Here's another oneshot because I have no life, bear with me.

Sex. When people think of me, they think of sex, they think of blowjobs, they think of fucking. That's only to be expected. I am, afterall, the Stud of Liberty Avenue. I take men home, give them the best orgasm of their lives and send them on their merry way. It's what my life was. I got up, went to work, came home, went to Babylon, fucked, went to sleep, and got up the next morning to do it all over again. It worked for me, gave me pleasure and a place to escape

Then this hot blonde entered my life and everything fell to shit, though to be honest, I didn't mind it too much. All of a sudden, I had feelings and man did it suck. He was young, he was innocent. I convinced myself that that's what turned me on and kept me wanting more. Of course, I did a terrible job fooling myself and everyone around me. He was here to stay. I don't know when I fell, but sex was my escape, only this time, to be closer to him. To be in him, to be a part of him, kept me sane, allowed me for a minute to indulge in my feelings, even if I felt slightly guilty afterwards.

I wiped away any doubt when I went to his fucking prom. I danced with him, him looking dashing in his tux, which I had every intention of ripping off him later. I kissed him on the dance floor, wanting him, needing him, wanting to portray every once of myself into that kiss, to prove to him, that maybe I wanted him in return. I still regret it to this day.

As he lay in that hospital bed, I hated everything. Once again, simple sex became my mistress. I fucked more often, more drugs were in my system. But, every single one of those twinks failed to curb my pain. I wanted him, I craved him with all of my being. I didn't want to think the word 'love' because words are bullshit and they only hurt you, actions were all that mattered.

He of course, wormed his way back into my life. All of it stung though. I couldn't touch him without him flinching, he wouldn't let me fuck him. I didn't know how to express myself to him. When he finally remembered everything, that night, we did something I thought I would never do. I made love to him. Touching him, kissing him, everything seemed so fucking right. I don't believe in a God, but it was though a miracle had happened. We set our rules, our 'relationship' was great.

Until he wanted more.

He wanted romance, he wanted me to say the words I couldn't say. Why couldn't he see that I said them in everything I did. I was paying for his fucking school, I was letting him live with me, sleep in my bed, be one of the few constant people in my life, didn't he get it?

I should have saw it from the beginning, him running into the arms of the Fiddler. I guess I drove him away. Couldn't give him what he wanted and he left. I meant what I said in Linds and Mel's bathroom. I hope he finds what he was looking for. That didn't mean that I didn't want to push him against the wall and fuck him right then and there, but he wasn't mine anymore. The fact that I couldn't touch have him began killing me again, and I was already in a foul mood when Michael was telling me I should have left Justin lying there. I didn't want to hurt Mikey, but he took it too far.

That's when I did the stupidest thing I will probably never own to in front of anyone I know in person. I hired a fucking prostitute. Sure he sort of looked like Justin but honestly? Only Justin can be Justin. I made sure his back was turned to be when we fucked. I wanted it to feel like making love, like it was with Justin, like our bodies were moving as one. I couldn't do it. It didn't feel the Justin, and it failed miserably. But, as I pounded into the twink and I let everything loose. Hurt, betrayal, anger. It felt wrong, why should feel it? He was a meaningless fuck.

They all took his face, when I fucked them. They were all him and I hated myself more and more. Finally the stupid Fiddler ran Justin away and he was mine again. When we made love in my office, I gave him the emotions I felt in every thrust. Love, desire, want, need, yearning. I gave it all and felt him give in return. I'm glad he learned. We don't need romance, our bodies can portray so much more.

All through the following two years. Beating Stockwell, the Pink Posse, cancer, Hollywood, him wanting a family, the Babylon bombing, and the wedding that never was. We were perfect, in sync. I told him I loved him, although he admitted he loved hearing it, they were just words, the sex, the touches, the looks were more.

So, he left for New York, we promised to see each other again. We made love, and I never felt so connected to him, I gave it all to him, everything I ever felt was in every thrust I made into him. As I looked into his eyes. I was scared I would never see him again, but I hoped I was wrong.

I'm glad I was. Through it all, no matter if the sex was rough or soft, it was all love making, because that's how I knew to tell him that I loved him, that I needed him, that these feelings were genuine and always would be so, that what we had was perfect and nothing could change it. Touching him, kissing him, making love to him. It was us and it was beautiful. He was a part of me and I was a part of him.

As he lay beside me, breathing slightly uneven due to our last round, we started to take it slow once again. I moaned into him and felt his body respond to my every caress. He had to leave for New York again in the morning, it had been that way for several years and although we missed each other when he were apart, it was okay.

His mouth fell open in a moan and I took that opportunity to ravage it with my own, exploring his mouth as though for the first time. Our bodies continued to move in a fluid dance, as graceful and awe-inspiring. We are happy this way and will continue to be this way. No matter what happens in the future, as he will always be mine and I will always be his, the last dance will always be ours.