by Tom Collins
The linseed oil coated my fingers, clinging with a consistency like olive oil, though it looked like honey. I smiled and shook my head at the Weavings of Fate. The most essential ingredient of my art resonated in Oliver, as Brendan mirrored my self and his music was reverberated by Jillian.
I sank my slick fingers deep into Oliver’s relaxed ass. He made an almost lowing sound and bucked back against my hand. Working a third finger in, I dribbled more linseed oil on his pucker, funneling it into him and smoothing it on him. Once I had him ready, I coated myself, capped the jar and set it to the side.
When I flipped around and knelt behind him, he looked over his shoulder. Watching me belly up to him, his eyes burned like amber comets. I gave him a lecherous grin as I sank home. Using my whole body, I pressed him down into our improvised bed. I caught his hands, weaving our fingers together as I set to a slow, grinding inside of him. I scraped my teeth over his shoulders and nape, eliciting writhing and moaning from him.
From the other side of the wall we faced came Brendan’s voice. He was making a whining sound I’d only started hearing from him in the past couple of weeks, and only from myself around three weeks ago. Oliver stilled under me, and I saw him staring at the wall, expression intense and astounded.
“You hear that?” I whispered into the shell of his ear. “You know what she’s doing to him over there?” I traced the whorls with the tip of my tongue. He seemed to vibrate under me and tightened. “She’s fucking him just like I’m fucking you,” I informed him, leaving him no doubt.
His inner muscles working around my shaft drove me mad and I thrust harder. The sounds seemed to charge him like a battery, he felt electric, and once more, he was overwhelming me in the most wonderful way possible. The sounds and movements he was making were positively pornographic. I wouldn’t last long like this, I knew. I couldn’t even keep a rhythm. It was time to let him have his way with me.
*Oliver*
Liam might still need practice when it came to sucking cock, though he was damn fucking good and getting better every time. When it came to rimming, however, he was mind-blowing. It was his experience with girls, I suspected, but fuck me if I’d ever met a man who could tease, torture and pleasure that ring of delicate nerves like Liam. One lick of his clever tongue and I lost all command of myself—which was why I’d fought him, because I knew what would happen. His adoration of my ass quickly had me sweating, howling into the laundry, screaming and squirming with almost unbearable pleasure.
The scrape and scratch of the beard between my ass cheeks added an extra sensation that had thrown me completely over the edge.
Stars flashed behind my eyes, and my engorged, dripping cock ached and fought against its entrapment under my belly. Within my nuts and groin, the fire blazed hotter and hotter, burning away any thought, any consideration, but to have Liam, have him and do whatever I wanted with him.
I started to claw at the floor when he oiled me up, and I swear my brain nearly exploded when his cock penetrated me. That narrow rod of his gliding in and out of my tunnel had me on waves of ecstasy.
Then I heard him crying out, as if I were in him. That shocked me into stillness for a moment. I felt him lean over me, even as I still heard his cries of pleasure, the exact same ones he uttered when I was fucking him. He explained to me what was happening on the other side of the wall, whispered it into my ear.
My animal brain found the image hot. Sizzling hot. Also unacceptable. Jealousy clicked in. Raging jealousy. Rationally, I knew Jillian wasn’t fucking Liam, but the misconception I’d created that they were once lovers was still there on a visceral level.
God damn it! Liam was mine to fuck!
With something like a roar, I surged up. I didn’t even feel the pain in my bad knee; all I felt was an ungovernable need to lay claim to Liam. His cock left me with a pop and next thing I knew I was throwing him onto that crushed and wrinkled pile of laundry.
His thighs were already apart. I loved that amid all that hair, his perineum and sphincter were naked and bare. I jerked up his legs and stretched them wide, leaned in and gave a long lick from fluttering hole up to dangling balls. Down again then up. Earthy, sweaty.
He cried out, harmonizing with the sounds next door. I released him, grabbed the bottle of oil, and wet down my hands with it. He sucked in a sharp breath as I plunged in three fingers. No courtesy or gentleness here. I wanted him stretched and ready, now!
He was hot and moist. I clamped my free hand hard around his stiff, damp dick, right under his high nuts as I found and began to stroke that gland, which I knew would liquefy him. He let out guttural noises, bucking up, and nails scraping the floor. Sweat poured down over his ribs, down from his temples, and glistened in the beard. His cock, arching up and over his belly, dripped its juices all over his treasure trail.
His long thighs and legs began to tremble with pleasure. I pulled my fingers out and stabbed in with my raging hard on, deep into that tight heat of his. He let out a high note at the same time that his brother cried out and they rang together, the exact pitch.
Stereo!
I started to laugh, even as I pounded away at him. He was burning hot, and I loved the way his desperate ass lifted to beat against my swinging balls. The beast was raging free as it never had before. Mine now. All mine. I leaned over him, beginning to huff and perspire. I felt powerful, wild, virile. Angry, too. Angry at all the thieves who’d plundered me my whole life long. From my asshole father and the men who’d taken my watch, to the boyfriends who’d robbed me of their love and affection when they left.
I pinched Liam’s nipples, getting more sounds and jerks. I bit fiercely at his shoulders, wanting to leave marks, and trapped his cock between us. If Liam thought he could give me all this and then steal it away again—
I pulled at his hair, raised my hand to slap him—
He caught my right hand in his left, fingers lacing. I don’t know how he knew where to grab, as his eyes were shut. His right arm came around my neck and his legs locked around me. Not fighting me, nor surrendering to me. As before, he just accepted and flowed with me, making us rock together. The inner rage, all that fury past and present that he’d set aflame, that could only express itself by brutally fucking other men, was banked, and the monster within stopped wanting to bite and claw him.
I didn’t want to hurt or be angry with him. He was beautiful and kind and I loved him.
A wave of tenderness and pleasure came over me. I clung to Liam as I crested, bucking and yelling, shooting into his hot tunnel. He jerked in turn, holding me fiercely as his hard, twitching cock ejected his seed between us. Our cries of pleasure and those of our counterparts in the other room formed a loving, united song.
*Liam*
“Oh, wow…wow, oh, wow…” was the best I could manage while coming down from the devastating high to which Oliver had taken me. At least until my bones stopped shivering inside my skin. After shocks continued to disrupt my thought processes as Oliver—always the responsible one—cleaned us up with the towel I’d used on his hair a bit ago.
He wasn’t altogether sure that his loss of control hadn’t turned me off, I could tell. We lay, exhausted, amid the laundry, while he kissed and petted me, making sure I was all right. He kept trying to tell me things that were on his mind.
“I wanted you with me at the hospital, but I just couldn’t—” he broke off.
“I understand,” I reassured him, stroking his cheekbone with the pad of my thumb.
“Hasn’t anyone been feeding you?” he demanded in the next heartbeat, fingers brushing over my ribs. I giggled and squirmed away from his accidental tickling. He chuckled against my ear, making me shiver.
“No one takes care of me like you do. Oliver,” I said, growing serious and locking eyes with him, “I don’t need someone super creative, or whatever, who’s a reverberant to me. I already have a twin. What I need is someone who can do what Brendan can’t. Like keeping me grounded and protected.”
; “Does that mean I can fold up this laundry and organize your stuff?”
I snorted so hard I almost blew a snot bubble. “You impossible funsucker! By all means, fold, organize—hell, you can even vacuum if it’ll make you happy.” I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “What am I gonna do with you?” I slapped his hip, laughing.
“Anything you want for as long as you want me,” he retorted with lethal seriousness.
“Does that mean you’re looking for a fully committed relationship…like marriage or something, or is it a fuck buddy you want?” I asked. My heart fluttered inside my too-narrow trachea, cutting off my breath.
I thought I knew the answer, but I couldn’t chance any more assumptions about so complex a personality as Oliver. He stilled, studying every nuance of my expression. He was trying to decide which answer I most wanted to hear, or so I imagined.
“I already told you, whatever is going to be best for you—”
“Huh-uh. That’s insufficient,” I broke in, shaking my head in irritation at his evasive dissembling. “I want you to tell me what you want, not what would be ‘good enough’…please,” I pleaded.
I waited, watching him look everywhere, but my face. His eyes alighted on the spot where Ollie the Barbarian had hung until a little while ago. It still lay where I’d tossed it on my covers. His gaze returned to me, unflinching and defiant.
“Alright.” He said that one word as if to say, “You asked for it,” took a breath and forged ahead. “What if I want the whole enchilada, the whole ball of wax, the whole ten goddamned yards? What if I want to make a home and build a life with you? What if…” he hesitated, almost losing his nerve, “What if what I want is you, happy and successful, like I said, but in my bed and my life forever and ever? What then?”
The last had a, “You’re not the boss of me,” quality that almost made me grin despite the gravity of the discussion.
“Well, then…” I pretended to consider, sighing heavily through my nose for dramatic effect. “I’d say, ‘should we get a new puppy or a rescue dog from the pound?’”
“What dog?” he asked, incredulous.
“Our dog, of course. We, me and Bren, always wanted one growing up, but the ‘rents said no way, ‘cause the only one who’d ever remember to take care of it would be my sister. Jeeze…please don’t tell me you like those yappy, little purse dogs—which shouldn’t even be classed in the same species with real dogs—‘cause then I’d have to shave your balls and start calling you Nancy,” I informed him in my best, no-nonsense tone.
“Call me Nancy?!” he sputtered, feigning indignation. “Of course, the ball-shaving part might not be bad…” I cracked up at the wicked glint that flashed in his eyes. He paused, then, “So you’re saying you’re going to move in with me so you can finally have a dog?”
I hit him, a solid punch to the shoulder. The flicker of a smile told me he wasn’t clueless, just teasing.
His face went serious again. “Sharing a pet, a place, lives even…that kind of relationship isn’t easily untangled, Liam. Are you sure you want that with me?” He seemed like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
I caressed his cheekbone with the backs of my curled fingers, then ran my thumb down the bridge of his nose—both gestures I’d used before to display my affection—while gazing deep into his golden-brown irises.
“When I thought you didn’t want me any more…” a lump sprang up in my throat chocking off my voice. Clearing my throat, I tried again, “I was so crushed because I wasn’t just losing the most incredible lover I’ve ever had; I was losing my best friend.”
The words a mere ghost of sound, I asked, “How could I ever be happy or successful without my O-lover?”
A look of incredulous wonder washed a new light into his eyes, dampening the blaze for a moment. I could see him accepting that I wasn’t messing with him, that I was, in truth, expressing how I felt. He swallowed hard; his throat gave a dry click.
“Me, too,” he managed. His eyes blazed like comets in the depths of a country night.
Having settled, for the moment at least, what we each wanted in our relationship, Oliver and I lay quiet for a while. I relaxed in a way I hadn’t been able to for a week. Wrapped in his arms, holding him in mine, was like coming home again after the worst vacation in history. I’d returned to my place of comfort and security, to where I felt safe and at ease and was vowing never to leave home again.
He drifted off amid the laundry. It made me suspect he hadn’t been sleeping any better than he’d been eating. I buried my nose in the softly scented hair just above his ear and breathed him in. Time passed, maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, I didn’t know or care. I lay in perfect contentment.
The soft sound of a fingernail tapping at the door drew me out of quiet revere. Brendan poked his head through the door, an unasked question on his face. I waved him in and, as naked as we were, he hurried over, not quite closing the door to avoid waking Oliver. Quiet as a mouse, he settled in behind me to spoon with his cheek pressed against mine, and his fingers weaving with mine where it lay on Oliver’s sparsely furred chest. He rubbed our cheeks together, happy again and as relaxed as I was because Oliver and I were reconciled. That was really all he needed to know. The whys and hows of it weren’t important so long as the damage had been mended.
“He sure is pretty.” His words were soft to keep from waking Oliver.
“Mmhmm,” I agreed, happy to be sandwiched between two of the three people who meant the most to me in the world.
“His skin’s almost as soft as Jilly’s,” he further observed, running one finger along Oliver’s collarbone.
“Mmhmm,” I concurred wordlessly once more.
“He’s lost weight. Hasn’t he?” he asked.
“Mmhmm…but we can fix that,” I replied.
“Mmhmm,” he agreed.
Oliver shifted in his sleep, rolling tighter against me and pulling me closer still. Brendan scooted nearer, reestablishing the contact that Oliver had broken.
“Your face smells like ass,” he opined without warning.
I snort-laughed in surprise and said, “Gee…can’t imagine why…”
“Neither can I,” he said, still visually spellbound by Oliver, absorbing him. He tore his eyes from Oliver’s face to look down at me as I looked up at him, “I mean, there’s only one way that’s possible and you’d never do anything that nasty would you?” he teased with a perfect poker face.
I gave him our cat-ate-the-canary grin and straight-manned right back, “God, no…the very idea makes my stomach churn.”
He slapped my bare hip, making a loud popping sound. “Cheeky bitch,” he laughed.
“And you’re not?” I retorted.
“Anything I am is your fault.”
“Tchya…I don’t think so. Send all complaints to the home office in care of Geek Woman and the Dorkinator.”
We grinned at each other and chuckled at the joke made at our parents’ expense.
“Who?” Oliver asked, making both of us jump out of our skin.
I could see Bren out of the corner of my eye giving him the same sheepish grin I was. Neither of us had meant to wake him.
“Our parents,” we answered together.
We looked back at each other, “Stop that,” we both said. “I’m not doing anything,” we refuted the other. “Would you just knock—” we began again, but a soft growl from Oliver made us both gasp in surprise and turn back to face him.
“Sorry,” we said together, then glared in mock accusation at one another before losing it to a case of chuckles.
“Sometimes we get stuck,” I tried to explain.
“And then something has to snap us out of it,” Brendan finished. “He’s good at it,” he offered to me.
“Mmhmm,” I agreed, “he’s good at a lot of things.”
“So I heard through the wall,” Bren quipped, sending us both into another snicker-fit.
Oliver got our attention back by flushing bright
red at Brendan’s insinuative comment. Bren drew a deep breath, eyes widening, and made an, “Ahh,” sound, captivated once more. He then shocked Oliver by using the same gesture of affection I had a little while ago. He brushed Oliver’s cheekbone with the backs of his fingers and ran the pad of his thumb down the bridge of Oliver’s nose saying, “Our O-lover.”
Brendan was well and truly enamored of him. I could see the shock in Oliver’s face and I could see he wanted to pull away. Brendan saw it too and snatched his hand away as if he might’ve burned Oliver.
“What? I’m sorry…what’d I do? I didn’t mean it!” Bren babbled, scared enough that I could feel his heart pounding through both our ribs.
“Shh, shh,” I hushed him, petting his hip, “it’s Ok. Don’t worry.”
Oliver’s eyes snapped from Bren to me, “Did you…?”
I shook my head, “No. The only time I’ve used that was with you today.”
“Then how did he know?”
“I don’t think he did. This is something that’s hard to explain. See, he and I are different people because we’ve chosen different life paths—”
“But at the same time, we’re still the same person,” Brendan jumped in. “I did something you did, didn’t I?” he questioned me and I nodded. We looked back at Oliver and he said, “Most people have trouble understanding how we can be the same and different at the same time.”
“Like how he just called you O-lover? Well, I called Jillian, ‘Jillybean,’ independent of him. Our brains follow the same sorts of thought pathways, so it’s not unusual for us to arrive at the same destination,” I offered.
“What it is, see, is he’s me with a paintbrush—” said Brendan.
“And he’s me with a guitar,” I finished.
“And a shave…” Bren teased.
“And snatch-breath,” I jabbed back.
“Instead of ass-breath,” he hooked right back and we dissolved into laughter once more.
Oliver was gawking.
“Are you okay with this?” I ventured.