Title: Aftermath II, Part 3
Author: Paul Plesko
Email address: pplesko@hotmail.com
Series/Sequel: Aftermath II
Pairings: Justin/Ethan
Category: Angst, POV
Rating: NC-17
Date:
Summary: Justin returns to the diner to discuss his situation with Debbie while she serves him a free breakfast. Later, he's invited to meet with a fan of his work. At her request, he reluctantly parts with a piece of himself.
Spoilers: Everything through episode 220
Warnings: None
Author Notes:

Aftermath II, Part 3
by Paul Plesko

The pain and panic of penetration were over. I had wondered, at that last moment, whether I could take his size, or would he rip me open? I had cried-out, I think, as he forced it past my sphincter; he knew, ...once he'd opened me up, I could take it.

My knees almost touching my shoulders now...bent double...the backs of my thighs against his chest as he forced deeper into me. He was a dark shadow over me, blocking my view of anything else. I felt his measured urgency...the fullness...my conflicting urges to contract my ass-muscles to expel him or to relax and take him deeper...the friction of his shaft against the soft inner lining of my rectum. And when he had forced most of his flesh-column into me, he began the withdrawal and re-entry...slowly, at first...then more demanding, more overpowering, as if his focus had shifted from my pain to his pleasure. His pelvis slapped against my ass; I could hear the impact and I could feel the pressure-waves of his force transmitted through the entire core of my body, straightening the folds of my interior with his length and thickness. He pressed down with all his weight, trying to go deeper and deeper with each thrust. My pelvis rocked with each invasion, trying to adjust the angle for maximum entry. The friction of his thick-veined cock burned my entry and focused my whole attention at the pleasure-point. I was bent even further, with my knees on either side of my head, ass in-the-air as he fucked downward into me ...the feeling of being dominated and possessed ...overwhelmed. I tucked my feet to the side and spread my knees as wide as they would go to give him better access. His hot breath fluffed my hair with each thrust. . Sweat spattered from his chin onto my face, blinding me for a moment; I closed my eyes and let him fuck me into oblivion. Supporting himself on only one elbow now, he forced his other hand between my thighs and my chest...my cock was in his tight grasp...spreading my pre-cum over my throat before he brought the tip to my own lips. He jacked me in-rhythm with his pounding thrusts...all the sensations rolled into one...pain-pleasure. I felt my cock-tip slip between my own lips...and I tasted my familiar taste. Unable to breath...I gasped to murmur my approval... "Fuck me," I cried. "Ooooohhhh, FUCK ME!" I didn't think he could fuck me harder, but he did.

"Give it up. Give it to me," the voice whispered in my ear. " And milk me with your hot ass."

His voice was like a jolt of electricity applied to my prostate. When I could prolong it no longer, my body uncoiled with the force of my cum-shot...forcing him upward as the hot liquid hit my face. His back and shoulders arched backwards as he shoved his cock into me one last time.

"Justin!" He called my name.

His chest, bathed in sweat, reflected the blue light now...

"Justin!"

I felt his hot load surging as his cock throbbed deep inside me... pulsating with each expulsion...

"Justin! Wake up! You're dreaming!"

A hand on my chest, shaking me. I opened my eyes to the dim morning light.

"First you drove your knee into my ass, and then, when I rolled over, you nearly broke my jaw. You were fighting him, I think." Ethan's face was inches from mine, trying to make my focus my eyes on his face.

"You were thrashing like a wildcat. Was that big-bad-man trying to take you away from me? You were calling his name."

"It was only a dream," I said, trying to hide my disappointment. "It seemed so real." I must have been flailing around; the sheet was wrapped twice around my legs. Unwrapping myself like a mummy, I stretched out on the mattress trying to get my breath. Then I realized that my cock was semi-hard, so I pulled the sheet over my legs and up to my waist. Ethan hadn't noticed.

"Did I say anything else?" I asked.

"You were shouting something, but I couldn't understand it. 'Save, me save me' maybe." I tried not to smile.

I could feel the dampness of my sweat on the sheet beneath me. I remembered that coolness....after sex...as we lay side-by-side with fingers entwined, the smell of his skin still on my body. He often smoked a cigarette. I watched his chest expand and contract as he inhaled deeply and expelled the smoke in a thin column toward the ceiling. He was so gorgeous...the flush of arousal still on his skin, the thickness of his cock still lying across his belly. He always squeezed my fingers as a gentle farewell as he left the bed to clean-up. His fingers tousled my hair as he teased me... "Get ready to go again." Then he...

"I need to practice most of today," Ethan continued. "You can hang around and listen...if you want...but it's pretty boring. Learning new stuff is always boring...over-and-over again. And I also wanta learn Bell's cadenza from the Mendelssohn; I bought the CD; it's not in-print yet. But I can figure it out by trial-and-error." He started humming softly...then more loudly. "You want something for breakfast? There's not much."

"I think I'm going out," I said. I realized I didn't have any money.

"Suit yourself. I starve for my art," he replied dramatically with a sweeping gesture.

I slid off the mattress and stood. "Maybe we need to clean this place," I said, brushing the dirt from my hip where it had stuck to my moist skin.

"Yea, well...it's just temporary until I can afford a better place...until WE can afford a better place." He caught himself.

I pulled my levis out of the pile and tried to find a clean shirt. Then I sat on the edge of the bed again to put on the Nikes that Brian had bought for me. Ethan twisted his fingers in my hair...a sign he was thinking of a repeat 69-performance...but I pulled away. "I'm hungry," I said, heading for the door.

"Whatever," he replied as he rolled over turning his back to the door.

=====

I wandered aimlessly, but my hunger subconsciously led me to the diner. I had missed my shift this morning; Debbie would be pissed. Instead of using the front door, I went through the alley to the back door. Pascal, the new cook, came to the door, waving me off with a large kitchen knife. "You stay away," he warned. "Novotny will have your balls for missing your shift..." At that moment, Deb's face appeared at the pick-up window. As soon as she saw me, she swung around the corner to the door, confronting me.

"Get you apron on! Half the breakfast crowd has already been here and gone...and I've been bustin' my balls with no help. What-the-hell's the matter with you?"

"I can't, Deb," I began. "I just can't face 'em after what happened Saturday night. And Brian might come in..."

"No one has seen him since he left Babylon," she interrupted. "He hasn't been here."

"Well, I can't face the rest of the gang either. Lot's of people saw what happened...saw me leave with Ethan. I've moved out of the loft," I explained.

"I figured as much, " she said. "I saw what happened...some of what happened, at least. No one else knows...although they noticed you were gone and they saw Brian acting kinda strange...well, olympic-quality tricking is not THAT unusual...but he got really drunk and had to be taken home."

"I didn't know..." I said quietly.

"Well, you're gonna need some way to get some money, now that Money-Bags has disappeared. We'll get-by here until you can come back. Have you had anything to eat?"

"No," I said through the screen door.

"Hold on," she barked as she turned and grabbed a waffle and sausages off the pick-up counter.

"Hey, Deb! That's MY waffle!" someone shouted as she shoved it through the partially opened door.

"Keep your panties on, Priscilla," she shouted over her shoulder. "You can wait another five minutes while you size-up your table-mate's cock under the table. Don't you guys get enough at night? You start so early in the morning." The diner erupted with laughter.

I ate the food with my fingers and I was licking the last of the syrup when she returned to the door with a fork. I handed her the empty plate.

"My God! You inhaled that. Are you with Ethan?" she changed the subject without missing a beat.

"Yes," I said... "for now, at least. But don't tell anyone."

"I won't," she said. "And I don't need to know how to reach you. You know how to reach me. I just want to know that you're safe, Peaches. And you know you're welcome to move back to the Hotel Novotny whenever you want. Vic misses you." She looked away as if to hide her concern.

"I'll be OK, Deb. Thanks for the breakfast. I can't pay you, but I will when I'm back on-my-feet."

"You do that, Sunshine," she said with an approving nod. "Get back on your feet, I mean." She turned to rush back to the dinging pick-up bell and the grumbles of patrons.

I spent a few hours just sitting in Mellon Park, a few blocks from the Loft. It was a place where I often came to be alone and to think. It's an active cruising-spot, however, so I tried not to make eye-contact with some of the guys who kept walking back and forth.

Eventually I went back to Ethan's place. He was practicing; I could hear him from the street. I opened the door quietly, trying not to disturb him...but he stopped as soon as he heard the click of the latch.

"You had a call," he said without a welcome.

"How could I? I asked. "No one knows I'm here."

"It was from Pamela. She wants you to call her." I detected a certain tone of annoyance in his voice. I picked up the phone and he dictated the number. A male voice answered and I asked for Mrs. Cunningham. After explaining who I was and that I was returning her call, I waited...Ethan stood poised ready to play. As Pamela said "Hello, Justin," he began to play a soft, melodic piece.

"Thank you for returning my call so promptly," she said. "I can hear Ethan demanding attention in the background. Tell him it sounds lovely." I stretched the phone cord and moved across the room so that I could talk quietly. "What can I do for ya?" I asked.

"Well, to begin, you can gather up some of your art work and bring it so that I may see it," she said matter-of-factly. "I'm not solely a music lover, and I'd like to see some of your drawings. Would you let me see them?"

"Of course," I replied. "I've had a few things shown at the..." I paused before I said "the Gay Art Center....and at school..."

"It doesn't need to be your show-work," she said. "Just bring as much as you can carry. I want to see it all. Is today too soon? I can sent Quentin with the car. And we can have a late lunch..."

"I can come today," I said, trying not to sound too eager.

"Fine. One o'clock? I'll have Quentin at the door."

After I hung-up the phone Ethan stopped playing. "She wants to see your work," he said. "I knew she would. You charmed the pants off her."

"As if you haven't too?" I retorted. He resumed his practicing.

After forty-seven times through the same passage of music I was ready to escape when the buzzer interrupted. "Have fun," he said unconvincingly as I opened the door.

Quentin put the two, large, black folios in the trunk and I carried the smaller one in the back seat. I had stuffed everything I 'd drawn in the last two years into those fake-leather art carriers. I was proud to show my work to someone new.

=====

She met me on the front porch as she had yesterday, but dressed more casually. We went directly to the conservatory where a table had been spread with a white cloth for lunch...but she wanted to see my drawings first. I wasn't sure how to show them to her; I fumbled with the black fabric ties. She stepped forward and said "Let me do this. You sit over there, and if I have any questions, I'll ask." I settled into a wing-chair, suddenly nervous that my work wasn't good enough for exhibition. She opened the folio and began thumbing through the jumble of drawings, all un-matted and of random size. I watched her face, because I couldn't see what she was examining.

After a few quiet leaf-turns she nodded and turned one toward me...the drawing of my jacket hanging on my door. "Wonderful sensitivity to the fabric folds," she commented. She replaced it in the pile. A few more. Nods of approval. A still-life of liquor bottles draped with my underwear. She smiled. A portrait of Molly. A drawing of Brian's hand. "Incredible detail," she said. "I can feel the warmth of the skin." So could I, at that moment.

Then she stopped and lifted the edge of one of the larger drawings. She stared at it, scanning every square inch slowly and deliberately. "Who is this?" she inquired turning the drawing toward me.

It was Brian, sketched one morning in the slanting light while he slept...on his back, with one arm over his head and the other resting on his belly...one leg straight, the other bent throwing his hips at a delightful angle...and his semi-turgid cock lying across his lower abs. I had left his side to surprise him with some breakfast, but as I climbed from the mattress I looked back...and I was struck by the beauty of him lying there. His mouth sagged open invitingly and his skin glowed with the smoothness of polished marble. The dark sheet swirled seductively around his body like engulfing hands. I HAD to capture this moment. I had HAD to draw him. Plans for breakfast were delayed as I scurried to get my best-quality drawing pad and pencils. I pulled-up a chair and began to draw. His only movement was the rising and falling of his chest in deep sleep. I don't know how long it took; I remember that I improved it later. And I never showed it to him.

When the drawing was done, I put it away and hurried to the kitchen to make his favorite,...hazelnut waffles with maple syrup. Instead of using the food processor to grind the hazel nuts (fearing the noise would awaken him prematurely) I crushed each nut with the flat side of a knife, then chopped them quietly. He awoke to the aroma of hot waffles and warm syrup. To show me his approval, after he had eaten, he showed me new and interesting ways to enjoy maple syrup...but that's another story.

She raised an eyebrow and repeated, "Who IS this?"

"His name is Brian," I answered. "I lived with him, on-and-off, for almost a year...up to last Saturday."

"Without seeing him in-person, I can't tell which is more beautiful...his body, or your drawing of it. It is truly remarkable," she continued. "It is as if you know, and can feel, every curve and contour..." She glanced up at me to check my response. Perhaps I looked sad, because she put down the picture and stepped to touch me on the shoulder.

"You love him, don't you?"

I could feel my lip tremble...and I was going to lose-it if she continued. "I'm with Ethan now," I said softly.

"Well, you love Ethan. I could see it yesterday...in your pride for him while he played...in your loyal friendship. But you still love this Brian...I could see it in your drawing...I can see it in your face."

I couldn't answer. She turned back to the portfolio and resumed her examination of its contents.

She slowly sifted the contents of all three portfolios, occasionally saying "Brian" as she held up a drawing of him. There were more than I had realized...but I HAD lived with him, after-all...a willing model...a gorgeous model.

Lunch was a welcome distraction. I don't remember what I ate. The world was lying heavily on me as she talked about my future.

"Need for financial help..."

"Fine art rather than commercial art..."

"Europe after Pittsburgh and New York..."

I was jolted back to the present as she continued, "So I'm offering you full financial support...a housing allowance, tuition, travel, supplies, apprenticeship with the best teacher, ...no string attached, except that you show me your progress...the same arrangement as Ethan and the others. What do you think?" She stopped to sip her iced tea.

"I'm blown-away," I said. "I never anticipated this."

"Ethan did," she replied. "He planned it, perhaps, but he may be having second thoughts, from our short conversation earlier. It may give you too much freedom, possibly."

"He seemed a little distant when I left," I said.

"Well, he recognizes your talent, just as I do. What do you say, Justin...about my offer?"

"I'm stunned," I said... "and very grateful. I accept, of course. I mean, it's like a dream-come-true. My art is the most important thing in my life." ( I lied.) "and the chance to pursue it...even if I never excel at it..."

"You already do that," she interrupted.

I stood speechless, not knowing what else to say.

"I will ask for only one thing to seal the bargain," she continued. "That drawing of Brian...the one on the bed in the slanting light. It is the first and ONLY gift I will ask of you. From this point on, I will purchase your work at fair-market-value. But it is only fair that we trade...your drawing, which I love, for your future. Shake on it?" She offered her hand. I wanted to kiss it instead of shake it. I loved that drawing so much, however, I had never realized it's artistic value. I hated to part with it, but I was so grateful to Pamela, I had no choice but to give it to her...anything she asked.

We said our good-byes. "Come back next week...same time," she concluded. Quentin re-packed the folios in the trunk and I entered the backseat of the Rolls. I was suddenly free. Free to pursue my art with no financial worries...free to go anywhere I wanted...free to live with whomever I chose. I went back to Ethan a different person that the person who had left.

=====

Go to part 4

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