Title: Atonement

Author: little Alex

Date: July 10, 2000

Fandom: Queer as Folk

Disclaimer: The men (sorry, can't think of any of them as boys) aren't mine. They belong to Russell Davies, Red Productions, and Channel Four. Lucky bastards.

Spoiler: Everything and anything in Series One

Pairing: Cameron Roberts [Peter O'Brien]/Stuart Alan Jones [Aidan Gillen]

Rating: Strong R to slight NC-17.

Warning: Heavy angst

Archive: Yes, of course.

Summary: One of the nights after Vince's birthday party and before his and Stuart's lunch date

Atonement
by little Alex
*****

The door slammed shut and the lights snapped on.

Naked in his bed, Stuart looked up blearily but the opaque glass wall blocked his view. "Whoever you are, fuck off." His head pounding from his hangover, he was in no mood to deal with visitors, especially now, when none of his possible visitors could be Vince.

But that was his own damn fault, wasn't it, that his closest friend for fifteen years would never darken his door again? His own damn fault that he still had a conscience after all these years; his own damn fault that he didn't have the courage to admit his love to the one man in the whole huge
world whom he actually loved. Only when he was completely pissed, like now, where his own conscience had refuse to listen to him to fuck off, could he admit to himself that Vince was right. That this whole mess *was* his fault. Right now, all he wanted was to be left alone, with his guilt and loneliness, knowing that he deserved nothing better.

His self-invited guest, however, seemed to have other ideas. Arriving at the threshold of the alcove quickly, the tall shadow turned out to be Cameron. The handsome accountant leaned against what one would have to call doorframe and Stuart simply frowned, still glaring. "I said, fuck off."

Cameron studied the owner of the flat for a long moment. "Just tell me why."

"Why, what?" And why did he answer with a question of his own? He didn't want this; he so didn't want this. Playing the blame game with Cameron would accomplish nothing, absolutely nothing.

"Not even you can be that much of a bastard. So, why?" Cameron just stood there, his expression containing equal amounts of anger and puzzlement.

Stuart merely groaned and then sighed. "None of your damn business. Now, as I've already said, *fuck* off." Stuart covered his eyes with his right arm, trying to fend off the offending light and not succeeding. Squinting, he glanced back at his unwelcome visitor. Why couldn't the bastard just
leave it be? Cameron had gotten what he wanted, hadn't he?

"I'm not a fool. You shoved him away right into my arms." Cameron regarded Stuart for another moment. "You're a mess."

"Thanks for that lovely comment. Now, for the third time, or fourth, *fuck* off." Finally, even the overwhelming headache could not keep him from acting out his irritation with the man. He stood up slowly and strode toward Cameron, but stopped once he reached the end of the bed. "Get out of my home," he ground out, his voice low and deep.

"And here I thought that you've much better vocabulary and intelligence than that." Cameron not only didn't obey Stuart's words, he also closed the short distance between them until they were scant inches apart. Holding Stuart's gaze, Cameron advanced still more, obviously expecting to back the other man to the bed once again.

Stuart stood his ground, his face completely devoid of animation, and felt the pressure of Cameron's body against his own. His hands shot up involuntarily to push away the unwelcome heat of the other body, but Cameron caught them easily. Stuart immediately froze, his absolute hatred of physical violence hindering his usually snap responses. A full ten seconds later, he decided to stick to a battle of words for the time being. "Let go," he commanded.

Cameron flashed a smile and obeyed the words this time, but also wrestled his reluctant host to the bed. Stuart fought back instinctively, but abruptly stopped. No, this would *not* come to blows. Cameron then took advantage of Stuart's indecision and rolled on top of his host. Straddling
Stuart's waist, he gripped the younger man's hair and pulled it back deliberately. "I asked, why?"

'Because nobody stopped me,' a small voice piped in, but only in the back of his Stuart's head. 'Because you convinced me that the only man who cares enough to have stopped me will be better off with you, arsehole.' The Irishman himself, however, only gave his loitering guest as chilling a look as he was able when so very much hung over. "I said, let go." This time, the words came out as a growl.

Cameron merely grinned. "You're as strong as I am. Fight me off if you want to."

The words were technically true. While Stuart, at this moment, was in rather bad physical condition, he could still successfully fight back if he wanted to. He detested physical fights, however. Brawls were for immature brats similar to those in Nathan's school, in his own secondary school when he was young, so very young. Never for himself. He had always prefer words and, if worse came to worst, destruction of the person's belongings, but never fistfights.

Then Cameron's words brought him out of his thoughts. "You know exactly what I'm going to do if you don't fight back." A sneer on his face, Cameron knelt up and opened his fly with exaggerated care.

Stuart narrowed his eyes minutely. "You won't." But they both knew that Cameron would.

"Watch me."

Stuart's only concession to indicate that he had heard the words was languidly closing his eyes. He would not be breaking one of his rare promises, even one to himself, not now, not ever. And so, this was both a gamble and a test: did Cameron truly deserve Vince? When he felt the experienced hands on his body, he knew that he had lost the gamble, but Cameron was the one who lost the test. A ghost of a smile touched Stuart's lips, but the other man bent down and kissed it away.

The kiss was deep and brutal: a claim, a declaration of war. Stuart finally opened his mouth, returning one just as savage. Despite his mind's reluctance, his body was already enjoying this. His series of moans could have been a series of 'no's, but he was too committed to this particular
course of action. Another touch of guilt about Vince sliced through his heart, but he did not acknowledged it. He had pushed Vince into the arms of this undeserving bastard and, in the darkest depths of his heart, he knew he ought to be punished. Right now, however, his head still hurt and his body was liking the touch of this man. He lay back down again, suddenly too tired to play the game, and closed his eyes. Feeling the deft touches, he absent-mindedly noted that he had not been this passive in sex since... ever, but he had not wanted this man, despite the pass he made. The pass was to keep Vince for himself, not because he desired this man. The hands were impersonal, but careful. In the midst of both emotional pain and physical pleasure, he admitted to himself that he desperately wanted the hands to be Vince's, but they only belonged to Cameron, the bastard who did not deserve Vince and had the gall to hate Stuart. Hatred would have to do
right now, for hatred was a type of passion, too.

Sounds of a drawer opening and then closing came and passed. Soon, cold, lubed fingers entered Stuart almost gently but the gesture was too mixed with the inherent coldness of his temporary bedmate to be gentle. Stuart immediately knew then that both the lube and the condom were for only Cameron's comfort and safety. Stuart did not say anything, however, and let the physical sensations carried him off. That first jab of Cameron's cock caused Stuart something akin to pain, for he had not been in this position for years, but it only heightened his pleasure. His body was so used to pleasure that it had learned to register every sensation as physically gratifying. He let loose another groan and thrust back, his mind hating what his body loved. The steady rhythm continued for long minutes, maybe even reached a whole hour, until Cameron finally came and collapsed onto him. The man then pulled out carelessly, wrenching a groan of pain from Stuart. Having rolled over to face the ceiling, Stuart propped himself halfway up on his right elbow.

He glanced over to his temporary bedmate and absent-mindedly remarked, "Hey, bet I was better than--" Abruptly stopping, he flinched, horrified at his own callousness and forgetfulness. Jesus Christ, did those words came out of his mouth? He had no more right to Vince than this scum of a man.

Still looking at him, Cameron started putting on his clothes. Stuart lay back down onto the bed, ashamed that he had allowed the bastard to see his moment of weakness and pain. At least Vince did not have to console him again, all the while nobly abandoning his own concerns for the time. Stuart had not realized how much he relied on the sweet kindness of his best mate until these moments. Better then to allow only his enemy to see it, someone who would not care, than to cause Vince further worries. It would subsume Vince's personality again, as he and his problems had always done. These wandering thoughts took no more than a second and then he simply had to make sure.

"You wo't tell him." It came out a question, not the statement that Stuart had intended. He frowned, hating the uncertainty inside him.

"Oh, yes, sure." Cameron looked sideways, obviously pretending to greet Vince. "Guess what I did today, Vince. I just fucked your ex best friend; you know, the one who fucked you over not so long ago." Cameron's gaze landed back on Stuart. "I already knew that you're a bastard, Stuart, but I didn't know that you're also a fool."

Stuart could only smile coldly at that, for he *was* a fool. Why the hell was he letting Cameron off like this? Because both Stuart and Vince needed that arsehole for an excuse to stay away from each other. As Cameron had said, Vince *deserved* that chance to be his own man. If Stuart went near his closest friend again, Vince would never be the confident adult that he should be. "And you won't hurt him." Stuart steadily held his visitor's gaze, his voice now as chilling as his smile. "You'll *never* hurt him."

"Hurting him, my," Cameron flashed an identical smile, "friend, is an honour I reserve for you." He turned away and then the man was gone.

Laying his right arm over his forehead, Stuart looked back toward the ceiling. His arse was sore and his head still pounded. His body was exhausted both by earlier exertions and the just past sex. And... and the guilt and loneliness were sweeping him so swiftly into an overwhelming pain that he could almost cry, but he knew that he would not, because he was never weak. For once in his life, however, he wished that he were.

~~finis~~