WARNING: Like all of my stories, the following contains a male x male pairing. If you don't like smut, if you don't like boy's love, if you don't like a lil' psychological non-consensual play, then go somewhere else! This story is full of it and will- perhaps -disturb you.

A/N: Just watched Rodrick Rules. Must. Write. Slash. The only things that will encourage me to write more are reviews, so leave them!

Check out my original stories at:fictionpress ~calicotrayce (more brother pairings)

Sometimes, Rodrick could be a fucking douche. Grade Eight dances weren't meant to be ruined by older brothers. Or at least, that was Greg's opinion. There he was, on the opposite side of the dance, flanked by his cronies and grinning from ear to ear at his younger brother – who happened to be sprawled on his ass after tripping over his own two feet to ask Holly for a dance.

Greg's whole face began to burn as he slowly got to his feet and tried shaking off the dooming feeling of embarrassment. It was one thing to fall to the floor surrounded by his entire class, but it was another for Rodrick to have seen him too.

"You're so light on your feet, bro," Rodrick teased as Greg approached. "Ever consider a life as a dancer?" The two guys behind him snickered and Greg shot them all a glare.

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" Greg seethed between clenched teeth. "Don't you have a lame gig to play or something?" That's what Greg heard last, anyway. Yesterday night he'd watched Rodrick grab his coat and leave – eyeliner scraped across his eyes and hair as wild as ever. It was the last Greg had seen him, until now.

People were already looking over, and now that Greg had a chance to get a good look at him, he noticed Rodrick was fully dressed, looking ready to rock. As some hint of realization hit him, Rodrick smirked.

"Yea, we're playing a middle school dance. But whatever, we're getting paid." Rodrick motioned with a hand that the two guys behind him could start setting up on stage. "And while I'm here I'm supposed to drive you home. Mom and Dad decided to go on a date."

Both boys visibly shivered at the thought of their parents being romantic together. It was something rarely seen from the two A-Types.

"This sucks," Greg mumbled as Rodrick directed another two guys to the stage.

Rodrick's eyes hardened. "What. I thought you liked Loded Diper," he said, indicating his shirt with the band's logo on it.

Greg nodded. "Yea, I do. But that's only because you're in it. Now everyone's going to make fun of me; my lame brother played at the dance." A hand quickly found the backside of Greg's head. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Lame? I am not the lame brother. Who just fell on their ass out there?"

Greg's hands curled into fists as he relived the embarrassing trip – it was Rodrick's fault anyway. Greg hadn't expected him to show up, so he wasn't really watching where he was going until it was too late. But that information would never reach Rodrick. No, knowing that he was the source of Greg's pain would just make Rodrick happy.

Then before Greg could say anything, one of the band members called for Rodrick, and the older boy sauntered away as if completely uninterested in the conversation anymore.

He was always being ditched. That was probably the worst part for Greg, who lately wanted nothing more than to spend time with Rodrick – who could be sort of okay when he wasn't being a douche. Rodrick would drive him to school, and pick him up every morning. The beaten down van with the spray painted logo was sort of like an icon in the parking lot now, and it had earned Greg at least a little bit of rep.

And besides the morning rides together, sometimes the two would just hang out. Greg would easily be conned into doing stupid things; like throwing rocks at cars on the overpass and ringing random door bells. It didn't take much for Rodrick to convince Greg. Hell, sometimes Rodrick didn't even have to ask.

Greg watched bitterly as his brother took the stage ten minutes later.

"I didn't know your brother was playing. I would've worn my shirt if I did," Rowley said, breaking Greg's deep thoughts as he came up to the other.

"It was a surprise to me too. You'd think he would tell me these things..."

Greg could only ponder helplessly as he tried to think of the reason his brother was being so secretive all of a sudden. Weren't they just starting to get along? Didn't they talk almost every day? If Greg could work up the courage to ask Rodrick for advice on girls, couldn't Rodrick at least take the time to let him know if he'd be crashing the Eighth Grade dance?

The lead singer coughed into the microphone and caught everyone's attentions. "We are Loded Diper. Rock your little hearts out! I want a mosh going on riiiiiight here." A slender finger pointed to an area just in front of the stage where a few kids were still slow dancing to the previous song.

The guitarist stuck a few rough chords, and then all hell broke loose as Rodrick entered with crashing and inconsistent drums, and then as the lead singer began to yell horribly into the microphone. Bewildered at the unexpected music, all of the kids stopped and stared blankly up at the band. A few whispers started, and Greg dropped his head into his hands.

This was just embarrassing.

"Greg, isn't this your brother's band?"

The voice was clear and sent Greg into a panic. He turned to see Holly standing beside him. She looked so nice, and Greg immediately felt at ease - as he always did in her presence.

"Yea, I didn't know he was going to be playing," Greg said with a smile.

Holly giggled and stopped to stare at the band again. "They're okay, I guess. I don't really listen to this type of music."

"I wasn't into it at first either," Greg explained. Then he also couldn't help but turn to watch the chaotically loud band perform. "But, the more I listened, the better it got."

"If you're into it, we should start the mosh pit! Rowley too!" Holly said excitedly. She was already taking off her shoes and skipping over to where the stage ended.

Greg wasted no time grabbing Rowley by the arm and chasing after her – suddenly thankful for the backbeat lesson Rodrick had given him a few months ago.

"You just sort of throw your body all over the place, in crazy directions," Rodrick said. Up in his room, with the drum set and the endless posters of bands Greg had never even heard of, Rodrick had pumped up some music on a stereo and was shaking out all of his limbs in a sort of warm-up ritual.

"That sounds really stupid," Greg had replied, giving his older brother a quizzical look.

"It's not, trust me. You will be thanking me at your first rock concert for this."

Rodrick then began to jump, and then as the music reached the chorus, he exploded into a moving ball of flailing limbs. He went so far as to pretend to crash into imaginary people by his side, making it all seem so violent and crazy.

But it looked like a lot of fun, and the music was pumped all the way. So Greg had joined in, delighting when Rodrick had shouldered him to the ground then stuck out a hand to let him back up. "First rule of moshing; if someone falls, help them up."

"Second rule of moshing; revenge!" Greg had screamed, throwing all of his weight into a body slam. Rodrick fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, and sensing a rare advantage, Greg had to throw in a fake elbow to the gut as a sort of finishing move.

"I am going to kill you!" Rodrick growled, struggling to get the younger brother off of him. As always, Rodrick was too quick. Before Greg knew it he had been pinned underneath the other.


"Jesus, you're such a cry baby."