Work Text:
Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?”“I don’t know,” he replied. “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
Genesis 4:9
He’d never cared much for religion.
Sure, Mam’d always force him into his Sunday clobber, dragging her three kids to church like little posh gits, with their polished shoes and attached shirts, strutting them past the other Irish lot, all proud.
To her, it was everything: keeping up the image of a solid and united family, still decent and God-fearing. To Liam, it was just a pile of lies dressed up as virtue.
Like all that fancy shit could hide the bruises, the proper dark ones you could see, staining the skin a bluish colour, and the others you couldn’t. Soul scars, that’s how Liam used to call them. The kind that sits in your chest and weigh you down, heavy shite you had to lug round with you every bloody day.
The priest knew. Everyone knew in the Irish community. They knew about the beatings, his Da’s women, the boozing and gambling. But hey, everyone was in the same boat, weren’t they? Mams kept tidy, worked their arses off, paid the bills, got walloped too, while the da’s drank, bigged themselves up for being Irish, whining in their pubs about how much they hated England even though it kept a roof over their heads, more bothered about smacking their kids for talking Manc than putting bread on the table.
Point is, Liam couldn’t give a flying fuck about religion. He weren’t like Bod and his daft little choir, all obsessed with their soppy church tunes, and he sure weren’t like Noel either, who – just to please Mam – spent half his life quietly putting up with all that Catholic nonsense like it were normal before fucking off for good with Louise down Whitworth Street.
God didn’t exist. That was a fact.
And how the hell could He?
‘Cause if He were real – if He were half as decent as that gobshite of a priest kept preaching – He wouldn’t’ve let Mam marry Tommy in the first place, would He? He wouldn’t’ve let that same priest turn her away from communion just ‘cause she were divorced. And He sure as fuck wouldn’t’ve let that piss-stinking bastard of a dad leather Noel, Paul, and Mam every other night, wouldn’t have let him fill the house with his poison, with his mouth running like acid and his fists always ready to fly.
Lately, though, Liam’d found himself… reflecting. Yeah, you heard right: reflecting. Turns out, despite what the jornous and his brother loved to shout about, he did have a brain, and occasionally the bastard even worked.
So he’d had a proper think. Got all spiritual, weirdly enough. Like his mind were full of tiny drawers banging open and shut all the time, and he’d finally decided to have a nosey in the one labelled “spiritual stuff”.
A right fucking trip, that.
Getting a bit of peace on that fucking Don’t Believe the Truth tour was a miracle. There were always some dickheads hanging about. You had roadies, journos, knobheads in suits, groupies… Christ, even the tea lady popped up everywhere. And Noel, the cheeky knob, might’ve sung Liam’s praises on the telly, but the second the cameras were gone he would dodge him like his kid brother had nits.
Liam didn’t have a clue what was up with him.
So when he finally ended up in the car with Noel – just them, with the driver and some label twat pretending to be important up front – he made the most of it, taking his time drinking the lad in.
Fuck the other two, sat up there in that fancy-arse SUV, cut off by the tinted divider that made the whole thing feel strangely, deliciously intimate.
Noel was staring out the window, watching the city crawl by, lost in that twisted space of his mind he’d been drifting into since he was a scrawny kid. Give him a dark corner of his brain and he’d entertain himself for hours, paddling around in all his sociopathic daydreams, the wanker.
Liam, on the other hand, had always needed noise, movement, heat, arguments, a bit of carnage to get the blood going. Stillness drove him mad.
“What the fuck are you lookin’ at?”
“Huh?”
“Quit starin’, you creep.”
Liam pulled his sunglasses off in that slow, purposeful way that said he didn’t give a single fuck about whatever Noel had just told him to do.
His big brother looked tiny, all curled up in his coat like a stray damp cat, mop of hair making him seem even smaller and more miserable. And he’d spoke without even glancing at him, the little prick, didn’t even bother lifting his head. He just kept his eyes on the window, tearing at his thumb’s skin with his teeth like Liam wasn’t right there burning holes into him.
The car kept jolting every time it hit a pothole. Up front, the driver and that label wanker were still yapping away, not even bothering to put the radio on, their voices blurred into a dull vibration behind the darkened glass.
Meanwhile, the back seat felt like a morgue.
Liam hated awkward silence. Had to come up with a joke or some daft move, anything to avoid being left alone with his own thoughts. He hated his own thoughts… at least sometimes. They were ugly. They dragged him back to his Mam, to how things had gone to shit with Patsy. They made him paranoid too, convinced him that something awful was gonna happen to Lennon or Gene, or that Oasis were about one argument away from packing it in forever.
He sucked in a breath, gearing up to talk absolute bollocks just to fill the air, when, miracle of miracles, Noel got there first.
“What’s all this Bible crap, then?”
Liam sniffed.
“Nothin’.”
“Y’know it’s all bollocks, right?”
“…Yeah.”
“I could be your lover… What the fuck did you reckon would happen, writin’ lyrics like that? ‘Course the journos were gonna start askin’ questions.”
Liam felt his stomach drop. Not the topic he’d expected, but maybe he’d been daft to think Noel would keep ignoring the obvious.
And Noel wasn’t wrong. A few journalists had already dared to probe during the tour, poking at the meaning behind Guess God Thinks I’m Abel.
Noel had played it cool, as per usual, bigging up the tune in interviews like he didn’t have a care in the world. But Liam knew better. Noel wasn’t calm, Noel was acting calm. He always acted. That was his thing.
“Consider yourself fuckin’ blessed our fans are so fried on coke and footie they ain’t got the brains to decode your weird-arse riddles.” His older brother went on, in that smug, know-it-all tone that always sent Liam’s blood boiling.
“Why’d y’even put it on the record, then?” Liam shot back, voice inquisitive enough to make Noel turn to him “Y’ve got the final say, yeah? You pick the tunes, you rearrange ‘em, you produce ‘em, you get the fuckin’ cash, you, you, you, you—“
“Shut it. I thought the title said ‘able,’ not ‘Abel.’”
“Don’t give me that. When y’clocked it, ye could’ve pulled it last second, yeah? Or swapped the word while we were still recordin’ it in LA. Y’call the fuckin’ shots, after all.”
Noel’s gaze stayed locked on him, piercing even in the dim light. Liam couldn’t see much, just the faint flicker of streetlamps and the skyscrapers cutting through the dark. Noel held that stare a beat too long before finally shrugging, like it all meant nothing.
“It was a decent tune, that’s all.” He waved a hand “If a song’s good, I put it on our album. Don’t give a toss about what they’re bleedin’ about.”
“Little James weren’t decent, though.”
“It were.”
“No, it weren’t.”
“Well, it mattered to you, ‘cause it was about yer missus and that, so I chucked it on, didn’t I?” He huffed, crossing his arms “But who gives a fuck, right? That’s all in the fuckin’ past now.”
“This one matters to me too. That’s why y’put it on, eh?”
“You’re driving me mental, Liam.”
“Y’knew the lyrics were about you, didn’t ya, you little devil.”
“No. Only clocked it when the journos started harassing us about the fuckin’ explicitly incestuous lyrics.”
“Seriously? You, saying that? Mr. ‘I’m your lover, I’m your brother’?”
“It’s different.”
“It’s not.”
“Fuck off.” Noel rubbed his temples, clearly pissed off, like the weight of the Liam’s song was about to crush his head.
I'd get 'round to loving you
Is that such a crime?
He groaned, staring at his posh shoes, trying to disappear into the floor. Then, he lifted his head again, eyes fixed on Liam.
“You happy in this band, kid?” He asked abruptly “Y’don’t seem happy.”
Liam’s jaw tightened. Too many times he’d blurted out the wrong thing, stirred shit, fucked it all up.
“I am.” He said at last, but Noel’s look was sceptical.
“You hate me, don’t ya, kid?”
“I don’t.”
“Don’t love me neither, though.”
“Well, do you love me, then?”
“Not like I used to.”
“Fair enough. Same ‘ere, Noel.”
Noel snorted, squinting at the shadowed divider as if to make sure no one could eavesdrop. Then, he spoke again.
“You write these songs just to humiliate me, don’t ya?”
“And ye put ‘em on the record ‘cause you know you fuckin’ deserve it. Guilty conscience, Noely, that’s what it is.”
“And you think yer a saint? The poor sacrificial lamb? That’s what ye make me, the bastard brother who use and abuse ya for fame and money?”
“Sick of talkin’ to you, me. You just don’t get it.”
“No, I am sick of talkin’ to you.”
“Fuckin’ hell, yer so fuckin’ moody.”
“Moody? Me? Yer the one bangin’ on about incest in a song jus’ to get back at me! Shovin’ yer own mess in everyone’s fuckin’ faces, actin’ like some fuckin’ child. Never grew up, you.”
Liam rolled his eyes, leaning back, smirking despite the anger coiling in his chest.
“Alright, let’s just act like it didn’t happen then, Noel. As per usual. Fiddling me willy behind closed doors like the poof ye are, and then tellin’ the press I’m a tosser… Go on, if it makes ya feel better. Fine by me.”
“Fuck off.”
“’Cause that’s always been your game since the fuckin’ beginnin’, innit? Sneakin’ in me bed to take what you wanted, then pretend I’m nothin’.”
“Sneakin’? Take what I wanted? Yer havin’ a laugh, Liam? Y’were the one always jumpin’ on me whenever, losin’ it if I didn’t give in, usin’ violence and that if I—“
“I was just a fuckin’ kid, me.”
“Y’gonna run with that, yeah? The only thing y’can throw at me?”
“You were a grown man.”
“Yeah, brilliant. Go on, call me a paedophile then, call me a maniac. Perfect, fuckin’ perfect, just what I needed.” Noel kicked the seat in frustration, muttering under his breath “Fuck, all that shit I did for you lot just to be called a fuckin’, shite— A fuckin’….”
“Oi, didn’t call ye a pedo, man, let alone a maniac.”
“You implied it, prick.”
Liam knew he’d hit a raw nerve, ripped open the bloody Pandora’s box or whatever, dragging up the old guilt that had been tormenting Noel since they were young.
“Listen. I’m just sayin’, fuck, you reckon you’ve got less on your plate of responsibilities than you actually do, Noel.”
“Me? Responsible? Yer the one who swings your fists when you don’t get what you want straight away, ain’t ya?”
“What the fuck are y’on about?”
“Don’t act like it ain’t true, Liam. Yer just like him. Like Da. Can’t get your own way? Boom! Ye turn into a proper fuckin’ beast.”
“Now yer makin’ me sound like a maniac.”
“Well, truth hurts, don’t it?”
“So it all comes down to that, eh, Noely? Me forcing you, fuckin’ abusin’ you and that. A fuckin’ scally assaultin’ his big brother.”
“Ey, I didn’t—“
“So that’s what I am to you, then… a fuckin’ rapist! Christ, even sayin’ the fuckin’ word makes me wanna puke.”
“I didn’t fuckin’ say that!”
“You implied it.”
Noel’s sigh trembled through the quiet, a sob barely held at bay. Liam knew the lad was fighting back tears. He’d always been the whiny one of the family, but even Noel, underneath it all, was a sensitive kid. He just pretended he weren’t. Few could get past his armour with their words, and Liam was one of those.
Liam wanted to weep as well, but he kept it in, same as him. The fight had ripped through them both, yet neither could afford the luxury of collapse, too damn proud to let the other see.
So they fell back against the seats in unison, retreating into the familiar theatre of indifference.
Liam’s fingers trembled in his lap like a junkie’s. He was dying for a cig, proper dying, but he’d already smoked half a bloody carton that day and he couldn’t wreck his voice any further, not mid-tour.
He scrubbed a palm over his eyes, trying to think, trying not to give in to that awful pull inside him, because right then he wanted to lunge at Noel, and he couldn’t even tell whether it was to smash his face in or to shag him stupid on the leather seat. Maybe both. Fucking hell.
Another sigh.
Was Noel actually crying?
Christ, the man drove him so far round the bend that Liam found his suffering almost arousing.
Maybe that’s why his arm moved, fingers dragging slowly across the leather seat until they reached his brother’s thigh. Then a little further up, slowly, lazily, until his knuckles brushed the shape beneath Noel’s jeans.
He felt the tension there.
Noel was hard.
Of course he fucking was.
They were a pair of sick bastards, that’s what they were.
“Take your hand off.” Noel’s voice rang out, sharp in the half-light.
“Noel.”
“Take it off.”
And Liam obeyed, ‘cause stronger than his lust was the will to show his brother he wasn’t the bastard he’d been called. He didn’t need to force himself on Noel to get him. Noel would come to him on his own, sooner or later, when he bloody well needed it. ‘Cause sooner or later, no matter how much he denied it, he’d need it.
In the end, Noel made his move. Snatched Liam by the collar one night to drag him into his room, muttering feeble excuses to anyone nearby (“our kid needs me for a sec” or “we’ve got shit to sort” and that), only to slam him against the wall once the door was locked, feverish hands tracing up Liam’s chest beneath his shirt, searching for contact as Noel rose onto his tiptoes to kiss him.
So fucking predictable.
But Liam parted his lips anyway, taking his brother’s tongue while his arms held him tight.
Noel didn’t speak, wouldn’t even look at him. Lately, that’s how he always was during sex. Silent, avoidant, using Liam like he was nothing more than a cock to get fucked by, a warm body to unload the stress into, the only one able to handle the real him.
And Liam didn’t care, really. After all, Noel had become the same to him. A game, a thrill, a fuckable object to pass the time. A filthy habit, that’s what he was, a drug he’d been addicted to for too long and couldn’t let go properly.
He loved it when Noel got like that, proper desperate. Want gnawing at him, guilt tearing him apart, the mix of the two pushing him to give himself over with the same lascivious, degenerated abandon he used to possess at the start of it all.
No limits, no shame, just pure need. Like he craved to be ruined and only Liam knew how.
And Liam took it. Took the lot.
Greedily. Obscenely.
It did his head in, made him fucking high on it, intoxicated on Noel’s surrender, on that corrupted generosity his older brother only showed him when he was overpowered by his own lust. The fucking pervert.
Noel ran his fingers through his hair, grumbling at how they caught on the short strands. He’d always preferred Liam with a longer haircut, joking it was ‘cause it would make him look more like a bird, but Liam knew better. Long hair meant he could fist a handful and hang on for dear life when his baby brother was pounding him senseless. That’s what it was.
Noel bit his lip, fucking sank his teeth into it, pulling the skin till it nearly broke. Liam’s hands drifted lower, mapping him, taking in every inch of his lover, warm and twitching and alive in his arms.
“Liam…” I need you.
“…Noel.” Then get on with it.
Noel dropped to his knees, unbuttoning Liam’s trouser in one fluid motion, before taking his cock into his mouth with shocking hunger. He was stretched, his throat working around the intrusion as he swallowed Liam deep, very deep, until Liam could feel his brother’s nose tickling his hairs.
“Fuck.” Liam's groan was ragged above him.
And Noel was a sight: tears pricking at his lashes as he fought reflex, hollowing his cheeks to suck harder, every choking sound feeding the morbid, possessive rush running through Liam’s veins.
Mine. When he’s like this… He’s mine.
Noel kept sucking and sucking, slobbering everywhere, so fucking messy in his own way, drooling all over Liam’s cock. He was getting him ready to shag him raw, and Christ, Liam couldn’t fucking wait.
He wanted Noel spread beneath him, wanted to hear those punched-out little noises, the ones Noel hated making but couldn’t stop. Wanted to see his own cock sinking into that tight hole, Noel’s body taking it, thirsting for it, no matter how much he bitched.
Because that was the fucking truth, wasn’t it? Noel loved it: being owned, wrecked, used, just as much as Liam loved being ruined by him.
There was something almost ritualistic in the way they destroyed each other, something utterly masochistic. Maybe their old man had beaten that sick instinct into their skulls, who knows. They had to annihilate themselves, die in each other, burn everything down until there was nowt left but ash and ruin.
Cain and Abel.
Yeah, that story fit them like a glove.
Cain, the jealous one, the climber, wanting what wasn’t his, aching for more, always fucking more. And Abel, hardly innocent, offering his best lambs to God like he was begging to be punished for it, holding himself just high enough that Cain had to drag him down by the throat to touch him.
Cain didn’t just lash out: he reached for the only person who had ever mirrored his hunger.
A fucking clash ended in death, exile and regret.
But that same clash didn’t destroy the two biblical brothers. It defined them, it made them myth. It carved them into history as two immortal beings.
The killing wasn’t the point, it was the wound, the violence, the fucking collision that, paradoxically, tightened their bond, making them live forever.
And him and Noel were the same: drawn into that ancient pattern, that sacred brutality. They fed off each other like monstrous creatures.
And so when his big brother finished sucking him off, and Liam damn near tossed him onto the bed like he weighed fuck-all, Noel let him spread him out like a bird, let him work those fingers in, all slicked up with lotion, his hole loosening up around Liam’s knuckles, needy and pulsating, ’til Liam could finally push into him – proper, deep, like he’d been starving for it – so they could both fall into that grimy, old fucking dance they always ended up in.
Noel was moaning on all fours, cheek smashed against the headboard as Liam held him down,
smacking his arse every now and then like he was teaching him a fucking lesson, all while driving himself into him, slow then brutal, then slow again.
“Ahh—” He gasped, right before Liam slapped a palm over his mouth, pressing down hard enough that Noel’s cry turned into a muffled whine.
With his free hand Liam fisted that thick hair of his, yanking his head back, forcing that gorgeous arch out of his spine, then leaned in to kiss and bite at his neck, marking his territory – or whatever the fuck it meant – as he fucked him harder, his brother pushing back against him like he couldn’t help himself.
Noel was shaking, leaking, and Liam was loving every depraved second of it.
“Mhmm…” Noel’s little noises were so soft, so fucking sweet, that Liam had to let go of his mouth just to let the sounds fill the air again. Didn’t give a toss if anyone heard, they’d come up with some bollocks excuse anyway.
And Noel looked glorious in his devastation. So undone, fucked out and helpless, every inch of him trembling under his baby brother’s grip.
And Liam wanted it all. He wanted to make a filthy video of him like this, only to shove it right back in his face every time that smug, bossy bastard tried acting all high and mighty again.
Take a look, brother, this is what you truly are.
“Liam… Ahhh— Liam…” Even if he was keeping his long-winded gob shut, Noel’s moans said it all: he fucking needed something, but stubborn as he was, he wouldn’t bloody ask.
Lucky for Noel, Liam had full access to that wicked head of his, could read him like an open fucking book, even though he never cracked a real one in his life.
“Alright, alright, I get it.” He growled, pulling out, gripping his brother’s waist and pushing him down into the mattress.
He yanked one of Noel’s ankles, dragging it over so his legs could wrap around him. Then he slammed back in, forehead crushed against Noel’s as he pounded him merciless, balls-deep and ruthless, making the bed creak under their bodies.
He knew Noel needed to look at him. After all, he was a fucking handsome lad, wasn’t he? Proper fit. And that little poof he had as a brother had never been immune to it.
Quivering hands cupped Liam’s face as Noel lifted his head to kiss him, moaning into his mouth while Liam kept thrusting into his abused hole.
And Liam had a fuckton of perverted shit he wanted to hurl at Noel. Wanted to scream it in his face till the lad went red from shame. But those times were dead, weren’t they? Didn’t feel that free, wild closeness with him no more. Couldn’t shout his lust, couldn’t spit out what he wanted, couldn’t put into words what he felt for him anymore.
He braced himself up, knees digging into the bed as his hips kept thrusting. One hand landed on Noel’s chest, thumb brushing over a nipple. Jesus Christ.
I can’t stand you.
Liam stole one last glance at his cock disappearing inside Noel before slapping the bastard hard across the face.
And Noel didn’t see it coming, of course. His head twisted ninety degrees, right cheek pressed into the pillow as he clutched the stung spot with his hands. He groaned in pain, but his cock throbbed untouched between his legs, slicking out more precum.
Liam shifted his grip from Noel’s chest to his neck, pinning him down. He raised his arm once more, showing his brother his palm hovering in the air like a weapon, ready to strike.
You want more?
Noel, still half-curled on himself, flicked him a look from the corner of his eye.
Fucking hell, he did. He needed it.
The man dropped his forearms from his face, moved them to the sides of his head, defiance written all over his gaze. He used to do the same with Tommy back then: staring back, daring, knowing it’d earn him another smack. And Liam hit him again, sure as hell he did, driving his palm down, over and over, hearing Noel grunt with every smack, feeling his own cock thicken with each blow.
Piece of…
Another slap.
…fucking…
Another.
…shit.
One more.
But pleasure was taking over, so Liam crashed down onto him, trapping him under his body while Noel whimpered filthy and loud beneath him. Liam’s tongue traced over his neck, his chin, his nose, before slipping back into his mouth. And Noel met every kiss, his cheek red and burning under Liam’s fingers.
“Ahh— L-Liam…” I’m close.
Liam pinched one of his nipples, then grabbed his thigh and squeezed it so hard it’d leave a nasty bruise. Noel whined under him but didn’t tell him to stop.
Liam knew his brother too well. Noel thought he deserved it, always ashamed of his own dirty desires, ever since Liam was nothing but a scrappy little kid. That’s why he fucked his own pleasure with pain, made himself the victim, punished himself for wanting it so badly. He had to mess up what they had just to feel some control, to forget how perverse and dangerous his craving had always been.
And who the fuck was Liam to deny him that suffering? He wasn’t no shrink, wasn’t there to sort Noel’s fucked up brain, same as he wasn’t gonna fix his own.
“Kidda…”
“Shhh.” Liam shut him up by shoving two fingers into his open mouth, forcing him to suck on them, right to the point of gagging.
He’d never been into rough sex with birds. Nah, not his thing. Women were delicate, fragile, people to cherish and worship in bed with kisses and caresses. But Noel… Noel was different. Noel was his family.
He despised Noel, despised him as fiercely as he ached for him. And when he touched Noel, when he watched him break and tense, when he felt that pride of his splinter right where his voice cracked… Christ, something else moved in Liam’s blood. It was a brutal instinct, maybe inherited from their old fella like some kind of curse. He would let the violent need take over, because with Noel it was never gentle, never safe.
Sometimes he couldn’t stand himself. Couldn’t stand that darkness in him, couldn’t stand what it did to his brother, how it stripped him down to something miserable and ugly. But then again, they both needed it, didn’t they?
Noel had his heels planted straight into Liam’s arse. The stifled little sobs he made, the shuddering running through his body, were sending Liam fucking feral.
More. He wanted more.
He wanted him squealing, small and broken. He wanted to fuck him into nothing. He wanted to kill him with his cock.
So he slipped his fingers free from Noel’s lips just to kiss him again, rough and greedy, all teeth and hunger. And Noel’s arms were wound around his shoulders, pulling him in, locking him into an embrace with no way out.
He slid a hand between their stomachs, closed his fist round Noel’s cock and jerked it hard, once, twice, without an ounce of mercy, until Noel tensed beneath him and came, leaving him slick with it.
“Ughh…” Noel rolled his eyes, exhausted, collapsing even further into the mattress. His seed was sticky in Liam’s palm, but stopping wasn’t an option yet. Not with Liam still hard and throbbing inside him.
Noel's hole kept clenching around him in aftershocks, milking his cock in these sweet, involuntary pulses that had Liam seeing stars.
So he fucked into him harder, chasing that dizzying tightness, even as Noel jolted and protested beneath him, oversensitive, but still taking it.
And when Liam wrapped a hand around his brother’s spent cock again, stroking him to the point of overstimulation, Noel eyes widened in shock.
It was fear that made him push at Liam’s chest, writhing his hips, trying to break free from his tormenting touch.
“Noel.” Liam grabbed him by the back of the neck, kept him there, tipped his head up so Noel couldn’t look away from what he was doing to him.
Don’t be scared. Trust me.
Noel’s face crumpled with pain, yet he let Liam continue, small, wounded cries slipping from him as he surrendered to the slow, gentle torture.
“Ah! My God— I, L-Liam, kid…”
Seeing his big brother so ruined, so given over, only spurred Liam on. It wasn’t easy, not with both hands tied up holding Noel still and working his prick, but he kept pumping inside him again and again, grinding right to the edge.
Heat flared deep in his gut, spreading everywhere in his limbs, and he finally came inside Noel, branding him with everything he had in him, before slumping down on top of him like a dead man, not giving a toss if he crushed him.
He took his time, catching his breath, feeling the warmth of the body under his. Noel was shaking, his eyes glued to the ceiling. Dead empty, like the world had buggered off and left him there.
Liam didn’t know what to do. So he rested his forehead against Noel’s temple, just there, close.
You know that I care for you, don’t ya?
But Noel nudged his hip, signalling Liam to scoot, so he rolled off beside him on the bed. He lay there, arms spread, knackered but satisfied, while Noel dragged himself up to the bathroom to clean himself.
“Hang on. I’ll sort it.”
Noel raised a hand, telling him to stay down.
“Don’t bother. I’m fine.”
And off he went behind the door.
Liam flopped his head back on the pillow, lounging there like some stray mutt by the door starving for his grub.
The Lord said, “What did you do? The voice of your brother’s blood is crying to me from the ground.
Genesis 4:10
Noel returned a couple minutes later, boxers on, and he looked old, far older than thirty-eight, proper worn out. He tossed some toilet paper to Liam before limping over to the bed and just plonking himself down on it. Liam took the paper and gave himself a quick wipe before chucking it on the floor.
“Thanks.”
Noel just stayed silent.
Liam was at a loss for words. Lately, he never knew what to say around his brother. So he just stared, turning his head toward him, but Noel had curled up on the other side, back turned, his knees pressed against his chest.
He looked sore, the bruise on his thigh darkening already. He’d come up later with some daft excuse for his missus, make up some bollocks about bumping into a table or something. He always did that. Both of them, actually, for decades now. Fucking draining, it was.
Liam didn’t know why, but he raised an arm anyway, grazing Noel’s shoulder gently, but the man stiffened under his touch, as though the contact alone disgusted him. Christ, how fucking sad it was.
“Noel.” He said “Think we should head back now.”
No answer.
“We’ve been missin’ for a bit.”
“Just gimme a sec.”
“You alright?”
From the tilt of his neck, Liam could tell he was nodding.
“You sure?”
“Just leave me be, Liam.”
“Right, alright, fair enough. So, humm… Painkillers, where d’you hide ‘em?” Liam sat up, scanning the room, then rifled the bedside drawer until he found them “Here, take ’em.” He moved closer to Noel, who still refused to look at him, waving the pills “Need us to fetch ya a glass o’ water?”
“Liam—“
“Please.” Liam brushed his fingers along his thigh “I hurt ya earlier. Got a bit rough, didn’t I?”
“When aren’t you?”
“Take the fuckin’ meds, Noel. Do it for me, will ya?”
Noel rolled his eyes and sat up with a huff. He snatched the pills from Liam’s hand, swallowed them without a word, then lowered his head, wearing that same old miserable look of his.
Liam figured there was nothing left to talk about. So he got to his feet, grabbed his own gear, and got dressed in complete silence. Once he was done, he gathered Noel’s clobbers, bundling them into a little pile at the end of the bed.
“Here y’go. I’m off.” He said “Pull yerself together and join us downstairs when yer ready, yeah?”
Noel finally lifted his head. His eyes met Liam’s, empty and haunted, like someone had stripped the light from him. His shoulders sagged as he spoke:
“What’s the point of all this, kid?”
“Huh?”
“This.” Noel gestured around the room, the lingering smell of forbidden sex still hanging in the air.
“I don’t get it.”
“Stop messin’, y’know what I mean.”
“No, seriously.” Liam looked around “What’s there to get? We’ve been at it for years, havin’ a laugh, a fuck, whatever. I stopped overthinkin’ ages ago.”
“You? You never fuckin’ think, Liam. That’s the problem.”
“And y’moan enough for the both of us.” Liam pulled a fag from his pocket and lit it, nerves buzzing “Y’ve never taken it easy, ‘ave ya? Always whingin’, then end up right back where we started. Which is me inside yer arse.”
“Yer revoltin’ when y’speak like that.”
“Call it like it is.” Liam blew out a cloud of smoke, chuckling bitterly “Y’can’t pine over someone like mad for years, then act all offended when y’ve got exactly what you wanted.”
“But I—“
“Y’ve always wanted me, Noel. Always! Ever since I was a fuckin’ kid, kicked outta school every other day. Stop lying to yerself, for fuck’s sake, and wipe that face off, ‘cause sometimes it feels like I’m shaggin’ a corpse, and it turns my fuckin’ stomach.”
“What the fuck d’ye want me t’say?!”
“Admit to yerself that yer a mess, that yer fucked up for fuckin’ with yer own blood, and jus’ get on with your life like I do.”
Noel grabbed his temples, clutching at his hair like he wanted to rip it out.
“You don’t get it, ya dick!”
“And what’s the fuckin’ point then?”
“The point is you don’t love me anymore!” Noel shouted, voice cracking “All this means fuck all if you don’t. If you’re just emptyin’ yer balls and that with me, y’know? Could do that with anyone, for fuck’s sake! People’d kill to be in my place.”
“But wha—“
“Lyin’, hidin’, poppin’ those shite painkillers… What’s the point if you don’t love me?”
Liam couldn’t hold it in no more. He fucking lost it, laughing like a lunatic, then started spin all over the room, nerves rattling his brain, still puffing on his cig till the stub burned his fingers. He shouted curses as he chucked the fag out in the bedside ashtray, Noel just sitting there, staring at him like a stunned fucker.
Liam stayed hunched over, eyes fixed on the glass thing, thoughts racing outta control in his mind, every single one wrong, every single one destructive. He tried to fight it, tried not to let them crush him, but his hand moved on its own, snatched the ashtray, and lobbed it at Noel’s shoulder with pure force.
Noel yelped, stumbling sideways, clutching the bruised spot as he gritted his teeth, his naked chest covered in ashes.
“I don’t love you?!” Liam roared “What the fuck do y’know about me, eh? Sweet fuck all!”
Noel shot him a glare.
“Yer a fuckin’ savage, Liam!”
But Liam was already on the bed like a bleeding wild animal, grabbing Noel and shouting right in his face.
“Yer the one who don’t love me anymore, ain’t ya, you little bastard?” He snatched Noel’s hair, tugging hard.
“Get off me!”
“Y’ve stopped loving me!”
They wrestled, rolling together on the mattress, fists itching to fly, the tension thick as piss.
Who knows if Cain and Abel ever scrapped like that before the first one offed the second? Who knows if they spat the same words before the fatal blow, cried the same tears?
And Liam was close to tears himself, with Noel now pressed above him, squatting between his legs, holding him down. Noel was sore, fragile, so much so Liam could’ve punched him stiff and finished it there. But why bother when his brother’s mouth was so fucking tempting, and lust was calling Liam’s name louder than anger?
So he wrapped his legs around Noel’s waist, seized his face, and kissed him raw, stealing his breath.
Don’t you see I love you, you wanker? I love you more than me own life. I’d kill you just to follow you straight into the tomb.
And Noel answered back, sliding his tongue in, grinding against Liam, hard again, alive again.
No heaven, no hell. Just us, fucking dead together. Forever.
With his mouth still full and his body pinned to the mattress, Liam couldn’t help but look around. Sara’s makeup sat scattered across the dresser, a few of her clothes folded over a chair, her suitcase lying open at the end of the room.
Earlier, caught up in the rush of it, he hadn’t noticed just how present she was there, how she seeped not only into the room, but into Noel’s entire life. She was downstairs now, necking mimosas and champagne at the party, with her bleached hair and high fashion clothes. Her. Always her.
He circled his arms around Noel. Firmly.
“Let’s go again, eh? Another round.” He ground his hips forward just enough to make the point “Fuck me, brother.”
Noel’s lips were still on him, his hands still roaming, but his eyes weren’t in it anymore, like he’d already crossed a line and knew damn well he shouldn’t cross it twice in one night.
“C’mon.” Liam urged, slipped into that soft, childish, coaxing voice of his “Fuck me. Don’t care if it’s me inside you or you inside me. Do whatever the fuck y’want, jus’ fuckin’ do it.”
Noel was clearly fighting himself.
“I think—”
“Fuck me, Noel.”
“Liam.”
“Don’t lie.” Liam pushed his hand between them, closing it around the hard shape straining in Noel’s boxers “Y’want this.” He let out a short, humourless snort “‘Cause this is it, yeah? This is what we are now. Jus’ a shag.”
“Liam…”
Noel sucked in a breath, mouth never leaving his neck, his jawline, his earlobes, desperate and reluctant at the same time.
“All that crap about me not lovin’ ya anymore.” Liam went on “Pure shite. All of it. This is all I am to you. Jus’ sex. Nowt else.”
“Kidda…”
Liam brushed a few strands of hair from his brother’s face.
“Yer the one who doesn’t love me anymore, am I right, Noely?” He sighed between kisses “You love her more.”
Noel pressed his mouth to Liam’s Adam’s apple, licking and groping him in a frenzy, but didn’t answer.
“What about you, kid?” He asked instead, meeting Liam’s teary eyes “Don’t ye love her more than me?”
“Yeah.” Liam couldn’t lie.
Why the fuck would he even bother lying?
He loved Nic. He loved Noel too, but fuck, Nic made things easy. She steadied him. She calmed him down. He’d built a family with her, could kiss her, hold her hand out in the open. Loving Nic didn’t hurt as much.
And for the first time he saw it, that Noel was jealous of him, just like he was of Noel, that they’d drifted so far apart they’d shattered anything pure in their desire, hunting it in other people, other affairs.
They’d fucked it all up.
And it was as if they’d both reached the same realisation at the exact same moment, ‘cause the passion died in an instant. Slowly, they pulled away from each other, both equally reluctant, a faint embarrassment settling in.
“Fair enough.” Noel muttered, retreating just enough to let Liam climb down from the bed and stand again.
Liam smoothed his clothes down with sharp, impatient taps, then gave himself one last look in the bedroom mirror, checking everything was in place. Meanwhile Noel had kneeled down on the floor, picking up the ashtray and the cigarette butts. Of course he was. Poor Noel. Poor fucking Noel, always the victim, the fucking martyr, left to tidy up the aftermath, to erase the traces of the violence Liam scattered around without a second thought.
It made you wonder which of them was Cain, really.
Well, maybe there was never any Abel in their story. In anyone’s story, to be honest. Abel was dead, after all, while Cain was left to wander forever, marrying his fucking sister, spreading the sin across the whole human race.
Yeah, maybe that was it. Him and Noel, they were both children of Cain, his offspring. Carrying the same violence in their blood, the same need to dominate, to wound first, just to make sure they weren’t the ones left bleeding.
There were no heroes. Just villains.
Liam felt like shit.
He glared down at Noel. Crouched there, all small and pitiful, he looked like a weak little worm. And to think he’d always seen his big brother as some admirable bloke, the one he was supposed to grow into.
Noel wasn’t his brother anymore, was he? He was just a reflection of the man he’d been, the man Liam had loved, and still loved, unfortunately, though in a more twisted, sadder, fractured way.
“How’s yer shoulder?”
The worry he still felt for him made Liam hate himself even more.
“What?”
“Yer shoulder.”
Noel glanced at the red mark on his skin, already starting to swell.
“Oh. That?” He exhaled, uneasy “It’s— It’s nothing.”
“Alright.” Liam hesitated, biting his bottom lip “Well… I’ll head back, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Noel got to his feet and set the ashtray down, the outline of his erection still visible under the fabric of his boxers “I’ll join ya downstairs in a bit.”
“Okay.”
“Tell Sara to come up ‘ere in like five, would ya?
Liam unlocked the door and pulled it open.
“Yeah, I will. See you later, then.”
None of you shall approach to any that is near of kin to him, to uncover their nakedness: I am the Lord.
Leviticus 18:6