Rating/Classification: 'R' for language, Brian POV, Brian/Emmett-ish.
Disclaimer: CowLip! Moo!
Summary: QAF Improv #19, must use shattered - magnolia - capture - delicate - lightbulb. A ficlet glancing at Brian and Emmett's connection in the Liberty Avenue Scooby Gang.
When he looks at Emmett, he understands the definition of "steel magnolia." It isn't Julia Roberts dying bravely or Dolly Parton and Daryl Hannah holding up their three feet of hair with six feet of sheer will. More like this gutsy southern kid who would rather flame than flicker.
He drinks huge fruity cocktails with umbrellas in them and flails his limbs about in wild abandon, calling it 'dancing'. He jerks off for a faceless audience of horny queers and calls it a 'job' of a different kind. He spends months making it with a wise old sugar daddy and calls it 'love'. Nothing fazes him, because everything is 'fabulous.' And if it isn't...he'll make it so.
No, Emmett is no delicate wilting flower...because his stem is made of reinforced steel.
Brian admires him for that.
But he'll be fucking damned if he ever admits it.
A strange piece of trivia...he has fucked almost every guy on Liberty Avenue. Except Mikey, of course. *Michael*--all grown up--he has to remind himself.
He doesn't talk about all the particular whos, wheres, whens...just the extra-specially well-hung...but everyone has pretty much accepted that the cast of thousands that has been attached to his various parts must include Teddy and Emmett as well as, of course, Ben and Justin.
He needs to write a book on How to Fuck Buddies and Stay Buddies.
Except that there would be a few chapters on his obvious failures.
Emmett isn't one of them.
Six years and a bevy of tricks later, he still remembers. He remembers the lightbulb of comprehension clicking on above this tall skinny twink's head ...taking him in the back room of Babylon--but only after double-bagging it and swearing, in a key of K whisper, that he was totally and completely clean. Afterwards, Emmett slumped against the wall and gasped in that sugar-honey voice, "Darlin', you lied...you're anything but clean."
Two weeks later, Mikey introduced them formally over drinks at Woody's and his Mississippi peach of a conquest didn't even bat an eyelash. Simply extended his limp fingers and murmured, "Hope you've washed...from what I've heard ...only God knows where your hands have been."
"God and half of Pittsburgh," Ted had added, cattily.
Emmett had smiled and, in what was probably the only discreet moment of his life, shrugged, "As long as it's the right half, hmmm, Brian? The lower half?"
Even now, that smug combination of sympathy and knowledge...the biting bitch comments coupled with a shoulder provided for Justin's pretty blond head...they are indications of Emmett surviving him unscathed and sticking around despite him. Or maybe because of him. Or maybe he's completely inconsequential in the grand scheme of Emmett Honeycutt's ongoing Broadway musical.
One person who has no fascination for him, who doesn't want him, who just doesn't give a fuck.
Wouldn't that be a shock?
The steel fucking magnolia.
He watches Ted and Emmett coo like a pair of lovelorn dykes, all flush with the stirrings of a new relationship. How one managed to capture the other's heart, he'll never know. They fell into the exact trap that he's been avoiding with Michael all these years. With Michael...with Justin...with anyone.
Emmett is never afraid to take those leaps, take those chances. He doesn't care if he breaks, gets completely shattered, in the process, he's going to live life to the fullest no matter what. He builds himself back up every time. He survives even the harshest Pittsburgh winters.
Brian envies him for that.
And he'll be fucking damned if he ever admits it.
But, then again, he's Brian Kinney...and he's damned anyway.
September 17, 2002.