FIC: Minutes to Go (QAF, B/J) Justin POV

[freakykat]

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Title: Minutes to Go
Author: freakykat
Time Frame: Gapfiller - 513 last scene
Summary: Justin struggles to leave. First short in a series titled It's Only Time. The series should lead up to a work in progress that is underway.
Rating:R
Warnings: Angsty; some sappiness, much drama.
Notes: Thanks to wouldbedorothy for beta-reading this even when she was scared to. Much appreciation to both tsarcasm and reilael for offering their help. Props to the song The Darkest Night of All by Lisa Germano which inspired this little drabble of sorts. Feedback much appreciated. This is my first fic in this fandom and my first ever for a slash pairing so constructive criticism especially loved.
Disclaimer: I own none of this - they belong to Showtime, Cowlip and others. I only play with them a little.

Minutes to Go

I feel his weight pressed on me, feel him still inside, soft and wet and I will my eyes to remain closed. To stay here. With him.

His breathing is deep and steady, the slight wheezing noise that passes for his snore surrounds me. I realized long ago that it was difficult to fall asleep without that sound next to me. Behind me. Around me. That it was the only time I felt safe.

Peaceful.

Home.

I feel his body shift slightly and I know I can’t stay here. That the spell…the moment had to end. I open my eyes, turning my head as much as the vise of his hand in my hair allows and stare at his profile.

Fuck, he’s beautiful.

He’s always been beautiful.

I let one hand trail softly down his damp back, memorizing the lines I already know. They’re etched inside my mind, stamped with infinite precision. He was my first work of art. I’d never seen anything as breathtaking as he.

I never would again.

His grip slowly relaxes and I wait, silently, for his body to move away. For him to turn toward sleep, toward his dreams.

I wonder how he can sleep through this. I know deep inside that he isn’t really. That his thoughts are here even if he doesn’t want to be.

I also know he’s making it easier. That he somehow, in his infinite Kinney-wisdom, knows if I look into his eyes, hear him say goodbye…I won’t go.

I wait for him to shift, to move away as he always does…but he doesn’t. His breathing hitches for a moment and I swallow that lump that had been threatening to wail out of me all night.

Minutes to go…that’s all I have left. My arms tighten around him, face turning into his shoulder…collecting his smell…basking in his warmth…stealing the smallest bit of him.

It would be the only thing I would have.

I well up, tears hitting his skin and I know it’s time.

My arms loosen, sliding down and over his skin, touching his hair for a split second before pushing softly against his body, supporting myself as I scoot out from under him. The cold air hits my body and I shiver.

I glance at him, his face buried into the sheets, his breathing steady, rhythmic and I smile.

Brian was a hell of a fake sleeper. Always had been.

Minutes to go…

I hurry through the process of dressing, finding my shorts, pants and shirt where we had begun, near the couch, tossing them on without much thought. I would dress again at Daphne’s before heading to the airport.

I can smell Brian on them…on me. I close my eyes, back straightening against the sudden ache that punches through me.

These things are hard. These things hurt.

No other words were truer. I glance around the room, memories rushing at me from every corner. Places we’d fucked. Places we’d laughed. Even the places we’d fought. Moments running through my mind…secrets nobody needed to know…

I remember a different time…another suitcase packed, another ticket to New York bought.

“Don’t go. You can’t go. What are you going to do without me?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll survive.”

“Doubt it.”

I look back at him now. He’s in the same position and I know he’ll stay that way until he’s sure I’m gone. Until he doesn’t have to face me. It’s his only defense…and mine.

I move towards the room, taking the steps to stand by the edge of the bed, staring down at this man…this god…Brian Kinney. I sit quietly, watching his back rise and fall, tucking it away for the future. For the nights, days, minutes where missing him seems unbearable, I’ll remember this. His sounds…his smells…

I reach out a hand, splaying it over his back, before I give in, and slide myself closer. My head comes to rest on the small of his back and I close my eyes. Just once more.

“What about me?”

“I’m sure you’ll get along just fine on your own.”

“No I won’t.”

“Yeah you will. You’re going to do what you should have done a long time ago. You’re going to meet some twinkie your own age. “

“What do you think I want with some kid who doesn’t know shit?”

I kiss his skin, once, twice, a third time and lay one cheek on the hard contours of his back, rubbing softly. Maybe I think this will keep him with me. That I can take him on my own skin. That way we’ll never be apart.

Minutes to go…I know. I leave one last kiss, pull up and away, catching a strand of hair into my hand. Silky…like nothing I had ever known before.

It was time.

I run one hand through his hair, pausing to rub the back of his neck before continuing down his back and over his ass…before pulling away. I stand, leaning over to kiss the back of his head. There are questions I wish I could ask. Things I need to say. But they seem to get stuck inside and I whisper what I know he needs to hear. “I won’t look.”

I pull back, watch him for a few more seconds and then force my feet to move. I turn towards the door. My eyes only focus on the exit. The way out of the pain. I snort at that thought.

The pain would start with the door.

I reach for my luggage, hauling one bag over my shoulder while dragging the other as silently as I can.

My hand pauses on the door handle and I wait.

“Go. Go take your shower. Go to New York. Go to your new life. In a year, probably not even that long, you won’t even remember my name. Oh, what happened to that kid who wouldn’t leave me alone, who thought he was in love with me. Do you fucking think of me at all?”

“I won’t. I won’t think of you.”

“Aha.”

“When I walk out that door I don’t plan on ever looking back. And I expect you to do the same.”

The door opens as I pull and I walk through it, dropping the shoulder bag to the floor. I won’t look into the loft. I can’t. My mind expects to see him there. Staring at me with those hazel eyes that know everything. Wants to believe that he’ll stop me. I slide the door shut, leaning against it.

Minutes to go…

I pull back, grabbing both bags and heading to the stairs. I imagine I hear the door slide open and pause, before moving forward. I hear his voice in my head as I walk down and away.

“And I expect you to do the same.”

I never look.

Part Two

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