Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/266620.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_RPF, British_Actor_RPF
  Relationship:
      James_Phelps/Oliver_Phelps
  Character:
      James_Phelps, Oliver_Phelps, Susan_Phelps, Martyn_Phelps
  Additional Tags:
      Twincest, POV_First_Person, Dubious_Consent, Sleepy_Sex, RPF
  Series:
      Part 1 of The_Sleepwalker_Series
  Stats:
      Published: 2005-12-13 Words: 8211
****** Sleepwalker ******
by MaxWrite
Summary
     When James sleepwalks, he's free to seek out what he truly wants.
We slept in the same bed until we were seven. I dunno why, we just liked being
together. Dad worried.
“It’s not normal. Boys aren’t supposed to be all … all …”
“Affectionate?” offered mum.
“Well … yes, quite frankly, they’re not.”
“Martyn, that’s ridiculous.”
“I was never like that with my brother.”
“Yes, and now you only talk to him at holidays and reunions. Can we please just
let them enjoy this before they out grow it? Please?”
Dad sighed. “Well, just as long as they do outgrow it.”
“I’m sure they will. I highly doubt they’ll be seventeen and still sharing a
bed.”
They never did realise just how much their voices carried up through those
heating vents in the old house.
Well, we did grow out of it. Sometime before our eighth birthday, it just
…stopped. We didn’t need to anymore, I guess. Mum missed it more than anyone.
Still does, I think.
“Look at them, aren’t they precious?” she said one day, showing pictures to a
friend of hers who’d come over for lunch. James frowned and approached the back
of the couch where they were sitting, peered down at the photo album. Nearly
all the colour drained from his face.
“When did you take that?” he asked.
“When you were five, love,” said mum. “Look at you with your arm draped over
Ollie like that.”
James stormed out of the room then, but mum took no notice. I followed him. Mum
had an album full of adorable pictures of us. I wasn’t keen to hang around
either.
“Can you believe her?” James asked as soon as I entered his room. “She’s
humiliating us!”
“That’s kind of her thing, Jay. It’s just what she does.”
“Yeah, well, she needs a new hobby, if you ask me. What does she mean by
showing those pictures to people? I can’t believe she even took them! While we
slept! That’s just creepy!”
“She misses her little boys, that’s all. Would you stop pacing? Come here.” I
took him by his shoulders to hold him still.
“I don’t see how you’re okay with this. She could’ve at least waited till we
were out of the room. We’re seventeen! What seventeen-year-old wants pictures
like that shown round? God, why did we even do that?”
“We were little, we didn’t know any better. And we had so much fun together.
Remember how we used to pretend our blankets were a forte, remember that?”
He smiled in spite of himself. “Yeah, I remember.”
“And how many times did we pop the screen out of the window and climb out onto
the roof?”
“We could’ve really hurt ourselves.”
“That’s what made it fun.”
He smiled more broadly.
“Mum and dad never did find out about that.” I stepped closer to him. “We had
an amazing time back then. There’s nothing weird about that.”
He shrugged. “I guess.”
“What’s up, boys?” said a voice from the doorway. James and I turned toward it.
Our father had poked his head in and was eyeing us suspiciously.
“Nothing,” mumbled James, stepping away from me and crossing his arms. I stuck
my hands in my pockets.
“Sorry about your mother,” said dad, trying to sound cheerful, but still giving
us the hairy eyeball. “You know how she gets.”
I returned his nervous smile. James didn’t respond at all.
“Come back down. I made her put that infernal album away. And we’re about to
eat. James, Christi’s wondering where you’ve gotten to.”
“We’ll be down in a minute,” said James, turning away from him. When he left,
James turned back and glared at the spot where his head had been.
“Why’s he suddenly so interested in getting you and that woman’s daughter
together?” I asked.
“Hadn’t you noticed?” he said, a nasty look on his face. “He thinks I’m gay.”
“What?” I acted shocked, but I wasn’t really. James hadn’t come out to anybody
yet, but it was clear to me he wasn’t straight.
“He had this bizarre talk with me the other night. Asked me if I fancied
anybody, and when I said ‘no’, which is the truth, he asked if I’d been
noticing any girls at school.”
“Are you serious?” I asked in disbelief. My jaw was on the floor. I sat on his
bed and watched him continue to pace.
“Yeah. I said ‘yes’, hoping he’d shut up and go away. But then he started going
on about Mrs. Greenwood’s daughter and how they’re coming for lunch on Saturday
and hasn’t Christi grown into a pretty thing, and isn’t it interesting how
she’s always talking about me and staring at me.”
“Well, she is always staring at you,” I smirked. He shot me a look.
“Yes, I noticed that, and it’s bloody annoying. I’m not interested and I’m not
going back down there so mum can embarrass us and Christi can undress me with
her eyes and dad can keep an eye on you and me, make sure we’re not playing
footsie under the table or something!”
I didn’t bother acting surprised at that statement. James and I both knew it;
dad thought James was gay and that it was somehow my fault. Because of our
excessive closeness when we were younger. He’s never questioned my sexuality.
Not to my face anyway. I have to wonder what he thinks of me.
“It’s his biggest fear now we’re famous, you know. He’s terrified the world
will discover his son is a big -”
“Keep your voice down!” I hissed. “They’ll hear you.”
He reluctantly shut his mouth, but he looked like he wanted to punch something.
“I’m not going back down there,” he finally said, his voice lowered.
“Okay,” I said. I stood and went to him. I wanted to touch him, but it wasn’t
safe. Dad could’ve returned any second. “Shall I bring you something to eat
then?”
“Yeah,” he said after a moment, sighing heavily. “Thank you.”
“Forget it. Do you want me to come right back?”
“No, it’ll look weird.”
“I’ll be no longer than fifteen minutes, okay?”
I went back down into the trenches. There were questions. I told them James
wasn’t feeling well, which wasn’t exactly a lie. Christi looked disappointed,
but moments later began batting her eyelashes at me.
 
A year after we stopped sharing a bed, James started sleepwalking. He doesn’t
do it all the time, only when he’s stressed. Sometimes we find him curled up
under the kitchen table where he and I used to hide and spy when mum and dad
would have company over. Other times, we’d find him sprawled out on the old
recliner in the basement. It used to live upstairs, but we’ve since redecorated
and moved it down out of the way. Grandma used to sit in it when she’d visit.
She’d sit there, taking sips from her hip flask, and tell us stories about her
life that may or may not have been true. James and I would sit on the carpet
before her and just listen, fascinated.
Once, I awoke to find him standing before my bedroom window trying to pull the
screen out, his eyes closed.
“That was the old house,” I whispered, gently taking his hands from the window.
I lead him back to his room and tucked him in, worrying about what would’ve
happened if he’d actually succeeded in removing that screen.
Well, he’d started sleepwalking again and I wondered why. Our shooting schedule
was pretty hectic, but that had never bothered him before. We were booked for a
few conventions later that summer, and I thought that might’ve been it. But
then he told me about the talk dad had had with him a few days earlier, and I
knew that had to be the trigger.
One night, he slipped into my room. I sat up.
“That was the old house, James,” I whispered, exasperated. He was asleep, of
course, and couldn’t hear me – er, I guess he couldn’t hear me, I don’t really
know how it works. I watched him wearily as he shuffled toward the window. But
he began to veer off course a bit. He wasn’t going for the window. He was
coming toward me.
He sat next to me and lay down. The deep, steady breathing I heard told me he
was truly unconscious. I stared at him for a moment, wondering what to do.
Finally, I shrugged and threw the covers over him, lay next to him, facing him.
“What’s the matter, Jamie?” I whispered. I wouldn’t dare call him that when
he’s awake. I touched his face, brushed his hair off of it. My fingers traced
his jaw line down to his neck, and my hand rested there. He sighed a bit on his
next exhalation. He looked peaceful and like he was having pleasant dreams. I
began to drift off as well.
At some point, I took my hand away. I felt his cold feet shortly thereafter,
seeking warmth against my legs. His snoring woke me from the initial stages of
sleep, and I rolled over, turning my back to him. Moments later, he was pressed
up against me, snoring into my shoulder blade.
I decided to test him. I slipped away from him, slid all the way to the edge of
the bed, and I watched him. He frowned and whimpered and immediately began to
seek me out. He reached out, his hand like a large, slow-moving, flesh-coloured
spider, venturing further and further away from his body. His fingertips
finally grazed my arm, and he stopped frowning. Sure enough, he began to make
his way over to me. I decided to meet him halfway. I extended my arms and he
unconsciously moved into them. His head found my chest and he settled
peacefully against me.
“You just want to be near me?” I whispered into the top of his head. “You miss
this, eh? Yeah, me too.”
I kissed his hair and closed my eyes again.
In the morning, he was gone. When I found him having breakfast, I asked, “Did
you happen to wake up anyplace strange this morning?”
The hand holding the cereal spoon fell away from his mouth and he gave an
exasperated sigh. “Again?” he asked. I nodded. “Oh, for crying out … Where?
Where did you find me? Do mum and dad know?”
“In bed with me, and no, they don’t.”
“Good, let’s not tell them … what?”
I looked up from the toaster. “Huh?”
“In bed with you?”
“Yeah. You came in round one thirty this morning, and I thought you were going
for the window again, but instead you got in bed with me. I guess you woke up
and left at some point.”
“… I guess.”
“You don’t remember at all?”
“No. Do I ever? Why did I get in bed with you?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? You seek out childhood comforts when you sleepwalk,
Jay. You miss what we -”
“I do not miss that!” he snapped.
“On some level, you clearly do,” I replied calmly, buttering my toast. “I’m not
saying you want it to start up again. Remember, you’re doing this
unconsciously. This is simply how your desire for comfort and security are
manifesting.”
“Well, thank you, Dr. Phil,” he said thickly through his mouthful.
“Oh, don’t be like that. I heard mum bustling about when I got up, she’ll be
bursting in here any second, yelling at us to hurry.”
He mumbled unintelligibly, seeming to pout as he chewed.
We didn’t get to do much on set that day. We shot a very short scene, which,
granted, took hours to do, but there was a great deal of waiting around before
and after. James seemed normal enough around the cast and crew, but when we got
back to our trailer and were alone, he fell silent, went stone-faced. He
flopped down on the couch and stared straight ahead. I kept casting worried
glances at him as I popped the top on a can of root beer.
“’Sup, Jay?” I said, still scrutinising him.
“I don’t understand why I would go to your bed,” he muttered, still not looking
at me.
“I told you why.”
He looked like he was deep in thought. Then, slowly, he raised his eyes to meet
mine.
“It’s always you,” he said, almost whispering. I said nothing, afraid to
interrupt his train of thought. “The kitchen table was our hideout. The roof
was a secret thing we did together. The recliner … I thought that one was about
grandma, but I was always with you. She never told us stories individually.”
I went and sat next to him. “So, I’m your security blanket. Is that so bad?”
He shook his head. “I dunno.”
“What d’you mean?”
“I dunno,” he repeated, seeming to slump down further in his seat. “I … let’s
not talk about it just now, okay?”
I stared at his profile for a moment, trying to decipher the look on his face,
but all I could see was confusion and maybe a bit of anger. I sipped my root
beer, wondering what was going on in his head.
That night, I lay in bed and I waited for the inevitable. I knew he was going
to turn up sooner or later. And I wanted to be awake when he did. I wanted to
be able to make room for him and make sure he had enough of the blankets. And
sure enough, he came shuffling in around quarter after one that morning. He
closed the door lightly behind him and made his way over. Just like the night
before, he lay next to me and groped for me. I enveloped him in my arms and
just held him.
I did miss being close to him. We never used to cuddle like this when we were
kids, but I loved having him close by at night, knowing he was there, sharing
secrets beneath the covers. I loved what an unstoppable team we were during the
day, tag team aggravating mum and dad, scheming and plotting in our many hiding
places. We were going to take over the world. Together.
And all those nights spent on the roof, counting stars against the inky sky or
watching the moon peek out from behind bluish-gray clouds, illuminating them
from the inside out it seemed. Everything seemed magical on those nights. And
everything seemed possible. And we wanted for nothing on those nights. There
was no wondering about tomorrow or next year or if there was someone somewhere
who truly understood what it was like to be a kid, to be us. That person was
always just a foot or two away, just over to the left or right. And it didn’t
matter what happened tomorrow, just as long as we could always look over and
find each other.
Things had changed so much over the passed few years. Things were hectic and
volatile, and everything was everyone’s business and nothing was sacred or
private. We’d belonged only to each other once, and now it seemed we belonged
to the world. In many ways, it’s wonderful. In other ways … I understand why
James’s sleepwalking started up again. Of course he was stressed.
I listened to him breathe, felt his warm breath on my bare chest. I thought
about that day, so many years ago, when we’d overheard that conversation mum
and dad had had about us sleeping together. “I highly doubt they’ll be
seventeen and still sharing a bed,” mum had said. I smiled against James’s
hair. If she only knew.
James slipped a leg over me. He was hard inside his pyjamas, I could feel it
against my thigh. I suppose I should’ve been repulsed or something. But I
wasn’t. Not even close. It didn’t seem the least bit weird. I only wished he
could be conscious and enjoying the closeness along with me. I only wished he
could be aware that his erection was pressing into me and not care, just like I
didn’t. I wished we could lie there together and hold each other because we
both wanted to and look into each other’s eyes and know that we were both
thinking the same thing, that we were both thinking “Fuck what the world
thinks”.
I pressed my lips to his forehead. After a moment, he pressed back. I swept his
hair off his face. He sighed at the light touch of my fingers on his temple. I
nestled my thigh more tightly between his legs. He pushed his erection more
firmly against me.
“James?” I whispered, wondering if maybe he really was awake, maybe he was only
pretending. He didn’t respond.
I continued to wonder though. His responses didn’t seem like that of someone
who was really asleep. One more test, I thought. Just one more. If he wakes up
and slugs me in the eye, well, it’s better that happens sooner rather than
later.
I took a deep breath and held it without realizing it as I plunged my hand
down, slid it in between his crotch and my thigh, and I cupped him, felt his
hardness and his balls and I gave them a squeeze, massaged them a bit. I
watched his face and listened and waited. I felt him press into my hand, felt
him rock his hips, grinding against the new pressure.
“James,” I said more forcefully. Nothing.
Okay, then, I thought, one more test. This was the big one. I removed my hand
from between his legs and used it to grip his jaw and turn his face upward,
toward mine. His lips were parted slightly. I gulped and leaned in, extended my
tongue just a bit, licked his lips.
His upper lip twitched.
I licked again, and this time, I didn’t pull away. If he was going to freak out
and sink his teeth into my tongue, so be it. But that didn’t happen. Quite the
opposite, actually. He opened up a bit wider for me. I slipped my tongue inside
as far as it would go. His tongue licked at mine.
I was kissing him. I rolled him onto his back, cradled his neck and head in my
hand and kissed him deeply. He wasn’t exactly kissing back, but his mouth would
widen intermittently and I found I could let his jaw go, and his face remained
pointed toward mine. I went for his cock again, put my hand inside his pyjamas.
I stopped kissing him and watched his face as I wrapped my hand around his
shaft. I ran my fingers up and down it, feeling the way it curved slightly
upward, taking note of its thickness and length, the shape of the head. It felt
like mine. Almost exactly.
I stroked him gently and continued watching him. His left eyebrow twitched. He
turned his face away, then back again. He still looked relaxed and peaceful,
but he was, on some level, aware that something was happening. I stroked
faster, hoping to elicit a stronger reaction. I registered some slight
squirming, but for the most part he lay limply in my arms, his breathing
quickening.
I kicked the covers off us, hoping the sudden chill wouldn’t wake him. It
didn’t. I stopped masturbating him to push the stretchy, elastic waistband down
so I could see him, see his dick for the first time in, at least, a decade,
since the last time we bathed together.
“You look just like me,” I whispered, staring at it and caressing it lovingly.
I dunno what I expected it to look like. I reached down further and gave his
balls a squeeze and looked back at his face. I half expected him to be watching
me, but he was still fast asleep. My eyes traveled back and forth over the bare
expanse of skin from his crotch to his neck. He was exposed and completely at
my mercy, and it occurred to me that this might qualify as molestation. The
notion troubled me, made me very uneasy. I looked away from his erection, back
up at his face. And I wondered.
He had come to me, after all. I mean, yes, he was asleep, but he’d reached for
me, actively sought me out whenever I’d pull away. I kissed him, and he’d
opened his mouth for me. I touched him, and he’d pushed against that touch, no
matter what it was I was touching.
My hand gripped his cock again. He thrust gently into it and sighed. But it was
more than a sigh, it was a word. A name. My name.
“Ollie …”
Had there been any background noise at all, I would’ve missed it, would’ve
dismissed it as a simple breath. But he’d definitely said my name. He was
calling to me. And I couldn’t ignore that. I responded the only way that made
sense. I’d already begun, after all. And he wanted me to finish.
I almost couldn’t help myself anyway. Hearing him sigh my name like that,
knowing he needed me, caused something to awaken in me. I began stroking him
again, harder and faster than before, and I pushed my tongue back into his
mouth, deep inside, knowing it was as close to fucking him as I was going to
get.
And he responded. He opened his mouth and arched off the bed a little. And he
sighed again. Right into my mouth.
At this point, I wanted him so badly, I almost didn’t care about waking him up.
It crossed my mind briefly that he might just do that, that he might wake up
and find me doing things to his body and invading his mouth, and freak out. Our
relationship would be ruined forever, I knew that. But I couldn’t stop now. I
had to touch him. I had to taste him.
He was panting into my mouth now, his body quivering in my arms and his cock
pulsing in my fist. I began to wonder what he was seeing behind his eyelids
when he started softly groaning. I stopped kissing him so I could watch him
again. His eyes were darting about beneath his lids.
He convulsed particularly hard and I knew he was about to come. I slid my hand
out from under his head and leaned over to take his prick in my mouth. I
continued pumping his shaft while sucking lightly on the head, and I watched
him out of the corner of my eye. He arched again just as his cock gave a little
jerk, and a second later he was filling my mouth. A couple of his spasms shook
the bed, and I was surprised he didn’t wake up. I swallowed the warm, salty
liquid, not exactly loving the taste, but still disappointed when the flow
stopped. I swallowed the last of it and took my mouth away.
He was lying quite still again, breathing slightly harder than normal. And he
was reaching for me again. His left hand, which had been lying at his side, was
now pulling at my arm. I pulled his pants back up over his softening prick and
lay down next to him. And then he did the cutest thing I’ve ever seen him do;
he rolled toward me, onto his side, and buried his face in my armpit. Armpits
produce a lot of pheromones, so I can only assume he was craving my scent. I
couldn’t help but smile, and not just because his nose was poking and tickling
me. I didn’t even mind that I wasn’t going to get to orgasm as well. I could’ve
finished myself off if I’d really wanted to, but somehow it seemed wrong to do
that while he was asleep next to me. Yes, it is bizarre that I feel it’s okay
to touch him while he’s asleep, but not to touch myself. He’d asked me to touch
him, in his own unconscious way. I hadn’t gotten the go-ahead to toss myself
off, and I’m not sure how he could possibly manage to give me that permission
in his sleep anyway.
And it didn’t matter. He was peaceful and content and relaxed and in my arms,
happily sniffing at my armpit, and that was all I cared about.
 
I wasn’t surprised that he was, once again, gone in the morning, but I was
disappointed. I was hoping he’d stay. So, I hoped for the next best thing; that
he’d remember. No such luck. I didn’t bring it up, and neither did he.
But he came to me again that night. And the night after that, and the night
after that. And I made him come each time, afterward holding him securely in my
arms as we slept. The fifth night he visited, however, was a bit different.
He came in wearing his dark blue dressing gown. He closed the door and shuffled
toward me. I moved over to make room for him. He fell into bed, face up, and
just lay there as though waiting for something. I knew what it was too. He was
waiting for me to open his robe. I pulled at the belt, feeling a bit like I was
unwrapping a present. And I guess I was, really. I folded the cloth back,
revealing his perfect, naked form.
I wondered briefly how this had come about. Had he gone to bed naked and put
the dressing gown on in his sleep when he’d gotten up, or had he gone to bed
wearing it, which he never does? I couldn’t decide which was more unlikely, and
was soon distracted by other, more important matters, like, for instance, his
belly button, his nipples, his leaking cock, all of which required lots of
kisses and licks. But I kissed his mouth first, kissed him ‘hello’ first, as I
had done every night. I only wished he’d let me kiss him ‘goodbye’.
I lay between his legs and tended to his balls, lovingly bathing them with my
tongue, then taking them in my mouth and sucking them with my arms hooked under
his thighs, my hands gripping their tops. I don’t know how long I stayed down
there, flanked by his legs, surrounded by his skin, his warmth, his scent,
right up against my face and my nose. I didn’t ever want to come back up. I
became intensely aroused and began to grind against the bed. I finally couldn’t
hold back any longer. I unhooked one of my arms and reached underneath myself,
inside my cotton pants. I abandoned his balls, moved up a bit, took his cock in
my mouth and rolled onto my side so I could play with myself.
James, who’d been quite relaxed during his testicle bath, had begun to pant and
squirm until his body convulsed, his cock twitched, and he began to spurt into
my mouth. I took it all, drank him down, consumed him, feeling the pressure and
heat building between my own legs. When he was finished, when I’d swallowed the
last of him, I sat up. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t make myself come in his
presence without his permission, it just didn’t feel right. I leaned over and
whispered in his ear, “I’ll be right back, I promise.” I tore myself away from
him and dashed off to the bathroom where I came hard into a wad of toilet
paper, whispering his name as I did so, exhaling that one syllable over and
over.
I returned to my room to find him all fetal in the center of the bed, and was
immediately wracked with guilt for having left him. I rushed back to him, took
him in my arms, covered us both with blankets and snuggled him till I fell
asleep.
I woke up just after dawn, surprised and happy to find him still with me. I
smiled and held him tight, kissed his forehead and whispered, “I love you,”
several times, until he began to stir. I stopped dead. What would he say? Would
he be angry?
He made one final attempt to burrow into my armpit before opening his eyes and
looking up at me confusedly. We blinked at each other for a few seconds. Then
he frowned and sat up so quickly, the bed gave a little squeak.
“What – I –” he stammered, putting his hand to his head. “Oh, god …”
“Now, don’t freak out -”
“Oh, my god,” he said as he peeked under the covers at his naked body. “Oh, my
god.”
“James -”
“How long’ve I been here?”
“Er …” I glanced at my clock. “’Bout six hours, I think.”
“Six hours? And you just let me stay?”
“Well, I know you’ve no way to know this, but you can be very persistent when
you’re asleep -”
“Why am I naked?”
“Now, that I have no idea about.”
He hugged the covers close to his torso. “Turn round,” he demanded.
“What?”
“Close your eyes or something. I’m going.”
“Close my … you can’t be serious. I’ve already seen you, James. And anyway, we
look exactly -”
“I don’t care! Close your eyes!”
“James,” I said soothingly, touching his shoulder. He flinched, but he didn’t
pull away. “Just stay, okay?”
He fixed me with an accusatory glare. “You want this,” he said in a hushed
voice.
“Well -”
“You want this to start up again, don’t you?”
“Well, I didn’t before, but then you showed up that first night, and it was so
nice to have you … with me again.”
He was gaping at me in disbelief.
“Just stay. Just for a bit longer. Please? Ten minutes. If you want to leave
after that, I won’t stop you. I promise. Please?”
His gaze softened somewhat. He seemed to be considering it.
“You subconsciously want this for some reason. Don’t fight it. You’ll only end
up back here tomorrow night, you know that.”
His shoulders slumped and he bit his lip as he thought. He gave me a worried
little glance. I tried to look as supportive as possible. I didn’t dare move. I
didn’t want to scare him away.
But finally he laid back down, pulling the covers up to his chin and staring at
the ceiling. I cautiously lay next to him again, facing him, watching him,
watching his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed nervously.
“Relax, James. You’ve been doing this all week, nothing’s changed.”
“Oh, I think one really major thing has changed, wouldn’t you say?” he snapped.
“It’s no different than last night, okay? Just relax.” I placed a hand on his
belly.
“W-what’re you doing?” he asked.
“Um, well, you like to … cuddle.”
“I do?” he asked, frowning at the ceiling.
“Yeah. And other stuff.”
“… What other stuff?”
“Don’t worry about it, let’s just get some sleep, okay? You’re tired. Come
here.”
“But -”
I propped myself up on my elbow, looked down at him, gauging his reactions. As
I slid my arm under his neck, he stared back at me, wide-eyed and clearly
nervous. I chuckled a bit.
“I’m not going to hurt you, you know.”
His eyes darted as I drew him nearer, brought his head to my chest and settled
back down with him cradled in my arms. He fidgeted, shifted, and finally began
to relax. The tension dissolved from his muscles as the minutes ticked by. His
body seemed to melt, and soon he wasn’t afraid to move anymore, soon he felt
comfortable enough to nuzzle my chest a bit and caress my stomach.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Okay … Ol? What was the other stuff you mentioned before?”
I hesitated. I had no idea how he’d react to knowing what I’d done to him while
he slept.
“Uh,” I began. “I don’t remember exactly how it started. You see, you really
seem to enjoy … touching me and … being touched while you’re asleep. You sort
of reach for me and get annoyed if I pull away. And one night, I guess my hand
went wandering a bit, and, well, you seemed to like it, so …”
He didn’t respond right away. We lay together in silence for a couple of
minutes. I hadn’t finished the sentence, but he obviously knew what I meant.
And he wasn’t yelling or pulling away.
“What do you do to me?” he finally asked.
“Make you come. With my hand. Sometimes with my mouth. That’s all. Oh, and I
kiss you. You seem to like that.”
“I came? You’d think I’d wake up.”
“Yeah, you’d think that.”
“Yeah … What do you do with my … I mean, when I come, where do I, erm -”
“In my mouth. Always.”
“And you, er … swallow?”
“Yeah.”
I felt him take a deep breath. Warm air danced across my chest as he exhaled.
“And you kiss me?”
“Mm-hm.”
“What do I do?”
“You open your mouth and lick at me a bit.”
“Oh.” He said this as though I’d just revealed a mildly interesting fact, like
why the sky’s blue or how planes stay up. He didn’t sound like someone who’d
just discovered his brother had essentially been molesting him while he slept.
“What about you?” he went on after a moment. “Did you ever … you know?”
“Not in your presence. I go and do it in the bathroom.”
“Oh,” he said again in the same tone. “Why?”
This threw me a bit. Why? What’d he mean why? Wasn’t what I’d done to him
creepy enough? Did I really have to explain why I hadn’t felt right making
myself come while he slept, completely unaware, in my bed?
“Well, it just didn’t feel right. I mean, the whole situation was already a bit
dodgy, so …” I trailed off there and waited for him to go on.
“I’m gay, you know,” he said suddenly.
“I know.”
“You?”
“Not gay, exactly. More … curious, I guess.”
“Oh.”
I felt him nip at my chest and rub his nose against it. I felt him move his
body closer until his erection was right up against my thigh. I felt his hips
move, but only once. Had he just rubbed his cock against me?
I kissed his forehead. He accepted this, even leaned into the kiss a little. I
began to caress his back, my hand venturing onto the side of his ribcage and
down to his arse and his thigh. He didn’t protest.
“Did you think about fucking me?” he asked. Hearing him say that made my dick
twitch.
“Of course I did.”
“You never put your fingers inside me?”
“No. I was afraid that would wake you.”
He shifted again, sliding a leg over top of mine. His hips were moving ever so
slightly now. I brought a hand up to my face and licked a finger. That hand
moved slowly down, along the slope of his back to the rise of his bottom. My
dry fingers traveled along his crack, parting the skin, and my wet finger slid
inside, found his opening, pressed into it, breaching it. It convulsed several
times as my finger pushed its way in. James began to squirm.
“Had you ever thought of me that way before?” he asked, his tone normal, as
though my finger wasn’t buried inside him.
“Sexually? Er, yeah, I guess. I never meant to. Thoughts would just pop into my
head, you know?”
He turned his face up toward mine and our eyes locked. I moved my finger about,
and I guess I did something right, because he gave a soft little gasp and his
body jerked. I tried to duplicate what I’d done, and I kept doing it. His
breathing quickened.
“Mmm,” he exhaled. “Ollie …”
The gentle sighing of my name; it was soft and high-pitched and sounded almost
like a question and the sweetness of it broke my heart. I pulled my finger out
of him, rolled him onto his back. I covered his mouth with mine as I settled on
top of him. He kissed back, but only for a second. He pulled away shortly
thereafter.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he whispered. “It’ll change everything.”
I looked at him and stroked his cheek. “The change has already begun, James.
Don’t you think?”
The wheels in his head were spinning. He looked torn, worried. I slid off of
him, and he met my eyes, his own questioning.
“If you tell me to stop, I will,” I said. “I won’t touch you again if you don’t
want me to, even if you beg for it in your sleep.”
His conflicted look intensified, but he said nothing. I put my mouth to his
ear, asked him pointblank, “Do you want me to stop?” My hand slid onto his
crotch, cupped it beneath the covers.
“W-we really shouldn’t,” he whimpered.
“No, we shouldn’t,” I whispered, stroking his hardness. “But do you want me to
stop? Just say the word, James.”
“This is so sick,” he said in barely a whisper. His breaths were speeding up
again.
“We can just snuggle, if you like -”
“- this could really screw us up -”
“- all you have to do is tell me ‘no’ -”
“- and what if dad found out -”
“- ‘cause I don’t want to hurt you -”
“- so incredibly wrong -”
“- say the word, James.”
He was trembling. He looked frightened. He glanced off to the right, away from
me. He said, “This is so … so …” He didn’t seem able to finish.
“Tell me what you want. What will make you happy?”
And he finally answered. He didn’t say a word. He barely moved. The only thing
he did was close his eyes. That’s it.
And that was all I needed.
It was a gesture that spoke louder than any words he could’ve uttered. “Take
me,” it said. “Touch me,” it said. “All the things you’ve thought of doing
before, but were afraid to; do them,” it said. I roughly pulled his body right
up against mine, pulled his leg overtop of me, squeezed his thigh as my tongue
plunged into his mouth. I think I scared him a little with the intensity of my
need. Hell, I scared myself. I’d no idea how badly I’d wanted the go-ahead, how
much I’d wanted to get the “okay” from him. I’d been bottling up so much, even
as I’d touched him in the night, I’d kept so much of my passion locked away.
I’d had to, the full extent would’ve woken him. But by giving me permission,
he’d unlocked that little vault inside me. And now, there really was no turning
back.
I waited. It took everything I had, but I waited until he was ready. I’d never
have forgiven myself if I’d hurt him. I massaged and loosened him with my
fingers, sliding them into his warmth, one after the other, stroking his cock
with my other hand at the same time. Watching him was driving me mad, the way
his body reacted to my touch, the way he was forced to express his pleasure
mainly through movement, for fear of waking our parents. And every stifled
groan, every swallowed gasp filled his body with an electricity I could feel,
an urgency I could see. His thrusts, his arching up off the bed, even his
tongue making a pass along his upper lip; every move seemed controlled, as
though one slip would send all his swallowed sounds flying from his throat.
He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw as I hovered above him, poised
at his entrance. He was nervous, afraid even, but ready all the same, with his
legs spread wide. He was as desperate for it now as I was, and he was
determined to take me, all of me. His determination manifested in an angry
expression, his brow furrowed. If his eyes had been open, he’d’ve been glaring.
I forced my way in. He flinched a split second before I’d even touched him, but
his body accepted me. He didn’t make a sound, not initially. His eyes rolled
back in his head and he arched again. I watched his long neck, watched his
throat undulate beneath the creamy skin as though a scream I couldn’t hear was
flowing through it and out his open mouth. And I fucked him. I won’t kid
myself, I know what that was. It wasn’t lovemaking, although I love him
fiercely. That was not lovemaking. That was pure, unadulterated fucking. That
was the ultimate release. That was the closest to exploding a human being can
get without sustaining injury.
I had a need to fill his body with me, to inhabit every square inch of him.
When my tongue found his mouth again, it stayed there for some time, as I
rammed him into the mattress, not caring that the bed squeaked, not caring that
it was banging against the wall. I had no fear then. Our father, with his
prejudice and bigotry and pressuring and prying and macho bullshite, could go
straight to hell. Right then, I needed my brother. And he needed me.
I shifted my weight a little so I could grasp his cock. I began to pump it in
my fist, and he finally began to lose control.
“No,” he said. “Don’t.”
“Why?” I snarled. “Afraid? Afraid of being heard?”
“Yes.” He reached between us and tried to pull my hand away, but I grabbed it
with my free hand and pinned it above his head. His other hand I easily blocked
with my hip.
“Afraid Dad’ll hear and come find us like this?”
“Of course!” he hissed, his voice becoming shaky and slightly hysterical as the
pressure built in his midsection.
“Fuck him.”
“Ollie -”
“The hell with him.”
“But -”
“I hate the way he treats you.”
“Ungh!” he grunted loudly as I stroked him faster. He struggled to release his
hand from my grip, but failed.
“You’re perfect,” I murmured, nearing my climax. “You’re fucking perfect and
beautiful and I love you and I want to hear you scream.”
“No!” he whispered harshly through clenched teeth.
“Scream for me.”
“Don’t make me!”
But he couldn’t’ve stopped it then. He’d passed the point of no return. I felt
his prick convulse in my fist, and he dissolved into incoherence as his
slippery wetness spurted onto my hand and our bellies. And he cried out. He
couldn’t help it.
“Do you feel that?” I whispered shakily as my own body shuddered. “Do you feel
me coming inside you?”
“Yes!” he growled back.
“Do you, baby?”
“I feel … every … single … drop of you!” He emitted another loud grunt as his
body gave one final and particularly hard jerk. He deposited one last load of
cum onto his stomach, and then seemed to sink into the mattress, panting,
utterly exhausted.
I relaxed on top of him, breathing hard against his neck. The lust, the need,
the desire, it all sort of fell away as I began to catch my breath and regain
my senses. The magnitude of what we’d just done … of what I’d just done, seeped
into my brain. He’d never actually said ‘yes’. Had I imagined his consenting? I
wasn’t sure anymore. I was afraid to move. I had to look at him eventually, but
I just couldn’t. I was terrified of what I might see in his eyes … of what I
might not see. Oh, god …
He’d cried “No!” What’d he said no to? I couldn’t remember.
“Mmm,” he groaned and shifted beneath me. His hands went roaming across my
sweaty back. I dared to look, pushed up onto my elbows and looked into his
eyes. He was smiling at me. A dopey, satisfied sort of smile.
“You all right?” I asked.
“Yeah … Erm, it’s nearly eight-thirty. We should -”
“Yeah, we should get going.”
We sat up and proceeded to clean ourselves off with tissues, casting
embarrassed glances up into each other’s eyes.
“Do you regret it?” I asked.
He stopped wiping his stomach for a moment. “No. You?”
“No. D’you think we will eventually?”
He pondered that for several seconds. “I don’t know,” he finally answered. He
tossed his tissues away and got out of bed, dragging his dressing gown with
him. He stopped in the center of the room and slipped his arms into it, then
finally noticed me staring. For a moment, he just stood there, his long slender
paleness flanked by dark blue flannel and bathed in clear white morning light,
the cloth falling from one shoulder, his dyed hair tousled and in his eyes, his
hands falling from the flannel lapel and coming to rest just before his belly,
left fingers clasped lightly in his right. He gazed back at me, and I took in
that perfect picture for what seemed like ages, until he finally became
flustered and looked away, closing the dark blue curtain round his frame. He
was smiling to himself as he exited the room. I watched him disappear through
the door as I put a t-shirt on, making sure it was long enough to cover the
little wet spots on my pyjamas pants. I finally left the room, expecting to
find the hallway empty. It wasn’t.
James was standing up against a wall, his arms crossed, staring down at his
feet. Our father was standing before him, staring right at his face, a look of
such intense disappointment on his own, I was having a difficult time staying
angry with him. He didn’t even look mad. Just … let down. Saddened. Deflated.
I stepped close to James. He took a step away, but I grabbed his arm.
“Oliver!” he hissed at me.
“I’ll deal with dad, just go,” I whispered.
“What?”
“Don’t worry about him, just go do what you were going to do.”
“But -”
“Go!”
He frowned at me, then turned frightened eyes on our father. For a moment, it
looked like he wasn’t going to leave, was too afraid of upsetting dad further.
But he spun round suddenly and walked quickly away, arms still folded, slipped
into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.
I turned to dad. “Go on and say it,” I said quietly.
He swallowed. “What is it you expect me to say?”
“I dunno. I figure you must have something to say, might as well get it over
with.”
He bit his lip and looked away. He glanced into my room. I assumed he was
looking for evidence to use against us, but after a moment it seemed he was
simply staring out the window. He said nothing. He turned slowly away from me
and trudged back down the hall toward his and mum’s room. A knot of guilt
formed somewhere behind my sternum.
“Are you going to tell mum?” I called after him.
He stopped in the middle of the hall, just stood there for a moment. He finally
turned back to me, asked “Tell her what, Oliver?” in a slightly accusing tone,
his gaze suddenly cold. I realised immediately my mistake. All he’d seen was
James coming out of my room, he had no real proof of anything, but I’d
essentially just admitted to wrong-doing. Why would he tell mum anything if
there was nothing to tell?
I remained silent, figuring that was best, and he eventually went on his way,
turning his back on me again. It felt so final this time, like the end of
something, like the closing of a door. And I had no idea if I’d ever be able to
get it open again.
I heard the toilet flush, and the bathroom door opened just a crack. One of
James’s eyes peered out.
“He’s gone,” I assured him. He emerged cautiously, glancing up and down the
hall. “But I’d steer clear of him for a while.”
He shuffled his feet. “Ol,” he said. “I think we should -”
I cut him off. I stepped toward him, shushing him. “Don’t say it.”
“Ol -”
“Don’t say it, James. Please. If you don’t want this, then … find a way to keep
yourself out of my room when you sleepwalk. Because if you come to me, I won’t
be able to deny you. Not now. Not after …” I glanced into my room, at the bed.
I could still see where he’d been lying, see the indentation in the rumpled
sheets. I saw the darkened wet patch on the cotton where moisture had leaked
from him after I’d withdrawn. I ached inside and looked away. “Maybe we should
put a lock on my door,” I suggested sadly.
“I was going to suggest the same thing,” he said.
My heart sank. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is … but I think keeping dad out would be a better use for it. Don’t you?”
I looked up at him. He smiled.
“Well, don’t look so shocked,” he said. He stepped toward me, pressed against
me, slid his hands up onto my shoulders. He leaned in for a kiss, but I leaned
away.
“Right here in the hall?” I asked. “What about …” I jerked my head in the
direction of our parents’ room.
He shrugged. “The hell with him,” he whispered, and I kissed him hard, half-
hoping dad would emerge and catch us, but he didn’t.
James didn’t sleepwalk into my room that night. He sneaked in, fully awake.
Come to think of it, he hasn’t sleepwalked at all since.
END
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