Budget Islander wasn’t Hilo Hilton.  More like Motel 6 in pastel floral fabrics.  Brian set his briefcase on a mini dresser, lifted the Pay-Per-View card off a small TV and plopped it back.  “Mr. Wang and Mr.Rheinholdt would love each other.”  He zipped off his jacket and shirt.

“It’s not like he planned to stay here all day,” Justin reminded, unbuttoned his shirt, “And neither should WE.”  He snapped on the bathroom light and stared at a mini shower stall, made a face at Brian, down to briefs and hanging his suit in a tiny closet.  “Why don’t you grab a shower while I go downstairs for directions to the nearest mall?”

Brian watched Justin rebutton his shirt.  “Is it that impressive?”

“It’s clean.  Just don’t make any sudden moves,” Justin tossed on his way out.

Before the door shut, Brian saw Justin touch a back pocket in the classic got-my-wallet? confirmation.  Brought a jab of dereliction and a snap comment.  “If you have to buy something, I’ve got enough -”

Justin shot a hand against the door, held it open and smiled, “I don’t need or want to depend on you.  We’ll take care of each other, okay?” And he let the door shut before Brian could answer, strode to the steps and rumbled down.  You don’t have to be the only one to hold this family together.  And I have faith you’ll figure that out.

While Justin explored, Brian maneuvered in the tight shower, cleansed the physical and mental strains.  He stepped out, dried off, loosely fastened on a thin terry robe and wandered to the large windows, noticed latches and zipped the sheers aside to open all three casements.  A breeze washed in with the sound of crashing waves.  No beach.  But also no other buildings or people on the large jagged rocks.  A view of freedom.

Justin stepped in, breathed relief at Brian’s calmer look.  “There’s a little drug store in the lobby. But they didn’t have your shaving cream,” he opened a plastic bag, dumped the contents on the bed.  A flock of brochures, bottle of mouthwash, a box.  He gathered the papers, handed them to Brian.  “Pick something out while you’re waiting.”

Brian watched Justin take the box and bottle, head for the bathroom.  “THAT’S sexist.  They don’t have shaving cream but they stock douche.”

“Not exactly,” Justin wrinkled a smile.  “But I just need the bottle.”

As Justin disappeared into the bathroom, Brian felt a warm rush stiffen his cock.  The invitation was obvious.  The wait would be too fucking long.  Brian flipped through the papers.  Luau, Hula show - tourist shit.  In tacky, common collage photos.  He tossed them back onto the bed, went to the window, braced against arms on the ledge and followed the coastline as far as he could.

Justin returned in the other robe, saw Brian pensive and decided to let him move at his own pace.  He crawled onto the bed, settled on his side facing away and casually opened a brochure.  “So.  Anything special you wanna do?”  Little smirk.  Purposely loaded that.

Brian turned, studied the dips and angles of Justin’s body.  Where the robe draped loose.  Where it clung snug.  He knew that body so well, yet found its hidden mystery arousing.  “I thought we might just tour the coast.”  He shucked his own robe onto a chair, picked a tube and condom off the desk and sat on the bed.  Twisted on a hip and eyed the curve of Justin’s ass to the line of his slightly bent legs.  Reached for the robe hem and crept it up in gathers so he could admire each pale inch.

“I’d like that,” Justin also heated, pushed the brochures off the bed and eased his chest down, slid his top knee forward, arched his hips.  Something sensual about the slow ride up his legs.  It stopped on his hips, and his cock surged with the exciting nasty pleasure.  Cover over most of him hyper-sensed bare skin.  And he moaned softly from the brush of light kisses, breaths on his ass.

Brian knew this foreplay could excite Justin as well as any rim.  Not that the taste, soft give under his lips, vocal answers weren’t driving himself to bursting as well.  The sight alone – Justin’s ass framed in white and ready.  “Then I thought we might drive inland…” he uncapped the lube, warmed a dab on his finger.

“Oh yeah. That sounds good,” Justin inhaled at the touch of a hand exposing him.

Brian didn’t do it often – actually watch the small hole.  Watch it react and synch with moans as Brian drifted his finger around, around, not touching it yet.  Teasing himself with the anticipation.  Until he centered his fingertip.  Pressed in a couple inches, slid out.  Then back.  Feeling the grip and silk.  He saw Justin’s leg move wider, hips rise.  Felt the breeze cooler on his own back, on the breaking sweat.  Any more play would be too much.

Justin felt Brian’s touch leave, his body shift…smiled when he heard the foil rip.  Always like Brian…take it to the right point and know the right time.  Then he felt Brian’s hand slip into the robe collar and work it off one shoulder.  “That’s good.  Leave it there.”

“You’ll overheat.”

“Let ME worry about that?”

Brian hesitated, bent down and kissed the exposed shoulder.  It DID look sexy.  He took a moment to smooth the gathered fabric, positioned himself between Justin’s legs and guided his cock tip to rest against Justin’s hole.  Just sit there.  Until the short break in focus passed, and feeling heightened again.  I want you.  Need you…so…fucking… much.

Justin’s breaths shortened.  Cock ached for the promised push.  Want to take you.  Need you.  Now…in me…NOW. 

Before Justin could press back, Brian drove in, making him cry out.  Always amazing.  That first moment.  That burn.  Shockwaves through his system.  And Brian was going slow and steady.  Expanding inside him, over the spot that sent a charge through his cock stroked by folds of robe with each move.

Brian involuntarily shivered from adjustment pulses on his dick.  Went almost giddy high from the sensation.  Pulled out slow.  To the tip.  Want to feel it all again.  Feel you take me, all the way up my cock again. 

Justin’s senses reeled from Brian’s long strokes.  He knew what Brian wanted.  How he wanted it.  And he himself could change the tempo anytime.  But this was too good.  Had to get even closer.  He slid his hands down to his own ass and opened full access.  I want to feel you all over.  All the way.  DO it.

On his next push, Brian felt his cock sink to the base.  His balls into a steamy crease.  Groin to taut skin.  He ran a hand over Justin’s and learned why.  Leaned down, nipped and kissed Justin’s shoulder, buried his lips against Justin’s neck and kissed him there.  Then planted his arms and geared up.  Driving deep and hard.  Until they shook the bed with convulsions and the walls with their voices.

Splash down.  Recovery.  Brian had wrapped his arms around Justin during the peak, and now they spooned tight, still connected, spent and sweaty.  Brian ran his hand across Justin’s warm temple.  Too warm.  He palmed Justin’s hip and gripped the condom for clean retreat.

“You can stay,” Justin’s lips moved, little else.

Brian left anyway, had the condom tied off and pitched aside then rolled Justin face down, “Arms back,” and stripped off the robe.

“It felt good,” Justin twisted a smile at Brian.

Brian used the robe to towel off Justin’s back.  “If you start fucking with your clothes on, you’ll give me a complex.”

“You’re complex enough as it is.”

Brian swatted Justin’s ass, finished wiping his own chest.  “After YOU,” he nodded to the bathroom.

Justin sighed and dragged himself off the bed.  “If I have to put that suit on again, I swear to god I’m burning it when we get home.  The desk clerk told me there’s a shopping center up the road.”

“Good work, Tonto,” Brian quipped, answered Justin’s quizzed look with, “It’s a…partner term.”  Saw Justin’s whatever nod as he stepped into the bathroom.  Last thing Brian wanted was to give Justin more age ammunition.

Next to last thing he wanted was to disgrace his Armani suit at…

…a Sale rack in Thrift Mart.

Justin plowed through a shirt carousel, stole a glance at Brian, bit back a laugh when Brian held up a wild shirt with gaudy flowers and stared like it was a used diaper.  “Oh, that’s definitely you.”

Brian mouthed a silent Fuck You and slapped it back on the rack.

“What about THIS?” Justin held a large gray tee shirt over his chest.

“It looks like a dress on you.  Go anywhere NEAR wearing a dress and I’m history.”

“Not for me.  You.”

“Doesn’t anybody in Hawaii wear black?”

“Um-hm.  Like you never went to the White Party.”

“I’ll think about it,” Brian resigned, shuffled through the rack and found a smaller light blue tee, held it up and raised a brow to Justin.

“Sold,” Justin agreed, pushed another tee aside and lifted a khaki safari shirt.  “Hey,” he held it up to his neck, wide grin.  “We could cut the sleeves off.” 

Brian eyed it with a nod; Justin hooked it over an arm. 

They left the store in recycled jeans, casual shirts, no socks and plain white tennis shoes, their suits draped over their arms and dress shoes in plastic bags.  Still, there was a certain freedom in the image…no concerns about a grease spot or wrinkles…or professional scrutiny.

“Where do you wanna eat?” Justin flung his suit and shoes in the trunk, rolled his eyes when Brian removed the suit and laid it flat before adding his own.

Brian slammed the trunk, surveyed the mall lot and saw a couple tractor-trailer trucks parked near a Japanese restaurant.  “Truckers always know where to eat cheap and hearty.  Want to check it out?”

“Something tells me that in a past life you were a scrounger.”

“Yeah,” Brian’s eyes darkened.  “But that was a past life.”

Justin felt the chill, didn’t comment again until they were seated at a booth in the near-empty place.  Small but rich with carved woods and mute oriental colors.  A petite Asian Girl handed them one-page menus, poured tea and left.  Justin cleared his throat, looked over the top of his menu.  “My folks always gave me things…but I didn’t get to choose a lot of them.”  Then he looked down.  “That was stupid.  Forget it.”  Comparing privilege to lack thereof.

“Feeling obligated with no choice?  I guess we’ve gone that same route.” Brian stared until Justin flickered him a smile.  “Don’t ever call yourself stupid in front of me.  You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

“Yeah.  I’m with YOU.”

“Even smart people do dumb things.”

“If I thought you were throwing a line, I’d laugh.  But I don’t think you are.”

“I’m not an easy person to live with.”

“I know.”

“I’m tense, demanding, short on explanation…”

“Go on.”

“Like to be in charge -”

“GOOD one.”

Brian paused and blinked.  “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Proving you can’t scare me off,” Justin blinked back and returned to his menu.  “Keep going with your nasty qualities.  Eventually you’ll run out and have to start using the good ones.”

Brian ran his tongue against his cheek, “I could kiss you, fuck you and smack you all at the same time.”

“See?” Justin gleamed back, “You’re getting to your talents already.  I think the Szechwan noodles look good.”

Brian paused, considered, “You’re the one buying.”

Justin smiled over the top of his menu.  “You can leave the tip.”

“We’ll get to that after dinner.”

By then the little Asian Waitress returned with checkbook poised and ready, hampering anything more risqué.

After dinner, dusk looming – too late to do much more than stop at the hotel.  Most of the guests were out in search of grass-skirt nightlife or slack guitar concerts or luaus.  Anything more exciting than the beachless coast and wave-whipped jagged rocks – the very things Brian found most attractive.

While Justin folded back the bed’s heavier covers, Brian emptied his briefcase onto a hand towel spread on the dresser.  Enough fruit for a gift basket.  Pretzels.  Cookies.  Mini liquor bottles.  “Raiding the Coach galley?” Brian waved a vodka.  “They don’t use these in First Class.”

“If you’re already IN First Class, they give them to you if you ask,” Justin winked, fluffed a pillow.

“Ah.  Country-Club Rule Number One.  Flaunt your status.”

“Something you know absolutely nothing about,” Justin ribbed, flung the pillow at Brian and caught it after Brian fired it back.  Then he set it in place and moved on to emptying the overnight kits.

Closing his briefcase, Brian saw a corner of the questionnaire sticking from a file slot, slipped the folded sheets out and spread them in the case.  Scanned the questions and pushed the page aside to Justin’s answers.  He rolled his lips in, exhaled a breath and turned toward the windows, the muffled slosh of waves.  “Think I’ll take a walk outside.”

Justin, sitting on the bed and separating needs from junk, stopped when he saw Brian’s distant eyes.  “Alone?”

Brian paused before he passed, reached down and clasped Justin’s hand.  No more words, they left together, down the steps to the lobby, out the back door, across a small patio slab.  Three stone steps down, they crossed a strip of rocky sand to larger rocks then separated and skirted like adventurous kids toward the surf, Justin following Brian’s careful lead over sharp rises and menacing crevices until Brian stopped on a flat rock near the water-plumes’ farthest reach.

Brian gazed at dark ocean, white-capped curtains ramming and exploding over the rocks.  Something soothing in the erratic rhythm of power to passive as spent waves slipped quietly away.

Justin kept a short distance until he saw Brian stoop to test a spot, sit with one knee raised, arm hung over it, other arm stiffly bracing him up, other leg stretched out long.  Staring off in a thinker’s pose.  So Justin stepped closer, sat on a hip and leaned on a straight arm with his hand beside Brian’s, knees folded to one side and a hand around one ankle.

“It’s a little damp,” Brian smiled, steady light breeze and salty mist mussing his hair so he had to brush it aside

“It’s okay.”

“You left a question mark on Number Six.  About good things happening in the future?”

Off guard, Justin stared silent before it jelled. “I had no idea how you’d answer that.”

“And you said you understood why I act like I do sometimes.  That it made you wonder if…” Brian dropped his chin and rolled his eyes up wide, an invitation to finish.  “If?”

Justin cleared his throat, stared in his lap and wrung the hand around his ankle.  He didn’t have tactful words then, and certainly not now.  But it was Brian’s low voice that filled them in, between rounds of crashing waves.

“If I keep you around to satisfy some kind of surrogate father complex?”  Brian watched Justin’s eyes meet his in a mix of affirmation and anxiety.  So Brian softened even more.  “Picked up a teenager because it made me feel more like BEING one?”

“I’d rate that a four,” Justin raised a weak smile, “On each.”

Brian forwent sarcasm to respect Justin’s honesty and its insight. “So what?” Brian stared unblinking.  “Is there some dogma of RIGHT reasons we have to follow to be partners?”

“I’m not thinking about here and now.  I’m just wondering if going forward to you…is like going backward.  To a place you hated,” Justin exhaled defeat at Brian’s puzzled stare, looked away, “Because we never talk about our future.  So I’m not sure I should expect one.  But…I want to think there is.  And I want to think it involves more than just tolerating our faults.”

Brian exhaled long to clear his thoughts.  “I can’t and won’t make predictions.  But I do know…that when you’re around, I think more about what we’ll do tomorrow.  Is that good enough?”

Justin stared a moment, “If you think we can stretch that out for a few more years,” looked away and quickly added, “I know.  It’s up to me.”

“I didn’t say that,” Brian toughened to regain Justin’s eyes, smiled when he did, “You didn’t ask me for YOUR opinion.  You asked me for mine.”

Brian raised his hand, fingers spread, waved his thumb.  “This one counts for two.”  He moved his support hand next to Justin’s until their smallest fingers locked.  Then they kissed soft and brief before Brian pulled back.  “Let’s not assume that all the fucked up reasons are the only ones.”

Justin released his ankle, raised his hand to Brian’s cheek and kissed him again.

Sparked with arousal, Brian rose to a stand.  “We’d better head back before it gets too dark to scale these peaks.”

Justin stood in agreement.  “I’d rather not spend our first night in a trauma center in separate beds.”  And he took the lead back with more carefree lighter steps than those that brought him out.

Back in their room, Brian had just set the chain lock when Justin’s shirt hit his neck and hung on his shoulder.  He snatched it off, turned to see Justin stepping from dropped jeans and shorts, that come-on smile.  “Ever stuff a phone booth?” Brian stripped off his shirt, pants.

Crammed into the shower.  From outside, abstract moving shapes pressed flat on the frosted, dripping glass as they slithered around each other.  Brian’s thigh and shoulder.  Justin’s shoulder blades and ass.  Two hips and thighs.  Brian’s chest and cock.  The hazy forms of kissing and fondling, the echo of chuckles and running water.

Inside, sardined face to face and too revved to wait, they locked arms around each other and ground it out, Brian clenching Justin’s thrusting cock between his thighs, Justin rolling his hips to keep Brian’s cock pinned and kneaded by their working abs.  Heating in their tight confines until Justin nailed his cheek to Brian, clawed his back and muffed two sharp cries against Brian’s chest.  Chin clamped over Justin’s shoulder, Brian drove at Justin’s hip before his hot burst and long groan caught them up.

They stood holding each other, rain pouring over them, until Brian blew in Justin’s ear, “We could fall asleep in here and not fall over, but I vote we try the bed.”

“If we can make it out of here.”

A quick towel-dry later, they were side to side under a thin sheet lit by moonlight through the large window – Brian stretched on his back, one arm bent behind his head, the other tunneling under Justin’s pillow so a hand cupped his shoulder – Justin with his arm across the sheet on Brian’s hip, hand spread and resting on a thigh.  Time difference, the lull of waves, air foreign and fresh – their eyes, thoughts drifting.

Brian gazed at Justin’s half-closed eyes, chest, outline through the sheets.  You’re not that same twink kid.  And I DID notice the looks at the Baths.  If you turned it on, you would’ve had anyone.  I taught you…fuck…everything I could.

“What are you thinking?” Justin smiled.  That you’re glad we hitched on the wrong plane?  That we didn’t get a chance to line up all the gay hot spots but you’d rather just be together?

“You really don’t need me anymore.”

WHAT?  Justin punched Brian’s leg, heard him yelp and cringe but didn’t care.  “You asshole,” he sprang off the bed and headed to the closet, speared a look, “Go to sleep and wake up when you’re sane.”

Brian sat up, still rubbing.  Fuck.  It’s the fucking TRUTH.  “There’s a whole world around us and you’ve barely SEEN it.  But you SHOULD…while you’re -”

“Young?” Justin stared, got Brian’s silence, shook his head and snatched a couple dark items off the floor.  “Like you’re eighty and I’m a goddamned five-year-old.”

Brian watched Justin thump to the bathroom, flick the light and swing the door partially closed.  Fuck.  He pressed a palm to the bridge of his nose, paused when he heard the running sink, strange splashing.  Then he breathed out long and went to the door, pushed it open just short of hitting Justin. “What the fuck are you doing?  It’s three o’clock in the morning Pittsburgh time.”

Justin cleared his throat.  Loud.  Kept eyes on his sink work.  “I told you I love you.  But since you don’t get it, I must’ve gone about it the wrong way.  So I’m hand-washing your underwear,” Justin glared straight at him.  “Does THAT mean anything to you?”

Brian answered quietly serious.  “How can you be so sure I’m what you want?”

“Why are you so sure you’re NOT?” Justin drained cloudy water, turned on the rinse,  “Give me some credit for knowing my own mind,” stirred the wash water, “Like that ranch deal -” 

“I can’t promise you that every move I make is up for discussion or approval from you.  If that’s your idea of partnership -”

“I don’t expect that,” Justin matched tone. “You always let me stand up for myself…treat me like a man.  Except when it comes to sharing parts of you.  Just let me know you trust me with that.  Give me a chance to show I trust YOU.  Maybe I have something to say worth considering.  Maybe not.  But whatever happens…we work it out.” Justin tightly wrung the shorts, flinched and stopped to shake his cramping right hand.  “Shit.”

“Here,” Brian edged inside, took the wet bundle, noticed another in the sink, hesitated and corner-eyed Justin.

Stepping aside to let Brian take over, Justin wrinkled,  “I figured I’d do mine too, so if you STILL didn’t get it, at least I’d gain SOMETHING out of this little demo.”

“An honest, self-serving motivation. I’m impressed.”  Brian squeezed out his pair, took Justin’s and did the same, drained the sink.  I can’t believe I’m doing this.  Washing your fucking underwear.  But that’s how you asked…so this is my answer.

Justin watched Brian roll the items in a towel, twist hard then unroll and hang them over a towel bar.  Seeing a man he doubted even Mikey was privileged to see. “I need you,” Justin softened, saw Brian’s eyes hold on him.  “To remind me I can be more than just one kind of man.  And I’m not about to throw you back for something better.  I won’t be that stupid again.”

Brian stayed silent, hidden sore spot hit and balmed.  Fucking little queen.  He took and caressed Justin’s right hand.  “Is it better now?”

“It still gets shaky, but always comes around.”

Brian shut off the light, led Justin back to bed and under the sheet.  They stretched on their sides facing each other, arms and legs tangled, light kisses and eye talk, no words until Brian whispered, “Roll over.”

Unwinding limbs, Justin shifted to his stomach, faced away and waited.  Felt Brian’s hand across his back, shoulders, into his hair.  Skimming with the sound of waves.

Still on his side and watching, Brian let his hand travel over Justin.  I don’t want to fuck you.  I want…no…I need to tell you…

Justin felt Brian’s hand flow over him.  Not like an erotic prelude, or sculptor admiring a work.  Like one long continuous kiss.  Until it settled on the small of his back, its lightness turning heavy.  His eyes closed in the comfort of its presence.

When Brian heard the hushed rhythm of Justin’s breaths, he settled on his back.  Drifted off with the flavor of security, a mere shadow thread of doubt.  And a tiny voice still trapped and muffled somewhere deep inside.

Song: “Dice (Inlya Remix Edit)” by Finley Quaye & William Orbit 

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