Bobcats
Part One
Brian felt Justin shift beside him on his bed, and the movements against his side roused him. As he entered full consciousness, the fierce sounds of a fist slamming against his door became evident to him. He expelled a short breath in frustration, and turned onto his side to pull Justin closer to his chest. Justin responded to his movement favourably, and placed an arm around Brian's waist with a contented moan.
The fist continued to pound at the door, and desperate shouts could be heard outside. Brian forced his eyes closed, and attempted to coerce himself to sleep. He could feel Justin become further irritated as their callers pursued their attention with tenacious determination. Justin had arrived home at one o'clock that morning, after he had been on an aeroplane for fourteen hours. It infuriated Brian that anyone would dare to make such noise when his partner was exhausted, and were he not an educated solicitor who knew the sentences for murder and torture, he would have tortured and murdered whoever their callers were.
After several minutes Justin fisted his hand and made a feeble punch at Brian' chest. "Get the door," he ordered.
"They'll leave," Brian promised him.
"Get. The. Door," Justin repeated in a resentful tone of voice.
Brian sighed, and then untangled himself from Justin. He plucked a pair of denim trousers from the floor, and pulled them on so that their callers would not be affronted by his flaccid penis. He turned to press a chaste kiss to Justin's forehead, and murmured to him: "Back soon." Justin responded with an inarticulate mumble.
Brian stood from their bed, and raised his arms above his head to stretch the contractions from his muscles with a groan. He scratched his stomach unfocusedly, and then made downstairs to tell their callers: "Fuck off."
He squinted between the curtains as he went downstairs, and observed whiskers of blond hair. He grunted with dissatisfaction as he realised that it would be drunk female students from the school, come to inform him that they 'luv'd' him and believed he was their 'fav prof'. He combed his fingers through his hair, and attempted to ease his frustration with visions of Justin in their bed – his blond hair tousled, his face slack, his skin warm and scented with perspiration and the lemon and lime perfume of the blankets.
Brian kept these visions in his head as he opened the door, prepared to inform the intoxicated women that they needed to find a bench to sleep on, because he had no interest in them. However, he was met with the spectacle of a familiar blonde and another unfamiliar brunette, neither of whom smelled of alcohol or had the tell-tale splatter of vomit on their shirts or shoes.
After a minute, after the familiar blonde had started to speak to him in hurried tones, he realised that she was a student of his. Mardi, or Marni, or some other daft name; she was the cheerleader who believed she could be a lawyer, too. Melanie had responded with an amused cackle when he had relayed the tale to her. He stared at the brunette for a moment, and then decided that she would be one of Marlie's cheerleader-friends, because he would remember a student with an expression as vacant as hers.
"Excuse me?" Brian interrupted them. His voice was weak, but neither of them seemed to observe this. He restrained himself from saying 'the fuck?', and instead said: "What . . . is the problem? It's five o'clock in the morning."
Marci started to repeat herself, but when the words reached Brian it appeared to be nonsense. "Get to the point," he commanded them, in a far more harsh and authoritative tone. The brunette's eyes widened and her mouth opened, which caused her to resemble a fish, but Mardi seemed unperturbed and continued to inform him of a predicament that started to materialise for him in keywords: Arrested. . . Money. . . Scholarships. . . Now.
"What does this have to do with me?" he asked them. He had received enough information to know that the two women were in a situation they could not remedy with their cheerleader powers, abundant as those powers were, and that the situation involved their boyfriends and the police, but that was all he had been able to assemble from their verbose speeches.
"We need you," Marie told him with conviction in her voice. She wrapped her arm around the brunette's shoulders. "Savannah and I need you." Their apparent desperation made his head ache.
"Fine, fine. I'll do whatever," Brian assured them with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'll dress, and be down here in a minute . . ." an unattractive yawn escaped between his lips, but the two women were too occupied with their applause to complain.
Brian closed the door on them, and went upstairs to the bedroom. He wondered what clothes were suitable for whatever he had agreed to do, and decided that denim trousers, shirt and jacket would suffice, because his wardrobe was far more appropriate than what his students, and some of the professors, wore, if you excluded the various pieces of club-wear hidden with his dinner jackets and waistcoats. He stuffed his hand in the wicker basket beside his wardrobe, and fished out a black shirt. He went to button it when he realised that Justin was awake, and was watching him with a befuddled expression.
"Marli and Santana, some cheerleaders, need me to . . . They need me for something, and I told them: yeah," Brian informed him, with evident displeasure and some confusion in his voice. "If I haven't called before midday, assume that I'm in the back seat of someone's car, blindfolded with a knife at my throat, or I've joined the Tomcats, or the Bobcats, or whatever those cheerleaders call themselves."
"You'd look hot in one of their skirts," Justin commented with a tired smile. "You look hot blindfolded, too."
Brian raised a finger to his lips, and shushed him. "You're not supposed to tell anyone about that," he reminded him with a seductive smile. Justin's smile broadened, and then he released a slow effeminate yawn. Brian pulled the blankets to his chin, and stroked his cheek affectionately. "Go to sleep," Brian said. Justin bundled himself in the blankets, and nodded his head. "I'll see you soon."
"If not . . ." Justin started to say, in a voice muffled by the blankets near his mouth. "Blindfolded, or cheerleader . . . I'll remember . . ."
Brian waited until a snore escaped between Justin's puckered lips, and then he stood from the bed and buttoned his shirt. He closed the bedroom door as he left, and plucked his coat from the banister. He felt for his keys and his mobile phone in his pockets, and then joined Marci on the porch. He locked the front door, for Justin's protection, and then accompanied Mardi to Louisiana's car – a horrid masculine silver vehicle her father would have selected for her.
"I really appreciate this," Marni told him, in a sincere tone of voice.
"You really should," Brian assured her, in a similar tone. He opened the car door and slipped into the back seat, which was upholstered with pink faux-fur. Alabama smiled at him in the rear-view mirror, whilst Mardi addressed him with an intense stare, neither of which he appreciated.
The drive to the police station was short, but in that limited time Brian was able to value the natural beauty of the early morning. The sky was overcast with dense clouds, but as the sun rose the clouds were illuminated and became a soft white colour which was less worrisome than their previous charcoal-black colour. The trees had lost their leaves and their skeletal branches reached upwards, as if they sought salvation from their season-induced condition. Black birds fluttered around the trees, and they nipped at the trees in a displeased manner. A layer of dew had settled on the ground, and the blades of grass seemed to sparkle as if they had been sprinkled with silver dust. It was an attractive picture, but not one Brian would interrupt his seven hours of sleep for.
Brian was also able to receive several pieces of information whilst in the car: 1) His student's name was Marti. 2) Someone named Mercedes was arrested because her implants were so large that the police assumed that she was a smuggler. 3) Purple was not fashionable since so-and-so invented 'depression blue', which, like, looked so hot on black people.
Montana was a horrendous driver, and Brian was released outside the police station so that she could trade positions with Marti because Marti could park the car. Santana offered him a cheerful wave as he went into the police station, and he was thankful for the sentiment.
He entered the police station, and as he approached the desk he assumed the detached composure of an attorney with ease. He tapped his hands on the desk to capture the officer's attention.
"Hello, officer, I am Brian Kinney-" he started to introduce himself with the polished professional voice that billions of people had come to despise.
"Yeah, I know who you are Mister Kinney," the officer interrupted him in a tone of irritation. "I don't know why you're here, though, because we would know if we had any of your clients, which we don't."
A smile of pleasure threatened to distort his expression of imperturbable professionalism. Brian was forever pleased to know that his existence reached the ears of people before he was formally introduced to them – it masturbated his self-worth with considerable talent.
"I fear that you may be incorrect, officer," Brian told him. He squinted at the almost unreadable scrawl that was Marti's handwriting, and then returned his attention to the officer. "Do you have a Lewis Flynn or a Dan Patch in lock-up?" He watched the officer's face collapse into the rolls of fat that cushioned his neck with satisfaction. "See, I'm their lawyer, and I would really like to speak with them."
The officer hesitated, and then when he made to speak he stuttered: "I . . . I . . . I wasn't . . . I wasn't aware that those boys had-had-had-"
"Me as their representative?" Brian said. He raised his eyebrow in question, which seemed to intimidate the man. "That is fine, officer. I only accepted their case earlier today. Some considerably influential parties are quite concerned for the welfare of those men, and I felt inclined to aid them." It was a lie, but it did sound excellent and had the intended effect upon the officer.
"Actually, shall I take your name and telephone number? I am certain that they would love to speak with you," Brian told him. He pulled a pen from the breast pocket of his coat, and pressed it to the paper Marti had written the names on for him. The officer made to conceal his name – printed on a silver pin on his shirt – but Brian read the name and wrote it beside those of the arrested boys. "Barnett. With two tees. Everyone will remember that surname after the press conference, which I assume you will attend. I'll have it scheduled for in-front of the station, is that convenient for you?"
"Press conference?" Officer Barnett repeated in a tone of genuine horror. "There's really no need for a press conference. Those boys are material witnesses."
"Perhaps I may view their statements, then?" Brian asked. He knew he would be victorious, if the stains underneath the officer's armpits were indicative of any outcome.
"Statements aren't ready," Officer Barnett said. Brian could see the lie come from his mouth in a puff of black smoke, and it amused him. "They need to be processed – spell-checked, and so on."
"When will their statements be ready, officer?" Brian asked. He leaned forward on the desk, and the officers appeared to melt underneath his stare.
"M-M-Monday," the officer answered. He smiled, then, as if he had discovered his 'trump card', but Brian doubted that he had.
"That is a shame. The press conference will be in six hours, in-front of the station. However, if that doesn't work then I can schedule it for earlier. I have friends in the media who owe me favours. We could have it in an hour, if you wanted," Brian told him. Officer Barnett's smile disappeared from his face.
"There's no need for a press conference," the officer repeated, in a final desperate attempt, which both of them knew to be futile.
"No need?" Brian repeated in mock-confusion. "Now, officer. You've denied those boys their civil rights, and you know how the media flourish when there is a civil rights scandal. There could be a demonstration, with banners."
"Banners?" the officer repeated.
"Yes, banners. Posters. Placards. It'll be complete anarchy," Brian warned him with a sinister smile. "Now, since you have already released two of the men that you arrested earlier, perhaps you should re-consider my initial request. Let me speak with the boys, and then we can discuss their release. That shouldn't take more than an hour."
Brian crawled into bed at a quarter past seven o'clock that morning, after he had successfully released the boys from prison, much to the pleasure of Marti and Savannah. He slid into place beside Justin, and placed his arm around his waist and another arm underneath his head. Brian released a slow exhalation, and closed his eyes with pleasure. He envisioned a world where he could sleep until noon, and then fuck Justin until the mattress broke underneath them. The concept caused a warm sensation to spread through his abdomen. Brian clasped that sensation close to him, and settled to sleep.
Seconds later, his alarm sounded in the bedroom and he moaned with frustration. He remembered that he had classes from ten o'clock till twelve o'clock, and then he had appointments with his clients until four o'clock. He had reports and documents to process and to print and to send to various people, and that would take him till seven o'clock. He also had essays from his students to review, and that would take him till ten o'clock. He reminded himself to dispense fewer assignments to his students in the future, because the time required for each individual evaluation exhausted him. Perhaps he could fit a meal into his day, and a couple of alcoholic drinks to soothe his already apparent headache. He would not be able to spend a moment with Justin that day, and that infuriated him most of all.
Justin had been in France for a month, and Brian had not seen him at all in that month. Brian was prepared to admit that he missed Justin, and the fact that that ache would be prolonged for another day – "Fucking pisses me off," Brian murmured into Justin's shoulder.
Brian turned unto his stomach, and slapped at his alarm to silence it. Eventually, he felt the rectangular plastic device and his palm hit the 'snooze' button. The subsequent silence was almost enough to cause an orgasm. Brian fitted himself around Justin's form once more, and settled for another ten minutes of rest.
"You have class," Justin murmured after two of those minutes, much to his disappointment.
"Yeah," Brian responded with a sigh. He pressed his mouth to Justin's spine, and pressed a kiss there. "Just five more minutes."
"I'll still be here when you get back," Justin assured him. Justin's hand clasped around Brian's hand, and held it against his chest so that Brian could feel his heartbeat.
"Five more minutes," Brian pleaded.
Justin kicked at his feet. "No. Go to class. Now," he commanded. "I'll still want to suck you off later."
"You want to suck me off now?" Brian asked in a hopeful tone.
"Yes . . ." Justin confessed with a slow exhalation. "But that's beside the point."
"I can't say that I agree," Brian said. He pulled himself closer to Justin, and snaked his hands downwards so that his hands pressed against Justin's lower abdomen.
"You're a lawyer. You never agree," Justin reminded him, but he did not refuse Brian's hands as they reached underneath the elastic band of his underwear.
"Why are you wearing underwear?" Brian inquired, as his fingers started a downwards dance upon Justin's pubic hair.
"Your house is fucking freezing. I'm wearing socks, too," Justin informed him. He kicked his feet to emphasis the point, and Brian could feel the thick wool of his socks on Justin's feet on his knees. Brian released a soft chortle into Justin's shoulder.
"Well, no-matter what they say about lawyers being top-earners, I still don't have enough for my heating bills," Brian commented in a miserable tone of voice. "The fucking temperatures here don't help."
"You could-" Justin paused to moan as Brian's hand encircled his penis. "You could always come and live with me." He whimpered as Brian started to stroke him.
"Justin . . ." Brian warned him.
"I know, I know. I know we decided, but- Oh. But, you always could if you wanted to," Justin assured him. "They have lawyers in New York, too. Uh. And universities. Oh. Hmm-mmm." Justin pressed his face into the pillow. "It would be less travelling for me. Between here, New York, home and a fuck load of other places – Ah – it's a fucking lot of travelling."
"Fuck load of Air Miles," Brian commented. He pressed his erection into the cavity between Justin's buttocks, and Justin rotated himself on the head of his penis with evident enthusiasm.
Justin turned unto his side so that their noses were pressed together, and Brian used the moment to press a kiss to his mouth. Justin was welcomed the kiss with ardour, and pushed his tongue inside Brian's mouth. Brian moaned with pleasure, and deepened their kiss. He nibbled at Justin's lower lip, and then led himself downwards to Justin's collar, which he bit to exert a sharp intake of breath from his partner. Justin pulled him back upwards, and started to lick intricate patterns across his jaw-line.
Justin pulled away after some time, and addressed Brian with an intense stare. Brian feared that their conversation would deepen, and he would leave his house without sleep and a mistreated erection because Justin felt that they had to 'discuss their relationship'. "Look, Brian. I'm just saying that with us both paying for separate homes our salaries don't stretch far. It might be easier if we . . . settled in the one location," he said. Justin's fingers started to perform a graceless ballet dance upon Brian's open palm, and Brian focused his eyes upon the dance, because he was never comfortable with their 'discussions'. "We could settle here, but I know you hate it so I don't think we should. I think you should come to New York, because you're always happy when you're there. We could find a house, and we could find you a job within fair distance of my studio so that, at lunchtime, we could meet up and I could suck you off in an alley, or in your office, or . . . in our bed."
Justin slid lower in the bed, and pulled at the trousers that Brian had collapsed into bed dressed in. Brian exhaled his relief as Justin's hand fisted at the base of his penis, and led the swollen member towards his mouth. Brian moaned as Justin's mouth closed on the head of his penis, and his hand knotted itself in Justin's thick hair as he started to move upwards and downwards on the shaft.
As if the world had then decreed that fellatio was a sin not to be shared between two enthusiastic homosexual men, Brian's alarm started to sound. He went to hit the 'snooze' button, but Justin released him and his head resurfaced, much to Brian's disappointment.
Justin placed his hand upon Brian's cheek, in an affectionate gesture. "Now, go to class," he commanded, before he slapped his cheek in a less affectionate gesture.
The lecture had been excellent, but the coffee had been terrible, and therefore Brian had evaluated the period as an absolute failure. It was a quarter to twelve o'clock, and some of the students had only started to return from yesterday's activates – their clothes scented with the dense smoke of cannabis, their skin perfumed with salted perspiration and ejaculate. Brian had already completed both of his lectures, and was headed for a bus that would take him home, where he would have the time to smoke four millimetres of a cigarette before he had to leave for his practice.
The clouds had started to part and a serene sky had been revealed. The sun had crept between the clouds, and the town had been illuminated with silver light. Brian had opened the windows to allow the cool air to breeze into his classrooms – which continued to smell of hormones despite his numerous attempts to remove the stench – and the stream of air had had a positive effect on his students, who had relaxed and slouched in their chairs and had responded to his questions in a more casual manner. However, the coffee had tasted of the heated urine of a Diabetic and no amount of cream, which smelt fresh but tasted of acerbic female ejaculate, could mask the distinct taste. Therefore, he had reviewed his morning as one apocalyptic fuck-up.
Brian closed his eyes rubbed his hand across his forehead, to wipe the beads of perspiration from his brow and to ease the tension that had settled there. He knew that stress had caused prominent lines to appear on his forehead. Justin had assured him that he was still youthful, even at thirty nine years old, and while he was inclined to believe Justin, when it came to his appearance he knew that he could trust no-one.
"Brian, is that you?" Justin called out.
"Yeah," Brian answered.
Brian closed the front door behind him and made towards the kitchen, where he could hear Justin pottering about. There was some comfort in the knowledge that Brian would arrive home to Justin: in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in his house. At least, until Justin decided that he had to return to New York to lead his remarkable luxurious life in his sophisticated apartment and beautiful atelier, with his handsome friends and intelligent associates, who all frequented exclusive discotheques and restaurants. However, Brian knew that that would not happen that day, or the next day or the next week, because just then he had Justin in his house to himself. The heterosexuals could have labelled it 'domestic bliss', but he and Justin fucked too much to be domestic.
Justin was at the counter, turned away from him, and was slicing salmon into equal pieces. Brian came behind him, wrapped his arms around his waist, and pressed his face into Justin's neck, where he nibbled at the skin. Justin tasted of his coconut shower cream, of shaving foam and of soap, and underneath those tastes was his own unique flavour – a combination that resembled whiskey and honey, which always had an intoxicating effect upon Brian.
"Delicious," Brian murmured into Justin's shoulder. He pressed his nose into Justin's shirt, and inhaled his smell. Justin smelt of tobacco, coffee, lemon and pepper, and beneath them was a familiar perfume that Brian had always associated with Justin. The perfume had no distinct scents, but it always had the same pleasant anaesthetic effect upon Brian. "Delightful."
Brian slipped his hand downwards to caress Justin's left buttock. "Desirable," he complimented with a seductive snarl. He nipped at Justin's earlobe, and then made to slide his hand underneath the band of his trousers but Justin slapped his hand away.
"Not that I don't appreciate the 'D's, you shouldn't get yourself all hot and bothered. You have to leave in ten minutes," Justin reminded him in a strict tone that almost concealed his evident disappointment.
Brian frowned in displeasure, and skulked across to the coffee maker to pour a decent cup of coffee. "Do you want any coffee?" Brian asked as he fetched a clean porcelain cup from the cupboard. Justin made a dismissive motion with his hand. "I haven't had a good cup of coffee at all today. The university had to reduce their spending, so their first deductions were on food and drink, and medicine for some reason. They must've pulled them out of a fucking hat," Brian said as he poured the dark liquid.
To share such inconsequential information felt somewhat peculiar to Brian, but it also seemed to calm him. Brian felt somewhat better because he had shared the minor details of his morning. You're fucking ridiculous, Brian told himself. He silenced himself with a mouthful of coffee that scorched the insides of his cheeks.
Justin chuckled in amusement. "I promise that I won't torture you with low-quality food," he reassured. "When I have to make reductions, I start with films and music. Rather than purchase them at a licence store, I download them online from websites that will be considered unlawful if SOPA is passed. I will be homeless before I buy crap food. . . So, for dinner, I decided to serve smoked salmon with horseradish crème fraîche and beetroot with a quinoa, lentil and feta salad. I'll have smoked salmon and avocado sushi tomorrow for lunch, since I'll have some of this beautiful salmon leftover."
"What's with the health food shit?" Brian asked.
Justin cast him an incredulous stare, and then smiled. "Louis, who I lived with while I was in France, he's a part-time chef at a health food restaurant near the gallery I was at. He would come home after work with these platters of jasmine tea-smoked chicken salad and bowls of pea and mint soup, and I've become accustomed to the diet."
"And here I've been eating Cup-O-Soup with bottles of cheap wine," Brian said.
"See? It'll be good to get something healthy in you," Justin commented.
"You know . . ." Brian purred in a flirtatious tone. "I can think of something healthy to get in you. . ." Brian pressed himself against Justin's back, and licked a careful trail upwards from his neck to his earlobe. "It's high in protein . . ."
Justin moaned with pleasure. "You don't need to convince me of its many, many benefits . . ."
"Good," Brian said. "Then, bend over. I'll take the afternoon off work." Brian's hand clasped around Justin's neck and his other hand started to travel underneath Justin's shirt, which he released, upon closer inspection, was one of his shirts. "And spend it with you."
"Brian!" Justin started to object, but then he purred with contentment as Brian's hands explored his skin. "You're in an excellent mood," he commented. Brian wondered if the comment was intended to be judgemental, but decided that it was only an observation made by his partner.
"Well, you're back," Brian admitted.
A pleased smile spread across Justin's face, and he leaned towards Brian to press an uncoordinated kiss to his neck. "Knew it," Justin said with evident satisfaction. "I knew that you missed me."
"Well, I missed this," Brian corrected, and he placed a playful slap to Justin's lower back as if in demonstration. "The gay community here is limited to seven closeted professors, a couple of married ones and some pre-pubescent students who still have train-tracks on their teeth."
"That must be awful," Justin said with genuine disdain in his voice. He seemed to vibrate with excitement as Brian turned him around, and pressed their erections together in a single hurried move.
Brian leant downwards to coax Justin's mouth open into a kiss, which he received without consideration. Justin's mouth tasted of peppermint toothpaste, and the familiar taste indicative of cleanliness seemed to invite him closer. Justin pushed upwards into the kiss, and wrapped his arms around Brian's neck to hold him. It felt wonderful to be involved, once more, in the simultaneously careful and chaotic dance that he and Justin invented for each of their fucks. Despite the fact that they had fucked more times than the common person could breathe in several lifetimes, each dance was unique and always exceptional and would forever end with a stellar orgasm.
Justin's hand came downwards and unzipped Brian's trousers. Justin thrust his hand underneath the elastic band of Brian's underwear so that he could clasp Brian's erection in a fist. Brian gasped with surprise as the contact overwhelmed him, and then a slow and warm sensation of pleasure radiated from his erection to his brain. Justin chuckled with pride as Brian whimpered with each tender stroke Justin administered.
"Now, I'm a bit confused," Justin muttered into Brian's ear in a flirtatious tone. "How would you like to administer this high-protein item?" Brian choked upon an answer, and Justin laughed, again. "I think I can guess. I know you said bend over, but I do owe you from this morning. And, anyway, we have all afternoon."
Justin lowered himself to his knees, and Brian did not stop him, despite the fact that he knew the linoleum would freeze his skin to the polished surface. His brain was intoxicated with need, and had someone placed a mobile phone in his hand and asked him to telephone for an ambulance for an injured infant he would have thrown the phone at them and shouted: "Fuck off. I'm getting a blow job."
By four o'clock that afternoon, Brian and Justin had come simultaneously upon five occasions and had come separately upon seven occasions each, with was an admirable total of nineteen. It was almost enough for four times per room in Brian's house, which was a decent mean. They were in the corridor that connected the bedroom and bathroom on the second floor, spread across a sheepskin carpet that Justin had purchased for him in Scotland. Brian was laid upon his back underneath Justin, who straddled his waist and held his erection poised underneath the entrance to his anus. Justin released a slow exhale of relief and gratification as he slid himself downwards on Brian's erection; Brian released a low moan of animalistic pleasure as he was directed inside Justin.
Justin's hand traced a serrated line down Brian's chest until his hand came to rest on Brian's dark bristled pubic hair. Justin's fisted itself in Brian's pubic hair as he prepared himself for deeper penetration, and Brian allowed Justin to do so despite the sharp pains that came as a result of his grasp. Justin lowered himself further down, and pain started to spark inside him, but it was silenced by pleasure that came in tidal waves. When Justin moaned, Brian realised that they had surpassed the initial period of discomfort and raised his hips to push himself further inside. Justin responded with evident enthusiasm, and bore down harder on Brian.
Then, because the world had become acquainted with Brian's schedule and was desperate to deny him all the pleasurable aspects of his day, someone started to knock at the front door.
"Fuck," Justin gasped, but whether it was due to annoyance or the fact that Brian had hit his prostrate, Brian was uncertain. "Don't stop, Bri . . ."
"I won't . . ." Brian assured him, but his mind was too inundated with endorphins for him to be aware of his speech.
"Oh, Bri . . ." Justin lowered himself on Brian, and the pleasure radiated through his spine and exploded in the back of his head. He raised himself once more, and then forced himself downwards faster to exert simultaneously moans from himself and Brian.
The person at the door continued to knock, and it had started to become a nuisance for them. Despite the volume of the noises they made, the rhythmic beats of someone's fist on the door landed upon their ears with merciless force.
"Shit!" Justin exclaimed after four minutes of persistence knocks at door. He pulled himself off of Brian, and attempted to walk downstairs, but he had an obvious limp that pained him. Brian could feel the loss of his partner, but as his vocal abilities were yet to return he was unable to express his sexual frustration. He confined himself to lie on the floor until Justin returned to ease their ache they shared for each-other.
Brian listened as Justin stumbled down the stairs, and then opened the door. He heard Justin mumble an irritated: "What the fuck?" Brian chuckled to himself in amusement. He was answered by a female voice, which was tinted with a surprised tone.
He focused his attention upon the conversation, and listened carefully for any valuable pieces of information.
"He's indisposed at the moment," he heard Justin say in a mischievous tone. He envisioned Justin's wicked smile, and smiled to himself.
"Do you know when he'll be . . . around?" asked the woman.
"Don't know, really," Justin lied in an attempt to direct her elsewhere from his house and their fuckfest. "Who are you?"
"I'm Marti Perkins. I'm one of his students," the woman said. Brian moaned with aggravation when he heard her. He could not be bothered with her incessant complaints which were based upon her own failures. "I wanted to speak with him." He would sooner become a heterosexual than speak with her. "Can I ask who you are? I didn't know he lived with someone . . ." Now, she wanted to become involved in his personal life.
"Someone has to slap that persistent cunt," Brian muttered. He raised himself from the floor and made downstairs, his erection nine inches ahead of him, and plucked a robe from the banister as he went. He wrapped the robe around himself, and pushed past Justin towards the door.
"Look, Miss Perkins, you can't just drop in when it suits you," he informed her in a stern tone of voice. Justin placed a hand upon his arm, as if to calm him, but Brian dismissed him with a furious stare. "I have a personal life that does not involve you, nor will it ever. So, please, leave." Brian concluded their conversation by closing the door on her with a slam.
He expelled a short breath, and then returned his attention to Justin. His anger seeped from his pores when he observed Justin, who remained beautiful with skin scorched red from attention.
"You were mean to her," Justin whined in an immature voice.
"That one's a high-maintenance cunt. She was the one who bothered me this morning," Brian justified. He slipped the robe from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor, and pulled Justin against his chest.
"Oh . . ." Justin responded. "You still don't need to be so cruel. She's just a kid."
Brian pulled back, and stared down upon Justin with a broad smile. "It wasn't that long ago that you were a kid like her," Brian reminded him.
Justin mirrored his smile as a blush of embarrassment discoloured his cheeks. "I hope you won't treat her like you treated me when I was 'a kid'," he teased. Justin pinched Brian's sides, and caused him to pant with laughter.
"Don't be funny. She's got a twat," Brian said. He restrained Justin's hands behind his back, and forced him into the wall. "That's totally not a turn-on."
"She has boobs too," Justin added.
Brian placed tender kisses across Justin's forehead, and to his temple. "Imagine having those things bouncing around in your face," Brian said.
"Girls are gross," Justin concluded with the attitude of a seven year old boy.
"I am so relieved that you think so," Brian said. Their conversation was paused as Brian placed a kiss upon Justin's mouth.
"But, what do you think? That Marli looks really keen to be your girlfriend," Justin commented with a bold smile. "Would you two do it on the first date, or do girls have, like, rules or something?"
Brian swatted Justin's buttock in punishment. "Just, don't," he demanded.
"Brian has a girlfriend, Brian has a girlfriend," Justin chanted playfully.
"Suck my dick, asshole," Brian responded in a stern tone of voice.
"Shouldn't you save that for Marli, Marci, whatever the fuck her name is?" Justin continued to tease him.
"Fuck you," Brian retorted as he pinched Justin's cheeks. "Marti is just an incompetent, and soon to be uneducated, kid with an inflated sense of herself. She's just a cunt, and I have no interest in those, as you well know."
To be continued.
Author's Note - I haven't inspected this for mistakes. I found it on my computer and decided it was decent and could be worth something, so I posted it. However, if you find any issues that can be remedied in three minutes or less then please inform me, and I might deal with it.
Also, I know that the dialogue from Hellcats is nowhere close to how it is here, but whatever.
There's also a lot of cheerleader-bashing in this, so: sorry.
Read and review.