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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.
XX - Complementary Colors
"An artist finds his happiest
combination in a play of complementary colors. They are direct contrasts yet do
not jar; they awaken the beholder, but do not disturb him."
~ Charles Burchfield ~
June 22, 2019 5:38am
Gus' POV
The morning
sunlight slides along the street, highlighting the sides of the buildings. The
sky melts from cobalt blue to an ember orange. The two colors blend, fading in
and out of each other, so that the only color between them is a soft slate
grey. It's not like I've never seen a sunrise before, but there is an aesthetic
beauty to a
I climb up the
steps and push open the door to the roof. The air is still cool this early in
the morning. As I step onto the roof I let the door close behind me, knowing
from experience it's not one that automatically locks when it's closed. I
remember Ash freaked out about it for a minute until I pulled the door open to
show him, "See it's not always like
you see on TV, stop queening out." He laughed then. I miss his
laugh. The way it would start in the back of his throat and just seem to come
bubbling out of him. Stepping up to the ledge of the roof, I lean against it
and turn my camera on. Tears blur my vision as I remember wrapping my arms
around Ash as we stood in this very spot watching the sunset on our last day
together in New York. He told me what a great
time he had, that he knew he'd catch hell when he got home, but that it was worth
it.
"Every
minute I've spent with you here Gus was worth it." He leaned into me, his
head resting on my shoulder as he gazed up at me. He looked so beautiful just
then, the orange of the sunset making his hair shine like a new copper penny,
his eyes dark and teeming with emotion. He caressed my face and said, in a low
husky voice, "I love you."
I didn't say it
back to him. It wasn't that I didn't feel it. It was as if I felt it too much.
I leaned in to kiss him, trying to convey how I felt without words. I'd
probably loved him for a long time by then. We'd been together a while by the
time we went to New York together, but long before
we got together we were best friends. I brush the tears from my face with the
back of my hand, trying to tell myself that it's okay to remember him. It's
okay to remember the good times. It just hurts so fucking much, but it's better
than remembering how I last saw him. It's better than remembering that last
terrible glimpse I had of him before my world faded to black. I want to
remember his smile, his laugh, the way he liked to be kissed on the inside of
his elbow, the way his hair would always fall into his eyes and how he was
constantly pushing it back. I want to remember that he loved me. I want to
remember how he made me feel. How I never felt lonely or scared or any of this
shit I've been feeling lately, because Ash was there to make everything seem
better, even if it wasn't.
Bringing my camera up, I point it down to the street and snap a picture. I've
had a few days of trying to deal with the memories of the accident. It's been
three days of sleeplessness, of trying to cope with the images and the feelings
associated with them. I've been trying to process it. When Justin and I were
walking to the gallery yesterday morning he told me that just because I
remembered didn't mean I was going to wake up and feel better about everything.
He told me it would take time, and that was okay. I don't think Justin realizes
how much he helps me sometimes. He never forces his opinions on me, or tells me
how I should think or feel. He just says these little things that always make
sense. Dad does it to. It's like they pull these little nuggets of knowledge
from their past experiences and let me take from them what I want. There's no
pressure when I'm around them.
I move to the corner of the roof, taking a few more pictures. I'm not saying my
moms put pressure on me to remember anything, but they did put pressure on me
to deal with it better. It wasn't malicious, or even intentional. My moms just
want me to be better, to get better, to be okay, and to be the son that they
used to know. I think I've been so busy pretending to be okay for them that I
never really had a chance to sort through all the bullshit of what happened.
Maybe that's one of the reasons I like living with Dad and Justin, I don't have
to pretend anything.
I set my camera down and lean against the ledge of the roof. Closing my eyes, I
tilt my head back and take a deep breath. I miss Ash more than ever before.
Maybe it's from remembering the accident, or maybe it's because I feel the loss
of all the things we could have done together, all the places we could have
seen, the life we could have shared, the memories we could have made. I miss
what could have been as much as I miss what we had. I let tears slide down my
face freely, because I feel the loneliness and sadness of missing everything
wrap itself around me. Its okay, I realize, to miss these things, to miss him,
to want what is no longer possible. It's okay to cry about it and mourn it.
Someday I have to believe it will even be okay to let it go, but not today, not
yet.
*******************************************
June 22, 2019 6:29am
Justin's
POV
Yawning, I slide
from beneath Brian's arm, which is flung across my stomach. He doesn't even
move when I leave the bed. I smile down at him as I pull on my shorts. I
remember the days when he'd never sleep late, not even on weekends. It was
either because he just couldn't sleep, or work forced him from our bed at
ungodly hours. I'm more than happy that those days are behind us. It's not that
we sleep until noon on the days we are off. We just aren't like that. If we
spend all day in bed, believe me, it's not because we're sleeping. Grinning to
myself, I use the bathroom and wash my face. I look longingly at the shower, but
decide to go make some coffee first. I pull on a plain white t-shirt and make
my way to the kitchen. I have one foot in the doorway of the kitchen when the
front door opens. I lean back into the hallway and watch as Gus walks in,
carrying his camera and the newspaper.
He looks up at
me. "Hey," he says as he walks by me, flipping on the coffee machine,
and sitting down at the table.
"Where were you?" I ask, leaning against the counter near the coffee
machine.
"On the roof." He gets up and grabs his camera. "Check out the
pictures I took."
He hands me his digital camera and I flip through the pictures. "Wow Gus,
these are really good."
"Are you just saying that because you aren't totally awake yet?"
Laughing, I look up at him. "No." Looking back down at the camera, I
pause on a particular shot that shows the light sneaking up the street,
interrupting the blackness of the shadows. "This one is…the composition,
the balance of light and dark. It's got a certain feel to it." It feels
like loneliness, sadness, but the light that enters the picture seems to
provide a sense of hope. I want to tell him that, but I'm pretty sure he
already knows.
"Yeah." He takes the camera from my hands. "I really like that
one."
"It's a great picture. You should definitely have it framed."
He scoffs. "Framed? Justin, it isn't that good."
Pulling a mug from the cabinet above the coffee machine I shake my head.
"Don't sell yourself short. It's great…and I wouldn't have said it if I
didn't mean it."
He sets his camera on the counter and walks over to the refrigerator.
"Maybe I'll show it to you again after you've had your coffee."
I shrug and poor myself a cup. "I'll still think it's brilliant." I
stir cream into my coffee and take a sip. Setting my mug aside, I pull another
one down from the cabinet and pour a cup of coffee for Brian. After I pour an
ungodly amount of sugar into his cup I turn to Gus, who's pouring himself a
glass of juice. "It's a great shot Gus, and even if you don't frame it you
should definitely include it in your portfolio."
He looks at me over the rim of his glass before lowering it. "You think
it's that good?"
I smile at him and grab the two cups of coffee from the counter. "I really
do Gus." The corner of his mouth lifts up in a lopsided grin. It's so nice
to see him smile, even just a little, after the last couple of weeks he's had.
Still smiling, I raise the cups to him. "Now I'm going to wake up your Dad
and convince him to take us shopping."
Gus laughs, and god that's a really nice sound. "Convince Dad to go
shopping? Isn't that like trying to convince a hardcore Christian to read the
bible?"
I laugh. "I suppose that's true, but only if we were going shopping for
clothes. We need groceries, and he hates that kind of shopping."
He smirks. "Why is that?"
I smile. "He has an aversion to coupons."
"You clip coupons?" Gus raises his eyebrow. I nod. "Why?"
"Honestly?" He nods. "To annoy your dad." I start laughing
and Gus joins in. It's nice, really nice, to see him laughing. Shaking my head,
I hold up the coffee cups and leave the kitchen. Gus' laughter follows me to
the bedroom and I can't stop smiling.
*************************************
June 22, 2019 6:38am
Brian's
POV
I'm leaning
against the headboard when Justin walks into the bedroom carrying two cups of
coffee. He turns, shutting the door with his hip, and looks over at me with a
smile. I raise an eyebrow as he walks towards me. Leaning over, he kisses my
lips and hands me a mug. "Morning."
I set my cup on
the shelving unit behind our bed. I take his cup from him and set it down next
to mine. I tug at the bottom of his shirt. He smiles at me and quickly discards
it as I unbutton his shorts. When they slide down his legs he steps out of
them. His cock is hard. He wiggles his eyebrows and smiles at me. I raise my
eyebrow as I grab him by the waist and flip him over me onto the bed. He laughs
as I straddle his hips and pin his arms above his head. "You know…" I
run my tongue slowly over his bottom lip and pull back before he can kiss me.
"All these years..." I nip at his neck, at the sensitive spot near
his pulse point. He moans and squirms beneath me. "I thought you…" I
run my tongue down his neck and suck on his skin where it curves into his
shoulder. "Really…" I push his arms out further as a lean down and
flick my tongue over his nipple. He moans and pushes his hips up.
"Used..." I nip at his nipple before kissing my way up the middle of
his chest, along his neck, until my lips are hovering above his. His eyes are
dark blue with lust. "Coupons to save money…" His eyes widen.
"But, I've just recently learned…" I bring his bottom lip into my
mouth, sucking on it hard, before releasing it. "That you really aren't as
tight..." His eyes move down my face focusing on my lips. He runs his
tongue over his swollen bottom lip before looking up at me. "As I thought
you were."
He pushes against me, his whole body straining with effort. He lifts himself up
just enough to place a peck on my lips. "Oh, I'm still tight."
When I release his hands, he grabs my face, and our mouths smash together in a
hungry wet kiss. I weave my fingers into his hair as I suck his tongue into my
mouth. I slide my legs between his. He presses his cock to my stomach and moans
in my mouth at the contact. We spend the next few minutes just kissing. The
coffee taste in his mouth mixes with the minty toothpaste flavor of mine. The
taste is both sweet and bitter. Our tongues slide against each other, tracing
teeth and lips. His hips buck up a little against me seeking out the contact my
stomach is making with his cock. My cock, hard and dripping, is pressed in the
spot between his balls and his ass. It would be so easy just to move a fraction
of an inch and enter him. When we finally break from the kiss I pull back from
him and brush the hair from his forehead.
He runs his hands up and down my upper arms. "You heard me." He's
breathless and smiling.
"You left the door open."
Sliding my arm between our bodies, I take his cock in my hand. I rub the pad of
my thumb over his slit, smearing the pre-come over the head. I tsk at him.
"So wet." He arches his back as my thumb moves back and forth over
the head of his cock.
"Brian." That moan goes straight to my cock, making it pulsate and
ache.
I remove my hand from his cock, sliding it over the soft skin of his stomach
before pushing it back into his hair. I kiss him again. His mouth is hot and
wet. When the kiss ends I tell him softly, "Roll over."
When I lift myself off of him, he turns over onto his stomach. I run my hands
over the pale creamy skin of his back down to softness of his ass. With my
knees on either side of his legs I playful slap one of his ass cheeks.
"Hands and knees."
As he maneuvers himself into position, I reach over and grab the lube. Kneeling
behind him, I pour some of the lube into my hand and take my time lathering my
cock with it, just to watch him squirm with anticipation. He moves his ass
toward me but I back away. "Patience," I tell him. Tossing the bottle
of lube to the floor I cover my body with his. The slick head of my cock
presses against his hole. Supporting myself with my left hand I push the hair
off the back of his neck before kissing him there. "You've been a bad boy
haven't you?"
His body shivers beneath me and I feel his hole clenching as the head of my
cock rubs against it. "Yes." His answer turns into a gasp as I enter
him.
I kiss and suck his neck, telling him how hard I'm about to fuck him. He pushes
back against me saying, "Do it."
I lift my body, sliding my hands down his sides until I'm gripping his hips. I
slowly pull out and quickly slam back into him. His whole body moves forward a
few inches at the force of my thrust. I do it again and a loud gasp escapes his
lips. I fucking live for the sounds he makes when I fuck him like this. I
thrust into him harder and faster. He grips the sheets, the pillows, his body
sliding forward until he starts pushing back against me thrust for thrust.
Sweat seeps from beneath our skin. Our grunts and groans get louder each time
our bodies slam together. When we hear the stereo in the living room come on
full blast we both laugh.
Heavy metal music charges into our room and soon our pace begins to match the
bass line beats. When I alter my angle so that each stroke of my cock now rubs
against Justin's prostate, he practically screams out my name. It only makes me
want to fuck him harder, faster. My fingers dig into the soft skin of his hips
and I know he'll have bruises there later. He releases the twisted sheets from
his right hand and makes a move to grab his cock. I slap it away.
"No." That makes him whimper. I angle my cock even more, changing my
strokes inside him to quick short thrusts. His body starts to shake as the head
of my cock continues to rub over his prostate. He says my name over and over in
short gasps. His hole clenches around me, his body tightens up, and I know he's
not far away from coming. I thrust deep into him. His orgasm causes his ass to
tighten around me. I am buried to the balls in him as his ass siphons the come
out of my cock.
We collapse onto the bed, our sweat slick bodies sliding against each other. I
gently pull out of him and flop onto my back. It takes at least five minutes
before our breathing returns to normal. I look over at Justin as he props
himself up on his elbow. He blinds me with his beaming smile. "So?" I
raise my eyebrow as I suck my lips into my mouth, trying not to smile.
Laughing, he slides his body over me until he's straddling my lap. "Say
it." I laugh at him as our hands meet and our fingers lace together. He
squeezes my hands. "Say it." He leans forward, takes my nipple
between his teeth, and bites it.
"Okay, okay." I push against his hands until he's sitting back up and
smiling down at me. I roll my eyes and say, tongue in cheek, "You're still
tight."
****************************************
June 22, 2019 7:48pm
Gus' POV
I've been to my
fair share of art shows. When I was younger, my mom would drag me to them all
the time, telling me it would, "Broaden my horizons", "Expand my
knowledge of different cultures" and "Someday Gus, it will make you a
better artist." I was twelve when she said that last one. What did I know
about being an artist then? I just liked taking pictures with my camera. In any
case, I never particularly enjoyed them, and when I got old enough I refused to
go unless I was interested in the work of the artist. Most of the shows were
full of artists with over-inflated egos, and critics who'd either mock, ignore,
or kiss the ass of the artist. Everyone was dressed as if they were attending a
dinner at the fucking White House. They walked around snacking on puff
pastries, sipping red wine, and using every art word they knew to describe what
they were seeing. I never cared for the scene, but as I got older I knew one
day I'd be a part of it.
Looking around
the TK Gallery, I never realized I'd be a part of it quite like this. This is
something totally different and it has the influence of Justin all over it.
Everyone is dressed in casual clothes, blue jeans, slacks, sneakers. I look
over at Dad, whose arm is draped across Justin's shoulders. Even he is dressed
in jeans and a t-shirt, all designer labels, of course. There's still wine, but
there's also other alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages. There are no puff
pastries, but rather baked goods from Carmelo's and pasta dishes from Mia
Mona's. There are a lot more people here than I thought there would be for a
show that contains art from a bunch of kids still in college.
I walk around
glancing at the art on the walls. Some of it's good, some of it's not so
good…not that I expected Justin to allow any crap to be hanging on the walls. I
stop in front of a large piece. It's all black with scratches across the
surface, obviously made with a pallet knife, which reveals the bright pink
below it. It's an odd use of color. Good balance and use of texture. It feels
foreboding, and yet there's a sense of…happiness, or hope that comes from the
pinks that show through the layers of ebony.
"It's
amazing isn't it?"
I turn and look down into dull green eyes. I've been trying to avoid the fact
that this guy's been casing my every move since he got here. I say nothing and
turn my attention back to the painting. Leaning forward, I notice the black is
really deep dark green. I search the lines of pink and notice touches of brown
that dull the hope it brings forward.
"I can't believe next month my work is going to be hanging next to
his." I look back down at the guy as he takes a sip of his wine.
Turning back to the painting, I check the tag next to it.
Holy shit, the fucker is talented. I take a step back and take in the canvas
again. There is so much going on in the painting, but it's all very subtle. I
almost can't stop looking at it.
"He's really talented and he's only twenty-three. Do you know how hard it
is to get into The New York Academy of Art? You have to be really good. He is,
isn't he? He's the best."
"Are you in love with him or what?" I ask, mostly to get him to shut
up or go away.
He laughs nervously. "Grady?" I look down at him and raise an
eyebrow. His face flushes bright pink. "I…umm…." He swirls the wine
in his glass. "He's just really talented, you know?"
"Yeah, right, whatever." I turn back to the painting. I want it. It
just speaks to me.
"Hello darlings." Maddie walks up to us and slides her arm along the
guy's shoulders. That's when I remember who he is, Chase, or Jas, or some shit
like that.
"Great, Maddie, do you have one of those stickers on you?" I ask,
turning to her. Jas is fucking watching me like he's wishing I'd drop to my
knees and suck him off.
"Sure do hon." She smiles up at me, her eyes twinkling.
I raise my eyebrow. "Well, can I have one?"
"Did somebody buy something?" She looks around. "They know to
come to me."
I let out an exasperated sigh. "Can I just have one?"
She watches me for a minute and finally pulls a little package out of the front
pocket of her dress. Once she opens it, she peels off a sticker and hands it to
me. Taking the little round green sticker from her, I turn my back on them and
place it on the tag next to Grady's painting.
Standing back, I look at the painting again before turning to face Maddie and
Jas. Maddie is smiling at me and Jas is…fucking licking his lips. "This
one's mine, okay Maddie?"
She smiles a little wider. "Sure hon." She leans over and whispers
something in Jas' ear that causes his face to turn beat red. Laughing, she pats
him on the cheek and walks off. I roll my eyes and turn back to the painting.
"Um." Please shut the fuck up. That's what I want to tell him.
"So…" He clears his throat. "I was wondering if-"
"I'm going out for a smoke. Catch you later." I turn and walk away
from him before he decides to finish his pathetic attempt to ask me out.
Christ, how can he not get that I'm not fucking interested? I walk over to Dad
and tell him I'll be outside. He nods. Ever since this morning he's been
walking around with this goofy smile on his face, like he's never gotten laid
before. They found it endlessly amusing that I'd turned on the stereo to drown
out the sounds of them fucking. Christ, they were loud. Dad told me they'd
never fucked to heavy metal before and that it added a whole new element to
things or some shit like that. I told him that I'd really rather not hear about
it. They both just laughed.
I smirk as I walk outside the gallery. As the door closes behind me, I pull my
pack of cigarettes from my pocket, tap one out, and light it. I take a deep
drag as I shove the pack back into my pocket. I'm about to walk down the steps
when I freeze. Grady is leaning against the railing looking up at me. A yellow
blur passes through my mind. I shake my head to clear away the flashes of a
taxi cab hurling toward me, and walk down a few steps before sitting down. He
looks good, dressed in tight dark jeans and a long sleeved green dress shirt.
"It's kinda hot to be wearing long sleeves isn't it?" I ask him as I
lean back against the stairs and
take a drag of my cigarette. He shrugs. His eyes roam over me, not in a sexual
way, it's more of a making sure I'm okay way. I stand up. "Don't." I
walk down the last of the steps and away from him.
"Sorry, am I not allowed to ask if you're alright?"
I turn around and he almost walks right into me. Taking a step back, I hold out
my arms. "As you can see I'm fine."
He runs a hand through his hair and looks away from me. Dropping my arms, I
back a few more steps away from him. When he looks up at me I can see that he
doesn't believe me. "Gus-"
I shake my head. "Just don't, okay? I'm fine, really. I…freaked
out…and-" And what? I suck on my cigarette and lean against the wall of
the building. What do I say to the person that saw me totally fucking flip out?
What do I say to the person who fucking saved…my…life? I close my eyes tight
and try to push the images away. I feel him in front of me. He takes the
cigarette from between my fingers. I want to open my eyes but I can't. His warm
hand caresses my cheek, his thumb wipes away a tear that escapes my tightly
closed eyes.
"Hey." His voice is soft. I can feel his breath on my face.
"Open your eyes."
"Can't." It starts playing in my head again, like I fucking hit a
trigger. He saved me. The only problem is I'm not sure if the song is meant for
Ash or Grady. He saved me. How can I be sure? How do I know? They both saved
me, didn't they?
I feel his other hand press against my other cheek. "Yes, you can."
He saved me. "Come on Gus." His voice is so fucking tender. His
thumbs are moving over my cheeks in soft circular patterns that smear the
wetness on my face. God, what the fuck is he thinking right now? He must think
I'm a fucking basket case. Almost every time he's seen me I've been a fucking
mess. "Come on Gus, open your eyes."
I shake my head. Licking my lips, I taste the salt of my tears. "I
never…" My throat closes up. Yellows and blacks mix in my head. Smoke
pushes itself inside my lungs. My breath gets stuck somewhere between my lungs
and my mouth. Fire. Smoke. Yellow blur. Street. Taxi. Asphalt. Warm arms. Cold,
sticky skin. Blood. "I know." Small hands pushing me back. "It's
okay." Warmth embraces me. He saved me. The CD skips. They saved me. They
saved me. More tears. Sobs break loose. Breath ragged. Arms around me. Arms
holding me. "It's okay." Whispered words. "I know." Death.
That smell. I swallow hard. Push the sickness back. A hand stroking my hair.
Soothing me. A body pressing against mine. "Open your eyes." Reality
penetrates my memories. Slowly, I open my eyes. The traffic on the street blurs
until it's nothing but a single smear of bright lights. My hands are gripping the
back of Grady's shirt. His hands rub up and down my back. I shake my head and
try to pull back from him. He holds me tighter. "It's okay." His lips
press against my ear. "Stay."
I allow him to hold me for a few minutes, then I gently push him away. His
hands slide down my back and come to rest on my hips. I wipe the tears from my
face. Dropping my hands, I look into his eyes. The soft purple glow of the
streetlights makes them appear more yellow than I know they are. His gaze is
penetrating, but I don't look away. Inside I'm trying to gain some sense of
composure. Finally I scoff and roll my eyes at myself. "You must think I'm
fucking crazy."
"I don't think that."
I place my hands over his and remove them from my hips. I dig in my pocket for
my cigarettes. "Why not? I would."
He shrugs, watching as I remove a cigarette and light it. "I don't."
I shove the pack back into my pocket and take a drag of my cigarette as I look
at him. "Yeah…well, what do you think?"
He tilts his head. "You really want to know?"
I exhale smoke. "I asked didn't I?"
"I think…" He steps closer to me and takes the cigarette from between
my fingers, holding it up between us. "You smoke too much."
I take my cigarette back from him and take a deep drag. "You're fucking
hilarious."
"I also think…" He takes the cigarette from me again and flicks it to
the sidewalk. I glare at him. "That you are far away from okay." He
reaches up and brushes my hair back from my face. "I also think…" He
steps forward as his hand moves from my hair, down my face, and cups the side
of my neck. "That you are the most beautiful person I've ever met."
I suck in a breath. "Does that line usually work for you?" My words
come out low and husky.
"Never used it before." His face inches closer to mine. "Is it
working?"
"No." I whisper.
"That's too bad." Before I can even think of something to say to stop
this, his mouth covers mine. A hot sensation builds inside me as his tongue
pushes against my lips. I want to tell him to stop, but at the same time I want
to give in to what he's offering. I feel torn as a thousand different emotions
and thoughts pass through me. He's hot. He's more than hot. He's fucking nice.
He doesn't think I'm fucking crazy, and just escaped the ward of an asylum,
even though he probably should. Ash's face flashes behind my closed eyes. I
snap them open and shove Grady back. He looks shocked or embarrassed, I can't
tell which. "Fuck." He mumbles. "I'm sorry."
I shake my head. "It's not you." I push myself away from the wall and
walk back toward the steps.
"Gus?"
I turn around and wait as he walks up to me. "Listen, if you ever want to
talk or anything just…" He pulls a card and pen from his pocket. It would
be weird if we weren't at an art show. He scrawls something on the back and
holds the card out to me. I stare at it for a minute before taking it and
shoving it into my pocket. "I didn't mean to overstep the line."
"It's not you." I tell him again.
"Okay." He says softly. "If you ever want to talk or anything
just give me a call."
I nod and start to turn away from him, but I stop. "Thanks."
He smiles at me. "For what?"
I shrug. "Saving my life." I don't wait for him to answer me or say
anything back. I take the stairs two at a time and enter the gallery.
"chaos al dente"
