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blue_soaringFor @RagMan_RIP. This isn't exactly what you asked for, but I hope you like it anyway. :3 Title shamelessly nicked from Murder by Death.
I know there's better brothers but you're the only one that's mine
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Neil Lambert. NC-17. ~6300 words. Incest. Pre-idol.
Neil would like to think he's had a remarkably dick-free life when it comes to Adam.
*
I know there's better brothers but you're the only one that's mine
"What the fuck did you do to your hair," is the first thing out of Neil's mouth when he drops into the passenger's seat.
"'Hi Adam'," Adam pipes out in a prepubescent voice as he smacks the the car into gear. "'Thanks so much for driving all this way to pick me up instead of making me take the bus like every other college student in America. You're the best'."
"Because mom told you to," Neil says. And because Neil isn't getting one foot on a bus this close to Thanksgiving unless he sells a kidney. "Seriously, what the fuck did you do to your hair?"
"It's called dye," Adam says, flicking him an irritated glance. "How did you get into this school again?"
"I applied."
"Awesome. Now apply yourself to not pissing me off for the next eight hours."
*
Barely a half hour into the road trip from hell, fifteen minutes already lost to Adam not remembering to fill up before they headed out, Neil is wishing fervently he hadn't stayed on campus those three extra days. Yesterday, since Mom was nice enough to hold Thanksgiving for him, he would've said the journalism seminar was worth it. Today, stuck in a four-by-eight cage on wheels, listening to Adam's favourite pop star de jour on endless repeat, he wouldn't call a mentorship under H. L. Mencken worth it.
"No, seriously," Neil says, gesturing vaguely to the spiky creature perched on top of Adam's head, the whole emoboy ensemble from the thumbholes in Adam's sleeves to the unlaced shitkicker Docs. "Is this a manifestation of your oppressed sexuality thing?"
Muscle twitches in Adam's jaw. "I don't know, is being an ungrateful nagging asshole a manifestation of your being an ungrateful nagging asshole?"
"I'm not nagging!" Not grateful, either, but he doesn't feel the need to actually agree with Adam on that one. "Did you mug Pete Wentz?"
"No," Adam grits out.
"Did you hook up with Pete Wentz?"
"I'm going to leave you on the side of the road."
"You can't," Neil says smugly. "Mom'll kill you."
"Dad's always liked me better than you," Adam growls, and cranks up the music.
*
Twenty minutes outside Salinas, Neil wakes up and peers blearily out the window. "Jackass."
Adam smiles, big and Hollywood-bright. "I thought you'd like to catch up on your beauty sleep."
"I'd like to take a fucking leak."
"We'll stop in San Luis," Adam says. "Hold it until then."
"That's not for another hour and a half. Pull over."
"Go back to sleep so I can tell Mom we had a nice drive."
Neil jabs at the radio, muting the horrible tortured wailing streaming from the speakers. "I will piss in your goddamn car."
"Piss in my car and you're walking," Adam counters.
"You know the first rule of making threats?" Neil says, reaching for his fly. "You gotta follow through, or all subsequent threats are null."
Adam stares resolutely forward. The noise of Neil lowering his zipper is loud in the quiet thrum of tires on asphalt.
"You are such a fucking bitch," Adam says. "Keep it in your pants, I'll stop."
"At a convenience store," Neil says, happily zipping up. "I'm hungry."
Neil probably wouldn't have done it. He hasn't actually done any of the things he's threatened Adam with over the years, including when Adam had a painfully obvious crush on the older brother of one of Neil's friends, and Neil said he was going to tell Ryan Adam wanted to suck his cock. Not that Neil knew Adam legitimately wanted to suck Ryan's cock at the time.
And now Neil's wondering if maybe Adam did end up with Ryan's dick in his mouth, and god, this is why he tries his best to pretend Adam is a eunuch. Straight or gay or anything in between, the last thing he wants to be thinking about in the same sentence as sex is Adam.
"Mom's cooking dinner," Adam says, scowling at a big rig as he tries to change lanes like a geriatric with a walker in a grocery aisle.
"Just because I don't count microcalories-"
Adam wrenches the wheel to the left, sneaking in between a bus and a Volkswagen. "Bitch, shut up."
Neil, three; Adam, zero. Neil shuts up, beaming.
Pulling into a deserted Chevron lot a short time later, Adam throws the car into park, engine idling. "Three minutes."
"So you don't want me to grab you that Pepsi One and a half-ounce diet brownie? Got it," Neil says, climbing out.
"Fratricide," Adam threatens. "Still totally a possibility here."
Neil flips Adam off through the windshield. Four-zero, he is on a roll.
*
Halfway through the trip, Adam clears his throat. Neil cocks an eyebrow, waiting, waiting, waiting... and Adam clears his throat again, says, "School's good?"
As olive branches go, it's pretty sad. Adam doesn't care about sensible, practical things like getting a degree and a real job, or planning for the future, too caught up in his starry-eyed dreams of record deals and sold-out arenas. It annoys the fuck out of Neil, because Adam is smart. He's good with people. He could do something with his life.
But Neil got tired of ragging on Adam's hair an hour ago. It's not even that bad a haircut, and it sort of even looks good on him. Neil is secretly jealous Adam's hair isn't the same curly nappy mess he's stuck with, though, so it is his sworn duty to pretend he's so far from envious he lands squarely in contemptuous.
"School's good," Neil says.
Adam nods tightly, gaze fixed on the road.
"You know that journalism course I'm taking?"
"The one you stayed to meet with the guest lecturer about?" Adam asks.
Honestly surprised he remembered, Neil blinks dumbly. He recovers quickly, though, and starts telling Adam about the lecture, and why he wanted to stay so much he risked missing Thanksgiving, and the whole time, he fully expects Adam's eyes to glaze over, tuning him out in favour of contemplating the newest eyeliner from Urban Decay.
But Adam listens attentively for a whole ten minutes straight, then starts interrupting with questions. Actual intelligent, well-thought out questions, and Neil peers out the window, wondering when the seas are going to start to boil and the skies burn.
Neil doesn't really care, but he asks Adam about his last stint at Upright Cabaret anyway. There's no way he's going to let Adam out-brother him now.
*
By the time they hit Santa Barbara, Neil's willing to admit--complete and utter lack of life planning skills aside--that Adam's maybe not as bad as he used to be. Dropping out of college to go on that cruise singing for his supper seems to have given him some perspective, at least. His head's still firmly in the clouds, Hollywood in his eyes, but he has an IRA now. Not much of one, but it's a start.
"Why is it we didn't take the five again?" Neil asks.
Adam shrugs. "It's boring."
"And this is an adventure?"
The corner of Adam's mouth crooks wryly. "I need to swing by a friend's house."
Warning bells start clanging in Neil's head. He's met some of Adam's friends. While Adam is crazy, it's generally a tolerable, non-life-threatening kind of crazy. His friends are absolutely batshit. One of them has a freaking four-foot hookah in his living room.
Carefully, Neil says, "When you say 'swing by', you mean just swing by, right? Drop in, stay for ten, fifteen, back on the road again? Not 'swing by' you end up baked out of your skull and force me to drag your grabby-hands ass back into the car so mom doesn't call the police thinking we're in a bloody wreck on the side of the highway again. That's not what you mean."
"No, Neil," Adam says snottily, "that's not what I mean. And she didn't call the police, god."
"Yes, she did."
"No, she didn't." Adam slaps on the left turn signal. "You are such a little drama queen."
"Maybe I don't want to be stuck in the car while you're in there-" Too late, Neil thinks about where that sentence is headed.
"In there what?" Adam challenges, turning down first one side street, then another. "C'mon, Neil, while I'm in there what?"
"Never mind," Neil grumbles.
"Okay," Adam says, far too easily. "Don't wait in the car."
"What are you going to do, drop me off in a park somewhere while you take care of your booty call?"
"It is not a booty call!" Slamming on the breaks, Adam jams the car into reverse and eels into a parking space barely wide enough to eke a shopping cart into. "I'm picking up a costume for a show."
"So I'll wait here."
Adam kills the engine. "Fine. I'll crack the window. Don't chew on the seats."
"How long are you going to be?"
"I don't know," Adam says, yanking the keys out of the ignition and sliding out.
Cursing under his breath, Neil shoves the door open and stumbles out onto the walk. Adam's already on the small stoop, surrounded by a riot of colourful flowers tumbling out over a dozen pots, all different shapes and sizes, one disturbingly humanoid with petunias blooming out of its ass. Neil immediately regrets his decision to leave the relative safety of the car.
"Oh honey," somebody purrs, and Neil's gaze jumps up just in time to catch some tiny stick of a guy throw himself into Adam's arms. "You look fucking delicious."
"Yeah?" Adam says, beaming happily as he picks the guy up in a giant bear hug, then swings him around to plant him squarely in the sunlight. "Oh my god, look at you. I missed you, baby."
The guy wiggles delightedly in Adam's arms. There's a moment, a fraction of one, where Neil's brain is very calmly telling him this is his chance to avert his gaze, spare himself one mortifying, brain-scarring moment in a life destined to be filled with them as long as Adam is his brother. He doesn't manage in time. Like the slow-pan in a horror film, Adam tilts the guy's face up with a few fingers on his chin, leans down and kisses his mouth open, tongue right there sliding on in like they're not standing on the guy's front porch as the elderly neighbour waters her azalea.
And then the guy goes and makes this sound, this yummy-delicious sound, as if having Adam's tongue licking at his tonsils is the best thing to ever happen to him.
Adam breaks away with a wet noise. "Got my outfit ready for me?"
"So ready for you," the guy purrs, rubbing up against Adam's chest like a cat in heat.
Adam laughs, petting his head as if the whole thing is simply precious, not pornographic. "Rook, this is Neil, my little brother. Neil, Rook."
Jerking his chin in a nod, Neil says, "Hey." He wonders if that's the guy's real name.
"Brother?" Rook says, wide-eyed. "Seriously?"
"I know," Adam says flatly. "The family resemblance is shocking."
Rook makes a considering noise. "I like the curls. The curls are cute. Are you coming in, baby brother, or are you going to stand in my rosebush all day?"
Adam laughs, bright and clear, and disappears into the house behind Rook. Neil spares one glorious moment thinking about pissing in the guy's freaking rosebush, and follows.
*
Neil should've stayed in the fucking car.
Backstage Vegas vomited showgirl castoffs straight into Rook's living room, and Adam is right there in the middle of it stripped down to his underwear as Rook scurries around him, measuring this and muttering about that, and every so often completely unnecessarily pinching Adam's ass. The whole place looks like the glitter graveyard, where every single scrap of unloved sequinned, rhinestoned, or sparkle-speckled piece of fabric in the world comes to die. There are feathers and leather and stainless steel buckles and random pieces of latex in every colour imaginable, heavy on the black.
Whatever the hell it is Rook trots out for Adam to shimmy into, it doesn't look like clothes. It takes both of them to get him into the pants, and that's after Rook has them rolled halfway up Adam's thighs, stops to say, "We need to loose the shorts, they're going to ruin the line."
Logically, Neil is aware he's seen Adam's business before. They were kids together. They shared baths. Adam apparently had a phase where he refused to wear clothes, calling them the shackles of a repressive society (which, aside from the whole naked part, sounds more like something Neil would give his parents grief over), and according to all sources, running around in the backyard with a naked older brother didn't bother him one bit.
It's bothering him now. If Rook's hand drifts anywhere near Adam's crotch, Neil is swiping the goddamn keys and burning out of here so fast Adam's head'll still be spinning when Neil pulls into their mother's driveway.
"Hey, baby brother," Rook says through the pins caught between his lips, "come give me a hand."
"I'm not very good with this sort of thing," Neil tries, wanting to stay far, far away from the line of fire.
Adam mutters, "Obviously," and Rook flaps a hand, says, "Whatever. I need your hands, not your lack of colour-coordination. He's too tall for me to get him into this shirt on my own."
The tangle of fishnet and straps dangling from Rook's other hand doesn't look like anything even remotely related to a shirt. Heaving a sigh, Neil trudges over. Anything to get out of here faster.
"Arms up, sweetness," Rook says to Adam, and Adam practically leers down at the guy as he raises his arms, all his weight settling onto one leg with a hip cocked saucily.
"Oh my god," Neil groans, and grabs at the shirt in Rook's hands. "Give me that."
Rook gives up the sad excuse for clothing without a fight. Staring down at it, though, Neil doesn't have the first fucking clue how to go about getting it on Adam. He tugs at a couple of the straps--firmly ignoring Rook leaning back with arms crossed, smugly watching him fumble--and gives a triumphant, "Ah-ha!" when the whole thing unravels into something that looks like Neil could feasibly wrap around Adam's chest.
"Here," Neil says, slapping it up against Adam's back and shoving one end towards Rook.
"Easy with the merchandise, honey," Rook says, sliding his hand across Adam's stomach in a sensuous, soothing gesture. "He bruises easily."
"Do you think you could maybe stop fondling him for ten minutes?" Neil snaps, grabbing up a strap to whip around beneath Adam's arm, buckle it tight. "I'd like to get to mom's before next Thanksgiving."
From back here, Neil can't see Adam's face, but whatever the expression he's wearing, it gives Rook a wide, crocodile smile. "Are you sure he's your brother?" Rook asks, sidling on up against Adam's chest to buckle a strap around his throat. "Seems awfully jealous."
Neil drops his half of the shirt. "Okay," he says, calmly making for the door. "I'm done. If you're not out in ten, I'm leaving you behind."
Only after Neil's outside, halfway down the walk, does he realise his mistake. The keys are still in there, and he's out here. He's not getting back on the road anytime soon, and he sure as hell isn't going back inside.
Settling his back against the car, he decides to wait. Adam's got ten minutes. If Adam's not out here by then, Neil will march back in there and haul him out by the very handy strap Rook put around Adam's throat.
Shifting uncomfortably, Neil hopes he doesn't walk in on something he really, really doesn't need to see.
*
It's closer to fifteen minutes by the time Adam appears in the doorway, a dry-cleaning bag slung over one shoulder and his arm around Rook's shoulders. He stops on the stoop, pulling Rook close to shove his tongue down the poor, delusional guy's esophagus again, not letting up until Rook clutches weakly at his shirt, probably suffocating. When he backs off, Rook licks his lips. Neil shudders.
"I thought you were going to leave me behind," Adam says, coming down the walk.
"Mom would miss you," Neil says, letting the obvious I wouldn't hang in the air between them. "Give me the keys."
"Hell no." Heading for the trunk, Adam pops it open, carefully stows the costume away. He heads around to the driver's side, completely ignoring Neil's pointed look to unlock the goddamn doors already, and blows a kiss across the top of the car.
Neil's stomach lurches. He stares at Adam, what the fucking fuck written all over his face.
"Bring me some sugar next time, sweetness!" Rook calls from the stoop.
"You got it, baby," Adam calls back, the smile sliding off his face as he refocuses his gaze on Neil, cocks an eyebrow. "Are you getting in, or did you want a kiss goodbye too?"
Yanking open the door, Neil drops heavily into the seat, heart pounding. Of course Adam wasn't blowing him goddamn kisses. Thinking Adam was doing it to mess with him, play into what Rook said inside, is giving Adam way too much credit. The most complicated scheme Adam's ever launched in his entire life was trying to take a half-baked cookie out of the oven and pretend mom just forgot to fill up the tray.
That it worked is only a testament to how distracted their mother was at the time.
"Are you sure you didn't want a kiss before we go?" Adam asks, starting the car. About to bust out a, What the hell, from YOU?, Neil releases all the air in his lungs on a slow, leaking breath as Adam goes on, "I realise you have the emotional development of a five year old, so I thought I'd ask, just in case that tantrum in there was you attempting to tell Rook you liked him."
"I realise you do all your thinking with your dick," Neil flings back, "so I'll pretend you didn't practically molest the guy in front of your brother."
Adam snorts, his focus on the road as he weaves his way through side streets back to the highway. "My little bitch of a brother who couldn't stop staring."
"I-- You--" Neil clamps his mouth shut, grinds his teeth. "I was not staring at you."
Adam's eyes flash wide. He hides it quickly, but not quick enough--he meant Rook. He meant Neil was staring at Rook.
"Forget it," Neil says, staring resolutely out the window, jaw set. "You got your stupid costume."
Adam opens his mouth, shuts it again. Frown cutting deep, he flicks on the radio, hits play on his iPod. Neil has never been so thankful for the garbled mess of autotuned junk that fills the car in his entire life.
*
Three and a half hours later, as they're passing through Long Beach, out of the blue Adam asks, "What's your problem, anyway?"
"You," Neil says automatically.
"No, I'm serious," Adam says, sounding genuinely concerned. "You're generally pretty bitchy, I get that. Today you're through the fucking roof. What is it?"
Neil stares at Adam's profile. Of course Adam wants to have a heart-to-heart now, while they're stuck in traffic with no hope of escape. Adam always wants to have these types of conversations. If it weren't so disturbing a notion, Neil would seriously consider the possibility that Adam gets off on the emotional outpouring. He should stick to reality television like every other twisted emowhore out there.
The real problem is Neil doesn't know what's the matter with him. He is more bitchy than usual. The way Adam is breathing makes Neil want to bite his head off. Annoying older brother or not, Neil's willing to admit--in the privacy of his own head, thank you very much--that's a bit on the extreme side of things.
"Just drive," Neil mutters. Mom'll never forgive him if he throttles Adam in the middle of the highway.
Adam flicks him a concerned glance out of the corner of his eye, but thankfully shuts up and drives.
*
The house rises up on the horizon like a godsend. By the time Adam crawls into the driveway, Neil's vibrating with the need to get the hell out of the car. Adam's spent the last two hours throwing him meaningful looks, like he knows exactly what's going on and it would all be alright if only Neil would talk to him.
Grabbing his stuff out of the back, Neil hightails it for the door before Adam's even cut the engine. Once he's inside, it's a thankful whirlwind of turkey-scented hugs from their parents, testing out the cranberry sauce between telling Dad all about the lecture and setting the table, and when they finally sit down to eat, Neil thinks he might actually get through this weekend without having to murder Adam in his sleep.
Right up until he's in the backyard sipping on a glass of wine nobody blinked twice about him pouring, and Adam comes out to flop on the far side of the porch swing and stare at him in the fading daylight.
Neil lasts for thirty seconds before grumbling, "What."
"It's okay, you know," Adam says. "You don't have to worry about them. If they can handle one gay son-"
"Do you ever even think before you talk?" Neil snaps. "Or is saying whatever stupidity crosses your mind part of your brilliant 'no more hiding' shtick?"
"Look," Adam says, making a big show of his strained patience, "I'm just saying you can talk to me. I get it."
"You really, really don't." There is no way Adam could even hope to get it if Neil doesn't.
"God, you are such a bitch," Adam snarls.
Heat prickles up the back of Neil's neck. Clutching his wine glass, he heaves up out of the seat. "Maybe you're projecting."
"So I'm the bitch?" Grabbing onto the swing, Adam shoves up after him, steps right into his space. "You're the one that won't fucking talk to me. If you've got a problem with who I am, who I sleep with, now's the time to say it, Neil."
A second wave of heat rushes up Neil's spine, followed by an icy spill back down. "What the fuck do I care that you're gay?"
"I don't know! You said you're okay with it," Adam says, as if he thinks Neil being 'okay' with it is some sort of dirty compromise, like Neil's lying through his teeth, or it's something Neil has to deal with and that makes it worth so much less than wholehearted acceptance, "but you avoided me all through dinner, and you looked like you wanted to rip Rook's head off. I can't deal with you being 'okay' with me if it means only as long as you don't have to see me actually being gay."
Planing a hand firmly on Adam's chest, Neil shoves him back a stumbling step. Adam's eyes flare wide, and Neil concentrates on pulling air into his lungs, pushing it out again. Very calmly, he says, "I'm not having a delayed crisis about your sexuality. I don't care who you fuck."
"Yeah, it doesn't seem that way," Adam mutters.
"I'm telling you," Neil grits out, "I don't care. Stop getting up in my face about it."
Adam wavers, looking sad and vulnerable in the weak twilight as his anger drains away. "I'm sorry," he says. "Just-- You're my brother."
"So you should believe me when I tell you shit." Pushing past him, Neil heads inside to the kitchen, the open bottle of wine left sitting on the counter. There isn't enough wine in the world for this, let alone in the house, but it'll have to do.
"Okay," Adam says from the doorway, very much like it's not okay at all. "Thanks."
Neil grunts into his glass.
*
Saturday is the only full day Neil has at home. Tomorrow, he'll be back in the car with Adam on his way north, and he's dreading it. Since breakfast, Adam's been walking around on eggshells, so obviously careful about everything that even mom and dad are starting to notice. They're both flinging Neil looks like it's his fault their firstborn is a certifiable nutcase. It's driving him up the wall.
Before Mom gets it in her head to sit Neil down for another one of those talks about Adam's sensitive soul, he drags his ass up to Adam's bedroom and knocks on the wall beside the open door, letting Adam know he's there.
"Yeah?" Adam says, finishing scribbling something in a notebook before he glances up. "Oh."
"I'm stressed about school," Neil lies.
Predictably, Adam doesn't look like he buys it. Also predictably, he asks, "Do you wanna talk about it?"
"So it's not you." Lying is pretty easy once you get going.
Slowly, Adam says, "Okay."
"Right." Neil raps on the doorframe one last time, like punctuation. "Glad we had this talk."
"Yeah," Adam says, his frown chasing Neil all the way down the stairs.
*
That night finds Neil out back again, sadly without the comforting benefit of alcohol, avoiding Adam for all he's worth. As the day's worn on, Adam's only gotten worse. There are concern lines permanently etched around his mouth, and he's moping dramatically, throwing Neil desperate, pleading looks every five seconds. He's so goddamn Broadway about everything.
"I'm going to beat you to death," Neil says to Adam, who's lurking behind the sliding door.
Adam gives a small laugh and steps out onto the small veranda. "I told mom school's bugging you. Now she's worried."
Neil drops his face into his hands. Of course. "One of these days, you should try not helping for a change. That would actually help."
"I'm sorry," Adam says, one corner of his mouth tugged down. "I really wish you'd talk to me."
"Your face annoys me," Neil says flatly. "I hate that you dropped out of school. You need to pay more attention to earning some fucking money. Maybe if you quit doing free shows for your whackadoodle friends, you'd get somewhere. How's that?"
"Slightly too much," Adam says, scowling, "but thanks for the effort."
"Anytime," Neil says, wishing he had a beer to swig. It would've made the spiel so much more effective at sticking in Adam's theatrical brain.
"Are you going to bitch at me if I ask if there's anything else you'd like to overshare?"
"Yes."
Adam's expression abruptly flips over into a grin. Dark and low, challenging, he says, "Bring it on, bitchboy."
Something in Neil's chest gives a hard sideways lurch. For a long second, he can't breathe.
"Come on," Adam says, oblivious. "Lay it on me. Everything you got."
Looking back on it later, Neil's not really sure what happens then. One second he's picking at the torn vinyl on the seat, the next he's shoving Adam into the wall, snarling, "Stop calling me a bitch," in his face.
Adam doesn't even blink. "Why? You like it."
Neil's guts go cold.
"It's this whole point of pride with you!" Adam says, flailing randomly. "Like being contentious is your entire goal in life. You don't even care what you're arguing about, as long as you get to tell somebody they're being an idiot."
A strange burbling noise echoes in Neil's throat. He honestly physically cannot speak. He tries, and ends up burbling again.
And then Adam says, "Oh. Oh."
"Oh my god," Neil says, strangled.
"You like it," Adam says, his expression softening.
"Shut up."
Full of understanding, Adam says, "Oh, baby," and what the hell, Neil stumbles back out of his reach, spluttering incoherently. "No, it's okay. There's nothing wrong with you. It's not me. It's the kink."
"What the hell is even coming out of your mouth right now," Neil manages through the pounding in his skull.
"You get off on it," Adam says, easy as can be, and Neil wishes he'd please, just this once, choke on his tongue. Neil would save him, honest he would, as soon as he's sure Adam will never, ever talk about this ever again, ever. "Being called names, I mean. Or is it just bitch? Never mind, it doesn't matter. There's nothing wrong with it."
"Are you even listening to what you're saying!" Neil shrills.
"This is what's got you so freaked out, isn't it? You think you're having an inappropriate reaction to me."
The most unsurprising thing about all this is that Adam, as usual, thinks it's all about him. "The size of your ego is awe-inspiring."
Adam's lips thin. A determined, downright terrifying light sparks in his eyes. Fifteen years from now, Neil might--might--have the guts to ask Adam what the hell was going through his mind when he grabbed Neil and kissed him.
Neil flails and sputters, and shoves at Adam's face. There's a brief respite while Adam shakes him off, snarls, "Stop it, I'm trying to prove it to you," and then Adam's mouth is back on his, tongue shoved between his lips, and Adam's hand is on his throat, squeezing slightly in a warning to stay the fuck still that Neil ignores completely. When they go tumbling off the side of the low veranda, landing in a heap in the grass, Neil is not one bit surprised Adam is still somehow attached to his face.
Neil punches him in the goddamn kidney.
"Ow, fuck," Adam gasps, a hot explosion of breath on Neil's damp lips. He struggles up on one hand, a smug, There, see? Told you so, in his eyes that doesn't make it anywhere near his tongue once he figures out exactly what that is jabbing him in the hip. "Oh."
"I'm gonna fucking kill you," Neil snarls, and for the first time ever in his life, he actually gives it an honest shot. He gets both hands around Adam's throat, thumbs digging into his windpipe, really trying to choke the life out of him, or at least make him shut the hell up. After a dazed second, Adam starts fighting back, and then they're rolling around in the grass like they're teenagers again, Adam perched on top of him one moment then pinned beneath him the next, all the while trying to shout something that Neil really, really doesn't want to hear.
Neil supposes it's his own fault it takes Adam getting a hand on his crotch to stop him. It's not even a proper dick-punch, because no, Adam has to go and do things differently all the time, so it's actually his hand, palm and fingers, grabbing onto Neil's cock through his jeans. It really doesn't help that Neil's the one flat on his back at the time, Adam's knee digging into his thigh.
If Neil ever gets around to asking Adam about that first kiss, he's definitely not asking about the second. In fact, as Adam grabs his face, shoves his tongue into Neil's mouth yet again, Neil is very firmly pretending none of this is even happening. One day, he might tell the shrink he so obviously needs to see about it, and when he does, he's going to say it was a hazy dream where he isn't even sure who the guy kissing him is, and yes, of course, it's his natural latent curiosity about homosexuality rising to the surface, prompted by the discovery that his one and only sibling likes to get it on with cock.
Something the is never, ever telling anyone is how grinding into Adam's hand is really fucking good, and that when he kicks Adam off, Adam drags him along for the ride, and somehow he ends up fucking Adam's hip with Adam's hands on his ass and Adam's stupid voice in his ear telling him it's okay, it doesn't mean anything, it's okay.
Freezing, cock throbbing in time with his pulse, Neil grunts, "You are so fucking delusional."
Adam says, "Bitch," and plants his boots, grinds up, "fucking mouthy bitch, you think you're so goddamn smart, that nobody else can keep up with you," a triumphant light in his eyes the whole time like he can tell the exact second that penetrates Neil's brain, how it slinks hot down Neil's spine.
And Neil's played gay chicken before, done the one-upmanship sibling thing, but not both at the same time. Unlike Adam, whose brain has apparently given up on him entirely, Neil can't stop thinking about exactly what it is they're doing here. Adam bites at his neck, sucking viciously like he's still got some fucked-up point to prove, and Neil chokes on some sort of deranged moan, straddling Adam's thigh so he can fuck harder, and he hopes, oh god, he hopes their parents aren't watching this fight like they used to when he and Adam were young, making sure it doesn't get out of hand. Neil's about to come in his pants and Adam's latched onto his throat like a vampire. 'Out of hand' doesn't really apply anymore.
"Oh my god," Adam says, hand fisted tight in the back of Neil's shirt, dragging the collar tight, staring up at him with wide eyes, "you're gonna lose it, aren't you? You're so fucking easy."
"Fuck you," Neil grunts, slapping a hand over Adam's mouth. It shuts him up, mostly, but his eyes are saying everything anyway. One experience Neil is sure he's never, ever needed in his life is orgasming while staring into his brother's smarmy face, and yet here he is, struggling to keep breathing while he does exactly that. He jams his elbow into Adam's ribs in the middle of it just because.
Adam's breath whooshes out on, "Shit," and he dives for Neil's throat again, biting hard enough Neil's pretty damn sure skin breaks.
Trying to shove him off, Neil says, "Fucking terrier."
"Brother-fucker," Adam counters, a weird, hectic light in his eyes, like he's delighted he got Neil off.
Neil barks, "What the fuck is wrong with you!" belatedly remembering their parents really are just inside and could feasibly walk out at any moment, fed up with the yelling. "Seriously," he says, reining it in to a growl as he clambers up, making a disgusted face at the slimy feeling in his shorts, "what is wrong with you?"
Stretched out on the grass, Adam tucks a hand behind his head and shrugs.
"That's it," Neil says, and wishes he hadn't noticed that Adam's hard. "That's all you've got."
"You're the one that got off on me," Adam says, "so what's wrong with you?"
Neil would almost like to know. He's got nothing, though, because it's not like he can bring up how Adam kept telling him it was fucking okay, and there's no way Neil's going to win this, whatever this is, while his insides are jangling. He settles for kicking Adam in the shins, then once more in the side when Adam only laughs, and then Neil stomps off to regroup in his room like he's a fucking twelve year old all over again.
*
Around one in the morning, as Neil's lying in bed with the glowing red numbers on his alarm clock burned permanently into his retinas, he's not one bit surprised when his door cracks open. Adam pauses halfway over the threshold, doing the weird thing both of them have always done where they know the other one's not asleep, even when they're faking it, then softly closes the door behind him, creeping over to stand near the foot of Neil's bed.
"You're a creep," Neil mumbles into his pillow.
Adam taps Neil's leg for him to shuffle aside, then when Neil doesn't budge, goes ahead and sits on it. "You really are a bitch."
Neil wonders if he could possibly suffocate Adam with his pillow and claim it as self-defence.
"And," Adam goes on, "considering your complete and total bitchiness--and your woeful inability to have a single creative drive--you're just wigging out about school, so it was this total stress-induced accident."
Dragging the blankets up over his head, Neil grunts. Next thing Adam's going to try telling him is that it's a completely normal occurrence for guys to trip and fall onto his dick.
Though, maybe it is. But certainly not siblings. Neil would like to think he's had a remarkably dick-free life when it comes to Adam.
"Okay?" Adam says, like he's said it a couple of times already.
"What," Neil starts, because honestly, what the fuck, they're going to call it a fluke? Knowing Adam, he's going to trot it out any time he thinks Neil's even close to getting one up on him, and then what is Neil going to do? Gape at him in guilty shame? Hell no. Neil needs a game plan.
Neil needs time to come up with a game plan.
Slowly, Neil says, "Right."
"Right?" Adam echoes.
"Stress, accident," Neil says, as if Adam could maybe be referring to that one time way back when Neil had a problem with nightmares, and he possibly did something in his bed he was really too old to do, but Adam helped him hide it from their parents and to this very day, hasn't brought it up once.
"Right," Adam repeats.
"Right," Neil says back, and then there's a long, awkward moment where Neil waits for Adam to get a clue.
Patting the blankets in the vague area of Neil's ankle, Adam says, "Okay, right," and then he's shuffling through the darkness to the door, closing it as softly as before and giving Neil a feeling like they just did something they really, really shouldn't have.
Which, considering what happened in the backyard, is fucking hilarious.
*
End
I know there's better brothers but you're the only one that's mine
Glamdom. Adam Lambert/Neil Lambert. NC-17. ~6300 words. Incest. Pre-idol.
Neil would like to think he's had a remarkably dick-free life when it comes to Adam.
I know there's better brothers but you're the only one that's mine
"What the fuck did you do to your hair," is the first thing out of Neil's mouth when he drops into the passenger's seat.
"'Hi Adam'," Adam pipes out in a prepubescent voice as he smacks the the car into gear. "'Thanks so much for driving all this way to pick me up instead of making me take the bus like every other college student in America. You're the best'."
"Because mom told you to," Neil says. And because Neil isn't getting one foot on a bus this close to Thanksgiving unless he sells a kidney. "Seriously, what the fuck did you do to your hair?"
"It's called dye," Adam says, flicking him an irritated glance. "How did you get into this school again?"
"I applied."
"Awesome. Now apply yourself to not pissing me off for the next eight hours."
Barely a half hour into the road trip from hell, fifteen minutes already lost to Adam not remembering to fill up before they headed out, Neil is wishing fervently he hadn't stayed on campus those three extra days. Yesterday, since Mom was nice enough to hold Thanksgiving for him, he would've said the journalism seminar was worth it. Today, stuck in a four-by-eight cage on wheels, listening to Adam's favourite pop star de jour on endless repeat, he wouldn't call a mentorship under H. L. Mencken worth it.
"No, seriously," Neil says, gesturing vaguely to the spiky creature perched on top of Adam's head, the whole emoboy ensemble from the thumbholes in Adam's sleeves to the unlaced shitkicker Docs. "Is this a manifestation of your oppressed sexuality thing?"
Muscle twitches in Adam's jaw. "I don't know, is being an ungrateful nagging asshole a manifestation of your being an ungrateful nagging asshole?"
"I'm not nagging!" Not grateful, either, but he doesn't feel the need to actually agree with Adam on that one. "Did you mug Pete Wentz?"
"No," Adam grits out.
"Did you hook up with Pete Wentz?"
"I'm going to leave you on the side of the road."
"You can't," Neil says smugly. "Mom'll kill you."
"Dad's always liked me better than you," Adam growls, and cranks up the music.
Twenty minutes outside Salinas, Neil wakes up and peers blearily out the window. "Jackass."
Adam smiles, big and Hollywood-bright. "I thought you'd like to catch up on your beauty sleep."
"I'd like to take a fucking leak."
"We'll stop in San Luis," Adam says. "Hold it until then."
"That's not for another hour and a half. Pull over."
"Go back to sleep so I can tell Mom we had a nice drive."
Neil jabs at the radio, muting the horrible tortured wailing streaming from the speakers. "I will piss in your goddamn car."
"Piss in my car and you're walking," Adam counters.
"You know the first rule of making threats?" Neil says, reaching for his fly. "You gotta follow through, or all subsequent threats are null."
Adam stares resolutely forward. The noise of Neil lowering his zipper is loud in the quiet thrum of tires on asphalt.
"You are such a fucking bitch," Adam says. "Keep it in your pants, I'll stop."
"At a convenience store," Neil says, happily zipping up. "I'm hungry."
Neil probably wouldn't have done it. He hasn't actually done any of the things he's threatened Adam with over the years, including when Adam had a painfully obvious crush on the older brother of one of Neil's friends, and Neil said he was going to tell Ryan Adam wanted to suck his cock. Not that Neil knew Adam legitimately wanted to suck Ryan's cock at the time.
And now Neil's wondering if maybe Adam did end up with Ryan's dick in his mouth, and god, this is why he tries his best to pretend Adam is a eunuch. Straight or gay or anything in between, the last thing he wants to be thinking about in the same sentence as sex is Adam.
"Mom's cooking dinner," Adam says, scowling at a big rig as he tries to change lanes like a geriatric with a walker in a grocery aisle.
"Just because I don't count microcalories-"
Adam wrenches the wheel to the left, sneaking in between a bus and a Volkswagen. "Bitch, shut up."
Neil, three; Adam, zero. Neil shuts up, beaming.
Pulling into a deserted Chevron lot a short time later, Adam throws the car into park, engine idling. "Three minutes."
"So you don't want me to grab you that Pepsi One and a half-ounce diet brownie? Got it," Neil says, climbing out.
"Fratricide," Adam threatens. "Still totally a possibility here."
Neil flips Adam off through the windshield. Four-zero, he is on a roll.
Halfway through the trip, Adam clears his throat. Neil cocks an eyebrow, waiting, waiting, waiting... and Adam clears his throat again, says, "School's good?"
As olive branches go, it's pretty sad. Adam doesn't care about sensible, practical things like getting a degree and a real job, or planning for the future, too caught up in his starry-eyed dreams of record deals and sold-out arenas. It annoys the fuck out of Neil, because Adam is smart. He's good with people. He could do something with his life.
But Neil got tired of ragging on Adam's hair an hour ago. It's not even that bad a haircut, and it sort of even looks good on him. Neil is secretly jealous Adam's hair isn't the same curly nappy mess he's stuck with, though, so it is his sworn duty to pretend he's so far from envious he lands squarely in contemptuous.
"School's good," Neil says.
Adam nods tightly, gaze fixed on the road.
"You know that journalism course I'm taking?"
"The one you stayed to meet with the guest lecturer about?" Adam asks.
Honestly surprised he remembered, Neil blinks dumbly. He recovers quickly, though, and starts telling Adam about the lecture, and why he wanted to stay so much he risked missing Thanksgiving, and the whole time, he fully expects Adam's eyes to glaze over, tuning him out in favour of contemplating the newest eyeliner from Urban Decay.
But Adam listens attentively for a whole ten minutes straight, then starts interrupting with questions. Actual intelligent, well-thought out questions, and Neil peers out the window, wondering when the seas are going to start to boil and the skies burn.
Neil doesn't really care, but he asks Adam about his last stint at Upright Cabaret anyway. There's no way he's going to let Adam out-brother him now.
By the time they hit Santa Barbara, Neil's willing to admit--complete and utter lack of life planning skills aside--that Adam's maybe not as bad as he used to be. Dropping out of college to go on that cruise singing for his supper seems to have given him some perspective, at least. His head's still firmly in the clouds, Hollywood in his eyes, but he has an IRA now. Not much of one, but it's a start.
"Why is it we didn't take the five again?" Neil asks.
Adam shrugs. "It's boring."
"And this is an adventure?"
The corner of Adam's mouth crooks wryly. "I need to swing by a friend's house."
Warning bells start clanging in Neil's head. He's met some of Adam's friends. While Adam is crazy, it's generally a tolerable, non-life-threatening kind of crazy. His friends are absolutely batshit. One of them has a freaking four-foot hookah in his living room.
Carefully, Neil says, "When you say 'swing by', you mean just swing by, right? Drop in, stay for ten, fifteen, back on the road again? Not 'swing by' you end up baked out of your skull and force me to drag your grabby-hands ass back into the car so mom doesn't call the police thinking we're in a bloody wreck on the side of the highway again. That's not what you mean."
"No, Neil," Adam says snottily, "that's not what I mean. And she didn't call the police, god."
"Yes, she did."
"No, she didn't." Adam slaps on the left turn signal. "You are such a little drama queen."
"Maybe I don't want to be stuck in the car while you're in there-" Too late, Neil thinks about where that sentence is headed.
"In there what?" Adam challenges, turning down first one side street, then another. "C'mon, Neil, while I'm in there what?"
"Never mind," Neil grumbles.
"Okay," Adam says, far too easily. "Don't wait in the car."
"What are you going to do, drop me off in a park somewhere while you take care of your booty call?"
"It is not a booty call!" Slamming on the breaks, Adam jams the car into reverse and eels into a parking space barely wide enough to eke a shopping cart into. "I'm picking up a costume for a show."
"So I'll wait here."
Adam kills the engine. "Fine. I'll crack the window. Don't chew on the seats."
"How long are you going to be?"
"I don't know," Adam says, yanking the keys out of the ignition and sliding out.
Cursing under his breath, Neil shoves the door open and stumbles out onto the walk. Adam's already on the small stoop, surrounded by a riot of colourful flowers tumbling out over a dozen pots, all different shapes and sizes, one disturbingly humanoid with petunias blooming out of its ass. Neil immediately regrets his decision to leave the relative safety of the car.
"Oh honey," somebody purrs, and Neil's gaze jumps up just in time to catch some tiny stick of a guy throw himself into Adam's arms. "You look fucking delicious."
"Yeah?" Adam says, beaming happily as he picks the guy up in a giant bear hug, then swings him around to plant him squarely in the sunlight. "Oh my god, look at you. I missed you, baby."
The guy wiggles delightedly in Adam's arms. There's a moment, a fraction of one, where Neil's brain is very calmly telling him this is his chance to avert his gaze, spare himself one mortifying, brain-scarring moment in a life destined to be filled with them as long as Adam is his brother. He doesn't manage in time. Like the slow-pan in a horror film, Adam tilts the guy's face up with a few fingers on his chin, leans down and kisses his mouth open, tongue right there sliding on in like they're not standing on the guy's front porch as the elderly neighbour waters her azalea.
And then the guy goes and makes this sound, this yummy-delicious sound, as if having Adam's tongue licking at his tonsils is the best thing to ever happen to him.
Adam breaks away with a wet noise. "Got my outfit ready for me?"
"So ready for you," the guy purrs, rubbing up against Adam's chest like a cat in heat.
Adam laughs, petting his head as if the whole thing is simply precious, not pornographic. "Rook, this is Neil, my little brother. Neil, Rook."
Jerking his chin in a nod, Neil says, "Hey." He wonders if that's the guy's real name.
"Brother?" Rook says, wide-eyed. "Seriously?"
"I know," Adam says flatly. "The family resemblance is shocking."
Rook makes a considering noise. "I like the curls. The curls are cute. Are you coming in, baby brother, or are you going to stand in my rosebush all day?"
Adam laughs, bright and clear, and disappears into the house behind Rook. Neil spares one glorious moment thinking about pissing in the guy's freaking rosebush, and follows.
Neil should've stayed in the fucking car.
Backstage Vegas vomited showgirl castoffs straight into Rook's living room, and Adam is right there in the middle of it stripped down to his underwear as Rook scurries around him, measuring this and muttering about that, and every so often completely unnecessarily pinching Adam's ass. The whole place looks like the glitter graveyard, where every single scrap of unloved sequinned, rhinestoned, or sparkle-speckled piece of fabric in the world comes to die. There are feathers and leather and stainless steel buckles and random pieces of latex in every colour imaginable, heavy on the black.
Whatever the hell it is Rook trots out for Adam to shimmy into, it doesn't look like clothes. It takes both of them to get him into the pants, and that's after Rook has them rolled halfway up Adam's thighs, stops to say, "We need to loose the shorts, they're going to ruin the line."
Logically, Neil is aware he's seen Adam's business before. They were kids together. They shared baths. Adam apparently had a phase where he refused to wear clothes, calling them the shackles of a repressive society (which, aside from the whole naked part, sounds more like something Neil would give his parents grief over), and according to all sources, running around in the backyard with a naked older brother didn't bother him one bit.
It's bothering him now. If Rook's hand drifts anywhere near Adam's crotch, Neil is swiping the goddamn keys and burning out of here so fast Adam's head'll still be spinning when Neil pulls into their mother's driveway.
"Hey, baby brother," Rook says through the pins caught between his lips, "come give me a hand."
"I'm not very good with this sort of thing," Neil tries, wanting to stay far, far away from the line of fire.
Adam mutters, "Obviously," and Rook flaps a hand, says, "Whatever. I need your hands, not your lack of colour-coordination. He's too tall for me to get him into this shirt on my own."
The tangle of fishnet and straps dangling from Rook's other hand doesn't look like anything even remotely related to a shirt. Heaving a sigh, Neil trudges over. Anything to get out of here faster.
"Arms up, sweetness," Rook says to Adam, and Adam practically leers down at the guy as he raises his arms, all his weight settling onto one leg with a hip cocked saucily.
"Oh my god," Neil groans, and grabs at the shirt in Rook's hands. "Give me that."
Rook gives up the sad excuse for clothing without a fight. Staring down at it, though, Neil doesn't have the first fucking clue how to go about getting it on Adam. He tugs at a couple of the straps--firmly ignoring Rook leaning back with arms crossed, smugly watching him fumble--and gives a triumphant, "Ah-ha!" when the whole thing unravels into something that looks like Neil could feasibly wrap around Adam's chest.
"Here," Neil says, slapping it up against Adam's back and shoving one end towards Rook.
"Easy with the merchandise, honey," Rook says, sliding his hand across Adam's stomach in a sensuous, soothing gesture. "He bruises easily."
"Do you think you could maybe stop fondling him for ten minutes?" Neil snaps, grabbing up a strap to whip around beneath Adam's arm, buckle it tight. "I'd like to get to mom's before next Thanksgiving."
From back here, Neil can't see Adam's face, but whatever the expression he's wearing, it gives Rook a wide, crocodile smile. "Are you sure he's your brother?" Rook asks, sidling on up against Adam's chest to buckle a strap around his throat. "Seems awfully jealous."
Neil drops his half of the shirt. "Okay," he says, calmly making for the door. "I'm done. If you're not out in ten, I'm leaving you behind."
Only after Neil's outside, halfway down the walk, does he realise his mistake. The keys are still in there, and he's out here. He's not getting back on the road anytime soon, and he sure as hell isn't going back inside.
Settling his back against the car, he decides to wait. Adam's got ten minutes. If Adam's not out here by then, Neil will march back in there and haul him out by the very handy strap Rook put around Adam's throat.
Shifting uncomfortably, Neil hopes he doesn't walk in on something he really, really doesn't need to see.
It's closer to fifteen minutes by the time Adam appears in the doorway, a dry-cleaning bag slung over one shoulder and his arm around Rook's shoulders. He stops on the stoop, pulling Rook close to shove his tongue down the poor, delusional guy's esophagus again, not letting up until Rook clutches weakly at his shirt, probably suffocating. When he backs off, Rook licks his lips. Neil shudders.
"I thought you were going to leave me behind," Adam says, coming down the walk.
"Mom would miss you," Neil says, letting the obvious I wouldn't hang in the air between them. "Give me the keys."
"Hell no." Heading for the trunk, Adam pops it open, carefully stows the costume away. He heads around to the driver's side, completely ignoring Neil's pointed look to unlock the goddamn doors already, and blows a kiss across the top of the car.
Neil's stomach lurches. He stares at Adam, what the fucking fuck written all over his face.
"Bring me some sugar next time, sweetness!" Rook calls from the stoop.
"You got it, baby," Adam calls back, the smile sliding off his face as he refocuses his gaze on Neil, cocks an eyebrow. "Are you getting in, or did you want a kiss goodbye too?"
Yanking open the door, Neil drops heavily into the seat, heart pounding. Of course Adam wasn't blowing him goddamn kisses. Thinking Adam was doing it to mess with him, play into what Rook said inside, is giving Adam way too much credit. The most complicated scheme Adam's ever launched in his entire life was trying to take a half-baked cookie out of the oven and pretend mom just forgot to fill up the tray.
That it worked is only a testament to how distracted their mother was at the time.
"Are you sure you didn't want a kiss before we go?" Adam asks, starting the car. About to bust out a, What the hell, from YOU?, Neil releases all the air in his lungs on a slow, leaking breath as Adam goes on, "I realise you have the emotional development of a five year old, so I thought I'd ask, just in case that tantrum in there was you attempting to tell Rook you liked him."
"I realise you do all your thinking with your dick," Neil flings back, "so I'll pretend you didn't practically molest the guy in front of your brother."
Adam snorts, his focus on the road as he weaves his way through side streets back to the highway. "My little bitch of a brother who couldn't stop staring."
"I-- You--" Neil clamps his mouth shut, grinds his teeth. "I was not staring at you."
Adam's eyes flash wide. He hides it quickly, but not quick enough--he meant Rook. He meant Neil was staring at Rook.
"Forget it," Neil says, staring resolutely out the window, jaw set. "You got your stupid costume."
Adam opens his mouth, shuts it again. Frown cutting deep, he flicks on the radio, hits play on his iPod. Neil has never been so thankful for the garbled mess of autotuned junk that fills the car in his entire life.
Three and a half hours later, as they're passing through Long Beach, out of the blue Adam asks, "What's your problem, anyway?"
"You," Neil says automatically.
"No, I'm serious," Adam says, sounding genuinely concerned. "You're generally pretty bitchy, I get that. Today you're through the fucking roof. What is it?"
Neil stares at Adam's profile. Of course Adam wants to have a heart-to-heart now, while they're stuck in traffic with no hope of escape. Adam always wants to have these types of conversations. If it weren't so disturbing a notion, Neil would seriously consider the possibility that Adam gets off on the emotional outpouring. He should stick to reality television like every other twisted emowhore out there.
The real problem is Neil doesn't know what's the matter with him. He is more bitchy than usual. The way Adam is breathing makes Neil want to bite his head off. Annoying older brother or not, Neil's willing to admit--in the privacy of his own head, thank you very much--that's a bit on the extreme side of things.
"Just drive," Neil mutters. Mom'll never forgive him if he throttles Adam in the middle of the highway.
Adam flicks him a concerned glance out of the corner of his eye, but thankfully shuts up and drives.
The house rises up on the horizon like a godsend. By the time Adam crawls into the driveway, Neil's vibrating with the need to get the hell out of the car. Adam's spent the last two hours throwing him meaningful looks, like he knows exactly what's going on and it would all be alright if only Neil would talk to him.
Grabbing his stuff out of the back, Neil hightails it for the door before Adam's even cut the engine. Once he's inside, it's a thankful whirlwind of turkey-scented hugs from their parents, testing out the cranberry sauce between telling Dad all about the lecture and setting the table, and when they finally sit down to eat, Neil thinks he might actually get through this weekend without having to murder Adam in his sleep.
Right up until he's in the backyard sipping on a glass of wine nobody blinked twice about him pouring, and Adam comes out to flop on the far side of the porch swing and stare at him in the fading daylight.
Neil lasts for thirty seconds before grumbling, "What."
"It's okay, you know," Adam says. "You don't have to worry about them. If they can handle one gay son-"
"Do you ever even think before you talk?" Neil snaps. "Or is saying whatever stupidity crosses your mind part of your brilliant 'no more hiding' shtick?"
"Look," Adam says, making a big show of his strained patience, "I'm just saying you can talk to me. I get it."
"You really, really don't." There is no way Adam could even hope to get it if Neil doesn't.
"God, you are such a bitch," Adam snarls.
Heat prickles up the back of Neil's neck. Clutching his wine glass, he heaves up out of the seat. "Maybe you're projecting."
"So I'm the bitch?" Grabbing onto the swing, Adam shoves up after him, steps right into his space. "You're the one that won't fucking talk to me. If you've got a problem with who I am, who I sleep with, now's the time to say it, Neil."
A second wave of heat rushes up Neil's spine, followed by an icy spill back down. "What the fuck do I care that you're gay?"
"I don't know! You said you're okay with it," Adam says, as if he thinks Neil being 'okay' with it is some sort of dirty compromise, like Neil's lying through his teeth, or it's something Neil has to deal with and that makes it worth so much less than wholehearted acceptance, "but you avoided me all through dinner, and you looked like you wanted to rip Rook's head off. I can't deal with you being 'okay' with me if it means only as long as you don't have to see me actually being gay."
Planing a hand firmly on Adam's chest, Neil shoves him back a stumbling step. Adam's eyes flare wide, and Neil concentrates on pulling air into his lungs, pushing it out again. Very calmly, he says, "I'm not having a delayed crisis about your sexuality. I don't care who you fuck."
"Yeah, it doesn't seem that way," Adam mutters.
"I'm telling you," Neil grits out, "I don't care. Stop getting up in my face about it."
Adam wavers, looking sad and vulnerable in the weak twilight as his anger drains away. "I'm sorry," he says. "Just-- You're my brother."
"So you should believe me when I tell you shit." Pushing past him, Neil heads inside to the kitchen, the open bottle of wine left sitting on the counter. There isn't enough wine in the world for this, let alone in the house, but it'll have to do.
"Okay," Adam says from the doorway, very much like it's not okay at all. "Thanks."
Neil grunts into his glass.
Saturday is the only full day Neil has at home. Tomorrow, he'll be back in the car with Adam on his way north, and he's dreading it. Since breakfast, Adam's been walking around on eggshells, so obviously careful about everything that even mom and dad are starting to notice. They're both flinging Neil looks like it's his fault their firstborn is a certifiable nutcase. It's driving him up the wall.
Before Mom gets it in her head to sit Neil down for another one of those talks about Adam's sensitive soul, he drags his ass up to Adam's bedroom and knocks on the wall beside the open door, letting Adam know he's there.
"Yeah?" Adam says, finishing scribbling something in a notebook before he glances up. "Oh."
"I'm stressed about school," Neil lies.
Predictably, Adam doesn't look like he buys it. Also predictably, he asks, "Do you wanna talk about it?"
"So it's not you." Lying is pretty easy once you get going.
Slowly, Adam says, "Okay."
"Right." Neil raps on the doorframe one last time, like punctuation. "Glad we had this talk."
"Yeah," Adam says, his frown chasing Neil all the way down the stairs.
That night finds Neil out back again, sadly without the comforting benefit of alcohol, avoiding Adam for all he's worth. As the day's worn on, Adam's only gotten worse. There are concern lines permanently etched around his mouth, and he's moping dramatically, throwing Neil desperate, pleading looks every five seconds. He's so goddamn Broadway about everything.
"I'm going to beat you to death," Neil says to Adam, who's lurking behind the sliding door.
Adam gives a small laugh and steps out onto the small veranda. "I told mom school's bugging you. Now she's worried."
Neil drops his face into his hands. Of course. "One of these days, you should try not helping for a change. That would actually help."
"I'm sorry," Adam says, one corner of his mouth tugged down. "I really wish you'd talk to me."
"Your face annoys me," Neil says flatly. "I hate that you dropped out of school. You need to pay more attention to earning some fucking money. Maybe if you quit doing free shows for your whackadoodle friends, you'd get somewhere. How's that?"
"Slightly too much," Adam says, scowling, "but thanks for the effort."
"Anytime," Neil says, wishing he had a beer to swig. It would've made the spiel so much more effective at sticking in Adam's theatrical brain.
"Are you going to bitch at me if I ask if there's anything else you'd like to overshare?"
"Yes."
Adam's expression abruptly flips over into a grin. Dark and low, challenging, he says, "Bring it on, bitchboy."
Something in Neil's chest gives a hard sideways lurch. For a long second, he can't breathe.
"Come on," Adam says, oblivious. "Lay it on me. Everything you got."
Looking back on it later, Neil's not really sure what happens then. One second he's picking at the torn vinyl on the seat, the next he's shoving Adam into the wall, snarling, "Stop calling me a bitch," in his face.
Adam doesn't even blink. "Why? You like it."
Neil's guts go cold.
"It's this whole point of pride with you!" Adam says, flailing randomly. "Like being contentious is your entire goal in life. You don't even care what you're arguing about, as long as you get to tell somebody they're being an idiot."
A strange burbling noise echoes in Neil's throat. He honestly physically cannot speak. He tries, and ends up burbling again.
And then Adam says, "Oh. Oh."
"Oh my god," Neil says, strangled.
"You like it," Adam says, his expression softening.
"Shut up."
Full of understanding, Adam says, "Oh, baby," and what the hell, Neil stumbles back out of his reach, spluttering incoherently. "No, it's okay. There's nothing wrong with you. It's not me. It's the kink."
"What the hell is even coming out of your mouth right now," Neil manages through the pounding in his skull.
"You get off on it," Adam says, easy as can be, and Neil wishes he'd please, just this once, choke on his tongue. Neil would save him, honest he would, as soon as he's sure Adam will never, ever talk about this ever again, ever. "Being called names, I mean. Or is it just bitch? Never mind, it doesn't matter. There's nothing wrong with it."
"Are you even listening to what you're saying!" Neil shrills.
"This is what's got you so freaked out, isn't it? You think you're having an inappropriate reaction to me."
The most unsurprising thing about all this is that Adam, as usual, thinks it's all about him. "The size of your ego is awe-inspiring."
Adam's lips thin. A determined, downright terrifying light sparks in his eyes. Fifteen years from now, Neil might--might--have the guts to ask Adam what the hell was going through his mind when he grabbed Neil and kissed him.
Neil flails and sputters, and shoves at Adam's face. There's a brief respite while Adam shakes him off, snarls, "Stop it, I'm trying to prove it to you," and then Adam's mouth is back on his, tongue shoved between his lips, and Adam's hand is on his throat, squeezing slightly in a warning to stay the fuck still that Neil ignores completely. When they go tumbling off the side of the low veranda, landing in a heap in the grass, Neil is not one bit surprised Adam is still somehow attached to his face.
Neil punches him in the goddamn kidney.
"Ow, fuck," Adam gasps, a hot explosion of breath on Neil's damp lips. He struggles up on one hand, a smug, There, see? Told you so, in his eyes that doesn't make it anywhere near his tongue once he figures out exactly what that is jabbing him in the hip. "Oh."
"I'm gonna fucking kill you," Neil snarls, and for the first time ever in his life, he actually gives it an honest shot. He gets both hands around Adam's throat, thumbs digging into his windpipe, really trying to choke the life out of him, or at least make him shut the hell up. After a dazed second, Adam starts fighting back, and then they're rolling around in the grass like they're teenagers again, Adam perched on top of him one moment then pinned beneath him the next, all the while trying to shout something that Neil really, really doesn't want to hear.
Neil supposes it's his own fault it takes Adam getting a hand on his crotch to stop him. It's not even a proper dick-punch, because no, Adam has to go and do things differently all the time, so it's actually his hand, palm and fingers, grabbing onto Neil's cock through his jeans. It really doesn't help that Neil's the one flat on his back at the time, Adam's knee digging into his thigh.
If Neil ever gets around to asking Adam about that first kiss, he's definitely not asking about the second. In fact, as Adam grabs his face, shoves his tongue into Neil's mouth yet again, Neil is very firmly pretending none of this is even happening. One day, he might tell the shrink he so obviously needs to see about it, and when he does, he's going to say it was a hazy dream where he isn't even sure who the guy kissing him is, and yes, of course, it's his natural latent curiosity about homosexuality rising to the surface, prompted by the discovery that his one and only sibling likes to get it on with cock.
Something the is never, ever telling anyone is how grinding into Adam's hand is really fucking good, and that when he kicks Adam off, Adam drags him along for the ride, and somehow he ends up fucking Adam's hip with Adam's hands on his ass and Adam's stupid voice in his ear telling him it's okay, it doesn't mean anything, it's okay.
Freezing, cock throbbing in time with his pulse, Neil grunts, "You are so fucking delusional."
Adam says, "Bitch," and plants his boots, grinds up, "fucking mouthy bitch, you think you're so goddamn smart, that nobody else can keep up with you," a triumphant light in his eyes the whole time like he can tell the exact second that penetrates Neil's brain, how it slinks hot down Neil's spine.
And Neil's played gay chicken before, done the one-upmanship sibling thing, but not both at the same time. Unlike Adam, whose brain has apparently given up on him entirely, Neil can't stop thinking about exactly what it is they're doing here. Adam bites at his neck, sucking viciously like he's still got some fucked-up point to prove, and Neil chokes on some sort of deranged moan, straddling Adam's thigh so he can fuck harder, and he hopes, oh god, he hopes their parents aren't watching this fight like they used to when he and Adam were young, making sure it doesn't get out of hand. Neil's about to come in his pants and Adam's latched onto his throat like a vampire. 'Out of hand' doesn't really apply anymore.
"Oh my god," Adam says, hand fisted tight in the back of Neil's shirt, dragging the collar tight, staring up at him with wide eyes, "you're gonna lose it, aren't you? You're so fucking easy."
"Fuck you," Neil grunts, slapping a hand over Adam's mouth. It shuts him up, mostly, but his eyes are saying everything anyway. One experience Neil is sure he's never, ever needed in his life is orgasming while staring into his brother's smarmy face, and yet here he is, struggling to keep breathing while he does exactly that. He jams his elbow into Adam's ribs in the middle of it just because.
Adam's breath whooshes out on, "Shit," and he dives for Neil's throat again, biting hard enough Neil's pretty damn sure skin breaks.
Trying to shove him off, Neil says, "Fucking terrier."
"Brother-fucker," Adam counters, a weird, hectic light in his eyes, like he's delighted he got Neil off.
Neil barks, "What the fuck is wrong with you!" belatedly remembering their parents really are just inside and could feasibly walk out at any moment, fed up with the yelling. "Seriously," he says, reining it in to a growl as he clambers up, making a disgusted face at the slimy feeling in his shorts, "what is wrong with you?"
Stretched out on the grass, Adam tucks a hand behind his head and shrugs.
"That's it," Neil says, and wishes he hadn't noticed that Adam's hard. "That's all you've got."
"You're the one that got off on me," Adam says, "so what's wrong with you?"
Neil would almost like to know. He's got nothing, though, because it's not like he can bring up how Adam kept telling him it was fucking okay, and there's no way Neil's going to win this, whatever this is, while his insides are jangling. He settles for kicking Adam in the shins, then once more in the side when Adam only laughs, and then Neil stomps off to regroup in his room like he's a fucking twelve year old all over again.
Around one in the morning, as Neil's lying in bed with the glowing red numbers on his alarm clock burned permanently into his retinas, he's not one bit surprised when his door cracks open. Adam pauses halfway over the threshold, doing the weird thing both of them have always done where they know the other one's not asleep, even when they're faking it, then softly closes the door behind him, creeping over to stand near the foot of Neil's bed.
"You're a creep," Neil mumbles into his pillow.
Adam taps Neil's leg for him to shuffle aside, then when Neil doesn't budge, goes ahead and sits on it. "You really are a bitch."
Neil wonders if he could possibly suffocate Adam with his pillow and claim it as self-defence.
"And," Adam goes on, "considering your complete and total bitchiness--and your woeful inability to have a single creative drive--you're just wigging out about school, so it was this total stress-induced accident."
Dragging the blankets up over his head, Neil grunts. Next thing Adam's going to try telling him is that it's a completely normal occurrence for guys to trip and fall onto his dick.
Though, maybe it is. But certainly not siblings. Neil would like to think he's had a remarkably dick-free life when it comes to Adam.
"Okay?" Adam says, like he's said it a couple of times already.
"What," Neil starts, because honestly, what the fuck, they're going to call it a fluke? Knowing Adam, he's going to trot it out any time he thinks Neil's even close to getting one up on him, and then what is Neil going to do? Gape at him in guilty shame? Hell no. Neil needs a game plan.
Neil needs time to come up with a game plan.
Slowly, Neil says, "Right."
"Right?" Adam echoes.
"Stress, accident," Neil says, as if Adam could maybe be referring to that one time way back when Neil had a problem with nightmares, and he possibly did something in his bed he was really too old to do, but Adam helped him hide it from their parents and to this very day, hasn't brought it up once.
"Right," Adam repeats.
"Right," Neil says back, and then there's a long, awkward moment where Neil waits for Adam to get a clue.
Patting the blankets in the vague area of Neil's ankle, Adam says, "Okay, right," and then he's shuffling through the darkness to the door, closing it as softly as before and giving Neil a feeling like they just did something they really, really shouldn't have.
Which, considering what happened in the backyard, is fucking hilarious.
End
no subject
Date: 2011-04-11 02:11 pm (UTC)