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- You’re vain
Lochy really can’t stand Saxon after Thailand. His voice, his mannerisms, the way Saxon says his name like it disgusts him now. Actually, pretty much anything Lochy does makes Saxon react.
If Lochy even looks at him too long, Saxon goes “what?” and they start fucking fighting about something. Who the fuck knows.
And the worst part is that Lochy realizes that Saxon only ever loved Lochy because when he looked in his eyes, he could see himself reflected back.
That fucking narcissist.
—-
- Your Games
Saxon plays this little game called How Long Can He Ignore Lochy, and they both know he’s playing it. A cruel, punishing game.
Lochy wants to bite him just to make him stop.
Usually he’ll say “knock it off, dude.”
And Saxon will look up at him with a faux-innocent look: “hm?”
“Stop fucking doing the thing where you ignore me,” Lochy will snap, and Saxon will just scrunch up his eyebrows, and Lochy sometimes thinks if he just punched him in the face it would be more honest.
He hates him so much.
—
- You’re insecure
Lochy brings over girls and boys to the apartment to make out with. He pushes them up against the wall, and he asks them to slap him. He’s loud and obnoxious about his sexuality now.
He leaves condoms in the bathroom trash.
All because he knows that the louder and more over the top he is, the quicker that it’ll break Saxon down. He knows his brother’s insecure.
He can see it in the tightness of his jaw, barely contained rage when Lochy brushes past him in the mornings.
“What?” Lochy will ask sweetly as Saxon rolls his shoulders and glares at him across the kitchen counter.
“You kept me up,” Saxon says, and his eyes trace the hickeys on Lochy’s throat.
Lochy pops up the collar of his shirt like he’s embarrassed, like this performance wasn’t all for his big brother’s approval.
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding it for a second as he stirs his coffee.
“Uh huh. Well, fuck off with that shit,” Saxon grunts and then goes to slam the door of his room shut.
Anger, Lochy thinks, is so much sweeter than indifference.
—
- You love me, you like her
Somewhere during month three of living together, Saxon breaks and comes to Lochy’s room in the middle of the night. It’s pitch fucking black, and Lochy can feel the drinks in his clumsy missteps.
“Lochy,” he says, voice too fucking soft, and it pisses him the fuck off. How dare he fucking come crawling back? Like it was nothing? Like he hadn’t told him to stop worshipping him?
“Dude, go away,” he snaps, throwing his covers back in invitation. Because Lochy hates Saxon, but hate does not mean that he’s not already half hard in anticipation. In fact, the hate just makes it hotter. It just makes it all the more cruel when Saxon gets in his bed and starts to make out with him.
“You said to stop,” Lochy throws in his face, snarling the words against Saxon’s lips. The bastard. The hypocrite. The motherfucker.
“I say- I say a lotta stuff,” Saxon slurs against his lips, and Lochy still runs a hand through his hair, still opens up his stupid slut mouth because he’s his brothers fucking whore until the day he dies.
How dare he touch Lochy’s face like he’s something precious? Like he’s something that he still adores?
And then the next morning, Saxon acts like none of it happened. Like Saxon didn’t beg Lochy to touch him again. Like Lochy didn’t reach down and sweetly jerk him off, fast and quick under the covers just like how he knew his big brother liked it. You’re a piece of shit, Lochy had whispered as Saxon came, and Saxon had just whimpered in agreement.
“You were drinking last night,” Lochy just says in the morning, addressing the frying pan as Saxon goes to get one of his yogurts from the fridge.
“Yeah,” Saxon says like it’s nothing. “Gotta get it out of my system. I have a date tonight. Nice girl. Jennifer. She goes to mom’s country club.”
Fuck him.
“Get what out of your system?” Lochy dares to accuse him. He knows he’s not supposed to talk about it. Not supposed to mention he can make Saxon cum with a couple good strokes. That his brother loves how he moves his wrist.
“Drinking,” Saxon mutters.
“Sure.”
—-
- You make me laugh, you make me cry
And Saxon can still make him laugh louder than anyone in the world and that makes him hate him more. Because why should Saxon be allowed to make his lips twist up into a smile? He wants his hate to be absolute, perfect, but then Saxon will say one of his corny, cringe jokes and Lochy will laugh in spite of himself.
“How was the date with Jennifer?” He asks the next night. He’s sitting on their kitchen counter, nothing but boxers and unbuttoned striped shirt. He feels the heat of Saxon’s gaze brush down his chest. Lochy shivers like he was just touched.
“It was like trying to make love to a piece of expired fucking cheese,” Saxon says bluntly, and Lochy laughs in spite of himself.
Saxon smiles back, tired by the look in his eyes.
“Yeah? Doesn't everyone love expired cheese?” Lochy finds himself joking along, in spite of his anger.
“I’m not a mouse, dude,” Saxon says, and he forgets himself and steps in between Lochy’s open thighs and plants his fucking entitled fingers on Lochy’s skin, like he owns him, like he has any claim to touching him. And Lochy hates that he immediately melts into it.
He hates that he just laughs like it was the funniest joke in the world and kisses Saxon, and they both moan into each others mouths as their breathing quickens, and this can’t mean anything, Lochy knows that. He knows, god, he knows.
Lochy knows that it won’t be long until he hops off the counter and sinks to the floor and fumbles with Saxon’s belt. It won’t be long until he’s got his stupid fucking mouth swallowing down his brother, until he’s moaning on his dick like that’s what’s good for him, instead of being his undoing. He knows Saxon will probably wrap his fingers in Lochy’s hair and say something insane like- yeah, Lochy, there you go, fuck yeah. And he’ll cum inside Lochy’s mouth like it’s nothing, like he’s nothing,
Because as much as this night started with laughter, it’s going to end with Lochy crying alone in his bed.
—-
- Your friends, they’re jerks
Saxon does not have friends. He has dudes that he drinks with and makes stupid jokes with. The kind of jokes that make Lochy want to move out. He hates Saxon’s stupid fucking jerk “friends.” Whatever the fuck they are, those pieces of shits.
The latest finance dude is Braxton. He talks about girls in a way that even Lochy, who every now and then still hooks up with a girl, finds disgusting. And worst of all- Lochy is pretty sure Braxton wants to fuck him. Not that Saxon will admit it.
“Dude, your dumb new drinking buddy wants to fuck me.”
“Lochy, not everyone wants to fuck you,” Saxon snaps.
“Just you?” Lochy says the mean thing, the petty thing, just to watch Saxon flinch. It’s been three days since Lochy sucked him off in the kitchen. He looks over at the spot where it happened. The selfish motherfucker didn’t even return the favor.
That night he waits until Braxton goes to the bathroom and then he slips in with him, and he makes out with Saxon’s friend, and he thinks about his brother the whole time. When he walks out, his mouth is salty from cum, and he gives Saxon a sweet little smile.
I told you so, his eyes say.
Saxon does not invite Braxton over again, and he crawls into bed with Lochy that night, and he fucks him so hard into the mattress, he’s worried the neighbors will hear the slap of flesh on flesh.
—-
- You make me love you
Hate is easier.
It’s easier to say “fuck you” after they softly kiss. It’s easier to ask Saxon to choke him. It’s easier to hate fuck, to ride his brother’s cock while he says one hundred nasty fucking mean awful things.
All of that is easier than the truth.
(I love you so much it will break me).