It was his own fault.
All he had wanted, practically from the moment he had set foot in the Abbey, was some attention, some affection, from his brother.
Now, he was suffering from a surfeit of both.
For a week, he had felt Marcello's eyes following him, had seen the speculation in his gaze and wondered at his secret, scheming smile. Now, Marcello had him pressed against the outside wall of the Abbey, one hand on his shoulder and the other...much lower...the speculation in his gaze turned dark and hungry.
"Well, well, brother. Planning a celebration in Simpleton tonight, were you?"
Angelo felt his mouth go dry, fear constricting his chest. All these years at the Abbey, he'd thought no one knew, or cared.
But of course Marcello would remember the day Angelo ruined his life, wouldn't he?
Long fingers tugged the ribbon out of his hair, tangled in the loosened strands and pulled, tipping his head back. For long moments, Marcello simply studied him, then his other hand left the fastenings of Angelo's trousers and stroked, lightly, lightly, along Angelo's cheek.
"Eight years," he murmured. "How time does fly."
Angelo licked his lips. "Marcello..."
The hand in his hair tightened, yanking painfully; the other closed over his throat, cutting of his words, his air. Angelo struggled in vain, pinned by Marcello's greater weight; he could feel his brother's erection pressing against his hip through their uniforms.
Finally, as the world was going black around him, he was allowed to breathe. He gasped for air and Marcello's mouth captured his, greedy, demanding; the hand which had been around his throat dropped to his loosened clothing, wrapping around his cock instead.
He panted, afraid to protest again.
"Happy birthday, brother," Marcello said, and his smile was dark with promise.
Written for 30 Tortures. Session #25 - be careful what you wish for
