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The Looking Glass is Broken	By : Spug Category: +S through Z > Super Mario Brothers Views: 2779 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Super Mario Brothers, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Looking Glass is Broken
- 1
Fandom:
Super Mario Brothers

Paring:
WaluigixLuigi

Rating:
NC-17

The
Looking Glass is Broken

by
Spug

They
were not quite the spitting image of each other.

Best
to be described as looking into a proverbial splintered mirror. Its
shattered lines marring the similarities into subtle differences. The
difference in height. The idle length of mustaches. The way the same
letter embroidered their caps – only in utter mockery of each
other. They even wore the same types of attire.

The
same. Only not.

It
was in this fashion that made him both attracted and repulsed by the
other. To hate someone to your very core at the same time love them
greatly.

No.
Waluigi finally diverged. Not love. Want. In the same slew of
appreciation he gave his own reflection before breaking the glass to
pieces. He thought them much lovelier when they laid scattered and
broken on the floor; forcing him to look down at what a pitiful state
they'd been reduced too. His maverick grin sprawled across his face
in a leering smirk sneering at his accomplishment.

The
same malicious simper he casted down on Luigi when he finally snared
the other man.

Details
of the days, weeks, even months that had lead up to this very moment
were not important in Waluigi's mind. All about the moment –
the very smidgen of time he'd been allowed to get the better of his
'better'; or so the Mario Brother's might have thought of themselves.
Good always being the better half. Not favoring good –
Waluigi would have simple settled that he was not 'the good'. He was
more than the other and that's what mattered. They'd best
leave labels such as 'better' or 'greater' out of it.

Now
with a shoe firmly pressing the other man's face into the dirt –
he felt so much more the reflected one and not the reflection itself.
Waluigi adored the mirror of himself in that sick fantastic way that
made it okay to cause it pain. He wanted to show the man how much the
very idea of him existing made him feel.

Powerful
and twisted.

Luigi
himself was a lesson in needle thin contrasts to the taller Waluigi.
Beautiful greens and blues to moody purple and black. Thin and lean
to emaciated and sharp. The flaring blush on his cheeks exposed how
vastly less appealed he was to the situation that had been presented
to him. Luigi had squirmed and fought for quite a while – but
it was to the point were he'd simply worn himself down. One of his
straps had been torn completely askew from his overalls and laid
limply to the side. Belly down on the ground the smaller man's body
ached from kicks and punches while Waluigi only seemed marred with
pride and lust.

Even
the sight of the dirt smudged onto both Luigi's skin and clothes made
for a wonderful wanton image. Waluigi found 'roughed up' to be the
perfect ensemble to go with the stain of red he'd already set awash
down the other's chin. It was almost beautiful.

Luigi
hadn't much to say even at the beginning of the attack asides from
flabbergasted blurbs of surprise and constant squalling for his
brother. Another reflection of someone very close to Waluigi himself
– but of who didn't ignite the same kind of fiery hatred and
passion. And now – sprawled on the ground the brother in green
had nothing conversational to say even as Waluigi finally removed his
foot from his face and replaced instead a bony knee squarely into his
back. Only wheezes for air and subtle groans hissed out hotly between
reddened teeth. There was even a few near-black droplets clinging to
the curled mustache so much thicker then his own.

With
a licentious chuckle Waluigi leaned his wiry frame down over Luigi;
his own gloved hand batting the cap from that head to expose a
disheveled fluff of brown to which he roughly slid his own dirty
gloved fingers into twisting sharply – craning the other man's
neck painful so he could bring their mouths a mere inch apart.

“You're-a
pathetic.” Waluigi purred and then licked the blood away from
Luigi's mustache with a slow slimy drag of his tongue. The other
man's blood even tasted different then his own. Less heavy and more
pure then the thick salty ooze he often nursed from his own wounds.
It was a flavor he'd relish in bliss and yet swallow as if it was the
most disgusting thing he'd ever attempted to devour.

After
that he wasted no time mashing his lips against Luigi's -- dragging
his tongue over the bloody teeth; gulping down the yelps and whimpers
that escaped all the while keeping the other man's head cocked at an
agonizing angle. He could feel the tremble of the tendons in that
thin neck straining and the urge to keep twisting till he felt it
snap like a delicate stem of a flower was nearly overwhelming.

Instead
he broke the kiss shoving Luigi's face back into the ground just so
the man would writhe and buck for his enjoyment. Grinding down for
countless times he'd had his own face literally and figuratively
nosed into mud. Treating his alter ego as his own megalomaniac one
had been so many times. He kept the pressure and ruthless mashing
till Luigi shuttered under him – body ceasing in its struggles.
The ground was too solid to smother the other man with its dirt and
grass; but the action satisfied Waluigi.

Torment
aside. It was now time to get down to business. Waluigi wasted
not a breath on shifting his knee off the other man; holding Luigi
down still by his head. Hands going to snag the other strap from off
that slim shoulder. He did not unbuckle but tore it free. The article
was work worn and deteriorating – the strains pulling apart
like melting cheese when just the right amount of pressure was
applied. He did not cease with the straps alone – with nothing
to keep them lock to the smaller man's shoulders the rest of the
overalls were hustled down, past hips and ass alike to be pooled at
the kook of Luigi's knees. Far enough out to be out of the way. The
same measure of attention would be giving to the mushed green shirt
the other was wearing; it was hitched up just enough to expose the
smooth tannish skin marred with scars.

Waluigi
chuckled viciously as he straddled the other man's upper thighs.
Bending his own long spine to dip his head down to the line of
Luigi's spine. He examined the differences here as well. Luigi had
just enough flesh on his body to keep the bumps of his spine from
showing as they did painfully on Waluigi's back – but as
Waluigi ran his tongue alone the concaved area he could still feel
every single one. Luigi made a distressed sound and Waluigi wondered
what other strange new noises he could invoke from his splintered
self-image.

When
he decided to bite into a shoulder blade – Luigi whimpered.

When
he let loose the grip on his head dragging both his gloved hands
around that thin chest and down to where courser hair began at the
apex of his bellybutton – Luigi whined.

When
he boldly jerked his hips forward nudging the obvious tent in the
front of his own overalls against those cotton covered cheeks to
express his wanton devious excitement -- allowing no question on what
he attended to do this very day – Luigi gasped loudly.

A
gasp that turned into a whimper. A whimper that morphed into
struggles again. Struggles that were fawned upon cruelly as Waluigi
reached down with both his gloved hands and ensnared Luigi's wrists.
Jerking them backwards he forced the other man's arms up onto his own
exposed back and then slid both the captured items into one of his
own – bigger, longer, stronger fingers. These imprisoned items
were then wretched upward toward his mouth so that he could bite at
them -- straining their tensity till Luigi screeched in agony.

Like
the shattering of glass it was music to Waluigi's ears. He wanted to
stomp and pound till every single shard had screamed becoming dust
under his cruel ministrations. He tore his mouth away from the now
bleeding joint and laughed darkly up at sky and clouds that were
witnesses to his acts.

It
was time for Waluigi to shoot the final ball and win the game over
his askew pathetic little alter ego. Time to break the mirror.

Free
hand clawed into the other's underwear; yanking them down far enough
to expose the soft flushed-red skin of Luigi's ass. The smaller man
began a bubbling beggary now – something that Waluigi found
precious. Something that only fueled the fire of his benevolent lust.

“Scream
Scream Scream. Noone will-a hear you. You-a just be screamin' for-a
me.”

Long
needle-like legs were shifted between the shorter ones of the man he
held pinned to the ground. Waluigi reached up and unfashioned the
buttons on his own black overalls making haste to get them down to
his waist and out of the way. As it sprung free his cock proved to be
as skinny and long as the rest of him. The mushroom tip
already leaking with anticipation of defiling the innocent mirror of
himself. Bony knee was jammed up into Luigi's crotch -- forcing the
man's ass upward as he spluttered and gagged in the curtless cruelty
of the blow.

Waluigi
cared not if Luigi enjoyed this one bit. When he spat into his open
palm and slathered it along the length of his cock he only did so for
his own comfort. His congenial concerns for his reflection was based
on how he felt. He simple wanted Luigi to be one with him in the
most abject way. Gripping even tighter to the wrists he held, Waluigi
took a hold of his penis in his free glove as he pressed it between
the smaller man's asscheeks. He was met with uncompromising
resistance but he wasn't here to compromise in the first
place. Snarling he jerked his hips forward and was rewarded with a
guttery scream as he sunk into tight hot heat.

Between
the first initial penetration and the point where he reared all the
way back out, Waluigi could hear the mirror beginning to shatter --
but instead of punching he slammed his groin forward hilting his cock
to the balls inside the other man. The utter shutter of dolor and
agony that shook from Luigi's body to the very core of Waluigi's soul
found the taller man his euphoria.

The
rape was short but brutal. Waluigi pumped into the smaller body hard
enough to bruise his upper thighs. Any and every noise Luigi made
only heightened the sadist pleasure of it. At one point he let go of
those thin wrists and simple hutched over like a thin wiry animal –
fucking aimlessly; ruthless till he felt his insides tighten; and
with a near painful burst of energy he gave one final thrust.

When
he came he groaned his own name wetly into the other's ear.

Then
once more he stood over the other smirking heinously; looking down at
the other man. He finally felt the smaller man was exactly as he'd
always pictured him.

They
were not quite the spitting image of each other.

But
at least now Luigi looked how Waluigi always felt he should feel.

--

Upon
returning home Waluigi stepped past Wario without a word. His older
brother didn't even bother to look up from the coins he was counting.
He didn't see the blood on the taller man's overalls or the sick
smile on his face. He wouldn't have cared anyway.

Hours
later Waluigi found himself in his favorite spot. Standing naked
before the body length mirror in his bedroom. His ribs stuck out
painfully and he could see the bruises forming on his upper thighs.
In his noisome opinion he looked perfect. The 'better'.

Engaged
in perverse adoration of himself – Waluigi did not hear his
brother let out a yelp, nor the thud that followed. He leaned in
closely to the mirror and pressed his lips to the glass that only had
a couple cracks. He felt as if he could appreciate his reflection
from now on maybe he wouldn't shatter this mirror. But as he pulled
away from the cool surface of the glass his reflection had company.

It
was not quite the spitting image of his brother.

Its
bristled mustache was much bushier. Its short stoat form not nearly
as pudgy. Its blue eyes blazed with unnerving vendetta, with utter
distraught fury; with the love for someone who'd been hurt like no
one should ever be.

A
gloved hand grabbed the back of his head and began to slam his face
repeatedly into his mirror. Slamming and cursing in hissed Italian.
Not his own name – but his reflection's. And when he finally
crumbled to the ground face down in shards of broken glass the beaten
reflection that gazed back at him was painfully familiar.

It
was quite the spitting image after all.

The
End.
- 1
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The Looking Glass is Broken