Warning. Boy love with a lime tinged with lemon. Don't like it, don't read it.
Disclaimer. Queer as Folk belongs to Showtime.
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Confidence flowed from the hands that roamed his body, drawing soft moans and quiet whimpers from parted lips. A tongue flicked out; wetting the parched skin with such surety that the blond's back arched right off the bed, a strangled cry replacing the gentle pleas. Heart racing, the blood pumping through his veins straight to his groin, Justin practically writhed on the sheets.
His senses were on fire, their acuity over sensitizing his skin to the point where the slightest whisper of air had him begging for more. The artist had never felt so alive, so loved, so wanted in his life; his emotions were speeding out of control at a dizzying rate, just like his body was. If he didn't hold back, it would all be over, all too soon and he would have a disappointed lover to contend with.
Silky hair tickled his stomach as lips worked their way down, finally sealing around their prize. Delicious suction was applied eagerly, pushing Justin ever closer to sweet oblivion where his tissues would be replaced with lead weights and his mind would resemble a blank sheet of paper. Those firm hands grasped his hips, successfully pinning them to the bedding, which left the blond in an agitated state as his cock yearned to go deeper, to be swallowed whole by the man between his legs.
The man who happened to be the highlight of the student's young life, who had seduced the barely legal adult with chocolates, roses, and a candlelit dinner accompanied by soft violin music. Everything was picture perfect, just the way Justin had always dreamed it to be; the romantic in him was placated – for now.
A hint of teeth jerked the aroused blond out of his thoughts and back into the bed. His body quivered, threatening to cave. He barely managed to hold out until his lover took his entire length into his mouth, sucking viciously like a sweet-deprived child with a lollipop.
"Ah … Brian!"
.x.
"Brian!" the name hung in the early morning air like a bad omen, caressing the panting artist. Sweat beaded his brow, the sheets that pooled around his waist tented with obvious lust.
Blue eyes took in the surroundings. He wasn't in Brian's bed, nestled in navy sheets and bathed in soft blue neon; he was in Ethan's apartment, swathed in hand-me-down cotton and pre-dawn light. Thankfully, his partner was a heavy sleeper; his cry had gone unnoticed save for the few doves that had been perturbed by the sudden noise.
'Why was I dreaming about Brian? I'm with Ethan now, and I love him.' Doubt began to cloud his thoughts even as he tried to reassure himself of this fact.
This hadn't been the first dream that had plagued Justin since moving out, and he knew it wouldn't be the last until he returned to Brian's bed, where he felt he belonged. Sure, Ethan was great, and he did treat him like a prince, but he wasn't Brian. He never could be, it was just the simple truth. However, this was beginning to be a problem.
His mind was starting to become just a bit foggy where the line of dreams and reality were concerned. The touches that felt so real, as if Brian was actually there, haunted him, as did every kiss, lick, suck and thrust that came with them.
Justin knew they weren't real; after all, there was no way they possibly could be.
Right?