I don’t care *what* he says, it was the funky-ass tea I made him drink. Had to be the tea. Seriously.

I give him a sideways grin and he laughs at me, pulling me into the loft behind him.

“What’s the smirk for?” he says, yanking me into his arms and rubbing his hard cock against my stomach.

“Whaddya think?” I retort, slipping open the button of his jeans and taking hold of his thick dick in my hand. He sucks in a gasp as my fingers tighten around him.

He let me suck him off in the backroom, then grabbed my hand and we just left. Didn’t want a celebratory drink, didn’t want to do any of the backroom boys, didn’t want a hit or a tab or a toke.

Just wanted to go home.

So we’re home.

His fingers slide down my pants, and he grins at me, tongue stuck between his teeth. Pulls me against him, hard, his palm pressed flat out on the small of my back, one finger in my crack, our bodies close, warm, jeans and shirts rubbing against skin.

I know his wanting to come home has nothing to do with sentimentality, and everything to do with comfort and, well, his ego. I mean, what if this return to glory is only temporary and something happened – or I should say, something *didn’t* happen in the backroom?

Nah, I get it. And besides, I don’t really feel like sharing him – or this – with anyone else tonight.

I wrap my arms around his neck, and he lifts me off my feet a little and spins me around, kissing me hard, our mouths sliding together and I feel lightheaded and wound up. I want him to fuck me, now, hard, fast. Want his cock buried in my ass and want to ride him and feel him inside me the way that nothing else feels like. That hard/soft feeling of dick, that warmth that burns me up, that rush of pleasure and intensity that only comes from cock. From the very idea of cock up my ass, from the very idea that a part of him is inside me.

We stumble backwards, and my feet barely hit the floor, just toes brushing against hardwood, stepping on top of his shoes, tripping over one another, kisses turning messy and wet as we fight to stay together. Hands clinging to backs and pulling at hair, sliding across skin, under clothes.

Expect him to throw me down onto the cushions, to pull me to the floor, to wrap my arms around one of the metal columns, bend me over the kitchen counter. Anything. But he stops walking and doesn’t go of me, just holds me tightly against his chest, his hands pressed hard against my body and I wonder, fear, that maybe it’s gone, maybe he can’t, maybe it’s lost again.

His fingers slide up into my hair and he puts his palms on either side of my face, and breaks our kiss, pressing his forehead against mine. He pants a little, breath washing over my face, our bodies still pushed together hard, and I feel every breath in and out of his chest. I close my eyes and swallow hard, let my hands slip to his waist, bunch handfuls of his tank top into my grip.

I want him to be better. I want this to be over. I don’t want to think about him being sick or him not feeling like the god he is. I don’t want him hurt or questioning or anxious or…

“Forgot to breathe,” he says, laughing a little, pushing out a breath, rubbing his thumb across my cheek.

I laugh nervously, and smile a bit. It’s crazy because I *do* feel nervous. Like it’s the first time all over again. That’s just nuts – we’ve been together for so long, and there’s nothing that we’ll ever do that we haven’t done before.

But somehow things have changed lately, with him and me, and it was before he got sick and after I came back, and maybe now I’m just realizing it because of this. Because of the weirdness and differentness of the last couple weeks, because we haven’t been fucking and we’ve just been talking, because I’ve finally really felt like his partner. Felt the commitment. Felt like I’m where I’m supposed to be and that no matter what happens to he and I separately in our lives, we’ll always have each other. And that in lots of ways, we need each other.

There are lots of ways we don’t need each other. But in the important ways, we do.

When he pushed me away, I knew that it wasn’t forever. Knew that it couldn’t be. Knew that this life we have together is too important. Knew that I’d changed too much and he’d changed too much to let it just go like that.

And now we’ve got this and it’s not fucked us up, it’s made us stronger. He said he’d felt like he’d been given a second chance, and I know he was kidding and joking and that he doesn’t believe in God or chance or fate or destiny. But I think maybe did believe his words, maybe just a little.

And I think maybe this is a second chance – for both of us.

I take a deep breath and hug him, hard. Wrap my arms around his body and pull him against me and breathe in that smell of smoke and dry ice and Brian. Breathe him in and think about how fucking lucky I was to have gone to Liberty Avenue that night, how fucking lucky I was he saw me under the streetlight, how fucking lucky I was that everything played out the way it was supposed to and that we’ve come to end up here.

Through everything, we’ve always made it. Maybe painfully, maybe kicking and screaming, maybe with kisses and sex and blowjobs when words should’ve been in their place. Maybe there’ve been lots of times it would be easier to just give up, maybe both of us have made terrible mistakes, saying and doing things we didn’t mean. Not saying and doing the things we should have.

But we always end up back here. As right or as wrong as that is, we always end up here.

It’s what we have. Sometimes it’s all we have.

I kiss the side of his face and slide my hand up along his arm to grab his wrist, twisting his fingers between mine. Take the last few steps towards the bedroom, pulling him with me, and ascend the stairs to the bed. Push him down on to it, and climb up to lie beside him, sliding my leg between his, kissing him softly, licking at his lips and stroking his chest.

He sighs and kisses me back, fingers coming up around the back of my neck, pulling me on top of him, our legs twisted up together, bodies warm and pressed close.

We kiss and kiss and kiss some more, till we have sore tongues and swollen lips and our hips grind into each other, his cock rubbing against my leg, my dick pushed into his hip. I don’t want to expect, don’t want to assume, don’t want to suppose anything. I’ll let him lead me wherever he wants to go. And if this is all, then this is more than enough.

But he surprises me and presses his hand to my back, rolling me over to lie on top of me. He holds himself over me, hair hanging around his forehead, dark eyes searching my face. He pushes his crotch against mine and I feel how hard he is. Feel his cock digging into me, and my eyes unfocus a little, my heart double beats in my chest and I suck in a gasp.

“I wanna be inside you,” he whispers, then breaks into a smile at his own words, remembering when something so similar was spoken before, and I grin back, so amazed that he remembered. Grin at that night, at that time, at that feeling.

Realize how much this is the same.

I bite my lip and nod and smile and pull his shirt over his head and he lifts up and unbuckles his jeans and pulls off mine and we fumble with clothes madly and crazily till we’re lying there naked. Till his cock is pressed against my skin now, and I can feel how hot and wet and wanting he is. He runs his hands up my chest and around my neck and up into my hair and I see flashes of things in his eyes, see him blink hard and shake his head and swallow and the heat is fading and the things he told me about are coming back…

“Look at me,” I say it loud and put my hand on the back of his neck, not letting him turn his head.

He nods a little and focuses on my eyes and opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything. I lift my hips and wrap my legs around his thighs, pulling him to me, rocking beneath him, moving and touching and bringing him back to me.

And then he closes his eyes and plants kisses across my face, my nose, rubbing his fingers across my cheeks, into my hair, rocks with me, pushing his cock against my belly, hard again, warm again, and I feel the heat come back. Feel him come back.

He reaches over to the side table and grabs a condom, tearing off the top with his teeth and I take it from his hand as he lifts himself up over me. Stroke his naked dick with my fingers a few times till he pulls his lips into his mouth and sighs through his nose. Slide on the condom, and raise my hips, letting him pull my calves over his shoulders.

He leans over me, pulling my legs up and then his cock at my hole, and I reach behind me, twisting to my side a little to cover his hand with mine. Feel his dick in his hand, still hard and hot and I follow his fingers as he strokes himself, makes himself harder, then pushes against my ass, and slides inside me. Just like that. Just like a thousand times before and a thousand times to come.

Ah, inside, filling up that space inside I have reserved just for him, making me feel whole and complete and his face breaks apart in a grin and he laughs a little and his eyes close and I put my hands on his face and pull him to me for a kiss and neither one of us can stop smiling and everything is right and perfect and good and God, feels so fucking amazing.

And it’s been too long since we’ve been like this, been too many hours and days since we’ve connected like this and it’s too much and over too soon, our slow rocking quickly turning to hard fucking and then he cums, pushing his dick so hard inside me, squeezing my hand in his, and pushing his face into mine, stroking my cock fast to bring me there with him too and then it’s over for both of us, sticky with sweat and cum and spit on our faces and Jesus Christ, that was better than anything.

He collapses on to my chest, letting my ankles fall from his shoulders. His muscles are quivering with the strain, the effort, of over-exertion in his tired body. I can feel it run through him, echoing in his muscles and bones, and passing into me. He buries his face into my neck, kissing me on the edge of my chin, fingers twisting up into my hair.

“Thank-fucking-God,” he moans, and slowly pulls his cock out of my ass.

I pet the back of his neck and let out a big sigh. “Amen,” I say, laughing a little.

He rolls off me and onto his back on the bed, stripping off the condom. I crawl over to him and rest my head on chest, listening to his heartbeat, still racing in his chest, but soon it slows, calms, evens out.

I lift my head to look at him, sure he must be nearly asleep. But he’s looking at me, eyes wide open. And he smiles a little, relief and exhaustion clearly written all over his face.

I smile back. His fingers slide up into my hair, and he slowly strokes my head. I want to say a million things right now, want to tell him I love him, that I love him no matter how many balls he has. Want to tell him I’d love him even if we couldn’t fuck, even if all we ever had was kisses and hugs. Want to tell him he’s brave and strong and that everything is going to be okay, and that really, it *is* okay.

But knowing when to say something is as important as knowing when not to.

So we lie here and feel each other breathe and fall asleep together, basking in what we have.