You disappoint me, my sweet brother. You are sorry, no doubt, else there would be no tears in those blue eyes that cannot look at me in shame. Then again, perhaps it is not guilt that drives them but fear. Is it forgiveness or mercy you want, for I can give you neither right now.

You strayed from me and for that you must be taught the error of your actions. I don’t do this out of malice to cause you pain, but out of love to try and make you realise that you belong to me and no other. I will not see my precious angel so sullied by the hands of the unworthy when you had given your word, your body and soul to me in a promise that you would never stray from my grasp. And now look at you, your face awash with pain and anguish, flushed scarlet with the force of your sticky tears and the impact of my hand across your cheeks. How can I possibly let you crawl back to me now that you have demeaned everything about yourself with some pit lane whore, letting him take that body which you swore was mine. You sobbed when I struck you, begging for forgiveness and pleading with me not to abandon you. Yet, how can I trust you, how can I even look at you knowing that you gave yourself away so freely, denying my possession like it meant nothing. Whether you cry at my strikes or at my rejection, or simply at your own folly, I do not know nor do I care.

How could you? The question, the demand resounds in every blow against your body. And with him of all people, your wretched team-mate who I bet is gloating right now at this, the thought that he has struck me where I am most vulnerable, through you, giving him more pleasure than any night spent exploiting you. Jenson was different, I second-guessed your interest and could plan accordingly even when you thought I had no idea the two of you were fooling around away from my watchful gaze. You of all people cannot hide anything from me, however, you should have realised that and I’m surprised it came as such of a shock to you when I revealed my knowledge and you grovelled for your weakness. Yet, it was in my interest to give you permission then to take him as a playmate, to do whatever the two of you wanted on the one condition that he never fucked you. That was my only stipulation, that has only ever been my one demand on which I will not waver and one which I will not forgive you for failing. But if giving you Jenson bound you more tightly to me, it also gave me a second reward in your team-mate because, as siblings, we were always taught to share our toys.

But him ... my rival and my new nemesis, did you not think I would object when – and it would be when because there has been no secret you could keep from me – I found out? The one who has been looking for any way to destabilise me, to undermine my predominance on and off the race track. Yes, you not only showed him the door to his desires, you gave him the key and let him straight in, handing him your body and giving him such easy access to me. He knows you are mine alone, how that must have pleased him to know he had defiled a precious possession of mine, all the more for its foolish willingness to stray into his path. You must have known my reaction, yet still you flouted yourself for him, offering him things that are not yours to give and let him revel in my displeasure.

You are still my blood though, and that is why I cannot simply abandon you like this, even though my pride is wounded and my respect for you has wavered. To ignore you was too difficult, to cut you off from my affection impossible while you crawled to my feet pleading for me to pardon you, to allow you this one concession in return for your utmost submission. I have to show you my displeasure, hurt you to make you see sense and when I slam you with righteous force against the wall you do not fight me, despite my fingers tugging harshly at your hair and dragging you to the floor where you fall before me, prostrate with a grief of your own creation.

I want to forgive you, but for that I cannot show you mercy, I have to make you mine again, to banish the thoughts of your transgression with the enemy not only from my mind but from your body. To keep you, I must rein you in tighter, and this I know you will accept in exchange for absolution of your sins because you acknowledge, with every salty tear and choked cry, that you are no longer worthy of my attention, nor do you deserve my forgiveness at any price. Yet, your beauty still captivates me, that sweet vulnerability I have always loved in you, and your weakness is merely a human flaw I can use to keep you to me, and for that I will give you your chance to make amends because I believe you as you sob that you are sorry.

I do not, however, believe that you love him, though deluded as you are to involve yourself in such trouble because of him. You must think you do, or at least believe that he feels such an emotion for you, because as you reach out to cling to my leg, begs cut through your sobs asking for me to hurt you if it will appease me and help me forgive you. What hurts more is when you tell me that you cannot help it, you cannot help loving him and though you say you are sorry, it is quite clear that you do not regret what you have done, only that it has caused me pain and resentment. You have never been complicated for me to read, your eyes are too transparent without jaded cynicism. No, you are far too naïve to lie credibly, yet so easily led because though you say you love him, it is simply a delusion. Falling for false promises, no doubt, you are too innocent and green to tell lust from love, and even if by chance you really do love this bastard then I can guarantee that the feeling is far from mutual.

Because this is love, my feelings for you. If he had a shred of emotion beyond hunger then he would not have made you play this deceitful game, he would not have set you up for such a confrontation, for such a fall when he must know that you would not win. You can win tonight in a way, of course; you can win back my affections if you play by my rules and recognise your mistakes because you know, as I lean down and gently lick a small stream of blood near your lips, that I do this out of love for your salvation. I have a terrible feeling that it will not be that simple, however, as even as I drag you across to the bed, throwing you to your knees on the floor where you collapse against the mattress, your pleas for me to forgive you, to love you, are accompanied by entreaties for me to give you just this one thing, the only thing you will ever ask from me, and reassurances that this will not make you any less of my possession than before. If anything increasing my hold over you by your gratitude.

A sickening request, to give my permission for you to go along with his plans, to hand him your body with my blessing because you love him ... or at least, you think you love him. It is true that you have done everything I have ever asked of you to anyone I have told you to without question or hesitation, and ordinarily my pride would refuse your audacious request outright for the humiliation it would cause me. To let him of all people have an ounce of victory would be an error I could never make. And what about me, don’t I love you? Does that not matter to you? You say that you will accept my decision if I say no, but your eyes are begging me for this one thing in exchange for whatever it will take to satiate my displeasure with you to grant you forgiveness.

I will take my compensation first then before giving you an answer, finding your body receptive as I slide behind you and push you forwards against the side of the bed. You are as beautiful as you are maddening, whimpering in masochistic pleasure at the slap across your face when finger rewinds themselves in your blond hair to force back your head. Angry thoughts surface as I wonder if this is how you are with him, if he can enjoy these delights that should be my sole reserve and they make me tighten my grip, let pain flood through you more freely just so I can remind you of where you stand. Why should I be gentle with you after what you have done? Leaning back against my chest, you are groaning now, murmuring my name and adoration as I pull more tightly at your hair, a mixture of rough kisses and more brutal bites placed down the porcelain skin of your neck and across you collarbone. Let him see these beautiful marks of possession then your lover will know exactly to whom you belong.

Rocking more insistently back against me, the craving is cutting into you again as it always does, giving rise to loud exclamations of obscene pleasure when I slip my free hand up your denim-clad thigh to cup the hardened bulge encased, testimony to your arousal, and pull you closer against me for the thrill of my own trapped erection pressed firmly against your back. You need this, every nerve in your body is screaming for these sensations as you groan insistently for more pleasure, more pain, and I give it to you a hundred fold. These clothes are a distraction so I rip them off your body, this body that belongs to me. They bind you unfavourably, hide from me your well proportioned frame and deny my eyes the sight of your body, exposed and aroused. Those rare times we have a few days alone I make sure that you wear very little if anything at all, save perhaps when it amuses me a collar from a voyeuristic urge to see your vulnerability and acquiescence illustrated in such a striking fashion, giving me such easy access to your body. Because for all for innocence and naiveté, you need to be tamed and reminded what you are.

Pushing you forward, you bury your face into the cotton sheets of the bed, trembling now as you kneel, leaning against the mattress, exposing the graceful sweep of your spine to my hungry eyes which trail down to the fine moulding of your ass and muscular thighs already parted in anticipation. My little slut is impatient, I cover you with my body, kissing and nipping the soft flesh exposed to me. You whimper encouragement, beseeching for more as I run a finger between your buttocks and seeing you bite at the sheets in greedy desperation as it lingers teasingly around your perineum. You see my darling, I know how to make you mine, how to draw out this pleasure so that it is more torturous than any pain could be, and you know it, have experienced it and right now it is giving you completely to me. I taunt you, asking why I should release you, why I should give you such pleasure when you have behaved so poorly, to which you can only sob, shaking hands wringing the sheets in frustration as you hunger for more than I am giving you and offering no counter to my accusations that you are nothing more than a cheap whore. You groan, out of breath, as I slap you hard around the rear, unsurprisingly asking for more, virtually screaming with urgency when the hand casually stroking your erection grips tightly, nails digging into sensitive flesh. You would be sick if you weren’t so beautifully arousing in your submission as all you can do is gasp my name, tears in your crystal blue eyes as you beg for a mercy you quite clearly do not want.

This I can give you and I make you mine, pushing my jeans down over my hips, hoisting you slightly further up the bed so that your arms cross and your head buries against the mattress, and taking you without a word of warning. A shuddering breath leaves your lips and then you still, letting me have full possession of your body with every punishing thrust inside you. Your eyes are screwed tightly reflecting the pain that you refuse to vocalise and the pleasure that keeps you breathless, and you do not resist when I reach to grab your wrists to hold them firmly behind your back. If the zip of my jeans chafes, then it merely arouses you more as you let yourself be fucked like a perverse little angel whose blond hair is damp with sweat and whose pale skin is flushed with an unholy rush of blood. I make you tell me, make you scream my name, beg shamefully for release and surrender yourself before I let you come, howling like the possessed as you do and it’s almost impossible for me to stop my thrusting, to halt the spiral of my own pleasure so that I can watch your climax. Harsh, uneven breathing, your body shakes beneath me as you slump from the height of your pleasure, satiated and exhausted, those now blood-red cherubim lips murmuring my name in barely conscious bliss as your head rests against the bed. The ache of my own body refuses to let you have this peace, however, demanding its own satisfaction as I restart my thrusts, seeing the contortion of discomfort in your face now that there is no arousal to feed. You do not protest, simply part your legs further, arching your hips backwards so that I can drive deeper to delight in your compliance,  the way you mutter my name urging me to come for you, to emphasis my possession of you.

And I do, with thrusts that are clearly hurting you, yet your silence only drives me further until I climax, spilling into your tight body, an admonition of my love for you on my lips. No longer shivering, the body beneath me remains still, now with even breathing and I let go of your wrists and pull you back from your resting place against the bed with an arm around your waist so that you are leaning against my chest, a slight wince at the ache in my muscles from kneeling this long.

You are tired, my little angel, I whisper it to you and you nod, letting me gently turn around your face so that I can place a deft kiss on to your cheek, noting with some satisfaction that my blows were not enough to bruise where they could be seen. You frown when I ask you what he will say about those more obvious marks that make such a pretty pattern down your neck and across your shoulder, and you turn away from me again. You are anxious, I can see it in your face, but perhaps that is more because you know you will have to ask me again and you fear the answer. You ask it anyway, you say I can have anything I desire in exchange for this one freedom, this one thing you can have that is independent of what we are collectively. Yet, there is an edge of sorrow in your voice; you know that I would never do anything that could jeopardise myself even for you.

The edge turns to shock and then gratitude when I grant you your wish on one most important condition: that this team-mate of yours, my nemesis, loves you as much as you seem to think you adore him. I tell you that is the only way I can allow you to demean yourself by letting him take you, if you are both in love then I will not stand in your way. But if he is not what he seems ... then you, my sweet, will have to pay the price for his sullying of our mutual reputations, for any dirt that sticks to you will undoubtedly cause harm to me. Then, your lips are on mine, muttering your gratitude and promises of no other requests as you obediently allow me to lift you from the floor and, pulling back the sheets, lie you down and let you fall asleep in my arms..

And as I watch you sleep, I cannot help but think how fortunate it is, my little brother, that you are so transparent, so obvious that you gave me an opportunity to make my move before this evening began to rein you back.

Oh yes, I was angry at first when I discovered your deceit but you expected me to come to you first consumed with ire that would immediately turn itself in your direction; you knew what would happen tonight and you just hoped against hope that I would give my permission to you, perhaps with some restrictions.

I didn’t. I saw him first, logically knowing what you would do and needing to counteract that because you have to come back to me willingly. Oh, I could chain you down, force you to abandon this crush and though you would submit, you would be grudging in your acceptance and liable to be seduced back far too easily. No, you have to see his insincerity with your own eyes for you to believe it. He does not love you, most of the pit lane knows that, but you are blind to the fact that he has been screwing that bastard Villeneuve on the sly because you refuse to see the darker qualities in him. I know he was forced to tell you about the press conference incident, but trust me it was not the one-off lapse of control that he explained to you and you believed and he was rather shocked when I confronted him about his indiscretions. You are far too misguided, my little one, all you are to him is a pretty fuck and that is all your relationship is, not the love you have conjured up in your mind. You know, he is oblivious to it; he has an inkling that you are more intense than you should be, but he had no idea you loved him and he certainly does not love you in return.

I simply gave him a choice, either to love you as much as you believe you love him, or to stay away and stop perpetuating your misguiding affection, else he will have me to contend with. He will not touch you anymore, that is for certain, or at least he will hurt you enough to make you realise you have been callously used because, when offered the choice, he could not pretend to be the love you think is he and carry such a burden. No-one should have to do that. No, he will leave you and break your delusion by cruelly breaking your heart. Possibly he is not completely using you, perhaps there is a part of him that quite likes you, that cares for your state of well-being, because at first he refused to intentionally destroy you on my request, even if he did not love you, yet he has no choice else you find out by other means of his behaviour. Perhaps he has seen the bruises and bites on your skin after you have been in my arms and he feared I could turn against you if he did not comply, but in his eyes was a sudden flicker of realisation and he agreed that he did not love you and if that is what I wanted he would stop your misled relationship.

I bring you closer into my arms, kissing your forehead as you sleep and I cannot help but smile as you murmur sweetly in your sleep. You will realise soon enough where you belong.

~The End.