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Touch	By : lordoberon Category: A through F > Ender's Game Views: 6892 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Ender's Game. Orson Scott Card, God bless him, does. I am simply a fan writing fanfiction. I make no money in the writing of this.

Chapter List
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, I decided that there weren't enough "Ender's Game" fanfics around here. Seeing as how it's my favorite sci-fi book, I decided, well, it was about time to write one.
This book and pairing is difficult to write for, seeing as the characters are geniuses, children, and Peter is abusive.
I made them both older, because I just didn't want to write six-year-old sex, thanks. Also, if there are inaccuracies in hair color, Peter not being evil enough, etc., it's b/c I haven't read the book in a long time. Forgive me.
Please R&R!

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TOUCH
by lordoberon
an Ender's Game fanfic

When Ender touched Peter, it was neither brotherly nor affectionate.
Peter Wiggin was not a kind older brother. He was not even a brother, really. Peter was a tyrant. He always got what he wanted. Ender, however many times he tried to get away, or pretend that he could in any way overpower Peter, was proven wrong.
It was there, defeat, in the bruises he spotted on his body in the mirror. It was there in the pain as he crawled into bed each night. And it was there in the fierce, triumphant way Peter’s eyes glowed, when he called out, “Come here,” and Ender obeyed.
The touching would come at night, when all were sleeping, or when the house was empty. Peter would bring Ender to a little nook in the back, behind the living room. Or he would order Ender to crawl into his bed, and there he would make Ender touch him.
It began suddenly, one night different from the rest. He had never noticed before, in his brother’s eyes, a look of lust. No matter how he read those eyes, he hadn’t expected this. But there it was. He was lying in his bed one night, and Peter called out quietly, “Bugger. Get up here.”
Ender opened his eyes, and sat up. What did Peter want? What could he possibly want at this time of night? It was too odd a time to play another game of “Buggers versus Astronauts,” even if Ender wasn’t tired.
When his brother snapped, “Hurry up,” he placed his feet on the floor. The wood was cold against his bare skin. He moved as quietly as he could, stepping over and around the ladder, and clambering up to the top bunk.
Peter’s eyes glowed out at him even through the dark somehow, as if the other boy was some sort of beast. Or maybe it was just how attuned Ender had gotten to those eyes. Those eyes were either his relief, or his executioner. He slid in beside his brother as that rough hand gestured him to, and put his head down on the pillow.
“What is it, Peter?”
The head turned, and Peter’s silvery eyes glared at him. The thin mouth pursed, and Ender noticed how, even in bed, somehow his brother kept his dignity. The brown locks were only a little unkempt, the sheets somehow so smooth and clean.
“I didn’t give you permission to talk, you little twat. Give me your hand.”
Ender felt a shiver of fear tremble down his back, but reluctantly held out his hand. His brother grabbed it. Ender shut his eyes tight, waiting for the first strike, waiting for the pain to hit and burst over him and shake through his body.
Instead, he found his hand being guided. Gently, for any painless touch of Peter’s was gentle by Ender’s standards, his brother’s larger hand pulled his beneath the sheets. He gasped, as his fingertips touched the soft skin of his brother’s belly, guided there by the larger hand.
“Keep your mouth shut!”
Ender bit his lip, and continued to gnaw at it as his hand was guided down. He swallowed, trying to remove the lump in his throat, as his hand was put aside for a moment. He heard the whisper of cloth, as Peter pulled his pajama bottoms off. Ender could feel the heat of his brother’s bare thigh against him.
Then the rough hand grabbed his again, and Ender bit his lip as his hand was pushed down more. He felt the soft dark tendrils of hair, and then the waiting, hard length. For a second he lay there in the dark, stunned. How could this be going on? Why would Peter want his touch?
“Move it.” The familiar, commanding voice only sounded a little strained, a little huskier. As Ender began to move his hand, he bit his lip harder. His brother’s skin was soft to touch. Peter’s cock was big, bigger than Ender’s, throbbing in his hand as he wrapped his fingers around it.
Ender dug his teeth into his lip. This helped distract him a little from what his hand was doing. He moved it up and down Peter’s cock, surprised to hear his brother sigh. An acknowledgement of the pleasure he was giving Peter. No. Surely he had done something wrong and that was a sigh of exasperation at his stupidity?
But then the sigh came again, and another sound – a low moan. The moan came again, longer, harder, as Ender’s fingers pumped, and trailed up and down. He heard his brother’s loud, panting breath beside him, and then Peter’s husky command, “Give me more. I want more. Use your mouth.”
The gnawing stopped, as Ender opened his mouth in shock. His eyes went wide in horror. “But Peter, I’ve never done – “
“I don’t care, do it!” Peter’s voice was furious, his loud hiss piercing the dark and quiet like a siren. It made Ender tremble, and he only trembled more as Peter began to laugh.
“Are you afraid, you little pussy? Do you have a pussy? I bet you do, you little shit. I bet you’re a girl, you stupid little wuss. Now do it, or I’ll hit you.”
Would it be better to be hit? To have a familiar punishment and torture, instead of this strangeness? Ender thought about it. No, it wouldn’t. He was too curious, to stop this. He wanted to hear Peter make more sounds. He wanted Peter to be weak.
So, Ender moved. He wriggled his body down the length of the bed, and yanked the sheet up from underneath himself, so he was under the sheets. Slowly, he rolled over onto his stomach. A familiar pain beat alongside his exciting, sudden desire to do this, as Peter’s hands grabbed his wrists and pulled him up, up along the mattress.
He could feel the cotton of Peter’s pajamas against his arms. Ender placed his hands on his brother’s thighs and then yelped, as a rough hand jerked on his ear. “I said your mouth, idiot!”
So Ender withdrew his hands, and put them on the mattress, instead. He could feel the feverish heat of his brother’s lust, in the hot thighs that lay over his arms. Over his arms like a trap, like a prison. Ah, the trap, this was familiar.
He tried to get his tongue to lift in his mouth, to wiggle around and not be so stiff in his shock. Ender leant his head, and closed his eyes. He felt the soft skin of Peter’s cock drift over his cheek, hard and demanding, and then managed to slide his tongue out.
Once Ender got started, it was easy. All he had to do was lick over that skin, over and over. He licked up the length, and down. He sent hot breaths over the fine hairs on his brother’s abdomen. And music to his ears was the sound of Peter’s moans. Ender was forced to be quiet, but Peter was allowed to be as loud as he liked.
And he was. The older boy moaned, a low sound from his throat that made Ender shiver for some reason. But it was a shiver of delight. He felt a little ill, to believe that Peter could be making him shiver in delight. But the sound of Peter’s moans drove him on.
He licked harder over his brother’s cock, and even pushed his mouth in hot, sloppy kisses over the length. When he took the head in his mouth, he reveled in Peter’s groan of want, and the way those strong hips bucked upwards. It was hard to take it all in his mouth, but Ender knew he had to do it. The taste was salty and tangy, too tangy. Ender’s eyes watered, and his arms trembled. But he kept moving his mouth.
He sucked hard, thinking maybe, it would hurt. But Peter seemed to be masochistic in the bedroom at least. Peter liked it, his moans more frequent, and his fingers grabbing Ender so hard it hurt. He pulled Ender’s hair, he pulled Ender’s ears. His thighs squeezed over Ender’s arms and against Ender’s head.
When Ender paused, he waited for the punishment; he waited for the yell from his brother. But all he heard was panting, and a moan of lust. He put his mouth to work again, and Peter came. He drank it, his mind secretly working as he did so. How could this be Peter? Peter, pleasured by Ender? Peter, letting Ender’s mouth touch him, and there?
The mystery of it made the wheels in Ender’s brain turn and turn for the next few days. Was there a particular reason for all this? How could he make sense of it? Why hadn’t Peter asked him to do this before?
And in that question, why hadn’t Peter asked him to do this before Ender became a little afraid. He became afraid for himself, afraid of his own thoughts. Why was he thinking like that? He wanted to do it, though, a little bit. In the back of his mind, he wanted to bring Peter down, below him. He wanted to beat Peter. He wanted to be stronger than Peter, wanted Peter to need him.
So when the familiar “Hey,” came a few nights later, Ender didn’t pretend to be asleep. He didn’t shudder as much. He kept his mouth shut, and didn’t break open the scab on his lower lip from when he’d gnawed at it from before. The salty tang of his brother’s come stung the wound, though, and the effort he put into working his mouth over his brother’s cock broke the scab open. He drank blood and come together that night.
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More coming soon! Reviews appreciated very much. :) And suggestions! I am open.
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