Sorcerer Hunters Fan Fiction ❯ Photograph ❯ Chapter 1

~Photograph~

 

 

 

For those first few moments after I enter the room, he is silent, still, perfection personified.

 

Maybe he hasn't noticed me yet. Perhaps he won't notice me until I move... I want to watch him for just a little longer. He's so quiet... still quiet. Still silent. Still still.

 

He's waiting for me.

 

The one light in the room illuminates him, but it doesn't illuminate me. I'm still in the shadows. As far as he knows, I'm not even here yet; I walked in so quietly, so carefully... he's beautiful, and I love to watch him. I want to see what he does when I'm not around, or at least... when he doesn't think I'm around... but he's waiting for me.

 

He sits on the bed, on top of it's covers. The bed is perfectly made, perhaps something that he occupied himself with doing earlier... afterwards, it won't be. We'll disturb that tidiness and reduce it into messy chaos. Chaos born of our passion. Brother. You want me, don't you?

 

I keep my breathing as quiet as I can; I don't want him to hear me, not yet.

 

He's so beautiful, though. The room almost seems as if it's in some kind of dream, the dulled light from the bedside making it seem that way... he sits naked on the bed, his body shining under the light. He sits with his back against the headboard, his head leaning against the wall, staring quietly up at the ceiling. Take a good look at the ceiling while you still can, my brother... once I've got you pinned to the bed, I won't be letting you up for quite some time. You can familiarize yourself with the pillows instead.

 

Marron breathes, but it's his only movement. Not even his eyes move as he gazes at the ceiling. Maybe he's thinking of me, thinking of gazing into my eyes... I'll look him in the eye tonight. Look him in the eye and make him scream my name... and it'll be such a contrast to this silence. So enjoy it while it lasts, otouto.

 

I almost want to move closer. Move closer, touch his body, touch him... every part of his body is beautiful, in it's own way. Or at least, I think so. His face is emotionless at the moment, but it can be so expressive... he'll smile at me warmly, or look at me with such desire... desire turns to desperation, and he turns from calm to something that can't be controlled, passion taking hold in his body, gripping him and not letting him go... much like my own self...

 

I won't let him go.

 

His face echoes his emotions. Does it echo his emotions at this moment? Is he really emotionless? He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, letting it thread through, letting both fall back to the bed. He seems restless in his silence. His eyes move to staring in front of him, then they close. He doesn't want this silence... I know what he wants. Am I teasing him by remaining like this? Probably.

 

I almost wish I could move closer, just so I can appreciate his body that bit more... that can wait, though. His face, his neck, his chest, his arms, his body, everything about him will be mine for the taking, and take him I will.

 

One leg is raised, pressed to his chest. I wish he'd move that leg. His other leg extends along the bed, his foot now rocking back and forth slightly.

 

He moves. He moves to a crouch, bringing both legs to his chest. He wraps his arms around them, leaning his chin on his knees... this moves him in front of the light, darkening my vision from my position. Light still shines in the room, but he's blocked the light to me... I can see it around him, a little brighter where he's closer to it. It almost seems to create a halo around him; my little brother, my little angel, right?

 

"... Niisan..."

 

He says my title, almost inaudibly, but my ears catch it. I smirk to hear that as it's said. He doesn't even know I'm here, and still he says that word. What might he follow that up with? He wishes I were here? He wishes I could touch him? He wishes I could take him?

 

... It doesn't matter. For the moment, I'm not here. So anything he wants is a hopeless wish to the empty room, because I'm not here to hear it, am I? ... Even though I am.

 

Such potential in his current position, like a coiled spring. I've seen him when he's at his most passionate, I've felt his hands rake their way down my back as he cries helplessly, desperately... it's almost amusing to think of him like that and see him like this. He's still desperate, but with no way to unleash that desperation... that frustration...

 

Like a spring pushed down, or elastic pulled taut, he has potential to move so suddenly with just one chance movement... all I have to do would be to step forward, and he'd move, he'd move for me. But I'll stay here for just a little longer, stay here and admire his potential for just a little while longer.

 

Curled up like that, he seems so compact, so guarded... naked, but no-one can see too much. Protecting himself... but what against?

 

He'll uncurl when he knows I'm here. Uncurl his body and reveal it to me, the familiar place I love so much to visit. He'll be at my mercy, and he won't want to guard or protect himself. Not from the ferocity of passion. That's a battle that can't be won.

 

He sighs deeply, I see his shoulders shift as he does so. He stares ahead, his hair hanging around him. It falls over his shoulders, falls across his back, shorter strands hang in front of his eyes, but he doesn't attempt to move them. His hair is so soft, how I long to feel it between my fingers again.

 

Speak again, Marron. I want to hear you speak.

 

Speak my name with burning lust, with desire, just speak... and maybe I'll let you know I'm here. Maybe.

 

He seems almost... bored, for a few moments. One or two fingers tapping inaudibly against his skin, glancing around the room, as if waiting for something to suddenly change... it won't, Marron. What are you waiting for, what are you expecting? Either you'll change or I'll change, but the room won't. The room's a silent watcher of all that we do. If only these walls could speak!

 

They'd probably be disgusted.

 

Again, he moves his position. With a slight sigh he unwraps himself and lies out on the bed, his head against the pillows, his arms by his side, not hiding anything.

 

He makes me hunger for his body, and I feast upon the sight in front of me. I want to taste him again... I move quietly myself, drifting fingers over my lips. I recall the heady taste of his kiss... his kisses, the kisses I give him, kissing him wherever he wants to be kissed... his skin so smooth to my touch. To my kiss.

 

Marron, this wait is growing as painful to me as it might be to you; you lie there so still, but what thoughts do you think? I'm thinking of you... you're probably thinking of me, sitting there, resting there like that.

 

I want to trace my fingers down your body again, and hear that delicate gasp. Walk trails I've travelled down before, familiar yet forbidden, and we don't care.

 

I'll run my finger along your hand, such an innocent little tickle, up and down each finger, closing my hand around yours... I love it when we hold hands, either innocently or not so innocently. Innocently, it's calming, it's friendly. Not so innocently, it's desperation, one hand pressing into the other, clenching, gripping...

 

A momentary rush overcomes me, I have to fight that urge. I want to leap on him right now, press him into the bed, make him cry my name... I want to watch him forever. I'll be too distracted to just watch him once I'm with him... but that's not a bad thing.

 

Marron...

 

I want to worship you from head to foot; I want to hold you, I want to hug you, I want to kiss you, I want to take you. I want to watch you. It's either one or the other, I can't have both... but to watch you becomes so much more frustrating, time seems to pass so slowly... does it even pass at all? Between us, it's almost as if time has stopped; I see you breathe and I feel myself breathe, but are we just existing in a suspended animation?

 

My hand clenches into a fist. Oh god, how I want you... how you want me... how we want each other... oh, my brother. Isn't this forbidden? Isn't this wrong? Isn't this so wickedly wonderful?

 

Tira and Chocolat would punish me for looking at pretty girls, but little do they know of the true beauty that captures me. The one true beauty they disregard because they don't - they can't - see it as a threat... if only they knew. If only they knew that I was captivated and entranced by my brother. The biggest contender for the prize of my feelings was somebody they never even suspected... Marron won the competition long before it ever began.

 

His body will be mine. Body, mind, heart and soul, he will belong to me. He does belong to me. He belongs to me. He gives himself totally to me, and I happily accept his offering.

 

If he wants to reverse the situation and make me his, then I don't argue with that either. Giving myself to him as much as he gives himself to me... to see him so far-gone, I don't know if that's even possible, but I'd like to think it was. We bring out the most primal in each other... how could any other relationship be anywhere near as... as deep? As thrilling? As exciting? I don't even know how to describe it, but how could any other relationship be like this?

 

Marron's my brother, my only brother. The only brother I have, the only brother I'd want to be with. No other relationship can be like this, I know that. And so I treasure that which makes this relationship special, that which makes it unique. I treasure him.

 

To run my hands through his hair.

 

His wonderful, beautiful, long, silken hair. The light catches it, it shines, but yet it is dark. The way his hair falls around him, the way it becomes strewn about, the way it falls against him which suggests what activity came prior to it becoming like that... hair can be tied, hair can be wrapped, hands and fingers can run themselves through hair. The way it clings to flushed skin, skin that shines with it's sheen of sweat, caused by the exertion from our activity... I'll pull his hair away from his body, it clings, just for a moment... it falls away, falls back, clings again. But I do it anyway.

 

I'll kiss his forehead, his smooth skin, his eyes.

 

His eyes always seem so mysterious, during day to day life. Dark eyes that watch everything and give nothing away... they say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and I suppose I'm the one who has what it takes to open those windows. His gasps and his cries echo, but when I look into those deep, deep eyes... I don't want to look anywhere else, I just want to hold him close and stare into those eyes for all eternity. To be lost for eternity in the gaze of somebody else, to be lost in Marron's gaze... I could think of worse places to lose myself in. Such pretty eyes. Stormy grey-blue, sometimes purple in the right light... and mine are just brown, that's not as exciting, not as mysterious. But he stares into my eyes with as much hunger as I gaze into his, so there has to be something he sees there that captivates him... and when he closes his eyes, I kiss them so gently, parting hair away, that kiss as soft as the touch of a walking butterfly... and when he's curled against me, the soft kiss to his forehead always brings out a sigh. A comforted sigh.

 

His ears... I'll nibble on his ears.

 

Nibble, bite, tease, whatever. It could be said that his ears are sensitive, but as far as that goes, my brother's whole body is sensitive. Perhaps it's natural sensitivity, perhaps it's the fact that it's I who touches him, but either way... he likes it when I do such things. When I whisper into his ears, whisper such naughty suggestions... I tell him exactly what I'm going to do to him, and it makes him shiver. Sometimes it makes him cry out, and he'll beg me to do such things straight away... words whispered to him make him shiver, the gentle lick along the back side of his ear... focusing there, admiring the delicate shell of it, amused to watch him react so for such a simple touch...

 

His nose will be mine also.

 

Maybe not as sensitive as his ears, but his nose is so smooth, so gently pointed... his against mine whilst we kiss, and it has the potential to be nibbled down, so quickly or so slowly... it's the little things about him that I notice. When I touch him in other places and make him gasp, the way he holds his breath... it brings a smile to my face, because his nose twitches when I do things like that. Just during the intake of breath, as his jaw clenches, his nose twitches. It's cute, in a way. I lay tiny kisses against it, and watch him smile. One of the small signs of affection we can show each other outside of this situation.

 

Claiming his lips with kisses, hard, soft, passionate, gentle...

 

Soft against mine, his lips are warm and inviting. They want me to press against them, coax them into opening up, tempt them into surrendering to me... the lips are their own thing though, not just a means to access another place... I nip his lips gently with my teeth, feel them yield underneath me, the soft, slippery skin that I can feel behind... if his lips are dry, then I wet them with my own moisture. Feel his lips against my skin, passionate and gentle...

 

What lies behind his lips...

 

Inside him, his lips let me enter him, and I feel a burning warmth just from there. Searching each warm surface and laying claim to each warm corner, I feel the pillowy flesh of his cheeks from within, and I tease them as I can. My tongue along his teeth, and perhaps he doesn't even dare move... my tongue against his, silently persuading him to move. I don't want a conquest without a battle, I want to feel you movement, oh dear little brother. His tongue is in turns flaccid and soft then hard and pressing as I taste him and urge him to taste me... feeling the inner ridges of his mouth, feeling the muted vibration of his moan, barely audible... I hold him down while I kiss him, and he submits so willingly. Moving my head with a movement that could be echoed by further down my body, the contact makes him want to scream, I know it does... but he can only moan and whimper, and not tell me anything while I'm inside him in such a way. And I know that he doesn't mind.

 

Outside of his mouth, his smooth, silky cheeks will be mine also...

 

My brother's skin is so soft. Not that mine is especially pockmarked or anything, but to run my fingers along his cheeks and feel their warmth... when a lock of hair is brushing against it, silky like his skin, and I brush it away... I almost can't feel it specifically under my fingers, such is the subtle sensation... but it's there, oh, it's there. Pressing my fingers a little harder, I feel warmth, I feel the muted row of bone-hard teeth beyond his cheeks... press the back of a finger against them, watch his eyelids flutter to a close. His cheeks can be cupped, I cup them with my hands as I kiss him, holding his face as prisoner to my passion, feeling his warmth mingle with mine, and grow stronger for the combination. I want him, god, I want him... I want to worship every inch of skin on his body, and let him know I worship every surface and line just as fiercely as I could worship any deity...

 

Working lower than that, his upturned chin waits for my touch.

 

When he moans and rears back, he has this little habit of tipping his head back - I love to watch his hair fall back as he does that - and when he does that, his neck and chin are exposed to me... I pull him down from his arch and press my biting kisses against his chin, teasing him for what he wants me to do... he wants me to go further down, he wants me to claim his neck also, but not just yet, my brother... every inch of your skin, remember. I have to notice every part of you and recognize it as part of that which makes you wonderful, and even if you don't understand why I would pay such close attention to such a seemingly insignificant part, it... just for being part of you, it can't be insignificant... and your chin, like your nose, is also so delicately pointed, the slope of your chin and your cheeks wonderful to run my hand up softly before it reaches your hair, softness moving to hardness as I feel the outlining bone somewhere deeper than I can reach.

 

Not at your neck just yet, dearest sibling.

 

From underneath your ear right down to your chin, that jawbone of yours runs. Like any other place upon you, I can tease that with kisses and nibbles... kissing you just underneath your ear makes you shiver (that is somewhere you're sensitive, isn't it...), though you seem to become marginally less sensitive the further down I go... your flesh seems slightly harder against your jawbone than it is against your cheeks, and so I can nip them with more urgency, kiss and suck and leave marks... and underneath your chin, where your neck starts, I momentarily press hard enough to feel where the jawbone gives away to inner muscle. Marron, it amuses me to think that such things inside you are also inside me... for are we not both made up of flesh, bone, muscle and skin? How is it that the same basic building blocks of life made us so different? Yet I'm glad of it, for it makes me appreciate you all the more for our differences. I don't know if I'd be so physically attracted to a twin of myself, though if we both looked like you I might develop a narcissistic complex... but we're different, we're different though we're the same, and we love each other for it.

 

You want me to kiss your neck? Alright, then.

 

A place on you visited more often by me, I love your neck and you know I love your neck. My god, but can you even realise how sexy it is, after walking around by your side for the whole day, when you look at me with your eyes just shining in such a seductive way while your fingers so slowly work your robe open, when you push the fabric away from your skin... usually covered up so tightly, I see the pale skin of your neck, and it's something that people don't usually see, guarded as you are... I could argue that people don't often see your chest or your naked torso, but that's different... it's just different. When I see your neck, before I even see any other part of you unclothed, I... I know from your eyes that you want me to see you like that. I can't even explain it, but I can explain your reaction. I know you love to be kissed on your neck, around it, behind it, nipping the soft skin below your chin, further down than before... kisses to your lips make you moan, but it's when I reach your neck that you really cry out... as much as your ears are sensitive, so must be your neck. Your neck is somewhere I can bite and suck on with abandon, you like it when I do that, you like it when I leave those dark purple marks against your skin, marking you, claiming you as mine... after all, who else is going to see your neck, asides from myself? You want me to mark you. All over your body, you want it... I've heard you when you cry out, Marron. I've heard you wanting me to hold you so tightly it hurts, to take you and pound you into the bed and fuck you until you can't walk straight the next morning, you want to be marked, you want to be branded, you want to be mine. In turn, just as much... I want you to be mine. I want to be yours.

 

Your shoulders too? You want me there also? That's fine with me.

 

So rounded and smooth, so silky and soft, you are so different to me, Marron. You are a gift to me sent directly from heaven, and every part of you I examine only further convinces me of that fact. A perfect sculpture in human form, a being formed straight from the hands of God, His desire for earthly passions given shape and sent to us in you. Ah, but doesn't He forbid (or at least disapprove) of such things? Especially between two such as us... then indeed, you must be sent by the Devil, tempting and bewitching and beautiful... but I'd rather think of you as my God-given angel than my Devil-sent temptation. Whoever it was who made you, they were taking the opportunity to show off, I swear. Every part of you is perfect, how is this possible? Only you could prove to me that perfection is a reality, Marron, my brother. And you moan, oh, you moan. You moan as I move from your neck and begin on your shoulders, a certain place where the two merge makes you tense and hiss and cry. So smooth to touch and exciting to make react, and so comforting when I need somebody to rest upon, yours are the shoulders I rely on, Marron. Soft and warm, so many are the times I've fallen asleep against your shoulder, they're rendered countless. But I love it like that, being able to do such a thing. Outside of desire and outside of need, they're still things I treasure and treasure to rely on. To lean on your shoulders... I love you, Marron. Every part of you I can touch and every part of you I can't, I love. Everything that makes you you, even if I don't quite know what that is... everything about you... I love...

 

You'd gasp as I moved down further, wouldn't you? Knowing what would be coming soon... I'd revel in that gasp...

 

Feeling the ridge of your collarbone, moving to your chest... your hair fallen against it so softly, I'd brush that way with equally soft fingers, and take a moment to glare into your eyes before occupying myself with worship of this part of you. The glare... you shudder when I glare. You know I don't mean it to be angry with you, but... when you glare at me, so deeply trapped within your desire that you can't even smile, the depth in your eyes speaks volumes to me. And when I glare at you, you seem almost scared, but not that... you're nervous, but nervous in anticipation. You're scared of the feelings that take hold of you so tightly, but at the same time, you want to be trapped by those feelings... and so I press my fingers, just a little too hard, against your flat chest. Moving my fingers so slightly, pressing my fingernails into your skin. I move them away, I see the tiny sharp crescents my fingernails caused. Did that hurt, Marron? If it hurt, and you didn't want me to do it again, then... oh, you do. Alright then, I will. Again, to mark you... again, to claim you... nobody will see these marks but you and I, Marron. Only we will know.

 

Two seemingly useless points upon your chest, but you still like it when I touch them, don't you?

 

Funny little things, nipples are. Why do we have them? I get why girls have them, the whole breastfeeding childbirth thing, but... me and you, Marron. Why do we have them? There doesn't seem to be any practical purpose, but then again, we're not working to be practical, are we? So I bite them, only gently. Oh, and you are sensitive there, aren't you? A sharp, pleading cry... are you pleading for me to stop, or to carry on? I love to lick and suck on those buds, feel them stiffen under my soft tongue's ministrations, roll one between my fingers and feel the same reaction... pinch them and make you cry out, bite them and cause the same. They taste of you, brother. That heady scent and taste that can only be you... I tease them softly, gently. I go from pinching them, tugging them if you request, to tickling with just the tip of my forefinger, lick a shining trail over them, between them... and just from concentrating on these seemingly useless things, your breath is suddenly ragged, and I can feel a very physical proof of your desire pressing against my hip... and your head is tipped back, and you moan... and I want to take you right at that moment, but also I want to make you wait... the sweet sweet torture will have it's reward, don't worry. Be patient, my brother.

 

Between your nipples, the skin with no landmark but that which I can feel beneath it...

 

Sometimes when we sleep together, I can't find it in myself to slumber quite immediately. I hear your soft breathing and feel it in your chest as I lean against it, and I look up to you and I see that your eyes are closed... when you sleep, and I can't sleep, I can find comfort by leaning against your chest and just listening to your heartbeat. It's so regular, and it's comforting... badum... badum... I let it lull me into sleep. And it's the heart that's most important, isn't it? It's the heart that keeps you alive, and for that, Marron, I thank it. Anything that keeps you with me earns my utmost respect and gratitude, so your heart registers quite highly on that, right? And the non-physical aspect of it, the heart is supposed to be where romantic thoughts and feelings originate, even if the real thing is quite disgusting to look at compared to the sweet image of things on Valentine's Day... not that I've actually seen your heart. I don't think I'd want to. To be able to actually see your heart would mean that there was something very wrong, wouldn't it? But... no, just to listen to it, that's enough to satisfy me. Feel it's pulse beneath my fingers, my hand, my cheek, my ear... and when our bodies are pressed together, and we're holding tightly to one another as we take each other further and further to our long-awaited climax... to feel my heartbeat against yours... Marron, it's like nothing else. I never ever want to tire of that feeling.

 

As our bodies slide against each other, our arms slide against each other also.

 

Feeling your arms against mine... again, Marron, I love it. Where your arms and shoulders connect... that's where I hold you, that's where my fingers press to skin, that's where those long marks that stay originate from. Part of you I can rely on to keep me steady, the part of you I hold on so tightly to... almost nightly, that part of you is assaulted by the biting kisses I love to give you, my hands clawing desperately against you... and you do the same to me. As my hands hold you so tightly, so do yours hold me; my fingernails leave marks against your skin, and you mark me just the same. It's slightly more dangerous with me - I'm not as reserved as you are, my tanktop doesn't cover me as well as your robe covers you, and any marks on my skin are so much more visible... sometimes I suppose people just pass the marks off as things Tira and Chocolat have done to me, their attacks and whippings leaving their own brands. Quite often Tira and Chocolat have become angry and accused me of having 'another' lover (as if either of them are my lovers to begin with?), seeing the things you leave on my skin... I say that the dark purple marks are just bruises from where I hit myself here or there, sometimes they believe me, sometimes they don't. They can't suspect who it is who I rest with at night, or it's too obvious for them to even think about. So I sleep with Marron sometimes? If I have a nightmare, of course I do. They don't mind me sleeping with Marron in such an innocent and comforting way, as much as they might like to do such things, they don't mind. They can't mind. They don't suspect us, Marron. Let's revel in that.

 

Arms lead to hands, lead to fingers...

 

It's almost strange, some of the things that end up turning us on. My brother seems to love it when I run my hands so slowly down his arms, take hold of his hands - or just one hand, either one of them - and hold the fingers to my inspection... he loves it when I suck on his fingers. His lips are just as sweet when they're on my fingers, but I never quite gasp as loudly as he does when I do that... I nuzzle the palm of his hand and suck so longingly on his fingers, always keeping eye contact... he often breaks that contact, he can't look at me for too long when I'm doing that to him. Maybe he's got some kind of heightened sensitivity that comes from him studying magic so much, spells cast with his hands meaning his hands are that bit more sensitive... or perhaps my brother just has a strange fetish. Either way, I don't mind indulging in that, not if it brings him such pleasure... then there were the times we experimented with food in the bedroom. That was fun. And when I licked things off his fingers, oh, he got so hot and bothered! Though... not only food can be licked from fingers. Other things can be too, other things that taste so sweetly of my brother... it's so brazen and it makes him so shy when I make him lick and taste it too, but he doesn't mind the vague humiliation, not for the pleasure it brings.

 

Back to your main body, Marron... you know what I'm heading towards.

 

Below his nipples and below his chest, his body indents over his stomach... always lean and slim, my brother. Perhaps I eat a little too much but Marron is always careful that he never eats too much... sometimes I try to persuade him to eat a little more, I want him to stay healthy after all, but with the amount of physical exertion we're put up to in our line of work, we couldn't become unfit even if we wanted to. I mean, look at Gateau...! Or don't. No, Marron... don't do that. Just look at me, that's a better idea. But yes, he... maybe he could do with a little more food inside him, but as trim as he is at the moment, I don't mind at all. I run my finger along the bottom of his ribcage, where I feel it... run down to where his stomach is, prod it a little... just teasing him. I trace my fingers down the line of his bellybutton, run my tongue along it also, press it a little deeper into the indent... even that makes him gasp, though if I'm being so leisurely to spend time on every part of his body, by the time I reach his lower half, he's already becoming desperate... raising from the bed just a little, he'd want me to go lower, further than just his stomach...

 

Slowly, slowly. I'm getting there, don't hurry me... even if you beg me, I'm not going to hurry, so there's no point... you can beg me if you want to, though. Thank you.

 

Lower, lower, I'm reaching the places he wants me to be at. His lower stomach... another place that might seem insignificant, but with him, it can only be beautiful... without looking further down, it's quite a tantalizing position. The smoothness of his stomach trails down to what we know is there, just hinted to by the creases of his upper legs, the shadows that make me want to seek further... on occasion his stomach might lead to his crotch by way of a little light fuzz, but we like to make sure his skin remains so smooth... or perhaps that's only me, I like to keep him looking perfect like that, and bodily hair just doesn't suit my beautiful little brother. And again, strangely, he seems to garner some kind of pleasure when I shave him... it could be dangerous, having such sharp instruments so close to such delicate things, but I'm as gentle as possible and he trusts me entirely... and it's making him look beautiful. It brings me aesthetic pleasure in that fashion... and to feel Marron's hands working quietly on my own body, it is incredibly relaxing, despite that much too sharp razor in his hands... we don't mind, though. It can be sensual in it's own way, and... well, I don't know about Marron, but it's the quickest turnoff to be doing things so quickly to him, only to get a hair or so in my mouth... that's not so pleasant, and I think Marron agrees with me on that one. So we keep ourselves cleanshaven, just for our benefit. And of course, he does look so beautiful, shaven and sculpted, my own beautiful carving of pure human flesh.

 

I'm teasing you am I not, Marron? So close... so close, you can almost feel me... but not yet...

 

To tease him, I'll go to the side and concentrate on his hips. Slim like the rest of him, and just as sensitive... oh, and his hips are perfect to grab hold of in the midst of passion... not that there's so much to grab hold of, but when he's writhing in my lap, I like to remind him who's granting him that pleasure with just a slightly too-tight hold... again, his hips are another area of his body that end up marked and sore from my fingers and fingernails. But I like them, they're something I'm familiar with... sometimes I work him too hard and I'm sure it has to hurt, the speed in which I force myself to him, the degree to which he succumbs, his absolute submission... but if he hurts, he does have the healing magic he learnt from our mother... how useful that becomes, many a time it's saved us from unpleasant morning-after pains. Ah, but I also like to bite and nip at his hips... his skin so pure and flawless, I like to leave it with a few scratches of my own, emblem of our passion. He seems so pure... he's not pure. Not really. Not with me.

 

Alright, alright... I'll touch you there, okay? You don't have to beg me anymore. Though I like it when you do.

 

Flushed and hard and shameful and shameless, and it's erect because of me, Marron. I look at it with such wide-eyes, marvel on it's sight and whisper praise against it, and you blush and tell me not to... does that embarrass you, little brother? Does it embarrass you that I like your cock when it's all hot and hard and waiting for me to touch it? You're not somebody who can say things like that, but I love to say them to you and watch you squirm. Though we'll get to that in a minute. I lean up against your ear and whisper about how I just love to suck on my brother's rock-hard prick, and you push at me and whisper so helplessly for me not to talk like that... why shouldn't I talk like that, Marron? Is anybody going to walk into the bedroom and tell your naughty niisan off for using bad language? Perhaps I have a coarser mouth than you do, but when I see you blush and squirm and writhe like that, I can't help but talk like that. I don't have to, but the effect it has on you, I can't help it. So many things I can do! You're so sensitive there, Marron. When I lick it, you sigh... when I suck it, you shudder and cry... even when I just breathe on it, hahhn, it makes you wriggle. So sensitive, aren't you? My fingers can tempt and tease, my mouth moreso... you like it when you can feel mine against yours, don't you? Stiff erection against stiff erection... when I'm lying so still on top of you and you can feel it, and you move, and I hold you down... and then perhaps I'll move, just slightly, just enough for both of us to be able to feel, and you cry out and go to hold me again. Oh, so hot... it feels hot in my hand, Marron. Do you feel hot? Doesn't it make you feel like you burn, just because of me? My thumb so gently circles the tip, and he cries out... ah, isn't that the most sensitive part? No wonder you're panting and gasping so heavily, my brother. Do you like it when I do that? Should I do it again? No? Oh, but you cry out so nicely when I do that... what should I do with it? Do you want to be inside me? Or shall I suck it until you come? I'd like that. I want to make you come. How shall I make you come? It's all up to you, Marron. Don't you want to make me come? Of course you do. Shall I let you take me? All flustered like this, I don't know if you could... should I take you? Or should I tease you some more? Oh, the look of pained frustration on your face when I suggest such a thing as that... I think that pleading stare made up my mind for me before you could even say anything at all, don't you think? I could make you come now... or I could carry on like this... just for a while... oh, does that thought make you cry out, dear brother? Holding my arm so tightly. You can't change my mind; I want to worship you, and I want to worship you completely. So let me worship you, just for the time being. You'll get yours soon enough, don't you worry. You're completely safe with me; you can trust me, Marron.

 

Further down, even though you whimper at me to stay where I was... quiet, Marron. Let me do what I want, just for the time being.

 

Another place you're seemingly embarrassed of. I like to embarrass you though, just a little... in day to day life, barely anything seems to faze you. You get angry when I get attacked, and sometimes you blush at this or that, and sometimes Gateau's suggestions spur you to react, whether the reaction is anger or whatever... but I love to tease you and see you like that... when I hold you erection, stroke it, tell you to tell me what it's like... you tell me, but so haltingly... so I tell you to elaborate, what does it feel like? It feels good, but... what feels good? Making you speak the words I throw about so shamelessly is reward in itself. Like when I have you on your back begging me to fuck you in no uncertain terms... that turns me on so bad, Marron. Hearing you talk like that. I know it makes you uncomfortable, but... isn't it also such a turnon, for you also? Whispering suggestions like that to you is enough to get you hot and bothered in the first place, so when I'm touching you in such private places... I stroke your balls, I try to get you to name them. You can't hide behind flowery speech there, Marron... you blush and look away, telling me about how they're your testicles... I shake my head, you're not a textbook, Marron. Even though you're perfect you've still got such shameful parts to you, haven't you? Things that you find embarrassing even to name. They're your balls, Marron. Your nuts. Say it, Marron. Say it. Tell me that you want to stroke your balls... go on... you can do it, Marron... oh, yes. Voice so low, so embarrassed, your face looking so mortified... nobody would ever suspect you like that, would they? That you beg me to touch you like that, make you say such terrible things... I could go on like that, but by then you're almost crying in shame, wanting me to do things you find it so difficult to name... I watch, impassive. And you break, and you do cry, crying that you want me to suck your cock, swallow your come... that you want me to touch your balls, and suck them, and lick them, and touch them so softly, and... I hug you, that's enough. I'm sorry I made you cry, Marron. You don't have to keep saying those things if you don't want to. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. I know what you want, I'll do them without you having to ask me. I'm sorry.

 

I'll distract you from that... let's move away from there, just for a little while.

 

Your thighs... I love your thighs, just as much as I love any other part of you. Again, so smooth and perfect...! And the shadows they form, the way the skin runs up, joining them to that part of you... and the skin of your inner thigh is so sensitive, isn't it? When I bite and nip there, oh, how you cry out. Licking against them, biting against them, making you cry out... if I kept there long enough, might that contact itself make you come? Breathing so heavily by that point... I lick along the expanse of flesh, leaving a shining trail as I did to your chest... I breathe a short focus of air against where I licked, letting you feel the momentary freezing sensation. Again, you squirm, you wriggle. You're in my hands now, Marron... you rely on me completely, don't you? But just to tease, I move from where you're so sensitive to somewhere where you're less so... thighs are not quite as sensitive as your inner thighs, but you still like to be touched there, don't you? My fingers daintily trailing down... I said I'd worship every inch of you, Marron. I mean it.

 

Further, further down...

 

Your legs are also hairless, shaved too as we keep them. Though, my brother never really got hairy legs, did he? Probably something in the gene pool. And so Marron's legs are silky-smooth, and as cleanshaven as we like to keep them, and you extend your legs out to allow me to stroke them. Anywhere I touch you, you love to be touched. Your body is my own private playground, my own territory... I know it so intimately, but I'm always fascinated by it, I could never grow tired of your body... maybe I'm the king and you're my kingdom, but I still worship you. If that is so, then my kingdom was given to me by God himself, and I have to take care of it, do I not? I have been given dominion, my brother. I'll take care of you with all of my being.

 

Lower, still lower I work...

 

Another place on my brother's body where he likes to be touched, and I can't quite understand the attraction... just running my fingers along the bone of your ankle makes you gasp and cry out. What is it with that? I know you like it, and I know it makes you react, so I stroke you there, lick you there, kiss you there... I admit it's nice when you do the same to me, feet are so sensitive, but yours seem especially so... perhaps it's because you walk around with your ankles wrapped up all day, but you loved to be touched there... and so I touch you there. And you let out just this little high-pitched moan, and that moan in itself is my reward.

 

This is the furthest I can go, isn't it? Ah, but there are still places on you to explore... oh brother, my territory...

 

Like your ankles before them, your feet are sensitive. I love how hard your hands clutch the sheets when I'm tickling the underside of your feet! Marron was never quite one for being tickled, but he's so different in the bedroom... he doesn't mind a tickle if it's an intimate one, he doesn't mind being tickled if he's allowed to moan while he's being tickled. His cries so desperate as I tickle, somewhere between frustration and frantic amusement... from the sole of his feet along to his toes, I tickle. And he wriggles and squirms, and his toes clench, and I slowly slowly coax each one back to normal... my brother usually keeps his feet clean (he's quite meticulous with his personal hygiene...) so I don't mind a little light nibbling. He doesn't mind it either. My tongue along his foot, still stroking his ankle... I swear, if I kept on like that for long enough, it'd honestly trigger his climax. That's how sensitive he is there. One day I will persuade Milphey into letting me borrow some of his feathers (I'll make up an excuse, I don't know how he'd react to 'I want to borrow them to sexually tease my brother with')...

 

Where now, you ask me... ah, but I have a path, a trail in my mind... roll over, Marron.

 

The backs of his legs are also sensitive... getting him to rest on his stomach, his legs stretched out in front of me... just a gentle touch of the crease behind his knee, he tries to fight the reflex action. I notice this and tease him just a little with it, make him fight it, plant light kisses there, also... further up, the back of his thighs... I feel him tense beneath me, just a little. He knows what's coming next... Marron, you have to relax. See, I'm tickling your thighs, doesn't that feel good too?

 

Another place that's embarrassing for my brother.

 

As long as he keeps himself clean I don't find any issue with it, it's another place of him to tease and worship, but if I touch him there directly, he always seems to be uncomfortable... it's strange. He doesn't mind me fucking him mercilessly, but when it's my finger pressing to tease, or my tongue trying to stimulate him, he doesn't know how to react... he doesn't mind feeling my fingers inside him to prepare him, the lubrication making it slippery... his little cries are unsure, so I tease him in other ways, pulling his cheeks apart and nipping the tightly-packed flesh there... my brother's rear really is almost non-existent, I swear. Like his hips, there's really not too much to hold onto there, when he's thrusting into me and I need to hold onto him to keep him close to me... but I love to cover it with kisses, massage with my hands... that always makes him moan, but if he doesn't want me to do anything there, I won't force him to. He can't be comfortable with everything, after all.

 

Shifting up a little, you quietly ask if I'm going to take you... not just yet, Marron. Patience is a virtue...

 

My hands against your back, even I'm becoming a little impatient by this point... as I shift up against you, my arousal pressing firmly against you, and you don't know whether you should push further into the bed or further out towards me... you stay still, you stay torn. To keep myself occupied, I let my hands roam their way up your back. I gently brush your hair away from your skin, letting me see your back... I push my hands up against your shoulders, feeling them beneath my hands. I push, but lightly, just in that certain way... I straddle your lower back, letting my whole body move as I subject you to the massage. You moan, leaning your head on your hands... you like that, don't you Marron? I continue to massage, feeling your skin, soft and malleable beneath my fingers... you can't help but move so slightly against the bed, wanting some other kind of stimulation, but happy to feel my warmth... I lean down, then brushing your hair to the side, and I nibble at your neck from behind... and you moan, you like that... don't you? Yes, yes you do... and I like to do it with you... and maybe, like that... as I lower my body to yours... perhaps, at last... perhaps we're ready... and maybe I'll take you... don't you think? It's your decision... Marron... what is it... that you want...?

 

He is mine, and he is claimed. Every part of him sings for every part of me, and I hold him, and I take him, and he's mine. I cry his name as much as he cries mine, and I can't help it, because he's so beautiful... and every part of him that I worshipped in such minute detail, every part is ignored as it comes together to form the whole, that which cannot be described, that which is him, that which is Marron...

 

So what part of him is it that really makes him, him? It's nothing physical... or perhaps he is just the sum of all his parts... all humans share the same parts, more or less... but the parts that make Marron, Marron... nobody else can have those parts, can they? Nobody else can have his voice, the way he moans when I suck on his fingers, or nibble his ankles... nobody else can react quite like he does, can they?

 

Nobody else can have his expressions, nobody else can look quite like how he does when he's lost in pleasure, absolutely taken by me, and his cheeks are flushed with desire and his voice is caught on my name and won't let go... just like how his hands pull against me, clasping, gripping, claiming for their own...

 

And all the while, you're still silent, Marron. Just silent, still, still sat there, waiting for me... and all the times before that I remember, just by looking at you, I can recall them, and recall you perfectly... on the nights where you're absent I miss you so keenly, having only my memories to rely on... but then I'm grateful to even have those at all, for I am... I am the only person you'll allow to see you in such a way...

 

Nobody else sees you like that, Marron. Nobody else sees you panting in desperation, nobody else hears you crying my name, nobody else hears you begging me to do yet another wickedly sinful thing to your perfect body...

 

Whoever else may desire after you, they're out of luck. You love only me, don't you Marron?... Yes. And as I finally step forward, unable to contain myself anymore, you look up; you heard movement. You look shocked. Were you not expecting me?

 

I don't say a thing. What is there to say? I just smirk, and I join you on the bed... and all that I dream of when I am away from it, is mine once more.

 

 

I claim my territory... I claim my kingdom... I claim you, Marron.

 

You're mine. I'm yours.

 

We belong to each other, and we are forever.

 

Forever together, and forever in each other's minds.

 

There's no other way to describe it.

 

I don't care what anybody else says, or would care to tell me... this... this...

 

This... is what love is.

 

 

 

~Fin~

20th December 2003