Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/266648.
  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
  Additional Tags:
      Twincest, Leather_Kink, POV_First_Person, RPF
  Stats:
      Published: 2006-08-12 Words: 9705
****** That Day in Mexico ******
by MaxWrite
Summary
     Contrary to popular belief, Oliver enjoys the game of golf just as
     much as James does. But for completely different reasons.
He used to enjoy the game … I think. Maybe it was just us hanging out together
that he enjoyed. Maybe it turned him off a bit when I started getting really
serious about the game. One day, you see, he announced he didn’t want to play
anymore. Too competitive, he said. He’s never liked that part of it as much as
I do.
“Come with me anyway,” I said one afternoon.
“Why?”
“Because I want the company.”
“What happened to Richard?” he asked, looking back down at his book.
“Had to cancel.”
“What about Dad?”
“He’s busy, too.”
“So, I’m your last resort?” he asked, shooting me a look over his shoulder.
“No. There are a million other people I could call, people who actually like
the game.”
“Like who?”
“You don’t know them. Come on, Ol.” I flopped onto the couch, spooning up
behind him. He was curled up there with his book, facing the backrest. “Come
play. I promise I won’t be all serious about it. It’ll just be for fun, okay?”
He sighed, resting his head on the armrest as he considered.
“Come on,” I pleaded, playing with his hair. “That book can’t be more
interesting than spending the day with me.”
His body shook a little as soft chuckling issued from him.
“I’m taking that as a ‘yes’,” I said, popping up off the couch and dashing away
before he could protest.
 
                                    ~~~~~~
 
I promised I wouldn’t be all competitive, and I wasn’t. Well, not outwardly. I
can’t not take the game seriously. I did a good job of keeping my comments to
myself … for the most part.
“Dammit!” I cursed, watching my ball sail off into the trees. I looked over and
squinted at Oliver. He immediately looked away. He must’ve realised I really
was paying very close attention to the score.
“I thought you weren’t gonna take this seriously,” he said, staring off in the
direction my ball went.
“I’m not,” I lied. He gave me a knowing looking, then picked up his clubs and
slung them over his shoulder. With a frustrated sigh, I did the same.
“Is that why you stopped playing?” I asked as we walked across the green
together.
“What?”
“My competitiveness. Is that what drove you away?”
He smiled, looking up and out into the distance. “No. Nothing drove me away,
per se.”
His voice; something very old and wise in it just then.
“Well, I was just thinking,” I went on, “that maybe sometimes some of the
things I said might’ve hurt you.”
“You’re a brat,” he replied, glancing at me with a lopsided smile. “I’m used to
that by now. And you know where the line is, and you’ve never crossed it with
words.”
“Have I crossed it otherwise?”
He looked away again and shook his head. “Nah.”
“So … it wasn’t me then?”
“What makes you think it was you?”
“Well, I dunno. I could be pretty hard on you about your score at times.”
“I simply don’t enjoy the game like I should.”
That sounded like the end of the conversation, so I didn’t question him any
further.
At the eighteenth hole, I stood back and watched him prepare for his shot. He
got into position at his ball, clutching his club, concentrating. His form was
perfect. Somewhere between positioning himself and actually hitting the ball,
something goes a little awry. It’s always been that way for him. He took his
shot, and his ball rolled silently up to the left-hand side of the hole. He
frowned at his retreating ball for a moment, then straightened up and came over
to me.
“I could never understand what the problem was,” I said. “Your form and
technique look fine to me.”
He shrugged. “Not as good as yours, obviously.”
“But …” I looked into his eyes. “Your mind’s never really here, is it?”
“Meaning what?”
“I mean, you’re never really … into it. Not like I am.”
He smiled again, a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, I think
that was established long ago.”
“But there’s a reason, something that’s stopping you. I …” I looked closely at
him. “I can almost see it.”
He looked away, seeming to shield his eyes from me.
“Something else on your mind?”
“I suppose.”
“But it’s not on your mind other times?”
“Might be.”
“But it doesn’t affect you elsewhere like it does here.”
“Might just affect me differently,” he said sensibly, looking back at me. That
wisdom and maturity had returned to his voice, and now I could see it in his
eyes, too, as he regarded me. I could also see that he didn’t want to tell me
what it was that was bothering him.
“You’re being awfully cryptic.”
“I’m not allowed to have secrets?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“No,” I said with a grin, walking away from him, toward my ball. I glanced back
and added, “Not from me.”
He laughed his low chuckling laugh at that and looked down at his shoes. I went
back to the game, lined up my putt. I squatted down by my ball, examining
angles, and I swear I could feel the moment when his eyes focused on me again.
I, as casually as possible, glanced at him as I stood back up. I didn’t catch
his eyes this time, but I did catch him turning his face away. My brow
furrowed, I got into position, concentrating hard on what my body was doing,
getting all my muscles to operate correctly. I turned my face just slightly to
the right, looking at him sidelong. He didn’t look away immediately this time,
held my gaze for a couple of seconds before he finally did. He stared right
into my eyes for those few seconds, and I can only guess it was because he knew
it was pointless to pretend he wasn’t watching. But why had he been pretending
in the first place? It’s golf. If you’re not the one making the shot, there
really isn’t much else to do.
I took my shot. My ball glided right into the hole. I straightened up and
stared at the little hole, squinting at it in the sun, trying to feel my
victory. Wasn’t the same. Something didn’t feel right. It felt hollow, and not
because I knew I would’ve won anyway.
The lonely sound of one man clapping started up; Oliver was applauding me, his
club held underneath his arm.
“Well, we saw that coming, didn’t we?” he said with a smile as I approached
him. He clapped me on the shoulder. “Congratulations.”
“Why won’t you look at me?” I asked, not smiling back.
He knew what I was talking about. His hand fell from my shoulder and his smiled
faded. “James -”
“And I want a straight answer. You don’t have any problems looking at me right
now. It’s only when I’m playing?” I asked incredulously, jerking my thumb in
the direction of the eighteenth hole. “Is it … Are you … Does it bother you
that much that I’m better than you?”
He rolled his eyes. “No, of course not.”
“Well, I don’t see what else it could possibly be. Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been
an arse about this stuff in the past. I really didn’t think -”
“James, that’s not it!” he snapped, cursing under his breath as he turned away,
stepping up to his clubs and sliding the club he was holding in with the
others. He didn’t turn back. “I knew I shouldn’t have come,” he muttered. “I
was fine, and now …”
“And now what? Why shouldn’t you have come? Oliver, talk to me,” I begged,
stepping closer.
With a sigh, he turned back to me, something in his eyes that hadn’t been there
before. A soft sadness or futility that made me ache inside. “I’m out of
practice, I think,” he said with a sad smile. “I used to be better at hiding
this.”
My stomach lurched. My god, does he hate this that much? Have I made him feel
that bad? I couldn’t believe that. He didn’t even care about the game.
“Wait. Hold on,” I said, holding up my hands. “I think I need some
clarification here. This game has never meant anything to you, you never cared
this much, did you?”
He shook his head, holding my gaze. “It’s not the game, James. It’s you. What I
want … isn’t better golfing skills.”
He went quiet then, and continued to stare into my eyes just long enough to get
the point across. “I simply don’t enjoy the game like I should.” That’s what
he’d said earlier. That sentence hadn’t sounded quite right to me in the first
place, and now I understood why. I thought he’d been referring to some standard
of enjoyment that he was holding himself up to. But what he was saying was that
he was enjoying the wrong thing.
He can’t watch me play if I’m looking at him, I thought. That’s always been the
way, hasn’t it?
I was frowning at him in disbelief. “Why do you like watching me so much?” I
asked, barely loud enough for him to hear.
His eyes darted down my body, then away, to his right, across the green. “You
can’t tell?”
“I’m afraid to guess.” My voice was becoming harder, and he noticed; he looked
back at me, what looked like slight fear in his eyes now. “If this has anything
to do with what happened in Mexico, well, I thought we agreed that -”
“James, James,” he shushed me quietly. “It’s more than that, okay? This doesn’t
stem from one night of indiscretion years ago. That night of indiscretion stems
from everything that we are to each other.”
“Oh, no.” I backed up a bit. “You’re not blaming me for this.”
He canted his head, frowning. “Of course I’m not blaming you for this. I’m not
saying it’s anybody’s fault -”
“What happened in Cancun was …” I faltered; I did feel that this was my fault.
“We were both excited to be in such an amazing and beautiful place, and we were
alone in our hotel room and -”
“James!” he said, taking a step toward me, closing the small gap I’d created,
his voice suddenly resonant and commanding, shutting me up. Then, more softly,
he said, “Stop it, all right?”
“You shouldn’t feel this way,” I said, lowering my voice significantly, barely
moving my lips.
“You don’t even know what I feel.” And at that point, there was a forlornness
in his eyes that told me exactly what he felt. I wanted to say it. I wanted to
spit it back at him, but I just couldn’t. Saying it aloud would make it more
real than it already was.
“I’m sorry,” he went on. “I shouldn’t have come here today, I should’ve been
more adamant about staying away.”
“Why this?” I asked. “What is it about golf that brings this out in you so
much, that makes you …” I glanced down at his chest as though I could see his
broken heart right through his skin. “… that makes you ache like this?”
He gave a weak little half-shrug. “You’re beautiful out here.” I blinked at
that, both wanting and not wanting more explanation. “You’re in your element,
you know? The way you move, the way you block everything else out, that
concentration that sets your features, makes your face sort of … hard. But in a
good way. You look strong and confident and …” He exhaled slowly. “… you’re so
graceful, James.”
He’d practically breathed these last words, and he was gazing at me as he
stepped even closer.
“Oliver, don’t,” I warned, glancing around and trying to take another step
back. He took hold of my forearm and held me in place, however.
“We’re the only ones here,” he assured me softly, his eyes languidly tracing
invisible paths all across my face. I don’t know why I didn’t yank my arm back
and move away. I was frozen to the spot, standing there in his grip, staring
into his eyes as he examined my face. “I really shouldn’t have come here with
you,” he whispered, his warm breath touching my skin. He moved even closer, our
bodies touching ever so slightly, sending a shiver right through me. I gasped
as his forehead touched mine and I just closed my eyes.
“Move away,” I breathed, and I’m not sure which one of us I was instructing.
Could’ve been myself, begging myself to step back. I took in another sharp
little breath as his hand slid up my arm, gripping my bicep now. “Don’t,” I
begged him. “This isn’t some strange new place. This is home. We can’t do this
here. We won’t be hopping on an airplane tomorrow and flying far away from it,
we’ll have to live with it.”
“I’ve been living with it for years. Now, I need to know something.”
“Don’t.”
“Just once. Just once, and if you tell me it’s not the same, then I’ll back
down.”
“No!” I finally regained the ability to move, but too late. I stepped back,
tried to pull my arm out of his hand, but he tightened his grip. As I turned my
face away, he brought his other hand up to cup one side of it, turning it back,
and the next thing I knew, his lips were on mine. As soon as our lips touched,
he loosened his grip. I could’ve pulled away if I’d really wanted to. And I
did, but only after two or three seconds had slipped by, only after I felt the
soft swipe of his tongue along my bottom lip. A little whimper escaped me and I
finally pulled away, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand and glaring at him.
He didn’t look hurt or sad anymore, but rather determined. He wanted an answer.
I glanced around quickly, making sure we really were alone. We seemed to be,
but my god, what if someone had seen us while we weren’t looking? I looked back
at him, my eyes blazing.
“No! It isn’t the same!” I hissed.
“And it was nothing in Cancun, either! I was just horny, that’s all that was!
You were just … you were just there, so I just …” I trailed off, feeling
immediately guilty for my tone and my words.
“You just used me?” he offered, his expression not changing.
“Yeah, that’s right. We used each other. We both wanted something, so why not,
right?”
He shook his head. “That’s not what I was doing. And I don’t believe you were,
either.”
“Well, I was,” I muttered, going over to my own clubs and placing my putter
inside. I picked up my bag, slung it over my shoulder and stood there fuming at
the grass for a moment. “You shouldn’t have done that. Anyone could have seen.
And now we have to go home together with this hanging over us.”
“Same as when we came home from Mexico.”
“No, it isn’t the same!” I snapped again, looking at him, angry and ready to
snarl. I stopped myself, though, took a breath and started to walk away,
calling back, “Let’s just go home.” I didn’t look around to check that he was
following.
 
                                    ~~~~~~
 
I hid in my room for the rest of the day. I just couldn’t face him after what
had happened. I was starving, but I wasn’t coming out for anything. I lay in
bed and thought about all sorts of things I would rather not have, listening to
him whenever he began to move about, hearing him move from his room, to the
kitchen, to the bathroom and back again. At some point, he left. He didn’t say
goodbye.
I rolled onto my side and listened to the car pull out of the drive. I wondered
what he was feeling, if he was angry or hurt or sad. Guilt stabbed at my chest,
so I tried to stop thinking about those things, but I couldn’t. I did blame
myself for all this. There’d just been something about that place, Cancun,
something about the blue of the water as it crashed up against my twin’s half
naked body, something about the white sand that had clung, in a fine layer,
along his calves and thighs, accentuating the muscles, something about the sun,
making his normally brown eyes appear almost green, something about the soft
bronzing of his skin after a few days out there, the way he glowed even in our
hotel suite.
He came back into the room naked, having showered and removed his swim trunks
in our bathroom, his entire body radiating this lovely, golden tanned warmth,
all except his midsection, from just below his belly button to about mid-thigh,
the area that had been covered by bathing suit. That whole area was still
palest white, like the beach sand, his softly curved bottom flexing jauntily as
he moved across the room to the dresser.
“Too hot for knickers,” he said, pulling a pair of drawstring shorts from a
drawer. He donned them, sans underwear, covering up the dark nest of hair that
so drastically and enticingly contrasted with his untanned parts. “What do you
wanna do now? Mum said we could order room service.” He came and laid on the
bed I was sitting on, on his back, linking his fingers underneath his head. I
stared at his body for a moment, then looked away. He didn’t notice anything
was different, didn’t notice that my gaze wasn’t quite brotherly just then.
I shrugged. “Whatever you want,” I mumbled.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I slid my bathrobe off my shoulders, pulling my arms out of it, and
lay down next to him, on my side, curling up toward him, naked except for the
large, fluffy, white robe which I kept draped over my backside, my hip and my
crotch, effectively hiding my erection. I stared a bit sheepishly at him, and
when he met my eyes, I looked down at his body again, my eyes landing on his
crotch, on the slight rise of his bulge. I wondered if he could tell I was
looking there.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he said, rolling toward me, facing me.
“I’m just … confused.”
“What about?”
I bit my lip, wondering what to say. “There are lots of pretty girls here.”
He grinned. “Yeah. Barely wearing anything at all.”
“Yeah.” I gave him a weak smile in return.
“Seen one you like?”
“No,” I said, frowning as though that was the most ridiculous question in the
world. “Have you?”
“Not really.”
I thought I was a bit too happy to hear that. I didn’t understand why I was
feeling this way. I couldn’t believe what I was contemplating doing. But I did
it; I moved closer and touched him, placed my hand on his stomach, moving it
slowly around to grip his waist. I sort of massaged there, gently caressing,
casting nervous little glances up into his eyes every so often. He just laid
there watching me, calm as ever, showing no signs that this was making him
uncomfortable. Quite the contrary; he moved a bit closer to me, too. Soon, we
were forehead to forehead, feeling each other’s breath on our faces, my hand
roaming about his slender, smooth torso. Our noses touched, and I gave a little
gasp, pulling back a bit, nerves making me fidget. I saw him smile then, so I
moved my face back in, touching our noses once more, closing my eyes, breathing
a bit harder, thinking about kissing him. His mouth was right there, barely an
inch away …
But he rolled away just then. My eyes popped open. Oh, no, I thought. I’d gone
too far, he’d changed his mind, things were going to be really odd between us
now. But he’d only rolled onto his back again, was still watching me serenely
as he lay there, spreading his legs a bit, displaying his body to me. I pushed
up onto an elbow, took my hand back and removed my bathrobe, showing him my
erection. He glanced down at it, stared at it for a few seconds, working up the
courage to do what he finally did: he reached out and placed his hand on it,
wrapped his fingers around it, his eyes locking with mine again.
Electricity surged through me, my heart pounding hard, and I reached out,
touched my hand to his belly again, laid it there, searching his eyes. He gave
me a tiny little nod, gave me permission, and so I plunged my hand into his
shorts.
My shyness and uncertainty dissolved quickly. Soon, I felt ready to do anything
with him, and we did everything together but fuck; we kissed and licked the
most intimate areas, we rubbed on each other until we both came, we even tasted
each other’s milky offerings, sucking the flavour from each other’s tongues.
There was nothing I couldn’t or didn’t want to do with him that day. And he was
the reason why. Not just because of the glowing, almost otherworldly beauty
that he possessed in that place, but his calmness and understanding and mutual
desire seemed to guide me, tell me it was okay. I couldn’t be nervous looking
into those soft, brown eyes.
And when he came, when those noises rose from his throat, when I felt his body
shuddering beneath me, when I felt his hot wetness spurting out between us, I
was amazed. I had done that do him. His body was responding to me. I had caused
him to make those delicious groaning, grunting sounds. That realisation made me
push myself further, made me hump him harder and faster as though trying to
push even more of those wonderful sounds out of him, as though to squeeze every
last drop of semen from his body. I couldn’t hold out hearing and seeing him
like that. I started to come, too, giving my liquid to him, giving myself to
him. I was his that day in a way I never had been before. And as I watched him
coming beneath me, I knew he was completely mine, too. That magical place
belonged only to us. Nothing mattered more; not our parents, not the fans, not
the pretty girls in bikinis. Just us and what we were sharing; our pleasure,
our hearts, our very first kiss.
It was like a door had been opened, or a wall knocked clean away, showing us
this amazing light that had always been there, but that neither of us had had
the courage to look directly into. Not before Cancun. That day, we were the
only two people on the planet. We floated through the rest of the afternoon and
evening just radiating this newfound connection. I’d been happy before, but had
I ever known true joy before that day? I’m still not sure I had.
Reality set in quickly after that, however, the following day bringing with it
a distance from our little bonding session that grounded us somewhat. We were
leaving that place in twenty-four hours, and I knew he was thinking the same
things I was: what would happen once we were back home? Surely, we couldn’t do
that again, couldn’t continue that way. Cancun was magic, where anything could
and did happen for us. The thought of home was like a brick in my stomach,
pulling me back to earth. Nothing would be the same there.
And it wasn’t. Our tans faded, things were drearier, more real, less alive. We
never had another moment together like that day in Mexico, and I decided that
was for the best, pushed it all down, created a tough little wall around those
feelings, keeping them from pestering me.
I had no idea that he hadn’t come to the same conclusion.
 
                                    ~~~~~~
 
The door slamming downstairs shook me unpleasantly from sleep. I blinked into
the darkness of my bedroom, reached over to turn on my lamp. The tissues I’d
come into during my recounting of the trip to Mexico still lay next to me on
the bed, shamefully wadded up. I sat up and tossed them into the trashcan
across the room, rubbed my eyes and sat thinking about everything.
Something was different.
I got up and left my room, was all set to trot down the stairs to find him, but
I found him sooner than that. He was coming up the stairs and our eyes locked
in the dim hallway, me looking down at him from the upper landing.
“Where were you? It’s been hours.”
“Just driving,” he said. He walked past me and headed for his room. I grabbed
his jacket to stop him leaving.
“What do you mean ‘just driving’? Why did you go?”
He turned back to me, looking weary. “I had some thinking to do.”
“So, all this time you’ve just been driving around aimlessly, thinking?”
“Pretty much.”
“Well,” I crossed my arms. “What were you thinking about?”
“About what I’m going to do if I can’t get this under control. I can’t go on
like this.”
I frowned. “Is it that bad?”
He nodded, his gaze steady. “I thought I was doing okay, but our trip to the
golf course today …” He looked down at his feet. “I’m in love with you, James.”
My stomach dropped and I had to take a step back. “No, no, no, you weren’t
supposed to say it out loud! Shite!” I turned away, gripping the banister for
support, taking shaky breaths.
“Why not? It’s the truth and we both know it.”
“I don’t want to hear that! Do you have any idea what that does to me?”
“No, I don’t. James, this isn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it is. I started this. I’m the one who wanted you, I went after you that
day in Mexico.”
“I have a mind of my own. I could’ve said ‘no’.”
“You wouldn’t have had to say anything if I hadn’t made the first move.”
He remained silent, just staring at me. I calmed down a bit, sighed and asked,
“So, what have you decided?”
“Hm?”
“On your little drive, you said you were thinking about all this. What have you
decided?”
“Before I answer that, understand that I am not blaming you for anything at all
-”
My eyebrows knitted together as I quickly realised what he was about to say.
“You’re not leaving.” It was a command, not a question.
“Please understand -”
“You are not leaving.”
“James,” he sighed.
“You can’t even be in the same house with me anymore? Is it really that bad?”
But I knew it was bad. Mere hours earlier, I’d masturbated thinking only of
him. Yeah, I knew it was bad.
“I have feelings for you I’m finding it very difficult to contain. This could
completely ruin our relationship.”
“But what’s going to happen to our relationship if you go away? Running away
never solves anything!”
“Well, I can’t stay here with you. Not like this.”
“My god,” I muttered turning around and taking a few steps away from him,
shaking my head. When I finally turned back, I know I must've looked pretty
angry. “I’m not running away. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Well, of course not. What’ve you got to run away from?”
“Same bloody thing, obviously.”
He blinked at me. “You mean … you -”
“Yes! It’s always been there. I was just able to keep it at bay better than
you. Till today, that is. This whole thing has just dredged everything up
again. I had a good wank after you left, thinking about that Cancun trip, and
it was the most intense orgasm I’ve had in months. Thinking about my brother
did that to me. I woke up just before you came back and I knew something was
different, knew the feelings had resurfaced.” I poked a finger into my own
chest, stepping back up to him, my eyes fierce. “And I’m not thinking about
running away. I would never, ever do that to you, Oliver.”
“But don’t you see? You’re able to push it down, you’re able to ignore it for
longer periods than I am. I just can’t, James, I can’t ignore it, and it’s
driving me insane. I wake up in the morning, and there you are, thinking
nothing of walking around half naked, having no idea what that does to me.”
“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have -”
“Doesn’t matter. This isn’t right, what we feel. One of us has to go.”
“How far do you plan on going, eh? How far do you have to go to outrun
yourself? You’re running away from your own feelings, Oliver, and that
generally tends not to work too well.”
“You don’t think it’ll be easier for me not having a visual reminder around all
the damn time?”
I gave him a withering look. “We’re twins, idiot. Not planning on having any
mirrors in your new place?”
A smile spread slowly across his face, and his deep laugh began to reverberate
off the walls of the empty hall. I stood there, looking confusedly at him.
“What?” I asked. “What’s so damn funny?”
“You,” he chuckled. “I’m sorry, Jay, it’s just it was kinda funny, what you
said.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Oliver, this is serious.”
He continued to giggle, shaking his head. “I know, I know.”
“Do you really wanna give this up?”
He stopped at that and looked up at me, his smile diminishing a bit.
“It won’t be the same if we live apart. We’ve never lived apart.”
“Gotta start sometime, don’t you think?”
“Not this soon, no. And I’m not letting you leave.”
“James, please -”
“I’m serious, Oliver.” And there was no more smiling. “I won’t let you go.”
He canted his head. “And just how far are you willing to go to keep me here?”
Excellent question. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” I replied calmly.
“Really? Gonna keep me tied up in the basement?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“I’m an adult. I’ll go if I choose. It’s for both our sakes.”
My eyebrows shot up. “You’re abandoning me for my own good, are you?”
He ignored that. “I’m going to start looking for a new place tomorrow. I’m
sorry about today, okay?” He stepped up to me and wrapped his arms around me,
hugging me tight. “I’m sorry, Jay. I love you.”
I stood there, rigid, just barely hugging him back. It felt like a goodbye hug,
like the conclusion of something, and in my mind this was definitely not over.
He began to pull away, but I clung to his arms, wouldn’t let him go. He looked
at me, gave me a soft smile.
“Well, I’m not leaving tonight. I’m just going to bed.”
I began to have horrible visions of waking up in the morning and him not being
there, all his stuff gone, just like the nightmares I used to have when I was
younger. I shuddered a bit and held on tighter.
“James, if you squeeze any harder, you’re going to break something,” he said
kindly.
And I just kissed him. I kissed him hard, much harder than he’d kissed me
earlier. I took him by his waist and thrust my tongue into his mouth. A little
moan issued from him as he slowly brought his hands up to rest on my upper
arms, kissing back deeply, only to pull away seconds later.
“No. No, wait a second,” he said stepping back, frowning. “We can’t do this.”
“Why not?” I asked calmly, walking forward, quickly closing the gap.
“Because of the very reasons why I never pursued this before; because it’s
wrong, because it’s something that can’t possibly work and will only destroy
what we have.”
“I think it’s safe to say that what we were has already been destroyed. We’re
both feeling this fully now, and I’m not sure even I can push it back down
again.”
“So, what are you saying?”
I swallowed hard. “I’m saying get into my bedroom.” I said these words calmly,
voice steady, gaze unwavering.
“James -”
“Get into my bedroom, Oliver.”
“We’re not sixteen anymore, we can’t do things like this.”
I decided the time for talk was over. I grabbed him by his collar and pulled
him to me, kissing him hard again, pulling him back toward my open bedroom
door. He struggled a bit, but it was rather halfhearted. I swung us both around
so that I was nearest the door, my back to it, and I kicked it shut. I pulled
my mouth away and stared at him for a moment. He stared back, eyes a bit wide,
his shock apparent. I pulled his jacket down off his shoulders and down his
arms, letting it fall to the floor. Then I went to work on his shirt. He stood
there, looking a bit dumbstruck, as I undressed him, peeling his shirt down off
and unfastening his belt. I looked up into his eyes as I took hold of his
waistband with one hand and pulled down his zipper with the other, looking
right into their soulful depths, and I swear I felt sixteen again; nervous,
afraid, about to expose myself to him in a way I never thought I would again.
He shook his head slowly and asked, “What are you doing?” in a voice so soft, I
felt a lump rise in throat. I choked it down and wondered the same thing; what
was I doing? I’m the one who’d started this whole mess, not stopping to
consider the possible consequences, and here I was, continuing it in an attempt
to fix things? It made no sense. And yet somehow it did.
“Finishing what I started,” I replied, placing my hands on his bare hips,
looking down at him, at his flat stomach, at the dark trail of hair leading
into his underwear. I bit my lip as I stared down at it, knowing there’d be no
turning back if I followed that little trail.
“James,” he whispered. I met his eyes again. He looked like he wanted to say
more, but he stopped there, dropped his gaze, seemed to be considering
something, and then finally made a decision. He tried to step around me, but I
wouldn’t let him, gripped his waist more firmly. “Let me go,” he said softly.
“If you really want to leave, you will. If not, I’m fairly certain you’ll let
me keep you here.”
I touched my fingertips to his belly, touched that soft, fuzzy trail, let my
fingers slowly follow it until my hand began to slide into his underwear. He
gasped and raised his eyes again, but not to look at me. Rather to stare past
my head in shock, clenching his jaw and gulping. I cupped him, squeezed him
gently over and over and in soft, rhythmic pulses, stepping closer until our
faces were as close as possible without touching, until I knew he could feel my
breath. He downcast his eyes again, barely moving, his breathing noticeably
speeding up.
My mouth right at his cheek, I whispered, “We’ve been living in sort of an in-
between state, some kind of limbo since we got home from Mexico years ago. We
can’t maintain that.”
“I agree, that’s why I’m -”
“No. You’re not leaving. Not yet.” I pressed my mouth to his cheek, laying a
gentle kiss there, holding it for a few seconds, my eyes closed, hearing him
gasp as I caressed his erection, feeling the shuddering breath he inhaled. I
opened my eyes again and removed my lips from his skin. “You were hard before I
started touching you.”
He nodded. “Course I was. I want you,” was his whispered reply.
I pressed my mouth to his skin again, caressing his cheek with my lips and
nose, still speak to him. “Don’t fight it, Oliver,” I said, rubbing him harder,
my own breathing quickening as I began to nudge him back toward my bed.
“We’ll both regret this,” he warned, his voice sounding a bit panicked now.
“You can leave if you really want to.”
“No, I can’t. You know I can’t say ‘no’ to you.”
My jaw tensed and I stopped, fixing him with a hard stare. “So, you do blame me
then.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“S’what it sounded like.”
“You’re putting words in my mouth.”
I stared at him for a moment, that knot of guilt rising behind my sternum. I
ignored it, announcing, “I’m going to settle this now.” I pushed him down. He
landed on his back on my bed. I lunged at him, forcing him to scramble back
further, until he was completely on the mattress, me hovering above him like a
hunting animal. I straddled him, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the
bed quickly.
“You asked me,” I said, “how far I was willing to go to keep you here. Well …”
I straightened up, slowly releasing his wrists. He didn’t move, just stared up
at me in shock. I pulled up on my shirt, swiftly removing it and chucking it
aside, my chest heaving. I placed my hands on his stomach, side-by-side, began
slowly grinding my solid crotch against his. He looked so helpless beneath me,
and it struck me just how dangerous what I was doing was. I was taking a risk
with our relationship, but I certainly wasn’t taking it lightly.
“I guess we’re about to find out,” I said, my voice husky, and I leaned over
and took his mouth with my own in a kiss that began deep and only grew deeper,
my tongue sliding forth to probe inside him. I felt his hands come up to touch
my back, resting on either side, very obviously timid, afraid to move. I wanted
to encourage this exploration, so I writhed on top of him, show him exactly how
much I wanted this, letting out soft little moans. He relaxed a little, rubbing
at my back a bit, but his misgivings about this were still evident.
I broke the kiss and surveyed his face; still that same helpless uncertainty in
his eyes, now slightly tinged with lust.
“This could ruin what we have,” he whispered, and even as he said those words,
I felt him push up against me just a little, press his crotch more firmly into
mine.
“Could make it better,” I said. “Do you want this? Tell me ‘no’, and I’ll leave
you alone. I’ll let you go now and even help you look for another place in the
morning.” I laid little kisses on his skin and gently rubbed against him as he
considered this offer, hoping it would be impossible for him to accept. He
stayed quiet, afraid to answer.
“It’s obvious you want this, too,” I went on. “How can I make this easier for
you? It almost feels like I’m forcing you, and I don’t want that.”
He looked away, off to his right. “I don’t know.”
“There must be something I can do,” I whispered, brushing my lips against his
cheek. “Something that will help you relax. We’ve fooled around before without
any problem.”
“Just the one time. And we were kids then, it was easier.”
“Well … what does adult Oliver want? Tell me.” I watched him closely as he lay
there not saying anything. I waited for some sign, some clue to present itself.
And then it happened; his eyes darted further to the right and back again right
away, the tiniest little glance. I followed the look over to a corner of my
room, a corner occupied by my golf clubs.
“What about my golf clubs?” I asked, as though he’d actually said something
about them. Which he had, really.
“What?” he said innocently.
“I saw that look. What about them then?”
“Nothing.”
“Hm …” I sat up, dismounted and stood. “Sit up.” He rolled his eyes, but
obeyed, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Now, look at me.” He did,
looking up at my face. I watched him closely as I stepped back toward the
clubs, watched as he fidgeted, as his eyes darted down to them, then back up at
me. “Nervous?” I asked with a little smile.
“No,” he lied.
I finally reached the bag of clubs and glanced down at it, began lightly
fingering the head of each one, glancing over at him to see what he was doing.
He was watching my hand all right, but I couldn’t yet tell anything from that.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Fingering my head,” I replied with a grin.
“You think this is going to get me going?”
“I dunno. You seem to enjoy watching me play an awful lot. Thought I’d give
this a shot.”
He did his best to hide his erection behind his arms and looked away,
muttering, “This is ridiculous.”
“Okay. Not the clubs then. Hmm …” My golf glove was tucked halfway into a
pocket. I bent over and pulled it out, turned it over in my hand, wondering.
“What about this then?” He looked back at me. “It’s sexy, isn’t it? A glove
made of leather.” My eyes locked with his and I began to slide the glove onto
my left hand slowly, tugging it on tight.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” he mumbled, looking away again.
I approached, stepping up and standing right before him. I reached out with my
gloved hand and touched his face, ran my fingertips down his cheek and neck. He
tried to resist, but found himself closing his eyes and tilting his face up
into the touch. I smiled.
“Ah-ha, so you enjoy that, do you?” I nudged him back into his horizontal
position. I remained standing, gazing down at him, reaching for my waistband
with my gloved hand, popped the button open with a quick jerking motion, then
pulled the zipper down, my leather-wrapped pinkie extended.
“Do you wanna see?” I asked in almost a whisper. He, propped up on his elbows,
gulped and said nothing. I proceeded to push my jeans and underwear down,
stepping out of them and standing, proudly naked, before him.
I leaned over him and pushed him further back, straddling him again, my hard-on
pointed right at him. I sat tall atop him, running my bare hand up and down his
chest while my gloved hand began to play between my legs, stroking and
caressing, putting on a little show for him.
“Would you like me to touch you like this?” I asked, leaning back a bit,
clearly showcasing my self-fondling, growing more and more aroused as the
supple leather moved across my sensitive skin.
“James, this is silly,” he protested, but I noticed his chest rising and
falling a bit faster as I stopped touching myself and moved my glove toward
him.
“Is it?” I asked sweetly, tweaking a nipple between my leather-clad thumb and
forefinger. He gave a little gasp, his body tensing a bit. “You like that?” I
asked, teasing the little red nub with the pad of my index finger, bringing it
to full erectness as he sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. “Mmm, baby
likes that a lot,” I cooed, abandoning the nipple and sliding my hand up his
chest to grip his shoulders as I lowered my upper half to give him another
passionate kiss. He seemed much more pliable now, relaxed and receptive,
opening wide to receive my tongue and licking back, his hips rocking slowly up
against me. I slid my gloved hand up his neck to his face, caressed his cheek
as we ground against each other. Then I let my thumb glide along his mouth, the
tip drawing nearer and nearer to his nose on each sweep across. He inhaled the
scent of the glove and let out a little groan.
“Smells like you,” he said. He inhaled again, taking the scent deep inside and
then he arched up against me, exhaling with a long, drawn out sigh. He reached
down to take hold of my gloved hand and moved it to his body, laying my palm
flat against his chest. “Touch me with it,” he whispered. I eagerly obliged,
running the glove up and down his torso, shifting backward just a little so I
could properly caress his belly and his hips with it. I went up and down,
traversing the terrain of his upper body with maddening slowness and
gentleness, watching him squirm, his slender torso arching and writhing in a
graceful wave. My glove then went down to his hips, gliding over one of them,
over the little hill of bone there, teasing around the edges of his crotch. I
was staring down at him, at his dark patch of pubic hair, at the full, flushed
erection that was just begging to be touched. When I looked back up at his
face, I found him watching me, eyes going from my face, to his crotch and back
again. I kept my eyes on his face as I laid a fingertip right on the ridge of
his cock and rubbed at it a bit. He shuddered a bit, gasping, watching my hand.
I was strongly reminded of our first time together, of my youthful fascination
with all his little responses and noises.
I slid off of him and lay next to him on my side, propped up on an elbow,
looking down at him, my gloved hand resting on his belly, softly petting him
there. He stared up at me.
“Remember how I explored you that day in Mexico?” I said. He nodded, and
suddenly there was that same trusting and innocent look in his eyes that he’d
worn that day in the hotel suite. I smiled. “But this time, we have the proper
tools.” I rolled away and reached back, pulled open the drawer of my nightstand
and pulled something out. I sat up and popped open the lid of the lubricant
bottle and proceeded to squeeze some onto my glove.
“James, don’t!” he protested, sitting up as well, but too late; I’d already
done it. “Won’t that ruin it?”
I glanced at him and shrugged. “I dunno.” And I didn’t care. I could get
another one. I set the bottle aside and nudged him back down, placing my hand
on his cock again, gripping it. “Open up for me,” I whispered, and he did,
spreading his legs open. I slid my now slippery leather glove down to his balls
and cupped and massaged them. I gently rubbed at his perineum, making him groan
and spread open even more, raising one of his knees, pulling it back with his
hand. I lowered my mouth to his nipple and began to suck on it while my gloved
hand played between his legs. He grew more and more agitated by the second,
panting and moaning, his body unable to keep still. And when he brought his
hand, the one nearest me, up to touch my chest, sliding it around to hook his
arm under my torso, pulling me even closer to him, a shiver went through me and
I gasped, too, beginning a slow, steady grind against his thigh, sliding my leg
overtop of his.
I began vigorously stroking his cock, my eyes glued to him, to his undulating
body, to his soft features now contorted with pleasure. I was doing this to
him, I was causing him to make those noises and pant like that. It amazed me as
much now as it had the first time.
I looked down to watch as I played with him, loving the way he’d spread himself
open for me. He opened his eyes and looked up at me, a mixture of love and lust
in his eyes that reminded me of that long-ago day. And my god, he was
beautiful. Tilting his head back, exposing his long neck, his skin glowing with
the rosy flush of arousal.
“Is it the leather?” I asked suddenly, breathing the words out like a sigh. “Is
that why you like this glove so much?”
“No,” he replied in much the same tone. “No, it’s you.”
“But I play with the clubs, too. They don’t do it for you.”
“Not the same,” he panted. “The glove is soft. And you spend hours on end
inside it. It’s saturated with you – Oh, god, yeah!” His entire upper body
curved gracefully upwards just then, his breathing growing more erratic. My
eyes slid down his long body, down the flat expanse of his belly to his prick.
I could feel it pulsing sporadically in my fist, the slit glistening.
He opened his eyes and looked right into mine, laid a hand on my arm. I
immediately took his hand with my free one, rubbing him faster as I gazed back
at him.
“Come here,” he whispered. “Come down to me.”
I obeyed, letting his hand go and lying next to him. I lay there watching him,
just like when we were teenagers, rubbing him off, eager to make him come. He
stared lustfully at me, mouth swollen from kisses and arousal and hanging open
a bit, the upper left side curved sexily upward ever so slightly.
I moved my face closer to his, pressed against it, my nose right next to his,
its tip pressed to his cheek, my open mouth grazing his, our breath mingling.
“Still think we shouldn’t be doing this?” I whispered. He groaned in response.
“Still think this is wrong? Hm, baby?” He grunted and pushed up against my
stroking hand.
“No …” he breathed. “Not wrong … so good …”
I’d only had the privilege of seeing him on the edge like this once before, and
now, seeing it again, I knew I couldn’t wait years until the next time, not
after this. I looked down at his body as he whispered my name over and over,
clearly about to erupt. He buried his face in my neck and I watched as his
pearly white liquid began to fly out in long strands, splattering across his
belly, his body jerking against me. I snaked my arm beneath his shoulders and
pulled him to me, held him right against me as he came.
“That’s it,” I whispered against his temple. “My sweet brother. Come for me,
Ollie. That’s it.”
Something rose in my chest as I held him during this most intimate moment, a
lump of emotion formed inside me, rising toward my throat. I tried to swallow
it back, kissing his forehead over and over as his body began to relax, as he
began to soften in my gloved hand.
“Oh, my god,” he panted against my chest. He wrapped his arms around me,
clinging. He finally opened his eyes and looked up at me. Those large brown
orbs, the soft fringe framing his face …
“I’ve wanted to make love with you since that day,” I whispered.
“We did make love. In our own way.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “But … I wanted to do everything with you. I wanted to …” I
trailed off there. He knew what I’d wanted to do.
He stared at me a few seconds longer, then looked down at his crotch. “Give me
your hand,” he said. I obeyed, raised it to him and he took it in both of his
hands, examining it, feeling it, sliding a finger along the now slippery palm
of it and through his sticky fluid.
“Now it smells like both of us,” I said.
He smiled at that, then seemed to be contemplating something as he stared at
the glove. “Would you like to take me now?” he asked, looking up at me again.
“Take you? What do you … You mean …” I raised my eyebrows at him. He nodded and
smiled again, a soft serenity seeping into his eyes, the same calm, welcoming
understanding I remembered from that day. I melted inside.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whispered, getting up on my knees before him and
raising his legs, gripping the undersides of his knees to push them up and
apart. He lay there, spread eagerly open for me, watching me through half-
lidded eyes, licking his swollen mouth. I removed my glove and set it on the
mattress next to us. I reached for the lube again, squeezed some onto my
fingers and touched a fingertip to his entrance. “You’re sure?”
He nodded, his little hole pulsing against my finger as I rubbed it, pressed in
more firmly and finally began to slide my finger inside.
 
                                    ~~~~~~
 
The head of my prick began to breach his tight opening, and the sensation made
stars pop behind my eyelids.
“Are you okay?” I managed to groan, seeing the pain on his face.
“Yeah,” he said tersely, his jaw clenched, his eyes squeezed shut. “I’ll be
okay.”
I stopped halfway in, terrified of hurting him. “Let me know, baby. Let me know
if you’re okay.”
He breathed steadily through his nose as his body grew accustomed to me.
Finally, his pained expression began to diminish, his features relaxing, his
mouth opening up so he could pant and moan.
“Deeper,” he instructed, opening his big, luminescent eyes.
“Yeah?” I asked, even as I slid in further. I felt my body touch his and I
pressed right into it, my sharp hips digging into his flesh, causing him to
groan and his eyelids to flutter, his long, dark lashes batting against his
cheeks for a moment before he focused on me again. I pulled back, then slid
back in, again and again, faster and faster, spurred on by his noises, by the
arching of his lovely neck, by the feeling of his fingertips digging into my
back.
“Fuck, Jamie …” he moaned, the most pornographic grunts and groans issuing from
his creamy throat. I’ve never heard my brother swear so openly before. I liked
it. I pounded him harder just to make him do it again. “Do you know how
beautiful you are,” he asked, “out there on the green? The way your body arcs
when you take a swing … the way you grip your club.”
I grinned at that, putting even more effort into my movements. “You like how I
grip my club, do you?”
I felt him writhe hard beneath me at that. “Ohhhh, god, yeah! And I love
watching you slide into your glove. I’d always wish it was me you were sliding
into.”
I sucked air in through my teeth, giving him a good hard thrust for saying
that. “Really, baby?”
“Yes,” he whole-heartedly confirmed. “I’d have these fantasies of us playing
together, going hunting for a ball in some hidden area beneath the trees, you
know? And you’d just pounce on me and take me from behind, shoving your warm,
sweaty glove into my mouth to keep me from – Ahhh, god!”
I forced his legs back more and gritted my teeth as I slammed into him, so
turned on by his words.
“You mean like this?” I growled, grabbing my glove, still covered in lubricant
and his drying semen, and shoving it right into his mouth, muffling his cries.
He didn’t resist. He tilted his face right up to receive my little gift and
went on screaming, even louder than before.
“I love you,” I said, my voice shaky from my pounding. “I love you and I want
to be with you and you’re not leaving me. Not ever leaving me. Oh, shite. Oh,
fucking hell, baby, I’m coming …”
I began to spill inside him, continuing to thrust into him as I did, grabbing
his wrists and pinning them to the bed, snarling, “You’re mine. You were meant
for me, Ollie. You’re not leaving me.” And I just dissolved into groans and
grunts, shuddering breaths and profanity and his name whispered again and
again.
I finally stilled inside him, my face buried in his neck, moistening it with my
hot breath. When I raised my head, I grinned at him, at the glove still lodged
in his wide open mouth. I removed it and promptly kissed him, lapping at his
mouth’s interior, tasting him, tasting his come.
I finally disengaged, wincing at how sensitive I still was after coming. I
rolled off him and lay facing him, my arm draped across his sweaty body. He
lowered his legs with a grimace, no doubt a bit stiff from holding them up, and
he looked over at me and smiled lazily.
“You look satisfied,” I said.
“So do you,” he replied in the deepest, softest, molasses-drenched voice I’d
ever heard.
“You look as happy as you did after I made you come when we were sixteen.”
“I am. And then some.”
I whispered, “You’re not leaving me,” as I connected his freckles with my
fingertip.
“No. I’m not,” he whispered back, giving me a broad, radiant smile. “That is if
we can have this always. If we can … be lovers.”
I nodded, shivering just a bit at his words. Lovers. We were lovers. My god.
“You’re my twin,” I whispered and laid a kiss on his mouth. “And you’re my
lover.” And I gave him another little kiss. He gave me an odd look at that, not
understanding why I was saying it aloud. “I just needed to say it, to hear it,”
I explained, then repeated shakily, “You’re my twin … and you’re my lover.” I
inhaled deeply, my body quivering against him slightly as we kissed again,
passionately, the words I’d just said repeating inside my skull.
“But you have to promise to come out and watch me play without me having to
beg,” I said teasingly when the kiss ended.
“Knowing what’s waiting for me when we get home, I don’t think I’ll miss
another one of your games.”
We both giggled, nuzzling each other and kissing and wrapping our limbs around
each other, cuddling. I picked up my glove and brought it up to examine it,
shaking my head at it.
“My poor abused glove,” I said, smiling. “I don’t think I can bring this onto
the golf course again.”
“Oh, I think it has a much better use now,” he said, a mischievous twinkle in
his eye.
END
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