Disclaimer: I don't own Queer as Folk blah, blah, blah … let's be honest, if I did own QAF I sure as folk wouldn't be writing this, I'd be hounding the original actors and offering them ridiculous amounts to do a final 'five years later' series - hey, if it's good enough for Desperate Housewives .
Author's Note: Like I said, I can't stay away … so here's the latest from my somewhat messed-up brain! =D
Justin looked at the alarm clock on his bedside table, the numbers told him it was 1.25 in the morning. Perfect, he decided, throwing back the covers to reveal that he was fully clothed. He slid off the mattress and grabbed the torch from near the clock before creeping silently to the wardrobe. He shone the light inside and spotted his Navy duffle bag and slung in quietly over his shoulder before leaving his room. He turned the torch off when he got to the landing, he couldn't risk waking his parents.
His shadow danced on the wall as he deftly dodged every creaking floorboard and groaning hinge edging his way down the stairs and into the kitchen so he could sneak out of the house. As he walked through the kitchen the moonlight that streamed through the window glinted off something to his left. The flash caught his eye. He jumped a little before looking to see what had caught his attention and that's when he saw it. It was beautiful, sleek, sharp and above all safe. He knew immediately that this was a sign and he walked over to the steak knife and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He was a street kid now, he'd need to be able to protect himself in any situation that came about. Though, if his plan went as he expected, he wasn't going to need a knife or any kind of weapon.
He was going to go to Liberty Avenue, the big gay hang out in Pittsburgh, and get a job as a go-go boy. He'd heard that cute blondes like him could earn up to $400 a night dancing on the bar. It would be the perfect living for someone like him. It wouldn't be long before he'd be able to buy a place to live and until then he'd just go home with tricks at night. He had it all worked out perfectly in his head. Well, he had been perfecting ever since his father had made his views on fags very clear and his mother had made it clear she wasn't about to stop Craig's homophobic Nazi regime when it came to his son's social life.
However, nothing worked out the way it was supposed to. He'd arrived at Liberty Avenue so late that the only men prowling for blonde boy ass were trolls and perverts on the look out for hustlers. Justin promised himself he would never sink that low, even when the manager at Babylon told him they weren't looking for go-go boys, who had nothing to offer but a nice ass.
So that was how Country Club boy Justin Taylor found himself huddled in the entrance to an old abandoned shop entrance, pulling his coat tightly around him as he fended off the cold night. He was freezing and he would kill to be able to go into the diner he'd spotted at the end of the street and buy a cup of coffee. Of course he'd forgotten to take money when he'd childishly fled the house earlier. It hadn't even crossed his mind, he'd never had to worry about money before. He contemplated just giving up and going home and slumped against the wall defeated. It was then that he felt a sharp jab in his side from the steak knife and just like that, he knew what he had to do. He reached inside the jacket and caressed the wooden handle in his fingers. It wouldn't be that hard. He'd pick on a big nelly queen to avoid getting hurt, he'd just wave the blade around menacingly until the queen gave him what he wanted; namely, enough money for a coffee.
He stood up laboriously and snuck to the corner of the alley and saw a perfect target walking down the street towards him. The man was wearing orange trousers that were far to tight, a pink t-shirt that was far too short and his every step was more like the dance of a fluttering drunken Pixie than the walk of a man. He was exactly the kind of man that wouldn't cause Justin any trouble. Justin waited, barely breathing, as the man came closer and closer. And then, when he was so close Justin could almost smell his flowery shampoo, he leapt out and brandished a knife.
The man just looked at Justin and raised an eyebrow as though he hadn't seen anything quite this amusing in a long while.
"Well, well," the man cooed, "what do we have here?"
Justin wasn't sure what he'd expected in this situation but it hadn't been this. The lack of drama, screaming and immediate compliance made him fumble his next line.
"Er, g-give me your money," he tried to demand but it came out more like a question and the other man smirked still further.
"Oh Sweetie, are you asking me or telling me?"
"Telling you," Justin said with a little more conviction, pointing his knife with more anger, before adding, "now!"
"Christ," the other man said, looking around as though almost embarrassed, "at least drag me into an alley way first so you're not drawing attention to yourself. You really are an amateur. Here," he said, gesturing grandly to the small side street Justin had leapt out of, "this is perfect. Why don't we go down here and you can continue this little mugging without the fear of being seen."
Justin frowned a little. He couldn't work out what the hell was going on. He wasn't really sure how his first mugging would go but whenever he'd seen them on television there'd never been as much help and advice from the victim. Still, taking this… whatever this was into the side street did seem like a good idea.
"Fine," Justin conceded, "move, into the alley." And then he added sternly, "but no funny business!"
"Me?" The other man asked with an innocence that seemed so stupidly misplaced at this point Justin didn't know what to do, except indicate the victim should start moving by flicking his knife towards the alley.
The tall, queen glided calmly into the side street, with a strange smile on his face. Justin couldn't understand it until he followed the man around the corner into the street and was immediately looking down the barrel of a gun.
"Oh Sweetie," the man smiled, but he did look weirdly sympathetic, "didn't your parents ever teach you not to go to alleyways with strange men?"
Justin's eyes grew wide and bright, terrified and filled with an innocence that wasn't lost on his former victim.
"Oh baby, don't be scared," the man told him, "I won't shoot you."
"No," another voice came from behind him, "but I will you."
And then he felt a hand tangle itself in the back of his blonde hair and drag his head backwards, as a gun was jabbed into the fleshy underside of his chin. This man was about the same height of the first but he was stronger, there was something dark and angry about his eyes and something magical and inviting about the way he smelt and even with a gun pressed to his neck and his hair being virtually yanked out, Justin felt something other than just scared, he felt desire building up in his gut. God this man was beautiful and dangerous and oh so sexy.
But as the gun at his face was cocked all other thoughts went out of his head and it took all Justin's courage not to cry. He wanted his mum, he wanted to be safe at home tucked up in his bed. Running away was such a mistake and now he was going to pay for it with his life.
"Brian," the first man scorned Justin's captor, "stop it. You're scaring the poor boy."
"I-I'm not a boy," Justin choked out.
"Right," the man named Brian scorned, "what are you twelve?"
"Actually, I'm eighteen."
"Great, give the child a medal he can do maths."
"How about you keep the medal," the first man said, "and stop pointing that goddamn gun at him."
"Don't get your tighty-whighty's in a twist, Honeycutt, it's not loaded look." And with that, Brian took the cocked gun away from Justin's throat and shot it aimlessly at the wall. The bang sound, followed by the shattering of bricks rang through Justin's ear as the realisation that that shattered brick could have been his face made his blood turn to ice.
"Shit," Brian swore under his breath, letting go of Justin and checking the barrel quickly before looking sheepishly at the man he'd called Honeycutt, "okay, now it's empty."
"You shit, you could have murdered this kid," Honeycutt replied, as Justin dropped limply to the floor, shaking with fear. "What a waste that would have been of a cute little thing like him."
"It would have been a waste of an ass," Brian agreed with a smile. "But I think we should remember I didn't kill him, focus on the positives."
Justin listened to this almost casual conversation confident in the knowledge that this could only be a dream. One of his many kinky, hot guy in a leather jacket with a gun fantasies but this one had gone a little bit wrong. He just pulled his knees to his chest, rested his forehead on his legs and closed his eyes waiting for the alarm clock to wake him up. But the morning didn't come, the smell of the backstreet just got stronger and the dampness from the floor seeping through his jeans got colder and he shivered violently. He heard a scuffle nearby and then he heard another gun shot and that's when he knew this wasn't a dream. This was real, as real as it got and it was almost as close as he'd ever come to death as his eyes snapped open and he saw the bullet buried in the wall just inches from his head.
He looked up to see a shorted, dark haired man holding a smoking gun, with the tall man, Brian, holding the gun just out Justin's direction and Justin was frozen to the spot. That man had tried to kill him. He'd actually shot at him and if it hadn't been for that Brian guy he'd be nothing but a corpse now. Brian clearly thought so too as he yelled;
"What the fuck are you doing Mikey?"
"Covering up your fuck ups!" Mikey screamed back, trying to redirect the gun at Justin. "He knows too much."
"Jesus Christ, Michael," Brian said, wrestling the gun from the shorter guys grasp and putting on the safety. "He's just a fucking kid. He's not worth it."
"As much as I hate to say it," the first queeny man that they'd called Honeycutt chimed in, "Brian's right. Now lets get out here, all this shooting is creeping me out."
"Me too," another man that Justin hadn't noticed before said. He was shorter too and balding and probably a little older than the others. "Let's just leave this place, I could do with a good night sleep."
"Finally, a sensible suggestion," Honeycutt beamed, "let's leave this poor child alone."
"I'm not a child," Justin muttered under his breath but Brian must have heard it, because he looked up suddenly and caught Justin's eye and smirked a little. Justin beamed back but Brian just turned his back on him and ushered the other three away.
It wasn't until the men were beginning to fade out of sight, that Justin scrambled to his feet and chased after them. He rounded the corner and saw them getting into a big black jeep. Honeycutt and the quiet man were clambering into the back. Michael was sitting in the passenger seat and Brian was about to climb into the drivers seat, when Justin caught his jacket sleeve and swung him around.
Justin heard Michael groan and say something that he couldn't quite make out because just touching Brian was making Justin's whole body go into meltdown. He could barely concentrate on what he was trying to say and it was ridiculous and stupid and dangerous because hadn't this man nearly killed him just a few minutes before, accident or not, that should have been enough to stop him running after him but it wasn't, it wasn't nearly enough. He'd seen a glimpse of this whole new life away from parents, away from homophobia and away from stupid rules and he desperately wanted to be part of it.
"Let me come with you," he begged.
Brian just laughed in shock, "you're fucking joking, right?"
"No," Justin shook his head. "Please."
"You nearly got yourself killed in that alley by just taking a brush with this world and not you wanna be a permanent part of it?"
"Yes," Justin nodded. "Please," he begged.
"You're fucking crazy kid."
"If you don't let me come with you I'll die."
"That wouldn't be such a bad thing," Michael muttered.
"Don't be such a drama princess," Brian said, ignoring his bitter driver.
"I will," Justin insisted frantically. "I'll die, starving, cold and alone and then you'll have my death on your conscience."
"I will, huh?" Brian chuckled in a way that suggested he was truly amused by this situation. "I guess that would be a problem, if I had a conscience."
"So you don't care if I die?"
"You won't die," Brian said in a bored fashion as he finally climbed into the jeep. "Just, run on home to your mommy and daddy and forget all about us."
"But my dad hates me!" Justin yelled, as Brian put the jeep into drive. "He'd rather see me dead than a fag and that's the truth. He's…."
But Brian would never find out what the kid's father was because by now the kid was just a waving lunatic stick figure that he could barely see in his rear-view mirror. Not that that stopped him looking, it really had been a nice ass.