Date: Wed, 1 Jan 2014 09:07:49 -0800 (PST)
From: Seth Kirkcauldy <seth-kirkcauldy@sbcglobal.net>
Subject: Brother Mine 2

Brother Mine Chapter 2
copyright 2013 Seth Kirkcauldy
seth-kirkcauldy@sbcglobal.net

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This story is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or
dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are a
product of the author's imagination, or used fictitiously.  This story
contains erotic situations between brothers not yet of a legal age.  If it
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Part 1: Aiden

The hazy confusion of his dreams retreated and Aiden found himself blinking
at the confusion of reality instead.  Morning sunlight and shadows brindled
the walls of his room.  He was inexplicably well rested and found himself
curled in a cocoon of warmth and safety, places that didn't really exist in
his experience.

He was between Connor's legs, and the musky smell of sex and sweat tweaked
his nose in a twist of synesthesia where he was sure he smelled dark
purples and warm maroons.  He wanted to enjoy this confounding
hallucination - he wanted to roll around in it - but he found himself
gasping in pain as he tried to shift position.  Every muscle and bone in
his body sang a chorus of complaints regarding his beating the prior day.

A big hand settled on the back of his head, and Aiden was sure it was the
most comfortable weight he'd ever borne.

"All right, Spaz?"

"I smell purple," Aiden said.  He seemed to realize this wasn't a
reasonable response because he followed up with: "Hurts."

"I'll bet."  Connor's voice was still thick with slumber.  "Four against
one would make anyone hurt."

Aiden sucked in a breath too quickly, causing pain to knife through his
ribcage.  Connor apparently knew who beat him; one of his phone calls
yesterday must have led him to the information he sought.

"Connor, please don't..."

"They're not hurting you again, Spaz.  I'll leave you to handle the taunts
and name-calling and all the stupid shit they pull; but they are NOT
hurting you again."

Aiden sighed.  He didn't really care about those guys; it was Connor who
worried him.  "Yeah, okay."

"Besides, what kind of idiot would I be to let them damage my own, personal
cocksucker?"  The words carried a playful growl, vibrating though the
target cocksucker's muscles.

Aiden hitched another breath, but this time didn't notice the pain at all.
He nuzzled his face against Connor's soft, warm prick and kissed it
lightly.  "D-Does that mean you want me to...?  Could I...?"

Connor chuffed lightly and tousled his brother's hair.  He seemed to
hesitate for a long time before he finally said: "You're gonna be late for
school.  I have a lot of plans for today; it's time to get moving."

"I- I'm sorry I fell asleep last night.  I know I should have kept working
on..."

"You slept because I let you sleep.  Don't worry about suckin' my cock;
you're gonna be spending a good part of your life doing that, I think.
Right now there are other things I want you to do, yeah?  Get up and go to
school."

Aiden was momentarily overwhelmed by the mental image of spending a good
part of his life sucking on his brother's cock, but Connor's firm words
snapped him out of it and he gingerly eased himself out of his nest and
headed toward the bathroom with his morning erection pointing the way.  He
would take a quick shower for school; but he was NOT washing his face.
Every time he inhaled, he smelled Connor, as if he'd managed to absorb
molecules of his brother into his skin.

He ran himself an icy shower, a regular daily penance.  His mother thought
this was evidence of his weirdness, but Aiden found the stabbing of the
freezing water was so sharp that it always silenced the noises in his head,
cutting them to blissful silence.  His thoughts this morning may not have
been as unwelcome as usual, but he had set the temperature out of habit.
His body quaked in the cold as he coaxed a few suds from the bar of soap
and lathered his hair and body.  His lips were pale blue and his teeth were
chattering when he finally turned off the faucet, and he couldn't even feel
the rough fabric of the towel as he swabbed it over his bruised skin.  He
wandered back to the bedroom with his muscles quivering, still dripping
cold water in a trail behind him.

The room was vacant.  The only sign that Connor had been there were the
discarded boxer shorts on the floor from the previous night, a small fabric
puddle holding a sea of meaning.  Aiden walked to the bedroom window and
looked out past the lonely tree to the driveway; Connor's car was already
gone.

He blew out a panicked breath.  He was a fool to think that what started
last night in the dark would be able to survive in the daylight; had he
been hoping Connor would drive him to school, or maybe carry his books to
his locker?  He grinned crookedly at the mental image of that, then bowed
his head and forced himself to accept that it was going to be a very long
day.

Without Connor in the house, Aiden found himself with no reason to stay
there, and was quickly dressed in too-big jeans and a purple polo shirt
that reminded him of the colors he smelled upon waking.  He was surprised
Connor had such a shirt to hand down to him; but the fact it was hardly
worn suggested it had not been one of his favorites.  He was dressed and
out the door five minutes later.

The school day forced Aiden to realize that the consequences of his beating
had not yet been fully delivered.  He was use to traversing the school
hallways in a cloak of anonymity, not quite invisible, but beneath the
notice of everyone.  He liked it that way.  He needed it that way.  His
battered features, however, were like a neon sign over his head: PLEASE
NOTICE THE BASHED FAG!

Aiden could feel the weight of eyes upon him as he walked through the
halls.  Students, who were normally absorbed in their daily dramas of
boyfriends, girlfriends, betrayals, slights, and pimples, were suddenly
noticing that Aiden had a much more intriguing, violent drama written upon
the skin of his face.  They stared as if he couldn't see; and whispered as
if he couldn't hear; and pointed as if he couldn't feel.

Even the teachers, who normally overlooked him, suddenly seemed to see him
there in the classroom.  Cuts and bruises apparently lent a weight and
solidity which rendered him noticeable.  Aiden was sitting in his second
period science class reading a novel when the teacher asked him a question.
He didn't even hear the query, just noticed the class was silent for a long
time and glanced up to find everyone looking at him.

"What's your name again?" the teacher asked, blinking rapidly, her mouth a
firm line of disapproval.  Aiden closed his book and looked at her
quizzically, but didn't bother to reply.  She'd never remember it anyway.

"I asked you your name!  And I asked you what Albert Einstein is most
famous for?"

"Incorrect theories," Aiden murmured, but the class was so quiet everyone
could hear him.

His teacher looked at him as if he was a type of interesting insect she'd
found in her lunch.

"Incorrect theories?  You know better than Mr. Einstein, do you?  His
theories are the pillars upon which modern physics is founded."

"It was Doctor Einstein, not Mister."  The class had been silent since the
first sound of his voice; most of them had never heard him speak before.
Aiden could suddenly hear the footsteps of people in the hall and voices of
teachers from other classrooms.  "Nikola Tesla posited in 1932 that the
theory of relativity was a bunch of errors based upon mathematical
equations that were filled with errors.  But you don't even need math or
science to understand that Einstein was wrong.  Think about it: Space is
nothing.  NOTHING.  That's what it is by its very definition; it's what is
between all the stuff.  How can 'nothing' bend?  It's ridiculous."

The teacher blinked slowly at him.

Aiden continued: "Additionally, it's already been proven that there are
particles that move faster than light."

"That's true," said a voice from the back of the room.  "You ran out of the
school yesterday at the speed of light, and yet someone still caught you."

There was laughter around the class, but Aiden didn't even turn to look at
the speaker.  Mercifully, at that very moment, someone poked his head in
the doorway and told the teacher, "Coach would like to speak to Aiden
Cavanaugh, please."

The teacher looked owlishly around the room.  "Cavanaugh?  Who's that?"

Aiden grabbed his belongings and stood to go to the door, but a foot shot
out from a neighboring desk, tripping him so that he lurched awkwardly and
scattered his books onto the floor; he followed them quickly in a sprawling
tumble as the class erupted in laughter.  Red-faced and trembling, Aiden
gathered his books and hurried into the hallway.

The coach's office was dingy, but organized.  Various pieces of sporting
equipment were stacked along the walls, and the entire room smelled
strongly of perspiration.  Aiden rather liked it.  He sat in the chair and
rubbed his ribs while he waited for the coach to arrive.  His fall in the
classroom burned across his body with both embarrassment and pain.

"Cavanaugh," The coach said in greeting, entering the room and
mostly-closing the door behind him.  Aiden doubted he could squeeze through
the miniscule crack, but was absurdly tempted to try after he'd looked into
the stern gaze of the physical education teacher.

"Yessir?"

"How'd you come across those spectacular bruises?"

"I, uh, found them in the woods yesterday."

The coach's lips actually twitched at this.  He sat in his chair, folded
his hands on the desk in front of him, and tried his best not to tower
above the skinny kid slouching in the chair across from him.

"That's more honest than I expected.  I know that you got them in the woods
yesterday.  I also figured out who gave them to you; but I need to hear
their names from you."

Aiden didn't say anything.  The coach waited patiently, but Aiden was
perfectly comfortable with the silence in the room, because within his head
raged a constant cacophony.

"I can't get them suspended or expelled without an accusation or proof,
Mr. Cavanaugh.  If you give me nothing then I can only do nothing."

Silence.

"I talked to your brother this morning," the coach said mildly.

Aiden jerked his head up and met the coach's eyes.  His breathing and
heartbeat accelerated; just the mention of Connor made Aiden want to roll
over and show his stomach.  God, he knew that was weird.

"Based on what he told me, I'm pretty sure I know who and how.  But I need
you to say it; confirm it."

There was a very long silence this time.

"Here's what I told your brother: without your cooperation, I can't get the
school to take much action.  But as their coach, I plan to remove them from
all their teams through the end of this year.  I'll also make it very clear
to them that they ever touch you again they will never play sports at this
school.  We also have to file a report with the police and Protective
Services.  They'll probably come to talk to you and your parents within the
next few days and it's likely the police will question the boys who are
suspected.  I hope they get caught even without your help."

Aiden brushed the ridiculous tear off his cheek, his hand trembling in
irritation.  He nodded at the coach.

"If you happen to remember their names, please come back and tell me."

Aiden shook his head briefly, causing the coach to sigh; then he gathered
his books to leave.

"There's one more thing," the coach said, handing Aiden a business card.
"Your brother asked me to talk to you about joining a team here at the
school and getting involved with sports."

Aiden's eyes widened and he instantly felt he might be sick, but the coach
noticed that all the color had fled from his face and he quickly added:
"but I don't think that's a good idea.  I don't think the sports we focus
on would be a good fit for you."

He gestured to the card in Aiden's hand.  "There's a coach at the city
pool, though, with a team.  Do you swim?"

Aiden nodded silently, squinting at the card in his hand.

"You have the build to become a good swimmer," the coach said kindly.  "It
would take a lot of work, but it would make your body strong and I think
you'd enjoy it.  You'd be part of a team."

Aiden could not see a single positive point in any of that, but he knew
he'd show the card to Connor if he asked about it.  He nodded again at the
coach and went back to class.

The rest of the day went fairly quickly; he had managed to survive the
humiliations of lunch, Chemistry, and English Literature with only mild
embarrassments.  He was headed through the hallway between classrooms for
his final hour of torment when he had a jarring collision with a strong
shoulder that knocked him out of his thoughts and into the wall.  Aiden
looked up to find Trevor and one of his lackeys sneering appreciatively at
the cuts and bruises on his face.

"Straight guys don't wear lavender shirts, faggot," Travis said loudly so
that everyone could hear him.

Aiden looked at the students around him who were now awaiting his reaction,
and realized with a sense of numb detachment that he didn't care what any
of them thought of him.  The only person whose opinion mattered was not
there, although Aiden could still smell the scent of him, the way it
overlay his own skin and smelled of safety and home.  He swallowed
nervously.

"We'll, I'm not straight," he replied quietly.

The soft murmuring around them stopped abruptly as everyone in the hall
realized he'd spoken; no one had expected that.  They also hadn't expected
his admission.

Many of the gawkers were already standing there with their mouths open when
Aiden continued: "Straight guys also don't call purple shirts 'lavender'."

He then turned and walked away.  He had taken four complete steps before
the hall erupted in laughter that was all aimed at Trevor.  Trevor's meaty
hand landed on his shoulder and whirled Aiden around.

"Mr. Mathews," drawled the coach's loud voice down the hall.  Trevor's back
was to the coach so only Aiden could see how the bully's eyes widened and
the clasp on his shoulder tightened.  The students around them quickly
drifted away.  "If you'll unhand Mr. Cavanaugh I'd like a few words with
you in my office, please."

Trevor pinched Aiden's shoulder hard before releasing it and silently
mouthed a final threat, then turned to face the coach.  Aiden quickly
disappeared into his last class.

He watched the large clock upon the wall, slowly counting down the minutes
until the hour of reckoning.  He knew with the events of the day that
Trevor and his unholy trinity would be waiting for him in the parking lot
again.  Regardless of what the coach told him, Aiden knew that Trevor's
hatred would drive him beyond any concern of consequences.

When the bell finally rang, he reluctantly gathered his books in his
backpack and trudged toward the door.  He wondered if there was someplace
he could stash the bag so he wouldn't be weighed down with it during his
escape attempt today; but he finally just shrugged it upon his back where
it belonged.

As he exited the building, his eyes scanned the parking lot for his
tormentors.  He was so focused on that particular task that he completely
missed his brother's car idling almost right in front of him.

"Aiden!"  Connor called, sending a single hand out the driver's window in a
quick wave.

Aiden swung around to find and focus on him.  Connor had gone back home at
some point during the day and showered.  He looked clean-shaven and grown
up; very masculine.  Aiden just stood there and looked at him, getting a
hard-on right there in front of the whole school; it was tenting his jeans.

"For Christ's sake," he heard Connor mutter.  "C'mon, Aiden!  Let's go."

Aiden pulled open the passenger door and dropped into the seat.  He'd left
his backpack on, so now that he was seated he struggled stupidly with it.
He looked like a turtle squirming on its back.  Connor finally took pity on
him and helped him with the straps, then flashed him a quick grin as he
glanced down at his lap.

"Buckle up, you little perv."

"You're beautiful."

Connor rolled his eyes.  "Thanks, Aiden.  You know that's weird, right?"

"Why are you calling me by my name?  You never call me Aiden."

Connor's eyes narrowed at the question and his mouth tightened.  "I'm not
calling you 'Spaz' in front of these fuckheads," he said.  "They'd think
even your brother makes fun of you."

Aiden just looked at him a moment before saying, "You're really, really
beautiful."

Connor laughed and shook his head, putting the car in drive and taking them
away.  Aiden laid his head back on the seat and closed his eyes.  It was
Friday; he had the whole weekend off before he had to return to hell.  He
hoped he could spend a lot of that time with Connor.  Honestly, he hoped he
could spend the whole weekend sucking his brother's cock.  The desire to
serve him and make him feel good was making his whole body vibrate.  He was
very much afraid that Connor wasn't going to let him do that anymore.

"What did you learn today in school, Aiden?"  Connor was mimicking their
father and it made Aiden smile sadly.  Back when they all lived together,
their dad would pick them up from elementary school and always ask this
same question.

"I learned today that my backbone had somehow been hidden between your
legs," Aiden said softly to the window, watching the world pass silently
outside.

"I have no idea what that means, Spaz."

Aiden merely shrugged.  "It means everything."



Part 2: Connor

He seemed weird to me.  Yeah, okay: yuck-yuck-yuck; people don't get much
weirder than that little fucker.  But he was just such a melancholy kid.
Last night he'd had bright eyes and a full smile - well, yeah, his mouth
had been pretty full, too, and that's why he was smiling - but it was just
disheartening to see him back in his pensive-as-shit funk.  I didn't like
it; it made me want to hit things.

The fucking school better be taking care of the situation like they said
they would.  I knew Coach would do his best.  He'd coached a lot of my
intramural teams in the lower grades until I moved out of the area and in
with my dad for high school.  Coach told me he already had some ideas who
the kids were behind it, and he'd take care of it.

"We're going to get you some clothes, Spaz," I told him.  Mom had given me
the money, and it was a good thing; I'd have taken it out of her purse if
she hadn't.

I heard him groan mildly in complaint, but he didn't say anything; never
fucking does.

"Where'd you get THAT shirt?"  I asked.  "I don't remember ever having that
one.  That color looks really good on you."

I was watching where I was driving, but I could suddenly feel the full
weight of his regard.  I'm pretty sure I was being eye-fucked right then;
the kid might not talk much, but he sure has a lot to say.

I took him to some mid-grade clothing store where we could get him a few
things for the money we had, but not look like we'd been trolling the Mart
stores.  This time he was not getting K-Mart, Walmart, Shoe-Mart, or
Fuckwhatever-Mart.  He was getting some halfway decent clothes that looked
nice on a scraggly, awkward teenager.  God, I hoped this store sold
miracles like that.

He took a cart and started moving around the guys' section while I went and
flirted with a cashier.  The girl was a really cute blonde with breasts
that tried their hardest to reach out and touch me every time she sighed
during our conversation.  I leaned in just a little so the poor things
wouldn't have to stretch quite so far.  The gentle dance was starting to
give me an erection when Aiden rolled up with his cart.

I blinked at it and him in bewilderment.  "You have five purple shirts, a
pair of purple jeans, and purple shoes in there, Spaz."

He merely blinked back at me, a grape enigma.

"Can we get a key to a changing room so he can try these on?"  I asked the
cashier's breasts.  They must have nodded, for I ended up with a key.

"First," I told Spaz, "you take these purple jeans back and you get blue
ones.  You can get ONE of the purple shirts.  I'll trade in the rest for
other colors while you're trying on the jeans.  No fucking purple shoes,
either."

I expected an argument - he was fifteen, for fuck's sake - but Aiden's gaze
was down on the floor.  If he started crying, I swear to God I'd...  but
then I saw he was looking up at me under his lashes and quirking a shy
smile.  "Okay, Connor."

I unlocked his small cubicle and pushed him inside while I went to trade
his shirts for something a little less... well, faggoty.  I didn't care he
was gay, honestly; in fact, it was turning out to have some downright
benefits for me.  But I did care a hell of a lot that he got beat up.

I hated this kind of shit because I didn't know the right thing to do.  Did
I let him show his individual self and get the crap beat out of him, or did
I try to protect him and make him dress like every other fucking asshole in
the world?  Purple!  Why the fuck would he fill his cart with purple?

I grabbed an assortment of shirts.  My hair's not like Aiden's, but it's
red enough for me to know that there aren't many colors you can wear that
don't make you look like a clown.  I yanked them down from the racks
quickly; God, I hated shopping.

I made sure to give a friendly smile to the breasts as I stalked past them,
and then quickly let myself into Aiden's dressing cubicle.

"Oh for Fuck's sake, Spaz," I hissed.

He was kneeling on the floor naked except for his boxers which were pulled
down to his thighs; and he was masturbating wildly with his eyes closed.  I
quickly shut the door behind me, closing us into the small space.

His blurring hand immediately stopped its motion and he looked up at me in
horror, the blush spreading quickly up his chest and blooming like a slap
across his face.  He quickly pulled up his boxers and started stammering
something that made no sense.  I'm not sure what language he speaks but it
isn't even close to English.

While he stuttered and gaped and his hands made spastic motions in the air,
I took a good look at his bruises which wrapped around his skinny body in
amorphous designs of shape and color.  He looked like a Jackson Pollock
canvas.  The poor kid must be hurting like hell.  His boxers hung on him
like they were three sizes too big, and they had... wait a fucking minute.
Those were my boxers from yesterday.  I wondered what the fuck happened to
them; I couldn't find them earlier today.  The little fucker was wearing my
dirty boxer shorts.

My cock sprang right up to attention and started sniffing around.  It
absolutely loved my brother's fixation, even though the rest of me thought
it was pretty weird.  But now my cock was getting involved in this crowded
little room and I knew that was going to both complicate and simplify
things a whole lot.  Well, fuck a duck.

I looked at him with narrow eyes.  "What were you thinking about while you
jacked off, Spaz?"

He opened his mouth and spit a few vowels out.

"You acting something out, little brother?  On your knees for someone?  " I
spoke quietly.  These walls were very thin.

Aiden was weird, but he was no fool; he immediately sensed the change in
the atmosphere.  His breathing evened and deepened.  His eyes were open but
didn't meet mine, still I could see his pupils expanding like he'd just
taken a hit of cocaine.  He stopped trying to put his unintelligible
thoughts into the confines of language.  He just fucking shut up.

"You wanna suck my cock, Spaz?"

Aiden shut his eyes tight and tried to hold back a low moan, but he was no
good at all with hiding his feelings.

"You want me to whip it out right here in the store so you can service it?
Make me feel good?"

God, I thought he'd hyperventilate.  His nostrils flared and his eyes were
still shut, but he was nodding his head so hard he had to have been getting
dizzy.

I slowly undid my belt buckle, and at the sound his eyes popped open.  He
wasn't going to miss a single moment of this.

I unbuttoned my jeans and then slowly slid the zipper down, watching his
eyes follow the whole way.  His mouth was open and the tip of his tongue
was out.  There was a dark part of my brain that was howling at the moon
when it saw the hunger on his face.  There's no doubt I got off on his need
for me.  If I was an honest man, I would say I fucking loved it.

I had been thinking since that morning that I should really back off of the
sex with him; he didn't need that level of complication in his life.  That
thought was clear in my mind as my thumbs hooked the band of the boxers and
slid them down with my jeans, freeing my cock to point demandingly at my
brother.  His eyes were locked on it; there was nothing else in his entire
world.

"Suck it."

I'm not sure what I expected him to do; maybe start licking the head, or
kissing my balls?  I don't think either one of us was prepared for him
opening his mouth and swallowing it all the way down.  I mean all the
fucking way down in one single movement.  He choked, he gagged and he
pushed it straight down his gullet, impaling himself on it.

My brain was saying, "What the fuck are you doing, boy?"  While my cock was
saying, "DeeperHarderFasterYouFuckingCumWhoreFaggotCocksucker."

Luckily, what came out of my mouth was only a moan.  Up to that day, only
one other person had ever deep throated me, and it was a slut (sorry, but
she really, really was) in eleventh grade.  My cock hadn't been all the way
encased in a warm, wet, tight throat for about a year and a half.  That
dark, howling part of my brain was starting to bark and growl now, and the
truth was it was scaring me a bit.

I grabbed the back of Aiden's head and rotated my hips slowly, fully
enjoying the wet heat.  God, there was nothing better in the whole world
than this feeling right here.  My teeth clenched in a feral grin as I
realized I could have it whenever I fucking wanted it.

Aiden still had me seated all the way in his throat.  His eyes were tearing
up and his throat was constricting as he gagged and coughed, but DAMN, he
didn't try to back off even once.  I could learn to really enjoy this
little guy.  With some training, he'd be a perfect cocksucker for me.

The darkness inside my head was growing louder, a constant demand for more
service.

"USE HIM!"  It cackled cruelly.  My hips jerked in response, slowly leaving
the heat until just my cockhead was on his tongue and then sliding fully
back down until my balls pressed against my brother's chin.  Fuck, this was
heaven.

Again, I slid out and back in.  Aiden's eyes were streaming tears and he
was coughing some phlegm up from his throat that felt like liquid silk
against my big cock.  His coughing and gagging constricted tightly on the
shaft, milking it expertly.  Snot was starting to ooze from his nose a bit,
mixing with the other fluids that were now leaking all over his face, yet
he opened his mouth wider and leaned forward into me, offering me
everything he had.

And fuck all; I was going to take it.

I grabbed the back of his head with both hands, tightened my grip in his
hair and started to piston my hips in-and-out.  It was getting messy and
loud now; every time he coughed, some fluids sort of sprayed around the
small cubicle, and the slapping of my balls against his face was in a
primal universal rhythm that made listeners think of a pulse.  Of life.  Of
fucking.

But there was also the growl that was coming from deep in my throat.  It
was a deep, guttural vocalization of my stream of consciousness; and it was
not exactly poetry that escaped my lips:
"FuckYeahYouCocksuckingFaggotBrothercuntChokeOnMyBigDickAndMakeMeCum...
C'MonOpenThatThroatForYourBrothersDickShowMeHowMuchYouLoveBeingACockSlaveForMe"
I'll spare you the rest of it.  I'm not exactly sane when my cock gets
involved.  My body takes over and my brain goes numb.  You know, like a
man.

My hands pulled his head forward to meet my cock for each slap, and he
rebounded off my hard stomach, only to be jerked back again for the next
stroke.  God, I used him hard.  But it felt so good.  That's all I knew is
that my cock felt good just like it was supposed to.  It was made for this.

I felt so powerful with my brother on his knees before me, offering his
throat to pleasure my cock.  This is the very thought that burned brightest
in my brain until it caught fire in my balls, fried every nerve- ending in
my cock, and erupted in a conflagration of cum.  I've never had such a
powerful orgasm.  My cock jerked and spat its load, coating Aiden's throat
with ropes of it.  I squeezed my eyes shut, seeing black, oily spots behind
my lids while I jammed my brother's head as far onto my cock as it would
go.  His throat constricted around the shaft, milking every drop from it.
It was the most amazing thing I'd ever felt in my life.

It took a few minutes for me to catch my breath.  My legs were wobbling and
my head was sort of spinning.  As my pulse slowed, the reality of what I'd
just done to my brother began to creep up on me.

He was still holding most of my hard cock in his mouth, licking and sucking
it clean; trying not to overly stimulate the head while maneuvering around
it.  God it felt good, but... when I looked down at him I could see all the
fluids I'd forced up from his throat.  Every orifice was streaming some
sort of liquid.  And his nose - fuck!  I'd given him a bloody nose by
bouncing his face off my stomach so hard.  I'd actually hurt him.

And the dark voice in my brain was crowing!  I hadn't wondered a single
time if Aiden could breathe during all that; I brutally fucked his throat
without a single thought for his comfort.

I ran a hand through his hair, shakily.  "Okay, Spaz.  Clean yourself up
with those boxers, yeah?  You'll have to go home commando."

I let my thumb wipe some of the blood from under his nose.  Shit.

He didn't look up at me.  He didn't say a fucking word as he started to
clean up.  I belted myself up and left the room, worried I'd find a whole
audience standing outside the door.  Luckily, it seemed we'd gotten away
with it unnoticed.  I don't know how; it seemed to me that I'd been
shouting.  Maybe all the noise was inside my head.

The retreat from the store was more than awkward.  I paid for the clothes
while Aiden went to find a restroom to wash his face.  We met back at the
car without a word and I wrestled internally with how to apologize to him
while he fastened his seatbelt and I started the ignition.

"Connor?"  He said hoarsely, his vocal chords obviously battered.  He was
looking out his window.  I'd noticed he had a difficult time looking at me.
I waited for what was coming, feeling a little sick about it.  He finally
sighed really deeply and flicked a quick glance over at me, his eyes a bit
like emeralds flashing.  "Um... do you think when we get home you could do
that again just like that?"

I think I sat there with my mouth open for about a minute.  "What?"

He flushed a warm red, which was really something since he'd been so
recently blue from near- asphyxiation.

"I-I... I needed... that was amazing."  He closed his eyes.  "I came two
times while you were doing that."

I blinked stupidly at him.  "I gave you a bloody nose."

He actually had the nerve to grin at me, and finally met my eyes shyly.  "I
know!"

Well, fuck.  I tried to ignore the dark chuckling noise somewhere in the
back of my brain as I drove us home in silence.

"I'll get the shopping bags, Spaz.  You go on inside and get cleaned up,
yeah?"

He immediately followed my instructions and let himself out of the car and
into the house.  I needed a moment alone to try to sort out this shit.  My
hands were shaking a little and I wasn't fully clear about what happened
today.  I had no frame of reference upon which to hang this particular
experience.  This was supposed to be about allowing Spaz some direction,
comfort, and human touch.  But I don't think there was a whole lot that was
human about my touch that afternoon.

I grabbed the bags out of the backseat and followed him inside, almost
tripping over him.  I found him crouched down right beyond the door,
hugging his knees and rocking.  Aw, fuck... what did I do?

His eyes caught mine immediately and he put a finger over his lips, and
that's when I heard the voices from the other room: An argument.  It
sounded like my dad was here.

I frowned and started to go find out what was going on, but Aiden's hand
reached out and grabbed the leg of my pants.  He shook his head once; tears
were streaking his face.  What the fuck?  I crouched down beside him and he
put his head against my shoulder and we listened.

"...acting like a freak, Katherine!  Now protective services is contacting
me and saying he might be abused at home."

"For God's sake, you know I'm not doing that..."

"Of course I know.  He's homosexual, he's probably schizophrenic, and he
has severe social interaction disorders.  The kids at school are probably
beating the shit out of him; I would have when I was that age."

"If you had let him go to Cleveland when he got to high school like we
agreed..."

"Then he'd be having the same problems in Cleveland!  He's a fucking
nutcase, Kate!  He can't stay with me.  The hospital I picked out..."

"...is too expensive.  You want to cut my child support so you can send him
to this fancy hospital, and I need that..."

"You're a greedy bitch..."

Yeah, I'd heard enough.  I grabbed Aiden by the shoulder and pulled him
close so that my lips moved against his ear.  "Get back in the car.  I need
to grab some stuff from the garage; I'll be right there."

He turned his head to look at me, his face completely white now.  Poor guy
had been every shade of the American flag within the past hour.  He nodded,
took the bags from me, and went right back out the door.

I followed him, shutting the front door quietly, but detoured around to the
side garage.  It only took me five minutes to haul out the two-man tent,
sleeping bags, and a few other items.  I threw them in the trunk and then
slid back into the driver's seat.

The car roared to life.

"Where're we going?"  Aiden asked quietly.

"Camping, Spaz.  We're going to the lake to go camping; just me and you."

His face was oddly blank, but then he nodded slowly and I saw his thin lips
turn up in a shaky attempt to smile.

*

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email and let me know what you think.  Your feedback is the only way I know
you're reading and whether or not it makes sense to continue.

I have other stories, too.  Look up Seth Kirkcauldy in the author's
section.

seth-kirkcauldy@sbcglobal.net