Title: Bereavement

Author: Scribe

Fandom: The Krays

Pairing: Reggie/Ronnie

Status: Finished

Sequel/Series:

Archive: WWOMB, CKoS, others ask, credit me, and post my email address for feedback

Criticism: Yes.

Disclaimer: I'm not sure who they belong to, but it's not me, and I'm not making any money off this.

Summary: Ronnie, still not over the death of his beloved Aunt Rose, and under pressure with his violent lifestyle, is devastated by the suicide of his young wife. Reggie offers support and comfort, but takes advantage of his brother's vulnerability to act on his incestuous urges, and seduces him.

Author's Notes: The Krays, Reginald and Ronald, were real life twins who more or less ruled the underworld in London in the fifties and early sixties. Both were convicted of murder and sentenced to life, with the stipulation that they serve at least 30 years. Ronnie died of a heart attack after 28 years in prison, and Reggie was released shortly before his death in 2000.

Terms: A john thomas is a British euphuism for the male sex organ (duh). Having a wank is the same as masturbating. The loo is the toilet (bathroom). I used the vulgar British spelling of 'arse' and 'shite' for 'ass' and 'shit' to reflect the time and background. Does anyone else get the giggles when they use Grammatik on their fiction and are advised to 'consider changing this offensive term'?

Warning: Twinsest. Emotional manipulation and predation.

Rating: NC-17

Bereavement
by Scribe

*It should be raining,* Reggie thought dully. Wasn't it supposed to rain when there was a burial,
especially when the body closed into the polished wooden box belonged to a vibrant, beautiful young woman? There should be rain for Frances, instead of this bloody, bright sunshine.

Reggie sat in the chair near the open grave with Ronnie on one side and their Mum on the other, each holding a hand. He wasn't crying anymore. He felt cried out, and wondered if he'd ever be able to cry again. He stared at the great oak box resting on the struts over the raw hole, the edges of the yawning pit draped decorously in crepe. It was covered in a blanket of tiny sweetheart roses. Frances had liked flowers. He always tried to have fresh ones in the house for her. There had been a vase of daisies on the table, right next to the empty pill bottle.

The reverend at the head of the grave was droning on, something about going to a better place. If he hadn't been so numb Reggie would have knocked him flat on his arse for his buggered pious drivel, but now he just didn't seem to have the motivation or the energy.

Ronnie glanced over at his twin. Reggie's hand was limp, and colder than it should have been. He rubbed it gently, hoping to get a little warmth back into him. Any other time it would have gotten him a brief glance, and a smile. Now Reggie just stared at the preacher, though Ronnie had a feeling that he wasn't really seeing or hearing the man. Reg was taking this hard, even harder than he had when Aunt Rose died, and that had almost killed him. Ron was worried. Reggie had been off balance ever since then, guilt stricken over having been on his honeymoon with Frances when their beloved aunt died, never mind that it was sudden, something that no one could have foreseen. He hadn't been there, in the bosom of his family. Ronnie had raked him over the coals about that, using every bit of vicious spite that had built up over the years as he watched his brother slipping farther and farther away from his influence.

Ronnie found himself glaring at the coffin and made a conscious effort to smooth his expression. Bloody Frances. She'd caused as much trouble without even trying as any of their rivals had. What the hell had been so special about her? What had taken his Reggie away? Oh, she was pretty enough. She had the blonde, fair, fresh scrubbed look peculiar to young English girls. She was dainty, neat, and very feminine. That must have been what had attracted Reggie. *Little tart,* thought Ronnie savagely.

The service was coming to an end, and it was time for Reggie to make his final good-bye. Ronald helped him to his feet and steered him toward the grave. He pushed a single white rose into his brother's hands before turning him loose and stepping back. Reggie stood there a moment, staring at the coffin. Then slowly, silently, his knees started to buckle. Ronnie sprang forward and caught him, holding him up in his strong arms. He plucked the rose from his brother's nerveless fingers, tossed it negligently up on the coffin, then turned to lead him back to the car.

There were a couple of photographers near the large black sedan, and they started snapping pictures as soon as the brothers moved out of the crowd of mourners. If he hadn't been so outraged Ronnie might have admired their balls. It took a lot of nerve to get this close in order to try for a picture of the notorious Krays in the midst of their family tragedy. Reg and Ron had always had congenial dealings with the press. They were good news, and they knew it. They enjoyed seeing pictures of themselves at their clubs, elegantly dressed and hobnobbing with celebrities and socialites. But this was different. This was a family matter, and you didn't fuck around with their family. Ronnie nodded to several of his lads, and they made for the photographers, who had enough sense to run. Ronnie paid no more attention. The men would
be run down, the film confiscated, the cameras smashed, and compensation given to forestall a civil suit. It had happened before.

He bundled Reggie into the back seat and got in after him. Mum took one look, then went into the front seat with Charlie for the drive home. Reggie slumped, staring, and Ronnie put his arm around him. "Hold on, mate. Just a bit more, and we'll be home."

Reggie turned blank blue eyes on him. His voice was soft, almost disinterested. "The flat is so empty now." His eyes turned back toward the front, seeing nothing. "I should start to pack up her things, I suppose."

"You're not going back to the flat, Reg. You're going back to Mum's house. You'll stay there till... till you're a bit more steady on your feet. I'm staying over for a bit, too. I won't leave you."

"Yes, that will be good." They rode in silence for a bit, then Reg said, "What about Steve?"

"Steve's a big lad. He'll be fine on his own for a day or two." Steve was Ronnie's young lover. It
wasn't spoken of in the family, but he had been welcomed as readily as Frances had. Ronnie cared for Steve, but there was no contest if it came down to a choice between him and Reggie. He supposed he loved Steve, but Reggie was his life, his other half.

They came to Mum's house, and Ronnie started to help Reggie upstairs. Mum called after him, "Try to get him to sleep, luv. There's no need for him to come down at all this evening, unless he's peckish. There will be plenty in the kitchen for later. You two just help yourselves."

"Right, Mum."

Ronnie got him upstairs and down the hall to their old room. It was still the same. Mum kept it just as they'd left it, with fresh sheets on both the twin beds in case they ever needed to come home, as they did now.

"Mum said you should rest, Reg." Ronnie said quietly, once he'd shut the door behind him.

Reggie nodded wearily and went to lie down on his old bed. "Christ, you bloomin' ninny, not like that! You want to give Mum a stroke, putting your shoes up on the bed?" Reggie sat up, murmuring vague apologies, and Ronnie knelt before him, unlacing and slipping off his shoes, then taking his socks. "There. And you know what she'll say if you crease your jacket. Hand
it over."

Reggie slipped out of his jacket and handed it to Ronnie. While his brother took off his own jacket and hung both of them up neatly he pulled off his tie and removed his shirt, leaving himself in his strapped undershirt and trousers. He pulled the tail of the undershirt from his pants while Ronnie removed his own shoes and socks, and unbuttoned his shirt, but then he just sat, staring at nothing again.

Ronnie folded both shirts neatly and laid them aside on a chair, then went to sit beside his brother. *I've always heard of grief making people old before their time,* Ronnie thought. *Not Reg, though. He looks younger. He looks like a lost little boy. You never looked like that when you were with me, Reg. You always knew just where you were, just what to do. You knew we belonged together then. What changed it?* Reggie sighed heavily, and Ron put his arm around his brother's shoulders, Reggie leaned against him, dropping his head on Ronnie's shoulder. "What am I gonna do now, Ron?"

Ron squeezed his arm almost fiercely. "What the fuck do you MEAN, what am I gonna do? You're gonna go on, mate."

"I don't know if I can. I just wanted to crawl into that hole after her..." He gasped as Ronnie turned to face him, taking his other arm, and shook him fiercely.

"Stop it! Stop that shite right now, Reggie Kray! Christ, is this what you've come to? Life kicks you, and you whine and want to crawl off and lick your wounds, feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Ron, Frances KILLED herself!" he almost wailed.

"Yeah. So the little bird couldn't handle this rough, mean old world. Too bad, so sad."

"Ron..." Reggie whispered, staring at him in near horror. Then he slapped Ron. Immediately he felt remorse. He hadn't hit his brother since that stupid bout at the fair when they were teenagers. That one, mad time they'd felt the urge to match themselves, to finally see which one would come out on top. It had been stupid, really. They were so evenly matched that all they'd done was beat each other to a pulp. Ronnie's sheer viciousness was countered by Reggie's cold logic and skill. Then Mum had stopped it, and they had gotten the lecture of their lives. You don't fight family, you don't fight each other. We are all that we have against the World. It wasn't said specifically, but they were told, "Especially YOU TWO don't fight each OTHER. It's the same as beating
yourself."

But Ronnie just removed his glasses, which had been knocked askew, setting them on the table, and said quietly, "Well, it's about bloody time. I thought you were just going to drift off into nothingness, Reg. Welcome back."

Ron found that he DID still have tears left. He started crying again, and Ronnie held him. He was
rocked in the strong arms as Ron whispered encouragement and support. "It's gonna be all right,
Reg. I swear. Yeah, she's gone. She couldn't handle it, and she ran the only way she knew how. I know you loved her, Reg, but she was weak, and she was makin' you weak. You couldn't be who you really are with her, could you? Always tryin' to put up that nice, respectable citizen front for her, shield her from the nasty bits of life. She wasn't good for you, Reg."

Reggie cried all the harder, his tears dampening Ronnie's shoulder as his brother continued, almost crooning to him. He could feel the healing starting, like the first fragile skin growing over a raw wound. It would always be there, it would hurt for a long time, and always ache at the odd moment when he wasn't expecting it, but he was going to survive. It wasn't a mortal wound. He was going to make it. As long as he had Mum, and Charlie, and most especially Ron, he was going to make it.

"You need to lie down, Reg." As he spoke, Ronnie was pulling Reggie down, easing his head onto his lap. Obediently he lay down, shifting his legs so he could lie on the bed.

Ronnie was stroking the dark hair back from his temple and forehead, wiping the tears from his cheeks with gentle hands. So ironic. Reggie had seen Ron use those same big hands with ruthless efficiency on his enemies, beating and cutting. They could deal pain so easily, but now they were soft and soothing.

"You're back where you belong, Ron. With us. With me. You remember how it was, don't you? How close we were. We can be that way again."

Yes, he remembered. It had always been like that. He was never, ever alone in the world. There was always Ronald, Ronnie, Ron... His brother. Himself, it seemed sometimes. So close that they could finish each other's sentences, almost read each other's thoughts. Working together, playing together. As close to one person in two bodies as it was possible to be.

In school, fighting the other boys, back to back in the schoolyard, they had been unbeatable. In that short joke of a term in the army they had sniggered at the pompous little jackass of a sergeant, then gotten thrown into the same cell for punching him out. Meeting Jack 'The Hat' McVitie there, they had realized their destiny in the shadowy world of protection and... other enterprises. The battles to first gain, then secure their turf had been fought side by side. They had used their army sabers to set up a bloody reputation that kept all but the most stupid or ambitious rivals cowed.

Ronnie was remembering all this, too. But he was remembering more. They were still close, but they had been so much closer when they were young, before the world came between them with its dictates of what was 'normal', what was right and what was wrong. Reggie had no problem stepping over the boundaries that society set up in other ways. Why had he balked here?

Reggie remembered how it had been when they had shared this room. More nights than not they had ended up in the same narrow bed, sleeping closer and closer as they had grown, their larger bodies taking up more space. They would curl together like kittens, seeking warmth and security. Then as adolescence had approached, there had been a change.

Ronnie had noticed it first, noticed how john thomas would become stiff when he cuddled up behind Reg at night. Then Reg had started having stiffies, too. This was something new and wonderful and, as with all things, the brothers had explored it together. They had found how good it felt to touch themselves, running hands gently over slender, quivering members, stroking the shifting balls where hair had just begun to sprout.

Then Ronnie had become curious. They were so alike in all other ways, were they alike here, too? He had reached out, intent on discovery. He could still remember the look of astonishment on his brother's face when his fingers had wrapped snugly around Reggie's prick. His mouth had dropped open. Perhaps he had been about to protest, but Ronnie had stroked him firmly, sliding the loose skin over the solid shaft, and Reg had moaned instead, and filled his hand with hot spunk. It was the first time either of them had produced anything, and it frightened and excited
them both. Then Reggie had returned the favor, and Ron thought he was going to die from sheer pleasure as his brother's hand tickled and caressed him, bringing him, also, to his first wet orgasm.

*It was so good for awhile there, Reggie. For those few months. Every night in the dark, your hands, my hands. What ended it? I remember... Yes, it was right after the time I used my mouth. I kissed you. I loved you so much, Reg, that I had to show you. So instead of just touching you, I bent down and took you in my mouth. And you didn't try to stop me, did you? No, you arched, and you cried as I licked and sucked. You were so sweet and strong, and helpless, all at once. And when you came, I didn't reject you, did I? I would never do that. I drank your spunk. That's
something I've never done for anyone else, Reg. Not even Steve. And the next night you told me you were too tired, I should stay in my own bed. And the next day you asked that slut Mollie Cavanaugh to the pictures, and sat in the back row with your hand up her skirt.*

Reggie turned a bit, wrapping his arms around Ronnie's waist and burying his face against his
brother's flat stomach. It was so good to just hold him again. *I've missed this. He's my strength, and I've been holding back from him for so long.*

Ron was caressing him, stroking his hair, his arms, his back. "Sh, love. It's all right, Reg. I'm here
now. We won't be apart again, will we? I'll take care of you, and you'll take care of me. Just like we did before, eh? Before the world came in and split us apart."

Reg found himself rooting against the soft ribbed cotton of Ron's undershirt, wiping his face on it, his tears slowing to a stop. Reg realized that Ron had his hand up under his shirt, and was stroking his abdomen, fingers ruffling the thin trail of fur that ran down under his waistband. *What the fuck? No, that isn't right. Is it? I should stop him. But it feels so good. It feels so good to be held and touched.*

Frances... he had loved Frances. He would always love her. But she had not been a physically affectionate woman. Even the quickest kiss or hug in public would have her whispering to him to behave. There was no touching except in bed, in the dark, and there it had been all Reggie. He would touch her while she lay, limp and accepting. No matter how he coaxed and pleaded she would never do much more than run her hands over his shoulders and back. Good girls didn't
fondle men in an intimate manner, not even their husbands. *Sometimes I was so frustrated I wanted to hit her.*

Reg jerked at the thought, shocked with himself. But once it was out there, he knew it was true. He had no doubt that Frances had loved him, but she had been physically cold. Sex had been a duty, not a joy. And he had accepted that, because he loved her. That's how it was with married couples, wasn't it? He knew damn good and well that his parents hadn't had a roaring sexual relationship.

Reggie came away from these thoughts with the realization that Ronnie had undone his belt and was unzipping his trousers. "Ron, don't..."

"Sh, Reg." The hand moved into the gap, closing around the underwear covered mound of his genitals. "You need this. God, mate, you're wound tighter than a three day clock. Let me help you." He squeezed gently.

Reggie gasped. "No," he said weakly. "It isn't right, Ron."

"What's wrong with making you feel better? You NEED it. You need ME. How long has it been, Reg, eh?" He was pushing the pants and underwear down, and Reggie instinctively lifted his ass to let them slide down his thighs. "She couldn't have wanted it during the last few weeks when she was so fucked up, and I know you. You're a gentleman, you wouldn't have taken it, would you?"

He gripped his brother's half hard penis and gave him a soft squeeze. Reggie whimpered. "No, you'd have been considerate and gone in the loo and had a wank, and stayed just as frustrated. Because it isn't the same, is it? It isn't really satisfying unless there's someone else touching you, caring for you, wanting to make you feel good."

Reggie tried again, his resolve weakening. "Ron, please, no. Don't do this."

"You can stop me any time, Reg. All you have to do is get up. Hell, bash me one. You can do that easily enough, eh?" His hand moved slowly. "Someone you don't fancy touches you like this, you SHOULD smack them down."

A clear bead of pre-come oozed from the slit of Reggie's cock head. Ronnie touched his fingertip to it, spreading it over the rosy flesh. "But you don't want to stop it, do you, now?" His voice was a purr that seemed to set something vibrating deep in Reggie's guts. "Because it's just too fucking good."

Reggie closed his eyes, letting the warmth and electric pleasure wash over him. God, YES, it was
good! And it HAD been a long time. *Years,* he thought, dazed. *Yeah, years since it was like this. Not since the last time Ronnie touched me. No one has ever known what I needed like him. But we had to stop, _I_ had to stop. So I went to the girls, and the girls were all right. But they weren't Ron. No one else has ever been able to do to me what he does, not even Frances.*

"Frances..." he whispered.

Suddenly Ronnie's hand was in his hair, jerking his head back. Reggie's eyes flew open at the pain, and he found his brother staring down at him, face flushed, lips pulled back from his teeth. "Not Frances!" he grated. "It's me, Reg, it's Ron. Damn it, you keep your eyes open. Don't you fucking dare pretend I'm your Barbie doll." His stopped masturbating Reggie for a moment, turned his head and spat in his palm, then applied his hand again. Now his grip was slippery, warm and wet, and Reggie found himself bucking his hips up, fucking into his grasp.

Reggie gasped, clutching at Ronnie, hands scrabbling on his back as he was pumped hard. "Ron!"

"Yeah, that's right, Reg. Ron, not Frances."

"Oh, God! Need you, Ron."

"I'm here, luv. I've always been here, all you ever had to do was reach out."

"Don't stop, please." His hips were working jerkily. He couldn't have stopped for anything. Not if God himself, or even Mum, had come into the room and demanded it.

"I won't." The hand in Reggie's hair loosened, held gently, petted. Ronnie leaned over Reggie, closer still. Their breaths mingled. A drop of sweat fell from Ron to trickle beside Reggie's lips. When his tongue darted out to capture it, Ron groaned and pressed his lips to his brother's, hard.

Reggie's arms went around Ron's neck, pulling him even closer, as he sucked his brother's tongue into his mouth and bit him almost frantically. Ronnie answered with similar rough passion, nipping at his lips, bruising the soft flesh as his hand moved faster and faster. When Reggie climaxed, coating his hand with hot sperm, his cry of ecstasy was swallowed in his brother's mouth, but Ronnie knew what it had been. When he came, Reg had screamed Ron's name.

Ronnie gave his brother's softening prick a few more strokes, his hand greased by Reggie's own spunk. He intended to lick his hand clean in a moment, finally, after all these years, getting another taste of his brother's essence. And that wouldn't be all, he thought smugly, as he felt Reggie trembling against him.

"It's all right, luv," he whispered, kissing Reggie's damp forehead. "You're where you're supposed to be now: with me. This is right, Reg. It's how it's should to be, and you know it. You always knew it, but you had to fight, didn't you?." His voice was rough with affection. "Stubborn git."

He turned Reggie, helping him to move up in the bed and lie on his side with his head on the pillow. Then he laid down behind him. Pulling the cover up over them both, he spooned his body against his brother. His hard cock nestled in the crack of Reggie's ass, and he lay there as his brother drifted off to sleep. He reached around and carefully cupped his brother's naked, sticky cock, now soft and heavy, and went to sleep with a smile on his face. They were together again, and there was so much to look forward to.

end