Shatterpoint

"Little brother," he murmurs, and those long, slim hands clench into his hair, tiny bright-sharp sparks of pain through his scalp. Szayel bites at his lips, takes his mouth as though it's a fight to be won. Yylfordt doesn't resist, because someday Szayel will leave him behind, cease to care, and that will be the day that his existence becomes nothing. Incest, slash.