by neko

I love him like this. Passionate and helpless, he is completely at my mercy. He is beautiful, and the knowledge that I can do this to him only enhances that beauty. He is my soul, my other half. He is the one person I cannot live without.

He writhes, moaning, crying out to me. Bottomless green eyes are hazy with pleasure, ebony silk spread about him in a dark halo. My fallen angel, full of light for me alone. I know him better than any other, and yet I will never tire of him, of this.

His hands find their way into my hair, attempting to pull me to him. Resisting gently, I wrap my fingers around his wrists, pinning them at his sides. He will beg for what he wants, soon enough. He always does, when denied. Pulling back to allow only the smallest, most frustrating amount of friction, I gaze down at him again, waiting for the words to come.

"Please," he whispers, but it is not enough, yet. I like to tease him sometimes, even though I know I will give in eventually. There is nothing I woulnd not give him, would not do for him, nor him for me. We would give up everything for each other, have done so before.

"Brother, please."

I sometimes think of them, those two who gave us life, affection, who tried to protect us, from the world and from ourselves, for eighteen years. They who then betrayed us at the first evidence of something they did not approve of. They who blamed him when I was in control, hurt him, and in doing so, hurt us both. Finished school, we left them behind like memories of a past life as we forged our new one together. They are little more than memories, now, and all that matters is this beautiful person beneath me.

His cries have increased to a fever pitch, pleading for me to do something, anything, and at last I comply, lowering my body to his. He sobs in relief, legs wrapping around my waist. I release his wrists to cup his face, scattering kisses there before his lips catch mine, hands clutching my shoulders to keep me in place.

I leave his mouth in favour of his neck, my teeth making tiny marks that will be gone by morning. He tosses his head from side to side, moaning still, as I move down his chest to a nipple, sucking gently. I pull back and blow across its surface, then give the other the same treatment before continuing my downward progress. The crossed lines on his stomach are painted with my tongue, a loving ritual performed every time we do this, an apology for being unable to protect him long ago.

I nuzzle the line of his hips, my hair falling forward to tickle him, and he squirms, pulling me up to kiss him properly.

"Brother," he pants, "please. Do it." He wraps his legs around my waist again, pushing himself up against me. There is no mistaking what he wants.

I press one finger gently inside of him, wary of any sign of pain, yet he only clings tighter and moans for more. A second finger joins the first, then a third, rubbing and stretching, until neither of us can wait any longer. I push in slowly, carefully, sinking myself all the way before withdrawing and entering again. He cries out, thrusting his hips up to meet mine. Release is approaching quickly, both of us already so close to the edge.

He cries out in orgasm, tightening deliciously, and for a moment I see him as he once was, young and innocent and free of pain, before my vision narrows and I follow him into ecstasy.

The haze of pleasure slowly fades, and with it the image, until there is just the two of us, sated and drowsy. I have all I ever needed, and everything else is unimportant.