Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/453044.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Queer_as_Folk_(US)
  Relationship:
      Brian_Kinney/Justin_Taylor
  Character:
      Brian_Kinney, Justin_Taylor, Lindsay_Peterson
  Stats:
      Published: 2004-09-27 Words: 1377
****** Holding On ******
by popfly
Summary
     Gapfiller for season one, episode nine. Justin does what he can after
     a scare with Gus. For people who don't watch the show, Justin is 17
     here.
Brian made faces when we were discussing fathers, but I could see something
beneath his brave face that I couldn't quite put my finger on. An inkling of
hurt or insecurity, or maybe a little of both. But I didn't have enough time to
dwell on it before the phone rang. I listened to his shoes hitting the floor
and lifted the receiver.
"Hello?" I asked, tapping my pencil on my notebook.
"Hi, Justin? It's Lindsay."
"Oh hi," I said, happy to hear her voice. I had just had a shit conversation
with my mother, and Lindsay's warmth was evident even through the phone line. I
was going to ask how things were but then she started talking frantically in my
ear.
"Justin, can you put Brian on the phone please?" Her voice sounded high and
thready, like she was having an asthma attack almost, but I didn't think
Lindsay had asthma. Not that I would know really. She could have been having a
panic attack, my mom had the rare one and her voice sounded panicky when she
had one.
"Yeah, hold on, he's right here." I pushed away from the counter and stood,
padding across the hardwood floor to where Brian was getting undressed.
"It's Lindsay," I said when he quirked an eyebrow at me. He held out his hand
and I gave him the phone. "She sounds upset."
"Lindsay?" He undid his belt buckle with one hand and furrowed his eyebrows so
I assumed Lindsay had launched into some story, and I stood with my hands
propped on my hips, watching his face to see if I could figure out what the
story was about. If it was about Melanie there would be a lot of eye rolling
and harsh words, I was sure, but instead his eyes got darker and his hand
stilled on his belt and his eyes shot up to mine.
"I'll be right there." He jabbed the end button on the phone and tossed it at
me. I bobbled it a couple times before holding it to my chest as Brian was
hastily re-doing the buckle on his belt.
"Brian?"
He didn't answer, but stood on one foot and pulled his shoes back on before
raking a hand through his hair and searching for his jacket. I reached around
him and lifted it off the back of the couch and he jammed one arm into a
sleeve.
"Brian? What's wrong?"
"It's Gus," he said, and his voice sounded shaky, too. I sucked in a breath and
put my hand on his arm.
"Is he okay?"
"I don't know, they're taking him to the hospital." He ran his fingers through
his hair again and his eyes were roaming the loft.
"Oh god." My mind raced, thinking of all the things that could have gone wrong,
all the things that could have happened. Brian moved to the counter and I heard
the jingling of keys. I did a quick run through of all the homework I had to do
that night and then decided that an essay on some lame-ass poem was not as
important as the well being of Brian's son. "Hang on, let me put on my shoes."
I headed towards the bedroom, but Brian's gruff bark stopped me.
"You're not coming."
I turned on my heel and blanched at the look on his face. "Why not?"
"Why the fuck would you? He's my son."
"That's exactly why." I shook my head slightly. I couldn't really explain why I
wanted to be there, I just knew that I did. Brian apparently did not agree.
"This has nothing to do with you. Just do your fucking homework." He stalked
towards the door and flung it open.
"Brian," I called, but the word wasn't even out of my mouth before the heavy
metal slid shut. I stood at the bottom of the bedroom steps and threw up my
hands in exasperation. Then I blew out a breath and plodded back to the
barstool, and picked up my pencil.
                                     *****
My essay ended up being fucking brilliant, if I did say so myself, but only
because I didn't have anything else to do all night but work on it. I knew I
wouldn't be able to sleep until Brian got home or I knew Gus was okay, even if
I took an hour long shower and wrapped myself up in the duvet. So I re-did my
essay six times until it was perfect and I talked to Daphne until her dad made
her get off the phone and then I watched some bad black and white movie on
television. Finally I ended up in the bed, staring at the bedside clock, trying
not to worry myself sick, ticking off the minutes in my head.
I was still laying there when the door opened.
Brian's footsteps were slow and heavy, and the thunk of his keys hitting the
counter echoed ridiculously loudly in the loft. I held the duvet up to my chin
and waited for the sound of his feet on the steps. He stopped at the bottom of
the bed and I knew that he could tell I was awake even if he couldn't see my
open eyes in the dark.
"You're still up." His voice was tired and rough.
"Yeah."
"You have school in the morning."
I ignored that. "How's Gus?"
He chuckled a little and my heart unclenched. "Fine. He's got a bad cold, but
he's fine."
"Oh, thank god," I said, pushing myself up into a sitting position. "How's
Lindsay?"
"A little strung out but I think she'll be okay."
"That's good." I paused, and he didn't move. His jacket was still on. "How're
you?"
He didn't answer, just stood there looking down at me. "I'm going to take a
shower."
I watched him disappear into the bathroom and a moment later I heard the water
start. I contemplated joining him for a brief moment but then I thought I'd let
him have some alone time. He could get loose under the warm water and maybe
he'd feel like talking when he got into bed.
When he did climb under the covers he laid on his back and stared up at the
ceiling, and I didn't know what to say at first.
"Brian?" I started, hoping that would be enough of a prompt. But instead of
talking he rolled over and kissed me hard, and I figured that was my hint not
to say anything more.
So I kissed him back instead, and moaned into his open mouth when he ground his
hips against me. I let him hold me so tightly that I almost couldn't breathe,
and I didn't complain when he bit my lip so hard I thought he would break the
skin. I gasped when he flipped me over and covered me from behind, and I panted
out his name when he slid two fingers inside me and kissed me between my
shoulder blades.
He fucked me hard and fast but he barely made a sound. His grip on my hip was
so tight I was sure I'd have fingertip shaped bruises there the next morning,
and his breath came short against my skin, but he didn't so much as moan. I
held onto his thigh and closed my eyes against the pillowcase and came calling
his name into the soft dark cotton. He came moments later, with his mouth flat
against my spine.
When we had cleaned up and gotten back in bed I stretched out on my side and
stared at his closed eyelids. They slid open and his eyes fixed on mine, and I
took a deep breath.
"You okay?"
His eyelashes fluttered briefly and he sighed. "Do you have to ask so many
fucking questions?"
I was going to say something smart, but he pulled me to him and buried his face
in my neck and I thought I'd just let it go. He didn't need me bothering him,
he probably just needed to sleep. So I stayed still until his breathing evened
out and he started that snuffling snore that he tended to make when he was
sleeping deeply. And I held onto him. It was the least that I could do.
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