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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.

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TOUCH
by lordoberon
An Ender's Game fanfic
Part 3

They lay down on the bunk at night, and Ender was ready to use his hands, to use his mouth, to creep down under the sheets. But instead, his brother’s dark head turned to him, and in the moonlight he could see Peter’s smile.
“I remember how you touched me before, with your hands, across my chest. You touched me like I was…a god. Do it again. Now.”
So Ender did. He reached out, and crept his fingers up, up from the trail of hair on Peter’s abdomen, up Peter’s soft belly. That skin was so soft. He watched his hand as it moved up Peter’s chest, to the collarbone. His fingers went into the dip, and then over the shoulders, and then back around to the neck.
Peter had a slender neck. Ender moved his fingers back down, over those rosy nipples. He heard a pleased murmur from Peter, and looked up. His brother’s eyes were closed, a flush coloring those cheeks.
Peter had always wanted to be a god. He wanted to be worshipped.
Ender leant in, and slid his tongue out to ghost over Peter’s neck. He stayed perfectly still when Peter flinched, and opened his eyes to glare at Ender. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“This…” Ender swallowed, and took a deep breath. He forced himself to look straight into those glaring eyes. “This is part of it.”
Peter sensed the fear in Ender’s quick breath, in his trembling little body next to his. So, he nodded assent.
As Ender’s fingers circled a nipple, he let his tongue descend over the skin of Peter’s neck again. He heard a sigh, as he let his tongue trail up, to the ear. Tentatively, he suckled at the soft lobe, eliciting a moan. He sucked harder, and used his teeth to nibble over the sensitive flesh. Another, more pleased sound, and suddenly Peter’s hand was over his, Peter’s fingers guided his thumb to stroke, once, twice, over the hard nipple. Peter’s hand made him grip the nipple, made him twist it, and when Ender did it again and licked Peter’s ear, the older boy’s breath hitched.
“Mmm…” That sound alone made the hair on the back of Ender’s neck stand on end. Peter would never say what his body, what his lust, allowed him to convey: He enjoyed, very much, what Ender was doing to him, the pleasure that Ender was giving him. And only Ender could give it to him.
It was power. It was power, wrested from Peter’s hands, and placed into Ender’s. Ender held back his excitement, and continued his ministrations. As his tongue licked down, he treated Peter, reached his hand down to cup Peter’s arousal and stroke it.
When Peter’s breath came fast in his throat, and his hips thrust up against Ender’s hot hand, Ender smiled. Ah, this felt good, to have his brother under his control even for a moment. He could see the pleasure in Peter’s open, gasping mouth, the furrowed brow, the strangled gasp and groan.
With a light feeling in his stomach, a dizzying sensation, Ender let his tongue drift over Peter’s nipples. He felt desire clench around and within him, as his brother moaned. He licked again, harder, and then began to suck. Meanwhile, his hand wrapped around Peter’s cock.
He used his teeth, nibbling the sensitive flesh, and like this nibbled a trail all the way down, down to the familiar weight of Peter fucking his mouth. Peter was fucking, but he was fucked, too. Ender went to bed that night with pleasure in his body, and a smile on his face.
He could win. He would win.
* * *
When Peter touched Ender, it wasn’t a matter of curiosity, or wanting to give Ender pleasure. He wanted it for his own pleasure. He wanted to use Ender.
It began differently. Ender was about to grab his backpack and leave for school. Valentine was already on the bus, and Mother and Father were going to leave right after Ender did. Peter was already on the bus, Ender thought.
But as he bent to pick up his backpack, he felt a cold fist wrap around the neck of his shirt, yanking him back so he choked and spluttered. He didn’t say “let me go,” he knew that wouldn’t work. That never worked, with Peter. If he was as boring and still as possible, Peter just might let him be. So Ender immediately went limp, and his weight pulled Peter down on top of him.
He felt his brother’s foot kick his back. “Get up, you stupid ass! Don’t lay there like a lump!”
Ender slowly sat up, and then remained still. He heard Peter open the door, and then the all-too-familiar laugh.
“Valentine will wonder what happened to you. Tell mum and dad you’re leaving.”
Ender forced his dry throat to work, to swallow and summon up saliva. What was Peter going to do now? He poked his head out the open door, yelling out, “Mum, dad, I’m leaving! Bye!”
And then his head was pulled back, and the door shut and locked in a series of quiet clicks.
For a few moments, Peter waited to make sure all was quiet. Ender sat down on the floor behind his brother, trapped by the locked door, and that iron fist clenched at his brother’s side. He could still feel the sting of the many hits he had received for all the times he’d protested against this. He knew Peter enjoyed seeing him beg.
Ender wouldn’t beg this time.
When Peter turned around, that victorious grin of triumph covered his face, and his dark eyes glinted with mischief. Ender told his uneasy stomach to stop, and continued to sit as still as stone. He was forced to move when Peter grabbed him up, and shoved him down onto the bed.
His punishment for his stillness was to be hit. Ender clenched his mouth shut tight, as Peter sat down upon him, squeezing the breath out of him. He shut his eyes when Peter wrenched his head back, and kept them shut as Peter raged, “Why are you so quiet? What’s wrong, you little turd? Are you too scared to speak? Are you trying to be as boring as possible? Well, we’ll see what we can do about that. I bet you’ve already peed your pants, you stupid little baby. Aren’t you going to cry like a baby, Ender? Cry for me.”
Ender kept quiet, even when he was punched in the torso, even as his brother kicked him down and he rolled off the bed, his head hitting the floor hard enough to send spots across his eyelids. He didn’t grab Peter’s foot as it kicked him, though he could have. In an attempt to avoid blows, he rolled up into a ball.
Those long fingers didn’t like that. They dug into his skin, pinching, grabbing his arms and yanking them up above his head. Peter’s ankle thrust between his legs, scissoring to force Ender to lie on the floor in a spread-out position, like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man.
Then Peter slid one leg over Ender’s waist, and straddled him. Ender opened his eyes, and saw that burning, fiery gaze. He shut his eyes, wishing it would stop. Why wouldn’t Peter stop? Peter never stopped. He was always going to be doing this, wasn’t he? He was always trapping Ender.
Cold hands slithered up underneath Ender’s shirt. He shuddered at the touch, and then went still. The hem of his shirt was grabbed hold of, and he obediently lifted himself up a little so his shirt could be taken off. When Peter’s fingers slid the zipper down on Ender’s pants, Ender gnawed his lip to keep himself quiet.
The bruises and scrapes on his body were roughly pushed and pressed by Peter’s fingers. The rough touch slid up his bare legs, and dug into his thighs. Ender hissed, as fingernails scraped up his right thigh, pulling the skin, digging into it painfully. He heard Peter’s low chuckle.
Then, the fingers explored the rest of his pain. They pressed at the bruises on his chest, held the spots until Ender wanted to yell. He couldn’t hold back a yelp of surprise as Peter leant down, and the soft hot wet of a tongue began to lick the blood from a gash on Ender’s cheek. It brought a thrill of elation through him, to have Peter’s face so close to his. It made him remember how his brother’s face looked when it was contorted in pleasure.
He remembered the moist fullness of his brother’s lips, and the way Peter’s teeth were perfect and white. He remembered the long eyelashes that now tickled over his skin, and the smooth brow wrinkled, and the way Peter’s breath would come in fast pants. He remembered how Peter’s fingers had made him touch Peter’s body stretched out before him, a worshipped god. And he remembered the thrum of his own lust and excitement, as Peter’s moans had approved of and wanted him. Peter had never wanted him before.
That soft tongue licked up the blood from Ender’s cut in slow strokes. Ender shut his eyes and tried to keep his breathing even, as Peter continued to explore him with his tongue. That soft touch moved down from his cut, to ghost warm breath over his mouth. And then that sucking mouth was at Ender’s jaw, creating a painful hickey on his neck, just below his ear, even as it created a burgeoning lust within Ender, and a flood of pleasure fluttering in his belly.
The young boy moaned softly at that combination of pain and pleasure, it felt so good. He couldn’t help it. As soon as he had made that sound though, the sucking stopped. And as Ender opened his eyes, still feeling the haze of lust in his body, he saw Peter’s face over his. He couldn’t quite read what those eyes were saying. The mouth was twisted down in displeasure, it seemed, and Ender swallowed hard.
He felt the slow brush of movement, as Peter shifted his hips, effectively pushing his crotch over Ender’s. It sent a rush of pleasure flooding into Ender, and a flush pinked his cheeks. Oh, he was hard! Peter’s warm body over his, combined with the actions of Peter’s mouth, had sent enough pleasure thrumming through him to make his cock hard, throbbing in his pants beneath Peter’s delicious heat.
As Peter moved again, pushing his hips down, Ender gasped. Oh, that felt good, to have Peter’s crotch rubbing his, and the tight roundness of Peter’s ass brushing over his tender thighs. He looked up at his brother. What would Peter do?
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