Tèarmann Bhràithrean - a Half Man fic
(Read on ao3 here) tw for pseudo-incest, rape fantasy, sexual assault, and basically everything from the hospital scene in episode 4 and the show in general
He thought about this exact moment for fourteen years, seven months, and twenty-three days.
Niall Brandon Kennedy.
Bambi. Shagger. His brother from another lover.
Ruben had called him many different names over the years, most of them bad, especially after getting sent down by the traitorous rat he all but killed for, yet each time, every hateful, poisonous name, all of them, were said with fervour, emphasis, passion.
Because, for better or worse, Ruben Pallister was nothing if not fuckin’ passionate about the doe-eyed boy that haunted his dreams damn near every night since he was young.
And wouldn’t Mr. Jenkins pop a fuckin’ stauner over that one, eh?
Ruben felt his eyes slip closed as Niall rocked into him, his entire body, as lithe and frail as it was, collapsing like a dead weight on top of him.
A living corpse.
He still smells the same.
That thought had him almost biting through his own cheek with the force of an articulated lorry as Niall’s arms wound around his neck, not in a chokehold, but a desperate, clinging, almost childlike hug.
It went beyond a joke, beyond some fucked up nightmare that he could dream up in a cramped cell with only his right hand for company, but—fuck. Niall smelled the fuckin’ same, felt the fuckin’ same, tasted…
Ruben dragged his mouth back from where it had pressed against his brother’s neck.
He tastes the same.
That was all he had gotten before. A taste. A press of his lips to Niall’s skin that could be played off in one of their grappling hugs that was more fight than comfort. A taste. That was all.
And that had been enough.
But not really.
It would never be enough.
And Ruben hated it.
He hated him more, though. Despised the snotty little fuck weasel with every cell in his body. But Christ, he also loved him with everything in him, too. In that dark, aching crevice he once called a heart, all the good, the bad, and the ugly of their own making, Ruben fucking adored Niall. His brother. His other half. Two sides of a grimy penny. A snake, eating its own tail, an ouroborus—they were one and the same. Consumed by each other. Down in the gutter, looking up at the stars, all twisted up together forever, and no amount of time or distance could do anything to stop it.
He had accepted that, standing shirtless in his own driveway, watching as the boy he hadn't seen in almost fifteen years, but thought about every single night, the same one who destroyed his life and killed his mother, almost died in front of him.
He'd never run as fast as he had to get to Niall's mangled car, bought with Ruben’s own money. A roar had ripped from somewhere deep in his chest for the arsehole white van man to call a fuckin’ ambulance as he practically tore the door off its hinges with his bare hands.
He'd feel the welts on his palms tomorrow.
He’d feel a lot of things tomorrow.
But he felt even more right now.
Like how, after everything festering between them, still, all Ruben wanted to do was crawl on top of Niall, hold him down, and sink his teeth into his neck, writhe against every inch of him, feel his warm, soft skin on his, and grip his stiff cock in his clenched fist.
Shit, it was all he had wanted since Niall’s first time with Mona all those years ago. Though he couldn’t let himself admit it back then.
Still wouldn’t now.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t think about breathing in Niall’s desperate gasps, feeling his chest rise and fall with the air that Ruben would grant him, almost goad him into taking as Ruben fucked into that tight, sore little hole of his for the first time.
Finally.
He’d fuck him raw, rough, and red until his screams turned to moans and his pleas turned to demands.
All while being stared up at by those stupid bloody Bambi eyes on his stupid fucking giant head.
And after, only then, maybe, he'd allow himself to kiss him.
This is what I’ve always wanted from you, too.
Because that was what it came down to, in the end. For all his postering and anger and righteous indignation, his not-actually-brother-but-fuck-it-we’ve-come-this-far, Niall Kennedy, King Rat, doe-eyed rat bastard that he was, still had a fuckin’ hold on Ruben worse than anyone. Worse than his mum, worse than his da—no. Not worse. Different.
I’m being blackmailed.
That was all it took. In just three short words, Ruben was right back there. Where it all started. An attack dog frothing at the mouth to be let off its chain. A thick, metal, long-rusted leash held in the weak, pathetic grip of a man he’d become half-crazed by back when they were weans playing Hide ‘n’ Seek in Mrs. McAvoy’s garden.
Because the sick, sad, fuckin’ hilarious truth of it all, really, even after nearly fifteen years of betrayal, anger, and bitterness, was this.
Nobody fucked Niall Kennedy. In any way.
No one.
Except Ruben Pallister.
His hands gripped Niall’s hospital gown in white-knuckled fists as he forced himself to take several deep breaths.
In and out. In and out. In and out…
“There’s a lad,” Ruben murmured into the sliver of space between Niall’s neck and his lips as if he was the one who needed calming.
“F-Fuck,” Niall choked, and yeah, he always needed fucking calming. That hadn’t changed. “Fuck, Ruben.”
His hold on him tightened, just a tiny bit at the sound of his name leaving Niall’s mouth like a curse and a prayer.
(That hadn’t changed either.)
“S’okay,” he half-whispered into the dark, abandoned ward.
Paying off the security guard to keep the hospital staff away had been worth it after all. For this fucking tragic reunion, fraught with fury and pain and…other nameless things.
It had all been worth it.
To have his brother back in his arms, as if he had never left.
With a shaky gasp, so much like that night he lost his virginity under Ruben’s hands, Niall sat back, practically in his lap.
Ruben dragged his eyes up to linger on his face.
A beat passed. Two. Three. Where they did nothing but stare at each other, until—
He watched as Niall shifted slightly, a wince marring his handsome face worse than any car crash.
Because Ruben had hurt him. Hurt him in a similar, unforgivable way that he himself had been hurt so long ago by someone he had once trusted.
He trailed his hand down Niall’s side to settle on his lower back. He ached to ghost it down further, to caress in silent apology, to soothe the sting he must feel from the car ornament. From the force of Ruben’s intrusion, impaling him, not unlike how he had dreamt about as a teenager in the dead of night, their beds side by side, barely a foot apart.
Except back then, the urge, the desire, it hadn’t been…violent. No. It was something a lot worse.
And that was part of the fuckin’ problem.
Because even now, no matter how much Ruben tried not to notice, while looking half dead and like he was going to piss himself any second, Niall Kennedy was fuckin’ gorgeous.
Always had been.
It would be easy for Ruben in a way. To give in to his baser urges and let himself fully harden in his jeans. Wouldn’t be the first time he had for his brother from another lover.
Probably won’t be the last either.
He could slide his hands down that slight, wiry body, grip those bony hips, and grind up against him in a facsimile of fucking.
Facsimile. Christ. Mr. Oxford Uni/Published Author definitely would pop a fuckin’ stauner at that one.
(Or be fuckin’ fuming that some messed-up monster that skipped school more than he had hot dinners had somehow become cleverer than him. One or the other.)
Ruben had read a lot in the clink. That wasn't a lie. In those early days, locked up in empty, identical rooms, he'd been drawn to the library and all its vibrant colours, aching for any distraction from his boredom, his anger, his hurt, when his eyes had landed on a name buried in his past.
The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank.
A long-forgotten memory resurfaced of Niall mentioning that name in their old bedroom.
He thought about that room all the time.
He hadn't known it then, but it was the closest thing he'd ever have to a sanctuary.
(Still was.)
That small, hardly bigger than a cell bedroom, crammed to the gills with all the random crap two teenage boys could accumulate over the years, its walls lined with flashy posters and floors littered with dirty clothes, had felt more like home in a way Ruben had never experienced.
And sharing it all with Niall? Those nights where they hardly spoke a word, or the ones where they stayed up talking shite until the sun came up, with barely a foot between where they lay their heads? No feeling had ever beaten that. Before or since.
Because even with all his success, money, and a beautiful wife by his side, Ruben had never found a sanctuary like that again. Somewhere he could just be himself, ugly, jagged thorns and all.
And though he didn’t like thinking about it, he knew the exact moment he last felt that feeling of sanctuary. But it wasn’t in their old childhood bedroom, or in his fancy house, or in his wife’s bed; it was in a university kitchen, with Niall’s feet on his, swaying back and forth in his arms to music only he could hear.
He didn’t remember much about that day. But he never forgot that. No matter how hard he tried.
And now, here he was. Back in the sanctuary of Niall Kennedy’s arms.
Again.
Like if coming home to his childhood room were a person.
“What now?”
Niall’s voice was quiet, timid in a way that was so hauntingly familiar but also sounded foreign in his deeper, older voice.
He hadn’t let go.
Or moved from him.
Still, half straddling him, he waited for Ruben to respond, his giant, gorgeous, brown eyes glistening down at him with more than just worry or fear.
But Ruben didn’t let himself look any deeper.
(He never did.)
“First, we deal with the blackmail. Then…”
Then.
One word. One syllable.
The weight of the fuckin’ world.
‘Then’ was dangerous. ‘Then’ had snarling teeth that would get him in trouble. ‘Then’ would cause him to fuck it all up just like Niall had predicted.
“Then we get something to eat. You look half-starved, Bambi.”
He let his hand sweep gently across Niall’s lower back, his thumbs pressing deep into his skin. He watched, barely breathing, as those same eyes that kept him awake most nights, the world quiet while his mind reeled, fell closed.
His flash of lightning smile, there one second and gone the next, lit Ruben up in a way he had accused Niall of getting all the energy he needed from one of his.
A warmth pooled low in his gut as his gaze caught on his slightly upturned lips and stayed there.
Niall’s breaths were still a little laboured, more like rasps, sounding identical to how Ruben remembered that night he had coached him through breathing with Mona on top of him, Ruben’s hand on his chest. He remembered every single second of how Niall, lying on his back, stared up at him as if he had the answers to all of his problems while he fucked into someone else for the first time.
And as quick as Niall’s bolting smile, the thought that this time, Ruben could kiss his breath from Niall’s lips instead almost had him leaning forward.
But he didn’t.
Because there was too much between them now. A chasm filled with years of resentment, anger, and pain.
And anyway, Ruben was happy now. With Mona. With his big house and his slightly-worse-for-wear car. He didn’t need Niall bloody Kennedy to inevitably fuck all that up.
Because you’ll do a bang-up job of that yourself.
Ignoring the voice in his head that now sounded like his shitty excuse of a brother, he stood up suddenly, hands catching Niall’s waist to stop him from stumbling to the floor.
Their eyes locked.
Niall wasn’t breathing at all now.
Ruben watched his Adam’s apple as he swallowed deeply. He could feel every inch of where their bodies were pressed together.
As if burned, he wrenched his hands back, finally letting them and the rest of his body fall away from Niall entirely.
He didn’t mourn the loss.
Not one bit.
“Right,” he said with an air of someone who knew what the fuck they were doing. “Tell me about this blackmail, then, Kennedy. And don’t leave out any gory details.”
*
Me (insane) talking to you (also insane): You're not insane about Half Man, and neither am I.
So I haven’t written a fic in 84 years, give or take, and this is one of the more messed-up ones. But after that stunner of an episode, the hospital scene in particular, I had to write something. Ruben's mind is a fucking minefield, so I did my best.
I’m also Irish, not Scottish, and while there is some overlap in slang and Scots Gaelic/Irish Gaeilge, if anything is wildly inaccurate, apologies to my fellow Celts. The title means "Brothers' Sanctuary" in Scots Gaelic - according to Google, anyway. Sorry if the translation is shite, my Irish was no help haha.
Hope you enjoyed Ruben waxing poetic in a way that would give Niall an aneurysm. Would love to know what ya think 😊
