Letters to St. Nick, NC17, Tom/Bill

[steins_stories]

Title: Letters to St. Nick
Author: steinsgrrl
Fandom: Tokio Hotel
Pairing: Tom/Bill
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I in no way intend to insinuate that any of the below actually happened. It is simply a piece of written entertainment based on the public personas of real people.
Rating: NC17
Warnings: Adult Content
Summary: Tom's used to finding lyrics and odd scraps of paper in Bill’s pockets. One day, right before Christmas, he finds something he never expected.
Author's Note: Written for the Christmas 2009 fic exchange on th_fanfic, from a prompt by anachan87 on de_band_prompts. Thank you to lrigrl for the lovely banner, and to my wonderful betas, ma_chelle, hollie136, and my husband. :)


”And Tom, don’t forget; I want you both to make Christmas lists for me.” Simone said quickly, knowing that the conversation was coming to an end. Tom got antsy talking on the phone for too long when he had things to do, and they’d been talking for a half hour already. He cradled the mobile between his ear and his shoulder and reached in the refrigerator to get the carton of eggs, groaning into the phone despite his grin.

“What are we, five? Since when do we make Christmas lists?”

”Since you’re always on the road and I don’t know what you need? Come on, Tom; humor your old mom, would you? You guys used to make lists when you were kids.”

“Yeah, but—“

”Don’t ‘yeah, but’ me. I know you can buy whatever you want now, but maybe there are a few things Gordon and I can get you that you might like. Just do it?” Tom could hear the plea in her voice, the one she tried to cover with a smile and he gave up his protesting. She was right; he and Bill didn’t get to see much of her and Gordon and if she wanted a Christmas list, well then, he and Bill would make her a damn list.

“Okay, okay. Fine. But if we’re going to do this, we’re doing it right. We’re going to mail it to your house, in care of St. Nicholas.” He smirked as he crouched and retrieved the egg pan from the bottom cupboard.

”In that case, maybe you should write the lists in crayon.” Tom chuckled as he spritzed the pan with cooking spray and turned the burner on under it. He cracked four eggs in easily, one-handed even, and tossed the shells in the garbage under the sink.

“I’ll tell Bill. He’ll want to do it in the smelly ones that glitter. But I’m making breakfast so I’m going to go,” he said, and they said their goodbyes just as Bill shuffled out of his room, his hair mussed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stretched his arms out wide with a yawn and Tom had to turn quickly back to the stove for fear of burning the eggs. Bill was shirtless and wearing those pajama pants again; the ones that stayed up only by a wish and a prayer, revealing so much smooth skin that a brother shouldn’t see. That a brother shouldn’t want to see.

He stirred the eggs and tried to remember to breathe as he seasoned them with salt and pepper.

“Hey.” He greeted Bill with a nod and Bill sniffed appreciatively. “Toast?”

Bill hummed and nodded. “Yes, please,” and plopped himself into a chair at the breakfast bar. He grabbed up his cigarettes and lit one quickly, blowing grey smoke sideways as Tom set a thick mug of black coffee in front of him.

“Dunno if you’ll even have time to smoke that.” He dropped two ice cubes into Bill’s mug before giving the eggs another stir and popping two pieces of bread into the toaster.

“S’okay. I’ll put it out when the food’s done, then.” He took another deep drag and a large gulp of coffee, blowing on it before anyway, despite the ice cubes, and Tom watched him from the corner of his eye.

He’d been worried these last few months. He and Bill had always been thin, but recently, Bill had lost even more weight. Tom hadn’t really noticed at first because he’d lived with Bill so long, he just didn’t see things like that. It was like noticing when Bill got taller than Tom; he didn’t notice until he happened to see some picture of the band and noticed Bill had a good couple centimeters on him. He’d stupidly brought it to Bill’s attention and now Bill lorded it over him every chance he got.

He hadn’t noticed Bill’s weight loss, either, until he saw pictures of Bill at their concert in Greece. Bill had been wearing a tight, black shirt and when he lifted his arm, Tom could count each individual rib. There was an actual divot between each one, and Tom decided maybe it was time to do something about it. He decided he would cook for Bill.

Every morning since they’d been here in Los Angeles for promotions, Bill woke up to a home cooked meal that Tom made from scratch, just like their mother made. He made things he knew Bill would eat and he made plenty of it. Bill ate it up, in more ways than one.

As he buttered the toast and dished up their eggs, Tom told him about Simone’s Christmas list request. Bill stared at him, his cigarette momentarily forgotten as his mouth hung open.

“She wants us to make Christmas lists.” It wasn’t a question; more like a statement of disbelief.

“Yep, that’s what she said,” Tom replied, shaking his head as he placed Bill’s plate in front of him. He took his brother’s cigarette away and crushed it out in the ashtray without a noise of protest from Bill.

“What are we, five?” Bill asked, digging into his breakfast with gusto.

Tom laughed, scooping eggs onto his toast and taking a huge bite. He didn’t bother to swallow before he answered, “That’s what I said.”

They ate in silence for a moment, Bill seemingly lost in his own thoughts and Tom not thinking about anything.

“So,” Bill scraped the last of his breakfast into one little pile. “Are you gonna make one?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a little childish but this is mom asking.” Tom stacked his empty plate on Bill’s and took the dishes to the sink where he rinsed them.

“I guess. It’s just…” Bill paused and Tom waited for him to finish, loading the dishes into the dishwasher. When he didn’t, Tom turned around. Bill’s eyes were distant, as if he was thinking hard and Tom waved his hand in front of his brother’s face.

“Hey, you.” Bill seemed to shake his head before smiling a big, beautiful smile at Tom and Tom's belly clenched. He turned away quickly, getting the coffee pot and topping up Bill’s mug.

“Sorry. I was just thinking about what I wanted to put on my list.” Bill took a sip and motioned vaguely toward the freezer.

Without a thought, Tom got another ice cube and dropped it into Bill’s coffee.

“You never know, Bill; maybe mom has connections with St. Nick. Maybe we’ll get what we wish for.” Tom winked at him, knowing Simone would do her best to get them everything on their lists. And what she couldn’t get for Bill, Tom most definitely would.

“I really wish we could, Tomi.” Bill smiled sadly, his eyes flicking up to Tom's before he picked up his mug and wandered away, leaving Tom to stare after him.

~~~

When Tom had started cooking for Bill, he’d also started doing a lot of the other housework. Their house in Los Angeles wasn’t huge and it didn’t take a lot of upkeep, but what the maid didn’t take care of when she came in once a week, Tom did. And he enjoyed it.

It wasn’t so much the housework itself that he enjoyed; actually, he thought that was tedious and sometimes boring. What he enjoyed were the results of it. He liked to see the bathroom sink sparkle and know that he made it do that. He liked to see piles of their clean clothes all folded neatly on the table, ready to be taken to their respective rooms. He liked to see the living room carpet lint and dirt free; something much easier done here than in Germany, where all their dogs were.

What Tom didn’t like was messes. He hated to spill something, and worse yet, he hated to spill something on himself. So when Tom was making stir fry a couple days later and he spilled soy sauce all down the front of his pants, his swearing was colorful and loud. He turned the burner off under the wok and looked around for a rag. A checkered one from the set they’d bought when they moved here was draped against the sink and he wet it quickly, swiping at the stain on his pants, achieving nothing. The stain wasn’t coming out.

He ripped his pants off and headed for the utility room. He treated the stain with remover and threw them in the washer, starting it and watching the bubbles rise with the water. Still, his frugal nature wouldn’t let him wash just the pants alone and he stripped off his shirt, throwing it in, as well, before donning another pair of jeans and raiding Bill’s room to find his dirty laundry.

His brother had gone alone to talk to Martin and that was fine with Tom; if Tom never had to see Martin again, it would be too damn soon. Yeah, he’d done some promotion with them; yeah, he’d helped write Bill’s favorite song on their album. So fucking what? Tom still thought the guy was an ass. He sneered as he opened Bill’s closet and gathered the few clothes from his hamper into his arms.

Tom tossed the shirts in, thanking whatever deities that wanted credit that Bill had taken to wearing mostly black lately. It made doing laundry so much easier. But Bill also had a horrible habit of leaving things in his pockets, so Tom had to make sure to check them every time he washed a new load. Usually he left rings in there, but oftentimes, he’d leave crumpled bits of paper with lyrics on them. Sometimes Bill just couldn’t get things out fast enough and he had to write them down for later. Unfortunately, he usually forgot they were there when he got home and Tom had saved more than one scrap of really good lyrics.

He dug through the pockets of a pair of skinny legged black jeans and came up with a hand full of wadded paper, as he expected.

Tom couldn’t help it. He didn’t really mean to be nosy, and it’s not like Bill wouldn’t show him eventually anyway, so what was the harm in looking? At least, that’s how he justified it to himself as he smoothed the notes out, pressing them down on top of the dryer, one on top of the other.

The first set of lyrics was sad, longing, and Tom set them aside with a sigh. He’d seen a lot more like that from snooping through Bill’s pockets lately, and oddly enough, those were the ones that he never brought to Tom on those nights when they sat up together, drinking a few beers and playing around with new tunes. The lyrics on the next sheet were more like the ones Bill usually brought to him; lyrics of rebellion, telling the world to fuck off, that he didn’t need their rules. There was so much passion in Bill’s voice when he sang those songs to Tom and Tom usually found that his fingers had stopped playing while he watched Bill finish the song a capella. Bill would blush and hit him in the shoulder for staring and making him feel stupid, while Tom would try not to blush and think about how beautiful his own damn brother was.

Tom huffed and pushed the paper aside to see the bottom sheet. Black pen had scratched quickly, furtively, into pink, lined paper and Tom's brows furrowed. These weren’t lyrics. It was a letter. He smiled as he realized what it was. Bill had fussed about making a list but instead he’d written a letter to St. Nick. They’d already sent their letters off to Simone, but apparently Bill had written another one he hadn’t sent. Tom grinned at how cute his brother could be and started to read.

Dear St. Nicholas,

I know you’re not real and I feel really dumb for writing to you but I have no one else to ask and it’s only a wish anyways. Mom said we should write our lists for her but that made me think I should write to you. You’re the one who brings the gifts and you’re the one who makes wishes come true, right? So this is what I want:

First, I want my brother to be happy. I want him to have everything he wants and everything he needs. I want him to discover the one person he will love forever, the one who makes him smile, makes his eyes shine, makes him want to get up in the morning and fall asleep at night just holding that person against him.

Tom's smile was so big that his cheeks hurt; he really had the most wonderful brother ever. Resolving to be extra sweet to Bill when he got home, Tom read on.

And second, I really want that person to be me.

Tom sucked in a breath and read that line again, his eyes wide.

And second, I really want that person to be me. I wish he felt everything for me that I feel for him, that he could see me as I see him. He’s strong and beautiful, funny and kind, and so sweet. He takes such good care of me. He even makes sure I eat, though he doesn’t know I know what he’s doing. I really need him. I’m in love with him. Even if everyone thinks that it’s wrong, I’m in love with him and I wish I could be his One.

Well, this is really dumb and it’ll never happen anyway. He wants girls with big boobs and no personality and I guess that’s not me.

The letter ended there and Tom turned it over, checking the back for more writing. There was nothing. He carefully laid the letter on the dryer with the lyrics and took a step back, his head spinning.

Bill was in love with him.

Adrenaline shot through his veins as he heard the front door open and he quickly snatched the letter off the dryer, folding it in a messy square and stuffing it in his pocket. He tried to keep his hands from shaking as he made a show of sorting through the rest of the laundry, tossing this in the washer and that in the washer.

“Hey,” Bill said, right behind him and Tom twitched a little despite knowing Bill was home.

“Hey.” He tried to sound as nonchalant as he could but it was difficult when he couldn’t breathe and he just wanted to run to his room, just to give himself a few minutes to process this new information. “How was your meeting?”

Bill grunted, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. “You were right about Martin; he is an incompetent ass.”

Tom snorted. “And?”

“And nothing. It doesn’t matter. We have a contract. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be pissed off at their shitty PR job.” Bill stared at his feet, scuffing his toes against the carpet. “Are you gonna be done with that anytime soon?” He gestured toward the washer and Tom shrugged.

“Yeah, I’m just going to start this, then the dryer has nearly an hour to run. Why?” He poured a capful of soap in with the clothes and closed the lid, turning the knob on top to set the time and pushing the button to make it start.

Bill shrugged a shoulder and bit his lip, looking at Tom through black, fake lashes, and Tom's belly twisted. “I just want to spend some time with you. Stay home and watch a movie today, maybe. I told Martin we’re taking the afternoon off and not going to do station IDs today.”

Tom winced. “He didn’t like that much, did he?” Martin generally had projects planned ahead and he’d have paid for the studio time to do those announcements.

“Nope.” Bill reached out and tugged on one of Tom's braids. “But I don’t care. We need some time off. Just to…hang out.”

Tom's fingers found the top of his pocket, the tips dipping in and playing with the folded paper inside. The thought of sitting around with Bill all night, watching movies on the couch, sounded perfect. Besides, he thought, maybe they really needed to talk.

~~~

“You wanna watch what?” Tom asked, incredulously.

Bill stood in front of the television, dvd case held up in one hand, the other hand in a fist on his hip. “Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

Tom laughed, uneasily. “Well, no. But Patrick Swayze in a dress? Really?” He leaned back into the corner of the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. Bill shot a dirty look at his sneakers. “What? They’re clean.”

Bill continued to stare and Tom huffed but took the shoes off and tossed them under the table. “Happy?”

“No. C’mon, Andi said it was really good.” Bill waved the dvd case. “Then we can watch whatever you had Michael rent for us.” He took two long steps over to the coffee table, spinning the movie cases on it around to read the titles. “Oh. Megan Fox. Imagine that.” Bill made a face that Tom would have taken for pure cattiness before, but now he saw something else. How had he never read that look in Bill’s eyes before? His defensiveness fled and he looked away, not sure how to handle that look.

“Alright, put it in, then.” Tom conceded, and shook his head at Bill’s squeal of victory. “I’m going to make popcorn,” he said, leaving Bill to get the movie started.

He needed just a moment away from his brother, just a moment to think about how he felt about this. Bill had been with him since Tom had discovered that pink paper, and once Bill decided it was ‘twin time’, Tom would have had to lock himself in the bathroom to get any time to himself. And normally, that didn’t bother him at all; he loved how Bill just wanted to be with him. But this new development threw ‘twin time’ into a different light.

It should have been obvious how he would feel about what he’d learned. Tom had wanted Bill since before he could remember. Since he started noticing things like girls’ boobs and their lipgloss and the smell of their hair. Since he had started noticing that his brother was more beautiful than those girls, boobs or no boobs; that his brother looked better in no makeup than those girls looked with their entire faces painted; that Bill smelled better than any girl he’d ever gotten close to. Since his cock had seemed to notice, too.

But it wasn’t that easy and he knew it. Tom finally spotted the bags of popcorn in the pantry and opened one to throw it in the microwave. He planted both palms on the counter and leaned into it, letting his head hang as he waited for all the kernels to pop.

Getting together with Bill could be disastrous. The list of ways they could fuck things up was long and varied and every one of those ways made Tom cringe. But on the other hand, his brother was as in love with Tom as Tom was with Bill, and fuck, didn’t that count for something? Couldn’t they be careful? They could hide it so no one would ever find out, couldn’t they?

But what if it didn’t work? What if they couldn’t be that for each other? What if—

The microwave beeped and Tom jerked his head up, having forgotten why he’d come in the kitchen in the first place. He blew out a breath and found a bowl, pouring the popcorn in and grabbing a couple beers between his fingers, carrying the whole load carefully into the darkened living room.

Bill sat in the middle of the couch, the blue glow of the television screen lighting his features just enough that Tom could see how Bill’s eyes lit up when they met Tom’s. Tom let his gaze skitter away and he handed the popcorn bowl to his brother, the glass of the beer bottles clinking together as his hands shook. He handed one of them to Bill, hoping his brother didn’t notice.

He didn’t seem to. Bill took a long swig of his beer and pulled back the blanket that he’d settled over his lap. “Wanna climb in? It’s a little chilly out there, isn’t it?”

Tom hesitated, debating whether this was a good idea. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, or whether he would even tell Bill about finding the letter. But if he felt like he and Bill couldn’t really make a go of something between the two of them, was it really fair to cuddle all up on the couch with him? Seeing the uncertainty in Bill’s eyes, though, he knew that if he didn’t, it would only cause questions. Questions he couldn’t answer yet.

So he sat. He sat and let Bill throw the blanket over his legs and scoot next to him until his arm was pressed right against Tom's ribs and hip, getting so close that Tom could smell him. Bill pushed the ‘play’ button on the remote and the movie started and Tom forgot to breathe.

Bill was enraptured by the movie. It made him laugh, his eyes laughing with him, and he would turn every so often to look at Tom, as if checking to make sure that Tom was enjoying it as well.

He was enjoying it, but he was enjoying watching Bill more than the movie. He let himself watch Bill giggle and sigh and get teary eyed over one of the scenes, all the while popping kernel after kernel of buttery popcorn between his plump lips, and Tom didn’t even feel bad about it at all. He watched until Bill turned to him for the fifth time in twice that many minutes and finally asked him what was wrong.

“Nothing,” Tom answered, fumbling for words, “except you’re eating all the popcorn.” He shoved Bill with his shoulder and Bill snorted.

“Just take some, ass.” Bill grabbed several fluffy kernels between his fingertips and tossed them at Tom's face, laughing as one bounced off his nose.

Tom's eyes widened in surprise and Bill froze with a squeak.

“Oh really? You’re gonna throw popcorn at me?” Tom snatched up a few kernels of his own and threw them at Bill, laughing as Bill tried to dodge them and failed, his brother shrieking as they landed in his hair, now combed free of most of the hairspray and laying flat and soft against his shoulders.

“God, stop it! I’ll get butter all in my hair and I don’t want to have to wash it before tomorrow.” Bill raked his fingers through his hair, pulling kernels out and tossing them on the coffee table.

“Baby.” Tom snorted and grabbed the bowl from Bill, settling back into the corner of the couch.

“Yeah, whatever. Shut up.” Bill’s lips were twitching and Tom could just see the smile that Bill was holding back. The blanket had slipped down their legs during their mini popcorn war and Tom pulled it up, lifting it for Bill to get comfortable underneath. Bill took advantage and snuggled in next to Tom again.

His brother was warm and soft against him, and he smelled so good. Tom adjusted, moving so his arm was along the back of the couch behind Bill until Bill molded himself into Tom's side. As the movie played on, they scooted down more and more until they were lying together, side by side, Tom's arm around Bill and his nose buried in his brother’s hair.

And that was the last thing Tom remembered.

~~~

Tom woke up to a dead arm and Bill’s cheek moving on his chest. He dreaded moving his arm, not looking forward at all to the pins and needles feeling he’d get in it, he told himself as he breathed slowly and steadily. Maybe if Bill didn’t wake up yet, didn’t know Tom was awake yet, he wouldn’t have to move. If he didn’t have to move, he could put off all the blood rushing back to his arm. More than that, if he didn’t have to move, he could lie there with Bill in his arms just a while longer.

Bill brushed his cheek against Tom's chest again and Tom very slowly tilted his chin down to look at his brother. He couldn’t see Bill’s face, just the top of his head, and his belly twinged in disappointment. Bill was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen when he was awake, but when he was asleep, with the stresses and worries of the day free from his face, Bill was almost ethereal.

Tom eyeballed the back of the couch, trying to figure out how much he would have to shift over to get Bill to move down a little on his chest, just far enough for Tom to really be able to see him, when Tom realized that Bill wasn’t asleep. If it hadn’t been the way Bill’s breathing hitched in his throat that tipped him off, it might have been that Bill pressed his nose into Tom's shirt when he did it. Or maybe that Bill’s hand had crept over Tom's waist and his manicured fingertips played softly just under the waist band of Tom's pants. And if it wasn’t for that, even, Tom would have definitely figured it out when Bill very carefully, very subtly, thrust his hips against Tom's thigh.

Tom caught his breath and held it. Bill was hard. There was a definite hardness inside Bill’s sweat pants and Bill pushed it into him again, his breath coming in shorter pants. Tom's belly flipped hard and a shot of adrenaline surged through his system. He didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know what his brother was planning to do, but there was no way he was stopping Bill now. His groin tingled…tightened, and Tom could feel that his cock had gone rock hard in only a few beats of his heart.

He wanted this. Tom knew he wanted this. If there had ever been any doubts before; doubts of making it work, doubts of keeping it secret, there weren’t any now. He knew that Bill felt this way about him now and there was no way he could turn his back from that. Not after being in love with his brother for so long.

Tom tried to stroke his hand up Bill’s side, only to glare at his hand in confusion when it didn’t do what he tried to make it do. It sat there like a lump on top of Bill’s hip and Tom rolled his eyes in irritation. Before he could raise his other hand to Bill, though, Bill’s movements began to get jerkier, bolder. His breath came intermittently and, as Tom started to tremble, trying not to thrust his hips toward his brother’s fingers, Bill shuddered against him. He moaned quietly into Tom's chest and pressed his cock firmly into Tom's thigh and shuddered hard.

Tom couldn’t stop his whimper any more than he could stop his dick from being so painfully hard. His hips twitched up and Bill startled with a gasp, sitting up quickly, his eyes wide and dark against his ashen face.

“Tom,” Bill breathed. “Shit...I’m sorry! I didn’t…Fuck!” He scrambled over Tom's legs, his feet getting caught in the blanket and he kicked at it to free himself while Tom tried to grab him with the hand that wasn’t numb.

“No, Bill, I…” Tom finally snagged a fist in Bill’s sweats as his brother’s feet hit the floor. “Look, it’s—“

Bill’s fingers yanked at Tom's wrist, a whimper in his throat, and Tom let his fingers fall away, his eyes riveted to the darker blue stain that spread over the front of Bill’s light blue pants. In the next instant, Bill was gone; running down the hall toward his room and slamming the door behind him.

Tom sat up so fast that his head spun and he winced as his cock was caught in the fold of his jeans, pinching the skin. He palmed at it hard, relieving the pressure of the fold and jolting in the wave of pleasure that coursed through him.

What the hell had just happened? Bill had come on him. Well, not come on him, but against him…because of him. Tom had seen Bill’s eyes before he’d run off, he’d seen the tears there and could only think that his brother was mortified, scared of what Tom would say, scared of what Tom would do, and Tom didn’t blame him. If he’d been in the same place, he’d have thought that, too. But Bill didn’t know that Tom had read his letter to St. Nick, and he didn’t know how Tom felt. He didn’t know that Tom was in love with him, too.

Tom bolted from the couch, kicking the bowl of popcorn he’d sat on the floor and he grimaced at the pain in his toe as popcorn scattered across the living room floor. He grunted and limped as quickly as he could to Bill’s bedroom door. Trying the handle, he found it locked.

“Bill!” He knocked on the door and listened hard for a response. He heard mumbling and what sounded like a sob and he knocked again, a little harder. “Bill, open up!”

Bill still didn’t answer but Tom wasn’t giving up. He needed to see him, explain to him, comfort him. Tell Bill he loved him.

“C’mon, Bill.” Tom knocked again before resting his forehead against the white wood of Bill’s door. “Let me in. I need to talk to you,” he sighed. “It’s okay.”

“No, go away!” came Bill’s muffled response through the door.

Tom closed his eyes and hit his head softly against the door, his fingernails scratching bluntly against it. “I’m not going away. Never going away.”

“I can’t…” Tom heard Bill hiccup. “I can’t see you right now.”

Tom groaned in frustration. He could try to break the damn door down but he couldn’t do that to Bill. Bill had to want to talk to him, want to see him. Tom just had to make him want to.

“Bill, it’s okay. Look, I have something of yours.” Tom pulled Bill’s letter to St. Nick from his back pocket and unfolded it carefully. He moved to flip the light on in the hall before leaning his head against Bill’s door again and starting to read.

“First, I want my brother to be happy. I want him to have everything he wants and everything he needs. I want him to discover the one person he will love forever, the one who makes him smile, makes his eyes shine, makes him want to get up in the morning and fall asleep at night just holding that person against him,” Tom recited slowly, enunciating each word carefully so he knew Bill would understand him through the door.

“And second, I really want that person to be me. I wish he felt everything for me that I feel for him, that he could see me as I see him. He’s strong and beautiful, funny and kind, and so sweet. He takes such good care of me. He even makes sure I eat, though he doesn’t know I know what he’s doing. I really need him. I’m in love with him. Even if everyone thinks that it’s wrong, I’m in love with him and I wish I could be his One.”

Tom folded the letter and slipped it back into his pocket. Something rubbed against the other side of Bill’s door and Tom twitched in surprise. Bill was right on the other side, right against the door, listening.

“You wrote that. I know you wrote it; I found it in your pants, Bibi. Don’t be scared. I’m not mad. I’m not upset. Please let me in?”

“Tom…” The handle jiggled and Bill opened the door a sliver, a wedge of light flooding in and lighting his face more and more as the door opened further. His cheeks were pink and wet and he wiped at his nose, his eyes not meeting Tom's.

“Aw, don’t.” Tom brought a trembling hand up and cupped Bill’s cheek, thumb swiping softly at the tears and remnants of makeup there. “Don’t cry. I swear it’s okay.”

“No,” Bill started, his voice shaky, “no, it’s not. God, I’m so ashamed, Tom. How can you not hate me? How can not think I’m just disgusting for all of that?” He looked up with red, tearful eyes and Tom's belly sank. More than anything in this world, he hated to see Bill cry. And Bill crying because of him just about killed him.

“Bibi.” Tom's palm slid to the nape of Bill’s neck and he pulled him closer. “How could I think you’re disgusting?” Bill’s eyes widened further the closer Tom got until Tom's lips were just a breath away from Bill’s. “How could I think you’re disgusting when I feel the same way about you?”

“I love you, Bill.” Tom brushed his lips softly over his brother’s, his belly curling with need and want and Bill whimpered in his throat.

“Tom.” Bill breathed against his lips and Tom thought he could hear Bill say his name like that every day and never tire of it. He opened his mouth and licked tiny, cautious licks at Bill’s lips, hoping that Bill would let him in, hoping to finally taste his brother after wanting him so long.

And Bill did. With a groan, he opened his lips and let Tom in, his tongue caressing sweetly against Tom's and Tom wrapped an arm around him, dragging Bill to him, pins and needles forgotten. He needed to feel Bill against him again, and he needed to feel him against him like this. Bill’s hands found his shoulders and Tom could feel them clench against his tee shirt as Bill pressed himself harder against Tom.

Bill slid his hands up Tom's neck to both sides of Tom's face. He broke their kiss and pulled back, his eyes moving to search Tom's.

“Is this real? Are we really doing this?” Bill’s lips trembled as he spoke and Tom could only think of capturing them again, claiming them for his own and never giving them reason to tremble again. “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow to find out this was another dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” Tom smiled, barely recognizing the husky voice that came from his own throat. His tongue played against Bill’s top lip, licking just inside it before moving to the plump bottom lip. “Does this feel like a dream?” Strong fingers clasped Bill’s hip before smoothing down his thigh and back up to the swell of Bill’s ass, pulling Bill snuggly against him, their bodies molding together. Bill was hard in his sweats again and Tom's insides twisted just thinking about what happened on the couch when Bill had thrust that hardness against him.

Bill took a step back and they stumbled from the door to Bill’s bed, hands clutching, trying not to break their kiss, even when Tom tripped over Bill’s wedge boots tossed haphazardly in the middle of the floor. Then Bill was falling backward, his legs having hit the bed, and Tom was falling with him. They grunted as they hit the mattress and scrambled up until Bill’s head lay on his pillow and Tom leaned over him, his head propped up on one arm.

“Been thinking about this for so long.” Tom pushed the hair from Bill’s face, his palm resting on Bill’s cheek. His thumb played over Bill’s pink bottom lip, pushing it gently down and opening Bill’s mouth. “I thought about your lips and how good you must taste and how much I wanted to be the one to taste you.”

Bill closed his eyes and sucked a breath in, darting his tongue out to lap at Tom's thumb and Tom's dick got harder than he’d thought possible. He watched Bill’s tongue, red and wet, lave against the pad of his thumb before sucking it into his mouth and Tom forgot how to fucking breathe. He groaned and thrust his hips against Bill’s leg; the pressure against his dick and Bill’s tongue and lips felt so good, he thought he might embarrass himself and come in his pants just then.

“God, Tom.” Bill pulled him down to kiss him hard, and he nipped at Tom's lips while his hand clenched on Tom's shoulder before sliding down his side and resting for a moment on Tom's hip. His fingers dipped under Tom's shirt and goose bumps prickled across Tom's skin as those fingers trailed teasingly under the front edge of Tom's jeans, and Tom's breath hitched, his tongue flicking over the metal stud in Bill’s tongue.

Tom couldn’t think anymore. There was no thinking with Bill practically underneath him, panting into Tom's mouth, his fingers fiddling with Tom's belt until Tom reached down and deftly unhooked it. He slid it out of the belt loops and tossed it off the side of the bed, the buckle jingling as it hit the floor and then Bill’s fingers opened his jeans and reached inside.

Tom could almost feel his eyes roll back in his head as Bill wrapped his long fingers around Tom's cock. He fell on his back with a grunt and pulled Bill over the top of him, looking up at him and seeing nothing but love and desire in Bill’s eyes and it took everything he had not to come right then. Bill pushed Tom's tee shirt up his abs, started to stroke, and Tom knew he was done for. Bill’s fingers were soft and strong and they moved just the right way; thumb flicking over the tip of Tom's cock, spreading the copious precome that was leaking from it and Tom's toes curled. His legs straightened, he grasped convulsively at the back of Bill’s shirt and at Bill’s hair and as his balls tightened, Tom threw his head back, a groan coming from deep inside his chest as he came hard over Bill’s fingers and across the quivering skin of his belly.

Bill milked him until it his dick was too sensitive and Tom laid a hand over Bill’s, stilling it.

“Too much?” Bill asked quietly, petting his palm over Tom's balls, like he just didn’t want to stop touching him now that he had him and Tom understood. He so understood.

“Yeah,” Tom answered with a shudder. “Just, um…” He wrapped a fist in the front of Bill’s tee shirt and brought Bill’s lips down to his, kissing him thoroughly. He hummed in contentment and Bill smiled against his lips.

“We should talk about this.” Bill yawned and sat up, wiping his hand on his shirt before taking his clothes off and tossing them on the floor. Tom took his cue and did the same, wiping his belly off with his shirt. “What are we going to do tomorrow? How do we—“

Tom lay back, tugging Bill down to him as he pulled the blanket up around their necks. “Let’s just leave tomorrow til tomorrow, okay?” Bill brushed his lips over Tom's chest and Tom tightened his arms around his brother. “We’ll sleep and work it all out in the morning.”

But as Bill hummed his approval of Tom's plan and his brother’s breaths grew even and shallow, Tom laid awake. Bill’s face was tilted up toward him this time and Tom watched his brother sleep, watched his lips move and his eyes flutter and he thought that no matter what beautiful dream Bill might be having, it could never be as good as the one that came true for Tom tonight.

~~~

Tom woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. It was still dark but Tom knew he was alone, even without being able to see. He didn’t hear Bill breathing and when he felt the sheets, it was cold where Bill had lain before.

“Bill?” Tom called, crawling off the bed and sliding his boxers on. He padded into the living room and squinted. The colored lights around the Christmas tree had been plugged in, and while they didn’t glow brightly, it was enough to make Tom squint. “Bill, what are you doing?”

Bill was sitting on the floor in front of the tree. Their presents to each other were piled toward the sides and Bill had found a big pillow to sit on, his legs crossed in front of him. A pink notepad of paper rested on his leg and he lifted a finger at Tom, telling him to wait a moment. Tom rubbed his arms briskly with his hands and plopped on the floor, cross-legged next to Bill.

“What are you—“ Tom tried to lean over to read what Bill had written but Bill shied away, moving the pad so Tom couldn’t see.

“Just hang on. I’m not done.” Bill made a sweeping motion across the paper, one Tom had watched Bill make a million times or more. Then he closed the cover and tossed the tablet to the side along with the pen he’d used.

“Hey!” Tom grabbed at it but Bill caught his hand. “What, I don’t get to see?”

“It’s not for you.” Bill smirked at him and leaned in, kissing Tom's cheek chastely before moving his lips down Tom's neck, nibbling as he went. His brother was warm, despite only having his sweats on, and Tom scooted closer, trying to capture some of that warmth.

“It’s cold out here. Let’s go back to bed,” Tom suggested, carding his fingers through Bill’s hair and nudging him in for a kiss. Bill smiled at him, that beautiful smile that always made Tom's knees weak. The colored lights from the tree twinkled in Bill’s eyes and he blinked slowly, tugging Tom closer to him.

“Yeah. You can warm me up,” Bill’s breath was hot against his lips and Tom felt it everywhere.

“Go, then.” Eager to get Bill naked and against him again, Tom stood and helped Bill up. “I’ll unplug the tree.”

“Okay,” Bill said, sounding almost breathless. “Hurry,” he urged as he rounded the corner into the hall.

Tom smiled to himself. Even as of last night he wouldn’t have believed this could be possible. That his brother would love him and want him like this, as Tom had loved and wanted Bill for so long. As he pushed the branches of the tree aside to get to the plug, Tom's toe nudged Bill’s writing tablet.

He only hesitated a moment before picking it up and flipping open the cover.

Tom knew he shouldn’t look. Bill told him not to look but…dammit, he couldn’t help it. His curiosity was just too strong and well, it was time to admit to himself that he really had no choice. Besides, if he hadn’t been nosy and looked through the scraps of paper in Bill’s pants, he wouldn’t be on his way back into Bill’s bed and Bill’s arms right now.

He tilted the paper toward the tree, using the lights to see what Bill had written. It read:

Dear St. Nick,

I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you. When Tom and I were little and our father left, we stopped believing in miracles and magic and that meant we stopped believing in you.

But we were wrong. I was wrong. I asked you for something that I never thought I could have, something I thought was impossible. I asked you for my brother to be happy, to be with the one he loved and I wanted that person to be me, and you made it come true. He loves me and there’s nothing else I need. Just Tom.

You made me believe again. Thank you.

It was signed at the bottom with Bill’s loopy signature and Tom's chest clenched at Bill’s words.

“Tom, aren’t you done reading it yet?” Bill called from the bedroom, a grin in his voice, and Tom's eyes widened, his lips pursing. He quickly flipped the notebook closed and dropped it next to the tree. “Come to bed!”

Tom chuckled, brushed by the prickly branches and pulled the plug, the lights blinking out. He made his way into the bedroom and climbed back into bed with Bill, his brother curling warm against him as Tom pulled the blankets over them. He could feel Bill smiling against his shoulder, his soft hand resting lightly over Tom's heart, and Tom thought that he really believed, too.

~~~

Merry Christmas! ♥