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Fragility	By : mao Category: S through Z > Velvet Goldmine Views: 1864 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Velvet Goldmine, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Fragility
- 1
Title: Fragility
Author: mao
Disclaimer: Velvet Goldmine belongs to Michael Stipe, Todd Haynes,
and a lot of other people, most notably not me. I'm just a poor
teenager not trying to make any money from this, and if you sue me,
all you'll get is some soda bottles.
Author's Notes: Written after re-reading WolfHawk's most amazing
"Dark Glass." This isn't not as good, but it's just a brief
introspective piece on sex and love and how things get far too
over-enmeshed sometimes.
Warnings: Crude, and quite likely highly offensive. Incest, m/m
slash, sexual activities, and drug use.
***

If you close your eyes, you can feel his hands on your hips,
guiding himself into you, pump after pump. His hands are gentle, and
even though he's ripping you into two, you could allow this to go on
forever and a day, if he'd just keep his hands on you, and just keep
murmuring gently into your ear. You can feel yourself getting close
and closer to your climax, feel his body shuddering above you, and
you know you're coming to come, know it's going to be better than
ever &endash;
So you keep them open. You keep your eyes open so that you wt
st
see what's still inside you after all this time. Even with your eyes
closed, you're never sure which one he is &endash; he could be Brian,
with his soft lips and twisted smirk, or he could be your brother,
with a glint in his eyes that wasn't quite sane.
It doesn't matter though &endash; they were disturbingly similar
in bed. They'd keep their lips hot on your shoulder, drop wet kisses
on your earlobe, run their hands over your cock and tease you into a
state of frenzied pleasure, all the while pumping their whole length
into you, hard, forcing into you to a pleasing pain that would bring
you to orgasm even as you wanted them to stop.
There's only ever been these two men in your life. Your brother�it
was love. Maybe not the right kind of love &endash; maybe it was
wrong and confusing, but it was the right thing for you, wasn't
it? Even if the first night your brother climbed into your bed,
whispering, "Shh, Curt, shh," as he slipped his hand into the bottom
of your pajamas, you always knew he loved you and never really meant
to hurt you.
It was the same with Brian. Even when he was coked out of his
head, screaming at you in a bloody rage, his hands betrayed him. Like
your brother, his hands were gentle, despite the rage the rest of his
body would display even when you would tell him, over and over how
you loved him.
"But I love you," 'd s'd say to both of them. Your brother would
laugh, his mouth open, the braying sound ringing out across your
otherwise quiet room. And Brian, he would give you a look that made
you wilt &endash; a look that said, "You don't know what love is."
Sometimes your brother would kick you, would beat you &endash; but
never with his hands. He took a baseball bat once, and knocked you
over the head with it, didn't he
You remember.
And Brian &endash; once he kicked you out of the bed and proceeded
to kick you, hard in the balls, the stomach, the knees &endash;
whatever he could get. Neither of them would ever admit with words
that they loved you &endash; but you knew.
You still know.
No matter what they'd say to you, or how they'd kick you or beat
you, you could feel the love in the gentleness of their hands, in the
way they'd use their fingers to play melodies over your naked body.
whe when you would suck your brother off and he'd knot his
fingers &endash; long, angelic, artistic fingers, fingers any woman
would kill to have inside of her &endash; into your hair, and thrust
himself roughly into your mouth until you thought you'd choke
&endash; even then, he never hurt you. Not with his fingers or his
hands. And after a while you lost your gag reflex, and even learned
to enjoy it, to take pleasure in the taste of his dick on your
tongue.
As for Brian�he likes to squeeze. He'll be inside you, his long,
muscular legs wrapped around your waist, thrusting hard, and he'll
lower his hand, wrapping you in it. He'll stroke gently, making a
tunnel of his palm and fingers and then, if he thinks you're ready to
come before he is &endash; he'll squeeze.
The first time he did it you yelped in surprise and a sudden
horror. And then, suddenly, there was that rush of gentleness again;
the joy of him inside you, of him on you, of his hand of your cock
filled you up, and you found yourself grinning in the simplicity of
it all.

If you ever stopped to think about it, the truth would become
painfully clear to you &endash; as painfully clear as it became when
your brother caught no blame for you sucking him off, as clear as
Brian's harsh words made you realize that all you were really,
honestly, and forever &endash; was a junkie and fairy, alone in the
world.
And the truth is this: you liked it when they hurt you, didn't
you? You treasured the gentility in their fingers and their hands,
but you liked it more when they ripped you in half, tearing your
innocence like paper and toying with your fragility.
And when you close your eyes, you remember why you miss it.
- 1
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Fragility