Volume 20: All the Kinds of Broken
Chapter 36
Desired
Chapter Notes
Let’s find out how Bror feels about the events of the last chapter!Btw, thank you to everybody leaving me asks and comments on Tumblr. I love talking about these stories! <33
Chapter Notes
Let’s find out how Bror feels about the events of the last chapter!Btw, thank you to everybody leaving me asks and comments on Tumblr. I love talking about these stories! <33
Let’s find out how Bror feels about the events of the last chapter!
Btw, thank you to everybody leaving me asks and comments on Tumblr. I love talking about these stories! <33
Bror dreamed about Tilrey.At first he felt only a presence beside him, not touching him except for an occasional waft of warm breath on his shoulder. Though his eyes were closed, he knew instantly who it was.Tilrey had an unmistakable feel to him, a fine grain like the cedar in the Gym sauna, or the special sap that István had made in artisanal batches, or those funny broken-up clouds that looked so pretty on the spring horizon, or—Bror was no poet, okay? He couldn’t sum someone up in a nice phrase. All he knew was that Tilrey was a mix of soft and hard, rough and smooth, who could never be confused with anyone else.And now he also knew the length and girth of Tilrey’s cock in his mouth. He knew how he tasted when you swallowed him. He knew how he cried out when he came. These were things Bror couldn’t unknow or unfeel.In the dream, Tilrey rolled over, or maybe Bror did, and suddenly Bror was holding him, spooning him. Tilrey’s hair tickled Bror’s chin, sending shivers of sensation down his spine.Bror kissed the top of Tilrey’s head. And then Tilrey’s hips were rocking against his, and Tilrey’s hand was reaching between their intertwined bodies to grasp Bror’s cock.Bror was hard instantly—throbbingly, painfully hard. He tried to free himself, to push Tilrey away, because this wasn’t supposed to happen.“You’re a kid,” he protested. “You’re like my kid brother.”But Tilrey’s hand kept right on doing what it was doing, and he whispered in Bror’s ear, “I want you inside me.”With that, Bror woke with a jolt to find himself just as hard in reality.Shit. Fir István, his Councillor, was snoring gustily in the big bed beside him. At least Bror hadn’t spurted in his sleep like a teenager—that would’ve been embarrassing. But his cock seemed to have a mind of its own, and it wouldn’t soften. He ended up creeping into the bathroom to take care of it.He tried not to think of Rishka while he was doing it. But then he gave up and let himself, because after all, it was only a fantasy, a random night wish that would be gone in the morning. He didn’t believe in censoring his fantasies, even the fucked-up ones. Better to get them out of his system.And it felt really fucking good.But the next day when Bror faced Tilrey in the Café, sitting with the others in their usual booth, really fucking good turned into really fucking awkward. Somehow he felt even more criminal than he had facing Tilrey in the Gym the morning after he’d sucked Tilrey’s cock in the Vacants, almost three ten-days ago.Bror had told himself he could do it without feeling a thing, the way he sucked off Upstarts all the time. He was a professional, and Tilrey needed a little oral therapy. But Bror’s pulse had leaped the first time he touched Tilrey there, carefully liberating him from his briefs.Ansha had told them all in conspiratorial whispers that Tilrey was “very well endowed,” along with a few other intimate things. Now Bror could see for himself. He’d wanted and needed so badly to feel nothing. He hoped Tilrey hadn’t been able to tell how much he enjoyed sheathing that organ in his mouth.The “next time” Tilrey had promised or threatened hadn’t happened—so far, anyway. Bror had been waiting for his friend to initiate something—dreading it, sometimes, because next time he might lose control. But they seemed to have returned to normal, more or less.At this point, Tilrey’s cheeks no longer went scarlet when he saw Bror. If he made eye contact less than usual, it wasn’t obvious, except maybe to Ansha.The redhead noticed everything, and he seemed determined to get a rise out of Tilrey today.“You can’t be actually reading these things,” he said, flipping open one of the hefty books that Tilrey had brought to return to the Library.“Ansha, cut it out,” Bror said wearily.Ignoring him, Ansha read a few lines aloud, stumbling over the long words with comical exaggeration. “In-dis-s-sociable? Seriously, Rishka? You can’t tell me you know what any of this means.”Tilrey stared down at the tabletop, playing with a loose thread in the cuff of his tunic.Ansha had once confessed to Bror that he couldn’t read more than a paragraph without getting “itchy.” Bror had heard of kids with similar difficulties receiving special tutoring, but when he mentioned this to Ansha, the other boy just looked confused. Maybe that sort of help wasn’t available in Ring Eight schools.Ansha had been dealt a fairly shitty hand in life, no doubt about it, but that didn’t excuse him.“Sure he knows what it means,” Bror said, plucking the book from Ansha’s hand and setting it back in Tilrey’s pile. “Rishka’s smarter than any of us.”Lus, sitting across from them, laughed as if Bror had meant to be sarcastic. He stopped once he saw the disapproval on Bror’s face.Lus wasn’t mean, but he took it for granted that Skeinshaka weren’t the brightest bulbs. It was what they’d all been taught, growing up in Redda—that living at the center of the world made them special.Yet it was so obvious to Bror that Tilrey had been raised to see himself as special, too. No one in his immediate family had ever worked on a factory line; you could see it in the way his eyes glazed over when you talked about shifts and safety measures. He had manners and graces and inhibitions that reminded Bror of the highest-Level Laborers here in Redda. It was part of what made him so different from the rest of them—so attractive.Ansha saw that, too, Bror suspected, and he didn’t like it.Celinda said, “Fir Lindahl says Tilrey scored high enough on the E-Squareds to be a Strutter.”Ansha rolled his eyes. “Malsha could have messed with his score, easy.”“You’re being an asshole, Ansha,” Bror said, trying to keep his tone light. “Why wouldn’t he have a high score—because of where he’s from? That’s like me assuming you smuggle goods because you’re from Eight.”“Oooh, real nice, Brorsha. Anyway, I never said he was thick, just that he wasn’t that smart.” Ansha glanced sidelong at Tilrey, clearly hoping for a reaction. Tilrey didn’t even look at him, gazing out at the Hall of Records blazing in the sunlight.Ansha inched closer until their shoulders touched. “Tell us the truth. Do you borrow those big books to show off?”“Back off, Ansha,” Bror said, putting an edge on his voice. He was no genius himself, but that hadn’t made him resent people who cared about things like square roots and irregular verbs.He liked seeing Tilrey with those big books, even encouraged him to talk about them sometimes, though he understood only about a third of what Tilrey was saying. The kid’s excitement was contagious. Listening, Bror could almost see Tilrey’s mind working, hungry as a flickering flame. A brilliant mind, like an Upstart’s, but an anxious mind, too. A mind so quick and eager that it tied itself up in knots.He wished Tilrey would stand up for himself. Kid or goad Ansha right back. Shove him away. Celinda would have done it, and even Lus had a sharp tongue if you pushed him hard enough. Why did Rishka have to play dead? He was shy, yeah, but surely by now he felt comfortable enough to shit-talk them a little. And Ansha had it coming.Ansha glowered at Bror. “All I’m saying is, if he got such amazing test scores, he shouldn’t be here with us. And I doubt very much he scored high enough to be a Strutter. I heard Verán say that even Besha—Fir Linbeck—barely made the cut.”“Maybe Besha’s not that bright,” Celinda suggested.“He’s good at other stuff, like sucking up to Verán,” Lus said slyly.“I know, but seriously?” Ansha was still trying to get Tilrey to look at him. “Do you really think you scored that high?”Tilrey said, “Don’t know. They say it’s hard to cheat.”“Malsha didn’t mess with his score,” Bror said. “What’s eating you, Anshka?”“Nothing’s eating me, Brorshka.” Ansha seized Tilrey’s fidgeting hand and held it still.It was a casually possessive gesture, something Ansha wouldn’t have done during the Malsha era—a reminder to all of them that Verán had set him loose on Tilrey’s body. Bror’s cheeks warmed, and he willed Tilrey to yank his hand away. He has no fucking right!Tilrey didn’t move. He also didn’t look at Ansha.“I’m just kidding around,” Ansha said, stroking Tilrey’s hand. “Right? You know me. So, what’s up with you and Besha, anyway? You sucked him off over winter recess, I heard. When’s Verán gonna give him a whole night with you?”“Dunno,” Tilrey said, his tone implying he also didn’t care.“Me, I haven’t been with him yet.”“Same,” Bror said, hoping they could change the subject. “Have you, Lusha?”Lus groaned. “Once. It was fine, but Besha’s so slimy. He’s not even high-named. I don’t know what Verán sees in him.”“He needs Besha for his dirty work,” Celinda said. “Too many Islanders got chummy with Malsha while he was in power, and now they have to do penance. My Akeina says Besha gave him step-by-step instructions for groveling himself back into Verán’s good graces. He hates that smirky weasel.” Bror couldn’t focus on the dissection of Besha. He stared at the clasped hands on the table.So many times in the past two and a half years he’d stepped in and stopped Ansha from teasing or touching Tilrey. But Tilrey was twenty years old now and, as he himself often pointed out, full grown and bigger than Ansha. Surely it was time for him to enforce his own boundaries?Wide blue eyes swimming with tears. What if Verán makes you fuck me?Memories flooded Bror’s mind—Tilrey weeping like a child, Tilrey apologizing. How could Bror give him what he claimed to want when he was still in such a bad place, in need of protection? If it was possible for a fuck to be therapeutic, then Tilrey needed the gentlest, kindest fuck in the world. And Bror didn’t trust himself to deliver it.When Bror was sucking Tilrey’s cock, focused on giving his friend pleasure, it had been easy for him to hide his own arousal. But if he were to open Tilrey, to mount him, to penetrate him? He might not be able to hold back. He knew his own body—it would thrust too roughly, too selfishly. Tilrey might claim he wanted exactly that, but he was too damaged to know what he wanted right now.Verán had fucking better not pair them up. Bror could always quit on the spot. But if he did that, he might not be able to protect Tilrey at all.“Akeina’s just jealous!” Ansha said with vehemence, still on the subject of Besha Linbeck. “He wishes he had half the gumption Besha’s got.”“Gumption?” Celinda raised an eyebrow.“Yeah, gumption! These high names, they were born to the good life. But Besha had to fight for every scrap, and that’s what meritocracy’s actually supposed to be. He improved his lot in life,” Ansha said, lifting his chin, “just like I did.”Lus feigned swooning with boredom. “We all know you came from a shitty tower block in Ring Eight, Ansha. We get it.”“No, you don’t get it, Lus! You were so sweet-drowned from a tender age that you basically just floated from one man to the next looking for sap until a Councillor found you. You lucked into it. So did you, Bror.”Bror shrugged. “If you want to say that.”“You did!” And then, of course, Ansha turned to Tilrey. “And you claim you didn’t even want to come to Redda, though I find that hard to believe. But me? I wanted this. I scrapped for it.”“Tell us all about it, Ansha,” Celinda said with a groan.Ansha barged on, though Tilrey had to be the only one of them who hadn’t heard his story. “My dad died in a factory accident. My mom was sweet-drowned. I sucked off teachers so they wouldn’t report me absent. The only way for me to get near an Upstart was to commit petty crimes—shirking my duties, for instance. The first day I was supposed to work on that damned assembly line, I walked right into the Constabulary and held out my hands for the cuffs. I asked to see the Examining Magistrate. She wasn’t interested in what I had to offer. But after I begged, she introduced me to a colleague who was.”Bror didn’t like Ansha’s story. He could almost see Ansha at eighteen, skinny and spotty and desperate for a better life, down on his knees begging some stupid Judicial official to accept a blow job. It wasn’t his fault, but still—Bror had never begged a Strutter for anything. Never had, never would.“It took me a few months, but I convinced my new Strutter friend to take me to the Core. I made him so happy he introduced me to his friends, who introduced me to their friends. And the whole time I managed not to let any of them fuck me, because I knew I’d be worth more fresh. I knew my value, and I wouldn’t settle for anything less than a Councillor’s bed. I worked for it.”“More power to you, kid.” Bror exchanged an uneasy glance with Celinda. She seemed as embarrassed as he was—not by Ansha’s trajectory so much as his pride in it.When they all met, Ansha had been a slip of a thing with a big, boastful mouth and frightened eyes. He was still struggling to erase his Eighter accent, asking the other three to correct his pronunciation.One night in the Vacants, he came on to Bror—begging for a fuck, just like Tilrey had, only not like Tilrey at all. Ansha’s eyes were harder by then, and his mouth was determined. Bror gave in.All the way through that night, Ansha talked shop, milking Bror for tips on what Strutters liked. Is this good? Should I smile more? Like this, tilting my head? Or play harder to get? It would have been fucking annoying if it weren’t so sad.It didn’t take Bror long to figure out why Ansha was so insecure. His Strutter, Councillor Lindahl, wasn’t into him. He was a useful tool, nothing more. “Don’t take it personally—it’s not about you,” Bror repeated, but Ansha did take Lindahl’s rejection personally. It probably still hurt him, though he’d learned not to admit it.Lindahl preferred boys who reminded him of young Upstarts. He preferred Tilrey.“We’re all in awe of your gumption, Ansha,” Celinda said, opening her blue eyes wide. “Clearly you appreciate this life of ours more than we possibly could. But don’t say Tilrey lucked into it. That’s just mean.”Ansha’s mouth twisted. He was in spoiling-for-a-fight mode; Bror had seen it before. “What’s mean about it? He is lucky.” Squeezing Tilrey’s hand, he said in a low, intimate voice, “I know what Rishka needs, better than any of you do. He likes a strong hand. He likes someone telling him what to do.”Just like that, Bror finally lost his cool. His cheeks burned, his vision blurred, and his head was a volcano swelling toward explosion.“E-fucking-nough!” He pried Ansha’s hand free from Tilrey’s, trying hard to keep from shouting. Ansha deserved a little shouting, but Lus and Celinda would never let him live down the public loss of his temper. “We’re all friends here, but you need to give him his space. Stop trying to get a rise out of him!”Ansha edged away from Tilrey, looking smug. “Maybe I was trying to get a rise out of you, Brorsha. Look at you, coming to his defense. Champion of the innocent. I think we all know what you really want from him.”Lus snickered. Bror gave Ansha a look that he hoped would scare the shit out of him. “What do I want?”Ansha glanced around the table. “I gotta say it?”Celinda said, “Better not.”Bror shot her a glare, too. Had they all known how he felt about Tilrey this whole time? “Don’t start things you can’t finish, Ansha.”“Oh, I’m scared,” Ansha began, but he broke off as Tilrey finally moved, rising to collect his books.He didn’t look at any of them, though surely he felt them staring. “I gotta get to the Library. It’s a free-night, and Vlastor’s expecting me back.”“Don’t let us keep you from your books,” Ansha said, standing up to let Tilrey past him.Bror rose, too. He would follow Tilrey, but first he needed to give Ansha a piece of his mind. “See you soon, kid?”“Yup.” Tilrey left the Café without another word.Bror sat down heavily. Was the kid still pissed at him for the other night? Was it possible he thought Bror didn’t want him at all?Surely any idiot could see how he felt—Ansha, for instance. Fucking Ansha.Bror asked him, “Are you happy now?”Ansha flashed his most angelic smile, the one that made doddery Upstarts think he worshipped them. “If he can’t take a little teasing, he shouldn’t sit with us.”“You’re not teasing, you’re torturing,” Celinda said, to Bror’s surprise. “It was bad enough before. But after Verán’s given you the poor kid, it’s not fair to add insult to injury.”“What injury? I’ve never hurt him. Unless you think just being with me is torture?”“For Rishka, maybe,” Lus said thoughtfully. “He’s more sensitive than we are.”“He doesn’t like being put on display.” Clearly, Celinda had been observing Tilrey more closely than she’d let on. Maybe she didn’t dislike him as much as she pretended to.“But I’m good to him!” Ansha turned to Bror, as if he could sense Bror was the one to convince. “I make it easier every way I can. I keep Verán happy so Rishka doesn’t have to. And afterward, when we’re alone, he sometimes thanks me! He sleeps in my arms. It’s only here with the rest of you that he acts like I don’t exist.”He sleeps in my arms. For an instant, Bror couldn’t catch his breath, a sharp stab of jealousy closing his throat. He was glad Verán hadn’t made him use Tilrey that way, so very glad, but . . .“Isn’t that nice?” Celinda said archly. “So, maybe Tilrey doesn’t hate you all the time. But if you keep picking at him, he will. Imagine if Bror were the one fucking him for some Councillor’s pleasure. He wouldn’t gloat about it.”The heat in Bror’s cheeks was mortifying. “That’s right. Why would I ruin a good thing?”“Aha!” Ansha jabbed a finger at him. “You do want Rishka.”“It’s just a hypothetical,” Lus said.“No, he admitted he’d enjoy it!”Suddenly Bror had an idea—a daring one that might just work. He met Ansha’s eyes and pasted the slightest lascivious smile on his lips, the way he did when he knew an Upstart wanted a good boning. “Of course I’d enjoy Rishka, with or without a Strutter watching us. Are you kidding? If Verán gave him to me, I’d kiss that old bastard’s feet.”“You wouldn’t gloat, though,” Celinda reiterated.“No, no gloating. I’d be the most sensitive, discreet lover the world’s ever seen. I might even pretend I hadn’t wanted to do it—afterward, to make Rishka feel better. But . . .” Bror drew a deep breath, hating himself for what he was about to say. He needed to talk to Tilrey before Ansha had a chance to repeat any of this conversation. “I’d enjoy every second of using him. Fuck, yeah. I’d wank to the memories.”“I knew it,” Ansha said, looking almost relieved. “The white knight thing is an act.”“A man has needs, okay?” Bror risked a glance at Celinda. She looked skeptical. He stretched lazily and tugged up his shirt to scratch his belly. “Damn, I wish Verán would give him to me. I don’t suppose you’d put in a word for me, Ansha? You’re Verán’s favorite. He doesn’t like me normally. But me and Rishka, that would be a show.”He made a series of obscene gestures that painted an elaborate picture, drawing on everything he’d learned growing up in Ring Six, then gave his balls a scratch for good measure. “I could really make the kid squeal.”The others looked disgusted—even Ansha, though he said, “Anything for a friend, Brorsha.”With any luck, Ansha would tell Verán that Bror was a sick bastard who shouldn’t be allowed to touch the Island’s precious jewel. And Tilrey’s fears would remain just silly fears.Bror was proud of his solution to the problem, but he couldn’t say he liked himself or his friends right now. “I’m gonna run off home, kids,” he said, rising with another preening stretch. “My Fir wants me to taste his new batch of artisanal sap before I go to work.”Their goodbyes weren’t warm today. Lus stared as if he’d just seen a side of Bror he didn’t like, Celinda’s expression was grim, and even Ansha didn’t look smug.As Bror turned to leave, though, Celinda sprang up and came after him. She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear: “You’ll find him either in the ninth-floor carrels or in the basement.”She knew he’d been bullshitting—and exactly where he was headed.Bror didn’t answer aloud, letting his eyes express his gratitude that she hadn’t called his bluff. Maybe that strange girl had a heart, after all—and an inkling of how he felt.He went to find Tilrey.Bror didn’t spend much time in the Library, but apparently Celinda did, or else she liked keeping tabs on Tilrey. He was right where she’d said, in a carrel with a view of the towering black wedges of the Sector on the southern horizon.It was the first time they’d been properly alone since that night in the Vacants. The Library was so quiet it spooked Bror, and he wondered how Tilrey could stand it.But Tilrey seemed perfectly at home, cozied up with a stack of books. His tunic was unclasped, draped loosely around him, his hair was parted wrong, and his long legs sprawled. Bror could almost have mistaken him for a young Upstart, a Uni kid studying in the stacks. Someone who didn’t have to worry about how he looked.Tilrey closed his book when he saw Bror. He didn’t smile. “Hi.”“Mind if I sit down a sec?” Without waiting for an answer, Bror yanked a chair from the neighboring carrel and drew it beside Tilrey’s.“Ansha’s an asshole, and I told him so,” he announced when he was seated. Tilrey touched a finger to his lips, and Bror lowered his volume. “No news there, right? But you need to know something. When I told him off, I planted a seed.”“A seed?”Tilrey looked so distracted, fresh from his books—so innocent. Bror didn’t want to admit what he’d done. But if things weren’t clear between them, Ansha would take advantage of the communication gap.He bent close and said, “I know how you feel about Verán pairing us up, so I told Ansha to make it happen. I said I wanted nothing more.”Tilrey drew back, eyes wide.“No, see, it was all a mind fuck! If Ansha thinks I want that, he’ll do everything in his power to keep us apart.”The horror drained out of Tilrey’s face as he absorbed the words. “Makes sense. He wants to be the special one, the only one. But now he thinks . . .”“That I’m a bigger asshole than he is. Acting like your big brother just to perv on you.” Bror allowed himself a hearty laugh that felt false even to him. Because I would never perv on you, I swear! “Not bad thinking for someone who never took the E-Squareds, huh?”To his relief, Tilrey flashed one of those heartbreaking smiles. “It’s kinda brilliant. I mean, Verán doesn’t let Ansha tell him what to do. But if Ansha tells him you’re into me, too into me, that’ll trigger the possessiveness. He won’t want to give you something you want.”“Exactly! Knew you’d get it.” And Tilrey had found better words for the tactic than Bror could have.But now Tilrey was gazing out the window. The smile was gone. “I feel kind of sorry for Ansha, being so jealous. If he could stop thinking about himself for a second, he’d see you don’t feel that way about me at all.”Fuck. Suddenly Bror was out of his depth. He knew the right thing to do was to confirm what Tilrey was saying—You’re amazing, but no, I don’t feel that way about you—but words jammed up in his throat. All he managed was “Stop that.”“Stop what?” Tilrey looked at Bror again, and now Bror was startled by how cold his expression was, how remote. It was hard to believe he was the same lad who’d wept and begged Bror to fuck him. “Am I wrong? You practically just said you only want to be a big brother to me. That’s how you want Ansha and the others to see us.”“I do want to watch out for you. You’re younger than me.” Only I want more. Bror had a disconcerting sense of the ground beneath him shifting. Tilrey might be sensitive, even still naïve sometimes, but he was no fool. And Malsha had probably taught him a little about mind-fucking himself.“I’m still kinda surprised, though, when you think about what we did.” Those blue eyes were pure ice now. “Is that something you’d do with one of your kid brothers, Brorsha? Suck his cock?”“Rishka.” Bror covered Tilrey’s hand with his own, unable to meet that gaze. “I know you’re not my brother.” Though I did once think of you that way. I wish I still could. “You’re my friend, and . . .”“I’m your friend who wants to be more than your friend.” Tilrey’s voice faltered. “And you don’t want me back.”Bror was no crier, but an uncomfortable heat was pressing on his nasal passages. He squeezed Tilrey’s hand the way Ansha had earlier, needing to feel its warmth. “I don’t know what I want anymore,” he confessed. “It was simple before, and now it’s fucking complicated.” Because you’re complicated—but no, he wouldn’t blame this on Tilrey.He raised his eyes until they locked on Tilrey’s. “One thing hasn’t changed. I’m still scared of hurting you.”Tilrey smiled—a cynical smile, not unlike one of Celinda’s. “Nobody else seems worried about that.”They should be. Thanks to Ansha’s indiscretion, Bror knew more than he should about how Tilrey had been hurt, more than Tilrey had chosen to share with him. It was Ansha who had confided that Tilrey needed an explicit order to come: He didn’t tell me or anything, but I could see he was struggling. And when I ordered him to come, like in a pornstream, it just worked! Poor kid.So Bror had Ansha at least partly to thank for his success in satisfying Tilrey. That rankled. “That’s why I care so much,” he said. “About not adding to the hurt.”“I won’t break, Bror,” Tilrey said in a small voice.“I know. I know, I know. I just . . . need some time to get used to this, okay?” To you not being my kid brother. Being something else. If Bror stayed another minute, he suddenly knew, he would do something he might regret later.He shoved his chair back and stood, releasing his dangerous grip on Tilrey’s hand. “I should get home, Rishka. It’s a free-night—we both should.”Tilrey nodded, his eyes wide with open hurt. And Bror couldn’t stop himself. He took Tilrey’s face in his hands and tilted it up and stooped to bring their lips together.He gave Tilrey the lightest peck, vowing that would be all. But the first grazing touch was intoxicating. The friction of Tilrey’s faint stubble went straight to his groin. Bror knotted his hand in Tilrey’s hair and tugged him close and opened his mouth into Tilrey’s, tasting his sweetness and feeling the boy gasp as he gasped, too. He caught Tilrey’s generous bottom lip between his teeth and released it, then dived in again—kissing deeper, plunging into Tilrey as if he were a flask of cool water after a hard workout.Verdant hells, I do want you! And suddenly he wasn’t afraid to show how much.For the first few seconds, Tilrey kissed back as ardently as Lus or Ansha ever had—darting his tongue into Bror’s mouth, exploring him eagerly. Then, all of a sudden, he stopped moving, turning to dead weight in Bror’s arms.It took Bror a moment to register the change. Then he slipped his hand out of Tilrey’s hair and straightened up, his cock stiff under the concealing skirt of his tunic and his blood pounding with frustration. “I’m sorry, kid.”Tilrey stared at Bror. His lips were purple-pink from the kiss and his cheeks flushed. “You don’t just pity me,” he said after a long moment, as if he’d genuinely been wondering. “You want me, too.”Could Tilrey have been testing Bror? The kid was too bright sometimes, almost fiendishly so. “I’ve tried to just be your brother, Rishka. I’ve been trying, because I think you need someone who will watch out for you and not . . . have other motives. But I don’t think I have it in me.”It felt surprisingly good to admit he was powerless, the way it did sometimes to surrender in the bedroom. It was such a struggle to be strong all the time.“I don’t want you as just an older brother,” Tilrey said. “Never did. You think I haven’t been wanting you since I first met you?”Bror’s vision went liquid; he blinked the stupid tears away. “I . . . that’s good, I guess. Yeah. Good. But you can say no, okay? With me, you can say no any time you want. You can say not now. You can say later—or even never.”“I know. Later, okay?” Tilrey stretched out his hand to touch Bror’s a last time. “Later, when I’m ready . . . I guess I mean soon.”*Tilrey returned from the Library a little late for a free-night. He hurried into the shower, shampooed, rinsed, and toweled off.Standing naked before the mirror, blow-drying his hair, he examined his mouth. He knew objectively that Bror’s kiss hadn’t broken the skin. If there was any extra redness, it was his imagination.But he still felt as if he’d had a close call. That deep, hungry kiss had marked him, even if no one else could see the mark.He wants me. He really wants me! Part of him couldn’t believe it. But he could still hear the growl in Bror’s voice on the words “I’ve tried to just be your brother,” and he knew it was true.Bror had reminded him that he could say no whenever he wanted and take things at his own pace. But what did that even mean? What was Tilrey’s pace? Who was he when he wasn’t fitting himself to someone else’s pace, someone else’s need?Dressed again, he answered Vlastor’s knock on his door and braced for the driver to notice something different about him.Vlastor only had his standard pissy expression. “They’re in the sitting room. I put the kettle on and defrosted the apps. Go serve them.”Tilrey nodded briskly. Sometimes it was relaxing to follow orders as part of an efficient team.He brewed the tea and brought it into the sitting room, where he found Verán and Besha, thick as thieves as usual. The majority leader was bending to whisper something into his lieutenant’s ear. They were so close together that Tilrey felt a shiver of vicarious intimacy.Then Verán straightened and looked straight at Tilrey. “Ah, there’s your reward,” he said, elbowing Besha in the ribs. And then, to Tilrey: “Come here, lad. Tonight you sit on Besha’s lap. He delivered me a majority in a very important vote, and it’s finally his turn.”
Bror dreamed about Tilrey.
At first he felt only a presence beside him, not touching him except for an occasional waft of warm breath on his shoulder. Though his eyes were closed, he knew instantly who it was.
Tilrey had an unmistakable feel to him, a fine grain like the cedar in the Gym sauna, or the special sap that István had made in artisanal batches, or those funny broken-up clouds that looked so pretty on the spring horizon, or—Bror was no poet, okay? He couldn’t sum someone up in a nice phrase. All he knew was that Tilrey was a mix of soft and hard, rough and smooth, who could never be confused with anyone else.
And now he also knew the length and girth of Tilrey’s cock in his mouth. He knew how he tasted when you swallowed him. He knew how he cried out when he came. These were things Bror couldn’t unknow or unfeel.
In the dream, Tilrey rolled over, or maybe Bror did, and suddenly Bror was holding him, spooning him. Tilrey’s hair tickled Bror’s chin, sending shivers of sensation down his spine.
Bror kissed the top of Tilrey’s head. And then Tilrey’s hips were rocking against his, and Tilrey’s hand was reaching between their intertwined bodies to grasp Bror’s cock.
Bror was hard instantly—throbbingly, painfully hard. He tried to free himself, to push Tilrey away, because this wasn’t supposed to happen.
“You’re a kid,” he protested. “You’re like my kid brother.”
But Tilrey’s hand kept right on doing what it was doing, and he whispered in Bror’s ear, “I want you inside me.”
With that, Bror woke with a jolt to find himself just as hard in reality.
Shit. Fir István, his Councillor, was snoring gustily in the big bed beside him. At least Bror hadn’t spurted in his sleep like a teenager—that would’ve been embarrassing. But his cock seemed to have a mind of its own, and it wouldn’t soften. He ended up creeping into the bathroom to take care of it.
He tried not to think of Rishka while he was doing it. But then he gave up and let himself, because after all, it was only a fantasy, a random night wish that would be gone in the morning. He didn’t believe in censoring his fantasies, even the fucked-up ones. Better to get them out of his system.
And it felt really fucking good.
But the next day when Bror faced Tilrey in the Café, sitting with the others in their usual booth, really fucking good turned into really fucking awkward. Somehow he felt even more criminal than he had facing Tilrey in the Gym the morning after he’d sucked Tilrey’s cock in the Vacants, almost three ten-days ago.
Bror had told himself he could do it without feeling a thing, the way he sucked off Upstarts all the time. He was a professional, and Tilrey needed a little oral therapy. But Bror’s pulse had leaped the first time he touched Tilrey there, carefully liberating him from his briefs.
Ansha had told them all in conspiratorial whispers that Tilrey was “very well endowed,” along with a few other intimate things. Now Bror could see for himself. He’d wanted and needed so badly to feel nothing. He hoped Tilrey hadn’t been able to tell how much he enjoyed sheathing that organ in his mouth.
The “next time” Tilrey had promised or threatened hadn’t happened—so far, anyway. Bror had been waiting for his friend to initiate something—dreading it, sometimes, because next time he might lose control. But they seemed to have returned to normal, more or less.
At this point, Tilrey’s cheeks no longer went scarlet when he saw Bror. If he made eye contact less than usual, it wasn’t obvious, except maybe to Ansha.
The redhead noticed everything, and he seemed determined to get a rise out of Tilrey today.
“You can’t be actually reading these things,” he said, flipping open one of the hefty books that Tilrey had brought to return to the Library.
“Ansha, cut it out,” Bror said wearily.
Ignoring him, Ansha read a few lines aloud, stumbling over the long words with comical exaggeration. “In-dis-s-sociable? Seriously, Rishka? You can’t tell me you know what any of this means.”
Tilrey stared down at the tabletop, playing with a loose thread in the cuff of his tunic.
Ansha had once confessed to Bror that he couldn’t read more than a paragraph without getting “itchy.” Bror had heard of kids with similar difficulties receiving special tutoring, but when he mentioned this to Ansha, the other boy just looked confused. Maybe that sort of help wasn’t available in Ring Eight schools.
Ansha had been dealt a fairly shitty hand in life, no doubt about it, but that didn’t excuse him.
“Sure he knows what it means,” Bror said, plucking the book from Ansha’s hand and setting it back in Tilrey’s pile. “Rishka’s smarter than any of us.”
Lus, sitting across from them, laughed as if Bror had meant to be sarcastic. He stopped once he saw the disapproval on Bror’s face.
Lus wasn’t mean, but he took it for granted that Skeinshaka weren’t the brightest bulbs. It was what they’d all been taught, growing up in Redda—that living at the center of the world made them special.
Yet it was so obvious to Bror that Tilrey had been raised to see himself as special, too. No one in his immediate family had ever worked on a factory line; you could see it in the way his eyes glazed over when you talked about shifts and safety measures. He had manners and graces and inhibitions that reminded Bror of the highest-Level Laborers here in Redda. It was part of what made him so different from the rest of them—so attractive.
Ansha saw that, too, Bror suspected, and he didn’t like it.
Celinda said, “Fir Lindahl says Tilrey scored high enough on the E-Squareds to be a Strutter.”
Ansha rolled his eyes. “Malsha could have messed with his score, easy.”
“You’re being an asshole, Ansha,” Bror said, trying to keep his tone light. “Why wouldn’t he have a high score—because of where he’s from? That’s like me assuming you smuggle goods because you’re from Eight.”
“Oooh, real nice, Brorsha. Anyway, I never said he was thick, just that he wasn’t that smart.” Ansha glanced sidelong at Tilrey, clearly hoping for a reaction. Tilrey didn’t even look at him, gazing out at the Hall of Records blazing in the sunlight.
Ansha inched closer until their shoulders touched. “Tell us the truth. Do you borrow those big books to show off?”
“Back off, Ansha,” Bror said, putting an edge on his voice. He was no genius himself, but that hadn’t made him resent people who cared about things like square roots and irregular verbs.
He liked seeing Tilrey with those big books, even encouraged him to talk about them sometimes, though he understood only about a third of what Tilrey was saying. The kid’s excitement was contagious. Listening, Bror could almost see Tilrey’s mind working, hungry as a flickering flame. A brilliant mind, like an Upstart’s, but an anxious mind, too. A mind so quick and eager that it tied itself up in knots.
He wished Tilrey would stand up for himself. Kid or goad Ansha right back. Shove him away. Celinda would have done it, and even Lus had a sharp tongue if you pushed him hard enough. Why did Rishka have to play dead? He was shy, yeah, but surely by now he felt comfortable enough to shit-talk them a little. And Ansha had it coming.
Ansha glowered at Bror. “All I’m saying is, if he got such amazing test scores, he shouldn’t be here with us. And I doubt very much he scored high enough to be a Strutter. I heard Verán say that even Besha—Fir Linbeck—barely made the cut.”
“Maybe Besha’s not that bright,” Celinda suggested.
“He’s good at other stuff, like sucking up to Verán,” Lus said slyly.
“I know, but seriously?” Ansha was still trying to get Tilrey to look at him. “Do you really think you scored that high?”
Tilrey said, “Don’t know. They say it’s hard to cheat.”
“Malsha didn’t mess with his score,” Bror said. “What’s eating you, Anshka?”
“Nothing’s eating me, Brorshka.” Ansha seized Tilrey’s fidgeting hand and held it still.
It was a casually possessive gesture, something Ansha wouldn’t have done during the Malsha era—a reminder to all of them that Verán had set him loose on Tilrey’s body. Bror’s cheeks warmed, and he willed Tilrey to yank his hand away. He has no fucking right!
Tilrey didn’t move. He also didn’t look at Ansha.
“I’m just kidding around,” Ansha said, stroking Tilrey’s hand. “Right? You know me. So, what’s up with you and Besha, anyway? You sucked him off over winter recess, I heard. When’s Verán gonna give him a whole night with you?”
“Dunno,” Tilrey said, his tone implying he also didn’t care.
“Me, I haven’t been with him yet.”
“Same,” Bror said, hoping they could change the subject. “Have you, Lusha?”
Lus groaned. “Once. It was fine, but Besha’s so slimy. He’s not even high-named. I don’t know what Verán sees in him.”
“He needs Besha for his dirty work,” Celinda said. “Too many Islanders got chummy with Malsha while he was in power, and now they have to do penance. My Akeina says Besha gave him step-by-step instructions for groveling himself back into Verán’s good graces. He hates that smirky weasel.”
Bror couldn’t focus on the dissection of Besha. He stared at the clasped hands on the table.
So many times in the past two and a half years he’d stepped in and stopped Ansha from teasing or touching Tilrey. But Tilrey was twenty years old now and, as he himself often pointed out, full grown and bigger than Ansha. Surely it was time for him to enforce his own boundaries?
Wide blue eyes swimming with tears. What if Verán makes you fuck me?
Memories flooded Bror’s mind—Tilrey weeping like a child, Tilrey apologizing. How could Bror give him what he claimed to want when he was still in such a bad place, in need of protection? If it was possible for a fuck to be therapeutic, then Tilrey needed the gentlest, kindest fuck in the world. And Bror didn’t trust himself to deliver it.
When Bror was sucking Tilrey’s cock, focused on giving his friend pleasure, it had been easy for him to hide his own arousal. But if he were to open Tilrey, to mount him, to penetrate him? He might not be able to hold back. He knew his own body—it would thrust too roughly, too selfishly. Tilrey might claim he wanted exactly that, but he was too damaged to know what he wanted right now.
Verán had fucking better not pair them up. Bror could always quit on the spot. But if he did that, he might not be able to protect Tilrey at all.
“Akeina’s just jealous!” Ansha said with vehemence, still on the subject of Besha Linbeck. “He wishes he had half the gumption Besha’s got.”
“Gumption?” Celinda raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, gumption! These high names, they were born to the good life. But Besha had to fight for every scrap, and that’s what meritocracy’s actually supposed to be. He improved his lot in life,” Ansha said, lifting his chin, “just like I did.”
Lus feigned swooning with boredom. “We all know you came from a shitty tower block in Ring Eight, Ansha. We get it.”
“No, you don’t get it, Lus! You were so sweet-drowned from a tender age that you basically just floated from one man to the next looking for sap until a Councillor found you. You lucked into it. So did you, Bror.”
Bror shrugged. “If you want to say that.”
“You did!” And then, of course, Ansha turned to Tilrey. “And you claim you didn’t even want to come to Redda, though I find that hard to believe. But me? I wanted this. I scrapped for it.”
“Tell us all about it, Ansha,” Celinda said with a groan.
Ansha barged on, though Tilrey had to be the only one of them who hadn’t heard his story. “My dad died in a factory accident. My mom was sweet-drowned. I sucked off teachers so they wouldn’t report me absent. The only way for me to get near an Upstart was to commit petty crimes—shirking my duties, for instance. The first day I was supposed to work on that damned assembly line, I walked right into the Constabulary and held out my hands for the cuffs. I asked to see the Examining Magistrate. She wasn’t interested in what I had to offer. But after I begged, she introduced me to a colleague who was.”
Bror didn’t like Ansha’s story. He could almost see Ansha at eighteen, skinny and spotty and desperate for a better life, down on his knees begging some stupid Judicial official to accept a blow job. It wasn’t his fault, but still—Bror had never begged a Strutter for anything. Never had, never would.
“It took me a few months, but I convinced my new Strutter friend to take me to the Core. I made him so happy he introduced me to his friends, who introduced me to their friends. And the whole time I managed not to let any of them fuck me, because I knew I’d be worth more fresh. I knew my value, and I wouldn’t settle for anything less than a Councillor’s bed. I worked for it.”
“More power to you, kid.” Bror exchanged an uneasy glance with Celinda. She seemed as embarrassed as he was—not by Ansha’s trajectory so much as his pride in it.
When they all met, Ansha had been a slip of a thing with a big, boastful mouth and frightened eyes. He was still struggling to erase his Eighter accent, asking the other three to correct his pronunciation.
One night in the Vacants, he came on to Bror—begging for a fuck, just like Tilrey had, only not like Tilrey at all. Ansha’s eyes were harder by then, and his mouth was determined. Bror gave in.
All the way through that night, Ansha talked shop, milking Bror for tips on what Strutters liked. Is this good? Should I smile more? Like this, tilting my head? Or play harder to get? It would have been fucking annoying if it weren’t so sad.
It didn’t take Bror long to figure out why Ansha was so insecure. His Strutter, Councillor Lindahl, wasn’t into him. He was a useful tool, nothing more. “Don’t take it personally—it’s not about you,” Bror repeated, but Ansha did take Lindahl’s rejection personally. It probably still hurt him, though he’d learned not to admit it.
Lindahl preferred boys who reminded him of young Upstarts. He preferred Tilrey.
“We’re all in awe of your gumption, Ansha,” Celinda said, opening her blue eyes wide. “Clearly you appreciate this life of ours more than we possibly could. But don’t say Tilrey lucked into it. That’s just mean.”
Ansha’s mouth twisted. He was in spoiling-for-a-fight mode; Bror had seen it before. “What’s mean about it? He is lucky.” Squeezing Tilrey’s hand, he said in a low, intimate voice, “I know what Rishka needs, better than any of you do. He likes a strong hand. He likes someone telling him what to do.”
Just like that, Bror finally lost his cool. His cheeks burned, his vision blurred, and his head was a volcano swelling toward explosion.
“E-fucking-nough!” He pried Ansha’s hand free from Tilrey’s, trying hard to keep from shouting. Ansha deserved a little shouting, but Lus and Celinda would never let him live down the public loss of his temper. “We’re all friends here, but you need to give him his space. Stop trying to get a rise out of him!”
Ansha edged away from Tilrey, looking smug. “Maybe I was trying to get a rise out of you, Brorsha. Look at you, coming to his defense. Champion of the innocent. I think we all know what you really want from him.”
Lus snickered. Bror gave Ansha a look that he hoped would scare the shit out of him. “What do I want?”
Ansha glanced around the table. “I gotta say it?”
Celinda said, “Better not.”
Bror shot her a glare, too. Had they all known how he felt about Tilrey this whole time? “Don’t start things you can’t finish, Ansha.”
“Oh, I’m scared,” Ansha began, but he broke off as Tilrey finally moved, rising to collect his books.
He didn’t look at any of them, though surely he felt them staring. “I gotta get to the Library. It’s a free-night, and Vlastor’s expecting me back.”
“Don’t let us keep you from your books,” Ansha said, standing up to let Tilrey past him.
Bror rose, too. He would follow Tilrey, but first he needed to give Ansha a piece of his mind. “See you soon, kid?”
“Yup.” Tilrey left the Café without another word.
Bror sat down heavily. Was the kid still pissed at him for the other night? Was it possible he thought Bror didn’t want him at all?
Surely any idiot could see how he felt—Ansha, for instance. Fucking Ansha.
Bror asked him, “Are you happy now?”
Ansha flashed his most angelic smile, the one that made doddery Upstarts think he worshipped them. “If he can’t take a little teasing, he shouldn’t sit with us.”
“You’re not teasing, you’re torturing,” Celinda said, to Bror’s surprise. “It was bad enough before. But after Verán’s given you the poor kid, it’s not fair to add insult to injury.”
“What injury? I’ve never hurt him. Unless you think just being with me is torture?”
“For Rishka, maybe,” Lus said thoughtfully. “He’s more sensitive than we are.”
“He doesn’t like being put on display.” Clearly, Celinda had been observing Tilrey more closely than she’d let on. Maybe she didn’t dislike him as much as she pretended to.
“But I’m good to him!” Ansha turned to Bror, as if he could sense Bror was the one to convince. “I make it easier every way I can. I keep Verán happy so Rishka doesn’t have to. And afterward, when we’re alone, he sometimes thanks me! He sleeps in my arms. It’s only here with the rest of you that he acts like I don’t exist.”
He sleeps in my arms. For an instant, Bror couldn’t catch his breath, a sharp stab of jealousy closing his throat. He was glad Verán hadn’t made him use Tilrey that way, so very glad, but . . .
“Isn’t that nice?” Celinda said archly. “So, maybe Tilrey doesn’t hate you all the time. But if you keep picking at him, he will. Imagine if Bror were the one fucking him for some Councillor’s pleasure. He wouldn’t gloat about it.”
The heat in Bror’s cheeks was mortifying. “That’s right. Why would I ruin a good thing?”
“Aha!” Ansha jabbed a finger at him. “You do want Rishka.”
“It’s just a hypothetical,” Lus said.
“No, he admitted he’d enjoy it!”
Suddenly Bror had an idea—a daring one that might just work. He met Ansha’s eyes and pasted the slightest lascivious smile on his lips, the way he did when he knew an Upstart wanted a good boning. “Of course I’d enjoy Rishka, with or without a Strutter watching us. Are you kidding? If Verán gave him to me, I’d kiss that old bastard’s feet.”
“You wouldn’t gloat, though,” Celinda reiterated.
“No, no gloating. I’d be the most sensitive, discreet lover the world’s ever seen. I might even pretend I hadn’t wanted to do it—afterward, to make Rishka feel better. But . . .” Bror drew a deep breath, hating himself for what he was about to say. He needed to talk to Tilrey before Ansha had a chance to repeat any of this conversation. “I’d enjoy every second of using him. Fuck, yeah. I’d wank to the memories.”
“I knew it,” Ansha said, looking almost relieved. “The white knight thing is an act.”
“A man has needs, okay?” Bror risked a glance at Celinda. She looked skeptical. He stretched lazily and tugged up his shirt to scratch his belly. “Damn, I wish Verán would give him to me. I don’t suppose you’d put in a word for me, Ansha? You’re Verán’s favorite. He doesn’t like me normally. But me and Rishka, that would be a show.”
He made a series of obscene gestures that painted an elaborate picture, drawing on everything he’d learned growing up in Ring Six, then gave his balls a scratch for good measure. “I could really make the kid squeal.”
The others looked disgusted—even Ansha, though he said, “Anything for a friend, Brorsha.”
With any luck, Ansha would tell Verán that Bror was a sick bastard who shouldn’t be allowed to touch the Island’s precious jewel. And Tilrey’s fears would remain just silly fears.
Bror was proud of his solution to the problem, but he couldn’t say he liked himself or his friends right now. “I’m gonna run off home, kids,” he said, rising with another preening stretch. “My Fir wants me to taste his new batch of artisanal sap before I go to work.”
Their goodbyes weren’t warm today. Lus stared as if he’d just seen a side of Bror he didn’t like, Celinda’s expression was grim, and even Ansha didn’t look smug.
As Bror turned to leave, though, Celinda sprang up and came after him. She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear: “You’ll find him either in the ninth-floor carrels or in the basement.”
She knew he’d been bullshitting—and exactly where he was headed.
Bror didn’t answer aloud, letting his eyes express his gratitude that she hadn’t called his bluff. Maybe that strange girl had a heart, after all—and an inkling of how he felt.
He went to find Tilrey.
Bror didn’t spend much time in the Library, but apparently Celinda did, or else she liked keeping tabs on Tilrey. He was right where she’d said, in a carrel with a view of the towering black wedges of the Sector on the southern horizon.
It was the first time they’d been properly alone since that night in the Vacants. The Library was so quiet it spooked Bror, and he wondered how Tilrey could stand it.
But Tilrey seemed perfectly at home, cozied up with a stack of books. His tunic was unclasped, draped loosely around him, his hair was parted wrong, and his long legs sprawled. Bror could almost have mistaken him for a young Upstart, a Uni kid studying in the stacks. Someone who didn’t have to worry about how he looked.
Tilrey closed his book when he saw Bror. He didn’t smile. “Hi.”
“Mind if I sit down a sec?” Without waiting for an answer, Bror yanked a chair from the neighboring carrel and drew it beside Tilrey’s.
“Ansha’s an asshole, and I told him so,” he announced when he was seated. Tilrey touched a finger to his lips, and Bror lowered his volume. “No news there, right? But you need to know something. When I told him off, I planted a seed.”
“A seed?”
Tilrey looked so distracted, fresh from his books—so innocent. Bror didn’t want to admit what he’d done. But if things weren’t clear between them, Ansha would take advantage of the communication gap.
He bent close and said, “I know how you feel about Verán pairing us up, so I told Ansha to make it happen. I said I wanted nothing more.”
Tilrey drew back, eyes wide.
“No, see, it was all a mind fuck! If Ansha thinks I want that, he’ll do everything in his power to keep us apart.”
The horror drained out of Tilrey’s face as he absorbed the words. “Makes sense. He wants to be the special one, the only one. But now he thinks . . .”
“That I’m a bigger asshole than he is. Acting like your big brother just to perv on you.” Bror allowed himself a hearty laugh that felt false even to him. Because I would never perv on you, I swear! “Not bad thinking for someone who never took the E-Squareds, huh?”
To his relief, Tilrey flashed one of those heartbreaking smiles. “It’s kinda brilliant. I mean, Verán doesn’t let Ansha tell him what to do. But if Ansha tells him you’re into me, too into me, that’ll trigger the possessiveness. He won’t want to give you something you want.”
“Exactly! Knew you’d get it.” And Tilrey had found better words for the tactic than Bror could have.
But now Tilrey was gazing out the window. The smile was gone. “I feel kind of sorry for Ansha, being so jealous. If he could stop thinking about himself for a second, he’d see you don’t feel that way about me at all.”
Fuck. Suddenly Bror was out of his depth. He knew the right thing to do was to confirm what Tilrey was saying—You’re amazing, but no, I don’t feel that way about you—but words jammed up in his throat. All he managed was “Stop that.”
“Stop what?” Tilrey looked at Bror again, and now Bror was startled by how cold his expression was, how remote. It was hard to believe he was the same lad who’d wept and begged Bror to fuck him. “Am I wrong? You practically just said you only want to be a big brother to me. That’s how you want Ansha and the others to see us.”
“I do want to watch out for you. You’re younger than me.” Only I want more. Bror had a disconcerting sense of the ground beneath him shifting. Tilrey might be sensitive, even still naïve sometimes, but he was no fool. And Malsha had probably taught him a little about mind-fucking himself.
“I’m still kinda surprised, though, when you think about what we did.” Those blue eyes were pure ice now. “Is that something you’d do with one of your kid brothers, Brorsha? Suck his cock?”
“Rishka.” Bror covered Tilrey’s hand with his own, unable to meet that gaze. “I know you’re not my brother.” Though I did once think of you that way. I wish I still could. “You’re my friend, and . . .”
“I’m your friend who wants to be more than your friend.” Tilrey’s voice faltered. “And you don’t want me back.”
Bror was no crier, but an uncomfortable heat was pressing on his nasal passages. He squeezed Tilrey’s hand the way Ansha had earlier, needing to feel its warmth. “I don’t know what I want anymore,” he confessed. “It was simple before, and now it’s fucking complicated.” Because you’re complicated—but no, he wouldn’t blame this on Tilrey.
He raised his eyes until they locked on Tilrey’s. “One thing hasn’t changed. I’m still scared of hurting you.”
Tilrey smiled—a cynical smile, not unlike one of Celinda’s. “Nobody else seems worried about that.”
They should be. Thanks to Ansha’s indiscretion, Bror knew more than he should about how Tilrey had been hurt, more than Tilrey had chosen to share with him. It was Ansha who had confided that Tilrey needed an explicit order to come: He didn’t tell me or anything, but I could see he was struggling. And when I ordered him to come, like in a pornstream, it just worked! Poor kid.
So Bror had Ansha at least partly to thank for his success in satisfying Tilrey. That rankled. “That’s why I care so much,” he said. “About not adding to the hurt.”
“I won’t break, Bror,” Tilrey said in a small voice.
“I know. I know, I know. I just . . . need some time to get used to this, okay?” To you not being my kid brother. Being something else. If Bror stayed another minute, he suddenly knew, he would do something he might regret later.
He shoved his chair back and stood, releasing his dangerous grip on Tilrey’s hand. “I should get home, Rishka. It’s a free-night—we both should.”
Tilrey nodded, his eyes wide with open hurt. And Bror couldn’t stop himself. He took Tilrey’s face in his hands and tilted it up and stooped to bring their lips together.
He gave Tilrey the lightest peck, vowing that would be all. But the first grazing touch was intoxicating. The friction of Tilrey’s faint stubble went straight to his groin. Bror knotted his hand in Tilrey’s hair and tugged him close and opened his mouth into Tilrey’s, tasting his sweetness and feeling the boy gasp as he gasped, too. He caught Tilrey’s generous bottom lip between his teeth and released it, then dived in again—kissing deeper, plunging into Tilrey as if he were a flask of cool water after a hard workout.
Verdant hells, I do want you! And suddenly he wasn’t afraid to show how much.
For the first few seconds, Tilrey kissed back as ardently as Lus or Ansha ever had—darting his tongue into Bror’s mouth, exploring him eagerly. Then, all of a sudden, he stopped moving, turning to dead weight in Bror’s arms.
It took Bror a moment to register the change. Then he slipped his hand out of Tilrey’s hair and straightened up, his cock stiff under the concealing skirt of his tunic and his blood pounding with frustration. “I’m sorry, kid.”
Tilrey stared at Bror. His lips were purple-pink from the kiss and his cheeks flushed. “You don’t just pity me,” he said after a long moment, as if he’d genuinely been wondering. “You want me, too.”
Could Tilrey have been testing Bror? The kid was too bright sometimes, almost fiendishly so. “I’ve tried to just be your brother, Rishka. I’ve been trying, because I think you need someone who will watch out for you and not . . . have other motives. But I don’t think I have it in me.”
It felt surprisingly good to admit he was powerless, the way it did sometimes to surrender in the bedroom. It was such a struggle to be strong all the time.
“I don’t want you as just an older brother,” Tilrey said. “Never did. You think I haven’t been wanting you since I first met you?”
Bror’s vision went liquid; he blinked the stupid tears away. “I . . . that’s good, I guess. Yeah. Good. But you can say no, okay? With me, you can say no any time you want. You can say not now. You can say later—or even never.”
“I know. Later, okay?” Tilrey stretched out his hand to touch Bror’s a last time. “Later, when I’m ready . . . I guess I mean soon.”
Tilrey returned from the Library a little late for a free-night. He hurried into the shower, shampooed, rinsed, and toweled off.
Standing naked before the mirror, blow-drying his hair, he examined his mouth. He knew objectively that Bror’s kiss hadn’t broken the skin. If there was any extra redness, it was his imagination.
But he still felt as if he’d had a close call. That deep, hungry kiss had marked him, even if no one else could see the mark.
He wants me. He really wants me! Part of him couldn’t believe it. But he could still hear the growl in Bror’s voice on the words “I’ve tried to just be your brother,” and he knew it was true.
Bror had reminded him that he could say no whenever he wanted and take things at his own pace. But what did that even mean? What was Tilrey’s pace? Who was he when he wasn’t fitting himself to someone else’s pace, someone else’s need?
Dressed again, he answered Vlastor’s knock on his door and braced for the driver to notice something different about him.
Vlastor only had his standard pissy expression. “They’re in the sitting room. I put the kettle on and defrosted the apps. Go serve them.”
Tilrey nodded briskly. Sometimes it was relaxing to follow orders as part of an efficient team.
He brewed the tea and brought it into the sitting room, where he found Verán and Besha, thick as thieves as usual. The majority leader was bending to whisper something into his lieutenant’s ear. They were so close together that Tilrey felt a shiver of vicarious intimacy.
Then Verán straightened and looked straight at Tilrey. “Ah, there’s your reward,” he said, elbowing Besha in the ribs. And then, to Tilrey: “Come here, lad. Tonight you sit on Besha’s lap. He delivered me a majority in a very important vote, and it’s finally his turn.”