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Allie
Disclaimer: All things QAF belong to CowLip. I take
liberties but they own them, I don’t.
Characters: All Queer As Folk characters
Pairing: Brian and Justin
Warning: Entire Thing will be NC-17. Spoilers for
like all Five Seasons.
XIX - It Consumes Me
"There is a sacredness in tears.
They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than
ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief...and
unspeakable love."
~
June 20, 2019 1:15am
Justin's
POV
Brian holds my face between his hands, his thumbs move back
and forth over my cheeks. I feel every beat of his heart through his cock in
my ass. Leaning down, he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. My hands slide
up and down his back, which is covered with a light sheen of sweat. There are
vast amounts of ways to have sex. There's getting off just to get off. There's
fucking where the only goal in mind is having the best fucking orgasm. During
sex there are any number of emotions that pass between the two people involved.
Feelings like sadness, anger, frustration, want, need, lust, love are traded
back and forth between us like the spit from a kiss. Everything Brian is feeling
gets transferred to me in the way his body moves, in the way hands and lips
cross my skin, in the way his eyes watch every move I make beneath him.
He moves inside me a fraction of an inch, causing an electric current to pulsate
through my body. As he pulls away from me my bottom lips slips from his mouth.
Pushing his hands into my hair he moves again, not hard or fast. It's not pulling
all the way out and slamming back into me. It's the tiniest of strokes causing
my back to arch and a moan to escape my lips. His fingers trace the scar beneath
my hair as his eyes lock on mine. The thumb of his left hand grazes across my
swollen bottom lip as he moves again inside me.
This isn't about desire. This isn't just fucking. It isn't about getting off.
This is about feeling alive through the sensations our bodies create when they
move together. It's about feeling connected. This is about knowing I'm here
with him, always here with him. This is about being together despite all the
shit we've been through in the eighteen years since we met. This is about our
love.
He buries his face in my neck and places his lips on my skin at my pulse point
as he rocks inside me at a slow and steady pace. Brian and I fuck all the time,
hard and fast, but its times like this, when he lets me feel everything, that
I love the most. He opens himself up to me. His love fills me in a way nothing
else can. It consumes me. It overpowers and overwhelms me. It's so much sometimes
that tears come to my eyes. He knows when I feel it. He can tell without even
having to look at me. His lips move from my neck, across my flesh, until he's
kissing the tears from below my eyes. I press my hands flat on his back and
press him down on me until every inch of his body is touching mine. No, this
isn't about getting off, it's about us, him and me, and knowing that no matter
what else is going on, no matter what happens, we will always have this, and
each other.
When he presses his lips back against my neck I turn my head and whisper in
his ear, "Love me."
He pushes his hands between the mattress and me until his arms are wrapped around
my shoulders. He pulls me to him, his rhythm never wavering. He does exactly
what I ask, he loves me.
As our breathing evens out, Brian starts to talk. His face is buried in my neck,
his fingers stroke my hair, and his lips brush against my skin with each word.
I'm listening to him recount what Gus told him. Tears spring to my eyes, slide
down my cheeks, and drip onto his skin. I can't describe what I'm feeling as
he's telling me these things. I can't even begin to imagine what it must have
been like for Gus. Then Brian says, "…he told him he knew and then pushed
him away from the car." His voice is raspy and I can only imagine what
he's thinking.
Taking his face in my hands I lift his head so I can look into his eyes. "That's…"
I close my eyes and open them slowly. That's the saddest thing I've heard. No
one should have to go through that. No child should have to experience something
like that. "God." I slide my arms around Brian's neck as he presses
his face back to my neck. He lies mostly on top of me as I cry tears, not for
me, but for Gus. There really are no words to describe what Gus has gone through.
No fucking words at all.
Brian's POV
I hold Justin to me as he cries silently for Gus. Gus. I held
him in the darkroom for a long time. He just seemed fucking drained, physically
and emotionally. The fact that my son, our son, has experienced something so
fucking tragic just ripped this big fucking hole in me. I'm not one to believe
in clichéd sayings that belong in some breeder parenting guide, but it's true
that parents want better for their children. I've seen some pretty fucked up
things in my life, experienced my own fucking tragedies. I never wanted that
for Gus. No parent would want that for their child.
I run my fingers through Justin's soft blond hair. Gus remembers.
It explains a few things, like why he wasn't in the car. Why he was on the pavement
unconscious. Why Ashley had still been in the car. Ashley had pushed Gus back,
away. My guess is that the emergency workers arrived shortly after that, because
Ashley may have pushed him away, but not so far to keep the fire from melting
the bottom of his shoes. If there was a way to track down the dead, to find
them, or talk to them, I'd spend the rest of my life tracking down Ashley in
the afterlife just to fucking thank him. He fucking saved Gus' life. There was
no way Gus would have let him go. I know that. Gus is that type of person, just
like me. He may not always say it, but when he loves someone it goes deep, sets
roots, and fucking grows. It's all consuming sometimes. I imagine that's how
he felt about Ashley. He would have stayed right there with him and fucking
burned if Ashley hadn't pushed him away. It was never known whether Ashley had
still been alive when the car caught fire, but I fucking hope he wasn't. What
a fucking way to go. My guess is that he knew he wouldn't make it even if he'd
gotten out. Maybe he could feel death coming and that's why he pushed Gus back.
If he'd still been alive…what a fucking sacrifice to make. If he'd sacrificed
his own fucking life for Gus… If he'd done that he must have loved…fuck that,
that wasn't love. That was more than love. That one four letter word can't encompass
what that was. It was more than love. It was everything.
***********************************
June 20, 2019 3:48am
Gus' POV
I wake up slowly. My eyelids are heavy. It's dark. I swallow
hard. My throat is sore. It feels raw. It's too dark. I don't like it. Untangling
myself from the covers, I stumble to the windows. I yank open the drapes, letting
the lights of the city flood my room. Back in bed, I lay still. My thoughts
short. I feel numb. I remember. I have no more tears to cry. Nothing left. I
shed them all. There will be more. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.
My mind wakes up, my body tingles. Thoughts begin to surface. Why? Why the fuck
did this happen?
He saved me. He saved me. He fucking saved
me. It plays in my head like a CD with a scratch on it. I press next track
but it's the same fucking thing. He saved me. He saved me. Next track.
He saved me. All the songs in the CD are the same. I listen. He
saved me. It plays over and over. I cover my ears but the beat comes from
inside. He saved me. Stop. Please stop.
I didn't want to be saved, not at the expense of his life. I should have tried
harder. I should have done more. I should have gotten him out when I had the
chance. He knew I loved him. Does that make it better? Worse? It's all so fucking
confusing. The whole fucking thing. All of it. That whole night. My whole life
since then. My biggest fear was that he didn't know. He knew. He fucking knew.
Should that comfort me? God, I want it to. It doesn't because I smell it, feel
it, fucking taste it. His death is in my mouth, coating my tongue, pumping through
my veins, and pulsating with my heart. It's in every breath I take. It's all
around me, through me, in me. It's fucking everywhere.
Was I better off not remembering? Not knowing? What comfort is to be had in
the fact that he died and I lived only because he chose to save me? Anger creeps
up on me. It's like a razor blade against my skin. It cuts, it stings, but it
doesn't bleed because this emotion is so small compared to the others.
What am I suppose to do with this memory? What am I suppose to take from it?
Is this what I've been waiting for? He's never felt completely dead to me until
the moment I remembered. Is that how it's supposed to work? Am I supposed to
move on? Forget it? Forget him? Is this where the healing begins? How do I fucking
process the images that play behind my eyes? How do I move on from seeing my
car burning with him still-
Bile rises in my throat. I scramble off the bed, fall to the floor, and crawl
to the trashcan in time to expel the dinner I barely ate in silence with Dad
and Justin. Pushing the trashcan away, I crawl back over to the bed and pull
myself up. I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling as if it might be
able to provide me with what I need. Fuck, I don't even know what I need right
now. I feel...I'm not sure how I feel. How am I supposed to feel? It's not like
remembering changed anything, did it? Whether I remembered or not it doesn't
change the fact that Ash is dead. God, I hope he didn't suffer. I fucking hope
he was already gone before the fire… Is that a fucked up thing to think? It
can't be because the other option, that he was still alive, that's just fucking
inconceivable.
I didn't tell Dad everything. I didn't tell him what I saw. I couldn't. I couldn't
say those words out loud. I don't know that I'll ever be able to say it out
loud to anyone. Rolling over I press my face into the bed. Why did it happen?
Why did it have to happen to us? Why? Why did he die? Why did he push me away?
Why did he fucking do that, knowing that I fucking loved him? Why?
I don't stop the tears that bleed out of my eyes. I couldn't stop them even
if I wanted to. It's so fucking unfair. The whole fucking thing is just fucking
wrong. He shouldn't have died. He should be here with me. He should
be…"Ash." His name rolls off my tongue and I hug a pillow to me. "Ash."
I just wish he was here with me. I wish none of this had ever happened. I wish…I
wish…I grip the pillow tighter and cry harder. Everything that had been buried
in me, every emotion that had been locked away inside me since I woke up from
the coma, is ripped from me and it fucking hurts. It cuts. It bleeds. It makes
me feel raw, open, and so fucking alone. It doesn't matter what I wish. This
is my reality. He's not coming back, he's not missing, he's dead. There's no
way I can lie to myself about it anymore. I've seen it. I know it. Even when
I went to his grave I wasn't connected to his death. Now I am. I press my face
harder into the bed as the CD in my head begins to play again, he saved
me. I drown in the sound. I let it wash over me and drag me under the current.
I let it fill my lungs and choke me. I let it consume me as I take from it the
only comfort I can, that he knew I loved him, and that he saved me.