Pronfest 2008; Day Seven: A Day For Brothers
Title: A Day For Brothers
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jordan&Jared Staal
Disclaimer: Real? Ha. Mine? Ha-ha.
Day Seven: A Day For Brothers
It’s wrong, it’s wrong, oh god it’s wrong. We both know it, we’re both thinking it. We’re both ignoring it, too. Both of us are set on wiping it from each other’s minds, even as we try and wipe it from our own minds. It’s wrong, after all.
(But it feels so right, oh-so-right, and you’ll never say anything anyway.)
I want to love you the way I’m supposed to. I want to tie your skates on, walk you to the rink, teach you to fly. I want to teach you how to drive, how to smoke, how to handle your alcohol. I want to be the one you talk to about girls, the shoulder you cry on, the one you call before you ask her and after she says yes.
(Because she will say yes, I know she will, even if you never ask her.)
I don’t, though. I don’t love you the way I’m supposed to. I don’t love you the way I love Marc and Eric, the way Marc loves all of us, the way Eric loves all of us, the way you love them. I don’t love you the way Sidney loves Taylor, the way Stephanie and Austin and Lauren love one another. I don’t love you the way I should.
(Because there is a wrong and a right, even if you say there’s not, even if you refuse to believe it.)
I love you the way Sidney loves Marc-Andre, the way Eric loves his wife, the Marc loves his girlfriend. I love you in the sort of way that means flowers and chocolates and tacky little teddy bears. I love you in kisses and hugs and Sunday mornings cuddling in bed. I love you in hour-long make-out sessions and gropes in the shower and screaming orgasms being muffled in your fist at midnight on Saturdays.
(But you love me, too, or so you say, and so I’m willing to believe.)
This is half your fault, I’d like to say. This is you, you, you. Your kisses on my lips, your hands on my hips. Your starry dreamer’s eyes shining in the moonlight that spills in through the window. Your lips, slowly, dreamily tracing the words I want to hear, the words I’m afraid to hear.
(Because you’re the tempter, love, the tempter I could never refuse.)
I’ve tried to resist, really, I have. But you’ve always torn down my defenses. How can I resist you? You’re the beautiful one, the one I want, the one I love. You’re the one who haunts my moments, both waking and dreaming. You’re the one who understands me, who needs me, who sees me. You’re the one who stays up late to call and ask how my game went, even though you’ve seen it on television.
(Because this is love, you say, love like never ends.)
I’m afraid it is. I’m afraid that this is exactly what we think it is. I’m afraid that your lips and my hips and your hands and my eyes and your voice and my nerves are exactly what they appear to be.
(But don’t be afraid, please, because I’m scared enough for you already.)
If I ever say anything, though, you’ll just smile. You’ll smile that fallen-angel smile and slide an arm around me, tangling our legs together beneath the soft blankets you’ve had forever and a day. You’ll tell me not to worry and kiss my nose. Then you’ll kiss my lips and slide your hands down my body.
(And it will feel right, oh-so-right, and I’ll never say anything again.)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jordan&Jared Staal
Disclaimer: Real? Ha. Mine? Ha-ha.
Day Seven: A Day For Brothers
It’s wrong, it’s wrong, oh god it’s wrong. We both know it, we’re both thinking it. We’re both ignoring it, too. Both of us are set on wiping it from each other’s minds, even as we try and wipe it from our own minds. It’s wrong, after all.
(But it feels so right, oh-so-right, and you’ll never say anything anyway.)
I want to love you the way I’m supposed to. I want to tie your skates on, walk you to the rink, teach you to fly. I want to teach you how to drive, how to smoke, how to handle your alcohol. I want to be the one you talk to about girls, the shoulder you cry on, the one you call before you ask her and after she says yes.
(Because she will say yes, I know she will, even if you never ask her.)
I don’t, though. I don’t love you the way I’m supposed to. I don’t love you the way I love Marc and Eric, the way Marc loves all of us, the way Eric loves all of us, the way you love them. I don’t love you the way Sidney loves Taylor, the way Stephanie and Austin and Lauren love one another. I don’t love you the way I should.
(Because there is a wrong and a right, even if you say there’s not, even if you refuse to believe it.)
I love you the way Sidney loves Marc-Andre, the way Eric loves his wife, the Marc loves his girlfriend. I love you in the sort of way that means flowers and chocolates and tacky little teddy bears. I love you in kisses and hugs and Sunday mornings cuddling in bed. I love you in hour-long make-out sessions and gropes in the shower and screaming orgasms being muffled in your fist at midnight on Saturdays.
(But you love me, too, or so you say, and so I’m willing to believe.)
This is half your fault, I’d like to say. This is you, you, you. Your kisses on my lips, your hands on my hips. Your starry dreamer’s eyes shining in the moonlight that spills in through the window. Your lips, slowly, dreamily tracing the words I want to hear, the words I’m afraid to hear.
(Because you’re the tempter, love, the tempter I could never refuse.)
I’ve tried to resist, really, I have. But you’ve always torn down my defenses. How can I resist you? You’re the beautiful one, the one I want, the one I love. You’re the one who haunts my moments, both waking and dreaming. You’re the one who understands me, who needs me, who sees me. You’re the one who stays up late to call and ask how my game went, even though you’ve seen it on television.
(Because this is love, you say, love like never ends.)
I’m afraid it is. I’m afraid that this is exactly what we think it is. I’m afraid that your lips and my hips and your hands and my eyes and your voice and my nerves are exactly what they appear to be.
(But don’t be afraid, please, because I’m scared enough for you already.)
If I ever say anything, though, you’ll just smile. You’ll smile that fallen-angel smile and slide an arm around me, tangling our legs together beneath the soft blankets you’ve had forever and a day. You’ll tell me not to worry and kiss my nose. Then you’ll kiss my lips and slide your hands down my body.
(And it will feel right, oh-so-right, and I’ll never say anything again.)