Together We Will Burn
Pairing: Templar!Carver x M!Mage!Hawke
Warnings: Incest, slash, virginal, explicit / descriptive sex, anal, size-kink, light dub-con, light rough sex, light angst
It started as a friendly warning, or as friendly as things were between them. Carver had told him not to use his magic to carelessly, to stop flaunting his maker given powers just because he was The Champion, just because he was a known apostate and got away with it.
"I'm not flaunting it, Carver. I use it like any other person works his craft; for is that not what your chantry tells us? 'Magic is meant to serve man' if I remember?" Ever the diplomat, Garrett Hawke dropped it casually, not meaning any harm with his words. Though like all words spoken between the two brothers, it was taken the wrong way, got blown out of proportion from one breath to the other.
"Don't turn this into an argument about me being a templar!" Carver snapped defensively, turning on him, walking closer till he towered with his stronger built over his physically lesser, but in all other words -grander- brother. His eyes flashed with deep-rooted hurt, guilt somewhere hidden beneath the facade of bravado, and Garrett wondered: Guilt for becoming a templar, or guilt for not being there when their mother needed him?
Garrett gazed up at his brother, the small of his back resting against the table behind him, hands on it's top for balance. His eyes held a query, an offer for a listening ear. His mouth offered freedom of guilt, a path without conflict. "I do not hate you for entering the order, Carver. I wouldn't have expected it, but it was a path open for you. I do not blame you for taking it." It was meant to be soothing, meant to the way out for both of them. But Carver flung himself headfirst down the path of destruction where only the brave and the foolhardy ventured.
"Why do you always do that? Always playing the understanding, perfect older brother... Why can't you have faults like everyone else?" Jealousy, always the same strong hammer strikes that rammed against him, trying to break him down. Why couldn't Carver see? If he, the supportive pillar, was torn down, everything around them would collapse, bury them alive.
This constant wear and tear, constant conflict, it was going to doom them both. But there were no words to explain, there never was. So Garrett followed his brother down, down, down the twisting path that could only destroy them both in a fiery conflict of words like sharp barbs and touch dripping with poison.
He smiled softly.
"Maker, you make me sound like I'm some sort of saint." The smile twisted, wry."I am not as faultless as you suggest." He sighed, bringing a hand up to scratch at an itch by his eyebrow, in the same gesture unintentionally showing exasperation. A strong hand wrapped around a brittle wrist, forcing that hand away from his face with more force than was necessary.
Carver stared into his eyes, so close and burning, and they were breathing the same scorching air. "Yes, because I'm always wrong, isn't that right?" He said lowly, tauntingly, sneering while his eyes searched for the confirmation he thought would show itself. There was none, only conflict. Garrett wouldn't deny the statement, nor tell his brother he was right on that. It was a question that brought a stalemate, something that couldn't possibly be answered without dire consequence, leaving him caught in silence, stripped of words.
Why couldn't Carver see? The fire between them needed no more fuel. They were already too close to burning up.
"Don't ignore me!" Carver growled and yanked on the limb in his grip. Garrett wasn't prepared for it, stumbled into his brother and then tried to draw his arm back out of his unyielding grip.
"Carver, let go." He used his free hand to attempt and pry the thick fingers away from him, but there was no success. His fingers were unmovable and only tightened, bone pressing together inside his body. "Carver!" His voice carried distress, a warning born from desperation. Carver didn't relent. He was angry, that was all Garrett could read from his features. His muscles were tense and bulging under the noble's clothing he received the moment he came 'home'.
It was a new set, specially ordered and sewn to fit his ever brawnier frame. A darker red than Garrett's own clothing, a different design altogether that was more able to show off his muscles and broad chest and shoulders; though truly the reason was as much to flatter him as to not make it look owning. Like he was trying to tie him down to the same look as himself, his older brother, the head of the broken family.
At this moment in time, it seemed the gesture had been moot.
Carver didn't lessen his grip, in fact, he did nothing. He didn't speak, didn't push further. Just remained in that spot, keeping Garrett caught together with him in a fragile stalemate at the crossroads where their paths merged and diverged. Bodies all but pressed together, one strong, one meek, both burning inside with equal amounts of restrained emotions.
A gasp broke the peace, the balance tipping. Both turned, found Orana watching them, her dainty elven hands covering her mouth in shock or fear, the emotion made unknown by the distance and lighting. The warmth of their bodies so close to one another was sweltering, the air too heavy to breathe as she looked at them. Carver stepped back, the sparks of fire between them seeming too hot under the inquisitive gaze of another.
Carver left in a huff, his steps echoing as he disappeared up to his room and Garrett was left to burn on his own, always alone. The air was dust, his body fire, his mind a bucket of water that desperately poured its reason like a cooling flood in an attempt to douse the passion that could never be let out.
"Orana, have you finished those pastries you promised?" He asked, a smile that felt so brittle to himself but had fooled everyone for years plastered over his expression. His voice, low and mellow, kindly soothed the young girl's worries.
"Yes Master Hawke. Do you wish them now?" She said, quick to obey, her wish to please the only light in her life. A light he nourished carefully, carefully. Slowly bringing it to life and hoping that with time it would become something greater. Something she could support herself on without someone to guide her innocent steps.
"I will be sure to sample them later. Be a dear and put them on my work desk. Why don't you take some of them for yourself, and see if those girls from the other day wish to share them with you?"
"I will Master Hawke. You are so kind to me!" She said, so innocently grateful it cut inside him. It was only part kindness. Only a tiny part meant to sooth her and make her happy.
The other part was pure selfishness. He wanted her out of here in case he could not stay put. In case he could not keep his mask up, in case he shattered at his brother's hands.
Still, a part of him wished he'd asked her to stay. As long as she was here, as long as anyone was here, he would be able to keep himself strong. He had no choice but to do so in front of strangers, acquaintances and friends alike. It was different with family, those who were so close to his heart that they could easily cut him right open, leaving him to bleed out uselessly in the bleak world they inhabited, to broken and betrayed to care.
He could protect himself as much from them as he could protect himself from a templar. As long as he was not caught by surprise by any move, he could keep his distance. But if his defenses were breached just once, he was helpless.
The bitter irony was that the only family that was left to hurt him was one prone to do so, as well as a templar he'd always been taught to respect and fear in equal quantities.
The Maker had a twisted sense of humor. Just like Andraste was brought down by her own husband in a fit of jealousy, in this world there was no one that could harm him as much as his own brother could. And what consumed his dear brother was the very jealousy that had brought the Maker's bride to the pyre to burn. What was there to say he would not meet a similar fate?
That he had companions who looked out for him; former slaves and pirates, apostates, blood mages and abominations both. A storyteller that would be as interested in his demise as his continued breathing as well as a guards woman that was so wound up with the law, she would hesitate to protect him should he be on the wrong side when things came tumbling down?
Nothing truly said he wouldn't burn at the end of this. But unlike Her, he would be no martyr of faith after his death. For he stood for nothing greater than a fallen house of nobility rising from the ashes, a Champion of a city. There would be but a few that would think to miss him, and as years passed, he would fall into forgetfulness.
"I will leave then Master Hawke." Garrett was brought out of his thoughts at her bright voice, and he waved her off with a brilliant smile, hiding inside the shell of his body, hiding his accursed soul behind layers of skin and sinew, flesh and bone. The sound of the door closing behind her was low, but in the near tranquil silence, it echoed. Standing in silence, he felt the world circulate around him. For seven breaths he remained in the silent equilibrium, then he stepped out and onto the barbed road, the staircase that physically went upwards, but might as well be the stairs to the black city itself.
The simple door of dark wood was closed, but not locked. He tentatively reached out, sliding fingers along the smooth surface, then drawing back only to knock. Once, twice. Silence, the shuffle of cloth, thumping of heavy feet on stone floor. Then the door opened, Carver glaring out at him, hair brought lose from the two small braids, now free to fall around his sharp and strong features.
"What?" Carver asked brusquely, and he offered a plaintive smile in return.
"Can I come in?"A look of frustration, anger, painted his features immediately, because they both knew that he could not deny Garrett his request. He could not say 'No' and shut the door, simply because Carver was a guest in this house although he should rightfully live here. They both knew, and it was aggravating to be faced with a choice when there was truly only one option.
Garrett did so, entering when Carver pulled the door open further and then left to sit squarely on the bed, arms crossed over his chest. He closed the door behind himself and then turned and walked over to his younger brother, standing before the fireplace that cast its glow in the otherwise dark room. Like all other bedrooms save his mother's, there were no windows.
The fire behind him cast deep shadows, adding to the shroud of impenetrable neutrality and diplomacy he always wore, hiding near all traits of personality. He hadn't said a word. He hadn't done anything, yet the peace between them shattered.
Carver's expression was twisted by a snarl and he got to his feet with thundering speed, his hand grabbing hold of the front of Garrett's clothes and hauling him forward and around. Garrett stumbled, shocked at the sudden lurch of the world. He stumbled, his legs meeting resistance and bending, sending him sprawling half on top of fine sheets of a deep burgundy color.
He pushed up but was pressed down again by a strong hand on his shoulder. He was relieved for a breath, because the pressure on his shoulder had been from his front so he was flipped onto his back, not his stomach. His legs dangled over the edge and Carver loomed above him, his form drenched in the shadow of his hulking frame.
"I won't be in your shadow anymore!" The younger Hawke snarled, and Garrett was given pause. He did not understand immediately. It took him a moment to realize what his brother meant. The fire lighting him from behind, his shadow falling over the bed. It was symbolic, just like Carver had always said he struggled to get out of the massive shadow of his older brother's achievements.
"I never meant for you-" He tried to amend for the unintended insult he perceived, but Carver cut him off with a hand to his jaw, slamming his teeth together and then holding his mouth shut with the whole force and weight of his upper body behind it. Pain flickered across his expression; he'd bit his cheek and just lightly nicked his tongue. There was no taste of iron though, and the pain eased in the more prominent sense of confusion, apprehension and urgency.
"Shut up. Just shut your mouth." The words were growled at him with more ferocity than any words before had ever been. His eyes were dark when he was lit from behind and his black hair fell all around his face making him look untamed, a wild beast snarling down at him. Garrett swallowed, his heart fluttering a mad pulse through his body, his chest aching from it's hammering against his ribcage. He didn't dare move lest he set the man above him off.
The silence was heavy, yet it wasn't even quiet. Just because no words breached the air didn't mean there were no sounds. The fire crackled, their breaths wheezed, pulse thundering like a crescendo inside. Garrett could almost feel Carver's pulse through the hand keeping his mouth shut, through the thumb aligned with his cheek, the base tickled by coarse strands of stubble and the tip resting in the hollow beneath his cheekbone.
His hand was warm and calloused, one of a fighter, a warrior. A templar. Garrett closed his eyes, tension strong in his lesser frame. Then the force of the hand against his jaw lessened, cupping rather than forcing its dominion. He did not open his eyes, even when Carver breathed fire down his lungs.
Just a lingering caress of warm flesh, that was all. There was nothing beyond familial love in the gesture. There was nothing, though his insides blazed with ever restrained and denied passion. He could pretend there was nothing but sibling love as long as that was all there was, lips against his own, warm and unmoving.
But the time for pretenses were over. Carver pulled back a breath, then returned, once more forceful, the hand on Garrett's jaw moving to pry his mouth open. He met little resistance, only a faint attempt of turning the head to the side and a crease on the strong brow. The attempt was unsuccessful and Carver kissed his brother, pushed his tongue past the meek resistance of lips and teeth, feeling the invaded mouth open fully to accept him in a sign of resignation. He delved in, sliding against the wet tissue inside, exploring, plundering, ravaging.
He pulled back, his breath fanning the face of his older sibling's, his taste still on his tongue. First now did eyes open to meet, brown meeting brown.
Garrett looked up at his brother, confusion and denial in his eyes, but no rejection. As much as his mind wanted to turn away from this atrocity -this was his sibling, his baby brother that had finally grown into a man- he could no easier deny him than he could deny the sky was blue and the grass green. It was no impossibility, but it would always be partially a lie. For as time went and seasons changed, so did the circumstances and the colors he perceived.
The same applied to his brother. As time changed, so did his perceived image of him and what rules had worked yesterday became unusable by the light of today.
So now he was in the change of that perception, caught of guard, trapped in a moment of weakness. He had to change his views on family once more, but to what? Insistent lips were back against his own pliant ones and Garrett closed his eyes, brow furrowing as a muffled groan was caught and thrown back into his mouth by a puffed breath as their lips slanted, allowing air to flow down straining lungs.
Carver was domineering, his kiss never brutal but always ferocious and demanding. As Garrett passively allowed the assault, the younger grew bolder with his moves. He pressed his physically stronger frame down on top of his older sibling's, trapping him full and well between the mattress and his own unyielding frame, one leg pressed between his thighs as though it belonged there. He kissed and nipped at lips till impatience drove him on.
One hand went to support him while the other roughly pulled at the bottom of Garrett's red tunic, bunching it up around the belt as he began to caress the skin of his lower abdomen right above the line of his breaches. Garrett shivered; squirmed lightly in the discomfort. It was not in the face of what his brother was doing to him, but that he did not know how to respond. His abdominal muscles twitched under the questing hand, flat but soft flesh jumping. It invited a firmer stroke and press, the hand kneading the soft tissue of untrained flesh, drawing a distraught breath from the slighter man.
A breath soon claimed by a brief clash of lips, teeth and tongue.
This time when Carver pulled back, Garrett followed his mouth up, not wanting to separate. Shame and resignation had him falling back against the mattress, eyes asking the younger brother what he intended with this game of conquest. Carver didn't answer, his hand only moving down, down, down and in between his older brother's legs. His brother jumped in response, mouth falling slightly open and gaze flacking as the hand over his groin applied pressure to his manhood.
Fingers gently fondling through the cloth of his breaches and smallclothes, following the contours of his flesh, pinching lightly at the tip only to see the flinch it caused. The thick fingers then begin to undo the laces and if there was to be any halt to the act between them, any stop, then now was the time to stop it. Yet Garrett does not want to. He stares transfixed at his brothers face, sees that the previous snarl has given way to an expression he's never expected to see on his brother, nor have directed at him by any man. His eyes dark and smoldering, lips thinned in an anticipating smile.
Knuckles brush against him with every quick tug at the laces and he cannot help the erratic flutter of his breath. The laces come undone and Carver pulls at his breaches, pushes to his knees and bodily lifs Garrett's hips without warning, dragging all of breaches and smallclothes and boots and socks off in quick efficient jerks, never sparing a glance for Garrett's reaction. Garrett's face is darkened by embarrassment, a color that covers not only high cheeks, but a crooked nose and a pair of rounded ears as well.
He was torn of balance as Carver undressed him and yet he found no words to voice his protest. 'No' was too strong a word, 'Stop' not what he wished. Only dressed in tunic and belt he crawled up a pace on the bed, only to be grabbed by the shin and pulled down on his stomach and once more rolled over and forcibly held in place by his younger sibling. Carver spared his expression but a brief glance, his eyes more interested in the flaccid length situated in a nest of short dark curls. Wrapping a hand around it, touching as though estimating it, he then did the same to the balls beneath it, a hand pressing down on his brother's hip to hold him in place, allowing his explorations to continue in peace.
When he looked back up at Garrett, there was a gleeful look to his expression. "You're not so big, are you?" He said with a quirk to his lips and Garrett's eyes widened in disbelief, his complexion darkening further as blood flushed his skin. He did not know how to respond, and though he tried to find any words to say, in defense or protest, Carver wasn't expecting anything. He just grinned in a predatory way, his eyes glittering with the same glee as before.
Still keeping his brother in place, Carver tugged at his own pants and a moment later freed himself, his member slightly erect but undoubtably larger. Even had it been as flaccid and soft as Garrett's own, it would have held both length and girth to it. And Carver knew it, reveled in the fact he surpassed his brother in every physical aspect. He stared down at him with confidence.
"They always joked about how I must be compensating for something. That perhaps there was more of a reason behind my 'inferiority complex' than mere overshadowing by an older sibling." Carver said in a low voice, unspecific. The hand that had worked the member free now stroked it, bringing it to hardness effortlessly, and leisurely, Carver all the while keeping his gaze locked at his older brother to not miss a single reaction his actions caused.
For once, Garrett's actions didn't cause him aggravation, didn't make him feel inadequate or lesser. The transfixed gaze, reddened features from the throat and up, the continuos flutter of that very same throat with swallows and breaths and racing pulse. It was all very… endearing. But the best was the feeling it nurtured inside him. For once in his life, he felt he was one step ahead, his shadow the one falling across the face of his brother, just like it did literally at the given moment.
He felt in control of his own life. Like he could have all he wanted if he but reached out for it. Before him lay who he'd always reached for, splayed out, caught. He wanted him something fiercely. There was little thought in his mind that this should not be. Intimacy between family members, it was something commonly expected not to happen, though nothing spoken of or enforced. Nothing he couldn't ignore in the face of this prize given; no, taken through his own efforts.
Garrett couldn't think coherently. His thoughts flowed like scattered ashes for the wind, small, fleeting, barely noticeable individually, only seen as a cloud of gray, obscuring sight and vision and erasing colors wherever they landed. What was his brother thinking? He hadn't said a word for several breaths, his gaze growing hotter and hotter till it seemed to burn through Garrett's cracked mask, through his protective skin and into his very core.
It was already more than enough, he was on edge, but Carver seemed to want him over the threshold into unknown territory, wanted to drag him down. The hand around the hardened arousal fell away, showing off the length in it's full glory. Then, it moved to bring Garrett's own to the same state of excitement. It wrapped around the soft skin, fondling lightly, pulling and applying pressure. It was an odd sensation, being coaxed into arousal by another's hand, not being halfway erect already from anticipation or need by the time fingers wrapped around the flesh.
It took time, and still his nervousness and hesitancy kept him from full hardening. The frustration this caused could be clearly seen on his younger brother's expression. Did he think himself inadequate because he couldn't bring his older brother to arousal? Garrett didn't know. He closed his eyes, letting out a shuddered breath and curling his toes as Carver's hand once more drew close to his tip, the sensitive nerves itching at the touch of his calloused skin.
A sound of frustration drifted through the air, neither of the brothers knowing who had let it out. What was known was that Carver's patience had run out for now. Giving his elder a last tug, drawing a twitch from narrow hips and a strangled noise, he then moved to the middle of the bed, hauling Garrett after him and flipping him onto his stomach with minimal help. Getting him to his knees, Carver spread his cheeks and swallowed at the sight of his intimate entrance, the soft puckered skin, his gaze trailing down to the hanging balls and member between soft but lightly muscular thighs.
Tracing the path his eyes had followed with a pair of fingers he heard his brother suck in a breath, his back tensing and rectum twitching. Like he'd not expected, had not seen the touch coming. With the way his companions had lusted after him, he'd definitely thought one of them would have gotten into his pants by now. "Are you a virgin or something?" He taunted and was rewarded with neither confirmation nor protest, only a shift of weight from one knee to the other, offering a tantalizing motion of hips.
Not caring for the answer, or the lack of it, Carver gathered saliva in his mouth and spread it over his fingers. It wouldn't truly work as lubricant but he wasn't going to stretch him dru, nor give reason time to take over. Garrett could take care of eventual pain afterwards, would have to as Carver couldn't wait. Spreading the globes of flesh apart he flicked his wet fingers over the seam, then pressed at the middle and continued applying pressure as he slid a finger inside. So he began to work it, pressing to the sides and curling before sliding it in and out, eventually adding the second.
This was the part he hated with being with other men. He'd but done it twice before, but he'd never liked this part. The necessary preparation, the stretching. He never knew how his partners felt, even less so his brother. Garrett was quiet, only breathing and swallowing quickly, as though any noise he did might shatter him. Like it would be showing weakness. He was holding himself back, trying to stay above his younger brother even still.
Carver growled and pulled his fingers out, letting more saliva on them before pressing three of them in, the thick digits hugged tightly inside the hot channel, feeling a constant thumping around them, resonating through them. He didn't care whether it was the pulse of his brother or the pulse of his own heart intensified as bloodflow became harder in the vice-grip of the rectal muscle.
Garrett felt a drop of sweat slide down the side of his face as he briefly opened his mouth to pant out a desperate breath that burned inside his lungs before he locked his teeth over his lower lip, fingers clenched firmly in the burgundy beddings flexing as he was touched, explored, breached. Eyes screwed shut, he could only focus on the feel of those fingers, thick, calloused, strong and twisting inside. It was odd, very odd. An until this moment unknown sensation, and his fear for the unknown, the uncontrollable, wilted his arousal.
He roughly knew what to expect, so it wasn't with fear he anticipated the next move as he was empty once more. It was hesitancy, insecurity, but not fear. Carver wouldn't harm him. But there was no saying he wouldn't hurt him. There was a fine difference between hurt and harm; the first he could take, the latter he feared. Harm meant the pain would linger, might never disappear. Harm was breaking something. Hurt was injury that didn't last, hurt could be healed.
He wanted neither, but he thought he would take either for the sake of his only brother.
The slightly dreaded touch came, wet and wide, velvety yet hard and firm, unyielding. It pressed against him and then into him and he couldn't breathe. He had seen it, his brother's erection, but not touched it. It couldn't be compared, the feeling of seeing and experience the real thing. A different sort of burn than the one consuming his thoughts and soul, more like the one turning his lungs into wastelands, resonated through him as he was breached by the thick length of his brother.
In a dizzying moment he was reminded of when they were younger and Carver caught his arm, wringing it in twin directions. The burn was similar, but different all the same. Where the pain had been enough to bring tears to the eyes of a young child but a few years older than the even then stronger, younger brother, the aching burn that was now inflicted upon him was borne with a gritting of teeth and an acceptance of the necessity. This wasn't like the thousand needles inflicted on an arm by a temperamental child, it was the friction of two bodies not meant to meet trying to merge.
Carver grit his teeth, eyes narrowed in concentration as he pressed forward until his pectoral met the flesh of his brother's backside, his member firmly embedded inside him in a, at the very least, uncomfortable stretch. It wasn't a dance on roses for him either, the tightness and the lack of proper lubrication made it chafe, but the thrumming of their pulses, the heat and the stimulation of his sensitive nerves, it made it all worth it. If he could but get Garrett to loosen up a bit more then this would be more pleasant for both of them.
Keeping Garrett's hips still with one strong hand, he leaned down slightly, the other hand threading into his brother's hair, tilting his head so he was forced to look at him. There was strain in his expression, his lower lips swollen from continuous abuse and his eyes loosing their cool and beginning to pool with emotions rarely seen. There was still no rejection in any part of his countenance, only acceptance and the expression of attempted understanding. Too much sensibility in the one gaze.
"I'm going to drain most of your mana to exhaust your mind. I need you to relax and you're fucking thinking too much." Carver said hoarsely and there was a flicker of apprehension in Garrett's brown eyes surrounded by thick black lashes, but it was followed by trust and Carver took it as acceptance, closing his eyes and detaching himself from the act he was committing to gain the focus and discipline needed. A murmured chant and the body beneath and around his collapsed, held up only by the firm grip on his hips.
Garrett panted, thoughts turned into a fuzzy haze as he was drained. He wasn't silenced, he could still feel his connection to the fade, but he was less interested in thinking about it, or anything else. The feel of movement, itching burn, snapped him into focus on his own body, the sensation pulling at his instincts, not his reason or mind. There was but slight movement, more of a shift in pressure inside him, one moment lesser, the moment after greater, but it sent him reeling.
Carver didn't begin thrusting inside his brother even though he relaxed slightly, knowing the pain might be too much. He was above average in size and there was nothing much to ease the way, and though he cared a bit less than he might have could, he didn't want to harm his brother, make him tear and break. He didn't thrust. He rocked together with his brother's hips, pressing in the hope of stimulating his prostate, staying silent in anticipation of Garrett's reaction.
The silence was labored, heavy and thick, but it wasn't impenetrable which was proved as it was breached, a low, lengthy groan falling from swollen lips. It was followed by several unconstricted pants for breath and a low keen on a breath out. It was enough of an affirmative, and Carver increased his rocking, still not retreating to actually thrust.
Garrett noted that the burn wasn't as acute when there wasn't any sliding, and the shifting pressure inside him released small shocks of what could only be called pleasure. He groaned, feeling like he would choke if he did not let out the sounds welling up. Slowly he began to be able to take in more impressions. He was no longer solely focused on the incredible breach, the thickness filling him up and stretching him wider still. He could feel the edge of Carvers breaches against his backside and thighs, coarsely rubbing against his skin as his younger brother rocked them lightly. He could feel the hem of Carver's shirt from where broad palms grasped him. His own upper body still covered in a red tunic that now stuck to his sweaty skin, arms, chest and face pressed against the ever more rumpled sheets.
He felt the hesitant rise of his arousal.
Groaning once more, he tried to push up, remove his face from the rough sheets, get enough room to navigate a hand between his own legs. Tentative movements, not wanting to tip the balance once more found though he could barely muster the brain-capacity necessary to think of it. He touched himself, feeling the blood flow easier, faster as he tried to touch the flesh familiarly in an unfamiliar position. His arousal had wilted before in the face of hesitancy and pain, but it now rose as Carver steadily pushed at him, not only physically with the thickness inside him, but mentally with the way he waited despite his known impatience.
Carver kept his pace steady, for the moment he was content enough with the stimulation he received. He could see that Garrett was trying to bring them to equal grounds in terms of arousal, and it was the only time he wouldn't protest against the attempt of equalization. He would prove himself grander, stronger soon enough. He waited until he felt an increase in the movements beneath him, showing that his brother's arousal had hardened. Changing rhythm slightly he reached down and palmed his brother's erect manhood. It was indeed at full hardness, and like he'd estimated, smaller than his own. He was but an average sized man, in every manner apart from his fame and actions.
Though in these acts, Carver would be the greater one. Hand going back to narrow hips he slid his knees slightly more apart to gain proper balance and leverage, and then began to withdraw slightly with every rock, thrusting rather than rocking. Garrett immediately gasped, his own movements stopping in order to brace for the ever stronger moves inside.
The burn was back, every slide aggravating the skin right at the rim, but the deep thrusts pressed against his prostate unerringly precise, from mere girth rather than skill. The pleasure from it made the pain more bearable, turned it into just another sensation to drown in. Realizing there was no purpose in thinking anymore, Garrett gave in. Though he'd resigned to what his brother did he hadn't submitted to him before now.
The difference was small rhetorically speaking, as resignation and submission were two ways of letting something happen without resistance, but the shift in perspective was very unlike it. It had him crash and whirl, lost without purpose as he fully accepted whatever his brother would give him, whether it be pleasure, hurt or harm. In this moment he would truly do anything for him. There was no semblance of resistance left.
His voice did not raise in some sudden flood of prayer, nor did he moan like whore. He remained as quiet as he had before, but his silence was unforced, unrestrained. It was in perfect balance with who he was. Occasional groans and moans fell from his lips, flowing as easy as breathing. The passion always neglected in favor of coolheaded decisions was released from its boundaries and for the first time in a longer time than was cared to remember, the simplicity and complexity that was life flowed through his every vein, every limb. Like fire, his passions consumed him and brought him higher like a spark, over and over twirling in a dance in some space beyond the edge of reason.
But he didn't burn alone. Carver was drawn in like a moth to the flame, but unlike the moth that was consumed and turned to ash, he stoked the fires higher expertly like a smith by his forge, the heat increasing, sweat dripping, clothes ticking to damp skin, movements strong and assertive like the hammer blows of jealousy had been, but these made to strengthen not to break down. Together they burned and in the heat of their forbidden passion they came together and linked. Though unable to merge, they could not ever be separated.
It did not matter when they reached the peak, who first tumbled over and crashed. Though their arousals were gone and their bodies separated, the elder to collapse onto the stained and crumpled burgundy linens, the younger managing to move into a seated position by the edge of the bed, spent member tucked back inside open breaches; though things were like this, the fire was not gone. It raged inside their separate souls. Though their bodies were sated for the moment, they were still burning.
It was a bittersweet notion, for as the body's need no longer outmatched the dominance of the human mind, hesitation, guilt and shame wanted to take over and drown them. Carver haunched were he sat, his head hanging low as he wondered if this had been wise. Though he had barely cared before, the actual deed gave him pause. Templars were meant to stay chaste, though not many kept to that vow. Siblings were not meant to join like they had, yet they had. The sense of regret he felt was met with confusion, because part of him refused to fall under reason's twisted rule. If he loved his brother, was it wrong to express it simply because of who and what he was born as?
Garrett had similar thoughts as reason had always been the single pillar to remain throughout his life. A code he'd lived by to protect all he held dear, if at the expense of his own happiness. But in this moment, after experiencing living without regret, without thought for consequence and morality, he began to doubt. Was old superstition truly what he should follow?
Garrett pushed himself up, feeling saddened at the sight of the heavy burden that slowly seemed to crush the only one he could truly give his life to protect. The moment he thought it, he thought better of it. He could not die to protect Carver, and neither could he live if Carver died to protect him. It was only together with him that he could live, and only together with him that he could die.
Though his body ached, he moved. For what was the purpose of the mind's dominion if not to enforce action? He moved, seating himself right by his younger brother, so young, so burdened, so strong, and wrapped his arms around him. There was no rejection in his actions, only acceptance, and reciprocation. Carver leant into the contact, a big hand closing lightly around a wrist that had nearly cracked with the force of emotions in time past. Their faces were close together, black hair mingling just like their scents did.
In the end, it was their differences that had forced them closer, not the similarities brought by shared parents nor the bond of blood-ties. Their different views on the world, their different approaches, all coming down the same road in time to clash again and again. Their passions, their dreams, their companions and their peers. They were always at odds, yet forced into closeness in the struggle to find a balance point, when they were in truth being burned by the friction caused by the pressure from ideals and duties.
What had always tried and would continue to try and push them apart when they came too close, was their similarities. Their black hair and equally brown eyes, slightly crooked nose the same as their father's. Their bodies, male by gender, though different in build the same at its core. Their names, Hawke and Amell both. Family. It was not appropriate, not meant to be.
In the eye of reason it shouldn't have happened, yet now that it had, who was there to deny them, apart from themselves? The embers had been stoked and the fire kindled. There was no amount of reason that could douse these desires, even should the world itself burn with them as their opposing factions went to war. If they would burn, at least they would burn together. No longer would Garrett burn alone, consumed from within.
Together with his brother he would be burnt, and their flames like sparks would reach for the heavens before dying out, carried by the winds till there was no trace of them left but the charred remains of the world they'd sought to survive in.