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There are places Livio goes at night that he wishes he could follow, though Wolfwood doesn’t know where that is. They bunch together in the same bed even if Miss Melanie says Nicholas is a little too old for that now , Livio half hidden beneath the covers with the blanket pulled up over his chin and to his twitching nose. Most nights he sleeps gently, Wolfwood always staying awake long enough to watch the boy’s pale eyelashes get too heavy for his lids and his brother drifts off to a settled, murmuring sleep, little hiccups of breath and muted snores safely lulling Wolfwood to his own rest. Livio sleeps best like that, with Wolfwood watching him - protecting him, wordlessly, because there is nothing in the world that his older brother could not beat. He chases the farm birds away with a broom when they snap at Livio and stands in front of the boy when one of the older kids yells at him, and when there’s a spider on the windowsill he puts it in a cup and carries it outside because he knows Livio will cry if it gets on him but he’ll cry even harder if it dies.
But sometimes at night there are almost-familiar faces in the dark that grab the boy with hateful hands like he belongs with them, to them. It doesn’t feel like a nightmare; it feels like a memory, and maybe that’s why he wakes up with a jolt, too afraid to scream - as if his voice will draw them out, as if that will offer them a reason to clasp a palm over his mouth and give him something to cry over. Those are the places Wolfwood wishes he could go, to protect his brother from whatever lives in the night. Livio clings to him with shaking hands, please don’t go, please don’t go , mouth shut so tightly his whole face contorts around the desperation of his silence. Wolfwood’s hands brush Livio’s unruly mop of silver-white hair back, tucking the curls behind his ears, fingers up his scruffy pyjama shirt so his brother can feel the warmth of his hand where it splays between his shoulder blades and rubs circles against his back. They have their own language for times like this, gentle touches, Livio unable to speak and Wolfwood joining him best he can in the safety of silence. Livio gestures with his hands, sometimes, so they eschew words for signs and whisper them into each other's palms. Livio’s fingers are twitching and nervous, but Wolfwood’s are gentle and firm.
On nights like this, when Livio is most frightened, too frightened to even peel his hands away from where they curl against his face, Wolfwood draws his touch along Livio’s spine and draws out three words.
DOG - WOOD - SAFE.
His hands promise it, over and over, until Livio is drooling in his sleep and his eyes are closed and Wolfwood can allow himself to finally close his own. He’ll wake back up if Livio does, when Livio does, and he’ll be here in the morning to keep his little brother safe. He always is.
Neither of them have proper beds at the Eye of Michael. They have firm cots with little else, flat and uncomfortable, and Wolfwood lies and tells Livio that his cell is warmer so Livio won’t feel guilty when Wolfwood gives his only blanket to his brother because one isn’t long enough anymore to cover Livio’s growing body. Livio and Wolfwood don’t usually share a cage, but sometimes the guards can’t be bothered to pry the experiments apart, especially when Wolfwood has learnt their bullets won’t kill him and their flashlights won’t blind him and the security fears the bite of Wolfwood’s new fangs too much to separate them with batons.
It feels safer, like this, pressed together on the cot - most of all safer for Livio, who Wolfwood knows still looks too sweet, too gentle, too kind to be in a place like this. But it feels safer for Wolfwood, too, who will never admit that he’s frightened at night without a familiar warmth tucked into his arm or a softly snored lullaby of his little brother’s breathing. At least Livio is still small and slender enough in his gangly growing body that he can still fit beside Wolfwood, crammed together, his older brother’s arms coiled tightly around him. Wolfwood is more muscular now, but his grip doesn’t feel any stronger, even when Livio can feel his tensing muscles and see them bulging beneath his skin; Wolfwood has always felt like a blanket and a shield at once, even when he was twice as small and with arms like little twigs. Brothers always feel that way.
“I don’t want to go back to my room tomorrow,” Livio murmurs with a sort of pout to his voice that still makes him sound like a boy when he’s begun to look like a man. It’s the kind of thing that’ll make them descend on him , Wolfwood knows, and part of him yearns for Livio’s voice to harden and break if only to keep him safe and the greater part of him prays that Livio will stay this innocent forever. Livio flips onto his back, Wolfwood’s arms still draped over him, the two blankets Livio brought sloughed off to one side in the void between the cot and the wall. “They’re doing more tests tomorrow, Nico. Are you doing them too?”
He still talks like this is an orphanage, like they have rooms and the experiments are tests , like Livio can’t taste the disdain on the scalpels that slip beneath their skin and only the pain of the blades. Wolfwood isn’t sure if it’s better or worse that Livio doesn’t know the hate of this place, even if he’s hurting Livio by sheltering him however he can - and maybe it’s selfish to be doing this at all, to murmur softly in Livio’s still boyish hair and hold him and let him believe there’s nothing big Nico can’t protect him from. He sees the way the others look at him, the other inmates, the guards, the creatures so mangled only their eyes shine through their masks - the scientists, the visitors, all of them hungry and foul and Livio doesn’t know like Wolfwood knows. He doesn’t want Livio’s introduction to adulthood to be a loveless, hateful baptism at their hands and needs. Not when Wolfwood loves him.
Not when Wolfwood can make it gentle.
“Probably will be in the lab tomorrow, yeah.” Wolfwood answers, detached and offhand, barely registering the question. Livio curls towards him and their knees bob together, his little brother unused to this newfound height - shorter than Wolfwood, still, but Wolfwood knows that won’t last forever, either. He tries to speak gently, but where Livio’s voice is still boyish and cute, Wolfwood finds his own low and rough, and he hates the way it growls even when he whispers. “You remember the other night, Liv? When we gave each other more kisses.”
Livio nods and pushes his face forward, the vague and distant look to his face changing into something warmer and more playful. He reaches over Wolfwood with a little laugh in his throat and grabs one of the scratchy wool blankets and tugs it over both of their faces, lifting it just enough so they can still see each other ahead. For a second Wolfwood isn’t a prisoner but instead a boy bunched up beneath the pillow fort, listening to his little brother ramble on about the rules of their new kingdom, and the whole world outside their makeshift nest feels far away. It’s just them, and if they don’t keep their voices down someone’ll tell him you’re too old for this, Nicholas .
“Yeah, Nico.” Livio beams, wriggling closer, and Wolfwood feels himself swallow when he realizes it’s in anticipation. “You said I made you feel special.”
“You did, crybaby.” Wolfwood answers immediately, lifting a hand to play with a curl of his brother’s hair. His voice gets a little more serious - but careful, still, like he doesn’t want to scatter Livio away. “Anyone else touch you like that?”
Livio shakes his head, no , and it’s an assurance that makes Wolfwood exhale in relief without realizing he’d been holding his breath at all. He lets himself smile now, lazy and languid and with a relaxation neither of them should have in a place like this. It feels like an act of defiance, loving each other here, rebellious and young like they’re still back at the orphanage and stealing moments beneath the covers when they should be quiet and sleep. He reaches forward between Livio’s legs and rubs him a little, his brother still soft where Wolfwood feels the outline of his cock in his pants and grasps out the shape of his length. It’s so guileless and ticklish a touch that it makes Livio bubble up and giggle, kicking one of his feet, the cot so short and Livio so tall now that his toes hang off the edge when he does.
“Are we gonna do it again, Nico?” Livio smiles, and god he’s so perfect when he smiles, too perfect for Wolfwood to keep his own lips away. He tastes as sweet as he looks, clumsy but eager when Wolfwood kisses him and slips his hand into Liivo’s loose pants to grope around at his bare crotch. He’s warm, and it’s comfortable to just be like this - Wolfwood hates that it isn’t enough, tangled up and skin on skin where they tug their clothes away, all childish laughs and the shield of a scratchy old blanket to hide them from the odd patrols that sometimes stomp through the halls. It should be enough for Wolfwood, who loves Livio so deeply, and maybe it’s that endless love that makes him need more than their bodies side by side and Livio’s smile, pure and young and still full of promise in a world that has robbed him of so much. If he didn’t love his brother so fiercely, so wholly, he wouldn’t need to do this now , before the Eye of Michael takes it away.
A little more each time. They kiss and they touch on nights like this, and now Livio is bold or curious - or eager to please his older brother - enough that he also brings his hands forward and tugs Wolfwood’s pants down and fumble around his abdomen. He touches Wolfwood like he’s still not sure how to do this, because Livio doesn’t yet fully understand what feels good, only that it’s nice when his brother’s fingers grip around his cock and make it hard and stroke him until he’s spilling. Livio tries to mimic the movements he’s been shown, swiping fingers over the tip of his brother’s length and grinning when Wolfwood answers him with a moan pressed into the crook of Livio’s neck. That makes him hard, too, not just his brother’s hand but the way his voice feels hot and intimate groaning against Livio’s skin. Another secret, between just the two of them, and it makes him giddy like a schoolboy and hard like a man.
“We can do something more tonight, Liv.” Wolfwood whispers, softly, still stroking Livio back and forth. Fuck , it feels hot when his brother gets hard in his hand where he was soft minutes ago - it does something to Wolfwood, knowing he’s the one doing this to him. “It’ll hurt a little, crybaby, before it feels good. But it would make me really happy, if you wanna try it. Something special, just for us.”
Livio won’t say no. It should make Wolfwood feel sick inside that he knows his brother won’t and maybe can’t , but he mostly feels happy; because Livio loves him and this feels like proof of it, like asking him for this is just the same as daring him to smoke an insect leg or steal the teacher’s flask when no one is looking. “Okay, Nico.” Livio grins, because he loves to say yes to his brother, his protector, the one who stays up with him at night and makes sure he falls asleep. He wants to repay that, however he can - not out of debt but out of love, uncomplicated and sweet in the way all things used to be. They kiss again with tongues between them, inexperienced and messy, teeth sometimes grazing each other and Livio breathes little bursts of laughter into his brother’s mouth. Wolfwood rolls on top of him, both of them hard now - he nudges their hips together, only gently, because Livio is still so sensitive and he doesn’t want to make him finish too fast.
“I wanna see all of you, Liv.” Wolfwood tells him, already tugging up his shirt. When he speaks low and urgent like this his words slur together into a pleasant sort of drawl that sounds like a song to Livio. “You’re so pretty. We shouldn’t have to hide from each other.”
Just from everyone else , Wolfwood thinks, and when Livio responds with a little timid nod he rolls Livio’s shirt up and takes it off. His brother’s skin is still so smooth and soft, barely hairy on his chest as Wolfwood kisses down it and takes the time to lap his tongue over the small pink of Livio’s nipples. He’s so sensitive to every touch, gasping at the slightest thing and from here Wolfwood can feel the way his whole body trembles underneath his older brother’s hands and tongue. He’s not muscular, yet, but there’s a hint of it when Wolfwood trails his mouth down Livio’s torso where it’s not just soft, youthful fat anymore. Lower, still, where there’s now hair beneath Livio’s navel, the same silver-white as the curly mess atop his head. He finishes pulling Livio’s pants down, and this time he takes them down all the way - past his knees, down his long legs that are gangly and shaking and still a little too long for the body that’s growing into them. Wolfwood sees better in the dark than he used to, and even in the low light of the crammed cell he can see every inch of his brother’s body, still Livio no matter what they’ve done to it. It isn’t fair that Livio has had to grow up so fast, so Wolfwood touches him like he’s still delicate, like these careful touches and gentle palms are because he doesn’t want Livio’s body to hurt and not because his own hands feel grotesque, inhuman, carved with unearned callouses from years he hasn’t lived.
“Can I see you too, Nico?” Livio asks, and Wolfwood wants to say no, but he can deny his little brother no more than Livio can deny him. He tugs his shirt off and his chest feels so hairy compared to before that he thinks it's a pelt, his arms bigger now and sinewy and at least Wolfwood appreciates their strength even if they feel so ugly when they’re close to his brother. There’s a forest of dark hairs that trail down his belly to the base of his thick cock, bigger than Livio’s, and Wolfwood wishes he was smaller because Livio’s body still feels slight to him. It would hurt him less if I were smaller , Wolfwood knows, like their mismatched bodies threaten his belief that they were meant for each other, whether it be here or at the orphanage or wherever else life could have taken them.
Wolfwood wanted their first time to be in a bed, maybe underneath a nice window where sunlight could flood in, tangled up in comfy sheets, and he wanted those things before he knew what a first time was. When the thoughts were silly kisses and shared secrets and holding each other's hands, because that seemed like things adults did. Now, he makes it like that as much as he can. Livio’s hands go to his chest to feel his brother’s body, and Wolfwood doesn’t let himself wither away from the too-kind touch. He kisses Livio, over and over, only pausing to slide a finger into Livio’s mouth and tell Livio to gently suck. Sometimes the blankets end up back over them, sometimes they’re flung to the side in their clumsy shuffle of body and limbs. Wolfwood’s always on top, speaking compliments and assurances into their kisses.
“I’m gonna put my finger in, Liv.” Wolfwood tells him. “It’ll make it easier. Tell me if it hurts, ‘kay?”
Neither of them are good at this. Wolfwood’s fingers are wet with Livio’s spit and he goes back down his brother’s body to part his legs a little more, even if it means they’re dangling off the cot. Livio’s cock is already wet at the tip with beads of pre-cum; Wolfwood wants to kiss them away, but he smiles against one of Livio’s knees and slowly wiggles a finger into his entrance. He’s tight immediately, and Wolfwood has to force himself to push in deeper up Livio’s ass. The gasp and whine from his brother is immediate; Livio almost spasms, spine arching at the sensation and legs kicking out in a way that makes Wolfwood grateful they’re splayed to either side of the cot and not beside his head. His hands try to grasp whatever they can; Livio bunches up one of the escaping blankets and twists it between his fingers, letting out an uneven whimper.
“- You can keep going, Nico.” Livio manages to breathe out, body shaking. Wolfwood can see his cock twitch in time with the rest of his muscles; with a finger inside Livio’s body, he can feel all his strings being pulled, vibrations purring around his touch. “I’m okay.”
Wolfwood slides a second finger in, both of them past the knuckle, and tries to part them a little once they’re inside to ease Livio open. His brother’s voice raises both in volume and in pitch, almost girlish the way his whimpers begin to roll into moans. He smiles, still, even when his body is shuddering at the strangeness of the sensation and Nico’s well-meaning but still uncoordinated thrusts; Livio lifts his head enough, straining his neck, so that his brother can see the sweet grin that breaks and reforms around the waves of his keening. He isn’t sure if the filling pressure feels good or not, mostly strange - but what does feel good is Nico panting, sweat building on his brow and racing down his face like droplets, and the singular shudder that envelops his own body when his brother gently rubs up the underside of his cock. Nico strokes him again, continuing to work two fingers in and out his tight hole, and that’s enough for Livio to cry out and chase the increasingly familiar feeling of release. He’s sloppy and loud when he cums, cum spilling from him and his arms seize up and cling onto the balled-up blanket because Wolfwood is too situated between his legs to cling onto. He hears Nico’s voice murmur out comforts, there, Liv, shhh, I got you, there you go, let it out, and when Livio stops gasping for air and instinctively raising his hips he’s flat on the cot and his muscles feel tired. The fingers pressing into his body feel less invasive like this, his entrance relaxing around them and Wolfwood immediately notices the difference in tension. He pushes them in deeper and Livio, ragdolled on the cot, moans without lifting his head.
“Shh, crybaby, I’m right here.” Wolfwood leans in to kiss Livio’s flagging, spent cock, and lick a stripe across the pooling cum that’s shot along his shaft and stomach. He says it like it’s a question, or like he’s apologizing - gently and softly, Wolfwood’s cock still hard and his touch buried in his brother’s body, and it feels so selfish to need something else beyond his brother’s excitable whines. We both need this , Wolfwood tells himself, removing his hand and the sudden loss of friction and fullness makes Livio murmur a confused sort of noise. Wolfwood shuffles forward, poking the head of his cock between Livio’s cheeks and slowly nudges the tip so it’s just dully pressing against his saliva-slicked entrance. Livio’s chest rises and falls with his regaining breath. He likes it like this, when Nico is back on top of him and he can see his brother’s face and feel the warmth of his smile pressed against his ear.
Livio’s hand is like jelly where he flings it against Wolfwood’s back to hold onto him.
It’s a slow, careful, and intent thrust that penetrates Livio the first time. Wolfwood pushes himself in only a little bit at a time, and that probably makes it hurt more - but he won’t take his brother roughly no matter what, even though taking him lovingly still makes Livio shove his face into Wolfwood’s shoulder and sob out his name. There’s pain in his crying, but it’s more than pain - he’s still smiling, even with eyes wet and tears down his cheeks, especially with eyes wet and tears down his cheeks, whispering out Nico’s name as his brother eases the two of them together and barely moves at all. He’s mostly being held by the tight warmth of Livio’s body, and that enough makes him feel dizzy and quiet, barely able to speak at all and instead nudging their bodies together like that will say everything for him. He pushes his mouth against Livio’s neck and whimpers there, trying to bring his hips back and forth, the whole cot shaking underneath their combined weight and clumsy dance. Livio’s trembling hand walks up Wolfwood’s spine and draws between his shoulder blades.
DOG - WOOD - SAFE.
They are at the orphanage, they are beneath the Eye, they are everywhere and nowhere at once because they are most of all in each other. Wolfwood cums with a choked sob of his own, Livio’s name the only thing he’s able to say at all, reciting it until it sounds like a prayer and his brother’s fingers spelling out their secrets where they can’t be heard, only felt. Livio feels a spreading warmth inside him, unfamiliar and odd but he knows its his brother’s release, and that his brother deserves this; when Wolfwood finishes he doesn’t pull out but keeps them locked together, staying inside and lying on top of Livio until finally he’s grown so soft he almost falls out his brother’s entrance with a drip of cum that pours out him as well. Livio wiggles at the feeling, making a little bit of a face before Wolfwood kisses his sort-of pout away with trembling lips. They’re both in the wet spot on the cot because there’s no room for either of them to move elsewhere, but neither cares. The aching pain between Livio’s legs doesn’t go away, but it’s different to the sharp agony of a scientist’s knife or the sting of a needle.
It’s something Nico has given him. He hopes the serum doses tomorrow don’t take it away.
“You did good, crybaby.” Wolfwood licks a tear off his cheek. “You make me feel so good.”
Livio bunches himself into Wolfwood’s chest and yawns, sleepily, with fluttering pale lashes that hide his gentle gold eyes. He can sleep tonight; his brother will be here in the morning.