Only. Everything.
Written by Xof
No one understands.
About Brian and me. They judge or criticize but they don't KNOW.
Me . . . I don't have to question or explain our connection. Experience breeds understanding.
Acceptance and complacency too, I suppose.
But then accepting doesn't stop a person from worrying, wishing and hoping in the back of one's heart. The mind can often play prick tease with itself. And always with such bad timing . . .
Like now.
He's here with me . . . almost naked and in my bed. Brian Kinney in my arms. I can feel the warmth of his skin even through my t-shirt and sweats as we lay pressed together . . . my body spooned along his back and my hand still held in his own.
The grip of that hand is beautiful in its sorrow. Brian's stopped talking . . . stopped telling me the details of his night out at the bar with his dad. Ancient history reopened like salt in a wound. This is his deepest pain. His father, his family . . . his past. But I'm his past and his family too. He's run once more from the one part of his life that causes him to lose the fortitude of his strongest defenses . . . seeking to know some sort of peace here with me at his side.
A dynamic duo . . . realized.
I'm his peace, you see. Against the world and the darkness of his own soul. The light and warmth that allows him the weightlessness of surrender to emotions long buried beneath the surface. I'm the only one.
The only one . . . receiving the gift of the loss of his self-imposed postured perfection. In the dark . . . in this moment, I'm what he most needs in life. I'm the only one he can trust to show his true face. It's heady stuff to know he loves me enough to let go . . . my fallen angel in disrepair.
Yes. I know he's no angel. And I'm no superhero to fend off the forces that haunt his world. But for now, we are each other's comfort. I'd be lying if I didn't admit to feeling ten feet tall in this moment. I'm the one he's chosen, you see. There's no one else here now but us. We're buffered from life's torn and tattered barrage while lying safe in this ball of warmth. There're no fathers to abandon or abuse us. There's no David to tempt me with the notion of commitments that might be made in compromise to the choices I've held so close for so long. We are leveled on a common playing field. Equals in the night as we could never allow ourselves to be in the day.
I ache for him as I watch the tears continue to flow silently down his cheek. The irony is not lost. Here he is giving into everything he rallies against to others. Opinions are often the brainchildren of a person flying from the pain of bitter experience. He's usually strong enough on his own to avoid these intimate moments of shared suffering. But does happen . . . has happened in the past. This is not the first time I've found him in my bed and in my arms . . . drowning in the ravages of alcohol and the effects of playing the straight "Sonny boy" for his dad.
It's at such times as this that I let myself admit the truth . . . he's my everything. Hell, I sound like a pop song but it's the truth. There are moments of clarity when you let yourself acknowledge certain facts . . . then you hide them away in the corners of your mind never to be rationalized. Sure they may lurk around . . . to color your reasoning and the decisions you make in life, but they rarely skirt too dangerously to the surface. Until you least expect or can handle them. This is one of those moments.
I've loved Brian since the first. Have for all these years. Idolized him in an instant . . . for the devil-may-care attitude which he still exudes to this day. But the more time I spent with him, I realized that this prize was for me unattainable. See, Brian doesn't do 'love.' He does lust. He' s comfortable at keeping them separate. And never the twain shall meet. At least not yet and not with me.
Another irony. Being valued above passion . . .
I've never been able to separate the two like Brian. I love him and want him.
Emmett would say he's my "Impossible Dream." I blame it on his watching Man of La Mancha . . . more than once. Musicals, Barbara Streisand and bad porn . . . my roommate's kinks. That and owning every shade of plaid known to the gay nation . . .
Brian's getting restless as he tries to force himself into unconsciousness. The whiskey is not doing it's job. We've laid here for over an hour and still there's no respite to the sadness that shadows him. I'm keeping it a bay, but just barely.
Lord he smells good. Even under the alcohol, I can smell his scent. It'll cling teasingly to my sheets come morning when he's left. And I'll lay back in the tangled cotton . . . embraced by the memory of holding him. I want to say that I'm above common place lust during such a tender and painful period, but I'm not. I don't know too many men who could be this close to him and not get hard. But then I don't know that he'd allow any of the faceless throng to comfort him this way. Just me . . . the only one.
His only one.
I've got my body pushed back slightly so that while our legs are flush, my hips are avoiding the embarrassment of full contact with his ass. This isn't supposed to be about that, but considering it's Brian . . . practically everything is about that. "He is sex on legs." Good line. British film, I think . . . Get Real. Apt description for my best friend.
Oh God . . . Brian would you just keep still. Keep shifting like that and I'll have to let go. I don't want to do that. Don't want to not be able to feel you close to me for the brief time I'm allowed. And don't want to see the knowledge in your sad eyes that the man holding you wishes there could be more strings attached to this exchange. It's happened before. Last time in the stall at Babylon when I kissed you and placed my hand over your cock. Jeez, what was I thinking? Okay, I wasn't thinking. More like grabbing literally for the brass ring.
And you thankfully released me from the shame of having crossed the line. Letting me get away with a lame excuse that we both knew wasn't true.
The way your mouth tasted . . . I'll never get over that. Never forget.
Shit. Why am I doing this now? Brian, please go to sleep. I can only remain strong for you . . . for us both for just so long.
He's twisting over on his back. Keeping my arms around him, he turns over onto his other side. Facing me . . . Oh my. Those eyes that see so much . . . too much. Even in the dark. I can't keep hiding from them in plain sight.
I close my eyes. Then I feel it as he leans forward to press our foreheads together on my pillow. The whisper breaks across my skin like an electrical charge. "Mikey." He's running his hands up my arms, moving forward to press his head into my shoulder. I'm not going to survive this . . . I'll shatter.
And as I hear his words spoken warmly against the skin of my neck . . . I do start to shake. To feel the cracks begin along my tightly held control.
"I can't stop hearing his voice. God, Mikey. I don't want to think about it any more. Don't want to think at all."
The hot intensity of whispered words . . . I don't know what to do.
"Brian. Shhh. Go to sleep. It'll be better come morning." Lame words. Empty promises.
He shakes his head and I have to bite my lip to keep from gasping as his hair caresses my collarbone. My breath catches in my throat.
"No it won't. Nothing makes it better. Nothing but this . . . But you."
"Brian. I . . . You need to go to sleep. It'll make you feel better to get the rest."
"Feeling better. Feeling . . ." He's not making much sense. Tired and drunk . . . Sad and in pain. And without thought of consequence. I feel him pull me closer. Hear the murmur of his words against my ear as I tilt my head to the side . . . allowing him the freedom of movement across my throat as he nuzzles. I'm dying . . . and it's a pleasure to fall. "Feels good. Warm. Nice. Like being home again. Feeling at home. Feeling . . ." His lips are brushing over my cheek. Down my chin. My breath as increased and I can't move. He's pressed completely against me, lost in his own sense of need as I am in mine. I know he can feel my hard-on. He's tangled legs over limbs against me and . . . oh god. I feel him, too. He's hard. Brian's cock is against me, so hot even through the fabric that separates us. At my gasp, he moves closer still. I feel his words as they ghost hotly over my mouth. "Mikey. I don't want to think any more. Make it go away."
I know he's not thinking. I know what this will cost us . . . will cost me. But I haven't the strength any longer to deny what I've always desired. Not now. Not as he presses in. Kissing me. His lips full over mine, gliding . . . seducing me to open, to let him taste me. And I do. I open my mouth to him with a small moan that he echoes. And then all thoughts vanish. Only the feeling remains.
I thread my hand through his hair as his tongue moves over my own. The heat flows from our kiss down through the length of my body and I'm melting. Molten and so lost . . . so found.
I'm moaning softly, like I do. But I hear the same murmurs coming from Brian as he runs his hands down the length of my back and under my shirt. I can feel the calluses as the fingers trace down my spine and under the waistband of my sweats. Gasping into his mouth, I feel the rasp of his tongue along my own as we play into each other's warmth . . . and then his hands are clenching my ass. Dipping down to glide between the cheeks. Ahhhh. I'm so hard it's almost painful. But so welcomed an ache.
I open my eyes slightly . . . wanting to see some of his expression. He's looking at me as we continue to kiss, as he touches me. His eyes are beautiful and intimate with the intensity of sudden and undeniable heat. He looks as caught up in the storm as I feel. Our breaths are mingled and I'm shaking as I guide my own hands down his body . . . wanting to feel him like he's doing me. The press of my hands only makes him kiss me harder. I feel the force of his moan as I push down his underwear and pull him into my body. Completely.
We're thrusting together. Our hips locked in the fierceness of our rhythm and I'm dying because I want to feel him naked against me. I desperately reach back to pull one of his hands forward, telling him without words that I want him to take off my pants. He breathes in deeply, nipping at my lips before finally giving me what I so desperately crave. He jerks them down passed my knees and we are flesh to flesh . . . Cock against cock. And I'm awestruck that this is really happening.
At the first touch, he closes his eyes as he groans into my mouth. He's not releasing his contact with my lips, my teeth . . . my tongue. I could have come from this connection alone. I've never been kissed like Brian's kissing me. Never felt so possessed and yet empowered. I can feel his own pleasure as I thrust teasingly into his open lips. He's moving his tongue along mine . . . playing back and forth as we continue to move against each other. I'm clutching his hip, my legs tangled within his own. Held captive and yet increasing our mutual tormented pleasure. It's escalating too fast. My hands travel frantically, eager to feel every inch of him I can reach.
I can't stop how he makes me feel. I can't stop how lost in him I am . . .
Brian's got one hand holding my head steady by the back of my neck . . . and we're panting into each other's mouths. Heated gusts of desperate winded breaths. We're slick with sweat and I'm sliding against him. My shirt's risen up and I can feel his hard nipples playing over my own. And his cock . . . so hard. And wet . . . Hot against me and mine against him. I'm . . . oh god.
"Brian. Ohhhh."
"Mikey."
We're senseless . . . murmuring, whispering. Calling each other closer to the moment . . . and then.
"Ahhhhhhh."
"Mikey. Oh fuck. Yesssss."
Wet fire splashes against the taunt skin of my stomach. Both of us mingled there . . . mixed as we continue to move together drunkenly in the aftermath of blessed chaos and longing. I can feel his body completely . . . from chest to foot and it's everything I've wanted. And everything we've both feared.
I'm still panting. My head is buried against his throat and I'm trying to control my own anxiety when I feel him start to shake. His body and his head. I thread my hands through his hair as I gather my wits about me. He's clutching at my back, holding on like a lifeline that's pulled taunt to the point of breaking. Even as our breaths quiet and our hearts slow their racing beats, he's still shaking. Pulling back to look into his eyes, I can see my own worry shining forth through their hazel depths.
He's scared. Brian Kinney is lying in my arms. Terrified at what's coming next.
Not knowing what comes next. What comes after the fire when you're with someone you cannot dismiss and are frightened to lose? The one driving emotion I feel now is that no matter the consequences of my decision and our . . . oh god. Our shared moment. I'm not willing to let him go.
I place my hand gently over his eyes, pulling his head down to rest against my own. He's still spooked. Muttering softly, "Mikey. I . . . What are we . . ." Drawing in more courage than I thought I could muster, I give us both the out we so desperately need. Returning the release he'd given me once before in Babylon.
"Shhh Brian. It's a dream. Okay. It can all have been a dream." I reach down and pull his underwear back over his hips, aching at the lost of skin on skin contact. "Nothing's real. It's all been a dream." I shift so that I can draw my own pants back into place, not caring to grimace at the feel of wetness cooling against my flesh. I keep him close. Not letting him draw away from me should he make the move to do so . . .
He stays close. Thinking in the silence while still absorbing the warmth of our bodies' heat. He sighs with a tiredly and I feel it echo in the cavern of my chest. He sounds as world weary as I feel. After several moments, he hugs me. His mouth leans down to press so briefly, yet tenderly against mine. And I hear the whispered agreement I both want and dread slip forth as we move back from the kiss. "A wonderful dream." He looks at me with such warmth and affection that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning like a fool. "Thank you, Mikey. For everything."
I smile in answer. Heartened to know that I can share his pleasure at having reestablished our status quo . . . albeit under siege. I push him over and wait until he's returned to lying on his other side, back to my chest. Burying my head in his neck, I grin as he reaches round to take my hand once more . . . like he did before we lost our reason. We are back to comfort and closeness.
I will not dwell. That's what I tell myself as I listen to his breathing deepen finally with sleep. I will cherish what I've had and what I have not lost. I don't know if I can keep this promise, but I take heart.
For you see, I'm still his only.
And he's still my everything.
The End.
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