Warning: Contains m/m slash and implied incest. If it's not your cup of tea, please turn away now. You have been warned.
Author's Note: Story takes place during the Brothers of Destruction time period.

In Between
My Pride

Let me start by saying that I love my brother. He's smart. A lot smarter than other's give him credit for being. He's loving and kind-hearted, despite all the shit he's been through. And he's strong. With all he's endured, especially with having me for an older brother, he has to be. That being said, being forced to share the same living space is no cake walk.

We're big guys and take up a lot of room on out own. Size is always an issue. The beds are too short, the showerhead hits us at mid-chest, and we have to be on constant look-out for low-hanging objects lest we concuss ourselves. Life, in a nutshell, is not all at easy for us. I will admit… I have a temper. I am not the most… agreeable of people. I don't have to be. I am The Undertaker. If you don't like my attitude, feel free to discuss the matter with me. Just understand that, afterwards, any further discussion or any other topic with any other person will be damn near impossible. What with your jaw being wired shut and all.

Which is why I do not understand why, even under the best of circumstances, the Powers That Be stick me in a hotel room with Kane. Like I said, I love my brother… in my own special way. And I'm sure that, deep, deep down, he loves me, too. It's just that… sometimes, we don't work well together. We don't work well with a lot of people, actually. Maybe it's because we're afraid to "open ourselves" to other people. At least, that's what the company shrink thinks. I think the man has cottage chess for brains, but I'm told my opinion don't count.

Kane's family. And no one knows how to rile you up, how to push your buttons like family. And I will admit that I, too, am quite capable of pushing a lot of nasty buttons. I know it's wrong. I know it's mean. And as soon as it stops being so much damn fun, I will quit it. Cold turkey.

So here we are. My brother and I. The Brothers of Destruction. (Gotta thank the Powers for coming up with that. Sure they'll sell a bunch of t-shirts.) Stuck in a hotel room with only each other for company. Nah, this won't lead to any problems at all. And if you believe that, I've got a map to El Dorado up for sale.

The first item of conflict is the television. There is only one TV and I'm not sitting through whatever crappy show my bother is watching. Besides, I'm older. Therefore, I get control of the remote.

"I was watching that!"

"Stop whining! You're a grown man, so act like one."

"How about I shove my foot up your ass? Is that grown up enough for ya?"

See what I said about buttons?

"I don't like British comedies, Kane. And you know that."

"That's because you're too dumb to get the jokes! Now turn it back!"

It seems my dear brother needs a refresher course on respecting my authority. This is going to hurt him a lot more than it will hurt me. At least, that's how I plan it.

"The phone is ringing," Kane says. I assume he's saying that. I've got one hand wrapped around his throat and yet, somehow, he has managed to stick my head between the mattress and the box spring. Making both hearing and breathing difficult.

"Answer it yourself!" I shot. Or I would if I weren't afraid of inhaling decades-old dust bunnies.

He pulls me out from under the mattress and I release my hold on him. We'll call this match a draw since it would not be in our best interests to actually kill each other. I'm pretty sure Vince McMahon has some method of getting to us in the after life. It wouldn't surprise me one bit to learn that he has a legal claim on our souls.

The phone continues to ring.

"Phone's still ringing, jackass," I say. Stuffed up with a nose full of lint, the insult lacks the proper sting.

He's rubbing at the red mark on his neck. I can still see the imprints made by my fingers. "You're closer, you tobacco-chewing Neanderthal." Did I mention how smart he is? "You answer it."

None too pleased, I answer the phone. Not because he told me to, but because the incessant ringing is setting my teeth on edge. For some bizarre reason, this hotel has picked a model of telephone with the most annoying tone in existence. No, I tell a lie… Stephanie McMahon-Helmsley has the most annoying tone in existence.

"Hello!"

"Uh… Sir?" A female voice on the other end stutters. "We've been having… complaints… sir… complaints of a… a ruckus, sir…"

A ruckus? Who, aside from Jim Ross, uses "ruckus" in everyday conversation? "A ruckus, madam?" Let it be noted that I am not in a good mood. There's nothing good on TV, my asshole of a brother just tried to suffocate me and now I'm being accused of causing a "ruckus". As a result, I have lost my cherub-like demeanor and am taking my rage out on this poor, unsuspecting receptionist. There goes my nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize.

"Yes, sir… A ruckus, sir… Coming from your room…" I'm sure the woman is now seriously considering a change in occupation. "Is there a problem, sir?"

Problem? Well, she could stop calling me "sir", for one. And would she consider cohabitating with a mentally unstable sibling a problem? "No, there's not a problem here. We'll try to keep it down."

"Thank you, sir."

I hang up the phone and consider chucking the whole thing at Kane's head. But that would no doubt cause another "ruckus" and that receptionist might faint dead away if she had to ring the room again.

"What was that all about?"

I turn to find Kane has changed the channel back to that damn British comedy. Bastard. "That was about your poor taste in television programs. Now, I am begging you…"

"Begging?" Kane flopped down onto his bed, shocking the unprepared springs in his mattress. "No… Begging involves getting down on your knees. You have not yet begun to beg. Kindly assume the position, brother-of-mine."

I am not getting down on my knees in front of this man. It is degrading. It is demoralizing. It's just…wrong, damnit! Granted, a small, traitorous part of me is not completely opposed to the suggestion, but I plan on beating that part into submission. "Listen, you little spermicidal irregularity… I am willing to spare your life if you change that channel to something else. Anything else."

Kane quirks an eyebrow. He only removes his mask in my presence. Lucky me. "Anything?"

The look in the boy's eyes is downright dastardly and I don't like it one bit. Of course, that disloyal piece of me is more excited than a termite in Yosemite National Park, but I am ignoring it. Constant vigilance. "Within reason, ya little fire monkey."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning anything not stupid."

Kane shakes his head. "Stupid is an opinion. I need something more solid to go on."

That treacherous bit of my being – who I have named Justin – was all for informing Kane that I'd be up for giving him something solid if he played his cards right. This is what a six-month sex-free stint can do to a man. I refuse to get it on with any and every little ring-rat wearing a low-cut top, a mini-skirt, and no drawers. As a result, I have the sexual stability of a teenager. Some Superstars make arrangements amongst themselves. Kind of "you scratch my back…" deal. Everything is completely confidential and there are no unpleasant Morning Afters. A real win-win situation when you have the right partner. I, unfortunately, have not found the right partner. And now, apparently, Justin is out to rectify the situation.

"Anything that won't make me want to bash my head against the wall."

Smiling, Kane reaches for the remote. "That'll do, Sunshine. That'll do." He changes the channel to…

The Powerpuff Girls. Bastard.

"Turn it off!" I point to the TV set, screaming at the top of my lungs like Ralph Kramden. The downstairs receptionist must be quaking in her Payless shoes. "Turn it off right now before I beat you to death with the remote!"

"Aww, c'mon, Mark. It's got a catchy song and a positive message."

"What? Toying with radioactive materials gives you super powers? The people at Chernobyl and Three Mile Island don't look so damn super, Kane. Where is their joy and laughter, you witless wonder?"

"That's not what I…" He pauses and tilts his head to the side. "How do you know about the joy and the laughter that is Bubbles?"

I'm not sure I like where this line of questioning is going. "I don't know what you're talking about. You were the one babbling about unstable chemicals."

Kane inches towards me and I once again consider smacking him with the hotel telephone. "You've seen this show before, haven't you?" He's slithering across the bed, giving Justin a plethora of disturbing ideas. "Just admit it, Mark. You like the Powerpuff Girls."

Deny, deny, deny. "Can we please talk about something else? How about mad cow disease? Aren't the cows still mad?"

He's up on all fours, his long hair hanging over half his face. "Sing the song. Please?"

The man said please, chimes Justin. He is on his knees and saying please. When was the last time we had that? We WANT that. We wants it, Precious!

Great… I've got a Gollum.

"I don't know the song… I've heart it once or twice while channel-surfing."

"But you know about the joy and the laughter…"

"I also know how to bust you upside the head with a brick, but you don't see me doing that. Do you? And you know how much I would enjoy doing that."

Justin-Gollum is rattling off an enjoyable list of his own and I am hard-pressed to ignore him. I turn off the TV, sticking the remote under my pillow for good measure. That puts an end to the whole debate. No more dumb TV shows. Now it's just me… and Kane… with only each other to talk to…

A little Powerpuff never hurt anyone…

Kane comes up with a better, less tortuous suggestion. "I got a bottle of Jack in my bag. We could do shots and play 'I Never'."

There are so many questions… Where did he get whiskey? How often does my brother "do shots"? And what, in the name of Shirley Temple's tap shoes, is 'I Never'? I settle for, "We got any cups?"

He grabs some cups from the bathroom while I search through his bag for the bottle. I am about to get drunk with my brother. Justin-Gollum does a happy little Snoopy dance when I uncover a well-worn skin mag under a bunch if socks. I guess my little brother ain't so little after all. There will definitely be some interrogation on the subject.

I find the bottle; he supplies the cups and explains the rules.

"So, this is like a drunk Spanish Inquisition?"

"No," replies Kane. "That would require Tequila and some nipple clamps."

My brother is a freak. Justin-Gollum is in love. Hopefully, I will not be invited to the wedding.

Kane decides to go first. "I Never… took money from my brother's wallet." He takes a drink; I do not.

I would very much like to know about the money-taking incident. I would also like to know where he would like to be interred. "You stole money from me?"

"I did not steal." He pours more whiskey into his cup. "I merely borrowed small amounts with no intention to return."

Well, when he puts it that way… "Small amounts? As in plural? As in more than once?"

"Yeah. Your turn."

"Wait just a minute, Danny Ocean. Exactly how many times have you helped yourself to whatever was in my wallet?"

"I dunno… Two, three… dozen times." He smiles at me and I wanna knock his teeth down his throat. "Minimum."

I wonder if I have enough money in my wallet for bail. I just might, as long as I hide it from Mr. Sticky Fingers. "I Never… swapped out my brother's Halloween candy with chocolate laxatives." I swallow my drink, unable to look at him without choking.

"That…was you?"

"Yup." This game is kinda fun.

"That's just sick, man."

"You got better, didn't you?"

"It put me off sweets for almost a year!"

"You can thank me later. Now, it's your turn. Go!"

Muttering something about vengeance, Kane announces, "I Never… got a handjob while driving." Slowly, he raises the cup to his lips and tips it back.

Justin-Gollum faints and I am simply at a loss for words. "Who?... When?... What?!"

The smug bastard just pours himself another drink and says, "Your turn."

"Like hell! I want the dirty details on who polished your knob while you were behind the wheel." Justin perks up, ready to take notes.

"It was a long time again," says Kane. "And I really don't want to talk about it."

There's no way I'm standing for that. He brought it up so he's gonna damn well talk about it. "Was it any good or was she just… fumbling around?"

Kane smiles one of his rare, genuine smiles. "I've never heard it put quite that way but… Yes, it was very good… He definitely knew what he was doing."

He's looking at me, waiting for my reaction. "Was it a member of DX?"

"Oh, God, Mark!"

"Because I won't think any less of you if it was."

"It was not DX! There isn't enough alcohol or antibiotics in the world to get me to let one of 'em into my pants."

"Good! I just had to be sure."

There's that sweet smile again. "You mean you're okay with me getting my kicks with a guy as long as he's not a member of Degeneration X? You've got some messed up priorities, brother-of-mine. And I love you for it."

Is it the Jack or did he just say he loves me? Then again, I already know he loves me. But that doesn't stop Justin from doing cartwheels. "If you want, I'll make you a list of all the company guys I have no problem with you 'getting your kicks' with."

Our name is at the top of that list, right?, prods Justin-Gollum. Our name IS the list!

"What about you, Mark? You ever…?"

"Gotten a charge from a different power line? Yeah… Once or twice… Out of convenience, mostly."

Kane continues to drink, not caring to save the alcohol for the game. "Convenience, huh? Meaning you couldn't stand being in the same room with someone for more than thirty minutes or one person couldn't stand being in the same room with you?"

Have I mentioned how funny my brother is? I haven't? Well, there's a reason for that. He's an asshole. Then again, so am I. "A little of both, I think."

"Anyone I know?"

I swipe the bottle from him and refill my cup. There is no way I'm having this conversation sober. "I dunno… I didn't get all of their names."

"Ha!" It's odd to see my brother laugh. Not his usual maniacal, "I'm gonna destroy you and everything you hold dear" laugh. I've heard that more times than I care to remember. But the uncontrollable, unrestrained laugh, the kind that sneaks up on you. He snorts when he laughs like that. Justin-Gollum thinks it's cute and I could stand to hear more of it. "Wow… my brother got around. Will wonders never cease?" He sits beside me on the bed so we can share the bottle.

"Hey, now… I might've had my share of… casual encounters… But I am the epitome of discretion."

"You are a gigolo. My brother the gigolo… Sounds like a good title for a porno." We've put aside the cups and are reclined on the bed, taking hits straight from the bottle. "So, how long has it been since your last… encounter?"

My fingers brush against his as I take the bottle from him. "Six months." He does the snort-laugh again and it's all I can do to keep myself from slapping him upside the head. In a loving way, of course. "Six months, two weeks , and… about five days, to be exact."

"Damn… No wonder you're so cranky!"

He smiles at me and I suddenly notice how attractive he is. Not in a pervy kind of way, although Justin-Gollum is not helping. Kane's a good-looking guy, even with the scars, which aren't as bad as most think. Maybe I'm just used to them. It may just be the booze, but I can definitely see why the ladies on those websites drool over him. I'm not saying he's drool-worthy. I'm just reporting what I've come across on the internet.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

It slowly dawns on me that I might have forgotten to blink in the last minute and a half. "Like what?" I blink a few times to make up the deficiency.

"All… funny-like…. Your eyes were half-closed and you had your head tipped a little to the left."

"I've given you a lot of funny looks throughout the years, Kane. They're all pretty self-explanatory."

He leans closer and whispers, "Ya wanna makeout?"

I would like to think that, under normal circumstances, there would be a very simple, straight-forward answer to this simple, straight-forward question. But these are not normal circumstances. I'm slightly buzzed and horny as hell. So horny, in face, that even my brother is looking pretty damn good. And it's not like I've got any moral hang-up about… being with him. It's just that… he and I are on the same page again, fighting the same fight and that never lasts long. Before either of us knows it, we'll be sniping and back-stabbing. No doubt there'll be a steel chair involved. And Heaven forbid he's any good… My brother, my boyfriend… Not that sounds like an awesome porn title.

"How can you go that long without blinking?"

"It's one of my many talents. I can also disembowel a man using only a No. 2 pencil. Care for a demonstration?"

He climbs on top of me, trapping the bottle and one of my hands between our chests. I can smell the whiskey on his breath as our noses brush and our lips barely touch. And I just sit there, trying not to pant like the sex-starved maniac that I am. But if this blue-eyed bastard doesn't do something… Well, I cannot be held accountable for my actions.

"In case you were wondering, Mark…" He pauses and, with deliberate slowness, licks his lips. I'm hanging on his every word. "I can be very discreet." In one fluid motion, he rolls off the bed.

He strolls into the bathroom before I can say, "What the fuck?!"