when the monster is too big to slay

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The curtains rustled gently, buoyed on a soundless breeze that circulated through the still quiet of the room.  Brian could feel it just above him, joining the drifting current of endless thoughts that stole his sleep.

Again, he peeled back the light blanket and walked to the balcony of his hotel room.  The stars were dimmed by the city’s ambient light, but the sky was beautiful all the same.  Wisps of clouds earlier in the evening had cleared, revealing a stark, pale moon and a smattering of stars scattered as though mere afterthoughts to the untrained eye, but Brian knew better.  From his vantage point, he could just pick out Orion.  

The scene did nothing to lift his bleak mood, however.  

Frowning, he thought of last night.  

He worked his bottom lip, teeth worrying the flesh until sparks of pain urged him to stop.  Last night, before everything changed, he thought.  

And suddenly, a knock came at the door.  

There was no need to glance at the clock; he’d been looking at it every twenty minutes or so.  It was three am by now.  

He strode to the door, heavy on his bare feet, the white buttondown he’d worn to the after party unbuttoned to the waist of his jeans.  He didn’t bother with the peephole, having a good idea of who it might be.  

Brian unchained the door, still somehow surprised to see Roger standing on the other side of it. He still wore his clothes from the party… a black semi-sheer shirt that shimmered in the light from the hallway, black jeans melted to his slim frame.  His usual stunning blue eyes were red-rimmed and a little dull, from crying or drinking Brian couldn’t tell.

“Did I wake you? Ah Christ, I woke you didn’t I,” Roger rattled off.  He’d definitely been drinking, but he was far from drunk.  

Brian grabbed one of his restless hands, rubbing a thumb over the knuckles there.  “Don’t worry. I can’t sleep either.”

Roger met his eyes then, his lips curling downward into a soft pout.  “What are we going to do Bri?” He was on the verge of tears again…Brian could just tell, so he pulled him inside and closed the door behind them.  

“The best we can,” he whispered into his hair.  “That’s all we can do right now Rog.”  

He could feel Roger begin to tremble in his arms, and then pull away.  “Jesus,” he muttered, and smoothed a hand over his hair to steady himself.  “Have you got anything to drink?”  There was a tremor in his voice, and he was as frail and vulnerable as Brian had ever seen him. It made his heart seize to see it, and whatever personal grief he was experiencing at the moment multiplied tenfold at the sight of Roger in such a state.  

“Sure,” he soothed as he ran a hand down his arm.  “Scotch ok? It’s in the cabinet.”  

Roger poured himself a double, hands shaking on the decanter, and put it down with a loud clatter. He looked up sheepishly at Brian. “I’m a right mess, aren’t I?”

Brian rushed over to him, a hand settling at the small of his back.  “You are handling this as expected, Rog.  This is a shock to all of us.  I’ve been up all night trying to…” he plunged a hand into his deep brown curls, “trying to figure out how to even process this. It’s just a lot.”  

Roger bent his head forward as if in agreement, and Brian took the opportunity to stroke the back of his neck, just under his hair.  Roger looked back at Brian, a few tears streaking down the soft skin of his cheek. “Let’s go outside, yeah?  I need to smoke.”  

They sat on the balcony, neither of them saying much.  A barge passed through the canal below, and they watched it in silence.  Roger lit another cigarette, and when Brian held out his hand for it, he didn’t tease him about never smoking.  Not this time.

“How is Deaky,” Brian asked between drags.  “He hasn’t said much about it to me.”  

Roger’s eyes watched the water, then the sky.  “Me neither. It’s like he’s pretending nothing’s wrong.  That he’s fine.”  Roger flicked the cigarette out into the blank canvas of night, the cherry tumbling down into the dark.

“Nothing’s fucking fine Bri,” he said as he looked at Brian, then stood to leave.  “It’s never going to be fine again.”  

Brian followed him off the balcony and back into the relative warm of the hotel room.  Roger’s arms were folded over his middle, like he was cold.

“Here now,” Brian said comfortingly.  “Let’s get you out of this.”  His arms found Roger’s, and he fingered the flimsy material of his shirt almost lovingly. “You have to be freezing even in here.”

“You can wear one of my t-shirts…much more comfy.”  Brian bent his head and tenderly kissed the man’s cheek, tasting salt and sweat.  He moved his mouth to Roger’s ear.  “Why don’t you change and then come to bed.  We can both try to get some rest.”  

Roger reluctantly nodded, still at war with his emotions and utterly exhausted.  Brian got him the t-shirt and some pajama pants and left him to change, settling in bed once more.  He stared at the ceiling for a while until he felt the bed dip and Roger curl his warm body around his.  

“What if we lose him, Bri?” Roger’s voice was as small and delicate as his body felt in Brian’s clothes, and Brian wanted nothing more than to cover him with his own flesh, skin to skin, to protect him from harm, to protect Freddie, to protect Deaky, to—

“We’re not going to lose him,” he replied automatically, threading his fingers through Roger’s golden hair, pressing his sweet body against his as he sighed in the dark.  

Roger sniffed.  Crying again.  “He has…AIDS, Bri.”  A choked little sob escaped Roger as his face fell into Brian’s chest.  

Brian’s mind began to race. He could fix this.  For Freddie.  For Roger. For Deaky.  Selfishly, for himself.  “We’ll get the best doctors,” he stammered out.  “It’ll be ok baby.”

“We’re gonna lose him, Bri,” Roger murmured miserably into the tearstained patch of Brian’s shirt.  “We’re gonna lose our Freddie…”

Brian closed his eyes as the tears started to seep from under his lashes.  He let his lover cry against him, holding him tightly until he was finished, his small body hot and trembling in his arms with the aftershocks of his grief.  Sometimes tears come, and you have to let them.

“Roger,” he said after he was finished.  The blond lifted his face from the crook of his neck; it was puffy and his eyes were bloodshot and he was desperately in need of rest.  

“Do you know how much I love you?”

Roger quirked his mouth a little, his eyes showing the first glimpse of their old sparkle.  He nodded quickly, and if to prove his point, Brian dipped his head to give him a long and passionate kiss.  

“And do you know how much I love Freddie,” he asked Roger.  

Roger furrowed his brows before replying, “at least as much as I love him.”  

Brian smiled.  “Exactly.  And Deaky loves him that much as well.”  

Roger sniffled.  “So, what do we do Bri?”

Brian hugged him close. “We do what Freddie wants us to do. “We make music.  We go on like business as usual.  And we love him until we give him bruises.”  Roger smiled at that last part, nuzzling Brian’s neck before kissing his pulse point.  “Do you think you can do that, love?”

Roger nodded emphatically, pulling Brian so close their bodies were flush against one another.

He frowned suddenly, his lower lip between his teeth.  “But will that be enough Bri?”  

Brian placed a kiss to the crown of his head, fresh tears stinging his eyes.  “It will have to be love.  It will have to be.”

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