When You're Gone Away

"When You're Gone Away"

The first installment of the

The

Brothercest Series,

by Justin Tyler.

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

Part I: "

I Am The Lie

"

Everyone thought they were doing the right thing, throwing the biggest bash Hollywood had seen in years for the occasion of Harley's twenty-fifth birthday.

They were wrong. Dead wrong.

Jake Blythe - the late thirty-something British actor, Harley's best friend, frequent co-star, and former lover - had been the ringleader, naturally, renting out the Viper Room club for the night. Jake had hired an old friend of his wife Evelyn to cater the affair. A mutual friend, make-up artist Natasha Paloma, had been in charge of the guest list and seating arrangements; the daunting task of surreptitiously finding out whom was not speaking to whom, at the moment, amongst the frequently fickle Hollywood set.

The big night arrived, and everything was perfect. Everything except the guest of honor, that is.

Harley didn't want to be there, plain and simple. It had been six months to the day since Trey had moved out; out of the home they had shared for over a year, and completely out of his life as well. Harley had seen his older brother only once since that night, almost three months ago. It wasn't planned, merely a random bumping into each other at the Starbucks on the corner of Sunset and La Brea.

It still made Harley feel lightheaded and sick to his stomach when he thought of that chance encounter. He couldn't forget the way he'd felt when he'd hurriedly turned from the cashier with his grandé iced cinnamon hazelnut latté, extra sugar, extra milk, and physically bumped into Trey. 'Sissy coffee', his brother called Harley's favorite concoction. Strong, black, hot, and coffee-flavored was Trey's caffeine fix of choice, he himself being a militant 'coffee just as God intended' sort.

Harley sat in a corner booth at the rear of the noisy club. He was alone, huddling himself in a bulky, grey, cable-knit sweater as if he were freezing to death despite the warmth of the spring evening. He had grown up in an area where even the warmest summer months still held a chill in the air, and he'd felt that Los Angeles was far too warm for his taste from the very start.

Ever since Trey had left, Harley had been cold, so very cold, the kind of chill that cuts right through to the bone and just won't go away. He had chalked it up to some sort of bizarre psychological response to his brother's absence, although he had neglected to share that little tidbit of information with his therapist. He'd never shared much of anything anyway with the head-shrinkers that his publicist and his brother had insisted that he see in order to keep himself grounded and centered. This was something far too personal to share with anyone, so he'd simply taken to wearing heavy sweaters lately to fend off the freeze.

Trey hadn't even said goodbye to him, the coldest cut of all. His older brother had simply... left.

Harley took a long pull from a cold bottle of Guinness, his sixth or eleventh of the night. He'd lost count.

"Well, if you're going to drink yourself into a bloody coma, at least you're drinking better stuff these days." Jake slid into the booth beside Harley, leaning into him and giving him a friendly nudge. "Much better than that American cat piss you were drinking when I first met you. Now you just need to learn how to drink it the right way: warm."

Harley lifted the bottle and wanly saluted his friend, then took another drink of the thick, dark brew. He wasn't exactly hammered, but he had arrived at that stupid, regrettably drunken place where melancholia sets in, grabs you by the heart, and just won't let go. A salty, sorrowful tear slid down Harley's cheek.

Jake reached up and gently wiped it away with his thumb. "I'm assuming this is not a result of you having to relinquish your twink card to the fag police last night," the Englishman smiled warmly.

Harley sniffled, bravely attempting to vanquish the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He failed miserably. "I miss him, Jake. I miss him so much. What am I going to do?"

Jake slid his arm around Harley's slim waist and pulled the boy closer to him, kissing him softly on the temple.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Jake would have been much more careful about being so physically demonstrative with Harley, especially in public. A long, tearful, heart-to-heart talk with Evelyn several months prior had laid everything out on the table. As was her character, she understood and accepted yet another unusual facet of her husband's rather wild life. Evelyn now knew that Jake loved Harley, and she had come to love the young actor as well. Very differently than her husband did, but no less.

It was all very odd for Jake, actually. Once the air had been cleared and his wife was aware of his long-term affair with Harley, Jake no longer had the compulsion to drag the boy into bed at every opportunity. He still loved Harley, and still desired him on some level, but the love and desire were no longer the undeniable, intoxicating narcotics they had once been for Jake. As a result, their relationship - Jake's and Harley's - had evolved into something more closely resembling that of father and son than that of impassioned lovers.

"I don't know what to tell you, Love," Jake said quietly. "It's been six months. I don't think he's coming back. I'm dreadfully sorry you've been hurt, but I have to be honest. I'm not sorry it's over. It wasn't healthy, Harley, for either one of you. And I believe you know that, deep down."

Harley put the bottle of Guinness to his lips and polished off the remainder in one quick swig. "All I know is that I love him, Jake, and that I can't live without him. I don't want to live without him." He sat the empty bottle down on the table with a loud thunk. "Do you know what it's like to love someone like that? To love somebody so goddamn much that it hurts when they're near you, and fucking unbearable when they aren't?"

Jake sighed and locked his grey eyes on Harley's azure blues. "As a matter of fact, Love, I do."

Harley nodded, acknowledging his friend's not-so-subtle reference. "Then you know I can't let this go, Jake. I can't just snap my fingers and stop loving him... needing him... wanting him."

"I know, Harley," Jake consoled. "I know. I'm so sorry."

Harley shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, tucking his fists underneath his armpits for warmth. "Jake, can you please drive me home? I'm so tired and I'm so cold, and I didn't want to come here in the first place."

Jake patted the younger man firmly on the back and slid out of his seat. "Let's go, Love. I'll sneak you out the back; my Jeep's in the alley. I'll call Evelyn on my cell when we get outside. I'm sure she won't mind catching a lift with her caterer chum."

Harley stood up, teetering slightly. Jake slid his hand around the boy's waist for support and led him out the back door of the club, unnoticed by any of the guests. He opened the passenger door of the Jeep and helped Harley into the seat, buckling him in snugly. As Jake turned the vehicle around the corner and onto the street, he flipped on the heater.

Harley leaned over and rested his head on Jake's shoulder. "You're such a good friend," he sighed.

"Of course I am," Jake grinned. "I'm just a big fucking Boy Scout at heart, you know that."

Harley laughed half-heartedly, and then began to sob.

---

"You're sure you're alright?" Jake asked, standing on the front porch. Harley was already inside of his house, his hand resting on the door jamb to steady himself. He was drunk, no doubt - but not nearly drunk enough to take advantage of his dearest friend, despite his aching need to wrap himself around another warm, familiar, male body.

"I'll be okay," Harley replied tiredly. "I'll just get a quick shower to get the bar smell off of me, then I'll get into bed and pass out."

Jake chuckled. He reached out to grasp the back of Harley's neck, never having been one to miss an opportunity to wrap his fingers in the long, silken, honey-gold curls that rested there.The boy's hair was now well below his collar line. Amongst other things, Harley had neglected to get his hair cut since Trey had moved out.

"Call me tomorrow," Jake instructed. "If you're up to it, you can come over and we'll do the cookout thing with Evelyn and the kids."

"Okay," Harley responded, fighting off a yawn. "'Night, Jake. And thank you."

"G'night, Love. Rest well."

Harley closed the door, shut his eyes, and sank down to the floor in a sad, drunken heap.

---

A hard, thirty-minute cry later, Harley collected himself enough to make his way upstairs to the master bathroom. He turned on the shower, running his hand under the fine spray of water until the temperature was just right. Not hot enough to burn, but just hot enough to sting a little. The boy removed his clothes, more layers than anyone in their right mind usually wore in the balmy warmth of a southern California spring. He tossed the garments haphazardly around the room, the grey sweater landing in one of the double sinks, olive drab khaki pants finding a home on the toilet tank, socks and shoes and his favorite shirt - the media-mocked, way too huge, dark purple polo - ending up scattered on the stone floor.

Naked and shivering violently, Harley stepped into the shower stall, luxuriating in the sensual warmth of the hot water, the only thing that was able to make him feel truly warm as of late. He threw his head back and let the steaming water pound onto his chest, his neck, enjoying the sensation and the blessed, elusive heat.

The noise from the running water muffled the scratching sound of a key, searching in the darkness for its companion lock on the front door.

---

Harley was a hot water slut, make no mistake. Nothing soothed his raw nerves and relaxed his tired body more than a long, lazy, hot shower, or a steaming sit-down bath if he felt so inclined. And God forbid if there was a hot tub available. One of the perks of growing up in a fairly privileged community in the Great White North was that everyone had a Jacuzzi built into their backyard deck.

Harley, as a very young boy, had read the entire Hardy Boys collection while soaking in his family's hot tub. The books were rendered useless as hand-me-downs because they'd gotten wet as a result, the pages all swollen up from the heat and the water.

Funny, but even at the age of nine and ten when he'd devoured those books, Harley had read between the lines, sensing something there that the author of the brother detective pair most assuredly had neither intended nor anticipated.

It was at that time in his life when Harley had started to feel something for his elder brother Trey, something magical and wonderful, but decidedly unnatural and unquestioningly forbidden. Harley had his first orgasm then, by his own hand of course, thinking about his beautiful, older brother. Not yet physically mature enough to ejaculate, he came hard anyway, his body feeling sensations that were truly amazing and his mind knowing, even then, how wrong it was to be feeling like that about his own sibling.

Harley missed everything about Trey, but right now in his depressed, inebriated state he missed his touch the most; the way they wrapped themselves up in each other bodies, fucking frantically like rutting animals or making sweet, slow love depending on their moods.

Harley soaped himself up. As the hot water relaxed him, his hand strayed down his chest, along the firm muscles of his stomach, coming to rest on his cock, hard and aching for his brother.

It felt so good, his own hand wrapped around his dick. He hadn't had sex with anyone in the six months that Trey had been gone, and neither had he masturbated, not even once. A hell of a long time for a young man to go without release of any sort. Harley leaned back against the shower wall for support, his legs trembling, gripping his cock at the base. He felt like he was going to come already, and he wanted to prolong the inevitable.

He closed his eyes, and right away an image popped into his mind; the image of Trey on his knees in the shower, hot water splashing off of his shoulders and back as he sucked on Harley's swollen dick.

As his hand slid up and down his erection, Harley could feel his brother's mouth on him; the way Trey's lips and tongue felt on him, the erotic scratching of Trey's beard stubble on his stomach and thighs. The way the head of his cock would feel electrified every time it hit the very back of Trey's throat. The way his brother would pull off of him momentarily to lick and suck on his smooth balls. The way Trey would suck hard on only the head of his dick like a fucking Oreck on a sixteen-pound bowling ball just when he knew that Harley was about to unload.

Trey had always claimed that his favorite part of sex was fucking Harley, but goddamn... you just didn't suck cock like Trey did if you didn't actually enjoy it.

With a vision of Trey looking into his eyes as he came in his mouth, Trey swallowing every drop, Harley came hard. His back, wet with a combination of hot shower water and sweat, slid down the shower wall as his knees gave way, his ass slamming hard onto the porcelain shower floor while the powerful orgasm racked his body. He began to cry uncontrollably, his head pounding and his ears ringing as skeins of semen spurted copiously from his dick.

Harley was physically sated, but emotionally bankrupt.

Part II: "

Coffee-Flavored Coffee

"

Harley finally stopped crying and turned off the shower, reaching for the thick, thirsty towel he'd hung on the wall rack just outside of the stall. He dabbed at himself with the towel, drying off hurriedly but not completely. He wrapped the towel around his waist, tucking in an end to secure it; not out of modesty in an empty house, but simply out of habit.

He'd left his cigarettes and lighter on the coffee table in the living room. Harley, if nothing else, was a creature of habit. He was smoking almost non-stop these days, mostly from stress and boredom, but there were three types of smokes that he absolutely couldn't do without. The one after a hearty meal, the one after an orgasm, and the one after a long, hot, lazy shower.

Two out of three most definitely required a smoke.

Harley descended the spiral staircase and padded into the living room, still dripping wet with the towel snugged around his waistline.

Trey was seated on the couch, his blue-jeaned knees spread apart with his elbows resting on them, his head clutched between his hands.

Harley, covered with only the soggy towel, had never felt more naked, more vulnerable, or more exposed in all of his life.

Trey ran his hands through his closely cropped, light-brown hair, settling back into the sofa cushions. "Hi, baby brother," he whispered.

Harley had two choices, he acknowledged to himself as fight-or-flight adrenaline surged through his body. Be a coward and run upstairs, not looking back and locking the bedroom door behind him, or be a man and stand there, dripping wet and wrapped in only a towel, reaching for his Camels and Bic lighter.

The latter won out. As much as Trey had always been the more dominant partner sexually, Harley had actually been the strong one regarding the nature of their relationship. He was the one who accepted it for what it was, embraced it. Despite being eight years Trey's junior, Harley was the one who had quickly gotten over the inherent guilt associated with it.

"It's good to see you, Trey," Harley said softly, tears welling up and stinging his eyes. "I've missed you."

Trey ran his hands through his hair again, and Harley couldn't help but smile at the familiarity of his brother's signature stress habit.

"I've missed you too, Harley."

Trey swallowed hard and sighed deeply, his face contorting into a mask of unbearable pain. "God... I can't even say your name without it hurting."

Harley grabbed the edge of the towel encircling his waist, shoring up the tuck of terry cloth that held it precariously to his slender frame. "I love you, Trey. I always have. Why did you leave me? You didn't even say goodbye."

Trey rested his elbows on his knees again, leaning his head into his propped up hands. He couldn't summon up the courage to look at his brother as he spoke. "It was all a lie, Harley. You are so wonderful, so precious, and I love you like I'll never be able to love anyone ever again. But it was all a lie. It was wrong, what we did, in every conceivable way that something can be wrong. You're my brother., my goddamned little brother. My own flesh and blood. It doesn't get much more wrong than that."

Harley walked to the dining room and dragged an upholstered wing chair into the living room, taking a seat and making himself comfortable despite the damp towel.

"Do you love me, Trey?" Harley asked pointedly.

There was no hesitation in Trey's reply. "Yes, Harley, I do. Completely."

"Then I am the lie, Trey. You can hide it, if that's what you need to do. I'll protect you. I'll guard your soul, I promise. Just.... please, don't ever leave me again."

Trey shook his head in his hands, still unable to look at his brother. "How can you be so calm about this? Why doesn't this bother you?"

Harley exhaled sharply, reaching down to adjust the towel between his legs. "I love you, Trey. I love you so much, in so many ways, that I just don't give a fuck what anyone else thinks."

The younger man took a deep breath before continuing. "I freely admit that I'm not the brightest person in the world, Trey, as the press is so very fond of reminding me. But I know this, my brother. Until someone proves to me otherwise, this life is my one and only shot here on this fucking, unforgiving rock. If I can't spend that time loving the one person who means the most to me, the one I cherish above all others, then what the fuck is the point of living at all?"

"God, Harley..."

"God has absolutely nothing to do with this, Trey!" Harley interjected with a sardonic smile, and did an admirable job of blinking back his tears. "This is about you and me. We are the only ones who need to make peace with this."

"I don't know if I can do that," Trey tearfully admitted, finally looking his brother in the eye.

"Well, you'd better goddamn try, because I already have, a long time ago," spat Harley. "Let me put it this way, Trey. How do you feel when we're together? When we're holding each other? When we're just sitting on the couch together, eating bad, frozen pizza and watching a fight break out into a hockey game on television? When we're naked and wrapped up in other's arms, close and warm? When we're folding laundry, or cleaning out the fridge, or something stupid and ordinary like that? When we're fucking or making love, when you're inside of me?"

Trey was crying hard now, rocking forward on his arms, his hands threading through his hair even more tightly than before. "It feels good, baby. All of it does. It's all good. It feels so fucking right. But then after the sex is over... after I've watched your face when you come... and dear God, Harley, the way you look when you come... oh fuck... that's when I remember that you're not just my partner, my lover... you're my brother. My goddamn little brother! Jesus Christ, Harley... I'm supposed to be protecting you from people like me!"

"Do you love me, Trey?" Harley asked again.

Trey stood up gingerly, reaching out for his younger brother. Harley put a hand on the towel around his waist, not wanting it accidentally fall, or worse for Trey to pull it off. He took a step back, just beyond Trey's reach.

"I'm going upstairs to put something on," Harley announced. "Why don't you go put on a pot of coffee. We can talk some more."