by Willa Okati
Lucy's heard Marybeth. Oh, fuck, Lucy heard Marybeth kicking up a fuss. They'll all know about her now. They'll say we're not fit to care for our sister.
They'll take her away, and it'll be the death of her.
It's Vanner's worst nightmare.
The hell of it is that he can't run, not like he wants to and not like Heath's urging him to.
Not yet. Not when Marybeth needs them with her here to get her through the "now".
Heath doesn't understand. He looks ready to punch his twin for not immediately hauling Marybeth, still hysterical and all, down the road to a Greyhound station. "Vanner, I swear to God. We don't have time for this."
"Hell we don't. I'm not gonna scare her even more, so you shut your mouth."
"Okay, yeah. She needs to calm down. Then we've got to move. Lucy wouldn't do a thing to hurt us, not on purpose, but if she tells a soul..."
"Shouldn't have let her take off," Vanner snaps.
"Damn it, Vanner. What should I have said to stop her?"
Vanner doesn't bother answering. His mind, for once, is nowhere near his twin or the fucked-up whatever that's come between them, all red-hot fire and dark blossoming rage. The more he looks at Heath, the more he thinks about that bastard Sidney and swear to God, he wants to ball up his fist and punch Heath on the chin for being such an ass. Safer to push Heath aside for the moment and take care of what business he can.
"Vanner, look at me when I'm talking to you."
"Piss off, Heath," Vanner warns. His hands curl into fists at his sides as he hunts, looks like in vain, for the little bag of treats that he uses as a last, last, last resort when Marybeth needs calming down. A play-doll-sized pink Barbie knapsack he found at some junk shop down in Fort Worth. Cost him half his dignity to buy the thing, but it made her smile, and that made it worth both the cash and the blushes.
Heath sighs, sounding like he's bearing up under the weight of the world just to humor Vanner. "What are you looking for?"
"Marybeth's things."
And doesn't that set Heath right off again? "If you're getting her stuff, I'll get ours. We can leave now and--"
"And what?" Vanner growls. "We're not goin' anywhere."
"The hell you say, we're not. Vanner, listen to reason."
Vanner shakes his head stubbornly. He focuses on one thing at a time, when he can. That's how he's gotten through life ever since it was the three of them on their own, and that's just how it's gotta be. He can't cope any other way. If Heath had the sense God gave a jackrabbit, he'd clue in, but when the hell has Heath ever shown any signs of such? This whole kissy-face and cocktease thing is full enough proof that his twin's a lunatic.
More and more, Vanner thinks getting tangled up in this lusty knot wasn't worth the hassle.
Then he thinks about Heath's big, rough hand on his dick, coaxing him higher and higher until he goes pop from the heights he's climbed to, and something punches him deep in his gut until he has to hold back a groan.
Damn, but he's in trouble.
"Vanner, are you even listening?"
"Nope. If you're gonna stand around in my way, help me find Marybeth's toys."
Heath drags his hand through his hair. "The pink bag with the dolls on it?"
Vanner isn't sure if he's disgusted with Heath for his lack of attention to detail or kinda proud that his twin doesn't recognize Barbie. Lord knows he wouldn't if he wasn't the one to soothe Marybeth with her play-dollies when she cries.
"Yeah," he grudges. "The pink one." Vanner doesn't see it anywhere. Marybeth's quiet for the moment, lost somewhere in a dream of her own making, rocking back and forth on her feet and humming to herself. Doesn't mean she'll stay calm for long. And if she hears him fretting over losing her pretties? She'll scream the motel down. "You seen it anywhere?"
"By the door."
Vanner wheels. Damned if he can see anything where Heath is pointing. "Where?"
"Under your coat, where it fell off the hook."
And so it is, when Vanner twitches off his patched down jacket. It's too hot for such a garment, of course. He keeps it around on account of it belonged to their daddy, a big man who smelled like chewing tobacco and had a big, deep laugh. Those memories and the coat are all he has left of the cowboy who rode on out before he and Heath were seven.
"Thank you," he gripes at Heath, who stands there looking both better-than-you and unhappy. "Marybeth, you come on with me. Okay, sweetheart?"
Marybeth drifts sweetly out of her daydreaming and smiles at Vanner, innocent as a child. Her face is streaking with dried-up tears and worse, and her smile is prettier than an angel's. "Where are we going?"
"Gonna get you back to your room, princess." Vanner coaxes Marybeth forward to the door. "Tuck you in all tight and stay with you until you sleep."
Marybeth nuzzles her head in his shoulder. "I love you, Van-Van."
Vanner kisses the golden top of her head. "You too, baby."
"You shouldn't take her outside," Heath says quietly. "We need to leave town. It's not safe."
"Don't think she should be here either, but we gotta talk, you and me." Vanner keeps his tone light for Marybeth's sake but he doesn't hold anything back in the way he glares at Heath.
Heath throws his head back, impatient and irritated. The move looks so much like the way he arches when he's naked underneath Vanner that it tightens Vanner's groin, and that's just not something he cares to have on his mind right then.
"Don't you argue with me," Vanner warns. "Come on, Marybeth. Follow me."
"Where are we going?" she asks dreamily. "I'm sleepy."
"I know, darlin'." Vanner picks up the stupid Barbie bag and shows it to her. "How about I tuck you in with this?"
Her bright beam could out-dazzle a star. "Love you, love you!" she squeals.
No more than he loves her, Vanner knows. He will do what it takes to keep his sweet girl safe.
Trouble is, it's not exactly just what Heath thinks is the right thing to do.
That doesn't matter. He'll get them through.
Whatever the cost.
"Vanner, wait." Heath catches him by the arm. "You do what you have to do with Marybeth. I understand."
Vanner's none too sure that Heath does, but he lets it go for the moment; he'd rather take it one step at a time and make sure of what's what before he moves on. "All right, then."
"But then you come back here, to me, and we'll talk like you said." Heath presses his lips together in a thin slash under his nose. He's got his temper up too, then. Good. They'll have an honest fight. "I have a few things to say to you myself."
Vanner bites back a handful of choice words for Marybeth's sake and coaxes her out the door instead. No one's in the parking lot, and for that he's grateful. "Come on, pretty girl," he coaxes. "Let's get you all safe and tucked in."
"Can I sleep as much as I want?"
"All night long."
"And tomorrow morning?"
"You can lie in as long as you want."
Marybeth giggles, so young and girlish that it hurts Vanner's heart. "Can I dance?"
"In your dreams while you sleep, darlin'." Vanner can feel Heath's displeasure and while it doesn't worry him as such, it does piss him off. "Leave cranky ol' Heath to stew in his own juices."
Marybeth doesn't understand and doesn't care. That's all right. Heath does.
Vanner allows himself a small smirk, savoring the upper hand for so long as it'll last.
Business with Marybeth first, and then the knock-down drag-out fight he's itching for with Heath.
They say there's nothing like a brawl to clean the air. In Vanner's experience with bull riders and other rodeo folk, that's the truth. He's not so sure with Heath.
They've not had a serious fight in years.
He guesses he'll just have to see, won't he?
***
When Vanner finally thinks it's safe to leave Marybeth alone, after he's washed her face pink and clean and tucked her in and sung to her until she's sleeping sound, it's been enough time passed that he hopes Heath'll be reasonable. He's not in a better mood, himself, just more focused. One job at a time. Get it done and move on.
He tiptoes to the door and once there, takes a last peek at his innocent older sister. She's curled up on her side holding one of her ratty-haired dolls tight to her chest; the doll's cozied up in a "sleeping bag" made of an old tube sock.
Sometimes Vanner tries to think back to the days when he didn't take care of his sister and try to help her walk through a world she sees through kaleidoscope eyes, but he can't remember that time. She is what she is.
She's family. Doesn't matter what else the world wants to call her. She's his to protect, same as Heath.
Even if he does want to tan Heath's hide more often than not, especially here and lately.
"Sleep sweet, princess," he whispers. Marybeth smiles in her sleep and snuggles her doll. Thirty years old, she is. Lord have mercy.
He locks the door to her motel room with as little squealing of the hinges as he can make. Once outside, he drags in a deep breath, squares his shoulders insomuch as he can with his elbow aching like a bitch, and heads back to give Heath a piece of his mind.
When he strides into their room, head held high, he's met with the sure and certain knowledge that Heath hasn't simmered down, Lord no. He's tight-lipped, white dents in his cheeks, and he's on fire clear to his hairline.
Vanner hopes he doesn't look like as much of a fool when he gets his own temper up, but as they're identical he reckons not.
"All right," Heath bites off. "She's 'safe'." He makes those damn sarcastic quotes in the air with his fingers. "As safe as she can be when she's tucked up all by herself and you're running roughshod over the one law we've always enforced among us, which is to--"
"I know what the rules are." Vanner is suddenly bone-tired. "They don't apply right now."
That doesn't please Heath one bit. "Oh, really? Do you want to let me in on what is happening?" Heath shifts his weight to one hip and starts ticking off his complaints. "One, Marybeth raised enough of a ruckus to get noticed. Two, the filthy old man in the parking lot said he saw you tussling with someone earlier. Three, Lucy knows what's what, now."
"Did you tell her?" Vanner snaps. "She know everything now?"
"Do you think I'd do that?" Heath's temper is rising, rising, rising, and suddenly it's about too much for Vanner. "Tell me, brother, do you really think I'd put us at risk any more than you would?"
You forgot to hold up your end of the bargain with that bastard Sidney, Vanner surprises himself by lashing out in his churning thoughts. If you'd… if you'd… Hell. He can't blame Heath for skipping over such a thing, can he?
The thought of Heath with oily Sidney makes his stomach churn. He says nothing.
"Answer me," Heath snaps. "Give me some good reasons and I'll be okay with that."
Vanner's too tired for this. He's got to meet Sidney and pay his debt before much longer. "I do what I have to," he says stiffly. "Sit down. Shut up."
Heath scowls. "Don't pull this tight-lipped shit on me, Vanner. What happened today?"
Nice. Heath picked that moment to get all insightful. "Doesn't matter."
"Who'd you fight with? Why?"
Damn, but Heath doesn't know how to leave well enough alone, does he? "Doesn't matter," Vanner repeats, facing stubbornness with stubbornness. "I took care of what I needed to. That's all you need to know."
"Damn it, Vanner." Heath looks like he's ready to punch through the wall.
So Vanner does what he wanted to do anyway and what he figures is the best way to get Heath down off the ledge. He closes the distance between he and his twin, not pausing once to question his motives or let the rage slow him down. "Shut your mouth," he orders, and seizes Heath's taut cheeks between both his rough palms.
He pulls Heath to him, hard, and smashes their mouths together.
Oh... fuck. Doesn't matter how mad they are, it seems, for the slightly sickening lurch and the fast-following rush of lust to bowl Vanner over right away as they always have. His twin's mouth, hot and tight under his, becomes half of Vanner's world. The other half is tightening and swelling in his jeans.
Damn, but he's easy when it comes to Heath.
Vanner keeps up the kiss, determined to fight as long as he needs to. Takes some work. Heath's stiff as a plank at first, not moving arms, legs, or lips. Makes Vanner think he's trying to seduce a two-by-four.
When he tries licking Heath's lips to tease them open, he scores. If he's easy, then Heath is even more of a pushover once he's got that first spark alight. With a moan deep in his throat which still startles Vanner with its intensity and the power it has over him, Heath takes Vanner by the waist and yanks them tight together.
"We aren't done yet," Heath warns.
"I said hush," Vanner retorts and then shuts his twin up as best as he knows how, all hard presses of lips and clacking clash of teeth. Funny how things come to a man in the strangest of times, but he's reminded of something in particular he wanted to try to see if Heath liked. He shoves his hand behind Heath's head to support him and seizes Heath's lower lip between his teeth.
When he bites, Heath damn near hollers. He shudders, almost violent, and he opens his mouth wide for more. Vanner rubs their groins together just to make sure, gratified by what he finds and horny as fucking hell. The hard weight and pressure of Heath's solid cock charge his own bones with electric energy.
It's a blessing, and it helps Vanner forget -- for the moment -- what he's going up against later on that night, that he's planned this out in large part to spite Sidney.
He forgets all of that, because right now he's only thinking about Heath and the things he wants that long, lean body and hot, heavy cock to do to him.
Heath seems to sense this time is different. "Vanner," he mutters during each break for air. "What's gotten into you?"
Never can leave well enough alone, dang-blast him. "What do you think?" Vanner grabs himself two good, tight handfuls of Heath's ass and does a bump-grind that scrubs their cocks together. Lord, he loves the way Heath goes a little cross-eyed when he does that. It'll go to a man's head.
"Don't you start anything -- oh, fuck -- you don't plan to finish." Heath tips his head back, inviting Vanner to taste the toasty-tanned softness of his throat. "Are you?"
"Am I what?" Vanner mutters between hard sucking kisses on Heath's throat. Damn, but he loves this. Gotta be careful not to leave marks, though he'd like nothing better than to put his stamp of ownership on Heath. That'd be a big warning sign to Sidney Morocco. Heath is MINE and you can't have him.
"Mmm." Heath shivers, goose bumps popping up on his bare forearms. "You want me to say it?"
"You don't know how to keep quiet." Vanner pushes Heath back far enough to tug the hem of his twin's shirt out of his jeans. He starts hiking that shirt up, wanting and needing skin. "No plans on quitting this time."
When the shirt clears Heath's head, he looks gobsmacked. Lusty and eager, but stunned like he's been whopped in the head with the flat of an axe. "You're serious. You want to fuck?"
"Damn straight I do. Right now." Vanner works fast on Heath's jeans, shoving them off his hips. "Step out of those. Get on the bed."
Heath stares at him. "What's gotten into you?"
"Nothing, yet." Vanner does have to look away for a moment. This feels weird as hell to say, but Heath's got to have his words, doesn't he? Needs to hear things out loud. "In a minute, I plan on you getting in me."
Heath hisses, shocked-sounding. "You want me to fuck you?"
"That a problem?"
"Hell, no." Heath's ever so slightly cross-eyed. "Okay. Get naked, brother mine."
"Don't th
ink this means you can boss me all around, brat."
"I think you'd like taking orders if you gave it a chance."
Vanner flips Heath off and gets busy with the important matter of skinning out of his own loose shirt and jeans.
"I don't get a striptease?" Heath sits heavily on the cheap-ass, squeaky-springed bed and leans back on his hands. He's looking at Vanner the way a starving man looks at a steak house.
Pretty good for a man's ego. Vanner steps out of his jeans and stands in front of his twin naked as the day they both crawled out of the womb, but feeling nothing at all like a child. His cock's hard enough to bust rocks with and his balls are so full and heavy that they ache.
