JUSTIN’S POV

“It *has* been four years, you know,” I say as Brian slides the door shut behind the guys we fucked tonight. I’m standing in the kitchen in my underwear, my skin still hot from the shower, spooning ice cream onto my tongue.

“Technically... four weeks,” he says, doing up one more button on his jeans to stop them from sliding down around his hips. He slides his hand through his wet hair, pushing the damp strands back off his forehead.

“How do you figure that?” I ask, taking another bite of ice cream, my eyes on his as he comes to stand in front of me.

He pulls the spoon from between my lips and sticks it into the container in my hand, swirling it around in the melting ice cream. “You’ve been back in the Pitts for four weeks. You’ve been *living* here for four weeks. So... we’ve been together for four weeks,” he shrugs at the end as if it should make perfect sense.

I shake my head slowly and watch as he pulls the spoon up out of the container, dripping with vanilla ice cream. “What do you call the three years and 48 weeks before that?” I ask, resisting the urge to dart my tongue out to catch the wayward trail of ice cream slinking down his hand.

He holds the spoon between us then slides it into my mouth, the cold metal gliding along my tongue. I catch the spoon between my lips and suck the ice cream off as he pulls it back out again.

He grins and licks the spare drops off his hand. “Fucking,” he states very matter-of-factly, and digs the spoon into the container again, pulling it back out covered in ice cream.

“And what’s this?” I raise my eyebrows and ignore the waiting spoon in my face.

He tips his head to the side and shrugs a little, staring down into the container, away from me. Ice cream drips off the spoon and onto the floor.

“Different.”

“How—,” I open my mouth to ask but he shoves the spoon between my lips and I get a face full of ice cream. Nice move to get me to stop talking. He pulls the spoon away and follows up with a kiss, licking the film of ice cream from my mouth. I swallow and part my lips to let his tongue slide inside, hot against mine, and we kiss till I can’t even taste ice cream anymore, just him.

“Just... different, okay?” he answers my half-asked question, saying the words against my lips.

I let that be answer enough. “Yeah... okay,” I say softly, trying not to overanalyze or over think this – any of this. I’m here and I’m happy, and yeah, I don’t know what I’m doing with my career, my *life*, but Christ, I have time. He’s giving me time to figure it out and I don’t think I could ask for anything more than that right now.

I grab the spoon from him, then plunge it into the container and pull it back out with a lump of ice cream perched on top. He watches me, smiling, expecting me to eat it I suppose, but instead I bring it towards his lips, feeling a trail of cool and wet run down my hand to my wrist as it melts. “Your turn,” I grin and wave it in front of his mouth.

“No, can’t. It’s 2:00 in the morning,” he glances at the clock on the microwave. “Actually, 2:45,” he scrunches up his face and shakes his head. “Too late for ice cream,” he puts his hand up in an effort to block me.

“Oh come on,” I tease, pushing the spoon into his face again, but he grabs my wrist and twists me around, pushing my back against the counter. The ice cream slides off the spoon and lands on the hardwood with a *splat*. We both look down at it, see the drops covering our feet.

“Way to go,” he says, grinning, and takes the container from my hand, putting it on the counter behind me.

“Well, technically that was your fault,” I stick my tongue out at him, feeling my dick get warm as he pushes his body closer to mine, his cock getting harder in his jeans and pressing against my groin. He leans his forehead against mine and all I smell is soap and sugar.

He grinds his hips against me, s-l-o-w-l-y. Fuck. “You realize I haven’t fucked you *once* tonight?” he presses our faces together and his beard scratches my cheek.

“Yes, I’m *very* aware of that, thanks... I was wondering when it was my turn.” I’m joking. Sort of.

His hand slides down the back of my underwear and he runs his palm over my ass, slipping his finger down into my crack and across my hole.

“Maybe I was saving the best for last,” he whispers into my ear, turning me around to face the counter, pushing my underwear down.

I bend over the countertop and smile, get ready for the one fuck I’ve been waiting for all night.

I wonder when he’ll figure out that maybe all I ever really want is the best - the first time, the last time, and every time in-between.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

Later on, as the boys are getting ready to go to Ben and Michael’s...

BRIAN’S POV

I could see where this was going, and quickly diverted it, pulling him into my arms and kissing him, calling him affectionate names and taking his cheeky comments.

And... even letting him finish my sentences. Yeah, I despise it when other couples do that. But maybe I don’t quite hate it as much when it’s him doing it to me.

He pulls away from our kiss and puts his hand against my chest, looking up at me.

“But seriously, Brian... I mean, you think that them getting married caused all this crap? Made Mel and Linds break up? You think the same thing is gonna happen to Ben and Michael now that they’re married?”

“But seriously, Justin...” I say, mocking him. “If I stick my tongue in your ass will you shut the fuck up?” I grab his arm and drag him into the bedroom. I really don’t want to talk about this shit with him. Bad enough it’s all I hear from Lindsay. Bad enough Michael’s barely talking to me anymore because he’s got to go to bed early. Jesus-fucking-Christ, what’s the world coming to?

I twist Justin around in my arms and settle him down onto the bed face first, then grab his ankles roughly, pulling his legs wide apart, his skin still hot and damp from the shower.

“You weren’t kidding,” he laughs out, and starts to turn over, but I put my hand in the middle of his back and press him into the bed.

“No, I wasn’t,” I retort and pull his ass cheeks apart, leaning in to lick a long, wide strip across his hole.

“Um... oh... uh...” he struggles for words, but I don’t give him a chance. I poke my tongue into his pucker as promised and he bucks up beneath me, gasping. I bury my face in his ass, wriggling my tongue inside him, then tickle across his hole, licking at him, teasing him, making him moan and groan, loving the sounds he’s making, the way he’s writhing under my mouth, my hands. He tastes like soap, and I keep licking to clean it away till all I taste is him, his skin, his raw scent.

“You’re killing me,” he grunts out, reaching behind him for me, pulling at my hand, trying to drag me up.

I pull my mouth from his ass for a split second. “Magic words,” I taunt him, then put my tongue in his hole again.

“Christ, Brian,” he starts humping the sheets a little. “Fuck me, please goddammit, fuck me,” he moans, desperate.

“Good boy,” I say, leaving his ass with a kiss, then climb up his back and roll on a condom and squirt him with lube. No time to waste now. I need, want, have to be inside him this fucking second. I put my hard dick at his slippery hole, then ease slowly inside him — he’s tight and pulsing and hot and I lay down on his back, covering him completely.

He lets out a long, slow breath, pushing his hands out on the bed, flattened beneath me. I lift up a little to pump my cock inside him, but my chest still brushes along his smooth back with every stroke. Bodies connected, he shifts on the bed beneath me, and God it’s so good to be here, inside him, with him.

I stare at his face... lips parted, tongue resting behind his teeth, eyes closed, messy wet hair plastered to his temples, cheeks flushed and full. All I hear are his breaths, quick and sharp, and I grab a tight handful of his hair, hold him in place, hear him moan beneath me.

“Gonna come on the duvet,” he gasps out, a warning. I can feel him arching beneath me.

“S’ok,” I say against his face and push in deep. “Feels good?”

“Fuck... God... yeah...” his breath is ragged as it tears from his throat. I maintain the pace, but keep driving deeper inside him, pushing him up on the bed. He grabs fistfuls of the duvet between his fingers, clutching at it, and I put my free hand on top of his, feeling his tendons move beneath my palm, moving, gripping, pulling...

I let myself drop down onto him slowly, pressing my body completely on top of his, letting him carry my weight, burying him into the sheets beneath me. He moans softly, and I feel it as much as I hear it, the rumble of his voice, the push of breath as it leaves his body.

His back is warm and damp beneath my chest and he starts breathing shallowly, sucking in breaths. I twist my fingers up into his hair again, harder, and pull his head back, exposing his throat. Lick at his skin, take away the warm sheen of sweat with my tongue, taste him. Sweet in my mouth, and I drag my lips across his chin, kissing him softly, slowly.

I edge into him deeper, see his face scrunch up the tiniest bit, then level out as I keep rocking into him, push push push from here, no in and out, just in in in... he gets tight on my cock, breaths quicken beneath my chest and I lean my forehead against his cheek, letting my sweaty skin stick to his.

“Wanna feel you come,” I close my eyes and whisper into his hair, threading my fingers between his. “Feel you shoot onto the sheets, your tight little ass on my cock.” I say these things into his ear and feel him tense beneath me.

“God, Brian,” he whimpers, and pushes back as much as he can, trapped between the bed and my body. The muscles in his back work beneath me, ripple as he tries to get more of me inside him, tries to get some friction on his dick. “Make me come.”

I pull his earlobe into my mouth, between my teeth, nibbling lightly... he starts to tremble, fingers clawing at the duvet, squeezing mine, thighs tensing, pushing together and I quicken my pace the slightest, angling just the right way and then tight tight *tight*. Christ, he starts to come, ass clenching hard around me, his body pulsing and everything feels far too intense, too much...

He’s groaning and panting and practically crying out beneath me, I feel it, feel everything in his body, coursing through him and back into mine, and it’s enough to push me over and then I’m the one groaning and panting, pulling hard on his hair and squeezing his hand and why does it always feel so much fucking better when I come inside him?

His little body is crushed beneath me, our skin is stuck together, our breathing is matched, our heartbeats in tandem. I release my grip on his hair, and stroke the crown of his head, knowing he’s a few hairs less up there because of me, the stray blond strands still stuck between my fingers.

I can feel him breathing shallowly beneath me. “I feel dizzy.” He grins as he says it, his face so red and flushed.

“That good, hunh?” I kiss the side of his face, his skin burning beneath my lips.

“You’re that *heavy*,” he shifts under me. “Can’t breathe.” He chuckles and I start to slide off him.

“Didn’t mean you have to move,” he says, holding my hand in his, keeping me in place.

“We’ll save the breathplay for another night,” I laugh softly into his hair. “Besides, we have dinner to go to.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you’re in such a hurry to get there,” he says sarcastically as I slowly pull out of him.

“Why Sunshine, I’m looking forward to it,” I say in my best sing-song voice. “I think it’s an excellent opportunity to meet—”

“And mock,” he interrupts, looking back at me, raising his eyebrows.

“Now what did I say about finishing my sentences?” I smack him on the ass, hard, and he yelps, rolling over onto his side away from me.

“Don’t tempt me like that, Brian,” he sticks his tongue out at me, grinning, then looks down at the mess on the duvet, a pool of his come sunk into the fabric and matting his pubes to his groin. “That wasn’t such a great idea.” He scrunches his nose up at me in that way that I love and that’s all it takes.

“Hmm... actually it was a fantastic idea,” I grab his hand and pull him to his feet. “Now I *do* get to fuck you in the shower.” I put my hand on his ass and usher him into the bathroom.

“We’ll be late,” he warns as I switch on the hot water again.

“Fashionably so,” I kiss him softly and thank God or whoever’s responsible for him. For this. For letting us still be together when everyone else is falling apart or pretending to play happy homemaker in the fucking suburbs.

Course I’d be lying if I said I was in the least surprised that Justin and I are still here, together. We know what works. This works.

He slides under the hot water with me, and I run the washcloth over the dried come on his belly, then up over his shoulders, pulling the cloth over his skin, massaging him lightly through the material.

“That feels great,” he says, leaning into me.

“Anything for mon amour,” I say back, grinning at him playfully, then kissing him on the head.

“I might start believing you if you keep saying that,” he smirks.

I kiss him again, on the mouth this time, lips to lips, tongues against tongues... and I wonder if he could maybe finish all the sentences in my head.