justin's dick came to life, Brian's hand cupping his other ass cheek. "Brian, I'm not exactly a starving artist," he went on, smiling broadly. "My Hollywood money goes toward my spacious studio across town, and I've been eating very well. I deliberately chose not to spend much on a place that's basically a pitstop. A place to sleep every night, shower every morning, and then leave empty for the entire day. This is fine for no more than I'm here and -"
Unable to finish that statement due to the fact that Brian's tongue had found its way into the back of his throat, Justin melted a little into his boyfriend's body, still hardly believing that Brian had given orders to Ted and Cynthia to 'run a tight ship' and had flown to New York to be with him five days after his Valentine's Day card (with accompanying hand-written letter) had arrived in his mailbox. He felt Brian's dick bulging out as they kissed, automatically reaching down to unbuckle his belt.
"Shhh. No talking yet," Justin mumbled, bending effortlessly down to his knees. It had been over two hours since their hot, desperate, GodI'vemissedyou airport men's room fuck, and he was getting antsy for Brian's cock again. "I haven't seen you in weeks. Indulge me."
"No. Indulge me." Brian forcefully pulled a horny Justin up to his face, kissing him on his forehead. "How long will it take you to pack your stuff?" Giving the sparsely furnished cracker box Justin called home the once-over, he shook his head. "It looks like you've barely settled in. I'm sure we can gather your clothes and personal belongings and be out of here in an hour."
"Be out of here in an hour?" Justin repeated. "Where the fuck are we going to go?"
"I hear the Hilton's nice. So's the Ritz-Carlton. Hell! We can stay at the Four Seasons while we look for a decent place to live. Justin, I can appreciate your 'making it on your own' strategy, and I admire you for jumping in wholeheartedly." Brian took both of Justin's hands in his before he continued. "But you're not alone anymore. If we're going to do this . . ." Nodding toward the card on the fridge he'd sent him a week earlier, he was referring to the contents of the letter he'd enclosed in it. ". . . we're going to do it in a manner befitting my prince."
Silence reigned for minutes, Brian's words sinking deeply into their heads and hearts.
"I'm . . . still your prince?" Justin ventured after awhile, vivid images of the country manor Brian had bought him and his second marriage proposal in its formal living room flashing before his eyes. "Brian, I . . ."
"Do you think I'd be here if you were a lowly duke?" Brian quipped, scrolling on his phone for the same car service he'd used to get them from JFK to Justin's apartment. "And until we can move into the palace, we've got to find accommodations fit for your station. So, as I was saying, where are your suitcases? We're burning daylight."
"Midtown. The Four Seasons," Brian told the limo driver,
pulling Justin with him into the back after every last one of his bags and boxes
had been loaded into the trunk. "And we're gonna need some . . . privacy," he
added, motioning for the partition to be raised.
"Jesus, Brian," Justin laughed, nestling in against his side. "You've been in the city less than four hours and you've already uprooted me from my home."
Brian gathered Justin closer to him, kissing the side of his face. "Listen to me, Sunshine. Are you listening? The day a place like that is your home is the day I donate all my Armani to charity." His hand dropped between Justin's legs, massaging his dick through his jeans. "What did you think of my letter?" he asked softly. "We haven't talked about it yet."
Nudging his hips upward, shoving his hardening cock into Brian's palm, Justin sighed. "I'm proud of you, Brian," he whispered. "It must have been tough for you to bare your soul like that."
"Not really." Brian lowered his face to Justin's, their lips connecting sweetly. "Well, not anymore," he breathed almost inaudibly. "This is a new beginning for me. For us," he corrected himself quickly.
Justin's balls tingled, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He'd only been out of the Pitts a few weeks and Brian had suddenly found a way to open up to him, the closed off, guarded man seemingly a thing of the past. He knew he wasn't going to last long when Brian unbuttoned his fly and grasped his throbbing cock, kneading it up and down as the pre-cum oozed from his slit.
Making out in the back of the limo like a couple of sex-crazed teenagers, Brian felt half his age. He thought the New York phase of their lives together was getting off to a bang-up start. "The new us," he whispered, just before Justin's dick erupted in his hand, strings of cum glistening on his fingertips. "What do you think?"
Justin thought he'd died and gone to heaven. Slumping against Brian in sated bliss, "I think this is the best time of our lives," was the only way he could describe it.
3) BETTER THAN I KNOW MYSELF
"This has been a whirlwind of a day!" Justin gushed, marveling at the view of Central Park from his penthouse picture window. "Brian, come and look at this. You get off on breezing into town and taking charge of everything, don't you?" he laughed.
Creeping up behind him, Brian's arms encircled Justin's waist, drawing him backward against his lanky frame. "I get off on you," he murmured, his lips brushing lightly over the sensitive skin just below his boyfriend's ear. Resting his chin lazily on Justin's shoulder, he gazed with him at the incredible scenery before them. "Tomorrow we start apartment hunting, but tonight- " His rapidly swelling dick poked at Justin's ass through layers of worsted wool and denim. " -tonight, we celebrate."
Justin's body reacted from head to toe when Brian playfully nuzzled the side of his neck. Shuffling them toward the bed, he agreed an all-out celebration was in order. "The new us," he uttered confidently, daring the concept to stick around and make itself at home. Clothes flying, their freed cocks hardened, leaking with every kiss.
Palms skimming reverently over Justin's chest, Brian's fingertips massaged his erect nipples. "Fuck! I've missed this," he whispered into Justin's silky hair, then, "I've missed . . . you," escaped more audibly. Fucking self-discovery, he mused, grinning smugly at how painless it had become to share. Reaching for one of the condoms he'd dumped on the nightstand shortly after they'd been shown into the elegant Four Seasons suite, Brian held it in front of Justin's face. "Put it on me," he smiled, his cock bobbing in anticipation.
Justin pumped Brian's dick a few times, sucking the pre-cum noisily from his fingers. "I've craved tasting you for so long, Brian. You don't know how tough it was for me not to turn around and head back home after the first two days here." Rolling the condom down Brian's long shaft, his hole physically ached to be filled with it. "Fuck me!" flew frantically out of his mouth as he turned onto his stomach, spreading his legs and lifting his ass.
"Christ!" Brian groaned, smoothly bending to jut his tongue between Justin's parted ass cheeks. He licked the crack of his ass down to his balls and back up again several times, drenching it with his saliva. Grasping for Justin's pulsing dick, Brian pushed his tongue as far into his hole as it would go, jacking him off and tongue fucking him at the same time. His condom-wrapped cock screamed for attention.
"Jesus, Brian! That feels so fucking good!" Writhing around, Justin ended up on his hands and knees, taking Brian's cock down to the base with one long shove, clenching his muscles around it tightly.
Drops of hot milky fluid moistened Brian's hand as he tugged and twisted Justin's cock, smearing the slickness around its head. He felt Justin quiver with pleasure when he rubbed the pad of his thumb into his slit. Jamming the tip of his ramrod-hard cock into Justin's prostate over and over, Brian gasped for air as his balls tightened, his cum boiling up and out of them in endless spurts. "God! Your ass!" he panted, squeezing Justin's slippery dick with just the right amount of pressure until it shot cum all over his hand.
Justin's body trembled, every nerve ending pinging in unison. Collapsing onto the bed in a sated heap, he couldn't stop smiling. "That was . . . fucking great," he simply moaned, unable to engage his brain in anything more strenuous.
Carefully dislodging his spent dick from Justin's ass, Brian tied off the condom and fell on top of him. He licked at the cum on his fingers then ran them softly over Justin's lips, shivering when his warm tongue emerged to lap at his own emission. "I swear to fuck, Justin, your ass is so tight! It's unreal! If I didn't know better -" Squinting, he folded his lips together for a brief moment, a bit surprised by the effect his next thought had on him. "- I'd say you haven't been fucked in, say, eight weeks?" His eyes locked onto Justin's, his time frame anything but random guess work.
Justin blinked slowly, giving a slight shrug. "If you didn't know better? Why is that so hard to believe? Tricking isn't much fun without you, you know!" Wiggling onto his side to face Brian, he grew serious. "I still can't believe you're here," he said softly, kissing Brian's eyes, nose, and chin. "That we're here. In this kickass hotel. Starting over. You've made your prince so happy."
"Yeah, well, I figure if you're brave enough to set out on this mission, the least I can do is be here for you while you conquer this fucking art world of yours." Stroking Justin's forehead, Brian gently swept the mussy yellow hair from his eyes. "Besides, I . . . I didn't like my life with you not in it. I knew you needed to be here if you were ever going to make it in this business. But letting you go? I wasn't prepared for what it would do to me."
Justin forced himself to lie quietly. Listening to Brian spill his guts was something he could definitely get used to. A fleeting image of life with a partner who wasn't emotionally dysfunctional floated through his mind, the sheer normalcy of it all exciting the hell out of him.
". . . you know? Justin?" Brian paused, furrowing his brow. "Where'd you go?"
"Is it any good?" Holding his breath, Brian wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer to that. The extreme absurdity of his trusted mantra, No Apologies, No Regrets, was suddenly illuminated, every occasion he'd ever had to disappoint Justin, intentionally or not, showing up at that moment to taunt him.
Justin interlaced his fingers with Brian's, bringing their clasped hands up to his lips. "It's better than anything I could have imagined," he whispered, slowly kissing each of Brian's fingers. "It's better than anything we've ever known. You're gonna be amazed."
Guessing he must have done something right during the past five years, a sigh of relief emanated from Brian's pores. It felt fucking fabulous to be starting over with this young man who'd taught him how to love. He'd always been so sure of himself and his tactics, knowing precisely what he'd needed to do at all times to preserve the impenetrable Brian Kinney. But now . . .
"It's better than I know myself," he avowed, celebrating his profound insight with a great big sloppy kiss onto Justin's mouth.
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