Champagne Secrets (Kevin/Joe)
2:00 AM. New Year’s Day.
My brain is fuzzy with champagne. Mom and Dad already regret letting me drink it, I know, but that’s okay. I’m only two years away from being old enough, and Kevin looked so sullen drinking alone. Besides, the look on Nick’s face, that glower because Mom said no when he asked to join us, was so worth the headache I’m going to have tomorrow.
And, it’s not like I could have really handled tonight without it. Taylor stood there looking everywhere but at me, and even with Nick and Kevin and Demi and Ryan standing between us, I could just feel the resentment rolling off her in my direction. I almost felt bad when everyone launched themselves at me with hugs (Kevin’s lasting probably a little too long, but we’ll blame the bubbly), and Demi was the only one to make a point to give her a midnight embrace. It’s not like I wouldn’t have at least given her a wish for the best in ‘09. It’s just - I didn’t think it would go over too well, all things considered. I can only imagine the snide comment she’d have thrown back at me. She’s got a surprisingly quick wit.
The performance was fun. Nick didn’t even bother to beat himself up over the few times his voice cracked. It was two degrees out there! No one blames him. We had so much energy, and Kevin’s smile and cheeks were so bright. (That I refuse to blame on alcohol.) He stood close enough to me for most of the time that I could smell him - like coffee and wine and the clove cigarettes he smokes only on special occasions. Even with Taylor there, it was the perfect way to end the year.
So, now, it’s two o’clock in the morning, and I don’t care about anything. 2008 is over, and I’m done waiting; I’m done hoping - my New Year’s Resolution is to do something about it. So, I’m not surprised to find myself creeping barefoot out of my bedroom and across the main room of our suite to his room. There’s a soft light under his door, but I can’t hear any movement. I assume he fell asleep with his lamp on, probably still texting “Happy New Year!” messages to all of his friends, so I ease open his door, as quietly as I can.
Sure enough, his Blackberry is on his comforter, and his glasses are skewed on his nose, his head tipped to the side on his pillow. His soft dark eyelashes brush lightly against his skin, and he’s snoring softly, the orange light from the lamp making his skin glow. I smile, settling my knee on the end of his bed, testing the depth of his slumber, before I push myself up, crawling slowly up beside him. Carefully, I remove his glasses and place them, with his phone on the nightstand, then reach over him to flip the switch on the light, submerging the room in darkness.
Before I can move again, he stirs. “Joe?” I don’t know how he knows in the darkness; wishful thinking convinces me that it’s his wishful thinking. I don’t think to answer. My tongue feels thick. His hands reach up for me, settle on my sides. “Joe, what are you doing?” He sounds sleepy. His hands stay on me. He knows it’s me, but his hands are still sliding up to my shoulders, to my neck, just touching.
“I want to sleep with you.” I don’t know how I say it. I really will never know how I manage to get the words out, but I have to thank the champagne.
His hands slip down. I can almost see their outlines where they lay on his stomach. “Go back to your bed, Joe.” There’s something strained about the sleepiness in his voice, like he’s asking me to do something he really doesn’t want me to do. “You’ve been drinking. I don’t want to wake up to deal with your hangover.”
Stubbornly, I find the edge of his blanket, wiggle down underneath it. I press myself to his side, press my nose into his neck. “I won’t have a hangover.” I promise, although that may very well be a lie. “And, I want to start the first day of 2009 with the most important person in my life right next to me.”
Kevin relaxes considerably at the words. His fingers stroke softly through my hair. “You know you’re only saying this because you’re a little drunk, right?”
“Yep!” I’m sounding especially cheerful right now, even as my lips press against my brother’s cheek in a wet kiss. “Wouldn’t ever have the nerve to say this if I wasn’t just a little drunk.” I spurt into a giggle fit, sliding down to press my face into Kevin’s shoulder. His shirt smells like coffee. I think I like it better than wine. “And, I’m sorry if I don’t remember tomorrow, but I mean every word.”
“You haven’t said anything, Joe.” His fingertips press into the back of my neck, rubbing slowly in circles. It feels nice. His sigh is deep, exhausted.
“I mean to. Let me get there.” My brain’s feeling less fuzzy, my tongue less swollen. It’s all replaced by a dull, painful throb in my temples, but that makes everything more clear. Somehow, I reach up to touch his jaw. The stubble tickles. I know he’ll shave in the morning, so for the time being, I just run my fingers across it, listening to that funny scratchy sound that comes with it. I don’t think anyone’s ever done this before. I like it. “I love you.”
“Stop that.” He grabs my fingers, holds them too tightly against each other. It’s his favorite way to ignore me. He can always find a way to focus completely on something else. He’s been an expert at it since we were kids.
“Fine.” My leg shifts across his, and I press up closer to his side, my head carefully on his shoulder. My eyes slip closed, and it feels surprisingly nice; I never notice that tight, stinging, watery feeling of exhaustion in my eyeballs until I let myself relax.
“What’re you doing?” He pulls the blanket up closer around my shoulders, knowing me well enough to know that I’m here for the night, whether he likes it or not. “This isn’t achieving anything, Joe.”
“It’s achieving a lot.” I sigh softly, somehow lifting my head, which feels about three times heavier, and then the rest of me, so I’m suddenly not just partially occupying a space at his side, but kneeling carefully over him, my chest brushing against his. I’m thankful for shirts. Having him blush now because our bare skin was touching would ruin everything. “I want to spend tonight with you. I don’t care how. You don’t have to make love to me. You don’t even have to let me sleep in your bed. But, tomorrow, or I guess, later today, when I wake up, I want you to be the first person I see.” Gently, I press my lips against the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t respond. He just stares up at me like I’m a little unhinged, and there’s a strong possibility of that. I may honestly be crazy, but tomorrow I can blame the alcohol, if I’m embarrassed. I really don’t think I will be. This is too important. I shrug, sliding off of him to stand beside the bed. “Can I steal a pillow? I’ll sleep on the floor.”
He doesn’t hand one to me. His eyes are still bright, like they were when he looked across the stage at me, and right now, they’re glowing with fear and intensity, and maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit of hope that I’m not kidding. Finally, his fingers close around my wrist, and they’re warm and gentle, and he pulls me back onto the bed. “You can sleep with me.”
For a moment, I wonder if it’s the champagne. But, then, when he wraps an arm around my shoulders, his other hand slipping into my hair, and when his mouth settles against mine, I’m pretty sure that even if we forget tomorrow, right now matters. Right now matters.
Here’s to the new year.
My brain is fuzzy with champagne. Mom and Dad already regret letting me drink it, I know, but that’s okay. I’m only two years away from being old enough, and Kevin looked so sullen drinking alone. Besides, the look on Nick’s face, that glower because Mom said no when he asked to join us, was so worth the headache I’m going to have tomorrow.
And, it’s not like I could have really handled tonight without it. Taylor stood there looking everywhere but at me, and even with Nick and Kevin and Demi and Ryan standing between us, I could just feel the resentment rolling off her in my direction. I almost felt bad when everyone launched themselves at me with hugs (Kevin’s lasting probably a little too long, but we’ll blame the bubbly), and Demi was the only one to make a point to give her a midnight embrace. It’s not like I wouldn’t have at least given her a wish for the best in ‘09. It’s just - I didn’t think it would go over too well, all things considered. I can only imagine the snide comment she’d have thrown back at me. She’s got a surprisingly quick wit.
The performance was fun. Nick didn’t even bother to beat himself up over the few times his voice cracked. It was two degrees out there! No one blames him. We had so much energy, and Kevin’s smile and cheeks were so bright. (That I refuse to blame on alcohol.) He stood close enough to me for most of the time that I could smell him - like coffee and wine and the clove cigarettes he smokes only on special occasions. Even with Taylor there, it was the perfect way to end the year.
So, now, it’s two o’clock in the morning, and I don’t care about anything. 2008 is over, and I’m done waiting; I’m done hoping - my New Year’s Resolution is to do something about it. So, I’m not surprised to find myself creeping barefoot out of my bedroom and across the main room of our suite to his room. There’s a soft light under his door, but I can’t hear any movement. I assume he fell asleep with his lamp on, probably still texting “Happy New Year!” messages to all of his friends, so I ease open his door, as quietly as I can.
Sure enough, his Blackberry is on his comforter, and his glasses are skewed on his nose, his head tipped to the side on his pillow. His soft dark eyelashes brush lightly against his skin, and he’s snoring softly, the orange light from the lamp making his skin glow. I smile, settling my knee on the end of his bed, testing the depth of his slumber, before I push myself up, crawling slowly up beside him. Carefully, I remove his glasses and place them, with his phone on the nightstand, then reach over him to flip the switch on the light, submerging the room in darkness.
Before I can move again, he stirs. “Joe?” I don’t know how he knows in the darkness; wishful thinking convinces me that it’s his wishful thinking. I don’t think to answer. My tongue feels thick. His hands reach up for me, settle on my sides. “Joe, what are you doing?” He sounds sleepy. His hands stay on me. He knows it’s me, but his hands are still sliding up to my shoulders, to my neck, just touching.
“I want to sleep with you.” I don’t know how I say it. I really will never know how I manage to get the words out, but I have to thank the champagne.
His hands slip down. I can almost see their outlines where they lay on his stomach. “Go back to your bed, Joe.” There’s something strained about the sleepiness in his voice, like he’s asking me to do something he really doesn’t want me to do. “You’ve been drinking. I don’t want to wake up to deal with your hangover.”
Stubbornly, I find the edge of his blanket, wiggle down underneath it. I press myself to his side, press my nose into his neck. “I won’t have a hangover.” I promise, although that may very well be a lie. “And, I want to start the first day of 2009 with the most important person in my life right next to me.”
Kevin relaxes considerably at the words. His fingers stroke softly through my hair. “You know you’re only saying this because you’re a little drunk, right?”
“Yep!” I’m sounding especially cheerful right now, even as my lips press against my brother’s cheek in a wet kiss. “Wouldn’t ever have the nerve to say this if I wasn’t just a little drunk.” I spurt into a giggle fit, sliding down to press my face into Kevin’s shoulder. His shirt smells like coffee. I think I like it better than wine. “And, I’m sorry if I don’t remember tomorrow, but I mean every word.”
“You haven’t said anything, Joe.” His fingertips press into the back of my neck, rubbing slowly in circles. It feels nice. His sigh is deep, exhausted.
“I mean to. Let me get there.” My brain’s feeling less fuzzy, my tongue less swollen. It’s all replaced by a dull, painful throb in my temples, but that makes everything more clear. Somehow, I reach up to touch his jaw. The stubble tickles. I know he’ll shave in the morning, so for the time being, I just run my fingers across it, listening to that funny scratchy sound that comes with it. I don’t think anyone’s ever done this before. I like it. “I love you.”
“Stop that.” He grabs my fingers, holds them too tightly against each other. It’s his favorite way to ignore me. He can always find a way to focus completely on something else. He’s been an expert at it since we were kids.
“Fine.” My leg shifts across his, and I press up closer to his side, my head carefully on his shoulder. My eyes slip closed, and it feels surprisingly nice; I never notice that tight, stinging, watery feeling of exhaustion in my eyeballs until I let myself relax.
“What’re you doing?” He pulls the blanket up closer around my shoulders, knowing me well enough to know that I’m here for the night, whether he likes it or not. “This isn’t achieving anything, Joe.”
“It’s achieving a lot.” I sigh softly, somehow lifting my head, which feels about three times heavier, and then the rest of me, so I’m suddenly not just partially occupying a space at his side, but kneeling carefully over him, my chest brushing against his. I’m thankful for shirts. Having him blush now because our bare skin was touching would ruin everything. “I want to spend tonight with you. I don’t care how. You don’t have to make love to me. You don’t even have to let me sleep in your bed. But, tomorrow, or I guess, later today, when I wake up, I want you to be the first person I see.” Gently, I press my lips against the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t respond. He just stares up at me like I’m a little unhinged, and there’s a strong possibility of that. I may honestly be crazy, but tomorrow I can blame the alcohol, if I’m embarrassed. I really don’t think I will be. This is too important. I shrug, sliding off of him to stand beside the bed. “Can I steal a pillow? I’ll sleep on the floor.”
He doesn’t hand one to me. His eyes are still bright, like they were when he looked across the stage at me, and right now, they’re glowing with fear and intensity, and maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit of hope that I’m not kidding. Finally, his fingers close around my wrist, and they’re warm and gentle, and he pulls me back onto the bed. “You can sleep with me.”
For a moment, I wonder if it’s the champagne. But, then, when he wraps an arm around my shoulders, his other hand slipping into my hair, and when his mouth settles against mine, I’m pretty sure that even if we forget tomorrow, right now matters. Right now matters.
Here’s to the new year.