


The Truth and the Lies

by Bliss Ink



Category: Queer as Folk
Genre: Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-22
Updated: 2008-11-22
Packaged: 2013-07-16 16:03:25
Rating: M
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: www.fanfiction.net
Story URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4670118/1/
Author URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/899717/Bliss-Ink
Summary: This is based on Season 4, Episode 7 - the scene where Brian lies to everyone and tells them he's going to Ibiza. I've added my own ending on to the scene.





	The Truth and the Lies

Cynthia is ragging on my ass like nobody's business. She has every right to, so I let her. After all this exact moment is the worst possible time to take a vacation. I must appear to be the most self-absorbed, irresponsible boss on the planet right now. She knows this is out of character and calls me on it. But I stick to my story. Ibiza. Fucking Ibiza.

I'm perfectly willing to let her go off on me until I realize that if she keeps rambling and thinking she may actually figure out that as much as I'm a selfish asshole, I'm not a selfish asshole. I mean, I know she knows that deep down. Everybody does. I'm not a good enough actor. I'm trying hard not to scream at her, but then I see Sunshine wander in.

Fucking hell. I was hoping to break the news to him over the phone on my way to the airport. Now I'd have to look him in the eye while I lie. Cynthia's bitching is suddenly unbearable.

"Well that's the point of being your own boss isn't it?" I raise my voice and there is a hard edge to it that finally gets my beloved assistant to shut the fuck up. "Make your own hours, come and go as you please, not answer to anyone."

"Almost anyone," Justin interjects and I stare at him.

"Ah the ball and chain," I reply and continue to pack up my desk. "Cynthia, will you excuse us."

It's an order, not a request and it only adds to her anger.

"Be sure to eat plenty of fresh fruit and drinks lots of tap water," she snarls before storming out. If I really was going to Spain I would smirk at her comment. It's why I like her so much; she's all piss and vinegar. But right now... right now there's no smirking.

Justin appreciates her sarcasm in that way I can't. "Where are you going?"

"Ibiza. I leave tonight." I say with what I'm hoping is a casual smile.

The mirth has now left his face and he stares at me with serious eyes. Seriously disappointed eyes. I wish the cancer had already killed me so I don't have to deal with what I know is going to transpire next.

"Without me?" He asks in that voice he gets when I disappoint him. We'd been doing so well. I hadn't heard that tone in so long – and I didn't miss it.

"You're going back to school, remember?" I say lightly pretending to search for something on my desk because I just cannot look at him. I fucking can't. "It would be highly irresponsible of me to just pull you out."

"Fuck school. Fuck the bet," his voice changes now. Gets higher. More pained. "Fuck you. I mean we we're supposed to go together."

"We're not fucking married," I explode, finally looking at him. I'm furious. I hate him right now. I hate him for making me lie. I hate him for caring about me. I hate him for making me care about him. I hate him for ever fucking stepping foot on to Liberty Avenue in the first place.

He's staring at me with his mouth hanging open. He looks like I just reach across the desk and punch him in the gut. I guess emotionally, I did. And for reasons unbeknownst to me, I can't seem to stop punching him.

"And I don't need your fucking permission if I want to go somewhere," I bark and leave the room.

All I want to do is run. Run from my office, right the fuck out of Pittsburgh. Run my cancerous body right the fuck into traffic so I don't have to deal with this pain anymore. The pain I'm causing myself and more importantly the pain I'm causing him. I'm standing near the reception desk trying to calm the fuck down. I see a fax from my lawyer on the fax machine and pick it up.

The amendments to your Will have been finalized. See attached.

Suddenly my anger has morphed back into fear. The same sick cold, clammy fear that's had my heart in a vice grip since I talked to the doctor. With the fear comes guilt. I hate myself now – not him. I head back into my office slowly, like a defeated warrior. I don't know what the fuck I'm going to say to him, but I know I have to say something. I can't go like this. But before I can even open my mouth he opens his.

"You're right," he tells me simply and matter-of-factly. I try not to shake my head in disagreement. "We have no obligation to tell each other anything."

His eyes meet mine and I can see he's still shaken up beneath his brave front. "Look if I did something or said something to piss you off, I didn't mean to."

His hand reaches up and grabs my shoulder, sliding down my arm. He gives it a little squeeze and I want to fucking cry. I stare at his beautiful face, pulling my lips together in order to keep from blubbering like a fucking preschooler. I look down at my feet and give my head the slightest shake.

"It's not you," I respond softly. Then I try to smile but my lips won't do it. I wrap my arm around him and pull him into me. He fits so fucking well against my body, like he was made for it. He kisses my neck lightly and even from that small action I feel my dick twitch in my pants.

"Then what?" he pleads and I want to kiss him. Kiss the pain and insecurity and questions right out of him. But I can't. Because I'll fucking cry like a lovesick little lesbian if I do.

I let go of him and raise my eyebrows in a gesture of insignificance, as if to say to him "I don't know why". I don't use any more words. I know if I open my mouth I'll tell him everything. And then, I'll lose him forever. He's a bright, brilliant, beautiful boy. He doesn't need to be chained to a cancerous, aging asshole like me.

"Okay," he tells me as I walk back to my desk. "You go do whatever you have to do for whatever reason you have to do it."

Thank Christ, this conversation was ending. Now I could get on that plane and lock myself in the bathroom and cry like a bitch.

"I just want you to know I love you."

It's like a hunting knife just skewered my soul. I hold my breath to fight against the onslaught of pain rushing through my veins like ice water.

I stare at him blankly.

"And I'll be here when you get back," He concludes.

I finally take a breath and smile and nod, clearing my desk with more concentration than I've given anything in my life. My mind is screaming for him to leave. Just get the fuck out so I don't have to live in this hell moment a second longer.

I glance up and he's looking at me. He's expecting something. Some kind of verbal response but I can't give it to him. As fucking usual I fall short of what Justin Taylor needs and deserves.

I watch him grab his coat and walk out of my office without looking back.

Good. It's over.

Finally.

I turn off the light on my desk.

_"I just want you to know I love you"_

His words bounce around the inside of my head. Stop thinking, I warn myself as I click off the second light.

_"I just want you to know I love you"_

Stop fucking thinking, I will myself as I walk over to the couches.

_"I just want you to know I love you"_

I reach for the off switch on the final light.

_"I just want you to know..."_

Something in my body breaks. I pick up the lamp and hurl it into the polished concrete floor with every ounce of strength and every bit of anger I have in my body. It explodes and shatters into pieces, skidding every which way across the shiny ground. I grab my face with my hands and push my finger tips into my closed eyelids, but it doesn't help. The tears find their way out anyway.

I drop to the floor in the middle of the broken glass and metal and break down like a fucking pussy. Like a big fucking dying pussy.

"I love you too Justin," I whisper hoarsely into the empty room. "I love you so much. I've always loved you. I'll only love you."

The doctor says the surgery's routine. The cancer is easily removed and a full recovery is expected. But what if none of that happens? What if fate and karma and even that fucking deity my dear old mom adores decide that Brian Kinney doesn't get to live. Brian Kinney is too much of a fucking prick. They'd be right, of course. What if I never get to see him again? What if I don't get to tell him how much he means? What if this horrible, piece of shit conversation is the last thing moment we have together. No fucking way...

I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand and pull myself up off the floor. I grab my coat and briefcase, and leave. Cynthia opens her mouth to make some last snarky comment as I whirl past her but when she sees my red eyes and wet cheeks her jaw snaps shut.

I'm in the elevator before she can recover.

I'm across town at Daphne's in record time. She opens the door to the tiny, girly little apartment she's letting Justin squat in and her pretty brown eyes grow wide with surprise. "Brian! Hey!" She says and I smile down at her.

"I need to see Justin," I tell her.

"Oh," she's still a little stunned by my presence and probably my tone. I'm not being mean but I'm not regaling her with compliments and small talk like I usually do. I just don't have it in me today. Not now. "He's in the shower, but he should be out in a few minutes."

"May I?" I ask gesturing for her to let me in and she immediately motions for me to enter. I step past her, drop my briefcase by the door and walk swiftly towards the bathroom.

"Umm.. Bri..."

I open the bathroom door, step in and close it swiftly behind me. The tiny room is filled with steam. It's a decorator's nightmare. Bubblegum pink tile from the 60s, a cracked mirror over the sink and a mint green toilet and tub.

Justin pulls the hot pink shower curtain back as he hears the door open and close.

"Daph! I'll be done in-" His eyes widen at the sight of me. "Brian! What the fuck!"

He's not mad, just shocked. I stare at him, my eyes unwilling to let go of his naked torso peeping out behind the pink plastic curtain. "I needed.... I wanted to.... I couldn't let..." I stumble and stammer likes a fucking moron. I don't know how to say what I need to say to him. My eyes start to blur with tears again.

Now he's full-on panicking. "Brian? Jesus, Brian, what's wrong!"

He throws the curtain back and starts to step out of the shower. I slip off my Kenneth Cole shoes and walk towards him. My hand hits him flat on the chest and pushes him back into the tub. He says nothing but his face is a mix of shock and confusion.

"Brian what's wrong?"

I shake my head and wipe the tears away before they can fall. Then without a second thought, I step into the tub with him. All I want to do is be close to him. Hold him, touch him, kiss him. The warm shower water is cascading down over his naked body and its splattering drops all over my BCBG $900 suit.

I glance over his naked, pale, slick body and my eyes linger on his soft wet cock. I drop to my knees and lay my face against his bare belly. I kiss it softly and wrap my arms around his hips. His hands reach for my hair, smoothing it softly. "Brian. Tell me what's wrong. Talk to me. Please."

I want to. God I want to tell him everything – what's wrong, how terrified I am, how much I love him – but I can't. So instead I keep kissing him. His hip bone, his belly button, his pelvis. His beautiful cock is twitching, coming to life and before it's even fully hard, I take the whole thing into my mouth. He blurts out an obscenity and I glance up and see his head tilt back to rest on the tile. I suck on him like my life depends on it. My lips slide back and forth, my tongue swirls around his dripping tip, my hand rubs the base while my other rubs his balls.

His knees start to give a little, bending ever so slightly, and his fingers wrap themselves around locks of my hair and I know he's close to coming. I go faster, deeper. Justin's voice fills the small, wet, steamy space but it's not with words. A soft groan, a little grunt as he pushes his hips into my face. I make a sound too – a slight moaning sound in the back of my throat. I can't help myself. Doing this to Justin, making him crazy and horny and hot, it makes me feel so fucking good. Like I'm invincible. Like nothing – not even cancer – can touch me as long as I can touch him.

The noise I make pushes him over the edge and he comes with a shudder and a loud, euphoric groan. His knees finally give out and he slides down the wall into the tub. His back is up against the wall, his bent legs are on either side of my body and his eyes are half shut. He reaches a hand out and cups my face, running his thumb pad across my lips.

"My turn," he announces and leans in, kissing my neck as he reaches for my crotch. I grab his hand and pull it up to my chest instead. I place it over me heart and rest my hand on top of it.

"I'm sorry about earlier," I whisper. "I hate hurting you."

He says nothing. He doesn't move. He just stares at me with sated, loving blue eyes.

"I've just got to... I've got to do this on my own," I tell him. "It's not about... it's not about not wanting you. I want you Justin."

"You showed me that," he replies softly with a small smile.

"No, I mean I want you in my life," I clarify. "I need you in my life."

He thinks about this for a long moment. I step out of the shower, soaking wet. He follows and I grab his towel and wrap it around his waist for him. I take a deep breath and look at him again then I grab him and pull him into me, in that spot he fits so perfectly, and hold on for dear life.

"Bri.. You're crushing me," His says with a laugh. I loosen my hold but don't let go and bury my face in his neck.

He kisses my shoulder and whispers. "Like I said in the office. I'll be here when you get back. I'm not going anywhere Brian. I would never leave you, "

But you already did once. My brain reminds me of the painful truth, the reason I can't tell him the truth now. I can't give him reason to walk away again. It was a miracle he came back at all because I know I'm still not what he truly wants from a lover. But he's still here, hanging on despite my emotional dysfunction. But if he knew I had this disease – that I was going to be cut open and cut up and weakened and mutilated.... that might be the last reason he needs to walk out that door for good this time.

And it's selfish and cruel and makes me a complete asshole but I want him to stay. Even if I'm not what's best for him, he is the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I don't want to live without him. Without him, I have no reason to want to fight this.

I pull away from him and look down at my drenched clothes. "I have to go. I have to run home and change before the airport."

"Oh. Okay," He doesn't want the moment to end.

I open the bathroom door and find Daphne standing in the hall staring at us.

"Did you just fuck him in my shower?!" she demands her face a mixture of amazement and horror.

"No," I reply honestly. "I blew him."

"What the fuck?!" Daphne is stunned but amused at the same time. "You two are fucking rabbits!"

I lean down and kiss her cheek and whisper. "Take care of my Sunshine when I'm gone."

She smiles up at me like a 12 year old smiling at a rockstar and simply nods.

I look at Justin one last painful time. "I..." I'm going to say I love you. I want to say it. I know I can say it but I also know I won't. "I'll be thinking of you."

At the loft I leave the new copy of my will on the dining room table along with a plain white sealed envelope with his name on it. I feel better, more in control, as I climb into the limo taking me to the airport. If something happens it's okay now. Because our last conversation wasn't that fucking train wreck at the office. Because I can still taste his cum on my tongue and because if I do die, they'll find that envelope and give it to him. And he'll know he was my world and I loved him.


End file.
