Fic: The Worth of Swimming
E-mail: the_smooth_one910@hotmail.com
Rating: Mostly PGish.
Warnings: It's got boy on boy. With two brothers. Yeah, it's incest. Don't like it? Clickity click back, yo.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Pairings: Benji/Joel
Summary: Benji knows what he's fighting for, even though he doubts it sometimes.


Sometimes it’s too much, trying to stay afloat in your new world that’s designed to make people sink. Will can only do so much, and sometimes, you just don’t have enough of it. You’re just waiting to sink sometimes, just waiting for the moment when you go under, waiting for the moment you realize you’re not coming back up.

You look at a bottle and sometimes saying no is the last thing you want to do. You just want to say yes, and just drink and drink until breathing is something you don’t have to think about and thinking isn’t an option. You love what you do and you love who’s with you, but sometimes, love isn’t enough, and sometimes, it’s not worth it to use it as an excuse to fight against the currents trying to pull you under.

Tonight’s the anniversary of the day you got help, but celebration is the last thing you want. But if you know the boys (and you do), you know they’re going to do something. Last year it was five hundred dollars worth of lap dances, in your liquor-free new house. You don’t know what they have planned this year, but there’ll be something, you know that much.

When you get home from a cigarette run, Joel’s in the kitchen, looking in the fridge. You know what he’s looking for, and you’re so tired of this, you don’t know how much longer you can keep swimming, fighting for a life you’re not sure you want to be living.

He smiles at you and blocks you from coming in. “Sit at the table,” he says, and the smile on his face is so contagious, you can’t help but smile back, just a little. You sit down and leave the lights off, waiting for Joel to cue the others, and they do whatever it is they’re going to do. A few seconds of silence pass, and finally, he says something, “How can you find anything in here?” he asks.

“I open my eyes and look,” you answer. You’re picking at the skin around your nails. You don’t know why you’re nervous; it’s just Joel, and it’s just another stupid day. “I hate surprises.”

“You act like I don’t know that.” You hear the click of a lighter, but you don’t say anything. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Humor me. Close your eyes.”

You close them, only because it’s him, and you hear him walking in the room, unusually quiet for Joel. Then you feel his hands over your eyes, and you know he’s right there, right next to your face. “Is the anticipation killing you?” he asks. You snort, but he just laughs, melodic in your ears. “Okay. Open them.”

You open your eyes and sitting in front of you is a small cake, enough for two, decorated in blue and purple, with four candles with flames slow-dancing. You can’t really believe it, you expected something bigger, and you turn and look at Joel, who’s smiling so bright, it almost hurts to look at him. “Happy anniversary,” he says.

You just laugh as he sits down next to you, shaking your head at the cake. “It’s really small.” You can’t help but say it.

“I figured it could be a small thing, you know, since last year was so huge and everything. Just you and me this time.” He smiles gently. “Blow them out.”

You laugh and blow them out, smiling when he claps. Such a little boy, sometimes, but it’s alright, because it’s Joel. He looks so happy, so alive, it’s kind of hard to look at him. “There’s no waiting to jump out at me, right?” you have to ask.

“No, it’s just us.” He picks up a fork, laying next to the cake and cuts off a bite, hands the fork to you. “Is that okay? I just wanted it to be-“

“A family thing.” You eat the bite, although it tastes bland. It’s the thought that counts. “Thank you.”

He leans forward and puts his hand on your neck, saying, “I’m so proud of you.” He kisses your forehead and leans back slightly, smiling at you. You’re still picking at your nails, and he grabs your hand, forcing you to stop and focus on him. “I know it’s hard,” he tells you. “Sometimes it’s not worth it. But it is. To me. That you keep going.”

You don’t say it, you don’t say, “I keep doing this for you, you’re the only reason I have and it’s not enough sometimes.” You want to tell him it’s all for him, you don’t like it but it is, but you won’t, because it’s wrong, he’s your brother, you love him too much to do this to him, you don’t tell him you wish it was different, that fighting to stay afloat for him is worth it. You don’t say a lot of things now, especially not to him; you know it has to be you that wins this, not him.

“Hey. Hey.” He forces you to look at him, his smile gone. “Stay with me here, okay? It’s hard. But if you go, I don’t know what I’d….” you swear you can see tears in his eyes, and he bites his lower lip, looking at you with cautious eyes, as if he doesn’t know if he should say it. “You go, I go,” he whispers.

“No,” you manage to tell him. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Then stay,” he says. It’s quiet for a long time, and his fingers start playing with your hair, and he laughs to himself, awkwardly. You know what he’s thinking; you’re thinking it too, and this is the first time anything remotely like this has EVER entered your head; his too. He leans forward and stops, as if he’s debating whether he should keep going. “Please. Stay.”

You take the step he hesitated to take, and you’re kissing, softly, just lips on lips. He parts his lips, and his mouth is so warm as your tongue massages his, as he holds your face and moans quietly in your mouth. It lasts for a few moments, you’re not sure how long, and you part with a soft, smacking noise. You lean your forehead against his, your eyelashes flutter closed when he sighs. “So proud of you,” he murmurs, his words seeping into your skin.

You hold his head in your hands, let him breathe into you. Maybe he’ll save you, maybe he won’t, but it’s okay, because this is what you’re fighting for, and while you may doubt it sometimes, you always know it’s true. He’s worth it.


So twincest is best, huh?
This ain't floating my boat!
Home, Jones!


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