LarryxLaurent Requests (Boyxboy)

You're meant for Me

The hotel room is filled with the clatter of two figures entering through the reinforced door. It slams into the lock behind them and the sound ricochets on the hard surfaces in the kitchenette. The stumbling of shoes on lament is muffled but unmistakable. The PVC catches and makes a squeak as he's pushed farther into the room he turns to face the person whose been fighting to cram them into thier room the minute the workshop got out.

Larry was usually ready to have time to himself after the over stimulation of being surrounded by fans. He was comfortable to stay for a while but it was odd for him to be so pushy about leaving the studio. All day he was shifty in his motions, distracted and at the same time over focused on his choreography. Every time he looked over to check on his brother's group, Laurent could see him worrying his bottom lip. He knew it was something between them, upon asking if he was okay Larry only shook his head. He knew he would hear about it once they were in private which is partially why he hadn't spoken up about what a tyrant his brother was being. He wanted to know what had his panties in such a twist.

"Damn, stop pushing!" he says, trying to piece together the expression, the posture, even the slow flex of Larry's fingers as he reaches out to him.

Larry ignores the complaint, and reaches for what he'd been staring a hole into for the last five hours. His fingers catch the flimsy, distressed hem of Laurent's shirt. That trashy piece of cloth that's barely a step above a rag. He hates it and he hates that such a trivial thing can get so entirely under his skin by simply existing. When given the chance Laurent enjoyed exploring his image. He had good looks, bad looks, very very bad looks and then there were style that had Larry questioning his sanity. This was an unsavory cocktail of all said looks. Initially there was nothing wrong with the outfit, the shoes were different but nothing to bat an eye at. The pants, a filthy shade of green, forgivable but green. He might have preferred them over Laurent's tighter pants had they been a diffrent shade. But that shirt. Innocent at a glance. Black, long sleeved, hiding his tattoos in a veil of night. Until he started dancing. The fabric clinged to his every movement and when it couldn't, the sunlight shinning through left nothing to the imagination. The length of his collar bones framed meticulously by the dark fabric.

The cross Larry had given him dangling on a line of silver. He loved that cross. The intention wasn't there initially but every time he saw it on his twin it gave him a sense of possession. A silent claim to his partner. Maybe that's how this whole thing has started. His self proclaimed ownership. The cheese clothe shirt was a threat to that.

Its very conception was born in sexuality and Larry was stirred even further when everyone else in the room seemed to be on the same page as him. People were always recording Laurent, he didn't have an issue with that. What he had an issue with was his brother dipping his hips, and sprawling himself out on the floor in what would make a better fishing net then a top. Letting others ogle what was ment for his eyes alone. He can't stand the thought of someone else seeing what he had to himself and this time he can't keep his jealousy under wraps. That slight figure, bounding about. Muscles framed in the soft folds of fabric. Every exchange between cells visible, every bead of sweat, every chill.

"You're never wearing this again" Larry's voice is firm but his brother merely replies with a frown. He never did like being told what he could and couldn't do especially not by his brother.

"Why?" There's genuine curiosity to his question, but he's clearly not about to take the command.

"It's ugly"

"Just because you don't like something I can't wear it?"

"Yes and you're not gonna wear it" His hold on the shirt tightens and he steps up to his twin, a strange hostility about his movement. Laurent is all too keen to it. He can feel the heat radiating from his twins body, his blood still pumping from the exertion of the workshop. His interest peeking. Laurent quirks a brow and snatches the beanie that's so precariously clinging to the top of Larry's head.