Prompt: #19 – Helping Hand
Warnings: Twincest, some angst, sap, sexual content, language.
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies.
Summary: They always make it through everything exactly the same way: Together.
Comments: I suppose this one has a little bit of a surprising twist at the end? XD The pattern is broken, anyway. I know I’m not making any sense, but you’ll see what I mean when you start reading. Enjoy. ^_^ Written for 100_prompts.
“Let me help,” Tom says when they’re five and Bill is too short to reach the cookies (that they aren’t supposed to have before dinner) on the counter on his own. Tom is too short, too, but he kneels down and lets Bill climb onto his back, and that’s how they wind up with chocolate smeared all over their faces and hands.
They get in trouble for it later, of course, but it’s okay because they’re in trouble together.
“Let me help,” Tom says when they’re seven and their father has just left them and Bill, in all of his anger and confusion, has kicked one of the legs of the bed and has hurt his foot. Tom doesn’t think anything’s broken, but Bill’s foot is an angry shade of red, and he gently strokes it anyway, just to make Bill feel better.
Eventually, Bill stops crying, and Tom is grateful for it. He might not be able to bring their father back, but one thing is for certain: he’s never going to leave Bill alone, ever.
Bill will never have to face anything on his own, not with Tom around.
“Let me help,” Tom says when they’re nine and Bill can’t work out the right tune to go along with the lyrics he’s just scribbled down on a sheet of paper in a worn-out notebook. This is what they do now, together: Bill writes and sings, and Tom plays.
He picks up his guitar (Bill teases him about it—says it’s way too big for him) and plays a few notes, and then he strums a few chords while Bill sings, matching his melody.
Bill beams. “I think we’re getting somewhere.”
Tom just smiles back and keeps playing.
Sometimes, they don’t need words.
“Let me help,” Tom says when they’re eleven and have just met Georg and Gustav—Bill is shy and nervous and very quiet, insisting under his breath that he and Tom only need each other to become famous. In lots of ways, they truly do only need each other, but Tom thinks that this is one instance – and perhaps the only instance – in which they would be better off if they invited others into their small circle.
By ‘help’, Tom means an introduction, but he almost has to drag Bill over to the other two boys, who look almost as uncertain and nervous as his twin.
They hit it off quickly, though, just like Tom knew they would—no need to worry.
And later, when Georg asks, “What do you think of ‘Devilish’?”, Tom and Bill smile and say (in unison): “Doesn’t sound half bad.”
Not that it is amazing or the best name for a band ever, but it isn’t bad, either.
“Let me help,” Tom pleads when they’re thirteen and Bill has lost that silly Star Search contest that means nothing, because Tom knows just how talented his twin is—knows that he’s going to make it to the top one day, and he doesn’t need this stupid contest (that was only a bet anyway) to help him get there.
They have their own room – which is just across from Gordon and Simone’s room – and Bill has locked the door and has refused to let anyone in. So far, not even Tom has had any luck.
Of course, Simone and Gordon could use the keycard, but they want to give Bill space—give him time to calm down.
Tom could use his own keycard, if it weren’t conveniently left on the other side of the door, on one of the nightstands. He doesn’t want to let Bill have space, because they’re twins and twins aren’t supposed to have any space between them.
“Please?” Tom asks, now resorting to practically begging. “Bill, let me in. I want to help you.”
Finally, after a small lifetime, there is a click and the door handle turns. Bill is standing there, eyes red from crying, and Tom feels something sharp inside of him, like a knife, and it hurts.
Bill lets him inside and they sit on Bill’s bed, Tom trying to console Bill while Bill tries not to cry.
“You know you don’t need some stupid contest to prove how amazing you are,” Tom tells him earnestly. “You’re amazing, Bill, and you’re going to be famous.”
And then, defying logic (because he doesn’t know what else to do), Tom leans in and kisses his brother—kisses him, and draws back quickly when Bill’s lips are unresponsive against his own.
What the hell? Tom mentally curses himself because his face feels very, very warm. Great. Now he’s blushing. Stupid. Why did you have to go and do something so weird?
And it is weird, because brothers don’t kiss each other.
“Uhm. I. Uhm. Yeah. We should just forget that ever happened. Sorry.” Tom starts to get up, but Bill grabs his wrist and pulls him close again.
“We’re going to be famous,” Bill corrects fiercely, and then his lips are suddenly pressed against Tom’s.
And maybe this isn’t so weird after all.
“Let me help,” Tom whispers into Bill’s ear when they’re fifteen and have suddenly been skyrocketed into stardom. Durch den Monsun is more successful than any of them ever really thought it would be, and now everyone knows who they are.
And with this newfound sense of accomplishment comes the knowledge of what they’re going to have to deal with in this new, raw world of theirs: Fame has its perks, but it also has its downsides, and stress is one of them. The latter is what Bill is dealing with right now.
“There are so many cameras,” Bill says into the crook of Tom’s neck.
“I know,” Tom replies softly, stroking Bill’s messy hair.
“I don’t know how we’re going to do this now that we’re here,” Bill admits, and Tom only holds onto him all the tighter.
“I know exactly how we’re going to do this.”
Bill pulls back a little and blinks at him. “How?”
Tom half-smiles. “Together. Just like always.”
Bill takes a moment to digest this, and then he’s smiling as well. “Yeah,” he agrees, nodding. “Together.”
They’re in this for the long-run and they’re in this together, and that’s how Tom knows that it’s all going to be okay in the end.
“Let me help,” Tom purrs teasingly when they’re seventeen and he’s just caught Bill in the shower, stroking himself. It is quite possibly the most erotic thing that Tom has ever seen, and he hardens instantly at the sight of it.
Bill opens his eyes and looks at him, and there’s so much heat and desire in that one gaze that Tom nearly goes to his knees right then and there. Or, better yet, nearly jumps right into the shower with Bill and shoves his twin against the wall and has his wicked, wicked way with him.
“Come on, then,” Bill purrs right back, his hand still moving slowly along the length of his cock. Water is running down his body in rivulets, and Tom thinks it would be a good idea to follow the little trails that the water is making—follow them with his hands and his mouth until Bill is screaming, and—
Tom shakes his head as if to clear it, and then strips slowly, thoroughly enjoying how his brother watches every single move that he makes, even while he continues to stroke himself.
Bill’s eyes follow the line of Tom’s body and grow impossibly darker as he notices that Tom is hard, too. “Don’t have all day, Tomi,” he murmurs, and the words are barely audible over the sound of water hitting the shower floor, but Tom hears them. “Don’t make me finish without you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Tom growls, and he moves quicker than he even thinks is possible, stepping into the shower with Bill and pulling him flush against his own body, grinding against him until both of them are whimpering.
“Of course not,” Bill gasps against Tom’s mouth, hands fisting into Tom’s dreads. “I knew that would get you in here quicker, though.”
Ah, the know-it-all smartass.
He’s right, of course, but still.
Less than a few seconds later, Tom’s fist is tight around Bill’s cock and two fingers have worked their way into his body, pressing and scissoring and curling in time with his strokes, and Bill is clawing at his back and moaning and kissing him like some wild creature, and it’s driving him absolutely fucking insane.
“Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” Bill chants, mouth now hot against Tom’s jawline—teeth sharp and quick, but that feels good, too.
Of course, Tom is helpless to do anything other than give his twin the release he’s seeking, and so he strokes him even faster, thumb pressing insistently against that spot just below the head as his fingers curl inside of Bill, the tips of them brushing against Bill’s prostate.
And it’s Tom’s name – always Tom’s name – on Bill’s lips when Bill comes, tight as a bowstring and then completely and utterly relaxed, letting Tom support his weight.
He knows that Bill hasn’t even had time to fully recuperate before he’s pushing Tom back, further away from the spray of water, out of its reach.
“My turn,” he announces with a nearly-impish grin before he slides to his knees and parts his lips, trailing his tongue along the underside of Tom’s cock, from base to head.
Tom shudders and closes his eyes, biting his lip.
He always knew that tongue ring of Bill’s would come in handy someday for something.
“Let me help,” Tom insists when they’re eighteen and Bill is trying his best to get out of the hospital bed he’s been lying in for the past couple of days. I want to walk in the hallway, is what he’s scribbled on his notebook, and now he’s struggling to unplug the IV pump and drag it (on its pole) along with him to the door.
It would be a comical sight, under any other circumstance—if it were some other person and they were watching this on a movie.
But this is Bill, and he is in the hospital, and even though his surgery went well, there is still the fact – and it’s hanging over their heads like a black cloud – that something could go wrong.
Tom hates this.
He scrambles to unplug the stupid machine for his twin, and then fiddles with Bill’s gown, though not before gently running the tips of his fingers along his twin’s spine, stopping at the small of his back. “We gotta close this,” he informs, “or everyone will be following behind us, gaping at your ass.”
And they can’t have that.
They make it out of the room eventually, after figuring out how to maneuver the IV pole so that they don’t bump into everything even remotely in their path. The hallway is mostly empty, save for a few nurses, whom Tom supposes are making rounds.
“You know,” he murmurs quietly, close to Bill’s ear, “back to that gown of yours—it’s actually quite nice when we’re alone. I get free eye candy.”
He snickers when he sees Bill roll his eyes, grins when Bill elbows him in the ribs.
And forgets to breathe when Bill’s hand – the one that isn’t holding onto the IV pole – reaches out and grabs his own, their fingers interlacing.
It is at that moment that an older nurse walks by them, her gaze lingering on their hands a little longer than is necessary. She meets Tom’s eyes for just an instant, and Tom sees the disapproval there before she glances elsewhere and hurries on her way.
The look in Bill’s eyes says everything: We don’t have to touch like this if you don’t want to. He starts to pull away, but Tom doesn’t let him. He squeezes Bill’s hand a little and smiles.
“Let them think what they want,” he tells his twin. “I couldn’t care less.” And it’s true.
He isn’t going to let go of Bill’s hand.
Not for anything in the world.
And when they’re nineteen and their lives have been turned upside-down by a group of so-called fans who want attention and someone to pity them, Tom can’t hold anything together anymore, including himself.
Everything they’ve worked for, Tom fears, is now hanging by a thread that is dangerously close to snapping, and he’s holding on for dear life. He doesn’t know what else to do. This could be the end of them.
He is angry and torn over the ridiculousness of it all, and he’s taken his frustrations out on their – his and Bill’s – living room; everything is in a mess: the blinds in the windows are askew, photos and figurines are on the floor, the coffee table has been knocked over, and the mirror (with blue wavy lines along the edges) that they’d hung by the coat rack (mainly because Tom had jokingly said that Bill needed a mirror in every room in their apartment) is in pieces now, courtesy of Tom’s fists. He’s bleeding, too, but he doesn’t care. It’s not enough to matter, anyway.
“Tomi?” Bill calls softly, and Tom cringes, cursing under his breath. Of course Bill is awake now—it would have been impossible for him to sleep through all that racket.
He wants to bolt—wants to head straight for the door, like he did when the paparazzi had come after him earlier, but the one approaching now is his other half, and Bill knows everything about him, always. There can never be any secrets between them—not that Tom would ever wish this to be any different.
Bill stops in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes for a moment before he surveys the mess that is the living room, eyes wide and disbelieving. Then that piercing gaze is right on Tom, and Tom can’t move, can’t think. There’s so much sadness and concern in those eyes, and they freeze him in place.
Bill takes a step forward. “Tomi.”
Don’t, Tom wants to tell him. Don’t look at me. Don’t come closer. I don’t want you to have to see me like this. Not you, Bill. Not the most important person to him in his entire life. He wants to tell Bill as much, but he can’t get his voice to work.
Tom shakes his head, lifting a hand weakly to gesture at the wreck he’s made of their living room. He also wants to say, I’m so sorry, but again, he can’t manage speech.
“You think I care about the living room?” Bill asks as he takes another step and then another, and more still until he’s standing directly in front of Tom, lightly touching his bleeding hands. “I don’t care about the living room, Tom. I care about you, and you’re bleeding.”
Tom isn’t concerned about the blood—he’s already clotting and it’s not like he’s dripping it all over the floor. It doesn’t hurt. He shakes his head again. He doesn’t want to worry his twin.
“Oh, Tomi.” Bill pulls him into his arms then, and Tom willingly goes, burying his face between Bill’s neck and shoulder. It’s comforting, having Bill hold him like this.
“Let me help,” Bill whispers, squeezing him gently, and this is so very familiar, except only it’s all backwards.
Tom furiously blinks back tears and tries to swallow past the lump of emotion that has suddenly lodged itself in his throat. He nods, because he loves his brother and because he needs him and he appreciates everything that Bill has ever and will ever do for him.
And he knows he can’t put the pieces back together all on his own.
But they can, and they will, come hell or high water.
Hopefully you got what I meant about the pattern change. XD And we still have sap! THE SAP WILL NEVER DIE. XD;;;;;