cannot believe i wrote this, you better be happy, pookie!
Title: I’m not scared but I’d like some extra spare time
Pairing: Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss
Rating: R, for incestual leanings and quasi-porn
Note: Title from “Picture of Success” by Rilo Kiley. Written for sheep_mambo. ~1,000 words. Currently unrevised, had to get it posted, like, now.
People drink way too much in England. It feels like every nook and cranny of their host family’s home holds a wine cooler or a cabinet full of liquor - though that’s probably pushing it. But Cameron suspects there is alcohol with every meal, in some form. Pancakes taste oddly sharp in the mornings and the cook never hesitates to offer him and Tyler a beer at lunch. Wine is the drink of choice at dinner, and if Cameron and Tyler hadn’t developed tolerances long ago, they would find themselves fairly intoxicated every evening.
They’re pretty much just lucky that their father taught them the basics of wine-drinking at a young age or they’d probably be screwed.
At the table the night before the match against the Dutch, glasses aren’t set out for either of them. They’re given tea to accompany their meal instead; it’s just a little weird, but Cameron’s especially thankful. He has no desire to experience any kind of impairment the next morning.
Tyler, though, seems to have other plans in mind. He comes into Cameron’s room before midnight, toting a bottle of Redlands. “We’re not getting drunk,” is the first thing he says, a smile spreading across his face as he pushes the door closed. “But I thought you could blow off some steam. It’s been a while.”
Shutting his book, Cameron sits up all the way in bed and pats the space next to him. “I shouldn’t endorse this.”
“Oh, who are you kidding?” Tyler pulls off his sweatshirt, the hem of his Crew shirt coming up with it, and tosses it at Cameron’s face.
Huffing, “I’m not kidding,” Cameron balls the sweater up and hurls it back at Tyler, who skillfully dodges it. The curtains across the room shake with the sweater’s impact and Cameron glares. “Your irresponsibility is disconcerting.”
Tyler climbs into Cameron’s bed, uncorks the bottle and passes it to Cameron. When Cameron takes a swig, Tyler mocks, “Your gullibility is disconcerting,” and takes the bottle back.
Cameron sighs, leaning back against his pillows and scratching his nails across his stomach. The ceiling’s a rather intimidating structure; he’d call it Victorian if such a thing existed. Mostly, it’s tall and vaulted, almost black even with two lights on. “The houses here are so weird,” he muses, sparing Tyler a quick glance.
“I get to feeling like that girl from The Haunting, like when the ceiling was turning into faces.” Tyler laughs quietly but Cameron can smell the wine on his breath already, wonders if he started drinking without him. “Remember all those nightmares you had?”
Cameron glares and elbows Tyler in the side, punches his arm for good measure. “Shut up.”
Voice high pitched, Tyler says, “Oh, Tyler, the wallpaper’s going to eat me, let me sleep in your bed,” and reaches across Cameron to set the bottle on the nightstand.
Cameron seizes Tyler’s shoulder then and pulls him down. He manages to wrap his arm around Tyler’s neck and shove his hand into Tyler’s hair. Grabbing a fistful of it, he growls into Tyler’s ear, “I never slept in your bed - and I never asked to do it because I was afraid either.” Tyler is laughing and his Adam’s apple is bobbing and Cameron is trying really hard not to watch the smooth contraction of muscle in Tyler’s throat. “I did no such thing!” he reiterates, wanting Tyler to stop.
The only thing Tyler does is wrench around so violently that Cameron suddenly finds himself halfway off the bed, waist straddled by Tyler’s powerful thighs.
Panting, “Jesus Christ, Tyler,” Cameron uses a hand to propel his body back into a sitting position so he’s no longer balanced over the floor. His nose is barely two inches from Tyler’s now and this isn’t what he wanted tonight. He just wanted to relax until he fell asleep. “Tyler, come on. Get off.”
But Tyler doesn’t oblige him. His eyes are dark where they’re usually light, his cheeks are red, and then his lips are wet against Cameron’s, soft and pliable and there. Cameron sighs, yet he can’t even breathe.
“Sorry,” Tyler whispers when he finally realizes that Cameron can’t do this if there’s no oxygen circulating throughout his body. He rolls over, lets Cameron lay down. “Sorry.”
Ten seconds later, Tyler’s on Cameron again, two hundred pounds crushing him into the mattress without any concern. “Ty-” Cameron tries, breaking the kiss for a brief moment but Tyler’s not having that. He slips his tongue past Cameron’s teeth and Cameron can taste everything - the hint of minty toothpaste and the overpowering tang of wine threaten to give him some sort of sensory overload. There’s a lot more take than give, a lot more Cameron telling himself that they have to be up early tomorrow and a lot more Tyler not giving a fuck that Cameron doesn’t want this now.
Tyler notices at some point that Cameron’s not nearly as eager to get things going and he sits back, rubbing the back of his hand across his lips and looking so wounded. Cameron’s breath comes in pants as he watches Tyler reach for the wine and take a swig. He can’t really take watching Tyler do anything because it’s way too enticing, especially now, all his motions jerky and languid at the same time. It makes no sense but then Cameron’s wrapping his fingers around Tyler’s wrist and shaking his head.
“You can’t get drunk,” he whispers - pleads. “Tomorrow, Tyler, you can drink all you want. But not tonight. You can’t tonight.”
Tyler’s eyes are still dark, even in the light of the lamp on the nightstand, but they seem to soften a little, just right around the edges. Then Cameron can’t see his eyes anymore because Tyler’s ducking and moving away, shoulders slumped, making Cameron feel like a jerk for refusing.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Tyler mutters, bed creaking when he gets up in search of his sweatshirt.
Cameron sighs and props himself on his elbow, starts chewing on his bottom lip. Once Tyler’s at the door, doorknob, not a bottle, in hand, Cameron promises, “Tomorrow.”
For just a few moments, Tyler hesitates and looks back to Cameron. He nods, says, “I’m holding you to that,” and disappears, all in ten seconds.
Pairing: Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss
Rating: R, for incestual leanings and quasi-porn
Note: Title from “Picture of Success” by Rilo Kiley. Written for sheep_mambo. ~1,000 words. Currently unrevised, had to get it posted, like, now.
People drink way too much in England. It feels like every nook and cranny of their host family’s home holds a wine cooler or a cabinet full of liquor - though that’s probably pushing it. But Cameron suspects there is alcohol with every meal, in some form. Pancakes taste oddly sharp in the mornings and the cook never hesitates to offer him and Tyler a beer at lunch. Wine is the drink of choice at dinner, and if Cameron and Tyler hadn’t developed tolerances long ago, they would find themselves fairly intoxicated every evening.
They’re pretty much just lucky that their father taught them the basics of wine-drinking at a young age or they’d probably be screwed.
At the table the night before the match against the Dutch, glasses aren’t set out for either of them. They’re given tea to accompany their meal instead; it’s just a little weird, but Cameron’s especially thankful. He has no desire to experience any kind of impairment the next morning.
Tyler, though, seems to have other plans in mind. He comes into Cameron’s room before midnight, toting a bottle of Redlands. “We’re not getting drunk,” is the first thing he says, a smile spreading across his face as he pushes the door closed. “But I thought you could blow off some steam. It’s been a while.”
Shutting his book, Cameron sits up all the way in bed and pats the space next to him. “I shouldn’t endorse this.”
“Oh, who are you kidding?” Tyler pulls off his sweatshirt, the hem of his Crew shirt coming up with it, and tosses it at Cameron’s face.
Huffing, “I’m not kidding,” Cameron balls the sweater up and hurls it back at Tyler, who skillfully dodges it. The curtains across the room shake with the sweater’s impact and Cameron glares. “Your irresponsibility is disconcerting.”
Tyler climbs into Cameron’s bed, uncorks the bottle and passes it to Cameron. When Cameron takes a swig, Tyler mocks, “Your gullibility is disconcerting,” and takes the bottle back.
Cameron sighs, leaning back against his pillows and scratching his nails across his stomach. The ceiling’s a rather intimidating structure; he’d call it Victorian if such a thing existed. Mostly, it’s tall and vaulted, almost black even with two lights on. “The houses here are so weird,” he muses, sparing Tyler a quick glance.
“I get to feeling like that girl from The Haunting, like when the ceiling was turning into faces.” Tyler laughs quietly but Cameron can smell the wine on his breath already, wonders if he started drinking without him. “Remember all those nightmares you had?”
Cameron glares and elbows Tyler in the side, punches his arm for good measure. “Shut up.”
Voice high pitched, Tyler says, “Oh, Tyler, the wallpaper’s going to eat me, let me sleep in your bed,” and reaches across Cameron to set the bottle on the nightstand.
Cameron seizes Tyler’s shoulder then and pulls him down. He manages to wrap his arm around Tyler’s neck and shove his hand into Tyler’s hair. Grabbing a fistful of it, he growls into Tyler’s ear, “I never slept in your bed - and I never asked to do it because I was afraid either.” Tyler is laughing and his Adam’s apple is bobbing and Cameron is trying really hard not to watch the smooth contraction of muscle in Tyler’s throat. “I did no such thing!” he reiterates, wanting Tyler to stop.
The only thing Tyler does is wrench around so violently that Cameron suddenly finds himself halfway off the bed, waist straddled by Tyler’s powerful thighs.
Panting, “Jesus Christ, Tyler,” Cameron uses a hand to propel his body back into a sitting position so he’s no longer balanced over the floor. His nose is barely two inches from Tyler’s now and this isn’t what he wanted tonight. He just wanted to relax until he fell asleep. “Tyler, come on. Get off.”
But Tyler doesn’t oblige him. His eyes are dark where they’re usually light, his cheeks are red, and then his lips are wet against Cameron’s, soft and pliable and there. Cameron sighs, yet he can’t even breathe.
“Sorry,” Tyler whispers when he finally realizes that Cameron can’t do this if there’s no oxygen circulating throughout his body. He rolls over, lets Cameron lay down. “Sorry.”
Ten seconds later, Tyler’s on Cameron again, two hundred pounds crushing him into the mattress without any concern. “Ty-” Cameron tries, breaking the kiss for a brief moment but Tyler’s not having that. He slips his tongue past Cameron’s teeth and Cameron can taste everything - the hint of minty toothpaste and the overpowering tang of wine threaten to give him some sort of sensory overload. There’s a lot more take than give, a lot more Cameron telling himself that they have to be up early tomorrow and a lot more Tyler not giving a fuck that Cameron doesn’t want this now.
Tyler notices at some point that Cameron’s not nearly as eager to get things going and he sits back, rubbing the back of his hand across his lips and looking so wounded. Cameron’s breath comes in pants as he watches Tyler reach for the wine and take a swig. He can’t really take watching Tyler do anything because it’s way too enticing, especially now, all his motions jerky and languid at the same time. It makes no sense but then Cameron’s wrapping his fingers around Tyler’s wrist and shaking his head.
“You can’t get drunk,” he whispers - pleads. “Tomorrow, Tyler, you can drink all you want. But not tonight. You can’t tonight.”
Tyler’s eyes are still dark, even in the light of the lamp on the nightstand, but they seem to soften a little, just right around the edges. Then Cameron can’t see his eyes anymore because Tyler’s ducking and moving away, shoulders slumped, making Cameron feel like a jerk for refusing.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Tyler mutters, bed creaking when he gets up in search of his sweatshirt.
Cameron sighs and props himself on his elbow, starts chewing on his bottom lip. Once Tyler’s at the door, doorknob, not a bottle, in hand, Cameron promises, “Tomorrow.”
For just a few moments, Tyler hesitates and looks back to Cameron. He nods, says, “I’m holding you to that,” and disappears, all in ten seconds.