More Than You'll Ever Know (crossposted to ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
non_plot)
On the subject of "romantic preferences", I can't believe this hadn't occured to me sooner. :-) Actual brotherly interaction this time. Wow, only 701 words, too.
Sander rustled his paper irritably and wished his brother would stop that incessant whistling.
One of Tieunis' more annoying habits, which always left a bad taste in his mouth whenever he had to emulate it for any length of time, was his tendency to whistle when he was in a good mood. And not only whistle, but whistle a semitone flat, a fact which glissandoed across Sander's soul and long-suffering sense of perfect pitch and left more than a few sour notes in its wake - all of which were, of course, a semitone flat.
"What's got you so happy?" he asked a little too tartly as Tieunis waltzed out of the bathroom in a cloud of scent.
"I have a date." Tieunis leaned over and pinched his brother's cheek. "You remember those. You must remember those. Those things, you went on them before, with Bran. And then you came home, sometimes the next morning, occasionally smelling of Drakkar, with a big dopey grin on your face and someone else's cufflinks."
"If you do that again," Sander replied coolly, delicately moving his brother's hand away, "I will break every bone in your body."
"Seriously." Tieunis sat down on the sofa and flipped his long blonde hair in front of him, combing it out fastidiously. "You should get out more. You're becoming a recluse. Sooner or later you'll end up like Brian Wilson and think you hear voices in your shower head. And if that happens, man, I'm so finding my own place. Why don't you let me fix you up with someone?"
"I don't want you to fix me up with someone."
"Why not?"
"First of all." Sander tossed the Times aside and paced back and forth across the living room. "How are you going to find someone to fix me up with? It's not like we're even attracted to the same type. It's not like we're attracted to the same gender."
"Oh, I don't know, I think I've learned a few things about you over the years." Tieunis replied philosophically.
"All right then, smartass." Sander stared at him challengingly, standing in a pool of light spilling from the dining room with his hands on his hips. "What, exactly, is your brilliant plan? Need I remind you that your last brilliant plan involved majoring in dead languages and led to you working in a diner."
Tieunis flipped his hair back over his shoulders, lay back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. Sander sat down in his leather recliner and picked up the paper again, skimming the financial page with a practiced eye.
"Give up?" he asked conversationally after a few minutes.
"Of course not, don't be ridiculous." Tieunis continued staring at the ceiling, almost as if he could stare through the plaster and wood up to the black sky above. "Your type? Your type is the type that leaves a trail of rose petals from the front door to the bedroom. Your type is the kind of guy that leaves little notes in your lunch and sends balloons to your office on Valentines' Day. That reads 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' out loud, and spells 'I Love You' in marigolds under your window. And despite his penchant for romance, he doesn't own one single article of rainbow clothing, and has an occasionally sly wit that always manages to surprise you. He respects you, looks up to you, but still has the ability to make your knees grow weak - and that is his secret weapon." Tieunis slid up on one elbow and stared at Sander, chuckling. "And he probably looks something like a young Hugh Grant without the big teeth."
Sander set down his newspaper and carefully picked up his coffee, holding the heavy cup with both hands for a moment to steady it.
"Anyway, I should go. Don't wait up." Tieunis got to his feet, slinging a tattered biker jacket over his shoulders, and swung on the door for a moment thoughtfully before closing it behind him.
Sander sighed, turning back to his newspaper and frowning as his shaking hands slopped some of the cooled coffee onto the mutual fund section.
Damn, Tieunis was annoying sometimes.
Sander rustled his paper irritably and wished his brother would stop that incessant whistling.
One of Tieunis' more annoying habits, which always left a bad taste in his mouth whenever he had to emulate it for any length of time, was his tendency to whistle when he was in a good mood. And not only whistle, but whistle a semitone flat, a fact which glissandoed across Sander's soul and long-suffering sense of perfect pitch and left more than a few sour notes in its wake - all of which were, of course, a semitone flat.
"What's got you so happy?" he asked a little too tartly as Tieunis waltzed out of the bathroom in a cloud of scent.
"I have a date." Tieunis leaned over and pinched his brother's cheek. "You remember those. You must remember those. Those things, you went on them before, with Bran. And then you came home, sometimes the next morning, occasionally smelling of Drakkar, with a big dopey grin on your face and someone else's cufflinks."
"If you do that again," Sander replied coolly, delicately moving his brother's hand away, "I will break every bone in your body."
"Seriously." Tieunis sat down on the sofa and flipped his long blonde hair in front of him, combing it out fastidiously. "You should get out more. You're becoming a recluse. Sooner or later you'll end up like Brian Wilson and think you hear voices in your shower head. And if that happens, man, I'm so finding my own place. Why don't you let me fix you up with someone?"
"I don't want you to fix me up with someone."
"Why not?"
"First of all." Sander tossed the Times aside and paced back and forth across the living room. "How are you going to find someone to fix me up with? It's not like we're even attracted to the same type. It's not like we're attracted to the same gender."
"Oh, I don't know, I think I've learned a few things about you over the years." Tieunis replied philosophically.
"All right then, smartass." Sander stared at him challengingly, standing in a pool of light spilling from the dining room with his hands on his hips. "What, exactly, is your brilliant plan? Need I remind you that your last brilliant plan involved majoring in dead languages and led to you working in a diner."
Tieunis flipped his hair back over his shoulders, lay back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. Sander sat down in his leather recliner and picked up the paper again, skimming the financial page with a practiced eye.
"Give up?" he asked conversationally after a few minutes.
"Of course not, don't be ridiculous." Tieunis continued staring at the ceiling, almost as if he could stare through the plaster and wood up to the black sky above. "Your type? Your type is the type that leaves a trail of rose petals from the front door to the bedroom. Your type is the kind of guy that leaves little notes in your lunch and sends balloons to your office on Valentines' Day. That reads 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' out loud, and spells 'I Love You' in marigolds under your window. And despite his penchant for romance, he doesn't own one single article of rainbow clothing, and has an occasionally sly wit that always manages to surprise you. He respects you, looks up to you, but still has the ability to make your knees grow weak - and that is his secret weapon." Tieunis slid up on one elbow and stared at Sander, chuckling. "And he probably looks something like a young Hugh Grant without the big teeth."
Sander set down his newspaper and carefully picked up his coffee, holding the heavy cup with both hands for a moment to steady it.
"Anyway, I should go. Don't wait up." Tieunis got to his feet, slinging a tattered biker jacket over his shoulders, and swung on the door for a moment thoughtfully before closing it behind him.
Sander sighed, turning back to his newspaper and frowning as his shaking hands slopped some of the cooled coffee onto the mutual fund section.
Damn, Tieunis was annoying sometimes.