to be wholly free and amongst the stars

You can’t sleep.

For the first time since you’ve known them, sleep won’t grant you this one wish. You’ve had to fight it off before, but now you’re begging for its mercy. No matter how hard you’ve tried, your brain can’t shut itself off. You guess that you’ve been laying here for hours, staring at your stupid reflection on the ceiling thinking about what he said to you, dissecting each word over and over. 

You find yourself giving away your heart to a man who could tear it into as many pieces as he wants. Was it all a fight for a future together or was it only stalling the inevitable? 

The fear is crippling.

You’ve considered the option of leaving, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Home would be far worse than this — just stuck with the same thoughts alone.

With enough weed in his system to take down a horse, Jake sleeps peacefully beside you. Something that should have you giggling with excitement, but now you’ve never felt farther away from him. You yearn to touch him, settling for passing brushes of your fingertips across his collections of tattoos. It almost angers you to see him look so beautiful. 

His soft, rhythmic snores taunt you. You feel like an intruder in this bed. The velvet throws and silken sheets are sandpaper against your bare skin. You want to hate him. He didn’t ‘let you fuck Josh’. He didn’t let you do anything. The possessiveness made him a stranger. What once excited you about him now feels sour on your tongue. It’s a taste you can’t swallow back, and it makes you nauseous. 

Maybe Jake is bad for you. 

Is it that, or is it that he was trying to make you believe that to protect himself? 

He’s that unforgiving sea. The tide that whisks you away, sweeping you so quickly off your feet that you forget what the sandy bottom feels like beneath your toes. You’re scared of it, caught in the undercurrent, but for those few precious seconds, it’s blissful. You finally submit to it, only for him to throw you into the shore with the crashing waves. 

Anxiety chews at you, like termites burrowing through the walls of your mind. Your chest tightens, and that sinking feeling hangs in your gut, You can’t stay in this bed for a second longer.

Just like his bedroom, the house is quiet and calm, but not entirely dark. A type of serenity that makes you uneasy given what transpired here hours ago. You notice something different —  an orange glow flickering from the living room. It dances across the furniture’s shadows on the hardwood floor, and as you step closer, you realize that this light source is coming from outside. The stainless steel fire pit, something you’ve glanced at only in passing, has been turned on tonight.

Its flames illuminate the back deck, bringing your eyes to Josh. He’s stretched across one of the patio lounge chairs, his face lit from his phone screen. You hide for a moment in the darkness of the living room, watching him take a long drag of a cigarette and flick the end into a glass ashtray sitting on the deck’s floor. 

He seems unlike himself, sitting all alone mindlessly scrolling. Every time you’ve seen him, he’s been in his element and constantly surrounded by people. It would eat you alive to go back to Jake’s room knowing that Josh is out there now.  

You tiptoe across the living room and pull the sliding glass door open, yanking his attention away from his phone. With how things were left from earlier today, there’s still undeniable tension between you. You mouth hi to which he gives you a weak smile, but the usual glimmer in his eyes is missing. 

He’s changed out of his jeans from earlier into a pair of heather-gray sweatpants — ones that are fitted with elastic cinching at his ankles. A small detail that tells you he’s been home for a while, and that he’s walked past Jake’s room on the way to his bedroom to change. 

“What’re you doing out here?” Even his voice is tired, void of its natural vibrancy and light. 

“I could ask you the same,” you answer flatly, pushing the glass door closed until it latches into place.

He tosses his phone down onto the deck floor beneath his chair and readjusts to sit up, letting out a heavy sigh, “Couldn’t sleep and thought some fresh air might help.”

You waddle toward him with your blanket wrapped around you, like a lone penguin fighting its way through Antarctica despite the fact it’s still summer. “Might be a little fresher if it wasn’t in the form of a cigarette.”

He fights back the real smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and taps the cigarette on the tray before taking another satisfying drag, blowing his response into the night air, “What can I say, old habits die hard.”

You sit on your chair beside him. “I think I might’ve heard that one before.”

He huffs a pained laugh, offering the nearly empty pack of Marlboros to you. “Yeah, well, I feel like today called for one… or twenty.” 

You chuckle, plucking one of the remaining two out of the package in agreement. Awkwardness hangs in the chilled air for a moment. You rip the bandaid off, cutting straight to the point. “Have the two of you …talked?”

Without saying a word, as if the action was purely habitual, he takes the cigarette from your grasp and swaps it with the one in his mouth, lighting the end of it with the burning cherry of his before offering it back to you. “Nope. And we’re probably not going to for a while,” he trails off as stares up at the night sky for a few beats of time before turning his head to look at you. “Forgiveness from Jake looks a bit different for me.”

It’s meant as a quippy joke, but the sadness in his voice is palpable, and you’re suddenly reminded of the damage you’re causing between these two brothers. You’ve been so swept up in your feelings and the sex that you’ve forgotten the strain this places on their relationship. You feel selfish and guilt rattles you like a bird in a cage too small. “I’m so sorry for all of this.”

He smiles, picking up the mask he’s dropped. For a moment you wonder how often it’s up for you. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, baby.”

“Josh…” you start to protest, but it’s interrupted by a cold shiver. You’re only wearing a thin cami and a pair of pajama shorts that barely qualify for being able to cover your ass.

It distracts him enough, but not to stare at your body. He gives you a worried look instead, one that tips the front of his brows together, making you wrap the blanket tighter around yourself. You shift your weight to the other asscheek, wincing from the slight tenderness between your legs and the bruises on your ass that will be sure to form by morning. 

He breaks his concerned gaze to put out his finished cigarette, crushing the butt into the glass ashtray. It makes you realize you’ve left yours burning away between your fingers and you take a shaky drag of your own. In your defense, your mind is in a million places at once right now, but his voice is what pulls you back, “How sore are you?”

The question confuses you at first, left wondering what he meant by it until it suddenly hits you. You stay silent, unsure of how to answer him. You look off into the pitch-black backyard and scoff a clipped laugh.

He smirks at your response, stretching against the back of the chair and tucking his hands beneath his curls. He then shakes his head, as if to rid himself of an intrusive thought and lets out a groan of a sigh, “Ya’know, I’ve unfortunately been on the other side of the wall a few times too many when Jake has had…makeup sex.”

His tone seems light-hearted enough, verging on more of a joke than a passive-aggressive dig toward the both of you. Half of you feels a bit embarrassed about being called out, while the other half is angry that this is a recurring thing for Jake. The thoughts bubble up like reflux, and you almost teeter over the edge and fall down the rabbit hole of overthinking about everything that has happened. The emotions of it all have been at the cusp of your consciousness, and you’re trying so hard to fight them off. You don't blame Josh for the observation. He knew how upset Jake was, and it’s no surprise that all three of you have been conditioned to communicate your feelings through sex. 

Josh’s words break through once again, but now he’s a little more on edge than before. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You answer, doing your best to give him a reassuring smile, “Yeah, I’m okay.” It’s weak, and he doesn’t buy it. You stare at the firepit, watching the flames dance in the stainless steel basin with the scent of gas hitting your nose. It’s no nostalgic campfire out in the woods, but it’s doing the trick to keep you warm in a pinch.  After taking a deep breath, you finally confess, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Does anyone?” He answers cryptically, staring up at the night sky. Thankfully there’s less light pollution here than your apartment downtown, so you’re able to make out the stars.  

“Josh, I’m serious,” you huff, but your scold is empty. 

His eyes drift from the sky and find their way back to you. “I don’t think you have to worry about that tonight.” 

You take the moment to look at him closely, and that’s when you catch the reflective sheen of Saniderm behind his right ear. “Did…did you get a new tattoo?”

A mischievous smile creeps across his face like he’s been waiting patiently for you to point it out. “Maybe.”

He’s playing coy, but you want to get a better look. You stand up abruptly from your chair, and with your blanket wrapped tightly around you and your cigarette in hand, you step over him to straddle his lap.

“Oof,” he grunts dramatically when you drop your ass onto him and shimmy yourself closer to his crotch. “No, no. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. Please, I insist.”

Feigning shock from his play of sarcasm, you gasp, giving it right back, “Oh, I’m sorry, is this seat taken?”

“I think you’ve staked your claim a long time ago, baby,” he coos, sneaking your half-burned cigarette from your fingers resting on his shoulder. He’s so smooth that you don’t even notice he did it until he brings it to his mouth. 

You take the opportunity, grasping his chin gently to inspect the newest addition to his collection. You hold his strong jaw, turning his face to the left to reveal the side viewpoint of a butterfly tucked behind his ear. The distortion of the little square bandage makes it hard to see the fine details, but you’re able to make out two letters in its wing. 

Your initials. 

You flip through all the possibilities of what those two letters inked permanently into his skin could mean. “Done holding me hostage?” He mumbles, blowing out the nicotine-laced smoke while peering out of the corner of his eye. 

You release your hold and lean back on his thighs. Your mouth drops in shock. “Are those…?

He chuckles, blowing his laughter through his nose. “Mmhmm.”

“I thought getting someone’s name tattooed on you was bad juju or something. Like the cardinal rule.” 

He shrugs, putting out your cigarette as well — playing all of this off far more casually than you. “I could probably think of twenty things off the top of my head worse than a girl’s name.” His hands skim over the tops of your thighs to find your waist beneath the blanket, but when your expression doesn’t change, he emphasizes, “I wanted to, baby. You have my work on your body. I wanted you on mine.”

“That’s different,” you argue, even though you’re becoming distracted by his thumbs playing on your hips. “You’re a tattoo artist. That’s your job. I’m just some girl you’re hooking up with.”

The last sentence throws him off. He recoils, pulling his brows together in confusion as he looks at you. The reaction makes you question why you even blurted it out in the first place. “Is that what you really think? You’re just some girl I’m sleeping with?”

“Yeah. I mean no… I dunno.” You stumble over yourself and quickly try to shift back. “It just seems like a big commitment to have my initials on your body, right?” 

You’re not sure why you’re having such a hard time looking at him, but it could be that you feel like this is something you don’t deserve from him. “Why? You’re special to me. I would have your name across my forehead if you asked me to,” he explains, but your judgmental stare makes him reconsider. “Okay, maybe not my forehead, but ya’ know what I mean.”

“I’ll try not to see that as a red flag.” 

He smiles up at you — the one that makes your heart melt in a cartoonish puddle of goo. It makes you feel good. A little too good. It’s the distraction you’re desperate for and the reassurance that makes you believe that everything is just fine when it’s not. It’s the type of smile that brings Kai’s words to the forefront of your mind.

You love him, don’t you?

You’re becoming attached. 

 “If the other ones haven’t scared you off by now I think we might be okay,” he jokes, gently kneading your hips as you laugh, dragging the dull edge of his nails in small circles down your thigh. You realize how much you’ve needed this affection from him like it’s a deep breath during a panic attack. He hums in thought before asking, “Wanna smoke a bowl with me?”

He stretches to pick up the already-packed glass bowl from under his chair. You snort when you see it in his hands, “If I take a hit from that I’ll be a goner.”

He smirks, patting the fluffy green flower down with his thumb. “Hmm…what if I shotgun you a couple then?”

“Well… since you’re twisting my arm about it.”

“Atta girl.” He laughs, raises it to his mouth, and flicks the lighter, bringing the flame to the fresh bowl, scorching a corner of the green to black ash. You watch as he pulls in the smoke and holds it in his lungs before tipping his chin, gesturing you to lean in. He slips his fingers into your hair, guiding you close with his hand wrapped around the nape of your neck until you’re an inch away from his lips. For a second, your noses brush against each other, and you feel the cool metal of his golden hoop. You’re undeniably tense, holding in every emotion within your muscles like a tightly wound banjo string. He smiles, whispering, “Relax for me, baby. It’s just you and me.” 

He waits patiently for you to take a steadying breath. When you finally open your lips for him, he slowly exhales that rich smoke into the depths of your mouth. You breathe him in, chasing every bit of intimacy you can from him.

You cough a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you got a tattoo for me.”

He giggles and starts rocking his hips to a beat, suddenly breaking out into the song, Butterfly, “Come, my lady. Come, come lady. You’re my butterfly, sugar, baby.”

You brace yourself on his shoulders as he bounces you around, giggling along with him, “How high are you?”

“I dunno. Smoked a bowl before you came out here.” 

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot,” he declares, sparking the lighter again to the glass bowl. This time, you take the lead, cradling his face to inhale the hit spilling out from his lips. You hover, feeling the warmth of his breath even when the smoke has completely dissipated into the air. 

You press your lips to him, and at first, they don’t move. They stay frozen as if he has some lingering hesitation. He’s holding back when he whispers your name as a weak warning. You’re the one to initiate by stroking your thumb across his cheek, whining, “I need you.”

An unrestrained whimper echoes in his throat, and you feel the twitch of his cock beneath you. As soon as he parts his lips for more, you flick your tongue across the top lip. He responds with a groan, chasing it with his own. You’re eager, sucking on the bottom one as you grind yourself across his lap. 

“Fuck, baby. You drive me crazy,” he sighs dreamily, allowing you access to slip your tongue deeper into his mouth. You find the golden bar pierced through his tongue instantly, and it teases you as it glides over yours with every pass. It’s another reminder of how kissing him and Jake is so different. While he lets you take the lead, his hands busy themselves. His fingers slip under your pajama shorts with little resistance, roaming over the soft curve of your ass. He smiles, interrupting the kiss, “No panties?”

“Couldn’t find any,” you mumble, capturing his lips for another kiss. 

His fingertips continue to slide lower down your ass, skimming faintly across your essentially-bare pussy. The feeling of your shorts clinging to you has already sent your senses into overdrive, and you’re so sensitive to the touch, that you shudder, making him hum in satisfaction. 

He grasps your waist for balance, and finally sets the glass bowl down on the deck, freeing his other hand. Without bothering to remove your shorts, he dives under the fabric. You’re breathless with anticipation, practically vibrating before he’s even able to touch you. 

The second he feels your wetness on his fingertips, he moans, “Oh, baby.” Despite his very obvious erection pressing into the back of your thigh, he stays mindful of how tender you are, circling your clit with the slightest pressure. You tremble in need, aching with a desperate desire to have him. 

It’s making you feel like a teenager again when you used to sneak around with your boyfriend — fueled by the adrenaline, the lust, and the raw emotion. He teases your entrance, coating his fingers in your slick before dipping one inside you. “Just aching to be taken care of, hmm?” 

“Josh,” you whine, balling the fabric of his t-shirt in your fists pressed against his chest. You’re definitely sore, but the way he’s slowly pushing his finger inside of you wipes that concern clean from your mind. It’s a blooming heat of pleasure, radiating throughout your core. He gradually works up the speed, adding another finger once you adjust to him. 

You do your best to keep your blanket wrapped around you, keeping the warmth of your body trapped within it. His hand leaves its spot on your hip to tug the front of your cami down, causing your breasts to spill over the now-stretched neckline. The cool, summer air hits your exposed nipples, making them harden in seconds. It also sends a chill throughout your body that raises a sea of goosebumps across the surface of your skin. You’re unbothered by it, distracted by how he’s tracing down your sternum, following the delicate linework of his tattoo. 

He cups one of your tits in the palm of his hand, giving it a firm squeeze, purring, “You’re so fucking perfect. You deserve to be worshiped.”

He’s telling you what you want to hear, and you’re eating up every praise like you’re on the brink of starvation. You comb your fingers into his curls and pull them by the root. It tips his attention to your face, revealing the stars sparkling in his glazed eyes. “Then worship me,” you say back to him, but the words sound more like a plea rather than a command.  

He buries his face between your breasts and curls his fingers that are deep inside you, sweeping them across your G-spot while you rock your hips back and forth. You hear how wet you are — lewd, graphic sounds of his soaked fingers fucking you. 

His heart rate is up. You can tell by the desperate throbbing of his cock and his panting breath clinging to you with every heavy exhale, draping your chest with lust. He nips at the supple skin, soothing the slight sting with a shower of kisses. He’s treasuring you like a prize, making you feel wanted and desired. 

“I want you,” you whine impatiently, feeling down his chest toward the band of his sweatpants.

He distracts you with a lick across your nipple, rolling it into the heat of his mouth. His moans spill around it as he spoils you with languid rolls of his tongue. You ride his hand, creating the momentum yourself with his grasp on your hip keeping you steady. “Cum for me first, baby. You’re doing so good.” 

He drags the tip of his nose across your chest to give his attention to your neglected breast. He traces his swollen lips around your nipple in a teasing circle before blessing it with a flattened tongue. While he might be feral about your tits, he knows that what he’s doing heightens the pleasure between your legs. Like he’s learned a dirty magic trick, your clit is the one believing it’s feeling his mouth. 

You almost hate how good he makes you feel. There’s no self-control when it comes to him. You’ve been broken down tonight, and you need him to build you together again, piece by piece — to take away the anxiety by reassuring you that everything between you and him is exactly the same. How could you ever go back to your life without this? It consumes you and you can’t control your moans. 

That feeling tightens the knot residing in your core, and every pass of his fingers and roll of his tongue frays the cords. It snaps completely, and silent unrelenting euphoria ravages you. You don’t make a single sound as he takes you through your orgasm, the seconds feeling like hours until you finally gasp a breath and shake violently in his hold.

“Please fuck me, Josh,” you cry, clutching onto him like the moment might all vanish. 

“Okay. Okay, baby.” He simultaneously lifts you slightly and pulls his cock from the pant leg of his sweats. He rushes, desperately dragging it through your slick folds in the search for the opening of your cunt.

You sink onto him once he nudges himself inside you, causing him to bottom out instantly. 

The following moan is ripped from you and thrown into the quiet night. If his neighbors are out at this hour, there’s no doubt they would hear you. Impatient and desperate, you rock your hips. 

The second thrust. 

“Fuck,” he groans into the hollow of your clavicle, stalling inside the warmth of your walls wrapping around him. His wet fingers that were just inside you trail across the small of your back and press into the soft skin of your hip. 

Just like his fingers, you’re drenching his cock every time he slides in and out of you. Both of you know that there’s still some of Jake inside you from earlier, but you don’t speak of it. You don’t care about the dirty talk right now. You’re not even worried about how you look. It’s just the two of you. Right here. Right now. The way he feels is the only thing that matters. 

He says your name.

“Look at me,” he murmurs. You can’t deny him, and you never have, even if you’re lost in the clouds. You eventually find your way back to his eyes —lust-blown and hazy. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

The distraction he was giving you is temporary. It’s stolen from you in an instant because there’s a sadness in his voice, and the words come out thick and heavy. You can’t imagine the pain he feels telling you that his twin brother isn’t good enough for you. “Josh.”

He cradles your face so you stay with him, and you see insecurity flash in his eyes. “Hell, I probably don’t deserve you either.”

He probably said it to soften the blow, but it just hurts more. You already feel like you’re losing Jake. You can’t lose him too. Tears pool on the brim of your lashes, and once you blink, they spill down your flushed cheeks. 

“Hey,” He breathes, and catches one, wiping it away with a sweep of his thumb. “Please don’t cry, baby.” 

You don’t want to think about this. You don’t want to think at all. What you need him for is to soothe the heartache, guilt, and selfishness you’re wallowing in. You need him to tend to your wounds, lick them clean, and let you forget that what you have might be falling apart.

You start to ride him again, and the motion of your hips drowns your thoughts. He noses into your neck, the brush of his lips sending tingles down your spine. There’s no decency in the way you kiss him again. You lick into his open, waiting mouth, your tongue greedy for his. 

He gasps at your eagerness, curling his tongue across yours, almost as desperate to lose himself in you. The taste of weed and cigarettes clings to his breath, but you don’t care. You’re holding onto anything that makes him, him. If it’s not that, it’s his curls wrapping around your fingers, or the warmth and scent of his soft skin. 

You suck on his tongue and rock yourself against his lap, driving the tip of his cock against your cervix. He groans at the feeling, retreating his tongue only to take over. Things switch, making him the dominant one in your mouth, and he holds your hip to keep you steady above him. 

You probably could’ve gotten off again doing most of the work, but as soon as he pushes into you, the worry of exerting yourself is wiped from you. He’s holding you to his chest, lifting you just enough off his thighs to control his thrusts. He fucks into you, setting a sinfully slow pace, and all you have to do is focus on the silken glide of his cock.

“Does it feel good?” he rasps against your ear. You nod, but your whines break from the movement between your legs, and you try to moan his name, pulling at his hair and grasping at his shirt. He grunts, squeezing your hip, “I want more of that. Can I hear you?” 

You free the sounds you’ve been holding back. He can feel how close you are from how you’re fluttering around him, and he keeps the rhythm he’s set. He searches for your lips, bumping into your nose to find them. “You think you can give me one more?” 

You ground yourself to him through a broken kiss, pressing your forehead to his while he guides you into your next orgasm. The other times he talked you through it, but tonight he’s quiet.

His moans are hushed little whispers against your lips. He’s learned enough to know the sounds you make when it consumes you, and when it does, he follows. His movements cease, and then you feel the heavy pulse of his cock. 

You don’t dare move, wanting to keep all of him for as long as you can knowing he’ll soften and his release will eventually leak from you. He hugs you tight, maybe as reassurance, or perhaps the reason is that he simply doesn’t want to let you go either. 

His arms loosen and he pushes you back to kiss you. It’s bittersweet. You feel it even before the words leave his lips. He’s quiet when he speaks, his voice lacking the playfulness he had before, “As much as I want you in my bed, I think you should be with him tonight. He needs you.” 

Your heart sinks. You’re confused that he’s backtracking on what he said moments ago. Even if he’s right, it still feels like rejection. “Josh…”

He shushes you with a gentle finger to your mouth, and he smiles, hoping that it comforts you. “It’s okay. I’ll be here in the morning, yeah?”

You’re not sure how you’re supposed to go back to Jake’s room, but you don’t argue. You touch the tip of his nose, earning a laugh from him. 

“You will?” 

He knows you don’t want to leave, and you try to believe he doesn’t want you to either. You can see there’s more he isn’t saying, the way the thoughts play behind his eyes, but you know you won’t get them out of him. His smile becomes thin and small, and he answers, “Of course.” 

The last kiss you give him is chaste and quick. Almost platonic to the others. “Goodnight.” 

“Night, baby.” 

You stay strong lifting yourself from him and gathering your blanket. Your actions hold tension, and he can see that you’re upset. Before you disconnect from him completely, he grabs your wrist, but he hesitates on the words. “I…I’m sorry.” 

The smile on your face is strained, but you don’t want him to see how sad you truly are. “It’s okay. I understand.” 

You leave him there on the patio, right where you found him. Your time with him is like that instant relief of cold water after you burn yourself. It’s a false security because once it’s gone, the pain throbs harder than it did before.  

You don’t bother being quiet walking into Jake’s room. There’s no point slipping back under the covers like you never left in the first place. He could be mad all he wants. It wouldn’t change the way you feel right now. You crawl into yourself, so exhausted by your self-pity that you don’t even notice that he isn’t snoring. 

You shouldn’t do it, but you turn your head to look up at the ceiling. 

He’s on his back and his eyes are open, looking right at your reflection in the mirror. You’re not sure how long he’s been awake, or if he knows about your little adventure to the patio. It doesn’t matter. 

You rip your eyes away from his and burrow your face into the pillow. There’s a million things you could say, to deflect and make him feel as bad as you do, but nothing forms on your tongue. Silence becomes deafening and the tension you felt leaving Josh outside fails in comparison to this. You almost want him to be mad to justify your anger, and you brace yourself for the things he’s about to say.

But he doesn’t say a word…and somehow that’s worse.

The floodgates blow open without warning, and your chest shakes as you cry, your breathing rattling with unfiltered emotion. He rolls over onto his side, and for a moment, you think he’s turning away from you until he touches you. You flinch from him, but he doesn’t move his hand from your back. 

The tears you can wipe away and hide from him, but he hears your sniffle. He hooks your shoulder and pulls you into his chest. You thought you would fight him again, push him away, and call him the first name that came to mind. But you don’t. 

Jake just holds you tight in his arms and lets you sob into his worn t-shirt —the tears staining the fabric serve as a reminder of how much he hurt you.

“I’m so sorry, dove.”

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