Almost Home

A/N: The first part of thirty Un_love_you prompts for Dexter: 'Always wondered what this'd be like'. A prelude to the rest of the story.

Warm urgent lips were pressing back roughly on his own, hard firm hands had him pinned to the bed so firmly that he was gasping for air against the bedding. He knew that he was crying along side his precious partner; he could hear their tears in the background. The ceiling lamp in the once cozy room flickered on and off, making the lighting a gentle comforting beat that said this house would never be empty of what haunted it.

Dexter had him pressed so desperately down against the worn cotton sheets that Brian could have sworn he could taste the tie-dye on them leaking into his open panting mouth. He could remember watching their mother twisting the bedding with plastic bands and singing to them softly as she dyed it; Bob Dylan for blood red and the Doors for cobalt blue. She had played the radio with such constant joy that he could recognize the songs even then. Now he could hear them playing in his subconscious as his younger brother’s tongue slid against the pulse in his neck, tasting him like a snake licked the air.

It felt better than anything had ever felt when sharp hard teeth bit down against his flesh. The pain was perfection and it was as close to Heaven as he would ever get.

Brian bit the musty sheets tightly when Dexter began to slap him with an open palm and he could hear the growling above and behind him; the eager angry breath that slid from the younger man’s throat. The blows to his shoulders didn’t hurt half as much as knowing that they were landing out of frustration with his actions and hurt from the trust that was almost broken in his bloodlust. His arms stung from the strikes that reigned down from the love inspired take on justice but Dexter’s lips soothed them as quickly as he had administered them, planting sloppy apologetic kisses against the reddened skin.

A hand ran through dark curls sweetly at first and then pulled them here or there, yanking them straight in fistfuls. Brian cringed when he tugged them harder still, a childish punishment for nearly wrecking their chances before they began. That was his payment for waiting so long to tell; for making their relationship into a game.

“Brian, Brian, Brian…” Dexter whispered more than spoke, maybe chanting the name to his long lost brother but more likely reinforcing the existence of this character to himself. It felt so good to hear it from his lips so freely that Brian turned onto his back to watch him, pulling his brother closer to hold against his chest. Skin against skin now, hearts beating in time, nothing was between them just as it had been so long ago.

This wasn’t the first time they had held each other so close on this bed. Years ago, when everything was still right and before they had been reborn, they had often found themselves on it. Their Mommy would bathe them together and then let them sit there while she put together their outfits, humming and sorting through their clean laundry. They would hold each other then as she read to them, one happy family, snuggling on the warm bedding with the Florida breeze swirling in around them from the open window.

Dexter was kissing him now like he never would have then and his hand was exploring lower, fondling him in such a hard rough manner that Brian couldn’t help but enjoy it. The hand that was stroking him was too fast and erratic for his taste and his palm was dry enough to catch painfully against his skin but still it felt better than when he did it himself and better still than when any of the hookers he visited touched him like that. He never loved them and he didn’t care much for himself, that’s what separated this and made it so special.

Before his brother left the intimacy of the bedroom, he had whispered into his ear with as much of a demand as he had ever offered to his sibling. “Stay here, just wait. I need…I need something.” He had said and he had moved towards the bathroom like that, eyes filled with a look of contemplation. Brian could have guessed what the something was for but he still he had to control the illogical part of him that cried out at their separation and swore that he was being abandoned once more.

He came back within three minutes with a damp blue bottle of shampoo held loosely in his hand. “This was all I could find.” He offered and his tone was only semi-apologetic for the poorly selected substitute for lubricant. It served Brian right for being unprepared for the situation, the voice seemed to suggest. It wasn’t going to sting Dexter to use his brother’s anti-dandruff shampoo as lubricant, his tears might even have been welcome so they continued with that.

Brian spread his legs for the searching fingers, laying his head down against the lumpy goose down pillow and closing his eyes tightly because he knew that like all good lovemaking it would hurt. He had always wondered what it would be like to be fucked by his brother, ever since he knew what fucking was. When he grew older it was what it would feel like to be defiled on his own mother’s bedding by the person he loved the most in the world, by the one person he had never given up on. He knew what it felt like to be probed and to be touched intimately; he hadn’t lived a happy life in the institution.

Enemas and strappings were regular punishments for his perceived misbehavior, for his characteristic deceitfulness. Anything was acceptable to try to provoke him to react ‘appropriately’ for the situations. He had screamed at first during the routine treatments but soon enough he learned to never make a sound to those unwelcomed touches; all of his emotions were held in check within him. He was anti-social by even his own means. But when Dexter’s finger slid into him now, the harsh burning sting of the soap was familiar but it made his heat race in a different way.

It stretched him in a way he hadn’t ever felt to have his sibling pushing all the way into him and it hurt just like he had imagined when he thrust in and out. The tears that trickled down from chocolate brown eyes weren’t all from the pain and humiliation this time but from the unique feeling of completion at the coupling. He had always wondered if it could feel as good as he imagined it would when his sibling was taking him so savagely, if he would hear him whisper endearments like he did to the whores.

He didn’t whisper any promises of those foreign feelings himself and all he heard was grunts of pleasure mixing with his own snarls at the pain. But the hallow eyes that stared back down at him said all that he needed to hear, they said the only thing that he could have ever wanted to hear. They said ‘I am a killer’ and that spoke more to him than anything else could have, the promise that this was murder. They said ‘I’m just like you’ and that was the only truth in the world.