Title: Giving a Show
The English version of “Show“.
Beta: The very pretty, smart, lovely and helpful Sexkitten. Woot!
Genre: Real Person Slash
Length: Ca 2700 words.
Rating: Teen and up.
Pairing: Bård Ylvisåker/Vegard Ylvisåker.
Tags: AU, angst, bromance, humor, incest, sex.
Summary: Damn big brothers; they can never give in.
Author’s note: This story is of course not about the real brothers Ylvisåker. This is fun and games and damned lies: Bård and Vegard in the story here are just characters/doppelgängers with crappy style and lower morale. So – if the real pair of brothers should ever be so very unlucky to stumble upon this, I hope that they can take it as a backwards compliment – a dubious side effect from well-deserved fame, nothing more.
He could feel it – literally feel it in his skin: the moment when all went horribly wrong, or pear-shaped as the Brits say; when it went out of all proportions and out the window, too; askew, to shit, to hell in a hand-basket.
It was probably the tongue that did it. Bård’s tongue had ventured into his brother Vegard’s mouth all on it’s own initiative. Now it was exploring Vegard’s tongue, his palate, soft inner cheeks and hard tooth-edges.
“Teeth: sharp!” snapped through his brain. “He’ll bite my tongue off!” he feared, but Vegard didn’t bite, he didn’t recline, didn’t back off. Damn big brothers; they can never give in when challenged by little brothers.
Far away he heard one of the girls sigh, “Oh my!” and the other grunted - a breathless and low little grunt ascended from warm, soft inner parts, directly from her darkest, most beastly self.
The ugly, yet strangely enticing sound was what was needed: the bell sounding to tell that the round was over. It made him tug himself off his brother’s lips, tear himself away with a loud SMACK so spittle landed on his chin. It felt like parts of his soul were left behind. Bård continued to retreat while hanging on to Vegard’s eyes.
Vegard’s eyes were all black. He looked angry, but his lips…his lips were bright red, shiny and wet. He looked like a furious broad-shouldered Snow White in his bright yellow corset, super-short Lolita dress, and white see-through knee-highs.
Their last act before curtain had been an upbeat mix of j-rock and a Hello Dolly musical number – they had even been in contact with Swedish Yohio in order to get their dresses to sit in just the right perverse doll-like way. The corsets were pure hell to sing in of course, but practice makes perfect. Practice was their secret weapon, the harsh reality behind what the media so easily called ‘God-given talent’.
The highlight of the “Hello Lolita” number – and through it, the whole show – was the moment where they dived in behind ruffled parasols and pretended to kiss. The result was guaranteed laughter and wolf-whistles: their play on the incest taboo (well inside the moral boundaries of a family show), in combination with the j-rock genre’s theatrical androgyny and undertones of sex, made the ceiling rise above them: it was pure alchemy.
It was an instant success this night, too. There were extra-numbers, flowers and autograph signings all the way to the wardrobes, with a sprinkle of elastic underwear shot up from the deep darkness in front of the stage: minimal pink lace panties that seemed unused and one golden Sputnik brief that Vegard had shoved into Bård’s nose – definitely used.
Even more people were probably waiting outside, wanting to see them on their way home. After their YouTube hits, there had been more and more breasts and bums to sign, and there was now supposedly more than a handful of fans walking around with autograph tattoos on their body. Those were crazy, crazy people, but flattering too, of course.
It was also flattering that the two teenage girls who had won backstage passes through a radio competition looked like they were about to faint when he and Vegard showed up for a quick photo- and autograph session right after the show. Sweating in rustling taffeta and with make-up running, the brothers hugged each girl, let them take pictures and videos, small-talked (as if it were possible to make small talk with completely star-struck teens) and like a sort of finale, he had gotten the fantastic idea to give Vegard a full-on movie star kiss – the parasol scene without parasols – so that the two fans could bring home a truly unique memory from their big night.
He ventured a look at the girls now. They looked like they were having multiple orgasms right on the spot: hanging limply onto each other, red-faced, orb-like eyes, panting strawberry-lip-glossed open mouths… None had gotten their cameras up and thank God for that: a tiny little glimpse of light in the middle of this total, encompassing disaster.
Vegard had gotten a grip by now. “…And with that I think we’ll say goodnight! Thank you girls, you have been fantastic.”
By his tone, it sounded like the evening had been as far from fantastic as it could possibly get, but it did manage to raise the girls on their feet and pointed towards the door. Vegard followed and half-shooed them out. Through the door, they could hear high-pitched squeals and moans as the girls disappeared down the hallway outside.
Bård looked at Vegard again. Vegard looked on the verge of saying something, but instead he pressed his lips together and didn’t say a word. Bård didn’t say anything either; instead, he turned around and went to the back door towards the wardrobe, half dazed. As he went, he could hear Vegard’s dress rustle behind him. It made his stomach turn.
When he was well into the wardrobe, he turned his face towards the wall – don’t look into the mirror, for God’s sake! He could still feel his lips hot in his face. He probably looked like he was half disintegrating, which he was.
There was also the problem of his very, very noticeable erection. That fact was at least half the problem with the kiss that he had just shared with Vegard. The tongue wasn’t good either, of course, but the erection… The steel-hard erection that he had pushed against Vegard’s hip, as he laid one arm around Vegard’s shoulders and one hand around Vegard’s buttocks, and pushed the taffeta so hard into Vegard’s that the wrinkles probably never would go out… It wasn’t a normal thing to do. The two of them were usually so relaxed around each other; they shared everything – unavoidable the way they lived – but not that, not sex!
Of course, he’d heard Vegard have sex, alone and with his fiancée (his wife now), and he had seen Vegard at half-mast many times after they’d performed together, but to actually have sex with Vegard – that’s what he’d just done, he had to admit to himself, cringing – that had never been in his thoughts at all. He knew Vegard was attractive, had a nice body. Probably great in the sack too, he assumed, although he’d never given it much thought before. Bård’s undressing slowly came to a stop as he understood that he found his own brother sexy and obviously had done so for a very long time -forever maybe. Damn. Damn, damn, damn, DAMN!
“Are you going in the shower or what?”
Bård flinched and peeled off the rest of his costume in a hurry. He was tempted to just let it lay there on the bench, but years of training made him hang everything up neatly, so the shape and finish could remain intact for their next show. Their costumes got enough rough treatment on stage that they needn’t be battered between shows too. It was their training – exact routines deeply ingrained in their spines – that made their shows work day in and day out, through times when they functioned as one organism and times where they couldn’t stand each other’s faces. That wasn’t his problem tonight, though.
He swiftly stepped out of his underwear, threw it into the laundry-basket and sneaked a look at Vegard as he hurried towards the shower. Vegard had also hung his dress and wig and was now leaning towards the mirror, scrubbing his face with make-up remover. Damn, Bård should have done that too, before he went to the showers, but he couldn’t turn around now, he just had to let it be. He just had to get this evening over with. Shower, get into soft everyday clothes, taxi home to his family and then forget all of this…this damned discovery, this revolution, the shock so distracting that it almost made him fall over on the wet tile floor as he stepped into the shower stall.
He did keep on his feet somehow and got inside, adjusted the water and fumbled for the shampoo. He focused on the familiar – the movements of rinsing, tasting the make-up dribbling past the corners of his mouth – reassuring, well known routines. Could he keep doing this now? Could they? Was that even possible, after something like this?
Vegard had to have felt his erection back there, and it wasn’t possible to miss the feeling of someone else’s tongue in one’s mouth, a tongue half way down Vegard’s throat before Bård came enough to his senses to manage to roll back. Fuck.
He’d better blame the stage adrenaline. It wasn’t the first time he and Vegard had burned the surplus energy floating around after performing by doing crazy stuff, like the time he had arm-walked outside the balcony of the Ole Bull Theater. He had thought that Vegard would kill him then, by raw decibel alone.
Sadly, Vegard hadn’t more than muttered a few words after tonight’s blunder. That’s how Bård knew that this was really, really bad. If only Vegard had slapped him away, called him a fucking idiot, showed him… Instead, he’d just stood there, paralyzed probably, open beak, a tongue down his throat and a wildly over-enthusiastic cock straining against his hipbone. How does one explain away something like that? How in holy hell did one do that?
Bård thought – hurriedly, as to not dwell on the matter any longer than he absolutely had to – that he’d rather say a few, carefully chosen words before they parted ways for the night, like “I’m sorry I freaked out like that earlier. Let’s never talk about it again.” or something to that effect to Vegard and then go home and hope that this never, ever came up again.
This was his life, after all. Everything – career, success – everything they had built hung on the fact that they clicked, that their chemistry was right in spite of things that went awry, bad surprises, stupid journalists, crazy fans, family that wasn’t always that understanding when things got hazy from the motion around them. They were each other’s ground walls, each other’s safe, fixed points in a universe that sometimes spun too fast.
Bård hid his face against the cold tiles. Maybe he cried a little too, maybe not – it was hard to know for sure under the shower-stream. At least the make-up was gone now. He moaned from self-pity and the idiotic shit his ridiculous subconscious had gotten him into.
The door creaked open. Bård turned just enough to see Vegard standing there, naked, with sweaty hair and streaks of make-up around the eyes…and half mast, no, wait – at least two-thirds erect! What the fuck?
Vegard just continued into the room and the shower-stall until he stood under the spray with Bård. Bård tried to back up, pressing in to the wall behind him. Vegard didn’t say anything, just lifted his face towards the shower-head and rubbed his eyes before reaching out for shampoo. It was unavoidable that he touched Bård as close as they were. Bård pulled his stomach in, but to no use as Vegard’s wet upper arm slipped against his chest and – Lord Almighty – his hipbone was again rubbing against Bård’s red, straining, straight-at-the-roof-pointing and very, very revealing cock.
His dickhead pounded dizzyingly and he could feel precum running – and how he managed to focus on that, he had no idea. He should be thinking on one thing only and that was how to get away, how to get out of here, home to normality, leaving this madness and scarily boundary-free universe behind.
“Don’t move!” he heard Vegard spit between droplets. Vegard was still washing his hair, with soapsuds running and eyes tightly shut, but he had to have felt the flight-reflex in the tension of Bård’s movement. Bård stilled where he was, pushing into the corner, thoughts spinning, feelings in overdrive. Bård could feel every droplet ricocheting off Vegard’s body, just a little colder than the ones straight from the shower, and he could feel body parts that kept on pushing against his own. Vegard didn’t even try to avoid Bård’s erection and that didn’t make any sense, and Bård really couldn’t make heads or tails of anything. When he wasn’t allowed to move, what was he supposed to do? How in the world was he supposed to get out of this? This was beyond solution, wasn’t it?
Just then, like a lightning bolt of inspiration it struck him, knees almost buckling with relief: this was revenge! It was pure, perfect pay-back. His genius brother had found the most spectacular way of getting even ever; that sick kiss could now go over in history like nothing had ever passed between them because Vegard was doing something far worse and it was mind-blowingly fantastic! Relief washed through him in waves, got him hot and cold and hot again and his erection finally flagged, at least a little, and he sagged against the tiles and felt like he wanted to drop because of the enormity of this release. God DAMN big brothers!
Vegard finally finished rinsing and Bård felt so light from getting off the hook that when Vegard leaned against him, he just leered at that familiar, loved, rotten face and laughed “Keep it coming, bro’!” and it took long, long seconds before he understood that Vegard was bending down on his knees in front of him and…
“No, stop it, don’t!”
Vegard just looked irritably at him with Bård’s cock in one hand and the other by his hip, against the wall, for support.
Vegard kept eye contact and led Bård’s cock-head towards his lips. Bård saw stars.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!”
How many seconds it took before he came all over Vegard’s face, red lips, black wet tufts of hair and darkly insisting eyes, he didn’t know, but it couldn’t have been many. The orgasm took him totally by surprise. Now that his wobbly knees could not support him any further, he just slipped down the tiles like a wet towel. His ability to think was completely eradicated.
Vegard rose up again, obviously a bit wobbly on his feet, too. He washed off again, and Bård could see his dick dripping slimy strings. ‘He came! He came from sucking me off! Fuck me,’ thought Bård, and he looked at the world from a totally new perspective from where he lay in the bathroom corner in an uncomfortable curl on cold, sticky tile that he couldn’t have cared less about.
His thoughts strayed off again when he got to see Vegard wash his balls and ass (and Senkveld-tattoo) in a really rare close-up, which took his breath away. It didn’t quite return until Vegard reached out and pulled him on his feet.
“Wash off, stupid, so we can go home tonight.”
Bård stumbled through the shower motions again, washing away sweat from his eyes, armpits and ass-crack. In the meantime, Vegard took his towel – ‘Use your own, butt-wipe!’ Bård thought – and went out. It was a good thing he left the door open, as Bård would have had a very tough time getting through it otherwise.
Bård managed; though, and followed Vegard out into the wardrobe again – haltingly, insecure, feeling newborn or like the world didn’t quite work like he was used to. It was a really uneasy feeling.
“You, come here,” Vegard said and offered him a clean towel. Bård nearly couldn’t remember what to do with a towel, so Vegard took it from him again and roughly patted him down over head, torso, legs, ass and sex. Bård tried to take it back, but Vegard just kept patting with a scowl. Afterwards, Vegard pulled some clean boxers on (thank God) and laid an arm around Bård.
“Relax,” he said. “Now we’re going to get our rags on and call it a night. A show is a show, and this one is over. I’m all for one thing now, and that’s getting home and into bed…and you’re dead tired. Dress so we don’t have to spend the whole night here.”
He gave Bård a big hug, a real comforting big brotherly hug, let him go and kept on dressing. Vegard smiled and Bård smiled too, a little shakily around the edges, thinking: what a night and what a show.