Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13565847.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Oasis_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Liam_Gallagher/Noel_Gallagher, Noel_Gallagher/Clint_Boon, Noel_Gallagher/
      denial, both_gallaghers/various_men_and_women
  Character:
      Liam_Gallagher_(Oasis), Noel_Gallagher
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Underage_Sex, Recreational_Drug_Use, all_explicit_sex
      takes_place_between_people_16+, but_there_are_quite_a_few_mentions_of
      other_underage_sexual_activity, Angst, noel_is_a_goddamn_mess, Period-
      Typical_Homophobia
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-02-04 Words: 11160
****** The more that you follow me, the more I get lost ******
by liamnoel
Summary
     He's stronger than the walls
     You tried to build around him
     To dumb and dumbfound him.
     1984-1989
Notes
     i'm very sick lately, more and more every day and i think it's
     infecting my mind. this story's fucked up and i'm sorry for writing
     it.
     i'm trying as hard as i can to finish a couple more chapters on my
     other work. i am not completely sure of the details yet, but it's
     likely i won't be around for at least 6 months starting in march,
     maybe almost a year.
     title from unbilotitled by babyshambles
The first time he’s waiting in your dreams, you’re only seventeen. You wake up
shaking and sick, images still staining your eyelids – you’d seen yourself,
back against the wall, trousers undone – and Liam pressed up against your body,
teasing hand shoved inside your boxers. Caressing you there.
(That wasn’t Liam, though, you remind yourself. For years you have to remind
yourself of that. He’s just a kid, still, doesn’t fuckin’ want these disgusting
things, God, probably wouldn’t even know what any of it means yet. You didn’t
think you wanted them, either. Not until his pink lips found their way inside
your soul and started haunting you like this.)
He’s twelve, for God’s sake – he still cries when he skins his knees and you
are filled with dread, wondering if the whole world can read your mind; if the
police are here already to arrest you for the things your subconscious had
begged for against your will.
You can’t even glance at his sleeping body in the other bed as you pull your
shoes and coat on and rush downstairs, into the chilly November morning.
It’s only nine in the morning and you wander around aimlessly for hours upon
hours, smoking too many cigarettes, fingers and nose frozen solid. But it’s
fine – better than feeling all the heat in your body, isn’t it. You want it
gone. You’d be content to freeze to death if it only meant you’d never have to
think about your little brother again.
Once the afternoon is blooming you nick a liter of whiskey and two packs of
cigarettes from the shop and meet up briefly with a friend of a friend,
spending all your extra money on coke. You don’t need money, now, anyway; your
stomach’s still churning so hard you never want to eat again.
After you’ve downed half the bottle, you stash it in the inside pocket of your
bulky parka and go to the pub, straight to the back, sniffing up four too-large
lines off the back of the toilet. You like cocaine – really like it – but
you’re new to it, still. Only tried it first six months ago; only started
buying it in the last three.
It makes you feel so good. Like you’re in control.
But the whiskey sure doesn’t and it’s not long before you’re dragged roughly by
the elbow and shoved out the door, after mouthing off to some cunt who spilled
a bit of his pint on you. You’d nearly punched him.
You can’t help it. You want so, so badly to have your head smashed in, nose
bloodied, every fucking bone in your body broken just for daring to think of
Liam the way you had.
It’s only nine in the evening when you pass out in the park near your old
house, under the hollow pine tree you and your brothers had played in when you
were so much smaller. The ember of your cigarette slowly extinguishes and burns
the edges of your index and middle finger slightly as the flames lick briefly
on the orange filter, but you’re, miraculously, too far away to feel a thing.
You don’t dream.
※※※
 “I kissed Michelle today!”
“’s that right?” You’re barely paying attention to the kid, trying to play
along to Johnny Marr’s jangly riffs from the record on the turntable. Liam
won’t leave you alone, though, bouncing down onto the bed next to you, all
dirt-covered jeans and lanky growing-pain legs.
“Yeah, man.” He shoves the neck of your guitar away a bit and climbs over your
thighs, barely even touching you, the guitar crammed between your bodies. You
try to ignore every single thought in your head, because this isn’t – it isn’t
anything. “Don’t ya wanna know how it was?”
“Get off me.” You shove him away and he tumbles down onto the carpet, laughing.
“Well, y’wanna know, Noel? Huh?”
You don’t. You really don’t. But he has this terrible way of always, always
wearing you down in the end. “Who’s Michelle, then?”
He’s back on your bed again, just sitting down this time. His jeans rub mud
onto your blanket and he smirks at you. “You should know her.”
“Why would I?”
“Y’went to school with her for ages, idiot.” The devilish smile on his lips is
criminal.
You look up at him then. “What?”
Liam closes his eyes and leans back on his elbows. “She’s sixteen.” His
taunting voice just begs you to react.
All the blood in your body turns to ice. You want to scream. Yes, you do know
Michelle, in fact, because she was in the year below you at school. She sat
behind you in history class one year (when you bothered to turn up at all, that
is) and once, she’d told you that you had nice eyes. You were probably still
Liam’s age back then.
You want to know if he’s just being a normal fucking stupid kid, or if he did
it just to make you jealous.
(You hope it’s just him, that it’s not about you, that you’re selfish and needy
and projecting all your own horrible wants onto him. Yet another, darker part
of you, one that’s small now but will only grow as Liam grows too, hopes he
only did it to show you how he wants someone so much older. Did it because of
you.)
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
He looks dopey and blissed-out, like he’s replaying the kiss in his head right
now. “She’s so fuckin’ fit, Noel. Not like all the stupid little girls my age.”
So it is that way. “Liam-”
“It’s like, fuckin’- well, she was experienced, y’know what I mean? Knew what
to do… what felt good… like she couldteach me-”
That’s enough. More than. “Shut the fuck up, Liam.”
“You’re just jealous I can pull a goddamn grown woman ten fuckin’ times easier
than you, you cunt!”
It’s absurd and so immature and you can’t help but laugh. “God, you’re fuckin’
twelve years old, shut the fuck up.”
He bolts up straight, eyebrows drawn together, mouth a thin line. “You shut the
fuck up, can’t be fuckin’ happy for me for one second, you dick?!”
“Happy for- I’ll be happy for you when you kiss a bird your own fuckin’ age,
Liam, not fuckin’- she’s fuckin’ preying on you, kid, why’d you-”
“Nanananana, I’m Noel, ‘n I’m jealous, ‘cos no bird would let me fuck ‘er till
I was fuckin’ sixteen and a half-”
“Fuck you, you’re still a fucking virgin, you don’t know what you’re talking
about, you fuckin’- fuckin’ idiotic little kid.”
He licks his lips, and it’s probably innocent even though your body tries to
tell you it isn’t. “Not for fuckin’ long. Gonna lose it as soon as I can. Maybe
to Michelle.”
You’re angry at everyone and everything but mostly at him – and at your parents
for having the nerve to put this insolent little bastard on the Earth in the
first place.
He gets up, then, smoothing down his shirt and shoving his feet into his
trainers, nearly too small for him, now. “Or maybe to someone your age, huh? If
you’re such a grown-up. You dick.” He spits the words out at you, burning his
eyes into your own, and then he’s left the room, slamming the door before you
can get another word in.
Thank fuck it was a bird, for your own sake and for hers – because if you’d
found out some sixteen-year-old lad was putting his hands all over your baby
brother – skinny and sensitive and twelve – you swear you’d murder the cunt.
※※※
It didn’t become a real, present Problem with a capital P – with Liam suddenly
so overt and shameless – until a year later.
Months before you proposed to Diane, years before you’d ever put your hands on
your brother’s body in ways you weren’t supposed to, he’d started this… game.
Well, a game to him. It was a nightmare to you, but the kid seemed to get a
real kick out of it.
You’d started going to extreme measures, always checking the closet when you
entered your room, even putting the dresser up against the door so Liam can’t
get in while you’re fucking Diane. The first time he caught you at it, it
might’ve actually been an accident, but he stood there in the doorway with his
mouth open wide for a few seconds, watching her take you down her throat,
staring at your face, and once you’d registered his presence you yelped Liam!
as you tried frantically to cover yourself up. And then, he had to go and do it
– fucking smirk with those pink lips and say, “Sorry, you busy?”
(You can’t remember what you dreamt that night, but you’re sure it was about
him.)
The next morning he sits across the table from you, only in his boxers and
dirty white socks, and eats a banana. Too fucking slowly. You refuse to meet
his eyes, not once, and wish you could reach over and just crush him in your
hands, till he didn’t exist anymore, till you never had to see him again.
You’re not looking, really, you’re not, trying your hardest to focus on the
newspaper. But you can still see his lips on the fruit out of the corner of
your eye. Gripping it tighter than he needs to, fuck’s sake, kid, you’re
supposed to eatit, not – not this.There’s a draft coming in from the open
window over the sink and you both shiver and God, you can see how hard his
nipples are now. Jesus. Your cornflakes are soggy; you haven’t been able to
manage a single bite, feeling ready to vomit already.
“Noel.”
Liam waits for a response that’s never going to come. Not today. Waits and
waits.
“Fuck you.”
He bites the last piece off and throws the peel in your face as he sulks out of
the room.
After that, it only starts happening more and more. It’s no accident. It seems
half the goddamn times you end up in your room with a bird – usually Diane, but
come on, you’re not perfect – suddenly the bane of your existence is right
there,watching so intently.
Just an annoying kid brother, trying to see a girl’s tits? Maybe.
But it doesn’t seem like it.
It’s just – every fucking time, he’s staring at you. In your eyes, when you
glance up, he’s there. Even when the girl’s naked and you’re fully clothed, he
looks at you.
You are so, so afraid that the day will come where you look up and he’s got his
hand moving inside his trousers or something; and it chills you to the bone to
even consider, because you think you might just break after seeing that. Not
right away, obviously, but you’re worried that the second Diane or whoever is
out the door, you’d just look back at Liam and then –
Well. You don’t want to think about it. Lead us not into temptation.
The final straw is when you’re fucking Diane on your bed, unclothed and
unblanketed because Liam was supposed to be staying at a mate’s house all
night. The noise is sudden and you both startle, hearing the clank of metal
against the window. And you want to fucking scream.
Liam, on the rickety ladder, fucking peering through the bit of window the
curtain’s not covering. Little pervert. A voyeur.
Eyes tracing the shadows cast by lamplight; fuck, before you heard him and
turned around, he’d been gazing at so much of your skin – your legs, your back.
Your arse. Bare and exposed, how he’s neversupposed to see you.
Fuming in disbelief, you hold his eyes with yours – his growing wider and wider
because he knows he’s in for it now – and shake your head slowly for a few
seconds before yanking on a pair of sweatpants and storming down the stairs.
Liam’s already scrambling down the ladder again and Diane’s whisper-shouting
Wait, Noel, you shouldn’t,but you’re already outside, where the streetlights
tint the full-moon night a sickly orange.
You slam him up against the bricks on the side of the house, over and over and
over again, till he’s sobbing and there’s a trickle of blood, just the
slightest bit coming from the back of his head where it’d hit the wall. He’s
been growing so quickly lately, but he’s still two inches shorter than you, and
you feel a foot taller as you grip his shoulders and treat him like a ragdoll.
When you let him go, taking two steps back – for your own sake more than his,
you’ve got to admit – he looks so pathetic and broken you just want to take him
in your arms and soothe him, tell him it’s okay, that everything’s fine.
But it’s not. It’s not okay, and nothing is fine.
Part of you really, really wishes he’d just hit you back, that you could get it
out that way, all the tension. The touch. Destroying each other, never having
to break the law or any sort of moral code, just two more brothers fighting
like brothers do. It won’t be long before he’s just as strong as you are, or
strong enough to hold his own, at least. But he doesn’t tonight, doesn’t do a
thing. It suddenly occurs to you how soaked your upper body is in sweat, from
the heat of the night and your unfinished fuck and the way Liam’s shoulders
felt underneath your hands. You try to collect your breath while he just stands
there, shirt all wrinkled, bottom lip quivering. His eyes don’t leave yours,
fluttering under thick tear-soaked eyelashes and you make the mistake of
glancing down and he’s hard. Of course he is. You can see it against the leg of
his trousers. Fuck.
It’s even more horrifying than you ever thought it’d be when you realize that
you are just as turned on as he is.
So you just give him one more threatening, ominous glare before turning and
going back inside. You pray that he didn’t look down, couldn’t see how much it
affected you – touching him. Having him under your hands, even if it was in
hate, not love.
But you know, somehow you just know. He saw.
His shoulderblades bruise deep purple; he sleeps shirtless every night for a
week, on his stomach, just to make sure you can see what you’d done to him.
※※※
Liam is only thirteen the first time he gets down on his knees in front of you.
It’s nearly pitch-black in your bedroom and you’re not exactly sure whyhe’s
doing this, because you’ve never even kissedbefore – not like that. He’s
pouting. You don’t know why the fuck he’s doing this but you feel like every
part of you is burning.
"Liam- what the fuck are you doing?"
He’d learned about blowjobs from a mate, apparently, and wondered what it was
like. And for some reason this curiosity just hadto involve you, apparently.
“Please, just let me try.”
You can’t. You won’t. You’ve managed not to touch him yet, hadn’t even come
close, and you’re notgoing to give in now.
“Let me suck it, c’mon, Noel.” Stupid fucker, still whining like a kid but
wants your goddamn dick down his throat. Not a fucking chance.
Your eyes burn into the little gold band on your left ring finger. It’s just
about the only thing that glimmers in the dark room; that and the whites of his
eyes. The ring feels wrong, uncomfortable; like it’s irritating your skin. You
don’t know why you proposed to Diane – yeah, you loved her. Well. Maybe. But it
was herthat wanted to get fuckin’ married, not you, you’re only eighteen, for
fuck’s sake.
Maybe you just thought having a wife would make it all go away. It was a
fucking stupid idea.
“Go back to bed, Liam.” You turn away from him, towards the wall.
“But-”
“No.”
※※※
Liam despises being told what to do; but if he was certain you’d always love
him, love him in just the way he wants you to, he’d probably do anything you
said.
※※※
Two months later, he stomps proudly into your room, announcing right in your
face how he’d just snogged a bloke and he thinks it was even better than
kissing Michelle or Sarah or Jane or Jessica.
Today, you have the good sense to leave the room before Liam can tell you
anything else. Like the guy’s name, or how fucking old he is, maybe. Or where
he’d touched him, how big and rough his hands were over Liam’s own, still soft
and small – God, how you hope it was just one of his stupid scally mates, a lad
his own age.
Your mind wants you dead, you think. You don’t have to listen to his teasing
questions, no; but inside you, the answers get whispered anyway.
You call Diane and go to hers within the hour; she’s got a flatmate, but
anything’s better than your house, now. You take her from behind on her twin-
size bed, fucking deep into her cunt with your eyes closed, and wonder how much
better her other hole would feel.
Three weeks later you break off the engagement. She seems sad but kind of
fucking annoyed too, and a bit relieved. You don’t blame her. You haven’t been
more than half-hard with her for a long time.
※※※
You can’t seem to get it up for anygirl these days. It takes a few months of
shame and misplaced lust and suddenly every time you jerk off you find yourself
picturing masculine features on an anonymous face, big rough hands working you
over, and more and more often, your own hands taking down a zipper and finding
something achingly hard waiting for you. And then, one Friday night, on a whim,
you try going to one of those pubs.
After an hour of shaking hands and too many G&Ts, you meet a handsome bloke in
his early twenties who’s a half-foot taller than you. His hand’s on top of
yours and he asks How old are you, pretty thing?before he steals a kiss against
your sweaty neck. I’m twenty.You’re still nineteen but you don’t really think
he would care anyway.
He snogs you against the bricks in the alleyway and asks if you want to come
home with him, and you kind of do – you reallydo, actually. And you know he
wants to fuck you, too, go all the way (you know it ‘cos he whispered it in
your ear, That mouth’s so sweet, I wanna hear it fuckin’ scream for me when I
shove it in, baby); but despite how much you’re starting to really want it –
your cock screams that you needit – you can’t. Not yet. He lets you feel him up
through his trousers, though, knows you aren’t ready for more, asks you are you
sure?when you take his dick out. You nod. Yes, you’re sure. You’ve never felt
someone else’s cock before; it’s thicker than you’d imagined. You palm him with
your left hand, just the way you’d do yourself, gasping, nodding quickly when
he gets you hard with a steady hand over your jeans. He loves your guitar-
callused fingertips even though they barely reach around him the whole way, and
it doesn’t take too long before he comes hot and sticky on your hand and the
bricks and fuckyou’re glad nobody walked by while you were doing that, Jesus
fucking Christ.
(It’s quite possible that you’re breathing heavier than he is, now.)
He looks down at you like you’re some sorta mystery, and you don’t make eye
contact, but you eat all his cum off your fingers because you don’t want it
drying on your jeans. Tastes sweet and bitter and you think you’re officially a
stupid queer slag, now, just like the boys who used to get beat up all the time
in secondary school. Not that you ever got up to that. But you never cared to
stop it happening.
※※※
You go to places like this every few weeks for months on end, no matter how
much you try to stop. You tell Paul and your mam you’ve got a girlfriend who
lives in Ancoats, and that’s why you’re always on the train and out all night,
even though you’re really just sneaking round Canal Street in dark shades with
your coat pulled up to your ears.
Sometimes you stay over at their flats, now. But if anyone cared to know who
you were, you’d probably be getting a reputation as a bit of a tease, because
you always get them off but you never put out. Of course, that doesn’t mean you
don’t wantto.
※※※
By the time Liam’s fourteen-almost-fifteen, he’s seriously on the verge of
driving you mad, mainly for the way he insists on telling you about each and
every one of his sexual experiences. In full detail.
He fucked around with girls, a lot of girls. You tried not to look
disinterested when he described how good their cunts tasted, how big their tits
were. Your mind was always wandering and when he told you girls loved to have
him finger them – I’m good with me hands –you conjure up a mental image against
your will. It’s not a cunt that his fingers push into, though, not in your
mind. Sometimes when he tells you shit like this you feel like your whole
body’s itching and the only fix would be to climb outside your skin.
Liam gets head a lot, according to him. Has done it outside, sometimes, which
makes you scoff and you always tell him what a fuckin’ idiot he is, must be
desperate if he’ll do it risky like that, but he doesn’t care. ‘s fun, Noel,
should try it sometime. You pretend that he’s inviting you to try it withhim
and you try not to acknowledge how you’d probably say yes, if that was the only
way you could get him on his knees.
His virginity was given to some girl whose name you don’t care to remember, and
Liam says her tongue moved too fast in his mouth. She screamed a lot, yes yes
yes when he put it in her, apparently. He said he made her come three times
before he was finished but you don’t believe him.
(He can’t even recall the color of her eyes, though, or what she was wearing,
or anything like that, so you know he didn’t reallycare.)
“They say my dick’s real good, tha-”
“Shut the fuck up, Liam.”
But things somehow get much worse – well, much better, if you ask your dick
about it – when he’s just about to turn fifteen and starts telling you about
the boyshe’s doing it with.
“Always thought I had the biggest one at school. Was fuckin’ wrong.” He’s so
fucking cocky. No pun intended.
“Imagine that.” You flip through an old edition of Melody Maker. Liam’s on your
bed instead of his – seems like he almost always is, lately – but you’re used
to this by now so it’s a lot easier to tune him out. You read what Johnny
Marr’s favorite bands and TV shows and ice creams are, for the sixth time.
That is, before he tells you, “Yeah, y’wanna know why?” Of course, he gives you
no time to respond. “Colin O’Neill, you know ‘im, yeah?”
You’ve seen him around, he’s in Liam’s year at school. Had maybe played
football with him at some point. “Sure.”
“Gotta be fuckin’, I dunno. Eight inches, man. Eight and a half, maybe. Barely
fuckin’ fit.”
The words on that page you’re still staring at turn into blurs of black ink.
“Sorry, what?” You must’ve misheard him, your brain is playing tricks on you.
“Thought ‘e was gonna fuckin’ choke me to death with it.”
You’re cold-blooded now. Maybe nothing-blooded. It’s all either run out of your
body or collected in your suddenly aching cock. You keep the magazine where it
is, at least Liam can’t see how fucked in the head you are.
“I couldn’t get it all the way down me throat, is ‘at normal?” He’s staring at
you so curiously with his head tilted just slightly sideways. And he’s not
taking the piss – you can always, alwaysread Liam, even when no one else can.
He looks like he really, earnestly wants to learnfrom you.
This presents a problem, though, because Liam doesn’t quite know you the way
you know him, but he can pretty much read your mind if he’s got your eyes on
his. Which he does.
“C’mon, Noel, you’re me big brother, s’posed to teach me stuff like this.” You
really, really doubt that.
“I’m not- I don’t-”
Liam groans and rolls his pretty eyes up at the ceiling. “Fuckin’ liar, what’s
the fuckin’ point of lyin’ about that, anyway. I know, right, and you know that
Iknow.”
You’re defeated.
(It makes you a bit sad when you think about it. Liam is fifteen, practically,
and who the fuck else is he gonna talk to about this? Not Mam. Not Paul. Not a
teacher or a priest, for God’s sake. Usually Liam seems so in control of his
little world, but right now, you’re the only one with a lifeline to throw him.
You would have done anything for someone like that back when you were his age.)
He’s staring at you expectantly and you realize you’d tuned out what he was
saying. “What? Sorry, I- sorry.”
“Was askin’… wha’s the biggest you’ve taken?”
It’s a bit cute the way he plays with a loose thread on his jumper and stares
at his legs where they’re crossed on the bed. He’s been inching closer this
whole time, you realize, close enough that his knees are resting on your feet.
But you don’t move him away. There’s no reason to, not now.
Your heart is beating from the bottom of your stomach, though. “Well, taken-
taken how.” Fuck, should not have said that.
He takes your easy bait real quick, snapping it up with a smile that’s half
cunning prankster-Liam and half genuine sweet-Liam. You love and hate both of
them. “Meant in your mouth, you daft cunt. But if you’re offerin’ to share some
wisdom… ‘bout-”
“No, I’m- no. Not exactly easy to talk about that shit, is it, kid? E’yare,
what else did you want to know?"
“Noel. You didn’t even answer my question.” He licks his lips a bit too slowly
and they turn cherry popsicle red. “Fuckin’ dick.”
You sit there and stare him in the eyes, and you know by now all that his
insults indicate is that he cares so intensely about everything you do that it
spills out of him in love; or in hate, if he can’t have what he wants.
It feels better having him hate you than not having him at all.
※※※
You think he might be addicted to it, now, to telling you about everything that
he does. He fucks girls more often, you know, but he only really tells you
about the boys anymore. It’s obvious how jealous he wants you to be; you hope
it’s not quite as obvious how much it’s working.
If he was a girl he’d be the school slag. He tells you first how he finds out
which of his mates think about lads that way, too, how he tempts them and they
fall apart for him. Then how there’s this new boy in his class who stares a lot
and how he’d passed the kid a note one day, meet me in back of the gym after
lunch, and your stupid kid brother had rubbed him over his trousers next to the
football pitch, with a hand over his mouth to cover his moans, until he made a
mess in his pants. Welcome to Manchester.
After that he’d started going to extreme measures to get his fix. Doing things
that made you sick to your stomach, that almostmade you give in and let him
blow you instead, if only to stop him from all this madness. He keeps an eye on
the older lads, sees who’s picking on the queer kids, and once he gets ‘em
alone, in the toilets or at a party or dripping sweat after a footie match, he
says he can get nearly allof them to come in his hand or even his mouth. I
always spit, though, I promise.
(He shouldn’t be promising you anythingabout spitting, for fuck’s sake.)
“They only beat up the gay boys ‘cos they’re jealous they can’t fuck ‘em,
y’know?” He’s on his stomach on his bed, chin in his palms while he makes doe
eyes over at you and kicks his legs back and forth, heels hitting his arse
every now and then.
You’re not gonna listen to this again, not today. “Y’know, you’re so…
desperate.”
He scoffs. “Oh, am I? You’refuckin’ desperate, man, how many of your boyfriends
d’you let put it inside you?”
“Don’t fucking talk like that, you’re fuckin’- you’re fuckin’- you don’t know
anything, and besides, you’re my brother.”
“You think about it more than Ido. Admit it. Your fuckin’ dick is always hard
when I’m around-”
“Shut the fuckup, you’re so fucking unbearably stupid-”
“Those lads, they all say I’ve got a nice cock, though – thick, y’know.” You
don’t wantto know, or you can’t know. Either one.
“Liam, I’m serious, don’t wanna hear this shit anymore.” You’re basically
blushing and he can tell; and like fucking always, he’s staring you dead in the
face.
The stupid fucker gets a big grin on his face and leans towards you; even from
across the room you can feel him on your skin. “What, you jealous? Don’t it run
in the family?”
You roll your eyes and pretend to be normal and look away.
“Let’s find out, eh?” He lets himself fall backwards, then, on his back with
his head sideways and his shiny hair fanned out beneath his head. “I’ll show
you mine if you show me yours.”
“Liam.”
“Bonding, man.” He wiggles his thick eyebrows, hands resting on the waist of
his jeans. “C’mon, ain’t you curious?”
God, yes, you are. “No. Are you?”
“Yep.”
“Great. You’re nasty.”
“Oh, yeah, and you aren’t, Mr. Sleeparound? You Canal Street whore, ‘ow many
dicks you sucked this week, think you’reso perfect-”
Fuck. Fucking Christ. You don’t even ask how he knows. “I’m not the one blowing
all the school bullies in a toilet stall.” You’re proud of the way your voice
doesn’t shake one bit, dripping condescension as if you actually thought Liam
was worse than you.
(Of course he wasn’t. He was still a kid. You were too old for this, for him.)
He doesn’t even falter, though. “At least I can own up to it. Cunt.”
You drag your hand over your face. “Look, how d’you even- how would youknow
where I-”
“Y’don’t know everything about me, Noel. Think you’re so fuckin’ smart. An’ I
bet I can do it better than you ever could, definitelylook better on my knees,
right-”
“Jesus, are you- fuck you, you can’t be… you can’t go to-”
He’s laughing. “You retarded or summat? Not goin’ there, I jus’ fuckin’
followedyou, ‘cos you’re a shady little fucker.” He’s laughing at you and it’s
not as bad as it would have been to find out he was somehow frequenting the
same pubs as you, but it still burns a bit. “’n’ listen, you’re not as quiet as
you think you are when you’re fuckin’ yourself in the bathroom, y’know what I
mean.”
“Y’know what, Liam, I’d fuckin’ loveit if you never spoke to me again. How
‘bout that?”
“Oh, never. Can’t get rid of me, mate.” He jumps onto your bed and you
immediately stand, hovering in the doorway, facing away from him.
“I’m going out.”
“You’re no fun.”
You hear him unbuckling his belt and the zipper coming down and you sigh.
“Please, for the love of God, just use your own bed for that.” You don’t know
if he’ll actually do it, but you probably wouldn’t mind one bit if he did.
He laughs and it’s too bubbly and sweet for you to handle. “Thought you didn’t
believe in God.”
“I’ll be back later. No need to follow me.”
“Make sure t’ use a condom, yeah? Don’t want ya gettin’ knocked up.”
Well, that’s a bit more typical. You can nearly handle that. “Bye.”
You are eternally grateful that no one else is home when he shouts after you,
loud enough to come down the stairs, “Mine’s six inches now, y’know, but I’m
sure yours is a lot bigger, ain’t it?”
※※※
Liam still goes to confession, on the days Mam insists he come to mass with
her, but you know he’s not repenting for any of his sins. No, he makes up fake
ones; tries to shock the priest worse every week, you know he’s still doing it
even as it becomes more and more outlandish.
It’s endearing to you, though – even though he’s usually so fucking honest,
more than anyone else you can think of, and you don’t want him becoming a
useless liar, like you. But you know he only does it ‘cos that’s what youalways
did, and of course, it was you who told him how.
※※※
After too many anonymous nights letting handsome blokes tell you what to do,
and toomany dreams of Liam underneath you, almost submissive, you decide to try
something new. And just your luck – tonight there’s a lad there at the bar
right next to you, drowning in whiskey sours, fucking tragically cute. Perfect
soft chestnut hair… blue eyes. His voice is higher than the last guy you had,
breathy and sweet and it makes you shiver. He’s eighteen, and you make sure
he’s telling the truth, ‘cos he could pass for about two and a half years
younger, easily. But he fucks like an adult should – sucks on your tongue like
a needy slag and goes down on his knees gladly when you ask all shakily,
sucking you off expertly like he’s been doing it daily for years. Maybe he has.
(You don’t particularly fancy the idea of telling anyone that you like men, and
you probably never will. You’re ugly enough, you think, that no one would see
you on any other street and think pretty boy, bet he loves a nice cock.But this
is the type of boy who isn’t quite lucky enough to blend in that way, whose
hair and walk and girly tight t-shirt and voice make it quite known just what
he is. Though he doesn’t seem to care. Sometimes, you wonder if it’d be easier
that way.)
When you’re getting close, you groan a bit despite not wanting to and grip his
hair too hard in your hands, pulling it. He whimpers sweetly around you and
closes his eyes. You’ve never come so hard from a blowjob in your life.
His pink lips drip white and you think your heart might beat out of your chest.
He comes on your hand, clasped over his own, with little thrusts of his thin
hips and pretty pants hitting your neck to the same rhythm. His release tastes
better than the rest you’ve had.
You don’t fuck him, even though he seems disappointed, but by the time you’re
home you wish you had.
※※※
You meet Graham before the rest of the Carpets, on your twenty-first birthday
at a Roses show. Liam’s there, too, but you’re a bit fucking sick of him lately
so you head upstairs, away from him. Later he tells you that he understands
now, understands the music, but greater things happened to you at that show.
You’re mates with a bandnow.
It’s not long after that you’re introduced to Clint. He’s in a bright-red
Hawaiian print shirt, hair smooth and rounded and falling over his eyebrows in
a style that’s kind of fucking silly, but you can’t take your eyes off him. You
play it cool, flicking your eyes away when they meet his, but your hand’s
shaking. Those eyes stare you down a bit too much to be casual, the whole
fucking night, and you’re thanking God you wore a long, loose shirt because
your cock is trying its best to burst out of your trousers.
You’re fucking dying for it by the time you arrive home at half-past three; the
house is dark and quiet so you climb the stairs two at a time, belt already
unbuckled as you stumble into the bathroom. You barely manage to shut the door
before you fall onto the closed toilet seat with your trainers still on and
your jeans and boxers hanging off one ankle. The nearest bottle is conditioner
and the thick haze of unfulfilled lust doesn’t let you tell yourself this isn’t
lube before you slick a finger up and shove it inside yourself, thinking of the
first dick you ever held in your hand, and Paul Weller on Top of the Pops, and
your fit year-ten maths teacher, and Clint and his poncey bowl-cut, and stupid
fucking Liam while you wrap your other hand around your aching cock.
It burns inside you. You push another finger in despite it, having to force it
past the muscle and wiggle around on the seat until you can crook them
justright, biting your lips and tongue to stifle the noises that force their
way out of your body. You haven’t done it this way in goddamn months, trying
not to want it, to just use your cock like a normal bloke would. But it’s too
fucking tempting and you’re too fucking plastered and stoned to even think not
to. You don’t remember when you worked a third one in but it’s a tight stretch
and what you need.
There are tears in your eyes; you stroke your fingertips over that spot over
and over, biting down so hard that sharp, syrupy blood drips out of the corner
of your mouth and splatters on the bleach-white tiles, then some on your grey
t-shirt. Left hand all slippery in that painfully tight part of you, the place
you’re not supposed to go. But doesn’t everybody fuckin’ do it.Right hand
uncoordinated and wet enough to make a filthy noise while it grips up and down.
But don’t we all.
Even though you know how close you are – even though your fingers fucking in
and out of you kick everything up to double-speed – it still catches you off
guard, and you barely manage to stifle the shameless moan that threatens to rip
its way out of your lungs. Cum stains your thin t-shirt, on top of the blood
you’d dripped there, some of it seeping through to your skin, and the rest runs
down the side of your hand; there’s an obscene sound when your fingers slip out
of your arse, and 30 seconds ago it would have had your toes curling but now it
just makes you ill. Your brain aches nearly as much as your fucked-open, still-
pulsing hole – God,you don’t even know who youareanymore– and you lick up your
wrist and over your fingers, even though you’re next to a roll of toilet paper
on one side and a sink on the other. You’ve certainly had sweeter.
Your eyes water mutely down your flushed cheeks and even a dirty idiot like you
knows you can’t wipe them away until you wash your dirty hands.
But you’re not crying, because you don’t fucking cry. Not ever.
It burns inside you where your fingers had been, ill-prepared and stretched too
wide. Like you’re getting punished for what you’ve done. All of it, the things
you’ve done and all you haven’t done, too, wished for and come over your
fingers every night for. Punished. Part of you hopes you are. Your bed feels
stiff and unfamiliar, and the ache between your thighs makes it impossible to
lay comfortably, and Liam snores louder than he usually does.
Your dreams are just as depraved and cum-soaked as the rest of your life, and
you’ll burn inside for three days after.
※※※
By the next month you and Clint are spending every day together, though, and
snogging like teenagers just about anytime the two of you can get a minute
away. He’s much taller, and much older, and pulls your hair while you straddle
his lap in his tiny third-storey flat. You don’t gag when he fucks your throat
for the first time, and he makes you blush too often, holding your hand in
public – “just for a laugh” – and hissing in your ear y’look fuckin’ fit
tonight while you throw back countless pints with the band. You think his
kisses taste like cigarettes and secrets.
It’s July when you finally let him do it; when you get down on his mattress on
the floor and say please, I want youbefore he takes you from behind. You
realize how fucking sentimental you really are when you find yourself feeling
glad Clint is the first. The hair on his chest rubs against your back and you
are so goddamn glad not to be in your mam’s house, to be able to swear and moan
while he strokes your leaking cock and bites at your ear. Your body lets him in
easily and maybe all the times you rode your own fingers were worth it, because
it doesn’t hurt a bit. He insists on using a condom and you don’t really fancy
that – if you’re going to take a dick, you might as well feel everything, might
as well let him watch his cum drip out of you afterwards, right? – but
considering he’s probably been fucking lads for the better part of the 80s, you
know he’s making better decisions than you ever will.
(You think if youwere the one fucking some lad, you wouldn’t be able to make
yourself use one. But there’s only the one lad you think about being inside of,
at the end of the day, and you’ve been trying to forget him more and more
lately but you still want to possess him fully and that’s why you’d need to
fill him up with your cum, if you ever got the chance to havehim like that.)
If you were someone else, you’d probably call Clint your boyfriend, and if you
weren’t locked up so tight in the closet, you’d say you’re in love.
※※※
Liam’s not quite like any of the lads you shag. He’s not rough and manly, and
he’s not demure and kind and obedient. He’s none of that, and all of it at
once. He’s a monster and an angel, with long eyelashes and a trail of dark hair
that disappears under his waistband, always slung just a bit too low; a stupid
boy who loves fighting and kissing and stealing and playing football, who
steals your shirts because he thinks they’re softer than his, who curls himself
into you every time you’re weak enough to let him fall asleep in your bed. He
hates music even though he doesn’t understand it, and he loves sex even though
he doesn’t understand that, either.
You know him better than anyone else does and you also don’t know a goddamn
thing, except that he’s the most gorgeousfucking thing you’ve ever set your
eyes on, tougher than any big strong man with a thick cock, prettier than any
little queer boy who haunts the city centre.
※※※
A friend introduces you to this bird, Louise, and she’s a laugh and great to go
out for a pint with, and you don’t even mind kissing her. Have to think about
blokes when you fuck her, but at least it gets you hard. Clint told you he’s
bisexualand you are trying your hardest to make that label fit you. Louise
fancies you and your mam loves her and before you know it the two of you are a
couple. But you still fuck Clint on rehearsal nights and after out-of-town gigs
– and of course, no matter how hard you try, you don’t forget about Liam. Not
for a second.
September feels uneventful for the first three weeks. It’s still a few months
before you move out of your mam’s, and the kid turns sixteen tonight so you
blew off both Louise and Clint to spend it with him. He likes cocaine now and
part of you doesn’t want to encourage that, but you know the stuff he’s getting
from some shady mate of his is badly-cut rubbish, so you break out your own
stash, and the two of you do a few too many lines and laugh a bit and drink a
lot and he lays with his cheek pressed to your stomach and you don’t shove him
off. But as it’s bound to, somehow it all becomes an argument. He tells you
he’s just ended things with his girlfriend, bats his eyelashes and stares up at
you hopefully. You know what he wants. More to the point, you know what youwant
– but this was why you had Clint, why you had Louise. To pretend you didn’t
want to have Liam instead.
You tell him good riddance, that his girlfriend was a slag anyway, and it’s a
stupid thing to say. He says what’s that make Louise, then? and you aren’t
going to let him talk like that.
“Y’know, I fuckin’ came home instead of going with her, just ‘cos you beggedme
to be here for your birthday, you little cunt. Fuckin’ spent my money on drugs
and booze for you, instead of on my goddamn missus, so you better-”
He laughs bitterly, cutting you off. “Oh, don’t lie, I know you were goin’ to
get fucked by your Oldham boyfriend again, weren’t you? Wanted to ride his cock
while you thought about me?”
“Fuck you-”
“’Cos you’re a fuckin’ faggot, aren’t you? Go ahead, say it, ‘s’alright, I
already fuckin’ know it for a fact.”
“Don’t fucking call me that. I’m warnin’ you now, Liam, if you-”
“I said it’s fuckin’ alrightcause fuck, you know I’m- I’ll fuckin’ go for
anyonewho’s fit, you fucker. I don’t give a flying shit if you’re a goddamn
queer, fuckin’ want you so much, makes me want you so much more just cos I know
how much you lovefucking boys. You like the pretty ones, don’t you? And you
think I’m fuckin’ pretty,you do, I know just how bad you wanna fuckme-”
He’s so close to your face now that his words are all spit and warm toothpaste-
flavored breath. You know it’s over. You just can’t wait any longer.
“You want me, then, Liam? Doyou?”
His eyes sparkle dangerously. “You fuckin’ heard me, you cunt.”
You knew you’d give in someday, weren’t as strong as you pretended to be, but
you’d always promised yourself you’d wait until you moved out of Mam’s house,
at least. Preferably till he’s out of school, seventeen going on eighteen, and
that was so far away that you didn’t have to think about it yet.
But it’s going to happen today. The twenty-first of September, with cloudy
skies. You’re kissing your brother. You’re vaguely aware of the way he wantsit
with every fiber of his being, wants it all– there’s no way you’re gonna fuck
him, not yet, but he wants anything you’ll give him and if you’re being honest,
you probably you won’t be able to stop at snogging.
You pull his hair back to tilt his head, and his mouth’s already open and God,
he must have been kissing anyone he could, all the time, because his tongue
moves goddamn beautifully.
He’s just barely taller than you now, and you try to pretend he’s not still a
kid, and you try to forget that he’s always been and always will be your little
brother. All you know is that neither of you is ever going to be the same.
※※※
You don’t get butterflies in your stomach for Liam. Just fire in your heart.
One that you can’t seem to put out all the way.
※※※
You kiss and kiss and kiss as much as you can, for months. Till you’re getting
each other off with your hands. Then with your mouths. And he begs and begs and
begs for months, for you to pleasejust fuckhim already. You are amazed you
haven’t yet.
You move into a flat in India House with Louise, and Liam surely knew this day
was coming, but he still threatens to kill you for leaving him. You come back
one night to gather the last couple boxes of your stuff and once you see how
sad he looks, some part of you breaks, and you curl yourself around him on what
used to be your bed. You nearly tell him you love him.
C’mon, our kid, ‘m not goin’ far. You know that.He wipes his wet eyes – ‘course
‘m not cryin’, would never cry overyou, cunt– and straddles your lap, your cock
hard already, while he sucks dark semicircles into the side of your neck. You’d
told him not to do that, that Louise would see, but it only made him suck
harder till the marks were even darker.
He’s extra whiny tonight. “I know you don’t- you won’t- God, just fuckme, Noel,
I’m fuckin’- almost seventeen, I been waitin’-” His voice suddenly changes, a
bit lower now, less whiny. Smoother. His eyes get all big and his lashes seem
darker. “I know… youbeen waitin’, Noel. ‘aven’t you? C’mon, don’t you want me
to make you feel good? Can make you feel so good, Noely, please, want you to
feel how tight I am-”
If only you were a stronger person. If only he was a bit less beautiful and
your lives were a bit less fucked-up already. And if only you were even capable
of using words other than his name right now.
“Liam…”
“I wantyou.”
A compromise has to be made, though. He says almostseventeen, but it’s only
March, which means he’s got six whole months left till his birthday.
Almostseventeen. He’s so fucking cheeky. Will say anything to feel your hands
on his body, anywhere. You wonder, really wonder, if after tonight you’ll still
be able to wait, once your fingers know how he feels. Inside. You’ve never
touched him there, even on the outside; you’ve slipped just the tips of your
fingers between his cheeks before as you squeezed his backside in your hands,
but that’s not the same.
But it’s been too long, of course it has, you’re broken and sick and can’t
resist temptation a day longer, not when he’s offering himself up on a silver
platter for you. You won’t fuck him. But you need something.
And there is a part of him in there beggingfor you, you know there is, so you
reach your hand around and push, just slightly, slotting the thin fabric of his
pyjamas into his cleft and Jesus goddamn Christ-
“Fuck, kid. Fuckin’- fuckin’ warm, you’re fuckin’ burning up in there, aren’t
you, baby…” The pet name comes out too awkward, all disjointed, nearly three
syllables – you’re not used to saying it, not even to girls. Not in bed, at
least. You’ve never been great at dirty talk. Preferred to listen.
The kid’s got more than enough words for the both of you, though. And he’s just
saying c’mon, please, yesover and over now – and he’s reaching back and
gripping your left hand, pulling it closer to his body –
“Noel,mmm…”
I’m gonna feel that. Without any stupid fabric covering it. Hot. Liam’s skin.
Somewhere no one’s been. Well, maybe.
“Kid… kid… has- has anyone ever, ever touched-”
“No, you dick - y’know what, c’mon, you’re too fucking slow tonight.” You’re
nearly paralyzed in disbelief as he tugs at his pants, pulling them down at the
back so his arse is exposed and then pressing your shaking hand in.
He’s sweaty there and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You brush your middle
finger against his tight hole, gently, and you didn’t expect it to be fucking
wet –you inhale harshly while he drops his head against your shoulder and moans
so soft and sweet.
“Liam, fuck.”
“Feel how much I want you? Do you? Made myself ready for you. Jus’ in case you
finally wanted to… to…”
“Shit, Liam… Jesus, did you…”
He turns his face and kisses your neck all sloppy. The same way he feels
against your fingers. “Course I did, been fuckin’ myself stupid on me fingers
all the fuckin’ time, since I could tell you wanted me back. So much, Noel.
Since I was fuckin’ fourteen – wanted to be ready for you…”
Oh, he’s a fucking dream. You’ve neverfucked a girl who talks this fucking
dirty- or a bloke, for that matter, and by now you’ve been with more of them
than birds. But your baby brother, already taller than you, skinny but becoming
a man more every day, with lean muscles in his biceps and his legs… he is
somehow better than them all.
Liam bites down on your neck and sucks and somehow moans at the same time while
you stroke back and forth against his opening. You are mesmerized by how
goddamn soakedhe is. You try to memorize the way it feels, how the skin is
puckered and the sensation as it clenches a bit, opening like his body wants to
pull you right inside.
“C’mon, Noel, got myself all nice ‘n’ clean for you…”
He’s occupying himself with making a mess of bruises on your neck in between
words, and he whines a bit as you pull your hand away. You suck your index and
middle fingers – real quick, before he notices what you’re doing – and then
without a word push the first finger inside.
“Fuck! Fuck, yes, yes-” Immediately, he’s grinding back, trying to get you in
even farther.
Inside he’s somuch hotter than you could ever have imagined, even though you’ve
done this before, with other boys, boys less pretty and less filthy and less
relatedto you. He’s soft in there, too, and his body grips your finger tight
but still lets it in so easily. He’s definitely been preparing himself as much
as he said he was, that’s for sure. Which, really, is a blessing. Makes you
feel slightly better, that you’re not going to hurt him, physically at least.
He feels 5505 degrees. The sun shines out of our behinds.God, you’re pathetic.
“More, I need more.”
“Where’s your manners?”
“Fuckmanners.”
“What d’you want. Tell me. Fuckin’ filthy little thing.”
“Want you to fuck me with those, shove those fingers in. I can take three so
easy, Noel, swear I can, been takin’ three for, like, a yearnow. More. Could
take your cock in right now, suck it first and get it nice ‘n’ wet, wouldn’t
even need lube-”
You regret asking him. You pray you don’t come before you’ve even taken off
your briefs. “Liam, c’mon, that’s-”
“I’ve taken four before, y’know. All by myself. Thas’ bigger than a dick,
right. Hurt a little, but it stretched me out. Was so fuckin’ angry you weren’t
mine, weren’t the one makin’ me feel good, jus’ wanted to know how it looked.
How loose it was. I couldn’t see it, only felt it…”
“Fuck,kid.” You can’t wait anymore; he whimpers all drawn-out and sweet when
you shove your middle and ring fingers in without hesitation. He really cantake
them, and so perfectly. “Shut the fuck up, let me- gonna fuck you with my
fuckin’ fingers. Make you come.”
“Fuck, yeah… want you to stretch me out, wanna see your face when you see how
loose you made me.” The kid’s gonna drive you goddamn crazy. He kisses you
quickly, one two three four five times, then whispers against your cheek, “I
been thinkin’ about somethin’ else, too, Noel…”
“What’s that, angel.” You don’t ignore his tiny moan when he hears you call him
that.
“Have you ever thought about… oh, thought about- puttin’ your mouth down there,
your tongue, an’- an’ fuckin’-”
“God. Just… Liam- God.”
He laughs at you, still grinding his arse back so your fingers are even deeper
in him, until they bottom out and your knuckles press against him. “Yeah, call
me God, Noel, turns me on-”
Stupid little cunt. “Bein’ cheeky, are we, now? Didn’t anyone ever tell you to
respect your elders, you little slag?” You shove your fingers in roughly,
nailing his prostate dead-on. He groans and he’s not laughing anymore, just
panting. “Or am I gonna need to spank some sense into you?”
(You don’t think you could. Not yet, at least. But it’s intriguing, and it kind
of explains why the both of you get flushed and kind of aroused nearly every
time you fight.)
“Noel,‘m not a slag…ohfuckyesyes…” So you are, then.
 “’s in your best interest to do what I fuckin’ say. You gonna behave? Gonna be
a good boy for me? Y’know I’ll take care of you. Gotta be real fuckin’ good,
though.” You can’t fucking believe the words are even leaving your mouth, and
you’ve never done that whole roleplay authority thing before but it feels so
righthere and you can feel how Liam loves it. He’s getting your chin all messy
with his sweet sticky Liam-spit.
“Gonna be good, Noel. I’m, I’ll, I’ll make you feel so good, jus’ want you,
wanted you since I was fuckin’ twelve, Noely. I… I want you to, just… oh…” You
groan at that which probably just earned you a lifetime in hell but right now
it doesn’t matter. You have heaven grinding on your lap already.
“Liam… fuckin’ stupidlittle bastard- fuckin’ drive me crazy, you do. Tellme.”
You’re merciless, now, not caring how hard your fingers are shoving in. You
have to stop yourself from forcing in a fourth.
“Ahh, ‘s too rough, fuck-”
Whining, he tugs your hand out of him. His fucking hole must have a mind of its
own, trying to suck you back in, desperately, as your fingers leave his body
and it turns you on so much you can practically hear your dick screaming let me
out let me out let me out.
Not time for that yet, though. You’re gonna draw this out as long as you
possibly can.
“Too dry now, Noely, you fuckin’ know I can’t get wet like that… need you to…
yougotta get me ready, y’know what I mean?”
You know. Oh, you know.“Say it, little fuckin’ tease.”
His face is in the crook of your neck, lips swollen and you can feel them
curling into a smile even as he speaks. “You gonna lick me there, Noel? Gonna
make me drip?”
“Jesus Christ.” You drag him closer so his half-covered pelvis is pressed
firmly against your cock.
“No, my name’s Liam.”
“Fuckyou.” It’s always gonna be some sort of back-and-forth between you two,
you realize, and that’s alright, that’s how the two of you have always been.
Because you care enough to shout at him for hours. Anything to hear him get all
worked up, his voice go high. “Gonna eat your fuckin’- d’you want me to eat
your fuckin’ cunt-”
“Noel, Jesus fuckin’- d’you-”
You think about him being your sister and it’s not quite right, because you
want your brother, but the thought still makes your heart race. “Yeah, ‘cos
you’re so pretty, y’know- like a fuckin’ bird-”
“Only bird you’d ever wanna fuck, then.”
Your mind suddenly conjures up an image of Liam, hair so long it nearly touches
his shoulders, long legs in sheer black nylons and a tight little miniskirt
barely covering his sweet arse –
“No. Shut up.” You’re blushing so much your face feels as hot as he did inside.
You don’t know why it turns you on. Liam’s cunt.Fuck. It’s so fucking filthy,
just like him.
“Nah. You like fuckin’ boys. You loveit. D’you love their holes, Noely? Yeah?”
Such a goddamn tease. “You wanna taste my tight arse, don’t you. Push your face
in, suckon it, fuck yeah.” No sixteen-year-old should even know how to talk
this dirty. And whether it’s a bit overdone or not, it still does a lot of
disgusting things to you, and the way he looks in the dim light just pushes it
over the edge, takes a stupid teenager and makes him into a fuckable creature.
But still sweet and mischievous; looking so innocent but really so dirty. And
yours,most importantly. You’ll own a bit of him forever, you think.
“Get on your fucking back. Now.”
(You’re going to come if he doesn’t. You’re almost sure of it.)
“You’re gonna love how it feels to get me wet, Noel, I can tell.Even gonna like
the way I taste.” He’s growlingthe words at you, lying on his back with his
knees propped up and falling open wide, licking his lips. “Fuck me with that
stupid fuckin’ tongue. Fucking openmeup.”
Your brain falls right out of your head as he kicks off his pyjama pants,
reaching down and pushing two of his ownfucking fingers inside. It’s a bit dark
in the room and you’re dying to seeit for the first time. You can tell just by
watching him how tight he still is, and when he removes his fingers and pulls
one of his cheeks to the side with slick fingertips, he clenches open and
closed, moaning, shadows clinging to the curves of his body. He begs for you so
shamelessly, Noel, please, c’mon.It’s so obscene you almost want to tell him to
stop.
Shaking now, you can hardly stand. Feels like all your blood’s rushed straight
to your dick. You can see it even better as you fall down on the bed and pull
him open all the way before you’ve even thought twice. Fuck,you hadn’t even
thought about how pinkhe’d be down there. Smoother than you but still hairy,
the way some of the prettier lads you’d fucked around with were. Guess that’s
your “type”, then. His hole is even more tempting now that you’ve actually seen
it.
He’s fucking pulsingfor you.
“Oh, I’m gonna fuckin’ devour you, you fuckin’ bastard.” Your mouth’s too dry
so you lean up and steal some spit right out of his mouth. “Fuckin’ tight
little hole.”
“Go on. Want you t’ make a fuckin’ mess.”
You can see it in your mind, now, so you just give in. He’s a mess already,
anyway. And so are you.
※※※
You last three months after this – three excruciatingmonths – before caving and
finally taking what’s yours, giving him what’s his.
Three months; thirteen blowjobs, eleven mutual wanks, eight times your fingers
stretched him wide, six times he swallowed down all your cum, five you licked
up his. You’d rimmed him four times, fucked his throat as hard as you could
three times, and twice, you’d slotted your dick up against the cleft of his
pretty arse and pretend-fucked him till you left a mess on his lower back.
Tonight, though – tonight, you’re going to finally put all that bullshit to
rest, quit the fucking around.
You’re gonna make love to him.
The both of you are desperate for it after only three minutes of your fingers
inside him. Need it now, Noel. Wanna ride you.It’s a good idea, will let you
see his face, let him decide how hard and fast he gets it, save you the work of
thrusting. Give him a bit of control, then, even though you both know damn well
you’rethe one in charge.
He scoffs when you ask him if he wants you to use a condom. Fuck no.You’re
glad.
Your fingernails draw blood on his skinny hip as he works himself down on your
cock, probably harder than you’ve ever been before. He fits you goddamn
perfectly, like his hole was cast from a mould of your dick, created to take
you just perfectly. His chubby fingers press against your chest where you’re
just starting to grow hair, nails clean and trimmed as always. You can smell
the cologne he’s put on, nicked from the department store, and it makes your
heart ache with love even as he rolls his hips and grinds back onto you, that
he’d made himself all pretty and sweet for your first time, almost like laying
rose petals on the bed.
The lights are off. He whines that his thighs are burning so you tip him over
and push his knees to his chest, suck on his tiny pink nipples while he keens
softly and whispers how he loves you. If it were a movie, he might be the prom
queen getting defiled by an older boy, not even her date – the wrongone, the
one she’s not supposed to end up with. His ankles bounce against your back
every time you push back inside and you are shivering at the sensation of your
balls hitting his skin again and again, full and ready.
You’re gonna knock up the prom queen tonight.
He squeezes his eyes shut and groans endlessly as he gets closer to coming.
“God, yes, Noel. Fuck, harder. Fucking get me off, please,you cunt…”
You’re so, so close, just need that little bit from him to push you right over
the edge. Your voice is shaking and you hear two steady beating hearts as you
breathe out, You can do better than that, can’t you… c’mon, what’s the
filthiest word you know?
And Liam gasps shakily and looks up at you and whispers Brother and you let go,
fucking six spurts of cum inside him and thrusting hard to make sure it gets in
there deep.He sobs as his tight hole clenches around you and his cum stains
both your chests.
You kiss him slowly without tongue while he grips the sweaty hair at the back
of your neck, growing longer every day. Neither of you can stop shaking and you
couldn’t count the minutes you spend with your spent cock still inside him.
I love you, I love you, I love you,he spits into your mouth; it’s open now and
he forces his tongue inside. You suck on it, hard, till he’s whimpering.
He tastes like your DNA.
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