“You won’t, do you hear me? No matter what, you won’t. I would never allow that to happen. Even if it takes them a while to come around, I’ll make sure they see how right we are for each other.”
Isaac nodded slowly, and I wanted nothing more than for him to believe me, but I knew words wouldn’t do the trick. We just needed to be us, to find that thing between us that had been unexplainably strong from the start. That thing that we could always go back to because it was so damn right, nothing felt hopeless when we had it.
“Let me draw you here, Isaac. Take off your clothes, and let me draw you in this place that has always been ours.”
He pushed the blanket off, then lifted his hips, tugging his shorts and underwear down and dropping them to the floor. “How do you want me?”
“Partway on your side and your back, facing me. One arm bent under your head… Yeah, just like that,” I said when he moved into position. “Put your top leg straight and bend the bottom one toward me.”
He was soft, his cock lying in the thatch of coarse hair at his groin. I reached for him, laid his dick so it was against the thigh of his bent leg.
“Like that. Goddamn, that’s perfect. You’re so fucking beautiful, Isaac.”
“So are you. I’ll try to hold this position, but I can promise you, my dick isn’t going to stay soft, especially because if I’m naked, you have to be too.”
I grinned. His answer was so Isaac and so fucking perfect.
I jerked my shorts off, then sat cross-legged on the bed, facing him. I flipped to a clean page, even though I’d already been drawing Isaac in his sleep. My erection was already starting to plump, blood rushing to my cock as I took him in, as I brushed the tip of the pencil across the paper.
“You should have drawn me this way when we were teenagers. Did you get hard so quickly then?” He reached an arm over, wrapped a hand around me, and gave my dick a leisurely stroke.
“If I saw you naked, I would have. Plus, I know what your hole feels like around my cock; of course I’m gonna get excited when I see you laid out for me. Now stop moving so I can draw.”
Isaac chuckled and did. It wasn’t the best I’d ever done. My hand shook slightly, and I wanted to suck him and fuck him and be taken by him while I also needed to ingrain this moment into my mind and memorialize it on paper.
There were too many things at once, and they all came from Isaac, the way everything always circled around him, the way I wanted it to be.
I worked quickly, the scratch, scratch, scratch of my pencil on paper a constant comfort. No matter how hard I tried, I knew I would never get it right, could never perfectly capture Isaac because he was too damn incredible to replicate.
He stayed as still as he could for a long time. I missed when he moved in closer, until his head was in my lap, and he flicked his tongue over the tip of my erection, sucked it into his mouth, then kissed it. “Sorry. Precum. I need you on my tongue.”
“That was maybe the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me,” I said, and he grinned my favorite grin.
“I need to up my game, then.”
“I don’t know if I’ll survive it. Now get back into position.” He didn’t have to stay still, not really. I knew every contour of Isaac’s body, every dip and groove of muscle, every valley and bone. “Next time I’m going to draw you jerking off, draw you right before you come, when your back is arched and your mouth is open in ecstasy. When your eyes roll back and that first spurt of cum shoots out of you and paints your chest.”
“Jesus, Lane.” His hand dropped down, and he gave his dick a few pulls.
His eyes were glazed over with lust as he watched me memorialize him. I couldn’t get over it, that Isaac looked at me that way, that he wanted me so much, that he loved me.
It was ridiculous how much pleasure I got out of seeing him there, out of drawing his cock and the springy hair between his legs. Out of how the muscles flexed in his thighs and the sadness mixed with adoration and lust in his gaze.
This moment, drawing him and being with him, somehow helped the melancholy, and I was glad we’d found a way to lessen it in each other’s company.
Every once in a while he would smile at me, stroke his cock or mine. We both would soften, but then he’d make a sound or play with himself, or me, and we’d get hard again.
“Scratch, scratch, scratch. I love that sound,” he said as my pencil moved across the paper. “Sounds like home.”
It was my turn to say, “Jesus, Isaac,” because damn, this man owned me. I’d spend the rest of my life earning his love.
I looked at the sketch, wished it was better, wished I could do Isaac justice, knew I could have taken all night and I wouldn’t have, but still, he was so fucking beautiful. For so many years he’d been my muse, my inspiration, giving this and himself to me.
“Let me see it,” Isaac said, bringing me back to the moment with him. When Isaac reached for it, I let him take the book from my hand. Watched him while he looked at my drawing. Held my breath, waiting for his reply.
“It’s rushed. I didn’t want to take too long. I—”
“You’re incredible,” he cut me off. Isaac danced the tips of his fingers along the page, the way he’d done with the painting too. “Being your muse is great for my already inflated ego.”
“Are you sure it can get any bigger?” I teased.
“Oh, what is this? Are you doubting me, Lane? That’s very naughty of you…but then, you’re also drawing me naked in our parents’ house, so I guess that’s par for the course?”
“You bring it out in me.” I pulled the pad from his hand and set it on the table beside us. “I like being bad with you.” I straddled him, Isaac rolling to his back.
“What else do you like doing with me?”
I grinned. “Annoying you. What are brothers for?” Despite our situation and our worries, fire flared in his eyes when I said that. It was…hot in a way, a sexy way to play, but then I buried my hands in his armpits and began to tickle him. It was Isaac’s secret, how ticklish he was, and he started to laugh and buck me off him, but I held my ground.
He wiggled and arched until my hands fell away. I couldn’t control him and tickle him at the same time.
Isaac flipped me, lay on top of me.
“You’re going to get us caught,” I said.
“Me? Who was the one torturing me?”
“Who was the one laughing? I like making you do that. I like that I can do it better than anyone else.”
He was still on top of me, but I went for his underarms again. Isaac fought me off, the two of us wrestling around in the squeaky couch bed. It was dangerous, and we really should have stopped, but I loved having fun with him. Loved enticing this kind of reactions from him. Wanted to bring out this Isaac rather than the one who’d been so hurt from his nightmare or our situation.
I was getting harder by the second. Isaac’s cock dripped precum onto my belly. The look in his eyes changed then, primal and hungry, ready to take what he wanted, and damned if I didn’t want to take from him too.
“Shall I shut you up?” he said, pushing farther up onto his knees, leaning over me, holding his cock while he traced my lips. “We’re going to have to be quiet. If I have to use my dick to do it, so be it. I want you too much not to have you here.”