
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4300761.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      No_Archive_Warnings_Apply, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Richard_Brook/Jim_Moriarty
  Character:
      Richard_Brook, Jim_Moriarty
  Additional Tags:
      Twincest, Twins, Richard_Brook_Was_Real, Abusive_Parents, Running_Away,
      Mildly_Dubious_Consent, Dubious_Morality, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Anal
      Sex, Oral_Sex, Shower_Sex, Fluff_and_Angst, Fluff_and_Smut, Fluff,
      Domestic
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-09 Words: 2907
****** The Dichotomy Paradox ******
by MartianSquid
Summary
     From time to time, Richard reflects on his life with Jim. It's not
     perfect, but he's never known anything else.
Notes
     "That which is in locomotion must arrive at the half-way stage before
     it arrives at the goal."
     Note: the "Underage" tag is because there are flashbacks to when
     Richard and Jim were 16. By law, not the age of consent, but they
     were consciously consenting.
There are days James Moriarty sleeps in. Getting him to go to sleep at all is a
hassle, and when he inevitably pushes past his own limits, he’ll pass out. But
it is a gift if it lasts more than 6 uninterrupted hours. 
On those days, when Jim is down and out until noon or so, Richard Brook was
treated to the very rare sight of his brother without a scowl on his face.
Waking up to him, without his hair slicked back, without his suits, Richard can
almost recognize him as a reflection. With 99.99% (repeating) of the same DNA,
they supposedly share a face. 
However, Jim did so much to distance that negligible gap, he’s infinitely far,
while still being within Richard’s grasp. Both laying on their sides, he
reaches out, fingers lightly caressing over his brother’s frame, covered only
by a thin sheet (Richard prefers to wear pajamas, Jim sleeps naked), almost
vulnerable…
And then Richard saw creases begin to form on Jim’s forehead — the distant
rumble of a storm coming up on the horizon. Every sense told him its coming,
and he can’t help but dread the most certainly foul mood. Didn’t matter if it
was “morning” by technical standards, Jim wasn’t a “waking up” sort of person. 
As Jim blinked awake, Richard took that intervening moment to reflect: he
doesn’t understand how his life got this way. It wasn’t the worst life, and
could be quite joyful at times. But even happy moments were tinged with pity,
worry, and fear. 
Born in Dublin, half of a set of twins, he and James grew up together, most of
their time spent avoiding their alcoholic father. Sometimes it was fun, he
could pretend he and James were playing hide-and-seek, stowing away in
cupboards, trees, even under the floorboards. 
They once shared a disposition, sweet, tender, kind. But when they were found
(if their father was in a mood), for whatever reason, it was a little less
awful on Richard. 
Maybe it was because he was younger by a few minutes, but their father seemed
to baby Richard, while blaming Jim for a lot of his problems (most
predominantly, while shouting, that their mom had abandoned them all shortly
after his birth). Jim had suffered so much more it crushed the light out of
him. Acid thrown over a candle to ensure it’d never burn again. Richard traced
over a single scar on Jim’s right arm from a nasty incident with kitchen
shears.
In fact, it left such a lasting impression on James that the second he turned
eighteen, he swapped his last name to his mother’s maiden name, and preferred
going by a nickname. A final nail in the coffin of any relation to the boy who
just took his abuse.Or so Jim had said. 
Richard stayed who he was.
Some days, he felt like a vampire. One that had absorbed the goodness in Jim,
living it out in eternal youth of mind. 
Shutting out memory lane, Richard gave his best smile as Jim’s eyes fixated on
him: almost always, his brother was the first thing he saw upon waking; Richard
tried to make it the best. Involuntarily (or maybe it’s how he really felt, it
was hard to be sure), Jim gave a genuine smirk back, showing off his pointed
fangs, hand finding its way to his twin’s waist, “Morning.” 
He lived in London these days, had for almost twenty years now. “Good morning.”
Richard returned, voice soft, “Sleep well?”
“No, but waking was nice.” Jim shifted forward, pressing their lips together. A
bit of affection, something they both enjoyed, shamefully or not. Richard’s arm
curled around Jim’s neck, their bodies winding together seamlessly. 
When he was sixteen, he and James discovered what sex was. Together, of course
— back in those days, they did everything together. Not long after, they ran
away from home. Richard occasionally wonders if there’s a connection.
Jim broke off the kiss, lightly pushing Richard away as he laid a lingering one
on his forehead, “I’ve got work to do.” He murmured, standing on unsteady legs
— the “shimmery” feeling Jim gets in his knees is one of the only reminders
Richard has that his brother actuallystill wants him — and lumbering over to
the bathroom, “But I’ll be around.” He called over his shoulder, punctuating it
with the start of the shower. 
Jim hadn’t closed the door behind him. A silent invitation, but one that could
easily be ignored — Jim would never ask for anything directly, because Richard
would be forced to say yes. Not that he didn’t want to, but he felt secure that
he always had the choice. A choice he kept making. 
The younger twin balled up on the bed, giving his brother a few minutes to wake
properly before going to join him.
Richard was an actor. Moderately successful, it’s a job that at least makes him
happy. He hadn’t always wanted to be one, but had since he was ten. Close
enough to always, as Jim would say.
Close to twenty years ago, James said London would be the best place for
opportunities. For both of them. 
He was right, he always was, but at what cost?
Often, Richard tried his best to rehearse lines at the studio. When he can’t,
he does so quietly at home, not wanting to disturb Jim at all. Interrupting a
“business” call seemed unwise (he’d never done it before, and he never wanted
to. His older twin often told him any identifying information he could give
away could very be the death of both of them), and he didn’t want to invite his
brother’s ire, especially not when he was in a “work” head space.
What exactly Jim did for a living, Richard didn’t investigate too in-depth. He
wasn’t stupid — it was all illegal, whatever it was. Strange, thuggish-yet-
well-spoken men, covered in blood, would come into their flat, and Richard was
instructed never to let them see him. 
Richard figured violence, murder, heists, the general schlock he’d see in
gangster movies, and perhaps something greater. How Jim entered into it, he
wasn’t sure, but knew his brother could never hurt a living thing. Not after
what they’d been through. But by proxy? Maybe. His brother had an endless
powder keg of anger and despair.
But they always had money in excess, so Richard didn’t complain. Just worried.
Jim was brilliant, yet had a reckless impulse. Didn’t sleep, forgot to eat,
burned things just to see them fizzle out and turn black.
Finally, hearing a muffled click of the shampoo bottle, the younger twin got
up. Awake enough to carry out basic functions, awake enough for company. He
sheds his t-shirt and pajama pants as he walks over, tossing them into the
laundry, always feeling exposed, even walking ten steps to the master bathroom.
He knocked at the ajar door, simply to warn his brother of his coming, not
waiting for a response before walking in. The shower curtain was pulled back a
body’s width, steam puffing out of it. Literally a warm welcome.
Richard steps in, Jim standing under the stream, head poking out as his arms
lazily lathered up his hair. Again, the younger brother feels a tug, one
reminding him of how much he preferred Jim like this. Cleansed. No masks. How
they were supposed to be.
He mirrors his motions, dipping his head in to wet his tresses before squirting
soap in his hand. Jim waits until Richard has caught up, and they begin again
at the same point. They watch each other with the same dark brown eyes. 
As Richard’s hand rises, so does Jim’s. As Jim accidentally gets suds in his
eye, so does Richard. They both scratch at the same spots. They embrace as they
rinse, tilting their heads back. 
The water runs off them in the same trickles. They blink flecks of liquid out
of their lashes. They kiss languidly, skin heated by the shower. 
Richard’s stomach drops as Jim’s palm runs down his stomach, stroking his cock,
remnants of the soap still on his hand. Such an easy glide, so efficient of
technique, Richard moaned into Jim’s mouth, gripping at his shoulders to keep
from keeling over. Years of practice, their bodies so in sync, they were
masters of the other’s. 
But one of the few areas where they differed is that Jim liked to draw it out.
Liked when they were both whining messes by the end of it, desperately clinging
at the end of their ropes together, over a chasm of pleasure, just daring the
other to fall first. 
Richard was more of a hedonist: if he had it his way (which he sometimes did),
they’d both get off quickly, but multiple times. Quantity over quality, with
lots of cuddling in between.
Jim let go, hands finding his brother’s hips and rotating him over. Richard’s
hands found the rail, steadying and bracing himself, resting his cheek against
the cool, tiled wall. The cascade of droplets was repositioned lower, hitting
just below his knees.
Outside of his vision, Jim was retrieving the lubricant from the cabinet beside
the shower. A telltale pop of the cap told Richard to relax. He closed his
eyes, and the pad of a finger began rubbing tantalizing circles around his
hole. 
For whatever reason, when he focused on soothing himself, he thinks of their
first time. Which is odd, if he had to ascribe any one emotion to that event,
it was nervous. 
 
It was a particularly bitter December. They’d turned sixteen in October, but
things didn’t feel much different. Well, not for Richard, anyway.
 
A full digit wormed its way in, Richard breathed. 
 
But it was clear something had in Jim. After school, Richard would be in drama
class, and didn’t ask what Jim did in the meantime with his friends (he avoided
going or being home alone). 
 
A second began to nudge at his entrance, but it hadn’t hurt in a while. Why was
he still so apprehensive? It couldn’t really be about morals, it was far too
late for that.
 
They had walked home together, hand-in-hand in the slush, a light flurry
caressing their faces. Before that day, holding each other was as far as they’d
taken things. Richard wasn’t even certain there had been more than familial
love, though he’d always feltstrangewith Jim. 
Something entirely different than how he had loved their mother.
 
“Still okay, my love?” Jim’s lips were close to his ear, voice the epitome of
comforting. He gives his hip a reassuring squeeze. He can still say no. 
Richard nods his head clumsily, cheeks beginning to flush with want, “Yeah-
huh.” 
 
It was still daytime. Their father was absent. He’d do that sometimes,
disappear for a week. Either spent all his at his job, or a pub, passed out in
his room, or somewhere else, the brothers didn’t really care. It was a moment
of respite.
They’d holed up in Jim’s room, splayed out across his galaxy printed sheets.
The stereo was playing Frank Sinatra. 
 
“I love you.” Jim murmured, beginning to thrust in and out, scissoring his
fingers slightly. 
“I love you, too.” Richard replies, glad most of his face was pressed into the
wall, hiding that mixture of pain and pleasure, but also thankful he wouldn’t
betray just how devastatingly touching it was whenever Jim would say that. He
never said it to anyone else, even their parents. 
 
Richard had been reading a school assignment — something by Edgar Allen Poe,
but imperfect memory had robbed him of the exact title. That, and he never
managed to make it to the end. 
Laying side-by-side, Jim rolled over, plastering his body flush over Richard’s.
All of him. Their faces met, foreheads, lips. Their first kiss sent an electric
current through them, beginning in Jim’s toes, transferred where they
connected, crawling down Richard’s spine.
 
Jim kissed across Richard’s shoulder blades, a scratch of stubble teasing at
his nerves. He shivered in response, the chill of not being covered in water a
stark contrast to the heat pooling in his belly. His brother’s free hand kept
an anchoring grip on his hip bone, keeping Richard tethered to the feelings,
both pleasurable and uncomfortable. 
 
“J-James, what was that?” Richard whispered, breathless as they came up for
air.
“A kiss. Obviously.” James grinned, his gaze like a keen hawk, looking for any
sign of disgust. 
“I know, but… we’re brothers?” It came out more like a question than an
opposition. Because Richard liked it, no use in denial for the sake of being
socially acceptable when they were alone. But he’d always been told about —
what was the phrasing? — “the dangers of incest.” Or perhaps it was “the sin of
vanity.”
Because what could be more vain than being sexually attracted to yourself?
 
A third finger had joined the others, and Richard felt very full. Good, in an
abstract way, just knowing it was Jim doing this to him, but the merciless
tease was absolutely refusingto touch his prostate or return his hand to his
cock. 
Regardless of this intentional neglect, Richard was still impossibly hard,
aching from what little friction he got as he was shoved against the barely-
warmed tiles, “Please, Jim…” He finally pleaded, knowing that was what he
wanted. 
 
“We’re not ‘brothers.’” James protested. 
“We’re- we’re not?” Richard was very confused, taking his words at face value,
head still spinning from the onset of passion.
“We’retwins,it means we share a soul.” He always had an eloquent tongue,
“Shouldn’t we share a body as well?”  
 
Ah. Perhaps the most poignant line. One that will always stick out. Maybe
that’s why Richard reflects on it often. 
“‘Please,’ what?” Jim cooed, but crooked his fingers in sympathy. Richard
immediately sobbed, followed by the slow slide of the fingers out. 
“No- Jim, please!” He’d given up all attempts at being coy, the feeling of
being left, gaping open, unfulfilled, even for a moment, was unbearable. 
 
“We were one sperm, and one egg. Then, for thirty minutes, we were one cell…
then we split into two. We should correct that mistake.” The words flowed from
him so easily, like they were rehearsed. Except Jim always had that kind of
casual air about him. Like everything was so effortless.
Besides. What he said made a sort of sense. “Oh… I guess I never considered
that part.” It wasn’t a hard sell. They were both sixteen, hormonal,
developing, and only close with each other. General unreleased sexual energy
filled in whatever gaps were left. 
 
But Jim could be kind. Less than a second later, his stance widened to give him
good balance, his cock was lined up, slick with a generous amount of lube,
breaching into his twin. Richard let out a choked moan, toes curling at the
smooth flooring. 
Jim was gasping behind him, giving them both a moment to settle before moving.
A shudder ran through them. An echo of that first kiss, a physical reminder
that they were one, fused to form a living circuit of blood and tissue. 
 
It was the first time, so they weren’t quite sure of what to do. They kissed
for a long time, rutting against each other fully clothed. 
Gradually, they lost their shirts, socks, trousers, pants, until they were
bare. Something they hadn’t seen since they were kids and stopped bathing
together. Despite essentially looking at what they already had, it was
affecting. 
 
It must’ve been a relatively busy morning, as (by Jim’s standards) it didn’t
last long. The air was filled with sounds of hard breathing, only punctuated by
desperate moans and Richard’s occasional beg of, “harder.”
The hand at his hip curls around his cock, and begins jerking with purpose. 
 
The end result was made much less ambiguous when Jim began working Richard into
full hardness. Richard squirmed, gripping at the sheets. But not as hard as
when Jim crawled down his body, burying his face between his legs. 
 
Richard’s body tenses and tenses, until he’s nearly squeezed into a
singularity. It all released at once, a breaking of a dam. He groans, eyes
rolling to the back of his head as everything whites out.
Behind him, he can feel Jim’s body overlay with his, a small rush of liquid
flooding him. Beautiful.
 
He’d come embarrassingly quickly, screaming into James’ hand that’d clamped
over his mouth. 
They rested a moment, letting Richard catch his breath. His brother lightly
stroked his hair, which had become lightly mussed and curled with sweat,
looking at him with adoring eyes. Richard hadn’t felt anywhere near as loved as
he did in that moment. 
Moments later, Richard returned the favor.
 
Richard was brought back to reality by a shifting, by feeling empty. Jim had
slid out of him, aiming the shower head at his lower back, the familiar rush of
sticky being washed down the drain.
He shivered, turning around slowly on orgasm-weak legs, pressing chest-to-chest
for support. Jim humored him a moment, tucking his chin over Richard’s
shoulder, hugging him loosely, “I have to get out now.”
“Okay.” Richard nods, hearing, feeling as the water is shut off. The curtain is
pulled back and a towel dabs at him lightly, then encircles him. Jim leaves
shortly after, but Richard stays, not wanting to walk away from whatever
feeling remained.
It is an intimacy that could be shared by very, very few.
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