AN: I have recently joined the tragedy that is this shipping. This idea came to my mind when I was thinking about what I could write with bondage. But the more I thought about the idea bondage became an all-out theme :D.
I come home late as usual, but unlike usual, Ludger is still awake. He looks awful, fretful, as if he believed that I had died—not a crazy assumption by any means considering how close my last call was. There are dark circles under his eyes—he needs to sleep more, but I suppose that I do as well—and he's still dressed.
"Where were you?" he asks, voice low and withdrawn.
"Where I always am: work."
"You work too much."
This is true, but it is a necessity. Necessary for him. "I don't have a choice."
"Of course you do. I hardly ever see you anymore."
"I know." I sigh, shaking some well-kept bangs onto my forehead with a hand.
"You don't want to spend more time with me." It sounds more like a fact than question.
"Of course I do." My voice is sincere, but I'm careful not to let too much emotion seep into it.
"Then take a day off." His words are demanding, and he gives me a challenging look.
I want to so badly it hurts. "I can't."
"Brother." His head is lowered slightly, eyes shielded, and his voice is disconcerting. He walks to his bedroom door, and I half expect him to enter without another word, when he turns. "Give me a hug goodnight."
A voice in the back of my mind tells me not to, but this is Ludger, my Ludger who I'd give the world to if I could. So, I do. The hug is normal at first, though his head presses against my chest more adamantly than usual. But then he grabs my hands and nudges me to his bed. I am sure that I can break his hold, but I don't, instead follow his lead and watch as he produces a pair of silver handcuffs from who knows where. The sight catches me off guard. This is Ludger—my Ludger—he shouldn't have things like this—But he does, and during my astonishment he pushes me onto the bed, crawling atop me.
He sits there beautifully, staring at me. I vaguely think about how lovely it would be to paint this scene, etch it into paper so that it can last forever. He breathes deeply, not muttering a word even as he begins to unbutton my shirt, handcuffs laid aside.
"Don't." My voice sounds hoarse.
He glares at me, continuing his unbuttoning. Hands—that I've dreamt of every evening alone in my room—spread across my chest as he peels the fabric away. Once the shirt has fallen entirely off my arms, he grabs them again, moving them high above my head. Light glints as the handcuffs move toward me. Cool metal touches my wrists, and I hear a click.
I know what has happened, but I move my arms anyway, unsurprised by the metal resistance that presses into my skin. "Why, Ludger?"
He shifts, hands already working at my pants. "I'm tired of you leaving me."
He feels this desperate to keep me here? That explains the handcuffs but not why he is undressing me. Does he want to punish me with embarrassment? This is the logical hypothesis—the safe hypothesis—but he's sitting on me, touching me, and I can't help longing that he has another reason. As soon as I think it I regret it, blood surging to my groin and anguish settling over my heart. He's sure to notice, and I want to cover my face, whimper my agony to no one's ears.
He stands, removing my pants entirely. I wait, watching him, waiting for his reaction to the evidence of my vile thoughts, or my ugly discoloring, but none comes. Instead I am blessed damned to watch him undress, revealing skin that I haven't fully seen in so many years, since he was a giggling tyke, before I knew that this tug at my heartstring is not only a familial one. I think—hope—that he is messing with me, because he must know, and my sin can't go unpunished, it can't.
He doesn't speak again; I don't either—too far gone in stupefaction. Not when he rests his bare behind on my legs, when he leans forward causing our organs to meet in torturous deliciousness. Not when he rises up enough to touch himself with deft fingers—fingers that know what they are doing—fingers that don't belong to my brother, but sure enough to Ludger—,when he impales himself jaggedly, and we both cry out. Not as he glares at me with open distaste, riding me crudely until we somehow cum together in a rugged rush. Not when he crawls off of me and leaves the room, not even bothering to grab his discarded pieces of clothing.
Ludger stands beaming at me, calling me over with open arms. He mumbles something that I can't make out, then his image shifts, face covered in gray, expression pained, then back again—his brightness dulled by the torment setting in.
"Ludger," I whisper, voice shaking.
"Julius…help…me." It is a fluttering of a sound, like wings ascending to a better place. I pray that such a place does exist as I pull out my duel blades and pierce straight through his heart (though it feels like it is my own). His body crumples, but a silent, thankful smile is on his face when my hands grip his shoulders. The world shatters in shards of glass that somehow avoid my body, and a wretched scream erupts from my throat.
Dream fades into reality, but the sound is real. And there is Ludger's panicked face in the doorway. He's here. He's safe. But I can still feel his dying body heavy on my hands. I clench them tightly, letting out a ragged howl.
"Are you alright?" he asks cautiously, still from the doorway. Perhaps he is scared of me, and I can't blame him.
He should be.
"As well as can be expected." His mouth opens, but shuts again without a sound.
He leaves returning with a tray of food. Tomato basil soup. Tomatoes; Ludger never forgets the tomatoes. He spoon feeds me, and I am reminded of the time when our roles had been reversed. His baby face giggling as tiny hands twitched in the air before resting upon my own smiling face.
It tastes rich, but it is a deep red that would surely stain the pure white sheets. I see tiny droplets falling in my mind's eye. When they land, they look heavy like blood soiling white innocence. Ludger's cry of ecstasy plays in my ears. Suddenly, I feel sick.
I tell Ludger such. He frowns. "You need to eat. I care about you, you know?" He give me a pointed stare.
"Of course. We are brothers."
"No. I care about you."
"I don't-"
"Julius." He places a finger to my lips before setting the food aside. Then he's undressing just like last night. I know that I should question him, plead for him to think about what he's doing, but I can't bring myself to. I am that selfish. I don't deserve this blissful torment.
He climbs on top of me again, but there is no animosity this time, only brokenness. His face stares at me imploringly, and I am so taken aback that I don't even know how my face must look.
He doesn't bother preparing himself this time, spearing himself in one plunge. His face cringes, but he soon moves, riding slower than before. With each second his face becomes sadder, as if the act is destroying him from the inside out. Then there are tears desecrating his beautiful face. I long to hold him to me, to tell him that everything will be alright—I will make sure of it—but the metal is still there, clinking as I move against it.
He notices and releases a sob. "Julius, Julius." He repeats my name again and again like it is my last rite, as if I am departing from his world. But I'm not. I'm here to stay, handcuffs or not.
Still crying my name he cums, shuddering violently. He buries his head against my chest, leaving us connected. He breathes, lips wet against my skin, "I love you."
My heart squeezes with equal pain and pleasure. What I've so long longed to hear and what I've so long dreaded.
My brother should only love me.
My brother should not lead this wicked life.
It is wrong, so wrong.
It is right, so right.
"Ludger," my voice breaks, "I love you so much." I feel tears in my own eyes and warmed metal bite into my flesh.
He raises his head staring at me as if he suspects it is a joke. "Please remove the handcuffs." He still looks slightly suspicious, but there is hope deep within his eyes as well, and he does. As soon as my hands are free, I pull him close, trying desperately to convey my equivalent feelings. His eyes close in peace now, new, happy tears slipping from behind his eyelids.
I had forgotten that I was still inside him until he whispers, "make love to me." I shiver, almost cumming from the words alone.
"Alright," I kiss into his skin, tasting sweet, salty sweat. I roll us over, and my muscles are somewhat sore, but I ignore it, focusing entirely on this miracle marvel within my arms. I kiss him, and it truly feels like heaven paradise when our tongues meet. It is warm and comforting, more comforting than anything I can think of.
My hands search his body nearly drunk on this freedom. I find tiny buds that harden to my touch. Lower, I find his weeping cock and stroke it watching as his face constricts. Then I begin to move my hips, feel his legs wrap around me like a vice. Again, I'm bound. Again, I'm in torturous deliciousness.
We cum together again. I start to pull out of him, but he squeezes the legs still around my waist tighter. "Don't," he begs, "a little longer."
My mind had been high in the clouds, serene for a change, but, even though our joining should make me thrilled, the whispering is back.
This is wrong. This is abominable.
He murmurs something into the hollow of my neck, something like "love you," and the whispers grow quite.
If it was for him, I would paint the world black.
"Glasses Guy, are you listening to me?" The little girl pouts placing her hands on her hips.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Elle. What was that?"
"Geez. I hope Ludger comes back soon. You're incompetent. Not even listening to me. And you really want me to call you Dad?"
"Aw, don't hurt me so." I clutch my chest in mock pain.
"You're just faking," she says, but she eyes me nervously.
"No, no. It's real. Only hugs can cure this pain."
"What?" Her voice sounds slightly panicked, and soon her little arms are wrapped around my waist.
"Ah, much better." I smile patting her head.
"I'm back," Ludger calls, taking his shoes off at the door.
"Ludger!" she yells excitedly, abandoning me to hug him elatedly.
"Welcome home," I say, and he smiles before kissing me.
"Eww, you guys are way too lovey-dovey."
"You sure? We could be a lot more lovey-dovey," I joke tugging Ludger into a backward hug and caress his stomach.
"Ah!" she panics. "Do I have to watch this?"
Ludger laughs. "Course not."
"Then I'm going to my room. Let me know when it's safe to come out again."
The beautiful dream tears, leaving me in darkness with a pleasant body pressed against me. Even as I hold him lovingly, I know that it is a dream that can never be. Elle does not yet exist; may never exist (not if I have a say in the matter). The only reason that I even know about her is from the filth that still remains on my hands from countless realities. It might not be forever, but Ludger is with me right now. Wrapped in my arms voluntarily right now. And as long as he will have me, I will bear all the sin to keep it that way. Yet I know that my sin cannot go unpunished; my discoloring is proof. This won't last. It can't last. But that is okay, because right now he is beside me, and that is all that matters. Sin can wait until the morning.