Title: "Give Me Liberty..."
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom: "Queer as Folk"-US
Rating/Classification: 'R' for language, slash, angst. Brian POV.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Nope. Flagrant stealing. I admit it.
Summary: Brian wants to leave and never look back...but he can't seem to stop turning his head. Inspired by episode 21 and vaguely the infamous scarfing incident in 22.

You started going to Mikey's house more often when your old man hit you in places where the bruises showed. He would pretend not to notice and Deb would heap an extra helping of peas on your plate and you'd talk about how that week's math test was total bullshit.

Then, you'd sprawl on his bed and talk about how Wolverine may have been cool...but you would totally fuck Cyclops if you had to choose. And sometimes he would look at you and you would remember Patrick Swayze and a magazine and your hand on his cock...

But the only times you touched him again were hugs and casual kisses.

You told yourself it was because you were sore from being hit...and you just weren't in the mood to try anything. You told yourself it had nothing to do with how Mikey looked at you like you weren't bleeding...how he looked at you like you were perfect.

Because you weren't perfect. You were broken.

You still are.


Linds always giggled when she was high. A few tokes and she was, suddenly, the average breeder sorority girl, starry-eyed and bare-it-all...

She leaned forward, whispering loudly in the quiet of your dorm room and you couldn't help but smile. "Bri...if you had tits, I would fuck you."

"If you had a cock, I would fuck you, too" you assured, slinging an arm around her shoulders and stroking the back of her neck.

She leaned in close, the sweet haze of the weed like some woodsy perfume...and her mouth was pink and wet, eyes gentle and curious. "Wanna do it anyway? Just to see...?"

Afterwards, you held her, sleepily, and confided "Fuck, I'm still gay."

She laughed and said the same thing.

But you remembered she'd also said "I love you" when you kissed her. And she tasted like the same words the night your son was born.


Emmett looped his arms around Justin from behind, kissed the side of his face. Before you could even think about it, you picked his hands up and, emphatically, moved them...reclaimed your property.

*Don't you fucking touch him.*

And you touched foreheads and giggled madly, the Ecstasy running high in your veins, and whispered in his ear that you would drink him up with a bourbon chaser when you got back to the loft.

But then Craig Taylor showed up.

And you didn't do anything that night but curl up into a ball and cradle your aching ribs as Justin reached out in the dark and touched your back just once.

You shrugged off his hands and thought about the night you told him "I don't believe in love."


As you drive to the airport and your life gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, you wonder if they all know they're better off.

Praise Jesus, Brian Kinney has left the building.

There will finally be liberty on Liberty Avenue. Because you'll be gone. Away. The Big Apple...Madison Avenue...bright lights, new feeding grounds ...places where the tricks don't know your name yet but will learn to scream it.

And Mikey can move on with his precious Dr. Dave and grow up and grow old and learn to take care of himself.

Lindsey can quit holding on to secret hetero fantasies where you two and Gus are a real family and she can eat Mel until the world ends.

And Justin...

You glance in the rearview and the car behind you seems vaguely blurred by rain drops. It must be raining... because you're no pussy little crybaby. You're Brian Kinney. And you cry for no one.

Not even for a beautiful kid who won't let go. A fucking gorgeous little twink who knows you lied. That you always lie even though you claim to be honest above all things.

You do believe in love.

You believe in it enough to try and set him free.

To set them all free.

Any way you can.


January 12, 2002.

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