No More Happy Birthdays

BY : Bloodylocks
Category: G through L > House of Wax
Dragon prints: 2606
Disclaimer: I do not own House of Wax, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Author's Notes: Hello once again to another of my strange angst ridden stories where everyone just hates life. Should be a typical enough theme for the Sinclair brothers. Read, review, and so on...

Part One

Bo turned twenty-one today. So did Vincent. But sometimes Bo found himself wondering if his brother could even count.
Stupid fuck…
No cake specially made by Mom was presented this year. No pink and yellow streamers hung from the kitchen. No presents sat upon the dining table, ready to be unwrapped and enjoyed.
Bo Sinclair took another long swig from the large, green bottle of gin he had sat down with over an hour ago. Already the vessel was half empty. Rubbing his now numb face with one hand, he glanced at the kitchen table again, which was in clear sight from his seat on the living room couch. He had been wrong by one little detail. One present sat plainly on the faded yellow tablecloth, a cranberry red box against vomit-gold.
Stupid fuck…
Bo stood up and traveled on wobbly legs to the crudely wrapped box which flickered out of focus in his glazed, bloodshot eyes. His frown deepened into a nearly hateful glare when he picked up the pointless object. Barely wanting to know what lay within, he threw the box aside and the crack it made against the wall rang in his ears. Head throbbing and hands itching to destroy something else, he left the room.
No cake, no streamers, no celebration… and NO presents. Such idiotic sentimentalities had been gone ever since Bo and his brother found out about Mom. Why Mom had to stay in bed… why Dad was always so sad… that was when the birthdays ended.
And good riddance. Vincent was always the favorite, especially during his and Bo’s birthdays. Goddamn cock of the walk, wasn’t he? Ignoring the splashes of liquor being tossed from its bottle, Bo whipped the cellar door open and stumbled down the stairs.
“VINCENT!”
At the sound of Bo’s voice, Vincent Sinclair’s body jolted as though hit by lightning and he hurried to make sure he was not caught. Should his brother find out what he had been doing, he would get a belt against his backside to the point of breaking skin. Or possibly even worse. His steps quick and light, the man made a dash for one of his sculptures, fingers clumsy as they tried to pick up a tool.
The sound of his brother’s gait and the tone of his shouts were now familiar to Vincent. Bo had been nursing on that disgusting drink again like a starving pup. Vincent could remember a time at the age of twelve when Bo had swiped some alcohol and made his brother try it. It had tasted awful, and the young man hated the way it made him feel. More so, he hated what it did to Bo. When his brother drank, the gin made his words worse, his voice louder and his fists harder.
“Where are you, you dumb mule-fuck!”
Hand diving under the rough denim layer of his overalls, he rushed to finish what he had started and tried desperately to look busy at the figure of the man he was carving. This one had been quite a challenge to catch, but a source of entertainment nonetheless for both brothers. Though appearing to be in his late forties, the wily bastard was in excellent shape. He had even put up a struggle when Vincent had drugged him and proceeded in preparing the fit, remarkably curving body. He would make a very beautiful sculpture, more so than the girls he had carved and painted.
Damn it, why couldn’t he make it stop?? He had to before—
“GODDAMN IT!”
Too late. The door to the basement banged open and Bo sauntered in like a rabid dog too sick to know where it was headed. Vincent flinched and the next cut his carving tool made dove deeply into the wax, reaching once living flesh and ruining the previously perfect smooth surface of the figure. Vincent yelped in shock at what he had done to his perfect statue of a man. He had ruined him! Thoughts of repairing it were overshadowed by the mere concept of making such an ugly mistake. He had not slipped up on one of his sculptures in years… Lord knew how long it had been.
His stunned reverie was broken when he felt rough hands turn him violently around. Vincent’s remaining eye stared in fear through his wax mask, and he could practically feel those two orbs of blue fire glaring into him, as though Bo was attempting to will his own twin brother’s head to explode.
“There you are…” the intoxicated man slurred. “What was that upstairs, you freak?” When his brother did not make any sort of response, Bo slapped him. The wax exterior covering Vincent’s deformity caved in under the blow, causing the false visage to look permanently beaten in.
“WHAT WAS IT, HUH?” Bo gritted his teeth within the relentless influence of his inebriated state. “I told you… I told you too many times… WE AIN’T GONNA CELIBRATE NO FUCKIN’ BIRTHDAYS!! You understand me? DO YOU?!”
Vincent nodded, biting his lip underneath the damaged mask.
“You remember why? Do ya??” Another slap. Vincent seemed ready to sink into his own clothes. “Yeah, that’s right…” Bo sneered. “They’re bad. Real bad, ‘cause I said so… d’you like that Mom and Dad treated you so well? HUH? What ‘bout your brother, huh?? Where’s his Happy Birthday??”
Vincent only cowered and shook his head. Bo’s grip on his brother’s shoulders tightened. His speech was near the point of primitive now.
“I’ gonna have ‘word with”—
Bo was silenced when the close proximity of his and Vincent’s bodies caused something to poke at his stomach. His gaze drifted downward and when it did, the elder twin noticed something very strange. Ashamed of his accidental display, Vincent removed his hand from his clothing.
“What’n th’ FUCK… you got a fuckin’ hard-on…” Bo mumbled. He almost sounded as though he were talking to himself. “WHAT THE FUCK?? What have you been doing down here, boy?”
Vincent hid himself behind his hands, although he was presently wearing his mask. He did not want to be seen at all now. He just wanted to be invisible when his brother had drank and gotten angry such as now.
“You in love with somebody down ‘ere? You got a lil’ wax bitch stowed away? ” Bo said in a mocking laugh as he pulled at his humiliated brother’s overalls to get a better look at the erection. Vincent only yelped again and backed away from the other man, putting his hands up in submission. It was not long before he accidentally collided with the newest sculpture. Watching as his brother barked out in dismay and clung to the form in order to save it, Bo’s gin soaked brain slowly realized as he looked around the cramped room that this was the only wax figure currently in the cellar. Blinking slowly and allowing his eyes to focus, he stared at the way Vincent clung to the unfinished statue, like a child holding on for dear life against a raging tide. Though his vision still blurred at times, he could make out the careful attention to the male figure’s muscles, to the detail between its legs that Bo had never seen before on one of his twin’s male statues, and the way that one of this older victim’s arms had bent downward, fingers posed but relaxed, reaching for what may have been a half hardened phallus.
Vincent began to crawl on all fours behind the statue, as though it might grant him protection, but even he knew it would do him no good. Right now he was only a child to Bo, a child who needed to be punished.
Bo was suddenly moving like a fired shotgun. His arm thrashed in front of him and the beautiful older man’s waxy cocoon shattered on impact, shards of red and white scattering on the ground with flesh that had not quite stilled with rigor mortis. To Vincent, the statue died as it hit the ground with a crunching thud, the limbs twisting and oozing with blood both artificial and genuine. Its creator had no time to mourn the loss, for Vincent’s brother was instantly upon him, lifting by the arms and throwing him against the wall, repeating the action before the frightened twin could even react.
Vincent’s head was spinning as he tried to crawl away. Sometimes he curled up in a ball and allowed the punishments to happen, if only to get it over with, but today he was truly afraid. He saw something in his twin’s blazing eyes that he had never seen before. Fury, of course, but now also… shock? Fear?
“What the fuck, y’little cunt?!” Bo exclaimed, readying his fist. Vincent shielded himself, but his arms were pulled away. The strike to his face made his vision blacken for a moment, and when it returned, his eyesight was filled with an ominous multi-limbed silhouette that was the palm and outstretched fingers of his brother’s hand. Bo grasped the mask hard and ripped it completely from Vincent’s face with only one vicious wrench.
Vincent cried out at the prospect of losing the only face that he could accept. He instantly held his trembling hands against the lifeless crater that would never be the right side of his visage, but his hands were once more pulled away, and the disfigured man was yanked upward by his wrists until he could be forced to stand. Hardly able to speak out a protest, he wailed until he was rewarded with a hit to the deformed part of his face. Thus, he went willingly by his brother’s lead to a mirror hanging against a wall, his hair entwined in Bo’s fingers. He flinched at the sight of his reflection when his head was shoved into the glass.
“See that? You LIKE THAT?” Bo growled. “Brother or not, you’re a fuckin’ freak! And I ain’t havin’ a goddamn freak brother who’s a fuckin’ faggot too!”
Face burning with shame, Vincent let out a sob and his fists hit the wall. Bo hardly found it an impressive rebuke and he threw his brother aside, the alcohol in his brain muffling any sort of concern he felt at the sight of the man’s body landing hard against a chair. Vincent only let out a strangled groan and tried to assume a fetal position on the floor, but a heavy boot turned him on his back, pinning him down by the neck like a caught rabbit ready to be beheaded.
“I promised mom I’d take care o’you and I did…” Bo snarled, spit flying and face turning red. “… and this is how you thank it all… I didn’ protect my brother and feed ‘im for all these years just t’have him grow up to be a fuckin’ QUEER! I didn’t ask for no faggot-ass fairyland brother!!”
Gargling out a choked moan, with a split lip spraying blood, Vincent clawed at the leg holding him down, and miraculously managed to snag skin under his fingernails. He rolled out from under the hold just as Bo jumped back, stumbling in a gin-ridden stupor and limping. However, just as Bo was slowed by liquor, Vincent was slowed by agony. His back stung like hell from the fall against the chair and his face would doubtlessly be swollen and purple for days. When he received a kick to his ribs, he realized his pain was going to become even worse.
Picking up his gin bottle again as he pinned down the other man on his stomach, Bo guzzled long and hard, letting the drink dribble down his chin and neck, down until it reached his blue jeans. There, at the inseam on his trousers, his clothes began to tighten. Staggering for a moment, the drunken man put down the bottle and subconsciously obeyed the urges which commanded his hands. The jeans were unbuttoned and out sprang the core of his lust.
“You wanna be a faggot so bad…?” he slurred, reaching into his belt and pulling out a large bowie knife. “Y’gotta be ‘nitiated like one.”
Before he could defy his brother, Vincent felt the tense snap of both shoulder straps on his overalls being severed. For some strange reason, he was inspired to scream, but he was slapped in the back of the head for his troubles. And so he whimpered, tears and snot dripping from his face, spit hitting the floor, and his fingers tensing against the floor until the knuckles were white. In no time, his overalls and underwear were cut down the middle and shredded from his body.
“Still got a boner, hunnhh?” Bo asked, giggling. He swiftly reached between his twin’s parted thighs and grabbed the still partially stiff member, delighting in the shriek he got.
“Yeah, bet y’like this, ya cocksucker…”
Vincent only sobbed, his misshapen face pressed hard into the dirty floor.
“I fuckin’ knew it… now spread out there, boy…” the brother above him demanded, forceful fingers pulling at the halves of Vincent’s backside apart as though forcing ribs apart on a carcass. “Spread out, there… yer gonna learn yer lesson.”
What must have been merely ten minutes felt like ten hours to Vincent. He had nothing to hold onto, to keep him in place and focus his concentration; and so he could only lay there and have his body shoved about on the floor, with nothing to pay attention to but the agony which ripped through him. He felt as though he were being torn up the middle, starting from his bottom. All the while, he could hear words of sick, cruel encouragement from Bo, telling him what a good bitch he was.
What had he done wrong? All he did was love his beautiful new sculpture, and now he was receiving what he knew must have been the worst punishment he could have experienced in his life. All because of a fucking hard cock… he couldn’t help it. The thought of his earlier erection sickened him now, as that of his brother finally slipped painfully out of him, leaving behind a sticky, constant trickle of body fluids. He could not see the mess that his anus had become, but he did not need to. The color of Bo’s hands was horrible enough to look at.
Spittle dangling from the nauseating grin on his face, Bo mumbled out a few more sweetened words of congratulation, as though praising an obedient dog, and he finally wiped the mess on his hands against the deformed hollow that was Vincent’s face. Struggling to dress himself again, the drunken man stood up, muttering, “Happy Birthday” repeatedly as he picked up the gin bottle and wandered back up the stairs.
Vincent finally moved from his prone position on the floor, his limbs shaking, and he resumed the position he always took after each punishment. Curled up as though he was again a sleeping infant like in years past, he wept, face in his hands, wondering why he deserved so much anguish.
Because he was a freak? Yes indeed. Like his brother had said, his brother who was always right and always knew everything. Because he was a freak and a faggot.
Nothing else.

.
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To be continued...


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