Title: Exceptions to the Rule

Summary: The exceptions to Brian's 'no love' rule

Disclaimer: I don't own Queer As Folk

Some people said that rules were made for the sole purpose of being broken. Surprisingly, most people would agree, Brian Kinney was not one of those people.

Rules were made for a variety of reasons, but never for the purpose of being broken. They were created to keep people in line, to protect, to govern, to keep peace, but never to break. That wasn't to say that Brian never did break rules. Actually, he made a habit of it. Rules of society, general rules of what was proper and what was not... he shattered such trivial regulations to pieces. He had his own set of rules. Those were the only ones he has ever bothered to follow. The ones he had vowed never to break.

The number one rule being, of course, his adamant 'no love' rule. No love. Only fucking. Never caring. Never opening up, sharing his heart with someone else. Only him. After all, he could never lose what he never gave away. It was painless. Risk-free.

Of course, rules always come with exceptions.

The first ever exception to this strict no love rule was a young Italian boy by the name of Michael Novotney. He was Brian's first ever real friend, and the first person he'd ever admitted to loving, both to himself and out loud. He was Brian's salvation, in a way. He offered a kind of peace of mind Brian had never known before. Basically, Michael was a safe haven to him. For a while, the one person Brian knew he could trust with his heart. And it felt good, though he would never admit it, to be able to know there was someone, even if it was just one person, in the world who he could give a bit of his heart to without getting it smashed. Which was why, even now, so many years later into their friendship, Mikey continued to mean so much to him.

He had heard, on occasion, people talking... things they'd said about the two of them... They'd always said that if anyone could make Brian fall in love, give up everything to be with one person and really love that person, it would be Michael. Brian also knew that there was a part of Michael that secretly (or not so much) hoped for this. But there was a reason Brian wouldn't, couldn't, bring himself to give his best friend in the world what he wanted.

Michael wanted him. Brian. All of him. He wanted Brian to love him that way. And maybe Michael couldn't see what Brian could, maybe most people couldn't, because he was the only one that knew what would inevitably happen if they became something. In fact, if they ever became something, that something would be a ticking time bomb. It wouldn't be the kind of thing that would bring them closer. It would merely serve to drive them apart. Brian was slightly ashamed to admit that, if it were ever to happen, he knew he'd push his friend too far. He'd push, Michael would bend. Brian would push some more, Michael would break. They'd snap, explode into a million pieces. They'd never make it as lovers, partners, and Brian wasn't willing to lose the best friend he'd ever had just to prove to Michael why they could never be together that way. Why they were better off, even, as much as he despised the phrase, meant to be... friends.

The second ever exception to Brian Kinney's no love rule was another Italian, Michael's own mother. Though it was much too decidedly mushy for him to admit, Debbie Novotney was more of a mother to him than his own had ever been. While Joan had been reserved, distant, cold as ice... Debbie was warm and open and just...there. All you ever needed to know about her was apparent from the moment you met her. No bullshit. Just her.

Okay, maybe, in some ways at least, Debbie didn't exactly fit the ideal definition of 'mother.' She was loud, and crass, uninhibited... which just added to the reasons why Brian loved her. Not to mention the ways that she fit the 'mother' ideal perfectly... the one who protected him, the one who cared for him, taught him, made him feel loved... in those ways, she was the best mother a kid could ask for. He knew she considered him a son, and the thought always made him feel, (again, he'd never admit it) a warm sort of glow on the inside. He'd do anything for Debbie. His mother.

The third exception was another woman, who he actually never imagined he'd care for so much. She knew he loved her, just as he knew she loved him. Though, perhaps, like Michael, the smallest piece of her heart wanted that bit of him she could never have. Lindsay Peterson... Brian wasn't entirely sure what it was about her that he found so endearing. At first, he'd simply been amused by the way she was so awe-struck by his mere presence. It had started out with him teasing her, talking to her, laughing with her...then, before either of them realized it was happening, he'd gotten under her skin and somehow she'd gotten under his, too. Then, of course, there was that one time in college...

It hadn't been out of love. That much he knew. It hadn't been lust. Or want, or need, or anything of the sort. It was an experiment, for the most part. He hadn't quite realized then how risky it really was, how he could have ruined everything with her. But then, their friendship had somehow survived, and, just as with Michael, just as with Debbie, Brian knew without a doubt that he was safe with Lindsay. Honest, loyal, and true, Lindsay was no threat. Now a dear old friend, the mother of his child, one more person he could share a little of his heart with, he still loved her.

His child. The fourth exception to his rule. That had certainly shocked him. He had truly never expected to love his son. He had never known a father's love growing up. And after all, he really didn't consider himself Gus's father most of the time. He was just the sperm doner. An uncredited guest appearance.

That had all changed the first time Gus had looked at him.

He would never forget that look.

The fact that there was this person... this person that was a part of him, that needed him to love him and protect him and be there... was more than he was prepared to comprehend or even begin to deal with.

Things had changed even more, however, after the whole cancer/Liberty Ride epiphany he'd had. The thought of death, of falling off that damned bike into the inviting depths of darkness that awaited if he did, had crossed his mind more than once. More than once a minute, even. But it had given him time to think. And for once, it had actually led to something good. He'd started thinking about, if he was ever truly unable to... to what? To breathe? To move? If he was truly unable to change anything about his life, what would he wish he could do then? He'd thought of several things he could imagine as the source of much frustration if he could no longer do anything about them. Several, though he often pretended to harbor none, regrets.

It had been one of them. The comparatively small amount of time he'd spent with his son. It had been one of the things he'd want to change.

There. Four. Four people he could, if he truly, absolutely had to, admit to loving. He could even admit that he wouldn't be who he was without them. They'd all changed him somehow.

And if he could, he would swear that these four were it. That they were the only ones.

But he knew that wasn't true.

There was another. One more person who meant the world to him, that he'd never admit. Rarely admitted to himself. It was different, somehow, than the others. He loved Michael and Lindsay, they were his friends. He loved Debbie, his mother. He loved his son. He could allow himself that. Could even understand it.

But what he did not understand was this other type of love. It burned brighter, somehow, than the rest. It made his stomach flutter and twist and sink and leap all at the same time. He decided that, if ever there existed the kind of perfect, pure love of the kind of children's old storybooks, this was as close as it got.

It wasn't the kind of safe feeling as with Michael or Lindsay, that guarded trust. There was trust with this new kind of love, but it wasn't trust that the man who held it would never shatter his heart. It was wild, and dangerous, and there was every chance his heart would be broken.

The thing was, the whole experience gave him a high that made the risk worth every second he was suspended in the center of this battlefield. 'High-risk' simply meant that the high made the risk worth it.

Brian Kinney had never known someone to worm their way into his heart the way that Justin Taylor did. And he would never understand why his usual barriers proved ineffective against him. How he seemed simply immune to everything that Brian threw at him. He'd just bound right back through the door, Sunshine smile firmly in place, adoring blue eyes gazing up at him, and Brian's walls would crumble just a little bit more.

Sometimes it was fucking annoying, the persistence. It was like trying to find a place to rest in a maelstrom of open fire. How could he be expected to protect his barriers, if every time he plastered up their cracks, reaffirmed their rock-solid existence, Justin would chip away an entire layer and a half? How could he possibly keep up?

So maybe Justin had found a way in. 'Under the wire,' as Debbie had put it. And now there was nothing Brian could do to kick him back out again. Or at least, nothing he would do. For all that he said, all that he would have everyone believe, he actually wouldn't change a thing about Justin's presence in his heart, in his life. It would be like losing something vital to him, now. They complimented each other so perfectly. Justin's somewhat dreamy-at-times nature to Brian's realistic, often cynical one. Justin's innocence to Brian's deviousness. Justin's strength to Brian's stubbornness.

Rules were not made to be broken, especially not Brian's. Which is why Brian Kinney would never understand how Justin Taylor managed to break them all.

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