fic: somewhere in between (Dylan/Cole)
Title: Somewhere In Between
Pairing: Dylan/Cole
Rating: R
Word Count: ~4,000
Warnings: Cross-dressing, angst, sexy times between twins.
Summary: Cole contemplates taking a role where he needs to cross-dress, and Dylan is at a loss for words.
Disclaimer: This is complete and utter fiction.
AN: For the wonderful pada_something. I'm so sorry it took me so long to finally finish this. I hope you like it, bb. ♥
Cole stares at himself in the mirror.
His eyes follow the line of his legs. From his bare toes wiggling on the carpet to the bottom of the silk nighty that cuts off at the middle of his thighs. His silk nighty, he thinks. Then he remembers the sales lady, her polite smile when he said it was for his girlfriend. She was too sweet, too understanding. He knew she could see through him like a wet, tattered napkin.
If only she could see him now.
.
.
“Are you gay?”
“For the love of,” Cole huffs out an irritated breath. “Dylan-”
“Because it’s okay if you are, I mean, I’ll be okay, really, if you want to-”
“Can you stop asking me that?” Cole asks, already in a sour mood. He’s tired and hungry and he just got home, and Dylan is bugging the shit out of him.
Cole is about to tell him off, but then he feels a soft tug on his sleeve. Dylan’s grip lingers before he lets go. He looks so damn sincere. “You can tell me.” His voice is careful, as if he’s walking a fine line.
Cole’s anger wavers. “I’m not,” he says softly. He really means it, even as he feels something uncertain nudging at him, it’s a tiny, unsettling feeling that he finds easy to push away.
Dylan’s expression hardens. Something catches in Cole’s chest, and that unsettling feeling starts to ache, it's unrelenting. He can’t explain how relieved he is when his brother leaves him alone.
He can pretend he didn’t see that expression on Dylan’s face, and he doesn’t want to think too deeply about why Dylan cares so much either.
.
.
He finds it irritating when the left strap keeps sliding off his shoulder. He slips it back on, again. The material is feather light. It ripples with any slight shift of air. He shivers as the smooth, cool texture slides against his skin.
That’s when the door opens. It’s too late for him to dive for his bed, bury himself under his covers and pretend to sleep. He’s trapped there, legs wobbly and bare, and skin flashing beneath thread, barely covered by silk. He watches in horror as Dylan walks in, head down, and skateboard in his hand.
His face feels hot when Dylan finally lifts his head.
The skateboard clatters loudly when it hits the ground. “Cole?”
.
.
He doesn’t want to tell them he was offered the part.
His agent said he’d be perfect for it. At first, he pushed it aside, not willing to look at the script. It sat in the back of his desk drawer, buried underneath a cluttered mess of papers.
They said that he’s the more slender twin, he has softer features - Cole knows that’s sugar-coating for he’s the girly looking one. Right, that’s exactly what a seventeen-year-old boy wants to hear, he looks girly.
He doesn’t know what makes him open his desk drawer one day, unavoidably, like fate, or bad luck - his fingers graze the edges of the thick stack of papers; he pulls out the script, staring at it contemplatively. He flips through the pages until a page catches his eye. He starts to read.
He doesn’t want to tell them he was offered this part. He doesn’t want his mom or brother’s opinions clouding his judgments. He selfishly clings to the script after he’s done. It’s going to be his choice.
.
.
Cole has never seen his brother’s eyes so wide. His green eyes are heavy with shock, surprise and…something - Cole can’t bring himself to look at him directly. He fidgets under his gaze. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the cool air causes the fabric to brush against his stomach. Suddenly, Cole feels overexposed.
“Could you close the door?” Cole snaps.
He searches the room for something to cover himself with, and he hears the soft click of the door closing.
Cole is surprised when he finds him still there. He expected Dylan to rush out of the room in embarrassment but he just stands there, unmoving, and eyes unreadable. It makes Cole uncomfortable.
“Why are-would you-what-?” Dylan stutters some more until he finally shakes his head and comes closer.
“It’s for a part,” Cole blurts out. Here it comes, Cole thinks, Dylan will ask him if he’s gay, again, and Cole might just strangle him. He just might kill his twin brother.
“For a part,” Dylan repeats. He’s behind him, looking at him up and down. Cole watches his reflection. He watches Dylan’s eyebrows get higher and higher as his gaze lowers. The fabric is sheer at the small of his back, patterned red roses etched into the dress, and thin straps that zigzag across his back and tie just below his shoulders blades. He wonders what his brother thinks of that. Then he blushes at the thought.
“It’s about this girl who meets a boy,” Cole says, and he’s not sure why he feels like he needs to explain but the words are coming so fast, that he starts before he gets a chance to think about it. “And she teaches him things, she makes him realize life isn’t as random and horrible as he thinks it is, that there’s more to it, and there’s meaning in something as small as a smile, that there’s importance in every breath, moment, second-and-and he slowly falls for her-except that’s not the end.”
He waits for Dylan’s reaction but he doesn’t say anything. Cole is determined not to meet his gaze, afraid of what he’ll find. He continues, “See, the girl, she has this secret, she’s-she’s not really a confident, pretty girl that the boy first met but a confused, lost boy wearing a disguise and everything gets twisted. Everything is messed up because now the boy feels disgusted, and ashamed he fell for another boy-but he can’t forget the girl, the girl he fell for.”
When Cole finishes, he finally looks up, and glances at Dylan, hesitantly. He wonders if he freaked him out. But his brother is still staring at him in that unreadable, distant way, and Cole gets the feeling he didn’t listen to a word he said.
“…Dylan?”
“What happens?”
“Uh,” Cole blinks in surprise. “What happens?” He echoes, and then he suppresses a grin. “Well, you’re gonna have to see the movie to find that out.”
Dylan snaps out of whatever trance he was under, eyes lightening for the briefest of moments. He snorts in amusement.
Cole relaxes, feeling more at ease now that he told him about the part, but it lasts for a short while because he starts to wonder what Dylan thinks about all this. About walking in on him wearing a red silk nighty, and talking about a boy falling for a cross-dressing boy. The look Dylan is giving him is unnervingly unfamiliar.
Because Cole knows his brother. He knows his expressions. He knows what he's thinking. Right now, Dylan's eyes are dark, penetrating. Cole doesn't have a clue what to make of it. It makes his knees weak.
He doesn’t realize Dylan is coming closer until his back hits the mirror. The chill from the glass against his skin makes him jerk forward, and Dylan’s warm breath wisps against his neck - and he feels Dylan’s grunt more than he hears it, the vibrations from his chest. That’s when Cole feels something else.
Dylan is hard. He feels the outline of Dylan’s cock jutting out from his jeans, and pressing against his thigh. It’s only then that he understands. The way Dylan is looking at him, it's lustful. His darkening gaze is fixated on his lips, and Cole feels his throat dry, silenced, frozen.
Dylan’s hand stretches across his back almost like he’s feeling the fabric under his fingers. The fabric is so thin that it feels like his hand is caressing his bare skin. Cole’s breath hitches. “W-what are you doing?” He asks, his voice hoarse and shaky.
Dylan’s cheeks turn red. “N-nothing,” he mutters, and suddenly there’s a berth of space between them, a whoosh of air that ruffles the dress and makes the strap slip off his shoulder once again.
He feels Dylan’s eyes on him when he readjusts it. He feels his body reacting to it, a rush of arousal that lingers on his skin. He likes it, he realizes, when Dylan looks at him like that.
Cole’s fingers run down the dress, sliding down his hips. It’s so quiet, he hears Dylan’s shallow breaths. He sees his eyes following the path of his hand. He doesn’t know why he won’t stop.
The strap falls down his shoulder again, but this time Cole doesn’t bother putting back in place. He doesn’t know what look he gave Dylan but it makes Dylan bite his lip, and avert his gaze. He's ashamed.
“I should go,” Dylan says abruptly, eyes downcast.
“You don’t have to,” Cole finds himself saying. But no sooner than the slam of the door, the rush of air flurrying the fabric against his skin - Cole is left standing there in a red silk nightly, feet bare and cold on the floor. He stares at the door for a long moment, wondering exactly what he was just offering.
.
.
So, they’re pretending the whole thing never happened. Cole can get behind that.
Except he can’t seem to look at his brother in the eye, and Dylan is avoiding him.
Their friends think they had a fight. Cole wishes they had. Nothing feels natural, nothing feels like it used to. Now, Cole is over-analyzing every brush of clothes, every touch of hands, and every glance. His heart is pounding in his chest when Dylan leans back beside him.
The room is dark. They’re all watching a movie. The vacation house is drafty; the wind whistles as it blows through the house. Everyone is still wearing beach wear, shorts and thin tee shirts. Cole clutches a big throw pillow on the couch, and bends his long legs underneath it.
He hears voices in the kitchen, and when he turns his head, too easily distracted, Dylan hisses under his breath, “Stop it, you’re making it obvious.” Cole freezes, pulse loud in his ears. This is when they’re going to talk about it. In the glare of the television screen, surrounded by their friends. He glares at him, and then turns to look at the screen, too pissed to answer.
He feels his brother’s stare. He feels it on his legs, running up his arms, on his neck - on his skin, grazing heat; he feels it going through him. It gets to be too much, he can’t help it, he stares back. But Dylan has already looked away, and Cole is stuck.
His brother’s hair is getting so long. He’s able to hide his eyes beneath a curtain of blond hair, out of reach and unavoidable as he gets up and pushes past his legs to leave.
.
.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He thinks he must be going crazy.
It’s the middle of the night and he can’t sleep. The blankets are tangled around him. They're too tight and too warm and too itchy. He gives up on sleep and gets up out of bed. He wanders down the hall only to wind up in front of Dylan’s door.
He is crazy. He's certain of it.
He shifts foot to foot before he thinks fuck it and opens the door, slow and quiet.
The floor is littered with clothes. Cole steps carefully, afraid he’ll trip over something. His brother is sleeping sprawled on the bed with the blankets kicked off to the side. Dylan always tossed and turned in his sleep. It’s why Cole said he hated sharing a bed with him when they were younger and stayed in hotels. But he’d never tell Dylan how he finds his presence comforting, his soft breaths in his ear in the dark quiet. It made all the unfamiliar, sharp shadows on the walls less scary. Cole wishes he could go back to that, when all he worried about were monsters in the dark.
He slips in beside Dylan, pulling the blankets over them, and tucking himself by Dylan’s side. The last thing he feels is Dylan’s breath ruffling his hair before he’s tugged into sleep.
He wakes up with the feel of a hand clutching his arm. Startled, his eyes fly open. Cole looks up into wide green eyes. Dylan stares at him, surprised, and then confused when he looks down at his hand touching his arm. Cole doesn’t fully register their bodies pressed together until Dylan moves and cool air hits his skin where Dylan slips away, arm unwinding around his waist, and legs untangling from his own.
“Why are you here?” It’s the first time Dylan has attempted to talk to him since the incident on the couch. He doesn’t sound angry, just tired.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Cole answers from the edge of the bed. Half-turned, and blankets bunched around him.
Dylan is sitting on the other side of the bed, his back to him. Cole watches his back with a knot in his stomach. “Have a nightmare?” There’s a smirk in that voice, and Cole feels the tension in his stomach ease away.
Cole kicks the blankets off himself roughly. “No.” Then he adds, “Asshole,” just because.
Dylan doesn’t say anything, surprisingly. He just rakes his fingers through his hair, his lips lifted in a sleepy, content way. It’s too early for him to care, and Cole knows he’s not really the most alert person in the morning.
He watches Dylan take his pajama shirt off, the flex of his muscles as he stretches to search for something clean to wear. Is it narcissistic to think Dylan is good looking? People say they look alike but Cole sees nothing of himself in Dylan, nothing but blond hair and green eyes. Dylan is lithe and wiry but more built than Cole. Cole knows he’s skinny, softer - he wishes he had his brother’s shoulders and legs. Dylan turns around, and Cole feels caught staring. His face sweeps with heat. He quickly looks down at the blankets.
Dylan is slow putting his shirt on, and Cole can feel the smile on his face even with his back turned. The asshole knows exactly what he’s doing.
Cole wishes he could stay mad at him but he has the urge to escape. "I'm going for breakfast," he mutters.
Then he rushes out of the room.
.
.
Cole loves the beach. He loves the clean fine sand under his feet, the dusty softness pillowing each step.
He watches his friends tackling each other in the water. They’re nothing but wild splashes of water and limbs. The sound of their laughter drifts over to the shore, and he finds himself smiling at their silly antics.
“Bet I can get there faster,” he hears Dylan's voice behind him. Cole wonders when his voice became so deep. Lately, it feels like he’s meeting his brother for the first time. It catches Cole off guard, and it frustrates him because Dylan seems unfazed by it all.
When Cole looks back, he’s surprised to find him at eye-level, a challenging glint in his eyes.
“Oh yeah-?” Cole barely has time to respond before his brother jets past him. Cole sputters, momentarily stunned before he shouts, “Jerk!” and runs after him.
Dylan glances back and gives him the biggest, stupidest grin. Cole flips him the bird and runs faster.
Of course, Dylan gets in the water before him, the prick. Cole jumps in, creating a big splash that has Dylan sputtering at all the water in his face.
“Was that necessary?” Dylan wipes at his face, his lashes are wet and stuck together.
“Can’t handle a little water?” Cole ruffles his brother’s hair. Then he retracts his hand quickly, alarmed at how close he suddenly is.
Dylan doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gives him a devious smile. Cole should have suspected that look would mean pain. The next thing he knows Dylan charges at him, arm connecting with his torso as he grips him tight before hauling him back first into the water.
Cole groans. He feels the water pound into his chest, and hears the whirling, garbled sounds rush past his ear as he’s dunked underwater. Dylan’s arm probably bruised his stomach; he can feel it pulling him against the waves.
Cole manages to break free. When he comes up for air, he looks around, bewildered when Dylan isn’t anywhere to be found.
Suddenly, he feels arms around his waist, his back pressed against Dylan’s slicked, wet chest. “Who can’t handle the water now?” Dylan says against his ear. Cole shivers.
Cole doesn't want to let go of him. He needs to keep touching. So when Dylan's grip loosens and starts to swim back, Cole jumps on his back, arms around his shoulders and legs wrapped around his waist.
Their friends probably think they’re wrestling or goofing off. Cole isn’t sure what they’re doing. He lets Dylan carry him through the water until the laughter from their friends is a distant murmur and they hear nothing but their heavy breaths, the water lapping against them, and seagulls flying over their heads.
He feels Dylan’s hands on his thighs, supporting him up. He hugs Dylan tighter, resting his chin on top of his shoulder.
“I’m taking the part.” The silence that follows makes Cole’s chest seize. “I think it’ll be good for me.”
“Good,” Dylan says simply. Cole doesn’t know why he expects more, or why he feels disappointed.
Suddenly, the water is too heavy, too salty against his lips, and too cold against his skin, and the clouds overhead are thick, and dark. “We should go back,” Cole murmurs.
“In a minute, I wanna show you something.”
That’s when Cole realizes how far they are from the shore, and sees the jagged, rocky mountain just a little head of them. Dylan turns, gives Cole a sneaky smile, before he pulls Cole under the water. Cole panics, eyes unable to adjust to the dark, murky water, and hands griping his brother tightly as everything around him moves and pulls against him.
Suddenly, there’s air. His lungs inhale, instinctively. He opens his eyes, and Dylan is grinning at him.
“What is this?” Cole's gaze wanders around the concave rock above them.
“A cave.” Dylan sounds proud of himself. “I found it a while ago, it’s cool, right?”
“Yeah.” It sounds weak, even to his own ears.
Dylan is staring at him. Cole watches, surprised, as Dylan’s eyes soften. “I think you’ll be good for the part, I think...I think you’ll be amazing, so don’t look so worried, okay?”
Cole wasn’t aware he looked worried but he nods anyway, too startled to speak, and willing his limbs not shake in chilly water. Dylan pulls him against his chest, and wraps his arms around him. “Let’s go back,” he says.
.
.
Late into the night, Cole hears the slow turn of the doorknob, the creak of the door opening, and suddenly, the lazy, heaviness in his eyes snaps into wide-eyed alertness.
He’s not sure how he realizes that it’s Dylan. His shadowed figure leans over him, the fringe of his hair mussed by sleep, and his fingers barely poking out of his too long pajama shirt.
Dylan goes to the other side of the bed, without a word. He slips in behind him on the bed, sliding his arm under Cole’s arm until he’s hugging him, arms around his waist. Cole’s breathing slows. His heartbeat is dull and heavy in his chest. He puts his hand on Dylan’s arm, and Dylan becomes rigid. His whole body is tense when Cole turns around on the bed.
Dylan’s eyes are covered by his long bangs. He reaches up to brush the hair from Dylan’s face, his fingers running along his cheek as he tucks the piece of hair behind his ear. Shadowed jade eyes stare back at him.
He doesn’t understand how it happens. Dylan kisses him. It’s slow, unexpected, and bumpy. That’s the only way he can describe it. He bumps his nose against his in the dark. Dylan tilts his head, and suddenly, it’s overwhelming, the kiss deepens, becomes heated and fast.
Dylan is kissing him everywhere, Cole realizes. They’re urgent, messy kisses that land on the corner of his lips, his chin, his neck, and back up to his lips, slow, engulfing kisses that make Cole breathless and hot all over. Cole kisses him back, trying to match his pace, but Cole feels like he’s drowning, like he can’t keep up.
They pry themselves apart, and deep down, Cole knows this is reckless, stupid, wrong, wrong, wrong - he climbs on top of Dylan, he rolls his hips, and watches in fascination as Dylan reacts, head thrown back, and hands grasping at the sheets.
Dylan looks up at him, bites his bottom lip - he wants.
Cole shuts his eyes, gasping, as arousal, sweet and hot, hits him. “I can’t…” His voice cracks, he can’t feel like this.
Dylan hesitates, fingers at the hem of his shirt. “You don’t want me to-?”
“I want to…I want…”
Cole lets him pull at his shirt and tug it over his head. Dylan is looking up at him, eyes roaming over his skin. Cole feels prickles run down his arms. He feels Dylan hard, and hot under him.
He clutches at Dylan’s shoulders. He could push him away, he could stop this, but Dylan pulls him down, and kisses him. Whatever doubts left in Cole’s mind is clouded by the feeling of Dylan’s hand snaking between them, fingers trembling as they wrap around his cock.
Cole pushes up against him until Dylan’s lips find his neck, and rolls them over.
He finds it strange how familiar this feels. He can’t place the feeling until he recognizes the slight spark of indignation at being pushed down onto the bed back first, like they’re wrestling. Cole doesn’t think they can ever wrestle without it turning into this.
Cole wraps his legs around Dylan’s waist. Dylan hovers over him, teeth tugging on his earlobe. Cole is surprised to hear himself moan. He feels Dylan’s lips stretch into a smirk against his cheek. Cole slips his hand down Dylan’s stomach, feels the sensitive skin quiver under his palms, and feels the hardness, swelling beneath Dylan’s pajama pants. He grins when he hears Dylan let out a hiss. Dylan pushes him back. He gives Cole a determined, irate look. His hair is sticking up all over the place. His lips are red and bruised. Cole feels himself flushing because he did that.
Dylan’s fingers find his own. He holds Cole’s hands in a tight sweaty grip. He jerks against him, uneven, frantic thrusts until Cole is seeing stars. His body trembles against him. He hears Dylan whisper his name, chanting it, over and over, low and gruff and hot against his skin. Cole groans, and he’s not sure what he says, his brother’s name, broken and incomprehensible. His mind is fuzzy, his body slick with sweat. The humming in his ears slowly becomes the echo of their ragged breaths in the thick air.
Dylan rolls off him. Cole waits until his heart stops hammering in his chest to turn and look at Dylan. Dylan has his eyes closed, breathing steady, and body still beside him. Cole knows he’s not sleeping.
He wants to say something. It’s caught in his throat. He wants to ask all these questions, unyielding and pounding into him one after the other: What are we doing? Why do I feel like this? How can I look at you? Who are you to me?
What happens after this?
“Dylan...”
“Just….don’t,” Dylan begs, “Don’t.”
“I love you,” Cole realizes it as he says it, and stares at Dylan, almost startled.
Dylan is watching him with smile, so simple and pure, it lights his whole face. “I thought that was a given,” he teases.
Cole snorts, his chest already feeling less heavy. “What’s -?”
Dylan pulls him closer, kisses him before he can ask his question, and rests his forehead against his. His eyes flick up, and locks onto Cole’s. He gives him this look, soft and confident, and impossibly warm. We’ll figure it out, it’s saying, everything will be okay.
Cole sinks into his arms. He lets Dylan stroke his hair. He listens to his breaths even out as he falls asleep and he smiles because he feels scared and safe and alive. Alive. He feels alive.
.
.
-end.
Pairing: Dylan/Cole
Rating: R
Word Count: ~4,000
Warnings: Cross-dressing, angst, sexy times between twins.
Summary: Cole contemplates taking a role where he needs to cross-dress, and Dylan is at a loss for words.
Disclaimer: This is complete and utter fiction.
AN: For the wonderful pada_something. I'm so sorry it took me so long to finally finish this. I hope you like it, bb. ♥
Cole stares at himself in the mirror.
His eyes follow the line of his legs. From his bare toes wiggling on the carpet to the bottom of the silk nighty that cuts off at the middle of his thighs. His silk nighty, he thinks. Then he remembers the sales lady, her polite smile when he said it was for his girlfriend. She was too sweet, too understanding. He knew she could see through him like a wet, tattered napkin.
If only she could see him now.
.
.
“Are you gay?”
“For the love of,” Cole huffs out an irritated breath. “Dylan-”
“Because it’s okay if you are, I mean, I’ll be okay, really, if you want to-”
“Can you stop asking me that?” Cole asks, already in a sour mood. He’s tired and hungry and he just got home, and Dylan is bugging the shit out of him.
Cole is about to tell him off, but then he feels a soft tug on his sleeve. Dylan’s grip lingers before he lets go. He looks so damn sincere. “You can tell me.” His voice is careful, as if he’s walking a fine line.
Cole’s anger wavers. “I’m not,” he says softly. He really means it, even as he feels something uncertain nudging at him, it’s a tiny, unsettling feeling that he finds easy to push away.
Dylan’s expression hardens. Something catches in Cole’s chest, and that unsettling feeling starts to ache, it's unrelenting. He can’t explain how relieved he is when his brother leaves him alone.
He can pretend he didn’t see that expression on Dylan’s face, and he doesn’t want to think too deeply about why Dylan cares so much either.
.
.
He finds it irritating when the left strap keeps sliding off his shoulder. He slips it back on, again. The material is feather light. It ripples with any slight shift of air. He shivers as the smooth, cool texture slides against his skin.
That’s when the door opens. It’s too late for him to dive for his bed, bury himself under his covers and pretend to sleep. He’s trapped there, legs wobbly and bare, and skin flashing beneath thread, barely covered by silk. He watches in horror as Dylan walks in, head down, and skateboard in his hand.
His face feels hot when Dylan finally lifts his head.
The skateboard clatters loudly when it hits the ground. “Cole?”
.
.
He doesn’t want to tell them he was offered the part.
His agent said he’d be perfect for it. At first, he pushed it aside, not willing to look at the script. It sat in the back of his desk drawer, buried underneath a cluttered mess of papers.
They said that he’s the more slender twin, he has softer features - Cole knows that’s sugar-coating for he’s the girly looking one. Right, that’s exactly what a seventeen-year-old boy wants to hear, he looks girly.
He doesn’t know what makes him open his desk drawer one day, unavoidably, like fate, or bad luck - his fingers graze the edges of the thick stack of papers; he pulls out the script, staring at it contemplatively. He flips through the pages until a page catches his eye. He starts to read.
He doesn’t want to tell them he was offered this part. He doesn’t want his mom or brother’s opinions clouding his judgments. He selfishly clings to the script after he’s done. It’s going to be his choice.
.
.
Cole has never seen his brother’s eyes so wide. His green eyes are heavy with shock, surprise and…something - Cole can’t bring himself to look at him directly. He fidgets under his gaze. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the cool air causes the fabric to brush against his stomach. Suddenly, Cole feels overexposed.
“Could you close the door?” Cole snaps.
He searches the room for something to cover himself with, and he hears the soft click of the door closing.
Cole is surprised when he finds him still there. He expected Dylan to rush out of the room in embarrassment but he just stands there, unmoving, and eyes unreadable. It makes Cole uncomfortable.
“Why are-would you-what-?” Dylan stutters some more until he finally shakes his head and comes closer.
“It’s for a part,” Cole blurts out. Here it comes, Cole thinks, Dylan will ask him if he’s gay, again, and Cole might just strangle him. He just might kill his twin brother.
“For a part,” Dylan repeats. He’s behind him, looking at him up and down. Cole watches his reflection. He watches Dylan’s eyebrows get higher and higher as his gaze lowers. The fabric is sheer at the small of his back, patterned red roses etched into the dress, and thin straps that zigzag across his back and tie just below his shoulders blades. He wonders what his brother thinks of that. Then he blushes at the thought.
“It’s about this girl who meets a boy,” Cole says, and he’s not sure why he feels like he needs to explain but the words are coming so fast, that he starts before he gets a chance to think about it. “And she teaches him things, she makes him realize life isn’t as random and horrible as he thinks it is, that there’s more to it, and there’s meaning in something as small as a smile, that there’s importance in every breath, moment, second-and-and he slowly falls for her-except that’s not the end.”
He waits for Dylan’s reaction but he doesn’t say anything. Cole is determined not to meet his gaze, afraid of what he’ll find. He continues, “See, the girl, she has this secret, she’s-she’s not really a confident, pretty girl that the boy first met but a confused, lost boy wearing a disguise and everything gets twisted. Everything is messed up because now the boy feels disgusted, and ashamed he fell for another boy-but he can’t forget the girl, the girl he fell for.”
When Cole finishes, he finally looks up, and glances at Dylan, hesitantly. He wonders if he freaked him out. But his brother is still staring at him in that unreadable, distant way, and Cole gets the feeling he didn’t listen to a word he said.
“…Dylan?”
“What happens?”
“Uh,” Cole blinks in surprise. “What happens?” He echoes, and then he suppresses a grin. “Well, you’re gonna have to see the movie to find that out.”
Dylan snaps out of whatever trance he was under, eyes lightening for the briefest of moments. He snorts in amusement.
Cole relaxes, feeling more at ease now that he told him about the part, but it lasts for a short while because he starts to wonder what Dylan thinks about all this. About walking in on him wearing a red silk nighty, and talking about a boy falling for a cross-dressing boy. The look Dylan is giving him is unnervingly unfamiliar.
Because Cole knows his brother. He knows his expressions. He knows what he's thinking. Right now, Dylan's eyes are dark, penetrating. Cole doesn't have a clue what to make of it. It makes his knees weak.
He doesn’t realize Dylan is coming closer until his back hits the mirror. The chill from the glass against his skin makes him jerk forward, and Dylan’s warm breath wisps against his neck - and he feels Dylan’s grunt more than he hears it, the vibrations from his chest. That’s when Cole feels something else.
Dylan is hard. He feels the outline of Dylan’s cock jutting out from his jeans, and pressing against his thigh. It’s only then that he understands. The way Dylan is looking at him, it's lustful. His darkening gaze is fixated on his lips, and Cole feels his throat dry, silenced, frozen.
Dylan’s hand stretches across his back almost like he’s feeling the fabric under his fingers. The fabric is so thin that it feels like his hand is caressing his bare skin. Cole’s breath hitches. “W-what are you doing?” He asks, his voice hoarse and shaky.
Dylan’s cheeks turn red. “N-nothing,” he mutters, and suddenly there’s a berth of space between them, a whoosh of air that ruffles the dress and makes the strap slip off his shoulder once again.
He feels Dylan’s eyes on him when he readjusts it. He feels his body reacting to it, a rush of arousal that lingers on his skin. He likes it, he realizes, when Dylan looks at him like that.
Cole’s fingers run down the dress, sliding down his hips. It’s so quiet, he hears Dylan’s shallow breaths. He sees his eyes following the path of his hand. He doesn’t know why he won’t stop.
The strap falls down his shoulder again, but this time Cole doesn’t bother putting back in place. He doesn’t know what look he gave Dylan but it makes Dylan bite his lip, and avert his gaze. He's ashamed.
“I should go,” Dylan says abruptly, eyes downcast.
“You don’t have to,” Cole finds himself saying. But no sooner than the slam of the door, the rush of air flurrying the fabric against his skin - Cole is left standing there in a red silk nightly, feet bare and cold on the floor. He stares at the door for a long moment, wondering exactly what he was just offering.
.
.
So, they’re pretending the whole thing never happened. Cole can get behind that.
Except he can’t seem to look at his brother in the eye, and Dylan is avoiding him.
Their friends think they had a fight. Cole wishes they had. Nothing feels natural, nothing feels like it used to. Now, Cole is over-analyzing every brush of clothes, every touch of hands, and every glance. His heart is pounding in his chest when Dylan leans back beside him.
The room is dark. They’re all watching a movie. The vacation house is drafty; the wind whistles as it blows through the house. Everyone is still wearing beach wear, shorts and thin tee shirts. Cole clutches a big throw pillow on the couch, and bends his long legs underneath it.
He hears voices in the kitchen, and when he turns his head, too easily distracted, Dylan hisses under his breath, “Stop it, you’re making it obvious.” Cole freezes, pulse loud in his ears. This is when they’re going to talk about it. In the glare of the television screen, surrounded by their friends. He glares at him, and then turns to look at the screen, too pissed to answer.
He feels his brother’s stare. He feels it on his legs, running up his arms, on his neck - on his skin, grazing heat; he feels it going through him. It gets to be too much, he can’t help it, he stares back. But Dylan has already looked away, and Cole is stuck.
His brother’s hair is getting so long. He’s able to hide his eyes beneath a curtain of blond hair, out of reach and unavoidable as he gets up and pushes past his legs to leave.
.
.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He thinks he must be going crazy.
It’s the middle of the night and he can’t sleep. The blankets are tangled around him. They're too tight and too warm and too itchy. He gives up on sleep and gets up out of bed. He wanders down the hall only to wind up in front of Dylan’s door.
He is crazy. He's certain of it.
He shifts foot to foot before he thinks fuck it and opens the door, slow and quiet.
The floor is littered with clothes. Cole steps carefully, afraid he’ll trip over something. His brother is sleeping sprawled on the bed with the blankets kicked off to the side. Dylan always tossed and turned in his sleep. It’s why Cole said he hated sharing a bed with him when they were younger and stayed in hotels. But he’d never tell Dylan how he finds his presence comforting, his soft breaths in his ear in the dark quiet. It made all the unfamiliar, sharp shadows on the walls less scary. Cole wishes he could go back to that, when all he worried about were monsters in the dark.
He slips in beside Dylan, pulling the blankets over them, and tucking himself by Dylan’s side. The last thing he feels is Dylan’s breath ruffling his hair before he’s tugged into sleep.
He wakes up with the feel of a hand clutching his arm. Startled, his eyes fly open. Cole looks up into wide green eyes. Dylan stares at him, surprised, and then confused when he looks down at his hand touching his arm. Cole doesn’t fully register their bodies pressed together until Dylan moves and cool air hits his skin where Dylan slips away, arm unwinding around his waist, and legs untangling from his own.
“Why are you here?” It’s the first time Dylan has attempted to talk to him since the incident on the couch. He doesn’t sound angry, just tired.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Cole answers from the edge of the bed. Half-turned, and blankets bunched around him.
Dylan is sitting on the other side of the bed, his back to him. Cole watches his back with a knot in his stomach. “Have a nightmare?” There’s a smirk in that voice, and Cole feels the tension in his stomach ease away.
Cole kicks the blankets off himself roughly. “No.” Then he adds, “Asshole,” just because.
Dylan doesn’t say anything, surprisingly. He just rakes his fingers through his hair, his lips lifted in a sleepy, content way. It’s too early for him to care, and Cole knows he’s not really the most alert person in the morning.
He watches Dylan take his pajama shirt off, the flex of his muscles as he stretches to search for something clean to wear. Is it narcissistic to think Dylan is good looking? People say they look alike but Cole sees nothing of himself in Dylan, nothing but blond hair and green eyes. Dylan is lithe and wiry but more built than Cole. Cole knows he’s skinny, softer - he wishes he had his brother’s shoulders and legs. Dylan turns around, and Cole feels caught staring. His face sweeps with heat. He quickly looks down at the blankets.
Dylan is slow putting his shirt on, and Cole can feel the smile on his face even with his back turned. The asshole knows exactly what he’s doing.
Cole wishes he could stay mad at him but he has the urge to escape. "I'm going for breakfast," he mutters.
Then he rushes out of the room.
.
.
Cole loves the beach. He loves the clean fine sand under his feet, the dusty softness pillowing each step.
He watches his friends tackling each other in the water. They’re nothing but wild splashes of water and limbs. The sound of their laughter drifts over to the shore, and he finds himself smiling at their silly antics.
“Bet I can get there faster,” he hears Dylan's voice behind him. Cole wonders when his voice became so deep. Lately, it feels like he’s meeting his brother for the first time. It catches Cole off guard, and it frustrates him because Dylan seems unfazed by it all.
When Cole looks back, he’s surprised to find him at eye-level, a challenging glint in his eyes.
“Oh yeah-?” Cole barely has time to respond before his brother jets past him. Cole sputters, momentarily stunned before he shouts, “Jerk!” and runs after him.
Dylan glances back and gives him the biggest, stupidest grin. Cole flips him the bird and runs faster.
Of course, Dylan gets in the water before him, the prick. Cole jumps in, creating a big splash that has Dylan sputtering at all the water in his face.
“Was that necessary?” Dylan wipes at his face, his lashes are wet and stuck together.
“Can’t handle a little water?” Cole ruffles his brother’s hair. Then he retracts his hand quickly, alarmed at how close he suddenly is.
Dylan doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gives him a devious smile. Cole should have suspected that look would mean pain. The next thing he knows Dylan charges at him, arm connecting with his torso as he grips him tight before hauling him back first into the water.
Cole groans. He feels the water pound into his chest, and hears the whirling, garbled sounds rush past his ear as he’s dunked underwater. Dylan’s arm probably bruised his stomach; he can feel it pulling him against the waves.
Cole manages to break free. When he comes up for air, he looks around, bewildered when Dylan isn’t anywhere to be found.
Suddenly, he feels arms around his waist, his back pressed against Dylan’s slicked, wet chest. “Who can’t handle the water now?” Dylan says against his ear. Cole shivers.
Cole doesn't want to let go of him. He needs to keep touching. So when Dylan's grip loosens and starts to swim back, Cole jumps on his back, arms around his shoulders and legs wrapped around his waist.
Their friends probably think they’re wrestling or goofing off. Cole isn’t sure what they’re doing. He lets Dylan carry him through the water until the laughter from their friends is a distant murmur and they hear nothing but their heavy breaths, the water lapping against them, and seagulls flying over their heads.
He feels Dylan’s hands on his thighs, supporting him up. He hugs Dylan tighter, resting his chin on top of his shoulder.
“I’m taking the part.” The silence that follows makes Cole’s chest seize. “I think it’ll be good for me.”
“Good,” Dylan says simply. Cole doesn’t know why he expects more, or why he feels disappointed.
Suddenly, the water is too heavy, too salty against his lips, and too cold against his skin, and the clouds overhead are thick, and dark. “We should go back,” Cole murmurs.
“In a minute, I wanna show you something.”
That’s when Cole realizes how far they are from the shore, and sees the jagged, rocky mountain just a little head of them. Dylan turns, gives Cole a sneaky smile, before he pulls Cole under the water. Cole panics, eyes unable to adjust to the dark, murky water, and hands griping his brother tightly as everything around him moves and pulls against him.
Suddenly, there’s air. His lungs inhale, instinctively. He opens his eyes, and Dylan is grinning at him.
“What is this?” Cole's gaze wanders around the concave rock above them.
“A cave.” Dylan sounds proud of himself. “I found it a while ago, it’s cool, right?”
“Yeah.” It sounds weak, even to his own ears.
Dylan is staring at him. Cole watches, surprised, as Dylan’s eyes soften. “I think you’ll be good for the part, I think...I think you’ll be amazing, so don’t look so worried, okay?”
Cole wasn’t aware he looked worried but he nods anyway, too startled to speak, and willing his limbs not shake in chilly water. Dylan pulls him against his chest, and wraps his arms around him. “Let’s go back,” he says.
.
.
Late into the night, Cole hears the slow turn of the doorknob, the creak of the door opening, and suddenly, the lazy, heaviness in his eyes snaps into wide-eyed alertness.
He’s not sure how he realizes that it’s Dylan. His shadowed figure leans over him, the fringe of his hair mussed by sleep, and his fingers barely poking out of his too long pajama shirt.
Dylan goes to the other side of the bed, without a word. He slips in behind him on the bed, sliding his arm under Cole’s arm until he’s hugging him, arms around his waist. Cole’s breathing slows. His heartbeat is dull and heavy in his chest. He puts his hand on Dylan’s arm, and Dylan becomes rigid. His whole body is tense when Cole turns around on the bed.
Dylan’s eyes are covered by his long bangs. He reaches up to brush the hair from Dylan’s face, his fingers running along his cheek as he tucks the piece of hair behind his ear. Shadowed jade eyes stare back at him.
He doesn’t understand how it happens. Dylan kisses him. It’s slow, unexpected, and bumpy. That’s the only way he can describe it. He bumps his nose against his in the dark. Dylan tilts his head, and suddenly, it’s overwhelming, the kiss deepens, becomes heated and fast.
Dylan is kissing him everywhere, Cole realizes. They’re urgent, messy kisses that land on the corner of his lips, his chin, his neck, and back up to his lips, slow, engulfing kisses that make Cole breathless and hot all over. Cole kisses him back, trying to match his pace, but Cole feels like he’s drowning, like he can’t keep up.
They pry themselves apart, and deep down, Cole knows this is reckless, stupid, wrong, wrong, wrong - he climbs on top of Dylan, he rolls his hips, and watches in fascination as Dylan reacts, head thrown back, and hands grasping at the sheets.
Dylan looks up at him, bites his bottom lip - he wants.
Cole shuts his eyes, gasping, as arousal, sweet and hot, hits him. “I can’t…” His voice cracks, he can’t feel like this.
Dylan hesitates, fingers at the hem of his shirt. “You don’t want me to-?”
“I want to…I want…”
Cole lets him pull at his shirt and tug it over his head. Dylan is looking up at him, eyes roaming over his skin. Cole feels prickles run down his arms. He feels Dylan hard, and hot under him.
He clutches at Dylan’s shoulders. He could push him away, he could stop this, but Dylan pulls him down, and kisses him. Whatever doubts left in Cole’s mind is clouded by the feeling of Dylan’s hand snaking between them, fingers trembling as they wrap around his cock.
Cole pushes up against him until Dylan’s lips find his neck, and rolls them over.
He finds it strange how familiar this feels. He can’t place the feeling until he recognizes the slight spark of indignation at being pushed down onto the bed back first, like they’re wrestling. Cole doesn’t think they can ever wrestle without it turning into this.
Cole wraps his legs around Dylan’s waist. Dylan hovers over him, teeth tugging on his earlobe. Cole is surprised to hear himself moan. He feels Dylan’s lips stretch into a smirk against his cheek. Cole slips his hand down Dylan’s stomach, feels the sensitive skin quiver under his palms, and feels the hardness, swelling beneath Dylan’s pajama pants. He grins when he hears Dylan let out a hiss. Dylan pushes him back. He gives Cole a determined, irate look. His hair is sticking up all over the place. His lips are red and bruised. Cole feels himself flushing because he did that.
Dylan’s fingers find his own. He holds Cole’s hands in a tight sweaty grip. He jerks against him, uneven, frantic thrusts until Cole is seeing stars. His body trembles against him. He hears Dylan whisper his name, chanting it, over and over, low and gruff and hot against his skin. Cole groans, and he’s not sure what he says, his brother’s name, broken and incomprehensible. His mind is fuzzy, his body slick with sweat. The humming in his ears slowly becomes the echo of their ragged breaths in the thick air.
Dylan rolls off him. Cole waits until his heart stops hammering in his chest to turn and look at Dylan. Dylan has his eyes closed, breathing steady, and body still beside him. Cole knows he’s not sleeping.
He wants to say something. It’s caught in his throat. He wants to ask all these questions, unyielding and pounding into him one after the other: What are we doing? Why do I feel like this? How can I look at you? Who are you to me?
What happens after this?
“Dylan...”
“Just….don’t,” Dylan begs, “Don’t.”
“I love you,” Cole realizes it as he says it, and stares at Dylan, almost startled.
Dylan is watching him with smile, so simple and pure, it lights his whole face. “I thought that was a given,” he teases.
Cole snorts, his chest already feeling less heavy. “What’s -?”
Dylan pulls him closer, kisses him before he can ask his question, and rests his forehead against his. His eyes flick up, and locks onto Cole’s. He gives him this look, soft and confident, and impossibly warm. We’ll figure it out, it’s saying, everything will be okay.
Cole sinks into his arms. He lets Dylan stroke his hair. He listens to his breaths even out as he falls asleep and he smiles because he feels scared and safe and alive. Alive. He feels alive.
.
.
-end.