I FEEL POSSESSED

"A Queer As Folk USA FanFic"

by Gaedhal

This is Chapter 27 of the "Queer Realities" series.

Go back to "Queer Theories" for the very beginning of this saga.

The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Brian Kinney.
Rated R for language and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: More darkness and more snow. Cardinal Lake. February 2003.
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit. Watch Queer As Folk on Showtime, buy the DVDs, videos, and CDs. Read the stories and enjoy.

"She said. 'I could never do that,'
But I know you can, you are in my dream.
We are one person, not two of a kind,
And what was mine is now in your possession.
I could feel you underneath my skin
As the wind rushed in,
Sent the kitchen table crashing,
She said, 'Nobody move
Or I'll bring the house down.'

I hardly know which way is up
Or which way down.
People are strange, God only knows,
I feel possessed when you come 'round."


***

I lean against him, stroking his cock. "Brian, I want to collect my prize."

"Huh?" he says. His beautiful eyes open and look up into mine, dark green and gold in the firelight.

"My prize," I smile. I've been waiting for this moment since last summer in England! That was the last time I got to top Brian. And now I know that we're at a place where I can do it again. It's about time, too. "I won the Monopoly game. And now I want to collect on our bet."

But something seems wrong. Brian is looking at me strangely. "What bet?" he says, nervously, like he doesn't remember the game. I think that Brian likes playing hard to get!

"Your ass, Brian!" I laugh. I have the condom in my hand. I've had it ready for this moment. I roll it onto my dick and pick up the lube. "I think I'm going to need a lot of this!" I grin. "A LOT!"

"Justin...." Brian starts to sit up, like he's going somewhere. I don't think so!

"I'm going to fuck the shit out of you, little boy!" I boast, pushing him back down. "And you can't get away. Because I have you right where I want you. And I'm going to have my 'Wicked Way' with your ass! Right now!"

"But, Justin...." Brian is frowning. He's doing more than frowning -- he's wincing.

I sit back on the sofa. Something is definitely wrong here. "Roll over and let me rim you first, okay, Brian?" I say softly. I'm not sure what the problem is, but maybe I better go a little slower for now. A little foreplay is always good. Brian loves being rimmed. That should relax him and get him more in the mood.

But all of a sudden Brian stands up. "I have to take a piss." And he almost runs up the steep stairs to the little bathroom, leaving me sitting by myself on the sofa.

What the fuck just happened? How could I have gotten this so wrong? Everything was perfect. Really perfect. And now...

I pull off the condom and throw it away. I go over to the stereo and flip over the Nat King Cole record. I picked it especially because it's nothing but romantic songs, one right after another. I had this all planned. The dinner, the music, the romance. Me taking the lead and showing Brian that I can make him feel as good as he makes me feel.

But I fucked up somehow. I thought Brian was really ready to let me take charge for once. Ready for me to act like Brian's equal in every way. Not just in words, but in actions. After all of those things that he said to me -- about falling in love with me that first night. And at first sight! All that crap about never fucking anyone the way he fucks me! I guess it's only when the sex is on HIS terms that it counts. Only when HE is the one in control! Never me. I'm just the one who gets fucked. A piece of blond boy ass to stick a dick into! Shit.

I wait for a while, but Brian doesn't come downstairs. I'm getting a little chilly, so I pull my sweats back on. The record ends and I take it off the turntable, put it back into its sleeve, and turn off the stereo. Then I go into the kitchen and clean up the mess from dinner. I take out the half-drunk bottle of pinot noir from last night, pour myself a glass, and suck it down. Then I drink another glass while I wash the dishes and put the leftovers in the fridge. We may need this food later, depending on how long we're stuck here.

I pour the rest of the bottle of wine into my glass and take it out to the fireplace. I sit on the rug, drinking it slowly and staring into the fire. I felt like shit last night when I realized that I'd opened the bottle and poured out a glass for Brian without even thinking that he can't have any. And he drank it. But only one glass. I wonder if that means he'll be in trouble with Dr. Gorowitz? Do they test you to see if you've had alcohol? Will Brian tell his counselor about it? Or that I gave it to him? Does that make me a rotten partner? And will they give him dishwashing duty as punishment, like they did at Haven of Hope?

And it's all my fucking fault. I know Brian said that it's okay, that it's his choice what he does, but I still feel like I have to watch out for him sometimes. I wonder how much Brian really hates it that I'm watching out for him. It must remind him of his parents' relationship. His old man used to call Mrs. Kinney 'The Warden' because he felt like she kept him in prison. Is that the way Brian sees me? Is that the way he sees any relationship? One person in prison and the other person keeping him there? Because I don't want to spend my whole life being someone's jailer -- not even Brian's.

Sometimes... sometimes I'm so fucking happy! Yes, sometimes. So why can't it last? Why can't it be forever? And why can't Brian let himself be happy for longer than five minutes? Is it so hard to be happy? So painful to be happy? I know that Brian's pain management is a shield so that he doesn't feel hurt. But how much of what Brian does is so he doesn't feel ANYTHING? Pain or pleasure? Sadness or happiness? Or even love?

Why is it that with Brian I can only go so far -- but no farther? There's always that fucking dead end that I'm constantly beating my head against. I'm 20 years old and I already know exactly what I can expect for the rest of my life. A constant struggle with Brian. Dealing with Brian's addictions and demons and hang-ups. Never being sure when the next one will pop up and explode right in my face.

There are so many things that other people look forward to in their lives. Getting married. Having kids. Being together in a simple, uncomplicated way. Just knowing that someone loves you -- JUST you -- without a lot of shit hanging off that love. Knowing that someone only wants to be with YOU. Only wants to make love to you. And who tells you that. Who isn't afraid to tell you that. Or isn't afraid to make a promise like that. Who isn't afraid to let you be his equal.

Because I know that I'll never have any of those things with Brian. And it doesn't matter how much I might want them. It doesn't matter at all. I used to pretend that I wanted exactly what Brian wanted. I was afraid NOT to agree with him. If he hated marriage, then so did I. If he liked tricking, then I did, too. If Brian thought that two guys having a fucking life together for twenty years, maybe raising a kid together, and getting married or committed or whatever the fuck, was just something for dickless fags and breeder wannabes, then I said, 'That's what I believe, too!' Even when I didn't. Now we don't talk about that shit. Not at all. Maybe someday, after all of his therapy, Brian will be able to utter the word, 'commitment' like it doesn't taste like shit in his mouth, but I don't know when that will be.

Sometimes I really do wonder if it's all worth it. When I know that some things I want so badly are impossible.

Impossible if I stay with Brian. Just fucking impossible.

The only problem is that I love him so much. Maybe TOO much. Definitely too much.

I'm possessed by him. In every sense of the word. And I always will be. That's the reality

I'm also a little drunk now. Maybe more than a little. Even on three crummy glasses of wine. I was drunk on happiness before. See how quickly things can turn around? See how fast my little heart can be drop-kicked into the next state? Only Brian can do that to me. Only him. And he always does it.

Maybe Brian does love me -- in his way. Maybe he loves me like you love a cute pet or a favorite sweater because it's warm and soft and always there when you want it to be. Something to depend on. Something to take for granted. That makes me wonder sometimes. If Brian had tried harder with Ron out in L.A. If both of them had not made so many mistakes right from the start. If Jimmy and 'The Olympian' and all that other stuff had not gotten in the way -- would I even be here right now? Would Brian be hiding upstairs, having whatever kind of fucking anxiety attack he's having? Or would he and Ron be somewhere together? Ron might be alive and Brian might not be fucked up. Or is it even possible for Brian NOT to be fucked up?

I don't know. I wish I had Fiona here. Or a crystal ball. So that I could see all the possible Streams and truly know what the future holds. I stare into the flames like I stared into Fiona's candle. Stare and think. Try to see something. Anything.

But there's nothing. Nothing at all. Just the empty fire. Except that the logs are burning down and it's getting cold in here. There are a couple of old blankets folded up and sitting on the chair in the corner. I take one of them and wrap myself in it. Then I stretch out on the sofa. I can hear the wind whipping up again, blasting against the cottage. Then it dies down a bit, only to whip up again. The snow just won't stop falling. It won't stop. Not even for me.

***

"It was one of those times
I wished I had a camera on me --
Six foot off the ground,
Well, I know how that sounds.
Look above you and beyond me, too,
That kind of view don't need an explanation.
I'm not lying, not asking for anything,
I just want to be there when it happens again.

I hardly know which way is up
Or which way down.
People are strange, God only knows,
I feel possessed when you come 'round."

***

I open my eyes to pitch blackness. I'm shivering violently and the room is frigid. The fire is dead, with only a few embers smoldering in the hearth. I stand up and stumble around, looking for the floor lamp. I find it and switch it on.

Nothing happens.

Fuck!

I keep clicking the switch on and off, but there's no light. I feel my way over to the cabinet and turn on the stereo system. Nothing. I press the button a couple of times to make certain, but there's no doubt about it. The power is off in the cottage.

I try not to panic, even though I'm standing in total darkness in a strange house in the middle of a blizzard. I wonder what time it is. It's still pitch black out, so it's not morning yet. Did I fall asleep for an hour? Maybe two?

I try to remember if there were any candles or even a flashlight in the kitchen cupboard, but I don't thinkI saw any. I find my way back to the sofa and sit down, huddling under the blanket. The stove is electric, so I can't cook anything while the power is off. What the fuck are we gong to do?

Another blast of wind hits the cottage and rattles the windows. It sounds like the roof is coming down on top of me!

"Brian!" I cry, without even thinking. "Brian!"

Yes, when I'm fucking afraid and don't know what else to do, that's who I call. Always. I'm so fucking pathetic, I know.

"Justin!" Brian calls out from upstairs. "Where are you?"

"I'm down here !" I say. I stand up and feel my way to the bottom of the stairs. "The electricity's out."

"I know. I tried to turn on the lamp next to the bed when I heard you calling." I hear Brian's voice right above me. "Come up to me. But be careful, Justin. These stairs are steep and open in the back. Don't let your foot slip through."

"I can do it, Brian," I tell him. "I can feel my way up."

"I have my hand out, Justin -- just reach for it."

"Wait! Should I look for some candles first? Or a flashlight?"

"No!" says Brian. "You might hurt yourself groping around in the dark. If the power is still out in the morning, then we'll look for candles in the daylight when we can see what we're doing."

"Okay." I inch my way up on my hands and knees, one step at a time. It feels weird going up the steps in the total dark. The stairway is really more like a big wooden ladder than a real staircase. And it feels even more rickety and narrow when you can't see where you're going. I'm just glad I'm going up and not down!

Then, suddenly, Brian's hand brushes my head and I reach up for him. He grabs my hand and practically pulls me the rest of the way up. He hangs onto me tightly. He's naked and his skin feels warm and he smells familiar and safe. I let out a huge sigh of relief. And so does Brian. He's clutching me.

We feel our way back to the bedroom with the double bed. It's even darker upstairs than it is in the living room, which at least has the slight glow from the dying fire for illumination.

I bang my knee against the door frame of the bedroom. "Ow! Shit!"

"Careful!" says Brian. "Here's the bed."

I feel for the edge of the bed and sit down.

"I'm closing the door to keep the heat in," Brian informs me.

"What heat? It's like an icebox up here," I reply, shivering.

"I know," he admits. "There's nothing we can do except stay covered up."

Brian sits down next to me on the bed and nudges me to move over. Then he covers both of us. I can feel that he's put an extra blanket on top of the bedspread.

"I'd fuck a Republican for an electric blanket tonight," Brian grumbles.

"You'd be out of luck, then," I remind him.

"Oh, right," he says. "I'm an idiot. The electric blanket wouldn't be much help if there's no power." Brian sighs. "I'm batting a thousand in stupidity tonight."

We lie there in the dark, holding onto each other. Trying to draw on each other's warmth and strength. The wind is whipping through the tall pine trees that surround the cottage. It sounds like a freight train rushing over our heads.

I have to talk to him. I have to tell him how I feel. "Brian," I whisper. "I'm always running TO you when I'm afraid. Like tonight when I realized that I was in the dark and couldn't turn on the light. I called for YOU. That's who I wanted. That's who I always want and always will want. But when you're afraid of something, you always run AWAY from me. And that's the way it'll always be, won't it, Brian?"

"Will it? Does it always have to be that way?" Brian sighs again. "I guess I haven't made any fucking progress at all, have I? Not any that counts. I know you don't think so. I know it isn't enough for you, Justin. I can't help it. I don't know what else to do sometimes."

"But you HAVE made progress, Brian," I tell him. "You've made a lot of progress. But I guess all that progress lulled me into a false sense of security. You can say 'I love you' now. You can admit that you've loved me since the first night. You can even accept a Valentine's card without totally freaking out or giving me shit about it. So I forget sometimes that there is still a lot that you need to overcome. Still a lot of damage that you need to undo."

He's holding me tighter than ever, his breath against my hair.

"Damage is right," he says. "So much damage and so much fucking fear! I know that I shouldn't have run upstairs. That was a typically boneheaded move, but I was having a fucking panic attack. I'm sorry. You weren't asking for anything that... that you aren't entitled to. But... I can't. I'm sorry. I just fucking can't do it."

My ear is so close to his heart that I can hear it pounding. "Why, Brian? Tell me. You can tell me anything."

He shakes his head. "You deserve so much more than I can give you, Justin -- including an explanation. What can I tell you other than that I'm fucked up? It will always be some stupid issue or some fear -- it's neverending. I keep thinking that you would be better off if... if...."

He stops. I know what he wants to say, but he can't say it. Because he doesn't really want that. He doesn't want me to be better off somewhere else or with someone else. I know he doesn't. And neither do I.

"If you think that you're going to get rid of me in the middle of a fucking blizzard, then you better think again," I state firmly. "If you think I'm such a shallow little brat that I'm going to let you push me away because I didn't get my dick up your ass, then you had better revise your thinking, Mr. Kinney. And if you think that I'd be better off with someone else, then you haven't been paying very much attention for the past few years. I'm the President of your fan club, your stalker, the guy you can't get rid of, remember, Brian? I'm the guy who won't go away like... how is it that you phrase it?"

"Like a rash on my balls," says Brian in resignation.

"That's it," I nod. "That's what I am. A stubborn rash. Except I'm over ALL of you -- not just your balls. Or your dick. Or your ass! I'm about the whole thing. The good, the bad, and the ugly, just like that Clint Eastwood movie you like so much. I'm about being in love with ALL of you, you fucking jerk!"

Brian sniffs. "I knew that being a faggot was a mistake. A female would have given up on me a long time ago. But twinks never give up until they get what they want -- no matter what it is."

"Duh," I reply. "But when it comes to the really important things, Brian, don't we want the same thing? Really? To be happy. To be together. Everything else is just... just stupid details."

My head is lying on Brian's chest and I kiss it gently. I can feel the hair that has grown in around his nipples now that he isn't shaving and waxing and plucking himself constantly. I like it. I like the natural Brian. The way he IS and not the way he thinks he should be. Yes, I even like the fucked up Brian. Because Brian knowing that he's fucked up is the beginning of Brian doing something about it.

And the thought of Brian changing scares me, too. It freaks me out when Brian suddenly does something out of character. Like showing up at my prom. Or getting a tattoo with my name on it. Or wearing a silly little red heart on a chain and not being embarrassed about it. I touch my lips to that heart.

I make love to him in the dark. The way I know how to do it best. Slowly and carefully. Sucking every inch of his flesh. Waking up every hair so it is standing up. Saving his cock for last. When you can't see anything at all, touch and smell and sound take over. The smoothness of his dickhead and the rougher texture of his balls. The smell of his navel. The little gasps of pleasure as I move somewhere new and place my tongue against something unexpected.

I know the condoms are in the drawer in the table next to the bed. I don't need any light to find them. I roll one down Brian's long cock. It smells like latex and strawberries. I must have grabbed one of the flavored ones by mistake. But it doesn't matter. The lube smells slightly antiseptic, too. It feels dense and slick. I slide my hand up and down, coating it. Then I smooth some of the lube onto Brian's fingers and guide them to my ass. He presses in, deeply. Opening me up. Then I position myself on top of him and lower myself onto his dick.

I fuck him with my ass. Moving up and down as he meets me, thrust to thrust. Our hands are clasped together. Our fingers are intertwined. That's the best way to make love. Together. Even in the cold, I feel sweat trickling down my neck and back. Trickling down into the crack of my ass.

"Ride me, Justin," Brian groans. "Fuck me like you own me! Don't let me go!"

And so I possess him. I squeeze my hole around Brian's cock. I push down, hard. Then harder. He groans and I feel him jerk. That convulsive stutter of his cock releasing its load into the rubber. He growls and sighs, sitting up to grab me tightly as he comes.

"Even in the dark, I would know it was you, Justin. The way your ass feels, the way it moves," he says, holding me. "There's no one else who makes me feel like this. No one."

"I love you, Brian," I say. "No matter what. I wish you could believe that -- really believe it."

"I do," he whispers. "Even when I'm a fucking asshole. Or a fucking coward." He rubs his face against my neck. "You can fuck me now. It's okay. I won't bolt."

I inhale sharply. "Why now? You don't owe me anything, Brian. You don't have to do it. You don't have to prove anything to me right now."

"I... I want to," he says, lying back against the pillow. "If we fucking die here in the snow I don't want to go out knowing that the last one to take my ass was... was...." Then he stops. His cock begins to retreat. I ease it out of my ass gently and discard the condom in a Kleenex. Then I pull the blankets back up around us.

That's what it is. Brian's fear of losing control. His memories of being used and abused long ago -- or not so long ago. So what is Brian really trying to tell me now? That it was Ron who fucked him the last time, just before Ron killed himself? Or was it those two guys in England who raped him in that alley? Or all of the other guys who abused him when he was a kid? Who fucked him and then sent him out into the snow, like he was something less than human?

For me, getting fucked in the ass is one of the prime pleasures of existence. It's better than eating and drinking and getting presents on Christmas. It's like all the best sensations you could ever have are focused right there in that one amazing, intimate, passionate act.

But I also know that Brian doesn't feel the same way. I know that it feels good for him when he gets fucked. I know that he likes it hard and he likes it fast. And he likes it to be over quickly, unlike me, who likes it to go on and on for as long as Brian can go -- and that's usually a long time! But I don't know if he enjoys bottoming in the same way that I do. I guess 'enjoy' might not be the right word. Because for Brian it's not so much about sex as it is about power. It's about having control and letting go of that control. And how Brian can't deal with letting go.

I truly believe that the only person Brian ever felt comfortable getting fucked by is Ron. That's not easy for me to admit, but I think it's the truth. And that it has to do with being a 16 year old kid looking for someone to trust. Looking for someone to love him. Someone to own him. To possess him. And it was about finding Ron, who Brian thought was that person. And then having it all go to hell. Having it end the way it did, in fear and anger and death. That's a shitty way to understand what love is -- or what love isn't. I guess it's going to take Dr. Gorowitz to untangle that situation in Brian's head. I'm not even going to try to untangle it myself. And I know one other thing that I'm not going to do. At least, not right now....

"I'm tired, Brian," I say, clinging to him under the heavy blankets. "I'm all fucked out for tonight. Do you mind?"

"No," he says. I can hear the relief in his voice. "That's okay. Maybe tomorrow. If we aren't frozen solid by then." He snuggles down against me in the dark warmth.

"If we are, then they'll find two stiffs with big smiles," I reply.

"And two STIFFIES," Brian adds. He laughs. In another minute I hear the little wheeze through his nose that means he's asleep. And then so am I.

***

"Whenever you invade my home
Everything I know flies out the window.
It's above you and beyond me, too.
I don't want an explanation,
But I'll be there when you bring the house down.

I hardly know which way is up
Or which way down.
People are strange, God only knows,
I feel possessed when you come 'round."

"I Feel Possessed," by Neil Finn.

Continue on to "Rescue Me".

©Gaedhal, September 2004.

Posted September 17, 2004.