(no subject)
Title: Hier und Jetzt.
Pairing: Georg/Bill, Tom/Bill
Rating: NC17
Summary: Let’s get stoned. Let’s get nasty. Let’s get what we want.
Warnings: Twincest. Pot. Voyeurism. A punch in the chops.
Disclaimer: It’s, like, totes illegal! And totes a lie!
A/N: As betas go, moblo413 is good for the soul. ;) Dedicated to claireyfairy1 because OMG, Claire, OMG.
Georg’s idea. Of course it was Georg’s idea. He was always picking on Bill’s lightweightedness, his inability to drink more than three beers and stay on his feet.
He never drank hard liquor, he never did drugs and he never fucked groupies. He never did much of anything that his mother wouldn’t like. He didn’t even smoke. Much. Really.
Except at Georg’s behest. Heaven forfend that Bill should refuse anything coming from Georg’s hand. God, and did that wind Tom up. Like the way Georg could say something simple, and give Bill reason for a world of shame. If it was his age, his experience, his sense, Tom didn’t know.
But Bill fell to his will, every time. That saw Bill going out on nights when he didn’t intend to, or saying things he didn’t mean, just for effect.
Tom hated it, because as much as he loved Georg, he was angry with him. They had made promises; no fraternisation within the group. That mostly meant ‘nobody fuck Bill’. Everyone was a threat, even the usually straight Gustav. Touring was pressure and Bill was… inviting.
Tom didn’t want the band split, ruined by the blurring of lines and the misinterpretation of intimacy. That was it. Fraternal protectiveness. Not jealousy. And if Georg hadn’t coaxed and cajoled Bill into participating in one of his ‘special’ cigarettes, Tom might have continued pretending to believe that for a long, long time.
#
Bill was giggly when stoned. Two-thirds of an unnecessarily strong spliff and he was gone; laid back on the sofa and breathing raggedly. His head was full of fluff and everything seemed funny. His throat was scratchy, like the nights when they hurled too much dry ice at him and gave Bill a cough.
Bill’s head lolled back over the arm of the sofa. The fabric of the upholstery, scratching his shoulders seemed important, intense, intimate. The prickle of warm air across his lips was fascinating; a distraction from the slide of his zip over his surprisingly tense cock.
Funny that the thick, numb feeling in his fingertips should be so much more intense than the feeling of someone’s mouth around his cock. After a few moments, he pulled his head up and looked down himself. He saw what seemed to be Georg; eyes closed in bliss, slowly sucking on him.
Bill let his head fall back again, laughing at himself. His dreams didn’t usually involve Georg. But he was in Georg’s presence and stoned. Who knew what that did to your fantasies? Of course, it felt oddly unlike a dream, but what did Bill know about skunk dreams, either? How real should anything feel, under the influence? Because it felt real.
It felt more and more like Georg really was trying to make him come. And there was a definite chill around his legs. Then there was something that never featured much in his usual fantasies. He pulled his mouth away and leaned up, putting his hands on Georg’s shoulders.
“What’re you doing?” Bill gasped. Georg pulled his mouth from Bill’s cock, but left his finger exactly where it was, just inside Bill. Georg shushed his friend and pushed his finger further inward, beckoning and pulling with it Bill’s half-sotted protestations.
“Feel that buzz?” Georg asked. “Good, isn’t it? Perfectly normal.” He pushed himself up to lean over Bill, settling himself between Bill’s legs. “Want me to stop?”
Bill didn’t say yes. He didn’t say no. He twisted on the sofa, screwing himself down on the fingers inside him. Words were fuzzy; he couldn’t quite hear them if they weren’t coming directly at him. He couldn’t hear what Georg was saying. Who cared? It wasn’t about his life, surely. It wasn’t important. Nor were raised voices or slamming doors.
Kissing. Georg was kissing him. Curious. Not unpleasant.
Bill started to giggle around the enthusiastic tongue that penetrated him. When had Georg got so hungry?
Bill tried to pull out of the kiss with a question to ask. It was difficult; Georg was reluctant to release him. A slight squeeze and a jerk of the head was just about enough to separate them.
“Are you fucking me?” Bill asked.
Georg grinned, a breath away from Bill’s lips.
“Only if you want me to.”
Bill let his head fall back again. Moment after moment, his sobriety was returning. Bill smiled humourlessly.
“Whatever you want,” he whispered.
#
Gustav was wasted. One too many beers on top of one of Georg’s hardcore spliffs and he was either going to white out or pass out. He was pretty close to unconscious when Georg and Bill began wrestling on the sofa. He didn’t have the energy to get involved in the fight, but he tried to pull his head up enough to enjoy the show.
It wasn’t the show he had anticipated. He rubbed his eyes to focus on the sight of Bill; beautiful, wanton Bill stretching back out over the sofa, mouth open and eyes closed. And, if Gustav wasn’t very much mistaken, Georg had Bill’s cock halfway down his throat. He watched the unexpected couple share a few words and then he noticed Georg’s hand working steadily between Bill’s legs. He couldn’t hold his silence.
“What the fuck are you guys doing?” he slurred.
Georg turned to him and grinned. Bill didn’t even flinch.
“Fucking,” Georg supplied. “Wanna join in?”
Gustav gaped at him.
“Tom’s going to kill you,” he said. Georg grinned wider.
“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” Georg replied.
“Tom is going to kill you,” Gustav said again, pushing himself to unsteady feet and heading toward the door.
“Don’t tell him,” Georg insisted. Gustav walked out just as Georg turned back to his prize.
#
Tom loved his boys, but there were just times when he needed to get away from them, just for a little while. He had to spend some time pretending to be someone else. As a band, it was impossible, but if he pulled off the hats and pulled back the hair and wore something a little less conspicuous he could meet up with a couple of mates in a bar and sink a couple of beers without having to be ‘Tokio Hotel’.
As usual, he gave up when he just missed Bill so much it wasn’t fun anymore. At which point he would go back to the bus or the hotel room or, in this case, the suite, and cuddle up to his brother.
Not in the real sense, of course. Not in any sense that might betray any of his less acceptable feelings. The feelings he refused to look directly at. The feelings that had been adolescent fumbling and secret games, before they had realised they were wrong.
He found Gustav in the hotel bar, first, nursing a beer anonymously. He looked up as Tom entered and couldn’t hide the anxiety that descended upon him.
“What’s up?” Tom asked carefully.
“Nothing,” Gustav all but squeaked. “Nothing, I’m fine, just wanted a few minutes alone.”
“Okay,” Tom said, nodding in what he thought was realisation. “I’ll leave you to it,” he added pleasantly.
“No!” Gustav exclaimed. “No, I mean, I’m bored now, I’d like the company.”
“Well, why don’t we go back up, then?” Tom suggested.
“No, dude,” Gustav leapt in. “No, let’s stay down here for a bit. Just chill out.”
“Sure,” Tom said, beckoning the waitress over. “But are you sure nothing’s wrong? You guys haven’t fallen out?”
“No,” Gustav said determinedly. It was obvious that Tom didn’t believe him. He broke his curious gaze to order a beer.
“You can’t let it stew, if you have,” he said. “It’s only going to get worse. You know how Bill will keep throwing a fit about the same thing…”
“It’s fine,” Gustav said firmly. “We’re fine. It’s nothing, Bill has some company and I didn’t want to get in the way.”
“Bill has… company?” Tom echoed quietly.
“Yeah, I know, it’s nothing like… it’s fine. I just don’t wanna be there. It’s weird,” he concluded.
“Right,” Tom said, shifting uncomfortably and neglecting to thank the waitress as she placed his beer down.
“That’s not like Bill,” he said slowly. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Gustav said, too quickly. “Leave him be?”
Tom started to panic.
“What is wrong?” he asked. “What did he do?”
Gustav didn’t excuse him quite quickly enough. Tom leapt to his feet.
“Tom, seriously, you don’t want to know!”
Tom didn’t stop.
#
Maybe he should have. He might have done himself a service not to enter an empty hotel suite and pursue the only light, the only sound, to the only inhabited room. He had barely even got the door open when he was forced to stop by the sight before him.
It hadn’t occurred to him to wonder where Georg was. It hadn’t occurred to him that Georg might have Bill on all fours, kneeling over Bill with hands tight around his thighs.
Bill hardly had any makeup on and his hair was a mess, falling down across his face. Unseen through the cracked door, Tom watched his brother rocked by Georg’s thrusts. He watched Georg’s hand twist itself into Bill’s hair and pull his head back. Then he could see Bill’s face, twisted with reluctant pleasure and a delirious edge of pain.
Tom couldn’t tear his eyes away. Bill’s mouth was wide open, but his eyes were closed and he gasped every time Georg jerked forward, grunting ecstatically.
Then, terrible then, Bill opened his eyes. Right in Tom’s direction. Just in time to catch Tom’s eye. There was no looking away. Tom saw his brother tense with recognition, but didn’t turn away. He held Tom’s gaze as Georg’s movements changed, as he began to bang away with all the desire he had been repressing. Tom knew those impulses well. He watched them turn Georg into an animal, watched him become a creature of impulse and sensation.
Raw, desperate desire thrust hard into Bill and came. Bill had to pull his eyes down. The last thrust had been so hard that a grimace passed over his face. The door slammed into the wall as Tom slammed it open.
“Out.”
“Fuck, Tom,” Georg started, pulling straight out of Bill and scrambling for his pants. “Calm down.”
Tom turned a look on him that suggested that refusal was pretty much an instant form of suicide.
“Get out,” Tom said slowly.
Georg pulled his jeans on, condom still hanging from his softening cock, and glanced at Bill. Bill was on his back, staring at the ceiling. Whatever Georg was about to say remained unsaid, as Tom backhanded him across the cheek. It was a warning. If he had wanted to hurt Georg, he would have.
Georg told himself that he would survive the hit to his pride and that Bill would remain safe from Tom’s rage. He ran for it.
Tom stood in the semi-darkness for endless moments, watching his brother’s highlighted silhouette as his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He had dropped a sheet across himself but it was obvious he hadn’t come. He made no attempt to touch himself.
“What?” Bill asked, quietly, the loudest sound in the room.
“Why?” Tom asked.
Bill’s eyelashes fluttered noticeably. He wriggled, a sort of horizontal shrug.
“Bored,” he suggested. “Stoned. Horny.” There was a slight creak and Bill turned his head to face his brother. “Lonely?” Bill suggested.
Bill turned back toward the ceiling, stretching his arms out over his head. Tom didn’t know how Bill couldn’t be trying to bring himself relief. It wasn’t far to go. Tom reached out and rested his fingers on Bill’s stomach, feeling the shiver as Bill’s stomach tried to move away. Tom sat on the side of the bed and ran his hand up his brother’s chest, smoothing away his friend’s touch. He leaned over, his hands sliding around Bill’s wrists. Bill’s eyes went wide as Tom stretched across and straddled him.
“Why are you ruining this?” Tom demanded. “What’s wrong with you?”
Bill pushed up against the hands securing his own, but with no real desire to push him away.
“Do you even look in their eyes?” Bill spat. Tom recoiled from the spite in his voice. “When you fuck these girls? Do you even give…”
Tom devoured him. Bill gasped into his mouth as if he were drowning and needed Tom’s breath to keep him alive. Tom shoved Bill’s hands against the bed and held him down with strong fingers.
“That’s right, I don’t care,” Tom said, pulling his mouth away from his brother. “But it’s not my fault,” he added passionately. His grip loosened enough that Bill could work his hands free. They descended, quickly, and grabbed at Tom’s T-shirt, pulling it off over his head. Tom leaned back to let it free and helped to toss it aside. Bill’s fingers dug into his shoulders as he ground down against his brother, the denim of his jeans rough against Bill’s tender, sensitive erection.
“I thought this wasn’t happening,” Bill ground out. “That’s what you said.”
“For the good of the band?” Tom said darkly.
“For our souls?” Bill suggested. Tom narrowed his eyes and sank his fingers into Bill’s hair, pulling him up as he ground down, his mouth bruising Bill’s, tongues catching teeth, burning heat in his fingertips.
Bill moaned helplessly and grabbed at Tom’s backside, pulling at his jeans and jerking them open. Tom gasped as his brother’s hand met his cock.
“Fuck me,” Bill pleaded, his teeth gentle around Tom’s lower lip. “Please, Tom, please fuck me.”
“Jesus, Bill,” Tom whimpered. “Don’t beg.”
“Sorry,” Bill whispered.
“And don’t apologise,” Tom added. Bill sighed in exasperation and spread his legs, bucking against Tom so Tom’s cock dragged across his entrance.
Tom closed his eyes. Bill was hot, still wet, still open from minutes before. Tom’s blood was electric. Someone else had been inside his brother, inside his Bill. One of his best friends, screwing Tom’s brother, just because he was beautiful, perfect, tempting as the beginning and the end of sin.
How could they? How could Bill settle for such immediate gratification, instead of waiting for the inevitable moment, this moment, when Tom surrendered to his indefensible desire and pushed, in one smooth, possessive movement, deep into Bill.
Tom wouldn’t let Bill look away. He kept hold of Bill’s gaze as he tilted his hips, and tilted, and tilted, until he was so far inside Bill that they were a single, undulating being.
“We weren’t going to do this,” Bill whispered, barely a third of the words actually audible over the shiver of his own breath.
Tom shook his head in silent dismissal, withdrawing a fraction before pushing back in, hard.
“But we are,” Tom replied, more or less.
“Um,” was all that Bill could manage for a reply.
“We are,” Tom repeated, so very quietly. Bill’s head fell back and Tom tilted his head up, nipping at Bill’s chin and kissing his neck. Every time he thrust upward, he felt Bill’s throat ripple.
“Tom.” He felt the word as much as heard it, and his hips moved independently of his intention. His whole body moved against Bill’s and he fastened his mouth over Bill’s throat, sucking hard enough to burst the little vessels and leave a red mark.
“Tom. Tom,” Bill insisted. Tom looked up and Bill turned his face down, inviting a kiss that Tom was pleased to accept and deepen. They kissed as Bill shook, clinging to Tom with endless arms, gasping when they could find room for a breath. They kissed as Bill’s fingers screwed into Tom’s hair, as Bill stiffened and jerked, as Bill’s legs wound themselves high around Tom’s back. Bill didn’t even pull away so he could cry out, just let his shouts get lost in Tom’s lips as he convulsed, coming as if he hadn’t felt release in years.
Tom opened his eyes to watch Bill’s, narrowed and crinkled, his brow tight as his climax turned him into a twisting mass, hard around Tom’s cock.
Tom pushed himself away from Bill, pressing their foreheads together so he could watch Bill’s shining, bruised lips as he fucked him, watch his laboured breaths send them quivering each time Tom slid home. It took him longer, he hadn’t had the same fluffing as Bill. But the sweetness of his brother, the effortless innocence of his post-climactic expression sent spikes through Tom’s stomach.
And Bill’s whimpers, each one in the shape of Tom’s name, were spurs to his arousal.
As Tom came, Bill lunged for him, catching Tom’s bottom lip in his teeth so Tom couldn’t look away. As if he would have.
“Fucking hell, Bill,” Tom whispered. Bill reached up, cupping Tom’s cheek gently. There was that innocence again. How could he look so sweet, with his brother still rolling against him? With Tom’s come cooling on his skin. “Fucking hell,” Tom said again, with nothing but affection.
All Bill had to do was tilt his chin and Tom was kissing him again, slowly and gently.
“I’m sorry,” Bill whispered against his mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” Tom said firmly. “No apologies.” Another kiss. Tom still wasn’t pulling out. “Don’t do it again.”
“Don’t let me get lonely,” Bill replied. “Or stoned.”
“Sorry,” Tom offered. Bill shook his head.
“Don’t apologise.”
The End.
Pairing: Georg/Bill, Tom/Bill
Rating: NC17
Summary: Let’s get stoned. Let’s get nasty. Let’s get what we want.
Warnings: Twincest. Pot. Voyeurism. A punch in the chops.
Disclaimer: It’s, like, totes illegal! And totes a lie!
A/N: As betas go, moblo413 is good for the soul. ;) Dedicated to claireyfairy1 because OMG, Claire, OMG.
Georg’s idea. Of course it was Georg’s idea. He was always picking on Bill’s lightweightedness, his inability to drink more than three beers and stay on his feet.
He never drank hard liquor, he never did drugs and he never fucked groupies. He never did much of anything that his mother wouldn’t like. He didn’t even smoke. Much. Really.
Except at Georg’s behest. Heaven forfend that Bill should refuse anything coming from Georg’s hand. God, and did that wind Tom up. Like the way Georg could say something simple, and give Bill reason for a world of shame. If it was his age, his experience, his sense, Tom didn’t know.
But Bill fell to his will, every time. That saw Bill going out on nights when he didn’t intend to, or saying things he didn’t mean, just for effect.
Tom hated it, because as much as he loved Georg, he was angry with him. They had made promises; no fraternisation within the group. That mostly meant ‘nobody fuck Bill’. Everyone was a threat, even the usually straight Gustav. Touring was pressure and Bill was… inviting.
Tom didn’t want the band split, ruined by the blurring of lines and the misinterpretation of intimacy. That was it. Fraternal protectiveness. Not jealousy. And if Georg hadn’t coaxed and cajoled Bill into participating in one of his ‘special’ cigarettes, Tom might have continued pretending to believe that for a long, long time.
#
Bill was giggly when stoned. Two-thirds of an unnecessarily strong spliff and he was gone; laid back on the sofa and breathing raggedly. His head was full of fluff and everything seemed funny. His throat was scratchy, like the nights when they hurled too much dry ice at him and gave Bill a cough.
Bill’s head lolled back over the arm of the sofa. The fabric of the upholstery, scratching his shoulders seemed important, intense, intimate. The prickle of warm air across his lips was fascinating; a distraction from the slide of his zip over his surprisingly tense cock.
Funny that the thick, numb feeling in his fingertips should be so much more intense than the feeling of someone’s mouth around his cock. After a few moments, he pulled his head up and looked down himself. He saw what seemed to be Georg; eyes closed in bliss, slowly sucking on him.
Bill let his head fall back again, laughing at himself. His dreams didn’t usually involve Georg. But he was in Georg’s presence and stoned. Who knew what that did to your fantasies? Of course, it felt oddly unlike a dream, but what did Bill know about skunk dreams, either? How real should anything feel, under the influence? Because it felt real.
It felt more and more like Georg really was trying to make him come. And there was a definite chill around his legs. Then there was something that never featured much in his usual fantasies. He pulled his mouth away and leaned up, putting his hands on Georg’s shoulders.
“What’re you doing?” Bill gasped. Georg pulled his mouth from Bill’s cock, but left his finger exactly where it was, just inside Bill. Georg shushed his friend and pushed his finger further inward, beckoning and pulling with it Bill’s half-sotted protestations.
“Feel that buzz?” Georg asked. “Good, isn’t it? Perfectly normal.” He pushed himself up to lean over Bill, settling himself between Bill’s legs. “Want me to stop?”
Bill didn’t say yes. He didn’t say no. He twisted on the sofa, screwing himself down on the fingers inside him. Words were fuzzy; he couldn’t quite hear them if they weren’t coming directly at him. He couldn’t hear what Georg was saying. Who cared? It wasn’t about his life, surely. It wasn’t important. Nor were raised voices or slamming doors.
Kissing. Georg was kissing him. Curious. Not unpleasant.
Bill started to giggle around the enthusiastic tongue that penetrated him. When had Georg got so hungry?
Bill tried to pull out of the kiss with a question to ask. It was difficult; Georg was reluctant to release him. A slight squeeze and a jerk of the head was just about enough to separate them.
“Are you fucking me?” Bill asked.
Georg grinned, a breath away from Bill’s lips.
“Only if you want me to.”
Bill let his head fall back again. Moment after moment, his sobriety was returning. Bill smiled humourlessly.
“Whatever you want,” he whispered.
#
Gustav was wasted. One too many beers on top of one of Georg’s hardcore spliffs and he was either going to white out or pass out. He was pretty close to unconscious when Georg and Bill began wrestling on the sofa. He didn’t have the energy to get involved in the fight, but he tried to pull his head up enough to enjoy the show.
It wasn’t the show he had anticipated. He rubbed his eyes to focus on the sight of Bill; beautiful, wanton Bill stretching back out over the sofa, mouth open and eyes closed. And, if Gustav wasn’t very much mistaken, Georg had Bill’s cock halfway down his throat. He watched the unexpected couple share a few words and then he noticed Georg’s hand working steadily between Bill’s legs. He couldn’t hold his silence.
“What the fuck are you guys doing?” he slurred.
Georg turned to him and grinned. Bill didn’t even flinch.
“Fucking,” Georg supplied. “Wanna join in?”
Gustav gaped at him.
“Tom’s going to kill you,” he said. Georg grinned wider.
“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him,” Georg replied.
“Tom is going to kill you,” Gustav said again, pushing himself to unsteady feet and heading toward the door.
“Don’t tell him,” Georg insisted. Gustav walked out just as Georg turned back to his prize.
#
Tom loved his boys, but there were just times when he needed to get away from them, just for a little while. He had to spend some time pretending to be someone else. As a band, it was impossible, but if he pulled off the hats and pulled back the hair and wore something a little less conspicuous he could meet up with a couple of mates in a bar and sink a couple of beers without having to be ‘Tokio Hotel’.
As usual, he gave up when he just missed Bill so much it wasn’t fun anymore. At which point he would go back to the bus or the hotel room or, in this case, the suite, and cuddle up to his brother.
Not in the real sense, of course. Not in any sense that might betray any of his less acceptable feelings. The feelings he refused to look directly at. The feelings that had been adolescent fumbling and secret games, before they had realised they were wrong.
He found Gustav in the hotel bar, first, nursing a beer anonymously. He looked up as Tom entered and couldn’t hide the anxiety that descended upon him.
“What’s up?” Tom asked carefully.
“Nothing,” Gustav all but squeaked. “Nothing, I’m fine, just wanted a few minutes alone.”
“Okay,” Tom said, nodding in what he thought was realisation. “I’ll leave you to it,” he added pleasantly.
“No!” Gustav exclaimed. “No, I mean, I’m bored now, I’d like the company.”
“Well, why don’t we go back up, then?” Tom suggested.
“No, dude,” Gustav leapt in. “No, let’s stay down here for a bit. Just chill out.”
“Sure,” Tom said, beckoning the waitress over. “But are you sure nothing’s wrong? You guys haven’t fallen out?”
“No,” Gustav said determinedly. It was obvious that Tom didn’t believe him. He broke his curious gaze to order a beer.
“You can’t let it stew, if you have,” he said. “It’s only going to get worse. You know how Bill will keep throwing a fit about the same thing…”
“It’s fine,” Gustav said firmly. “We’re fine. It’s nothing, Bill has some company and I didn’t want to get in the way.”
“Bill has… company?” Tom echoed quietly.
“Yeah, I know, it’s nothing like… it’s fine. I just don’t wanna be there. It’s weird,” he concluded.
“Right,” Tom said, shifting uncomfortably and neglecting to thank the waitress as she placed his beer down.
“That’s not like Bill,” he said slowly. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Gustav said, too quickly. “Leave him be?”
Tom started to panic.
“What is wrong?” he asked. “What did he do?”
Gustav didn’t excuse him quite quickly enough. Tom leapt to his feet.
“Tom, seriously, you don’t want to know!”
Tom didn’t stop.
#
Maybe he should have. He might have done himself a service not to enter an empty hotel suite and pursue the only light, the only sound, to the only inhabited room. He had barely even got the door open when he was forced to stop by the sight before him.
It hadn’t occurred to him to wonder where Georg was. It hadn’t occurred to him that Georg might have Bill on all fours, kneeling over Bill with hands tight around his thighs.
Bill hardly had any makeup on and his hair was a mess, falling down across his face. Unseen through the cracked door, Tom watched his brother rocked by Georg’s thrusts. He watched Georg’s hand twist itself into Bill’s hair and pull his head back. Then he could see Bill’s face, twisted with reluctant pleasure and a delirious edge of pain.
Tom couldn’t tear his eyes away. Bill’s mouth was wide open, but his eyes were closed and he gasped every time Georg jerked forward, grunting ecstatically.
Then, terrible then, Bill opened his eyes. Right in Tom’s direction. Just in time to catch Tom’s eye. There was no looking away. Tom saw his brother tense with recognition, but didn’t turn away. He held Tom’s gaze as Georg’s movements changed, as he began to bang away with all the desire he had been repressing. Tom knew those impulses well. He watched them turn Georg into an animal, watched him become a creature of impulse and sensation.
Raw, desperate desire thrust hard into Bill and came. Bill had to pull his eyes down. The last thrust had been so hard that a grimace passed over his face. The door slammed into the wall as Tom slammed it open.
“Out.”
“Fuck, Tom,” Georg started, pulling straight out of Bill and scrambling for his pants. “Calm down.”
Tom turned a look on him that suggested that refusal was pretty much an instant form of suicide.
“Get out,” Tom said slowly.
Georg pulled his jeans on, condom still hanging from his softening cock, and glanced at Bill. Bill was on his back, staring at the ceiling. Whatever Georg was about to say remained unsaid, as Tom backhanded him across the cheek. It was a warning. If he had wanted to hurt Georg, he would have.
Georg told himself that he would survive the hit to his pride and that Bill would remain safe from Tom’s rage. He ran for it.
Tom stood in the semi-darkness for endless moments, watching his brother’s highlighted silhouette as his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He had dropped a sheet across himself but it was obvious he hadn’t come. He made no attempt to touch himself.
“What?” Bill asked, quietly, the loudest sound in the room.
“Why?” Tom asked.
Bill’s eyelashes fluttered noticeably. He wriggled, a sort of horizontal shrug.
“Bored,” he suggested. “Stoned. Horny.” There was a slight creak and Bill turned his head to face his brother. “Lonely?” Bill suggested.
Bill turned back toward the ceiling, stretching his arms out over his head. Tom didn’t know how Bill couldn’t be trying to bring himself relief. It wasn’t far to go. Tom reached out and rested his fingers on Bill’s stomach, feeling the shiver as Bill’s stomach tried to move away. Tom sat on the side of the bed and ran his hand up his brother’s chest, smoothing away his friend’s touch. He leaned over, his hands sliding around Bill’s wrists. Bill’s eyes went wide as Tom stretched across and straddled him.
“Why are you ruining this?” Tom demanded. “What’s wrong with you?”
Bill pushed up against the hands securing his own, but with no real desire to push him away.
“Do you even look in their eyes?” Bill spat. Tom recoiled from the spite in his voice. “When you fuck these girls? Do you even give…”
Tom devoured him. Bill gasped into his mouth as if he were drowning and needed Tom’s breath to keep him alive. Tom shoved Bill’s hands against the bed and held him down with strong fingers.
“That’s right, I don’t care,” Tom said, pulling his mouth away from his brother. “But it’s not my fault,” he added passionately. His grip loosened enough that Bill could work his hands free. They descended, quickly, and grabbed at Tom’s T-shirt, pulling it off over his head. Tom leaned back to let it free and helped to toss it aside. Bill’s fingers dug into his shoulders as he ground down against his brother, the denim of his jeans rough against Bill’s tender, sensitive erection.
“I thought this wasn’t happening,” Bill ground out. “That’s what you said.”
“For the good of the band?” Tom said darkly.
“For our souls?” Bill suggested. Tom narrowed his eyes and sank his fingers into Bill’s hair, pulling him up as he ground down, his mouth bruising Bill’s, tongues catching teeth, burning heat in his fingertips.
Bill moaned helplessly and grabbed at Tom’s backside, pulling at his jeans and jerking them open. Tom gasped as his brother’s hand met his cock.
“Fuck me,” Bill pleaded, his teeth gentle around Tom’s lower lip. “Please, Tom, please fuck me.”
“Jesus, Bill,” Tom whimpered. “Don’t beg.”
“Sorry,” Bill whispered.
“And don’t apologise,” Tom added. Bill sighed in exasperation and spread his legs, bucking against Tom so Tom’s cock dragged across his entrance.
Tom closed his eyes. Bill was hot, still wet, still open from minutes before. Tom’s blood was electric. Someone else had been inside his brother, inside his Bill. One of his best friends, screwing Tom’s brother, just because he was beautiful, perfect, tempting as the beginning and the end of sin.
How could they? How could Bill settle for such immediate gratification, instead of waiting for the inevitable moment, this moment, when Tom surrendered to his indefensible desire and pushed, in one smooth, possessive movement, deep into Bill.
Tom wouldn’t let Bill look away. He kept hold of Bill’s gaze as he tilted his hips, and tilted, and tilted, until he was so far inside Bill that they were a single, undulating being.
“We weren’t going to do this,” Bill whispered, barely a third of the words actually audible over the shiver of his own breath.
Tom shook his head in silent dismissal, withdrawing a fraction before pushing back in, hard.
“But we are,” Tom replied, more or less.
“Um,” was all that Bill could manage for a reply.
“We are,” Tom repeated, so very quietly. Bill’s head fell back and Tom tilted his head up, nipping at Bill’s chin and kissing his neck. Every time he thrust upward, he felt Bill’s throat ripple.
“Tom.” He felt the word as much as heard it, and his hips moved independently of his intention. His whole body moved against Bill’s and he fastened his mouth over Bill’s throat, sucking hard enough to burst the little vessels and leave a red mark.
“Tom. Tom,” Bill insisted. Tom looked up and Bill turned his face down, inviting a kiss that Tom was pleased to accept and deepen. They kissed as Bill shook, clinging to Tom with endless arms, gasping when they could find room for a breath. They kissed as Bill’s fingers screwed into Tom’s hair, as Bill stiffened and jerked, as Bill’s legs wound themselves high around Tom’s back. Bill didn’t even pull away so he could cry out, just let his shouts get lost in Tom’s lips as he convulsed, coming as if he hadn’t felt release in years.
Tom opened his eyes to watch Bill’s, narrowed and crinkled, his brow tight as his climax turned him into a twisting mass, hard around Tom’s cock.
Tom pushed himself away from Bill, pressing their foreheads together so he could watch Bill’s shining, bruised lips as he fucked him, watch his laboured breaths send them quivering each time Tom slid home. It took him longer, he hadn’t had the same fluffing as Bill. But the sweetness of his brother, the effortless innocence of his post-climactic expression sent spikes through Tom’s stomach.
And Bill’s whimpers, each one in the shape of Tom’s name, were spurs to his arousal.
As Tom came, Bill lunged for him, catching Tom’s bottom lip in his teeth so Tom couldn’t look away. As if he would have.
“Fucking hell, Bill,” Tom whispered. Bill reached up, cupping Tom’s cheek gently. There was that innocence again. How could he look so sweet, with his brother still rolling against him? With Tom’s come cooling on his skin. “Fucking hell,” Tom said again, with nothing but affection.
All Bill had to do was tilt his chin and Tom was kissing him again, slowly and gently.
“I’m sorry,” Bill whispered against his mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” Tom said firmly. “No apologies.” Another kiss. Tom still wasn’t pulling out. “Don’t do it again.”
“Don’t let me get lonely,” Bill replied. “Or stoned.”
“Sorry,” Tom offered. Bill shook his head.
“Don’t apologise.”
The End.