The Art of Conversation

Michael woke in the middle of the night to the sound of a faint scratching on his door. He lay still for a second, eyes closed, waiting to see if it had just been his mind playing a trick on him. When it continued he rolled over, grabbed the baseball bat from under his bed and crept towards the door. He snuck a peek through the spyhole and sighed.

Still holding the bat in his right hand, he opened the door with his left to find Linc standing there, keys still in hand, looking sheepishly.

“What are you doing here at this time of night? And why can’t you even find the keyhole?”

Linc blinked in confusion. Michael could smell the alcohol on his breath and the sweet scent of marijuana on his clothes.

“Michael, you know I can’t go home like this.”

”So you’d rather not go home at all?”

“Don’t be like this. Can I use your phone?”

“Well considering you are the one paying for it…”

He hadn’t meant to sound to bitter, but even he could taste the venom in his voice. Giving in, he closed his eyes in defeat.

“Whatever” he whispered and pushed the door wide open to allow Lincoln stride past him. Their shoulders brushed for a second as Linc almost bumped into him and for second it just felt like just another stab at Michael’s heart.

They didn’t bother to turn on any lights and Linc went straight for the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge like he’d never left, like this was still his home. Michael bit his lip apprehensively and folded his arms across his chest. He’d come to equally resent and anticipate this silly little ritual that Lincoln jokingly referred to as their “Short Kiss Goodnight”. His brother had finally located what he’d been looking for, a can of brandless orange juice in one of the lower cabinets. Without bothering with a glass he brought the canister to his lips. Despite his anger Michael couldn’t help but stare at him, the way he stood – with his head thrown back, the dim light from the street being reflected from the impossibly white skin of his neck.

Michael cleared his throat and Linc set down the can. He softly licked his lips to savor the aftertaste, before he slipped off his wedding ring and placed it on the counter, next to the container. He turned around and with two quick steps he was in front of Michael, just a wisp of breath separating them.

Linc hesitated for moment and then extended his hand to softy ruffle through his brother’s hair.

“I’m sorry I woke you”, he offered.

“S-allright.”

“I mean it. It’s not a weeknight, is it? Should I be worried that you are still here instead of being out and about?”

“I have things to do tomorrow.”, Michael murmured defensively.

Linc put his palm against Michael’s forehead, automatically checking for a fever. His gaze softened and absent minded he stroked the tiny peak in Michael’s hairline. Michael could feel that his brother was contemplating whether he should dig deeper into the matter, but then let it drop.

“Well, then you better get back to bed, right? I’m just gonna settle down on the couch.” Lincoln yawned and stretched, then reached for his brother. Michael allowed himself to be led back to his room. Just like when they were kids, Linc tucked him in, before he returned to the living room to sprawl out on the couch.

Michael heard the tv being switched on, sound being muted almost instantly. Half an hour, that’s how much time Linc usually gave him till he assumed that Michael was asleep. The minutes seemed to drip by at snails pace.

Finally, the creak of the couch, followed by foot steps. The slithering sound of the telephone’s cable being dragged over the floor and short thump of it being set down on the table.

The conversations always started the same way, friendly, full of tender whispers that spoke of want and yearning IloveyouImissedyouhowwasyourday? Conversation, sometimes interrupted by a short flare up of anger and jealousy, eventually quieting down, finally giving way to the part that Michael equally awaited and dreaded.

Linc’s voice seemed to dip, the words became slower and more drawn out, the tone deeper and huskier. Almost like an underlying purr hidden underneath that voice that always sent shivers down Michael’s spine. He groaned in frustration and shifted to press his raging hard on deeper into the mattress as he buried his face in his pillow. That voice, that tone, was something so intrinsically linked with his childhood, his puberty, he could never block it out, no matter how hard he tried. Too many nights spent lying in bed, listening to that voice seep through the walls, filling their whole little apartment, as Lincoln tried to sweettalk some girl out of her panties and out of her inhibitions in the other room. That voice that always seemed to drip dirty and forbidden words, like *fuck*, *lick* and *cock*, no matter what was actually being said.

“Fuck,” was what Michael finally said as well as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Sitting still for a moment he massaged his neck with one hand, the voice still teasing like a maddeningly intangible silken scarf being pulled through his ears, like dark golden honey being poured into his brain. For a split second he imagined himself walking over to the kitchen, ripping the phone from Lincoln’s hand, smashing it into the wall for it to beak into a thousand pieces, before bending his brother over the table and fucking him till they both passed out. His mouth went dry and throbbing ache between his legs crossed the line towards unbearable as the tantalizing image danced behind his eyes, even as his brain told him that he wouldn’t be able to hold Linc down for even a minute if his brother didn’t *let* him.

His body seemed to be on autopilot as he pushed himself up and his feet dragged him towards the kitchen. No door separated the kitchen from the living room. Linc took it down years ago after their mother passed out next to the stove and they didn’t even consider looking for her for 2 hours, too wrapped up in their children’s games and Sunday morning cartoons.

With a deep sigh he pressed his head against the wall, next to the doorframe. With his eyes closed, he could see the Lincoln’s face, twisted in anger, eyes determined, the sound of wood splintering as Linc took the fireaxe to it. His mouth went dry.

His brother, so close, he could swear he could hear every single breath, could hear the sound of hands sliding over exposed, quivering flesh as he talks to her, tells her of all the places he wants to fuck her in and promises her so many nights.

Michael gripped the doorframe tighter and for a moment he imagined himself, walking in there. His breathing grew ragged as he pictured himself leaning against the counter, his brother’s eyes widening in surprise as he took in the sight of Michael's erection, straining against his shorts. He would go down on his knees and make his way over there, crawling on all fours, slowly. He would dig his fingers into his brother’s thighs and take the heavy, straining cock into his mouth before Lincoln could react. He imagined the way he would let his teeth rake against the sensitive skin, a subtle threat should his brother try to pull away and flee.

Even in his dreams Linc fought him, tried to rise from his chair, but Michael would hook his fingers around the chair’s legs, forcing him to stay in place, sucking the cock deeper in his throat. In his fantasy the phone would clatter to the floor at that point and he would start to hum deep in his throat, causing Lincoln to moan and trash around.

In reality he was still right outside their dingy little kitchen, his back against the wall now, his legs spread as he worked himself furiously with both hands, imagining that he was matching his brother stroke for stroke. He could tell that Lincoln was close now, his voice trailed off, the sentences lost themselves in gasps. When he finally came, he was as silent as Linc was not.

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Thanks to halfshellvenus for suggestions and beta.