Hello everyone, I’ve only been a fan of QAF fan fiction for a few years. I feel like I’ve read everything that’s still available online. However, I very often come across deleted accounts and stories that no longer exist. Would anyone be willing to share their private library of stories that are no longer online? I especially enjoy alternate universe fics and series or long multi-chapters stories. Thank you very much.
Chapter 14
Justin
*
"You can only outrun your past if you stop pretending it’s not still walking behind you."*
The gallery opening was loud, too bright, and smelled like champagne, orchids, and expensive cologne. Justin hated it.
But Emmett looked like he belonged on the cover of Architectural Digest, swanning from room to room in a dramatic teal silk coat, while Ted played the stoic fiancé in black velvet.
Brian stood near the rear exit like he was casing the place. Justin caught him eyeing the distance between him and the door at least three times before the first tray of canapés passed.
“You okay?” Justin asked, appearing at his side with two flutes of sparkling wine.
Brian took the glass without answering. His eyes flicked to a painting on the wall behind Justin—one of Justin’s. A new piece. Abstract, but not empty.
“Is that…?”
“Yeah,” Justin said. “It’s called Feral Devotion. Emmett insisted on naming it.”
Brian gave a single huff of laughter.
Ted approached then, holding a clipboard. “Gentlemen. Would one of you like to sign the registry as ‘patron’ so Emmett stops threatening to sell my stock portfolio to fund champagne?”
Justin took the clipboard.
When they were alone again, Brian leaned in. “You hate this.”
“I do,” Justin admitted. “But I love seeing your face while you’re pretending you don’t.”
Brian chuckled. “We can leave early. Say we have sex scheduled.”
“That would be a lie.”
“Only if we don’t leave early.”
Justin grabbed his hand. “Five minutes. Bathroom. Don’t make me beg.”
( Collapse )Chapter 12
Justin
*
"There are moments that last longer than years."*
They spent the afternoon in the studio.
Brian had cleared it out while Justin was gone—like he couldn’t decide whether to keep it as a shrine or finally let it breathe. Now, sunlight spilled through the big east windows. Dust motes danced in the air. Everything smelled like cedarwood, turpentine, and memory.
Justin stood in front of a fresh canvas, shirtless, a pencil tucked behind his ear, and a smear of charcoal across his cheek. He hadn’t painted in a space that felt like his in years. New York had been white walls and clean lines. Berlin had been cold metal. This was… alive.
Brian stood at the doorway with a coffee and a silence that didn’t need to be filled. He didn’t interrupt. He just watched, eyes narrowing slightly as Justin moved—setting up palettes, testing color, sketching the outline of something that looked like a mouth. His mouth.
“Don’t move,” Justin said suddenly.
Brian blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Right there. Stay. That angle.”
He was already grabbing his graphite, measuring by eye. It was like breathing. Muscle memory. Need made tangible.
“I didn’t agree to pose,” Brian said. But he didn’t move.
Justin smirked. “Good. Because I didn’t ask.”
Brian leaned against the doorframe, lips twitching. “You always this bossy with your models?”
“Only the ones who used to fuck me and ruin my life.”
Brian tilted his head. “Ruin?”
“Okay, improve it. Eventually. After all the trauma.”
( Collapse )Chapter 11
Brian
*
"The body remembers what the mind forgets. And mine never forgot you."*
He woke slowly.
Justin's leg was tangled with his. His head nestled under Brian’s chin, warm breath rising and falling with a rhythm that was too damn familiar.
The sheets were kicked halfway down the bed. A light breeze moved through the room, bringing with it the scent of honeysuckle and night air. But all Brian could smell was Justin.
He wanted to stay like this. Just a little longer.
So he didn’t move.
He watched the ceiling fan turn. Felt the subtle shifts in Justin’s body as sleep faded. He felt the moment Justin woke—there was a hesitation in his breathing, then a twitch of fingers against Brian’s ribs.
“You always this creepy in the morning?” Justin mumbled.
Brian’s lips twitched. “Only when I’ve had dreams about fucking you in the Carnegie Museum’s dinosaur wing.”
Justin’s laughter was muffled against his chest. “Velociraptor voyeurism. Sounds about right.”
They didn’t move for another ten minutes. It was enough.
Eventually, Brian kissed Justin’s temple. “Coffee?”
Justin nodded. “Only if you’re making it.”
Brian rolled out of bed, naked and unapologetic. Justin watched him cross the room, long and lean and still impossibly magnetic. This man—this man had haunted his work, his nights, his memory.
And now he was here. Real.
Justin stretched and followed him down the hall.
( Collapse )Chapter 10
Justin
*
"You said you'd wait for me. I just never asked how long you meant."*
He couldn't sleep.
Brian had dropped him off hours ago. Back at the house, Justin had paced his room like a stranger. Nothing felt settled. Not even the silence. Especially not the silence.
So he did what he always did.
He sketched.
First outlines. Then gestures. Then one long, uninterrupted line—Brian’s spine, leaning against the porch railing, the way he always did when he was trying to hide how much he was feeling. He added cigarette smoke curling like calligraphy. The edge of a porch light. Shadows Justin had memorized without meaning to.
The next page came more easily.
Brian—again—but this time in bed. Back arched. Lips parted. That particular tilt of his hips that was halfway between control and surrender. Justin didn't even realize he was hard until his own breath caught.
He didn’t stop.
He let the sketch go darker, deeper. Eyes half-lidded. Sweat beading. That sound Brian made when he came, barely audible but devastating. Justin knew it. Could recreate it in pencil.
He stared at the finished page, stomach fluttering.
He didn’t hear the knock at first. It was soft. Deliberate.
Brian opened the door halfway and leaned in, casual as sin. “Can’t sleep?”
Justin blinked. “Apparently not.”
Brian’s eyes flicked to the open sketchbook.
He smirked. “That how you’ve been passing the time?”
Justin didn’t answer. Just turned the page over.
( Collapse )Chapter 9
Brian
*
"Sometimes the future arrives wearing your past like a second skin."*
Michael's arms were around Justin before the door even fully opened. Brian stood on the porch, backlit by the weak spring sun, arms folded tightly across his chest, watching them. Michael’s sob was half-laughter, half-breathless joy, and Justin returned the hug awkwardly at first, then melted into it with something like a quiet sob of his own.
"You little shit," Michael murmured, pulling back just enough to punch Justin gently in the chest. "You just show up again after all these years? You know you ruined our Friday trivia nights. Ted refused to play if he couldn’t scream your answers out loud."
Justin laughed, his eyes shining. “I missed this. I missed you guys.”
Brian leaned against the doorframe, not coming in. Not yet.
Ben appeared at the top of the stairs, a blanket over one shoulder, a mug of tea in his hand, and a sleepy look on his face. The moment he saw Justin, his whole body straightened.
“Hey, Professor,” Justin said gently.
Ben’s mouth twitched. “Still painting chaos and seduction, or did you finally cave and start doing portraits of your cat?”
“No cat,” Justin said. “Just a lot of... unfinished business.”
He glanced back over his shoulder at Brian, who hadn’t moved.
Ben nodded, as if he understood all the subtext Justin didn’t have the courage to say out loud.
( Collapse )To Justin's surprise, Brian nodded. "I understand that. It's why I started Kinnetik instead of staying at Vanguard. I wanted to create advertising on my own terms."
Justin looked at Brian with newfound appreciation. It was rare for Brian to draw parallels between their lives or reveal his own motivations so transparently.
"So you're not disappointed?" Justin asked.
Brian shook his head. "Why would I be? Your career is your business. Besides," he added with a characteristic smirk, "I've always preferred artists to commercial illustrators."
Justin laughed. "Is that what I am to you? Your artist?"
Something flickered in Brian's eyes—a moment of vulnerability quickly masked. "You're not mine, Justin. You're your own."
The statement hung between them, layered with meanings neither was ready to fully unpack. Justin sipped his wine, trying to decipher what Brian was really saying.
"The Parker presentation is next week," Brian said, changing the subject. "After that, you're free to pursue whatever artistic vision you have."
"And what about us?" Justin asked, unable to stop himself. "After Parker, what happens to us?"
Brian's expression closed off slightly. "Why does anything have to happen? We enjoy each other's company. We have great sex. Why complicate it?"
"Because complications are already here," Justin said quietly. "At least for me."
Brian set down his wine glass, his jaw tightening. "Justin—"
( Collapse )Brian stood in the doorway of his loft, the amber glow from the city lights slicing through the darkness. Justin sat on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, his fingers absently tracing patterns on the hardwood. He hadn’t spoken in over an hour. Maybe longer. Brian had stopped counting after the third cigarette, after the second glass of Beam.
The silence wasn’t new between them, but this kind of silence—it wasn’t the usual stubbornness, the usual unspoken dare to see who would break first. This was something else. Something heavier.
Brian exhaled, slow and controlled, though everything in him felt jagged. “If you’re waiting for me to say something, you’re gonna be waiting a long fucking time.”
Justin didn’t move. His breath hitched, just once, just enough for Brian to catch it. Enough for him to know that something had already broken, and maybe it had been breaking for a while.
“It’s different this time,” Justin finally whispered. His voice was raw, like he’d been swallowing his words until they burned. “We can’t just fuck it away. We can’t drink it away. We can’t pretend this—” He gestured between them, fingers trembling. “—isn’t happening.”
Brian scoffed, though it lacked bite. “And what is this, exactly?”
Justin looked up at him then, blue eyes glassy and too damn honest. “The end.”
Brian felt it like a gut punch, though his face didn’t so much as twitch. Instead, he took another slow drag, the ember at the end of his cigarette flaring bright. “You’ve said that before.”
( Collapse )Title: "Gravity"
Summary: In an alternate universe, Brian Kinney is a celebrated architect in New York, a man of power and control who has built his life around success, cynicism, and carefully measured distance from love. Justin Taylor is a struggling artist fresh out of art school, trying to make it in a city that eats dreams alive. When fate throws them together on a rainy night, their worlds collide in ways neither of them could have predicted. Lust is instant. Passion is undeniable. But love? Love is the one thing Brian Kinney doesn’t believe in. And Justin Taylor refuses to settle for anything less.
Chapter One: The Storm
It started with rain. A relentless downpour that turned Manhattan into a chaotic blur of neon reflections and hurried footsteps. Brian Kinney had seen enough storms to know that the real ones—the ones that truly changed things—never gave any warning.
He had left a high-profile gala, his black Prada suit soaked through despite his best attempts to find a cab. He hated being wet, hated the way the rain clung to his skin like something alive, something inescapable. He ducked into a small café to wait it out, brushing water from his hair with a sharp exhale of irritation.
And that’s when he saw him.
( Collapse )