Night Moves
Home Battlestar Galactica RPS Queer as Folk Prison Break Lost Fic House MD Fiction Rescue Me Fiction


Title: Night Moves
Author: phobosgirl (
Date: 2/17/05
Rating: R
Authors notes: Feedback is more than welcome and can be sent to
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, never will, never wanted to.
Warnings: none
Complete: yes

Night Moves

“Does it come easy now?
”Does it spill out?
”And did he crack you open somehow?”

Dark shapes moved around him, threatening figures. He thought he was in Babylon, was sure of it because he could still taste the Beefeaters the trick he’d kissed had been drinking. They were going to the backroom to fuck, nothing threatening about that, but then things changed, shifted subtlety when he hadn’t been paying attention. His pants were open, his hands were tangled in the coarse, thick hair of the trick on his knees, his dick was in the trick’s mouth, but he didn’t recognize this back room.

Then he knew with sudden terrifying clarity that Justin was here somewhere, and there was danger. Something that would hurt him. The trick vanished and Brian looked down to find that he was still fully dressed. He started walking because that was the only way he was going to find Justin, find him so he could warn him, keep the danger away from him.

He turned a corner, and another and another, until he knew he was hopelessly lost. This maze was not his Babylon, he knew the backrooms and could navigate them with his eyes closed, but this was somewhere else. It felt like Babylon and yes, if he listened, he could even hear the music, but this was other. Oh god, this was other, and Justin was in here somewhere; he was being stalked in here, yes, he knew it now, stalked, and Brian had to save him, had to stop it.

More corners turned, more dark corridors at his back, deeper into the maze, and now he could hear Justin, he could hear him and Justin was laughing. Justin didn’t know that danger stalked him, he didn’t know that terrible things happened to beautiful blond boys in dark backrooms and parking garages, unspeakable things, bloody things. He didn’t know because he couldn’t remember. But Brian knew, he knew it all, he remembered everything, and now he had to move faster because it was coming, it was coming for Justin and he had to be quick.

But there were men, bodies, naked and writhing and where had they come from? He didn’t know, but they fucked and fingered and sucked and he had to push past them, there were so many. They blocked his path, impeded him, he couldn’t move fast enough and painted on the walls in red were the words Louisville Slugger and Brian’s heart leapt into his throat and he felt the menace closing in on Justin, on him, and where was he?

He tried to call out, to warn Justin, but his voice was a whisper, he couldn’t scream and the bodies pressed in on him tighter and some of them were laughing but Brian didn’t think it was a happy sound. It was laughter of a different sort, darker, frightening, and if he didn’t find Justin soon terrible things would follow and it would be all his fault.

It would be his fault because he’d brought Justin here and it was his job to keep him safe, Justin said he would, in Deb’s backyard, and Brian had tried to believed it. It was his weight, his burden, his responsibility, and like all his responsibilities, he was afraid he’d fail and if he did, the world would end in a cataclysmic impact that sounded horrifyingly like wood meeting bone.

And then there was Justin, thank God, there was Justin, he could see him, he was at the end of the hall. He was laughing and he was turned away from Brian but Brian had known him long enough, known him for years, known him all his life, all their lives, Justin was IN him now, so even turned away from him, he could recognize that Justin was happy and calm and didn’t know. He didn’t know that something was coming up behind him, something would take him away from Brian if Brian didn’t act right now, right this very second, oh fucking hell, instantly!

And he yelled, he yelled for Justin but it didn’t come out. His mouth opened and his lungs strained but it felt like he couldn’t breath, like he was suffocating, and nothing except silence came out of his mouth and more bodies pressed in and he couldn’t move. He’d never get there in time, he knew it, it was inevitable, he’d stand and watch as Justin’s life winked out in a splash of blood. It would be cold, so cold on the concrete, and a shadow detached from the wall next to Justin and Justin turned, saw Brian, and he was smiling and then there was a sound-

No, no, no, no, no,


Brian woke sitting fully upright, screaming into the hush of the nighttime loft.

He scrambled across the bed, his hands searching through the blankets and sheets, looking for Justin, finding nothing. The panic of his dream was slow in releasing him and he didn’t realize until later that there were actual tears rolling down his face or that he was muttering, “no, no, no,” under his breath.

“Justin!” he called out. “Justin?”

The sound of his own voice finally reached him, echoed back at him, and he began to realize that he was in his own bed, safe in his own bed at home, and Justin wasn’t here, but it wasn’t a cause for alarm. Justin was safe. He was in California working and he was perfectly fucking safe.

He stopped scrambling to find Justin, stopped muttering, stopped panicking and just breathed for a while, just inhaled and exhaled and when he was under control and the nightmare slipped into its proper place of fantastical imagery that couldn’t hurt him, he flopped onto his back and exhaled long and slow.

“Fuck,” he told himself. And then again, “fuck.” And then he laughed shakily and ran a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes, trailing down his sweat-soaked chest and abdomen.

“Fuck,” because it felt good to say something and not be so scared.

Without thinking, he rolled towards the docking station for the phone, which he’d relocated to the bedroom after Justin had left. He reached his hand out and stopped. Call him? And say what? I had a bad dream, kiss it better? Oh and btw, while you’re out there in California, beware of backrooms that are really parking garages because shadows carry baseball bats? Yeah, there’s a rational Kinney thing to say, isn’t it?

He rolled onto his back again. He’d be goddamned if he called 3000 miles in the middle of the night just to have his boyfr- Justin- hold his hand and tell him a bedtime story until he went back to sleep.

He wiped his face again and felt the tears there. Just sweat, he told himself, it’s fucking hot in here tonight, that’s all. I wasn’t crying because there’s nothing to cry about, it was a dream, and I’m a big boy, thank you, a very big boy, and dreams just don’t make Brian Kinney cry like a fucking girl.

He remembered the terror he’d felt in his dream, the awful search for Justin in the dark, being too late. As usual, always too late, way too slow. But he’d had dreams like this before, plenty of them after the prom, and he’d survived them just fine. He’d survive this one, too and he didn’t need to call Justin and hear his voice and make sure he was alright because why wouldn’t he be alright?

Of course he was ok, he didn’t need Brian to make sure he was ok, it wasn’t like he’d gone out to California and suddenly the world had turned into one big, flashing, orange danger sign to him. He was having the time of his life and when the job was over, he’d be back and they’d start making room for all his stuff and before long, he’d have cluttered up Brian’s loft and his life.

He really didn’t need to hear Justin’s voice because that was a stupid thing to need, only lesbians and children need stupid stuff like that. But the phone was at his ear and he hadn’t remembered reaching for it a second time, and just as he was starting to get that the phone was at his ear, the phone on the other end began ringing and when the fuck had he dialed?

“Brian?” Said a sleepy voice after only two rings, two long, agonizing, where-are-you-pick-up-the-fucking-phone rings and Brian breathed deeply, sucked in the air like he’d never get another chance.

“Yeah,” he said around the tightness in his chest.

“Another dream?” The little fucker was too clever, way too clever by half, he’d have to remember that if he was going to hang onto even a shred of dignity for two more months of waiting.

“Yeah,” he answered, and he didn’t sound annoyed that Justin knew him too well, like he hoped he would. Instead, he sounded relieved and, even to his own ears, a little grateful, as if Justin were the air in his lungs that he needed to live.

Justin sighed softly and Brian knew he wasn’t pissed off that he’d been waken up. Brian thought that just maybe Justin was a little grateful, too, and he drew in the sound of Justin’s sigh and used it to calm his thudding heart.

“Tell me about your day,” Justin instructed, and Brian nodded to himself in the dark. This was his bedtime story.

“Well,” he began, “today was Theodore’s birthday, and since the court has ordered that he’s not allowed to have any contact with porn of any kind, we couldn’t very well get him the new Dirk Diggler DVD collection, so…”

The End