The Things I Cannot Change

When they got back to the loft, Justin made a big fuss about wanting to keep the sign. Sighing, Brian waved him off.

"Fine, fine," he said, moving to the back of the Jeep. "*I'll* do it so it doesn't mark my fucking Jeep or get damaged. Sentimental twat. Go and open up the loft, will ya?"

Knowing Brian's gruffness was all an act, Justin happily made his way into the building and upstairs. Unlocking the loft door and letting himself in, he sighed as he sat at the kitchen counter and took the opportunity to open up his diploma, feeling distinctly self-satisfied as he read the contents.

Fuck you, St James.

Lowering the diploma, he paused when he noticed an envelope resting on the counter a few inches away. Frowning, Justin let go of the diploma completely and picked up the envelope. The letters JT were scrawled on the front in Brian's familiar handwriting.

That faked gruffness from earlier now had even more of an explanation - this was a set-up. Whatever was in the envelope, Brian had wanted him to read it alone.

Justin practically tore it in half as he ripped it open. What the fuck would Brian write to him about? He couldn't even imagine, his fingers quickly unfolding the paper inside.

Justin,

Generally I'm not a big believer in the AA's philosophies, mostly because I think that believing God is going to get us through anything is bullshit. God doesn't get us through shit - fuck, he probably doesn't even exist. We do. Us mere mortals.

But not everything they have to say is bullshit, even if I don't like the term 'making amends'. Definitely sounds too lesbianic. But I know I'll never be able to say this shit - it's hard enough just fucking writing it - and you deserve it. Fuck, I can't think of anyone who deserves it more.

Sometimes I think about what it must've been like, seeing me stumbling home every night, cleaning up my vomit fuck knows how many times. I said the other night that I didn't know why you stuck around - shit like that's the reason.

For the record, I did go into rehab. For all of two days. It wasn't my fucking scene (have you seen the decor?), so I ended up locking myself in the loft. I bought enough food to survive - although according to you I never eat much anyway - and then didn't give myself any access to money. I spent the last of the cash I had on smokes, and cut up all my fucking credit cards because I was Brian Kinney, and Brian Kinney wasn't about to be brought down by something he fucking drank.

It wasn't easy. Still isn't. Most days now I don't think about it too much, but sometimes I still want nothing more than a glass of JB.

I've always said that I don't do regrets, or apologies, but you also know me well enough by now to know that sometimes I'm full of shit.

I'm sorry.

Brian

Something inside him let go.

The sound of the door closing made Justin turn his head to see Brian standing there, holding the sign. It was kind of hard seeing anything specific through the film of tears covering Justin's eyes, but it was a fair bet to say Brian probably looked more terrified than Justin had ever seen him.

Pushing the stool back and causing a loud screech, Justin practically flew across the few feet between them, thumping against Brian as his arms went around him. The sign thudded to the floor as Brian hugged him back, and Justin swallowed hard. He wanted to tell Brian how fucking proud he was, how fucking brave *Brian* was, but knew just letting him read that letter had taken Brian way beyond his comfort level already.

Leaning up into a brief kiss, when Justin pulled away he slipped his hands down and around his own back, where Brian's arms were still wrapped around him. Pulling Brian's hands away, Justin kept holding them as he started backing towards the bedroom. He didn't say anything, and neither did Brian.

By the bed their clothes came off slowly. Justin was determined to make this about more than just fucking, and for once Brian didn't seem to be in a rush either. They teased, and tickled, and licked, as each piece of skin was revealed. Justin laughed on the bed, trying to yank his foot away when Brian started playing with his toes.

Later Brian sat down, his back against the headboard as Justin slowly lowered himself onto Brian's dick. Closing his eyes, he grunted when he sat all the way down, and then opened them again as he began to move.

He loved sex like this. Watching Brian's face as he clenched around him. Angling himself just right so that Brian hit his prostate more often that not. Most of all, being able to kiss Brian easily, and as much as possible.

He moved slowly, wanting it to last, but as usually happened their bodies got the best of them - and Justin couldn't really regret it, as he came with a loud moan and Brian's face buried into his neck.

It was at moments like this that Justin really wished they didn't need condoms. Fuck, he just wanted to stay like that. Brian inside him, wrapped around each other. But soon Brian would start making noises about having to pull out in case the come started leaking out of the condom. Sighing, Justin carefully pulled himself off, and as soon as they got rid of the condom Justin settled back onto Brian's lap, more or less resuming their previous position. There was just a lack of cock up ass.

It didn't take long for Justin to start getting chilly, the sweat on his body cooling, and he tried to reach behind them without really moving, intent on pulling the covers around them.

Chuckling, Brian shook his head, and lightly slapped Justin's ass as an indicator that he should move. He didn't particularly want to let go just then, but from the look on Brian's face he wasn't about to make it difficult for Justin to touch him again once they got under the covers.

Which turned out to be true.

Justin really wasn't sure what he felt, he just knew that Brian writing and giving him that letter had just about been the most amazing thing he'd ever done.

And it hadn't escaped his notice that Brian hadn't yet said a single word. "Brian?"

He grunted.

Justin smiled. "That was the best graduation present anyone could have given me." Rolling further on top of him, Justin made a point of looking into his eyes. "And I don't mean the sex." There was no real acknowledgement from Brian - maybe a slight tightening of the mouth - and then Justin moved back to one side, the fingers of one hand playing with Brian's chest. "That said, a car wouldn't hurt."

Brian laughed.

*

After lazing around for a couple of hours, not saying much at all - or in Brian's case, still not saying anything at all - they eventually dragged themselves out of bed. In the shower they helped clean each other off, and Brian actually started speaking occasionally.

Since the concussion Justin had missed standing directly beneath the shower head, and he stood there now. It felt really fucking good, like he was being cleansed of everything. The - though he hated to admit it - occasional lingering doubts about Brian. School. No more fucking school. All those years of not being accepted were being washed away and he found himself smiling, brighter and brighter.

After drying off and getting dressed - at least partially - they started packing. As they were only going for a few days it didn't take very long. Justin would've thought Brian would've queened and angsted over every single outfit, but then Brian pointed out that they probably wouldn't be wearing much at all.

It was only then that Justin realised he'd never seen Brian in any kind of swimwear.

Clearly, this problem needed to be fixed. ASAP.

He teased, pleaded, cajoled, but Brian was adamant. There was no fucking way he was 'modelling' his outfit for anyone.

"Come on," Justin said, "I did it for you!"

"Exactly," Brian retorted. "It's something *you* do. Not something *I* do."

"I don't see what the big problem is," Justin told him. "You know I'll find you hot. Shit, Brian. You wrote me that beautiful fucking letter and now you won't even-"

Oh, idiot. Fucking *idiot*.

Brian reacted like he'd been slapped. "I knew that was a bad fucking idea," he muttered, before stomping into the bathroom and sliding the door behind him with a definitive thump.

Sometimes Justin really, really hated it when his mouth talked without consulting his brain first.

Fuck. Of *course* Brian would've been worried that giving Justin the letter would mean that Justin would expect more. And of *course* Justin would act like maybe he was right.

Moving closer to the bathroom, Justin started talking to the door. "I'm sorry. Really. I shouldn't have tried to use the letter to get you to do something." He bit the inside of his mouth momentarily. "I can't even imagine how fucking hard it was to write, and I shouldn't have used it as some kind of bargaining tool." Pausing, he listened carefully, but he couldn't even hear movement.

Sighing, he moved away and gave his bag one last look over. Content for now he zipped it up, and then tried to find something interesting to watch on TV. Sometimes there was nothing he could do to convince Brian about anything, and he simply had to wait.

He was, however, mildly amused by the mental image of Brian queening out in the bathroom.

When he emerged a while later, Brian sank down beside him and snatched the remote out of his hand. "Tomorrow," Brian told him, allegedly focusing on changing the channel. "You get to see me in it when we arrive tomorrow."

Justin eyed him. "Okay."

Learning further back against the sofa, Brian lifted his arm up and rested it along the back, leaving an obvious gap next to him for Justin to fill.

Justin did, and they ended up watching bad sitcoms for three hours.

*

There were a couple of things that Justin hadn't felt free of yesterday, and one of them was the name he was looking down at now. Sighing, he turned the envelope over in his hand.

It was ready to go. Address written. Stamp attached. Ripped out pages from The Advocate inside. He just couldn't *decide*.

Brian was already downstairs with their bags, waiting for the cab. He'd elected not to take his Jeep and leave it at the airport, although his actual words on that subject had been, "Are you fucking nuts?". Brian, apparently, had little to no regard for the security of airport parking garages, and everyone who lived on Tremont knew Brian Kinney. If they saw someone who wasn't him driving their Jeep, at least they'd report it.

Justin had claimed one last need to pee, promising to follow him down in a few minutes. Brian probably wouldn't disapprove of Justin's indecision, but he did wish that Justin could just get over Craig Taylor - even if he'd never really been able to come to terms with his own father.

He gave the front of the envelope one last look. Mom had given him the address when he'd called for it last night, while Brian was using the bathroom. She'd asked him if he knew what he was doing, and he'd admitted that he had no fucking clue.

Brian's voice echoed up the stairs. "What the fuck is taking so long? Did you piss an entire ocean?"

And just like that, the decision was made.

"Nothing!" he yelled back, throwing the envelope into the trash, setting the alarm, and locking the door behind him.

It came as no huge shock when he realised Brian had had them upgraded to first class. That did absolutely nothing to stop Justin from being annoyed.

"I can't believe you, Brian," he complained as they were escorted into the first class waiting lounge. "The whole point of this was that I was the one taking *you*. It was my treat, and now you're the one spending money again."

"Okay," Brian stopped walking and turned towards him, making Justin do the same. "If you're going to use money as the definition of 'treat', technically you're not treating me to anything - so far, you haven't spent one fucking dollar. You won this, remember?"

Justin glowered. "Metaphorical treat," he muttered.

"Second, I have more money than you. Deal with it. You can't honestly tell me you'd prefer to travel in coach. If our positions were reversed, you'd do exactly the same thing."

And Justin realised he would. He'd get some kind of glee out of it too, sneaking around behind Brian's back, thinking how pleased he was gonna be when he realised they had better seats. Trying to do something nice.

Shit. He over-pouted deliberately, looking up at Brian from beneath his eyelashes. "I hate when you have a good point. It makes you so much more irritating."

Chuckling briefly, Brian brought a hand up and cupped the back of Justin's neck, studying him intently. "Why are you in a ratty mood? You've been tense ever since we left the loft."

Caught. Sighing, Justin leant towards him and decided to share the news. "I nearly sent the interview to my dad." Throwing it into the trash had been a brief moment of liberation and melancholy, and he just hadn't been able to stop thinking about it since.

"I see," Brian said grimly, nodding his head. "Want me to suck you off?"

Startled, Justin laughed quietly. "Brian..."

"What?" he asked plainly, glancing at his watch. "We have time. And getting off always makes you feel better."

He seriously couldn't deny that, and figured what the hell? He might as well start his vacation off on a good note.

Besides, Brian really didn't suck him off often enough.

Justin decided to never complain about first class ever again when he actually got to sit down on the plane. Of course he felt no need to apologise either, but the smug look Brian sent him told him it would've been pointless anyway.

There wasn't a direct flight to the particular island they were staying on - Eleuthera - so they'd have to catch a smaller plane later on that didn't have a first class section. Because of that he took the opportunity to try just about everything the stewardess offered. He knew he was amusing the fuck out of Brian (he kept getting that amused 'I'm pretending to barely tolerate you when in fact I think you're fucking adorable' look), and apparently he was being *really* obvious about his inexperience because even the stewardess smiled at him at asked,

"Is this your first time flying first class, Mr Taylor?"

Smirking, Brian looked up at her. "What was your first clue?"

"Shut up," Justin ordered, rifling his way through the free toiletry kit and wondering how they managed to get toothpaste inside such a tiny tube.

The stewardess ended up taking quite a shine to him. By the time they disembarked to change planes in Nassau, Justin had three toiletry kits, a sewing kit, a make-up kit (he was so giving that to Em), a set of ear plugs, and a shirt with the airline logo on it.

"I am the man," Justin declared, waving his bag of goodies around.

"You're certainly something," Brian told him, and pushed him further along the ramp. "Remind me never to give you a blowjob again."

Justin's face was practically pressed against the cab window all the way to the villa. The island was long and thin, which made for some cool scenery, and then he and Brian were being left next to a row of four villas as the cab screeched away.

It looked fucking *beautiful*. None of the pictures he'd seen had done it any justice. The bright blue sea slowly rolling onto the perfect beach, the sun hot in the sky.

Justin stared. "I think I died and went to heaven."

"Nah, Sunshine," Brian told him. "When we die, we're definitely going to hell."

They were still grinning at each other when a man emerged from around one of the villas, smiling broadly. "Mr Taylor?"

"That's me," Justin reached out to shake the guy's hand. "Justin Taylor."

"Robert," the guy introduced, shaking his hand firmly. He was obviously originally from the States.

After shaking hands with Brian, he started helping them with their bags. "If you'd like to follow me, I can show you around your villa and tell you everything you need to know about the local area."

The villa was comfortable. Sparsely decorated, but with enough colour that it didn't look too bare. They both started eyeing up the bed immediately, but held back as Robert told them about what local shopping there was and what they could do if they decided to explore the island - or the others. Justin listened intently, deciding he'd pick up some gifts to take home, but otherwise he was more than happy to laze about in the sun with Brian.

Apparently the island had experienced a business crash in the 80's, and there were still skeletons of abandoned resorts scattered around the place. "The island doesn't have a lot for tourists," he admitted, "but it's great for people who just want to be left alone."

Sounded perfect.

"Just to make it clear," Brian said when Robert had finished talking. "I called before. We're out, and you assured us we could be ourselves here."

"Absolutely," Robert assured him again, quite seriously. "Around the villas and on this beach, you can be exactly who you are. If you go off exploring by yourselves, I'd advise caution, but here you'll have no trouble at all."

Good.

It turned out Robert lived with his partner, John, in the house that wasn't far from the fourth villa. He let them know when they'd most likely be around, how to contact them if they weren't, and generally gave them tips and advice. At the moment Brian and Justin were the only ones using a villa, but a 'fairly large group' was due to arrive the next day and Robert winked, advising them to use their free time wisely.

As soon as Robert left, Justin couldn't hold out anymore. He'd been itching to get into the water ever since they'd arrived.

There was no jet lag or anything else to worry about just then, so Justin stripped down to his underwear and ran out of the villa, along the deck and down the stairs.

"Justin!"

He didn't stop. The sand was warm beneath his toes and - being sand - not particularly easy to run on, but he kept going until he plunged into the water. "*Jesus*!" It was definitely colder than he'd been expecting but it revived him even more, the water helping to take away memories of being crammed into a tiny plane. Closing his eyes and holding his nose he dunked his head beneath the water, before pushing back up and taking a breath of air.

When a hand touched his arm he swung suddenly around - well, floundered around. It was kind of hard to suddenly do *anything* in water. "Brian!" He smiled at him - yup, Brian, shirtless, standing in water. Definitely a lot to smile about. Staring down through the clear water, Justin could see that he was wearing something that looked suspiciously like... "Are you wearing your swimsuit?"

"I *am* on vacation," he stated, as if it were obvious.

"Let me see," Justin said.

Brian pretended to think about it. "I don't know..."

"You promised." And okay, so he may have been sounding like a five-year-old, but so was Brian.

Grinning, Brian leered at him. "Make me."

Oh, he was *so* asking for it.

Wrestling also turned out to be kind of difficult in water, resulting in a lot of yelling from Justin and a lot of shouting from Brian. Eventually they ended up mostly out of the water, humping against each other on the sand. Justin was more than happy to spend the rest of the day doing that, rocking against Brian under the sun with the water splashing over them.

Brian apparently had other plans.

"Trust me, Sunshine," he smirked. "You'll be thanking me later when I don't fuck sand up your ass."

Dragging Justin into the villa, he guided the two of them into the shower and turned on the water, taking their soggy 'clothes' off (Brian had looked extremely hot in his swimsuit, but he looked even better out of it). There wasn't as much room as Brian's shower - no one had as much room as Brian's shower - but it was bearable. Rinsing away the sea water, Brian then did everything he could to make sure there was no sand anywhere near Justin's ass - a practise that included thorough and detailed probing with his fingers.

By the time they got out of the shower, Justin was really fucking horny.

He was all set to jump Brian by the bed when a towel gently hit his face.

"Dry yourself off and join me outside."

Ten seconds later Justin was on the decking outside the villa. Brian was waiting naked, holding a bottle of sun tan lotion.

"Gotta make sure you don't get burnt, Sunshine," he grinned, even as he started rubbing the cold liquid into Justin's skin.

"Somehow I think it's a bit late for that." Justin tried to retort snappily, but it was hard maintaining a particular tone of voice when Brian was rubbing his shoulders, his ass, his - fuck! "You're evil," he whispered, as Brian removed his hand from his cock.

"A sunburnt cock is one of the worst things in life. Trust me." Snapping the flip-lid shut, he held up a condom and lube that he'd produced from fuck knew where. "Wanna fuck?"

Justin wasn't about to say no.

Brian sat on the top step of the decking and calmly rolled the condom onto his dick. Way past being done with foreplay and just wanting to get fucked already, Justin snatched the lube away from him and opened himself up, quickly and efficiently. Brian probably would've just teased him again.

Moving around and in front of Brian, Justin stood on a lower step and slowly - with a little assistance - lowered himself down onto Brian's cock.

It was fucking amazing. Only this morning he'd been in boring old Pittsburgh with Brian's cock in his ass. Now he was in the Bahamas, staring out at the ocean with Brian's cock in his ass.

"It's beautiful," he said quietly.

"Yeah, Sunshine," Brian replied, his right hand sliding down and around to find Justin's, their fingers entwining. "It is."

Life wasn't always this perfect. Brian still wasn't ready for Babylon. Justin still had a prick of a father, and didn't know what the fuck was gonna happen with Hobbs. Would he have to testify? Would Hobbs even be found guilty?

So maybe there *were* some things Justin couldn't change, couldn't fix. But he had a family he cared about, friends he loved, and Brian. Brian, whose free hand dug into Justin's waist as they moved against each other, whose teeth bit gently onto Justin's earlobe. Brian, who loved him beyond anything he'd ever known.

Fuck, he laughed on a particularly good thrust. If only his seventeen-year-old self could see him now.

A warm, amused voice spoke by his ear, making him shiver. "Something funny, Sunshine?"

"Me," he admitted, smiling. God, he'd wanted declarations of undying love, roses and Valentines cards. That wasn't love at all, and his fingers tightened against Brian's.

His skin was warm, so warm, the sun beaming down on him, and as his balls started to draw up, he turned his head towards Brian so they'd be kissing when he came.

He had his make-shift family, and he had Brian, but most importantly he had Justin Taylor. Justin Taylor, who was still learning, and still trying.

And would never, ever stop.

****

EPILOGUE

****

ART FORUM MAGAZINE, JUNE 2008

UP AND COMING

Justin Taylor is the first to admit that his name isn't well-known in the New York art world.

'I knew when I came out here that it wouldn't be a overnight thing. To be honest, I didn't even think it was going to be an over-decade thing,' he grins. 'I just had to try.'

And it looks as if that effort is starting to pay off. With three pieces in the New Artists Show - something of a misnomer - at the well-respected Mason Gallery, Taylor's already receiving rave reviews (see pg 17), and could finally be starting down that road to fame that eludes so many others.

Taylor, 24, insists it's not about that. 'Sure, you want people to like your work. Of course you do. But - and this is going to sound really cheesy,' he laughs, 'but it's not about making money, or being famous. It's about doing well, whatever that means.'

A Pittsburgh native, Taylor's life has already been touched by one form of celebrity - he made the news when he was bashed at his high school prom, after dancing with his then thirty-year-old boyfriend. Understandably, the incident influences his work. 'I was extremely lucky. I escaped with a concussion and nothing else. It doesn't control my life, but sometimes I find myself painting about it - and not just the attack. Brian coming to my prom...that was just about the happiest I'd ever been at the time.'

The 'Brian' he speaks of is Brian Kinney, CEO of well-respected advertising agency Kinnetik, Inc., based in NYC. They're still together.

'Do you like the name?' he asks of Kinnetik, an obvious play on Kinney's surname. I tell him it's quite clever.

Leaning back in his chair, Taylor grins proudly, and somehow his answer doesn't come as a surprise. 'I came up with it.'

****

~FINIS

****

Author's Note: Holy crap. In Times New Roman 12pt font, this was over 450 pages in Word. Over 183,000 words. This is, without a doubt, the longest frickin' thing I have EVER written.

This whole thing was personal right from the start. I'd wanted to write a fic about alcoholism for years, ever since my sister became an alcoholic and attempted suicide twice. It was a really fucking horrible time, and I guess I figured it'd help or something. You know, how writing can supposedly lead to some kind of emotional catharsis. To be honest, I'm not sure if this did or not, but I'm really fucking glad I wrote it.

Sadly, none of my previous fandoms really fit the bill for an alcoholism story - and I'm a fanfic girl, through and through. I just can't see myself writing original fiction.

And then QAF came along. ♥♥♥ Brian was PERFECT.

I started writing it September 2005. I wrote all of two parts (this was originally posted in much smaller parts on my livejournal, totalling 87 parts) and then it just stopped. I don't know why, it just wasn't happening anymore. Every now and then I'd think, "Hmm, I really should continue that," but nothing ever came out. And then in May 2006, the muse came back. Maybe it was because I didn't have a job anymore ;D Whatever the reason, the muse was back - with a vengeance.

Since then, I think there have only been about three days where I haven't worked on this at all. One was just one of those days when absolutely NOTHING was coming out, and the others were when Real Life got too demanding. Some days I wrote two or three parts, some days I barely managed a paragraph. I tried to post every day, which I more or less managed - the only big gap being my sudden trip to Boston.

As for Justin...aww, Justin! *pets* I love that little shit. I'm not him, of course, and I didn't want it to be a Mary Sue, so although I went through some of the same stuff Justin did I tried to make it very much about Justin and *not* about me. I hope I succeeded. For all that the focus of the fic may appear to be about Brian giving up drinking, the story is really about Justin.

I know it's not perfect. Sometimes it's too schmoopy even for my liking, but that's the way the characters were going, so there they went *g* (sometimes they get away from me). It's so freaking big, I know there are probably typos that've been missed, and there are sentences that can be better written. I've gone through it and tweaked a few things, but generally I prefer to leave fics the way they are, even if they're not as good as they can be. I don't know if it makes any sense, but it shows me where I came from.

I'd like to thank absolutely everybody who ever left a comment, or picked up a typo, or nit-picked, or helped with a question. I don't want to say you have no idea how much it means to me, because I'm sure many of you do - but it *feels* that way. And I'm getting entirely too emotional typing this and my eyes keep filling up. Maybe *this* is the emotional catharsis ;D

And, as always - thank you to nel_ani and yamadara. For betaing or pointing out stuff, or just listening to me ramble on about it, and for being there when everything happened with my sister. You're two of the coolest chicks I've ever known (and met!! HEE!) and I love you loads.

Man. Phew. Enough from me.

*SMOOCH*

*eats comfort food* This is SO WEIRD. *posts*

Feedback would be appreciated *so* much :) (also? My policy on feedback? It's never too late! *g*)

For Sarah. You're the bravest person I know.