FIC: Retrograde (QAF)(4/?)
I apologize for my block. Hopefully this will suffice for a little while, as I seem currently incapable of writing chapters of over two thousand words. Hmm. Yes. I'm gonna go take that nap now.
Thanks to ragingpixie for looking it over for me. And also thanks to burnitbackwards for enthusiasm, and cindelius cause she's cool. And other people. Etc., etc., moving on. >:D<
Previously... part one, part two, part three.
Brian flipped through the photographs, recognizing Michael and Debbie easily. He could recognize Lindsay as well, most of the time, but there were other people in the pictures that were still nameless to him.
Justin sat next to him, watching for any positive reactions. Brian felt slightly itchy at Justin being so close while he was trying to dredge up memories, but he didn’t ask Justin to move. It was still better to have him there.
Brian cleared his throat, offering the pile of pictures back, and Justin took them from him. “There’s a couple more,” Justin said, and handed him the next one.
Brian looked.
In this picture, Justin was sitting next to Brian on a couch. Brian would ordinarily have had no idea where the picture was taken, but luckily Debbie hadn’t changed the pattern of her wallpaper in ten years, and he placed the location immediately.
Brian and Justin, in Debbie’s living room. Check.
Picture-Justin was intently watching the interaction between Brian and a dark-haired woman. He was leaning into Brian’s side, one foot crossed over Brian’s leg at the ankle, one hand gently resting on Brian’s upper thigh.
Brian’s hand tightened on the corner of the picture, smudging the smooth layer of the image. He might be wrong, with those missing years, but Brian doubted he would let just anyone touch him so easily. Not like that. Justin’s hand on his thigh showed more intimacy than a twenty-minute rimming session and three blowjobs.
He thought about how close Justin was sitting to him now, about how much they’d been touching since Brian got out of the hospital. Brushing shoulders together, supportive hands at waists, arms around arms around chests. The gentle pressure of Justin’s fingers through Brian’s hair, and the feel of Justin’s cheek against his own.
There was something going on, all right. And Brian must be remembering something - he must be feeling something - or why would he go along with the strange intimacy? And why did it feel so fucking good to have Justin there beside him?
Brian gave the photograph back to Justin. “No,” he said. “Nothing.”
“Okay,” said Justin. There was a tense line around his mouth, and Brian cursed himself for not saying anything else - but there was nothing to say. Just more and more questions piling up in his mind.
Justin handed Brian the last picture, and this one was a little different than the others. Instead of being a candid snapshot, it was posed against a fake forest background, like the cheap portrait packages you could get of your kids at a Super Q.
A little boy, brown hair, big brown eyes. “That’s Gus,” said Justin.
“He’s -“ Brian stopped, something unnamable thrumming through his chest. “He’s really mine, isn’t he.”
“Yeah,” said Justin. “Gus is - he’s great. He loves his Dada.”
“Well, shit,” Brian said.
He tried for a minute to see what parts of himself were in Gus, the hair and chin, maybe, but Brian didn’t know that he’d ever looked that happy when he was a kid. “Shit,” Brian said again. “Who would’ve thought...”
He set the picture gently on the nightstand, leaned it against the alarm clock. Gus’s face grinned up at him, the faint glow of red numbers coming through his cheek.
Justin shuffled the rest of the photographs back together, and set them aside. “Hey,” he said. “Did that help? Your memory is definitely improving some.”
He glanced at Brian, and Brian realized that he hadn’t responded, too occupied with looking at his son. “Yeah,” Brian said. “I think so.”
Justin nodded. “Good.” He glanced down, looking at Brian’s bare feet. He idly traced Brian’s big toe with one finger.
“Justin,” said Brian. He paused before he asked his question, his throat going thick with apprehension. He shouldn’t do this.
“It’s fine,” said Justin, and smiled at him sadly. “I didn’t really expect you to recognize -“
“No,” said Brian. “That’s not what I was going to say. Come here?”
He really shouldn’t do this.
Justin looked confused, but moved closer, scooting up on the bed until his legs lined up with Brian’s. Taking a breath, Brian leaned forward, bringing their mouths together, curling an arm around Justin’s back to keep him close.
Justin’s mouth opened under his, slick and comforting. Brian squeezed his eyes shut, it felt so bizarre, so right, and his grip on Justin tightened. Justin made a startled noise about thirty seconds too late, and he broke away, leaving Brian shivering from the cool air against his lips. Brian opened his eyes, meeting Justin’s stare.
“Brian,” said Justin, and he sounded strange, and lonely, and Brian knew that Justin wouldn’t move away again.
*
Justin breathed roughly around Brian’s lips, and pushed Brian backward onto the bed, climbed on top of him, limbs splayed to match.
Brian’s hands traced Justin’s skin, digging in, brushing and smoothing out in all the right places. Justin arched into him with desperate whispers, muttering things that Brian couldn’t quite make out, couldn’t quite hear.
Brian tried to find memories of previous times like this, but he couldn’t think of anything. The blank spots in his mind gave off a bright glare, painful and sad. Not like something was broken, just - something gone. He leaned his forehead into the angle between Justin’s neck and shoulder.
Justin, breathing heavily, drew away just long enough to skim out of his clothes. Once he’d finished with that, he smoothed his hands under the waist of Brian’s pants. “This okay?” he said.
Brian nodded. Justin pulled his pants off, and Brian looked down. Still as well-hung as ever. He’d half expected part of his dick to be chopped off.
Justin left the T-shirt on Brian, but pushed it up to caress Brian’s stomach and chest, careful of the bruises. He lowered his mouth to Brian’s hip-bone, biting lightly, and Brian let out a heavy breath.
*
Justin pressed his face against Brian’s spine, inhaling the sweaty smell of him. The same, Brian seemed exactly the same, and shouldn’t it all feel different?
He felt Brian move slightly, the familiar motion of stripping off the condom and tossing it aside. Brian took a shaky breath, and Justin could feel Brian’s heart beat quickly through his skin. Justin kissed him there, rhythm against his lips, on the smooth, sticky surface of Brian’s back, and wished that he hadn’t just fucked everything up.
He smoothed a hand over Brian’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Justin said quietly. “I think this - this might have been incredibly selfish of me.”
Brian didn’t say anything, and Justin rose up on his elbows so he could see the side of Brian’s face. His eyes were shut, but he wasn’t asleep.
“Hey,” said Justin gently. “You okay?”
Brian rolled on his back, looked up at Justin. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, but Justin wasn’t so sure.
Brian was so vulnerable right now, so terrifyingly absent that Justin had been walking on eggshells for the past four days. Trying not to freak Brian out or upset him, and trying to answer all his questions, even when Brian had just woken up and wasn’t able to remember the answers from one time to the next.
And that had been harder than anything, not knowing if Brian’s mind was going to improve. Brian had kept shouting and crying and talking about things that weren’t there. Without Michael beside him every second, Justin probably would have gone crazy too.
Justin remembered the moment, after Brian had fallen asleep again, that he’d gone out into the hallway and just stood there, motionless, until Michael came to check on him. Too fucking terrified to move.
And Justin remembered the breathless moment a couple hours later, when Brian had woken, looked up, and finally known Michael.
Brian blinked at him, and Justin glanced away from Brian’s eyes, not wanting to stare too long. Having sex with Brian, at this point, had to be one of the most idiotic things Justin had ever done.
“Shit. I’m -“ Justin started to say again.
“Stop,” said Brian. He closed his eyes again. “Stop, okay? I wanted this. I wanted you. I thought I would...“
“Would what?”
“Remember.”
Fuck. Justin sighed. Brian had thought that by fucking Justin, he’d somehow get his memories of Justin back.
Justin wasn’t sure if that was a better or worse reason than getting your emotionally and mentally fraught partner to fuck you simply because you missed the feel of him inside you.
Justin thought his own reason was probably worse.
“It didn’t work, then,” he said.
“No,” said Brian. He looked pale, blank.
Justin bit back more apologies, and leaned over to touch Brian’s shoulder. Brian flinched away.
Justin grit his teeth together, his face starting to flush in shame. “I freaked you out.”
“It was intense,” said Brian. “That’s all.”
“It wasn’t intense, it was how it always is with us.” Justin drew his hand back, suddenly aware that he’d still been reaching out for Brian, not caring that he was touching nothing but air. “Did it seem intense to you?”
Brian rolled back on his side, tucking his knees toward his chest. “I can’t talk about it,” he said. “My headache’s back.”
“I’ll get you some pain killers,” said Justin.
“Don’t.”
Justin stopped. “Why?”
Brian turned his face into the pillow, hiding his face. “I don’t love you,” he said.
Justin froze, the hair itching at the back of his neck, and wondered, quite casually, how long it had been since Brian last said that to him, and why he was saying it now.
“What?”
“I don’t love you!” Brian nearly shouted, his voice muffled by fabric. “How can I? I don’t even know you! What the fuck do you want from me?”
“Brian -“
“I don’t want your help,” Brian said forcefully. “And I don’t want you touching me and thinking that I - that I feel anything for you.”
Justin wavered on his feet for a second, and grabbed his pair of pants from the floor. He couldn’t find his shirt, so he carefully opened a dresser drawer and grabbed a T-shirt, put that over his head. Looked around for his shoes.
He looked over at Brian, who still had his head buried in the pillow.
Justin couldn’t - couldn’t take it. Not now.
“I’m going,” he said to Brian. “I’m going, okay? I’m going.”
He saw that Brian had turned over, was finally looking at him, but all Justin could see was the nasty bruise on his forehead.
And the small scabbed-over nicks on Brian’s chin from glass, from the fucking crushed windshield of -
Justin jammed his feet into his shoes, no socks, no tying the laces. If Brian never remembered, never knew him, never loved him again - Justin couldn’t think about it.
Couldn’t think about it more than he had for the past four fucking days, anyway.
“Where are you going?” said Brian. He didn’t sound angry or scared, just curious. He’d be fine.
“I don’t know, I’ll get breakfast or something - I just -“ Justin shook his head, couldn’t go on. Salt and thick sweetness started to clog the back of his throat, and Justin knew that he was about ten seconds from crying like a little brat. “I can’t be here,” Justin said.
Justin felt like he couldn’t breathe, like his lungs wouldn’t fill all the way. He didn’t look back at Brian.
He went to grab his keys off the counter and found that they were already in his hand. Justin made his way through the door, down the steps, and out onto the street, his momentum carrying him at a near run.
The sky was dim with morning light, and Justin inhaled deeply, his lungs expanding with air and a horrible sense of relief.
Thanks to ragingpixie for looking it over for me. And also thanks to burnitbackwards for enthusiasm, and cindelius cause she's cool. And other people. Etc., etc., moving on. >:D<
Previously... part one, part two, part three.
Brian flipped through the photographs, recognizing Michael and Debbie easily. He could recognize Lindsay as well, most of the time, but there were other people in the pictures that were still nameless to him.
Justin sat next to him, watching for any positive reactions. Brian felt slightly itchy at Justin being so close while he was trying to dredge up memories, but he didn’t ask Justin to move. It was still better to have him there.
Brian cleared his throat, offering the pile of pictures back, and Justin took them from him. “There’s a couple more,” Justin said, and handed him the next one.
Brian looked.
In this picture, Justin was sitting next to Brian on a couch. Brian would ordinarily have had no idea where the picture was taken, but luckily Debbie hadn’t changed the pattern of her wallpaper in ten years, and he placed the location immediately.
Brian and Justin, in Debbie’s living room. Check.
Picture-Justin was intently watching the interaction between Brian and a dark-haired woman. He was leaning into Brian’s side, one foot crossed over Brian’s leg at the ankle, one hand gently resting on Brian’s upper thigh.
Brian’s hand tightened on the corner of the picture, smudging the smooth layer of the image. He might be wrong, with those missing years, but Brian doubted he would let just anyone touch him so easily. Not like that. Justin’s hand on his thigh showed more intimacy than a twenty-minute rimming session and three blowjobs.
He thought about how close Justin was sitting to him now, about how much they’d been touching since Brian got out of the hospital. Brushing shoulders together, supportive hands at waists, arms around arms around chests. The gentle pressure of Justin’s fingers through Brian’s hair, and the feel of Justin’s cheek against his own.
There was something going on, all right. And Brian must be remembering something - he must be feeling something - or why would he go along with the strange intimacy? And why did it feel so fucking good to have Justin there beside him?
Brian gave the photograph back to Justin. “No,” he said. “Nothing.”
“Okay,” said Justin. There was a tense line around his mouth, and Brian cursed himself for not saying anything else - but there was nothing to say. Just more and more questions piling up in his mind.
Justin handed Brian the last picture, and this one was a little different than the others. Instead of being a candid snapshot, it was posed against a fake forest background, like the cheap portrait packages you could get of your kids at a Super Q.
A little boy, brown hair, big brown eyes. “That’s Gus,” said Justin.
“He’s -“ Brian stopped, something unnamable thrumming through his chest. “He’s really mine, isn’t he.”
“Yeah,” said Justin. “Gus is - he’s great. He loves his Dada.”
“Well, shit,” Brian said.
He tried for a minute to see what parts of himself were in Gus, the hair and chin, maybe, but Brian didn’t know that he’d ever looked that happy when he was a kid. “Shit,” Brian said again. “Who would’ve thought...”
He set the picture gently on the nightstand, leaned it against the alarm clock. Gus’s face grinned up at him, the faint glow of red numbers coming through his cheek.
Justin shuffled the rest of the photographs back together, and set them aside. “Hey,” he said. “Did that help? Your memory is definitely improving some.”
He glanced at Brian, and Brian realized that he hadn’t responded, too occupied with looking at his son. “Yeah,” Brian said. “I think so.”
Justin nodded. “Good.” He glanced down, looking at Brian’s bare feet. He idly traced Brian’s big toe with one finger.
“Justin,” said Brian. He paused before he asked his question, his throat going thick with apprehension. He shouldn’t do this.
“It’s fine,” said Justin, and smiled at him sadly. “I didn’t really expect you to recognize -“
“No,” said Brian. “That’s not what I was going to say. Come here?”
He really shouldn’t do this.
Justin looked confused, but moved closer, scooting up on the bed until his legs lined up with Brian’s. Taking a breath, Brian leaned forward, bringing their mouths together, curling an arm around Justin’s back to keep him close.
Justin’s mouth opened under his, slick and comforting. Brian squeezed his eyes shut, it felt so bizarre, so right, and his grip on Justin tightened. Justin made a startled noise about thirty seconds too late, and he broke away, leaving Brian shivering from the cool air against his lips. Brian opened his eyes, meeting Justin’s stare.
“Brian,” said Justin, and he sounded strange, and lonely, and Brian knew that Justin wouldn’t move away again.
*
Justin breathed roughly around Brian’s lips, and pushed Brian backward onto the bed, climbed on top of him, limbs splayed to match.
Brian’s hands traced Justin’s skin, digging in, brushing and smoothing out in all the right places. Justin arched into him with desperate whispers, muttering things that Brian couldn’t quite make out, couldn’t quite hear.
Brian tried to find memories of previous times like this, but he couldn’t think of anything. The blank spots in his mind gave off a bright glare, painful and sad. Not like something was broken, just - something gone. He leaned his forehead into the angle between Justin’s neck and shoulder.
Justin, breathing heavily, drew away just long enough to skim out of his clothes. Once he’d finished with that, he smoothed his hands under the waist of Brian’s pants. “This okay?” he said.
Brian nodded. Justin pulled his pants off, and Brian looked down. Still as well-hung as ever. He’d half expected part of his dick to be chopped off.
Justin left the T-shirt on Brian, but pushed it up to caress Brian’s stomach and chest, careful of the bruises. He lowered his mouth to Brian’s hip-bone, biting lightly, and Brian let out a heavy breath.
*
Justin pressed his face against Brian’s spine, inhaling the sweaty smell of him. The same, Brian seemed exactly the same, and shouldn’t it all feel different?
He felt Brian move slightly, the familiar motion of stripping off the condom and tossing it aside. Brian took a shaky breath, and Justin could feel Brian’s heart beat quickly through his skin. Justin kissed him there, rhythm against his lips, on the smooth, sticky surface of Brian’s back, and wished that he hadn’t just fucked everything up.
He smoothed a hand over Brian’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Justin said quietly. “I think this - this might have been incredibly selfish of me.”
Brian didn’t say anything, and Justin rose up on his elbows so he could see the side of Brian’s face. His eyes were shut, but he wasn’t asleep.
“Hey,” said Justin gently. “You okay?”
Brian rolled on his back, looked up at Justin. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, but Justin wasn’t so sure.
Brian was so vulnerable right now, so terrifyingly absent that Justin had been walking on eggshells for the past four days. Trying not to freak Brian out or upset him, and trying to answer all his questions, even when Brian had just woken up and wasn’t able to remember the answers from one time to the next.
And that had been harder than anything, not knowing if Brian’s mind was going to improve. Brian had kept shouting and crying and talking about things that weren’t there. Without Michael beside him every second, Justin probably would have gone crazy too.
Justin remembered the moment, after Brian had fallen asleep again, that he’d gone out into the hallway and just stood there, motionless, until Michael came to check on him. Too fucking terrified to move.
And Justin remembered the breathless moment a couple hours later, when Brian had woken, looked up, and finally known Michael.
Brian blinked at him, and Justin glanced away from Brian’s eyes, not wanting to stare too long. Having sex with Brian, at this point, had to be one of the most idiotic things Justin had ever done.
“Shit. I’m -“ Justin started to say again.
“Stop,” said Brian. He closed his eyes again. “Stop, okay? I wanted this. I wanted you. I thought I would...“
“Would what?”
“Remember.”
Fuck. Justin sighed. Brian had thought that by fucking Justin, he’d somehow get his memories of Justin back.
Justin wasn’t sure if that was a better or worse reason than getting your emotionally and mentally fraught partner to fuck you simply because you missed the feel of him inside you.
Justin thought his own reason was probably worse.
“It didn’t work, then,” he said.
“No,” said Brian. He looked pale, blank.
Justin bit back more apologies, and leaned over to touch Brian’s shoulder. Brian flinched away.
Justin grit his teeth together, his face starting to flush in shame. “I freaked you out.”
“It was intense,” said Brian. “That’s all.”
“It wasn’t intense, it was how it always is with us.” Justin drew his hand back, suddenly aware that he’d still been reaching out for Brian, not caring that he was touching nothing but air. “Did it seem intense to you?”
Brian rolled back on his side, tucking his knees toward his chest. “I can’t talk about it,” he said. “My headache’s back.”
“I’ll get you some pain killers,” said Justin.
“Don’t.”
Justin stopped. “Why?”
Brian turned his face into the pillow, hiding his face. “I don’t love you,” he said.
Justin froze, the hair itching at the back of his neck, and wondered, quite casually, how long it had been since Brian last said that to him, and why he was saying it now.
“What?”
“I don’t love you!” Brian nearly shouted, his voice muffled by fabric. “How can I? I don’t even know you! What the fuck do you want from me?”
“Brian -“
“I don’t want your help,” Brian said forcefully. “And I don’t want you touching me and thinking that I - that I feel anything for you.”
Justin wavered on his feet for a second, and grabbed his pair of pants from the floor. He couldn’t find his shirt, so he carefully opened a dresser drawer and grabbed a T-shirt, put that over his head. Looked around for his shoes.
He looked over at Brian, who still had his head buried in the pillow.
Justin couldn’t - couldn’t take it. Not now.
“I’m going,” he said to Brian. “I’m going, okay? I’m going.”
He saw that Brian had turned over, was finally looking at him, but all Justin could see was the nasty bruise on his forehead.
And the small scabbed-over nicks on Brian’s chin from glass, from the fucking crushed windshield of -
Justin jammed his feet into his shoes, no socks, no tying the laces. If Brian never remembered, never knew him, never loved him again - Justin couldn’t think about it.
Couldn’t think about it more than he had for the past four fucking days, anyway.
“Where are you going?” said Brian. He didn’t sound angry or scared, just curious. He’d be fine.
“I don’t know, I’ll get breakfast or something - I just -“ Justin shook his head, couldn’t go on. Salt and thick sweetness started to clog the back of his throat, and Justin knew that he was about ten seconds from crying like a little brat. “I can’t be here,” Justin said.
Justin felt like he couldn’t breathe, like his lungs wouldn’t fill all the way. He didn’t look back at Brian.
He went to grab his keys off the counter and found that they were already in his hand. Justin made his way through the door, down the steps, and out onto the street, his momentum carrying him at a near run.
The sky was dim with morning light, and Justin inhaled deeply, his lungs expanding with air and a horrible sense of relief.