Disclaimer: The characters and locations portrayed herein belong to JK Rowling, Scholastic/Bloomsbury and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Notes: This is unbeta'd, so my apologies for any mistakes.
Lysander was becoming increasingly annoyed. For Lysander to become annoyed was a rare thing indeed; his amiable personality and laid back world view meant that event he most terrible insult, or the most inconvenient occurrence merely drew a lopsided smile and shrug from him. He had grown up knowing that he had a brother who could, and would, fix anything. Whether it was Lysander's short stint as the bullies favourite victim, to Lysander being skint on a Hogsmede weekend, Lorcan always fixed things.
But Lorcan wasn't fixing this, for Lorcan was the problem. Every time Lysander looked at Lorcan, Lorcan left. When Lysander managed to talk to him; never on their own, as Lorcan seemed to be sticking to public places, or places where other's were nearby, Lorcan would answer in monosyllables and stalk off, tension tightening his shoulders and drawing his eyebrows low and closer together. If Lysander sat next to him in class, Lorcan would move tables, force someone else to sit Lysander, and spend the rest of the period engrossed in the lessons or resolutely staring in the opposite direction to his increasingly pissed off brother.
Lorcan had even gone so far as to get himself two months worth of detention, which was a punishment much improved from the expulsion that was threatened. Lorcan had always been the more violent twin, his viciousness only increased in the recent weeks, but even Lorcan would not normally have gone so far. Tiberius Montague was a wanker, certainly, but everyone knew to ignore him. When he had loudly opined that Lorcan looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, Lorcan's eyes had narrowed and his hand had clenched around his wand. When Montague had asked "Were they good, Scamander?" Lorcan had growled, low and threatening, reminding Lysander of a Hell Hound's warning growl.
When Montague had smirked, nodded towards Lysander and said "But of course, little brother there is the only one you've ever willingly touched, maybe I should ask him if you were any good.", Lorcan had snapped, using curses darker than Lysander had ever seen from him. The resulting mess that had once been Tiberius Montague was moved to St. Mungo's within half an hour.
The horrible, blank look on Lorcan's face during the interview with the Aurors in the Headmistress' office had frightened Lysander even more than the terrible, bloody mess that was left of Montague when Lorcan was done. Their mother had managed to convince McGonnagall to allow Lorcan to stay; the affection between them, leftover from the the Great War, had been palpable and undoubtedly was the only reason the Headmistress had capitulated and agreed to Lorcan's continued presence at school.
The two months detention with Professor Hagrid had been coupled with the loss of Lorcan's wand rights outside of class times. While this scared Lysander a little, for the loss of Lorcan's unfailing protection meant that the bullying may start up again, Lysander also felt an excitement bubbling inside him. Lorcan's inability to use magic to get away from him meant that Lysander had a chance to corner him.
Lysander knew that Lorcan was agonising over watching him wank. He knew that Lorcan wanted to do much more than watch, and while Lysander was still scared of what would would happen, he also knew that Lorcan was the only person who mattered. Lorcan was the one person who would never leave him, never hurt him, and it was worth exploring the strange, twisted lust that was currently simmering between them.
Lysander began to formulate a plan.
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Lorcan had had enough. The detentions, he could care less about. The loss of wand rights, while annoying, would end soon enough, and the fear that his attack on Montague had generated was enough to keep all possible enemies far from him. The knowledge that Lorcan had a long memory, and held onto grudges only long enough to see them fulfilled had long since permeated through even the most thick headed brain.
No, what was really getting to Lorcan was Lysander. He had managed, through sheer force of will, to stay away. Away from the showers, away from closed bed curtains and imagined caresses on a cock that was the match of his own. The guilt and self hatred still churned in his belly, the memory of wanton moans and questing fingers lingered still in his mind, but he had been strong enough to stay away.
The self imposed exile from his brother's sweet, gentle smile tore at him. He longed to innocently throw his arm lazily around Lysander's shoulders, bump heads gently and share observations on the idiots around them. He knew, however, that if he touched Lysander, even once, all of his hard won control would go, slip away like a dream in the first moments of waking, and he would be left only with desire, a wicked lust that forced him closer to Hell even as he basked in Heaven.
He was also becoming sickeningly poetic, and that simply wasn't on. That Lysander would not leave off was dragging him slowly into insanity. He watched him, he tried to talk to him. He sat next him in class, his knee innocently touching Lorcan's until Lorcan had to move away, or else throw Lysander onto the desk and fuck him in front of everyone. Fuck him until his throat was raw and legs couldn't hold up upright any more.
When Montague had made the crack about himself and Lysander, he snapped. The knowledge of just how close Montague had come to the truth shook him to his core, and the resulting assault was dreamlike in memory; the only thing Lorcan could truly remember thinking was At last, I can give my pain away, he knows, he must be removed. And removed he was. When Lorcan came back to himself, it was all he could do not to vomit, seeing blood and bile and urine pooling around a mass of flesh and visible bone that was once a handsome, vibrant boy.
The sound of girls crying and screaming, of boys vomiting wasn't as bad as the look on Lysander's face. It was a look of terror, a question in his brothers eyes. The brother he would die for, kill for, torture for, wondered whether Lorcan would do that to him. Throughout the questioning of the Aurors, all he could think was that he had lost Lysander. When his mother embraced him, told him she loved him and they would get through this, all he could think was that he had lost Lysander. And when Lysander had walked away afterwards, seemingly drawn within himself, all he could think was that he had lost Lysander.
And so he found himself going to a room his mother and Uncle Neville had told him about. As he climbed the stairs, he wondered, yet again, whether Lysander would ever forgive him. He hadn't tried to talk to him for days now, had sat with Fenella Fucking Davies in every class, letting her flirt with him, giving her that lazy insouciant smile that made Lorcan's cock twitch and his blood rise. Shaking his head to remove the image from his mind, he carried on towards the Room of Requirement. When he arrived, he was surprised to find a door already in place. As he turned to leave, assuming that someone was in there, maybe fucking, maybe fighting, He heard a step behind him, saw a flash of red from the corner of eye, and everything faded to black.
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Lorcan's eyes slowly opened, his head felt heavy and disorientated. He had been stunned, he remembered, from behind by the Room of Requirement. Awareness flooded back to him, muscles tightened as he tried to stand, teeth ground together as he tried to break the bonds keeping him captive. If he was going to take a beating, he'd do it on his feet, like a fucking man, not tied down and whimpering like a child.
Head twisting one way and then the other, he looked around the room, which was.....certainly not a room he would expect someone with violence on the their mind to create. Well, not violence of a normal nature, anyway. He was tied to a chair, set in the middle of a sumptuously furnished room, burgundy and black sofas sat next to tables full of liquor, the fire spreading warmth outwards in a comforting wave. Set directly in front of him was a large four poster bed, upon which was a body, sat up against the pillows, arms outstretched over them, head tipped back, lazy and relaxed.
"What the fuck are you playing at Lysander?" Lorcan growled, low and angry, hoping to convince his brother to give up the ridiculous game he was playing and let him go. To let him go before he spilled out all of his filthy wants, before he drove Lysander even further away. The sight of Lysander, reclining against a bed that was big enough for a bloody orgy was beginning to get to him. He needed to get out of here before Lysander saw evidence of his sick desires.
"I'm forcing you to talk to me Lor. For the past month, you've snuck around, ignored me, snubbed me. It's not on and it has to stop. So we're going to talk about whatever it is that's bothering you, and we're going to get through it together, like we always have." Lysander's smile was edged with something Lorcan had never expected to see. It was somewhat twisted, a darkness there that was not a usual part of Lysander's nature.
"So you decided to knock me out and tie me up?" Lorcan shook his head, "No, Lye, we're not talking about it. It's got nothing to do with you. Untie me and let me fucking go, alright?"
Lysander seemed to pick up on the rising desperation in Lorcan's voice, as his smile became feral, and he shook his head. His hand trailed slowly down his torso, coming to rest on his jeans button. "No. If you refuse to talk to me like this, maybe you'll talk to me after."
"After what?"
"Just watch Lor. You like that, don't you, to watch." Lysander's fingers snapped open the buttons on his jeans, travelled upwards and smoothly removed his t-shirt. Lysander's eyes fell shut as his fingers slid across bare skin, moving across his nipples, pinching and twisting them, before travelling once again towards his jeans. As he pushed his jeans down and removed then, he smirked as he heard the sounds of Lorcan struggling violently against his bindings.
"No. No fucking way. This is wrong Lye. I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry but please, please don't do this too me. I can't...can't." Lorcan sounded broken by the end of his outburst, and Lysander looked up sharply, wondering if he was going to far. Upon seeing the hunger in his brother's eyes, however, he knew he hadn't yet gone far enough.
"Look at me Lor. I know you watch me. I know you wank while you watch me, and I know you hate yourself for it." He reached down and took his cock in his hand, sliding it slowly up and down once, finger ghosting over the slit in the head that was already leaking, smearing the moisture over himself. "I don't hate you for it. I've been as turned on as when I saw you stood there, cock in hand, biting your lip. I love that you want me so much that it's sending you crazy, but the crazy's gone a bit to far."
"I wont do this Lye. Can imagine what would happen if anyone found out? It would....fuck."
Lorcan's words trailed off as Lysander's now lubed fingers had moved behind him. As Lysander twisted so that Lorcan could see what he was doing, he slowly pushed two fingers into his arse, all the while stroking his cock. Lorcan whimpered, eyes travelling all over Lysander's body before meeting his eyes.
Lysander knew that Lorcan was too far gone now, knew that everything was poised on the edge of a precipice, and the only way things would be okay is if he moved forward without fear. He rose from the bed, letting go of his cock but never stopping his fingers assault on his arse.
Lorcan closed his eyes as Lysander drew nearer, shaking his head in denial, fingers forming fists with white knuckles. Once Lysander reached his brother, he opened Lorcan's trousers, Lorcan's engorged cock leaping free and straining upwards towards Lysander. Lysander urged Lorcan to raise his hips slightly, enabling Lysander to pull down Lorcan's trousers, his actions accompanied by Lorcan's pleas of "No, don't please, we can't, it's wrong."
A whispered charm, and Lysander was coating Lorcan's cock with lube. A moment later and Lysander was straddling Lorcan's thighs, poised above him, Lorcan's cock gently brushing his entrance. He twisted his fingers into Lorcan's hair, pulled his head upwards and spat "Look at me Lor, we do this together, okay?"
Lorcan's eyes bored into his, burning and fierce, he nodded once, and Lysander pressed down, feeling his brother's cock move slowly into his arse. A tear fell from Lorcan's eye, trailing down his face and Lysander bent forward and licked it, tasting salt. Their mouths pressed together in a tender kiss, lips opening and tongues meeting in a caress of love, an acceptance that they had finally crossed the limits and there was no going back.
As Lysander writhed, sliding up and down Lorcan's cock, their breathing became thready, skin flushed and sweat dripping slowly down their faces. Lysander's cock was trapped between them, rubbing against the rough material of Lorcan's shirt. Lorcan's cock was sliding over Lysander's prostate on every thrust, and Lysander was flying, ripped from his body and spilling outwards.
Lorcan's ragged scream filled his ears and he thrust once, twice before coming still, gulping in air as though he had been drowning. Lysander ran his fingers gently through Lorcan's hair, soft and thick, just like his own.
"We shouldn't have done that Lye, what's going to happen now?" Lorcan's voice sounded rough and breathless.
Lysander released the bindings on Lorcan, moved off his lap and began to pull him towards the bed. Smiling gently at him, Lysander sighed, and said "I don't know, but we'll do what we always do.
We'll meet it together."