1This is hopefully going to be the one and only authors note in this story aside from ones needed for clarification or warnings.

This is a rewrite of an earlier story of mine, “boys that shouldn’t love,” that was written when I was 14. Now, as a college student I am giving it a make over. There will be some slight changes, some major changes, and some unseen events revealed. Terry and Sam are both older and better defined. This whole story will be written in first-person Point Of View (POV) of both terry and sam.

warning: incest, male/male relationship, m/m sex, drug use, angst, violence, harsh views of society, church, and love. If any of this offends you leave now. Sex scenes will be posted on my Live Journal account with links within the chapters to take those brave to see. If the story interests you, but you don’t want the mental image of males going at it, you will no longer have to.

It’s two days before high school finals. It is nearly midnight, it’s warm, and it’s calm in our bedroom. I'm finally going to bed after helping my brother the best that I could to prep for his exams. Terry is smart, and has nothing that I could see to worry about, but it’s his character. He panics so easily.

Let me explain Terry and me. My name is Sam Walker, and Terry Walker is my little brother. He is a senior in highschool and I’m in the second year in junior college. He is 17, and I’m 20. I’m a Gemini, his a Cancer. He is religious, going to church almost every Sunday, and, well, I don’t go to church anymore. I have bounced between our mother’s and father’s houses since the divorce, and he stays with our mother because she’s trained to deal with his panic attacks.

And, um, I love him, um, so much that, well, I want to show him physically. I swear I’ll explain myself, but first back to Terry.

After the divorce of our parents, he has always been a nervous wreck. One night in particular After a long night of screaming and fighting over simple matters, our father, or what used to be our father, ran downstairs and walked out, slamming the door behind him. Terry, who was no more then 10 years old, had been awoken by their shouting and sat on the landing of the stairs, watching it all. I was woken by the slam, and found him like that. His beautiful green eyes were wet with tears, his arms wrapped around his legs protectively, and light sobs shook his body. I carefully came up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at me, and let out a loud sob.

“Dad is leaving us.” He whipped his eyes with his sleeve, the light from down stairs casting shadows on his face as he looked very seriously at me. “You’re not going to leave me, are you?”

No one can truly understand how heartbreaking it is to hear a child say something like that. I fell to my knees and gathered him into my arms for the first time since I was seven, and held him tight. He tensed at first, but quickly relaxed and held me back.

“No Terry,” I whispered into his ear through his overgrown red hair. “I won’t leave. Not ever. I will always be here for you. I love you, little bro.” Then, without knowing why at the time, I kissed him on the lips and held him tight, rocking us back and forth until he stopped crying. That night I let him sleep with me in my bed. It had taken him a good hour to relax and finally get some sleep in my arms. Since that night, we spent a lot of nights like that to stop his panic attacks.

I didn’t know at the time that I loved him as I do now. I was 13 at the time; the only thing I understood was that I had to be there for Terry. He seemed so fragile, and he was the only one that was there. Now, at 20, I think that is when I started to care for him less brotherly, and more, I don’t know, intimately. When I held him, I felt warmth and my skin tingled at the contact. I had dreamed of kissing him in ways a brother doesn’t kiss a brother.

Finally, a few years later, I shared this with a counselor at school, one that I trusted. Thankfully, he didn’t betray my trust by bashing me. I remember, he took off his glasses, his eyes had lines around them, and his forehead grew tight as he stared at his desk, processing the information I gave him.

“Sam,” he said with a tired voice, running a hand through his thinning white hair. “It sounds to me that you are having feeling of attraction to people of the same sex. This is OK, and there is nothing wrong with these feeling. Because you are so close to your brother, you are having feelings for him. It’s not abnormal, as you desire someone like him. You are confusing your attraction of his qualities with the attraction to Terry himself. ” He said all this with a positive voice. Suddenly he looked at me in the eyes very seriously.

“Being homosexual, meaning having feelings for members of the same sex, is acceptable in most of today’s culture. However, having these feelings for a family member is not at all acceptable in any culture. That is called incest. I suggest that you push these feelings for your brother aside and focus on finding someone that has the same qualities. Keep your mind open to both sexes, as you are young and may find attraction to both genders. You are only 15. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cartwright.” I said quietly, looking down at my shoes as I let it all sink in.

It’s been five years since then, and I took his advice to heart. I started to date both males and females, but none seemed right. I thought maybe I just wasn’t trying hard enough, so I became more intimate with them, even losing my virginity to a girl in Senior Year. I discovered that they were fun to hang out with and stuff, but they were nothing I would want to “bring home to mom” . . .

...or brother. Those feelings never went away; they just got stronger. It’s becoming an obsession. I feel like such a pervert watching him, wanting him. I know it’s wrong and it makes me sick when I think about it, but I just can’t help it! He so hot, and sweet, and caring, I just wanna slam him into a wall and have my dirty way with him! But his my brother! It’s wrong and disgusting! Besides, even if he wasn’t my brother, he is still a straight, Christian boy. All I can do is to date more . . .

... and sleep, finally, listening to Terry flip pages in his binder as he does some last minute studying before bed.

It’s late at night when Terry’s heavy breathing wakes me. My eyes snap open and I look toward his bed, directly across from me in our room. He is sitting in bed, holding himself in a similar fetal position as when he was smaller, breathing heavily. His eyes were staring into space, and sweat shined off his forehead as he fought for air.

I uncovered myself quickly and grabbed a small paper bag from the nightstand, and headed over to his bed. He looks up at me as I open the bag and put it over his mouth until he held it. As he breathed into the bag, I rubbed his back soothingly with the center of my palm, waiting for this spell to finish. After a few minutes it slowed, until he finally removed the bag, letting out a loud gasp. He unwrapped his arms and leaned against my chest, nuzzling his head under my chin.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he said quietly, closes his eyes in shame. He apologizes every time this happens, even though I have nothing against him for it. After talking to his doctor, we all understood long ago that it was out of his control, but he seems to think it is.

“One day Terry, you will understand that it doesn’t bother me. I would rather know you’re OK.” I resisted the urge to kiss the top of his head, as I continued to rub his back in lazy circles with the palm of my hand. His body seemed limp as he relaxed. “You’re just stressed from school. It’s OK.” He nodded against my chest.

“Do you want to sleep with me tonight?” I asked him. Every time he had a spell in the night I offered, and every time he took it. I think the feel of another person next to him keeps him grounded, because it prevented another spell, and he slept well throughout the night. Just like every other time, he nodded.

With a pat on the back to signal that I was ready to move, he sat up. I walked over to my bed, and crawled under the thin, summer time blanket, leaving him enough room to slip in. He lay down with his back to me, and I carefully placed my arm over his shoulder, letting him know I was there. Carefully, Terry moved his body back until it was mere inches from mine, letting out a sigh as he went back to sleep.

As much as I want this to mean more, I know that isn’t for me or my sick feelings for him. This isn’t wrong, this is helping him. Just like all the other night, I will resist the urge to pull him close and feel him passionately. I’m here for him. I can live with that.

Tonight, we can both sleep in peace.