Jul 31, 2010 22:16
The first thing Brian was aware of was that a tiny evil gnome or maybe a poltergeist had taken up residence in his skull. Nothing else could possibly explain the blinding, throbbing pain that wrenched him from his deep sleep. In the back of his consciousness a little voice whispered, ‘Keep your eyes shut, go back to sleep, trust me on this one.’
When he opened his eyes everything blurred. His stomach jerked and he shut them again as the nausea that always accompanied his hangover migraines washed over him. He took a deep, slow breath, willing the throbbing in his head to stop, the churning in his gut to fade.
He opened his eyes again and the room spun. Years of reinforced behavior took over. Brian jerked himself blindly to his feet to make a dash for the bathroom. He braced himself for the small step down for his platform bed, but his foot hit the floor too soon, jarring him, tripping him.
Brian grunted as his face met with the ground. He groaned and fisted his hands against the floor, feeling the thick, soft fabric of his shag rug. He took a deep, slow breath, swallowing down acid.
“Okay,” he growled to himself, his voice thick with sleep. “Slept on the floor. That’s okay. Happens all the time.”
With another groan Brian pushed himself to his hands and knees before opening his eyes again. Sure enough, he found himself on his living room floor, clothing still on from the night before. The room spun, then slowed, then stilled.
“Christ,” Brian groaned. He ran a hand over his face and once again tried to stand. What the hell had he done the night before? He dropped his hand and blinked at the clock, trying to make sense of the little round face and the two black arrows. After what felt like a full minute, but may have been only seconds, Brian gave up. “Too early for numbers,” he mumbled to himself.
Christ, he thought. Was he talking to himself now, too? He really must have had some night.
With that thought Brian took uneasy steps towards the bedroom. He squinted into the dim room and stood at the foot of the three steps, wondering if he could make it up them without falling on his face again. But there was no lump under the covers, and no sign of another man’s body, or clothes, or anything.
He was not disappointed. Brian Kinney didn’t get disappointed because he woke up at home alone. He liked being alone. He liked his space. And he sure as hell didn’t need to wake up to some random, annoying trick.
So who the hell had he fucked? For the first time in weeks and weeks he hadn’t woken up sexually frustrated. For the first time in a long time his cock didn’t feel so hard it hurt. If no one was here, and he woke up on the floor, it was probably someone at Babylon.
Brian squinted his eyes as he made his way towards the kitchen. He reached for the coffee pot almost blindly and knocked it over instead of grabbing the handle. The glass pot ($199.99) fell to the floor in slow motion, and Brian reached for it with a gasp.
A split second later there was a lout shatter, and Brian’s kitchen floor was covered in shards of glass.
“Christ,” Brian hissed, staring down at the mess. He sighed and tried to step over the hundreds of tiny, shiny flecks on the floor in his bare feet, reaching for the broom that he kept tucked around the side of the refrigerator. His left foot landed safely, and his right followed, planting itself down directly on top of a tiny piece of glass shrapnel.
“Shit!” Brian yelped, yanking his foot up. He bent his leg and tilted his head, peering at the new hole in the dead-center of the ball of his foot. Tiny droplets of blood began to drip out, pooling on the floor around the offending piece of glass.
Brian reached for the fridge handle, limping carefully around the rest of the glass and leaning against the counter across from it. He reached again for the broom, one hand on the fridge door to balance him as he favored his foot.
The broom handle was round and smooth and just barely out of reach. Brian’s fingertips brushed it once, twice, and then he snatched it into his hand and pulled it out. The tiny red drops of blood on the floor smeared into thin paintbrush lines as Brian began to sweep the glass into a pile.
That’s when the pounding on the door began. Bang, bang, bang! Brian groaned and shut his eyes, wincing as the noise pierced his skull. “Who the fuck,” he mumbled. When he opened his eyes again his gaze landed on a photo that was stuck to the refrigerator door with a magnet.
Michael held JR in his arms, a huge smile on his face, his eyes crinkled as he beamed out of the photo.
Bang, bang, bang went the door.
Brian’s heart began to pound and he fisted his hands tighter around the broom handle.
“Brian,” a voice in the back of his mind moaned. It sounded like Michael.
Bang, bang, bang, the door insisted.
Gulping down a breath Brian limped around the pile of glass towards the door. With each short step the banging seemed to get louder, and the images in his head flashed faster and faster.
Michael pressed against him, Michael moaning, Michael kissing him, Michael’s body as they ground together, Michael’s body shuddering as he came…
The door handle felt cold and foreign in Brian’s hand and his heart pounded along with the louder and louder banging on the door. Bang, bang, bang, thump, thump, thump, bang, thump, bang, thump!
The door slid open with a rattle and Brian’s heart pounded harder, harder, harder!
“Finally,” Justin said, folding his arms and scowling. “Took you long enough.”
Brian let out a long sigh and leaned against the door, shutting his eyes. His heart beat slowed from thumpthumpthump to thumpa, thumpa, thumpa, and the muscles in his back and shoulders relaxed.
“Shit, are you okay?” Justin asked, stepping into the loft. “Jesus, there’s blood everywhere!”
Brian blinked open his eyes and peered at the man that stood before him. Justin’s hair had grown out a bit, but that was all. It felt odd that he hadn’t changed more. “Cut my foot,” Brian mumbled, favoring his right leg as he limped back towards the counter.
“Wow, that’s really pathetic,” Justin said with an amused tone. He followed Brian, resisting the urge to try to help him walk, which Brian was thankful for. “Clumsy much?” he asked, side-stepping a smudge of blood in his worn sneakers.
Brian scowled at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing, it’s a weekday, and past ten,” Justin said. “I went by Kinnetik but Ted said you hadn’t shown up yet.”
Groaning, Brian shook his head. “Too much E.”
Justin’s gaze shifted to Brian’s foot, then back up. “You’re still bleeding.”
“Christ, it’s just a tiny cut,” Brian growled. He walked past Justin, trying to disguise his limp, but not succeeding. The three steps up to the bedroom were difficult, but he managed to make it to the top and into the bathroom. The bright white light blinded Brian when he flicked on the light switch, and he groaned and turned it off again. The bottle of iodine was in the back of the medicine cabinet, behind bottles of painkillers and recreational drugs.
“The bed’s made.” Justin said from behind him.
Brian glanced over his shoulder as he leaned against the bathroom counter and dabbed iodine onto the wound on his foot. He winced and covered the tiny hole with a band-aid. “Passed out on the floor,” he finally grunted.
Justin grinned, but his eyes were sad. “Obviously.”
Silence settled over them as the two men stared at each other. Brian dragged his gaze down Justin’s body, his fuzzy sweater that he probably got from a thrift store, his old worn jeans. “You look good,” he said. He grabbed the painkillers and poured three into his hand, swallowing them dry before putting the bottle back.
“You don’t,” Justin replied. “I’ve never seen you get so fucked up that you ripped a shirt.”
Brian was brushing past Justin, limping very slightly as he got into the bedroom. He frowned and looked down at his shirt. It was wrinkled, sure, and it stank like beer and sweat, but it wasn’t torn.
“On the back,” Justin said.
“What are you talking about,” Brian mumbled, yanking his shirt off over his head and turning it in his hands. Brian’s breath caught in his throat and a shiver went down his spine, quickly replaced by searing heat. As his heart began to beat quicker Brian’s gaze ran from where the rip began on the right shoulder, and how it ran diagonally down and across the back, the flap of black fabric hanging loose.
“Wow,” Justin said. “Bruises, too. Must have been some fuck.”
Brian jerked his head to the side and looked into his full-length mirror. Small faint bruises were visible on his shoulders, where someone’s fingers had dug in too hard. He swallowed hard, his mouth and throat dry, and ran his fingertips over the bruises. They stung when he pressed down, and his cock throbbed harder.
‘Brian,’ he could hear Michael moan.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Justin was asking in his worried-mother voice.
Brian blinked hard and ripped his eyes from the mirror. “Uh huh,” he said, not sure what Justin had asked.
Justin frowned. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come,” he said. He took a step back and glanced down towards the front door.
Brian walked past him and stepped down the stairs carefully, going to the kitchen to get some water. He didn’t have the energy to reassure Justin. Suddenly he felt thirsty, and hot, and only a bottle of Evian was going to cure it.
That, he thought, or Michael’s ass…
The lid to the water bottle rattled when he dropped it to the floor on top of the glass shards on the floor, and Brian chugged down half the water before setting the bottle down on the counter. The heat faded, just a tiny bit. He forced the sensations that his body remembered to the back of his mind, trying to forget the way Michael’s body had felt against his own. “I ran into your pet rat,” Brian finally said.
Justin blinked, then smirked, not put off by Brian’s gruffness. “Yeah, Ethan told me he saw you.”
Brian rolled his eyes, the name of the fiddler grating against his already sensitive nerves. “An unpleasant coincidence for us both, I’m sure.” He sipped at the water, focusing his mind on the greasy violin player’s irritating face, his annoying voice, his holier-than-thou attitude… all of it far safer, far better to think about than…
“He told me you and Michael are fucking,” Justin said with an amused tone.
Brian’s fingers tightened around the water bottle, squeezing it hard. His jaw clenched, his gaze shifted back to his own shoulder to the small bruises, his heart beginning to race again.
“I told him Michael’s married to Ben,” Justin continued, sitting on a bar stool across the counter from Brian. “And that you two are always like that.” He smirked. “He was disappointed. I think he wants you out of the way.”
Brian turned his back to Justin and tossed the empty water bottle into the recycling. Then he bent and retrieved the dustpan from under the cupboard, grabbed the broom, and swept up the pile of glass. He didn’t say anything until he stood up again, dumping the shiny remains of his coffee pot into the trash. “Ben’s gone.”
Justin’s voice was strained. “Y-you mean-“
“Fuck no,” Brian said, rolling his eyes as he turned to face Justin. “He’s in fucking China. Hunter, too.” He swallowed hard again, flicking his tongue out over his lips, remembering how desperately Michael had kissed him.
“China? For how long?” Justin frowned a little, his too-observant eyes shifting down Brian’s body, studying his every movement.
“A year,” Brian grunted, avoiding Justin’s gaze by putting away the broom. “Medical trial. Looks promising.”
“That’s good,” Justin said slowly. “But Michael must really miss them.”
Brian stood with his back to Justin, his gaze settling back on the photo of Michael on the fridge door. “Yeah.”
“Is he-“
“Enough about Mikey,” Brian said. “What about you?” He turned again to look at Justin, arching an eyebrow. “Seems like you’ve gotten everything you wanted.”
With a frustrated groan, Justin ran a hand through his own hair. “Yeah,” he sighed.
Brian licked his lips, feeling warm again as Justin’s paint-stained fingers stroked through his silky blond hair. Brian fisted his hands and grit his teeth, not reaching out to touch him. His cock throbbed. “What happen? He bring you a dozen roses? Make more promises?”
Justin dropped his hand and frowned. “We were kids, Brian.”
Brian rolled his eyes, not correcting him. ‘You are kids,’ he wanted to say.
“Ted and Emmett cheated on each other, and they’re still friends, and...” he hesitated, then looked away. “I cheated on you. Everyone deserves another chance. You gave me one.” He smirked, his eyes sad. “You gave me more than one.”
Brian pursed his lips. “You don’t think he’ll do it again?” he asked, unable to respond when Justin started saying things like that, things that he couldn’t and wouldn’t ever believe he was deserving of.
“No,” Justin said. “He’s different now. I’m different.” He smiled a little, his voice softening. “But this is always going to be there,” Justin said, gesturing between them.
Brian rolled his eyes and glanced away.
“You know I’m right,” Justin said, circling the kitchen counters and walking towards him. “It’s only time.”
Shutting his eyes for a moment, Brian took a deep breath. The ache in his chest that had just begun to heal felt torn open again. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough.
Justin’s hand felt warm on his chest when he touched him, and Brian opened his eyes to look down at the man that he’d become. He couldn’t help it when he grinned, just a little.
“I still love you,” Justin whispered. “I always will.”
Brian wanted to look away, but Justin’s blue eyes held him captive. “I know,” he said.
Justin grinned. “And I know you love me, too.” Then his expression softened, and the hand on Brian’s chest slid up to his neck, sliding around the back of it, holding onto him. “Nothing will change that. You’re…” he took a deep, shaky breath and let it go. “You’ll always be the first.”
Now Brian had to shut his eyes, because they stung, and he wasn’t going to cry. Not anymore. Not over Justin. Not ever again.
“But… that doesn’t mean you can’t love someone else. I want you to be happy,” Justin said. “I am. He… treats me right. He makes me laugh, and he’s always there for me, and it’s just so… easy,” he said with a soft sigh. “Things between us were never easy, Brian.”
He opened his eyes again and looked at Justin, his eyes glassy. “I guess not.”
Justin stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Brian’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. He pressed his face into Brian’s neck and inhaled deeply.
Brian hesitated, his body stiffening. Then he sighed and wrapped his arms around Justin’s middle, hugging him back. “I’m glad you’re happy,” he finally said.
When Justin pulled back he wiped his face on the back of his hand, trying to hide the tears Brian knew were there. Then he smiled at him. “I want you to be happy, too.”
“Yeah,” Brian grunted.
“I’m serious,” Justin said. “You’re capable of love, Brian. I wish you’d let yourself.”
Rolling his eyes, Brian smirked. “Well, what can I say? I’m spoiled. Not everyone has an ass as perfect as yours, Sunshine.”
Justin’s smile lit up the room. “Asshole,” he said affectionately.
In the back of Brian’s mind, Michael’s voice echoed the sentiment, sounding amused.
“So you’re an item? Where’s the ring?” Brian asked, forcing Michael’s face to the back of his mind again.
Justin smirked. “We’re dating, not married,” he said. “I’m not interested in getting married, not any time soon. If I was, I wouldn’t have turned down Brian Kinney.”
Brian felt himself grin, and his heart swell a little. “That so?”
“Yep,” Justin said with a soft smile. “And what about you?”
Brian sighed dramatically. “Well, since I was practically left at the alter, my poor widdle heart just doesn’t know if it can learn to trust again,” he said, in his best silly baby voice.
Justin laughed. “Shut the fuck up, you’re so full of shit.”
Brian grinned a little. “I don’t need a significant other to be happy, Sunshine.”
“No,” Justin said slowly, “But you have everything else. Why not that, too?”
Brian glanced away, hearing plenty of reasons in his mind, sounding all too much like his father, his mother, Lindsay, Melanie… Debbie…
“I have to go to work,” Brian mumbled. The pounding in his head was fading finally, and his foot had stopped throbbing.
“Yeah,” Justin said. He hesitated before speaking again, running his hand through his hair one more time. “Be careful,” he finally said.
“Yeah, I’ll try not to break any more coffee pots,” Brian mumbled, making his way back to the bedroom to get dressed.
“That’s not what I mean,” Justin said, following him. “I mean… with Michael.”
Brian slid open the door to his closet, then glanced at Justin out of the corner of his eye. His heart pounded in his chest and his hand gripped the door handle tightly. “What does that mean?”
Justin peered at him silently in the dim room, his blue eyes sharp and knowing. “You’re going through a lot. So is he.”
Brian arched an eyebrow at Justin. “Which is why we’ve been there for each other.”
“Yeah,” Justin said with a small nod. “That’s good,” he said. Then he frowned, just a little. “Just… make sure that whatever you do… you mean it.”
Tongue in cheek, Brian stared right back, ignoring the feeling of Justin’s eyes piercing his armor. “That’s not cryptic at all, thanks,” he said.
Justin smirked and shook his head. “Just don’t hurt anyone,” he said. “You make people feel like… they’re the most important thing in the world, when your attention is focused on them.” His voice softened. “You could really hurt someone, if you let it go too far, if you didn’t mean it.”
“Well, I’ll do my best,” Brian drawled. “But you know me. Breaking hearts everywhere I go.”
Justin’s smile was sad. “Yeah,” he said.
Brian hesitated, then grinned just a little at him. “Don’t worry about me, Sunshine.”
“I can’t help it,” Justin said. “You’re no good at taking care of yourself.”
Brian reached into his closet to pull out a suit, his fingers brushing over his ties, pulling out the dark blue one Michael had said he liked. “I know,” he said. “But I’m learning.” He glanced back at Justin. “Thanks,” he finally said.
Justin smiled again, and the room was sunny and warm in a way it hadn’t been since the night he left. “Woody’s? Tonight?”
Brian nodded again, pulling an Armani suit from the closet. “See you then,” he said.
He watched as Justin spun around and hopped down the three steps, his footfalls echoing the hundreds, thousands, millions of time that he’d taken them. He watched as Justin glanced back at him one more time with his sparkling smile. He watched as the door slid shut, a metallic echo filling the loft. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, then smiled, filled with pride for the man that he’d helped create.
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tv: queer as folk