Halloween Candy (m/m)
Posted: Sat Oct 13, 2018 4:31 am
I hope you all enjoy it! 
My brother, Bryce, has always been a clever little sneak – wise beyond his years and too smart for his own good, more so than when I was in middle school. It’s embarrassing… I mean, I’m supposed to be in charge; I’m supposed to be the one to show him the way. Tonight, though, he’ll learn his lesson that I’m not someone to be outsmarted. Tonight’s the perfect night. Trick-or-treat, you little snot.
I lent Bryce my boxing gloves for his costume. They weren’t the big, bulbous red sockers he wanted, but our parents weren’t going to buy him something he’d only wear once. These were small black training mitts that came with my punching bag; they even had a small plastic bar sewn into them to keep the fist from compressing as they hit the bag. A pair of white basketball shorts and a navy blue short-sleeve hoodie, and the runt looked like he was ready to train with Creed.
I put on a dark-brown button-down shirt and a pair of khakis. Mom let me use her police badge and handcuffs to complete the look. A very fitting costume, I think. While mom and dad are at a Halloween party, drinking themselves under the table, I’m the sheriff, enforcing the law against would-be mischief-makers.
We get home around eleven – early considering how late everyone else is still out, but we left home early. Bryce insisted, saying all the good stuff gets handed out first. I obliged, and we both got some great stuff. Snickers, 3-Musketeers, Skittles… I got a chuckle hearing one kid whine about getting Smarties and Dots while we got Twix and Reeses. Seeing Bryce stand at the door, waving his mitted hands and holding his basket of sweets by his elbow, brings a scheming smile to my face. “Come on, Ben, get the door! Hurry up!” he demands.
I open the door, and Bryce speeds through the living room and into the kitchen like a bullet. He placed the pumpkin-shaped bucket of candy on the counter and sat on the bar stool. He stuck his hand between his arm and side, prying one boxing mitt from his hand; with one hand free to dig in, he didn’t bother with the other yet. I shout to him from the living room, “Mom and dad said no candy until tomorrow,” but he seems to ignore me. Before he can grab his first piece, I manage to snatch his wrist and force it on the counter. “I said, no candy tonight.”
“Look, we both know I’m going get some before tomorrow,” Bryce says. He flashes me a snarky smile and narrows his eyes, challenging me.
I can’t back down, now, so I tell him, “I’m going to put it somewhere you can’t find it.” But that’s not my only precaution.
“That’s never stopped me before,” Bryce remarks. “You’ll probably put it in your closet, or under the sink in mom and dad’s bathroom, or in the toolbox in the garage.” Damn, I think, he even knew about the toolbox? That explains my missing money.
“Guess I’ll have to get creative,” I say. He may have the brains, but I have the muscle. I guess we’ll see which one wins tonight. I twist his wrist, causing him to stand up and bend his arm behind his head to stop the pain. With his back turned, I produce something from my pocket – he has no idea… I reach around and press a red ball to his mouth, parting his lips and jaw. With both hands, now, I yank on the black straps and stretch the ball back, causing him to gasp. In a panic, he tries prying the ball out, but he fumbles removing the other mitt. I take advantage of his confusion and pull the straps tight; I take a small lock out. Bryce freezes in place when he hears the click, and I let go.
“Whmph tmph hemph!?” I can’t help but laugh as he tries berating me, only to get cut off when the red ball slings back, flattening his tongue and causing him to gag. He purses his lips and pushes with his tongue, prying, but there’s little space between his cheeks and the straps to dig his fingers into. That ball never makes it past his flashing teeth. “Ghet histh oawt!” he grunts.
“That’s not coming off without this,” I say, dangling a small key in front of his face. He reaches, but I push him back. “Nuh-uh! Don’t think so! Not only are not going to get into this candy tonight, but I also don’t have to hear your smart-ass remarks, either. Now, be a good little boy and go get in your jammies. It’s only for a few hours at best. If you stay on my good side, I’ll take that thing out of your mouth before you go to sleep.” I continue chuckling at Bryce’s misery, uselessly prying at the straps, unable to talk back, for once.
“Hold on a sec,” I say as he begins stomping off. He turns around only to be blinded by the flash from my phone. I turn the screen to show him his ridiculous face. The red ball pokes out from his lips, stretching his jaw and elongating his thin face. The blue in his eyes become thin rings with his pupils dilated. The picture is perfect, capturing the moment his pale skin turns color, and the freckles in his cheeks begin fading as his skin turns a light shade of pink. “This is just a little blackmail in case you get any bright ideas about telling on me. Face the facts, I’ve won.” Bryce responds to my gloat with his middle finger. He turns, sinking his head into his shoulders, and storms upstairs. With him out of sight, I hide the candy in the laundry cabinet behind the towels.
It’s around midnight when Bryce comes back downstairs. I had been watching one of the Halloween movies that are playing marathon, having changed into a black tank-top, black ankle-socks, and grey sweatpants with the cuffs pulled up below my knees. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” I ask, but he ignores me, moving into the kitchen and past. I hear some rustling, but I don’t look up from the tv. Bryce comes back into view, this time holding his plastic pumpkin full of candy.
“Good job, I guess,” I say. “That’s step one, but step two will be much harder.”
He sits it on the table and takes a seat next to me on the couch. He refuses to look at me, purposefully, and for a moment, I feel sorry for the little guy. Still dressed in his white shorts and navy hoodie, he keeps his arms folded. Every twenty-to-thirty seconds, he picks at the straps holding the ball in his mouth, then refolds his arms. I can see the discomfort in his face; having that locked in his mouth for nearly an hour must be uncomfortable.
“You okay, champ?”
Bryce lets out a huff and continues ignoring me.
“You wanna pick something out?” I ask, handing him the remote. Without looking at me, he gabs the remote and begins flipping through the guide. “You get the better of me all the time, y’know? It was only inevitable that I would sneak in a win. Gotta admit, though, I got you good, right?” I tap the on the ball, and he flinches away. He lets out a long sigh and nods, giving me a thumbs up. I’m shocked. Admitting defeat? To me?
Bryce lets out a chuckle through the gag and hold his hand up. “Yugh wighn,” he says, gargling. I slap his hand, giving him a high-five. He changes the channel to Friday the 13th, then rushes off to the kitchen. More clinking and shuffling… he returns with two glasses of soda, ice cold, and a bowl of popcorn.
“You want me to take that out, now?” I ask, patting my pocket. Surprisingly, Bryce refuses my offer. “Okay, well, I wasn’t going to, anyway. I’ll do it when you go to bed like I told you.” I take a big gulp of soda; there’s so much ice, I can only taste the fizz. We continue sitting on the couch, watching as Jason rises from the grave and kills two people… cut to the title, “Jason Lives.” We continue the movie, and we laugh watching Jason holding someone’s arm, looking surprised. Suddenly, my eyelids begin to get heavy; I close them for just a little, or so I think. When I open them, Jason is now back at camp Crystal Lake. Then… then…
I jerk myself awake. My knees hit the bottom of the coffee table. Did I fall of the couch, I wonder? There’s still some grogginess in my eyes, and I raise a hand to rub them with my fingers. One hand… two? No, one. I press a fist of black faux leather against my eye and reel back. My boxing mitts? I move to take them off, but my wrists snag. They’ve been cuffed together! Mom’s cuffs that I left on the counter are secured tightly… and over the cuffs of my mitts, too. The bar sewn into the gloves keeps me from flexing my fingers.
“Comfortable, Ben?”
I look up. Bryce is sitting on the couch, cross-legged, with his bucket of candy in his lap. He unwraps a piece of chocolate and eats it in front of me, then throws the wrapper next to a small pile on the coffee table.
“Ah shiad gnaw kahndy!” I gag on my words when something hard and plastic slings back in my mouth, flattening my tongue. My jaw aches, but I can’t close it. My tongue curls around the ball in my mouth, and I begin gagging. “Whma nah—ak! Lmme gmho—ahk!”
“You want the keys? They’re right there,” he says, pointing to the keys on the table. Immediately, I try grabbing them, but my mitted hands can’t even pick one of them up, let alone maneuver them to the locks. Ben picks up his cup and says, “You should’ve been more careful,” before taking a gulp of soda. He put something in my drink! “That was a good try, though. I didn’t see it coming.” I try standing, but a belt wrapped around my calves keeps me seated. Ben continued, “I think I did a better job. What do you think?” Bryce grabbed another piece of candy.
I struggle, pawing at the ball in mouth with my gloved hands and bumping my knees against the table, but it just makes Bryce giggle with delight. He takes out his phone from his hoodie, and I’m blinded by a flash. “Just a little blackmail in case you get any bright ideas about telling on me. And I deleted that photo of me from your phone; by the way, pick a lock-key that isn’t your birthday. You make it so easy!”
I can feel my cheeks running hot. I can’t believe he got me again! That little snot! What are mom and dad going to think? How could I let this happen?
“Trick-or-treat, Bonehead!” Bryce says, waving more of his Halloween candy in my face, laughing. “Maybe next time!”
My brother, Bryce, has always been a clever little sneak – wise beyond his years and too smart for his own good, more so than when I was in middle school. It’s embarrassing… I mean, I’m supposed to be in charge; I’m supposed to be the one to show him the way. Tonight, though, he’ll learn his lesson that I’m not someone to be outsmarted. Tonight’s the perfect night. Trick-or-treat, you little snot.
I lent Bryce my boxing gloves for his costume. They weren’t the big, bulbous red sockers he wanted, but our parents weren’t going to buy him something he’d only wear once. These were small black training mitts that came with my punching bag; they even had a small plastic bar sewn into them to keep the fist from compressing as they hit the bag. A pair of white basketball shorts and a navy blue short-sleeve hoodie, and the runt looked like he was ready to train with Creed.
I put on a dark-brown button-down shirt and a pair of khakis. Mom let me use her police badge and handcuffs to complete the look. A very fitting costume, I think. While mom and dad are at a Halloween party, drinking themselves under the table, I’m the sheriff, enforcing the law against would-be mischief-makers.
We get home around eleven – early considering how late everyone else is still out, but we left home early. Bryce insisted, saying all the good stuff gets handed out first. I obliged, and we both got some great stuff. Snickers, 3-Musketeers, Skittles… I got a chuckle hearing one kid whine about getting Smarties and Dots while we got Twix and Reeses. Seeing Bryce stand at the door, waving his mitted hands and holding his basket of sweets by his elbow, brings a scheming smile to my face. “Come on, Ben, get the door! Hurry up!” he demands.
I open the door, and Bryce speeds through the living room and into the kitchen like a bullet. He placed the pumpkin-shaped bucket of candy on the counter and sat on the bar stool. He stuck his hand between his arm and side, prying one boxing mitt from his hand; with one hand free to dig in, he didn’t bother with the other yet. I shout to him from the living room, “Mom and dad said no candy until tomorrow,” but he seems to ignore me. Before he can grab his first piece, I manage to snatch his wrist and force it on the counter. “I said, no candy tonight.”
“Look, we both know I’m going get some before tomorrow,” Bryce says. He flashes me a snarky smile and narrows his eyes, challenging me.
I can’t back down, now, so I tell him, “I’m going to put it somewhere you can’t find it.” But that’s not my only precaution.
“That’s never stopped me before,” Bryce remarks. “You’ll probably put it in your closet, or under the sink in mom and dad’s bathroom, or in the toolbox in the garage.” Damn, I think, he even knew about the toolbox? That explains my missing money.
“Guess I’ll have to get creative,” I say. He may have the brains, but I have the muscle. I guess we’ll see which one wins tonight. I twist his wrist, causing him to stand up and bend his arm behind his head to stop the pain. With his back turned, I produce something from my pocket – he has no idea… I reach around and press a red ball to his mouth, parting his lips and jaw. With both hands, now, I yank on the black straps and stretch the ball back, causing him to gasp. In a panic, he tries prying the ball out, but he fumbles removing the other mitt. I take advantage of his confusion and pull the straps tight; I take a small lock out. Bryce freezes in place when he hears the click, and I let go.
“Whmph tmph hemph!?” I can’t help but laugh as he tries berating me, only to get cut off when the red ball slings back, flattening his tongue and causing him to gag. He purses his lips and pushes with his tongue, prying, but there’s little space between his cheeks and the straps to dig his fingers into. That ball never makes it past his flashing teeth. “Ghet histh oawt!” he grunts.
“That’s not coming off without this,” I say, dangling a small key in front of his face. He reaches, but I push him back. “Nuh-uh! Don’t think so! Not only are not going to get into this candy tonight, but I also don’t have to hear your smart-ass remarks, either. Now, be a good little boy and go get in your jammies. It’s only for a few hours at best. If you stay on my good side, I’ll take that thing out of your mouth before you go to sleep.” I continue chuckling at Bryce’s misery, uselessly prying at the straps, unable to talk back, for once.
“Hold on a sec,” I say as he begins stomping off. He turns around only to be blinded by the flash from my phone. I turn the screen to show him his ridiculous face. The red ball pokes out from his lips, stretching his jaw and elongating his thin face. The blue in his eyes become thin rings with his pupils dilated. The picture is perfect, capturing the moment his pale skin turns color, and the freckles in his cheeks begin fading as his skin turns a light shade of pink. “This is just a little blackmail in case you get any bright ideas about telling on me. Face the facts, I’ve won.” Bryce responds to my gloat with his middle finger. He turns, sinking his head into his shoulders, and storms upstairs. With him out of sight, I hide the candy in the laundry cabinet behind the towels.
It’s around midnight when Bryce comes back downstairs. I had been watching one of the Halloween movies that are playing marathon, having changed into a black tank-top, black ankle-socks, and grey sweatpants with the cuffs pulled up below my knees. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” I ask, but he ignores me, moving into the kitchen and past. I hear some rustling, but I don’t look up from the tv. Bryce comes back into view, this time holding his plastic pumpkin full of candy.
“Good job, I guess,” I say. “That’s step one, but step two will be much harder.”
He sits it on the table and takes a seat next to me on the couch. He refuses to look at me, purposefully, and for a moment, I feel sorry for the little guy. Still dressed in his white shorts and navy hoodie, he keeps his arms folded. Every twenty-to-thirty seconds, he picks at the straps holding the ball in his mouth, then refolds his arms. I can see the discomfort in his face; having that locked in his mouth for nearly an hour must be uncomfortable.
“You okay, champ?”
Bryce lets out a huff and continues ignoring me.
“You wanna pick something out?” I ask, handing him the remote. Without looking at me, he gabs the remote and begins flipping through the guide. “You get the better of me all the time, y’know? It was only inevitable that I would sneak in a win. Gotta admit, though, I got you good, right?” I tap the on the ball, and he flinches away. He lets out a long sigh and nods, giving me a thumbs up. I’m shocked. Admitting defeat? To me?
Bryce lets out a chuckle through the gag and hold his hand up. “Yugh wighn,” he says, gargling. I slap his hand, giving him a high-five. He changes the channel to Friday the 13th, then rushes off to the kitchen. More clinking and shuffling… he returns with two glasses of soda, ice cold, and a bowl of popcorn.
“You want me to take that out, now?” I ask, patting my pocket. Surprisingly, Bryce refuses my offer. “Okay, well, I wasn’t going to, anyway. I’ll do it when you go to bed like I told you.” I take a big gulp of soda; there’s so much ice, I can only taste the fizz. We continue sitting on the couch, watching as Jason rises from the grave and kills two people… cut to the title, “Jason Lives.” We continue the movie, and we laugh watching Jason holding someone’s arm, looking surprised. Suddenly, my eyelids begin to get heavy; I close them for just a little, or so I think. When I open them, Jason is now back at camp Crystal Lake. Then… then…
I jerk myself awake. My knees hit the bottom of the coffee table. Did I fall of the couch, I wonder? There’s still some grogginess in my eyes, and I raise a hand to rub them with my fingers. One hand… two? No, one. I press a fist of black faux leather against my eye and reel back. My boxing mitts? I move to take them off, but my wrists snag. They’ve been cuffed together! Mom’s cuffs that I left on the counter are secured tightly… and over the cuffs of my mitts, too. The bar sewn into the gloves keeps me from flexing my fingers.
“Comfortable, Ben?”
I look up. Bryce is sitting on the couch, cross-legged, with his bucket of candy in his lap. He unwraps a piece of chocolate and eats it in front of me, then throws the wrapper next to a small pile on the coffee table.
“Ah shiad gnaw kahndy!” I gag on my words when something hard and plastic slings back in my mouth, flattening my tongue. My jaw aches, but I can’t close it. My tongue curls around the ball in my mouth, and I begin gagging. “Whma nah—ak! Lmme gmho—ahk!”
“You want the keys? They’re right there,” he says, pointing to the keys on the table. Immediately, I try grabbing them, but my mitted hands can’t even pick one of them up, let alone maneuver them to the locks. Ben picks up his cup and says, “You should’ve been more careful,” before taking a gulp of soda. He put something in my drink! “That was a good try, though. I didn’t see it coming.” I try standing, but a belt wrapped around my calves keeps me seated. Ben continued, “I think I did a better job. What do you think?” Bryce grabbed another piece of candy.
I struggle, pawing at the ball in mouth with my gloved hands and bumping my knees against the table, but it just makes Bryce giggle with delight. He takes out his phone from his hoodie, and I’m blinded by a flash. “Just a little blackmail in case you get any bright ideas about telling on me. And I deleted that photo of me from your phone; by the way, pick a lock-key that isn’t your birthday. You make it so easy!”
I can feel my cheeks running hot. I can’t believe he got me again! That little snot! What are mom and dad going to think? How could I let this happen?
“Trick-or-treat, Bonehead!” Bryce says, waving more of his Halloween candy in my face, laughing. “Maybe next time!”
It's shame that this masterpiece isn't continued, I would love to see a revenge of the older brother again.