Date: Sat, 19 Mar 2005 08:01:18 -0800 (PST) From: Stone Cold Heart <stonexcoldxheart@yahoo.com> Subject: Wanting Brother 2 WARNING: This story involves homosexual, and homoerotic, situations. If you are offended by this material, or it is illegal to view such material in your area, do not continue. Thank you. ALL material is Copyright Damion Michaels. Comments, suggestions, and concerns may be emailed to: stonexcoldxheart@yahoo.com WANTING BROTHER - CHAPTER 2 I mope around the house for a little while. I don't think I'm avoiding Ian. Not on purpose, anyways. He's stuck in the computer room for most of the night, and I decide to go lift some weights in the weight room. As an eighteenth birthday present, my dad and mom bought all of this weight equipment for Ian. Dad found some discount gym warehouse - or something - so he bought A LOT of stuff for a little amount of money. I use it only once in a while. I know I'll never be a Mark Dalton, or a Zeb Atlas, but I still like to see myself getting new muscles. Muscles are hot, I think. Having changed into some black polyester shorts, and a white tee, I plop myself down at a bench press. I lack pecs, so my latest goal has been to build them up. My max bench press is 100 pounds, so I start at ninety-five, a twenty-five pound weight on each side of the forty-five pound bar. I manage about three before I nearly kill myself. The bar tilts and one of the weights flies to the floor. BOOM, crash, and all that jazz. I can hear Ian coming down the stairs although not a rapid pace, mind. I guess he thought I WASN'T in danger. "You okay in here?" he asks, poking his head around the doorframe. "I'm - fine," I manage to pant. "I was about to come work out. Mind if I join?" He walks into the weight room, dressed similarly (he's got on blue shorts, not black, and a white tank top). "It's your equipment." I struggle to right myself and rack the bar. "Need some help? Your hands probably were in the wrong position." He walks behind me and prepares to spot me. "Here, lay back." I do. "Here." He grabs my hands and places them on the bar. His hands are soft, I notice. "Put your thumbs here - and here." I do. "Now lift. It'll be easier." I do. "Push. Push, push," he urges, hands hovering under the bar, just in case. I do...n't. My elbows give and the bar swings towards my stomach. Ian lurches forward, grabbing the bar. My stomach nearly implodes as pressure is applied, but I forget about it when I notice that my head is pressed against Ian's crotch. I involuntarily stare and inhale, my own crutch tenting up in my shorts. Shit. I turn red and swing out from under him. I walk to the leg press machine, so I won't have to see him. As I do that, I notice Ian staring right between my legs, at my raging hard-on. He grins and then stops so quickly that I wonder if I imagined it in the first place. Ian begins to bench press. He can lift nearly double what I do. I envy him. I glance at the wall in front of me and smile: a wall-length mirror. I stare at my brothers reflection, I stare at his ripped arms. I stare at his crotch, and the slight bulge in his shorts. I pop another hard-on. "Hey, can you come add ten pounds on each side for me?" Crap. I begin to think of things that would turn me off: a wrinkled, naked old man; a hairy- chested woman; dead puppies. Nothing works. I turn bet red again. Shit, what am I going to do? I think to myself. "Hello? Earth to Brent - phone home, please." "Alright, alright." I gather enough balls - no pun intended - to comply. I add the weights and stand behind him, making sure I don't get too close. I could see Ian's grin from a mile away. "What's funny?" I ask him, scooting farther away. "Nothing...nothing." He snorts, sitting up. "Shut up, okay?" I begin to walk away, but I feel his hand on my shoulder. I shudder a bit. Why, God? Strike me down by a bolt of lighting...anything. "We're both guys here, right?" His tone is more serious this time. "Okay?" "A little excitement in the weight room is nothing to be ashamed of. I sport wood all the time when I lift." "Yeah, but not while your brother is in the room!" He chuckles and slides off the bench completely. He ruffles my damp hair. "Says who?" I don't answer. Instead, I leave and get two bottles of water from the fridge. What the hell is wrong with me? I just got a boner, because of my brother. Am I a pervert? And what does he mean, `Says who?' I return to the weight room and am greeted by the sight of Ian running, shirtless, on the treadmill. His leg muscles throb. I stare at his chest, covered in sweat drops, before entering fully. I hand him a bottle. "Thanks." "You looked like you could use a drink." He closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and chugs the bottle. My brother has the perfect body. He is around 6'2'' and weighs in at about 180 pounds. He has dark brown hair, and it's cut really short. No facial hair, at all. His eyes are hazel, and his facial features are Adonis-like: defined cheekbones, squared jaw, and a chiseled chin. The rest of him (that I've seen lately, anyways) is just as perfect. He has a rock hard six-pack. I could wash my clothes on them. His biceps are the size of small melons, and his pecs are JUST what I am trying to get mine to look like. I'm only 5'9'', 130 pounds. I have a 26'' waist, no pecs, and a semi-defined set of abs. My hair is the same color as Ian's, except mine is long, layered, and usually styled to perfection. My eyes are about five shades darker than his. Unlike most siblings, no one has said we look alike. I take a sip of my water and Ian turns off the treadmill. He looks at me...differently. "Well, time to hit the showers. You coming?" He heads upstairs and I drop my open bottle of water. I can hear the water dribbling out as I follow his suit. Calm down, I tell myself. I'm sitting on my bed, rubbing my temples. I don't know what to do. My brother just invited me to take a shower with him. Should I go? Or, no? I decide to take a simple action: ask my friends on QT2. I shut the door behind me after I walk to the computer room. I slide into the computer chair and sink into it's soft cushion. The bright rainbow colors of QT2 light up the room. Weird. I think. I have a new message in my inbox, saying that someone has replied to the topic I made earlier. Someone by the screen name ITM_6186. Oh my gosh. ITM...Ian Thomas Michaels. My brother's name. 6 1 86. My brother's birthday. I struggle to swallow down the frog in my throat before I click on the link in the message. The topic I made earlier pops up and I scroll past what I wrote. Seeing ITM_6186 stops my scrolling. I read the message. SUBJECT: Re: Help? POSTED BY: ITM_6186 MESSAGE: totally. ive been looking at my little brother in a different way recently, if u know what I mean. i think its natural to find your family members to be attractive, even if your not ATTRACTED to them and want to do dirty things with them (like i want to do with my bro! lol) hope i helped. I blinked. There's no way Ian wrote that. Maybe ITM stands for something else. And maybe 6186 is just...their favorite number or something. A lot of `maybes' were going through my head. I log off of QT2 and open up the Internet History. Aside from when I just visited, there were twelve other times that someone visited QT2. One of the history pages was linked to my topic. It said the page was visited nearly three hours ago, so it COULDN'T have been me. It was Ian. More things went through my head: Ian's gay?! Ian's attracted to me? And wants to do `dirty things with me?' My cock stirred in my shorts. I logged off the internet as one more thought went through my head:: I stink - I need to take a shower.