Pairing: Spike(William)/Xander
Rating: NC-17 overall
Summary: Human AU; 29 year old Xander is a successful businessman but he also lives as a sexual sub to his stepbrother’s alter ego, Spike. When William discovers something from Xander’s past, will it tear their relationship apart or make it stronger?
Warnings: Brother!Kink, B&D, spanking, angst galore, underage sex, first person POV,
Feedback/Concrit: Want it like a horny teenager/give it to me like a Vestal Virgin
Disclaimer: Not mine, wish they were
Beta: crazydiamondsue, who won’t let a little thing like not having a computer get in her way when I need a beta. Thanks!
A/N: As raunchy as this sounds, I’m dealing more with the physiological aspects of this relationship than the…eh-hem…naughty ones. Although there will be naughty scenes, that is not the focus of the story. This is not a PWP.
A/N 2: Written for bloodclaim’s The Colour, Sound and Random Object Spander Ficathon.
Author name: walta
Preferred rating and genre (ie NC-17, H/C, schmoop, angst, etc): Any rating.
Prefer humor with a pinch of angst.
Your Colour: orange
Your Sound: a trombone
Your Random Object: a much used journal
Two things you'd like included: 1. a non-sexual back scratch for one of the boys 2. manly bonding time
Two things you don't want included: 1. character bashing 2. Bliss
A/N 3: I did really well with most of the requirements but humor? So not my thing! In fact, until I looked at the email to copy the info over, I’d completely forgotten about that part. And I know some people don’t like Brother!kink stories but this just would not get out of my head. So, I hope that walta isn't too disappointed.

For the Love of My Brother

Part One

I watch the clock slowly tick down. It is nearing the end of another dreary workday. They’ve all been dreary since he left a month ago and didn’t say when he’d be back. I usually love my job as one of the junior Vice Presidents in a large construction firm, double checking blueprints to make sure everything is safe and up to code. I’ve worked hard to get here, paid my dues, and I deserve all the rewards that I’ve received.

But with him gone, it means nothing.

It’s the first time that I can’t keep my lives separate. And it’s crushing me. The looks and whispers…I’ve been growing more paranoid with everyday. Terrified that they’d guess what it is I do when I’m at home, living my other life.

I’ve done so well up till now but we’ve never been apart this long. He finally called last week, unfortunately, while I was still at work, and left a message to meet at the cabin tonight. Since I heard that message and cried myself to sleep, in relief for once, I haven’t been able to concentrate. My work has been slipping and as a result my workload has suspiciously lightened. I’m beginning to suspect that I have become part of the water cooler gossip.

If they only knew.

My co-workers and I all look alike; polished shoes, suits and ties, hair perfectly combed but I know that when everyone goes home, they are not at all what they appear. I, least of all.

I put my pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else, but when those pants come off, I’m not like everyone else. My other life is far less ordinary than any water cooler gossip they could ever come up with.

I pay my own bills; cars, mortgage, student loans, just like everyone else. But I doubt everyone else has a basement filled with sex toys and bondage gear. Or maybe they do. Who am I to judge? I certainly wouldn’t be the poster boy for virtue and morality.

I’ve been on edge all day and didn’t want to waste time going back to the apartment to pack, so all my stuff is in the trunk of my car ready for the weekend. I live for the weekends. No phone calls, no annoying neighbors wanting to know how I’m doing, no disturbances. Usually I spend them chained up, tied down, bent over onto my knees or flat on my back. It’s heaven. But without him, it’s been sheer hell.

As we exit the building we scatter like drones of a suited queen bee around the city, taking any means of transportation to escape our weekly servitude in search of our other lives. Some in the hope of escaping that servitude and being kings or queens for the weekend. But some, like me, in search of another form of slavery.

My two lives never interact. No one knows about my family or what I do outside of the city. I doubt anyone cares. I’m pretty unassuming, with short dark hair, brown eyes and a light olive complexion. I’m not overly tall but I’m not short either, however I do have broad shoulders, something that’s always made me appear older. Overall, I guess you could say I’m just average. I blend into any crowd quite effortlessly and find it remarkably easy to disappear when I want to. Just like I’m doing now.

Giving the attendant my ticket, I pull out of the parking garage and pop my favorite CD into the player, then head north of the city, driving just slightly above the speed limit. Getting pulled over is the last thing I need but I can’t wait another moment to see him.

Each highway I take gets smaller and smaller until finally I’m on a two-lane road, far from the city, the sinking sun at my back shining into my eyes from the rear view mirror. I follow the curving road into dense woods and climb into the mountains, leaving the bright sun behind. It only takes two hours to reach my destination but it feels like it took forever. Normally the drive through the beautiful lush area would help to alleviate my stress but today is special. A month’s worth of tension is still riding on my shoulders and the drive was unbearable because of it.

I slow down to pull off the main road, but not by enough, and I hit the lower dirt road hard. The car bounces dangerously and the tires spin in the air. I frantically grab onto the wheel to regain control and hope I don’t barrel roll into the trees. Breathing hard, fingers tight around the steering wheel, I pull the car around once it hits the ground and get it under control. No matter how many times I’ve made that turn, it never ceases to surprise me. And no matter how many times I’ve begged him to fix it, he refuses.

Pulling up to the small cabin, I see his beat up DeSoto and smoke billowing steadily out from the chimney. He’s been here for awhile, long enough to have a fire underway. I curse as I get out of the car. I should have called in sick! Why didn’t I? I have several days stored up. I can’t help but roll my eyes at myself. I know exactly why I didn’t beg off of work. Someone needs to go and take care of things. That someone is me.

I allow myself a moment to shake off the work day, breathing in the cool night air tinged with firewood smoke, listening as the creatures of the night wake in their burrows, letting the world around me fall away to nothing but this cabin as I unbutton my cuffs and take off my tie.

A small part of me hopes he decided to cook. Since I was too nervous to eat at lunch, I’m starving. But I also groan at the thought of how much cleaning I’d need to do. Messy doesn’t even come close to covering the way he cooks. More like total and utter chaos.

I walk around to the back of the car and pull the supplies out of the trunk. I haul a bag over each shoulder and walk quickly up to the front door. Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I slowly try the knob.

The separation was horrible. I’d never felt so alone but thankfully now that he’s back, things can return to normal, well, as normal as they are for us. I want him badly. I need him, but after so long apart it would just take awhile to adjust.

I have so many questions. Why did he leave? Why couldn’t he tell me anything? Where’s he been? I just hope he’s willing to answer my questions and give me some time to relax before we dive back into our routine. I put on an air of confidence I don’t truly feel and walk in.

Our small one and a half story cabin is beautiful and I can’t imagine not having this place as my refuge, I completely adore it. We wanted something far enough away from the city that no one would bother us. It took us awhile to find the perfect one but when we did, we bought it immediately.

The upper half floor has two bedrooms and a bathroom with a wide banister over looking the living room, which is currently lit in the soft warm glow of the fireplace and candles that are spread throughout the room. The banister surrounding the upper level is decked out in shiny tinsel and colorful beads. We don’t really celebrate the holidays, but I like the decorations. And even though the season is still a few months away, he has already done all of it, everything, except for the tree, which we always forgo. I’m surprised he started early this year but shrug it off as a thoughtful way to revive our relationship after the long absence.

The 5 disk CD player is currently playing my favorite holiday music, Edward Scissorhands. Yeah, I know it isn’t holiday music. But to me, the story of an outcast who doesn’t have hands…just something about it makes my heart stir. “Ice Dance” is currently playing and I could almost see Winona Ryder spinning around in our living room in that bad blond wig.

He has already pulled out our blankets and set them in front of the fireplace. I guess giving me time to adjust is out. My heart beat speeds up a little in anticipation. I better start getting ready before I disappoint him. I drop the bag filled with my ordinary change of clothes behind the couch and with the other one, head for the stairs. But I stop as a loud clatter comes from the kitchen, a sure sign that he’s decided to cook.

Dropping the other bag, I turn and head through the doorway, where I spot him bopping around from counter to counter, headphones on, and naked except for an apron. The crash I heard was the tin of utensils being knocked over and they’re now sprawled out all over the floor. Dangerous knifes, prongs, and whisks are a minefield as he tries to continue on in his cooking. He uses one mittened hand to balance a tray of cookies over his head and uses one bare foot to kick the door to the stove closed, while the other hand holds a dripping wooden spoon. The door to the microwave is open, and whatever is inside has bubbled out of the container, making a complete mess. The pots on the stove aren’t doing much better and if he isn’t careful he’ll be stepping in hot water as well as sharp, pointy objects.

Just then he sees me watching him and stops, then shakes the headphones off to fall around his neck. My heart beats faster and the breath catches in my throat. My lover is far from ordinary. I’m slightly taller than he is but with his attitude, he towers over me. He usually keeps his hair a shocking bottle blond but I can see roots just peaking out and wonder at the change. He has piercing blue eyes that see right through me, I can’t keep anything from him. That includes the lust rampaging through my system at the sight of him. He works out everyday, keeping himself fit and trim. I’ve often taken my rewards by simply running my fingers over his muscles, feeling the skin ride back and forth over them.

But now I wonder if I’m due for a punishment? Was I not quick enough, is he going to be mad that I’m not ready for him? He smiles and starts to come towards me but slides on a large serving spoon. He wobbles but manages to stay upright, sliding the spoon over the linoleum floor like he’s surfing a wave, until I can catch him. The cookies don’t fare as well and fly from the sheet at the impact. As we are showered in hot chocolate chip cookies he smiles up at me and my heart bursts. He isn’t mad. He puts down the cooking sheet and we wrap our arms around each other.

“Welcome home, little brother.” He whispers, gently nibbling at my ear.

Yes, this is home. In his…my brother’s…arms.

It wasn’t always this way. I know that what we do is wrong but he came into my life at a time when I desperately needed him and he has been the one constant ever since. I’d do anything for him and I’ve proven that over and over again. If he hadn’t started in on me while I was so young, I don’t know what would have happened. Would I still have been gay? Does it really matter anymore? This is where I feel the safest, the most loved.

When he said he had to leave and that he wouldn’t be sure when he would be back, my world crumbled. But I continued in that other life, doing my job because someone had to make sure everyone else’s worlds were safe. Even though my world was gone. Now he is back and our lives would begin again.

My brother, my lover, my master. He is all one and the same. In short, he is my world.

Part Two

The divorce was hard. At ten years old, I didn’t even know that such a thing was possible. In my mind, parents didn’t split up, it just wasn’t done. But it happened. One day my dad was a part of my life, and we were fighting over something stupid like we always did, and then the next day he wasn’t. My mom and I just drove off and I never saw him again. I never even got the chance to say good-bye.

In later years, I’ve often wondered if there truly was a parting of ways through a divorce or if she just ran off with me in tow. My dad was a louse; abusive and violent. I wasn’t sad to see the last of him. But, he was still my dad.

We spent a few weeks living out of our car. I grew distant from the friends that I had and for the most part stopped talking altogether. I tried to be as little of a nuisance as possible to my mom, who was becoming more tired and frantic with every passing day. Her temperament would change at a moment’s notice. I was afraid I’d come back to the car and it just wouldn’t be there. That was a constant fear.

I was actually glad when we drove away from town one day and never went back. It hurt that my mom didn’t care enough about my feelings to let me say good-bye to my friends, but it was actually a relief that I didn’t have to face them in school anymore.

In the new city, we had stayed in a hotel for only a few weeks before my mom suddenly moved us into the house of a kinder, gentler man. I was very relieved. Not only was my new dad, Mr.Giles, nice but he also had money, at least more than I’d ever seen. He treated my mom like a queen, giving her things she never dreamed about. She was the happiest I’d ever seen her.

I was a bit more hesitant. I went from having nothing to having everything in a matter of hours; this included the addition of a stepbrother, William. I had been an only child and now I had to learn what being a younger brother was all about. I was moved into William’s small room and from the sneers he was throwing my way as I unpacked, I could tell he wasn’t happy about it.

He was intimating right from the start; in his first year of middle school, he was smarter than I was, stronger than I was, and taller than I was. He told me that if he ever caught me messing with his stuff he would tar and feather me. I had no clue what that meant, but by the sound of it I knew that it wasn’t good. I decided to never cross to his side of the room, just in case. We didn’t have a lot of space. It was just our twin beds; a closet for us to share; and a desk, which held Will’s computer, his music which ranged from rock to jazz to classical, and a television that faced his bed. The one good thing about the small room was that it had a full bathroom attached.

The wedding happened not long after we moved in. It was simple; William and I were the only two witnesses. I learned later that my new dad’s first wife had died mysteriously and that her family blamed him. He fled England, fearing a custody battle, and took his teen-age son with him. It wasn’t until much later that I came to realize that neither part of our blended family was what you would call law abiding.

Life with my new dad was great. He treated my mom and me like we’d always been part of the family. But his relationship with William wasn’t as good; the two barely talked. Instead he let William have anything he wanted: video games, R rated movies, staying out all night. Anything he wanted, he got. Luckily, I got his cast-offs, which weren’t bad, considering. Soon, I started back in school and things actually started to feel normal again.

With only two years separating us, William and I got along for the most part but the early years were tough. I was ten and some of the stuff he did just didn’t make any sense to me. He’d lock himself in the bathroom and come out later in a much better mood. Then he’d tell me to go right in and give a huge sweeping wave of his arm, like he’d buried treasure under our tub and was daring me to find it. I never did.

Once, while looking for a favorite toy of mine, I came across a stack of magazines under his bed. Inside were pictures of naked men in various positions of sex. At the time, it looked more like a game of leapfrog than what it really was. I didn’t know the difference.

It was when he started watching movies with headphones on that I got curious. He’d pull the television around so I couldn’t see what was on the screen and then pull the covers high up over his shoulders, so all I could see was the unruly mop of his hair. I could tell he was trying not to make noise but he’d moan and shiver and then after a moment of silence, he’d turn off the television and go to sleep. One night, I crawled out of bed to see what he was watching and he threw his pillow at me, hitting me right on the head, making me stumble back and fall on my butt. I stayed on my side of the room after that.

For two years we lived as virtual strangers. I was still not talking much and he barely spoke to me as it was but he was never cruel. I just assumed he didn’t want a brother, so I tried to stay out of his way. We each had our separate friends. He more than I. He would have a guy or two over at a time and kick me out of our room. They’d be in there for hours and then come out, looking flushed and sweaty, and then quickly leave.

I never brought my friends home. I was always afraid they’d feel the strange vibes I felt and figure something out. Something I just didn’t want to know. Our parents were always telling us not to talk to strangers and never give out our names or information if anyone asked. And if we ever saw a cop, to quietly blend into the crowd and disappear. I just decided to play it safe and keep what friends I had at a distance. They were all right friends but there was a lot of my life they just didn’t know about. I was developing my habit for living dual lives early on.

You kept them separate.

As time went on, our parents grew more and more interested in only each other and left Will and me to our own devices most of the time. We grew closer, but slowly. I don’t think he liked taking care of me but he cooked for me on nights when our parents were gone. He did it badly, but he still tried. Other than that, I was on my own.

One night I had a rental I wanted to watch, some new vampire movie a friend from school had loaned me. Will made a comment about me being too young to watch it and I told him to screw off, because when he was my age he was watching this stuff all the time. He was surprised, but for some reason he seemed almost proud. He chuckled and bent over to ruffle my hair. I grumbled but let him do it, then he sat next to me and we watched it together. After that we watched a lot of movies together. All the newest releases, late at night, and we’d spend hours picking the plots apart. I didn’t realize it until it happened more than a few times, but when I hung out with Will, it was the most time I spent talking on any given day.

It was when puberty hit that there was a drastic change. I was growing up. My voice started changing, rapidly, and in very embarrassing ways. Hair began to grow in strange and uncomfortable places. And as I slowly started to become aware of my own urges, I began to better understand my brother’s activities: the long showers, the magazines, the movies with the headphones, it all started to make sense. It would take me awhile longer to understand what he was doing when he had his friends over. I had my suspicions…but I needed proof. I needed to see those tapes!

So one night, while Will was out, I popped in one of his tapes and saw with my own eyes what I had known in my gut to be true. My brother watched and jacked off to gay porn! My mouth hung open, as years of not understanding my brother’s strange behavior finally clicked into place.

The scene on the tape continued and soon I forgot all about Will as I watched one man bend another over and start furiously licking his ass. I’d never seen anything like that and instantly my dick was hard and throbbing between my legs. I rubbed myself through my jeans, head twisted to the side to try and figure out what was going on and before the scene had time to change, I had come in my pants.

On my brother’s bed!

I jumped off the bed and frantically circled the room, trying to come to terms with what I’d done. Then, I began to worry that he’d come home, see me, know exactly what I’d been doing and I’d get in trouble. I hated having him mad at me. He was really the only true friend I had. I couldn’t lose him!

Nervously hopping from one foot to the next, I rewound the tape, put it back where I had found it, then ran to the bathroom and stuffed my damp jeans into the bottom of the hamper. He came home while I was in the shower. If he knew what I had done, he never said anything about it.

After that, I started jacking off when he did. I couldn’t see the screen but I could watch him as he moved under the sheet, dimly lit by the television’s flickering light. I tried not to make a sound as I listened to the noises he made, moaning softly and then gasping as he finished. Often when he reached climax, I’d bite down on my lip and come too. I’d lie in bed, breathing hard, knowing that, with the headphones, he couldn’t hear me. It was incredibly frustrating when I didn’t make it in time and he finished before I did. I tried willing it away. I tried waiting until I heard him snoring to make my way to the bathroom. I even tried continuing a few times but I was so nervous that eventually I was left pulling on a limp dick.

This went on for a little over a year, until one night when I was making more noise than I probably should, he abruptly stopped and not in the I-reached-happy-land kind of way either.

He just stopped. Noise, movement, everything.

I froze. Dick still hard in my hands. I could hear my heart pounding my ears; it felt like it would jump right out of my chest. He couldn’t find out what I was doing. He just couldn’t!

After a second he started up again but he wasn’t making any noise, just shifting his hips underneath the sheets. I didn’t move, still unsure of what was going on. He paused again and this time he rolled slowly onto his back. Staring straight up at the ceiling, he took off his headphones. The sounds of men moaning and skin slapping together trickled into the room. My dick twitched in response. Then he kicked the sheet down past his knees and started back up, pumping his hips up and down, and grabbing his dick with one hand while running his other over his balls.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I’d never seen him completely naked before. He was slim but toned and had a smattering of body hair on his chest with a light brown patch above his shaft. I clamped down on my dick for fear I’d climax at just the sight of him. I couldn’t help but follow the bouncing dick with my eyes.

It was then I thought that maybe I could come just by applying pressure and then releasing. I squeezed my shaft rhythmically with his thrusts. I licked my lips and closed my eyes, as I let the sweet feeling of tension wash over me. Wanting to check and make sure he didn’t know what I was doing, I looked up at his face and saw that his head was turned. His face was half hidden in the flickering shadows but it didn’t hide the truth. He was staring right back at me!

I knew those dark eyes. I was caught.

He took a quick look down at my sheet-covered crotch, then back at my face and I couldn’t take it anymore. I clamped my eyes shut and prayed he wouldn’t say anything as I came, hard. I bit my lip and turned my head into the pillow to hold back the sound as my body shook with its release. When I opened my eyes and looked up, he had already turned off the television and rolled over to go to sleep.

He acted as if nothing had happened after that. I wasn’t sure if he was disappointed in me or not. I was terrified that he’d hate me or make fun of me but he said nothing. Things mostly went on as before and, eventually, I was able to relax. He continued to cook dinner for us and we’d have the best time together as we picked apart whatever movies we could find.

Unfortunately his ‘friends’ were still coming by. After what happened between us, I hated the idea of them doing the same things we did, sharing what we shared. And in our room! The very thought made my skin crawl. The next time they came over Will met my angry eyes as he was closing the door and paused for just a moment. He slowly closed his eyes and took a deep breath, making my face flame and my heart speed up in anticipation. Then I watched with a sinking heart as he quickly shut the door. That was the last time his ‘friends’ came over for awhile.

Since he was spending less time with them, we became even closer. He started to get undressed in front of me and, after a little while, the sex movies started up again; but now he wasn’t turning the television away from me and he didn’t plug in the headphones. Best change of all was that he stopped pulling the sheet all the way up, and as he thrust and writhed around, it would slowly work its way down his slender body.

It took a few weeks of this before I was ready to start up again but he never looked over at me and after awhile I couldn’t resist. I loved the fact that he was letting me watch his movies but, ironically, I was no longer interested. All I wanted to watch was him. I was mesmerized by the way he moved, sheet twisting around his sprawled legs as he touched himself, sometimes giving a hard tweak to a nipple or a soft glide of a hand over his balls…my brother knew how to pleasure himself. The sight of him bringing himself off turned me on more than any of his movies ever did.

Another thing that improved was that I no longer felt the need to climax first. If he finished before I did, he’d roll over, pull the sheet up over himself and leave the movie on for me. I’d get up after I was done and turn the television off.

After awhile, the movies started to get interesting again. At first they were pretty simple. Guy sucking off a guy in a hot tub or guy fucking guy over a haystack. But now the movies Will was getting involved guys getting tied up and spanked until their asses were red and then getting fucked. I had my own stack of magazines now, mostly his hand me downs. I knew that there was more to this sex thing than giving myself a good handshake, but this was completely new. I loved these movies and wanted him to put these in more and more and forget about John Boy and his haystack.

By now, just four years after meeting William, he was my brother in every way. We could talk about almost anything, our parents, troubles at school, even our personal grooming habits, but this subject fit into that little category of almost. So I left him a note on the cover of one of the videos I liked best, that said, “More of this, please.”

I really had no idea what I was getting myself into, but it wasn’t the videos I wanted.

It was something much, much better.

Part Three

Previously, in the present…

“Welcome home, little brother.” He whispers, gently nibbling at my ear.

Yes, this is home. In his…my brother’s…arms.

It wasn’t always this way. I know that what we do is wrong but he came into my life at a time when I desperately needed him and he has been the one constant ever since. I’d do anything for him and I’ve proven that over and over again. If he hadn’t started in on me while I was so young, I don’t know what would have happened. Would I still have been gay? Does it really matter anymore? This is where I feel the safest, the most loved.

When he said he had to leave and that he wouldn’t be sure when he would be back, my world crumbled. But I continued in that other life, doing my job because someone had to make sure everyone else’s worlds were safe. Even though my world was gone. Now he is back and our lives would begin again.

My brother, my lover, my master. He is all one and the same. In short, he is my world.

Snuggling into Will’s arms, I indulge in the embrace, running my hands down his hard, smooth body, feeling his soft perfect skin under my fingers. His warmth envelops me as I rub my nose into the hair at the back of his neck, breathing in his unique scent of hair gel and moisturized skin, now covered in chocolate and garlic.

I’m taking liberties I otherwise wouldn’t be able to, if William had greeted me as Spike. With Spike everything is hard, fast, bright and sometimes more than a little painful, physically and emotionally. Will just doesn’t have that in him, he’s too tender. His calm, sweet, and loving nature shines through in everything he does. And compared to Spike’s brusque, lustful commands, Will is a pussycat in comparison.

Over the years Will had mellowed, no longer angry with our parents for their neglect and lack of maturity. Through the years we were all we had, anchoring each other in a world that held little solace for either of us. In Will I was finally able to find the unconditional love I had sought for so long. I felt safe and loved; knowing what it was to be accepted, to find a place all my own.

And I found that place only in my brother.

I can feel Will trembling slightly against me, holding on just as tight. Like so many times before when I let myself believe there was something else there, something besides what I can give Spike with my tongue, teeth, and ass. Something more than just my body and absolute obedience, but I know the feeling isn’t real and soon he is pulling out of my arms.

Just like William always does.

I’ve tried to be intimate with Will, kissing him passionately, touching him in ways he shies away from. There have been a few times that I thought I’d succeeded in seducing Will, but Spike is always there, looming in the background, making sure I know it isn’t my brother I’m pleasing sexually. Will is just my brother, but Spike is my lover.

I smile weakly, acknowledging Will’s willingness to tolerate my fantasies, even if for only moments at a time. Will tries to smile back, like he was only a moment ago, but now his lips just twitch and he can’t seem to meet my eyes. Instead he’s focusing somewhere near my chin.

When he can’t look me in the eye, I start to piece together some of the other subtle differences in him; his grown out hair, the loss of the piercing through his left eyebrow, his nervous nature.

“Doing your best impression of The Naked Chef?” I try and joke, knowing something isn’t right here.

“Cute.” He smirks, then shrugs, “Don’t know, just thought you might like it.”

“Oh, I do,” I nod a little over-zealously, “but does this mean….” I motion behind me indicating the stairs and implying the need for me to change out of my clothes and into my gear.

Will darts a quick, frightened look behind me and I’m half expecting someone to be standing there. I look over my shoulder but, of course, we’re alone. I feel silly and chuckle nervously as I turn back around.

I’m met by a searing, savage, and hungry gaze from Will. It makes me feel a little uncomfortable; Will usually withdraws from situations that intense.

I break eye contact and stutter out, “S-so, uh…what’s with the early Christmas? The music, decorations…” I hold up a cookie that has managed to stay on the baking sheet, “…cookies. And what happened to your eyebrow ring?”

Will pulls back into himself as he self-consciously rubs the scar over his left eye and grumbles, “What’s with the third degree? Can’t a bloke want to do something nice for once?”

“Yeah, once. I usually have to hound you for weeks to get that stuff out.”

He continues as if I hadn’t spoken, “And look at you, what’s with the long hair?” He gently tugs at my ragged strands.

“You’re one to talk.” I nod at his head, soft brown roots hide under an disheveled mess of platinum gelled curls, “No peroxide where you were?”

Again I’m ignored. “Haven’t been taking care of yourself, have you? Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice soft and hesitant.

If he had been so worried about my well-being, he could have been here! What exactly am I supposed to say? No, I hadn’t been sleeping well. And no, I haven’t been taking care of myself since he left. There hadn’t been a point!

As it was, it was nearly impossible to look in the mirror while he was gone. Being with Spike just made everything easier. I could relax and let him handle everything but with him gone…I completely fell apart. On some of the darker days, the days I thought he’d never return, it was a wonder I managed to not slit my throat with my razor as I quickly did my morning routine. I probably would have eventually grown a beard if he had been gone any longer.

I want to be honest but I also don’t want him to worry about me, so I put my anger aside and try to sugarcoat the issue. “Well, it’s not been the greatest.”

He seems to take that in, nodding solemnly, eyes downcast. This is just too much; what he is doing and saying, or more accurately, not saying, is sending huge warning bells off all over my head.

And then I just can’t stop myself. I need to know where he was and what he was doing. I try to sound calm, not intending to appear rattled, but my words come out shrill and edgy, “Are you going to tell me why you left?”

I have only a moment to see the distress flash across his features before he abruptly turns, going to the stove and turning the heat down. “So, how was the drive?” he asks nonchalantly, the perfect picture of calm and casual.

Even as he exposes that gorgeous, tight, round ass, I grit my teeth, knowing I’m not going to get any answers. William will talk when he’s ready. Accepting that, I let the questions stop.

“Fine,” I sigh, giving in.

“Oh?”

I look up, reluctantly pulling my eyes away from his body and realize that he misunderstood and thought I was referring to the drive. Not wanting to correct him I continue, “Oh, uh…yeah, except for that section in between the turn out and the road and yes, I know you’re never going to fix it.” I’ve intended several times to try and fix it on my own but he never lets me out of our playroom long enough for it to be worth it. After a dozen times of bringing up the equipment and never so much as touching it, I finally gave up.

“That’s not true! Got us some shovels and gravel and this will be the perfect time to do it.” He smirks, “This time we’ll do it together.” He comes back towards me.

He might as well have said he had just spent this time apart on the moon. With everything else he’s doing differently tonight, I’m shocked and I’m not going to try and hide it anymore. “What? Why? You always say you like it that way. What’s with the change? All the changes!”

He lowers his head and seems really interested in a thread working loose from a button on my shirt. Oh, great, now I’ve got to get out the needle and thread and fix that.

“No reason. Just missed you.” Now he’s looking at the floor, covered in smashed cookies and fallen utensils, as if he just noticed he knocked them over.

“Yeah?” I want to believe it’s that simple, but I’m skeptical.

“Yeah,” he bends down and picks up the fallen scissors, “you think I want you to go flying off into the trees?”

Then he grabs the end of the thread and with the scissors cuts it off. He can pay attention to a wayward strand of fabric but not answer my questions about what he’s been doing all month! Where’s he been? Who he’s been with? That thread is the final straw.

I take a step back and cross my arms. Defensive position? You betcha! “What’s going on?” I demand.

“Nothing.” He lays the scissors down.

“You’re lying!”

He looks stunned, as if I had slapped him. Usually I don’t talk back to him. I can count with one hand the number of times I accused him of something or spoken ‘out-of-turn’ since our sexual relationship began.

Inside, I wanted to run and hide and beg his forgiveness but I know something is horribly wrong and he isn’t ‘fessing up. I know whatever it is, it’s bad.

“Got some stuff to tell you and was hoping to get a little time in before I did. Is that so wrong?” he spits the last out, as if I’d hurt him. My brother may be tender and sweet but he also has a secret strength; nothing hurts him, least of all me. I’ve only seen him cry once and that was while we were both still very young. Seeing him crack…it’s very unnerving, like I had suddenly been thrust into The Twilight Zone.

“No.” I whisper.

“Good, so…uh, why don’t you head into the room and change and I’ll get dinner on.”

I immediately obey the order, turning around and mentally preparing myself to put Will out of my mind for the weekend.

“I mean no,” he stops me, grabbing at my arm with a quivering hand, “uh…no. Don’t do that. Go and relax in front of the fire and I’ll bring you out a plate.” He slowly lowers his arm, then turns his back to me and heads over to the stove, easily skirting the items on the floor.

And just like that, the conversation is over.

I’d been dismissed so easily. Rejection, like a frozen flood, washes through me. It’s all starting to add up. This is the last piece of the puzzle I needed to confirm something I’ve been terrified of since I fell in love with him. He is ending it. Just like that. He went away and must have fallen in love with someone else, someone that wasn’t his brother. And now he wants out.

My whole life is falling apart before my eyes and I can’t do a thing to stop it. If he wants out, I have to let him go. I want him to be happy but not like this. Why without me? My whole life was structured around him, him controlling me, him being my everything. Without him, what am I?

It feels like my insides have been ripped out. I am nothing.

Nothing without him

I nod at empty space, numb, in shock. Somehow I manage not to fall on my way to the fire. I sit as close to the flames as I can. I can’t feel the heat. I can’t feel anything. I just sit and watch the flames as they consume the day’s paper and the burning logs. Sit and wonder how I had lost him. What had I done wrong? Was I not good enough? Obedient enough? Not as exciting as the other people he had been with? Maybe he just got bored. Over and over my head swims with reasons why he’s calling it quits. Why he is leaving me.

I really don’t remember removing the protection grate and getting so close the flames that the clothes on my right leg and arm started to smolder. I never felt the heat or heard the flames kick up. I never even heard Will screaming my name until he was on top of me, slapping at my limbs, face contorted in fear.

But then, I remember feeling loved. Loved, because he came when I needed him, even if I didn’t know it.

“Bloody hell, what’s wrong with you!” he yells, trembling above me once the fire is out.

“Wrong?” I mumble, pain seeping back into my world. Blinding, searing pain. I know I’m going to pass out, the room is starting to spin and things are getting blurry, watery. That can’t be my brother with tears streaming down his face. My brother doesn’t cry. I’m the bad one. Those must be my tears.

“You tell me,” I say, as I wince and buck, fighting the nausea. “What did I do wrong?”

Then I close my eyes against the pain and slip into sweet oblivion.

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