FANTASY SEASON 5: Breaking Away - Episode 501 (Originally Posted 8/13/04 - and deleted by mistake)
I'm taking the reigns and writing my own Fantasy Season 5. Please understand that this is not what I necessarily wish would happen and it is not what I actually think will happen. But I am partial to canon, and this is within the realm of what could happen. There will be 13 chapters. The first is linked below.
Minors please stay away. This is not an appropriate journal for anyone under the age of 18. Hell, it might not be appropriate for anyone.
mmmorpheusq, I am indebted to you for your invaluable assistance with this series. I couldn't have done it without you and I am beyond grateful for your help.
BREAKING AWAY
Episode 501
JUSTIN
“I can’t believe you agreed to fly out with me. It’s really pretty shocking.”
He throws me a little smile and pours another nip into his glass of ice, raising it in my direction as if to toast me like he’s thanking me for the complimentary supply of Chivas and JB. I throw him a smile back and he gently takes my left hand, leans back and closes his eyes. I lean over him and with my free hand nudge closed the tiny window louver to his left. My left cheek barely brushes his chin and he of course licks it.
“Brian. Behave.”
Again no words. Just a release of my hand and a little shrug like he has no idea what I’m talking about.
I leave him to his nap or drink or whatever. I could use some sleep myself. But I’m too excited to sleep. Not only will I be an assistant art director on Rage: The Movie, but I’ll be able to show everybody on the team the inspiration for Rage in person. I still really can’t believe he agreed to come; I didn’t even have to try.
Just a simple “Hey, since I’ll be gone the first half of the year we’ll be living together, why don’t you fly out with me while I get settled, make a little vacation out of it. We’ll fly first class. My treat.” He looked at me, cocked his head and said, “Sure, I could use a real vacation.”
So, I moved all my shit out of Daphne’s, messed up the order of Brian’s closet and drawers yet again, then removed half of it to ship west for my LA jaunt. Funny though, Brian packed more for his ten-day trip than I shipped, but looking good is his deal, and although Brian’ll be the first to admit how great my ass looks out of clothes - clothes can take or leave me - not my deal.
So, bottom line, I’ve got Brian in a first class bulkhead window seat flying to Los Angeles to unwind and help get me settled in. I’ve rented a place not far from Brett’s, someone he knows who’s on tour for a year and wanted someone to water his plants and play with his cat. I think I can handle that. It’s probably way larger than I need, but I’m also sure it’s nice enough for Brian’s taste, and it has a pool, though I guess everybody in Southern California has a pool. This totally makes up for my disappointment having Brian finally ask me to move in and knowing I wouldn’t be around to enjoy it.
BRIAN
Lying here, eyes closed, drink and Justin by my side, I feel incredibly relaxed. Not a care in the world. Kinnetik can run itself for a week or so. I’m reachable by phone and fax and the fucking computer. Shit, I could stay more than 10 days, but that’s probably good for now. Get the lad settled in as he calls it, let him show me off a bit, then fucking unwind on the beach, finally give him that sandy fucking I’ve been threatening way too long, do some clubs - the regular Spartacus vacation guide drill. Justin’ll probably throw me a few token celebrities to gossip about back home, save me the hunt. He does have exceptional taste.
Best of all, I don’t have to spend another day listening to Lindsay complain about how hard it is to find a suitable place to live, something she can afford, near Gus’ school and all. Her voice is fucking irritating. God knows what she’ll do to my loft while I’m away, not to mention Gus. Jesus, I must have had more than a ball removed to let her temporarily move in. Maybe I’ll never go back.
Now, I just have to erase that image of Em with the dead pickle king stuck up his ass in the lavatory, before Justin insists we too join that tacky bathroom club. What I do for… - well, whatever. Christ, now I’m quoting show tunes.
JUSTIN
Our layover is so brief we simply hop off one plane and hop on the next. It’s the same configuration so once again Brian and I have the bulkhead seats on the left side of first class. We board first and the flight attendant immediately takes our order for more nips as the rest of the passengers wait for their rows to be called.
I inquire, “So, think you’ll be up for a rendezvous once the captain removes the fasten-seat-belt sign?” I’m kind of surprised Brian didn’t initiate this himself, but this could be the first and last time we fly together for a long time so I need to take matters into my own hands, literally.
“Why not now?” he asks, totally missing my point.
“Brian, we’re still on the ground,” I scold.
“Exactly. The perfect time to use the lavatory, everybody else is more concerned with stowing their luggage than waiting outside the john to take a leak.”
“And how exactly would fucking on the runway entitle me to admission to the Mile High Club?” He’s really being dense today.
“Oh. I see. Well, it wouldn’t. But I assure you, fucking in a metal broom closet will in no way be enhanced by the altitude.”
I’m annoyed. “Skip it then,” and I begin re-reading my Mapquest directions from LAX to the house I’ve rented.
Brian looks over at me trying to gauge how pissed I really am. I exhale loudly several times more for effect than anything else, and he leans over to me and whispers in my ear, in a deep breathy tone,
“If you behave like a petulant child, I’ll have to teach you a lesson.”
His voice goes right to my cock. That airy, threatening tone gets me every time: instantly hard. I giggle.
“Consider yourself warned,” he purrs and I giggle some more.
BRIAN
I knew the little twat would push for this. Christ, I’d rather just blow him in his cushy seat than subject myself to the contortionist extremes that will be required of me to fuck Justin properly in such a tiny space. And of course there’s that lovely eau d’urine.
Thirty minutes after the captain announces we’re free to move about the aircraft, I semi-stand up and push past Justin toward the front lavatory, the one reserved for first class passengers and crew. On second thought, I return to the aisle next to Justin and growl at him,
“Meet me in 3 minutes - - and you’d better fall to your knees immediately.”
He grins like the fucking Cheshire Cat and I about-face for the can, which is remarkably clean and especially compact. I leave the door in the unlocked position and admire myself in the mirror. Well, things could be much worse.
He arrives on time, locks the door behind him, smiles mischievously and loosens my pants just enough to access my already pulsating cock. I lean back against the closed toilet-seat cover to assist the logistics. Then he goes to town, knowing he’d better make this good.
After letting him suck me with finesse a minute longer than I should have, I hear someone knocking on the fucking door.
“Everything alright in there?” a female voice inquires, probably a flight attendant.
“Just peachy, I’ll be out shortly,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
I abruptly pull Justin to his feet and swing him around to face the mirror, bending him over as best I can given the surroundings. I’m pissed having to rush like this. He starts to undo his fly to loosen his pants, and I order him,
“Hold onto the sink and don’t move.”
He opens his mouth to protest, concerned I’m sure about people waiting outside the door, and I cover his mouth with one hand and speak to his reflection in the mirror,
“Don’t move, don’t talk, got it?”
He nods like the good little boy he is capable of being on occasion and I undo his pants and tug them down roughly to his thighs. Then, I put on a condom and lube it up, fingering the excess in his ass which seems exceptional tight, nervous perhaps.
I press my chest hard against his back, wishing we were naked and suck on his perfectly formed ear lobe, one hand working its way to his cock, stroking him with vigor. My other hand works his ass, alternating between deepening the lubrication and delivering a few smacks on each cheek. I feel him melting under me, each smack reviving him with desperate restraint.
I enter him so fast it jolts his body forward, and he hits his forehead on the mirror - hard.
“Ouch,” he cries out and I stop for him to adjust. He’s grimacing and wiggling around, trying to get comfortable, like that’s a possibility.
I smack his ass again hard, reminding him that pain is part of it.
“Fuck you Brian, a concussion is NOT part of it.”
I check out his forehead in the mirror and see it’s pretty red. I roll my eyes and start fucking him rough and fast, jerking him in the same rhythm.
He comes first and I quickly move my right arm to the mirror in front of him to cushion the impact should his head hit again, wanting to keep him conscious. He rests his head against my arm and I continue pounding him until my orgasm hits and I hold him tight, riding the wave until it subsides. I let go of him, pull out, dump the condom and fix my pants as he silently cleans himself up. He tries to examine his ass cheeks to admire how rosy they are.
I swat his hands out of the way and massage his ass and lecture, “Better zip up. Oh - and welcome to the Club, Mr. Taylor.”
He smiles and mouths “fuck you” to my reflection in the mirror, to which I mouth “maybe next time” as I depart the metal cell for the expanse of my seat.
JUSTIN
I’m still kind of high from our flight fuck. It was really hot, Brian getting all dominant on me, at least when he wasn’t so busy admiring himself fucking me in the mirror. And he thinks I’m a prima donna. Yeah right.
I kept expecting the flight attendant to say something, but if anything she’s ignoring us - thinking God knows what. Two grown men in the bathroom together for an extended stay; muffled grunting and slapping noises. And to think I was raised a part of the country club set.
So, we land uneventfully and I let Brian drive the black Jeep Grand Cherokee I’ve leased for the duration of my stay. Although I told Brian exactly what kind of car I reserved, I think he still expected a Wrangler and was marginally disappointed. He’ll get over it. It has this neat navigational system so this voice directs us to the house and my internet directions are rendered utterly unnecessary.
As we approach the house, I think back on the pictures Brett had emailed me. so I know it’s in the hills, ultra modern, chic and way bigger than we need. But, I didn’t expect it to be so drop dead gorgeous and intimidating - Brian’s perfect home away from home. Brett’s friend had sent me a “zapper” to open the garage, but he didn’t tell me it also opened the fifteen-foot gates that lead to the garage and protect the property. They weren’t in the photo. And the plantings are out of an arboretum, totally amazing. We park the car and enter the house, starting to explore.
I don’t want to seem too much like a kid in a candy store, so I try to decide what might excite Brian most. That’s easy and I ask,
“So, where should we fuck first?”
“Don’t I even get dinner? Remember manners? Some host -“
I cut him off with a curt “Fuck you, asshole. This place is amazing, don’t act so nonchalant, let’s make it our own.” With that, I strip off my clothes and head out back to the pool, which is entirely protected by beautiful shrubberies. Brian doesn't follow, spouting off some bullshit about wanting to hang up his clothes before he has to get everything pressed. Jesus.
I jump into the pool, which is heated and so amazingly beautiful. I can’t believe I’ll be living here for at least six months. Wow! I hope my mom and Daph make it out here to see this, they so have to come.
I start doing a few laps, really slowly, just savoring the feeling of the sun beating down on my nude back and the warm water enveloping my body. I am totally oblivious to everything when I feel someone grab my arms mid stroke. I didn’t even hear Brian come outside. He’s naked and pulling me into a tight embrace, which leads to some even tighter kissing and groping. He half drowns me over to the shallow end and pushes me on my back on the stairs where he can work my cock out of the water, so he doesn't drown going down on me. Water sex is challenging. I guess he’s answered my original question with action: my hero, a demonstrative man of few words.
BRIAN
Justin's cock really is beautiful, totally erect against his stomach glistening from the sun and chlorine. He leans back on his elbows as I worship him, sucking on his balls just the way I know makes him crazy. He laughs as I draw a large intake of breath each time I submerge the few inches necessary to keep him slightly underwater. When I feel him suffering too much, I abandon his balls in favor of cock, which I work as gracefully as I can given the circumstances. Before I know it, I enjoy a mixture of chlorine-flavored spunk and he’s grinning from ear to ear. Perfect appetizer.
I notice he’s getting blotchy from the sun, and think it wise to flip him over for my entrée. I’ll have to remember to keep sunscreen and lube handy next time.
After concluding my Justin meal, leaving room for dessert of course, we return to the interior of this mini-mansion and share in the afterglow of well-fucked bliss. I look around the asymmetrical rooms and think how Justin really lucked out with this house. Fucking amazing, totally worthy of my wardrobe. He hardly even has to pay, the owner was so thrilled for somebody sweet to talk to his fucking cat now and then. Somebody has been feeding it, but I guess it needs more stimulation. So far, it’s rubbed up against Justin's legs a dozen times to its one swipe by me (not that either of us goes for pussy, but I guess Justin is more sympathetic). I told Justin to lock him in one of the bedrooms if he gets in the way, but Justin thought the house was big enough for the three of us. That remains to be seen.
Given how satisfying the pool fuck was, I don’t think we’ll be indoors too often, though I’ve got to remember to keep a stash of condoms and lube in the cabana - in my haste to surprise Justin in the pool, I rushed out nude and forgot our accessories. Course, Justin was none too sorry to rush inside, muttering some wise-ass remark about being faster. I reminded him endurance has its own worth, to which he had no response, or none I heard, wisely on his part.
I’m kind of surprised at myself, how easily I’m letting myself be led by the nose, first by Linds and then by Justin, not even putting up a fight. It’s like it was my idea to accompany Justin to LA and for Linds to allow my only heir to destroy my loft. Justin and Gus. They really are what it’s all about. You’d think the cancer was back and I was on my deathbed with these maudlin thoughts. And, I’m totally sober.
Justin and Gus. If I could only be with two people for the rest of my life, it would be them. I don’t think that would surprise Justin. Gus is another story. I’ve abdicated my role as father both legally and practically, helping out only when asked and enjoying my unannounced brief cameo appearances. I better work on my godIhatethatwordrelationship with Gus and his wardrobe when I return. Without Justin around, he’ll be my project. Weird, I don’t feel apprehensive at all. I even feel myself smiling.
JUSTIN
“What’s so funny?”
He grunts but doesn’t answer.
“You know, as beautiful as you are, some conversation might be enticing now and then.” Compliments sometimes work on him, when he’s in one of his overly silent moods.
“And what pray tell does Sunshine want me to talk about?”
“Well, that’s a start.”
“I was thinking about Gus.”
I look at him, not quite sure if he’s making it up or not.
“And now it’s your line,” Brian patronizingly sing-songs, “What about Gus?”
I roll my eyes, but obey, “What about Gus?”
“How I’ve been a shitty father, fulfilled my own prophesy in spades.” He pauses briefly then plows on, “But I do love him, and I want him to know it. I need to work on his fashion sense, but I need to do more, and with you abandoning me for the glamour of Hollywood, I think I’ll have plenty of time for father-son bonding.” He just stares at me, like he’s totally comfortable with what he just said, like he speaks so plainly regularly.
I’m rendered speechless.
“You okay?” he inquires solicitously, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t be jealous. There’s more than enough of me to go around, as I’ve proven time and time again.”
“No, I’m not jealous. I’m - I’m happy, surprised.”
“Good. Now then, we need to find the beach, there’s something else I’ve neglected far too long.”
End 501
Minors please stay away. This is not an appropriate journal for anyone under the age of 18. Hell, it might not be appropriate for anyone.
mmmorpheusq, I am indebted to you for your invaluable assistance with this series. I couldn't have done it without you and I am beyond grateful for your help.
BREAKING AWAY
Episode 501
JUSTIN
“I can’t believe you agreed to fly out with me. It’s really pretty shocking.”
He throws me a little smile and pours another nip into his glass of ice, raising it in my direction as if to toast me like he’s thanking me for the complimentary supply of Chivas and JB. I throw him a smile back and he gently takes my left hand, leans back and closes his eyes. I lean over him and with my free hand nudge closed the tiny window louver to his left. My left cheek barely brushes his chin and he of course licks it.
“Brian. Behave.”
Again no words. Just a release of my hand and a little shrug like he has no idea what I’m talking about.
I leave him to his nap or drink or whatever. I could use some sleep myself. But I’m too excited to sleep. Not only will I be an assistant art director on Rage: The Movie, but I’ll be able to show everybody on the team the inspiration for Rage in person. I still really can’t believe he agreed to come; I didn’t even have to try.
Just a simple “Hey, since I’ll be gone the first half of the year we’ll be living together, why don’t you fly out with me while I get settled, make a little vacation out of it. We’ll fly first class. My treat.” He looked at me, cocked his head and said, “Sure, I could use a real vacation.”
So, I moved all my shit out of Daphne’s, messed up the order of Brian’s closet and drawers yet again, then removed half of it to ship west for my LA jaunt. Funny though, Brian packed more for his ten-day trip than I shipped, but looking good is his deal, and although Brian’ll be the first to admit how great my ass looks out of clothes - clothes can take or leave me - not my deal.
So, bottom line, I’ve got Brian in a first class bulkhead window seat flying to Los Angeles to unwind and help get me settled in. I’ve rented a place not far from Brett’s, someone he knows who’s on tour for a year and wanted someone to water his plants and play with his cat. I think I can handle that. It’s probably way larger than I need, but I’m also sure it’s nice enough for Brian’s taste, and it has a pool, though I guess everybody in Southern California has a pool. This totally makes up for my disappointment having Brian finally ask me to move in and knowing I wouldn’t be around to enjoy it.
BRIAN
Lying here, eyes closed, drink and Justin by my side, I feel incredibly relaxed. Not a care in the world. Kinnetik can run itself for a week or so. I’m reachable by phone and fax and the fucking computer. Shit, I could stay more than 10 days, but that’s probably good for now. Get the lad settled in as he calls it, let him show me off a bit, then fucking unwind on the beach, finally give him that sandy fucking I’ve been threatening way too long, do some clubs - the regular Spartacus vacation guide drill. Justin’ll probably throw me a few token celebrities to gossip about back home, save me the hunt. He does have exceptional taste.
Best of all, I don’t have to spend another day listening to Lindsay complain about how hard it is to find a suitable place to live, something she can afford, near Gus’ school and all. Her voice is fucking irritating. God knows what she’ll do to my loft while I’m away, not to mention Gus. Jesus, I must have had more than a ball removed to let her temporarily move in. Maybe I’ll never go back.
Now, I just have to erase that image of Em with the dead pickle king stuck up his ass in the lavatory, before Justin insists we too join that tacky bathroom club. What I do for… - well, whatever. Christ, now I’m quoting show tunes.
JUSTIN
Our layover is so brief we simply hop off one plane and hop on the next. It’s the same configuration so once again Brian and I have the bulkhead seats on the left side of first class. We board first and the flight attendant immediately takes our order for more nips as the rest of the passengers wait for their rows to be called.
I inquire, “So, think you’ll be up for a rendezvous once the captain removes the fasten-seat-belt sign?” I’m kind of surprised Brian didn’t initiate this himself, but this could be the first and last time we fly together for a long time so I need to take matters into my own hands, literally.
“Why not now?” he asks, totally missing my point.
“Brian, we’re still on the ground,” I scold.
“Exactly. The perfect time to use the lavatory, everybody else is more concerned with stowing their luggage than waiting outside the john to take a leak.”
“And how exactly would fucking on the runway entitle me to admission to the Mile High Club?” He’s really being dense today.
“Oh. I see. Well, it wouldn’t. But I assure you, fucking in a metal broom closet will in no way be enhanced by the altitude.”
I’m annoyed. “Skip it then,” and I begin re-reading my Mapquest directions from LAX to the house I’ve rented.
Brian looks over at me trying to gauge how pissed I really am. I exhale loudly several times more for effect than anything else, and he leans over to me and whispers in my ear, in a deep breathy tone,
“If you behave like a petulant child, I’ll have to teach you a lesson.”
His voice goes right to my cock. That airy, threatening tone gets me every time: instantly hard. I giggle.
“Consider yourself warned,” he purrs and I giggle some more.
BRIAN
I knew the little twat would push for this. Christ, I’d rather just blow him in his cushy seat than subject myself to the contortionist extremes that will be required of me to fuck Justin properly in such a tiny space. And of course there’s that lovely eau d’urine.
Thirty minutes after the captain announces we’re free to move about the aircraft, I semi-stand up and push past Justin toward the front lavatory, the one reserved for first class passengers and crew. On second thought, I return to the aisle next to Justin and growl at him,
“Meet me in 3 minutes - - and you’d better fall to your knees immediately.”
He grins like the fucking Cheshire Cat and I about-face for the can, which is remarkably clean and especially compact. I leave the door in the unlocked position and admire myself in the mirror. Well, things could be much worse.
He arrives on time, locks the door behind him, smiles mischievously and loosens my pants just enough to access my already pulsating cock. I lean back against the closed toilet-seat cover to assist the logistics. Then he goes to town, knowing he’d better make this good.
After letting him suck me with finesse a minute longer than I should have, I hear someone knocking on the fucking door.
“Everything alright in there?” a female voice inquires, probably a flight attendant.
“Just peachy, I’ll be out shortly,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
I abruptly pull Justin to his feet and swing him around to face the mirror, bending him over as best I can given the surroundings. I’m pissed having to rush like this. He starts to undo his fly to loosen his pants, and I order him,
“Hold onto the sink and don’t move.”
He opens his mouth to protest, concerned I’m sure about people waiting outside the door, and I cover his mouth with one hand and speak to his reflection in the mirror,
“Don’t move, don’t talk, got it?”
He nods like the good little boy he is capable of being on occasion and I undo his pants and tug them down roughly to his thighs. Then, I put on a condom and lube it up, fingering the excess in his ass which seems exceptional tight, nervous perhaps.
I press my chest hard against his back, wishing we were naked and suck on his perfectly formed ear lobe, one hand working its way to his cock, stroking him with vigor. My other hand works his ass, alternating between deepening the lubrication and delivering a few smacks on each cheek. I feel him melting under me, each smack reviving him with desperate restraint.
I enter him so fast it jolts his body forward, and he hits his forehead on the mirror - hard.
“Ouch,” he cries out and I stop for him to adjust. He’s grimacing and wiggling around, trying to get comfortable, like that’s a possibility.
I smack his ass again hard, reminding him that pain is part of it.
“Fuck you Brian, a concussion is NOT part of it.”
I check out his forehead in the mirror and see it’s pretty red. I roll my eyes and start fucking him rough and fast, jerking him in the same rhythm.
He comes first and I quickly move my right arm to the mirror in front of him to cushion the impact should his head hit again, wanting to keep him conscious. He rests his head against my arm and I continue pounding him until my orgasm hits and I hold him tight, riding the wave until it subsides. I let go of him, pull out, dump the condom and fix my pants as he silently cleans himself up. He tries to examine his ass cheeks to admire how rosy they are.
I swat his hands out of the way and massage his ass and lecture, “Better zip up. Oh - and welcome to the Club, Mr. Taylor.”
He smiles and mouths “fuck you” to my reflection in the mirror, to which I mouth “maybe next time” as I depart the metal cell for the expanse of my seat.
JUSTIN
I’m still kind of high from our flight fuck. It was really hot, Brian getting all dominant on me, at least when he wasn’t so busy admiring himself fucking me in the mirror. And he thinks I’m a prima donna. Yeah right.
I kept expecting the flight attendant to say something, but if anything she’s ignoring us - thinking God knows what. Two grown men in the bathroom together for an extended stay; muffled grunting and slapping noises. And to think I was raised a part of the country club set.
So, we land uneventfully and I let Brian drive the black Jeep Grand Cherokee I’ve leased for the duration of my stay. Although I told Brian exactly what kind of car I reserved, I think he still expected a Wrangler and was marginally disappointed. He’ll get over it. It has this neat navigational system so this voice directs us to the house and my internet directions are rendered utterly unnecessary.
As we approach the house, I think back on the pictures Brett had emailed me. so I know it’s in the hills, ultra modern, chic and way bigger than we need. But, I didn’t expect it to be so drop dead gorgeous and intimidating - Brian’s perfect home away from home. Brett’s friend had sent me a “zapper” to open the garage, but he didn’t tell me it also opened the fifteen-foot gates that lead to the garage and protect the property. They weren’t in the photo. And the plantings are out of an arboretum, totally amazing. We park the car and enter the house, starting to explore.
I don’t want to seem too much like a kid in a candy store, so I try to decide what might excite Brian most. That’s easy and I ask,
“So, where should we fuck first?”
“Don’t I even get dinner? Remember manners? Some host -“
I cut him off with a curt “Fuck you, asshole. This place is amazing, don’t act so nonchalant, let’s make it our own.” With that, I strip off my clothes and head out back to the pool, which is entirely protected by beautiful shrubberies. Brian doesn't follow, spouting off some bullshit about wanting to hang up his clothes before he has to get everything pressed. Jesus.
I jump into the pool, which is heated and so amazingly beautiful. I can’t believe I’ll be living here for at least six months. Wow! I hope my mom and Daph make it out here to see this, they so have to come.
I start doing a few laps, really slowly, just savoring the feeling of the sun beating down on my nude back and the warm water enveloping my body. I am totally oblivious to everything when I feel someone grab my arms mid stroke. I didn’t even hear Brian come outside. He’s naked and pulling me into a tight embrace, which leads to some even tighter kissing and groping. He half drowns me over to the shallow end and pushes me on my back on the stairs where he can work my cock out of the water, so he doesn't drown going down on me. Water sex is challenging. I guess he’s answered my original question with action: my hero, a demonstrative man of few words.
BRIAN
Justin's cock really is beautiful, totally erect against his stomach glistening from the sun and chlorine. He leans back on his elbows as I worship him, sucking on his balls just the way I know makes him crazy. He laughs as I draw a large intake of breath each time I submerge the few inches necessary to keep him slightly underwater. When I feel him suffering too much, I abandon his balls in favor of cock, which I work as gracefully as I can given the circumstances. Before I know it, I enjoy a mixture of chlorine-flavored spunk and he’s grinning from ear to ear. Perfect appetizer.
I notice he’s getting blotchy from the sun, and think it wise to flip him over for my entrée. I’ll have to remember to keep sunscreen and lube handy next time.
After concluding my Justin meal, leaving room for dessert of course, we return to the interior of this mini-mansion and share in the afterglow of well-fucked bliss. I look around the asymmetrical rooms and think how Justin really lucked out with this house. Fucking amazing, totally worthy of my wardrobe. He hardly even has to pay, the owner was so thrilled for somebody sweet to talk to his fucking cat now and then. Somebody has been feeding it, but I guess it needs more stimulation. So far, it’s rubbed up against Justin's legs a dozen times to its one swipe by me (not that either of us goes for pussy, but I guess Justin is more sympathetic). I told Justin to lock him in one of the bedrooms if he gets in the way, but Justin thought the house was big enough for the three of us. That remains to be seen.
Given how satisfying the pool fuck was, I don’t think we’ll be indoors too often, though I’ve got to remember to keep a stash of condoms and lube in the cabana - in my haste to surprise Justin in the pool, I rushed out nude and forgot our accessories. Course, Justin was none too sorry to rush inside, muttering some wise-ass remark about being faster. I reminded him endurance has its own worth, to which he had no response, or none I heard, wisely on his part.
I’m kind of surprised at myself, how easily I’m letting myself be led by the nose, first by Linds and then by Justin, not even putting up a fight. It’s like it was my idea to accompany Justin to LA and for Linds to allow my only heir to destroy my loft. Justin and Gus. They really are what it’s all about. You’d think the cancer was back and I was on my deathbed with these maudlin thoughts. And, I’m totally sober.
Justin and Gus. If I could only be with two people for the rest of my life, it would be them. I don’t think that would surprise Justin. Gus is another story. I’ve abdicated my role as father both legally and practically, helping out only when asked and enjoying my unannounced brief cameo appearances. I better work on my godIhatethatwordrelationship with Gus and his wardrobe when I return. Without Justin around, he’ll be my project. Weird, I don’t feel apprehensive at all. I even feel myself smiling.
JUSTIN
“What’s so funny?”
He grunts but doesn’t answer.
“You know, as beautiful as you are, some conversation might be enticing now and then.” Compliments sometimes work on him, when he’s in one of his overly silent moods.
“And what pray tell does Sunshine want me to talk about?”
“Well, that’s a start.”
“I was thinking about Gus.”
I look at him, not quite sure if he’s making it up or not.
“And now it’s your line,” Brian patronizingly sing-songs, “What about Gus?”
I roll my eyes, but obey, “What about Gus?”
“How I’ve been a shitty father, fulfilled my own prophesy in spades.” He pauses briefly then plows on, “But I do love him, and I want him to know it. I need to work on his fashion sense, but I need to do more, and with you abandoning me for the glamour of Hollywood, I think I’ll have plenty of time for father-son bonding.” He just stares at me, like he’s totally comfortable with what he just said, like he speaks so plainly regularly.
I’m rendered speechless.
“You okay?” he inquires solicitously, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t be jealous. There’s more than enough of me to go around, as I’ve proven time and time again.”
“No, I’m not jealous. I’m - I’m happy, surprised.”
“Good. Now then, we need to find the beach, there’s something else I’ve neglected far too long.”
End 501