Lessons

[warning: contro]

inspired by this picture:



Ed

I've never been the poetic type, but watching Jonny bend double over a glockenspiel in his too-short T-shirt makes me want to sing odes of joy to the denim-clad curves of his arse, the delicate jut of his hips, the glossy sweep of raven hair and the shimmer of moist beestung lips in a pout of concentration. It sounds stupid, especially when even worse lines rattle around and bounce off each other within the confines of my own addled head, and I know this is why writing lyrics is Thom's department and making whooping oodle noises is mine.

It takes all the strength of will I have to look down and pluck at my guitar strings instead of dragging Jonny out of the ballroom and bending him over something other than his glock with the intention of wrenching much sweeter sounds from him, but I manage it. Just. I try to convince myself that it's this house, it's driving me nuts; perhaps Thom is right about it being haunted, and the random thought patterns in my brain are a product of warping by some malevolent spirit hell-bent on getting the shit kicked out of me by an irate Colin. He keeps looking at me, by the way. It'd take the patience of a saint not to be distracted by the way I'm shamelessly eyeing up his baby brother.

Coz and Thom, when they were teenagers who'd snog and grope at parties, used to laugh at my mock-disgusted expression and joke that I redefined straight; I wasn't just straight, I was so far beyond straight as to be almost queerer than they were. I repeated this mantra to myself when watching them go at each other started making me hard. I repeated it when Colin kissed me one night outside the church hall where we had band practice before thrusting one hand down the front of my trousers and bringing me to a guilty climax with expert fingers, fathomless eyes studying the blissful contortions of my face as I moaned my pleasure into my palm. I repeated it when a lazy summer afternoon of smoking and reading guitar magazines in Coz's bedroom turned into my first, delicious, awkward, tender session of lovemaking and I knew then, I knew, that I'd reached a point from which it would be impossible to return. And then all the times after that, the voice in my head was quiet and I realised I'd found myself. But in all of this time, I'd never found Jonny. He was cute, yes, but he was too quiet and wide-eyed and breathily innocent to appeal to me, whereas Colin was all lust and spitting fury and sharp fingernails raking over sensitive skin in a way that made my blood boil.

Like it's doing now.

I have found Jonny, and it's quite a revelation.

I shift the guitar over my swelling crotch and cough nonchalantly, wondering when Thom and Phil are going to reappear to save my sanity. Phil goes for a run around the grounds of the mansion at odd times of the day or night; he says that staying cooped up indoors will make us ill, but outside it's damp and grey and we tell him we'd rather not catch cold for the sake of stretching our legs. Thom... well, he's somewhere. Somewhere else. He'll be struck with inspiration or depression and head for the isolation of the room he now calls his own, and we'll be lucky to see him all day. So it's just me. And Colin. And Jonny. And nothing to breach the silence that falls in the gaps between notes.

Colin

"Ed, do you think I could have a word with you? Outside?"

The startled, deer-in-the-headlights look Ed gives me is enough to tell me that he knows exactly what I want a 'word' with him about. He knows I've been watching him rape my brother with his eyes for the past two hours. I love Jonny, I really do, I love him to bits, but sometimes I wish I could hate him and right now I'm fooling myself into believing that I do. He flirts without even knowing it, coming down to practice with his tight jeans and his tiny T-shirts and the unconsciously sensual sway of his body, it's like he's begging big, manly, macho Ed to pin him against the wall and fuck him into the middle of next week. What's the matter, Jonathan? Isn't being screwed by Thom day and night enough for you, you have to steal away my Ed as well? I know all about him and Thom; there's only so many times Jonny can stumble down to breakfast in the morning with bruised hipbones and bite-marks on his neck which you know neither you nor Ed put there before you add two and two together and come up with a big round 'Thom Yorke is shagging your little brother'. Perhaps they think they're being discreet. It doesn't bother me, because neither could have found anyone more perfectly suited to them. But the spark in Ed's eyes as they rove over Jonny's pert behind is something quite different and more than a little worrying.

Jonny looks up briefly from tinkering with the glockenspiel, dark eyes reproachful behind his fringe as Ed hesitantly puts his guitar back on its stand and follows me out of the door. Our gazes meet for one blazing split-second before I shut the door sharply behind me and turn to Ed, trying to reign in my anger.

"What the fuck are you doing, Edward?"

I'm using his full name, which means he's in big trouble. He tries to feign confusion, but he's always been a useless liar and his voice trails off into a stammer after only a couple of words. "I... er... I don't..."

"What were you thinking about, hm? I saw you, watching Jonny. Are you tiring of me, Edward? Are you thinking of trying it on with my little brother?"

There's high colour in Ed's cheeks now as he fumbles and grabs at the right things to say, missing by a mile and unable to look at my face, his eyes darting from side to side like those of a cornered animal. If he was shorter I would have forced him against the closed door and torn a confession from him with lips and teeth and tongue, but as it is I settle for sliding a hand between his legs and cupping his engorged cock, the telltale sign of his arousal. He hisses as the denim tightens further and I squeeze, coaxing a yelp out of him.

"What are you thinking about, Edward, hmmm? Fucking tell me or I might decide you're not worth my attention after all."

There's sweat on his forehead. He's trying so desperately not to be turned on by what I'm doing, but he's failing miserably. "I... was thinking..." He stops, panting, and draws breath. I run my fingers lightly down his zipper. "Nmmmmmhhh. I... was thinking about..."

"Edward, you're being quite incoherent. Please speak up, don't you think Jonathan would want to hear you?"

Ed's chest is heaving and I think that if I continue to keep up this torment he truly is going to come in his pants like an oversexed teen. He wets his lips with his tongue before choking out, "I'm thinking about taking your brother up to our bedroom and bending him over the footboard and fucking the living daylights out of him." The sentence tumbles out in a rush, syllables tripping and catching on each other, and I imagine it as one long word encompassing all of your dirtiest fantasies that you've been too afraid to admit to me until now, faced with the threat of my displeasure. I lean into you, my torso pressing against your groin so that you writhe under the touch. I knew that was what you were going to say to me, but it doesn't make me any less angry at either you or Jonny.

"I think we should do something about that, then, Edward."

Ed

It's obvious the second Colin throws open the ballroom door that Jonny has heard every word we've been saying. He's given up any pretence of being interested in the glockenspiel and is watching us tensely as we step into the room. Colin's shoes make an ominous clicking sound on the floor as he takes a few steps towards his brother, who is looking at me coyly through the filter of his fringe, and I wonder whether he's aware of how fucking sexy he is, or whether he does it unintentionally. Either way, it's as hot as hell. He reminds me ever so fleetingly of the curious, silent teenage Colin who jerked me off outside a church hall with my back scraping against the cold bricks and the salt taste of my sweating hand pressed to my mouth; something passionate and enchanting and somehow dangerous, in the most intoxicating way. But then he reaches up with one hand to tug nervously at his hair, and the image evaporates like morning mist; I am forcefully reminded of thirteen-year-old Jonny begging to be allowed into the band, and I feel incredibly dirty.

Colin's expression is a frightening midpoint between doting parent and predatory carnivore as he advances on Jonny, who skitters backwards and bumps into a bank of keyboards, looking trapped. "Jonathan," he intones softly, almost quiet enough to exclude me from the conversation. "Take that scared look off your face. I know you heard every word Edward said. And don't you dare deny you've been flirting with him all morning, you little tease." The venom in Colin's voice is astonishing; I've never heard him speak to his brother like this before, and to my dismay it only makes me more aroused, especially when Jonny blushes in response and looks down at the floor, twisting his fingers together. Was he flirting with me? It's hard to tell with Jonny; to me he's such a closed book, a withdrawn web of mysteries so folded in on himself that it's impossible to read him at all. He's never struck me as flirtatious, though, which is why Colin's anger surprises me. Is he really that territorial?

Colin's speaking again.

"Edward would very much like to have his way with you, I think, Jonathan." He's taken another step forwards and Jonny is now pressed back against the keyboards with nowhere left to run, his T-shirt riding up to show a flat pale expanse of abdomen with a trail of dark hair leading down as he leans away from Colin, regarding him as one might regard a poisonous snake. I swallow dryly, the noise almost deafening in the sudden eerie silence of the ballroom, and Colin gives a small laugh. "I think you make him uneasy, Jonathan. He's worried about what I might do if I catch him looking at you, and he should worry, I think. It doesn't make me happy, you know. You have everything, Jonathan, and you're still taking things away from me."

Oh. So that's what it is. Colin's jealous? I open my mouth to put him right and Jonny opens his mouth to protest and Colin closes fingers white-knuckled around Jonny's wrist and twists, hard, bringing Jonny to his knees. There's an audible crack as he hits the shiny floor, letting out a small gasp of pain. Colin, Colin, what are you doing? This isn't him at all, this isn't the caring boy who does anything to protect his little brother, this isn't the Colin I want to spend every waking moment with; this is something else entirely, something secret and horrible and dark that it looks like he's been fighting for a long time. I move forwards to do - what? Come to Jonny's aid? Be the man in the hope it'll make me feel better? The truth of the matter is that Jonny kneeling on that shiny floor at Colin's feet is stirring feelings deep within me that I didn't know I could have, and I want to rescue myself before I go over the edge and can't come back. Colin turns at this, cocking his head to one side as though to ask, "Well, O'Brien, what are you going to do now?" But he says nothing. Instead he tangles his free hand in Jonny's silky hair and wrenches his head back, still keeping a firm hold on his wrist, moving behind his brother and pushing him towards me slightly with one knee between his shoulderblades... and offering him to me.

Colin

I see red. It's almost enough to blot out the image of Ed's shocked face and the shaky sound of Jonny's panicked breathing as Ed is drawn irresistibly forwards by the tempting prospect before him. I wonder what Jonny's wordlessness means. I expected him to say something when I grabbed his hair, even if he wouldn't fight back. Jonny never fights back. He wouldn't fight back when we were children play-wrestling, he wouldn't fight back when Thom spat curses and insults at him during fraught practise sessions, and he won't fight back now. But his reticence is disturbing. Does he want this? It feels as though there's an unspoken agreement between him and Ed that this is OK, that this was planned all along and I've just fallen headfirst and willing into their trap.

I would have thought Ed at least would understand what he was letting Jonny in for. He's never going to look at him the same way after this. It would be easy enough for me to spoil his pleasant delusions of what it might be like; he's probably imagining that Jonny is just like me when it comes down to it, when nothing could be further from the truth. Surprisingly enough for someone like him, Ed prefers to be dominated. I know Thom laughed his head off when he found this out, because it's Ed and the idea of him being dominated by anyone probably seems rather ridiculous, but he has the temperament of a benevolent giant and it's probably why we work so well together. Thom and I would never have lasted without killing each other - Ed was the next natural step for me after Thom and I called it a day. I have a feeling that Jonny's interest in being dominated is something much deeper and more sinister than simply being too nice for anything else, however, and against my will I'm horribly curious about what makes him the way he is. I know the shiver of excitement that courses through him as I splay my fingers against the back of his skull, winding my hand further into his hair until he hisses slightly, his dark whipped-puppy eyes watering. How far would he let us go?

Ed pauses only a pace away from us, confusion and need written large across his face. I let go of Jonny's wrist and beckon to him and he moves to my side, where I drop my hand to the front of his jeans and unzip the fly one painstaking tooth at a time before slipping my fingers inside, the heat of his cock startling me as it burns through the cotton of his pants. Jonny's eyes are huge and frightened. He's not as innocent as he tries to look, though; he certainly knows what's coming, and I'm sure his terror is mostly feigned for effect.

I might have come up with some clichéd porno-speak for what I want Ed to do, but in the end all that escapes my mouth is a strangled, "Please..." and he knows exactly what I want from him. He unpops the button that holds up his jeans and lets them drop to the floor with his boxers, his erection springing free and bobbing almost obscenely... it is porno, hilariously so, and I feel like a seedy onlooker, which I am, but I almost don't care as Ed jabs the shining head at Jonny's tightly-shut lips and Jonny whines shrilly, starting to protest for the first time as he bats ineffectually at Ed's thighs. Ed catches his hands and holds them tightly in his larger ones, while I duck down to murmur in Jonny's ear, using my free hand to caress his cheek. "Open up, Jonathan, and this will all be over much sooner, I promise."

He starts to reply with a choked, "Don't..." but the rest of the sentence is cut off, as Ed takes advantage of the opportunity to slide home in victory.

Ed

It's all I can do not to pass out right there and then as the blunt head of my cock hits the back of Jonny's throat. He struggles wildly at first and I'm half-afraid he might bite, but as he adjusts to the sensation he calms down a little, and I stroke the back of his hands encouragingly with my thumbs while Colin whispers things to him and pets his cheek, telling him how obedient he is, what a good boy, there there, it's not so bad, is it? I'm barely halfway in, though, and I can't help but feel a little guilty at the panicky expression on Jonny's face when I start to press further forwards. Colin straightens up and the look in his eye tells me that I should on no account let up even for a moment. He's right, in a way. Jonny has no grounds for complaint when he flaunts himself so obviously, and with this thought in mind I coax him into opening up, pretending not to see the tears that gather and spill as he fights to breathe and his fingernails dig trenches in my palms. It's all rather artless and clumsy at first - if Jonny's done this before, it was with someone a lot smaller - but as I start to fuck his throat in earnest, he seems to get a hold of himself and I realise at the expert touch of his tongue that I am definitely not the one in control here and... Jesus Christ. I thought Colin was a pro at this but even he could learn something from his baby brother.

Colin watches my face with interest as I go through more kinds of pleasure than I was aware existed. There's a clinical detachment to his gaze, as though this kind of thing is perfectly routine for him, and it distracts me long enough to have a tiny, personal, what the fuck moment with myself. Living with him is very much like living on a knife edge, because although on some levels he can be utterly predictable, at times I wonder whether I know him at all. Perhaps he likes it like that, keeping everyone on their toes. The thought is pushed right out of my head as Jonny does something with his teeth which should be illegal and behind the tears swimming in his eyes there's a sinful, unpenitent gleam that would look more at home if it came from Colin. I'm close now, it won't be long... and I squeak in indignation as Colin pulls back on Jonny's hair and I slip from the warm confines of his mouth, feeling something akin to being doused in tepid water. Colin leans forward to hiss in my ear. "Fuck him. Please, do it, now." The raw want in his voice leaves me taken aback, but I don't need to be told twice. Colin lets go of Jonny's hair and I pull him to his feet where he stands, unsteady, and I'm reminded of just how small he is in comparison to me. I suppose I'm used to seeing him in Thom's company, so it's easy to forget the fragile line of his shoulders and back under the thin T-shirt, how insubstantial his wrists feel encircled by my hands, the delicate slant of his high cheekbones and the feminine turn to his posture... I could close my eyes and almost pretend he was a girl if I didn't know better.

There's a patterned rug covering the floorboards beside the sofa and I lead Jonny over to it, Colin trailing in our wake. I consider the sofa for a moment but it seems rather narrow and cramped for anything other than sitting, so instead I sink down on to the rug, pulling Jonny with me and pressing him down to lie flat on his back, stealing a quick kiss from full lips that taste of what I assume must be me. It's strangely arousing. Colin falls on to the sofa nearby with a gentle sigh as I easily divest Jonny of his jeans and pants, and there's no struggling this time; he wants this, and Colin gives me a secret smile because Jonny obviously has no idea what he's asking for and he's about to be given a rude awakening. I hook his legs over my shoulders and start to push in with no preamble and nothing but saliva and precome to ease the way.

Jonny's eyes, which have been drowsily half-closed as I gently undressed him, fly open in shock, and I remember how Colin looked the first time I fucked him. He didn't have any idea what he was letting himself in for, either. But he doesn't scream like Colin did, doesn't claw at my chest with sharp fingernails and plead with me to take it out. Instead, his breath hitches slightly and he stares at me in wonder, and I don't understand why I never did this before.

Colin

This isn't how it's meant to be, but I'm not sure I care.

When Ed enters Jonny, something in the room changes. Up until now it seemed bizarre, surreal, as though we could all wake up at any moment and laugh about it, pretending it didn't happen. I just wanted Jonny to learn that no one would ever take Ed O'Brien away from me, not in a million years; and, like a spoiled little brat, I wanted to break the shiny toy beyond repair so that Ed would never learn how much he could have enjoyed it.

Not now. There's energy crackling between them, something which is nothing like Ed and I share but which is something nonetheless. Am I worried that we won't recover from this? I don't think so. I think that, in a perverse kind of way, this is almost therapy for us - it is for me, learning that having a jealous nature can so easily backfire and turn into this.

Ed fucks like a porn star. It's always been his way, all heavy breathing and dripping sweat, something carnal and animalistic about it, and it stands in such stark contrast to the way Jonny bites the back of one hand to stifle his cries and watches Ed in something approaching reverence that it's almost absurd. He hasn't changed since he was thirteen years old, is the first thought that crosses my mind. He still treats everything with this starry-eyed fascination as though he can hardly believe that he's a part of it, and I wonder if that's why he clings to Thom so much, because Thom reminds us all of how this isn't a wonderful dream, it's something very solid and often very terrifying, and this is how Jonny keeps a hold on reality.

My hand drifts down to my erection of its own accord; seeing the pair of them on the carpet together fills me with an unspeakable sense of desire and I need to do something about it or I think I'll go mad. I roll on to my side, lean over and touch Ed's shoulder gently, patting the sofa. "Up here," I manage to whisper as my hips arch up into my fist almost independently. I let go of myself - not yet, not yet - and Ed manages to summon the composure to raise his eyebrows at me. Jonny gives a keening wail as Ed's pace slows to a standstill. "Please," I beg, man enough to acknowledge when Ed's holding the cards and not me, and he offers me a strange little smile as he pulls out of Jonny, lifting him to his feet and letting him collapse on the sofa.

Ed

The sofa is really too narrow for this and Jonny falls awkwardly across Colin's prostrate form, making a struggling attempt to push himself up on his elbows before I grasp him firmly by the hipbones and effectively pull him on to me again in one long slick movement. This time he isn't expecting it and all the fight instantly goes out of his body as he lets out a long, low moan of pleasure-pain, which is quickly stifled by Colin's hand pressed over his mouth. His head is resting on Colin's shoulder and their outlines blend together in my sweat-blurred eyes, so much so that it's almost like fucking them both at the same time. Part of me is screaming that this is all wrong and I shouldn't allow it to happen, but a much bigger part of me is screaming that this is all right, and when Colin's other hand slips between my legs to caress my balls with artist's fingers, to hell with moral values because I don't think I've ever felt anything so intensely before in my life. I come suddenly, violently and almost completely without warning, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood in an effort not to yell to the ornamented ceiling. Colin draws me down immediately to kiss my injured mouth, pressing Jonny between us, his tongue slipping in to slide over the enamel of my teeth, and I feel an unbidden pang of sympathy for our younger counterpart. Colin seemed quite adamant that he shouldn't be allowed to enjoy this, but I think that whatever lesson was to be taught here, we've all learned something. So I slip one hand between the brothers beneath me to grasp Jonny's erection. He's painfully hard and I'm simultaneously impressed and disappointed that he was able to last through that, but these and all other rational thoughts are driven from my head when I feel Colin's fingers against my own and meet his gaze with a jolt. Jonny sucks in a shuddering gasp at the realisation but he doesn't try to stop us; I see his knuckles whiten as he grips the edge of the cushion, his eyes shut tight, and with Colin's hand covering mine and guiding it, I stroke Jonny's shaft until he comes over our laced fingers in the most gentle, sweet and honest climax I've ever seen, with no sign to mark its passing but his trembling like a broken butterfly and the faintest of cries torn from his throat.

Jonny

I slide off the sofa in a boneless mess, the absence of Ed's presence leaving me feeling empty in a way I have never experienced before. I take a few experimental steps but it's like learning to walk again, feeling as though my very physiology has been altered by what's just taken place, and I only make it a couple of paces before sinking to the floor again. I stand unsteadily, flushed, tugging my jeans up over my hips and checking that the fly is buttoned correctly. Ed's tousled head appears over the back of the sofa, blinking at me slowly in post-coital catatonia as I check my reflection in the window for tell-tale rug burn and bruises, combing my fingers through my hair in an attempt to make myself presentable. It takes a moment before Colin's head surfaces beside his and they watch me like a pair of sneaky schoolchildren with sin-reddened lips. I think about how lucky I am to have bandmates like these who will offer a helping hand with next to no questions, at a small price.

"Are you OK?" Colin asks eventually, when I am certain that I bear no lasting marks of the morning's exertions. His voice is a shadow of the one that told me to grow up when I was on the floor with his hand in my hair and Ed's cock inches from my gasping mouth; it almost reminds me of Mum, when I'd come home from school with bloody holes in the knees of my trousers after someone pushed me off the pavement and she'd rush for the TCP and plasters like a clucking, fussing mother hen. Colin's tone now is TCP for the soul. I'm still shaken and not sure that I will be able to remember this without feeling sick, but at the moment I'm on enough of a high not to care.

"'M fine," I mumble, heading for the door. I don't look back until I'm reaching for the handle, and then turn. They're both watching me. "Thank you," I manage, my voice cracking on the 'you', and I dart through the door quickly and run for the stairs, but not before I hear identical shrieks of laughter from the ill-fated sofa.

Thom's room is on the second landing. I knock but don't wait for a reply before bursting in, finding him curled up in the bed with a notebook on his raised knees. He jumps violently at my appearance.

"Jonny, what -?" he manages to get out.

"I've got some new inspiration," I say with a delirious grin, before ripping away the duvet and pouncing.