31
by Mickey M.
© January 2004

for xoverau

Their room looks different in the moonlight. Everything looks different in the moonlight, actually, bathed in pale light that's opulent, shimmery, seductive.

His brother is more beautiful.

Justice has heard others say having an identical twin is like looking in a mirror. He isn't so sure, himself, because he's always thought Chris so beautiful, his eyes sharp and glittering, mouth quirked in a snarky smile, hair hanging in his face. If it's like looking in a mirror, then it's looking into a mirror that reflects the best parts.

He grumbles softly when the warmth beside him shifts, and takes Chris' hand in his, fingers teasing over fingers and palm that are just like his.

"Got called a fag today." Chris' voice is soft, a leftover from the years at home, not wanting to wake up their mom or sisters. He's still quiet at night, even now that they're alone. "Walking downtown, goin' to the post office. Guy crossing the street - three guys, actually - and I dunno. Maybe I knew him - them."

"What'd you do?" Justice trails his fingertips over the scar that runs the length of Chris' palm. His own palm tingles oddly. Old, old wound, but he can still feel the whitehot pain that slivered through him that day, and the shards of fear that bit deep and stayed there, when he didn't know why or what or who or how.

There's silence, then an awkward shrug. "I ignored 'em. Truth's the truth, right?"

He hates the quiet bitterness in Chris' voice. It doesn't match the beauty of his soul, doesn't match what Justice sees when he looks in Chris' eyes. He rolls onto his side, lets their fingers slide together, twining so two are one. Always one. "I guess. Wish you wouldn't-"

"It's true, man. You know it, I know it." Chris barks out a harsh laugh, and Justice waits for the moon to slide back out from behind the clouds, waits to see Chris' face in the cool light. He's ghost-pale like this; otherworldly. Eyes so dark and deep that Justice wants to lose himself in them, wants to fall in and drown. He leans forward just that fraction separating them and touches his mouth to Chris', traces his tongue tip along the seam between Chris' lips. Warm breath washes over his mouth when Chris sighs. "Justice-"

"Chris." He kisses him this time, brushes his mouth over still lips.

"You know it's wrong-" But his words are little more than breath, and Justice feels Chris relax beside him, his free hand coming up to touch Justice's shoulder, heat shimmering along his skin where Chris touches.

"I know nothing of the sort." Another kiss, slow and sweet, and Chris tastes like oranges, sweet and tart and cool.

"You should. We should." The words aren't what Justice hears, though. He's heard them, listened to them, kept himself away when he believed them. Chris' body speaks differently, speaks directly to Justice in the way he rolls toward him, legs moving, twining, until they're tangled together. "Need you," is what Chris whispers then, the words exhaled on a soft moan. He touches Justice gently, hesitantly, then confidently. Justice gasps and arches, sensation moving like quicksilver through him.

"Need you," he whispers back, letting Chris swallow the words down.

He takes Chris into himself later. Feels the heat and pressure, sees them painted in red and black and white against his eyelids as he moans and twists beneath him, fingers scrabbling at the sheets, at Chris' back, in his hair. Love is a raw, potent thing swirling through him, gathering heat and energy as it goes. It becomes a pulsing knot deep inside that explodes and washes outward, enveloping him. Justice hears Chris growl, feels the sticky heat puddling on his chest and belly, and remembers when they held themselves back, kept themselves separate.

He wishes they could be one always, but at least they have the moonlight, when everything is a little bit different and so very beautiful.