Their mum had gone out to the pharmacy, stuffing a monstrous shopping list into the pocket of her coat. Tom had only caught a sideways glance at the scrawled and hurried handwriting but he could discern the words camomile tea (Bill would not be delighted) and sea-buckthorn (at that Bill would throw a soundless but nonetheless impressive tantrum).

It was so ghostly quiet in the house, almost uncanny. With Bill instructed not to talk for an entire week, his twin's endless chatter turned off so suddenly the whole house was submersed into an eerie silence. Like being underwater.

Bill had gone to bed early the other night and had had breakfast when Tom was still asleep. It was like the rhythms of their lives had shifted and he always missed Bill's scarce appearances by an hour or two every time.
Shuffling through the long hallway down to Bill's part of the house, Tom wondered, not for the first time, how strangely unfamiliar everything here felt. Like they didn't live here, they just rented the place. A glorified storage closet for all their stuff and themselves.

Bill's bedroom walls were pale blue. The bed was so big it took up almost the entire room and the only other piece of furniture was an old chair Bill had once rescued from a dump, dragged home and renovated himself. He had lacquered the frame, redid the upholstery with a mind-numbing graphic print cloth in black, white and red. It sported tiny, golden lion's paws for feet. It was the only thing Bill had brought from home with him to the new apartment.

In a corner a humidifier sputtered out wave upon wave of fine mist, its monotonous sound the only one on the room. Bill's portable DVD player was propped up on the night stand, the headphones plugged in but Bill was nothing but a curled up lump under a heap of blankets, the cord from the headphones vanishing in a fold of the massive comforter, next to his brother's pale hand peeking out from under the creases of the light grey plaid.

“Hey you...” Tom peeled away the layers of sheets covering his twin to get to the center that had started to stir to life, making hoarse little noises.
Bill's hair messily spilled all over the pillow, wavy and frizzy after he hadn't even bothered with straightening it after his last shower. He had bags under his eyes, his skin an almost ghoulishly pale colour but Bill's eyes seemed already a lot more awake than they had only two days ago. There was that soft, wet sparkle in the browns, his pupils dilated with the lack of light in the room.

Bill smiled lazily and covered his mouth to hide a tiny yawn. He dug around behind his back, producing a tiny whiteboard moments later, with a marker dangling off one side of board on a string.
Bill started to scribble away at the board, the marker squeezing in protest and Tom chuckled quietly. The whiteboard had first made an appearance when Bill's throat had acted up the first time around. After Bill had gotten better Tom had never seen it again and simply assumed his brother had lost it. Bill had a tendency to lose things; but now it was there again. The voice went, the board came.

I'm bored!!! so booooooooored :(

Bill wiggled it around, making the letters shift and blur; the unhappy smilie was no match for the impressive pout that settled on his twin's still sleep crumpled features.
Tom attempted to grab the whiteboard but Bill smacked his fingers, holding up the board moments later:

You still CAN talk silly! board is for sick baby brothers ONLY!

Bill batted his lashes in an extreme show of mock innocence before a violent cough wrecked his entire frame. Tom saw tears spring from his brother's eyes as he clutched at his throat and wheezed miserably and Tom fumbled for Bill's miracle cough drops.
Bill waved him off, reaching for a bottle of water almost draining it before he lay back down. Under the ghastly orange and blue sweat jacket he could see Bill's entire chest work and convulse around the coughs he tried to bite down.

“Take one of these...” Tom checked the label of the packet in his hand, “Emser pastilles, come on!”
Bill simply squeezed his mouth shut and shook his head energetically. He reached for the board again.

Theyre gross – there's salt in them!!! tastes like rotting eggs

Bill shot a scandalized look at the packet of pills in Tom's hand before he crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head again.
The foil crinkled as Tom fumbled for one of the grainy pastilles and popped it into his mouth. It didn't taste as bad as Bill had made it out to be, they certainly didn't taste salty.

“'s all artificial sweetener, Bill...” Tom mumbled, tonguing the pastille into the side of his cheek, recognizing for the first time the taste Bill had meant when he wrote rotting eggs. He could never admit to it though; Bill would never even go near one again if he got his aversion confirmed in any way.

“Come on, they help!” Tom cajoled, gently wriggling Bill as he lay next to him on his back, still looking defiant as hell.
Bill shook his head again, his lips pressed together into a thin line on his face.
Tom sighed quietly, swallowing down the awkward taste that was building up in his mouth as the pastille began to melt, before he cupped Bill's face on either side, pulling his brother close to him and kissed him square on the mouth.

Bill squeaked, hands pushing aimlessly at Tom's shoulders before he surrendered into the kiss, his arm winding around Tom's neck, pulling him closer. A tiny, shuddering sigh breezed against Tom's cheek and he smiled to himself when he felt Bill turn liquid under him.
Taking Bill's bottom lip between his and nibbling softly, Tom tried to gently pry open his brother's mouth but Bill just turned to nuzzle his face into the side of Tom's neck, nosing through his dreads, scattering little kisses on his way.
Bill giggled quietly and it came out as a low, scratchy rumble that prompted goosebumps to spring up along the length of Tom's spine.

“Come on, take your meds...” Tom forced Bill out of his hiding place, kissing him again. This time Bill opened up to the kiss, inviting his tongue in. He licked behind Tom's front teeth, sucking on his tongue briefly but made a small disgruntled noise when he got a second hand taste of the cough drops.
“...be good and take your meds or I'll leave again,” Tom muttered, toying with the puller of Bill's sweat jacket, tugging on it, wriggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

The teeth of the zipper purred, a loud, thick sound, as Tom dragged the puller down just a bit to reveal the pale skin of Bill's throat and collar bone. A faded tee-shirt, more grey than black from endless rounds in the washing machine and Tom chuckled quietly when he recognized it again.

“God, you still have that?” He teased, pulling down the zipper a little further to reveal an equally faded and flaking print reading CBGB OMFUG.
Bill nodded, playing with one of Tom's dreads, twirling it between two fingers and tugging Tom forward to brush the frizzy end of it against his nose.

“We could have bought you a new one when we were in New York, you know...” Tom pulled the zipper down all the way, brushing the two sides of the jacket off his brother.

Of course, he knew Bill would never want a new shirt; this one had been a present from Gordon, the first real one, given to Bill at their first real Christmas as a new family. It had been too big for him at that time and his brother wore it to bed most of the time, then it fit him for a short period of time before Bill shot up, growing a good four inches in one year and suddenly it was almost too short for him.

Tom could see the entire star on his brother's hip. The track pants riding low on his hip and the tight shirt, stretching across Bill's flat stomach and the tiny sweep of his belly, curving down to the waistband of the pants.
Fabric softener, the distinctly soapy smell of Bill's hypo-allergenic shower gel, the heavy scent of sleep emanating from Bill's comforter and sheets, warm and smelling of Bill's skin, with just the slightest hint of sweat to make everything around him smell even more like his brother, the essence of him.

Tom swallowed heavily, wondering not for the first time, if Bill was even aware of how good he smelled, how intoxicating his own personal perfume was.
The squeaking of the pen on the whiteboard jerked Tom out of his musings, the little thing thrust directly under his nose moments later.

If I take the pills, you stay?

“Yeah, I'll stay...mum's gone out to do some shopping...and I locked the door when I came in...” Tom whispered. It was strange, the way Bill's forced silence had prompted everyone else around him to talk in whispers as well, avoiding all unnecessary noise.
The pen scratched across the board again.

Gimme!

Tugging on the dread wrapped around his finger, Bill pulled him down to his face, his lips already parted just a little bit, enough for the dull glint of the stud to peek out between the rows of pearly teeth.
Moments later there was a soft resistance, pressing up against his lips, parting against the light pressure and inviting him in. The metal stud clicked against his teeth as Bill's tongue slipped in, brushing against the inside of his cheek, before it pulled away again and Bill kissed his upper lip before he pulled away again.

Cracking one eye open reluctantly, Tom looked down on his twin's face, skin flushed just a little bit with the warmth of sleep, his eyes closed, still holding his dread between his fingers, rubbing the pad of his thumb against it again and again, almost compulsively.

Bill's lashes fluttered, a low whining sound drumming through his chest. Letting go off his dread, Bill's fingers threaded through the tumble of dreads at the back of his head, pulling him down into another kiss. This time the tongue rubbed against the inside of his other cheek, finding the grainy pastille there, slowly coaxing it into his own mouth.
At the last moment, Tom closed his teeth around the pill, trapping it in his mouth. Bill nipped at his lips, sucking at the little bit of the drop that peeked out between Tom's lips. Bill's lips curled into a smile, still pressed up against his and a low throaty snort could be heard, the substitute these days for his twin's usual soft giggles.

Bill delicately bit down on the pastille, making it break in two, the one half vanishing in his mouth, before they kissed again, their tongues battling round the other part of the medicine. Tom couldn't help but feel victorious; not only was Bill taking his meds, he was also getting the kiss of a lifetime along with it.
Just the kind he loved the most, the ones that alternated between passionate and deep, then light and playful again; the way Bill would just peek his tongue in, flicker it against his own, before he'd pull back again and invite Tom to do the same.

He rubbed his flat palm over the skin of Bill's belly, the sharp bump of his brother's hip bone changing to the soft skin of stomach, radiating so much heat Tom's palms grew moist almost right away. Bill's grip on his hair tightened, Bill's back arching and undulating under his hand, wordlessly urging him to pet Bill more.

Sliding his hand up over the worn out shirt, the old material feeling almost like velvet against his palm, he let it travel upwards over his twin's midriff, feeling the bump of Bill's ribs just under skin as Bill lifted into the touch, up to his chest right over his heart, the rushed thumping of the tiny muscle just underneath the skin.

Bill made a low noise in the back of his throat, rolling on his side, pushing his leg between Tom's and crawling closer to him; with Bill's leg jammed between his, he felt the the lump of his brother's budding erection press into his hip, Bill rubbing against him, trying to be inconspicuous about it despite the steady rolling of his hips.

Bill's tongue pushed the mostly melted tablet against the tip of Tom's own, sliding it over his tongue, then under it. Bill smiled into the kiss, making great efforts to wiggle the by now thin pastille out from under his brother tongue again and Tom rumbled in contentment at the way the velvety muscle moved in his mouth, the odd shifting of the metal stud.

Tom knew he was pushing it, they would only be alone for a little longer before their mum came back but with the way Bill crowded against him, he simply couldn't resist. Slowly, he slid a questing hand under the tightly stretched shirt, tickling his fingers over the hot skin of his brother's belly, moving up higher, brushing against the baby soft skin, feeling Bill's nipples harden under the simple touch that drew a quiet gasp from his twin.

Bill's hand closed around his wrist, slick with sweat and shaking excitedly and shoved his hand down the front of his track pants; his fingertips brushed against soft curly hair, the back of his hand against sliding against Bill's hard-on; his fingers closed around the swollen flesh, the skin silky soft on the outside and so hard underneath.

Bill pushed up into Tom's palm with a soft mewling sound as he rocked against him, shaky hands cupping Tom's cheeks and then – a door closed.

“Boys, I'm home!” The mother's naturally loud voice ran out through the hallway, as she barrelled her way into the living room, undoubtedly dropping bits and pieces of clothing, grocery bags and what have you along her way, in very much the same way Bill usually did.

With a heavy sigh, that spoke volumes of his frustration, Bill rolled on his back again, Tom's hand slipping out of his pants as he did. Under half closed lids Tom could see the way Bill rolled his eyes.
Tom wiped his hands on the sheets while Bill fumbled blindly for his little whiteboard, the pen scraping in protest as Bill hectically scribbled something on the board, his entire face set tight with irritation.

I love her but God! TIMING! im gonna kill her