(no subject)
Title: One, two.
Author: Razzle
Pairing: Bill/Tom
Rating: NC17 like whoa
Summary: It’s only pretend.
Disclaimer, A/N: It’s only pretend. Betad by and dedicated to Texan incest momma, moblo413
Warning: Twincest.
Tom never wanted to be the lead. Tom just wanted to be Tom. Tom wanted to make music. Tom wanted to be a rock star. Tom wanted to be a star, but he didn’t need to be the star.
Which was just as well, because with Bill for a brother, he wouldn’t have stood much chance.
It took a brother to see, though, that Bill wasn’t always comfortable in the light.
It was the moments when he felt Bill prickle, when he saw the nose-wrinkle that had always, always meant Bill was suppressing a yawn. He’d seen it a million times in their childhood, while they were trying to stay up late, pretending not to be tired, begging for five more minutes in front of MTV.
They were the tells that nobody else saw. It was the awkward movement in his shoulders that Tom knew meant Bill was just this side of comfortable. When it happens, Tom believes, the culminating panic attack will be a sight to behold.
That is, if Tom can’t stop it. If he misses his chance to press a comforting finger into Bill’s shoulder, to deliberately invade his personal space, to pull out one of his own tells when he’s pleading, silently. Just pull back, my friend, turn down the loud voice and the unusual laugh and the oceans of acting. Cover the anxiety with two seconds of silence and a deep, steadying breath.
Tom was never embarrassed for himself. Only sad for Bill.
And then, there was the most recent occasion, which was extraordinary. He walked out of the bathroom, into his own hotel room to find Bill, naked from the waist up, sitting in front of the etched mirror. He was pushing his hair back under one of Tom’s caps, and there were three used cleanser wipes scrunched up on the dressing table in front of him. He didn’t have a scrap of makeup on and he was watching himself closely in the mirror, turning his head slowly and blinking at his own reflection.
Bill swung his head around to face his concerned brother, and blinked at him instead.
“Do I still look like you?” Bill asked softly.
“We’re still twins,” Tom replied, reaching out and running the back of his little fingernail along the top of Bill’s cheek. “You’re just a little on the skinny side.”
Bill smiled, slowly and without a lot of humour.
“I’m the runt of the litter,” he said, turning out of his brother’s touch.
Tom sighed, not laboured, just enough to release his own tension. Then he sank to his knees beside Bill and reached across him to the cosmetics bag he had brought with him. Tom pulled out a fluffy pad, the fibres of which were dusted with pale, translucent powder. Under Bill’s curious gaze, Tom flicked the pad over his nose and cheeks, leaving himself with a paler complexion than he had seen on himself for years.
“See?” he suggested, turning so they were side by side in the mirror. “It’s only pretend.”
Bill began to smile, and they both looked down as an eyeliner pencil came rattling across the desk toward them, easily the loudest sound in the room for some time. Bill stopped it with an unpolished finger and turned it around on the surface. He turned to Tom and smiled shyly. Tom shrugged.
“If you want,” he said generously.
Tom smiled kindly and closed his eyes gently, letting Bill reach out to him. He held his breath as Bill began, drawing thick, smoky lines from the corners of Tom’s eyes. He only began to breathe normally again when the pencil definitely left his skin, but managed to keep breathing as it returned to the other side.
Bill smiled to himself as he finished the kohl frame, and reached for a squat tub of sparkling black powder. He pressed his little finger into the powder and reached back to Tom’s eye.
One long sweep across his eyelid left a thick, faintly glittering shadow arching up beneath his eyebrow. And Bill kept going, mapping the inches of Tom’s eyes until he was decorated to perfection. Tom opened his eyes and was surprised that they felt a little heavy, and he could see black marks on the edges of his vision. Bill was looking at him oddly, tipping his head from side to side again. He reached out and pushed Tom’s hair back, holding it away from his face.
Bill hummed thoughtfully, and it was an odd sort of a sound that slid down Tom’s spine and made him freeze, just for a moment.
“Is this what it’s like?” Bill asked, his long, supple hands struggling to contain Tom’s dreads.
“What what’s like?”
“Wanting to kiss me.”
Tom stood up, having to grab at his towel as it threatened to fall away. Bill lurched toward his retreating brother and caught the top of Tom’s towel at his waist. Tom stopped dead, as Bill stood up and tucked himself behind Tom’s back.
“Sorry,” Bill said. And he did sound sorry. “I know we don’t talk about it.”
Tom sighed.
They didn’t talk about it; they never did. It had happened as a series of little accidents and nobody saying ‘no,’ nobody laughing the whole thing off or shoving the other away.
And it just happened again and again, time after time, with Tom’s eyes covered or closed and Bill’s shame switched off. But god knows they didn’t talk about it. Ever.
Bill’s hands slid around Tom’s waist, feeling the shiver as his muscles twitched away from his fingers. Tom breathed out heavily, letting his eyes slide closed as Bill’s fingers crept an inch or so down the firm ridges of muscle that ran from his hips toward his groin. His fingertips dipped just below the towel he was so desperately trying to keep hold of, despite the arousal that threatened to push the fabric away from him.
Bill had to turn his head to lean against Tom’s shoulder, the brim of Tom’s hat impeding him. Bill’s thumbs slipped under Tom’s waistband, while his fingers spread wide beneath them. His forefingers crept toward the thickness of Tom’s hardening cock.
Tom’s head rolled back to lean against Bill’s shoulder. Bill lifted his head.
“Look at me,” he pleaded. “Just look at me.”
Tom turned. Of course it was Bill. Tom didn’t pout that much; he never opened his eyes that wide. But it was dark, and the first glance was a reflection. Tom turned, teasing Bill with little circles of his chin.
“You just want to kiss yourself,” he taunted. “Fucking narcissist.”
“That’s right,” Bill whispered. “You just try and hang off me like the needy little slut.”
Tom wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. But he turned, regardless, and pushed Bill gently, pressing his hands flat against Bill’s hips and pushing him back, step by step, until the dressing table behind him impeded him from moving any further.
“One kiss,” Tom insisted. “One single kiss, just so you know what it’s like.”
“All I want,” Bill said with a wicked grin.
And that was all Tom gave him. He closed his eyes, as always, and went on trust, pressing his closed lips to Bill’s in a gentle affirmation. He should have known better to imagine that Bill would let him get away with that. Bill’s hand locked around the back of his neck, and his hungry lips pulled Tom’s open.
If Tom had been able to pull his mouth away enough to speak, he would have said something along the lines of ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ But he couldn’t, so he just thought it, and gave way in frustration, giving as good as he got.
The hat was annoying; it got in the way of Tom’s movement as he tried to switch sides and really fuck Bill’s mouth with his tongue. It might have been nice if Tom’s clothes had been able to put up more resistance than his pathetic attempt at modesty. But it took Bill all of two tugs to strip the towel from Tom’s body, grasp his cock and start to tug at him.
Tom wasn’t having that. He yanked at Bill’s jeans and pushed them down around his thighs. Bill was progressively being bent further and further back, closer to the mirror, panting and writhing into Tom’s touch. Despite the colour around Tom’s eyes, the white makeup smearing from one cheek to the other, Bill was still the catalyst for their reaction. And, in the midst of their contact, Tom was, as always, the one in nominal control.
Tom was the one giving Bill the wonderful crick in his neck that would ache like a divine reminder for all the next day, plundering his mouth and bruising his lips as he wrapped both their cocks in a one-handed grip and thrust against his brother.
It was Bill hanging from his brother, his hands buried in Tom’s hair, as ever, as he collapsed, all his presence concentrated at his mouth, at the heat and wetness squeezed between their lips, and at his groin, where his desire pooled, swelling his balls. He tensed, his pelvis jerking forward as Tom dragged them together.
Bill kept his eyes open. He usually did, but now more than ever. Tom crushed him harder as he realised that Bill didn’t want to know they were different. He wanted to see Tom, made up to look like him, and still nothing alike. To know that this was not narcissism, but something a little worse. Tom was still so much himself, with the true confidence, the real self-esteem, the real power that left Bill jerking and convulsing and weak as a kitten in his brother’s arms.
Weak as a kitten and whimpering as Tom’s fingers squeezed just so, the pressure of Tom’s cock distorting his own, the increasing wetness slipping between them. They were whimpers and moans, and they would have been cries if only Tom had let him free.
But Tom said one kiss, and one kiss is all he would get. If he broke away, that might be the end of it. Tom jerked against him, the hardest thrusts as he came, growling and grunting into Bill’s mouth. And the completion, the delightful feeling of Tom’s come wetting his stomach was the last straw.
Bill just had to pull his mouth away as he came, or he was going to pass out. He took in a great breath and his whole body tensed, his stomach twisting as his cock jerked, his come dripping back down onto Tom’s fingers.
Bill’s head dropped back onto the mirror behind himself, which wasn’t far, and he panted madly, dislodging the cap. His hands still rested in Tom’s hair, though Tom’s head was dipped now, his own breath heavy and shaking.
“Tom?” he asked, in a pathetic sort of whisper.
Tom lifted his head but didn’t look at him.
“Don’t talk about it,” Tom said, determinedly but without rebuke.
“No,” Bill agreed. Tom stepped back, still not meeting his gaze, and let Bill find his feet. He turned back to return to the bathroom as Bill reached for his pants. When he straightened, Tom wasn’t gone. He was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, where another shower would be needed, half-turned back into the room. His makeup was smeared all across his face and he had never looked less like Bill.
Sighing to himself, he stalked back, an almost angry determination in his step. He lifted Bill’s chin and pressed a single, short, tender kiss to his closed mouth.
And he kept his eyes open.
T’End.
Author: Razzle
Pairing: Bill/Tom
Rating: NC17 like whoa
Summary: It’s only pretend.
Disclaimer, A/N: It’s only pretend. Betad by and dedicated to Texan incest momma, moblo413
Warning: Twincest.
Tom never wanted to be the lead. Tom just wanted to be Tom. Tom wanted to make music. Tom wanted to be a rock star. Tom wanted to be a star, but he didn’t need to be the star.
Which was just as well, because with Bill for a brother, he wouldn’t have stood much chance.
It took a brother to see, though, that Bill wasn’t always comfortable in the light.
It was the moments when he felt Bill prickle, when he saw the nose-wrinkle that had always, always meant Bill was suppressing a yawn. He’d seen it a million times in their childhood, while they were trying to stay up late, pretending not to be tired, begging for five more minutes in front of MTV.
They were the tells that nobody else saw. It was the awkward movement in his shoulders that Tom knew meant Bill was just this side of comfortable. When it happens, Tom believes, the culminating panic attack will be a sight to behold.
That is, if Tom can’t stop it. If he misses his chance to press a comforting finger into Bill’s shoulder, to deliberately invade his personal space, to pull out one of his own tells when he’s pleading, silently. Just pull back, my friend, turn down the loud voice and the unusual laugh and the oceans of acting. Cover the anxiety with two seconds of silence and a deep, steadying breath.
Tom was never embarrassed for himself. Only sad for Bill.
And then, there was the most recent occasion, which was extraordinary. He walked out of the bathroom, into his own hotel room to find Bill, naked from the waist up, sitting in front of the etched mirror. He was pushing his hair back under one of Tom’s caps, and there were three used cleanser wipes scrunched up on the dressing table in front of him. He didn’t have a scrap of makeup on and he was watching himself closely in the mirror, turning his head slowly and blinking at his own reflection.
Bill swung his head around to face his concerned brother, and blinked at him instead.
“Do I still look like you?” Bill asked softly.
“We’re still twins,” Tom replied, reaching out and running the back of his little fingernail along the top of Bill’s cheek. “You’re just a little on the skinny side.”
Bill smiled, slowly and without a lot of humour.
“I’m the runt of the litter,” he said, turning out of his brother’s touch.
Tom sighed, not laboured, just enough to release his own tension. Then he sank to his knees beside Bill and reached across him to the cosmetics bag he had brought with him. Tom pulled out a fluffy pad, the fibres of which were dusted with pale, translucent powder. Under Bill’s curious gaze, Tom flicked the pad over his nose and cheeks, leaving himself with a paler complexion than he had seen on himself for years.
“See?” he suggested, turning so they were side by side in the mirror. “It’s only pretend.”
Bill began to smile, and they both looked down as an eyeliner pencil came rattling across the desk toward them, easily the loudest sound in the room for some time. Bill stopped it with an unpolished finger and turned it around on the surface. He turned to Tom and smiled shyly. Tom shrugged.
“If you want,” he said generously.
Tom smiled kindly and closed his eyes gently, letting Bill reach out to him. He held his breath as Bill began, drawing thick, smoky lines from the corners of Tom’s eyes. He only began to breathe normally again when the pencil definitely left his skin, but managed to keep breathing as it returned to the other side.
Bill smiled to himself as he finished the kohl frame, and reached for a squat tub of sparkling black powder. He pressed his little finger into the powder and reached back to Tom’s eye.
One long sweep across his eyelid left a thick, faintly glittering shadow arching up beneath his eyebrow. And Bill kept going, mapping the inches of Tom’s eyes until he was decorated to perfection. Tom opened his eyes and was surprised that they felt a little heavy, and he could see black marks on the edges of his vision. Bill was looking at him oddly, tipping his head from side to side again. He reached out and pushed Tom’s hair back, holding it away from his face.
Bill hummed thoughtfully, and it was an odd sort of a sound that slid down Tom’s spine and made him freeze, just for a moment.
“Is this what it’s like?” Bill asked, his long, supple hands struggling to contain Tom’s dreads.
“What what’s like?”
“Wanting to kiss me.”
Tom stood up, having to grab at his towel as it threatened to fall away. Bill lurched toward his retreating brother and caught the top of Tom’s towel at his waist. Tom stopped dead, as Bill stood up and tucked himself behind Tom’s back.
“Sorry,” Bill said. And he did sound sorry. “I know we don’t talk about it.”
Tom sighed.
They didn’t talk about it; they never did. It had happened as a series of little accidents and nobody saying ‘no,’ nobody laughing the whole thing off or shoving the other away.
And it just happened again and again, time after time, with Tom’s eyes covered or closed and Bill’s shame switched off. But god knows they didn’t talk about it. Ever.
Bill’s hands slid around Tom’s waist, feeling the shiver as his muscles twitched away from his fingers. Tom breathed out heavily, letting his eyes slide closed as Bill’s fingers crept an inch or so down the firm ridges of muscle that ran from his hips toward his groin. His fingertips dipped just below the towel he was so desperately trying to keep hold of, despite the arousal that threatened to push the fabric away from him.
Bill had to turn his head to lean against Tom’s shoulder, the brim of Tom’s hat impeding him. Bill’s thumbs slipped under Tom’s waistband, while his fingers spread wide beneath them. His forefingers crept toward the thickness of Tom’s hardening cock.
Tom’s head rolled back to lean against Bill’s shoulder. Bill lifted his head.
“Look at me,” he pleaded. “Just look at me.”
Tom turned. Of course it was Bill. Tom didn’t pout that much; he never opened his eyes that wide. But it was dark, and the first glance was a reflection. Tom turned, teasing Bill with little circles of his chin.
“You just want to kiss yourself,” he taunted. “Fucking narcissist.”
“That’s right,” Bill whispered. “You just try and hang off me like the needy little slut.”
Tom wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. But he turned, regardless, and pushed Bill gently, pressing his hands flat against Bill’s hips and pushing him back, step by step, until the dressing table behind him impeded him from moving any further.
“One kiss,” Tom insisted. “One single kiss, just so you know what it’s like.”
“All I want,” Bill said with a wicked grin.
And that was all Tom gave him. He closed his eyes, as always, and went on trust, pressing his closed lips to Bill’s in a gentle affirmation. He should have known better to imagine that Bill would let him get away with that. Bill’s hand locked around the back of his neck, and his hungry lips pulled Tom’s open.
If Tom had been able to pull his mouth away enough to speak, he would have said something along the lines of ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ But he couldn’t, so he just thought it, and gave way in frustration, giving as good as he got.
The hat was annoying; it got in the way of Tom’s movement as he tried to switch sides and really fuck Bill’s mouth with his tongue. It might have been nice if Tom’s clothes had been able to put up more resistance than his pathetic attempt at modesty. But it took Bill all of two tugs to strip the towel from Tom’s body, grasp his cock and start to tug at him.
Tom wasn’t having that. He yanked at Bill’s jeans and pushed them down around his thighs. Bill was progressively being bent further and further back, closer to the mirror, panting and writhing into Tom’s touch. Despite the colour around Tom’s eyes, the white makeup smearing from one cheek to the other, Bill was still the catalyst for their reaction. And, in the midst of their contact, Tom was, as always, the one in nominal control.
Tom was the one giving Bill the wonderful crick in his neck that would ache like a divine reminder for all the next day, plundering his mouth and bruising his lips as he wrapped both their cocks in a one-handed grip and thrust against his brother.
It was Bill hanging from his brother, his hands buried in Tom’s hair, as ever, as he collapsed, all his presence concentrated at his mouth, at the heat and wetness squeezed between their lips, and at his groin, where his desire pooled, swelling his balls. He tensed, his pelvis jerking forward as Tom dragged them together.
Bill kept his eyes open. He usually did, but now more than ever. Tom crushed him harder as he realised that Bill didn’t want to know they were different. He wanted to see Tom, made up to look like him, and still nothing alike. To know that this was not narcissism, but something a little worse. Tom was still so much himself, with the true confidence, the real self-esteem, the real power that left Bill jerking and convulsing and weak as a kitten in his brother’s arms.
Weak as a kitten and whimpering as Tom’s fingers squeezed just so, the pressure of Tom’s cock distorting his own, the increasing wetness slipping between them. They were whimpers and moans, and they would have been cries if only Tom had let him free.
But Tom said one kiss, and one kiss is all he would get. If he broke away, that might be the end of it. Tom jerked against him, the hardest thrusts as he came, growling and grunting into Bill’s mouth. And the completion, the delightful feeling of Tom’s come wetting his stomach was the last straw.
Bill just had to pull his mouth away as he came, or he was going to pass out. He took in a great breath and his whole body tensed, his stomach twisting as his cock jerked, his come dripping back down onto Tom’s fingers.
Bill’s head dropped back onto the mirror behind himself, which wasn’t far, and he panted madly, dislodging the cap. His hands still rested in Tom’s hair, though Tom’s head was dipped now, his own breath heavy and shaking.
“Tom?” he asked, in a pathetic sort of whisper.
Tom lifted his head but didn’t look at him.
“Don’t talk about it,” Tom said, determinedly but without rebuke.
“No,” Bill agreed. Tom stepped back, still not meeting his gaze, and let Bill find his feet. He turned back to return to the bathroom as Bill reached for his pants. When he straightened, Tom wasn’t gone. He was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, where another shower would be needed, half-turned back into the room. His makeup was smeared all across his face and he had never looked less like Bill.
Sighing to himself, he stalked back, an almost angry determination in his step. He lifted Bill’s chin and pressed a single, short, tender kiss to his closed mouth.
And he kept his eyes open.
T’End.