Nobody ever thought to tell Brian Kinney that being in love was like having sex. Because people are stupid, he had to figure that out on his own.
Now that he understands it, he could kill those sentimental, self-delusional twats who tried to convince him that being in love was feeling complete and sharing a soul and building a life together and all that other bullshit. It's like sex.
It hurts like sex does, sometimes bad, sometimes so fucking painful that he thinks he'll never walk again, but mostly it hurts in a good way. Leaving Justin in the morning is like the discomfort of pulling his cock out of an ass after coming. Talking to him on the phone at lunchtime is like watching porn with his hands tied behind his back. By the end of a business trip, just thinking about him is like getting tentative licks on the worst case of blue balls he's ever had. It hurts like fuck.
It feels good like sex does. This part is so obvious that Brian can't understand why nobody talks about it. It's like every good lay he's ever had. Coming home is like sliding into an open mouth. Text messages are like sixty tight, hot seconds with a horny waiter. Reminiscing through boring meetings is a secret thrill, like getting head under the table. Going out together is like fucking in front of hundreds of horny men who aren't getting any. After a shitty day, lying down on the couch with Justin is like fucking in the Baths, like the relief of getting mindlessly, senselessly, wordlessly off.
Fighting is like sex-- in, out, back, forth, up, down, until the tension is unbearable, and then it explodes with doors slamming or broken glass or bitten skin or some other ecstatic violation which leaves him viciously sated or makes him prowl around looking for more. Making up is like sex, like putting his cock back where it belongs after being interrupted. Lazing around in bed together on Sundays is like slowly, slowly jerking himself off. It's stupid and pointless and he's got better things to do, but he does it when he can because it feels like that. Buying flowers is like unzipping his pants, sweet anticipation. Telling Justin he loves him is like rimming, the effect it has on him, the noises he makes, and how he'll do absolutely anything Brian wants, after.
He really can't believe nobody told him this years ago. The only way it isn't like sex is that he doesn't have to stop being in love to eat. He can be in love while he works out, and when he yells at useless interns, and as he picks up his drycleaning. Being in love is like having sex all the goddamn time, and Brian Kinney fucking loves it.
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