Released 2

It is Sunday, and their father is safely in the ground. They lie atop the sheets on their rock-hard hotel mattress, staring at the water-stained ceiling, listening to the sound of each other's steady breathing. The door is open and smell of rain is on the air. The television mumbles dumbly in the corner, telling the twins everything will be all right if they just turn it over to Jesus and mail their next paycheck to the address on their screen. Thunder rolls through the room, for a moment drowning out all other sounds.

Devin's hand turns on the sheets. Gale's moves as if in answer. Their fingertips brush against one another. The hair on their arms stands up; they attribute it to the electricity that hangs heavy in the air.

"He's really gone, isn't he?"

Gale nods. The greasy televangelist shrieks affirmation, immediately echoed by thousands of followers.

"Do you think he ever knew?"

This time Gale has no answer. Long minutes pass without a word. Devin rolls onto his side.

"Do you—"

"I don't know, Dev," Gale says. "If he did he never said anything." He pauses a moment, chewing at his lower lip. He smirks. "Which probably means he didn't."

Devin nods. Blonde hair falls into his eyes. He makes no effort to move it; this was yet another habit their father hated, but now there is no reason to please him. "Mom knew."

"She did," Gale says. "But after that one time—"

Devin nods again. "Nothing she could do," he says. He arches his back and wriggles against the sheets, inching closer to his brother's side. His hand lifts to Gale's arm, tracing the thick lines of a fading tattoo. Their father had beaten Gale mercilessly when he had discovered it, in spite of the fact Gale had been of age and there had been no requirement for parental consent. Devin had kissed those bruises then, had cleansed and bandaged the worst of the cuts, and promised retribution both of them knew would be impossible to mete out.

They have not touched one another like this for years but the memories flood back with the press of Devin's mouth against his brother's skin. Gale heaves a sigh, green eyes dropping from the television screen. "Devin, we really shouldn't."

But Devin is not listening, and in his heart Gale does not want him to. Their parted lips press together hesitantly at first, then more fervently: The taste they had never truly forgotten overwhelms them like a drug. Tongues and hands slip easily over one another. One man groans and the other answers in precisely the same soft baritone. Devin's legs part as he straddles his twin, his short-bitten nails digging into Gale's tattooed shoulders. Gale lifts his hips, pressing close enough that Devin can no longer ignore strained denim and the tensed flesh beneath. Devin lowers his body to Gale's; he cannot resist the urge to roll his hips the smallest bit, eliciting another moan and the brief flash of Gale's teeth against his lower lip.

Devin's hands move between them. He scratches his initials into his brother's abdomen; it is a motion pulled straight from their past, and Gale laughs quietly. "Getting nostalgic?" he asks. Devin nods, smiling. His slim fingers slide lower, tugging sharply at the buttons keeping skin from skin. Beneath his jeans Gale is naked, and Devin knows he was not alone in hoping for this reunion. Devin's hand wraps around his brother's flesh, unable to wait until their clothing is cast aside. Gale sharply draws a breath; his head lolls to one side, his eyes drawn to the open door. Devin grins. His head lowers to his brother's stomach, biting sharply at tensed skin.

"Remember the first time we did this?" Devin asks. "We left the bedroom door open."

"That was a little different," Gale says. "That time nobody but Mom could have—" He trails off when Devin takes him into his mouth, the flat of his tongue dragging over soft skin. Gale is looking out the open door but his focus lies entirely with Devin; his teeth brush his body with just enough force to be on the pleasant side of painful. Devin's hands curve at the sharp angles of his hips, sliding downward to drag his jeans away. Naked beneath his brother's touch, Gale shudders with unexpected embarrassment.

"Don't worry," Devin says. He flicks his tongue against Gale's thigh and gives a good-natured laugh. "I'll be gentle." In a moment Devin lowers his mouth onto him again. It has been too long, he has missed this too much, and he chokes when in his fervor he takes his brother too deep. But rather than stopping Gale groans and pushes back, forcing himself farther down Devin's tensed throat. True to form Devin immediately relinquishes control. His hands loose their hold on his brother's hips, his jaw relaxing as Gale takes up a rhythm between his parted lips. Devin's eyes turn up to watch his brother: Caught up in the moment as he is, his back arched and his mouth shaping words still gone unsaid, to Devin he is a beautiful creature, and a mirror of himself. The thought is more than Devin can bear, and in a moment his hand is between his own thighs, pulling aside buttons and cloth. He strokes himself in time with Gale's thrusts into his mouth, groaning his pleasure as the tension starts to build.

Gale's voice is rough and strained when he speaks. His hand wraps in Devin's hair, gently pulling upward. "Now," he says, and his brother needs no explanation. He all but scrambles to his suitcase, quickly laying trembling hands on the travel-sized tube he had packed, never daring to hope it would be of use. Devin steps out of his jeans on the way back to the bed. He is unsurprised when Gale commands him to his knees, and he obeys without a second thought.

A chill wind drifts in through the door: rain is on the air. The televangelist proclaims hellfire and brimstone to all who do not heed his cries. Devin kneels in front of the bed, his legs splayed wide, his body leaning as far forward as possible while still maintaining his balance. His hands move with haste and skill, preparing himself for his brother. Gale watches, his tongue flicking out to the corner of his mouth. Devin shifts his hands, spreading himself open; he whimpers, childishly, without realizing.

Gale kneels behind him, unaware of the babble of voices within and without the hotel room. All he knows is the brush of Devin's hair between his fingers, the beads of sweat pearling on Devin's back, the pinpricks of cheap carpet at his knees as he settles against the floor, the faint cherry scent of the slickness at his brother's tight entrance. His body presses against his twin's. With a groan and a sharp snap of his hips, Gale thrusts into him. Devin pitches forward. His jaw clenches, teeth grinding as he tries to acclimate himself to the pain. Slowly his body remembers his brother's; tense muscles relax, and Gale pushes deeper in response. The slick slap of flesh against flesh echoes through the room, nearly drowning out the red-faced preacher on TV. Devin chuckles and tries to catch his breath. His nails dig into the carpet.

"This," he pants. "This is how she found us."

Gale laughs. He rocks his hips, harder this time. "Yeah," he says. "The look on her face."

Devin snaps his hips backward into Gale's thrusts. He allows himself one short, clipped sound of pain, and no more: He would not have Gale stop, or think that this was anything than less than what he wanted. "If only—" He pauses; draws a breath; leans into the next deep push. "If only she knew how much we'd already done."

"She'd have died a lot sooner," Gale says. Sweat beads between his shoulder blades. His hands dig into Devin's hips, jerking him back into his lap. Devin feels the chill of his brother's wedding band against the line of his hip, and he shivers in spite of himself.

"Why her?" he says. But his voice is a whisper, and between the noise of another thunderclap and the prattle of the television, Gale does not hear. Devin shifts his weight to one palm, reaching between his own taut thighs as his brother bucks against him with bruising force. His hand moves with strange softness; he tries to recapture the orgasm drawing steadily farther from him. The memory of his brother's other life, of the family waiting for him even now, is enough to bring the threat of tears. But Gale will stop if he sees Devin cry, and he wants this too much to take that risk.

"I love you," he says. Gale mumbles agreement but his mind is somewhere else. He moves inside his brother with a brutality he had forgotten he craved. Harder and faster he pushes into Devin's body, until at last he leans back against the bed and begs for Devin to move. "You know how," he says, shuddering as he presses his lips to his brother's sweat-slick back.

And Devin does. He raises himself from Gale's length, never fully losing contact, and turns to face him. His knees scrape against the carpet as he lowers his body once more. He sits on Gale's lap, his back arching as his brother slides deep inside him. Devin's hips rock back and forth, grinding gently, coaxing him deeper still. He gasps, but Gale does not hear. Gale's green eyes stare intently at the hollow of his twin's throat; the tiny pulse that throbs there is such a small detail, but one he commits to memory without any conscious thought. He leans up and sucks lightly at it. His hands flex at the small of Devin's back. Surrounded by the clutching warmth of his brother's lithe form, the back of his mind registering the scent of sweat and sex and the feel of hard flesh pressed low at his stomach, Gale's orgasm hits him with sudden, mind-numbing force. Devin leans away from Gale's mouth and watches his face with a pleasure he cannot begin to describe. As wet heat fills his body he clenches tight around it. When Gale goes still, Devin is still moving on his softening flesh, pleading for what he knows he will not be given.

Gale's heart slows against his brother's chest. Devin chews his tongue and prays for something, anything to happen, already knowing precisely what will. Rain begins to fall on the pavement outside, and the preacher's bellowing has finally silenced.

"This was a mistake," Gale says. Devin shifts his hips, but his brother is already pulling away. "We were young then, Dev, stupid and figuring shit out, but we know better now. Right?"

Devin says nothing. His hands roam his body, moving to the places still hot from Gale's touch. A damp stain spreads beneath him but he does not move away.

"Dad would've been right to fuck us up," Gale says. "It's almost a shame he's gone. I mean, look at us. What are we doing? What is this, Dev?"

Devin offers no explanation, no forgiveness. He knows this is misplaced shame, misguided guilt, fear masquerading as something more. Gale will not look at him as he packs his things, and holds his silence, cheeks flushed with humiliation, as he pulls on his clothes.

"You'll come back," Devin says. "You always do."

The television snaps to a mindless test pattern. The door shuts with a muffled snap. And Devin waits.