"Untouchable" Contest Entry
Title: Untouchable
Pairing: Angus Young/Malcolm Young WHY CAN'T I EVER SEEM TO WRITE ANYTHING ELSE? D:
Author: heartless_day
Warning/s: slash, language, incestuous contest
Disclaimer: Never happened for all we know, no profit is being made, and is pure fiction
A/N: MAHA. I take the rightenousness of being the one with the first entry to the contest >D
“You can't have me,” Malcolm murmured around the cigarette, “I'm untouchable.” Angus was silent, eyes to the floor. His fingers wrung together, jaw clenched tight as tears burned at the back of his eyes, clinging to his eyelashes, threatening to spill over.
“But-”
“Untouchable.” Malcolm repeated, face darkened with a blank expression Angus couldn't read. And it remained that way even when Malcolm reached out, fingers splaying out across his cheeks as he lifted his face, their eyes meeting. For a moment, they were thick under a blanket of silence, just staring at each other before Angus reached out---and Malcolm slapped his hands away.
The younger whimpered, eyes falling away as Malcolm leaned in, crushing their lips together. He pushed the other back until the backs of his knees were hitting the bed and from there, Malcolm shoved him down. Again, Angus reached out and Malcolm grabbed his wrists, pinning him to the sheets.
“Mal, please-”
“Don't touch me.” Before Angus could retort, Malcolm had flipped him over, pushing him into the sheets.
It wasn't fair. It never had been.
(He was young, fourteen at the most. His brother was seventeen at the time, just starting his Junior year, working on what had to be his eight girlfriend of the summer.
They'd been at the community pool. Despite the heat, the place was literally empty, side for him and Malcolm and the newest girl. Stacey? Casey? He wasn't sure, couldn't remember. All he knew was that he was sitting on the edge of the deep end, feet dangling off the sides and swishing around in the hazy blue while moans and groans drifted from the showers.
Curious after a while, he'd tried to restrain himself for as long as he could before he'd hopped up, creeping over to the stalls. The tile floor was cold on his feet and he nearly slipped across it as it was wet, but he'd managed to keep quiet, peering around the corner...
The shower was on, as if they were trying to drown out some of the noise. The girl---Stacey or Casey? He really couldn't remember---was backed against the wall, her legs splayed out, her hands sliding across the wet and slippery skin of Malcolm's back. Her heard lay against the wall tile, her mouth open as hair plastered to her face, moaning...
But it wasn't the girl he was paying attention to.
His brother's entire body was slick with water, hair hanging about his face like a dark curtain, the swim suit low on his hips as they worked madly into the squirming girl, one hand palmed against the wall, the other gripping her hip. He wasn't making much noise side for few grunts and low groans that finally came to a halt, his body tensing as the girl arched against him with a shriek.
Angus watched his brother, watching as he kissed her, hands framing her face, deep and lustful before he finally pulled away...
The girl noticed him first, and she burst out giggling as she fiddled with her bikini.
“Looks like we go' a visitor.” Angus' face went bright red as Malcolm smirked at him, hitching his swim suit up his hips.
“See how the big kids do it Ang?” Malcolm chuckled, an arm looping about the girl's waist and pulling her close. Angus wasn't sure if the spark of jealously that rocketed through him was a good thing or a bad thing. He pulled back as they passed by and Malcolm grinned at him over his shoulder.
“You ain't never gonna touch this Ang,” The girl giggled, winking at him as Malcolm spoke, “It's untouchable.)
Angus glared at the sheets, his hands twisting in them as hands slipped up under his shirt, pushing it up his back as lips danced between his shoulder blades. He bit his lip, stifling a moan as those hands fell down his sides, lips plush against the nape of his neck as Malcolm gripped his hips and pulled him back just enough that his hips were off the bed.
Fingers fumbled with the his belt, and Angus refused to help him and suddenly teeth sank in his neck, drawing out a yelp. The belt slipped from the loops and was tossed aside, and suddenly, hands were yanking at the zipper to his jeans, getting them undone and shirking them down. Angus kicked them off the rest of the way with his feet and Malcolm tore at his boxers, wrenching them away.
“Say it.” Malcolm ordered, teeth grazing his neck again. Angus said nothing, lips compressing in a tight line.
“No.”
“Say it.”
“No.”
“Saaaayyyy it.” Angus wanted to cut him one across the jaw as that teasing tone mocked in his ear.
(“I ain't dumb.” Malcolm said one night. Angus looked up from his homework. To tell the truth, he was surprised to hear Malcolm speaking in the first place. Just the other day, he and Stacey-Casey had broken up, and his brother was usually the type to sulk about it in the corner until the next girl came along...
“Huh?”
“Don't huh me.” Malcolm snapped. Angus raised a brow, silent before turning back to his work. Before he knew it, the papers had been ripped from him, scattered to the floor in a flurry. He jolted, looking up, and shrunk back when Malcolm reached out, hands curling in the collar of his shirt and yanking him to his feet.
“I'm not stupid.” He said quietly as he shoved the other into the wall, face so close their noses brushed. Angus stared at him, breath quickening when Malcolm came ever closer, their lips grazing and Angus couldn't pull away.
“Say it.”
“Wh-what?”
“I've seen you,” Malcolm's hands left his shirt, cupping his throat, “I know you watch me when you think I'm not looking, when you think I'm asleep at night. I know what you do when you think I'm not around, when you think you're alone,” Angus' face flushed red, “I hear what you whisper to yourself every time you get off...say it.”
“I-”
“Say. It.”
“I don't know what-”
“Say my name.” Malcolm urged, hands sifting through his hair and pulling his head back. Angus looked up at him, the dark eyes searching his own and he swallowed tightly. Malcolm's grave expression split into a smile, something Angus would've called warm and encouraging. He sighed, feeling himself relax as Malcolm's arms suddenly fell about his waist, tugging him in. His own hands fell atop his brother's shoulders.
“Malcolm...”)
Malcolm sucked hard on two fingers, one hand gripping Angus' hip as he bent down slightly, pushing both fingers deep inside of him. Angus arched back against them with a strangled whine, knuckles shading white as they twisted in the sheets.
“I hate you.” He murmured to the covers, coming up on his elbows slightly, arms reaching back and grabbing the hem of his shirt and yanking it over his head as Malcolm's other hand brushed tentatively over his ass. His brother laughed in his ear, nipping at his neck.
“S'not what you said last night,” He snorted, tongue tracing the shell of his ear, “Or the night before. Or the week before, the month before, or the year before...or all those years ago...”
“Shuttup.” He snapped, eyes screwing shut tight as hands gripped his hips, teeth sinking into his neck. He reached back, a hand sifting through his brother's hair---before fingers tightened about his wrist, and pinned it to the bed.
(He hadn't known he'd said it until too late, until he couldn't take it back. He hadn't meant to, really, he hadn't, but god damn, when you feel that good, how can you keep from saying anything?
“I love you.” And then nothing but a blinding white pleasure overtook him. He knew nothing other than how to scream. He clung desperately to his brother, nails digging into his shoulders as sweat slicked them together...
“W-What'd...what'd yo-you just s-say?” Malcolm had stopped moving, face still buried in the crook of his neck. Gasping for breath, Angus looked down at him, hair matted to his face as his brother panted against his neck.
“H-huh?” It was if a switch had been flicked. Teeth sunk sharp into his neck, drawing out a yelp.
“What did you just say?” Malcolm's voice was firmer now
“Mal, I didn't mean to-”
“I didn't ask that, I asked what you said.” Angus' face flamed a bright red and he looked away---and teeth sank into his shoulder and he squirmed, choking back a shout. Hands kept him pinned to the bed and he couldn't move, his brother's weight fully atop him as Malcolm bit his collarbone, tearing out a sharp cry.
“I love you, okay? I said I love you,” He shouted, the bites throbbing, “Are you happy now?” Malcolm pulled back from him as if he had been burned. Surprised, Angus sat up, reaching out for him only to have Malcolm move farther away until he was off the bed and shrugging his clothes on, fumbling with the belt to his pants as he scrambled about.
“No,” He shook his head, “No. No, we can't do this,” He said, rushing about, straightening his shirt, “We can't...not supposed to happen...” The words were mumbled and hasty and Angus had a hard time understanding them, but he caught enough.
We can't be like this. We can't be this close. No. No. No. We're not allowed to do this.
Before Angus could speak, Malcolm was out the door, slamming it behind him as he left.)
Angus tried to pry his wrists from Malcolm's grasp to no avail, burying his face in the sheets once again as his brother eased inside of him, panting into the crook of his neck. The silence was thick, the air heavy, the sharp, pungent smell of sex piercing the air. Angus bit his lip, stifling a pained groaned as the other was still before moving against him, a jolt of pain coursing up his spine.
He was silent.
For a little while, anyway.
Malcolm took up a steady pace, grunting against the slope of his neck, one hand keeping both of Angus' wrists pinned against the bed, the other gripping his hip. The tight heat made his head whirl and he closed his eyes, pushing deeper with a loud groan, forgetting about anyone or anything else beyond the doors. Angus writhed against the sheets, a hiss falling past gritted teeth. His toes curled under each thrust, body tightening as he moaned...
And then everything just seem to hurt, the pleasure included. It felt so good, felt so right; he started to cry. Muffling whimpers against the covers, he pushed his hips back against his brother's---and it all just hurt.
(He wouldn't let him touch him. He tried to, but Malcolm would push his hands away.
He wouldn't let him kiss him. At least, not without it being some kind of vicious attack that left his lips sore.
He wouldn't talk to him. Or well, not for much longer than a few minutes, or those few whispered names and “Oh my god”'s share in bed.
But what killed him worst was that Malcolm wouldn't look at him any more. Hardly at all when they talked. And he would no longer let them face each other during sex; he'd grab his face and turn it away, or flip him over all together.
Malcolm was scared. They were too close, just too close. And it scared him. And when Malcolm was scared, he'd do anything to try and drive away the addiction that frightened him, abuse it until it ran away---and then he'd go find it again, need it, desire it, but refused to give in to it, even when it begged, told him it was okay...
“I love you.” And it had ruined everything.
Angus had come to learn to hate those three words. He never said them again, not even when he'd married, unless someone said them to him first.
And even then he'd question if it was worth saying it back. And by the time he got to a conclusion, the person had either gone or had gotten impatient enough with him for it that they stayed angry with him until he came to them with an apology...)
With one hand, Malcolm held his wrists tight, the other slipping up underneath him, gripping him firmly, stroking him in time with each thrust. Angus arched eagerly into the friction with a sharp cry, the heat coiling tighter and tighter like a spring until it finally snapped and he came with a shriek, face buried into the pillows.
Malcolm was silent in his release, face buried against his shoulder, teeth sinking into the skin as he went rigid before collapsing forward, practically crushing his brother against the bed. The two lay gasping and panting, faces flushed, bodies slick with sweat...
“I love you.” The words trailed from his mouth---like last night, and the night before, and the week before, and the month before, and the year before, and the years before that---in a dull haze. Like every time, Angus would wait with some spark of hope that his brother would look at him again, would hold him close, kiss his neck, not bite it, and repeat those three words he'd craved to hear for so long...
And each time, that spark was crushed when Malcolm pulled away sharply, jolting off the bed and gathering his clothes. And each time, Angus would just lay on the bed, eyes glued to the wall or the window or the nightstand or whatever random object blurred with tears first, and he'd wait until he heard that door slam shut...
And then he'd wait for tomorrow, a vicious cycle that in some twisted way he couldn't help but look forward to, and he'd cry...
You can't have me. I'm untouchable.