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A Dialogue That Was All Their Own
han hyo-joo face!
thief_of_camorr
Disclaimer:Brothers of the Head belongs to Brian W. Aldiss. I am not profiting financially from this piece of fanfiction, nor do I intend to. Anything related to the film belongs to the filmmakers and Brian Aldiss respectfully - the idea for this piece of work, however, is my own.



The boys made it up to their room and shut the door, Barry looked up at the same time as Tom leaned forward to push it shut and they froze. Tom breathed out a little, half smiling and they pulled away from each other a bit.

“The pictures…” Barry began.

“I think they’re… good.”

“Yeah, but…”

“What?” Tom asked quickly, cutting him off – afraid of what was going to come out of his brother’s mouth.

“Nothin’… it’s bloody freezing in here.” They made their way to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. “Let’s get under the covers, Tommy,” Barry said. Tom looked at him sharply and Barry stopped giving him a look that said what’s your problem?

They slid under the blankets, and Barry, as usual began pulling his clothes off. It was easier to share body heat when you had skin on skin contact. Tom copied him, but reluctantly. The join pulled gently between them as they shifted to get their trousers down, leaving only their underthings on and moved closer. Tom lay on his back but Barry pressed up against him. “Tom, what’s wrong?” Barry asked. Usually they lay on their sides, face to face, curled into one another when it got this cold.

Tom shook his head.

“You thinkin’ about the pictures?”

“No…”

“It was just to get her to fuck off, Tommy, nothin’ meant by it.”

“I know.”

Barry curled closer and finally Tom, who was shivering, gave in and rolled into him, tucking himself into his brother. They shifted together until they were entwined, one arm over the other’s back, legs tangled.

The join pressed against both their bellies but they were used to it. They didn’t care.

“Haven’t you ever thought about it?” Barry asked later, out of nowhere.

“’Bout what?” Tom asked, half asleep.

“…Just… kissing and stuff… when you’re lonely.”

“Yeah… don’t you?”

“No I mean… I mean… with me.”

Tom pulled back a little. “How do you mean?”

“Do you ever think about kissing… me?”

“Nnh—well… sometimes I guess.”

“Remember, back home, that night it was storming and…”

“Yeah I remember.”

“It felt nice--”

“It was just--”

“Your hand there--”

“We were kids, Barry, we didn’t… know.”

“But I liked it.” Barry’s hand found Tom’s under the blankets but he pulled it away. “Don’t, Barry, it’s weird.”

“How is it?” Baz asked, leaning over his side to catch his hand again. “How is it?”

“I dunno, it’s just—just...”

“Doesn’t feel wrong, does it? Touching me here?” Barry opened his legs enough to slide Tom’s hand up between his thighs, pressed against the thin cotton there. Tom’s hand automatically folded up against his brother’s half-hardness, cupping him through the fabric because that was what they did. They accommodated each other. They fit together, shaped themselves around each other – their whole life was like that.

“No,” Tom admitted.
Barry made Tom press harder, but his brother buried his face in the pillow. “Tommy, S’just me…”
Tom sighed and looked back, rubbing Barry slightly.

Barry moaned, moving closer to press his face into Tom’s neck. “Yeah, Tommy… see?”

“Just… no one else does this,” Tom said as Barry pressed against him. He moved closer.

“We’re not like them,” Barry said, all in one breath, eyes closed. He reached down and stopped Tom’s hand from moving, so he could think. “Just… what if… what if all we ever have is each other?”

“We won’t,” Tom said.

“What if we do, though, Tommy?”

Tom looked at him seriously. “Wouldn’t mind,” Barry said, but Tom couldn’t say it back. He expected Baz to pull away – angry, but Barry’s hand slid out and pressed against Tom instead – mirror images of each other – felt his brother harden against his palm… they were in the exact same position as when they were children but in a different bed, a different house. A pressure that felt good between their legs and nothing more. They had no way to know it was… more than that. Not back then, anyway.

“This isn’t bad,” Barry whispered. He slid his hand into the fabric of Tom’s underthings, feeling the way his stomach muscles tensed in anticipation. “S’just… it’s different from them. We’re different from them.”

“Shut up, Barry.”

They shed their remaining clothes and then the touches were careful – less sure. “Aah!” Barry cried out as Tom slid his fingers up the underside of his brother’s length, and Tom “shh!”ed him but it was enough to give him confidence. After a moment he was sitting up as much as he could, watching Barry squirm and arch underneath him as he ran his hand over him.

The curses that issued from Barry’s mouth made Tom smile – he should have known his brother would be like this. Tom could tell when Barry was close, and that was when he pulled away. Barry looked debauched. His mouth open, hair mussed. “No, don’t!” he said, grasping for Tom’s hands. Tom laughed a little, forehead against his brothers.

Something passed between them – understanding – the absurdity of what they were doing, and quiet laughter filled the room. Tom kissed him, playfully on the mouth, but it quickly became more than that. Barry’s hand slid into his hair, stopping him from pulling away and Tom pressed into his brother’s hip as
Barry pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, biting it.

“Mm, no,” Tom said, pulling back, smiling a bit. “It’s like this,”

He sucked Barry’s lower lip into his mouth, pulling his teeth over it, his eyes flicking open to watch Barry watching him. “Dad wouldn’t approve of this,” Barry said when Tom let go, before grinning up at him. Tom did it again, drawing hard on it. He could feel Barry’s hand dart down between them, his brother shifting his body a little to the side so he could run his hand over himself in quick, brief motions. Tom smiled, and then they were kissing in earnest, Barry’s broken by his panting and rough little intakes of breath, bringing himself close to the edge again.

Tom stopped him, grabbing his wrist. “N-Tommy! Let go!” Barry said, arching up, looking for some contact, but not finding any. Tom kissed his ear, his throat and Barry made a pitiful noise. “Fuuuck, Tommy… I—ah, fuck.” He struggled to pull his hand away, but Tom held fast. He reached down to run his fingers over himself, then guided Barry’s hand down between his legs. Barry continued the rhythm, harder than Tom had. He watched Tom’s head fall forward, mouth open, eyes closed. He whimpered softly and Barry’s brow furrowed. “Am I hurting you?” Tom shook his head, “No, no, but stop, stop,” he whispered. He lowered himself onto his brother, pulling both their hands down to wrap around both of them, just under where their bodies were forever connected.

It was too much like sex… Tom knew it, and Barry knew it. They locked eyes, both sweating a little and no longer cold… there was a hesitation.

“Let’s just do it,” Tom said. “Let’s do it,” Barry echoed.

They rocked against each other, panting and sighing softly. Nonsense passed between them and kisses, bites. Small cries that were quickly stifled.
Barry came first and the rush that shot through his body hit Tom and he came hard. They lay there, wrapped around each other, gasping.

“What did I say, Tommy?” Barry asked. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Wish I could get you to use that mouth for something else,” Tom whispered, trying hard to hold back the grin.

Barry laughed a little, curling around Tom again, both of them spent. It had been a long day. In the morning this moment would pass between them in looks and brief touches – more intimate than usual in the shower, touches and breath on each other’s cheeks. To any outsider their touches were no different than usual, but to Tom and Barry, there was a whole other meaning behind it. A dialogue that was all their own.

No one else could understand…

?

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