FSE

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From Top to Bottom

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by Mirath

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Sometimes indulgence went a little bit too far, but that was hardly something that was going to concern two brothers who made a point to walk (or even run) on very much the wrong side of law and legality. Far beyond pirated movies in one's bedroom late at night, they had acquired a taste for the seedier side of life at an age that, perhaps, had been too young for them, although they were not, of course, to be held at fault for their upbringing. It was not that it had been anything all that spectacular or spectacularly bad either, just that it allowed them to drift and laziness to take hold, a distaste for the working world leading them into something that, well, paid just a bit better.

Donnie could have gone into a tech firm, if he'd had any inclination too, that was. And he had not. He could have spent years grinding away and working his way up the ladder – right up to the point where someone of his level wouldn't be asked to do any of the actual work anymore and would instead be wrangled into management, skills wasted in lieu of something else, even if that was just where the money was at, in all honesty. Even schools had seen his aptitude for it and urged him to get his head together, to make something of himself, and Donnie could not have honestly have said that he had not taken that to heart as he applied himself from that point on – just not quite how they wanted him to. He, however, would have said he was a success in his field, working away on programs to hack and disrupt to his heart's content, chaos reigning in a wake that he dissipated from each and every time as if he had never even been there to begin with.

That was the beauty of what he did: he left no trail and most certainly no trace. That would have rendered him far less than what and who he was, after all, and that was something that would have turned Donnie's quietly scathing lips down even more. Leaning back in his comfortable computer chair (he could not have called it a desk chair for everything before him was simply plastered with so many screens and base units that he could barely see the desk beneath them), he swivelled lazily back and forth, tipping his chin up as if he could see through the ceiling, which had long ago been painted a dark, slate shade. Outside, the sun may have been shining or it may have even been pouring with rain; neither of those states of weather had any bearing, however, on how he conducted himself or continued about his day.

Or was it night? He struggled to think just when his brother had arrived, a smirk on his face and black hair pulled back sharply from his shoulders, exposing the harsher angles of his face. There was a lack of charm about him that night but they had slipped back into the more private part of Donnie's otherwise quietly and calmly suburban home, which had proven itself time after time again to be the perfect base from which to conduct activities that he really did need to fly sweetly under the radar. Nobody expected such activities to go on there when families were smiling and children were playing cheerfully on lawns outside, all perfectly manicured as if every house posed in an attempt to outdo the one next to it. The shrieks and disturbances, however, were just why Donnie had gone to such extents with soundproofing. Perks came with falls, after all…

Day or night: it had to be night. The room spun around him, a cold glass in his hand. When had that gotten there? His lips quirked in a smile but he imagined that his eyes were dancing, even sparkling, something untoward and crazy, totally unlike him. The mere sensation of his hair brushing the back of his neck, probably due tidying up so that he did not look entirely scraggy and unkempt for his own sake and benefit, brought a shiver to his skin, goose bumps rising lightly as if he was struck by a sudden chill. But he was not cold in the slightest, every inch of his body tingling with desperate energy, although he was quite comfortable in his chair still, swinging back and forth, back and forth, with his chin tilted up to the stars twinkling above.

Something had slipped down his throat, pushed there by John's tongue. Although he had screwed up his face and shoved his brother away with a curse (too quietly muttered for John to really take him seriously), it had been too late to forsake the effects of the drug and he had merely chosen to cast his brother a look that surely told him exactly what he thought of him, shaking his head as he poured himself a glass of vodka. He wasn't sure where that particular bottle had come from, drunk as it was, but it had been bought legally with ill-gotten gains, which put him in rather tentative standing there. That didn't mean that he wasn't going to enjoy every last sip though.

It did not burn and left no shuddering aftertaste, the grain crisp and clear and begging to be taken in heftier doses still. Donnie could not have said in hindsight just what he talked about with John – all bullshit, pretty much – but he could say just how his brother's hand had pushed up his thigh, grasping the hardness of his cock through his jeans. Donnie grunted and thrust up into him, mind racing as the room seemed to shift and dance, although the hallucinations were normal, drifting him from fantasy to reality and back again so that the lines were blurred. And that was the best way to have it, was it not, euphoria coursing through him? That giddiness in itself may well have been the most potent of drugs but he could not have honestly have said whether his chest hurt from laughing or from something that he and John had already done together.

His cock in John's hand. Control. Power. Pressure. It was all intoxicating. The chair turned and turned and turned, not seeming to move in any one direction for long, but the soreness in his aching shaft told him, at least, that orgasm had not been had. More vodka slipped down his throat, his body, at least, remembering the muscles required to move the glass to his lips over and over again, just enough to get himself pleasantly buzzed as his emotions played havoc on what little mind he had left.

He couldn't sit still, finding himself pacing, belt loose, cock still hard, arms flying as he gestured excitedly. But John still sat there, leaning back against the wall with a bottle to his lips, some kind of whisky – or, at least, it looked dark, something like that. Could have been rum. It didn't really matter though, even as his voice washed over his brother, the hungry look in John's eyes unmistakeable for anything else.

But John was not himself that night and he slumped down and down and down, seeming to grow smaller and smaller in stature as Donnie struggled to understand, through his own pleasant haze of bouncing joy, what was happening, amazement clouding his vision. Was he falling? Literally growing smaller? No, no… He couldn't have had that much of the tab if he was able to still hold on to that little bit of rationality, in that case, and he held up his hands, turning them over several times so that he could see both sides, new and interesting angles catching his attention in the glow of the computer monitors, still illuminated with something that he no longer understood.

It was funny how drugs could make him less than what he was even while he felt more amazing, incredibly so, than he ever could have with just mere liquor, inadequate and hopeless in comparison to the highs that could otherwise be held well and truly within his grasp. But John was far worse than him, unsteady as he swayed, seeming to spin and turn before Donnie – yet that was just the computer chair moving again, the white lights blinking and glittering before him as he fought to regain some sense of comprehension, his brother out for the count and then some as he laughed softly.

What had John taken to render himself so far gone? Sure, he'd been smoking a pipe… A pipe, yes, that was it. Onto the harder stuff, although nothing that John really took into his system could be considered soft or easy. Cannabis had been entertaining enough back when they were much, much younger but that was not a time that either of them, personally, liked to linger on. Chilling out was much better undertaken with hard liquor without looking like a fool in the process and if John wanted to dose himself up on meth, taking the smoke deep into his lungs, that was well enough up to him. Donnie may even ask him for a sixteenth or whatever, just to see what the new blue he had in town was like.

Slumping to the floor, John groaned, his head tipping back onto the seat of the sofa cushion where the padding, at least, was thick enough to provide a comfortable enough rest. And then Donnie blinked, finding himself no longer in the space where he did his best work but another room in the house entirely, at the back where maybe a normal family would have placed a den or an office of sorts. Just how had they gotten there? He laughed at himself, tasting the liquor rising up once again on his breath, but it was hard to worry about such a little yet sudden lapse in attention when his brother was right there before him, head lolling back and helpless to anything else. Reeking of liquor, John laughed and let his head hang, lips parted even though he was breathing quite freely through his nostrils, simply too far gone in the realm of abject intoxication to hold onto any semblance of reality.

And then an idea entered Donnie's head. It was an idea that, very much, he should have pushed away the very moment that it made its presence known to him but, once there, it was hard to ignore, niggling away insistently as he ran his hand down John's arm, from the bicep to the forearm. He said he didn't work out and, really, was too lazy too, but there must have been something in whatever it was that he took to maintain some small level of muscle mass there, the shape discernible as his questing fingers languished and explored as they pleased.

A good brother, a family member that one could, really, have been proud of, may have taken care of John at that point, laid him down on a bed or the sofa – either would have been acceptable – and let him sleep off the worst of it. And yet Donnie knew well enough what John's appetite would be like when he returned to the world of full consciousness, the blinking in his eyes there and the lopsided grin that, somehow, still managed to be predatory as he lingered in a state of being that was neither awake or sleeping. His lips parted but if he slurred Donnie did not catch the words, lips curving up in a drug-induced smile himself as he made his move, his mind already made up for a decision that should never have been made by one of entirely sound mind.

Why not have his fun first?

His cock ached for release and Donnie crushed his lips hungrily, if tentatively, to John's, intoxication making him bold. It was a kiss just like any other and John returned it slowly, if not as commandingly as he used to. Really, if they had been anywhere at all approaching sober, John would have already have had his fingers twisted ruthlessly into Donnie's hair, dragging him down to his face, his cock – whatever he wanted at that time. A kiss was not a sharing of intimacy between the two of them but a display of power where John could so very easily demonstrate his dominance over his younger brother, bearing him down and battling his tongue back as if the fight was not even something that was worth his time or his effort.

But John didn't have the presence of mind about him to even think about kissing Donnie back as his lips parted as if driven by some sense of autonomy, groaning against his brother. He was not passed out, by any means, but there was a sluggishness to his limbs and a heaviness there too that rendered them useless against his sides, the grunts of pleasure that he gave as Donnie groped and fondled his still soft shaft through his own trousers evidence of some measure of enjoyment. Yes, he could still feel and he was accepting but what Donnie had in mind for him was nothing like anything that John had ever experienced before.

Something in Donnie's gut pulled and lurched. Just how far could he go? How far could he push thing? Fuck, would John kill me… He didn't honestly know if John would try to go so far as to actually kill him but it sure said something strange about him that he felt willing, in that moment, to take the risk, taking the plunge to rip John's shirt open, buttons popping off and springing away in all directions as if they too were want to make their own kind of escape. He spared a moment for wondering what would come to him for destroying his brother's clothing in such a manner but he could not bring himself to even care about that as he let loose a feral-sounding growl, the nuance of gravity assisting him in pinning his brother down to the floor.

It was not a natural position for him to be in, chest heaving and hair hanging about his face in, seemingly, a tangled mess, his brother's shoulders in the curled claws of his hands. His glasses slid down his nose, near enough forgotten in what a commonplace feature they had become over the years in the landscape of his face, and he cursed as they threatened to slip off. Maybe that was why he was always on the bottom. In that case, gravity would at least help a bit in keeping the damn things on his face.

But that was by the by and he was hardly going to relinquish what scrap of power he had illicitly stolen – was that not the way of it? – for himself as he loomed over John, the man beneath him groaning and humping his hips as if he thought he was grinding up against Donnie. And it would be so very easy to let him do that too, putting himself back in such a position of bottoming, even though he could not guarantee, in that kind of situation, that he would get his satisfaction, his orgasm, from it. John had never been all that concerned about that and it was hardly as if he was going to pop out his hip sassily and demand what was rightfully his too like a scorned lover on the street, set on making a scene for all the wrong reasons. No, his place was good, the weird 'with benefits' situation they had going on doing the trick for a deeper sexual need that he refused to acknowledge openly well enough. Who really needed to go into any kind of deep introspection of what they liked sexually, after all?

John groaned and he snapped back to reality, fingers fumbling and striving to work quickly, lest even he lose his nerve. If there'd been anyone else but John beneath him, perhaps he would not have hesitated but it felt worse still to break the unspoken rule than it ever had to break a law set in stone and the papers of the country that they lived in. His trousers slipped down, exposing boxers that swiftly met the same fate, John's fingers twitching as if he was even trying to help his brother out but did not quite have the strength to.

“Wh… What?"

But that was just about all that John could get out as Donnie spared him a chuckle, a little confidence returning as he gave his older brother a condescending pat on the cheek. John would have made it a slap or a punch but he got his little digs in where they presented themselves, so kindly so too.

“Keep it together, bro, time you shared, hm? Not so much of the Small Donnie shit off you now, is there?"

In his state of mind, he caught himself taking on edges of John's speech too and rolled his eyes, although it was easier to focus on other things with John's bare cock rising hard and full before him. He didn't spare further time on dragging down his brother's trousers, leaving them around his knees, cock in hand. Usually, he'd be forced down on that length with it throbbing and pulsing in his grasp, already trickling pre-cum, but not that time. That time, his lips curved up into a lopsided smile that was not quite a smirk but the raw pleasure of resting on the brink of getting just what he needed, heart pounding so hard that his chest seemed to shudder with each and every coarse beat it gave. It was impressive, sort of, that John could get so hard and so quickly after getting so much into his system that should have inhibited such behaviours, although nowhere near as impressive as what Donnie felt he had in store for him too.

Cocky? He grimaced. Maybe. More like John? Undoubtedly. But he could embody John in the heat of the moment, if only to give himself that little push he needed to take control. It should have been easier to take control than it actually was, putting his trembling fingers down to the drugs coursing through his system, alcohol dominating and blurring what may have otherwise stalled him, forced him to put John up for the night and skulk off to his own bedroom or his blinking monitors, all begging attention for what he had going on in the background, constantly. The tabs were quick to wear off after playing with them for so long and everyone knew that they built up a sort of immunity after a while to different mixes and strains, which was why the drug business was something that kept on booming, regardless of how well-respected and so-called educated people felt about it.

Because they and alcohol too, if one is to call the intoxicant by its name, made people feel like they could be someone else, do something more than what they would do in their normal state of mind. They could push further, drive harder, fuck more, experience it all and everything would be fine, just fine. Of course, chasing that high would force them on to ever-increasing acts of depravity but that really wasn't Donnie's problem (perhaps John's) as he leaned over his brother and forced his cock into his mouth.

However, being as drunk and incoherent as he was, John was not really in any kind of position to give a blowjob, even though that also meant that he was incapacitated in terms of objection too, which was still good. Cursing, Donnie shuffled back on his knees, drawing John up with him as his brother, perhaps believing that he was tripping or caught up in some other sense of reality brought on by the drugs, came right along with him. Softer and more pliable than he could ever have imagined, John's mouth moulded loosely around his shaft, lips pursed and saliva leaving a nice, slick coating behind to grind by. John's mouth was…nice though. Nice enough that he had the courage to stroke his own cock back to full hardness and try again, John's lips half-closing around him as if he was imagining something else entirely.

But that was fine… As long as he got what he needed, something that he rarely seemed to get with a thrum of ardent desire from John, that was all okay with him. He could thrust, mimicking the powerful strokes that John gave when he was fucking him, but that thought made him just want to be on the bottom, swearing inwardly to himself. But he had to keep going, had to prove himself, had to get that little bit of payback for whatever injustice he thought John had done to him. That was how John would think, wasn't it? He'd be going off trying to get one over on Donnie and hammering away at him, perhaps even mocking him verbally if he had the breath with which to do so. That was not Donnie's style but he could still roll his head back, grunting and hissing through his teeth as he got into the moment, hips working furiously as he took his own depraved pleasure from his brother in the hump and grind of his fleshy shaft.

“Fuck…"

The word came out in a raspy hiss of air, breath that had not yet done its job in his lungs, judging by the tightness in his chest. A hot, wet hole around his cock… Now that was something that he had not had in a while, although before it had always been with the lucky other's lips pursed around it, seeming to try to suck him deeper. Those people, he was sure, had been trying to get something from him and that was maybe the beauty of the weird thing of their relationship with John, in that all John wanted from him was the sex. He wasn't fucking him to get a gig or get in better favour, no: he just wanted to screw. And that was the best way to go about things when times were changing, the ground itself seeming to shift in ways beneath their feet that the fabric of the very earth they stood on threatened to buck them off at any point.

Ah… Now, that was better. Donnie smirked, more callously this time, and moaned in the back of his throat, the sound seeming to rise up from deep inside him, more primal than anything else that he could have ever have thought to produce before. He wasn't thinking about putting on a show and that in itself was comforting as there was no one there to make a joke or a comment if he did something strange, allowing him to fill his brother's mouth and hiss through his teeth as much as he pleased, a muscle jumping in the tension at the corner of his jaw. Oh, how much he needed a good cock-sucking, even if John wasn't exactly the right person to provide that kind of stimulation!

It wasn't enough, however, not for a man who had been pent up for so long, kept on the bottom and getting off with a cock rammed up his backdoor – not that that was a bad thing all the time, of course. Just there was nothing wrong with a little variety either now, was there? Saliva clung to his cock in a dripping string as he drew back, mesmerised by how his brother's lips seemed much paler in comparison as he pulled away, imagining something more, even though painting his face with cum just didn't seem right either. He pushed himself on, cock throbbing for that lick of wet sensation once more, John clawing and scrambling very, very slowly at the floor as if he was about to return to the true semblance of the waking world once more.

Donnie's heart leapt into his throat. He didn't have much time before John would come around – fuck, he was up on all the drugs! He had some resistance to that! He paused for the briefest of moments to allow himself to be impressed by the fact that he was still sound enough in his own mind to recognise that (at least he had not been so stupid as to render himself so incapacitated that he could not even talk or stand – not that time), turning John over onto his front as his brother groaned. Mumbling something incoherent, John tried to get his palms on the floor, beneath his body, but he was not in a position of strength to push himself up, hardly even aware of what was going on.

Breathing heavily, Donnie splattered a cold dose of lube onto his brother's backside, perhaps for the first time in his life. He didn't ask questions like that of John but he did hold his breath as he shoved one finger and then a second into John's anal ring, spreading his apart and working in the lubricant. If he hurt his brother, well, that was a sure fire way to get himself fucked up real good, some twisted part of his mind liking that idea. Perhaps another time he could push his luck in that way, for he was already going well enough out on a limb right there and then, pushing limits that he had not even considered being in place simply because they had always been part of the background scenery.

Working his hand along the length of his cock, he could have lost himself in sensation, everything appearing sharper and clearer than before, the taste of vodka stark in the back of his mouth. He would have thought that the liquor would have dulled sensation but it was completely the opposite with something more potent coursing through him, imagining briefly that his pupils were surely dilated and straining, hungry for something that, so far, had been denied to him. His shaft pulsed in his hand, drooling pre-cum thickly and viscously, more than he could have expected himself to produce, his body telling him, quite clearly, that he had no choice in the option.

Like with John, he always had to fall prey to something else, if not the someone that was his own 'loving' brother.

A cushion shoved at the wrong angle, jabbing up into John's stomach, helped a bit but Donnie could not slow himself, could not even think of stopping himself as he lined himself up, already putting his weight behind the first thrust as he pressed the head of his cock wantonly up to his brother's anal ring. The pucker tensed as if John was going to force him out at first but Donnie knew that it would always give in – it always had with him, at least. And John groaned too as he was spread open, whatever was in his system clearly dulling everything enough to cover up the pain, although he could have been too far gone to register that either. That was fine too, in its way. Payback for a slight should always come with a little wondering as to whether or not there was something more lurking beneath the surface, coming into play at the most opportune of times. After all, that was just how the two of them best conducted their business together and in their lives apart.

But Donnie couldn't let his mind wander as raw sensation buffeting him, threatening to overwhelm as stars leapt and danced beneath his eyes, which suddenly found themselves closed without any sense of conscious thought. How long had it been? It was good that his body knew what to do, thrusting into that tightness, because his mind locked down, lips parted in a dark 'O' of pleasure that only a moan could possibly put voice too. His glutes tensed, trousers off at some point, just in a T-shirt – yet that was not going to matter. Dark circles dampened the fabric beneath his arms but he was only concerned with the here and the now, looking down the length of his shaft disappearing into his brother's backside as if watching someone else do it.

But it was him, all him, and he was about to reap the rewards of sensation from it, head spinning and each panting breath coming right along with a moan too for good measure. There was no way to hold himself back as he trusted the awkwardly crammed pillow, cushion…thing to hold up his brother at something like the right angle, animalistic, primal need taking over his mind. His hips worked automatically as he leaned over John, balancing himself on one hand as his hair hung down around his face, tangles evident, although he was by no means striving to hide his face or his features in the slightest. No! There was no one there to see him and, god damn it, he was going to have what he wanted from John this time!

And it was as divine as he'd imagined, waking up from dreams in which he'd been bold enough and brave enough to take his brother in that way and knowing that he'd never be able to in real life. He hadn't even been stupid enough to bother with asking the question, already knowing what the answer was – and yet the reality of it was so much sweeter as he ploughed into John, his brother shifting beneath him, coming back to sobriety more and more with each and every powerful thrust. Chest tight, he gasped and fought for each and every breath, lips stretched into a lurid grin that would have rendered him completely and utterly a fool if he had had the space in his head to consider just what shit he was getting into.

Yet few men would be able to stop fucking once they'd begun and Donnie was, most certainly, no different, if not a lesser man by any stretch of the imagination. He would keep going, instinct and the need of his body taking over as he grunted and groaned, hammering into a backside that was slightly more giving with each desperate thrust he gave. Pleasure clung to him like a shroud that he would not want to cast off, a heady aroma that sank into his lungs, the smoke of a drug that brought only the most wholesome of highs. But what was the point even in a wholesome high when there was so much to partake in, pounding his brother for all he was worth? Perhaps the fact that they were related took away what may have been clean and pure and wholesome from it but it was hard, so very hard, to think about it as anything other than fucking awesome when John's arse squeezed around him in that way.

John shifted, pushing himself up halfway, blinking rapidly. The fall of his hair across his cheek, half-loose from his out of character ponytail would have shielded his glassy expression if Donnie had not been so far over him, practically breathing down the back of his neck. But John was not so far into reality that he could do anything about his predicament, sensation crashing over him as he was stretched and fucked, every driving thrust seeming to hit right up against his prostate in such a way that he could not help but moan out himself too, forced to bear through it while his brother well and truly got his just desserts out of the illicit liaison. It was fair payback, after all, considering the number of times that Donnie had been pinned and forced down, fucked and taken whether he had actually consented to it or not – yet the more submissive of them always seemed to find himself coming back for more. It was funny how things like that worked.

Urgency coursed through Donnie, yet the alcohol dulled his own system, forcing him to hold out for longer than, naturally, he would have done. He could hump and grind and pound as much as he liked but the real problem in the matter swiftly became holding onto John as he cursed under his breath, movements becoming increasingly erratic. Growling through clenched teeth, Donnie threw himself desperately into each and every thrust, pounding with the full length of his shaft as if he could not possibly bear to leave even a single inch untouched, clad in only the cool air outside his brother's anal passage. He only had so much time to sate himself, hair clinging damply to the back of his neck with sweat, and panted as if he was in the middle of the most gruelling race of his life as his hips worked like they'd never worked before.

John swore and rocked back against Donnie, nearly throwing him off as Donnie howled out his climax, a breathless sort of sound that didn't seem quite right coming from his lips. Was that what it was like to top? Maybe he'd have to do it again, try again, just some more research… Yes… But his mind wavered and rose on the swell of orgasm, cock pulsing to deliver a shockingly thick load of cum right up into his waking brother's passage, as uncaring for John's pleasure as he had been about his when the roles, as they so often were, were reversed.

The bliss of orgasm should have been something to be enjoyed, even revered, but there was nothing sensual in how John clenched and squeezed down around his shaft, throwing his body back as he 'reared' up onto his knees, demoted to the status of a mere animal. But it was not animalistic thrill glinting in his dark eyes but something altogether more sinister as Donnie threw an arm around his neck, clinging on for dear life even as his hips worked and ground without conscious thought or direction, intent only on one thing that could very well prolong the inevitable.

“You fucking bastard!"

The words didn't seem strong enough to convey his fury at Donnie for what he had dared to do but the vein pulsing in his temple, eyes near enough popping out of his skull, at least told the tale that his spluttered words could not. With a strangled roar, he launched himself at Donnie, hands grabbing and groping and reaching for his throat: there was only one outcome possible to that scenario.

Shoulder slammed into the floor. Vision black. Hands around his throat, pressing, choking. His cock still hard, spurting cum that only seemed to throb even harder and more viscously, slick on his stomach. Everything blurred, his glasses knocked askew, but that was not something that was going to concern John as he squeezed, pressing down and digging in, cutting off any meagre jot of air supply that he may very well have thought he deserved to have. Maybe this was it and he really had gone and pushed John too far, destined to reach a bitter, gasping end on the floor of his own living room, cock still aching with the sweet release of climax. All in all, Donnie could not have seen it as a bad way to go, if he was even being asked about it himself, of course.

But John didn't want to go that far, even though surely the ache and soreness in his backside told a tale that, undoubtedly, warranted a far more brutal revenge than the one that Donnie had chanced to take. Releasing his throat, John grunted and wiped the back of one hand across his mouth, Donnie gasping and heaving for breath beneath him, eyes bulging out and hips trying to thrust up as he lay on his back, knees bent as if he was just about to push himself up again. But stealing the air from someone's lungs had a certain effect too, energy sapped and strength gone as if it had never even been present to begin with, lolling about on the floor with his limbs so weak and floppy that he was rendered as useless as someone who had actually consumed a cocktail of illegal substances not that long before. Yet the tables had surely been turned and, well, comeuppance had to be had one way or another.

And John was not done yet, eyes seeming to darken dangerously, although he was but a blurred figure above Donnie as he fought for breath, mouth a gaping, dark hole. Slowly and deliberately, John turned his head to the side and spat, though neither of them bothered waiting to see where it landed, Donnie's heart leaping and pounding so frantically that the vibrations seemed to pulse viciously, travelling aggressively through his chest. Upside down above him, John could have appeared comical under other circumstances, but these were very, very different circumstances and there was no way that John was appearing anything other than deadly serious.

His eyes narrowed. Donnie caught his breath.

“You're going to fucking regret this…"

And Donnie knew he would, although he hated too just how his heart leapt to hear those words, still striving and struggling to fight back as his hands once again wrapped around his throat. John knew just how hard he had to press to get Donnie doing just what he wanted him to but that didn't stop Donnie from writhing and twisting and even trying to bite, fighting back in every last primal way that his oxygen-deprived brain could think up. He howled brokenly, knowing that he was beat and yet relishing the fight all the same, cock softening even as his need rose tenfold.

On the bottom… Well, in their twisted relationship, that was just where he was supposed to be, whether he accepted it or not. He didn't want to control, even though it had been a nice sensation for a while. Where, however, was the fun in 'nice' when 'sensational' was an option? There was no sense at all in coasting on cannabis when cocaine, of course, was an option and that too was just why Donnie sank his teeth into the path he'd chosen for himself so vehemently, the world greying out around him as his weakening fingers slipped from John's wrists.

He would never have succeeded in pushing him off, in all fairness. He just wanted to try.

Hiked up. Hitched up like a smaller person, just Small Donnie all over again. His chest shuddered and he was vaguely aware of the fact that he was breathing again, if not freely, something tight around his throat. But that could not be right either as John's hands were quite firmly on his body, heaving under his arms as he spat out a swear and slammed him down over the arm of the sofa, hanging there limply and hopelessly.

It was nice to be that kind of hopeless sometimes too. Just sometimes.

“Fucking…"

But whatever else John had to say was lost as what Donnie abruptly came to understand with a shivering shock of realisation was his belt tightened around his neck. The leather dug in, cool material warming to the feel of his neck, caressing and sweetening even as it denoted dominance. It was reassuring as much as it was terrifying in equal and opposite measures, biting as it was yanked back by a much stronger hand than any one that Donnie could possibly hope to boast. He had no grip strength and had no desire either to cultivate it, sparing his talents for technological means, as was his aptitude. Whereas that left him vulnerable, he knew just why he kept John around in part, although it was still very much up for debate whether or not John would actually get him out of a sticky situation if such an opportunity did present itself to play the hero.

No… Yes. No. Maybe. It was hard to think as his cock tried to throb up hard and full once more, backside rudely and crudely thrust up for his brother's attention, although all that John intended to get from him was raw pleasure. After all, had it not been taken from him so forcibly? Struggling to keep enough breath in his lungs to retain consciousness, Donnie could not make his body relax as the somehow hard head of John's shaft ground up insistently to his anal ring, demanding entry. And just why wouldn't he too? He didn't care about lube or making it easier for Donnie, just like he had not each and every time that had gone before. The sweetness of that deal, still left unsaid, was that Donnie didn't care one bit about things like that either.

Let it hurt.

And it did – more than he would admit, clenching his jaw and sealing away his groans as he alternated between striving to tuck his chin down to his chest, bent over the arm of the sofa like some kind of lewd offering, and raise his head to stop the belt from digging in even further. Where it was around his throat, it could not put pressure on the exact points that John had used with his nasty, groping fingers to swiftly cut off his breath, yet even the prospect of a slow choke that rendered him unconsciousness in slippery greyness where he could not control what was happening to him or even his body at all. He would not give up control but, with John, he most certainly would not put up very much of a fight, no more than a mere pretence, a show, rather gladly too as his shaft rammed into him, forcing him painfully open in a shock of hurt that rang through his being like a lance.

He'd had it before but he still ground his teeth together and fought to bear through it the best he could, too tense to enjoy as John took his pleasure, not having forgotten what had transpired before. Whereas, for a normal couple, makeup sex may have been the name of the game, it was revenge sex that really got John's blood boiling, which Donnie knew well enough. If he hadn't been so set on that little bit of revenge for himself too, maybe he wouldn't have found himself in such a horrifically delectable position also, grunting thickly in the back of his throat as he tried not to show how much it fucking hurt, his body betraying him and, finally, relaxing just enough to ease the tension.

Only, that set in a different kind of tension too as John snarled and spat, wrenching the belt back so viciously that any sane man would have been sure that he was about to break their neck. Donnie only moaned – or, at least, he would have moaned if he'd not had his throat constricted to the point where all he could do was gape helplessly and hopelessly, the prey caught in John's trap. Skewered on his shaft, he raced to get his feet under him, his bare feet finding at least a little purchase in the carpet that hardly saw any wear or passage of shoes.

More… No. No. He could not think of what he wanted, imagining instead that he loathed what was happening to him. It would have been a hard case for him to argue, however, eyes rolling back into his skull as that cock ploughed him as full as he'd always wanted to be, his brother intent on claiming him, taking his revenge in the best way possible. Truly, it was the only way that John would take his revenge, since blood and sweat was not really his forte, the seeding of cum a much more carnal method, in his opinion, to tame his brother. Donnie still could not have truly said just how 'with it' John was, however, snarling and growling like a wild animal as he yanked on the belt like a crude sort of leash, Donnie ensnared and not even begging for mercy.

He would last longer: of that, Donnie was quite sure. There was too much, far too much, in John's system to get him off too quickly and the way that Donnie's heart turned over into the pit of his stomach, sinking and leaping nauseatingly, was something that he would have vehemently denied, even if he was teased about it. He'd been called a bitch and a cock-sucker – it wasn't as if John had any respect for those who, well, weren't him. But there was still something about being beneath a figure that was powerful but not, could take power that he just didn't quite yet understand, someone who would not spread a tale of how he could be fucked and pinned down and taken yet would still lord it over him in private.

And yet John still needed him, in his own weird little twisted way of going about it. That could not be denied. No one would want to deny it as he thrust in over and over again, each grinding throb of his shaft making Donnie's head spin more and more, even though the belt had slackened off, only a small amount, around his throat. It was enough for him to be able to, once again, think clearly, or as clearly as one could think with the arm of a sofa that he had had someone else pick out for him grinding up into his stomach, threatening to steal the breath from his lungs as sickness threatened to overcome him. It was the kind of high when power was stolen from him, however, that had him drooling pre-cum as if, quite literally, from a tap though, twisting his head from one side to the other, uncaring of the belt as he sought release, in an effort to contain the groans that may have otherwise dared to rise up with ugly heads. It was hard to not make any noise at all, especially when John slammed up into his prostate as if he was trying to drive all the way through it. It was not exactly the sexiest thoughts to have but the coarseness of his brutality was heart stopping in the extreme: just what Donnie needed him to be.

“Yeah?" John hissed through his teeth, a little spittle flying as if his mouth could simply not work properly in his haste to get out the words that he so very desperately needed to say. “You like that? Huh? You think you can get away with shit like that, Donnie? No fucking way, no fucking way! Not on my fucking watch…"

All he had there were the ramblings of a madman, a man who had lost his suave personality in the clutch of drugs that made the rest of reality just a little brighter and more interesting and, in some ways, easier to bear too. Against himself, Donnie could not help but squeeze down around John, drawing a rougher moan from his brother's lips, and smirked to himself, the belt tightening. Ah, John knew well enough what he was doing, still, but neither of them would admit to that little part of the game as each tried to rile the other up, nerve coming to a head as John's hips worked faster and harder than ever, the slap of flesh beating like the pace of a drum that no one, truly, was commanding for themselves.

“Fff… F_uck_!"

How strange to hear the emphasis of a word dragged out at the end! If he'd been anywhere else, Donnie would have laughed aloud but the tightening of the breath stole from him any last droplets of breath that may have been spared to laughter, his brother grinding in with due urgency. But he was not humping him with the force and fervour of a man possessed but one who was set on seeking revenge and felt the climax of such revenge drawing ever nearer, just as he'd planned. Not that John ever made much of a plan but, truly, it was as close as he got usually.

Donnie jerked forward against the belt from the hot splash of cum jolting up inside him before he actually heard John's moan of ecstasy, pleasure ruling him in what one could have quite rightly said was his one moment of vulnerability. There were many times to catch a man unawares but one of those times was in the height of climax, lips parted and eyes rolled back, the hair of his brother in one hand, pulling hard, and the belt in the other, sealing off his breath. Donnie fought and fought, lips opening and closing fruitlessly, but not even he could hold onto consciousness as John forced him to a hasty orgasm, spilling his seed over the side of the sofa at the very moment that true blackness overtook him.

When he came back to the world of the living, however, he found himself, quite appropriately, splattered in his own cum, the scent of smoke filling the living room. Donnie groaned and tried to push himself up from the floor where John had, clearly, just allowed him to fall, his head throbbing as if from some kind of impact.

“Seriously…"

But a muttered complaint was not going to bother his brother who was more concerned with his pipe, dressed again at least somewhat presentably while his younger brother tried to piece together something of an outfit that would make him look less like a homeless person. Smoothing his hair back into place with both hands didn't do him any good either, something that he didn't want to think about plastered all over both of them – but he would deal with that shortly.

Eyeing John, they shared a look that spoke volumes even without verbalised words, their language a more subtle style of communication. Maybe that was why they got on so well, even when their interactions, like that drug-filled night (just what time was it even again?) seemed to turn to a side of darkness that, well, didn't seem to work for family, let alone friends. They were nothing more than that, of course, and would have scoffed at the thought, Donnie carefully working around John as he failed to mention that he was smoking in his living room rather than the more secluded places in the house that, well, were better-suited to illegal activities. Sometimes it was better not to poke the bear, but the cub was most certainly not looking its best either at that time.

“What a mess…" Donnie said, breaking the quiet and gesturing at the shreds of his shirt. “Was that necessary?"

Setting his pipe aside, John looked him up and down. Donnie held his breath, heart pounding. Both of them knew that things could go in any direction from that point, but the cards lay, well and truly, in the hands of one of them and one alone. Only he could defuse or worsen the situation, just as he pleased.

“When you're such a cunt, yeah."

Donnie exhaled and said something that was of no real matter in the course of things. All that mattered was that they were back on a level, whatever that level was in the end. The misdemeanour, of course, was swiftly forgotten, although that was perhaps because John was hardly the sort of man to admit that he had had, heaven forbid, anyone top him. Donnie kept his face carefully blank, smirking behind the mask, as they redressed and showered, even though that was just another thing that devolved into debauchery, groping hands questing for the release of pent-up energy once more as John forced Donnie down to his knees on the hard tile. The thrust of his brother's cock driving up forcibly into the back of his throat was near enough a relief to Donnie, however: that was something that he knew how to do. Sure, there was a lot to be said about a hot, tight hole wrapped around his cock, but energy was expended in a wasteful fashion to dominate when one didn't even really want to be there, as much fun as revenge had been in the moment itself.

No… Better to suck and close his lips lustfully around the thick length, tongue pressing up to the underside and even managing to flick up against the tip each and every time John pulled back, teasing over the slickness of the head. The slit seemed to pucker in, although that was just his imagination, as if in readiness for orgasm, and Donnie moaned around him, the sound overcome by the rush of water pouring over his head, slickening his hair down to his scalp and neck, flowing smoothly and seamlessly. It would not serve to wash off the seediness of their time together and neither of them would have wanted that either as John moaned out his climax, cock exploding in his brother's mouth to dose his throat with another thick load of cum, all of which Donnie swallowed down, a part of him already, shamefully wanting more.

But he didn't want to admit to that. He didn't have to admit to that, looking up to his brother, standing over him in such a position of power as he always had. He needed it and that was what it was: he didn't have to say anything that he didn't want to. And he'd had a taste of what John had to offer in another way too, quietly and securely confident that he would, one day, find John in such a vulnerable position again. If he had such an opportunity present itself all over again, he most certainly would not have hesitated to make the same decision.

That was probably why they were the worst of brothers.

“So, what actually got you to smoke that much then?" Donnie said as if conversationally as they sat on the sofa at a respectful distance from one another, the lack of closeness quite deliberate and, strangely, comfortable. “And drink too… If that's not so much of a secret."

John blinked at him.

“Yeah… Been a while since blowing off steam like that, hey?"

Laughing, he shook his head, although even Donnie could tell that he was holding something back, merely sipping some manner of drink (maybe to his detriment, John had poured it for him) as he waited. He had more patience by far than his brother and could wait him out. Maybe. If not, what did he care? It was no bother to him, really, if John had a chip on his shoulder about anything or nothing at all: the world would continue all the same.

But some things were destined to be said.

“It's that bastard," John said at last, although by the mere fact that the words spilt from his lips like a fine liquor Donnie knew that he was, at least by some measure, still intoxicated. “The smug cunt thinking he's better than me… What with his tech firm thing and all that drug he brings in."

John screwed up his face as if he was going to spit but thought better of it as Donnie could not help but shoot him a warning glance. Sometimes, when he thought Donnie was getting too ballsy (like earlier, as a wonderfully recent and appropriate example), he would do things like that just to piss him off but that was by the by. They knew where they stood and there was still a very shaky yet tentative line to toe in the context of their relationship that, at least in some sense, had to be adhered to, if only to keep marginal peace. Sometimes Donnie wondered just what would happen if he did not reinforce that line with all that he had at his disposal from time to time. It could be good or it could be bad. Terrifyingly excitingly, there was only one way to find out.

Just not that day. Night. Whatever.

“Didn't know he got to you that much," Donnie commented vaguely. “Didn't think running a drug empire was your sort of deal anyway."

“It's not," John shot back, lips puckered very clearly in distaste, wearing his emotions as clearly as ever. “Just you think… You know?"

“No, really, I don't."

John spat a curse and leapt up, just a little shaky on his feet, which was quite admirable, considering all of the intoxicating substances that he'd consumed in something like the last twenty-four hours. It was hard to keep track of it sometimes, not that Donnie was all that bothered, in fact, with being his brother's caretaker. John was old enough to look after himself, even if he was nothing but a bad influence at best. At worst, he was the destruction of all that a man could hold close to himself and so very much more than that too.

He paced, a wobbling line tracing a path from one side of the living room to the other, crossing in front of the large, flat-screen TV each and every time. Warily, Donnie tracked him with his eyes, the cool of the glass in his hand seeming to press up more firmly against his fingers. That was one piece that he'd rather keep hold of, despite not really sitting down to watch anything anymore. It was entertaining enough for pirated movies when they reminisced about older times, younger times… Times when things had come more easily because their wants had simply been less than what they were then.

But, as an adult, one had to have somewhere to live, to form some semblance of living if they wanted clean clothes, good food, the luxuries that Americans had become accustomed to over the years. Laziness didn't play well into that equation and it was sometimes possible to change that mindset with the right trigger at play. And maybe, just maybe, John had found his trigger to take him from one kind of life right into another.

He couldn't stay still, driven on by a luxurious cocktail of adrenaline and the drugs still lingering in his system, alcohol clouding his brain just enough for his normal rationality, what was unique and individual to him, to shut off. It was long enough for the glint and glimmer of a plan to form itself in his mind, the seed of which could be nurtured in time and allowed to grow if he did not suffocate it. With John, either option really was possible and only time would tell just how far he got with anything and everything in turn. He was, after all, highly prone to distraction, whether that distraction was legally obtained or something that more than just the law would have frowned on with a surly shake of one's head.

Rocking back on his heels, John set his jaw, hands thrust into his pockets, while all Donnie could do was stare on. Were any of his possessions at risk? Sure, he could buy more but the hassle of it or losing data, of course, was the real problem in that saucy little matter.

“I've got to get back at that bastard," he hissed, shoulders shaking as if there was something beneath them striving and fighting to free itself. “I've just got to. No one gets away with acting like that, not to me. Not fucking now."

What that was really supposed to mean would soon be revealed as John rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling just as Donnie had done for so long earlier, the skylight affording him a look up into the outside world in a way that he had never before afforded himself. Why look up when he could look to whatever was taking his attention at that time? John, however, had never before considered that 'up' could hold his attention too, stars glittering high above as streaks of dawn threatened to tint the sky and rip the night from its lonesome grasp, as it did each and every day. Some things, after all, could not be held off and he could not hold off the looming lie that he had told himself for so many years.

If he was the one in power…why did he not already have it for himself?

And Jaunt would fall, just like everyone else who had tumbled before him had fallen, the lies that they'd bandied about meaning nothing in the end, just like the worthless words that humanity liked to toss at one another. He was the only one – he had to be! – that saw through all of that crap, yes, saw the real truth of it, the real fucking god damn fucking truth.

Baring his teeth in a snarl, John blinked at his washed out reflection in the skylight, a pale face surrounding by a swirl of dark hair.

He'd have his revenge. And he knew just how he was going to go about it now too…