Title: Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot?
Author: Paul Plesko
Email address: pplesko@hotmail.com
Series/Sequel: n/a
Character/Pairings: Brian/Justin
Category: Dual POV, angst, drama
Rating: NC-17
Date: January 10, 2003
Summary: What does one do on New Year’s Eve…? Spend it with old friends, of course… remembering past, and perhaps better, times. The split with Justin is still a gaping wound for Brian, although he would never admit it. And Brian turns to his usual forms of forgetting auld acquaintance.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Author Notes:There is a brief reference to my Christmas-holiday story, "Let Nothing Ye Dismay" although this is not, technically, a sequel.

Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot?
by Paul Plesko

	POV Key: Brian   Justin
I was trying to forget… to forget the last two years… to forget the last two loves… to forget the last two decades of self-sufficient loneliness interrupted by attempts at love-gone-sour. The old defenses weren’t working… four shots of Jim Beam and a handful of pills had only brought me to Babylon’s basement, looking for the final solution. Far from the throbbing music upstairs, it could be sensed, not heard… the rumble of feet on the floor above combined with a popper-rush… the low-frequency throb of the sub-bass like an awareness of one’s own heartbeat… the intense blue lights making pools in the darkness like the approach of unconsciousness… the writhing bodies like a wet-dream. I was unsteady on my feet, but still able to wander from guy-to-guy… tasting and touching… feeling for the smoothness… looking for the soft, blonde hair… groping for the youthful tumescence. A mouth on my cock, bringing it to fullness, but not to climax… an ass sliding against my groin and hands reaching back to pull me in… a firm, stroking grip begging for more. Nothing could satisfy me. Nothing could give me the release I longed for. Blonde hair in the distance, flashing instantaneously in the sharp, overhead light… but not the right hair. A youthful back and a slim ass, curving invitingly… but the face was wrong and the eyes were glassy with indifference. I moved into a small group, positioning an anonymous ass for a punishing fuck; I’d give it to someone… anyone. But the numbness set-in… I couldn’t even feel my cock-tip. It was as if it were part of someone else’s body… or scar-tissue over ancient wounds. I pulled-out in disgust, and I was quickly pushed aside by someone else. I could feel the heat on my face… the flush of arousal. The dull throbbing…the movement of bodies around me in the Death-dance… the jolting sounds of penetration and release. Someone stepped from the darkness and grabbed me, pulling me close. I looked down… blonde hair under my chin. I gripped the hair and pulled the head back to discover it wasn’t Justin. The jolt of arousal I had felt angered me… and I suddenly wanted to hurt him. I pushed him away, frustrated that the sudden contact had brought back the old feelings. Once released, they were hard to subdue again. God! Would I always look for him? I tried not to. I tried to focus on "my-type"… the dark, smoldering good-looks… the athletic form… the self-clone that I could fuck, like fucking myself over and over again. But it didn’t work. No drug was strong enough… no drink intoxicating enough. He was always there in my subconscious awareness… as if he had always been there, even before that night on Liberty Avenue. I had seen him under that streetlight and it had changed my life forever… the guy who didn’t believe in love-at-first-sight… or in love, at all, actually. He had changed me in one cosmic second; Fate proved me wrong, and then wiped my face in it. We stepped into pools of light at opposite ends of the basement at the same instant… I staggered briefly, then rose to let the light shine on my proud chest… he, also shirtless, covered with a sheen of sweat from the dance-floor, blonde hair plastered to his forehead, glancing quickly from side to side as if he were looking for someone… and then his eyes met mine. He had known where to find me all along. I had known, instinctively, that he was there. We had kept our distance; we had honored our unspoken agreement; we had wallowed in the same self-pity… I imagined… and we had longed for the same thing.
	He was there as I had known he would be… the warrior on his battlefield fighting the demons of his own making… finding victory in his own way. Yes, I had known he’d be there. Where else on New Year’s Eve? One night just like all the others… although, perhaps, more successful because other were celebrating. I had wanted to see him. I had wanted to tell him I was sorry for letting him dupe me into leaving. I wanted to soothe the hurt I had caused him… the hurt I had heard about from Deb and Michael. And there we were… right back in the same place it happened. The image of him fucking Rage distracted my eye for a moment… that image so indelibly imprinted on my brain.
I stood stationary, making him come to me. He walked straight toward me through pools of light, ignoring the outstretched hands of enticement. He was really there… not just my imagination… not just my wish.
	I had come this far… I could go the last few steps. He looked tired and, although he stood defiantly erect, he looked beaten down. The overhead light hid his eyes in deep shadows that settled onto his cheeks, almost like Rage’s mask. But his eyes never left me as I approached.
He stepped into my pool of light and looked up into my eyes. His face flashed with a series of expressions, like a chameleon walking across plaid fabric… the relief that he had found me… the sudden anger of our last face-to-face meeting… the guilt… the insecurity and mild fear… the love. We stood chest-to-chest, not touching.
	We stood chest-to-chest, not touching… because I had ached for that touch so long, I was afraid that reality could never satisfy the anticipation. His hands had touched every square inch of me before… but this was like the first time when I practically begged for a man’s affectionate touch. It was as if no one had ever touched me before this moment. The past was erased.
"I…" he began. I put two fingers to his lips to stop the words. Would he speak the anger or the guilt or the insecurity or the love? Nothing he could say at that moment had not been said before… over and over. And the repetition hurt more than the initial word-wound. Speaking could only make things worse… and I was so wasted, anything I said would be incoherent and stupid. Or worse… the truth. I touched his hair first… damp, like after sex… with the warmth of the back of his neck against the heel of my hand. He looked as if he might cry. I bent down to kiss him then, not wanting to see the eyes well-up with tears. He didn’t respond at first; he let my lips stroke his in quiet remembrance… as if he were in a dream and didn’t want to wake up. But then his mouth awakened and gulped for satisfaction. He ate hungrily, letting my tongue delve deeply into him to explore the roof of his mouth and the soft palate. He swooned and gripped my arms for support, moaning softly into my mouth. Then he shoved my already-open jeans down my thighs and groped for my hardness.
	I tilted my head back to trap his hand, which raised my lips in such an obvious move, I was embarrassed by my own need. I tried, unsuccessfully, not to let it show. But his warm breath on my upper lips and the velvety caress of his long tongue brought the memories back in one sudden impact. The moans of others nearby suddenly increased in volume and I felt my body as it began to sag. And then I realized the moans were mine… reverberating in the cavity of his mouth and throat.
Other hands caressed my shoulders. Another face appeared over his shoulder. Others wanted to join us. This was not the time and place for that. Didn’t they know that? "You guys are back together again?" …the hot breath tickled my ear. I shoved him away with my back and, at the same time, shoved the guy away who was attempting to kiss Justin’s neck.
	I was suddenly overwhelmed by a sensual overload… hands on my body… fingers stroking into my crack… the whispered words… the smell of marijuana on someone’s breath… a hand reaching for my cock. I tensed, not knowing what to do. Would he drag me into one of his famous four-way fucks as he had occasionally before? I wanted only Brian. He lashed-out suddenly, pulling me closer and repelling the others. I gripped him tightly… not wanting to be torn away.
"Fuck off!" I said. He looked up at me as if he thought I had said it to him. I held him tighter to reassure him. I reached for his wrist behind my back and broke his grasp. I stepped away, pulling him along behind me… headed for the stairs.
	The dance-floor was crowded. He pulled me through the crowd as if he wanted to dance. But when I realized he was headed for the door, I pulled back to stop him. He turned almost defiantly, as if my move was a sign of rejection. My words would have been drowned-out by the music anyway… so I simply placed my fingers on his chest and smiled with a nod… "Wait here," I said with my eyes. I retrieved my shirt and jacket from the table where Grant, the guy who had been buying me drinks, was still seated. "Sorry… gotta go," I said. He looked up from his drunken stupor and waved his hand as if he had known I would dump him. I turned and traversed the maze of the dance-floor again. He had retrieved his black leather jacket… the one that smelled so good… and he led me off the floor like a trick, chosen and captured.
As we left, the deafening shouts propelled us out the door. "Five… Four… Three… Two… Happy New Year." He almost pulled back, wanting to celebrate in the writhing mass of bodies hugging and kissing, but I pulled him by the forearm out the door onto the sidewalk. I spun him against the brick wall and forced my body against his, immobilizing him with my knee in his groin and my lips over his mouth. His eyes opened wide as he settled into the kiss. I sucked his tongue into my mouth and milked it with my tongue and the roof of my mouth. I felt as if I could fuck him right there on the sidewalk… standing against the building.
	He surprised me with a kiss so powerful it took my breath away. The jerk, the twist, the entrapment, and the kiss seemed like one continuous movement by his fluid body. It covered me and smothered me. I was aware of the cutting-edge of sharp brick against the back of my head as I rolled it from side to side to participate in the kiss… wanting as much of my mouth in-contact with his as possible… as if he could devour me here on the street. For someone who seldom kissed… and even more seldom on the public street… his passionate kiss was more meaningful than anything he could have said. I felt my knees buckle, but my body was held upright by the pressure of his chest against my shoulders. I gripped the shoulders of his jacket as if I were clinging from a cliff-edge. Then, as quickly as it had begun, he stepped back, letting me fall forward into his arms. He guided me to the Jeep parked somewhere nearby. I was oblivious.
We drove to the loft silently. He knew where we were going. He knew why. He wanted it too. After fastening his seatbelt, he leaned across the center console, resting his cheek against the upper-arm of my jacket and inhaling deeply. His fingers explored my inner thigh like he had that first night on the way back from the hospital… and like many a trick had done before him. He looked up at me with a dreamy look… as if he wanted something.
	"Are you sober enough to drive?" …I wanted to say, but I was afraid my words would break the spell. We had argued about this before; he always assured me that the last thing to go was his driving skills. I wasn’t so certain. He was still able to fuck long after he had lost the ability to drive.
We arrived at the loft in full-steam, ready to simultaneously remember and forget... ready to recapture the best of our physical gymnastics... ready to forego the emotional shackles. We used the elevator... I was too wasted to climb the stairs (although I later denied it)... and we leaned against opposite walls of the old freight elevator watching each other like quarry... waiting for the other to move before we pounce. As the door opened, we spilled into the narrow hallway and leaned against the metal door as I punched-in the new security code. The door banged as it closed behind us. The loft was dark except for the blue fluorescent tubes over the bed; the shadows were geometric and grotesque. We faced each other like two duelists.
	The darkness engulfed us when the door closed behind us as if we had been swallowed. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I spotted the lighted niche next to the painting of the naked guy; in a pool of light stood my Christmas present, glistening with the added blue reflection from the bedroom lights. He had treasured it after all! Brian had never displayed anything there before, but that’s where he had placed my gift... in a place of honor... where everyone could see it. I was afraid he might think it was too patronizingly "artsy-gay," but, apparently, he had liked my choice. I looked back at him standing there in the darkness, fumbling with the jacket zipper.
He had unzipped my jacket almost to the navel in the car, so I finished the job and flung the jacket into the darkness. The expanse of cool air bathed my hot skin. I kicked off the boots and strode to the bedroom.
	He opened his jeans. He was wearing nothing underneath, of course. "Stripped for action. Nothing between me and a hot fuck," is what he always said. But tonight he was silent. The jeans hit the floor and I watched his ass ascend the short stairs. He flung himself onto the black sheet and rolled to his side... an invitation to join him. He wasn’t going to make me do anything. I had to want it badly enough to do it on my own.
"Come to me, Justin," I wanted to say... but I said it with my body instead of my lips. He had watched me lie here on this bed for hours… he had devouring me with his eyes as he sketched my lank torso; he knew he was welcome to join me. He stood in the darkness watching me in the blue light. Then, slowly, he stripped off the white tee-shirt and kicked off his running shoes. He bent down to pull off the heavy socks... and he unbuttoned his fly as he stood again. He was wearing those same tan-gray, natural cotton baggy briefs he always wore... so unbecoming and so juvenile. They made him seem as if he were twelve. His eyes never left mine as he slid the briefs down his smooth thighs. I slipped a condom over my throbbing shaft; he knew I wanted him. He crept slowly to the bed like a cat stalking a plate of tuna. He stopped with his hands on the edge of the mattress.
	This bed! I had been here so many times before... and yet it seemed like the first time. The sheets were new; the crisp black percale had a thread-count in the hundreds. He always bought the best. And the body was different too... more lean... more defined. He hadn’t been eating well. His skin stretched over taut muscles without the thin layer of fat that had rounded his angles. He looked sharp and jagged in the angular light. You could cut your finger on the ridges of his abs or the slant of his clavicle. He was carved from ice. I wanted to lick the curving planes with my hot tongue.
He crawled onto the bed slowly, examining me as if he had never seen me before. His hair fell onto his forehead; the whites of his eyes glistened like sapphires. His cock, already hard, swayed from side to side as he crawled from the far corner of the mattress.
	I pressed my fingers against his sternum and eased him onto his back. His knees lay open in drugged relaxation. He reached for me, finally, and pulled me onto him. I straddled his hips; his cock swayed against my belly. I stroked the smoothness of the skin over his obliques... sharp angles disappearing into the shadows. With my other hand, I gripped the shaft... warm and hard, like recently-molded steel still hot in the interior. He smiled at my familiar touch. His fingers traced my silhouette... neck, shoulders, upper arms, lats, and waist... remembering my curves like an antique dealer revisiting a Chippendale chair he had sold years ago. His eyes closed softly as he remembered. The hairs on my arms raised at his touch. I gripped his shaft in my fist, pressing it down against the center-valley of his ab ridges as I slid forward. My ballsac raked its length. I reached behind to guide it into my ass-crack. I would have him inside me again like I had dreamed. I had felt him there many times... in the throes of unsatisfying couplings... in the dim waking hours when my fingers wandered to that region unconsciously... in the memory-times when I missed him most.
He loomed over me. I closed my eyes because the image of him there above me almost cut through me like a knife. The positions reversed... the pupil in-charge. I was beyond wanting him. He lifted suddenly and engulfed my cock in the folds of his rectum in one, swift settling of his weight on my pelvis. The warmth of his interior surrounding me was almost enough to make me shoot immediately. I started to reach for myself in an attempt to prolong it... then regained what self-control still remained and gripped his cock instead... using it as a "handle" to pull him up so that he would sink down once more. The feeling of being engulfed is second-only to the sensations of penetration. I opened my mouth, curling my lip, almost as if it hurt. But it was the "hurt" that you hope will never go away.
	I had wanted him inside me since the moment I left him... the feeling of fullness pressing into my core, the pride of taking a cock of his dimensions, the intimacy of the coupling. I rode him as if he were fucking me... the pounding impact... the brief relief as my sphincter closed on the outstroke and then surged open again... the heat of his pelvis against my inner thighs. I had ridden him before, on those unusual occasions when he had satisfied himself and my need survived... but those had been rare. His reservoir seemed almost inexhaustible. But now I was taking what I wanted... running the show... using his body for my own purposes. He could try to get me out of his life... but I would still have him inside me... he was my addiction... my fetish. He was the cock-of-my-dreams... and he had taught me to go for what I wanted with no apology.
I reached up to him… to touch him… but he gripped my wrists tightly and used his weight to force my arms back behind my head. I had never seen this look on his sweet face before… a combination of desire and anger. I was too toasted to resist. And I loved how he felt on my turgid shaft.
	I stretched him out on the bed, hands pinned behind his head. And I clamped my ass-muscles around his stiff cock as I leaned forward to kiss him to avoid losing "the prize" as I changed the angle. His cheek and chin were rough with 16-hour beard stubble; he hadn’t shaved before going out that night… usually a sign that he wanted it down-and-dirty… on the rough side. His upper lip was covered with beads of salty sweat as I covered his mouth with mine. No taste of cigarettes, just whiskey… could it possibly have been a sign that he hadn’t cum yet that night? I redoubled my efforts. I knew all the tricks to arouse him and make him surrender his load… "turning the trick" so to speak, because I was using the techniques he had taught me. I sucked his tongue into my mouth… soft and velvety, alive and squirming. I broke the kiss suddenly and dived for his right nipple. He moaned and arched his chest to meet my mouth. His cock surged in my ass… the response I wanted. I clamped the engorged nub in my teeth and lifted my head. He inhaled sharply as the pain surged through him… but it was one of his favorite stimuli… and I knew it.
His mouth on my chest… sucking and biting… it sent me through the roof. As he released my wrists and straightened-up again, I thrust my cock up into him, then recoiled against the mattress, and drove it in again, matching his up-and-down movements with my own. His ass, slippery now with sweat, slid the entire length of my shaft; I could see it glistening in the blue light on the out-stroke. He tossed his head from side-to-side like a bronc-rider. And he milked my dick with his ass-muscles as I had taught him to do. It was diploma-time for this graduate of the Kinney School of Fuckology. I gripped the fronts of his thighs… his quads… and helped him pump up and down. He was going to trigger the release I had sought all evening; I could feel it welling-up inside. The sudden tightness in the core of my pelvis. The building pressure. The loss of control. The tensing of every muscle. The suspension of Time. The burning sensation as my prostate fought the pressure of his clamping muscles. The upward rush. The muscular contractions as if to expel it in a single shot. The instantaneous need to shoot again… and again… each convulsion greater than the last until it is unbearable. And then the collapse.
	He shot… finally… with a grimace on his face… his teeth clenched… his lip curled… his eyes tightly shut… his forehead glistening with new sweat. A silent scream. A submission. A wrenching-from-him of something he had yearned to give, but could not. I sensed the final engorgement before he showed any sign of cumming… I felt the surging of his cum as it swept through his urethra… I gripped the slipperiness of his shaft... I felt him fill me with wave after wave of his climax. He had been saving it for a long time.
I fought my way back to consciousness. I could remember the pounding of my heart and my heaving chest gasping for air. I didn’t know whether to thank him for giving me the release I had been craving for days… or to punish him for enjoying it so much. He had looked radiant at the end… victorious… rapturous. The look of anger had disappeared and had been replaced by satisfaction and superiority. I wanted to show him that I could still make him whimper. I lifted his thighs, indicating that he should pull-off… and, as he did, I rose to kneel beside him. Thigh-to-thigh we embraced and kissed again. My lips slid off his mouth… and my open mouth traced the ridge of his jaw as I turned him to one side and pressed him downward onto the bed. He was ready for more. His cock swayed stiffly as he lay on his back.
	I had aroused the genie… and now it was time for my three wishes. Brian knew what they were, even in his drug-induced stupor. Or, perhaps it was simply instinctual and I was merely the trick-of-the-night. He knelt between my spread legs and massaged the front of my thighs, paying special attention to his thumbs on my inner thighs. Deep muscle-massage… I tensed my quads to let him feel their firmness. I was not the same soft boy he had fucked the first time. I had tried to mold myself into his likeness.
He lay there, challenging me to exceed the intensity of what had just happened. "Do you still have it?" he said with his eyes. I was the teacher, reasserting himself… proving his credentials… submitting to the examination. I bent at the waist… almost double… to kiss the soft skin where his right thigh met his lower abs… the soft, hairless indentation of his femoral triangle. He rolled toward me, brushing my cheek with his shaft. I twisted to lick it, then went back to his thigh. With small, wet kisses I worked my way to his knee, tonguing the soft skin on the margins of his knee-cap. My hand had followed my lips down his thigh… and the other hand mirrored its action. They slid to the outside of his knees, then underneath, and then lifted to raise his calves in the air. My thumbs slid behind his knees as I pressed them to his chest slowly; his toes pointed in the air as my hands stroked up the backs of his calves. I bent to kiss the soft skin behind his knee, then worked down the backs of his thighs with tongue and lips, spreading his knees as I went, until my mouth found the tender skin of his perineum just below his hairless ball-sac, which I moved aside with my nose. I had taught him the meaning of "rimming" that first night… and he had become a tongue-in-ass devotee ever since. It was time for the graduate course. With my left forearm over his lower abs, I pressed my right forearm against the backs of his knees, rolling his thighs against my left forearm… and also rolling his ass into view. With further pressure and lifting, I brought his open cleft upward… his ass-cheeks against my pecs… and I bent to drive my stubbly chin into his ass-crack. He writhed, trapped between my arms, as my jaw spread him wider. What was I doing here? I snapped back to reality from the euphoria of sensual overload. Was I trying to express, with my body, what was unspoken between us? The love I felt for him? Or was I punishing him for falling for my trick… for not recognizing my self-sacrifice and for going off to find love somewhere else? The techniques would be the same… the outcome the same. Pleasure-as-torture… torture-as-pleasure. Driving him over-the-edge of sensual endurance. Slow. That was it. Making it last… seemingly forever. If he wanted love, I would overwhelm his with it. If he wanted lust, I would choke him with it. I lifted my head and opened my lips to let a fine stream of saliva slowly descend into the well of his hole. His valve-like folds twitched at the stimulation like lips puckering for a kiss. I buried my face in his cleft again, spreading the warm liquid above and below his opening… and then pressing the fluid inside with the width of my tongue. I could feel his muscles tense in the folds of my arms; I held him tight, letting him know I was in-control now. With alternating licks and penetrations I opened him, tasting that special, localized flavor that is, perhaps, the vestigial remains of the scent glands of our primate relatives. It was meant to arouse… and it did. I rubbed my rough cheeks against the soft, interior skin of his crack… abrading it and stimulating it; he would feel this for days. Long licks, the length of his crack… then scraping his perineum with my upper teeth on the return-trip. I lifted his ass higher, dragging him onto the backs of his shoulders. He grasped for support, but found none. His feet waved in the air involuntarily. He was well on-the-way.
	It all happened so fast… the positioning, the lifting. His rimming always took my breath away… but in this position, head down, I could feel my pulse pounding in my temples and my breathing was constrained. His rimming, on the first night, had been slow and exploratory… to show me… to test my reactions. Later, it had become a sign of intimacy… a sharing of that most-private of spots. But now it was a sexual act in-itself. I felt the heat of arousal spreading through my core… the sensation of my ass opening wider and wider… deeper and deeper… large enough for a cock… or a fist… or, in my imagination, wide enough for him to climb inside to become part of me. I welcomed it. I wanted it.
His low moan was involuntary; I let his body settle onto the bed to press more air from his lungs to prolong it. He gripped the sheets in clenched fists. His head thrashed from side to side... teeth clenched, eyes closed... in a dream-world of erotic hallucinations. I drove my tongue deeper as he opened to admit me. Twisting my head from side-to-side, I burrowed into him like a small animal entering its den. My long tongue felt the inner folds of his anal canal. The slight taste of latex reminded me that my cock had been there only minutes before. Wide tongue-licks over the exterior… then deep-plunging pointed-tongue penetrations. One, then the other… alternating, to elevate his level of stimulation. My saliva flowed freely, wetting him liberally. His entire ass-crack gleamed in the bright blue light… slick and smooth. He reached for his cock, trying to drive his hand between my forearm and his pelvis. I blocked his movement. His cock swayed, bisecting the triangle of his inner thighs and my forearm. My heavy breath brushed it like a feather. It was time to move to Phase Two. I pressed my left forearm more tightly into the wedge between his thighs and abs and pulled my arm out enough so that my fist was beneath his cock shaft. I pressed upward, forcing his cock between his thighs as I lowered his torso enough to engulf the tip with my lips from behind. His eyes popped open in surprise. I smiled at him… my lips around his smooth shaft… then slowly descended the length of his shaft as I pressed the tip into my quivering throat. My chin split his balls and wedged them into his ass-crack. I ground my stubble over the soft, smooth skin of his ballsac as I massaged his shaft with my tongue. His hands reached between his legs, trying to grip my head. I ducked and lifted him onto the backs of his shoulders again, pretending to use mouth suction to lift him. His exhalation turned into a loud hiss through clenched teeth; I bobbed on his shaft to remind him that I was only beginning.
	It was like the first time! Rimming followed by sucking. Driving me crazy. Making me want to buck again his strength… to drive my cock in and out of his mouth… to feel the back of his throat against my cock-head. I was trapped in his arms… pressed down by his weight… toes curling in delight… chin thrust forward as the back of my head dug into the mattress. If I can’t have what I want… his love and companionship… I’ll want what I can have… his tongue in my ass and his lips on my cock! I’ll be his trick… as long as it’s not a one-time thing. Cock-slave is more like it. Remembering the first time his lips had touched my cock… the first time any man’s lips had touched my cock… it had changed my life. I felt as if my whole body could drain through the tiny tube in my cock-shaft… sucked out by the Creator’s mouth…
I wouldn’t let him cum… this way. I wanted him to beg for it… to beg for the release… like I almost had done. I increased the speed of my mouth strokes, rocking his body forward and back to change the angle in my throat, letting it find the right twist and curvature to plunge deeper. Then I slowed to let him catch his breath… only to begin again before he could. Slow and easy… powerful suction… wet lips squeezing the base of his shaft… tongue swirls at the tip on the out-stroke… relentless.
	I couldn’t take it! I wanted to shoot… but, just as I felt the pressure building, he would slow down or change position. Shorts gasps were escaping from my lips now… and low moans of frustration. I reached to pull his hair, but missed.
I leaned forward, letting my shoulders replace my right forearm behind his knees. My freed hand traced a winding path along his thigh to the root of his shaft. Hand action joined my mouth movements as I bent sharply between his legs; I pumped his shaft to the tip, then finished it with my lips, tasting his pre-cum as it flowed freely now. I use it to slick his mushroom tip… then used the lubrication to drive my mouth the full length as my fingers slid to his balls. My forehead pressed against his compressed abs. Occasionally my thumb stroked over his hole… all three now… cock, balls, and hole… feeling my ministrations.
	No words could describe it. I gave my body up as a sacrifice… to be burned in the heat of his flame.
Straightening up, I moved my cock into position. It was steel-hard again… but I could fuck him all night if I wanted to; the first climax had delayed a second. He felt me moving into position. His mouth opened wide… jaw slack… neck arched backwards like the throes of Death. But his legs opened wider, inviting me to enter him. His anus pulsed red and hot. ===== "Fuck my jock ass!" the trick had begged. His hands were bound around the column with his own black leather belt and his Levis were pulled to his ankles. He had wanted it to feel like a rape, but he was begging at the last minute, forgetting how defiant he had been just moments before. They all wanted it… even when they pretended they didn’t. They wanted the hard-fuck… the domination… the submission… to be pounded into position and ground to a pulp. I could always see it in their eyes… the defiance and the need. I had slammed it into him with no warning. His body convulsed and his mouth hit the edge of the I-beam, cutting his lip and chipping a front tooth. It would only add to his rugged beauty. I ripped into him then, like a wild animal…my teeth on the crest of his shoulder as I fucked him violently… the way he wanted it. ===== It would not be that way with Justin. He had tamed that violence long ago. Not that he didn’t like it that way sometimes… but tonight I wanted to show him how much I had missed him. Actions speak louder than words... especially the "actions" I had in-mind. The message would be loud-and-clear... even without the words. My hand stroked his skin softly… dare I say "lovingly?" His skin was hot and super-sensitive to my touch. With each stroke he arched his body to meet my caress. His head lolled to the side. I cradled his chin in my fingertips and lifted his face toward mine so that, as his eyes opened, he was looking full into my face. All motion stopped for a moment. We looked into each others eyes as we seldom had. There was a sadness I had not noticed before… a look of resignation. I could make that sadness go away… like Odysseus's men in the Land of the Lotus-eaters… the pleasure of forgotten troubles. I pressed my cock into him slowly, letting him adjust and enjoy the slow penetration. Inch by inch… with plenty of sensuous distractions… I deepened the coupling. At full-depth, I left it imbedded in him as I made it pulse and throb within him as if it were its own living-thing. His face was peaceful; his eyes stared through me to a point in the distance. His fingertips brushed my biceps as if reassuring himself that I was truly there. I rocked slowly back and forth then, withdrawing slowly until just the tip remained imbedded in him… and then reversing direction and filled him again… massaging his interior with the velvety-softness of my shaft. We moved together as one being… dancing together slowly in mid-air, it seemed… a pas de deux to the rhythm of a single heartbeat. A tango interspersed with gentle moans. A clinging-together sustained by the warmth of slow, simultaneous breathing. Our lips brush softly over the other’s… too gently to be felt. I bent forward again to kiss his nipple; the movement rolled him upward so that my cock sank into him deeper again. With one long, wet tongue-stroke, I licked from his pec to his shoulder, tasting his familiar flavor. He sighed; his chest rose and fell against my chin. My fingers combed through his hair; it was longer than before. He was more earthy now… the artist… than he had been as the dressed-down prep-school boy on Liberty Avenue. He tasted less of soap… more of man-child. Less vulnerable… more assertive. I had made him that way. I pulled out of him slowly and rolled him onto his side. He lifted his top leg automatically into the ass-open, knee-to-chest position and rolled his hip back against me. I lay behind him with my arm over his waist and my palm spread on his chest, pressing him against me. My cock slipped into place without further guidance. It was the position I had used the night he remembered the bashing. He had let me fuck him, finally… slowly and gently like tonight. But, then, I had whispered to him… soft words flowing over his ear like butterflies… telling him how much he meant to me… telling him things he had wanted to hear… replacing his vulnerability with my own. But he had been so caught-up in the intensity of the moment, he had forgotten them in the morning. Perhaps he thought he had dreamt the words. I stroked his torso with my spread palm, remembering his contours. We fit together so perfectly. Then I kissed his cheek as he moaned again, rolling back against me…one arm thrown back over my shoulder to caress the hair behind my ear, pulling my face closer to his. We fucked slowly, rocking back-and-forth in perfect rhythm. As my hand descended his abs, my fingers encountered his rigid shaft again, swaying with the motion and brushing its soft tip against the sheet. I engulfed it with my fist and stroked him slowly, in-cadence with my entries. He arched his back against me as he thrust his pelvis outward to show me that he wanted me to stroke him harder. But I kept it slow, letting each stroke be felt and savored… stroking him as if my own cock had penetrated through his pelvis and I was pleasuring myself. I rolled onto my back with my cock still buried deep in him; he rolled onto my chest, spreading his weight over me like a heavy blanket. I continued to rock him on my shaft, using his cock-motion to accentuate the motion. He moaned again as I felt his body tense. His heels dug into my shins. He fucked himself on my up-curving shaft as his hands joined mine on his cock. I felt him shudder twice before he shot. The cum-stream arched onto his face and shoulder; the second landed on my forearm; the third and fourth coated the back of my hand. I had been so intent on giving him pleasure that my own climax came as a pleasant surprise. My torso arched from the mattress as I pumped my load into his still-pulsating ass. I raised my hand to his lips to let him taste his own spunk, and I cleaned-off the remainder with my tongue. We lay, trembling and satiated, like bodies stacked on the battlefield. I spread the remaining cum over his chest as his body arched over mine. The last thing I remembered was enfolding him in my arms to cover as much of him as possible. We slept… my cock still buried in him.
	I lay there, feeling my body rise and fall slowly with his gentle breathing. I had been unable to sleep without that sound in my ear since my departure. Even when his breath rasped into a gentle snore, it only brought a trace of a smile to my face. I loved his body, finally at-rest next to mine. The defenses were down; his face, peaceful. His profile, serene. This was what I missed most of all… I fought-off the drowsiness of post-sex euphoria, trying to stay awake until morning… to enjoy the fleeting moments of quiet pleasure. I memorized these few minutes… as if they would someday be the only memory of him. "I didn't want to leave you," I whispered softly, knowing that he was asleep. "I tried to stay... I tried to tell you I could live by the rules... but I couldn't. I tried to be like you... but I couldn't do that either. I don't have the self-control-thing down very well." I shifted closer to him, my nose only and inch from his... my forehead brushing his. "We could do it... I know we could." There were tears welling-up in my eyes now. "Just let me get close to you again... not like this, but the inside-part of you... the part that I love." I touched his cheek then... and his facial muscles twitched almost imperceptibly. Maybe he heard me.
===== "Tell me you love me. Say that you love me," the voice said. I was cradled in his arms… my chest to his back… his knee over my thigh. "Just say it," John said. "You know I love to hear you say it." "Guys don’t talk like that," I said. He knew I craved the attention… I enjoyed his company… I participated in the sex vigorously now. Why did he insist that I say it? "You know how I feel about you. I show it to you every time we’re together. Isn’t that enough?" "I just love to break down your resistance and make you say it," he murmured in my ear as he reached around in front and gripped my soft cock. "Just like I like to turn you on." He had already sucked me to a climax, but he knew I always had more. "I know how to break down those defenses," he said, stroking me more vigorously now as I hardened in his hand. "I’ll make those balls shrivel to raisins if you don’t say it." His hand jacked me expertly. "Twenty years of practice," he always said when I commented on his ability to arouse me so quickly. He was certainly right; the feel of another man’s hand on my cock had always been a huge turn-on… and his hand felt even better than my own. "Say it," he rasped into my ear as he sped-up the pace. "Say it. Say it. SAY IT!" I dug my heels into the mattress and into his shins… not really trying to escape his grasp, but instead tensing my body for the imminent blast. He bit my earlobe from behind, driving me over the edge. "Say it!" he demanded. "I love you!" I gasped as the spunk shot all over the sheet. He quickly released me and scrambled over me to taste the droplets that still clung to my tip. "I knew it," he murmured, looking up at me with a string of cum dripping from his lip. "I just like to make you say it." ===== I was fighting my way back to consciousness. The damned alcohol always prevented the deepest of sleep-levels, leaving me to wallow in the dream-space… remembering the past, sometimes in distorted ways… and conjuring-up all kinds of new failures, embarrassments, and fears from my vivid imagination. Before I opened my eyes, I remembered. My fingers traced slowly across the mattress to find his thigh or hip or ass. My hand went farther… and farther… and found only the pillow. He was gone! I opened my eyes and rose to one elbow. His side of the bed was made, neatly… almost as if to erase any trace of his presence. There was no sound in the kitchen or bathroom. He finally had accepted the "Trick-leaves-in-the-morning" rule… just when I was ready to rescind it. I sank back onto the bed… hands stretched out to my sides… fists clenched… eyes tightly closed. "Justin," I rasped with the first, rough voice of the day. The loft was empty and cold.

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Note: For those who have been curious about the gift Justin left at Brian’s door on Christmas morning in "Let Nothing Ye Dismay"… here’s the answer. It was a crystal sculpture of a male torso (from the rear) titled "Damascus," by the San Francisco artist Van Velsor (http://www.vanvelsor.com/). Engraved on the base were the words "It's a good thing one of us remembered."

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