Summary: Brian. Justin. Leather. Porn. 4,427 words.
Spoilers: through 4.09 + 4.10 teaser
A/N: Written for seperis. Thanks to algophobia, o0_magz, quinn222 and spaggel for their helpful and timely betas. *showers with gratitude*
Extras: pr0n rant; YIM snark
Justin goes to the Leather Ball for the first time at the age of twenty. It's odd, considering he's been going to Babylon regularly since the age of seventeen. He feels deprived. Of course, he's not actually into leather, but it's the principle of the thing. He dons a white wife beater, tight jeans, and a pair of dark brown leather chaps with matching belt and strolls out the door, determined to make up for lost time.
He arrives at the club fashionably late. He dances for a bit. Eventually he wanders off towards the back room in search of Brian. He finds him balls deep in some trick, eyes closed in concentration. Justin knows Brian won't prolong the fuck, so he waits, brushing off the two or three men that want to top him or blow him in favor of some mild voyeurism. He watches as Brian gets close, back muscles shifting under the stretch of a dark gray tank top, legs straining beneath the tight mold of his black leather pants. He keeps watching as Brian comes almost noiselessly, his lips unconsciously mouthing Justin's name.
Somewhere between orgasm and condom disposal, Justin comes to the conclusion that the Leather Ball is highly overrated. He makes his way over to Brian, grabs him by the elbow and pulls him in for a soft kiss. "Let's make it an early night." Brian looks at Justin strangely for a moment before nodding, grabbing his jacket and following him to the exit door.
The drive back to the loft goes by quickly. Brian gets out of the car first, and Justin bites his lip as he's treated to a close-up of Brian's backside. Brian wears leather like he was made for it, and Justin can barely restrain himself from panting.
He follows Brian up the stairs to the loft. The tight black pants flatten against Brian's flanks with each lift of his legs. They stretch smoothly over the contours of his buttocks, and Justin begins to fantasize about dragging his dick down the center crease of Brian's ass, thrusting his hard cock into the material, feeling the heat from Brian's skin.
He could come like that. He likes the idea of it, possibly even more than he likes the idea of coming inside of Brian. No condom -- just warmth and pressure. Soft leather on naked flesh. He can imagine how it would feel. Not quite like bare skin, but So. Fucking. Close.
Justin suspects he might be into leather after all.
He figures Brian would never forgive him for the stain, however, so he settles for something different. The minute they make it into the loft, Justin shoves Brian back against the door and drops to his knees. He slides his hands up Brian's thighs and along his waistband to his fly. He unbuttons the top button, only to lean forward and pull the zipper down with his teeth. Brian hisses at the sensation, hardening just under Justin's mouth.
No underwear tonight. Not even a jock strap. Justin grabs hold of Brian's waistband and yanks the pants down to mid-thigh. Brian begins to try to peel them the rest of the way off, but Justin halts his motion, shoving him back against the door with a palm to his stomach. He then takes Brian's cock in his hand and strokes his fingers up and down. His hand tightens and pulls harder -- almost hard enough to hurt.
Brian's hands press back against the door behind him. His knees go a bit weak, but he manages not to show it. He feels like he's about to come, but he finds some hidden reserve of self control. Justin flicks his tongue carefully along the slit of Brian's cock, holding bitter drops of precome on the tip of his tongue. Brian's low moan is so soft it's almost inaudible. Justin hears the sound and smiles. He takes the noise as encouragement and leans forward to suck the head of Brian's prick between his lips.
This time, the moan is much louder.
Justin stays in that position for a moment, then pulls back to whisper, "Fuck my mouth." Almost immediately, fingers come down to card through his hair and cradle his head. Brian brings his hips forward in a slow sweep. He holds the position for a split second -- body arched, ass clenched. He rocks back against the fierce suction of Justin's mouth, then pushes back in slightly harder than before. And again, a little harder. And again.
Brian builds up speed and force and Justin, God, he's so fucking eager. His throat opens for Brian with a well practiced ease. His mouth and tongue suck Brian deeper with each thrust -- as if his gag reflex is nothing more than a bad memory.
The first time Justin got deep-throated by Brian, he came at a bad moment, and Brian ended up snorting come out of his nose. It was all Brian could smell for the next two days. Justin's timing's improved since then. Brian, well, he's always had perfect timing. He comes on a downstroke. Justin swallows.
Afterwards, Brian's breathing is fast and shallow. He takes a moment for it to slow before hitching his pants up and taking a few steps towards the center of the loft. Justin turns to follow after him and notices some stray drops of come dotting the thighs of Brian's pants.
Someone ought to clean that up.
Brian suddenly finds his progress across the room halted as Justin drags him to the floor. He starts to protest, but Justin cuts him off with a finger to his lips. He pulls his hand from Brian's mouth to wipe up a drop of ejaculate off Brian's pants with his index finger. Brian stares, transfixed, as Justin sucks the come from his fingertip, then crouches down over Brian's legs and slides his tongue over the leather to catch the rest.
Justin wonders how it feels -- the push of his tongue, the heat of his mouth. He wonders just how much the waxy smooth surface nulls the sensation as he traces patterns over Brian's thigh. A voice in the back of his head whispers that the leather probably didn't make it through Babylon in a bubble of sanitation. It sounds just like a public service announcement. He ignores it. He's gotten Brian hard again, and he can't bring himself to care about anything else.
Eventually he finishes with his exercise in tidiness and moves on to Brian's torso. Brian is still wearing his jacket, made of the same black leather as his pants. Justin helps him shrug out of it, then pushes up the tank top underneath to taste the skin of Brian's stomach.
Brian pushes him away, rather unexpectedly. Justin blinks in confusion, only to find Brian's eyes on his neglected erection. Brian reaches for Justin's crotch, but Justin brushes his hands away with a smile. Brian falls back on his elbows, his expression curious. Justin stands up and out of the tangle of Brian's legs. "I want you inside me when I come," he says.
He pulls his top up over his head and tosses it away. Once the article of clothing is no longer obstructing his vision, he turns his eyes back to Brian -- sprawled out decadently over the hardwood floor, fly wide open, achingly hard under Justin's gaze. He waits for Justin to finish undressing, and watches intently as each piece of the outfit is removed. First the belt, then the chaps, then the tight stonewashed jeans, then the signature briefs. Justin turns around to remove the last, bending over provocatively as he bares himself.
He turns back around to find Brian's eyes slightly glazed. He grins, and the flash of his smile is enough to snap Brian out of his reverie. Brian peels off his own top and moves to slide his pants down. He gets them no further than his knees before Justin drops down into a straddle over him.
"Leave them on."
The words curl around Brian like smoke. He releases the waistband of his pants to slide his palms up Justin's naked thighs. "You're being awfully demanding."
"You love it," Justin responds, and Brian doesn't bother to deny it.
He reaches over Brian's head to Brian's jacket, knowing he'll be able to find lubricant and condoms in the pockets. It's a bit farther away than he first anticipated. He momentarily braces himself on his hands, stomach hovering over Brian's face as he reaches for a sleeve. His fingers close around a leather cuff with a grunt of accomplishment. The sound quickly turns into a gasp as Brian lifts his head and insinuates his tongue into Justin's navel.
"Jesus, Brian." He pushes the words out though clenched teeth. "You're gonna make me come."
He rocks back on his heels in time to catch Brian's grin. "That's the idea, Sunshine."
Justin replies to that with a noise caught somewhere between a growl and a moan. He's dripping precome heavily over Brian's stomach. A frisson of lust passes though his body, so intense he has to shut his eyes to distance himself from the present moment.
He opens his eyes again to the sight of his own erection. He's swollen to the point of pain. He knows he's going to come hard. For one crazed moment all he can think of is the ridiculous mess he will make.
The moment passes. He turns his eyes back to the jacket in his hands and quickly extricates a small tube of lube with shaking hands. He slides the stuff over his fingers, snaps his eyelids shut once more and starts working himself open with more haste than care. It hurts. The unnatural bend of his wrist. The uncomfortable stretch as he forces in two slippery fingertips at once, then a third only moments after.
He feels Brian clawing his hips with blunt fingernails. It takes effort to open his eyes again and look into Brian's face. The look on Brian's face is telling him to turn around. Put on a show. Brian wants to watch him fuck himself with his own fingers. Normally, Justin would oblige him, but there's no time for it now. He bites his lip and shakes his head. "I'm too close."
Brian fights the urge to bite his own lips at those words. He feels himself get impossibly harder. Christ -- he hasn't prematurely ejaculated since the age of sixteen. The only thing stopping him now is pride.
Justin deftly rolls a condom onto Brian's cock. He breathes in deeply though his nose and tries to focus. He can handle this. His cockhead is poised a hair's-breadth from Justin's opening. Really, he can. He's a thirty-one year old man. Thirty-two. Same difference. Fuck. He can't. He can't do anything. He can't even move, but to brace himself.
And then Justin is sliding down, his wet tight asshole closing around Brian's prick in some bizarre form of strangulation. It must be strangulation, because for a moment, Brian doesn't breathe. No one breathes. The only sound in the room is the push of flesh into flesh.
This is Justin's favorite part. The pull of gravity dragging him down. Impaling him. The slow heavy drop as his body swallows Brian to the hilt. He feels oddly weightless as he reaches bottom, sitting on Brian's thighs, poised for the inevitable upward push, unmoving, just for a second.
The feeling leaves him as he digs his fingers into the folds of Brian's pants and raises himself up up again, leg muscles straining. It's like lifting dead weight. The feeling of it is too grounding, too real, too much. He knows he's hit the breaking point, and it's with a giddy sort of relief that he slams himself back down, one final time, and erupts.
Justin is a vision when he comes. He bends back, spattering Brian from navel to neck despite his efforts to catch most of his spunk in his hand. His spine arches, inhumanly limber. His skin gleams, bright under the dim mood lighting of the loft. Brian thinks that this must be what Justin felt that first night. This helpless wonder.
Brian comes as he always does, with a bizarre combination of obscenity and controlled grace. He makes only the minimum of noise during orgasm. Justin used to think it was Brian's superior composure. Now he knows better. Brian falls apart just like everyone else during climax. He's just slightly more subtle about it than the average person.
Justin's probably the only one who knows Brian intimately enough to recognize the tiny hitch in his breathing that appears after he comes. He bets Brian doesn't even know about it, or that it takes half a minute for his breathing to even out after fucking the average trick, but a full half hour for it to even out after fucking Justin.
Justin has to laugh at this particular train of thought. His mind always turns toward the lesbianic as he's coming down from orgasm. His impromptu snort of laughter is greeted with another curious expression. It occurs to him that what Brian probably wants to do now more than anything is ask what Justin is thinking, and this makes him laugh even harder.
His stream of giggling is cut short with a touch of Brian's tongue against his palm. The sight of Brian licking his come off his fingers is almost enough to get him hard again. His ability to concentrate falters at the sight of Brian's lips closing around his thumb. A minute passes. It comes to Justin's attention that he's fucking Brian's mouth with his fingers.
And Brian is letting him.
He decides to return the favor. He reluctantly withdraws his hand from Brian's mouth, then bends over to lick whatever semen he failed to catch with his palm from Brian's torso. He finishes the task quickly. After a moment's hesitation, and a fair amount of regret, levers himself off of Brian. He removes and ties off the condom within a matter of seconds, then helps pull Brian's pants back up over his hips.
Before he even has the chance to miss the sensation of Brian inside of him, Brian is dragging him up for a kiss, delving between his lips with a surprising lack of finesse. They make out sloppily on the floor. Minutes pass with nothing but sharp teeth and sliding wet tongues, panting breath and bruise-soft lips.
Then even their tongues slip back into their mouths. They lie together, unmoving, their lips parted and pressed together, sharing breath. Somewhere in the middle of all that fragile quiet, Justin starts to get hard again. Brian doesn't react to Justin's returned ardor except to spread his own legs a fraction and cradle Justin's dick in the warm juncture of his thighs.
Justin finds himself almost purring at the sensation. Brian's crotch and thighs are pressed up around Justin's bare cock, holding him in place. A flex of muscle causes Brian's inner thighs to tighten. Justin feels like he's trapped inside some sort of leather vise.
His eyes snap shut as his hips begin that telltale twitch that precedes outright thrusting. God, but it feels so good. It surprises him, how good it feels. It's like every time he has sex with Brian he forgets. Like his mind isn't strong enough to hold onto a memory this intense.
"Hey. Look at me."
The words are so quiet Justin nearly misses them. It takes a few seconds for them to register. He opens his eyes to see Brian looking up at him with an expression of deep concentration. Brian is studying Justin's face. Absorbing his every reaction. Completely attuned to Justin's pleasure.
Justin realizes with a start that Brian isn't even that hard. He's barely at half mast. It makes sense, really. He's already come at least three times over the course of the evening, and even Brian Kinney's stamina has its limits. It's not Brian's state of arousal that surprises him so much as the knowledge that the tightening and shifting of Brian's inner thighs is all completely voluntary on Brian's part. Brian is doing it all on purpose, with the full intention of getting Justin off.
This is what makes Brian better than anyone else Justin has ever fucked -- the way his mind and body work seamlessly together for the specific purpose of turning whatever man he's with into a shuddering mess. Even when it's not directly serving his own needs.
This characteristic probably has more to do with Brian's control freak tendencies then his inherent selflessness. Justin can't say he really cares either way. Justin can't say much at all at this point. He'd lost his ability to speak along with his last thread of control the instant his eyes met Brian's.
Before he knows what he's doing, he's driving hard between Brian's legs. His cock is sliding over a sheen of sweat, pushing hard against the waxy leather. There's so much friction and heat. He can't get close enough. He claws at Brian's legs to pull him nearer, but his fingers scrabble uselessly over the material. Finally he slides his hands up over the waistband to grasp bare skin, hoping to find better purchase.
Brian yanks him down for a kiss, thrusting his tongue into Justin's mouth. It's too much. Justin holds on for a few scant seconds before pulling back to take a ragged breath.
"Brian I'm --" coming.
Jesus Christ, and it hurts. It's too soon after the last one. Justin comes down from orgasm slowly, his body still shaking from the intensity. He finds Brian grinning beatifically up at him. Justin wants to scowl, but doesn't have the energy, so instead he drops his head down into the space beside Brian's neck with a groan.
Brian brings up warm hands to rub soothingly over Justin's arms, then grab his shoulders and gently pushes him off. He clambers awkwardly to his feet. Brian stands up as well, with considerably more grace. He pulls Justin in for brief open-mouthed kiss, then releases him. "I'm thirsty."
He takes two steps towards the kitchen area before his face wrinkles in disgust. He looks down at the spunk caked up in the crotch of his pants. "You're getting these dry-cleaned." There's a reason they don't fuck like that very often.
It's Justin's turn to grin. "Your fault for making me come. Here, I'll get us something to drink." He breezes past Brian towards the fridge. He finds two bottles of beer in the door and grabs them. By the time he's opened them both and turned back around, Brian's pants are shucked off onto the floor, and Brian is standing in the middle of the loft in all his naked glory.
Justin can't help but notice that he's hard.
Justin feels his own cock twitch slightly in response. He ignores it for the moment though. He hands Brian one of the bottles, then leans back against the kitchen counter to take a swig of his own drink. He closes his eyes for a moment to take in the smell of the loft, of hardwood and leather, of sweat and come.
He thinks of those months after the cancer scare, after that night Brian first lost an erection. He remembers how Brian would barely let Justin touch him -- or anyone else for that matter. He remembers those tense two weeks when Brian's sex life ground to a virtual halt, leaving Justin gaping and helpless.
He remembers how he told Brian to get the fuck over himself -- again -- and then spent the night pounding Brian into the mattress. He remembers how the night after that Brian went to Babylon, topped four tricks in succession, strode back into the loft like some sort of king reclaiming his throne, and fucked Justin on nearly every available surface.
He remembers what it felt like to finally be able to breathe again.
He opens his eyes at the sound of footsteps. Brian stands before him and, with one had still clutching his drink, swings one arm around Justin's waist and leans in to worry his teeth lightly into Justin's earlobe. Justin sighs softly. A minute or two goes by.
He reaches back for the arm thrown around him and grabs the hand Brian has pressed against his lower back. He weaves his fingers in with Brian's, then pulls out of the embrace so their held hands are their only point of contact. "Hold that thought," he says, and starts tugging Brian towards the center of the loft, his other hand still wrapped around his beer bottle.
Brian soon finds himself leaning back against one of the loft's support pillars while Justin dribbles cold alcohol over his nipples and laps it up again with warm tongue. Justin certainly knows what to do with his tongue. Brian thinks, with some measure of bitterness, that with a tongue like that he ought to be getting rimmed more often.
He eats his words when Justin drops to his knees, spins Brian around, and plunges his tongue into Brian's ass. Brian gasps at the sensation. There's a niggling suspicion in the back of Brian's mind that Justin's not going to stop with rimming, and he should probably say something before Justin starts getting any ideas.
He says Justin's name in what is supposed to be a warning tone, only it comes out kind of cracked and thready. He tries again, and even manages to turn halfway around. Justin only pushes him back into position and thrusts his tongue so deep in Brian's hole that Brian forgets what he was going to say entirely.
Just as suddenly as it started, it stops. Justin stops. Brian makes a sound of protest, then shakes his head to try to jog his thoughts back into place. Oh, right. Justin. Rimming him. Most likely because he's about to try to fuck him. Brian spins around abruptly to see Justin with lube and a condom in one hand, bending down to grab his belt off the floor.
"Hold that thought."
Justin looks up guiltily. Then he smiles. "Please?"
He stands up and walks over to Brian until they're inches apart, then leans in to repeat the word against Brian's lips. "Please?" And Justin's hard again. "Please, please, please..." When the fuck did he get hard again? "I'll be good."
Almost against his will, Brian finds himself turning back around. He tenses when Justin grabs his wrists. Justin murmurs a quiet hushing sound into his neck and he relaxes. His eyelids droop at the soft press of lips to the top of his spine, only to snap back open when he finds his wrists suddenly tied together in front of the pole with Justin's belt. He stares in confusion. His mind seems to be operating on a twelve second delay, because by the time it occurs to him to protest, Justin's already secured a knot.
Oh, fuck. This is really happening. He's really letting this happen.
There's brown leather binding his hands and a slippery finger pushing up into his ass and cold hard metal pressing up on the underside of his cock. He flinches back from the column. He wonders why Justin never complained. His train of thought is cut off abruptly by the addition of another finger.
No use fighting this now. Brian spreads his legs and bends his knees. "Hurry the fuck up, would you?"
Justin laughs at this, then pushes in another finger and finds Brian's prostate. Brian hisses and fights the urge to push back against Justin's fingers. He has some dignity left. Justin is driving his fingers in and out of Brian's ass slowly, waiting for Brian to get used to the sensation. Brian wants to yell at him to hurry up again, but he knows the words would sound too close to begging.
Christ, what does he need dignity for anyway? "Justin!"
He feels lips smiling against his back, then warm fingers are sliding out of his ass. He hears the tearing of a condom packet. Moments later strong fingers grab hold of his hips, and a warm cock presses against his opening. Light pressure. What the fuck is he waiting for? Confirmation, Brian realizes. Justin wants confirmation that Brian wants this. Brian obliges, pushing his hips back and continuing the motion until Justin breaches the first ring of muscle.
Brian's so tight. Justin can't believe how tight he is. He strains to get himself further in, rising up onto the balls of his feet and grabbing hold of Brian's hips. He eases in excruciatingly slowly, shuddering at the sensation of Brian's inner muscles clenching and unclenching around him. The tiny internal spasms soon have his eyes rolling back in his head. He doesn't want to move. He just wants to savor the sensation of being buried completely in Brian Kinney's ass.
Seconds slip by with nothing but the sound of hard breathing. Finally Justin pulls back and starts thrusting in earnest -- hard and fast. Brian starts to move in tandem, and soon he's slamming back onto Justin as hard as Justin's grinding into him. God, Justin's good at this. He's hitting that internal bundle of nerves with every forward drive. Brian realizes that he needs to come. He really, really needs to come right fucking now.
He can't even jerk himself off. His wrists tug at their leather restraints in frustration. He can't bring himself to ask Justin for relief. It's a bit too much, on top of everything else. He can't say the words, so instead he tightens his biceps around the pole in front of him, presses his forehead against the dry surface, and tries not to moan like a bitch in heat.
Thank Christ, Justin seems to get Brian's unspoken message. Brian lets slip a shuddering groan of relief as Justin's fingers close around him and start to pull.
It's over much too quickly. It always is.
Justin doesn't pull out so much as fall back, crumpling neatly to the floor. Brian gives in to the watery feeling in his knees and slides down next to him. It takes a moment for him to work his hands free of Justin's rudimentary knot. He rubs his wrists for a moment, then falls back onto the hardwood, where Justin is already sprawled out beside him.
"I'll make you pay for that."
Justin snorts, then smacks him in the chest. "You getting up?"
"Yeah," Brian murmurs, his eyes already drifting shut. "In a minute."