QAF FanFic by Morpheus

Season 3 Ė Episode 3-07

Blur



Brian

"Oh man, oh man, oh man."

This trick's getting on my nerves, moaning and talking while he's sucking my cock.  I can just barely reach the VCR remote, slide my fingers over the buttons till I find the volume control and subtly turn it up a couple notches. 

No good, he just gets louder.  "Oh man, slurp, oh man, slurp, oh - "

This has got to be the worst porn tape I've ever seen.  The judge removes his robe and his pot belly surges ahead of him as he puts the moves on the poor defendant.  Why did I turn up the volume?  The dialogue is almost unbearable, any minute Iíll start laughing or yelling at the screen.  Yelling at the trick too, though it's not his fault he's not getting me off. 

I give up.  Closing my eyes, closing my ears to the sound of the dying-cow moans and the horrible porn tape dialogue, I give up and let myself see a different face, somebody else's face; I let myself feel his hot wet mouth, hear his soft honeyed moans.  Reaching down I clutch the trick's hair, pretend it's - somebody else's.  He's getting noisier now, no doubt he's glad to get a reaction from me at last, but still I drown out real life with the sound of remembered moans.  Soon I feel the climax coming, I can relax back against the sofa cushions and let go, let myself go, pressing my lips tight together as I shudder with orgasm, keep my lips closed tight so his name can't slip out to echo around the walls and ceiling that haven't heard me call that name for. . .a long time.

Afterwards I can hardly bear to look at him, the trick, who now is begging me to fuck him.  "Another time," I lie, "I've got things to do, you'd better go."  I feel the trick's anger although this one says nothing, he just gathers his discarded clothing while I stand up, turn my back on him, grab a glass and pour myself an inch of JB.  Before I've finished drinking it he's gone. 


Justin

"I'll get it."  The waiter just left the check for breakfast at the coffee shop, Daphne and I meet for breakfast or lunch at least once a week.  You have to make an effort to keep in touch with friends when your lives diverge, and I'm glad it's as important to Daphne as it is to me.

"No," Daphne insists, "Don't be a dope, we'll split it like always."

I want to argue but I don't; it's true I can't be splashing money around, besides I want to stop at the grocery and pick up some cheese for the little surprise celebration I'm planning when Ethan gets home this afternoon.  I'm feeling guilty for doubting him, for suspecting Ethan of cheating on me.  He was hurt this morning when I tackled him with it - with what I thought I'd seen at the concert in Harrisburg.  I'd apologized finally, but now I want to prove that I'm sorry by having a little celebration.

Daphne let me borrow her car for the drive to Harrisburg, and when I handed over the keys last night, she'd demanded to hear all about the concert.  Somehow I'd managed to put her off, told her I was tired and needed to sleep but promised to give her the scoop when we met for breakfast.  And now I've spilled it all to her, what I thought I saw, my suspicions, Ethan's explanation.  Daph's looking skeptical but then, she doesn't like Ethan very much.  That will change over time, once she knows him better.  For now I let it go and ask if she wants to come with me to the grocery.

So we're wandering around the store, joking and laughing as we smell some really awful cheeses.  I'm still feeling guilty that I suspected Ethan of cheating, of lying to me.  And it occurs to me suddenly that in a way it's a result of my relationship with Brian, that's made me so mistrustful.

Daphne shakes her head.  "Brian never lied to you."

That stops me for a moment.  She's right.  It's funny, I forgot that Brian never lied to me.  Or if I didnít forgot, at least Iíd pushed Brian so far out of my mind that I no longer think about him, hardly even remember our time together, it's a blur.  Luckily the past is a blur now Ė feeling blurred is so much better than feeling pain, and it's just mind over matter.  Brian used to tell me that and now I understand.  If you want to stop feeling pain, all you have to do is decide to stop.

I was blurred for a long time but not any more.  Being with Ethan keeps me in focus.  Actually things were blurry at first with Ethan too until I was able to stop thinking about the past and move forward.  Another thing Brian taught me, no looking back.  No regrets. 

The past is the past, it's over.  Brian means nothing to me now.  On the other hand, that's why I forgot that Brian never lied to me.  And once Daphne said that, all these jumbled feelings started twisting around inside my chest, it was a struggle to push them back down again.  Instead I'm focusing on Ethan, on the wine and cheese treat I'm planning for him, to celebrate his big success in Harrisburg.

I feel bad for not trusting Ethan, for imagining he was lying.  It's just hard to reconcile what I was so sure I was seeing in Harrisburg with Ethan's explanation.  He said he didn't even think the guy was gay.  Apparently I was wrong that the guy was coming on to Ethan but Christ, I'm not blind, the guy was gay.  They were talking quietly on the stairs - they looked so fucking intimate - and then Ethan left with him.  Who wouldn't draw the same conclusions as me?

It must have been jealousy, that sinking feeling I got when I watched them on the stairs of the concert hall.  Jealousy's something I used to feel a lot with Brian, I never thought I'd feel it with Ethan.  What a relief to find out I was wrong about the guy on the stairs. 

When Ethan reminded me that he's supposed to be projecting this sexy image that attracts men and women, he said we both knew that was going to happen.  I guess I should have known but somehow I really didn't.  Which is stupid, I should have realized people would be coming on to him at his concerts.  In a way it's almost lucky that I won't be there to see it happening next time.  I'm not going to Buffalo.  We talked about it and I agreed with Ethan that it was too dangerous, his agent might see me.  I can't jeopardize Ethan's career just because I have this irrational jealousy that he might. . .do something, next time.  He won't of course, after all, he promised.  And Ethan has never broken a promise to me.  He never has and he never will.


Brian

Ted's got a lot of fucking nerve asking me to help him.  Who does he think I am, the DA?  I told him that, I told him I'm not the fucking DA, there's nothing I can do.  Nothing.  And why does he think I give a fuck what happens to him anyway?  Why should I?  Where's he ever been when I. . .well that doesn't matter.  It's not like I ever needed him or would ever need him, I don't need anybody, never have, never will. 

I remember walking into the diner the morning after the Rage party, they were all sitting there laughing at me.  Nobody gave a shit about me then, did they?  I didn't want them to of course, didn't need them to.  Ted was laughing at me.  I heard him, I heard all of them.  Even Lindsay was smiling, I saw the curve of her lips while the others belittled me.  It didn't matter then and it doesn't matter now, I don't give a shit what they think of me. 

Now they're all ragging on me because of this mayor's campaign, because they donít like my client.  Fuck that, it's business not personal, they're always making everything personal.  Besides, it's like I told Deb, it doesn't matter who wins, all candidates are full of meaningless promises until they get elected, then they do whatever they fucking well please.  Stockwell's no different, neither is the Democrat candidate, what's-his-name, Deakins.  All politicians make promises, empty promises, it means nothing.  

Only Michael stands up for me.  Which is a given, we're always there for each other.  Almost a hundred percent of the time.  At least Mikey hasn't hassled me about my client, Michael's not interested in politics.  He's interested in Ben and Ben's problem with steroids.  I've never understood the allure of steroids, who needs to look like a pumped up Schwarzenegger with bulging muscles and a tiny head?  Those drugs are dangerous, worst of all they can affect your sexual performance.  That's something I've never had trouble with.

It just hasn't been, oh I don't know. . .it just hasn't been very enjoyable lately.  I know it's only because I've been working so hard, I've been distracted by work.  The tricks are as plentiful as ever and finally I've stopped mentally turning every one of them into a blond boy with full lips and a round ass just begging to be fucked.  That didn't last very long, it was some kind of fluke psycho thing going on inside my head, I don't really understand it but who gives a fuck, I'm not one of those analyze-yourself-to-death types.  Things happen, you get over them and move on, no looking back.  No regrets.  If your subconscious plays jokes on you once in a while, best thing to do is to ignore it and move on.  That's where I'm at now:  No more jokes, no more late-night calls to. . .  See, I've forgotten his name already, the blond call-boy.  Can't even remember what he looked like, his face is a blur now. 
________________

I spent all morning racking my brain, trying to come up with a way to get Stockwell to call the dogs off Ted.  And then suddenly Emmett barges into my office demanding that I wave a magic wand and save his husband.  I was tempted to chuck him right out the door but somehow I couldn't.  Emmett's face when he was begging me. . .Christ, I hate seeing raw emotion like that, it's unnerving.  Unpleasant.  And fucking undignified.  I just mumbled, "I don't think there's anything I can do, and I have a meeting in ten minutes, good-bye."  As he went out the door he threw a disdainful glance at me over his shoulder.  He looked at me like I was a bug.

That's one of my favorite Brando lines, "He looked at me like I was a bug."  I never thought that someday it would apply to me.

Stockwell expected me to let him win at racquetball, he should know me better by now.  I never let anybody get the best of me, in a game or in real life.  We sat in the sauna and I had to work to keep focus, not to slip into a complacent blur of relaxation.  I was racking my brain to think of a way to bring up Ted's arrest when Stockwell surprised me by referring to it himself, giving me the perfect opening to make my very casual, very off-hand suggestion. 

Ted's a small-fry, I told him, pick on someone your own size.  What's funny is that everything I told Stockwell is the absolute truth.  Or one truth anyway.  It's entirely plausible that the opposition could jump on Stockwell just as I said, accuse him of making a play for publicity, if he leans too hard on some small-time schmuck. 

I could feel Stockwell getting the message, I've always been very physically attuned to what others are thinking.  Sometimes people make the mistake of underestimating me.  Just because I don't let them see my wheels turning, doesn't mean my engine isn't revving at a million rpms.  One of the few who know that about me is Justin, and it's funny that he figured it out very early in our. . .I was going to say, in our relationship, but we didn't really have a relationship per se, just a - just a thing. 

Not even Michael is really that aware of me, even after all these years.  But Michael's a simple guy.  He's not stupid - Michael's very smart about a lot of things, he just doesn't understand the complexity of some men.  Justin understood right away, because Justin's a complex man also.  I wonder if his musician knows that about him? 


Justin

When Daphne opened her door and I burst into the room and exclaimed "I've left him!" I expected her to say 'I told you so' and I wasn't surprised that of course she did, but she only said it once and then shut up.  She got me a beer from the fridge and stood watching with hands on her hips while I drank it down in two gulps.  There wasn't anything stronger in her place, but when she offered me a second beer I shook my head no. 

More than anything I wanted to lie down, I wanted to go to sleep and not wake up for a long, long time, I was just completely exhausted.  I'd used up every ounce of strength in my body when I confronted Ethan with the truth, when I ripped him and his roses to shreds and slammed out of the apartment.  I walked then, I walked around, walked all over Pittsburgh; I walked for hours until eventually I found myself in Daphne's neighborhood.  I knew she'd let me stay the night, and being the smart girl that she is, she didn't spend a lot of time blasting Ethan, though I've always known she doesn't like him.  I never understood why, but now I wonder if Daphne has better instincts than me.

Luckily Daph woke me up in time to make my shift at the diner.  There was no time to go by Ethan's to change my clothes, and I might have known Brian would notice when he came in for lunch.  He made some asinine crack about it.  I told him I'd spent the night at Daphne's but I didn't tell him I've left Ethan.  I wasn't ready to hear him laugh at me, as he surely will when he finds out.  If anybody's ever going to say "I told you so," it's Brian Fucking Kinney.

Ted came in for lunch and though I didn't hear his conversation with Brian, Debbie told me that Brian saved Ted's ass, now Ted won't be going to jail.  Everyone's going to be very surprised, and somehow that annoys me.  How can they be surprised that Brian would act to help one of his friends?  He does it all the time.  All the time, and how often does anyone thank him for it, how often do they remember that he's helped them out?

We talked about that once, Brian and I.  A couple weeks after the wedding that Brian organized for the women, Mel was back on Brian's case about something, I don't remember what.  I was outraged and I was storming around the loft, ready to march over to their house and defend Brian, but he coolly put the brakes on.  Brian doesnít want gratitude, he doesn't want thanks, and he ordered me to keep my mouth shut about it. 

There's not many times Brian ever gave me any orders.  Thinking back, what I remember most is that Brian always let me make my own decisions, even when they were mistakes.  I remember my decision to be a go-go boy.  Brian joked me about it but he supported my decision at the same time.  And when I announced that I was going to the Sap's after-hours party, Brian let me make that mistake too.  From the very beginning, Brian treated me like a man.  And he was honest.  Painfully honest, but at least he never lied to me. 

He never made any promises either, and I think I'm beginning to understand why.  Promises are words, and words are meaningless.  I've learned that now the hard way.  Christ, am I going to become as cynical as Brian Kinney?  I feel cynical.  Very hard and cynical and bitter.  And way, way past anger.

I cut life class this afternoon to go by Ethan's when I was sure he'd be in class himself, I picked up a few clothes and things.  Daph said I can stay with her for a couple days till I decide what to do.  I don't want to move in with Mom but maybe I have no choice, I can't afford to live on my own.  Meanwhile I just want to forget about everything for awhile.  Daph made us dinner, ham sandwiches, her fridge is almost as empty as Brian's used to be.  She went out to a study date tonight, I was just going to lie on the couch in her apartment and watch tv but after awhile I started feeling restless. 

What I really want to do is find somebody to fuck, I'm horny as hell.  I can go into any bar on Liberty Avenue for that, but for some reason I'm drawn to Babylon.  I'm surprised to realize that I've missed it, missed the sweaty boisterous crush of male bodies writhing to the beat of the blaringly loud music.  Maybe I'll drop in there for a while, dance and fuck away some of my anger; it's a weeknight so probably I won't run into anybody I know.


Brian

Mikey made a baby, first try, I joked about his sperm liking Mel's eggs, a horrifying thought.  I'm glad I didnít let myself get talked into making a baby with Melanie, we'll never like each other and I wouldn't want a kid of mine growing in her belly.  Michael is determined to be a "good father," whatever the fuck that means.

So we're in Babylon and he's just started sucking on the Cuban cigar I gave him, we're up on the ramp that's swaying to the rhythm of the blaring music.  Suddenly over Michael's shoulder I spy a shaggy blond head down on the dance floor.  For some reason shaggy blond heads are still grabbing my attention until I remember that I'm not interested any more.  Quickly I look away, but not before I notice that the blond's moving toward the entrance to the back room.

Telling Mikey he'll be a good dad, I give him a kiss on the cheek before turning and making my way down the stairs.  I'm headed for the bar, I need a shot of JB.  Then for some reason I detour around the bar and instead push through the crowd, moving toward the back room.  I'm just curious about that blond head, for some reason I'm thinking it's what's-his-name, the callboy I've had at the loft a few times.  I'm wondering if he's giving it away free in the dark blue lights of Babylon's back room.

Itís crowded, there's not usually this many guys in the back room on a weeknight.  My eyes casually slip over each twosome and threesome as I keep moving, their faces a blur.  Ignoring the wandering eyes and the hands that occasionally reach out for me, I keep on moving till I'm almost at the back wall.  And then I see him.  Through the moving flaps of translucent plastic, I spot the shaggy blond head.

It's Justin.

It's not my imagination this time, it's really Justin.

I stop still, transfixed.  Then he turns and sees me.  Staring straight into my eyes, Justin sees me.  I glance down at his cock, which he's just buried in the ass of a small dark-skinned trick he's got pushed against the wall.  Not missing a beat, Justin keeps staring at me as he picks up the pace and rhythmically thrusts his cock into that willing ass pushing back to meet him.

Looking quickly away, deciding to turn my back and just away away, instead I feel myself leaning against the wall.  I glance back at him and still he's staring at me.  I try to make myself laugh, a cynical and amused little laugh, but the best I can do is twitch my lips.  When a dark-haired guy approaches and kneels at my feet, I'm barely aware that he's unzipping my pants.  I can't take my eyes off Justin, and still he is staring at me.

As the unknown trick at my feet takes my rigid cock into his mouth, I stifle a gasp.  Justin's staring at me, and somehow I know that it's his mouth on my cock.  His eyes tell me that.  Justin's thrusting his cock into somebody else's ass, but it feels like he's fucking me.  My ass tightens as I remember the feel of Justin's cock.  He's only been there a few times, but I remember.  His eyes tell me that he's remembering too.

One last time I try to look away, willing the image to blur.  But completely and utterly against my will, I feel my head turn slightly as my eyes shift in their sockets and seek out his eyes once again.  His gaze has not faltered, he's staring straight into my eyes, staring straight into my head, that damned little fucker is mesmerizing me, hypnotizing me, and suddenly I have to grab hold of the head whose mouth is sucking me off because I know I'm going to shoot.  Justin knows it too, I see it in his eyes, and I swear he's timing his orgasm to match mine.  Across the space that doesn't divide us, I hear that familiar quick-drawn breath as Justin shoots, and I shudder and moan and fall back against the wall, almost collapsing from the power of my own climax, and with the last bit of strength in my body, I force my eyes closed, turn my head and look away.

Justin. 

Christ almighty. 

Justin.










4/25/03