I watch him from the doorway of the bedroom.
He's in a plain, oatmeal colored T shirt and a pair of army green cargos that should probably be slightly tighter. They kind of hang off his hips, gapping at the waist, exposing the pure white flesh there because the shirt could probably be a little bit longer. He probably shrunk it in the dryer. Laundry is not Justin Taylor's strong suit.
He's got a canvas laid out on top of the dining room table, which has been carefully covered in a brand new painting tarp. I can't believe I agreed to let him paint in the fucking loft. I must be certifiable. But he wouldn't let me rent him a space – like a studio – and now that he's no longer able to use the school's studio… And honestly until I get a job I don't have the cash to rent him something.
But I'm no fucking patron saint of the arts. I didn't sacrifice my $2500 table – which is a work of art in its own right – to make the world a prettier place with his paintings.
I did it because watching him create is the biggest aphrodisiac I've ever encountered. It beats booze and poppers and E and Special K and oysters and Spanish fly and green M&Ms.
He is just standing there, staring at the blank canvas with his dark blonde brows pushed together in concentration and one hand on his slim hip and the other holding an unused brush. Fuck, even Justin thinking about painting makes my dick come alive.
I lean against the frame of the bedroom doorway, my eyes glued to him, my right hand resting on top of the front of my towel. The terry cloth fabric feels good against my growing bulge.
He hasn't noticed me yet.
He's too busy contemplating the blank canvas and what it will become. He steps to the right, his size 8 bare feet almost soundless against the wood floor. Justin's feet are fucking adorable just like the rest of him. Tiny and perfect and proof that foot size and dick size do not match up. Well him and that trick with the size 11 feet and the 5-inch dick I met at Babylon last week.
Justin bends at the waist to scrutinize the acrylic paints he's carefully dolloped onto the old fashioned palette Lindsay bought him for his last birthday. The undersized shirt rides up his back exposing more of that light flesh. His perfect ass is pushed toward me. He's a fucking tease and he doesn't even know it. When I say perfect ass I mean perfect ass. It's round and firm and perfectly defined. The bitch doesn't even do glute exercises. I move my eyes to the small of his back and study the way it dips slightly and the way the small amount of silky blonde hairs there catch the afternoon sunlight as it tumbles in, making long pathways across the room.
I start to rub the front of my towel rubbing the soft fabric into my stiffening cock.
He moves back to the canvas. The new paintbrush in his right hand makes practice strokes across the canvas – creating imaginary lines only he can see.
His brow hitches again. His lips part and he lets out a small whispered "fuck" and his left hand reaches up and lands on his head. His elbow pointing to the ceiling his fingers absently scratch at the back of his head.
His hair ruffles through his fingers and I wish they were my fingers. I love the feel of his hair in my hands.
I move my eyes to the shirt, which is pulled up on the left side where his arm is elevated. His side exposed. God I want to lick him right there – on the perfect pale contour of his waist and hip.
He turns suddenly like he's going to walk to the kitchen but he catches sight of me in his peripheral vision and spins toward me. He smiles and it's as bright as the afternoon sun, but more innocent.
"Hey! I thought you were taking a shower."
His eyes slide downward to where my hand slowly slides up and down the front of my towel. His smile tugs even higher and now it doesn't look so innocent. "You're just going to get dirty again if you keep that up."
I can't help but grin. "That's the plan."
He walks towards me up a couple of stairs but I shake my head and he stops on the stair below me. "No. Go back to work."
He shrugs. "I wasn't feeling it."
I contemplate that for a minute and watch him as he puts his hand on top of mine and pushes slightly. My dick presses into my pelvis and abdomen.
"But I'm feeling that," he whispers and glances down at our hands before pulling his eyes back to mine.
"So am I," I admit and move my hand out from under his so he can be the only thing I feel.
He's all I ever want to feel these days. And when I'm not completely fucking horny that revelation scares the hell out of me.
He tips his blonde head and his hair tumbles across his forehead. I reach up and feather it back with my hand, my palm grazing his forehead as I go. "You make me so fucking hot you know that?"
He smirks. Justin's a whore for compliments. "Show me how hot."
He moves his hand to the top of the towel and tugs it loose. It drops to the floor and he stares down at my cock. He makes a sound in the back of his throat – like a grunt of appreciation or anticipation.
I smirk. I guess I'm a whore for compliments too.
I slide my hand behind his neck and pull his face to mine. Our lips meet and open on contact giving our tongues a chance to unite in the middle.
He tastes like the mint tea he was sipping before I went into the shower.
I pull on him harder, our lips are pressed firmly together. My tongue overtakes his mouth. His hand between us tightens around my shaft. I could fucking do this – devour his mouth – forever.
But he has other parts worthy of devouring.
I pull on the front of those oversized cargos. The button fly pops open with no resistance. I place both hands on either side of his tiny hips and yank down his underwear and pants all at once. I lower my body with his garments and as soon as my knees hit the bedroom floor my tongue darts out and makes contact with the front of his rock hard cock.
He's on the top step of the stairs so his dick is slightly higher than normal when I do this and it gives me a chance to lick him from balls to tip, which I do. And he shudders so completely I worry he might loose his balance and tumble off the steps. I wrap an arm around his bare ass protectively and lick its length again before grabbing hold of it by its base and enveloping it with my mouth.
Justin drops his hands into my hair and lets out a sigh. His fingernails graze my scalp and it sends shivers down my spine.
He does this more than once every time we have sex – whispers my name. Just breathes it out. It's hot as fucking hell. My name was nothing but a sound until he started whispering it naked.
His hands leave my hair and he grips my shoulders now. "Stop," he begs. "I don't wanna come yet."
Reluctantly I pull back. I start to kiss his stomach and his knees buckle and he collapses on to me, letting his lust take over. As his chest hits mine I grab on to his hair and his neck and pull him down onto me, lying my back against the hardwood on the bedroom floor.
I laugh a little at his eagerness. It's been almost 4 years, you'd think he wouldn't be this riled up every time we go at it – especially with the amount of times we go at it.
You're supposed to get tired of people. The sexual desire is suppose to wane. I don't understand why it hasn't for him. Or more importantly, me.
He extends his arms on either side of my head, pulls himself up slightly so we're only touching at our hips. His cock pushes down on mine and it makes me want to fuck the life out of him.
I reach up and cup his neck again pulling his body back down on top of mine, I suck on his neck and flipping him. I'm on top of him now and I push his legs apart and lower my cock towards his ass. He bends his legs on either side and pushes himself up on his elbows so our heads are inches apart.
He grazes his lips with mine. "You wanna fuck me?"
"No," I snark. "I wanna play Twister."
"I'm flexible. I would smoke your ass at that," he tells me with a devious smirk.
"Nobody smokes my ass at anything," I counter and push my cock toward his ass cheeks.
"Mmm…" he says as his eyelids lower and he tilts his head and licks his lips slowly. "Say it. Say you wanna fuck me."
I push my lips onto his and pull back only enough to form the words. "I want to fuck you. Hard."
His bent knees push against my sides and he reaches up and places his right hand on my shoulder. He pushes me slightly like he's trying to push me off him.
"You can fuck me," he whispers into my mouth his tongue slips out and grazes my bottom lip. "But I want something first."
I cock my head, looking at him. Since when does he start calling shots?
He pushes on my shoulder again and I roll off of him and stand. As I start to turn to face him he jumps on my back and I fall onto the bed. "What the fuck are you doing?"
Before I can pull myself off my stomach and shake him off my back, he pushes his hand between my ass cheeks and slides a finger into me. It's unexpected, unwanted and feels un-fucking-believable.
"That's what I'm doing," he says in a thick voice.
He pushes the finger in farther. I feel the first knuckle on his index finger breach my entrance. He moves the digit from side to side and I can't help but arch my back a little and grunt again. It's been a while since he's been in there. I forget how fucking good it feels.
"Yeah…" Justin says, his face somewhere between my shoulder blades. His breath hot on my back. "You feel so fucking tight."
I say nothing but as he starts to insert another finger and I feel it push through the first ring of muscle I can't help but moan a little and push back into it.
I close my eyes and grip the sheet in twisted balls in both my fists. His middle finger grazes my prostate. A sound rumbles up from the back of my throat. He takes this as the encouragement it is and starts to slide slowly out and then slowly back in.
I feel his body shift as he moves lower down me. He's between my legs now and I willing spread them for him, my erection rubbing against the sheet beneath me as I reflexively arch and the unarch my back in order to thrust with his finger's rhythm.
Then suddenly his fingers are gone, replaced my something warmer… softer… His tongue twists and wiggles and my head starts to cloud with desire as my cock pulses and I pant in little short breaths.
"You fucking love this," he murmurs triumphantly before reinserting his tongue.
"You fucking love it," I argue. "I just like to…mmm.. indulge you. Uhhh'"
His pulls that gifted pink tongue from my hole again and I almost verbally protest. Almost.
"If only you wanted to indulge everything I love to do," he replies and I feel his cock tip push gently on my hole.
I reach back and wrap my hand around his shoulder and twist, pushing him from between my legs as I flip onto my back. Then I sit up and hook my arms under his, pulling him to lie on top of me again, which he does without protest.
My lips capture his and I slide my tongue into his mouth and he pushes his into mine. I let my hands wander down his back, grazing my manicured nails over his flesh. When I reach his ass, I stealthily part his cheeks and before he knows what's happening I have two fingers inside him.
Now the kiss breaks as he lets out a sharp grunt. I start to pump him with a strong hard pace. The way I want my dick to any second now. I just need him to want it… to tell me he wants it. To beg for it.
God he gets me so fucking unbearably hot when he begs for it.
"Bri…an," my name comes out in two separate words. He's trying to open his eyes. To focus on me. Maintain control over his waves of desire but he can't.
"Now tell me you don't want me to fuck you," I whispers hotly directly against his ear. Licking it lightly as I do. "Tell me not to shove my dick deep inside your ass."
"Do it," he pants as he grabs at my hair. "Fucking do it. Fuck me."
He rolls off me and reaches for the condom himself. I grab it from him and roll it on then I roll him over so he's on his stomach. I'm kneeling between his legs, which he's anxiously parted. I reach for the lube.
"Just do it," he pants. Into the pillow balled up in his arms.
So my hand drops the lube and I stick my fingers back inside him. Prepping him. Making him numb with desire because although he often likes it quick, dirty and rough my heart feels a little sick when he's walking around for a day or two afterward with a little hitch in his step and the air leaking from between his teeth when he sits down too hard.
His ass is as delicate as his emotions no matter how hard he tries to hide it.
He pushes back into my hand and he doesn't stop till the second knuckle bumps against his opening.
I replaced my fingers with my cock and push in before his hole can close. His back arches instantly. His head snaps back, his eyes close and he hisses my name.
Justin's ass – being inside it – feels like no other ass I've ever experienced. He's tighter, warmer. His walls feel like they were made for just my dick. Sometimes – moments like this when I'm pumping in and out of him and my dick is throbbing with imminent release and my balls are tingling and he's pushing back on me for all he's worth – I feel like it's the only place I ever want to be for the rest of my life.
I lean forward, my torso covering his back. I readjust my hands, placing one on the bed beside his shoulder and the other wraps under him reaching for his cock, which is bobbing unattended in time with our thrusts. As soon as my fingers wrap around it, my palm curling around his shaft with only his tip popping out, he moans.
"You're so fucking beautiful," I whispers behind his ear as I pull his earlobe between my lips and suck on it.
I started to feel the warmth growth in my belly and my ball tingle starts creeping into my thighs. I'm going to come…. I want to think of baseball, of work, of snatch – of anything to keep from coming and make this last longer. But he's attacking my senses. He's overpowering them with his gorgeous, soft skin and beautiful blonde hair claiming my vision and his warm tight hole surrounding my cock and his sweet, salty sweat on my lips.
I pull tighter on his cock, the strokes long and rough.
"Bri.." His ass tightens around me. His back dips. His head curls backward. His blonde hair brushes against my lips. "Bri…an."
As his cum erupts and coats my hand I shiver all over and my own orgasm rips through me.
"Fuck…" I collapse onto him as he collapses onto the sheets.
He's breathing heavily under me as I hold the base of the condom and gently pull out. His breath hitches.
"Y'okay?" I murmur touching his neck lightly.
"Mmm hmm," He says softly.
I slide to the side, taking my weight off him. He rolls over onto his left side and leans his back into me and sighs, exhausted. I drift off with my face buried in his hair.
When I wake he's not in the bed and the room is shadowed. Dim light is filtering in from the dinning and living room. The clock on my night side table says 6:51pm.
I stretch. Yawn. Roll over. Stare at my hard cock. Ahhh nap wood.
I hear him humming softly in the other room. Through the closed, frosted glass panels I can see his form bent slightly forward and a brush working vigorously over what I assume is the canvas.
Without the towel this time I walk to the bedroom doorway and rub the sleep from my eyes to better focus on him. He's got his too-loose cargos back on but nothing else.
One hand holds the brush and the other holds the palette. The canvas has been painted in inky grays with hints of murky blue. The center of the canvas is flesh colored – because it is flesh. A back.
From neck to the start of my ass, but not quite my ass. Wrapped around the torso on the canvas are legs and arms – his I can only assume. It's got incredible detail and incredible angles and tones and it's hot as all hell.
Nap wood has morphed into fully awake and aroused wood.
I start toward him and he hears me and turns grinning. His eyes are shinning with light and passion and his hair is tousled and his skin is glowing. It's a mixture of creative juices flowing through him and post-sex bliss.
I walk up and wrap my arms around his waist. He moves the his brush hand outward and carefully places the palette down beside the painting.
"Hot," I say quietly and kiss the back of his neck.
"You like it?" He questions.
I reach around and cup the front of his pants. He pushes back into me but gives out an almost inaudible wince. I took a lot out of him last time but he would never admit it. And he'd never turn me down.
"I like it," I confirm. "I like it a lot."
I slip my hand in to the gaping waist of the too loose cargos. He's not wearing any underwear.
He turns his head and kisses my lips. "Paint… I should wash…"
I kiss him back sliding my tongue into his mouth and cutting off his words entirely. He starts to turn to face me careful to keep his paint stained fingers off my skin. The kiss goes on for what is probably minutes. And my dick starts to leak.
I walk him backward until his ass butts up to the table beside his canvas. As I keep rubbing my palm over the front of his burgeoning erection he forgets the paint on his fingers and grabs me by the shoulders, pulling needily at my skin. He must be leaving colorful streaks on my flesh but who the fuck cares?
I lift his ass onto the corner of the table, onto the painting tarp the covers it. Onto the palette.
He hops off the table and begins undoing his pants. He giggles. "It's fine. I'll just take these off…"
He starts to pull his legs out of them, trying to balance and keep the ass part from hitting the floor. It's smash of colors – like someone flattened a rainbow with a steamroller.
He gets them off and places them carefully on the tarp beside the painting. I start kissing the back of his neck again and he turns again but his eyes fall to my color streaked shoulders. "Oops."
"Okay," He kisses my lips again and reaches between us and grabs my dick pumping it swiftly.
His other hand slides down my back and cups my ass roughly. I thrust into him. Into his hand. Toward his stomach in front of me. He spins us slowly, our lips never leaving each other.
I tangle my hands in his hair and pull his head back to expose his neck and move my lips to it. Now I'm butted up against the table and he pushes his leaking cock toward me. I reach down and grab it. He sighs and starts pushing me backward.
My lower back is on the tabletop now and then my shoulders so now the only the bottom of my legs dangling toward the ground. He crawls up my body kissing my flesh as he goes and stopping to suck on my nipples. He's straddling me now with his lips on my throat.
His knee, on the left side of me, is pressed directly into his paint soaked pants. I catch it in my peripheral and he sees it at the same time.
"Oops." He smiles sheepishly.
He lifts his knee off the tabletop and I put my hand on it and slide the paint there up his thigh in thick streaks. Then I grab the back of his head with my paint streaked hand and pull him down on top of me again kissing him hard on the mouth.
But then he jumps down off the table and commands. "Roll over."
I let my feet find the ground and roll – from my back to my stomach. He drops to his knees and kisses the back of my thighs as I part them and his tongue makes its way upward.
I grip the other side of the table as he starts rimming me again.
Fuck if there's a heaven, this is it.
After a few glorious minutes he rises, his tongue leaving my ass, which is twitching with the need to have something in it. God I want him to fuck me so badly right now. I want to feel his full 8 inches inside my ass, pulling out and slamming back in to bang my prostate. God I want it so fucking much.
I see his hands reach for his pants beside me and he pulls a condom out the a pocket on the cargo pants. I watch him out of the corner of my eye.
He leans over my back and kisses my right shoulder. "I'm going to fuck you."
I say nothing. I simply lift my hips off the table, giving my erection more room and bumping his with my ass cheek. I hear the wrapper tear.
Then there's a finger at my opening. Pushing through my muscle. The muscle that rarely knows the pleasure of penetration.
I need him to just do it. Do it now before the desire is overcome by my fear. My fear of letting him in – on every level.
His finger disappears and I feel his latex tip. I push back into it inhaling against the burn as he grips my hips. "Oh God," he whispers. "You feel so…. Brian."
I grunt and reach between my body and the table to hold my dick and rub it slowly.
This Justin – the one sliding in and out of me in a steady, short rhythm, the one panting at my back with a controlling grip on my hips – this Justin is dominant. This Justin owns me. This Justin scares the fucking hell out of me.
I've never felt this way about anyone. I've never come so hard with anyone else's dick in me. Not that there have been many to compare to… but if my first had been like this… I'd never have topped a day in my life.
My vision starts to blur. He hits my prostate with every push now. I can hear his breathing start to catch and a few soft moans rumble from his lips. He's going to come. We're both going to…
And then we do. My head snaps back. He grunts. His fingertips dig into my hipbones. I feel hot fluid on my hands. My eyes close and I keep them closed as he slips out of me.
His lips graze my cheek. "You..?"
And then he disappears. I hear his feet amble up the stairs to the bedroom and I hear the shower door open and the water start.
He knows and he obeys without a word.
He lets me recover. Stand up, regain my breathing, clean myself off and get my emotions back into hibernation. He just leaves and lets me. Because he's fucking amazing on every god damn level.
My asshole is tender. I stare down and I'm streaked with reds and yellows and grays and blues. Paint on my legs, my abdomen, my arms. I smile. My softening cock is a prism of color.
I pad into the bathroom, open the shower door and step in. He's soaking from head to toe and steps out of the spray for me. I dip my head under it and watch the colors slide off my body and down the drain.
I feel his soapy hands on my back as he washes me.
Getting rid of the paint that marked my body is easy enough. But Justin's left other marks… invisible ones, just as bright, on my life…. My heart… and those don't wash away. They can't be fucked away. They're permanent.
I try not to let the fear overwhelm me as I turn and wipe the water spray from his eyes and kiss his pink lips.