Hot Lie Me

"Hot Like Me"

The third installment of the

The Brothercest Series

by Justin Tyler

*****************

Harley was pissed.

Royally

pissed.

Things had been great between them since Trey had come home, going on six months now.

Until tonight.

Harley had been sitting in their bedroom, curled up in his cushy, ugly, harvest gold recliner reading a really stupid, horrible script his agent had sent to him for consideration. He was already in a foul mood because of it, when Trey arrived home and dropped the bomb on him.

"Let me get this straight - pardon the pun." Harley could be so damned sarcastic when he was pissed off. "You have a meeting with a potential investor - a meeting you've had planned for over a month now and didn't bother to tell me, your business partner, about until now. And because you presumably can't control yourself around me, and you feel it's important to have

something

pretty on your arm to impress the hotshots, you have a

date

? With a

girl

?"

Trey slapped his hand over his face and shook his head. "Why do you always have to over-dramatize everything, Harley?"

Harley tossed the crappy script to the floor, the pages fluttering about before they landed on the cornflower blue carpeting. "Oh, let me see," he said, tapping his cheek with his index finger. "'A' - because I'm an actor, and 'B' - because I'm a fucking

fairy

? Yeah, that's it." He folded his arms prissily across his chest, grinning and waiting for the tirade he

knew

was coming.

Trey was just too goddamn cute, especially when he got bent out of shape whenever Harley behaved a little

too

faggy for his tastes.

Like now.

"Look Harley," Trey said, "first off, it's not a

date

. It's a business meeting. Second, she's working as an intern in our production office - and you'd know that, by the way, if you ever bothered to actually

visit

your office. So, it's not like I'm actually going out with a girl. It's just business."

"Does said intern have tits? A vagina?" Harley asked, way too sweetly.

Trey pulled off his V-neck sweater and flung it onto the bed. "Well, the tits I can attest to. As for the vagina, I can only assume."

"Then she is indeed a

girl

, at least by appearances. Therefore, you have a date. With a girl."

"Jesus, Harley... it's not a

date

!" Trey was quickly becoming exasperated with his brother.

"Where is the meeting being held?"

Oh shit

, Trey thought.

This is not going to go over well.

"The investor and his partner kind of insisted on the venue. They're new in town."

"Where, Trey?" Harley stuck the tip his index finger into his mouth, biting at it seductively. He was enjoying every second of his brother's discomfort. All in good fun, of course.

Trey began pulling his polo shirt over his head, answering his brother's question while his face was covered up by the orange fabric. "

The V....r Roo...

" he mumbled through the material.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," Harley leered, cupping his hand to his ear.

Trey kicked off his shoes, removed his socks, and pulled down his tan cargos. Left wearing only a pair of white, Calvin Klein boxer-briefs, he put his hands on his hips. "The. Viper. Room. Clear enough?"

"Ah, so now the

truth

comes out," Harley grinned evilly. "Not only do you have a date - with a girl - you're taking her to 'Depp's Den of Iniquity'. You

go

, stud."

"It's not a date, Harley."

"Right."

"And she's not a girl. She's an intern."

"With tits."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Trey spat, marching across the bedroom and into the master bath, slamming the door behind him.

Harley tossed his pretty, curly hair back and laughed out loud. Trey was just too goddamn cute when he got bent out of shape.

---

While Trey was in the bathroom, showering, shaving, and getting himself all primped up for his 'date', Harley wandered downstairs to the kitchen. He opened the cupboard over the sink and grabbed an unopened bottle of Petrone tequila.

He'd been good lately; he hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol since Trey had moved back in.

He needed it now, though. Harley was making light of the situation, teasing his brother and enjoying it immensely, but deep down he really

was

pissed off, and rather hurt in a strange sort of way. He tore the black foil wrapper off the neck of the bottle and unscrewed the cap. Fuck looking for a shot glass; he put the bottle to his lips and took a long pull, sputtering and gagging as the Mexican firewater burned his throat on the way down. He recovered quickly, old habits dying hard, and he took another healthy swallow of the potent liquor.

"Woo!" Harley giggled. He took one more drink, probably a bigger drink than he should have, and replaced the cap on the bottle. He left the bottle sitting on the counter, not remembering at that point which cabinet he'd retrieved it from. Harley picked up the wall phone, carefully dialing one of the few numbers he'd actually memorized before storing them in his cell phone.

"How you doing, Love?" Jake chirped on the other end of the line, the Sheffield brothers' number registering on his phone's caller ID.

Harley giggled again. "I'm fucking drunk."

"Well, that's overstating the obvious," the British actor chuckled. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm good," Harley slurred through a grin. "I need a favor though, honey."

Jake knew then for a

fact

that the boy was plowed. That was the only time that Harley ever called him 'honey'.

"What do you need, Love?" Jake smiled. He knew there must be some reason for Harley getting plastered, after having laid off the sauce for nearly half a year.

"Trey has a date tonight. It's got tits." Harley reached for the bottle of Petrone on the counter and struggled the cap off, taking another sip.

Jake laughed. "And this has

what

to do with me?"

"I need a ride to the

Viper

. I can't drive. I don't think I can even find the freakin' garage right now." Harley hiccupped loudly into the phone.

"You could just ring up a taxi, you know," Jake replied.

"A cab driver won't rub my back and hold my hair out of the way when I'm barfing this shit up later." Harley still hadn't gotten his hair cut, the full year's growth now cascading his honey-gold curls just below his shoulders.

Jake chuckled. "Point well taken, Love. You do realize that you're going to embarrass yourself, right?"

"Oh yeah," Harley snorted. "I'm counting on it, honey."

"I'll be there in thirty minutes," Jake sighed. "Go get changed. I

know

what you wear around the house - dreadfully drab, probably grey, with holes everywhere. If you're going to do the bitchy, scorned, faggot lover thing in public you need to look faaabulous, sweetheart."

Harley held the phone away from his face, drunkenly looking down to examine his current attire. An old, drab, grey, Adidas sweat suit, with holes in the knees of the pants and in the elbows of the hoodie. He smiled and spoke into the phone.

"You're a good friend, Jake."

"So everyone keeps telling me. You are aware that Trey is going to be highly irate when he finds out that

I

was a party to this."

"Fuck Trey."

"No thank you, Princess, that's

your

job. He's not my type, anyway."

"And your type is...?" Harley inquired naughtily, taking another swig of tequila.

"Young, skinny, and painfully pretty."

"Sounds vaguely familiar."

"No one you know," Jake teased. "Go get dressed, Love. I'll be there in thirty."

Part II:

Harley climbed the spiral staircase, the swirl of steps making him dizzy for a moment. Once upstairs, he tiptoed back into the bedroom and crawled under the covers, feigning sleep when Trey emerged from the bathroom.

Trey got dressed, a black Escada suit with a black shirt and silk tie, splashing a dash of CK2 on his neck before exiting the bedroom and closing the door behind him.

After hearing the front door close and Trey's car pull away, Harley tossed off the bedclothes. "Tits," he spat as he got out of bed.

The walk-in closet was calling his name.

---

"Holy

God

!" Jake exclaimed when he walked into the kitchen.

Harley was leaning against the center island, the Petrone bottle again in his hand.

"What do you think?" Harley asked with a lascivious grin.

Jake shook his head. "I think you're very lucky that I've come to like and respect your brother," he said. "If I didn't, I'd have absolutely no reservations about slamming your cute little ass to the tile and fucking the living daylights out of you right now. Sweet Jesus, Harley! Couldn't you have found something just a

tad

more provocative in your closet?"

Harley licked his lips and grinned. He knew he looked good. Simple, but good.

Damn

good.

Black, skintight, low-rise leather pants.

Black, ribbed-knit, wife-beater tank top.

Black, leather, chrome-buckled motorcycle boots.

Black eyeliner. Just a subtle touch.

All that black, contrasting with his pale, soft, alabaster skin.

Young, skinny, and painfully pretty.

"Holy

God

," Jake repeated.

"Please don't hate me because I'm beautiful," Harley pouted sexily, running his tongue across his bottom lip.

Jake cracked up. "Get your ass in the Jeep, Princess, before I lose all sense of decorum here." He opened the back door, and Harley prettily danced his way outside, drunkenly singing his favorite club song, the one by

The Pussycat Dolls

.

"Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me, don't you wish your girlfriend was a freak like me... don't you... don't you...."

Part III: "The Business Meeting"

Jake pulled the Jeep into the underground garage, sliding his pass card back into the visor pocket as he brought the vehicle to a halt.

Normally, Harley entered the club through the front door rather than availing himself of the VIP entrance. Jake wasn't going to let him use the public entrance tonight, however. Not looking like

that

.

As soon as they entered the club via the rear entrance, Harley took off at nearly a run to make a beeline for the nearest bar. He'd already ordered and downed another healthy double of Petrone by the time Jake caught up. The Englishman looked around the room, then leaned back against the bar next to Harley as casually as possible.

Jake whispered into his ear, "I think you'd better back off the happy water, Love."

"Why?" Harley asked, a silly grin on his face. "You think I'm drunk?"

"Obviously."

"I am

not

drunk," the boy giggled, "totally not drunk." Jake could only shake his head.

Harley began scanning the room, searching for Trey, the investors, and the tits. Although the place was packed to capacity, it didn't take him long to find them.

"Here I go," announced Harley, his expression a sexy smirk. He turned to face Jake at the bar. "Do I look okay?"

"Sex on a stick," Jake grinned. "Go get 'em, Princess."

Harley winked at his friend, then sauntered seductively across the large room. Jake chuckled, and turned to the bartender to have him put on a pot of coffee.

It was going to be a long night.

---

Trey was making a half-hearted attempt at pretending to pay attention to the bullshit the so called investors were trying to feed him. He turned as he caught something out of the corner of his eye, taking an almost cartoonish double-take when he saw that it was Harley.

Holy shit

, Trey grimaced.

What the hell is he doing here

?

And what the hell is he wearing?

Harley smiled broadly at his brother. Trey's eyes widened and he began shaking his head quickly, a definitive 'please don't come over here' motion. Harley, of course, ignored it. He walked up to Trey's table, squeezing himself between his brother and the buxom blonde intern.

"Trey, what a

surprise

running into you here!" Harley gushed. He leaned over and kissed his brother on the cheek. Trey shot him a look that, if looks could kill, Harley would be pushing up daisies.

"And who might these lovely people be?" Harley smiled sweetly with a toss of his curls. Trey glared at him before responding.

"This is Chuck Morrow," Trey gestured toward the grey-haired, fifty-something gentleman, "and this is his partner, James Harrison. They're interested in investing in the production company." Trey nodded toward the younger, auburn-haired man, then looked again at his brother, his eyes narrowing. "Gentlemen, this is my brother and

business

partner, Harley Sheffield."

Harley extended his hand and shook with both of the men, turning his gaze to the busty blonde woman. "And this gorgeous creature is...?"

The blonde grinned and extended a limp hand. "I'm Heather!" she squeaked.

Harley took her hand and gallantly kissed the back of it. "But of course you are, my dear. A pleasure." The girl giggled giddily, gawking at the back of her hand after the young actor released it.

"Heather Blake is the newest intern at the company, Harley," Trey added, shooting his brother another unfriendly glare. "Perhaps you should stop in from time to time, get to know your staff?"

"Oh," Harley smirked, flipping his hands in a prissy, 'get the heck out of town' manner, "I leave all that nasty, boring business stuff to my dear brother here. I'm only on board to lend a famous name for credibility. He's the brains behind the operation. I'm merely the beauty." Harley grinned and batted his eyelashes at his sibling. Trey's mouth dropped open.

There was an awkward silence; the investors didn't quite know what to say, Heather was enraptured by finally seeing the famous actor in person and having had her hand kissed by him, and Trey was so pissed off he couldn't have spoken coherently had his life depended on it. Harley just continued to grin.

Well," Harley finally offered, "you all continue your important meeting here. It was very nice to have met all of you. Trey, I'm going across the street to the dance club for a while. Please feel free to join me after your meeting has adjourned." He leaned down and rested his head on his brother's shoulder, pressing his mouth close to Trey's ear.

"How much do you think she paid for that rack?" Harley whispered. "Five, six grand?"

Trey gouged his elbow into Harley's ribs, the boy emitting a soft 'oof' from the impact.

Trey whispered back to his brother. "Do

not

go to that club."

Harley, drunk as he was, somehow managed to run his tongue around his brother's ear without a soul noticing.

Trey sucked in his breath and held it as Harley walked away.

It was going to be a long night.

~~

Part IV: "The Fag Palace"

Having rid himself of the investors and the agonizingly giddy intern, Trey decided to hit the men's room at the

Viper

before leaving to retrieve Harley. As he approached the rear bar, he caught sight of a familiar figure hunched over it, sipping a mug of coffee and smoking a cigarette.

"Jake, what a surprise," Trey said with a healthy dose of sarcasm . "I should have

known

you had something to do with this. And here I thought we had come to an understanding."

Jake set his mug down on the bar top, blowing a stream of smoke politely out of Trey's way. "Trey, I know this looks bad, but I really didn't have any choice. In case you didn't notice, the boy is more than a few sails past three sheets to the wind. He was determined to come down here, even if he had to drive."

"He could have called a taxi," Trey shot back.

"Well, I did suggest that, actually," Jake smiled. "Harley said something about needing me around later when he pukes up the liter of Petrone he's had tonight - so far."

"Ah," Trey replied with a look of recognition. "He knows I don't handle throwing up very well." Trey sighed resignedly. Even now, he still hated it when Jake was right. "Okay, you did the right thing. Are you going to stay here to wait, or are you coming with me to drag him out of the Fag Palace?"

Jake chuckled, thoroughly amused. He was the only person in the known universe that was aware that the Sheffield brothers had been fucking each other's brains out for several years now. It still tickled the Brit how Trey managed to go well out of his way to appear homophobic.

"I'll go with you," Jake sighed. "You've never actually seen him in action over there. It's quite likely it'll take the both of us to extricate him."

"He's

that

bad?" Trey asked, but not really wanting to know the answer.

"You have

no

idea." Jake nodded toward the front door. Trey shook his resignedly head and led the way.

---

'Bad' wasn't even remotely the right word.

As they walked through the entrance of

The Palace

, Trey put his hands to his ears to protect them from the deafening, pulse-pounding thud-thud-thud of the bass-laden dance music. He vaguely recognized the Rob Thomas song, but it didn't sound anything like the version played on the radio.

Jake had already paid the cover charge for himself and Trey, and they both held out a fist to get the backs of their hands stamped. Unfamiliar with the layout of the club, Trey allowed Jake to enter first.

The place was packed wall-to-wall with men, most of them quite young, all of them gay. Jake went straight to the closest bar. There was no way he was going to allow Trey to witness this without getting the man at least a little bit liquored up first. Three shots of single-malt Scotch later, Jake figured Trey was as ready as he was ever going to be, and led him to the brass rail surrounding the sunken dance floor.

Trey looked around the crowded room and the even more crowded dance floor, squinting as the colored lights swirled, artificial fog wafted, and the occasional strobe flashed. The Scotch had landed pretty quickly, his vision blurry from the alcohol and the light show.

"I don't see him!" Trey shouted to Jake. The

Englishman pointed across the room. Trey's eyes followed the other man's arm as if it were a rifle sight.

"He's right there!" Jake shouted back over the loud music. The dance mix of The Backstreet Boys'

Get Another Boyfriend

was practically deafening, with the bass riff so pronounced you could feel your bones rattling.

Holy shit

, Trey thought,

will you look at that..

.

~~~

Part V: "You've Got To Be Kidding Me"

Harley was dancing bare-chested on a speaker, his black wife-beater hanging sloppily over the rail behind him. His skin was flushed and glistening with sweat, the curls at his shoulders even curlier from the dampness. There was another young man dancing beside him on the speaker; perhaps eighteen or nineteen, with green eyes, longish black hair, fair skin, and a slim build just like Harley's. The other boy was in a similar state of undress, with impossibly snug jeans on his lower half. There was a major tease going on in their dancing, Trey's younger brother staring and licking his lips sexily at his dance partner. Harley ran his hands down his own chest and perched his fingers on his hips. He then proceeded to execute some damn fine body rolls, his back arching and his torso undulating from his shoulders to his ass.

Trey blinked and shook his head, leaning over to shout into Jake's ear.

"When the fuck did he learn to do

that

?" Trey asked, incredulous.

Jake smiled wanly and shrugged. "It gets worse."

"Worse than

that

?"

Jake nodded, focusing his attention again on the sexy action taking place on the speaker. "Oh yeah..."

The dark-haired boy grinned and replied to the motions in kind, the muscles of his tight stomach rippling as he rolled his supple upper body. Harley moved closer to him with measured steps, putting one hand on the other boy's shoulder; his other hand slid down the guy's sweaty chest and came to rest on the sharp hip jutting over a pair of impossibly snug low-rider jeans. The black-haired young man grabbed Harley by the ass with one hand, his other running up the actor's tummy and chest, slick with perspiration. A delicate, slim-fingered hand slid around the back of Harley's neck, grasping at the sinewy muscle and twining the golden blond curls through his fingers. The other boy pulled Harley into him, hand still on his ass, pressing their chests together, their skin hot and slick. They both bent their legs slightly, dipping down a little, and Harley moved one leg between the boy's knees, pressing his thigh firmly up into the kid's crotch. They began an overtly sexual humping in time to the bass thud of the song.