Notes: Short first story. Francis/Malcolm. Malcolm's 12, Francis is about 16. Might be continued in following chapters.
It's easy to convince himself he's not in love with Francis.
...Because he's not.
They don't see each other often, with Francis in military school and all, so that explains everything. It explains the heart-pounding, palm-sweating excitement, the necessity to pull him into a hug when he stops by for a weekend or a birthday. And it explains having Francis' picture in his pillowcase, to be looked at every night. It explains calling every chance he can, and when they talk on the phone and Francis says, "Dude, you okay? You sound funny."
He can just answer, "Uh, yeah. Just need a glass of water." and if that doesn't cure the dryness of his throat, he can at least pretend it does.
It explains why he follows Francis around all summer long. It explains why he's so worried about Francis being away at Marlin; that maybe it'll make Francis realize having a dorky barely-12-year-old follow him around isn't the best time to be had. But Francis doesn't, Francis lets him stay around, and his heart beats so fast and his hands get so sweaty and he has to hug Francis at least once but it's only because Francis doesn't come around often so he's so happy and...
He can explain how all of that isn't related to any kind of real attraction.
Then one day Francis is babysitting.
They're sitting together in the bathroom. He's on the edge of the bathtub and Francis is on the toilet.
He has a long, deep cut from his knee to his ankle and Francis is cleaning it out for him. One of Francis' hands is on the middle of his thigh and his foot is in Francis' lap.
Francis' hand moves up a little higher.
Nothing indecent or anything.
But his brain goes fuzzy and he can't breathe and he can feel every beat of his heart in his chest and in his ears and in that wound on his leg. And he starts babbling about how the color of their bathroom is like Pepto-Bismol, which strikes him as funny because his stomach is definitely upset (he regrets saying that part out loud. Considering the look on his brother's face, Francis probably thinks he's about to have a case of explosive diarrhea or something)... and then he gets off the bathtub and Francis tells him he's getting blood on the floor and Francis grabs him by the shoulders to make him sit back down and...
Francis being the first person he kisses with tongue is hard for him to explain away.
It's hard to say if Francis indulges him in it. It doesn't last long, there's no desperate grappling, no nothing, just a brief second of being far too close.
Francis' hands burn into his shoulders.
His own hands fist up in Francis' shirt.
It wasn't long enough to make him breathless, but he is, anyway. He's breathing hard and fast, face hot.
"Dude," Francis says. "Did you just kiss-"
"No." He's aware how much his leg hurts, all of a sudden. He awkwardly brings his hands to his sides "Of course not. Why would I? I wouldn't. I didn't."
"So we're going with 'this didn't happen'? Cool."
Francis' hands drop away from his shoulders.
"Yeah. Sorry. But- sorry." He looks down, away. Embarrassed, ashamed, and Francis catches it.
Francis hesitates. He doesn't criticize that well, mostly because he doesn't often have a moral high ground. Unless he's mad enough to forget he's being hypocritical, he usually avoids reaming out anyone but their mom. He skips past being placating with 'I know it's rough' or, the 'I'm sorry', and goes straight to, "We can't do this."
Malcolm's brain jumps over the more obvious reasons why they can't and fixates on the one that stabs twelve-year-olds in the heart: "I know what you were doing at my age. It's way worse than this."
He thinks it is, anyway.
The second Reese turned thirteen, Francis deemed them old enough to revel in his sexual escapades. He had the annoying way of both rubbing their faces in it and being vague enough that they could never blackmail him with any of the information by threatening to tell Mom (which, even if she had caught him in the cigarette-smoking-stage once, would still get him a pretty decent punishment).
A corner of Francis' mouth quirks up and he kind of laughs through his nose a little, just an amused breath, and Malcolm's chest constricts and his heart starts racing against his Adam's apple.
"I mean, I'm your brother." There's a brief pause here, and Malcolm knows it's significant. Brother. Brother. Francis continues, voice gentle, "I'd never do anything to scar you for life."
And he also knows that's Francis letting him down easy.
A warped version of 'it's not you, it's me'.
"What about when you hit me with the toaster? That's not going away any time soon."
Grasping at straws.
Francis looks amused again. "Emotional scarring. I think you guys get your fill of that, already." He tips his head in the direction of their parents' bedroom.
Malcolm shrinks in on himself. Francis is being nice about the whole thing, there's no violence or screaming or disowning. Maybe that's what he wants. He wants anger so he has an excuse for it himself, so he doesn't have to feel his stomach rolling and the tight-throated urge to cry.
"Now," Francis says. He squeezes Malcolm's shoulder, and Malcolm both revels the touch and feels sick at it- not sure whether to lean into it or pull away; he does neither. "Sit down so I can clean that up before you pass out."
Malcolm numbly sits back down.
And they're back to where they started.
They're sitting together in the bathroom. He's on the edge of the bathtub and Francis is on the toilet.
He has a long, deep cut from his knee to his ankle and Francis is cleaning it out for him. One of Francis' hands is on the middle of his thigh and his foot is in Francis' lap.
And he's most definitely not in love with his brother.
He can explain everything, the excitement, the hugs, the picture in his pillowcase, his voice on the phone, his puppy-dog way of following Francis everywhere.
Francis being the first person he kisses with tongue would be hard for him to explain away, except it didn't happen.