Rating: NC-17 overall
Summary: Human AU; 29 year old Xander is a successful businessman but he also lives as a sexual sub to his stepbrother’s alter ego, Spike. When William discovers something from Xander’s past, will it tear their relationship apart or make it stronger?
Warnings: Brother!Kink, underage sex, bondage/dominance/submission, spanking, angst galore, first person POV, some other things I'm probably forgetting.
Feedback: Want it like a horny teenager
Concrit: Give it to me like a Vestal Virgin, in other words, with lots of lube. (in comments is fine)
Disclaimer: Not mine, wish they were
Betas: crazydiamondsue and spikesgurl. Thank you both so much!
A/N 1: Written for bloodclaim’s The Colour, Sound and Random Object Spander Ficathon.
A/N 2: As raunchy as this sounds, I’m dealing more with the physiological aspects of this relationship than the…eh-hem…naughty ones. Although there will be naughty scenes, that is not the focus of the story. This is not a PWP.
A/N 3: If the idea of two teen-age boys doing bad-dirty-wrong things to each other bothers you...don't click the link.
A/N 4: The past and the present are both represented in this story, in separate chapters. The past is written in the past tense, the present in the present tense. Hope this doesn't confuse anyone.
Previous chapters can be found here.
Previously, in the present…
“Bloody hell, what’s wrong with you!” he yells, trembling above me once the fire is out.
“Wrong?” I mumble, pain seeping back into my world. Blinding, searing pain. I know I’m going to pass out, the room is starting to spin and things are getting blurry, watery. That can’t be my brother with tears streaming down his face. My brother doesn’t cry. I’m the bad one. Those must be my tears.
“You tell me,” I say, as I wince and buck, fighting the nausea. “What did I do wrong?”
Then I close my eyes against the pain and slip into sweet oblivion.
I’m standing on the foot of the stage at the local club, naked.
Arbitrary nakedness? Check. Must be a dream.
Phantom ska music is wafting through the speakers and Spike’s leading Will as they dance together below me. One is a platinum sex god, and the other a soft, tender, lanky teen, their bodies showing only jubilation and delight as they hop, jump, kick, and spin effortlessly through the empty club.
But every time they turn so I can see their faces, I see that their bodies lie. Their faces tell a different story, one where Will is saddened by a cruel betrayal and Spike is furious.
Over the years I’ve had similar dreams. The club and music are new but the scene of Will and Spike being two very different people who are both disappointed in me? That’s something I’ve carried with me since I was kid. I never figured out why. I’m sure it has something to do with the not so healthy relationship I’ve cultivated with my brother, but I try not to analyze it too much.
I’m just glad the dreams only happen every few years or so. I’m always on edge for days after. I’ll flinch if Will or Spike comes near me and then I’ll be clingy the very next moment. Will always comforts me by saying I’m crazy and that he’d never be disappointed or angry with me. But no matter how loving and reassuring he tries to be, the irrational fear takes a few days to work itself out.
The dream continues and I watch helplessly as they turn their backs to me and face each other, my existence completely disregarded. Spike wraps his arms around Will; his eyes glaze and roll back as Will snuggles into his neck. Then they start to kiss, slow at first and then frantic and desperate, matching the music as it speeds up until it starts to sound like one long piercing note. Somehow their mouths stay fused as their dancing increases to inhuman speeds. I start to sweat under the glaring stage lights as they steadily get brighter. Soon all I can see is a white blur moving across the dance floor, all I can hear is the ringing in my ears, all I can feel is the crushing weight of being alone. Then all the lights supernova and explode, the incredible heat turning me to dust. Will and Spike don’t notice, don’t stop for a beat. Now that they have each other, they don’t need me.
Surrounded by darkness, the intense physical pain grows stronger than the emotional one, clueing me in to the fact that I’m waking up. The ringing slowly turns back into a wailing trombone and it starts to sound like music again with beats and melody.
The 5 disk CD player must have changed to one of Will’s favorite ska bands, because I can feel the unruly moshers digging a pit inside my skull and trampling down my right side. At least I know where the club scene came from now. Usually, I’m forced to watch, powerless and held immobile by invisible hands as Spike pounds relentlessly into William. Will would spastically clutch at the Superman sheets beneath him, the same Superman sheets that were on my old bed from when we were kids.
Turning my mind away from distant dreams, I sense the world around me. During quiet beats I can scarcely hear my brother muttering under his breath. I catch a few words, ‘barmy’ and ‘love’ are the top two I hear most, followed quickly by ‘kill’ and ‘him’. I force my eyes to open and see Will, now dressed in baggy sweatpants, pacing angrily in front of me, furiously running his hands through his hair.
The fire is still going but the protection grate is safety back in place. I’m lying sprawled out over the blankets, wearing just my boxers. A few pieces of gauze are held loosely on shiny glazed skin with special first aid tape. There’s a small square on my right forearm and a much larger one covering the entire length of the outside of my right thigh. They burn, they throb, they ache, like I’d been out sunbathing all-day and forgot to bring my 1000 SPF sun block.
I focus on the flames and wish the pain away. When that doesn’t magically work, I try to move my leg experimentally but the pain is so sharp I cry out.
Will is on me in an instant, his long strides bringing him to hover over me. He looks as if he wants to punch me, his arms flapping convulsively. But eventually he just clenches his hands into fists and forces them down to his sides. He is so mad the veins in his forehead are raised and throbbing. It might have been the throbbing in my own head but I could have sworn his veins were bouncing in time to the music. I have to stifle the urge to laugh. The pain helps with that.
“What were you thinking!” He chokes out as he drops down on his knees next to me. “Have you gone completely ‘round the bend?”
I’m not sure about that. It’s entirely possible. I want to reassure him but when I open my mouth nothing comes out. I work my throat trying to get something across but my tongue just refuses to budge. When I start to fear this will only make him madder, he crumbles. My big brother just falls apart. And right into my arms.
If he’d moved any faster I would have missed it, but as he swoops down and gently cradles me in his arms, I see a flash of moisture on his cheeks. If that isn’t enough to make me believe, his sniffling would. His body is shaking with small tremors above me as he whimpers quietly. He’s nuzzling into my neck, kissing me, and I can feel his tears on my skin. His trembling fingers are busy pulling at the back of my head, tugging gently on my hair, then running down and kneading my neck, only to switch direction and seek upwards again.
I want to just close my eyes and revel in the affectionate attention but I know my job is to console him. Ignoring the pain in my arm, I lay it across his back and with gentle sweeps try to soothe him. The burns can’t be that bad. What has him so upset?
He tenses suddenly, takes in a large breath, and then straightens and pulls back from me. He gently lowers me back down onto the blankets, and whispers, “You little git.” He keeps his head down, taking my hand in his and rubbing his thumb back and forth over it, “When you get better, you won’t be able to sit for a week with the flogging you’re getting.”
Despite the pain I’m in, I like the sound of that. We’d just have to be careful about my side and that isn’t really a problem. I can lie on my back and be just as good for him. I couldn’t get strapped down the way I liked, but we could work around it.
Oh sure, I might like a smidgen of pain, the fun tingly kind, but not that much. We’ve tried the whole S&M thing; whips, clamps, even cigarettes, but found that fur-lined cuffs and collars are more our style. We have the painful tools hanging on the walls and from the ceiling but it’s more for ambiance than use. I could probably take more if Spike wanted to but he just never really developed the stomach for it. Thankfully, we have plenty of time for that, especially now that it looked like he isn’t leaving me, as I suspected.
Will brings his bright eyes up and blanches at the smile on my face. His brows come together quickly in confusion. If I could see inside his mind, the cogs would be sputtering and spinning out of control, then everything lines up and slips into place and he scowls, “What the bloody hell is wrong with you!?”
I try to sit up, but he shoves me back hard and pins me into the blankets. It didn’t hurt, he’d been gentle enough, but my right leg brushes up against them and I can’t help but yelp and then grit my teeth.
He immediately releases me, nearly pulling away with enough force to send him falling backward. I reach up to steady him and he flinches away, only calming once he’s reached the window wall and turned away from me.
That’s not good. That isn’t good at all. He’s never refused my touch, not once. He might be hesitant with sex unless Spike is in charge but he always let me know how much I’m wanted. And now he’s flinching away from me as if I’m diseased.
My insides recoil in terror. What is going on? What could have happened to him while he was gone to bring about such a drastic change? Why was this happening now?
I’m trying my best to hold it together but the urge to just fall at his feet, begging him to take me in his arms is relentless. I ache for him to take me, take this out on me, and do whatever he needs to do…just as long as he stays.
I hope I sound calm but my voice trembles. “W-what’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even make a sign that he heard me at all. He quickly wipes at his face and then runs one hand through his hair while the other is clenching in a fist at his side. He tries to calm himself with a few deep breaths before he finally lets out a sigh and mutters, “Nothing.” But his voice is tight and strained and I know his emotions are just as confused and out-of-control as mine.
He’s lying to me. To me! We've always been honest with each other, even when things were at their worst, he still told me the truth but now…something is bad enough that he feels he has to lie? I try to push my anger aside but I’m still so shaken by the dream and Will’s behavior is only tormenting me, intensifying the feeling of helplessness.
I lash out and hiss, “Liar!”
He whips around, fury evident as every muscle stands at attention and his eyes flare bright. His glare is like ice; he’s never looked at me like that before. So cold and brutal, so unfeeling. I have to stop myself from crawling away in fear, even though everything inside of me is telling me I should.
“Me?” He accuses, bringing a hand up to his chest. “That’s rich.” He spins back around and once again stares out into the dark woods.
“What are you talking about? What do you think I did?” When he refuses to answer, half of me wants to wait till he’s ready to speak to me, the other wants to console him. But I’m not going to get any answers with either. I have to push, even if it is the last thing I want to do.
“Will, please! Tell me what I did so I can fix it. Please!” I know I sound desperate and I am. So very desperate. I need him. I need him in every way and I wouldn’t be able to handle it if he hated me. I’m not equipped to manage life without him and he knows it. So if he is pulling away, it’s because he no longer cares, no longer wants me.
I look down at my burnt leg and realize, if that happened, if we spilt, I’d have to end it, everything. Burn it all to the ground. Behind my eyes, I watch my whole life go up in flames and have a moment of sick satisfaction about it. But then I can’t put out the blaze and it consumes me too.
Will’s soft voice reaches out to me in my hellish nightmare, “I told you to get rid of it.”
I shake myself out of it, “Huh? R-rid of what?”
He slowly turns from the window, his hands clasped together behind his back. He likes that posture when ordering me to do things not directly sexual in nature. And yet, the commanding demeanor usually has me as hard as a rock.
But the look in his eyes, it isn’t commanding at all. It’s the look of complete and utter betrayal. It holds me, crushes me, stops my breath cold. I know that look, seen it before, but only in my nightmares.
Time stops as he completes his turn, then calmly walks over to me and kneels down. A hand lands on my unburned leg and the other caresses my cheek. Instinctively, I lean into it, closing my eyes with a sigh, the tension between us disappearing. All that matters is that he’s touching me. When that happens, I feel whole again.
He's slowly working his way up, delicately gliding over the hair on my leg and then he reaches up to gently cup my budding erection. I let him take control, going limp, letting my head loll to the side and my legs fall open. The hand on my cheek moves, his thumb brushing over my lips as he leans in, giving me the softest, sweetest kiss. He tentatively brings his tongue out, running it gently over my slightly parted lips. Giving my erection a small squeeze he pulls back and with his hand still on my cheek brings my head back up, forcing me to look at him.
I don’t want to open my eyes. I want to forget any of this has happened and go back to what we were just doing. I don’t want to see that look in his eyes. It tears out my very soul but I have to obey so I eventually give in, hoping that whatever I’ve done, what ever I have failed to get rid of, that I can fix it.
Hoping that I still have a chance.
When he’s sure he has my attention, he pulls me close, and whispers in my ear, “The evidence.”
The breath catches in my throat and my heart feels like it lurches, sputters, and then dies, because at that moment I know there is nothing I can do. There are no second chances. This isn’t something I can fix.