Title: Whore
Writer: Kaline Bogard
Translation: Laris Neal
Revision of the English text: roxashasboxers
Fandom: Bates Motel
Ship: Norman x Dylan
Classification: NC17
Gender: slash, incest, rape, PWP, alcohol, improper language, Dylan!Botton
Disclaimer: Bates Motel doesn't belong to me. If it did the psycho of Norman wouldn't have nothing to do with his mother…

Warning: Contains slash: man to man, you know? Do not like, do not read. Simple like that.

Whore
Kaline Bogard

His life was fucked up; completely and totally fucked up.

He didn't even know how to begin to account for the negative balance. Maybe the fact that his childhood was destroyed by the mother who didn't consider him her own? The pain of being left behind? The sadness of leaving the house he could never call home? Or that they had left without bothering to let him know? As if the boy were the plague's carrier and his presence would contaminate the perfect lives they both had?

What was the worst?

The worst was to have to come back.

Because Dylan had run away and he had stayed away for a long time, being independent and taking care of himself, but even that was taken away from him. He'd lost his job and he couldn't even find a temporaly job ou place to stay.

He had to come back crawling to the Whore's house and beg for a roof, as if he wasn't just as much her son as Norman was; but of course, only the youngest had privileges, only he had affection.

Annoyed, the blond boy stopped to pace in the creepy house's room. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and forwent the glass, drinking the yellow liquid straight from the bottleneck.

His blood was running furiously in his veins with a mix of alcohol and adrenaline. His guilty conscience reminded him that he had crossed the line with Norman, but the younger boy had deserved the slaps.

His little brother had gotten really mad about the sweet nickname he had bestowed upon their mother. Whore. But it was what he thought about Norma, the woman who had abandoned her oldest son and treated him worse than a stranger.

He took a long sip from the drink. The whiskey burned his throat on the way down.

Norman tried to hit him with a deadly weapon. If that meat hammer really had hit his head, as the youngest had hoped when when he'd attacked him, Dylan would be dead by now…

What was Norman's damn problem?

N&D

Norman couldn't stay calm. He was lying down on his bed, with his eyes staring at the room's ceiling.

The moon's light entered through the transparent curtain and left the room in a twilight, which was both creepy and comfortable at the same time. His mismatched breathing was the only sound inside the room, echoing and irregular.

Whore. Whore. Whore.

The word kept repeating in his mind. Who did Dylan think he was?

Whore. Whore.

Norman's sore face was a pulsing reminder that he was knocked down by his older brother.

Whore.

How could Dylan come back after so long without giving any warning? Attack him when he was just defending their mother? Call her, the woman that had protected him and done everything for him, a prostitute.

Unforgivable.

He couldn't sleep. He couldn't accept that! Even knowing he'd be knocked down again, he would make Dylan pay for being such a crappy son, a crappy half-brother. He had to try, at least, to teach him a lesson, to teach him to be respectful to his mother.

Furiously, Norman threw the blankets away and came down the stairs in a huff. He grabbed the fire poker from the fireplace on his way. He had fought with the meat hammer earlier, however the weapon's weight had hurt his advantage. With the poker it would be different; the sharp piece would give him freedom to move, plus it had farther reach. Dylan would pay for being a freak.

And it'd be expensive.

Norman entered the living room holding the poker with both hands. He kept walking cautiously until he reached the couch, where he could see the top of Dylan's blond head. The older boy seemed to be asleep.

Slowly, Norman rounded the furniture. He raised an eyebrow, surprised. Dylan wasn't sleeping, not yet. His eyes were almost shut; unfocused. In his hands, loosely gripped, he held the almost empty whiskey bottle.

He was completely wasted.

"Dy." Norman extended the poker and lightly poked his half-brother, with no intention to hurt him. "Dylan…?"

The blond grumbled something and tried to frighten whatever was bothering him. All that did was cause him to drop the bottle, spreading the whiskey on the rug and filling the air with the smell of alcohol.

That brought a smirk to Norman's lips.

"I could kill you now, brother…" He arrogantly stated, "But I have a better idea…"

He dropped the iron bar to the floor and moved forward until he sat at Dylan's legs. Then he leaned forward, and whispered in his ear, "I'll teach you who the whore is…"

His tongue traveled along the white skin of Dylan's neck before he bit it hard, making the older boy moan loudly. He was going to mark him so he would learn the difference between their mother and a true whore.

Having the advantage over someone pleased him. Norman remembered the book he found in the motel and his body reacted to the illustration pictures. He felt his member strain inside his clothes.

In a huff he took off Dylan's coat and shirt. He admired the pale body, skin a perfect alabaster. The chance to defile that perfection gave Norman surprisingly huge pleasure. His heart raced and his breathing was labored. His penis pulsed. His hand traveled across the firm chest; he leaned down and licked it, tasting the white skin.

Dylan grumbled and protested, trying to detach his half-brother. Deep in the back of his mind something was screaming at him how wrong that was. Norman was touching his body, sucking him and biting him; marking him.

He was so wasted that his reaction was weak and pathetic. And easily rejected.

"I could kill you, Dylan." Norman held the older boy's wrists and stood up, pulling him to the ground. "But I will only teach you a lesson."

"Nor… man…" What was meant to be a protest sounded like an incentive to the youngest.

Quick hands went to Dylan belt, opening it and pulling it free in a hurry. The blond seemed to grow a little bit more aware, and he tried to twitch his body to move away from his half-brother, but before he could do anything, Norman extended his arm and closed his fingers around Dylan's pale neck, squeezing it hard.

"Be quiet, Dylan. A whore has to do their job."

He squeezed the blond's throat so tight that the other was desperately struggling for air. The face that still held traces of youth was covered in shades of red; the resistance lessened and Dylan stopped fighting, dizzy from the whiskey and weak from the absence of air.

Norman released his brother, letting his impaired body sag into the old carpet, coughing when he had the freedom to breathe again. The red finger marks around the pale skin of his neck got Norman's attention. They were as red as the bite marks he left on Dylan's rough chest.

The teenager was fascinated that he could so easily end Dylan's life, just by squeezing his throat. Several more seconds and he wouldn't be there anymore. Just like the man who attacked Norma when they first moved in.

Nobody would attack his mother and get away with it.

While Dylan panted, Norman returned to his main task. In two minutes the blond's sneakers were thrown away. Soon the pants also left the body of the older boy, who didn't even react.

Admiring his half-brother's perfection, Norman wondered how many whore's Dylan had ever fucked.

"Now it's your turn, Dylan." He smirked. "I'll show you that mother isn't the whore in this house."

Norman didn't bother to take his clothes off; he just lowered his pajama pants and underwear, pulling out his dripping penis. He knelt between his brother's legs, opening them as far as he could, making the other cry out in pain. The blond grumbled something, but he was ignored.

The temptation was stronger and he couldn't resist it; Norman fit their bodies together and forced himself against Dylan, fucking him already, without any preparation.

A hoarse scream of pain escaped from the other boy's sore throat, while the youngest moaned, satisfied by the sensation of the warm body around his member.

"Brother, you're delicious." He whispered and sighed. He barely felt his brother's hands holding his shoulders, trying to push him off without success.

The brunette moved his hips away, pulling almost completely out, just to push in again, deeper, losing himself in the sensations. In and out, in and out, moving by instinct in a dance, making their bodies collide, and erotic sounds echoed inside the room.

They didn't know which of them was moaning; Norman's voice was pure pleasure, surrounded by emotions he had never felt before. The power of domination, the power of life and death, the pleasure of the flesh and the sex…

"Yes… yes… brother… be… Oh God! A good… whore…"

Dylan was pure pain, tears in the corners of his shut eyes, wondering what was worse: The pain or who was causing it.

One more sequence of quick movements and Norman screamed random words, coming hard, pouring his seed into the older boy's body, sagging on the top of him right after.

For some long seconds there was just the sound of their breathing. Then Norman managed to stand up, his legs still shaking from the intense pleasure. He stood up, staring at his half-brother, admiring the red marks and the tears of humiliation. He loved the sensation. The power. He wanted to do that again.

Dylan deserved that as a punishment. He already had his lesson, but maybe he hadn't learned it just yet. The thought brought images from the notebook to his mind. Domination and submission... The scenes mixed and then Dylan was tied, gagged and being submitted to his will, in all imaginable ways.

The brunette shook his head, avoiding those thoughts. The night's had been given. And it was enough for now.

Norman straightened his clothes and spit on the blond.

"Who's the bitch now?" He smiled as he walked away, leaving the older boy to lay on the carpet; he would take care of himself once he'd recovered, and he'd have the whole night to do it, since Norma wasn't going to be home.

the end

Note: Text revised (May 24, 2013) by roxashasboxers

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