Fic: Queer as Folk: Strangers 10/?
Banner by foreverbm <3
Title: Strangers
Series: Queer as Folk
Pairings: Brian / Michael
Genre: AU, Romance, Drama
Rating: NC17 (not just smut, but no lack of it either.)
What if Michael wasn't able to stop Brian from blowing up their high school? AU from that point, takes place in "present day." You might be confused at first, answers will come as the story develops.
Get ready for more Justin. :D
Justin sipped his coffee, flipping idly through his portfolio, considering where to add prints of his newest work. The morning sun poured in through the windows as he sat at his small coffee table, surrounded by paints and papers. He sighed lightly, enjoying the silence of the morning, his warm lilac cardigan wrapped around his body.
In the next room the man, Michael, still slept. He'd been sound asleep all morning, and Justin decided not to bother him. The guy must have been really tired. And Justin understood why; he knew Brian well enough.
The knock on his front door startled him, and Justin lifted his head. "Yeah?" he called out.
The doorknob turned and slowly swung open with a creak. Then Brian's body stepped through the doorway.
"Jesus, you look like shit," Justin said, eyebrows arched.
Brian's eyes narrowed. His hair mussed and stubble on his face, he frowned at Justin. "Shitty night."
"Uh huh," Justin said, eyeing the stained white t-shirt Brian wore and his old worn jeans. "Come on, I'll make more coffee."
Brian collapsed onto Justin's sofa, groaning, as Justin walked to his small kitchenette and started the coffee maker. "So what happened?" Justin asked, his tone light.
"Mmf," Brian mumbled.
"Well, that's clear," Justin replied, walking back to the sofa. He sat on the floor next to it and looked into Brian's eyes.
"Turns out my parents beat me and shit," Brian mumbled.
Justin felt his lips part and his chest tightened.
"That's what the papers I got from the asylum they kept me in said."
Pressing his lips tightly together, Justin swallowed the lump in his throat. Carefully not moving so he wouldn't scare Brian off, he spoke softly. "You mean a psychiatric hospital?"
"Whatever," Brian grunted.
"I didn't know."
"No one does," Brian replied. He shut his eyes. "Except him."
"Mm," Justin replied, waiting. If he waited long enough, Brian would speak again.
"I blew up my high school," Brian finally said. He opened his eyes, his pupils dark. "People got hurt. People died."
Justin felt himself nod slowly. It made sense, in a sick way; this explained a lot about Brian's... personality quirks.
"Don't you hate me now?" Brian asked. His voice dropped to a rough rumble. "I'm a murderer."
Eyebrows arched, Justin blinked and considered this. "If you were guilty, they would have put you in prison."
"They didn't find me innocent," Brian snapped. He sat up suddenly, glaring at Justin. "They found me insane. I'm so fucked up that I couldn't help but kill people. That's how sick I am."
"You're not sick, you-"
"You don't know!" Brian shouted. He shoved himself to his feet. "You don't know because you weren't there!"
"Yeah? Well he was!" Justin shouted back. He stood up and glared into Brian's face. "Don't come to my house and yell at me because I'm not someone else!"
"I'm not-"
"You just said I don't know because I wasn't there!" Justin said.
"You don't!" Brian shouted. His face flushed. "No one fucking understands!"
"He was there, wasn't he? Michael was there. So talk to him! Jesus, Brian, just look at yourself. I've never see you this..." Justin sighed, unable to find the right word. "Pathetic," he finished.
Brian's eyes flashed dangerously. "You don't know anything about him. Or me."
"Shut up," Justin said, rolling his eyes. "Forget it, I'm not going to fight with you. You wanna talk, then talk. Otherwise, go home. You'll wake up my guest if you keep shouting."
Brian's eyes narrowed and he smirked. "I'm interrupting something?"
Justin shrugged. "Not at the moment."
Brian sighed and his smirk dropped away.
Justin walked into the kitchen and poured another mug of coffee, over-filling it with sugar, like Brian liked it. He carried it back to Brian and handed the mug to him. "So what? Are you going to work now? You're a little under-dressed."
Brian took the cup and sipped it, then stared down into the murky liquid. "I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."
Justin waited, watching Brian's posture slowly collapse. "So go home. Talk to him."
Brian shut his eyes.
"If I don't understand since I wasn't there, he should. He seemed like he'd be more than happy to cheer you up," Justin said, his tone teasing.
Brian snorted. "Yeah."
"So? Don't you think that would help?" Justin used his sweetest voice.
Brian shifted his weight. "Maybe." He sipped his coffee again. "I kicked him out."
Justin pursed his lips, hiding a smirk. "Then you were done with him?"
Brian flinched at his choice of words, then spat, "Yes."
"That's good," Justin said, grinning. "Wanna see something hot?"
Brian arched an eyebrow, but stood when Justin started walking towards his bedroom door.
"Shh, he's still asleep. But you should have seen him last night. I did a number on him."
Brian smirked weakly, his eyes distant.
Justin rested his hand on the doorknob and hesitated. He ducked his head, his eyes looking even more wicked as he peered up at Brian. "You should have heard him scream."
Brian's smirk widened. "Don't tell me you're into S&M now."
"I dabble," Justin purred. He licked his lips slowly, the tip of his tongue dragging across his lips, making them shiny and wet.
Tongue in cheek, Brian's gaze focused on Justin. His eyes became dark.
"He'll probably have bruises," Justin said. He let out a wicked chuckle, one he'd been saving for just such a moment. "But no doesn't always mean no." He winked at Brian and turned the doorknob.
Brian frowned, peering at Justin, eyebrows lowered. "What are you talking-"
The door swung open and a beam of light poured in from the living room, lighting the bed with its glow. Under the pool of light lay Michael's body, deep asleep, sheets barely covering his ass and lower back, his left leg sticking out from under the covers.
Brian's nostrils flared. He sucked in a sharp breath.
"Want me to kick him out? I'm done with him, anyway," Justin said. He walked into his room and grabbed the sheets, yanking them from Michael's body in one smooth jerk.
"Huh?" Michael mumbled, lifting his head. His hair stuck up at odd angles. "Wha?"
"Get the fuck out," Justin said, jerking his thumb towards the door.
Michael's eyebrows drew together and he sat up. "Justin?"
"Who said you could use my name? You're just a trick. Now get the fuck out!" Justin shouted.
Michael flinched and lifted his gaze to the door. Then he froze, lips parted, eyes wide.
"No wonder you kicked him out," Justin said, smirking back at Brian. "None to bright is he?"
"Stop it," Brian growled, his figure dark and looming in the doorway, backlit by the streaks of sunlight his body blocked.
"Stop what? He deserves it." Justin shrugged.
"Brian-" Michael whispered, unable to move.
"Shut up, slut," Justin spat at him, eyes narrowed.
Brian growled, grabbing Justin's arm. He stepped into the room and yanked Justin back. "What the fuck was that?"
"I called him a slut." Justin's eyes narrowed and his eyebrows arched, a bored expression. "So? That's what he is. That's all he's good for. You don't care about him, right?"
Brian's lips pursed together and became a white line.
"I'll leave," Michael's voice said from the bed.
Brian looked back at Michael's trembling form as he stood and tugged on his jeans. He struggled with one leg, then fell back onto the bed on his ass. "Shit," he whispered, struggling with the uncooperative denim. A few tears dropped from his ducked head onto the faded fabric of his jeans.
"Leave, then! Fuck!" Justin shouted.
Brian grabbed the door to the bedroom, shoved Justin out of it, then slammed it in his face.
Once again, the room filled with darkness. Michael couldn't quite make out Brian's form in the pitch.
"Did he hurt you?" Brian's voice asked, sounding hesitant and strained.
"No," Michael whispered.
Silence filled the room again, followed by a long, rough sigh. "Did I?" Brian asked.
Michael said nothing.
"I didn't want to know that shit," Brian said.
Michael just nodded, buttoning his pants.
"I was fine before you showed up. I knew what the fuck I was doing."
Michael's head ducked, he fidgeted with the edge of the sheets.
"Everything was going fine. Then you appear, and all of a sudden I have all these..." Brian sighed, running a hand over his face. "Feelings."
Michael's gaze lifted a little, his face wary.
"I killed people." Brian felt chills run down his body.
Michael shook his head slowly. "Not your fault."
"Who's fault was it then?" Brian shouted, breaking the silence. "I'm the one that built that bomb! I'm the one that set it! I'm the one that blew up the fucking school and killed-"
"It wasn't your fault!" Michael shouted back.
"Then who the hell should I blame?" Brian spat.
"Your parents!" Michael shouted.
Again, silence filled the room.
Brian blinked, trying to focus his eyes in the dark more, to make out the details of Michael's body instead of just his form.
"Your parents," Michael whispered. "And me."
"Don't be a fucking martyr, how the fuck is it your fault?" Brian shot back.
"I didn't stop you. I promised you I wouldn't let you get hurt, I promised you I'd protect you."
Brian felt his skin flush with a mixture of humiliation and anger. "Me? Need you to protect me?" Brian snorted.
Michael stood, taking a deep, shaking breath. "Yeah. Me. Your parents hurt you. Ma couldn't stop them, and child services refused to get involved." Michael shrugged weakly. "It was the 80s. No one wanted to get involved. So I promised you I'd protect you."
Brian grit his teeth. "Did a fucking good job then," he spat.
Flinching, Michael shut his eyes. "I know," he whispered. "I've always known."
Brian felt his shoulders relax, and his heart began to slow, beating at a normal pace. "You blame yourself," he said, unquestioning. Michael's guilt seemed to eat away at his own.
"Of course I do!" Michael exclaimed. He opened his eyes and Brian couldn't see the tears, but he could hear the shaking tone of the other man's voice.
"It's not your fault," Brian said, his voice rough.
"It's not yours, either," Michael replied.
Brian stepped across the room towards Michael's body, following the sound of his voice. He reached out into the darkness, and his hand found Michael's.
"I'm an asshole," Brian said, voice rough and worn and tired. "So it's my fault."
Michael's hand gripped Brian's tighter, and trembled. "I'm annoying and overbearing. If I wasn't, you would have listened."
"We were... close," Brian said. "Right?"
Michael's hand trembled and he nodded. "Yeah."
"Then you must not be annoying. I don't like annoying people."
Michael laughed and he wiped his eyes on the backs of his free hand. "But you like overbearing people?"
Brian shrugged.
Michael let out a long sigh, releasing some tension from the air.
"I'm sick of talking," Brian said. "I'm no good at it."
Michael stepped forward, pulling Brian close by their gripped hands. In the dark, he waited, feeling Brian's breath on his face. Finally, warm arms wrapped around his waist, and Michael pressed his face into the crook of Brian's neck.
"Do you really hate me?" Michael asked, his voice muffled by Brian's body. His fingers traced small circles over Brian's shoulders.
Brian pressed his face into Michael's hair and inhaled deeply. He waited for Michael to lift his head, and he pressed their foreheads together. "Did he really fuck you?" he asked, instead of replying.
Michael's body tensed. "Huh?" His eyes widened, eyebrows arched, completely baffled.
Brian snorted. "Of course not. I should have known."
"What?" Michael whispered, clinging tightly to Brian.
"Nothing," Brian replied. He inhaled Michael's scent and squeezed his eyes shut. Only flashes appeared, sense memories, the smell of his hair, the feeling of his body against Brian's, the taste of his lips, the way his room always smelled of comics.
"Do you want me to leave?" Michael whispered the words.
"Mm," Brian replied. He opened his eyes and looked down at the dark shape of the body pressed against his own. "No."
Michael laughed again, softly. "Okay," he said. He lifted his head and Brian could just make out his weak grin. "But next time, don't try to kick me out. I won't let you."
Brian snorted. "How, pray tell, would you stop me?"
Michael's eyes flashed in the darkness and his smile pulled into a slow smirk. "I'm not a kid anymore."
A knock sounded on the door, and Brian tried not to leer at Michael's body, or fixate on the images his statement brought to mind.
"Did you make up yet?" Justin shouted through the door. "Either way, I need my bedroom back, so beat it."
Michael slowly released Brian's body and stepped back. He looked at the door, then back at Brian. "...So... um..."
Brian reached out and yanked Michael back again, and pressed their lips together. His kiss sucked the breath from Michael's body, leaving the smaller man weak in the knees and clutching Brian's shoulders to stay upright.
"I said I need my-" Justin said, pushing the door open. "Hey! No fucking in my room!"
Brian exhaled through his nose and pulled away, giving Michael a long stare as the light finally hit them.
Michael couldn't pull his gaze from Brian, the other man's taste still on his lips. Brian's hazel eyes bore right through his skin, through his flesh, into his soul.
"And this is even worse," Justin muttered. "No goo-goo eyes in my room, either."
Brian's eyes narrowed and he looked at the man standing in the doorway, weight on one leg so his hip jutted out, his lilac cardigan pulled tight across his chest behind his folded arms. "You're a manipulative ass."
Justin's eyebrow arched, imitating Brian's almost perfectly. "And you're not?"
"Uh-" Michael started to speak.
"Come on," Brian said. He took Michael's arm firmly in his hand and pulled him from the room, towards the front door. "We're going home."
Michael stumbled, being dragged by Brian. "Wait, I-"
"Thank me later," Justin said, following them to his door. He waved as they left, then shut the door behind them. "And he calls me pathetic." Justin snorted and went back to his coffee, taking a sip. "Gross," he muttered, flipping to the next page in his portfolio. "Now it's all cold."