True Bromance

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

*****

I'd seen Dylan like this a hundred times - desolate with heartache over some wonderful girl. Juliette, Amy, Lucy, whoever. I lost count, and can't remember all their names. It cut him up the same every time.

I hoped to find him happy and well when I stepped off the late train to Manchester. Smiling wide and sad, he gave me a big squeeze and made lame jokes. But I know him too well, and could see immediately that his luck in love had not improved since leaving home.

He wouldn't let me carry my sports bag, pushing me affectionately backwards when I tried to retrieve it.

"Is that my shirt?" he glowered, recognising his green Fred Perry polo, "Honestly, turn my back for fifteen minutes and you're going through all my stuff!"

I always liked this shirt, or at least Dylan made it look sexy.

"Nah, keep it, looks good on you bro," he granted, holding a pub door open.

We managed to laugh over the first pint, but by the second he was telling me about Joanne and how it hadn't worked out. His eyes began to glisten with those familiar tears and I hated her.

He'd never let me say anything mean (he was too much of a sweetheart to get bitter), but I thought they were all fucking thick in the head. My Big Brother Dylan was the most total babe you could dream of. And hot AF, with a broad Rugby-champ chest and little blonde hairs. How could they let him go?

Dylan sniffed and straightened himself up, trying to change the subject,

"What about you tho, Louis boi? Got any sweet action back home?"

I blushed and said I wasn't seeing anyone at the moment, being deliberately vague because at 19 I'd still never actually had a boyfriend yet.

"What? A handsome young buck like you still single? We need to get you laid!"

Dylan was so super supportive of me since I came out the year before, but he often overstepped in awkward ways like this.

"Hey, maybe we should date each other!" he guffawed, ruffing my hair.

I told him to shut up or something as I took our empties to the bar. But waiting to be served I couldn't help think that if Dylan wasn't my Brother I'd jump at the chance to be his boyfriend. He was so big and warm and lush. And he always smelled so good. His body smelled good. I'd never send him away in tears like all those stupid women.

I could see Dylan resolved to be cheerful when I returned with new drinks, and knowing he wanted to forget I bought several Sambucas.

"Louis, mate!" he chuckled, and took a snap of the teetering shot glasses for Instagram.

Before long we were properly drunk and Dylan was tugging me close with his hand clenched in a tight blokey fist. He always got sentimental when he drank, planting kisses on my cheek and swearing his fealty.

I don't know what made me do it. But when I knew the next kiss was coming I turned my head.

Our lips met, and Dylan opened up. Without the faintest flutter of resistance or shock we fell into one another's arms and kissed. Deep and passionate, swimming in the bliss of a love kept too long in doubt.

I'd hardly let myself even think it before now, but suddenly everything was clear. The way I looked up to Dylan was so much more than a little brother's admiration. My long glances at his body when he stepped from the shower had been more than adolescent fascination. I missed him with more than a familial bond now that he was gone. I was jealous of his women. I was pining for his touch.

I had always been in love with Dylan and in this moment I knew I wanted only him.

New fears crashed into my heart as our lips slowly parted. Did Dylan feel the same? Was this just some drunken mistake?

"Louis boi..." he panted, catching his breath, our eyes locked into each other, "Let me make love to you, Louis."

We stopped a dozen times under street lamps and in doorways to push and pash as we staggered back to his place. I couldn't hold him close enough. His hands, his face. I wanted his hands on me forever.

Falling into his sheets and enveloping myself in his bed scent was a wild dream. He threw his t-shirt off in single swing, revealing those broad pecs and the tattoo on his shoulder. Then he tumbled over me.

We kissed again, but he was impatient to get me naked. Clamped between his mighty thighs I remembered the horseplay of our childhood. How I'd missed his dominance. Happily he'd not lost any of his power, and pulled me around the mattress like the Heavyweight he'd always been.

"Wearing my clothes..." he chided, snatching his shirt off me with a grin.

Then he wrestled with the fly of my Levi's, batting my hand away because he wanted to do it himself. Soon he was yanking the jeans down my legs, and I hid my face with the strange shame of letting my Brother see the wet patches in my briefs.

It took me by gasping surprise then when I shivered with the tender lapping of his tongue on the cotton that coddled my glans. Dylan wanted to taste me! To sponge on the flavours in my underwear, caressing my thighs and running his fingertips over my balls.

Next his fingers went under the elastic of my Calvin's. I put my hands over my eyes again as he lay me bare.

"Aw, babe..." he chuckled, "look at your little budgie!"

My silly choad fit comfortably in his mouth and he took it all. He seemed happy down there a long while. My head spun with Sambuca and orgasmic flushes, still unable to believe this was happening.

"Take it all off," Dylan came up for air, dragging everything over my ankles.

Now only my socks remained, but he didn't seem to want rid of these.

SLAP! Dylan laid a cheeky hand on my ass. I was speechless but so turned on. I swear I might have cum right then if he spanked me twice.

"You want to feel a Big Man's dick?" he teased, whipping his fat boner out of his grey joggers and whirling it in the torrid air above me.

Of course I'd caught sight of my Brother's penis many times, but never had I been beckoned to it.

"Dylan!" I begged, finally drawing near for my turn to taste. His massive bell rubbed a salty drop of precum onto my tongue and I felt high.

He was so gentle with me, stroking my head as I explored the tip of his huge lovely dick. Perhaps he knew this was my first, but he didn't force himself in, or take more than I could give.

He'd always been a caring Big Brother, showing me how. Even if it was his first time too.

I was so drunk by now I didn't notice Dylan removing his pants. I only knew that we were suddenly both butt naked, held tight in his gorgeous embrace.

"I want to fuck you, baby..." Dylan whispered into my ear.

His great truncheon was already tucked between my cheeks. I nodded and he positioned me face down on his stinky quilt. I remember it hurt more than it thrilled that first go, but I wanted him to have me. I wanted him deep within me. (We'd get plenty of practice later. I didn't know how much I'd grow to love it yet).

After that we passed out.

He was still holding me tight when I woke. I hung in his arms, not wanting the moment to end.

"Fuck..." he groaned when he did finally wake, rolling on his back and pushing a palm over his forehead. The memories and realisations of the night before flooded visibly into his thoughts and he froze.

"Louis?" he asked, looking me fearfully in the eye.

I couldn't guess what he was thinking.

"Call me babe again," I dared.

"Oh, thank fuck for that!" he exhaled, drawing me close in a cuddle.

The sunny morning passed us by in our pillow talk, and we opened our hearts. I said I'd been scared of wanting him, he said he'd felt ashamed for wanting me. Then in fits of laughter we confessed dirty secrets.

I told him about the time I watched him masturbate through his bedroom window. It was night. He had his lights on bright and the curtain wide, laid back on his mattress with a fist around his magnificent shaft. I waited at the gate a whole ten minutes to see it through. I really hoped I would see it again, but he drew his curtains next time.

Dylan admitted to sniffing my dirty boxer briefs. I had a habit of leaving them on the bathroom rail when I washed. He'd go in after me and push them around under his nostrils till he found the sweet spot and jerk off with the smell.

Said he felt so hurt when I came out, thinking another boy would have me when he could not. I never guessed - always wearing a brave face. I curled back into his arms saying there could never be another boy, and we pashed anew. I wanted to prove it to him.

He rolled me on top, our brother balls pressed together sending an electric tingle through us both.

"You should move to Manchester!" he rattled excitedly, "No ones knows who you are, you could totally be my boyfriend here!"

I opposed the suggestion at first, but I couldn't pretend it didn't excite me. And Dylan went on exploring the idea from every angle, his imagination fizzing with possibilities.

It all seemed so mad, but he was right -no one had to know we were brothers. Dylan had a whole new bunch of Uni mates up here, he didn't hang out with anyone from back home anymore. Said his new mates might raise an eyebrow if he came out, but they'd get used to it. Actually half of them were already joking that he was gay anyway. Perhaps he'd been kissing their cheeks too.

We even had different last names. Dylan was born before Mum and Dad were married, and she put her name on his birth certificate. He went back to using it when Dad split.

We looked a little bit like one another, but most boyfriends do lol.

And Mum had made it perfectly clear that she wanted me out of the house. Really she wanted me to go to Uni like my Brother, but it didn't interest me. She'd be thrilled if I said I was moving in with Dylan. She could have her house back after the long years of endless laundry and delinquent disrespect.

Dylan rehashed these points over and over, and bouncing like a puppy. I couldn't remember seeing him so animated and happy. It was a like lifted cloud, and when he knelt on the carpet in his boxers and t-shirt to beg me to do it, how could I say no?

It was already 2pm, and with his heart full to bursting after having my promise, Dylan opened his bedroom door and mentioned something about coffee. A few minutes later I pulled some clothes on and followed him out.

The hiss of kettle led me to the kitchen and I sidled up to the door post. A girl sat on a stool at the island. I supposed she must be one of Dylan's housemates. He introduced us cheerfully,

"This is my mate Louis - Louis this is Gina."

"Hi, you're Dylan's brother?" she smiled.

"No," Dylan cut in, "Louis' a mate, we go back a long way."

"Oh, I thought you said your brother was staying?" she frowned.

"Yeah he couldn't make it, so Louis came instead."

Gina shrugged and everything went on like normal. This was the beginning. Our big secret had begun.

I made a clean break. Crashed on Dylan's sofa a few weeks before we found a flat of our own. Got a day job in the Fred Perry store on Police Street. Even set up new instagram and facebook so I could make all new friends who would like my new boyfriend.

We cuddled on the sofa at the end of the day, went to the gym, got dinner in restaurants and caught movies at the cinema. We made love in the night and wished one another good day as we left in the morning. We lived just like a regular couple, but it was six months before Dylan was ready to come out to his mates.

It played out just like he said it would. His fiends were my friends too now, and they'd seen us together all this time, getting steadily more suspicious of our affectionate behaviour. Weird how little people ask about your past though. Beyond a few casual remarks about my home town, I never had to answer any awkward questions or lie.

Actually Gina would go on to become my best friend in Manchester. Years later and we still go dancing weekends and chat hours on the phone.

When we broke the news she shook her head saying,

"I knew there was something more going on with you two! Way too close to be just friends! I better be at the wedding tho!"

"Is that even possible?" Dylan asked me later in bed.

Could we snuck through the net with our different names?

I knew what was coming. I could see the question bubbling up inside him till he had to ask. Jumping up and mounting me, he spoke with a naughty grin.

"Louis, will you marry me?"

Even if it was impossible to marry my Brother, no one could stop us getting engaged.

"Yes," I nodded, "a hundred times, yes."

*****

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