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mclachlandBackwards, But Then…, by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mclachlan
QaF US, Brian/Justin
Summary: Between painting until his hand feels as if it's hanging on by a tendon and sitting alone in the dark of his ugly, unfamiliar apartment, Justin spends his time missing Brian terribly and watching the sun rise.
Spoilers for 5.07
Commitment. Monogamy.
Love.
Deep down, Justin knows he isn't wrong for wanting those things, knows he wasn't wrong for leaving when those things were refused him. Even though he feels like he's wrong. Like he shouldn't want them.
The guilt and the uncertainty eat him up at night, writhing in him, forcing him to remember the scene in the loft (whatever else happens, by all means keep on dancing) until the sunlight drives them back until they're nothing more than white noise, whispers in the next room.
Michael tells him it wasn't his fault, but Brian's. All Brian's. But Justin can't help but wonder if Brian is really to blame. If this isn't honestly his own doing. He had been fully aware of who Brian Kinney was… and that Time had no claim to him. Especially that part of "Things Change with Time". Because Brian Kinney doesn't change. He'll probably be fucking and sucking and drugging and dancing until the day he dies.
So, between painting until his hand feels as if it's hanging on by a tendon and sitting alone in the dark of his ugly, unfamiliar apartment, Justin spends his time missing Brian terribly and watching the sunrise.
He can never capture either of them, and it frustrates him to no end. Brian is always there, as tangible as the sunrise, dancing just beyond reach. He can't paint the right colors of the lifting sun, can't get the oranges and golds down on the canvas the way he wants, just as he can't have Brian the way he wants.
Justin, sitting at his window, letting the incorrect colors dry on the canvas across the room, closes his eyes and imagines that it wasn't Joan Kinney who birthed Brian, but the sunrise. Where the sky meets the earth, the first wash of golden light had brought forth a man who, despite his inability to love Justin the way he deserves and should, is really rather incredible.
Sighing, he stands and reaches for his coat, stomach snarling and demanding to be fed. There's a doughnut shop down the street from his building; he's managed to make friends there despite the short amount of time he's being going. Their coffee is half-way decent and the doughnuts are always warm. He abandons his faulty painting and breathes in the sharp air, nerves buzzing with the way it slices through him. He tucks his scarf around his neck tighter and inhales again, just to see if he can catch that initial burn again. He can't.
The owner of the shop, Marley, greets Justin as he does whenever Justin comes in, and gives him his usual: two glazed doughnuts and a black coffee, cream and sugar on the side. It's tucked into a plain white paper bag like a secret and Justin thanks Marley, wishing him a good day.
He leaves with a mouthful of doughnut, tongue twisting to get all the sugary glaze, bag tucked in one arm and coffee in the other hand. A pretty unattractive sight, he's sure.
"Christ, that's disgusting. Chew your fucking food."
Justin, instead of chewing as ordered, chokes, dropping his cup in surprise. It hits the ground and the cap comes off, splashing hot coffee onto his sneakers. Brian watches this with barely-veiled amusement, arms crossed, devastatingly gorgeous in his wool coat and leather gloves, hair combed back in the way Justin loves.
When his eyes open and his vision clears, he peers at Brian through watery disbelief. "W-What the fuck are you doing here?"
Brian shrugs dramatically. "Venturing out into the winter air in the slums was at the top of my appointment list this morning. Cynthia wrote it in red pen."
Justin blinks. "Seriously?"
"No." Brian's face… softens. He looks Justin up and down, eyes gentle and only a little amused now. "You look good."
Sighing, Justin puts his bag with his remaining doughnut on the sidewalk and crosses his arms, more for warmth than anything. "Why are you here? Because I'm not doing the 'yes Brian, no Brian' thing again."
And as quickly as a winter sunset, Brian's gentle gaze disappears, shuttering.
"The 'yes Brian, no Brian thing'? The hell is that about?"
"Is there a reason you're here? Because I--" He what? There is absolutely nothing he needs to be doing. Think of something, think of something…
"Look, while you come up with an excuse, let me make this quick." Brian fiddles with his gloves, pulling them on tighter and then picking at the fingers to loosen them, eyes on his Gucci shoes, mouth stretched into an uncomfortable, thin line. Justin's heart pounds a rhythm as steady as the colors of the sunrise and he tries not to get his hopes up. Bad things tend to happen when he does.
"I…"
Justin takes a small step forward… getting his hopes up. Dope.
"I thought…" Brian swallows hard, and Justin watches his throat bob with it. "That night… I… The bet with… Look. I can't do this like those fuckwits in Moulin Rouge or fucking Titanic. I lost the bet with Brandon."
Justin holds his breath. For a very long time.
"… I couldn't fuck my number one."
The air leaves him in a whoosh and he can feel himself deflate. That's it? "… So?"
Brian gives a melodramatic sigh. "You were at the top of the list, Justin. And… I really couldn't do it. Not to you, especially for a fucking bet like that. I might be an asshole with a capital Bastard, but that's a shitty thing to do to someone you… you…"
Justin watches in fascination as Brian's lips formulate the word, but his voice can't get around it. Brian looks like he's going to throw up.
"… And that night," Brian deftly changes the course of the conversation, returning to his normal color, "that night when you… you said it would never work. You and me."
He nods, remembering. Brian takes it and continues.
"But… So, I thought it over… and I figured we could give it a shot."
Justin's jaw is cold on the sidewalk.
"You know," Brian falters, gesturing helplessly with his hands. "The monogamy… and the… the, uh…"
Unbelievable. "Brian, you can't even say it. I don't think anything short of me being caught in a bombing or something would make you able to say it."
Brian looks scandalized. "Don't fucking say that! I'm trying, here. It's just…"
Justin wishes he had choked to death on his stupid doughnut. Undignified or not, it'd be a hell of a lot better than th--
"... I don't work right without you."
He's aware that for the longest time they've done nothing but go backwards. And for all the times they've gone backwards, Justin thinks the night he left the loft for what (he thought) was the final time. Now they'll go only forward.
With a smile, Justin walks away from his doughnut bag and spilt coffee to place a cold hand on Brian's cheek. Brian jerks back with a surprised curse.
"Fuck, your hands are freezing." Brian takes Justin's freezing hands into his own, rubbing them to dredge up some heat. All Brian needs to do to find heat is look at him. Justin's vaguely aware that makes him kind of pathetic… or maybe just very in love.
"Come back to my place. I'll show you my newest painting."
"I heard that 'your place' is one step away from condemned. The stairs won't collapse under me, right? This is a fucking Armani coat."
"They won't collapse under you. Now shut up. You'll like this piece… it's very you."
Brian slings an almost hesitant arm around Justin's shoulders, a half-embrace he shamelessly nestles into, and they start forward.
Only forward.
Twisted Logic, by Coldplay
Sunlight opened up my eyes
to see for the first time
it opened them up
And tonight rivers will run dry
and not for the first time
rivers will run
Hundreds of years in the future
there could be computers
looking for life on earth
Don't fight for the wrong side
say what you feel like
say how you feel
You'll go backwards
but then
you'll go forwards
again
You'll go backwards
but then
you'll go
Created... then drilled and invaded
If somebody made it
Someone will mess it up
And you are not wrong to
Ask who does this belong to
It belongs to all of us
You'll go backwards
but then
you'll go forwards
and then
you'll go backwards
again
you'll go forwards
You'll go backwards
but then
you'll go forwards
again
You'll go backwards
but then
you'll go forwards
mclachlanQaF US, Brian/Justin
Summary: Between painting until his hand feels as if it's hanging on by a tendon and sitting alone in the dark of his ugly, unfamiliar apartment, Justin spends his time missing Brian terribly and watching the sun rise.
Spoilers for 5.07
Commitment. Monogamy.
Love.
Deep down, Justin knows he isn't wrong for wanting those things, knows he wasn't wrong for leaving when those things were refused him. Even though he feels like he's wrong. Like he shouldn't want them.
The guilt and the uncertainty eat him up at night, writhing in him, forcing him to remember the scene in the loft (whatever else happens, by all means keep on dancing) until the sunlight drives them back until they're nothing more than white noise, whispers in the next room.
Michael tells him it wasn't his fault, but Brian's. All Brian's. But Justin can't help but wonder if Brian is really to blame. If this isn't honestly his own doing. He had been fully aware of who Brian Kinney was… and that Time had no claim to him. Especially that part of "Things Change with Time". Because Brian Kinney doesn't change. He'll probably be fucking and sucking and drugging and dancing until the day he dies.
So, between painting until his hand feels as if it's hanging on by a tendon and sitting alone in the dark of his ugly, unfamiliar apartment, Justin spends his time missing Brian terribly and watching the sunrise.
He can never capture either of them, and it frustrates him to no end. Brian is always there, as tangible as the sunrise, dancing just beyond reach. He can't paint the right colors of the lifting sun, can't get the oranges and golds down on the canvas the way he wants, just as he can't have Brian the way he wants.
Justin, sitting at his window, letting the incorrect colors dry on the canvas across the room, closes his eyes and imagines that it wasn't Joan Kinney who birthed Brian, but the sunrise. Where the sky meets the earth, the first wash of golden light had brought forth a man who, despite his inability to love Justin the way he deserves and should, is really rather incredible.
Sighing, he stands and reaches for his coat, stomach snarling and demanding to be fed. There's a doughnut shop down the street from his building; he's managed to make friends there despite the short amount of time he's being going. Their coffee is half-way decent and the doughnuts are always warm. He abandons his faulty painting and breathes in the sharp air, nerves buzzing with the way it slices through him. He tucks his scarf around his neck tighter and inhales again, just to see if he can catch that initial burn again. He can't.
The owner of the shop, Marley, greets Justin as he does whenever Justin comes in, and gives him his usual: two glazed doughnuts and a black coffee, cream and sugar on the side. It's tucked into a plain white paper bag like a secret and Justin thanks Marley, wishing him a good day.
He leaves with a mouthful of doughnut, tongue twisting to get all the sugary glaze, bag tucked in one arm and coffee in the other hand. A pretty unattractive sight, he's sure.
"Christ, that's disgusting. Chew your fucking food."
Justin, instead of chewing as ordered, chokes, dropping his cup in surprise. It hits the ground and the cap comes off, splashing hot coffee onto his sneakers. Brian watches this with barely-veiled amusement, arms crossed, devastatingly gorgeous in his wool coat and leather gloves, hair combed back in the way Justin loves.
When his eyes open and his vision clears, he peers at Brian through watery disbelief. "W-What the fuck are you doing here?"
Brian shrugs dramatically. "Venturing out into the winter air in the slums was at the top of my appointment list this morning. Cynthia wrote it in red pen."
Justin blinks. "Seriously?"
"No." Brian's face… softens. He looks Justin up and down, eyes gentle and only a little amused now. "You look good."
Sighing, Justin puts his bag with his remaining doughnut on the sidewalk and crosses his arms, more for warmth than anything. "Why are you here? Because I'm not doing the 'yes Brian, no Brian' thing again."
And as quickly as a winter sunset, Brian's gentle gaze disappears, shuttering.
"The 'yes Brian, no Brian thing'? The hell is that about?"
"Is there a reason you're here? Because I--" He what? There is absolutely nothing he needs to be doing. Think of something, think of something…
"Look, while you come up with an excuse, let me make this quick." Brian fiddles with his gloves, pulling them on tighter and then picking at the fingers to loosen them, eyes on his Gucci shoes, mouth stretched into an uncomfortable, thin line. Justin's heart pounds a rhythm as steady as the colors of the sunrise and he tries not to get his hopes up. Bad things tend to happen when he does.
"I…"
Justin takes a small step forward… getting his hopes up. Dope.
"I thought…" Brian swallows hard, and Justin watches his throat bob with it. "That night… I… The bet with… Look. I can't do this like those fuckwits in Moulin Rouge or fucking Titanic. I lost the bet with Brandon."
Justin holds his breath. For a very long time.
"… I couldn't fuck my number one."
The air leaves him in a whoosh and he can feel himself deflate. That's it? "… So?"
Brian gives a melodramatic sigh. "You were at the top of the list, Justin. And… I really couldn't do it. Not to you, especially for a fucking bet like that. I might be an asshole with a capital Bastard, but that's a shitty thing to do to someone you… you…"
Justin watches in fascination as Brian's lips formulate the word, but his voice can't get around it. Brian looks like he's going to throw up.
"… And that night," Brian deftly changes the course of the conversation, returning to his normal color, "that night when you… you said it would never work. You and me."
He nods, remembering. Brian takes it and continues.
"But… So, I thought it over… and I figured we could give it a shot."
Justin's jaw is cold on the sidewalk.
"You know," Brian falters, gesturing helplessly with his hands. "The monogamy… and the… the, uh…"
Unbelievable. "Brian, you can't even say it. I don't think anything short of me being caught in a bombing or something would make you able to say it."
Brian looks scandalized. "Don't fucking say that! I'm trying, here. It's just…"
Justin wishes he had choked to death on his stupid doughnut. Undignified or not, it'd be a hell of a lot better than th--
"... I don't work right without you."
He's aware that for the longest time they've done nothing but go backwards. And for all the times they've gone backwards, Justin thinks the night he left the loft for what (he thought) was the final time. Now they'll go only forward.
With a smile, Justin walks away from his doughnut bag and spilt coffee to place a cold hand on Brian's cheek. Brian jerks back with a surprised curse.
"Fuck, your hands are freezing." Brian takes Justin's freezing hands into his own, rubbing them to dredge up some heat. All Brian needs to do to find heat is look at him. Justin's vaguely aware that makes him kind of pathetic… or maybe just very in love.
"Come back to my place. I'll show you my newest painting."
"I heard that 'your place' is one step away from condemned. The stairs won't collapse under me, right? This is a fucking Armani coat."
"They won't collapse under you. Now shut up. You'll like this piece… it's very you."
Brian slings an almost hesitant arm around Justin's shoulders, a half-embrace he shamelessly nestles into, and they start forward.
Only forward.
Twisted Logic, by Coldplay
Sunlight opened up my eyes
to see for the first time
it opened them up
And tonight rivers will run dry
and not for the first time
rivers will run
Hundreds of years in the future
there could be computers
looking for life on earth
Don't fight for the wrong side
say what you feel like
say how you feel
You'll go backwards
but then
you'll go forwards
again
You'll go backwards
but then
you'll go
Created... then drilled and invaded
If somebody made it
Someone will mess it up
And you are not wrong to
Ask who does this belong to
It belongs to all of us
You'll go backwards
but then
you'll go forwards
and then
you'll go backwards
again
you'll go forwards
You'll go backwards
but then
you'll go forwards
again
You'll go backwards
but then
you'll go forwards
