Treading (19/19)- Queer as Folk- NC17
Done! *collapses* Thank you to everyone who's been reading and commenting! *indiscriminate smooches*
TITLE: Treading (19/19)
AUTHOR: trickster_
FANDOM: Queer as Folk US
DISCLAIMER: They are all owned by Cowlip and Showtime and not me.
SUMMARY: You can go home again, but that doesn't mean it's easy.
RATING: Overall, NC-17. This part: R
CATEGORY: Drama, Romance
SPOILERS: Post 513
1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18
"Sunshine, how did I ever get along without you?"
"You didn't." (504)
*****
Justin sat on his bed, staring at the piece on the easel and thinking that he wouldn't try and finish it. Probably. When he'd started it, he was feeling unsure and worried and paranoid, and then came the phone call from the hospital and those feelings had turned into something else. The reds mixed and overlapped what had once been a pattern of blues and purples, and it wasn't what he intended it to be. And then he'd started packing, and then Brian was home, and he'd left this behind, half-finished.
Since New York, he'd been unable to leave anything half-finished because he'd lose all inspiration for it. He would sometimes be up all night if it meant he would get it exactly right. If he left in the middle of it, he was guaranteed to come back in a different mood. He couldn't recreate the thought or emotion that had gone into creating it. The colors would be darker or the strokes would be broader and it wasn't the same anymore. There were parts he liked, but overall it was a mess.
So Justin wasn't sure why he stood up, put down a dropcloth and started working on it again sometime around three in the morning. It wasn't going to be pretty, but he was curious as to how it would turn out.
He hadn't felt like doing much since leaving Brian, art-wise. Rage was easy, even if Michael had insisted that the drawings for the next issue were filled with "googly eyes." He'd somehow managed to finish the fucking kids' book, because he didn't need inspiration for it, unless a paycheck counted. Then there had been Eleanor's thankfully completed portrait. All of it had been for pay, not for fun or release or something to do. Except the sketch he gave Brian, anyway. Daphne said it was because Brian was his muse. He'd denied it, but was wondering if it wasn't at least a little true. Brian caused strong feelings in him, both good and bad, and Justin had to express that somehow. If he wasn't around, then...
Blue-reds fell onto the white spaces of the canvas, overlapping and intersecting the other colors. Justin frowned at it, knowing parts weren't going to look right, but why stop now.
Working for Eleanor had been educational, mainly because she loved to talk about all the mistakes everyone had made, and it was easy to see which pitfalls he wanted to avoid. He thought a lot about what she'd said, about achievements being the big things, and he'd come to the realization that Brian was his greatest achievement.
He'd never set out to change Brian. There were times he'd wished certain behaviors would change, or that their relationship could be a little more like something it was never meant to be, but that passed every time. He got over it, because those things meant not having Brian the way he was, and that was more important than any fleeting might have or could be. Justin tried to deal with the problems, tried to bridge the gap or meet him halfway, and if it didn't work, then it was time to start over again. Brian had never once protested to meeting halfway.
Change was natural, and unavoidable. Every day made you just a little bit different than you were the day before. Justin wasn't naive or falsely modest enough to say that any changes in Brian had nothing to do with him, but they happened because of him, not because he asked for it.
It had been almost twenty-four hours since Justin had slept. Blinking over sore eyes, he added light strokes of navy to the canvas, feathering the edges of the lines and drawing them into the dried area.
Their story wasn't exactly one for the ages. If Gus ever asked how they met, Justin hoped the details were at least filtered to something besides "I took this kid home, fucked him, and he stalked me until I loved him." The story made it all the more incredible that Justin could be here now, thinking back over ten years. Closing in on eleven now.
Justin had wondered off and on what it was that actually made this happen. What made Brian Kinney fall in love with him. He'd just been some stupid kid who didn't know when to quit. It didn't matter how it happened, though. It only mattered that it happened, and that it stuck. It mattered that Justin knew he was the only person who was ever going to know that tone in Brian's voice, or that touch, or what it was like to actually make love with him. Justin was the one who was going to love him completely, the good and the bad and especially the part no one else got to see.
The sun was streaming through the windows, making for odd lighting in combination with the floor lamp, and that was when Justin decided he was done. He finally collapsed into bed, wet paint still smeared on his hands.
*****
"No more Babylon for a while," Brian decided, flopping backwards onto the bed as soon as he was sure there was something underneath him. Everything was still spinning when he closed his eyes.
"I don't remember your natural response to getting propositioned being 'no', followed by getting drunker," Michael said, sitting beside him.
"I didn't say 'no,' I said 'fuck off.' Much more effective than 'no,'" Brian said. Michael had managed to get his shoes off before Brian realized what was happening, and he warned, "Clothes stay on. We're good here."
He'd survived a long fucking time on this sex-starvation diet, and he'd come very close to throwing it all away tonight. He'd known to stay away from the E when he was so tightly coiled, but he'd started drinking to loosen up, which had led to necking on the dance floor, which had led to Brian suddenly coming to his senses and pushing the guy away in the backroom before anything could actually happen. He didn't want to take the chance of doing something stupid now, like throwing himself at Michael, no matter how safe that was, so clothes stayed on. Everything. Getting more on would be a good idea.
Michael was quiet for a moment, then asked, "You're not sick, are you?"
Brian opened his eyes. "What?"
"You'd tell me if you relapsed, right? That's stupid. Of course you wouldn't. The last time I saw you reject guys like this was when you were sick."
Fuck. Struggling to prop himself up on his elbows, Brian said, "I'm not sick. I'm being stubborn. And stupid. But not sick."
"Then what's going on?" he asked. "You've been worrying me. I don't like being worried. I start sounding like my mom."
"Let's not have that," said Brian, letting himself hit the mattress again and laying an arm over his own face. "I'm okay."
"You fired Ted three times last week."
He wanted this conversation over. He wanted to crawl into bed and pass out and wake up with the world's worst hangover tomorrow. That would be nice. "So fucking what? He never fucking leaves. He didn't leave when I actually really fucking fired him, so now matter how many times I actually fucking fire him, he's going to be there. What does it matter how many fucking times I fire Theodore?"
"You're even biting off my head," Michael pointed out.
"If I was getting laid, I'd be nicer. Maybe."
Michael was staring at him when Brian's arm lurched back to his side. "Tell me I didn't just hear what I think I heard."
Brian tried to remember what it was he'd said, and was saved by the ringing of the phone. "Please?" he asked.
Michael got up to retrieve the phone, bringing it back to him. "It's Justin."
"Fuck," Brian said, and took the phone. "Hi."
"Glad to hear your voice, too," Justin said dryly. "What's up? You call and turn off your phone?"
"I called you?"
"Uh huh. I believe the message was something along the lines of 'I miss you, call me back, bitch.'"
Brian winced. He was reduced to drunken phone calls to exes. Ex. Singular. Probably did it right after leaving the trick on his knees in the backroom. "I'm trashed right now," he said, hoping it was an acceptable excuse. "Severely. Brain cells are jumping off cliffs."
"I can tell. You can't say your S's," Justin said.
"My S's are fine."
"Yesh, they are," Justin agreed. "Did you want to do the drunken declarations of undying love now, or should I call you tomorrow?"
"Go to hell," Brian said. "No, wait. Two days."
Justin paused. "What?"
"Can't talk to you for two more days. Call me on day three."
"I know you're drunk, but are you okay?"
"Three days," Brian repeated, and hung up. Couldn't see him for three days, either. Seeing Justin led to making out with Justin, and making out with Justin led to Brian being even more sexually frustrated than he had been. And that was fucking saying something.
Michael took the phone back from him. "What the fuck, Brian."
"Shut up."
"I could show you the next issue of Rage we're putting out. It's all googly eyes. I told him he should just draw little lines of hearts between Rage and JT instead of adding subtext. Just tell him you love him and fucking fix it."
Brian glared at him. People liked assuming he hadn't told Justin that already. They could think whatever the fuck they wanted. He wasn't admitting anything. It was personal. Those words were meant for Justin, not everyone else. "I'm not doing this when I'm drunk," he said.
"You don't do this when you're sober, either," Michael countered.
Brian smiled. "You're learning."
*****
He was flipping channels when the door slid open. Most people at least knocked, and he had been expecting this, so Brian turned off the TV.
"Three days," Justin said with a little smile. He was holding a painting, but at an angle so that Brian couldn't see it. "I brought you something."
Brian stood and walked over to him. "And it's not even my birthday."
"Not for long, old man. You're running out of days to kill yourself."
"Don't remind me." When Brian got a good look at the painting, he bit the inside of his cheek and said, "Wow."
Justin grinned. "Isn't it horrific?"
"I was thinking more 'fucking ugly,' but yeah," he said honestly.
"I knew it was going to be a huge mess, but..." He shrugged. "One entire half of it had been dry for so long, it really wasn't a good start." He paused, then reached to Brian's waist and undid the button of his jeans. At Brian's confused look, Justin shrugged again and said, "I like it better that way. So I've started looking for a new job."
Brian hoped he didn't look as startled as he felt. First he took the last of his things away, and now he was quitting. That was disheartening. "Really."
Justin nodded. "Something in the same field, though. At least until I can clear the rest of my debts and live off the Rage profits," he said. "You spend all your time with someone and... I don't want to freak myself out. I'm trading one thing for another."
Brian frowned.
"I brought my stuff back," Justin said.
Yes.
Brian looked around him into the hall, and put the painting down against the wall. "That's a lot of stuff," he said.
"As much as I could carry myself."
"What makes you think the offer still stands?" Brian asked.
Justin looked pretty confident when he said, "Wishful thinking."
It was possible to play with him. But Justin would know better. And they were done playing.
Brian stepped close to him, saw the corners of his lips turn up in the beginnings of a smile, and kissed him. This time, he didn't have to stop.
He slid his tongue between Justin's lips and let it tangle with his, hands wandering over him, under his shirt, against his chest, unbuttoning his jeans to feel him through his underwear. Justin's hands wound up in Brian's hair, sliding roughly down the back of his neck, hips bucking reflexively as Brian stroked him. It felt impossible to stop kissing Justin, touching him, feeling him... This was it, this was perfect, they fucking lived for this. He couldn't stop dragging his tongue over his neck and throat, and when the shirt covered more than he would like, that came off. Bending at the knees, Brian let his mouth close around Justin's nipple, teasing it, and Justin stretched upwards, arching his back, and fuck if foreplay wasn't going to do them both in.
Hooking his fingers through Justin's belt loops, Brian pulled him into the bedroom, allowing them just enough time to strip each other of most of their clothing before shoving him onto the bed. Brian pinned Justin's wrists together above his head, kissing his torso and sliding his free hand under the fabric of Justin's underwear to pull them off.
He slid back up Justin's body, letting him attack his neck and chest with kisses and licks and gentle bites. Brian closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and then Justin's mouth was much lower, causing Brian to make a noise embarrassingly close to a whimper. It would all be over soon if Justin didn't stop, so Brian slid his hand against Justin's cheek, forcing him to look up. He got the point, and kissed Brian again, letting himself be rolled onto his back.
Justin reached over for a condom, but Brian knocked his hand away. "What?" Justin asked, looking surprised, or maybe worried.
Mouth next to Justin's ear, he said, "I don't need it."
Justin pulled back, staring at him blankly before realization dawned. "Wait..."
Brian smiled triumphantly. "Day three was me getting tested," he said. "Negative for every fucking thing."
"Oh my God," Justin said, jaw dropped. "You actually... You're telling me... Oh my God."
Brian kissed him again, but Justin ended it quickly, saying, "Um."
"What? Tell me you got tested," Brian said.
"Yeah, like usual," he said.
"And everything's okay?"
"Yeah. But... Um."
"Um?"
"Um."
Brian stared at him. "You're fucking kidding me."
"I thought you'd be fucking the first thing you saw as soon as we broke up!" Justin protested.
Brian stared at him.
"If I thought you were still serious..."
Brian stared at him.
"Sorry."
"Oh my God," Brian said, dropping his head onto Justin's shoulder. He'd known it was a possibility, but Jesus fucking Christ.
"You love me so much," Justin said.
"Not any fucking more I don't! I was fucking celibate for two fucking months, Justin. This," he said, holding up his right hand, "was my sex life for two fucking God damn months-"
"Brian," Justin said, smiling.
"What."
"I'm messing with you."
Brian stared at him.
Justin grinned.
He was both relieved and wanted to kill him. "I fucking hate you," he half-laughed.
"No, you don't. You really did it?" asked Justin.
"Yes. You are fucking evil," he said, addressing Justin's throat, grazing his Adam's apple with his teeth.
They were actually going to do this.
Brian raised himself up on his arms, grabbing a condom and dangling it from his fingers. He took a deep breath, feeling his heart pounding hard against his ribs. "In all seriousness- and you are fucking paying for that... do we need this?"
Justin smiled again and shook his head. "No."
*****
Life wasn't weird, or funny, or cruel, or good. It was none of those things. It was all of those things at once. It was a balance. A rhythm that no one will ever really be able to understand. It was exhilarating highs and crushing lows, and it was easy to mistake the moments in between as being mediocre or ordinary even when they weren't. They were moments that could become a high or a low at any given second, especially if you knew how to turn them the right way.
Life was nothing, if not potential.
END
*is lynched for the fade-to-black*
TITLE: Treading (19/19)
AUTHOR: trickster_
FANDOM: Queer as Folk US
DISCLAIMER: They are all owned by Cowlip and Showtime and not me.
SUMMARY: You can go home again, but that doesn't mean it's easy.
RATING: Overall, NC-17. This part: R
CATEGORY: Drama, Romance
SPOILERS: Post 513
1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18
"Sunshine, how did I ever get along without you?"
"You didn't." (504)
*****
Justin sat on his bed, staring at the piece on the easel and thinking that he wouldn't try and finish it. Probably. When he'd started it, he was feeling unsure and worried and paranoid, and then came the phone call from the hospital and those feelings had turned into something else. The reds mixed and overlapped what had once been a pattern of blues and purples, and it wasn't what he intended it to be. And then he'd started packing, and then Brian was home, and he'd left this behind, half-finished.
Since New York, he'd been unable to leave anything half-finished because he'd lose all inspiration for it. He would sometimes be up all night if it meant he would get it exactly right. If he left in the middle of it, he was guaranteed to come back in a different mood. He couldn't recreate the thought or emotion that had gone into creating it. The colors would be darker or the strokes would be broader and it wasn't the same anymore. There were parts he liked, but overall it was a mess.
So Justin wasn't sure why he stood up, put down a dropcloth and started working on it again sometime around three in the morning. It wasn't going to be pretty, but he was curious as to how it would turn out.
He hadn't felt like doing much since leaving Brian, art-wise. Rage was easy, even if Michael had insisted that the drawings for the next issue were filled with "googly eyes." He'd somehow managed to finish the fucking kids' book, because he didn't need inspiration for it, unless a paycheck counted. Then there had been Eleanor's thankfully completed portrait. All of it had been for pay, not for fun or release or something to do. Except the sketch he gave Brian, anyway. Daphne said it was because Brian was his muse. He'd denied it, but was wondering if it wasn't at least a little true. Brian caused strong feelings in him, both good and bad, and Justin had to express that somehow. If he wasn't around, then...
Blue-reds fell onto the white spaces of the canvas, overlapping and intersecting the other colors. Justin frowned at it, knowing parts weren't going to look right, but why stop now.
Working for Eleanor had been educational, mainly because she loved to talk about all the mistakes everyone had made, and it was easy to see which pitfalls he wanted to avoid. He thought a lot about what she'd said, about achievements being the big things, and he'd come to the realization that Brian was his greatest achievement.
He'd never set out to change Brian. There were times he'd wished certain behaviors would change, or that their relationship could be a little more like something it was never meant to be, but that passed every time. He got over it, because those things meant not having Brian the way he was, and that was more important than any fleeting might have or could be. Justin tried to deal with the problems, tried to bridge the gap or meet him halfway, and if it didn't work, then it was time to start over again. Brian had never once protested to meeting halfway.
Change was natural, and unavoidable. Every day made you just a little bit different than you were the day before. Justin wasn't naive or falsely modest enough to say that any changes in Brian had nothing to do with him, but they happened because of him, not because he asked for it.
It had been almost twenty-four hours since Justin had slept. Blinking over sore eyes, he added light strokes of navy to the canvas, feathering the edges of the lines and drawing them into the dried area.
Their story wasn't exactly one for the ages. If Gus ever asked how they met, Justin hoped the details were at least filtered to something besides "I took this kid home, fucked him, and he stalked me until I loved him." The story made it all the more incredible that Justin could be here now, thinking back over ten years. Closing in on eleven now.
Justin had wondered off and on what it was that actually made this happen. What made Brian Kinney fall in love with him. He'd just been some stupid kid who didn't know when to quit. It didn't matter how it happened, though. It only mattered that it happened, and that it stuck. It mattered that Justin knew he was the only person who was ever going to know that tone in Brian's voice, or that touch, or what it was like to actually make love with him. Justin was the one who was going to love him completely, the good and the bad and especially the part no one else got to see.
The sun was streaming through the windows, making for odd lighting in combination with the floor lamp, and that was when Justin decided he was done. He finally collapsed into bed, wet paint still smeared on his hands.
*****
"No more Babylon for a while," Brian decided, flopping backwards onto the bed as soon as he was sure there was something underneath him. Everything was still spinning when he closed his eyes.
"I don't remember your natural response to getting propositioned being 'no', followed by getting drunker," Michael said, sitting beside him.
"I didn't say 'no,' I said 'fuck off.' Much more effective than 'no,'" Brian said. Michael had managed to get his shoes off before Brian realized what was happening, and he warned, "Clothes stay on. We're good here."
He'd survived a long fucking time on this sex-starvation diet, and he'd come very close to throwing it all away tonight. He'd known to stay away from the E when he was so tightly coiled, but he'd started drinking to loosen up, which had led to necking on the dance floor, which had led to Brian suddenly coming to his senses and pushing the guy away in the backroom before anything could actually happen. He didn't want to take the chance of doing something stupid now, like throwing himself at Michael, no matter how safe that was, so clothes stayed on. Everything. Getting more on would be a good idea.
Michael was quiet for a moment, then asked, "You're not sick, are you?"
Brian opened his eyes. "What?"
"You'd tell me if you relapsed, right? That's stupid. Of course you wouldn't. The last time I saw you reject guys like this was when you were sick."
Fuck. Struggling to prop himself up on his elbows, Brian said, "I'm not sick. I'm being stubborn. And stupid. But not sick."
"Then what's going on?" he asked. "You've been worrying me. I don't like being worried. I start sounding like my mom."
"Let's not have that," said Brian, letting himself hit the mattress again and laying an arm over his own face. "I'm okay."
"You fired Ted three times last week."
He wanted this conversation over. He wanted to crawl into bed and pass out and wake up with the world's worst hangover tomorrow. That would be nice. "So fucking what? He never fucking leaves. He didn't leave when I actually really fucking fired him, so now matter how many times I actually fucking fire him, he's going to be there. What does it matter how many fucking times I fire Theodore?"
"You're even biting off my head," Michael pointed out.
"If I was getting laid, I'd be nicer. Maybe."
Michael was staring at him when Brian's arm lurched back to his side. "Tell me I didn't just hear what I think I heard."
Brian tried to remember what it was he'd said, and was saved by the ringing of the phone. "Please?" he asked.
Michael got up to retrieve the phone, bringing it back to him. "It's Justin."
"Fuck," Brian said, and took the phone. "Hi."
"Glad to hear your voice, too," Justin said dryly. "What's up? You call and turn off your phone?"
"I called you?"
"Uh huh. I believe the message was something along the lines of 'I miss you, call me back, bitch.'"
Brian winced. He was reduced to drunken phone calls to exes. Ex. Singular. Probably did it right after leaving the trick on his knees in the backroom. "I'm trashed right now," he said, hoping it was an acceptable excuse. "Severely. Brain cells are jumping off cliffs."
"I can tell. You can't say your S's," Justin said.
"My S's are fine."
"Yesh, they are," Justin agreed. "Did you want to do the drunken declarations of undying love now, or should I call you tomorrow?"
"Go to hell," Brian said. "No, wait. Two days."
Justin paused. "What?"
"Can't talk to you for two more days. Call me on day three."
"I know you're drunk, but are you okay?"
"Three days," Brian repeated, and hung up. Couldn't see him for three days, either. Seeing Justin led to making out with Justin, and making out with Justin led to Brian being even more sexually frustrated than he had been. And that was fucking saying something.
Michael took the phone back from him. "What the fuck, Brian."
"Shut up."
"I could show you the next issue of Rage we're putting out. It's all googly eyes. I told him he should just draw little lines of hearts between Rage and JT instead of adding subtext. Just tell him you love him and fucking fix it."
Brian glared at him. People liked assuming he hadn't told Justin that already. They could think whatever the fuck they wanted. He wasn't admitting anything. It was personal. Those words were meant for Justin, not everyone else. "I'm not doing this when I'm drunk," he said.
"You don't do this when you're sober, either," Michael countered.
Brian smiled. "You're learning."
*****
He was flipping channels when the door slid open. Most people at least knocked, and he had been expecting this, so Brian turned off the TV.
"Three days," Justin said with a little smile. He was holding a painting, but at an angle so that Brian couldn't see it. "I brought you something."
Brian stood and walked over to him. "And it's not even my birthday."
"Not for long, old man. You're running out of days to kill yourself."
"Don't remind me." When Brian got a good look at the painting, he bit the inside of his cheek and said, "Wow."
Justin grinned. "Isn't it horrific?"
"I was thinking more 'fucking ugly,' but yeah," he said honestly.
"I knew it was going to be a huge mess, but..." He shrugged. "One entire half of it had been dry for so long, it really wasn't a good start." He paused, then reached to Brian's waist and undid the button of his jeans. At Brian's confused look, Justin shrugged again and said, "I like it better that way. So I've started looking for a new job."
Brian hoped he didn't look as startled as he felt. First he took the last of his things away, and now he was quitting. That was disheartening. "Really."
Justin nodded. "Something in the same field, though. At least until I can clear the rest of my debts and live off the Rage profits," he said. "You spend all your time with someone and... I don't want to freak myself out. I'm trading one thing for another."
Brian frowned.
"I brought my stuff back," Justin said.
Yes.
Brian looked around him into the hall, and put the painting down against the wall. "That's a lot of stuff," he said.
"As much as I could carry myself."
"What makes you think the offer still stands?" Brian asked.
Justin looked pretty confident when he said, "Wishful thinking."
It was possible to play with him. But Justin would know better. And they were done playing.
Brian stepped close to him, saw the corners of his lips turn up in the beginnings of a smile, and kissed him. This time, he didn't have to stop.
He slid his tongue between Justin's lips and let it tangle with his, hands wandering over him, under his shirt, against his chest, unbuttoning his jeans to feel him through his underwear. Justin's hands wound up in Brian's hair, sliding roughly down the back of his neck, hips bucking reflexively as Brian stroked him. It felt impossible to stop kissing Justin, touching him, feeling him... This was it, this was perfect, they fucking lived for this. He couldn't stop dragging his tongue over his neck and throat, and when the shirt covered more than he would like, that came off. Bending at the knees, Brian let his mouth close around Justin's nipple, teasing it, and Justin stretched upwards, arching his back, and fuck if foreplay wasn't going to do them both in.
Hooking his fingers through Justin's belt loops, Brian pulled him into the bedroom, allowing them just enough time to strip each other of most of their clothing before shoving him onto the bed. Brian pinned Justin's wrists together above his head, kissing his torso and sliding his free hand under the fabric of Justin's underwear to pull them off.
He slid back up Justin's body, letting him attack his neck and chest with kisses and licks and gentle bites. Brian closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and then Justin's mouth was much lower, causing Brian to make a noise embarrassingly close to a whimper. It would all be over soon if Justin didn't stop, so Brian slid his hand against Justin's cheek, forcing him to look up. He got the point, and kissed Brian again, letting himself be rolled onto his back.
Justin reached over for a condom, but Brian knocked his hand away. "What?" Justin asked, looking surprised, or maybe worried.
Mouth next to Justin's ear, he said, "I don't need it."
Justin pulled back, staring at him blankly before realization dawned. "Wait..."
Brian smiled triumphantly. "Day three was me getting tested," he said. "Negative for every fucking thing."
"Oh my God," Justin said, jaw dropped. "You actually... You're telling me... Oh my God."
Brian kissed him again, but Justin ended it quickly, saying, "Um."
"What? Tell me you got tested," Brian said.
"Yeah, like usual," he said.
"And everything's okay?"
"Yeah. But... Um."
"Um?"
"Um."
Brian stared at him. "You're fucking kidding me."
"I thought you'd be fucking the first thing you saw as soon as we broke up!" Justin protested.
Brian stared at him.
"If I thought you were still serious..."
Brian stared at him.
"Sorry."
"Oh my God," Brian said, dropping his head onto Justin's shoulder. He'd known it was a possibility, but Jesus fucking Christ.
"You love me so much," Justin said.
"Not any fucking more I don't! I was fucking celibate for two fucking months, Justin. This," he said, holding up his right hand, "was my sex life for two fucking God damn months-"
"Brian," Justin said, smiling.
"What."
"I'm messing with you."
Brian stared at him.
Justin grinned.
He was both relieved and wanted to kill him. "I fucking hate you," he half-laughed.
"No, you don't. You really did it?" asked Justin.
"Yes. You are fucking evil," he said, addressing Justin's throat, grazing his Adam's apple with his teeth.
They were actually going to do this.
Brian raised himself up on his arms, grabbing a condom and dangling it from his fingers. He took a deep breath, feeling his heart pounding hard against his ribs. "In all seriousness- and you are fucking paying for that... do we need this?"
Justin smiled again and shook his head. "No."
*****
Life wasn't weird, or funny, or cruel, or good. It was none of those things. It was all of those things at once. It was a balance. A rhythm that no one will ever really be able to understand. It was exhilarating highs and crushing lows, and it was easy to mistake the moments in between as being mediocre or ordinary even when they weren't. They were moments that could become a high or a low at any given second, especially if you knew how to turn them the right way.
Life was nothing, if not potential.
END
*is lynched for the fade-to-black*