Moving On

Title: Moving On
Author: Paul Plesko
Email address: pplesko@hotmail.com
Series/Sequel: Aftermath; sequel to Aftermath
Character/Pairings: Brian/OMC
Category: PWP
Rating: NC-17
Date:
Summary: Brian meets an irresistible man while on a business trip. To Brian's surprise, C.J. turns out to be more than a quick romp in a strange city. With his help, Brian starts the difficult task of recovering from Justin's departure.
Spoilers: Everything through episode 220
Warnings: None
Author Notes: Originally written for the "Motown Smackdown Party" of Randall's group, this story has been revised and rewritten because I wasn't satisfied with it. It was initially titled (modestly) "The Best, Damned, Fuckin' Fuck-scene Ever..." and in final-draft was essentially 16 pages of hot, erotic porn with no plot- or character-development and no context. ("What's wrong with 16 pages of eroticism?" I hear some of you asking.) After an extensive re-write, and re-naming, the following story emerged... with the eroticism intact, but with some thoughtful "messages" added too. It is meant to follow "Aftermath", which chronicled the week after the Rage Party from Brian's point-of-view... so, if you haven't read it (as depressing and graphic as it is), perhaps you should start there. It just fits the psyche of QAF's most intriguing character and gives a few more insights into his feelings and physicality as he works through the aftermath of the breakdown in his relationship with Justin.

Moving On
by Paul Plesko

The worst kind of business trip...a three-legged, 3-day killer...from the dregs of Pittsburgh to the dazzle of New York City, then to unknown Raleigh-Durham, and finally a return. I was dreading it, but at least the torture wouldn't last for long.
The trip to Gardner's chalet in Lake Geneva had been only partially successful in numbing the ache of the last four weeks. Sending me to Switzerland, Aryan-Heaven, was perhaps not the best place for me to forget; blond guys with perfect smiles are a dime-a-dozen there. The twins, the alpine skiers Kurt and Klinger, come to mind...but that's another story that has little bearing on the present. "Kurt und Klinger" may have improved their tuck-position over the last few weeks to shave a few hundredths of a second off their downhill times, but, for me, the improvements had been almost as miniscule. And now I was back to work, beginning anew and trying to exorcise the demons my way. Getting away again, even on-business, was a relief in a way.
At Newark International, leaving the City, I was aiming for the seat next to the Emergency Door facing forward...because I need the extra leg room...but there was already someone in the seat facing my intended one. I almost backed into the aisle...but then I observed him more closely. A youngman I had not seen in the boarding area...eyes closed, looking asleep. Suddenly the view outweighed the possible discomfort and I climbed over his feet into the seat. At least his swarthy good-looks would not remind me of a certain sunshine-boy from my past.
He wore faded levis with a new, broad, leather, black belt and a black, square-yoked tanktop. His shiny, short, dark-brown hair hung in short bangs in the front, brushed back on the sides with no sideburns, and with shaggy curls in back touching his neck. A cleft chin. Prominent lips over a pronounced "muzzle"...the slightly sunken cheeks, pronounced cheekbones, and extended upper and lower teeth and gums. A deep jugular notch and Adam's apple. A strong jaw-line; he needed a shave...not the rough stubble of neglect but the shadow of an early arising. By one o'clock he had a five o'clock shadow. Pronounced brow. Dark lashes drooping onto his cheek. His smooth pec-cleft was visible above the top of the tank-top...strong shoulders, which the broad shoulder-straps of the shirt emphasized as his shoulders stepped-up to his muscular neck...the slant of his pec-slabs through the deeply ribbed shirt...a slim waist. Back to his face for a moment. Was he awake? His left ear was pierced, but he wore no earring. He sat with his knees spread and ankles crossed; he wore black Adidas running shoes. It was hard to judge his height, slouched in the seat with his knees bent. Head-to-toe, he was the most attractive youngman I'd ever seen.
Our knees touched; I'm not sure whether he moved or I did. I could see that he was watching me through eye-slits. Finally he opened his eyes, gazing directly at me and slipped his hand into a bag of trail mix which was clutched in his groin. He chewed for a moment then said, "Want some? Want a nut?" He smiled at his own brazenness. I smiled and shook my head "no;" he kept eating slowly as my eyes followed his hand from crotch to mouth and back again. He tried to divert his eyes out the window, but eventually met my constant gaze with his own. He chewed slowly.
I barely heard the stewardess' repetitive safety message because he lifted his arm to scratch the back of his neck showing me the wispy hair of his underarm dampened by a gleam of sweat. His eye-lock continued. Finally his gaze was diverted. He dropped a nut and retrieved it from deep between his thighs...and he quickly looked up to see if I was watching.
I slid down imperceptibly in my seat, pressing my knees between his, then pushing them wider apart; no one else noticed. He looked almost violated, then the corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile. He uncrossed his ankles to let his knees spread even farther to show me the bulge in his basket as he examined his cuticles and bit his middle finger suggestively. His tongue brushed his lower lip...and then his upper teeth raked it as if to destroy the evidence.
After takeoff, he seemed to sleep again, but he returned the constant pressure of my knees and occasionally slide his fingers over his inner thigh as if to smooth the already tightly stretched denim. We were playing with each other. Subtly he rearranged his thickening cock in the tight basket, knowing I was watching. Such beautiful repose...but I knew he wasn't sleeping, only flirting....refraining from looking at me only because his assent would be obvious.
His chest rose and fell slowly; his pecs occasionally tensed, then relaxed. Bracing his chin on his hand in this pseudo-sleep, his knuckle pressed his upper lip into an attractive sneer showing brilliant white teeth.
We played this way all the way to Baltimore-Washington where it was time for me to switch to the Raleigh plane. I followed him up the gangway. He was about 6'1". His walk was a casual stroll; he wasn't hurrying. Either he had plenty of time between flights or his trip ended here. He stopped to look at the Flight-Departure monitors...a good sign...and I stood beside him, checking the gate for the next leg of my flight.
"Are you following me?" he joked with a sparkle in his eye.
"We'll see," I said. He laughed and turned away. By the time I found the gate-number for my flight, he had disappeared.
But there he was at the gate for Raleigh-Durham when I arrived. I sat as far away from him as possible, but still in his direct line of vision. It was time for him to work a little if he wanted things to proceed. After ten minutes, he stood and walked toward me, diverting a few steps to pick up a discarded newspaper. He smiled, nodded, and slouched into a seat a few rows from me, continuing the eye-contact. We watched each other over newspaper- and magazine-tops until they called our flight.
::Click:: The Boarding Pass Clerk, looking slightly flustered, made her announcement. "We're sorry our flight is a few minutes late. As you can see, there's no plane to board...but it's in contact with the tower...and as soon as it hits the ground, I'll let you know." There was quiet, nervous laughter. ::Click:: "Let me rephrase that," she added hurriedly. "As soon as the plane's wheels touch the runway ever-so-gently, I'll let you know." Louder laughter this time...and a few sighs of relief.
I boarded the plane before he did and I took a seat by a window with an empty seat between myself and an unattractive middle-aged man. I watched for him as the plane filled; eventually he came down the aisle. When he saw me, he smiled broadly and said "Is this seat taken?" knowing full-well that it wasn't. After the customary arranging of his carry-on baggage and the searching for seat belts, he settled into his seat and turned to me. "Hello, one more time. We've gotta stop meeting like this."
"Who says?" We both laughed. His laugh was deep and hearty...relaxed, self-assured.
He turned offering his hand without twisting his hips which, by this time, were firmly gripped in the belt; his handshake was firm and warm. "I'm Charles Narrow," he said.
"Well, maybe," I said skeptically, giving him the once-over. "...from the waist down, perhaps." He laughed, turned, and bumped my shoulder intentionally in the tight airplane seat. He had obviously heard that lame joke before, but he smiled.
"I'm Brian Kinney. Do your friends call you Charles?"
"Well, Brian...actually, a lot of them do, but to my closest buddies I'm 'CJ,'" he said, inviting me to use the nickname with his eyes.
"I assume the 'J' stands for 'jock,'" I teased, making the requisite comment about finding his body attractive.
"Nope," he chuckled. "I haven't played sports since high school. I'm a senior at Columbia."
"Oh, I thought maybe you went to Duke or NC...going to Raleigh-Durham," I continued, making a mental note that future trips to New York City might not be such a drag after all.
"I'm visiting my Dad," he explained. "He's in the hospital...and since he doesn't live with my Mom, and doesn't have anyone to visit him, I thought I'd come down for a few days. He's very ill, though...maybe terminal. I'll find out today. Do you live in Raleigh?"
"No, I'm here on business." His gray eyes asked the question. "Advertising," I said. "I'm visiting the home-office of a potential client. I live in the City now." (I lied, hoping the proximity might lead to something.) "You graduate next May? What's next? I figured you were some kind of male model...but you don't need a college degree for that...just a pretty face and a masochistic disposition."
He laughed. "No---but people are always telling me, if I keep wandering the streets of New York, I'll end-up with a giant picture of me wearing tighty-whitey Calvins overhanging Time Square. But I'm more likely to end-up overhanging my tighty-whiteys in some back alley." We laughed at the first overtly sexual reference...that is, if you overlook his earlier offer of "nuts" on the first plane.
The steward interrupted with drinks...a handsome guy, approximately my age, who suddenly seemed to give CJ and myself a lot of attention. Especially CJ. Even though it was a budget airline, the handful of foil-wrapped peanuts was amazing. "Enjoy, honey," he said with a big smile.
"He wants you," said CJ as the steward left. Perhaps he overheard.
"You're the one with the handful of nuts," I said taking a long sip of my Chivas-on-the-rocks.
"He gave me the nuts...he gave YOU the eye, big-time," he joked.
"So what do you study?" I persisted.
"I'm a dance-major," he said, almost embarrassed. I hope my disappointment didn't show in my face. While I appreciate the physical effort of classical dance, I had always considered male dancers fey, prissy and fem. But CJ wasn't fem at all. But his training probably explained the way me moved, the way he carried himself when he walked...and it was probably the basis for his self-assuredness.
We continued our aimless chat for awhile, but he eventually closed his eyes and slept, a real nap this time, leaning against my shoulder. His hand dangled along my thigh and occasionally brushed the black denim. The touch awakened him and he glanced at me to see if I had felt it.
The landing in Raleigh was a rough one...in the middle of a thunderstorm that swept the plane with sideways momentum as we approached the touchdown. The plane bounced three times, each time causing a gasp from the passengers, then the engines reversed and the brakes were applied almost as if in an emergency. We swayed forward and I shot my arm out instinctively to keep him from hitting his face against the seat in front. He lingered against my arm; I felt his warmth.
"You can let-go of the leg of the passenger next to you now," said the steward over the public address system in a voice as camp as Emmett after a few drinks. The passengers laughed, and CJ and I looked at each other. I had felt his hand on my thigh and we both wondered if the steward had been watching.
We exited the plane together and walked side-by-side up the concourse.
"Have fun, boys," said the steward at the door. If he only knew...
As we approached the restroom, I turned to him and said, teasingly, "Are you gonna follow me into the john, too?"
He laughed and said "Sure, why not? It's been a long two flights and I need to drain the crankcase."
He took the urinal next to mine...and I caught him looking. As we finished and zipped up, I stepped back, gripped his shoulder, and spun him around against the door of one of the stalls. The restroom was empty, momentarily. I pushed open the door and thrust him inside, then stepped inside and closed it. He stood facing me in the tight space, not sure what to do. I reached for his hand and pressed it over my hardness... "You want it? Go for it." He looked stunned by my directness, but he sank onto the stool fumbling with his fly with one hand while he continued to grip me with the other. I pushed his hand away and opened the buttons with one hand-swipe. My cock flopped out like a sailor rolling out of a hammock. He grabbed it, paused to admire its size close-up, gripped it tighter to make it swell even more, then dove to lick the bulbous head. My knees almost buckled, ...he was so good.
"Let me...," he sputtered, interrupting his own sentence by swallowing me deep. His intent was clear. I gripped the neck-high walls of the stall of each side for support as he lunged forward off the stool driving his chin into my balls and forcing my ass back against the cool stall door.
He pulled-back. "I can't do this...here." He looked up at me, clearly wanting more.
"Fuck!" I said. "I need to cum. Watching you for two hours has primed the pump. I can't wait." He reached for me and stroked me hard, letting the tip slide between pursed lips. As my balls lifted to shoot, he jerked me violently making me shoot a torrent all over his face. One strand draped over his right eyebrow and sagged to his left cheek. He unconsciously licked his lips as if he hoped to taste a few drops. He looked up again from under dark lashes. The eyes flashed blue this time. He continued to beg for more.
"Tonight," I said. "My place. My way."
"I'm visiting my Dad," he explained again in frustration.
"Where are you staying?" I asked, implying that he might have new plans.
"At his apartment," he said. "I have a key."
"Eleven o'clock," I countered. "...Doubletree Inn, in the lobby...don't ask for me at the desk. Do you know where that is?"
"I can find it, man," he nodded. "I'll try to be there."
I stepped forward forcing his lower back against the stool's chrome fittings, then pulled the door open. "And wear the belt," I said. He looked down instinctively to check what he was wearing.
He lifted his chin...questioning...then smiled. "You got it."
I strode out of the stall, catching a quick glimpse of him holding his cock as the door closed. I left the restroom quickly. I didn't see him leave while I used the customer-service phone to summon the shuttle van.
=====

I couldn't get him out of my mind. I checked in, exercised in the fitness center, swam a few laps, showered, and dressed for dinner....always thinking of that gorgeous face and fine body.
I have totally forgotten all the mindless business-chatter at dinner; the more important stuff would occur in the morning when I would display my ideas for their new campaign.
I returned to my room, changed clothes, had a few more drinks from the complementary bar in my room...and took a few "mood enhancers."
At 10:55 I went to the lobby. He was already there...wearing the same tanktop, but now baggy shorts were slung low over his hips showing a thin strip of smooth belly. And he wore a black, leather motorcycle jacket open down the front and carried a black Shoei helmet in one hand and a drink from the bar in the other. His legs were beautifully muscled and slightly more hairy than I preferred. I imagined him in tights and then put the image out of my mind.
"This way," I said without a greeting. I led him to the elevator. "I knew you'd come."
"I couldn't think of anything else all evening," he said as he followed me down the hall. "I couldn't wait for my Dad to fall asleep. I practically had to sing him a fucking lullaby!" I looked over my shoulder to see the cute smile; he looked younger than he had earlier in the day.
He followed me down the deserted hallway. "What's with the bike gear?" "Do you ride?"
"I don't have a bike in the City," he said. "Too hard to secure. My Dad and I rebuilt and restored a 1951 Indian motorcycle...a Warrior. He brought it here to Raleigh when he moved and I ride it when I visit. I feel a little silly. My leather pants are back in the City. I forgot 'em. I think I got bugs up my pant-legs," he said rubbing his groin in a suggestive way.
Unlocking the door, I propelled him inside. He dropped the helmet by the door.
As I turned from closing the door, he was standing immediately behind me. He pressed himself against me and forced me back against the door hard enough to make the door slam with a bang that echoed in the hall. We both laughed at our eagerness.
I grabbed him and pivoted, trading places, with his back against the door. I kissed him long and hard with my hands beneath the jacket. When I broke the kiss, he looked dazed...and I kissed him again just to regain his attention. He moaned into my mouth. Perhaps he hadn't kissed many guys before, but he was loving it. I tongued him quickly, then pulled away. He stepped forward, eyes closed, trying to find my lips again.
"Get naked," I said. His eyes opened quickly and he began to undress by kicking off his shoes. As he slid his socks off his long, narrow feet (a bad pun, I know) I admired the curvature of his ass as the shorts sagged even further. He straightened up and loosened the belt buckle. His shorts dropped to the floor, from their own weight, without the need to open the fly. He removed the jacket and pulled the tight tanktop over his head...then paused for me to admire his smooth torso before hooking his thumbs in his Calvins and thrusting them to the floor in one swift motion. No seduction,...just the haste of someone who needed a hard fuck. He arose, naked and inviting, comfortable in his nakedness, waiting for instructions.
"Over here," I said indicating the bed. As he stepped past me I bent down and slipped his belt from the loops of his shorts on the floor.
"Wait," I said as he placed one knee on the bed. He turned toward me and saw the belt coiled in my fist. "Now turn around again," I said. He thought I was going to hit him with it, I suppose. "Arms to your sides." He complied. I pulled one elbow back and slipped the belt around it, then pulled the other one back and did the same. I slipped the end through the buckle, pulled it tight, and fastened it, pulling his elbows behind his back and his arms at his sides with the belt behind his back. I turned him around and pushed him gently back onto the bed. His calves hit the edge of the bed; he fell backward and bounced onto the mattress with a surprised gasp. Then he lay there as I undressed. He undressed me with his eyes.
"I wanted you the minute I opened my eyes on the plane," he said. "...the way you move, even when you're seated...like a panther...we dancers notice things like that." His eyes scanned my torso hungrily, but they kept returning to my cock which he had seen before. "Do you want the lights off?" he said, turning to look at the lamp beside the bed, showing me, once more, his smooth, inviting ass.
"I'll turn that one off," I said as I plunged the room into semi-darkness. "But I think you'll like this." I stepped to the other side of the bed, removed the other lampshade, and flicked on the blue bulb I carried when I traveled...for just such an opportunity as this.
[ Why blue light, you may ask. Imagine the sapphire blue of smooth skin and the glowing whiteness of teeth and eyes...the brightness of a smile or curled lip or grimace. And now imagine how the color red looks under monochromatic blue light...almost black. The redness of aroused lips and tongue, the flush of engorged nipples, the blush spreading over neck and chest, the engorging of cock and balls...all stand out as blue-black signs of a partner's arousal...much easier to discern in blue light rather than the dimness of a candle or the semi-darkness of the night. If one intends to "play" a man's body like a musical instrument, he needs to increase the acuity of his sensual awareness of his partner's arousal. The cool color also belies the warmth of aroused skin.]
I climbed onto the king-sized bed, kneeling and straddling his legs as he lay on his back with his belly arched up because of his arms beneath him; then I slid my ass up his thighs as I gripped his hips with my ankles and pressed my knees to his shoulders. I stroked his torso slowly with my palms and spread fingers, memorizing the curves of his body from abs to throat following the hard, sharp contours. The tight tanktop had promised much...and it was there...to see and to feel. He struggled briefly forgetting that his arms were restrained; he wanted to return the caresses.
Rocking slowly, I rubbed my ass over his upper thighs, sliding our cocks together on his six-pack. Then I pressed my shaft into the valley between his abdominal muscles expelling a snail-trail of pre-cum that lubed my cock-head as it slowly fucked his belly. My balls, sliding along the base of his shaft, provided a rocking fuck-motion to him, too. He writhed as the pleasure swirled over him, shuddering in anticipation as his inner thigh muscles trembled against my glutes. He was quick to arousal and easy to control. His head tossed from side to side as if to shake-off the dream of rapture...to stay conscious under the onslaught of sensuality. His eyes scanned my torso looming over him.
I leaned forward placing my hands on either side of his head and slowly unfolded my legs and straightened them behind me while I walked my hands higher, lying on him in push-up position with my cock-tip on his sternum. I had longed to fuck that smooth cleft between his pecs...the valley that I could barely glimpse above the tanktop earlier, but which was now spread below me...a deep, wide groove between two slabs of hard muscle surmounted by larger-than-normal, bronze areolae around already engorged nipples. My pre-cum flowed faster as I marked him with my seminal fluid.
His fingers, held tightly to his sides, fluttered in frustration against the hairs of the backs of my thighs. With each slow thrust I crawled an inch farther up his body. Feeling my cock thrusting closer and closer, he lifted his head trying to catch the mushroom tip in his lips. "Come on...give it to me," he begged as he tried to time his head-lifts to the surging of my flesh-column. He licked his lips...preparing.
"I will, my own way."
My toes and fingers dug into the crisp sheet as I fucked along his cleavage. His cock arched behind me and occasionally brushed my lower back on the back-stroke.
Balancing on one arm, I collected a glob of pre-cum from his chest, like a priceless pearl, and smeared it over his open lips. He slurped noisily, eager to taste me. I forced my finger between his lips and let him suck it like a small cock.
I used my knee to force his knees apart, and I knelt between his spread thighs. As I opened him wider I bent forward at the waist and scooped my forearms under the backs of his thighs, lifting his ass off the bed. His arms, suddenly free from his body weight, flailed broader trying to free his arms so he could hold me.
Lifting him higher, I slid my tongue down the length of his shaft from tip to base. Then I licked his ball-sac, moving the orbs within their pouch. Sucking one, then the other....then both at the same time, making them wet and warm...pressing them against the roof of my mouth with my broad tongue....humming on them with a buzzing monotone. He reacted with a jerk, then sank back into my grasp. He moaned and arched his back as I lifted him higher.
Releasing his balls, I moved them aside with my nose and slid my tongue deep into the heart of his ass-crack. His body tensed as I came closer to his hot opening. I lifted my head for a moment. "Ever been rimmed?" I said.
"N-n-n-no," he stammered while thrusting his pelvis upward to lift his target into view again, wanting more stimulation.
"But you play with it, don't you?"
He nodded, then closed his eyes as his head slouched to the side. I slathered his hole with the breadth and width of my tongue. Repeated licks, lavishly coating his hole with glimmering fluid. Then, pulling back, I watched my finger slide into his saliva-slicked orifice and I imagined how my cock would look spreading him wider.
After slurping his ass full of my saliva, I reached beneath him and slid the looped belt down his forearms, freeing them, and I lowered his ass onto the bed between my spread knees. He gripped the ridge of my shoulders and pulled me closer. "And I've only been fucked once before," he said, "but I want you to do it, hard and long. I've dreamed of someone like you."
"Then keep that cock hard," I replied as I pinched his nipples between my thumbs and fingernails. "I'm gonna pump that cum out of you and feel you spasm on my joy-stick...that's the best." He inhaled sharply and his pupils dilated as the reality of what would happen began to sink-in.
I gripped his cock in my left hand and his left leg in the other and, using his cock as a pivot-point, I threw his left leg over my arm and twisted him into a prone position on his belly. His ass, two darkening globes, invited me. I reached for the belt. "But first, I'm gonna warm that ass so my cock will feel good by comparison." The belt was still buckled in a circle so I gripped it at the buckle and gave a few whistling practice-swings against the mattress. He jumped at the sound of the first blow as if I had actually hit him.
Then his fear became a reality as I swung full-strokes over-hand, making the looped belt curve over the mound of his ass to "kiss" his flank. He let out a sharp cry as my arm recoiled for a second and third slice. With each blow his ass darkened, first in shadowy stripes and then into an all-over darkness. I paused to feel the heat with my palm. He reared-up at the gentle touch; I pressed him down again, crushing his hard cock beneath him, and I gave him six more strokes. He bit the pillow to keep from crying-out again.
I stopped to pour myself another drink and to gulp down another handful of "enhancements." "Here," I said, "Take a few of these." I pressed my palm to his lips then gave him a sip of my Jim Beam to wash them down. "Let's rock-and-roll," I whispered loudly as I climbed back onto the bed.
I unbuckled the belt and wrapped it twice around his throat, then buckled it again...just loose enough to get two hands into the slack loop. My cock swayed from side to side as I prepared to slide the lubricated condom onto the shaft with my fist. I lifted his ass into the air with one hand under his belly, pulling him onto his knees...then positioned myself between his spread thighs. His hole, a darker shadow in a shadowy cleft, pulsated in anticipation. I patted his hip and trailed my fingers down his crack, lingering over his reddening sphincter. He was ripe to pick.
He twisted his head trying to see what was coming next, but I gripped the back of his neck and forced him to bend at the elbow, dropping his chest and the side of his face onto the mattress. I felt my cock throb-to-life as I squeezed it, directing it into his aperture like a latex dildo. His ass was still hot; I could feel it even through the condom. I fed the tip into his interior; I watched it disappear as he moaned softly. Gripping the belt in both hands, like reins, I began to thrust my pelvis slowly while pulling back on the belt, pulling him onto me farther with each lunge. He felt it coming...he reached for the headboard clawing for a grip. The impact of the first thrust slid his chest six inches along the mattress...so, instead of gripping and holding, he was suddenly pushing and repelling, trying not to be thrust against the high headboard with subsequent thrusts...but actually he was forcing his back onto my cock, letting me penetrate deeper each time. I pulled the belt with taut biceps, arching his head and shoulders back toward me as I plowed his ass with my hard-flesh plow-share. Rolling my pelvis in an upward thrust drove my curving shaft into his hot interior to ever-increasing depths.
The belt tightened around his neck; the back of his neck was dark from the abrasion and lack of return blood-flow. His neck muscles strained like a stallion fighting against the lasso or the draft harness. He rocked back on his knees to meet each plunge with a counteracting bump resulting in the sound of thighs slapping ass.
Releasing the "reins" with one hand, I leaned forward and reached under him gripping his cock which was swinging like a pendulum in-time with my thrusts. The drugs were having their effects...I felt as if this could last forever...or that we could self-combust in a flash of sex-fire.
He started to groan...at first, almost like a death-sigh, punctuated with grunts as my plunging cock rearranged his internal organs which, in-turn, pressed upward upon his diaphragm...the carnal, mindless sound of ultimate passion. The sweat began to pour...from both the exertion and from the heat of my fucking. First my hair plastered against my forehead, but, as the sweat accumulated, it began to drip from soaked hair-locks onto his lower back like falling rain.
I twisted the belt tighter around his throat...the other hand pressed the small of his back arching his spine and turning his hole upward as I plunged into it full-force. He had tried to avoid sliding on the slick hotel sheets, but I had fucked him so violently I had forced his arms to bend at the elbows...his face was pressed against the leather headboard leaving a glistening smear.
I pulled out suddenly.
"Noooooooo!" he yelled. "Don't...don't stop!"
"Roll over," I ordered. He could barely control his limbs so I helped him flip. (I always like to watch a guy's face when I make him shoot the first time...and I want him to remember that pinnacle-moment with my face looming in his field of vision.) I gripped his ankles tightly, lifted his legs high in the air, and let my cock find its mark. I slid into him full-stroke to the hilt. His eyes sprang open from the surprise, then rolled-back in ecstasy. Rocking his legs fore-and-back, I drove my cock in and out with increasing speed. His chest filled with air as if he was going to shout, but he clenched his teeth and suppressed the urge. I rocked on my knees; the bed swayed with my motion. Pausing for a moment, I hoisted his calves roughly over my shoulders. I leaned forward, allowing his legs to dangle against my back; I placed my hands on the centers of his thighs as he locked his knees on either side of my neck. He knew "the drill"...and "drill" him I did!
Another thrust to the hilt. He looked relieved to be filled again. At this angle, my fucking-motion made a loud sound as air was forced in and out of his hole and my groin slapped his ass. I grabbed his shaft like a gearshift and slammed it into "4th" as we accelerated to cruising speed. He closed his eyes! I slapped his face with a sweaty palm bringing him back from some 7th-level of Heaven.
"I'm gonna make you blast," I said between slams, "...like you've never shot before...draining cum...from the tips of your toes...turning brain cells into...liquid cum-replacement." He moaned again as his balls bounced like two apples in a chamois bag.
I worked my hand on his cock double-time to the rhythm of my fucking. To me, it felt as if my cock had pierced-him-through, exiting for me to jack and stroke myself. I gave it my best hand-job. His abs tensed, his back arched, and I knew he was ready to shoot. His hands clutched at the air as if he were afraid of falling. He inhaled sharply, frozen in-position holding his breath, then dropped his pelvis and thrust it upward...that moment when time stands still and one can feel the jizz surging through one's prostate to spurt up the column in bubbly gushes.
He came! And again...and again...creamy ribbons of pearly fluid arcing in perfect parabolas to his throat. I pounded into him again and again, spurred-on by the sight of the pools of semen dotting his chest and by the tightness of his ass. Harder now...full-stroke...a "slam-fuck" in the true sense of the word. My cock swelled within him; he felt it, arched his back, and shot a second time all over his abs and lower belly...twice in three minutes, an exceptional accomplishment even for someone as virile as CJ. He clenched down so hard on my cock it made me wince...but the sensation drove me over-the-edge and I returned the favor, flooding his interior with my spunk. I heard a loud "Aaaarrrrrghhhhh!" escape my lips as if it was coming from someone else. He felt the impact of my load in his ass and he shot again...ab muscles rolling like Anchorage in an earthquake or the swells of the deep ocean.
I fell onto him, still convulsing...sucking his jizz from his throat and neck as he tried to maneuver his mouth to kiss me and to share the taste. His second shot glued us together like Siamese twins joined at the belly. We writhed in the "pleasure-place" for twenty minutes, perhaps, still feeling the shudders and gentle convulsions of involuntary stimulation and intense pleasure-memories.
"I have dreamed of this," he finally said, still breathless. He slipped the belt from his throat. "Maybe not all of it. Even in his wildest dreams a guy couldn't fantasize all the details."
"It was just a fuck...but a really good one," I said, brushing the hair from his forehead.
"I've seen guys like you," he continued... "at the clubs...always with an entourage...a posse... (It was usually true.) "...always knowing what and whom you want..." (Also true.) "...and having a sense...of your own strong appeal." (Too true.) "I never thought...I mean, I hoped,...but..."
I rolled him onto his side and slapped his ass. "You can stay-the-night," I said. "Maybe we can make up for times when guys have passed you by...and I have a few more tricks with that belt." He laughed out-loud as he hugged me close with strong arms.
"I'll just bet you do," he chuckled.
We lay side-by-side looking up at the blue ceiling with our fingers entwined. I turned my head to enjoy his profile, with nostrils still flaring from heavy breathing. He was beautiful from any angle. I stripped the condom off my shaft and he reached for it's thin skin immediately; the interior was still semi-hard and the skin slid easily up and down in his grip. I wanted to fuck him a few dozen time that night. Reaching over, I gripped his cock, spreading some of the last cum-drops over his tip with my thumb. I felt him throb to my touch. It was a beauty. I had glimpsed it when he dropped his briefs, but now I could study it; I rolled up onto one elbow. He kept his grip on me.
His cock was about 7-1/2 inches...thicker than most, with an unusually flared mushroom tip with a deep groove along the bottom that I could feel with my thumb. It was the kind of cock you could trap inside your ass or your mouth by tightening down and preventing the head-lip from escaping without making a popping sound. My other hand slid down my hip and into my ass-crack from behind unconsciously. Suddenly, I realized...I wanted him inside me. I didn't take many cocks up-the-ass, but I wanted his...with almost a compulsion.
"I'm not finished with you yet," I whispered in his ear.
"I hope not," he said. "My record is three cum-shots in one night."
"We'll double that record with no effort at all," I promised with a grin. "But who's counting?"
I rolled toward him again, this time throwing my leg over his thighs then lifting myself atop his torso. I felt his muscles tense to hold my weight. His hands lifted to my sides, gripping my waist in anticipation. Our cocks were trapped between us, side-by-side. We sensed each other's firmness at the same moment.
"I want your cock inside me," I said, lip-to-lip with him tickling him with soft lip-touches and aspirated breath. He kissed me quickly, saying a wordless "Go to it!"
"But....my way," I continued. I kissed him harder...wide-mouthed...dueling with his tongue...tongue-fucking his throat until he gasped. He was so easy to arouse; I could feel him hardening to fullness beneath me. I wanted him without a condom...without the latex barrier...without the safety it promised. "You're negative?" I asked, not waiting for his answer to reach behind me and to begin to position myself to take him.
"Yes," he said. "I dance so much I seldom have time to...and I've been tested..." I covered his mouth with mine, not wanting to hear about the loneliness, soreness, and isolation of an artist. I wanted to make-up for all those lost opportunities...to cram a lifetime of pleasure into one intense night...to enjoy him...to blow all his fuses with a surge of eroticism so strong he would never recover.
Sliding up his torso, I felt his cock spring-up between my thighs, brushing the soft hair with its veiny surface. With eager fingers I pressed his swaying shaft into my cleft and lifted to accommodate his rigidity. His head filled the hollow of my atrium...tight in the gripping heat. I relaxed my sphincter in anticipation, knowing I could take him, but trying to remember the last time I had inserted something so large.
He gripped my face in his hands. "I want to watch you as you let me enter you," he said softly. "I want to remember this forever...your eyes, your lips, your..."
I shifted downward, driving him into me...feeling skin sliding on skin...muscles stretching...the intensifying pressure, more and more...waiting for that moment of inevitability...when the pain exceeds the pleasure for that panic moment...and then the release and feeling of fullness as he takes over and drives it home. I remember releasing a moan as he stretched me...and a gasp at the apex. There is no feeling like it.
I arched my back upward, then I was seated on him, using the spring-action of my knees to pump my ass along his vertical column...pounding...riding him like a canter...taking him full-depth, then bouncing on it to double the impact...feeling his wide flare pumping on the out-stroke. He reached for my shoulders and pulled me down again against his chest again. His arms wrapped around me...hard biceps under my pits, forearms crossed over my back, and firm grasps on both shoulders from behind. He was leveraging me onto his cock now, sliding me on the cum-and-sweat layer between us...torso-against-torso...and lifting his pelvis at the end of each stroke to make his cock curve into me like a saber. He could not cum as quickly this time, but I didn't mind. My cock, trapped between us, rode the ridges of our abs as if it were rubbed between two firm palms...alternating between lube and friction, dual sensations of fucking and being fucked simultaneously. I rode him this way for what seemed like an eternity...time meant nothing...each second was another pounding thrust as powerful as the first...never-ending.
As he sped-up, I thought he would break my ribs with his urgency. His eyes were closed, and his teeth were clenched in a grimace, with lip curled back...almost as if he were bench-pressing three hundred pounds. And then his eyes sprang open.
"I...I..." He tensed again, then rolled violently to the side rolling me onto my back and taking the top position. He stayed buried in me to-the-hilt. The backs of my thighs hit his chest and he rose up slamming into me with an animal lust I had seldom seen before. He had something to prove to me...that he could top me as I had topped him...an equal trade, fuck-for-fuck. I lay back and watched the apparent anger in his face subside into pleasure again as he plunged into me mindlessly. His forearm over my throat began to cut-off my air as I remembered the hundreds of times I had "scarfed" for that feeling of violent release. I let him use me; the lack-of-control was exhilarating. He started babbling gibberish as he approached another climax...and I was right there with him, ready to leap from that cliff into the oblivion of sexual release. We raced to the cliff-edge hand in hand, each trying to hold the other back and to get there first...but wanting our release to boost the other more...a continuation of the one-ups-man-ship of the flirting on the plane, but now about to reach the ultimate.
I dug for my cock trapped in my bent torso...finger and thumb around the base and two fingers feeling his cock sliding into my ass, compressing my balls with each thrust. The thin skin of his shaft covered a web-work of bulging vessels that slipped past my fingers as they disappeared into me. On the outstroke, I felt the soft skin of my interior clinging to his cock with tight friction, puckering outward like a skin-sheath. I wanted to grip his flesh-column and drive it in even deeper.
We came together in a blinding flash...the combined pressure of my cum seeking release and his cum filling me up....both convulsing uncontrollably, ...shouting praises to unnamed gods, ...melting together in perfect union. I saw flashing colors followed by intense whiteness. His cries echoed in my consciousness. For a split-second we broke every law of physics...two globs of matter occupying the same point in the Universe...the ultimate uniting...the perfect union.
We lay together in a heap of arms and legs, clutching each other in the death-grip. Trembling. Remembering. Eyes closed, re-living the dream. Ripe with mixed fluids...sweat, cum, saliva, testosterone...the earthy smell of fucking. The splendor of warm, taut, smooth skin over hard muscle. The tidal rhythm of our breathing...the caught breath as we spasm involuntarily. Lips seeking tenderness. Re-living and remembering. Implanting in our separate memories. Devouring each other in a final kiss. Still spinning...almost blacked-out. The closest thing to dying.
I wiped the sweat from his forehead as he opened his eyes. The blue-gray eyes that looked like pits into which I could fall forever.
Neither of us could speak. If he spoke, it would break the spell. If I spoke, I would say things I would regret later; I was most vulnerable at times like this. We simply look into each other's eyes and spoke without words...the passion, the pleasure, the gratitude, the one-ness. There are no writer's words to describe it; it is a cosmic message.
=====

Side-by-side again, looking up at the ceiling lit by the early dawn. How many times had we repeated the ritual? How many times had we tried to improve upon the first time? I watched him sleep...chest rising slowly, spattered with dried cum...lips parted slightly, a further temptation. Would he join the long list of one-night-stands...or would I see him again...in New York perhaps?
I wanted him one more time, at least...and my hand stroked the soft treasure-trail of his belly as a gentle wake-up. I leaned toward him on one elbow, kissing his soft nipple and circling it with my tongue. His lashes fluttered and opened.
"Not YOU again," he said with a lazy smile and a sexy, low voice. "I thought you'd probably be the love-'em-and-leave-'em type."
I felt the tightness in my belly...the lump of regret that he was right.
"I love you, of course,...but they probably all tell you that," he sighed.
"Some do," I said, thinking of how easily Justin could say those words, just like CJ. "But be careful how you use that word. You might just find yourself shoved naked into the hallway." I smiled to let him know I was partially kidding. "It's an over-used word. I could say I "fall-in-love" three times a night and be correct according to some peoples' interpretations. But it's a word I don't use often."
"I can tell, instinctively, that you've loved before," he began. "No one could be that intense just for the physical pleasure of it. And you probably thought of him...that's alright." But before he could ask, I cut him off.
"'Infatuation' is a better word, I think. That kind of euphoria when you're getting to know someone physically, intellectually, emotionally...the excitement of making a connection. Or 'fondness'...to express the kind of acceptance of someone into your life, despite their flaws and foibles...the 'better-than-a-good-friend' kind of feeling. But 'love' is like being one of con-joined twins...too restrictive, too connected....joined at the sternum, face-to-face, eyes locked on each other for eternity. People change. What I 'love' about you now might turn into a reason to hate you in the future...either because my priorities change, or you lose that quality somehow. Nothing is permanent enough to make promises you can't keep. No promises, no regrets. Maybe I've been self-sufficient too long and not dependent on the love of others...it's just too confining."
"You think about this a lot, don't you, Brian?"
"Let's talk about YOU instead," I countered trying to divert the subject. "What are you looking for? How can you fall-in-love so easily? I don't understand it."
"Well, my long-term goal is to retire from the ballet when I'm 33 and at my peak. I'll never be good enough to be a principle dancer, a teacher, or a choreographer in the City...but I just want to get it out-of-my-system...something I've wanted to do since..." he paused... "since I knew I was gay and I knew I could move gracefully, which both occurred at about the same time in my childhood. Can you imagine what it's like to be the only gay-boy in a school of 240 kids in conservative northern Vermont...Enosburg? There wasn't another gay person closer than Burlington. I couldn't wait to leave. So when my parents split at the same time I was graduating from high school, it was the perfect opportunity to leave cow-country and head for New York to follow my dream."
"I've heard stories like that a hundred times, and it must feel like being sprung from jail."
"Well, yes and no," he said, shaking his head in both directions. "When I retire from the ballet, I plan to go back...to find someone to live-with...to form a Civil Union...to re-open Grandma's general store in Enosburg. It's been closed for over 30 years; she's in her 90s now, and none of her heirs want the Vermont property...small farm, big Victorian house that would take a lifetime to restore, and the 150-year-old store practically in original condition. I want to sell antiques, raise German shepherds, and grow old with someone I love. Two heads on one pillow."
"And how do you manage to find this special person when you're 33? Are you recruiting now?" I touched the tip of his nose with my index finger to make my point.
"No," he said with a sigh. "I'm actually not looking for a relationship while I'm dancing. Dancing is too time-consuming, too involving. I couldn't give another guy the kind of attention and emotional connection he'd deserve. In my book, he'd deserve more of me than I could give...so I've put that idea on 'hold' for awhile....nothing permanent, nothing confining...I'm not even looking. And I don't fall-in-love that easily. I'm sorry I used the word...it's causing you trouble."
"And what is Mister-Wonderful supposed to do when you drag him up to northern Vermont?" I asked. "Milk cows?"
"Well,..." he said, poking my in the chest, "YOU could write a book, "The Art of Male Seduction"...or lead climbing trips up Mount Belevediere...or build birdhouses or make pottery...or raise a few adopted sons. Anything you wanted, after you'd made your fortune in the ad-biz and burned-out your creative drive. You'd be a 'natural' in flannel shirts and L.L. Bean boots, maturing into God's gift to Modern Maturity."
"Everyone always seems to know how I should change,....except me."
"And you WILL change, whether you want to or not...so it might as well be with some plan in-mind rather than stumbling along, thinking you're going straight (well, a bad word-choice) but just wandering in the woods. Keep your eyes on Mount Belvediere." He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "But I have no business telling you what to do. I have enough trouble controlling my own future, my own urges."
We lay silently for a few minutes, still feeling connected and not wanting it to end, but knowing that it would.
He was more realistic than Justin...more tuned-into the future, perhaps because he was a few years older. He was more of an 'equal' in some ways, matching physicality with physicality...knowing what he wanted...more experienced. But he was like Justin in some ways, too... his love of beauty... his artistic capabilities... his easy, wide-eyed genuineness...his ability to be washed-over by pleasure and show it with sublime rapture. Was I changing, or was he more than a "trick?"
"I want to see you again...someday," I broke the silence, rolling onto my belly and kissing his lips softly... "and I even want to see you dance."
"You wouldn't be able to keep your eyes off the bulge in my tights," he teased as he reached for my hand and placed it over his soft cock. "And you must promise never to tell me when you're in the audience,...or the thought would turn me from a graceful dancer into a record breaking, Olympic pole-vaulter." He laughed that soft, genuine laugh that I had heard for the first time on the plane. Less than 24 hours, and I was addicted.
"Then I'll just imagine you spinning on my cock," I said, twirling my finger in the air like I was spinning my car-keys.
"A pirouette detourn in relev...on my derriere," he said with a loud laugh. "It could transform modern dance."
"Let's practice." I reached for him and rolled him against me, chest-to-chest. My business-breakfast was still an hour away. Either a long shower-for-two or a fuck-and-a-fast-shower seemed like the thing to do...
The End...of the beginning.
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