Getting this notification reminds me why I fully left the Queer as Folk fandom years ago. Stopped writing in it at least 8 years ago, picked this story back up after 3 years due to people requesting it, faced hate again and thought, "This is a very toxic space and I don't face this in other fandoms." This comment comes over five years after I last updated. I decided to answer it because it did not bring me the same frustration and annoyance as I felt before.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
He tells everyone it was just that Justin was hot. He’d seen him standing there on the street, looking gorgeous and like he was up for something. And Brian decided to be that something.
The truth is, the kid was hot, and Brian heard him obviously lying and was charmed by it. The truth is, Brian was bored, and Justin was something different. Something he hadn’t done in a long time. Someone who didn’t know who Brian was, hadn’t heard his reputation. Beautiful, innocent. The kind of boy who believes you when you say it’s never felt like this before.
Maybe Brian wanted it to be true. Maybe the wanting is what made it true.
To everyone's delight, I've made up my mind and decided to post my QaF fics. As God's favorite genius I couldn't not say something about Brian, his relationship to sex, and his life after Justin—that's what it's always been about.
Between Everything and Nothing
On an exceptionally hot day in June, Brian Kinney goes on his first first date.
humbly submitting a prompt for that post, brikey (obviously) & three words: “let’s fucking leave”
also acknowledging that I saw your tag so i totally don’t expect u to have to do it, just wanted to participate :D
Thank you so much for the prompt! I went with teen!brikey. I hope you like it :)
...
Michael groaned, face scrunching up as a persistent tap tap tap dragged him out of sleep. He squinted his eyes open. The room was illuminated by the soft glow of his Captain Astro nightlight–the one Brian had been teasing him about for the past three years.
“Aw, little Mikey still needs a nightlight.” Michael would get pissed and sulky, but then Brian would slide his long arms around Michael, wrapping him up completely, and press his lips against Michael’s cheek, whispering in his ear how cute he was when he was mad. Michael was always helpless to fight against the affection, turning to putty in Brian’s arms.
“Brian.” It wasn’t unusual for that name to be the first thing on Michael’s lips when he woke up; his friend was often the subject of his dreams. Was he dreaming now or was that really Brian’s silhouette crouched down outside his window? The tip of a cigarette glowed bright orange-red in the blue-black night. He shot up in bed, eyes wide. This wasn’t a dream. “Brian?” He kicked the sheets tangled around his feet away. He stumbled sleepily across the room and slid the window open.
“Hey, Mikey.” Brian crushed his cigarette out on the windowsill. “Haven’t seen these in a while,” he huffed, lips curling up as he snapped the waistband of Michael's boxers, which were, unfortunately, also Captain Astro themed.
Michael pressed his lips together and batted Brian’s hand away before bringing his arms up to try and cover his bare torso. It was late August, and the air was dense and muggy. They’d had to cut down on using the AC to save money; the slow creaking whir of the ceiling fan was all Michael had to keep him cool. He was just thankful he had decided against sleeping naked and at least had the Captain on his side covering his ass. Michael sighed. “Did you just come here in the middle of the night to give me shit or–Oh!” Michael froze as Brian tilted his head to the side and the moonlight caught his face, showing the bruise blooming on his cheek and the split in his bottom lip. “Christ Brian! What–” Michael didn’t need to finish the question. “That motherfucker.” His jaw clenched, fingers curling to fists at his sides.
Brian snorted. “Hardly. Maybe if he fucked ol’ Joanie more often she wouldn’t be so uptight. Though, I doubt he can fit it in with that stick taking up so much room. Guess I can’t really blame the son of a bitch for his extra-marital activities.” He sighed and waved his hand at the open window. “So, are you going to let me the fuck in or not?”
“Oh, sorry.” Michael blinked, taking a step back to let Brian clamber over the sill. Brian straightened up and ran a hand through his hair. His face was shuttered, emotionless, but his eyes were red-rimmed. Michael's chest ached looking at him. He reached up his hand, thumb brushing lightly beneath his lip. Brian didn’t wince at the contact but Michael did. Michael’s anger flared back. He shook his head hard. “That bastard can’t keep getting away with this shit. There’s got to be something we can do.”
“There is.” Brian’s voice was low and steely with determination. “Let’s fucking leave.”
Michael’s mouth dropped open. “Leave? But…we can’t.” Could they?
“Why not? What the fuck is keeping us in the Pitts? This place is dead. It’s beneath us. Come on.” He gripped Michael’s hips, pressed in close. “Let’s take the Brian and Mikey show on the road. Just you and me. We don’t need anything else. Anyone else.”
Michael’s heart was jackhammering in his chest. He wanted to say yes. To take Brian by the hand and leap out the window; a couple of lost boys escaping off to Never-Neverland. But then he thought about all the bills piling up in the drawers in the kitchen, those angry red Final Notices. About his Ma hunched over, killing herself working day and night at the diner. He thought about Uncle Vic’s shadowed eyes, the pain lurking under his smile like he felt guilty sometimes for still being alive. The meager paycheck Michael got for bagging groceries part-time wasn’t much, but it made a difference.
The fire in Brian’s eyes dimmed. The slant of his mouth was bittersweet; it was like he had seen every thought in Michael’s head. That was just the way it was between them. Always had been.
Michael’s eyes stung. He tried to breathe and almost choked on a sob. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I–”
“Shh, Mikey.” Brian brushed a tear away from Michael’s cheek and folded him up in his arms, pressed his lips to his forehead. “It’s okay. I know.”
Michael clutched desperately at the front of Brian’s shirt. If he just held on tight enough maybe he could keep him from disappearing. He pulled Brian in and kissed him hard. Brian opened his mouth and kissed back. They kissed all the time but not always like this. This was one of those deep, soul-crushing kisses that Brian seemed to dole out on special occasions.
A whimper sounded from the back of Michael’s throat at the velvet sweep of Brian’s tongue against his own. Michael didn’t have any defenses when Brian kissed him like this. He couldn’t control his body’s reaction to Brian pressing so close to him, the way he moved his mouth. He broke away with a gasp. He didn’t want to pull away from Brian but needed to put a few inches of space between their hips.
Brian’s soft chuckle and the twinkle in his eyes told Michael that it was too late. Michael tried to press down any embarrassment; his raging hormones weren’t important right now. He took a breath. “We just have to get through senior year. Then you’ll be able to go to any college you want, anywhere you want. You have all those scholarships already. Just…stay here. Ma won’t mind.”
Brian snorted. “That’s all Deb needs: another mouth to feed.” He shook his head. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Michael’s. “Don’t worry, Mikey. I’ll figure it out. You’re right: It’s just one more year. I can handle it.”
They stood there for a moment, breathing each other in. “At least stay here tonight,” Michael whispered. He felt Brian’s nod.
“Yeah.”
Michael took his hand and tugged him towards the bed. He knelt at Brian’s feet, undoing his laces and slipping his sneakers off. Brian popped open the fly of his jeans, and Michael helped him take those off as well. Brian lifted his arms, and Michael smiled as he slid the shirt up over Brian’s head, tossed it on the floor. The smile fell when Michael noticed the ugly purple mark on Brian’s side. His hand hovered over the bruise, close enough to feel the heat of Brian’s skin but not touching. “Does it hurt?” Brian shrugged, sniffing, eyes averted. Michael swallowed hard, not wanting to start blubbering again. “Lie down.” He gently pressed Brian’s shoulder down until he sat on the bed, then stretched out, rolling on his side with his back to Michael.
Michael climbed in behind him. He kissed the back of Brian’s shoulder, carefully curling his arm around Brian’s waist as he fit his body perfectly against Brian’s. He closed his eyes and saw the wounds marring Brian’s beauty, the pain in his eyes. His gut twisted at the idea of Brian having to be in the same room with that asshole who had the nerve to call himself a father ever again.
“Brian,” he whispered. “If you decide you can’t stay.” He winced, not able to keep his voice from cracking. “I mean, if you really need to go, I understand. I’ll miss you, but I’ll understand.”
“Shut the fuck up, Michael.” Brian clutched Michael’s hand and pulled it up to press against his chest. Michael read between the lines and understood what he was really saying–he was fluent in Brian Kinney after all: I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.
Michael hiccupped a sob, rubbing his face into the pillow under Brian’s head. “Sorry.”
Brian sighed, body shifting over to face Michael. He reached up to again wipe the tears from Michael’s cheek, seemingly oblivious to the ones leaking from his own eyes. “Christ, you’re pathetic,” he murmured, smiling softly: I love you, Mikey.
Michael let out a wet chuckle. “Yeah, I know.” I love you too. Always have, always will.
victorian qaf wip, im 💀. like i was saying idk if i'll ever finish this, but here's a little snippet just to feel something
Dripping. Continuous, incessant, tormenting.
The steady, wet sound echoes through the room and fills the blissfully silent air, it sneaks past any barrier Justin crafts. His hands on his ears, his pillows, then his covers, the weight and width of his shield can do nothing against the quiet drip, drip, drip…
Justin quickly surrenders to watching the water fall from the roof of his room and land loudly in the tin bucket prepared to welcome it. It's unbearable and Justin misses home, misses his room. He misses the comfort of his sturdy mattress, his feather pillows and the maids making sure the stoves warming the rooms never run out of wood and coal.
Justin breathes out slowly, if he had any energy left he would thrash against the coarse bed sheets and throw a tantrum embarrassing enough to rival his younger sister's. Unfortunately, or one could argue fortunately, any will to explode into fits of unadulterated rage has abandoned him the moment his father backhanded him over the breakfast table and threw him, his mother and sister out of their family home and effectively out of the country.
He grabs his pillow, its smell of stale wardrobes and lavender follows him all the way through the large room and out of it. He trudges through the halls of their new accommodation, overtly conscious of the wood creaking under his slippers and the portraits of his grandparents, uncles and younger versions of his mother following him with their eyes as he warily walks in the near complete dark.
Remembering the position of the door he is looking for is giving him a lot of trouble, but eventually he gets the courage to open every door he encounters. He releases a nervous breath, once he finally opens the door hiding his mother. Molly, his sister, is already sleeping by her side and Justin is comforted by the knowledge that they've both had the same idea.
"Mother…" Justin whispers and sounds much more forlorn than he would have liked, "Mom."
She takes a sharp inhale, almost startled, but she quickly seems to relax. Although Justin can't tell for sure, the lunar light filtering in the spaces between the curtains doesn't illuminate the room enough to let him see.
"There's a leak in my room, I feel like it might drive me mad." Justin explains as a way to secure himself a spot in his mother's bed.
"Sweetheart…" She sighs, "I'm sorry, we'll find a new place soon." The thick woolly covers are drawn back and Justin quickly moves to adjust himself underneath them, "You should tell your grandfather tomorrow. He'll have someone come and patch it up."
"Right…" Justin hums, trying not to think about how many perfectly functional, unoccupied rooms void of any leaks, he saw on his way to his mother's.
He's not sure how long it's been since he's gotten in his mother's bed, when he's awoken by shouting rising from the streets. Despite the coldness swirling in the stale air in the room and its difference from the warmth of the covers, he gathers the will to pull himself up on his feet and reach the nearest window.
Near the middle of the crossroad on the right of his grandfather's house, there are two gentlemen, dressed in elegant evening coats and tight, light coloured pants. They seem to be fighting, Justin watches them as they push and shove at each other until the tallest of the two grabs the other by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him towards himself. Their faces meet and Justin jolts away as he realises they're kissing.
His ears start burning, his cheeks slowly heat up as well. Slowly, he creeps closer to the glass again, by the time his eyes are back on the scene his whole face and neck must be dyed in varying shades of red, all bound to deepen as he catches the gaze of one of the men. Thick furrowed eyebrows, a head of dark, purposefully unruly hair and a profile sculpted with the same platonic inspiration that used to fuel renaissance men.
The day begins with another tense breakfast, but thankfully Justin's face is not met by the rough palm of anyone's hand. Despite the fact that his grandfather makes it clear he wouldn't mind issuing a dose of discipline through methods that involve physical pain. He says as much as he eats his coque eggs messily, even though his words nail his father as the sole villain, he waves his spoon menacingly right under Justin's nose and then at his mother and sister.
"I shouldn't have let you marry a man without a title," He says gruffly, the grunting accompanying his words reminds Justin of the old, pink pigs, he uses to see every month, when his father took him to town fairs. "My own daughter, a duke's daughter, banished from her house!" He complains aimlessly throughout their entire meal, while Justin's mother, unsure of her own stance, releases noncommittal noises to let him know she is listening.
Molly doesn't eat anything and as soon as their grandfather leaves the table, she cries and asks to be allowed back home. Justin is conflicted, but underneath the embarrassment and the swelling on his right cheek, he wishes for the same thing.
"I need to go out." is what he ends up saying, he doesn't elaborate, but is also met by no resistance. His mother looks at him with concern, but she's so preoccupied by his sister's soul-shaking sobs, that she just dismisses him with a gesture of her hand and a call for carefulness.
His grandfather hasn't been involved with the military for the better part of forty years, yet he operates by its hours. Wake up call at half past five and breakfast at six, that's why Justin finds himself roaming the streets at seven am sharp.
The air hasn't had the time to be warmed by the Sun, so it's especially cold, it pushes past the barrier of Justin's expensive clothes and forces itself on him, frigid like ice and carrying the tangy scent of coal smoke.
Justin is startled out of his thoughts by a door opening, the mansion standing right in front of his mother's family home. He watches the large entrance door, its solid wood dragging over the threshold and uncovering the same man Justin saw the night before.
He is caught staring, it's embarrassing and it makes the calm wind feel a tad colder.
Without letting himself rot in the memories from the earlier night, Justin starts walking again. He doesn't have a cane and it's too cold to pick the hat off his head and start fidgeting with it, so he tries to discharge some of the nervousness gathering in his body by shoving his hands in his pockets and clench and unclench his fists, pull at whatever loose thread he finds there, do just about anything to stop thinking about the set of footsteps echoing his own.
The man easily reaches his side, they're walking through the intersection when his shoulder bumps into Justin's, he turns to look at him and doesn't do anything to hide how deliberate the move was.
"Sorry." He says without gravitas, his pink lips part in a smile that conveys no friendliness, but snark and other feelings that Justin is not privy to. His eyes, dark and light at the same time, drag very openly over Justin, starting at his leather boots and ending at his own clear, uncomplicated blue eyes. "I haven't seen you around before." He speaks with a thick Irish accent, his voice is steady, but weighed down by the layers of meaning hiding under the surface of each word he utters.
"I'm visiting my grandfather." Justin lowers his eyes to the ground and gestures at the house he's just left. He doesn't dare looking back at it, afraid to see anyone peering through the windows and seeing the exchange.
Long, deft fingers enter his line of vision, they grab onto the golden buttons on his coat and smooth over the forest green fabric, moving upwards until they brush against Justin's chin.
"Oh, a Taylor. A lord, then." He dips his head in a bow, but he sounds like he is mocking him, "Do you have urgent business to attend to?" Justin shakes his head no at his question, dares a glance upwards and feels his breakfast drop so deep inside his stomach that the hunger comes back, only much worse, much more demanding than normal.
The flurry of movements that follow is hard to keep track of, Justin is only looking at the greek slope of the man's nose, at the self-satisfied stretch of his lips as they cross the intersection and quickly disappear in an alley between two mansions. Justin is pushed against a wall, for a brief moment there’s the stench of garbage in the air, until the man in front of him lowers his head towards him and Justin’s nose is hit by the artificial scent of expensive cologne and hints of musk right underneath it, the smell of men he can so easily pick out of any bouquet of scents.
Solid hands make quick work of his golden buttons, Justin instinctively poses his own on them and holds onto the cold skin, half of him in an attempt to slow them, while the other to encourage them.
“What,” He starts and his voice breaks. The man laughs and Justin halts the systems running his body just to gather all his energy to stare and take him in. Brilliant and beautiful, dazzling like the people in songs and paintings. “What is your name?” he tries again as soon as he’s able to retake the reins on his wits.
“Brian.” His voice lowers, it drips slowly like treacle, he raises his chin and squares his shoulders, Justin follows the movement with his eyes and gulps down all the other questions he had been thinking about asking.
"My name is Justin." He says instead, even if the other didn't ask and doesn't seem particularly interested in knowing it. Justin hopes it will stick with him anyway.
"What do you like to do?" Brian asks, he leans his right arm on the wall beside Justin's face, while his left hand still fidgets with his buttons, this time they are the small, round ones cut from mother-of-pearl keeping his shirt closed.
A smile breaches Justin's lips, he is so pleased by the idle conversation, it's just enough to help him keep his mind off the anxiety clamouring right under his skin."Uhm… Painting, listening to music…"
Brian laughs, it feels sort of pointed, genuinely amused, but still mocking, "I mean in more… Private settings." He explains and his head dips until his lips brush right against his left temple as he speaks. Justin’s mouth opens and his jaw goes slack at hearing someone be so upfront.
"Oh," Justin clears his throat and almost chokes on his spit, the anxiety now reaching heights that cross any expectation he could have ever had.
"Do you like to give it? Do you prefer taking it?" The question immediately transports Justin back to the military academy he's just been driven away from. The hushed whispers of his shy, aristocratic roommates asking him in big boisterous words whether he wanted to touch them over their slacks or not.
“Uhm,” Justin shifts on his feet, unsure of what to say. The questions are so straightforward now that it’s impossible to search and find in them some sort of innocent meaning. The issue becomes all jumbled up in his head anyway, he’s never really taken or given anything in these situations and he can’t imagine what he could be giving or taking in an alleyway a few metres away from his grandfather’s house.
“I don’t have all morning.” The man, Brian, straightens up, “Do you want to?” He asks, he narrows his eyes and peers right into Justin. Justin is not completely sure what he’s agreeing to, but he finds himself nodding enthusiastically, his hands grasp the other man’s tighter and guide them more forcefully towards his half opened shirt.
Brian’s fingers are nimble and used to touching to provoke pleasure. Justin squirms and trembles as he traces the faint lines of his muscles, the sensitive skin of his nipples, hard and dark pink in the chilly air.
“You’re pretty.” Brian says against his chest, his lips press kisses on his sternum as he slowly lowers himself to his knees, “Wish I had the time to fuck you.”
The word sounds so loud in the early morning silence, Justin feels it echo and bounce off the walls all around them. For a moment his panic convinces him the entirety of the west end must have heard it, but then the buttons keeping the crotch of his pants closed are undone with ease and his half hardness stands out in the open. Anyone could take a wrong turn, or a maid could come trotting out of one of the houses surrounding them and see them. They would end up on the first page of the Inquirer Weekly and then in jail and Justin’s father will absolutely never forgive him then.
“Hey,” Brian says and looks up from where he’s kneeling on the pavement, “Are you still with me?” he asks, darting his eyes betwixt Justin’s face and his shrinking erection.
“This is a bit,” Justin starts, he scratches his throat, almost claws at it out of frustration, wanting so much what he is being offered, but also being deathly afraid of anyone finding out, “What if someone sees?”
“Who? No one’s staying in these houses, they’ve been empty for quite a while.” Brian arches an eyebrow, his hot palms lay on Justin’s thighs and he caresses him gently, an attempt at soothing him that’s working only marginally against the thoughts rushing in his head. He raises back on his feet and Justin hates himself for having ruined the chance to lay with such a gorgeous man. “It’s fine, dear. Don’t worry about it.” He can tell he’s trying to be gracious, his pants are terribly tented and he can’t stop himself from biting on his lips, as if holding himself back from saying anything more. Justin feels Brian’s lips kiss his temple and then sees him take a step back, retracing the path they’ve followed to find this isolated, secretive angle.
Justin feels him slip through his fingers, his eyes are fixed on the lines of his nose, his jaw, any detail of his features, the beautiful mix of green and amber in his eyes and in a moment he’s stepping forward, “No.” He says, more to himself than the other man, and rises on his toes to kiss him fiercely. It’s clumsier than he would have liked, but the wet slide of their lips is ensnaring to him, the sound alone is enough to make his knees buckle under his weight. His cock is hard again, harder than it’s ever been, Brian touches him again and he fears he might come just with that alone.
Brian doesn’t speak anymore, doesn’t ask leading questions, doesn’t mock and laugh at him. Although he does moan, deep and guttural in Justin’s ears, he kisses him and keeps a tight hold on the back of Justin’s head and his cock. Justin isn’t able to appreciate the scope of sensations he is experiencing, his extremities feel as cold as ice as if all the blood and warmth of his body were concentrating between his legs and in the left hand, secured tightly around Brian.
They stroke each other to completion in no time, Justin feels himself go a little crossed eyed as he pushes as close to Brian as he can, demanding to be kissed, while nearing his climax. Brian indulges him, but he also shifts the positions of their bodies until Justin’s coming against a wall instead of Brian’s clothes. Brian is coming mere seconds later, his hot breath marking Justin’s neck and his hand fidgeting with the strands of his blonde hair.
“Now, this is what I call a good morning.” Brian smiles slyly, Justin’s blood is finally free to roam the entirety of his body and it rushes to his face, showing just how embarrassed he feels by what he’s just done. Quickly they both dress themselves, Justin doesn’t need the help, but he doesn’t protest when Brian reaches around him and he tucks his spent cock back into his trousers, “Thank you for the generous breakfast.” He says and with a slap to Justin’s ass he walks out of the alleyway. Justin is left fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt until he realises what has just happened. He lowers his head, torn between the elation left behind by his orgasm and the need for more. His eyes see a small booklet on the floor, without thinking about it he bends down and picks it up.
He runs, his steps sound awfully loud, despite the fact that most of the lords, ladies, misters and madams inhabiting the houses around him have woken up and have started flooding the streets. Justin is sure he can still see Brian’s wide shoulders walk forward, far from him, but before he can pick up his running again, he is caught, captured by his grandfather’s hand on his shoulder, “Accompany me to the club, boy.” he says in a tone that won’t allow anything other than affirmative answers.
So Justin is left behind, as they wait for the carriage, with the badge of an inspector detective of the metropolitan police in his hands, bound in black leather and hiding the picture of the man he just saw come apart in an empty alley.
This fic is a must read for any britin fan it made me laugh, the humour is incredible. Made me cry it's so well written and the characterisation in my opinion is spot on. I could hear the dialogue in their voices and having it from the pov of each character was inspired. What a talented bunch of writers there's been in this fandom across the years 💛
If anyone wants to read it link is here titled - If you needed me
Ty to @winderlylandchime for putting it on their rec list where I found it!
I’m putting this out in the universe hoping someone can help. I’m looking for a QaF fic. I’m pretty sure I initially read it on the Brian/Justin Fanfic Archive and so I’m hoping it might be available on AO3.
Here’s what I remember from it:
- the “beginning” and “middle” had a lot of Brian being judged as the “heartless” “thoughtless” guy by the fam. It definitely takes place after the end of season 1 and I think it takes place during season 2 cause I don’t remember Ethan being a thing and Brian was still pretty traumatized from the bashing. Plus Justin still was dealing with the after effects. There was also a lot of fam putting Brian down for “not caring” for Justin post-bash.
- I remember one of the “ending” scenes was Brian blowing up at Deb and Justin after Justin mentions that he’s never said he loves him or some thing and Brian says that he did. And then having a sort of breakdown where he says stuff like how Debs calls him sunshine but that night he really was and that normally he can’t say it but that moment it was the easiest thing and that he just said it. And then that Justin forgot. I seem to remember that someone else was also at the loft with them when this conversation happened, potentially psychologically trained but I may be mistaken on that part.
