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So Saxon has lost it. Really, truly lost it.
What tipped him off wasn’t the jacking off in bed next to his brother while he lost his virginity (the first one, at least), or falling into some long distance, semi-open, co-dependent relationship that probably qualified as criminal sexual abuse in some states, or letting the aforementioned brother live with him for the summer (because Lochlan had oh-so-conveniently gotten an internship in Charlotte for the summer before his senior year) in some sick pantomime of domesticity.
No, the way Saxon knows he’s gone absolutely, completely, for the birds insane is that he’s refusing a blowjob.
“No?” Lochy says, head halting near Saxon’s navel, looking up at him with his big eyes still drowsy, sleep crusted at the corners.
Saxon makes a noise that some people—not him, but some other people—might consider a whine, and presses his knee against Lochlan’s side, urging him away.
“Need to sleep.” he mumbles, pulling for the comforter that’s bunched around their thighs. Lochlan humphs, pressing a kiss to his ribs and then biting softly. Saxon knees him harder. “Get offa me.”
Lochy gives a whine of his own, but he goes, slithering back up the bed to his place at Saxon’s side, tugging the comforter back up and over them, his curly head hitting the pillow, little hand reaching for Saxon’s own where it rests between them.
Turning down some head, Jesus Christ. Who is he?
It’s not even for any particular reason. He really just does need to sleep more. It’s barely daybreak, another two hours until his alarm goes off and with the way his calendar is stacked today, he could use the shut eye.
This wasn’t the case two months ago, when Lochy arrived on his doorstep with his suitcases and flushed cheeks, grin so big it split his face. Saxon fucked more in that first month than maybe his entire freshman year of college, and that was saying something.
Lochy, just there, all the time, little head perking up when Saxon got back from work late; cooking in his kitchen (poorly, but still); lying on his couch on the weekends, stomach exposed at the waistband of his jeans where his t-shirt hiked up. Them, all alone, no Mom or Piper or whatever the fuck else to worry about. There wasn’t a surface in the apartment that was safe.
But now, eight weeks later, he’s—used to it? Can he say that? That he’s used to Lochlan in his bed—his companion, his pretty little housewife. But it’s true. He takes it for granted, now, that he’ll wake up in the morning to the weight of Lochlan on his chest, morning-mouthed, sleepy-eyed, drooling all over his Egyptian cotton. That he’ll come home each day to Lochy eager and pink mouthed and horny, ready to drop to his knees at a moment’s notice.
He wonders, sometimes, what Lochlan tells his friends. If there exists both Saxon his brother and also some faceless, generically named man that Lochlan calls his boyfriend. For Saxon, the distinction doesn’t exist. There is no girlfriend equivalent that he lies about—only some girls from dating apps that he makes up stories about so no one starts to suspect he’s gay.
He shuts his eyes for what can only be five minutes, maybe ten, but suddenly Lochlan’s elbow is at his side, jabbing him awake.
“Turn it off.” his brother mumbles, now lying on his stomach, face buried in a pillow. Saxon’s alarm blares on his nightstand, incessant. How is it already time for work? He throws an arm out, fumbles for his phone at his bedside to silence it, and sits up, rubbing at his eyes. He had a new alarm now, changed from what he had had that first summer. Another one of the generic ready-made Apple jingles, nothing fancy, but his old one gave Lochlan PTSD, or so he claimed.
“C’mon, Loch.” he says, hand heavy on Lochlan’s shoulder, jostling. “Up and at ‘em.”
Lochy’s just an intern, so he doesn’t have to be at his office until 9:30, that spoiled brat, but waiting that long meant that he would lose out on a sorely needed ride to work. Which he sometimes did turn down, pushing Saxon’s hand away and choosing to stay in bed a while longer, calling an Uber to work later in the morning.
But usually, they get ready together. Saxon’s got a two bedroom--obviously, or else this would look really fucking weird--but only Lochlan’s things live in the guest room. He doesn’t even get dressed in there most days, instead pulling out his clothes for the day and floating back to the master to change alongside Saxon.
Now, this morning, he tries to get in the shower with Saxon, which is normally more than welcome, but inevitably adds another half hour to the morning routine. Because as much as Saxon tells himself it’ll just be a shower, it never ends that way.
Lochlan’s lithe body in front of him, wet and soapy; his little hands around Saxon’s waist, murmuring Just let me wash you, you wash me, it’ll be quicker, their morning wood brushing, and then before he knows it, he’s got Lochy chest first against the shower wall, rutting his dick in the cleft of Lochlan’s ass, hand around his throat. Lochlan laughing and arching back and smiling that smug little smile, like he knew it would end this way before he even got his pajamas off.
Lochlan just wants and wants and wants. It never stops, Saxon doesn’t know how to deal with it. The girls before, they usually got sick of him within a few months. He had preferred it that way.
When he says no to the joint shower, Lochlan sighs and gives puppy dog eyes, but Saxon’s got discipline for miles today, it seems.
“Nope, nope. Go shower in the other room.” Not your room. Never your room. Lochlan pouts and stomps his feet, but he goes.
Getting a ride from Saxon means that Lochlan’s at the office an hour early, which he usually passes with a cup of coffee at the cafe in the lobby of his building, reading some book or whatever.
“It’s good form, Loch, to be early like this. Make sure your boss sees you in the office fifteen minutes before your start time. Maybe a half hour.” Saxon had stressed, but Lochlan’s ignored him.
“It’s civil engineering, Saxon. It’s different than you guys.” But what those differences where, Lochlan could never fully articulate. Of course he couldn’t, because he was a baby and didn’t know anything.
He drops Lochlan outside his office building with a wave. Lochy waves back, grinning. Always the same parting--
“Have a good day, Sax. See you tonight”
Once, only once, Lochlan tried to kiss him on the cheek on his way out..
“If you pull that again, I’m going to beat the shit out of you.” Saxon told him later that night, still fuming. Lochlan rolled his eyes and sulked and didn’t speak to him until they went to bed.
-
He’s out on a Friday with his friends from his softball league when his phone lights up against the table top, LOCHY in bold font at the top of the notification. There’s no text preview, and he’s not nearly as paranoid as he used to be, but he swipes for it quickly anyway, holding it in his lap to read.
hi
you guys out?
Lochy had left him to his own devices that evening, giddily announcing that he was going to a happy hour with the other interns from work. Saxon had been seized with a weird mix of jealousy and pride. As much as he was always saying that he wanted Lochy to go out and be a normal college kid, have a normal life, there was always this weird nagging in him that he couldn’t place. Fear, maybe, that too much time around other kids would make Lochlan realize how different his life should be. How unfucked up everyone else was.
But isn’t that what Saxon wanted? Isn’t that what he said he wanted?
Lochlan’s met him for drinks before, but usually just him and another one of his friends, maybe two. Never in a big group like this, at least six on Saxon’s side and god knows how many of the teenaged horde with Lochlan. But what the hell, sure. He’s had a few beers, the sun is shining, the beer garden starting to empty out as people filtered away to dinner plans and second locations.
“You guys mind if my brother and his friends meet us?” he says aloud, flicking to Find My Friends to check Lochlan’s location. Ivy Post, the sloppy college and recent post-grad watering hole about a mile away. Normal. Normal place for a normal summer intern and his normal summer intern friends.
“The little one?” Jason asks, distracted with trying to flag down a server for another IPA.
“Yeah, he’s with some buddies from his internship. It’s their first summer all 21 so they’re hype for the bars, you know how that is.”
Jason laughs and nods, no doubt reminiscing about his own first summer of legal drinking age.
Next to him on the bench, Alex’s girlfriend squeals. “Yeah, tell them to come! It’ll make us feel young again.”
“I mean—they’re college kids, Marnie. How young do you want to feel?” Alex scoffs from the other side of her, but nods his head, gesturing towards Saxon’s phone. “But yeah, Sax, tell ‘em to come through.”
the bennett. On kingston
but its like
a grown up bar. So you have to behave.
Lochlan thumbs up his first message and only responds with the eye rolling emoji. Saxon waits for another text from him, but it doesn’t come. So ten minutes later, he double texts.
We’re in the beer garden. There’s an empty table next to us
Three years ago, you would’ve caught him dead before he double texted someone he was fucking.
Lochy’s response, almost immediate.
:) :) :) thank you. Headed there in a bit.
He spends the next half hour nervously checking his phone, and trying to act like he’s not. If anyone clocks it, no one calls him out. He starts getting nervous that one of Lochlan’s little work friends is going to be all over Lochy, flirting, pulling his attention. If it’s a girl, Saxon wouldn’t mind it so much. Would maybe find it hot, even. But if it’s a guy, Saxon’ll be white knuckling the bench seat for the next two hours.
If anyone notices, he’ll blame it on being homophobic. Better than the truth, at least.
Lochy and his friends get there almost an hour later, and Saxon has to tamp down his impulse to demand what took them so long. They’re all so cute, in a little-kid way—in Baby’s First Business Casual, company branded backpacks and tote bags at their sides. Three guys and two girls—Lochlan speed runs through their names and Saxon doesn’t remember a single one.
Saxon does the intros on his side, and the kids settle in at the table directly adjacent to theirs, all to Saxon’s right. That’s good, that they’re all separate—Saxon was dreading having to orchestrate too much inter-group conversation.
Lochy sits opposite him, next to Jason, and smiles big at Saxon across the table, face already flush from whatever he had been drinking before. He looked handsome, in his plaid pastel button down and khaki slacks, the watch Saxon had gotten him for his birthday last year glinting at his wrist.
Did he always wear it? Saxon tries to remember. Or did he put it on special today?
Saxon had watched him pull those same clothes on this morning, but there was something about seeing them lived in after a day of work—the pants creased at the juncture of his hips, the shirt collar a little out of place. Saxon bites at his inner cheek and wills his dick down.
Lochlan notices, or senses it, or something, pressing the toe of his loafer against Saxon’s own and smiles bigger, so excited to be out. Saxon winks and Lochlan winks back, one hand coming up to pet self-consciously at his hair. Saxon wants to tell him to stop fussing, that he already looked great.
The server comes by and takes the kids’ drink orders, the words “And can I just see some—” barely out of her mouth before they’re all proudly whipping out their shiny new horizontal licenses, eager to prove to her that they were allowed to be here.
One of Marnie’s friends leans down from the length of the table. “Can we buy you guys some shots? First summer legally drinking, it’s a big deal!”
All the kids titter and gasp and beg off, trying to pretend they aren’t dying for it, but Marnie’s friend, such a sappy bleeding heart, knows better and gestures to the server, whipping out her card and getting a round of tequila.
“Don’t embarrass me, now, Loch.” Saxon mock-threatens as they cheers across the table. He clenches his jaw to keep it from going slack as he watches Loch lick the salt off the back of his hand in one long swipe, tip the shot glass back, choke a bit, and ungracefully shove the lime wedge in his mouth, face screwing up unpleasantly as he sucks on it.
“How’d I do?” he asks once he sets the drained lime down, grinning flirtatiously, and god, Saxon’s going to fucking kill him. That kid knows what he’s doing, always.
He shrugs. Jason has a head tipped towards them, listening. “There’s some room for improvement.”
Jason, poor Jason, gestures to the full shot and salt shaker and lime in front of Saxon. “Show ‘em how it’s done, Sax.”
The kids all cheer, egging him on, so Saxon wets the back of his hand and applies the salt. Licks and takes the shot in one practiced movement, concentrating on the burn of the cheap tequila in his throat so he has something else to focus on besides Lochlan’s wide pupils staring at him, mouth a little ajar.
“Lime?” Lochy manages to say after he gets his fucking tongue up off the floor, holding the wedge out. Saxon waves it away.
“Don’t need it.”
Jason cackles and high fives him.
“You’ll all get there. It takes some practice.” Saxon tells the kids. “One day.” And the kids all laugh, little hands around their frosty glasses, but Lochlan’s eyes are straight forward, all on him.
For the first hour or so, Saxon is okay. He’s drank enough that he can sometimes even successfully block Lochy out, when they’re not in direct conversation. He was totally fine, just humoring his kid brother, showing him a good time.
He and Piper even used to go out together once in a while in the year they overlapped at Duke and UNC, but mostly because Piper had a lot of cute sorority sisters and his frat brothers were eager for a chance to branch into the UNC pussy pool. He had made the mistake of fucking a friend of Piper’s one time, and then Piper had made his life a living hell so acutely that he never even attempted after that.
She told their fucking mom. What kind of wet blanket miserable fuck did that?
It’s not until later in the night, when he’s been pulled into conversation with one of Lochy’s little girlfriends, that he starts to panic. She’s yapping at him about her internship, and how much she likes her supervisor, and her plans for senior year spring break (Cancun, naturally), and even though she’s cute, all he can think about is how much he hopes no one thinks he’s hitting on her.
Because how fucking embarrassing would it be if it was one of his friends sitting here, listening in earnest, making a pass at her. What a loser Saxon would think that guy was, trying to fuck a college kid at their big age, almost 30. Except that’s him. That’s him right now, fucking a college kid, lusting after basically a teenager. Just not the one in front of him.
Sweat starts pricking at his neck under the collar of his shirt, even though the sun is almost set, and he flaps the juncture of the buttons, trying to cool down. Lochy is deep in some conversation with Jason on the other side of the table—turns out they’re both into the same gay ass fantasy series, with books so big you could brain someone to death with it.
Saxon strains to listen to their conversation out of the corner of his ear, but all they’re gushing about is the television adaptation of the books that’s apparently in development at Showtime, and their conversation is filled with incomprehensible proper nouns, so Saxon gives up.
He lets it go as long as he can, nodding politely as Becky or whatever the fuck her name is asks about how he liked Duke, how he likes his job, his life in Charlotte. He bites down his natural instinct to be dismissive, telling her to fuck off, because she’s Lochy’s friend, or something like it, and he needs to be nice, but eventually it’s too much and he cuts her off, turning to Lochlan.
“You hungry, Loch?”
Lochlan startles, looking away from Jason mid-sentence. He blinks at him, big eyes bleary with alcohol. “I’m okay, actually.” he says, with an apologetic smile. “We ate already.”
“Oh, my god, remember that guy—” one of the other kids, a guy at the end of the table, starts to say, and launches into some inane story about another group of drunk little assholes at the previous bar, and okay, guess Saxon will just sit here and fantasize about running into traffic until Lochlan decides he’s had enough fun.
His friends dismiss themselves one by one, coming to say goodbye and confirm plans for the game next week, until Saxon is just left with Lochlan and the rest of the kids. He considers pulling his older brother card and ordering Lochlan to wrap it up, but every time he straightens his back to start in on it, Lochy gives him those pleading eyes, and Saxon remains in his seat.
Finally--fucking finally, Jesus Christ, Loch—his brother decides he’s had enough, and starts kicking at his ankle, whining that he’s ready to go home. It’s almost midnight, the beer garden starting to fill up again with the night crowd. Saxon’s ordering an Uber before Lochlan even finishes his sentence, standing up and reeling a bit as the dozen or so beers he drank hits him all at once. God, he can’t drink like this anymore.
In the car home, Lochlan hums happily along with the song on the radio, curly head lolling, faint smile on his face.
“I had so much fun.” he says brightly, reaching over to grab Saxon’s hand. Saxon almost pulls away on instinct, but he’s drunk enough to leave it. What does the Uber driver know? For all he’s concerned, they’re a gay couple with a semi-concerning age gap. Probably not the weirdest shit he’s seen even today.
Back at home, Saxon waits with a cramp of anxiety as Lochy climbs into bed, worried he’ll want to have sex. Saxon doesn’t think he could get it up, even without the beers. He just keeps picturing Lochlan’s friends, how young they looked in comparison to Jason and the others.
But fortunately, Lochlan’s in the same boat, pushing a hand against his own soft dick as he kneels at Saxon’s side. He whines once and then gives up, flopping against the mattress and falling face first into sleep. Saxon tries to follow him, staring up at the ceiling, but he can’t stop thinking about it.
He’s a lot of bad things, with regards to his brother. An abuser and a freak and a lovesick idiot. But now, the label that burns brightest to him is cutting and unavoidable. He’s all of those things, and he’s also a fucking loser creep.
-
Saxon keeps it in all of Saturday morning, the uneasy churning in his gut. Lochlan tries to go down on him again in the morning and Saxon shoves him off, moaning about a hangover.
“What, can’t hang with the college kids?” Lochy teases, draping himself over Saxon’s body and kissing him on the cheek.
Yeah, Loch. Something like that.
Lochlan takes it at face value, getting himself up in that spry way only college kids can do after drinking for eight hours straight the day before. Saxon lies in bed, listening to the shower going, one of Lochlan’s weird ass podcasts blaring off his phone as he gets ready. Lochy has to shave now—not every day, but often enough.
He flounces out for the day, leaving Saxon to wallow alone in the apartment, shades drawn down the windows against the horrible, bright glare of the summer sun. He is hungover, that much was true, and he stands under the spray of the shower for ages, building some mental barrier against the nausea in his stomach.
It’s the drinks. He’ll blame it on that.
He putters around all day—the gym, meal prep, laundry. Even tries to sit down and read a book. Lochy comes back around dinner time with salads from the Sweetgreen down the street without asking, already knows Saxon’s order, and they eat around the island in companionable silence.
“Wow,” Lochlan finally comments. “So quiet. You must really feel like shit, huh?”
Saxon glares at him over their compostable bowls, stabbing a cherry tomato through with his flimsy take-out fork.
Lochlan makes a funny face, puts his hands up in surrender. “God, sorry I asked.” He busies himself with cleaning up his trash, wiping down the counter like a good roommate, tutting at the open fridge as he decides what flavor of seltzer water he wants. He holds a second cold can out to Saxon once he decides, but Saxon shakes his head. It’s then that Saxon can see it, that Lochlan knows something’s up. The little flicker in his big eyes.
But he says nothing, of course he doesn’t. Just hunches up his shoulders to make himself small and slinks to the couch, putting on that travel show he’s been obsessed with lately.
Saxon stares down into his half eaten salad, wondering if he should give this another night’s sleep, if it’ll just go away if he takes more time.
But no. This is something he’s been working on. He doesn’t have a therapist or anything—he’s not that desperate, not yet--but he has been doing some more reading, recommendations branching off from the books Chelsea had given him. Veering away from the spiritual and more into how to be a good person, how to build functional relationships, and do all that gay shit like talk about your feelings and—and communicate.
And this, this right here, is a prime opportunity to put that to work. He doesn’t have to shut down, doesn’t have to talk obliquely around the issue. He’s allowed to be weak, allowed to have hard feelings and the people he loves should be able to take those things and understand them and love him anyway. Allegedly. According to these so-called “experts”.
He clears his throat. “So.” he starts, and Lochy immediately pauses the show, turning his whole body on the couch to face him. His pretty little face, so open, each emotion across it like a gash of paint. This is going to fucking suck.
“I didn’t like last night.”
And god, fuck, Lochlan never makes this easy. It all flashes across in an instant, that initial shock of surprise and pain. His mouth parting, eyebrows knitting, Adam’s apple bobbing long in the column of his neck.
“I—I did.” His voice is so small.
“I know you did, and that’s—that’s good.” Of course I know you did, Loch. Because I sat around for two hours wanting to kill myself while you had fun with your little friends. “But it was hard for me.”
Simple sentences, “I feel” statements. He’s trying, he’s really trying.
“Why?"
“Because it was weird, for me. Having you there with my friends.”
“I’ve hung out with your friends before.” Lochlan sulks. And he’s right—Saxon doesn’t know why this was so much different.
“I know. But this time, I just—I didn’t like it. And I don’t think I want to do it again.”
Lochlan turns back to the screen, gnawing on his thumb. Saxon can see his free hand clenching and unclenching into a fist, a dead giveaway. He gives him a minute, but nothing comes.
“Lochy, talk to me. Please.”
“It’s just—sometimes I—” Lochy turns back to him and knits his mouth up, his chin pebbling. He’s going to cry, of course he’s going to fucking cry. “Sometimes I don’t know what bothers you more. That fact that this is gay or that it’s—it’s”
Say it, Loch, he wants to hiss. That it’s what? It’s incest? A crime against nature? Grow up.
“Of course I’m more upset that it’s—what it is, Loch.”
“Are you sure?”
“What the fuck do you mean, am I sure?”
“If I wasn’t your brother. Would it bother you less?”
Saxon barks out a laugh. “Of course I’d have an easier time with it if you were just my gay boyf—”
But then the reality of that scenario hits him. All of last night, if Lochlan was just his...his boyfriend. Looking his friends in the eye and asking if his 21-year-old twink boyfriend still in college could come hang out with them. Having to be—to be out. As a gay guy. He chokes around the rest of his sentence, voice dying in his throat.
Lochlan’s gaze hardens, tears starting to prick at the corners.
“Yeah.” he says, voice thick. “That’s what I thought.”
“Lochy, come on.”
But Lochlan shakes his head, curls bouncing, his mouth twisting up into a teary pout.
Saxon tries again. Talking like this was supposed to help, but this is already so, so off the rails. “Loch, I’m really trying here. You need to meet me half way.”
Lochlan’s face pulls tight, a little choke coming out. “I think I’ve met you a lot fucking further than halfway.” he spits, real venom.
Saxon’s got nothing for that. Just has to stand there and watch dumbly as Lochlan gets up and storms to the guest room, slamming the door behind him.
In the silence of the main room, he slaps his hand hard against the counter top, just to feel something.
“Well, that went fucking well.” he says out loud into the quiet of the room. Doesn’t care if Lochlan can hear him. Secretly hopes he can.
-
He tried. He really tried to do it the right way, and look where that got them. Lochlan’s been sleeping in the guest room since Friday night, six long days of icy silence, two showers going in the morning, stilted conversation in the car to work. He’s fucking sick of it.
So, whatever. Back to the tried and true method of making up, the one that’s worked perfectly fine for them over the past two years. This whole evolving as a person thing? Overrated, officially.
He comes up behind Lochlan as he sits on the couch on Wednesday night and brushes a hand through his hair, from his forehead and back, tugging a bit at it like he knows Lochlan likes.
Lochlan makes a mad little noise in the back of his throat, but he doesn’t move.
“C’mon, Loch.” he says. “I got it. Message received. Come to bed.”
Lochlan shakes his head, pouting, but in that way that Saxon knew meant he just needed to be convinced. He leans down, presses a kiss to the curve of Lochlan’s bare neck. His shirt is off, his long, pale chest exposed and vulnerable.
Lochy sighs, his whole body unwinding as he sinks back into the couch cushions, but he still won’t look at Saxon. As though Saxon’s not above playing dirty.
Hand down the front of his sweatpants, palming at Lochy’s dick, feeling it already half hard and rapidly swelling in his hand. Another kiss, teeth against the muscle. Lochlan twitches and whimpers, shaking his head.
“Don’t act like you’re better than this.” Saxon chides, pulling Lochlan’s dick up, out of the waistband. A kiss against his cheek, hand in his hair tightening, turning Lochlan’s face towards him. Kissing him on the mouth, chaste, once, and then deeper. “Baby, I’m sorry. Come on.”
Baby’s a dirty trick, but Saxon wouldn’t use it if it didn’t work. Lochy softens, his tongue coming out to lick against Saxon’s own, his little hand on Saxon’s face. He’s almost turned completely towards the back of the couch, now, and Saxon turns him the rest of the way so that he’s on his knees, stomach against the cushions.
“You missed me?” Lochlan asks, his other hand already coming down to push his sweatpants all the way off, kneeing them away so he’s naked and god, Saxon wants him so bad, his absence like an amputated limb.
“You know I did.” he mumbles against Lochlan’s mouth, biting at his lower lip, and then Lochlan’s moaning, arms around Saxon’s shoulders, getting his body clumsily over the back of the couch to wrap his legs around Saxon’s waist.
Saxon kisses him back, digging his fingers into Lochlan’s sides, and carries him into their bedroom.