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Drowning Together

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Lila fucks him like he's made of porcelain.

She caresses every inch of his skin with feather-light grazes of her fingertips while whispering sickenly sweet words to him, her voice trembling in absolute awe. "My beautiful baby...mommy's such a lucky girl."

She has the decency to cover Jeremiah's eyes with one of her hands when getting him ready, knowing Jeremiah has to pretend she's someone else. Jeremiah wonders if she knows why exactly she can't get him hard otherwise, or if she just assumes it's because she, well, gave birth to him. Not that it doesn't play into the whole ordeal because it does and Jeremiah feels sick to his stomach every time he hears her moan or whisper, being reminded who the wet heat around him belongs to.

Jeremiah wonders if she knows that he's gay. It's something he's been certain of before he even knew what homosexuality is. He's never felt giddy around girls, and even though people make him uncomfortable in general, he always found it odd that not a single girl he laid eyes on ever struck something within him, whereas he always found himself looking at boys more closely, intently.

He remembers the heat rising to his cheeks whenever Brandon, one of the older circus kids that absolutely loved terrorizing Jeremiah (until a certain someone made it very clear just who exclusively is allowed to touch Jeremiah), shoved him aside or cornered him against a wall. His heart would start beating rapidly, not out of fear (he knows how that feels), so it had to be something else.

He never got to explore his feelings for Brandon, but it's not like he ever needed to, not ever since he and Jerome turned thirteen, and it's not like Jeremiah had any doubt to begin with. He's gay.

Not that it would matter.

Lila's hands are running down his sides, the mattress creaking as she shifts to straddle him, the heat of her skin against his almost too much to bear, his stomach twisting into a tight knot. But Jeremiah endures it like he does every time, turning his head away and squeezing his eyes shut. Sometimes he'll cry, the tears hot and silent as they trickle down his temples, soaking his hairline. But other times, like now, he doesn't have the energy to cry.

He's laying there, his hands fisted into the sheets more out of habit than anything else as she lowers herself down, a tiny wince the only reaction she gets out of him. Lila moans, high-pitched and overly enthusiastic, like a teenage girl that's finally managed to entice the quarterback. "Feels so good, baby..!", she breathes out, shaking as she adjusts to the stretch of Jeremiah's cock.

She starts moving, doing all the work like she always does, bouncing up and down on Jeremiah's cock, howling like a bitch in heat. She's overdoing it, her cries of pleasure aren't even remotely warranted considering that Jeremiah does nothing except lay there and wait for her to finish, not even looking her way and biting back every sound he could make. But it's not about the act itself, Jeremiah knows that much.

Lila happens to have knack for attracting abusive men. Jeremiah supposes it's been that way even before Jerome and he were born. He's actually fairly certain, since he regularly hears the slap of skin against skin while she begs, more sob than actual voice, more harder faster please please please coming out of Uncle Zack's trailer.

He used to want to judge her for it but honestly, who is he to judge?

And Zack isn't even the worst candidate, the fact that he's her brother an entirely different story Jeremiah doesn't dare to overthink, given that he's inherited that particular sort of taste from her (it's a bitter, bitter taste and Jeremiah has always loved bitter things). The men Lila drags home are even angrier, crueler brutes to her than Zack is. As fucked up as all of it may be, what the almost ridiculously dysfunctional siblings feel for each other can at least remotely be described as affection.

The men Lila brings home aren't affectionate. They don't want to bring her pleasure. Sometimes they don't even want to bring themselves pleasure. They are frustrated, beaten down, pathetic little men that need to make someone to suffer for their own shortcomings. They'll break Lila down, spit in her face, bruise her, make her cry and scream until her throat is sore enough to accept a cock, the final act of humiliation they need to reach completion.

It's why Lila uses Jeremiah the way she does. It's why Lila treats Jeremiah the way she does when she uses him.

She gets to pretend. She'll whisper love confessions in his ear to pretend he's going to whisper back. She strokes and kisses him to pretend he's going to stroke and kiss her too. Jeremiah thinks she truly believes that he loves her and he can't even bring himself to pity her for it.

Her hand is resting right above his heart while she's rubbing her clit with the other, her movements becoming sloppier but more frantic. "Mommy loves you..!", she croaks as she comes, collapsing on top of him, her skin slick from sweat, her thick black curls falling over Jeremiah's face like a curtain. 

He doesn't move a muscle. He's still hard inside her, silently begging an unknown powerful entity that Jerome won't make a comment about it when he returns to their room.

 


 

Zack fucks him like he's a ragdoll.

Sometimes Jeremiah doubts he even considers him as a person during. He shoves and tugs and pushes Jeremiah where he wants him, his huge hands crushing as they grip at his hips and hold him in place.

Jeremiah can never hold back any sounds when Uncle Zack has his way with him. He'll sob and he'll whimper and sometimes he'll scream, clawing at whatever surface he's being pushed into (it's mostly dirt, sometimes the floor, but never an actual bed). Uncle Zack will either tell him to shut up, cover his mouth with a calloused hand, or encourage him by pounding into him even harder. It depends on his mood.

He's in a very bad mood tonight. Jeremiah is biting into his own hand, tasting copper while his knees scrape over the pebbles beneath him, the pain not nearly enough to distract him from the abuse his backside is receiving.

Jeremiah can't bite back a cry when Uncle Zack yanks at his hair. He's promptly shushed by the same hand immediately letting go and instead clamping over his mouth. "Keep your whore mouth shut", Uncle Zack grits out from behind him, his voice so thick with anger that Jeremiah immediately knows its got to have something to do with Jerome. Only Jerome knows how to really push his buttons. It is a gift, as he once claimed.

Jeremiah used to wonder why Uncle Zack doesn't simply fuck Jerome when he's fed up with him. It would be the logical thing to do (logical in the Valeska/Trumble sense anyway), and as strong as Jerome is due to working around the circus since early childhood, Uncle Zack is still six times his body mass. It would be easy and definitely a more direct way to blow of steam.

It's not that simple, however. Jeremiah discovered that a few years ago. Well, he didn't really discover it per say. Uncle Zack told him.

He doesn't remember much of that night (his subconscious might have successfully blocked it out but if that were the case, Jeremiah's subconscious is either very random or very sloppy). He does remember, however, that Uncle Zack was in a really bad mood back then as well, bad enough that he flipped Jeremiah on his back before plunging into him. Uncle Zack rarely makes Jeremiah look at him but when he does, Jeremiah better not dare to close his eyes. Uncle Zack's hands are very capable and Jeremiah wouldn't want them anywhere near his throat.

He remembers that, out of pure coincidence (Uncle Zack is neither precise, nor considerate enough) Uncle Zack managed to hit his prostate, prompting Jeremiah to give an actual moan, not a cry, not a whimper, but a moan, unconsciously pushing back against Zack's dick to feel that sensation again.

By doing that, he sent a glint to Uncle Zack's eyes, a glint that made his dull, empty gaze look more alive than Jeremiah ever deemed possible. "Atta boy", he grunted, his death grip on Jeremiah's thighs loosening the tiniest bit, "Yer a good lil slut, ain't 'cha? So good, so willing...not gonna defy me anytime soon..."

It was then that it struck Jeremiah why he was the one Uncle Zack fucked, and not Jerome. Jerome would never make it this easy for him. Jerome was defiant to the core, he'd claw and thrash and snarl, never in a million years submitting to their uncle.

But that is what Uncle Zack needs. Submission. He needs it from Lila, and he needs it from Jeremiah.

And Jeremiah gives it to him. Not because he wants to, but because it wouldn't make a difference. He could claw, he could thrash, maybe even try to snarl. But he's not like Jerome. Uncle Zack would just break him down eventually, because in the end, Jeremiah is a coward, and a crybaby, he always has been. It's why he lets Lila fuck him without consequence, and why Uncle Zack puts him where he wants him like it's nothing.

It's repulsive. Jeremiah is repulsive and pathetic and he loathes himself, wishes that one of these days, someone might take pity in his misery and put him out of it, because Jeremiah is even too afraid to take his own life.

Uncle Zack's breath is hot against his ear. Jeremiah feels him tense up before he's filled to the brim, the release of hot seed adding to the throbbing pain of the sensitive membranes inside. 

Jeremiah suddenly realizes, as he's cowering on the cold pebbles, bleeding and dripping and broken, that it's not his own life though, is it? It's not even his own body. He won't get the sweet freedom of death until he's allowed.

And the one person that matters would never allow it.

 


 

Jerome fucks him like an equal.

It may sound contradictory to some, given that getting fucked, being passive as some so charmingly put it (it's an absurd thing to say, Jeremiah can't help but think as he sinks his nails in Jerome's back, raking them down, his legs tightening around Jerome when it causes him to moan. There is nothing passive about this), is perceived as being weak, submissive, inferior. It's not. It's a simple matter of preference.

It's another reason he could never have an orgasm while being inside Lila (and he has to stop thinking about it now or he'll end up a sobbing, shaking mess and neither of them wants to deal with that right now). Jeremiah doesn't get anything out of the feeling of penetrating someone, he can only feel this surging heat pool in his stomach whenever the spot inside him is struck, over and over until he's driven over the edge, his vision exploding from the sheer endless amount of pleasure. 

Jerome knows that. And he acts accordingly without being patronizing.

If anyone else knew, they would call it sick and Jeremiah can't deny that it is. He knows that this is his brother, his twin but he's far over the point of giving a shit.

His own mother fucks him. His uncle fucks him. His entire world is made out of people fucking him. He already wants to claw his own skin off, why shouldn't he be allowed to find at least some form of comfort in the black void that is his life? It's not too much to ask. Not with everything Jeremiah has had to deal with ever since he was born.

And it's because Jerome is his twin that he knows what Jeremiah wants. They've always had a special sense when it comes to each other, and as much as they use that sense to tear at each other's hearts because that's how they were raised (you love someone, you make them miserable like no one else can), they can lift each other higher than the other would deem possible. 

Jerome knows the meaning to every single twitch of flesh, every tiny gasp. And he also knows that what Jeremiah wants is not always what he needs.

Jeremiah whines, desperately bucking his hips when the movement of Jerome's hand stills. He snickers right next to Jeremiah's ear. "If baby bro wants to cum, he's gonna have to ask for it ~", he hisses, making Jeremiah shiver when he runs his tongue over Jeremiah's ear.

Jerome makes him work for what he wants. Jerome teases him and mocks him and leaves room for him to fight, bite, scratch, kick, beg. Jerome knows how to make him cry, Jerome knows how to make him scream, Jerome knows how to make him yearn for more more more more. 

That's why Jeremiah loves Jerome as much as he does. Because Jerome neither treats him like porcelain, nor like a ragdoll.

Jerome treats him right.

That's why Lila doesn't matter. That's why Zack doesn't matter. They try to lift him up and tear him down but the only one who truly knows how to do either of that is Jerome. They think they own his life and body but the one who actually does is Jerome.

And Jerome is the one thing Jeremiah knows belongs to him also. It's why he gets to leave scratch marks on Jerome's back, and bruises on his collar bone, bites on his neck. It's why Jerome hisses in pleasure whenever Jeremiah leaves a claim.

They belong to each other. And if the Valeskas can be reduced to one, single trait, it's possessiveness. It becomes evident when witnessing Lila drop to her knees to suck Zack's dick after he ogled a busty blonde customer, or back when Jerome cut a sobbing Brandon's earlobe off to make him stay away from Jeremiah. They were eleven years old, Brandon was thirteen. 

Jeremiah knows that Jerome isn't remotely as indifferent about Lila and Zack as he pretends to be. It's why this morning, Jeremiah found Lila's favorite coat covered in tiger feces, and last week Uncle Zack's tires got slashed. It's why Jerome defies them to the level that he does. Because they're challenging him, have been challenging him ever since they started using Jeremiah for their urges. 

The twins are seventeen now. Jeremiah knows that the last string is about to snap. And he thinks that maybe, that's enough for him to be able to stop being a coward now. 

He wraps his arms around Jerome's neck and leans up, his lips grazing Jerome's earlobe. "Please", he whispers, "Jerome, please."

They both know what he's asking. It always floats between them, accompanies them like a ghost. Jerome exhales slowly, starting to move his hand again. "Just us", he breathes out and it's like a promise, the signature on a thoroughly discussed contract. Even though they never talked about it. They don't need to.

Jeremiah sobs, only now realizing that he's crying because there is no twist in his stomach, no pain in his chest. He's not sad. He's not miserable. He's not happy either. Jeremiah doesn't think either of them will ever experience what being happy feels like.

But he's at ease. Jerome is the only one who ever makes him feel at ease. "Just us", he replies and when Jerome's lips find his, hungry and demanding, teeth sinking into his bottom lip hard enough to break skin, while he repeatedly strikes his sweet spot, Jeremiah's vision goes white and he comes, arching his back to be as close to Jerome as humanly possible, his hold around Jerome's neck tightening to a point where it must be painful.

Jerome is coming too, breathing out Jeremiah's name before slumping, his weight on top of Jeremiah more grounding than anything else could ever be.

Their limbs tangle together as they breathe each other in. They don't talk, they just feel, fingers trailing down scratch marks, lips grazing over bruises. It feels different this time, Jeremiah thinks, even realer, the heat radiating off of Jerome's skin strong enough to set his heart on fire.

A decision has been made and they both feel it. 

 


 

Nobody is surprised when they find Lila's body on top of that hill.

What shocks them is that they find Zack's body on top of hers, their eyes staring without seeing as blood seeps from the wounds in their heads, their abominable life choices forever embedded in that last shameful embrace.

Only Jerome and Jeremiah know that they never chose this. You can't choose this. You wouldn't choose this.

If it was a choice, Jeremiah wouldn't be biting into his own arm to muffle his cries of pleasure while Jerome is pounding into him from behind, merely two trees away from the discovered corpses. The hatchet is still laying next to them, and Jeremiah feels the sticky warmth of blood from where Jerome is gripping his hips.

They were born into this. And like Lila and Zack, they will die without a chance of redemption, drowning in their own pool of toxic co-dependancy and shame.

Jeremiah finds that he's okay with that. At least they're drowning together.