Ages

By the time he turned twelve, Pavi was quite used to the feeling of a mouthful of blood.

“I hate you!” He spat piteously over his split lip, moving to stem the flow with one shirtsleeve.

“Stay the fuck out of my room, then!” Luigi snarled as he rubbed at his knuckles, already sore from impact.

The younger boy’s dark eyes welled with tears, though he fought them, chest jerking slightly with fiercely held breath. Luigi’s thin mouth twisted into a disgusted snarl.

“You’re fucking pathetic, you know that?” He growled.

“I-I am n-not!” Pavi stammered. His cheeks darkened immediately at the jumble of syllables that had spilled through his lips.

Luigi sneered, “How the fuck’re you supposed to do anything worthwhile for Pop if you can’t even talk right?”

“Sh-shut up!” The impediment was more pronounced when he was flustered. Pavi gave a small, frustrated whine before the tears finally began to cascade over his cheeks. Giving a harsh snort, Luigi turned on one heel and was gone even before Pavi had time to wipe his eyes.

***

Twenty-five was much, much too young for an ulcer. And yet, Luigi noted as he lay among his sheets (which still smelled just faintly of exhausted gentern ..he’d have them cleaned in the morning.), the small, burning sensation just above his navel didn’t seem to be waning with time.

Calm down, His father would always tell him. More than once, the man had been required to physically restrain his ill-tempered son in trustee meetings, during press conferences, at promotional events. He no longer even bothered holding him back at the dinner table or in the halls of their home. Calm down, Luigi, he would say, and calmly sign the check for whatever reconstructive surgery the man’s younger siblings required afterward.

It’d be easy to be fucking calm, if it wasn’t for them. Luigi scowled bitterly to himself. Stupid, brainless Carmela. Goddamn fucking…

Pavi’s once-gawky limbs had filled in gracefully with the passage of time. Luigi could feel the smooth, lean muscle of his arm every time the sixteen year-old “accidentally” brushed up against him in the hall.

“Oops-a!” The effected exclamation was always accompanied by a coquettish pout. Luigi had to admit, despite his annoyance, that the accent covered whatever small traces were left of Pavi’s stammering. In most of these cases, he had simply relied on a rough shove to get the younger man out of his way. It had worked until just recently, when he had noticed Pavi’s eyes dilate just slightly at the sharp impact. Luigi had washed his hands twice as soon as the dark-haired boy was out of his sight.

The memory made him grimace, both at the prick of pain in his stomach and the image of his brother’s half-startled, slightly-hungry expression lingering in his mind. Goddamn it, he wanted to wipe that stupid look off his face. Preferably with his fists.

But Pavi had simply set one hand on his shoulder, pressing his older brother back with less resistance than Luigi liked to admit. A silent moment had passed between them before Pavi had given a small, haughty sniff and continued down the hall, a gentern at either side.

***

“The fuck’re you lookin’ at?”

Pavi’s eyes flicked up to meet his brother’s, “Nothing, of-a course. Why would I be looking at-a you?” He drawled easily. Raising one hand to smooth his hair allowed the teen a moment to hide the faint color that had risen in his cheek at being caught.

Luigi threw his cutlery down onto his plate, wiping his mouth with annoyance before he looked towards the head of the table, “Pop, Pavi’s staring at me.”

Heaving a slow sigh, Rotti set down his own fork as he looked to his eldest son, “Luigi, you’re twenty-six, not twelve. Tell him to stop yourself. Without the knife.” He added quickly at Luigi’s near-instinctive grasp for the instrument.

Sullenly, Luigi let his hand come to rest on the table once more, “Quit fucking looking at me.” He spat irritably.

“I’m-a not!” Pavi shot back, rolling his eyes.

The protest brought Luigi swiftly to his feet. Carmela, at her father’s left, cowered closer to him at the sudden motion.

“The hell you’re not!” Luigi growled, fingers curling into fists.

Rotti nestled a hand in the young girl’s hair reassuringly as she curled her thin fingers into the hem of his jacket, “Luigi, calm down.”

Pavi glanced up sharply at the admonition. Already, Luigi’s face had twisted into a smirk. Both of them knew what would come next.

“If-a you touch me, I will make-a you sorry!” Pavi warned half-helplessly, rising and swiftly putting his chair between his own body and his brother’s.

Luigi reached briefly for the knife before a small, gruff cough from his father stopped his hand once more. Fine, then. Fists it was. Ignoring the obstacle between them, he lunged ruthlessly for Pavi. The dark-haired teen ducked, shoving the chair forward to block the attack. Luigi stumbled just long enough to allow the smaller boy to dart out of the dining room. Without missing another beat, Luigi gave chase.

Pavi could already feel his breath beginning to shorten by the time he passed the rec room. It was not that he was out of shape. He’d already built up a considerable amount of endurance with…friends. It was that Luigi’s rage always seemed to make him so fast. The younger man was just about to glance over his shoulder to measure their distance when one of his brother’s thin, practiced hands knotted itself inextricably into a chunk of Pavi’s hair.

Pavi’s entire body seized as Luigi yanked ruthlessly. Every nerve ending seemed to cry out at once as his legs skidded gracelessly from underneath him. Luigi used the motion to pin the smaller man mercilessly against one wall. With a victorious grin, he drew back one fist to strike.

Whether his cries began before or after the first blow fell, Pavi wasn’t quite sure. Somewhere around the third, he lost count as his mind swam and his skin shuddered. Thrashing, he felt his entire body begin to arch. At first, it was away from the beating, fearful and driven solely by the instinct to self-preserve. Then, more slowly, his frame began to bend towards the strikes. His skin prickled sharply with the anticipation of each blow. When it finally came, each impact point seemed to explode, endorphins thrilling through his veins.

It took Luigi two or three hits to realize that the man beneath him had quieted. As the rage finally cleared from his eyes, he found himself suddenly and unpleasantly able to consider his younger brother’s state. Pavi’s lower lip clenched tremulously between his teeth. His hips, pitching in small, sharp jerks. His fingers curled tensely beneath Luigi’s grip. The older man’s breath froze in his lungs.

“You fucking…you fucking sick little…” He choked stiltedly.

Pavi’s eyes fluttered open slowly, hazily. Luigi’s words slid through his mind without impact. He felt the taller man’s hands tighten just briefly on his collar before he was thrown back against the wall in one final, vicious shove.

“L…Luigi?”

Luigi winced, ignoring the small, confused utterance as he retreated hastily. Fuck. Jesus Christ. He was sorry he’d ever-

He was sorry he’d ever touched him.

Fucking Pavi.

***

He tried not to listen. He swore-to-God, pillow-over-head, cursing-like-a-sailor tried not to listen when the nights got like this. It wasn’t the overdone mewling and groaning that the genterns put on that bothered him. Half the time it wasn’t even stupid fucking Pavi and his ridiculous “oo~ooh”-ing that made him want to-… want to fucking strangle the shit-eating little waste of genes, to make him bleed, to break down the door and bruise every single fucking inch of skin he could lay his hands on.

It was the noises in between all of the half-ridiculous howling. The tiny, sudden gasps. The stifled hisses through bitten lips. The little sounds that meant that his goddamn brother was, at eighteen, locked in his room fucking the shit out of more bitches in a single night than Luigi had in weeks.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t have had them. It was that he didn’t want to. And that was what was beginning to worry him, hesitant as he was to admit it. What had happened to his near-insatiable appetite? And even when he did find a bearable enough gentern, Pavi made a special point of snatching her out from under his nose. Something about their “safety”, he guessed. Fucking women.

The dull, heavy scrape of furniture behind his wall made him wonder what the fuck had possessed his father to give them rooms in the same hall. The shrill groan that followed only moments later almost turned his stomach. With a half-growled sigh, Luigi rolled irritably onto his other side, eyes falling shut. Slowly, almost painfully, he forced his body to untense as best he could. He had just reached his forearms when a low groan from the other side of the wall re-coiled every muscle with an almost audible snap. That was not fucking Pavi.

But no woman groaned like that. Especially not a gentern. For a few moments he waited, ears pricked just slightly. A girlish giggle filtered through the plaster. He was on his feet in barely a second, the handle of his knife -always kept on his nightstand- already half-warm in his palm. There was no way, no fucking way he’d stand for this. Fucking around with sluts was one thing. Fucking around with men in plain view of said sluts when all of their reputations stood to take a beating if word got out was another.

He could already feel his pulse pounding in his ears when he reached the younger man’s door. Its hinges crumpled under a decisive strike from his shoulder, and he barely heard a blonde gentern’s startled gasp before he found his target.

One of the man’s hands lingered around Pavi’s neck, the dark-haired teen caught still struggling pleasedly against it by Luigi’s intrusion. The second wave of disgust didn’t even register in the older man’s mind until the full blade of the knife had sunk into the intruder’s chest. Pavi’s breath returned to him sharply as the hand at his neck loosened. He let out a small, indignant whine as the dispatched man’s body tumbled from the side of his bed, the genterns fleeing the room at the sight.

“What the hell you think-a you are doing?!” He gaped.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Luigi snarled, gesticulating sharply with the knife as he spoke. Pavi jerked back instinctively, but the taller man pursued him, “Fucking around with men? What the fuck?! Do you know what Pop would do to you?! Do you know what this would fucking do to our name?!”

Pavi stumbled gracelessly off the opposite edge of the bed as Luigi’s knife swooped dangerously close once more, “It does-a not do nothing! Nobody knows! Nobody cares!”

“Pop’ll care.” Luigi spat poisonously, “You can fucking bet he will.”

Eyes widening, Pavi froze. Seeing his chance, the older man lunged, his momentum easily driving the other back against the wall.

“You-a c-can’t tell him!” It was almost as if the force of the impact knocked the words from his mouth, they spilled out so swiftly.

“Oh, but I c-c-can. And you can bet your fucking ass I’m gonna’. ” Luigi sneered, his smirk only widening as Pavi’s cheeks flushed.

“What-a you want?” The younger man questioned slowly, carefully, though his face still burned.

“The fuck d’you mean?”

Pavi frowned faintly, “What do I have-a to give you, for to shut-a you up?”

Luigi scowled at the sharpness in his brother’s tone, cuffing him once across the jaw for it. A small gasp escaped Pavi.

“I don’t want you to fucking give me anything.” The older man replied roughly.

“Are you sure?”

Luigi could have sworn he saw the teen’s eyes darken, almost imperceptibly, “No.” He said quickly, “I’m telling Pop, and you’re gonna’ get what’s fucking coming to you.” Something about the other’s gaze had made him feel off-balance. He slammed Pavi’s shoulders against the wall once more to center himself.

Beneath his hands, Pavi remained silent for several moments, eyes fixed on his brother’s. Then, inch by slow inch, he leaned forward. Skillfully, his teeth grazed Luigi’s bottom lip.

The older man gaped, taken aback for a second, before his body reacted on its own. His fist cracked across Pavi’s jaw, bloodying his mouth in a single strike. At the younger man’s gasp, the hand uncurled just briefly before seizing his throat.

“I will fucking kill you!” Luigi snarled, jerking his brother’s body against the wall once more for emphasis.

Pavi struggled for breath within his grasp. His hands flew to Luigi’s wrist, and he drove his nails hurriedly into the flesh he found there. With a roar, Luigi allowed his grip to falter, only to loose several quick blows upon the other man with his now-freed hand. Pavi accepted the strikes obediently, baring his throat, his shoulders, his mouth eagerly. With each motion his shuddering grew, until he was writhing beneath the beating. But Luigi’s fury wouldn’t calm. He was a whirlwind, only drawing closer to his prey as Pavi’s nails raked down over his back again and again, at first over his shirt, and then forced underneath, thin trails of blood springing up in their wake. One of his hands twisted roughly in Pavi’s hair, and within seconds the teenager’s body was arched beneath the touch. Before his mind had time to consider the action, Luigi’s teeth found the hollow of the smaller man’s neck and sank deeply into the skin there.

“Luigi!”

The cry of pleasure froze them both in place. Pavi’s hands had wound desperately into the back of Luigi’s shirt and still clung hungrily to the bloodied fabric. Luigi found one set of nails imbedded in the nape of Pavi’s neck, the other hand still quite at home knotted messily into his hair. But it was their hips, Luigi realized, that were the most troublesome. There, he could feel Pavi’s hunger crushed against his own aching body.

Bile rose in his throat. He began to extricate himself from the mass of limbs hurriedly, almost fearfully, until Pavi’s fingers clamped onto his shoulders.

“Stop it. Now.” The younger man hissed, almost dangerously. Luigi blinked in confusion.

His thoughts were silenced as Pavi sank to his knees.

***

By twenty, Pavi had learned that carrying mace made things much, much easier. Not only did it force Luigi to consider new methods of attack, but it made the volatile man so much more vengeful so much more quickly. As fond as Pavi was of the bruising (at least, when it didn’t show too badly), it had always seemed to take much too long to guide Luigi’s outbursts from simply violent to something more. Now, the other man’s blinding rage was well within his reach. Sometimes Pavi’s hand would “slip” on the trigger even when they weren’t already fighting. He had never been one for delayed gratification.

He carried the marks the older man left behind almost proudly, never bothering to surgically smooth over even those that scarred, save the ones on his face. It was more difficult for Luigi to claim that he drunkenly remembered nothing when simply shifting at the breakfast table brought into view at least two of his dental records embossed into Pavi’s skin.

Rotti, for all his glowering, had said nothing. It was implausible, Pavi often thought, that their father would be totally unaware. Luigi had become less and less subtle, and Pavi himself…well, he had never been particularly quiet.

Not that Luigi had ever given him all that much to attempt to be silent about. Despite Pavi’s desperate fingernails digging into the older man’s shoulder blades, mewled pleas into the hollow of his neck, Luigi sternly persisted to never fully finish what they’d started. The mere thought brought a frustrated sigh to Pavi’s lips. He would have agreed to it in a moment, if Luigi had tried anything. He’d done his best to preemptively agree with his body, to beg and twist and whine, even when his brother seemed satisfied with everything but. It wasn’t that either of them was ever left dissatisfied with their exchanges. It wasn’t even that Pavi was particularly attached to the older man, out of all those he was “close” with. It was that he needed it, and Luigi denied him. And the denial only made him need it more.

“Please, please…please!” He would arch, hungrily trying to close the space between their bodies, to press his rapidly-bruising skin against Luigi’s before the other could retreat from the floor, the table, the wall, wherever he had found him and been unable to resist. Luigi would never even speak, shoving Pavi’s eager hips back down as he wiped his mouth and hastily retreated. Pavi had tried to bring it up outside those fleeting moments, but Luigi had ignored every attempt.

“It’s-a not like I am-a sick or something!” He whined to the gentern busily smoothing over the particularly deep set of scratches that had been left at the side of his chest, “And even if-a I was, he would already have it!” The genterns, having witnessed every step of Pavi’s explosion into puberty, were the only ones he ever spoke to about men. They were bound by doctor-patient confidentiality to never reveal the cause of his wounds, and expendable if they did. Even then, Pavi kept his stubborn partner’s name out of his gossip.

“Well, Mr. Largo, maybe he’s looking for a bigger commitment before you two-?” The blonde suggested, eyes narrowing just slightly as she stitched.

“I don’t-a see how we could be stuck-a together any worse.” Pavi grumbled with a sigh.

The gentern gave the smallest of shrugs, “Some people are into lifetime commitments.”

The dark-haired man had to grimace to keep from laughing, “Uch. The Pavi is-a much too bello for these stuff.”

“We know, Mr. Largo.” She chuckled lightly, “Trust me, we know.”

***

“Twenty Two Year-Old Geneco Heir Gruesomely Disfigured in Botched Surgery!”

Pavi hurled the issue of Vanity and Vein to the floor with a shriek, “You take-a that away! I don’t-a w-want any more news!” As the maid quickly removed the offending magazine, he sank exhaustedly back into bed.

Gruesome. He had thrown up the first time he saw it. All the blood, the veins, the muscle that made him look like some sort of carved animal. Before he knew it, his mind already swirling from even just the scent of it, he was on the floor. He had never vomited before. He had never had cause to. At ten, he had known that he was beautiful, and he’d enjoyed his first drink when he was twelve. But the sight of this…this thing-… The nausea overpowered him, brutal and visceral and oh God, even crying burns, and everything inside of him seemed to twist all at once.

He hadn’t cried since then. Instead, he remained in his room, silent for the most part, doing his best to keep the butchery out of sight, both of others and his own. This must be what he feels like, he thought, fingers curled so tightly into his sheets that he shook. The white-hot rage made something in his chest sink, burned so bright that it left him almost blind. It forced him from his bed, pushed him into motion to do something, anything. His bedroom mirror, long since turned over to prevent him from catching a glimpse of himself, fell victim to it first. With trembling hands he tore it from the wall, and -still never looking into it- swung it back once more. Watching the glass explode from its face brought some small degree of comfort.

It also brought a startled knock to the door. Pavi blinked, dropping the warped frame immediately.

“Don’t-a come in! Leave-a me alone!” He begged swiftly.

The doorknob clicked nonetheless. Behind it, Amber’s curious face peeked out. With a sharp gasp, Pavi threw up a hand to protect his own from view, but it was too late.

“Oh, puke!!” Amber cried with delight, “Eww!! Oh my God, you look like roadkill or something!”

“Shut up!” Pavi yelped, turning his face over his shoulder quickly.

Throwing back the door fully, Amber carefully picked her way over the broken glass to try for a second glance, “Oh my God. Oh my God! It is sooo gross!” She squealed with laughter.

Pavi drew back slightly, shielding his face with one hand once more, “Get out of-a my room!” He could feel heat rising in his chest.

“You are sooo never getting laid again.” His sister cooed pleasedly, “Nobody’s gonna’ want to touch that with a ten foot pole. Ugh! You are so ugly!”

It was the word that set him off. No one had ever called him ugly before. With a strangled shriek, he flew at her. The first slap sent her stumbling backwards. The impact of the shove that followed it was enough to throw her forcefully from the room. Yelping startledly, Amber slammed back into the wall just outside Pavi’s door. The dark-haired man stalked after her, one hand already raised for another strike.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!”

Pavi froze mid-step at the voice. His hand fell as he turned to face its owner. Luigi’s nose was wrinkled in disgust. He took a small step back as the full reality of Pavi’s face came into view. Eyes widening at his brother’s expression, Pavi was struck silent for a few moments, Amber’s tiny, pained whines the only sound in the hall. Then, slowly, his horror turned in on itself, and he felt himself begin to shake once more.

“Shut up! Shut up!” He spat sharply, stepping back from both of them, “Fuck-a you! I hate-a you!” He was roaring now, the indignance that would have brought a blush to his cheek instead causing it to seep just faintly, “I hate-a you both!!”

Ignoring the shock on both faces, he wheeled, storming back into his room. The force of the slamming door made the broken glass on the floor jump.

He had to do something.

***

A small, pleased sigh passed Pavi’s new lips. Slowly, carefully, the gentern spread over his lap secured the final clamp at the edge of his face. The small squelch that accompanied the motion registered only in his ears, and he smiled just faintly through the languid zydrate buzz.

“It’s-a finished, si?”

The gentern leaned back slightly, nodding once, “Yes, Mr. Largo.” She replied. Reaching to the table of instruments, she offered him a small mirror, “Do you like it?”

Pavi traced his fingertips over the delicate skin of his new cheek. Though he could still just barely feel the ridges underneath when he pressed down, the mask smoothed over the marred flesh well enough to seem nearly natural. It had taken him almost a year of practice to get the thickness right, but the results had been worth it.

“Si. Bene. Grazie, bella” He brushed one hand back through the gentern’s blond curls and chuckled as she let out a soft giggle, nuzzling her cheek into his palm, “You help-a the Pavi get to his-a room, no?”

“Of course.” She agreed quickly, rising.

Gripping the arm rests, he carefully pulled himself to his feet. The face-stealing itself had been easy to get used to (maybe there was more Largo in him than they’d all thought after all). The after-effects of the surgical drugs needed to put them on were proving less so. Sometimes, when the haze hit him strongly enough, he wondered what Amber ever saw in them.

The gentern offered her arm quickly. With a warm smile, Pavi took hold of it. She began to lead him through the halls back towards his room.

“Does everything feel all right, Mr. Largo?” She asked gently.

Pavi took a few moments, lifting one eyebrow, pursing the full lips for which he’d chosen the young model’s face, “Si. It’s-a very good.”

A small snort stopped the dark-haired man just briefly where he stood. His gaze flicked to Luigi, leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom.

“There is-a something you want, brother?” He asked, lifting his chin just slightly.

“You look like a fuckin’ woman.” Luigi growled

Pavi let out a small sniff, “How sad for your cazzo.”

It had been easiest to hide in plain sight. Less frustrating, at least, than staying silent. It had been months and months since the older man had given Pavi a bruise worth showing off. Since before the surgery, before the realization that his face was never coming back, and someone else’s beautiful face would work just as well.

He hadn’t expected to be shoved back, the first time. In fact, he had almost been proud. Look, brother, I fixed it. But Luigi had recoiled from his touch so quickly that Pavi almost hadn’t realized it for a moment or two.

“Don’t fucking touch me. You’re fucking disgusting!”

The comments had slowly crept into their arguments after a month or two.

“Were you in my fucking room?”

“But-a brother, there is-a no fucking in-a that room.”

Pavi had torn through the ranks of Geneco’s scientists and doctors in a futile attempt to find anyone who would hit him hard enough. He growled beneath them, struggled and clawed and sneered, but it never made them angry. And when it hadn’t worked, he’d tried to corner his brother once more. His hands had curled in the other man’s shirt, and with surprising force, he shoved him back into an alcove.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Luigi snarled.

Pavi had yanked at Luigi’s shirt collar so eagerly that one of the buttons had clicked onto the polished floor beneath them.

Luigi growled sharply, “Get off me, you little pervert!”

“Don’t!” Pavi had pleaded as the older man pried his hands away, “Brother, don’t!”

He had gripped for the back of Luigi’s coat as he had turned, but the other man was gone before he’d even closed his fingers.

***

“Daddy, I need a new nose. Did you see what they said about this one in the paper? They said it’s crooked!”

Luigi sighed, shoving at his food with his fork. Across the table, Pavi smoothed one hand along the curve of a gentern’s waist. She let out a soft giggle, muffling it as best she could against his neck.

Rotti pinched the bridge of his nose, “Carmela-”

“Amber!” The teen whined, “Daddy, please! It’s been Amber for like, forever!”

“Amber.” Rotti acquiesced wearily, “You’ve only had this one for a week.”

The girl’s lower lip began to quiver, “But it looks bad! I want a new one!”

Pavi’s teeth grazed the gentern’s neck, and Luigi glared more determinedly into his food. A soft sigh escaped the woman as Pavi nipped her earlobe.

“Carmela-”

“Amber!”

“Amber! You don’t need another yet!” Their father grunted.

“Daddy, yes I do! I-”

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” Luigi spat, slamming down his fork.

Amber blinked, glancing up to her brother. Pavi paused as well, his mouth just slightly open, lingering over the patch of skin between the gentern’s neck and shoulder.

Luigi rose with a growl, “Can’t you shut your mouth for a goddamn second and let me eat?!” He snarled, “And you-!” He wheeled on Pavi abruptly, “Jesus Christ! What the fuck?!”

“What?” Pavi cooed innocently.

“Luigi, calm down.”

A moment cooled between the two men. Pavi’s eyes remained riveted on Luigi’s, his mouth a thin line. Grudgingly, Luigi sank slowly into his seat once more.

“Whatever you say, Pop.”

The rush of disappointment burned into anger in Pavi’s chest. He threw his napkin to the table as he stood wordlessly. Luigi refused to watch him go.

***

Luigi winced pleasedly and wiped his mouth, setting down the empty tumbler on the ballroom bar.

“Anything else, Mr. Largo?” The bartender inquired.

“Gimme another.”

He had never been one for big events. With an annoyed sigh, he leaned back against the bar and glanced out over the ballroom. Beneath the dim lights, women nestled in furs clung to the arms of men who looked almost as bored as he did. Martini glasses dotted the tables, genterns with trays giggling and leaning over deeply for tips as they served the crowd. On the mainstage, a dark-haired woman (one of Pop’s new little bitches, I bet) sang sweetly over a chamber orchestra.

“Mr. Largo?”

He turned to face the owner of the voice appraisingly. She wasn’t bad on the eyes, and her gown plunged in all the right places.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“I thought so!” The redhead purred, taking a seat on the stool beside him. One leg peeked through the slit in her dress, “Oh, I love patron events, don’t you? Your father is so generous to us.”

“Yeah. Great.”

She moved a bit closer to him, under the pretense of speaking more easily. Soon enough, he could feel her chest pressing against the back of his arm.

If she had said anything worth listening to, he’d already forgotten it by the time he was pushing her through the back hall towards the coat check room. She moaned delightedly as he pinned her against one wall just outside the door, eagerly arching into his teeth at her shoulder.

“Oh~hh, Luigi!” She sighed as he wound one hand into her hair.

He ignored her affectionate gushing, drawing back and pulling her firmly into the small, darkened room. One hand had just begun to fumble for the lights when he heard a soft groan from across the floor. Luigi felt all the blood within him jump as his eyes adjusted enough to make out the shape of two figures.

“Get outta’ here, huh?” He hissed quickly, giving the redhead a small push. She blinked with sudden confusion, but he had already shut the door behind himself. The faint rustle of clothing being removed ceased as the doorknob clicked.

For a few moments, there was silence. Luigi scowled, “I’m giving you two fucking seconds to be out of here if you want to make it home in one fuckin’ piece.”

The taller figure sprang hastily into motion, pulling his clothes back on in the darkness. The slimmer silhouette remained against the wall, mock-languid, although even with no lights, Luigi could see hints of tension in his brother’s frame. The larger man moved to leave, coat over one arm, but glanced over his shoulder just briefly as his hand touched the doorknob.

“Va bene. Go.” Pavi sighed annoyedly.

Swallowing slightly, the would-be suitor slipped through the door, opening it only wide enough to fit his body through the crack. A sliver of pale skin was visible against the opposite wall for just a moment before it closed once more.

“What the fuck was that?!” Luigi hissed sharply.

Pavi shrugged, “Antonio.”

“We’re in fucking public!” Luigi growled, “You can’t let some asshole fuck you in public! What if somebody sees?!”

“You were-a coming in here, too! I saw your little troia!”

“She’s a woman, you stupid shit!”

Crossing his arms moodily over his chest, Pavi fell silent for a few moments before lifting his chin just slightly, “So what? Just because-a you can’t find a-”

“Shut the fuck up!” The older man cut him off, scowling, “I’m not some fucking sick little pervert like you!” He spat, giving Pavi a small shove, “Just look at you! You’re fucking disgusting! Look what you fucking look like!”

For a few seconds, the dark-haired man said nothing. Then, with a sharp growl, he threw himself at his brother. Luigi let out a small, startled gasp as Pavi’s frame met his own, the smaller man’s trembling fists flailing, slamming down against Luigi’s body wherever they could find space enough to strike.

“A’You fucking son of a bitch!” The younger man howled, “I hate you! I hate you!”

With a grunt, Luigi seized one of his wrists. Pavi twisted against his grip, fingers curling and uncurling sharply as he struggled to free himself. His other hand clawed fiercely at his brother’s face, the force of his anger drawing thin lines of blood over Luigi’s jaw.

“Fucking stop it!” The older man growled.

“Make-a me!” Pavi spat fiercely, “You fucking make-a me, brother!”

Luigi began to pull away, but Pavi sank his nails into the side of his neck. Letting out a pained snarl, Luigi gripped him roughly at the waist, slamming him back against one wall. Pavi’s body seized at the impact. Something seemed to sink just briefly within Luigi’s chest at the sight.

“You goddamn fucking little slut.” He hissed sharply.

Breath ragged, Pavi drew back one arm. Before the other man could move to avoid it, Pavi’s fist crashed across his jaw, blurring his vision momentarily.

“God damnit, Pavi!” He growled as he lunged at the younger man, ripping his nails into Pavi’s sides, bringing his fists into his cheeks, anything, anything to return the pain. The dark-haired man’s cries seemed distant beneath him. Snarling and twisting, they devolved into bone and skin and nails. Pavi’s fingers twisted in his hair. Pavi’s hips crushed against his own. The dead thing between them suddenly irrelevant as Pavi’s eyes darkened behind it.

Luigi scrabbled at the buttons of the younger man’s pants. Pavi bucked beneath his hands, forcing his hardness against his brother’s palms. A seam gave way, and Luigi tore off the pants, shoving the other man’s shaking hands out of the way to pull off his own jacket and shirt. Selfishly, he ground his hips into Pavi’s, eliciting a strangled cry.

Curling his fingers in the hem of Luigi’s pants, Pavi yanked away the garment and replaced it with his body once more. Closer, tighter, more. He could feel Luigi’s cock straining against his own, and the thought of it made him twist.

“Please.” He begged, “Please, brother, please…”

Luigi said nothing, his breath low and hot beside Pavi’s ear. Wordlessly, one of his hands ran along the curve of the younger man’s back. Pavi’s breath hitched as he felt it slide under the hem of his underwear.

“Oh, please, please…” He murmured encouragingly against the other man’s shoulder, a bit of blood from his lip, split by one of Luigi’s last strikes, smearing against the skin as he spoke, “I- nngh! Ahn~!” His body pitched as two fingers suddenly plunged into him. He could feel the muscles of Luigi’s arm tense and shift against the side of his hip as the other man began to thrust the digits hungrily into his entrance. Pavi mewled beneath the motions, his hands flying to his brother’s shoulders for support as his knees buckled.

“Yes…yes!” He muffled the cries as best he could into Luigi’s neck. Greedily, he worked his hips back against the intrusion. Between their bodies, he could feel Luigi beginning to drip with need. One shuddering hand lifted itself from the other man’s shoulder and found its way beneath his underwear. Luigi let out a low groan into the hollow of Pavi’s neck.

“Please, brother, I want it…” Pavi breathed as he stroked him hungrily, “I want it-a now…”

Moaning wordlessly, Luigi pulled back his fingers, shuddering at the sigh the motion drew from the man beneath him. Pavi quickly stripped them both of their underwear. His breath hitched once more at the sight of the older man, but before he could speak, Luigi had shoved him back against the wall once more. Obediently, Pavi spread his legs at either side of the other’s hips.

“Now!” He pleaded hastily, “Ple-” A strangled gasp escaped him as Luigi cut him off, plunging his length into him without hesitation. He nearly came as he felt the other man seat himself fully within his body, “Aa~ah! Luigi!”

Groaning raggedly, Luigi remained motionless for a moment, every sensation suddenly dull but the feeling of Pavi’s tightness around him, “Jesus, fuck…” He had never even looked at a man before, never given a shit about them until he’d felt his brother’s slim frame twisting against his own, but the feel of it was overwhelming. Sinking his nails into Pavi’s sides, he began to shove into him, driving his brutal hunger into the younger man with every thrust.

Beneath him, Pavi’s soft whimpers grew into wailing. Luigi could feel the other’s hardness slick with pleasure against his stomach. It only hurried his rhythm further. His breath came in short, sharp pants as he neared the edge of his control.

“Please-a, Luigi!” Pavi gasped, his nails digging deep, bleeding tracks into Luigi’s back, “Please, inside!”

Luigi moaned sharply at the sudden exclamation as Pavi grew tenser and tenser around him. With a low, hungry growl, he drew back almost fully, and then, in the sharpest motion yet, slammed the entirety of himself back into the other man all at once.

Pavi screamed as he felt Luigi’s release within him, the heat of it driving him sharply into his own climax. He came blindingly, twisting against the older man’s body as his breath left him for several jarring moments. He could feel his brother crying out loudly against his shoulder.

When his eyes finally slid open again, he could barely make out Luigi through the haze. The other man’s chest heaved against his own, the tension rapidly evaporating from his body. Pavi sank back against the wall. Slowly, Luigi’s face lifted to meet his eyes. For a moment, Pavi thought he could almost make out something unsure in his brother’s light eyes.

The older man’s face hardened once more. He drew back hastily, beginning to stumble into his clothes. Pavi watched him, motionless, as he straightened his ascot and hair. Without returning his gaze, Luigi made for the door. Pavi couldn’t help but call after him as he left.

“It was-a good, brother.”

***