Title: Cerulean
Author: Angelus
E-mail: (Please put "Cerulean" on the subject line.)
Subject: Queer as Folk.
Category: G, A.
Rating: G.
Summary: Justin adjusts to a life not bathed in blue.
Spoilers: 218-220, mainly. Basically, if you don't know who Ethan is, don't read.
Archive: Anywhere, just ask me first.
Disclaimer: Justin Taylor, Ethan Gold, Brian Kinney, Emmett Honeycutt, Ted Schmidt, Debbie Novotny, Lindsay Peterson, Jennifer Taylor, and any other carachters mentioned here are property of Showtime, Cowlip, and Temple Street. They are used without permission, but no money is being made, so don't sue; I am but a poor college kid.
Author's notes: Ethan is evil. That's all I have to say. Evil, I tell you, evil.
Dedication: To Brian, for making my party awesomely cool with fireworks and laughing gas. For his Powerman 5000 obsession and his huge, expensive shoes, and his unforgettable personality.
When Justin awakes suddenly in the middle of the night, he isn't bathed in blue. That throws him for a second, and he gropes blindly in the darkness for Brian. He finds smooth skin, a taut nipple, but doesn't need to open his eyes to know that it's not Brian at all; it's Ethan.
Once his eyes adjust to the dim moonlight, Justin is able to see the tiny, shabby apartment again. With a sigh, he climbs out of bed, snagging his cigarettes and lighter from the bedside table. He makes his way over to the windowed turret and lies down on his back, naked, with his head inside it, lights his cigarette and watches as the smoke curls upwards, stretching towards the empty sky only to dissipate before it can reach the crumbling plaster ceiling, poorly concealed by faded wallpaper. He smokes his way through the first cigarette concentrating only on the smoke and the scent and the way the paper feels against his lips. It's not until halfway through the second cigarette that his brain gets the better of him.
He's always thought too much. He can't help it, it's just who he is. Doesn't stop him from wishing he didn't, however. He loves to over-analyze things; read into subtleties and subtext that may or, in most cases, may not exist. He blames it on his mother, who always cautioned him not to make decisions without thinking them out first. He's had enough of thinking, though. Right now, he just wants to feel. He's fought the battle and won; time to enjoy the spoils.
Being with Brian Kinney was an exhausting job; Justin had to constantly be on his toes, expecting the unexpected, never knowing what was going to happen. He's aware that most people don't like that kind of uncertainty; they like security. Knowing that if they go out with their significant other, they'll go home with them. That's what he has here, with Ethan. He never has to worry about being stranded somewhere just because his boyfriend found a hot piece of ass that wasn't him. But at the same time - where's the challenge?
Justin has heard the phrase 'comparing apples to oranges' before, but he's never actually used it until now; although comparing Ethan to Brian is like comparing pencils and water buffalos. The only thing they have in common is that they're both men. Ethan is dedicated to Justin and his music; Brian to his dick and his career. Ethan thinks that romance means hearts and flowers; Brian thinks it means a new flavor of lube. Ethan thinks committment is only fucking one guy; Brian has probably never stopped to think about what it means.
On the surface, Justin supposes that choosing Ethan appears to be the right course of action. He certainly thought so. But there are areas where sweet and and thoughtful and romantic just don't cut it. Ethan doesn't know him like Brian did. He could use the excuse that he's barely known Ethan two months, whereas he's known Brian for two years. But even from the start, Brian was able to read him like a book. He knew what to say and do to get him all riled up; he knew when to push the issue and when to leave it be; he knew when Justin needed to be made love to, and he knew when he needed to be fucked.
Justin isn't sure Ethan knows how to fuck. He makes love, slow and sweet and tender, and that's what he's always wanted, right? Sometimes, though, he longs to be able to slam into him, fast and hard and furious. He tried, once, but Ethan brushed the hair off of his forehead and asked what was wrong. Too ebmarrased to admit the truth, he said he'd had a crappy day at school, and then proceeded to push in and out in the gentle, loving manner to which Ethan was accustomed. He never tried again after that. He doesn't have the heart to trick, because that's exactly why he left Brian. So sometimes when Ethan's not home, he pulls the massive black dildo out from underneath his stack of hoodies in the middle drawer and fucks himself with it, hard and violent. He doesn't let Ethan fuck him, and Ethan doesn't ask to; he respects the fact that Brian is the only one he ever let inside him that way. Or at least he keeps up the pretense of respecting that aspect of their lives; he probably doesn't like it very much, and most definetely doesn't understand it, but he doesn't mention it, and neither does Justin, so it just hangs there, unspoken, every time they have sex. Brian told Justin, once upon a time, that no matter who he fucked, he would always be there. And amazingly enough, it's true. Ironic, really, because when Justin makes love to Ethan, he does it mainly to forget Brian Kinney's indelible impact on his life.
Outside of the bedroom, Ethan's actually a prude. He and his friends avoid talking about sex like it's a forbidden topic, and Justin misses Ted and Emmett arguing over who has had the longest orgasm, or the kinkiest. Ethan rarely gives him more than a peck goodbye when they're in public, and quite often it's on the cheek, and Justin misses Brian grabbing him and shoving his toungue down his throat in the middle of the street, just because. Ethan won't go to Babylon, even once, and Justin misses dancing his heart out. Ethan seems annoyed and embarrassed whenever Justin pulls out his pencil and sketchpad, and Justin misses how Brian would sit silently for hours, letting him work, even if they were somewhere like the grocery store. Ethan barely has enough money to afford microwaveable macaroni and cheese, and Justin misses home-cooked meals at Deb's and Lindsay's.
As he lights his fifth cigarette of the night, he lets himself be honest with himself, and admits that he still doesn't know if he made the right decision or not. If he truly loved Ethan, would he still be lying here in the middle of the light thinking about Brian? But he doesn't want to think anymore. He just wants to feel. So before he even finishes the cigarette, he crushes it in the ashtray beside the first four and pushes himself to his feet. The floorboards squeal loudly as he walks across them, and Ethan stirs in his sleep. Justin climbs in beside him and insctintively winds an arm around the brunette's waist, smoothing his wiry curls with his hand as he snuggles against him.
And he feels.
Maybe tomorrow though, when he wakes, he can figure out what the fuck it is he's feeling.
Author: Angelus
E-mail: (Please put "Cerulean" on the subject line.)
Subject: Queer as Folk.
Category: G, A.
Rating: G.
Summary: Justin adjusts to a life not bathed in blue.
Spoilers: 218-220, mainly. Basically, if you don't know who Ethan is, don't read.
Archive: Anywhere, just ask me first.
Disclaimer: Justin Taylor, Ethan Gold, Brian Kinney, Emmett Honeycutt, Ted Schmidt, Debbie Novotny, Lindsay Peterson, Jennifer Taylor, and any other carachters mentioned here are property of Showtime, Cowlip, and Temple Street. They are used without permission, but no money is being made, so don't sue; I am but a poor college kid.
Author's notes: Ethan is evil. That's all I have to say. Evil, I tell you, evil.
Dedication: To Brian, for making my party awesomely cool with fireworks and laughing gas. For his Powerman 5000 obsession and his huge, expensive shoes, and his unforgettable personality.
When Justin awakes suddenly in the middle of the night, he isn't bathed in blue. That throws him for a second, and he gropes blindly in the darkness for Brian. He finds smooth skin, a taut nipple, but doesn't need to open his eyes to know that it's not Brian at all; it's Ethan.
Once his eyes adjust to the dim moonlight, Justin is able to see the tiny, shabby apartment again. With a sigh, he climbs out of bed, snagging his cigarettes and lighter from the bedside table. He makes his way over to the windowed turret and lies down on his back, naked, with his head inside it, lights his cigarette and watches as the smoke curls upwards, stretching towards the empty sky only to dissipate before it can reach the crumbling plaster ceiling, poorly concealed by faded wallpaper. He smokes his way through the first cigarette concentrating only on the smoke and the scent and the way the paper feels against his lips. It's not until halfway through the second cigarette that his brain gets the better of him.
He's always thought too much. He can't help it, it's just who he is. Doesn't stop him from wishing he didn't, however. He loves to over-analyze things; read into subtleties and subtext that may or, in most cases, may not exist. He blames it on his mother, who always cautioned him not to make decisions without thinking them out first. He's had enough of thinking, though. Right now, he just wants to feel. He's fought the battle and won; time to enjoy the spoils.
Being with Brian Kinney was an exhausting job; Justin had to constantly be on his toes, expecting the unexpected, never knowing what was going to happen. He's aware that most people don't like that kind of uncertainty; they like security. Knowing that if they go out with their significant other, they'll go home with them. That's what he has here, with Ethan. He never has to worry about being stranded somewhere just because his boyfriend found a hot piece of ass that wasn't him. But at the same time - where's the challenge?
Justin has heard the phrase 'comparing apples to oranges' before, but he's never actually used it until now; although comparing Ethan to Brian is like comparing pencils and water buffalos. The only thing they have in common is that they're both men. Ethan is dedicated to Justin and his music; Brian to his dick and his career. Ethan thinks that romance means hearts and flowers; Brian thinks it means a new flavor of lube. Ethan thinks committment is only fucking one guy; Brian has probably never stopped to think about what it means.
On the surface, Justin supposes that choosing Ethan appears to be the right course of action. He certainly thought so. But there are areas where sweet and and thoughtful and romantic just don't cut it. Ethan doesn't know him like Brian did. He could use the excuse that he's barely known Ethan two months, whereas he's known Brian for two years. But even from the start, Brian was able to read him like a book. He knew what to say and do to get him all riled up; he knew when to push the issue and when to leave it be; he knew when Justin needed to be made love to, and he knew when he needed to be fucked.
Justin isn't sure Ethan knows how to fuck. He makes love, slow and sweet and tender, and that's what he's always wanted, right? Sometimes, though, he longs to be able to slam into him, fast and hard and furious. He tried, once, but Ethan brushed the hair off of his forehead and asked what was wrong. Too ebmarrased to admit the truth, he said he'd had a crappy day at school, and then proceeded to push in and out in the gentle, loving manner to which Ethan was accustomed. He never tried again after that. He doesn't have the heart to trick, because that's exactly why he left Brian. So sometimes when Ethan's not home, he pulls the massive black dildo out from underneath his stack of hoodies in the middle drawer and fucks himself with it, hard and violent. He doesn't let Ethan fuck him, and Ethan doesn't ask to; he respects the fact that Brian is the only one he ever let inside him that way. Or at least he keeps up the pretense of respecting that aspect of their lives; he probably doesn't like it very much, and most definetely doesn't understand it, but he doesn't mention it, and neither does Justin, so it just hangs there, unspoken, every time they have sex. Brian told Justin, once upon a time, that no matter who he fucked, he would always be there. And amazingly enough, it's true. Ironic, really, because when Justin makes love to Ethan, he does it mainly to forget Brian Kinney's indelible impact on his life.
Outside of the bedroom, Ethan's actually a prude. He and his friends avoid talking about sex like it's a forbidden topic, and Justin misses Ted and Emmett arguing over who has had the longest orgasm, or the kinkiest. Ethan rarely gives him more than a peck goodbye when they're in public, and quite often it's on the cheek, and Justin misses Brian grabbing him and shoving his toungue down his throat in the middle of the street, just because. Ethan won't go to Babylon, even once, and Justin misses dancing his heart out. Ethan seems annoyed and embarrassed whenever Justin pulls out his pencil and sketchpad, and Justin misses how Brian would sit silently for hours, letting him work, even if they were somewhere like the grocery store. Ethan barely has enough money to afford microwaveable macaroni and cheese, and Justin misses home-cooked meals at Deb's and Lindsay's.
As he lights his fifth cigarette of the night, he lets himself be honest with himself, and admits that he still doesn't know if he made the right decision or not. If he truly loved Ethan, would he still be lying here in the middle of the light thinking about Brian? But he doesn't want to think anymore. He just wants to feel. So before he even finishes the cigarette, he crushes it in the ashtray beside the first four and pushes himself to his feet. The floorboards squeal loudly as he walks across them, and Ethan stirs in his sleep. Justin climbs in beside him and insctintively winds an arm around the brunette's waist, smoothing his wiry curls with his hand as he snuggles against him.
And he feels.
Maybe tomorrow though, when he wakes, he can figure out what the fuck it is he's feeling.