TITLE: THAT VELVET TOUCH

AUTHOR: bolan

DATE: 8 March 00

RATING: Super Silly. As opposed to supercilious.

ARCHIVE: PBU, Satellite, AllVG

SUMMARY: Brian's arrival is greatly anticipated by his favorite admirer. In response to a week old challenge by Nicky to come up with something juicy but with no sex, per se. (He phrased it much nicer...)

DISCLAIMER: EEK! Oh wait - "DISclaimer"? Oh. Then no.

NOTE 1: For Griffin, but only if he likes it.

NOTE 2: This one's obscure, not at all sure it works. Kind of a "get it?" story. A whim.

Thanks to Jainie and her turkey sandwich.

FEEDBACK: yes please, even if it kills us both

THAT VELVET TOUCH

by Bolin

Just yesterday I waited - as usual - for Brian to return home. It seemed that I did more waiting these days than anything else. Which, of course, was no good for my form. I found myself constantly bickering with whoever was cast about this fucking closet. It was an ever-changing cadre of hangers-on and those who could be described most kindly as faux.

The long absences had left me feeling terribly abandoned and I'd drifted into a fantasy of our reunion...

* Of Brian coming home, smelling of fresh air and tulips, giddy with the day's activities, lust percolating under the surface as he contemplated the pleasures that would surely come with nightfall. Ignoring the others, he'd stand in front of me and slowly begin to strip. Pale painted fingers working pearled buttons, kissing silk folds. The shirt slipping off his shoulders and falling to the carpeted floor with a soft "whoosh" - immediately forgotten like so many discarded lovers. Still not looking at me, he'd stroke one of his nipples while sliding the other hand to his crotch. Then he'd slowly draw down the zipper. I always watched. Until he was ready for me, that is.

With a gently swaying of his hips he'd slough off the trousers that had cupped and nestled him, still held his musk. His toes would wiggle, buried in the gorgeous softness of the garment. Such a perfect mate for me. And there Brian would stand, touching himself gently, humming tunelessly.

He'd move away from me, walking backwards at first, still contemplative, then turning away reluctantly. I'd watch him strut into the bath and the open-air shower. As he'd become slick with steam, then water, I'd have a perfect vantage, a clear view of the body that belonged to me and me to it. A part of me longed to join him, to wrap myself around him until we melted in the vapor. But I never dared.

His toilette complete, he'd return, grinning with excitement. He'd bless others with brief contact, but it was me who'd catch his eye - the chosen one. He'd reach out and stroke my arm with the back of his damp hand. "So beautiful," he'd say, admiring me with a blushing reverence. Sometimes he'd rub one soft cheek against my collar and I swear, in those moments I could hear him purr. Then it would be our time. And I knew, delicious though the anticipation, neither of us could wait any longer. I had to have him inside me. To wrap myself around him, feel him tingle with my merest of touches. Brian would have reached his readiness as well. He'd take me in his arms, hold me for a moment then drive into me, both of us shuddering at the sudden intimacy. Sometimes he'd pull out, make an adjustment then push slowly into me, more carefully this time. With fist clenched. Then he'd do it again. The other fist clenched. And I'd be complete. We both would be.

Standing at the mirror, he'd gaze lovingly at our reflection, smirking at what he saw. We are splendid. *

My reverie was broken by Brian's unexpected arrival, followed on-heel by that clod Curt.

"Brian, we don't have time for this shit." Ah, the great poet rocker speaks.

"Shush, baby. There's always time for style." And with that, my beauty came to me, calling over his shoulder, "Be patient, love." He reached for me, "Come here, you." No tenderness this time as without warning he wrenched my shoulders and impaled me. Twice.

Brian was touching up his lipstick and I was still trying to adjust myself to his body when Curt stuck his head in.

"You're wearing that again? Shit." The fashion paradigm speaks. *Fuck you too*, I thought.

Brian pursed his lips, checking for smudges. "You're one to talk."

"I mean, how many times in one week can you wear a purple velvet jacket?"

"Do shut up." Brian looked at Curt, twinkling eyes belaying the harsh words as we grabbed Curt's hand and dashed out of the closet.

And with that, the night began.

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