And Then There He Was
This is the first of two stories I wrote for the Second Chance Challenge at qaf_challenges.
Thank you to _alicesprings for being a wonderful beta and doing all the hard work to make this challenge happen!
Title: And Then There He Was Timeline: Pre-Pink Posse Rating: nc-17 Theme: What If
And then there he was.
I was walking down the street when I saw him and it was like the breath had been knocked right out of me. I couldn't move and I couldn't get away fast enough. I don't even know how I made it home that day.
It's not hard to believe we hadn't seen each since that day at the hospice, we don't exactly run in the same circles.
But I think about him. For a long time I couldn't separate him from the image I saw in my nightmares, couldn't think of him as a human being independent of the attack. More recently I tricked myself into thinking I could step back and see him as a person.
I wondered if he hated me for being gay or if he hated himself- for being gay. I made myself believe that if I could think of him as someone so lost that he didn't know himself, so lost that he used hate to get himself through the day, then I was a better person. That forgiving him was the right thing to do. That forgetting it all would put life back to the way it was before.
But when I saw him on the street that day I knew immediately, from the combination of fear, anger and, worst of all, my own hate, that settled in my gut, I hadn't grown at all from the time I woke up in the hospital. I was the same scared kid all over again. Nothing had changed.
Except maybe the anger had grown. I think it was happening all along without me even knowing. It was just there inside me. Every step I took away from that day made it grow stronger and bigger and all it took was seeing him walk down the street to let it break free and take over my life.
I couldn't eat or sleep or, much to Brian's dismay, fuck. I was obsessed.
All I could do was draw, at least for as long as my hand would hold up. Pieces full of violence and devastation. Art that made me sick to my stomach to think I had created, but just wouldn't stop pouring out of me. And then when my hand did give out, that's when I really went crazy, pacing around the loft, throwing shit... crying.
I felt alone. Brian was there, but he was always so calm. I knew the way I was acting pissed him off, but I could only imagine how he would react to seeing Hobbs, because I knew he had to have some of these same feelings hidden in there somewhere.
In fact, I do imagine it sometimes. This sick fantasy where they are on the street and Brian's on top of him, holding him down and banging his head against the pavement. There is blood everywhere and I don't feel anything at all.
But Brian doesn't show any emotion about it, not anymore. He wants me to let it go and just think about something else. Only that's what I have been doing for years now and it isn't working. I think it might be killing me.
I don't blame Brian, not for anything. The bashing or how he reacted over the years.
He's fucked up dealing with the bashing plenty, but that's just how it is with things like this. Nobody deals with this shit right, because it is just too hard. There is no right way.
Days go by or maybe weeks, the time stretches. And I just can't shake any of it. I'm scared all the time, angry all the time.
And then Brian comes home one night and has the nerve to pretend everything is fine. Has the nerve to ask me what I want to order for dinner and if I feel like going to Babylon when he knows good and fucking well that I can't eat and I sure as fuck don't feel like going dancing.
And I lose it. Looking back it is all a blur really.
He tried talking to me. I remember his voice calling out for me to listen to him. But I couldn't, and honestly, I didn't want to. I wanted to destroy something.
And then I heard a crash that I hadn't created. I heard the sound of something breaking into a million pieces. I watched in awe as he joined me in my destruction, as he broke things that cost him more money than I care to think about. I saw his anger. The next thing I knew, half the fucking loft was a wreck.
And then suddenly he was on me, wrestling me to the ground, holding me down. It was like the scene I had imagined of him on the street with Hobbs, only he wasn't banging my head against the floor, he was holding me. And he had tears on his face. I don't know for sure, but I probably did too.
I feel like a shit for it, but seeing him like that made me feel better. I didn't feel so alone, knowing that he was hurting too.
What kind of a fucking asshole am I for wanting him to be in pain, just because I was. But that wasn't really what it was about.
There is this thing inside me and it's in him too, but he just wanted to pretend it wasn't there and for a while I did too, but for reasons out of my control I couldn't pretend anymore. The force of it had come back like being hit with a bat all over again and I had to feel these things whether I wanted to or not. And it was nice to know that he felt some of it too. That we were in this together. I always knew we were, knew how hard it was on him, but I guess I just needed to see it.
He collapsed on me. Like all the fight had just gone out of him and all I could hear was the sound of him panting in my ear and all I could feel was the dampness of his tears on my neck.
And then it hit me, I didn't want to cry anymore, I didn't want to be sad anymore, I just wanted him. Not because I wanted to avoid it, but because I love him and this is just part of me. I can't avoid it. It is a part of me that is always going to be here and always going to hurt. Some days it will feel like a weight that I just can't get out from under. But it isn't the only thing and maybe some days I won't think about it that much. And I forgot that for a little while.
But the real life weight of Brian reminded me.
And I wanted to be in control. Even just for a few minutes. I hadn't felt in control since the day I saw Hobbs on the street and I needed that feeling right now. Like I had some handle on my life.
I rolled us over suddenly, pushing him harder than necessary onto the hardwood floor. He looked surprised and confused, like he didn't know what to expect from me anymore. I can't say I blamed him.
I started ripping at his shirt with no thought to the flying buttons that weeks later, Brian would still be finding under various pieces of furniture and holding up for me to see while smirking.
There was no thought of finesse or taking things slow. I leaned down and sucked his nipple into my mouth all the while unbuttoning his pants. I pulled them off as roughly as his shirt and left them tangled around one of his feet.
His legs were over my shoulders and I was straining to hold his weight and get my tongue inside him. There was no time to flip him over, no time for comfort.
His body was shaking from trying to hold himself up but I think also from the emotion of the moment and what I was doing to him. He grabbed at my clothes, helping me out of them. My shirt was gone and my pants were half off.
I thought about fucking him, but really there was no time to look for a condom when I just wanted to see him come.
I used my fingers inside him and my mouth on his dick, I wanted to bring him there fast. He pulled me off his dick to kiss me, but I didn't take my fingers out and I didn't give him a second to think of anything else.
His mouth was on me, tasting me and himself. He loves that, the taste of himself on me. I give him shit about it, tell him that if he could he would suck his own dick and eat his own ass and he never denies it, because Brian isn't embarrassed by his desire for pleasure.
I think I begged him to come and he insisted with his hand and whispered words that I do the same.
I was almost disappointed in myself for giving in because I wanted to watch him. But I felt lighter than I had in days. I couldn't help but nuzzle against him. I couldn't help but smile softly. I couldn't help but suck our come from his fingers and belly.
And he couldn't seem to help himself either. He pulled me close and then eventually up and off the ground and carefully, through the wreckage, led us to the shower and then bed. He slept wrapped tightly around me like he was scared I might go crazy again, or maybe, like he just wanted to be near me.
In the morning, Brian found me sitting on the steps surveying the damage.
"What's for breakfast?"
"Fuck, Brian, do you see this place?"
"Yes, I see it."
"Well what? What do you want me to say?"
"How about telling me to clean this fucking place up."
"We'll clean it up after breakfast. Come on, let's go to the diner, I'm hungry."
And that was kind of nice. That after the last few weeks of bullshit and in the middle of this huge mess, everything was just normal. And that we were going to clean it up together.