Hot Like Me

Part IX: "Collarbone Logic"


The front door slammed closed behind Jake. Harley and Trey were alone, the pair of them still lolling around on the foyer floor in a drunken, laughing stupor.

Harley was the first to gain a modicum of composure. He rolled onto his back, stretched out his long legs, and propped himself up on his elbows. "You want something to drink?"

Trey giggled. "Sure, why not. Race you to the liquor cabinet."

They scrambled from the floor, sliding awkwardly on the polished hardwood, elbowing each other as they made a frantic break for the kitchen.

Trey, the bigger, faster, and more athletic, reached the cupboard over the sink first. He pulled out the half-empty bottle of Patrón and a bottle of Scotch. As drunk as they were already, he figured they'd better stick with what they were drinking and not mix. The Scotch in their cupboard wasn't a single malt, nor was it anywhere near as expensive as the potion Jake had been feeding him all night, but it was good enough to make due. He opened another cupboard door and pulled out two tall, crystal iced tea glasses, pouring himself a full glass of Scotch and Harley a glass of tequila. Harley picked up his tumbler and toasted his brother.

Trey clinked his glass against Harley's, both of them taking a long, thirsty drink of their strong alcoholic beverages. "I dunno about this," Trey said with a crooked grin. "I'm already kind of fucked up."

His younger brother smiled. "Me too. Let's get fucked upper."

Trey burst out laughing at his brother's terribly cute mangling of the English language, spitting a spray of Scotch onto his brother's black wife-beater. "'Fucked upper'? You shoulda gone to college, little brother."

Harley shook his head, the golden curls falling about his shoulders. "Nope. I had over a million bucks in the bank by the time I was twenty. Pretty beats smart, any day of the week."

Trey considered his brother. "You are pretty, you know," he said quietly, awfully drunk but suddenly sounding awfully sober. "I know how much you hate it when people say that about you, but you really are." He reached over and gently brushed a long, wayward tangle of curls behind Harley's ear with his fingertips.

"I don't hate it when you say it." Harley shivered and blushed, and turned around to face the cabinets. Setting his glass down, he gripped the edge of the Italian marble countertop with both hands, steadying himself against the alcohol and the sudden infusion of emotion.

Trey reached around Harley, setting his glass of Scotch on the counter next to his brother's tequila. He stood behind the younger man for minutes, just looking at him - watching the way his back rose and fell with each breath, admiring the way his waist curved in so beautifully between his ribcage and his hips, the way those leather pants hugged his ass and thighs, the way the gold-dusted, light-brown curls swept over the lovely, soft, pale skin at the base of his neck, falling nearly to his shoulder blades now.

Harley had that feeling, the one where you know someone is staring at you even though you can't see them. "Trey?" he whispered.

"Harley," his older brother replied softly.

"What are you doing?"

"Just looking at you."

"How come?"

Trey swallowed hard. "'Cause I'm afraid to touch you."

Harley's eyes fluttered closed, his long lashes tickling his cheeks. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm really drunk, Harley."

"Me too. So?"

"I thought we agreed we weren't gonna do this anymore." Trey was glad that his brother's back was to him, so that he couldn't see the pained look on his face.

Harley sighed, nodding his head sadly. "Yes, we did."

Less than a week earlier they'd had 'The Talk' - the discussion where Trey had told his brother he simply couldn't continue with this, that the guilt it produced in him was just too much to deal with any longer. Harley had indeed agreed, reluctantly so, only because he thought that's what Trey had wanted - had needed - to hear. He hadn't meant it, not a single word of it, but as he'd do anything to make his brother happy, he'd agreed anyway. No more sex, no more touching like that, no more intimacy. Neither of them had been ready to move out, not even out of the bedroom they shared - a complete separation would have been too much for either of them to bear - so they'd agreed to go back to just being brothers again. Perhaps closer than most, and with a tinge of jealously remaining at the thought of the other being involved with different people, but merely brothers nonetheless.

"I'm really drunk, Harley," Trey repeated, his voice catching around the lump in his throat.

Harley smiled; a warm, hopeful smile. "Me too." He felt warm hands on his shoulders, sliding over his skin, fingers reaching over to trace the curves of his collarbones.

Trey had always loved Harley's collarbones, nearly to the point of worship. The younger man had thought it rather weird at first, his older brother's fascination with a part of his anatomy that he'd never himself considered even remotely noticeable, much less sexy or sensuous. That was, however, until their third or fourth time in bed together, when Trey had dedicated the better part of an hour to that part of him; touching and tracing the sharp, delicate bones with his fingers, sucking on them, dipping his tongue and licking into the deep hollows above them.

It had been - by far - the most sensual, erotic thing that had ever happened to Harley. At the time, he'd thought that he'd never again experience that sensation, that overwhelming feeling of having such an inconsequential part of himself being so catered to, so loved, so adored and desired.

Harley was wrong. Dead wrong. He felt it again right now, just as strong and heady, just as erotic and as overpowering as it had felt that very first time.

He whimpered, a bleating heartbreak of a sound, as Trey's fingertips lightly caressed his collarbones.

~~~~

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© Copyright 2006 Justin Tyler. All rights reserved. Publication or distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of Justin Tyler.
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