Moth for The Star
folder
M through R › Queer As Folk
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
13
Views:
4,851
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Queer As Folk
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
13
Views:
4,851
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own any of the characters/places/names from Queer as Folk, they belong to Cowlip, Showtime and their known associates. I do not make any money from this work.
602 - Die While They Glow
602 - Die while they glow (Chapter 2)
*3 months later* August 2005
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow.
- Shelley
Pittsburgh
Michael knew. He knew from the moment he saw Justin heading toward Brian in the hot, sweaty, crowded mania of Babylon, all those years ago. He watched as the blonde teenager began dancing shamelessly a little distance from Brian, who had been in the process of picking up two unbelievably hot studs. And yet this boy, whose face was simply sweet, who’s frame was slight and undeveloped, who’s sex appeal was nothing special...Mikey saw immediately that Brian was watching him, and when the two studs saw him too and moved over to him, Mikey knew that Brian had met his match. He didn’t quite know HOW he knew this; it was more a feeling, as he watched Justin lean his head back against the guy feeling him up behind. Amidst the swirling lights and pounding music, Mikey saw Brian drawn in, despite his previous callousness and disdain for the young man, seductively slipping his arms around his neck, brushing away the other two men and placing himself directly in front of Justin. Mikey knew then that Brian was intrigued, knew that, despite his best intentions, he was falling for this twink, this unremarkable, unexceptional, optimistic youth and there was nothing that Mikey could do.
***
New York
JUSTIN:
I wiped a few dead flies off the sticky paint of my windowsill. Heat crawled into my 3rd floor apartment like rolling animated tar, smothering everything with a blurry uncertain fatigue. My eyes felt heavy and my lungs prickled as I sat in front of my easel, staring at my latest piece of artwork. I had been accepted by Mr. Henry Olsen’s ‘Manhattan Emerging Art Gallery’ and had found myself selling paintings, far more then in Pittsburgh, being recognised in the street (“You’re that new artist from the M.E.A.G aren't you!") and being called for posh dinners with ‘arty’ colleges who gestured and debated and bludgeoned the old classical painters with their criticism.
It was to one of these ‘parties’ that I went, that hot August evening, stiff and apprehensive in a new black suit, with a sense of satisfaction that I had received yet another complimentary review in the local art magazine. ‘Justin Taylor’ it had read, ‘a young gay artist recently emerged in New York, has stunned critics and collectors alike with the intensity and originality of his work’. As I stepped into the crowded hall, filled with the objective squares of suit backs, and the tinkle of champagne glasses and inauthentic laughter, I felt a surge of excitement. This was going far better than I had ever imagined. And as if to confirm my observation, I felt a hand on my arm and turned to find a dashing young man gazing defiantly at me. He nodded his head towards the toilets and I grinned, following him wordlessly through the crowds.
Moments later we were panting in the cool plastic cubicle. He was eager, and tight, and I felt a rush of anticipation flow through me. I saw how hot he found me, saw how he had desired me, and as I came, grunting over his back, I felt unconquerable. New York was at my feet. But afterwards, I did not give him my number when he asked. The fuck was enjoyable, but it really did feel empty, as all the tricks had done since I moved away from Pittsburgh, and Brian. One cannot describe how different sex is when you love someone; it is not the quick slick, gasp, release of a nameless union, it is something so much more. The tenderness and connection one feels make it so much hotter. The familiarity, knowing every inch, every turn-on, shifts it to another level entirely. I closed my eyes, the young man still pulling on his shirt behind me, as I thought of how charged sex with Brian had been.
I did not know when it had started to change, the transition had been so gradual, but if I had to pick a moment where I knew it was different, it would be when Brian had made love to me for the first time after the bashing. I had seen it in the days before, in how he took me in, listened to me, did everything in his power to help me remember. I had seen it in the way he was patient with me when I was too tense, too emotionally unstable still to let him inside. But I truly felt it when, after those memories had come crashing back into my head, he had sat beside me and showed me he cared. I had been surprised to find him wearing the scarf, crusted blood staining it’s silky folds, and looked at him. He did not have words to answer me with, but just glanced away, letting me realise how deeply the bashing, and I, had affected him.
His kisses that night were feather-soft, peppering my neck and shoulder, reassuring me in unspoken words: ‘It’s okay’ ‘I’m here’ ‘Relax’. And he was so patient, so slow. I don’t even know if he came or not. Just holding me and moving, oh so gently, inside of me, bringing back those forgotten sensations, making me feel so good and allowing me to lose myself in the swirl of desire that fled back into my limbs. That was the first night it was no longer just fucking.
***
Pittsburgh
Debbie had made sure that Mel and Linds came back to Pittsburgh for Gus’s birthday. She was in her element when they arrived, putting them up in the spare bedroom and crooning over how much JR had grown. Michael noticed that she cracked her gum less when they were around, and adopted her well-practiced motherly stance over the children, and hugged Mel and Linds every couple of hours. She also snatched the opportunity to arrange Gus’s 5th birthday party, and spent hours hanging paper chains and cooking before the day arrived. Michael smiled to himself, it was good to see her bustling around with new-found motivation, something she had been lacking in since their and Justin’s departures.
After commending Debbie’s new hairstyle, a natural silver bob which suited her immensely, Melanie sidled up to Michael and handed him JR with a groan. They chatted about trivial things for a while and then Mel looked at where Brian was sitting talking to Gus and showing him how to hold a bow and arrow. “How is he?” she asked, and Michael shrugged “Well...the same, really”, he concluded. But the moment he said it, he realised it was untrue. Things were NOT the same. Had not been the same since Justin left. Brian talked, joked, worked, and Michael assumed he fucked, but there was a new reserve, a new poise and a less stand-offish attitude. He watched as Brian picked up Gus and held him up above his head before pointing him at the food table, tongue in cheek, and letting him run off. Of course, Brian still had a ‘fuck ‘em all’ attitude. Michael grinned; that had been demonstrated the other night when he and Brian had run into none other than Craig Taylor on Liberty avenue. Brian was about to stride past him when Mr Taylor had stepped in front of them.
“Don’t think I’m here to talk, because I’m not” He said gruffly, and Brian had waited for him to continue, slowly raising one eyebrow. Oh the chill of a condescending Kinney look. Craig had shifted on his feet and Michael had felt the anger radiating off him, a furious accusation matched only by Brian’s withering silence.
“I know Justin has gone to New York” he said at last, meeting Brian’s gaze and glaring back. “His mother and I are...not talking. I need to know where he is living.”
Brian let out a short dry laugh “What? So you can go and visit him? Play happy families now that your discreditable son has finally been recognised as a success?” He met Craig’s glower with an icy scrutiny “I think if your son had wanted you to go and play the sycophant, when you can’t even accept his life, he would have given you his address himself.”
Craig balled his fists and took step towards Brian, and just as Michael was about to step in and intercede, the older man stopped himself, facing up to Brian who raised his chin.
“People like you are sick” He hissed. “You are perverted and twisted and you corrupted my son. All you care about is yourself, what do YOU know about a father’s love?”
Brian snorted before he could help himself. “Love? What kind of a father would disown his own son, and then have him arrested?” He shook his head, smiling bitterly. Then he leaned in to Craig's face, and said quietly: “Go find your goddamn son in New York if you love him so fucking much.” And then he turned on his heel, hooked an arm around Michael’s neck and dragged him away down the street.
***
New York
JUSTIN:
The phone calls had become less and less frequent, as I knew they would. Brian did not want to hold me back, he wanted to distance himself from me so I could have my best chance of finding my way, without feeling like I had ties back home. I knew why he eventually stopped calling. I understood his reasoning. For how can you really lose yourself in a big new city, and start a whole new branch of your life when you have an old flame clinging on to you from the past? But what he did not know was that no matter how many guys I fucked, how many fancy friends I made, how many experiences I had, he and I had been through too much together for it not to have meant anything. Brian Kinney had captured me, body and soul, and I knew in my gut that I would never love another as I loved him.
I had seen him change from a stoic, arrogant, predatory stranger, with armour so thick no-one could penetrate it. A hardened, seemingly callous individual whose composure reached even into bed; he did not express emotion when fucking, his climaxes were near-silent and his post-coital manner was distant and solitary. Yet slowly, he opened up to me. Allowed himself to let go, and I knew with a secret swell in my chest that I was the only person who got to see this. Brian passionate, desperate, gasping and twisting his hands in my hair. Brian lying there beside me, smiling shyly into my eyes, his own dark hair mussed and sweaty, his green eyes lit by the soft light from the window. Brian vulnerable and caring, massaging my shaking hand with oil and letting me bury my head in his chest after a nightmare.
I will always remember the first time he let me top him. I had accepted his offer of financial help, and he was tired, and relieved, and when I looked into his eyes and started to push him over, he paused, and looked back. But I wasn’t asking. I needed to prove to him and myself that we were equals, that I was not just a kid sponging money off him, that I was worthy to be his partner. The chaste kiss I gave him was gentle and teasing and self-assured and perhaps because he understood my need, perhaps because he was too tired to protest, he turned over and tucked a pillow under his arms. Feeling his unease, (I knew he hardly ever bottomed, if at all) I stroked his smooth muscled back beneath me, I kissed his arched neck, I kissed the hard bone of his shoulder blade as I penetrated him. And a whirlwind of emotions flew through my body: Gratefulness, that he had allowed me to take the lead; Uncertainty, because this was a new stage in our relationship; but most of all I felt an overwhelming love. That he had broken his own rules for me, that this connection brought us closer as equals, as partners.
I sighed and ran my fingers over the bridge of my nose. Stared at the phone. Promised myself that I would prove him wrong and return to him.
A few hours later the phone rang, and it was my Mom. She sounded flustered and when I pressed her she admitted that my father had been trying to contact her, and me. I snorted.
“Let him try. I have no intention of seeing him again” My mind flew back to when Brian had sardonically told me not to waste my time on Craig’s disapproval. ‘You’ve not had a father for nearly two weeks’ he had said. It had hurt at the time, but I had realised how right he was. Now I had not had a father for over 5 years, and had no intention of welcoming him back without his full acceptance and trust. He thought homosexuals were animals, inhuman, incapable of love. I felt the familiar angry bitterness rising up in my throat.
He did not, could not, know the warmth Brian and I had shared. How it was Brian who brought me through the hellish space I was in after the bashing. Brian who had supported me, stuck by me, loved me without words as I smarted from Craig’s abandonment, as I fell for Ethan’s bullshit, as I involved myself in Cody’s violent schemes. And how I cared for Brian when he was sick, unflinching sat behind him as he retched into the toilet from the effects of his radiation, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. He could not even begin to imagine.
***
Pittsburgh
As Michael and Brian wove their way through the pulsing bodies of Babylon, Michael glanced at his friends face. Brian looked thoughtful, almost impassive as he shook his head at a buffed-up stud who was cruising him. It began to dawn on Michael that Brian was not tricking as much as usual, Not nearly as much. He was thinking about asking Brian about it when he discovered he knew the answer. It wasn’t that Brian was ‘too old’, hell, he was still the hottest, most desirable man in Pittsburgh. It was, Mikey realised, because Brian missed Justin. The unlikely union of two souls, the fondness and ache of need, of wanting to protect, the love Brian had been adamant he would never feel, had crept up on him unawares until it was too late. He was in too deep. There was no turning back. Michael stared into his glass, unsure whether to be happy or sad for Brian. Mr ‘I-believe-in fucking-not-love’ Kinney had fallen, despite himself. Michael mused that it was probably the best type of love story that could be written, for the protagonists were not tainted by expectation or prejudice, were not forced into ardor by convention. No. Brian fought tooth and nail until the last, but he only proved himself wrong, that love IS stronger than will, that love breaches all boundaries.
***
End of Chapter 2
*3 months later* August 2005
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow.
- Shelley
Pittsburgh
Michael knew. He knew from the moment he saw Justin heading toward Brian in the hot, sweaty, crowded mania of Babylon, all those years ago. He watched as the blonde teenager began dancing shamelessly a little distance from Brian, who had been in the process of picking up two unbelievably hot studs. And yet this boy, whose face was simply sweet, who’s frame was slight and undeveloped, who’s sex appeal was nothing special...Mikey saw immediately that Brian was watching him, and when the two studs saw him too and moved over to him, Mikey knew that Brian had met his match. He didn’t quite know HOW he knew this; it was more a feeling, as he watched Justin lean his head back against the guy feeling him up behind. Amidst the swirling lights and pounding music, Mikey saw Brian drawn in, despite his previous callousness and disdain for the young man, seductively slipping his arms around his neck, brushing away the other two men and placing himself directly in front of Justin. Mikey knew then that Brian was intrigued, knew that, despite his best intentions, he was falling for this twink, this unremarkable, unexceptional, optimistic youth and there was nothing that Mikey could do.
***
New York
JUSTIN:
I wiped a few dead flies off the sticky paint of my windowsill. Heat crawled into my 3rd floor apartment like rolling animated tar, smothering everything with a blurry uncertain fatigue. My eyes felt heavy and my lungs prickled as I sat in front of my easel, staring at my latest piece of artwork. I had been accepted by Mr. Henry Olsen’s ‘Manhattan Emerging Art Gallery’ and had found myself selling paintings, far more then in Pittsburgh, being recognised in the street (“You’re that new artist from the M.E.A.G aren't you!") and being called for posh dinners with ‘arty’ colleges who gestured and debated and bludgeoned the old classical painters with their criticism.
It was to one of these ‘parties’ that I went, that hot August evening, stiff and apprehensive in a new black suit, with a sense of satisfaction that I had received yet another complimentary review in the local art magazine. ‘Justin Taylor’ it had read, ‘a young gay artist recently emerged in New York, has stunned critics and collectors alike with the intensity and originality of his work’. As I stepped into the crowded hall, filled with the objective squares of suit backs, and the tinkle of champagne glasses and inauthentic laughter, I felt a surge of excitement. This was going far better than I had ever imagined. And as if to confirm my observation, I felt a hand on my arm and turned to find a dashing young man gazing defiantly at me. He nodded his head towards the toilets and I grinned, following him wordlessly through the crowds.
Moments later we were panting in the cool plastic cubicle. He was eager, and tight, and I felt a rush of anticipation flow through me. I saw how hot he found me, saw how he had desired me, and as I came, grunting over his back, I felt unconquerable. New York was at my feet. But afterwards, I did not give him my number when he asked. The fuck was enjoyable, but it really did feel empty, as all the tricks had done since I moved away from Pittsburgh, and Brian. One cannot describe how different sex is when you love someone; it is not the quick slick, gasp, release of a nameless union, it is something so much more. The tenderness and connection one feels make it so much hotter. The familiarity, knowing every inch, every turn-on, shifts it to another level entirely. I closed my eyes, the young man still pulling on his shirt behind me, as I thought of how charged sex with Brian had been.
I did not know when it had started to change, the transition had been so gradual, but if I had to pick a moment where I knew it was different, it would be when Brian had made love to me for the first time after the bashing. I had seen it in the days before, in how he took me in, listened to me, did everything in his power to help me remember. I had seen it in the way he was patient with me when I was too tense, too emotionally unstable still to let him inside. But I truly felt it when, after those memories had come crashing back into my head, he had sat beside me and showed me he cared. I had been surprised to find him wearing the scarf, crusted blood staining it’s silky folds, and looked at him. He did not have words to answer me with, but just glanced away, letting me realise how deeply the bashing, and I, had affected him.
His kisses that night were feather-soft, peppering my neck and shoulder, reassuring me in unspoken words: ‘It’s okay’ ‘I’m here’ ‘Relax’. And he was so patient, so slow. I don’t even know if he came or not. Just holding me and moving, oh so gently, inside of me, bringing back those forgotten sensations, making me feel so good and allowing me to lose myself in the swirl of desire that fled back into my limbs. That was the first night it was no longer just fucking.
***
Pittsburgh
Debbie had made sure that Mel and Linds came back to Pittsburgh for Gus’s birthday. She was in her element when they arrived, putting them up in the spare bedroom and crooning over how much JR had grown. Michael noticed that she cracked her gum less when they were around, and adopted her well-practiced motherly stance over the children, and hugged Mel and Linds every couple of hours. She also snatched the opportunity to arrange Gus’s 5th birthday party, and spent hours hanging paper chains and cooking before the day arrived. Michael smiled to himself, it was good to see her bustling around with new-found motivation, something she had been lacking in since their and Justin’s departures.
After commending Debbie’s new hairstyle, a natural silver bob which suited her immensely, Melanie sidled up to Michael and handed him JR with a groan. They chatted about trivial things for a while and then Mel looked at where Brian was sitting talking to Gus and showing him how to hold a bow and arrow. “How is he?” she asked, and Michael shrugged “Well...the same, really”, he concluded. But the moment he said it, he realised it was untrue. Things were NOT the same. Had not been the same since Justin left. Brian talked, joked, worked, and Michael assumed he fucked, but there was a new reserve, a new poise and a less stand-offish attitude. He watched as Brian picked up Gus and held him up above his head before pointing him at the food table, tongue in cheek, and letting him run off. Of course, Brian still had a ‘fuck ‘em all’ attitude. Michael grinned; that had been demonstrated the other night when he and Brian had run into none other than Craig Taylor on Liberty avenue. Brian was about to stride past him when Mr Taylor had stepped in front of them.
“Don’t think I’m here to talk, because I’m not” He said gruffly, and Brian had waited for him to continue, slowly raising one eyebrow. Oh the chill of a condescending Kinney look. Craig had shifted on his feet and Michael had felt the anger radiating off him, a furious accusation matched only by Brian’s withering silence.
“I know Justin has gone to New York” he said at last, meeting Brian’s gaze and glaring back. “His mother and I are...not talking. I need to know where he is living.”
Brian let out a short dry laugh “What? So you can go and visit him? Play happy families now that your discreditable son has finally been recognised as a success?” He met Craig’s glower with an icy scrutiny “I think if your son had wanted you to go and play the sycophant, when you can’t even accept his life, he would have given you his address himself.”
Craig balled his fists and took step towards Brian, and just as Michael was about to step in and intercede, the older man stopped himself, facing up to Brian who raised his chin.
“People like you are sick” He hissed. “You are perverted and twisted and you corrupted my son. All you care about is yourself, what do YOU know about a father’s love?”
Brian snorted before he could help himself. “Love? What kind of a father would disown his own son, and then have him arrested?” He shook his head, smiling bitterly. Then he leaned in to Craig's face, and said quietly: “Go find your goddamn son in New York if you love him so fucking much.” And then he turned on his heel, hooked an arm around Michael’s neck and dragged him away down the street.
***
New York
JUSTIN:
The phone calls had become less and less frequent, as I knew they would. Brian did not want to hold me back, he wanted to distance himself from me so I could have my best chance of finding my way, without feeling like I had ties back home. I knew why he eventually stopped calling. I understood his reasoning. For how can you really lose yourself in a big new city, and start a whole new branch of your life when you have an old flame clinging on to you from the past? But what he did not know was that no matter how many guys I fucked, how many fancy friends I made, how many experiences I had, he and I had been through too much together for it not to have meant anything. Brian Kinney had captured me, body and soul, and I knew in my gut that I would never love another as I loved him.
I had seen him change from a stoic, arrogant, predatory stranger, with armour so thick no-one could penetrate it. A hardened, seemingly callous individual whose composure reached even into bed; he did not express emotion when fucking, his climaxes were near-silent and his post-coital manner was distant and solitary. Yet slowly, he opened up to me. Allowed himself to let go, and I knew with a secret swell in my chest that I was the only person who got to see this. Brian passionate, desperate, gasping and twisting his hands in my hair. Brian lying there beside me, smiling shyly into my eyes, his own dark hair mussed and sweaty, his green eyes lit by the soft light from the window. Brian vulnerable and caring, massaging my shaking hand with oil and letting me bury my head in his chest after a nightmare.
I will always remember the first time he let me top him. I had accepted his offer of financial help, and he was tired, and relieved, and when I looked into his eyes and started to push him over, he paused, and looked back. But I wasn’t asking. I needed to prove to him and myself that we were equals, that I was not just a kid sponging money off him, that I was worthy to be his partner. The chaste kiss I gave him was gentle and teasing and self-assured and perhaps because he understood my need, perhaps because he was too tired to protest, he turned over and tucked a pillow under his arms. Feeling his unease, (I knew he hardly ever bottomed, if at all) I stroked his smooth muscled back beneath me, I kissed his arched neck, I kissed the hard bone of his shoulder blade as I penetrated him. And a whirlwind of emotions flew through my body: Gratefulness, that he had allowed me to take the lead; Uncertainty, because this was a new stage in our relationship; but most of all I felt an overwhelming love. That he had broken his own rules for me, that this connection brought us closer as equals, as partners.
I sighed and ran my fingers over the bridge of my nose. Stared at the phone. Promised myself that I would prove him wrong and return to him.
A few hours later the phone rang, and it was my Mom. She sounded flustered and when I pressed her she admitted that my father had been trying to contact her, and me. I snorted.
“Let him try. I have no intention of seeing him again” My mind flew back to when Brian had sardonically told me not to waste my time on Craig’s disapproval. ‘You’ve not had a father for nearly two weeks’ he had said. It had hurt at the time, but I had realised how right he was. Now I had not had a father for over 5 years, and had no intention of welcoming him back without his full acceptance and trust. He thought homosexuals were animals, inhuman, incapable of love. I felt the familiar angry bitterness rising up in my throat.
He did not, could not, know the warmth Brian and I had shared. How it was Brian who brought me through the hellish space I was in after the bashing. Brian who had supported me, stuck by me, loved me without words as I smarted from Craig’s abandonment, as I fell for Ethan’s bullshit, as I involved myself in Cody’s violent schemes. And how I cared for Brian when he was sick, unflinching sat behind him as he retched into the toilet from the effects of his radiation, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. He could not even begin to imagine.
***
Pittsburgh
As Michael and Brian wove their way through the pulsing bodies of Babylon, Michael glanced at his friends face. Brian looked thoughtful, almost impassive as he shook his head at a buffed-up stud who was cruising him. It began to dawn on Michael that Brian was not tricking as much as usual, Not nearly as much. He was thinking about asking Brian about it when he discovered he knew the answer. It wasn’t that Brian was ‘too old’, hell, he was still the hottest, most desirable man in Pittsburgh. It was, Mikey realised, because Brian missed Justin. The unlikely union of two souls, the fondness and ache of need, of wanting to protect, the love Brian had been adamant he would never feel, had crept up on him unawares until it was too late. He was in too deep. There was no turning back. Michael stared into his glass, unsure whether to be happy or sad for Brian. Mr ‘I-believe-in fucking-not-love’ Kinney had fallen, despite himself. Michael mused that it was probably the best type of love story that could be written, for the protagonists were not tainted by expectation or prejudice, were not forced into ardor by convention. No. Brian fought tooth and nail until the last, but he only proved himself wrong, that love IS stronger than will, that love breaches all boundaries.
***
End of Chapter 2