When You're Gone Away

Exercising very little in the way of self-control, Trey took a step forward, sliding his hands around Harley's waist, un-tucking the towel and letting it drop to the floor. Trey's hands traveled up the boy's back to caress warm, smooth skin, feathering his fingertips over perfectly sculpted shoulder blades.

"My God... you're so fucking soft." Trey's eyes fluttered closed, his breath quickening as his hands explored his brother's chest, softly tracing the elegant, exquisite collarbones framing it.

Harley tensed, unmoving and stoic beneath his brother's touch. Trey retracted his hands and stepped back, confused. "What's the matter, baby brother? I thought you wanted me?"

Harley looked down at the carpeting and shook his head, dejectedly picking up the towel and re-fastening it around his waist. He looked up at his brother with pleading eyes. "Are you going to stay this time, Trey?"

Trey wrinkled up his nose and bit his lip. "I don't know, Harley. I'm really not prepared to make that kind of decision."

"And I'm not prepared to be your fucking whore," Harley snapped, his demeanor hardening. He stared into Trey's eyes for a long moment, then walked past him and climbed the stairs, not looking back.

Trey ran his hands through his hair, not bothering to turn around to watch Harley leave the room. He went into the kitchen to go about the task of making a pot of coffee.

Strong, black, hot, and coffee-flavored. Just as God intended.

Part III: "The Looking Glass"

"Damn him!" Harley leaned back against the master bathroom door, having already turned on both sink faucets and the shower full force to muffle the verbal tirade he knew he couldn't restrain.

Not that he liked the sound of his own voice. Quite the contrary. Harley actually despised it. Way too high-pitched in his own estimation, for a man well into his twenties and over six feet tall. To compound the issue, his voice had a rather girly inflection that he'd never been able to overcome, and an all too frequent crack that made him sound as if he were still in the grips of puberty.

"I just don't understand this!" Harley seethed aloud to no one. "Nobody ever has to know, nobody is being hurt by it, and it makes both of us happy. Why doesn't he get that? What the fuck is his problem? Shit..."

Harley pushed himself away from the door and leaned over the sink, considering his own reflection in the mirror. He looked haggard and thin, from lack of sleep and from not eating well during Trey's long absence, and damn... did he need a haircut.

"I can't keep chasing after him," he spoke to his own image in the mirror. "I can't keep putting myself through this. Either he stays and we move on with this, or he has to leave tonight and not come back. God, I hate ultimatums..."

Harley washed his face and brushed his teeth. He gathered up the clothes he'd thrown off earlier and stuffed them into the hamper. He scooped up his sneakers and walked into his bedroom - their bedroom - and placed the shoes neatly on the rack inside of the walk-in closet.

Harley was a slob by nature, but when Trey was home he tried his best to conform to his brother's fastidious standards. Thank God for the cleaning service that came to the house three times a week, a service that Trey had insisted upon when they'd first bought the place. If not for them, Harley smiled ruefully, Trey probably would have walked in tonight and done an immediate about face had housekeeping been left up to his little brother.

The young actor opened his armoire and retrieved a pair of baby blue sweat pants and a matching hoodie from the top drawer. Slipping the garments on, he checked himself in the cheval mirror that stood next to the door. He ruffled his fingers through his hair, attempting to tame the errant, honey-gold curls that were now cascading well below his collar line. Harley smiled wanly at his own reflection.

He's always loved me in this color.

---

"Damn him!" Trey hissed under his breath, forcefully plopping an extra scoop of Starbucks house blend into the paper filter for good measure. "I just don't understand this."

Trey filled the water reservoir and pressed the start button on the coffee maker, a Christmas gift he'd given his brother last year in a horribly failed attempt at introducing the boy to the pleasures of real coffee. "Someone will eventually figure this out, and too many people stand to be hurt by it, no matter how happy it makes the both of us. Why doesn't he get that? What the fuck is his problem? Shit..."

He opened an overhead cupboard and grabbed a pair of matching coffee mugs. Catching his reflection in the shiny chrome of the six-slice toaster on the countertop, Trey smoothed his hands over his head, attempting to tame the short hair that he'd been nervously grappling all night.

"I can't keep running away from him," Trey said to his image in the toaster. "I can't keep putting him through this. Either I stay, and stay for good, or I have to leave tonight and never come back. God, I hate ultimatums..."

Trey smiled wanly at the image reflected back by the chrome appliance. He suddenly noticed that he was wearing the garish, bright orange shirt that Harley had bought for him during his last trip to Florida.

He's always loved me in this color.

Part IV: "I Can't Seem To Let You Go"

Harley paused at the foot of the spiral staircase, craning his neck to peer around the corner. Trey was sitting on the couch, two identical mugs of fresh, steaming java resting on cork coasters on the coffee table in front of him.

Well, this is it, kid, Harley thought. It either begins again or it ends right here. Right now.

Harley blew out a sharp breath, bracing himself for what he knew was to be their final confrontation, his brother's final decision regarding their relationship. And it was, ultimately, to be Trey's decision. It had to be. Harley didn't have any doubts remaining, and he hadn't for a very long time. Trey was the one with issues, for a change.

Harley entered the living room, resuming his seat in the wing chair. Trey didn't say a word; he simply picked up one of mugs and offered it to his brother.

Trey's little brother accepted the drink with a nearly imperceptible nod of thanks. He blew into the cup to cool the surface, taking a small sip and trying his best not to make a sour face.

Harley truly detested plain black coffee, but God almighty, how he did love his brother.

Trey took a sip of his coffee, returning the mug to the table and leaning back into the soft cushions of the sofa. He sighed, hard and loud. "So... what do I do now, baby brother?" he asked with a sad smile.

Harley placed his mug on its coaster. He settled back into the wing chair, tucking his legs up to rest his chin on his knees.

"You have to decide what's more important to you, Trey," the younger man stated calmly. "What you're worried that other people might think, or what you know in your heart to be true. What we feel."

"It's not that simple, Harley." Trey ran his hands through his hair for the umpteenth time that night, oddly wondering whether or not the habit was going to be a contributing factor of premature baldness.

"But it is, Trey," Harley said, wrapping his arms around his legs and pulling them in tightly against his body, his bare toes wiggling. "It is that simple. Either you love me and you want to be with me, always and in all ways, fuck what anyone else might think on the off chance they should find out - or you don't. It really and truly is just that simple."

Trey closed his eyes and sighed harshly. "I wish I knew why this has been so easy for you, and why it's so hard for me."

Harley smiled, that devastatingly pretty movie star smile that caused girls and women to openly swoon, and boys and men to discretely question from which side of the plate they batted. "It hasn't been easy for me, Trey."

Trey was puzzled. He tilted his head to one side, like a Golden Retriever unable to comprehend the basic meaning of the word 'sit'.

Harley smiled again, subtle dimples and all. "I had a moment of truth, I guess you could say, just a few weeks after the first time we had sex. My alcoholic friends call it 'the dark night of the soul'. The moment of reckoning." Harley's smile faded, his face taking on a decidedly serious and somber appearance, his eyes glassing up with unshed tears. "I reckoned that I love you, Trey. More than I care about anyone or anything else. More than I care about anyone knowing about it."

"You're so young, Harley, and you're smart, despite what the media has fed you." Trey dragged his fingernails through his hair. "And goddamn it, you're prettier than any human being deserves to be. You can do so much better than me, baby brother. You'll find someone to love you, someone that you won't have to hide like me."

"But it's you that I love, Trey," Harley replied. "It's you that I need, who I want, who I crave, who I spend endless nights dreaming about when you're gone. I know it's weird, and sordid, and wrong. You think I don't recognize that, that I don't know that? I do, honestly I do. The difference between you and me is that I don't fucking care!"

Harley released his grip on his own legs and slid out of the wing chair. He walked the few steps to the couch and knelt down between Trey's knees, lightly resting his long, slender, piano-perfect fingers on his brother's thighs.

"Don't throw this away, Trey," Harley pleaded, allowing his tears to flow in front of his brother for the first time since Trey had returned home. "Please... give us another chance."

Trey reached out to gently stroke Harley's hair, badly in need of a trim. "This could end your career, Harley, if anyone found out. We could lose everything."

"Screw my career," Harley smirked. "It's not like I enjoy it anyway. It's not something I love. It never has been. I just happen to be good at it. But I've played my cards right, Trey. We don't ever have to worry about money. I'm really not as stupid or naive as people think. I went for percentages, every time. My last film alone will support us very comfortably for the rest of our lives. I don't care about the work. It's never been important to me. It's just a fucking job, like anything else. I don't need it. But I do need you. Terribly."

Harley leaned his head into Trey's hand, the older brother's fingers twining through the boy's shiny, dirty-blond locks. "You... deserve so much more than... than I have to give," Trey stammered, tears spilling down his cheeks.

Harley took Trey's face in his hands. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me, big brother. You've pretty much ruined me for anybody else."

Trey cringed tearfully at his brother's words. "I didn't mean to, Harley. I'm sorry."

"I'm not sorry," Harley smiled, that damnable, killer smile. "I can't think of anything more special, more wonderful, than being ruined by you."

There was a long, pregnant pause before either of them spoke again.

"Tell me what to do, Harley. What am I supposed to do now? God, I'm still so confused." Trey used both hands to swipe away the tears drenching his face.

Harley, still on his knees between Trey's legs, leaned forward, pressing himself against his brother's chest, into his arms. "Don't be confused, Trey. I'm not."

Harley was crying hard, fully releasing the emotions that he'd kept under wraps ever since he'd discovered Trey back in their home earlier in the evening. "Love me," he whispered, "just love me, Trey. Fuck everything and everyone else."

Trey was torn. Torn between his intellect and common sense, both of which affirmed how wrong this was, and between his heart: the heart that told him how right, how cruelly and impossibly right this was. "I don't know what to do, Harley. I feel like no matter what I decide, it's going to be the wrong choice."

Harley wrapped his arms around Trey's waist, clinging to him, not wanting to ever let go. Hot, wet tears streamed down the boy's face, all pretense of strength now gone.

"You need to decide, right now," Harley said, his tears continuing to trickle down his gaunt cheeks. "If you're coming back to me to stay, tell me now so I can relax and be happy. But if you're not, tell me now so I can start trying to figure out a way to deal with it. Please, whatever you do... please just don't leave me in limbo again. I'm running out of ways to make it through the day without you."

Trey closed his eyes and sighed. "I can't, Harley. I can't make a decision like this on the spot. I need time to think about it."

"You've had almost two years to think about it. How much more time do you fucking need to know what's in your heart?" Harley patted his brother's legs, using them for support to stand up. He smiled sadly at Trey, knowing that his brother wasn't going to commit to anything, one way or the other, right then.

Harley reached down to the coffee table, picking up the pack of Camels and the Bic lighter that he'd come downstairs for in the first place. He remained there for the longest minute, just standing there, looking at his brother. He wrapped his arms around himself, the cold, familiar chill piercing his body again.

"I'm going to bed, Trey. It's already three in the morning, and I've got a nine o'clock with my publicist. I'm cold, and I'm tired. You know where the extra blankets and pillows are, if you want to crash here on the couch for the night." He started to walk away, but then turned around to look at his brother. Perhaps for the last time as far he knew.

"Do me a favor, okay?" the younger man asked. "If you're not planning on staying here with me - for good, this time - please don't be here in the morning when I wake up."

Trey stared at his lap and picked at a hangnail, unable to look at his brother for fear of making a choice that he'd later regret. All he could do was nod a goodnight, a see you later, maybe a goodbye forever. He didn't know what the hell it was.

Harley sighed, turned, and made his way to the staircase, glancing back one more time. "Please know that I love you, Trey. I always have. I always will."

Trey responded without looking up, still picking absently at the hangnail. "I know. I love you, too."

Harley grabbed the banister, chuckling softly, the sound melancholy, harsh, and forlorn. "It's not enough though, is it." He uttered the words as a rhetorical statement of fact, not as a question. His heart broke because he already knew the answer.

Trey didn't say a word.

Part V: "Suddenly, I Know I'm Not Sleeping"

Harley pulled down the bedspread, blanket, and sheet, and crawled into bed. He yanked the bedclothes tightly up to his chin, curling up on his side and nestling his face into the soft, squishy, goose-down pillow.

He felt like he needed to cry, but he didn't have any tears left. All he had was a crushing, suffocating weight pressing on his heart and his soul.

It was over. Finished, He knew that now, as surely as he'd known anything in his life.

Trey loved him, of that Harley was certain. His older brother simply couldn't reconcile the admittedly frightening nature of their relationship, couldn't justify it in his mind, couldn't find the balance of risk versus reward, couldn't rationalize the complexities of it.

Harley smiled into his pillow, remembering something that Trey had said to him once, when he was fifteen years old and was trying to figure out a gentle, rational way to break the news to their parents that he was gay.

"You can rationalize anything, Harley," Trey had said to him. "A person can go days without water, weeks without food, and forever without sex. But no one can go more than a few hours without a good, solid rationalization. Don't worry, baby brother - you'll think of something to say."

Harley, until this night, had thought that telling his parents about his sexuality had been the most difficult thing he'd ever had to deal with. That situation, as hard as it had been, didn't even remotely compare to this.

He was ruined. He had not been exaggerating when he'd said that.

Harley would never be able to love anyone ever again like he loved Trey, never. There was a part of him that wished he'd never felt that way, that overpowering, intoxicating, needful combination of love and lust for another person. It would have been easier to bear, of course, had that other person not been his own brother.

Harley loved Trey, so much so that he was willing to give up everything for him; his career, his friends, the rest of his family, his life.

Ruined.

A mere twenty-five years of age, and Harley knew that he would never again be able to let someone into heart, into his soul. Not like that.

Harley reached over and pulled the pillow next to him against his face. The cleaning service did a great job, but they didn't do the laundry. Disgusting perhaps, but Harley had yet to change the sheets on the bed since Trey had left him half a year ago. He just couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to wash away the last thing that had remained of his brother.

The scent of him on that pillowcase.

---

Trey had stayed on the sofa, motionless, for well over an hour after Harley had gone upstairs to bed.

Harley. Bed.

Not the two words that Trey wanted to place in the same sentence at the moment.

With his coffee cup empty, his soul in pain, and his brain frazzled, Trey finally left the comfort of the couch and made his way into the kitchen.

He wasn't ordinarily a drinker, definitely not anywhere near the pro his little brother had become. Harley's elder sibling needed to get snockered now, though. It was almost an imperative, the need to get liquored up, the need to lose himself in the bottom of an impersonal bottle.

The need to not feel.

Opening cupboard after cupboard, Trey eventually found Harley's alcohol stash. From the impressive selection he finally chose an unopened bottle of Patrón tequila. He hated the taste of the Mexican import, but from prior experience he knew that it did the job, quickly and effectively. Grabbing a clean shot glass from the drain board next to the sink, he poured himself a full-to-the-brim drink, downing it quickly.

Then another, and another. And still another.

Trey closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation of the liquor burning his throat, landing in his brain to dull his senses.

Feeling nothing, at this point, was far preferable to what he'd been feeling for the past six months, for the past fucking decade, in all honesty.

Trey loved Harley. He'd never had any doubt about that. What he doubted was his ability to love the boy like he needed to be loved: fully and completely. Heart, mind, body, and soul.

Heart, mind, and soul had never been an issue for Trey. That kind of affection didn't cross a line when it came to loving his brother. That kind of love didn't violate trust or societal convention.

It was the 'body' part of the equation that was problematic for him.

I've been fucking my own brother, Trey thought in his blind, drunken haze. What does that say about me?

He caught his reflection in the shiny toaster, not entirely liking what he saw. He closed his eyes to shut out the vision, liking what he saw then, inside of his head, even less.

Harley on their bed, once again on his hands and knees, his lovely, firm, pale ass raised up and pushing back against his brother's cock, wanting it, wanting it inside of him, wanting it bad. Trey felt the memory, the feeling of his hands resting on his brother's silky, warm skin, touching that incredibly soft, maddening place that drove him crazy and made him lose all sense of propriety and right and wrong; that perfect, elegant place where Harley's sinewy tendons and his tight, young muscles joined his hip to his thigh. In his mind, drunken stupor notwithstanding, Trey heard his brother's voice, those dangerously erotic sounds he made when his body was being pleasured, those exquisite moans and perfect little whimpers. He saw Harley's face, the boy's eyes fluttering closed, the thick, lush, dark eyelashes so long that they rested on his own cheekbones.