testdog65 (testdog65) wrote in qaf_challenges, @ 2007-06-03 18:04:00 |
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Original poster: _alicesprings
Title: Avatar
Written By: cold_poet
Timeline: Post 513
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Some of the most telling moments of their relationship happened while sitting in—or pressed up against—cars.
Author's Notes: There were so many more moments I thought of including here, but not all of them were wonderful, happy, and really, when it’s comes to Brian & Justin it’s all about the love. Thanks and more thanks to my fabulous betas for encouragement and for keeping me from tormenting punctuation once again. :)
1. The incarnation of a Hindu deity, especially Vishnu, in human or animal form.
2. An embodiment, as of a quality or concept; an archetype: the very avatar of cunning Love
3. A temporary manifestation or aspect of a continuing entity: occultism in its present avatar.
Brian had a point, that night after Jason Kemp had been found, when he said “The first time you came here you didn’t know anything about me. I could have done anything to you.” It was true. Going home with a complete stranger, especially one whose entire demeanor just screamed ‘predator’ was pretty fucking stupid.
Of course after that particular predator had let Justin name his kid and had introduced him to a dozen or so lesbians and promised to fuck him all night long, it was kind of no longer a dangerous risk, just a thrilling one.
And since said predator already held the honor of having been the first person other than Justin to put his hand on Justin’s dick, Justin couldn’t think of any good reason not to let him be the first person to slide his dick in Justin’s ass, or any other sundry things a horny seventeen year old boy could imagine. (Not that he tried very hard to come up with any good reasons, mind you.)
“Brian Kinney gives a shit!”
He’d love to say that it had been planned. Really would love to believe that he was wily enough, devious enough, to have set up the entire conversation in an effort to trick Brian Kinney into admitting he cared.
But, he really just wanted to brag about his SAT scores. And he connects his face very soundly to his palm whenever that particular conversation comes to mind. How that stupid and inexperienced kid managed to keep The Great Kinney’s attention long enough for him to start to give a shit—hell, to fuck him more than once—is one of the great mysteries of the universe. Really.
And sometimes, on his more maudlin days, Justin wishes he’d done a better job of remembering those kinds of moments more often in the years that followed.
“Even if it was ridiculously romantic.”
He wishes he could remember. Bits and pieces have come back over the years, not much, not nearly enough. Flashes of blue lights and laughter-filled eyes. He woke up one morning and remembered a softly spoken “Later,” that held so many promises, so much emotion. He’s happy to have that back; it almost drowns out the whoosh of the bat, the cracked and fearful “Justin!”
And he knows now that it was the first time Brian said ‘I love you’ —if you listen through the Kinney-speech translator. (He doesn’t count the very first time because Brian was high as a fucking kite and shooting his load the moment he said it. It’s kind of trite actually, and he tries to ignore it most of the time.)
But he thinks that if he could remember that moment when Brian had him pressed up against the Jeep he could look into Brian’s eyes and see what he was really trying to say. It might have been “Mine too.”
He’s pretty sure it was, since Brian offered the details up almost willingly, without risking alcohol poisoning in the process.
“It’s because you love me. Madly, passionately, deeply.”
It was actually because Brian felt guilty that Justin got bashed in the head with a baseball bat as a result of Brian outing him at school, encouraging him to never back down, and then making a spectacle of them both before a bunch of overly-hormonal fag-hating breeders.
You know—if you ask Brian. Or Michael. Or probably anyone else who never found out about Brian’s late night vigils during Justin’s recovery and rehab period.
But Justin remembers gentle touches, kindly whispered words, early nights, and tender fucking. He remembers the feel of Brian’s hand in his while he learned to walk down a sidewalk again, open arms meant to be a safety net, affectionate kisses, and a fucking ridiculously expensive computer intended to give him back his dreams.
He wishes he hadn’t forgotten those details so willfully, either. ‘I love you’ was written all over them, if you knew to look under the wrappings.
“I wanna go away with you for the whole week!”
Someday, they are fucking well going to make it to Vermont, and they might even fit in some snowboarding, somewhere between rounds of hot, sweaty sex. He can claim it was brain damage. He can claim it was childish petulance that he hadn’t quite managed to outgrow yet. Hell, he can claim it was anything he wants. It lets him pretend it wasn’t just a whole lot of Justin Taylor being a bitch.
A selfish, thoughtless, fucktarded bitch. Brian told him it was work. Brian told him it was important. It’s his own fault for not listening.
Justin Taylor does regrets. Not calling Brian’s fucking cell phone and saying “I’m going to Vermont, why don’t you meet me here if you get done early?” is pretty close to the top of the list.
Fuck. Tarded.
But on his good days he gets to remember the time he asked for a weekend, and Brian offered a week.
There was probably an ‘I love you’ hidden in there, too.
“Well that’s a sizeable chunk of change for Boyfriend Replacement Therapy.”
Justin’s never had the balls to come right out and ask Brian if he got rid of the Jeep hoping to get rid of the memories. And he probably never will. But he wonders, sometimes, when he catches Brian staring at a Wrangler passing by. Especially once it’s out of sight and Brian smiles at him, and maybe kisses him, pulls him close.
Or when Brian fidgets with the key-chain Justin bought for the purely symbolic loft-key Brian gave him after the “official-moving-in-together-empty-drawe
And he didn’t even roll his eyes when Brian gave it to him and demanded the old one back “because it’s worn down.”
When Justin thinks of black Jeep Wranglers, he smiles, because he thinks of love. So he keeps a tiny replica on his keys: loft, New York apartment, studio space, mom’s house, Deb’s house, Daph’s apartment, spare ‘Vette key.
And every time he opens a door he smiles, because he remembers he’s loved.