QAF: 510 gapfiller
(Dude, I'm writing. Weird!)
No spoilers past aired episodes. Short.
It started raining more than an hour ago, and Justin is still flinching at the sound of thunder.
Brian’s grip tightens around Justin’s waist; his face presses a little more into Justin’s neck. They’re not in bed - they didn’t even make it past the couch, just sank down onto it as one tangle of arms and knees, with their mouths pressing hard against anything in reach.
They’re wrapped up together too tight. Brian is half-asleep, finally, but his hands are still clenched into the fabric of Justin’s shirt. It feels good. They should probably shower, Justin realizes. They’re covered in soot and ash and worse, and the acrid stink of tonight is still clinging to them, making Justin’s stomach turn a little whenever he thinks about it too much.
But Justin can’t move, can’t make himself leave Brian’s grip, the warmth of him, the steadying thump of his heart. He blocks out Babylon from his mind. There. It’s gone. He’s good now.
Another crackle of thunder, and Justin grits his teeth.
“Hey, hey,” says Brian faintly.
That’s what he says every time it thunders. He hasn’t said much else since outside Babylon, since the “I love you”. That’s okay. Justin doesn’t need more. And hey, aside from the thunder and the smell, he thinks he might be doing okay now - and how sick is that, that he’s perfectly fine when he has every reason to be panicking and crying?
Michael’s face flashes into Justin’s mind with the same gutwrench as the memory of Babylon’s blackened, blood-spattered dance floor.
He swallows tightly and looks up into Brian’s face. There’s a dark smear across one cheekbone, and Justin’s gaze lingers there a moment.
Brian blinks at him a little blearily. “I meant it,” he says.
Justin wants to smile, but can’t. All of a sudden they’re continuing the scene from hours ago.
“I know,” Justin says back. “I know, I know.”
“I still do mean it,” Brian says, and his voice is a whisper.
Brian’s eyes are injured, soft and open, bleeding emotion into everything he says and every move he makes. It’s hard for Justin to see. He wants to do something. He wants to stitch Brian back together, he wants to make it so some homicidal asshole hadn’t just wandered in and blown their lives to hell. (And he wants to make Brian smile. And make Michael be okay. And Ben, and Debbie - and the list is getting too long in his head.)
“I know,” says Justin again, and there are tears at the back of his throat. He knows Brian can hear them in his voice. “You should go back to sleep. I’m fine.”
Brian doesn’t say anything to that, just squeezes his eyes shut. Justin wonders how alert Brian actually is, because there’s something vulnerable in Brian that he’s not sure he’s ever seen before. It’s new.
Justin wonders if it’s because of him.
Brian leans into him, lips breathing hot against Justin’s collarbone, blinking eyelashes and wet heat against his jaw. Brian takes a deep breath, lets it out as a series of shudders, his back trembling under Justin’s hands.
Justin feels the gutwrench, says “Shh, shhh, I love you. I love you. I love you,” over and over again, I love you, but Brian doesn’t say it back; he only nods a little and leaves streaks of tears on Justin’s neck.
A gust of rain crashes against the window, making the glass shiver. Justin closes his eyes and thinks that he’s still okay. He’s fine. And maybe the rain will be gone by morning.
No spoilers past aired episodes. Short.
It started raining more than an hour ago, and Justin is still flinching at the sound of thunder.
Brian’s grip tightens around Justin’s waist; his face presses a little more into Justin’s neck. They’re not in bed - they didn’t even make it past the couch, just sank down onto it as one tangle of arms and knees, with their mouths pressing hard against anything in reach.
They’re wrapped up together too tight. Brian is half-asleep, finally, but his hands are still clenched into the fabric of Justin’s shirt. It feels good. They should probably shower, Justin realizes. They’re covered in soot and ash and worse, and the acrid stink of tonight is still clinging to them, making Justin’s stomach turn a little whenever he thinks about it too much.
But Justin can’t move, can’t make himself leave Brian’s grip, the warmth of him, the steadying thump of his heart. He blocks out Babylon from his mind. There. It’s gone. He’s good now.
Another crackle of thunder, and Justin grits his teeth.
“Hey, hey,” says Brian faintly.
That’s what he says every time it thunders. He hasn’t said much else since outside Babylon, since the “I love you”. That’s okay. Justin doesn’t need more. And hey, aside from the thunder and the smell, he thinks he might be doing okay now - and how sick is that, that he’s perfectly fine when he has every reason to be panicking and crying?
Michael’s face flashes into Justin’s mind with the same gutwrench as the memory of Babylon’s blackened, blood-spattered dance floor.
He swallows tightly and looks up into Brian’s face. There’s a dark smear across one cheekbone, and Justin’s gaze lingers there a moment.
Brian blinks at him a little blearily. “I meant it,” he says.
Justin wants to smile, but can’t. All of a sudden they’re continuing the scene from hours ago.
“I know,” Justin says back. “I know, I know.”
“I still do mean it,” Brian says, and his voice is a whisper.
Brian’s eyes are injured, soft and open, bleeding emotion into everything he says and every move he makes. It’s hard for Justin to see. He wants to do something. He wants to stitch Brian back together, he wants to make it so some homicidal asshole hadn’t just wandered in and blown their lives to hell. (And he wants to make Brian smile. And make Michael be okay. And Ben, and Debbie - and the list is getting too long in his head.)
“I know,” says Justin again, and there are tears at the back of his throat. He knows Brian can hear them in his voice. “You should go back to sleep. I’m fine.”
Brian doesn’t say anything to that, just squeezes his eyes shut. Justin wonders how alert Brian actually is, because there’s something vulnerable in Brian that he’s not sure he’s ever seen before. It’s new.
Justin wonders if it’s because of him.
Brian leans into him, lips breathing hot against Justin’s collarbone, blinking eyelashes and wet heat against his jaw. Brian takes a deep breath, lets it out as a series of shudders, his back trembling under Justin’s hands.
Justin feels the gutwrench, says “Shh, shhh, I love you. I love you. I love you,” over and over again, I love you, but Brian doesn’t say it back; he only nods a little and leaves streaks of tears on Justin’s neck.
A gust of rain crashes against the window, making the glass shiver. Justin closes his eyes and thinks that he’s still okay. He’s fine. And maybe the rain will be gone by morning.