Warnings: This story contains Slash (boy on boy), Soft incest and the death of a lot of defenceless apples. If you are offended by any of these then leave now, or maybe you should stay and learn to enjoy.

Points: When the little boy (Robert) is there it is a flashback, unless I tell you otherwise, so he's younger than he is in real life.

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Lipstick

Something as simple as lipstick was almost arousing to him. Watching as his mother got ready to go out he would always lick his lips when her hands caressed the golden tube of lipstick; so the red water-colour would steadily rise as gracefully as Robert could ever imagine. And he knew she knew he did it, when ever she took the tube of lipstick she sometimes experimented with his reaction, doing it slightly slower than normal to watch his pink lips open gently as if drawing in forbidden air to tight lungs- and when she did it fast he almost looked disappointed- as if he had been denied a privilege he knew he couldn’t have, yet he wanted anyway.

She would eye him out of the corner of her eye and he never had the decency to blush or even look guiltily, she vaguely wondered if he even knew he did it. Every time she looked at him he always looked back, he even smiled and said she was ‘very pretty tonight’ She felt almost a burst of disgust run over her heart every time she caught him, had she raised a painfully oblivious child? Someone who saw nothing wrong in the things they did? She hated it when he acted that way, so oblivious it was annoying to the point she wished he would go away. But she couldn’t do that could she? He had just been accepted into her bosom and it would be rude to push him away without even getting to know him properly first.

She would smirk to herself and bend over him as he sat on the edge of the bath, his fingers kept warm underneath the knees of his legs. He would stare at her and she would smirk wickedly, though she did not expect her son to get the emotion behind her face or behind her actions. She would grip the tube of lipstick and lick her lips; he would almost nod at her and in return would lick his lips again, covering the dry flesh with a glistening sheen of saliva. As she leaned closer she would record with utmost fascination that her son’s breath would hitch ever so gently and she would rise the tube of lipstick and press it gently against his lips, it was a shocker, in the silence of their house she would give the tube the slightest ever push and almost effortlessly it would pass his lips and on an automatic desire his tongue would suckle at the tip, melting the lipstick to a disgusting mess.

But she wasn’t a sick person she would remind herself, and after shameless play she would retrieve the stick of colour dye and wipe it on a piece of toilet paper, cleaning it before rolling it over the tender flesh of her own lips, completing her disguise for the night ahead of herself.

Her son would gaze at her (though she perceived it to be, after a while, that he was only staring at the lipstick) and she would smirk back so gently it almost seemed forbidden. The centre of his lips were stained an arousing red and tenderly, he would stick his tongue out to rub away at the colour, smudging it along his flesh, the added salvia standing out amazingly as if water on wax.

His tongue was stained red and almost looked as though it was bleeding.

Checking her watch she would allow herself no more time to fool around and would rub her fingers in her son’s hair; hooking her hands under his armpits she would haul him onto her hip, almost naturally she would resent him for creasing the clothes she bought specially to go out in. But she would continue to carry him all the same. Passing by her bedroom and into the living room she would rest him on the dirty blue couch and run her long fingernails through his hair once more. Switching on the old black and white TV it would capture his attention as she rang the next door neighbor to look after him as the old woman did ever time she went out.

When the sitter would arrive he vanished from her world and simply didn’t matter anymore. Always grasped in his hands when she returned in the early morning was the tube of lipstick and his lips were always stained, if possible, redder than ever.

They almost looked swollen, and the picture of her old fling (which she kept hidden at the very back of the wardrobe in a locked box) was smudged with streaks of red as if licked by blood. She watched her son sleep and brushed his hair for the third time and decided that, against all facts, if he was oblivious there was only one person he could get it from- and that person was her.

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The drummer hit every symbol in repetition before shifting into a soft and almost audible beat. Just before the drummer shifted into this the bass guitarist strummed up a note, letting it ring off the walls of the empty hall and as it echoed back and she hit another, stringing three or four in quick succession before settling, much like the drummer had, to a pulsating under beat.

The synthesizer turned up the volume, her long nails clicked against the knobs as she rolled dials and melded everything together- a gentle sound that almost resembled echoing star notes began up a gentle rhythm from a piece she had recorded previously on her keyboard. Like a lullaby the sync notes played a gliding beautiful tune that fitted into the slots the drums did not play, washing over the hall and consuming the air.

A voice began to float out from the speakers; it ran a length in one ear then rolling over the back of the head and out the other ear, like a wave. It was mechanical and lifeless, repeating a word that was unknown to any human language. The lead guitarist rested his lips against his own microphone in front of him. Letting a little sigh into the rhythm the empty hall almost applauded.

The lead singer gripped his microphone with tanned fingers so tightly the metal almost broke underneath the pressure. He stood in the heat of the stage light and his heart was beating furiously in his chest- a feeling spreading through his veins with each beat of the song they had created. His eyes stared out into the hall- where chairs had been stacked at either side, he imagined that they were set out and he was under the added pressure of a thousand glances, all hungry for the voice he had to give. He closed his eyes and let the voice of the mechanical robot flow through his body- his nerve-ends twitched apprehensively with adrenaline.

The door at the back was tightly locked and they had only gotten in by the stage door; the one that led from the French corridor. It was after hours and most of the staff had gone home for the night and most after school clubs had separated hours ago, annoyed and confused at why they always decided to stay after school and missed their buses home, walking was never a happy option. Their soft melody was only heard by the late night janitor who hummed along as he mopped the floors of the 1st Year Girl’s Bathroom, watching his reflection in the water he smiled appreciating and dunked the mop, letting the hair of Medusa suck up as much as they could before pressing it on the floor, taking great satisfaction as the dirt disappeared with simple strokes and everything seemed perfect again.

The singer swung with the beat, his hair was already glittering with sweat droplets and the light made his skin flash bronze.

The drums started up a quick beat and then everyone reached into action, the robot’s voice cut off and the synthesizer blended their tunes, and then everything was quiet- the singer opened searing eyes and parted his lips, ready to let his soul pour out to the empty hall. But to them, nothing was empty and even the air had judgment against them.

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“What do you mean he broke up with you?! That’s no excuse to stop writing our songs”

Lucas Matthews frowned as he lent against the fridge. His older sister Alexis sat, hunch-backed, at the dining table. Her eyes were rimmed with a dim and unimpressive red and a box of hankies lay haphazardly to her left, used hankies surrounded the happy blue of the casing and almost looked so contrasting Lucas felt the need to clean enter his finger tips- he brushed the feeling off but it lingered.

Alexis let out a blubbering sob; Lucas winced at the loud noise as it seemed to explode against the silence of the house. He didn’t know where their parents were, but then again where were they ever? They didn’t take great care in telling their children things face to face. That wasn’t in anymore- what they did was leave notes on the kitchen table, so that when they awoke in the morning they could realize just how terrible their day was going to be by the absence of respectable adults because they’d gone out.

“You wouldn’t understand! Matt wasn’t just my boyfriend, he was my inspiration!”

“Don’t bull-shit me with that” Lucas snapped, landing himself in the chair opposite her with the grace of a dead sloth, “You know most singers take relationship break-ups and create a piece of music to express themselves- but no, you have to be the only song writer who doesn’t do that” he complained; reaching into the middle of the table he stole a ripe apple from the basket. He eyed it and then turned an accusing eye towards the sobbing mess that was his sister, “You didn’t sneeze on the fruit basket did you?”

Alexis glared at him and threw a dirty hankie at him, “Do you want me to you heartless little shit!” The hankie didn’t reach him, but more seemed to hang in mid-air as gravity tried to grasp it, but kept missing, blowing it back and forth before it eventually hit the marbled table. And the urge to clean was back again.

Lucas dug his teeth into the soft skin of the apple and ripped a part away, a bit of skin flaked away and landed in front Alexis; she looked disgusted and flicked it away with her thumb and middle finger. Her long fingernails scratched against each other almost ferociously and gave a clue to what kind of mood she was in. Looking at her sobbing form and the strength of her hate Lucas could say she couldn’t quite decided how she felt.

They didn’t say a lot to each other for a while; Lucas rested, one hand holding his bitten apple, the juice on the yellow flesh shone in the kitchen light, looking delicious and tempting. He studied his sister, her slouched posture and her red eyes, her mascara had run down her cheeks, Lucas thought it resembled some kind of tribal tattoos; one black splintered line went further than the other. The tip of her nose was a slightly irritated red from blowing it so much. She didn’t look as wonderful as she normally did. Her hair seemed like straw and her eyes seemed clouded, as if she was thinking about something far away.

“You look like shit…” he stated the obvious when nothing else came to mind.

“Make me feel the queen why don’t you?” she spat, she resembled a caged lion as she did, her hair sticking out and her nails and teeth bared to warn others.

Lucas heard harshness in her voice that concealed hurt and he sighed. He brought the apple to his lips again. His throat was raw from singing last night and as the textured juice ran down his swollen inner throat it gave a prolonged sense of relief. He had managed to get the hall for the night by sucking up to the Head. But the rehearsal had been worth it, besides it wasn’t as if he wasn’t giving other people help in rehearsing for the concert. It had been good, their music had all been in time and he wasn’t modest to say his voice had been better than usual.

He was sure his voice was croaking now- karma for being good or delayed reaction which ever you wanted to choose. Like when skin bruises, it takes a couple of hours for the purple mark to appear- and even longer for it to disappear.

Lucas rolled his tongue over the apple flesh, sucking the juice out without actually having to bite into it. His jaw was a problem to him, it clicked ever time he opened it and it was painful to yawn. Lying in bed he would open and close his mouth again and again just to hear the dull click and feel the pain left behind. Not that he was a sadist, but it gave a nice dull after wave that numbed the joint and lingered on kindly.

It also made singing powerful songs hard as it hurt to sing loud, harsh notes. So until he got it sorted the band was playing soft melodies to dull the pain. His dentist had told him to stop eating hard and tough foods but he wasn’t listen- that was probably a bad move but Lucas ate at least 4 apples a day and was somewhat addicted to them. They were the healthy drug. He loved the feeling as the flesh of his tongue rolled against the very different flesh of the apple. He liked it as the juice swam along side his saliva and the feeling was, he would describe, beautiful.

“Its okay” he told his sister, she looked up from her lap, her brown hair frizzy and uncontrollable, her eyes were a little confused and a little accusing at why he was suddenly being nice to her after practically calling her a hag.

When Lucas had been smaller they had sat up in the tree house and he had pulled on her hair while she acted unaffected and dreamed about boys on a far off beach daddy had bought just for her. Some days her would be frizzy and uncontrollable, and others it would be wavy and smooth, the curls flowing into each other like water and he just had to run his finger over her scalp, her arms wrapped around his neck and hugged tightly and she purred almost at the attention she received, “I’m sure we can just use some of the older songs at the talent contest. You only have to play 2 anyway- you don’t have to write if you don’t want to…just don’t let some guy put you off talent, that’d be stupid” He closed his eyes and lent back in his chair. In darkness he barely heard Alexis’ chair scrape against the titled floor.

Her arms hooked around his neck and she sat in his lap, her weight was nothing on his legs and she felt like a pillow, soft and spongy. He wrapped his arms around her waist and the wet apple pressed against her jumper, leaving a wet, sweet smelling stain.

She leant back, her spine clicked with the table’s side and she took the apple from Lucas’ hands, raising it to his lips he took a bite. His teeth ripped through the flesh and a dribble of juice ran from the corner of his mouth. Alexis stared at him with clouded eyes again and her head bent down, her tongue reached out and licked up the juice, rubbing her red lips afterwards with her sleeves. She sighed and relaxed, Lucas lent up and pecked her on the lips, “You want me to get people to beat him up?” he asked.

She smiled and chuckled, opening her eyes and kissing him again, just a family kiss, and they gave each other a tight squeeze before she stood off of him. “Are you really going to use old songs? What happened to you’re patented ‘I will never repeat unless asked in an encore’” she enquired, her eyes soft and teasing as older (or younger) sisters are.

He stood up and forced the chair back, it scratched the floor making Alexis wince as she stood in the doorway- ready to go away but staying to hear the ‘master’ vocalist and his plan for the school concert. He had been ranting about it for days and though she couldn’t do anything about it, she felt guilty that her lyrical talent had to take off at such an important time.

“What do you think?” he asked amused, he threw the apple he had been eating to Alexis and she caught it easily. Her nails were the same colour as the remaining skin; her skin the same colour as the flesh.

Lucas thought Alexis was almost like an apple herself. Deliciously sweet, red and pale yellow; her eyes were brown like the stalk that held the apple to the tree and her hair was like the leaf (though not green, he just liked how it kind of resembled the shape on some less productive days). She blended perfectly with the fruit. Lucas licked his lips as he reached for another apple.

“I think you are going to over work your self like you did when you were 13 to try and write a song though naturally your writing abilities suck, but you won’t take that and you’re going to try anyway, I take that fairly well Lucas, strong will- but remember, there’s only a month before the concert, don’t waste too much time on disaster, or you might have to break your code- or worse go out with a crap song and lose” It wasn’t what she said that was amusing- it was how she tried nothing to cover up the awful truth on his writing abilities. But whatever- she was right and that fact didn’t put him off his plan at all.

Lucas watched as she raised the apple to her lips, kissing the skin before she bit into it, ripping away the juicy flesh with the perfect teeth her braces had left her with. Her cheek grew as she chewed it and them she licked her lips. Smiling.

“Oh, you know me too well” he smirked at her and she smirked back, already looking better than ever but still there was a lingering emotion other than happiness and it un-nerved Lucas is a way that could only be his brotherly instincts coming through- he hated when that happened.

He leaned over to pick another fruit, breaking eye contact only for a second. He picked a green apple this time, smiling at the blissful ignorance he was to endure that Alexis had placed in his head. He raised the apple to his mouth and Alexis did the same.

They smiled and bit into their apples; crunching away at the tender, coloured flesh.

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She smiled at herself in the mirror. Once again it was time to go out, and once again he sat on the bath edge watching apprehensively for her finale. She smirked at herself in the mirror; admiringly herself as she rose the black tube of mascara over her eyelashes, loving how, in just a few swipes, they grew and spread out magnificently dark.

The rouge was on her face, hiding the few freckles her had on her nose and cheeks- men didn’t go for freckles in this day and age, and they made her look terribly young. She wanted to be assured she was going to have a good time so she had to look her utmost best. As she put her mascara away she noticed out of the corner of her eye that her son’s head was crooning upwards slightly, as if curious to what she would take out next. She smiled wickedly to him and he was oblivious once again. Caught in the act yet he just stared at her, smiled and once again told her she was ‘very pretty again tonight’

How she loathed him sometimes. She would take out eye-shadows and cradle them in her fragile fingers and lean down over him once again. His curious eyes would look up and she would push the rainbow assortment into his face, he almost seemed to sniff the coloured powder and she would ask him which one she should wear tonight.

His outrageously pink eyes would glance at what she was wearing, tonight a white dress with no back or straps, just one soft loop from the breast and up around her neck, then back. Her ears were decorated with what seemed to be a waterfall of diamonds, her cheeks tinted for a blush and her skin was a healthy peach. As if it was a life-threatening decision he would ponder over it for longer than was necessary and her smile would fault in boredom and disgust at his precision.

Finally he would pick a dusty silver and she would rub his head, running the strands of his hair in praise and she would carefully place the other colours back into the murk of her make-up bag. She would take out a tube of lipstick and eye her son maliciously as she placed it on the edge of the sink, just in his line of sight. She would always hear him whimper and her spine tingled every time she heard it.

Licking her lips the routine would continue like it always had and always would. But she had never liked things to repeat, she was fun and exciting and she wanted life to be like her. Original and outgoing.

“Robert, darling would you leave mummy alone?” she asked, eyes glinted spectacularly.

Her son stared up at her, frightened and confused- well he hadn’t been expecting that had he? She knew she shouldn’t enjoy it but she just couldn’t help but feel lust fill her veins as she tested her son’s mental abilities and his habits. She taunted him, she knew, but she didn’t think he knew that. He was so pure and innocent that she had the idea that no matter what she did he would never be affected. So why not have a little fun with a rag doll?

His gaze lingered on the tube of lipstick and he almost looked as though he was going to cry at being forbidden to see the completion of her disguise. He raised his hands up and gripped the silk material of her dress, she frowned and gripped his wrist viscously, “Let go of mommy’s dress .now. Robert!” she growled, her eyes frowning at him as if she wished he would just go away and die.

He started to wine loudly and gripped his sharp nails into her dress, she growled at him for ruining her new dress, it had cost her £60 quid and if it was damaged in anyway she wasn’t going to let him eat for a week.

Of course she didn’t mean that, she wasn’t cruel enough to starve her own son, she was a taunter but she never really did anything. She let go of one of his wrists and griped one with two hands, giving him a quick nip both ways with the skin he yelled out and let go of her dress, the Chinese burn on his wrist slightly red. Tears fell from his eyes and he fell to a limp mess on the floor.

In an act of pure habit she checked her dress in the mirror before tending to her sobbing child, she walked straight past him and into her room, where one whole wall was covered in mirrors, behind the mirrors were her clothes. She stood in front of it and ran her hands over her curves, admiring herself and happy to see there was no obvious damage to the dress unless one stared very closely at it.

Satisfied she blew herself a kiss and turned back to the bathroom, her heels slapped against the titled floor much like one might imagine the devil’s feet would sound like. She raised a hand and brushed blonde, wavy hair behind her shoulder with the essence of ‘not caring’ She bent down and hooked her arms under her son’s armpits and heaved him up, as she pulled him closer his legs spread open and wrapped around her waist, his socks rubbed gently against her thigh and she kissed the side of his face as his arms looped around her neck.

She hushed him with a short song she remembered from her own childhood, and though it was not long ago she couldn’t remember the tune that clearly, so she made up words half way through and rubbed her hands over his back as she walked, humming, through to the living room. She sat with him in her lap and they watched TV for a few minutes, he fell asleep against her and his breath tickled her neck. She smiled and left him lying across the couch, clutching a pillow in his sharp hands. She phoned the sitter and went back to the bathroom, picking up the lipstick she ran it over her lips- finally complete- and licked it, the disgusting taste staining her tongue. She smiled at her son’s obsession and quickly packed everything away as the doorbell rang.

As she left her son was still asleep and she though vaguely that he looked a little naked and vulnerable without the smudges on his lips. She waved at his form and he almost smiled back in his sleep.

Yes, he definitely looked weak without the smudges.

End Lipstick 1