Note: This is a work of fiction depicting brothers engaging in consensual sex. All materials of "Finding

Home" are the property of the author, copyright 2010. Please send any comments or suggestions to Let me know if youʼd like to read more.

Finding Home


My name is Matthew Parker. Matt for short. And I have a secret.

While I have a hard time saying it out loud, something happened between my brother and I; something confusing and exciting; something that changed me in unexpected ways. I have trouble finding the words to explain how something like this could have happened, how it could impact my life in such a profound way, but try nonetheless.

My name is Matt Parker, and this is my story.

Chapter 2: The Long Way Home

I woke up in bed alone, hiding in the covers, drowsy from last night. We'd gotten dressed somewhere around 3 or 4 a.m., barely speaking, too tired to talk. It was christmas morning and I was ready for it to be over. I could hardly stop myself from replaying images of last night, when Ryan and I lost ourselves to each other and did something unexpected, something dangerous. I pulled the covers over my head afraid to face the day, scared in anticipation of seeing the family with the knowledge that I wasn't the same person anymore, that I had changed over the course of a night. It was christmas morning and I was scared, tired and confused.

And yet, I felt as if my life had just started.

I got out of bed, trailing the bed sheet behind me in search of the bathroom. I wasn't ready to go downstairs yet. I figured that my father, mother, sister, and my brother, Ryan, were already downstairs either enjoying a nice family breakfast together, or staring blankly at the t.v. screen not speaking to one another.

A flash of my brother naked, towering above me, leaning down to kiss me, opening my mouth with his tongue as he pushes himself inside of me, made me weaken at the knees as I took a piss. My ass was pretty sore from last night. It would take a day or so to recover and would hurt for most of the day making it impossible to sit still for long periods of time. I kind of liked the feeling though, as if he had left his mark last night, a constant reminder of what we shared, that passion. The reminder that he was, if only for a moment, or rather a lot of moments, inside of me.

I had to stop thinking about it. I was driving myself insane. I hadn't even seen him yet this morning and I was already picturing him naked, already imaging when we would do it again, what it would feel like. I didn't even know if he would want to do it again. I didn't even know if I wanted to do it again. I guess I wanted to. Yes, I did want to do it again. I mean, I don't know what the hell that means, and I definitely don't know how I feel about this whole situation, but I knew, I just knew that I didn't want it to end. Not yet. We could sort out the feelings and all that emotional shit later.

But first, I had to face him, and see how we both felt in the light of day.

I dressed quickly, rummaging through the clothes I had brought down from New York with me, discarding the cum-stained t-shirt I used to clean myself up last night. I grabbed a pair of sweats and a clean t before heading down to face the gauntlet, to face my family on christmas morning.

There was juice and bagels greeting me when I came down to the kitchen. My father had taken up his post in the recliner in front of the t.v. watching but not really paying attention to the christmas movie flashing before his vacant eyes. My mother was probably outside smoking, or still sleeping. We usually had to wait for her to open all our presents. My sister, Nikki, was sitting at the table in front of me reading the previous day's newspaper, not even bothering to look up as I approached.

"There's still some coffee in the pot if you wanted some...And I left the juice out in case you wanted something less caffeiney."

"Thanks," I said surprised. You usually couldn't even tell if she noticed you existed on most days. Why was she being so nice this morning?

Ok, now is not the time to start getting paranoid. Nobody knows what happened, just you and him. No one else has to know. It'll stay just between you and him. I figured out pretty quickly that I was going to have to be talking myself down some ledges today. I just hoped that I would be able to get this nervousness under control.

My brother came down the stairs and up behind me, putting his hand on my shoulder, "What's for breakfast?"

"Apparently the princess left some coffee in the pot, which was a surprise to me."

Nikki glanced up briefly to throw a smile at me that clearly told me to back the fuck off. She may have had a moment of selflessness this morning, but I was not to press my luck. At least not with her.

I felt my brother's hand linger tentatively on my shoulder, feeling a hotness where he touched my skin even when he took it away to pour himself a glass of juice. I licked my lips, a nervous gesture. I couldn't tell where we stood, not yet. I guess the "he's completely fine with what happened last night" camp gets a point for the few seconds of contact, but it could just as well mean that the he's freaked the fuck out about what happened and now wants to play it off like nothing did.

My brain was working in overtime. I just wanted some peace and quiet from the voices swirling around in my head. The id, ego, and superego having a battle of wills, with my brain as the battleground.

My plan was to just get through the morning: open some presents, smile and laugh at the appropriate intervals, and wait for him to approach me. Maybe if he sees that I'm not going crazy about this, wracked with guilt and confusion, then he'll be chill. As long as I act like it's not a big deal, he'll come to me. I'm sure of it.

I sighed loudly. Who the fuck am I kidding? I'm not sure of anything right now...


The rest of the morning played out pretty much how I expected it to. My mother finally woke up from her drug induced sleep. We all ate breakfast separately, avoiding human contact as much as possible until the inevitable opening of presents.

We of course waited until my other brother Chase joined us, after he dropped off his 4 year old son at his ex-girlfriend's house for the day. There was a lot of drama in our family, and I was proud that my only screw-up, at least in my parent's eyes, was that I was a big homo. They couldn't get on me about too much else because for all intents and purposes, I was a perfect son: supporting myself by working part-time while also going to school full-time and getting excellent grades. It took the heat off of me having other siblings with way worse problems than me. I'm not judging...swear.

Like I said, presents were over and done with. We all smiled and acted the happy family as we unwrapped plastic gift-wrapped items that we wanted but didn't really need. I was actually excited for about 30 seconds upon finding that I had gotten the video camera I had asked for. Then I retreated into my normal mask of pretense, ooohing and aaahing to fake interest when necessary.

I get down on my family a lot, but they're really not that bad. Of course they have their problems, but they aren't bad people. It's just much easier to pretend to not care then deal with the very real possibility that these people, who I'm related to no matter what I have to say about it, are reflections, in some way, of myself. I cringe at the thought that I am anything like them. Maybe it's just me trying to assert my own identity, find myself among the mistakes of my parents and siblings. I am the youngest after all. I'm expected to be the good child, the responsible one. Just for once, I'd like to know what it's like to not be expected to be anyone than who I am. This house, these four walls, and these people that live in it, they've never felt like my home. I don't know where home is, but you feel it when it is, you know it, deep inside of you. I thought that I felt some of that feeling last night, lying in my brother's arms, holding onto a feeling that I merely touched, held for a single instant.

He didn't talk much throughout the ceremonial opening of presents. I found myself preventing quick glances in his direction at the expense of my sanity, but I swore I could feel his eyes on me, watching me. He had something to say, I could feel it. We just needed a chance to be alone, to talk.

I finally got my chance once the family retreated to their separate corners, preparing for the second night of celebration with the extended family. I found him in my room, just sitting on the edge of the bed. As soon as I walked in, "Could you close the door?"

Without words, I turned around facing the doorway, and felt him rise up off the bed pushing the door closed for me and locking the door as he caressed my side.

I snapped out of it, images, sensations, flooding my consciousness and reminding me of how last night started. I turned around and he was still sitting on the edge of the bed, almost afraid to move. It looked like I would have to make the first move, extend the first olive branch.

"Look..." I began.

He cut me off before I could even start, "I have something to say and if you start speaking it won't apply anymore...and I just need to say it...ok?"

I nodded silently, afraid of what was going to come out of his mouth.

"So last happened, and...well, I don't know what to think of what happened. It's confusing, and I'm sure you feel that way too." My silence encouraged him to continue, spurred on by my rapt attention. "It was...nice..." My heart lifted a fraction. Nice was not what I was expecting. "...but I think we should both agree that it shouldn't happen again..."


Crushed by a couple of dozen words shoved into one fumbling speech that really didn't amount to much explanation of how he really felt about what happened. Nice? Who was he kidding? He might as well have spit in my face in disgust, running out of the room to escape the need, the shame burning in my eyes. Who was I kidding? I felt disgusted...that I had even imagined for one second that this could be something...something that could...I don't know.

I nodded in resignation. I gave up, and it only took an instant.

He smiled at me, which only made things hurt more. He smiled and told me he loved me. He told me he loved me, and I wanted to die.

For the next few hours, I sat in my room alone unable to cry, unable to think, but just feel empty. Crushed, that's the word that comes to mind. The only word. Maybe heartbroken, but I don't know about that. I don't know how I really felt about what happened because I was too busy stressing over how he felt.

I let the rest of the day and night pass over me, numb to the happenings of christmas dinner leftovers. I was ready to leave, to face the long car ride home with Ryan, to say goodbye to my family for the next couple months and return to New York and, hopefully, find a way to start over.

I cornered Ryan by the stairs while most of the adults were cleaning their plates from another filling dinner.

"I want to go home...tomorrow...please..."

The only words I said to him all day, even when listening to his speech signaling the demise of whatever happened between us last night, whatever could have become of it. He nodded, wordlessly in agreement.

Till tomorrow then.


I slept alone that night, and woke up alone.

I packed the rest of my things in silence, thinking about what I was going to say to him, or thinking about how long I could actually keep the silent treatment up on our 6 hour ride back to New York. More than anything, I was empty, tired, and hurt. I was feeling things I couldn't give words to. Instead, I just let them happen, let myself feel them, so I could move on when the time came. And that time was in 15 minutes, when my brother's car would pull out of our driveway and head towards the highway, back to our regularly scheduled programs, back to my normal life.

The car packed up, lukewarm coffee in the cup holder, cold wind hitting my face from the cracked window, I sat in silence, listening to Ryan's stupid playlist, his mix he made for the ride to and from New York. I allowed myself to hate him just a little bit, to get pissed off for making the first move last night and acting like he made a huge mistake the next day. Well guess what brother? You did make a mistake, and mistakes have consequences. Too bad for him, I was one of those consequences.

"So what? You're just going to ignore me the whole drive back?" I sneered at him.

"What do you mean? I figured this was what comfortable silence felt like?"

"You're an asshole you know that? You just expect me to keep quiet about this whole thing, to just accept that you've had enough of whatever happened between us. Well, I don't know if I can do that."

He looked at me, took a long hard look at me, and smiled. Not his normal smile, not his sarcastic smile. It wasn't even the same look he gave me last night, when he looked into my eyes and shared something with me. No, he smiled at me, and he pitied me.

So that's what I had become to him, just another love-struck groupie pining for his all-powerful dick. Granted he had a nice cock, a nice body, and a deliciously hairy chest, but fuck that, and fuck him. I wasn't just some piece of trash he picked up on a wednesday night out at the bar. I was still his brother.

I couldn't speak. I was shaking with rage. I couldn't believe it. He pitied me? I could see it written across his face, clear as day. And I wasn't going to fucking stand for it. I knew in an instant what I had to do. I had a moment of pure revelation, a way to prove to him that I wasn't who he thought I was, that he wasn't who he thought he was.

I reached over past his arm gripping the steering wheel and went for his zipper. He tried swatting my hand away swerving the car slightly as he tried to stop me. He protested, but there was nothing behind his protests, no meaning, at least not something I was interested in. All I heard was yes. His body told me yes. As soon as I got his pants unzipped and pulled free his massive dick, his completely rock-hard, solid dick, I had my answer.

I moved the center console back to give me some room to work. His one hand tried to stuff his cock back into his pants as he swerved to get back into his lane, completely taken aback by my actions. However, he couldn't do everything at once. Before he knew it, I had his dick back out of his pants and in my mouth. I leaned out of my seat and placed my entire head in his lap as I started bobbing up and down the length of him, making him slick with my saliva. He moaned above me, partly afraid, mostly excited. I could tell he felt dangerous with me sucking his dick while driving on a major highway, with cars surrounding us full of people who would possibly see what we were doing, what I was doing to him. I didn't care though.

I quickly lowered myself onto him, licking along the head of his dick, trying to lick through the slit at the top of the head, trying to get inside of him somehow. I heard myself make small sounds in the back of my throat as I swallowed him whole, swirling him around my tongue and forcing him to the back of my throat. I gagged slightly on the length of him as he muttered to himself, "Oh god, oh god, fuck, oh god."

His hand met the back of my head, grabbing for my hair, slightly pulling at my scalp until a bright itch started to develop, but I was enjoying this too much to care. The pain quickly turned into pleasure, just the part of the game I was playing. He fucked my mouth, bucking his hips against the seat trying to force-feed me his entire cock. I relaxed my jaw so that he could enter my mouth freely, without resistance. I let him push and pull my head down onto his dick, using my mouth, just another hole. He cried out above me as his dick grew unbearably hot. I could feel his pulse vibrating against the walls of my mouth, his dick throbbing with need. I knew he would go soon.

I used those last moments to really draw out the pleasure. I let my lips cover the head of his dick as his hands flew to the wheel of the car, knuckles white with tension.

"Oh fuck, I'm gonna cum, oh fuck, oh fuck..."

He threw his head back as I pushed his dick in my mouth one last time, sucking and biting at his dick as warm jets of cum hit the back of my throat and dribbled out of my mouth. He cried out above me as his dick swelled with one last strong burst of cum, forcing me to swallow or choke. He grabbed the back of my head forcing me down onto his cock, his hand throbbing with need as he held my hair, making me finish what I started, making me devour all of him. He was done at last, every drop drained, his dick now limp in my mouth.

Without even knowing it, I looked up to find us parked behind a service station along the New Jersey Turnpike. I was so caught up in what I was doing, so caught up in proving my point that I hadn't realized he'd stopped the car.

We had had a little privacy when he finished in my mouth, which made me feel a little better after realizing what I had just done.

I sat up straight, now back in my chair, and looked straight ahead. I couldn't bare to look at him now. I instantly regretted what just happened.

I was so busy being angry at him, feeling like a worthless sloppy-second in a long line of sloppy-seconds, that I didn't take into account how I would feel afterward. That seems to be the recurring theme here. I just jump head-long (no pun intended) into situations that I know are wrong and will only result in disaster, and yet...

...I jump anyway. Even after knowing that the fall will most likely break my legs in 6 places, and cause major internal bleeding...I jump anyway. I'd rather jump than never know what I'm missing. I tend to try to sound insightful when I'm scared shitless. It usually helps me think better, clearer.

I couldn't do anything but stare straight ahead, the taste of his cum still in my mouth. I reached for my water bottle, desperately needing to lather, rinse, and repeat, when his hand grabbed hold of mine. I did one of those slow motion looks that you see in the movies, when you don't know what's going to happen, and the heroine has to finally face what she fears to be true.

That's what happened. The world stopping for a second, held it's breath as I looked up, afraid of what his face would tell me, afraid that with one look he would completely destroy me.

So I looked up.

And he smiled. That knowing smile, that shit-eating grin that let me know that...well, I don't know what it meant exactly, but it wasn't something I was afraid of. He smiled at me, and I felt safe. I felt like he knew exactly what I was thinking, exactly what I was feeling, and that it was ok. That it was alright to be scared, and confused, and also excited and flushed. I could tell he felt it too. And all that stuff before, the anger, and those stupid, hurtful words. I knew none of it was true.

That look. That one look. It said nothing, and yet it said everything. There wasn't need for any words, that would come later. It was just like knowing, truth, in a glance.

The drive home helped in a way I didn't think possible. In some ways it resolved the issues we were having with the knowledge that having sex together changed us. I don't know how it changed me, or how I feel about everything having had some time to think about everything, but I know we're going to figure it out together. More than anything, I'm glad to know that I'm not alone in how I feel. I know he has strong feelings towards me. I don't know what they are, but they're there, behind the surface.

The drive home ended up taking us to an altogether different destination. Who knows if it's going to be better than where we started. But at least it's progress.