Ryan lay still as they gathered strength, while a familiar scene ran like an old movie reel behind his closed eyelids. 

Night time. Their father, the stench of beer thick on him, lumbering into their room. The snarl as he reached to grab the nearest boy; Cyril, or more usually, himself. The gut-clenching fear and anger at the first hard punch, the sound as fist struck flesh and the yell of protest and curses as his brother fought to pull them apart; their desperate and futile attempt to shield each other.

He remembered the harsh but quiet sobs afterwards; lying together for warmth and comfort, the choked whispers and promises to kill the fucking bastard. There were gentle touches as each wiped away the blood and ran fingertips lightly over bruises, soothingly.

He remembered their mother in the morning, with bruises of her own, shuffling painfully around the kitchen like an old woman, avoiding their eyes and keeping silent. She’d been beautiful once, but the haggard face across the room looked as ugly as their lives.

He remembered their father, looking like shit and ignoring them all as he left the table and lurched out the door. 

The whimpers grew louder, and Ryan could hear the sheets rustling as Cyril moved restlessly. He knew Cyril was remembering, too. The dreams didn’t happen every night, just most of them. There was even a comfort in their familiarity, in a sick kind of way. Soon the sound would be loud enough to disturb the sleepers in the pods around them, but Ryan would move before they did that.

It hadn’t taken much to encourage tonight’s nightmares; just the latest in a series of sneering, mocking taunts from that squarehead Schillinger, and that had primed Cyril perfectly. Ryan had rounded the corner, and there they’d been; Cyril, who’d only been gone a minute, against the wall looking like he was gonna hurl, the nazi fuck moving in close, menacing and grinning like the evil, fucking jackal he was.

Ryan had yelled, making the bastard pause long enough to shoulder past him, grab his brother and drag his ass away, laughter echoing off the concrete.

He was gonna make that bastard pay, big time. Every time Ryan thought about Cyril, who was a fucking child, man, being raped by that mongrel, his gut churned.

Ryan knew Cyril would have nightmares tonight for sure. Probably some shitty collage of rape and that childhood sense of terror, their Dad kicking the crap out of them with regular monotony. Cyril’s damaged brain left him unable to understand why these things had happened, but that was okay, ‘cause Ryan was a pretty smart guy, and he didn’t have a fucking clue either.

Well, one good thing had come out of their boyhood; Cyril’s boxing skills were fucking excellent, and they could thank their loving Dad for that, the useless jerk.

Cyril had kept Ryan safe, mostly. Cyril had been very, very good at that, and pretty damn vicious about it, when his brother’s welfare was at stake. Hell, even if it was just his dignity being threatened, Cyril’s fists were right there, every time. Yeah, it went both ways; they watched each other’s back, but Cyril was the muscle and Ryan the devious, manipulative scheming little prick, really. Great team.

Now it was turnabout, and Ryan had a full time job keeping Cyril safe, in here with the fucking animals. He couldn’t relax his guard for a minute, had to keep repeating his orders to stick together over and over so Cyril wouldn’t wander off again. Please, God, they stayed together. Ryan would, and had, moved hell itself to keep Cyril by his side, where he could look after him properly. His brother needed him now, really needed him, and Ryan was fucked if he’d let him down.

Cyril was so fucking vulnerable it made Ryan’s nerves thrum. A real babe in the woods, and in Oz the woods were crammed full of monsters. It was Ryan’s job to beat them back with his wits and cunning, and he was good at it. He played them all; Italians, Russians, Blacks, Latinos, the whole ugly lot of them. Ryan had never liked to get his hands dirty, but he used every tool at his disposal, Cyril included, and his own natural born ability to charm. He’d always had that; a smile and a glib story, a touch of the blarney, had done wonders all his life. The only person it had never worked with was their Dad, who was too much of a brute to give a shit.

If Ryan ever got a chance, he’d probably do the bastard in. After all these years, he was over being concerned about what his fucking family would think, and way past worrying about the consequences, and it would serve the fucker right. The only thing that would hold him back would be the thought of leaving Cyril all alone. Well, he’d just have to make sure he wasn’t caught.

Ryan started to drift off happily to thoughts of flaying the skin from his father’s body, one slow inch at a time, when the whimpers from the bunk below him started to rise in volume.

Ah, fuck. Time to move.

Ryan was over the side of the bunk in a heartbeat, feet landing with a quiet whump on the cold tiled floor. Without wasting time, he straightened the blanket that was half on the floor and half entangled in his brother’s restless legs, and climbed underneath. He settled on his side, softly patting Cyril’s face in the dark.

It was always touch and go whether Ryan would get a knee in the nuts for his trouble, or maybe a fist in the gut, but he’d learned to anticipate anything. Tonight, Cyril flailed awake, struggling and panting, while Ryan kept his own arms tight around his brother’s body, whispering, “Shhh, it’s okay, Cyril, it’s just me, shh, it’s okay,” over and over.

Ryan could feel Cyril’s panic as he was gripped hard enough to make him flinch. There was no sense of recognition, only terror. Ryan just kept rocking and shushing, slowly and quietly, until Cyril seemed to know him again, and buried his face in Ryan’s shoulder.

Ryan kept holding on while Cyril’s shakes turned to shudders, as the man began to cry. Ryan’s skin turned slippery where Cyril’s face was mashed against him, and a low keening was felt more than heard. They lay like that for a while, before Ryan felt Cyril’s cock start to fill against his thigh.

Ryan swallowed, and petted Cyril’s hair. Without another word, he let go of his brother, and turned around in the bunk. He bent one leg, knee over the edge of the mattress, and ran his hand along the mattress seam until he found the hidden opening. A quick dig inside, and the tube of lube was in his hands. He quickly squeezed some onto his fingers, whispering, “Wait up a sec, bro, I’m not ready,” as Cyril moved closer, nudging his cock along the length of Ryan’s ass. 

He reached down quickly, fingers stabbing in a rush, because it seemed Cyril wasn’t up to waiting tonight after all, and his cock battled for entrance next to Ryan’s fingers. Thinking he’d got as much prep as he was gonna get, Ryan awkwardly reached his fingers along Cyril’s length, hoping to transfer some more lube along the way. That was too much stimulus, and his brother lunged forward, knocking Ryan’s hand away, so he clung to the edge of the bed instead as Cyril rocked into him.

Keerist, that was too fast. Ryan softly panted, mouth open, trying to relax his ass so Cyril didn’t tear him up too much. Cyril was whimpering again, hands hooked like clamps over Ryan’s hips as he thrust fast and hard. “Shhh, shhh” Ryan hushed between gritted teeth. “’S’okay, it’s good, shhh.”

Cyril sped up, the whimpers gone, just harsh breath in Ryan’s ear and the occasional gasp. Yeah, Ryan thought, that’s it. Just let it go, man. 

Cyril’s hands started pulling Ryan’s hips closer, rocking into him, changing the angle. Ryan bit his lip as a gasp tried to escape his own mouth. He swallowed it down, but couldn’t help a low groan, causing Cyril to groan too, and roughly turn him over on his stomach. 

Oh, oh yeah, oh yeah, that was it, that was IT, and Ryan’s hips lifted as he struggled to accept more of the cock pounding into him. Oh, FUCK, that was so good, so good, and he wouldn’t be sitting easily tomorrow, but who the fuck cared. 

Cyril’s pace was rapid now, just punching in and in and Ryan felt his own orgasm build just as fast. He bit down on his forearm just as his body rushed to turn itself inside out, exploding, seizing, fucking colors bursting behind his shut-tight eyes, and oh, God, that was fucking awesome.

He lay there weakly, lathered in sweat, Cyril’s still body pressing him down into the mattress, and he realized Cyril had come as well. He rolled, and Cyril fell to the side, eyes already closing as sleep hit him hard.

Ryan stayed there, hot, wet and breathless, as he came down from that fucking high place Cyril sent him to, almost every night. Oh man, life was so fucking twisted. His brother wouldn’t sleep until he’d come, and Ryan didn’t mind, didn’t mind at all, and shouldn’t he feel sick that he looked forward to Cyril’s bad nights?

Back when they were home, it was Ryan fucking Cyril, and Cyril had loved it. He’d be up against the wall, howling for more, for harder, and Ryan would just twist and hold him closer, making Cyril move for it, beg for it. 

They’d laugh about it, Cyril cuffing him over the head afterwards, calling him a fucking tease, a dancer, and then he’d run his hand across Ryan’s jaw and smile.

Ryan didn’t top Cyril, not any more. His mind was too messed up, and those goons had turned Cyril’s favorite thing in the whole wide world into a mess of pain and fear, so Cyril didn’t want to do that now. And that was okay, Ryan guessed, at least they had this. He turned, pecked a kiss on his sleeping brother’s forehead, and rolled out of the bunk to wash up.

end