Justin's POV. Chill out when reading this. It's lighthearted, smutty, and whateverish. Of course we know Brian doesn't have these flaws. Sorry for any mistakes, my sleep cycle is all messed up and I keep writing weird things, like a "she" instead of "he" so if you see a mistake tell me. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I’m not in the mood for sex right now. Even though I know that’s what Brian’s gonna want in another hour, I don’t even know if I’ll be up for it. I might be able to get away with just sucking him off and then rolling over and falling asleep. But, even that, I’m not in the mood for. We’re sitting here eating dinner, and I’m wondering if he’s gonna at least brush his teeth before kissing me. Probably not. I’m watching his lips, watching him chomp on garlic bread and I can just imagine how bad that’s going to taste on his tongue later. He hasn’t shaved since two days ago which means his face is stubbly and his side burns are lost in the midst of hair on his cheeks and chin. I hate kissing him when he’s like that- all super hairy. The stubble is sort of nice- I mean, I get razor burn on my lips and tongue, but hell, that’s just Brian. You get use to it after being with him for four years. I don’t usually think this way. Usually, I’m too busy gawking at how beautiful he is. Just, every few months, I get into these critical stages, where I can’t get over any of his flaws. It passes. He’ll do something utterly amazing and I’ll remember that he’s gorgeous. But right now… Right now I’m noticing that he hunches his shoulders forward when he eats and chews like a cow, sort of a half circle gnawing motion with his jaw that makes his dimples stick out. He looks up with a glazed over expression in his hazel eyes, obviously deep in thought. “What?” he grunts it, his brow scrunching up, making wrinkles around his eyes so he looks over forty instead of just thirty-five. “Nothing.” I say. He makes a face, like he smelled something bad and sits up, elbow still on the table. “No, I mean, like. You aren’t eating and shit. What the hell’s wrong?” he means it sweet, but he can be one of few words at times. He’s got circles under his eyes and his nails are chewed up. Nail biting is probably his only neurotic habit; he’s usually pretty laid back. Some would even call it down right lazy. But I know how uptight he can get. “Nothing,” I repeat and force a smile. He just sighs and rolls his eyes, dropping his bread on his plate in a puddle of spaghetti sauce, blotches of orange grease starting to show in the red liquid. “Whatever Jus.” He takes his fork, stabbing it into the nest of pale noodles and twirling up a mouth full. He pops it into his mouth, chews for a minute, and then tongues the mess into one cheek so it bulges out. “Are you pissed with me ‘bout somethin’?” “No,” I’m staring at the masticated noodles in his mouth, his teeth stained orange from sauce. Some is dribbled down his chin and he wipes it off with the back of his hand, wiping his hand on his shirt front. “Sure. That’s why you’re glaring at me.” He swallows his food in one huge gulp, the knot visible as it goes down his throat. “I’m not glaring. I’m not making any expression.” “Okay. Well, can you try to make a nicer expression so I can stop worrying about you trying to stab me with your fork or some crazy shit?” “I wasn’t going to stab you with anything.” I laugh and shake my head. “Oh. Sure. I guess I’m going to do the dishes.” “I’m gonna go have a shower.” I stand up and he just sighs. I hold mine in. “You can join me in a few if you want.” He seems happier now that he at least has an invitation and nods. He stands and leans in for a kiss that I’m reluctant to give him. I twist at the last moment, so his lips graze my cheek. He pulls away fast and gives me a startled expression before it dawns on him. “Oh. Garlic. Right. Sorry.” He shrugs it off, like he always does every disgusting habit he has, never stopping to think that maybe they bother me and he needs to have the common curtsey to TRY to work on them- … well. Eating garlic isn’t a bad habit. Sometimes, he clips his toenails in our bed. He leaves his dirty boxers in the bathroom downstairs, sometimes with jiz on them, you know, the bathroom my mom uses when she comes over. He never washes his dishes, just leaves them in the sink for the maid to clean. … We don’t have a maid though. Just me. He shaves and he gets the hair all over the sink and he never wipes the gel off from the sink top and he never flushes the toilet. Every time he uses the chocolate syrup, he forgets to wipe the top off so when I pull it off there’s all that crusty chocolate on it, making the lid stick shut. He drinks from the milk carton. He never takes his shoes off when he comes in on rainy days, so he tracks mud all over the linoleum and carpet. He borrows my CDs and I find them thrown all over the house. He leaves drinks in our bedroom for days on end. Rotten milk smells awful, if you don’t know. There’re other things I could divulge, but I won’t. I owe him that much. Like how fucking sweaty he is after shows, and then he wants to hug me and cuddle up. He always wants to cuddle, which is usually okay, but you know, it gets annoying having someone almost on top of you every single second. He smells awful some of the time, and I’m just like…look. Take a shower. Let me take you down to one of those cheap dollar stores and buy you a bar of soap. Fuck it, I’ll even do the washing! Just… bathe. For once in your life. Try wearing clean clothes. I’m just saying- I don’t care if it LOOKS clean, if it’s been on the floor for two weeks, it is not clean. And if you pass out and wake up the next day, that doesn’t mean you don’t have the obligation of changing clothes anymore. Keep in mind this is only sometimes. It’s not like he’s like this every damn day, but I NEED to vent here. I hate it when he sleeps on top of me. Okay, yeah, I like him up my ass while we’re making love, but I’d like some space while I sleep. I probably wouldn’t mind cuddling with him while we slept, but he’s sweaty and sex-grimed, and I am too, and I don’t see why he wants to be that close to me when I smell like a fucking farm-animal. Would it kill him to eat at the fucking table? I’m sick of picking up glasses and plates from various places in the house. And, Jesus Christ, when will the man learn that his fucking HAND is not a damn tissue? What the hell? He sneezes and wipes it on his palm, and fucking hell, that’s the same hand I’m required to hold! Is it that hard to clean up after yourself? Flush the toilet every now and then? Throw something away, and I don’t mean a free-throw shot, where, if it doesn’t go in, you just leave it on the floor? I strip and get in the shower, blasting the water as hot as possible. I know I’m being mean right now, and overly critical, but I’m usually very calm and laid-back about everything. I just have this need for cleanliness and order- doesn’t everyone? I mean, I love him a lot. He loves me. He just does these annoying, stupid, Brian things. And he yells when he’s mad. I hate that. I cannot stand to be yelled at, and every time we get into a real fight, he’s bellowing. I never really told him it scares me but I think he already knows because he’s stopped. I lather up with the bar of soap, rubbing it between my fingers to make suds. Okay, there are a lot of good things about Brian. He can be sensual and sweet and cuddly. He’s possessive of me and it’s kinda sweet, to watch him threaten people who check me out or talk shit to me. He’s actually really good with money. He handles the finances. He’s really good at drawing. He’s usually pretty patient and understanding. Décor wise, we share similar preferences. He’s loud, but that can be a good thing. He gets his point across. He’d do anything I asked, no matter how stupid or embarrassing and he wouldn’t think twice about it. I think that if I were a chick, he’d be the guy that would willingly go to the local Walgreen’s and pick up a box of tampons. He actually likes art- we go to art shows and he gets totally into it. He can be calm and reasonable, and he knows how to LISTEN. He gives great massages… The bathroom door clicks open and I glance over, making out Brian’s out line through the opaque shower curtain. “I washed the dishes,” he says shyly, heading to the sink. “Well, I put them in the dishwasher and everything, but I didn’t run it ‘cos you’re, like, in the shower and shit.” “It’s okay, I’ll run it,” I say, reaching for the bottle of shampoo. He’s a realist. If he says he’s going to do something, he’ll do it. If he says he’ll meet me at a certain time, I could set my watch against it. If he’s gonna be late, he’ll almost always call, 99% of the time. “Did I do something?” He asks coyly, opening up the medicine cabinet. I hear him root around and I close my eyes, pouring shampoo into my palms and rubbing them into my hair. He’s got a little boy shyness about him, when he is embarrassed about something, which is rare. He pretty much knows who he is and is too busy enjoying that to really give a shit about most people’s opinions. “No. Why?” “You’re so not happy with me right now.” He can be perspective. He picks up on my emotions fast and wants to solve our dilemmas as soon as they come up. He likes fairness and justice almost as much as I do. “I’m just kinda tired. I’m in a bitchy mood. It’s not you. You’re just my scapegoat.” I smile to myself, leaning my head back beneath the hard flow of steaming water, rinsing my hair. I drop my chin and let the water pound at the muscles along the back of my neck and my shoulder blades. I hear Brian gurgle and spit loudly in the sink. He doesn’t rinse the sink out. But this could be due to the fact that turning the tap on would blast me with cold water. He moves closer to the shower, dropping his pants and boxers, his wallet chain and pyramid belt clicking against the bathroom tile. He takes a piss and shakes off before stumbling back, presumably to get the rest of the way out of his pants. “Um, well, okay. I’m cool with that. You can yell at me for no reason.” I roll my eyes. Brian likes guilt-trips and head games. He lives for them. He’s pretty much come to realize that they don’t fly with me, but when he gets super frustrated with me, he busts one out and all I can do is sigh and get over it. “I’m not yelling.” “You’re mentally yelling at me right now. In your head, you’re thinking awful things about me,” he’s probably half joking, but the sad thing is, I really am. This makes me feel bad, obviously. Sort of a duh right there. “Am not. I’m thinking about how sore my back is.” “Your back’s sore?” I glance over and he’s taking his shirt off, dropping it to the tile and starting on his wife-beater. “Um, yeah. Something to do with our interesting fucking position last night.” I smile to myself. Brian pokes his head into the shower, eyes narrowed in that feline look he gets, biting his lip so that his dimples are prominent. “Interesting?” I nod and shrug. He licks he lips, flicking his hazel eyes over my body. “Well. You were the one that did it. I was the fuck-ee.” He raises his eyes to mine with a grin on his face. “I’ll give you a massage later tonight?” I shrug again and turn my back to him, raising my face to the hot water. I actually like the sound of his proposal a lot. Brian massages are the best. He gets into the shower, shutting the curtain behind him. “I wasn’t gonna come up. I could tell you were pissed.” This is either a head-game or his very blatant Brian way of stating my emotions. It’s hard to tell, if he’s just doing like he always does and getting to the point of things or if he’s messing with my head. “I’m not pissed.” I’m frowning. “Sure. Anyway, I just need a shower real bad.” I turn back around and he’s standing there, playing with his hands. “You could’ve waited.” He doesn’t answer and I step aside, switching positions with him so he’s under the shower head and I’m at the other end of the tub. I watch him, running his fingers through his short, marbled-bleached hair, tipping his head back. He swallows, Adam’s apple jerking in his throat, water sliding and dripping down his chest and strong shoulders. He reaches for the shampoo bottle I just used and pours some directly on his head, starting to rub it in. He closes his eyes tight when he does this, and the expression reminds me of how he looks swallowing my cock. I step forward, entangling my fingers through his hair and start scrubbing, because I know it’s clean if I actually do the work. Brian’s famous for his literal 3-minute showers. Tell me, what kind of cleanliness can be accomplished in 3 minutes? He keeps his eyes screwed shut but drops his own hands slowly, letting his palms run down the sides of his own face and shoulders, so he’s hugging himself. He leans close, tilting his head down as I scrub his hair, digging my fingers against his scalp, pressing against the sensitive area at the nape of his neck. He moans again and I lick my lips, getting off on it a little. “Brian… that feels real good…” he sighs, gratifyingly. The steam is billowing up around us and he keeps his mouth open after he finishes his statement, panting with the hot, wet air a little. I hold his face still with my fingers stuck in his hair just above his ears, pushing his head back under the shower head to start rinsing out the soap. I twist my head to the side, closing my eyes and leaning up close to his face. The water’s pounding my cheeks and forehead and my mouth’s open, just millimeters from his own slacked lips. I can taste the mouthwash now and I smile a little, just glad that I don’t have to taste garlic or anything. I’m running my fingers slowly through his hair, pushing the wet pieces back, letting the steamy water rinse the shampoo out. I dip my tongue out, lavishing it across his full bottom lip. He lets out a moan but stays still, jaw quivering. He’s still hugging himself but we’re so close now that his tattooed forearms are pressed against my own chest as well. I push my tongue gently into his mouth and he gasps in, lifting his tongue back into mine in a slow, measured movement. I just sigh through my nose and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him as close as possible and smashing my lips against his forcefully, my teeth clicking against his for a brief moment. His mouth is cool and refreshing compared to the hot water and he slides his arms out around my ribs, digging his fingers into the slick skin just below my shoulder blades. I suck his wet tongue into my mouth, soaking up the icy, fresh taste of Listerine and he rubs my back, kissing me with the slow finesse that no one would give him the credit of being capable of. He can actually be very sensual and romantic. You’ve just got to give him the chance and have the right surroundings. I pull back after a few minutes with a couple more soft kisses against his rough cheeks and he keeps his mouth open, breathing picked up, watching my face and wanting more. I reach for the bar of soap and rub it between my palms before pressing my hands to his neck, holding the soap in my left . I wash his neck, leaning up and kissing his ear, tracing the cartilage with my tongue and biting down softly. I drag my hands down his chest, rubbing the soap against the muscles of his pecs and over his ribs, down lower to the more pliable muscle of his abdomen. He moves his own hands against me as I do this, rubbing my arms and neck and back again, general, soft caressing. I move my arms around his waist and switch the soap into my right hand, washing his lower back and up the knots of his vertebrate. I feel his shoulder blades flex as I run my fingers across them, leaning up to kiss him again, letting our tongues touch and rub briefly before pulling back. He keeps his eyes closed and keeps running his hands over me. I wash each of his arms individually down to the rough pads of his fingers, calloused from instruments and extreme sports. I wash his sides, feeling his ribs raising and expanding with his pants, lowering and deflating. I dip my head and kiss along the ridge of his collar bones, delving my tongue against the bowl at the base of his throat and he swallows again with apparent difficulty, his moan rumbling against my mouth. I slide down again slowly, dragging the bar of soap along his solid sternum. I step back so I can fall down on my knees and Brian groans out, tilting his head way back so the water is hitting him full in the face. He’s half hard from me rubbing and massaging him and I glide the bar of soap along the hard muscles over his outer thigh, down past his knee and to his calf, massaging his shin. He flexes his leg briefly, the muscle adamant, until he relaxes it again and it’s soft and yielding. I wash his foot and then move to the other leg, working my way back up. There’s something incredibly satisfying about this, maybe Brian’s appreciative moans or the fact that he’s trembling in anticipation and I’m teasing the hell out of him right now. I’m rubbing against the softer, inside part of his thighs, his erection right in front of my face and smirking to myself because I am, for whatever reason, sort of pissed at him, and I like teasing him right now. If I didn’t love him, I’d probably leave off right here. His eyes are shut tight and he’s shivering, even though the bathroom feels like a sauna right now. I close one soapy hand around his hard on and start stroking him off slowly. He’s gasping, moving one hand out and bracing it against the tile at his right. His jaw is dropped, head down. I push him back a little, so that the water is sliding down the front of his body, rinsing him off. I move my hands around to his ass and dig my fingers in, trailing my tongue around the head of his cock, getting a faint taste of soap despite the water pounding down. Brian hisses and his knees buckle, pressing his hips forward just a little. I wrap my lips around his cock, opening my mouth wide to keep from nicking him with my teeth. I take him right into the back of my throat, swallowing several times to keep from choking. “Justin,” he gasps, moving his free hand to the back of my head and I push his hips against my face hard, moving my head in rhythm along his pulsing hard-on. I let him fuck my face for a few minutes before I pull back and trail my tongue along every inch of his thickness, tracing the veins and looking up to meet his heavy-lidded eyes. He smiles, giving me his rare shy one and I’m totally in love with him again. Who cares that he doesn’t separate the lights from the darks when he does laundry? Who cares that his idea of cooking dinner is dialling the number for take-out? Who cares that he thinks ‘misleaded’ is a word? At least he tries. I pull way back, until my shoulders meet with the ice cold tub siding and I grin at him, nodding towards the bottle of lube we keep in the shower for such occasions. He laughs, something relieved as he realizes that whatever tension between us is gone now and he can relax. He grabs the bottle before dropping to his knees in the tub, and I lift my legs up on his sturdy shoulders, the heel of one foot against the top edge of the tub. “You’re a naughty, naughty boy, Justin,” he says teasingly, popping the top on the lube. I laugh and lean back, sliding my lower body forward so that my ass is sort of against his knees. “Punish me.” “You’d like that wouldn’t you, you kinky slut?” “God yes,” the words roll from my tongue as he slides two lubricated fingers up my ass, twisting them. He finger fucks me for a few minutes, making me squirm and moan, shivering with the coldness of the tub pressing against my body and the pleasure he’s causing. My hips are moving down against his fingers, not just accustom to the feel, but aching for it. I love this, I love it when he fingers me like this, with two, nudging places deep inside of my body at just the right angle. He leans himself down, having to move his body into a weird position because the tub is only so big. His fingers are still inside of me, his wrist twisting in sloppy circles, and I can feel his hard on rubbing beneath one of my legs. He holds himself up with one arm braced against the slick tile wall, letting just his face connect with my chest. He bites down on one of my nipples hard, hard so that it almost hurts and I moan, raking my fingers through his dripping hair. He licks up and down my chest, moving to my other nipple eventually and sucking on it forcefully. He’s panting and I’m gasping, my hips bucking up on their own as his fingers connect with something up my ass. His eyes close and the arm that’s holding most of his upper body weight shakes and falters. He lets out a ragged moan, laying his head down with his chin digging hard against my sternum. He pulls his fingers out and I let out a moan of disappointment. My head goes back and smacks against the porcelain siding and I cuss. Brian laughs at me and I glare at him, raising a free hand to the back of my head. I’m about to tell him off, because that really hurt, but he’s grabbing my legs again and forcing them down against my heaving chest. I slide and his wet body pushes forward, keeping me in place as best as possible. Another moan rumbles my throat, muscles pulling against the position he’s forcing me into. I can feel his cock between my legs, rubbing, but he’s not pushing it in. He’s suspended, one hand against the edge of the tub the other against my knee, and his hips are pressed hard against the backs of my thighs. He’s grinning because now he’s the one in control, now he’s the one teasing ME. I can’t take it. “Brian, please! I want you in!” I beg him, groaning in frustration. His cock is rubbing between my ass cheeks as he jerks his hips in unsteady thrusts against my slick body. He’s right there, grazing my entrance, and driving me insane with want. “Brian,” I whimper, tilting my head back again with more care this time. “I need you to fuck me right now.” “Do you really want it?” “Yes! Brian!I need you up my ass, I wanna be fucked, I wanna feel it again…” “You want my cock?” “Uh-huh, I want your cock in me, I wanna feel it, I gotta feel it..!” I’m resorted to almost senseless rambling, feeling Brian finally steady himself and push the head of his cock in side of me. I groan loudly and tense up, letting my body shake and eyes closed. He grunts and squeezes my leg, forcing himself inside of me slowly. He didn’t lube his cock up and it’s dry going, shoving himself in raw, his skin to mine. My face screws up and lungs jerk, letting my body move my hips down hard, bringing Brian deeper. I groan out as he pulls back and shoves himself in, my shoulder blades sliding against the wet porcelain sides. Brian grunts and grabs my side for support, sliding in the tub, falling forward between my widened legs. He can hardly keep himself up and he has to shift forward hard, all his muscles straining so he can fuck me. I lean up, straightening my back against the tub’s edge, before sliding forward, my knees to my chest. I cry out, as the position makes Brian’s cock slam up my ass so hard and so fast I almost cum. “Fucking hell,” Brian moans, leaning his stomach against the back’s of my thighs, forcing my legs harder against my chest. He’s thrusting in and out of me in deep, shallow drives, my breath hitching. He stretches his legs, bracing the balls of his feet against the far end of the tub, using the muscles in his shins to push himself forward. I reach my hands up over my head, pushing hard and suddenly I’m flat in the bottom of the tub, legs half in the air half against my chest and spread to Briab. He’s half on his knees and at this angle, he can pound the living hell out of me, our limbs stretched out and straining to keep our places. We’re going at it as hard as we can, so I can hardly take it. My thighs are shaking and muscles tensed, jerking my hips in half circles, wanting to meet his harsh thrusts. He’s hitting something inside of me so fucking hard I can’t even breathe right. Brian raises one hand up, grabbing me by the hair roughly and jerking my head, making me moan, arching my back as far up as I can to bring him as deep up my ass as possible. He cries out, slamming in and out of me and my whole body is moving against him, aching for him. I’m nodding wildly, liking the feel of his fingers entangled in my hair, pulling. It makes my scalp tingle and I moan out, long and low, face screwed up and mouth gaping. Brian’s face tenses and relaxes as he thrusts, his teeth gritted. He lets go of my hair, running his fingers across my cheeks, shoving his index into my mouth. I suck on his wet fingers desperately, biting down a little too hard to muffle my moans. I’m getting close, really close. The heat is making my skin flush, building up in the pit of my stomach. My cock is being neglected, aching for some sort of release. Almost… “I’m… almost…. Oh god…oh god Brian, keep fucking me…oh god, fuck me!” I cry out for him as he lowers his fingers, grabbing one of my nipples. They’re stiff with pleasure and he twists at the bud, hard enough for it to hurt. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything right now except getting off. My body is heightening and blinding heat and hot pleasure is rushing over me in omnipotent waves. I need to cum so bad right now. “Bri….oh god Brian, oh god…” My muscles are tensed and quivering, his body heavy against mine. His thrusts are faster, his rhythm faltering and becoming more sporadic and desperate. “Justin…..Oh God…. Oh God, fucking… holy…shit…I…” he throws himself forward even harder, so I’m being slid up against the tub’s siding. His cock is ramming against my spot and I yell, arching up and biting into his shoulder. My body seizes and then trembles, climax taking control of my movements. My cum hits Brian’s stomach in thick ribbons, quickly being washed away by the shower’s water. His hips jerk and I feel my self shoot more, unable to do anything but moan out for him, my orgasm being milked as he hits that spot in me over and over. Brian moans and his thrusts are hard and shallow. His body shakes and his arms straighten, climaxing. He releases himself inside of me and his body gives another shake before collapsing down against my spent one. I let my legs fall down, stretching them out with Bruab flush against me, panting, his skin hot and damp. “Mmmm,” He sighs, lifting his head up after a minute of getting our breath back. “That was nice.” I huff, slightly offended. “Nice? That’s all you can say?” He laughs and shakes his head. “No! No, I don’t mean it’s bad!” He takes a deep breath and stands himself up, bracing one palm against the tub’s edge, one against the soap holder stuck into the opposite wall. Looking down at me, still laid out in the bottom of the tub, he smirks and shakes his head. “But for future references, try some mouthwash after eating garlic bread.” He says, yanking back the curtain and stepping out of the tub. I sit myself up, but all I can do is stare after him with a shocked face.