This is Chapter 26 of the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Brian Kinney.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Lights. Marfa, Texas, July 2003.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
"I don't see a fucking thing!"
"Shush!" I hiss.
"Why?" Brian snorts. "Am I going to scare the lights away?"
"I'm trying to concentrate!"
"On what? There's nothing out there but dirt!"
I have my binoculars trained on... something out there in the dark. I'm not sure what it is. But it's... something. "I think I see something."
"Jesus," says Brian. "Something. Or fucking nothing! This is the third night we've been sitting out here and all we've seen are a couple of jackrabbits! Now get over here and blow me, then we can go back to the hotel and finish the job. I have to be in make-up at 6:00 a.m. and I'd like to get a few hours of beauty sleep before I have to face the cameras."
"You don't need any beauty sleep," I remind him. "You're playing a big butch cowboy on a cattle drive. You need to look rough and tumble to be in character."
"Oh, is that so, Mr. Film Critic? And if I look like ten fucking miles of bad road on the silver screen I'm going to be an unemployed actor. Which means you'll have to find some other idiot to be your meal-ticket." Brian lays back on the blanket. "By the way, my cock is still waiting."
"Hang on -- I'm still looking. Be patient. Your cock can wait a few minutes."
"Blasphemy! My cock can never wait."
"Give me five more minutes."
We're parked about ten miles to the east of Marfa, just off Route 90. This is the area that's supposed to be the best for viewing the ghost lights. There's a viewing platform a few miles away, but it's usually full of tourists. When Brian and I finally see the Marfa Lights, I want it to be just us.
That is, if we see the lights. Which is becoming more unlikely as our time in Marfa draws to a close. It's July and 'Red River' is almost finished with location shooting. Only a few more days before we pack up and go home -- home to the house on Creekside Canyon. Our house. I like saying that to myself. Our home. Brian's and mine. For real.
"I'm going to take a nap," Brian yawns. "Wake me up when the Mothership lands."
"The lights aren't aliens, Brian. That's in New Mexico. Roswell. These lights are supposedly the spirits of Native Americans."
"Indians. Aliens. George W. Bush and Dick Cheney out trick-or-treating with a flashlight. I don't give a fuck what they are. Just finish doing that and come over here before my dick falls asleep."
Whatever it was I saw -- or thought I saw -- is gone now. I put away my binoculars and sit down on the blanket next to Brian.
"Nothing," I say. "Maybe tomorrow night."
"No," says Brian. "I'm not sitting out here another night on this fucking blanket with rocks poking me in the ass. If I want to be poked in the ass, there are other ways I prefer to have it done."
That sounds promising. "Does that mean you're going to let me do the job? Tonight?"
"No," Brian says flatly. "It was a rhetorical question."
"That's not what a rhetorical question is, Brian! A rhetorical question is one that doesn't require an answer. For instance..."
Brian claps his hand over my mouth. "I know the meaning of a rhetorical question, Professor Sunshine. I attended the 9th Grade. When I take my hand away, I expect that mouth to do more than attempt to tutor me in literary definitions."
He releases me and unbuttons his jeans. He's already hard. I glance back at the sky, but there's nothing there. But here, in front of me, is something much better than a ghost light. Something more substantial. Brian's dick.
"That's more like it," he sighs as I take it into my mouth. "Yes. That's it."
I have to admit, sucking Brian's cock is a lot more enjoyable than standing in the dark, scanning the sky with a pair of binoculars. For one thing, it's right here, in my hand. It's not elusive, like the Marfa Lights. I run my fist up and down the shaft, feeling its smoothness. Feeling it swell. This is real. This is beautiful. This is what really lights up my world.
The head of Brian's cock fills my mouth. I close my eyes, focusing on nothing but sensation. I feel the throb of it. That pulse. It connects to Brian's heart. The center of his being. He slowly begins to thrust against the back of my throat. But I pull away. I don't want him to come too fast. I want to control this. Pace it.
"Shit," he murmurs.
"Hmm." I run my tongue around the head, touching that little nick on the ridge. Brushing back and forth underneath. Reaching down and cupping his balls with my left hand as I pump his dick with my right. "Don't come yet. Not yet."
"I'm going to wear out your ass, Twat," he breathes. "You won't walk straight for a week."
I laugh. "I've never walked straight a day in my life, Brian! I've always walked queer."
"It's a good thing. An ass like that would be wasted on a straight guy." His hands run down my back, pulling me closer. "Now suck that cock!"
And I do. Suck it deeply. It's hard to deep-throat a cock as long as Brian's, but I do my best. And I'm good. At least he hasn't complained yet! But deep-throating isn't what I do best. It's all in the tongue-action. That's my forté. That and my lips. I have a pretty big mouth, if I do say so myself, and nice plush lips. And I know how to use those lips.
I can feel that he's ready to shoot. I can either pull back and let him shoot in my face or else I can swallow it. I love it when Brian shoots all over me. It feels dirty, but in a good way, like a porno video. But we're out in the desert on a blanket. I have some Handi-Wipes, but it can get messy -- Brian shoots buckets. So when he really starts bucking I hang on and let him go, swallowing as much as I can.
This is when Brian is at his most vulnerable. When he's coming. The first time he said, "I love you" was when he was coming up my ass that first night in the loft. Of course, he denied it later, but he said it. I heard him. And I don't think it was an accident that he said it. It was real. Maybe he didn't know it at that moment, but I did. I knew he loved me. And I loved him. Right from the beginning.
I keep his dick in my mouth until it begins to retract. If I wanted to I could make him stay hard and blow him again. Brian can stay hard longer than any guy I've ever seen -- or heard of. He can fuck me and come and then fuck me again without getting completely soft. And then maybe even fuck me a third time before it finally goes down. Some people wouldn't believe that, but it's true. We've done it many times. Brian is pretty proud of that ability. And who wouldn't be?
But tonight isn't a marathon. We don't have anything to prove. In a few days we'll be back in L.A. Brian will do another week or so of shooting there and 'Red River' will wrap. Then we'll have only a week before pre-production begins on 'The Eastern Front.' Soon he'll be leaving. Going on location again.
And I'll be on my way back to Pittsburgh. Back to school.
I start to gag. Cough.
"Hey! Are you okay?" Brian takes me into his arms.
"I'm fine. Your cock is too fucking big!"
"Since when? There's no such thing as too big when it comes to a cock, especially mine. And no such thing as enough when it comes to getting it sucked." Brian smiles. "Or eating your ass. Roll over."
I kiss him. "You really are insatiable!"
"I know. Isn't it great?"
It's probably not a good idea to be completely naked on blanket only a few yards from the road, especially when we're doing things that up until very recently were illegal in the state of Texas but what the heck? I'm not to complain.
"Now you know what rimming is!" Brian says, licking his lips.
I roll my eyes. "That was funny only the first two hundred times you said it!"
"You want me to stop?"
Of course, Brian doesn't stop at rimming my ass until I'm ready to scream. He fucks me, too. First from behind, then with me riding him ("Go, Cowboy!" he urges), and finally face-to-face, with him on top. That's the best. I always like to end that way, with Brian leaning down to kiss me after he comes.
"Hey, Twerp -- I love you," he says. "You know?"
"Is that so? Are you going to remember you said it in the morning?" I tease.
"I think so," Brian replies. "My head is ridiculously clear these days. I even remember the bullshit words I mumble in the throes of passion."
"And I remember them, too."
"I'm sure you're writing them all down. 'Dear Diary: Brian said he loved me! It was so neat! He's the coolest guy EVER! Hugs, Justy.'"
"Shut up! I don't keep a diary. You know that."
"Not in words. But you sure like drawing pictures of my cock when I'm sleeping. At least you used to."
"I still do." Now I'm yawning. It's getting late. "But I can draw it from memory by now."
Brian is suddenly very quiet. Like he's holding his breath. "I'd rather you drew it from life," he says finally. "Always. Do you know what I mean? Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"
My heart stops. "Yes. I understand what you're saying." I press my face against Brian's chest. Because of the filming he's not waxing anymore. It's strange, but nice. I can feel the hair growing like it's never grown before. Around his nipples. Between his pecs. He's a man and now I'm a man, too. No longer a couple of boys, unable to figure out what we want. "I fucking love you so much!"
"You better," he whispers, stroking my hair. "Jesus!" he suddenly exclaims, sitting up.
I sit up too. "What? What is it?"
"Look!" Brian points to the sky in the east.
There they are. Blobs of light, floating and bouncing in the air like bubbles. Some are yellowish white and some are red and orange. They move up and down, sometimes splitting like amoebas, then joining back together.
The Marfa Lights.
Brian stands and pulls me up next to him. We watch as the lights move, sometimes high above our heads, sometimes low, almost to the ground. I want to run towards them, to touch them, but Brian holds me back, pressing me against him. Then slowly they begin to fade. A few more float up into the sky and then they're gone.
"That was fucking weird!" says Brian.
"And fucking amazing!" I add.
"I'm glad we saw it," says Brian. "Although I have no idea what the fuck it was we saw."
"No one knows," I say. "Some things are meant to be mysteries."
"I can believe that."
We wait a few more minutes, but the ghost lights don't return. So we gather up our clothes and get dressed. Then I roll up the blanket and stow it in the back of the P.T. Cruiser.
"Are you going to tell everyone on the set tomorrow that we saw the lights?" I ask.
Brian shakes his head. "No. Pat would make fun of me and Paco would think I came out here to get stoned. And Dorian would just think I was crazy. Let's not illuminate the situation for people who won't begin to understand. Let's leave this just for the two of us. Okay?"
"Okay." I take Brian's hand and squeeze it. It's like the lights have witnessed something between us. And I don't really want to share it. It is for us. Just us. And no one else. "The lights were beautiful. But not as beautiful as what I see every night."
"You're quite the little philosopher, aren't you, Professor Sunshine?"
"I've had a good teacher," I say.
"And so have I," says Brian. He kisses my lips. "Let's never stop learning."
"Amen," I agree. "Never stop."
©Gaedhal, October 2008.
Posted October 12, 2008.