Pull of His Heart

I miss the sound of your voice
And I miss the rush of your skin
And I miss the still of the silence
As you breathe out and I breathe in

Bill's gone, Tom thinks to himself. He's a perfectly capable and independent human being, but the pull on his heart every time he remembers Bill is more than a few hours away and on a completely different continent makes him realise that Bill is essentially gone to him. At least for the time being.

It hurts.

Tom misses everything about his twin. He misses the way Bill just lies on the couch on their off days, dressed in sweatpants and one of Tom's old shirts (on the days when he wears a shirt at all), his long legs spread out at ridiculous angles over their fashionable furniture. Bill just snoozes there while Tom watches TV or strums his guitar, quietly so he doesn't wake the dozing beauty beside him. He misses the way Bill sometimes wakes up humming, eyelids fluttering open with his eyes already focused on Tom, like even with his eyes closed Bill can still see him, see right through his chest and see the way Tom's heart beats for him.

Bill's creeping, ghostly touches still linger on Tom's skin from the night before he left, and he so desperately misses Bill's body, too. The near-palpable love that Tom feels for Bill almost breaks him when they touch, even just simple brushes of skin as they pass each other in the hall send a flood of hormones rampant through Tom's body. And though those are strong, they're nothing compared to when Bill fucks Tom; the careful press of Bill's cock into Tom's all-too-willing body lights a fire inside his belly, endorphins rushing through his bloodstream to bring him closer to his twin. His Bill. His other half who has left him to sit in a troubled silence with nobody but the dogs for company. Tom does so love the dogs, but Bill is the one he's always willing to devote his whole heart to.

So come on get higher, loosen my lips
Faith and desire and the swing of your hips
Just pull me down hard and drown me in love

I miss the sound of your voice, the loudest thing in my head
And I ache to remember all the violent, sweet, perfect words that you said

Since Bill's gone, Tom's left all alone with his hand, for who knows how long. Bill is due to return 'whenever management let him' apparently, until that unspecified day he's at their mercy; rushing around under the pretence of planning a birthday party, but really just a pretty commodity they can flash around in America. A celebrity long-forgotten by the hearts of teenage girls there.

Tom's heart would never forget him, though. Nor would his hand.

On late nights, when Bill hasn't been able to call or even message, Tom slips into Bill's bed, which still smells of his strong cologne, and sometimes even just hints of that skin-and-soap smell that Tom so adores. He drags down his sweatpants over his hips and just lies there a moment, naked and imagining that Bill is watching him as he so often does, trying to decide if Bill is thinking about him as much as he is thinking about Bill.

For his own sanity, Tom decides that he is, and he shuts his eyes, the movie playing behind his eyelids a perfect representation of Bill walking towards him, nude and perfect, humming their own personal love song as he swings his hips. Tom loves to watch Bill's hips move; he's got the perfect mix of feminine sway and masculine strut, so distinct that every modelling agency wants him, but only Tom is allowed to touch.

His eyes still shut, Tom pushes a hand down his body, caught up in the sight and sound of a missing Bill, wrapping the hand around his cock and ignoring everything else. His other hand reaches out for the blanket, a pillow, anything that he knows Bill has touched and he can press to his face, a tiny Bill-scented remnant of the twin he so wishes he could have. Tom wants Bill to touch him, imagines that it's Bill's hand stroking his cock instead of his own, Bill's proper and real body wrapped around his own from behind, instead of just the pile of fluffed up pillows Bill insists on decorating his bed with. Running his thumb over the tip of his cock and rubbing insistently at the slit, Tom arches up into his hand and wants Bill more than ever before. Tom wants so desperately his temptation, unclothed and dancing before his closed eyes and simultaneously filling him, touching every part of his body. He wants to be so smothered by Bill that he could die, but then at that last second he is pulled back, his every neuron firing a message of desirous release and he comes, eyes flying open, pupils dilated and imprinted with the image of Bill.

But he's still not there. Tom's still alone. So every night, despite being an adult who has no right to miss his brother like a lonely child, Tom curls around Bill's pillow and listens for the sound of Bill's voice, a haunting and bodiless fabrication of his mind that lulls him to sleep. Tom's only regret on those nights is that he can't find Bill's voice, he can only hear his tones and hums and moans, but none of Bill's words ever slip from between his pleasure-dreamt lips.

I miss the pull of your heart
I taste the sparks on your tongue
I see angels and devils and god when you come on

It's more than a week before Tom gets news that he's being flown out to America to see Bill and celebrate their birthday. Oh, he thinks, there'll be a celebration. The remaining few days go past in a blur of wishes and fervent touches and shattered moans as the Bill in Tom's head consoles him, telling him with his fingers that they'll be together so soon.

The moment Tom lands Bill is there, crowding against him at the airport like their dogs after a long day of recording, hugging him tightly and ignoring the thousands of camera flashes around them. Tom's so inclined to just press Bill against a wall there and then, to rut against him until they both come undone in a ridiculous, passionate mess, but he knows that then a million fangirls would die of pleasure and a million more of disgust. So instead Tom just hugs Bill as a brother, whispering promises and desires into his ear, delighting in the feel of Bill's heartbeat beneath his ribs, the strong and proper scent of Bill rushing into his nostrils as Tom can finally touch him again. It's so much better in real life.

They're both forced to look like they care about which casino they go to and which reporters see them, but they take every moment they can find to just be with each other; rubbing their pinky fingers together or speaking in low voices about anything and everything. Just being in Bill's presence makes Tom's heart light up, like it's finally gotten its other piece back. So when they return to the hotel room set up for them, twin doubles like they always request, Tom follows the drag from Bill's heart until he's touching Bill's body the way he spent the last weeks dreaming about.

Tom looks into Bill's eyes for just a moment before Bill's nibbling at his lips, little jolts of pleasure travelling from them to his cock, slowly rising in his jeans and pushing against Bill's leg as Tom ruts against him. Their kisses are something he's missed so desperately - along with everything else - so Tom tries to slow Bill's fierce attacks on his face, wanting to feel him. Bill won't let him, though; he presses harder and nudges his thigh between Tom's own, encouraging Tom's animalistic thrusting like it's the only thing keeping him alive. Tom has to shake his head to remind himself that he can live without Bill's touch, but the knowledge that he just doesn't want to keeps pushing his desperate thoughts out, and he sinks into Bill's touch.

Bill pulls Tom to the bed and sits him down on it, backing away to strip off his clothes, a tight tank top and jeans so incredibly inappropriate in so many ways. Tom's almost frothing with desire once Bill is finally naked, and his eyes are drawn to Bill's erect cock settled between those hips that are sashaying towards him, forcing him to palm his own cock to keep from coming already. He's so turned on at the sight of Bill after so long that he could come in his jeans like a teenager, but he wants to feel Bill's touch on his skin before he does, so he drags his jeans down and kicks them off, pulling his shirt over his head and miraculously escaping without getting stuck.

Kissing him again, Bill pushes Tom down onto the bed and Tom feels the sparks this time, oh yes he does. Bill's cock is aligned with his now and Bill is pushing against him like his rational brain has flown out the window and all he's left with are his instincts to fuck Tom like he never has before. Tom decides that he's definitely not going to argue with that sentiment and thrusts back, falling into a slightly out-of-sync rhythm that makes him think that maybe their time apart has broken them a little, and they'll never be able to fit together just right again. But then they find their rhythm and their touches are perfect, foreskin sliding up and down as they rut against each other, tongues twining in the hot space between their mouths and everything is suddenly so much more amazing than Tom's hand.

Tom pushes Bill away, though, met with a whine and wide eyes, pupils dilated so far that his eyes are almost entirely black. It takes Tom a moment to ready himself, so far gone that he could just hump Bill until he comes, but after he calms himself he rolls them both over so he's on top of Bill and rises up onto his knees, trusting that Bill will know what he wants. When Bill looks up at him with a knowing smile Tom knows that he understands, and he gets up, steadfastly ignoring his cock so he'll last long enough to come with Bill, and finds the lube hidden in the gigantic pockets of his jeans. He'd been prepared since he stepped onto the plane.

Once back on the bed, kneeling atop Bill, Tom pops the cap on the tube and slathers lube over his fingers, reaching back to rub them over his hole and put on the kind of show he knows Bill loves, and hopes Bill has missed. He presses his middle finger in first, taking it slow because he's been unstretched since last time he saw Bill, but fast enough that the hints of frustration on Bill's face don't grow into something more. Soon Bill is panting beneath him just from the show, his cock twitching where it lies against his belly, and Tom is writhing above him, four fingers inside himself, twisting to make sure that he can accommodate Bill's cock. He wants this to be the perfect reunion.

Tom removes his fingers and looks down at Bill, attaching his mouth to Bill's before lowering himself down onto Bill's cock. He watches appreciatively - his own eyes certainly as dark as Bill's - as Bill gasps at the sensation, and Tom clenches around his cock, desperate to bring Bill to his own level of nearly-peaking arousal. Bill moans, thrusting up into the tight space that Tom has always maintained was for him and him alone. The sensation coursing through Tom is so intense it's nearly painful; any more than a day or so without Bill is a long time for Tom, so more than a week has left him unfamiliar with the gorgeous feeling of his brother inside him.

Tom's so turned on that he knows he's going to come soon and he can't possibly stop it, so he clamps down around Bill again, wringing another moan from his beautifully flushed brother. Desperately, he whimpers "hold on, hold on", willing his orgasm to hold off until he can come as Bill does; the best part of being fucked by his brother.

Moments later, moments that always feel like they've been approaching for his whole life, Tom feels the familiar tensing in his stomach and balls, and leans down to kiss Bill, knowing he can't hold off any longer. Bill leans up to kiss him at the same moment and their lips join just as Tom releases all over Bill's stars, moaning into Bill's mouth as Bill arches up one last time into Tom's body. He loses himself inside Tom as Tom has so wished for him to the whole time they've been separated. Tom lets Bill's lip fall from between his teeth and moans as he comes down, vocally thanking every possible god for what he had. Bill just lies below him, sated and happy and humming that song that haunts Tom's dreams, his dark hair fanned out over the pillow the best it can, his brown eyes heavily lidded as he waits out his afterglow with his softening cock still inside Tom's body.

It's all wrong
It's all wrong
It's so right

Come on get higher
Come on and get higher
Because everything works, love

They end up wound around each other in the one bed, of course, as though they're penguins huddling and crowding to keep warm in the cold. Bill snores as Tom takes a moment to get past his thoughts; the same thoughts that always haunt him after their trysts. Is it right for them to do what they do? Illegality aside, morals aside, is it right or okay for their relationship if they spend most nights twined like lovers? Twined as lovers? Tom's stomach tightens with dread and he turns carefully to look at Bill, his legs stretched out as they are when he relaxes on their couch, his eyes shut and his face peaceful in sleep.

Tom's been through every idea: that it's so wrong it's right, that it can't hurt anybody because they're both male, they can't get pregnant, that it just makes sense because they were separated at birth and doomed to spend the rest of their lives trying to find a way to crawl back inside each other, to live as one. But none of them come close to the sheer feeling of rightness as he lies in Bill's arms, his head pillowed on Bill's skinny bicep. It's nothing but right, and Tom drifts off to sleep with a smile playing around his lips, repeating to himself that everything works in your arms.

--

All song lyrics copyright to Matt Nathanson, from 'Come On Get Higher'.