Ambition

[nothing_rhymes_with_ianto]

Brian's feeling and thoughts during the last sex scene in 513. It's very angsty so prepare to be depressed. It's called ambition because that's the song that plays during the scene. Under the cut.
 

Brian stood in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of Beam. He really needed it. He poured one for Justin as well. They had been off in their own worlds the entire not, Justin thinking about packing and New York and housing, Brian trying not to think about Justin leaving and his world changing in ways that he begun and now could not stop. Both had been unintentionally dancing around each other. Brian watched Justin wander from the bedroom to the couch, trying to memorize how he looked now, the way he moved, his hair and clothes. He hid his feelings in a question, as usual, but his voice was soft.

“When’s your flight?”

“Ten.” Justin rubbed his hands together as they moved to the center of the room. “Think I finally found a place to stay. Daphne has a friend in the East Village.” Brian handed him his glass. They circled each other, each giving the other space. Brian didn’t know what would happen if they touched right now, what was bubbling at the surface that would overflow if disturbed. “Finding a workspace is going to prove difficult. Apparently everything there costs a fortune.”

“You’ll manage. You always do.” Brian blinked and frowned. He didn’t know how he was going to manage. He paced, glancing at Justin, who seemed to read his mind.

“I’ll be back. And you’ll come there, we’re gonna see each other all the time.” Brian felt tired, a sense of loss already eating away inside of him.

“You don’t know that.” He smiled ruefully. “Neither do I.” He bit his lip and sighed, emtions making his breath shaky, trying to make sure that Justin didn’t stay. “Whether we see each other next week, or next month, or-” He stopped, took a breath to say what he dreaded, “Never again. Doesn’t matter, it’s only time.”

They stared at each other. Justin exhaled. Brian turned away, walking towards the kitchen so that Justin couldn’t see the tears stinging his eyes or the lump in his throat he had to will away. He turned. Justin was holding the rings.

“You didn’t return them?” He hadn’t had the heart, or the balls.

“I didn’t return them.” Brian smiled; it was still amusing that they had nearly gotten married. He watched Justin inspecting them, contemplating. He remembered- and was sure Justin did, too- the ring he had worn when Justin was with Ethan. Justin closed the box and put it down, seeming to make a decision. He took Brian’s hands.

“We don’t need rings or vows to prove that we love each other. We already know that.”

Brian looked at the face that seemed so much older and grown up than when they had first met. In Justin’s eyes there was love and seriousness and determination. He smiled, realizing that Justin had unknowingly taken his advice to heart. He sighed, touching Justin’s arm.

“You did it.” Justin looked up.

“Did what?” Brian sighed, biting his lips, afraid to utter the phrase from happy years before.

“Became…the best homosexual you could possibly be.”

Justin smiled and closed his eyes. They both remembered the past five years, happiness and sadness. Justin seemed to be savoring something before his face fell and he looked back up at Brian, who smiled. Justin moved his hands to Brian’s shoulders, and for some reason, that movement disturbed the bubbling flood of emotions and Brian was pulling Justin toward him, kissing him hard, trying to memorize the feeling of Justin’s lips, trying to make this last.

He stopped and stared at Justin’s lips before kissing him again. Then he leaned his head back, trying to will away tears as Justin stroked the back of his neck. He smiled and kissed Justin again.

Nothing was said, they both knew each other well enough. They helped each other undress, slowly savoring the feel of skin on skin and clothing falling free. Justin knelt on the couch and watched as Brian knelt on the couch in front of him, embracing him.

Brian buried his head in Justin’s neck, breathing deeply through his nose in order to imprint his lover’s scent into his brain. He felt Justin’s hands running along his back and looked up. They stared each other in the eyes, emotions more honest than they had been since the bashing. Then they were kissing again, pressed against each other, just trying to appreciate these last two hours. Brian was gentle, kissing him slowly. He didn’t want to leave this. He smiled as he recalled the fact that Brian Kinney never went slowly, but this was a different Brian Kinney.

They kept on kissing, until Justin’s thumb grazed Brian’s jaw. Somehow, Brian knew what that meant. He slowly lowered Justin onto his back, not wanting to leave the embrace, and slid a condom on, then pressed into Justin with a small cry. He began thrusting into him, slowly at first, kissing Justin’s neck, then faster as their skin brushed together. Justin kissed him, hard, then put a hand on his shoulder to still him.

“Brian, the bed- please?” It was a request that Brian was surprised he was happy to hear. He pulled out and kissed Justin as they relocated to the bed. He pushed back in, holding Justin’s legs to his chest, staring into Justin’s eyes. He watched Justin’s face, the trust and love in his eyes, and suddenly everything was breaking.

Dry sobs began to wrack his body- tears had not even begun to come. When they finally did, he leaned over and kissed Justin, who wiped him away, then sat back up to allow the sobs free. He thrust hard into Justin, putting his emotion into that. As he came, instead of sobbing, he screamed a throat-searing, ragged scream of loss and love and so many other emotions he had no names for, then finally let the tears come as he collapsed down onto his lover.

He stared at Justin’s face, the emotions on his own those of loss and the realization that he would no longer be whole, and that he might never see Justin again. He slid a hand through Justin’s hair, smoothing it away from his damp forehead. Justin looked at him, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears, and smiled as they gazed at each other. Brian stared at his Sunshine, trying to tell him without words that he didn’t really want him to leave, that was serious and he meant every word when he said he loved him, then collapsed down, burying his face in Justin’s neck and tangling his fingers in Justin’s hair.

“I love you,” He whispered, so quiet that he knew that Justin barely caught it. What he wanted to say was ‘I love you, don’t leave me again. Stay. Stay.’ But he knew he never could, and so he drifted off to sleep, still inside Justin, still warm and sticky, still breathing hard with unshed tears.

Brian awoke a few hours later in the same position he had fallen asleep. But there was no Justin under him, and no Justin in the kitchen. Justin’s clothes were not in the closet and his sketchpads were not on the table. His computer wasn’t in its spot and his toothbrush wasn’t by the sink. His shoes weren’t in the doorway and backpack wasn’t on the counter.

He was alone. He didn’t shower; he didn’t want to wash the sweet stink of Justin off him just yet. He never wanted it to fade. It could be the last time he smelled that way. He could be right when he said ‘Never again.’ Who knows?

Brian watched the sky turn a lighter blue, watched the sun come up, but he didn’t feel that it was right. It should be dark. He tried to sleep, but knew he couldn’t. He lit a cigarette, and gave up trying to push his Sunshine out of his thoughts.

Brian lay on the end of the bed, smoking a cigarette, trying and failing to not think about Justin and the fact that his bed would be empty now for who knew how long. As much as he wanted to say he was still the old Brian Kinney, he knew he wasn’t. He no longer wanted to be alone. But it had taken him too long to realize that, and now he had to resign himself to an empty bed and an empty bottom drawer. He sighed, his shoulders heaving.

Brian spent the day pacing his loft, chain smoking, trying not to look anywhere. Everything, everything had memories. He glanced at the couch and remembered the night he had tried to force Justin to sleep on the couch again, but that persistent kid had climbed right in bed with him. He looked at the television and remembered telling Justin that a promise was a promise. He looked at the desk where his computer once sat, remembering countless conversations and kisses.

 He glanced toward the kitchen and remembered when they fucked on the counter one night, feeding each other grapes and ecstasy. He looked at the column and remembered his answer to Justin’s question of ‘Did you miss me?’ He could envision the two of them fucking in the shower, all those times, like it was yesterday. He remembered ice cream kisses on the chaise lounge, Justin’s taste mingling with vanilla. He heard the sound of the elevator and clearly remembered an amazing blowjob from Justin on the way up to the loft. Looking toward the door, he recalled shoving Justin against it one day after he came home from school and fucking him against the cold metal. He recalled the jambalaya dinner at the table in that first week Justin began living with him.

For the longest time he avoided looking at the couch or the bed. That metallic taste of loss and sorrow was too strong in his throat already. His head felt heavy with emotion and he could feel that weight pressing on his tongue. Tears stung at his eyes, fighting to prick their way out to slide down his cheeks. He couldn’t clear his throat enough to get the rid of the lump that had settled there. He wanted to take it all back, everything. He wanted to fly to New York and pull Justin to him and ask him to come back, to stay. He wanted to tell him that he didn’t want to be alone anymore, that he didn’t think he could stand an empty bed, that he wanted Justin here, at home, with him. But it was too late. And even Brian knew that what he lived by was true: no excuses, no apologies, no regrets.