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[Well that didn't work out. He leans back in the chair, as if that tiny amount of retreat will help him escape this.]

It's not worthless Ariel, it's what we are. The master thing, that's what we're acting. That's what isn't real.

Ah-ah.

[He lets go of his wrist, to place that hand over Tristan's mouth.]

Your opinion is also worthless. A possession shouldn't talk back.

[His hand flattens against Tristan's stomach, lying still for a moment before slowly lifting, just a bit. When it does, there's a soft glow -- and bright, shining "needles" appear to jab deep into him, easily a dozen or more. They should feel like they're burning hot, and Ariel's made no effort (or perhaps doesn't yet have the skill) to keep them from hitting important places.]

[Tristan screams, muffled by Ariel's palm. Fresh tears falling over his face and Ariel's fingers as he tries to scramble back in the chair. But there's nowhere to go. He won't lash out at Ariel (because he doesn't want to hit his brother or because he knows what happens when you fight back? that they hit you harder?). Nowhere to go leaves him completely trapped and sobbing, trying to do so quietly, to breathe shallowly, because every breath shifts the burning needles in his flesh and he can feel things tearing open. It hurts and it's terrifying, it's not just flesh but vital organs, a new experience in terror and realizing he could die. He could die.]

[He could undo this spell too, he could fix this. A small voice in the back of his head notes that it would be easy. Except he can't do anything of the sort, not any more.]

It would take a long time for that to kill you, just so you know. They're only needles. All those little holes... You'd suffer for hours.

[It's said cheerfully, while he places a fingertip on the protruding end of one needle and wiggles it around. Really, Tristan's face is definitely cutest like this.]

Or you can ask me nicely to take them out, as your Master. Will you do that, or should I keep your mouth shut?

[He knows. It could be days, even, before this killed him. At the most. His blood would drag toxins from his intestines through the rest of him, the bleeding in his organs would damage them, his body would shut down in agony he probably can't imagine and his brother wiggling the needle hurts enough right now.]

[He could let this get worse, he could protest and what? It wouldn't do any good. Ariel is right--if Ariel wants to do something there's nothing Tristan can do to stop it. He feels sick, and he nods miserably.]

Edited 2014-07-31 10:33 (UTC)

[He lifts his hand from his mouth as soon as he nods, smiling cheerfully and waiting. It's kind of nice that Tristan didn't give in all at once. It means Ariel gets to watch him cave piece by piece.]

Go on then.

[He should call him master or something, appeal to that, but he can't. He barely manages a choked please. He feels filthy for playing along with this, humiliated. He thought he'd gotten used to how humiliation felt but this is a different level, begging his own brother.]

Please... Take them out.

[The great thing about needles is he can just put his fingers on several of them at once and move them and it takes no effort at all.]

Hmmm... I don't know, I think I'd like to hear your voice like this a little more. Tell me, what were you to me again?

[He makes a high pitched whine, gasping and going silent a moment in pain. But he meets his brothers eyes again, voice desperate. Don't do this don't make him do this.]

Ariel please.

[He knows exactly what he's doing, of course. Pushing him right up against his previous trauma is cruel, but if he won't otherwise listen, why not? And of course that face and that voice are more than reward enough.]

Please what? You haven't done what I told you, so maybe you're asking for more?

[Tristan exhales slightly, a soft, shivery breath as he closes his eyes, tears leaking out into his hair.]

Please don't do this. You're my brother.

[He's clinging to that desperately.]

Oh, so you were.

[He lifts his fingers from the needles he's touching, but that's only to add another round. He has no intention of pulling back until he's gotten exactly what he wants.]

[He makes a ragged noise, too pained and soft and miserable to be a scream.]

[It's not going to stop. Not until he gives his brother what he wants. He closes his eyes and turns his face away and down, hating himself for being weak. For being helpless. Feeling guilty and gross for giving in so easily. His voice rough and uneven around tears and pain and humiliation.]

Master. You're my master. I'm beneath you. I'm... Yours. Please take them out.

Mm, Much better.

[That feels good to hear. In that tone, when Tristan is so clearly crumbling, it's almost euphoric. Ariel dispels the needles, replacing the burning pain with the gentle warmth of a healing. But it's only a few moments' gentleness before he steps back, yanking on Tristan's broken wrist to pull him up out of the chair and back towards his room.]

[It's a relief. An all too brief relief. He's not even surprised now when Ariel takes his wrist and yanks on it, gasping sharply and unable to help a yelp of pain but getting out of the chair and following obediently. Even if he pulled back, and he has the strength to, what would that do?]

[It would do nothing, of course. Ariel gets what he wants, by whatever means necessary. Right now what he wants is more than obvious, but he expects no resistance when he shoves Tristan onto his bed and follows him. He wants it to be here, in the space he spent time with that girl. He doesn't know for sure how far they'd gone, but he's going to sully any pleasant memory nonetheless, covering up her sweetness with his own possessive darkness.]

[He doesn't resist, the hair clasp finally falling from his fingers onto the floor with a clatter as he's pushed back onto his own bed, looking up at his brother in numb horror. Ariel's so small. Tristan himself might have a year or two of growth left but most of it is done, he's filled out, he's a young man, well built and handsome. But his brother? Ariel still looks tiny and delicate, short. He's got so many more growth spurts to go through, he looks frail. Tristan's not exceptionally strong but he's not weak at all, and he could easily carry or hurt Ariel.]

[It's so surreal.]

[It's easier to think of that than the hours, the nights spent in this room on this bed with June in his arms. The way she laughed. The way she smelled. The noises she made right in his ear when he did something right. The softness of her skin.]

[Ariel is small, all thin arms and legs that haven't lost quite all of their childish softness just yet. He's got a long way to go yet in growing up, but he's old enough to have matured in a lot of ways, and he's always been too far from innocent -- an intelligent and arrogant child with interests not even an adult could justify.

But now he's a teenager, and aware of the world at large, and apparently aware of the world right at home, too. There's no hesitation in straddling Tristan's hips, shoving his shirt up and leaning down to kiss his throat. There's a good deal of his life since the revolution he's hidden, especially recently, but it's about time his big brother got used to what kind of person he's really living with.]

[Tristan presses his hand to his face, breathing shallowly, still in pain from his broken wrist, eyes leaking a little again at Ariel's all-too-sure actions. This is horrifying. His brother is really fucked up. Where did he learn to do this anyway? He can't even fathom what's going on in Ariel's head.]

[He tries to take a steadying breath, pitches his voice quiet and obedient as possible. Pleading.]

Ariel please, please don't. Do you want me to beg again? I will.

You can beg if you want to. It sounds nice.

[But he doesn't want to stop, so he won't. There's a certain lack of experience in his movements, skill he hasn't built up yet, but no lack of confidence, and he's steady and self-assured when he slides Tristan's shirt off. He presses his face against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his skin and trailing his lips to his collarbone, where he bites down, hard.]

Edited 2014-07-31 12:53 (UTC)

[Tristan smells like soap and coffee and a little bit of sweat. It's pleasant and masculine and familiar. And he flinches, skin shivering at each touch in revulsion and tension, scared to move, wanting badly to shove Ariel off. He doesn't want to know how his brother's lips feel on his skin or what it's like to be bitten--if this weren't his brother, if this were different circumstances, a different person, he'd be really turned on. It's horrifying.]

Ariel please.

[He's going to beg anyway. There's near faded hickies on his chest, where clothes would have kept them hidden, a few still a little dark.]

I'll do anything, I'm yours right? So please don't do this.

[His voice is choked, desperate and humiliated and urgent.]

That's right, you're mine.

[He mutters against his skin, exploring his chest with hands still small and soft from lack of hard work. There's just a slight tightness to his voice now, though. He finds one of the darker spots and digs his fingernails in, as if to claw it away.]

I'll make sure no one but me ever marks you like that again.

Edited 2014-07-31 13:14 (UTC)

[Tristan winces, biting his lip. His little brother's hands are soft and warm and the bite of nails is petrifying when he looks down and sees the marks, fading reminders of June's existence.]

Okay. I won't get close to anyone else. But please, please let this be enough. Please.

You already know I'm not going to stop.

[What does he think he's accomplishing with those pleas, besides spurring him on? It sounds nice. The fear and desperation is dangerously attractive. It's just further encouragement to take one hand to Tristan's pants, palming him through the fabric while he searches out another old hickie and kisses over it, making sure to cover it with a mark of his own.]

[He thinks his brother might stop, might actually listen. Well, no, he doesn't think it. But it's a hope. He reaches up to grab Ariel's wrist and pull his hand away from his crotch, the movement absolutely reflex, not thought about. He pales when he realizes but doesn't let go of Ariel's wrist.]

Please. I'll end up fighting you, I can't--don't do this.