TITLE: If Only In My Dreams

AUTHOR: Xie

WARNINGS: None

A/N: I used the "interruptions" aspect of this prompt, rather than sticking strictly to the "caught in the act" thing. The porn muses are the most stubborn of all. And thanks to vl_redreign for a very last minute beta!


Brian arched his back; he couldn't help it. Justin's mouth was locked on his cock, his tongue swirling over the head and under the rim, a wet finger playing between his balls and his hole.

"Fuck," Brian said, his voice hoarse, heels digging into the bed as his hips strained upward. "Fuck fuck fuck… Justin…"

Justin slid up Brian's body, hand replacing his mouth on his cock, wet kisses up his belly and chest, tracing his collarbone, then one hard kiss on his shoulder while his hand slipped to Brian's hip.

And Brian rolled over.

Then it was Justin's mouth and hands, his cock trailing over the backs of Brian's thighs, the blunt head pressing against his hole. Pain and stretch, then little explosions of pleasure, that ache he couldn't name and didn't want to think about, his cock going rigid and then…

BAM. BAM. BAM.

The sound of someone knocking on the loft door. Only it wasn't; even in his sleep-soaked state, Brian knew no one was at the door, because when Justin was home for Thanksgiving, that little fucker had programmed the alarm on his phone to sound like someone pounding on the door. "It's the only sound you never seem to ignore," Justin had told him as he handed the phone back.

"Well," Brian had said, "that and you saying, 'Harder, Brian, faster, fuck me now…"

Justin had snatched the phone, laughing. "If that's what you want, then…"

Brian had gotten the phone back after a wrestling match that had ended, predictably, with his cock up Justin's ass. For which he was now clearly paying with what was the fourth night in a row he'd had this same disturbingly hot dream.

"And not even a wet dream," he said, giving a look of disgust at his own still-hard dick.

He took care of that in the shower, then sucked down two cups of coffee standing at the kitchen counter before heading to the office.

By 4 PM, he'd had six more cups of coffee, but he still looked longingly at the sofa in his office while listening to Theodore drone on and on about bank accounts and investments and whatever else it was he was saying.

"So what you're telling me," Brian interrupted him, "is that our revenues are down due to the economy, but the cost-cutting measures we've taken, combined with a re-definition of our target market, have compensated for most of it. So why are we talking?"

Cynthia sighed. "We need two new account executives to handle the increased number of niche and local clients we've developed."

Brian frowned. "There go those cost savings."

"But without them, we're fucked," Ted said.

Brian sat back in his chair. "Elegantly put." He drummed his fingers on the glass, then shrugged. "Do it."

The two of them stood up, gathered their files, and headed for the door. Ted paused before leaving. "You seem a little distracted, Bri. Everything okay?"

Brian didn't look up from his computer. "Everything's just peachy, Theodore. Go worry about my money, not my personal life."

Ted ignored him. "Justin's coming on Friday, right?"

Brian just kept working. Ted hid his smile until he was out in the hall.

That night, Brian took a Xanax and jerked off twice before falling asleep. He even stuck a butt plug up his ass while he did it, just in case some dark subconscious need to get fucked was behind the dreams.

But no. Justin's dick was just making his insides ache and cramp the way they did just before the blunt head stroked over his prostate right…there… when "BAM. BAM. BAM."

Brian threw his phone across the room. Then he got up and padded after it, naked, his rigid dick bouncing against his stomach.

It still seemed to work, so he dialed Justin. "Did you program some kind of subliminal message into my phone?"

Silence, then, "Ummmm… what?"

Brian sighed. "Did you, or did you not, program some kind of subliminal recorded message into my Blackberry? A simple yes or no will suffice."

"No. Definitely no. Is that simple enough?"

Brian shoved his hand through his hair and threw himself down on the bed. "Then I'm losing my mind."

He could hear Justin moving around in the dank tenement he called home in New York. Probably making coffee and getting ready for another day at the pretentious gallery he worked at, followed by…

"Brian, are you listening to me?"

"No," Brian said, irritated. "I already told you I'm losing my mind."

"Right. Okay." A pause. "What makes you think that?"

"I'm having weird dreams." He frowned. "The same one. Every night."

"Nightmares?" Justin asked, his voice softening. "Brian, I…"

"No, not nightmares. Not exactly."

"Well, what kind of dreams?"

"They start out with you sucking my cock."

Justin laughed. "What, do I bite you?"

"Do you want me to tell you or not?"

Brian thought Justin was still laughing, but all he said was, "By all means."

"Then you kiss my stomach and my hip and my shoulder…"

"Oh," Justin said. "One of those."

"Right." His tone became accusatory. "And every single morning, there I am, your dick up my ass, about to get off, and it's 'BAM. BAM. BAM.'"

"Right." Brian heard Justin's refrigerator door slam. "And this is my fault because…"

"You programmed the phone. It's your dick up my ass. Did you not listen?"

"Okay, my dick is in New York, at least until Friday, after which I'll be more than happy to shove it up your ass and I absolutely promise you'll get off. And I'll re-program your phone, too, although I'm sure you could find any random fourth grader to do it for you, if you can't wait until then."

Brian stared at the ceiling and didn't answer.

"Brian?" Justin almost sounded concerned.

He heaved a huge sigh. "I can wait."

"Good." Then he laughed. "Although now that I know what's on your mind, I'm not sure I can."

"Come early." The words popped out before Brian could appropriately filter them. He definitely should have had coffee before calling Justin.

Justin's voice got soft again. "I wish I could. Friday. And I'll be home until after the New Year." Brian could tell Justin was grinning now. "Which should be enough time to really explore the meaning of your dream."

"Fuck you."

"That works too."

Brian sat up. "You always were easy."

"Just how you taught me. Now, I have a job to get to…"

"And I have an empire to run. I know."

"Love you."

"Yeah, well, considering how often I've been putting out lately, you'd better," Brian said before disconnecting the call.

His sleepless condition must have made an impression on Cynthia and Ted, because every time someone came in his office door during the next couple of days, they were bearing coffee.

"Christ," he said as he sipped a particularly bitter mouthful from a Starbucks cup, "What the fuck, Theodore? Did you put four shots in this?"

"Six," Ted said. "You fell asleep in that meeting this morning."

"I was just closing my eyes so I wouldn't have to have to look at that intern's facial blemishes," he said.

"You were snoring."

"And now all this caffeine is going to give me a heart attack."

Ted stood up, and patted Brian's shoulder. "I hear it can make you impotent, too."

"That," said Brian, "would require a power no mere cup of coffee could even begin to possess."

"Good thing Justin's coming home tonight," Ted called over his shoulder as he went out the door.

Brian frowned. He'd always found Theodore to be annoying, but he was starting to wonder if his ability as a financial advisor wasn't the result of dabbling in the dark arts.

The drive to the airport was as fucked as it always was. Traffic, icy rain, more traffic. "Happy Holidays to you to, asshole," Brian said to the guy who flipped him off as he slid the Corvette into an empty space at the curb.

And then Justin was there, cold and wet with the almost-snow, laughing, his tongue hot inside Brian's mouth. Brian pressed his lips against Justin's as hard as he could, and slid one hand around the back of his neck.

A few minutes later, the sound of honking horns and a traffic officer's flashing lights made them break apart.

"We'd better go," Justin said. "Oh my god, wait, my bag…"

He jumped out, grabbed it off the sidewalk, and jammed it down between his legs while he closed the door. "Let's go. But don't get us killed before I can make your dreams come true."

Brian threw back his head and pulled into the line of cars heading out of the airport. "We'll see. Maybe that was just a symbolic dream. Maybe it wasn't about you getting up my ass at all."

Justin smiled at him from the other side of the car, his hand on Brian's thigh. "No," he said. "I'm pretty sure it wasn't. But we can start with that."

When they got back to the loft, it took Justin around 30 seconds to get his wet jacket off, and another 15 to get Brian face down on the bed. Brian meant to object – the predictability was really pretty nauseating – but something about the way Justin was flicking his tongue over his asshole made him forget what he meant to say as well as the meaning of most words.

He pressed against the mattress with his knees, which as far as he normally went in asking for more, and Justin slipped his finger in next to his tongue, bending it just enough to…

"Fuck," Brian moaned into the pillow, "Fuck fuck fuck…"

Justin's breath was on the back of his neck, and he heard a condom tear. "I'm right here," Justin said, and then he was, his dick pressing against Brian's opening. "Relax, Brian, I'm right here…" and then he pushed in, just a little, just enough to make everything inside Brian contract and expand, and hurt, and want.

Heat and pressure, too much and not enough, and then Justin's cock was riding him, his fist gripping his cock, slick with lube and Brian's pre-come. He wasn't being gentle, and Brian didn't want him to be. He wanted to get fucked. By Justin. On fucking Christmas Eve.

Brian pushed up unto his knees, and buried his face in his folded arms. Justin had let go of his cock, was gripping his hips, driving into him, bent over his back, his forehead pressed into the space between Brian's shoulder blades.

"Fuck," Justin said, "Brian, Brian," and then he was coming, but Brian didn't care, because he was, too, big hot circles of orgasm blasting out from deep inside him, spangling like electricity against the insides of his eyelids.

He finally dropped onto the mattress, Justin still inside him. This was the part he hated, but Justin slid out carefully, gripping the condom, then dropped a soft kiss on his shoulder.

Brian let Justin clean them both off, then slid away from the wet spot under him when Justin got back under the covers. "Goodnight," he mumbled against Justin's neck.

He thought Justin kissed his hair, but he was asleep before he could be sure.