Between Brothers

Chapter 1-2

The condo I share with Timothy is a short drive from the office. We live on the sixteenth floor of a high-rise, and the James River winds past the small balcony off our dining alcove, a different view than the one from my office building. At home, when I unlock the door and step into our foyer, I can just barely see the white foam-tipped rapids through the open blinds, and the gutted brick buildings on the other side of the James—our living room opens to the dining area, giving an illusion of space and a clear view from the door to the balcony. The smell of frying beef fills the condo, onions and meat amid a smattering of grease that I follow into the tiny kitchen. There Timothy stands over the gas stove in a worn T-shirt and an old, paper-thin set of boxer shorts, a flat pan of burgers sizzling away on one burner. He glances up and for a moment it’s Joey looking back at me, but when he speaks, it’s Tim. “Hey Brian. How was work?”

I shrug in lieu of reply and begin to loosen my tie. He turns back to the burgers—from the side, he looks nothing like my brother. The beard does it, the shaggy cut of his hair, the shape of his eyes. Brown instead of Joey’s light blue, but the same almond shape, the same heavy lids that make me think he’s trying to seduce me. If I’m not looking at him straight on, I can see the small double-chin that folds under where the beard won’t grow, and there’s more gray above his ears than Joey would have. Still it’s uncanny, the resemblance, and I tell myself I never noticed it before. Probably would never have noticed it, if Joey hadn’t decided to call.

Absently I drift into the bathroom, where I get the tie unknotted and shuck off my blazer, unbutton the cuffs of my dress shirt, open the buttons at the neck. In the mirror I stare at myself, looking for a hint of my brother in my face, but I see nothing there. We both have blue eyes, but his are lighter, prettier. We both have heads full of thick brown hair, that’s about the extent of it. My features are my dad’s—the angular jaw, the smooth skin, the boyish wave of hair across my brow that hasn’t begun to thin yet, thank the Lord. Joey looks like our mother, same round face, same laughing eyes. Plus the beard, of course, his squared shoulders, his tapered waist, lower…

I shake that thought away and stand over the toilet, unzipping my pants. As they fall to my knees in a rush of satiny material, a thick erection strains the front of my boxers. I undo the middle snap and gasp as I take my swollen shaft into my hand, damn. With one hand I stroke myself, legs splayed, the tip of my d**k already weeping. Close, s**t. Who would’ve thought a discreet, lazy massage in the driver’s seat on my way home would get me this hard? And when was the last time I had a taste of Timothy?

Suddenly burgers weren’t the only thing on the menu tonight. Keeping up a steady rhythm, I rummage through the medicine cabinet above the sink until I find an unused condom. I tear through the thin wrapper with my teeth, then ease the wet sheath onto my d**k.

Holding the end of the condom tight against the base of my c**k, I let it lead the way back into the kitchen.

Timothy’s still by the stove, a sheen of sweat beading on his forehead from the heat thrown off the burner. He doesn’t look at me as I come up behind him, but I see the corner of his mouth turn up in a smile. “Almost ready, hon,” he says.

I don’t answer. Instead I run a hand down the back of his boxers—his smile widens and he arches his ass into the palm of my hand. “Good day?”

“Good enough,” I concede, rubbing my thumb into the tender spot between his buttocks that I want to taste. He sighs my name and in my other hand, my c**k jumps at the thought of a tryst right here, now, up against the side of the stove. Without asking, I pull down Timothy’s boxers and guide my length to that tight hole in the center of his ass.

“Brian!” he starts, surprised.

Holding onto his bare hips, I pull him back onto me in one smooth motion. He parts beneath me, buttocks flexing as he takes me in, hands gripping the sides of the stove to keep from falling into the blue-tinged flames. “God,” he gasps. I kiss the back of his neck and breathe deep the scent of his sweat. In my memory, Joey smells like this, hard work and grease and beneath that, a patina of sharp, clean soap that tickles my nose.

No, my brother has a different smell, something that reminds me of summer breezes on the shore, sea salt drying on tanned skin, coconut oil and lemon juice and innocence. I have to close my eyes against the images that flood me—images of my brother and I as young boys, playing on the shore, chasing each other down the boardwalk, giggling into the languid darkness of an endless summer night, each remembrance punctuated by a thrust into Timothy, pinning his face over Joey’s in the pictures in my mind. My hands are hard on his hips, holding him back against me as I f**k into him, again and again. He sighs my name, his fingers clenched around the bar on the front of the oven, the burgers forgotten. I drive in harder, faster, seeking release, dragging him along to a sputtering climax that soils the kitchen towel between his hands and leaves me spent.

“God,” he gasps again when I pull free. With a breathy laugh, he uses the towel to clean himself off. “Damn, Brian. That was hot.”

Dumping the condom into the trash, I redo the snap on my boxers and kiss his shoulder through his battered T-shirt. “You sound like Paris Hilton,” I tell him. “Dinner ready yet? I’m starved.”

Timothy laughs and fakes a playful slap with the spatula. “f**k me, feed me,” he laughs. “You’re a slave driver, you know that?” I pinch his ample ass as I head out of kitchen. “What’s gotten into you anyway?”

My brother called, I think, and my heart soars at the thought of Joey taking a moment out of whatever life he’s living now to ring me up. Without answering Timothy’s question, I head into the living room and the promise of mind-numbing television. One hand drifts to the front of my boxers where, despite just getting off, I’m surprised to find I’m already half-hard again.