Warning: This story contains twincest and threesome
Britton removed his contacts and put them away, staring at his reflection in the brightly lit bathroom mirror. It had been cool of Jet, Dai, Cass, and the others to drag him out of his blues for a bit, but now that the house was quiet his misery was returning with a bang and a whimper.
Days later—and so close to Christmas—it still fucking hurt. He didn’t know how to deal with it. How did anyone? No one should ever have to see the two people he loved most in the world making out like their lives depended on it.
Maybe it was what he deserved, given one of those people was his twin brother and his feelings were decidedly unbrotherly. But Christ—
His eyes burned as his mind played the scene over and over again, tearing at the raw wound of seeing his brother practically devouring Kensi. Britton had never known phrase ‘like he’d been stabbed in the chest’ could be so true.
They must be freaking out and pissed as hell. After seeing that…well, he’d just bolted; scraped together enough sense to leave a note that he was fine and would return in time for their studio appointment and shit, then he’d just hopped on his bike and gone and gone and gone. He hadn’t known where he was going until he was suddenly on Jet’s doorstep sobbing like a fucking baby.
But Jet had been good to him. Jet knew all about heartache.
So here he was, distracted for a few hours but then right back to tears, sick to his stomach about having to face them in three more days. Maybe it was better this way—but it didn’t feel better. It felt like his heart had been blown out of his chest and then set on fire. So maybe it was what he deserved—not just for lusting after and being in love with his brother, but letting that hold him back from Kensington. Maybe it was what he deserved for being so crazy in love with two people.
Had he been mistaken in thinking Kensi wanted him? He hadn’t thought so, but…well, it was more than a little true that Brice was by far the more stable brother. Britton might be the star, but Brice was the shadow that kept everything running. He could never blame Kensi for choosing Brice—
But it still hurt, so goddamn much. He’d tried so hard to pick neither, because he knew he’d never be happy with just one of them. Better nothing than settling for half. Except he’d been trying so hard not to be selfish, he’d never noticed he was selfishly assuming they would never choose other people—each other.
He really hoped they were happy together. He also hoped he got hit by a train or struck by lightning and didn’t have to watch them be happy.
Turning away from the mirror before he gave in to an urge to put his fist through it, he padded back out to the bedroom and tried to figure out what to do. Sleep was definitely out; two in the morning but his mind was spinning spinning and there was no way he’d sleep any time soon.
He briefly considered alcohol but he didn’t want to be the drowned his sorrows in booze type. Music was normally his escape, but trying to write a song about the whole debacle made him want to throw up. No fucking way was he doing that. He might be willing to wear his heart on his sleeve, but he wasn’t going to put it on a silver platter with a carving knife alongside.
A walk, he thought suddenly. He’d go for a walk. Physical exhaustion would eventually override the brain and then he could pass out. Nodding, decision made, Britton shucked his pajama bottoms and pulled on fresh clothes—realizing too late the dark blue sweater was one Kensi had given him.
Sighing, he pulled on his jacket and watchcap, pulled on his boots, then slipped into the hall. He moved quietly down the stairs, then through the kitchen and out the back door. It was the perfect night for a brooding walk—cloudless sky, stars bright and sharp and glittering, moon fat and full, making the snow glow.
He pulled out his cigarettes and lit one, brushing aside a momentary pang of guilt. He’d quite smoking because Kensi and Brice had practically begged him, and he didn’t want them so unhappy they felt reduced to begging.
And if he dared think about all the way he would enjoy them begging, he really was going to throw himself in front of a bus or something.
He wiped angrily at his face, took a long drag on his cigarette. He was crying and sulking and emo-ing like a girl and he need to stop—
Britton tensed as a car slowed as it passed him, then stopped completely, the driver putting it into park. Then the driver climbed out. “God damn it, Brit!”
Brice’s voice poured over him, cut through him, and Britton didn’t think—just succumbed to panic and ran. Just turned and bolted, even if he had no idea what the fuck he was doing or where he was going. How the hell had they found him? Didn’t know, didn’t care, didn’t want to do anything but get away.
He could not bear to see Brice and Kensi was probably with him—
Something hit him hard, tackled him to the ground, and Britton bellowed in surprise before he landed face first in the snow. Honestly, if his life got any worse— “Get the fuck off me, Kensi.”
“Stop fucking running,” Brice snarled between pants as he caught up to them. Britton smirked briefly, pleased in a petty, childish way that he could at least run faster and longer than his brother.
But not faster than Kensi, their should be a football player fan turned accountant. He hauled Britton to his feet and kept firm hold of his arm. He looked like a kicked puppy as he met Britton’s gaze, absently returning the watchcap Britton had lost when he’d gone down. “Brit—we’ve been worried sick.”
“Then maybe you should learn how to read,” Britton snapped. “I distinctly remember writing I’m fine, don’t worry, will be back in time for studio. All that needed to be said.”
“Fuck you,” Brice replied, voice so quiet and level he could only be made enough to murder. “What your fucking note didn’t explain was why you bolted.”
“Because I’m not that much of a masochist,” Britton muttered, then said more loudly, “None of your fucking business. If I’d wanted you to know, I would have told you. I didn’t tell you. Take a hint.”
Looking at them hurt in brand new ways. Opening the door to their home office, seeing Brice pinned to the desk, Kensi—
He swore and looked down at the snow, and said flatly, “Let me go.”
“No,” Brice said, and grabbed his other arm. “You are coming with us and so help me if you try to run away again I will beat the living shit out of you, gag you, bind you, and lock you in the goddamn trunk.”
“You wouldn’t be able to catch me,” Britton replied.
“Shut up!” Brice bellowed, and Brice shut up, shaken by the shouting and the naked hurt on Brice’s normally reserved face. He stayed silent as they hauled him down the block and back to the car, stuffing him into the back seat.
They drove in a silence so thick, Britton felt like he was choking on it. He hated it, when until that moment in the office, that awful fucking moment, their silences had always been the easy, happy kind, only occasionally broken by conversation.
But that kiss had ruined everything. He did not even dare to think upon what else they had done way past that heated, hungry kiss. These two belonged to each other now, first and foremost. He would never be anything but a third wheel where he most wanted to be right there with them.
His eyes were stinging again; he looked away to hide it, blinking rapidly. He wanted a fucking cigarette.
Just when he was about to scream, they finally pulled up in front of the cheapest, shittiest motel he’d ever seen in his life—and man, had he lived in some shitholes back in the days when they were just getting started.
Kensi vanished to check them in, leaving Britton alone—afraid—with Brice. He tensed as Brice turned around in the driver’s seat. “You had him fucking sick with worry, Brit! Why the fuck are you pulling all this drama queen crap bullshit, and three fucking days before Christmas!”
“Fuck off.”
Brice snarled, turned a bit more in the seat though the fuck he contorted himself—the thought cut off as Brice grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him close “You have a lot of fucking nerve, Brit. I’m used to your bullshit, but he doesn’t need it. You want to ignore he’s in love with you, fine, but don’t be so callous as—”
Britton lost it. “If he’s so fucking in love with me, then why did the two of you have your tongues shoved down each others throats?” He jerked away as Brice froze in surprise, and buried his face in his hands.
“Fuck,” Brice said into the silence.
Britton said nothing, just swiped angrily at his damp cheeks and went for the door—and swore when Brice grabbed him again.
“Let. Me. Go.”
“No,” Brice replied, popping his seatbelt, then turning back around and how the fuck he managed contorting himself and never letting go of his grip on Britton’s shirt, Britton did not know. He yanked Britton closer—
And kissed him.
Britton’s eyes snapped open wide and he tried to jerk away—but Brice’s other hand fisted tightly in his hair, the first still in his shirt, and it couldn’t be comfortable sitting that way in the driver’s seat—
They broke apart, breathing heavily, silence so thick then that Britton felt like he was drowning. “What—what the fuck?”
“Shut up, don’t run,” Brice said. “When are you going to learn to stop running?”
Britton said nothing—speaking required thinking and his brain functions had just been permanently broken. Kensi returned then, and directed them around the back to their room. Britton remained islent, not even voicing a protest as he was dragged from the car and hauled into the room.
A room that looked like it was not infrequently rented out as a set piece for bad porn movies. Shit, he might have seen it before in porn. “You want to fucking talk to me and you bring me here? Why do I feel like a cheap hooker?”
He froze as Brice came up behind him, gripping his upper arms, and murmured low and husky in his ear, “Because you’re going to get used like one.”
That was all the warning Britton got before he felt cold metal snap around one wrist—then he was shoved down onto the bed, squawking n protest but unable to get free as he manhandled onto his back and then handcuffed to the headboard that was no doubt a selling point for certain clientele. “You’re cuffing me to the bed?” he finally said.
“Yes,” Brice replied, leaning back on his heels, still straddling Britton. “You excel at running away; this ensures you can do no such thing.”
Britton scowled. “What the fuck is going on here?” What the fuck was up with that kiss? That crack about using him like a hooker?
“This is me, sick of your bullshit,” Brice said, and Britton knew that tone of voice all too well—it meant Brice expected shit to happen, and to happen a certain way, and woe betide the fool who interrupted his plans in any way. “Let me put this as plainly as I can, Britton, because we all have obviously taken way too fucking long to say what we obviously have all been thinking. Kensi loves me, he loves you, god only knows why. He couldn’t choose between us, and honestly I didn’t want him to choose between us—I wanted him to choose both of us.”
He bent low over Britton and said quietly, voice husky again, “And really, we’re hot as fuck, Brit. What’s a little illegal sex between brothers when it’s us?”
Whatever Britton might have said was cut off by Brice’s mouth, hard and hot, all tongue and teeth, angry and punishing and it left Britton’s mouth throbbing with ache when Brice finally pulled away. Britton licked his lips, hot tears falling as everything came back, muddled with disbelief and painful hope. “Brice—”
“You’re an idiot,” Brice said. “I’m sorry you saw us—that whole thing—we got carried away while planning to seduce you over Christmas. I love you, Brit; don’t make me beat you to death.”
Not knowing what to say, Britton settled on a shaky laugh. “What—” Movement caught his eye, made him twist his head to look at the source, and he swallowed hard as he saw Kensi watching them.
The way Kensi watched always stole his breath. The man had a focus that was like nothing Britton had seen anywhere else, ever. Celebrities weren’t supposed to hire and fall in love with their biggest, two steps from full on stalker fans, but Kensi had always made him forget to think, how to breathe. And he fit—always, Kensi had just fit.
He was nothing like Britton and Brice. They were whipcord little fucks, dark-haired, dark-eyed, just a hint of their Korean grandfather in their appearance. Kensi was pure anglo white and gold, but with the grayest, stormiest eyes Britton never failed to get caught up in. “Kensi—”
“You ran away,” Kensi said. “Why would you run from us?”
Britton’s mouth twisted. “It looked like you were pretty fucking happy with each other. I couldn’t—I had to run.”
Kensi sat down on the bed, and reached out to cup one side of Britton’s face in his huge hand. “You’re—you’re you, Brit. How could we be anything without you?”
Britton laughed shakily. “You—the office—”
Making a noise that might have been a growl or a curse, Kensi bent and kissed him. Britton moaned with surprise, went to touch—and swore into Kensi’s mouth as he remembered only then that they’d cuffed him. “Let me go,” he aid when Kensi let him breathe.
Kensi smirked, and it went straight to Britton’s cock, cause he’d never seen Kensi smirk like that before. “Now why would we do that? You ran away, and only days before Christmas. You’re going to be punished as many days as you’ve been gone.”
Britton blinked. Stared at them both, the matching smirks. “I think I hate you.”
Brice snorted. “Hardly.”
“Fuck you,” Britton replied.
Their smirks widened, and then Brice replied, “No, that’s not the plan. I know damn good and well that the mighty Brite prefers to be fucked. Hard.”
Britton flushed, but didn’t bother to deny or ask how Brice knew. He sucked at keeping anything from Brice; he’d always wondered how he’d kept his feelings secret. Clearly he hadn’t, at least not very well.
Brice leaned down again, kissed him hard, fingers moving to Britton’s jeans. “Love you, Brit. Stop being a fucking dumbass.”
Britton drew a shaky breath, looked into the face, the eyes that were his mirror image. Then he looked at Kensi, like no one else ever. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—couldn’t believe this could be real.”
“It’s real,” Kensi said. “We love you.”
“I love you, too,” Britton replied, then smirked. “Love you like a romance novel.”
Brice groaned. “Do not quote goddamn Jet and his ridiculous songs while we’re about to fuck.”
Britton laughed, the first real laugh he’d had since running away. “Shut me up then.”
And they did.