Repression
Emmett wasn't gay. Really.
1.
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Emmett wasn't gay.
Really.
Fuck, he made damn sure all the fags in their class like Ty and Ben and the creepy little freak in his gym class got what was coming to them. Well, the guy fags, anyway. Edward had spent more than his fair share junior year rhapsodizing about what Jessica Stanley and Angela Weber did behind closed doors. Because chick-on-chick action was hot. But guy fags? Were just such fucking…fags.
When he was ten, his dad had taken him aside one day and warned him about all that fag stuff. "Keep an eye on your brother, alright, Emmett? I mean, there's something just not quite right about that kid." Because, like hell Lt. Col. McCarty was going to raise a fag.
But Emmett certainly wasn't one. His dad had made sure of that. Gun practice and auto shows, and on his thirteenth birthday, his dad hired strippers. He'd been allowed to bring one friend along for that little excursion, and of course he'd picked Edward, whose tongue had been practically glued to the floor below the entire time.
Funny how Emmett couldn't really remember the big-titted strippers that well, but he remembered Edward's reaction to them.
He sure remembered the rest of that birthday, though: The big trip to Seattle the week after and the Seahawks game and all the bros he'd brought along for the ride. His dad had rented them an entire floor at the hotel and had let them all taste beer. Edward had gotten loaded for the first time ever, and Emmett couldn't stop laughing as Edward wavered on his feet. Emmett's steadying hands holding him up, and Edward ranted about how he wanted to get fucked so damn badly. That had been back when he and Edward were both still virgins, and self-pleasure was starting to get really fucking old.
The two of them had been roommates that night, and Edward had sworn and whined before eventually burying his head under the pillow and falling asleep. When Emmett woke up, he'd somehow gotten his head nestled into Edward's shoulder and he'd wrapped one leg over Edward's waist.
"Get the fuck off of me, you fucking freak," Edward had grumbled when he woke up.
Emmett had just laughed and called Edward a "fucking fag" even though he totally knew Edward wasn't. Edward was just a guy, like him.
After that week of manhood-in-the-making, Lt. Col. McCarty had slapped him on the back and asked him what he'd thought. Emmett had said it had been the best weekend of his life. His dad had just laughed. "That's my son."
But, yeah. He'd been trained as the man, and it was his job to keep his girly little brother, Jasper, from going over to the freak side. Just looking out for family and all that.
Except for that whole thing where Jasper had had that inane little crush on Maria Alvarez in seventh grade. Emmett had gagged a lot and then finally pantsed Jasper in front of Maria and the entire football team, because like hell he wanted to hear all the girly-girl shit Jasper whined about twenty-four seven. Edward had just laughed along with him, and assured him it was all funny as fuck, which had been such a relief to Emmett because it meant that he hadn't accidentally turned his brother queer.
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