Justin's PoV
I didn't tell Brian I was going back… again. I forgot one of my brushes. It's my favorite and most expensive, actually one that Brian bought me, and I am not about to just leave it behind.
Brian came with me to the apartment yesterday when we collected my things, watching as I stood in the middle of the room, closing a chapter in my life that… I guess, had to have happened. Even though it nearly killed both of us, I had to get away from Brian, and he had to get away from me.
He needed something to kick him into the realization that there was, in fact, an "us," and that he wouldn't mind if we were an "us" again.
As for me and Ethan... I learned the hard way talk is fucking cheap, and promises easily made are even more easily broken. Romance isn't bullshit. Not all of it is advertising schemes to get people to spend their money. But it isn't roses and candlelight and a violinist with soft hands.
Romance is Brian. Small things, every day.
I look up at the building that, in more than three months, has never been home to me. Soft movement around my ankles catches my attention, and I bend down, scratching behind alert ears.
"Beam, you're up for this?" He bumps his forehead against my hand, following it with the rest of his body slinking around me, and I laugh.
I am unsure whether Ethan is home. At this time of day, he shouldn't be.
The door is ajar, and I frown. It isn't like Ethan to leave the door unlocked, never mind open. I hear movement inside, and I freeze for a moment. I really don't feel like having another confrontation. But this should be the last time, and I am sure as fuck not going to leave just to have to come back again.
"Ethan?"
Pushing the door open, I walk into silence, and my frown deepens, an uneasy feeling settling in my stomach.
"Ethan…?"
"Who the fuck are you?"
I whirl around, sucking my breath in fright as the gruff voice startles me. He is big, more broad-shouldered than Brian... taller, too.
"I'm… Who the fuck are you?" He sure as hell doesn't look like Ethan's type. His features are heavyset. I'd guess he is a football player, or a… My eyes travel down to his hands, and for the first time, I notice the baseball bat he is leaning on.
Fear hitches in my chest, and my confusion increases.
"What are you doing here? Who are you?" I cringe at the high pitched tone of my voice, and he sneers as he takes a step closer, backing me up towards the bed.
The bat tap-taps on the floor, swaying erratically in the restless claw of a hand. My eyes dart behind him to the front door, hoping I can make a dash for it, but he is too big, and I won't be able to make it past him. He is in the middle of my escape route. Sweeping the rest of the apartment, looking for other options, I notice the state it is in. Broken furniture… smashed glass… clothes spilled…
"Where is this Ethan?" Another step closer. I feel the bed press against the back of my calves.
"I… I don't know…"
"Ya don't know, do ya? What, you think I'm stupid? You probably slept with her, too!"
Slept… her… What the fuck?
"Excuse me?" Incredulous, I sit down. "Slept with who?"
"Don't play the fucking innocent with me!" I cringe at the destruction the bat leaves in its wake as he moves through the apartment in a frenzy. Not that there is much left to still break. "I know she's been with him! I've seen them!"
"You've seen Ethan with… But Ethan's gay!"
"What?"
Involuntarily, my hands come up in front of my face. I know it's a completely futile reaction, and there is nothing I can do against a swinging bat (don't I fucking know it), but I don't have anything else I can defend myself with.
"You mean she got knocked up… by a fucking fairy? He give her AIDS, too?"
"Ethan doesn't have… Knocked up?" I gasp. "You mean she's… she's… pregnant? He…"
His eyes narrow at me. "Why does that upset you so much?"
I swear, I can see his irises go red as the hatred grows in him. "You're one of them! A fucking faggot! Ethan's little boyfriend? His AIDS fuck-buddy?"
Shit…
"No! I'm not…" But he isn't listening to me anymore. I see the bat come towards me, but I'm powerless to stop it. Again
I hear a scream before everything goes black.
Beam's PoV
My claws are extended before I find purchase on his shoulder, and I dig deep, sliding down his back and feeling how they furrow into his skin through the T-shirt. I snarl and hiss and spit my satisfaction.
An unearthly noise assaults my eardrums, and the piece of wood he had been swinging at Justin flies across the room. He is out of the door before it hits the ground.
My heart stops beating.
Justin lies sprawled on the bed, not moving, a small puddle of blood forming under the left side of his head, dripping from his temple.
I run.
Beam's PoV
I start yelling for Brian the moment I enter the staircase to the loft. I have never, ever, ever in my life moved so fast, taken so many flying leaps, jumped so high, skirted so many feet and wheels and hands. It felt like time had stopped, everything around me moving in slow motion.
Fuck, I hope time stopped… If I… if Brian… if we're too late…
The loft door is open when I throw myself around the last corner, Brian waiting with a scowl. He starts complaining the moment he sees me, but I cut him off, tell him about Justin having walked in on the aggravated boyfriend of one of Ethan's romances, and… and… oh, fuck…
Fuck if I don't start howling.
He gets it on the second telling.
I didn't know it was possible for someone to go so pale, so quickly, so utterly still, but for their eyes screaming with fear and terror.
As much as I want to, as much as I need to know Justin is okay, I don't go with Brian. For one thing, I wouldn't have been able to keep up with him, even though he only has to go from the loft to his car. He is even faster than I was in coming over here.
For another, he is going to take Justin to that god-awful place we visited the other night, and I just know my presence will not be kindly looked upon.
Which means I'll either have to wait in the car, or walk home.
I've done enough travel by paw for a while.
I need My Coat.
Brian's PoV
I die the moment I lay my eyes on him.
Sprawled across the bed, flung backwards… his feet dangling off the edge… not moving… blood-stained blond hair…
I don't know if I cried, or screamed, or if I made any sound at all. I must have, because my throat was sore for days afterwards, hoarse… like it gets when you yell too much and too loudly in a smoke-filled Babylon… larynx stiff from grunting into yet another trick… the post-coital roach burning abused lungs…
Not positive, life-affirming in anyway.
"Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god-oh-god, no… please… Oh, God, no-no-no-no-no-no-no…"
I have him in my arms, rocking him against my chest, and I am scared. More motherfucking terrified than I have ever been in my life, and that's saying something. It all blurs. I can't tell whether I'm still kneeling on a cold cement floor, or sitting in a shithole apartment he was never supposed to know existed, with his blood all over me again... fucking again…
I'm weeping, sobbing so hard, I don't at first feel it when he feebly moves in my arms.
"Brian."
I only hear him because he squeezes my hand weakly. His touch sends electricity sparking through my veins, adrenaline acting as a super conductor. The shock blows my nerve endings, and me into a heaving silence, mouth open wide, desperately sucking air.
Crystal depths leak with wild panic and fear, the pupils dilated to an inky blackness… That's not good… but, fuck, they are open, alive…
I start crying again, my tears soaking us both like his blood did the last time. But thank God, this time round… another fucking round… there is not so much red that my tears can't wash it away.
"Justi-…" I choke, and just hold him tighter, not able to get the words out. Not that it really matters. Of course he isn't okay. It's fucking stupid to ask.
How not-okay he is, he won't be able to tell me. I will have to wait until we get to the fucking hospital. I called the paramedics before I got out of the elevator at the loft, but they seem to be taking forever… too long… too fucking long… My heart stops. I can't believe this is happening again, to him… to me… to us…
"Brian…" His hand is soft against my cheek, and I bury my face in it. I'm shivering… shuddering… It's so fucking cold… Forgot my coat… My teeth are rattling, and I clamp my jaws shut…. But I can't breathe, my nose is too blocked up… I gasp….
"Sshhh… it's okay… I'm okay… see?" Justin takes my face in both his hands, stroking, caressing with sweaty fingertips to convince me. "Please…"
His lips tremble under mine. He is scared, not ever having seen me like this. That's the one good part about him not remembering anything about that night... not having had to watch me go to fucking pieces.
I move my lips over his in languid strokes, doing my best to make soft sounds of comfort without going to pieces, again, swallowing his fear for him the only way I know how. Kissing him more gently than I have ever done. Not more gently than I have kissed anyone, ever, because there has never been anyone else. I never kissed anyone before I kissed Justin. I did a lot of tongue fucking… bruising… biting… thrashing… but Justin was my first kiss, my fucking first everything, as I know I was… oh, God, no… am his… am-am-am-am-am...
The shaking is getting worse, and I am not able to stop the tears, but I try... for him, I try. Taking deep breaths. Fighting for control over my sanity.
My heart, I can do nothing about. It hasn't functioned properly since the night I met him, either racing anxiously in my throat, or pumping desire into my groin. But its permanent state is thumping crazily in my chest, forcing the air from my body, and warming me with a tingling of sunshine, all the time…
I will do anything to move from the first state to the latter two, to have Justin back at the loft, where he belongs, my heart dancing according to its "normal" Justin-beat.
Shifting my focus away from the blue eyes I swear I will never let out of my sight again, I tilt my head to the side to get a look at the wound. He winces.
I don't want to hurt him, and I know moving must send flares through his brain, but I can't help myself. I cling to him.
"I'm sorry."
I don't think he hears me. I can barely hear me. But there is light pressure on my face, and I see him mouth "bullshit" before he closes his eyes.
"Sunshine," I say softly, carefully putting my nose to his, not liking the way he is going slack in my arms. His eyes flutter open. Even though I can see the movement causes him pain, he pulls my head down and kisses me, slow, lips softly touching, tongue tips brushing, whimpering…
"Justin, stay with me." His eyes look dreamy, a bit out of focus, and my chest constricts again. Where the fuck are the paramedics?
His smile softens, but this time he doesn't open his eyes.
"Justin… Justin!"
"Mr. Kinney?" The nurse touches Brian's shoulder, trying to get his attention. He swings around, and for a moment her heart contracts. She's worked in ER for more than ten years, and she has seen and experienced humanity in all of its extremes… pain… joy… anxiety… fear… relief… despair…
But this. He is looking far worse than his partner, because his eyes are open.
"The doctor will see you now," she says softly, not hiding the sympathy in her voice. Moving back, she indicates for him to go into the room he has been standing in front of for what feels like a thousand years.
Walking to the side of the bed opposite the doctor, Brian doesn't say anything, not trusting his voice to speak, not moving his eyes from Justin's face.
Finishing his report, the doctor looks up and smiles. "He is going to be fine, Mr. Kinney."
The relief flooding through him is palpable, and he grips the railing of the bed, one hand pushing into his tightly shut eyes.
"You're sure?" His voice is barely a whisper, and the doctor walks around the bed, concern lining his face as he looks closer at the hunched figure.
"Yes. He is a very lucky young man. That bat could have…" Brian sways, and the doctor takes a step forward. Taking him by the arm, he forces him to sit down in the chair behind him. He pours water from the pitcher next to Justin's bed and hands over the glass, although he isn't sure whether a badly shaking Brian is able to get any of it to reach his lips.
"Look..." The doctor bends down, aligning his eyes with tortured hazel ones. "I am not lying to you. He has a concussion, he is going to have a bitch of a headache, and he should take it slow for a couple of days. But there is no permanent damage and no aggravation of his old injuries. I have given him something to sleep, and he should be able to go home tomorrow."
The doctor searches Brian's face, looking for the tell-tale signs that he is about to get another patient.
Brian nods, and the doctor squeezes his shoulder when he gets up.
"I'm not even going to try and convince you to go home, though you look like shit."
Brian's head jerks up, a scalding retort forming on his lips. The doctor chuckles.
"Good. You'll live." Winking at Brian, he turns to leave. "I'll ask one of the nurses to make arrangements for you to stay the night."
Brian doesn't reply. The doctor doesn't expect him to.
Even though he does look like shit, there is no denying that is one fucking hot ass. But there is also no denying that he only has eyes for the blond patient. The doctor knows it will be a waste of time to try and catch Brian's interest, even though a good fuck is at the top of his prescription for his condition. It would bring some color to his cheeks, relieve some of the intensity of those dark eyes.
Slowly getting up, Brian makes his way to the bed. Grabbing Justin's hand, pressing it to his mouth, he leans forward, resting his head on Justin's chest. He closes his eyes, trying to hear the beat of Justin's heart through the sheet and clothing.
With a gasp, he exhales, his breath exploding from his lungs, his knees buckling under him as his weight settles on Justin.
"Brian?" Justin's voice sounds groggy, but his hand has already found the head under his chin, slowly stroking the dark hair.
Brian draws a shuddering breath. Not trusting his legs to hold him up, he remains where he is, on top of Justin, in a very good, life-affirming way.
"Fuck, Justin," he says in a strangled whisper, and the pressure on his head intensifies. "If you ever fucking do that to me again, I'll fuck your ass and your mouth so hard you won't be able to sit, stand, walk, eat, sleep, or talk to your mother for more than a month."
A soft pull on his hair finally makes him raise his eyes, meeting Justin's, not resisting when Justin pulls him closer.
"Do I have to get hurt before I can get all that?" Full lips start to tremble against Brian's mouth, shortly followed by a flood of tears.
Worse queens than Emmett, both of them.
"I'm sorry…" Brian opens his mouth to protest, but Justin cuts him off. "I know… bullshit… but it's not…"
"What happened?" Brian interrupts, not recognizing his own voice. Low and hoarse, it burns the back of his throat.
Justin continues to pat his face, and Brian turns his head to place a kiss in the soft palm.
"I'm not sure… walked in on this guy with a baseball bat. He was mad at Ian…" Brian purses his lips to keep from grinning, especially since he doesn't think Justin knows what he has just said. "…came at me with the bat… I was sure this time…"
Justin takes a shaky breath, and they are quiet for a long time, only white knuckles and fingers painfully intertwined saying what neither of them even wants to think about.
"Then Beam…"
Brian frowns. "Beam?"
"Yeah, he went with me… jumped him from behind… I think… couldn't really see… but there was movement, and a yell… noise… can't describe it. The guy screamed…" Justin sighs, carefully prodding the side off his head, grimacing. "I think he intended to do a bit more than this. Guess he got thrown off balance…" Justin says sleepily.
"Beam came to the loft. That's how I knew something was wrong," Brian says… fuck, yes… fondly. Fond of an orange fluff-ball. Him. Brian Kinney.
"You're fucking kidding me. Beam? Our Beam? From there to the loft?"
"I don't know how he did it. He must have been flying across town to make it in the time he did. He made this noise. Jesus, made my hair stand on end, like nothing I've ever heard before. Took him a while to explain. I was a bit slow on the uptake." Justin smiles at this, not saying anything about Brian not having corrected him on the "our Beam" comment. "But I got it eventually…" Brian's voice falters.
They fall silent again, and Brian is sure Justin has gone to sleep, when the slurry voice says, "Hold me?"
The ER nurse checks in on them half an hour later, and stands for a moment, smiling broadly as Brian's arm tightens around her patient, his legs draped over Justin's. They look like a couple of kids, Brian's mouth pressed against the boy's head tucked under his chin. Justin's face is turned into Brian's shoulder, and she grins at his smile. The picture of contentment... sleeping in one another's arms.
She softly closes the door behind her.
