A/N: No, no this is not Behind the Mask. I'm just evil and twisted and want to torture you all with my lovely...prequel. Yes. A Prequel. Think of it as a promo. And enjoy, my lovely, tortured readers!
Oh, and this must be said: This prequel is dedicated to my honorary lesbian, J. His identity shall remain a secret because of the reasons for motivation. But he has promised to read. Despite the 'disturbing' contents. XD Enjoy, J!
What I Cannot Have
It was a calm, warm summer afternoon in Danville, Illinois. They called it Eden, the people who lived there, and this place was sacred to them.
There was a tree in a backyard of a home that resided on the street of Maple Drive. This tree was famous to the children who lived in the house, on the street, in the city, and frankly, in all of Eden. For it was the tree that belonged to the two brothers.
Now this was a very old tree and it had seen many things. The passage of time around it was quite steady, and it even recalled the time when the house it resided behind was built, when it wasn't nearly as tall as it stood as of now.
But this tree represented more to those two brothers than to the children who lived on that street, in that city, and frankly, in all of Eden combined. For that tree held all their memories in its own. That tree was part of their journey towards each other.
But before that tree was a part of anything as special as that, it was simply their tree, in the backyard of the home they shared.
The redhead was working on his blueprints again, leaning against the trunk so that his head rested against the tan bark, cool and soothing against his skin. He was chewing on the pencil eraser again, a habit that he'd retained since he'd started having harder tests in school. His green-haired counterpart was leaning against the trunk beside him, reading another one of his thick novels. It may have been War and Peace, or he may have just been rereading The Odyssey again for a change in pace. Either way, the book that was in his lap was not what he was engrossed in. He was more focused on his step-brother, the way that his hair was so wonderfully red in the sunlight, the way the westward sun put his skin into a glow, his eyes sparkling as he discovered some new way to create what he'd been working on.
I want to rip that pencil from your mouth. Ferb thought to himself. And chastise you for ruining the eraser. And your beautiful teeth. I want to roll up those blueprints, put them aside with care, and whisper just exactly what I'll do to you. I want you to nod, to blush as you often do when someone says something remotely naughty, and close your eyes, knowing what's coming next. I want you to squirm, even as I tell you not to, as I rid you of your ability to see, covering your gorgeous dark blue eyes with a blindfold. I want to tie you to this tree, this tree that is both yours as much as it is mine, and claim you to the point where you belong to me more than it. I want to pop your shoes off, remove your socks, and take each of your toes into my mouth, kiss across the sole of your foot, your ankle, your calf, and then do the same to the other. I want to peel off your shorts, kissing across your thighs as I remove your shirt, and take my time to kiss across your chest, paying close attention to your nipples, your torso, your navel, your hips. I want to relish in you, quicken my pace accidentally only to have to slow it down, wanting to breathe in the sounds of your ecstasy. I want to kiss you hard and passionate, open up your mouth to mingle with mine, and plunder it freely, mine for the taking. I want to see you arch towards me, into my touch, as you moan, beg, plead for me to take you, just simply take you over the edge. I want to slip your boxers from your hips, pull them down off your legs, and take you into my hands. I want to stroke you gently, firmly, until you're just on the edge, then stop, and hold you there just long enough to hear you let out a cry of frustration before I take you into my mouth. I want to kiss your lips till they're swollen with blood. I want to stroke your skin till it's slick with sweat. I want to worship your body till it glows. I want to watch you explode. I want to see the ripple of your release rush through you, passion twisted in knots as you arch up into me as much as you can, hands clenching and unclenching, unable to grasp onto anything as you remain tied to this tree. I want to hear you scream. I want to hear you scream my name as you fall over the edge, fall back into me. I want to untie you from this tree, and let you fall into my arms.
But I want what I cannot have.
It was a calm, warm summer afternoon in Danville, Illinois. There was a tree in a backyard of a home that resided on the street of Maple Drive, and under that tree, a certain green-haired young man, by the name of Ferb Fletcher, had decided on that day that it was, in fact, time to leave this place behind forever.
And that tree, the tree that was both his as much as it was his step-brother's, was the only one who knew what he had decided.
