Goaded Ch. 02byPS_Lopez©
II - Reconstruction
I saw Rajah today. By chance. At the food court at the mall. He was with someone, a handsome man who made him laugh. I watched my brother throw back his head, heard his familiar cackle, and hurried away before they noticed me.
He looked happy. Like he did years ago, and it made me realize that the past couple years he lived with me something had killed him inside. I hadn't noticed at the time because I was too caught up in my own problems.
I'm still in love with him.
It hurts. Everything hurts. I fell in love with him eight years ago, and to protect myself, I began a competition. Every time he mentioned some guy, I turned Rajah's pursuit of him into a competition to win the guy.
I felt that old jealousy today, watching him. It burned through me, from my head to my feet, consuming me slowly. It's why I'm sitting here in my empty condo--mine alone for the past two years--staring at my cell phone. I put it on the floor, not sure if I want to pick it up and call Rajah or simply stomp on the damn thing.
I could have called Rajah a year ago. He even called to remind me, and I almost did then. Then I thought back to that night. I remembered it all. I had been completely sober, unlike Rajah and that guy we brought home from the party. So I remembered it all, from when Rajah and I discussed the guy at the party to me throwing the guy out, tossing his clothes after him, pants and underwear still down.
I don't even remember the guy's name now. All I want to remember is thrusting into my twin, his arms and legs wrapped around me. God, I'd wanted that for so long. It had been tearing me apart, and I'd finally had it.
And here I sit, thinking about that night, about how he scurried from my room and locked himself in the bathroom. I stood outside for a while, but he didn't come out. I finally went to bed, intending to talk to him in the morning, but I never got a chance to. Not over the next few days. He holed up in his room doing I don't have any idea what, avoiding me.
I tried. I did. I knocked on his bedroom door and pleaded with him to speak with me, but he wouldn't listen. Then, the first day when work started back up, he disappeared. He left a note and his key and took everything from his bedroom. Just his bedroom, as though he had no right to anything else in the townhouse, and I stood in his bedroom door, offering everything left in the condo if I could just have Rajah back.
I obeyed his command in the note and left him alone for a year. But, by the time it had passed, I'd realized I'd taken advantage of him. He'd been drunk, and I knew it. He'd been subtly resistant to the idea of bringing that guy home with us, sarcastic and snide, walking away when I wanted to discuss things.
I ended up quitting that job a month after Rajah left. I couldn't handle facing that guy every weekday. He represented the loss of the most important thing I'd ever had, and I hadn't realized how much I relied on my brother until then. I'd always had Rajah with me. Every year, day in, day out, either on bunkbeds as kids, beds across the room from each other in college, or different bedrooms in apartments and that condo. He'd always been with me, there for me.
So, when he called to remind me that the year was up, I listened to the message. It's still on my phone. "Sultan, it's Rajah. That year's up. Call whenever you feel like it. I'm doing okay and I'd like to talk to you, but it's up to you. I'll let you be. Call when you're ready." Yeah, I've memorized the stupid thing, and I listen to it several times a day. It's now almost a year old.
I stare at my phone, because with that glimpse of my twin, it's become a simple question: How much do I need him in my life? The answer is equally simple. Too much to go on without him any longer. It's that answer which goads me to pick up my phone and call him.
The door opens and my brother looks me up and down. When his gaze reaches my face, he gasps.
"Shit, Sultan, you look awful," he says, grabbing my arm. "Come on, get in here. I've got soft stuff, but you look like you could use a stiff drink. I have Irish cream and vodka."
I enter because he's pulled me in. Up close, I can see he looks very well. Much better than I'm feeling. He looks healthy, more like himself than he looked those last couple years we lived together.
"No, thanks," I say. "Just water or something else soft. You know what I like."
He nods and shuts the door. He pushes my back a little.
"Living room's straight on," he says. "Go make yourself comfortable."
I don't move at first. I can't. I don't deserve his kindness or forgiveness, especially since I don't and can't feel ashamed about some aspects of that night. I stare at him. I know tears are gathering in my eyes; I can feel them stinging.
"Sultan," Rajah says, and pulls me into an embrace. He wraps his arms around my neck and pushes my face against his neck. His fingers pull through my hair, apparently oblivious to its greasy condition. "I'm glad you called," he says. "I'm glad you did come over. I've missed you."
I wrap my arms around him, nodding. It's the closest I can come to telling him the same right now. I hold onto him tightly, sobbing as quietly as I can. I haven't cried like this since I was six and fell off my roller skates, skinning my hands and knees. Rajah croons softly, and it reminds me even more of that day, because Mom had crooned over me then.
It was only the first of many things I did to keep up with Rajah. He was always better at physical things than I was, and I did what I had to so I could stay with him at all times. I learned to roller skate, ride a bike; I played flag football with our friends, tag. Whatever he did, I did, too, because even then I couldn't bear the thought of being without him.
It makes me wonder how I've lived just under two years without him. Well, not exactly living. More like walking dead.
Eventually, my tears dry up and I raise my head. I look at Rajah. His face used to be mine, but I've gotten thin. Too thin. I don't look as healthy as he does, and he frowns. One of his hands cups the side of my face.
"Why didn't you call sooner?" he asks.
I sniffle one last time and rub my nose with the heel of my palm. "I was afraid."
He shakes his head at me. "I love you," he says. "There's no reason to be afraid."
I gaze at him. I have to. I haven't seen him this close in years. He returns the gaze, patient with me as always. Almost always. He was pretty impatient that night.
"I'm sorry," I say.
"For what?" he asks.
"Goading you into . . . that night."
He sighs and his hands slide down my arms a little. When he pulls away, I let him go though I don't want to. I want to keep him close. He goes into his kitchen, and I follow.
"It wasn't all you, Sultan," he says as he opens his fridge. He pulls out a container of lemonade.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"At a certain point, I started trying to goad you," he says. He holds up the container. "Want some?"
I nod. He takes two glasses down from an overhead cabinet next to his fridge.
"You tried to goad me?" I ask.
"Yeah. I wanted to make you jealous," he says as he pours. "I'd reached the end of my patience with my situation, and I wanted to do something to either end it or--something. I just couldn't stand it any more."
"But you were drunk--"
He looks at me, and I stop talking. He inhales a deep breath.
"Sultan, I wasn't that drunk. Yeah, it seemed like I'd had a lot to drink, but I'd been dictating the recipe I wanted from the bartender. They were mostly juice. So, yeah, I slammed down four drinks in an hour, but it was more like two considering alcohol content. Yeah, I was a little drunk, but I wasn't so bad I couldn't walk straight!"
I blink, remembering that guy. He hadn't been able to walk straight when left on his own.
"I always dictated how much alcohol went in my drinks, Sultan. I still do. I'm still pretty much a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, to tell the truth."
My brother puts the container of lemonade away and picks up the glasses. He comes over and holds one out.
"So, you didn't take advantage of me, no matter what it seemed like at the time. Honestly, I wanted it by the time Theo got around to telling us what to do."
I'm reaching for the lemonade when Rajah says this, and I go cold, then hot. He meets my stare of shock with a calm gaze of his own. I close my mouth and accept the glass of lemonade to sip some, buying time.
I don't know what to think.
"You wanted it?" I ask.
Rajah nods. "Yeah." He chuckles, a rueful smile curling his lips. "Pretty badly, too."
"Then why did you leave?" I ask.
He sighs and looks into his lemonade. He says nothing for a few minutes and I watch him. I lick my lips because I want to kiss him and when I inhale my lungs shiver.
"Because," he says, softly. "I was too much in love with you to not try and find a way to repeat that night."
The glass slips from my hand and lands on my foot. I yelp and step back. Lemonade splatters on my brother's bare legs and my jeans, spreads over the carpet.
Rajah returns to the kitchen without a word and trades his lemonade for a towel, which he uses to dry himself off with before dropping it on the carpet to sop up the liquid.
"I'd had about as much as I could take of it all, Sultan. The competition killed me inside. I hated it, and it turned me into someone and something I realized I didn't like. I had to get away, and I know I was running and that's as wrong as what we did that night, but I couldn't see any other way to fix things. I just hurt too much, and I couldn't think past the pain."
I swallow. "You feel guilty about what we did?" I ask.
He shakes his head, looking up. "No," he says. "I wanted it too much to feel ashamed of it. I don't mean that I think what you and I having sex was wrong, Sultan. I meant what we did to that guy we brought home with us," he adds with a chuckle. "But I don't feel bad about having had sex with you."
"How do you feel about it?"
He stops moving and gazes at me, sighing. He looks uncertain.
"If given another chance, I would go for it," he says.
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. After I close it and clear my throat, I'm able to speak.
"So would I," I say.
"Wh--What?" he asks.
"Rajah, I need you. I miss you," I say. I reach up to frame his face with my hands. I hold his gaze. "I want you. It made me jealous whenever you talked about another guy. I competed with you like that because I wanted you for myself."
My brother inhales, breath shaky. He reaches up and tugs at my hair. "Come on, Sultan. You need a shower. We can talk when you're feeling better."
I kiss his lips, a brief press of mine against his. "Okay," I say. "But I already feel better."
He chuckles. "Maybe so, but you don't look better."
That makes me laugh a little.
We're on his sofa. My hair's still damp and I've got a fresh glass of lemonade. The TV's on. Rajah has cable and has set it to one of the music channels. I've closed my eyes; we're leaning against each other, heads together, feet on his heavy wooden coffee table. We're dressed identically for the first time in years, both of us wearing white boxers with lip prints on them and blue pocket tees.
He's holding my right hand, and I'm rather clutching at his left hand. I made him stay in the bathroom while I showered, unwilling to let him leave me. I told him to tell me what he's been doing the past couple years, but I don't remember a word he said. I'd asked him to talk just to reassure me he was with me.
"You know, seeing you is the first time I've wanted to have sex since I left you?" he says.
The air leaves my lungs. I blink in disbelief. "You haven't dated?" I say.
"Not at all," Rajah says.
I stare unseeing at the TV screen. "Really?" I ask.
"Really," he says.
"Neither have I," I say.
"I'd kind of guessed it," he says.
I nod a little, seeing how he could come to that conclusion. He leans forward and I sit up. Rajah puts his glass of lemonade on the table and takes mine from my left hand and puts it next to his. Still holding my right hand, he shifts to face me, folding his left leg on the seat of the sofa.
"I have to ask you something, Sultan," he says.
I look at him. He looks very serious and I feel a flutter of fear. What could he have to ask? Doesn't he know that I'll give him anything he wants?
His right hand rises to caress the left side of my face and he just gazes at me for a couple minutes. I gaze back, drinking in the sight of his blue eyes, his black hair. He's tanned a little, too, so his eyes stand out, and he's let his hair grow out a little. It's shaggy around his head, long on top, kind of a bowl cut but more stylish.
"How do you feel about me?" he asks.
I twist to reach for him, touch his cheek as he's touching mine. "I'm in love with you," I say.
Rajah exhales and throws himself at me. I fall back, bowled over by his weight. He's kissing me, and I part my lips for him. Both his hands are free now, and he's caressing my body through the shirt. I free my arms and wrap them around him, holding onto him tightly, so his hands go still. I feel his fingers curl up, his knuckles dig into my chest.
The kiss is hard and fierce and deep. His tongue roves around my mouth and I can taste lemonade on it. His teeth feel smooth when I run my tongue across them. He grinds against me and I feel his erection. A few seconds later, he raises his head. I open my eyes to find him looking down at me.
"Are you clean?" he asks.
I nod. "You?"
"Yes," he says.
He pushes away, then grabs the front of the tee I'm wearing. I sit up, arms flailing. He's strong. I've forgotten how strong. He rises and I rise with him before he just rips the tee off me. We're facing each other, and he pushes me backwards. I shuffle in reverse, looking over my shoulder. Rajah pushes me toward his bedroom and I stare at his bed, the corner of which I can see in the corner of my eye.
We're going there. I don't object. Instead, I turn my head to face my brother and grasp his shoulders and pull him to myself. I kiss him, still shuffling backwards. His bare toes step on mine. I don't care. Our legs bump and it only turns me on more, especially when his thighs rise to brush my erection. I can feel his stiff cock, too, and I pause to rub myself against him.
The light changes; we're in his bedroom now, and it's a little darker because the curtains are closed over the blinds. I break the kiss so I can find the bed and shuffle us over to it, pulling up the tee my twin is wearing. He pulls mine up and we wiggle out as though we've practiced this maneuver before. When we're done, both tees are inside-out and mine has been pulled inside the other. We chuckle at this and toss the shirts aside then reach for each other's hips.
Getting out of our boxers is more difficult. We tangle up and I bump my nose on Rajah's shoulder. He scrapes my neck with his teeth. Our knees knock and we both groan and whimper--in unison. Rajah wins free of his boxers first and tosses them aside and climbs onto his bed, turning to face me. I kick the boxers I was wearing away and face him.
We kiss, and my twin wraps his arms around my neck. I lean close, stepping to stand against the bed. It's a king size, and it's high. Rajah wraps his legs around my hips.
"Lube--" I say, breaking the kiss to do so.
"Lotion, in the bathroom," he says, a little breathless.
I pant, nodding, kiss him, and fetch the lotion as quickly as I can. When I return, I find my brother spread out on his bed. I stop and stare. His dick is so erect it's curved up towards his abdomen. I swallow and climb onto the bed with him, leaving the lotion aside for the moment, and lick his erection. His hand fists in my hair, raising my head. I look at him.
"Screw that, Sultan. Plenty of time for that later. Just fuck me now."
I nod, and he releases my hair. I grab the lotion and squeeze a copious amount onto my palm, pumping the plunger a few times to get the amount I want. I toss it aside and it lands, then slides off the edge of the bed, but neither of us see it. We only hear the thump, because we're staring at each other. I spread the lotion on myself.
Rajah watches me, licking his lips. I go still, enraptured by his beauty. I've noticed it before, but he looks more so now. I crawl up between his legs and raise his hips. I want to watch him this time, and I ram into him in one swift motion without stretching over him.
He screams, a glorious warbling sound, like he did that night. His legs wrap around me and he writhes. I manhandle his hips, adjusting him as I rise on my knees a little. He gasps and arches, telling me I've hit his prostate. That's what I want, and I thrust into him again.
Rajah moans. I listen to his cries as I repeat my thrusts, watch him twist and writhe.
"Not fucking," I say, and he opens his eyes to look up at me. He's gasping as I ram him, his hands now against the headboard of his bed, preventing his head from striking it.
"What, then?" he whimpers.
I pull out all the way and hesitate, the tip of my cock against his ass. Rajah whimpers, legs trying to pull me back in.
"Please, Sultan," he moans.
"Making love," I say, slamming into him.
He screams and arches. I bend over him now, sucking his neck as I stretch out. I fold my arms under his waist and his arms come around my neck. His heels dig into my ass, his legs pulling me in with each thrust I make.
We're both panting. I'm moaning now, little sounds that choke free of my throat. Damn, this feels better than it did that night. I feel complete, like myself again, as I was before the whole mess I started.
I come, and it fills me. I lose track of Rajah for long minutes as I fill his ass with my seed. His legs tighten around me and he pulls my head down to kiss me. I come back a little when I feel him panting and gasping into my mouth, taking my breath. Climax ceases and I drop onto him. His hands slick over my back.
"Did you come?" I ask.
"Like before," he says, voice a little vague, dreamy, relaxed. "The same time you did."
I nod, turning my head to nibble his neck. The salt of his sweat tastes delicious and I set to licking him. He chuckles but doesn't stop me. I pull my arms free of our weight and shift them so they pass under his shoulders so I can hold his head. He gazes up at me when I raise my head.
"Move back in with me," I say. I'm pleading, the note is in my voice, but I don't try and suppress it. I need Rajah too much and am willing to plead as long and as much as he wants me to. "I need you at home with me, Rajah. I'll do whatever you ask, give you whatever you want. Just say you'll come back and make that condo a home again."
His hands slide down my sides and his legs tighten around me. I get the feeling that he doesn't want to let me go, either.
"Okay, but we're not sleeping in separate rooms," he says.
I smile. "I wouldn't think of suggesting it," I say. I trace my thumb across his cheek, under his eye. "We are what we are, and it doesn't matter what other people think."
Rajah grins. "Still as arrogant as ever," he says.
I chuckle. "Yeah, but you love me for it."
He nods. "Yeah, I do."
I kiss him, then bury my face against his neck and sigh. I'm home.