Disorder Ch. 15

Brotherly First Times

John grunted thickly, leaning back in a chair that did not quite support his weight as it needed to. Slender and lean to the naked eye, he was not a man that should have needed a stronger chair to bear him but the fact of the matter was that his long legs kicked out under the desk too far, the wood squeaking where it had been abused for a number of years already. The chair was second hand (or third, or fourth) but it had been Donnie who had outfitted everything in the new apartment, however small and rickety it was.

He scowled, hands back behind his head, hair a little shorter than usual, though it still draped down, reaching for his shoulders. Donnie had made him go, though he was just as bad as he was for keeping up on matters like that. He wanted to look slick and well-groomed, putting on a front, but the actual doing of it was harder than many, including himself, may have realised. It was just not the way things had been, school and a life under shaky parental figures behind them now, though moving out into an apartment for just the three brothers had been the best step for all of them.

They'd manage on their own, better on their own. Yet he was the oldest and the head of the family, his small bedroom sparsely furnished with paint peeling in the corner but, well, at least it wasn't damp and mouldy. John made a face, brushing his fingers through his dark hair once again as they came up short, his body still expecting there to be more length there than there actually was. It was funny how things like that worked and he wouldn't stop looking over his shoulder or even ahead of him too for the shadows that lurked, nipping at his heels.

No. He closed his hand into the fist, staring at the computer screen before him, a blocky, old thing, until it blurred, but not with tears. He wasn't one for that and had never been one for that, so it would not come to be yet again. It was not the way he worked and he grunted thickly, turning his face from the dank, grey light of midday streaming through the window, although there was no one on the other side that could have borne witness to what he so forlornly tried to lock away.

Maybe it would change him, one day. Maybe it would become him, one day. Maybe it would overcome him, one day.

Who was really to know?

There was only so much that a man could do, however, the squeak of the computer chair wheels grating against his eardrums. The smallest noise, sometimes, tap-danced on his nerves and his fingers drummed on the desk, stopping and starting, needing to relieve something, a tight muscle, and yet other parts of his body simply not being able to take the noise. What was wrong with him? Why was he like that? Had he just not gotten out enough lately?

He brushed the computer mouse with his hand as he jerked it back once again, heart pounding, and the screen flickered to life, the tab with his browsing history open. He could barely remember what he'd been doing before something else, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on, had distracted him but that paled into insignificance as he shook himself, eyes raking down the list of websites. So sordid, a man may well have wanted to delete or wipe them clean but John could not bring himself to care, daring anyone to look at what he looked at, even though there was more than one site in that list that called his attention, simpering and whispering out his name like a siren clad in holy clothes.

A favourite site and a click of the mouse. John grinned faintly, something lighter returning to his soul, making it just a little bit easier to lift his head, to tilt his chin up. Even the bristle of his hair on the back of his neck did not irritate him as much as it had, his hand on his thigh, scanning the screen for what could have been an old favourite or something new, something that was carnal and coarse and would chase all manner of unwholesome thoughts from his mind...while filling it with even less wholesome thoughts. And just what else was pornography for?

A little relief...yes. Yes, he needed that. That was just what he needed. Smirking to himself, John unfastened his trousers without thinking, his digits finding the button and zip without even having to look. He'd done it enough times, masturbation being one, little solace that could be taken anywhere, though he did rather prefer to have a partner for the deed itself. It could not be helped, however, as the clunk of a computer before him ground into gear, whirring in the heat of the summer, though there was nothing there to cool it down. Donnie had gotten the tricked-up gear for the computing side and, well, it was better-placed with him, as much as John grumbled publicly. It was his little schemes, after all, that kept them going with a little money in their pockets.

Donnie would be horrified to see what he'd been looking at later but, well, that sounded like a Donnie problem to him. Freeing his shaft, still soft, he browsed aimlessly, directionlessly, much as he went through the rest of his life. That was how it had always been for him and, well, he could not say that it had not, so far, gotten him to where he was. Just where he was, however, was another question entirely but something so intimately carnal could let him, at least for a time, languish in the moment, not think about anything else, the lusts of the body coming through above all else. It was rather like taking drugs, though the crudeness of snorting lines did not mesh well with him, something that was only to come into a grander air of finesse in later years.

Like all else, corruption would come.

His hand closed on his shaft, thickening patiently while he looked for what he wanted. All men, of course, as were his inclinations, but a man like him did not have to justify just what he was into. Lazily, he clicked through to another site and another screen, hardly caring what he was watching. Something dark -- bondage? Well, the guys there looked like they were enjoying themselves...

Not his usual style but John moved from one to the other as if they were changing fashions, his life ever in rotation to new and interesting things. The power and control, smug confidence, on the 'master's' face had his heart beat racing, imagining himself in that position, a leather-bound twink on the floor beneath him. He groaned deep in the back of his throat, losing himself in a fantasy that greatly diverged from the straps and tracings at play on the screen, imagining how someone would beg for him, how he would twist his hand into their hair, pull and yank.

"Fuck yeah..."

Just an exclamation but one that surely let him know that he was on the right track, his mind wandering. Leave that for the time being: there were other videos to check out. Men in the gym, rippling with muscle -- not quite for him, not that time. Maybe if they were on the floor, sucking his dick, making him feel like the god he well and truly was? John smirked, heart lifting, chest pushing out unconsciously. Youth and boldness clad in a sense of false grandeur could lead one astray but there was no wrong path when it came to fantasies, even if he did truly, in his deepest, darkest sense of being, want to stand above all men in that manner, the one that they looked up to, the one that dominated them all without even lifting a finger.

His cock pulsed, squeezing out a glistening drop of creamy pre-cum, and he gasped, breath catching in his throat where his windpipe should have been open. Was that not what all men wanted -- that ultimate power? On the screen, the men groaned, one dark-skinned, the others white -- but what did he fucking care about that? A fuck was a fuck and he was there for the lust of it, watching them move, his eyes on the slender man who was bottoming (ah, how fucking typical was that that they'd put him on the lowest rung of the ladder even there?) and the rise of his white flesh.

Yeah... I'd do him.

John's hand worked his cock, teasing it lightly, letting his natural arousal come to the forefront of his mind. He didn't have to force the issue for it was all about self-pleasure, after all, and faking it wasn't going to help out anything at all. He was there for himself and himself alone, even as he clicked, randomly, into another film where the camera angle, he supposed, was supposed to make him feel as if he was actually fucking the guy in the shot.

Yes...

Yes, that was much better. A nice guy, someone that had a body he could pin down, someone he could take, someone that he could feel that he was overcoming. John growled, licking his lips, though there was only so much that he could do from his position, tipping forward hungrily towards the screen, the camera view rocking and tilting, the man who was, at that moment, getting his hole filled groaning and howling as if it was the best fuck in the world. Whether it was just for the camera or for something more, however, was something that not even John could know, though his kinky mind filled in the gaps, made it a matter of his own imagining, his own fantasy coming through.

"Yeah, just like that," the man that was the point of view of the cheesy film groaned. "You take it... Fuck!"

Any more that may or may not have been said was lost in a slew of grunts and moans, John joining them as he felt himself to be right here in the thick of it all. Yes, he could feel it -- he could feel everything. He was there with him, his cock the biggest and the best thing that they'd ever seen, ever wanted (well, he was still young, a man not yet come into his prime and cockiness brimming over in every regard). His eyes hazed over as he lived there, in that world, feeling a needy hole closing around his cock, how it clenched down, so tight, tighter than the last one he'd fucked. But that had been a glory hole dare and, well...

No, not something to linger on, solely because things were ramping up on screen, his pre-cum spilling hotly over onto his hand, making him want to pump and work his cock over and over again, to sweet completion. He needed it all, every last inch pleasured, growling and grunting like a wild animal, lost in the moment as the wheels of the computer chair, as they were so very apt to do, squeaked and squealed, a fitting backdrop that, thankfully, no longer annoyed him in the sweetness of self-abuse of the most pleasurable fashion.

And then he heard one word that made him freeze, if only for a heartbeat of a moment, a second that passed so fleetingly that, later, he would swear that he had not even realised it had happened.

"John?"

He should have been embarrassed. He should have heard Donnie coming. He should have done something. But, as it was, all John did was sit there, pumping and working his length with slower, less urgent strokes, barely even casting his brother a look back over his shoulder, out of the corner of his eye. It was not that he wasn't important enough, of course, for his attention but that he wanted to pay his due attention to something else in that moment, his own wants and needs coming above even Donnie's comfort. Truth be told, John had forgotten that he was not at all alone in the apartment at that time and wondered too if Charles was home.

Instead of apologising, however, or doing something at all resembling the action of a rational and sane human being, he growled, grunting thickly through the heat of tension in his throat. His need, after all, was still there, demanding he do something about it and that had a funny way of picking on a man at the best and worst of times.

"Do you even knock?"

Donnie gulped and rolled his eyes, taking a step back. With his brother there, those men on the screen...it was harder than he wanted to actively admit to just to think. Blood roared in his ears, eardrums pounding with the beat of his pulse, da-dum, da-dum-da-dum-dadumdadum! It was all he could do to not clutch his head and moan, though he was quite sure, even then that something of that nature would have very much been taken the wrong way. And he didn't want his brother to think that!

What he did not see, however, his eyes fixed to the horror show of lust and sexual debauchery on the screen before John was, was his brother's cock in his hand, how it worked and teased, though John was not about to stop. The bulk of the chair and his body hid it from view, though it should not have taken a genius to work out what was really going on down there, breath raking through his throat as John let out yet another moan.

"So, you gonna...unfff...fucking stand there or what?"

And, still, Donnie could not move, as much as he wanted to. The moans that rose were no longer John's but he could not see John himself turning up the volume either with a smirk on his lips, his wicked nature riling through all else. Ah, he could pretend to be good as much as he wanted to but he really was a devious bastard at the best of times, someone who could cut to the quick without thinking twice about it. People were interesting and, truly, Donnie was the most interesting of them all to him. Sometimes he just wanted to see what he could do to make those so very interesting people dance for him, even if it was not always to a tune of his choice.

He swallowed a groan. That was just what made them interesting.

"I... Uh..."

But Donnie could hardly breathe, a hand pressed to his chest, shaking his head as he shakily shifted his glasses up his nose. He was only wearing them until he could get surgery -- something that another of his money-making schemes, he was sure, was set to pay for -- but he'd find later on that they were as much a part of his identity as just wearing shoes was. It was just the way things were but he wished that he didn't have to see just what was before him, John grunting, turning back to the screen, the pixels forming real people, real fucking living people, on the screen, doing all manner of things.

He shouldn't have stared but anyone in the know knew just what a fear response was, what locked one's legs into place, turning them into stone. He couldn't breathe, the nuance of perhaps being able to slipping from his mind like a literal breath of air. How ironic was that?

Though it was not ironic at all how his heart pounded, how he wobbled, swayed, tilting drunkenly even though he was quite sober at that moment, which was strange enough for him. John had started him on that and, strangely, it had made things easier with their home life, so he'd just kept on doing it. John paid him little mind, attention wavering, but he had the lusts of the body to take into account, so his brother lurking behind him, as creepy as that should have been was just not something that he was going to waste time and energy focusing on, turning his back to him and licking his lips. Let Donnie figure out his own problems for once. Things would come right there, however that was, he was sure.

And, still, Donnie hesitated, inching forward a step, mind swirling with questions, a tangle that, from which, no singular one could be discerned. Was what those people were doing on the screen something that would make things easier for him too?

Donnie grunted, the slick fwap of a hand on cock-flesh filling the air, even if his brain was still working too slowly to pick up on it, to place the sound accurately. There was only one way to find out the answer to that particular question, even if he wasn't so sure he wanted to know that answer. There weren't many answers in life that he'd wanted to find, truly. Before he knew it, his legs were in motion, dragging him in closer to that screen and revealing just what that sound was to his gaping horror, mouth comically falling open as he all but shrieked.

"John! What the fuck?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake..."

John snarled, turning on him, eyes blazing. And what else could poor Donnie do but take another step away, dancing from one foot to the other, heart in his mouth as John well and truly took his own cock in hand.

"I don't know what's fucking wrong with you, standing there like an idiot while you've clearly fucking walked in on something you shouldn't have!"

It was enough to be interrupted but, well, chastised at least in part for what he was doing? That just wasn't something John could stand for, shoving the chair back and half-rotating it so that Donnie had a better view. What was he going to do about it, huh? What was the interesting soul going to do? Perhaps it should have occurred to him that what he was doing was not the normal way to go about things at all but neither John nor Donnie could have said that anything they had done in life had been normal so far. And all his brother did was stand there dully, his eyes glassy and hazed over though with what John didn't care to know.

"You want to fucking get off, you do it yourself," he growled, the feral sound ripping itself from his mouth as if it was actually sourced from the rippling, dripping muzzle of some feral beast. "Or sit here and fucking do it, I don't fucking care -- it's you and your fucking hand tonight, mate."

Donnie gulped and shook his head, though he pulled himself together, drawing into himself, guarded, despite how his skin crawled heatedly.

Don't look down.

He shouldn't look. He really should not have looked.

"You've been watching too much TV," he said instead, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead, the floorboards creaking under his feet as his weight shifted. "No one says shit like that anymore."

Whether that was true or not was by the by as John's attention swayed from him, the camera angle on the screen changing to show a man with his mouth full of cock, cum drooling out the corners of his lips. John scowled and had his hand on the mouse in an instant, pressing his lips together. Damn it. He'd missed the show!

"Yeah... Fucking boring."

John was not speaking to him but Donnie inched in closer as if he thought he was going to be chased away (it would have been more than fair enough if he was to be chased off), not knowing why John hadn't told him to get lost already. It was a show, indeed, but one that had already hypnotised him, something that made him want to see more, to know more, to even do more, though none of that made any kind of sense at all. He didn't know why he was doing what he was doing or why nothing made sense but it just didn't feel like it had to in the heat of the moment, skin prickling with warmth and tension, muscles taut as if he felt as if he needed to be able to spring into action at a moment's notice.

Was there danger? His body thought there was, but, if that was to be so, it reacted in a way that he could not have anticipated, lust rising as another video popped up, this time of a guy's hole drooling what had to be cum, someone else spreading his arse-cheeks to make it all the more obvious. Donnie made a strangled sound in his throat but his body reacted, his cock thickening, trying to break through the suddenly very fragile and tentative barrier of his underwear. It was too raw and carnal and he pushed away every last tiny little sensation that he possibly could, lungs aching, stomach churning, other parts of him... No.

No, that wasn't a thought he should have. But John looked back at him with a roll of his eyes as more and more cum slopped from that bareback bred ass (that was the title of the video), the guy on the screen loudly and lewdly putting on a show for them as John worked his cock more and more fervently. So close... He groaned, licking his lips, grazing them with his teeth. Yet he couldn't get off, not quite yet. He wasn't there yet and that was okay, panting softly, arching his back, pushing his hips up as if his cock thought that, even there, there was a needy hole that could be filled.

Yet Donnie's noises caught his attention, drawing him back from that luxurious brink of pleasure, grunting and groaning and shifting away, his hand working though it was not to be in that particular moment at least.