yet another rewrite of something old, but one greatly deserving of a facelift. i have not been dead much as it appears otherwise; i'm still constantly writing. i once had a thought i'd be putting together a book sometime this spring, but that idea has pretty much fallen through. i did graduate in december, though i'm working to be accepted into a masters program for fall, which will probably eat into my writing time more than work and inspiration for other hobbies do now.

anyway. for those of you who recall the old story, i hope you enjoy this version even more. for those of you who are reading the story for the first time, i hope you enjoy it just as much.

this is for everyone who continues to read, fave, and comment on my stories even though it's been ages since i've posted.

tuesday, march 22, 2011. 4:21 am.

"All I'm sayin' is it's weird you 'ad a brother all this time an' never told me, is all."

I pulled my leg up to where I sat on one of the long wooden benches in the men's locker room, my fingers snagging a gnarl in the shoelace of my cleat before tugging the strings into place. Jordan stood nearby at his locker, shaking his head so his dark blond hair listed into his eyes as he ruffled through the locker's contents, searching for something even as he upbraided me for his lack of personal information.

"Why's it weird?"

He turned, looking at me with indignant surprise; "We've known each other since freshman year, man. And you never once said nothin' about no brother."

I rolled my eyes, lowering one foot and bringing up the other, lacing much faster than the last.

"He's just my kid brother and we don't get along."

"Huh. He never seemed the type to fight, 'specially not you. You've a good four inches on 'im, if not more."

I shook my head; "Not fight, really, we just don't have much to do with each other."

I used to think one of us was adopted for how different we are though I know better now--for one, we're both good at athletics, as are our parents. I've been in baseball since I was old enough for the peewees and in basketball since junior high, while Tony was in baseball until the fifth grade and in soccer since he was four.

If asked, I'd probably call myself a sport, you know, but Tony? He's academic, one of those popular types people find hard to dislike. You know the ones I mean. Top of their class academically, super amiable and friendly and in every club known to man, pressured into running for STUCO and having the good grace to have the most modest campaign conceivable. I've never known him to get into a fight with anyone, never heard of him exchanging harsh words with anyone and he's never been in trouble with authority.

Me? I'm no troublemaker, sure, but my record is far from spotless. I'll tell anyone and everyone what I think and I'm not afraid to back myself up with fists or dirty fighting if I have to. Guess that's why my friends are few and far between--Jordan's my best friend, in that he's the only one I prefer to hang around with for any extended period of time. He's annoying as hell sometimes, but loyal to a fault and always good for hanging out. Regardless, he's never been to my house, and he's never asked--I'm not someone who really needs anyone that close in my life.

Anyway, the reason behind Jordan's sudden revelation was that Tony approached us outside the locker room before we went in, asking me for a ride home because the person giving him rides after club meetings was already gone for the day.

I'd shrugged; "If you're not at the car by 4:30 you're walking home."

He'd nodded and I'd continued on my way to the locker room to change before practice, dogged by the insistent questions of Jordan on what the fuck that whole exchange had been about. Once I let it slip I was just giving my brother a ride home, he'd gone off even more, harping on the same thing over and over.

"Three years, man, three years. I mean, shit, I've tol' you all about Susan and Jackie, and they're in fucking elementary."

I rolled my eyes and he frowned, slamming his locker with a huff and making a show about tying his laces as though pissed off.

When I remained unaffected, he let out a whine; "Gordy…."

"God, shut up already! So I've got a fucking brother?! So what if he's Anthony McAllister, you shoulda fuckin' figured it out, seeing how we've got the same fucking last name! Jesus, Jordan, even Loren had it figured out before you, and she's dumb as dogshit half the time."

His eyes widened before they narrowed--Loren was his on-again, off-again girlfriend.

"Calm down, Gordan."

I shook my head in disgust, standing up and swiping at dust I'd gotten on my gray uniform pants before I walked out of the changing room and toward the field. Halfway there I heard him puffing behind me, his jog slowing to a walk once he caught up, face troubled as he glanced at me.

"You're not pissed, are you? I mean, you're my ride."

"Whatever. We better hurry up before Coach decides to fry himself up some assholes."

He sniggered at the use of our coach's favorite saying and threat--it's a common joke amongst the guys at how lame Coach can be, though he's a pretty awesome guy, all things considered.

Almost as a peace offering, Jordan asked, "You still meet that kid in the bathroom every day?"

I slanted a glance at him after quickly making sure no one was listening; "Why?"

"Just wondering. I mean, you ever gonna figure out who it is? Like…don't you ever want to know?"

I ran my palm over the soft bristles covering my scalp, the latest buzz cut already starting to grow out again; "I guess I'd like to know, but…I dunno. It's like, what if he's just some kid playing me, getting off on some sick kinda joke on me. Maybe he's not even anyone I want to know."

"Dude, nobody sucks someone off for a joke, not even some sicko gayboy. I think you just like the intrigue of having a mysterious paramour in the men's toilet," he teased, his voice low and not carrying further than between us.

Even still, I socked him hard, glancing around once more but grinning a bit at his carping moan about how much of a mean sonuvabitch I can be.

"Didn't know you knew big words like that," I mocked, and he flipped me off before resuming rubbing his shoulder.

To be honest, I'm still not sure why I told him about it at all, but I'd been filled with this raging need to tell someone, and he's the closest thing to a confidant I have. It's been almost a month now that someone I don't know has sucked me off through a glory hole in the upstairs men's room every day. That hole had been there for as long as I could remember, which is surprising considering it exists in a school, but who am I to complain?

The first time had been a fluke, I guess, because I was skipping gym for the first time to jerk away a boredom boner. I'd had time to find myself a good, languid rhythm before someone pushed through the outside door, forcing me to freeze mid-stroke so whoever it was wouldn't know they'd caught me masturbating. I mean, really…it's kinda gross to hear someone else going at it, you know.

I'd expected them to take a leak at one of the urinals, but he'd pushed into the stall beside mine, everything super silent as I sat there, waiting to be grossed out by someone taking a shit, but he never even sat down. He just stood there, and then…then he was kneeling on the floor, one finger at the hole, beckoning.

Next thing I knew, I was standing there, my dick down some guy's throat as I held onto the wall with all I had, my fingers going numb from how hard I had to squeeze the top of the stall to keep myself from…I dunno, passing out or something. It hadn't taken much, maybe a minute or two, before I came, his tongue cleaning up the excess mess on my dick before the gently callused hand released my dick.

My breath loud in my ears, I'd stuffed my dick back in my pants and left, running away and not stopping until I'd made it to my car to shakily wait for the last bell of the day.

I'd been afraid, yes, afraid he'd step out and catch me out, that someone would figure out I like guys without me having to tell them--an irrational fear, yes, considering it'd been the other guy sucking me off, but still. I panicked.

The next day I'd been drawn back to that bathroom, already knowing the guy would never show, except he had, his steps slow when he pushed through the outside door but then firming with confidence once he realized I was there.

This time was less hazy and not as fast, though he still took the time to gently clean me up before letting go, as though he really cared. It was for that reason that I let myself sink down to my knees to wait for him to let me reciprocate--it had taken him a few moments, but then he'd hesitantly stood, as though waiting for me to change my mind. A nervous grin pulled at my lips when I'd heard him unzip, anticipation tightening the skin on my abdomen as I waited, and then his dick was pushed through the hole as mine had been. Without touching him with anything more than lips, I'd pressed a kiss to the head before using teeth to nip lightly at his skin.

He'd gasped, and it pleased me as much then as it had when I'd pulled the same reaction from Jordan the two or four times I'd blown him our freshman year.

It's not that he's gay or anything, but after telling him about liking guys, I'd asked if he'd let me…you know, practice on him. To build a bit of skill before it becomes important. I had to practically hold him down and force him to agree, but after that first gentle nip all resistance had faded away. We only did it a few times before he gained himself a girlfriend and I refused to do it anymore.

It would have been weird, I guess, almost like considering myself 'the mistress', the one someone cheated with.

For some reason, I never told Jordan how I suck the other guy off now--it's somehow too personal to tell. I mean, it's not too pathetic-sounding that some guy sucks me off, but saying I return the favor makes me sound like some…I dunno, desperate pervert or something. I'm a bastard, I know, but I still don't want to tell him about it.

A cowardly bastard, I guess, because I really want to meet this guy, make a go about dating or something. I've never done it before, had a boyfriend, but it's something I've thought about since as long as I knew a girlfriend wouldn't fit well in my future. It's not that I'm shy, or ugly, I just don't really know anyone who's into dudes enough not to care what people think.

I mean, there's this guy in the senior student council, but there's no way in hell I'd date him, not even if he was the last human on earth--I'd date a vagina hooked up to monkey's left elbow before considering the possibility of maybe dating him.

He'll tell anyone about his pierced scrotum, or how his mother caught him fucking a dude on his parent's bed--I know he will, because he told these things to me while 'helping' prep the auditorium for an athletic pep assembly. When I told him to his face I thought he was a diseased prick, he'd gone nuclear fairy on me, snarling and hissing like some electrocuted cat--it wasn't until he accused me of fucking puppies that I punched him in the face, breaking a finger and landing me in suspension.

He tried to have me expelled for 'gay bashing', which didn't fly once I told the assistant principle I was gay too.

He'd asked me why I'd started the fight, and I'd shrugged; "He said I fuck dogs."

Anyway. I think I'd kill myself if my guy in the stall turns out to be Kelly, though I felt safe in assuming he wasn't. I mean, he'd probably try to jump out and hump me otherwise, which obviously hasn't happened.

I stay awake at night wondering who the guy might be, wishing I could ask him to meet up sometime outside of the bathroom. I'm just too much of a chicken shit.

Really though, for all I know, he could be some kind of gross kid or ugly band nerd. Not that I'd call myself shallow per se, I just really don't want him to be ugly--although, if he was, if he was…then I might not care. There's just something about they way he touches me, the way he takes the time at the end to gently clean me up that strikes me as someone who's genuinely caring. Not a femininity, believe me, but someone gentle and kind. I like that in a guy, like the idea of someone who wouldn't mind being held by someone strong.

I'm a stupid sap, I know, but a guy can dream, can't he?

I mean, is it too much to ask for someone who'd want to be with me? I'm not sure what exactly I feel for this guy, but sometimes I feel like I'm a stumble away from falling in love with him. I really think I am.


I saw Tony sitting on the trunk of my car once Jordan and I made our way out to the parking lot after practice. My friend's hair was still soaked from a quick shower, his low grumbles about how it dripped water down the back of his shirt making me roll my eyes, glad once again that I'd decided to cut mine so short.

It was only as I walked closer to the car that I realized there were girls standing and talking with Tony, their postures shyly flirting as they smiled at whatever he had to say, though he didn't appear to be showing them any particular attention beyond the mildly polite.

"Damn that dude is such a chick magnet. Does he even date any of them?" Jordan asked, his voice twinged with envy.

"How should I know who he's dating? …Doubt it though, I haven't seen anyone around after that Valero girl moved last year."

He paused a moment then looked at me; "That one who gave a speech about equal rights for women in the workplace?"

I nodded and had to swallow down a laugh at seeing his frown, suddenly remembering how badly he'd wanted to court her after that speech. He even asked her out pointblank only to be rejected so completely I thought he was going to self-destruct. It had taken me mock-pouting at him and asking if he needed a pity blowjob before he'd recovered enough to hit me and try to forget the humiliation.

All in all, I thought he was better off without her--she was feisty and goal-oriented, and I know Jordan could never be the sort to take second place to a person's ideals. Tony, however, is mellow enough not to care, so I can see how they might have worked as a couple.

When my brother saw us coming he slid from my car, saying a few words to the girls that made them glance our way with obvious regret, lingering until I pulled out my keys and gave them a pointed glance to go to hell. One of them glared at me, braver than the other, but the two of them turned and walked away a distance before calling farewells to Tony. He offered a faint smile as he raised one hand, and I rolled my eyes even as I unlocked the driver's side door and popped the locks.

Jordan rushed over and hopped into the front seat, glancing at my brother like he thought there might be some pissing contest in retaliation, but Tony simply walked over to the rear passenger door and got in without a word.

We weren't even out of the parking lot before Jordan gave into temptation and twisted in his seat, peering at Tony like he was some sort of convict or something. Not that I cared if he made the guy uncomfortable, but it was hard to drive with his big ass head in the way, so I shoved an elbow into his side and told him to sit down.

"You fucker, what'd you do that for?" he groused, rubbing along his ribcage with a sour frown.

"Can't see past that asscrack you call your head, fart-knocker."

He grumbled, but then turned his face toward the back seat, raising his voice as he said, "Can you believe he never tol' me you two were related?"

I glanced in the rear view mirror in time to see my brother shrug, a look of boredom on his face as he said, "Why would he?"

I shot an expression of, 'see? I told you so', at my best friend, which he promptly deigned not to notice.

"You're fuckin' brothers, for Christ's sake! I mean, you look related, you could almost be twins. But you act like strangers. Worse than strangers. Like ghosts."

His words stung for some reason, making irrational anger well up inside, though I bit it down with some effort.

"Shut the hell up already, assfuck!"

He blinked at the severity of my growl before frowning, turning his attention squarely on me.

"Don't be an ass, Gordy, just because you're sexually frustrated."

I wanted to strangle him, and if the light at the intersection hadn't turned green at that very moment, I might well have. He knew he'd fucked up, muttering a low 'sorry' even as he glanced at my brother, who appeared to be absorbed in reading something on his cell.

I sighed, easing up the hold I had on the steering wheel, hoping my voice was lighter as I said, "It's not that. I'm still just kinda pissed Coach made us all run laps because of that stupid shit Aiden pulled this morning."

Indignation came to fore in his mind, reigniting previous bitch fests and allowing him to rant for the rest of the ride to his house. By the time the door shut behind him, I was beyond ready to see his ass walking away, my body feeling five times heavier than normal as I pulled away to head for home.

The car was silent, and it reminded me of what Jordan had said, about us acting like ghosts. It was something odd for a person to say, but the more I mulled it over the more I felt like it fit. I didn't like it.

Maybe it was for that reason that I found myself asking, "You ever get yourself another girlfriend after that Valero girl?"

He was startled, surprise coloring his voice as he asked, "Jean? …We weren't dating. Everyone just assumed we were, given how often we spent time together."

"Oh. Sorry."

I wasn't sure what exactly I was apologizing for--that everyone assumed the wrong thing, that I had assumed the wrong thing, that maybe he had wanted to be but had never gotten around to it before she moved. Maybe I was apologizing for none of that, and all of it, or simply for not knowing.

We were silent a while longer, though words floated around behind my tongue, waiting for the chance to emerge. I didn't decide to say anything until I drove into our neighborhood--that way, if there was any awkward backlash, I wouldn't have to suffer it very long.

"You ever feel like Jordan said? That we're ghosts?"

There was a long moment of silence, then, "He didn't say we were ghosts. He said we act like ghosts."

I nodded, unable to come up with a response, and he continued, "Although, I am not sure what exactly he meant by that."

"I don't think he knew either, but I think I do."

When I glanced in the rear view mirror, I saw he was staring at me, face unreadable. I knew then Jordan was right, and it made my chest ache.


I sat on the couch, just beginning a movie I'd forgotten how much I liked, when Tony came home that Saturday. It was late afternoon and we had the house to ourselves, which wasn't uncommon on the weekends. Or rather, it wasn't uncommon for me to have the house to myself--Tony was almost never home, regardless of the day.

Usually I would ignore him, but seeing him in sweaty practice gear made me remember how it felt to come home and feel like a hole was eating its way from your gut to your spine.

"Pizza in the fridge," I offered, and he gave an absent nod, heading that way after dumping his duffel by the stairs.

When he walked back through, he was already down to the crust on one slice and carried two more on a plate, his eyes flicking to the screen with vague interest before glancing at me and then away again when he realized I was watching him.

"Remember this one?"

He gave a muted grunt of acknowledgement, and I raised the remote; "I'll pause it while you go change, if ya want."

Startled, he stared at me a moment before recollecting himself with a careless shrug. He might have wanted me to think he didn't care either way, but I knew better.

"Hurry up then, ace."

I smirked as he rolled his eyes and deposited the plate on the coffee table, shoving the last of the crust in his hand into his mouth before grabbing his duffel and taking the stairs two at a time.

I paused the film and wandered into the kitchen for a drink, taking my time as I grabbed a glass, rethought, grabbed another, and poured some ginger ale. I had just set the glasses down on the table when I heard his door open overhead, his feet creaking the stairs before he claimed the other end of the couch.

He paused when he saw the drink sitting near his plate, muttering a low thanks that I answered with a hum of some sort while pressing play on the remote.

I don't know much about my brother anymore, but it was strangely gratifying to remember how he looked when he laughed and see he hadn't changed.


Wednesday, my stall guy talked to me. Barely more than a whisper, a sighing vocalization of gratitude when I took an extra moment nuzzling his dick after getting him off. It'd stunned me, hearing that whisper, and he was gone before I even had the chance to realize what had happened.

I sat there even longer, finally pushing up from the floor and leaning against the wall, trembling all over because I'd been too stupid to say anything. Not that he'd given me much of a chance, but I could have said something.

Before I left, I resolved I'd say something tomorrow--what, I didn't know, but I had time to think about it.


Thursday I was unable to sneak out of class because the coach had someone finally suss him about how many of us continually skip out of his class after the first twenty minutes. I mean, he's never around after our 'stretches' and roll call--people either play basketball, sit in the bleachers, or leave.

Not today.

He made us do a class-participation game of dodge ball, where non-athletic kids looked miserable and the class assholes looked competitively triumphant until people like me whipped the ball at their pecs and struck them out. One kid on my team made me laugh in how he stood in one place, almost begging people to get him out, but nobody ever threw at him because the coach growled in a few ears not to.

That guy is such an asshole.

Regardless, I ended up sweaty and unhappy by the time the final bell rang--normally I'd rinse off, but I was sick of the day and sick to my stomach thinking about how I'd blown my chance with the stall guy. I mean, he would have no choice but to think I fuckin' hate him or something.

If I'd talked and he hadn't come back? I'd probably want to shoot myself. I kinda already do.

Distracted as I was, I didn't notice someone calling my name as I stalked out the student exit doors, not until they said, "Gordan."

I turned, frowning, and saw Tony walking fast to catch up.

"Can I get a ride?"

"I'm leaving right now," I snapped, and he nodded, following as I continued my stalking to the parking lot.

When I unlocked the doors, he went as to get into the backseat until I snapped at him to get his ass in the empty front seat. His meek obedience pissed me off--everything did, at this point--but I swallowed down my mood and got in the car, turning my music up so I wouldn't feel the need to break the awkward silence between us this time.

As it was, we were nearly halfway home when I noticed he had his hand wrapped, tape holding a piece of gauze to the palm still stained with blood. Unable to help myself, I turned the music down.

"Dude, what the fuck happened?"

He looked down, shrugging slightly before saying, "Cleat during practice this morning."

"Jesus, Tony, the nurse didn't fucking send you home?"

"I didn't go to the nurse, I cleaned and wrapped it myself."

He seemed embarrassed, glancing over at me and then away because of the frown I could feel pulled deep on my face.

I didn't say anything until we were home, watching him head upstairs before heading up myself. He was almost to his room before I called his name, my tone authoritative as I told him to get his ass to the bathroom. He obeyed with the same meekness as before, making me want to kick him or something, but I managed to refrain as I entered the bathroom ahead of him.

I didn't ask for permission before grabbing his hand and holding it above the sink, my fingers uncommonly gentle as I peeled the tape away and then just as gently removed the gauze from the wound on his hand. It was ugly, scraped raw and gouged deep in one spot, but overall I'd seen worse. I cleaned it the way I always did my own, though perhaps not as carelessly rough as I tend to be.

When I glanced at his face, I was surprised to him blinking back tears, my chest hurting the way it had that first time I gave him a ride. Embarrassed and awkward, I gruffly told him to leave it unwrapped tonight but to put something on it before school, not waiting for his nod before pushing past him and escaping to my room.

It's pathetic that I would be able to put an arm around Jordan's shoulders if I ever saw him cry, but I couldn't bring myself to do it with my own brother.

I could never trust myself enough.


Stomach a ball of lead, I walked into the bathroom after slipping out of gym class in the milling madness that occurs after roll call and whatever activity he'd planned for the day. I didn't have time to do much but I needed to know if he'd be there, if yesterday was forgiven.

There were a pair of legs in the stall, standing in such a way I knew he was leaning against the wall. Waiting. He waited until I entered the stall and then turned, hesitating before sliding down to his knees.

My leaden stomach, having suddenly turned to helium, rose to my throat as I knelt there as well, careful to hide my face and not look for his, because what we had was on precarious limbs enough.

Swallowing, I passed my fingers through the hole, a moment's pause before I felt his fingers slide against mine. I clenched them, relieved, and pulled them back through enough for me to press a gentle kiss to their tips, drinking in the muffled noise the kiss elicited.

"Sorry for yesterday," I whispered, sounding nothing like myself and embarrassed for it.

His fingers squeezed mine, an unspoken acceptance, before he whispered, "I have to go."

I let him go and he left, unaware of the way I touched the remnants of his heat on my skin, stomach fluttering and heat stinging my eyes.

"I love you."

I left my bold statement to that empty bathroom as I slipped out and head back to class.


"Hey, how'd the hand heal up?"

My brother looked up at where I stood in his open doorway, one shoulder leaning against the wall as I watched him tug up the laces of one sneaker. He shrugged, looking down at his foot as he finished with quick efficiency.

As he stood from the floor, I noted his athletic balance, critical eye glancing him over as I would anyone else--altogether, he's not bad. I mean, for an academic.

I knew I was overstaying my welcome as I continued to stand there and watch, but part of me wanted him to turn around and flip the bird or tell me to fuck off or something, but he acted like I wasn't even there. He kept it up until the point where he'd either have to tell me to move or duck around me to leave his bedroom--he stood there in awkward silence for a moment before mumbling a dire emergency somewhere, anywhere, and didn't he hear Mom calling him?

I smirked and he frowned, finally calling up the nerve to slide past me, though he didn't get far as I made a smooth grab for his hand. I visually inspected the scrape on his palm, noting it was inflamed but healing well enough.

When I glanced at his face, I saw anger behind his blush, making my smirk more pronounced as I let him go with a mild, "Nice ring."

It was silver with a stylized letter carefully centered on his thumb.

His blush darkened and he hissed something derogatory even as he pushed away and escaped down the hall, leaving me standing there wondering why I felt sickeningly turned on by the fact I got him to react.

There's obviously something wrong with me.


I can be really stupid sometimes, and sometimes I can be ass-ripping, mind-numbingly stupid. A week of telling an empty bathroom how I felt and I thought I was ready to take it to another level, only…I chickened out.

Ten minutes before I left to meet him, I tore out a sheet of notebook paper and penciled in neat, block lettering completely opposite my own writing, 'I love you', before folding it in half a couple times. When he knelt I dropped the paper from numb fingers, using one sneakered toe to slide it from my side of the wall to his, holding my breath once I pulled my foot away.

It took him a moment before he reached out--if he was nervous, it didn't show.

Personally, I felt like I was going to pass out any second as I listened to the paper rustle before there was a long moment of silence. Then there was the deliberately violent sound of the paper being wadded into a ball and dropped onto the floor.

A voice, smoothly male and tight with anger, came from the boy shattering my heart; "We're done."

By the time I realized I knew that voice, he was gone and I felt like throwing up, tears falling off my chin and spotting my jeans with heartbreak.

Swallowing down the barbed boulder lodged behind my tonsils, I wiped my face and fumbled for the wadded piece of paper, a low sob escaping before I bit it back through sheer force of will. I refuse to cry like some pussy bitch in the fucking bathroom--if I'm going to break down, it's going to be in the privacy of my own bedroom.

Once the tears were pushed down, I stood with the paper in hand, hurt turning to anger even as the familiarity of his voice nagged at me. Preoccupied, I pushed from the stall and stared at my reflection in the mirror, scrutinizing for signs of crying and washing away the redness of my eyes best I could.

The paper dug into my palm as I started for the door, and I jerkily tossed the wad into the trash before hesitating and digging it back out.

Feeling almost guilty, I slipped it into my pocket and left.


Jordan found me sitting near the men's locker room after practice, my ass numb from sitting on the floor over an hour.

I heard the disapproving frown in his voice as he said, "Dude, you're fucked for missing practice, though I'm not sure Coach noticed since Aid was his normal ass-lick self."

I shrugged, listless, and he paused before heading into the locker room, wisely assuming I'd stick around long enough for him to change before leaving.

'We're done' kept playing in my head, wounding me while at the same time sending me reeling with that sense of near-recognition, a face and name lingering at the tip of my tongue. Someone was standing at the edges of my memory and it was slowly driving me mad, though I wasn't sure what I'd do if I managed to figure it out.

What could I do? Stalk them for the rest of my life? Punch them in the face? Drop to my knees and beg them to let me try to be who they'd want?


When my friend emerged from the locker room, I let him give me a hand up, though I shrugged away from the hand he placed on my shoulder.

"Hey, Gord, what's up?"

I shook my head and he sighed, muttering a 'whatever' beneath his breath.

We walked in silence through the halls to the student exit, until he finally asked, "If I asked for a pity blow would it make you feel better?"

I elbowed him in the ribs and he retaliated, making me glance at his face and seeing a knowing smile hovering on his lips.

"You're a dick," I groused, but didn't hide the faint amusement from my voice, especially when he elbowed me again, harder. By the time we'd pushed through the double doors, I almost felt sane again, though I knew I'd inevitably stew once alone in my room.

"Hey, dude, want to hang out and shoot some hoops tomorrow or something?"

I was surprised by Jordan's offer, because it'd never come to that between us before. I mean, making plans to hang out over the weekend--sometimes we'd call up and then go do something, but that was about it.

"Yeah, that sounds alright…. Jesus, again?"


I nodded toward the blond leaning against my car and Jordan snorted back a comment before shaking his head.

"Don't he have a car?"

"He didn't want one, said it'd tarnish his ecological ass-print or something."



My friend snickered and I elbowed him in the arm, smirking at the resulting low exclamation of pain.

Then, once we neared my brother, I called, "What happened to the buttfuck who used to give you rides?"

"He decided the arrangement was done," he said with a shrug, voice mild as ever though it punched through my gut and shattered my spine.

I felt my body stop, bag falling from loose fingers, but I was only peripherally aware, mind trapped in a suddenly brilliant recall of just a few hours earlier, watching a guy's hand reached for a folded sheet of paper and seeing a glint of a silver ring on his thumb. A minute afterward, a voice, Tony's voice, tight with anger and who knows what else, had thoroughly ripped me apart and pissed me off.

'We're done'.

"…Son of a bitch…."

I was disconnected from myself, watching as though from a pinhole through time as the world tilted and then sped up, blood in my face and pain in my hands. It was only once I realized the blood wasn't mine that I snapped back into my body to find myself writhing on the ground with Tony in my hands.

He was gasping, high exhalations of shock and pain, and the sound tightened agony in my heart.

I realized I was weeping but that was okay, because it didn't stop me from reaching back and slamming my fist in his face, a dull snap informing me I'd broken something--whether on him or myself, I couldn't determine, not yet.

Hissed obscenities tumbled from my lips, jerky as my breathing as I landed another punch somewhere on his head, his groan encompassing my entire field of focus.

Then, a heavy weight slammed into the side of my head, smashing me stupid and making my fingers release the shirt twisted up in one fist. I made an abortive swing once more and the weight slammed into the side of my head again, knocking me aside and into the black.


My head felt caved in when I came to, brain sickeningly disoriented as I blinked and tried to make sense of the aftertaste of vomit lining my mouth and why I felt like I'd been through a meat grinder and reassembled ass-backward.

"Fuck, Gord, Gordan, you awake? Shit, c'mon man, don't let me have killed you."

"You broke my brain."

My words felt slushy and malformed but he laughed, shaky and sick with relief that I wasn't dead. Yet. Once I felt I wouldn't shake to pieces if I moved, I rolled to my side, world spinning as I pushed myself up to my knees.

Out of nowhere, my stomach roiled and I threw up, though there was obviously not much left in my stomach as I realized I'd done it at least once before.

"Oh, fuck."

"I'm sorry but I didn't know what else to do you were gonna kill him man what else could I do Gord I'm sorry I'm really really--"

"Shut up."

To his credit, Jordan stopped talking--it wasn't the run-on that had bothered me but the sound of checked tears in his voice had been more than I could bear.


I looked up at the sharp bark of my coach, and he snapped, "Get your ass in my office now."

Nodding was a mistake but it got him off my ass and walking away, leaving Jordan to help me to my feet once again.

"…Tony?" I asked once I'd gained the vertical, but Jordan simply put his arm around my back to keep me steady.

"Shut up and start walking."

So I did.


Coach forced Jordan to leave once I was collapsed in one of the plastic-backed chairs the guy keeps in his office, leaving me alone in the closed room for quite a while. My initial nausea settled to a more manageable level, though the pain in my head became a medium-level throb, the lights hurting my eyes and making me want to curl up in a dark spot somewhere.

I heard my mother's voice before the door opened, my posture straightening unconsciously as I tried to meet my parent's arrival the best I could.

My mother wasted no time in crossing the room and slapping me, smacking my vision into a blur and allowing the gray patches to melt along the edges again, but her second slap snapped me back to reality enough to see Dad pulling her back, his tone soothing as he suggested she take Anthony home in their car, he'd be along with me after a while.

Then, once she was gone, he apologized to me, his voice somewhat shaky and surreal--it embarrassed me more than being slapped around by a woman who had never been able to bring herself to spank us hard enough to have it hurt.

Coach and my dad asked why I'd jumped Tony, why I'd gone psycho on my brother, but I'd only been able to shrug, not trusting my voice.

If I'd opened my mouth, everything would have come out, about sucking him off in the bathroom, about falling in love with a fake, about him playing my trust only to shatter it. So I said nothing, and they gradually began talking about the consequences of my actions--I didn't argue being thrown off the team, didn't argue the suspension.

I sat there and tried to build a concrete tank in my chest so thick, nuclear missiles wouldn't so much as dent the outer layer.

…The best I managed was a layer of rubble somewhere in my stomach.


I stumbled when it was time to go, my body betraying me to the point where I moved like a drunkard, listing as I tried to walk down the concrete hallway outside the office. It was only then anyone had the notion Jordan might have concussed me, and my dad's voice was just as shaky and small when he was driving to the emergency room, his apology hurting worse than Jordan's tears.

I wanted to tell him I deserved it, I didn't even care if I died, but my thoughts were jumbled and my words even worse, so I just closed my eyes and fell asleep.


They kept me under observation for only a couple hours before releasing me. I felt more stable and in control, though emotionally numb as I crawled back into the passenger seat of my car.

The middle finger of my right hand was splinted and taped, a bone having broken during the one-sided fight with Tony, and the pain medication they'd fed into an iv was still coursing its way through my veins enough that I hardly felt anything at all.

There was no conversation and I didn't mind.


Once home, I dragged myself into bed and into a self-induced coma.

I slept through the night and most of the next day, the pain in my hand finally vaulting me into unhappy consciousness. I felt like glass shards were wedged around the lining of my heart and almost wished I had another concussion to keep me from thinking about it.

Unfortunately, the more you try not to think of something the more it's on your mind, stabbing you repeatedly until you're forced to deal with it or kill yourself.

Whichever solution comes first.

I pulled my sorry ass out of bed and from my room, making a stop in the bathroom to fumble at my shorts so I could take a leak, my finger lighting sparks of agony up and down my arm in the process. Temper short and feeling sick, I slowly made my way downstairs, confused when I found everything dark and silent--a glance at the clock informed me it was only nine at night and way too early for everyone to be in bed.

Which meant I was home alone, a fact that made me want to kick something, punch my fist through the wall, fall apart in small pieces.

Instead, I shuffled into the kitchen and searched for a bottle of strong painkillers in the med drawer by the phone. Plastic bottles rattled as I pawed for something stronger than over-the-counter aspirin, my search yielding nothing but a rise in temper. I slammed the drawer shut with an audible curse, pawing through other drawers in hope something had been misplaced but alas, no.

Swearing, I returned to the drawer and found the generic painkillers, prepared to take ten if I had to, before I realized I had no way of opening the childproof lid.


Tony's voice startled me, more in how it's dull tone made my heartbeat quicken and a flush crawl down my neck.

"No, fuck off."

I could feel him staring at me, at how I was near tears with frustration. Finally, he turned and went to walk away and I frowned.

"No, Tony…I'm sorry."

My apology made him return, and I got my first look at what I'd done to him--his face was bruised purple and scarlet on the left side, though it was obvious most of the swelling had already gone down, and he had a butterfly bandage holding his eyebrow together.

Unconcerned with my staring, he took the bottle of aspirin in hand and deftly opened the lid.

"How many did you want?"

"All of them and a bottle of scotch."

He snorted, shaking out three and recapping the bottle; "Don't be stupid."

"Too late."

He snorted again in agreement, though he wasn't aware how I meant it beyond the obvious.

I swallowed the first pills two at a time, then the last, before washing them down with gulps of tepid water from the tap, watching the wavy shape of Tony through the bottom of the glass and wishing I felt less conflicted about beating the shit out of him. To be honest, I wished I could go back to not thinking about having a kid brother, period.

After the water I left the kitchen, hearing him following not long after--the steps up were more difficult than coming down, my head thudding as I reached the top and paused, blinking in the shadowed hallway.

"…You okay?"

I was pretty far from okay, in all sense of the word, but I pulled away from his bland concern and made it to my door, red blooms briefly appearing on the backs of my eyelids as I found myself sitting on the floor, fingers clenched against the carpet.

He didn't bother asking before reaching a hand beneath my arm and hauling me up, my legs going to water from more than the crashing dizziness in my ears.

"Did you know?"

I sounded insane, even to myself, one mad sicko trembling from his brother's disinterested touch, but he just gently propelled me to walk through the doorway toward my bed.

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

I stopped walking, blocking his exit because I was stupid and sick enough to need to know his answer.

"Did you know it was me."

My room was dark but I could see his face from the streetlight spilling through the blinds on my window--he either had no idea what I was talking about or he was as talented an actor as I worried he was.


"We're done."

My voice became his, every inflection emblazoned in my memory and allowing me to parrot the phrase with perfect accuracy. Tony stood in silence, his disinterest now an obvious mask as he took a preparing breath.

"Don't fucking lie to me, you know the fuck I'm talking about. Did you fucking know it was me?"

The wound was fresh, raw in my chest as I heard my voice rise and crack, my fists aching to split him open, to reach into his chest and force him to feel.

"I didn't know."

He sounded strange and tears burned my eyes as I lost the fight to keep standing, my legs folding and dumping me down unceremoniously onto the floor.

I felt like such a jerk-off, my laugh sharp and full of tears; "Only a fuckup falls in love with someone he never even fucking met."

"That would be why I couldn't love you."

"…Get out."

My face was hidden behind my hands, tears dampening the palms as I felt the need to be alone, to self-destruct without witness.


"Jesus, get the fuck out!"

My voice broke with anger and self-loathing, but it made him start for the door, his feet scuffing the carpet and jeans rustling until the sound abruptly changed. A hand touched mine, fingers hesitant, and I flinched away, wishing he'd give it up and just let me alone already.

"I was almost willing to try with the guy in the stall, Gordan, until my crush finally started paying attention to me.

How could he deliver such cruelty with that mild voice? How could he sit there and watch me fall apart.

"Actually, he never even used to see me, I was nobody. Just another face, he even stopped pretending I was his brother."

His voice changed at the last, long-buried anguish bleeding through, and I hiccupped a sob I didn't feel, lowering my hands to see if I'd heard him right. His mask was gone, trembling vulnerability plain on his face as he met my stare.


"I've always watched you, Gordan."

"…I missed you."

His breath was sharp, one hand coming up to wipe an errant tear as he asked, "What?"

"I missed having a brother. …I missed having Tony."

His tentative smile wobbled but it made my heart throb, my head spinning as I realized my desire was mutual.

Stomach a mass of butterflies, I reached out and took his hand, bringing his fingertips to my lips as I mimicked that move from the bathroom stall. Another sobbing breath and I grinned, awkwardly pulling him over to my side, the warmth of him tucked along my ribcage and beneath my arm soothing a need I hadn't really known existed.

I could feel every breath, every tremble, could smell the damp warmth of his sweat.

"You like this?"

My whisper was only half-tease, hearing his sharp breath and feeling him nod.

"I love you, Tony."

He was quiet, then, "Like a brother?"

I snorted; "God, you're stupid."

He flinched, but I touched his face, pulling it close enough for me to place a small kiss on the side of his mouth. My fingers caught a bruise and he made a low noise of pain, but turned a moment later to catch me with my mouth open in apology, buzzing flames down my spine as he kissed me.

"Oh, ew."

He pulled away with a disgusted look on his face, my heart sinking until he suddenly grinned; "You taste like aspirin."

I blushed and he laughed a bit, moving enough to kiss me again, a warm touch of lips to let me know he didn't really mind the bitter aftertaste left behind.

One hand touched my scalp, ruffling what little hair had managed to grow back after I buzzed it off, and I abruptly found myself keeled over on the carpet, panting slightly due to the agonizing throb shooting through my skull.


I swallowed back a moan; "No, no…like it down here."

"You could at least let me feel bad."

I squinted one eye at him, seeing mild amusement on his face but little else.

"Do you? …Feel bad?"

"If you hadn't made a gang-bang victim of my face, maybe."

I let out a false sigh and he laughed.

"We'll talk later, Gord, once you're not so…broken."

His tone was light but it made me frown, struggling to push myself up and somewhat succeeding without mishap.

"Wait. …Stay."



He sighed; "Okay."

I crawled into bed and he followed suit once the door was locked, shimmying out of his pants with only a touch of hesitation. When he moved beneath the covers, I let him get situated on his back before meekly curling along his side, my head gingerly laying on his shirt-covered chest.

I held my breath, still expecting a fallout, but he just awkwardly moved his arm to accommodate, his touch on my back allowing me to relax.

My head throbbed and my stomach floated on helium wings in my throat, but it was worth it to hear his nervous heartbeat beneath my ear.

"Never took you as one to cuddle," he mused, and I nudged him as I frowned.

"Shut up or I'll never kiss you again."

He grew unnaturally still, and I couldn't help but smirk, tone lighter, "Well, without dinner and flowers."

I felt him snort, then, "Real boyfriend material."

"Mhm. I'll take you out tomorrow for a salted pretzel."

He snickered, and I gradually felt my body growing heavier, nearly asleep before he shifted a bit beneath my weight.

"…Gord? Hey, c'mon, you can't be asleep yet."


"Well, shift over or something, my arm's dead."

"…Fuck off."

He sighed; "Charming."


Fingers moved across my stomach, sure and confident in their touch, and I felt that gut response of beginning lust, electric lava just beginning to course through my body. I wasn't about to ruin the good dream by opening my eyes, but then the fingers dipped beneath my shorts to find I slept nude otherwise.

As I struggled to wake fully, my half-open eyes took in my brother laying next to me, hand cool-as-you-please in my pants and hungry interest behind his nonchalant mask.

"You're bold," I finally commented, and he smirked, making my dick jump beneath his sweaty palm.

"You said my name in your sleep."

"…I did?"

He nodded, palm rubbing almost absently, though I knew better.

"I touched you and you said my name."

He sounded viscerally pleased, which only furthered the flush of lust across my body and tingled the soles of my feet.

I let him stroke me a few times more before saying, "I have got to piss like a fucker."

Reluctant, he nevertheless pulled his hand from my shorts; "Okay."

"…You should come brush your teeth."

My eyebrows raised in suggestion and he colored, voice shivery in anticipation as he said, "Okay."

After that was much groaning and shifting as we crawled out of bed, an absent scratch of an itch on my scalp had me shuddering with mild pain, though it was nowhere near as intense as it'd been the night before. When I stretched I heard him laugh, his finger pointing at the obscene lump in my shorts. I toyed with it for laughs and he didn't disappoint, which might have lead to something further if not for the ache in my bladder.

The house was quiet, not unusual, and we reached the bathroom without mishap--though I did have to shake off a mysterious groping hand suddenly attached to my ass.

"Be fresh on your own time, McAllister."


The word was apologetic but the tone was not, and I couldn't help grinning a bit, still somewhat buzzed that this guy was serious.

I hadn't been kidding when I said I missed him, I'd missed my brother on a platonic level, but the distance between us for so many years had allowed me to make a stranger of him in my mind. It was no accident so many late-night wank jobs had featured sporty blonds with mild smiles.

Pissing in the toilet while my brother brushed his teeth at the sink was mundane, but I still felt a dirty thrill from watching him watching me in the mirror, his eyes speaking volumes. He made a show of glancing over at me, his gaze down on my dick before returning to my face, his smirk teasingly derogatory.

Fuck you, asshole, I'm not fucking little.

As if he could read my mind he snorted, turning back to the mirror to get back to scrubbing his teeth. Preoccupied as he was, it took him a moment to realize I was behind him, breathing into his ear and sending a creeping shiver through his body.

I moved forward, my bare semi pressing against his clothed ass, running along the subtle furrow between his cheeks.

He choked, arcing back against me and forcing me to grab his waist so he wouldn't push me over backward--he shuddered, rippling pleasure against my dick before tearing away and spitting toothpaste into the sink.

"You fucker," he managed, shaky and making me laugh.

Voice low with shame, he said, "You made me cum."


I was stunned and somewhat impressed, but felt like shit when his shoulders hunched with further shame.

I moved against him again, some comfort but still mostly sexual as I wrapped arms around his chest and said against his ear, "Pretty as that was, I want the next one in my mouth."

He gasped a moan, whispering something I couldn't make out as I gave into impulse and licked the shell of his ear.

He turned in my arms, mouth near mine and stopping my breathing until he leaned closer and said, "…Brush your teeth."

With that he twisted and was gone, smirking as he left me alone in the bathroom with a naked hard-on and butterflies in my stomach.


When I returned to my bedroom I found Tony laying on his stomach in bed, his head cradled by an arm so he could watch me watching him. I locked the door and leaned against it, savoring the sight of him even as I sighed.

"You are pretty."

He smiled, just his lips twisting up; "Pretty handsome, you mean."

I laughed, mocking, "Pretty arrogant, I mean."

"Pretty can afford arrogance," he quipped, eyes drinking me in as I advanced on him.

I crawled onto the bed, hearing him hiss in a breath as I made a point to crawl over him, slow and with agonizingly more contact than necessary. He twisted, following my face to continue eye contact.

"You are not pretty," he commented, and I arced an eyebrow in mild agreement.

"I'm not."

Somehow, I found myself laying back with Tony moving to roll against me, his face predatory as his legs slid against and over mine, holding me in place.

"Attractive, yes. Sexy, yes. Pretty? No."

I felt dizzy, as though we were dancing a waltz while standing still--it was reminiscent of how I felt after Jordan concussed me into some sense, only with less pain. I wanted him to kiss me already. Instead, he settled back a bit, getting more comfortable as he brought one hand up, fingers spread as he showcased his palm before moving his thumb to draw my attention to the silver band there.

"Remember this?"

I nodded, not sure where he was going but willing to hear it. Anything.

He looked at it, voice quiet as he continued, "You didn't really look at it, or else you'd have noticed what it was."

Confused, I looked at him, only to have him twist his hand so I could see the ring better--looking, I was slow to realize the stylized letter I'd off-handedly seen before was a capital 'G'. Stunned, I looked at him again, seeing uncertainty lurking in his face as he waited for my reaction.

My hand found his on its own volition, my fingers drawing the ring closer to my mouth for a brushing kiss to the warmed metal.

His ring was a romantic gesture, carrying my name close for so long--it literally made my chest ache.

He kissed me then, as romantic as his ring until I touched his side, fingers sliding cotton against his skin and driving a hungry edge into his kiss. I drove the kiss deeper, drinking in his helpless moan even as I reveled in having a man in my arms, having Tony.

I shivered as his hand went to my chest, blindly touching until he found a nipple, his fingers fondling through my shirt and sending off muted white sparks that raced down to the base of my dick. After a moment I noticed his fingers were unconsciously rough, leading me to experiment by sliding my hand beneath his shirt and circling the first nipple I found--he reacted as though electrocuted, whole body stiffening as a painful moan sounded from his throat.

"Like that?"

I was teasing but mostly curious, grinning when his eyelids fluttered.

"Do it again."

I circled the nipple again, bolder now, drinking in how he shuddered. Pushing and bunching his shirt up, I exposed one of those pale brown nubs, watching his face as he noticed the evil in my smirk. He mouthed a plea to a higher power even as I lowered my face and used my tongue where my finger had been, circling in a light manner before abruptly closing my mouth on it. Not even a minute passed before his gasping breaths changed tone, a low keen as his body grew rigid, vibrating a moment or two before relaxing once more.

I pulled away, satisfied to see a fresh patch of damp in his shorts.

"Too bad, that was supposed to be in my mouth."

He was still breathing heavy, unable to muster up much of a glare, though he tried.


While he was still recovering, I took advantage by moving, sitting up so I could tug at his shorts--his cock was sticky, the scent of his second release cloyingly heavy in my nose. Even though he'd come twice already, his dick was still half-hard, the head gummy with past cum. There was nothing I didn't already know about that dick but I still felt the need to familiarize myself with it, introduce myself a bit.

"Gordan, you're cruel."

"I'd believe you more if you didn't have a boner while saying it."

My words were spoken against skin and he sighed in defeat, lazily melting beneath my touch while growing harder against my mouth.

He let me tease him for a while, my mouth alternately nuzzling and sucking him down whole, until he grabbed my ear and pulled me off, ignoring my feigned cries of pain.

"Big baby," he teased, smirking at my exaggerated pout until he kissed me.

Even the small peck was enough to make me crackle all over, fueled by his low statement of, "Shut up, I love you."

I found myself once again on my back beneath Tony's weight, though this time he didn't waste time with words. He pulled at my shorts until he had them tucked beneath my balls, his throat quickly downing my cock. The technique was the same but it felt more intense now that I knew the person behind the mouth.

When I felt myself close to coming I made myself rise up on my elbows in time to watch him swallow--it had been a fantasy ever since the first time, to see my guy swallow and clean me up after.

"Hm. Not bad, so far as dicks go, but I've had better."

I squinted an eye at the smug ass with his face on my thigh.

"So says the guy with cum on his face."

He smirked, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth and chin as he sat up.

Then, more subdued, he admitted, "I haven't, you know. …They were all complete shit."

He started laughing when I lunged at him, the two of us wrestling around until I smashed my broken finger between his shoulder and the mattress and gasped, sickening waves of nausea roiling through my stomach as I focused on breathing without throwing up.

"Sorry," he grimaced, but I shook my head.

To say the least, the moment was ruined, and I crawled out of bed and began to get dressed around the throbbing of my hand, half a mind already resting in the bottle of pills sitting in the downstairs drawer.

When I finished, I saw Tony was still sitting on the bed, long in the face and gloomy.

I rolled my eyes, walking over and ruffling his hair with my good hand; "Quit moping and go get dressed, pretty boy, and I might even feed you."

He made a face and pushed my hand away, though he looked considerably better off at the mention of food.


Once our parents came home, life was strange--more so than it was already, I mean.

It was strange to be in the same room as my brother and try to pretend things were like they used to be, while my parents acted like they expected me to go psycho and try to kill someone again. It didn't help how poor an actor I was, forcing me to give up trying to pretend I didn't give a shit what Tony did--I told jokes to make him laugh, brought him a soda when I got one for myself, and sat near him while watching television, ignoring the way our parents exchanged puzzled glances at our renewed sibling closeness.

And I kissed him every time we found ourselves behind a locked door.


"Personally, I should kick your ass for ruining my record."

"Being suspended four days will barely register to anyone looking. I've been suspended twice that, and I still got scholarship offers out the ass."

Tony frowned, half-heartedly brushing my hand from his stomach; "Yes, for sports. Those don't count."

I laughed and a smirk twitched at his mouth, especially when I leered; "Don't worry, 'bro' will take care of you."

"Oh boy."

He laughed when I jabbed him for the lack of enthusiasm, but didn't fight when I stole a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He'd just turned his head to return the kiss with something a bit more serious when a buzz announced the doorbell, the two of us startling guiltily apart.

We stared at each other for a moment before I relaxed, sinking back against the couch as I said, "Well, you going to get it?"

"I'm not getting it."

"Neither am I."

Just as he settled in for a juvenile staring contest, the bell buzzed again, and he sighed.

"Fine, asshat."

"Love it when you love me," I teased, making him roll his eyes as he pushed up from the couch and approached the front door.

I only half paid attention as I flipped the channel on television, searching for something interesting but managing to glance over just as Tony opened the door and showcased Jordan standing on the front porch.

I frowned, puzzled as I set down the remote and stood to walk over, asking, "What the hell are you doing here?"

He made a face, stepping inside when Tony moved enough for him to do so.

"Some welcome that is, jerk-off."

I snorted, seeing him with a sheaf of papers in hand; "That my homework?"

He nodded, handing it over; "Had Loren look up your schedule and address, not that I should 'ave bothered."

I thumbed through the sheets, sneering at the assignments--when I looked back up, I caught sight of the sullenly stormy look on my brother's face as his gaze speared the back of my friend's head. His jealousy surprised me…or rather, how openly he let it show.

Choosing to address it later, I settled against the arm of the couch; "Any talk of being allowed back on the team?"

Jordan shrugged, "Some. …But you've really fucked yourself over this time! Over nothing!"

Then, as if remembering who I'd fought, he glanced with a guilty start at my brother, frowning at the dark look still on Tony's face.

I sighed; "It weren't nothing, Jordan."

When he looked at me, bemused, I said, "It was because I found out who was in the bathroom."

Tony's face twisted into horrified anger, morphing into hurt as he turned and fled, thumping up the stairs and making me flinch with the slam of his door. My friend yelped, struggling to deal with my declaration and Tony's abrupt departure.

"What the fuck, Gordan?!"

I dropped the papers in my hand on the couch, choosing my words carefully before deciding to go with the truth; "I never told you I fell in love with the guy in the stall, but I did. I have. Whatever. Then, when I figured out who it was…well, I didn't take it very well. The moment I saw his face I went into a rage, because I wanted to hurt him as badly as he'd hurt me."

It took him a minute to puzzle it through, but then I saw him light on the answer, incredulous disgust twisting his features as he hissed, "No fucking way, you mean your brother?!"

My smile was sick, stomach lurching to think I'd lost someone I counted a friend; "Yeah."

His hands rose up to his hair, rumpling it up as he gave a few absent paces back and forth, head shaking in denial; "No fucking way, no way, you two….just, ugh, no. You're pulling your bullshit on me, man, gotta be."

"God, shut up! You think I'd fuck around 'bout this?! Seriously?"

He frowned at my anger, jabbing a finger my direction as he countered, "Yeah, actually, you're always fucking me around, why not now?"

"Jordan, if this ever got out, shit would go down. As in, I'd probably be skinned ass-first, disinherited, kicked out or thrown in prison or fuck knows what else! Loving my brother is worse than me being gay, it's almost as bad as me being caught molesting a kid, alright? It's bad, and I know that, but we just…."

I felt tears well up, my face red but having to finish; "We just can't help it."


I laughed, a harsh bark as I rubbed a wrist over my eyes; "If it were only me, it'd be simple, yeah? But it's not."

"God, this is…I dunno, dude, but it's mega-ton weird."

I felt awful, stomach cramping and my bowels loose, and rather than fight over it anymore, I shrugged.

"Leave then. Just…just don't tell anyone, and I won't have to beat the shit out of you."


I shook my head, pushing up from the couch and walking up the stairs, needing to see if I'd managed to alienate Tony as well because of my honesty.

My brother's door was still closed and I sighed, walking over and rapping gently before putting my ear to the wood.

No answer came, and I knocked again, calling softly, "Tony, please…open up."

"Fuck off." His tone was dead and I closed my eyes, knuckles against the door.

"Tony…please," I pressed, not above begging at a time like this.

"You fucker, you told him about me!"

His voice was more animated and a great deal closer, sounding like it was just on the other side of the door.

"I had to tell someone, Tony, but it was just that I was seeing a guy in the bathroom. I never…I never even told him I fell in love with you. Not until just now."

There was a pause, then a soft voice, "You told him that?"


The soft 'snick' of the lock made my heart lighten, a crack opening just enough for me to see a sliver of his face.


"Because we can trust him."

He looked down a moment before catching my gaze once more; "Still pissed at you."

I nodded my head solemnly, accepting that, and a faint smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he opened the door more, holding my gaze before yanking me forward and into his embrace. I groaned and heard him hiss, his hands familiar on my back and neck as he pulled me into a kiss, making me stumble, relieved and horny in one passing heartbeat.

I was already planning ways to divest him of clothing when we heard a sharp intake of breath behind us, again startling us apart.

I barely had time to realize Jordan had followed me upstairs when Tony pushed partly in front of me, hissing, "Mine," at my best friend.

I whipped my head to stare at him in astonishment, not sure where his jealousy was coming from, but it was there all the same.

"Do you really think Jordan's after me? Because he's straighter than straight. And ugly."

"Fuck you, Gordy, I ain't ugly," Jordan muttered, but I was focused on how my brother deflated, heat rising to his face.

"Sorry, Gordan, I don't own you."

I frowned, touched Tony's face as I leaned in close, my mouth nearly on his as I murmured, "Do too. Love you."

He smiled until I kissed it away, and Jordan coughed behind us, muttering low as he started making his way downstairs--something about seeing me when I was back in school and how we should close the fucking door already.

I backed Tony into his room and kicked the door shut behind us, only half-noticing the heavy clunks of Jordan's tread on the stairs before the slam of the front door hit him on the ass on the way out. By the time Jordan's ride was revved up and pulling from the drive, I'd tumbled Tony on the bed and divested him of most his clothing.

"Taking too long!" he grumbled, and I made a face, tugging at the fastenings of my jeans, though I willed my fingers to move faster.

Everything about my lover makes me feel like I'm spinning out of control, makes me want him now, hard and instant gratification.

"Fuck me, Gordan."

"You shit, I'm working on it!"

"Work faster."

I growled and he shivered, his eyes going wide when I broke off undressing in lieu of touching his nipples, rough as I twisted and sent him into a shuddering near-orgasm.

"Shut up, or I'll do it again," I hissed and saw want for more warring with reluctance on his face.

Even though it'd been just a few days since we worked out our feelings, we'd had ample opportunity to figure out each other's hot buttons, and any chest play would spark Tony into orgasm, just as he'd discovered sticking a finger up my ass was enough make me come like a horse during oral.

We seemed always in a state of orgasmic frenzy every free moment we got, and I'd been quick to realize that was when Tony's true nature came to fore. Far from being the mild-mellowed guy he is everywhere else, he becomes atomic when pinned beneath me, wearing me out with his constant demands for more.

Always needing more than I think possible to give, though I usually manage to find a reserve somewhere.

How he ever managed to keep his desire for me bottled up for so many years is beyond me--I'd have jumped him ages ago had our roles been reversed. Instead, he created a distance between us in order to preserve his sanity, needing me to draw away so he wouldn't fall into little pieces with every kind word from my mouth, every brotherly gesture thrown his way.

We were so young then, so young I almost can't believe what he felt more me was real, though I can only take it as truth.

It fills me with bleak misery to think of how many years he suffered alone--it nearly breaks my heart to know how content I'd been in letting him go, in realizing we were pulling apart but never doing anything about it.

Would I have loved him, otherwise? Who's to know. All I do know is I'll still be meeting someone in the bathroom stall, but I won't be settling for anything less than Anthony, naked, demanding, and mine.

A/N: end.