fic: Nessun Dorma

[rubberbutton]

Title: Nessun Dorma
Words: 3,700
Pairing: Michael/Gob
Summary: Sequel to Tanto Amore Segreto, but can stand alone. Michael struggles to accept his attraction to Gob.
Rating: MA/NC-17/Adult
Warning: Incest.

Gob arrived in the Bluth Company parking lot in relatively high spirits. He’d just had a gig and, though small, it had gone well. Sure, he’d lost the dove in the second illusion, but the audience had loved it. And normally five-year-olds were such a tough crowd.

He felt confident he was well on his way back to being president of the Magicians’ Alliance. Leaning the Segway against a convenient wall with some finagling, he went in search of Michael. He needed to ask his brother for the use of their father’s car. Normally he would have taken the car without going through the hassle of asking Michael for a favor, but his brother had begun taking the keys with him and Gob’s lock-picking efforts had failed.

In fact, Gob had managed to permanently jam a paper clip into the lock and from then on the family would be obliged to climb through the passenger side. Just as well, as Gob’s hotwiring attempts would have gone even worse.

He whistled as he rode up in the elevator and emerged with a flourish, but the receptionist didn’t even look up. Gob kept up his jaunty stride, however, breezing past her into Michael’s office. But even that entrance was ruined—Michael’s office was empty.

“Where’s Michael?” Gob demanded of the secretary, hanging out of the doorway.

She still refused to look at him but said curtly, “Mr. Bluth is out of the office.”

Gob took a seat on the edge of her desk. “I’m a Mr. Bluth, too, you know.”

She tried to work a sheet of paper out from under him and he shifted to entrap the paper more firmly.

“Of course,” she agreed neutrally.

Gob wished Kitty was still working here. She may have been annoying and bat-shit crazy, but at least she was easily impressed. He liked that in a girl.

“So do you know where he went?” he purred.

“I’m sorry, no.” She didn’t sound the least bit sorry. “Nor do I know when Mr. Bluth will be back. Excuse me.”

“You’re ex-cused,” Gob grumbled, taking himself off the desk.

Gob was about leave when he remembered that he’d been meaning to pick up some office supplies and stepped into the supply closet where he made a discovery.

“Michael!” Gob cried, delighted to be save the effort of going to the Model Home to look for his brother.

“Oh, Gob,” Michael yelped, his pitch high and strangled.

Gob failed to notice Michael’s discomfiture. “Your receptionist is crap—she told me you were ‘out of the office.’” Gob’s face twisted in an exaggerated expression of annoyance, but he recovered quickly. “So what are you doing hiding in here?”

Michael was hiding from Gob. After they’d accidentally had not-sex, he’d felt it was best to minimize their time together.

“I, uh, just needed some...pens.” Michael grabbed a box off the shelf and held them up to illustrate.

“Hey, me too!” Gob was please by the coincidence and reached for the carton. Michael flinched, dropping the pens which spilled across the floor, rolling under the shelves and into corners.

“Dammit,” Michael swore, dropping to his knees and scrambling after the scattered pens.

Gob followed, collecting the pens and stashing them away into his pocket. “Actually, there was something I needed to ask you—is that a new shirt? It’s a really good color on you.”

The shirt was white.

“What do you need, Gob?”

“Now that you mention it, I could use a favor. Can I get the keys to the car?”

“Definitely not. There’s still smoke damage from the last time you had the car.”

“I’ll be careful,” Gob protested. “I’ve got a date and I can’t take her out on the Segway—come on!”

“You’ve got a date?” Michael asked.

Michael was surprised; Gob’s romantic life usually consisted of ill-advised one-night stands and call-girls. Encounters as formal as dates were a rarity. Michael felt the insidious sting of jealousy but realized anything that drew Gob’s amorous attentions away from him could only be a good thing.

“Yeah. Her name’s Crystal. She saw one of my shows and totally digs magic.”

Michael tried to find words. “That’s...great. Really, really great. It’s good that you’re getting out there, playing the field, finding other fish in the sea.” He playfully punched Gob in the arm, landing a blow powerful enough to force Gob back a step and make him rub his arm.

“Uh. Thanks. So I can have the car?”

Michael swallowed, fidgeting with the knot of his tie. “Sure, why not?” He fished the keys out of his pocket and handed them over. “Be careful. Use protection.”

“What? Like a seatbelt?”

“I was thinking more like condoms,” Michael suggested. “You have no idea where this girl has been, Gob. What kind of diseases she’s picked up. This area is rife with herpes.”

“Gee, thanks for the public service announcement, Michael.” Gob got to his feet and Michael did the same, the half-empty package of pens still in hand. “But I think I know my way around the block—I’ve been on these mean streets a lot longer than you have.”

“Right,” Michael said, with what should have been sarcasm but came out clipped and edgy. “Have fun.”

“Sure, Mikey and thanks.” Gob exited, leaving Michael alone in the supply closet.

Michael had some severe misgivings about his brother’s date. He hadn’t always maintained such an interest in Gob’s romantic dealings, but since their intimate encounter a week prior, he found himself disturbingly preoccupied with the women Gob pursued. The sleazy, skanky, no-good whores.

* * * * *

Michael was in bed but still awake when his phone rang. He’d gone to bed hours earlier, but found himself staring at the ceiling. He found his phone, the ring irritatingly loud in the silence of the house.

“Michael Bluth,” he answered automatically.

“Michael.”

“Gob?”

“Michael,” Gob repeated.

“Gob!” Michael sandwiched the phone between his shoulder and ear. “What is it?”

“A huge mistake has been made.”

“What did you do?”

“It really wasn’t my fault,” Gob complained. “I didn’t say it was my mistake.”

“Gob. It’s always your mistake.”

There was a long and ominous pause on the line. “The car is kind of totaled.”

“Totaled,” Michael said faintly.

“Little bit, yeah.”

“Are you okay? What happened?” Michael demanded.

“I was leaving Crystal’s—”

“Yeah? How did that go? You going to see her again?”

“Way to stay focused, Michael.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Michael said, chastened.

“I’m okay. But the car’s—”

“A little totaled, I know. How? How did the car get totaled?”

Gob took a deep breath. “There was a one-way street—poorly marked, I might add. I swerved but a streetlight got in the way. And who plans these things, anyway?”

“You ran into a streetlight?”

“That would be a yes, and I need you to come pick me up in the Stair Car.”

“Of course you do.” Michael scrubbed his face tiredly with his hands. “I’ll be right there. Where are you?”

It didn’t take Michael, still in his PJs, very long to find Gob’s accident. The car was more than ‘a little totaled.’ Skid marks up a sharp embankment ended with the car wrapped around the base of the streetlamp, its hood crumpled like a soda can. Michael felt panic constrict his throat seeing the extensive damage and he struggled to remind himself that Gob had already said he was fine. Unless he’d discounted some wound as minor but now was bleeding out in the ditch. Or he could have ruptured an internal organ—

“Mikey!”

Michael’s macabre train of thought was abruptly derailed by Gob’s greeting. Gob looked awful; blood dripped from a cut above his eye along the side of his face. It stained his shirt, clashing garishly with pink polo. He was walking, though, and that had to be a good sign.

Michael aborted the hug Gob initiated, holding his brother at arm’s length to continue his inspection. “God, are you okay?”

Gob shrugged sheepishly. “Sure.” He gingerly probed the cut above his eye. “Looks worse than it is.”

“It looks really bad.”

“Not as bad as the car,” Gob pointed out.

“Guess we’re all back in the Stair Car for awhile.” Michael’s voice hardened now that he’d ascertained his brother wasn’t dead or dying. “You always do this, Gob. Any privilege and you drive it into the ground—or the nearest light pole, in this case. Every time.”

Gob’s face fell. “It wasn’t my fault—the road wasn’t marked.”

“Sure, it wasn’t.”

Actually, Gob was correct. No, really. Earlier in the week George Michael, at Maeby’s prompting, had stolen the sign as a prank. He’d been assured that the city kept careful track of these things and his tax dollars would finally be put to use. But the city wasn’t keeping track and George Michael’s tax dollars were currently being spent on a city beautification projects that included a sculpture garden at City Hall.

“It’s the truth! When have I ever lied to you?”

“You lie to me constantly,” Michael countered.

“I do not!” Gob lied.

“I use the car to get to and from work, as I am the responsible one. You take the car for one night to take some harlot—“

Harlot?

“—out and crash it so now I’m stuck with broken bicycle chains and hop-ons. This is so like you; I don’t even know why I’m surprised.” Michael pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath as he struggled for composure. “I’ll call the tow truck.”

They took seats on the stairs awaiting the truck, which took its sweet time getting there. The injured streetlamp flickered and buzzed above them.

They sat in silence, which Gob finally broke. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

Michael glanced over, lost at the seeming non sequitur.

“You said I crashed the car chasing ass. But I didn’t fuck her.” Gob shrugged. “Could have, but didn’t.”

“Oh.”

“I kinda wanted to,” Gob brought his hands up in front of his chest. “Great knockers. But I just...couldn’t. So I left and on the way back crashed the fucking car.”

Michael felt guilty about his earlier outburst. “Gob, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did. It’s okay, I usually deserve it.”

Michael was taken aback by his brother’s contrition. “I’m not sure if it’s the concussion talking or what, but, hey...” He clapped Gob on the back.

The tow truck finally arrived and Michael left Gob while he wrangled with the tow guy, who wasn’t happy about having to retrieve the car at two in the morning. The car was removed and on its way to the shop to ascertain whether it was worth saving or it would be cheaper to buy a new one.

Gob sat glumly, his chin propped on his hand as Michael returned from watching the recovery.

“We should get you checked out at the hospital. You could have some serious injuries,” Michael said.

“Nah. I’m fine. I feel great.”

“You look like the victim in a slasher film.” Michael traceds the cut on Gob’s brow.

“Really, I’m—ah!” Gob winced. “It stings when you poke it.”

Michael considered the wound. “At least it’s stopped bleeding. Better let me clean it up some though.”

Gob batted at Michael’s hand, trying to pull away.

“Stop that,” Michael ordered. “I think the Stair Car has a first-aid kit.”

Michael rummaged around under the front seat, finally producing a battered first-aid kit. Gob sat in the passenger’s side, legs hanging out the door while Michael stood, trying to use the light from the abused streetlight to patch is brother up. He wiped at the dried and flaking blood with a small antiseptic-soaked towelette, manageing to remove most of the blood and smear the rest around.

“Hang on,” he warned Gob, taking Gob’s chin in his hand to tilt his head. Gob pulled away from the Bactine sting, but Michael held him still and blew on the cut gently afterward. “There,” he said, applying a large Band-Aid. “All better.”

“I’m not a child, Michael. Oh, are there any Band-Aids with cartoons on them? I hate the beige ones.”

“Sorry, no.” Michael poured a couple of pain-killers into Gob’s palm. “Take these.”

Gob dry-swallowed them. “Thanks, Mikey.” He smiled brightly.

“No problem. Let’s get you home.”

They rode in silence on the way to the docks where Gob still lived on the Seaward II. Michael parked the Stair Car and cut the ignition.

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital? You could have a concussion.”

“Please—this isn’t any worse than the time I fell out the second story window at George Michael’s fifth birthday party.”

“He was ten,” Michael corrected. “And you really did have a concussion.”

“Did I?” Gob rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I don’t really remember it.”

Michael studied his brother, looking dubious. “You probably shouldn’t go to sleep for the next few hours.”

Michael was torn between his desire to make sure his brother was okay and his desire for his brother.

“No problem,” Gob got out of the car, bracing himself with a forearm after staggering woozily.

Michael sighed and got out of the car. He took Gob’s arm, steadying him up the plank to the ship. “I’m only staying long enough to make sure you don’t slip into a coma and die.”

“Fair enough,” Gob agreed, half collapsing onto the white leather upholstery of the couch built into the side of the cabin.

“Right,” Michael said, grabbing a pillow and positioning it behind Gob’s head. “How we doing, buddy? You want something to drink?”

“Bourbon would be great.”

“I was thinking something more like water.”

“Oh. That’d work too.”

Michael went and got him a glass, sitting next to Gob and watching him as he drank. Gob spilled water down his front as the glass tilted dangerously and his eyes drifted closed.

“Hey.” Michael took the glass and shook Gob. “No sleeping.”

“M’not,” Gob protested, eyes opening. “I was just resting.”

“No resting, either,” Michael warned. He took Gob’s face in his hands, pulling eyelids down with his thumbs. The pupils looked the same size and seemed to be focusing on his face. Gob blinked and his hands closed on Michael’s writs. Gob’s hands were large and surprisingly warm. Michael realized he’d been staring, his nose inches from Gob’s.

He released Gob and pulled back quickly. “Don’t sleep,” he repeated, reminding them both that his touch had been strictly medical. He sat back. “So the date didn’t work out, huh?”

“No—I just wasn’t into it. And normally I don’t get bored until after I’ve fucked them.”

“How romantic.”

“She just wasn’t who I was thinking of.” Gob cast Michael a sidelong look and his stomach tightened.

“Gob. You know that we...” Michael started tentatively.

”Hey, I didn’t say anything,” Gob answered, head lolling back against the couch. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Good,” Michael said, fidgeting with the buckle of his wristwatch. “That’s good.”

“Because there is no way I want to fuck around with you.”

Michael looked over at Gob, hesitated and then kissed him full on the mouth. Gob leaned into the kiss, his mouth immediately opening under Michael’s. Their tongues slipped against each other wetly and Michael’s hands again cradled Gob’s face. Gob groaned softly and his fingers slid up the outside of Michael’s thigh to settle on his hip.

Gob was a surprisingly good kisser; Michael had expected him to be a mix of brashness and ineptitude, but he was slow, almost tentative, as his tongue traced Michael’s lower lip and flicked into his mouth.

The kiss ended and Michael pulled away, his groin tight and his skin hot.

“When I said I didn’t want to fuck around with you? Totally lied,” Gob confessed.

Michael laughed, more with nerves than actual amusement. “I’d figured that out.”

Gob leaned in for another kiss, but Michael turned away. “We can’t do this.”

“You kissed me.” Gob was nonplussed.

Michael put his hands up defensively. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“What you shouldn’t have done was make a promise you’re not going to keep. Don’t be such a cock-tease, Michael.”

“I’m not a cock-tease,” Michael protested automatically.

“Oh yeah?” Gob grabbed his crotch lewdly. “I got a something here that says differently.”

Michael’s gaze was drawn to the conspicuous bulge Gob was rubbing through the thin material of his trousers. He tore his eyes away with difficulty and swallowed thickly. Michael grabbed Gob’s wrist, keeping him from stroking himself. Gob’s indignant protest was abruptly silenced as Michael replaced it with his own hand, nails tracing down the thick length to cup Gob’s scrotum. Gob spread his knees, bucking a little in encouragement.

Michael obliged, fingers working up again to fumble with Gob’s belt while he leaned in to kiss Gob again. Nipping Gob’s lower lip, Michael worked the zipper of his fly down, slipping his hand to grasp Gob’s erection.

“Still not wearing boxers, huh?” Michael observed.

“Mmm, no.” Gob was coherent but not up to a more involved answer.

Michael opened the front of Gob’s pants further, freeing his erection.

Michael slid off the seat onto the floor and pulled himself to his knees between Gob’s thighs. Gob watched him in surprise but obediently spread his legs and lifted his hips so Michael could slide his pants down his legs and off his feet, leaving Gob naked from the waist down. Michael had little time to appreciate the incongruity of the image as his eyes were immediately drawn back to the straining erection in front of him. He’d never seen one from this angle before; it was a little alarming and his stomach knotted.

He took a deep breath, steadying his racing pulse and wrapped his fingers around the hot flesh of Gob’s erection and gave the head a tentative lick. The salt against his tongue wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible either and Gob jumped, muttering obscenities that were quite gratifying. Heartened, Michael tried again, with more enthusiasm. Gob sighed and shifted encouraging Michael to take more.

Michael obliged, swallowing as much as he could comfortably take, laving his tongue along the underside, his hand squeezing what his mouth couldn’t reach. Gob bucked, momentarily gagging Michael. Sputtering, Michael brought his hands to Gob’s hips to hold him still. Gob wriggled and Michael pinched him, hard. Gob yelped but held still as Michael resumed sucking hard. It required more coordination than Michael had expected and his knees began to ache almost immediately. But the whispered endearment and breathy curses urged him on and the final groaned “Mikey” as Gob came pooled warmth in his stomach.

He was faced with the unpleasant choice of spitting out the hot fluid filling his mouth or swallowing it. He swallowed, making a face of disgust at the unpleasant taste. He sat back on his heels, joints cracking and caught his breath. Gob lay back, his eyes closed, seemingly unconcerned. Michael wiped his mouth on his sleeve and pushed himself back onto the bench beside Gob.

Michael went to the ship’s small washroom. He took a seat on the toilet and brought himself off with a few rough strokes, spilling himself with a wordless gasp of relief.

He washed his hands and face but balked at the last remaining intimacy and refused to use Gob’s toothbrush. He used his finger instead, smearing toothpaste across his teeth and tongue. Even after rinsing and repeating the process he still imagined he tasted the metallic tang.

When he entered the main cabin, Gob was still on the couch, head back and eyes closed. And he was still half-dressed.

“Hey. You’re not asleep, are you?” Michael demanded.

Gob cracked open an eye to look at him. “No. I got tired of holding my eyes open.”

“You going to put your pants back on? It’s a little distracting.”

Gob shifted languidly, clearly in no hurry to cover himself. “So now you’re complaining? After you—“

“Yes, now I’m complaining,” Michael interrupted. Gob rolled his eyes but sat forward to collect his discarded trousers and slip them back on.

“We have got to stop doing this,” Michael said.

“This is not my fault. You jumped my bones.” He held up his hands to ward off accusations of rape.

Michael rubbed the back of his neck. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. Though I have had better.”

“That’s all you can do—critique my technique?” Michael was affronted. “It’s harder than it looks.”

“Yeah, I know,” Gob agreed, rolling his eyes.

“Wait. What do you mean...never mind. Ignorance is bliss.” Michael sat near, but not touching, Gob. “We have got to stop doing this,” Michael repeated.

“Why?”

“Because it’s wrong.”

“Why?”

“Because it is.”

“Wh—“

“Say ‘why’ one more time and I’ll finish what the accident started.”

“I can take you,” Gob shifted. “Look, Mikey, I know it’s wrong. But does a hand job here or a suck-and-fuck there really make the difference? We were screwed up way before this. We’ll always be brothers; a mediocre blowjob—”

“It was a fantastic blowjob!”

“—isn’t going to change that.” Gob smiled. “Hermano.”

Michael looked at him, reluctantly returning the smile. “I guess.”

Michael had long since mastered the art of justifying his actions. It was a skill acquired by all Bluths in infancy.

“And it’s not like our kids are going to turn out like freaks,” Gob added.

“A reassuring thought, indeed.”

Gob groaned. “My head hurts.”

“Mine, too.” Michael rested a reassuring hand on Gob’s shoulder. “It’s just too much to think about.”

“No,” Gob corrected, “I think the painkillers are wearing off.”

“Oh,” Michael said. “Let me go get you some more.”