


It's All His Fault

by NicJ



Category: Queer as Folk
Genre: Angst, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2013-10-17 13:25:05
Rating: T
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: www.fanfiction.net
Story URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9343877/1/
Author URL: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/2738494/NicJ
Summary: This is my attempt at rationalizing Chris Hobbs' actions in the Season 1 Finale, wherein he bashes Justin after the Senior Prom. Not that I think there is any justification whatsoever for his actions. *Categorized as "Brian and Justin" because Chris Hobbs isn't listed as a character, for some reason.* Warnings for offensive language and excessive use of profanity.





	It's All His Fault

Damn him.

Damn him and that Chanders bitch. Damn them straight to Hell. Where they belong. Where all fags belong.

_Where you belong._

God, why does he have to look so good in that tux? With his hair gelled back and that lavender bowtie. He's radiant.

_Fucking faggot._

His skin looks so soft. God, I want to touch it. Touch him.

_You're going to Hell._

Snap out of it, Hobbs. You're here with your girlfriend. You want to touch _her_, not Taylor.

_Want to rip his shirt off, want to see him naked, want to—_

_**No.**_

Stop watching him, Hobbs. You're not helping anyone by watching him. If anyone catches you ogling that fag, you'll be done for.

Now that Chanders bitch is pointing at something. Jus—_Taylor_ turns and looks at whatever it is, smiling that smile that lights up his whole face.

He's so beautiful.

_Fucking faggot. You'll burn with him. It's __**sick**__, you're __**sick**__, Hobbs, __**disgusting**__._

Someone's walking over to him. Someone tall and mysterious. And handsome.

_Stop it._

They only have eyes for each other. It'd be sweet if it weren't so revolting.

A new song starts, and they cut through the throng of people until they're in the center of the dance floor. I can only see Taylor's back—_what a wonderful backside it is—_and he's swiveling his hips, dancing in small steps in place.

So fucking hot.

God, I bet his ass is so _tight_—

_**No.**_

They're dancing, sweeping across the floor gracefully. They look so perfect. And they're so happy.

_Pull it together, Hobbs._

Wait.

They're _kissing_.

**Taylor has his hand down my pants, on my dick—**_**feels so good**_**. I want him to go faster, grip tighter. Want to kiss him, want him so badly—**

I have to get out of here.

* * *

I can't get them out of my head. Fucking _Taylor_ and his fucking _boyfriend_ fucking _making out_ on the fucking dance floor at the fucking prom. Faggots.

_You're the faggot, Hobbs._

No.

_You want him for yourself. You wish you could hold him, kiss him, fuck him._

God, I want him.

_**No.**_

Just stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about his hand on Taylor's waist, so close to his ass—that _ass._ Want to pound into it, fuck him _so hard_—

_**No.**_

I hate him. This is _his_ fault. Fucking Taylor. _He's_ the one making me feel like this, think like this. I'm not a fag. _Taylor _is. Taylor and his goddamn _boyfriend._

I need to get rid of him. If Taylor's gone, then the feelings, the thoughts, all of it, will go with him.

I have to get him out of my head. Can't stop thinking about that day—fuck, it was so good—can't stop staring at him.

I need to make him go away.

* * *

The bat is heavy in my hands. It's never weighed so much before.

Taylor and his boyfriend are kissing again.

I hate both of them. I hate them so much, want them gone, want them to _hurt_, want to _hurt them_—

I swing.

Taylor's on the ground. He's bleeding. His boyfriend is frantic, saying his name over and over again.

Justin. Justin. Justin. Justin Justin Justin. JustinJustinJustinJustin. _JustinJustinJustinJustinJustinJustinJustinJustin—_

It won't stop.

I can't get him out of my head.

_Justin._


End file.
