I check in the closet, in the back, where he always has new boxes of Hugo Boss and Calvin Klein t-shirts. But there’s nothing there.

No more t-shirts.

I take a couple steps back, slowly turning around and put my hand in my wet hair, then let it drop. Stare at the two empty drawers where my shit used to be, hanging open wide where I left them.

Brian’s in the kitchen and I hear the tap go on as he fills a glass up with water, a quiet slurp as he drinks, then a *thunk* as he puts it down on the counter. I look up at him from the bedroom, peering through the panels.

He stares at me a moment, a vague smile across his face… and then it slips away, pulling his lips and eyes down and he scrunches up his nose.

“What?” he barks at me a little harshly and maybe it’s the hangover and maybe it’s because I’m tired, but it makes me jump and I flinch at his voice.

I stand between the panels, feeling like a copy of Brian, wearing only my jeans and nothing else.

“You don’t have any t-shirts left,” I say, waving my hand towards the closet.

He gives me a sideways grin. “Yeah, some twink keeps stealing them,” he picks up his glass again, drinking back the rest of the water. No more bottled water around here anymore, I noticed.

“But, you always have t-shirts,” I state stupidly and melodramatically, and Brian just stares at me like I’m fucking nuts.

“Well I’ll wash them then,” he says it like I’m six years old and I realize he’s not fucking getting what I’m saying. Not fucking realizing what this means. No t-shirts. No clean laundry. No bottles of water.

Things have changed and I think it just fucking hit me.

I left and came back and shit happened so fast, I didn’t see it happening and now I realized that it did and… I need to sit down.

Climb onto the bed, because well, let’s face it, there’s no where else to sit, and fuck, that makes me freak out more. I sit cross-legged in the middle of the mattress, legs folded under me, bare toes sticking out. I just sit there and try to get my head around the fact that the things I thought I knew have changed. The things I fucking took for granted are gone.

Things like t-shirts and bottles of water and security and where I stand and where I fit in and what the fuck I’m supposed to do with a fucked up school record, a busted hand, a crap ass job at a diner, and a boyfriend who would never admit that’s what he is.

Oh my God.

Yeah.

It just hit me.

Hold my head in my hands, wet hair laying against my cheeks.

It’s been three days since Stockwell lost the election. Three days of parties and fucking. Three days of celebration and drinking and getting stoned and not caring. Dancing at Babylon and dinners at Deb’s and late mornings sleeping in.

A vacation from reality.

But I think the vacation is over.

I hear Brian’s bare feet on the hardwood, drawing closer, closer, closer… thump, thump, thump, and he’s up the stairs. He stops at the top of the stairs, and I want to look up at him, really want to look up at him, but man, I don’t want to see that look on his face. Don’t want to see him staring at me with dismay and disgust and that look of what-the-fuck-is-his-problem-now.

But I can’t fucking help it if I’m melodramatic. I’m an artist. I have a license to be fucking whacked.

“I can wash them, Justin,” he says it again, and I don’t look up.

“Do you even *know* how to use the washing machine?” I ask him, head buried in my hands.

“I bought the fucking thing, I think I know how to use it,” he takes a couple steps closer and sits on the edge of the bed, facing away from me.

I peek up at him through my bangs. Stare at his naked back, the edge of his jeans dipping open as he leans forward, the smooth skin of his ass revealed.

“I had a whole life before, you know,” he clears his throat and looks back at me over his shoulder. “I’ve done *this* before.”

“Done what?” I ask him.

“Been poor, Justin. Had no money. I’ve done it for most of my life,” he turns around and steps up onto the bed, shuffling across the sheets until he’s standing behind me.

I feel ignorant all of a sudden. Of course he’s done it. I know he’s done it. And it’s not really about the money or the lack of t-shirts.

It’s about change.

I nod slowly, and put my head back in hands, ignoring the headache creeping behind my temples. Ignoring the funny shake in my hand. Ignoring the waving rise of panic in my stomach. I wish I could fix this right now. I wish I could go back a year and be happy how things were.

But I know that everything that happened was supposed to happen. It had to happen. It *needed* to happen.

He kneels down behind me and I feel his toes brushing against my ass. He’s cross-legged too, knees bumping into my sides, and he leans in real close and whispers into my hair.

“That’s not what you’re worried about, is it,” his words float into my head like I’m thinking them and I don’t react because he knows he’s right already.

He puts his hands on my back, palms flat out against my skin, and grips my shoulders gently, then harder. Starts easing out the tension with his fingers, massaging me and rubbing my skin hard.

“Not worried…” I breathe out, letting my head fall forward, and dropping my hands into my lap. “Just…”

Just… I don’t know what.

But then I stop thinking and suddenly all I can focus on is him and everything else just seems to… go away. I just focus on him trying to make me feel better. Focus on his hands exploring my back, pushing in on my muscles, smoothing across my skin over and over, sending vibrations through me, warming me, sparking tingles down my spine.

He roams up to my neck and presses his thumbs up into my scalp, and God, this feels so good, so amazing, so relaxing… I close my eyes, and let myself drift, his fingers weaving up into my hair and down my neck and across my shoulders and down my spine, ending up on my tailbone, dipping into the back of my jeans.

Then his mouth, oh, his soft lips on my skin, littering little kisses across my shoulders… he grabs a handful of my hair and gently pulls my head to the side, exposing my neck, licking me in that spot that gives me goosebumps every time. More licks, then teeth, and ohhh… he sucks on me, his wet, open, mouth pulling on my skin, nibbling and kissing me in the same spot till I feel bruised and sore. Giving me a huge mark on my neck that I know anyone would see over the collar of my shirt, and it makes me feel kind of reckless to let him do this to me, to let him brand me with his teeth and tongue.

His fingers release my hair, and I let my head roll back on to him, leaning into him, and his touch returns to my shoulders, his fingers kneading my muscles till I feel loose all over.

He shifts behind me, then slides back, pulling me with him. His bare feet slide against my thighs, as he opens his legs wide, dragging me between. Nestling me in his crotch, his warm cock digging into the small of my back through his jeans.

Palms, flattened out, run down my chest, pressing against my skin… my arms fall to the sides and I lean into him completely… he slides his hands up and down my chest, pushing me back onto him, hard against my body. Slowly his fingers work down from my chest to my belly to my pubes… he flips open the top button of my jeans, and slithers his hand into the denim, cupping my dick in his palm, warm against my skin.

Feels so nice, feels so good… that warm rush of blood to my cock, growing stiff beneath his touch, reacting to him without thinking, without knowing. My body taking over when my mind can’t.

He just holds my cock in his fingers, rubbing his thumb along my shaft, pressed tight into my groin from the confines of my jeans. I tip my head into his shoulder and sigh, letting a humm slip through my lips.

He tugs at my jeans, pushing them down a little. “Take these off,” he whispers into my ear, and I comply willingly, wriggling out of the denim, and kicking them off the bed.

His fingers back on my cock, lightly now, open to the cool air, washing across my sensitive dick. Almost like not touching, just brushing skin against skin… I lean back into his warm chest and breathe deeply, relaxed and feeling wanted, taken.

Slowly he milks a drop of pre-cum from my cock, and swipes his thumb over my slit to pick it up… then the pad of his thumb is on my lips, smearing it across my mouth. I flick out my tongue to capture his thumb, but he plants his palm on my cheek and twists my head around towards him… kisses me warmly, our lips slipping together in my pre-cum.

Holds me there, capturing me with kisses till I can hardly breathe, his fingers stroking me still, and I moan a little in my throat, wanting him more, wanting this more, just fucking wanting.

He releases my face, and I suck air into my lungs, reaching my tongue out to taste him, lick at his chin, pressing my cheek against his collarbone, feeling his heartbeat against my temple.

Harder on my cock now, gripping me tighter, fingers getting moist with sweat and our skin sticks together, pulling my cock in his fist over and over, more and more. I start to writhe between his legs, my naked ass rubbing against his denim-covered crotch, the hard bulge of his dick pressing firmly into my back. The worn fabric of his jeans is soft against my skin and I put my hands on his thighs, running my palms across the woven fabric till the friction makes my skin feel fuzzy.

Hmmmm… he moves behind me, slides his ankles over my calves, pulling my legs open wide, hooking his feet under my knees, holding me open. God, I feel exposed and vulnerable… I feel bare and kind of like when he ties me up, holding my hands behind my back, my ass open and there for him to take.

But this is different. Because he’s holding me tightly against him. He’s got me. Captured me. Not letting me go.

Never letting me go.

I think I figured that out now.

Arms cover mine, pressing my elbows against my sides, and I can’t move, pinned to the bed with his legs, arms held against my body. There’s nothing left for me to do but resign myself to him. Let him have me. Let him take me.

He jacks me off slowly, then reaches down to my balls cupping them softly, rolling them in his fingers, smoothing his thumb on the underside of my cock. Hear the flick of a cap then, oh fuck… feel liquid lube dripping onto my pubes, my cock. It’s warm, and trickles down between my thighs, thin rivulets slipping down onto my balls, towards my crack. I try to arch up into his touch, open my mouth wide, gasping for air… oh… but he holds me tightly, legs clamping down to hold me open, hold me there…

Still he strokes me, cradling my balls, smoothing the lube over my skin, rubbing it in, wave after wave of near euphoria passing through me as he glides over this spot or that… as he touches me in places he knows makes me crazy, makes me cry out. He bites on my neck, sucking me softly, moving across my neck to my shoulder, tiny pinpricks of pain as he nibbles, then licks, intensifying the burning inside me, the incredible fucking desire to get off.

I pry open my eyes and tilt my head forward, watch his fingers on my cock, watch as though he’s masturbating and through some psychic connection I feel it… then he lets go of my cock for a moment, and puts his hands over mine, his palms slippery and warm with lube... he weaves his fingers in-between mine and pulls my hands to my dick.

I let him guide me, pushing my fingers around my cock, making me jack myself off, four hands gripping my dick, tight, hard, and I try to pump my hips, but he’s still got me, pulling my legs farther apart as I instinctively fight to squeeze them together... fuck, he moves my hands faster, pushing my fingers tightly against my dick, and he buries his face in my neck, pulling on my hair with his teeth, then biting me, sucking me hard, hard, hard, lips caressing me, and everything gets faster and faster and I squeeze my eyes shut and…

“Oh God, Brian,” I moan before that split second when I can’t fucking talk anymore and everything gets all buzzy and incoherent and I feel my skin bloom with color and heat and oh fuck, fuck, fuck, his hips grind into my ass, legs pulling me towards him and oh… oh God. Oh GOD!

Euphoria washes over me, and cries leave my throat as my cum splatters onto my chest, shot after shot of warmth hitting me, dripping down my stomach, spilling onto our fingers. I struggle for breath, trying not to choke with each hitch in my throat.

Kisses on the side of my face bring me back to reality, ground me. Brian pulls our hands from my cock, and wraps his arms around me, holding me tightly, close. He rocks me slowly back and forth and my eyes close… I press his arms to my chest, holding on too. I feel calm and peace and nothing but what I wanted. I think I know where I belong.

“Fuck the t-shirts,” he says quietly into my ear. “We’ll walk around here naked for the rest of our fucking lives.”

It makes me grin and I laugh through my nose. “Forever?” I ask, a smile in my voice.

He humms into my neck, and kisses my cheek, lips touching me softly, words dancing on the edge of his tongue, and I hear him. Hear forever.