FIC: Violent Delights (1/2, FRAGMENTS!VERSE)
Title: Violet Delights
Fandom: Queer As Folk (Brian/Justin)
Rating: R/M (for language, violence, sexual situations including references to light bondage... if you've seen the show, you're good)
Category: Drama/angst/romance
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I any way affiliated with the characters, actors, or production company that were part of Queer As Folk. I am however the owner of the characters and places you do not recognize (e.g. Rae, Sphinx, Cleopatra's).
Timeline: Three months post-Fragments.
Summary: While in New York with Rae, Justin remembers the day that he remembered it all, before going home to Brian.
Part of my Fragments universe.
When the opportunity came up for Rae to be a background dancer in some upcoming musical by Adam Shankman, I knew I had to go with her to New York. After all, she’d packed up her life and moved to Pittsburgh for me not too long ago. Spending a week back in the Big Apple was hardly making up for it, plus I sort of missed our old friends. The occasional three day weekend trip was nice, but barely enough to get through when you’d seen them daily for four or five years, depending on the friend.
The only downside to the trip was missing Brian’s 40th birthday (something he was probably grateful for, seeing as 30 went fucking fabulously) and the 10th anniversary of prom.
We only talked on the first one that I was in New York. Later, I was told by Ben that he’d check in on me through him or Mel or someone else that he could casually bring it up with. Probably some sort of backhanded comment that made him seem callous and look like an asshole so that people would get riled up and spill exactly what he wanted to know. That I was okay, that I was surviving without him. Which was a big fucking lie. But even I believed the lie.
The thing that sealed it was the second anniversary, when he didn’t even fucking acknowledge me on that (or any of the other after that) anniversary of prom. I was so mad at him, but I never called him. Well… I got shit-faced and called him. It went to answering machine and I never got one word back, even though I knew, I knew, he was at the loft that night. He’d be doing everything he did every other anniversary: smoking as many spliffs as he could and draining his supply of Beam until he passed out and could sleep it all off the next day. His pain management for that day.
I couldn’t even stomach calling him when I remembered. When I finally fucking remembered prom.
Rae was dancing with an imaginary partner when I entered the apartment. Twirling effortlessly with her arms framed in front of her, sweat perspiring on her forehead. I wasn’t sure why she was practicing a ballroom move, I still don’t know. But she was humming some ridiculous old song, and I couldn’t help but smile.
Giving her a wave, I had plopped my belongings down on the floor next to the table and watched her for a moment. She was slightly winded, tossing a wink at me as she waltzed by. I was dreading what I had to tell her, hated that I was going to have to tell her the sale had fallen through on a painting and that I didn’t have the extra two hundred for the rent.
I sighed, head hanging in shame as I turned to leave the room. That’s when her voice, disjointed from the turns and twirls she was putting in around the apartment, hit me like a ton of bricks.
Don’t forget who’s taking you home
And in whose arms you’re gonna be
My head throbbed viciously, worse than I was used to even after hours and hours on end in front of glaring windows and taunting blank canvas, as an image shoved itself into my brain. Brian swinging around in front of me, cement grey and banana yellow paint spinning behind his smiling face. A parking garage.
Did you see their faces!
I felt my body thud against something, realizing belatedly that I had collapsed against the wall, a picture shaking from its hanging as my hands reached up to my temples too late to brace myself for another force fed image. Twirling around a dance floor, cleared especially for me and him, Daphne grinning like a fool in the background as a song -- ridiculously romantic his voice echoed -- played throughout the hall.
Yeah, we gave them a prom they’ll never forget.
“Justin!” Rae cried out, but it distorted, melding with a scared voice just before a sound sliced the air. Like the sound of a baseball flying out of one of those cannons that baseball players used to practice. Ploom.
Me neither.
Her hands grasped at me, but I barely registered them. I felt like I was back there, lying on the ground, liquid coating my face and slipping into my mouth and eyes, bitter copper, as consciousness ebbed away entirely. Echoes repeating no over and over as he pulled at my body.
“God!” I cried out just as he did, voice cracking around the plea.
Even if it was ridiculously romantic.
Before, all those years ago at Gus’s first birthday, I’d had quick cuts like a projector malfunction. But now… now…
Save the last dance for me.
I marveled, even as the pain intensified, at how when he dipped me back, my hair didn’t move a spec. That brought up another image of descending stairs, Emmett presenting me to Vic, Debbie, my mother, Mel and Lindsay. The Munchers wanting to take a bite out of me, fucking beautiful baby, Emmett simpered in front of the mirror, kissing me on the temple. If Brian wasn’t lucky enough to already have you, and I weren’t such a nelly bottom, I’d eat you right up, sugar!
As I came out of it, still highly disoriented with Rae freaking out next to me, I crawled to my bag, fumbling for my phone. Someone. I needed someone from the Pitts that would understand this monumental moment. Someone who I trusted. Someone that wouldn’t tell him if I asked them not to.
“Em…” I whimpered into the phone, immediately scaring the flamboyant party planner, “I remember. I finally remember everything.”
It’d been Emmett I’d called. Two years ago. I still haven’t told Brian that I remember more of the night. More of the dance, the whole parking garage, getting ready at Debbie’s. It honestly hadn’t occurred to me to tell him, what with coming to terms with being shot, moving home, reuniting with the entire fucked up family, picking my shooter out of a line-up, getting back together non-conventionally with Brian and then going through a trial. Guess it slipped my mind.
Until Rae and I were walking down the street home from the audition, and we passed a store that I knew Brian wouldn’t hesitate in buying half of a rack in.
Rae complained about going in with her hair in a messy bun, cotton capris and sneakers on that she’d changed into after leaving the audition -- ‘cause “skinny jeans and three inch high boots are okay to dance in, but to walk half of New York? Hellllll no.” -- I just rolled my eyes at her and dragged her into the store by her elbow.
Another good thing about this trip to New York, was that one of my favorite pieces of mine was finally taken off display in a gallery and sold for a nice chunk of change. That was another reason I’d decided to come with Rae. Because I wanted to say goodbye to the piece.
I’d done it when I was high, a collage of scenes. Two shadowed figures underneath a lamppost, swathed in angelic yellow light, only a checkered blue shirt visible on either of the figures. Two figures huddled together in darkness, red swiped angrily against a prone figure. Two figures walking away from a man with hazel eyes while confetti rained down around the purple lights. The same figures dancing together under strobe lights, red hues as they were oblivious to the men gyrating around them. Again, lying in bed together with an empty bowl of chicken soup on the bed’s ledge. And finally, illuminated by ambulances’ lights, hugging each other tightly. This one was in full color, only their faces still weren’t visible, buried in the others’ neck as smoke hung around them. Across the bottom of the entire painting, a clock with no hands in the middle of Times Square.
There were words splashed across each scene. I can change that. Even if it was ridiculously romantic. In ways that I won’t. Most historic reunification since Germany. Ibiza. I love you. It’s only time.
Rae had stared at it open mouthed the following morning, for at least five minutes. Even with the snapshots all blended together by swirls of paint, it still had a comic collage feel to it. Poignant moments. I’d done it almost a year into my stay in New York. Not long before Rae fell off the sobriety wagon. I’d still had it in the apartment when Blake came by to help me help her three months later.
His reaction was about the same as Rae’s. Only, without the holy fucking shit. Blake was a little bit more reserved than Rae. When he wasn’t on crystal, at least. Plus, he wasn’t really there for mine and Brian’s relationship… at all. I’d told Rae the cliff notes version the night before, hence getting higher than a fucking kite.
Anyways, back to the present where we’re in the store. The thing that’d pulled me in was a row of silk scraps of fabric. I’d seen them through the window display, in between the sexily posed mannequins and felt my breath catch.
Purple, red, black, white.
“Christ,” Rae muttered, looking at the price tag on one of them. “This would be three months rent… in our New York apartment.”
Yeah, they were a bit ridiculously priced.
Ridiculously.
Romantic.
White.
Red.
Ploom.
My fingers ghosted across the material, the hair standing on my neck as it remembered the feel of one wrapped around it eons ago. White. But it wasn’t white anymore. I hoped it was ash at this point, burnt to a crisp somewhere in the past and Brian hadn’t been fucking ridiculous enough to keep it as a reminder of what his love resulted in. Self-pitying asshole.
“Justin? You’re looking a little pale.”
“Prom.” Was all I said and her mouth drew into a tight line as she let me go through my emotions on my own. I never told her the complete details of what I remembered, neither with Emmett. That’s for Brian. That’s for us, and us only.
“You have excellent taste, sir.” A woman came up to my left, giving a distasteful once over to Rae’s wardrobe before zeroing on me. Probably assumed that I had the money to spend. I looked like a million bucks standing next to Rae, who was mock hissing at the saleswoman behind her back, fingers miming sharp claws.
“Yes, I’m aware. I’ve worn one once before.” I sounded aloof, detached to the conversation as my memory skipped over and over as Brian wrapped the scarf around my neck. “White.”
“Well, as you can see, we have white here as well, along with purple, black and red.” She gave me the Price As Right model hands over the colors, as if I were a colorblind mutt.
“My white one has red on it already, thanks.” Pulling the bloodied scarf from Brian’s body, making love under blue lights. Nononononononono, God!
“Sir?” The woman’s smiled faltered, probably thinking there was a pattern that she’d missed the memo on.
White was tainted. Red was blood. Black was death.
I bought two of the purple.
(Part two to come sometime later today/this evening, or tomorrow. Depends on my availability. Also, you’ll notice that I’ve obviously linked you to an outside source, my community, something I didn’t do with Fragments, which I posted directly to bjfic. That’s because I forgot this community of mine existed! Lol. Yeah, bad huh? Well, now that I’ve remembered, I figure it’s the perfect place for Fragments and its universe. Because not ALL of the ideas I have, include Brian as a physical aspect. Like some of the one-shots that I’ll be posting until I post the sequel -- Flashpoint -- are pre-Fragments, while Justin’s in New York (including a more detailed account of the night Justin was shot through Rae’s POV, explaining why none of Justin’s Pittsburgh people were called). And as established in Fragments, the only person Justin saw after he left for New York, was Blake. So those will be posted here, as they don’t exactly fit the rules of bjfic.
I’ll also use this community to post Fragments graphics/tidbits. Like right now I’m working on graphics for the original cast members that we’ve met/heard of, in Fragments AND for the future series. My plan is HOPEFULLY (if you knew me, you’d know that my life enjoys throwing curveballs that can temporarily upset plans I have) to post a one/two/three-shot every week until Flashpoint is ready to be posted sometime around April, if it’s eligible for the qafbigbang. So far I have seven fresh ideas for the 1/2/3-shots to write, so I have enough right now to get through to March, at least. Think of it as an episodic thing!
So I’d suggest watching/joining the community if you guys are really interested in staying with this series! ♥)
Fandom: Queer As Folk (Brian/Justin)
Rating: R/M (for language, violence, sexual situations including references to light bondage... if you've seen the show, you're good)
Category: Drama/angst/romance
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I any way affiliated with the characters, actors, or production company that were part of Queer As Folk. I am however the owner of the characters and places you do not recognize (e.g. Rae, Sphinx, Cleopatra's).
Timeline: Three months post-Fragments.
Summary: While in New York with Rae, Justin remembers the day that he remembered it all, before going home to Brian.
Part of my Fragments universe.
When the opportunity came up for Rae to be a background dancer in some upcoming musical by Adam Shankman, I knew I had to go with her to New York. After all, she’d packed up her life and moved to Pittsburgh for me not too long ago. Spending a week back in the Big Apple was hardly making up for it, plus I sort of missed our old friends. The occasional three day weekend trip was nice, but barely enough to get through when you’d seen them daily for four or five years, depending on the friend.
The only downside to the trip was missing Brian’s 40th birthday (something he was probably grateful for, seeing as 30 went fucking fabulously) and the 10th anniversary of prom.
We only talked on the first one that I was in New York. Later, I was told by Ben that he’d check in on me through him or Mel or someone else that he could casually bring it up with. Probably some sort of backhanded comment that made him seem callous and look like an asshole so that people would get riled up and spill exactly what he wanted to know. That I was okay, that I was surviving without him. Which was a big fucking lie. But even I believed the lie.
The thing that sealed it was the second anniversary, when he didn’t even fucking acknowledge me on that (or any of the other after that) anniversary of prom. I was so mad at him, but I never called him. Well… I got shit-faced and called him. It went to answering machine and I never got one word back, even though I knew, I knew, he was at the loft that night. He’d be doing everything he did every other anniversary: smoking as many spliffs as he could and draining his supply of Beam until he passed out and could sleep it all off the next day. His pain management for that day.
I couldn’t even stomach calling him when I remembered. When I finally fucking remembered prom.
Rae was dancing with an imaginary partner when I entered the apartment. Twirling effortlessly with her arms framed in front of her, sweat perspiring on her forehead. I wasn’t sure why she was practicing a ballroom move, I still don’t know. But she was humming some ridiculous old song, and I couldn’t help but smile.
Giving her a wave, I had plopped my belongings down on the floor next to the table and watched her for a moment. She was slightly winded, tossing a wink at me as she waltzed by. I was dreading what I had to tell her, hated that I was going to have to tell her the sale had fallen through on a painting and that I didn’t have the extra two hundred for the rent.
I sighed, head hanging in shame as I turned to leave the room. That’s when her voice, disjointed from the turns and twirls she was putting in around the apartment, hit me like a ton of bricks.
Don’t forget who’s taking you home
And in whose arms you’re gonna be
My head throbbed viciously, worse than I was used to even after hours and hours on end in front of glaring windows and taunting blank canvas, as an image shoved itself into my brain. Brian swinging around in front of me, cement grey and banana yellow paint spinning behind his smiling face. A parking garage.
Did you see their faces!
I felt my body thud against something, realizing belatedly that I had collapsed against the wall, a picture shaking from its hanging as my hands reached up to my temples too late to brace myself for another force fed image. Twirling around a dance floor, cleared especially for me and him, Daphne grinning like a fool in the background as a song -- ridiculously romantic his voice echoed -- played throughout the hall.
Yeah, we gave them a prom they’ll never forget.
“Justin!” Rae cried out, but it distorted, melding with a scared voice just before a sound sliced the air. Like the sound of a baseball flying out of one of those cannons that baseball players used to practice. Ploom.
Me neither.
Her hands grasped at me, but I barely registered them. I felt like I was back there, lying on the ground, liquid coating my face and slipping into my mouth and eyes, bitter copper, as consciousness ebbed away entirely. Echoes repeating no over and over as he pulled at my body.
“God!” I cried out just as he did, voice cracking around the plea.
Even if it was ridiculously romantic.
Before, all those years ago at Gus’s first birthday, I’d had quick cuts like a projector malfunction. But now… now…
Save the last dance for me.
I marveled, even as the pain intensified, at how when he dipped me back, my hair didn’t move a spec. That brought up another image of descending stairs, Emmett presenting me to Vic, Debbie, my mother, Mel and Lindsay. The Munchers wanting to take a bite out of me, fucking beautiful baby, Emmett simpered in front of the mirror, kissing me on the temple. If Brian wasn’t lucky enough to already have you, and I weren’t such a nelly bottom, I’d eat you right up, sugar!
As I came out of it, still highly disoriented with Rae freaking out next to me, I crawled to my bag, fumbling for my phone. Someone. I needed someone from the Pitts that would understand this monumental moment. Someone who I trusted. Someone that wouldn’t tell him if I asked them not to.
“Em…” I whimpered into the phone, immediately scaring the flamboyant party planner, “I remember. I finally remember everything.”
It’d been Emmett I’d called. Two years ago. I still haven’t told Brian that I remember more of the night. More of the dance, the whole parking garage, getting ready at Debbie’s. It honestly hadn’t occurred to me to tell him, what with coming to terms with being shot, moving home, reuniting with the entire fucked up family, picking my shooter out of a line-up, getting back together non-conventionally with Brian and then going through a trial. Guess it slipped my mind.
Until Rae and I were walking down the street home from the audition, and we passed a store that I knew Brian wouldn’t hesitate in buying half of a rack in.
Rae complained about going in with her hair in a messy bun, cotton capris and sneakers on that she’d changed into after leaving the audition -- ‘cause “skinny jeans and three inch high boots are okay to dance in, but to walk half of New York? Hellllll no.” -- I just rolled my eyes at her and dragged her into the store by her elbow.
Another good thing about this trip to New York, was that one of my favorite pieces of mine was finally taken off display in a gallery and sold for a nice chunk of change. That was another reason I’d decided to come with Rae. Because I wanted to say goodbye to the piece.
I’d done it when I was high, a collage of scenes. Two shadowed figures underneath a lamppost, swathed in angelic yellow light, only a checkered blue shirt visible on either of the figures. Two figures huddled together in darkness, red swiped angrily against a prone figure. Two figures walking away from a man with hazel eyes while confetti rained down around the purple lights. The same figures dancing together under strobe lights, red hues as they were oblivious to the men gyrating around them. Again, lying in bed together with an empty bowl of chicken soup on the bed’s ledge. And finally, illuminated by ambulances’ lights, hugging each other tightly. This one was in full color, only their faces still weren’t visible, buried in the others’ neck as smoke hung around them. Across the bottom of the entire painting, a clock with no hands in the middle of Times Square.
There were words splashed across each scene. I can change that. Even if it was ridiculously romantic. In ways that I won’t. Most historic reunification since Germany. Ibiza. I love you. It’s only time.
Rae had stared at it open mouthed the following morning, for at least five minutes. Even with the snapshots all blended together by swirls of paint, it still had a comic collage feel to it. Poignant moments. I’d done it almost a year into my stay in New York. Not long before Rae fell off the sobriety wagon. I’d still had it in the apartment when Blake came by to help me help her three months later.
His reaction was about the same as Rae’s. Only, without the holy fucking shit. Blake was a little bit more reserved than Rae. When he wasn’t on crystal, at least. Plus, he wasn’t really there for mine and Brian’s relationship… at all. I’d told Rae the cliff notes version the night before, hence getting higher than a fucking kite.
Anyways, back to the present where we’re in the store. The thing that’d pulled me in was a row of silk scraps of fabric. I’d seen them through the window display, in between the sexily posed mannequins and felt my breath catch.
Purple, red, black, white.
“Christ,” Rae muttered, looking at the price tag on one of them. “This would be three months rent… in our New York apartment.”
Yeah, they were a bit ridiculously priced.
Ridiculously.
Romantic.
White.
Red.
Ploom.
My fingers ghosted across the material, the hair standing on my neck as it remembered the feel of one wrapped around it eons ago. White. But it wasn’t white anymore. I hoped it was ash at this point, burnt to a crisp somewhere in the past and Brian hadn’t been fucking ridiculous enough to keep it as a reminder of what his love resulted in. Self-pitying asshole.
“Justin? You’re looking a little pale.”
“Prom.” Was all I said and her mouth drew into a tight line as she let me go through my emotions on my own. I never told her the complete details of what I remembered, neither with Emmett. That’s for Brian. That’s for us, and us only.
“You have excellent taste, sir.” A woman came up to my left, giving a distasteful once over to Rae’s wardrobe before zeroing on me. Probably assumed that I had the money to spend. I looked like a million bucks standing next to Rae, who was mock hissing at the saleswoman behind her back, fingers miming sharp claws.
“Yes, I’m aware. I’ve worn one once before.” I sounded aloof, detached to the conversation as my memory skipped over and over as Brian wrapped the scarf around my neck. “White.”
“Well, as you can see, we have white here as well, along with purple, black and red.” She gave me the Price As Right model hands over the colors, as if I were a colorblind mutt.
“My white one has red on it already, thanks.” Pulling the bloodied scarf from Brian’s body, making love under blue lights. Nononononononono, God!
“Sir?” The woman’s smiled faltered, probably thinking there was a pattern that she’d missed the memo on.
White was tainted. Red was blood. Black was death.
I bought two of the purple.
(Part two to come sometime later today/this evening, or tomorrow. Depends on my availability. Also, you’ll notice that I’ve obviously linked you to an outside source, my community, something I didn’t do with Fragments, which I posted directly to bjfic. That’s because I forgot this community of mine existed! Lol. Yeah, bad huh? Well, now that I’ve remembered, I figure it’s the perfect place for Fragments and its universe. Because not ALL of the ideas I have, include Brian as a physical aspect. Like some of the one-shots that I’ll be posting until I post the sequel -- Flashpoint -- are pre-Fragments, while Justin’s in New York (including a more detailed account of the night Justin was shot through Rae’s POV, explaining why none of Justin’s Pittsburgh people were called). And as established in Fragments, the only person Justin saw after he left for New York, was Blake. So those will be posted here, as they don’t exactly fit the rules of bjfic.
I’ll also use this community to post Fragments graphics/tidbits. Like right now I’m working on graphics for the original cast members that we’ve met/heard of, in Fragments AND for the future series. My plan is HOPEFULLY (if you knew me, you’d know that my life enjoys throwing curveballs that can temporarily upset plans I have) to post a one/two/three-shot every week until Flashpoint is ready to be posted sometime around April, if it’s eligible for the qafbigbang. So far I have seven fresh ideas for the 1/2/3-shots to write, so I have enough right now to get through to March, at least. Think of it as an episodic thing!
So I’d suggest watching/joining the community if you guys are really interested in staying with this series! ♥)