Note: Written for the Heroes Anonymous Kink meme on LJ.
Prompt: Lyle and West hooking up without Claire's knowledge.
How Still We Stood, How Far
When Claire first brings West home, Lyle thinks that he's the worst person he's ever met, like, ever. He knows that West is smart, and funny, and handsome, and witty; all of this by the end of the evening, and the only reason that Lyle can think of to not like him is that he's dating his sister, which doesn't really work cause, when has he ever cared who Claire chose to be with?
It's really because West is everything that Lyle wants to be, all the kinds of cool and dork that he wished mixed together well for him, but just don't.
He shouldn't be surprised or anything, though, it's just that Claire has always been the pretty one, the popular one, the special one – and he's just there. But for once in his life, Lyle just wants something to belong to him, and for Claire to be second, not first.
…As if that will ever happen.
West comes over more and more often these days, so often, in fact, that he's practically become a part of the family. Lyle's dad will clap West on the shoulder, joke around with him; his mother will fix his messy hair, and smile at him a lot.
West has the kind of relationship with his family that Lyle has always wanted, and he lets his hands clench into fists. This is his, he thinks; his family. What right does West have to just show up one day and make a place for himself?
He doesn't, Lyle tells himself. He really doesn't. He just wishes that West would go away, back where he came from, where Lyle would never have to worry about him again.
It's not as if they hadn't dated before, Claire and West. It was just different this time, because Claire wasn't thinking about someone else, and West knew it. Everybody knew. She was in love, and Lyle resented it, because once again, Claire did something first.
Almost a year has passed since Claire brought West home for the first time. Lyle has had girlfriends, nearly all of them with short brown hair and deep brown eyes, open and honest, but it never works out. His mother just tells him that there are plenty of fish in the sea, that he'll have plenty of girls to pick from when the time comes, and his father doesn't say anything to him. His dad only has words for Claire nowadays, her and Peter, saving the world.
Somehow, though, Lyle knows that what he wants isn't some pretty little imitation, he wants the real thing, and he doesn't want to think about what he wants, cause it snuck up on him one day while West was feeding a waffle to Mr. Muggles underneath the table. The secret smile that West gave him, the mouthed "shh", had everything turned upside-down in an instant.
He should feel terrible about it, because Kayla from down the street has a crooked smile and short brown hair, and he's already asked her to prom, and she's crazy about him – everyone says so – but, for the first time in his life, he could really care less about what everyone might think.
One day, he just happens to overhear an argument between Claire and West. It's not like he meant to eavesdrop, or anything. He just happens to be sitting on the roof – it's his place, the one where he goes to get away from everything, to just think – and he hears raised voices. Claire sounds annoyed, the way she does when Lyle gets any bit of attention that she thinks belongs to hers. The way she gets when Dad actually acknowledges him. West is calm, just talking.
"C'mon, Claire, he's just a kid. Leave him be."
"You don't have to live with him," she replies crossly.
Oh, thinks Lyle. Oh. They're arguing about him.
"He's a good kid. He's smart, and funny, and he damn sure well has kept your secret when he didn't have to. Just…leave him alone."
"Why are you so defensive of Lyle," Claire asks. "Why does it matter?"
West doesn't answer right away, but from atop the roof, Lyle is barely sure that he hears his reply.
"I'm not sure," he says. "I wish that it didn't."
Lyle sits with his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms resting atop them, looking out to the horizon. It's late, possibly early; he knows that he got up out of his bed around 11:30, and after feeling miserable for twenty minutes, made his way up to the roof via the water drainage pipe outside his window. He can't sleep and, he'd lie to himself and say that it was because he'd had that dragonfruit flavored Vitamin Energy drink before bed, but it's not, cause energy drinks just make him tired, if that makes any sense, and he knows deep down that it's Claire, and her boyfriend. He saw them kissing when West dropped Claire off at the house that afternoon, and the knowledge of it had lain hot and heavy in his stomach for the rest of the day.
There's a noise on the roof off to his left, which almost sounds like someone landing, but it can't be that cause people can't fly—
"How's it going, kid?" West walks slowly over to Lyle, and situates himself right next to the younger man. Their hands are almost touching.
"Don't call me kid," Lyle says crossly. "And, and, how'd you get up here anyway?"
West artfully dodges the question by lightly hitting Lyle on his shoulder, saying, "Don't worry about it, kid."
Kid, kid, kid. It's always kid, and Lyle hates it so much, because it means that nothing will ever change, and he's more wrong than ever for wanting what he does, the way he does. All of a sudden, the words just spill out of him, tumbling out one right after the other, and he's never been this honest with anyone, and Lyle feels so very vulnerable as his heart pours from his mouth.
"Have you ever, like, had those days where you knew, just knew, that you wanted something that you could never have? And that you were just, so screwed up for wanting it in the first place, because, because…"
"Because," continues West, "you just can't, shouldn't, want it, and you do, because it's all you've ever been looking for in your entire life, but it's so wrong. And it aches."
"Yes," whispers Lyle. "Yes."
It's only when West looks at him curiously that Lyle realizes he's looked too long, that he's staring, but before he can turn away, West ruffles his hair, but his hand lingers too long on the back of Lyle's neck, too long for just being friendly, and before Lyle can look away, uncomfortable, West leans over and kisses him.
And, you know, Lyle should really push him away or, or something, but he doesn't. Because West was right, this is what he's been looking for his entire life, and he doesn't think about Claire or what his parents will think as he rests one hand on West's shoulder and the other wraps firmly about his waist as he kisses him back.
Three days later and he's leaving for school, backpack slung over one shoulder and a poptart in his hand, and suddenly the door opens up in front of him, with West making his way inside the house. When West lays his eyes on Lyle, he freezes.
"Hi," Lyle says, tentatively raising his hand in greeting.
"Hi," replies West.
It's the most awkward thing ever, and Lyle hates himself because it was never meant to be like this. The two of them stand in front of each other for a moment, the silence stretching between them like an Alaskan tundra.
"Later," say Lyle, pushing past West. He walks quickly away from the house, feeling West's eyes on him all the way, and only stops when he's gone well past the street he has to go down to get to the school.
"Dammit," he mumbles, tossing the uneaten poptart into the bushes as he doubles back, hoping that West won't see him.
"I didn't mean to--Jesus, Lyle, I don't know what I'm doing." West takes a breath, lets it out slowly, glances at the floor. "You're Claire's little brother, I mean, she would kill me for this, and I could get in trouble. Only seventeen... And this is--this is a thing, it's going to be a thing, now, and I don't want--"
"What do you mean, a thing," Lyle says, frowning, "What kind of thing?"
"A thing," West says, waving his hands futilely, and isn't he supposed to be the articulate one? "A thing, like a--like a thing, I don't know."
Lyle stares at him.
"Look," says West, defeated. "I don't want to just walk into this blindly, I have to know if, well, if you want me. To do this."
Lyle thinks.
"I do."
Lyle thinks that West's kisses are the best thing in the world. Kisses from West could cure cancer, end world poverty, and stop all wars. He doesn't really care if he sounds like a love-struck teenager (which he is) or, or anything, really, cause all that matters is that West kisses him, and not Claire anymore.
It's not like he and West are official, or anything. They don't want anyone to know, because honestly, he's not eighteen, and West could get in a lot of trouble. It would also make things at home that much harder to deal with, cause as much as he loves his sister, she's terribly vain, and would take the fact that her boyfriend left her for her younger brother a bit too much to heart. The only thing that matters is that he doesn't want to see other people, and he's pretty sure that West feels the same.
And, he thinks, the best thing about a kiss from West is that he can get one anytime he wants.
"Lyle," West says, shaking his shoulder lightly. The younger man shifts in his sleep, pulls his blankets up, and groans a reply.
"Seriously, Lyle, wake up."
Well, that's torn it. Lyle has a period of fifteen seconds after first interruption to go back to sleep, and after that it's nearly impossible. He sits up, digging his knuckles into his eyes. When his vision clears, Lyle turns to West, and he looks uncharacteristically nervous, so much so that he's almost cringing away from him.
"Hey," Lyle says, catching West's elbow in his palm. He rubs it reassuringly. "Don't worry about it, we'll fix it, whatever it is."
His sympathy reflex doesn't usually kick in so quickly, especially after having been asleep after an exhausting day, but West looks so vulnerable that he really doesn't care.
"I figure," West says quickly, "that since we're, uh, you know – dating – that I should tell you. Things about me, I mean. I only really have one secret, and, and you should know, because… Because you're you."
"Yeah, sure," replies Lyle.
"And, and it would be really good if you just, you know, sat there. And listened. Otherwise, I'll lose my nerve, and you'll probably think that I'm crazy, and things will be, uh, weird between us."
Lyle sits in his bed, silent.
"So," West begins, "like, you know how Claire is special, and there's something in her that makes her that way, and she didn't ask for it, but it's there all the same?"
He nods.
"I've got something like that too," West confides. He looks away from Lyle. "I can fly."
He is still for a moment, taking West's words in, wondering what he should say. This is obviously big for West to tell him; he probably hasn't told anybody except for Claire.
"Cool," he says, finally.
"Cool?" West repeats.
"Yeah. You can fly. That's cool. No big thing, West."
West nods slowly. "Yeah. No big thing."
Lyle tugs West down onto the bed, and West grins crookedly as he yanks off his shoes and jacket. He settles in beside Lyle, and he seems lighter, somehow. Like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. Lyle's glad.
It's funny, Lyle thinks, how quickly things go from good to bad. He's walking down by the beach with West, who has hardly said a word all day. He's been distant lately, Lyle reflects, walking the line between tactfully distancing himself and outright avoiding him.
"Look, West—"
"Lyle—"
They both pause, laugh a bit, but then West begins again, and the tone in his voice tells Lyle everything that he doesn't want to hear.
"It's, it's just too complicated, you know? I mean, I'm dating your sister, man, and she doesn't know. Claire can never know. I just want, you know, for things to be okay between us, even though this…It's not what I want."
His hand rests on Lyle's shoulder as he looks him in the eye. "You alright with this?"
Lyle nods. "Sure, man. I understand. It's, like, you had to choose sometime, so I get it."
"Look, Lyle, it's not like that," West begins, but then trails off as the younger man shrugs away from him.
"Just go, alright?" he says, his voice thick. "Just go."
He doesn't even look to watch as West walks away, and he rubs the back of his hands over his eyes. If there's anything that Lyle hates, it's crying.
He lays out in the backyard, hands folded across his abdomen, staring up at the sky. He knows that he shouldn't let this get to him, that it never meant that much anyway, but he doesn't know how to just, to just let it go. To stop caring. He's never been that kind.
"Looks like it's just you and me, Mr. Muggles," he says at length.
The tiny Pomeranian moves closer to Lyle's side, knowing, somehow, that the boy needs this.
Lyle absentmindedly strokes Mr. Muggles' fur as they lounge the day away in silent introspection.
Claire storms into his room one afternoon, not bothering to knock, and she starts yelling. Something about "how could you" and "it's so disgusting" and "you little bastard." He puts down his Justice League comic and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He stands.
"Claire, what are you—"
"Don't even try to deny it," she hisses. "I know!"
"You know?" he asks. "Just what the hell do you think you know? You don't know anything."
She is shocked by the tone in Lyle's voice, because he's always been the nice one, the one people go to, and she backs out of his room slowly, her furor dampened. Lyle falls back onto his bed and wishes that things were different.
At 11:59pm, Lyle's cellphone rings. It is a gift from his parents, this very first cellphone. It rings with the theme for James Bond, and every time it does, Lyle pretends that he's Agent 007.
He pulls it out of his jeans pocket, and, glancing at the caller ID, knows that his evening is about to get either a lot better, or a lot worse. It's West.
"Hey, Lyle," he says, as if absolutely no time has passed. As if they hadn't spent the last seven months forgetting what had happened between them.
"West. How's, uh, how's life?"
"It's going. So, a little bird told me that tomorrow was your birthday," he says slyly.
Lyle is startled. He thought that West forgot, thought that he had just pushed him into the back of his life, just like everything else. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, it is. Only by a minute, though," he finishes, lamely.
"Then you don't have much longer to wait. I got you a present," West says.
"Ah, man, you didn't…you didn't have to. I mean, it's not like, well, it's not like we're friends or anything."
West's voice hardens a bit. "Yeah, Lyle, I kind of did. Anyway," and at this his voice softens, without all the edges, "I had some guy bring it by, so, unless this guy doesn't know how to follow directions, then you should be receiving your gift within the next few seconds."
The doorbell rings.
"He's, uh, I think he's here," Lyle says, opening the door and heading downstairs. Neither West nor he say anything, at least until he reaches the door. "I hope you like it," West says.
Lyle opens the door and doesn't say anything. He's too shocked by his present to do otherwise.
"So," West says, closing his phone. "What do you think of your gift?"
He motions West inside the house, and as soon as the door is closed, he pulls West into a tight embrace. He doesn't know what took him this long, but that's okay. All that matters is that they're together again.