Disorder Ch. 06

Donnie swallowed hard, heart in his mouth. And he could not deny the thick, throbbing rise of his shaft, his length called to John's attention as it always did -- just like John's control over him. Of course, he would never admit to it but it was there all the while and it had become something more, although that something more most certainly wasn't anything that any normal person would call a relationship of any kind beyond a tentative familial one. They didn't know what they were and, as John's hand groped and squeezed the fat bulge in his jeans, pressed up so close that he had to push and worm his hand down in between their bodies, that was okay too.

They didn't have to know.

John dominated the kiss, wrapping thick clumps of Donnie's hair around his fingers as he dragged him in against his body, hard and lean and wiry to the last. Pain seared through Donnie's scalp but he did not have it in himself to care, inhaling sharply through his nostrils before surrendering in the next moment and melding the shape of his body, his very essence, to that kiss, tongue flittering weakly up against John's, for John was far too hard and driving to allow the lust of a kiss to play evenly between their mouths.

Chests rising and falling rapidly, out of time, they broke the kiss and John was already moving, the battle won and the thrill of the hunt well and truly upon him. Paraphilia was present throughout most of their facility, as there was usually some kind of use for it, and a counter set into the far wall beside the stacks of neat boxes and bags of shimmering crystal provided all that he needed to get started. To Donnie's surprise, however, and a twist of distaste in his lips, it was a syringe and a needle that John retrieved, rather than foil and implements of burning, his gut plummeting and the room tilting sickeningly just at the sight of them. It should have been something commonplace to him but some things could not be quelled and softened as much as he tried to make them so in his own mind.

"Really..." He grimaced and swallowed, although there was little moisture left in his mouth to actually move his tongue. "I thought we were done with that. We're not like the druggies on the street corners now. Can't you smoke this one?"

Yet he knew that he too was going to be roped in as a pre-prepared syringe glistened with sickening temptation, the buzzing overhead light glancing off the plastic with a demonising glare. It was not just John who was going to be drugged up and hopped up on the new strain, always taking any chance to test a new one out even though the risks were known to all and even more so to someone at his level, but Donnie too. Small Donnie who loved the high and the intoxication but not the come-down, the hankering and itching, skin crawling, for more that he feared would render him sallow-faced and haggard before his time

Better to sink into addictions that would not render him less than he was. Like John. John was a better addiction, even if a strange one.

"Smoking, well..." John grimaced. "Wouldn't want to stink up my clothes, now, would I? I may be off out on a hot date tonight, a boy toy just looking to get something hard up in him."

Donnie rolled his eyes weakly and laughed, although he could not find the energy in himself to raise his voice to any considerable volume, falling under the radar as always. Yet that did not matter to John who knew him well enough to know the reaction and understand it too as he wrapped a thick shoelace around his brother's arm, readying the syringe at the same time.

And all Donnie could think as the needle stabbed through skin into the vein that would have made itself known to John, even if it was not already pulsing noticeably and visibly through the comparatively thin barrier of his skin, was how intimate the act was. More so than a kiss and more so than fucking, the rough and hard and readiness of sex, his fingers brushed his skin as if with a tender touch, brow ever so slightly furrowed in concentration. Maybe he would not have been so careful if he was injecting an underling, someone in their operation at a lower level, but that would have come with greater flair for the dramatics still and a display of power and thrill that would quell anyone who may or may not have had any sort of curiosity about the background boss who dealt in the shadows.

No. When they were drugging up, it was just him and John and those moments, perhaps, could be the most precious of all in hindsight, for not a soul could truly know when it would all come to an end, when their kingdom would fall, crumbling down to the ground as if it had never existed. Would they get to the real top of the game or fall down like broken kings, hand in hand and eyes narrowed against the dark of the night when there was no new day to be had? His heart pounded, mouth dry, and the needle pushed in, the bite of pain stronger than it should have been for such a slender and so very sharp sliver of metal, Donnie sucking in a breath that his brother surely noticed.

"Don't be a wuss."

And he did not intend to be but the needle made his head spin all the same, vision turning a sickening tint of grey as he heaved for breath and turned his face pointedly away as the bile, once again, rose up in the back of his throat. It had been too long since he had last eaten, however, busy and preoccupied with the highly important act of sleeping, and there was nothing in his stomach to vomit up, allowing him just a little touch of respite as John undid the lace and put the needle to the side, his job done for the time being.

Striving to cover up his moment of weakness, the vulnerability of coming back to himself when he was, well and truly, at the bottom rung only of the ladder of power between him and John, Donnie clenched his clipboard automatically, although he wished there was something on the sheets of paper to distract him. Better yet, an iPad or something of that ilk that he could busy himself with in scoring something real nice from a rich bastard's account, a little payday that would keep them as well and in as good health as two criminals could be for months longer. Of course, that money could go into the supply chain too and the logistics of the operation but he had to reap the spoils of his own talents sometimes too, keeping up the lifestyle that he had, at some point, become accustomed to.

"There you go... Now, was that really so bad?" John grinned, although his tone carried not a single hint of reassurance or condolences with it. "A little prick... Well, I don't have a lollipop for you, Small Donnie, but I have something you can suck here if you're a good boy..."

That was about as far as he'd ever heard John go with his teasing and even Donnie had to chuff a broken sort of laugh, imagining with a distinct sense of unease mingled with erratic anticipation that he could feel the drug working its way through his system. Of course, John was only making his form of conversation as he was preparing to inject himself too, oddly taking the time to do it himself rather than passing the equipment off to Donnie to do the honours. Two kings of the castle were not on equal levels, however, and Donnie kept his lips pressed together quietly as John quickly and skilfully took care of himself, exhaling slowly with his lips parted as the crystal entered his system sweetly and systematically, every last little twitch and movement of his body cunningly calculated.

Quiet. That was unlike them but, somehow, just how it was meant to be as John set all aside, both of them knowing that someone else could be the one to clear up the mess afterwards. Now, all they had to do was wait and try to record what happened, whether or not anything bad was noted or not. They could only wait and see, silence stretching out between them, alternating between tension and thrumming, delectable anticipation.

Strangely too, it was Donnie that broke the silence.

"You better have something else to record this then," Donnie said, sitting down slowly with his back to the wall, regretting belatedly not insisting on a chair or something, although it probably would not matter once the drug itself kicked in. "I'm not...hm...writing any of this down..."

John smirked and flopped down beside him, somehow managing to fold his legs up in perfect time so that he still retained a sense of gangly grace, shoulders relaxed and an eyebrow raised.

"Yes... Didn't you see the cameras? My, oh, oh, Donnie, you're losing your touch..."

"Like hell, I am, dick."

"Well, if you insist..."

And then John was on him, not even waiting for permission -- hey, it was automatically given anyway -- as their lips crushed together, teeth catching sensitive flesh and not even caring. It was a crude, sloppy sort of kiss that would never again leave room on the lips of either of them, Donnie grunting thickly in the back of his throat as he struggled and strived to give as good as he got, head moving slowly even as he thought he imagined the effects taking hold. It often caught him by surprise when it hit and he clenched and unclenched the fingers of his dominant hand reflexively, searching for the throbbing drive of excitement and energy that was surely only just around the corner.

It ramped up as John thrust him to the floor, rolling as they traded places until he was, of course, rendered on top once more, the hard linoleum or whatever it was hardly comfortable against angular shoulder blades and hips and knees. Yet that was none of John's concern as he hastily ripped Donnie's shirt down the front, at least a few buttons springing off in all directions, and Donnie cursed loudly, the hissing rush of breath tickling his brother's face, too close to his as he heaved and gasped.

"Fuck... Donnie..."

Yet that was all he seemed able to get out, grinding and arching his back as he moaned and rubbed the bulge of his shaft against Donnie's even through the barrier of their jeans, the dark and stiff cloth not yielding as much sensation as either of them would have liked. Yet that didn't stop his shaft from drooling pre-cum, twitching and throbbing in raw excitement, lust coming above all else when it came right down to the wiles and rights of a body that wanted what it wanted. Gasping, Donnie shook his head, fighting to not moan out too loudly, not to give up every last bit of his control too soon, although he had not the strength of mind to push away John's hands, welcoming them on him as they swept over his chest, the light definition of muscle there that could have, truly, have been more than it actually was. He had no inclination for going to the gym, however, like that odd soul that had taken up with Charles (rarely seen, he was of none of their concern in the grand scheme of things) and any change in his physique was unlikely to come, even though John had never complained. Most likely because his physical lack of strength (he'd hesitate to phrase it as weakness himself) just made him all the easier to pin down and dominate. And, sometimes, it was nice too to not have a fuck be a challenge.

All moved quickly, shuddering from one scene to another as Donnie opened and closed his mouth over and over again, the stream of consciousness unable to render itself in speech as if he had been muted. What was wrong? Why couldn't he talk? And yet talking was underrated entirely as John got his jeans off, shoes kicked aside and one sock half-on half-off as if he was a teenager all over again experiencing his clumsy first time. Even then he would have laughed at himself but the lump in his throat and pounding, driving breath raking through his lungs as if it was a great struggle to breathe made it impossible to do so.

His cock in John's hand. The pump and the squeeze. For a moment, his drug-addled mind thought, wrongly, of course, that John was about to give him head, but it was all merely a ploy and a jaunt at control, squeezing drop after drop of pre-cum from him, although he was not as productive as some studs that he had engaged with during his life. Sexual prowess was all well and good but it was better to be fucked by one rather than be one himself. There was too much pressure there, pressure to perform and do better, and he'd prefer to just be working on things that got him somewhere, the pressure to ensure a comfortable, easy life for himself at all times.

Gasping, he clenched his fist, the injection site on his arm aching, perhaps already bruising. He didn't look.

Yes, better to enjoy than to be, to do and to force and to drive, drive, drive. John would agree? Yes, yes, yes -- of course, he would! He always agreed! He knew what was what, what was up and what was not what it seemed! The rush of energy had him up on his knees, fumbling for his brother as he groped for John's belt too, the belt that had been around his neck on so many occasions, a play on power that he ached for once again.

But he couldn't slow down, couldn't stay still, his clumsy attempts at hastening things along frazzling a broken mind, a mind that could not keep up either with itself or the twists of a body so pushed along a path that it could not withstand forever.

Hands fumbling, naked from the waist down... All in a blur, all moving too quickly for one mind to keep up with as desperately as his breath raked through his lungs over and over again. He could feel the blood rushing through his body, the tingle in his extremities not from cold, and the push of John's body up against his as he slumped down to the floor, scrambling for purchase that would not come as his sock slid and he burst into a fit of giggles. Not quite the high he would go for himself but it was all good enough without the negative side-effects, surely?

Yet when his eyes landed on John again, his brother grasped for him, cock softening and chest heaving, although the wheeze that rolled from his lips with each and every breath was anything but reassuring.

"Uh..." Even the words, flustered and fumbling to break free in the eagerness of the high, would not come easily, thick and clunky in his mouth and on his lips. "John... John, are you..."

"This is all fucking wrong, Donnie, all fucking wrong..."

John cursed and spat, eyes wide and wild and bloodshot as he grabbed the torn front of Donnie's shirt, lips parted with a sickening gleam of spittle on his lower one.

"John? John, snap out of it!"

But just telling someone to snap out of something surely had not had any positive effect in the history of ever telling someone to get it together and John only laughed, throwing his head back. Every muscle in his body seeming to jump tensely, staying in their rightful places with a judder and twitch that could not be concealed, his madness shining through as even his body throbbed beyond his stringent control.

"John!"

Hastily, though it was hard to think of anything else with his mind swelling and rising so very pleasantly on a high that seemed very, very different to John's, he grabbed for the clipboard, too late to keep his brother safe or even protect him. And just what did he think he could do to keep John safe anyway? Sure, he'd come to his rescue time after time again but there was nothing he could do about a bad trip as John growled and thrust him away, leaping to his feet and pacing like a caged animal, something wild that had, all of a sudden, found itself trapped and snarling.

"No, no, no, no, no, it's all going wrong, going wrong, going to lose it all," he muttered loudly enough for Donnie to hear every word, swinging his head back and forth as if he was questing after an escape route. "Jaunt, all gone, gone -- gone, gone, gone, gone, gone! And what now? What do we do now? They're coming for us, they're fucking coming for us, Donnie!"

How much had he fucking injected? Donnie cursed and lunged for his brother, shirt flapping, but he was too quick, too energetic, and shot right by him as John wheeled and roared, hair a dark mess around his face, a fallen angel's halo that would never again find its rightful place atop his head. A crown of thorns, however, may have been more accurate for one who was no angel in his own right, a demon with blazing eyes that were still his natural dark shade and still somehow so very much more sinister than they ever had been before. If he'd worn a crown too, it was sure that he would be no king.

Too much, far too much! John clawed at him as he spun, howling and throwing his arms up to the sky, although there was no sky, no sky at all, just the ceiling that blinked and buzzed with that fucking accursed buzzingbuzzingbuzzingbuzzing light. What were they going to do about that light? Could he climb up there? Dangle from it? Yes, yes -- he could fix it! Quick as anyone would like!

And yet that wasn't possible with John hanging off him, dangling with limp legs as he clung to the collar of Donnie's shirt and moaned out his need, sweating profusely as his skin glistened. For a moment, Donnie considered him the very image of a god, or a god of the underworld if he was to at least be accurate even in his heavily drugged mind, but he really was harshing his buzz and the younger brother frowned and grunted as he tried to disengage the one who had introduced him to the world of peaks and highs to begin with. It was funny how things happened like that but that had been very many years ago, a long while back...

"I need it! Now! Nownownownownow!"

That wasn't like John but, then again, nothing was as he took a very bad trip, so bad, in fact, that Donnie would not have been entirely surprised if he had taken something more than just meth. Had it been more or just laced with something? What a fucking fool he was! He wasn't going to stay on top for very long if he kept fucking around with his own system as he did! What a fucking fool, a fucking waste of time!

But that was just Donnie's mind working against him, snarling and clawing at the interior of his skull as he inhaled sharply and staggered, conscious of the fact that he was tipping off-balance but not entirely sure what was happening either. The room around him alternately sped up and slowed down, his mind simply not at all in tune with reality, hardly standing and hardly falling, not really knowing at all what he was doing.

Yet he could not worry, no... Not at all. And there was the clipboard as he exhaled a breathy sigh and laughed, worries falling away like water off a duck's back. Weren't ducks cool? Duck, duck, goose -- he should tell John that! The clipboard... Yes, yes, yes -- the clipboard! They were supposed to be... No, what was he thinking? One thought was too much to hold onto and he giggled, lips moving in speech that he could not have repeated even in the immediate aftermath, ranting and rambling and spinning sweetly, exhilaratingly, as his brother howled and fought at the inner demons of his own mind.

But his brother was on him, groaning and grunting like some kind of feral creature himself, eyes wild and bloodshot, the pants coming from his lips unlike anything that Donnie could have honestly have said he'd seen before. Harsh and heady, Donnie moaned and pressed himself up against his brother, still only wearing his shirt, torn open, although he had lost that last sock at some point during the course of the testing. He wanted him! Was that so wrong? Ah, to hell with right or wrong -- he was fucking high!

And, so, it was easy (far, far too easy, in fact) to tip back to the ground, not even registering what had to be an exceptionally solid impact and painful thump as his shoulder blades connected with the unyielding floor. John was on top of him then, his cock hard and throbbing again, although Donnie took a moment to lift his legs, neither of them really possessing enough control of their bodies to stand for what was to come. Like everything else, it was inevitable in its crudity and Donnie managed to get his legs up just in time as John cursed shakily and jabbed and thrust for his entrance, intent only on pleasure now that his twisted mind had switched onto a different track.