Title: Live Like Music

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Showtime and Cowlip own Queer as Folk, because life hates me. And the title of this fic is from the song "Live Like Music" by Alexz Johnson.

"What the fuck do you mean Babylon's not open tonight?" Brian demanded harshly, pulling his refrigerator door open with unnecessary force and glaring at the scarce amount of edible items in it.

"What, too many big words for you? Babylon isn't open tonight. They're renovating or something," Michael explained, rolling his eyes at his friend's attitude. As if it were entirely Michael's fault that the stupid club needed some work done to it and had to close for a week or two.

"And what am I supposed to do?" asked Brian, apparently personally affronted that whoever ran Babylon had had the nerve to close it without consulting him first.

"Justin?" suggested Michael. He could practically see Brian's frown deepen through the phone.

"Fuck you."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure that's on Ben's agenda for tonight," Michael smirked. "After I get back from your place, of course."

Brian made a disgusted face. "Right, well you have fun with your wife. I'll just be over here vomiting. Wait...why the hell are going to be at my place?"

"I'm coming over to work on the comic. Justin didn't tell you?"

Brian shrugged, forgetting that Michael couldn't see him, and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off his impending headache. "Maybe. I don't remember. But you better have your ass out of here by nine. I have reservations with Justin's at nine-thirty. And ten-thirty. And eleven."

Brian could practically see Michael rolling his eyes through the phone. "Nine o'clock. Got it. And tell Justin I'm extremely sorry," the Italian said somberly.

"What did you do to him?"

"Not me. I'm just sorry he has to put up with you for the rest of the night." Michael knew his mission of irritating Brian had been accomplished when the only reply to this comment was the steady buzz of the dial tone.

Brian's scowl lessened slightly when he heard the loft door slide open. At least he would be having some fun tonight. Nevertheless, he slammed the refrigerator door shut with the same force with which he had opened it, and went to greet his Sunshine, who was standing in the doorway, struggling to carry his backpack, a pile of art supplies, and a handful of mail inside.

"Mmm, Brian, let me get in the door," Justin laughed against Brian's lips, trying to push the brunette off of him, which was proving difficult do to the armload he was still holding. Brian, careful only to leave Justin's lips when absolutely necessary, began relieving Justin of first his backpack, then the art supplies, then the mail, tossing each item carelessly on the floor, to be picked up later.

Brian tugged Justin the rest of the way inside, reaching over and closing the door behind him.

"There. You're in the door, now I get in you."

Now that his arms were free again, Justin managed to awkwardly push Brian off of him. "Control yourself, Kinney," he joked, slipping past the brunette to pick up his backpack off the floor and set it on the counter instead.

"What for?" asked Brian, a crease in between his eyebrows as he stared in disappointment at Justin's back.

"I have things to do."

"Such as?"

"School work? The comic?" said Justin, as though it were obvious. He began rifling through his over-crammed backpack.

"You really need to get your priorities straight, Sunshine," said Brian seriously. Justin smiled when he felt the older man's arms snake around his waist. The brunette peered over the other man's shoulder at the thin stack of papers he was thumbing through.

"Battle of the Bands?" he said, cocking an eyebrow at the blue sheet advertising the contest, which was to be held three weeks from that day.

Justin nodded absently. "Yeah, the professors handed out a bunch of papers about different upcoming competitions. There's an art one next month."

"Are you entering?" asked Brian.

Justin shrugged. "I was thinking about it."

"I'd bet you'd place at least third," Brian said honestly. Justin was surprised.

"You think so? That is... if I can enter. I don't know if they'll allow me to use a computer."

Though he spoke casually, Brian couldn't miss the carefully concealed dejection in his partner's voice. He felt the familiar assault of pure pain and rage overtake him for a split second, before forcing it all back. It was a wearisome cycle that he had grown accustomed to since Justin had been bashed. The unexpected reminder, the raw feelings and emotions rushing back, then the momentary strain of burying of them all in the outer recesses of his mind, where he made a point never to visit.

The older man's eyes slid over the magenta sheet of paper advertising the art competition. "Shit, look at the prize money for first place."

Justin made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. "It'd be nice. I'm thinking about submitting that one piece I did—the one with city lights in the background?"

Brian nodded. "That one was pretty good."

Justin gave his boyfriend's hand, which was resting on his chest, an affectionate pat, before slipping from his grip and heading for the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower, then Michael's supposed to be coming over in about an hour. He's got some new Rage story lines he wanted to run by me."

Brian looked as though Justin had just told him he had turned straight. "What the fuck? I'm not invited? I need to bathe, too," he said huffily, in a tone bordering on whining.

Justin laughed. "Heard about Babylon's renovation, huh?"

Brian just glared at him.

"...so then, I was thinking JT could go and retrieve Rage's Immunity Bracelet from Midgeor, while proving his innocence to the people of Gayopolis," Michael finished, watching Justin eagerly for his reaction. He shifted positions on his space of floor next to the couch, stretching out his legs in front of him.

Justin smiled. "Brian told you about that whole thing, huh?"

"That you saved his ass and got his bracelet back from his little fucker of a nephew? Yeah, he told me."

The blond nodded. "Okay. We'll use it. Just give me some time to design Midgeor, all right? I've got a lot going on, so it might take a little longer than usual."

"Everything okay?" Michael asked.

Justin waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah. It's just school stuff. There's this contest their hosting, for art students...I was thinking about submitting a piece I already have done, but then I wondered if I should try to go for a new one altogether? Something better?"

"When is it?"

"Next month."

Michael snickered. "Maybe you should submit a Rage comic book. I guarantee you it'd win over any women and gay men who are judging."

Justin snorted. "More likely it would get me disqualified. I don't think many of the judges would be too happy to see anything remotely concerning Rage's cock down JT's throat, however hot it may be."

"They're just jealous it's not them with Rage's cock down their throat." Justin and Michael muffled snorts of laughter as Brian suddenly appeared from the bedroom, dressed only in a pair of jeans, newly damp hair from his recent shower plastered to his head.

"Yes, Brian, I'm sure every straight man at my school is just seething with jealousy that they've never seen your cock up close and personal."

"Damn right."

Michael rolled his eyes while Justin laughed again. "Anyway, Michael, I did a couple new drawings of Zephyr in his new costume. I wanted to see what you thought..." Justin crawled on his hands and knees a few feet away, stretching for his backpack, which had been unceremoniously flung from the counter during Brian's post-shower-Justin-assault, which involved the blond being thrown half way over the counter and fucked mercilessly from behind.

Justin withdrew a small stack of papers from his backpack. "Here."

Michael took them with a genuinely interested expression, his grin growing broader with each of the papers he glanced over.

"They're great," he said happily. "I look...I mean, Zephyr looks awesome."

"Now now, Mikey, you mustn't go getting so full of yourself," Brian reprimanded him mockingly, taking a swig from the water bottle he'd retrieved from the fridge. "You're not me, though I know it must be every mere mortals' dearest dream."

"You know, Brian, one of these days your head is going to get so big, it's going to start exerting its own gravitational pull," said Michael, looking up at his egotistical friend in something akin to astonishment.

"Oh, I think it already has. That's why we're both still stuck with him. We can't escape," joked Justin, and then, "Ow! Brian! Did you just throw a fucking pencil at me?"

"You can use it to add another couple of inches to Rage's dick. I'm almost ashamed to be the inspiration," Brian said loftily.

Justin rolled his eyes. "Brian, if Rage's dick gets any bigger, it's going to be the size of his fucking arm. Even your dick isn't that big."

"Excuse me? You have seen it, right?"

"Actually, I think we've been a little too generous so far, if you know what I mean..." Justin continued.

"No such thing."

"And it would be a real shame if you...I mean Rage...was forced to go without so much as a blow job for, say... a week or two. If JT forced him to sleep alone on his Fuckmaster 3000 couch..."

"Just try it, twat."

"Well, you did that one time."

Michael looked up from the drawing of Zephyr so fast he heard his neck creak. Rubbing it, he asked the couple curiously, "What happened? You made Brian sleep on the couch?"

"Yeah. One time I bought this really cool alarm clock..."

"That thing was a piece of shit!" Brian interrupted. "No normal person in their right minds would want to be woken up by a fucking police siren!"

"Shut up, Brian. Anyway, I bought this clock, right? It was red, and the numbers glowed all blue, and the alarm sounded like a cop siren... so one time, I accidentally forgot to turn it off on a Saturday, and it woke Brian up at six thirty in the morning, and he flung the clock across the room and it hit the wall." Justin paused to shoot Brian a filthy glare. "So I made him sleep on the couch the next night."

Brian shot Michael down as soon as the Italian turned to look at him, an incredulous expression upon his face.

"You didn't fucking make me sleep anywhere," Brian insisted. "That was the week you were trying that new aftershave that made you smell like shit. I wanted to escape."

"Right. Sure you did, Brian."

"I did."

"Sure."

"I did, you little asshole!"

"Whatever you say, Brian."

The couple was interrupted by the sound of Michael laughing so hard he could barely breathe. At their questioning looks, Michael hastened to explain, through continued gasps.

"The two of you sound like an old married couple...bickering and arguing..."

Justin joined in laughing with Michael, but the latter quickly sobered up as the water bottle Brian had just been drinking from was hurtled across the room in his direction, though luckily, with the cap tightly in place.

"Asshole!" Michael called as Brian retreated once again to the bedroom. Brian flipped him off behind his back, and Michael shook his head before returning his attention to the new drawings of Zephyr.

"I like these a lot, Justin," he said sincerely. "The new uniform really does the trick...no pun intended."

Justin smirked. "I thought it was time for a new look. I mean, JT got a new hairstyle, and Rage got that new logo on his suit...I figured Zephyr deserved a makeover, too."

Michael smiled. "It's good. Why don't you put it in the next issue?" He sifted a few of the papers at the top of the stack he was holding aside, a sheet of bright blue paper catching his eye. "Hey..."

Justin didn't bother to look up from the notebook of potential story lines he was skimming over. "Huh?"

"Your school's hosting a Battle of the Bands contest?"

Justin glanced up distractedly. "What? Oh, yeah." He caught sight of the bright blue advertisement that had apparently gotten mixed in with his Zephyr drawings. "It's another one of the contests they're doing."

Michael nodded slowly. "Are you entering?"

Justin actually laughed. "Are you kidding?"

The older man looked up at him, and Justin was immediately filled with apprehension; Michael had that same look in his eyes as he did whenever he started rambling about Rage. Whatever was going through the man's head just then, Justin was sure it could not bode well.