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we built a bedsheet circus

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Jeremiah was on the brink of sleep- or at least he had been, but with each agonising moment that passed it was beginning to seem less and less likely. He blinked miserably as a stray droplet of water dripped onto his face from the window set high in the wall above their bed- broken, thanks to his absolute menace of a brother who couldn't allow them a single nicety without ruining it- and limply dragged his hand down the damp side of his cheek where it'd slid down. Tugging the threadbare blanket over his head, he clenched his eyes shut once more, straining to hear the whispers of wind through the ongoing storm outside in an effort to distract himself. Pretending he didn't feel Jerome's arms around his waist pulling him close so he wouldn't have to make a fuss about it, and tried to ignore the thumps and stray moans in a way the paper thin walls wouldn't allow. All considered, Jerome's heat sinking into his back and deceptively hard body weighing him down were far from the worst of this sleepless night, more comforting than he'd ever care to admit. Not that he'd ever put words to the truly awful thoughts that would sometimes-often- flicker through his mind in the most inopportune times anyhow, not by his own admission. No one would ever have to know, but it gave him little comfort anyhow.

His body began to unwind minutely and relax and he could allow himself to settle into the lump filled mattress the best he could, though after the day he'd had it was better than nothing- more than some had after all. If there was one thing to be said about him, he wasn't spoiled, the exact opposite in fact. He was grateful for what he had, after all some in the circus had to make do with nothing at all, no one to care as their mother did- she didn't she didn't care the miserable whore-

Behind him Jerome shifted, snuffling at the back of his neck; and Jeremiah instinctively stilled, body tense and unease prickling his skin as he prayed to whatever entity may be out there that Jerome would stay asleep. Great, great this was exactly what he needed. It wasn't enough that he'd had a long, strenuous day- cleaning and shoveling until his back ached and blisters formed on his hands, unused to such manual labour. No, he had to deal with his borderline psychotic brother as well; whom he had taken great pains to avoid all day after waking to find him gone from their bed- the bed they wouldn't have if Jerome hadn't drug it back here after one of those uppity trapeze artists turned up missing- early this morning and had taken it as a sign that it would be a good day. Any day that didn't involve Jerome throwing handfuls of mud or vomit caked sawdust at him when his back was turned- soiling his one sweater that wasn't stained, threadbare, or both-, or being forced to endure his constant obnoxious flirting with whatever floozy from the local town was hanging around, was a good one really.

He yelped helplessly as Jerome caught him by surprise, hand clamping down around his wrist like a vice- sure to leave a mark, his mind supplied feverishly- and sending his heart beating furiously against his chest like it meant to escape; leave a trail of blood and torn away tissue, going cold and still as it gave out if only to get away from Jerome's violent touch. Lost in his own troubled thoughts, he had somehow missed Jerome stirring awake behind him but now he had no choice but to be.

"Why 're you still awake?" He grumped, words thick with sleep and laced with irritation. "I can hear you thinking 'Miah." The rise and fall of Jerome's solid chest against his back hitched with his breath and he was silent, and Jerome had never been silent a day in their lives. In the silence he could hear of how the thumps and moans from their mother's room were reaching their climax, growing louder and louder, and with it he grew dismayingly aware of Jerome's motives; growing stiffer as he felt Jerome growing hard against him.

Jerome nosed at the back of his neck, almost gentle in the way he ducked his head down and nipped at the junction where his shoulder and neck met. He couldn't suppress the tremors it sent through his body and he could feel Jerome smiling into his neck; Jerome was never gentle with him, and he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. It almost startled him how badly he wanted to believe it, give into it- but those were disgusting, sick thoughts that no one could ever know. Jerome was a perverted freak after all. There'd never been anyone to teach him how to be a normal human being. Jeremiah shivered involuntarily and shut his eyes, his breathing quickening into shallow little huffs as Jerome's hand slid down down down from his hip to cup Jeremiah's dick and squeeze him roughly through his threadbare sweatpants that left nothing to the imagination.

"J-Jerome, we shouldn-" Jeremiah swallowed hard, growing harder- staring steadily at the cigarette smoke yellowed wall in front of him like it might remove him from this situation; their mother within hearing distance.

"Hush, 'Miah, 'm thinking." It was never a good thing when Jerome set his mind to something and this was no exception. put on mom's makeup 'Miah it'll be a blast! just cut the fucking thing up, don't be a big baby. open your mouth. love you little bro. A droplet of rain water fell, Jeremiah blinked and sighed.

Jerome's hand clenched and unclenched on his hip, nails biting, digging into his flesh through his sweatpants. Jerome shifted behind him and hated himself a little bit for how his heart jumped in his chest at the way Jerome's hard on pressed against his ass, firm. He could feel Jerome's brow against the nape of his neck and by the way it raised as Jerome evidently came to his decision, he knew what it'd be. The only one it'd ever been. "We're gonna have some fun you and me, 'Miah." Jerome murmured, breath tickling the back of his neck as he giggled and began to make movements to tug down Jeremiah's pants.

"Jerome," Jeremiah hissed, squinting in the dim over his shoulder into Jerome's smug, grinning face- god, he wanted to punch him- and shoving futilely at Jerome's arm. "Stop it, hey!"

Jerome pinched him once twice three times, snickering, and went back to undoing Jeremiah's pants.

 "Ow! Quit it! You're being childish!"

"Takes one to know one." 

"That is so-"Jerome spat on his fingers and unceremoniously shoved two inside of Jeremiah, catching on his rim. It burned; he let out a little whine, long and drawn out; but nothing compared to what it would be if Jerome had his way.

"Stop." Jeremiah whined pitifully, playing it up the best he could; for his own sake. Jerome couldn't be quiet to save his own life, and he definitely couldn't put his own in Jerome's grimy hands to wring and abuse. He couldn't have anyone thinking he enjoyed being molested by his despicable, disturbed brother. He thinks he might crawl a hole and die if anyone knew- maybe kill Jerome first. Murder-Suicide always did have a nice ring to it.

"Do you really want me to stop?" Jerome taunted, so irritatingly smug and confident in the same breath. Jeremiah resolved to stay silent, his cheeks burning, choking on anything he could ever think up in response. "That's what I thought. Now be a good boy for me and-" Jerome grabbed his thigh with a firm grip and pulled it over his own, crossing Jeremiah's ankle over his and providing him better access. "There we go." His fingers scissored open suddenly and he thinks about screaming; what Jerome would do if he did; how his mother would come running and reel back, shrieking like a banshee and waking the whole circus at how Jerome was defiling her precious son-like she didn't want to do so herself, he'd seen the way she looked at him, caressed him when she'd had a little too much to drink-  and he thought he might if not for the fact it'd only draw the ire on himself as well. Mother never liked to be interrupted when she was with her latest suitor.

Jerome fisted his free hand in Jeremiah's hair, fingers tightening in the red strands dark with the oil he used to slick it back, and yanked his head back. "Ah ah ah, all eyes on me, 'Miah. Figuratively, of course. Wouldn't want to snap that pretty neck of yours quite yet."

"I should tell on you, mom would kill you! She'd- she'd- have you locked away like the rapid dog you are." Jeremiah snarled, spittle flying from his mouth, but it came out shriller than he'd like. He struggled against Jerome's hold on him.

Behind him Jerome growled, right into his ear, his hand tightening in Jeremiah's hair enough to draw an involuntary whimper out of him before he can swallow the pain down. His voice came out low- lower than he thought a loud mouthed maniac like Jerome could ever be- and irritable, evidently cross with Jeremiah for derailing his fun. "Who cares what the bitch thinks?" and punctuated it with a particularly rough twist of his fingers that dragged hard against his prostate and dragged a pained moan from him. 

He yanked them out inattentively, wiping them on Jeremiah's upper thigh and he couldn't help but flinch at the wetness that is left on his skin, the way it dried down sticky. He tensed in a mix of dread and anticipation, already feeling the ghost echoes of pain through his body; just knowing that the prep had been little more than perfunctory- not long enough, not nearly long enough. It'd hurt worse than usual, but to his chagrin it only fueled the fire in his gut, overheating, his face hot to the touch from it. 

Their bedsprings squeaked in protest as Jerome lifted his hips and pulls his boxers down, unable to see- not wanting to see, he didn't didn't did- but able to identify the rustling from memory, from every other time this had happened. His breath hitched as Jerome's hand slipped underneath him and latched onto his hip, dragging him back until he could feel Jerome against his cheeks. Jerome nipped at his shoulder playfully, grinning against it as he murmured, "Show time bro." Jerome readjusted Jeremiah's leg above his one last time, before he spat in his hand and Jeremiah could hear the sticky slick sound of him rubbing it onto his cock. How thoughtful, Jeremiah mused bitterly, and went tense as Jerome released his hair in favour of latching onto his hip with biting nails.

He froze like a deer in headlights as Jerome pressed between his cheeks and began to lead himself inside of Jeremiah. At first, nothing happened, except the tingling trailing down his spine at the feel of Jerome's cock rubbing against him and the lump in his throat, and he could hear Jerome muttering to himself behind him, only the odd word or two," C'mon, c'mon." Then, after one forceful push, he began to sink in, one inch two- and his thoughts shattered in a billions shards, embedded in his skin like shrapnel and leaking out his innermost thoughts for anyone to see- for Jerome to see. It burned and ached terribly, with little less than spit easing the way- it'd never been the best lubrication even with adequate prep- the stretch hurts worse than usual and he's abruptly sure that it's purposeful. Knowing Jerome- and as much as he hated to admit it he did- it was more than likely and his animosity grew with each painful nudge of Jerome's hips, with every painful, humiliating act Jerome put him through. It had him clutching the pillow his face is shoved into for any type of support, whining into it; but too stubborn to say anything, knowing that's just what Jerome wants. To revel in his pain, bathe in it and provide it in spades. He'd been through this a hundred times over.

Jerome snapped his hips forward, with a complete disregard to Jeremiah- always always- and a noise of utter discomfort escaped from his lips. Jerome laughed, low and lecherous and curling around them like it meant to suffocate him. He'd only be so lucky. The pain has receeded, just a bit, but the humiliation of the act remains and as Jerome snapped his hips forward again, a startled moan is drawn out of him, louder than before to his immediate dismay. It pulled and tugged, catches and it hurt- but he could still feel it in his gut, pleasure twinging with the slightest hint of pain, sparking through his nerve ends.

Jerome tsked condescendingly, his breathing picking up as he moved in closer near Jeremiah's ear and clapped his disgusting, sweaty palm over Jeremiah's mouth." Can't have that now can we? You know I just love the noises you make when you're being a slut but we can't have anyone hearing now can we? After all- what would your mommy dearest think if she knew you were getting fucked by your dear old brother."

Jeremiah bit at the fleshiest part of Jerome's hand, indignant and more than a little humiliated, but only managed in scraping his teeth along his filthy palm. He can't even imagine the diseases he could get just from this kind of contact, he shuddered bodily. What right did that awful, moronic- He yelped into Jerome's palm as Jerome smacked his ass, he could still feel it, the burning imprint of Jerome's hand on his skin. "Ah ah, bad boy." Jeremiah growled in frustration, half muffled by Jerome's hand; and reached back, tugging roughly on Jerome's shock of red hair eliciting a hiss from his degenerate mouth.

In turn Jerome dug his fingers into the thin skin around Jeremiah's mouth, a dull searing pain that he could feel even as Jerome let up, the imprints of Jerome's fingers nagging at his skin like a buzz he just couldn't get rid of. His hand slid down, callouses catching on his silk soft skin as his fingers wrapped around Jeremiah's throat and squeezed none too gently, enclosing like a vice and cutting him off mid breath. He tried to inhale and failed, panic filling his chest instead as he smacked and clawed against Jerome's hand, his head swimming and his vision blinks in and out like faulty christmas lights- just like the ones he decorates decorates decorates their room with every year-

His grip on Jeremiah's throat loosened, but he'd almost prefer it to the punishing pace Jerome set, his entire body jolting with every thrust. It's unforgiving, self damning; the smack of flesh on flesh that tells all, tells what they do in the dark when they should be sleeping like good boys. But they weren't good boys, and it might be narcissistic of him (god complex up to here, Jerome laughs inside his head) but nothing- not even the snuff films and fascinating displays of gore he'd carefully collected and hidden away- could ever get him off like his mirror image. Staring into a face so like his own, but not; and the hot, sick touch of his brother's hand biting into the soft malleable flesh of his thigh as he selfishly chased his own release. It had him biting his lip in anticipation; disgust; and scrunching his eyes closed like he might get lost in the feel.

"Quiet, 'Miah." Jerome chided, voice sticky sweet, his breath warm against the back of Jeremiah's neck. "Or do you want to get caught?"

If his face hadn't already been flushed, it'd surely have been rose red by now. In the excitement, he'd forgotten who they were; and who was within listening distance.

Jerome laughed delightedly, so close it feels like his eardrum might burst, and his irritation grew with it. "You do, don't you? You want everyone to know you're my cockslut."

His words are almost counteracted by the hand Jerome wraps around his cock, drawing a surprised grunt from deep in his chest, the dual sensation with the unyielding force of Jerome's hips as he fucked into Jeremiah so surely he could feel his oncoming orgasm in his teeth, like he lit the end of a leadline to an unexploded bomb just waiting to go off. His toes curled and a cacophony of little whimpers and progressingly louder and louder moans escaping as the pressure builds and builds, the pleasure from Jerome's hand on his cock almost sweet, the way his thumb rubbed over the tip he's almost sobbing with it. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to focus on the pleasure; and Jerome's voice in his ear, gleefully urging him on, and with one last whimper he came all over Jerome's hand in short bursts.

He laid in a post orgasmic daze, sweat dripping down his body and face and cooling, and he barely paid Jerome any mind- which was the worst thing anyone could ever do when it came to Jerome- so he doesn't see it coming when Jerome shoved his disgusting, come soaked fingers into Jeremiah's mouth. He coughed and choked, the bitter taste filling his mouth and Jerome's fingers nearly in his throat, thrusting a little like some crude imitation of sex.

"Yeah, that's right."

Jerome flicked Jeremiah's hard nipples with his other hand, drawing a whine out of him, as he tried to futilely shove Jerome's hands away from his increasingly sensitive body. It came as something of a godsend when Jerome's hips finally stuttered and he came with a grunt; though he hated the feeling, how empty he felt when Jerome pulled out of him and his come began to drip out onto their sheets. It's quiet, now, and he can hear their snores in the other room, somehow having slept through the show. His stomach sunk a little bit, and he pulled the blankets up, covering his still nude, aching body. He's not prepared for it when Jerome wrapped his arm around his waist and pulled him close, nuzzling the back of his neck and humming happily, like he'd gotten everything he'd ever wanted.

Jerome giggled quietly in his hair, arm tightening around Jeremiah's waist."Night, 'Miah. Love ya."

Jeremiah blinked in a haze at the wall in front of him and closed his eyes, allowing himself to bask in the warmth for once. "Night."