Midnight Whispers
QAF Brian and Justin Fanfiction
Author's Chapter Notes:

Next chapter jumps into the main plot line.

“You know, mummifying yourself isn’t going to help things!”

 

From his spot in front of the bathroom mirror, Justin rolled his eyes, concentrating instead on the last piece of tape he had left to apply to his most recent injury. Once the makeshift stitching was secured, he stood back, taking in the sight of himself. He’d already dressed in a nice suit—sans jacket and tie—for his meeting that day, the only thing remaining amiss being the injury to his face. Touching lightly so as to avoid any pain, he said again, “It’s just a bruise. Bruises fade.” Despite the surety of his comment, the blonde knew that it wasn’t that minor. He was freaking standing in the bathroom, taping his skin shut for Christ’s sake. Already there were shades of vivid purple around his left eyebrow. He wasn’t going to let Brian bully him about it, however. Emerging from the bedroom, he made his way over to lean at the kitchen counter, watching as Brian fiddled with the juicer.

 

“Look: so many colors! I knew it,” Brian simpered as he caught sight of his boyfriend, his faux-astounded tone fading to disgust. “You think a little camouflage is going to make it look any more appetizing?”

 

“Are you referring to your breakfast, or to me?”

 

“Ugh.” The half-naked man went back to his kitchen appliance.

 

Given that it was a late Saturday morning, Brian was still only dressed in his boxer briefs. The view he gave off for it—bare skin and tousled hair— was well-appreciated. Justin eyed the tall glass of green glump the other man poured for himself, and made a face, “Why do you drink that shit?”

 

The darker man blinked in an uncomprehending look, “It’s kale-apple smoothie. …What?”

 

“Nothing.” Justin shook his head, “Go ahead. Drink your magic potion.”

 

“It’s magic if it makes me hot,” Brian insisted, taking an extra-large gulp for show. “See?”

 

“Wow, you just lost two pounds. I’m amazed,” Justin deadpanned. Walking over to Brian’s desk, he swiped up the portfolio he’d put together, and which he’d be needing later that day. The PR team for Van Dorn’s campaign had asked for a meeting to decide on some concepts, so later that morning Justin would stop by some big shiny building with his work, and hopefully cement a hefty commission. He began to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, hearing more than seeing Brian approach from the kitchen. The other man sidled up close, until they were practically touching back to front.

 

“You shouldn’t do that,” Brian scolded. “It’s Armani. And I bought you the whole suit, you know. There’s a jacket to go with the pants.”

 

“I like it like this,” Justin insisted, continuing to adjust himself. “I need to look professional, but trendy. People expect that of artists.”

 

“Well you’re really gaining a handle on the whole ‘trendy’ part.” Setting his drink down, Brian was quick to grab at the younger man’s wrists.

 

“Brian…”

 

Bringing a pale limb into view, said man issued a noise of disgust. The inside of the artist’s forearm was still irrevocably stained by the large, black marking. “I just don’t get it,” he complained of the tattoo.

 

“You don’t have to get it. It’s for me, not you.”

 

Running his thumb along the inked skin that, not weeks ago, had been newly-scarred and peeling, he frowned. “I still have to look at it.”

 

“Fuck you Brian.” Justin turned in his hold. “Look at my face then.” Unfortunately, he knew the minute that he’d said it, it had been the wrong thing to say.

 

“I AM looking at your face, Justin. It’s beat up, in case you forgot.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“Listen to me; are you listening?” Hazel eyes burned down at the younger man as Brian warned him yet again that his extracurricular activities were not for the best. But Brian knew, even as he spoke, that it was a useless gesture on his part. Justin had been angry, before. Angry and hurt over more than one attempt on his life, and unable to do anything about it. Nothing Brian did or said had made any difference. Hell, even the encounter that Justin had confessed to him—where he’d put a gun into that homophobic prick’s mouth—hadn’t seemed to abate his discord for long. Not all scars heal that easily. The hedonistic man figured that it must have been very similar to how he’d felt, with the cancer. And Justin’s martial arts were what the Liberty Ride had been to him. Sometimes you just had to prove to yourself that you could DO IT, whatever “it” happened to be. Now, with his stupid fighting class, Justin wasn’t angry anymore. He’d found his release, and even though Brian Kinney was of the opinion that fucking was the best release to be had out there, he had to admit that the changes in his partner weren’t all bad. Justin was happy now, some permanent tension having left from behind his eyes, because now he felt in-control. He was happy, he hardly ever had nightmares anymore, and his body was also freaking hot these days.

 

…Not that it hadn’t always been. Brian Kinney didn’t fuck people who weren’t hot.

 

“What are you thinking about?” When Brian focused his eyes back on the younger man before him, Justin could be seen grinning. “You spaced out,” he chuckled. “Thinking about something good?”

 

“Hm,” Brian agreed, placing his hands down on the other man’s hips.

 

“Liiike, maybe last night?” Warm lips kissed teasingly under his chin, feeling the morning stubble that had yet to be scraped away. “Thank you for my party. I had so much fun.” Mentally, Brian wondered which part of the evening his boyfriend was referring to. “Are you going to tell me where you learned all those moves?” Justin asked lightly, swaying his hips within the other man’s grasp.

 

“Well you see,” Brian recited, “It began with my pervy ninth grade gym teacher. He was soaping himself—”

 

“NOT that,” Justin cackled, smacking his lover for the harassment. “I mean your dancing; where’d you learn to do that… thing, whatever it was, that we did last night?”

 

Oh, the opportunities for innuendo are boundless, Brian thought. Somehow, he declined them all and instead answered seriously, “Salsa. It was salsa.”

 

“Yeah, and we waltzed at my prom. You twirled me and you dipped me—all while everybody but Daphne looked on horrified, mind you. …And I never had to guess what the next step would be, because you just led me into it.” Justin beamed in satisfaction at the other man’s surprised look. “I remember.”

 

“I didn’t know that you could. Not in that much detail.” Something in Brian’s chest constricted at the thought of Justin being able to remember that night they’d had, and that dance. Did he remember the song? The scarf? The ridiculous boutonniere that he’d actually stuck to himself? Brian blinked furiously, ridding the emotion—whatever it was—from his mind. “I took a bunch of dance lessons in college.”

 

“Why?”

 

“My roommate was into it. I wanted to be into my roommate.” Brian smiled self-depreciatingly, “Unfortunately, he wasn’t that into cock. So I was mostly just stuck dancing with this hideous lesbian all semester.”

 

Justin guffawed. “Lindsay??”

 

“She can’t tango nearly as well as me,” Brian sniffed, very much aware of how his tale had amused the younger man.

 

“No. You have way better moves than her,” Justin agreed, eyes gaining a darker tint.

 

“…We aren’t still talking about dance, are we?” His answer was the feel of fingertips reaching to inch down the elastic of his boxers. Brian grinned. He could be up for a morning quickie. “Wanna learn the bachata?” he husked against the part of his lover’s lips.

 

Justin just came forward and slipped a tongue into his mouth.

 

---

 

“It’s like, noon now. Does this mean you’re going to be late for your meeting?”

 

Justin stood poised at the edge of Brian’s bedroom, changing into something new. “It means you’re paying my dry cleaning bill,” he corrected. A pair of Armani pants and shirt lay crumpled on the bed, perhaps a little bit stained now. The young blonde didn’t miss Brian’s lack of real concern over delaying him. He was after all, headed out to claim what would have been the more experienced man’s account. Somehow, Justin couldn’t help but grin at that. It wasn’t as if Kinnetic wouldn’t continue on, anyways. “I have plenty of time, luckily. That was the only nice outfit I had here. I’ll stop by my place and get another suit.”

 

His place. Brian felt his mood sour. Why the little twerp had to keep renting that shithole apartment when he clearly spent more time at the loft anyways… Well, that was an argument come and gone. “Hugo boss,” he suggested instead, turning his thoughts away from such domestic territory. “WEAR THE JACKET.”

 

“Aren’t you going to wish me luck?” Justin cajoled.

 

Brian seemed to spend a moment in consideration, but finally pulled his limbs in to rise from the low level of the bed. “Luck? For the stealth job you pulled on me?” He watched through messy strands of hair as the other man nodded carefully. “You know, it gets me hot.” Brian was pleased to note that his comment seemed to have made the breath catch in his lover’s throat.

 

“What?” the young artist recovered, “The thought of me, beating you at your own game?” It certainly did get Justin a little hot.

 

“No. The thought of me, fucking you, after you beating me at my own game.” Padding over to where Justin stood, he muttered, “And as for luck… you don’t need it, Picasso.” He passed the shorter man, intending to go back into the kitchen to locate his discarded boxer briefs, but a hand on his shoulder halted him.

 

“Brian, oh my god.” Justin giggled, “Wow. I got you good.”

 

The other man groaned, figuring the reference to be to some sort of sex injury. “Hickey?” he queried.

 

“Mm hm.”

 

“Greeeat, just what I need.”

 

 “Sorry!” Justin winced.

 

Departing down the stairs towards the kitchen, Brian raised a hand to silence any useless apologies, “You really need to learn to keep your mouth shut during sex.” Justin said nothing, merely bit his lip in restrained hilarity as he watched the glorious view of Brian’s backside making its way imperiously through the loft. Brian would realize what he’d said. In three, two, one, “…On second thought. Strike that.” The dark-haired man had found his underpants, and spun around once they were securely around his hips. “That’s one of the few times I most like your mouth open.”

 

Snickering, Justin went towards Brian, and the door. He really did need to go back to his place and get some clothes. “It looks like you got bit by a vampire,” he observed, amused.

 

A surprised cackle emanating from his lips, Brian scratched his chin. Oh, if only you knew how close I came. “I met one yesterday.”

 

Justin’s brow crumpled in confusion. “Met one what?”

 

“A vampire. He was at the gym doing this crazy routine. He was hot.”

 

“He was dead?”

 

“He was hot.”

 

“…Did you fuck him?”

 

“Would have. He was about to follow me back to the locker room.” Brian watched his partner’s reaction carefully at the pronouncement. The artist never seemed to care when he fucked human men. “Ted fucked it all up though. We didn’t. Do anything.”

 

Nodding stoically, Justin reached for his jacket. “Good.”

 

“What?” Brian hoped that his admitted lack of discretion hadn’t perturbed the younger man. He didn’t have many boundaries, and it generally pissed him off when other people did. “You don’t like them?”

 

“‘Them’?” Justin snorted. “I don’t know any vampires, Brian.”

 

“Plenty of people don’t know any fags. They still hate us.”

 

The blonde man shook his head. “I don’t hate them. You just hear things sometimes, that’s all. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” What Justin wanted was for Brian to never fuck any vampires. Just as important as never fucking anyone raw, this was important to him. “You remember that time when you told me you wanted me safe; you wanted me around for a long time?”

 

Brian looked like he wanted to sink through the floor at the reminder of one of the sweetest things he’d ever made the mistake of uttering. “Maybe.”

 

“Yeah well I remember. And I feel the same way about you.” Clear blue irises focused in on the other man. “So be careful.”

 

“God, what are you a public service announcement? Fucking some dead guy doesn’t mean I’m going to let him do anything.”

 

The younger man winced at Brian’s turn of phrase. “I wonder how people even end up like that anyway. It’s so tragic.”

 

“Tragedy’s a myth.” Sobering, Brian passed his lover to grab up his abandoned smoothie. “They end up that way because they’re stupid. Everything is the result of choices you make, nothing more.”

 

Though the other man couldn’t see it, the clear blue color in Justin’s eyes had deadened to steel. “Tell that to Ben.”

 

Brian huffed, “I bet Ben would agree with me, actually. He wouldn’t have gotten infected if he’d used a condom with that ex-boyfriend of his, just like the guy at my gym wouldn’t have become the walking dead, if he’d been clear about his wishes.”

 

Something about that careless appraisal of people’s misfortunes was greatly upsetting to Justin. He frowned at the other man, watching as he sipped down his liquid breakfast. He wondered if Brian would apply that same philosophy to his own boyfriend’s bashing. Did the older man think that his circumstances were the result of his choice to flaunt himself at prom? Justin didn’t have the heart to ask it. “Well,” he murmured, “Sometimes you don’t have a choice. Sometimes it’s about the choices of others.”

 

“Don’t care,” Brian said blithely. “I wouldn’t want to live like that.”

 

Whether he was talking about HIV or vampirism, or something else, the artist couldn’t tell anymore. “Get a living will then.” If his ignorant lover really wanted to ensure that his decisions were what ruled the consequences of his life, then a legal document of such ilk was advisable. Justin himself had quietly taken care of that after the bashing. Knowing that he’d been comatose for weeks had made him realize the importance of such things.

 

“I would. I’d tell them to pull the plug and give my clothes to charity.” Some lucky queen would appreciate the donation, Brian mused. “I’d be explicit.”

 

Justin raised an eyebrow, expression one of knowing discontent. “Good.”

 

Brian blinked at the perceiving gaze that locked onto him. It was disconcerting. “Would you do it?” he asked. “Do what I wanted?” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought of Ted. Now there was someone you could count on in practical matters. The neurotic man had entrusted Brian with that choice, but could he trust the young man before him with the same?

 

“Sure Brian, whatever.” Justin looked as if this newest conversational curveball was freaking him the hell out. “You pull my plug, I’ll pull yours.”

 

“I would have said the same thing.” Grinning, Brian sauntered over to his desk chair, unceremoniously splaying his barely-dressed form into its leather confines. From some hiding spot near the stereo, a joint was produced. He promptly lit it. “Great talk golden boy. Now scat or you’ll miss your big meeting.” He watched passively as the blonde trick who’d occupied his bed—and his thoughts—for the past four years, hefted the loft’s door wide and stepped out into the hall.

 

“I’ll come by tonight. Try to kick the macabre mood by then.” Hesitating, Justin added, “Love you.”

 

Brian may have been making direct eye contact with the blonde as he said it, but in lieu of a reply, he simply raised his eyebrows and took a drag off the joint, issuing and then recapturing the resultant smoke ring with his mouth. Justin slid the door the rest of the way shut without another word. Brian stared unfeelingly at the spot where Justin had disappeared, eyes wide and impervious in that childish look that always said he was taking in something that was way out of his emotional depth. Love you. Why the hell did that stupid phrase mean so much to Justin? Brian knew it did. For the better part of their relationship, he’d had to watch as the beautiful kid’s heart sunk, his eyes clouding over every time he didn’t get his token phrase reciprocated.

 

That tight feeling in Brian’s chest—what he figured to be affection—had never been exhibited in greater intensity than the time he’d watched the ash-strewn face of his lover breaking in relief, after hearing Brian finally admit to what they’d both known all along. He didn’t think he’d ever made Justin more heart-breakingly happy than in that moment. The bombing of Babylon had been ages ago, it seemed. So much had happened in their world since then, and yet… they were still together.

 

Exhaling the rest of the joint’s smoke on a long sigh, Brian figured that maybe it was time he gave Justin an inch, and did a repeat performance of that stricken reunion by the ambulance.

 

He’d tell the little twat he loved him. The next time he saw him.

 

---

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

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