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notmuchtoconceal · 6 months

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( . ) brounderconstruction

bro keeps himself looking intense as he snaps his nightly progress pic

he owes himself that, at least. the pretense of dignity. the reminder of who he was. a tinge of shame lingers past the extinction of the shutter sound. the regret curdles, the violation probes on. as he stares off, past his own reflection, his guts curl into knots as it sinks in what he is

a toy. a pet. an owned man

he could’ve kept on by himself. he was a steady worker. he didn’t lack direction. he could live through his own pain. survive. keep on moving.

that’s how it was for years. didn’t have close connections. didn’t need em. kept himself busy. he drank a little more than he should’ve, but it didn’t get him doughy. not like his old man. none of that sugary shit. clear liquor. shots. with some soda water at formal occasions. not that he went to many of those. he kept himself disciplined. he was cunning. played strong safety, and lost his scholarship cause he didn’t like getting bossed around. whatever. he put himself through school, doing what he could. construction in the summer. security. washing dishes. a job was a job, and he did ‘em well. that’s what a man did. he kept it at. didn’t make excuses. didn’t ask for help. one day he’d find someone worthy of his friendship, worthy of his respect. between all that work, all that disgust with the mediocrity around him, he’d ended up completely alone

now he belonged to his big bro

can’t say how it was they’d first met. maybe he was a stranger, approaching him in a bar. might’ve been he’d seen him around. maybe he said more than he should’ve. knows he’s gotta stay home when the demons come out, even if he’s gotta face that empty bed another night.

worst of it comes out in the dark, lying still in the canyons of the ceiling. maybe his bro was a dude who was willing to listen. who knew what to say. who managed to be in the right place when his defenses were down. it didn’t matter. what he said felt good. through the motion blur of his distilled forebrain, what he said stirred something deep within. something he never knew was there. their meeting lead them both inexorably to this place, this moment. his bro was gonna tell him the truth about himself

shoulders rolled back, chin held high, his bro inspected him like a piece of meat. he’d never stripped in front of another dude before, even after eight years of playin ball. his stony features contrasted with his soft chub as bro cradled and squeezed his balls.

he didn’t wince. he needed this.

he went years unable to admit that to himself. but here he stood, exposed, given freely to another man. someone he thought was naive. another do-nothing smart guy. wise beyond his years. his most cherished friend, his only friend. he needed the control. he needed the firm, guiding hand of another man in his life. when he felt that hand on his shoulders, the volt ran through his body, arching his back, and clenching his abdominals into a tension like the bow of a ship. though his dick stood at half mast, and his retracting balls tried to squirm out of his bro’s grip, nothing but a near imperceptible quiver of the lips betrayed the stoicism of his face

his first order, the act which he would remember for the rest of his life, was simply to repeat the following words.

the words which would set him free

you’re weak

at first, his eyes gave nothing away. he continued to stare with the focus of a soldier as the phrase echoed through the hollows of his skull

you’re weak

a sharp influx of air like the snarling of a caged bull

it’s like i’ve been tellin you for months, bro. you like to think you’re strong. i get that. but you’re not. you’re not, and you’ve been too dumb to listen. before me, you’re weak. away from me, you’re weak. you’ve been hiding from that fact your whole life. i want you to look me in the eyes and tell me that you’re weak. don’t mince words. don’t try to cheat. look within yourself and accept that this is the truth. see yourself for what you really are

his teeth were bound into a vise. the muscles in his mouth contracted on the verge of a swallow, but his throat was dry. the beginnings of a flush on his smooth, tight cheeks highlighted the mute fury in his eyes

big bro didn’t care

you’re my bro. i take care of my bro. i won’t ever ask you to do anything which would dishonor you. ask you to speak anything but the truth. that’s why i’m saying this to you now. you’re an animal. untapped aggression. snarling at your captors to hide its feelingw of terror. you’ve always been afraid. always been helpless. you’ll chew off your own leg to get out of a trap, but there isn’t any trap except the one inside your own head

that’s why you’re standing here in front of me right now. a stallion submitting to the bit because it knows it needs to be broken

now look me in the eyes

look me in the eyes and tell me what you are

big bro was right up in hisface. he wanted to lock eyes with him. see if he’d back down. clobber that smug, self-satisfied lil smirk of his into mush. but this was a standing order. staring. neutral. focused

i care about you, bro. i don’t want to see you get hurt anymore

look back on your life and think about all the time, all the energy you gave to looking strong. how it crippled you. made you angry. kept you from other people. the friends you never made. the things you never learned. about human beings. about yourself. how everything became so much harder because you had to do it alone. how you thought it was fucking noble to grind yourself to the bone, even when nobody asked you to. i get it, bro. you had it rough. this life, it breaks people. we’re all alone. but we don’t have to be. at some point, you decided to make things harder. it was better for you to die that admit the simple fact that you were weak

who the fuck was he to tell him this shit about himself? he knows who the fuck he is. knows the pitying glances he’s scorned. the way his firsts curl and the veins in his forearms bulge even at the pretense he needed help

yeah, maybe there’s a lot he didn’t fuckin know. maybe he was a dumb animal. too busy out doin shit to have the luxury of layin around thinkin about some fuck that didn’t matter. he knew he was tough. knew how things were. there was no point in gettin attached to other people. society was a slaughterhouse. everyone who didn’t pull themselves up the food-chain got eaten, and so fucking what. that was nature. sharks and minnows. big fish and little fish. he could say the world was bros help bros, but what the world was is dog eat dog

and now here he was. standing naked before this man he had let inside his head. the man to who he had agreed to give his life. he was an animal, just a fucking animal, and big bro was the butcher.

meat.

on the slab.

ready to be carved up and packaged

bro would wrap the plastic around his head. as he panicked for a last breath, on some misfiring of instinct his nostrils would vacuum-pack his own face. he’d feel the lack of oxygen to his brain.

nitric asphyxia.

going hazy.

colors desaturating.

through the sheen, the blur of a face deformed would lean down, the voids of eyes and mouth dilating between laughter and hunger with the rhythm of sucker fish. he wanted it. he wanted it more than anything else.

he wanted to die

and bro’s arm held him close

the motion jostled him back to awareness. of the space around him, the body cradling him with gratitude and warmth.

his bro’s head over his shoulder, soft, reassuring pats on his back. he felt small nuzzled against big bro’s chest, though he was in stature the bigger man. so small, he needed to push back. so small, he would rather run, back to his life of belabored toil than feel this humiliation for another fraction of a second. he would run… until he heard those words. the words that chilled him. the words that demolished him

you’re safe

i won’t ever hurt you

before this man, he was nothing. before this man, he was a child again, staring up in awe and terror. only now the man who looked back didn’t hold a belt, didn’t have the stink of whiskey on his breath

now he was beyond small. as though he were water molecules diffusing into bro through the membrane of their new body. the fusion of their embrace. pin-pricks shot like a tide of heroin needles across his skin. the tension in the knots of his guts liquefied into a bubbling ammonia, leaving him hollow and warm. a shell. held up only by strength of his big bro

eyes clenched shut, fighting back the tears, he cried through gritted teeth

“i’m weak”

his bro’s fingers ran through his hair. say it again

“i’m weak”

louder. look me in the eyes

“i’m… i’m weak”

bro

you know how much strength it took to say that?

on the verge of succumbing to gravity, a pearl coalesced and shone on the head of his cock. bro wiped it up, and held it to his lips, ordering him to lick.

wrapping his mouth around bro’s fingers, he explored the edges of his nailbeds, the wrinkles of his joints, the crevasses between where the digits had locked; savoring the tang of his skin, salted with the drop of his pre

he had done well. it felt good to let go

it would be hard for him, sure. a lifetime’s worth of baggage isn’t dropped overnight, even for a man so young.

he could be strong now, strong for real. he was bashful before his bro, but he never struck him, never belittled him, was forgiving in his reprimands, and gave him the room he needed to grow

even with his arms bound behind his back, the heavy leather hood pulled tight over his face, big bro’d put his cap back on before he left, so he knew that even as a faceless object, they were still bros. after a few hours bound to the pole in the garage, sweltering in the summer heat with no stimulation through the sweat but the coarse fibers of hemp rope and a jockstrap, he’d take him down and bring him inside where they’d watch movies. sometimes as a footstool, sometimes cuddled up together on the couch, rubbing and cradling his dick through the pouch and calling him a messy boy for dripping on the cushions. most nights, when they went to bed, bro’d spoon him handcuffed and muzzled, but other nights big bro’d sink into lil bro’s strong chest, wrapped up in his arms, feeling the safety and protection he’d afforded him repaid

when things were good, when he could focus on the here and now, he knew he wasn’t a lesser man. knew he had allowed himself to become the man he was always meant to be. even if he was still angry, still prone to brooding, he always had his big bro’s back. was always ready to defend him. bro thought the contrast between his brutish public persona, and the cute lil whimpers he made when they were alone was too adorable for words. his wolf in the streets, pup in the sheets. nobody knew who was really in charge

under the care of his bro, he had learned to smile. learned to sit and be at ease with himself without feeling ashamed. the shame would still come, at moments when he felt closeness was infantile, and trust was naive, but time and experience’d hardwired these thoughts into him.

he had to fight em every day, and suspected some trace of would remain as long as he lived. he knew his bro was right. he could sit with his pain until it passed, just like he did before

there were other words. words he had heard before and never believed. words whispered between brothers, between fathers and sons, between couples who had it declared at the alter. his bro would take his length of chain, pull it snug it around his neck, and padlock it shut. the weight on his traps and upper pecs signified his power, his commitment. every time he did this, his bro had said those words.

those words so often repeated as guilt, as spite, as a placating nothingness

but when his bro had said em, he believed em. repeated em with a smile and thanks

thank you, bro

feels good to be owned

#backwards cap bro #chained brah #bro love

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