Days of Lightning (3/3)
Title: Days of Lightning (3/3)
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Author: waxrose
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for profanity and character death. I received a few concerns last time that this warning was not explicit enough, so let me be clear: there is major character death and there is industrial-strength angst. If you have a problem with either of these, please do not read this story.
Length: 1019 words
Author's Notes: Post-S1 AU with spoilers for 122. Written for my dear snugglyboo, theleapingmuse. ♥ Many thanks to everyone who read and gave me wonderful feedback on the previous chapters! This is the final chapter, so I hope you enjoy it.
Summary: His eyes are so bright just before the end comes.
Babylon hasn’t changed, never changes. The thumpa-thumpa goes on and the crowds dance, scream, celebrate beneath the strobe lights.
But for Brian, it’s hollow, a memory of something he can never reclaim. The vibrations that thud in his throat like a pulse, the movement of bodies in the shadows in the backroom and the sour-hot scent of sweat and sex can’t shock him back.
He knocks back another shot and scans the dance floor. Fuck if he’s going home without at least getting sucked off. There’s a twink in too-tight jeans eyeing him, swaying his hips and running a hand over his bare chest as he grins widely over at Brian from across the room. Maybe...if he got desperate enough, which was un-fucking-likely. Some of the more tuned-in fags were giving him a wide berth, a little wary and awkward about but they were the soft-dicked assholes he wouldn’t have given a second thought to anyways. He didn’t need their fucking pity.
He leans back, one elbow resting against the bar top, fingering the tiny slip-cool of the bag in his back pocket, courtesy of his friendly nightclub pharmacist. Yes, Brian Kinney was back.
“You asshole,” Mikey’s voice explodes behind him, making him jump, startled, “The fuck are you doing here, Brian? I called your place at least five times - had to drive over and check if you were hanging from the ceiling. Christ.”
“I went out,” Brian says, slings his arm over Michael’s shoulders, “You’re the one who wanted me to make that magical readjustment to respectable society, remember?”
“Oh yeah, I remember that from the grief process brochures at the funeral parlor. Denial, guilt, acceptance and then blowjobs in the backroom.” Ted comments nasally, appearing with Emmett beside Michael. God, Brian is so sick of him. Ted might as well have been wearing a black veil for the past month. He had probably been fucking in love with Justin.
“Honey, he has to move on eventually,” Emmett drawls, all tight shirt and eyeliner to the nines. “I think we should be proud of Brian. Getting out and stoned is quite a big step in the right direction.”
“As opposed to lying around his loft and getting stoned?” Ted ask, forehead wrinkling unflatteringly as he frowns.
“Fuck off,” Brian snaps. His head is buzzing faintly, and he’s sweating a little bit. The music is a familiar itch under his skin and he’s starting to feel a little too closed in here, being hovered over.
“As you wish,” Ted sing-songs as Emmett drags him off to the dance floor. God. He wants to strangle that dickhead.
“Let me drive you home, Brian,” Michael urges. “You don’t want to be here. Not yet.” He tugs Brian’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
He shakes his head, wrenches his arm free of Michael’s grip. “I’m fucking fine,” he retorts. “Jesus, Mikey. Do you expect me to sit at home like a goddamned widow? I’m still alive,” he pauses. “I’m still fucking alive.”
“Oh, Brian,” Michael draws him close and Brian clings to him for a few minutes, the puling rhythm of the music enclosing them, a web of sound and light. “What do we do now?”
Brian shrugs. “Nothing, I guess,” he says, a little numb. “You got your job back at the Q?”
Michael’s shoulders slump a little. “Yeah,” he says, “I called David yesterday night. I don’t know what ever made me think I could leave.”
“The promise of wide open spaces and lumberjacks?” Michael looks forlorn, so Brian pulls him tight against his side and offers him the first snort. “Shit, well, looks like we’re right back to where we began.”
“Except everything is different now,” Michael says, voice catching slightly. Brian smiles down at him, laughs a little.
“Not everything,” Brian whispers in his ear and soon they’re both cackling, arms slung about each other, dancing long into the night. He manages to pass a very high Michael off to Ted and Emmett as they head out with a promise to call him the next day.
And then he is alone again, standing in the middle of the dance floor and swaying to the lights that blind him as he stares upwards.
Hobbs, Justin, a brief, bright smile and then - nothing he could do to stop it - and the world is all to full, pressing in on him and forcing him to face the ordinary and take shaky, gulping breaths, grasping for cigarettes and familiar words that will never come. Ecstasy makes the world roll around, the colors shine towards him and the pain is a distant whine in the back of his mind. It will never truly be over, never be quite right again.
And it would be so easy to just slip away, fade alone and leave it all behind. To be free and beautiful and forever young, isn’t that what he always wanted?
Justin slips in and out of his dreams when he sleeps, grinning from ear to ear and taunting him, white scarf thrown carelessly around his neck, a black-and-white phantom who never speaks. Brian cannot touch him, he runs away too fast, laughs too loudly. He screams for him, but it’s too late, there’s someone stepping from the shadows. Justin blows him a kiss and laughs before turning around to meet his death. Brian wakes to sweat-soaked sheets, his throat hoarse from screaming and half-moons on his palms from where his nails dug in.
He smiles because Mikey needs him to tell him that life will go on unchanged, and he keeps going because he knows that somehow, he will fail if he doesn’t. He still has a part to play, his job isn't finished. Oh, but sometimes it would all too easy to just lie down and fucking let the world roll over him. But he is Brian Kinney and he is nothing if not stubborn. And despite everything he has ever said, the will to live has always been strong in him.
But he is still no more alive than Justin.
FIN
Cross-posted to bjfic
Part One
Part Two
On a similar note, theleapingmuse made me this beautiful icon for my story, although the file size is unfortunately too big for Livejournal. ♥
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Author: waxrose
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for profanity and character death. I received a few concerns last time that this warning was not explicit enough, so let me be clear: there is major character death and there is industrial-strength angst. If you have a problem with either of these, please do not read this story.
Length: 1019 words
Author's Notes: Post-S1 AU with spoilers for 122. Written for my dear snugglyboo, theleapingmuse. ♥ Many thanks to everyone who read and gave me wonderful feedback on the previous chapters! This is the final chapter, so I hope you enjoy it.
Summary: His eyes are so bright just before the end comes.
Babylon hasn’t changed, never changes. The thumpa-thumpa goes on and the crowds dance, scream, celebrate beneath the strobe lights.
But for Brian, it’s hollow, a memory of something he can never reclaim. The vibrations that thud in his throat like a pulse, the movement of bodies in the shadows in the backroom and the sour-hot scent of sweat and sex can’t shock him back.
He knocks back another shot and scans the dance floor. Fuck if he’s going home without at least getting sucked off. There’s a twink in too-tight jeans eyeing him, swaying his hips and running a hand over his bare chest as he grins widely over at Brian from across the room. Maybe...if he got desperate enough, which was un-fucking-likely. Some of the more tuned-in fags were giving him a wide berth, a little wary and awkward about but they were the soft-dicked assholes he wouldn’t have given a second thought to anyways. He didn’t need their fucking pity.
He leans back, one elbow resting against the bar top, fingering the tiny slip-cool of the bag in his back pocket, courtesy of his friendly nightclub pharmacist. Yes, Brian Kinney was back.
“You asshole,” Mikey’s voice explodes behind him, making him jump, startled, “The fuck are you doing here, Brian? I called your place at least five times - had to drive over and check if you were hanging from the ceiling. Christ.”
“I went out,” Brian says, slings his arm over Michael’s shoulders, “You’re the one who wanted me to make that magical readjustment to respectable society, remember?”
“Oh yeah, I remember that from the grief process brochures at the funeral parlor. Denial, guilt, acceptance and then blowjobs in the backroom.” Ted comments nasally, appearing with Emmett beside Michael. God, Brian is so sick of him. Ted might as well have been wearing a black veil for the past month. He had probably been fucking in love with Justin.
“Honey, he has to move on eventually,” Emmett drawls, all tight shirt and eyeliner to the nines. “I think we should be proud of Brian. Getting out and stoned is quite a big step in the right direction.”
“As opposed to lying around his loft and getting stoned?” Ted ask, forehead wrinkling unflatteringly as he frowns.
“Fuck off,” Brian snaps. His head is buzzing faintly, and he’s sweating a little bit. The music is a familiar itch under his skin and he’s starting to feel a little too closed in here, being hovered over.
“As you wish,” Ted sing-songs as Emmett drags him off to the dance floor. God. He wants to strangle that dickhead.
“Let me drive you home, Brian,” Michael urges. “You don’t want to be here. Not yet.” He tugs Brian’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
He shakes his head, wrenches his arm free of Michael’s grip. “I’m fucking fine,” he retorts. “Jesus, Mikey. Do you expect me to sit at home like a goddamned widow? I’m still alive,” he pauses. “I’m still fucking alive.”
“Oh, Brian,” Michael draws him close and Brian clings to him for a few minutes, the puling rhythm of the music enclosing them, a web of sound and light. “What do we do now?”
Brian shrugs. “Nothing, I guess,” he says, a little numb. “You got your job back at the Q?”
Michael’s shoulders slump a little. “Yeah,” he says, “I called David yesterday night. I don’t know what ever made me think I could leave.”
“The promise of wide open spaces and lumberjacks?” Michael looks forlorn, so Brian pulls him tight against his side and offers him the first snort. “Shit, well, looks like we’re right back to where we began.”
“Except everything is different now,” Michael says, voice catching slightly. Brian smiles down at him, laughs a little.
“Not everything,” Brian whispers in his ear and soon they’re both cackling, arms slung about each other, dancing long into the night. He manages to pass a very high Michael off to Ted and Emmett as they head out with a promise to call him the next day.
And then he is alone again, standing in the middle of the dance floor and swaying to the lights that blind him as he stares upwards.
Hobbs, Justin, a brief, bright smile and then - nothing he could do to stop it - and the world is all to full, pressing in on him and forcing him to face the ordinary and take shaky, gulping breaths, grasping for cigarettes and familiar words that will never come. Ecstasy makes the world roll around, the colors shine towards him and the pain is a distant whine in the back of his mind. It will never truly be over, never be quite right again.
And it would be so easy to just slip away, fade alone and leave it all behind. To be free and beautiful and forever young, isn’t that what he always wanted?
Justin slips in and out of his dreams when he sleeps, grinning from ear to ear and taunting him, white scarf thrown carelessly around his neck, a black-and-white phantom who never speaks. Brian cannot touch him, he runs away too fast, laughs too loudly. He screams for him, but it’s too late, there’s someone stepping from the shadows. Justin blows him a kiss and laughs before turning around to meet his death. Brian wakes to sweat-soaked sheets, his throat hoarse from screaming and half-moons on his palms from where his nails dug in.
He smiles because Mikey needs him to tell him that life will go on unchanged, and he keeps going because he knows that somehow, he will fail if he doesn’t. He still has a part to play, his job isn't finished. Oh, but sometimes it would all too easy to just lie down and fucking let the world roll over him. But he is Brian Kinney and he is nothing if not stubborn. And despite everything he has ever said, the will to live has always been strong in him.
But he is still no more alive than Justin.
FIN
Cross-posted to bjfic
Part One
Part Two
On a similar note, theleapingmuse made me this beautiful icon for my story, although the file size is unfortunately too big for Livejournal. ♥
