A/N: This story is equal parts gay incest and non-con/reluctance/abuse. If either of these make you uncomfortable, don't read on.
Also, this is pretty long. If you stick it out all the way to the end, I really appreciate it. If long stories aren't your thing, that's okay too.
If people want a follow up story, I'll consider writing one. Anyway, enjoy!
*****
The minivan smelled like sweat. The AC was broken, it had been dead for two years now, and my parents weren't the type to complain about such a small thing, so it stayed broken. The hot July sun was unforgiving, and even with the windows rolled down, there were still trails of sweat rolling down my forehead.
I felt cramped. I was dying to stretch out my legs. With the just the four of us in the van, it wasn't so bad, but we had all our gear too. Our food, our bags, Dad's fishing equipment. It was a lot. And my brother and I were forced to sit next to each other, our sweaty legs bumping together all throughout the drive.
I didn't mind it so much, but my brother did. He stared moodily out the car window, feeling the breeze on his face. He didn't say anything the entire drive. I felt so awkward, sitting next to him, my small body constantly bumping against his muscular one.
Everyone else was happy to be going camping. I was looking forward to it. Getting away from work for a week, spending time out in the wilderness with my family. (I use the term "wilderness" loosely; we'd be staying in a cabin). It was exciting. It would be the final chapter of my old life.
I'm an adult now. I just graduated from high school, and I would be starting university in the fall. My brother graduated university this last year, with an engineering degree. That was the entire reason for this whole trip. It was our last family vacation. My brother would be moving away next month; I'd be starting my life in school. We'd hardly see each other anymore.
And I hate to admit it, but I was kind of glad for it. Glad that I wouldn't have to see my brother every day. I love him, more than I can say. But he doesn't care about me. I know that. I'm not too blind to see it. It's been this way for a long time.
When I was a kid, up until I was about five or six, my brother and I were as close as could be. He's five years older than me, but it didn't matter to him. He'd sit and watch those terrible children's shows with me, and he'd put me to bed if my parents were out late - sometimes even if they were home. He'd tuck me in; sometimes he'd lay with me if I was too afraid to sleep on my own. We were inseparable.
But then when I got to elementary school with him, everything changed. He became mean, harsh and unloving. It felt like the switch happened overnight. I didn't understand it.
In high school, he was even worse. He'd torment me worse than anyone else at the school, and I got bullied by a lot of people. He'd spray paint words onto my locker, call me a fag. There were worse things. He was in Grade 12 when I was in Grade 8, so the bullying at school only lasted a year. But it was a painful time, and I remember it vividly.
One day, after school, he waited outside with a bunch of his friends. There were I think three or four of them. I left the school around 4:30, after my theatre class was finished. No one else was around. Except them. My brother and his friends. I pretended that I didn't see them, kept my head down and didn't make eye contact.
They waited until I had walked down a backstreet, a shortcut to get to my house. I didn't realize that they were following me. But all of a sudden, they had pulled me back, into their group, and they just started beating on me. I don't know why, but they did. And my brother led them on. He hit the hardest.
When they were done with me, they left me there on the ground, bleeding. My brother looked down at me, kicked me in the ribs once more and told me to "toughen up". I stayed there for a while, on the ground, crying and bleeding. I called my dad's cell phone and he came and picked me up. I didn't tell him who it was. My father didn't ask.
That was how my brother and I worked. I never told on him. I didn't want him getting in trouble, and besides, he knew something about me that I didn't want our parents to know.
He had caught me. I was always so careful, but he had caught me. I was in my room, I thought I had locked the door, but I guess I forgot.
I was flipping through the magazine, my cock growing steadily harder as I surfed through the pages. Finally, I settled on one. A gorgeous, muscular man was on his knees, looking adoringly up at his partner. The other man grinned down at him, his hand resting on the back of his lover's head, pushing him further down on his cock.
I pulled my dick out of my pants quickly, eagerly. I spat on my hand before moving it to my prick, and I slowly began stroking myself. I was anxious, our parents raised us catholic. I knew they wouldn't really care about my masturbating, they weren't that strict, but if they found out I was gay...
My breathing hitched. I imagined that I was the one on my knees, sucking the man's cock. I wondered what it tasted like, what it felt like. I imagined that he was being gentle with me, coaxing my head down his length with appreciation, moaning my name as I blew him.
I was moments away from my peak when my door flew open. And there he was. Chad was staring at me, his eyes widened in shock.
"No fucking way." He murmured, walking into my room and shutting the door behind him. My cock was still in my hand, and for a split second I had to think about what was more important to hide. My dick or the magazine.
As my brother walked towards me, I quickly slid the magazine under my pillow. I know he'd already seen it, but maybe if he knew I was embarrassed, he'd let it go, and wouldn't look.
"You might want to lock the door next time, idiot." Chad said, walking towards the bed. He looked so big, so imposing. I tucked my dick into my pants; my face was painted bright red. He cocked his eyebrow at me and then lunged for the pillow, trying to get the magazine.
"What's little brother into, huh?" He growled, pushing me away. I tried to stop him, I tried to grab his arm and pull him away, but he was so much stronger than me, so much bigger than me. He was like a wall of meat, pure muscle from head to toe. I was more like a stick.
He finally got hold of the magazine and looked at it. He flipped it open, looking at the pages of my gay porn magazine with disgust.
"My brother's a fucking fag..." He chuckled, "Could've called it."
"Please don't tell anyone!" I urged, looking up at his muscular frame. He rolled the magazine up into a tight bundle and smacked me on the side of the head with it. My head flew sideways, hitting the wall, and I groaned with pain.
"You better watch yourself." He said, throwing the porn at me and leaving the room.
The bullying got worse after that. But I still didn't know why it started in the first place. Maybe there wasn't a reason at all.
"Alright kiddos, here we are!" My father said, as the minivan slowed and finally stopped. I looked out the front window at the log cabin. I was filled with nostalgia. I'd spent so many summers here; our family had made so many good memories at this cabin. I remember when I was younger, around five, Chad and I would go play in the river behind the cabin, and we'd look for bugs and fish. We never found anything, but it was still fun.
Chad climbed out of the van first, anxious, I think, to be away from me. He popped open the trunk and grabbed his bag, and one of the coolers before heading into the house. I grabbed my bag and followed him anxiously.
It smelled like summer. The light, feminine scent of flowers mingled with the familiar smell of pine. The air was clean here, woodsy. I breathed it in greedily. It made me feel warm, safe. The woods are like a second home to me, I've spent so many summer days exploring them. The cabin is a refuge, a place where all the harsh, homophobic bullies can't get to me. Well, almost all of them.
The cabin has two bedrooms. So Chad and I would have to share. There was something about that idea that sort of excited me; there was another part of me that was petrified.
I climbed up the wooden stairs with a tingling feeling in my stomach. Was it excitement? Anxiety? I didn't know.
