Your skin whispers against mine, you are hungry, as always.
Craving for me.
Never in bright daylight, never with all those people around us, never.
Just when the party is over,
when you are too drunk to remember,
when my girlfriend is passed out somewhere,
when I’m tired and my defences are down.
Then I shiver under your clumsy touches and the display of your affection becomes more than brotherly love, then your lips burn on my flesh and your fingertips ghost over the bare skin under my shirt.

It’s always the same. I cringe from the heavy odour of alcohol in your breath, I weakly try to push you away, but in the end I always give in. Always.
I struggle a little bit more then usual, because I’m tired of this game, tired of your helpless desire, tired of your drunken courage, tired of your regrets and vows to never do THAT again in the next morning. Tired of you saying “sorry”.
Because I’m not.
Secretly I’m always waiting for you, you faithful little brother, mixing your drinks stronger than mine, to break your resolve and make me remember every second of this stolen moments, when you are mine, when you surrender to temptation, surrender to me.
I watch you becoming slightly tipsy, I watch you becoming drunk, I watch your gestures become awkward, I listen to your accent becoming thicker, you words becoming slurred, I feel your gaze on my flesh, feel the longing, feel the denial, feel you giving in.

You probably know, what I’m doing.
Making you drunk.
Making you weak to the temptation that is me.
I am beautiful. Sensual. I know this and I use it against you.
Usually your stubbornness and your fear of eternal damnation are keeping you away from me.
Not tonight.
With a sweet smile I hand you a drink. Half-half. Half Vodka, half whatever, I don’t care.
You accept it with a knowing smirk and walk away from me, retreating in the crowd.
I’m patient.
You always come back.

Lucas and I sit on the meadow of your backyard, we have agreed, that the party became a little too much. I pet his head and we look up to the stars over the pine trees and enjoy the almost silence. Noises are filtering through the night air, music, laughter and a scream now and then.
You will find us.

I hear your footsteps. Tilting my head I listen closely. You are coming closer and you are really drunk. Lucas jumps up and analyses you, too. Deciding, that he doesn’t like the mood you are in, because you are ignoring him, because your eyes are fixed on me, he runs off, back to the house to let himself getting petted by random people and maybe chew on some shoes.
You almost fall as you try to sit down next to me.
Amused I watch you struggle with your stupid legs and sigh softly as I picture them wrapped tightly around my waist, drawing me closer, deeper. They are perfect like this.
I love them.
You still avoid eye contact, staring at the ground, fiddling with some blades of grass. Still nervous, still uncertain. So I take the first step, giving in to the first impulse.
I grab your ruffled ponytail, tugging hard, forcing you on your back, straddling your waist and kiss you. It’s not sweet or romantic, it never was and never will be. Teeth and growls and a droplet of blood. First you fight me, then you give in. As always.

I lock the door and look at you. Your pupils are dilated in the dark of your bedroom, mingling with the dark of your irises, obscuring your expression, but your body speaks of desire and fear. You are kinda homophobic. Displaying a picture of too perfect heterosexuality, too eager to cover up the craving, you got for me. You never showed any interest into other men than me. Maybe you are just “Jeff-sexual”, like you said once teasingly, laughing your pain away. The woman you date are too female. Long, perfectly manicured fingernails, big tits, pretty, long slender legs and pearly laughter, eager to please you, displaying a vulnerable fragility.
I’m not like that at all. Strong, confident, dominant, perfectly male.
You like it, when I hold you down, showing dominance and strength, claiming you, physically and mentally.

I love the strangled moan escaping your mouth, when I penetrate you. I love the expression of vulnerability, of disbelieving amazement on your face.
I love the soft arch of your brows and your parted lips, the flaring of your nostrils. You almost look pained, but I know, that you are not. I patiently prepared your body to accept me.
Your legs are wrapped around my waist, like they always were, keeping me in place, keeping me from moving as you force yourself to relax with every shuddering breath you take.
Whimpering softly you cling to me, burying your face in the crook of my neck.
I know, that your eyes are clenched shut, it’s always like this and you hesitantly encourage me to move with a roll of your hips, finally taking the last inch in.
First I let you have your way, let you dictate the pace and depth of penetration. Slow, so slow and gentle…, until I can’t take it anymore and all the hurt turns into aggression.
I grab your arms and release myself from your constricting embrace. Pinning your wrists to the mattress I fuck you hard and mercilessly, never closing my eyes, greedily taking in the image of your writhing body under mine.
I don’t care, that you are just half-hard, that’s the price you have to pay, if you let alcohol take all your doubts away for one night of forbidden pleasure.

In the end you came with a soft broken sound, that gave my shivers and your clenching insides took me over the edge, too.
You have passed out completely, letting me behind with all those gritty details of sticky aftermath. My withdrawing, softening cock is followed by a dribble of cum, sweat made our skin stick together and you came all over your belly and mine.
With a sigh I get up and retrieve some paper tissues, cleaning you and me.
You are looking royally fucked. Sweaty, flushed and so fucking vulnerable and fragile.
Your choked, whispered confession of love still lingers in the room, resounds in my emptiness and fills it with bittersweet pain.
Ten years. Since ten years it’s always the same.

I lie awake next to you, my skin still tingling from your touch and wait for the dawn. You will start to panic, accusing me, then yourself, then you will plead for forgiveness, first mine, then God’s and I will listen to your rants, will watch you pace through the room and tell myself:
It’s better then nothing.