Warning. Boy love. Don't like it, don't read it.
Disclaimer. Queer as Folk belongs to Showtime.
.x.
I can't find the words to tell you this, but my heart feels like it's being ripped out of my chest, each vessel that holds it in place snapping like a reluctant twig. The tears refuse to surface and it's killing me that you can just sit there and pretend nothing happened. A cancer stick balances between your slightly parted lips, flaring to life every now and then only to be chased away by the trail of smoke that follows.
The silence is thick, I feel like I'm suffocating in the still of the room. You're lounging on the couch, I'm kneeling on the floor, determined to keep what little dignity you have left me with. Three little words hung in the air like the soon-to-be stale smoke. My voice clung to the phrase, the one that I had so bravely blurted out in the heat of passion.
It didn't matter that you were seconds away from climax yourself; you stopped and looked at me like a deer caught in headlights. I reached out desperately, trying to keep you inside of me, rocking my hips encouragingly. But it was useless; you pulled away without a word, leaving me feeling empty and broken.
I can't stop staring at you, my eyes begging you to glance my way. They're screaming at you just to spare me a single look, to acknowledge that I'm still here, on my knees for fuck's sake.
Time is stretching like a cat in a patch of sunshine, taking its' sweet time. You're on your fifth cigarette, still perched nude on that expensive couch, pretending I don't exist. I remember a time when I drove you crazy, all because I wouldn't give up on that four-letter-word that you don't believe in. You couldn't shake me; I haunted your dreams at night even if you were lying beside some nameless trick. And instead of throwing caution to the wind as I had done for you, you merely submitted, just enough to show that you cared.
Then, it was enough. Now, I wanted more.
You're not ready for it though, and I'm not sure you ever will be. But this cool denial is slowly killing me. You still haven't said anything, and the silence is thickening with tension. By your side, I have always felt invincible, like no one could touch me. Not my homophobic father, not my obnoxious classmates, not even the god that you're so vehemently disgusted with.
Yet, here I am, sitting on my haunches on that ridiculous furry white rug, feeling like a newborn kitten. I'm weak without your love – haven't you realized that? You don't have to say the damn words, I know they scare you; they lead to commitment and all those things that couples are notorious for. I left you for Ethan because I thought I wanted all those petty things. In the end, I came back, knowing I couldn't live without you, despite your adamant distaste for verbally expressing your affection.
The ashtray is already overflowing, and you're about to light up yet another cigarette. I don't think I've ever seen you smoke so much in such a small space of time. Without another thought, and fervently ignoring the ache in my chest, I slowly stand up, plucking the unlit roll of tobacco from your fingers.
In the faint neon glow that filters in from the bedroom, I see you arch an eyebrow at me, lips trying not to quirk in amusement as I flick the cigarette into the shadows. My pulse is skyrocketing – I know you can push me away at any second – yet I dip my head anyways as I crawl into your lap, brushing my mouth against yours ever so gently. For a moment, you just sit there, not so much as twitching as my lips move against yours. I'm about to pull away in defeat when your arms encircle me, one hand cradling the back of my head as you almost frantically return the kiss.
Soon, I'm on my back, my legs flung over your shoulders. It's as if the words I had said had never happened, as if nothing had changed between us. And perhaps nothing had, who knows? You're buried in me, your head resting on my shoulder, as you take deep, gasping breaths, like you're trying to hold back. I nip at your ear, whispering the kind of babble that is reserved for trashy novels and cheap porn.
When you finally rock your hips for the last time, your body collapsing on top of mine, I forget how to breathe for just a moment. I think I'm hearing things; I really should get more sleep. Why's that?
Because I think Brian Kinney just said, "I love you, Sunshine."