Smut. And character development. Kinda. >.>

[pixxers]

Title: Dirty Little Secret
Rating: R
Summary: Incest is best, put your brother to the test?

a/n ~ Revisited for some folks who like my cheap smut. There really is something very delicious about brothers getting it on. Maybe that's just me. :D Continued from this in case you're late to the party.



Two weeks had passed since Brighton had consented to one of Aiden's parties. Two weeks since Brighton had been obligated to give up his bed to one of Aiden's many girlfriends because she'd passed out and Aiden had nowhere to stash her while he moved onto greener, drunker, pastures. Two weeks since he'd awakened to find his roommate molesting his brother.

It had been two weeks since he'd seen or heard from Noah.

After the initial confrontation, things had settled down between himself and Aiden. At least, they were speaking to one another again. That was about as much as Brighton felt he could manage. Several times since that morning, Brighton had called home and, without fail, each time he asked, Noah was never around.

Standing near the counter - the counter Aiden had bent his brother over - Brighton held the phone tight in one hand and pounded his forehead with the other. He had to stop thinking about it, had to stop reliving it, had to stop the sick, sick desire that was his each and every time he thought about the way Noah had looked when Aiden had made him come all over himself.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it," he muttered, hanging up the phone and raking a hand through his hair. Maybe he should clean the apartment. Take down the curtains and wash everything and maybe even hang them out to dry. Of course, he didn't have a clothesline, so he'd have to take them to his mother's for that. Noah might be home by then...

Down the hall, the toilet flushed - a loud whoosh that almost startled Brighton - and Aiden sauntered into the kitchen. He spared Brighton a half-smile, hesitation still lurking just behind his carefully nonchalant expression. Brighton was still pissed and Aiden clearly couldn't dismiss that anger as easily as he might have liked to.

"Mornin'," Aiden said, turning immediately to rummage through the fridge.

Brighton frowned. It was almost one o'clock and long past morning. "Did you even wash your hands?"

"Why?" Aiden asked, pushing cans of beer and Mountain Dew around. "My dick's clean."

Choosing not to pursue that particular avenue of discussion, Brighton cast one last glance at the phone before dragging a chair over to the closet window. He was careful when he pulled the curtain rod away from the wall and tugged the curtains down one side. Aiden watched him, popping a can of red bull and taking a long, audible gulp.

"So what are you doing?" he asked, leaning against the counter.

"The curtains need to be washed. I'm going to take them over to Mom's."

Aiden grinned. "Oh yeah? Can I come? Your momma makes the best damned omelettes I've ever had."

"First of all," Brighton began, "it's way past breakfast. Second of all, hell no."

"Aw, why not?" Aiden whined, hopping up to plant his ass on the counter. He swung his feet, his heels knocking against the cabinet in the way that drove Brighton nuts.

"Because my mom doesn't like you," Brighton said, completely unapologetic.

There was a moment of silence - a smug, snide, knowing sort of silence - and Aiden cleared his throat. "You're sure that's the only reason?"

"Watch it, Aiden," Brighton warned, getting down from the chair and draping the curtains over the sofa. He turned to look at his friend, temper firmly in check. "I'm not over it, you know. What you did to my brother."

Aiden held his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it. But be fair, eh? I didn't do anything to your brother. It was more like I did it with your brother."

Brighton stilled, hands clenched at his sides, jaw tight. "Fuck you, Aiden."

Aiden smiled, then. "You're jealous. Jealous that it was me that got into baby brother's pants first."

He watched Brighton's chest rise and fall, breathing coming harder, faster. It didn't bode well for Aiden, who was forever shooting off his mouth and landing himself in more trouble than he could really handle.

"Don't be a sore loser, Bright. That kid doesn't give a shit about me."

"Exactly," Brighton said, angry now. "Why did you do it? You don't care about him, he doesn't care about you."

Aiden shrugged, plucked an apple out of the bowl on the counter. "Dunno, really," he said honestly. "Something about the way he's always so shy and quiet. And how he looks at you when you're not looking at him."

Brighton shook his head, preparing his denial, but Aiden continued. "He wanted it, Bright. The kid's confused and pent up and that day he was desperate and horny. I couldn't resist."

Clenching one fist tighter, knuckles cracking audibly, Brighton took a step forward. "I should kick your fucking head in."

Holding the apple loosely in one hand, figuring it wasn't a good idea to start chewing until he was sure Brighton wasn't going to knock a few teeth out, Aiden's brow furrowed. "You did that already, asshole. Don't tell me that last time wasn't enough to get it out of your system - my fucking cheekbone hurt for a week."

Clearly unmoved, Brighton glared at him. "You deserved a hell of a lot more than that."

"Why?" Aiden asked. "For getting it out in the open? Is that how your family likes it, Bright? Nice and tidy and shoved in the closet until your kid brother - who's sort of a ticking fucking time bomb - loses his shit and strings himself up in the garage?"

Without thought, without so much as a sound, Brighton launched himself at Aiden, toppling him back against the counter. With one hand tight in Aiden's hair, Brighton banged his head against the cheap pressboard - twice, three times when once just wasn't enough. Aiden shielded himself with his arms as best he could and did not reciprocate. Brighton's anger had less to do with Aiden than with himself. That much was patently obvious - even to Aiden.

"Stop pretending you don't know," Aiden managed, grunting when Brighton's fist connected with his ribs, shoving him back on the countertop and nearly taking his breath. "The kid doesn't want me."

Brighton stopped then, almost as suddenly as he'd begun, and let Aiden go. He took a step back, face red with anger and exertion, and then he turned away completely. He was sorry, though he wouldn't say so.

Aiden smoothed his hair back, slipping off the counter and straightening his shirt. He rubbed his side tentatively where Brighton had nailed him in the ribs. It didn't hurt so bad; Brighton hadn't hit him that hard.

"He wants you," Aiden said finally, padding back toward the hallway and his bedroom. "Deal with it."

***

Brighton's parents were in the front lawn when he arrived. Kneeling in the dirt, wearing matching Grateful Dead t-shirts and completely in tune with one another - they never changed.

His mother smiled as he made his way along the sidewalk. She had dirt on her cheek. "Hi honey. You should have told me you were coming over; we'd have done something for dinner."

"So does that mean that I don't get anything to eat since I didn't call first?" he asked, squinting against the sun and balancing the laundry basket on his hip.

"Yeah, that's pretty much what that means," she said, scooping up a mound of dirt and pushing it off to one side. "We're going out tonight."

Brighton glanced quickly toward the third window on the second floor. His old room, Noah's room now. "What about Noah?"

His father shrugged. "Teen angst and fusion are never a good combination. I'm sure he'd rather sit in his room and ignore us. You know, like he's been doing these past few weeks."

"What's wrong with him?" Brighton asked, as neutral as he could manage. He felt certain that his parents would give him all the information he needed without once considering that they were being manipulated.

"We have no idea," his mother answered, swiping at the dirt smudge on her face and only succeeding in smearing it into her hair. "He doesn't feel like talking and gets angry when we push."

"Girl trouble?" Brighton asked, attempting to ignore the sudden twinge of guilt he felt.

His father snorted. "I wish. That would be too easily solved. Too normal."

"You know how your brother is," his mother added. Brighton frowned. He wasn't exactly sure what that meant. Most likely, she didn't either.

"Is he here?"

"Yes, he's in his room," his mother said, waving Brighton toward the door. "Go put your basket in the laundry room and see if you can cheer him up."

"He's probably missing you," his father said, tugging the wide-brimmed hat from his head to wipe his forehead with the hem of his shirt. "Said something the other day about your never being home."

"Yeah, okay," Brighton murmured, conversation with his folks half-forgotten already. He wondered what meant - that he was never home. He'd been trying to get in touch with Noah for nearly two weeks.

Dropping the basket in the foyer, Brighton bounded up the steps. Two at a time, just like the old days. It was quiet upstairs; there was no loud music, no blaring television like there might have been if Brighton still occupied the room at the end of the stairs.

He knocked once, listened for any sound beyond the door.

"Just a minute," his brother answered, voice low and sullen. After only a few seconds, the door unlocked and Noah's pale face appeared in the small sliver of space between the doorframe and the door. His expression never altered, but Brighton didn't miss the way his eyes flashed.

"Bright," he murmured, clearly surprised even as he turned his face away and allowed the door to swing open. "What are you doing here?"

"Needed my curtains cleaned," he told Noah's back. When his brother didn't answer, he continued. "And I came to see you."

Noah was silent for a moment. He didn't turn around. "So I'm the side-trip."

"Idiot," Brighton said, flopping down on the old beanbag near the door. "I've been calling you for weeks and you know it. So don't act like I'm the bad guy here."

Noah laughed - short, sharp - there was no humor in it. "You don't have to tell me. I already know who the bad guy is."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," Noah said, sitting down on the edge of his bed, face in profile when he couldn't bring himself to look at Brighton. "It's me. I'm the one."

"Well, I think Aiden's the bad guy, personally," Brighton said, unable to keep the anger, the jealousy out of his voice.

When Noah laughed again, Brighton thought he could hear a hint of the boy he'd known since he was little. "He told me you kicked his ass."

Scowling, Brighton stretched his legs out before him to cross his ankles. "So you've been talking to him and not to me?"

Noah bowed his head, dark hair obscuring his eyes. "He called me once. To say he was sorry and that I should talk to you."

Uncertain as to how best to respond, Brighton remained silent, nearly content just to see Noah after what had happened.

"I wanted to talk to you," Noah told him, voice small. "But I thought you'd be mad. And I didn't know if you..."

"If I what?" Brighton prompted.

Noah swallowed hard. "If you'd heard what Aiden said to me. You know, when you... woke up."

Brighton could only watch Noah. No, he hadn't heard. He hadn't needed to hear; Aiden had told him everything and then some.

"I don't know what to say, Bright. I don't know what to do," Noah finally said. The tone of his brother's voice, so much more expressive than his words, made Brighton's chest ache. He was older, it was his responsibility to make Noah feel protected and safe and now, maybe for the first time, he simply didn't know how to go about it.

"Me either," he said quietly, honestly. Noah turned his head then, just enough to peek at his brother from beneath his hair. Brighton couldn't see his eyes, but he didn't really need to.

"I'm sorry, Bright," he whispered. "I should have pushed him away. I could have - if I'd really wanted to."

His admission, even while he continued to avoid the real issue, angered Brighton all over again. "Are you telling me you wanted to do it with him?"

When Noah didn't answer, Brighton leaned forward and the tension between them thickened. "Noah."

Noah lifted his head, looked directly into his brother's eyes. The set of his jaw, the tense lines of his body - he was nearly defiant.

"Come over here," Brighton told him.

"No," Noah refused. "You're mad at me, still."

"Don't be stupid," Brighton said. "I'm not mad at you."

"Then you come here," Noah countered, giving away his hesitation in the way his voice wavered.

Brighton stood, nudged the beanbag back against the wall and, almost as an afterthought, turned to lock his brother's door. Noah tensed when he advanced, but he didn't move away.

Standing over him, Brighton touched Noah's hair, rubbing dark strands between his fingers. It wasn't silky like it used to be, but that was okay, Brighton realized. Some things needed to be different. Given the way he felt in that moment, lots of things needed to be different - it would be easier for the both of them.

"Every time I think about it, I want to kill him," he murmured.

"He didn't force me," Noah reassured. "It just happened so fast and my head was such a mess that I-"

"It's okay," Brighton told him, smoothing his hair, touching the side of his neck. He felt Noah shiver beneath his hands and he released the breath he'd been holding. "I don't want you to explain, Noah."

Noah tilted his head. His eyes were closed, his lips were parted. How strange, Brighton thought, that they would both feel this thing between them. People fell in love every day - forged bonds that made everything else just fall away - but Brighton couldn't imagine any other love feeling like this love. The sort of love that hurt and confused and overwhelmed. It occurred to him that love was too simple a word to use for what it was that he felt. Noah was his - had always been his - and there was a loyalty and a need between them that Brighton knew he would never experience with anyone else.

"I can't handle it, Noah. Thinking that somebody else can give you what I can't. I don't think I'll ever be able to handle it."

Noah opened his eyes, stared up at his brother. "Good."

"Good? How's that good?" Brighton wanted to know.

"Now you know how I feel," he whispered.

Gripping his shoulders, fingers winding tight in the baggy t-shirt Noah wore, Brighton considered all that he might do. Haul Noah to his feet or push him back to the bed - either way, Brighton intended to do away with the distance that remained between them. If they could just get close enough...

"It's okay," Noah told him, gripping Brighton's wrists, looking up at him with an acceptance that Brighton had not anticipated. "I want you to."

He wanted to ask how Noah could know anything. He was too young, too inexperienced, had no idea what it meant to risk venturing into the sort of territory that made going back nearly impossible. He'd never crossed a line in his life, despite what he might think. And at the end of the day, if it all fell apart around them, Brighton knew that it would be his mess to clean up.

These thoughts were fleeting - his own last ditch attempt to call a halt before it was too late - and when he pushed his brother back against the mattress and followed him down, he let it all go.

He straddled his brother's hips, pressed his shoulders to the bed to lean over him. "Close your eyes," he said. Noah obeyed, parted his lips and when Brighton felt his brother's fingers so light at the backs of his arms, Brighton lowered his head to nuzzle into Noah's cheek. The soft sound that Noah made then was a powerful enticement and Brighton closed his eyes, relying on his other senses to guide him. Noah lifted his chin and when he pressed his lips to Brighton's, he sucked in a breath. It was barely a kiss - just the corner of Noah's mouth grazing his - and it was instinct alone that drove Brighton to seek more. His brother's mouth was soft and warm and it was suddenly too much to take in. For long moments he held himself still, poised, rubbing his cheek against Noah's and sharing the breath between them.

Noah rolled to one side, freeing himself from Brighton's hold to wrap one arm tight around his brother's back. Brighton followed suit, easing one leg between Noah's and pulling him closer and when the tip of Noah's tongue slid over Brighton's lip, he let him in. This kiss was real, deliberate and Brighton let Noah have his way. He made soft, urgent sounds in the back of his throat and squirmed beneath him in an attempt to roll Brighton to his back. After a moment, when the kiss they shared became too intense, Brighton turned his head to one side, breathing hard. Taking advantage of his brother's lack of focus, Noah crawled over him to straddle one thigh. Framing his face with both hands, Noah kissed him again and - this time - there was no hesitation. Grinding insistently against him, Noah panted for breath and grunted his pleasure, unable to stop once he'd begun.

"Bright," he managed, voice breaking when he buried his face in his brother's neck. "Help me."

Brighton bent his knee, gripped Noah's bottom and sucked his neck. Gripping Brighton's biceps, Noah moved over him, unsure of precisely how to get where he knew he wanted to go. He was so hard that it hurt and Brighton groaned when Noah rubbed his dick against him.

"Yeah," Noah whispered, fisting the sleeves of Brighton's t-shirt and catching one his brother's earrings between his teeth.

Brighton slipped one hand into one of Noah's back pockets and reached between them to rub Noah's dick with the flat of his hand. He wanted to pop that button, loosen up Noah's pants and get him on his back again. There was so much he could do and not enough time in which to do it and so he bit Noah's neck, sucking hard when he whimpered.

It was hot, the friction and the urgency, and Noah began to shove at Brighton's shirt in an attempt to push it up along his chest. He kissed him hard, deep but continued to grind against him. Brighton wrapped his arms tight around him, fingers sliding into the back of Noah's hair, damp with sweat.

"Boys?" their mother called from the hallway. "Are you upstairs?"

Eyes wide open now, Noah tensed, fingers painfully tight around Brighton's arms. He sucked in a breath, grew perfectly still and pressed his mouth to Brighton's shoulder when he jerked against him. His breath was hot through Brighton's t-shirt and the sound he made was almost enough to bring Brighton, too.

"Noah?"

"Up here," Brighton called back, covering Noah's ear with his hand and holding him tight against him. He rubbed his brother's back and smiled against his messy, damp hair. "Get it together, kid."

Noah grunted, sprawled bonelessly over Brighton. His heart was still pounding. He was beyond embarrassed.

Their mother knocked once, tried to turn the doorknob. "Guys?"

Noah lifted his head, pulling himself to all fours and rolling off of Brighton. "'m coming," he grumbled, snagging his knit cap to tug over his head and pretending not to hear Brighton choking back laughter.

At the door, he paused, glancing back at Brighton to watch him roll onto his belly to flip through a gaming magazine. Even as he unlocked the door for his mother, Noah ducked his head to hide his smile. Their parents were going out later - they'd have the house all to themselves. He'd do better next time and even if he didn't, they'd have plenty of time to practice. His big brother was patient - Noah was lucky like that.