There are some cases where slash isn't acceptable, but in some it is. This is one of them...
He could see Durza's face looming over him as he frantically tried to get up, but found himself unable to move. He could feel the stench of the dead Urgals around him, and he could hear Durza saying:
"You can never escape. I WILL destroy you and your fool of a dragon and brother. Do you understand?" and he took out a knife, reaching for his ribs…
Eragon shot up in his bed gasping, his body streaming with sweat and shivering as the blankets pooled around his mid-section. He barely noticed the door click open with a hush, and a presence cross the floor, reaching him and holding him in a hug, whispering comforting words as Eragon tried to calm down. It was only after he realised that he was cold, that he wondered who was holding him. Looking up, he saw the familiar face of his friend, confidante and brother, Murtagh. Dropping his gaze, he furiously started cursing in his head as he realised why Murtagh was there. He felt his chin being lifted up, and looked into the pools of brown that were Murtagh's eyes, filled at the moment with a mixture of gentle laughter and concern.
"Hey, are you okay?" Murtagh asked quietly, and Eragon grunted a reply;
"Just a bad dream. Nothing to worry about." He was too busy trying not to notice that he could feel Murtagh's chest moving when he breathed, and that his brother hadn't let go yet.
Stupid bloody incriminating thoughts! Eragon thought furiously. He knew that what he was thinking was wrong – he has seen people being hounded out of their homes for what Eragon now knew what he was. And he knew that for what he felt, he would be burning a thousand depths in hell, in the special section reserved for child-molesters, and people who talk too loudly in libraries.
Yes. Eragon now knew that he loved his brother. And I mean LOVED. He woke most nights from particularly incriminating dreams about him and Murtagh, and he would often catch himself staring at him at dinner, or in the library. He had tried to convince himself he was simply confused, but he knew it was to no avail. All he could do was try not to act upon it. An especially hard task when his brother had seemed to have jumped out of bed to comfort him, and he had no shirt on.
Murtagh looked curiously at Eragon, wondering what on earth was going through his mind. Letting go of him, Murtagh crossed his arms, raised an eyebrow, and spoke in a particularly sarky voice:
"well EXCUSE me if I heard my little brother screaming, raced to find out what was wrong because I care?!" he could see how Eragon flinched when he said that, but at the moment he didn't care about that. Instead what he was trying to do was not notice how muscular Eragon had become, and how his light brown hair was drenched in sweat. Drawing back, he tried to stop carrying on that particular train of thought, and looked again at Eragon, noticing that he was shaking his shoulders, as if trying to stop himself doing something.
"Eragon, what's –" His next words were cut off as Eragon pinned him in to the bed, and was looking at him in a way that was to put it nicely, very interesting. Murtagh made the motions of struggling, and lay still, waiting for Eragon to do something, anything, cos if he didn't, then Murtagh would be.
"Murtagh, I'm sorry" he heard from Eragon's mouth, and Murtagh gave up at holding in his desire, and swapped positions so that Eragon was on the bed. Growling lightly, he spoke;
"Stop being so damn idiotic, and shut up" compounding this statement with a hard kiss upon Eragon's lips. Eragon stiffened, then replied with an equally passionate kiss of his own, darting his tongue into Murtagh's mouth as if inviting him to play.
Murtagh accepted, and soon all you could hear from the two were sharp breaths, and occasional moans. A gasp was heard when Eragon found out how sensitive Murtagh's scar was, and Murtagh lost himself in the passion, completely ignoring the little voice in his head that told him to stop, because what was happening felt so god-damn right…
Orik and Arya were already at breakfast when Murtagh and Eragon made an appearance, both looking dishevelled, and both with a half-grin on their faces. Arya took in the crumpled clothes, skewiffy hair, and strange bruises around the shoulders that were mostly hidden by the tunics that were pulled on. She narrowed her eyes, and once the two had sat on to eat, Orik spoke in a gruff voice:
"What on earth has happened?" the two glanced at each other, and spoke at the same time: