Home Again

It's been three years. Three years to the day that I left Pittsburgh. Three. Years. I haven't been back. I can't bear to be in that city without him. Because it's not just the diner where I used to work and the club I used to party at or the street my mother's house is on. It's the place he would go to and pretend he was hungry just so he could see me. The place where I worked not just for the money but so that he could find me if he needed me, whether we were on again or off again. It was the club where I first dance┘ for him. Where I first stole his lips from a twinkie, his cock from a trick, his heart from himself. The house he saved me from. The house he returned me to. The place I used to lie awake and fantasize about him.

And then there was Liberty Avenue. I used to love Liberty Avenue. That street was a home. A safe haven. Now the thought of walking down it makes bile build in my throat. There isn't an alley I could walk by now that wouldn't remind me of his long, perfect cock. There isn't a dark corner he hasn't fucked me in. Not a street light we haven't made out under. And now he's gone.

I suppose it's only right. I left first. But I never thought - never - that he would leave too. And some overgrown part of my ego thought that if he did leave, it would be to come for me. But he didn't come for me or to me. When Kinnetik expanded he chose Los Angeles. The other side of the country. As far away from me as possible. The emails came often at first. Less frequent after a year. Only on the holidays after two years. Now┘ it had been 5 months since an email. A year since I heard his soft, scratchy voice through my cell phone. Three years since his full, powerful lips were on mine. Three years since his cock was in my hand... My mouth... My ass. Three fucking long painful years since his lips were on my neck... rimming my asshole, swallowing my cock. And yes, those years were filled with artistic success, new friends and experiences as well as inconsequential romances and hot one night stands, but he was always still there - squatting in my heart like a homeless person in an empty cardboard box. And he was always what I had to think of in order to cum no matter how hot the body beside me.

"J, it's for you."

I look up, startled. I hadn't even heard the phone ring. Dylan is looking down at me lying on my queen-sized platform bed, my full erection barely masked by the sheets.

"Is that for me?" he asks staring at my cock with a horny smile as he hands me the phone. I smile, trying not to look insincere and kiss him on the cheek before saying hello into the cordless.

"Busy?" His voice ricochets down my spine like an electrical surge. My cock somehow gets harder and my heart leaps into my throat... or maybe it's pushed there by the butterflies that erupt from my abdomen.

"No. Never. Not when it comes to you." I stand up, wrapping the sheet around me and stumble off the bed. I know Dylan's eyes are wide and curious, but I don't care. He is a good guy. We've been fucking for 2 months now, which is my longest "relationship" since I moved to New York, and I only started letting him sleepover this week. I owe him nothing because he is nothing... now.

"It's been a long time."

"Too long," I reply too quickly. Too honestly. Brian isn't one for honest emotional responses. He's comfortable with subtly and coyness, but not real true feelings.

"How's LA?"

"Don't know. Not there."

"Where are you? Are you back in Pittsburgh?" My mother's pleading to come home next month for thanksgiving suddenly becomes less of an annoying request and more of an enticing offer. That is, until he says no.

"Pittsburgh? No. Never again."

"Let me guess," I offer trying hard to hide my disappointment and knowing full well I can hide nothing from him. Even now. Even over the phone. Even three years later. "You're opening a Chicago office?"

"I'm here."

My breathing stops instantly and my feet no longer pace around my tiny Chelsea loft. I hear him chuckle over the phone.

"Justin?" My name rolling softly from his vocal cords makes my balls tighten inexplicably. Dylan always calls me "J" which probably should annoy me, but I've always thought my name is only beautiful when Brian Kinney says it anyway.

"I'm here." He repeats in a firm, all-business tone.

"New York?" I croak like I that horny, terrified teenager leaning against a street lamp on Liberty Avenue a million lifetimes ago. "New York City?"

"Chelsea," he embellishes. And then there was a strong, hard rap at the loft door.

"I'll get it!" Dylan says in his sing-song voice that makes me want to throw him out the window. Not because I'm suddenly angry but because I suddenly don't want him here, in my world. My world that is spiralling into something too perfect to have a stranger in it.

I stick my arm straight out, stopping Dylan from reaching the door. Another hard, strong rap.

"Are you going to get that?" Brian's voice smoulders. He is taunting and cocky and overpoweringly in control. Everything I have ever loved... and sometimes loathed.

I drop the phone and it clatters loudly on the wood floor. Dylan says something, I have no idea what because he doesn't exist anymore. He never will again. Not in my world. All that matters in my world is the large metal sliding door and what stands behind it. It's all that has ever really mattered, no matter where I was or what or who I was doing. I fling the door back without hesitation or fear. And there he is.

Brian Kinney.

Tall, lean, muscular, tousled chestnut hair, smokey hazel eyes, smirking, full, wet lips. I say nothing. I can't. I'm suddenly fighting a lump in my throat the size of a softball and blinking profusely as my eyes water mysteriously. He steps into the loft without an invitation, like he owns it, and stares Dylan.

"You can go now," he tells him dismissively.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"The love of his life," Brian responds simply and then motions gracefully towards the door. "Have a nice day."


"J?" Brian almost laughs.

"Bye," I tell Dylan without removing my eyes from Brian's form.

Dylan stomps towards the door like a dejected child. "You said you weren't attached!"

"I guess I lied," I say and this makes Brian smile which makes my cock twitch under the thin sheet that's still wrapped around my waist.
Brian notices and now it's my turn to smile. Then Dylan's gone and we're alone. All alone together.

Brian steps closer but not close enough. Not close enough that I can feel his heat or breathe his scent or touch his skin. Not close enough.

"I was thinking," Brian says, his hazel eyes bouncing from the sheet that hides my dick to my eyes that hide nothing. "Kinnetik needs a New York office."



"So you're here to start a New York office?"

"I'm here to start a New York office," he repeats and then steps closer. I can smell him now and it's sending me reeling. "I'm here to start another chapter┘ in my business."

"In your business?" Now it's my turn to step closer. I peer up and he's looking past me, out the window that faces the Chelsea fire station across the street. I exhale hard, knowing my breath is tickling his neck, knowing that makes him crazy. I move my arm to refasten the sheet and my wrist purposely grazes the fly of his jeans. I can feel him, for only a second, but I can tell he's hard. My mouth starts to water at the thought of his gorgeous dick.

"Funny," I start and now I'm the one who's cocky and overwhelmingly in control. "I thought you were here to start another chapter with me."

"That too, sunshine," he whispers. "That too."

Then his hand - strong and hard - is on the sheet, pulling it from my torso and his body presses into mine so hard I lose my breath. The rough fabric of the denim he wears chaffs my bare cock. Then his lips┘. Those perfect, thick, wet lips are covering mine and my eyes flutter shut as his hand cups the back of my head and his tongue finds its way into my mouth. Pittsburgh or no Pittsburgh I am home again.