It is just cosplay

“It’s cosplay,” Adam says, lifting a foot and leaning back against the cushions to cross his legs, distracting Laurence, though very briefly, with the movement of his bare thighs. They are in the study after dinner. Fire crackles in the nearby hearth. The smell of books and antiquity hang heavily in the air. His lips part. “We can’t have it any other way.”

Laurence eyes his smirk for a moment and leans against the bookcase. He crosses his arms. “Cosplay huh,” he repeats in disbelief. “No make-up?”

“Are you disappointed?” Adam asks. His hair is held up from his face by a pair of blue hairpins.

Laurence shrugs with one shoulder. The way Adam is casually splayed on the armchair begs Laurence to give him a second look, and then another. The material of his skirt bunches up around the caps of his knees. He is wearing silk stockings. Laurence thinks they probably disappear somewhere where Adam’s hip meets his thigh.

He snorts. “Not really, but did you really have to wear that?” He asks. He is irritated and gestures vaguely. Adam only laughs, amused. “Yes,” he says, quiet as his face heats. “It creates the illusion of me being a girl.” He stands up and the skirt is longer than Laurence gives it credit for, longer than what suits his taste. He looks away.

“You look silly.” He says and rolls his eyes. “Like, like some little girl’s doll.” He misses the way Adam’s eyes widen and his cheeks color.

When he looks at Adam again, Adam is standing in the middle of the room. Laurence notices for the first time that he isn’t wearing any shoes. His gaze drifts from Adam’s calves to his face.

Adam tilts his head and says, simply, “We’re the same height. If I don’t wear any shoes then, at least I could be shorter by an inch. It will be easier for the both of us.” He smiles and holds out his hand.

Laurence doesn’t say he should be the one reaching out but he takes Adam’s proffered hand anyway. “Come on, let’s make this fast,” he mumbles.

Adam looks a little surprised. “You won’t learn anything if we rush this.”

“Since when did you learn how to dance anyway?” Laurence’s temper flares. Adam is too close and he smells too nice. The material of the dress is soft and silky. There is heat pooling at the pit of his stomach, it makes his blood restless.

“Just trust me,” Adam says, his lips a thin line. Laurence grits his teeth. “Arms up, no, Laurence, not like that.” He steps even closer and Laurence takes a step back.

“Are you okay?” Adam asks. He sounds like he wants to laugh. “Hey, you’re not supposed to do that, not yet.”

“Well you’re not supposed to do that, either!”

“Do what?” Adam moves closer and Laurence is invaded with the scent of lavender. He swallows thickly. The smell makes him sick, but in a funny way.

“Do—” he begins but falters. He holds up a finger to his temple. It’s getting late. “Let’s just do this already.” he says instead. “Ignore me.”

“Okay,” There is a smile dancing beneath the thickness of Adam’s eyelashes. “Whatever you say.” And he takes Laurence’s arm and places it —”That’s too low, Laurence.”

“Sorry, this is just stupid.” His cheeks heat up. He doesn’t usually fluster. He takes another step back. This is too much. “Adam, can’t we just hire somebody to teach —”

“Laurence,” Adam says placidly. He lets a hand rest comfortably along Laurence’s arm and pulls him close. “Relax.”

Laurence tries but fails perfectly. “Follow my lead,”

Laurence nods. He swallows. “Okay.” They fall into rhythm and Laurence stares at their feet. He follows the sway of a lacy hemline and the movement of Adam’s legs and knees with his eyes.

“Where’d you get the dress?” The material is soft underneath his fingertips. He grips the fabric firmly. It feels good when he rubs it between his thumb and forefinger.

“From mom’s closet.” Adam says. Laurence’s steps are becoming quicker and he tries to keep up. “Why?”

“It’s nice.” Laurence says. He sounds like he’s having trouble breathing. He looks up, sheepish. “Very nice.”

“Oh.” Adam says and he looks thoughtful for a moment. And then it happens. His eyes widen. “Oh.”

Laurence nods. The heat between his legs is unmistakable. He presses it against Adam’s thigh and lets one hand drift to stroke a stocking-clad leg.

“Thank you.” Adam swallows as Laurence’s hand begins to move.

“You’re welcome.” Laurence takes a step forward. Adam takes one, back. The bookcase meets the back of his arm. “It looks good on you.” The other hand on his hip slips inside the left stocking to cup at the back of his knee.

Adam’s face heats. “Savor it,” he says. Laurence’s proximity makes his pulse quicken. “I don’t like wearing dresses.”

Laurence smirks. He braces his arms against either side of Adam’s face. “You’re such a cliché,” Adam says with heavy-lidded eyes.

Laurence’s expression twists for a moment. “What?”

“Nothing,” And Adam shrugs. Laurence makes a thoughtful sound at the back of his throat and reaches under the skirt. He curves his hand, squeezes. Adam’s knees tremble. Laurence’s smirk deepens. “I like this,” he says and takes out his hand, damp. “Easy access.”

“Maybe.” Adam laughs but it is hoarse and he is leaning heavily against the bookcase. The ache between his legs increases. “But you’re always just horny.”

Laurence laughs too as he lifts Adam’s right leg and wraps it around his waist. “True.”

He peels the stocking off one leg and runs his thumb along Adam’s calf. Adam shivers. “Tease.” he tells him but the sound of his laugh is cut off as Laurence pushes his hips forward and kisses him.

Laurence’s tongue is wet and hot. His hands are inside Adam’s underwear and he is rubbing himself against Adam’s thigh, up and down and steady. Adam wants to feel Laurence pulse and push inside him but he does not want to beg though he is desperate for friction. His eyes drift towards the grandfather clock, and then the door.

“Did you lock the door?” He asks when Laurence pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth. “Laurence, hey, did you?” Laurence makes a noncommittal sound as he worries the skin of Adam’s lip. “Yes, no, can’t remember.” And he rubs some more as Adam moans some more.

They kiss again, sloppy. This time, Adam pulls Laurence close, arms loose around his shoulders. When Laurence grasps the back of his head and slides his tongue between his teeth, Adam’s arms tighten around him. Their hips move in a quick slow quick slow rhythm.

“You’re getting good,” Laurence says when they pull apart for air. His face is flushed and he runs a thumb along Adam’s swollen bottom lip. “You weren’t as good as when we started. Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“Yes, no,” Adam’s smile is amused and a half-smirk at the same time. “Maybe.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny.” Adam says and he pulls Laurence forward by his school tie. Laurence is starting to taste like the chocolate Adam had for dessert and he almost wants to laugh. Almost because Laurence’s fingers are slipping into him, slick and all sorts of wonderful and where did the lube come from anyway?

Adam pushes back against Laurence’s fingers and spreads his legs. “Laurence,” he whines but Laurence slides in deeper and, “Oh!” One of his hairpins is in danger of slipping off. Laurence tenderly brushes his hair back from his eyes. He bites his bottom lip to keep from crying out.

“You’re so pretty,” Laurence murmurs against his neck, tasting salt and smelling perfume. “Let me watch you stretch yourself on my fingers.” A kiss dabbles Adam’s ear and Laurence punctuates his statement by stepping back. His fingers are slipping out.

Times like this, it makes it easy to forget that this is sick and twisted and wrong. But Adam is too aroused and it is too ironic. He looks too much like Laurence but there is an unexpected heat that shoots up his spine when Laurence looks at him with heated eyes.

“Don’t,” he pleads and Laurence’s smirk makes another appearance. He pushes back against Laurence’s slippery fingers, legs parting further until the pulse between his legs intensifies. He bucks his hips, pushes up and down against Laurence’s fingers again. They brush against his prostate. When he lets out a strangled moan, Laurence dips his head down to lick the stripe of flesh on his neck.

“Are you stretched enough?”

“No, wait, not yet,” Adam’s voice is hoarse because he will come soon. Laurence steps closer and nudges his prostate with a finger. “Stretched enough,” Laurence says and smirks. When his fingers leave him, Adam lets out a whine. “Laurence,”

Laurence just pulls him forward for a kiss. “I don’t want to do this standing up. On the floor, Adam. In front of the fireplace.”

Adam nods. He walks stiffly and lies on the rug, on his back. “If my hair catches on fire—” Laurence kisses him to shut him up. “Don’t worry, I’ll put it out.”

Adam smiles against Laurence’s kiss. “Did you lock the door?”

“Yes, no,” Laurence says again as he peels off the other stocking. He runs the pads of his fingers against Adam’s sides and pulls down his underwear around ankles. “Maybe.”

Adam shakes his head, laughter bubbling. “Good enough.” he says. Laurence hurriedly undoes his trousers. “Let’s keep this,” he tells Adam before he kisses him. “I like it on you. You’re pretty. It’s pretty.”

“You like it on yourself,” Adam says but they’re both too aroused to think about it for too long.

Soon, Adam finds himself on all fours. His palms and knees burn against the carpet. Laurence lifts the material of the dress and lets it rest against the small of his back in a heap. Adam’s eyes widen. He thinks in shambles. Oh, oh. Oh. Laurence’s fingers are long and slick. Adam tries not to moan too loud.

“I’m stretched enough,” he half-screams, half-sobs and Laurence’s hand drifts to touch him there again, between the legs. He tugs and squeezes just as Adam chases the burn with his hips and meets Laurence with every stroke. “Please, Laurence.”

“Please what?”

“You know very well what!”

“I don’t.” Adam grits his teeth at Laurence’s immaturity. He wants him to beg. Fine.

“Take me, please.” It’s humiliating.

Laurence’s hand leaves him for a moment and Adam grits his teeth. When Laurence settles inside him, hot and slick and hard, he swallows heavily, eyes clenched shut. Laurence thrusts inside, smooth and slow. “All right?” he asks and Adam nods. Laurence grunts and they rock together, quick, quick, slow.

The push-pull movement of their hips makes Adam pulse between his legs. He touches himself but Laurence tells him to stop. “I want it to be all me. I want you to come because you love it when you’re wrapped around my cock.”

Adam’s face heats. Laurence is obscene. His heartbeat quickens. “Okay,” he says in a desperate whimper, eyes clenched shut as Laurence’s grip on his hips tightens. There will be bruises tomorrow. Laurence pulls halfway out then pushes all the way in. his movements are unhurried but Adam does not appreciate the pace.

“Laurence.”

Laurence groans out something even more obscene.

“Laurence.”

“I won’t do anything unless you say so.” Laurence’s voice, low, in his ear, teasing.

“Please!”

“No.” Laurence says as he smirks. The smirk dissolves though. Adam pushes back against him, flustered and wanton, frantic. He moans as Adam rests his full weight on his lap.

“Say it.” Laurence says, his voice an octave lower as he shoves Adam back onto his hands on the carpet. “It’s going to feel better if you do.”

Adam breathes heavily. He grits his teeth. Laurence pushes in tentatively and hits — “Fuck!” his eyes widen, then widen some more.

Laurence chuckles. “Now for the me part.” His hands reach under the skirt and find Adam’s arousal. He gives it an experimental stroke.

“Laurence,” Adam whimpers. His fingers are balled into fists. “Please, just, oh,.” There’s wetness in his eyes. “Fuck me already, Laurence. Hard and fast. I want it please!”

Laurence, smirks and concedes. He pistons in and out of Adam, watching himself disappear between his flushed upraised buttocks. He buries himself to the hilt and pulls out halfway before shoving his cock back in, making Adam groan and grit his teeth. Laurence grips the material of the dress, tighter and kisses Adam’s clothed back feverishly. Adam responds and says his name over and over again.

Heat builds at the pit of his stomach. Laurence wants to come alone at the site of his younger brother on his knees in a dress, his own cock wedged between the valleys of his buttocks, Adam wanton and waiting for completion. He rolls his hips and shoves himself deeper, faster.

“Adam,” he groans and Adam is trying to muffle his sob.

He rubs himself against the carpet. Later there will be a stain but he can’t care. Not right now when Laurence strokes his insides and the ache is building between his legs. Laurence’s fingers are quick and deft and in moments, Adam is saying things that he will most likely deny later on. He comes in Laurence’s hand and Laurence comes inside him, slumping against his back, filling him with trickling warmth.

He rolls off Adam much later and kicks his trousers off to lie on his back, next to Adam.

“I hate you sometimes.” Adam says and pushes him lightly on the shoulder. He is a little breathless. He feels sticky. Laurence’s fingers are unbuttoning the front of his dress. Laurence laughs. “You don’t hate me. It’s hard to hate me. I’m your twin.”

Adam rolls his eyes and laughs too. He’s going to be sore tomorrow. “You made me beg.”

“It’s not bad to ask for what you want, Adam.”

Adam is thoughtful for a moment. He sits up, winces slightly but Laurence’s arms come up to help him out of the dress. “Did I hurt you?”

Adam gives him a look. “Are you trying to be funny?” The dress is discarded. Laurence grins, sly, and kisses him on the cheek. “Oh, Adam!” he teases. “You’re the best brother ever. I know deep down you love me!” And he drapes himself over Adam, chin resting heavily against his breastbone as they lie on the carpet.

The fire’s almost dying. Adam runs his fingers through Laurence’s hair, movements gentle and soothing. Laurence curls like a little kitten in the crook of his arm, fingers resting against his clavicles.

“The dance party is tomorrow night.” He says thoughtfully. His gaze rests on the soiled dress lying in a heap in a corner. He’s tired, but barely. “Hey, Adam.”

“Hm?”

Laurence’s expression is brimming with childish mischief. His thumb drifts to rub listlessly against Adam’s left hip. He grins. “How much time do you think we have left to practice?”

Adam resists the urge to laugh. He rolls his eyes and flicks Laurence’s forehead. “Pervert.” But he rolls them over so he is leaning over Laurence now. Laurence smirks. He frees wisps of Adam’s hair from its hairpins and brushes back the strands from his eyes. “So is there more where this came from?” Laurence says and gestures vaguely to the getup.

Adam laughs. “Yes, no.” He shrugs, eyes sly. “Maybe.”