Title: Sinner
Pairing: Scarcest (Scar/Scar's brother)
Warnings: Squicky. Run-on sentences. Hard to follow. Incest (family memberxfamily member) and yaoi (malexmale).
Because if I lose you now, I'll have nothing. his brother says, limping closer, eyes widened, and shaking with his own kind of insanity.
Scar can see that there is nothing left of him, an empty shell of a man, and he is uneasy. But he is his brother, and so when the touch comes to his shoulder, lightly at first, he lets his brother's hand stay, maddened eyes still roaming and voice shaking and gasping like a dying rodent, inching along the sand with no hope left of life, leaving behind it a trail of coarse blood.
He laughs, and with the laugh presses his mouth down into Scar's shoulder, moving up to his neck, mopping up his sweat and skin, and Scar hates himself, hates both of them for wanting this.
When he presses closer he can feel his brother's blood seeping into his groin, knows that the pain by now must be devouring him.
His brother reaches down to the floor and picks up some of his own blood, smearing it shakily over Scar's young forehead, down his nose, and finally his lips. Scar opens his mouth to taste copper, to taste his brother's anguish.
He leans down and kisses Scar, lips dry but mouth wet, and Scar reaches onto what is left of his brother for one second more.
It is a sin, he knows, to practice the Great Art, to touch one who has practiced the Great Art. His fingers trace the inked patters on his brother's arms, legs, chest, and roots his eyes upwards towards Ishvala, Ishvala who will never shine her light upon him again.
His brother's voice whispers his name, urgently, as if he himself is praying, praying to not Ishvala but him, and Scar knows that neither of them should pray at a time like this, a time when they are defying Ishvala completely, falling into the paths of the eternally damned, those who will never be redeemed. He hears his name, louder, and winces at the heresy, at a name he hates as much as his brother.
Scar kisses his brother's chest, a space between the intricately curling lines, lines that he can almost hear, a sweet, intense ringing, and his brother smiles shakily and caresses his ear, his cheek, his chest, his knee, his calve, his thigh, slowly crossing into places where it is a sin to touch another man, a sin to touch one's own brother.
Slowly touching, and Scar wishes he were dead for enjoying this, and he cries softly and without tears. Hands reaching upwards, towards Ishvala, curling around his brother's sweaty neck. There is a pool of sticky blood on the ground, and his brother's shaking increases, his caresses become stronger.
They take me for a lunatic, his brother says, in the choked, gasping voice, the voice that Scar hates, and he kisses him to stop the voice, moves his arms lower and hugs tighter, but his brother is falling out of reach and Scar's own voice gasps, taken in by the Great Art.
They take me for a lunatic, a heretic, a madman, a sinner.
His brother spasms, once, bloodied hands digging into his chest, and Scar can see the dirt beneath his fingernails. I am none of these with you, am I?
You are, Scar would like to say, but he is afraid of what would happen if he said so, afraid that his world would be taken away from him, would crumble apart, afraid of it all exploding away, afraid of everything.
I love you, he says instead, and lets his brother kiss him.