(no subject)
Title: Mr Sandman.
Pairing: Bill/Tom
Summary: Bring me a dream. Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen. Give him two lips like roses and clover. And tell him that his lonesome nights are over.
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Never was, never will be.
AN: FQF prompt 24. Tom has a really racy wet dream about Bill and after he wakes up, he finds that he's looking at his brother in a completely different light--much to his dismay. Things get so awkward, Bill finally realizes something's going on and demands that Tom tell him what it is. (submitted by nightshade24) Unbetad.
He couldn’t touch. He didn’t know why, he wasn’t actually restrained, but he just couldn’t seem to lift his arms from the sofa either side of him.
Bill was a couple of feet away and moving gently, like the pale blue smoke caressing his skin was slowing him down.
Bill couldn’t dance at speed, this was common knowledge. But he could certainly move. His hips made slow circles and his hands slid over his bare chest, smoke plumes escaping his lips every time he exhaled. Tom’s hands were stuck by his sides, but he forced out his brother’s name when the hypnotic creature turned his eyes onto Tom.
Bill’s hands were working fine, sliding his tight jeans down and stepping away from them as if they were no more solid than the smoke on his shoulders.
“Tom,” he said distantly, sliding closer, resting his hands on Tom’s shoulders.
He was still moving, always moving, swaying to the music that tom couldn’t hear and swinging his hair away over his shoulder as he brought his mouth down to draw lightly across Tom's cheekbone.
Bill was standing across Tom’s knees, feet widely spaced, and Tom squirmed in his raging desire to reach out and stroke those perfect, muscular thighs.
Bill’s hands slid forward, hanging limply together between Tom’s shoulders as his long legs folded onto the sofa. He was straddling Tom, now sitting in his lap, hot and hard against each other.
Bill tipped his chin with the nudged promise of a kiss and held Tom’s gaze, smiling wickedly as he pushed off his knees, lifting his body over Tom. Tom didn’t remember getting naked, but he was; naked and hard and frozen in place as Bill sank down, without guidance. Tom’s cock found him and Bill took him in like they had been carved to fit one another.
Bill kept his gaze level and dark until Tom was buried to the hilt and he felt Bill’s ass pressing against his balls as Bill threw his head back and moaned.
The blue mist was creeping around him too, now, barely discernible curls passing between them as Bill stretched his arms over his head. Tom was helpless as he moved, rocking back and forth in Tom’s lap, fucking himself on Tom’s cock. He rode faster, harder, blue fog growing denser as he whispered obscenities and pleas and praise for the feeling before folding forward, catching Tom in a kiss that fucked him utterly.
His brother’s tongue was defeating his own. His brother’s body was tight around his cock. He could feel Bill’s arousal, hard against his stomach, leaking a constant stream down Tom’s belly and into his groin, where their bodies met, over and over.
Bill screwed himself down, his lips close to Tom’s and their eyes met as Tom gritted his teeth.
Bill whispered, “I love you,” and it filled the world as Tom’s paralysis broke. He threw his head back, coming with every muscle tense and a yelp that shocked him awake.
His breathing was manic as he struggled with reality, clamping both hands over his mouth in his silent hotel room, as he considered what the fuck his mind had just done to him.
#
Bill was miserable. He felt like Tom hadn’t looked at him in days. Not only did he refuse to look straight at Bill, but he was barely speaking to him. Bill had tried joking with him, shouting at him, giving him space, just behaving normally, and still Tom wouldn’t stay in the same room as him for a moment longer than he had to. It was rapidly breaking Bill’s heart.
Tom knew it was hurting Bill. But he couldn’t do a thing about it. He was trying, but every time he so much as glanced at his brother, he saw right through the pouting, puppy-eyed, hurting baby brother, and all he could picture was the naked, writhing image of pure fulfilment and sexual gratification.
His heart beat like a wild thing whenever Bill was in the room, and that morning had been the limit of his endurance.
Bill had been trying to engage him in some sort of interaction by teasing him mercilessly and finally, in an attempt at engaging a reaction, had thrown himself on top of Tom, hands scrabbling with his shirt to try and find naked skin to tickle.
It would be fair to say Tom had overreacted.
He tossed Bill away from him, knocking him onto the floor where he sat, staring up at Tom with a look of pure, shocked devastation.
Tom had thought he was going to cry. One gentle sweep of Bill’s fingertips across his skin had sent him reeling and blood surging southward. He looked down at his brother and felt so wretched that his throat closed up and the tears pressed irresistibly against his eyes. He couldn’t find a word to say, so he turned and ran.
It was Georg who found Bill sobbing uncontrollably in the corner, and gathered him into his arms without a single word.
#
Binge drinking is not big or clever. It is a shame, therefore, that it ends up being such a useful social lubricant.
Three giant glasses of wine into the evening and Bill was back in Georg’s arms, whimpering quietly and constantly. He had started drinking in order to forget, to try and fix his mood for a while, but had been caught out by the common truth that drink mostly just exacerbates whatever mood one is in. So Bill was as grief-struck as ever, feeling confused and abandoned and utterly vile.
Gustav returned to their table, hiding in the shadows of the hotel bar, and found his T-shirt grabbed by Bill before he’d had time to say a thing.
“What did he say?” Bill demanded. “Did he tell you what I did wrong, why he doesn’t love me anymore?” his voice cracked and another bout of sobs was lost in Georg’s shirt.
“Oh, fuck, Bill,” Georg said, all but cradling his friend. It was easy to want to take care of Bill and Georg felt like it was just natural. Not just because he was older, or because his hugs were known throughout Germany as some of the very best you could hope for, but also because he knew how lucky he was to be offered the position as comfort blanket. “You know he loves you more than anything in the world.” He turned to look at Gustav. “Did he tell you what his problem was?” he asked. “Did he give you anything?”
Gustav shook his head.
“He wouldn’t say. Even when I told him how… upset Bill was. He just put his head in his hands and told me to fuck off. I’m sorry, Bill, I don’t know what to tell you.”
Bill shook his head, waving a pathetic hand in dismissal of the apology. It really wasn’t Gustav’s fault. It was obviously his own. He just wished he knew how to fix it.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go and beat it out of him,” Georg asked for the tenth time. Bill just shook his head against his chest again.
“Can I go to bed?” he asked, “I just want to sleep.”
“Okay, Bill,” Georg said kindly. “Let’s put you to bed.”
Gustav checked him over and Georg straightened him up, so that if anyone were to see them, they wouldn’t realise he was semi-fucked as he was. The arm around his waist wasn’t optional; he wouldn’t have managed a straight line without it.
In the lift, Bill turned to cling to Georg once more, as Gustav stood beside them and shifted uncomfortably.
“I really don’t know what I did,” Bill said, sounding sleepy.
“I know, Bill,” Georg said, pressing a kiss to Bill’s limp hair. “I don’t think you did anything at all.”
#
It really didn’t help matters that Tom hadn’t masturbated in a week. He couldn’t. As a teenager, he woke up every day with a hard-on. But, when he automatically went to relieve himself, the touch of his hand had reminded him of dream-Bill. If he closed his eyes, it was Bill’s hand around him. He snapped his hand from himself and denied himself.
Working on a very modest estimate of one wank a day as his normal habit, that was 7 missed climaxes. His mood did not look like improving. He was going to have to give in, and deal with the guilt of thinking about his brother again.
He had been irritated enough when Gustav had interrupted that particularly important decision to come and tell him that Bill was a mess. Rid of Gustav, all Tom could think of was Bill’s pained expression when they had parted last.
Now he was burying himself in his misery, winding himself in self-hatred and self-reproach, the last thing he needed was Georg pounding on his door, yelling at him to open the fuck up. He was half inclined to ignore it, but he really thought he deserved to be punched in the face.
He ripped the door open with a face like thunder, only to be faced with a tragedy. Georg was nowhere to be seen, but Tom wouldn’t have seen him anyway. All he would have seen was Bill, leaning against the wall opposite him, calling out toward the lifts, a plea not to leave him. He slid down the wall and sat, clutching his stomach, as Tom took careful steps toward him.
It was easy. Tom left a shoe in the way of the door so it wouldn’t shut, and just bent down and picked him up, wincing at his own cruelty as long limbs clung to him like a rescuer. Bill was drunk, and hung heavily in Tom’s arms. Tom tried to put him down in a chair but his arms were so tightly wrapped around Tom’s neck that he couldn’t get away from him. Shushing Bill and patting his hair, he brought them over to the bed and sat down, closing his eyes sorrowfully as Bill curled the rest of his limbs around him and buried his face in Tom’s neck.
“Tell me what I did,” Bill asked, the whisper of his breath warm against Tom’s skin. “Let me fix it.”
“You didn’t do… Christ,” Tom faltered as Bill tilted his head and pressed his lips to Tom’s jaw. “Bill, cut it out.”
“You have to love me,” Bill whispered. “I don’t mean anything without you.”
“Jesus, Bill,” Tom said, his breath catching behind tears. “I love you so much it hurts.” He felt Bill smile against his skin. Bill’s lips met his chin and Tom felt the wetness of the inside of his mouth for a bare moment.
“Is it this?” Bill asked, his voice a breeze from a hundred miles away. “Am I too close? I can back off.”
Tom turned a dark, heavy gaze onto him.
“What are you doing, Bill?”
“I don’t have to be this close,” Bill explained, pressing his lips together and pulling back.
“I want you this close,” Tom replied before he could stop himself. “I need you this close.”
“This close?” an inch further away and Tom wouldn’t have heard him. It wasn’t necessary, though; he could feel the words against his lip, Bill’s mouth against his piercing.
“Closer.”
His mind was exploding with the screams of how unwise this whole thing was. What the hell was he doing? What was he thinking? How would they ever recover if he let this happen?
Bill tipped his chin.
“I love you.”
Then there was silence. Pure, unadulterated silence in the space of his head. Everything in the world was around his lips. Bill was kissing him.
Bill’s hand was cradling his cheek, Bill’s lips were trying to press his own apart.
It felt like the most natural thing in the world and the least like a dream. He slid a hand around Bill’s back and the other around his skull and let it happen. He opened his mouth and let his tongue slide against Bill’s. Bill moaned delightedly as Tom leaned over him, pressing him down onto the bed.
His hand slid down Bill’s back to rest on his hip, feeling the shiver in his muscle, feeling the rolling of Bill’s body as he shifted constantly, moving up into Tom’s touch. Tom devoured Bill, sucking on his tongue, grinding down against him, and not thinking about it. Bill’s shirt rode up and Tom’s fingertips brushed naked skin. A gasp pushed them apart.
Tom shook his head, looking down on a flushed, drunk brother who would do anything for his love. His stomach fell, what had he done to them? He opened his mouth for an apology that would never come.
“Is this another dream?” Bill whispered. “It doesn’t feel like a dream, this time.”
“Do you dream about this?” Tom asked, in shock.
“I always have,” Bill replied.
Tom shook his head at himself. Normal wasn’t their thing. How could he have forgotten?
“So it’s okay?”
Bill smiled softly, the tears on his cheeks drying out of sight.
“Everything’s okay.”
The End.
Pairing: Bill/Tom
Summary: Bring me a dream. Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen. Give him two lips like roses and clover. And tell him that his lonesome nights are over.
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Never was, never will be.
AN: FQF prompt 24. Tom has a really racy wet dream about Bill and after he wakes up, he finds that he's looking at his brother in a completely different light--much to his dismay. Things get so awkward, Bill finally realizes something's going on and demands that Tom tell him what it is. (submitted by nightshade24) Unbetad.
He couldn’t touch. He didn’t know why, he wasn’t actually restrained, but he just couldn’t seem to lift his arms from the sofa either side of him.
Bill was a couple of feet away and moving gently, like the pale blue smoke caressing his skin was slowing him down.
Bill couldn’t dance at speed, this was common knowledge. But he could certainly move. His hips made slow circles and his hands slid over his bare chest, smoke plumes escaping his lips every time he exhaled. Tom’s hands were stuck by his sides, but he forced out his brother’s name when the hypnotic creature turned his eyes onto Tom.
Bill’s hands were working fine, sliding his tight jeans down and stepping away from them as if they were no more solid than the smoke on his shoulders.
“Tom,” he said distantly, sliding closer, resting his hands on Tom’s shoulders.
He was still moving, always moving, swaying to the music that tom couldn’t hear and swinging his hair away over his shoulder as he brought his mouth down to draw lightly across Tom's cheekbone.
Bill was standing across Tom’s knees, feet widely spaced, and Tom squirmed in his raging desire to reach out and stroke those perfect, muscular thighs.
Bill’s hands slid forward, hanging limply together between Tom’s shoulders as his long legs folded onto the sofa. He was straddling Tom, now sitting in his lap, hot and hard against each other.
Bill tipped his chin with the nudged promise of a kiss and held Tom’s gaze, smiling wickedly as he pushed off his knees, lifting his body over Tom. Tom didn’t remember getting naked, but he was; naked and hard and frozen in place as Bill sank down, without guidance. Tom’s cock found him and Bill took him in like they had been carved to fit one another.
Bill kept his gaze level and dark until Tom was buried to the hilt and he felt Bill’s ass pressing against his balls as Bill threw his head back and moaned.
The blue mist was creeping around him too, now, barely discernible curls passing between them as Bill stretched his arms over his head. Tom was helpless as he moved, rocking back and forth in Tom’s lap, fucking himself on Tom’s cock. He rode faster, harder, blue fog growing denser as he whispered obscenities and pleas and praise for the feeling before folding forward, catching Tom in a kiss that fucked him utterly.
His brother’s tongue was defeating his own. His brother’s body was tight around his cock. He could feel Bill’s arousal, hard against his stomach, leaking a constant stream down Tom’s belly and into his groin, where their bodies met, over and over.
Bill screwed himself down, his lips close to Tom’s and their eyes met as Tom gritted his teeth.
Bill whispered, “I love you,” and it filled the world as Tom’s paralysis broke. He threw his head back, coming with every muscle tense and a yelp that shocked him awake.
His breathing was manic as he struggled with reality, clamping both hands over his mouth in his silent hotel room, as he considered what the fuck his mind had just done to him.
#
Bill was miserable. He felt like Tom hadn’t looked at him in days. Not only did he refuse to look straight at Bill, but he was barely speaking to him. Bill had tried joking with him, shouting at him, giving him space, just behaving normally, and still Tom wouldn’t stay in the same room as him for a moment longer than he had to. It was rapidly breaking Bill’s heart.
Tom knew it was hurting Bill. But he couldn’t do a thing about it. He was trying, but every time he so much as glanced at his brother, he saw right through the pouting, puppy-eyed, hurting baby brother, and all he could picture was the naked, writhing image of pure fulfilment and sexual gratification.
His heart beat like a wild thing whenever Bill was in the room, and that morning had been the limit of his endurance.
Bill had been trying to engage him in some sort of interaction by teasing him mercilessly and finally, in an attempt at engaging a reaction, had thrown himself on top of Tom, hands scrabbling with his shirt to try and find naked skin to tickle.
It would be fair to say Tom had overreacted.
He tossed Bill away from him, knocking him onto the floor where he sat, staring up at Tom with a look of pure, shocked devastation.
Tom had thought he was going to cry. One gentle sweep of Bill’s fingertips across his skin had sent him reeling and blood surging southward. He looked down at his brother and felt so wretched that his throat closed up and the tears pressed irresistibly against his eyes. He couldn’t find a word to say, so he turned and ran.
It was Georg who found Bill sobbing uncontrollably in the corner, and gathered him into his arms without a single word.
#
Binge drinking is not big or clever. It is a shame, therefore, that it ends up being such a useful social lubricant.
Three giant glasses of wine into the evening and Bill was back in Georg’s arms, whimpering quietly and constantly. He had started drinking in order to forget, to try and fix his mood for a while, but had been caught out by the common truth that drink mostly just exacerbates whatever mood one is in. So Bill was as grief-struck as ever, feeling confused and abandoned and utterly vile.
Gustav returned to their table, hiding in the shadows of the hotel bar, and found his T-shirt grabbed by Bill before he’d had time to say a thing.
“What did he say?” Bill demanded. “Did he tell you what I did wrong, why he doesn’t love me anymore?” his voice cracked and another bout of sobs was lost in Georg’s shirt.
“Oh, fuck, Bill,” Georg said, all but cradling his friend. It was easy to want to take care of Bill and Georg felt like it was just natural. Not just because he was older, or because his hugs were known throughout Germany as some of the very best you could hope for, but also because he knew how lucky he was to be offered the position as comfort blanket. “You know he loves you more than anything in the world.” He turned to look at Gustav. “Did he tell you what his problem was?” he asked. “Did he give you anything?”
Gustav shook his head.
“He wouldn’t say. Even when I told him how… upset Bill was. He just put his head in his hands and told me to fuck off. I’m sorry, Bill, I don’t know what to tell you.”
Bill shook his head, waving a pathetic hand in dismissal of the apology. It really wasn’t Gustav’s fault. It was obviously his own. He just wished he knew how to fix it.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go and beat it out of him,” Georg asked for the tenth time. Bill just shook his head against his chest again.
“Can I go to bed?” he asked, “I just want to sleep.”
“Okay, Bill,” Georg said kindly. “Let’s put you to bed.”
Gustav checked him over and Georg straightened him up, so that if anyone were to see them, they wouldn’t realise he was semi-fucked as he was. The arm around his waist wasn’t optional; he wouldn’t have managed a straight line without it.
In the lift, Bill turned to cling to Georg once more, as Gustav stood beside them and shifted uncomfortably.
“I really don’t know what I did,” Bill said, sounding sleepy.
“I know, Bill,” Georg said, pressing a kiss to Bill’s limp hair. “I don’t think you did anything at all.”
#
It really didn’t help matters that Tom hadn’t masturbated in a week. He couldn’t. As a teenager, he woke up every day with a hard-on. But, when he automatically went to relieve himself, the touch of his hand had reminded him of dream-Bill. If he closed his eyes, it was Bill’s hand around him. He snapped his hand from himself and denied himself.
Working on a very modest estimate of one wank a day as his normal habit, that was 7 missed climaxes. His mood did not look like improving. He was going to have to give in, and deal with the guilt of thinking about his brother again.
He had been irritated enough when Gustav had interrupted that particularly important decision to come and tell him that Bill was a mess. Rid of Gustav, all Tom could think of was Bill’s pained expression when they had parted last.
Now he was burying himself in his misery, winding himself in self-hatred and self-reproach, the last thing he needed was Georg pounding on his door, yelling at him to open the fuck up. He was half inclined to ignore it, but he really thought he deserved to be punched in the face.
He ripped the door open with a face like thunder, only to be faced with a tragedy. Georg was nowhere to be seen, but Tom wouldn’t have seen him anyway. All he would have seen was Bill, leaning against the wall opposite him, calling out toward the lifts, a plea not to leave him. He slid down the wall and sat, clutching his stomach, as Tom took careful steps toward him.
It was easy. Tom left a shoe in the way of the door so it wouldn’t shut, and just bent down and picked him up, wincing at his own cruelty as long limbs clung to him like a rescuer. Bill was drunk, and hung heavily in Tom’s arms. Tom tried to put him down in a chair but his arms were so tightly wrapped around Tom’s neck that he couldn’t get away from him. Shushing Bill and patting his hair, he brought them over to the bed and sat down, closing his eyes sorrowfully as Bill curled the rest of his limbs around him and buried his face in Tom’s neck.
“Tell me what I did,” Bill asked, the whisper of his breath warm against Tom’s skin. “Let me fix it.”
“You didn’t do… Christ,” Tom faltered as Bill tilted his head and pressed his lips to Tom’s jaw. “Bill, cut it out.”
“You have to love me,” Bill whispered. “I don’t mean anything without you.”
“Jesus, Bill,” Tom said, his breath catching behind tears. “I love you so much it hurts.” He felt Bill smile against his skin. Bill’s lips met his chin and Tom felt the wetness of the inside of his mouth for a bare moment.
“Is it this?” Bill asked, his voice a breeze from a hundred miles away. “Am I too close? I can back off.”
Tom turned a dark, heavy gaze onto him.
“What are you doing, Bill?”
“I don’t have to be this close,” Bill explained, pressing his lips together and pulling back.
“I want you this close,” Tom replied before he could stop himself. “I need you this close.”
“This close?” an inch further away and Tom wouldn’t have heard him. It wasn’t necessary, though; he could feel the words against his lip, Bill’s mouth against his piercing.
“Closer.”
His mind was exploding with the screams of how unwise this whole thing was. What the hell was he doing? What was he thinking? How would they ever recover if he let this happen?
Bill tipped his chin.
“I love you.”
Then there was silence. Pure, unadulterated silence in the space of his head. Everything in the world was around his lips. Bill was kissing him.
Bill’s hand was cradling his cheek, Bill’s lips were trying to press his own apart.
It felt like the most natural thing in the world and the least like a dream. He slid a hand around Bill’s back and the other around his skull and let it happen. He opened his mouth and let his tongue slide against Bill’s. Bill moaned delightedly as Tom leaned over him, pressing him down onto the bed.
His hand slid down Bill’s back to rest on his hip, feeling the shiver in his muscle, feeling the rolling of Bill’s body as he shifted constantly, moving up into Tom’s touch. Tom devoured Bill, sucking on his tongue, grinding down against him, and not thinking about it. Bill’s shirt rode up and Tom’s fingertips brushed naked skin. A gasp pushed them apart.
Tom shook his head, looking down on a flushed, drunk brother who would do anything for his love. His stomach fell, what had he done to them? He opened his mouth for an apology that would never come.
“Is this another dream?” Bill whispered. “It doesn’t feel like a dream, this time.”
“Do you dream about this?” Tom asked, in shock.
“I always have,” Bill replied.
Tom shook his head at himself. Normal wasn’t their thing. How could he have forgotten?
“So it’s okay?”
Bill smiled softly, the tears on his cheeks drying out of sight.
“Everything’s okay.”
The End.