Brotherly bonding ♡

Pain screamed throughout Orynko’s body, burning and singeing and scorching his entire being. His back ached with the memory of being slammed against the side of the kitchen island, Vasyl’s arms caged around his torso like a bear trap before the wind was knocked out of his lungs. His right eye clouded with unwilling tears, swelling with blood and remorse and relief that Vasyl clocked him with his naked fist rather than his knuckle dusters. His hands, liquid fire, stung. Crimson airbrushed the tops of fists, fingers firmly dug into the biceps of Vasyl, planting his mangled, bloodied state against their most expensive and lavish carpet-- it’d been a gift.

Beneath Orynko, his little brother squirmed. Determined to put an end to Vasyl’s tantrum, he pinned him to the floor by his arms. With a knee heavily grounded on the boy’s abdomen, all Vasyl could manage was pathetic kicks, and a string of distasteful curses. 

“FUCK YOU!” Vehemently, he spat, and quite literally-- he spat. A mouthful of red splattered on Orynko’s polo. Whilst his glare hardened, Vasyl’s lips curled up into a wide and far-away grin; blood pooling in his smile and leaking down the corners of his mouth with each hazy chuckle that escaped him, the result of a not-previously but now loose tooth in Vasyl’s mouth. 

The fabric of his shirt scrunched within Orynko’s balled fists, lifting him a few inches off of the floor and—

Slam. 

Vasyl’s laughter quickly ceased, and instead, gargled coughing took its place. “Mother- f-fucker--” He choked out, wheezing sharp inhales, only to hack them back out again. 

Orynko watched his little brother struggle for air, heart wrenching agonizingly at the sight; like a dull blade had twisted within his chest. He couldn’t suppress the pity in his gaze. 

“We’re finished.” Orynko said, simply. And, he could pinpoint the exact moment the words registered in Vasyl’s mind, because his eyes dimmed with a familiar spark of defiant rage. 

“Like shit we are,” He grunted, hoarse, and rasping pathetically. The sporadic movements and jerks that Orynko had thought died off, suddenly reappeared in a desperate will to keep fighting. 

“We-- we’re finished when I say we’re finished, you goddamned f-fucking pussy,” Orynko continued to hold him down, arms taut and near unbearably tight, like a rubberband, that he worried they’d snap backwards. Vasyl despised the feeling of Orynko’s fingers clawing around his arms, restricting him, but he relished in the feeling of his skin becoming tender beneath the grip, almost numbingly so. He didn’t know if he wanted to hurt Orynko, or if he just wanted a reason for Orynko to hurt him.

“Vasyl, stop.” Orynko said, almost pleadingly, voice strained as much as it was actively breaking. 

But, Vasyl didn’t stop. If anything, he struggled more, and such a sad sight it was. The small grunts and whimpers he made became louder with each failed movement, and all Orynko could feel while looking at his blood and bruise streaked face was pity.

“We’re fucking DONE.” He shouted with finality, squeezing Vasyl’s arms with a passion that would surely leave a memento of Orynko’s nails branded on the latters skin. Vasyl winced, shying away from the pain and closing his eyes. He slammed himself into the carpet this time, his head hitting the ground with a hefty thump. 

“Fuck you--” Vasyl hissed through his teeth. “Seriously, FUCK you, man,” 

Vasyl’s squirms and movements progressively got weaker, his expression twisting into something distorted and scrunched. His eyes became glassy and he tilted his head away from Orynko, sniffling quietly. 

Trapped, is a word that floated through Vasyl’s head. The hands against his arms, the knee against his chest-- He couldn’t move. He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t do fucking anything, and it made him want to scream, and thrash until Orynko was inclined to strike him across the face yet again. He’d rather get knocked out cold, than feel so- 

so—

Helpless. 

Vasyl couldn’t stop the sob that crawled out from his throat, body stuttering with the sudden anguish that dawned on him. His chest heaved up and down, and his shoulders trembled with each and every cry that he tried to suppress. Once they’d started, they seemed like they just poured out of him, leaving Vasyl even more helpless, and humiliated. What an idiot he was to get himself into this whole mess… What an even bigger idiot he was to start crying like some damn baby after getting his ass handed to him.

Orynko loosened his grips and removed his knee from Vasyl’s stomach, insides churning in a way that hurt more than any of his injuries when he heard Vasyl take his first proper breath since being on the ground, it was shaky and frantic and only seemed to make the tears fall harder. 

“What the hell is wrong with me?” Vasyl asked, so quiet that Orynko could hear his own heart breaking over the question.

A lot. He wanted to say. 

Nothing. He wanted to say just as much. 

Instead, he didn’t say anything at all. Orynko leaned over, and took Vasyl into his arms softly. He cradled his head with so much care that you’d think the 18 year old to be fragile, and, well - Vasyl tucked his face into the crook of Orynko’s neck instantly, burying himself there, like a defenceless child in search of safety, and comfort. - In a way, at the time, even if it was just for the time; Vasyl was.