There are things about Brian, I will never know. Things about his past. Things about his childhood. Even things about his friendships that no matter how long we are together I will never be told. And I’ve learned to accept it. I’ve learned to brush it under the rug and not let it eat at me.

But that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t hurt.

Brian and Michael were in his office for almost 3 hours. Sometimes I heard laughter. Sometimes I heard raised voices. And I smelt the soft aroma of pot, pizza and beam. The Michael and Brian cologne.

Gus tried to get me tell him about Brian’s mother. And after sitting there for a few minutes in silence I went upstairs and slammed my studio door shut. I shouldn’t have been angry. This wasn’t about me. It was about Brian. But how come I couldn’t tell my son for all intent and purposes, what his grandmother was like?

Because I didn’t know. I didn’t know jack shit about Brian’s childhood.

But that was 2 days ago. And now here I stood in front of a coffin holding a woman I didn’t know. A woman I knew nothing about. A woman, that for all intents and purposes was one of the main causes of Brian’s pain.

And as fucked up as this sounds, I was glad she was dead.

But I knew her death wouldn’t bring Brian any closure. Any sigh of relief. If anything all it would do was open the door to even more unanswered questions. Even more pain. Even more abandonment.

Lindsay came down for the funeral and stood next to me, a stone cold expression on her face. Brian, on my other side, looked everywhere but at his mother’s coffin. Michael stood to the other side of him, his arm inside Brian’s.

But Brian’s cold hand, held onto mine for dear life.

I’ve come to the conclusion that it has to rain at funerals. I think there is some cosmic rule that no matter what it has to rain. Brian once said to me as we lay in bed, softly touching each other after the throws of passion that he was sure that on the day I died, the sun would still shine. I cried in the shower that night.

The only sound I heard, other than the soft sound of rain hitting the ground, was the constant wails from Claire. Every time her sobs drowned out the minister, and she would scream Mom over and over, Brian gripped my hand so tightly I was scared he would break my fingers. But I just held on. Cause what else can you do but hold on?

Gus stood perfectly still next to his mother. Sometimes he looked down. Sometimes he looked at me. But most of the time he looked at Brian with a worried look on his face.

There was a gathering at Claire’s after the funeral. None of us went. Instead we went back to Michael’s. Lindsay had brought JR down for the trip and Gus wanted to spend some time with his mother and sister. And I knew, right now, Brian needed his two best friends.

The ride home was silent. Gus was spending the night at Michael’s, and except for some thank yous and tiny smiles, Brian had barely said a word all day. About 2 blocks from the house I finally spoke.

“You hungry?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“You didn’t eat Brian.”

He remained silent.

I trudged up the stairs, removing my jacket and tie along the way. I was exhausted. Emotionally more than physically. I knew Brian would be in his office till all hours, and I was just going to fall right into bed and sleep. I knew Brian wanted to be alone. And as much as I needed him, wanted him near me, I had to respect that this is just how Brian was.

So I was surprised as I lay in bed, half watching some awful reality show on VH1 when the bedroom door opened. He removed his clothes and crawled next to me. I stayed perfectly still, waiting for him to either fall right to sleep or explode. He did neither. He took the remote out of my hand and shut the TV off and threw it onto the bedside table. I turned my head to look at him and he brushed a strand of my hair from his face.

He looked…so young in that moment.

“You okay?” I whispered to him.

“Shhh.” He silenced me with a soft brush of his lips to mine. He was so gentle. His fingers gently caressed my face, and at first he just gave me soft kisses on my mouth, chin, nose. He was warm, so fucking warm, and I wondered if he had gotten drunk in the half hour he was down stairs. But he didn’t taste like Beam. He tasted like him.

That taste I had in my mouth for the past 16 years. A taste I had grown to crave more than air. He pulled me closer to him, his hands gliding up to my hair and he twirled it around in his fingers.

I was surprised at how slow he was being. But if there is one thing better than being fucked into the mattress by his massive 9 and a half-inch cock, its being made love to by him. When he is like this its….perfection. His touch, his smell, and like I said his taste. It’s intoxicating. It brings to be levels in my life I didn’t know existed. It’s like finishing the best painting of your life…and then some.

His gentleness is like chocolate, new paints, a sunrise, a sunset, newly fallen snow, a shooting star on a clear winter night, piano music, the Sistine Chapel, Paris in spring, and…just love all rolled into one.

I rolled onto my back trying to take him with me. He held onto my hip and pulled me closer to him. What was he doing?

“Brian…” I murmured against his lips. He ran his tongue along my bottom lip and his fingertips tickled my sides.

I giggled a little and writhed in his arms.

“Justin…” He whispered. God, when he says my name like that….

“Mmm?” I licked his neck.

“Justin…” He repeated, his voice low and rough.

I pulled back and looked at him. His eyes were soft, and again for the second time tonight he looked so fucking young. So innocent. So…beautiful.

“What Brian?” I asked.

He gently lifted himself off me and lay down on his stomach. I stare at his back for a while, breathing hard and getting used to the warmth of him leaving me. He lifted his head and looked at me and said it one more time.

“Justin.”

And then it all made sense. It was like a lightening bolt went through me. My skin immediately caught on fire and my heart hammered in my chest.

He wanted me to fuck him.

To take away whatever it was inside him that was hurting him. To make him feel.

And the thing that made me want to cry more than anything was that he was choosing me. Me over drugs, or beam, or even his best friends. He wanted me to be the one to console him. To comfort him. To love him.

I rolled onto my side and smoothed my hand over his muscular, tanned back. Even at 45 he was….fuck…he was a god. My hand traveled more south and when my fingers brushed over his crack, he sucked in a small breath.

I leaned over, my tongue making small circles on his skin and I felt him clutch the pillow underneath his head. I savored him. I licked and nibbled and sucked every piece of flesh I could find. He arched, and writhed and moaned softly as I worshipped him.

My hot breath blew against his hole and he let out a small “oh” of surprise. I smiled against his ass and slowly licked a quick line against his opening. He pressed his face deeper into the pillow and I reminded him with a soft whisper to breathe.

I licked his hole and ran my fingertip around it getting him wet. I felt his leg quiver under my arm and I held it down a little firmer with my elbow.

“Just…do it.” He moaned into the pillow.

I kissed his hole one more time, sat up and leaned back on my heels. My cock was so hard it hurt. I wiped some of the pre come off my tip and smeared it on his tight pink hole. He shuddered, as did I. Fuck that was so fucking hot.

I reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the lube, pouring a generous amount on my hand. I covered my cock, being careful not to tug too much or I’d explode all over his ass right there. He was patient, his breathing steady as I prepared him and myself. I pushed my lubed index finger into him and he sucked in his breath harshly. God, not only was he tight to be begin with but he was tense.

“You have to relax Bri.” I ran my other hand over his back to relax him.

His hole contracted and then relaxed around my finger and I took that as a sign and pushed my middle finger alongside the first. I saw his hands reach up and grab the edge of the mattress under his pillow and he pushed back and down onto my fingers.

My cock jumped; leaking all over his leg and I knew that enough was enough.

“You want me to…?” He asked quietly.

“No, its okay. Stay like that. Relax.” I removed my fingers from him and lightly brushed my tip over his hole. It opened a little, then clamped closed and my wetness had already stuck to him. I stared at it, almost mesmerized at what I was about to do.

I was going to fuck Brian. Raw. I was going to come inside him. Mark him.

Brian was a lot of firsts for me. My first fuck. My first love. My first everything.

But I wasn’t a lot of firsts for Brian. Yeah, okay so I was the first and only person he would ever be in love with. That is a big deal. But I would be the first person, the only person, to ever come inside him.

I shook my head of the thoughts or I would never make it through this. I leaned over him, almost completely lying in his back, one hand on the bed, the other positioning my dick at his entrance. I pushed in, ever so gently, and the first initial feeling almost made me pass out.

It was tight, tighter than any other time I had ever fucked him. It was hot, hotter than any sauna I had ever been in. Hotter than any candle wax he had poured onto my body. And the feeling of his skin, the skin inside his ass, fuck. It was…soft and smooth, and the first ring of muscle has always been the best part. The first thrust, the first…movement inside him, but this…there were no words.

I only realized I had stopped moving, stopped breathing, when his hand reached back and touched my thigh. I was broken from my daze and I gripped his hip with one hand and held onto the bed for dear life with the other.

And then I pushed. I pushed my cock inside him as far as it would go. And when I hit the end, and finally breathed out, Brian let out the most thunderous, erotic, most orgasm-inducing moan I had ever heard.

“Oh god Brian, shut up or I’ll…” I couldn’t even finish my sentence. He couldn’t make noises like that. I’d never make it. I was so close already it was embarrassing.

After a few seconds of gathering myself, I pulled out slowly and pushed back in, my fingers digging into his hips. He got up onto his knees a little, his back carrying me with him, and pushed back against me. My balls slapped against his ass, and he buried his face in his hands. My hand smoothed up his side, his back and up to his neck and I tugged on his hair. His head flew back; his mouth open and eyes squeezed shut.

So…fucking…beautiful.

I could feel the heat over taking me and that slow tingle in my spine and I knew I had only seconds left before I exploded. My hands gripped his hips and I fucked him, in and out only a few times, the sounds in the room bouncing between balls slapping ass, moans, groans, and wet sounds of lubed cock inside tight ass.

When I came, it came upon me so suddenly, I cried out like a little girl. It went from a oh god, to a loud groan to a scream when I unloaded into him. I felt it hit his tight walls and then wash back over my hard cock. He gripped the sheets, pulling them off the corners and pushed back, back, back, against me and his whole body quivered, convulsed and he shot his load onto the bed. He lets out this tiny purr right after he comes and I wouldn’t have known he had come at all if he hadn’t of done that. I was in some other world. A world where I had just come inside Brian Kinney.

He lowered himself onto the bed and I lay on top of him as gently as I could. My stretched my arms out above his head and he grabbed my hand, intertwining his fingers in mine. I kissed his neck, and nuzzled my face into his sweat-drenched hair.

“Brian…”

“Shh. No.” He told me.

“I just…”

“No, Justin.”

“Let me say it.”

“Not now.”

“You need to know.”

“I do know. Shut up.”

“Then I want to tell you.”

“Don’t Justin. Please.” His voice was starting to crack.

I was still inside him, I was as close to him as I could possibly get. There wasn’t a way I could be any closer to him now. There was no more fear of him leaving me. No more fear of him cheating. No more jealousy of Michael. No more sadness of things I didn’t know or would never know about him. Who needed that when there was this?

I kissed his neck softly and squeezed his hand.

“Don’t…” He pleaded.

“I love you.”

“Shut up.” It was too much for him. No matter what I had just done, no matter how close we had gotten, how far we had come, Brian Kinney, even at 45 years old, didn’t believe he deserved to be loved.

“I do.”

“Shut up Justin. Just please…”

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. I always will. No matter what.”

And as I pressed my forehead against his back and let the night and warmth fall around us, I stayed awake and listened to him cry.

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