Date: Thu, 15 Nov 2018 23:21:22 -0500 From: RJ Subject: Brothers at Arms Chapter 5 Brothers at Arms by RJ This multi-part fiction involves the developing relationship between two brothers (aged 13 and 19). If you are offended by such themes, do not read. If you have any comments about my work, or even just want to chat, please don't hesitate to message me. As always, please support Nifty in any way you can. ~ CHAPTER 5 ~ Christmas Eve. My least favorite time of the year. Dad's side of the family is practically nonexistent, so we always spend the holidays with my mom's side. And they're all snobby, in-your-face conservatives that I can never end up being comfortable around. Thankfully I only have to see extended family maybe three times a year, but even that feels like too much. The night is pretty much exactly how I expected it to be. Loud, cramped, stuffy, and overstimulating. There are too many people packed into my grandmother's tiny house, so it's hard to find space where I can just keep to myself without getting barraged with the same questions over and over. "How's school? Keeping up your grades? You're looking a bit skinny, kid... How come you're not working out like your brother does?" That's the thing. Sure, I'm smart, and that's enough for some people. But I'm constantly compared to Dean, and by my family's standards, I don't qualify as enough of a man. Sometimes I want to scream at them "I'M ONLY THIRTEEN!" but arguing with any of my aunts or uncles or cousins is a complete waste of breath. So when they make comments about how inferior I look compared to Dean, I just nod. "Yep." The only people who don't bother me are my parents. Even Dean is on thin ice. Ever since he started "officially" dating Joey, it's just as I predicted: I see him less. We'll make plans to hang out and he'll cancel them last minute. As his way of apologizing, sometimes he'll sneak into my room right before bed to fool around. And of course I don't stop him because my body naturally responds to him, which only seems to piss me off more. The whole situation with his girlfriend irks me more and more each day and I'm terrified of bringing it up to him in case it causes a rift between us. But then again, he seems to be doing that so well on his own. It doesn't help that just this morning, he told me and my parents that he'll be spending Christmas Day with Joey. Without so much as a second thought. Christmas Day has always been a tradition for us. A quiet day to spend at home, just the four of us, where we watch A Christmas Story and swap gifts and eat delicious food. My parents were sad at first but just chalked it up to Dean growing up and doing things outside the family. Me, on the other hand... I can't help but feel abandoned. I catch his eye from across the room and he smiles at me before coming over. He seems completely oblivious to the subtle hints I've been dropping lately, or the changes in my mood. He's in his own little world lately. Practically all smiles, as if he's got it all -- girlfriend, music, fuckable little brother, and even an improved grade point average. Fucking idiot. He plops down next to me on the couch with a sigh, holding his drink out to me. "Want some?" Then he leans in more, whispering. "I snuck some vodka in." "I'm good," I say blandly. "Suit yourself," he says, taking a large sip and then sighing dramatically. "I like your sweater, by the way," he says with a grin, glancing down at my overtly-Christmas-themed sweater. Even his teasing is no fun right now. I'm mad. "Fuck off, Dean," I say, shifting slightly. I cross my arms. "I'm serious!" he says with a laugh, patting my thigh. "It looks good on you. It's cute." I wish I could just play along. That would make this so much easier. "I'm really not in the mood, Dean." "I'm being absolutely 100% with you right now, Stevie," he says, not picking up on the fact that I don't want to speak with him. I just stand up. "I'm gonna use the bathroom." That might be the only place in the house for me to get some alone time, unless I hide outside in the fucking cold. Without a second glance at Dean, I maneuver around family members and slip out of the living room. I head down the hallway a bit and go right into the bathroom. But of course, right before I shut the door, Dean manages to catch up with me. He blocks me from closing it and then easily makes his way in before locking the door behind him. "What the fuck?" I ask before he grabs my sweater and tugs me to him. He leans in to try and kiss me. As he bends forward, he ends up pinning me against the counter, and I have to crane my head back in order to avoid his advances. "Stop!" I tell him. He looks at me. "What?" "What are you doing?" "What do you mean?" he asks with a laugh. "I'm pickin' up what you were puttin' down." Now I'm confused. "Huh?" "'I'm gonna use the bathroom'," he says, trying to mock my voice. I'm still not catching on. "Yeah...?" He laughs through a short burst of air. "That's basically saying 'Hey, big bro, come fuck me in the bathroom'." I close my eyes. Jesus Christ. "How did you...? No. That's not what that means," I say, irritated. "So you're saying you don't wanna fuck right now?" "You're drunk," I say, pushing against his chest, "and annoying." "You're right on one of those accounts," he says with a little smirk before gripping onto me tighter. He presses his groin against me and I can feel his bulge. God, why does it feel so good? "C'mon, lil Stevie. Let me fuck you," he says softly, leaning in to kiss me again. It's so fucking tempting. I hate it. "Dean, stop," I say, holding my hand on his mouth before he can reach my lips. "Everyone is literally right there." I gesture towards our entire fucking family that's in the living room no more than ten feet away. "So?" I blink. "So? Someone will hear us." "You mean someone will hear YOU," he says with a grin. "You're a loud little bastard." "Dean--" "What, you can't keep quiet this one time?" he asks, his hand sliding to my ass. He grips the back of my jeans tightly enough to press his fingers between my cheeks as if trying to finger me through the denim. I whimper slightly. "No," I say firmly. He stares at me for a moment before sighing. "Fine," he says, letting me go. I take a breath, thinking he's going to call it quits. But then he grips my belt and starts undoing it. "Dean, fucking sto--" He slaps my hands away when I try to grab at his wrists. "Shut the fuck up," he says lowly, undoing my belt, the button, and then the fly before he suddenly gets to his knees. He then grips my pants and underwear at my waist and starts tugging them off my hips, pulling them down mid-thigh and letting my (annoyingly) hard cock free. Without wasting a single moment, Dean leans forward, parts his lips, and takes me into his mouth. My whole body both freezes and tingles all over and I stare up at the ceiling. What the--? Why is he...? What is happening? Dean is sucking my cock. His lips are around my fucking dick right now. I'm too surprised to even make noise. I inhale and then that's it. I'm practically holding my breath as Dean bobs his head back and forth. My whole body is tense from shock. A Christmas fucking miracle. I slowly start to relax as I realize how much I missed this feeling: the feeling of a warm mouth enveloping my member. And it's Dean. Dean! Of all people. I glance down to see what's going on. Watching him seems surreal. His fingers are still clutching my pants from when he tugged them down. He's just using his mouth and that brilliant tongue of his. He's staring straight ahead, right at my sweater as he works on the head and then slides down my shaft until I hit the back of his throat repeatedly. I don't move. I can't move. If I move, I'm afraid he'll flinch and come to his senses. And fuck, I don't want this to stop. He's not half-bad either. Not nearly as good as me, but considering how long it's been since I've had a mouth on my cock, (plus the fact that it's Dean who's servicing me) I am much more than content. And then, he starts taking me into his throat a little. His hands shift to grip my hips a little tighter as he tries to deep-throat me. He gags a little and pulls back to the top half of my cock, laughing slightly to himself as he continues to bob back and forth. It's almost cute. I realize how close I am. I don't even know how long he's been on his knees. Two minutes? Five? Ten? I feel my cock throb a bit and my balls start to ache, and then, Dean fucking pulls off. "Goddamn," he says, licking his lips a bit. "This is work." He laughs before stretching out his jaw. He looks up at me when I make a whiney noise. "What?" "I was so close." "Oh shit," he says, looking surprised, as if he had just made a mistake (which he did). "Sorry." Then he gets right back to it. No hesitation. His lips work around my cock as his tongue begs me to cum. He stops for a brief moment, pulling off just to say "Let me know when you're 'bout to bust" before continuing. Let you know? So, what, you can pull away? Fuck that. This load is going right in your mouth, Dean. My toes start to curl in my shoes a bit, and my body tenses slightly. The thought of doing this to Dean, of filling his mouth with my cum, totally drives me over the edge. I keep as quiet as possible so that I don't forewarn him of what's about to happen. And then, finally, cum shoots out of my cock. He grunts a bit but doesn't stop, still sucking as my cock pumps, and pumps, and pumps. Towards the end of my orgasm, he pulls off a bit, and some of my cum spills from his lips and falls to the floor, the last shot or two spewing out onto his chin. He swallows whatever's in his mouth before licking his lips a bit and then standing up without another glance at my cock. "I told you to warn me," he says, looking at me as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Sorry," I lie, looking away from him a bit. Suddenly I feel nervous, now that I've cum. I take a breath before stuffing my cock back into my underwear. "It's cool," he says casually, as if it was just something as trivial as me forgetting to start the drier for him. As I fix up my jeans, I watch him swallow again before he squints slightly. "Cum tastes fuckin' weird." "Yeah, well..." And I leave it at that. I glance down at his crotch slightly. I can tell he's hard. He's bulging more than normal. I gesture to his dick. "Do you... um... want me to...?" I ask him, still processing the fact that Dean just sucked me off. "Nah, I'm good," he says, waving me off and then smiling. "You can make it up to me later," he adds with a wink before opening the bathroom door and stepping out. I hear him whistling down the hallway before his voice is lost to the crowd. I sigh heavily, blinking a few times. Part of me wishes he hadn't done that. Stupid fucking drunkard. Now I'm all roped into him again. I just swear under my breath and grab a bit of toilet paper to wipe my cum off the floor. Once I wash up a bit and make sure I look presentable, I head back to the party. I'm happy when we finally leave a few hours later. I can do little more than think about Dean on his knees, blowing me and eating my cum, and so I've had a constant boner all night long. It makes interactions with family even more awkward and makes them seem way more insufferable than they already are, but by the time my dad finally says "Think we're gonna head home in a bit," I feel an immense sense of relief. We say our goodbyes to everyone before we get into the car and start to head back home. It's an hour drive back to the house, and Mom and Dad spend it chatting amongst themselves while Dean and I sit quietly in the back. I can't look at him. I'm trying so hard to continue being mad at him, but that blowjob... What even made him decide to do it? I had already convinced myself that Dean was just never going to cross that line, so now, I'm thrown. Maybe halfway through the drive, Dean catches my attention while Mom and Dad are deep in conversation. "Pssst," he whispers. When I glance over, Dean has his cock out. He's shaking it in his fist with a little grin on his face. I hate my mouth for watering so quickly. I watch him as he strokes himself slowly, biting on his bottom lip slightly before his eyes flicker to my crotch. Then he cocks his chin as if gesturing for me to take mine out too. I shake my head. "You crazy?" I whisper back. He just grins a little more before leaning back and continuing to work himself over slowly. I glance up towards our parents, who seem deep in conversation. I can't exactly just reach over -- he's just a little too far away for it to be comfortable. And I can't move over to the middle without raising suspicion. And then I swear under my breath. Stop. Why are you trying to make this work, Stevie? You're supposed to be mad at him. Ignore him. But then he moans out. It's soft, mostly an exhalation, but it gets my cock hard again. I look over and watch him from the corner of my eye, but he's so focused on himself that he's paying me no attention. I watch him tap the tip of his cock with his index finger and bring the precum to his lips. He sucks on the end of his finger, and my cock throbs. Why is that so sexy? He licks his lips slightly as if pondering the taste before continue to jerk himself off. Faster. And faster. And faster. "Are you okay?" my mom suddenly says. I jump in surprise, but Dean just casually and smoothly covers his cock with his arm as my mom turns to look back at us. "Yeah?" Dean says. "Sounds like someone is scratching." She looks at me. "Allergies acting up?" "I... No," I say, blushing slightly. Why the fuck am I blushing? "It's winter." "You know how you get," she says, and I hear Dean chuckling nearby. "I have Benadryl if you need--" "I'm fine," I say, looking out the window. I think she's about to say something else but my dad ropes her back into conversation. I breathe out heavily, feeling as if I had nearly gotten caught with my dick out. Even though that's not even remotely the case. I think I'm just nervous for some reason. When I glance over at Dean a minute later, he's back at it, working his cock at a slower pace. His other hand is in his pants a bit, playing with his balls as he spreads his legs. His eyes are closed and his head is leaning back against the seat. That alcohol, man. Always overdoing it. Then, all of a sudden, he starts to cum. He sits up straighter and holds his dick out forward, resting the head of his dick in the palm of his free hand and unloading in his palm. He's quiet -- doesn't even grunt, and I'm impressed by his resolve before I get all turned on again. Because, when he finishes, he brings his palm up to his lips, sticks his tongue out, and laps at it. He considers the taste again, licking his lips slightly and making a confused expression. And then, after pausing for a few moments, he laps up the rest. I can feel my mouth hanging open slightly, and I can feel my dick pulsing hard against my jeans as I watch him clean off his palm and his fingers. My God. What's gotten into him? Did he get a taste of mine and want more or something? I keep my eyes glued to my window for the rest of the ride home, trying to think about other things: Santa Claus, Ally's new pet cat, finals once we go back to school, all the baked goods I'm going to eat tomorrow. It doesn't help much. The image of Dean eating his own load out of his hand is seared into my retinas, but eventually I get so tired that I can barely think about anything. I practically head straight to bed once we get home. It's late and I'm ready to knock out. But once I get to my room and start to get undressed, I see the box I had wrapped for Dean. A special gift that I knew he wouldn't want to open in front of Mom or Dad. I bite my lip, running my fingers over the wrapping paper before I pull on some clothes to sleep in and then grab the box. I head down the hallway and knock on his bedroom door. He opens it a few seconds later, half-undressed. "Sup?" I hold out the box towards him. "Since you won't be here tomorrow... Merry Christmas." He looks surprised before he takes the box with a grin. "Couldn't just stuff it under the tree?" he asks, holding it up to his ear and shaking it. "If you want Mom and Dad asking questions then sure, I'll put it under the tree," I tell him. He cocks his eyebrow, intrigued. "Well now you got my attention," he says with a grin before moving towards his bed. He sets the box down and starts ripping off the wrapping paper in large chunks. I lean against the doorway, gauging his reaction as he lifts the lid and looks inside. I bite my lip, fighting the impulse to explain the gift. I lose. "It's not the best software ever," I say as he pulls out a smaller box. "The really good programs are crazy expensive, but this'll do everything you need it to." He glances at me before checking in the box again, pulling out a smaller package. "And be careful with that mic," I warn him. "It's sensitive, so don't, like, scream into it or anything. But I figured it'd work well with your voice style and... yeah." He holds the two boxes in his hand, one containing the microphone and the other containing music software for him to record his songs. I figured this would be good for him. Part of me feels like he doesn't deserve such a nice gift from me (especially since I went through a good chunk of my savings for it), but I objectively believe in him and his talent. He can't be cooped up in the basement forever. He looks at me with an unreadable expression, and I start to get nervous. I have no idea what he's thinking while he's looking at me like that. But then he smiles a bit. "Come here." I blink. "Why?" "Just come here," he says, setting down the boxes and opening his arms a bit. I laugh slightly. "Dean--" "C'mere, you little fucker." He grins a little more as I step into his room. He pulls me into a deep hug, kissing the top of my head. "I love you," he says without restraint, and I smile against his chest. "This is the nicest gift I think anyone's ever gotten me." "You're welcome," I say with a slight laugh, clutching onto him tighter. Why does he have to feel so good? He kisses my head again before pulling away, and I reluctantly let go as he heads back to the boxes. He picks up the music software and pulls out the disc from the packaging. "Now I just need a computer." "Mom and Dad may or may not have gotten you one," I tease with a shrug, smiling. He laughs. "Sweet." He bites his lip, glancing at the microphone as well. "Fuck, this is sick. I'm stoked. I should figure out what I wanna record," he says, scratching his chin before grabbing a notebook and pen off of his desk. "You wanna hang for a bit?" I shake my head. "I'm really tired, Dean." He rolls his eyes. "Fine. Go to sleep, little baby." "Fuck you." "Love you," he says, heading right out of his room, presumably to go to the basement. "Love you too," I say, but he's already gone. That would have been the perfect moment for me to express my feelings to him. But I didn't. Instead, I just hoped things would change, even after the New Year. Of course, it seems to only get worse. Dean spends more and more time outside the house -- typically with Joey. And the most noticeable difference with us is how our sex life is practically fizzling out. Not necessarily in occurrence (it's not AS often as it used to be but is still pretty regular) but in passion. Too often our sessions are quick and to-the-point, as if we're racing each other to see who cums first. Sometimes he won't even kiss me, or talk to me, or anything. When it gets to that point, I just feel like I'm being used. He gets plenty from his girlfriend. That, I'm painfully aware of. So then it feels like I'm getting his leftover, residual energy. There's barely any intimacy anymore, which makes me covet the few times that there is passion from him. And then, he shows me the first song he recorded and mixed. It's the first song he ever played for me, and he thought it'd be fitting to do a full recording of that one first. When he shows it to me, his leg is twitching nervously and he's staring at my face for any sign of critique. But I'm so giddy and proud for him that I can't stop smiling. Once it's over, I take off the headphones, beaming at him. "That sounds so good, Dean." "Yeah?" he says, smiling proudly. "Joey thought so too." Instantly, my heart drops and my smile disappears. Joey heard this before I did? How is that fair? Dean used to show me everything first. And only me. He used to come to me for commentary, advice, and inspiration. And the conclusion I come to is: I'm being replaced. I'm jealous. I know that. I also know that I'm angry. I'm fucking angry -- angry at Dean for not noticing what he's doing, angry at him for not making things simple and just cutting things off with me while he's with his girlfriend, angry for him showing up late at night sometimes just to get in a quick fuck before bed, angry at him for confusing the fuck out of me by occasionally showing me disproportionate and inconsistent amounts of love and passion and attention. And I'm angry at myself for letting him confuse me, for not speaking up, for (most of the time) pretending like everything's okay because I'm too afraid to push him back into his old ways and lose him all over again. I'm just angry. And with that anger comes a small degree of spite. Maybe a large degree. The feeling becomes stronger all throughout winter, as spring gets closer. I can't ignore this weird, intense desire to do something to hurt him in some way, but as for what, I'm not sure. The chance comes out of the blue. Dean wants to throw a party for his girlfriend's birthday, and, as fate would have it, it's timed perfectly with when Mom and Dad go away for their anniversary. When I ask him how many people are coming, Dean just laughs. "No idea," he says, saying a lot of Joey's friends are coming before he starts rattling off some names of people I might know. I recognize some of those names as Dean's friends, but only one name in particular stands out to me: Kyle. Instantly, I know I want to fuck him. He's cute. Really cute, in fact. A super masculine dude that acts like a total teddy bear. One of Dean's closest friends, but since Kyle goes to college a state over, they don't see each other much (he's only able to come to the party because it's his school's spring break). Plus, there's the tiny little fact that Kyle and Dean hooked up once. Dean told me himself that Kyle sucked his dick while they were drunk, which means Kyle might lean the opposite direction when inebriated. If I can somehow land Kyle, it'd be the perfect way to get back at Dean. I know it's shitty of me, to fuck one of his best friends purely out of spite, but somehow, my mind is already made up. I'm going to fuck him (at least, I'm going to try), because I know exactly how Dean will respond if he finds out. This isn't a good plan. I know that. Especially if I'm trying not to distance us even further. But suddenly, fueled by my anger, I'm obsessed with the idea. This is how I want to take revenge. By the time the end of the week comes around, I spend the whole first half of the party in my room trying to muster up the courage. It's not the flirting that scares me. It's Dean. Plus, I know I shouldn't try what I'm about to try, and the shred of conscience I have in this situation is begging me to just stay in my room. But, by some unknown force, my legs take me into the hallway and I make my way downstairs. It's not as rowdy as the last party I went to with Dean. It's more so a big hangout, an excuse for friend groups to come together, drink, and have a good time. It seems a lot of people are separated into small groups, but most people are surrounding the table Dean had moved downstairs for beer pong. One of the four guys playing is Kyle, and I smile slightly. He's taller than anyone else in the room, that's obvious. He's stacked, too, muscles surely bulging beneath his college sweatshirt. Not usually my type, but he'll do. He tosses the last ball and everyone erupts in cheer, laughing and clapping as he hypes himself up like a drunk, goofy jock. He makes loud noises and starts doing weird poses while cheering himself on in his slight southern drawl. He'd be annoying as fucking hell if he wasn't so nice. Then he catches my eye and his eyes go wide. "Stevie! What's up little man?" he says, coming over and giving me a hug. I grunt, hugging him back. "I didn't know you were here!" "It's my house," I say, pulling back and adjusting my glasses with a smile. "Well... Yeah, okay, fair," he says with a hearty laugh. "How ya been?" "You know," I say, shrugging. "Same old, same old." "Still kickin' ass, ain't ya?" he says with a grin. "I wouldn't say that," I say with a laugh. "Nahhh, I bet you are." He nudges me with his fist playfully. "How about you?" "Me?" He looks up at the ceiling. "College is a fuckin' chore, little dude," he says, shaking his head. "Though I hear you might--" But he stops, because someone calls out his name. He gets distracted by a girl he obviously hasn't seen in a long time because they both cheer loudly and hug each other. Damn it. It doesn't help that Kyle is so popular. How am I supposed to make this work? I spend the next fifteen minutes plotting, attempting to interject myself into conversations, or at least get close enough for him to pay more attention to me. But it seems an opportunity just comes my way. All I had to do was be patient and let the stupidity ensue. Someone gets the brilliant idea to play Five Finger Fillet, whipping out his switchblade and challenging anyone to a competition. We watch a couple guys who seem to be good at it do it, increasing the speed by how fast the crowd is clapping. But then, Kyle says he wants to try. He doesn't seem like the swift and calculated and nimble type. He's a football player. So I'm nervous. He goes slow at first and then gradually speeds up, but he doesn't last long. He nicks one of his fingers and hisses a bit. Most people laugh, but a girl next to me screams dramatically at the sight of a little blood. That scream, though, gives me an idea. I lean in across his shoulder. "We should get that cleaned up," I say, taking my opportunity. "It's just a scratch," he says, glancing at it. "You don't want it getting infected." He seems to think about it for a moment before nodding. "I guess you're right." "C'mon," I say, pushing through the crowd. I start heading towards the stairs, making sure he's following me. As we head up to the first floor, I walk in a way that accents my ass in case he's looking. Fuck, I hope he's looking. When we get upstairs and shut the door, it's much quieter. There are a couple of stragglers in the kitchen but I show him to the top floor, heading right to the bathroom. I start pulling out hydrogen peroxide, cotton balls, Neosporin, and Band-Aids from the medicine cabinet, and he just chuckles. "Stevie, you don't have to go through all this trouble." "Maybe you should have been more careful," I say, grabbing his hips and steering him to the sink. He laughs a bit, letting me maneuver him so that he's sitting against the edge of the counter. "Hand, please." He holds out his hand palm-up, grinning. "Here." I stand close to him (much too close) and grab his hand, pretending to study the cut as I run my thumb gently over his palm. "Doesn't look too bad," I say, grabbing the peroxide and a cotton ball. "Lucky you were here," he says with a little snicker. He's so fucking warm. I'm standing pretty close to him, but he's radiating body heat like crazy. "Gotta take care of my guests," I say, soaking the cotton ball in peroxide. "You're lucky it wasn't worse. You could have seriously hurt yourself." "It's just a little fun." I roll my eyes but laugh. "Whatever. I'm glad you're not hurt." Then, I look up at him. "Your girlfriend should keep a better eye on you." "Girlfriend?" he asks. Then he laughs. "What girlfriend?" I shrug. "Dean mentioned it," I lie. Dean's never mentioned anything of the sort. I take his hand again and clean the cut with the cotton. He snorts. "Don't know why he's startin' rumors." "So, no girlfriend?" I ask, peering up at him. He's smiling slightly. "Well, I ain't exactly, uh... a lover of pussy, you know." I blink, pausing. "You're gay?" He laughs harder. "Sorry. I just assume everyone knows." "I had... no idea," I say with a slight laugh. Maybe that explains why he was giving head to my brother. And maybe this means I can get him into my bed more easily. "Good for you." He chuckles again. "Good for me?" I blush. "That's not what I..." I laugh. "I just mean, it's cool that you're out and whatnot." I bite my lip as I belabor cleaning his cut, taking my sweet ass time. "I'm gay, too," I tell him. He actually seems surprised. "Really?" "You don't have to pretend like it's not obvious." He grins. "It's not, I promise." He looks at me up and down slightly. "I'm just surprised Dean never said anything. He talks about you, like, all the time." There it is again, someone telling me Dean talks about me all the time. What the hell does he say? But no matter. That's not important right now. Focus, Stevie. I shrug. "He's protective. He's probably afraid you'll prey on me," I add with a slight smirk, tossing the cotton ball. "Does he think that little of me?" he asks, watching me grab and open the Neosporin. "I don't know," I say. Then I glance up at him. "Should he?" He pauses for a moment and then lets out a short laugh. "You're cute, Stevie. I'll admit that." "But not cute enough to prey on," I tease, squeezing out some of the Neosporin onto his finger. "Are you trying to get me to flirt with you?" he asks, but he has a grin on his face. "What? Flirting is innocent fun. Not like playing with knives." "Uh huh," he says sarcastically. "Shoot. Flirting with a... How old are you again?" "Thirteen," I say, opening a Band-Aid. "Jesus Christ," he says softly, laughing. "What?" I ask innocently. "That's a bit perverted of me, innit?" I resist laughing. If only he knew. There's no shortage of perverts in my vicinity. "Only if you have bad intentions," I tease. "Or bad thoughts." His smile never once wavers. "Just put the Band-Aid on," he says, looking down at my hands with just his eyes. "Yes sir," I say with a smile, slowly wrapping the Band-Aid around his finger. I'm trying to determine what he likes. An innocent, virginal sort of boy, or someone more slutty? Maybe somewhere in between? "If it makes you feel better you can pretend I'm older," I say, making sure the Band-Aid is nice and snug before starting to grab garbage. He snorts. "How old, huh?" "How about sixteen?" He laughs. "Well, that's not so bad." I move him out of the way so I can put everything back in the medicine cabinet. When I turn my head, Kyle is clearly checking me out. "Hey," I snap, and he immediately looks back up, blushing slightly but grinning. "I wasn't looking," he says, even though his eyes are already checking me out again. "Guess you are a perv," I tease. "Sorry." I just laugh. "I'll forgive you since you're drunk." He laughs, shaking his head. "Oh, man," he says. "You're really fuckin' me up, Stevie," he says before running his fingers through his bright blond hair. "Am I free to go, Doc?" he asks, holding up his bandaged finger. "Almost." I take his finger gently in my hand and kiss the bandage before smiling up at him. "There." Kyle just laughs. "You are somethin', Stevie Walker." "Am I, Kyle Bordello?" "You'll get someone in trouble someday," he says with a grin before standing up straighter. "Mark my fuckin' words." I just bite my lip. "Are you going back downstairs?" "Yeah. Don't want anyone thinkin' I'm preying on you," he mocks with a smirk. I just shrug. "You could if you wanted to," I say casually. That makes him pause in reaching for the doorknob. He looks at me with an amused expression. He just seems amused by the whole situation, really. "Temptation really is the devil." "So you're saying you're tempted?" "I'm saying don't," he says with a chuckle. "It's okay. I get it," I say dramatically, going for a tactic a nice, drunk guy like Kyle falls for every time. "You don't want to waste your time with a kid." I pretend to look a little sad. He responds to it immediately, looking surprised at my shift in mood. "That's not what I meant, Stevie." "It's just... I've never met someone else who's gay before." He blinks. "Seriously?" I nod. "I'm all alone here." He bites his lip a bit, looking me up and down once. "You can't be the only one at school." "No one else is out," I clarify. "Or, out enough for me to talk to." I lifts his chin a bit. "So you just wanna talk?" "Yeah," I say, trying to sound sincere. He smiles slightly. "Alright. We can talk. But no funny business," he adds, holding his finger up with a slight grin. I smile innocently. "Promise." We head to my room and do just that. Talk. Kyle lies on his side, propping himself up by his elbow, and I sit cross-legged nearby. I start off with simple questions, like "When did you know you were gay?" and things of that nature. And gradually, the questions become get-to-know-you questions. He even asks questions about me, and actively listens and seems genuinely supportive despite his apparent drunken state. I've always known Kyle was the nice guy among Dean's friend group, but I never realized HOW nice. He damn well might be the sweetest person I've ever met. Which makes me feel even worse for using him -- but not guilty enough to make me stop. Eventually I ask him about his first kiss, and he tells me about a boy he kissed in eighth grade in the locker room after track practice. He smiles to himself for a moment as he reminisces before looking at me. "How 'bout you?" he asks, nudging my knee with a fist. "Me?" In keeping up with my virginal persona, I say "I haven't kissed anyone yet." "Ever?" I shake my head. "Ever." "Huh." He considers this for a moment. "Well you got time." I shrug. "I've got time right now," I tease, looking at him from the corner of my eyes. Kyle just laughs. "Remember when I said you're gonna get someone in trouble someday?" "It's just a kiss." He shrugs. "Still. And besides, don't you want it to be special?" "It will be special," I say with a smile. "It'll be with you." He snorts. "I'm not special." "Yeah you are," I tell him. "You're the only one who's been nice to me, really." I pout ever so slightly, looking at my lap and playing with my fingers, trying to reel him in. "That can't be true," he says with a laugh. "Do you just not want to kiss me? Is that it?" I ask him. I figure he'll be too nice and not be able to wiggle his way out of it without letting me down. It works. Kyle sighs. "Alright, alright. You're wearing me down, kid," he says with a chuckle. "Just a kiss," he says, grunting as he sits himself up. I try not to smile as he sits upright, but I laugh when I feel his hand snake around my hip and slide me closer to him. He just smiles at me, his face somewhat close to mine. "Just know I don't do this for everybody." I laugh. "Now I feel special." He smiles, glancing at my lips. "You ready?" I bite my lip and nod, watching his eyes as they center on my mouth. Then, he leans in and presses his lips against mine. In response, I kiss Kyle back, adding a little more urgency to the kiss. He hums in surprise but keeps it up, seeming to follow my lead. And before he can pull away, I rope him back in, leaning in even further and gradually intensifying the kiss. I even add a little tongue to tease him, and I feel his tongue respond to mine. And then, I pull back. Kyle doesn't move his head at all. He still has that same little smile on his lips, but his eyes are half-closed. "Why'd you stop?" he asks. "You said just a kiss." He bites his lip. "I--" Then he stops himself before sighing and then falling back on the bed. He groans a little, and I chuckle, watching him cover his face with his arms. "This is dangerous," he says to himself, and I laugh. I look him up and down, and my eyes notice the bulge in his sweatpants. Less of a bulge really, and more of a tent. He's hard. I can tell. Bingo. I take advantage of the opportunity. It's all laid out in front of me, quite literally. I just have to take it. So I sit myself up and swing my leg over Kyle's waist, straddling him and gently pressing my ass down on his cock. He grunts a bit, moving his arms away from his eyes to look at me. "You... uh..." "Yeah?" I ask, resting my hands on his chest. He doesn't respond, clearly caught between doing what's right and listening to his cock, and I grin slightly. It feels strangely good having this power. I start to grind a bit. "Feels big," I tell him, and he closes his eyes a bit. I feel his hands slide up to my hips, making me grind a little more deeply into his lap, and I happily oblige. I slide down and sit on his thighs, moving my hand to grip him through his sweatpants, and he grunts again. "Can I?" I ask him, and he looks at me briefly before looking up at the ceiling. He nods. I lick my lips and slide off of his legs, kneeling in between them as I pull his cock out. He shifts as I try to undress him, and he settles on sitting up on his knees in front of me, his cock poking my chin, his sweatpants halfway down his thighs. I take hold of his cock and can't help myself from feeling disappointed. Not that Kyle's dick is bad in any way. Honestly, it's thicker than most I've had. The thing is, it's not Dean's. It's not the same. But I go for it anyway, focusing on what's in front of me. I lift his shaft up and then guide my mouth onto him, and he immediately moans. I feel his rough fingers gripping my hair tightly as I take him deeper. I'm past playing games now. No more virgin. When I guide him into my throat, he swears, his girthy meat throbbing against my tongue. I hum against his cock as I blow him, and he stays still for me, letting me work my magic. I tilt my head and look up at him, letting his cock poke my inner cheek, but his eyes are closed. No matter. I'm still going to enjoy this. I pull off to take a breather and give my jaw a quick rest, stroking his spit-covered shaft in my fist. That's when he reaches into his pocket to pull out his wallet. I can assume what he's digging for: a condom. And sure enough, he pulls out the little package and tosses his wallet to the side. As he starts to tear open the package with his teeth, I turn around to reach into my nightstand and grab a bottle of lube. I set it on the bed for him and turn to go back down on him. However, he has other ideas. He crawls over me and kisses me deeply, giving me lots of tongue before I feel his hand at my hip. He grips it and makes an insistent movement, so I take that as a signal to turn over. I break the kiss and let him roll me onto my stomach. He slides my jeans off my hips, down enough just to expose my ass to him. I look back, watching his hand grip my ass, pulling the cheek to the side so his thumb can graze against my hole. I let out a little moan, attempting to stretch out my legs. But the pants keep them trapped. I can't move. I watch Kyle as he rolls the condom onto his cock and then grabs the lube. He lubes himself up before he does me, using his slippery fingers to coat the outside of my hole. Then, he mounts me. There's a noticeable difference between Kyle's body and Dean's. Kyle is much bigger than Dean is, so I already feel the distinct pressure of his weight as Kyle maneuvers his drunk body over mine. After a little bit of struggle, he finally finds my entrance and pushes into me. I tense, gripping the pillow tightly as he works his way inside. Within seconds, he's as deep as his hips will let him go, stretching me out a little more than I've been before. Is he insane? No more foreplay? No more prep? He's crazy to go this fast -- if he still thinks I'm a virgin, that is. Thank God I'm not. We both moan, grunting as Kyle starts to thrust back and forth, not wasting much time trying to find a rhythm. I push my ass back against him to meet his thrusts, and Kyle moans out a little louder, giving me a harsher thrust and pressing deep into me. I get that tingling sensation when someone gets extra deep inside me, and a smile forms on my face as my toes curl. But then, he stops. Pulls out. Rolls over and rests on his back beside me. What the...? But then I see why. The condom is still on his cock, and the tip is filled with cum. He finished. I'm amazed at how normal my breathing is already. How long did that last? A minute? Less? And then, to make matters worse, when I look up, Kyle is asleep. Fast fucking asleep. He's breathing heavily, lightly snoring, and I close my eyes in frustration. It's fine, Stevie. It's fine. You did it. It's over. Just too bad you couldn't really enjoy it. As I take off my jeans altogether and toss them to the floor, Kyle's snoring gets louder. And louder. As I lie next to him, it often hits him abruptly, and his whole body will twitch as he lets out a pig-like snort. It startles me every time. Soon, I realize I can't sleep here. I'll never be able to fall asleep with this fucking racket. So I pull on some pajama pants and then head down the hallway to Mom and Dad's room. They have a nice bed, and best of all, it's quiet. But as soon as I lie down, I feel gross. What the hell did I just do? Coerce Kyle into fucking me just to get back at Dean? This was a stupid plan. A stupid fucking plan. Now that I've done it, that I've committed, I realize what an idiot spite has made me. If Dean finds out, then that'll ruin their friendship. Dean wailed on Ivan when he caught us, and that was totally different. This happened because I decided to be petty. Maybe I shouldn't tell Dean after all. I make a mental note to talk to Kyle in the morning, or somehow snag his phone number from Dean. This was a mistake, and I have to reconcile for it while also doing damage control. I roll over under the blankets and groan a bit. I still feel gross, so I sigh and roll my dumb ass out of bed. Might as well shower. That usually helps me feel refreshed. I decide to use Mom and Dad's master bathroom, like I usually do whenever they're not home. The jets are just how I like them and the water somehow gets hotter here than in the bathroom down the hall. And as soon as I step into the shower and feel the hot water spraying against my body, I know I made the right choice. I feel instantly relaxed. My muscles seem looser and I feel like I'm letting my bad decisions just wash down the drain. Bye bye, sins. I must be in the shower for practically ten minutes before I hear the doorknob rattling, followed by someone banging on the wood. Then, Dean's muffled voice. "Stevie! Stevie!" shut the water off so I can hear him. "What?" "Get the fuck out here." I can tell from his tone that he's mad. I "I'm a little busy." "Stevie, I swear to fucking God--" I just roll my eyes, running my fingers through my wet hair. What's his deal? What the fuck could be possibly be-- Oh shit. Oh no. Did he see Kyle in my room? Thank God I still lock the bathroom door out of habit. "Stevie!" he shouts again. "Open the fuckin' door!" Instead of feeling the shame I thought I'd feel, I feel that old anger coming right back. My fists clench a bit and my body is steeling itself for the impending argument. Fine. I'll open the fucking door. I step out of the shower and dry myself off. I take my time as I try to figure out what I'm going to say. But all I'm seeing is red. I just have to dive in. Once I'm dressed again, I unlock the door. As soon as I open it, I see he's looking down at me, quietly seething. "You fucked Kyle." He says it as a statement. I can't see how he'd be certain, but he probably has a good idea since a lot of people saw me lead him upstairs. Plus, who else would he have had sex with here? Maybe Dean's just hoping for me to deny it. "Yes," I say simply. He tenses even more. I'm pretty sure his nostrils flare. "Why the hell would you fuck him?" I shrug, keeping my anger down and pretending to be indifferent. "Why not?" I ask. "He's my friend!" He shouts, loudly enough for his words to echo off the walls. He also slams his open hand against the door, making the door swing violently open and hit the wall hard. "Would it have mattered if he wasn't?" I ask him, pushing past him to get into the room, wanting to leave. I need water or something. Or an audience, in case he decides to hit me instead of a door. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?" "God, you're so stupid," I mutter. I can practically sense his rage growing behind me. "Don't fuckin' call me--" "Also," I say, stopping at the doorway and turning around, "why do you care so much?" He falters a bit. "Excuse me?" "Why do you care what I do? You have a girlfriend now." He laughs out once. Then again. Though it's in a maniacal sort of way. "Oh ho, so THAT's what this is about," he says, everything seeming to dawn on him. I roll my eyes. "Fucking idiot." "You're mad because I have a girlfriend." I start to lie. "That's not why I--" "And you fucked my best friend--" "It's none of your business." "--because you're a jealous little bitch--" "I have no one, Dean!" I snap, totally losing it. And he looks startled for a brief moment. "I have no one! No one at all! And then out of fucking nowhere you replace me with this girl--" He laughs again. "Replace you--?" "--and everything's fucking different now! Half the time we only hang out so you can get a quick fuck in--" "That's not true, you--" "--so fucking sue me for doing something I wanted to do for once." "You don't even like him!" he points out quickly. "You just did it to piss me off, you little shit." "Well it worked, didn't it?" I sneer, and he immediately lunges, pushing me hard against the door. All the breath gets knocked out of me, but before I can even respond, he pins me against the door. We struggle against each other for a bit -- me trying to push him away and him resisting my attempts to escape. I feel his arm pressing against my neck and I squirm a bit, punching him and pushing his face away. It seems to have little effect. "Fuck you, Dean." "No, fuck YOU, Stevie," he grunts, clenching his teeth as we struggle. I notice it's actually hard to breathe with the pressure he's putting on my throat. Somehow, though, I manage to muster up enough strength to land a decent punch to his face. He winces, letting go of me and staring at me in surprise before the fury returns back to his eyes. He grabs my wrists and roughly pins them to the door above my head with just one of his hands. With his free arm, he pushes his forearm against my chest, leaning in. "You're a fucking piece of shit, Stevie." "Why are you so fucking mad?" I breathe out, my own anger keeping my breathing level. "You fucked Kyle when you knew it would piss me off." "What, was I pissing on your territory?" I ask. "Shut the fuck--" "Or was KYLE pissing on your territory?" Dean blinks for a moment, so I continue speaking. "All you do is use me to stroke your fucking ego and get your rocks off." An unfair exaggeration, but there's some truth in there. "That's fuckin' bullshit," he sneers, pushing against me harder. I laugh. "Don't tell me you actually care about m--" "DON'T," he snaps, pushing his full weight into me. My glasses slide right off my face from the force. I hear them hit the floor and wince at the sound. "Don't make me kick your fuckin' ass, Stevie." In response, I spit in his face. It's so impulsive of a move that I barely realize that I had done it. He recoils, closing one eye and wiping my spit off the side of his face. He looks at his fingers, dripping with my saliva, before he looks at me. There's a pause, and I'm not sure what he's thinking about doing. But then, all of a sudden, his hand grips my face, cupping my chin and squeezing my cheeks. We struggle against each other again, uttering curses at each other and grabbing at each other's limbs, and somehow, in the midst of all of it, he kisses me. I'm so surprised that I struggle against the kiss. "St-- op!" I tell him, wanting to continue to be mad, to yell at him, to spit in his face more. But he pushes my head hard into the door. I grunt in pain, feeling a faint dizziness for a moment before just letting it happen. Then, I realize what this is. We're still fighting. I can tell in the way he's grabbing me, in the ferocity of his kissing. He's still pissed. So I fight back. I manage to snatch one of my hands from his grip and I reach up to the back of his head, tugging on his hair hard. He says "Ah!" and hisses before pushing my arm away and pinning both arms behind me. He comes back down to kiss me hard. He presses into me, and I feel him. I feel his hard-on through his pants. Fuck, I'm so confused. My body instinctively responds, and I lift one of my legs up to nudge against his hip. Dean responds accordingly, letting go of my arms and grabbing the back of my thighs to lift me up and push me hard against the door. I wrap my legs and arms around him, grabbing at his shirt, his hair, his neck as we battle through the kiss. It's all heavy breaths and tongues and both of us trying to force our way to getting the upper hand. He brings his hips forward enough to hold me up without using his hands. Instead, he uses those hands to try and remove my shirt. He lifts it up, but it gets caught on the doorknob and then behind my back since I'm still up against the door. Out of frustration, Dean breaks the kiss and swears before gripping the collar of my shirt and tearing it open with both hands. My shirt falls apart with just a few more tugs. I gasp, but before I can even form a retort, his mouth is back on mine and he's holding onto me tightly, grinding against me as he pulls of my ruined shirt. Then he grips my ass as he pulls me away from the door and walks towards the bed. I keep my legs wrapped around him tightly, and he doesn't let me go as he positions us both at the center of the bed. His mouth goes right for my neck and I moan out, my arms wrapping around him. I reach to his lower back and start tugging at his shirt, scratching his back as I pull the hem up towards his head. He pulls back enough to help me quickly remove his shirt, and then he leans down to kiss me again. Or more so mash our lips together as we pant. I dig my nails into his back and he groans out, thrusting his hips into me a little bit. I even reach lower, grabbing his ass from over his jeans, and he grinds into me a little harder in response. I reach between us to start undoing his jeans, but he slaps my hands away. He does it himself, sitting up on his knees to undo the fly and zipper before he hops off the bed and hurriedly takes them off. Now he's fully naked, his hard cock pointing straight at me. But I don't get much of a good look because he grabs me and pulls me to the edge of the bed. He makes quick work of the rest of my clothes, throwing things to the floor and leaving me naked in front of him. Without wasting a second, he lifts my legs, holds both ankles with one firm grip, and goes down on my hole. I moan out, out of breath already. Maybe it's from how intense we've been going at it already, but I'm both exhilarated and exhausted. And still mad. And incredibly horny. His tongue is already sliding into me, tasting me, working my hole over with intent. He seems to have slowed the pace down a bit, though. He gives me long, tender swipes of his tongue. Every movement is calculated. Smooth. He knows just how to wear me down, that fucking bastard. He pulls his head up after a few minutes and then sinks his thumb into me. I moan out, arching my back slightly before looking at him. "Who's better?" I ask. He looks up. "What?" "Who's better? Me or her?" He stares at me for a second before rolling his eyes. "Shut the fuck up, Stevie," he says before gripping my hips and flipping me over aggressively. I just smirk slightly to myself as he climbs on top of me, and I moan out when he bites on my neck. I reach back and pull on his hair, but he manages to grab my arm and pin it down. He reaches around with his other hand, holding his palm close to my face. "Spit," he commands. So I do. I spit in his palm, like I had spat in his face earlier. He brings that palm to his cock and lubes himself up. As I listen to it, the anticipation rises. How's he going to fuck me tonight? I feel him grip himself as he nudges the head of his cock between my cheeks, searching for my hole. When he finds it, he pushes forward and grunts as my hole welcomes him, made easier from my previous (although dreadfully short) session with Kyle. I moan out, my eyes fluttering slightly as he eases himself in and then forces the last half of his cock into me with a harsh thrust. I practically yelp. He holds his cock deep in me for several moments before finally starting to work his hips. He piledrives me. That's the best way I can describe it. He pins me down and deep-dicks me. My moans come out as half-breaths and whimpers, and not even from me trying to keep quiet -- he's just knocking the air out of me with every thrust. Besides, I know he likes it when I don't hold back. Or can't. I feel his fingers get tangled in my hair on the back of my head and he grips tightly, which makes me moan out a little louder. "Fucker," I groan, reaching back to hit or scratch him. He just pins that arm down easily, not once breaking his rhythm. He adjusts my legs simply with his knees, making me spread them a bit more, which only makes his cock reach deeper inside me. My mouth opens as he pumps his hips back and forth, his balls slapping against my ass every time he bottoms out, echoing off the walls at a constant beat. This is so much better. This is so much better than Kyle. This is what I needed. I shift a little, raising my ass a bit more, my toes curling. As I shift and try to get into a more arched position, Dean grips my hips. "Stop moving so much." "Do it right, then," I snap back, and he lashes back with a sharp slap to my ass. I moan out before he quickly pulls out of me with a sloppy wet noise. Immediately I feel empty. Incomplete. But he flips me over and with one smooth motion has his cock buried back inside me. Perfect. I wrap my legs around him loosely as he starts to thrust again, giving it to me deep and hard. And now I can see him. He's staring at my lower torso as he pumps his hips, a hand on my chest to keep me down and in place. He might be watching me jerk myself off, though I think he's looking more at my stomach or something. But after a while, he looks up at my face and sees that I'm staring at him. He stares back. For a long, intense, drawn out moment, our eyes are locked as we fuck. Just me and him. Nothing else. His hand slides up to my neck and holds in a dominant, controlling sort of way. He has me. "You're mine," he says, grinding deep into me. "You got that?" I can do little else but nod a few times. Satisfied, he lets go of my neck and then leans down to kiss me. I can barely kiss back because I'm moaning out with each thrust he gives me. He gives up trying to wait for me to focus on his lips and moves to my neck, kissing it once before he just starts moaning near my ear. That gets me every time, hearing him moan like that. And when it's so close to my ear, it's like it's just for me. Incredibly intimate. "I'm gonna cum," I breathe out. "Me too," he grunts. We time it almost perfectly. He gets there first, pumping his hips with sharp thrusts as his cum fills me up. I gasp out, clenching my teeth as I stroke myself off and empty my load between us, getting it all over our lower torsos. Every time his hips hit my ass a shot of cum erupts from my dick. I can feel each individual rope until finally, there's nothing left. All my limbs go limp as Dean slowly starts to relax, calming his thrusts to a gradual stop, panting in my ear. As our orgasms subside, I think everything comes back to us. The fight we had. The things we did to each other. The sudden passionate and aggressive sex. We both need a moment to process things. Dean slowly lifts himself up, his head eventually hovering over mine. He looks down in between us before slowly pulling out of me and then rolling off of me. He falls onto his back beside me. There's silence between us. The first thing I think about is what he said near the end. "You're mine." That's what he told me. But is he mine too? I think about moving after a minute, but before I decide whether or not I want to, Dean shifts. Surprisingly, he rolls onto his side and slides closer to me, resting his head on my chest. I look down at the top of his head. He's never cuddled me like this before. Usually I'm the one resting on his chest. "I'm sorry you feel like I... I don't know. Blind-sighted you," he says, keeping a hand on my stomach. I can't help but roll my eyes a little. "How about you just apologize for blind-sighting me? Period end." There's a long pause before he says anything, and he says it so quietly that I almost miss it. "I didn't mean it to be like that." Then he clears his throat and speaks up. "I'm not... I wasn't trying to replace you." "That's what it feels like," I tell him. I rest my hand on his head and play with his hair. "I mean, she's JUST like me." Something that has been made all the more apparent the more I see her. "Attitude and everything. And she does everything I do for you. It's just that she's more socially acceptable--" "Stevie, don't fuckin'--" "Tell me I'm wrong." He doesn't respond. He just keeps lightly rubbing my skin with his thumb. "I'm sorry for fucking Kyle," I say after I realize he's not going to answer me. "Why did you?" he asks after a moment. "Like, really?" "I don't know. I was so mad. And stupid. And a little lonely, I think." "But why didn't you just talk to me?" "Because," I say, "I was scared." He scoffs slightly. "You're still scared of me? After all we've been through?" "I'm not scared of YOU," I say. "I'm scared of losing you." Dean sighs heavily against me. He moves his face into my skin more, and I can feel him breathing through his nose for a minute. Then, he lifts himself up, leans towards me, takes my face in his hand, and kisses me. It's not a sensual kiss. It's deep, yes, but it's soft. Tender. Motionless, as if he's holding on to the moment. And then, he breaks the kiss, strokes my cheek with his thumb, and then pulls away. I watch him slide off the bed and pull on his clothes without another word. He doesn't even look back at me as he walks out of the room. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - For the rest of the week, Dean has taken to brooding. Something changed after that party, that much is obvious. But what, I can't tell. It's hard to discern whether he's angry or sad or a mix of both or neither, but I can't find out because he won't talk to me (let alone have sex). He ignores me when I speak, offering little more than a grunt as a response. There's a small sense of relief when I see that he acts the same way towards my parents -- it means that, at the very least, I'm not being singled out. But I want to know what's going on. Halfway through the week, Dean just doesn't come home. He texts the family group chat saying he's "staying at a friend's," but there are no other details. The only time I see him is (surprisingly enough) at school, and even then it's just in passing. I can't help but feel like I really fucked up here. At least things with Kyle are fine. I apologized, but he said he didn't really remember that night (though I think it's just an excuse to not feel guilty). Now I just have to patch things up with Dean. But how? Then Ally says something halfway through our study hall at the end of the week. "Hey, why'd Dean break up with Joey?" My head snaps up so fast that my glasses almost fall off again. During our fight, when my glasses fell off, the bridge had actually snapped. So now, my nerdy self has to wear them with tape around the bridge Harry Potter-style until the new pair comes in the mail. "Huh?" I ask, adjusting my specs. She repeats the question and I just shake my head, still not comprehending what's going on. "How do you know about that?" "Uh... Social media," she says as if it was obvious, showing me her phone. She has someone's Instagram open. I recognize some of the selfies as Joey. "Joey has the cuuutest cats--" "What do you mean they broke up?" "You didn't know?" she asks, surprised. "Guess they broke it off like two days ago." She finds the post and sure enough, Joey had posted something that clearly alludes to a breakup. It's silly and dramatic, but informative. "I thought you said they were good?" Ally asks me. "I..." My mind is reeling. Dean broke it off with Joey? Why? "I thought they were." At least until the party. I wonder if I had anything to do with it? Fucking hell. I must have. Now I really screwed things up. I consider texting Dean and asking to meet up, but I hesitate. I don't know if I should bother him. He's dealing with things on his own. That's how it's always been. And if I'm a part of the problem in any capacity, I don't want to make things worse by inserting myself into his business. I decide to wait a bit. Maybe give him the weekend. Turns out I don't have to wait that long. When Ally's mom drops me off, I see Dean's car in the driveway and my heart starts racing. He's home. It's been days. I bite my lip as I head inside. "Hello?" I call out. I hear movement in the kitchen, and when I step inside, Dean is rummaging around in the drawers for something. "Hey," I say. "Have you seen my Zippo anywhere?" he asks, not looking at me. "I can't fuckin' find it anywhere." "Your lighter?" I shake my head. "No, sorry." "Damn it." He goes through each drawer on the island thoroughly before shutting them and placing his hands on the counter with a sigh. He closes his eyes, seeming to center himself before he stands up straight and runs his fingers through his hair. He still has his jacket and shoes on as if he's ready to go back out. "Glasses still haven't come in?" he asks me. When I look up, I notice he's eyeing my broken glasses. "Not 'til next week," I say. "Sucks," he says. "Sorry about that." "It's okay," I say, biting my lip. It's the first time he's mentioned anything close to that party. "Are you going out again?" "Yeah," he says, nodding. "Meeting up with some friends." "Right." There's awkwardness between us, mostly radiating from him. He seems unsure of himself, which is so unlike him. He's usually confident, or mad, or acting tough -- he's never looked so unsettled in his own shoes. "Hey, so..." I figure, if he's here, I might as well get some answers. "I heard about you and Joey," I say. He winces slightly, not meeting my eye. "I'm sorry about that." "Just what you wanted, isn't it?" Now I wince. He doesn't say it in a nasty way. He just sounds defeated. Frankly, I prefer him angry. "I... I didn't mean to fuck things up." He shakes his head. "It's not your fault," he says, scratching his head. "It's... It's mine." I chew on my lip again. Why am I so nervous? I feel like he wants to say something that I probably don't want to hear. "Why'd you break up?" I ask. "I thought you liked her." He sighs. "I don't know, Stevie," he says, sounding exhausted. "I did like her. A lot." He rubs the back of his neck. "But... I don't know. Ever since you fucked Kyle..." "So it is my fault," I say. "It's not like that," he snaps. I realize I'm thinking of this selfishly, so I wait for him to finish speaking. "I just... I hate the thought of you fucking someone else. I fucking hate it." I swallow and keep all my accusations to myself. "Why?" "I don't know. Maybe it's because I... Fuck, this is so fucking insane," he says with a laugh, rubbing his face. "I'm insane. I'm crazy." "What's going on?" He looks at me. "It's not right for me to feel so... protective, and possessive, and... I don't know. All that. It's just not right." "You're my brother," I remind him. "You're supposed to feel like that." "I'm not just your brother anymore, Stevie, and I think we both know that," he says in a low voice. My heart races. I don't know what to say. What does he mean? Is he saying what I think he's saying? But I can't utter a single word. I don't want to speculate. I just stand there in silence. He's blushing heavily and starting to shift nervously in place before he says "I gotta go." He has plans after all. He bites his lip and grabs his keys off the counter and then moves past me, heading towards the door. But then he stops. When I sense him pausing, I turn and look at him. He's half-looking down, clearly struggling as he mulls something over. And then, he looks at me with an unreadable expression before he leans in and kisses me. It's nothing crazy, that kiss. It's short and sweet, but it speaks volumes. It sends shivers down my spine. It's been almost a full week since I've had his lips on mine and God, it feels so good. Even his hand on my hip roots me to my place. It just feels right. When he pulls back, he gives me the tiniest, smallest fraction of a smile and squeezes my hip gently before heading out the door, leaving me breathless.