IN WHICH BRIAN KINNEY DARES THE WORLD, PART 2
Title: In Which Brian Kinney Dares the World
Written By: knittedshadow
Timeline: Various
Rating: R
Warnings: Spoilers for the ending of Season 5.
Summary: Their first break up is only an almost break up.
Author Notes: Cowlip owns all. Thanks to my lovely beta for all her help during writing, you shall get proper named glory when the anonymous-cahoots are over.
Part Two:
I dare you to leave me.
Their first break up is only an almost break up. It’s only an almost break up because although Justin counts it, Brian doesn’t. He says they were never together in the first place.
Their first break up takes place inside Brian’s loft, and because of Brian’s loft. Just one tiny slip-up, one tiny mistake, an unlocked door, an unset alarm, and it’s all that Brian needs to get rid of him.
Their first break up makes Justin beg and plead and apologize, anything for a second chance but Brian just turns his back on him and shrugs it off, letting Justin’s words roll through him, unnoticed behind the anger.
Their first break up and Justin walks away from the loft, his future suddenly undecided. And Brian storms through his empty building and slams doors too hard, trying to drown out the voice that says, “I didn’t mean to do it. I’m so sorry.”
Their second break up seems a long time coming. It festers bitter between them until both of them know it’s only a matter of counting down the days. And when it finally comes to the act of leaving, they both realize Justin’s left already, back at the start of Rage, or maybe even before that. And Brian let him, lets him and always will.
Their second break up, and for days after Justin whispers, “Play me something” and Ethan will get sleepily to his feet and grab his violin. Their second break up and every night Justin lies awake and concentrates so fucking hard on the symphonies and the concertos and the requiems, but try as he might, nothing blocks out the sound of Brian’s voice and the words, “In ways that I won’t.”
Their third break up comes as a surprise. Justin walks into the loft thinking there’s nothing wrong apart from his cancer-ridden, anti-acceptance, truth-avoiding non-boyfriend. Their third break up and the cancer-ridden, anti-acceptance, truth-avoiding non-boyfriend has had enough.
If Brian took the time to analyze these things he would realize he isn’t angry at Justin for not telling him, he’s angry at Justin for knowing in the first place. And though he won’t think long enough to put his finger on what it is, something about Justin knowing he’s ill wrenches at his gut and brings bile to his throat.
So Brian doesn’t analyze, preferring instead to free fall on anger. And if he yells long enough and shouts loud enough then maybe Justin will turn to him, eyes sparking with fury rather than sympathy, and there will be no pity in his words.
Their third break up and things don’t go as planned. Pushed and shoved back in more ways than one, Justin’s eyes show only grief and somehow that’s worse than pity. And Brian slams the loft door shut behind him, kicking chairs and punching walls until he’s breathless and gasping.
Their third break up and Justin stands still and silent on the other side of the door, the words “I don’t want you here, get the fuck out,” ringing in his ears.
Their fourth break up and both of them try to pretend it isn’t happening. They don’t say ‘leaving’ or ‘distance’. ‘Goodbye’ would roll bitter over their tongues. Their fourth break up is slow, inevitable, but it tears at their hearts all the same. There is no pattern to follow, no set words for this situation, their relationship is hardly conventional.
So this is their fourth break up and their last moments and their goodbye fuck, all rolled into one. The movements, so goddamn familiar, so fucking natural to fall into that easy rhythm. And memories flicker across the moving bodies, their first, their last and every time in between.
When it’s over they lie tangled in each others arms, Brian’s fingers so tight they leave bruises behind. Their fourth break up and when the loft is still Justin slips away, bags already packed by the door. It’s easier this way. And Brian lies awake on the bed, eyes clenched shut, faking sleep because that’s easier too.
And when the door slides quietly shut he sits up, smokes a cigarette and stares at the floor with sightless eyes. As the distance between the two men grows, Pittsburgh to New York, the words “It’s only time” haunt them both.
-----
I dare you to come back.
One morning, the day after he fires Justin from the internship, Brian wakes alone and shaking from a dream. And although he’ll deny it if anyone asks, it takes him a long time to leave behind a night of echoing concrete floors and the soft rustle of a bloodstained scarf.
All through his morning routine, shower, coffee, drive to work, he’s haunted by memories he thought he’d forgotten long ago. And in the car, he turns the radio loud and tries to drown out his thoughts.
The trouble is, Brian knows why he dreamt of bloodied silk and cement walls last night, when he hasn’t had that dream for months now, or more. All he’d needed was a flash of blond hair, a glimpse of that sunshine smile at Vangard, and immediately his thoughts all loop back to Justin.
And that kiss, that kiss, and the words in the dim office light, where Brian had removed all temptation at the first opportunity. Yes, Justin is gone and Brian tells himself he’s glad.
There had just been something about seeing the boy, feet up, flicking through a magazine, so domestic, so fucking comfortable in Brian’s space, that had been … unsettling. And Brian doesn’t like feeling unsettled.
His temper rises as his thoughts return to their last argument. That kicked puppy-dog look in Justin’s eyes when he realizes there’s no way in hell Brian’s going to make this easy for him. The sudden spark in his gaze, the even tone as he recognizes the challenge. And try as he might, Brian can’t get rid of that kiss, that sudden, desperate kiss that tells him, I will fight for you.
--
But that morning, in the office, and Brian’s the one who’s doing the fighting, struggling through mounds of toppled ad boards as he realizes just how much extra work he’s made for himself by firing Justin.
He spends the rest of the day overworked and angry, bitching and sniping at anyone who comes within a five foot radius. Eventually, Cynthia calls him on it, after hearing him yell for a good ten minutes because the Iconic Optics ad font had been changed from blue to orange.
“Jesus, Brian, it was on yesterday’s memo. I was just following instructions.”
“Yesterday’s instructions, I don’t care about yesterday’s fucking instructions. I want today’s!”
Cynthia sighs, “Brian Kinney, I have sat by and watched you reduce three grown men to tears this morning. But if you continue to snap at me for doing my job, then god help me, I don’t know what I might do.”
Brian looks at her, irritated, and starts to speak but she cuts him off. “Look, you’ve been in a bad mood ever since you and Justin split up and when he comes back you just push him away again. I think for once you should take your own advice, get over whatever mid-life crisis you’re currently going through today, and grow a pair.” Satisfied she’s made her point, she turns on her heels and leaves.
Brian sits stunned for a minute, then toys with the idea of firing her for use of the word “mid-life,” but by that point she’s already half-way down the corridor. Another few minutes and he’s grudgingly admitted that she’s absolutely right, as fucking usual.
He gets his revenge by telling her two hours later that, actually, the writing looks better in orange.
--
As usual, Brian’s the last one left in the building. He’d sent Cynthia home two hours ago, still happily cursing the day he was born, and now the offices are silent around him. The corridor outside is dark and the only light is the soft orange glow from the lamp on his desk.
The quiet presses down on his ears as he stares sightlessly at the posters and leaflets in front of him and really he should hear the footsteps and the creak of the door. But he doesn’t.
“Mr. Kinney?”
There he stands, leaning casually against the door frame, cool as fuck, and Brian raises his eyebrows and smiles and tries to look like this isn’t unexpected.
“Taylor.”
He moves into the room and Brian can see determination in his eyes. “Come in, sit down.” Tone cool, like it’s anyone, another client, another colleague because the moment Brian admits this is completely fucking different, he’s lost.
Justin sits opposite, a slow blink, a sigh, “I gave it some thought. I decided you should take me back.”
And that’s all it takes. Brian knows he’s fucked.
--
They lie crumpled together on the office floor. Back in their briefs but bare-chested, their limbs still entangled. Silence stretches comfortably between them, Brian’s breathing still post-fuck heavy in the quiet room and Justin is lost in his thoughts. Suddenly he says, “That’s one more thing I can cross off my list.”
“Huh?” Brian threads his fingers lazily through Justin’s hair.
“My list. I have a list of things to do before I die.”
Brian raises his eyebrows. “And what are you crossing off?”
“Number 14; fuck my boss.”
“Good try, but I think it was ‘fucked by’, not ‘fucked’.”
Justin just sighs and says airily, “Technicalities.”
They’re quiet for a moment, then Brian pulls Justin closer to him, arm wrapping round his back and says, “You really have a list?”
“Mm-hm. It’s long. There’s categories and color-coding.”
“Impressive. Ted would be proud. What’s on it?”
“Um…learn to do a cartwheel. Sell enough paintings to pay you back for college, play a musical instrument, get you to sit through the whole of ‘Gone with the Wind’… There’s pages and pages of it.”
He tilts his head up but Brian doesn’t return his smile, instead he looks down at Justin and says dryly, “Play a musical instrument? Are you telling me the Fiddler never offered private lessons?”
Justin’s expression closes. “Don’t,” he says and his voice is tight. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
Brian’s voice is a little sour. “What no heart-felt declarations? No Romeo and Juliet? No Jerry-fucking-Maguire?” He raises his eyebrows. “Damn and there I was hoping for a chance to use my, “he had you at ‘cello’” joke.”
Justin stares at him incredulously then, expression relaxing, he bursts into laughter, the tension between them disappearing as quickly as it came. He threads his fingers through Brian’s hair and his face settles into a soft smile. “How did I live without you, all that wit and comic potential?”
“Probably too busy making fucking lists to notice,” Brian grumbles but his eyes are soft and his arms reach round to hold Justin closer.
Part Three
Written By: knittedshadow
Timeline: Various
Rating: R
Warnings: Spoilers for the ending of Season 5.
Summary: Their first break up is only an almost break up.
Author Notes: Cowlip owns all. Thanks to my lovely beta for all her help during writing, you shall get proper named glory when the anonymous-cahoots are over.
Part Two:
I dare you to leave me.
Their first break up is only an almost break up. It’s only an almost break up because although Justin counts it, Brian doesn’t. He says they were never together in the first place.
Their first break up takes place inside Brian’s loft, and because of Brian’s loft. Just one tiny slip-up, one tiny mistake, an unlocked door, an unset alarm, and it’s all that Brian needs to get rid of him.
Their first break up makes Justin beg and plead and apologize, anything for a second chance but Brian just turns his back on him and shrugs it off, letting Justin’s words roll through him, unnoticed behind the anger.
Their first break up and Justin walks away from the loft, his future suddenly undecided. And Brian storms through his empty building and slams doors too hard, trying to drown out the voice that says, “I didn’t mean to do it. I’m so sorry.”
Their second break up seems a long time coming. It festers bitter between them until both of them know it’s only a matter of counting down the days. And when it finally comes to the act of leaving, they both realize Justin’s left already, back at the start of Rage, or maybe even before that. And Brian let him, lets him and always will.
Their second break up, and for days after Justin whispers, “Play me something” and Ethan will get sleepily to his feet and grab his violin. Their second break up and every night Justin lies awake and concentrates so fucking hard on the symphonies and the concertos and the requiems, but try as he might, nothing blocks out the sound of Brian’s voice and the words, “In ways that I won’t.”
Their third break up comes as a surprise. Justin walks into the loft thinking there’s nothing wrong apart from his cancer-ridden, anti-acceptance, truth-avoiding non-boyfriend. Their third break up and the cancer-ridden, anti-acceptance, truth-avoiding non-boyfriend has had enough.
If Brian took the time to analyze these things he would realize he isn’t angry at Justin for not telling him, he’s angry at Justin for knowing in the first place. And though he won’t think long enough to put his finger on what it is, something about Justin knowing he’s ill wrenches at his gut and brings bile to his throat.
So Brian doesn’t analyze, preferring instead to free fall on anger. And if he yells long enough and shouts loud enough then maybe Justin will turn to him, eyes sparking with fury rather than sympathy, and there will be no pity in his words.
Their third break up and things don’t go as planned. Pushed and shoved back in more ways than one, Justin’s eyes show only grief and somehow that’s worse than pity. And Brian slams the loft door shut behind him, kicking chairs and punching walls until he’s breathless and gasping.
Their third break up and Justin stands still and silent on the other side of the door, the words “I don’t want you here, get the fuck out,” ringing in his ears.
Their fourth break up and both of them try to pretend it isn’t happening. They don’t say ‘leaving’ or ‘distance’. ‘Goodbye’ would roll bitter over their tongues. Their fourth break up is slow, inevitable, but it tears at their hearts all the same. There is no pattern to follow, no set words for this situation, their relationship is hardly conventional.
So this is their fourth break up and their last moments and their goodbye fuck, all rolled into one. The movements, so goddamn familiar, so fucking natural to fall into that easy rhythm. And memories flicker across the moving bodies, their first, their last and every time in between.
When it’s over they lie tangled in each others arms, Brian’s fingers so tight they leave bruises behind. Their fourth break up and when the loft is still Justin slips away, bags already packed by the door. It’s easier this way. And Brian lies awake on the bed, eyes clenched shut, faking sleep because that’s easier too.
And when the door slides quietly shut he sits up, smokes a cigarette and stares at the floor with sightless eyes. As the distance between the two men grows, Pittsburgh to New York, the words “It’s only time” haunt them both.
-----
I dare you to come back.
One morning, the day after he fires Justin from the internship, Brian wakes alone and shaking from a dream. And although he’ll deny it if anyone asks, it takes him a long time to leave behind a night of echoing concrete floors and the soft rustle of a bloodstained scarf.
All through his morning routine, shower, coffee, drive to work, he’s haunted by memories he thought he’d forgotten long ago. And in the car, he turns the radio loud and tries to drown out his thoughts.
The trouble is, Brian knows why he dreamt of bloodied silk and cement walls last night, when he hasn’t had that dream for months now, or more. All he’d needed was a flash of blond hair, a glimpse of that sunshine smile at Vangard, and immediately his thoughts all loop back to Justin.
And that kiss, that kiss, and the words in the dim office light, where Brian had removed all temptation at the first opportunity. Yes, Justin is gone and Brian tells himself he’s glad.
There had just been something about seeing the boy, feet up, flicking through a magazine, so domestic, so fucking comfortable in Brian’s space, that had been … unsettling. And Brian doesn’t like feeling unsettled.
His temper rises as his thoughts return to their last argument. That kicked puppy-dog look in Justin’s eyes when he realizes there’s no way in hell Brian’s going to make this easy for him. The sudden spark in his gaze, the even tone as he recognizes the challenge. And try as he might, Brian can’t get rid of that kiss, that sudden, desperate kiss that tells him, I will fight for you.
--
But that morning, in the office, and Brian’s the one who’s doing the fighting, struggling through mounds of toppled ad boards as he realizes just how much extra work he’s made for himself by firing Justin.
He spends the rest of the day overworked and angry, bitching and sniping at anyone who comes within a five foot radius. Eventually, Cynthia calls him on it, after hearing him yell for a good ten minutes because the Iconic Optics ad font had been changed from blue to orange.
“Jesus, Brian, it was on yesterday’s memo. I was just following instructions.”
“Yesterday’s instructions, I don’t care about yesterday’s fucking instructions. I want today’s!”
Cynthia sighs, “Brian Kinney, I have sat by and watched you reduce three grown men to tears this morning. But if you continue to snap at me for doing my job, then god help me, I don’t know what I might do.”
Brian looks at her, irritated, and starts to speak but she cuts him off. “Look, you’ve been in a bad mood ever since you and Justin split up and when he comes back you just push him away again. I think for once you should take your own advice, get over whatever mid-life crisis you’re currently going through today, and grow a pair.” Satisfied she’s made her point, she turns on her heels and leaves.
Brian sits stunned for a minute, then toys with the idea of firing her for use of the word “mid-life,” but by that point she’s already half-way down the corridor. Another few minutes and he’s grudgingly admitted that she’s absolutely right, as fucking usual.
He gets his revenge by telling her two hours later that, actually, the writing looks better in orange.
--
As usual, Brian’s the last one left in the building. He’d sent Cynthia home two hours ago, still happily cursing the day he was born, and now the offices are silent around him. The corridor outside is dark and the only light is the soft orange glow from the lamp on his desk.
The quiet presses down on his ears as he stares sightlessly at the posters and leaflets in front of him and really he should hear the footsteps and the creak of the door. But he doesn’t.
“Mr. Kinney?”
There he stands, leaning casually against the door frame, cool as fuck, and Brian raises his eyebrows and smiles and tries to look like this isn’t unexpected.
“Taylor.”
He moves into the room and Brian can see determination in his eyes. “Come in, sit down.” Tone cool, like it’s anyone, another client, another colleague because the moment Brian admits this is completely fucking different, he’s lost.
Justin sits opposite, a slow blink, a sigh, “I gave it some thought. I decided you should take me back.”
And that’s all it takes. Brian knows he’s fucked.
--
They lie crumpled together on the office floor. Back in their briefs but bare-chested, their limbs still entangled. Silence stretches comfortably between them, Brian’s breathing still post-fuck heavy in the quiet room and Justin is lost in his thoughts. Suddenly he says, “That’s one more thing I can cross off my list.”
“Huh?” Brian threads his fingers lazily through Justin’s hair.
“My list. I have a list of things to do before I die.”
Brian raises his eyebrows. “And what are you crossing off?”
“Number 14; fuck my boss.”
“Good try, but I think it was ‘fucked by’, not ‘fucked’.”
Justin just sighs and says airily, “Technicalities.”
They’re quiet for a moment, then Brian pulls Justin closer to him, arm wrapping round his back and says, “You really have a list?”
“Mm-hm. It’s long. There’s categories and color-coding.”
“Impressive. Ted would be proud. What’s on it?”
“Um…learn to do a cartwheel. Sell enough paintings to pay you back for college, play a musical instrument, get you to sit through the whole of ‘Gone with the Wind’… There’s pages and pages of it.”
He tilts his head up but Brian doesn’t return his smile, instead he looks down at Justin and says dryly, “Play a musical instrument? Are you telling me the Fiddler never offered private lessons?”
Justin’s expression closes. “Don’t,” he says and his voice is tight. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
Brian’s voice is a little sour. “What no heart-felt declarations? No Romeo and Juliet? No Jerry-fucking-Maguire?” He raises his eyebrows. “Damn and there I was hoping for a chance to use my, “he had you at ‘cello’” joke.”
Justin stares at him incredulously then, expression relaxing, he bursts into laughter, the tension between them disappearing as quickly as it came. He threads his fingers through Brian’s hair and his face settles into a soft smile. “How did I live without you, all that wit and comic potential?”
“Probably too busy making fucking lists to notice,” Brian grumbles but his eyes are soft and his arms reach round to hold Justin closer.
Part Three