New Fic: Convergence (B/J, R+)
*grins*
Damn, 510 was a great episode!! Here's my little story for it - this one kind of picks up from Kaleidoscope :) Hugs as always to my darling ragingpixie for the read-through :X
Title: Convergence
Alternates between Brian's and Justin's POVs : R+ for coarse language and suggested sex
Premise: 510 Gapfiller
Convergence
Life goes on.
So they say.
And you suppose it does. You work more, harder, longer... work at Kinnetik, work at Babylon... work your clients at both locales. You spend more time at the office, at the club, at the gym, at Woody's. You read more, watch TV more, surf the `net more, drink more, smoke more, jack off more... dream more, even though you're sleeping less. You spend more hours staring at the ceiling, even when there's no one sucking you off.
You fill your time with other things so that what isn't there anymore doesn't seem so obvious. Yet somehow it just makes it more so.
But...
Life goes on.
To prove it, the fucking cancer that started eating away at your body months ago has stopped. And so you know your life really will go on.
But...
You tear up the extra ticket to Australia and push it to the bottom of your office garbage can. You dump your coffee on top to make sure it's ruined. Some surprise that was going to be. You close your eyes and think of you and him on the beach, his hair golden like it was when he returned from California, the freckles across his shoulders, his tan arms and the sand and the beach and lying around with him and surfing and fucking and...
Some surprise.
Look who's surprised now.
But yes, life definitely goes on.
And then it stops.
You don't see him at first, but then everything comes into focus, and it's him. Standing under a streetlamp pasting up posters for the benefit. You sit silently in your car, the music humming through you, the familiar grunt of the car buzzing your body and you feel yourself get a little hard, watching him fiddle with the tape, then carefully flatten the poster to the pole.
(...he writhes against the beam, pale skin against the dark metal, begging you to fuck him, his arms tied around it, naked and beautiful and nearly crying with desperation because he needs you, fucking needs you, needs you fucking him against that metal beam, that metal post in the loft, in that place, in your home...)
You stay hidden behind the glass of the car window, feel protected and like he can't see you. You know that's not true, you're just fooling yourself that he can't see you, but it makes you feel safe, concealed, and like it's somehow okay that you're staring at him, watching him.
But the more you stare at him... the more your stomach sinks, the more your heart flutters, the more your throat tightens, the harder your cock gets, and yet you can't look away. The desire inside burns you, suffocates you, massacres you... but you can't look away.
You wonder if he knows you're there, but just pretends not to see you. You wonder if he's standing under that streetlamp for you to find him again, for you to see him again, for you to take him away and give him something new, for you to treat him like that seventeen-year-old virgin that you stole glances at once, that you stared at, captured, seduced... that young buck with the blond hair and too big jeans... that kid with the smile and the laugh and the eager lips and ass.
You wonder if he remembers any of that; you wonder if he thinks of that night as often as you do.
And then he looks over, a glance, then recognition. Sees you sitting here, helpless and hopeless and horny, in this ridiculous car that you bought to prove something and nothing to everyone and no one.
He smiles a little and comes over, fearless as always. You want to pretend that you weren't just watching him, staring at him, but you know it's too late - he's already caught you and he's too smart not to figure it out. He knows too much already anyway... knows you weren't ready for him to leave, weren't ready for him to go, weren't ready to progress any further than you already were and so...
Here you are.
You resist the urge to ask him to get in the car, to reach out the window to touch him, to unroll the glass any further than you do. You resist everything you feel, you shift in the leather seat and play glib and smart-ass and pretend that you don't care, don't care about anything. Don't care about the way his face falls when you say you're not going to the benefit, don't care about the disappointment in his eyes, and you definitely don't care about how fucking good he looks, how much you're attracted to him, how much you want him.
(...his hands twist up in your hair and you ignore the stick shift biting into your shoulder, you dive your face into his crotch and take as much of his cock in your mouth that the angle allows... he whispers your name, then moans louder, saying it again, grunting it out, pumping his hips into your face and you slide your hand under his ass to bring him closer, to get more of him, to fill your mouth with his dick, his zipper scratching at your cheek, his pubes damp with his heat and sweat and your spit and when he comes everything collides together so fucking perfectly...)
"Well, take care of yourself," you tell him for the second time, because Christ, taking care of him was your job and now he's got no one but himself to do it. And you need to know that someone's doing it.
He nods and smiles a little and you tear your eyes away and the kaleidoscope spins and shifts like always, but you get the sense that its falling off it's axis. You feel like you're just waiting for him to come home again, but you don't know really how long you can wait. And when you give up waiting, give up hope, give up everything... you don't know what you'll do.
You don't think that you want your life to just go on after that.
*
Life goes on...
And then it stops.
Your fingers shake, and you can't see the numbers, so you feel for the button, hit his speed dial, get the phone to your ear, oh Christ, oh God, you tell the driver to hurry up, to go faster, your voice getting lost in your throat-
Hi, this is Justin, leave a message-
His voice comes through the phone and you feel the tears behind your eyes.
Hang up, dial again.
Hi, this is Justin, leave a message-
No, no, no, no, no, no....
Hi, this is Justin, leave a message-
You put your cell in your pocket because you're getting closer and you can see the lights now, the smoke, you get out of the car as slows and you start to run and then you stop.
Stop because you don't know where to look, almost don't want to look, don't want to see, don't want to know, but you have to know, have to find, need to find, oh God, can't breathe, people are shouting, the air is heavy with smoke and burning and sirens ring out and it's havoc, confusion, insanity, and all you need, all you have to know, have to...
Get closer, see the crowds, people coming out coughing and crying and burned and bloody and you just keep thinking that this can't be happening, shit no, it can't be happening, and yet it *is* happening and is still happening and you don't even know what happened, just know that, oh Christ, oh God, oh no...
No, no, no, no, no, no....
Looking, looking, looking... you see Jennifer, and you're frantic, crazy, your heart in your throat, swallowing back bile and she tells you he's in there and you shake your head and everything spins so fucking fast, whizzing by you, dark colors of the night spinning and fracturing and coming back at you.
He can't be in there still, he can't not be all right, he can't not be here, he can't...
(...lifeless, cold, limp in your arms, blood everywhere, your heart thumping in your chest, rushing in your ears, don't remember how to breathe, cries caught up in your throat and you hold him, near delirious and hysterical inside and yet it can't come out, the fear and screaming terror can't leave your chest, your throat and you just want to fucking die, you just want him to be okay...)
You can't.
Inside, it's dark and hazy and you push by firemen, police, ambulance attendants, looking, searching... call out to him, your voice echoing back in your ears like that night, *not* like that night, not like that...
It's too dark, and you can't find him, so you call again, ignore the people pulling at you, pushing at you, the alarms buzzing in your head, making you want to scream and the panic, God, the panic, it's so close, it's there, your palms wet and your back slick and everything white hot and burning, and you know you can't lose your voice this time so you scream out his name again...
See Ted, can't focus, he can't speak, you can't speak, you try to be rational, be clear, got to find...
Don't look at the bodies on the ground, the blood, the white sheets, because you won't find him there, you won't find him there, he's not there, he's okay, he's...
Right here.
Grab his sleeve, pull him into your arms, don't breathe, just hold him tightly, make sure he's real, feel his arms around your neck, and he's shaking, or maybe it's you, maybe it's both of you. He's warm, hot, sweat sticking his shirt to his back, he smells like smoke and sulfur and you pull back to see him, to make sure, to make sure he's okay and everything stops spinning and refracting and shattering and it's all fucking okay.
He's here in your arms and now you *can* breathe, and now you *can* focus, and now you *can* do everything else that you have to, need to do, because he's here and it's alright.
He's all right.
*
Life goes on...
And then it stops.
Deb talks straight through everything, riding back with you and your driver to the loft so you can pick up the ‘vette, sitting beside you in the passenger seat as you drive to the hospital, riding up the elevator to the emergency floor where they have Michael.
She stops talking after that.
Ben says they don't know anything yet, and so you all stand there and pace and wait.
(...they don't know anything, can't tell you anything, and you have no rights anyway, can't go in there and see him, you try and you scream and they threaten you with the cops and then you go out in the hallway and crumble to a bench and sit there, feeling each tear as it streams down your face and you hate yourself more with each one...)
You close your eyes and think of Justin, remember the feeling of his arms around your neck minutes - hours? - ago... console yourself again and again that he's okay, that he's not here because he's back at Babylon passing out water and blankets and helping, because that's what he does, that's the kind of person he is.
You wish he were here though, because you keep getting these crazy memories coming back into your head and you keep having to pinch yourself to remember that it's not that night, it's a completely different night. But you think of that night anyway, and you remember Michael coming to be here with you, to hold you up, to stop you from dying too. You remember Michael putting his life on hold so he could save yours and it hurts to think of it, remembering him here, remembering him being well and okay when he's not well and he's not okay right now and this night holds its own horrors and pain.
You put your hand on Ben's shoulder, you know what he's feeling, you've been there, you know the helplessness, the frustration, the fear, the sorrow, the worry and anxiety and desperation. He looks up at you, tight stare, and you feel close to him, feel a kinship with him and you hold onto his shoulder, keep that connection, pray together inside to God or whoever that they give Michael back to you.
And when the doctor finally comes and you finally have news and then you find out that you could help but they won't let you because you're queer, because there are stupid, ignorant laws, and stupid, ignorant people just like the ones you suspect caused all this to happen in the first place, when you find all that out and start to freak out, then get reality smashed in your face when they tell you the cancer's fucked your chance of helping anyway, the mortality and unfairness of it all makes you feel numb and sick and you don't have anything left to say here.
Later, you stand over Michael's bed and the three of you watch over him - his mother, his partner, his best friend. Mikey's holy trinity and you all pray and hope and hold your breath.
And you don't think about how maybe life won't go on here.
*
When there's nothing more you can do, when Michael's in surgery and you're all just waiting, you know you need to go back there, to go back to Justin.
There's something burning inside you, things are shifting and changing and coming together so quickly inside your head, your heart. Things are becoming so perfectly clear, so completely focused, and you know you have to see him and you know there are things you have to do. Need to do.
Want to do.
You get back there, to the ruins of Babylon and it's much quieter now. Ominous. No more screaming or alarms, just the silence of what happened. The night is cold and the wind has blown away most of the smoke, but still the wet stench of burnt wood hangs thick in air. There's no panic now, no frantic running. Just a slow walk with a heavy heart.
He's talking to someone, wearing a paramedic's jacket and then he looks over at you and you see that recognition again, and he comes over and this time you do pull him into your arms, you do hold him tightly against your chest, you do cling to him desperately, do feel his heart beating against yours.
(...he's so brave, you know he must be hurting, this must be so fucking hard for him, but still he's doing it, wrapping his arms around you, breaking you from your trance as you say back all the words of the nightmare that's been playing in your head since it happened... he holds you up, keeps you together, snaps you out of it, out of everything, and though it never felt more real, the fact that he's here with you, arms wrapped tightly around your back, lets you cope with it, deal with it, live with it...)
He presses his face into your shoulder and he feels cold and his hands push against your back and you can't believe it's been weeks since you've been with him, since you've touched him like this. You can't believe your life has gone on without having this in it every single second of every single day.
You realize there's no time to be wasted, no fucking around, no playing, no games, no emotions to hide. You tell him everything, tell him the truth and don't change a single thing.
And as each word tumbles out, each tear you swallow back, each wave of relief that passes through you that he's here, that he's okay... everything becomes sharper and clearer and then it all shifts and changes a final time to come together so completely.
The kaleidoscope of your life, with all its spinning colors, suddenly stops - everything falls into place and converges into this pure focused sensation, a single emotion in your heart, a complete and perfect feeling that defies all description... you only know it's been there along and yet it took this moment for it to all become so flawlessly clear.
You can and you will.
You do.
You pull him into your arms again, feel his hands come up around your back and when you press your lips to his ear and take a breath, nothing has ever seemed easier in your life. Nothing has ever seemed more important than this, right now.
So you say those words that somehow seem to sum up what it is you're feeling and though they can hardly do the emotion justice, you know it's all you've got right now. You gave those words power when you let them terrify you so long ago, you gave them power when you felt as though they would strangle you, weaken you.
But when you say them now, to him, you give them new power. You welcome this sensation, you feel like you can breathe, you feel strong. You discover a new clarity, a new sense of being.
You say those words against his face, into his ear...
I love you...
A quiet whisper against his skin, and he tenses and softens in your arms at the same time... the words hang in the air for moments and once said... you feel free.
You pull back and look at him, see the joy in his eyes, feel the light in your heart, your mind, your soul. He shines, glowing a thousand colors of love, and he smiles, laughs, gasps... you wish you could get back all the wasted time, the wasted words, the things you could've and should've and would've been saying if only you knew it would feel like this.
Would feel so good, so perfect, so beautifully real.
You forget everything, forget how you're supposed to feel, how you've been trying not to feel, and just... feel. His body pressed to yours, his arms around you, his breath against your face. You let him hold you, let yourself be held, and let out the breath you've been holding since you walked out that door so many weeks ago.
You feel like not one second has passed and yet a lifetime has.
He starts talking, looks anxious and young and his voice starts cracking and he tells you how scared he was, his eyes full and wet. His palm is hot on your neck, and he holds you tightly, hard against his chest, presses his face to yours, lips against your ear and he tells you...
You know what you heard, know what he said, know your heart leapt at the words and your eyes got itchy and your throat got tight and you know it meant everything in the whole fucking world. Those words, he said them. He said those words.
And you know they're just words.
But he said them.
And everything comes together.
He pulls away a little and you look at him and don't know what to say, you just try to remember how to breathe, you feel hot in your cheeks, and your toes go numb and you feel nothing else but his love.
He says it again, louder, clearer, more meaningful and though you'd always felt it, now you know it.
I love you...
You can't speak, your heart pounding so hard, your knees weak, your head light and you feel euphoric and in ecstasy, surrounded by darkness and chaos, but neither one of you can be touched by it because you have this.
You kiss him... hands on his face, his body against yours, his hands on your neck. He holds you so tightly, hard against his chest, capturing you up completely and you hold on to him back. You don't want to let go... of him, of this moment, of this feeling. This complete convergence of pandemonium and perfection, a culmination of four years of loving him, of your life.
(...you don't know what to expect, just know you're scared and nervous and embarrassed and excited and want it so much... more than anything you ever wanted... it's not just about the sex and the kissing, but it's about proving who you are and who you'll become and when you look into his eyes as he slides inside you, you know this man will always be a part of who you are, of your future, of your life, because you love him in this moment, and you know you always will...)
After minutes, hours, days, weeks... you pull apart reluctantly, but he doesn't stop touching you, his hand trailing down your back to your hand, then threading his fingers between yours and holding your hand tightly.
"C'mon," he says, pulling you towards the road, away from here, this place. "I'm taking you home."
You drop his hand for seconds to take off the downy paramedic's jacket they lent you and pass it back to an attendant. Then you're back with him, weaving your fingers together again, and he's got his jacket off and puts it around your shoulders, his arm around you tightly and you lean against his chest as you walk, letting him lead you to his car, letting him take you home.
You climb into the 'vette, the familiarity of it overwhelming you and he starts the engine and blasts the heater, but doesn't show any inclination of driving anywhere. Instead he stares at you for moments, then takes one of your cold hands between his, warming your fingers, rubbing his palms across your skin, and it feels intimate and soft and reassuring like when he'd massage your hand after you'd drawn too much and it cramped up.
You sit sideways in the smooth leather passenger seat, leaning against the headrest and you watch him, his concentrated movements. You feel so jumbled and then feel such clarity. Then you don't know what to feel and you don't know what to think, and so you just watch him... he's tender and slow and makes you feel safe.
(...he moves so slowly, kissing your face softly, pressing his naked body against yours, then turning you to lie on your side, whispering that it'll be easier that way, and you roll over, feel a little nervous, but when he presses against you, seeks a gentle entrance into your body, you sigh and relax and close your eyes and focus on his hand holding yours, his lips pressed to your neck, his soft whispers that you're okay, that you're beautiful, that you're brave, that you're amazing... and then he's inside you, and it's like the first time again, but not, there's no pain, only pleasure, only incredible, everlasting pleasure and a feeling of being home, of being safe, of being protected, and you want this moment, this time, to last forever...)
He takes your other hand and blows warmly on your fingers, then kisses your palm, and presses it against his face. You feel his stubble on your hand, and see the dark soot from your skin pass to his.
"You're getting dirty," you say it quietly, smiling a little.
He kisses your hand again. "Don't care," he whispers against your skin then reaches out to you, pulling you into his arms tightly.
The heater pushes hot dry air into the small interior of the car, the radio plays some slow song softly, your ears still ring from the blast, the car rumbles beneath you both, chugging and coughing as it idles. He leans his cheek against yours and breathes against your face, puts his hand up your shirt, presses skin to skin against your back. The smell of his jacket fills your nose... cologne, leather, cigarettes.
You feel like the two of you are a million miles away from this place. Somewhere else, somewhere peaceful and quiet and just for you and him. The confusion of the night seems far away and you feel like you're dreaming.
You wish you didn't have to wake up from this dream. You wish life didn't have to go on.
You wish you and he could stay here forever.
A split second and your life changed.
A split second and you realized that your life so fucking wasn't going on.
You were dying a slow death, slowly passing away, disappearing. You weren't living; you were barely breathing.
And now you feel alive again.
"Love you," you press your lips to his and say it again, against his mouth, and he kisses you and squeezes you hard. Those words feel so good to say, those words you should've uttered a million times before. Those words you so foolishly thought would end your life, and yet instead they've started it.
Your life has begun again. It's completely different and full of opportunity and hope and you want everything now. You want all the things you'd been missing these weeks, these months, these years. You want the things you denied yourself out of ignorance and fear.
You want everything, and you want it all with him.
Life goes on, but you know that yours won't until he's back in it.
*** *** *** *** ***
Damn, 510 was a great episode!! Here's my little story for it - this one kind of picks up from Kaleidoscope :) Hugs as always to my darling ragingpixie for the read-through :X
Title: Convergence
Alternates between Brian's and Justin's POVs : R+ for coarse language and suggested sex
Premise: 510 Gapfiller
Convergence
Life goes on.
So they say.
And you suppose it does. You work more, harder, longer... work at Kinnetik, work at Babylon... work your clients at both locales. You spend more time at the office, at the club, at the gym, at Woody's. You read more, watch TV more, surf the `net more, drink more, smoke more, jack off more... dream more, even though you're sleeping less. You spend more hours staring at the ceiling, even when there's no one sucking you off.
You fill your time with other things so that what isn't there anymore doesn't seem so obvious. Yet somehow it just makes it more so.
But...
Life goes on.
To prove it, the fucking cancer that started eating away at your body months ago has stopped. And so you know your life really will go on.
But...
You tear up the extra ticket to Australia and push it to the bottom of your office garbage can. You dump your coffee on top to make sure it's ruined. Some surprise that was going to be. You close your eyes and think of you and him on the beach, his hair golden like it was when he returned from California, the freckles across his shoulders, his tan arms and the sand and the beach and lying around with him and surfing and fucking and...
Some surprise.
Look who's surprised now.
But yes, life definitely goes on.
And then it stops.
You don't see him at first, but then everything comes into focus, and it's him. Standing under a streetlamp pasting up posters for the benefit. You sit silently in your car, the music humming through you, the familiar grunt of the car buzzing your body and you feel yourself get a little hard, watching him fiddle with the tape, then carefully flatten the poster to the pole.
(...he writhes against the beam, pale skin against the dark metal, begging you to fuck him, his arms tied around it, naked and beautiful and nearly crying with desperation because he needs you, fucking needs you, needs you fucking him against that metal beam, that metal post in the loft, in that place, in your home...)
You stay hidden behind the glass of the car window, feel protected and like he can't see you. You know that's not true, you're just fooling yourself that he can't see you, but it makes you feel safe, concealed, and like it's somehow okay that you're staring at him, watching him.
But the more you stare at him... the more your stomach sinks, the more your heart flutters, the more your throat tightens, the harder your cock gets, and yet you can't look away. The desire inside burns you, suffocates you, massacres you... but you can't look away.
You wonder if he knows you're there, but just pretends not to see you. You wonder if he's standing under that streetlamp for you to find him again, for you to see him again, for you to take him away and give him something new, for you to treat him like that seventeen-year-old virgin that you stole glances at once, that you stared at, captured, seduced... that young buck with the blond hair and too big jeans... that kid with the smile and the laugh and the eager lips and ass.
You wonder if he remembers any of that; you wonder if he thinks of that night as often as you do.
And then he looks over, a glance, then recognition. Sees you sitting here, helpless and hopeless and horny, in this ridiculous car that you bought to prove something and nothing to everyone and no one.
He smiles a little and comes over, fearless as always. You want to pretend that you weren't just watching him, staring at him, but you know it's too late - he's already caught you and he's too smart not to figure it out. He knows too much already anyway... knows you weren't ready for him to leave, weren't ready for him to go, weren't ready to progress any further than you already were and so...
Here you are.
You resist the urge to ask him to get in the car, to reach out the window to touch him, to unroll the glass any further than you do. You resist everything you feel, you shift in the leather seat and play glib and smart-ass and pretend that you don't care, don't care about anything. Don't care about the way his face falls when you say you're not going to the benefit, don't care about the disappointment in his eyes, and you definitely don't care about how fucking good he looks, how much you're attracted to him, how much you want him.
(...his hands twist up in your hair and you ignore the stick shift biting into your shoulder, you dive your face into his crotch and take as much of his cock in your mouth that the angle allows... he whispers your name, then moans louder, saying it again, grunting it out, pumping his hips into your face and you slide your hand under his ass to bring him closer, to get more of him, to fill your mouth with his dick, his zipper scratching at your cheek, his pubes damp with his heat and sweat and your spit and when he comes everything collides together so fucking perfectly...)
"Well, take care of yourself," you tell him for the second time, because Christ, taking care of him was your job and now he's got no one but himself to do it. And you need to know that someone's doing it.
He nods and smiles a little and you tear your eyes away and the kaleidoscope spins and shifts like always, but you get the sense that its falling off it's axis. You feel like you're just waiting for him to come home again, but you don't know really how long you can wait. And when you give up waiting, give up hope, give up everything... you don't know what you'll do.
You don't think that you want your life to just go on after that.
*
Life goes on...
And then it stops.
Your fingers shake, and you can't see the numbers, so you feel for the button, hit his speed dial, get the phone to your ear, oh Christ, oh God, you tell the driver to hurry up, to go faster, your voice getting lost in your throat-
Hi, this is Justin, leave a message-
His voice comes through the phone and you feel the tears behind your eyes.
Hang up, dial again.
Hi, this is Justin, leave a message-
No, no, no, no, no, no....
Hi, this is Justin, leave a message-
You put your cell in your pocket because you're getting closer and you can see the lights now, the smoke, you get out of the car as slows and you start to run and then you stop.
Stop because you don't know where to look, almost don't want to look, don't want to see, don't want to know, but you have to know, have to find, need to find, oh God, can't breathe, people are shouting, the air is heavy with smoke and burning and sirens ring out and it's havoc, confusion, insanity, and all you need, all you have to know, have to...
Get closer, see the crowds, people coming out coughing and crying and burned and bloody and you just keep thinking that this can't be happening, shit no, it can't be happening, and yet it *is* happening and is still happening and you don't even know what happened, just know that, oh Christ, oh God, oh no...
No, no, no, no, no, no....
Looking, looking, looking... you see Jennifer, and you're frantic, crazy, your heart in your throat, swallowing back bile and she tells you he's in there and you shake your head and everything spins so fucking fast, whizzing by you, dark colors of the night spinning and fracturing and coming back at you.
He can't be in there still, he can't not be all right, he can't not be here, he can't...
(...lifeless, cold, limp in your arms, blood everywhere, your heart thumping in your chest, rushing in your ears, don't remember how to breathe, cries caught up in your throat and you hold him, near delirious and hysterical inside and yet it can't come out, the fear and screaming terror can't leave your chest, your throat and you just want to fucking die, you just want him to be okay...)
You can't.
Inside, it's dark and hazy and you push by firemen, police, ambulance attendants, looking, searching... call out to him, your voice echoing back in your ears like that night, *not* like that night, not like that...
It's too dark, and you can't find him, so you call again, ignore the people pulling at you, pushing at you, the alarms buzzing in your head, making you want to scream and the panic, God, the panic, it's so close, it's there, your palms wet and your back slick and everything white hot and burning, and you know you can't lose your voice this time so you scream out his name again...
See Ted, can't focus, he can't speak, you can't speak, you try to be rational, be clear, got to find...
Don't look at the bodies on the ground, the blood, the white sheets, because you won't find him there, you won't find him there, he's not there, he's okay, he's...
Right here.
Grab his sleeve, pull him into your arms, don't breathe, just hold him tightly, make sure he's real, feel his arms around your neck, and he's shaking, or maybe it's you, maybe it's both of you. He's warm, hot, sweat sticking his shirt to his back, he smells like smoke and sulfur and you pull back to see him, to make sure, to make sure he's okay and everything stops spinning and refracting and shattering and it's all fucking okay.
He's here in your arms and now you *can* breathe, and now you *can* focus, and now you *can* do everything else that you have to, need to do, because he's here and it's alright.
He's all right.
*
Life goes on...
And then it stops.
Deb talks straight through everything, riding back with you and your driver to the loft so you can pick up the ‘vette, sitting beside you in the passenger seat as you drive to the hospital, riding up the elevator to the emergency floor where they have Michael.
She stops talking after that.
Ben says they don't know anything yet, and so you all stand there and pace and wait.
(...they don't know anything, can't tell you anything, and you have no rights anyway, can't go in there and see him, you try and you scream and they threaten you with the cops and then you go out in the hallway and crumble to a bench and sit there, feeling each tear as it streams down your face and you hate yourself more with each one...)
You close your eyes and think of Justin, remember the feeling of his arms around your neck minutes - hours? - ago... console yourself again and again that he's okay, that he's not here because he's back at Babylon passing out water and blankets and helping, because that's what he does, that's the kind of person he is.
You wish he were here though, because you keep getting these crazy memories coming back into your head and you keep having to pinch yourself to remember that it's not that night, it's a completely different night. But you think of that night anyway, and you remember Michael coming to be here with you, to hold you up, to stop you from dying too. You remember Michael putting his life on hold so he could save yours and it hurts to think of it, remembering him here, remembering him being well and okay when he's not well and he's not okay right now and this night holds its own horrors and pain.
You put your hand on Ben's shoulder, you know what he's feeling, you've been there, you know the helplessness, the frustration, the fear, the sorrow, the worry and anxiety and desperation. He looks up at you, tight stare, and you feel close to him, feel a kinship with him and you hold onto his shoulder, keep that connection, pray together inside to God or whoever that they give Michael back to you.
And when the doctor finally comes and you finally have news and then you find out that you could help but they won't let you because you're queer, because there are stupid, ignorant laws, and stupid, ignorant people just like the ones you suspect caused all this to happen in the first place, when you find all that out and start to freak out, then get reality smashed in your face when they tell you the cancer's fucked your chance of helping anyway, the mortality and unfairness of it all makes you feel numb and sick and you don't have anything left to say here.
Later, you stand over Michael's bed and the three of you watch over him - his mother, his partner, his best friend. Mikey's holy trinity and you all pray and hope and hold your breath.
And you don't think about how maybe life won't go on here.
*
When there's nothing more you can do, when Michael's in surgery and you're all just waiting, you know you need to go back there, to go back to Justin.
There's something burning inside you, things are shifting and changing and coming together so quickly inside your head, your heart. Things are becoming so perfectly clear, so completely focused, and you know you have to see him and you know there are things you have to do. Need to do.
Want to do.
You get back there, to the ruins of Babylon and it's much quieter now. Ominous. No more screaming or alarms, just the silence of what happened. The night is cold and the wind has blown away most of the smoke, but still the wet stench of burnt wood hangs thick in air. There's no panic now, no frantic running. Just a slow walk with a heavy heart.
He's talking to someone, wearing a paramedic's jacket and then he looks over at you and you see that recognition again, and he comes over and this time you do pull him into your arms, you do hold him tightly against your chest, you do cling to him desperately, do feel his heart beating against yours.
(...he's so brave, you know he must be hurting, this must be so fucking hard for him, but still he's doing it, wrapping his arms around you, breaking you from your trance as you say back all the words of the nightmare that's been playing in your head since it happened... he holds you up, keeps you together, snaps you out of it, out of everything, and though it never felt more real, the fact that he's here with you, arms wrapped tightly around your back, lets you cope with it, deal with it, live with it...)
He presses his face into your shoulder and he feels cold and his hands push against your back and you can't believe it's been weeks since you've been with him, since you've touched him like this. You can't believe your life has gone on without having this in it every single second of every single day.
You realize there's no time to be wasted, no fucking around, no playing, no games, no emotions to hide. You tell him everything, tell him the truth and don't change a single thing.
And as each word tumbles out, each tear you swallow back, each wave of relief that passes through you that he's here, that he's okay... everything becomes sharper and clearer and then it all shifts and changes a final time to come together so completely.
The kaleidoscope of your life, with all its spinning colors, suddenly stops - everything falls into place and converges into this pure focused sensation, a single emotion in your heart, a complete and perfect feeling that defies all description... you only know it's been there along and yet it took this moment for it to all become so flawlessly clear.
You can and you will.
You do.
You pull him into your arms again, feel his hands come up around your back and when you press your lips to his ear and take a breath, nothing has ever seemed easier in your life. Nothing has ever seemed more important than this, right now.
So you say those words that somehow seem to sum up what it is you're feeling and though they can hardly do the emotion justice, you know it's all you've got right now. You gave those words power when you let them terrify you so long ago, you gave them power when you felt as though they would strangle you, weaken you.
But when you say them now, to him, you give them new power. You welcome this sensation, you feel like you can breathe, you feel strong. You discover a new clarity, a new sense of being.
You say those words against his face, into his ear...
I love you...
A quiet whisper against his skin, and he tenses and softens in your arms at the same time... the words hang in the air for moments and once said... you feel free.
You pull back and look at him, see the joy in his eyes, feel the light in your heart, your mind, your soul. He shines, glowing a thousand colors of love, and he smiles, laughs, gasps... you wish you could get back all the wasted time, the wasted words, the things you could've and should've and would've been saying if only you knew it would feel like this.
Would feel so good, so perfect, so beautifully real.
You forget everything, forget how you're supposed to feel, how you've been trying not to feel, and just... feel. His body pressed to yours, his arms around you, his breath against your face. You let him hold you, let yourself be held, and let out the breath you've been holding since you walked out that door so many weeks ago.
You feel like not one second has passed and yet a lifetime has.
He starts talking, looks anxious and young and his voice starts cracking and he tells you how scared he was, his eyes full and wet. His palm is hot on your neck, and he holds you tightly, hard against his chest, presses his face to yours, lips against your ear and he tells you...
You know what you heard, know what he said, know your heart leapt at the words and your eyes got itchy and your throat got tight and you know it meant everything in the whole fucking world. Those words, he said them. He said those words.
And you know they're just words.
But he said them.
And everything comes together.
He pulls away a little and you look at him and don't know what to say, you just try to remember how to breathe, you feel hot in your cheeks, and your toes go numb and you feel nothing else but his love.
He says it again, louder, clearer, more meaningful and though you'd always felt it, now you know it.
I love you...
You can't speak, your heart pounding so hard, your knees weak, your head light and you feel euphoric and in ecstasy, surrounded by darkness and chaos, but neither one of you can be touched by it because you have this.
You kiss him... hands on his face, his body against yours, his hands on your neck. He holds you so tightly, hard against his chest, capturing you up completely and you hold on to him back. You don't want to let go... of him, of this moment, of this feeling. This complete convergence of pandemonium and perfection, a culmination of four years of loving him, of your life.
(...you don't know what to expect, just know you're scared and nervous and embarrassed and excited and want it so much... more than anything you ever wanted... it's not just about the sex and the kissing, but it's about proving who you are and who you'll become and when you look into his eyes as he slides inside you, you know this man will always be a part of who you are, of your future, of your life, because you love him in this moment, and you know you always will...)
After minutes, hours, days, weeks... you pull apart reluctantly, but he doesn't stop touching you, his hand trailing down your back to your hand, then threading his fingers between yours and holding your hand tightly.
"C'mon," he says, pulling you towards the road, away from here, this place. "I'm taking you home."
You drop his hand for seconds to take off the downy paramedic's jacket they lent you and pass it back to an attendant. Then you're back with him, weaving your fingers together again, and he's got his jacket off and puts it around your shoulders, his arm around you tightly and you lean against his chest as you walk, letting him lead you to his car, letting him take you home.
You climb into the 'vette, the familiarity of it overwhelming you and he starts the engine and blasts the heater, but doesn't show any inclination of driving anywhere. Instead he stares at you for moments, then takes one of your cold hands between his, warming your fingers, rubbing his palms across your skin, and it feels intimate and soft and reassuring like when he'd massage your hand after you'd drawn too much and it cramped up.
You sit sideways in the smooth leather passenger seat, leaning against the headrest and you watch him, his concentrated movements. You feel so jumbled and then feel such clarity. Then you don't know what to feel and you don't know what to think, and so you just watch him... he's tender and slow and makes you feel safe.
(...he moves so slowly, kissing your face softly, pressing his naked body against yours, then turning you to lie on your side, whispering that it'll be easier that way, and you roll over, feel a little nervous, but when he presses against you, seeks a gentle entrance into your body, you sigh and relax and close your eyes and focus on his hand holding yours, his lips pressed to your neck, his soft whispers that you're okay, that you're beautiful, that you're brave, that you're amazing... and then he's inside you, and it's like the first time again, but not, there's no pain, only pleasure, only incredible, everlasting pleasure and a feeling of being home, of being safe, of being protected, and you want this moment, this time, to last forever...)
He takes your other hand and blows warmly on your fingers, then kisses your palm, and presses it against his face. You feel his stubble on your hand, and see the dark soot from your skin pass to his.
"You're getting dirty," you say it quietly, smiling a little.
He kisses your hand again. "Don't care," he whispers against your skin then reaches out to you, pulling you into his arms tightly.
The heater pushes hot dry air into the small interior of the car, the radio plays some slow song softly, your ears still ring from the blast, the car rumbles beneath you both, chugging and coughing as it idles. He leans his cheek against yours and breathes against your face, puts his hand up your shirt, presses skin to skin against your back. The smell of his jacket fills your nose... cologne, leather, cigarettes.
You feel like the two of you are a million miles away from this place. Somewhere else, somewhere peaceful and quiet and just for you and him. The confusion of the night seems far away and you feel like you're dreaming.
You wish you didn't have to wake up from this dream. You wish life didn't have to go on.
You wish you and he could stay here forever.
A split second and your life changed.
A split second and you realized that your life so fucking wasn't going on.
You were dying a slow death, slowly passing away, disappearing. You weren't living; you were barely breathing.
And now you feel alive again.
"Love you," you press your lips to his and say it again, against his mouth, and he kisses you and squeezes you hard. Those words feel so good to say, those words you should've uttered a million times before. Those words you so foolishly thought would end your life, and yet instead they've started it.
Your life has begun again. It's completely different and full of opportunity and hope and you want everything now. You want all the things you'd been missing these weeks, these months, these years. You want the things you denied yourself out of ignorance and fear.
You want everything, and you want it all with him.
Life goes on, but you know that yours won't until he's back in it.
*** *** *** *** ***