we'll go on like we've always done - cameron/tyler (the social network)
we'll go on like we've always done
cameron/tyler (the social network)
pg-13; 1292 words
written for the anonymous prompt at tsn_kinkmeme: "cam or tyler being shy/insecure/basically adorable around the other one due to the copious amounts of UST." It was an awkward age for grasping onto something like that, for understanding, for sitting up one early morning, gasping, eyes wide, mouth dry because he just knew and it all made sense in just a few slow and panicky seconds.
notes: I haven’t written fic (not like this, not for the masses (as it were) in a very long time (since july) and, on top of that, this is the first time I’ve attempted actually writing incest. So this is just me saying: please be gentle. Sorry about how it ends kind of abruptly but I knew that if I kept going it would kind of start to just go in circles eventually. I also apologize for any mistakes. I promise I will fix them over the next few days (I just really wanted to post this so I did I rush job on the editing the first time). Hopefully this is at least close to what you requested anon.
He was seventeen when he realized.
It was an awkward age for grasping onto something like that, for understanding, for sitting up one early morning, gasping, eyes wide, mouth dry because he just knew and it all made sense in just a few slow and panicky seconds, clicking into place like one of those sliding puzzles with it’s blocks, the image impossible to put into place until one day you just figured it out and felt so damn proud.
But there was nothing to be proud about now.
That same afternoon they were practicing (soccer, it was soccer and it was only that because Tyler had said that was what they were going to do whether Cameron liked it or not and Cameron was just the kind of guy who would nod his head and go, yeah, okay, we’ll do soccer just like he nodded and went yeah, good, fine let’s take latin and ok let’s take it for a second year even though we don’t need to and even though our teacher is probably senile) and Cameron made the mistake of tripping (over what, he didn’t have a clue but his mind was so elsewhere since breakfast that it could have been his own feet) and falling straight onto Tyler and, as they lay in a heap, strewn on top of mud and itchy, clean-cut grass all Cameron felt was flustered, embarrassed and hot, skin pulling and burning, fingertips tingling as they brushed against Tyler’s jaw, Tyler’s neck and it hadn’t been on purpose and their eyes met and Cameron swallowed.
(After that, after those couple minutes, Cameron rolled off of him, practically doing a somersault to get back on his feet. He didn’t offer a hand to his brother to help him stand and he ran off after the ball, after the rest of the team and didn’t look behind him).
- -
Days stretched into weeks, weeks into months and Cameron was doing everything he could to make sure he didn’t even accidentally bump elbows with Tyler and Tyler spent his time when he wasn’t studying or doing whatever the hell he did with his girlfriend and his friends that made him stay out until three in the morning on a school night like that was a normal thing for him to do (it wasn’t, it really wasn’t, Tyler was a doofus, sure, but he still cared about school and Cameron had brought it up once and got a slap on the back of the head for his troubles) trying his best to make Cameron touch him, even if it was just slinging an arm over his shoulder in the hallway or kicking his shin underneath the dinner table.
(Once, Cameron was positive (he wouldn’t imagine something like that) that Tyler’s foot skipped the kicking and instead carefully started sliding up his leg and it made it as far as Cameron’s knee before Cameron excused himself, disappearing into the bathroom to splash water on his face and smack himself until he was cross-eyed.)
- -
Other people noticed. Not the way that Cameron stared at his brother when he was sure Tyler wasn’t looking back or the way Tyler stared back when he caught him or how Cameron would duck his head, pretend to look somewhere else, at someone else, trying to think of anything else but slamming his brother (his goddamn twin brother) against the bookcase Tyler was hovering near (picking at the shrimp that their mother insisted on putting out during every party even though nobody but Tyler ever ate it and trying to keep up a boisterous conversation with a friend of a friend of somebody’s father), thrusting their mouth’s together, hands bunching in starched white, pulling at hips and hair. (He’d blink, mouth dry and then go shake some hands, keep up a dialogue with the oldest woman in the room that he could find if only so he could keep imagining her naked and doing horrible things with whipped cream until his insides stopped burning).
No, what they noticed, what they always commented on was how Cameron would take just a slight step sideways or backwards or shrug his shoulder whenever Tyler got too close (which was all the time). They would laugh and crack a joke that Cameron never recalled but knew that it was probably inappropriate or maybe just stupid and Tyler would respond with something equally as funny and then would go ahead and wrap his arms around Cameron (sometimes his shoulders but almost always his waist) who would stiffen up immediately, just proving everybody’s point and he’d try to pretend that they were laughing with him and not at him. (He never laughed but it made him feel better to think of himself as being in on the joke instead of the butt of it).
- -
“What the fuck is your deal?” Tyler asked. He never asked, never brought it up directly so when he did, Cameron nearly dropped his fork into his eggs. It was their first summer home after they had finished their first year of Harvard and they had only been there for two days but it had felt like three years. (It had been easy to avoid Tyler while they were in school, easy for both of them to forget it but now that they didn’t have homework or friends or parties it was more obvious, obvious enough that Tyler started to remember).
“What’re you talking about?” He wasn’t playing it dumb, just cautious.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about jackass.” (Cameron wondered where all this cursing, this dirty mouth came from and tried not to think about how much he secretly liked it).
“I’m not talking about this,” and he wasn’t, never planned to, if Tyler hadn’t figured it out yet, couldn’t feel the electricity, couldn’t read Cameron’s mind like a twin is supposed to be able to, then there was no reason to make an effort, to explain and he stood, dumping his unfinished breakfast into the sink and walking away, just like that.
He could hear Tyler behind him, loud, thumping, he was running but Cameron didn’t bother trying to go faster and let Tyler catch up, reach out and grasp a hand around his wrist, fling him into the wall, plastering his arms on either side so Cameron couldn’t get away without a fight. Their faces were so close that Cameron could smell the coffee and orange juice on Tyler’s breath.
“We’re talking about it,” Tyler demanded, his voice low and Cameron blushed and attempted to chuckle even though he didn’t mean it, all he wanted to do was wriggle away, to get away and if that meant punching his brother in the face then he was prepared to do it.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Liar,” Tyler growled, stepping closer, their chest’s pressing against each other and something in Cameron’s stomach tightened and his throat closed up a bit. They lapsed into silence, the only noise the creak of the floor as they shifted their weight and their heavy breaths and Cameron could feel Tyler’s chest heaving, up and down, up and down, against his own.
Tyler leaned in, their mouths centimeters apart and Cameron shut his eyes, only letting them flutter open when Tyler disappeared, footsteps shuffling along the rest of the hallway and around a corner.
(Cameron slid down to rest on his heels and put his face in his hands, letting out a muffled scream, slipping, then, into the nearest bathroom, climbing into the bathtub (still fully dressed) and turning on a steady, frozen stream of water from the silver showerhead, letting it run over him until his teeth were clicking together and his lips were blue).
cameron/tyler (the social network)
pg-13; 1292 words
written for the anonymous prompt at tsn_kinkmeme: "cam or tyler being shy/insecure/basically adorable around the other one due to the copious amounts of UST." It was an awkward age for grasping onto something like that, for understanding, for sitting up one early morning, gasping, eyes wide, mouth dry because he just knew and it all made sense in just a few slow and panicky seconds.
notes: I haven’t written fic (not like this, not for the masses (as it were) in a very long time (since july) and, on top of that, this is the first time I’ve attempted actually writing incest. So this is just me saying: please be gentle. Sorry about how it ends kind of abruptly but I knew that if I kept going it would kind of start to just go in circles eventually. I also apologize for any mistakes. I promise I will fix them over the next few days (I just really wanted to post this so I did I rush job on the editing the first time). Hopefully this is at least close to what you requested anon.
He was seventeen when he realized.
It was an awkward age for grasping onto something like that, for understanding, for sitting up one early morning, gasping, eyes wide, mouth dry because he just knew and it all made sense in just a few slow and panicky seconds, clicking into place like one of those sliding puzzles with it’s blocks, the image impossible to put into place until one day you just figured it out and felt so damn proud.
But there was nothing to be proud about now.
That same afternoon they were practicing (soccer, it was soccer and it was only that because Tyler had said that was what they were going to do whether Cameron liked it or not and Cameron was just the kind of guy who would nod his head and go, yeah, okay, we’ll do soccer just like he nodded and went yeah, good, fine let’s take latin and ok let’s take it for a second year even though we don’t need to and even though our teacher is probably senile) and Cameron made the mistake of tripping (over what, he didn’t have a clue but his mind was so elsewhere since breakfast that it could have been his own feet) and falling straight onto Tyler and, as they lay in a heap, strewn on top of mud and itchy, clean-cut grass all Cameron felt was flustered, embarrassed and hot, skin pulling and burning, fingertips tingling as they brushed against Tyler’s jaw, Tyler’s neck and it hadn’t been on purpose and their eyes met and Cameron swallowed.
(After that, after those couple minutes, Cameron rolled off of him, practically doing a somersault to get back on his feet. He didn’t offer a hand to his brother to help him stand and he ran off after the ball, after the rest of the team and didn’t look behind him).
- -
Days stretched into weeks, weeks into months and Cameron was doing everything he could to make sure he didn’t even accidentally bump elbows with Tyler and Tyler spent his time when he wasn’t studying or doing whatever the hell he did with his girlfriend and his friends that made him stay out until three in the morning on a school night like that was a normal thing for him to do (it wasn’t, it really wasn’t, Tyler was a doofus, sure, but he still cared about school and Cameron had brought it up once and got a slap on the back of the head for his troubles) trying his best to make Cameron touch him, even if it was just slinging an arm over his shoulder in the hallway or kicking his shin underneath the dinner table.
(Once, Cameron was positive (he wouldn’t imagine something like that) that Tyler’s foot skipped the kicking and instead carefully started sliding up his leg and it made it as far as Cameron’s knee before Cameron excused himself, disappearing into the bathroom to splash water on his face and smack himself until he was cross-eyed.)
- -
Other people noticed. Not the way that Cameron stared at his brother when he was sure Tyler wasn’t looking back or the way Tyler stared back when he caught him or how Cameron would duck his head, pretend to look somewhere else, at someone else, trying to think of anything else but slamming his brother (his goddamn twin brother) against the bookcase Tyler was hovering near (picking at the shrimp that their mother insisted on putting out during every party even though nobody but Tyler ever ate it and trying to keep up a boisterous conversation with a friend of a friend of somebody’s father), thrusting their mouth’s together, hands bunching in starched white, pulling at hips and hair. (He’d blink, mouth dry and then go shake some hands, keep up a dialogue with the oldest woman in the room that he could find if only so he could keep imagining her naked and doing horrible things with whipped cream until his insides stopped burning).
No, what they noticed, what they always commented on was how Cameron would take just a slight step sideways or backwards or shrug his shoulder whenever Tyler got too close (which was all the time). They would laugh and crack a joke that Cameron never recalled but knew that it was probably inappropriate or maybe just stupid and Tyler would respond with something equally as funny and then would go ahead and wrap his arms around Cameron (sometimes his shoulders but almost always his waist) who would stiffen up immediately, just proving everybody’s point and he’d try to pretend that they were laughing with him and not at him. (He never laughed but it made him feel better to think of himself as being in on the joke instead of the butt of it).
- -
“What the fuck is your deal?” Tyler asked. He never asked, never brought it up directly so when he did, Cameron nearly dropped his fork into his eggs. It was their first summer home after they had finished their first year of Harvard and they had only been there for two days but it had felt like three years. (It had been easy to avoid Tyler while they were in school, easy for both of them to forget it but now that they didn’t have homework or friends or parties it was more obvious, obvious enough that Tyler started to remember).
“What’re you talking about?” He wasn’t playing it dumb, just cautious.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about jackass.” (Cameron wondered where all this cursing, this dirty mouth came from and tried not to think about how much he secretly liked it).
“I’m not talking about this,” and he wasn’t, never planned to, if Tyler hadn’t figured it out yet, couldn’t feel the electricity, couldn’t read Cameron’s mind like a twin is supposed to be able to, then there was no reason to make an effort, to explain and he stood, dumping his unfinished breakfast into the sink and walking away, just like that.
He could hear Tyler behind him, loud, thumping, he was running but Cameron didn’t bother trying to go faster and let Tyler catch up, reach out and grasp a hand around his wrist, fling him into the wall, plastering his arms on either side so Cameron couldn’t get away without a fight. Their faces were so close that Cameron could smell the coffee and orange juice on Tyler’s breath.
“We’re talking about it,” Tyler demanded, his voice low and Cameron blushed and attempted to chuckle even though he didn’t mean it, all he wanted to do was wriggle away, to get away and if that meant punching his brother in the face then he was prepared to do it.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Liar,” Tyler growled, stepping closer, their chest’s pressing against each other and something in Cameron’s stomach tightened and his throat closed up a bit. They lapsed into silence, the only noise the creak of the floor as they shifted their weight and their heavy breaths and Cameron could feel Tyler’s chest heaving, up and down, up and down, against his own.
Tyler leaned in, their mouths centimeters apart and Cameron shut his eyes, only letting them flutter open when Tyler disappeared, footsteps shuffling along the rest of the hallway and around a corner.
(Cameron slid down to rest on his heels and put his face in his hands, letting out a muffled scream, slipping, then, into the nearest bathroom, climbing into the bathtub (still fully dressed) and turning on a steady, frozen stream of water from the silver showerhead, letting it run over him until his teeth were clicking together and his lips were blue).