FicWad

“Look, this is wrong!” I tried to stand firm on the matter, but couldn’t. I couldn’t help but feel this way, neither could he, it was as if nature had taken a controlling hand and forced us together, no matter what the situation was. We’d been together ever since my birth, why should it be unnatural? We have a bond so strong that people would frown upon. People would hate us. HATE. US. They’d frown, they’d tell us they disapprove, they’d show their disgust.

I hate the frowns. They make me feel dirty, they make me feel sick. I don’t need that, not now, not with the tour. Not with everything being the way it is. I’ve worked too damn hard to let something like this come in between my career, my music. All I want is for people to listen to the music; I want it to affect them, to help them. I don’t want them to hear one of my songs and think “He fucked his brother”

He fucked his brother. I fucked my brother. My skin crawls to think about what I let him do to me, what I want him to do to me. Thinking about it, I’d always loved him, always been in love with him. Wife or not, he was the one. He would always be the one. The public pressure was always something that mattered to me, even on the nights when he came in drunk I’d say no, put it down to the alcohol and lack of co-ordination.

He was behind me, looking for some attention. Attention from me. It’s not something I can give freely, not something I want to hold back. If someone were to see us as we are, they’d think that we were great. If they looked at us without any bias they’d see a couple, very much in love. With the bias, they’d see two men, two brothers willing to have sex with each other. I couldn’t give him what he wanted.

I wanted to reach for his hand. I wanted to feel his lips brush mine, I needed the feeling of his hands against the skin of my back, tracing slowly up and down my spinal cord, causing me to shiver further into his frame. But it’s not possible to always get what you want.

“It can’t be wrong, we both feel it” He was desperate for my opinion to steer towards his. He needed me to say that what we were doing was right, that it was normal. It isn’t, is it? He’s right. He’s always been right about this. We do both feel it, we both know each other inside out.

Oh Gee, why do you keep doing this to me? Why do you always make me feel like this? We go through it every time, but it always ends in the same way. It’s a fight to deny, but a triumph to hide. I’d shared my life with him from the beginning, why would people object to me spending the rest of it with him? But still, I maintained my argument to the bitter end.

“It’s just wrong, how could something like this ever be right?” I persisted. I couldn’t allow myself to give into this temptation again. Not only do I feel filthy, almost disgusted after doing it, I feel worse for wanting it again. Wanting him again. Knowing deep down that it was wrong on so many levels I wanted to stop it.

Deciding not to give in I looked deeper into my vanity mirror that was perched on the desk. It was neat and proper, as I imagined myself to be. I wouldn’t allow a stain to appear on anything I touched. I guess that’s why I feel so wrong. I’m dirtying Gerard, marking him with an unpleasant curse.

He was the stain in my life. The time that I’ve spent with him, doing things that I shouldn’t will be marked down as a sin and a blemish when I come to meet my maker. Whoever that may be.

Moving forward didn’t seem to work. He moved forward, marking my skin with his. Not able to help it, my skin crawled. Shivers went down my spine, he took it as a sign of pleasure, pushing me further.

“You know its right” He said, kissing the back of my neck, sliding his hand downwards to the small of my back. He was shaking his head, rolling it from one shoulder to the next, he was hurt. Resisting always hurt him. Giving in was his form of comfort.

I was stood in front of the desk that had been set up in my dressing room, unconsciously; I had locked the door after my brother had come into the room. I knew it had to happen again; it was only a matter of timing. Only a matter of waiting and wanting.

His hands were on my hips, they were pulling me close to him. His left hand moved round to my stomach as his lips travelled up to my ear. I couldn’t help it; I closed my eyes and bit my bottom lip. He knew what this meant. He picked up on what had happened. He went further moving his hand downwards towards my jeans, hovering over the brim.

“I know you want this, I know you want me” He whispered lightly my ear, warming my neck as his breath touched at me. I had to get away from him; I couldn’t allow this to happen.

I pulled away, not in disgust. I was torn, I could stay, let it lead to where it was definitely heading or I could go. I chose to leave. To leave him. I was adamant, adamant that it wouldn’t, couldn’t ever happen again. If anybody found out … Well, that doesn’t bear thinking about.

I rushed towards the door, fumbling for the key as I went. Pushing it into the lock, I could feel his eyes bore into the back of my head. I opened the door as quickly as possible, leaving quicker still, he went to follow but I pushed the door shut.

Leaning against the door I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and my breath was heavy and deep. I had done nothing strenuous but I felt as though I’d run a marathon. Why could love never be easy or straightforward?

Turning, I faced the door. I stared, all I could see was grey painted wood and a gold plated star. Hoping that if I stared long enough, if I stared hard enough, I’d be able to see his reaction. I knew that I’d hurt him, but I knew that there was no other choice.