Disorder Ch. 05

And yet John still needed him, in his own weird little twisted way of going about it. That could not be denied. No one would want to deny it as he thrust in over and over again, each grinding throb of his shaft making Donnie's head spin more and more, even though the belt had slackened off, only a small amount, around his throat. It was enough for him to be able to, once again, think clearly, or as clearly as one could think with the arm of a sofa that he had had someone else pick out for him grinding up into his stomach, threatening to steal the breath from his lungs as sickness threatened to overcome him. It was the kind of high when power was stolen from him, however, that had him drooling pre-cum as if, quite literally, from a tap though, twisting his head from one side to the other, uncaring of the belt as he sought release, in an effort to contain the groans that may have otherwise dared to rise up with ugly heads. It was hard to not make any noise at all, especially when John slammed up into his prostate as if he was trying to drive all the way through it. It was not exactly the sexiest thoughts to have but the coarseness of his brutality was heart stopping in the extreme: just what Donnie needed him to be.

"Yeah?" John hissed through his teeth, a little spittle flying as if his mouth could simply not work properly in his haste to get out the words that he so very desperately needed to say. "You like that? Huh? You think you can get away with shit like that, Donnie? No fucking way, no fucking way! Not on my fucking watch..."

All he had there were the ramblings of a madman, a man who had lost his suave personality in the clutch of drugs that made the rest of reality just a little brighter and more interesting and, in some ways, easier to bear too. Against himself, Donnie could not help but squeeze down around John, drawing a rougher moan from his brother's lips, and smirked to himself, the belt tightening. Ah, John knew well enough what he was doing, still, but neither of them would admit to that little part of the game as each tried to rile the other up, nerve coming to a head as John's hips worked faster and harder than ever, the slap of flesh beating like the pace of a drum that no one, truly, was commanding for themselves.

"Fff... Fuck!"

How strange to hear the emphasis of a word dragged out at the end! If he'd been anywhere else, Donnie would have laughed aloud but the tightening of the breath stole from him any last droplets of breath that may have been spared to laughter, his brother grinding in with due urgency. But he was not humping him with the force and fervour of a man possessed but one who was set on seeking revenge and felt the climax of such revenge drawing ever nearer, just as he'd planned. Not that John ever made much of a plan but, truly, it was as close as he got usually.

Donnie jerked forward against the belt from the hot splash of cum jolting up inside him before he actually heard John's moan of ecstasy, pleasure ruling him in what one could have quite rightly said was his one moment of vulnerability. There were many times to catch a man unawares but one of those times was in the height of climax, lips parted and eyes rolled back, the hair of his brother in one hand, pulling hard, and the belt in the other, sealing off his breath. Donnie fought and fought, lips opening and closing fruitlessly, but not even he could hold onto consciousness as John forced him to a hasty orgasm, spilling his seed over the side of the sofa at the very moment that true blackness overtook him.

When he came back to the world of the living, however, he found himself, quite appropriately, splattered in his own cum, the scent of smoke filling the living room. Donnie groaned and tried to push himself up from the floor where John had, clearly, just allowed him to fall, his head throbbing as if from some kind of impact.

"Seriously..."

But a muttered complaint was not going to bother his brother who was more concerned with his pipe, dressed again at least somewhat presentably while his younger brother tried to piece together something of an outfit that would make him look less like a homeless person. Smoothing his hair back into place with both hands didn't do him any good either, something that he didn't want to think about plastered all over both of them -- but he would deal with that shortly.

Eyeing John, they shared a look that spoke volumes even without verbalised words, their language a more subtle style of communication. Maybe that was why they got on so well, even when their interactions, like that drug-filled night (just what time was it even again?) seemed to turn to a side of darkness that, well, didn't seem to work for family, let alone friends. They were nothing more than that, of course, and would have scoffed at the thought, Donnie carefully working around John as he failed to mention that he was smoking in his living room rather than the more secluded places in the house that, well, were better-suited to illegal activities. Sometimes it was better not to poke the bear, but the cub was most certainly not looking its best either at that time.

"What a mess..." Donnie said, breaking the quiet and gesturing at the shreds of his shirt. "Was that necessary?"

Setting his pipe aside, John looked him up and down. Donnie held his breath, heart pounding. Both of them knew that things could go in any direction from that point, but the cards lay, well and truly, in the hands of one of them and one alone. Only he could defuse or worsen the situation, just as he pleased.

"When you're such a cunt, yeah."

Donnie exhaled and said something that was of no real matter in the course of things. All that mattered was that they were back on a level, whatever that level was in the end. The misdemeanour, of course, was swiftly forgotten, although that was perhaps because John was hardly the sort of man to admit that he had had, heaven forbid, anyone top him. Donnie kept his face carefully blank, smirking behind the mask, as they redressed and showered, even though that was just another thing that devolved into debauchery, groping hands questing for the release of pent-up energy once more as John forced Donnie down to his knees on the hard tile. The thrust of his brother's cock driving up forcibly into the back of his throat was near enough a relief to Donnie, however: that was something that he knew how to do. Sure, there was a lot to be said about a hot, tight hole wrapped around his cock, but energy was expended in a wasteful fashion to dominate when one didn't even really want to be there, as much fun as revenge had been in the moment itself.

No... Better to suck and close his lips lustfully around the thick length, tongue pressing up to the underside and even managing to flick up against the tip each and every time John pulled back, teasing over the slickness of the head. The slit seemed to pucker in, although that was just his imagination, as if in readiness for orgasm, and Donnie moaned around him, the sound overcome by the rush of water pouring over his head, slickening his hair down to his scalp and neck, flowing smoothly and seamlessly. It would not serve to wash off the seediness of their time together and neither of them would have wanted that either as John moaned out his climax, cock exploding in his brother's mouth to dose his throat with another thick load of cum, all of which Donnie swallowed down, a part of him already, shamefully wanting more.

But he didn't want to admit to that. He didn't have to admit to that, looking up to his brother, standing over him in such a position of power as he always had. He needed it and that was what it was: he didn't have to say anything that he didn't want to. And he'd had a taste of what John had to offer in another way too, quietly and securely confident that he would, one day, find John in such a vulnerable position again. If he had such an opportunity present itself all over again, he most certainly would not have hesitated to make the same decision.

That was probably why they were the worst of brothers.

"So, what actually got you to smoke that much then?" Donnie said as if conversationally as they sat on the sofa at a respectful distance from one another, the lack of closeness quite deliberate and, strangely, comfortable. "And drink too... If that's not so much of a secret."

John blinked at him.

"Yeah... Been a while since blowing off steam like that, hey?"

Laughing, he shook his head, although even Donnie could tell that he was holding something back, merely sipping some manner of drink (maybe to his detriment, John had poured it for him) as he waited. He had more patience by far than his brother and could wait him out. Maybe. If not, what did he care? It was no bother to him, really, if John had a chip on his shoulder about anything or nothing at all: the world would continue all the same.

But some things were destined to be said.

"It's that bastard," John said at last, although by the mere fact that the words spilt from his lips like a fine liquor Donnie knew that he was, at least by some measure, still intoxicated. "The smug cunt thinking he's better than me... What with his tech firm thing and all that drug he brings in."

John screwed up his face as if he was going to spit but thought better of it as Donnie could not help but shoot him a warning glance. Sometimes, when he thought Donnie was getting too ballsy (like earlier, as a wonderfully recent and appropriate example), he would do things like that just to piss him off but that was by the by. They knew where they stood and there was still a very shaky yet tentative line to toe in the context of their relationship that, at least in some sense, had to be adhered to, if only to keep marginal peace. Sometimes Donnie wondered just what would happen if he did not reinforce that line with all that he had at his disposal from time to time. It could be good or it could be bad. Terrifyingly excitingly, there was only one way to find out.

Just not that day. Night. Whatever.

"Didn't know he got to you that much," Donnie commented vaguely. "Didn't think running a drug empire was your sort of deal anyway."

"It's not," John shot back, lips puckered very clearly in distaste, wearing his emotions as clearly as ever. "Just you think... You know?"

"No, really, I don't."

John spat a curse and leapt up, just a little shaky on his feet, which was quite admirable, considering all of the intoxicating substances that he'd consumed in something like the last twenty-four hours. It was hard to keep track of it sometimes, not that Donnie was all that bothered, in fact, with being his brother's caretaker. John was old enough to look after himself, even if he was nothing but a bad influence at best. At worst, he was the destruction of all that a man could hold close to himself and so very much more than that too.

He paced, a wobbling line tracing a path from one side of the living room to the other, crossing in front of the large, flat-screen TV each and every time. Warily, Donnie tracked him with his eyes, the cool of the glass in his hand seeming to press up more firmly against his fingers. That was one piece that he'd rather keep hold of, despite not really sitting down to watch anything anymore. It was entertaining enough for pirated movies when they reminisced about older times, younger times... Times when things had come more easily because their wants had simply been less than what they were then.

But, as an adult, one had to have somewhere to live, to form some semblance of living if they wanted clean clothes, good food, the luxuries that Americans had become accustomed to over the years. Laziness didn't play well into that equation and it was sometimes possible to change that mindset with the right trigger at play. And maybe, just maybe, John had found his trigger to take him from one kind of life right into another.

He couldn't stay still, driven on by a luxurious cocktail of adrenaline and the drugs still lingering in his system, alcohol clouding his brain just enough for his normal rationality, what was unique and individual to him, to shut off. It was long enough for the glint and glimmer of a plan to form itself in his mind, the seed of which could be nurtured in time and allowed to grow if he did not suffocate it. With John, either option really was possible and only time would tell just how far he got with anything and everything in turn. He was, after all, highly prone to distraction, whether that distraction was legally obtained or something that more than just the law would have frowned on with a surly shake of one's head.

Rocking back on his heels, John set his jaw, hands thrust into his pockets, while all Donnie could do was stare on. Were any of his possessions at risk? Sure, he could buy more but the hassle of it or losing data, of course, was the real problem in that saucy little matter.

"I've got to get back at that bastard," he hissed, shoulders shaking as if there was something beneath them striving and fighting to free itself. "I've just got to. No one gets away with acting like that, not to me. Not fucking now."

What that was really supposed to mean would soon be revealed as John rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling just as Donnie had done for so long earlier, the skylight affording him a look up into the outside world in a way that he had never before afforded himself. Why look up when he could look to whatever was taking his attention at that time? John, however, had never before considered that 'up' could hold his attention too, stars glittering high above as streaks of dawn threatened to tint the sky and rip the night from its lonesome grasp, as it did each and every day. Some things, after all, could not be held off and he could not hold off the looming lie that he had told himself for so many years.

If he was the one in power...why did he not already have it for himself?

And Jaunt would fall, just like everyone else who had tumbled before him had fallen, the lies that they'd bandied about meaning nothing in the end, just like the worthless words that humanity liked to toss at one another. He was the only one -- he had to be! -- that saw through all of that crap, yes, saw the real truth of it, the real fucking god damn fucking truth.

Baring his teeth in a snarl, John blinked at his washed out reflection in the skylight, a pale face surrounding by a swirl of dark hair.

He'd have his revenge. And he knew just how he was going to go about it now too...