My feet were stuck to the floor and not from the sticky cum that covered it. I couldn't move. Not an inch, not a muscle. More than anything I wished I could just pull my eyes off him, but I couldn't. I don't know what had me frozen there. Was it the sight of his beautiful tight ass pumping forcefully in and out of the little fucker named Shawn or the graceful way he arched his back and tilted his head while he did it? Or was it the painful churning in my gut and threat of tears pricking my eyes?

I knew right then, under the blue neon lights, with the sound of music thumping above and boys thumping each other, that I had been fooling myself. From the moment I laid eyes on him in those faded blue jeans and plaid shirt I was wandering into dangerous territory. And after a series of forks in the road – and bad decisions – I was in uncharted territory. Somewhere Brian Kinney had not dared to tread before.

The first wrong turn came when that boy scout of a trick made me chase after the twat. At that point I could barely remember his name so I really didn't give a fuck if I'd hurt his feelings. I really only went after Justin because I thought Father Good Fuck might bail if I didn't and I really wanted to stick my dick in his mouth.

Like a teacher with a slow student I meticulously and shamelessly outlined the philosophy that had gotten my through 29 years of life. "I don't believe in love. I believe in fucking. It's honest. It's efficient. You get in and out with a maximum of pleasure and a minimum of bullshit. Love is something straight people tell themselves they are in so that they can get laid. And then they end up hurting each other because it was all based on lies to begin with."

It wasn't posturing. It was false bravado or me putting on some inane bad-boy-who-just-needs-a-hug image. It was truth. My truth. I completely and utterly believed, like a religion, what I said that night to that 17 year old whose name I kept trying to forget.

I figured he'd give me a little Dawson's Creek melodrama but I wouldn't let it faze me. I mean he wasn't the first fuck to develop a crush. So it surprised me that when his sniffling and watering eyes kinda started to faze me. And it horrified me when he sweetly proclaimed, "I want you" and I blurted out "I'm too old for you."

A few tears and a declaration of puppy love and I blame age for my rejection? What the fuck? Why'd I go there? It didn't matter if he was 17, 27 or Brad fucking Pitt in a pair of assless chaps, my answer was no. No to relationships and feelings and all of that crap.

I caught myself, changed the words tumbling out of my mouth to make it about him and inwardly blamed the Special K running through my veins for the mistake. I never did sleep with Father Good Fuck. I sent him home and went to bed. Justin was right anyway, he was ugly.

Then, less than 24 hours later, the little fuck stole those 2 twinks from me and there was no denying it turned me on. Looking at his bold, sexy actions and how it outrageously clashed with the look of need and longing in his pale blue eyes... it made me hard. I couldn't help but reward him for his efforts. But that morning when I dropped him off at school for the second time in a week, I told myself that the chapter was finished. Justin Taylor had taken his final bow in my bedroom. He could go down in history as the only guy to fuck me twice but that would be it.

Letting him give me head in Mikey's old bedroom, well... I should totally regret that. And morally, I guess I do. It wasn't on my brain when I went up there to talk to him but... he looked so damn hot in that undersized orange top. And I was horny as hell having spent all that time dealing with Theodore's medical crisis instead of in the back room at Babylon. I was weak. And I can't bring myself to regret it because it was the best damn head I've had in my fucking life. He'd never done it before, to me or anyone else, and he had zero technique but so much damn passion and eagerness. He treated my dick like it was a ride at Disneyland – he couldn't get enough. I came so quickly I was almost embarrassed.

I tried to tell myself I only bought the nude drawing of me to keep some desperate old queen from buying it and jerking off to it. When I was forced to go get him in New York City I told myself that the reason I couldn't take my lips off him or my cock out of him for hours and hours in that hotel room was because I was overrun with stress and anxiety. I needed the release and if it hadn't been him I would have had the same blinding intense orgasms with someone else (even though I never had before).

And then, weirdly, we developed a kind of system. Or at least that's what I thought. He gave. I took. And nobody talked feelings. I did what I wanted and he was there waiting. He was the puppy, I was the Alpha Dog. Yeah.... I was fucking fooling myself. And what makes me a bigger idiot is that I wasn't fooling him in the least.

And that little 17 year old whose name I pretended I couldn't remember called my bluff. He stole that Shawn what's-his-fuck right out from under me.



Fuck him.

Oh wait... I can't now.

I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is watching me. I can't hide the pain in my eyes, I know that, and if anyone saw it and called me on it right now, I would have to slug them. I glance one more time at Justin as his hips move in a quick, hard, uneven pace. He's sliding his hot, hard cock in and out of this random trick. He's topping. For the first time.

I head for the stairs, taking them two at a time, desperate to get away.

Away from the back room, away from the club, and onto the street. I see Emmett watching me go. I hear Mikey call my name but I act like I don't. The chill in the night air does nothing to numb the white hot pain of rejection running through my veins or the panic running through my head. How the fuck did I get here? How do I get back? Why the fuck would he do this to me? Doesn't he know I wanted to be the first person he topped?

A tear escapes as I stop near an alley to light a cigarette. The tear makes my hands tremble even more than they already are and I curse and toss the cigarette and the lighter into the alley.

When I get to my empty loft, I take double the recommended dosage of Ambien and wash it down with a beer. I know it won't kill me but maybe it will kill these feelings. Or at the very least, shut my brain down and give me a dreamless sleep.

It does just that but when I wake in the morning it all comes flooding back. I tear off the clothes I wore the night before, the ones I fell asleep in, and shower. Alone. Without Justin. And I wonder where he is showering this morning. I wonder if he's thought about me.

No. No fucking way. He wasn't going to do this to me. He may have had me off course for a second but it was only that – a misstep. A mistake. A fixable error.

With any luck he'll start seeing that piece of ass from last night and I can finally get my life back. After all he wants the romance and the commitment and I don't.

I don't.

I don't.

I don't.

I keep repeating this to myself as I stumble along with the mid-morning foot traffic on Liberty Avenue. Mikey, Ted and Ted's little boyfriend are all in a booth. Ted smiles and waves me over. Mikey looks at my with his big panda bear eyes all full of concern. But I know deep down in the big browns there is joy. Relief. Bliss. He wants nothing more than to have me for himself. I wonder for a split second why I never fell for Mikey but then I remember - I don't fall for anyone.

I sit down with the simplest of grumblings as a hello and pick up the closest newspaper I can find. It's some free weekly fag rag that I wouldn't normally even glance at but I now treat it like it's a Pulitzer Prize winning novel. Because I see him through the front window and I hear the bell jingle as the door opens and I know he's bee lining it straight for this fucking table.

I curse my so-called friends as they cheer and clap at his arrival. After all, he's come to gloat, rub salt in my wounds, belittle me.

I beat him to the chase. "So how was he?"

I can't help but steal a glance as he starts his elaborate description. I don't hear all the words because that pain in my gut is back and it's distracting. But I hear enough – greatest ass, all night, sore dick.

"That's enough." I order.

But now Mikey's panda bear eyes contain zero concern and only joy. It's over. He senses it and he wants to make sure the final nail is placed in this coffin. "Actually, I'd like to hear more."

The words feel like a betrayal. I want to reach over and punch him but instead I flick Ted as he adds. "Speak slowly and enunciate."

"He gave great head," says the lips that give the best head I have ever had. "He wanted me to fuck him with my crown on. That was kinda kinky."

The table erupts in snorts and guffaws, but to me there is no humor. Just that sickly burning feeling in the pit of my stomach. Only now it's creeping its way up into my chest.

My eyes don't leave the paper. I'm the picture of distraction only I'm hanging on his every heinous word. I notice his tone change. "After a while though he got really clingy. He wanted to know when he could see me again..."

He voice trails off and I can't help but see his face. This is it. This is his exit. My reprieve. He'll date this Shawn shithead and I can go back to life with a sick knot in my belly.

Our eyes meet. Silence. Nothing but diner sounds.

"So what'd you tell him?" I lead. Say it you little twat. Just say it. Say he's your new boyfriend. Say you've moved on. Fucking. Say. It.

Justin exhales and smiles. It's soft and subtle but it's trademark sunshine nonetheless. "I told him he could see me in his dreams."

I stare at him, expressionless as he smiles at me, unabashedly. Out of the corner of my eye I see Mikey's face as he remembers where Justin's words originated and he starts to grin despite himself. That fucking Mikey, always a sucker for a good romance.

And then it hits me fully as I stare into Justin's eyes: He didn't reject me.

Emmett breaks the silence with some inane comment and I use the moment to throw a twenty on the table and get the fuck out. I need air. I'm reeling.

The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach has morphed into this weird warm fluttering that makes my breath catch in my throat and my heart feels like I would imagine it would in a full blown panic attack.

What the fuck? That was supposed to be the end. The last stop on this whimsical and wacked out Justin-Brian fuck fest... Fucked up fest.

"You feeling okay?"

"Fine." I bark back at him.

"Cuz you look like you might, like, barf or something."

"Well since you asked I do feel a little sick," I snap and take a deep breath before turning to face him.

"Really?" He says flatly as the chilly wind blows his blonde hair ever so slightly. "What part made you sick? The part where I fucked somebody else or the part where you thought I might start dating someone else?"

That perceptive little fuck.

"It was the Eggs Benedict," I lie. "Give the boy a crown and he grows an ego bigger than his dick."

I start down the street and I know before he does it that he'll follow me. We're halfway back to my loft before I speak again.

"When I asked you how it was I wasn't asking about that limp dicked loser," I tell him as the wind nips my cheeks. "I meant topping."

"It was good," he replies with not a whole lot of enthusiasm.

"Just good huh?" I say with a smirk. "With me it would have been great."

Justin's step falters a little but he quickly regains his stride and falls into line next to me. "You would let me top? Top you?"

"Maybe I would have," I reply as I dig my keys from my pocket. "But since you're such an inpatient little fuck, and you've already done it, there's no need to offer my services now."

"I said he was only good," He argues. "I deserve great."

"You deserve what you get," I snap. "You set the bar low. That's your loss, not mine."

We're in front of my loft now and I'm unlocking the door. "Well maybe you'll change your mind." He says to me hopefully. "Let me do it again. With you."

"It'll be a cold day in hell," I tell him as I push open the door, holding it for him.

He stops directly in front of me on his way into the warm lobby of my building. "I can wait," he says simply and with that fucking gorgeous smile. "I've got time. I'm not going anywhere."

And then he just about skips to the elevator, pressing the button and humming to himself.

"No," I say softly to myself. "I guess you aren't going anywhere."


I'm falling in ove.

Kill me now.