This was my entry for the SWW Pic Prompt Contest.

Please consider the warning before you decide if you want to read this: Contains dark themes and character death. Potentially upsetting.

Thank you Sue273 for betaing this for me. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.

Prologue:

"So, you admit to killing him in cold blood, and not in self-defense?" the woman asks again, just for the record. Her voice is hard and lifeless, just like her face. "And you don't want your lawyer or your phone call?"

A monotone voice answers her, just as lifeless as the woman's, "Yes. I'll sign the confession right now. All I'm asking is that you find my brother. He's not capable of taking care of himself and needs someone to administer his medication daily."

The woman looks to her partner, "We'll see what we can do."

When I reach the tattered pages of 'The Call of Cthulhu', I glance up from the book to look at the clock out of habit. It still shows 9.30. It's needed new batteries for a long time. The apartment is quiet - no sounds are coming from Garrett's room. Finally, I can now go to sleep.

The sun is on its way up, bright rays shining right in my face. I reach for the button to turn my alarm off before it rings. A heavy and warm, familiar body lies over my back, like a blanket I have pulled over myself in my sleep. I get up, silently rummaging through the pile on the floor trying to find a set of clothes clean enough to use for another day or two and clean myself before I go to wake up Garrett.

Back from the bathroom, my bed is empty. He's already awake, sitting in the kitchen, eating cereal.

"Hey," I quietly say, getting a quick nod in return. He acknowledges me today. I'm happy about that. Grabbing a spoon and bowl, I pour cereal from the box on the table and pick up the milk. The feel of the carton is wrong, making me sniff it before I pour, and a familiar sour smell hits my nose.

"Ugh, how can you drink this?" I ask him disgusted. I can hear the accusing tone in my voice. It's too late as usual. He flings his spoon at me, gets up and storms past me. I press myself up against the sink. His odor hits me when he passes, almost like the milk, many days too old, and my face spared from his fist. I wonder how I am going to get him to take his medication now. It's important that he takes the tablets in the morning with his breakfast for them to work properly and give him the least possible side effects.

Now the damage is already done. I yell after him, "Please Garrett, could you take a shower today while I'm at work?" He turns the music up to shut me out of his world. There is no point trying to open his door, the scraping noises coming from his room means he's barricading it with his closet.

– O –

My hair drips rainwater down my nose as I get the cleaning supplies I need for this morning's first task. Down on my knees, I start scrubbing the toilet trying to find out which of my imaginary books I'm in the mood for today. I attack the task at hand with as much energy as I can muster, trying to force my thoughts to concentrate on one thing. However, I can't find the focus I need to devise the next chapter of a story to get in my usual work zone.

I find an especially difficult spot needing my full attention and rummage through my trolley to find the only detergent to enable me to move to the next stall. It's not there. This smudge has cost me too much of my time already, but I run back to the storage anyway. The Hag checks my work every day before she opens her moneybag. No pay for me, if not everything is perfect enough for her. I've learned my lesson.

I rummage through the shelves, but what I need is nowhere to be seen. Frantically, I turn around, finally spotting it on Jasper's abandoned trolley. I lift up the can and out of the corner of my eye I register red, hard flesh. An erect penis hides at the bottom. The can in my hand hits the floor with a loud thud echoing against the walls. The magazine replaces the can in my hand and before I register what I'm doing, it's in my inner pocket, safely tucked away from prying eyes. So this is why Jasper doesn't get paid as much I do, he uses his work hours looking at filthy pictures instead of earning money. Jasper's pathetic, spending so much time here without being paid for it.

I spray and scrub the spot away, the porcelain shines at me and the bulge in my inner pocket stays where it should be, no need to worry about it. Two stalls down, the floor is swimming with litter and it fills the garbage bag on my trolley half way up. If I throw the magazine with the erect penis and its skinny owner in there now, it will be well hidden from prying eyes and no one will get in to trouble for it. It will be nothing to worry about.

The next stall stinks; if I can just get through this one, I can reward myself with a short smoking break. I wonder if I ate breakfast this morning. I have an empty feeling in my stomach *when I realize I didn't eat.

It's hard bending down in these tight work pants, so I need to loosen up the belt. My hand brushes over the bulge in my inner pocket and the bulge in my pants. The lowest one gets in the way when I bend down, even with more room around the waist.

I have time for a five-minute cigarette break. I'm over half way through despite the situation with the spot and the lost can, and I haven't even thought about the next chapter of my book yet. This day will be over before I know it. I deserve a cigarette. The bulge in my pocket can be ignored and the bulge in my pants has nothing to do with it.

It's hard lighting my cigarette with the matches I had in my pocket, the one without the filth in it. I try holding my hand still with the other one as I slowly get the red glow I crave.

Walking home, I stop by the store to buy new milk, one can of corned beef and one can with spaghetti rings for our dinner. If I sneak his pill in amongst the rings, there is a chance he won't see it. I wonder if I made him take it yesterday. It was today he didn't take it.

His door is closed when I get home. It's quiet. I place my bag on the kitchen table. He's been in here. There are crumbs on the counter that I'm sure weren't there this morning. I put the saucepan on with the contents of the cans, before I go to check the bathroom. He hasn't showered, but he's been in here – someone has vomited in the toilet. I flush it down.

I hear a noise from the kitchen and rush out to save our dinner from burning. He stands there in front of the table, holding the magazine I was supposed to throw away. I wonder how it ended up in the bag.

His tone is too light, mocking me, "What is this Edward? Did you spend our money on garbage? How can you do this to these poor boys?" He flips through the magazine, throws it in the corner and comes over to me, taking the spatula from me, and starts stirring in rapid movements. Some of the red sauce lands on the stove.

"We have been through this before, Edward." He points the spatula at me and I get drops of sauce in my face, near my mouth. I lick them up and feel my stomach growl for more. "The boys in those magazines deserve better. They should be at school and sitting at home with their mother and father watching TV shows in the evening. You can't spend our money on it and support porn! It's not right. How would it make you feel if you saw pictures of me in there one day?"

"I'm so sorry, Garrett," I plead with him, almost in tears. "I didn't buy it, I swear. It was in Jasper's trolley under a spray can I needed. I wanted to throw it away for him. I didn't want the Hag to find it and make him lose his job, I swear, that was all." I need him in a good enough mood so he sits with me at the table and eat his dinner. "I only wanted to help!"

"I'll serve us. You go to the bathroom and wash your hands while I do it," I tell him. He listens to me this time, and I hastily slip his pill in the middle of his plate hiding it carefully under the spaghetti. I sit down and start eating right away so he does the same when he comes back.

Trying to start a light conversation to take his concentration away from his food, I ask him, "What did you do today?" I make sure to avoid the showering issue.

The magazine still lies in the corner.

"I started on my writing project again," he tells me, his tone flat.

The red, hard flesh draws my eyes to it.

"You started from scratch again?" I ask him lightly, trying to ignore the pulsing in my pants. At least these are wide enough for my size.

I can't look at the penis again. He will look for what's drawing my attention.

"Yes, I did! I can begin as many times as I want. And I don't need to shower, I smell just fine!" he shouts, already on his way to his room, his dinner only half eaten. I wonder if he ate the part with the pill in it.

His door slams and I use my spoon to look for the little white tablet. I can't find it. I wonder if he ate it or if it has disintegrated. Throwing the leftovers in the trashcan, I wash the dishes, listening to the angry music coming from his room. I pick up the magazine on my way to my room and hide it under the mattress.

In the shower, I stare down at my hard cock, strutting out from my groin. The tip is red and swollen and begs for me to touch it. Stupid hormones. I dry myself and get dressed again, with my last set of clean clothes. They're black. At least they look clean enough.

It's dark when I stand at the bus stop. Raindrops run down my nose tickling me. I brush them away repeatedly as I sit staring out at the streetlights and the passing cars. I should have told him I was leaving.

– O –

"Stop trying to take off my clothes! You have to wait until we get inside my room, I told you," I try to stop the eager hands from undressing me on the stairs.

"Oh, but I want to feel your skin. I need you." His whiny, high-pitched voice fills the stairway. I fumble, trying to find the hole for the key with my shaking hands.

"Remember that I live with my brother. You must not wake him up, or the only hands on skin tonight will be his fist in our face." I stop to look pointedly at him. "Can you be quiet, Robin?"

"Riley," he says.

"Huh?"

"My name is Riley," he explains, his face falls a little.

"Yes, of course, I remember your name. I just said Riley."

His narrow hips grind into my back as I finally get the door open and I hush him when he squeals. "Oh, it stinks in here!"

"Well, this is better than doing it outside, isn't it?" I whisper, a bit hurt. This is my home after all. I do try my best to get Garrett to shower on a regular basis.

He presses himself against my chest, trying to take off my jacket at the same time. I push him carefully off me, slip off my shoes and hang up my jacket without making a sound, hoping he follows my example.

I lead him into my room and close the door, locking it slowly. I'll grease the lock tomorrow. I turn around facing him and he stands there, his eyes dragging from my feet up to my eyes. He's a little lower than I am, and very skinny. The skin on his face is white and tight over his bones, his hair dyed black and his light brown eyes framed with black eyeliner. He'll do very nicely.

His eyes leave mine, sweep around the room, taking in the mess I'm used to ignoring. His eyes settle on my bed. "You sleep there?" he asks, the tone in his voice almost like mine earlier today when I asked Garrett if he drank the sour milk.

"Yes, of course. It's my bed!" I tell him indignantly. This is the only place to lie down in the room.

"Ugh, why didn't we just go to my place again?" he asks me.

Incredulous, I enlighten him, "Because you told me you still live with your parents?"

"I know, I know. It was a rhetorical question." He slides the stuff on my bed onto the floor, making it thud.

Spluttering, I whisper-yell at him, "Didn't I just tell you to be quiet? I don't need my brother to wake up right now!" I grab his upper arms, holding him firmly to me.

He looks hard on me. "Well, what do you need? If you want to fuck me, I want a place to lie down!"

I soften my grip on him. I can tell I need to be nice to him if I'm going to get him to stay long enough. I brush my dry lips against his soft ones making the fire I felt earlier tonight spark into life. He rises up on his toes, presses his tiny chest against mine and I stick my tongue between his lips. He tastes like strong liqueur and cigarettes, not unpleasant, and I grip his ass, pressing him against my crotch. I hope my size won't be a problem tonight, with his slim hips. He seems eager enough when he feels me, grinding against me as he does.

The low whimpering coming from his throat will not disturb my brother's sleep. I must make sure to kiss his mouth when I penetrate him.

I let go of him. "I want you to get undressed," I command. He listens to me right away, stripping down to his boxers. They're tight over the front and I lick my lips involuntarily. His perfect, tiny white chest is sinking in the middle right over his stomach and I follow my fingertips tracing around it up to the area between his nipples. The pink, tight buds grow even tighter when I flick them with my finger and I lean in and lick the left one with my pointy tongue as I look up at his face. He throws his head back and digs his fingers into my hair, pressing my mouth to him.

I do it again to the other nipple and bite it. "Ah . . . hey!" he says, looking down at me. I stare up at him, not sorry at all. I slip my hands into the back of his underwear, sliding my finger in between the cheeks down to his warm, rippled opening and pressing inside. He's surprised breath turns into a low moan when I'm knuckle deep inside him. He's so fucking tight, I wonder if I can ever fit.

I let go of his ass. There is work to be done and my throbbing cock rushes me to the task in hand. I find a condom and lube from my hiding place under the mattress, and lay them on the bed. His eyes follow my hand and the supplies I've provided. His eyes are shifty, looking from the condom, to my groin and up to my eyes and back to the condom.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he mumbles.

I nod, get down on my knees in front of him and slowly drag his underwear down. He doesn't look like the ready boy on the magazine cover. He needs work both up front and back. He's contradictorary and confuses me. He says he needs me, and that I can fuck him if he has a place to lie down, but his eyes are shifty and his dick soft when we're near our goal. I don't understand him.

I suck him into my mouth hard. He's easy to suck on when he's this soft, but he fills my mouth and throat fast and the noises coming from him start to get too loud, so I don't have time to prepare his front anymore before I have to silence him with my mouth or hand. He doesn't seem to be able to hold himself back - he's one of those.

"Kneel down before the bed and lie your chest down," I instruct him. He gets down on his knees, but hesitates to place his chest down.

"Can you give me my clothes or something to put my face on?"

I can't understand his request, but indulge him. It doesn't matter to me.

His white ass sticks out before me, bony and right. I pinch it, making a red mark on the right check and his body jerks. "Oh!"

I do it on the other side too, making both of his checks look alike before I'm satisfied and open the lube, pouring the right amount on his crack. He shivers when the cold substance slides down to his opening where I stop it with my finger and press it inside all the way in.

I turn my hand, so I can stroke the gland inside. His moan tells me I have found the right place, and I rub there before slipping another finger in. It's tight and not an easy task, but this needs to be done.

His opening is looser, and both of my fingers can easily rub on his spot. I rub and rub and when he starts panting and moaning, I press a third finger in. I let my other hand feel up his thigh, finding his dick pressed between the bed and his tight balls, he's rock hard. It's my turn now.

Taking my fingers out of him, I dry them on his sock that lies beside me before slipping on the condom. My days as limp-dicked Edward are long gone. That was months ago, but I better not think about that right now.

"Are you ready?" I ask him. I know he is, but I get further with being polite after all.

He pants, "Yeah, I want it."

"I know," I mumble, take my cock in my hand, hold his back down with the other and slowly see myself glide inside him. He almost squeezes me out, but I push the head inside of his muscle and then I'm all the way inside and it feels so good.

I place my other hand on his shoulder and follow my cock in and out of the red heat. His hole is so red against all the white skin; he doesn't have a hair in sight.

I press his feet further apart, making more room for me behind him and now I can really fuck him. My balls slap against his with every flick of my hips, and I hold him in place so as not to knock against my brother's wall. His moaning grows in volume and I can't kiss him in this position, or hold my hand over his mouth. They're both preoccupied holding him in place.

I let go of his back for a moment, take the sock I dried my fingers on and shove it into his open mouth. That will silence him. He doesn't seem to mind the sock because as I continue to flick my hips I hear muffled groans from his chest. Sweat runs down my back and my thighs start to shake, I hope I can manage to finish soon. It's just out of reach.

Suddenly, he groans long and deep in his stomach, and I feel something wet running down to my knee, before I feel his muscles relax under my hands. If he can, so can I. I speed up and look down at where we're joined. The vision becomes a blur with movement and I come in hard, erratic jerks lying over his back.

– O –

"How old are you, Robin?" I ask him softly, my fingers feeling the peak of his shoulder blade.

His skin filled with goosebumps, the light hairs on his arms stand erect. "Mm, it's Riley, mm, never mind." He snuggles closer to my side, lying halfway over my chest. "I'll be eighteen in two weeks."

My heart stops. "What?" I can hear immediately that I said it too loudly. I sit up, pealing him off me. Finding my pants, I accuse him, my voice low and tight, "But you must be at least eighteen!"

He sits up, leaning on his hands, his hair sticking up in all directions, his eyeliner smeared down his check. "Why?"

"Why?" His question doesn't make sense to me. Doesn't he know the law? I can't be with someone that young. He's not supposed to have sex until he's eighteen. It's written law.

I have to get him out of here, get rid of all the traces before Garrett finds out.

"You must get dressed and leave immediately!" I tell him firmly. He needs to be listening to me now as he did earlier.

He doesn't move from his position. "Why?" he asks determinedly. "Why can't your brother know you have company?"

Argh, what's with all the questions? Doesn't he know his own good? Hasn't this . . . this kid any survival instinct?

I go over to him, buttoning my shirt and drag him up by his arm. "I said you need to leave!" I whisper-yell, "You really don't want to meet my brother!"

He snaps his arm from my hand, placing his hands on his slim hips and looks angrily up at me. "I need to clean up first. I can't go home smelling like jizz and lube!"

Taking a deep breath, I hold back my frustration, whispering, "Follow me, then." I slowly unlock the door and open it a fraction, prying out into the hall. There is no one there and my brother's door is still shut. Everything's quiet. I turn to Robin and point to the bathroom door before I hold my finger over my lips, "Shh!"

As he cleans himself up, I delete all the traces in my room of our activity. I even open the window a fraction. It's a risk to take because there's a lot of a noise from the street outside. As I find the used condom someone screams and I run over to close the window to keep the noise out, but then I hear another high-pitched sound and gurgling. It comes from the hall and I hear our front door slam and running on the stairs.

There is a pool of dark red, like thick wine on the floor by Robin's neck. I kneel down beside him, my hand slips in the red, my heart beating and anger with my own stupidity soaring in my ears. He stares at the wall, right into nothing. "Garrett," I yell after my brother. "You've gone too far! How can I possibly help you out of this?"

Epilogue:

The woman follows her colleague out of the interrogation room and safely closes the door after her. Her face fills with emotion now that she can show them. "Did you go to his place?" she asks.

Her colleague nods, "Yes. There is no sign of another person living there. I did find many unopened medicine bottles in the bathroom cabinet. Most of them with a name I can't possibly pronounce, but at lot of them I know are anti-psychotics and sedatives. We need to check them and find his doctor right away. They were prescribed to Mr. Edward Cullen."

A/N: Thank you for reading!

Here is the pic prompt: http:/twitpic (dot) com/92s1dn