I lean back on the bed, resting my weight on my elbows and crossing my legs. I know I should answer, but somehow I can’t seem to get my mouth to work. Watching Brian dress does that to me. Watching Brian undress does that to me.

Shit. Watching Brian is all it takes.

He glances over his shoulder, quirking an eyebrow before his lips turn up in a smirk…grin… whatever you want to call it, it‘s sexy and mysterious and hot as hell. His eyes skim over me quickly, appraisingly, and then he merely shakes his head and turns his back on me, stretching to reach back into the closet. I am, apparently, an enigma.

He pulls out a shirt. Hesitates. Replaces it. Chooses, instead, a long-sleeved dark blue silk that seems to glide across his skin when he moves, that seems to mould itself to his body, that seems alive. That just happens to be one of my favourites.

He turns and runs a hand through his hair, finalizing the freshly-fucked look that it usually takes fifteen minutes to perfect. No need for the extra time tonight, because we are freshly fucked.

He ducks his head, watching me from beneath long dark lashes as he works to fasten the buttons of his shirt, and I draw in a shuddering breath as my mind is suddenly assailed with flickering images.

His lips, soft and warm and wet, licking at my collarbone before trailing along my chin to capture my mouth, yielding and eager beneath his. His arms, pressing me close, close, ever closer as we sway to the music of Babylon, the falling glitter painting us in silver stardust. His fingers, twined in mine as I pull him onto the sofa at Deb‘s, laughing at his half-hearted scowl, laughing more as he makes no attempt to remove his hand from mine. His hair, silken strands tangling in my fingers as his mouth engulfs me, teases me, tortures me, claims me.

He finishes with his shirt and flops down on his knees in front of me, his expression one of undisguised amusement.

“Justin,” he tries again, “what the fuck are you doing?”

I see, then, how I must look to him… fully clothed, half-reclining on the bed, eyes glazed, mouth hanging open. Staring at him.

I shake my head and smile, a huge smile, a carefree smile, because I am here and Brian is here and nothing is better than this.

“Loving you,” I answer simply.

His eyes flicker, his breath catches in his throat, and I would say more but then his lips are on mine and his hand is clutching my hip and he is pressing me down and his body is covering me and his moans are filling the room, filling me, encompassing me, enveloping me in warmth.

My last coherent thought is that we might not make it to Babylon after all.