Set post the S5 Break-up. Brian wants Justin back. With a little help from the lesbians, he comes up with the perfect plan. But the events at Stop Prop 14 turn everything upside down. Can he rebuild what's been broken? (very cliche summary, i know.) It's my first fic, so REVIEWS PLEASE. Warning: Anti - Michael. And i took my liberties very much with the events of Stop Prop 14. Oh, andMel and Linds were never seperated. ------------------------------------------------------- Light poured over a heaving sea of bodies, twirling and flashing in an epileptic manner as a guttural beat pushed through the room, embedding itself in time with the rhythm of the crowd’s collective heart. Brian threw his head back vigorously, swallowing the shot of Beam with a grimace. “Another.” He barked at the bar boy, slamming the glass on the counter with a resounding thud. The twink started abruptly and shot a glare in Brian’s direction – but, as usual, the glare quickly melted away when his heavily dilated eyes locked (somewhat hazily) with Brian’s. “Coming right up.” He drawled with a seductive smile and bent over exaggeratedly behind the counter. Brian tore his eyes away from the twink, turning instead to the pulsing mass of flesh before him, heaving and swaying to the pumping bassline that poured out of the 17 digital speakers scattered throughout the club. Speakers Brian had paid for. He smiled wryly as Ted’s words re-entered his head. “Oh, come on. We’ve got the funds – look at what Kinnetik made only last quarter. Babylon’s you’re baby – and isn’t buying your child semi-pointless extravagances one of the great responsibilities of being a parent?” Reluctantly Brian agreed, more out of desire to make Ted shut the fuck up than for the good of his “baby”. His baby. Brian smirked bitterly – if this was his baby, his current methods of fathering (getting shitfaced and standing on the sidelines as an uninterested observer) were nearly meeting those of the legendary Jack Kinney. He was startled by cold fingers on his shoulder. He whipped around to find the twink leaning over the bar, drink in hand, a sloppy smile placed on his face by a meth-addled brain. He ran a finger slowly around the edge of the glass, looking expectantly at the veritable god before him. Brian leaned in slowly, feeling the hopeful trick’s breath increase slightly. He curled his fingers suggestively around the glass and leaned into the tricks ear. “Fuck me.” The twink whispered desperately. “Fuck. Yourself.” He punctuated tearing the glass out of his bony hand and downing the shot in a swallow. Before the kid could respond Brian was already half-way across the dance floor in a bee-line for the door. The cool night air hit him with a refreshing crispness as he pushed open the club doors, leaving behind the sea of light and sound to a more interested crowd. He was only interested in one thing, and that was Jus— Fuck! Don’t fucking think that. You’re not a fucking breeder. You don’t believe in love. You’re probably better off without the brat – you don’t have to deal with his whining about “what he wants”… fucking housewife. “Yeah. Definitely better off with out him.” He said aloud, almost convincingly, but there was an ever growing lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow no matter how hard he tried. And it stayed there. Until he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He was home alone smoking a joint on the bed. Their bed. Suddenly his mind was flooded with images… naked bodies swaying to their own carnal rhythm. Shaken, he tore himself from the sheets and walked instead into the living area. Television. That’ll distract him. He flipped the power button and familiar sounds floated through his ears – no fucking way. The picture focused in and, sure enough, there it was. The Yellow Submarine. Justin’s favourite movie. His mind flew back to a time when Justin was the one hopelessly in love (he cringed) – his mother expected him to let the kid move in with him. Like that was gonna happen. But, eventually, he found himself giving in (the things that kid could do to him) –and getting a duffle bag shoved into his arms, full of two things: 27 pairs of tighty whities – and the Yellow Submarine. The bare essentials. He attempted a smirk but all he managed was a sad smile, the lump in his throat bobbing threateningly. He forced eyes shut. No. You are not going to queen out. He thought to himself, even as the tears welled in his hazel eyes. After several more half-hearted attempts to keep himself together, his body eventually surrendered to the truth. He missed Justin – and “fucking Brian Kinney” just had to get over that fact. He ended up sleeping on the couch, slumbering to the soothing sounds of the Beatles, tear-stained pillow clutched to his chest as if the boy – man – that now frequented his dreams were in his arms again. Brian Kinney had fallen hard. --------------------------------------------------------- “Brian…” Knock. Hazel eyes snapped open. Knock. knock. “BRIAN.” He looked around groggily, glancing down at the pillow clutched to his chest as memories of the night before flooded his mind with unwanted force. Knock knock. Knock. He threw the pillow disgustedly at the mumbling TV, glaring heavily at the door that was probably currently being assaulted by some pathetic force named ‘Mikey’. “BRIAN!” Knocknocknocknock. “I’m COMING!” He yelled exasperatedly, tearing his broken form from the couch. “I wish.” He muttered with a smirk. “Come on – I need to talk to you!” KNOCK. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He mumbled as he padded unevenly across the smooth wood panel floor. He stopped in front of the steel loft door and pinched the bridge of his nose, mentally preparing himself for the whining tirade that he was sure lay on the other side. “What the fuck took you so long?” Michael’s voice bounced off his ear drums with grating displeasure. “Nice to see you too.” He replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. Brian and Mikey’s relationship hadn’t exactly been the greatest since ‘the break up’. Rather, Brian just wanted to be left the fuck alone, and Mikey… well, Mikey was Mikey. “I need to talk to you.” “Really? I couldn’t have fuckin’ guessed. What is it, is the professor feeding you too much healthy Asian shit again? Well sorry –” He yanked open the fridge “ –But I don’t think poppers and Beam serve as a healthy source of vitamins and minerals.” He slammed the refrigerator door. “You could always go to the grocery store for me though.” “No, I need –” “Zucchini would be nice.” “Would you shut the fuck up?” Brian dragged his finger across his lips and shifted his eyes toward the ceiling. “I need a favor.” Brian opened his mouth but, predictably, Mikey cut in. “The Stop Prop 14 Benefit.” Brian stared uninterestedly. “It’s a benefit… to Stop proposition 14.” Mikey continued hesitantly. “No shit.” He forced in loudly. “What do you need me for?” “Um. Well, you see, we did have a place to hold it. This hotel downtown, called –well, anyway, they kicked us out…asshole corporate sponsors not wanting to ruin their reputation, you know, the usual shit. And, uh. We’ve tried everywhere else…” He trailed off uncertainly. “Except…” Brian continued for him. “Babylon.” Mikey gave a staccato nod, lip slipping between his teeth. “I know it’s short notice, and we wouldn’t have asked you unless we really needed it –” “Glad to know I’m dependable.” Brian muttered under his breath. “ –And it’s for a good cause –” “They always are.” He drawled with mock compassion. “Brian.” Mikey stared intently at him. He looked off into the bedroom in contemplation. “How much were you paying the other place?” He asked quietly. “Ten thousand.” Brian nodded distractedly. “We’ll pay you more.” He added reassuringly. “No you wont.” He looked back to Michael, features set in an unreadable stare. “Look, just because we’re desperate doesn’t mean you have to –” “It’s free of charge.” Brian said simply. Mikey’s mouth dropped slightly. “I –” He stuttered. “I –I don’t know what to say.” “Well, ‘thanks’, would do.” Brian shot back, edgily. Michael seemed to take the hint (for once in his life), because he took a few steps back, and mumbled a small ‘thanks’ as he turned for the door. The look of heavy contemplation fell from Brian’s face. “Wait. Mikey.” He took a step forward. Mikey turned quickly to face him, puppy eyes expertly set. “Is Justin going to be there?” He asked as casually as possible. He watched the hopeful puppy eyes flash with anger and the signature pout spread into a thin line of bitterness. “Why do you care? I thought you were over him.” He asked disdainfully. “Just answer the goddamn question.” Brian shot back, advancing. “Well, yeah, I guess so.” He must have noticed the flicker of light in Brian’s eyes at those words. “Why?” He whined accusingly. “That doesn’t really concern you, now does it?” Brian said patronizingly. “Well, actually –” Typical Mikey. “The answer’s ‘no’, Mikey, it doesn’t.” He cut in forcefully. “Now get the fuck out.” He punctuated by throwing a finger at the door, like a parent telling their 8-year-old to go to their room. Mikey still remained unmoved, so Brian added a slow, derisive “Please” and headed straight for the bedroom. “And shut the door.” He shouted, not looking back. The clang of metal a few moments later told him Mikey must have taken the hint. He sighed heavily in his solitude and fell back on the bed, arms spread in a Christ like pose. A soft smile spread across his face. He was going to get his Sunshine back, he decided, not matter how lesbianic it was – because it had finally hit him, while he was busy not listening to Mikey, that he would much rather give up his reputation than his life. Because, as fucking trite as it sounded, that’s what Justin was. Ever since he left Brian felt as if a part of himself was gone, too. He cringed. Fuck, he really has turned me into a lesbian. But it was true. He went to work uninterestedly, he got distracted during presentations, he hadn’t “nailed an account” in weeks, he ate uninterestedly, he slept uninterestedly -- hell, he even tricked uninterestedly. So, after nearly gagging multiple times – he finally got himself to admit the truth. He loved Justin Taylor. Always had. Always would. And there was only one little problem: he had absolutely no fucking clue how to get him back. After a moment of worried frustration, he smiled mischeviously at the ceiling before rolling off the bed and grabbing his coat. Time to go visit the munchers. ----------------------------------------------------- “Brian. To what do we owe the pleasure.” Mel’s sarcasm met him with cool familiarity as the door to house 178 swung agape. “I need to talk to a lesbian –” He said unthinkingly. Mel snorted “Well, congratulations, you’ve come to the right place.” “Where’s Lindsey?” “I thought you needed a lesbian.” “I do…” “So what the fuck am I?” “Just trust me, I need Lindsey.” “Fine.” She tilted her head around through the doorway. “Hun! Your majesty Fucker of Liberty Avenue would like a word with you!” Moments later, a just-as-ridiculously-disheveled-as-usual Lindsey came bouncing through the living room to the doorway. “What is it?” She asked breathlessly. “He needs to speak with a lesbian.” Mel whispered amusedly. Lindsey gave him a quick ‘what-the-fuck’ look and slowly drawled “Whyyy?” “I need romantic advice.” He mentally kicked himself in the head. I cannot believe I just said that. Predictably, Mel threw her head back and let out a loud bark of laughter. “What?!” She screeched and bent over in a fit of hysterics. Lindsey simply stood, mouth agape for a few seconds, looking Brian squarely in the face, before faintly tapping her partner on the shoulder. “I think he’s serious.” She whispered amazedly. Brian averted his gaze, then immediately regretted the gesture as he heard Lindsey gasp. He was in deep shit now. He cringed as an anticipated “Awwwwww! Brian…” Left Lindsey’s mouth excitedly. Fuck. Here we go. He inwardly braced himself against the wave of sentences involving the words ‘cute’ and ‘adorable’ that he was sure were headed his way. “Oh my God… you miss him! That’s so cute!” She turned to Mel eagerly “He misses him! Isn’t that cute, Mel?” If Mel’s eyebrows were raised any further they’d become part of her hairline. “Yeah. It’s fuckin’ adorable…” She drawled behind a well-placed smirk and turned from scene, shaking her head amusedly. As soon as she was gone, Lindsey broke out in a manic grin. The kind of manic grin that made Brian start to fear (even more than usual) for his well-being. “Tea and cookies?” She said sweetly, grabbed his wrist, and yanked him over the threshold. Why did I do this? --------------------------------------------------- “Okay, can we try to act a little less lesbianic about this?” He pleaded, reaching automatically for towards the cookie plate. “Fuck, these are good.” He mumbled, stuffing what seemed like the twelfth chocolate chip cookie in his mouth. “Brian.” Mel dictated from the kitchen table. “Your 22-year-old male lover has left you, and you’ve gone to seek – Christ, I can barely say it – romantic advice from a couple of dykes. How exactly do you approach that in a manly fashion? I’m sorry, not even your dick is that big.” Even Linds gave a snort at that, before turning to Brian with a sincere smile. “What do you want us to do, Brian?” Get me my fucking Sunshine back. “I don’t know.” He muttered resignedly, focusing on a spot on the floor. He heard Lindsey move next to him. “Hey.” She whispered softly, stroking his back. “I know you love him.” She felt him shrink slightly under her touch. “But that’s just it. You love him. You want him back. Not us. Shouldn’t that be enough? Go see him – tell him how you feel.” Brian managed a small smirk – yep, that’s Lindsey Peterson. The Maudlin Maid. “But what the fuck do I say?” He nearly whined. Mel snorted. “Try ‘I love you’ – always worked for me. Oh, and you could add in an ‘I miss you’, too. You know, just for good measure.” Mel snarked, nose buried in the house bills but still finding it impossible to ignore the amusingness that was Brian Kinney in love. Love. As if he had telepathically heard the word, he cringed. “Why don’t you just cut my dick off, right now?” Mel let out another bark of laughter. “Gladly.” She drawled and turned back to her pile of papers. “Hun, what date is it?” “Today’s Tuesday right? Umm. Twenty…first. I think. Yeah, because Stop Prop 14 is on Friday, the –“ Oh my fucking god. “Twenty fourth.” He said dazedly. “Fuck.” He whispered quietly, raising his hand to his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut as memories attacked his conciousness. “What?” Linds’s soft concern-filled voice drifted to his ears. He barely heard her over the racket in his own head. Music. Voices. Screams. Blood. Fuck. His voice cracked when he spoke. “Four years.” He said weakly, hoping she would understand. He felt the grip tighten on his back. She did. But it was Mel who spoke. “You said he still doesn’t remember any of it, right?” “No.” He replied solemnly. He locked eyes with Mel, expecting to find a pity party as big as the Pride Parade hidden within the dark brown orbs, but instead he found not sympathy, but…what was that? Mischief? “Well, maybe it’s about time he did.”