THERE IS A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT

"A Queer As Folk USA FanFic"

by Gaedhal

This is Page 2 of Part 4 of Chapter 117 in the "Queer Theories" series.

Go back to Page 1 of "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out -- Part 4".

I turn on the television and VCR while Brian immediately flops down on our bed. His eyes are closed and I'm afraid that he's going to pass out on me. I don't want him to be fucking unconscious! HE needs to be awake. Completely awake! I don't want Brian sleeping through my big finale. I give him a slight nudge.

"Know what, Ron?" he says without opening his eyes. "They keep calling me about that 'Alexander the Great' picture. But the thought of a long, hard shoot in some dirty, scorching, bug-infested foreign location -- I just don't know."

"What part are they thinking of, Brian? Not Alexander -- you're way too tall!" But I smile at the thought of Brian in a golden breastplate and Greek tunic. It's a hot fantasy.

"Yeah, like it would matter to the studio. What the fuck do they care about historical accuracy? If it sells tickets, that's all they give a shit about." Brian shakes his head. "No, the boyfriend character. The guy that dies before the ending and Alexander goes nuts," he says, finally propping himself up, then pulling off his boots and throwing them on the floor. Brian hates wearing shoes. "It could be a good part and I guess they figure even a fag won't fuck that role up too badly. In fact, it may even help! At least I'd look natural lusting after whatever hot guy they cast as Alexander." He laughs and drinks down some more water while I cue up the video of the locations. Then I click it on and lay down on the bed next him. My dick is so hard in my pants that I can't think clearly.

"Jesus, talk about scorching! It looks awful dry, Ron. Hot and dry," he sighs, squinting at the video. "I'll go broke buying sunscreen."

"It's a Western, Brian. It's in the desert, remember?" I open up the box on the nightstand and take out a joint. It's Hawaiian. I take the first toke before I pass it to Brian. It's strong dope.

Brian takes a long, hard pull on the joint. "Justin will burn himself to a fucking crisp out in that Arizona sun! I'll be chasing him around all day rubbing sunblock on HIM!" Brian rolls his eyes. "On the other hand -- that could be kind of fun."

"Maybe Justin should stay home and study, Brian. After all, he's a student, isn't he?" I remind him, taking back the joint and putting it in my mouth. Shit. He always has to mention that kid.

"He's taking a leave of absence from the Institute of Fine Art next semester. And after we find a new place to live he's going apply to art schools out here." Brian yawns and reaches around for the bottle of water again, slugging it down. His eyes look a little woozy. I think maybe the combination of the 'E' and all that wine and now the grass on top of it wasn't such a good idea.

"Oh, right," I say. Justin is the last thing I want to talk about now, but I also don't want Brian to start arguing with me at this point. "What do you think of this landscape?" I ask, changing the subject. I point to the screen. "Striking, isn't it?"

"Looks great, Ron, but I can already feel my ass aching from riding a horse through those rocks all day long." Brian grabs the joint out of my mouth and sucks on it in a way that makes my dick jump.

"We'll use a double, then."

"Like fuck you will!" he spits. "If it's supposed to be ME, then it IS me. You said yourself that even in the longshots no one else looks like I do."

"That's the understatement of the century, Brian." He doesn't seem to notice that I have my hand on his leg. Or maybe he does notice and he doesn't mind. But why should he mind? He knows in his heart that we are supposed to be together. He admitted it to me. He knows that it's Fate. He said so.

"What about snakes out there, Ron? Because I'm not too fond of snakes," Brian mutters, gazing at the screen.

"I don't mind snakes -- certain kinds of snakes," I whisper. He already has that top button of his jeans undone, as usual, so it doesn't take much to unbutton the rest of them. Of course, he doesn't have on any briefs. That always makes it easier.

"Aw, cut it out, Ron," he says, half-heartedly. He's pretty stoned by now. The joint is hanging out of the side of his mouth and his eyes are unfocused.

"Don't be silly, Brian. What's the harm?" I pull out that magnificent cock. It really is a fucking work of art. Too bad Andy Warhol isn't still alive. He could make an epic film of just Brian's dick, hour after hour of it, like he made of the Empire State Building. Or maybe after I'm gone they could show a retrospective of my poolhouse videos. Some of Brian's greatest performances are on those videos. I'm glad I didn't get rid of them. In fact, at this very moment they are in a box under the bed, where they are always handy. I like to keep them close by so I can watch them whenever I feel like it. The 'Jack' tape is in there, too. I watch that one almost every night. Just me and Jack fucking and laughing and then fucking some more. I know I promised Brian's bastard of a lawyer that I would destroy that tape, but fuck him. Yeah, fuck him.

The only video that I don't have here is the one I made of Justin sucking me off. Manny Fishman has that in an envelope in his office safe. It's to be handed over to the kid after all this is over. Then he can do whatever the fuck he wants with it. He can fly to the Himalayas and climb up Mount Everest and throw the video off the edge if he wants to. He'll have enough money to do it. I just hope he enjoys that money. It will never take the place of Brian, obviously, but I'm sure the kid will get over it. And he can be happy that he's got a tiny walk-on role in a true Hollywood legend. How many big-assed boy toys can make that claim?

Brian's dick is as hard as a fucking rock in my hands. A lot of guys can't get an erection when they are drunk or on 'E' but not Brian. He can get a hard-on anywhere, at any time. He's always ready to fuck. Obviously, since he fucked that woman -- Lindsay -- right here in my house. Yes, he can even get hard for a female if he has to. Brian is truly amazing. And I want him to enjoy this last fuck. Really enjoy it. Enjoy this last one as much as he must have enjoyed the first one he ever had.

I'm just getting into it, putting as much of his incredible cock in my mouth as I can, when Brian starts pushing me away. He puts his hand down and tries to pull his dick away from me. "Don't do that, Brian," I tell him. "Let me finish what I've started."

"And I said to cut it out, Ron. Jesus." He fumbles around, awkwardly trying to get his 9-inch cock back into his pants. But it doesn't want to obey. That thing has a mind of its own. It tells HIM what to do and always has. And while he's wrestling with his cock, I already have his jeans half off of him. Then I pull my own shirt off. "Ron, not now. Please? Just quit it."

"You must be fucking kidding, Brian!" I say. "Why the fuck not now? Afraid the kid will find out and throw a little temper tantrum? He's not your fucking wife, Brian! He doesn't have to know!"

"That's not the point, Ron! I'll know!" he replies. "I'll know. And that's what matters. Because I promised."

That makes me really see red. "Those kinds of promises are bullshit, Brian!" I say. "What about all the promises you made to ME? Huh? Promises you made to me last year? And promises you made before you ever knew that kid! How about THAT, Jack?"

Brian blinks. "I'm not Jack! And I never made any promises to you, Ron. Never. Far from it!"

"That isn't how I remember things," I tell him. "And I remember the truth! Unlike some people, who only remember what they want to remember, when they want to remember it! Who only remember things when it's convenient."

"Ron," he sighs. "Things are going along nicely and everything seems okay -- and then you start all this shit! Is it any wonder that I don't want to come over here? You start acting all paranoid and saying this stuff about the past and our relationship and then you're trying to get into my pants. It's fucked up!"

"What? Afraid of your little fuck buddy?" I say, spitefully. "You are so pussy whipped, Brian! Be a fucking man for once!"

"Oh, you're a great one to teach that lesson, Ron. You are such a mature and enlightened character." Brian tries to sit up, but he's having trouble balancing himself. He's stoned and trying to pretend that he isn't. "And this has nothing to do with Justin! It has to do with YOU, Ron!" Brian finally rolls off the bed and pulls up his pants as he stands. "You need to get a life. And I mean soon."

"I have a life, Brian," I say. "And you're part of it. Always." I reach out and grab his hand. "Don't push me away just when we're starting to understand each other, Brian. Because we have a long history together and you can't just sweep that under the fucking rug."

Brian rubs his eyes. "Ron, I'm trying to understand what you really want. But when you always bring everything down to fucking...."

"You mean the way YOU always do, Brian?" I remind him. "Isn't that what it's all about? Isn't it?" I squeeze his hand. "You were the first guy I ever fucked and I would have been happy if you had been the only guy I ever fucked in my whole life. And I think you would have been happy, too. Don't you believe that? Because I believe it."

Brian is standing by the bed, hesitating. He's still shaky and he's trying to hold up his jeans with one hand, but he still doesn't let go of my hand. "Ron, don't you see that it would never have worked out? You would have gotten sick of me eventually. And we would have been miserable. Like some old married couple who can't stand each other."

I frown. "Why are you saying that, Brian? That isn't true! That would never have happened to us! Never!"

"It would have, Ron. Believe me. I was right to leave you in New York. Don't ask me to explain how I know that, but I do. But my other mistake was coming back and trying to start things up again last year. I... I was wrong then. And I'm sorry."

"It wasn't a mistake then. And it still isn't. You know it isn't, Brian. You can FEEL it isn't," I say, staring at him, trying to make him feel it. And he still hasn't let go of my hand.

But then he pulls back, slowly and gently, out of my grasp, and turns away from the bed. But then he stops short. "What's this? Are you playing my old CDs, Ron?" He picks up the one on top of a pile of CDs I have next to the bed. "Since when have you been listening to the Smiths?" He smiles slightly.

"You left it behind, Brian. And it fills the void," I say. "It helps me when I want to think about you. Go ahead, put it on." I click off the VCR and point to the CD player. He takes the CD out of the jewel case and pops it into the player.

"Where are all your Dylan CDs? And the Monkees?" Brian asks. And then he stretches himself back across the bed, next to me. I smile. I knew he wouldn't leave! I KNEW it! He can't leave. And now he'll never leave me.

"I save the Monkees for when I'm doing my serious writing and need to concentrate. And Dylan..." I pause, handing him the remnant of the joint. It's just a roach now. "I still wear that tee shirt you bought me at the Dylan concert."

"I wouldn't have bought it for you if I didn't think you'd wear it, Ron. You take things so fucking literally!" Brian looks at the end of the joint between his fingers. It's completely out. "I think we could use another one of these."

"I have plenty more where that came from. But let's wait and smoke it afterwards," I say. And then I kiss him.

He doesn't kiss me back at first, but he doesn't stop me either. He wants this as much as I do. I lean against him. Feel his cock, hard and perfect, straining to be released again from his jeans. He puts one arm around me and for that brief moment I know I have him. I really have him.

But then he stops and pulls back from me again. His eyes don't look so fuzzy anymore. He blinks a few times, like he's waking up from a long sleep. "I... I can't do this, Ron. I thought that... that... But I really need to go now. I mean it. I've seen the location video. I have the shooting schedule down. We're done here." He rolls away from me and stands up, putting his hand up to his head, like it aches.

"What's the matter? There's nothing to stop us! Brian?" I cry out desperately. "Brian!"

"You're wrong about that, Ron," he says, so softly. "There is something to stop us. Someone. And I remember now -- Justin IS coming home tonight. He isn't staying at Diane's. And I need to be there when he gets home. THAT is where I should be, Ron, not here with you. And that's the way it's going to be. So I have to go." Brian walks into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Shit! He's going to leave. But he can't. He can't leave now. That's not how it's supposed to happen. I get up from the bed and lock the bedroom door. He could just unlock it and go, but that will take a few extra seconds. And time is on my side right now. I open the drawer and take out the revolver. I open the box of bullets and shove some extras into the pocket of my pants. Then I take two bullets. I stare at them. One for him and one for me. A perfect symmetry. Everything will be perfect now.

I just have to get Brian back on the bed. And I will, even if I have to use the gun to do it.

Brian comes out of the bathroom. His jeans are still half undone. "What do you have there, Ron?"

I turn around. "This," I say. "Do you like it? Jerry Baxter got it for me. It's a Smith & Wesson .38 Special revolver. It holds six shots." I flick the cylinder with my finger. The bullets are inside there now. But not for very long. "It's nice, isn't it? I've been practicing with it in the backyard. You'd be surprised how good my aim is getting. And you'd be surprised at what a kick this thing has. You should see it blow apart a can. Or the way it explodes a piece of ripe fruit, like a melon. It's pretty impressive."

Brian swallows. "Why are you playing around with a gun, Ron? Has someone been threatening you? Because if that's the case then you should call the police. It might be one of those fucking hustlers, wanting money from you. You could get hurt."

"No one has threatened me, Brian," I answer. "And this IS about a hustler. But not one of those creeps from WeHo. Not at all. It's about another hustler. This is about Jack."

Brian rolls his eyes. He obviously thinks I'm bluffing. He'll find out. "Don't start that shit, Ron. It's getting old. And I have to go."

I move in front of the bedroom door. "I don't think so. Lay down on the bed, Jack. Now."

"I think you seriously need to get some help, Ron," he says. He sounds completely sober now. That's good. I want him completely sober. I want him to know what is happening. Just like I know what is happening. He makes a move to walk out of the bedroom.

But I'm standing in front of the locked door, blocking his way. And I have the gun. "Oh, no, Brian. You aren't going anywhere. And neither is Jack."

"Don't play around with that fucking thing," Brian says nervously. "You'll hurt yourself, Ron. I mean it."

"I know, Brian. And I plan to. Only not yet." I point to the bed with the revolver. "Get undressed. Hurry up."

He steps back, this puzzled expression on his face. He glances at the bed, then back at me. "No," he says, trying to steady his voice. "I won't."

"You had better, Brian! Now. I fucking mean it!" He's not going to fuck up my perfect scenario! He's already ruined my beautiful seduction by being obstinate. I really wanted to make love to him one last time. That would have been the perfect way. And now he's ruining my ending! My perfect ending! Fuck HIM! "You WILL do it!" I glare at him. I don't want to be angry, but he's making me angry! "Because I SAY so!"

"Oh, and because you have that phony gun to wave around?" Brian says, glaring at me. "You don't know how to shoot a gun, Ron! And showing me that silly prop isn't going to make me play your sick little game. Is this some kind of kinky scene you've been getting into with your hustlers? Isn't the rough stuff supposed to be MY role, huh, Ron? I'm the whore, after all! Is this all because I won't let you fuck me?"

"This gun isn't phony. You'll find that out soon enough," I say. "Get undressed. I'm not going to tell you again!" I hear a song come on the CD player. The perfect song. 'There Is a Light That Never Goes Out.' This has always been one of Brian's favorites. He used to play it over and over when he was depressed. Now I know it's the really right time.

"Fuck that, Ron. I'm leaving." But he just stands there, waiting for me to move away from the door.

I reach into my left pants pocket. That's where I have the extra bullets. I close my left hand around them and take them out. "See? I have all these bullets, Brian. They're real," I tell him. I hold out my hand and open it, showing him. He looks down, frowning. His eyelashes are so long and beautiful. And then when he looks up at me, he looks frightened. Good. He should be frightened.

"Ron, why are you saying these things? Why are you doing this? Why?" He stares at the gun and then at me. Like he's lived this scene before. Like he's dreamed it before. The way I've dreamed it, over and over again.

"Because there's no other way. I already told you that. Because of YOU, Brian. You and Jack. Because I love you -- and this is the only way to make it perfect. To make US perfect!" I close my left hand around the bullets, but my right hand is gripping the revolver tightly. I make sure the safety is off. Then I toss the bullets on the floor and he stares as they spill across the carpet at his feet. We are standing so close together that I can see my own reflection in his beautiful eyes. The last thing he'll ever see. Me. "All those bullets! See them? But I only need two!"

"Ron, what the fuck are you talking about?" Now I can see that he's really afraid. "What do you think you are doing with that thing? Ron? Answer me!" His voice is shaking now.

Jack is afraid of a lot of things. Pain. The dark. Being alone. The cops. That fucking bastard Stan. And I don't want Jack to be afraid of me, ever, but there's no other way. The fear and the pain will only last for a split second. And then it will all be over.

"Don't be afraid. Because everything is going to be all right. Finally, it will be all right. You'll just have to trust me." I raise the revolver up, nice and high, and cock it, aiming right for the center of his face. Dead center. I brace the gun with both hands, holding it steady. I'm sick of fucking around. This is the time. Right now. The only way to do it. The only way that it won't fail. "Just two bullets, Jack. One for you. And one for me."

"You're insane, Ron! No!" he whispers, even as I squeeze the trigger.

***

"To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die...
To die by your side,
Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine.

Oh, there is a light that never goes out.
There is a light that never goes out.
There is a light that never goes out.
There is a light that never goes out..."

From "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out," by Morrissey and Marr.

Continue on to "Key Card".

©Gaedhal, August 2003.

Updated September 8, 2003.