Author: Paul Plesko
Email address: pplesko@hotmail.com
Series/Sequel: n/a
Pairings: Brian/Justin
Category: Gap-filler for the last scene of 309
Rating: NC-17
Date: May 22, 2003
Will take up arms; and the battle will be short.”
from “Italia mia” by Plutarch
This time I approached the door with quick strides. “What did you forget this time,” I began...but it wasn’t the delivery guy at the door, it was Justin, looking a bit startled to be confronted so belligerently. “Oh, sorry,” I said. “I thought you were the delivery guy...”
“I saw him leaving,” Justin said with a grin. “He looked disappointed. Didn’t you give him a tip?”
“Something like that,” I said, stepping back so he could enter.
“I couldn’t wait to show you,” he said as he waved an oversized cluster of paper in my face. “Mikey finally gave-in...and here’s the mock-up for Issue Two. Whatdaya think?”
I gripped his wrist to hold it steady enough for me to see what was on the page. I’m not sure which widened first...my eyes or my smile. J.T. was on his knees sucking a long, veiny stiffy jutting from Rage’s costume. The scene was replete with dripping saliva, taut muscles, and facial expressions worthy of a pre-Raphaelite adoring-angel. “He agreed to THIS?” I said, feeling the beginnings of a swelling in my groin. “Mikey is too much of a prude to like this. He still thinks you eat cock with a knife and fork.”
“I had to argue with him...and I finally won. He said it was porn. I explained that is was just J.T.’s way of melting the frozen heart of his idol...but Mikey said it was Zephyr’s job to do that. Anyway...I finally convinced him that the next issue needed to be even more over-the-top than the last one...so people wouldn’t think we’d shot-our-wad on the first one and let it go downhill...” He was talking a mile-a-minute, still filled with the exhilaration of winning the argument; his eyes flashed with the recognition of success. I didn’t tell him that it really didn’t take balls to win an argument with Mikey; all you had to do was outlast his whining.
“He doesn’t look as if he’s enjoying it that much,” I said, taking the comic mock-up from him and looking at the cover again.
“He’s not only hardened on the outside, he’s frozen solid on the inside,” Justin said with a grin. “A real Popsicle-dick…but he’ll thaw that dick-sicle eventually. J.T’s mouth has special powers, too.”
“Is this his way of showing his gratitude…for rescuing him from the bashing?” I asked feigning ignorance.
“Partially that,” Justin shot back. “…but Rage is his hero…his personal hero…and he’d do anything for him. Sure, he admires him for all the good he does for Gayopolis, but he also admires the inner qualities he’s discovered since the rescue. They’ve been a little intimate, ya know? And J.T. sees through the cold, hard exterior…the part of Rage that the other guys don’t know.”
“What about Zephyr?” I asked. “Doesn’t he know the real Rage? He’s his sidekick, after all.”
“Nope,” he said with a sudden seriousness. “He knew Rage before he’d developed his incredible mind-control powers…so he just thinks Rage is lucky to be given such strength and power…and he’s a little jealous…but he sticks by his side and helps him out sometimes…sorta like a sycophant. Rage has all the power; Zephyr’s only power is getting Rage to use it.”
“You’ve got this all figured out,” I said, shaking my head supportively. “But what’s in it for J.T…if Zephyr is already the sidekick?”
“J.T. is like the obsessive fan of a rock-star who gets chosen from the crowd to go backstage to spend time with the star is his dressing room. He brings with him all the love and adoration of the multitudes...but he’s the only one who gets to deliver it in-person. Zephyr only sees Rage’s heroic exterior…and respects Rage like he was a god. But J.T. loves Rage. He doesn’t just love his power and his rugged good looks…he loves his flaws, too. He gets to know the inner-Rage...the guy inside the protective costume. All of those super-heroes have their flaws, once you get to know them. But few people ever get the chance. Superman loses his erection (not to mention his other powers) when he’s exposed to kryptonite. Batman has an obsessive longing to avenge the death of his parents, and he has Robin as a surrogate parent (and vice-versa); he’s a brooding basket-case. The Hulk has self-imposed steroid-induced temper tantrums. Spiderman is a shy, dorky, angst-ridden teenage who can’t relate to girls. (Well, we won’t hold that against him.) But only a few people see these potential flaws…mostly the anti-heroes, who use those flaws to overpower them.” He paused and smiled like a professor who had just made the point-of-the-lecture.
“So Rage has some kind of hidden flaws that J.T. knows about?” I said, a little perplexed.
“Oh, yes,” he said confidently. “But that won’t be obvious until Issue 10…or 12. Until then, everyone will think he can do almost anything…surmount any obstacle…fight homophobia wherever he finds it…faster than a twinkie’s cum-shot…more powerful than a leatherman’s fist-thrust…able to leap tall tricks in a single bound…stuff like that.” His gestures made me laugh out-loud. “Don’t get me wrong. He really is a hero…but sorta a demigod…part god and part human…with incredible powers AND human failings. He chooses to make heroism a way-of-life, motivated by outrage, guilt, or whatever… sometimes appearing as if he’s doing it for selfish reasons, when, in fact, he’s trying to make the world a better place. He gets his kicks from doing it anonymously. No one suspects he gives a fuck.”
“Maybe he needs a public-relations advisor,” I said.
“No. That’s what makes him so interesting. People respect him for the wrong reasons… because they don’t really know him. He’s like a classical Greek tragic-hero…a battle between his ego and his altruism…the back-and-forth tugs, on the one hand, of seeking eternal glory for himself by amassing a list of deeds and conquests that men will recount in song and story for generations…in Babylon’s backroom…and, on the other hand, of protecting and preserving individuals and the entire community. Rage is like Achilles.”
“A wild imagination engendered by a prep-school education,” I said, shaking my head again.
“He’s even mis-named,” he said, continuing his oration as he gripped my wrist and pulled me closer. His hand pressed between us as he slipped his fingers underneath my tee-shirt. The warmth of his hand brought the usual response in my groin. “They call him Rage, because they think he has an inner-anger, a lack of control, and a short fuse.” His remaining hand joined the first as he pushed my shirt up over my chest. I smiled at his eagerness. “But really he has incredible self-control. His mind-control of other people pales in comparison to his control of his own thoughts and feelings.” As my shirt hit the floor he began unbuttoning my jeans. His delving fingers soon found my arousal stuffed into confining denim.
“I need to tell you…” I began.
“No, you don’t,” he whispered against my shoulder. “I already know.”
“No, not that,” I insisted. “I have a trick coming at 11:00…something I arranged shortly before you arrived. I found him on the web. He only knows the address…and I can’t reach him to cancel it.
“It’s OK.” He said, still clinging to my torso with one hand and my cock with the other. “And it’s only…” He lifted his wrist over my shoulder… “Ten-twenty. We have time.” He lifted onto his toes and planted a kiss on my cheek. “I hadn’t planned to stay all night anyway.” He smiled assuredly and mischievously; I could feel it against my cheek.
We broke the embrace and headed to the bedroom. I still had the comic in my hand, so I dropped it on the bedside table. We both stripped, watching the other. He tossed his clothes on the floor as he always had done. I draped my jeans over the foot of the bed. By the time I crawled in, he was already positioned in the middle of the bed, his favorite spot. His skin glowed warmly against the midnight-blue sheets.
“You’ve changed the lights. What happened to the blue?” he said, looking over his head.
“It’s the NEW blue,” I said with a smirk.
“Somehow the ice-cold blue fit you better,” he said, reaching out to stroke my upper arm as I slid closer to him. “I always swore I could see my breath when I exhaled in this bed.”
As I touched him with my chest, he rolled up to meet me, chest-to-chest. His hand explored my hip; I cradled his face.
“Does Rage’s story have a happy ending?” I’m not sure why I said it. I was feeling happy at the moment and the struggles of super-heroism were far from my mind as I prepared to enjoy him.
“Not entirely,” he said, wrinkling his brow and pulling away slightly. “There will always be that paradox…the alienation from the rest of humanity because he’s different, and the desire to be a part of it. Tragic heroes never perfect this balance. But maybe he can find his completeness …not within himself, but in another. That part of the story hasn’t been written yet.”
I kissed him then, because I didn’t want to hear more. Unwritten stories can’t be told. Things out-of-balance continue to sway. Achilles lost his Patroklos…permanently. He had realized too late that his honor was not worth the life of his best friend…and the deep bonds of human relationships, once lost, had conquered his earlier self-absorption. If Patroklos had not died, or had returned from death, what would Achilles have done?
“Mmmmmm…that was a long one,” Justin said, breaking the kiss and gasping for breath. I pulled him tighter against me and rolled onto my back, lifting him easily onto my torso and bearing his weight. Our legs entwined like braided leather. He pressed his hands against my shoulders and lifted himself a bit, then jackknifed to kiss the upper margin of my clavicle. After a short nibble, he looked up and smiled…then moved to my jugular notch. His tongue bathed its concavity as his lips brushed the margin. My pulse quickened and my cock hardened between us. His hair, longer than before, brushed the underside of my chin and neck as he began to kiss a path down my centerline…stopping here and there for detours. He ran his teeth over the margin of my pec and briefly nipped the nipple so he could feel the responsive jerk in my cock against his abs. He looked up again with eyes sparkling with mischief. “Iced-Tina thought she…or he…could immobilize Rage with a freeze-ray…but I’ll show you another way.”
He maneuvered slowly down my torso, eventually sliding to my side as his mouth found my navel…lower abs…and pubes. His cheek slipped by my now-dripping cock and his tongue darted to gather the pool of pre-cum dampening my belly. Repositioning again, he rose over my pelvis and descended slowly with open lips. His first touch on my shaft was so gentle, I saw it before I sensed it. His tongue delved into the soft cavity where my shaft disappears through the soft mantle of my ballsac, then licked upwards slowly along the underside, flattening the urethra and pressing a steady flow of pre-cum from the tip. I threw my right arm up and back over my shoulder; my wrist came to rest on my forehead. My pec stretched to its maximum extension. My eyes sagged closed as the feeling of pleasure washed over my body like warm milk. His lips surrounded the head and he let it remain in the tight “O” for an excruciating pause, then took the entire length with one slow thrust. My muscles tightened and my chin jutted upward from the sheer pleasure of it. He bobbed, slowly at first, and then faster…allowing his saliva to accumulate on the shaft and to drip downward until a subsequent open-mouthed thrust gathered it again and redistributed it over the entire length. With the tip lodged in his throat, he twisted his head from side to side. The soft interiors of his cheeks alternately brushed the shaft as my cock pivoted from side-to-side as well. His knees gripped my foot, making me aware that I was curling my toes in ecstasy. His free hand stroked the soft hair of my upper thigh and hip. The mild, unrelenting suction made the head swell to its full proportion, stretching the skin until it tingled. My instinct was to choke him with it.
I reached for him then, not knowing whether I was trying to make him stop or encouraging him to continue. And then he did it...the thing he does with his tongue. With tight lips around my shaft, tight enough to slide the thin skin along the blood-engorged interior, his tongue twisted around the mushroom tip in wide swirls. The sharp tongue-tip hooked under the flared rim of my mushroom to ride the groove of sensitive skin. Faster and faster his tongue spun over my most sensitive erogenous zone...velvet tongue against velvet head...making muscles somewhere deep inside me spasm rock-hard. I gripped the back of his neck to hang-on. He had me where he wanted me...dangling at the edge of the cliff...a total loss of control...ready to explode with the slightest jolt, like nitroglycerine. I could feel the muscles in my neck standing out in taut chords as I inhaled to yell.
He pulled off...making me wait. His hand clamped around the base of my cock with his palm forcing my balls against my perineum as if he were going to press the sweet nectar out of them like honey from a comb. My inner thighs began to tremble uncontrollably as my abs tensed into a sheet of hard muscle, ready to contract to propel the explosion. His mouth returned to full-length strokes. Sunken cheeks and a bouncing Adam’s apple showed he was using every trick I had taught him. My fingers trailed down his shoulder and triceps as I lost the ability to hold him. He glanced up to check my level of arousal....chest heaving...pecs hard...thin sheen of sweat...mouth open wide...chin sunken and front teeth protruding...a ticking time-bomb ready to explode. He smiled around the flesh-column in his lips. My pelvis rocked...a reflex-attempt at self-stimulation to a climax. I could hear myself moaning softly with each breath. My eyes rolled back…I lost sight of him…falling backwards into an abyss of self-awareness and sensory overload…no physical being, just sensual energy…my entire being focused on that spot deep inside.
…..
The sensation begins before you are aware of it...the tightness somewhere deep in the pit of your abdomen. But it cannot be ignored. It spreads its hardness and heat to other tissues and organs in your peritoneal cavity like a wandering cramp. Muscles harden in your extremities as if you are turning to stone...incapable of movement...unable to breathe...like a steel spring in incredible tension. The sensation of fluid-flow deep in your groin is next...movement over which you have no control. Then pressure...building as the gushing proceeds...thin fluid first, rushing through tightly constricted vesicles...then thicker clots propelled by more intense pressure...forcing their way through seemingly miles of testicular-plumbing. The prostate gnarls into a muscular knot strangling your urethra as hot fluid bubbles into the wider home-stretch. Then the spasms occur, propelling it faster and faster with wave after wave of muscle-wrenching contractions that wrack the body with wave-upon-wave of reflex movements, like electrocution. The last sensation is the surge of fluid up the urethra and the splash of hot cum that fills his mouth and bathes the head in new lubrication. He swallows then...or keeps it in his mouth with even tighter lips so as not to lose a precious drop. Sudden weightlessness...uncontrollable spasms...incredible release...guttural animal-noises in a lost-language...then fighting to retain consciousness as the blackness presses closer.
…..
I cried-out, I think. I never know what I say when I cum. Some tricks tell you later, but they’re never in any physical condition to report accurately. It’s one of those mysteries of Nature that can only be captured on video tape.
He milked me with his mouth, sucking the last drops from my balls with a powerful vacuum. I was covered with a thin sheen of sweat. A second wave of contractions deep in my interior felt almost like a second climax. Although I couldn’t lift my arms, my fingers clenched as if I were attempting to hold him.
When I regained my senses, he was beside me, smug with the satisfaction of making me tremble like a bowl of Jello. My inner thighs were still fluttering uncontrollably; I couldn’t make a fist. “That was fucking hot,” I said when my voice returned. I reached, fumbling, for the comic. “It’s just like the cover of your comic." He grinned and I smiled in-return.
“I’m glad Michael agreed to go with it…even if we do get arrested.”
“Aaaahhh, …well, what kind of artist are you if you don’t?” I countered.
We smiled again, thinking how Stockwell’s campaign committee would have a hemorrhage if they saw that cover for sale on the news-stands of Liberty Avenue. He turned. I lifted my arm to embrace him as he snuggled closer and rolled onto me. I gripped the back of his neck again to kiss him hard.
There were five loud knocks on the metal door. Our eyes met. “Sorry. That’s my 11 o’clock.” Justin rolled back, smiling knowingly…almost a challenge to perform up to my usual standards after blowing such a tremendous wad in response to his ministrations.
I kissed him as if to say “Challenge accepted.”
I slipped out of bed and into my jeans, buttoning only the first few buttons on the way to the door. I opened the door with a bang. He was tall…and slim…and older…with dark hair falling over his forehead…bright eyes…good teeth. I nodded a welcome and stepped back as he entered.
“Cool place,” he said, looking into the dim vastness of the loft.
“Aahhh…yea, there’s tours every hour,” I said facetiously. “Bed room’s through there.” I motioned toward the louvered partition as Justin stepped into view, fully dressed.
“Who’s he?”
“Uuuhhh…that’s difficult to answer given the limitations of the language…the conventionality of most people’s thinking. Let’s just say he’s the guy I fuck more than once.”
Justin spun toward him with a grin and a twinkle… “Unlike YOU,” he said, not missing a beat as he slipped into his jacket. We kissed quickly. I touched him to extend the contact, but he turned away, put on his scarf, and left. I watched him go, wishing he could stay. Then I turned back to the trick, who had already unzipped his black jacket, and I motioned again toward the bedroom. I followed him up the stairs, but continued slowly into the bathroom to take a piss and to clean-up. In the mirror, as I soaped my cock, my torso still looked fine. The tuft of pubic hair peeping from the open fly accentuated the size of my cock. But my face looked older, suddenly…that unguarded moment when you catch a glimpse of yourself and don’t recognize the face of your youth. The face lined with regret…the muscles sagging in the relaxation of a recent climax…the eyes sad with memories. How quickly it changes when you catch yourself looking that way; the façade comes up and the familiar visage returns. I thought about taking a Viagra, but decided that this guy wasn’t worth an all-night investment of energy.
When I returned from the bathroom, he was lying naked...relaxed...thumbing through the Rage mock-up. The shock of dark hair hung pendulously over his eyes. “Where did you get this?” he said breathlessly. “I bought the first issue and thought it was fucking-hot. But this one is even better....especially the cover.”
“I know the guys who write it...and draw it,” I said...but he wasn’t listening. I peeled the jeans down my thighs and kicked them into the corner.
“He’s so cold, so aloof, so god-like...and also hot-as-Hell...except when he’s frozen, of course.”
“The latest super-hero,” I said crawling onto the foot of the bed, still warm from my incredible adventure with Justin. “Just what America needs.” Kneeling, I gripped his ankles and spread them wide, rolling him flat onto his back.
“A legend in-the-making,” I thought. “Let’s hope Rage hasn’t ‘melted’ too much.”