A/N: To any of my regular regular readers, I feel like this warrants an explanation, so here it is:
I tried watching Queer As Folk a while ago, but found it too graphic and too confronting. But yesterday I found some gifs of Brian/Justin kisses and just fuck. Those two are ridiculously hot. So I went looking, and found 80-something 15-minute videos of every single Brian/Justin interaction in existence.
And then I watched them all.
20 hours later, and I'm here. Incredibly tired, incredibly upset, but so, so inspired. I word-vomited up these drabbles, just trying to get a feel for the characters. They are raw, unbeta-ed and full of language, but nothing that you wouldn't get on the show itself.
Just... proceed with caution. The language is very unlike my usual writing.
Dislcaimer: Not mine
Note: These stories are chronological, but I really couldn't tell you anything more specific than that.
In Between
by padfoot
...
#1
Justin is everywhere, and Brian knows he isn't thinking that because he's got some fucking misguided obsession or begun to feel anything beyond casual interest for the twink. He's thinking it because the fucking kid is everywhere – he's bloody following them around, expecting something from them. And every time he sees them, Justin's fucking kid-eyes light up: big and blue and begging. Begging for cock, for Brian's cock, but also for something more. Something much more difficult, something that Brian is much less willing to give. Something he's spent all of his life being damn sure that he can't give.
And yet Justin's eyes still light up. He still leaps off his stool or up to his feet or just whirls around on the spot – swift, clumsy, yet somehow still fluid. As if those fawnish twists and turns and stumbles are the way he really does move. So young that he can't quite control himself, not yet. So hot that it doesn't matter, that that silly way of his manages to be endearing instead of ridiculous. So stupidly in love that he wastes all of that, waiting on an unashamed dickhead like Brian.
…
#2
Daphne waits on the stairs outside St James, watching as Brian's jeeps speeds up the street and screeches to a stop by the footpath. Justin tumbles out the door in a rumpled school uniform, smiling that goofy, wide, ecstatic smile that means he's halfway through a laugh. On mornings like this, he's all easy motion – clumsy and jittery, but somehow older because of it. As if the sex is constantly gnawing at him, changing him inside, bit-by-bit, every time it happens. Taking away some innocence, some childishness that he'd managed to retain until now. Some part of him that, before Brian, before this, was fundamental and gut-deep.
Then Justin notices Daphne and the Brian-smile changes into an expression more solid, more familiar. The car revs twice before skidding around in a donut and speeding away to the sounds of admiring whoops from a couple of onlookers. Justin watches until Brian is completely out of sight, then finally turns away, walking over to joining Daphne on the stairs and leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.
"I love that man," he groans into her ear and Daphne slaps him away with a laugh.
"How can you love him?" she teases, eyebrows raised, "You've barely known him for a month."
"Sometimes, you just… know."
Daphne rolls her eyes, pushing Justin forward to start him walking into the building.
"And what are you two doing anyway? Are you dating yet? Or still just-" she glances around, skipping up onto her toes to whisper, kind of mortified by the word, "-fucking?"
Justin just shrugs non-committally, as if he's being purposely vague. Daphne wonders if he's doing it to annoy her, or because he really doesn't know what he and Brian are. Maybe it's bothering him more than he lets on.
"Well, what then? Is he, like, your sugar daddy?"
That, at least, elicits a laugh, and Daphne grins at the sight of Justin's smile restored. His normal, happy, old, familiar smile. The one she's known for years.
"'Like a sugar daddy' is probably a pretty good explanation," Justin concedes.
They stop at their lockers and Justin leans back against Daphne's, blocking her way. She raises a threatening finger, but he bats it away.
"Just, don't tell him I said that," Justin warns, his tone faux-serious and one eyebrow quirked conspiratorially, "Because he'd kill me for saying that he's old enough to be my father."
"Is he?" Daphne asks.
Justin just rolls his eyes, and gives a useless shrug again.
Daphne shoves him away from her locker, maybe with a bit more force than necessary.
…
#3
They say they're not in a couple, and most of the time it feels that way.
They fuck other people: open and unashamed about it. They fuck each other too, and sometimes pretend that it's different and more and sometimes pretend that it isn't. They mostly fuck with each other – playing games because they feel for each other like animals, things that are deep and carnal and instinctive. Between then are emotions that run so high that it's like being high, and watching one another fight to win, fight to take, take, take it all is like floating in the sky. Feeling one another try to take away every heavy, thick thing that floats constantly in the space between them. Knowing that in every attempt they'll always fail to rid themselves of it.
…
#4
Usually, Brian wouldn't compare the men he has to animals. They're men – that's what draws him to them: their dicks and their thighs and their legs and their asses. And animals don't have those human features. So the allure of any animal comparison is usually lost on Brian.
Justin, however, breaks the rule.
(Justin seems to break a lot of rules.)
Because Justin is a puppy. With his floppy blonde hair and his wide, blue eyes, he's Brian's very own golden Labrador, complete with occasional uncontrollable urges to tear things to pieces and sometimes inconvenient drooling. (The drooling's sometimes convenient though.)
Every fucking time that Justin sees Brian, it's always the same. Eyebrows raised up in an expectant, eager way, smile too obliviously wide, long, loping limbs ungainly as he reaches out, all but pawing at Brian's chest or his arm, if only to receive nothing but a look of acknowledgement in return. Brian never gives him more than a nod. Or sometimes the occasional pet, to remind him what a good boy he is. And when times are shit Justin gets a hug. But that's it. Nothing more. Brian doesn't want to encourage the puppy's bloody enthusiasm.
Because no one should ever look at him like that. Only a fucking, brain-dead moron would be able to look into Brian Kinney's eyes and think that in them he sees the way to everything good, the path to a happily ever after. No one should be inspired to hope so much, Brian thinks, not to hope the way that Justin does. Not with the persistence he does. As if he truly believes that this fucked up world will one day be made right.
As if that hope is restored every time he sets eyes on Brian.
Every. Fucking. Time.
…
#5
Sex with Brian feels like sin.
It feels like sunrise and sunset, like the tide moving in and out, like the beginning and the end. It feels like all of Justin's life is with them in that moment, held up in the thick, moist air that hangs around their bodies, caressing them in all the places they can't touch each other.
When he's having sex with Brian, no other part of Justin exists. All the rest is separate – safe and close, but separate. When Brian is inside him, or sucking on him, or he's sucking on Brian, there's nothing but the fundamentals: skin, sweat, heat and sound. Obscene, all of them. And oh, oh, oh so alluring.
So hot.
It's like sin, fucking Brian. It's like tempting fate. Like daring God to bring the apocalypse, because nothing else, nothing else, could ever destroy Justin the way that Brian does in those moments.
Coming, each and every time, feels like maybe he really has been destroyed.
And all Justin feels in those moments of death is happy, happy, happy to die in those arms, with that name on his lips.
…
#6
"It's strange, how differently people treat me now that my hair's shorter."
Brian has never been a fan of non-sex-related banter, but he grunts out a questioning noise from where he's still draped over Justin's back, spent and sweaty but not yet ready to move.
"I mean, before, with the long hair, I think people thought I was a bit more… superior? Or- haughty or something. Like, guys are intimidated by queers with long hair because they know he must spend heaps of time styling it, making himself look good. Whereas a queer with short hair is low maintenance – you can just reel him in, fuck him and leave."
"Can you? Can I just reel you in, fuck you and leave?" Brian asks, a challenge and a tease in his hoarse voice, breath wet on the shell of Justin's ear. He flicks his tongue out, licking dirty and searing down Justin's neck and biting his shoulder when he reaches it. "Is that what you want me to do next?"
…
#7
Brian wonders what Justin was looking for when they met each other that first fateful night.
Brian knows that he was looking for a fuck.
Brian thinks that Justin was looking for love.
Brian hates that, no matter how he imagines it, the things that they looked for will never be the same.
...