He Had It Coming

Brian slid into the booth, and looked at the blonde snake sitting across from him. Funny, Brandon didn't look insane, but surely he must be to have sent for Brian after attempting to exploit Justin in his sorted little game. Indeed Brian was the last person that Brandon should have wanted to see. If he only knew how much restraint Brian was using at that very moment as not to reach across the table, and choke the living shit out of him with his bare hands.

"May I bring you something from the bar?" Their waiter asked.

"Southern Comfort, straight up. Make it a double." Brian said without moving his eyes from Brandon.

"I'll have another gin & tonic." Brandon told the waiter.

"Thank you gentlemen." The waiter said, then hurried off to fill their orders.

Brandon looked across the table at Brian, and smiled. "I'm glad you decided to come. Did you like the flowers?" he asked.

"What do you want Brandon?" Brian cut to the chase.

"Why such a harsh tone of voice? I'm here to call a truce." Brandon said. "I wanted to let you know that I'm willing to forgo your debt."

"What debt?" Brian snapped.

"The one you owed me when you lost the bet." Brandon reminded him.

"Not that it matters anymore, but I didn't loose any fucking bet." Brian hissed.

"The hell if you didn't." Brandon begged to differ. "Surely you don't think that mousy little friend of yours, who claimed to be your date could compare to Justin."

Brian couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Wait a minute, let me get this straight. You walk into Babylon with MY BOY…."

"YOUR BOY?" Brandon's eyebrows went up.

"If Justin was your date, then why did he leave with me?" Brian wanted to know.

"As I recall, Justin didn't leave with anyone. He left, and you took off after him like a lovesick queen. Tisk, tisk, tisk. Brandon shook his head. "You know it never crossed my mind that the infamous Brian Kinney would have his own boy. Justin didn't strike me as the backroom type."

"He's NOT the backroom type." Brian informed him.

"Now I'm even more intrigued." Brandon grinned. "What kind of man could capture the heart of a delectable little piece like Justin? What are you hiding in those trousers of yours Mr. Kinney?"

"Wouldn't you like to know? "Brian smirked.

"Yes, I would." Brandon purred. "Promise you'll take it easy on me? I don't bottom often."

There, Brandon had said the magic words. What gay man could resist a tight, consummate top, willing to place himself in the receptive position? Brian could feel his dick already fighting against his briefs as he suddenly recalled the vice-like grip of Tony's fire hole bearing down on his cock. The expression on Tony's face alone was enough to make him cum. Brian had never felt so excited before, and he feared that he would never feel such passion ever again. Miracle of all miracles, a second opportunity of a lifetime was now smiling at him across the table.

The waiter returned with their drinks. "Are you ready to order now?" he asked.

"No, we've changed our minds. We won't be having lunch here." Brian said.

Brandon trailed Brian's jeep back to the loft. They had barely closed the sliding door when he penned Brian against the cool brick wall for a kiss. Brandon's tongue surged forward, and proceeded to probe its way into Brian's mouth. The hungry lover's lips never parted, as both men hurriedly removed their suit jackets, and tossed them aside. Things were quickly heating up when without warning Brandon pulled away. "What's wrong?" Brian panted.

"Nothing's wrong." Brandon smiled. "I just thought I'd slow things down a bit, and make you wait for it a little longer."

Shit! Brian wasn't in the mood to play games. "Still playing hard to get I see." he said.

"I don't play hard to get, I am hard to get. In fact I think I'll make you beg for it." Brandon continued his tease.

"Beg? I don't beg." Brian attempted to hide the huge bulge swelling in his pants.

"We'll see." Brandon chuckled.

The cocky Casanova moved casually about the living room tracing his hand along Brian's desk, the drapes, the tables, the sofa. "This is a really nice place." he said nonchalantly.

"So I've heard." Brian said. Yes, how often had Brian heard that compliment before, hundreds, maybe even thousands of times? It was the same thing that every trick said upon entering the loft. However none of them had said it quite as sweetly as Justin. Brian smiled to himself. He could still hear the shaking in Justin's voice the first night he tried so bravely to hide the fact that he was scared shitless. The poor baby didn't even know that his checkered shirt over white tee, baggy jeans, and Nike gym shoes had already given him away. The outfit screamed VIRGIN!

Brandon finished his tour, and stood in the center of the loft. Like a methodical striptease he unbuttoned his shirt, allowing partial view of his glistening pecs while he went to work on his belt buckle.

Again Brian smiled to himself. Justin had done just the opposite. Brian recalled standing completely naked, and looking at the still fully dressed moppet. Was he going to make it, or was the kid going to bolt for the door? Perhaps a little chemical relaxation was what he needed. "Do you like special K?" Brian asked him, to which Justin replied: "It's ok, I like Cheerios better."

Brandon finished undressing, and kicked his clothes aside. "Aren't you going to take your clothes off?" He batted his enchanting green eyes.

"In a minute." Brian said.

"Do you have a voyeur fetish daddy? Do you want to watch me?" Brandon slithered off to the bedroom, and laid down on the bed. He cupped his balls with one hand, then began to stroke his cock with the other. "Is this what you want to see?"

Brian watched Brandon from the bedroom doorway. Justin hadn't been quite so brazen. Brian recalled how he moved in slowly, and wrapped his arms around Justin's waist. He could still feel the tiny little blonde trembling in his embrace. What would happen if he dared to kiss him? Brian closed his eyes, and sampled the full, soft lips. Was it just his imagination, or was that the smell of baby formula still lingering on Justin's breath?

"Are you ready to fuck me?" Brandon moaned.

Brian looked at Brandon's enormous erection. "Put your clothes back on." He said, then turned, and walked away.

"What?"

"I've already fucked you." Brian called back to him.

Brandon practically leaped off of the bed. "You senile old bitch, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"I was expecting something more, but you're just average." Brian rounded his kitchen island.

"Average, you call this average?" Brandon held his dick in his hand.

Brian attempted to explain. "Brandon, I've done you on a thousand nights, right here in my own bed, on a thousand sets of designer sheets. You're every internet trick, down-low brother, crystal queen, gym bunny, rent boy, and fist fuck that I've done at a hundred different gang-bangs, circuit parties, and alleyways. I'm 34 years old Brandon. I'd like to think that by now I'm done fucking you. As far as I'm concerned, when Babylon reopens the backroom is all yours." Brian opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a bottle of water. "Would you like a drink?" He offered his guest.

Brandon felt the color drain from his face as he stood there naked in the middle of the loft, holding his own dick. Where was a cataclysmic earthquake when you needed one? If only the floor could have opened up, and swallowed him down. Even a well placed bomb would have sufficed. Anything would have been preferable than to be humiliated like this. Speechless, Brandon struggled back into his clothes, and hustled out the front door.

Upon hearing the loft door slam, Brian hurried over to the window just in time to watch the reduced man's dash to his car, and his rubber burning exit. "Whew!" Brian breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment he didn't think he would be able to pull it off. Poor Brandon, this must be a first for him. No gay man in his right mind would have turned down a raging hard-on, and a delicious piece of willing ass like that, including Brian Kinney under normal circumstances. Maybe one day Brian would tell him, but as for today let the young bull tuck his tail between his legs, and run away in shame. The pretty green-eyed son-of-a-bitch, he had it coming.

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NEXT WEEK: Speed Dial

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