


I Gave Him Wings

by katilara



Category: Queer as Folk
Genre: Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-26
Updated: 2006-12-26
Packaged: 2013-10-30 18:04:39
Rating: T
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: www.fanfiction.net
Story URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3310242/1/
Author URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/865202/katilara
Summary: When Justin leaves, Brian finds he can't control his dreams.





	I Gave Him Wings

It was easy enough at first, not to think of him during the day. With my mind occupied by the campaigns I was executing or the tricks I was fucking, it was hard to focus on one thing for too long anyway. But in the middle of the night, when I would wake soaked in sweat and reach across the empty expanse of my bed to land a hand in a cold, damp spot left over from my last trick (all of which had been blondes for months), I could think of nothing but him. I would crawl across the bed, wings on my foggy mind, and curl up into the corner wanting nothing more than to feel his particular warmth. Dozing off I almost did feel it.

I started having the dream months after he wore the dirty costume wings at Babylon, shortly after he moved in with the fiddler. It took me by surprise at first because I had never dreamed about someone I cared for before, had never really admitted to myself that I cared for anyone. And even though I wouldn't admit it to any of them, I did care for him. The great Brian Kinney, felled by a kid.

It starts the same way every time. I swagger into Babylon, the thumpa thumpa pounding in my head and reverberating through my veins with the toxins from the popper I've just inhaled. As both hit my system I can feel time slow. My body and limbs melt away into the mass of men around me.

I can watch drops of sweat fly off of the people around me and follow their arch across the dance floor. One particularly dazzling jewel catches the upper fold of a pair of white wings flashing in and out of the crowd in front of me. Vision blurs and dims, everything melts into everything else, creating a haze of light and motion. The only landmarks I can view with any clarity are the wings, which are sparkling from the droplets collecting on their surface.

They dance in front of me, tantalizing and fresh. I know I must have them and take a step toward the conquering of whatever flesh may be attached to the wings. Someone whispers in my ear; I need you at home, I need you to love me. Show me you love me…but I ignore it. No one has ever needed me and certainly no one needs me now. My feet catch and trip and I fall, face down, to the floor. No one catches me.

When I come to, there are hands on my body and I'm naked and dripping. A breeze flows over me and I'm cold. I reach across the bed again to pull the sheets to me, to fold myself in them and hide, but I find only another body. His chest is what meets my hand, and he takes it in his and kisses my fingers. It's a simple act that no trick has ever pulled, and it marks me as completely his.

He slides closer to me across the space and rests his hand on my hip bone as he kisses my mouth, running his tongue over my own and across my teeth and lips. When he pulls away to suckle a nipple, I run my hand over his back, but it catches at his shoulder blade where the wings grow from his flesh. The feathers are in slight disarray and the color of the cigarettes I inhale daily. Some even carry a slight black tinge, as if the nicotine has touched them at the edges, or the burning tip has smoldered them.

I run my fingers over the fusion point again and again going from smooth, pale skin to thick, white feathers along the ridge bone that connects them. I wonder how long they must be, if they can actually carry him away. He laughs a little, breathing huffs of air onto my erect cock, which I have been too distracted to realize he has worked his way down to. As he takes me into his mouth he stretches them out. The tips almost reach the far walls of the bed chamber and the power of them makes me shiver as he guides his tongue over my frenulum and swirls it around the tip, lapping up the pre-come collected there.

Trying to concentrate on my body and the things he is doing to it is ultimately futile. All I can do is stare at the wings and wonder why I never noticed them before. He must always have had them, always been an angel, Sunshine.

Do they work? I ask.

He laughs again and looks up at me, Of course they work.

Would you show me?

Soon enough, he says as he sits up, moving closer to me, hovering over me. He kisses my mouth again and then grabs my ankles, pulling my legs into the air. I let him. My calves on his shoulders and my toes stroke the feathers as he penetrates me and fucks me. Always proud and always on top, there's nothing I wouldn't do to humble myself before him; and I take it as he continues harder.

I bite my lip at the pain and he smiles on serenely as he pumps into me. He's not enjoying the pain; he's above it, above everything. He's too good to be here with me and he knows it, but he wants to be here and it makes everything all right. He comes and is sated. Leaning back, he allows me sit up and move closer to him. I kiss him and kiss him and I die. I want to die but I know I won't be allowed to.

He disentangles himself from me. From the fingers I am curling around his hair, the legs I am folding around his waist and the ropes I am tying around his heart.

Did you want to know? He says. Did you want to know if they really work?

I'm nodding and I feel helpless like I did after the bashing and I would do anything for him, anything.

Anything? He says.

Anything. I nod and stand and walk across the loft to the window. I light a cigarette and stare out as he comes up behind me. He embraces me, holds himself close for too short a time and then he's gone. The wings push the cigarette smoke and the air downwards and I can't breathe, but mostly I can't breathe because he's gone. And it was true all along. He wanted to be here with me, but the wings worked, and he needed me but I wasn't here. He was where he belonged now, in some heaven with the other purveyors of beauty.

It's from this dream that I wake in the morning, every morning for weeks. I dress and I miss him and I exhale smoke onto the glass of the windows, causing it to fog as the warmth of the chemicals meets the chill from the outside. And in the fog I trace a feather, because he needed me, and in return I gave him wings.


End file.
