Title: Mare Crisium (Sea of Tears)

Author: Zeda

Category: Dark, Taboo, Death, Abuse, Depressing

Subcategory: Original

Part: 1/1

Rating: R, NC-17

Pairings (if applicable): Evan x Dane (original characters)

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, eerie plot line, incest between brothers, suicidal actions.

E-mail: BKoe101725@aol.com

Site: http://blkkitti.homestead.com/BLKmain.html

*

I lie reclined in the now-cold water of the porcelain bathtub in our home, gazing intently as the faucet drips into the icy still water between my feet. The ripples dance outward, reflecting and ripping themselves apart when they bounce off of my protruding toes, and my thin pale torso. Even the lovely, ephemeral ripples must despise to touch me anymore . . .

Pale as cream yet to be poured into coffee, delicate and thin as the stem of an orchid, I gaze with heavy eyes at my wrist. The barely visible purple-tinted streaks just under the paper-thin flesh interest me, and I stare so long and so still that I can see the lines throb slightly with my heartbeat. So thinly sheathed from danger. So easily destroyed . . . A metallic glittering edge descends to the creamy surface, desiring to unite with the faint purple streak.

Why has it come it this, Evan? Why, my most beloved of all? My dearest older brother? Why did you leave me . . . after you realized how much I loved you? I gave all of myself to you, everything that no man or woman could have ever coaxed from me. My heart, my soul . . . my body. You threw me away like so much unneeded trash, tossed my emotions aside as if I never even existed to you. You called me a filthy, disgusting whore . . . a dirty, blasphemous pervert.

Why, Evan, am I these things?

Why are you so cruel . . . ?

After all, it takes two people to make love, doesn''t it my dear brother? Aren''t even you, the most beautiful creature that has graced this foul earth with your presence, being just a bit hypocritical?

. . . No. You are right, Evan. It is me that is filthy, dirty, worthless . . . To have even dared dream that you and I could be together . . .

We''re soul mates, you and I. I''ve known that since the moment father walked-out on us and you held me close and rocked me as I wept. I was only 7 then, and you were 12. Mother wasn''t even really there, though her body was . . . a drunk who never cared if we lived or died, only for the amber liquid she''d become a slave to. I loved no one but you, Evan. I wanted no one but you.

Desired no one . . .

These were thoughts that no other child my age should have even known possible, but I thought anyway. I thought, how wonderful if I could be beside my brother forever... if you and I could live happily ever after. I knew you were the one to always be there for me. The one to always protect me, like you protected me from our father when he was in one of his drunken rages.

I hated him, and I absolutely adored you. Why else would I still love you so deeply today, with my world laid-out before me?

What if you knew I first came to the thought of you touching me? It was a gentle transition, from the adoration of seven, to wanting you to kiss me at ten . . . to my first orgasm at imagining your hands rather than mine wrapped around my hardness.

Would you smile wistfully at me, and say you did the same? . . . No. No matter how I wish you would, brother, you never will. I was the only one who dreamed. The only one who wished to God and the stars every night that you would return my love some day . . .

You would gag, brother. You would be unable to hold-down your contempt and disgust for me. Why, Evan? Why are we bestowed with the cruelty of being brothers . . . ?

. . . No. If we weren''t brothers, then you wouldn''t have been there to save me. To protect me from all the badness in the world, for all those years when I surely would''ve died. No . . . We are not cursed. Perhaps, as strange as it seems, I wouldn''t love you like this if you *weren''t* my brother . . .

The silver shining line caresses the creamy whiteness, and soon will caress the silky purple lying beneath, and then the syrup, more crimson than maple leaves in fall, and I remember . . .

It had been raining all day.

Of all the days for the heavens to weep like it did then, it had to be the day of your graduation. It was supposed to be *YOUR* day . . . Yours, my dearest big brother. Your celebration of the passage of High School; your celebration of entering-into higher education. The day that you''d been waiting for . . . working so *hard* all these years of school to reach . . . a milestone, before gaining the extra years of education that would place you heads and shoulders above the rest, and mark you as an adult.

. . . But, the brackish clouds hung overhead none the less, and let-loose their torrents of tears onto the sad, round egg of the Earth below.

Perhaps the sky didn''t want me to cry alone . . .

Yes, Evan . . . Your time of happiness also marked my time of mourning. You would be moving away to college . . . leaving me at home, to my own school and life with Uncle What''s-his-name, some long-forgotten relative from the family Christmas parties we used to have back before it was all right.

My love . . .

It made me cry then . . . Knowing that my wonderful Evan . . . would soon leave me . . .

I worried much worse as the day progressed and he didn''t return from the after graduation party. It was late . . . already 12:32, and no sign yet of my beloved . . . I remember the coil in my chest tightening as I turned-over the possibilities of what could have happened to him. Gotten into an accident with a drunk driver? Slipped some drugs and raped by sleazy graduates? Mugged, and then left in the gutter to die, bleeding-out the blood we share, and I hold so precious?!

My vision was tunneling, and I''m sure I was panting in fear . . . then, like a beam of silver shining through the blackened tunnel of reality, you walked in from the cold, soaking wet and stone drunk.

Do you even remember, Evan . . . ? You *were* really drunk that night . . . I wish you knew; wish you could remember the *experience* . . .

You were sopping wet, and I didn''t want you to catch pneumonia . . . So, I helped you to undress . . . I was so red in the face, watching the cold, wet fabric peel off of your hard body . . . Oh, God, Evan . . . Why did we have to be born to the same mother? Father? Fabricated of their genetics and so frighteningly similar . . . yet so shockingly, deliciously different.

. . . If you say you meant nothing by it now, then why did you kiss me like that . . . ? It wasn''t the peck-on-the-cheek kiss of family . . . Nor was it the joking smooch you''d give to someone, not really intending to make lip contact with them. In *this* kiss . . . I felt your tongue. I tasted your heat. I wanted you.

Even in this pool of cold water in the white recesses of the bathroom, my eyes roll closed and my head back, a wave of pleasure at the memory which should be so sinful; so painful. Your taste . . . the scent of alcohol on your heated breath as you licked me and sucked me and gripped me and took me. Cold and wet from the rain, growing hot and forceful, hips pounding to try and get just a little deeper into your little brother''s tightness.

It''s so dirty . . . so sinful . . . but it was delicious sin, the way you pounded so hard the bed shook on it''s foundations and the way you spoke low and heavy to me as you did . . . you said such things, big brother. ''God, you''re so fucking tight, Dane'' and ''Fuck, it''s better . . .!''.

Better, I wondered? What were you talking about?

I dreamed that you meant you had thought of taking me before; meant to take your little brother''s budding virginity hard and deep against the white linens of your bed. Meant to hold me and fondle me and fuck me ''til you came deep inside of me. But . . .

But then you left.

We slept in each other''s arms, satiated and dripping . . . and when morning came you were horrified. You accused me of seducing you, taking advantage of you when you were too drunk to think. Called me an incestuous pervert and a filthy whore . . .

I felt my heart breaking in your clenched fist, big brother . . . I felt my reason for living crack and peel off of the surface . . . You hated me. That illusion of warmth and love was just blind lust; a meaningless, drunken sexual act that just so happened to be with your little brother. You were so disgusted with yourself for doing it . . . with me for allowing it. You hated us both, Evan . . . My dearest . . .

You left, and swore never to come back ever. You swore to hate me; shun me forever. You swore . . . on your angelic, beautiful word you swore...

. . . And broke me . . .

The pain seeped so deeply into me that I felt like I was bleeding out slowly, hated and defiled. It hurt so bad . . . so indescribably painful . . .

There will be no regret when the clearness fades into crimson; no mourning for the cold shell that still holds remnants of his brother''s orgasm. Nothing for me . . . No heaven to await me, Evan . . . No salvation . . .

The metallic edge descends and shifts sharply down and aside, making sure that the act will be done right. The orchid stem splits and scarlet rushes through the pearlescent gates, into the clearness, filling it in blooming clouds of redness. It''s beautiful . . . but nowhere near as beautiful as your deep dark eyes or your soft smiling lips or your silken beach sand hair . . .

. . . I love you, Evan . . .

. . . Goodbye . . .

*

I can't believe this happened . . .

Dane, my little brother Dane . . . He let me do that to him. I had no idea how to react; no idea what to say or do. I woke up with his lithe, naked body curled close to mine, dark hair framing his beautiful, unconscious features. I can''t believe he let me do that, allowed me to take him in drunken lust . . . Allowed me to fulfill these sick fantasies of mine . . .

He would hate me, I know he would, for desiring what happened so much . . . For in part taking horrible, sick pleasure in the fact that I had consummated my secret passion for my little brother.

Ever since I held that shaking, delicate frame in my arms as he wept all those years ago, I knew I loved him. My little one . . . My sweet, loving one. The one I desire to protect and keep forever.

I knew you'd hate me, Dane . . . I *had* to deny it! I HAD to say all those horrible things or you would have known that I didn't regret raping you . . .

Rape!

I can't believe that I'd do something like that to you, my precious. I can't believe that I'd allow myself to take you forcefully. I was out of my mind; in a drunken fury, just like mother . . .

I can't clean the wounds I'm sure that I've given you, but I *must* at least try to make it okay again . . . After a long drive and time alone to think, I've made my decision . . .

I'll tell you the truth. That I love you; that I've desired you for the longest time . . . and then I can only hope for the best. I can only hope that you won''t hate me, even if it is a sadly fruitless hope.

The drive home through the rain is silent and deliberate, every second passing like a new millennium. With every mile I become closer to you, and with every mile my apprehension grows. Will you reject your brother's love? Most probably. Will you hate me forever? I suppose so.

But Dane, I can't lie to you. You have to know how I feel before I go away to college and leave you alone with your pain . . . I want you to now that I didn''t intend to use you or force you into making love to me. I want you to know that I honestly love you, and that I will for the rest of my life.

The lights are out when I get home, and the pain fills me all the way through. You''re home, no doubt about it. I'm the only one with a car . . . But you are in mourning. I hold my breath, readying myself for the encounter, and take the quick dash to the house through the rainfall, reaching the door and coming inside. It's so dark . . . so quiet.

". . . Dane?" I call out to you, but my words echo off of the silent walls, a torrent of quiet whispering through our home. Not a single sound of life or presence . . . Not a single movement in our dark, abandoned home.

. . . That is when I start to worry.

I walk up the stairs, looking around the plain inner walls of our house as it lies coated in the baleful bluish light of the storm. Silence . . . And then I see the light emanating from the bathroom, the door opened just a crack. I am struck with a wave of worry, but convince myself that, painful a thought as it is, you probably went in there to bathe and cried yourself to sleep. My boots clop softly as I cross the hallway, reaching out and clutching the blue lighted brass handle in my dirtied hands, and pull the door open.

Red.

So much red . . . The horror hits me hard, seeing the hell-stained white tile floors, bittersweet red and coated thickly, darkening. The tub, filled to the brim with red tainted waters, and your pale neck caned back, head leaned to the wall, dark eyes open and staring silently at nothing, the dead trails of forgotten tears still wet . . .

" . . . DANE!"

*

End