Title: Segreti Della Famiglia

Author: Scribe

Fandom: The Godfather

Pairing: Sonny (Santino)/Michael

Status: finished

Series/Sequel: May end up being part of a series.

Prequel to Anziche' Voi' (Instead of You)

Archive: WWOMB, CKoS, others ask, and provide credit and my email address for feedback

Feedback: poet_77665@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: Characters belong originally to the late, great Mario Puzo

Warnings: Incest, m/m coerced sex. Nasty. Advantage is taken.

Author's Notes: I don't think anything was ever said about Sandra's twins coming early. In my story, they're a little pre-mature. Not unheard of for a multiple birth in the 1930s. I got the line about 'eight hours' from a female comic, Rita Rudner, I think. Funny lady.

VOCABULARY:
The title means 'Family Secrets'. This next term may be wrong, but I got it off a Godfather site. All they had was the masculine variant, so I tried for the feminine. Rompipalla means 'ball buster'. A 'fait accompli' is an irreversible accomplishment, something that might as well be accepted, because it is already a fact.

Segreti Della Famiglia

1937

"Michael, you sure you gonna be okay to stay by yourself?" Carmella Corleone stood at the front door, pulling on her gloves. She watched her youngest son with a touch of anxiety.

Michael was her baby, and she worried about him, even more than the more delicate Fredo. She and Vito were going to Atlantic City for the weekend, and it would be the first time that Michael had ever been left alone for any significant amount of time. "You could go stay with Sonny and Sandra," she suggested.

Michael smiled, kissing his mother on the cheek. "Sandra isn't going to want me underfoot right now, Ma. The babies are due in just a couple of weeks. I'm sure she's not feeling up to company. She needs all the rest she can get."

Michael knew that his pretty, dark-haired sister-in-law was absolutely miserable right now. She was expecting twins, so the normal rigors of a first pregnancy had been more or less doubled for her. Her feet were swollen, her ankles were swollen, her belly was VERY swollen, her face was puffy... Her hands were so swollen that she had taken off her wedding ring to keep it from sinking into her flesh, and wore it on a chain around her neck. She'd have never let it off her person, though. Italian women took the marriage vow too seriously to do anything like that.

Sandra was tired all the time, and the morning sickness hadn't passed after the first month or two, like it usually did. Add to that the strain on her back from carrying that mountainous belly, and the ache of milk-swollen breasts, and it was hardly surprising that she'd become snappish the last month. Sonny had been hanging around his old home more and more lately. He loved his wife, and would never neglect her, but she was... Well, she was just hard to live with at this point. Michael figured he wouldn't be alone the entire weekend. Sonny would most likely show up at some point.

Figuring that fact would soothe his mother's apprehension, Michael said, "Besides, Sonny will probably come by later on, maybe have dinner. He's in and out a lot these days, you know." He was glad of that. The Corleone family was close, always, but after Sonny married, Michael had begun to miss his big brother's constant presence.

As he had anticipated, Carmella's face lighted with relief. "Yeah, sure, that's right! You two boys have dinner together, spend some time. Sonny needs his men friends right now." She leaned to Michael confidentially, and whispered, "We women... When we get pregnant, we can be..." She blushed, "rompipallas."

Michael bit his lip quickly to keep from laughing out loud. The idea of his mother calling her daughter-in-law a ball buster! "I'll invite him over if he doesn't just show up," he promised.

"Mama!" Vito Corleone, a handsome, solid man in his mid-fifties, came from the car to collect his wife. "You're gonna talk the boy to death. He'll be fine." He tapped Michael on the shoulder, eyes gleaming proudly. "He's a Corleone."

"Yeah, I'll be all right." He gave his father a hug.

Vito whispered so that his wife couldn't hear. "No girls in the house, you hear? It would kill your mama. The booze, okay, a little. But no girls!"

"Yes, sir." Michael waved his parents off, watching the big, dark sedan till it was out of sight, then went back into the house. Funny, he hadn't been considering girls at all. Why was that? Most seventeen-year-old boys with the house to themselves for a solid weekend would be planning orgies, he knew.

The booze was a different story, though. He'd had wine, of course, since he was a child, always mingled with a good bit of water. The Sicilians believed that the fruit of the vine was healthy, that it strengthened the blood. Even small children were allowed tastes. Hard liquor, though, was another matter. That was strictly regulated.

The first thing he did was change clothes. His mother always liked him to 'look nice', so he usually wore neatly pressed pants and button-down shirts. The shoes went first. Then he got into a pair of threadbare, faded khakis usually reserved for yard work, grass stains permanently ground into the knees, and a loose, ragged T-shirt. Wonderful. Maybe, he thought whimsically, he'd walk around naked later on. The idea made him grin. Mama would be so shocked.

He tried calling Sonny to invite him over for dinner, but the phone just rang and rang. He kept trying through the afternoon. At last he let it ring so long that he knew had Sonny actually been there to pick up, he would have thrown the obnoxious instrument against the wall. *Maybe he took Sandra to see her parents.* Michael thought, dispiritedly.

Resigned, he fixed himself a light supper from the over-bountiful supply of prepared foods his mother had left in the refrigerator. After eating, he ostentatiously fixed himself a whiskey and soda, then sat in the livingroom, listening to the radio as he sipped it.

*Christ, this stuff is nasty!* he thought, as he forced down a swallow. It burned all the way to his belly. But once there, it settled and became a comfortable glow, spreading warmth through his body. He worked on the drink through The Jack Benny Show, trying to be careful not to have a mouthful when there was a punch line. He DEFINITELY did not want to snort this concoction through his nose: it would have been like using acid for a nasal spray.

By the time The Shadow came on, he'd finished that drink, and built himself another, stronger than the last. This one went down a lot easier. Apparently the more alcohol you consumed, the more tolerant of the taste you became. By the time the ten o'clock news came on, he was ready for a third. but he figured that would probably be the last one. Papa had said not to overdo it, and the edges of things were already getting a little rounded.

It was a measure of how much the alcohol had affected him that he didn't know Sonny was in the house till he was standing over him. Michael jumped as the big man loomed over his chair. "Jesus, Sonny! Give me a stroke, why dontch?"

Santino frowned at his younger brother. "What's the matter with you, Mikey? The door was unlocked. Something real nasty could have walked in off the street instead of your big brother."

Michael rubbed his face. "Geez, I forgot," he said sheepishly. Sonny was only four years older than he, twenty-one, but sometimes he made Michael feel almost childish. He was so much a man, so much how Michael wanted to be. He was big, over six feet tall, while Michael barely came up to his chin, and wasn't likely to get any taller. Sonny was built like a football player, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Michael was sturdy, but slender.

Sonny was first generation American, but didn't show his ethnic roots in his appearance. His curly hair was sandy, and his eyes were a warm medium brown. Michael, on the other hand, would never be able to deny his Italian blood, even if he wanted to. His thick hair was heavy and black, and his eyes were so dark that they were almost the same color.

Sonny looked at the half empty glass in his brother's hands, eyebrows rising. "I'm not surprised you got careless. How many of those have you had?"

"Just a couple." Sonny cocked his head. "All right, this is my third." He giggled. "My third BIG one. S'okay, though. Papa said it was all right. Booze, yes. Girls, no."

"Wise man, our papa." Sonny looked around. "Speaking of which, where is he? I expected him to be glued to the radio for the news."

"Atlantic City. He took Mama on a second honeymoon." Michael frowned. "Or was it third? I forget."

"Well, shit! You know what hotel he's at?"

Michael felt apprehensive. "I forget," he lied. "You're not gonna say anything about this," he wiggled the glass vigorously. Luckily he'd drank enough to keep from spilling it. "are ya? I told you, he said I could."

Sonny sat in a chair across from his younger brother. "Nah. When have I ever tattled on you, Mikey? I just came over to give him and Mama the good news." v "Good news?"

Sonny grinned widely, spreading his arms. "I'm a papa!"

Michael was confused. "What? But... but Sandra isn't due till sometimes next month, is she?"

Sonny shrugged. "Babies have their own timetable, Mikey. All the docs can do is make guesses. Our little ones were impatient. I got two little girls, Mike!"

"Sonny!" Michael dropped his glass on the table, almost spilling it, and threw himself at his brother, catching him in a hug. "Holy crap! I'm an uncle, twice!"

"You sure are, kid." Sonny patted his back. "Rosary and Anna Marie."

Michael pulled back abruptly to arms' length, staring anxiously into Sonny's face. "Sandra... the babies... They're all right?"

Sonny cuffed him gently on the side of the head. "Of course, moron! Would I be here if they weren't? No, the babies are tiny, but they're perfect. Doctors say there shouldn't be any problems at all, we just have to feed 'em good and fatten 'em up. I told him we were Sicilians, there wouldn't be any problem on THAT. We'd have 'em butterballs in no time." Michael laughed. "Sandra..." He shrugged. "She's okay, but she's out like a light. They gave her so much dope to help with the delivery that she'll be lucky if she wakes up for the girl's first communion."

"Was it rough?" Michael did one of his old 'little brother' stunts: wiggling down into the narrow space beside Sonny in the big, overstuffed chair. There wasn't really room, but Santino didn't mind. He just wrapped an arm around Mike.

"Rough? Shit, Mikey. You thank God and the Blessed Virgin EVERY NIGHT that you weren't born a woman, so you don't have to go through that! The SCREAMING and moaning. Sandra was begging me to punch her and knock her out before we got to the hospital, and she was in labor for EIGHT HOURS, Mikey. Hell, I don't even want to do anything that feels GOOD for eight hours."

Michael laughed again, and Sonny gave his shoulder a squeeze. Michael was a terrific kid, never any trouble. *Not like me,* Sonny thought. *I drove Ma and Dad half crazy before I settled down with Sandra.* The booze was a little surprising, but Sonny decided it was a good thing. There was such a thing as being TOO perfect. It pleased him to think that his baby brother was acquiring a harder edge, no matter how small.

Michael wormed an arm behind him, returning the squeeze. "So, you going back to the hospital?"

"Not tonight. No point, really. Sandra won't wake up for hours, and they won't let me see the babies. They're fascists about visiting hours. I figured I'd sleep over here tonight. I don't want to be in the apartment when it's so empty."

"Sure! You can sleep in your old bed in my room," Michael hesitated. "Unless you'd rather sleep in Ma and Dad's room?"

"Nah. I'd rather sleep with you, Mikey. We can jaw like we used to before I moved out."

"I'd like that." He looked down. "I've... kinda missed you."

"Yeah?" Sonny tipped Michael's chin up to study his face. "I have been kind of a stranger the last couple of months, haven't I? I'm sorry, Mikey. Things have just been hectic."

"You don't have to apologize to me, Sonny. I know. You have to be with your family now."

"YOU'RE my family, Mikey. Don't ever forget that. Tell you what."

"What?"

"Why don't you finish off that drink, then help me with this."

Sonny reached down beside the chair and brought up a large bottle of champagne. "I brought this to celebrate, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather share it with."

"Hey! Sure." Michael had stolen a few sips of champagne at weddings, and knew that he liked it a lot better than he did hard liquor. He pulled himself out of the chair and picked up his drink, draining it in one long gulp.

"Mikey! Christ, you're gonna be flat on your ass, drinking like that!"

"Hardly feel it." Michael stumbled, falling onto Sonny's lap.

Sonny laughed, arranging him comfortably. "So, I get to be Santy Claus?"

"Yeah." Mike threw his arms around Sonny's neck. "Whataya got for me?"

He squirmed a little, and the softness of his rump pressed down on Sonny's lap. Sonny's head dropped back against the chair as a sudden, sensual heat ignited in his loins. DAMN, that felt good. Michael's face was close to his own, and Sonny suddenly noticed how smooth his skin was. At seventeen, Michael had only just begun to shave, and the razor had not yet roughened his cheeks and jaw. He was smiling at Sonny, and his mouth was wide and beautifully shaped. The slightly sharp smell of whiskey fumes was almost like a cologne.

Michael leaned his forehead against Sonny's teasingly. "C'mon, Santa. Whatchya got for me?"

*What have I got for you, little boy? Fuck, I better get you off my lap before you feel it for yourself.* "I need a corkscrew and some glasses, Mikey."

"Right!" Michael bounded up and went to the liquor cabinet, his gate a little unsteady. He squatted to rummage in the bottom shelf, and the khaki's were drawn tight. Sonny found his gaze riveted to Michael's ass: two round, perfect swells, coated with thin, faded khaki so tight that the cleft was clearly defined.

"Shit." Sonny whispered, watching the sway of Michael's ass as his brother shifted, searching the shelf. *God, that looks good. What the hell am I thinking? He's my brother.*

But he was also very, very hot. Sonny had noticed this before, in a rather abstract way. His brother was good-looking. He should be able to get even more pussy than Sonny had at his age, but he never seemed to have girls around. Oh, some of it was respect for his mother, that was true enough. But at seventeen, Michael should have been bird-dogging every female he came within sniffing distance of.

He dated, sure, but it was mostly group things, from what he'd heard. No chance to be alone and maybe get a little. Sonny suspected that his brother was still a virgin. He decided to find out tonight. If he was, well... There were women who could help in these matters.

"A-HA!" Michael returned triumphant with the corkscrew and two tulip glasses.

"Don't we have any champagne glasses?"

"These ARE champagne glasses, the right kind. The shallow ones let the bubbles out too fast. These are the kind DESIGNED for champagne. You know how the other ones became popular?" He was snickering, blushing.

Sonny found himself grinning in return. "No. Tell me, genius."

"One of the French kings is supposed to have had them designed in the exact shape of his mistress' breast."

Sonny burst out laughing, ending up holding his side. "Oh, damn! You'd think a king could've gotten a woman with bigger tits!" His laughter died as Michael wedged himself back into the narrow space he had vacated. He was entirely too close, and entirely too warm for Santino's peace of mind.

But it would be awkward to say anything, and he didn't want to hurt the boy's feelings by shooing him away. That was what Sonny told himself, anyway.

"Here." Michael shoved the corkscrew impatiently into Sonny's hands. "Go on, I'm thirsty."

"Thirsty, huh." Sonny peeled the foil away from the top of the bottle and twisted the screw into the cork. "You're sloshed, that's what you are."

"Only a little."

"You're about to fall on your round little ass." *What the HELL possessed me to say THAT?!"

Michael didn't seem to notice. "G'wan, old man! You're slower than Christmas."

"I'll show you slow." Sonny jerked instead of working the cork out. There was a pop like a cap going off, and a golden spray of champagne spewed from the bottle, soaking Michael. The boy yelped, quickly holding the glasses one at a time to catch the flow.

"Oh, man, Ma is gonna KILL you!" he said, handing one glass to Sonny. "She'll have to get this chair re-upholstered, and you KNOW how picky she is about matching fabric."

"Not with two new granddaughters, she won't." Sonny lifted his glass.

"Yeah, I guess you're right!" Michael clinked glasses with him, then tossed back his champagne.

"Hey, slow down! I'll end up having to carry you upstairs.""So? You're strong enough. More!" Sonny refilled Michael's glass, and sipped his own, watching as Michael drank at a slightly more leisurely pace. It took him three gulps to finish his glass instead of one. He threw his head back for the last long swallow, and Sonny watched the pulse of his pale throat as he drank.

Michael had his eyes closed in bliss from the tickle of the bubbles and the pleasant spinning in his head. He was an uncle, he was close beside his beloved big brother, and he was gloriously drunk. What could be better? Sighing, he licked the last of the wine off his lips. He wasn't aware of the way Sonny's eyes narrowed as he watched the passage of Michael's tongue over his mouth, or the way he wet his own lips.

Sonny finished his own drink quickly, and took another. He was having thoughts he knew damn good and well he shouldn't have. Like how good Michael felt in is arms, how soft his ass had been, and what that tongue might feel like swiping over his prick.

These thoughts weren't entirely new to Sonny. It would have been news to his family, and most people who knew him, but Sonny wasn't adverse to a little man-to-man action. He was just fucking all-around horny. Ever since he'd hit puberty he'd been more or less willing to mount anyone and anything that was warm and vaguely attractive. Usually he stuck with women: it was safer. You had to really trust any guy you were with. If word got out, it could damage the family reputation. Reputation, and respect, was everything with The Families.

And it wasn't the first time Sonny had entertained a passing thought about Michael, either. The kid was growing up to be a really fine looking man. Before, he'd been too young. Sonny wasn't a cradle-snatcher, he never touched anyone, male or female, under sixteen. And then Sonny had gotten married to Sandra, and he TRIED to be a good husband. He kept his cheating to a minimum, and he hadn't been with another man since they were married. It just hadn't seemed respectful to his wife. But now...

Michael wasn't a little boy anymore. Oh, he wasn't a MAN, either. He was at that in-between stage, a youth. You could just see the man he would be, but the child he had been was still there, too. And he was damn fine, even if he WAS blood.

Sonny took another glass of champagne, willing away the thoughts. *Not good, Santino. Not good. You know anything like that would be wrong. You don't even know if the kid likes men. Of course, he hasn't exactly been a pussy-hound, either.*

"Gimme 'nother." Michael's voice was slurred.

"No, you've had enough. I'll drink the rest." Sonny demonstrated his resolve by drinking his glass as quickly as Michael had. He got an immediate buzz. "Damn, MIke. You should be flat on your ass, drinking like that."

"'m tough. I c'n take it."

"Yeah? Well, let's take it upstairs, huh? I think we both need to go to bed."

"Awright." Michael got up, and swayed perilously. Sonny stood up quickly, grabbing him before he could overbalance. Michael giggled again, hanging on him. "Whoo! When did Dad install a turntable unner the floor?"

"Oh, man, you are pissed!" Sonny laughed. "C'mon, I'll help you." Carrying the bottle, he looped the other arm around Michael's waist and led him out to the hall, clicking off the lights as he left. They made their way up the stairs, with Michael leaning on him heavily. Once Michael's footing slipped, and only his grip around Sonny's neck kept him from tumbling back down the stairs. Sonny hauled him back upright, and the feel of his younger brother slithering up his body again brought dangerous thoughts to his mind.

He maneuvered Mike into the bedroom they had once shared, and dumped him on the bed. Michael sprawled half off it, tittering weakly. He tried to push himself up higher onto the bed, but his bare feet kept sliding on the rug, bunching it up. At last he gave up, panting and grinning. "I'm trapped."

Sonny looked at him hanging there, the graceful arch of his slender body pushing his crotch up. Michael tried to move again, his struggles lifting his hips, and Sonny turned away quickly, muttering, "No. No. No."

"Wassamatter, bro?" There was a thump as Michael slid the rest of the way to the floor, giving up his fight. He got on his hands and knees, because that seemed the safest way to navigate, and crawled to Sonny. "Hey?"

Sonny froze as Michael took hold of his pant's leg and used it to haul himself up. He grabbed at Sonny's solid thighs for support as he levered himself to his knees, but the sudden rise made him even dizzier. He threw his arms around Sonny, leaning against his hip. "Oh, wow. I'm soooo drunk. You're the only thing solid in the room, Sonny."

Michael's face was only inches away from Sonny's suddenly very tight fly. Sonny closed his eyes. *Oh, damn. I can feel his breath. It's so hot.*

He hadn't had sex with Sandra for almost four months, that had to be it. No intercourse, what with the pregnancy. No other sex with her, either, aside from a few grudgingly given hand jobs. Nothing else, because you didn't DO stuff like that with your wife, and the mother of your children. And Sandra had been making him feel so guilty for her discomfort that he hadn't even been doing much business with the whores. For a man who liked sex as much as Santino did, it had almost been celibacy, and it was driving him nuts.

"Sonny?" Michael was tugging on his belt. "Really, you all right? You're awful quiet. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Sonny's eyes snapped open, and he looked down at Michael. They boy's expression was sweetly earnest, his almost black eyes concerned. "I'm fine, Michael. Just fine. And there is something you can do for me."

"What? Just tell me. I'm drunk, but I'll do what I can."

For a moment, Sonny didn't say anything. He stroked Michael's hair, and Michael closed his eyes, leaning back into the touch. He loved it when his big brother touched him like this. So many men treated a young brother as nothing but a nuisance, but it had never been like that with Sonny and Michael.

"I'll tell you what you can do for me." Sonny cleared his throat, then put his hands under Michael's arms and hauled him to his feel "You can get out of those clothes. They're soaked with wine, and they're going to be sticky."

"Oh, yeah. Right." Michael grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and jerked it over his head. Of course, he lost balance, stumbling, but Sonny caught him. His hands landed on Michael's chest, bracing him.

Sonny rubbed, his fingers gliding over Michael's dark copper nipples, and Michael shivered at the sensation. He felt the nipples hardening, drawing into stiff peaks under Sonny's fingers, and looked at his brother in surprise. Sonny held up his hand and rubbed the fingers together. "See what I mean? Sticky. Get undressed, kid. I'll get a wet towel."

Sonny went into the bathroom, and Michael dropped the shirt on the floor, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. He stared after his brother, then looked down at his chest, puzzled. His nipples were sticking out, like they did when he was cold, but he didn't feel cold at all. He felt kind of over-heated, actually.

Michael touched one experimentally. It was firm, almost hard. He pinched it lightly. There was a bolt of heat the flashed from the little nub down to his crotch, and he gasped. Damn, that felt good! He tried the other one, and the result was the same. He continued the exploration, plucking and rolling the little buds, feeling the delicious heat build. He rubbed his palms flat over them in circles, his head dropping back, mouth open.

Sonny came back into the room to find Michael bare chested, sitting on the bed. The boy was caressing himself sensually, lost in the sensations. Sonny was very quiet, watching. His prick, already half awake, began to throb toward full erection. He cleared his throat.

Michael's eyes opened, slightly unfocused. "I... um... " He scratched at his chest, as if in explanation. "Sticky."

"Yeah." Sonny came closer. Michael's nipples were thrusting out aggressively, skin crinkled, tips reddened with his self-stimulation. "Get your pants off, too. You can't sleep in them."

While Michael struggled to get his pants open, Sonny stripped quickly to his boxers. Michael was having trouble with his button-fly, and Sonny shook his head. "Stand up, MIke."

"I'm afraid I'll fall down." His voice was small.

"Hang on to me." Michael stood, taking hold of Sonny's shoulders, and Sonny quickly and efficiently unbuttoned his pants, then pushed them down his hips. "There. Take 'em the rest of the way off."

Michael sat down again and kicked off the pants, leaving himself in just his jockeys. He was embarrassed to see that his dick was clearly outlined against the thin knit material. He had almost a full hard-on, and it was stretching the front of his jockeys, tenting them. He quickly grabbed a pillow and pulled it across his lap, embarrassed.

Sonny laughed. "What, you getting shy on me all of a sudden, Michael? I used to bathe you, remember? Mom let me help her change your diddies." His teeth caught at his bottom lip for a moment, and he said quietly. "You've grown a lot since then, though."

"I'm... um... Sorry, Sonny."

Sonny shrugged. "For what? So, you got a stiff one, so what? You're seventeen, Michael. For cryin' out loud, that should be your normal state. I used to get hard just breathing."

Michael felt relieved. "Yeah?"

"Sure. Still happens. See?" He indicated his own crotch. Michael looked, his eyes going wide. If he had a mound in his shorts, Sonny had a MOUNTAIN. He'd heard whispered rumors about his brother's endowment, and it seemed they were true. "It's the booze, and the general excitement. Plus I haven't been gettin' any lately from Sandra."

"Oh, you mean you and her don't... haven't..."

"We haven't screwed for more than the last half of this pregnancy. The doctors said it would be risky, with the twins. So I been doing without. Mostly."

"That's rough," Michael said sincerely. He knew that Sonny had an active, vigorous sex life. It would be a real hardship for his brother to abstain.

"Yeah. Things are gonna get better, though."

"Yeah, now that Sandra had the babies."

"Oh, hell, kid. I'll be lucky if I get anywhere near her for another month or two. They had to put stitches in her quim, she isn't going to want me in the same bed, much less inside HER."

Sonny laid the towel and a small bottle on the night stand and sat beside Michael. He put his arm around his brother, speaking in a low voice. "That's just how it is with women. They go through periods where they don't want to do it. A considerate husband finds... other outlets."

Michael nodded numbly. It was no secret that Sonny went with other women. Sandra knew, but pretended she didn't. As long as Sonny didn't flaunt them, and was a good husband otherwise, she put up with it.

Sonny ran a finger across Michael's chest again, then licked it. "You didn't get anything off. You're still winey." He took the towel. "I'll clean you up. You're too drunk to be of any use."

The towel was warm, and wet, and felt good. Sonny wiped it over Michael's thighs in long, smooth strokes. "You really got soaked, kid." He stroked the damp, rough terrycloth over Michael's abdomen, and Michael found himself shivering. When the cloth moved up to wipe his shoulders, he closed his eyes.

The towel moved down to his chest, cleaning gently, but thoroughly. It was gone for a moment, then the warm, wet touch was back. This time it stroked over the sensitive tip of his right nipple, and he sighed. It moved to his left nipple, stroked again, then back to his right. It felt so good. But there was something different...

It felt wetter than it had. Hotter, softer, smoother... Then his nipple was engulfed by warmth, and there was a gentle suction. He opened his eyes blearily, looking down.

Sonny was bent over, his face pressed to Michael's chest. He was gently licking and sucking Michael's right nipple. As Michael stared in astonishment, Sonny lifted his hand and began to toy lightly with the other stiff peak, sending waves of heat and pleasure through Michael's body.

Michael said softly, "Sonny? Sonny, what are ya doing?"

Sonny lifted his head, and Michael shuddered at the dark, intense look in his eyes. "You taste nice, kid. Lemme see how your mouth tastes."

Michael was going to ask again what was going on. His lips were parted, when Sonny covered his mouth with his own, and slipped his tongue inside.

Michael choked at the alien sensation, pushing at his brother. But Sonny had wrapper his left arm around Michael, and buried his right hand in his brother's thick, dark hair, holding the back of his head firmly. Michael couldn't pull away. He squirmed, making protesting noises, but Sonny only held him tighter.

Sonny's tongue moved in Michael's mouth, hot and slick. It licked over teeth and gums, stroked his tongue, and plunged deep. When Michael moaned, he ended up sucking on it, and this brought a deep growl from Sonny that made Michael's scalp prickle. Sonny pulled back a little, and Michael gasped, "Sonny..." He wasn't sure what he was going to say, but he didn 't get a chance. Sonny took his mouth again, kissing him with a fierce hunger that threatened to drown the younger man.

Michael's head was swimming. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the lack of air, or the sheer shock of the situation. His BROTHER was KISSING him! And it wasn't just a quick peck, or a joking smack. This was a deep, honest-to-God lip-lock. Sonny sucked Michael's tongue into his own mouth and bit it gently. Michael moaned again, and pushed at him.

Sonny finally released his grip on Michael's head, letting him pull back from the kiss. The boy's eyes were wide and wild, his soft mouth kiss swollen. "My God, Sonny!," he gasped. "What's got into you?" He twisted. "Let me go."

"Don't be scared, Mikey." Sonny didn't let go. Instead, he eased Michael back on the bed, lifting his legs so that he lay flat. "You're a virgin, right?"

Michael's blush returned, furiously. A red tide swept up his face. He had no idea how delicious it made him look. "Yeah."

"All right. I thought so." He kissed Michael again, pressing his head back into the pillow.

Michael was so confused he wanted to cry. This was his BROTHER doing this, coming on to him and touching him. *How come I'm not screaming and fighting? This is WRONG! It's sick. How come... how come I'm still hard?*

Sonny was whispering to him. "It's gonna be okay, Mikey. I'm gonna take care of you, and you're gonna take care of me. That's what family does, right? I need somebody, Mikey, real bad. I'm hurtin'. Feel."

MICHAEL's hand was drawn down and pressed into the slit of Sonny's boxers. His fingers brushed against heated flesh, a massive column that felt like it was made of sun warmed stone sheathed in velvet. He tried to pull away, but Sonny held him there. His big hand formed Michael's smaller one around his prick. Michael could scarcely get his hand around it.

Then Michael jerked as he felt Sonny sliding his jockey's down his hips. His own erection popped out, almost smacking against his belly. "And look at you. You need someone, too, don't you?"

"No." Michael whined weakly. Sonny had begun to move Michael's hand, using it to stroke himself. "Stop it, Sonny. I don't like you touching me."

Sonny laughed softly. "Your prick likes me touching you, kid." Sonny pushed his palm flat against Michael's erection, pressing it up against the boy's abdomen. His fingers stroked over the flushed head, and a tiny, clear bead of fluid oozed from the slit. "Look, you're getting wet for me. I can make you feel so good, Michael. Just let me, okay?"

Michael was so relieved when Sonny let go of his penis that he didn't notice the older man reaching over to the night stand. "Look, Sonny, you're drunk, okay? I'm drunk, too. We can just go to bed and pretend nothing happened. Oh, God..." He felt a squirt of warm, greasy liquid on his hard-on and looked down quickly. "What are you...?"

"Just a little baby oil, Mikey. Makes things slide so nice." Sonny gripped him again, demonstrating. His hand slipped up and down Michael's shaft, gliding easily, creating a friction that seemed to sap all Michael's strength. He let go of Michael entirely for a moment to pull off his own boxers. In that moment, his younger brother tried to hold on to a bit of sanity, and started to roll away.

He got over onto his belly when Sonny's left forearm pressed down firmly across the small of his back, trapping him. "Oh, yeah, Mikey," Sonny crooned. "That's right. That's perfect. Maybe you're a virgin, but you've got good instincts."

"Sonny, please." Michael struggled in horror as he felt his buttocks being spread, and a dribble of oil trickling along the crack.

"Don't worry, baby brother." Sonny put aside the bottle, and stroked the length of the shadowed valley, smoothing the oil into Michael's tender skin. "I'm going to be real careful with you, real gentle. I want your first time to be good."

Michael was perilously close to tears. It was like Sonny couldn't hear him. It couldn't possibly be because he didn't care. And all this time his prick was like an iron rod between his body and the mattress. In the few petting sessions he'd had with girls his own age, he'd never been this hard. There'd been some pleasant tingles, a little thickening. When Francine DiCascio let him touch her bare breast, he'd almost gotten all the way hard. The only times he'd ever come CLOSE to this reaction, though, were the times he jerked off. What was wrong with him? His brother was rubbing oil into his ass, apparently getting ready to fuck him, and he was hard as a rock.

Sonny worked all around the little pucker of Michael's ass hole, massaging the muscles to coax them into relaxing. It looked so pretty that Sonny was tempted to taste it, but decided not to. Michael was already skittish. Having Santino's tongue in his ass might push him over the edge into hysteria. Instead he fitted a fingertip at the opening and pushed carefully.

His greased finger slipped in an inch, and Michael bucked, trying to push him away. "No, Sonny, no! Don't want it!"

"Hush, baby. Give me a chance." Sonny pushed harder. His finger slowly slid deep into Michael, till finally his knuckles were resting flush with the smooth skin. Michael was making a breathless whine of discomfort, and Sonny bent to kiss his back in apology. "Take a minute, honey. Get used to the feel of it."

"God, Sonny, don't you understand? This is sick! I don't WANT to get used to it."

"You're just scared. I'm not going to hurt you, I told you. It's going to feel good for you, too."

"It HURTS!"

"It's just because you're a virgin. I'm going to open you up nice and slow before I fuck you."

*He said it, Jesus help me! He said it, right out loud.* "Sonny, this'll kill Ma and Dad."

"They won't know."

*God help me, he's moving.* Sonny pulled back, pushed in again slowly, then repeated the action. He kept doing it slowly, and some of the ache began to fade. Till he slipped the second finger in. "SONNY!"

"Relax, Michael. I'll get more oil." Again he felt the slick fluid, and Sonny's fingers moved more easily in his back passage. "There, that's better, isn't it?" His only answer was a quiet sob. "I'm sorry, kid, but the first time is always a little uncomfortable. Believe me, you'll be happy I prepared you before we're through. Okay, I think you're ready for one more."

Michael shuddered and panted as his brother forced the third finger in beside the first two. He felt like he was being split in two. But his cock was still hard, and his nipples tingled and ached. "Sonny, please, it's too much."

"We haven't even really gotten started, Mikey. You're being so good, I want to do something really nice for you. Hold real still..."

If he hadn't been hurting and about to die from shame and mortification, Michael would have laughed. He was pinned down and impaled on Sonny's fingers, how could he move? Sonny was twisting his fingers, spreading, then crooking them, as if he were reaching for something.

Then his fingers glided over a tiny spot inside Michael that had never been touched before. A burst of pleasure exploded deep inside the boy, so strong that he cried out, his body jerking. "What did you do?" he gasped. "You're killing me."

"Nah, kid. I'm making you feel good. That was just your prostate. Feels sexy when it's touched, doesn't it?" He rubbed again. Michael twitched, whimpering, thrusting his hips down so that his erection rubbed against the smooth sheets beneath him. "Oh, yeah, I knew you'd like that." He kept rubbing until Michael was humping against the bed hard, grunting.

Then the restraining forearm was suddenly removed, and Sonny's left hand slid under Michael, gripping his dick firmly around the base. "Don't you come, Michael!" he hissed. "You don't come unless you have my prick in your ass, you hear me? Just hang on."

Sonny pulled his hand from Michael's ass and roughly pushed the boy's legs apart, moving to kneel between them. He spread Michael's cheeks again with his left hand, and probed teasingly at his ass hole. It was relaxed, slightly open, and slick with the baby oil. He nodded approval. "You're ready."

Michael craned his neck, looking back over his shoulder. Santino was kneeling in the V of his thighs, naked and aroused. Michael gasped. He'd been afraid since this started, but now his belly clenched in terror. Sonny was so BIG! He looked like he was at least ten inches long, and as thick at the base as a jelly glass. The head was dark red, almost heart shaped. It looked for all the world like one of the big red plums that came off Papa's trees in the back yard had been oiled. He was going to put all THAT inside of him? "It won't fit! Please, Sonny, you're too big."

Sonny chuckled. "You sound just like Sandra on our wedding night! Well, we made it fit then. No reason why it shouldn't fit now." Michael made one last, desperate attempt to scramble away, but Sonny's weight came down on him, pinning him in place as the older man stretched his body out over Michael's.

He felt his cheeks parted again, and Sonny's prick nestled in the crease, full length. For an instant Michael thought *Maybe that's all he wants. Maybe he'll just rub in the crack, like laying a hot dog in a bun. I can stand it if that's all he does.*

But Sonny pulled his hips back, and Michael felt the slick head of his cock nudging his loosened ass hole. "Sonny, don't!" he moaned. But even as he spoke, Sonny flexed his hips, and the swollen head stretched the ring of muscle taut, then popped through. Michael cried out in pain and defeat, and went limp. There was no point in fighting it any more. It was a fait accompli. His brother continued pushing, until he had entered him fully.

Sonny, panting, stopped when he was all the way inside. He was sweating, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on not coming right away. He wanted to make this last, NEEDED to make it last. He had to make it good for Mikey, too. The kid was being so generous, doing this for him. Sonny knew that it wasn't easy to take all of him, but that's what his baby brother had done.

He just lay there on top of his brother, feeling the moist tightness of Michael's back passage cradling him, so snug, so right. *Why did I wait so long to do this? We've wasted so much time.* "Mikey, try to relax, okay? It'll feel better. Actually, it's a good thing you're drunk. If you tense up again, it's going to really hurt. I'm going to move now."

Mike whimpered, and he took it for acknowledgment. Sonny drew back very slowly, till only his glans was still embedded, then slid back in as slowly as he could. Michael groaned as the stretched muscles drew back together, then were forced apart again.

"Ooh, Mikey," he breathed. "You're so tight." He pumped slowly, setting up a lazy rhythm that said he intended for this to last a long time.

Michael endured, biting at the pillow. Did it hurt this much for women? How did they stand it? Why didn't they just kill all the men while they slept? Wasn't he EVER going to stop?

*If he'd just finish, get it over with. Maybe I can make him come, then he'll have to stop. What could I do?* He'd commented about how tight he was. Maybe if he made it tighter...

Michael concentrated, and tried to squeeze with his internal muscles. He succeeded better than he'd anticipated. Sonny gasped, "Fuck, that's GOOD!" He speeded up, "You're so sweet, Mikey. Such a good boy, such a good fuck." Michael wept as Sonny's thrusts grew faster. It seemed impossible, but Sonny plumbed even deeper, battering Michael internally.

Sonny's arms went around Michael's waist, and he suddenly pulled back. But he didn't pull out. He stayed tight against Michael, buried deep in his ass, as he pulled the boy up onto his hands and knees. "Like this, Mike. Stay up, okay?" Michael braced shakily, and Sonny took a moment to stroke his back, then his chest. "Good. I can move better, and I can do this."

His hands slid down Michael's chest, past his belly, and fastened around his prick. Michael's erection had flagged during the last few moments, but as Sonny stroked him with oil slippery hands, he swelled once again to his full size. "Yeah, that's my boy, that's my sweet boy. Gonna make you come, Mikey. Gonna be the first one to make you shoot your load."

He started to fuck again, and Michael threw back his head, wailing. The changed angle was bringing Sonny's cock head over his prostate with every lunge. The combined sensations of the hands on his dick and the steady rubbing of his prostate proved too much for Michael. He went a little crazy. He shoved himself back hard on Sonny's prick, welcoming the hot pleasure/pain, then surged forward into Sonny's tight grip.

Excited by Michael's participation, Sonny couldn't resist. He bit Michael, just where his neck joined his shoulder. Not hard enough to make him bleed, but he sucked hard, bruising him, marking him. Michael shook his head. Even this pain was sending flashes of heat to his prick. His movements became frantic.

"Yeah, Mikey!" Sonny crowed. "That's it! Go, sugar, go!"

Michael bucked so wildly that he actually unseated Sonny. Sonny popped out on the backstroke, his glistening, quivering cock left wavering behind Michael's ass. Michael shook his head, crying out, "Fuck me, Sonny! Oh, God, don't stop!"

"No, baby! Hold still..." Sonny grabbed Michael's hips and slammed back in. They both screamed. Sonny humped ferociously, pounding into his brother's ass while Michael sobbed and cursed. Sonny reached back around, wrapping his hand around Michael again, gave a harsh tug, and Michael came. His body jerked hard as hot sperm jetted from his prick, coating Sonny's hand and spraying on the bed.

The feel sent Sonny over the edge himself. With a triumphant shout he emptied his balls into his brother's tight back passage, filling him to overflowing with scalding seed.

Michael collapsed, with Sonny right on top of him. After a moment, Sonny pulled free of Michael's body, dropping down beside him so he could breath. He lay staring up at the ceiling. "God, kid, that was fantastic! If you're like this as a virgin, you're gonna KILL someone when you get a little experience."

Michael moved away from him, falling out of the bed. "Hey! You okay?" He watched, concerned, as Michael crawled shakily to the bathroom. From inside, he heard the sound of vomiting.

Michael was huddled over the toilet, sick and aching. *He didn't hit me once, and I feel like he beat me with his fists.* Michael squeezed his eyes shut. That was part of what was bad about this. He HADN'T been beaten. He had been used, and he hadn't even fought enough to get marked up. Except...

Michael fingered the sore spot on his neck, high up and near the back. He hadn't looked in the mirror, but he knew it was bruised, probably with teeth marks. A passion bite. How was he going to explain that if anyone saw it? Dad would think he'd had a girl in the house, and he'd get in trouble.

"I'm sorry about that." Sonny's voice was quiet, but so close that it startled Michael. He hadn't heard his brother enter the room. "I got carried away." He stroked Michael's hair. "You just... do something to me, kid. You were sick?" Michael nodded. "You shouldn't drink so much, not till you can handle it."

Michael looked up at him in astonishment. He started to say something, but saw the look in Santino's eyes. After a moment he just said, "Yeah. I guess." After a moment, he said, "Sonny? Why?"

Sonny frowned. "Why? Mikey..." He squatted next to him, and looked hurt when the boy cringed away. "Don't be like that. Why? Mikey... I TOLD you. I needed you, and you needed me. We helped each other."

Michael felt tears streaking his face. Despite the look he'd seen in Sonny's eyes a moment before, he said, "It was helping me to rape me?"

Sonny went still. He said, slowly and carefully, "It wasn't rape, Mikey. I love you."

"That's... that's the wrong kind of love, Sonny."

"I didn't rape you," he repeated deliberately. "You had a good time. You came. Yeah, it hurt some, but that's the way it is. You came. I didn't rape you." He stared at Michael, hard. "I--didn't--rape you."

Michael looked at Sonny's expression, remembered Sonny's temper, and said quietly, "No, Sonny. You didn't rape me."

He nodded. "You wanted it."

"I... I wanted it."

"You enjoyed it." Michael turned his face away. Sonny's voice was sharp. "Michael!"

"I enjoyed it."

Sonny's expression softened. "Yeah, that's right." He rubbed his brother's back. "And it'll be better, next time. You sleep in my bed tonight. I'm gonna go throw those sheets in the wash." He laughed. "You gummed 'em up pretty good, kid. Then I think I'll sleep in Fredo's old room. You..." His hand moved lightly over Michael's ass. "You need your sleep."

"Thanks, Sonny." he said automatically.

"Don't mention it, kid." He kissed Michael on the top of the head, and left.

Michael sat, listening as Sonny stripped the bed, then left. He felt something warm and liquid running down the inside of his thighs, and touched it, then looked at his hand. His fingers were smeared with bright blood and white fluid: Sonny's sperm. He threw up again.

In a few minutes he was able to get a wet towel and clean himself. Not trusting his legs, he crawled back into his room and got into the clean bed. He didn't go to turn off the lights. He didn't want to be in the dark right then.

Michael turned on his side, unable to bear laying on his back. The pain in his bowels had faded somewhat to a dull, heavy burn, and the bleeding had stopped. He stared at the wall, thinking.

The next time, he had said.

Michael decided that maybe he WOULD go to that prep school Papa had mentioned, even if Mama did fuss about it. It might be better not to be around home for awhile. If he was careful, he could avoid Sonny at family gatherings. He was going to be real busy with the twins, at least for a couple of years.

Michael eventually drifted off into a twitchy sleep. It would be years before he could sleep the night through without waking up several times, sweating.

He'd learned something this night that he was going to carry with him through the rest of his life. He'd learned that just because you love someone, it didn't mean they weren't capable of dark and terrible actions.

And even though they did dark and terrible things, it didn't mean that you didn't still love them.