Set in mid to late-season three.
Based on the little ficlet-type thing I wrote a while ago when I asked for people’s favourite porny words. I decided to expand on this one after watching 307-309. I know it’s the wrong season, but somehow it seemed to fit after watching the closing scene of 502. I’m not spoiled for S5, but I know that this probably isn’t the way it’s going to end. But hey, we can dream…
A little angsty, a little porny, a little schmoopy…
It’s dark in the backroom. It’s the first time we’re back here after… after whatever it is that happened to us. To me.
After he picked me up, put me back together like humpty dumpty.
After he said I think you should take me back.
He said he understands what it is I want from him. What he can expect from me. How little he can expect from me is more like it.
His lips are on my neck, his hands stroking my back. His breath is so hot, his hands so small, so him. I can’t get enough of it. Of him.
I pull him closer, my lips closing over the nub of his ear. I suckle it, he twists under me, his breath faster now. This always makes him crazy. At least I still know how to do that.
I put all my energy into this now, into making him lose control. I need him moaning under me, shaking, begging. I need to know that he’s not going to leave, if only for the length of time it takes to make him come. So I take my time.
It’s so fucking boring listening to the guys at Woody’s. It’s always the same shit, and although the familiarity, the comfort is there as always, I feel itchy, restless.
Justin walks in, a huge smile on his face when he looks at me. I can’t help but smile back. I see Emmett look at me, grinning, but he has the grace to look down when I catch him. He knows I can’t hear another lecture about how it’s time we got back together. Like it was ever my choice that we were apart in the first place.
Justin comes straight to me, and I fight with the desire to stand up, to close the distance between us faster. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to pick up my drink and wait. He slides in between my legs, his arms wrapping around my waist. I let my fingers clutch his shoulders, then thread them into his hair, pulling him into me for a kiss. I inhale him, needing to taste him. He pulls away a little dazed, smiling as I brush the hair off his forehead. I marvel that he could actually be here, be looking at me like that.
He’s assessing me thoughtfully, carefully. I can’t look away even though I desperately want to, but his gaze holds me fast. His hand comes to my face, his lips pressing forward to kiss me again, so softly I can barely feel him. Then he grins, moving away to say hi to the guys, leaving me to catch my breath.
I motion to the bartender for another Jim Beam, letting the burn slide down my throat as I watch him. He’s chatting with Michael about some comic book detail, his face animated and happy, his universe the way he wants it.
Fuck it. This itch needs to be scratched.
He jumps when I slide in behind him, my hands on his hips. He keeps talking, ignoring my cock pressing into his ass. I rub my nose into the back of his neck, his longer hair tickling my face. I breathe in the scent of him, the beat of his heart palpable through his back.
His breath hitches the smallest bit when I lick his neck, but he keeps going. Then my mouth moves to his ear to interrupt him,
He stops talking, the blush rising in his cheeks – the one that makes him look innocent and raunchy at the same time. The guys look at him, and I look at him, and we wait. He’s about to say something but I grab his hand, his softly laughing apology trailing us as I make a beeline to the men’s room.
I pull us into a stall, his cheeks still pink and the smile permanently plastered onto his face. My heart trip-hammers in my chest, but I push the bile taste down, force myself to think only of what is in front of me, of what I have right here, right now, not what I have to lose. What I lost.
I kiss him to obliterate the taste, to make myself forget. To make him forget that he’s ever been without me. I need his need, his gasping, aching need to surround us, to show me that he means it, that he isn’t going to leave me again.
When I look at him, he’s watching me, but he lets me lead. He pulls in a breath when I push my hand into his pants, his cock hard and waiting for me. This part has never been difficult for us, and I dive into it like a drowning man reaching for a life preserver.
I watch his eyes close when my fingers surround his cock, watch his mouth open when I spread his legs with my knee. I lick his mouth, his tongue reaching for mine, but I want him to wait. He isn’t ready yet.
I lean my forehead against his, his breath a little faster. My whisper between us,
“Open my pants, Justin.”
He opens his eyes, a dirty little grin spreading across his face. I want to eat it. I twitch when his hands brush my waist, his thumbs rubbing my skin before he pulls the buttons of my jeans apart.
He smiles up at me, that same mock-shocked face from so long ago, when he sees my cock push through my jeans, my bare skin under the denim.
He smiles again, dropping onto the toilet as he leans forward, pulling my hips into him. I push away, shaking my head. He looks up at me, confused, his pink tongue circling his lips. I fight the urge to shove my cock into his mouth, to watch him struggle to take all of me, knowing he will.
I smile at the look on his face, the ache of desire that takes over his features immediately. I trail my thumb over his lower lip, his open mouth and wide eyes making my heart speed up.
I pull my cock out, his hands tightening on my thighs as his breath catches. I close my eyes and listen to his breath as my hand slides slowly down my shaft, squeezing the head on the way back up. I feel the moan leave my chest before I hear it, feel his hands slide around to grip the back of my thighs as I stroke.
I open my eyes again, my body moving with my hand. Fuck, I’m good at this. My thumb rubs under the head and my legs get wider as I brace my other hand on the wall.
His face is fucking gorgeous, the lust so nakedly there. I feel high from it, bring my other hand down to tip it up towards me. His eyes flick to my face, his breath fast and his mouth open. He smiles at me, then leans forward until my hand bumps his face, his eyes finally leaving mine when he closes his mouth around the head of my dick. I groan, his mouth only taking the head and leaving my hand to stroke the shaft. I stroke faster, the wet heat of his mouth making me grit my teeth, the wetness spreading down with each stroke.
I forget the point of this demonstration when he sucks hard, my other now hand grasping the back of his head, my weight going up onto the balls of my feet. His hands hold my ass, letting me move as he keeps his head still. I listen to the sound of my dick popping in and out of his mouth, his breath warm on my fingers.
My head falls back against the stall door when I come, his moans louder than mine. I let go of my dick, his mouth taking me deeper as I shake, filling him. I feel my legs trying to give out, but I push down through them, willing the shudders away.
Then he’s in my face, his mouth on mine. His tongue licks into my mouth, my cum still coating it, and I suck it, kissing him voraciously. His hard cock digs into my hip, but I just need him against me now, need his small body in my arms, his mouth against mine. His hands stroke down my back as I shudder, then come to the sides of my face, his kisses softer, his whispers soothing me and tearing my heart at the same time.
How do you love someone when you’ve never learned how to love? When all you’ve ever seen is anger, or distance, or hatred? How many times can you hope that this time it will be different, this time you made your bed and picked up all of the drinks he left around the house, only to end up with a mouth full of blood and a black eye anyway.
How many times do you watch him walk away, happiness and despair warring in your soul? Glad he’s gone because that means you’re safe, but aching for the thing that will make him stay, make him love you this time, because it has to be your fault, has to be something you can fix, if only you try hard enough.
I hold him a little longer, letting his warmth seep into me, fill me until the shivers pass. He holds my hand as we go back to the table, the guys exchanging knowing glances and wry smiles as we sit down. I order another round, Justin’s smile more intoxicating than anything I could consume here. He’s far more patient than me, I swear he enjoys waiting to come. He happily left the bathroom, tucking his leaking cock back into his jeans as I tried to get my heart to stop pounding. I forgot how fucking good he is at giving head.
We kill a little more time at Woody’s, but then I can’t watch him watch me any longer, so I take him home and fuck the shit out of him.
So now we’re at Babylon, and we’re dancing, nothing but the pulse of the music and his body moving in my arms. I can’t stop smiling, and I’m drunk, and he’s smiling back and fuck, I love this.
He’s wearing leather pants, and they’re so fucking hot on him I can see everyone here watching his ass. Not that I’m surprised - I could barely breathe when he walked out of the bedroom wearing them. Ok, I bought them for him, so I knew they were going to be hot, but it still shocked me when I saw them on him. He’s older now, older than the months that have passed. And that makes him look different, walk different. He carries himself like a man now. And it’s fucking hot.
I can’t dance with him anymore, can’t feel his cock against me, his lips on my throat. I need more.
I pull him into the backroom, his eyes glittering. He doesn’t want to say how much he loves being here with me, how much doing this publicly matters to him. Somehow so many of the important moments in our relationship have been public. If we ended it here, I guess it’s fitting that we’re starting again here too.
I keep thinking back to seeing him here, watching him fuck that guy. It was the same familiar feeling all over again. Happiness that he was fucking someone else, because that meant the fiddler must be gone. Despair because he was fucking someone else, not standing on my doorstep. Happiness that he wasn’t forcing me to choose to take him back. Despair that he wasn’t forcing me to choose to take him back.
My mind flits back to our ‘meeting’ in my office and I smile despite myself. He smiles back at me - not knowing or caring why, just willing to smile at me. I want to believe this, I really do. But it aches so badly and the warning in my head is blaring so loudly that I can barely hear.
It keeps happening to me now. He comes around a corner, or walks into a room, and this little bit inside me shifts, breaks somehow. And I can’t stop watching him, looking, making sure he’s there. He sees me do it, I know he does. But he’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut.
At least until he’s under me, moaning my name.
So I do what I do best.
My fingers slide up his chest, pushing his shirt out of the way. He arches into me, his hands reaching for my head behind him. He’s grinding back into me, his body circling wantonly. I bite his neck, needing to mark him, to ground him, to make him feel me. He gasps, and it makes me smile.
I grab his arm, spinning him around, my lips on his before he can breathe. I need to take him here, make him mine here. Make him pay for hurting me. Make him want to stay here forever.
I pull his lower lip between my teeth, scraping it in the way that makes him moan. His hands slide to my shoulders, holding himself upright as he pushes his cock into mine. I feel his nose crinkle, his lip curl upwards at the corner as my thigh pushes under his balls. He rides my leg, his breath gaspy and short. I could make him come just like this.
When I pull my leg out, he groans, but he’s dropping to his knees so fast I don’t have time to say anything in response. I reach for his shoulders, pulling him back up. He looks at me, blinking. Starts to ask me what’s wrong, but I kiss him, my tongue pushing into his mouth until he forgets his own name.
Then I slide down his body, his stuttered breath and fluttering hands telling me more than his words could. He wants to stop me and push my head down harder at the same time. He can’t believe his good fucking luck.
When I swallow his cock, he buckles. I use my hands to hold him up, my mouth teasing him insistently. I’m against the wall, so he’s driving me back into it but I can hold my own, keep him where I want him.
When I feel that he’s going to come, I stop, his pained moan and digging fingers telling me that he’s not impressed. But when I yank his pants down and spin him into the wall, he’s bracing himself and tucking his head down before I can get my cock out, our unspoken rhythm falling into place once again.
I’m in him before either of us can move, and then we’re both holding on. I can’t believe how hot and tight he still is, after this long, after fucking this many times today, after everything. That he can still make me want to give him everything and never see him again at the same time.
But then he’s moaning my name, and his hands are on my hips, pulling me into him, begging me to fuck him harder. And I do, holding him still while I pump, leveraging my thrusts to make him moan… just… like… that…
I can’t breathe, and I can’t think, and he’s here and in my arms and I’m inside him, and I don’t ever want to leave. I bite my lip so I won’t scream, and he’s pushing back and taking me deeper and oh god…
He chokes out a gasp when I stop.
“Brian, what…?” He’s panting.
His ass wiggles into me, makes me grit my teeth to hold still. His hands grip my hips, trying to make me move. He moans my name in a voice that makes every hair on my neck stand up.
This isn’t what I want. I don’t want to fuck him in the backroom, his face against the wall, his eyes away from me. I need to see him, to hear him, to have nothing but him. No groaning fags surrounding us, no thumping music through the wall, no cum stains on the floor.
But he’s moving, and my cock is throbbing, and I want him so badly. I want to take him home, wrap him in smoky sheets and never let him leave. But I settle for fucking him slowly, his gasps telling me what to do next. When he comes, his hands pull my hair, his forehead hitting the wall in front of us. I hold him up, my arms wrapped around his chest as I pump into him.
“Stay” I whisper in his ear, his body tight against me, the waves washing over me.
“Always” he whispers back.