Name's Tyto. Part 2 coming soon, depending on response. Peace.
Midnight, no light. Too buzzed to care enough to turn them on. I am still driving off the temporary high of smoke in my lungs that made its way to my head, this incredulous smile smeared across my face. Every sound the radio made has me laughing. I wasn’t totally lost in the fog of my mind, and I knew exactly where I was. Drive straight through these trees and the fence will be up ahead, hang a sharp right onto the rocky road that lead up to the house. My house, where Mom and Dad are gone and brother Malcolm - Mal for short - is quietly sleeping.
We were told to stay indoors, and Dad’s busted up Chevy was definitely off-limits. But this guy I’ve been fucking had some really good shit and my lungs savored its taste. Turned out the smoke was bad but his dick was so good. We’ve joked so many times that he was made for me, but truth is he’s the only boy I’ve ever been with. He’s sixteen, a year younger than I. Skin light as creamed coffee but darker than mine, eyes the color of, well, the color of the midnight that surrounds me.
Truth is, the buzz I have is all made up in my head. I’m riding on the high of nothing, but I can’t admit that to myself. I would have been able to had it not been for that sharp right I took in pitch blackness. Over the blaring radio I can hear the incredibly heavy thud of slamming into something, albeit small enough a victim to keep driving. And then comes this earth-shattering squeal. I hadn’t heard anything like it before. The high-pitched whine cut through the rest of the noise of the radio and I slam down on the break, sliding slightly through the dew-covered grass until I come to a halt. I cut the engine, and the radio silences, and all you can hear is the sharp whine of the dog somewhere behind me. I push my palms against my ears, hoping to quiet the fear in MY dog’s voice.
“WHAT DID YOU DO?” comes Mal’s voice suddenly and he bangs on the truck’s window. “Eli, what happened?”
“I hit Sparta,” I cry into the steering wheel, slamming my head into the horn. It let out a loud honk. Behind me, Sparta’s whines are growing weaker. “I think…”
Mal is beside our dog in a heartbeat. Stepping out of the truck I watch him reach to pet the dog’s neck, and Sparta squeals louder. “There’s blood all over his face. He should have been inside, Eli. You know how he likes to chase the cars as we pull in!”
“I’m sorry. He must have slipped out when I left.”
I turn the flashlight on my phone towards Mal’s face and he looks at me darkly. “You didn’t bother shutting the front door. It was open when I came out.”
Sparta struggles to breathe and his whining grows silent. We stare for what felt like hours before Mal stands back to his feet, scooping the German Shepherd into his arms. Sparta falls completely limp. “Come on,” he says quietly. “Let’s get him to the back.” I stop at the front of the truck. Dark fur and a bit of blood sticks to the bumper. “Dad’s gonna be pissed,” he says coldly. “Sparta’s ten years old. He’s not going to take this lightly.”
“We can clean the truck, tell him Sparta got loose. It was a freak accident with poachers.”
“We’re not going to lie to Dad, Eli.” Mal squares his shoulders and looks at me with the saddest of eyes. I know we’re going to lie. Mal knows too. I’m too much of a coward to own up to my shit, and Mal…
I think back to a few years ago. Fourteen years old, going through Mal’s things. I found this little black book under his mattress. Within its pages were pictures of me. Playing. Eating. At the park. At the beach. At parties. Sleeping...sleeping...sleeping… Me at five, me at eleven. Me in some of my most vulnerable of moments. And then vows. To always love me no matter what. To always protect me. Eli Youth, he wrote my name in swirling cursive letters and hearts around.
I remember shaking and stuffing the book back into his mattresses that day. I didn’t speak to him for two weeks. He wondered what was going on, and I had never seen him sadder. Then one night I saw him looking at the book as he cried. I pretended I didn’t see the book when I walked in. “What’s the matter bro,” I said, not asking.
He clamped the book shut. “Nothing. Go away.”
I sat next to him and put my arms around him. “I’m better now.” I never saw him smile so hard. He asked me what was the matter and I confessed a lie. Some girl at school. Wanted to do things. I tried, but couldn’t. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because...because…”I’m gay,” I blurted out without thinking about it and suddenly felt scared. He put his arms around me then and I felt safe in them. He kissed my forehead, which I found odd, but thinking about that book things were beginning to make sense to me.
My brother, my own flesh and blood, loved me. Or lusted after me so intensely he forgot about the perversion in it all. But I felt safe, and since that day he held me he’s done everything in his power to keep me safe. The sick part of me took advantage of it.
Even now, though for the first time in three years I feel sick to my stomach with guilt. Mostly because I killed my father’s beloved Sparta, and partly because I want nothing more than to own up to my own shit for once. Mal shouldn’t have to take up the blame this time. He can rest for a while. “I’ll tell the truth,” I say and Mal stops.
“Eli, no. You know how this works.”
“Mal -”
“Shut the fuck up,” he says. “You don’t have the strength to. You know that. And someone has to pay for what I did.”
“I killed Sparta.”
“No,” he says. Sighs. Looks heavy with my burden, over-weighed with the fucking mess I've created.
Sparta looks heavy in his arms. I pull the dog into mine. “I’ll carry him then.”
“Okay,” he says quietly.
Later, I can’t sleep. I toss and turn, look at the ceiling. The sky outside my window. Hear my brother moving in his room. Drawers opening. Slamming shut. His feet pounding on the wooden floor. I take to my feet and find myself at his door. “Go to bed,” I tell him. He’s folding a couple pairs of jeans and stuffs them in a bag. “You going somewhere?”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Amy’s house. I texted Dad already, couldn’t wait until morning. He told me to be out by the time they got home.”
“You can’t -”
“I am. Amy’s on her -” his phone buzzes. “She’s here.”
“Stay with me, for the night. I don’t wanna be home alone.”
“Call Marco,” he spits and wipes his mouth. “It didn’t bother you to leave me alone for him. Call him over.”
“Mal -”
“The sick part is that I know what Marco is for you. I know that he's just a toy. You use him for exactly what you use me for, whatever the fuck you want no questions asked. He cares about you like I care about you, gives up too much of himself to make sure that you are okay and happy and—you know what, you're too pathetic to even offer a simple thank you. So for the first time in my life Eli I say, ‘Fuck you.’” He’s breathing hard and tosses the bag over his shoulders. “I’ll see you when I see you.”
After he’s gone I go to his mattress to look for the book. It’s gone. So I search everywhere for it, knowing he wouldn’t have dared take it to Amy’s house, and fifteen minutes later I find tattered and torn pages in the bottom drawer of his desk. The rest of the book, and pictures of me, in the trash can. I crawl into his bed and pull his covers up to my face. I imagine they’re his arms, and quietly fall asleep.
Mom and Dad look to me for answers, suspicious eyes always on me. It’s been five days since Mal has been at Amy’s house. I know his stay is wearing thin. She’s his pretend girlfriend, meaning they claim relationship but spend very little time together. Truth is, he’s with her for cover. Doesn’t want anyone finding out his secret, anyone but me. I suspect he knows I know. I want, like so many times, to feel disgusted by it. But right now all I want is my brother back. To have him hold me. The sounds Sparta made haunts me, especially when Dad is around. I wait until they’re asleep to sneak from my room and crawl into Mal’s bed. I text him. He’s yet to reply.
It’s been five days and Mom has made a huge pan of lasagna for supper. Mal’s favorite. Vegetable. Lots of roasted carrots and mushroom and peas. Mal’s a vegetarian. He should be here now.
Dad looks at me funny. Like he knows. Like “stupid” isn’t written across his forehead. And Mom doesn’t say a word. Marco keeps texting me, worrisome and naughty. Paragraphs. Pictures. Begging me to smoke with him, begging to let him make love to me. But I erase them. Block his number in my phone for now. I’ll bring him back. But Mal was right. I only use Marco for free smoke and sex. I have to cut that out of my life. Treat him well. Let him love a guy instead of lusting after me.
I start to take a bite of lasagna and put my fork down. Look at Dad. He doesn’t look at me. I took after him the most. Sunshine in our blond hair, cool and ice in our blue eyes. Skin bronzed by the sun, pink lips. Gentle facial features. Seventeen years old, and the only thing Mom gave me is her exact height of 5’7”. Small feet, little hands. Thin lips.
And then I look at Mom with her fair skin, and freckled face. Emerald eyes and fiery scarlet hair. Sharper face, beautiful angles. Thicker lips. Somehow Mal favored her. Looks like the male l of her. Except he towers me at 6’1”, three inches shorter than Dad. And his body is built where mine is smooth and lean. His arms really are protection.
“Eat” Mom demands and I shove my plate away. “Now.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?” Dad asks.
“Cause I did it!” I admit before I change my mind. “It wasn’t Malcolm. It was me. I killed Sparta!”
There is silence. And then Dad’s to his feet yelling and Mom’s crying and I’m being told to leave. Go to my room. Fuck eating, the boy can starve for the night. Never in his life would he think I’d be capable of such an accident. Of course he knows the truth. Knew every time he disciplined Mal he should have been disciplining me.
An hour later, Mom walks into my room. “All is calm,” she says. “You created quite the chaos.”
I don’t look at her. I start naming things off. Missing items, stolen money. Credit card use. Broken glass. The stashes of weed, porn. The used condom on the kitchen floor I somehow missed. So many things, an entire list I can’t count on all fingers and toes. It was all me.
Mom doesn’t say anything but, “Punishment enough. You finally admit everything. I imagine your guilt is eating you up inside.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good.” She leaves my room. Bullet received.
The next morning, my parent’s leave strict instructions. Nothing. Nothing enters, nothing leaves. I’m on full lock down. They’ve taken my phone. Cut the wifi off. I want entertainment? I’ll draw, or read a book. But the only book in my room is the Bible I got when born, shoved away in my closet.
They’ve been gone for two hours when I hear the front door open from the kitchen. I run to the front room to see his bag tossed on the floor, his body fallen in the couch. He looks exhausted. “Mal, you’re home!” I practically run to him.
He looks at me with watery eyes. “Finally.”
“I’m sorry!”
“It’s okay.” He smiles lightly. “Sit.” Mal pats the cushion, but for some reason I fall into his lap. Stare into his emerald eyes, look at the curl in his scarlet hair. He holds me to him, and releases a long rush of air.
“You don’t have to protect me anymore. I’m capable of helping myself.”
He hugs me tighter. “I know.” His eyes study my face, dip down to look at my lips.
I think about the book, trashed in his room. I spent hours every night before bed fixing every picture, every page. “I found your book,” I tell him and he tenses. “Three years ago. I’ve always known about it. It’s okay.”
“Eli, I can explain -”
“No, you don’t have to.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Yes, it is,” I say to him. The last six days I’ve been sober, with a clear head. I found comfort in his room, peace in his bed. Safety in his arms. I have to repay him, have to give him what he wants and desires for once. Which is why I don’t hesitate when I lift my head and kiss his lips. And not just any kiss. No, I press my lips against my brother’s and he melts into me. Our tongues meet, dance. Our eyes are closed. He moves me on top of him so I straddle his lap, and I feel him. Suddenly in fire, pressing into me. Wanting me. And I’m surprised my body reacts in the same way.
Mal pulls his mouth from mine and finds his lips against my neck, vampiric in the way he nibbles at my flesh with his teeth, his kisses rough. He’s determined to leave his mark upon me, which is why I draw back to peel my shirt off my upper body. Mal laughs and pulls me to him, kissing my chest, licking playfully at my nipples until he takes a bite. It hurts a little but I like. Crave it. Grab his head and pull him closer to me. He growls beneath me.
“I’ve slept in your bed every night,” I tell him, bending down to kiss his lips. “Take me there now.” His strongest arms lift me and we nearly stumble at his feet, which makes us giggle hard. Then he carries me, my arms around his neck as I kiss his ear, to his room.
He tosses me down on his bed and climbs on top of me. His hands grabs my wrists and holds them above his head as he kisses my lips, bites my neck.
He stops suddenly, pulls away. “No,” he says. “We can’t. This is wrong.”
I sit up. I’ve never been harder in my life, or wanted someone more. He can’t do this, can’t leave me like this on his bed. I grab my dick, push it down. “It feels good, though. Admit it.”
“We’ll go to hell.”
“We’re both gay,” I tell him. “We’re already going to hell.”
He swallows a lump in his throat. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to give in to me.”
I take his hand in mine, pulling myself to my feet. I grab his shoulders and we spin, and back against his bed he falls when I push at him. “I want to,” I whisper confidently and kneel down before him. In one quick pull I’ve popped the button of his shorts and snatched down the zipper. He’ll never wear them again, and I laugh at the torn fabric where the button ripped off. I’m fast in how I pulled him free of his shorts and boxers, and stare in marvel at his dick that flies back against his belly. I’ve never seen it like this before. I can hardly wrap my fingers around its silky soft skin, pure and white. Innocent. A perfectly pink head shining brilliantly in the sunlight, luminescent in the way precum has already lubricated him. I don’t look at his face when I stroke his cock, and even though I don’t look at his lips I can feel his smile radiating around us as my tongue flicks forward, grazes gently across his slit.
He breathes a heavy sigh and calls my name. “Eli,” I look up at him. “Can I see you? In all these years, no matter how much I’ve longed to have you, I’ve never seen. Never tried to steal a look. Never crept to your door to try and catch you, naked or not. I’ve always respected you. But now, now I wanna see the man my little brother hides beneath.”
I stand to my feet and pull at the drawstrings of my sleeping pants. His hands are at mine. “No, let me.” I remove my hands and watch his delicately loosen the waist. He stops and grabs me through the fabric. I immediately compare myself to him. Know that he’s thinner, yes, but longer than his. I’m almost exactly seven inches, my skin there resembling the darkish golden hue of my body. But like his my head is mushroom shaped, however a paler pink. Our dicks are almost exactly the same. “Your hand was like a baby against my dick. Mine is like a man. Fits it well.”
“Maybe my dick was made for you,” I joke. He laughs and takes a breath. He’s ready to see me. And even though they’re almost twins he gasps. Touches him lightly. Says, “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
“I taste even better,” I say and he slips off the bed, into the floor, on his knees. Looking down on him I realize just how fragile my older brother is, despite his great height and broad shoulders. He’s only twenty-one, and his face is as baby smooth as mine. If he weren’t taller, and a bit bigger, we’d pass as identical twins.
Mal is quick when he wraps firm lips around my dick, his mouth warm and wet. His tongue does its best to caress my head, measure the length he’s pulled in. I think about Marco, and how he’s so tender at first. Kissing my glans, licking the slit with a gentle brush of his tongue. Compared to Mal, Marco is milk chocolate. Dark eyes. Darker hair. His body is a lot more thinner than mine, a little bony. And his dick is a lot smaller too, five inches. Little girth. I often joked that he had a pencil dick. No more fatter than the finger on his incredibly fat mother. But he knew how to use it, and his slender body came to advantage when finding ways to really pleasure my prostate. Send me to heaven, though my body was hot like hell and we ended in a pool of sweat and cum. Sometimes blood.
I crave the tenderness of Marco, but the wildness of Mal’s kiss to my dick consumes me, and when he starts swallowing me I can’t help but gasp. Thrust my hips forward and he loosens his grip as I slide into his throat. He falls still and holds me like that, his tongue desperately trying to dance around my cock. I look into his eyes and see them water. His throat tightens around me and he pushes his head forward slightly until he’s literally gagging on my dick. I slide out trailing a long line of spit and he blushes at my dick, gasping for air. His hand furociously jacks me off.
A tear slips down his cheek and I pull away from him, bend down and pluck it off his face with my lips. He closes his eyes to my kiss and his blush deepens. “Thank you,” he whispers and I take him by his hand. He stands to his feet and wraps me in his strong protective arms, his dick higher than mine and falling still against my belly, until it pulses between our bodies and tickles me. I giggle and bury my face into his neck, my breath warm against his skin. He holds me tighter, and I really feel like his baby brother now. I feel small against this giant, yet slim, mass of man who whispers delicately, “I love you…”
My heart skips a beat and I lift onto my toes, lift a foot, and he picks me up so I can wrap my legs around him. “Prove it,” I dare him and he turns around so incredibly fast I have to hold onto him with all my strength. I close my eyes and am slammed against his sheets and covered completely by his body. His lips are on me, and his protective arms dare to destroy me, and in one quick shove of my body I’m twisted onto my belly, ass whipped into the air, and I claw into his pillows.
I wasn’t expecting him to be so rough. Marco is soft and cool, but Mal is living fire. My heart pounds and I admit that I feel a bit of fear. I clench my eyes shut and brace myself for the impending wrath. But his hand is gentle when it touched my lower back, pushes down so I can arch my spine. And in a rush of air I hear him take a break before something warm and wet hits my ass. And then he bends down and kisses me there.
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