LOVE SCARS | Chapter 2 His first kiss

 By the time supper had finished up, we sprawled on the couch huddled close like pheasants. I can see Theodore's shoulders rise and fall as he breathes because his back is so firm against my chest. My arm slumped around his waist, counting how many seconds were in between the concave and expansion of his stomach. I kissed the back of his head. My face buried in an array of curls. I wasn't paying attention to Snow White playing in the background. But Theodore was emerged in the film. The film never appealed to me. The music had a nice vintage ambiance to it, but besides that, it was lackluster in my eyes. I brushed the nape of his neck with my lips. It was a subtle, dawdling peck, but he jumped at my abrupt action. Laughing, I blew air into his ear, so he slapped his hand onto his ear. 

"Prince, watch the movie." He said words coming out in a whisper yell. As if we were in a theater instead of our living room.

"I don't wanna. Give me attention." I whine back, pouting like a dispirited child.

Theodore turned in my arms, moving much closer to me. Shinning, content elating his features, then he brings his hand up to move a strand of my hair out of my face. "Okay, you have my attention."

I glanced at the TV screen for a few moments to catch Snow White accepting the poisoned apple. I peer back at Theodore as he's gorging on his bottom lip. When did he establish this habit? 

"Bambino quit that," I repeated, my tone stern, watching as his lips looked like they were going to bleed with how hard he was chewing. He pushed his little pink lip from his mouth. Lips swelled now, more plump than normal. I lift my thumb and stroke it across his bottom lip, enjoying the contrast between the places that were smooth or battered. "Your birthday is soon. Do you want to do anything special?"

Theodore tilts his head to the side, thinking about what I asked him. He sighs and pouts. "What I want, Papa, will not allow it. He's treating my eighteen birthday like this colossal event." voicing his frustration. Repeatedly, he tucks his bottom lip into his mouth, masticating the flesh. And again, I had to warn him to please fucking quit that shit.

I remember Papa saying something about having a huge gathering for Theodore's birthday. The people there would be our Papa's colleagues and their children. Papa was strict with Theodore. No friends, no social media, straight home after school, no leaving anywhere without the location on, homework must be done, piano lessons to take, and language courses to be had.

Drawing his body closer to mine. "We'll run away for your birthday and do whatever you wish. Turning eighteen is something special, so you should spend the day how you choose."

This made him smile, beaming as bright as the San Francisco lights. "Really?"

"Yes, Bambino."

"So we can do anything I want?" That's what I just said.

"Anything that my Bambino's heart desires."

His eyes lit up even further. At this point, they went from busy city bright to a constellation, star blinding. Gleeful giggles poured out of his mouth into the surrounding space. "Well, I'll have to think about what I want to do."

Papa will have my head after Theodore's birthday. He shouldn't have to spend his special day around strangers who would fake a smile, pretending to care about his existence just to get into my father's good graces. Such social climbers were trying to get closer to our Papa and for papa this probably was more of a business thing, to make connections, and introduce Theodore to people who may become important to him in the business we run. Right, Theodore had a normal life as normal was for us. But one day Theodore would be a part of the things we do.

Our family worked in the criminal world–moving drugs, selling weapons, and sometimes doing human trafficking. I never really liked that part. Kidnapping and selling people was too much for me–that was more of Papa's and Lucas's thing.

Theodore's attention went back to Snow White. I snuggled my face in the crook of Theodore's neck and kissed his skin. My hand on his waist–I pulled him as close to me as possible. My hands needed to be on my brother at all times, in a way I'm safe with him around. This calmness that washed over me in waves had me floating on top of Theodore's world, a place where he only let me enter when I needed that escape from life.

"Prince?" Theodore whispered my name.

 "Yes, Bambino?"

"You kiss others all the time, right?" While it came out as nervous and inquisitive, it had this hidden undertone to it. As if I was reading a Stephen King novel seeing what's on the page but missing the subtext.

"Why do you ask?"

I look at the flat-screen television just in time for Prince Charming to kiss Snow White to wake her up with "true love's kiss".

"Because I want to feel what it's like to kiss," he says, glancing longingly at the scene before him.

I look at the flat-screen television just in time for Prince Charming to kiss Snow White to wake her up with "true love's kiss".

"Because I want to feel what it's like to kiss," he says, glancing longingly at the scene before him.

I reached over to the coffee table in front of us, grabbed the remote to pause the movie, and sat it back down. Clearly, this was going to be one of those moments. Theodore pushed me onto my back and awkwardly climbed on top of me. He stared me down. His baby blue eyes had a challenging look in them. Daring me to move or deny him.

I smiled up at him, saying, "I kiss you all the time, don't I?" Mock, confusion coating my features.

"On my forehead. I want you to kiss me on my lips."

"But that means I'll be your first kiss, Bambino. And I don't think you want your big bro to be your first."

"On my forehead. I want you to kiss me on my lips."

"But that means I'll be your first kiss, Bambino. And I don't think you want your big bro to be your first."

Theodore lowers his face closer to mine without an ounce of hesitation. "I want you to."

Shit. Those four words lit ablaze in my chest. This kiss was sudden. It was clumsy. Premature and sloppy. His lips balter against mine. He wanted to be in control, so I let him–to not scare him away. If I was in control, I would have been more aggressive, needy, and demanding. I would have devoured him whole insatiable greed.

My brother pulled away, catching his breath. His cheeks flushed a hefty pink. The bit of color complimented his skin.

"H-How did I do?" He asked, scratching the back of his neck.

 "You get an E for effort." His brows scrunched together as if trying to process my statement. It wasn't horrible, but there was room for improvement.

Again, there was that habit of him tucking his bottom lip into his mouth and chewing. I stroke the top of his head, giving his hair a quick ruffle. "It's your first time, Bambino. Not everyone is good their first time around."

He nodded, moving off me like he wanted to leave but needed to stay. Theodore stood on his feet, stretching, his shirt pulling up a bit, exposing his soft flat belly that was perfect for a firefly flurry of kisses. I grabbed my brother, setting him down on my leg. He wouldn't look at me. His eyes stayed fixed on the wooden floor. I wondered if I was too blunt with him. When Theo was younger, our interactions included extensive banter, but as we grew apart, he became less playful. Every word leaving his mouth calculated, no longer carefree and confident.

"You're not upset, are you?" I asked him softly.

"How did you get good at kissing?" he asked.

"Practice," I said. "Kissing plenty of people." That familiar feeling of sin crept in when confessing my heavily liberated sexuality with my brother.

"Then can you practice more with me?" He finally looks at me. I should say no. Theodore and I had been treading a fragile minefield these past few years. Every touch becomes replacing innocent exploration with delicate tenacity. I knew this thing between us was becoming less of a flicker in a fireplace and more of an all-consuming forest fire.

"Anything for you Bambino."

It was late at night when we were in Theodore's bedroom. He was getting older and so were the things in his room. The stuffed animals still decorated his bed, but far less than I remembered. Legos still perfectly organized and attended to. The bedroom containing modernized tech, a crafting section, and a miniature library built into the bay window. I hadn't been in his space for so long–I forget he was no longer a little kid who needed a nightlight or for me and my twin brother to check underneath his bed and in his closet for monsters. You grew up before I even realized it, Theodore.

"It's been ages since we did this." my brother said. He spread out some books on his bed. "Which should I read to you tonight?"

I looked through the diversity of books. All of them were children's books with bright and colorful illustrations. I picked one and handed it to Theodore. He got comfortable, resting his back against the headboard, and I lay my head on his lap. He reads the first page of "The Juniper Tree" by The Brothers Grimm.

For a split second, I'm taken back to when Theodore was seven years old and was just learning how to read. Every day, he would pester me to let him read to me. He was learning how to read, so he tripped over words, becoming frustrated with himself. "Relax, Bambino sound out the word."

We hadn't done this in so long it made me miss him reading to me and it also made me feel bad about the lack of quality time I was neglecting to spend with him.

Theodore never hated me for it. Though sometimes I wish he did.

Theodore's voice is smooth, soothing, and light. I liked how it wrapped around me, tucking me into the safest place. Mostly when Theodore spoke, he spoke with care, choosing which words he'd use and not use. He had to be careful with his speech. Our Papa expected more from him, so he had to say the right thing. He's too soft. Prince, you baby your brother so much he's become helpless. Papa would always tell me.

I liked soft Theodore, how he was careless around me when we were together, liked how he said my name like it, like it was his primary source of pride. How it dripped from his tongue like honey. Theodore was my haven, my safety on the bad days when I'd lose myself.