What You Can't Have
Rating: Teen, for coarse language and implied sexual situations.
Disclaimer: As much as I would like to, I don't own Randy Harrison, Gale Harold, Fabrizio Filippo, CowLip, or anything else from Queer as Folk. (There's a spoiler right there, in case you didn't notice. Wink, wink!)
Summary: When you want what you can't have, how do you get what you want? Brian's world turns upside down when Justin shows up at his 37th birthday party. However, there is a certain monkey wrench in his plans to win Justin back.
A/N: Hello, hello! I'm a newcomer to the QAF fandom, but I hope you'll like what I have to offer. Anyway, while I did like the B/J ending (my only complaint is that Justin should have been there at the re-opening of Babylon), I kept asking myself, "How can I bring these two together again without making it seem entirely contrived or unrealistic?" Hence, I tried writing a story. In my head, though, I think Brian would suffer one month alone and lonely, then realize he was miserable without Justin and immediately pack his shit and move to New York where they would live happily ever after.
Of course, that wouldn't make much of a fic, so things happen a little differently in this story. ;-)
Before we go on, let me explain a few things. Chapter titles are once again derived from song titles, just like in most of my other fics. (The song in this chapter is by awesome alt-country band Wilco.) This was a habit I picked up from the show Grey's Anatomy. Chunks of my plot are also adapted from the show, but I'm not telling you which ones. If you're enough of a GA fan, you'd know. (wink wink) Feel free to pinpoint them by commenting!
You might notice that every chapter begins with italicized text. This is how I designed the story: the italicized text at the start of every chapter is a snippet of an actual Brian/Justin scene on Queer as Folk. I pick lines based on how well they summarize the concept of each chapter.
Oh, and one last thing: Text between // double slashes // are song lyrics. Don't worry, though, song lyrics only appear in two chapters of the story, for reference.
Happy reading:)
Chapter 1: I'm Always in Love
"I'll be back," he promised. "And you'll come there. We're gonna see each other all the time."
"You don't know that. Neither do I. Whether we see each other next week, next month...never again." His voice is pinched as he says this. The mere prospect of never seeing him again made him ache a little. "It doesn't matter. It's only time. "
They never saw each other again.
No phone calls, no e-mails, no visits, nothing. Because they had only one reason to keep it going, and a million reasons not to. First of all, having a long-distance relationship was the dumbest idea in the world. Then there was the fact that Brian was a born commitmentphobe. Justin was only 22 years old, and had yet to take on the world. Thus, as one cliched saying put it, they loved each other enough to let go.
Over at Babylon, Brian and Ted are seated at the bar, waiting for Michael (who hadn't arrived yet) and Emmett (who had followed a hunk to the back room). A saucy redhead sidles up to Brian and whispers naughtily in his ear.
"I'm not in the mood," Brian deadpans. The redhead skulks away, highly insulted.
Ted clucks his tongue. "You know what your problem is? It's not that you can't have what you want. That would be me -- before Blake came along, anyway. Your problem is that you want what you can't have."
"Did I ask you for your opinion? I don't even know what the hell you're talking about."
"Oh, come on! Everyone's noticed that ever since you-know-who left for the Big Apple, you're always 'not in the mood.'"
"It's called growing older, Theodore. I'm sure you know all about that."
Meanwhile, two twinkies who clearly haven't heard of subtlety are standing in the crowd, five feet away from them. "He turned me down!" the redhead wails, tilting his head in Brian's direction. "Bitch, nobody turns me down!"
His blond companion rolls his eyes. "You idiot, that's Brian Kinney! I know you've been here only two weeks, but come on, everybody on Liberty Avenue knows about Brian Kinney."
"Like, duh, I know who he is. My roomie said he's the sluttiest queen in Pittsburgh."
From the bar, Ted stifles a guffaw.
"He used to be," scoffs the blond. "A year or two ago, he was the hot, unapologetic whore Pittsburgh fags knew and loved -- er, lusted after. Then an innocent blond twinkie comes along, charms him off his feet. Before you know it, he's in love. Turns out, Blondie was a real gold digger, and just days after Brian proposes, he takes off for New York."
"Oh, that's awful!"
"I know, right? Anyway, ever since then, Brian just stopped being Brian. He's all boring and shit. I don't even know why he still shows up here, other than because he owns the place."
Brian squeezes in between and smiles at them both. They smile back. Then, his face turns dead serious. "'Blondie' was not a gold digger. Now, get the fuck out of my club. Take your gossiping over to Popperz with the rest of you cheap whores."
"Sorry, guys, he's had a little too much vodka!" Ted says as he drags Brian away. He turns to him. "Jeez, Brian, take it easy!"
"You liar." Brian sits back down at the bar. "I didn't have any vodka."
"I know. Everyone knows. This is exactly what I'm talking about!"
"What? That I 'want what I can't have?' Bullshit."
"You know I'm right. Like, you kept fucking around and acting like an irresponsible shit when you and Justin were together, but now that he's gone, you're...a shadow of your former self."
"Quit talking out of your ass. It isn't charming in the least."
"Come on! You barely drink anymore --"
"Fear of beer belly," Brian responds, poking at Ted's enlarged gut.
"You don't do drugs --"
"Fear of permanent brain damage."
"Your formerly voracious sexual appetite is now non-existent --"
"Fear of STDs."
"You hardly show up at Babylon nowadays --"
Brian shrugs. "Fear of becoming an aging queen who won't stop shaking his gross, wrinkly ass on the dance floor. How embarrassing."
"Please, you're not that old."
"Well, I'm...of age...to start thinking about things other than sex, drugs, sex, partying and sex. Maybe it's time I got serious about my life. I'm sure Mrs. Novotny-Bruckner here can tell you all about it," he says gesturing to Michael, who is wading through the crowd to get to them. "Right, Mikey?"
"I don't know. The Brian Kinney I once knew never lived in fear of anything. Maybe you should call Justin."
Brian absent-mindedly twists the gold band on his left finger. He'd been wearing it ever since the morning after Justin left, when he woke up to find only one wedding ring inside the box. "This has nothing to do with Sunshine."
"This has everything to do with Sunshine!" Michael wails. "Come on, you're scaring the bejesus out of us with your newfound...chastity. Eww."
"Hey, I'm just reevaluating my goals. Trying to grow up a little. After all, I am...thirty."
"Thirty-four," they correct him.
Suddenly, heads turn as a man, incredibly hot from his long, dirty blond hair down to his designer shoes, makes his way towards them. The red-headed twinkie whispers to his friend about how hot he is.
"Duh, that's the new Brian Kinney of Babylon," the blond replies. "Everybody totally wants him."
Ted and Michael gaze in admiration at this beautiful stranger, who stops in front of Brian. "Hi."
Brian recognizes him. He's the guy who lost their little wager. The one he nearly had, before he changed his mind. "Why, Billy, we meet again. Now, why would you want to talk to little ol' me?"
"It's Brandon," he rasps, and takes Brian by the hand. "Back room. Join me?"
At this, everyone staring at Brandon went back to whatever it was they were doing, save for a few who wanted to see Brandon get rejected for the first time in his pretty little life. Brian himself was mildly stunned at first, since he remembered Brandon being totally uninterested in him, once upon a time. Then he realized that Brandon probably learned that screwing Brian was an impossibility nowadays, and that made him more attractive in Brandon's eyes. The little shit was out to do what nobody else could.
Brian sighs exasperatedly. "I'm not in the m--"
"Our dear friend would love to go with you!" Ted says, grinning hugely as at Brandon as he and Michael shove their 'dear friend' towards him.
"Fine, fine," Brian relents, "whatever it takes to shut you two up." He lets Brandon lead him by the hand to the back room.
Emmett joins Michael and Ted in time to see Brian walking away. Confused, he turns to his friends and asks, "Did I miss something?"
"I never thought I'd say this," Michael admits, "but I'm so glad that Brian's finally gonna get laid!"
And so Brian let Brandon have his way with him in the back room, and that ended a full month of celibacy (for Brian, that was a major record). He would go back to the habit of screwing random hotties, but only once or twice a week. And he avoided young blondes (other than Brandon) like the plague. At Emmett's insistence that Brian just missed the companionship that Justin had once provided, Brian tried having an open relationship with Brandon. Unlike Justin, however, Brandon never really became anything more than the guy Brian Kinney fucked more than once. They settled for being fuck buddies.
Every so often, Justin crossed his mind, but days passed by with Brian doing nothing about it. Days stretched into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. Before anyone knew it, three years had passed them by.
"Package for Mr. Justin Taylor?" an old, plump mailwoman calls out as she enters an art gallery. She asks the scruffy blond who approaches to "Sign here, please. Do you own this gallery?"
"Yeah, I bought it about a year ago."
She notices the gold ring on his right hand. "Ain't that cute! I got a right hand ring myself! Real popular among us beautiful, strong, single gals. Although I'm sure it works that way for guys, too. I saved up for a whole month to get myself this baby." The postwoman holds up her own hand, revealing a thin silver band with an impossibly tiny diamond on it.
"Oh, this isn't some DeBeers marketing campaign or anything. It's just a gift from an old friend. Sometimes," he adds, chuckling, "I wear it on my left hand so that girls won't hit on me."
"Honey, with a face like that, you're gonna have to do a lot better than a fake wedding ring," the elderly lady laughs.
Justin half-smiles to placate the old lady as he signs the clipboard. A strangely familiar tune starts playing on the radio. Justin can't quite place where he heard it before.
// You can dance every dance with the man who gives you the eye, let him hold you tight. //
The old mailwoman claps giddily. "Oh, it's our song! Me and Danny danced to it on our wedding night, and every anniversary before he passed away."
Dance...? A number of visions began popping up in his head. Students dancing. Himself in a tuxedo, Daphne in a pretty orange dress. It's a high school prom. His high school prom. The one he couldn't remember.
It was all coming back to him.
// You can smile every smile for the man who held your hand beneath the pale moonlight. //
Daph tapped him on the shoulder and pointed behind him. He saw Brian striding towards them, clad entirely in black as per usual, save for a white silk scarf around his neck. He asked Daphne if he may borrow her date, and led a smiling Justin to the center of the dance floor.
Justin was starting to remember every step, every dip, every twirl, every giggle along the way. Every face in the crowd, a sea of expressions: disgust, shock, amusement, pride. Chris Hobbes was foaming at the mouth. Daphne cheered them on.
Brian and Justin had an almost-kiss; he then stepped around to seductively peel off Brian's jacket and toss it to a giggling Daphne. Brian slowly dipped him, they moved gracefully across the dance floor, and their dance culminates in a sweet kiss.
// But don't forget who's taking you home, and in whose arms you're gonna be. //
Still dancing, still laughing, they wind up in the parking lot, where Brian's Jeep is. "This was the best night of my life," he sighed.
"Even if it was ridiculously romantic." Brian grinned. His deep green eyes got serious as they bore into Justin's. He leaned closer, and they share a slow, soft kiss.
// So darling, save the last dance for me. //
"Darling? ...Darling?"
Justin blinks. The postwoman is still there. "Huh? Sorry, zoned out a little."
"S'okay, honey, I was just asking who made these paintings. They're beautiful, especially this one!" she exclaims, pointing to an oil-on-canvas rendition of a tall, brunette man, naked from the waist up, cigarette in hand, staring out the window as the sun rises.
"Oh, that," he says, although he's smiling. "I always have a painting of the same man in each of my collections. They sell ridiculously high every time. I actually have no idea why, though, but I just kept painting them so I'd make good money."
The mailwoman hung around for a little while longer before they bid each other goodbye. After closing up shop, Justin retreated to the back with the package. He was about to open it when his cellphone rang. He thought of Brian, as he did whenever he got a phone call, or an email, or sometimes when he heard the doors of the art gallery swing open.
He often considered just picking up the phone and calling Brian, but every time, he managed to convince himself that it was a bad idea. He didn't want to tie Brian down with the trappings of conventional romance. And Brian wouldn't have wanted him to throw all his potential out the window, just to become some silly 22-year-old hausfrau.
Still, he hoped Brian would call.
"Hello?" he answers.
"Hey, babe. Just calling to say 'I love you.'"
As it turns out, the caller is not Brian, but a photographer named Keith, the latest in a string of men Justin's dated for the past three years. Dated, as in monogamous, because Justin had sworn off one-night stands and sex with random people in public places. He remembered the little shards of pain he felt every time he watched Brian fuck someone else, and didn't wish it on himself or anyone else. He broke up with them on minor variations of "you're just not the one." In addition, these men had the tendency to say "I love you" to him a little too early, usually to get in his pants (he had started following a "no sex until the third date" rule). He, however, still loved Brian, just as he said he would.
Was it possible to love someone and be over him at the same time? Justin was determined to find a "yes" for that.
After the call, he shoved his cellphone in his pocket and opened the package. Inside was a Pittsburgh newspaper with a pink Post-It attached. "You won't believe this! Page 14. - Daph" was scribbled on it in Daphne's distinctly large, loopy handwriting. He sat down and flipped through the newspaper until he saw the article on page 14, encircled in pink highlighter.
His eyes widen. "No fucking way!"