Gently, he rolled his forehead against the cool, mildly stain-glass window of the church. Ah.
Just inside, sprawled haphazardly along a pew, was dear, big brother Haine, his form distorted and broken by the jagged and differently colored panes of glass. Sleeping. It was almost just the way he'd want it: a sleeping Haine, an innocent Haine, one fit to corrupt and torment, but not right now. No, he preferred to let Haine sleep and get lost in those nightmares, the nightmares he knew Haine had every single time the other closed his eyes.
With a finger, he stroked over the blue-robed form of Mary, then down over the plump and young baby Jesus. That wasn't really who he was tracing, though. He was tracing the smaller outline of his sibling through the glass, on the glass, imprinting him there forever in that overly zealous and innocent scene. He smiled, a smile that was almost always there at the corner of his mouth, turning his lips up in some kind of twisted enjoyment. Always.
The dog inside him whined longingly.
Patience... it's a virtue, he thought.
Touch me, it begged in a guttural, raspy voice. Do you feel me? The back of his neck tingled softly, like a numb limb receiving blood flow after being denied for ages. Do you feel him? A volt of energy rolled smoothly down his spine, pooling into warmth at his lower back over the beginning swell of his rear.
He bit down a groan, though he was already well aware of being hard, of getting hard, of his pants seeming to shrink as he became aroused to the most simplest, innate calls. Suddenly, he was glad for the window, glad for the stained-glass; he would hate to ruin his suit on such things, really.
It'll be quick, he thought, having already pulled himself out, having already been stroking for the past minute or two, his mind whirring and racing with thoughts... and thoughts... and thoughts...
The dog inside him bubbled and churned, roaring up from the pit of his stomach and climbing through his ribs and chest to hover in his throat, near his heart, almost on his shoulders. "Haine... my stray brother," he whispered against the window, breath reflected back on his cheeks and lips as if the sibling were there with him, there panting on his skin.
He wasn't even aware of his fingers finding just the right spots to touch. He wasn't even aware of his hand moving at all to stroke at his length, the hardest he's probably ever been in a long time. And he really couldn't stop the thoughts of wanting to see Haine battered and bruise, wanting to feel Haine's insides with his fingers, to see Haine's grief when he said her name out loud. His unoccupied hand curled against the panes.
"Can you..."
...feel me? A tongue ran across the black dog's sharp maw, licking its lips. Its red eyes blazed, piercing a hole over his shoulder, through the window, through Haine who was sound asleep and having the most delicious nightmares.
Squirming veins began to descend out from under his large shades and move down over his cheeks. He grinned. A shudder rippled up from his toes, passing over him with a blazing fire, curling and spasming violently near his stomach before seeming to be flushed outward from his body as he tipped himself over the edge. He came with nothing but a hitch of breath and a long, low exhale of held air.
"Brother," he whispered, amusement in his tone, the smile on his lips appeared almost condescending, but who knew. "Maybe next time... you'll join me... Haine Rammsteiner..."
We're one. You can feel me... Don't hide. Let's play.
Stirring on the pew, Haine snapped a scarlet gaze up quickly towards the window nearest him where he felt eyes preying on him, prickling him in his sleep.
Nothing. Not even a shadow.
A frown turned his lips downward, and he squinted as if that would help him get a better look at why on earth Mary's robes were a darker blue like they had something smeared on it from the outside.