Silver Nephil
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Chaotic Neutrality
Once the hash had worn off and both of them were sober again, he could see the change in his brother's eyes. At least, when they happened to glance his way. He followed him like a dog, but the man neither spoke to nor looked at him. When he did happen to speak, he still didn't look.

He saw the change, though, and slowly came to recognize the emotions he was seeing: confusion, a healthy dash of suspicion, a little anger, as well as red-faced shame.

The Sparrow threaded through the streets of the city, the noise of the city in his ears as he went, trying to turn the situation over in his mind. Unthinking, he had made his way to Galata Tower. Gazing up at the high roof, he shifted his gaze and went to the nearby haystack, crawling inside and letting his thoughts tumble over the incident.

The run had been splendid. The prospect of hash afterward was welcomed easily. They had been a great tangle of limbs, he, Behlil, Husam, and Stephen. His lips and teeth had found his brother's belly; he had moved up to his chest with little hesitation, almost surprised to find how hard the dark nubs on his chest had become already. He had drawn away at the gasp that left the taller man, had seen how wide-eyed he was. The next move had been more cautious, slower, leaving ample room for Behlil to stop him. Their lips had met and parted, then had come together again, each time he giving him a questioning look that asked, Do you want this? Kiss. Do you want this? Kiss. Do you want this?

Their clothes were stripped off as this went, their bodies pressed chest to chest. The kisses deepened, his hands tracing over his brother's skin, so foreign to him, as the taller man grasped at his back, pinning him in place. He couldn't have missed Behlil's excitement if he tried; his own was just as obvious. A sigh had left the taller man before they had been drawn apart to let the other two men finish the fun.

His heart sped up as he thought about the moment. He could feel it pounding against his ribs. He curled tighter within the straw, shaking, biting his lip. He wanted to cry out and bang his head against the nearest wall, but he knew it wasn't for the reasons it should've been.

Let's think this through, shall we? he told himself. Be Spock for a second. The shaking diminished slightly. All right. What's the situation? You almost ******** your brother. What is the problem? You share at least twenty-three chromosomes with the man! Why is this a problem? Because things like this have been frowned upon in most societies since the dawn of basic human civilization!

He sighed, dragging his hands over his eyes. I shouldn't want this! This should be my highest proriety on the Do Not Want list! He groaned and turned over onto his back. Why, why, why, why? Why am I not feeling how bad this is? Why am I not ashamed? Why does it seem... He let his hands flop to his sides, staring up at the patch of sky he could just make out through the golden haze of straw. Why does this of all Goddamned things seem like something I'd look at and go "it's okay that it exists?" He's my own brother, for ******** sakes. My own flesh-and-blood brother...

Dragging himself out of the hay, he let his feet carry him where they would, his mind still lost in the fog of thought. Both Badr and Amir called him brother. Both at least once had suggested doing it with each other. But they aren't Behlil. Behlil was his father's son, just as much as he was. His hands slipped into his pockets as another thought crossed his mind, dredged up from the sea of his childhood that seemed so long ago, when during an anime phase he had found out about all the ships in the universe, it seemed, the most surprising being those between brothers, more often than not twins.

Lex smacked himself in the face then, causing a few of the people at the nearby book merchant's stall to look at him. He paid them no mind, walking on. Yeah, sure, Skandar. 'Cause Tazimcest makes a whole lot of sense when compared with twincest and Wincest. Of course. Of ******** course. He stopped, breathing hard. Somehow, he had walked to the home Behlil shared with his mother and adoptive father. Could he even look them in the face now?

Ducking his head, the Assassin moved around to the side of the building where a small window lay. Scrambling up onto the ledge, he shifted the shutter and slid inside. With the light that seeped in through the cracks in the wood, he could just make out his brother's form. He lay abed, back to him. If he'd heard him enter, he gave no sign.

Swallowing, praying that the man wouldn't have some dagger hidden beneath his pillow to drive home into his chest, he shed his shoes and curled up on the bed behind him, their backs pressed together. His breathing sounded steady--was he asleep or awake? The Sparrow wasn't sure. He listened harder. There was no sound in the rest of the house.

"Behlil?" No answer. "Look, I--I've been mulling over what happened and..." He stopped as he heard the other shifting behind him, beginning to shake. "I--I don't want you mad at me. Not you. Okay? I--It's..." He stopped again as arms snaked around him, drawing him back against his brother's chest. He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut as he hugged the arms that held him. They could talk more later. For now, this was enough.