A/N: Happy New Year! Take what you get and don't complain. xDD

There was something to be said about just how crushed Greg Heffley was as he walked with Rowley to school that morning. What had he done wrong? Why had Rodrick glared at him through all of breakfast? Why did he leave him behind, again? The questions, thick as molasses, stuck and repeated in Greg's head all morning. He was confused – about everything. It had felt really good kissing Rodrick, but it didn't take a genius to know that kissing your brother, especially pornographically, was wrong. So then why did it all hurt so fucking much?

Rowley tried to cheer Greg up; asking what was wrong and noticing the strange, half dazed look that any psychologist knowing would diagnose as trauma. It was an odd sort of suffocation. Greg felt slow, and distracted, but he lied anyway.

"Nothing's wrong."

Even still Greg was thankful that so far, nobody seemed to notice that he had both kissed a girl and a boy over the weekend because it felt like he was walking around with a big sign on his forehead claiming as much.

But that sense of ease disappeared during the startling development that his fifth period Health class had turned a focus into sexual education.

"What?" the whole class exclaimed at once upon Coach Malone's announcement. Greg stiffened in his chair, uncomfortably aware of the way that Holly Hills – sitting three down and two over – turned back to catch his eye.

"Calm down. Do you really think teaching an eighth grade Sex Ed course is on the top of my to-do list?" As he spoke, Malone drew the words 'sexual education' on the whiteboard and then turned to lean against it. "Just as it says. Ed-u-ca-tion."

Greg buried his face in his hands as the lights dimmed and a video began playing explaining to all of the students how sexual intercourse occurs. And all Greg could think about – under the cover of darkness – was the aggressive way Rodrick tongued him. If he touched his wrist, he could feel the echo of the pain from the belt burn.

His heart hammered secretly as unfocused eyes watched a microscopic sperm fight its way to the center of an egg. As the students giggled and whispered around him, Greg remained completely still – completely silent – half afraid that if he opened his mouth he would cry out in frustration.

"So, I hope that answers a lot, if not all, of your questions," Coach Malone said to the class as he turned on the lights suddenly. Greg snapped to attention, noticing the movie was over. How much time had passed? He clicked his jaw into place, also noticing too late that he had locked it tight the whole time. "And yes, Patty, I understand that you have seen this movie before but it is the only State approved sexual education video at the moment so bear with me."

Patty lowered her hand and slumped over her desk.

However, across the classroom Bryce Anderson raised his hand. Coach Malone sighed miserably.

"What is it, Anderson?" he snapped, opening the DVD case with a little too much force. All of the students in the classroom – Greg included, as he jumped at any distraction from the taunting visions of Rodrick behind his eyelids – turned to look at the boy.

"Yea, what's all this baseball stuff? I heard my brother say he got to second base two weeks ago and when I asked my parents they sent me to my room!"

Greg frowned thoughtfully. He certainly did recall some sort of baseball metaphor, now that Bryce mentioned it. Curious eyes snapped back to Coach Malone instantly as the older man rubbed his temples with his fingers.

"Just as there are no dumb questions there is also no laughing or giggling at answers, you all hear me?"

Rowley turned back in his seat and raised his eyebrows to Greg as if to indicate what they were in for was a treat. Greg's stomach flipped over.

"The American language has adopted some slang for certain levels of sexual activity, if you will, and by no means should this affect any of your decisions to start being sexually active early – "

"We get it!" Patty snapped. "Tell us!"

"Fine. There is first base, second base, third base and home plate or a 'home run', just like in baseball. First base is considered kissing, more specifically with tongue."

Nausea swept over Greg from his toes to his head. Tongue. Rodrick's tongue. First base. A shiver rippled down his spine, and he glanced nervously at the clock – anticipating when was best to go and throw up his lunch.

"Second base would be stimulation between the neck and waist ... "

"Boobs!" someone shouted from the back of the class as Greg doubled over. No, he didn't have boobs, but Rodrick definitely fondled him. He could recall – vividly – the sharp pain of his nipple between Rodrick's teeth; the tingles collecting in his groin.

"Third base – " here Coach Malone hesitated, perhaps trying to find the correct words, " – is physical stimulation of the genitalia."

Several students burst into giggles.

Greg hyperventilated.

His – what? Why? How? With a hand? With a mouth? Both?

Shit. Shit. Shit. This was seriously bad. Greg had already gone to second base with his very own flesh and blood brother in the span of two days! Was this trend going to continue with this impending third base?

His imagination – and heart beat – flew out of control.

"And so then of course a home run would be sexual intercourse."

It was with these words, and the bell signalling the end of fifth period, that Greg remembered Rodrick most likely hated him considering the stink eye from that morning. All anxiety about third base came to an abrupt stop and it left him feeling hollow and alone, same as before the class.

As he gathered his books, Greg desperately wished for the weekend to be erased from history.

Rodrick tried not to care about that mopey look on Greg's face when he walked through the door that afternoon. Yet it was a hard thing to do since his brother looked as miserable as ever. And the part he truly did care about was the way his brother jumped at seeing him and scurried off up the stairs like a damaged little kitten afraid of being smothered.

That wasn't right.

Who was supposed to be doing the avoiding here? Wasn't his plan to ignore Greg, just so that his brother would come running to him, not away from him?

To make matters worse his mother noticed everything. "Rodrick," she began in that ominous mothering voice. "What have you done?"

"Nothing," Rodrick lied instantly, but it was a wasted effort since he knew his mother didn't believe his bullshit. He grinned broadly at her as she scooped Manny off the floor and glared daggers at him.

"Go upstairs and talk to him."

Rodrick froze. "No."

"Rodrick. I don't care what happened, or if it has anything to do with that bruise or not, but if you don't go up there and talk to him I will and I do have my own ways of figuring out the whole story."

Damn. Sometimes his mother was such an uppity bitch that it was amazing someone like their father could have ever fallen in love with her. And Rodrick did take her threat seriously because he knew how easily Greg cracked under her pressure and he definitely did not want her to know the events that would ultimately disturb her.

Perhaps his mother noticed the venom in Rodrick's eyes because she swatted at him.

"Go!"

"Fine. Geeze."

But what was he going to do? Rodrick's brain began to work a mile a minute. He had to stick to his plan – wouldn't it be sweeter if he took his brother willingly? All tears and apologies and with those sobbing words, "I'll do whatever you want just don't ignore me!" He didn't want to force anymore. He wanted the absolute control with no limits.

Even the reminder of how close he was at obtaining this set his heart beating wildly – carrying reckless adrenaline along his veins with his blood and hitting his head with too much force. He had long since given up trying to stop these sick thoughts from consuming him.

He knocked twice on Greg's door and leaned against the frame. "Greg, open up."

Silence.

Rodrick sighed, reaching for the knob and turning only to find a hard resistance that was the lock. "Really? You're going to lock me out now? Let's talk okay? Open up." He knocked on the door again. Once. Twice. Three times before his patience snapped and the beast inside of him – fucking pissed at being ignored – consumed him. He pressed his lips right against the crack of the door and spoke in a low, dangerous voice that was sure to be amplified through the room.

"Look you wimpy piece of shit, you better open this door right now, got it? Mom's on my case about you. I won't ask again. Open. Up."

Silence still. And each second that passed tore at Rodrick's sanity – stripped him of all logical thoughts except "Greg".

He kicked the door, which wobbled threateningly on the hinge due to his need to see Greg, to force the younger boy to look at him and acknowledge him and want him. He rattled the door knob continuously as he threw most of his weight into the hard oak again and again until –

"RODRICK! What are you doing!"

The shrill voice from the stairs behind him snapped Rodrick back to reality. He let go of the door knob so quickly you'd think it had burned him, then he turned and faced his disapproving mother.

"I think something must've happened at school, he was fine yesterday," Rodrick lied quickly. "He won't open up." Then he turned on his heel and walked along the hall to the staircase leading up to the attic. Behind him, in the softest of voices, Rodrick could hear his mother soothing and coaxing through the crack of the door.

It was easier, with the distance between them, for Rodrick to collect his thoughts. Sticking to the plan meant he couldn't throw tantrums. He had to be dedicated. He had to be gentle. Yet it was such a hard thing to do when his instincts all pointed to "taint" and "destroy", especially when wimpier little brothers asked for it.

A/N: There! You asked for an update. Seriously, I love the reviews guys and I know you are all excited for more, but I have a demanding job in which I travel across the country, plus I have friends, family, other hobbies and stories to contribute to.

I will never abandon my stories. Sure there might be times where you wait a few months but reviews like "I love this story because _" and "I especially liked this part" etc, work better for my motivation than "Please update omg it's been so long will you ever update?"

I dedicate this chapter to Polaramity especially, but also to all those who left good, encouraging and praising reviews on the story.

I'll be updating again soon. Please let me know what you like/didn't like because I do take everything into consideration. Right now my sick mind is taking over and I have no idea where it's going to lead me. :P

Lots of love,

Calico