Five Things Brian and Justin Found Out, Part II
Title: Five Things Brian and Justin Found Out - Part II: Brian and Chris Hobbs
Timeline: Ep 204
Rating: R?
Warnings: I doubt I'm going to be able to keep up this story a day thing, lol.
Summary: 2nd of five ficlets that each deal with Brian and/or Justin finding out about something we didn't get to see them find out on the show. This one has to do with Chris Hobbs and a certain owie he received courtesy of Brian. Written from Justin's pov. A little under 1900 words I think.
Disclaimer: The boys aren't mine, just the stuff I make them do.
Thanks to
freakykat for putting the knee thing in my head!
Part II: Brian and Chris Hobbs
(Justin’s pov, S2)
He seemed his usual self when I saw him at the Hospice. My basher, Chris Hobbs, as full of anger and hatred as ever. It’s the anger that really gets me. I mean, maybe you can blame your parents for how ignorant you turn out, but I wanted to scream at him, “What fucking right do you have to be angry?”
I was in a coma for weeks. I nearly died from what he did to me. He has to sweep a few floors and he’s looking at me like I’m the cause of all his suffering? God, I hate him. But what I hate most is that I’m also afraid of him, still. Standing there, a few feet from him, my body froze and my heart pounded. I’d been getting so much stronger, and suddenly I was the beaten down victim again. I wished Brian were there to wrap his arms around me and let me hide my face in his chest, feeling safe.
Of course, it would be more like Brian to make me stand up and face Chris… maybe staying just behind me, in case I really needed him… and then hold me later, proud of me. That works for me, too.
As it was, I had to wait for Michael to bring Brian home. He was a little drunk, but he sobered right up as soon as I told him what had happened. And then he did hold me, and whispered in my ear to forget it, to forget Chris Hobbs.
I couldn’t quite manage it.
I had breakfast at my mother’s the next morning, which was also to be the day of my first Gay Pride parade, although I didn’t feel like celebrating. I knew I probably shouldn’t tell her about the Chris thing or how upset it made me, because she didn’t need more reason to worry about me. But that’s what I found myself doing, anyway.
“Can you believe it, Mom? It’s bad enough he got off with community service after what he did to me, but whose idea of a joke was it to have him do it at the Hospice?”
My mother sighed. “I suppose it was to make him give something back to the community he’d hurt, or to make him more understanding somehow…”
“That’s not going to happen with Chris Hobbs! All that’s happening is those poor people are having to feel him there, hating them, every day as they die! He’s probably telling them they deserve it! It’s not right!”
“No, honey, it’s not.” She hugged me, not knowing what else to do or say.
“He didn’t lose anything. I lost time, I lost… trust, I lost myself for a while. I can’t draw like I used to. I don’t even know if I can still be an artist. What did he lose? A little free time on weekends? He’s going to Penn State to be the big football hero. Hell, they’ll probably have a parade for him!”
“He’s not going to Penn State, Justin. He lost his football scholarship. I think I heard he’s taking some classes at one of the community colleges.”
I hadn’t expected that. “Why’d he lose his scholarship? Don’t tell me they didn’t want a basher at their school.”
“Chris can’t play football anymore, at least not like he used to. His knee is… completely shot.”
“Oh,” I said, slowly breaking into a grin. “How sad.”
My mom grinned, too. Chris Hobbs had hurt her boy. She had less than zero sympathy.
“How did he hurt his knee?” I asked, wondering when he’d found time, between court dates and terrorizing AIDS patients, to injure himself on the football field.
My mom paused for a few seconds, thinking, then kissed my cheek and smiled at me. “Ask Brian. Oh, it’s almost time for me to go meet up with PFLAG. I’ll see you at the parade, honey!”
I had actually planned on telling her that I wasn’t going, despite Brian’s insistence that I should. But, as I watched her run upstairs to get ready, and I let myself out, something told me I was going after all. “Ask Brian”? I probably wouldn’t be able to talk to him like I wanted until late, after the festivities died down and we were both back home, but that was okay. I had the day to experience Pride, and to wonder if my mother’s cryptic clue meant what I thought it might.
~~~~~~
Pride was… colorful… and loud… and fun, all of which I’d expected. What I didn’t expect was that it would actually make me feel proud. Marching with my mom, who loves me for who I am. Surrounded by hundreds of queers like me, completely unapologetic about who they are. There was no way I could feel beaten down there. And Brian knew that. I realized that’s why he wouldn’t let me sit on the sidelines… wouldn’t let me hide.
For that reason and, I suspected, a lot more, I was feeling very thankful for Brian’s presence in my life. Instead of holding on too tight, like I usually do, I decided to point him in the direction of a couple of semi-hot guys (a little too beefy for my taste) and walk away. He’d just handed Gus back over to Mel and Linds, and I didn’t want him to feel like he had to babysit me, too. I still can’t believe what he did… coming after me and asking me to dance instead… to another ridiculously romantic song. We danced and we kissed, and it was magic because I could feel how much he genuinely wanted to be with me. I couldn’t wait to get him alone… for two reasons.
But once we got to the loft, reason # 1 - wanting us to have our wicked ways with each other, would have to wait for reason # 2 - needing to do what my mother said and “Ask Brian.”
“Bri-… Brian, um… Stop, okay?” How did I manage to say that when the most beautiful man I’ve ever met already had his shirt off and his tongue in my ear?
He stilled his hands and whispered, “You all right?” It wasn’t that long ago that I couldn’t let anyone touch me, even Brian really, and he was still a bit careful with me.
I kissed his lips reassuringly. “Yeah, I’m great. Tonight was a blast. And you made me love another corny old song.”
He smiled and took my hand, pulling me towards the bed.
“I just need to ask you something.”
“Talking?” Brian sighed dramatically at the prospect, but sat us both down on the bed and waited for my question.
“When I was with my mother this morning, she said something about Chris Hobbs…”
“Your mother and Chris Hobbs in the same sentence. There goes my hard-on.”
“Brian…”
“Sorry.”
“I was complaining about how the fucker didn’t lose anything for what he did, and she told me he did at least lose his big football scholarship. Which, believe it or not, is a big deal for him. Supposedly, he was good enough to play for a pro team someday. But he got some kind of knee injury, like really bad, and… it’s never going to happen.”
“Hmm.” Brian didn’t look surprised, but he raised his eyebrows slightly in something like amusement. “That’s karma for you.”
“Karma by Kinney?”
He smiled, uncomfortably, and looked down. He didn’t bother to deny, just said, “Hey, that’s a good name for… something. My own fragrance, perhaps. I’ll give you 0.01% of the profits.”
“Brian, be serious. I asked my mom how he hurt his knee and she said, ‘Ask Brian.’ I don’t like to think about what happened in that parking garage, but…”
“Yeah, me neither.”
Brian was good at keeping his emotions off his face, except when it came to my bashing. Any mention of it and I could see him reliving it against his will.
“I know. So just tell me. Did you do it? Did you… what, break his kneecaps?”
“Unfortunately just the one.” He exhaled a breath as he stood up, rubbed his hand over his face, and began a shallow pacing. I could tell he tried to make himself speak as automatically and without feeling as possible. “After he hit you with the bat, I ran to you. First thing I did was pick up the bat and swing it at him.“ Brian reenacted the angry movement. “I’m amazed I managed to hit his knee, but I just knew I couldn’t let him get away. Couldn’t even enjoy him screaming in pain, ‘cause you were… bleeding on the ground… and then I was screaming…”
I was about to cry from the thinly disguised pain in his voice. I grabbed his wrist and tugged him back down next to me. Then I scooted closer to him and wrapped my legs snugly around his hips.
“I worried, for a while, that maybe…” He coughed, clearing his throat. “Maybe that… five seconds, or however long it took… could have made a difference to you I shouldn’t have risked. If you hadn’t woken up…” Brian winced at his own words. “Well, I’d have been convinced of it.”
“Don’t do that, Brian. I woke up and I’m here.” I took his hands in mine and squeezed. “And I’m glad you took those five seconds. He might not have stopped until I was dead. He might’ve gone after you, too.”
“I wasn’t thinking that clearly. I sure as hell wasn’t plotting to sabotage his football career. I just wanted to hurt him.”
Because he hurt me, I thought to myself, but I didn’t say it. Didn’t need to be said. I leaned in and breathed, “Thank you,” against his neck. “I’m just surprised the asshole didn’t try to sue you or something over his shattered dreams.”
Brian threaded his fingers through my hair. “I guess it wouldn’t do to have the world know you bashed one fag just to get the shit beat out of you by another one.”
Somehow we always ended up with our foreheads resting against each other. I laughed softly. “I’m really glad you’re on my side.”
I kissed him, tickling his lips with the tip of my tongue. Then it was deeper, trying to take in as much of his taste as possible, and only stopping long enough for him to finally get my shirt off. He pulled me tight against him, and we fell back on the bed. He had me pinned down, grinding into me and biting my chest, his weight on me heaven for a few brief moments. But then he rolled us on our sides and seemed to ease off a little.
As much as I loved that Brian Kinney, Fuck Machine, had been able to… wanted to, slow things down and be so careful with me in recent weeks, I was stronger now. Especially after the Hospice, and Pride, and learning just how far Brian was willing to go for me. I didn’t want him to hold anything back. I wanted it fast and hard and out of control. I needed him to… to…
“Fuck me,” I commanded.
He saw in my eyes that I meant it. He grinned, reaching down and massaging my cock.
“All you had to do was ask Brian.”
And, oh my God, did he answer. Three times.
by AHS
Timeline: Ep 204
Rating: R?
Warnings: I doubt I'm going to be able to keep up this story a day thing, lol.
Summary: 2nd of five ficlets that each deal with Brian and/or Justin finding out about something we didn't get to see them find out on the show. This one has to do with Chris Hobbs and a certain owie he received courtesy of Brian. Written from Justin's pov. A little under 1900 words I think.
Disclaimer: The boys aren't mine, just the stuff I make them do.
Thanks to
freakykat for putting the knee thing in my head!
Part II: Brian and Chris Hobbs
(Justin’s pov, S2)
He seemed his usual self when I saw him at the Hospice. My basher, Chris Hobbs, as full of anger and hatred as ever. It’s the anger that really gets me. I mean, maybe you can blame your parents for how ignorant you turn out, but I wanted to scream at him, “What fucking right do you have to be angry?”
I was in a coma for weeks. I nearly died from what he did to me. He has to sweep a few floors and he’s looking at me like I’m the cause of all his suffering? God, I hate him. But what I hate most is that I’m also afraid of him, still. Standing there, a few feet from him, my body froze and my heart pounded. I’d been getting so much stronger, and suddenly I was the beaten down victim again. I wished Brian were there to wrap his arms around me and let me hide my face in his chest, feeling safe.
Of course, it would be more like Brian to make me stand up and face Chris… maybe staying just behind me, in case I really needed him… and then hold me later, proud of me. That works for me, too.
As it was, I had to wait for Michael to bring Brian home. He was a little drunk, but he sobered right up as soon as I told him what had happened. And then he did hold me, and whispered in my ear to forget it, to forget Chris Hobbs.
I couldn’t quite manage it.
I had breakfast at my mother’s the next morning, which was also to be the day of my first Gay Pride parade, although I didn’t feel like celebrating. I knew I probably shouldn’t tell her about the Chris thing or how upset it made me, because she didn’t need more reason to worry about me. But that’s what I found myself doing, anyway.
“Can you believe it, Mom? It’s bad enough he got off with community service after what he did to me, but whose idea of a joke was it to have him do it at the Hospice?”
My mother sighed. “I suppose it was to make him give something back to the community he’d hurt, or to make him more understanding somehow…”
“That’s not going to happen with Chris Hobbs! All that’s happening is those poor people are having to feel him there, hating them, every day as they die! He’s probably telling them they deserve it! It’s not right!”
“No, honey, it’s not.” She hugged me, not knowing what else to do or say.
“He didn’t lose anything. I lost time, I lost… trust, I lost myself for a while. I can’t draw like I used to. I don’t even know if I can still be an artist. What did he lose? A little free time on weekends? He’s going to Penn State to be the big football hero. Hell, they’ll probably have a parade for him!”
“He’s not going to Penn State, Justin. He lost his football scholarship. I think I heard he’s taking some classes at one of the community colleges.”
I hadn’t expected that. “Why’d he lose his scholarship? Don’t tell me they didn’t want a basher at their school.”
“Chris can’t play football anymore, at least not like he used to. His knee is… completely shot.”
“Oh,” I said, slowly breaking into a grin. “How sad.”
My mom grinned, too. Chris Hobbs had hurt her boy. She had less than zero sympathy.
“How did he hurt his knee?” I asked, wondering when he’d found time, between court dates and terrorizing AIDS patients, to injure himself on the football field.
My mom paused for a few seconds, thinking, then kissed my cheek and smiled at me. “Ask Brian. Oh, it’s almost time for me to go meet up with PFLAG. I’ll see you at the parade, honey!”
I had actually planned on telling her that I wasn’t going, despite Brian’s insistence that I should. But, as I watched her run upstairs to get ready, and I let myself out, something told me I was going after all. “Ask Brian”? I probably wouldn’t be able to talk to him like I wanted until late, after the festivities died down and we were both back home, but that was okay. I had the day to experience Pride, and to wonder if my mother’s cryptic clue meant what I thought it might.
~~~~~~
Pride was… colorful… and loud… and fun, all of which I’d expected. What I didn’t expect was that it would actually make me feel proud. Marching with my mom, who loves me for who I am. Surrounded by hundreds of queers like me, completely unapologetic about who they are. There was no way I could feel beaten down there. And Brian knew that. I realized that’s why he wouldn’t let me sit on the sidelines… wouldn’t let me hide.
For that reason and, I suspected, a lot more, I was feeling very thankful for Brian’s presence in my life. Instead of holding on too tight, like I usually do, I decided to point him in the direction of a couple of semi-hot guys (a little too beefy for my taste) and walk away. He’d just handed Gus back over to Mel and Linds, and I didn’t want him to feel like he had to babysit me, too. I still can’t believe what he did… coming after me and asking me to dance instead… to another ridiculously romantic song. We danced and we kissed, and it was magic because I could feel how much he genuinely wanted to be with me. I couldn’t wait to get him alone… for two reasons.
But once we got to the loft, reason # 1 - wanting us to have our wicked ways with each other, would have to wait for reason # 2 - needing to do what my mother said and “Ask Brian.”
“Bri-… Brian, um… Stop, okay?” How did I manage to say that when the most beautiful man I’ve ever met already had his shirt off and his tongue in my ear?
He stilled his hands and whispered, “You all right?” It wasn’t that long ago that I couldn’t let anyone touch me, even Brian really, and he was still a bit careful with me.
I kissed his lips reassuringly. “Yeah, I’m great. Tonight was a blast. And you made me love another corny old song.”
He smiled and took my hand, pulling me towards the bed.
“I just need to ask you something.”
“Talking?” Brian sighed dramatically at the prospect, but sat us both down on the bed and waited for my question.
“When I was with my mother this morning, she said something about Chris Hobbs…”
“Your mother and Chris Hobbs in the same sentence. There goes my hard-on.”
“Brian…”
“Sorry.”
“I was complaining about how the fucker didn’t lose anything for what he did, and she told me he did at least lose his big football scholarship. Which, believe it or not, is a big deal for him. Supposedly, he was good enough to play for a pro team someday. But he got some kind of knee injury, like really bad, and… it’s never going to happen.”
“Hmm.” Brian didn’t look surprised, but he raised his eyebrows slightly in something like amusement. “That’s karma for you.”
“Karma by Kinney?”
He smiled, uncomfortably, and looked down. He didn’t bother to deny, just said, “Hey, that’s a good name for… something. My own fragrance, perhaps. I’ll give you 0.01% of the profits.”
“Brian, be serious. I asked my mom how he hurt his knee and she said, ‘Ask Brian.’ I don’t like to think about what happened in that parking garage, but…”
“Yeah, me neither.”
Brian was good at keeping his emotions off his face, except when it came to my bashing. Any mention of it and I could see him reliving it against his will.
“I know. So just tell me. Did you do it? Did you… what, break his kneecaps?”
“Unfortunately just the one.” He exhaled a breath as he stood up, rubbed his hand over his face, and began a shallow pacing. I could tell he tried to make himself speak as automatically and without feeling as possible. “After he hit you with the bat, I ran to you. First thing I did was pick up the bat and swing it at him.“ Brian reenacted the angry movement. “I’m amazed I managed to hit his knee, but I just knew I couldn’t let him get away. Couldn’t even enjoy him screaming in pain, ‘cause you were… bleeding on the ground… and then I was screaming…”
I was about to cry from the thinly disguised pain in his voice. I grabbed his wrist and tugged him back down next to me. Then I scooted closer to him and wrapped my legs snugly around his hips.
“I worried, for a while, that maybe…” He coughed, clearing his throat. “Maybe that… five seconds, or however long it took… could have made a difference to you I shouldn’t have risked. If you hadn’t woken up…” Brian winced at his own words. “Well, I’d have been convinced of it.”
“Don’t do that, Brian. I woke up and I’m here.” I took his hands in mine and squeezed. “And I’m glad you took those five seconds. He might not have stopped until I was dead. He might’ve gone after you, too.”
“I wasn’t thinking that clearly. I sure as hell wasn’t plotting to sabotage his football career. I just wanted to hurt him.”
Because he hurt me, I thought to myself, but I didn’t say it. Didn’t need to be said. I leaned in and breathed, “Thank you,” against his neck. “I’m just surprised the asshole didn’t try to sue you or something over his shattered dreams.”
Brian threaded his fingers through my hair. “I guess it wouldn’t do to have the world know you bashed one fag just to get the shit beat out of you by another one.”
Somehow we always ended up with our foreheads resting against each other. I laughed softly. “I’m really glad you’re on my side.”
I kissed him, tickling his lips with the tip of my tongue. Then it was deeper, trying to take in as much of his taste as possible, and only stopping long enough for him to finally get my shirt off. He pulled me tight against him, and we fell back on the bed. He had me pinned down, grinding into me and biting my chest, his weight on me heaven for a few brief moments. But then he rolled us on our sides and seemed to ease off a little.
As much as I loved that Brian Kinney, Fuck Machine, had been able to… wanted to, slow things down and be so careful with me in recent weeks, I was stronger now. Especially after the Hospice, and Pride, and learning just how far Brian was willing to go for me. I didn’t want him to hold anything back. I wanted it fast and hard and out of control. I needed him to… to…
“Fuck me,” I commanded.
He saw in my eyes that I meant it. He grinned, reaching down and massaging my cock.
“All you had to do was ask Brian.”
And, oh my God, did he answer. Three times.
by AHS