Title: More Than Enough

Disclaimer: I don't own Queer as Folk.

The pulsing beat of the music and flashing lights consumed the mass of freely thrashing bodies on the dance floor, giving them something to fall into, something to lose themselves in. In the center of the floor, a tall brunette moved effortlessly with the music, his movements coordinated perfectly with the smaller blond who's hips he was currently resting his hands on. Hungry hazel eyes met lustful blue ones, greedy hands groped and stroked, as tongues mingled and bodies became even more entwined. It wasn't long before the tension became too much for both of them, and then the older brunette was dragging his partner by the hand, disappearing together into the back room of the club, still stealing occasional kisses.

"Brian," Justin moaned into the other man's lips as they were immediately crushed against his. Brian pushed his tongue into Justin's mouth in reply, pressing him into a bare stretch of wall. The blond's hands found their way under the hem of Brian's shirt, going up to tease his nipples to attentiveness. Brian groaned and bit lightly into Justin's lip.

It was only when the brunette's hand had disappeared inside the top of his boyfriend's pants that the passionate moment was ruined and their plans for a needy, rapacious fuck went straight to hell.

"Brian! Fuck, there you are!"

Brian reluctantly removed his lips from Justin's neck and looked up to see who had dared to interrupt.

"A little busy at the moment, Mikey. Unless you've just come to watch," he said bitingly, returning promptly to the tasty skin of Justin's neck. He gave a muffled cry of anger against said skin when Michael, apparently dissatisfied with his friend's response, hit him none too gently on the arm.

"What the fuck?!" Brian demanded, pulling away from Justin yet again, who was observing the scene impatiently, but silently.

"Look, Ted says Emmett thinks he saw your jeep getting ready to be towed," Michael informed him.

"What?" Brian looked furious, his attention finally focused fully on his friend.

"Your jeep is being towed!" the Italian repeated loudly over the grinding beat of the music.

"Shit!" Brian cursed. "I'll be back," he said to Justin, brushing past Michael and storming back out into the flailing mass of bodies. Michael nodded once at Justin, which might have been an apology of sorts, and turned around to leave.

Justin sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration, and cursing everything from Michael to Brian to the stupid jeep.

He was just about to head back into the main part of the club when a hunky muscle man started to approach him, a hopeful gleam in his eye. Justin gave him a quick once-over. He was about Brian's height, maybe a little taller, and Brian's build, possibly dealing with a little more muscle, especially on his thick arms, like small tree trunks, and easily twice the size of Justin's.

The man, who Justin judged to be a few years older than he was, stepped up to him, looking him up and down in an obnoxiously overly-obvious way.

"Hey," the man said, his voice was deep and gravelly. He leaned one hand casually against the wall, the other trailing up Justin's arm. "Wanna fuck?"

Not only were the overly muscular steroid cases more Brian's type than his, but Brian himself was sure to be back any minute, and Justin knew for a fact that anything this guy had to offer would never compare to a fuck with his unconventional boyfriend. And Justin liked to have the best.

"Not interested," he said as politely as possible, pushing himself off the wall to go past the would-be trick, thinking he'd maybe get a quick drink with the guys while he waited for Brian to come back.

"Not interested?" the guy repeated, his other hand coming to rest on the wall beside Justin's head, enclosing him in the space between his arms. "Whats'a matter? You like guys don't you? You like dick?"

Justin, becoming annoyed, again attempted to bypass the man into the club. "Look, will you move?" he said, trying to keep the sharp edge of impatience out of his voice.

"C'mon...gimme a kiss..." the man said, closing in until his breath mingled with Justin's. The blond could smell the alcohol on the other man's breath, an unpleasant assault on his senses, and turned away forcefully.

"I don't kiss," was his automatic response. Never anyone but Brian. Speaking of which, where the fuck was he? He had gone and gotten Justin all hot and bothered, and then left him completely high and dry...what the fuck?

"Oh, yeah," the guy said, laughing. "I heard about that rule. What, Kinney doesn't like his little boy-toy fucking around? Likes to keep him all to himself, huh?"

Justin had had enough. "Fuck off," he replied coolly, trying to push past the man, who's arms were still planted firmly on either side of the blond's head.

"Not so fast..." the guy said slickly, catching Justin around the middle and pulling him back so they were once again face to face. This time, he closed the small distance between them, pressing him body against Justin's. He could feel the guy's arousal, pressing into his thigh, and shoved him roughly away.

"I said fuck off," he said firmly, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Apparently, though, the guy had a real problem with direct orders. Justin suddenly found himself being pushed roughly against the wall, his head making contact with a solid thud, and his lips being ravaged by someone who was most certainly not Brian.

"Ge-off!" he struggled to say, fighting furiously against the man's assault on his lips.

"C'mon, you don't mean that..." he growled into Justin's ear. The blond's eyes stung with tears of unexpected pain as the man's hand burrowed into his hair and gave it a sharp tug, forcing his head backward and exposing his neck, which became the next target of attack.

"Get off me!" Justin grabbed a handful of the man's own hair, pulling him back away from his neck, and felt something a little too much like panic when all of a sudden his wrists were being pinned to the wall beside his head, hips against his thighs to immobilize his legs.

"You do this for Kinney..." the snide voice hissed in his ear. "You let Kinney fuck you. Kinney does whatever he wants to his little whore."

Justin felt anger boil up inside him, blending with the barely controlled sense of dread in his stomach to create a single sick knot.

"'M not—a whore," he grunted between the sloppy, forceful kisses currently being planted on his unwilling lips.

The man laughed. "Oh, you're not Kinney's little fuck toy?" he said mockingly, his voice high and teasing. "He's kept his little toy around this long...it's about time he learned to share."

Justin forced himself to keep calm. He was in control. Maybe not of what was happening to his body at the moment, but at least mentally. Clashing fervently against the rising panic in his gut was the rational voice inside his head, reassuring him that, as he was currently in the middle of a crowded room with dozens of people, there was no chance he was in any real danger here.

He gave an involuntary gasp of pain as a pair of teeth sank into his lip, before a slick tongue was forced inside his mouth, most likely to keep his own tongue occupied with something other than drawing attention to the pair of them.

Justin tried to look around, in the hopes of maybe catching someone's eye, gaining their attention, and hopefully their assistance. But everyone was currently occupied with their own pleasure, obviously not having heard his feeble protests earlier. To them, it probably just looked like a rough, dominating fuck. They weren't exactly rare around here. And currently unable to move his wrists, legs, or mouth, he was starting to think he may have a problem.

He struggled weakly against the hold on his wrists, his breath starting to become quicker and more shallow, not only the result of the lack of oxygen he was receiving, thanks to the man's lips and tongue practically smothering him, but also of the sick feeling of powerlessness that was washing over him. This couldn't really be happening, could it? In the middle of a fucking club? It wasn't as though he were down some dark alley alone at night, he was surrounded by people. None of whom, he realized, had any idea that the current hungry assault was completely one-sided.

He gave another muffled protest when the man's knee brushed his cock. He was starting to get desperate now. He was racking his brains for a way out of this, but he had somehow been overpowered without even realizing what was happening. Shit, why hadn't he seen this loss of control coming when the guy had first tried to stop him from leaving?

He'd had experiences with persistent guys before. There was always that one guy who just wouldn't back down, refused to take no for an answer. But he'd always thought he could handle it. Was always in control. So even when he'd suddenly found his wrists pinned to the wall behind him, his legs trapped, he'd simply thought a firm refusal, a very clear no, would still have some effect. And so he hadn't panicked.

Maybe he should have.

He fought somewhat madly now, his heart beating furiously against his ribcage. Maybe he should have yelled out earlier, when he had the chance...

He gave a strangled, unheard cry against the lips crushing his with a force that was almost enough to bruise. He thought, for one brief moment, that he was free, when the grip on his left wrist shifted, and he tried to pull it fully from the man's grasp. But then both his arms were being restrained with one of the man's tree trunk sized ones, while the fingers of the now free hand fumbled clumsily with the button of Justin's jeans, and he nearly choked on the tongue shoving itself further down his throat.

Then it was gone.

Everything was just gone. The tongue, the fumbling fingers, the body against his...and he instinctively sucked in a much needed breath before looking around to see what the hell had happened.

His eyes widened when he saw Brian, and, to his surprise, Ben and Michael. The next thing he realized was that there was someone against the wall in front of Brian; a closer look revealed it to be the guy who had just practically assaulted him.

Brian had the guy shoved up against the wall, his hands dangerously tight around his throat, and he was saying something that Justin couldn't hear. The guy shook his head vigorously, and was rewarded with a slam into the wall. A couple people looked around at that, but either didn't care or didn't dare to interrupt.

Ben and Michael stood on either side of Brian, shutting the guy inside their little semi-circle. Michael may not be have been all that threatening in appearance, but between Ben and Brian, the guy would have a job getting through them all.

Justin almost flinched when Brian slammed the man hard against the wall a second time, his head snapping back and colliding with it the same way Justin's had, and the guy winced in pain.

Brian took care to give him one more slam into the wall before flinging him into Ben, who glared down at him, his eyes blazing. The man looked from Ben to Michael and then to Brian, apparently coming to the obvious conclusion that he stood no chance against the three of them.

Justin, a sense of relief starting to set in, began to move toward Brian, when the last thing he'd expected to happen, happened.

Brian's face went from grimly satisfied to taut with unmistakable rage in under three seconds, and then his fist was hurling at Justin's aggressor's face. The man staggered, yelling barely distinguishable obscenities, and finally a few people actually stopped what they were doing to see what the source of all the commotion was, a couple of them actually coming over, possibly to help break up a potential fight.

Brian, still looking furious, didn't seem to care, barked something at Ben, and then came to stand next to Justin, a firm hand on his shoulder as he looked him up and down.

"You okay?" he asked shortly.

Justin nodded, not looking at Brian. He felt a comforting arm fall around his shoulders and begin to steer him through the crowds, toward the exit of the building, leaving Michael, Ben, the man Brian had punched, and the intrigued spectators behind.

Justin let Brian lead him along without a word. He didn't so much as glance up, not wanting to know what was there. Would there be anger? Disappointment? How often was Brian warning him about letting himself fall into positions where he was made vulnerable to others, giving anyone the chance to take advantage of him in any way? And he had gone and found some psycho almost the minute Brian had left the club. Had left him alone.

They didn't speak the whole way home. Justin, for all his Kinney-Radar capabilities, was picking up nothing from the older man, which scared him almost as much as that feeling of powerlessness had. Finally, they pulled up in front of the Brian's building. Still not saying a word to each other, they made their way inside, up the elevator, and into the loft.

"I think I'm going to take a shower," Justin said cautiously, glancing at Brian and trying to sound as offhand as possible.

"Did he hurt you? Your wrists...he was holding them pretty tight," Brian said in a constricted voice, avoiding looking at Justin under the pretense of checking the phone for messages.

Justin shook his head. "I'm fine."

Brian nodded, but his eyes were glazed over as though he were far away, and Justin wasn't sure he heard.

"Brian?"

At his name, the brunette looked up, as though surprised to suddenly see Justin standing there.

"Um...thanks," Justin said lamely. "You...you saved my ass."

"Well, when Ben said it looked like you might have a problem on your hands, it's not like we would have just sat back and let him have his way with you," Brian said, his voice cold. "And I figured if you were kissing him..."

Justin lowered his head, oddly ashamed, though he wasn't sure why. "I didn't want to," he said quietly.

Brian looked at him silently for a moment. "I know," he said, just as softly.

"I'm, uh, I— sorry."

Justin watched the rise and fall of Brian's shoulders as the older man turned firmly away, his back to the blond. Justin could hear the scratch of paper on paper as Brian shifted mindlessly through the small stack of it from work he'd left on the counter.

"Sorry's bullshit," was the response so predictable by now that Justin almost cursed himself for saying what he had in the first place. "You could've been..." Brian started, his voice oddly strained. "...You were fucking lucky."

Justin nodded, though Brian couldn't see him. "I know."

"You...you have to watch out for that shit. You're not...you can't...you're not me," Brian said. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned back around to see Justin standing there, still in his club clothes, looking suddenly smaller than Brian had ever seen him.

Justin felt the beginnings of tears in his eyes, and closed them in an attempt to keep them from falling. He almost shuddered with relief when he felt the strong, warm arms of his boyfriend wrap around him, and the firm chest against his cheek.

"I want you safe," Brian whispered as Justin clung to him. "It's not your fault... but Justin, you're not always in control. Even when you think you are."

Justin was a little surprised at how well Brian seemed to know him, know what he'd been thinking. What he was always thinking. It was that invincible feeling that came with youth, he supposed. Like he could do anything. Like he needed no one, when nothing could be further from the truth.

Justin sniffled into Brian's shirt, and the embrace tightened. They stood there for a while, Brian's nose buried in Justin's hair, bunches of Brian's shirt clenched tightly in Justin's fists.

Finally, Brian pulled back to look his blond in the eye. "So...are you okay?" he asked, clearing his throat rather awkwardly as he let go of Justin and ran a hand through his own hair.

Justin nodded, wondering if Brian was aware he'd already asked that question. "I'm fine," he said again.

"Let me see your arms," Brian demanded. Justin reluctantly let Brian inspect every inch of him; after his arms was his hips, and after his hips was his shoulder, which had a quarter sized bruise mark deposited directly on top of the bone.

Brian sighed, rubbing the shoulder just outside of the bruise. "Anywhere else?"

Justin shook his head.

"Did he say anything to you?"

"You mean, like a threat or something?" Justin asked.

Brian shrugged, but didn't say anything.

"No." But Brian wouldn't let it go at just that. He could tell by the way Justin's eyes shifted away that he was lying. The blond had always been thoroughly inadequate at hiding things from his partner. The ability to read each other was a two way street...Brian knew Justin's mind just as well as Justin knew his. He knew his habits, his body language...and, like now, when he wasn't being completely honest.

Brian frowned. "What the fuck did he say?"

"Nothing," replied Justin, turning in the direction of the bathroom, still intent on that shower.

"Bullshit," said Brian, reaching out to grab Justin's uninjured shoulder and turning him back around. "What the fuck did he say?"

Justin avoided his eyes again, directing his gaze instead to the floor. "He just said...things."

Brian rolled his eyes. "What kind of things?"

Justin flushed. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to have to tellBrian what had been said. He'd rather make up a million lies than tell the truth. The only problem was that Brian would see through every one of them.

"Hey said I was your whore. Your fuck-toy," Justin said quietly.

Brian sighed again, looking away. "Asshole."

Glistening blue eyes fought to blink back another round of salty tears.

"That's what he said to me. That's why I hit him," Brian admitted quietly after a moment, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

Justin looked up in surprise. "He said it you? What exactly?"

"Forget it. It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," Justin insisted. "Tell me what the fuck he said."

"He said...fuck, he said I was possessive of my..."

"Your what?"

Brian refused to look at him as he muttered, "My whore."

"See?" Justin's eyes were still brimming with tears, nearly spilling over at this last piece of information.

"See what?"

"Everyone...everyone thinks it." Justin's voice was so low that Brian almost didn't hear him.

"Fuck them," said Brian, shrugging. He carefully pulled Justin back to him. "Fuck them all."

"But..." began Justin, stopping when he realized he didn't know what he wanted to say.

"But what?" Brian demanded harshly. "Why do you give a fuck what they think?"

"I don't."

"Then what? Why do you listen to them?"

"Because!" Justin said heatedly. "Everyone, everyone who knows you, including our friends...they all think I'm over my head in this, or I'm a stupid kid who doesn't know what he's getting into, or that it won't last, or that I'm just a really good fuck you'll get tired of!" he shouted. He felt as though a dam had burst somewhere inside him, leaving everything he had previously held back to come rushing forth now.

Brian looked stunned for a moment before shouting back, "But why do you care? Why do you give a fuck what they think?"

Justin privately thought it was a bit hypocritical for Brian to be going on about caring what other people think when he had just punched someone for something they had said about them, but decided there were more pressing issues at hand. "I don't care what they think! I don't give a fuck what they think!"

Brian stared him at for a moment, the words, and perhaps more importantly, their implication, setting in. He hadn't missed the emphasis on the word they...

The blond felt trepidation flare in his stomach once again, as Brian's face tightened in sudden anger. A chill seemed to come over him when the brunette let his arms drop from his shoulder and back, his comfort gone.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he said, his voice dangerously quiet. Then, as though unable to help himself, resumed shouting, as though the words were torn from him whether he wanted to say them or not. "Who the fuck saved your ass tonight?"

Justin just stared, entirely uncertain what was going on. What the fuck did Brian have to be furious about?

"Who's fucking sketchpads are all over my fucking table?!" Brian asked, flinging one of them onto the floor. "Who's fucking paintbrushes are these?!" the brunette demanded, striding into the kitchen and sending one of them skidding across the other side of the counter, stopping just before it fell off and hit the floor with a clatter. He stormed into the bedroom next.

"Who's fucking Converse shoes are in my closet?!" he asked, throwing open the door to said closet so hard Justin thought it might fall off its hinges. "Who's backpack is on the couch? Who's shit is lying all over the place?!"

"Brian—" Justin began.

"Justin fucking Taylor!" Brian roared. "No names, no numbers, no kissing..."

"What the fuck—?"

"And fucking prom, and school tuition..." Brian's voice cracked painfully on the word prom, but Justin wasn't sure if it was from emotion or because he was yelling so loud. He hoped no one else in the building could hear, but doubted they'd be so lucky.

"What are you—?" Justin started again.

"...asking you to fucking stay!"

And Justin thought he finally understood what Brian was trying to say.

"Brian..." He crossed the loft to the bedroom where Brian stood, chest heaving. Justin closed the distance between them, sliding a hand tentatively up the brunette's chest to feel his wildly beating heart, beneath shirt and skin.

"Brian," Justin whispered, slipping his arms once again around his boyfriend. Brian didn't respond for a moment, then slowly, his arms came up to rest around Justin's back and waist, needing to give comfort almost as much as Justin needed to have it.

He wasn't a toy. This wasn't a game. He wasn't another fuck just good enough to do again. He wasn't just another face in the crowd.

He bore all the marks of a permanent fixture in Brian's life. He had settled in and made himself comfortable, and Brian seemed to have discovered that he was pretty comfortable with the new addition, too.

Because Justin knew where the bed was without Brian having to tell him. Because Brian had the chance to tease him about his cheap tennis shoes currently residing in the closet. Because Justin's shit really was scattered throughout the place.

Because the night Brian had found the blond under the streetlight had long since passed, yet the memory was still clear in both their minds. And because Brian had never taken sex as slowly as he had that first time with Justin after the bashing. And because he had worn that scarf and paid for school, and told Justin without words that he was important, worth keeping around and worth making happy.

Because Justin was worth more than words, because Brian couldn't say it but he could show it, because despite what anyone said, they had lasted this long, and neither planned on letting go anytime soon.

Because Brian had asked him to stay, and because Justin had. Because Brian had been there to save Justin, and Justin would always rescue Brian, too.

Because they were more than what anyone said. Because whatever he told himself, Brian knew it too. Because they were more than temporary, more than a good time, more than a mistake.

They were more than all of that. They were more than enough.