QAF Ficlet: Never Holding Back
Title: Never Holding Back
Author: Parallactic
E-mail: parallax03@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, CowLip's. I'm just taking Brian and Justin out for a joyride.
Spoilers: General S4.
Notes: This is dedicated to Burnitbackwards, who requested (so many moons ago she's probably forgotten all about it) that I write what I'd like to see in the series finale. If you're reading this, sorry for the loooong delay.
Summary: Brian and Justin try to move on with their lives.
Bright lights of Babylon, hot bods surrounding him, frenetic motion--and Brian can't find anything to hold his attention. He downs a beer at the bar, insults Ted, coaxes Michael to stop being a family man and let loose, grinds against Tall, Dark, and Well-hung, and his mind still slips into a memory of earlier.
"How many times do I have to say this? Go to L.A., wow them with your talent," said Brian, pacing throughout the loft, avoiding the letter on his desk.
"Damnit, Brian! Just listen to me before you start pushing me out the door," Justin said. "I want to do what's right for us."
"You are," said Brian, alighting on the kitchen, drumming his fingers on the counter, carefully not looking at the desk.
Justin leaned on the counter, and affected a casual pose. "I don't need to sell out so early in my career. Taking the job will limit my opportunities to work somewhere that won't mess with my allergies."
"You're not selling out, you're grabbing the future by the balls, and being the best fag you can be," said Brian.
Justin looked incredulous. "After everything we--" He shook his head. "No. We're partners. I'm not going to ruin that--"
Brian crowded Justin against the counter, leaned into his face so that Justin had to crane his neck to look up at him. "Yes, you are. If you fucking throw away this opportunity, if you fucking walk away from Brett Keller, then you've turned our partnership into a joke."
"Fuck you, Brian." Justin shoved him away, backhanded a stool into clattering on the floor, and stalked straight ahead, stopping when he got to the windows.
The problem with Babylon is that it's claustrophobic in its sameness. Brian prowls the catwalk, walking past a row full of tricks he's already had, while overhead the song changes into the same bass thumping music. L.A. might have been different; bigger clubs, at least newer people to fuck, perhaps a celebrity or three. L.A. didn't want him.
Brian feels a hand on his shoulder, turns around and yanks the hand away even as he drinks in Tall, and Hard Muscled. He can't remember if he's had this one; he thinks he might recall seeing that dragon tattoo coiling around a generically broad chest. He cops a feel, and leads the trick to the back room anyway, only stopping to rip the pictures of Jenny Rebecca out of Michael's hands.
"Hey! I was showing those around!" shouts Michael, scrambling on the floor to pick up the pictures and stuff them back in his wallet.
"This is Babylon, not some breeder sports bar," Brian tosses over his shoulder, not looking back, never looking back.
"This isn't just a couple of months," said Justin by the window, voice quiet, the earlier anger gone. "I don't want to look back a couple of years later, only to realize that I made the biggest mistake of my life."
"You will, if you stay here," said Brian. "Maybe not now, but five years later, you'll look back and see you lost out on the best fucking opportunity of your life. Do what's right for you."
Justin turned around, eyes wide and mouth set in a thin line. Brian wondered if Justin would start tearing up. He didn't. Instead, Justin did something worse. He said, "And what about you? What are you going to be doing?"
"I think that should be obvious," said Brian, and took a cigarette from the pack on the counter, before realizing the lighter was on his desk. "I'm going to do what's right for me. Kinnetik is just taking off." He fiddled with his unlit cigarette. "In a few years, it might go national."
"So you can't come with me," said Justin and stepped towards him, before pausing as if to take in the entire distance of the loft. Justin said as he approached Brian, "You ever been to L.A.? They've got the hottest guys you've ever seen."
"L.A.'s prime export is plastic surgery for a reason," said Brian, and made his way over to his desk when Justin was three steps away from closing the distance between them.
Justin arched his eyebrow, and smiled. "Like you'd be able to tell in fifteen minutes."
"Only fifteen?" said Brian, lighting his cigarette. "Why, Sunshine, I'm surprised at you," he said in a mocking falsetto, "I thought you had better endurance."
"Brian...." said Justin, the smile gone, voice uncertain, his expression asking the question he apparently couldn't.
"Don't you fucking dare look back," Brian said, placing his lighter on his desk, right on top of the letter rejecting his attempt to open an advertising agency in L.A.
"I won't," said Justin, eyes filled with sorrow, even as Brian saw his shoulders straighten and his head lift, a perfect image of a man ready to take on the world.
Brian had never been prouder of Justin.
Brian feels dizzy and unbalanced, so he leans against a lamp post for support. He doesn't know where it's coming from since all he had was a weak-ass beer. Old age is creeping in and making him into a lightweight. Pretty soon he's going to turn in at 10pm, except he doesn’t feel old, or tired, so much as hanging in suspension, waiting for something to happen. Something different.
A cacophony of car horns grabs his attention. A cab has stopped in front of Babylon, in the middle of the street, blocking traffic. A twink gets out of the cab with a huge duffel bag, and walks past Babylon and down the street. He looks familiar, but he can't be, because Justin's en route to L.A., and his fucking beer was drugged with something that makes everything out of focus.
He stops right in front of Brian, and looks up at him, licks his lips, as if he's at a loss for words.
Brian has plenty of words, like, "Why aren't you on the fucking plane?"
Justin breaks into a smile, and says in the cockiest voice he's ever heard, "Because I'm too busy doing what's right for me."
Brian blinks, the world coming back into focus, looks away, and then back. Justin is still there.
"Where you headed?" Justin says, voice pitched low.
"Nowhere special," he says.
"I can change that." Justin's eyes gleam in the streetlight, reflecting Brian's own impatience to get going, to grab the world by its balls, and make things happen.
"You already have," Brian says.
Brian swings an arm around Justin's shoulders, Justin embraces his waist, and they walk off into the night.
The end.
This was done beta-less and after stepping away from the fandom, so if you spot any flaws, or OC-ness drop me a line and I will try to fix it. The last four lines were stolen borrowed from QAF Ep 1.
Author: Parallactic
E-mail: parallax03@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, CowLip's. I'm just taking Brian and Justin out for a joyride.
Spoilers: General S4.
Notes: This is dedicated to Burnitbackwards, who requested (so many moons ago she's probably forgotten all about it) that I write what I'd like to see in the series finale. If you're reading this, sorry for the loooong delay.
Summary: Brian and Justin try to move on with their lives.
Bright lights of Babylon, hot bods surrounding him, frenetic motion--and Brian can't find anything to hold his attention. He downs a beer at the bar, insults Ted, coaxes Michael to stop being a family man and let loose, grinds against Tall, Dark, and Well-hung, and his mind still slips into a memory of earlier.
"How many times do I have to say this? Go to L.A., wow them with your talent," said Brian, pacing throughout the loft, avoiding the letter on his desk.
"Damnit, Brian! Just listen to me before you start pushing me out the door," Justin said. "I want to do what's right for us."
"You are," said Brian, alighting on the kitchen, drumming his fingers on the counter, carefully not looking at the desk.
Justin leaned on the counter, and affected a casual pose. "I don't need to sell out so early in my career. Taking the job will limit my opportunities to work somewhere that won't mess with my allergies."
"You're not selling out, you're grabbing the future by the balls, and being the best fag you can be," said Brian.
Justin looked incredulous. "After everything we--" He shook his head. "No. We're partners. I'm not going to ruin that--"
Brian crowded Justin against the counter, leaned into his face so that Justin had to crane his neck to look up at him. "Yes, you are. If you fucking throw away this opportunity, if you fucking walk away from Brett Keller, then you've turned our partnership into a joke."
"Fuck you, Brian." Justin shoved him away, backhanded a stool into clattering on the floor, and stalked straight ahead, stopping when he got to the windows.
The problem with Babylon is that it's claustrophobic in its sameness. Brian prowls the catwalk, walking past a row full of tricks he's already had, while overhead the song changes into the same bass thumping music. L.A. might have been different; bigger clubs, at least newer people to fuck, perhaps a celebrity or three. L.A. didn't want him.
Brian feels a hand on his shoulder, turns around and yanks the hand away even as he drinks in Tall, and Hard Muscled. He can't remember if he's had this one; he thinks he might recall seeing that dragon tattoo coiling around a generically broad chest. He cops a feel, and leads the trick to the back room anyway, only stopping to rip the pictures of Jenny Rebecca out of Michael's hands.
"Hey! I was showing those around!" shouts Michael, scrambling on the floor to pick up the pictures and stuff them back in his wallet.
"This is Babylon, not some breeder sports bar," Brian tosses over his shoulder, not looking back, never looking back.
"This isn't just a couple of months," said Justin by the window, voice quiet, the earlier anger gone. "I don't want to look back a couple of years later, only to realize that I made the biggest mistake of my life."
"You will, if you stay here," said Brian. "Maybe not now, but five years later, you'll look back and see you lost out on the best fucking opportunity of your life. Do what's right for you."
Justin turned around, eyes wide and mouth set in a thin line. Brian wondered if Justin would start tearing up. He didn't. Instead, Justin did something worse. He said, "And what about you? What are you going to be doing?"
"I think that should be obvious," said Brian, and took a cigarette from the pack on the counter, before realizing the lighter was on his desk. "I'm going to do what's right for me. Kinnetik is just taking off." He fiddled with his unlit cigarette. "In a few years, it might go national."
"So you can't come with me," said Justin and stepped towards him, before pausing as if to take in the entire distance of the loft. Justin said as he approached Brian, "You ever been to L.A.? They've got the hottest guys you've ever seen."
"L.A.'s prime export is plastic surgery for a reason," said Brian, and made his way over to his desk when Justin was three steps away from closing the distance between them.
Justin arched his eyebrow, and smiled. "Like you'd be able to tell in fifteen minutes."
"Only fifteen?" said Brian, lighting his cigarette. "Why, Sunshine, I'm surprised at you," he said in a mocking falsetto, "I thought you had better endurance."
"Brian...." said Justin, the smile gone, voice uncertain, his expression asking the question he apparently couldn't.
"Don't you fucking dare look back," Brian said, placing his lighter on his desk, right on top of the letter rejecting his attempt to open an advertising agency in L.A.
"I won't," said Justin, eyes filled with sorrow, even as Brian saw his shoulders straighten and his head lift, a perfect image of a man ready to take on the world.
Brian had never been prouder of Justin.
Brian feels dizzy and unbalanced, so he leans against a lamp post for support. He doesn't know where it's coming from since all he had was a weak-ass beer. Old age is creeping in and making him into a lightweight. Pretty soon he's going to turn in at 10pm, except he doesn’t feel old, or tired, so much as hanging in suspension, waiting for something to happen. Something different.
A cacophony of car horns grabs his attention. A cab has stopped in front of Babylon, in the middle of the street, blocking traffic. A twink gets out of the cab with a huge duffel bag, and walks past Babylon and down the street. He looks familiar, but he can't be, because Justin's en route to L.A., and his fucking beer was drugged with something that makes everything out of focus.
He stops right in front of Brian, and looks up at him, licks his lips, as if he's at a loss for words.
Brian has plenty of words, like, "Why aren't you on the fucking plane?"
Justin breaks into a smile, and says in the cockiest voice he's ever heard, "Because I'm too busy doing what's right for me."
Brian blinks, the world coming back into focus, looks away, and then back. Justin is still there.
"Where you headed?" Justin says, voice pitched low.
"Nowhere special," he says.
"I can change that." Justin's eyes gleam in the streetlight, reflecting Brian's own impatience to get going, to grab the world by its balls, and make things happen.
"You already have," Brian says.
Brian swings an arm around Justin's shoulders, Justin embraces his waist, and they walk off into the night.
The end.
This was done beta-less and after stepping away from the fandom, so if you spot any flaws, or OC-ness drop me a line and I will try to fix it. The last four lines were stolen borrowed from QAF Ep 1.