Page 3 of Tears and Other Fears

And I was always going to ruin Young. That was my original purpose for meeting him in the first place, wasn’t it? I might be able to give him little memories of William, but in the end, I’d be stealing Samuel from him. Eventually, who would he be left with? The woman blackmailing him, and the manic sister of his deceased lover.

Such shitty luck my Young had.

“So what’s the plan, anyway? You said we’re going to see a drug dealer?”

I nodded, wondering how I’d find Renon in the first place. We didn’t exchange numbers or anything. He was elusive and shady. The only information I had was that Samuel owed him money. Where there was blood in the water, there were sharks. “There’s this guy, named Renon? He was there when Samuel pulled the gun on me.”

“He pulled a gun on you?” Young asked incredulously. He stared at me in disbelief, and I hated that people struggled to trust that I was telling the fucking truth. Everyone in this damn world was so used to lies that they got uncomfortable by the idea of someone purging harsh realities at their feet. No one believed me because they were conditioned to accept the easier-to-swallow pills.

“Did I not mention that part? Everything is admittedly a bit fuzzy. In his defense, I would have pulled it on him if given a chance. The bastard was just faster than me. He distracted me with his Grade A cock and phenomenal sex skills. I didn’t even think to blame him.” I scowled while crossing my arms over my chest.

Young turned to look at me and nudged me with his elbow. “You know, I’ve always wondered how he was in bed. I’ve seen girls practically crawling out of his bedroom for water in the middle of the night.”

I sighed. Yes, Samuel was a damn good fuck. Shame really, all the craziest men were. “Oh,Young. He was simply the best. Knew just where to touch, could command an orgasm with his words.” An older woman behind me coughed, probably because she wanted me to speak louder. Okay, grandma, I’ll let you get off on thoughts of Samuel Smith, too. “And his hands, God, his hands. He made you want to beg for relief but also want to prolong it as long as possible.”

A reasonable person might have been disgusted with themselves for sleeping with their brother’s murderer, but not me. I didn’t have the emotional capacity to really feel regret about what we did. We were two bodies fucking. It wasn’t like he stroked my soul.

I let go of Young’s hand and rubbed my own up and down my thighs, creating delicious friction. My damn meds made it hard to come—fucking antidepressants. I spent a good four hours one night rubbing myself raw in my twin-sized bed at the institute, and nothing happened. Orgasms were the best medicine, and any “treatment plan” that inhibited my pleasure obviously didn’t fucking work. So even though I couldn’t get off, the need was still there. I’d just be looking over the edge of a cliff until they were entirely out of my system.

I looked over at Young and smiled when I saw his dick growing hard in his pants. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was picturing William or me. I reached below the airplane seat and grabbed a blanket, throwing it over our laps as I settled beside Young. The flight attendant started saying her spiel, and I slowly moved my hand on his upper thigh. Young didn’t flinch, but he went rigid with tension. I kept it there, every now and then rubbing my thumb on his leg, but never drifting closer to the hard cock I just knew was aching for relief.

There was an art to teasing that not many understood. It was all in the implications of things. I implied that I was going to cross that barrier and rub him off in first class on this damn crowded plane. I implied that I gave a fuck about him. I implied that I wanted to fuck him.

The real trick to teasing was convincing yourself, really. Not the other person. And right then, I had myself convinced that I wanted Nathaniel Youngblood.

His breathing went heavy, and I knew that he was all too aware of my hand on his thigh. I knew that he was imagining me getting him off. The thing with Young was that I wanted him to think of me, so maybe it was fucked up, but I’d tease him until he could think of nothing else.

Was it wrong that I wanted my brother to be a distant memory? I was the only one allowed to miss someone that couldn’t come back.

“You okay?” I asked him, keeping my voice calm and even like I wasn’t imagining touching him either.

“You tell me. We playing a game again, Tav? Or are you going to finish what you started just now?” His voice was a low growl that made me claw through the little bit of personality I had left. I was too good at teasing; I played myself.

“Do you want me to?” I asked. I’d make him tell me so. Memories of the last time our bodies clashed came to the forefront of my mind. I dared him, played sex chicken like it was a real thing and like feelings weren’t involved. And I fucking lost, not because I cared how I felt, but because I cared howhedid. It was dangerous.

Letting out a shaky breath while staring at the flight attendant, he replied in a voice so low that I almost didn’t hear him. “Yeah, Tav. I just got you out of a fucking mental institute, and now I want you to make me come on this damn airplane.”

Well, there, that wasn’t so hard. I had to reward him for being honest, didn’t I?

I moved my fingers to outline his cock in his pants while looking at the flight attendant who was sitting in clear view of us. She was a pretty little thing with bright blond hair and long legs. She looked like anyone’s wet dream, sitting there in her flight attendant uniform.

“See her?” I asked Young while stroking him through the thin material of his pants. She crossed her legs, rubbing them together in the process. Oh yeah. She wastotallygetting off while imagining what my hand was doing.

I leaned closer to Young and nuzzled his neck, breathing in his woodsy scent before kissing right above where his pulse was thudding. I rubbed him through his pants, knowing he was on the edge of it being uncomfortable and pleasurable. He wanted more. He wanted me to pull it out and stroke him thoroughly till his hot cum was spilling in my palm.

But I’d never let it get that far. All of this reminded me of Samuel. Samuel motherfucking Smith once told me that he’d let me stare and imagine where all he could take me—give me a taste of what we could be but not give me his best. I realized, as I stroked Young under the blanket while the hot flight attendant stared blatantly at us, that I’d always be this way with Young.

Teetering on the edge.

I kept going, enjoying the look of him biting his fist and staring out the window. Muffled groans were escaping his chest but were covered up by the loud airplane. “You like that?” I asked, glancing again at the flight attendant.

“You know I do,” he replied. A man in a business suit walked by, eyeing us suspiciously before continuing to the bathroom.

I smiled, thinking I’d won, while pulling away. The plan was to give him blue balls. I’d been doing that a lot lately. But before I could get too far, he grabbed my wrist, keeping me firmly in place. “Finish what you started, Tav.”

Okay. It was hot hearing him all needy and breathless. That low grumble in his tone as he demanded I get him off had me feeling all kinds of envious. “If I can’t come, neither can you,” I replied, hating the pills still in my system. I wanted to feel like myself again.

“Fair enough,” he growled. Then we sat there, choking on the sexual tension until neither of us could stand it anymore. And the plane landed. And we were at his penthouse again. And I was imagining that flight attendant and her perception of the happy couple getting off on her airplane. Things always looked better from the outside, didn’t they?

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