Left Out

G'day folks! I'm back! Yeah, I know it's been ages since I updated and I do apologise for that however, my job has been frickin' crazy this last month (I work in the party hire industry) and I've either been flat-out working or just too tired to write anything. Ugh. Anyway, I finally got another chapter done so I hope this satisfies your craving for these silver studs...at least for a little while!

And now I must thank these kind ladies (and dudes, if you happen to be one!):
mystic87 - Loz will get to have his way soon...with one of them. Not saying which one, though. ;)
Raiast - Oh, me too. And I'm the one writing the bloody thing! Seductive bastards.
Ravenlyn - I'm totally flattered that you've bookmarked me! Thank you so much. (Y'know, I don't think I could contain myself either if I had Yazoo's beautiful mouth anywhere near me. Dammit, I shouldn't think about that)
ZeldaFitz - Yeah, Loz ain't too bright, lol. But as you said, he's a big old teddy bear. I've known a few big dudes (including my wonderful husband) and they're all like that: scary on the outside, marshmallows on the inside!
juri - Thanks, mate! More Loz/Yazoo coming right up!
Kerianya - Awesome feedback as always! Glad you liked. As for who takes control in the next chapter...well, you better keep reading...

***

Part Four.

Pressing his lips to the corner of Yazoo’s moistly-gleaming mouth one final time, Kadaj breaks off the kiss and then pulls back to peer closely at him, admiring all that china-white loveliness, his hand still grasping a bunch of Yaz’s hair, but loosely now. Yazoo lifts his lashes and drowsily looks back, his focal point wandering over Kadaj’s face, as if doing the very same thing. It’s as though they’re communicating clairvoyantly, voicelessly saying how prettily perfect they find each other. Not that they need to be told. I’m sure they already know it. As my two brothers gaze adoringly at one other, I gaze at them, struck by the similarity of their appearances; how much they are alike. And also how much they aren’t. They both have identical hair and eye colour but their features differ enough to set them apart. Yazoo’s facial structure is bony, almost gaunt, with a thin blade of a nose, hollowed cheeks and narrow chin, his striking angularity softened by a lush pair of lips and the serene, nearly sleepy expression in his large, liquid eyes. He constantly looks misty and vague, like he’s lost in his own dream world, though he’s fully aware of what’s going on around him and can react with razor-sharp quickness if necessary. When he’s not in quiet, contemplative mode he’ll show his wry sense of humour and give that giggle that borders on maniacal. He teases me every now and then but it’s good-naturedly and he always seems to see the positive in any situation. Out of all of us he’s definitely the calmest and most reasonable. Nothing fazes him. When me and Kadaj are getting irate and irrational, he stays unflustered and unruffled, always coolly in control. I’ve never heard him raise his voice to anyone.

Being a teenager still, Kadaj is the total opposite and tends to swing from one mood to the other, ranging from insane, giddy happiness to wild, ferocious anger with bipolar swiftness. You don’t want him as an enemy because the things he can and will do are chilling and catastrophic. He has an unquenchable desire to possess powers and abilities greater than anyone else on the planet and he’s brilliant at devising plans and strategies. Once he sets his sights on an objective, he doesn’t stop until he achieves it, no matter how high the body count or who he has to use, betray or torture to get there. He’s a gifted speaker and a charismatic, compelling leader which is why Yazoo and I do whatever he says even though we’re older than him. He’s a bit mental sometimes and like any kid brother, thinks that making me cranky is funny but I’m still absolutely devoted to him anyway. I’d follow him into the fires of hell if he asked me to and he knows that.

As the youngest member of the family Kadaj is kind of cuter in appearance than me or Yazoo with a soft, child-like roundness to his face and a petite mouth and nose. His eyes are more exotically-shaped than ours; more tilted up at the corners, and his brows are fine ashen slants. His complexion resembles pristine parchment and his body is lithe and sinuous, so comfortable in his leather suit it’s like a second skin rather than clothing. I know I said he’s pretty but he’s actually not. I mean, he IS but he’s much, much more than that, instinctually aware of his attraction and glamour; every glance, every smile, every move he makes infused with seductiveness, confidence and elegance. When he walks into a room, everybody turns and stares. You can’t not notice him. Yazoo and I tend to recede into the background, like silent sentinels, but Kadaj instantly draws people in and holds their attention, as if he’s made of magnetic light. The hypnotic aura that surrounds him enhances his allure and makes him more than just pretty. It makes him utterly breathtaking and luminous, like a being not of this world, like a god. Or an archangel. It honestly wouldn’t surprise me if one day he grew a six-foot wide set of wings, he’s that inhumanly gorgeous and ethereal.

All these things sound like eloquent poetry in my head but you can bet if I tried to describe any of it verbally, it would come out all awkward and stumbling. It’s like there’s something wrong with the wiring between my brain and mouth. Or maybe just with my brain, period. I wish I could convey how I feel and tell Kadaj that I don’t really hate him and never, ever could because he’s my little bro and I love him to death but I’d undoubtedly end up tripping over my own sentences and sounding like an idiot so I just keep my trap shut and admire his beauty in quiet reverence.

His face and figure are faultless but his hair, however… Oh, Mother. It’s nice hair, I’ll admit that, with its metallic shine and enthralling movement; it’s just that the way he lets it hang in his eyes all the friggin’ time drives me nuts. I don’t know how he can stand it, let alone even see through it. That’s why I have mine short and swept out of the way. Besides, I’d look stupid with long hair. It wouldn’t suit me. My face is all pointy and mean-looking, which serves me well when I want to intimidate somebody but when I’m with my beautiful brothers I feel like the ugliest ogre around. Not to mention clumsy and dumb and a big cry-baby. I was the first embryo to be developed and I can’t help feeling like I got screwed up in the lab somehow, that I was the test subject, the botched experiment and Yazoo and Kadaj are the ones that turned out right, the way they were supposed to. They’re so perfectly matched in looks, skill and intelligence they ought to have been twins.

Compared to them, I’m useless; just a waste of cells.

As if knowing what I’m thinking, Kadaj turns quizzically to me and says, “Do you believe you’re not good enough for us? Not worthy enough?”

“Well, yeah. Look at you guys,” I rejoin in a grumpy, envious way. “I can’t compete. Next to you two I’m a hideous abortion.”

Yazoo tips his head to the side, frowning at me in clear disagreement.

“I will not hear you say that!” Kadaj blazes in fury. “I’m going to make you take it back, brother.”

He holds up his hand, as if he’s about to smack me across the face for my foolishness. He might be smaller than me but he can hit just as hard when he wants to and I brace myself for the stinging blow.

It never comes.

Instead, Kadaj concentrates, a magical haze billowing up from his forearm to gather around his hand, like a cloud of electrical energy. I stiffen, my brows drawing together warily.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll see,” Kadaj replies enigmatically, the cloud gathering and strengthening as he speaks. “Stop worrying. It won’t hurt.”

Not believing him, I shake my head, wanting him to keep that weird swirly stuff far, far away from me.

“It won’t hurt,” he repeats, starting to reach out with his shimmering hand.

“No!” I cry out in sudden terror. “Don’t touch me!”

I try to jerk back but he strikes out like a cobra, grabbing me around the wrist. I’m expecting to get walloped with agonizing pain but there isn’t any, just a peculiar tingling that spreads right up my arm. The last thing I expect is to glimpse myself through Kadaj’s eyes but that’s exactly what starts to happen. There I am, lying on the bed from his point of view. We own a mirror so I already know what I look like, how I’m just as pale as him and Yazoo with the same silver hair and same blue-green eyes. I also know I have a ton more muscle but it’s not like I intentionally beefed myself up to be this hefty; it’s just how I was engineered. I mightn’t be willowy or move as gracefully and fluidly as them but I am super-strong and super-fit which comes in handy to effectively whip the butts of our enemies and protect my brothers as well as myself in the process. Oh yeah, and I can do that flickering thing, where I flash instantaneously from one place to another with a stripe of blue light. That’s cool. Plus, I’m the only one who can do it so that makes me sort of special.

When his fingers tighten on my wrist, I become conscious that Kadaj is putting those thoughts in my mind, showing me that he likes my extraordinary ability. As well as my bulk.

I knew that he could give visions to people with geostigma but I didn’t realise he could do this. I didn’t know it was even possible. It’s odd and eerie, like I’m outside of my body looking down yet at the same time I can unmistakably sense him in my head, directing the images and impressions that he wants me to see.

And one of the first things he wants me to see is what I was hiding under my shorts all these years. From an outsider’s perspective it’s awfully imposing, lying on my stomach like half an angry albino python. He and Yazoo weren’t faking their amazement. It really IS that enormous. I think there is stunned incredulity written all over my face because Kadaj laughs softly at me, enjoying my reaction. Not wanting to miss the fun of enlightening me, Yazoo puts his hand on top of Kadaj’s, right in the middle of the materia haze, adding his thoughts and visions to the ones I’m already getting.

Yazoo’s inner voice is quieter than Kadaj’s but just as straightforward and hard-hitting with the truth. The two voices of my brothers blend into one, speaking to me and telling me things I never knew about myself. Both of them like not only my impressive manhood but my impressive physical strength; how powerful I am, how I can smash down trees and make the earth tremble and quake beneath my fist, knocking people back like bowling pins. They like how effortlessly I can hoist them up and fling them into the sky during a fight, as easily as flipping a coin. Because they are so slimly built, Kadaj and Yazoo find my bigger frame enviable and attractive and have often stared at me the way I stare at them, only I never knew it until right now. Maybe if I stopped sulking or flying into fits of rage every five minutes I might have noticed their less-than-brotherly interest.

Like I said; not the smartest guy on the planet.

However, they don’t care that I’m such a lummox or loose cannon. My bone-crunching fighting style and thirst for violence and mayhem more than make up for any weaker attributes I may have. Well, /I/ think they’re weak but my two brothers are showing me that they dig the softer centre I have within my outer toughness; my very human vulnerability, the heartfelt and honest way I express my emotions and am not too macho to cry in front of them. Despite their teasing, they actually like that about me and don’t want me to ever change.

Another thing they don’t want me to change is the way I let my leather costume gape open at the front, revealing a wedge of my chest. They like the way it fits me snugly, showing off my bulging arms and broad back, the pants hugging my muscular thighs and ass; the short jacket occasionally riding up to give them glimpses of my hip or rock-hard belly. In fact, Yazoo designed the suit specifically to emphasize my larger build, just like he designed his own and Kadaj’s to highlight their leanness. But it’s not just my body they admire. They like what’s above my neck as well. My jaw is solid and square; my chin stubborn and strong, giving my face a manly, masculine look, as opposed to Yazoo’s femininity or Kadaj’s boyishness. My long sideburns -- which I shave in a stylish curved fashion -- accentuate the angles of my face, especially my cheekbones, which are every bit as chiselled as Yazoo’s, maybe even more so. I have the same type of nose as his too, straight and sharp, only mine is pointier at the end. My eyes are deep-set but rounded, rather than almond-shaped like Kadaj’s are. On the other hand, I definitely have his finely sloped eyebrows. My lips are like a mix of theirs, both wide and sensually-formed, turned down at the corners and giving me that brooding, bad-boy look. It’s true that I appear mean and surly most of the time because that’s how I am but when I smile -- a real, genuine smile, not a smirk or an evil grin -- my face softens, becoming gentler, prettier, more like theirs. I can recognise my brothers in me, can recognise their features in me, as if I’m a combination of the two of them, yet I still retain my own individuality, my own uniqueness.

By seeing what they see, I realise that I’m a lot better looking than I thought I was. I’m actually a damn handsome dude.

Kadaj smiles at my long-overdue acceptance, removing his grip from my wrist and breaking the telepathic tie connecting the three of us.

“See. You’re not ugly.”

“No,” Yazoo agrees. “You are not.” He leans forward to cradle my face, tracing his fingertips along my jaw line and the strips of whiskers I have just above it. The gentleness of his touch makes my heart ache and I realise how much he means to me and how much I’d miss him if he were gone.

“I’m so sorry, Yaz,” I choke out emotionally. “I shouldn’t have hit you. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” he replies forgivingly, bending down to grant me a chaste kiss, his long locks falling forward and enveloping me in a pearl-grey sheen.

“But if you ever do it again,” he murmurs against my lips, “I’ll borrow Kadaj’s sword and slice your arm off with it.”

I can’t tell if he’s serious or not. I’m hoping not. I like having two arms. Either way, I certainly won’t be raising my hand to him in anger a second time.

Proving that he’s not holding a grudge against me for my thoughtless mistake, he licks enticingly at my bottom lip and I reply to the invitation with ardent enthusiasm, licking him back. His lower lip is plumper and fuller than mine and I nip at it, catching it and drawing the soft flesh between my teeth. Angling his head, Yazoo covers my open lips with his, evidently still eager to play with me. And I with him. We toy with each other for a bit, the tips of our tongues touching and circling lightly before I make a groaning sound of impatience and enter his mouth, thrusting into it the way I’ve always yearned to but not ever dared. In my daydreams, when I’m alone and have a spare minute or two to think about kissing him, I always imagine Yazoo being openly receptive to my advances, responding not because he feels forced to or because it’s polite but for the simple reason that he wishes to, that he wishes to expand the mental link between us by making it physical and taking our relationship to the next level.

That’s precisely how he responds now. He lets me in with a welcoming wholeheartedness, as if this is something he has wanted to share with me for some time. My salty bitterness still lingers on the back of his tongue but stronger than that is his own flavour; a natural sweetness, much like Kadaj’s only purer it seems to me, his kisses not tainted by harsh words of the past. I can’t recall one single instance where I’ve been badly stung by anything Yazoo has said. He’s always been kinder to me than Kadaj, more understanding and accepting of my rotten temper and violent outbursts. His returning thrusts are not shallow and calculatedly teasing like Kadaj’s either; his tonguing slower and more thorough, as if he wants to explore every part of my mouth and taste me like I’m tasting him.

Wanting to see us, Kadaj pushes back the shielding screen of Yazoo’s hair. “Yes, my brothers,” he encourages persuasively. “Kiss for me.”

Knowing that we’re being watched makes Yazoo act more provocatively and sexily, deepening his searching plunges, as though he’s trying to lick my vocal cords from the inside, and then drawing back, separating our mouths just far enough to let Kadaj see his tongue entwining wetly with mine. I don’t even attempt to be sexy because I don’t know how; I’m just going along with what Yazoo is doing but it appears that we’re putting on enough of a show to satisfy Kadaj’s voyeuristic tendencies.

“Good,” he rewards us, his voice low and content, like the purr of a big cat. “Very, very good.”

After a while I forget about trying to please Kadaj and just enjoy being kissed by my twenty-one year old middle sibling, my face cupped by his soft, ladylike hands and my tongue being deliciously and slowly stroked by his, over and over. His mouth is like warmed honey and the scent of his hair is all around me, filling my head and making me dizzy and euphoric. I don’t want to ruin the lovely trance he’s lulling me into but I have to pull back to ask him something.

“Yazoo...can I...can I touch you?” My tone is hesitant but even I can hear the need in it. “I really want to. I won’t be rough, I swear.”

“Of course you can,” he kindly answers. “You can touch me anywhere you want.”

“Anywhere?”

“Anywhere.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Even where Kadaj wouldn’t let you.”

I stare at him. “You serious?”

Gazing steadily at me, he counters, “Do I ever say anything I don’t mean?”

“Guess not,” I mutter in acknowledgement.

In case I’m too timid to make the first move, which, incidentally, I am, he takes my hand and places it on his thigh. Lying on his side, he shifts his hips and raises one knee, hooking his leg over my waist so I can reach any part of him I wish unhindered. He lays his head in the crook of my arm, submissively exposing his moonlight-pale throat and the blue veins forking along it.

“I don’t care if you’re rough, brother,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “Just put your hands on me.”

***


To be continued...