Disclaimer: Queer as Folk and all of its characters are property of CowLip, I'm only borrowing them Chapter 2 – Caring is Creepy "It's a luscious mix of words and tricks That let us bet when you know we should fold On rocks I dreamt of where we'd stepped And all the whole mess of roads we're now on." + Brian Brian woke up at an ungodly hour in the morning, and as he downed half the coffee pot with a corresponding amount of sugar, he looked toward Justin’s door with undisguised envy. The little twat got to sleep until eight in the morning, damn him. The fact that he was actually awake at five thirty, wearing track suit pants and abusing caffeine, made him wish he was an artist, too. Or that he’d chosen a more relaxed major. Or, actually, that he wasn’t the captain of the fucking soccer team. But all those wishes would have meant him not being Brian Kinney, because there was no way he could draw anything that looked better than retarded stick figures, and if he didn’t play soccer he wouldn’t have gotten a full scholarship. With a resigned sigh, he put the coffee pot in the sink and started opening the refrigerator to collect a water bottle. A yellow sticky note on the metal door made him pause, and he fought a smile when he read, “Mr. Captain: I feel extremely sorry for you, I know how horrible it must be to be awake at this hour. But console yourself! I’m sure all the hot cheerleaders will be there to cheer you up. And I don’t mean the female ones. Before you leave for your ‘crucial’ practice before the ‘big game’ (why the fuck are there so many big games, anyway? Is there ever a game that isn’t big?) please eat something. I made muffins last night. Hold the Sussie Homemaker remark, and just eat them, ok? J.” Brian shook his head, muttering, “Interfering blond twat…”, but took two muffins from the wicker basket in the counter nonetheless. Justin was better at mothering him than Deb and Michael put together. He collected his school bag and duffel bag from where they lay haphazardly on the floor, and right before he left, he scribbled something down on the yellow sticky note, and stuck it on top of one of the remaining muffins. + “Run, Kinney! Get that ball! You aren’t allowed to slack off and be a fairy here, you’re the captain!” Coach Jenkins called out. “Fuck off, Jerkins,” Brian mumbled. He hated his coach with a passion, hated every single badly concealed dig at his sexuality, the way he always singled him out. But Brian couldn’t quit, since his school career rode on kicking a ball around a muddy field, and the Coach couldn’t do without his star player, regardless of how queer he was. Thus, soccer practice was usually spent with Coach Jenkins yelling at Brian and Brian answering with ill-concealed scorn, more than once calling him ‘Coach Jerkins’ or something equally adolescent. Brian didn’t care about sounding adolescent, he hated the prick. Finally, at seven thirty, the whistle blew and practice was over. Brian made his way to the locker room, visions of hot showers and coffee with an indecent amount of sugar dancing around his head. His path was suddenly blocked by a guy. “Excuse me,” Brian said, pissed off. The guy turned around, and eyed Brian from head to toe. “You’re excused,” he answered, in what he clearly took to be a seductive tone. Brian rolled his eyes, but examined the human road-block nonetheless. He was hot, actually, in that wholesome, male cheerleader kind of way. A blow-job and slippery fuck made their way into Brian’s visions. He grabbed the guy by the shirt and led the way to the showers. As he was fucking the guy, who was moaning and saying, “Y-E-S, yes! F-U-C-K, fuck!”, Brian decided Justin had an uncanny knack for prophecy. And that he’d never fuck a cheerleader again without stuffing something into his mouth, because he really didn’t need to know the guy could spell while he stuck his dick in him. + “Mr. Kinney, how kind of you to join us,” Mrs. Lowe said, looking pointedly down at her watch. “Sorry, Mrs. Lowe. Practice ran late,” Brian apologized, making his way to the back of the classroom. “Yes, well, important as soccer may be, it’s no excuse to be late for this class.” Brian nodded, and sat down next to Lindsay, who whispered, “Practice ran late? Since when is fucking part of soccer practice?” “It’s the best way to relax after strenuous exercise, Linds, everybody knows that,” Brian answered, smirking. “Isn’t fucking strenuous exercise, too?” “Well, yeah. But it’s the good kind of strenuous.” Lindsay rolled her eyes and gave him an indulgent smile. Brian had met Lindsay a few months after he started college. She was an Art History major, and since all students were “encouraged” to branch out and take elective classes in other fields, Brian had met her in ‘Art of the Stone Age’. At first, he’d really resented being forced to take the class by the bug-eyed, creepy career counselor, but meeting Lindsay had made the experience bearable. He’d sat down next to her because he wanted a seat in the back, and because she was the only other person in the room who didn’t look like an absolute weirdo or like she was about to kill herself because she’d make a more interesting story in an Art Book. She’d turned to him, smiled, and offered him a bite of her Veggie Wrap. He knew she thought he was hot the second he knew she was probably as queer as him, and deep in denial. So he took a bite of the Veggie Wrap, and smiled at her. It was the beginning of a great, if somewhat fucked up, friendship. The fucked up part coming from the one night when they’d both done E at some lame-ass Artsy party and ended up fucking in the room of a Pollock wannabe – the walls were all splattered with paint in the most horrible color combinations; for the sake of the world at large, Brian hoped the owner of the room stayed a wannabe forever. It was the strangest phase in their friendship… they fucked at random moments two or three times more, and one night, Lindsay turned to him and said, “I’m pretty sure I’m a lesbian.” Brian answered, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure you are, too.” And that was that. They returned to being just friends. Since then, they’d made their way together through ‘Art in Ancient Greece and Rome’, ‘Art in the Middle Ages’, and ‘Art in the Renaissance’. The current class they were busily not paying attention to was ‘Art in the Modern Age’, since Lindsay was once more deeply involved in another lesbian drama with Rebecca Tucci, and she was giving Brian the full report in a series of notes. Brian replied to most of them with, ‘Lesbians. Gag me.’ or ‘Just find another muncher to munch.’ Lindsay was not amused. + “Oh, come on, you motherfuckin’ piece of shit! Start!” Brian growled at his Jeep. “Come the fuck on, before I do something drastic!” The engine sputtered to life. “Why must you always make me threaten you, huh? You into BD/SM, you twisted fucker?” Brian sighed. He was talking to his car again. A clear sign of exhaustion. He loved his black Jeep, he really did; he’d bought it on countless summers working instead of having fun, and it meant independence to him. It meant getting away from the hell that the Kinney household had been, getting away from Jack’s punches and Joan’s words. Still, as he made his way to Liberty Avenue, Brian promised to himself that, one day, he’d be such a fucking success he’d be able to buy a brand new Jeep, fully loaded. And he’d drive by his old house, give Jack and Joan the finger. He finally parked by the Liberty Diner, twenty minutes late for meeting Michael. “Where the fuck where you, asshole?” was Michael’s greeting. “Car wouldn’t start,” Brian explained. “Again? Shit, Brian, your Jeep breaks down more often than Liza’s marriages.” Brian stared at Michael for a second. “Mikey, you are so pathetic. I think that’s the gayest thing you’ve said in your life. I worry about you, I really do,” he said, shaking his head. “Whatever. Come on, let’s eat.” Michael led the way inside the diner. “Hi, boys!” Debbie greeted from the back. “Sit down, I’ll be right with you.” “I thought Deb didn’t have the dinner shift,” Brian said, raising an eyebrow. “I seem to recall it’s the reason you chose to patronize this wonderful venue every Monday, Wednesday and Friday evening, and made me come.” “It’s the only way I get to see you! You’re always busy with school, or soccer, or Lindsay and Justin,” said Michael, making a face. “And I thought she didn’t have the dinner shift as well.” “So, what’ll it be?” Debbie appeared in front of their table. “Why are you working at this hour, Ma?” Michael asked. “I thought you were working mornings.” “I am. I’m also working the dinner shift a few nights a week,” Deb answered. “You can’t do that! Working graveyard and mornings already makes you exhausted!” Michael exclaimed. “And we can’t have Liberty Avenue’s biggest fag hag tired, Deb,” Brian added. “Who will we turn to for completely inappropriate comments charged with sexual innuendo if you’re falling asleep on the job?” “Asshole,” Debbie muttered, smacking the back of his head. “You two need to stop worrying. I’m a grown woman, and I know what I’m doing. Now, you’re having the pink plate special, and I don’t want to hear another word about this,” she declared, and marched off. “Sir, yes, sir,” Brian whispered. “I know why she’s doing it,” Michael said, looking miserable. “It’s Uncle Vic. He’s not doing too well with the meds, and he’s had loads of appointments lately. The newest cocktail they’re making him try is crazy expensive, and the hospital bills just keep on coming.” Brian said nothing. He hated seeing Michael sad, Debbie so overworked, and he couldn’t stand seeing Vic in pain. He had to do something, soon. “So, what’s the latest from Allegheny Community College?” Brian asked, trying to change the subject. Michael rolled his eyes, but started talking about the Mexican guy in his class who insisted on calling him Miguel, impersonating Ricky Martin dancing ‘La Vida Loca’ when Michael entered the classroom, and talking to him in Spanish. Michael thought the guy wanted to be his friend but couldn’t find a suitable way to reach out, and Brian was pretty sure the guy wanted to fuck Mikey. Michael should have been graduating soon, like Brian, but he’d enrolled in few subjects every semester, and he still had about two years to go to finish. “See you at Babylon tonight?” Michael asked after dinner was over. “Yep, Justin and I will be there. Bye, Mikey,” Brian leaned down to kiss him on the lips, and left. He didn’t see Michael staring after him for a long time after he was gone. + "Hold your glass up, hold it in Never betray the way you've always known it is. One day I'll be wondering how I got so old just wondering how" Justin Justin woke up at eight thirty, yawning and rubbing his eyes. There was a high-pitched sound bugging the hell out of him, and he looked around blearily for the source. His eyes fell on the heap of plastic and wires that used to be his alarm clock radio lying on the floor, and he grimaced. The alarm had gone off and he’d thrown the damn thing across the room to make it shut up. His brilliant move had resulted in a constant beep that was driving him nuts, and as he made his way out of bed to crush the last breath out of the electronic demon, he realized Brian was going to tease him mercilessly; this was the fifth radio he’d demolished in two months. He dumped the plastic remains in the garbage can and glanced at his watch, which was on the bedside table. “FUCK!” He had a class in twenty minutes, and it usually took him thirty to get to PIFA. Without spare time for a shower, he threw on a pair of jeans and the last t-shirt left in his drawer; he really needed to do some laundry. Just as he was about to leave, he backtracked to the kitchen and grabbed one of the muffins he’d made the day before. He noticed a yellow sticky note stuck on top of it, and alternated between laughing and wanting to kill Brian during the bus ride to school when he read what it said. “Sunshine: I’ll bet anything you’re running late ‘cause you rolled your lazy ass out of bed thirty minutes later than you should have. Don’t worry, the smelly guy with a lisp who’s in love with you will save you a seat and lend you his notes, just like he always does (you’re probably going to have to blow him eventually, and I won’t be sympathetic when you do. It’ll be fair punishment for sleeping while I’m running around in shorts since six a.m.) Thanks for the muffins. B.” + “That’s a lovely outfit, Jus.” “Fuck off, Ethan,” Justin groaned. He was wearing a light pink t-shirt that read ‘Dontcha wish your girlfriend was hot like me’ in glitter. Daphne had gone to a Pussycat Dolls concert and thought buying the shirt as a present for Justin was the best idea ever. Justin wanted to torture her and kill her slowly. Very slowly. “Slept in again?” Ethan asked, laughter coloring his voice. “Yeah,” Justin answered miserably. “I didn’t even notice what I had on ‘til a twelve year old girl asked me where I’d bought my t-shirt, ‘cause it was ‘way cool’.” “Did you forget to set the alarm? I thought you bought an alarm clock two weeks ago.” “Oh, I set the alarm. I just decided to shut it off by practicing my discus throw,” Justin explained. “Ah,” Ethan nodded in understanding. “Well, wanna go get some coffee and a croissant?” “Just coffee. I had a muffin and a note for breakfast.” “A note?” Ethan asked, clearly confused. “Brian left me a morning greeting stuck to my oatmeal and cinnamon muffin.” “Oh.” Justin pretended not to notice the jealousy in Ethan’s reply. Justin wasn’t stupid, he’d known Ethan had a crush on him the moment he met him, back in his first semester. They’d met in one of those ‘Introduction Week’ activities for new students, and they had fun criticizing everyone else and talking about art and inspiration. Even though Justin found the violinist cute, he knew Ethan wanted something serious, and Justin didn’t want serious. He wanted fun, no commitments, no apologies and no regrets. And he was kind of, maybe, sort of, secretly hoping something would happen between Brian and him. So he’d kept Ethan at friendship’s length. Justin wasn’t exactly sure who Ethan was jealous of, actually, because when he introduced him to Brian, he could’ve sworn Ethan nearly salivated. It was a normal reaction when first meeting Brian Kinney, as Justin knew all too well. “Justin, I noticed you didn’t make it to class, so I copied down notes for you,” a lispy voice said. Justin turned to see Anton holding out a few papers. “Oh, thanks, Anton. That’s really nice of you.” He took the papers and tried hard not to show he was grossed out by the smell. “I’d do anything for you, Justin,” Anton replied, staring at Justin in such a way that Justin knew he was picturing him naked. “Um, uh… thanks. Gotta go, Ethan’s waiting for me,” Justin said in a rush, and caught up with his friend. “Justin and Anton, the greatest love story never told,” Ethan said mockingly. “How would you describe that smell, exactly? Rotten eggs? Sewage?” “Oh, shut up! He’s not so bad. If he showered and cut his hair, and maybe wore a different outfit every once in a while, I bet he’d look alright.” “You know, if he keeps giving you notes, he’s going to expect some sort of payment eventually,” Ethan pointed out. Justin nodded, and thought about Brian’s note. He hated when Brian was right… and he was usually right. His phone started vibrating, and Justin answered without checking ID. “Mind telling me what the text message saying ‘I fucking hate you’ meant?” “Daph!” Justin laughed. “I woke up late again, and guess which the last clean shirt I had left was?” “Oh my god! You wore the Pussycat Dolls shirt! That’s awesome!” “It is not awesome. People are staring at me like I’m a total freak.” “You are a total freak, Justin. Just roll with it.” A pause. “Oh, god, I can’t wait to tell Brian!” “No way, Daph! You are so not allowed to tell Brian!” “Fine, fine. I won’t.” Justin was so doomed. Daphne was going to tell Brian. + Justin dipped his paintbrush in blue, and as he applied it to his canvas, he felt true peace. The only time he ever felt like this, like everything was right in the world, was when he was painting. There had been another time, but he always blocked himself from thinking about it. He switched to brown and green, and kept on painting. His day had been shitty since the morning. First, waking up late and having to take notes from Anton, who he feared might actually jump Justin at some point. Then, Mr. Wright had been an absolute asshole to him all through Sculpture, the one class Justin didn’t feel completely confident in. And he’d had to help serve out lunch in the cafeteria, as part of the service he was expected to give since he had a student loan. It wasn’t that he actually minded doing the work, he was grateful the school had given him a loan, because without it he wouldn’t be here, but the kids could be incredibly snide; he was more than once compelled to throw the Cole slaw in their faces, but restrained himself. It was his fucking dad’s fault that he had to take a loan in the first place. His asshole father, who he knew would rather see him dead than gay, who refused to pay for his “Fairy school”. Justin’s mom had divorced him two years ago, Craig’s venom at Justin’s sexuality the last straw in a series of things that had deteriorated their marriage. Jennifer was doing well working as a realtor, but Justin knew she had to take care of Molly and herself, she couldn’t take on his college tuition as well. So he’d applied for a loan, since a scholarship was out of the question, considering Craig’s income. Jennifer helped him out with rent, and Justin worked a few shifts a week at the Liberty Diner to pay for other expenses. He stepped back from the canvas, a swirling mix of blue, green, brown. Touches of red, touches of black. He didn’t know if people would notice the figure in the middle, and he hoped someone in particular wouldn’t, if he ever saw it. But Brian was always the one who understood and saw Justin’s art best. + "After every party I die" “Justin, will you hurry the fuck up?” Brian called from the living room. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” Justin replied. “Well, I’m not, which is why I’d love to get a move on sometime this century.” Justin rolled his eyes. Brian’s puns got worse every day. He should buy him a book or something, ‘1001 Good sexual puns’, he’d take a look in Barnes & Noble soon. He stepped out of his room, grabbing a light jacket. “Finally,” Brian replied, and stood up from the couch, were he’d been browsing GQ. “You look hot.” “Thanks, you too.” Justin was wearing a pair of tight, washed out jeans and a dark blue t-shirt, and he knew he looked damn good; the jeans perfectly showcased his ass, and the shirt made his eyes stand out. Brian was wearing dark jeans and a sleeveless red shirt, and all Justin could think was that red was really Brian’s color. As he followed Brian out the door, he also reflected that his jeans made Brian’s ass look great, even though they’d been worn for the purpose of outlining his cock. It’s not like anyone was going near Brian’s ass, except to give him a rim job. Justin shook himself from thinking about Brian’s ass any longer, and turned up the music when he climbed into the Jeep. The Sneaker Pimps started blasting out, and Justin smiled and sang along. Brian pretended to be annoyed, but sang along as well. They arrived to Babylon, by-passing the line because the bouncer had a hard on for both of them, and went inside. They headed for the bar, and the crowd parted for them in a way it never did for anyone else. Brian ordered two Beams, and he and Justin clinked glasses and downed them in one swallow. “Hey Brian!” Michael appeared from somewhere and gave Brian a kiss on the lips. He turned to Justin and greeted him with much less enthusiasm. It’s not that they didn’t like each other, but Justin knew Michael was jealous because Brian spent so much time with Justin. Even though Brian had ‘Mikey’ and Justin had Daphne, Brian and Justin had become best friends in a way they weren’t with the other two. Daphne didn’t mind, she kept on hinting Justin should do more than be Brian’s friend, actually, but Michael was pretty damn jealous about it. “Let’s dance,” Michael told Brian, dragging him out to the dance floor. Brian looked back at Justin with a slight grimace, and Justin knew he was expected to rescue Brian in a song and a half. He passed the time by checking out the patrons, and noticed a very hot brunet giving him the eye. Justin gave him a smile, and headed to the dance floor. He located Brian and Michael, and started dancing nearby. Eventually, he felt a body behind him, and he didn’t need to turn around to recognize Brian’s smell, Brian’s body. They danced, moving in perfect synch. “Thanks,” Brian breathed in his ear. Justin turned in his arms and gave him a smile. “That’s what friends are for. So, seen anyone interesting yet?” “There’s tall, dark and buff over there, he looks good,” Brian motioned to a guy who looked like a total muscle queen a few yards away. “You should go for the brunet who’s checking you out.” Justin nodded, wondering how Brian had noticed. He knew Brian was about to move in on his trick, because the trick was moving closer, trying to get Brian’s attention. Just before leaving, Brian said, “And don’t worry, Sunshine. I think everyone here wishes their girlfriend was as hot as you.” With a wink and a wicked smirk, he was gone. Justin stared after him with an open mouth, but then he chuckled and started dancing again. As the brunet trick approached, Justin thought Brian was probably right. + Justin crawled out of bed around twelve in the afternoon, craving coffee. There was a cup of coffee waiting for him in the counter, prepared just like he liked it, along with a glass of water and an aspirin. “Morning.” Justin turned to find Brian sprawled on the couch, watching a soccer game with the sound off. “Morning. Thanks for the coffee.” Justin moved Brian’s legs and sat down next to him. “Why do we keep on doing this? Getting drunk, getting high… we always feel like shit the next day.” “Well, ‘cause the hangover is a fair price to pay for a good night and a good fuck.” Justin nodded, but said, “My fuck wasn’t that great, though.” “Yeah. Mine either,” Brian replied. Justin shivered a little, and Brian handed him a blanket. He turned up the volume of the TV, and eventually, Justin convinced him to put on The Powerpuff Girls. "I die after every party." TBC A/N: Title from song by The Shins. Songs quoted are Caring is Creepy by The Shins and After Every Party I Die by Sneaker Pimps. Thanks SO much for your feedback, it's trully appreciated :)