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You're about 7 when you realize that you're terrified of your Bro. Which is silly, because he's Bro. (You're not sure if... if that was supposed to convince you if the idea was silly or not. But he's Bro all the same, which you guess... can stand alone as a fact if you're not sure about what your own words meant just now). But he's Bro, and it seems really immature that you're-- terrified, spooked, scared -- a bit... weary around him.
Fuck, that sounds extremely lame. He's fed you (when you're good), clothed you (and unclothed you sometimes), and even given you shit like your turntables and a bomb-ass camera, which is sweet (you had to do things for those though. nothing is free in life. that's what Bro says). And sure he's done things like hit you and touch you before, but you know that those things were practically all your fault in the first. place. anyway.
So you just don't know why-- what makes you-- how you can stop-- what you can do to make yourself less terrified of him, you guess.
You run it again through your head; you're not sure why you're afraid of Bro, you're really uneasy around him which is weird because he's usually really good to you when you're good to him and when you do what he wants and-- You just don't know why you're so freaked out about this.
Bro can be a bit weird sometimes, sure, but he's really not that bad!
He's stoic and quiet and only really makes noises or talks to you when he's playing games with you, which kind of makes you want to play with him again and again sometimes. You like his voice even if you're afraid of him, kinda. You like to imagine that's what your voice will be one day: deep, low, smooth.
Bro can also be a bit harsh when you don't listen to him, but you guess that's also ultimately your fault, so you probably aren't afraid of him because of that. Bad boys get punished, and your rotten behavior is obviously all on you.
You think it might be how quiet he is when you're not playing that makes you a bit... cautious. Usually, around the apartment, Bro just sits and watches T.V. or disappears all together. If he's feeling up to it, he may even play his video games. But throughout this all, he doesn't make a sound. He's like a statue, or maybe like one of the puppets he has around the apartment. He just... exists.
You like when he talks. But you also don't like-- you don't know what you like. You don't.
And even if you are a bit weird around Bro, life goes on anyway, and you're not sure of yourself much at all these days, but there is one thing you're certain of as days turn into weeks, months, and a whole new year: you like making Bro proud of you. You like to do a good job when you play-- this year, you've learned that it's more of a game. a recreational activity normal dudes do together --because when you do a good job, he speaks to you and calls you Good and that's better than when he calls you Bad and you like being is good little boy better than being punished.
So you like Bro being satisfied with your job and you like it-- you re a l ly do. And sure it makes your stomach turn and head dizzy and head static-y, but you want to be good. You want to eb goo d you want tos be godo bou good boy very fgood bgoy good dvaey good bory bood ki d not slut not whore, dave dave dave.
He
Says your name when you're good.
-----
You wake up one morning feeling like it's going to be one of Those Days, and you're not sure how you- f e e l -about it yet. But you know that there's no avoiding the inevitable (and inevitable it truly is) so you put on more clothes because you know Bro likes to strip you himself and go to your door to see if he wants to play.
Surely enough, there's a paper taped to it, and on it is a crudely drawn puppet and the words "WANT TO PLAY A GAME?" are scrawled underneath it. You were right. It will be another one of those days, and it'll be fine as long as you're good. You want to be good. On the walk down the hallway and into the livingroom, you feel like you're watching yourself from above, kind of like you're not really in your own body. Which is weird. But this isn't the first time, so it's okay you guess, you can roll with the punches. You can be chill like Bro is.
He's sitting on the couch, impassive, with his legs spread and you instantly know where to go and what to do. On his lap, you straddle him from the front and he peels off your shirt, shimmies your shorts down your thighs. You lift yourself up to help and try to control your breathing. It's chill. It' s fine, this is bro to bro bonding. Th i s will make Bro l ov e y o u. You'll be okay, you'll enjoy it. Just like Bro says so every time, and he's always right. Your dirty body always likes what he does to it.
Your hand goes to his fly like he usually wants you to do, but this time, he grabs your fingers and grabs your wrists, and you know it's going to be a bit different today. Fine. You can. Roll. With it.
"Lil' man, do you want to try something else today? It'll be fun." He asks you, but you know you have no choice anyway, so you nod. Yes. You want to do whatever he does. You always do. It'll be great.
"Alright." He rubs your wrists and, with one hand, plucks your shades from your face. He always does this. Bro knows it makes you feel vulnerable. "I want you to take your boxers off and lay down. Right beside me, yeah, just like that." He strokes your hair and you swear to god you love being good, even if everything else hurts.
You fade out of existence for a while only to be rudely shoved back into your body while Bro is fucking the inside of your thighs. He's too big for you now, but eventually he'll fit inside you. And you're not sure how you feel about that. Man, how long have you been gone from your head, you wonder? You don't even remember getting hard and you don't even remember when you started liking it. But you're both states of being right now while your stomach tightens and your throat squeezes and you still try to be good.
Bro makes fists with the skin on your ass between his fingers and you make an obscene noise as you rock up against him, begging for him to please, please move more. Please. With one hand, Bro takes a fist of your hair and shoves your face into the towel under you and there are tears running down your face and snot coming out of your nose and you like it you like it you like it of course you do, you always do.
"So good," Bro says, under his breath, but he knows you can hear him. "You love this, don't you?"
"Yes," You hiss out, elongating it as the breath is drawn from your lungs. You nod. Over and over again. Not trusting your voice to say anything else.
"Good boy, you're so good, Dave. Such a good kid." Bro says, and you disappear again, out of your mind, but still feeling the rubbing against your thighs and the hand around your dick and everything happening all at once as the world vanishes around you.
Good boy.
Good. Dave. Dave is good.
He says your name again, and you dematerialize.