![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drwormTitle: And Straight on Till Morning
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Diogenes/Aloysius
Summary: How does a psychopath love? With false tears and wide, toothy grins.
He stared down at his bed and smiled, brushing the fingertips of one hand over his lips. His brother lay on his stomach, nude and pale against the dark backdrop of his bedsheets, and looked up at him demurely through his eyelashes. Diogenes laughed shrilly and then sighed. “What a surprise.”
A flush rose on Aloysius’s face, but he said nothing. Diogenes stepped forward, loosening his tie and stripping off the suit jacket he’d worn to school. “Home for the weekend? Do Mother and Father know you’re here?”
“Yes,” Aloysius said as Diogenes knelt and used his necktie to bind his brother’s wrists in an intricate knot.
“You like to take risks, don’t you? Big brother?” He held his brother’s chin and tilted his head up, forcing him to make eye contact. Aloysius said nothing, and Diogenes leaned forward to for a brief, light kiss before standing again. “Won’t this be fun?” he asked, skimming a hand down Aloysius’s back. He lingered at the swell of his flank for a moment, teasing, and then abruptly drew his hand back and struck as hard as he could.
Aloysius did not cry out, but Diogenes was pleased to see the pinprick sparkles of tears in his eyes when his brother gazed up at him from over one shoulder. He—
The dream threatens to dissolve, and he fights it, willing away the guilt and the contempt and the instincts of suppression. He is upset, things are not going according to plan, and he wants his mind to drift. He hates that he has retreated to an embarrassing and puerile teenage fantasy, but at the same time doesn’t want to give it up. He wants to slip into it and gain comfort from it, like a familiar room or article of clothing. He lies very still, willing the sensations to return.
—knew Aloysius would never cry out for him, but this small evidence of the influence he had was more than enough. He petted the reddened flesh, soothing it, and paid careful attention to Aloysius’s breathing and the tension in his body. When he sensed calmness and recovery, Diogenes struck again, barking out a noise that was not quite a laugh or a scream as he watched his brother’s body jerk violently forward, his muscles tightening against the threat.
He grasped his brother’s chin again, more roughly now, and forced him to look up. A tear trickled down one heated cheek, and Diogenes followed its trail with the tip of his tongue, licking it away. He did not stop at the corner of Aloysius’s eye, instead tracing the curve of the lower lid and pausing to lap at the inviting point of the tear-duct. Aloysius’s breath warmed his neck as he worked.
Even with his hands tied, Aloysius was still reaching for him, clumsily attempting to unbutton his shirt. Diogenes pulled back and began to undress himself, feeling warm and heavy and full of an emotion he didn’t want to explore. His brother looked up at him, his eyes needy and yet completely unreachable, untouchable deep inside where it really counted.
“Did you miss me?” he asked as he stripped off his shirt.
Aloysius hesitated. “I wanted you,” he said in a low voice, punctuating the sentiment by pressing his hips into the mattress.
Diogenes looked away, surprised at how much the blatant sexual gesture unnerved him. He removed his shoes, socks, trousers, and underwear, folding them into a neat little pile and not bothering to check Aloysius’s reactions. Once he was fully unclothed, he stretched his arms over his head languorously and looked down. His brother’s stare had not wavered in the slightest. Diogenes watched with some amusement as Aloysius propped himself up on his elbows and tilted his head back to look his younger brother in the eye. “What do you think?”
“You’ve gotten taller.” His eyes moved carefully over the willow-y contours of Diogenes’ chest to the straight, angular line of his hip.
“I’ll be taller than you soon.”
“I know.” Aloysius leaned forward, nearly off the edge of the bed, and trailed the tip of his nose over the flesh of Diogenes’s belly. A fine down of red-gold hairs tickled his nostrils as he moved lower. Diogenes pushed his hips forward with a quiet hum of appreciation and—
He is excited now, anticipating the scene that he unfolds carefully in his mind. He rolls onto his back, grits his teeth, and tries to hold on to every sensation for as long as he can. That’s all he has left, now, of his house and his brother: memories, sensations, dreams, and fragments. Some of which aren’t even real, are instead products of a fit of feverish eroticism from long-ago that he never bothered to cast off. He runs his palms over his thighs as his breathing quickens.
—Aloysius kissed the tip of his erection before beginning to lick his way down the shaft. His hands, still tied, were raised, and his fingertips brushed up and down Diogenes’s inner thighs, pausing occasionally to tickle his scrotum.
“You’re teasing,” Diogenes murmured. “I don’t like it when you tease.” He tangled one hand in his brother’s fine, pale hair, and jerked his head back. Aloysius whined in protest. “Open.” The only response was an icy, faraway stare. “Oh, I see.” He grinned, his teeth edged in a predatory way. “You think it’s going to go your way or not at all?” Aloysius moved his head, as if to say no, but Diogenes interrupted him. “Thinking of biting me?”
“… a little bit.”
“But you wouldn’t dare, would you?”
His eyes shift down and away. “I suppose not.”
“No, I didn’t think so.” With his free hand, Diogenes began to stroke himself. He moved slowly, waiting for Aloysius to break down and acquiesce. While he waited, he enjoyed the intimacy of the moment, and the way his brother’s eyes shifted back and forth, unable to decide just where to fix their stare.
Finally, Aloysius opened his mouth and extended his tongue to lick a drop of fluid from the tip of Diogenes’s erection, and Diogenes took advantage of the moment to push his hips forward. When he heard the harsh noise of Aloysius beginning to gag, he pulled back. He watched as his brother began to bob his head up and down, pausing every few strokes to churn his tongue and swallow his excess saliva. With a sigh, Diogenes loosened his grip on Aloysius’s hair, letting his hand drift down to his cheek as he took pleasure in watching. Soon, however, the sight became too much, and Diogenes had to force himself to close his eyes.
Then it was just a world of sensation without sight or fantasy. He breathed deeply as he felt his body relax and move away from the precipice. Even as Aloysius began to up the ante—again using his bound hands to first knead his scrotum and then to reach behind and apply steady, maddening pressure to his perineum—Diogenes remained distanced. It wasn’t until he felt his knees begin to go weak and his head begin to swim that Diogenes opened his eyes and pulled back out of Aloysius’s grasp.
His brother reached out to him, hungry and greedy. Diogenes knelt beside the bed, enjoying the pain it caused his swollen erection and the sensation of clear-headedness it brought. He leaned in and kissed Aloysius sloppily, tasting himself as he thrust his tongue in and out of Aloysius’s mouth. The carpet felt rough against his knees, his bedspread felt soft and cool where he touched it, and Aloysius’s shoulders were smooth and so warm he felt as if his fingertips were being burned.
Aloysius jerked his head to the side; a thin string of saliva stretched between their lips and broke as he took a deep breath. His normally thin lips were dark and swollen, and Diogenes found himself watching them carefully as Aloysius began to speak. “I can’t wait much longer,” he said. “Please.”
That one word, which his brother had only ever used before in a polite, impersonal sense, made Diogenes shiver inside. He stood, keeping one hand on his brother, and—
His hands slip between his legs and he begins to move quickly, pulling and stroking himself even as he has to swallow the sick feeling that his masturbation produces. He hates the needs of his flesh, hates feeling weak when he submits to them. He hates his brother, briefly, and the fact that he has the power to provoke such a reaction in him. He hates, and the emotion only arouses him further.
—slid up onto the bed. He straddled Aloysius’s thighs and slipped one hand beneath his hips to encourage him to rise. Aloysius did so eagerly, bracing himself on his knees and elbows and arching his back. His erection pushed wetly against Diogenes’s hand, and he gave it several excruciatingly slow tugs. When he pulled back to begin, he wiped some of the pre-ejaculate on himself, where it mingled with his brother’s saliva and his own fluids.
The act of penetration was slow and laborious, and Aloysius watched him from over one shoulder. His lips were parted, though he made no sound until Diogenes laid flush against him. He sighed as his younger brother leaned in and kissed his neck, distracting him from the subtle back-and-forth motion of his hips and the continuing teasing touches between his legs.
“Do you remember,” Diogenes whispered with uncommon gentleness, “when I was…” he paused, closed his eyes, and clenched his teeth as the lie stuck in his throat, “when I was sick?”
“Yes,” Aloysius gasped and then hesitated. “Mother made me sit with you when you woke up and—”
“—and you read me Peter Pan—”
“—and the only part you liked was the crocodile.” He hummed with pleasure as Diogenes thrust against him.
“Aloysius?”
He turned his head and felt his brother’s lips against the curve of his ear.
“Never grow up, Aloysius,” Diogenes hissed. “Never go away again. Stay with me.” His hand moved to Aloysius’s wrist, where he deftly pulled the knots free and tossed away his wrinkled tie. He twined his fingers with his brother’s and—
He realizes that it isn’t his brother he longs for. The young man in his mind is a doll, a puppet, a toy that he has mentally dressed up to look like his brother even as it does and says exactly what he wants it to. The truth of his brother’s rejection still hurts too much to bear without a replacement. In his mind, it’s like a memory told with a shadowbox: one of finding his brother burning his journals, of reaching out to him in his anger and grief and fear, of being rejected absolutely.
—his brother reciprocated eagerly, grasping at him even before the feeling could have returned to his own reddened fingers.
“Yes,” he said as he began to move his own hips, matching Diogenes’s rhythm. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“Good,” Diogenes sighed as he dug his nails deep into the back of Aloysius’s palm. He moved faster, his motions becoming frantic and churning. The bedsprings creaked beneath them, and Diogenes’s words fell to inarticulate moans as he stiffened against Aloysius and felt the electric rush of orgasm surge up his spinal cord and hit his brain like a blow to the head. He sensed Aloysius tightening beneath him moments later, his breath coming in short, shallow pants as he climaxed.
The world spun momentarily, existed only for them, but far too soon equilibrium was restored. He moved carefully off of his brother, and they tumbled together, relaxed and sleepy.
Aloysius laid his head on Diogenes’s shoulder. “I always hated that crocodile,” he murmured as he nursed the bloody scratches on the back of his hand.
“I know,” Diogenes said as he stretched one arm over his head. He smiled unpleasantly. “Because—
He trembles in the wake of his orgasm, with hatred and loss rather than pleasure. His brother has never understood the source of his need for violence, has never bothered to try. The irony of that causes him to laugh wildly. His moral, self-righteous brother could have saved so many lives if only he had not pushed him away. He’s only ever dreamed about killing everything Aloysius became close to that wasn’t him, but his brother will never see the connection… only the thoughts and deeds that result.
“—I am the crocodile.”
[First posted in April of 2006.]
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Diogenes/Aloysius
Summary: How does a psychopath love? With false tears and wide, toothy grins.
He stared down at his bed and smiled, brushing the fingertips of one hand over his lips. His brother lay on his stomach, nude and pale against the dark backdrop of his bedsheets, and looked up at him demurely through his eyelashes. Diogenes laughed shrilly and then sighed. “What a surprise.”
A flush rose on Aloysius’s face, but he said nothing. Diogenes stepped forward, loosening his tie and stripping off the suit jacket he’d worn to school. “Home for the weekend? Do Mother and Father know you’re here?”
“Yes,” Aloysius said as Diogenes knelt and used his necktie to bind his brother’s wrists in an intricate knot.
“You like to take risks, don’t you? Big brother?” He held his brother’s chin and tilted his head up, forcing him to make eye contact. Aloysius said nothing, and Diogenes leaned forward to for a brief, light kiss before standing again. “Won’t this be fun?” he asked, skimming a hand down Aloysius’s back. He lingered at the swell of his flank for a moment, teasing, and then abruptly drew his hand back and struck as hard as he could.
Aloysius did not cry out, but Diogenes was pleased to see the pinprick sparkles of tears in his eyes when his brother gazed up at him from over one shoulder. He—
The dream threatens to dissolve, and he fights it, willing away the guilt and the contempt and the instincts of suppression. He is upset, things are not going according to plan, and he wants his mind to drift. He hates that he has retreated to an embarrassing and puerile teenage fantasy, but at the same time doesn’t want to give it up. He wants to slip into it and gain comfort from it, like a familiar room or article of clothing. He lies very still, willing the sensations to return.
—knew Aloysius would never cry out for him, but this small evidence of the influence he had was more than enough. He petted the reddened flesh, soothing it, and paid careful attention to Aloysius’s breathing and the tension in his body. When he sensed calmness and recovery, Diogenes struck again, barking out a noise that was not quite a laugh or a scream as he watched his brother’s body jerk violently forward, his muscles tightening against the threat.
He grasped his brother’s chin again, more roughly now, and forced him to look up. A tear trickled down one heated cheek, and Diogenes followed its trail with the tip of his tongue, licking it away. He did not stop at the corner of Aloysius’s eye, instead tracing the curve of the lower lid and pausing to lap at the inviting point of the tear-duct. Aloysius’s breath warmed his neck as he worked.
Even with his hands tied, Aloysius was still reaching for him, clumsily attempting to unbutton his shirt. Diogenes pulled back and began to undress himself, feeling warm and heavy and full of an emotion he didn’t want to explore. His brother looked up at him, his eyes needy and yet completely unreachable, untouchable deep inside where it really counted.
“Did you miss me?” he asked as he stripped off his shirt.
Aloysius hesitated. “I wanted you,” he said in a low voice, punctuating the sentiment by pressing his hips into the mattress.
Diogenes looked away, surprised at how much the blatant sexual gesture unnerved him. He removed his shoes, socks, trousers, and underwear, folding them into a neat little pile and not bothering to check Aloysius’s reactions. Once he was fully unclothed, he stretched his arms over his head languorously and looked down. His brother’s stare had not wavered in the slightest. Diogenes watched with some amusement as Aloysius propped himself up on his elbows and tilted his head back to look his younger brother in the eye. “What do you think?”
“You’ve gotten taller.” His eyes moved carefully over the willow-y contours of Diogenes’ chest to the straight, angular line of his hip.
“I’ll be taller than you soon.”
“I know.” Aloysius leaned forward, nearly off the edge of the bed, and trailed the tip of his nose over the flesh of Diogenes’s belly. A fine down of red-gold hairs tickled his nostrils as he moved lower. Diogenes pushed his hips forward with a quiet hum of appreciation and—
He is excited now, anticipating the scene that he unfolds carefully in his mind. He rolls onto his back, grits his teeth, and tries to hold on to every sensation for as long as he can. That’s all he has left, now, of his house and his brother: memories, sensations, dreams, and fragments. Some of which aren’t even real, are instead products of a fit of feverish eroticism from long-ago that he never bothered to cast off. He runs his palms over his thighs as his breathing quickens.
—Aloysius kissed the tip of his erection before beginning to lick his way down the shaft. His hands, still tied, were raised, and his fingertips brushed up and down Diogenes’s inner thighs, pausing occasionally to tickle his scrotum.
“You’re teasing,” Diogenes murmured. “I don’t like it when you tease.” He tangled one hand in his brother’s fine, pale hair, and jerked his head back. Aloysius whined in protest. “Open.” The only response was an icy, faraway stare. “Oh, I see.” He grinned, his teeth edged in a predatory way. “You think it’s going to go your way or not at all?” Aloysius moved his head, as if to say no, but Diogenes interrupted him. “Thinking of biting me?”
“… a little bit.”
“But you wouldn’t dare, would you?”
His eyes shift down and away. “I suppose not.”
“No, I didn’t think so.” With his free hand, Diogenes began to stroke himself. He moved slowly, waiting for Aloysius to break down and acquiesce. While he waited, he enjoyed the intimacy of the moment, and the way his brother’s eyes shifted back and forth, unable to decide just where to fix their stare.
Finally, Aloysius opened his mouth and extended his tongue to lick a drop of fluid from the tip of Diogenes’s erection, and Diogenes took advantage of the moment to push his hips forward. When he heard the harsh noise of Aloysius beginning to gag, he pulled back. He watched as his brother began to bob his head up and down, pausing every few strokes to churn his tongue and swallow his excess saliva. With a sigh, Diogenes loosened his grip on Aloysius’s hair, letting his hand drift down to his cheek as he took pleasure in watching. Soon, however, the sight became too much, and Diogenes had to force himself to close his eyes.
Then it was just a world of sensation without sight or fantasy. He breathed deeply as he felt his body relax and move away from the precipice. Even as Aloysius began to up the ante—again using his bound hands to first knead his scrotum and then to reach behind and apply steady, maddening pressure to his perineum—Diogenes remained distanced. It wasn’t until he felt his knees begin to go weak and his head begin to swim that Diogenes opened his eyes and pulled back out of Aloysius’s grasp.
His brother reached out to him, hungry and greedy. Diogenes knelt beside the bed, enjoying the pain it caused his swollen erection and the sensation of clear-headedness it brought. He leaned in and kissed Aloysius sloppily, tasting himself as he thrust his tongue in and out of Aloysius’s mouth. The carpet felt rough against his knees, his bedspread felt soft and cool where he touched it, and Aloysius’s shoulders were smooth and so warm he felt as if his fingertips were being burned.
Aloysius jerked his head to the side; a thin string of saliva stretched between their lips and broke as he took a deep breath. His normally thin lips were dark and swollen, and Diogenes found himself watching them carefully as Aloysius began to speak. “I can’t wait much longer,” he said. “Please.”
That one word, which his brother had only ever used before in a polite, impersonal sense, made Diogenes shiver inside. He stood, keeping one hand on his brother, and—
His hands slip between his legs and he begins to move quickly, pulling and stroking himself even as he has to swallow the sick feeling that his masturbation produces. He hates the needs of his flesh, hates feeling weak when he submits to them. He hates his brother, briefly, and the fact that he has the power to provoke such a reaction in him. He hates, and the emotion only arouses him further.
—slid up onto the bed. He straddled Aloysius’s thighs and slipped one hand beneath his hips to encourage him to rise. Aloysius did so eagerly, bracing himself on his knees and elbows and arching his back. His erection pushed wetly against Diogenes’s hand, and he gave it several excruciatingly slow tugs. When he pulled back to begin, he wiped some of the pre-ejaculate on himself, where it mingled with his brother’s saliva and his own fluids.
The act of penetration was slow and laborious, and Aloysius watched him from over one shoulder. His lips were parted, though he made no sound until Diogenes laid flush against him. He sighed as his younger brother leaned in and kissed his neck, distracting him from the subtle back-and-forth motion of his hips and the continuing teasing touches between his legs.
“Do you remember,” Diogenes whispered with uncommon gentleness, “when I was…” he paused, closed his eyes, and clenched his teeth as the lie stuck in his throat, “when I was sick?”
“Yes,” Aloysius gasped and then hesitated. “Mother made me sit with you when you woke up and—”
“—and you read me Peter Pan—”
“—and the only part you liked was the crocodile.” He hummed with pleasure as Diogenes thrust against him.
“Aloysius?”
He turned his head and felt his brother’s lips against the curve of his ear.
“Never grow up, Aloysius,” Diogenes hissed. “Never go away again. Stay with me.” His hand moved to Aloysius’s wrist, where he deftly pulled the knots free and tossed away his wrinkled tie. He twined his fingers with his brother’s and—
He realizes that it isn’t his brother he longs for. The young man in his mind is a doll, a puppet, a toy that he has mentally dressed up to look like his brother even as it does and says exactly what he wants it to. The truth of his brother’s rejection still hurts too much to bear without a replacement. In his mind, it’s like a memory told with a shadowbox: one of finding his brother burning his journals, of reaching out to him in his anger and grief and fear, of being rejected absolutely.
—his brother reciprocated eagerly, grasping at him even before the feeling could have returned to his own reddened fingers.
“Yes,” he said as he began to move his own hips, matching Diogenes’s rhythm. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“Good,” Diogenes sighed as he dug his nails deep into the back of Aloysius’s palm. He moved faster, his motions becoming frantic and churning. The bedsprings creaked beneath them, and Diogenes’s words fell to inarticulate moans as he stiffened against Aloysius and felt the electric rush of orgasm surge up his spinal cord and hit his brain like a blow to the head. He sensed Aloysius tightening beneath him moments later, his breath coming in short, shallow pants as he climaxed.
The world spun momentarily, existed only for them, but far too soon equilibrium was restored. He moved carefully off of his brother, and they tumbled together, relaxed and sleepy.
Aloysius laid his head on Diogenes’s shoulder. “I always hated that crocodile,” he murmured as he nursed the bloody scratches on the back of his hand.
“I know,” Diogenes said as he stretched one arm over his head. He smiled unpleasantly. “Because—
He trembles in the wake of his orgasm, with hatred and loss rather than pleasure. His brother has never understood the source of his need for violence, has never bothered to try. The irony of that causes him to laugh wildly. His moral, self-righteous brother could have saved so many lives if only he had not pushed him away. He’s only ever dreamed about killing everything Aloysius became close to that wasn’t him, but his brother will never see the connection… only the thoughts and deeds that result.
“—I am the crocodile.”
[First posted in April of 2006.]
(no subject)
Date: 2009-05-24 01:56 am (UTC)♥
i just, i love this one. poor crazy fucking diogenes.