Fandom: Queer As Folk (US)
Word Count: 578
Summary: Brian's thoughts when he's driving Justin to school in ep 116.
Disclaimer: Showtime and Cowlip and Russell T. Davies own the rights. I write about the boys for fun and intend no copyright infringement.
A/N: Don't have high expectations for this one, because it's not much at all. I just really like this scene and wanted to write about what I think Brian is thinking at this time.
You’re driving him to school for the second straight week in a row, and Christ, when did you become the fucking school bus driver, anyway? But he looks so fucking hot in the Catholic schoolboy uniform that has become a disturbingly familiar sight, hanging over the back of your dining room chair or at the foot of your bed.
Once, it even made its way into your goddamn closet.
He’s living at Debbie’s, or at least he’s supposed to be, but he’s slept at the loft every night for the last month, and there’s allergy medication you don’t need in your medicine cabinet, and some sugar cereal you’ll never eat in your cupboard. There’s a toothbrush that isn’t yours, but you won’t throw it away, and you keep two towels hanging up, ready for use.
And you’re fucking driving the lad to school again, listening to him spout more facts that make you wonder what, exactly, he does in his spare time, when he’s not chasing after you. Or being fucked by you.
Suddenly, something he says about his SAT score catches your undivided attention, and you have to acknowledge it. You can give him that much, and it is pretty fucking impressive.
“1500. Wow. You could get into any school you wanted with a score like that.”
But when he starts to list off the ones he’s applied to, it occurs to you for the first time that he might not always be here; might not always be around to give you lectures about drinking too much coffee or not eating enough. He might not always be here for you to dance with and kiss, and fuck three times a day, and wake up to in the morning.
“You’re going out of state?” You might never see him again.
It’s a disconcerting realization, and you wish it were tonight already, so you could get really fucking drunk and not think about how you forgot you weren’t supposed to want this.
“What, do you give a shit?”
And too late, you realize what you’ve given away. He’s too perceptive not to pick up on it, either. He keeps telling you he’s on to you, and there is no fucking way he’s going to let this go.
“It’s just the first I’ve heard of it, that’s all,” you backpedal quickly, but you can’t seem to stop looking over at him.
“You do. You give a shit. You give a shit!” If he were a puppy, he’d be running in circles, having accidents all over the carpet, he’s so excited right now, and he’s smiling like he just won twenty-six million in the lottery or something. And you know you’re well and truly fucked.
“You so care about me. You love me soooo much.”
You want to take it back, to deny it, deny everything, but you can’t. It’s killing you, but for some reason, you can’t do it. Thank god you’re at the school, now, and you can escape this interminable and unexpectedly treacherous conversation.
“Brian Kinney gives a shit,” he can’t resist saying, one more time, as he gets out of the jeep.
“Fuck you,” you say, ignoring the brilliance of his farewell smile.
But as you drive away, you’re very aware that you never actually denied any of his claims, and you know he’s smart enough to realize that, too.
The little fucker did get 1500 on his SATs, after all.
You’re so fucked.