Chapter Ten: Brother, My Brother

A/N: This may have explicit contents. I wish the kids would skip this chap or not read this story. And, oh, this is a pointless chapter by the way.

…

I had just arrived at Sousuke's place. Having stressed he had very limited time of stay here in Japan, he insisted I procure him a decided answer as to whether I should stay here or fly off to his motherland or to America. Because the pressure he was imposing was somewhat getting on my tits, I went all blunt and told him straight out I was fucking Japanese and not a Spaniard, much less American. As a result, his speech grew more hypocritical and went as far as to state I owed everything to fortune and to whatever opportunity he was proposing, so it had nothing to do with heritage. In the end, we parted with bordering-on-bitter words, and there was even a point where I almost buried a fist in his stomach. But he embraced me before I contemptuously stuffed myself in his shiny black car, whereby I became wholly convinced this dude was hell bent on taking me away. He, again, gave me more time to decide.

At home, I found my room occupied by an intruder, who happened to be Ichigo, my stepbrother, my lover and fucker—all rolled into one. He was playing Uncharted and was too absorbed to shoot me a glance. The sight of him had me recalling my earlier anxiety in wanting to get the fuck out of Sousuke's house. But the anxiety could not be attributed to either the bitter words my father and I had exchanged or to the somberness of the interior of his house. I had been anxious to get away because I could barely have waited to spend the night with this dude. What a sick desire it was that had been pursuing me all along. And yet I figured guilt could just fuck itself. So I closed the door shut, with the clear intention of fucking him for real this time, condoms or no, when I was greeted by another presence.

Szayel was with him. I hadn't noticed the little runt initially because he had himself wrapped in a fucking blanket as he lounged on the rug on his tummy. As it was, my frustrations were poking at me left, right and center.

"It's way past your bedtime, Szayel." I said, dejected and annoyed all the same.

As expected, he ignored me, to which Ichigo flashed an apologetic grin.

"It's only nine in the evening." Ichigo spoke on the runt's defense, without taking his eyes off the screen.

"So? I want him out." I demanded before I could stop myself. But, again, what use would there be in restraining my language when the little brat would not mind me even if I were to do my nuts or set the floor on fire?

"You tired? Must I go too, bro?" Stepbrother asked. It was, for the most part, an innocent query. However, if he was daft enough to miss my goddamned hard-on, he probably was in dire need of a pair of reading glasses.

Upon hearing his question, I figured there couldn't be a more admirable example of stupidity anywhere in the world. Since nothing was going in accordance to my ideals and no one was taking the trouble to take a freaking hint, I pressed the pause button on the controller he was holding, grabbed his head and pressed his ear against my lips, to whisper,

"I wish to fuck, and get inside your pants. So badly. In fact, I was skipping my steps to get home. But then I find this brat here and you go about asking me if you ought to vacate my room."

His cheeks went red, perhaps to imply he was more cautious than adventurous, thereby disappointing me. Uncharted dangled unattended, with only the random sound of background music to intervene between the gazes we were exchanging. In that exchange, my lust was conferred upon him in no less subtlety had I uttered the word 'fuck' directly. Without a doubt, the resolve to undress him here and now was overcoming me, but it wasn't gonna fucking happen because,

"Are you hurting Ichigo'th headth?" Szayel piped up.

Little bro's voice brought me to a standstill. I had forgotten him right from the moment Ichigo had turned his face to me. So what was this, some kind of a joke? If I talked straight to Szayel's face he would ignore me flat-out. And if I so much as grabbed his stepbro's head he'd go on asking if I were doing something to hurt his new big bro. What the fuck.

"Er, no. He's not hurting me. How about I take you to your mom?" Ichigo offered Szayel.

"No!" was the petulant brat's reply.

As for me, I would have thought no more of necking Ichigo in full view of anyone than flicking the goddamned lights out. But, as stepbro was more conservative than I had initially thought, I opted to wait for the brat to fall asleep on the floor. In what must have been an hour, his eyes started to close on their own.

"I'll carry the brat down." I proposed, to which Ichigo shook his head.

"Let me, and stop calling him a brat." With scarcely any difficulty, he lifted my brother off my carpet to deliver him to our parents' room.

By the time he was back, his jeans had been replaced by a pair of pajamas, perhaps for easy access. As such, I couldn't tell how far self-restraint might have originally been at my side, but I could say I was more than willing to throw it away anytime now. To move on, he allowed himself to be pulled into bed, whereas my ineptitude in undressing was demonstrated as I unbuttoned my top and slipped off my jeans. I was, above all, a fucker of no ordinary merit. That clear, the excitement I was giving him and myself was something which was unlikely to occur in the imagination of an average thinker. On and on, every inhibition was sliding away, so that there was nothing left to do but to really go all the way. And because we both knew it was heading that way and no other, our arousal became so primal it was a question whether something this lasting could ever abate.

"Do you want this?" I inquired, my lips cracking into utter wickedness, although I would do it anyway regardless of his consent or its absence. I was a bastard, after all.

"Are you seriously asking me that?"

"This is gonna hurt, ya know."

He pulled me by the neck to insert his tongue in my left ear, sending what felt like an electric shock through me.

"Didn't you say earlier that you wished to fuck, so badly? Well, I wish to be fucked, Grimmjow, just as badly."

That drove me to the end of my wits. Then and there my resolve to take one bloody step at a time was obliterated. This was, after all, going to be too rough, too wild a night. Because we were both athletes the intensity of what was to follow would pretty much testify to our athletic prowess. As I was someone who couldn't be bothered with fine-tuning, I stuck my thing inside him without as much as bothering with preliminaries. He was tight. Hell, there wasn't even any available lubricant around, which pretty much meant none of this was bound to be visually appealing. But we were thrilled to the most ridiculous of extremities, and as a result we simply found ourselves betraying our more cautious sides. If the sounds we were making weren't the same, I was pretty sure they only differed in volume. Much later on, I heard myself ask with the same mocking manner of speaking I was known for,

"Are you okay?"

"You can say I am." He answered, subdued.

Several minutes must have elapsed. In that enclosure of time, countless thoughts swirled past me. Despite the pleasure, despite the thrill, I was left questioning the pacing of all this. It was just so sudden it was almost scary. He swept me off my feet, with hardly an interval between seduction and submission, without giving me an opportunity to examine my feelings. And so my voice, while my mind was fumbling about, flowed out of me,

"Hey, what do you think this is?"

He pushed me off him, gathered his breath and closed his eyes, his calmness unnerving. He was pissed.

"What does it look like?"

"Hell if I know."

"If you haven't noticed, you've recently ripped apart something that's precious to me; my fucking virginity. So next time you have questions like that, ask yourself."

I felt that the lapse of five minutes had hardly served to weaken the effects of our recent occupation. I was beginning to get hard again. But I muttered,

"I'm sure you hated me at first glance."

"I'm sure you hated me too at first glance but wanted to bed me all the same." He said.

To his credit, he was at least half right. Admittedly, I had wanted to bed him from day two, but the need to appear like a badass had overtaken me. Impressing him had appeared to me a very essential task. On that pretext, I had resorted to trash-talk him, to insult and threaten him even. Jesus. The things teenagers would do.

"Guilty as charged. And yet, somehow, your eyes—I mean the way you looked at me—annoyed the shit out of me. I didn't need sympathy or any pathetic nitshit. I'm a fucking jock, for crying out loud."

"Well, for starters, you didn't seem to be particularly enjoying yourself, Grimmjow."

Until he turned his head to me, I didn't gauge how attracted I was to him. What I was feeling now, it seemed, trumped every rule of attraction I had followed in the past. Homosexuality wasn't something I had ever had the urge to practice. It should then follow that what I was now feeling for this dude simply transcended boundaries and every factor I might have deemed worth considering in the past. Gender, for one thing. If ever I believed in destiny or some similar bollocks, this might be it; I was fated to bed my stepbrother, to be mastered by attraction, with or without my principles and preferences taken into account. And right now I could not tell affection or lust apart. But perhaps I was being swallowed by both, equally in degree. I didn't know.

"So you pitied me. I get it."

"Well…"

"Just goddamn say it." My voice was raising beyond its accustomed irritation.

"You looked sad. From the moment I saw you I figured you were somehow, I dunno, tired of everything. I figured your one passion was sports but you looked as though you couldn't stand everything else, so I…"

"You wanted to comfort me. Dazzling." I grumbled sarcastically.

"At first, yeah. But at that time in the rain when I followed you, I thought you were gonna kiss me. You didn't, and I still don't know if I would've allowed it at that time."

"I meant to, but I would've looked like some demented sex offender if I had done that."

He was silent for a while and I was forced to accept this as a meaning that he had somewhat known it all along. Was I always so fucking obvious? I felt like a retard, really.

"You know, when you walked out at that time, something struck me. I fancied I could help you, change you, even save you, and at the same time it occurred to me that I wanted you, badly. You're hot as fuck but that wasn't it. I have always been straight. I think I still am because I still turn my head at women. Out of all that, the feeling kinda burned on and on, and then I heard your mom and my dad talking about your pops taking you away, like maybe forever. It was that which told me I had to act, or else..."

"And so you barged into my fucking room. Wise choice." This time I had to smirk.

"I had to, else we'd be…Grimmjow, won't you stay—here in Japan?"

I didn't answer right away. But when I did, I had to stop myself from pulling him to me, if only to distract my mind from that larger than life issue; could I really leave this place—this brat? If I had plans to or believed I could, no doubt I had to cut him off now, otherwise I'd be risking plunging deeper, only to do much more damage in the future. Wait, was I starting to care already? But I challenged anyway, without understanding what I was trying to do,

"Make me."

"Make you what?"

"Stay, maybe."

With those words I managed to stir him completely awake, in spite of the lateness of the hour. All the same, I realized I had been dissatisfied with my life before he had come on to me, that football was the only thing which had been keeping my act together. But as he now lay his head upon me, his breathing audible, I knew this dude would never be truly capable of hurting me, of leaving me for someone else, not even for fucking Aphrodite herself if she ever existed. I was feeling like everything was where they should be. Now staring at the ceiling and listening to nothing, I knew I would never grow tired of this.

Never leave my bed, Kurosaki, was what I was saying to myself. Still, my ambitions remained just as immovable as this attraction—whatever one might call it.

TBC