I never imagined things would turn out this way.

They weren't supposed to. Hell, I'm not sure how they were supposed to turn out. I don't think they were supposed to 'turn out' at all, it was just meant to be something that happened, with no consequences. That's how everything's supposed to be when you're young, you do things and leave them behind, because they're not relevant anymore. You don't believe anyone when they tell you the things you do will come back to haunt you.

Or come back to haunt me, at any rate. They don't seem to bother you too much. I can see all the storms that pulse and rage within you, and maybe you don't have enough left to be bothered by this particular mistake. Maybe it wasn't a mistake for you, it looks like it worked out exactly the way it was supposed to for you.

I envy you.

Not overall, you understand. I wouldn't want to struggle with the things that close in on you in the dark, but I wish this one thing could have worked for me the way it did for you.

I'm glad at least that we've never been uncomfortable about it. You still hug me and kiss me, and pet my hair (seriously, man, that's kinda gay), and do generally annoying big brother stuff, just like you always have. I'm relieved every time you touch me, because it proves you're not ashamed or embarrassed about the things we used to do. But it still makes my fucking skin crawl.

Sometimes I can lose myself in my woman, enough so that this shit isn't on my mind anymore. That girl's a saint. She doesn't know about us, of course, but she knows about other things I did - back in the early days, when fame was all a whirlwind and the rats were too much to resist, because I didn't understand yet how unimportant all that is. I don't deserve the loyalty she gives me, but at least I've learned what it means now.

You still think that stuff's important, of course. The fame, the money... that's what you tell yourself anyway. It has to be important, because you can't afford to let anything else be. I've wondered from time to time if that's why you're still okay with the games we used to play, because not being okay with it is too terrible to contemplate, but that's just wishful thinking on my part.

Normal people wouldn't call them games, but that was the whole point of playing them, wasn't it? We were wild and untameable and spontaneous, and disregarding society's rules proved how outrageous we were. We were beautiful and decadent, and we could revel in that and each other's perfect bodies, and it didn't matter because we were above the world's petty taboos. We'd always known we weren't going to do it forever, it was always something unimportant we did simply to prove that we could.

Things changed, of course, as other things and people came into our lives. When I had Beth and you had Amy, it had stopped altogether. No great disaster or anything, we just both knew we had other things we should be devoting ourselves to. You were still the same as ever, but it was already too late for me.

I didn't know why. I couldn't put my finger on it but I knew something was wrong. Like something was nagging at me, trying to get my attention, but my mind had its fingers in its ears. So to speak.

I still wanted you. There would be moments when I'd see the muscles in your back rippling or that calculating smile, and I'd have the most powerful urge to touch and taste you. I figured you probably had the same desire at times, I didn't think much of it. Not until you broke up with Amy.

You were angry at first. God, you were SO angry, and you were magnificent. Don't get me wrong, you were acting like a prick, but you seemed so full of strength and vitality and sheer masculine power, you made me dizzy. That commanding, harsh edge (no pun intended) in your voice had me so hard, so hungry for you.

But eventually you ran out of steam. Your anger faded and instead of the dark, potent god of war who made me itch with carnal need, there was just a man. A tired, jaded man, who would put up sturdier barriers as soon as he found the strength, and make goddamn sure nobody would get close enough to do that to him again. But I still wanted you.

Gee, that was such a fun revelation.

I get pissed at you sometimes. You started the whole damn thing with your fucking stupid dares and taunts, and I was too stubborn and too proud to let you make me back down. You thought it was funny that you could annoy me to the point where I'd suck you off, just to prove you were wrong when you said I didn't have the balls to do it. You were the one who said that hey, since we've already crossed that bridge, we may as well keep doing it. It's not a big issue, we're not like other people, we can do this shit and not have it fuck us up. While we have young and beautiful bodies at our disposal, we may as well make the most of them. Well, thanks a lot.

I'm never mad at you for long. I know this wasn't what you intended, and that you wouldn't have made those dares if you'd known what it would end up doing to me. It seemed harmless at the time. It was meant to be all about sex and our over-active urges and how hot we were.

I was never supposed to fall in love with you.

And yet, here we are. We're older, and responsibility has caught up with us. The baggage we carry and the lessons we've learned have etched themselves on our faces so we'll never forget and, if you don't mind me saying so, they've etched themselves much more deeply into yours than into mine. You're not ageing well, bro - but when I look at you the desire to claim you is stronger than it ever was when you were 22 and breathtakingly sexy.

I'll never tell you about it, of course. You're cool with the fact that we repeatedly fucked each other insensible, but this is a totally different ballgame. You don't do love. You think you do, but you're too insecure for that. You can't take the risk that you'll lose out again. To be honest, I'm even kinda surprised you let Amy get that close, you've always been wary about losing people.

If I told you, everything would change. You wouldn't be able to help moving your barriers to make sure I was on the outside, and I'd lose the brotherly relationship that miraculously survived all the dirty things we did to each other. Nobody will ever know about my ridiculous feelings, especially not you.

Life will carry on exactly the same. Beth and I will rumble along, and maybe eventually I can convince her to give me a couple of babies to dote on. Don't get the idea that I don't love her, 'cause I do, and passionately so - it's just that I love you too. Hey, I don't make the rules. I don't even know what they are.

I think you'll probably be a dad too. Someday you'll find some girl who fits your definition of the perfect woman, which is to say, a lingerie model who worships the ground you walk on, but doesn't give you crap over the fact that you don't really see her as anything more than an unusually talkative pet. And you'll get married and she'll have a couple of kids, and they'll play with their cousins every day and never be any the wiser that Uncle Jeff is pining for their Daddy.

Part of me wishes I could go back and visit the youthful, naive me who was so sure we'd come out of this unscathed, and warn him how it would end. On the other hand, I've experienced things I would never normally have had a chance at. I've heard your voice trembling, thick with lust, and licked your sweat from your belly. I've seen your dominance as I've lain helplessly beneath you, and I've seen the naked, trusting vulnerability in your eyes when I've been moving inside you. At the time I thought it was hot; when I remember it now it seems almost sacred.

For all your insecurity, your fear, and your loneliness, I envy you. I envy your contentment with our relationship. If I suggested we get physical again now, I doubt you'd turn me away, but it would never be enough. There's nothing you could do to sate my longing for you.

For the most part, I think I handle it pretty well. I don't let it get me down, and I don't let it get the better of me. It all builds up though, till I feel like my heart is going to burst out of my chest if I don't say something. To you, to Beth, to Shannon, to the goddamn mailman, it doesn't really matter. The weight of this secret feels like it's going to break my back, and despite the fact that I can't tell anyone what's going on in my head, occasionally I just can't keep quiet about it anymore.

So I whisper all this to you from the other side of the room while you sleep, and I know tomorrow I'll feel better for having gotten it out of my system. It doesn't make it go away; it doesn't magically cure the tenderness I feel towards you that I know you wouldn't welcome. It eases the burden though, and in the morning I'll feel stronger and more able to carry this millstone around my neck.

If tonight fits into the usual pattern, I'll have maybe four or five months before the frustration of my need for you has reached this degree again, and then I have to repeat this empty gesture so I can keep my head. Ain't love grand?

Sweet dreams, big brother. I'd like to think that perhaps sometimes I'm in them.