A/N: So, I was made to feel like a piece of shit for leaving you all hanging like that. You all did a very good job. But hey, I am so nice I'm uploading again. See what your reviews do? They are effective.

I said that I'd continue from the scene earlier... but meh. I don't really feel like it. So stop hatin'. You'll get more, simmer simmer. ;D

This chapter is in Rodrick's point of view. Mainly because I wanted to darken the story up a little, and partly because I just fucking felt like it.

Love Calico.

Rodrick was just so fucking disgusted with himself.

The way Greg looked at him – so trusting and so naive – it really made Rodrick want to taint him, dirty him. Make him like himself. This was a kind of uncontrollable urge he'd always had around his younger brother.

The two Heffley brothers couldn't have been any more different. Greg was honest; caring; smart. Ugh, it just pissed Rodrick right off. That wimpy kid was the walking embodiment of everything that their parents wanted in a son. They'd learned from the mistakes raising Rodrick, and had devoted so much effort into moulding his brother. Nurturing his feelings. Loving him.

Slamming onto his bed, Rodrick ran a hand through his unnaturally dark hair. He'd almost lost it awhile ago, with Greg all wimpering and whiny like that. "Untie me, untie me. Mom's gonna come home. Please Rodrick."

A languid sweep of his hand across his belly button - threatening to dip below his jeans any second so he could just jerk off and get that sick desire out of his stomach. The desire he tried frequently to silence but moments ago had swelled to a max and almost boiled over.

He really, really wanted to own that boy.

"Shit." Because his hand was now rubbing that aching hard on from earlier. Rodrick closed his eyes, laying back and repeating the events like they were golden memories. Greg was so stupid and young; so small – much smaller than the other kids his age. So... everything.

He winced against the heat building around his pelvis, thrusting into his hand and imagining that it was Greg's mouth. How hot would it feel? How wet? God damn. Fuck.

Rodrick tried to imagine it; tried to picture the head of his cock in his Greg's mouth. The things he would say and do to that boy.

"Open wider." Because he knew that Greg would be a piece of garbage at actually sucking him off. Yet how fucking nice it would be to feel that tongue slide along – hesitant at first, but then confident after Rodrick spewed some shit like, "Yea, like that. Ah, so good Greg."

"Nnng, shit." He stifled this against his sheets, his hand now pumping furiously to just cum already. Once it was out of his system, he'd feel better. He wouldn't be thinking about this anymore. So. Just. Fucking. Hurry. Up.

Greg.

Rodrick definitely had a very cruel nature. His teachers at Sunday school had noticed it first. Things like God and punishment; Rodrick just never wanted to have anything to do with that. He never wanted someone to tell him what to do, and guilt didn't sit well with him. So he sat, questioning again and again the stories in that bible they worshipped so much until his young mind began to comprehend the loopholes. Found a way out.

And he really was the Bart Simpson of the neighbourhood, doing things other children would have been beaten to a pulp for. Things like jumping off the roof onto a trampoline or biking around the block until way past bedtime.

He lived care-freely, ignoring the norms of society. Who cared if he was supposed to do his homework? Who cared if he had chores? There were ways out of anything he didn't want to do. His father proof of that, the man had done his homework too many times to count somehow believing he was helping his son but in fact only encouraging this rebellious attitude.

Rodrick was fascinated with the dark side of life. Death metal, eyeliner and drumming were the words that summed up his life to that point. But even when he was younger he'd been strange. Insisting to stay up late to watch the ghost stories – loving the way his spine tingled with the fear and soon, developing his own ghost stories. Stories which lead to lies, and lies that lead to manipulation.

Then there was Greg. His test subject. Rodrick had been spellbound by his younger brother since the day he was born. Why? Rodrick was never quite sure. Perhaps even as a small boy his mind had formulated the thoughts. His brother was precious. His brother was his.

And Rodrick made it a point to kiss Greg every day. Sometimes more than once, only because he understood it was a way of expressing his affection. At first, they couldn't get enough of this. The worst being his mother who would lovingly pet his head. "What a good brother you are, Rodrick. Such a good boy."

So there was no problem except, as the years passed, Rodrick realized that it was no longer cute anymore. Adults began to wonder what the deal was with this habit. He opted to hide the kisses rather than stop them altogether. So any chance he got with a back turned, Rodrick would plant one on him, sometimes squeezing the small boy hard in the process.

"Waaadwick, wadwick!"

Rodrick delighted in this, finding a sort of comfort in sharing such a secret with his brother. To be able to show a part of him that was true.

Until the dooming day Greg learned to squeal. What a fucking disastrous day. When Greg finally opened his mouth and said, "Mom! Rodrick kissed me!"

Rodrick had never felt such shame. He had never felt so embarrassed, standing before his mother and her strict and intimidating frame. His brother, once so precious, had stabbed a blade into Rodrick's back that he'd never quite forgotten.

Yet here he was years later, still desperately fighting that urge to keep him as his own - this time, mixing the feelings with that of lust, and greed, and all the other things that he let corrupt him along the way in life.

There was nothing more that Rodrick wanted.

He'd only ever showed his true nature to Greg, not bothering to cover up the way he liked to torture and tease – something akin to revenge from always tattling. Girls just pissed Rodrick off, anyway. They didn't understand these things. He always had to pretend.

The whole Master and Slave game had started out as any other manipulation. Rodrick had really gotten his hopes up that Greg would be able to resist tattling – for once. But the opportunity to take advantage of the situation kept presenting itself.

Why was Greg saying things like, "I want to hang out with you"?

Fate was making it so easy, considering he wasn't meant to.

Rodrick noticed Greg missing from the breakfast table the next morning. He tried to remain neutral as he sat down and grabbed a couple pieces of buttered toast. Had Greg left already? Was he going back to ignoring him again?

Anything but that. Anything but having to watch his brother turn away from him and forget him.

"Rodrick! That's enough jam!"

Looking down, Rodrick noticed the thick layer he'd spread onto the toast. Just as he was scraping this layer away, telling himself to just get the fuck over Greg, his brother appeared in the seat across from him.

Rodrick did not hide his gaze, yet Greg didn't seem able to look him in the eye. A part of Rodrick churned happily at the thought of Greg's shame. He could already imagine how he was going to force those eyes to look at him.

Then suddenly, a stroke of brilliance.

It hit him so hard that the teen choked halfway through swallowing a bite of toast.

He wouldn't say, or do, anything to Greg. Not after what he'd already done. His brother was so just fucking predictable. He'd wonder why, why, why a thousand times. Forcing it wasn't nearly as fun as the slow torture of manipulation. It was a steady game that required patience.

Patience Rodrick didn't know he had.

But his mind was made up within seconds of the idea.

Greg had looked up curiously to see his choking brother, and their eyes locked for a split second before Rodrick turned them away, mustering up the most disgusted look he could despite the fact that he pretty much looked like the biggest fool.

After breakfast, in the front hall, Greg joined Rodrick in putting on a pair of shoes. It was very hard not to look at the younger brother, especially in close proximity. But it would pay off. Hopefully soon.

"Uh," Greg started as Rodrick made his way to the door. The wild teen didn't stop, didn't even acknowledge that Greg was behind him. "Am I getting a ride with you?"

SLAM

No, he sure as hell was not.

A/N: This isn't a happy fic, or a sad fic. This is smut guys. Come on you must've known that when you clicked the story and saw "INCEST/SLASH/SMUT" in the summary. I'm doing this for my own sick enjoyment – because I was once like all of you, desperately searching for some Rodrick/Greg. I'm just posting it on here for the hell of it.

If you don't like it, that's fine. If you think it's corny, that's fine. I like to know either way because I do like the feedback and constructive criticism. But at the end of the day my fingers do all the work and I just lay back and imagine what I want to happen.

Let me know if you liked Rodrick's point of view or not. I know it's short. But it's something to tide everyone over until the next update. Yea?

Review my pretties!