Author: Regala Electra
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Summary: Wherein a ghost haunts Brian, dreams fucking suck, and time is a whore.
Author's Important Notes: For soundczech, a belated birthday offering. This is my first (and probably last) QaF fic. And er, it's a bit dark. Which is of course, a very rare offering from me, indeed. ;-)
He's standing there in the shadows of his memory, somewhere deeply addled in a sex and drug haze, swaying with drunken confidence.
But his eyes are sober.
He's always been good at that and when Justin first sees him, his eyes actually dare to light up, because isn't so wonderful and magical and a lot of other crap he doesn't believe in?
And then, Justin's eyes are closed off, dead. And yet, the lost look, that simpering look of love, of dependence is there and Brian wants more than anything to crush it under a very nice pair of overpriced shoes and fuck Justin deep and raw, making every moment as painful as being alive.
And then, somewhere in the dream, the spectre laughs at him. how much can I ruin you?
Justin looking nowhere, fading in the ruins of the nowhere they are, and Brian reaches out, and the voice continues.
how much do I want to ruin you?
He wakes and it is without drama, it is in the slow awakening of fuck, still here, still breathing, and godammit, who the fuck is in my bed?. Then he sees the paleness of Justin, his own personal fucking ghost, lying next to him and he remembers.
He wishes very suddenly and very violently to wake him up and kick him out of his bed. He'd give no reason, just being Brian is always his excuse, and Justin will go, either meekly or with anger boiling just under the surface, he doesn't fucking care. He only wishes that anything he did now would be a surprise.
There's a ghost invading Brian's thoughts and it's killing him. So he finds a pack of cigarettes nearby and considers lighting up, knowing it'll wake Justin and maybe they'll start arguing. Maybe he'll fuck him. It's all the same, in the end.
He doesn't do anything and he tosses the pack away, forcing himself to go back to sleep.
Time is a fucking whore with a revolting cunt and it presses down on him when he's sleeping, sounding wet and fierce, and all he wants, truly, deep down, is for nothing, nothing at fucking all. Just meaningless living, just pointless fucking, and somewhere in that void, he'll find no absolution and be better for it.
An arm snakes across his chest; someone else is lost in a dream.
He shoves Justin off him, tired of the beginning nightmare of domestic life starting here, in his own fucking bed.
There's a ghost in between the lies. how long are you going to stay?
how long can you stand this?
His cock is hard and he'll stand it until he comes. That's the answer.
Justin laughing somewhere, dark and secret. Tongue pressing inside, carefully, still fucking foolish enough to think that being tender equates lovemaking. Really, it's just a reproduction of their first time, only when Justin moves up over his back, Brian grabs his head, forcing a kiss of tongues rocking against each other, enjoying the feel of teeth clacking as Justin is once again left unsteady and inexperienced. He's not left breathless though, because Brian does not suffer clichés.
When he breaks the kiss, when the fucking ridiculous spell ends, it is Justin in the end who speaks, and says nothing he'll remember when he wakes, so why the fuck listen to it now?
Brian can't claim Justin anymore, can't posses him and when Justin does that, he knows that it was learned elsewhere, and he doesn't want to hear the story, even though Justin is stupid enough to be willing to tell him.
So when he enters Justin, he knows the lie is waiting on both of their lips, not just some fuck talk, but words sincere enough to drive him into madness, if he isn't already dancing on the edge. They don't say it, it is his goddamn dream after all, and he isn't going to turn it into a nightmare.
The fucking is raw and without need and Justin does those insane little twists that drive Brian crazy if he isn't already going a bit crazy, and then there's nothing, a burst of blackness and it's all nothing in the end.
Justin comes but makes no noise, because Brian doesn't want to hear it.
And when he wakes up from the dream, cock hard and Justin slowly rises from his probably pleasant and revoltingly blissful dreams, a disheveled look of impossibility, and the lingering remnants of innocence still in his face, Brian lets himself hate Justin just for a moment longer.
It fades though, as old ghosts do.
And when Justin goes down on him, eagerly and with fucking gusto, he wonders how long it takes to turn a ghost into a monster.