clothing sharing

thanks to his time in polmont, ruben Does Not Share his things. his food, his clothing, cigarettes or gum or a fucking passing glance. gotta project, yeah? unflappable, untouchable, get you through. or at least he didn’t until the smell in their bedroom solidified from just-niall to niall-and-ruben, lingering smoke and good-sour skin and ruben's pilfered aftershave and the remnants of niall's most recent tea left to evaporate or go science project on the desk.

he comes home from something or other one night to find niall sitting atop his bed, hair stringy and damp from his shower, absolutely drowning in one of ruben's too big for him, let alone niall, jumpers. the kneejerk reaction would be to nash his teeth, ask him who the fuck he thinks he is rifling through ruben's belongings - but it's not there, ruben's tried and true survival instincts curiously off kilter where this big headed, brown eyed, scrawny little dweeb is concerned. like when a predator finds too young prey and fucks up the order of things caring for it instead'a fixing its jaws the way nature intended and squeezing. something in him is so fucking warm there might as well he steam escaping his pores. there's a tightness in his lungs and sweat on his palms and a thrumming in his veins that's set up shop in his skull and rendered him deaf. he manages to keep from stumbling by leaning heavily against the door jam, posted up like that was what he meant to do all along. manages to recover himself quick enough that he's spared from niall seeing how affected he is. it's just a fucking jumper, really. not even one of ruben's favorites. but he knows he put it back without washing it; knows it smells of smoke and chip grease and ruben; knows niall had to've smelt it pulling it over his head and still decided to do it anyway, clean skin be damned. ruben's teeth itch when they lock eyes, desperate to set somewhere and rend. there's so much white showing in those big fucking eyes; niall clearly didn't expect him back tonight, had planned to divest himself of the jumper before ruben returned. probably close to pissing himself, poor bastard. ruben's always the one marching them forward, but even he hadn’t considered this. stupid, really.

what's niall's is ruben's is ruben's is niall's.

the thought of a little fear sweat working its way into the weave, burrowing into the fibers and blending seamlessly with ruben's own dried sweat and smell, has him grinning, probably looking deranged. tempers the madness so bambi doesn't bolt by offering his acceptance. "finally giving the men's section a go, huh, bambers? s'a fucking dress now but you'll fill'er out."

if he starts leaving gently - and sometimes not so gently - worn items on niall's bed for his consideration, usually jumpers or long sleeve shirts, that's ruben's fucking business. he can leave stuff where he pleases. they're brothers, niall doesn't mind. kid never remembers his outerwear anyway, ruben's gotta do fucking everything around here, really.

first kiss

i'm a big believer in ruben being distressingly physically demonstrative with niall 24/7, but unless he's blitzed or out his gourd there was always a carefully constructed final safeguard keeping anything more from occurring. velvet rope, maybe, crushed beneath ruben's sweaty grip, but effective enough. lets him remain king of gay chicken, scotland, for all of the 80s and 90s.

the first time their lips touch, they've been doing something stupid and're having to flee before the consequences of their actions can catch up. slicing tires, maybe. smashing post boxes. a flaming bag of dog shit on someone's porch. some hairbrained macho bullshit ruben ropes niall into with a smile and a not so gentle elbow. knows in niall's squirrely brain this kinda stuff tickles him fuckin pink even if he's always trying to act like he's above it all. it doesn’t even take much to talk him into it - ruben could get him to jump off a bridge with him so long as he did it alongside him. and of course ruben would - who the fuck else could show niall his ass from a hole in the ground?

he always goes the extra mile, too, a little flare ruben wouldn't've thought to bring to the table. complimentary in a way that has emotion flooding through ruben's veins. he chooses to name it all pride because it's easier.

both of them cackling like idiots running off into the darkness as someone hurls swears at them, maybe a gardening spade. drunk enough you'd probably be able to trail them on scent alone. niall in the front, surprisingly fast with his hollow bird bones. one hand on ruben's wrist urging him along - as if there’s anywhere else he'd rather fuckin be - while the other cradles a still-open bottle of liquor ruben'd pinched from his weekly conquest's family liquor cabinet. they run far further than necessary, run for the thrill of it, the adrenaline pairing sweetly with the alcohol.

finally come to a stop in some rusty, dinky little playground. no time to catch their breaths before ruben's launching niall into the air and spinning him around. burrowing his face into niall's soft belly to hide how overwhelming his grin is.

niall wriggling out of his grip a few moments later, shimmying down in the cage of ruben's arms. laughing pressed cheek to cheek, swaying, still wrapped up in each other. he turns to say something and ruben just - smacks him one, mostly on the corner of his mouth. he does it again, proper dead on, before he realizes what he's done.

he course corrects by popping niall's cheek, once twice thrice, then just - opens his gob and let's whatever pour out of it until there’s enough distance between the warm and sweet-salt taste of niall's mouth, and ruben's wrinkled and stained perception of himself. it was friendly, masculine. fuckin familial. it was just the adrenaline, it didn't mean anything untoward.

niall's a smart boy, he doesn't bring it up. but it happens again. and again. cover of darkness and cozied up in alcohol or hash. ruben's joy and love just - runneth over and he cannot contain it. just for a moment, the reins go slack.

it's never more than a peck or two, and always from ruben to niall.

the first and only time it's more than that, niall's body is cooling and the reins ruben's clutched his entire life are fat with blood beside him.

first play ruben goes to

it's not macbeth. ruben catches lori talking to niall on the phone, informing him she won't be able to make this showing tonight, either, sorry, love. he hadn’t been invited to it, doesn’t know what it's about or who niall's playing; hadn’t heard from niall much since - anyway. not important. he knows nothing about that fag shit but that's his fucking brother, even if they're not speaking. even if niall isn't speaking to him, can't believe he'd just - over that fucking poof - christ almighty. anyway. not important! that's his brother and someone's going to watch him perform some gay ass theatre bit and if it has to be ruben himself well! here goes fuckin nothing.

he grabs his keys and goes, weaving his bike through traffic with a finger raised. can't they see he's got somewhere to be?

niall plays a few small character bits, background characters mostly though one does speak like. four fuckin words. he doesn’t see ruben the first or second time he's on stage but the third - oh, the third, their eyes meet even with the light shining in niall's eyes and ruben's chest fucking hurts so fucking bad watching niall's fuzzy little brows furrow and his mouth tremble before he schools his face. alarmed ruben's there but someone's there! to see him and support him, there for literally no other reason in the world. ruben wants to tell the daft bastard that of course it's ruben, it'll always be ruben, he just needs to get his head out of his ass and let him. let him let him let him let him let him let him.

the play is stupid. ruben can't hardly hear what's going on, he's so far in the back in the nose bleeds. he doesn’t need to follow along, though. he watches and keeps an eye out for his boy, the only times he really perks up.

afterwards ruben manages to drag him out for a pint. it's awkward, conversation stilted like it's never been for them. he wants to shake niall in hopes of dislodging whatever he's erected between them. settles for ripping open a bag of crisps and needling niall into eating the bulk of them. tells him he's doing the opposite of what freshers are supposed to do and looks like he's losing weight instead.