Nostalgia

He was dizzy… but it didn’t really worry him. It wasn’t a sick-dizzy; it was more like he had spent to long in the warm, summer sun. His head felt fuzzy, his limbs light and filled with the tickling-pain of sleep.

“Mm…” his eyes shut tighter as he began to drift back awake, as if something in him resisted, as if he wanted to stay asleep.

“Van …”

A long relieved breath whispered past his lips as he sunk back into the summery dream. The sun made the pond gleam like a golden mirror, the softly swaying trees lush and green. The sky was perfect, endless blue.

“Van…” he looked as his name was called, to the form bathing leisurely in the sun-kissed pond.

“Folken!” he knew he was running, but he didn’t seem to be making it any closer to his brother. His skin was wet and gleaming. His smile summery and warm, his silver hair dark and wet, the strands playing over his neck as it tilted back, and his eyes turned the picturesque heavens. His fingers wove together before he stretched his arms above his head, a placid smile on his face.

“Come on Van…” his eyes opened and his smile became honeyed, sweet and kind and curved just a little at the tips to match the glimmer in his eyes.

Finally Van made it into the water, ripples running through the glassy golden pond as he stumbled clumsily to his brother.

His arms, child’s arms hung lose around Folken’s broad shoulders, clinging as the man’s smile only warmed.

“There, now was all that fuss really necessary? I know you like to take baths…” His hands were warm and firm on little Van’s shoulders.

“Only with you, nii-san…”

It should have tipped him off, the fact that Folken’s chest was not clean slick wet, but sticky and warm. Van blinked in confusion, looking determinedly at the man before him, making sure he was really there.

“Nii-san?” the world around him seemed to crackle and hiss, like someone twisting the dial on a radio and setting everything off. It was fuzzy; Van’s eyes unfocused and suddenly he couldn’t see anything.

“F-Folken…” his own voice sounded different, older, fading, tired. An ache was etched into his shoulders that he couldn’t understand, as if his arms had been pulled apart, bound in a way that hurt his shoulder blades.

“What is it…?” and Folken’s voice was different then to, darker and sinister and everything that made Van shiver in all the wrong ways. His chest was too warm, chiseled muscle rippling under his skin, sinking and swelling with his shallow breaths.

Van’s knees ached, as if all his weight was crushed to them. His eyes stung as and his skin itched like he was bathing in ash.

“I…” the dizziness took him away from the little golden spring, a thick murky fog enveloping him just as Folken reached out in concern.

A sinister metal hand clutched his shoulder.

Van’s eyes flew open and sharp gasp filled his lungs. Wrath sharpened, darkened his eyes.

“Folken!” he seethed, fully awake and aware of the cruel reality his dreams had shielded him from. His knees ached because they were folded under him on the floor, his shoulders burned because his arms were pulled apart and bound above his head.

“You’re so cute when you sleep, I think it’s because of how helpless you are… tell me little brother, were you dreaming of me…?” his words were always so soft, laced with unbearable enraging cruelty.

“Get away from me!” Van hissed, the chains that hung above him rattling as he pulled violently away.

“But you seemed so comfortable just a moment ago,” Folken’s hand snaked around the small of Van’s back, pulling them back together. Van shuddered at the feeling of skin on skin, the warmth of it making his cold body shake. Suddenly his eyes fell down, horrified and stunned to see all the bare skin between them. “You were dreaming of me, I heard you say my name…”

“N-no!”

“What were you dreaming Van…?” His mouth was so warm on Van’s neck, his lips like satin sin as his breath whispered over Van’s ear.

“S-stop it!” his knees ached under his shaking body.

“Tell me…” a cool metal hand slid down Van’s chest, Folken’s pointed finger tips tracing around each clenched muscle of his baby brother’s stomach. Van was shaking, head turned away barring the delicious curve if his neck, his eyes wound shut against everything he refused. It was beautiful.

“Get away from me,” Van seethed, eyes cracking open, showing smoldering slits of bloody earthy brown. “Now.”

Folken’s smile was so discretely sadistic, Van wasn’t even sure if he was only imagining it that way.

(But why on earth would he do that?)

“You seemed so content to have your head on my shoulder a moment ago…” his hand, his own hand slid easily through Van’s hair, the touch deceptively gentle. Van moved to recoil and his hair was pulled hard, his body jolting forward against his brother. Folken’s skin was too warm, his heart beating firmly against his ribs. Van swallowed, shaking gently.

“N-no… ah!” his neck curved and his head tilted back, eyes shut as that warm wet tongue traced lightly over the shell of his ear.

“No?” teeth grazed gently over the wet skin, nipping, biting.

“A-aahhh! F-Folken!”

“It was never ‘No’ before…”

“Folken stop!”

He would only chuckle, hands straying down to Van’s hips, metal and flesh lingering down the gentle curve of the bone.

“But you like this, remember…?”

A violent shudder ripped through Van’s body as cold metal fingers wound tightly, almost too tightly around his throbbing, aching cock.

“God, Folken!” his eyes widened and unfocused, his breath rushing against his throat. Too fast, he was too dizzy, if felt to fucking good. He hated it.

Those hateful too-cold fingers slid up and down Van’s length, polished metal fingertips rubbing smoothly at the dripping swollen head. Van held his breath, feeling like his ribs might crack, like his lung might pop and his throat would bleed from all the effort it took to keep quiet. It had been so long, too long since he had felt this… but he didn’t want it like this.

(And it was far to easy to lie to himself that way)

Folken’s mouth was hot against his throat, those teeth that hurt wonderfully scraping the skin until it turned a raw, angry red. War, fingertips drifted down Van’s front, brushing to a nipple and suddenly grabbing, twisting painfully. Van’s cock jumped in the gold metal hand, a startled cry on his lips.

“Folken stop…” the words were drawn out, stretched over pleading desperate cries. His hips were shaking and he knew soon he’d be thrusting; coming hard and there would be creamy wet white over dirty tarnished metal. “Folken…”

The chilling metal fingers drifted slowly away, trailing along the bottom of his cock as they withdrew. The shiver ran sharp and violent through Van’s body. He sucked in the air greedily, body sagging against the chains. Oh god, the throbbing, it wouldn’t stop, he was going to…

It pushed Van rough over the edge when Folken’s warm human hand wrapped snug around him, pumping fast and relentless. He cried out and his spine curved, body arched and chains pulled taut. His throat felt instantly raw and his body hummed and burned as the orgasm tore through every part of him. His body sagged and withered as the orgasm faded, the chains holding him up in his knees. But there was hardly a moment to rest.

Wet sticky fingers were suddenly pushing into him, fighting his body’s resistance. Folken’s warm body loomed behind him, his breath streaming smooth across his neck.

“It’s been too long, hasn’t it Van…?”

“Folken…”

“Do you remember the last time…?”

“S-stop…”

“Do you remember the first time? Do you remember hiding it from mother…?”

His eyes were blurry and Van refused to believe it was because of those three wet fingers fucking him, moving slow and then fast and feeling around his insides. His legs and shoulders were shaking and his throat closed, and he refused to blink. A coat of unshed tears glimmered on his hazy eyes.

“I-it doesn’t fucking matter…”

“Do you remember when I first kissed you?”

“Sh-shut up…”

“Do you remember when I fucked you and you begged me to stop just like this? Because it hurt and you were scared… but the next night, what did you do…?”

Van only screamed, writhing against the chains as Folken pushed inside. He could feel his brother’s pulse through the cock buried inside him.

“You wondered into my room with your little hard cock and looked at me with those perfect eyes…”

Van sobbed and moaned and shook, his head falling limp against his chest. His bangs threw silky sweaty shadows over his pale, pleasure-flushed face.

“And from then on…” but Folken didn’t have to finish the story, because Van knew how it went. And now he could remember each and every night they spent together as his brother snapped his hips, burying himself inside.

“G-god…” he rasped, suddenly yelping as Folken grabbed roughly at his hips, pulling back with each vicious delicious thrust. He could feel himself grip Folken, his body clenched hard, too hard on his brother’s cock.

The throbbing and aching in his own body was what worried him, what made him twitch and writhe against the pull of the chains and the tug of Folken’s mismatched hands. The pleasure burned down to the tip of every nerve, the pressure building up painfully inside him. Oh, soon he was just going to pop.

“Fuck…” it tumbled out on a dizzy breathless sigh. Van breathed to the beat of Folken’s thrusts, to the rocking of his own bruised hips. He was too dizzy to realize that the hands were gone, instead coiled around his shoulders and that he was thrusting back all on his own.

A hand, a warm wet fleshy hand grabbed ruthlessly at Van’s hair. His body bent and curved like a bow, a pained pleading whimper tumbling from his lips. The tip of a sharp metal finger crawled down his throat, weaving a thread of sharp burning pain into his skin. Folken thrust hard, and harder.

It was enough to make Van come all over again. His cock pulsed painfully between his legs as his seed dripped warm down his shaft, clinging to his skin, making him shudder and moan that much louder. His body wounds up tight, his muscles clenching under his skin. His screams vibrated his chest.

And suddenly there was wetness slithering down the insides of his legs and Folken was just inside him and pulsing and Van’s legs began to shake. He wanted to cry at the feel of his brother’s seed and his own dripping down his legs. He wanted to wake up, because dreaming it might not be as bad. Wanting it for real was something he couldn’t forgive himself for.

But even after he closed his eyes and opened them the next morning, his knees were still aching and his arms were still hung above his head, the skin of his thighs sticky and smelling of sex. His throat was still raw and skin still itched, and he still felt dirty all over.

And he still hated himself.

(And he still wanted it)