disclaimer and such on page one.

thank you Wyndmir so much for the review!

this is the part between Curt and his bro, so if that irks you, run. it's pretty important to Curt's personality, so that's why i wrote it. i reworked it from its original form, so hopefully it's alright. next chap is Curt and Brian!

now to the deeper, darker stuff...

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Chapter One: Painful Memories ("A Brother's Love")

Arik had always been too attentive to Curt. When he was little, Curt just thought that Arik was being a good big brother. Sure, they had their brotherly fights -- there's an unwritten law that all siblings will fight. But other than that, Curt had admired Arik. Idolised him.

Curt had always been problematic; Curt Anthony Wild was the unwanted son. His father had never wanted his mother to have a second child, yet here was Curt, and Katya Wild loved her baby. So Nick Wild endured it. Arik was always the Golden Child, though -- all the awards and pictures and such sporting the name "Arik Gregory Wild" were proudly displayed; there wasn't even a finger-painted picture done by Curt hung up on the refrigerator. Curt was always in the background -- he was nonexistent to his father. And that was the reason he acted out so. He craved acknowledgment for something. And with bad behaviour, he received it -- in the form of beatings. But Nick Wild was forced to act like he knew he had a second son, and if punishment was the only acknowledgment his father would give him, Curt would savour it. And Nick Wild would relish the fact that his hatred had an outlet, and luck of luck, that outlet was the cause.

Curt would sit, knees drawn up to his chest, head down, arms tight round his legs, upon his bed -- which was nothing more than a cot -- softly crying. This was his ritual for three years -- from age five to age eight. All those years, Arik had stood at his door, just peeking in, watching Curt. When Curt finally fell asleep, Arik would walk in, ruffle his brother's choppily-cut dark hair, then he'd walk out, going to his room, shutting and locking his door behind him.

One night, when he was nine, Curt had gotten a fairly brutal beating (he had lit a trashcan of papers on fire at school). He sat upon his bed, back and ass still smarting the worst from the blows. He wasn't exactly mad, nor was he glad. Frustrated -- that "why do I keep at this if I know the result?" kind of feeling.

"Curt?"

He looked to the door. As always, there was Arik. For the last year or so, Arik had taken to holding him comfortingly after a beating. More recently, kissing the welts. Curt blinked at him, slowly. Arik walked in, shutting the door behind him as always ("If Dad knew I was being nice to you, he'd freak out, man.") and then sat down upon the bed beside his little brother. Arik was much taller than Curt; of course, he was also four years older. But Curt took comfort in his brother's imposing figure. Arik wrapped his arm loosely about Curt.

"Hiya, Arik."

"Was bad tonight, man. You okay?" He tightened his arm about Curt, who winced, inhaling a sharp breath through his teeth.

"I'm fine," he grated.

Arik smiled at him. "You're a lousy liar, little bro." He grabbed the hem of the back of Curt's undershirt, which was ripped here and there, red-edged about those.

"OK," Curt sighed, though Arik had already started to lift his shirt. Curt raised his arms to aid in the removal of it. The cool air didn't feel too bad; it was much better than the pressing, irritating fabric.

"Damn, Curt; he roughed you up pretty badly this time, bro. Whaddid he do, clean the living room with ya? Check these bruises, and the cuts, man -- they're everywhere."

"It hurts a bit."

Arik kissed a cut upon Curt's shoulder. "Lousy liar," Arik reminded as Curt responded with a wince and a shiver.

"Anywhere else, or did he manage to keep it to just your upper body, kid?"

"No chance." Curt painfully wriggled out of his pyjama bottoms -- faded, threadbare hand-me-downs from Arik, plaid blue. Arik began his ritual: tender/harsh caress of the wound followed by a soothing kiss. Usually, Curt listened for sounds of their father beating their mother -- Kat often tried to take up for Curt, albeit after the fact. And Nick never reacted nicely. But Arik had Curt's mind preoccupied.

Curt was lying on his stomach while Arik feathered kisses across his back. He'd almost fallen asleep.

Arik kissed the back of his neck. "You're a good kid, Curt, really, man. Beautiful kid," he barely whispered in Curt's ear. His hands edged down Curt's briefs until they were around his slender ankles. Curt turned over awkwardly, only really managing to get halfway over; his legs were twisted by his underwear. Big, bewildered, dazed blue-grey eyes stared at Arik.

"Wh-what're ya doin', Arik?"

Arik didn't answer. His hot, glazed dark blue eyes roved over Curt. "You love me, lil bro?" he inquired. Curt's eyes softened.

" 'Course I do, Arik. You and Ma are the only people who care about me. You're the only one who's really been there with me..." Arik placed a finger against Curt's lips, shushing him. Then he kissed Curt. It was odd, but it felt nice. On some level, he knew it was wrong. But it didn't feel bad. Not at all. It felt like something he had been missing. He let Arik have his way, let him get closer than he knew his brother ever should in that way. He didn't mind any pain that Arik inflicted -- he rather liked it. And then Arik suddenly wasn't as gentle. And then he took him.

It hurt. Hurt so bad. But it had a tinge of pleasure with it. And then it was all lost in a sea of bursting sparks, and he passed out.

He didn't know which disturbed him more when he woke the next morning: the blood, the wet, the memory of last night and how he'd been frightened and liked it at the same time, or the cold realisation that his brother had done this.

It must not have unnerved him enough, any of it (which none of it really had to begin with). Arik kept at it, grew bolder, more abusive. He had Curt paranoid after awhile -- When will Arik drop in on me? Will we do something in the shower again? While I try and get dressed? In the woods again? When Ma's taking her afternoon nap and Dad's at work? When I nap? Will he have me "help" him again?

But a part of Curt didn't want it to end. He liked how it felt -- and he liked the pain Arik would inflict. Liked that almost more. So it continued, unknown by anyone else, unnoticed. All till Curt was thirteen and his mother caught him upon his knees before his brother in the bathroom.

And then he was shipped off to shock treatment...

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That memory wasn't painful because his idol, his older brother had taken advantage of him. Had taken away any innocence he had left.

No, that memory was painful because, for all that, he had liked it.

(The lyrics in the page break is from "Do You Wanna Touch Me (Oh Yeah!)" by Gary Glitter)