Author: Angelus
E-mail: (Please put "Mind the Gap - QAF" on the subject line.)
Subject: Queer as Folk.
Category: R.
Rating: G for now, R eventually.
Summary: After a few of the first episodes, Brian pushes Justin away. Difference is, this time he listens. Six years later, by chance, they're thrown back together, and their connection is stronger than ever. If you wanna skip to the sex, this isn't the story for you. If you like a slow, natural progression of a relationship, hopefully you'll enjoy this.
Spoilers: Let's say the first half of Season One.
Archive: Anywhere, just ask me first.
Disclaimer: Justin Taylor, Ethan Gold, Brian Kinney, Emmett Honeycutt, Ted Schmidt, Debbie Novotny, Lindsay Peterson, Jennifer Taylor, and any other characters mentioned here are property of Showtime, Cowlip, and Temple Street. They are used without permission, but no money is being made, so don't sue; I am but a poor college kid.
Author's notes: Okay, okay - this has been done before, I know. But for some reason, I couldn't get the idea out of my head this time. So out popped this. Hope you enjoy.
Dedication: To Mike and Ryan - for being sweet and hysterical, and for Mike sharing my love of QaF.
Mind the Gap
Justin was beginning to loathe gallery showings. Becoming a prominent member of the art community apparently meant that he was expected to attend galas for every other member. And Justin, being Justin, couldn't bring himself to turn down any of them, so he ended up attending one nearly every other day. This show was his, but somehow even that didn't make it any more bearable. All of the attendees knew that he was the artist, so no one dares approach him, and he never got an honest opinion on his art. The ones that did approach him, meanwhile, were usually either drunkenly hitting on him or pompously rattling off a list of their own recent accomplishments.
To keep himself sane, Justin always wheedled Daphne or Trevor into coming. But tonight was Daphne's three-year anniversary with Kyle, and Trevor had to work, so he had been forced to bring his mother. Granted, he loved his mother, but having her along at one of these things rarely helped. She didn't know a thing about art, always pointed out the wrong type of guys, and chided him for drinking too much champagne, as if he were still sixteen instead of twenty-two.
Ignoring her clucking, Justin snagged another full flute from a passing waiter's tray. As he sipped it, he scanned the room. The artsy crowd was really a pitiful one, filled with girls in carefully torn black dressed and boys in baggy khakis and sloppy, paint-splattered t-shirts. Even Molly, who was finally making her transition from awkward and gangly to cute and girly, would look sophisticated in this crowd. But Molly had her first high-school dance tonight, so even she couldn't have taken her mother's place at Justin's side for the evening.
"Honey, what about him?" she was saying, directing his attention over to an older guy examining his feeble attempts at photography, done only at his agent's insistence. And while Justin did tend to go for men out of his age range, not only was this one not the least bit attractive, but he was also clearly straight. He set his mouth in a tight smile and informed his mother politely:
"Not my type." Her face fell momentarily, but then she continued looking. Justin bit back a sigh, wishing she would leave well enough alone. Okay, so he'd only had two significant relationships in his life - he couldn't help it if he was picky. But picky didn't change the fact that Ethan hadn't been right for him and Jack had been an asshole. Still, his mother - like any mother, he supposed - longed to see him settled down with someone, so she was constantly pushing him towards anyone she could find.
Justin was still disgustedly examining her latest choice when the striking blonde woman walked through the door. In fact, he only noticed her at all because she stopped to greet the gentleman at the photographs. Once Justin saw her, however, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. It was the oddest sense of deja-vu that had his eyes following her lithe figure all the way around the room, for he felt certain that he had me her somewhere before. As he was wracking his brain to recall where, the woman's male companion joined her, placing a hand at the small of her back as he murmured something in her ear, his lips curling in distaste. She giggled and shoved him away, and he turned, trying to avoid another jab of her elbow. It was then that Justin saw his whole face, and his breath caught in his throat.
"Oh my God," he muttered. His fingers tightened their grip on his champagne flute, until his knuckles turned white. His heart was hammering like he had just run a marathon, and his knees were quivering. "Oh my God," he repeated, a bit louder this time - loud enough that his mother caught the words.
"Honey, what's wrong?" she asked. When Justin didn't answer, she looked over, following her son's gaze to the attractive brunette in the Armani suit. Her eyebrows rose.
"Do you know him?" she asked, assessing his expression. Justin chuckled.
"He was my act of teenage rebellion," he answered over his champagne. Now it was Jennifer's turn to chuckle.
"You're going to have to be a bit more specific," she said. "I can recall quite a few acts of teenage rebellion in your past. Which one was this?"
"The first." Neither of them needed any more than this - it was a well-remembered incident. At the beginning, Justin had thrown the details of it in her face during any argument they had gotten into. But they had bypassed that stage long ago, and Jennifer was fully supportive of her son, in all aspects of his life. Yet there was something about finally seeing him - the man who took her son's innocence, his...well, his virginity - that made her throat clench. Meanwhile, Justin's own mind was in a whirlwind, although for a completely different reason.
"So that's Brian," Jennifer murmured.
"That's Brian," Justin agreed. Swallowing her discomfort, Jennifer looked him up and down. Slim build, bedroom eyes, hint of a swagger in his walk...typical bad boy. And just Justin's type. Despite the fact that Ethan had been young and fresh-faced, Jack older and distinguished, she was his mother - she knew that he went for the classic 'rebel without a cause' types. This was exactly the kind of man she would have pegged as the infamous Brian Kinney.
"He's very handsome," she observed. Still, there was something about him that she couldn't put her finger on. "Are you sure he's gay?" she murmured. Justin just smirked, and shot her a look. After twenty-two years, she had become quite adept at reading these looks, and this one clearly said, "Trust me, I was there." Rolling her eyes, she watched Brian press closer to the woman he was with, fingertips trailing down her bare arm. "Who's the blonde?" she asked Justin.
"His best friend," he answered. "She's a dyke."
"Justin!" she admonished. He hardly seemed to notice.
"He's like walking sex," he murmured, half to her and half to himself. "He'll flirt with anything on two legs, just because he knows they'll respond. He's got it all - looks, charm, money...you can't not be attracted to him. And he loves it. He gets off on being the center of attention." Jennifer frowned slightly, catching the hitch in her son's voice.
"Justin, you don't still have feelings for him?"
"You never forget your first love."
When he was finally able to break away from his mother, Justin found Brian in a secluded corner of the exhibit. Somehow, he wasn't surprised. There were numerous paintings crammed into the area - a record of his love life, Max liked to call it, painted in a full range of colors and hues. Jack was an angry crimson, Ethan a cooler, friendlier green. There were others - some that he remembered, from their brief interludes, painted in muted tones. The ones whose names he couldn't even recall were in black and white, their features and body parts thin, almost fading. Every one of the paintings had appeared in shows before, but this was the first time he had put them all together. It was probably his favorite part of the exhibit, but because a majority of the pictures were very sexual, even the kinky art people shied away from it. It wasn't the most vanilla of areas. Even his mother hadn't been back here - she, like the others, seemed scared to be seen looking at pictures of two men touching, kissing.
Brian didn't.
It took a few minutes before Justin gathered the courage to approach Brian. After watching him study the paintings and downing yet another glass of champagne, he was ready to make his move. He had barely set down his empty glass, however, when Brian looked up, locking their gazes. It seemed like an eternity before the older man finally murmured:
"Hey."
"Hey," Justin returned, biting back a smile. What a very appropriately Brian response to the love-sick blonde who six years ago had been following his every move. Justin wasn't a fool - he knew Brian remembered him. But apparently this was how they were going to play it - like nothing had happened. Justin was okay with that, however. He wasn't a naive teenager anymore - he knew how to play the game and get what he wanted. That said, he was aware that Brian still affected him. All that meant was that he was going to have to play more carefully. Because for once, he was playing for real.
"You just gonna stand there?" Brian asked, breaking the silence. Justin smiled.
"I was thinking about it," he admitted, stepping into the corner, where the din of the other guests mulling about wasn't quite so audible.
"It's quite a collection you've got here," Brian said. Unable to help himself, Justin blushed, and hoped that the dimmed lighting would hide his skin's betrayal. Nevertheless, he took a few steps toward the brunette.
"Thanks," he said. "I like making the art. Showing it, on the other hand, going to these things every weekend...not my favorite thing to do."
"You know there's only one proper way to deal with assholes," Brian declared, and proceeded to pull a small silver flask from his pocket. He quirked an eyebrow, offering it to Justin. Smiling gratefully, the blonde took another step forward, so that he was intentionally invading Brian's space as he uncapped the flask, taking a deep swallow. It was vodka, which he hated, but he managed not to make a face - it was alcohol, after all.
"Oh man, I could use about fifteen more of those," he murmured. Brian laughed out loud, taking a swig for himself."
"You hate vodka," he stated. Justin reclaimed the flask, polishing off the last of it.
"Maybe I do now," he said, immediately regretting how childish it sounded. But Brian's smile only grew, and he raised a finger to tap Justin's cheek.
"You're trying too hard," he informed, attempting to throw him off. But Justin just chuckled.
"After six years, you still remember that I hate vodka?" he tossed back. He knew that he had won this round, because Brian turned from him, moving over to the pictures on the wall. He was silent for a moment, then tapped the frame of the first painting in the series.
"How much is this one going for?" he asked. It was in panoramic view, the colors ranging from a white blur to an explosion of orange to a bright blue, then mellowing out and fading into a purplish hue, then ending abruptly with a stripe of black. Although there had been several encounters between the pair, Justin had smashed them all into one painting - the less time and paint spent dwelling on it, the better. To an outsider, even to someone who knew him, very few people Justin showed the painting to would have known it was meant for Brian. None of the paintings were particularly overt about their subjects, in fact - you just had to see deep inside them to know who they were truly about.
Brian knew.
"That one..." Justin fumbled for words. "That one's not for sale," he finally blurted out. Brian paused, then nodded.
"Too bad," he said. This time, he was the one who invaded Justin's space - an old trick in his book, and one that Justin was more than prepared for. He leaned his body towards Brian's, tilting his face upwards and giving every indication that he was meeting him thrust for thrust, parry for parry. Although to be honest, Justin's heart was beating a mile a minute, and he had no earthly idea what was about to happen next.
That question was swiftly answered, however, when the blonde woman Brian had arrived with - Lindsay, that was her name - swept into the secluded little space.
"Brian?" she called. Upon seeing her friend, pressed up against a small blonde, she cleared her throat. "Sorry. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" Brian and Justin stepped apart, the younger man slipping the empty flask inside his coat as the older took his place at Lindsay's side.
"Right on time as always," he said with a false smile. Lindsay barely noticed, however - she had shifted her attention to Justin.
"Have we met?" she asked, frowning slightly as she struggled to recall. Justin hemmed and hawed for a few moments, searching for the most appropriate response. Finally, Brian stated:
"He's the kid from a few years ago that named Gus." Immediately, Lindsay's face lit up in recognition, and she extended her hand.
"Justin, right?" she said. "Oh, what a coincidence running into you here!" Justin opened his mouth to greet her in return, but suddenly, she put two and two together.
"Wait, you're Justin Taylor, aren't you?" she realized. "You're the artist. How could I forget, the showing at the GLC? You were always drawing. Well, it looks like it's paid off. Congratulations." Justin smiled and shook her hand.
"If only it were paying a little more," he said wryly.
"Oh, don't worry; I fully intend to buy at least one piece. Your work is incredible, really."
"They're not for sale," Brian piped up. Justin glared at him, but he seemed unfazed. After all, he lived to be difficult.
"Not all of them are for sale right now," he tried to explain.
"That's too bad," Lindsay said, oblivious to the silent conversation that was taking place right under her nose. "Which ones are for -"
"Yes, too bad indeed," Brian interjected, and began herding her out.
"Brian!" she chided, but she was so small that she was no match for him, and with one arm around her waist, he dragged her toward the gallery's exit.
"It would have gone perfectly with my other one," he tossed over his shoulder. And with that, the pair was gone, leaving Justin stunned speechless, his mouth flapping uselessly open and closed. He had always suspected that Brian had bought the drawing of himself, but to finally hear him admit it...
Justin set his jaw determinedly. He may have lost this battle, but he fully intended to win the war.