Bone

The problem, Dom decided, was not that he didn't want it—it was that he couldn't quite make himself ask for it. He didn't have to ask, he knew that. Brian would ask…when he wanted to fuck Dom, he would ask him. Sometimes with words, sometimes with a touch or a look. Sometimes he asked Dom just by the way he kissed.

Dom had yet to tell him no. Had no intention of telling him no, and nearly every time Brian did ask, no matter how he'd ask, Dom would remind himself that, really, the time had come to turn that around. That he should be able to walk up to Brian, look him in the eye, and very calmly, very sincerely ask Brian, "Would you fuck my brains out? Because I really want you to."

He should be able to do that. Say that. Really. He should.

If he wanted to suck Brian's dick, he had no trouble asking for that…although he generally didn't ask, not in so many words. Usually he would just push Brian to his back and have at it. Or grab his dick if they were standing up and go to his knees. Since Brian never said no, and more often said something along the lines of "Oh, yeah, Dom…that's what I want. Oh, Jesus, I love your mouth," Dom figured he had asking if he could suck Brian's dick down pretty well. It didn't have to be with words after all.

And he'd very cleverly found a way to ask Brian to do that thing with his tongue…the rimming thing, the thing that Dom still couldn't even contemplate doing quite the way Brian did—he was working up to it. Really, he was. But he'd found a way to ask for it, because it drove him crazy in a good way when Brian licked him like that, and sucked on him and pushed his tongue into Dom's ass. It was a guaranteed mind-blower, and usually, once Brian had done that much, he would ask Dom if he could fuck him, and Dom would moan out some semblance of a yes.

So he could ask Brian to use his tongue, although it usually came out sounding more like "You think you could rub my back?"

But Brian was a very smart guy and had figured out pretty quickly that rubbing Dom's back didn't necessarily require the use of his hands, nor did it, in fact, even require that Brian touch his back at all if he was in a hurry, or horny.

So for a while, Dom would ask for the back rub and get both Brian's tongue and his dick up his ass before the evening was over (or the morning—they had flexible schedules). And sometimes, he even got an honest-to-God massage out of it too…because Brian took excellent care of him.

But despite having found a way to ask Brian to give him a rim job, and having figured out that he could ask Brian if he could suck his dick without actually having to say it, Dom was still totally stumped on how to ask Brian to just fuck him—like straight up, without any stops for massages or rim jobs on the way.

And maybe it wouldnít have been a problem, but then Dom noticed that Brian had stopped asking. Not that they stopped having sex, or that Brian had stopped giving him rim jobs or being pretty damn appreciative when Dom gave him a blow job, but Brian stopped asking if he could fuck him. Stopped asking with his hands, with his eyes, and with his mouth. Stopped asking with words. But maybe worst of all, not only did he stop asking, he stopped fucking Dom.

To be honest, Dom wasn't exactly sure when the stopping started because if there was anything he liked better than fucking Brian, it was being fucked by Brian, and more often than not exactly whose body parts were fitting into whose body just wasnít a big deal. In the middle of any of it, Dom was pretty sure his higher brain functions went out for pizza and left him with all the lesser parts that defied logic and rational thought, and left analyzing with the machines in the shop, unplugged and useless. He didn't miss those higher brain functions at all. He didn't need them to kiss Brian, or stroke his dick, or push his own dick into Brian's body. He didn't need to think about where to put his weight, or how to shift his body to eke out the maximum pleasure for both of them—it had all become instinct wrapped in emotion, tied up nice and tight with a ribbon called love.

Losing his higher brain functions, however, did play havoc with whatever passed for poetry in Dom's soul. Good thing he never had the urge to write down any of the incredibly sappy, metaphor laden words that sprang to mind when they had sex. When they made love—because a) he was not a poet and b) given how often they had sex, if Dom were the writing things down type, they'd be hip deep in paper by now.

So, it might have been a few days before Dom realized Brian hadn't asked. It hit him just after Brian did the tongue thing (which Dom preferred calling it than rimming—rimming made him think of resetting hubcaps and really, having sex with Brian did not remind him of tires. Cars, yes. Tires, no) and then, instead of Brian asking Dom if he could fuck him like he usually did, he slid up Dom's back, kissed his neck and ask Dom to fuck him instead.

Another question guaranteed to drive away higher brain functions. Dom was in no way wired to tell Brian no to anything he suggested in bed in the normal course of things, and he couldn't think of any time, past, present, or future where the answer to Brian's "Fuck me?" would come even close to "No".

It came back to him afterward, though, when he went to the bathroom to get a cloth to clean them both off, that the back rub-to-rimming-to-fucking pseudo-question seemed to have misfired. Maybe just a hitch—a glance back at Brian, who was sprawled on this side on the bed with that half-smile and sleepy look he got when he was watching Dom's ass, didn't show that Brian seemed in any way put out by the change to the question that never quite got asked.

And Dom couldnít really complain about not getting what he asked for when he actually never asked.

The next time though, when Brian's hands danced over his butt, his fingers stroking along the crease of Dom's ass—which was really sign language for Brian wanting to fuck him—Dom thought maybe it was just a glitch. A momentary miscommunication.

Except it wasn't, because instead of asking Dom if he'd like to be fucked, after Brian had well and thoroughly loosened him up, he still didn't ask. He did push Dom down on his back, which was a good sign, but then Brian's mouth was on his dick, and his fingers were stroking Dom's prostate and in very short order—whoosh—the higher functions took a hike again and didn't come back until well after Dom had managed to remove any taste of himself from Brian's mouth with his tongue and used his hand to stroke Brian until he came all over Dom's stomach.

After that, Dom noticed. He didn't say anything at first, because, well, that was the problem, wasn't it? He thought about it, tried to put together the words: what he would ask and how. How hard could it be, to just ask Brian to fuck him? He liked it, Brian liked it…he thought Brian liked it. He groaned in the privacy of his office at the garage when the whiff of a thought what if Brian doesn't like it anymore? came sniffing around him. If Brian didn't like it, surely he would say something. Despite the lack of Brian fucking Dom that was going on, Brian didn't seem in the least bothered, or any less enthusiastic or demanding than he had been when there was fucking going on.

At least there was still Dom fucking Brian going on. And there was still rimming, which counted, sort of. And there were still fingers going into Dom's ass while Brian watched him with obvious delight and pleasure and not a little lust in his eyes.

And Dom still couldn't ask. He came close a couple of times: very close, when his dick was throbbing and Brian was moving over him or with him, rubbing his dick against Dom's or against his hip, when it seemed obvious to Dom that Brian would like to be fucking someone, and Dom was still more than willing.

It was on the tip of his tongue to just ask Brian to fuck him, when heíd pulled Brian down hard, spread his legs and humped up against him in what he thought was pretty blatant sign language—surely universal for "Fuck me, damnit," only to have Brian groan and hump and duck his head and suck Dom off —or worst of all, jerk Dom up and roll over and ask Dom to fuck him.

Damnit.

He practiced in his head. Everything from "Brian, I'd really like you to fuck me," to "Please fuck me," to "Fuck me." It all sounded fine. He worked up to whispering it to himself in the shower and then practiced when Brian wasn't looking, but was close, when they were making dinner or doing laundry or working in the garage, but then Brian would look at him or smile at him, his mouth curved, eyes bright and laughing and looking so fucking happy, that Dom would think again, how hard can this be? and be determined and absolutely certain that the second he had Brian alone, he was going to ask.

And time after time, he'd be right there, both of them sweaty and hard and at the point where someone should be fucking someone, and Dom would freeze, or move, and Brian would beat him to it…and even then, Dom thought…just say it, say, "Why don't you fuck me instead?"

But he didn't, and while he was trying to figure it out (without benefit of higher brain functions) he'd find himself buried balls to butt in Brian's ass, and too late all over again.

He finally figured out heíd have to keep the higher brain functions intact if he wanted to figure this out. He spent a couple of days thinking about it, both why he couldn't ask and why Brian had stopped asking—trying to figure out what had changed. He had no idea and thought maybe he should, like, ask Brian. Talk to him about it…subtly. Stealthily. Maybe he'd be clever enough to trip over his own tongue and end up asking anyway, because after a couple of weeks, he really missed the feel of having Brian's dick in his ass.

Desperate situations called for desperate measures.

Wait. Desperate? No. No…he missed it, was all, and there had to be some reason. Brian had to have some reason for stopping, something that he hadn't mentioned to Dom yet, right?

So Dom made dinner. Not that Dom making dinner was unusual. They usually split putting food on the table about fifty-fifty, but Brian more often than not provided dinner, whereas Dom actually cooked.

He made lasagna. They both liked it…it wasn't a big deal, but it took that extra bit of time. So Dom made lasagna, and a salad, and the cheesy bread that Brian would hoard for days and eat like other people ate potato chips. And Dom bought wine. White wine. Maybe not so subtle, but absolutely essential if he was going to have success at all at talking to Brain about something that he really had a hard time talking about. Beer wouldn't do it. Brian could match him drink for drink. Hard liquor too—and tequila tended to make them both interested less in talking and more in doing. But wine…in the wine department, Dom had Brian beat hands down. Dom could drink wine, red or white, at about the same rate and capacity as he could beer or booze. Red wine would give Brian a headache that would quash not only conversation but even the vaguest possibility of sex after dinner. But white wine, even with pasta, white wine was something that Brian thought he could hold but really…not. Wine went to his head. Wine made him amorous and willing and relaxed him to the point where Dom was pretty sure he could suggest they drive to China and Brian would agree. It didn't make him stupid, just amenable.

Dom added tiramisu for dessert in penance for exploiting a well-known weakness of his partner. He felt bad—but not bad enough not to offer Brian a glass of wine both before and during dinner.

"This is great," Brian said, happily wrapping his lips around another forkful of lasagna. "I could eat this forever," he added, and Dom thought idly that Brian probably could. Brian appreciated good food; Dom thought he must have a hollow leg sometimes, how much he ate. But Brian was also capable of eating crap that made Dom want to pull the food out of his mouth. Like raw fish. Raw fish was not something Dom could imagine putting in his mouth at all. If Brian wanted raw fish, he could damn well go get it on his lunch break, when Dom didn't have to watch.

"Old family recipe," Dom told him, and topped off Brian's wine glass. Brian took a sip and looked at the glass.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" Brian really was smart and Dom felt better about the tiramisu.

"Naw…good food deserves good wine, is all."

"Should be red, shouldn't it?"

"Red gives you a headache," Dom reminded him.

Brian nodded and took another sip. He continued to eat for a minute or two, and Dom did as well, although he lost his focus a little when Brian's tongue come out to lick a bit of melted cheese and sauce from his fork. Just the tip of it, licking between the tines, then wrapping around the metal to pull the melted cheese into his mouth. Brian licked the corner of his mouth, and Dom felt his cock twitch. Brianís lips were shiny, butter and wine an unbeatable combination.

"More?" Dom asked, tilting the bottle in Brianís direction. He had no shame. Absolutely none.

Brian gave him a funny look, but that might just have been the double dose of pinot grigio heíd already had, and lifted his glass to the bottle. "Sure. Hit me."

Dom smiled, poured to the rim and topped off his own glass for good measure.

"So…you want to get me drunk," Brian said, very deliberately taking another swallow of wine, a small one, and swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing. "Any particular reason?"

"I am not trying to get you drunk," Dom said firmly. "Been a long week, I just thought…you know. Good food, get relaxed. You can sleep in tomorrow." All of it true because Brian had the next two days off, and so did Dom—a rare occurrence that seemed like destiny playing a hand in the plan. When they both had the same days off, they tended to spend a lot of time in bed—not necessarily sleeping, but the bed was definitely the place to be.

"Dom…" Brian was talking, and Dom looked at him. Brian had finished his wine. Dom held up the bottle, but Brian covered the open goblet with his hand. "I'm relaxed…I get any more relaxed and you'll have to carry me to bed. Unless, you know, that's what you had in mind?"

Brian was smiling at him: that soft, affectionate, God-I-love-you smile that did, in fact, make Dom want to carry Brian to bed—or would if there was anything even vaguely romantic about what carrying a hundred and seventy-five pounds of white boy would do to his back.

But there was his opening. "Uh, something like that," Dom said. "Not carrying," he warned.

Brian grinned at him and dropped his gaze, dragging a finger across the remnants of sauce on his plate and sucking it off his fingers. "Bed, though. Is this meal supposed to last me a couple of days?"

Now there was a thought, but Dom shook his head. "No, I think we can probably manage a few minutes here and there to feed you, in between…" Dom stopped again. Brian was still sucking on his finger. He was like a little kid the way he cleaned his plate, but there was nothing remotely child-like in the way he used his tongue to clean his finger.

"In between…" Brian prompted. His eyes glittered and the pupils looked a little bigger. That look in Brian's eyes, coupled with the suggestive way he licked at his fingers—two of them now—had Dom squirming in his seat.

"In between the amazing amounts of sex we're going to have this weekend," Dom said firmly. He could say that…he had no problem telling Brian that he had every intention of keeping him in bed for two days. Brian squirmed a little, too, and Dom grinned. "Any problem with that?"

Brian shook his head. "No, man. I have absolutely no problem with that at all, but you know…you didn't have to get me drunk to suggest that." Brian leaned across the table and snagged the wine bottle, pouring himself another half a glass.

"I am not trying to get you drunk," Dom said again.

Brian raised an eyebrow and took a sip. "Uh huh…" he said, and then got up and came around the table. Dom turned in his chair and suddenly Brian was right there in front of him, long and lean, bright-eyed and aroused. Dom noticed that before he made himself lift his eyes to Brian's face. Brian took another sip of wine and moved a little closer, straddling Dom's legs, reaching behind Dom with one hand to grab the back of the chair before lowering himself onto Dom's lap.

Brian kept some weight on his own legs, his thigh muscles tightening and hardening under his jeans. Dom grabbed his hips to help—in case Brian fell or something. Or slid off, morel likely. He was drinking wine after all.

Brian took a sip and let it rest in his mouth, then swallowed and took another, smaller sip and leaned in.

The wine was mostly gone by the time Dom got his tongue in Brian's mouth. The taste was still there, though. It was good, very good, and Dom slid his hands around to Brian's ass and pulled him a little further up on his lap, right there where the taut stretch of denim at Brian's crotch rubbed the swell of his dick. He gave Brian a little nudge and got a breathy grunt, lifted his head to watch Brian set the wine glass back on the table before turning around and placing both his arms and all of his attention on Dom.

A lot of attention. "So," Brian said, dipping his head to breathe right against Dom's ear. "If youëre not trying to get me drunk, what are you trying to get?" he asked.

Brian's tongue stroked along his ear and up along his skull, and Dom gritted his teeth. Higher brain functions, he reminded himself. "I'm…trying to get…laid," he said, and dropped his head to Brian's shoulder. Fucked. He'd meant to say he was trying to get fucked.

Brian rocked a little against his pelvis, and Dom bit his lip. Brian rubbed and Dom groaned. "So, you want to fuck me?" Brian asked him, lips and nose nuzzling along Dom's temple.

Oh yeah, yeah…he wanted—"No…no," Dom ground out, and Brian went still.

"No?"

"I mean yes…but no," Dom said, and dug his fingers into Brian's ass. "I want…" Brian just said it, just like that. All Dom had to do was repeat it.

Brian waited. His fingers massaged the back of Dom's skull, and Dom could feel his breath warm and shallow and wet on his neck. "What, Dom?" Brian asked him, the sound humming on Dom's skin.

"I want…" you to fuck me "the other thing…"

"The 'other' thing…hmm…that covers a lot of territory, Dom," he said. "The other thing…like a blow job? You want me to suck you?" he asked, and moved one hand between them, his knuckles brushing over Dom's erection.

Jesus. "No…other…" He could think, why couldnít he talk?

"Want me to rim you?" Brian asked, and wrapped his tongue around and into Dom's ear in a slick and stealthy sweep that made Dom shudder…the higher brain functions were screaming to be set free. "Put my tongue in your ass…get you all wet, fuck you like that?"

Oh sweet Mary, yes…"Nn….no… not your tongue…you…your…" Brian should be helping him out here. He should. If he really loved Dom, he should be helping him out.

But Brian wasn't talking any more. He was still lightly rubbing Dom's dick while he watched Dom, grinning at him. Dom met his gaze, and Brian raised both eyebrows and tilted his head. Waiting…waiting for Dom to ask.

"Are you fucking with me?" Dom asked.

Brian grinned wider. He was definitely fucking with Dom. He absolutely, totally, with malice aforethought was fucking with Dom.

"What do you want?" Brian asked him.

"I want…" Son of a bitch. Dom dug his fingers back into Brian's hips and pushed. It was worth it to see the surprise on Brian's face, the open-mouthed, startled astonishment as he had to move quickly not to end up on his ass. He almost didn't make it…heíd had about three glasses of wine, after all. "…A beer," Dom said, and got up.

Also not easy because his dick was most definitely not happy about the change in plans. His dick was seriously unhappy. His higher brain functions, however, had finally shut up and settled down.

"A beer." Brian repeated, and sat down, watching him while Dom pulled a beer from the fridge—one beer—just for him. "Wow, I never wouldíve guessed that in a million years. A beer."

Dom glared at him, tilted the bottle back and took a long drink.

Brian still looked stunned. He was very nearly speechless. "Uh…Dom…what just happened here?"

Dom snorted. "Figure it out, smart ass."

"I was trying…to…" Brian said, and some of the stun left his face, replaced by a hint of annoyance. Good. That made two of them. Brian got up quickly, too quickly, and swayed a little, righted himself, then reached down and picked up the wine glass, downing the rest in one long swallow.

"I'm not psychic, Dom…" he said, and his brows drew together. "Pretty much…whatever you want…I'm probably good with it. Drunk or not."

Dom swallowed another mouthful of beer and stared hard at Brian. He wasn't smiling any more. He looked confused and a little put out, and as Dom watched, he rubbed his crotch to ease the discomfort of his thwarted erection.

"I mean, unless you want to piss on me or something like that." Brian was still talking and his face had pinked up. "Or put on a dress. But pretty much anything else you want to try, I'm willing to try, too…"

Try? They didn't need to "try" and fuck, they had fucked. Both of them, each other. Many times.

"Wait…" Dom said, waving his beer bottle, he set it down. "Try something…"

"New…something you—" Dom closed the distance and pressed his fingers to Brian's lips.

"Something new?"

Brian nodded and pulled Dom's hand away. "I thought maybe you were embarrassed…or afraid I'd say no."

"No…that's not it," Dom said. Well, it was, but not something new. Shit. He couldn't get past the tried and true.

"Then what?" Brian asked, rubbing his hands up along Dom's ribs. "Dom…help me out here."

Not fucking with him. Brian wasn't. In addition to not fucking him, Brian was not fucking with him. He had no idea what Dom was talking about. What Dom was not talking about.

Now he really was embarrassed. No way could he ask now. "Nothing…just…" Dom started grabbing plates off the table.

Brian sighed and shook his head, pushing him away. "No way. The cook doesnít clean," he said, dropping plates in the sink and turning on the water, so Dom put his hands up in surrender and hoisted himself on the counter next to the sink to watch.

Bad idea, it turned out. Brianís wet hands looked really, really sexy there in the soapy water, stroking the dishes, and even with an obvious wine buzz, there was a certain rhythm to it all that made Domís mind want to wander in all the wrong directions, like to Brianís hands on his dick, instead of what they were there for.

He hadnít plied Brian with good food and wine just to get Brianís hands (warm, wet, soapy hands) on his dick. Nope, he wanted the whole shebang. Hebang. Whatever.

So he sat and watched, let his cock fill again because there wasnít much he could do about that, and there hadnít been since heíd kissed an almost-dead Brian in a hospital bed all those months before.

He sat and watched, and saw Brianís hands get a little unsteady, saw him shift his hips, like he might need to adjust something. Dom reached over and passed his palm across the front of Brianís jeans. A heavy lump stretched along one side of the zipper. Dom pushed it straight up, lingering there to finger the shape of the head.

Brian dropped the dish heíd been holding and braced himself with both hands. "Damn, Dom, how much wine did I drink?"

"Just enough, looks like," Dom said, his voice rough.

Brian looked at him, bright eyes like lasers. "For what?"

Dom pushed himself off the counter, keeping his hand on Brianís groin, and slid the other up under his t-shirt, plastering himself against Brianís back.

Brian…melted. That was the only word for it. His head lolled back on Domís shoulder, his hands slid down the side of Domís hips, and his ass curved itself around Domís dick like God had made it to do that, to fit just there.

Higher brain functions? Fucking gone. Traitors.

Dom chewed on Brianís neck, hard enough to mark him, and Brian gasped something so low Dom couldnít hear it. Didnít take much brain to figure out what it was, though. Brian wanted Dom to fuck him. Again.

Uh-uh. Not this time.

Dom squeezed Brian through his jeans until Brian writhed against him, pushing his ass into Domís hips.

"You know how you feel right now?" Dom whispered against Brianís neck.

Brian stiffened.

"I feel like that, too," Dom said.

Dom felt the sound Brian made then through his hand on Brianís stomach, through the pitch of Brianís hard dick in his hand.

"You know what you want?" Dom said, walking the words down Brianís neck, under his shirt, turning him so Dom could pull the stretched t-shirt out of the way and get to Brianís collarbone. "I want it, too."

Brian shuddered out another sound above him, and Dom lifted his head. Talk about higher brain functions being gone. It looked like Brianís body was doing its best to hold him upright and keep blood in his dick, and couldnít be expected to do much more than that, but Dom wanted him talking. He put one inch of space between them, still massaging Brianís dick, but letting in some air.

He waited for Brian to take a breath, meet his eyes.

"What do you want, Brian?" he asked.

"Fuck me. Please," Brian said, his hands clenching and unclenching on Domís hips. "Now."

"No," Dom said.

Brian whimpered. "Suck me, fuck me, I donít care, just do something."

Dom listened to the words tumbling out of Brianís mouth, and it was like a switch flipped. Heíd learned so much from Brian, let Brian show him so many things. This wasnít really all that different. Brian knew what he was doing; might as well let him show him how to do it.

"Suck me," Dom said, Brianís words echoing in his head.

He felt the movement, the break in Brianís knees, the gratitude that he didnít have to stand, the hands reaching for his zipper, and Dom hauled Brian closer, kept him from kneeling, knocked his hands away.

"Fuck me," Dom said, wrapping his arms around Brian and holding him tight. He couldnít look at him, but heíd said it, heíd actually said the words. "Please."

"Really?" Brian asked, ducking his head until he caught Dom's eyes. "You want me to fuck you?"

"Oh, yeah," Dom said, feeling like he'd dragged that one up from the foundations. "Um… now…" he added, just in case Brian missed it.

Brain didn't miss anything. His hands went for Dom's zipper again, and this time Dom let him, pulled his shirt off over his head while Brian was shoving his pants down; warm, eager hands sliding over Dom's hips to his ass to rub for a minute before pushing the fabric down further. Dom had to grip the counter to kick off his shoes, step out of his clothes when Brian tugged them to his ankles.

Brian rose up, pulling off his t-shirt as he stood up in the circle of Dom's arms and shoved his jeans down, his dick thrusting straight up, swollen and tight. Brian brought their groins together firmly, then caught Dom's hand, lifting it, opening up enough room for him to slide along Dom's side, his dick leaving a moist trail on Dom's skin.

Dom felt that hot streak everywhere, like Brian had somehow opened a nerve that connected from his throat to his ass. He couldnít swallow, couldnít breathe, and his dick went from almost-hard to potential explosion in the space between one tripping heartbeat and the next.

Brian rubbed him again, painting another slick streak toward his navel, marking him in his own way, Dom thought. Fine by him. Maybe heíd leave those there, wash everywhere else, so he could feel the pull, the tightness when it dried on his skin, take it with him wherever he went.

Brian leaned in, feathered a shaking hand across the wet trail heíd just left on Domís belly. "Here okay? Iím not sure I can make it to the bedroom."

Dom did his own bit of melting, glad he had his back to the counter since his knees abruptly debated holding him up. "Hereís good."

Brianís tongue started leaving matching ribbons of wet heat across his shoulders, down his chest. A bite to one nipple made him see stars, and frankly, if Brian didnít get a move on, this was going to be over before it started, and what a waste of good pinot grigio that would be.

"Now, Brian," Dom said, pushing Brian away so he could turn around, face the sink. His own reflected face stared back at him. The window over the sink looked out on the yard in back. Nobody could see them, and he liked seeing the blurred face of Brian behind him; no way to mistake it, no way to call it something else: Brian was going to fuck his ass…because Dom had asked him to, and they could both watch it happen.

"No lube," Brian said. Asking? Or telling? Hard to tell when his voice was that thready.

"Okay," Dom said, with a small shrug, and felt Brianís hands convulse against his hips.

"Dumbass, I mean thereís no lube out here," Brian said, his dick already homing in between Domís cheeks.

"I know what you meant, Brian," Dom got out through clenched teeth. "Spit on it, pour wine on it, I donít care, just do it."

Brianís hand slid into the crease of Domís ass, opening him, and even the air hitting his hole made Domís dick lurch. Brianís fingers circled, pressed in dry, and Dom pushed back, welcoming the intrusion, begging for more with every shift of his hips.

Brian blew out a breath and said, "Hold on."

Dom braced himself, the edge of the counter cutting into his palms.

The head went in with whatever juice Brian had already leaked. It felt huge, aggressive, and nowhere near enough.

God, it had been too long, and he wasnít talking about the tight fit. Heíd missed this, this thing he could hardly name and barely say. Heíd struggled against the want, the last bit of that guy who used to be straight sneering at him for being one of them, one of those guys who took it up the ass. Well, that little sneering bit could kiss his ass, right there where Brianís dick was making itself at home one punishingly solid inch at a time.

Dom bent, literally, going down on his elbows, helping Brian find a better angle. He could hear Brianís ragged breath behind him, see in the dark window that he had his head bowed. He couldnít tell if Brian had his eyes open; he hoped so. He hoped Brian was watching his dick disappear into his ass, hoped it gave him the same kind of humbling, enthralled pleasure it gave Dom when it was his dick finding its way into Brian.

Brian deserved that pleasure. He deserved everything Dom could give him, even the stuff Dom was afraid to offer.

"A little more, Dom, I need a little more," Brian moaned, his hands moving to the top of Domís thighs and clamping down hard.

Dom took a deep breath, relaxed, and Brian basically pulled him back onto his dick, sliding deep in one steady motion, so deep Dom could feel rough hair and the broad swell of Brianís balls against his ass. Brian was in there. He remembered snatches of conversation about doing it standing up, the control required, the strength, but heíd never thought about how amazing it would feel from this side. Maybe the tension in his legs from standing, maybe the angle of penetration, whatever it was, it felt amazing, different and better, and oh, shit, Brian hadnít even moved yet, was just standing there behind him, panting, his dick lodged yardstick deep.

"Move, man," Dom ground out, trapping his own hard dick between his belly and the edge of the sink, the cool edge of the counter a welcome distraction from the thick heat throbbing in his ass.

Brian moved his hands from Domís thighs to his hips, got a firm grip and thrust. Dom had thought Brian was in as far as he could go, but he wrested another increment in, then withdrew, shoving back before Dom could get used to the emptiness. He did it again. Then again. Then again, each time pressing balls-deep, each thrust punctuated by a whuff of breath against Domís back and a heartfelt groan.

"Fuck, Dom, this feels fantastic," Brian breathed against his shoulder blade.

Yeah, it really did. Felt better than he remembered, so much better.

"Iím sorry," Dom said, watching his fists clench in time to Brianís thrusts. He was doing his level best not to reach for his own cock—one touch would send him over the edge, and he wasnít ready to go yet. "Iím sorry,"

Brianís rhythm broke. "What? Dom?"

"I wanted this," Dom said, and Brian lost it a little bit, thrusting so hard he shoved Dom off balance. He righted Dom with strong hands, settled against him for a minute, holding…waiting.

"I love you doing this," Dom said, so softly he wasnít even sure Brian could hear him, but he felt Brianís dick pulse in his ass, so maybe he had. "I wanted it, but I didnít know how to ask."

He felt Brianís sweaty forehead lean against his back, felt Brianís hand stroke between his legs, weighing his balls, lifting him back far enough to get his hand around Domís dick. Yeah, one touch, thatís all it took, one heavy swipe from root to tip, and Dom shot his wad all over the clean dinner dishes. He shuddered through it, felt his ass spasm around Brianís dick, and Brianís breathing choked to a stop. His hand squeezed another shot out of Dom, and he rolled his head against Domís back, gasping.

"Oh, man, you should have warned me," Brian said, and Dom felt his dick swell inside, felt the tremble start in Brianís thighs. With a shout, Brian lunged again, crowding up inside over and over without withdrawing, and Dom felt the implosion from the inside out, felt it at the exact moment Brian said, "I love you."

Brian thrust a couple of more times, quick jerks that came with breathy moans against Dom's back. Dom didn't know how Brian could even move when his own legs were threatening to fail him, almost did before Brian leaned against him, pressed him against the counter, arms wrapped around Dom's waist and chest, holding him up. Brian took in a couple of deep breaths, and Dom could still feel him, deep inside, warm, full, but no pressure. He almost clapped a hand over his mouth at the sound that escaped him when Brian finally pulled back, his dick sliding out of Dom's ass.

Brian's hand rubbed across his belly, stroked his spent dick. "You okay?" he asked, somewhere near Dom's left shoulder, and Dom rolled his neck, then his shoulders and found that his arms had regained enough strength to push him up and back, until they were both upright, plastered together, faces fuzzy in the window, and the faint reflection wasn't enough anymore.

He tuned around and caught Brian in an intimate dance that left them with the counter supporting Dom's back and Brian's hands. Dom took his face in his hands, sought out his mouth. This he could say. "Thank you," wasn't hard at all. Not to say, not to show.

Brian gave another little whimper, or maybe it was a sigh, when Dom pulled him close and tight against his chest. "That's what you wanted?" Brian asked quietly, his fingers tracing patterns on Dom's back. "Before…"

Dom nodded and put a little space between them, enough so he could see Brian's face. "Yeah…" He coughed, felt his face warm up. Stared at the floor. "You stopped…and uhm.."

"Stopped…" Brian wiped a hand over his face and caught Dom's chin, settling his weight on his own legs. "I stopped fucking you."

Dom nodded and felt both stupid and grateful that Brian was able to follow this at all.

"Dom…" Brian was smiling and he leaned in and laid his lips lightly on Dom's. "I stopped because…I thought…you didn't really like it," he said.

"Why would you think that? Did I ever say no?" Dom asked.

"No," Brian said shaking his head but there was laughter in his eyes. "But you never asked…not before, not after I stopped. I thought…I thought you were doing it for me…just going along with it."

Dom's own higher brain functions were now laughing their collective asses off. "But you like it?"

"I love it…I love fucking you," Brian said. "But it's never…it's not a requirement. Just so we're clear."

The very first time, Brian had said the same thing, not a race…no conditions. And he'd stopped at just the thought of Dom not wanting to.

Dom caught his hips, pulled him in tight and licked across his throat, up under his ear. "Just so we're clear. You can…fuck me…anytime you want. Even if I don't ask. If I ever change my mind, I'll let you know."

Brian nodded slowly, caught his mouth again, his eyes shining.

Somehow, Dom didn't think he was ever going to have to ask again—not in so many words.

Which suited him just fine. Brian talked enough for both of them. With or without words.