Black Velvet (6) (Patreon)

(A/N: this chapter is called: weirdo brothers being weirdo brothers)

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"Where's the air mattress at?"

"How would I know?" I groan indignantly, curled into my galaxy-patterned comforter. I had just fallen asleep only moments before my brother's obnoxious intrusion into my living space.

I stare at the ceiling, not quite awake and miserable.

In that short-lived nap, I'd dreamt an unsettling dream of Tobias' figure through the sunlit gaps of the leaves — dreamt of my curls caught in the thorns of the rose hedge outside. At first — I wasn't sure if I had been ready to wake up, or if it was even a dream at all, or just a memory.

".., I should get a lock for my door," I mumble, fighting the fog that had settled into my brain.

"Yeah, right," Nic snorts, ducking his head under my bed to search. "Mom doesn't allow locks on the door."

"Well, it's dumb," I mumble sleepily, swiping at a bit of drool on my pillow. "Super dumb."

"Well, I could have girls over," Nic shrugs, like it's absolutely the reason my mother had taken the locks off the door, and not unpleasant aftermath the time I had tried to sneak out of the second-story window for a midnight showing of Galaxies and Glory.

"Oh, yeah, all those girls." I laugh. My brother puffs his chest out as he reaches above my wardrobe, glaring as a warning. "You'd think she'd change her mind about them," he glares harder, "with how many times she's caught you and your hand."

"You asshole,"  he bends enough to pick off his dirty sock and throw it at me, and I give him a look of disgust.   "You look sweet, but you are satan. I don't want to relive that, ever."

"I guess seven times is enough, right?" Another sock hits my cheek. "Why do you need the air mattress anyway?  Is Mimi flying in?" I think of my grandmother's visits — and wondered why in the world if you'd retired that you'd waste your frequent flyer miles on Jameson of all places. That's familial love, I suppose.

Nic shakes his head, pulling open my closet doors and peeking his head inside. I gather up his stinky socks and throw them into the far corner of the room.

"Mom's painting my room, and Toby is staying over tomorrow night. One of us gets the couch, and the other gets the air mattress.  You're lucky you get your bed."  He shrugs. I balk at that, sitting up — then falling face first and burying my head into the blankets.

It's probably punishment. Karma, at least. I'm one hundred percent positive my mom knows that we were up all night.  God knows I've lied to her and is here to make me suffer.

— telling her we were hanging out with the guys was ridiculous, and she'd said so — giving me a bewildered look like —

You don't hang out with the guys.

I can't even find myself caring, mind jumbling with endless thoughts of Tobias and his entry into my sleeping subconscious. Now he'd be here, again, and inevitably after that. Karma.

"I'm like, positive she's prepping that room to move me out faster," Nic says offhandedly. I watch him rustle about for a bit before my thoughts get the best of me.

"Why don't you ever stay at his house?" I wonder aloud, jaw aching with the need for sleep.

My brain is wandering to a thousand different ways Tobias could plan to smite me in my sleep — to keep his sexual escapades I've been tripping onto on the down-low, but I lift my head just in time to see Nic's change in demeanor.

"Duh — because my darling baby brother is here." His voice is too airy with the attempt at brushing my inquiry off with a joke.

"Ew, don't say that." I wrinkle my nose, trying to lighten the air.

"It's true." He says with a bat of his eyelashes.

It's only a moment of his twisting about before I begin digging again, "You guys never stay at his house."

Nic's head snaps around, and he frowns deeply, eyes searching mine.

"What's gotten into you, dude? I like being in my bed." He says, but his irate expression betrays his words.  He's taken on a sort of reserved stance, something entirely out of character for him. "— don't you?"

His question sounds more like a drop it.

"I don't have friends.  But— yeah,"  I breathe, biting my lip, "that makes sense." I know when not to push him. My brother relaxes.

"I pre-ordered MLB 14," He clips suddenly. "Will you go see if it's come in the mail yet?"

"Why me?" I whine, tripping over my comforter as I drag myself out of its warmth, "I just want to sleep. Besides, I hate watching you guys play MLB."

"You love it." Nic glares.

"I don't. Tobias creams you every time, and then you moan and whine —" Nic gasps loudly.

"Dirty. Take it back."

My brother's tone is playful, light hair whipping upwards as he crosses his arms,

"I am your older brother; therefore, I am God."

"Your socks smell," he gasps again, and I continue — brows raised proudly, "... and you suck at MLB."

"You are," Nic tackles me to the mattress with his full weight, bicep around my throat as he flops around. "— so ungrateful!"

"Get off me, you brute!" I yelp, "— ew, what the hell? Why do you smell like Grandpa Rolland?"

"I used his deodorant, and I'm not letting go until you say it!"

"Say what?!"

"That I am the best baseball player ever!"

"You are not." I croak, pulling at the second arm that's wrapping around me in earnest, "and I'm not checking the mail."

He presses his knee into my mid-back, gathering mucus riddled spit into his mouth to use as his next torture device— that is, until my mom clears her throat from the doorway and he tugs me to the floor where he falls — sprawled against the hardwood.

"Nicolai, you have company."

Sure enough, Tobias is towering behind her — watching with what seems to be a slight bit of amusement. I realize then that I'm in my 'be one with the telescope' powder blue underwear and a t-shirt, stretched out against the ground like some sort of exotic bird.

"Mom!" I screech in mortification, barreling backwards against Nic's grip. "Why don't you knock?!"

Tobias tilts his head, leaning it against the door frame as my mother marches into the room. His hand is splayed across his mouth to hide his tired-eyed grin, gaze flicking from my flush to the print of my boxers.

"It's my house.  Nicolai. What have I told you about harassing your brother?"

"That I might hurt his vagina," Nic says with a salute, rolling off of me. I flush, kicking at him as my mom stares - absolutely horrified at having heard the word exit my brother's mouth.

"What is your deal?!"  I shriek, indignant, "I do not have a vagina." I look up at Tobias, who stares from the doorway, both his eyebrows reaching up towards his hairline with shock. "I actually don't." I repeat. His brows lower.

"Wonderful." He chortles, voice low. My stomach ties itself in a knot, eyes darting to stare at the unmade bed instead.

What?

"You are disgusting, Nicolai," My mom sighs, "and don't act like it's the end of the world, Oliver.  You guys wish you had a vagina. Balls are babies, compared to the vagina... Until birth, that is.  Could've done without that debacle."

"Oh my God, Mom!  Stop saying vagina!" My brother bellows, his hands in the air. My eyes can't help but wander back to Tobias — who looks absolutely thrown, laughing quietly to himself. His laughing face is ridiculously attractive.

What — the fuck.

"I'm checking the mail." I announce, shielding the sides of my face from their disgusting decision to talk about genitalia in front of the neighbor's son — and the distractingly handsome smile of said neighbor's son, "I hate both of you."

"You can look for the air mattress instead if you want? Talk about vaginas with mom some more?" Nic offers with a smarmy grin.  "Tell Toby one more time that you don't have one?"

I glare, pushing my curls away from my forehead.

"Nope. Nope. Not doing it,"   I wave my hands at him, and then at Ma. "After I get the mail, I want sleep — no interruptions." I point my finger at my brother with a stern look, "I have work in the morning."

"Three am is not the morning," Nic calls as I grab the keys and make my way out of my room, ignoring the goosebumps on my arm as it brushes Tobias'.

"You're a lunatic."

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