Fiction: "History of Violence"
Jan. 13th, 2006 04:01 pm![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phantomasTitle: Brother's Keeper
Rating: NC17 (implied non-con, implied underage)
Disclaimer: Cronenberg's (bless him), not mine.
Request fulfilled: History of Violence, Richie/Joey, non-con
Notes: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
straying_thread Yuletide Story Exchange 2005, and specifically for ![[livejournal.com profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
franzi1981. I am aware that the title it's not the most original title ever, but it suits the story enough. Suggestions welcome. Criticism welcome as well.
Many many thanks to Sue for editing it and making it better - all remaining horrors are totally mine.
Brother's Keeper
"Jesus, Joey." Richie took the baseball bat away from his brother's hands. It was slippery.
Richie took a handkerchief out of his pockets and cleaned the area around the handle, covered in grip tape. He always was the fastidious one, even at thirteen.
"You said you were going to do it. I did it first." Joey ignored the battered small animal in the corner of the tool house and walked away. Richie looked at it for a while, pressing his lips together. Better to hide it, or Ma would go into one of her fits. When that happened, it was never Joey, but always Richie, who paid the consequences. Which meant, Richie would make Joey pay his consequences. Smiling, he started digging.
***
"Ma told me not to!" He was small, Joey. At six years old, he couldn't reach up to the tap of the shower, turn it off. Richie was older, would always be older, and taller. Like Dad. Joey took more from Ma's side.
"You're such a little kid. A little pussy. Joey is a little pussy, Joey is a little pussy," Richie hummed the childish, sing-song tune quietly, because Dad was downstairs somewhere. Ma was at Mass. Richie didn't want interruptions.
"I ain't no pussy!" Joey threw a kick, but there was little strength behind the bare foot. Joey had learnt early on that it didn't pay to seriously hurt Richie. He was stronger. And he slept in the same room.
"Oh yeah? Then prove it to me, Joey. Bro-y."
Dad had said, 'Richie, fuck off, take Joey to have his shower, go to sleep. Friends are coming. Don't want you two little shits fucking around, understand?' Those kind of friends didn't care for kids running around. However, Richie had it all planned out: in just a handful of years, he would go with Dad's friends, he would be tall enough, old enough. His fingers could already wrap around his Dad's gun.
Joey opened his mouth and started sucking. He hated washing. Hated the shower stall. It was too small for two. Suffocating.
***
The trick was to be louder. Faster. Unpredictable. To keep Richie, who was always there, always studying him, on the lookout. Always alert. Ma and Dad were below them, by now. Richie and Joey were a pack of two and crazy at that. The other kids had learnt not to oppose them. Dad's friends were starting to pay attention to Richie. Everyone was learning to stay away from Joey.
***
It was warm under the blankets, in between the sheets. Sweaty, body warmth. Murmured words and rustle of fabric warmth. Naked skin warmth. "I'll untie you when Ma gets up," Richie murmured in Joey's ear. The boy's arms were stretched towards the headstand, firmly blocked with a belt. "Now be quiet, broy." Richie's heavier body completely covered Joey's still adolescent one. A grunt escaped Richie's lips when the head of his cock breached the small asshole. "I won, didn't I?"
A cold whisper brought the words to Joey's ear. His face was pressed against the pillow, muffling the sounds he might make. But he didn't make any. Not a word.
"You gotta be faster. For your own sake, broy." Propped on his palms, Richie kneed Joey's legs apart. It'd be so easy, right now. Just place his palm on Joey's nape, and press. Press harder, rock his hips faster, fuck the little shit's ass until there was no more struggling, no more fighting. No more breathing. "It's all your fault, you know that."
Ah, Joey always was a good fuck. So tight. So small. Richie had made him bleed more than once. "I have to do all the work. All the time. Have to share with you, broy. Teach you how things are done. And you just keep doing what you want. Only right I get something back."
The room's door was blocked by a chair, just in case - the two bodies only one semi-moving bundle under the covers. A faint sound of flesh slapping flesh. Hard. Richie loved the feel of the smaller body under his, the power of it. The silence of it. "Just remember to breathe, okay? Or Ma will whack me hard. Now take my dick, broy. Take it all. Take it up the ass. You wouldn't have to, if you were strong enough; you know that."
Richie never took too long. Never was fast either. He did it just right. Enough to fuck his brother good, enough to spurt come deep inside of him, enough to get close enough to kill him and yet step back. This was the closest he ever dared to come. He would untie Joey later. There had been no need for the belt, in the previous years. But Joey was growing up so fast lately. He didn't even cry anymore; he'd just lie down and take it. If it wasn't for Joey's dick never getting hard, Richie could almost believe his brother was starting to like it. "There," a slap to the soft buttocks signalled Richie's dick slipping out of his brother's ass. "You're such a good brother, Joey. My favorite." The kiss pressed on Joey's temple found it covered in cold sweat.
"I'm the only brother you've got," Joey's quiet answer surprised Richie for a moment.
"Yeah. And I, I am the only one you've got."
"I'll be faster next time, Richie."
"You do that, broy."
***
It was a private room, rented for the occasion. The owner of the club never asked questions, took the money, and never remembered a face. When they entered, the party was already in full swing: a few half-naked girls dancing lazily on the tables, card games being lost and won, a few bodies half hidden in the darker corners, flashes of creamy thighs and rocking hairy asses. Smoke, sweat, alcohol. Joey grinned, took a chair and flopped on it at the nearest card table, without uttering a word. He took his blade out of his pocket and started cleaning his nails. Richie was a few steps behind, shaking hands, passing a couple of envelopes to the right hands, getting a few pats on his shoulders.
"Hey, guys, the Cusaks are here!" A few more shouts followed the first one, a bottle was passed from hand to hand, glasses filled, swearing and cursing and laughter filling the smoky atmosphere.
Richie glanced at Joey. Joey glanced back. His lips curled slightly over the blade in his hands. Many around the table, in the room, knew that smile. Only Richie felt at ease smiling back. Everyone else was more or less consciously glad to be armed, and not alone.
Rating: NC17 (implied non-con, implied underage)
Disclaimer: Cronenberg's (bless him), not mine.
Request fulfilled: History of Violence, Richie/Joey, non-con
Notes: Written for the
straying_thread Yuletide Story Exchange 2005, and specifically for franzi1981. I am aware that the title it's not the most original title ever, but it suits the story enough. Suggestions welcome. Criticism welcome as well.Many many thanks to Sue for editing it and making it better - all remaining horrors are totally mine.
Brother's Keeper
"Jesus, Joey." Richie took the baseball bat away from his brother's hands. It was slippery.
Richie took a handkerchief out of his pockets and cleaned the area around the handle, covered in grip tape. He always was the fastidious one, even at thirteen.
"You said you were going to do it. I did it first." Joey ignored the battered small animal in the corner of the tool house and walked away. Richie looked at it for a while, pressing his lips together. Better to hide it, or Ma would go into one of her fits. When that happened, it was never Joey, but always Richie, who paid the consequences. Which meant, Richie would make Joey pay his consequences. Smiling, he started digging.
***
"Ma told me not to!" He was small, Joey. At six years old, he couldn't reach up to the tap of the shower, turn it off. Richie was older, would always be older, and taller. Like Dad. Joey took more from Ma's side.
"You're such a little kid. A little pussy. Joey is a little pussy, Joey is a little pussy," Richie hummed the childish, sing-song tune quietly, because Dad was downstairs somewhere. Ma was at Mass. Richie didn't want interruptions.
"I ain't no pussy!" Joey threw a kick, but there was little strength behind the bare foot. Joey had learnt early on that it didn't pay to seriously hurt Richie. He was stronger. And he slept in the same room.
"Oh yeah? Then prove it to me, Joey. Bro-y."
Dad had said, 'Richie, fuck off, take Joey to have his shower, go to sleep. Friends are coming. Don't want you two little shits fucking around, understand?' Those kind of friends didn't care for kids running around. However, Richie had it all planned out: in just a handful of years, he would go with Dad's friends, he would be tall enough, old enough. His fingers could already wrap around his Dad's gun.
Joey opened his mouth and started sucking. He hated washing. Hated the shower stall. It was too small for two. Suffocating.
***
The trick was to be louder. Faster. Unpredictable. To keep Richie, who was always there, always studying him, on the lookout. Always alert. Ma and Dad were below them, by now. Richie and Joey were a pack of two and crazy at that. The other kids had learnt not to oppose them. Dad's friends were starting to pay attention to Richie. Everyone was learning to stay away from Joey.
***
It was warm under the blankets, in between the sheets. Sweaty, body warmth. Murmured words and rustle of fabric warmth. Naked skin warmth. "I'll untie you when Ma gets up," Richie murmured in Joey's ear. The boy's arms were stretched towards the headstand, firmly blocked with a belt. "Now be quiet, broy." Richie's heavier body completely covered Joey's still adolescent one. A grunt escaped Richie's lips when the head of his cock breached the small asshole. "I won, didn't I?"
A cold whisper brought the words to Joey's ear. His face was pressed against the pillow, muffling the sounds he might make. But he didn't make any. Not a word.
"You gotta be faster. For your own sake, broy." Propped on his palms, Richie kneed Joey's legs apart. It'd be so easy, right now. Just place his palm on Joey's nape, and press. Press harder, rock his hips faster, fuck the little shit's ass until there was no more struggling, no more fighting. No more breathing. "It's all your fault, you know that."
Ah, Joey always was a good fuck. So tight. So small. Richie had made him bleed more than once. "I have to do all the work. All the time. Have to share with you, broy. Teach you how things are done. And you just keep doing what you want. Only right I get something back."
The room's door was blocked by a chair, just in case - the two bodies only one semi-moving bundle under the covers. A faint sound of flesh slapping flesh. Hard. Richie loved the feel of the smaller body under his, the power of it. The silence of it. "Just remember to breathe, okay? Or Ma will whack me hard. Now take my dick, broy. Take it all. Take it up the ass. You wouldn't have to, if you were strong enough; you know that."
Richie never took too long. Never was fast either. He did it just right. Enough to fuck his brother good, enough to spurt come deep inside of him, enough to get close enough to kill him and yet step back. This was the closest he ever dared to come. He would untie Joey later. There had been no need for the belt, in the previous years. But Joey was growing up so fast lately. He didn't even cry anymore; he'd just lie down and take it. If it wasn't for Joey's dick never getting hard, Richie could almost believe his brother was starting to like it. "There," a slap to the soft buttocks signalled Richie's dick slipping out of his brother's ass. "You're such a good brother, Joey. My favorite." The kiss pressed on Joey's temple found it covered in cold sweat.
"I'm the only brother you've got," Joey's quiet answer surprised Richie for a moment.
"Yeah. And I, I am the only one you've got."
"I'll be faster next time, Richie."
"You do that, broy."
***
It was a private room, rented for the occasion. The owner of the club never asked questions, took the money, and never remembered a face. When they entered, the party was already in full swing: a few half-naked girls dancing lazily on the tables, card games being lost and won, a few bodies half hidden in the darker corners, flashes of creamy thighs and rocking hairy asses. Smoke, sweat, alcohol. Joey grinned, took a chair and flopped on it at the nearest card table, without uttering a word. He took his blade out of his pocket and started cleaning his nails. Richie was a few steps behind, shaking hands, passing a couple of envelopes to the right hands, getting a few pats on his shoulders.
"Hey, guys, the Cusaks are here!" A few more shouts followed the first one, a bottle was passed from hand to hand, glasses filled, swearing and cursing and laughter filling the smoky atmosphere.
Richie glanced at Joey. Joey glanced back. His lips curled slightly over the blade in his hands. Many around the table, in the room, knew that smile. Only Richie felt at ease smiling back. Everyone else was more or less consciously glad to be armed, and not alone.
