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A Wrinkle In Time

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Tom had been watching the cars on TV race around a track for at least an hour now. The beer bottle in his hand was getting warm, and he'd zoned out, thinking about something and nothing at the same time.

If he were to give that something a name, he supposed it would be called Bill. His brother. His fancy-pantsy twin brother, who was parading around their hotel room in the shortest little shorts right now.

Tom set his drink down on the bedside table and rubbed a hand over his glazed eyes.

It was not ok to be thinking this way about your brother. And yet, there he was, betraying his own better judgment. He was eyeing Bill again -- covertly -- not wanting to give away that he was starting to develop the strangest feelings about him. They had caught him off guard on more than one occasion. Kind of like now.

Bill seemed to be unpacking, or re-packing, or packing – whichever -- his biggest suitcase. He was bent over with his bum in the air more than he was upright, that's all Tom knew about.

Completely unawares, Tom had started playing around with a finger in his mouth, staring bemusedly at his brother -- with that tiny worn out t-shirt also -- it could have been a dish-rag, that thing. But Bill was wearing it as if it left something to the imagination. Tom could tell you what was under it very easily -- the number of times he'd seen Bill shirtless -- it was playing over in his mind that very second. While Bill was -- crouched down again -- hands buried into the bottom of the luckiest suitcase on the planet.

And then he saw it -- a sliver of red.

And he wasn't sure how or why, because he was completely entranced, but he'd crawled to the edge of the bed for a closer look. As if Tom was on a leash, he couldn't help but follow Bill around the room with his eyes. Only his eyes. Only ever that -- he'd promised himself last time he lost control. It would be humiliating to speak of this.

The more Bill shuffled around, the more that little glimpse of red -- right above the waist of his shorts -- danced before Tom's eyes. 

And then Bill had bent over again, as if presenting his ass exclusively for Tom's dazed gape -- to admire -- and Tom thought he knew what it was suddenly. He couldn't help biting his lip at the sight, for he was now almost positive that his brother was wearing a red g-string.

God ... Bill had no idea what he was doing to Tom right now -- he didn’t even pause to wonder why his brother was wearing such a garment – just utterly befuddled at how sexy it was.

"Bill," said Tom, his voice deep and gravelly, an uncomfortable lump in his throat.

Bill grunted noncommittally, but didn't turn around. Maybe he hadn't heard the urgency in Tom's voice.

Tom called his name again. His sound was strangled, or as if it had come from the bottom of a well. 

"Hmm?" Bill peered at him for a moment before returning his full attention to the pouch of socks in his hand. He only registered that Tom was perched rather oddly nearby, on all fours, like a great feline before an attack. "What is it?"

"Bill ..." Tom got off -- stumbled off -- the bed, needing to be closer still. He made a motion to reach out and then retracted his hand.

Bill had finally turned around to face him. One hand was full of socks and his eyebrows were questioning if Tom was still capable of human language.

"I ... uh ... this is ..."

"Awkward," Bill finished for him. He was so good at knowing what Tom wanted to say. Usually it was comforting to be so connected. Now, not so much. He feared what Bill would think if he knew his sinful thoughts right now -- feared they were broadcast on his very forehead. Tom couldn’t even ask him why – thongs of all things -- not even if Bill already knew what Tom was trying to find words for, which he prayed he didn’t. 

Tom shouldn't have even seen anything. Should not be thinking any of this, much less staring blatantly. Not his to touch. Not his to even question. And finally, he took a very wise step back.

Bill frowned. "Fine. Don't tell me." He stooped down once more, engrossed back into whatever he was doing. Balling socks?

That thin red line was winking seductively at Tom.

It was only a line. 

Lines can be crossed by those rash or adroit enough.

"Bill ... you're wearing a thong." Tom had finally found some words. They may not have been superb, but they were words.

His brother looked over his shoulder at him, quirked eyebrow in place. "Pardon?"

Tom stepped closer this time. Dangerous move, but words were failing him again, and he couldn’t have held out much longer anyhow. The look on Tom’s face was making his brother suspicious -- he stood to face him nonetheless.

"So? So what if I am?" Bill demanded, defiantly.

Tom was searching him with his eyes, that's all. Just his eyes, even though he was so close. He wasn’t really paying attention to the words falling from Bill’s lips.

Bill put out a hand to break the barrier, and any further advancement from his brother -- a scrutinizing furrow in his brow, especially at Tom’s behavior. He'd tried to push Tom away, but Tom's hands latched onto his slim hips to hold him, and Bill’s resolve to leave softened.

The feel under his fingers, was making Tom’s head swim. This was an unusual way to hold your brother. His fingers were brushing both cotton and skin, and when he looked down, he saw that tiny bit of red, that he couldn't even feel. Not yet. He plunged a hand beneath those shorts and came up with that red string hooked around a digit.

"Tom. It's not a big deal."

How could Bill say that? Didn't he know how it made Tom feel? Oh right -- he had no idea.

Tom was trying to calm his breathing, his heart was hammering in his chest, and he couldn't tear his gaze from the little bit of female underwear curled around his finger. And he hadn't even really seen it yet. He closed his eyes, suppressing a moan. It turned into a shudder.

"You alright, Tomi? Are you hurt? What's wrong?"

Tom bit his lip, and dared not meet his twin's eyes. He let the red string fall back onto its owner's hip. But couldn't pull his hands away. Couldn't even step back. He stepped forward, encircling the younger in his arms. While Bill stood still and confused, Tom began meandering the expanse of his back with his hands -- groping -- and then, lower. Those hands snuck beneath the shorts, right against Bill's skin, for there was nothing else there but the flimsy excuse for underwear. Tom was invading any sense of personal space and privacy that Bill had.

"Tom -" Bill started, but didn't continue. The way his brother was breathing into his neck was paralyzing. What did he think he was doing?

Then he was lowering those shorts.

If he had courage enough to sink his hands under them, he would have courage enough to actually look at his prize.

"Tom -" Bill tried saying again, but was silenced with a light kiss on the neck. So he chose to stay, and not run away, no matter what this was his brother was doing.

When the shorts had been pushed halfway down his thighs, Tom pulled back to admire his handiwork. He exhaled so deeply it made his chest constrict and bent down to lower the cotton completely -- at the same time running his hands over Bill's legs. They were smooth, as he knew they would be, because Bill had the same grooming practices women do. And when he'd lowered the material to Bill's ankles, Bill stepped out of them.

He stood there now, in his holey and worn little t-shirt, stretched over his chest, and his pair of lacey red thongs which he barely fit into -- Tom at his feet, looking up at him.

Bill bit his lip this time. He didn't think he'd ever see Tom from this angle. And then when Tom kissed him right below his bellybutton, Bill actually whimpered.

And then there was another kiss below that. And another one. Right along the top of that line of lace, and if Tom kept this up, there would be no way Bill could stay confined within that lace. These were made for women, after all.

And thankfully, Tom stopped. He pressed his face into the milky skin of Bill's abdomen and breathed in his scent. He closed his eyes. His hands had traveled from his legs, back up to Bill's ass, and kneaded it beneath his palms. And just when Bill thought that he would squeeze, Tom released and smoothed his hands over the skin instead.

When Tom opened his eyes, they were unfocused. He needed more of Bill.

"Turn around." It was an order. Bill almost didn't follow, but another kiss on his belly, too near to the erection that was forming just under Tom's chin, made him do it -- stumbling over his own feet, he obeyed.

His brother was kneeling behind him now and Bill had no idea what was going on. Tom had taken his ass into his hands again, and was winding the string of his thong around his fingers so tight it hurt.

"God, Tom ..."

"Bend over." It was another order. Again, Bill was hesitant to obey. But then Tom plucked the throng from where it fell between his cheeks, fingertips brushing the most obscene place, and Bill lost his balance -- faltering but catching himself on the footboard of the bed.

Tom had placed his brother exactly where he wanted him -- bent over, ass right in his face, all the best for Tom to admire it that way.

Bill didn't think there could be anything more embarrassing than this. He was sure his face was as scarlet as his knickers, and that may have been the only up-side to not facing Tom right now.

And he waited. Tom was being gentle, playing with the bit of red and the flesh below. It was torture, waiting like this. Not being able to see Tom, not a clue in the world what he could be thinking, why he was acting like this. It was scaring him. Disconcerting at best. And yet -- oh god, there was a thrill to it also. How could he have gotten here? A few minutes ago he was folding shirts and pairing loose socks.

The worst shock by far was when he realized that Tom was lowering his underwear. His breath hitched in his throat and a lump of coal had landed at the bottom of his stomach, making him feel constricted and queasy. There could be no misunderstanding of intentions now.

He could feel Tom's breaths on his tailbone. It was an unnatural feeling.

"Spread your legs for me."

Bill gulped. "Uh, what?" he asked, squeaky, shaken, weak. How could he possibly be expected to do that with Tom there -- right there.

Tom let out a moan. It sounded pained and drawn out. "Sp- spread them, Bill. Do it."

He ran his hands over that ass again, spreading the halves. He saw what he wanted.

"Spread your legs for me, Bill -- for me."

Bill was flushing a color so deep he was nearly puce with humiliation. "For you," he managed to stammer -- and was for once thankful that Tom's hands where on him as he moved, otherwise his knees would have buckled, he was certain of it.

Tom groaned, low, guttural. He had to close his eyes a moment to focus himself. The feel of Bill, the look of him in his position -- vulnerable -- his for the plundering. He couldn't stop touching -- running his hands over those globes in his hands, barely enough to hold. So soft. And when he spread them, a sick perverted feeling brewed in his own abdomen, and he shuddered and kissed beneath Bill's tailbone when he could take no more. Reservations were for the weak.

Though, he was sure he'd got that wrong. This was not bravery. This was basest of defeats. Bill should have stopped him minutes ago -- before he'd ever laid his filthy hands on him.

He breathed in Bill's scent. His palms spreading Bill wide and he could see that puckered hole so clearly -- right there -- right in that crevice between two globes. His thumb traveled over the center, vertically -- lightly, just testing. And Bill mewed and fell a bit more forward to clutch at the bedcovers.

Next, Tom traced his index finger down that cleft, massaging. And Bill latched his teeth onto his own hand to hold in his whimpers -- had to dig into bone at the way Tom was playing with him.

Tom was playing. Petting. It was true. And then he touched his thumb right over that little hole of Bill's and Bill purred. Good.

He shoved his brother forwards a bit more so Bill fell over the bed completely, his face in the mattress and before he could protest, Tom had done something that made his heart stop.

He had felt his tongue on him. There was nothing else it could have been. And then Tom did it again.

"Oh god ... Tom."

Bill was sure he'd felt him smile too -- probably felt smug to hear his name in that tone.

Tom had brought a finger back to the pink hole to play around a bit more, to see how frustrated he could make the boy he'd pinned between himself and the bed. He wanted to take his time -- savor this -- this moment, this ass. The feel of it, the smell of it, the way it trembled just slightly when he touched it like this. Then he licked over that pucker again, and Bill moaned. So he did it again, more assertively, pressing his tongue against it, licking up and placing a kiss there as well.

Bill quaking under his ministrations. This wasn't happening, it couldn't. He'd buried his face into the bedspread and tried to keep some dignity by not crying out.

His brother was getting more hungry -- his face pressed into Bill's ass, laying more licks over that one spot, even sucking, making it wet -- playing in the wetness with his fingers. This place, it was meant for him to worship. His tongue became more insistent, lingering longer, peeking inside -- he sucked, and Bill's legs shook. A firm hand on his hip, he pressed him deeper into the bed to keep him there. Prisoner beneath his tongue. And he relished in the taste of him as his tongue reached as deep within as it could, nose shoved right into the headiness of the cleft, fingers coated in his own saliva as he teased.

Any more of this and Bill would scream. It was impossible not to squirm and moan and pant at how bothered Tom had made him. Trapped and neglected, and yet so hard. All because of Tom and whatever impure monster had crawled to live in his brain that day.

Tom was teasing him with one finger now, hooked just inside, as he kissed around it -- circled it inside and then it went deeper and Bill couldn't contain his frustration. The way he moaned ... God. Tom didn't leave him reprieve either. Too soon, he'd buried two full digits to the knuckle into Bill -- twisted them inside -- making Bill’s stomach lurch. His way was lubricated by more spit, which he doled out plentifully to ease his way. He didn't want to hurt his brother after all.

And then he scissored those fingers within, and Bill moaned whorishly, couldn't help himself. Tom plunged and twisted at a new angle, stretching him, and then Bill yelped.

"Oh! Ohh ... there ... right there," he pleaded. Tom knew what he wanted. He touched it again, and Bill pushed back against his fingers, panting already. So he massaged that spot and Bill whimpered and trembled and Tom needed to hold him up, for his legs could no longer be trusted to hold his weight. 

"Tomi ... Tom ... you -"

Tom smirked.

"God ... you have to make me come. I'm -- so close."

Luxuriating in the feel of Bill on his fingers, so pliant and debauched, and the sounds he made, Tom was delirious with lust. Bill was begging, mewing, as Tom worked him. He was so open and relaxed now, it would have been so easy to fuck him. But Bill asked to come this way, and confident he could do it, Tom was going to grant that wish -- just like this, just with his tongue and fingers. He kept up a rhythm of thrusting and making sure he swiped against Bill's prostate, because when he did, Bill's breath accelerated so sweetly and he pushed back to impale himself deeper -- no doubt his heart was throbbing in his throat the same way Tom's was -- so close, he could feel it. 

And then Bill clenched around his fingers, and there were no more moans while Bill was caught in the white-hot bliss of his climax. And it was enough for Tom to see it, for him to be there with him -- the cause of it. Bill shivered and Tom held his weight against him as he came down, then he lowered him to sit back onto his lap -- curled him within his arms like a child.

But as much as he hoped that Bill would put his arms around his neck and thank him for a delightful romp, or just hold him in return, the pleasure of having Bill in his arms was short-lived.

As soon as Bill had regained his breath, he shoved Tom away, and rose to pull a pair of sweatpants over himself. He disposed of the piece of red lace that had clung to his ankle with disgust.

Secluded by the window, Bill looked out onto a foreign city, chagrined at what he'd just allowed to happen. He couldn't look back at Tom, not yet, even though he could feel his gaze boring into him. Tom was still sitting on the floor, waiting for him to speak first no doubt.

He wiped a frustrated hand over his face. It was clammy with cooling sweat from a powerful orgasm, and this infuriated him further.

Finally, he turned around, and Tom was waiting there for him, with a searching, pleading look.

And a lot of Bill's anger faded from him when he looked into those eyes. Bill walked to him, stood over him, and was momentarily speechless.

"Don't be angry, please," Tom whispered. He grasped at Bill's ankle. 

Bill stepped away. Then he saw the stains of his own release on the footboard of the hotel bed and bit his tongue over some very harsh words he wanted to say in that moment. Instead, he took another step back and said, "Don’t."

Tom groveled closer to him, and this time Bill let him paw at the bottom of his sweatpants. It was a sorry sight. They stayed like that for what felt like hours -- it was probably only a few minutes though -- and Bill tried to compose himself. It was obvious from the sunken look on his brother's face that he had fallen prey to some unintelligible weakness and now regretted his actions.

"What do you want me to say, Tom?"

Tom didn't respond. His throat had closed up, and if he looked up at Bill, he couldn't talk. If he didn't look at him, maybe then he could. So he glared at his brother's toes instead, and traced the metatarsals along his foot with a soft fingertip, and still he didn't know how to explain himself.

"Ugh. Tom. What am I supposed to do with this now? You leer at me, and then pull down my underwear -- and god. You made me come, Tom." That word was emphasized cruelly.

"You told me to."

It was the wrong thing to say, no matter how meekly. Bill turned away from him and wended back to the window.

"Yeah, with your fucking fingers up my ass, I'm likely to tell you in all sincerity that I’m the Easter Bunny, you know," he huffed indignantly.

"I -- I messed up, Bill."

Bill looked back at him with a reproachful look. He waited. Tom was peeking up at him -- the epitome of guilt -- still slouched dejectedly on the murky carpet of their room.

"You messed up," repeated Bill.

"Yeah. I'm sorry." Tom was picking at the carpet now.

Was Bill even sure he wanted to know what Tom had been thinking, to assault him in that way? That was the real problem here. They could move past the physical part of this, like any other hardship and trial in their lives, but the worry -- the elephant in the room -- was why?

Bill swallowed around the dryness in his mouth and the boulder on his chest.

"You messed up. But you know what? I messed up too, because I didn't stop it. Not even after I realized it was wrong.” He tried to smile, even a sad little smile for his brother who looked so forlorn, but it wasn't coming to him. 

So he walked back to him, paused to kiss Tom gently on the forehead, and left him there on the floor.

Let us say that it was all just a wrinkle in time.


Chapter Text




The crux of the matter was that Bill trusted Tom -- still trusted him -- unconditionally. He trusted that Tom had reasons for his actions, and he trusted that Tom would never hurt him, and that Tom loved him -- as much as Bill loved him too.

And that was the truth, wasn't it? Tom hadn't hurt him. He'd made him feel embarrassed beyond compare, but if he were ever to have been in that unlikely situation, he wouldn't have chosen to be there with anyone else except his brother. Because even as it scared him, and still angered him to have been taken advantage of, it made him feel -- exhilarated. And that was cause for forgiveness in Bill’s book.

Others may not feel this was a good reason to forgive someone for near-rape, but ... when the victim likes it ... well, in this case Bill felt it was only right ...

He'd stood there! On pins and needles, yes -- but just stood there -- doing everything Tom had told him to! He felt ashamed of himself more than of Tom. It was surprise, mixed with curiosity for how far Tom would take them -- and maybe if he tagged along he'd finally find out why. There was a reason tucked into the back of Tom's mind, Bill could tell. Be it lust, or something deeper, there were feelings Tom wasn't sharing, it was obvious now. 

"I messed up, Bill." 

He'd looked so woe begotten. Probably revealed something he didn't want to. 

Those butterfly kisses Tom laid on him could make him walk on hot coals, he bet. That was a side of Tom he'd never experienced before ... that gentle, seductive, yet dominating lover. He'd fallen for it -- like who knows how many women before, which Tom had charmed that way. There was no denying it. And then in the thick of it -- well -- fuck it. They'd gotten that far. Bill wasn't about to walk away from those fingers. Much less, that no one had ever rimmed him before. 

It made him blush just thinking about it.

He thought about that for a while actually. That Tom's tongue had been up his ass. And he wondered if he'd ever do the same in return -- purely to understand what could have possibly been going through his brother's mind. If he thought it was humiliating being the one moaning and begging for more as a result of Tom's actions, he couldn't imagine how much courage it took to dole it out. That must have taken some strength of will.

God ... that was what scared him most: that their relationship could be broken somehow, because he, for the first time probably, just didn't understand. And not understanding his twin, his soulmate ... well, yeah, that was the most frightening.

No matter what his brother thought he'd been doing, Bill knew he regretted it. How could he stay angry at him then? He knew, whatever the cause, Tom was beating himself up about it a hundred-fold over whatever obscenities Bill could yell at him. Because Bill knew Tom – the boy was always in his own head. And yes, they shared everything, but this -- see, this was why this was so difficult. … It had opened his eyes to the fact that maybe he didn't understand his twin as well as he thought he did.

After a few days of forced civility between the twins, it was starting to look like the matter was going to be swept under the proverbial rug. Tom knew Bill well enough to know that there would be no fights about this, there would be no questions -- no matter how much Bill wanted to ask them -- unless Tom broached the subject. And the only reason he knew he had to, was because Bill deserved an explanation. He owed him that much.

Tom knocked on Bill's hotel door. It was another hotel, but who could tell anymore. They all looked the same to him these days.

His brother answered quickly. When he saw who it was, he left the door open and Tom let himself inside as usual.

It wasn't evident why he'd come, but visits between the twins didn't need reasons. They were always together, it was normal that way. So Bill settled himself back behind his laptop and Tom plunked himself onto the other bed to look at the ceiling.

After some time, he decided to finally break the ice on why he'd come tonight.


Bill barely looked up from his screen in acknowledgement. Not intentionally rude, but if Tom wanted to talk about some new baseball caps or some chick he saw in the lobby, then it didn't need his full attention and Tom could talk, and Bill would listen, and comment, like always, and still be able to browse his website.

And then that tone ... "Bill.

Bill looked up in earnest this time. Tom was sitting on the edge of the bed now, waiting.

"What's up?"

"Can I tell you something?" It certainly wasn’t the steadiest manner in which Tom had begun an interview.

"Are you going to tell me why I got that little surprise a few days ago?" There was no malice in Bill’s reply. He'd been hoping Tom would open up to him about it eventually. Though, he thought it would have taken months instead of days.

Tom nodded. Bill shut the lid on his computer, and prompted him to continue.

"I guess I -- wanted to."

Bill's lips pursed in disbelief. "You wanted to?" That's the brilliant excuse he'd been waiting for?!

Tom let out a tired sigh, which turned into a light chuckle -- probably at how stupid he must know that explanation sounded. "It's terrible. I know."

Bill couldn't help but chortle also. "You -- wanted -- to put your tongue in my ass?"

The words sounded ridiculous. But there was no other way to phrase it for full explicitness.

Tom wiped a hand over his face to sooth the part of him that threatened to laugh. This was a serious conversation.

"Is that all you came to tell me? Like ... really."

"I'm afraid to say more." He looked down at the carpet. These hotels all had variations of the same fugly carpet. "I don't even know what I feel. I've been trying to decide, and I honestly have no idea. About any of it."

Bill watched him for a few moments. 

"So you wanted to. ... Right. You know, I don't know what I'm supposed to make of that. It's hardly any explanation at all. I doubt you swapped brains with someone else, and they were parading your body around for their own wants."

"I feel like sometimes I don't understand myself. So yeah. Maybe."

There was that morose look on his face again, and Bill couldn't help but cut some of the censure from his voice.

"Please, Tom, you have to tell me more than that for this to be worth the hassle of bringing up. This isn't the easiest thing to talk about with a straight face."

Tom strangled a cry in his throat, and nodded. Bill was right, he'd come here with a mission.

"Uh, what would you like to know?"

"I want to know what made you so brazen, actually."

Tom swallowed thickly. "That wasn't bravery, Bill. That's the part I want you to understand best of all." He looked up to catch his brother's eyes, because this was the most important part. "It was weakness, Bill. I was weak and I messed up."

Bill’s brow furrowed. "Do you wish you could take it back?"

"I regret it, but there's a part of me that doesn't want to go back ..." He was being as honest and open as he could. He would never lie to his twin. Words were on the tip of his tongue, and it wasn't tied in knots like most times Tom had ever needed to say uncomfortable things. He should take advantage of its nimbleness -- for talking! For talking. Only.

"... Cuz I wanted to know what it was like. And I guess now I do."

"Why?" Bill stared at him impassively.

"Not in any serious manner, but, just -- stuff like that has been popping in my head more often -- and like I said ... I'm not proud of it."

"I don't get it."

Tom changed direction. "Did I hurt you, Bill? Because then I couldn't stand myself. Just tell me that."

"I can tell you that if ... God ... if you do that again, I would -- let you." It was Bill's turn to cringe at his words. He plunged his face into his hands, no longer able to hold eye contact.

"What does that mean?"

Bill shook his head, making his wild hair toss about. Tom reached across the trench between the beds to rest a hand on Bill's knee.

"Right. Well, I did say that I've been having some really weird dreams and stuff lately, about you I mean," he had the good sense to flush at those words, "... so if you're feeling the same, this would be a good time to talk about it."

Bill shook his head again. "No, I don't think so. Only, when you did -- that." Then he looked up. "You think about me like that, Tomi?"

"Uh ... sometimes."


"Don't pretend you don't know the whole world wants to get in your pants."

"Yeah, but -- you?"

Tom pulled back suddenly. "I think we should forget about all this."

"That's not fair, you know." Bill frowned.

"Please," he begged. "I want you to forget about it. It was stupid."

"What are you not telling me, Tom?" His voice had become sterner, and Tom found the strength in his legs to stand up and back away. 

Bill stood up after him. "Hey! Hey, you can't -- don't go."

So Tom stopped by the bathroom door and waited. His brother had come to rest on the doorframe.

"I'm not mad, Tom. I just don't get what's happened. I don't understand my own actions -- or inaction, rather. I wish you could help me figure it out somehow, since there's no one else, but I don't think you can. I think I'm just -- I dunno."

They stood like that for a while, Tom staring out towards the bland weather outside the window. Bill fidgeted with his nails.

"You're really sexy sometimes, you know," Tom said all of a sudden. Bill looked at him but Tom was still in his own world. "I don't think you even know it -- what you do to other people. I can see it now, on their faces, and it disgusts me to think of them with you. ... I, I wish I didn't see it. I wish I didn't sometimes fall prey to the same fantasies. I didn't used to. But then -- you just arrest me sometimes. And I can't take my eyes off you. And I forget what I'm doing sometimes. ... I've jacked off thinking of you. Can you believe that? And after, it makes me feel like shit, cuz I feel like I'm betraying your trust, and your love – you still believe in me -- while those kind of things stray into my head. And ... I wish you could be in my head with me, closer than you are, just so you could understand how bad I feel about it. ... And ... when we're together, and it's all normal again, and you don't know anything, and I'm not even thinking that shit, I don't know if that's better or worse."

If Bill didn't interrupt him, he would have kept talking -- his internal monologue spilling out for the room.

"So you don't feel like that all the time?"

"Naw. Most of the time I don't even think about it."

"Right. ... Am I ever going to have to brace myself for an attack like that again?"

Tom looked at him then, biding time. "... You never told me if I hurt you. I'll slit my wrists if I did, I swear, I'm sorry."

"You shocked me more than anything. I kept waiting to see when you would stop -- kind of caught in the moment. And as much as I want to yell and blame you ... No, you didn't. I think I hurt myself. You -- you actually made me feel good, and that's much harder to forgive." With that, he slumped down the wall and landed on the floor, cradling his head between his knees.

The lump of his brother was breathing heavily. "You've really never thought about me that way before?"

"Never. Not even when we kiss. And, honestly, I don't want to taint those memories."

"They're not real kisses, Bill. They're for family."

"But that time -- that time I cried myself silly in your arms -- remember when? And I kissed you like that."

"You'd broken up. Of course. That wasn't like this, don't think about that. ... That wasn't like this."

Bill sighed. "Yeah, I suppose." 

Tom leaned to sit beside him. "I want you to forget about all this. And I want you to not feel ashamed about it. You didn't do anything wrong."

Bill twitched. He doubted very much that he'd done nothing wrong. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," said Tom curiously.

"Do you act that way with girls?"

"What way?"

"That serious, engrossed in what you're doing ... demanding."

Tom chuckled lightly. "No, that was just me in the moment. It was weird."

"You can't use that voice on me. Promise." There was begging in his tone, as if the request was more for Tom's benefit than Bill's.

"You really meant it, eh? You wouldn't stop me?"

"Promise me you won't -- touch me like that again."

"I can't promise you that," Tom sighed. "I can promise you I'll try, but I already have been." When he saw that Bill was alarmed at him, he added, "I'm sorry."

Bill gulped, stared at his twin for a few moments, then asked quietly, "You want more from me, Tom?"

They both knew the question was actually an offer. A completely selfless and heartbreaking offer.

Tom smiled. He actually smiled, swelling with love for his twin. "Naw. Maybe. I don't know. I just know you're irresistible. So I don't know what I want in those moments." When this didn't lift Bill's spirits, he changed course. "You'd let me kiss you right now, wouldn't you? Even if you don't want me to do it."

Bill gave the slightest nod. There was a bit of fear in his eyes.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to." Tom chuckled.

Their moods were still on different wavelengths. "I, I love you, you know," said Bill softly.

It was heart-meltingly sweet. Tom couldn't help but grab him around the middle and pull him into his side, squeezing him lovingly. He kissed him on the temple, and as his lips lingered there, he said, "You're my whole world, Bill." Then dropped to a more somber level. "... I don't ever want to scare you like that again."

Bill curled his arms around Tom as well, resting his head on his shoulder and Tom pulled him even closer, so he now sat between Tom's legs.

"We're ok, right?" That was the last pressing thought Bill needed alleviated.

"Us? Always. I promise. You're my little bruuder. I would never let you go."

Bill wrinkled his nose cutely at the silly pet-name. It soothed the last of his nerves. Even if there was still that tiny voice in the back of his head that wondered how Tom meant that. He couldn't harass Tom to tell him if even he didn't know. In time, all this would likely be forgotten, and Bill was looking forward to that.


Chapter Text




No matter how much he told himself he wasn't going to think about it ... No matter how much he told himself not to betray Bill's trust with his impure thoughts again, he couldn't help but wonder what it felt like to be Bill. This was something else in this moment -- well, it was the same thing -- stemmed from the same sexual fantasies -- but it was a different question this time.

For once, he wasn't thinking about how it would feel to touch Bill. He wondered instead how it would feel to be on the receiving end of the kind of treatment Tom had bestowed upon him that one time ... 

He sat pondering about that fateful day every so often -- that day he hated and relished at the same time. Actually, Bill knew he did. Once in a while, the subject of Tom's unrequited lust had cropped up, and Bill would ask random questions about these feelings Tom had which Bill couldn't fully understand.

Even after so many months, the feel of Bill on his fingers -- his softness, his moans and mewling, the way he shuddered from the ministrations -- it was fodder for his private indulgences. But today, it was making Tom hot in a very different way.

There was no way to explain it, other than -- he suddenly wanted to know how it felt to bottom.

A shiver ran over him, intoxicating his mind with the scarlet idea. Tom was hardening in his boxers just thinking about it.

Did he dare?

His dear brother was somewhere in the house -- Tom hadn't heard him scutter in hours -- and both Simone and Gordon had gone out for the afternoon. The twins were at home, at their mom's house, on break. It was brisk outside, with a chill that rattled the windows, and pledged a rough winter ahead. But inside, it was toasty warm, and Tom was beginning to be frustrated with himself.

He relinquished the forgotten book in his hand, and flipped onto his belly. Mmm, just the feel of the mattress under him was rewarding, and he couldn't help rub himself against it a few times; like he used to when he was a kid and hadn't yet figured out how to jerk off properly. He sat up on all fours then, and tugged his boxers off, so they pooled around his knees. He wondered if Bill touched himself the same ways Tom liked. And if he fingered himself ever. ... There was so much Tom wanted to know about his brother, and these pent up images were helping to pick up his heart rate.

As his hand worked himself in the usual manner, he tried to gather his courage to do what he really wanted that day.

It would probably help to add spit, so Tom did, and returned his slick hand to his erection. Not quite bold enough for more yet.

He'd barely even looked at Bill when he had those red panties in his face. What would Bill have done with -- Oh, fuck -- No, that day it had been all about Bill's ass. He licked his lips thinking about it, bit onto his lip-ring. 

Tom closed his eyes and slathered two fingers in as much saliva as he could, and finally brought those back to the cleft of his own ass. He felt up and down, trying to keep the mood in his head going, just teasing over his hole. Then he did it -- one finger, not far in at first. God, it felt weird. He pressed in further and found that it didn't hurt, it was just -- weird. Deciding he needed more lube, he added more spit, and tried again. He was looking for something this time, that spot that he knew would feel good -- and there it was. He moaned out. Feeling a bit stupid for not having found this part of his anatomy before right now, it surprised him how it made him tremble massaging right there. 

"Fuck ... oh -" One finger was easy now, so he added another and found it was tight but still ok. He'd gotten himself relaxed and now built up a frenzy just exploring this side of himself.

He pictured what he'd done to Bill -- it was stamped to the inside of his eyelids -- and he panted as he tried to mimic the moves. He twisted his fingers and nearly cried out. Oh ... oh, he could see how having someone play around back there felt good. Unusual, since it was a different stimulation, but enjoyable nonetheless.

Two fingers up his own asshole, that's what Bill saw of Tom when he barged into his room. And very clearly, he might add. Like the full moon. Plus, he was sure he’d heard a stray moan as well.

"Oh fuck, Tom!" he sputtered and turned back, aghast.

Tom pulled himself together immediately, cursing under his breath. No time to even catch his breath -- when he heard Bill hiss, "Shit," out in the hall, he wrenched his boxers back on and ran after him. Screw embarrassment. He'd gotten over that long ago when it came to Bill. Granted, this was much more than being able to piss at the same time as Bill brushed his teeth, but they'd settled into being more open about their feelings since -- well, since Tom had made Bill come.

There he was, almost at the bottom of the stairs -- "Bill!"

Bill actually stopped, eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry I interrupted you." His cheeks colored cutely as he said it.

Tom reached the landing to meet his brother. While he had run after him, now that he was here, he had no idea what he wanted to say.

"You didn't have to stop on my account, you know," Bill chortled. 

"Uh ... I --" Tom stammered, uncomfortable in his own skin suddenly. "I know." He looked down at his bare feet. Beside him, Bill was wearing fuzzy blue slippers.

Bill sighed and waited for his brother to say something else. Why else would they be standing idly at the bottom of the stairs? When no words came to Tom, Bill had a fair idea what this was about. "You were thinking about me. Is that it?"

"I ... yeah. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to say sorry every time, you know." Bill took off towards the kitchen and Tom marched after him.

As Bill prepared two cups of hot chocolate for them, Tom sat at the island with his head in his hands. Just thinking.

Suddenly, a cup of steaming chocolate had been plonked in front of him, and he looked up to thank his twin.

"No problem," said Bill with that dazzling smile of his. "So you wanna talk about something, or can we move past this?"

Bill settled himself adjacent to Tom and started blowing at his cup to cool it, as Tom watched. By the time his drink was cool enough to sip without burning his tongue, he had formed a sentence. "Do you finger yourself when you -- you know -- by yourself?"

Bill gulped his beverage a little funny and had to sputter at the question. "Pardon?"

"Don't make me say it again. I'm just curious."

Bill eyed him with a light grumble. "Yeah, seems there's a lot about my sex life you're curious about these days." Nonetheless, after a few deep breaths he answered. "I have, a few times in the past, yeah."

"You like bottoming, right?"

Bill frowned at him. "We're really going to have this conversation?"

Tom flushed. "It's fine. I'm sorry for asking. You know I wouldn't ask anyone else."

"Yeah, but I'm the lucky one," Bill remarked, half exasperated, half amused.

Tom nodded.

"Well, yeah. I mean, you know I have before, when I'm with men. But I don't miss it when I'm with women. Either or." He shrugged. "Why do you ask?"

Tom ignored the last part. "You have a vibrator …"

"Yes ..." Bill affirmed, suspiciously.

"How does it make you feel?"

"Tom! Really!" Bill puffed, abashed and affronted by such a lewd question, nearly spilling hot-cocoa on himself.

Tom, however, wasn’t moving from the topic just yet. "Please -"

Bill eyed him with distaste. "It’s good," he said artlessly. His brother was waiting for details though. "It feels like -- my insides are on fire. It makes me feel like a whore. I sweat, I pant, I come. What more do you want?"

"Is it good though?"

"I prefer it over nothing, and I prefer other things most times. But it’s good."

"Was it like that with me?"

Bill chose his words more carefully this time. "It was -- different -- with you." He looked over at Tom who was watching him earnestly. Waiting for his heart to shatter probably. Bill recognized that open starry-eyed gaze these days, too well. It meant Tom had gotten carried away again; if Bill hadn’t already figured it out from how loose his tongue had become. "It was -- better than with other men." He wrinkled his nose at his own words.

"Oh. Well that’s good … I, uh, felt a bit uncoordinated and exposed, myself."

"Is that why you’re asking me this shit?"

"I wanted to see what it felt like," said Tom. And just when Bill was about to drop the subject entirely, Tom added, "you know, for you." And Bill knew what he was talking about very specifically.

Bill frowned in concern. "You think about that too much. It's no good for you. I can see it on your face."

Tom shrugged rather listlessly. It was crap advice. His strange feelings were only getting worse.

"You wanna know if it felt good for me? ... Yeah, other than the fact that it was super weird that it was you, it felt good. Towards the end I totally forgot how wrong it was -- you had me so lost." Bill pointed a strict look at him. "Anything else?"

A sad little smile played at the corners of Tom's lips. He sighed. "I don't think I should talk any more. There's stuff floating around in my head, but I know it would weird you out."

"That's ok. I can take it. Tell me anything."

"Ok, if you're sure," he paused to think. "Um, ok. I'll tell you this, since hopefully it's not too bad ... I love how soft you are. And you smell like I never want to leave. And you taste -"

Bill coughed purposely to interrupt him and Tom turned pink. "That's sweet, Tom."

Tom looked down for a few moments. He knew he sounded foolish. "Can I tell you something else?" He waited for Bill's hesitant nod, and continued. "I wish I could kiss you, and mean it, and have you want me to do it."

Tom looked like a wounded puppy. It was moments such as these that made Tom’s feelings so hard for Bill. 

"You can kiss me. It probably won't mean the same thing to both of us, but if you really want to, you know you can."

"Then ... then, why?"

Bill shrugged. "Cuz I love you. And I trust you. And if you need it, then it's ok." Tom was blinking at him, obviously still not understanding. "I've had a long time to think about this ... since our little debacle," he chuckled. "Well, I've got more used to the idea of you thinking these things about me."

"Thank you for offering," said Tom, almost a whisper into his lap. If he were a turtle, he'd have turtled back into his shell to live out his misery alone.

"Do you -- are you in love with me, Tom?" 

That's a brutal question to ask so flippantly, thought Tom. He blinked back his surprise at it. "I don't think so. Probably not any more than you're in love with me." He was still reserved, and focused his attention on the lone marshmallow still floating about in his cup.

"You can touch me, you know."

Ugh. Tom closed his eyes to the images Bill had just invoked. "You can't say those things to me," he said with more force this time. "You know what they do to me. And I know I can't."

"All I'm saying, is don't kill yourself over this. I'll love you no matter what, and I hate to see you suffer. Don't think I can't see it now. ... You can share your guilt with me, maybe it'll be easier. I don't know." Bill reached over the tabletop for his hand, and Tom let him take it.

"You're so good to me, Bill." He finally looked up to meet his brother's eyes again.

Bill grinned at him lightly, understand in his eyes. Tom didn't deserve him.

After a few silent minutes, Bill was the first to speak. "What are you thinking about?"

"You. Obviously," said Tom, squeezing the hand he still held.

Bill smiled a devious little smile and got closer. "You sure you're not just curious about bottoming?" he teased.

Tom gulped. "Uh, I'm curious about a lot of things I suppose."

Bill's grin widened further. "Oh my god, Tom ... I know what this is! That was your first time fingering yourself! Wasn't it?"

Tom looked away. 

"Wasn't it?" Bill pressed, and Tom nodded slightly. "Wow," Bill laughed. 

Bill was laughing at him! He dropped his brother's hand and stood up to put his cup in the dishwasher, and though he thought it would be an escape, Bill was standing in his way when he turned back around. "Very funny. Ha. Ha. I know."

"So? How was it?"

Tom couldn't look into his eyes. "Good," he stated insipidly.

Bill laughed again. "Oh c'mon, Tom, don't be shy. You'd said a lot worse to me."

His cheeks colored further. "It was fine."

"Oh, Tomi. You're so cute ..." Bill praised, joshing.

Suddenly, Tom wasn't so meek anymore. Out of his frustration, came anger, and he snarled. "It would have been better with you! Is that what you wanted to hear? Hmm?"

Bill stepped back a touch. "No. I mean -- no." He'd lost all daring though. Especially when Tom met his eyes and he could see he'd hit a nerve with him.

"I know I say things, I can't help it! But you can't encourage me, you hear? I can't be pulled in two directions -- in so many directions like this!" He was advancing on his twin. In two steps he'd caught Bill harshly by the humerus, and said, "You have no idea what it's like being around you and not being able to do anything about it."

Bill stared at him. "I'm sorry, Tomi. You -"

"Yeah, I know you are!" Tom bit back, more savagely than he'd meant to. "I hold myself back from so many things these days, cuz I don't want to scare you or hurt you, or weird you out. ... I take care not to hold you for too long, to pull my hand back whenever it wants to guide you through doors ... to snap myself out of it when I forget and just watch you. And then I have to slap myself, because if I stare too long -- you know what happens." He shook Bill slightly and then let go. "You're always so close, and so far away."

"Tomi ..."

"What?" The word was cold.

"Tell me how you love me. Just this once."

Tom frowned. "I love you like you love me."

"No, the other thing."

Tom didn't reply.

"Hold my hand, Tom." Though it was Bill's demand, it was Bill who connected their hands as well. "I'm right here. I'll always be here." He twined their fingers together, and raised Tom's hand to his lips. As he did, Tom closed his eyes. Just to feel those lips again.

"If you want me to put on that red thong again, just tell me. I haven't worn it since."

Tom inhaled sharply through his nostrils, mouth firmly shut, trying to calm his breathing and temper. "I don't want your thong. I want you."

"How do you want me in bed?" Bill kissed across his brother's knuckles.

"Slowly. I want to feel every part of you."


"And what?"

Neither was meeting the other's eyes. Bill's lips were still lingering over Tom's fingers where he held them, and Tom alternated between keeping his eyes shut to the world and inspecting the pantry on the other side of the kitchen. The walls were closing in around them, and Tom didn’t like the feeling.

"When's the last time you've been with a girl?"

Tom's nostrils fared with rancor for such a question. "It's been a while."

"Have you been with a girl since you were with me?"

"Yeah. ... Once."

The way he said once made Bill think -- as if he didn't already know by sense -- that there was more to the story. "And how was it?"

Should he lie? No. But the truth wasn't a pleasant thing to say. "You ruined it for me. Actually. So go laugh up a storm about it," he said, and tried to make it dismissive, but Bill held his hand still and yanked him closer.

"I did?"

"Yes, you bloody did. Even down to her underwear I couldn't stand it. Tried to turn her around so I couldn't tell who I was fucking, but it's so obvious. Especially since your scrawny ass is branded into my mind. Took forever to come ... had to think of you so I wouldn't look like an invalid," he spat. 

"When did you know you wanted to fuck me?"

"I -- a while now." The sentence on the tip of his tongue had been swapped on the fly. He reminded himself not to lie. Bill was reading right through him anyway.

"Before or after you took my panties off?"

This time, Tom actually lurched closer and rested his head on Bill's shoulder. It was another poor attempt at hiding, and at the same time, trying to find courage to speak in his brother -- the one he'd grown up with all these years. He tried desperately to keep his mind on that brother. He needed that one now. Not the one who came to him at night -- bending over, showing off his bottom, right before his eyes -- in the dark of his lonely bed. He needed his baby brother in order to keep talking.

"After," mumbled Tom. Right into the crook of Bill's neck.

"How did you figure it out then?"

"I heard you -- with someone -- one night," said Tom thickly.

This was surprising news. Bill hadn't had that many partners as of late, but it was still hard to pick out who he'd been with. "Who was I with?"

"I don't even know. I rushed out pretty quickly. I couldn't even stay to listen to you," Tom's voice was strangled. His lips were moving over Bill's shoulder. "... even if I wanted to. ... On the bus, even when you're quiet, I can still tell. Sometimes I try to shut it out. Other times it makes me wonder how you touch yourself -- like me? -- or if you're thinking of me ever. I know you don't, but if I'm -- there -- in the same moment with you, it feels like maybe I could be there -- right across the aisle -- with you, too. Just maybe."

"You wish I felt the same as you? I mean -"

"No." Tom was prompt. "You shouldn't feel like me. You're perfect the way you are."

"Tomi, but you want to be with me so much, I can see it in an aura around you sometimes. I'm not blind."

"That's different."

"How exactly?"

"You -- just -- should avoid it. You don't want to, trust me. Just cuz I want to be with you doesn't mean you should want to be with me. It's bad enough when you try and be nice about it. I have my weaknesses, but I'm trying desperately."

"Trying to what?"

"Stay away. Stay normal. Keep my dirt to myself."

"I don't think you're dirty, Tomi. I think you're in love with me." Tom's teeth bit into Bill's shoulder painfully hard at those words. Unexpectedly.

"Tom! Ouch! It's fine. Honestly." Bill reached his arms around his brother to hug him properly. To him, it seemed Tom needed to be loved back. He could do that. Maybe not in the same way, but close enough.

"No! I'm not. ... Ok? I'm just stupid in the head. You mean everything to me, but, I know where the limits should be, and those haven't changed."

Bill held him tighter. "Maybe you've always been in love with me then." Tom struggled, and Bill put a gentle hand to his face. "Or maybe I am too, I don't know, but on that front, I can assure you we're equal. And don't you doubt it."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about, Bill? Of course I don't doubt you. Anyone else would have walked out on me so long ago." 

Intent on wallowing in his own chagrin, he slipped out of Bill's arms, and annoyingly his brother followed him.

"Then what do you think is different exactly? -- You think I don't get jealous seeing you with girls? You think I don't think it's charming when you hold my hand? You don't think I'd give up everything in the world, just so we never have to part?"

"You don't want me."

"Yeah, I don't really want to fuck you. But the rest is the same," Bill stated plainly. But Tom had staunchly wrenched open the door to the back patio and was stepping out. The door fell closed behind him.

At last, some separation.

Half an hour later, Tom was freezing outside. And yet, he wouldn't go back in. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, between what he thought he'd figured out about himself, and all the things Bill had told him. There was too much to shove into his head all at once -- it wasn't absorbing properly.

Tom had always thought of his little fantasies and torrid dalliances into the forbidden as something new, something he could contain. Something that didn't need to invade the other parts of his life. But all this stuff Bill was insisting on was making his stomach lurch more painfully than after he'd lost control and came back to reality knowing he'd fucked up royally. It just can't have always been there, right? All this stuff between love and lust and feelings and wants and needs ... he wanted to slam the door on all of it. He wanted to go back to how it used to be. He tried so hard to make it that way. But feelings were feelings and they don't stay put.

He wished he had a pack of cigarettes with him. His hands were freezing and shaking with cold by now. Part of him wondered if it'd be better for everyone if he stayed out here and froze to death. That'd be a sight -- barefoot, in his boxers and old t-shirt, turned toes up to the daisies.

While contemplating how he was such a coward that he couldn't even run away from Bill and leave him have a better life, Bill poked his head out the door and joined him on the patio.

"You should come inside, Tom. It's getting dark. And it's bloody cold out here." It was true. The clouds were threatening snow.

"It's fine," said Tom, looking anywhere but Bill.

"Don't be silly. I've been watching you shiver out here for at least ten minutes."

Tom huffed, indignant. "Fine! Then let's go inside!" And he led the way back to the kitchen with a nasty attitude.

"Tom -"

"I'm going to bed." The interview was over. His words were final. Bill didn't even follow him.

Simone and Gordon came home soon after, and Tom could hear them moving around downstairs. No doubt enjoying their dandy life and their wonderful son Bill and how fucking righteous he was.

Tom punched his pillow.

All too soon -- as in, before Tom had calmed down -- their parents were off to bed, and the house was quiet again. He was pacing now. He couldn't help it. How could he be expected to sit down with all this venom crimping at his insides?

Bill knocked on his door this time, but came in before Tom could answer. "You're in the dark, Tomi," he noted quietly and turned on Tom's bedroom light. It was true, Tom hadn't even bothered to turn on the lights after the sun had gone down.

"Haven't you had enough time to sulk?"

"You come to berate me a bit more?"

Bill laughed. "When did I berate you, Tom? I told you that you're a silly boy and you love me -- and you got upset." Bill sat down in Tom's desk chair. That desk had barely been used when they were in school, he mused.

"I don't know what to do about you ... and it's -- this thing -- is growing. And I can't control it. Every time I think about it, it gets worse. And there's just no escape. I can't even run away from you, I couldn't live without you -- so I'm fucking trapped, and sick. And tired. ... Bill." When he said his twin's name it was like a plea for help.

Tom was still looking longingly out the window. Bill came around to circle him in his arms from the back, resting his head on his shoulder.

"It's ok, Tomi. I promise."

Tom squeezed his arms over the one's Bill had wrapped him in. A ripple of disgust with himself ran through him and finally he blinked back a tear.

"It's not ok. ... But you mean the world to me, I'll always mean that." 

It was obvious Tom was crying now, and it scared Bill. He'd never had much experience with a vulnerable Tom, it was always the other way around.

Bill breathed a deep sigh. There had been something playing on his mind since Tom had walked out of the kitchen on him, and it was still there. Bill wondered if maybe he needed to do this to help Tom. He tried not to think of what it entailed -- that Tom would have to put his hands on him again -- brand him. And then he would want more. He remembered the way those hands felt on him, the way his mouth kissed -- and it made Bill breathless. He wondered if maybe it would be different if he were to give himself willingly this time. That maybe he wouldn't feel so disgusted with himself if they didn't go that far this time. If he gave just a bit more to Tom, maybe it would be better, balance things out more between them. He didn't know how else to alleviate the pain Tom felt ... and it was seeping into his chest as well. It had been for a while now.

When he'd said earlier that he could feel the way Tom looked at him with what that aura of want abounding around him -- Bill felt that pain, that loss, as well.

Still, not the same -- but closer than Tom probably thought.

"Tomi ... stop thinking about what you ought to do, and do what you want to do."

Tom sniffed. "Y-you don't know what you're asking for."

"Yeah, I do. Trust me this time. And just -- do what you want. I'm yours, in every way."

Tom turned around to embrace his brother properly. He kissed Bill's forehead. "You're so good to me. I don't deserve you." Another kiss to Bill's temple. He took Bill's face in his hands and lay kisses over his nose and cheeks -- saying, "You're amazing the way you are. Don't change for me."

And then Bill caught his lips in his. For a second, Tom didn't know how to react. They'd only made-out once, years ago, and any other kisses were sweet and chaste. Tom realized though, that Bill was kissing to inspire this time, really urging Tom on, and Tom was too weak to resist. He pulled his brother to him, nearly crushing him, and twined his hands in his unruly hair -- kissing him back. Bill's mouth was pliant and ready for him, and Tom reveled in it. Now that he was here, this was undoubtedly the sweetest part of him. 

That day -- that blunder of a day -- he had been so fixated on not crossing any lines at the beginning, not even thinking about Bill’s mouth, and he’d been an idiot. Not that he wouldn’t want to cherish Bill like that again, but it felt a bit childish to go for the prostate exam right off the bat like that -- in retrospect at least.

Bill’s tongue had found its way into his mouth and Tom puffed hot air for a second before lunging back at him and invading his mouth instead. They met in the middle and Tom had abandoned all will to resist. He could live in his brother’s mouth if Bill would let him. Right next to that sinful tongue stud of his. 

The younger was grabbing at the elder’s shirt, more assertively than Tom ever thought he would, and Tom found himself on his back in bed, with Bill on top of him -- ravaging his mouth as if he were the one in control.

And then a very strange thought found its way into Tom’s bedrabbled mind, one he had no clue how to deal with … Maybe Bill wasn’t the automatic bottom Tom had always pictured him as? Indeed, he’d never given any sign to confirm such a thing. Not even his sexual preference announced it; since as far as Tom knew, Bill mated with both men and women, and had never picked favorites for topping versus bottoming. Did he even like being dominated? He said it had been -- to quote him, "mind-numbingly embarrassing" to be on the end of Tom’s rim-job -- no matter how much he also said it was good. Good was such a lackluster word. It reminded Tom of himself just a few hours earlier, thinking over his own exploits into the area, describing them as making him feel "uncoordinated and exposed", but still "good". Because sex was -- good.

Hmm. He couldn’t kiss with this on his mind. He put a hand out to Bill, who barely raised his head to part their lips. "What is it?" he said, before nipping into Tom’s neck and continuing his kisses there.

Bill was definitely -- no matter how unexpectedly -- in charge now. "Never mind."

Bill smiled. "I thought so,” he said. Then pulled his own shirt up over his head. 

Tom couldn’t help but groan at the sight. His little brother was a milky white wonderland before his eyes. Bill straddled him, enraptured his senses, ensnared any intelligible thoughts from his mind, until Tom could only lay there and be kissed.

And Bill was rubbing himself into Tom’s clothed erection as well. What on earth had happened to overpower Bill’s distaste for a sexual relationship?

Well, here’s the part that Bill was dreading. … He’d set out to put Tom at ease, coax the bitterness out of him, and rekindle a bit of his own sexuality he supposed -- since he hadn’t gotten laid in nearly as long as Tom. Once he’d felt this need in Tom for him, it had been hard to ignore it and find other lovers. It would hurt Tom, he reminded himself. He’d tried several times, but lately he’d given up. Tom’s sorrows had burrowed into him. So maybe this would help at least one of them … "Tomi, you should suck my cock."

Tom nearly choked. "What?!" 

He’d said that pretty damn close to Tom’s ear, so it wasn’t like he hadn’t heard him. "I swear I don’t have much left in me to stay here. This is your chance, at least for now. ... If you want me, well, that’s what I want." Bill pulled up to look Tom in the eye, a bit unfocused, a bit unsure.

"You’re doing this for me?"

"For both of us. But you know already that I -- can’t reciprocate your, uh, more sexual feelings."

Tom kissed him again. "I think you’re amazing."

"Yeah, well, hurry up before I puke in my mouth. I’m not kidding."

Tom kept kissing him, not quite ready to change positions yet, thinking over Bill’s offer. Bill was offering him his body, like -- kind of like -- he’d been dreaming about. However, he knew it wasn’t real. This was just a delay, just Bill’s sacrifice to his monstrous perversions. Wait -- "Do you even like kissing me, Bill? Like this?"

Bill looked back down at him. His brown eyes were sparkling and Tom was thankful the lights were on so he could see them so clearly. "Mmm … I like the little ones."

"Like this?" Tom kissed him tenderly. No tongue, just soft lips. Bill closed his eyes and mewed. So Tom did it again. It was lighter than their kisses so far.


"God … you’re the sweetest thing in the world. … Tell me what you want, please -- I want to be so good to you -- not what you think I want to hear," Tom said breathlessly. He squeezed Bill's body to him and meandered his hands through his hair and over his shoulders. Then laid the same light kisses to his neck so Bill could speak, should he wish to.

"You’re very good at seducing me."

"What does that mean, Billa?" He tried to be as gentle as possible to Bill. He knew this was pushing his sexual boundaries being here with Tom, and he didn’t want to push too hard now. His kisses remained soft, like the wings of a butterfly, over every inch of skin within Tom’s immediate reach.

"It means … you’re messing with my head."

Tom shuddered beneath him. He was so hard right now. He had no idea what to do with himself or how much longer he could restrain himself. Especially with Bill on top of him like this. Whether Bill wanted it or not, he might be ending up getting that blowjob if he didn’t speak up fast enough to disapprove it.

"Tell me what you like."

"With you, right? What I could like?"

"Anything … God … give me some honest feedback, because you’ve got me so hot right now."

"Just -- if you want to, suck my cock. So I can not think about it. It would be comfortable that way."

"If that’s what you want." Tom reached down to Bill’s pants. He had on an old pair of Tom’s baggy sweatpants, and the way he was straddling Tom already made them fall low on his hips. Tom’s hand sunk beneath both of Bill’s layers -- briefs and sweats -- to find his cock, not fully erect -- not even close -- but better than Tom could have imagined. He rolled his palm over it and Bill sat up enough to give him room to move. "How can I kiss you?"

"Never mind that. It doesn't matter."

"It matters."

Bill ignored him however, and met his mouth again with harsh lips and a prodding tongue. Tom let him, how could he not? He tried to get Bill hard, he'd done it before, so he knew he could do it again. ... If Bill wanted a blowjob, Tom could only resist so much. He kissed him with ardor, and wild abandonment, trying to make the most of this time he had with Bill in his arms this way.

This brother was quick to respond to his touches and Tom wondered what he was thinking of to get there; for, soon Bill was panting into Tom's open mouth as Tom pumped his fist over him. 

Seeing Bill over him like this -- this was the stuff of dreams. He tried to memorize the way Bill shivered and contorted through his little spikes of pleasure, so he could recall them next time and maybe Bill wouldn't need to help him this way.

"Tom -"

Was that the sign to flip them finally? Tom grabbed his brother around the middle and rolled them so he was on top now. Bill made a strangled little cry into his mouth.

"Do you want this, Bill? Cuz I'll do it."

Bill closed his eyes and tried to buck up against Tom, to keep that friction going. "Do it."

"That wasn't the answer I was looking for," said Tom. But nonetheless, he still repositioned himself at the end of the bed and removed Bill's bottom garments in one fell swoop. He stood over a naked Bill -- completely naked in a way only fit for dreams -- and admired the expanse of silky skin splayed before him, pausing to feel over the curly words inscribed into Bill's side.

He knew what Bill asked for, but he couldn't bring himself to the task without first -- kissing over his breast bone, taking his nipples between his fingers, and smoothing his hands over all his belly. Bill purred beneath him. Tom was doing his best here, wanting desperately to make him feel good, no longer sure what would do it since they'd crossed into unfamiliar territory and Bill wasn't guiding him.

He took Bill's pierced nipple into his mouth, tugged just a little, kissed it better, and moved lower. He'd gone back to fisting his cock, and Bill seemed to enjoy it -- he wasn't sure -- his brother's eyes were closed. Was he imagining someone else?

Tom made his journey from nipple to pelvis slowly, waiting for Bill to stop him, but he knew he wouldn't. Bill had promised him that, and Tom had the evidence from that time as well. Maybe this time Bill would have something else to say other than it being "different" and "better than with other men" to be laid by Tom ... he hoped against nature to make it so.

Bill was beautiful down there, just like the rest of him -- bare and smooth like Tom remembered him. After teasing and kissing all he could around Bill's cock, he finally held it upright and dragged his tongue over it from base to tip. Bill writhed at the feel of it. Tom hoped it was a good thing, he'd never given a blowjob before. He wondered if Bill had.

"Oh ... ohh, Tom ..."

Tom had taken to sucking on the tip and pressing his tongue into the slit. Then he took him whole into his mouth and sucked over several inches of him. Bill moaned a string of obscenities in response. Tom couldn't take him too deep, he wasn't skilled at this in any way, but he knew the basics: make it wet, avoid teeth, and pleasure the glans. It seemed to be working. He fell into a rhythm of bobbing up and down and swirling his tongue over the head with each pass. He made up for his shortcomings by pumping the base in his fist -- he'd seen ample amounts of porn in his youth and he'd gotten quite a few jobs on his own cock -- he knew that much. Bill was mewling so sweetly under him, getting more and more frustrated by the second; even trying to thrust into Tom's mouth. It was fine; Tom adjusted for it. 

When Bill came, he went rigid like Tom remembered him, before collapsing into a fit of shudders and whimpers and jerks. Tom took his release as it came, swallowing what he could, missing lots of it, and it dribbled down his chin and back onto Bill.

Bill lay still beneath him now, staring at the ceiling as Tom wiped at him with the pair of briefs he'd previously shucked from his brother. Tom was so hard it hurt, but dared not mention it. Not after Bill had given him this. He kissed his belly again, and as he kneeled on the floor before him, in the position he'd given that blowjob in, Tom hunched over and fisted himself to completion.

Bill watched him then, saw the way his brother's brows knitted and his eyes shut as he panted out his pleasure. He handed him his own t-shirt from the floor to tidy himself with once he'd stopped trembling and kissing Bill's spread thighs.

Tom nodded his thanks for the shirt and tucked himself back into his pants as quickly as he could. His naked Bill had sat up in bed and locked his arms awkwardly in his own lap, fidgeting slightly with his nails.

"Hey," said Tom, broaching a difficult moment, "you're amazing, you know that? I never got to tell you last time." He tried to smile.

Bill shoved a pillow onto himself before looking at him. He smiled lightly, it didn't reach his eyes.

"Can I kiss you still?"

"Sure." Bill shrugged.

Tom knelt to meet his face, caressed it as he held it in his hands, trying to make Bill really look at him. Not that dejected simper of a smile. "Hey ... I think this was better than last time, right?"

"Yeah." Bill still looked forlorn.

Tom kissed his forehead and wiped sweat off his brow, kissing that too soon after. His lips lingered on his temple. "I'm sorry I'm weak."

"I'm sorry I can't say no to you."

Tom breathed over him, not knowing what to say for a while, just cradling his brother's beautiful face in his hands. "Thank you ..." he said finally. 

Bill knew what Tom meant, and he nodded in acknowledgement, for he could do no more.

After more long moments of Tom playing with his hair, and kissing little bits of him, Bill finally requested some clothes. Tom brought him a pair of his own boxers and a t-shirt from his closet -- this was his room after all.

Bill dressed as Tom watched him. That expanse of delicate features had disappeared beneath an extra-large shirt that dwarfed his petite frame, even if Bill was over six feet tall. Tom breathed a sigh of closure, for now. He supposed this gift would hold him until the next time he lost his nerve and considered offing himself in frustration over these insane feelings.

"You give good head, Tom," said Bill finally, an actual smile curling the ends of his mouth. "That was your first, right?"

Tom nodded slightly.

They sat back onto Tom's bed together and Tom wrapped Bill in his embrace, then covered them both in his blankets.

Thoughts and images of Bill were playing on a reel in Tom's mind as Bill settled himself into the crook of Tom's neck.

"I can't believe you don't hate me sometimes," said Tom.

"Naw. You'll figure out you're in love with me eventually. I think I'm in love with you too, so it's ok. Just, let's not do that -- stuff -- again for some time, ok?"

That was still a thought that made Tom uneasy, that "in love" thing; so he put it out of his mind for tonight. For now, Bill was his, no matter how they loved each other -- they were here together and they were miraculously ok, even through the monsoon.

"Hey ... you never told me why you were wearing a red g-string that day."

Bill laughed. "I ran out of clean briefs. They were some shit a fan gave us."

Tom shook his head in amusement. He should have known.