You're Still Here

You see everything you see every part

You see all my light and you love my dark

You dig everything of which I am ashamed

There's not anything to which you can't relate

And you're still here

Alanis Morissette

"Brian."

His voice is husky and filled with lust. He runs his tongue along my neck, and I arch my back a little more. I know what he wants, but I won't give it to him. Not this time.

He's already seen too much. No matter how many walls I throw up, he seems to get by them. He saw me as a god. Daphne told me that once. Not that I was surprised. At least then, I still had control. I let him see me in all my glory. I was sex personified – intense, hard, wanting, sweaty. I was his every fantasy.

But he wanted more. So I showed him how I looked angry and hurtful, causing him pain because I could. He saw me cold and dismissive. He saw me so drunk and so high he should have run right back to Mommy. But he wouldn't fucking go away, so he caught me thoughtful and caring. And that gave him something to cling to.

His hands pull at me urging me closer. It would be so easy to give in, but still I resist. He's almost completely wrapped around me. He surrounds me, but I hold back.

For one perfect horrible night, he saw me open. He doesn't know that, and no matter how many times he hears the story he still can't believe. He came back to find me broken and useless. He saw my guilt and my shame, but he threw them aside and looked to me for healing. I'll never understand why.

He's seen me confident, cocky, and on top of my game. He's seen me play the hero and the villain. He's seen me bitter and vengeful and felt the sting when I lashed out. He's come to recognize the fear and doubt I try to hide. He knows I use sex as a weapon and a cover. He knows there are things I will never say and things I will never give him. But still he stays.

He gasps as I push deeper. There's a hitch in his breath that means he's close. He reaches for my face, tugging at my hair. His touch is insistent, pleading.

He left once. He saw my cowardice and limitations and wanted more. In the end, it meant nothing. He never really left, and I never really let him go. He saw through me. He knew what I wanted, he accepted my challenge, and he let me save face. In return, I gave him some of the truth.

He saw my ambition and my selfishness, but didn't let it blind him. He saw me clever and sneaky and saw how I enjoyed the game. He shared in my repercussions and my victory. He saw my insecurity; he saw me stripped bare with nothing but myself to offer. And still he stayed.

He saw me mortal. He saw me weak and ill and failing. I hated that more than anything, but I wasn't strong enough to push him away again. He watched me struggle just to breathe. He saw me too tired to work, too nauseous to move, and too proud to lean on him. He saw through my anger and met my fear with determination. He put aside his own hurt to give me hope.

And when that was done, he saw me impotent. He saw me lose the one thing I could always count on. He watched me fail over and over again. He heard my confession; he listened to my nightmares. And he waited. He stayed until we could make it back here. He celebrated with me at Babylon. He saw my need to declare myself whole. He let everyone see that Brian Kinney was back. Then he led me here under the lights. Where he has worshiped my body and made me feel whole for the first time. He has spent hours showing me his joy in my recovery. He still hides his fear, but it is there in the reverence of his touch.

"Brian, please."

I could pretend that he is simply asking for release. But buried inside him, joined with him, I can't hide from him. He has given me everything, and as much as I want to I cannot deny him this. I open my eyes and look at him. There is a brief moment of recognition before his climax overwhelms him. I follow quickly, but never take my eyes off of him.

I kiss him softly then press my forehead to his. It is all there in his eyes. He will never leave now. I have only myself to blame. He was never supposed to see this. He was never supposed to see me happy. He was never supposed to see my heart. But he has, and he's still here.

Return to Jule