"The Puppet", Tony/Effy, PG
Title: The Puppet
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Tony/Effy
Rating: PG
Warnings: Incest.
Summary: Effy is the only person Tony cannot control, and it's because she is the one that controls him, whether she knows it or not.
A/N: Quickest fic ever written, quite possibly. I hope it's okay, I only checked it over once.
She is the static that crackles off his skin, she is the hairs standing up on the back of his neck, she is the tiny goosebumps on his arms and legs. She is as close to everything to him as any person can be. She means more to him than anyone else he knows, and she always has. He would do anything for her - anything - and he does not understand why this love feels so different from everything else.
He always covers for her, layering his lies like the skins of onions. He distracts his Dad every morning for her, he reassures his Mum when she worries. He washes the clothes that she wears on her night-time adventures, and as he turns the tiny bright shreds of cloth over in his hands, he tries not to imagine her wearing them. He climbs into her bed after he sees her slip out into the night, and as he buries his nose in her pillow he tells himself it's just because he likes the smell of her perfume.
Their parents are out and she passes by the open door of his room, batting her eyelashes (tonight painted an electric blue). He doesn't know where she's going, but he never does, and he always lets her go anyway. He wonders if he's doing what a big brother should. He wonders if he should protect her more instead of protecting their parents from her secrets. He wonders if he should stop her, keep her inside, look after her, 'babysit' her as their parents still call it.
But he's never done that. He's always let Effy do whatever she wants to do, and he likes it, because it makes her like him. It makes her smile at him in that way, her lips curling and her eyes crinkling at the corners. It makes her hug him and flutter her eyelashes at him and tell him she loves him. It makes her speak to him - even if it's only a few words - when she won't speak to anybody else.
If she gets back before dawn and he's still awake (and he almost always is, worrying about her, checking out the window every five minutes) she sneaks into his room and presses her lithe little body against his, whispering "thank you" in his ear, her breath boozy and her words slurred. Sometimes she kisses him on the cheek, and it always takes him longer than it should to wash the cherry-coloured print from his skin.
She is the only person he can't control, can't manipulate or persuade. He can't twist her brain the way he wants it to work because she is the one in charge of him. He is the clay for her to mold, he is the puppet on her strings. She never asks him to do a thing for her, yet he does everything he can. She just tilts her head, bites her lip, runs her fingers through her hair. She just unbuttons an extra button on her school blouse, folds up another inch of the elastic in her skirt, leaves her door ajar when she gets dressed.
He doesn't even consider the idea that she might be perfectly aware of all of this, because he is too wrapped up in it - her, and himself - to notice. He just keeps doing what she needs him for, just keeps saving her when she needs saving, keeping her secrets when they need to be kept. And he tells himself it's because he's her big brother and that's what big brothers do, but he knows big brothers aren't supposed to be persuaded by an extra flash of their sister's skin or a teasing smile and a lick of the lips.
But he knows that even if he tried, he wouldn't be able to change the way things were. Earlier that evening when he was making dinner for the two of them, he couldn't have kept his eyes off her when she hoisted herself up onto the kitchen counter, slipping one bare leg over the other and swinging them back and forth. He couldn't have looked away when she nicked a tomato from the chopping board and bit into it, the juice running red down her chin. He couldn't even have stopped himself staring at the way her slender white fingers curled around her glass of water, or moved his foot away when she (accidentally?) brushed it under the table with her own.
And he knows that there is something odd about the fact that she spends her afternoons watching him making out with Michelle - settled on a cushion opposite them, just watching - but he doesn't mind it, and Michelle is used to it. He knows that the lock on the bathroom door works perfectly well, and it's strange that she doesn't use it when she's taking a bath.
He knows that the one time she whispered a 'thank you' and kissed him on the lips instead of the cheek, her eyeliner wasn't smudged and her clothes weren't dirty, and she didn't smell of alcohol. He knew she'd only been out for an hour or so, and he'd seen her sitting on a wall a little way down the street, smoking cigarette after cigarette and drawing patterns on the pavement with a little piece of chalk. He could tell himself she'd slipped, he could tell himself it was an accident, but he couldn't lie about the way it had made him feel.
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Tony/Effy
Rating: PG
Warnings: Incest.
Summary: Effy is the only person Tony cannot control, and it's because she is the one that controls him, whether she knows it or not.
A/N: Quickest fic ever written, quite possibly. I hope it's okay, I only checked it over once.
She is the static that crackles off his skin, she is the hairs standing up on the back of his neck, she is the tiny goosebumps on his arms and legs. She is as close to everything to him as any person can be. She means more to him than anyone else he knows, and she always has. He would do anything for her - anything - and he does not understand why this love feels so different from everything else.
He always covers for her, layering his lies like the skins of onions. He distracts his Dad every morning for her, he reassures his Mum when she worries. He washes the clothes that she wears on her night-time adventures, and as he turns the tiny bright shreds of cloth over in his hands, he tries not to imagine her wearing them. He climbs into her bed after he sees her slip out into the night, and as he buries his nose in her pillow he tells himself it's just because he likes the smell of her perfume.
Their parents are out and she passes by the open door of his room, batting her eyelashes (tonight painted an electric blue). He doesn't know where she's going, but he never does, and he always lets her go anyway. He wonders if he's doing what a big brother should. He wonders if he should protect her more instead of protecting their parents from her secrets. He wonders if he should stop her, keep her inside, look after her, 'babysit' her as their parents still call it.
But he's never done that. He's always let Effy do whatever she wants to do, and he likes it, because it makes her like him. It makes her smile at him in that way, her lips curling and her eyes crinkling at the corners. It makes her hug him and flutter her eyelashes at him and tell him she loves him. It makes her speak to him - even if it's only a few words - when she won't speak to anybody else.
If she gets back before dawn and he's still awake (and he almost always is, worrying about her, checking out the window every five minutes) she sneaks into his room and presses her lithe little body against his, whispering "thank you" in his ear, her breath boozy and her words slurred. Sometimes she kisses him on the cheek, and it always takes him longer than it should to wash the cherry-coloured print from his skin.
She is the only person he can't control, can't manipulate or persuade. He can't twist her brain the way he wants it to work because she is the one in charge of him. He is the clay for her to mold, he is the puppet on her strings. She never asks him to do a thing for her, yet he does everything he can. She just tilts her head, bites her lip, runs her fingers through her hair. She just unbuttons an extra button on her school blouse, folds up another inch of the elastic in her skirt, leaves her door ajar when she gets dressed.
He doesn't even consider the idea that she might be perfectly aware of all of this, because he is too wrapped up in it - her, and himself - to notice. He just keeps doing what she needs him for, just keeps saving her when she needs saving, keeping her secrets when they need to be kept. And he tells himself it's because he's her big brother and that's what big brothers do, but he knows big brothers aren't supposed to be persuaded by an extra flash of their sister's skin or a teasing smile and a lick of the lips.
But he knows that even if he tried, he wouldn't be able to change the way things were. Earlier that evening when he was making dinner for the two of them, he couldn't have kept his eyes off her when she hoisted herself up onto the kitchen counter, slipping one bare leg over the other and swinging them back and forth. He couldn't have looked away when she nicked a tomato from the chopping board and bit into it, the juice running red down her chin. He couldn't even have stopped himself staring at the way her slender white fingers curled around her glass of water, or moved his foot away when she (accidentally?) brushed it under the table with her own.
And he knows that there is something odd about the fact that she spends her afternoons watching him making out with Michelle - settled on a cushion opposite them, just watching - but he doesn't mind it, and Michelle is used to it. He knows that the lock on the bathroom door works perfectly well, and it's strange that she doesn't use it when she's taking a bath.
He knows that the one time she whispered a 'thank you' and kissed him on the lips instead of the cheek, her eyeliner wasn't smudged and her clothes weren't dirty, and she didn't smell of alcohol. He knew she'd only been out for an hour or so, and he'd seen her sitting on a wall a little way down the street, smoking cigarette after cigarette and drawing patterns on the pavement with a little piece of chalk. He could tell himself she'd slipped, he could tell himself it was an accident, but he couldn't lie about the way it had made him feel.