"A Queer As Folk USA FanFic"

by Gaedhal

This is Part 12.

Other recent stories in the "Queer Theories" series.

Go back to "Nowhere Man -- Part 11.

Features Brian Kinney, Michael Novotny, Emmett Honeycutt, Ted Schmidt, Fritz, Others.
Rated R for language and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: When bad things happen to good Brians, or, Brian has a disturbing experience at Babylon. September 2000.
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit. Watch Queer As Folk on Showtime, buy the DVDs, videos, and CDs. Read the stories and enjoy.

Wednesday, September 6, 2000, continued:


Brian and Michael both looked up. Brian started. It was the blond guy with the crewcut from the street.

"I thought I'd find you here!" said the blond, grinning. "Everybody ends up at Babylon! How about a dance now? Then maybe something else a little later?" The guy grabbed at Brian's hand and tried to pull him towards the dance floor.

"Fuck off, Fritz!" Michael yelled, stepping between them. Brian shrank back behind Michael. This blond guy was the last person he wanted to be confronted with again. His face went red thinking of the man groping him on the street and about how clueless he'd been.

"Come on, Mike. Give somebody else a chance," said the blond, swaggering a little in front of Brian, showing off his over-developed pecs. "You obviously aren't making any headway with him. Let me give it a try!" The man was smirking. He tried to tug at Brian again. "Come on, baby!"

"I don't really want to dance. Please. I mean it." Brian was trying to get away from both men, but he wasn't having any luck. He felt like a bone being fought over by two petulant dogs.

"Then what about the backroom?" said the blond. "You may not dance, but I'm sure you fuck, huh, beautiful? So, let's get to it."

"I said fuck off, Fritzie!" Michael's temper was rising. "What about that don't you understand? He's my friend and I brought him here, so get lost." Michael gave the bigger man a push.

Suddenly Emmett was between the two, hoping to defuse the situation. "Excuse me, gentlemen, but Brian and I need to use the powder room." Emmett firmly took Brian's arm, hustling him away quickly.

"Thanks, Em. That was too weird for me. What was THAT argument really about, anyway? It wasn't just about me, I can tell. What is it between Michael and that guy?" asked Brian, his mind still whirling.

"Fritz was one of Mike's old tricks from the gym," explained Emmett. "They have some 'issues' with each other. Fritz was one of Michael's regulars after he broke up with Chuck -- of course you didn't know Chuck! -- and they had a nasty spat over some bad steroids that Fritz was passing around. That ended their little fuck-buddy friendship and it's been dicey between them ever since. So, I thought it better if we ladies retreated for a little while and let the fellows work it out between themselves."

Emmett pushed aggressively through the crowd, dragging Brian towards the main floor men's room. Brian moved with Em through pulsating club, as they weaved their way around guys dancing, making out, making contact. Brian felt hands brush his ass and catch at his arms.

But Brian stuck closely to Emmett's side. Jeez, even when Brian had been on the street the johns had been more discreet. He'd never been groped in public, but he'd also never spent much time in a club situation. Brian's time had always been strictly for sale -- the men made the call, he went to the gig, did the job, and left. All very business-like and completely unsexy for the most part. None of this hormone-charged movement, this give and take, this sexual dance. It all threatened Brian's senses. You could get carried away in a place like this. It was all about sex and nothing else. That scared him shitless. Because Brian felt that he could easily be carried away if he wasn't careful.

In the men's room there were more guys making out. They were also openly taking drugs. This was another thing that threw Brian's normal paranoia into overdrive. Even when he was hustling back in New York, people just didn't take drugs so openly -- at least Brian didn't. He did it furtively, shamefully. The boys were given the dope as an incentive or a reward, but you did them alone, or maybe with Stan. But Brian had never done them with a trick or in a large group. That made him fearful and uncomfortable. This was a totally different scene from anything he was used to. All he could think was how it could get him into so much trouble just being here.

Brian went over to the urinals and did his business, while Emmett very pointedly looked on. Brian turned away, looking for a little privacy. This Emmett was awfully nosy. And bossy, too. Then Brian zipped up, washed his hands, and prepared to leave quickly. But Emmett held him back.

"What?" said Brian.

"Wait a minute, honey. Let Aunty Em do a little quick fashion surgery here." Emmett pulled Brian in front of the long mirror over the sinks and stood him up straight. Then he unbuttoned Brian's cuffs. The shirt was a little too big on Brian, Em thought. Why won't this boy get something that really fits? But the shirt sleeves were fairly loose. He began rolling up Brian's sleeves.

"What ARE you doing?" Brian asked.

"Ah, ha!" cried Emmett. "There ARE arms under there! I knew I felt something nice!" He rolled up Brian's sleeves as far as they would go, revealing smooth, golden biceps. "Totally yummy! I suppose you wouldn't let me rip these sleeves completely off, would you, baby? I can just picture you in sleeveless denim -- or maybe a black leather vest!"

"You... you want to rip my shirt?" said Brian, incredulously. "Why would you do that? This is a Van Heusen! Ron's mother gave it to me for my birthday!"

"Honey, I'm NOT the type to speak ill of anyone's dear, sainted mother, but, baby, this shirt is HORRIBLE!" Emmett confided.

"What do you mean? What's the matter with it? It's a perfectly good shirt -- it's 100% cotton!"

Emmett stood back and shook his head sadly. "Baby, with that body YOU should be wearing silk! Or something very clingy. And this off-white? It's just OFF, hon! You need black or bright red! Or maybe even an emerald green to bring out your eyes."

Emmett's mention of a red shirt gave Brian a momentary jolt, remembering another red shirt from a long, long time ago. "You... you mean a bright red shirt? Isn't that a little... garish?" Brian looked down at his trusty Van Heusen.

"Not garish -- interesting! Flashy! Beautiful! Why would anyone want to detract from THAT face with a dull old rag like THIS!"

"My face?" said Brian, confused.

"Of course! Baby, your face is so beautiful that your clothes should compliment it, not detract from it!" Em fingered the cotton shirt with disgust. "And this doesn't show off ANYTHING! Here, let me."

"What are you doing?" said Brian, in a panic, as Emmett began to unbutton the Van Heusen all the way down to Brian's waist.

"Now THIS is what you should be flaunting, baby. Beautiful, just beautiful!" Em drew his fingers slowly and seductively down Brian's bare chest and, although he wasn't the least bit attracted to Michael's flamboyant friend, Brian could feel his neglected cock stir merely at the delicious sensation of being touched so languidly. It had only been a few days since that quickie with Ron before the Labor Day faculty picnic, but Brian's frustration level had been rising for a long time even before that. So, although Brian never liked to admit it to himself, he was horny. And the openly sexual nature of this place was beginning to work on his body, if not his mind.

Emmett noticed the sudden movement in Brian's Dockers, too, and before Brian could stop him Emmett had Brian unzipped and his hand was firmly grasping Brian's now swelling hard on.

"Goodness gracious, baby! I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but how long were you planning to keep this beast under wraps? Believe me, it takes a lot to impress Emmett Honeycutt because I've seen it ALL, but YOU have managed it!"

"Jesus, Emmett! Stop that." Brian tried to move away, but he was rather held in place by the other man!

"What do we have here? Nine inches? At least?" Emmett was practically licking his lips.

Brian squirmed under Emmett's expert scrutiny. "More like eight, I think. I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Matter? Of course it matters!" Em looked around at a small crowd that had gathered to observe the proceedings with this interesting newcomer. "Tell me, boys -- Brian thinks nine inches is something to HIDE in a pair of boring and baggy khaki pants. What do y'all think?"

And the men laughed. "Let ME take a closer look!" said one.

"And me next!" said another.

"Excuse me, PLEASE!" Brian pried Em's hand away from his cock, shoved it back in his fly, and zipped up over the still swelling organ. "Jeez, eight or nine, what difference does it make? And why are you all so interested?"

"Honey, you HAVE been down on the farm WAY too long!" cracked Em and the other spectators joined in the laughter. "What difference does it make? Only all the difference in the world! Baby, your dick is your fortune in Queer World! Hasn't anyone ever told you that?"

Brian just stared at Emmett -- and at the other men who were speculating over his cock while standing in this filthy bathroom. He thought that he'd never been so embarrassed in his life. And, of course, his cock was merely getting harder as it was getting more and more attention!

"Will someone please tell this boy the true meaning of nine beautifully cut and perfectly formed inches, hm?" Emmett asked the assembled masses. "No wonder someone back home wants to keep THIS all to himself! That is just RUDE! And Michael is going to be quite delighted at the prospect of taking it ALL home with him!"

"Emmett! Will you please shut up!" Brian said, completely mortified. "And I'm not going home with Michael! Who said I was?"

"Oh, honey -- Michael never wastes his time with dead end tricks! Besides, you should give him a try. He may be short, but he's got the right moves, believe me! You know what they say -- 'short and thick does the trick'! He can make a girl swoon if he wants to -- and with YOU I can tell he wants to!"

Brian recoiled. "I'm NOT going anywhere with Michael. He's just a friend. I only came here so we could talk."

"You came to Babylon to TALK? Now that IS a first! Why would anyone with a gorgeous face, a gorgeous body, and a glorious NINE INCH COCK come to Babylon to talk? Are you perverse?"

Brian leaned over. "Will you keep your voice down? Why are you broadcasting my dick size all over the place?"

"I'm just making certain that your dance-card is filled, baby!" Em's face was all innocence. "This is your first time at Babylon -- I just want to make sure you have some fun! So, let's dance!"

"But, Emmett, I'm NOT dancing! I don't even know HOW to dance!"

"Brian, my dear," Emmett said, cocking his head. "All YOU have to do is STAND there! THEY will do all the dancing! And they will be happy for the PRIVILEGE of just being there next to you, believe me!"

"But, Emmett, I...."

But Em was finished with all that chit-chat. Instead, he seized Brian's elbow and ushered him out of the men's room and down the corridor to the main floor of Babylon. Brian stumbled along, caught up in the other man's relentless momentum.

Emmett dragged Brian right to the very center of the dance floor. Then he turned Brian first this way and then that way, trying to get him at least into the basic rhythm of the music.

"Emmett!" Brian yelled above the loud, pounding music. "I can't do this! I'm IRISH! I have NO rhythm!"

"Don't be silly, baby! Haven't you ever seen 'Riverdance'?"

Brian rolled his eyes. "That's an optical illusion, believe me!"

"We shall see!" said Emmett -- and he stepped back.

There was an immediate rush to fill the gap.

One short, curly-haired man had followed Brian and Emmett from the men's room, while another muscular redhead had been waiting for his opportunity ever since Brian and Michael had entered the club. Brian found himself uncomfortably pressed between the two, the first groping his chest and the other squeezing his ass, while they moved to some ear-splitting techno mix.

Emmett, pleased with his work of transformation, returned to the bar, grinning. With a little more work, Brian could be quite a Honeycutt success story -- Emmett had taken a little Flower Girl and turned him into a Duchess at an Embassy Ball, just like Professor Henry Higgins!

Michael looked around. "Emmett, where's Brian?"

"Oh," said Em. "I sprinkled him with a little of my magic fairy dust and now he's the belle of the ball! He should have a fine old time now!"

"You WHAT?" screamed Michael. "What the fuck did you DO, you stupid queen? Where the fuck is Brian?"

"He's on the dance floor, right over there." Emmett pointed through the surging bodies where they could just barely see Brian being jostled and manhandled in the center of the floor.

"I could KILL you, Em! I was saving him for MYSELF!" Michael's face was red with fury.

"Mike, the minute I saw him I KNEW that boy had talent! Believe me, from what I saw in the powder room, you don't have to save anything! There is PLENTY of talent to go around -- a couple of times!"

"Really?" said Ted, with great interest. Emmett nodded vigorously.

"Well, fuck YOU, Em!" Michael yelled and pushed his way towards the dance floor. But he was unable to get close enough to Brian to retrieve him. Brian had already been shifted to the other edge of the floor and a traffic jam of guys were between Michael and his goal.

And Brian, dizzy with being turned around and around, was now merely moving with the flow of the bodies surrounding him. Every few minutes he would try to shake himself loose, but it seemed useless. The two guys who were wedged against him had been joined by a third, a tall, dark man in a white tank top, who passed a vial to the first guy. He took a sniff and then held it to Brian's nose.

The popper hit Brian with a force that almost knocked him over. It had been twelve years since he had really taken any illicit drugs and the jolt of the amyl nitrate kicked in almost like the first rush of smack. His head was reeling with the shock and, before he knew what was happening, Brian was half-guided, half-pushed off of the dance floor and into a darkened area of the club, behind some beaded curtains.

Brian tried to push away the other men, but by now they had a tight hold on him. He tried to escape to some place where he could clear his mind and get his bearings. But it was no use -- Brian seemed buffeted by forces over which he had no control. He looked around, wondering where the hell Michael was. And where had Emmett gone? Or that other guy -- Ted? No, Brian was alone and completely on his own in this confusing, stifling pit.

Brian felt dazed as the two men who had dragged him into the backroom attacked him simultaneously. One leaned him against a pillar in the middle of the dim room so he didn't fall, while the other pulled open his trousers and hauled out his rising cock, devouring it eagerly. As out of it as he was feeling, the strange man's expert blow job was working on his whole body. As hard as Brian's conscious mind tried to fight it, the waves of pleasure coursed through him as he felt himself nearing orgasm.

The third man, standing by and waiting, once again pushed the vial of amyl nitrate under Brian's nose. Brian's eyes rolled back and the surge of the drug caused him to shoot with a force that made him gasp and almost drop to his knees. He couldn't even see the person who had his cock in his mouth or the one who took hold of it after he shot. Brian was still as hard as before he had come and the next man knelt and mouthed him impatiently.

Brian blinked and saw the blond with the crewcut -- Fritz -- coming closer to him. Attaching himself to Brian's chest, his neck, his mouth, prying it open with his tongue, and plunging in violently. Brian felt beset from all sides, hot and cold all at once, thrilled and horrified. But his body was responding against his will, arousing to the movements of the other men, leaning into their rough caresses.

Fritz untucked Brian's shirt and shoved it back. He reached across his chest, his sides, his hands snaking around Brian's back and down the back of his pants to feel his smooth ass. Fritz fumbled at the front of Brian's fly, unfastening it, then reaching back again, feeling down between his cheeks, then trying to shift his pants completely down. "So smooth," the man whispered. "Oh, yeah, this is what I've been looking for!" Fritz began probing between Brian's ass cheeks, searching....

Brian flinched and shook himself back to his senses. He pushed Fritz away, then the guy working his cock. He hiked his pants back up. Brian stumbled a bit as he tried to walk, shoving his still hard cock back into his Dockers, staggering towards the beaded curtains.

"Don't go now," Brian heard Fritz at his ear. "We're just getting started! I'm gonna fuck you right here until you can't stand up straight."

"Oh no you're not!" Brian croaked out, elbowing Fritz in the chest. The other man rocked back in surprise and Brian flew out of there.

Michael was waiting, a few steps beyond the curtains. He saw Brian and rushed forward. "Brian! Are you okay?"

"Get me the fuck out of here! Mikey -- please!"

Michael seized his arm and led his friend back to the bar. Brian was shaking. His pants were still half undone and his shirt was hanging open.

"Well, well, well!" said Emmett. He was leaning against the bar, a Cosmopolitan in his hand. Ted was standing next to him, in his usual spot. "From the look of you, you've had quite a fine time! I KNEW you'd be popular, baby!"

"Shut the fuck up, Emmett!" snapped Michael, putting his arm around Brian, protectively.

"F... fine time?" Brian just stared at the other men in confusion. "Some... some guys grabbed me and blew me in some dark room!" Even as Brian said it he couldn't believe it had happened to him. It was like something out of a bad dream -- or a very bad porno film. "I don't even know who they WERE! I... I couldn't SEE them! Jesus!"

Ted just shook his head. "And I've been here for two hours and haven't even had a nibble!"

Brian turned to Michael. "There were guys FUCKING back there! Right in front of everyone! Some guy -- that guy with the crewcut! -- he tried to fuck ME! Jesus Christ!" He buttoned up his Van Heusen shirt and tucked it in. His dick was only just beginning to retreat a little inside his pants. Then Brian reached across the bar for his corduroy jacket.

"That goddamn Fritz!" snarled Michael.

"Don't go there, Mike," warned Ted. "You remember what happened the last time you two mixed it up!" Ted hadn't been there when the fight started on the street outside Babylon, but he remembered the nasty beating that Mike took from the larger man.

"I don't give a fuck!" Michael raged. "How dare Fritz try to steal MY fucking trick! That son of a bitch!"

Brian looked at his 'friend,' horrified at his attitude. His trick, huh? I don't think so. "I'm getting the hell out of here. Now." And Brian moved swiftly towards the entrance of Babylon.

"Brian! Stop! The night is just starting!" Michael was following him, calling.

Brian paused. "No, Mikey. For me it's ALL over!" Brian shouted with frustration and mortification. Shit! He couldn't even imagine how ballistic Ron would go if he even knew that Brian had been to this club, let alone what had happened to him here. And Brian had let it happen! Ron would fucking KILL him! Brian felt like a goddamn fool. This was SUCH a mistake!

Michael trailed his friend to the door of the club and out onto the sidewalk. "Brian, please don't go yet! I'm sorry for what happened, but it's okay! It happens all the time here!"

"Not to ME it doesn't, Michael!" Brian said. "I'm totally disgusted with myself. I let that stuff happen to me! It's all MY fault! I'm supposed to be the faithful one, Michael. I'm supposed to be the one who believes in commitment and monogamy! And now it's ALL ruined!"

"Brian, please...."

"Don't sugar-coat it, Michael! What am I going to tell my partner, huh? What?"

"Nothing, Brian!" Michael replied. "You don't have to tell him anything! It was nothing! Really. It was just sex!"

"Yeah, nothing to YOU. Just sex!" Brian closed his eyes. "That's not 'nothing' to me, Mikey. Sex isn't 'nothing' to me! It's supposed to be something you share with someone you care about. It isn't supposed to be a bunch of strange guys fucking in some backroom! If sex means so little to you, then I'm sorry for YOU. But now I feel like total shit! Jesus, I don't know what I'm going to tell Ron...."

"Don't tell him anything, Brian! It's... it's all right." Michael reached up to touch Brian's stricken face. "Come home with me, Brian. Please. I've been thinking about you for all these years. And it WILL mean something. I'll make it mean something. I promise."

Brian pulled back slightly, not wanting to insult the other man. "Mikey, I can't. I... I have to go. Really. I have to."

"Brian -- please!"

Brian looked at the man who had once been his closest friend. His only real friend. But he had no desire for him, especially now. Especially after the fiasco at the club. He'd never felt that way about Mikey. And anything they might do now would only be further proof to Brian of his own confusion and depression. Further proof of the deep unhappiness he had been afraid to admit to himself for years.

But there it was. Nothing really new. Brian was desperately depressed and there was nothing he could do about it. And being manhandled by some faceless, nameless guys in a backroom -- or going home for a joyless fuck with his childhood friend certainly wasn't going to assuage his despair.

But as Brian stood with Michael outside the club, he thought of how easy it would be to take advantage of this man. To sate himself on his adoration. Maybe even take his frustrations out on him in some way or work out Brian's increasing desire for a little equality in a relationship, a little control. Because with Mikey, Brian could take control, using his friend's expectations, his love, his store of memories. Brian was almost thirty and he still felt like a child. He was sick to death of bottoming out in the bedroom, the living room, and worst of all, in his own mind. Ron made great claims of an equal relationship, but it was only equal under Ron's terms and at Ron's pleasure. And Brian's feelings of guilt and obligation kept him compliant. Kept him perpetually sixteen years old, cold and hungry for even a kind word.

It might give Brian some momentary satisfaction to repay Michael's years of devotion with a few hours in his motel room or back at Mikey's apartment -- would his mother be listening in the next room, wondered Brian? And Brian might actually enjoy it -- to a point. His cock obviously hadn't minded the attention it received in the backroom of Babylon, even if his head had been freaked out. And Michael would undoubtedly love anything Brian wanted to do. But what would it prove? That Brian could be as cynical and anonymous as the men at the club? Or as controlling and arrogant as Ron?

Brian leaned down and kissed Michael lightly on the lips. "I can't, Mikey. I'll see you around."

"Brian! Wait a minute," Michael called. "Come to breakfast tomorrow. At the diner. Ted and Em and I meet there almost every morning around 9 a.m., especially after we've been to the club the night before. It's like a ritual we have. You could join us there."

"Why, Michael?" Brian felt that Michael was only trying to postpone the inevitable.

"Just because. Because...." Michael was grasping at straws, seeing his last chance with Brian slipping away. "It's just a thing we do. As friends. Just friends. I promise. So please come."

Brian looked down into Michael's brown eyes and thought he could see the small, vulnerable boy who used to live inside this angry, damaged man. The boy Brian had loved and protected a long time ago. "I'll try to be there, Mikey. I will. I can't promise anything, but I'll try."

And Michael watched Brian walk away, down Liberty Avenue, his golden brown hair illuminated in the darkness by the light of a nearby streetlamp.

Continue on to "Nowhere Man -- Part 13.

©Gaedhal, November 2002

Posted November 9, 2002