Timeline: post S5
Word Count: 1024
Author's Note: This is unbeta-ed. Sorry for an mistakes. All this my very first porn.
Summary: PWP with paint and Prada.
“If you get a single drop of paint on my Prada I will never fuck you again.”
Justin spins around - startled - his hand fluttering at his heart, paintbrush swirling through the air spattering small dots of green on his cheek.
Brian is standing at the door of his New York studio, completely unexpected and so fucking hot.
“Don’t get all goopy and sentimental on me. I have to be at the airport in an hour. I figure you have just enough time to suck my cock.” Emphasis on the word cock - clicking in his mouth as he steps into the small room.
Justin smiles a full wattage smile, but his heart won’t slow down; hand shaking slightly. Brian notices but doesn’t point it out. He regrets startling Justin, but doesn’t say so.
“You’re fine, Sunny Boy.”
“Of course,” Justin answers, a fake laugh shaky on his lips.
But, the closer Brian’s body gets to his own, the more fine he actually is.
“Take off your clothes.”
Brian is standing right next to him now - soft lips just inches from his ear. Justin’s heart is still pounding hard and fast in his chest, but now it’s for an entirely different reason.
Justin’s brush hits the cement floor with a smack and a wet splat. His paint spattered shirt with a soft whisper and his belt buckle a metallic clang. His feet are already bare. No underwear.
Silence as Brian’s Prada covered knees join them on the hard ground. Justin hands instinctually move towards Brian’s hair.
“Uh Ah.” Brian shakes his head with a smirk. “ A single drop and this is over. Don’t you dare touch me.”
With a growl of frustration, Justin tangles his paint-cover fingers behind his own neck to resist temptation. He can feel colors mixing against his skin.
If he could just paint how Brian feels - ugh. how so fucking incredible he always feels - he would be the most famous, richest, critically acclaimed artist in the whole goddamn world.
Brian buries his face in Justin’s crotch and just breaths. His fingers dig into the roundness of his ass. His teeth nip at the soft skin of Justin’s belly. He runs his tongue from the base of his cock to the tip, just as his fingers slide into the crack of Justin’s ass.
Painting is a similar high to Justin as sex. A pleasure and a tension and a release. Something he NEEDS and WANTS and aches for. But, it is never quite as good as this. He can never find just the right color or stroke that is...
The head of his cock is buried in the back of Brian’s throat as a lubed finger slowly breaches his hole. Of course Brian would have lube in his suit pocket on a last minute business trip.
Justin’s legs are shaking and he struggles to stand with nothing to hold onto as Brian sucks and finger fucks.
His hands slide at the back of his neck wanting to touch but holding back.
Brian stands quickly and pushes Justin towards the ratty couch a few feet away. Justin’s whole body sways at the sudden movement - arms flying from their locked position to keep his balance. His finger comes oh so close to the shoulder of Brian’s suit jacket.
“Don’t you dare.”
Brian pushes Justin flat on his back on the couch and covers him completely with his clothed body. Justin can feel the texture of the material against the length of his skin, heightening every sensation. Jacket buttons press into his naked stomach. Silk tie pools at the base of his neck, tickling his skin every time Brian moves.
Brian unzips his fly just enough to take out his cock and slide on a condom. Justin legs move around his waist, suit jacket draping over his knees as Brian enters him in one long trust.
Justin’s hands go to his own face just to touch something. anything. He knows this is leaving marks - colorful streaks that will make him blush when he is alone again.
It hard and fast and rough in the way Justin loves it to be. Brians pants are rough on the sensitive skin of his thighs.
“Don’t cum on my suit, Justin.”
Brian pounds into him and Justin fights to hold on. He bites down on his hand to keep from reaching out. He taste paints and smells sweat and expensive cologne and all he sees is Brian.
When Brian cums, Justin can feel the zipper of his pants digging into his skin. He hopes it feels a mark as well.
He feels completely exposed and yet warm and covered at the same time.
Brian slides down Justin body and swallows his cock. sucking. sliding. humming. Justin cums instantly - hard and long - hands grasping desperately into his own hair, wishing it were Brian’s.
Brian stands, smooths his expensive suit and straightens his tie. He leans down and gently kisses Justin once on the mouth.
“I’ll pick you up at the airport on Saturday.”
Justin’s hand moves to caress Brian’s check.
“I can just get a cab.”
Brian raise one eyebrow and presses his tongue into his cheek. Then he stands and walks away. At the door, he turns one last time to look at Justin, pale skin soft and relaxed against dark grey fabric - blue, and green and gold in his hair and on his face and down his chest.
For a second Brian is thankful Justin was not painting with red that day.
He clears his throat and mind, turns and walks down the hall.
Two hours later, as Brian settles into his seat on the plane he notices a tiny smear of green paint on his pants, hovering just over his cock - just one single drop.
It looks electric against the matte black fabric. The corners of his mouth turn up involuntarily. His pants are ruined but he can’t find it in himself to pretend to be upset. All he can think about is fucking Justin again. and again.