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shannygoatgruff · 5 years ago

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My Brother’s Keeper - Chapter IV

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Characters: Modern Ivar X Modern Hvitserk

Rating: MA 18+

Overall Warning: Dark story told from an emotionally distributed person’s POV with graphic and sadistic material including rape, terror, torture, kidnapping, drug use, slash, implied incest, necrophilia and insecurity. Heavy trigger warnings.

Chapter Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence, homosexuality, rape and anal sex. Heavy trigger warning.

Summary: Mama always said to be their brothers’ keeper. Now there is absolutely nothing these two won’t do for each other. Boys will be boys…

(source: unknown)

A/N: Okay, so we’re about to start going down the rabbit hole of crazy. I ask that you bear with me. As these two continue to “party” it will become more graphic but I try to do it as tastefully as possible. I promise you there is a method to my madness. Don’t give up on me, just yet...

Chapter IV

The media lies so much. They always say these horrible, hurtful things about us, like we are some perverted sex deviants that go around terrorizing the city. They don’t know us. They don’t know anything about us. I just think they’re mad that these dumb ass cops can’t do their fucking jobs and protect these citizens from the real bad guys, so they look for somebody to make out to be the villains. Guess who gets stuck that those personas? Me, and Ivar.

If you turn on any news station right now, they would be trying to convince you that I’m some sort of monstrous sexual predator and that Ivar is a sadistic animal. It's not like I'm the type to hide in a dark alley and use chloroform or some shit to knock somebody out, like some of the sick fucks I've read about. I don't prey on people or force them to do anything they don't want to do. They always give me permission for whatever I'm up for when they agree to leave with us.

Just like Ivar isn't anything like how they try to make him out to be. He doesn't snatch people off the street or drive around with a trunk full of medieval torture devices or any of that bullshit. We're nothing like those sickos you hear about that have 15 bodies buried in their backyards or watch on those Netflix documentaries. Those people are fucking crazy. We’re not.

We’re just two regular guys, who happen to have a hobby. It’s like stamp collecting almost. Nobody would say shit if we did all kinds of extensive research to find that one piece to add to our collection. They’d think it was fucking awesome that we were so dedicated to rare and beautiful stamps. Well, this isn’t much different; instead of fucking stamps, it’s people. We don't select just anybody. A lot goes into picking the perfect person that's lucky enough to be invited to one of our parties.

We gotta do a lot of waiting and watching. And it’s not like we have a type, either. It doesn't matter what our company looks like or what color eyes or hair they have. We’ve never given a shit about race, or body type. We don't have a sick fascination with strawberry blondes with green eyes or hate women in general. With us, it's all about the attitude, like a vibe. I can't really describe what it is we look for. We've been doing this long enough that I can spot what we need when I see it. Sometimes it takes all night. Some nights we go home empty-handed.

And some nights, like tonight, it’s right in front of me.

They've turned the lights out on the dance floor so only the blue and red strobe lights show the crowd. It doesn't matter; from the lights of the bar, I can still see everything. And I don't care that the music is so loud that I can't hear myself think. I've already spotted the one and I don't even notice the music anymore.

My eyes haven't strayed from the body dancing on the speaker stack. Dirty blonde hair, slight frame, and a toned body swaying to the music…this one is beautiful. Their energy is almost palpable.

For over an hour everyone who approaches has been turned down. I know, I've been watching. We're going to have to do this one right. One wrong move and we may be sitting at this club all night waiting for someone else suitable to come along. That won't do. I have my heart set on this and anything else will not quench this thirst.

Ivar and I haven't spoken about the blonde, we don't have to. I can see through the thin layer of smoke from the fog machine that his eyes are fixed on the dancing body, too. He's thinking what I'm thinking; we're usually on the same page about these things. My hand reaching over to pick up my vape is what pulls Ivar's gaze from the dance floor to my face. He looks at me with intense eyes and I simply nod my head.

I usually scope them out, but he's the one that always approaches. Ivar has a knack for talking to people. It’s part of his charm. He can make the most uptight person feel at ease with just a smile. Me? I’m pretty shy. When I get nervous I either seem to ask a lot of questions, or I don’t talk at all. I guess some people consider that a turn off. It doesn’t upset me, though.

If it takes Ivar being the Cult of Personality to get what we need, that's fine. We still get them, so I don't have anything to complain about. Especially, not with this one – we can’t afford any mistakes.

I watch in giddy anticipation as Ivar makes his way to the dance floor to make contact.

The wetness from the sweating tumbler in my hand seems to send a calming chill through my entire body. The gnawing in my stomach makes me feel like my whole body is about to ignite. It's only been four days since we were out last, but I swear it feels like an eternity. I think it's so bad tonight because I don't fully remember the last time. I don't have all of the memories that I need to keep me settled and stop the itching in my blood.

I feel like a vampire right now; like I need to feed. God, I hope Ivar doesn't fuck this one up.

I feel myself biting on the metal tip of my vape to keep my anticipation at bay. I let my eyes fix on the small body next to Ivar's as they make their way back to our table. Ivar takes a seat and so does the blonde. I won't say anything, not yet. I'll get to talk after when we go back to the warehouse. When Ivar leaves to get his head together, that's when I'll have all the conversation I need.

"You want a drink?" Ivar leans over toward the blonde with an arm casually resting on the back of our new friend’s chair. The smile on his face is electrifying. He's so damn beautiful and he knows it. I swear, if I looked like him and had half of his confidence, I’d be a dangerous man.

Shaking his head, the blonde smiles back. "I don't remember seeing you here before." He's such a pretty young man, somewhere between me and Ivar’s ages. His face is soft, almost like a girl's and his messy hair cut reminds me of how I wore my hair a few years ago. His dark blonde waves are sticking to his scalp and face, in some places with sweat and curling haphazardly around his head in others. I have to stop myself from reaching out and touching a strand of it because I don't want to scare him off. Especially not since I owe Ivar for last night and I want him so badly for myself.

This vape isn’t cutting it. I’m so excited that I need a real cigarette to calm myself down. I easily slide my hand onto the table to pick up my pack, trying my best not to break the trance that Ivar has this beautiful boy in. Their connection is so strong, I don’t even think he realizes I’m still sitting here.

When I feel in the pocket of my jeans for a lighter, I don’t feel it. I don’t know why I look around the club like it’s going to magically appear. But I do, I continue to look around as I feel my hands start to rub my chest as if I have pockets in my shirt that my lighter might be in.

Then I notice the blonde’s slow dramatic blink as he reaches across the table and hands me his lighter.

It’s as if he’s in tune with my every want and need. He’s toying with me. Oh, he’s definitely the one and Ivar sees it, too. We don’t even have to ask, this kid fucking wants it. This fucking guy is sitting here practically begging for it and we’re going to give it to him.

"I've never been here before." Ivar smiles coyly redirecting the blonde's attention away from my shy smile and the blush creeping up my neck. He's getting excited. I always know when Ivar is about to make his move because he drums his fingers in haphazard rhythms.

I’m too stunned to move. Fuck this cigarette. I want to watch my brother work his magic.

The blonde smiles, like this is a game to him. He has no idea how he's about to be played. He thinks he's flirting with Ivar; driving him crazy. Little does he know, you don’t flirt with Ivar. Ivar is the one that’s always in control. "No? Never? This is your first time?"

Batting his long lashes over his hungry eyes, Ivar nods slowly. He leans into the blonde to touch an errant curl on his head, "I'm a virgin." He bites his lip and the blush on the blonde's cheeks is all Ivar needs. He's permitting us to take him. "You wanna get outta here?" Ivar cuts to the chase with this one. He usually plays around with them more.

With us, it's not about taking anyone. We always invite our guests. If they decline the invitation, we wait until we find another one. But if they accept, then they're accepting of everything we want.

And this poor boy just nodded.

Without saying anything, I pick up my vape and cigarettes from the table. It wasn't conveyed, but it's a given that I'm going with them. He understood that when he handed me his lighter. He wants both of us and we both want him.

I make sure to walk behind them as we make our way through the club, so I can watch the way the blonde's hips sway. This is going to be so much fun. Not even the ringing in my ears from leaving the noisy club to the now quiet street is enough to make me concentrate on anything else but showing our new friend the best time.

It's only a few feet to the car before the party begins. I'm so excited that I have to stuff my hands in my pockets because if I could grab him now and do what I wanted, I would. Ivar notices the way I'm trying to get control of myself and after he lets the blonde into the front seat, he pulls me aside and strokes my hair. "It's okay, baby. He's ours." He places a gentle kiss on my forehead before opening the rear door for me to get in.

Nodding my head, I let out a deep breath. I love the anticipation...this feeling of euphoria. It's like knowing the hunger is growing in just a matter of hours I'm going to get to feast until it's sated. "I know." I try to keep myself from smiling, but I can't. I'm giddy with the prospect of the things I can do to him. I want it so badly my dick is already hard.

I watch from the back seat as Ivar closes his door behind him and without any thought, to it, my hand starts to pull at my zipper. Ivar's hand reaches out to stroke the shiny hair on the blonde's head and I let out the laugh I've been holding in. By the time Ivar slams the boy's head into the dashboard, I'm already stroking my cock. The blonde doesn't say anything else, he's knocked out I think, but I can see Ivar wiping the blood on the boy's shirt before he reaches over to buckle him in. We can't take any chances of him getting hurt in an accident or the police stopping us for a seat-belt violation. We're also so careful and we take good care of our company.

"Lock your door, Serk." Ivar's voice is calm and soothing and momentarily pulls me out of the feeling of my hand stroking myself. He turns around to look at me and shakes his head with a bemused smile. "Let's go have some fun."

The sound of dripping water is what I have to concentrate on so I don't have to listen to him scream. I love to watch Ivar work. He's so good at it and enjoys himself so much. There is nothing more beautiful to me than to see him smile, but I hate it when they scream. And because he won’t shut the fuck up, I have to miss out on all the things Ivar is doing to him and that electrifying smile that’s probably on his face right now.

These fucking people always want to come, they always want to party, but when they get here they want to fucking ruin it by screaming. It doesn't work that way. They need to make up their fucking minds. They either want to party or they don't. There is no in-between. They don't get to decide in the middle of it that they're not into it anymore. What the fuck do they think this is?

I had to get out of that room. His fucking screaming was driving me crazy. Tying him up had been the easy part because he at least then he was unconscious. I didn't even mind waiting for him to come to; at least he was quiet. Even though I do wish he had woken up sooner. While Ivar was gone we could've had a conversation or maybe had a smoke together. But the kid just wanted to sleep. He was so fucking boring.

I just sat next to the table that he was tied up to watching his chest rise and fall and the blood slowly dripping from nose. I played with his hair, too. It’s beautiful – so thick and wavy, and it smells amazing. I wish my hair felt like his. I have to remember to take some of it. I think on the days that hunger starts to get to me, if I can rub his hair and sniff it, I might be able to hold it off a bit longer.

My eyes travel from the puddle on the floor up to the leaky pipe on the wall. I wonder how long the water has been dripping.

Apparently, it’s been long enough tp slowly start eating the concrete away. Why don’t people take care of their buildings? They spend so much money to construct them and then companies pay so much money to rent them. You’d think someone would take care of these places, but instead, they just leave them to go to shit. The city needs to do something about this. I guess this place one time housed tires because it still smells like rubber and there are still some carotid hubcaps piled in the corner.

I wonder why it closed. The building itself is still structurally sound, besides the fact that there are no lights and there's a bunch of rusty metal in here, it's not that bad. A perfectly good building being left to ruin, where any sick perverted fuck could do God knows what to someone in. The world is a sick fucking place.

"Hvitserk?" I don't want to go back to that room. That fucking guy is still screaming. I mean after a while I would think he'd learn that Ivar doesn't care that he's hurting him. I mean, aren’t your senses supposed to shut off or dull after a while or something? Isn't that what makes some people pass out from pain? The cheese grater can't hurt that bad if he's still conscious and alert enough to scream about it.

I don't like really blood and I know he's leaking a shit ton of it right now. Of course, this would be the time that Ivar decides that I get him, once he's already extra bloody. Blood is really, really red and it’s hard to wash out. Plus, I swear, I always smell it on my hands for days no matter how many showers I take. "Can you shut him up?" I step into the room and no matter how much he's bleeding and looks warn out, my dick is still rock hard.

Ivar nods and in one quick motion, he punctures the boy's jugular with the corkscrew he pulls from his bag. He doesn't push into his neck deep enough to kill him right away, but it's deep enough to start the blood flowing. The gurgling doesn't bother me, it's the fucking wheezing I can't deal with. I think Ivar sees the irritation on my face because he frowns. "He's ready for you, brother."

I notice how the pumping blood from his neck collects with his blood that had already pooled on the floor. There’s so much red. Still, my approach to him is swift because I want him to still be warm and to see my face and notice me before he dies.

I think I like them best that way. I love it when they're still alive because they really get into it. The way they kick their legs, scratch, and bite…I know they're enjoying it as much as I am – but not when they still make noise.

This way, the way Ivar just did it, they're quiet and their eyes look right at me. They can actively participate and give me the silence that I need to concentrate on. Plus, I'm the last thing they see before they die and once they're dead, I can do whatever I want. It’s so beautiful. So intimate.

This silent friend is the gift my little brother gave to me. He loves me so much. He’s always looking out for me. I am going to make him so proud.

And this one...this guy is exceptionally beautiful. The look of sheer terror on his face gets me so hard that all I can do is push into him without noticing his blood smearing on my thighs. His eyes are growing gray and cloudy but he still knows what I'm doing and that I’m the one doing it to him. "Please?" I hear his faint whisper and it makes something in me grow warm. I fist his hair and slam his head back on the table. I keep doing it until he shuts up.

Ivar's laughing in the background. This is the part he loves the most. He loves to watch me fuck them. I can hear him grunting behind me and when I turn to look at him, he's pumping his cock in his hand. Watching him get himself off, and the feeling of this twink around me...this is bliss. I will never understand why Ivar doesn't want to try this. "Fuck him hard," his voice is a harsh growl as his hand pumps harder. His voice feels like fingertips grabbing my shoulders forcing me deeper and deeper.

The blonde's eyes are completely lifeless now. They're staring straight at me and for some reason, I can't stop laughing. He's so fucking tight. I know I have to finish soon before his muscles stop contracting. If he shits on my dick I swear I will cut his ass up into little pieces.

There it is. The moment I've been waiting for. That final gasp of air - his realization that he's dead... that's the money shot. I don't think I can stop cumming. I hear a growl that sounds almost desperate and I can only assume it's from me. I toss the table over with the blonde still attached to it. I don't need to look at him anymore. I got what I needed. My blood is finally settled.

Ivar's hand on my shoulder is what makes me realize I'm panting and I have to wipe the spittle off my chin. “You have fun?” He asks, as he moves my sweat-soaked hair off my face and tucks the strands behind my ear.

I can’t talk yet. I have still need to catch my breath. All I can do is rest my forehead against his and feel his love for me as I try to transfer my love for him back that way. Ivar holds my face in his hands and kisses my nose, before he pulls away and looks around the room.

As I fasten my pants think about how it’s time to clean up, only I don't feel like doing it now. I want to go home and crawl into bed. I'm exhausted. It's been a long night. Ivar must know how I'm feeling because he doesn't say anything to me like he normally does. Instead, he pours gasoline on the floor and table and points to the lighter in my pocket with a smile.

Once I light the blood-soaked dirty blonde locks on the dead man lying there, I look back at Ivar pouring two plastic cups of wine from his bag. He hands me a cup and we toast. "You ready to go?"

I love the way the fumes look while sipping on my drink. Everything looks wavy and there's a hint of blue and yellow dancing in the air. The smell is heavenly and it reminds me that we haven't had dinner. "Yeah. Can we stop by Burger King?"

Sated, full, and now showered, I lay on my bed and close my eyes. I had so much fun tonight and I know I will sleep peacefully. I look over at my cell phone lighting up on the night table and smile. "Hey, Thora.” Just hearing her voice and knowing that she's alright is the perfect ending to a perfect day.

Ivar's happy. I feel normal again. Thora's safe.

Life is good.

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