Date: Wed, 21 Feb 2007 15:33:09 +0000 (GMT)
From: S. Schmidt <shutterfly2006@yahoo.de>
Subject: The Price

This story is based on the characters of the US TV-Show "Queer as Folk".
It's a gapfiller for Season 4, episode 8

Comments are welcome


THE PRICE
@2007 by Stefan


   "Justin?"

Quietness.

The last water drops echo in the bathroom behind me. I never closed the
door in his face before. Why today?

The fucking scar in the crook of my leg hurts. I try to ignore
it. Returning to the bathroom, I search for the pills the doc gave
me. Swallowing a handful of them, I avoid looking into the full length
mirror.

I feel the loneliness of the cold flat. I know that Justin's not here
despite his promise to wait for my return. Huh. Did I ever believe him? Not
after Vermont.

And yet... Isn't he the reason that I'm still here? Still here in this
fucking flat with the most fucking pain of my life? That I returned to my
life, my friends, my son, my job. To my lover?

You better accept this word, Kinney. Get used to it. He was the reason I
returned. Nobody else.

The face in the mirror belongs to a stranger. Huge eyes, grey in the yellow
light, brown hair, dishevelled around the skull. Some strands hang over my
face. The shadow of a beard. Pale as one can be who spent the entire time
in beautiful Ibiza in a hotel room full of beautiful guys because it rained
practically every day. Just that this is a fucking lie. I better wear my
sunglasses before my boy returns from wherever he fled because I slammed
the door in his face. No fuck sessions under the hot spray. Not even a
greeting after a long, long time of parting. After sixteen days to be
precise. Sixteen days, eight hours, thirteen and a half minutes. That's
... how many seconds? Fuck.

A white paper note shines upon the night-blue bed linen; luminous in the
light of the neon lamps. The last thing I see is the huge, round OP-light,
directly over my body. And I descend into dreamland.



Justin unfolded the note from the fucking fortune-cookie.

    "The man you love will slowly and sensually peel off all his clothes
for you, exposing his perfect body."

Great. Since I felt like a fan of Buddha as the husband of my best friend
Mikey I couldn't keep my face straight. Oh Justin. What will you think
about this perfection afterwards? I chewed on this word like the last dry
splinters of the crusty cookie. But then he went on to continue to twist
his knife a little more deeply.

    "Then he will take out his beau-ti-ful dick."

For a tiny moment it made me laugh. Or cringe. And feeling his head
searching my imperfect lap. What am I when beauty goes and perfection has
turned to disease?

    "And then you can suck it." He pushed me down onto the big pillow. I
needed to kiss him. He hovered above me and I tried not to listen to his
words but sensed the warm breath on my face, as he showered it with tiny
kisses.

    "Next, he'll rim your ass to get you crazy, then ram his cock up you,
and fuck you so hard you pass out."

I reacted immediately because his words went straight to my cock. In the
course of the action I forgot all about it; the dull ache in my groin when
his warm fingers groped for the beau-ti-ful dick, measuring its length. I
was hard - almost. A tiny moment of relief before sense kicked in and I
remembered the fear that he would find out. Feel the lump which the doc had
felt. The fear that MY fear would be so overwhelming that I would be
incapable of getting it up.



I let Justin think that this was so fucking romantic that I got nausea and
needed to go to bed alone. At least, alone on my side of the bed, faking a
snore when he climbed in beside me. We never talked about it.

And now I'm standing alone at the edge of my bed, staring at the little
white note which would probably explain his absence. Hadn't he told me that
he had plans? With me? Celebrating our reunion? Well, I could excuse myself
with having 'pulled a muscle'. Yeah, as if that ever had stopped me from
doing the things I wanted to do.

I feel a chill running down my naked body. He loved the skimpy, grey pants,
didn't he. I feel my mouth move and guess that's a poor excuse for a smile
- or rather a grin. Automatically my hand moves to the spot, covered by a
clean band-aid, waterproofed and all. How on earth shall I explain this
wound? The scar afterwards? My imperfect body? My semi castration? He
wouldn't want a diseased old man.

But first I have to read his little note. I snatch it from the bed and move
closer to the blue neon.



Brian, Emergency case. I'm off to meet Brett Keller. You know, Hollywood's
calling.  Wait for me, I'll be back soon.  J


Back soon. Yeah, I'll wait for you and boy, you have a surprise coming.


The painkillers kick in. My legs get weaker by the minute and I can't stand
upright, so I let myself fall onto the mattress; my back welcoming the
silky surface of the duvet. Try as they might, but living in a single room
at Johns Hopkins for sixteen days, eight hours and god knows how many
minutes was anything but pleasant, above all when the thing that bugged
your body was out but maybe not forgotten. The doc babbled about further
treatment I could be given in Pittsburgh at the Allegheni Hospital so I
wouldn't need to stay any longer in Baltimore and so fucking far away from
my family.

I blink. Did I just say that? My body starts to shiver, so I cover it with
the night-blue blanket that rustles softly between my fingers. It carries
his scent. His scent only. There is no other and it tells me that he was
waiting here for my return - alone. Fuck the one night stands. Fuck the
tricks. Having a guy down on his knees, inspecting, probing, tasting,
sucking, licking, grazing, biting and worshipping the part of his desires -
the legendary Brian Kinney cock - beau-ti-ful and perfect - was now out of
the question. Maybe for good.

Maybe Justin should find himself another beautiful and perfect guy. He's
much too young to be captured with me, be bound and tied to my black heart,
waiting for me to say at least a tiny word that I appreciate his presence,
his care, and, shit, even his love. I've always been helpless against
him. I just don't want to admit it. I'll never say it. I don't want to
spoil his life and make it harder than it already is.

My stomach rumbles. It's the little monster inside me that's never gonna be
fed enough and yet it wasn't that difficult to feed Justin's monster as
long as I didn't have to participate in his food orgies. That's the things
you do for love. Right?

I cover my face with my hands, then roll on my side and face the empty side
of the bed that is Justin's. The pain in my groin has died down to a dull
ache, throbbing in the rhythm of my heart.

When I close my eyes I'm back at Kinnetic, having a row with Cynthia. She
was ranting about eating lots of fruit and drinking lots of tap water
afterwards. I always loved her snarky remarks.

But then Justin appeared behind her back. Unsuspected and for once
unwelcome. Because I needed to sort my things and pack my bags and turn off
all the lamps.

Mikey had mentioned the latter thing when he was scared of being the last
to remain if Ben and the little twat Hunter should die before him. Yeah. As
if it wouldn't be possible to die being hit by a Mercedes Compressor at any
time - so much classier than a bus. I said good bye in my special way. And
Mikey was dumb enough not to realize my missing "always will" to his
unspoken question "We'll always have each other, right? Always have..."

Not this time, Mikey. If my plan had worked out, then this would had been
our farewell. You always knew that there was no way that I would turn into
a forty years, diseased, old bugger that no one at Babylon's darkroom would
give a second look at, let alone sucking my old, diseased cock nor licking
my balls.

Speaking of balls. Would anybody be able to feel the difference? I mean the
difference between the real one and this abomination that's now living in
my empty ball sack, pretending it was warm and pliable and seminal and
fertile and everything Brian Kinney had been.

There is a small whimper. I guess it must have been me. I'm so fucked
up. And yet I can't suppress the memory.

Justin's face when I told him I was going to Ibiza.




    "Where are you going?"

    "Ibiza. I'm leaving tonight." I said as normally as I could. His face
sank and the spiky hair, hardly grown after he 'd shaved off the golden
flood to be a patrol genius and defend his rights, got even spikier if
that's possible.

    "Without me?" His voice was small though I love the timbre. It has
always sent me crazy for him. Oh Justin, why did you have to make this so
terribly hard for me? I had to say something funny.

    "You're going back to school, remember?  It would be highly
irresponsible of me to just pull you out."

His face told me that he didn't think it funny. His voice was a nuance
sharper. Clearly disappointed. "Fuck school.  Fuck the bet.  And fuck you!
I mean, we were supposed to go together."

That did it. Suddenly there was redness in my eyes and I exploded. "We're
not fucking married!" I paced the room to get rid of the sudden flash of
adrenaline. "And I don't need to get your fucking permission if I want to
go somewhere!"

I stomped out of the room - the old orgy room with a drain in the floor I
loved so much - and vanished around the glass brick wall. Pumping air into
my lungs, desperately trying to calm down. I didn't want to shout at
him. It's the frustration that I had to leave him behind. That there was no
future for us. Right at the brink of a weak conviction that I was worth
being loved.

I stood and glared into emptiness, swaying slightly; my left ball tender to
the touch of my underwear. Or am I making this up as an excuse? I stood on
the precipice as so many times before, but this time I felt there's no
turning back. No pulling back. I need to fall.

Returned and much calmer I regretted having snapped at him when I saw his
wide eyes, still shocked at my eruption and searching for things that were
his fault. As if ever. He mustn't blame himself for my inability to speak a
reasonable sentence.

I shushed his words of lack of understanding, his apologies for things he
had done unintentionally, his words of agreement with my queenly behaviour,
for not being obligated to tell the other anything. That's the most fucking
bullshit I've ever heard and I couldn't bear it anymore. Scooping him into
my arms I shook my head. "It's not you."

I felt him kiss my neck. "Then what is it? What?"

Good question. He won't be satisfied by any thing I could tell
him. Anything but the truth of course. I could whisper into his sea-shell
ear that I'm tired of Pittsburgh and need to see other guys I can
fuck. Nut-brown, naked guys on the white shore of Ibiza to getting rid of
the endless Winter in the Pitts. And despite our bet (I won for the record)
he had all the more reason to be disappointed because he expected that I
was taking him with me. After all, he's my partner, isn't he? I could
whisper a lie and shatter his false hopes that my words are anything more
than just words and I would never live to make it real.

Can I be so cruel? No. I was silent. The words not coming out of my
lips. Not the lies, not the truth. I shrugged my shoulders, removing myself
from the security of his body. From his warmth, from his kisses, from his
confusion. I needed to be strong now and not fuck this up.

Stepping behind my desk where I'm always safe, I zipped up my bag, not
looking at him. He stood in the middle of the room, arms hanging by his
side with a defeated look on his face. His blue eyes had lost their
sparkle.

   "Okay. You do whatever you have to do. For whatever reason you have to
do it." Beat. "I just want you to know that I love you and I'll be here
when you get back."

I wanted to die right then. I stopped packing my bag and looked at him,
hiding the shock. I was pained. I smiled. I nodded. I wanted to
die. Desperately. Run and hide. Get stoned on the beach and walk into the
water until the waves crashed over my head and I wouldn't fight the water
penetrating my lungs.

Maybe I gasped for breath - maybe not. He just stared at me with his
patented Justin-Taylor- killer-glares, and I knew he was serious. Without
another word he was gone.

I slumped down in my chair.

   'I love you and I'll be here when you get back.'

   'I'll be here.'

   'I love you.'

He would be here when I came back from Ibiza, having tanned my ass, and
fucked my brains out. He'd promised to be here. Could I trust him? He
wasn't waiting for me when I got back from Chicago to have our postponed
vacation at Vermont. But then... he had been a lot younger then. A lot
younger, a lot more hurt, a lot more vulnerable.

Now he's tough. He can deal out blows. Learned from the master.

There was something spreading in my chest like a broken water pipeline. If
I could have been able to analyse the feeling! but I'm so bad at it. It was
the worst thing that Justin could say to me, because it started to rattle
my plan.

I knew he loved me. I always knew it, not even Brian Kinney can't be so
stupid not to feel it. So, can I trust the true meaning of his words? In
good and bad times and taking any risk to save my ass as if he wouldn't
have done it a couple of times before and if I needed another reason for
his love I would be out of my fucking mind?!

I covered my face and felt my moist lashes. The last thing I needed was a
major queen out. Turning off the lamps I hesitated at the last one. The
part of me that's Rage grabbed it, and smashed it to the ground. Smashed my
exasperation, my helplessness and my anger that Justin had crossed my plans
so easily with a stroke of a love declaration.



Love is shit. It pains. It gives you trouble. It makes you do silly things
you never wanted to do nor say.

There is a persistent blinking light at the end of the room. It takes a
while before I find my way back to reality and realize it's the answering
machine. So I got a message while I was in the shower. Achingly I come to
my feet, draping the blanket around my still chilly body, wobbling to the
desk, listening to Dr Rabinowitz wanting to discuss my next appointments
for the upcoming radiation. You have no idea how much I look forward to
that. Praise the Lord that Justin didn't pick up this call.

Nervously glancing at the clock I find myself anxiously waiting for his
return. It's just not him not to call when he'll be back. Maybe I'm not
that exciting to wait. Or to look forward to go to bed and fuck with. I'm
not anymore anyway.

I would have a laughing fit if my groin didn't hurt so much. Time to get
your brain in gear, Kinney. What do you say when he's here and wants to
celebrate my return?

I'm angry at myself, no, I'm pissed. Now, having gone through all this,
having endured the surgery, the joys of a hospital stay, and the prospect
of having a heavy radiation with no 100 percent hope that this will be
alright, I have to chicken out in front of my boyfriend. And for what?
Because he told me he loved me. Would wait for me. He had no idea what he
was asking for.

And yet. He saved my life. But that's my little secret.

I hear the lift and rush to the bed, almost stumbling over the blanket. My
heart is racing, but I play it calm when the door is shoved aside and he is
here, a tender smile tacked to his face. I would trade any tanned,
nut-brown, naked guy of Ibiza for his light, silky skin and soft
flesh. Smiling at me across the room he jumps to my bedside.

   "You look exhausted."

   "Jet lag."

He nods, but his eyes hold my stare. I cannot read them. Suddenly he bends
over me and I breathe his scent. Clear as a water drop and fruity like
Deb's lemon bars. Did he meet the guy from Hollywood at the Diner?

He closes my lips with his mouth and a hot wire is shooting down, passing
my gut, aiming directly at my cock. But there's nothing but the picture of
a plastic ball out of function. I can't do this. So, I hold on to his hair
that starts to grow out again. Something to hold onto while he was blowing
me, raking my fingers through.

He gives that lovely little sound and I smile into his face.

His lips, turned from raspberry to cherry, are glistening in the blue neon
light and his hair is like silver. I'm not going anywhere. He waited for me
but there's no way I can tell him about my detour from Ibiza to Baltimore
and him being the reason for it.

He smiles down at me, covering my eyes with his palm.

After all, he saved my life. And I have to pay the price.


END