New Fic: INCENDIARY
Title: Incendiary
Author: Kimberleyqaf
Pairing: Brian and Justin
Rating: Adults Only
Warnings: Angst
Summary: A dramatic event results in some much-needed reflection. Possible spoilers to the end of Season Four. Set after Justin gets back from L.A., but ignoring anything else that happened in canon Season Five.
INCENDIARY
by Kimberleyqaf
Chapter One
Pushing the button for the elevator, I have to bite back a groan as absolutely nothing happens. Guess I’ll have to take the stairs. Again. I begin my ascent, each footfall accompanied by a muttered curse as my tired feet protest the unnecessary toil.
God
Damned
Fucking
Old
Fucking
Building
I mean, Jesus, this is the third time this month? Or is it the fourth? Last month wasn’t much better. How hard can it be to maintain an elevator that goes a maximum of six fucking floors a few times a day? Christ. Do you think people have to take the stairs to the top of the fucking Empire State Building three or four times a month?
Not
Fucking
Likely
I find myself amused by my internal monologue. No doubt a sign of how tired I actually am. I round the landing between the second and third floors and start up again.
Fucking
Lazy
Fat
Bastard
Superintendent
Wow. Got two steps out of that last one. In my current mood, I’m inclined to believe him unworthy of two steps. For some reason, he doesn’t seem to like me much. I’ve tried being pleasant, only to receive a disdainful glare or a miserable sneer in response. Not sure why, exactly. Maybe he had his sights set on Brian and resents my presence as a permanent fixture in this broken down, decrepit building. I snort a tired laugh at that. The guy’s as ugly as they come, about a hundred pounds overweight and constantly smells like he’s just finished consuming the entire contents of Pauli’s Polish Deli. Brian would never have given him a second glance - or a first one, for that matter - even if I wasn’t in the picture. He does listen to Brian, though. Hangs on his every word and quickly scurries off to take care of whatever’s given his favourite tenant cause to complain.
Fucking
Kiss
Ass
Sonofabitch
Cool. Two steps on that one, too. Probably could have made it four if I’d separated the words. Oh well, two’s all he gets. All he deserves. At least this one suits him.
God
How
Fucking
Much
Further
I look up to see the fifth floor landing in view and find my spirits lifting a little. A floor and a half and I’ll be home. With Brian. Damned if my feet don’t pick up the pace of their own accord at that thought. Maybe they’re anticipating one of Brian’s decadent foot rubs. They don’t get them often, but when they do, they practically purr from the attention. Or maybe that’s me doing the purring. My feet have more restraint than that. At any rate, they know enough to appreciate it. Brian Kinney doesn’t rub just anybody’s feet. And mine only after shit days like today.
Fucking
Shit
Long
Hot
Fucking
Frustrating
Days
I’m just deciding I need new material when I find myself mere steps away from the loft door. About fucking time. The diner was like an oven and the stairwell was even worse. I can’t wait to get inside where I can strip off every sticky bit of clothing and let the air conditioning have its wicked way with me.
It takes my tired mind only a second to register the searing pain in my hand and I pull it back from the door handle in confusion, looking down at my already reddening fingers. What the fuck?
Hot. Really fucking hot.
I tentatively reach for it again, as though to deny what my tactile senses are telling me, hissing as they’re proven right. “Fuck!” Panic starts to set in as my brain finally comprehends that the odor invading my nostrils isn’t lingering remnants of the pink plate special.
Smoke.
“Brian!” I yell through the door, quickly dropping my bag and whipping off my t-shirt. I wrap it around my hand and try the handle again. Fuck. It’s locked. “Brian!!” I barely recognize my own voice, as laced as it is with fear and desperation. Brian was working at the loft tonight. He knew what time I’d be getting home. He’d only lock the door if he went to bed. He could be sleeping, totally oblivious to what’s going on out here. To what’s obviously going on in there.
The key is in my hand before I even realize it and the lock slides back. I’m pushing the door open with my covered hand, ignoring the fact that the thin material is little protection against the searing hot metal. “Brian!” I cry out, horrified by the sight of the smoke, the telltale orange glow that’s eerily lighting the room. My eyes strain to see toward the bedroom, a strangled gasp escaping my throat as I see the dancing red figures muted by the frosted panes.
I take two steps forward and stagger back one as a wave of heat and smoke engulfs me. “Brian…” In my head, it’s the loudest scream the world has ever heard, loud enough to wake him up, to alert him to the danger, to get him to safety before it’s too late.
To my ears, however, it’s nothing more than a choking gasp. I need to do better. I need him to hear me. I take a deep breath, my lungs expecting much better than the toxic fumes they inevitably get. Chest ready to explode. Head swimming. Knees weak. “Brian.”
From what seems like a million miles away, I hear my name being called, feel the hardwood against my cheek, smell… pastrami … no, no … salami. Yeah, salami. Burning salami.
Who the fuck burns fucking salami?
“Mr. Taylor!” Closer now. Hands pulling on my lower legs, dragging me across the floor, away from the smoke, away from the dancing flames.
Away from Brian.
“No!” I choke. “Brian!”
I try to struggle, but to no avail. My fingers find no purchase on the smooth surface of the polished wood. With every ounce of energy at my disposal, I let out an earsplitting scream that surely must be heard outside of my own head, Hell, outside the loft, the building, the whole fucking city.
“BRIAN!!”
The ominous sound of the fire is the only response I receive. Crackling, popping, hissing. Mocking me. Daring me to try to stop them from devouring anything that’s within their reach.
Or anyone.
And then…
“NOOOOOOOOO!!!”
An inhuman voice rents the thick, suffocating air.
Mercifully or not, unconsciousness claims me before I’m forced to acknowledge that it’s my own.
Continue to Chapter Two
Author: Kimberleyqaf
Pairing: Brian and Justin
Rating: Adults Only
Warnings: Angst
Summary: A dramatic event results in some much-needed reflection. Possible spoilers to the end of Season Four. Set after Justin gets back from L.A., but ignoring anything else that happened in canon Season Five.
INCENDIARY
by Kimberleyqaf
Chapter One
Pushing the button for the elevator, I have to bite back a groan as absolutely nothing happens. Guess I’ll have to take the stairs. Again. I begin my ascent, each footfall accompanied by a muttered curse as my tired feet protest the unnecessary toil.
God
Damned
Fucking
Old
Fucking
Building
I mean, Jesus, this is the third time this month? Or is it the fourth? Last month wasn’t much better. How hard can it be to maintain an elevator that goes a maximum of six fucking floors a few times a day? Christ. Do you think people have to take the stairs to the top of the fucking Empire State Building three or four times a month?
Not
Fucking
Likely
I find myself amused by my internal monologue. No doubt a sign of how tired I actually am. I round the landing between the second and third floors and start up again.
Fucking
Lazy
Fat
Bastard
Superintendent
Wow. Got two steps out of that last one. In my current mood, I’m inclined to believe him unworthy of two steps. For some reason, he doesn’t seem to like me much. I’ve tried being pleasant, only to receive a disdainful glare or a miserable sneer in response. Not sure why, exactly. Maybe he had his sights set on Brian and resents my presence as a permanent fixture in this broken down, decrepit building. I snort a tired laugh at that. The guy’s as ugly as they come, about a hundred pounds overweight and constantly smells like he’s just finished consuming the entire contents of Pauli’s Polish Deli. Brian would never have given him a second glance - or a first one, for that matter - even if I wasn’t in the picture. He does listen to Brian, though. Hangs on his every word and quickly scurries off to take care of whatever’s given his favourite tenant cause to complain.
Fucking
Kiss
Ass
Sonofabitch
Cool. Two steps on that one, too. Probably could have made it four if I’d separated the words. Oh well, two’s all he gets. All he deserves. At least this one suits him.
God
How
Fucking
Much
Further
I look up to see the fifth floor landing in view and find my spirits lifting a little. A floor and a half and I’ll be home. With Brian. Damned if my feet don’t pick up the pace of their own accord at that thought. Maybe they’re anticipating one of Brian’s decadent foot rubs. They don’t get them often, but when they do, they practically purr from the attention. Or maybe that’s me doing the purring. My feet have more restraint than that. At any rate, they know enough to appreciate it. Brian Kinney doesn’t rub just anybody’s feet. And mine only after shit days like today.
Fucking
Shit
Long
Hot
Fucking
Frustrating
Days
I’m just deciding I need new material when I find myself mere steps away from the loft door. About fucking time. The diner was like an oven and the stairwell was even worse. I can’t wait to get inside where I can strip off every sticky bit of clothing and let the air conditioning have its wicked way with me.
It takes my tired mind only a second to register the searing pain in my hand and I pull it back from the door handle in confusion, looking down at my already reddening fingers. What the fuck?
Hot. Really fucking hot.
I tentatively reach for it again, as though to deny what my tactile senses are telling me, hissing as they’re proven right. “Fuck!” Panic starts to set in as my brain finally comprehends that the odor invading my nostrils isn’t lingering remnants of the pink plate special.
Smoke.
“Brian!” I yell through the door, quickly dropping my bag and whipping off my t-shirt. I wrap it around my hand and try the handle again. Fuck. It’s locked. “Brian!!” I barely recognize my own voice, as laced as it is with fear and desperation. Brian was working at the loft tonight. He knew what time I’d be getting home. He’d only lock the door if he went to bed. He could be sleeping, totally oblivious to what’s going on out here. To what’s obviously going on in there.
The key is in my hand before I even realize it and the lock slides back. I’m pushing the door open with my covered hand, ignoring the fact that the thin material is little protection against the searing hot metal. “Brian!” I cry out, horrified by the sight of the smoke, the telltale orange glow that’s eerily lighting the room. My eyes strain to see toward the bedroom, a strangled gasp escaping my throat as I see the dancing red figures muted by the frosted panes.
I take two steps forward and stagger back one as a wave of heat and smoke engulfs me. “Brian…” In my head, it’s the loudest scream the world has ever heard, loud enough to wake him up, to alert him to the danger, to get him to safety before it’s too late.
To my ears, however, it’s nothing more than a choking gasp. I need to do better. I need him to hear me. I take a deep breath, my lungs expecting much better than the toxic fumes they inevitably get. Chest ready to explode. Head swimming. Knees weak. “Brian.”
From what seems like a million miles away, I hear my name being called, feel the hardwood against my cheek, smell… pastrami … no, no … salami. Yeah, salami. Burning salami.
Who the fuck burns fucking salami?
“Mr. Taylor!” Closer now. Hands pulling on my lower legs, dragging me across the floor, away from the smoke, away from the dancing flames.
Away from Brian.
“No!” I choke. “Brian!”
I try to struggle, but to no avail. My fingers find no purchase on the smooth surface of the polished wood. With every ounce of energy at my disposal, I let out an earsplitting scream that surely must be heard outside of my own head, Hell, outside the loft, the building, the whole fucking city.
“BRIAN!!”
The ominous sound of the fire is the only response I receive. Crackling, popping, hissing. Mocking me. Daring me to try to stop them from devouring anything that’s within their reach.
Or anyone.
And then…
“NOOOOOOOOO!!!”
An inhuman voice rents the thick, suffocating air.
Mercifully or not, unconsciousness claims me before I’m forced to acknowledge that it’s my own.
Continue to Chapter Two