Fight For A Flower

One in the morning.

Too early, he hadn't even stopped inflicting his latent light on that waning moon by the time he woke up. With the slight start of the serene silence that radiated from her room.

A faintly muffled silence. Just the echo of her breath and the sounds from that next room.

He stayed there, just lying on the soft mattress in his bedroom. The curtains were not drawn and the faint halo of moonlight filtered through the dirty glass of the window. His gaze was fixed on the dark sky and his mind, somewhere in his consciousness.

The sound was barely audible, but it tortured him so much, that he felt a furious urge to get up and break the head of the bastard of his brother.

Why so much anxiety? After all, it was already in the past. Time takes care of erasing those things, right?

The noise of the springs of that bed increased. From that bed, a few meters from where he was.

He took one of her pillows and covered himself with it, as if he wanted to drown out the echo of that insolent noise, because, luckily for her, he could hear it.

Listen.

Nah, there was no reason to blame her, but Luke.

Time had run with the speed of the wind, without erasing that sensation that had awakened in him, on that summer afternoon a little over a year ago, when he saw her on the threshold of his house, just when he had returned from the house office. He did not attract her attention because of her figure (which was not worthy of a diva) or even because of the tone of her hair; a rare pink color. She attracted her indifferent attention due to the commotion in the room. He was just about to precede her lighthearted greeting when Luke stepped between them.

"She is Alexa, my girlfriend" he remembered Luke's cold voice as always in a useless imitation of his expressions.

Silly little brother

He would have cared. There was nothing extraordinary about this bland fifteen-year-old. Sure, that's what he had thought then and without knowing her; But in the months that followed and in the few periods of living together as a family, his opinion of him had changed a little.

Just a little, according to him.

Alexa was too lively, and maybe a bit annoying in her conversations (annoying due to the emphasis of her comments). She is sneaky, at least she looked like she had a good head on her shoulders.

Too much for a despotic bastard like Luke.

Did she envy him? What could he envy her? That her little brother had a girlfriend and he didn't?

Bah, that kind of crap didn't have to matter to him. He was the prodigy of the family and recently his father's right-hand man in business matters, not the prissy, troublesome brat that Luke used to be.

But just as the fingers of his hand are not the same, the personality and the relationship between siblings were not the same. Santino was five years apart and had almost a lifetime of experience. Luke, was the one who competed too much to match the academic level of his "admired" older brother and get a little attention from his father.

This is how things used to go, quite tolerably. Then everything got complicated ... from his perspective.

The cushioning of the mattress intensified, pulling her out of his rapture. And this time he could hear her murmur from her neighboring room.

"Luke..hmm ... Yeah ..."

Accompanied by the terse moans of his brother. He felt the creaking of the bed pierce his head.

What the hell had she seen in Luke? Beyond the bad boy look, there wasn't much to choose from. He would be his younger brother, but the boy was not worth much morally. He had changed, from entry to the so-called "troubled age." He had been far away from the family and would arrive late at night if he wanted to go back to sleep.

Santino knew that he had made friends with some little guys considered the scourge of the town, a certain Gio and two other thugs.

And after getting into a couple of trouble, there was a quiet season. It was when he met Alexa.

"Ahh ... Luke ..."

The damn creaking of the bed, again.

Enough!

The deep feeling of anger overcame him.

In the middle of the night, and amid the mental and emotional hubbub, Santino got up, throwing the covers and pillow away with almost exaggerated disdain and anger. As if he wanted to slightly lessen the anger and ...

The envy?

Because that was it, right? That was the reason why he couldn't fall asleep, quieting the din to background noise. So...

That's why he corrupted listening to her ... hearing her having those gasps, those expressions for someone other than him.

For his brother. It wasn't the fact that it was someone other than him, it would have been worth a thousand heck if it were some other beardless idiot from his school... it hurt and burned with pride that it was HIS own younger brother of his. He burned and gripped her heart with a feeling that was too strident, like the awakening of a volcano about to erupt, about to release dense lava that corrodes and corrupts everything within reach.

But it was HIS anger at him and his resentment at the end of the day, he could do little or nothing.

She kept listening to them and she called out her brother's name with intense attachment.

The girl who would never have him, he thought as he unconsciously got out of bed. She emerged from the room, almost sleepwalking. She slammed the door as hard as she could, heeding the intruded resentment that hovered in her head and headed for the bathroom, not even glancing at the door to Luke's room.

She mentally cursed that instant. It was one thing to take advantage of the fact that his parents were away for the weekend and another to commit that impudence.

She undressed feeling the pulse of his hands in a tremulous grasp, even as she tossed the garments to the floor.

He leaned his back against the wall, feeling the temper of the mosaics in it, in contrast to the warm water that gushed from the shower. The ebony strands of her hair were scattered under the slow stream.

Alexa...

The only name came to her mind, almost like the flash of lightning in the middle of a summer storm.

He was thinking of her, he had remained stuck in her mind, immovable from her longings and indelible from her mind. She had treasured a dwelling there, in that conscious and unconscious zone. Defiant before the logic of the thought of him.

Alexa. His brother's girlfriend.

The girl studied, lived, and dated her younger brother.

While he ... was still there. Trapped in that invisible chamber built by the sly and indifferent Luke, who only silently delighted in naming it over and over again. "Alexa, my girlfriend" like that, with that tone so concise and dry and at the same time so laconic and mocking. Like the plump laugh of a lewd demon.

He breathed in. He inhaled and exhaled again. His hand felt for the soap, neither touching nor grasping it.

He slid down.

He could still hear the groans from the room in his mind. Troubling him once more.

Alexa.

Brief fragments of the also short occasions he had spent with her. Simple "table talk", if that could be called that. A "hello" and a "bye" in case.

And nothing more. However, there were her gestures. The brightness of that look, that radiant smile, is authentic. Pure.

Something her brother didn't deserve.

He had never met a girl who smiled so naturally. It was a sincere expression, a gesture he had never seen reciprocated by his surly younger brother. Alexa always tried hard to please Luke, but it seemed like nothing was enough for him.

And her eyes...

That particular jade green shade. Bright and enhanced in his smooth features. It was not a specifically perfect face, but it particularly framed that color of her pupils, against the winter white of her skin; the skin of that youthful body of measured proportions and a small but firm bust. A flaw to remember.

Santino's logic didn't refute the argument anymore ... and neither did his body. Arousal had plumbed his mind, not from hearing them doing "what they did" and less from the lust proclaimed in the thick moans and fluffiness of the mattress. It was vile and blatant arousal aroused by her. And her mind, even when it is in those lapses of contained anger, tends to take whims. Transform them and lash out with them like a blunt blow to the stomach.

He was erect. His member stuck out from a mass of black pubic hair.

Under the warm stream of water, amid her swirling mind and confused ideas, her body rebelled at the dazed outburst. And it was fucking perfect when the mind was allied in these matters.

His hand was rushing over his penis. She felt the throbbing hardness as his hand rose and fell, pulse trembling. Slow. Still listening to him in her mind. Calling you. Going on it.

Longing for it to be her hand at that moment.

Santino...

The very image of her made him feel hotter. A vivid scene, almost, almost real. She, lying in her bed... at his mercy.

This had already turned into blatant lewdness. And she stopped caring for him.

He wanted to have her, possess her... touch her and taste her warm snowy skin, savoring her as if she were the most exquisite delicacy on earth. The images began to happen, sweaty sheets, bodies in tension...

He increased the pace of her hand, indulging in that blind frenzy... almost as if he could feel her.

Touch the.

Caress her.

Penetrate it.

Make it yours.

Santino... Santino...

Her voice in his head.

Oh, Santino

He shuddered, almost painfully. Two more jerks and he experienced an immediate, wild orgasm. He poured the semen onto the floor in a dazed convulsion, resting his free hand against the water tap. He felt a stinging stab from the tips of his toes to his waist.

Be quiet.

Silence returned to haunt the outside of the hall, while the water continued to run inside the bathroom.

With a faint heat on the back of his neck and his head throbbing slightly from that peculiar physical effort, he turned off the water.

He breathed slowly, returning his mind to that reality. She adjusted the towel around her waist, water dripping down her back and shoulders from her wet hair.

He remained standing, standing in the middle of the room. He finished drying off, stopping now and then to wring the towel over the tub. He watched the trickles of water trickle down the drain.

He was shaking, partly from the reaction and partly from relief. She had barely heeded the veiled idea of opening the door and beating Luke up. She could only think, over and over again, of the succession of events that had culminated in this scene.

He sincerely believed that he had indulged in those disturbing and unrepentant ideas around Alexa almost inadvertently.

It had been like an explosion of sewage from a buried sewer. He believed that a similar cloaca ran under the manicured lawns of almost every family in Kuri.

I have become the legendary lonely piece of furniture in the house

He had thought sadly one last day of last winter, watching the sleet hit the porch shutters. Then, little by little, the filth had started to accumulate in the pipe. He began to nag Luke about the little things, sublimating the big ones because they were hard to put into words. Things such as loss, fear, and loneliness. Things like hearing a song he used to listen to from his student days on the radio and feeling a burst of frustration and pent-up anger. Feeling jealous of his brother because, compared to him, his life was not a daily struggle to build something. It was a life lived in the trenches.

And lately, a part of his life was waiting and listening.

And then Santino would start working after hours, delving deeper into anything he didn't remind him of.

He thought of Alexa, with whom he often chatted (most of the time without his stupid brother present) in the rare moments when he was home. And one afternoon, he had caught himself sitting in front of the television with no idea what he was watching because he was thinking about the particular shade of pink in her hair or the way her jeans were fitted over. her butt. And, in the end, he had wanted to do one thing.

And today...

And today, it didn't matter.

XXX

The bright morning light hit her face, covered only half by one of Luke's pillows.

Alexa half-opened one eye, drowsily. To her right and his back to her was hers, deep in the fifth dream perhaps. She turned around, glancing at the clock on the nightstand; almost nine in the morning.

She turned again, moving closer to the boy's body. She draped her arm across the sheets, hugging his back.

"Luke" she whispered affectionately close to her ear. Her lips brushed her neck and she could hear the rhythmic rhythm of her breathing.

"Hmph..." was the only answer she got from him.

She knew his gestures, she got used to the "long and argued comments" from him, obviously, after spending almost a year and a half with him. So she didn't take the boy's grim and indifferent reply negatively. She kept hugging him and slowly raised one of her hands to one of the wispy strands of her hair, playing with it.

"If you're hungry, come downstairs and make yourself some breakfast. I want to get some more sleep" Luke said tersely. He pulled up the sheet and covered his face with it.

The young woman just answered him with a simple "okay". Her voice was a barely audible whisper; Trying to emulate the indifferent tone of the boy's voice, there was no further response from him.

She sat up on the bed, lazily stretching her back. His shoulders and waist claimed her with an almost delicious click from the intense activity of the night before. Despite not being the first time of that, she still allowed a faint blush on his cheeks. She cast a sidelong glance at the bundle that lay to her left.

Luke ... my Luke ...

Her face broke into a mischievous smile. An expression that she had more than once she had given to that surly boy whom she considered her "better half". Something that went beyond the simple meaning that she had given to the phrase. With her nearly seventeen years old and her carefree teenage life, she had nothing to worry about except the priority of living.

It was the middle of summer and it was not three weeks since she had started the holiday season. A quiet period, although her school life could not be considered the most problematic or stressful either. She wasn't the most popular girl in school, but she wasn't a potential "book-eater" either. As a good person, she had learned to live on the sidelines of everything. Without being more, or appearing less.

As of March, almost as soon as she started her third-to-last semester of high school, she was transferred to group "C" - initially by mere clerical error - and it was there that she met Luke. After a couple of months of concise and brief coexistence, a couple of disinterested outings on the part of the boy (disinterested because knowing his character, she did not care), and without any relevant facts, they started dating as a couple.

No, her life did not take a 180-degree turn, nor did she become the envy of the rest of the female student population. Things had changed, yes, but not enough to make a fuss worthy of being published in the school newspaper. She considered Luke as one of the most attractive boys in school, but from that to being an Idol-like those in those television series, there was a huge difference. And then he wasn't exactly a caramel apple; He had a sullen character, a changing mood (sometimes almost bipolar), and a peculiar way of showing his affection through his typical monosyllables, that if he had given himself to the task of making a dictionary all those expressions of "hmpt" would have a Unique meaning translated into "As you like".

But she liked it, as she used to explain to her friends; there was an "I don't know what" that she saw in him. In addition to the reluctant and opinionated phrase of "it doesn't matter, I know it will change. I will make it change." Of course, as the days and months went by, she began to take for granted, like any dreaming girl, that the phrase and the attempt to change a man always descended into what it was: an attempt and nothing more. But he didn't care about her, at least not for now.

It was a Friday night and he had invited her to see a movie at her house. That of course was a mutually accepted excuse. The sexual act had been on her mind from the beginning. She had been dating Luke more or less as her girlfriend since October of this year (now it was June) and they had only been lovers for two weeks.

Seven times, she counted. That night had been the seventh and she still hadn't seen fireworks or heard a marching band, but it had turned out a little better. The first time she felt hellish pain. Her friends, Yanai and Karen had done it, and both assured her that it only hurt for a minute - like a penicillin injection - and that after that it was like being in heaven. However, for her, the first time she had had the sensation of being pierced with the handle of roast beef. Later, Luke confessed to her, with a slightly guilty expression, that he had also misused the condom.

Last night was the second time that he had started to feel something like pleasure and, at that moment, it was all over. Luke had held on as long as he could but suddenly ... it was just all over. It felt like too much friction to feel just a certain heat.

But she loved him, no matter how unexpressive he was. And she loved him not so much because of the renown of his last name or because of her bearing, but because he, that seemingly disinterested boy, had given him her first kiss. And just over a month ago, he had become the first man in his life; the one to whom she had given her virginity.

She got up slowly, feeling the slight creak of the bed. She stood silently just staring into the void and giving her body time to stretch. She walked to the dresser near the door; on it were laid carelessly her clothes, hers and hers; as mute witnesses to the red-hot mood of the night before. He took her blouse - a sleeveless white garment - and put it on, not caring about the fact that she wasn't wearing her bra, her panties, and threadbare sweatpants that once used to be navy blue.

It was the first time that she had spent the entire night at Luke's house, and according to his comment the day before, there would be no one else except them and, if anything, Santino, his older brother. And that morning was spared the dilemma of "What will I wear?" (which, in the circumstances she had considered, boiled down to "What shall I take off?") and he took the first thing he found to her hand. In recent weeks, his limited "private sneaks" always ended at Luke's house, almost always in the afternoon, after (or during school hours, when he used to convince her to elope with him, of course), and no more than three hours, so this morning she was feeling particularly strange to be at his house at this time of day.

She left the room, leaving the door ajar, and went down to the kitchen; an area of neat white, which shone, standing out from the decoration of the room, because of the brightness of the rays of the sun that filtered across the length and width of the left window. The western-style sliding door was slid to the right. The echo of her footsteps on the soft stairs disappeared, under the sound of the low volume of the television.

She stopped dryly on the bottom step, her heart on a thread. What if Luke's parents had returned earlier than estimated?

Great, abruptly great, and more for the fact that she was wearing "house clothes", her hair tangled and the occasional mischief peeking out from the vertex of her sleepy eyes. What was she going to say?

"Good morning, sorry for the inconvenience of staying over, but the weekend sex session was exhausting"

A lie disguised as irony. It hadn't been the best experience of hers but at least she would consider it for the rest of the week.

She held her breath, paying attention to the echo of the electrical apparatus. The voices came from various channels taken at random, apparently "zapping" between the programming of the cable television system. She came down finally and decisively, and she leaned over the corner of the door. His eyes met only Santino's solitary silhouette, with his head resting between both hands and an unveiled gesture on his face, accentuating his dark circles a little more.

Her gaze crossed making a slight start in him.

Alexa noticed a faint glint in the young man's eyes, which became more accentuated when she smiled at him.