QAF Fic: "The Damp of the Night," NC-17, 1/2
I've been catching up on S4 after getting the DVDs, and this Pink Posse idea has been floating around for a little while, so I need to get it out. It takes place around 405, so is spoiler-free, obviously. V.v. angsty.
Logic and sermons never convince,
the damp of the night drives deeper into my soul
-Walt Whitman
The diner door clangs shut behind him and Justin heads off down Liberty Ave. It’s only Tuesday, but Indian summer is hanging on by its fingernails and the patios hum with activity. A cute guy in black leather pants checks him out as he walks by, but Justin’s too tired to play.
He sighs ands runs his hand through his hair. Through what’s left of his hair. He grimaces and reminds himself again that it’ll grow back, that it's just temporary. As he heads down a side street, the hustle and bustle of Liberty recedes.
Justin thinks about the phone call he and Michael had earlier with Brett Keller, and a spring immediately pops into his step. Hollywood. Fucking Hollywood! A real movie. His name up in lights. Well, okay, not really, but close enough.
He grins to himself and imagines the sun and sand and Brian shirtless and beautiful. The first out-and-proud gay superhero, and maybe a franchaise and more money than he could have dreamed of, enough to prove his father wrong. Very, very wrong. He laughs out loud at the thought and turns the corner.
He never even sees the first punch coming, just a sudden blur of motion beside him and he’s on the ground, wind rushing from his lungs as someone lands hard on top of him. Fingers grab and drag him behind a darkened house - many hands and whispered voices.
Justin tries to shout, maybe scream. But his head spins and lungs burn, his voice silent, traitorous. A foot connects with his ribs, and bile rises in his throat as the pain spreads outward.
“How do you like that, you little pussy coward?” Justin doesn’t need to see Cody’s face to hear the sneer in his voice. “Huh?” Another kick, and Justin gasps.
They circle around him, Cody and his new minions. Justin tries to figure out how many there are, but they move so fast. He thinks maybe five altogether, but he’s not sure. The shoes all look the same, and his eyes blur.
More blows come, feet and fists and spit curses. Justin tries to shield himself, but it’s impossible. He curls up tightly, presses his cheek into the dewy grass. He prays for them to stop.
Then Cody is at his ear, hissing words of hatred and blame. Justin hears the click before he feels the cold metal at his temple, and he knows that he’s about to die.
****
Daphne applies a final coat of lipgloss and smiles at herself in the mirror. “Perfect,” she says. Well, not really, and she rolls her eyes at her own vanity as she goes back to the living room to take a final gulp of coffee.
She glances at Justin’s closed door and wonders again why he’s there. He hadn’t been home in a week, not since that whole stupid Pink Posse bullshit had ended. She supposes he and Brian might have gotten in a fight, but usually he would have barged in and woken her up to bitch.
She’d heard him come in pretty late, and after he stayed in the shower for eons, she finally drifted off to sleep, tired of waiting. Now she stands outside his door and debates. Finally, she knocks softly.
There’s no answer, so she tries again. “Justin?” Still nothing. “Justin?” She tries the door, and to her shock finds it locked. They never lock their bedroom doors. Ever. Not even to fuck someone. The walls are so thin that a locked door isn't needed to know when to stay away. “Justin? Are you okay?”
Finally he answers, “I’m fine. I’m not feeling well. I’ll talk to you later.” His voice is strained and everything suddenly feels very wrong.
“Open the door, I’ll bring you some tea or something.”
“No, really, I’m fine. Later, Daph.”
She she has known him too long, and something is definitely wrong. She paces around the living room, her newly varnished nail between her teeth. Maybe she’s overreacting. She goes back into the bathroom and checks her makeup again, tries to convince herself to ignore the feeling of dread in her stomach. She’s being ridiculous. Paranoid. She has a sociology exam in 20 minutes, she has to fucking go.
She wipes away a bit of stray mascara and tosses the Kleenex in the garbage, missing by a mile. As she bends down to pick it up, she sees the drop of dried blood. She knows it wasn’t there yesterday, when she’d gotten out the bleach and had scrubbed the bathroom clean.
Daphne’s back at his door in a flash. “Justin, what’s going on? Open the door.”
“I’m fucking fine, would you leave me alone?” His voice is still all wrong and she makes a quick decision as she hurries into the living room.
Brian picks up after the second ring. “Well, well, well, there you are. I was just leaving for work.”
“Brian, it’s Daphne.”
“Oh. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but there’s blood in the bathroom and he won’t open his door. And I have an exam, I have to go-”
“Leave the front door unlocked, I’m on my way.” The dial tone bleats in her ear, and Daphne hangs the phone up. She pulls the door shut behind her as she goes, and hopes that Brian can make everything okay like usual.
****
Brian’s knuckles rap the door sharply. “Justin, it’s me. Open up.” There’s no response. “Don’t fucking ignore me, because I’m not going away. Now stop being a princess and open the goddamned door.”
“I’m fine, okay? I’ll talk to you later.”
“Open. The. Door.” Justin doesn’t answer, and Brian swears under his breath. Fine, if that’s the way he wants it, that’s the way it’ll be. He takes a step back and kicks the door, hard.
It flies open with a bang and Brian strides in. Justin faces the wall, curled up on his side. A pile of bloody Kleenex sits on the floor amid bandages and antiseptic and the scattered contents of a first aid kit.
Brian swallows the lump of panic that has formed in his throat, banishing it, along with the fear that has been mounting slowly since Justin didn’t come home and didn’t call. He kneels on the bed, sees the bruises forming on Justin’s face.
“What happened? Who did this?” He remembers to go slowly and he gently tries to roll him over to face him, but Justin flinches out of his grasp.
“I got mugged. It’s no big deal.”
Brian's heart pounds. “No big deal? Yeah, I can see that.” He takes a deep breath and softens his voice. “Come on, let me see.” He wants to grab him and shake him and hold him and make him tell what happened. But he sits still and quiet on the edge of the bed, waiting.
Finally, Justin rolls over onto his back and mutters, “It looks worse than it is.” An angry cut mars his forehead, along with the fresh bruises on his jaw.
“Jesus Christ, I hope so.” Brian’s fingers graze Justin’s cheek, and Justin’s eyes flick away. “I’m taking you to the hospital, let’s go.”
“No, Brian, I’m fine. I just want to sleep, okay?”
Brian’s jaw clenches and he tries to keep his cool. “No, you’re not fine, and you’re going to get an x-ray of your head done to make sure you don’t have a subdural hematoma. Jesus, Justin, you’ve had a head injury before-”
“I know, I was there.”
“Why the hell didn’t you call the police? Why the hell didn’t you call me?”
Justin shrugs and Brian notices the wince. “Because it’s no big deal.”
“So you were just going to stay in here for a couple of weeks until this all heals? Was that the plan, to just not tell me? Not tell anyone?”
“I didn’t have a plan, I just wanted some peace and quiet.”
“Well, we’re going to the hospital. At the very least, they can give you some painkillers.”
Justin sighs and finally nods. He sits up and Brian knows he’s trying to pretend it doesn’t hurt. He clears his throat. “So, are you going to tell me what happened?”
Justin looks at him, eyes angry, jaw set. “I told you, I got mugged.”
Brian pretends to believe him.
****
That night, Justin takes two of his new little blue pills and goes to bed early. Brian sits at his computer, but Justin knows he is watching. He didn’t argue when Justin insisted on not getting the police involved, and whenever Brian gives up too quickly, Justin is on guard.
He tries to sleep, but even as the drugs begin to drag him under, his stomach churns. His head checked out okay and aside from tender ribs and bruises crisscrossing his body, he’s fine. He closes his eyes resolutely.
Totally fine.
****
Brian taps the wheel impatiently, waiting for the light to turn. The new Brown Athletics campaign kept him late at the office, but Justin had sharply told him that he was perfectly capable of being alone before hanging up the phone.
It’s been three days and Justin is distant, inscrutable. Brian knows he's trying to avoid him - trying to act like everything is normal. But he locks the door when he goes to the bathroom. He barely looks Brian in the eye. He hasn’t left the loft, and Brian knows Justin won’t be seeing any of their friends until the bruises on his face are gone. He'll just try to pretend it never happened, and only Daphne and Brian will know differently.
The light turns and Brian steps on the gas. As he moves down Liberty, he continues searching, taking in everything. Daphne gave him a good description, and he knows he'll recognize him when he sees him.
He knows.
****
Chris and Cody laugh and circle him, taunting mercilessly. Punches rain down, fingers tear his clothes, teeth gnaw. They devour him until all that is left is the cold feel of steel.
Justin cries out, and then Brian is there, holding him close, murmuring comfort. He opens his eyes and sees the bedroom, sees Brian. “It’s okay, it was just a dream,” Brian whispers, his lips soft on Justin’s forehead.
Justin shivers and rolls away. “I know.” It’s been over a week, and he just wants everything to be normal again. Needs everything to be normal again. He can feel Brian’s eyes boring into him, can hear the unasked questions hovering between them.
Brian sighs and kisses the back of his neck. Justin can feel his warmth, but Brian doesn't touch him. Eventually, his breathing deepens, and he snores softly. Justin blinks away tears and waits for the sunrise.
Logic and sermons never convince,
the damp of the night drives deeper into my soul
-Walt Whitman
The diner door clangs shut behind him and Justin heads off down Liberty Ave. It’s only Tuesday, but Indian summer is hanging on by its fingernails and the patios hum with activity. A cute guy in black leather pants checks him out as he walks by, but Justin’s too tired to play.
He sighs ands runs his hand through his hair. Through what’s left of his hair. He grimaces and reminds himself again that it’ll grow back, that it's just temporary. As he heads down a side street, the hustle and bustle of Liberty recedes.
Justin thinks about the phone call he and Michael had earlier with Brett Keller, and a spring immediately pops into his step. Hollywood. Fucking Hollywood! A real movie. His name up in lights. Well, okay, not really, but close enough.
He grins to himself and imagines the sun and sand and Brian shirtless and beautiful. The first out-and-proud gay superhero, and maybe a franchaise and more money than he could have dreamed of, enough to prove his father wrong. Very, very wrong. He laughs out loud at the thought and turns the corner.
He never even sees the first punch coming, just a sudden blur of motion beside him and he’s on the ground, wind rushing from his lungs as someone lands hard on top of him. Fingers grab and drag him behind a darkened house - many hands and whispered voices.
Justin tries to shout, maybe scream. But his head spins and lungs burn, his voice silent, traitorous. A foot connects with his ribs, and bile rises in his throat as the pain spreads outward.
“How do you like that, you little pussy coward?” Justin doesn’t need to see Cody’s face to hear the sneer in his voice. “Huh?” Another kick, and Justin gasps.
They circle around him, Cody and his new minions. Justin tries to figure out how many there are, but they move so fast. He thinks maybe five altogether, but he’s not sure. The shoes all look the same, and his eyes blur.
More blows come, feet and fists and spit curses. Justin tries to shield himself, but it’s impossible. He curls up tightly, presses his cheek into the dewy grass. He prays for them to stop.
Then Cody is at his ear, hissing words of hatred and blame. Justin hears the click before he feels the cold metal at his temple, and he knows that he’s about to die.
****
Daphne applies a final coat of lipgloss and smiles at herself in the mirror. “Perfect,” she says. Well, not really, and she rolls her eyes at her own vanity as she goes back to the living room to take a final gulp of coffee.
She glances at Justin’s closed door and wonders again why he’s there. He hadn’t been home in a week, not since that whole stupid Pink Posse bullshit had ended. She supposes he and Brian might have gotten in a fight, but usually he would have barged in and woken her up to bitch.
She’d heard him come in pretty late, and after he stayed in the shower for eons, she finally drifted off to sleep, tired of waiting. Now she stands outside his door and debates. Finally, she knocks softly.
There’s no answer, so she tries again. “Justin?” Still nothing. “Justin?” She tries the door, and to her shock finds it locked. They never lock their bedroom doors. Ever. Not even to fuck someone. The walls are so thin that a locked door isn't needed to know when to stay away. “Justin? Are you okay?”
Finally he answers, “I’m fine. I’m not feeling well. I’ll talk to you later.” His voice is strained and everything suddenly feels very wrong.
“Open the door, I’ll bring you some tea or something.”
“No, really, I’m fine. Later, Daph.”
She she has known him too long, and something is definitely wrong. She paces around the living room, her newly varnished nail between her teeth. Maybe she’s overreacting. She goes back into the bathroom and checks her makeup again, tries to convince herself to ignore the feeling of dread in her stomach. She’s being ridiculous. Paranoid. She has a sociology exam in 20 minutes, she has to fucking go.
She wipes away a bit of stray mascara and tosses the Kleenex in the garbage, missing by a mile. As she bends down to pick it up, she sees the drop of dried blood. She knows it wasn’t there yesterday, when she’d gotten out the bleach and had scrubbed the bathroom clean.
Daphne’s back at his door in a flash. “Justin, what’s going on? Open the door.”
“I’m fucking fine, would you leave me alone?” His voice is still all wrong and she makes a quick decision as she hurries into the living room.
Brian picks up after the second ring. “Well, well, well, there you are. I was just leaving for work.”
“Brian, it’s Daphne.”
“Oh. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but there’s blood in the bathroom and he won’t open his door. And I have an exam, I have to go-”
“Leave the front door unlocked, I’m on my way.” The dial tone bleats in her ear, and Daphne hangs the phone up. She pulls the door shut behind her as she goes, and hopes that Brian can make everything okay like usual.
****
Brian’s knuckles rap the door sharply. “Justin, it’s me. Open up.” There’s no response. “Don’t fucking ignore me, because I’m not going away. Now stop being a princess and open the goddamned door.”
“I’m fine, okay? I’ll talk to you later.”
“Open. The. Door.” Justin doesn’t answer, and Brian swears under his breath. Fine, if that’s the way he wants it, that’s the way it’ll be. He takes a step back and kicks the door, hard.
It flies open with a bang and Brian strides in. Justin faces the wall, curled up on his side. A pile of bloody Kleenex sits on the floor amid bandages and antiseptic and the scattered contents of a first aid kit.
Brian swallows the lump of panic that has formed in his throat, banishing it, along with the fear that has been mounting slowly since Justin didn’t come home and didn’t call. He kneels on the bed, sees the bruises forming on Justin’s face.
“What happened? Who did this?” He remembers to go slowly and he gently tries to roll him over to face him, but Justin flinches out of his grasp.
“I got mugged. It’s no big deal.”
Brian's heart pounds. “No big deal? Yeah, I can see that.” He takes a deep breath and softens his voice. “Come on, let me see.” He wants to grab him and shake him and hold him and make him tell what happened. But he sits still and quiet on the edge of the bed, waiting.
Finally, Justin rolls over onto his back and mutters, “It looks worse than it is.” An angry cut mars his forehead, along with the fresh bruises on his jaw.
“Jesus Christ, I hope so.” Brian’s fingers graze Justin’s cheek, and Justin’s eyes flick away. “I’m taking you to the hospital, let’s go.”
“No, Brian, I’m fine. I just want to sleep, okay?”
Brian’s jaw clenches and he tries to keep his cool. “No, you’re not fine, and you’re going to get an x-ray of your head done to make sure you don’t have a subdural hematoma. Jesus, Justin, you’ve had a head injury before-”
“I know, I was there.”
“Why the hell didn’t you call the police? Why the hell didn’t you call me?”
Justin shrugs and Brian notices the wince. “Because it’s no big deal.”
“So you were just going to stay in here for a couple of weeks until this all heals? Was that the plan, to just not tell me? Not tell anyone?”
“I didn’t have a plan, I just wanted some peace and quiet.”
“Well, we’re going to the hospital. At the very least, they can give you some painkillers.”
Justin sighs and finally nods. He sits up and Brian knows he’s trying to pretend it doesn’t hurt. He clears his throat. “So, are you going to tell me what happened?”
Justin looks at him, eyes angry, jaw set. “I told you, I got mugged.”
Brian pretends to believe him.
****
That night, Justin takes two of his new little blue pills and goes to bed early. Brian sits at his computer, but Justin knows he is watching. He didn’t argue when Justin insisted on not getting the police involved, and whenever Brian gives up too quickly, Justin is on guard.
He tries to sleep, but even as the drugs begin to drag him under, his stomach churns. His head checked out okay and aside from tender ribs and bruises crisscrossing his body, he’s fine. He closes his eyes resolutely.
Totally fine.
****
Brian taps the wheel impatiently, waiting for the light to turn. The new Brown Athletics campaign kept him late at the office, but Justin had sharply told him that he was perfectly capable of being alone before hanging up the phone.
It’s been three days and Justin is distant, inscrutable. Brian knows he's trying to avoid him - trying to act like everything is normal. But he locks the door when he goes to the bathroom. He barely looks Brian in the eye. He hasn’t left the loft, and Brian knows Justin won’t be seeing any of their friends until the bruises on his face are gone. He'll just try to pretend it never happened, and only Daphne and Brian will know differently.
The light turns and Brian steps on the gas. As he moves down Liberty, he continues searching, taking in everything. Daphne gave him a good description, and he knows he'll recognize him when he sees him.
He knows.
****
Chris and Cody laugh and circle him, taunting mercilessly. Punches rain down, fingers tear his clothes, teeth gnaw. They devour him until all that is left is the cold feel of steel.
Justin cries out, and then Brian is there, holding him close, murmuring comfort. He opens his eyes and sees the bedroom, sees Brian. “It’s okay, it was just a dream,” Brian whispers, his lips soft on Justin’s forehead.
Justin shivers and rolls away. “I know.” It’s been over a week, and he just wants everything to be normal again. Needs everything to be normal again. He can feel Brian’s eyes boring into him, can hear the unasked questions hovering between them.
Brian sighs and kisses the back of his neck. Justin can feel his warmth, but Brian doesn't touch him. Eventually, his breathing deepens, and he snores softly. Justin blinks away tears and waits for the sunrise.