New QAF Fic: First, R, 1/1
First
by Suz
Disclaimer - Showtime/Russell T Davies own them, no infringement intended.
Schmoop! Schmoop schmoop schmoop! I cannot emphasise this enough ;D Rated R for language. Post-series future fic. Happy fic! :D Feedback would be fab!
Hmm. Really don't know where this came from, because I haven't been inspired in forever. Blame Xie.
For tamalinn. I really, really hope you feel better ASAP.
*
There are days...
Okay, hours.
...maybe minutes.
There are occasional collections of seconds when Brian genuinely wishes that he had never met Justin. That he'd never fucked him more than once, never gone to his prom (and he wasn't, he fucking *wasn't* thinking about the rest of that night or anything else that followed it until the moment Justin turned up at Vanguard as an intern), never pretended not to give a shit when Justin was gallivanting around town committing crimes that were almost as bad as the fashion crimes he was committing simultaneously. Never had to deal when Justin went away, three times.
Three fucking times.
Yeah, there's definitely the feeling from time to time that life would be a lot fucking easier if he'd never met Justin fucking Taylor.
This is not one of those times.
Smiling broadly, Justin literally hopped down the last step from the building and pushed the equally last box into Brian's arms.
(After Brian had answered the call, the 'conversation' had gone something like this:
"I'm coming home. Permanently. And don't give me any shit about it, Brian - I've been here for four fucking years making a name for myself. And yeah, sure, while I'm capable of living without you I don't want to anymore. I have contacts, a few shared shows under my belt, and a much better understanding of how this business works. I've made my decision and nothing you say or do is ever going to make me change my mind. So," he paused, finally shutting up long enough so that someone might feasibly be able to get a word in edge wise, "when's a good day for you to come and help me transport my shit to Pittsburgh?"
Pulling the phone away from his ear, Brian frowned at it until he remembered he'd stopped dropping E a while ago.)
Justin was perfectly capable of arranging boxes - except for when it came to arranging boxes in any car that Brian was driving. Even if it was a rental.
Carefully placing the last box in the trunk (despite his proud statements about being an expert at squeezing big things into tight spaces, this was troubling even him) Brian lowered the door slowly, eyeing the packed trunk dubiously until the door finally closed with a quiet but definitive thump. With a firm nod, he stepped back onto the sidewalk as if he'd never had any doubt.
Justin was still smiling.
Brian tried to tell himself Justin was the only one who was still smiling, but there wasn't anyone to fool anymore.
No one from the building came to see Justin off, which didn't really come as a surprise. As they'd ferried boxes down to the car, they'd passed the occasional person (drug addict/slum lord/hooker, in Brian's opinion) in the building who'd given him a word - or grunt - of goodbye, but that was it. It wasn't that Justin didn't make friends; it was that - Sunshine image aside - people tended to irritate him. Truthfully, he liked mocking people as much as Brian did. He just didn't do it so openly.
It was part of the reason they got on so well.
"So," Justin confirmed, still smiling dopily, "that's everything."
"You mean I'm actually allowed to do something for myself now?" Brian asked, trying to sound pissed. He wasn't sure he was succeeding.
The smile didn't falter. "Absolutely."
"Good." Reaching out for Justin's left wrist, Brian yanked him forward until Justin was leaning against him and Brian was leaning against the car. "It's about fucking time," Brian told him quietly and proceeded to suck face like there wasn't a homeless guy with a dog watching them.
When they actually started heading home (*home*, Jesus) Brian put up with Justin constantly flicking through radio stations for five excruciating minutes before barking, "Pick one or turn it the fuck off!"
Justin grinned at him smugly, and that was the moment Brian realised the fucker'd been doing it on purpose.
"Five minutes," Justin said sweetly. "You must be really happy I'm coming home."
Brian glowered, but it was probably ruined by that almost-smile thing that *might* have been on his face. "First time we pull over to take a leak, I'll show you how 'happy' I am."
"Mmm, promises promises," Justin sing-songed, but did finally leave the radio on some crappy pop-rock station.
Getting out of the city, of course, took fucking ages. They spent the time in a comfortable silence, and if Brian happened to start drumming two fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of whatever song was on the radio just then, neither one of them mentioned it.
"Brian," Justin said eventually, sounding distracted, as they finally made it out of New York. "I'm glad it was you."
Brian was busy eyeing the fucker who was trying to overtake. "What, for your first fuck?"
"For everything."
And Brian still didn't know how he could *do* that - tease the fuck out of Brian, and then get all mushy.
Of course, the real kicker was the fact that Brian didn't really mind mushy these days.
Well. Not as much as he used to, anyway.
"Me too," he said seriously, glancing over to see those big, wide Justin eyes, that still got big and wide sometimes despite everything they'd been through. "I mean, who knows what could've happened if I hadn't been there? You might've gone home with..." he took a deep breath, "...Theodore."
He could practically hear the sound of Justin rolling his eyes. "It'd serve you right if I had."
And just like that, Brian had an image in his head of Justin and Ted- "Fuck, don't even *talk* about that!"
Chuckling quietly, Justin settled back to look out the passenger window. "It's your own fault."
"Shut up," Brian demanded, defiantly changing radio stations.
Twenty-seven seconds of auditory abuse later, he changed it back.
Justin stifled a laugh.
Brian longed for one of those moments where he wished he'd never met the fucker...but it wasn't forthcoming.
Sighing, he instead opted for one of his favourite activities - surprising the fuck out of Justin. "There's something for you in the glove compartment."
Frowning, intrigued, Justin leaned forward.
Inside the glove compartment, inside a bag, inside a box, were two items he'd never returned.
He'd had four years to realise that it didn't have to be about locks on doors. Four years of not waking up to Justin every day. Four years to acknowledge the fact that he had the same right as anyone else - even if it was on his own terms.
They'd both been wrong before. Sometimes love *was* sacrifice; doing what you thought was best.
And sometimes it was putting yourself first.
~FINIS
by Suz
Disclaimer - Showtime/Russell T Davies own them, no infringement intended.
Schmoop! Schmoop schmoop schmoop! I cannot emphasise this enough ;D Rated R for language. Post-series future fic. Happy fic! :D Feedback would be fab!
Hmm. Really don't know where this came from, because I haven't been inspired in forever. Blame Xie.
For tamalinn. I really, really hope you feel better ASAP.
*
There are days...
Okay, hours.
...maybe minutes.
There are occasional collections of seconds when Brian genuinely wishes that he had never met Justin. That he'd never fucked him more than once, never gone to his prom (and he wasn't, he fucking *wasn't* thinking about the rest of that night or anything else that followed it until the moment Justin turned up at Vanguard as an intern), never pretended not to give a shit when Justin was gallivanting around town committing crimes that were almost as bad as the fashion crimes he was committing simultaneously. Never had to deal when Justin went away, three times.
Three fucking times.
Yeah, there's definitely the feeling from time to time that life would be a lot fucking easier if he'd never met Justin fucking Taylor.
This is not one of those times.
Smiling broadly, Justin literally hopped down the last step from the building and pushed the equally last box into Brian's arms.
(After Brian had answered the call, the 'conversation' had gone something like this:
"I'm coming home. Permanently. And don't give me any shit about it, Brian - I've been here for four fucking years making a name for myself. And yeah, sure, while I'm capable of living without you I don't want to anymore. I have contacts, a few shared shows under my belt, and a much better understanding of how this business works. I've made my decision and nothing you say or do is ever going to make me change my mind. So," he paused, finally shutting up long enough so that someone might feasibly be able to get a word in edge wise, "when's a good day for you to come and help me transport my shit to Pittsburgh?"
Pulling the phone away from his ear, Brian frowned at it until he remembered he'd stopped dropping E a while ago.)
Justin was perfectly capable of arranging boxes - except for when it came to arranging boxes in any car that Brian was driving. Even if it was a rental.
Carefully placing the last box in the trunk (despite his proud statements about being an expert at squeezing big things into tight spaces, this was troubling even him) Brian lowered the door slowly, eyeing the packed trunk dubiously until the door finally closed with a quiet but definitive thump. With a firm nod, he stepped back onto the sidewalk as if he'd never had any doubt.
Justin was still smiling.
Brian tried to tell himself Justin was the only one who was still smiling, but there wasn't anyone to fool anymore.
No one from the building came to see Justin off, which didn't really come as a surprise. As they'd ferried boxes down to the car, they'd passed the occasional person (drug addict/slum lord/hooker, in Brian's opinion) in the building who'd given him a word - or grunt - of goodbye, but that was it. It wasn't that Justin didn't make friends; it was that - Sunshine image aside - people tended to irritate him. Truthfully, he liked mocking people as much as Brian did. He just didn't do it so openly.
It was part of the reason they got on so well.
"So," Justin confirmed, still smiling dopily, "that's everything."
"You mean I'm actually allowed to do something for myself now?" Brian asked, trying to sound pissed. He wasn't sure he was succeeding.
The smile didn't falter. "Absolutely."
"Good." Reaching out for Justin's left wrist, Brian yanked him forward until Justin was leaning against him and Brian was leaning against the car. "It's about fucking time," Brian told him quietly and proceeded to suck face like there wasn't a homeless guy with a dog watching them.
When they actually started heading home (*home*, Jesus) Brian put up with Justin constantly flicking through radio stations for five excruciating minutes before barking, "Pick one or turn it the fuck off!"
Justin grinned at him smugly, and that was the moment Brian realised the fucker'd been doing it on purpose.
"Five minutes," Justin said sweetly. "You must be really happy I'm coming home."
Brian glowered, but it was probably ruined by that almost-smile thing that *might* have been on his face. "First time we pull over to take a leak, I'll show you how 'happy' I am."
"Mmm, promises promises," Justin sing-songed, but did finally leave the radio on some crappy pop-rock station.
Getting out of the city, of course, took fucking ages. They spent the time in a comfortable silence, and if Brian happened to start drumming two fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of whatever song was on the radio just then, neither one of them mentioned it.
"Brian," Justin said eventually, sounding distracted, as they finally made it out of New York. "I'm glad it was you."
Brian was busy eyeing the fucker who was trying to overtake. "What, for your first fuck?"
"For everything."
And Brian still didn't know how he could *do* that - tease the fuck out of Brian, and then get all mushy.
Of course, the real kicker was the fact that Brian didn't really mind mushy these days.
Well. Not as much as he used to, anyway.
"Me too," he said seriously, glancing over to see those big, wide Justin eyes, that still got big and wide sometimes despite everything they'd been through. "I mean, who knows what could've happened if I hadn't been there? You might've gone home with..." he took a deep breath, "...Theodore."
He could practically hear the sound of Justin rolling his eyes. "It'd serve you right if I had."
And just like that, Brian had an image in his head of Justin and Ted- "Fuck, don't even *talk* about that!"
Chuckling quietly, Justin settled back to look out the passenger window. "It's your own fault."
"Shut up," Brian demanded, defiantly changing radio stations.
Twenty-seven seconds of auditory abuse later, he changed it back.
Justin stifled a laugh.
Brian longed for one of those moments where he wished he'd never met the fucker...but it wasn't forthcoming.
Sighing, he instead opted for one of his favourite activities - surprising the fuck out of Justin. "There's something for you in the glove compartment."
Frowning, intrigued, Justin leaned forward.
Inside the glove compartment, inside a bag, inside a box, were two items he'd never returned.
He'd had four years to realise that it didn't have to be about locks on doors. Four years of not waking up to Justin every day. Four years to acknowledge the fact that he had the same right as anyone else - even if it was on his own terms.
They'd both been wrong before. Sometimes love *was* sacrifice; doing what you thought was best.
And sometimes it was putting yourself first.
~FINIS