Interlude

Tinkerbell

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Cowlip. Fuckers.
Summary: No plot, no point, no nothing. Nothing, do you hear?

Thanks: juteux, who said, "Write pr0n, you h0bag." Also jaymalea, who looked this over once upon a time and declared it fixable.

Some nights Justin comes home from a shift at the diner and can tell what kind of sex Brian wants to have by how he’s running on his treadmill.

Hard, fast sprinting means he will be exhausted and panting afterward, and really in no mood to make any sort of effort. He will lie on the bed, motionless, and let Justin undress him slowly. He might twitch a little if Justin’s tongue tickles his ribs the right way, but usually he is exceptionally still and silent. The only other move he makes is to tangle his hand in Justin’s silky hair when Justin sucks him off.

Smooth, easy jogging means Brian is pacing himself, and Justin will reap the rewards of that. Brian can fuck for hours if he feels like it, and never, ever lets Justin come before he wants him to. Brian has perfected the art of knowing exactly where Justin’s peak is, and keeps him there until Justin lies whimpering and pleading beneath him, begging Brian to just get him off already before he passes out from the agony.

* * *

One time Justin comes home and finds Brian wearing his gym shorts and Nikes, sitting on the edge of the treadmill with a defeated expression.

“I lost the fucking Thompson account.”

“Asshole. Even after you took him to the Penguins game?”

Brian shrugs. “Hockey wasn’t his thing.”

“You don’t need that account. What was it? Cereal?”

“Granola bars.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

That night Brian watches Justin jerk off in front of him. Justin knows it’s one of Brian’s favorite things, so he puts a little effort into it. He fixes Brian with a steady gaze and makes sure his tongue keeps his bottom lip wet. He uses a lot of saliva for lube, until the tip of his cock is glistening with pre-come and then he uses that too. Slow and steady rhythm, until Brian can’t help but take his own cock in his hand and match Justin’s strokes, and the two of them try to outlast each other. Justin has learned a trick or two, however, and when he starts playing with the glinting silver ring in his nipple, Brian groans “cheater,” and comes. Justin follows suit a minute later, and Brian watches with approval.

* * *

Tonight Justin finds Brian already cooling down, so he has no idea of the sexual mood. Brian watches MTV with a thoughtful expression. From the kitchen, Justin can see Britney Spears writhing around in what she imagines is an arousing way.

“She’s pretty,” Brian comments. Justin snorts and starts ripping lettuce for a salad. “What?” Brian asks, unconcerned. “I can appreciate aesthetic beauty. Look at me.”

Justin throws a dishcloth at him and Brian says, “Get over here,” so Justin does. Brian cuts his cooldown short and tugs Justin to the shower, where he pulls them both under the spray completely clothed. Brian watches as Justin’s hair turns a dark honey color and the warm water brings a flush to his skin.

Justin makes an impatient move to get rid of his clinging, wet khakis, but Brian says simply “no,” and hauls Justin up against his length. Leaning back against the shower wall, he plants his hands firmly on Justin’s ass and fits his thigh neatly into the vee of Justin’s legs. Justin snuggles there, aligning himself just so, and Brian has to grit his teeth when their material-covered cocks brush.

Justin has always been charmingly open about taking his own pleasure from sex, so Brian watches with drowsy eyes, letting the water lull him. Justin hitches against him, his face pressed against Brian’s wet t-shirt, and starts a slow, steady grinding that soon has Brian biting the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning Justin’s name. He keeps his hands relaxed against the seat of Justin’s khakis, letting Justin stimulate them both with his sliding, circular movements.

He can feel Justin like steel through the thin fabric of their clothes, knows his own cock is just as hard, can count the pulsebeats in his dick as Justin rubs against him. The water pounds, relentless, and Brian turns his face into the spray. Justin is rigid beneath him, close to coming, Brian can tell, and he isn’t too far away himself. Justin has a hand braced against the tile and the other is gripping Brian’s hip, bunching the material of his nylon shorts, thrusting up against him with urgency. He is gasping softly, the water running in rivulets over his cheeks and turning his eyelashes into dark points. Brian waits, praying praying praying not to come but not quite able to push Justin away. He waits.

And then Justin is drawing a sharp breath, slamming his hand against the wall and pressing his crotch hard into Brian’s, holding himself still while his body shudders. It lasts nearly eight seconds – Brian counts – and then he relaxes slowly, letting go of Brian’s shorts and resting his head against Brian’s chest.

Brian is wondering if it would be worth the trouble to peel off Justin’s pants, find a condom, put it on, and shove his cock in, or if he should just finish himself off with a well-timed stroke or two, when Justin slides down Brian’s body and takes his shorts with him. Problem solved, he thinks, and then there’s really no coherent thought after that because Justin has taken his dick in his mouth.

The boy can give head like no one Brian has ever had. Brian knows he’s taught Justin what he likes, but somehow Justin capitalizes on all of it and makes a blowjob some sort of mindblowing experience. Brian wishes he could draw it out this time, savor the heat of the shower and the moist mouth on his cock and the pull in his balls, but Justin’s slow rubbing has already brought Brian to his breaking point.

The sound of Justin suckling at him reaches his ears and Brian has to hold back from slamming between Justin’s lips, holding his wet head in two hands and just fucking his pretty mouth. He thinks maybe he can hold off, wait just a few minutes more so he can relish the soft tongue licking at him, and then Justin reaches around to insert one slippery finger in Brian’s ass.

Brian bucks, hissing in surprise, and can hear Justin chuckle in the back of his throat. Fucker. Justin knows Brian’s at his edge, so he keeps his finger firmly in place while he takes as much cock into his throat as possible, and Brian just can’t take the combination. He comes with a wrench and a groan, muscles trembling, eyes squeezed shut.

Justin swallows neatly, licking him clean like a small, fussy kitten. Brian keeps his eyes closed and lets the spray beat down. Feels the lean, tight body slide back up against him, and when he looks, there are blue* eyes brimming with something he pretends not to recognize.

The water turns cool and Justin starts to shiver, so Brian shuts it off. Wet clothes are peeled and left in a sopping heap on the shower floor.

The bed somehow seems more inviting than primping himself to go out, so Brian crawls into it and is rewarded with a grinning and naked Justin following close behind.

“It’s early,” Justin says, checking the clock. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t go to bed early?”

“It’s eight-thirty.”

“I didn’t say sleep.”


End

*This word used to be a synonym for "blue", but it came too close to being Polish and my paranoia begged me to change it.