18 comments/ 9755 views/ 45 favorites Enemy Mine By: knotadame I think I'll begin my story on a regular Saturday. Isn't that where most stories start? On an ordinary day? There was me, Andrew, 18 and out of school. Having fought my parents over college because I loved the thought of making money, I was now working at a diner and hating every second of it. The pig-headedness which was a large part of my nature meant quitting was not an option. There was mom, dad, my sister Robin - who won't be mentioned all that much. Think of them as scenery. Then there was Peter. Sweet, adorable Peter. About a year older, very much in college, making everyone proud. Of all the jerk-faced foster-brothers one could ever have. My mom and dad hadn't always been that. They took me in when I was 10. Before that my life had pretty much sucked. My biological mother had been one of those compulsive alcoholics and my most vivid memories of that part of my life involve the stale smell of alcohol. She had a habit of forgetting my existence for stretches of time. Like a week. However when I was five, she voluntarily gave me up to the authorities, so I guess she couldn't have been all bad. It was the last time I saw her. About the man who fathered me I knew nothing. Anyway, I bounced around from home to home for a while, taking the good with the bad and the ugly until I landed in this house, this house that became for me the first 'home' I'd ever known. Abby and Tom had adopted Robin when she was very young, barely 4. That was two years before I got there. Apparently that worked out so well, they decided to try again with me. Guess the little squirt did me a good turn there. Maybe I shouldn't tease her as much? Well, when she got a little less annoying. Over the years, we'd all somehow melded together, separate pieces into a whole...A family as real as any. Then the year I turn 16, mom and dad get that do-good itch again and Peter comes home. "To complete the family, the last missing piece" and I almost snarled at Aunt May as she sobbed into a tissue at that first family dinner coz Jesus, who talks like that? Now I know what you're thinking. I am an ass. I was very lucky to be part of a wonderful family and I was a selfish bastard to not want to share that good fortune with someone who had had the same sort of miserable background I did. Actually, I think Peter's story was a lot grimmer than mine coz I mean, why else would he be placed with a new family when he had only a year to go before attaining legal age? Not that any details were revealed to me or Robin, of course. The parents requested we not ask too many questions when Peter arrived and we were willing to go along. And that's my point. I was very willing to get along with this new member of our family, to make him feel welcome, experience having a brother. It was kind of cool. Until he walked in the door, until our eyes met across the room, those dark eyes so calm and...opaque somehow. Still. I don't know...something. One look at his serene smile, as if he had been walking in through the doorway in just that way for years and suddenly I was hostile. Mom and dad didn't know, I wasn't ever that obvious, not to them. Robin guessed but didn't care. She'd fallen into a fit of hero-worship five minutes after she started talking to him and likely she thought I was just jealous. She was surprisingly mature for her age that way. And as for Peter himself...I had no idea what he thought of my instant antagonism. He never said. Not even after two years worth of sullen fits and sly barbs and random but frequent acts of passive-aggressiveness. Not a word. So that regular Saturday found us all gathered in the kitchen, mom and dad over on the other side examining the cabinets and counter, discussing possible remodeling plans. Robin and I had already finished breakfast but were hanging around. Ok, lazing. Peter had just walked downstairs, fresh from a shower, black hair turned darker from the water still clinging to it, looking tired from a night of studying late. On a Friday! That should tell you! I waited while he got some cereal, his preferred breakfast. Watched him get everything ready in that methodical way of his...the bowl, the sugar, the spoon, waited till I had timed it perfectly right and about thirty seconds before his hand reached out for it, I went for the milk that was sitting on the table. Tipping it over my mouth, my neck arched, I drank deeply, draining the half-full container before placing it back on the table. Robin looked at me disgustedly. I smiled at Peter. He just watched me serenely, with those damned dark eyes that gave nothing away. "Is there more in the refrigerator, Robin?" he asked, still looking at me. "Soy milk," I told him. "You want?" Knowing he hated it. "No." He looked down at the almost-ready breakfast, then smiled ruefully at Robin. There it was, that smile that everyone from ages five to fifty were always gushing about. Why, I didn't know. "I'll make you pancakes," she said, jumping up. His arm shot out and grabbed hers, stopping her before she was even fully out of her chair. "Sit," he told her. "You want to make me some?" Looking back at me with that half-smile he always used with me. I snorted by way of answer. He grinned. And got up to make his own. Robin was cross with me. With a withering look, she said "Will you please grow up and stop being such a jerk?" "How's Ashley?" I asked, wiggling my eye-brows at her. She squealed. "Ewwwww, gross! You keep away from Ashley." I didn't give a fuck about Ashley. But I loved getting reactions from my sister about her 'b.b.f'. Her built b.b.f. She sat there breathing hard, arms folded and looking straight ahead. I watched her fondly, grinning. She knew I didn't mean a word but could never keep from rising to the bait. It was a little cute. Over her shoulder, my eyes met Peter's. He was doing things on the stovetop but at my words, he'd turned his head to look at me, lips curved in that same half-smile, eyes very amused. I looked back stonily. Mom and dad had moved long since to the backyard, still talking plans. And then, because those eyes were bugging the hell out of me, the same as that smile (couldn't the guy tell when he was detested?) I did it. Went and made it one of those days. "Another project?" I asked, tipping my head in the direction of the voices outside and emphasizing the second word. "You really aren't giving them much to do, are you? I kept them busy for at least three full years." "ANDY!" Robin yelled, jerking out of her chair so hard, it fell over backward with a crash. "Kids!" came my father's voice from outside, sounding annoyed. "Dad, Andy..." She was furious with me, mad enough to give me up to the parents but before she could say more, Peter's arm came around her and he was hushing her, squeezing her lightly. "It's nothing, Tom. A chair fell over," he called. He looked at me then but those eyes were as serene as ever. I got up and walked upstairs very rapidly, ignoring the way my stomach was churning. *~* It was Tuesday before Robin spoke to me again and even then I guessed it had more to do with something Peter said to her than her own inclination. Which no doubt was to kick me hard in the shins. I had come home the previous evening and caught the soft murmur of their voices from behind Robin's door, hers slightly raised, his soft and soothing. Resisting the urge to play the music in my room really, really loud and hitting the gym instead, I had hoped a good workout would ease the tension in me. It hadn't. All that time lifting weights only gave me too much time to think. After every such incident when I'd go too far, I was left feeling agitated, unable to sit still. I hated upsetting Robin that way, I hated how it managed to upset me but most of all I hated how it didn't upset him. What would it take to...to... ...make the guy break your nose? I asked myself grimly. Most of the time, my dislike of Peter was something I didn't think about. It existed and I just acted on it. At others, like just now, it made me uncomfortable. The guy never even retaliated. Why the hell didn't I leave him alone? Several days later, any feelings of unease long forgotten, I walked into the entertainment room, home early from work and found Peter on the couch watching TV intently, fly open, cock out, hand busy. "Fuck!" I yelled, clapping my hands over my eyes, heart twanging like a giant rubber band, feet frozen to the ground. "What the hell!" "Shit!"I could hear frantic fumbling, sounds of a zipper being pulled up, voices from the TV. Then silence. That and the roaring in my ears. "What the hell!" I shouted again furiously, so angry I could hardly speak. "In here? During the day? It could have been Robin!" "No!" he said urgently. "No, Robin just left to Ashley's house, Mom went shopping." He paused. "I thought it was just me." "Pervert!" "Andy," he said. Was he laughing? I was going to kill him! Then he said quietly "It's okay now. Open your eyes." "Like hell!" I was still shouting. Why was he sounding so normal? His voice had been quite gentle. I wanted to hit him but my legs felt very shaky. "Can we talk about this?" he asked. I sensed him move and for a split second, all my muscles froze. Then spinning around, I stalked up the stairs. "Like hell!" I said, in a low furious whisper, one I was sure he still heard. Later I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with my mind jumping all over the place. My god! In the entertainment room! If Dad or Mom found out what Sweet Peter was really like..! It was hard not to think in exclamations. I turned on my side. Stupid jerk. Playing with himself like that. Hah, the late night study sessions in his room are real educational, I'll bet! The sight of Peter and his slowly moving hand and those softly parted lips seen in profile seemed imprinted in my head. Even in that he was so...so... I rolled over on my back again. Unhurried? Composed? I felt wretched. As if he had all the time in the world and was content to wait for his pleasure instead of forcing it. What a relief the couch didn't face the door-way directly where I couldn't possibly have avoided an eye-ful. And that the many pillows and his hand itself had hidden any specifics from view. I was probably going to need therapy after this! What had he been jerking off to anyway? As if they'd been waiting in the wings, the voices from the TV began to play in my head. I was slightly amazed I even remembered. I thought hard. Cruel Intentions? Dweeb! Who jacks off watching Sarah Michelle Gellar? On HBO?? She wasn't even hot! My body realized what my mind didn't until later, that I was strangely emotionally exhausted, and I fell asleep still thinking of what had happened. When I woke up, I stayed in my room on the computer playing games. I had woken up feeling calmer. I mean, he was a guy after all. So he'd taken advantage of a situation and indulged himself. Was I going to judge him for being a guy? Just because I had a low sex drive and wasn't used to getting all worked up about girls, brunette or otherwise, didn't mean most guys had the same needs, if my friends' conversations were anything to go by. I had of course dated a few girls in high school on occasion with the usual necking sessions but it'd stayed at first base. I tended to date 'nice' girls that I was pals with and I'd never pushed for more. Often I woke up with cum all over me, having shot my load at night during intense dreams that I could never quite remember in the morning. So when the knock came on my door sometime before dinner, I called out an abstracted "What?" without taking my eyes off the computer screen where I was in the process of ducking from enemy fire. "It's me, can I talk to you for a minute?" Peter said. "Fine," I said, not looking around as he came in and softly shut the door. He watched me play for a few minutes and I wondered if he was really watching the game or trying to gauge my mood. But when I took a hit, his groan was in sync with mine so perhaps that was really where his attention was. It was clear my attention wasn't or I would have seen that bullet coming. Damn, now I had only 3 lives left. Perhaps I should encourage him to finish this soon, before I died any more. But even as I wondered what to say, he was stepping in. "Listen, I'm sorry. I know I made you uncomfortable and it won't happen again. So you don't have to worry about Robin." It sounded sincere and anyway, the nap had helped me come to terms with it. "And mom," I said sternly. "Nah," he said solemnly. "You don't have to worry about Abby." Pause. "She is always careful to make a noisy entrance." "Wha..!" I spun around in my chair to stare at him, considering it, rapidly flicking through my memory and realizing...yes, she always did stomp loudly up the stairs when she had to enter any of our rooms. And then I was hooting with laughter. "Oh my God, I never realized..." "She's a smart woman," he said, lips twitching. I cocked an eye-brow at him. "Or maybe she learnt the hard way?" "Is that a bad pun?" he dead-panned. That one made me choke. "Are you avoiding the question?" I returned. My laughter subsiding to a grin, I rocked the chair slowly, using one foot pressed against the floor as leverage. He lifted both hands in a 'hey, don't blame me' gesture. "If she did, it wasn't me." "Well, it wasn't me either so you can take that look off your face." "Just smart then." I continued to grin at him and he watched me with that familiar half-smile, those eyes of his so still, as if he didn't want to miss a thing. How odd. "So we cool?" he asked finally, pushing himself away from the wall where he'd been leaning. "Yeah, but it's just a temporary ceasefire so don't get used to it." He smiled as if genuinely amused then left, closing the door behind him. It astonished me to find I'd been grinning to myself and staring at nothing while the enemy made mince meat of me online for over fifteen minutes after he left the room. Of course over dinner I felt compelled to make up for my earlier lapse of judgment. I didn't waste any time either. As soon as everyone had started to dig in, I said "Hey, Peter?" "Hmm?" Why did it feel like he knew what I was going to do? That half-smile appeared and I longed to wipe it off. "If you ever have a baby girl, I think you should call her Sarah." Robin looked daggers at me. She had no idea what the barb meant but she knew me well enough to know that it couldn't be anything nice. Peter said nothing. And we were back to normal. A few weeks later, walking down the hallway after a trip to the bathroom, I saw the light spilling out from under his door. I paused in disbelief. It was two in the night. The guy was insane! A few strides took me to his bedroom door and then I was pushing it open without knocking. He was at his desk poring over a book, his eyes glassy with sleep as he looked up at me. "Hey," he said, smiling tiredly. I scowled at him. "Aren't you done yet?" "Just a bit more." "Would you just get into bed?" "Ohh," he moaned, his head dropping down onto the desk, his voice a little muffled. "I want to." I watched him, angry because he pushed himself so hard. Angry that he didn't know when enough was enough. Angry with him because why the hell was I standing in his doorway even bothering? "I don't know why you think you have to kill yourself over some stupid tests." Head askew, he looked at me. "You know I want to transfer from the community college to a university and I have to maintain my grades. I'm barely keeping up as it is." It was true, his schooling had followed a very erratic course through no fault of his own and it had its effect. There had just been too many transfers and it hadn't been constant either as he moved from foster home to foster home. However I stayed annoyed. Closing his eyes, he pushed his fingers tight against the eyelids as if to try and ease the strain there. "I'm terrified I'll screw up and have to give up college." "So what?" I asked, incredulous. "Do you think Dad will care?" It had never been taken for granted that Peter would stay on with us after he turned eighteen. He had been almost an adult when he came to us from the foster care system and it is foolish to expect love and unconditional support to always work miracles. However, my parents are nothing if not optimists. They had calmly done what they do so well, nurturing and supporting, filling the void in his life like they had filled ours and making no attempt to bind him down. And in all honesty, Peter hadn't fought them every inch of the way like I had either. His eighteenth birthday had come and gone but Peter had stayed, the last piece to our family. "Is that who you think I'm doing it for? Dad?" he asked, smiling a little. No. I knew he wasn't. He was doing it for him. I had always known, even without him saying a thing, that it was something he just had to do. I didn't know at what point in the years before we met he had set his goals but it was clear he would meet them or die trying. He finally sat up, rolling his shoulders and trying to work the kinks out of his neck. I found myself actually taking a step further into the room with the vague notion of rubbing his shoulders before I stopped. Jeez. If he wanted to kill himself, far be it from me to get in the way. When I had stood there for a full three minutes and still not gone back to bed, I gave up. "I'll bring some coffee up for you." My tone was reluctant. He'd been rubbing at his eyes with both hands, but at this he stopped. "Oh my God," he said in a hushed voice, "Are you being nice?" "Oh my God," I said sarcastically, "Are you being funny?" Idiot. He grinned. Oddly enough his shoulders went a little straighter and his eyes looked a little brighter than when I'd first walked in. Feeling slightly mollified for reasons known only to God, I resisted making all the other smart-ass comments that had zinged into my brain after the last one. Then he had to go and give me that smile as he asked "Are you really going to make me coffee?" Turning smartly, I threw over my shoulder, "It's sweet how you never lose that child-like faith in people, Peter." It was annoying that even though he groaned, the smile never left his voice. Probably because he knew I was heading down the hallway in the direction of the stairs. Jerk. *~* Work was normally awful. That day it was hellish. All morning there had been difficult customers by the dozen, a shortage of available hands due to two co-workers switching to schedules later on in the day on almost no notice, not to mention spills and machine malfunctions. All around tempers had been running high. The only silver lining was that I'd been let off a full four hours early since I'd had to do the work of three from the time we opened in the morning. Waiting only for the two co-workers to show up, I changed out of my work clothes and set off on the long walk home. The thought of coming back the next morning almost made me sick and I felt my heart sink. Did I want to wake up every morning dreading work? What kind of life was that? Jesus, I thought, I think I'm ready to go back to school. It would have to wait a bit though, while I took the necessary tests and went through the torturous process of applying to various universities. Nevertheless, I knew it had to beat what I was running from. I grimaced, anticipating Dad's smug looks, hardly noticing that I had reached the local football field, my feet automatically carrying me along its edge past the groups of people out on it. Home was a few streets beyond it. Enemy Mine Usually I could expect voices to call out to me, especially if the team from my old high school were at practice, but today I kept my head down, trying to talk myself into not quitting my job immediately to keep the cash flowing, intent only on getting home without having to make any conversation. The up-coming one with my parents and their subsequent I-told-you-so's were preying on my mind enough. I frowned as I skirted the bleachers, making plans. The college fund was taken care of, thanks to the parents, with a slight possibility of a football scholarship but there still remained other things, like location and major. Did I really want to move away from home to a new city? My mind rejected the notion instantly but before I could get any further along that line of thought, I found myself distracted by the sound of voices coming from the other side of the concrete. A few words were all that were necessary to tell me that a session in bullying and intimidation was being conducted somewhere beyond my line of vision and I sighed in irritation even as my feet carried me around the rows of seats towards the voices. Really, did I need this today, on top of everything else? Save someone from getting their ass whooped? And then I heard it. Peter's voice, still calm, still unhurried. "Look, you've had your fun. Why don't you all just leave from here and we won't mention this to anyone..." "Oh yeah? You gonna make me, foster-boy?" an unseen voice jeered, to a chorus of mocking laughter. What the hell? "Come on, guys, let's not do this-" Peter said again. For maybe all of a nanosecond, I stood rooted to the ground and then I was racing, following the natural curve of the structure, aware only of the fury building inside. They weren't very far away and I was running so fast, I almost ran smack into them, skidding to a stop at the very last second. There were three of them, all bigger and at the very least Peter's age but I worked out religiously at the gym, had played football in high school and was presently hopping mad. Not to mention the element of surprise worked in my favor. They'd only started to turn around when I grabbed the one furthest from the wall by the shirt and shoved him as hard as I could away from the rest of us. Unable to keep his balance, he landed on his ass several feet away where he stayed, probably while his brain tried to catch up with events. There were yells of surprise from the other two but I was already moving. Swinging my arm, I smashed my fist into the face of the bigger of the two, putting all my power into it. His head jerked backwards and I saw him moan, his hands flying to cover his nose as he staggered backwards. Naturally all this had left an opening for the third guy and he got a punch in but the angle was wrong and it caught me in the side instead of the middle of my stomach. Not to say it didn't hurt but I was still mad so I didn't let it slow me in the least. I saw Peter jump in, but I had already got the last guy by the front of his shirt and whatever Peter had been about to do, he backed off. With his other friends down and the changed odds, I knew the guy wouldn't try anything stupid. With my hands still fisted in his shirt, I brought my face really close to his and snarled, "If I ever see you or your friends around this guy again, I'll come after you with a knife, you got that?" He started to talk really fast, stammering about jokes and a bit of fun but I shoved him away so I wouldn't give in to temptation and beat him to a pulp anyway. Jesus, my hand hurt. As did my side. I stood there, dragging in great gulps of air and aware of our company departing swiftly. We were alone. "My hero," Peter said mildly, sounding part amused. There didn't appear to be a scratch on him anywhere, none that I could see anyway. "Get your books." He took one look at my face and without another word, started to gather them from where they lay all across the ground. They'd evidently caught him on the way to or from the library. I took off for home in long rapid strides, setting a hard pace despite the aches and he followed me in silence. Home was silent and empty, mom having gone to attend a meeting of one of those committees she was on. Robin was still at school. As soon as we were inside the door, I strode straight up to my room, unable to bring myself to even look at him. I lay in bed on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the pain, the churning thoughts, and most of all, the overwhelming anger that was still pulsing with life in my veins, making me shake. When Peter walked in, I still didn't look at him. "Get out," I told him through my teeth. "I brought something, for your hand." "Get out." He walked over and sat down on the bed beside me, reaching to put something on the end table then bending forward slightly to look at my face, the side of one leg resting lightly against my waist. "Hey," he said very quietly, maybe because he'd noticed the shaking. I sat up a little. "Get out," I shouted, practically in his face. I could tell he was startled but he only put a hand against my chest and gently but firmly pushed me back until I was prone again, holding me down with the lightest of pressure. Seeing he was only an inch taller than me and with our bodies a similar build, it was easily done. My strength at football didn't translate to overall muscle and besides, I was trembling too much for physical differences, if any existed, to matter. "Hey," he said again, very gently, drawing out the word, not a question but a verbal caress. I wasn't fighting off the hand holding me in place but I didn't stop yelling either. "You...you..." I stopped, unable to think, barely able to speak, capable only of feeling. "Why are you so goddamn CALM all the time? What the HELL is wrong with you?" He just looked at me, watching as I dragged air into lungs so tight it felt like I might die if the pressure didn't ease soon, trying to understand. "I heard you talking to them. Talking!" "I was hoping I wouldn't have to fight them, I thought if I could maybe..." "Fight? FIGHT? You wouldn't even have run!" My throat was starting to hurt from all the abuse it was undergoing. He looked at me then, astonished. And that smile began to come back into his voice. "You think I'm a victim?" At the words, all that strong emotion began to drain out of me and I had the horrible feeling I was going to cry. Please God, no. I laid one arm across my eyes, hiding. "You're a victim for me," I whispered, hating how my voice broke. He leaned further forward and pried my hand away, forcing me to look at him. "Andy," he said softly, real laughter in his tone. "I'm not going to sit here and let you compare yourself to some street punks, ok?" There it was, that half-smile that drove me mad each time. As if he knew something I didn't. "Besides, with you? I'm just letting you flex your muscles." His smile grew as I gaped at him. "A little." Well! That certainly stopped the tears. After a few speechless seconds, I huffed and he laughed. I probably should-would-have said something smart and put him in his place but I was exhausted from all that emotion and now that everything inside me was better, the aches and pains in my body were making their presence felt with a vengeance. Because I believed him. Believed he wasn't my victim or anybody else's. In spite of him sounding like...like...he was in control of...of...something. Oh, who knew what, who cared. I was tired. The shaking finally stopped. More as confirmation than as a real test, I reached out for his right forearm and applying just enough pressure, started to twist it backwards. I felt the muscles in his arm flex under my fingers as he exerted enough force in return to keep his arm where it was, letting me feel the strength in him. Ok, definitely no victim. "I'm a product of the foster care system, that great school of hard knocks. You think I haven't learnt how to take care of myself along the way?" he asked, watching my face. Picking up the 'something' he'd got me - which turned out to be a bag of frozen peas - he placed it over the back of my hand, frowning at the state my knuckles were in. "As you would have found out if you'd let me handle the guy that punched you," he added more firmly, as he switched his attention to my other injury. I let him carefully pull one end of my shirt up and look that side over for damages. "Bruise tomorrow," he announced after a few seconds, letting the shirt fall. I grunted in reply and we watched each-other for a while as the ice surrounding the bag slowly melted against my skin and drops of water started dotting the sheet under my hand. "So why wouldn't you fight them?" I asked. "Didn't want trouble for Tom." "Oh. OH." My brow furrowed as I began to consider the bigger picture. "Yes, oh." He grinned at me. Then "Don't worry, if it comes to that, I'll handle Tom." The room grew silent again. "Frozen peas?" I said finally, just to say something even though the silence had been comfortable, sitting up a little to put the bag back down on the table. "I save your butt and this is the most you can come up with?" I lay down again. Both his knees were now pressed against my side, one arm stretched out behind him, taking his weight as he leaned on it watching me. His other hand had been lying across his thigh but at my words it drifted to the side of my face, in the barest of touches. Smiling, he leaned more fully into me, until his face was close to mine and the fabric of his shirt brushed against mine. "Thank you," he said. Why was I holding my breath, I wondered in some corner of my mind. Why did this feel like...waiting? I felt his thumb brush slowly against my bottom lip and a thousand sensations exploded across every inch of skin all down the length of my body. My cock responded to that single touch as if all the nerve endings there had gone into sensory overload. Even while my mind struggled for thought amid the rush of feeling, he slowly turned to look directly at my crotch where my hard-on strained against its confines. As if he knew..! I froze. Oh God...! He didn't give me any time to do more than panic. He bent, taking my lips in a gentle kiss, a slow tantalizing brush of lips against lips while his eyes stared into mine. My hands came up to grab his arms, whether for support or a plea not to stop, I didn't know. He took his time, not deepening it, not rushing, just that bare minimum contact that went on and on and on until I gasped his name, my mouth falling open under his, back arching helpless in the grip of a need I'd never felt before. When the kiss finally deepened, I actually felt the muscles in my body go lax. It was so deep, so perfect, all Peter. His fingers were in my hair, making kneading movements as if loving the texture of the blond strands. When he finally pulled away, I could only lie there, burning with need. Waiting. He climbed into bed next to me but did nothing besides curl on his side, so he could pull me closer with an arm around my waist and still watch me. We lay in silence as I ran my gaze over that thick soft black hair, those curious dark eyes...the soft lips...the lean muscles... I watched him for what was our first time in such close quarters yet realizing that I had watched him like this for a long time...years...maybe ever since the first day. At home, at the gym, in the pool in summer, at breakfast, at the study table in dim light...I knew that face and body almost as well as I knew mine. Why had I not seen that until now? I was distracted from my thoughts when he leaned in to kiss me again. "Well, this is going to take some getting used to," he teased, breaking the kiss. "You not fighting me anymore." "Why didn't you say something?" I asked, hearing the complaint in my voice. He sighed. "It was your journey to make, Andy." "Though," he added, smiling down at me, "I have to say you're taking it better than I'd have thought." I was. For two years, I'd waged a war I wasn't even aware of, not with Peter but myself, and it felt good to finally stop. We kissed for a long time, until my lips felt swollen and raw, until my body was twisting restlessly against his, until the possibility of embarrassing myself became a real threat and then I drew back. I stared at the ceiling and tried to string two sensible thoughts together, head spinning like I had stepped off the craziest roller coaster ride of my life. This was sort of a lot to absorb. Right up till five minutes ago, he'd been my biggest enemy. Now suddenly I was gay and had intimate knowledge of how his tongue felt down my throat. How incredibly awkward and embarrassing. How wrong. How natural. ...Wait. I jack-knifed up in bed. "You were jerking off to Sarah Michelle Gellar!" I accused. "Ryan Phillippe, blondie," he corrected on a yawn. "And are you stupid? Do you really not see the incest theme?" I blushed and lay back down again. Oh my god. Gay and incest. This was all really...too much. I covered my face. He turned towards me, trying to peer over my hands. "Andy?" "Don't say anything else!" I demanded. "Not a word!" I rolled over, trying to disappear into the pillow and felt him lean in, his hard length a brand against my hip, breath hot against my ear. "Andy?" he whispered. Of course he wasn't going to listen to a word I said. "What?' I said, peeved. "Do you believe in love at first sight?" And I could tell he was smiling.