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Ronnie Kray's 'all-night' Mayfair parties were just that: they lasted from the moment darkness fell and the curtains drawn - earlier in winter, of course, to account for daylight saving time (either that, or the punters needed longer to warm up, he would joke) - to the point at which dawn broke, and they would all drift off to sleep at the sound of birdsong.

And this particular night was different to no other. Except for the fact that Reggie had stayed much later than usual. Having had a blazing row with Frances in the flat downstairs, he was deliberately prolonging his return. He played the doting host in a bid to contrast Ron's wrongdoings, as he often had done in their early days at the billiard hall. Things were far busier now, though, and those people; those peers, vicars, and all manner of 'pillars' of society, just wouldn't stop coming and going. In and out, in and out... and that was just the door, if you know what I mean.

Until there were only three people left in the room: the two twins themselves, Ronnie and Reggie Kray, and the latest in a long line of Ronnie's boys; a teenage Swede with abnormally fair hair and eyes of a deep cobalt blue. It was three o'clock in the morning and Reggie was ready to go to bed... Ronnie wasn't.

"Your old dad's feeling very knackered, son... Why don't you do samfin to relax 'im?" Ronnie dropped his head towards the unnamed boy, sideways, and with as much of a vulnerable look as violent criminal and lord of the underworld, Ronald Kray, could ever look at anybody.

Ron's boys were always, without doubt, handsome; pretty and slight - but, behind those long lashes he admired so much, there was often little brain. The last thing this young man wanted to do was upset his master, but he genuinely was at a loss at what he meant. Thankfully, Mr. Kray was not one for subtlety. He began to unzip his bulging fly and soon the boy caught on, willingly assisting. Together, they eased out his flaccid member and the job at hand was made light work of by the little blond lad. He had set to sucking before Ronnie had even fired the starting pistol. And all this talk of 'shooting guns' would have done no favours for Reggie, who was entranced by the spectacle before him - but for all the wrong reasons.

With a few languid strokes, coupled with the oral technique of someone who clearly had this skill down pat, a soft cock was easily brought to hard within the soaking wet cavern of the boy's mouth. Ronnie arched back into the easy-chair, hissing his approval at the rapid speed to which this was progressing.

Whilst Ronnie concentrated on encouraging his young friend, Reggie's attention firmly lied with his brother's surprisingly arousing reactions. Ron didn't make much noise during sex; for one, he felt that the loss of control, if only for a split-second, may have given his enemies the chance they needed to attack, and so he never took his eye off the ball; and for two, he found that pointless, unhinged emotion was something he associated mainly with women, and pansies. And he wasn't a fan of either.

But those tiny huffs of breath and muffled moans gave him away, and Reg treasured every last one - because it wasn't every day he was lucky enough to witness it without the worry of being beaten senseless for sodomy. Reggie never had been as comfortable with his sexuality as Ron, and he was actually trying to kick the habit of enjoying men in favour of a life with his wife.

Peering further downwards, he was most, of all things, tickled by the fact that Ron's prick was almost identical to his own - oddly more alike than they were in face and body. Never had the term 'family jewels' been more apt. Reggie was captivated by how the small pink tongue wound its way around the head, himself gasping ever so slightly for every twist of the muscle, as if he was watching a horror film at the Empire at Bow Road and didn't know what was coming next.

"Uh," he croaked, adjusting his tie, managing to undo his top button with one hand. It had gotten awfully warm in here.

"What?" came the response. "You're no blushing bride, Reg... Leave that kinda thing to your frigid bird."

Unlike Ronnie, Reggie was considered to be quite quiet and had a sort of discreet charm about him - 'discreet' being the operative word when it came to his dislike of such overt displays of showmanship as this. He kept himself to himself more. Ron would smack somebody upside the head for so much as a sneer, and everyone in the Firm said that Reg was easier-going and the one to talk to when something needed smoothing over. He reckoned himself as the twin born with somewhat of a moral compass. It was only a shame tonight that his compass had to go awry, Ronnie seeing from the knap of his trousers that the encased needle was pointing well and truly north.

"Oh... I see," he grinned, wildly, maniacally. Reggie saw that feral streak in Ronnie, now so familiar since his spell at Wandsworth, and turned away, not wanting to know but having no choice but to hear. "You've done your old dad proud, son," Ron lectured the boy, stroking his ragged, straw-coloured hair in appreciation of all his efforts. "Ere... Innit time Uncle Reg had a go?" Well... sharing was caring.

"No, Ron... I'm not bovvered for it," Reg politely declined, deliberately averting his gaze from Ron's and hoping he would take the hint.

"Fackin' rubbish; you wouldn't have said that ten years ago. Just what are you trying to prove, Reggie Kray? And who are you trying to prove it to? I might be daft in the 'ead, but I'm your bravva and I know what you like... cus we is just the same."

Reggie began to lift a splayed hand of protest - but it was caught, mid-air, between Ronnie's chubby fingers.

"Now you know I won't have any of that," the taller man chastised him. "Consider it a gift."

It was official: nobody refused a gift from the Krays. So, in shaking his head once more, Reggie was being very brave indeed. He had detailed knowledge regarding Ronnie's mental stability - or lack of - and had witnessed several frightening experiences, reams of doctors' notes and, currently, a knife wound across his chin as testament to the medical assessment. Ron was used to getting his own way and if he wanted you to have something, you'd simply have it. No buts. Nobody refused a gift from the Krays. And nobody was exempt.

"You refuse my boy and you refuse me!" Ron growled, pulling aggressively at Reg's slick hair; the brylcreemed greasiness glided through his grip and, despite his best efforts, he struggled to keep hold. But he'd made his point clear. Initially, the pair of them must have been two foot apart, at least - whereas now they had been rendered to a six inch gap, and Reggie didn't have the strength to object. Under the cosh of several double-gins, he allowed his head to flop back against the antimacassar in defeat.

Besides which, Reg would never have refused Ron.

Even when given the choice between Ron and his beloved Frankie, and knowing that Ronnie would ultimately destroy everything he and older brother, Charlie, had strived so hard for, he still chose Ronnie in the end. Anyone in the firm would tell you - who could argue with him? He was trapped. Whilst his twin was away in prison, Reggie had achieved fame and notoriety, as well as the thing he had craved so dearly since his youth: the 'good life'. He had been making money hand over fist at the 'Double R' club - he was no longer a criminal; he was a bonafide businessman. There was only one person that could spend the money faster than he was making it... and that was Ron.

Then Ronnie was released. Reggie was incarcerated. The roles were reversed. By the time Reg had returned to the East End, fresh-faced and in love with Frances from her letters, the cash had been squandered and the situation fundamentally changed. Ronnie wouldn't even let Reggie keep his precious bird - albeit caged, her wings clipped. Not even marriage altered that.

And so what of dear Frances these days? She had moved back home with her family, the Sheas. Reggie saw her from time to time, took her out - and when he did, they were the most glamorous pair in all of Bethnal Green. They might have looked a perfect picture with her all dolled-up, but the names... they didn't gel together - 'Reggie and Frances' didn't have the same ring to it as 'Ronnie and Reggie'. Reggie knew, in his heart of hearts, that he belonged with Ron.

Ronnie loathed Reg's anyway; the kind of terrible, heated jealousy which had the potential to further addle his troubled mind. People say they hadn't seen the pair of them physically fight so strongly over anything since they day they vowed to their mother that they'd never box one another again. He had to give her up. For his own sake, yes, but mostly for whatever sanity his twin had left.

You see, Reggie just couldn't say 'no' to Ron. He couldn't say 'no' as the boy bent down between his legs, carefully untucking a shirt which may once have been crisp white, but was grubby from its nicotine-laden environment. He couldn't say 'no' as he received a blowjob from the same pair of lips which had been around his brother's cock not five minutes ago. And he couldn't say 'no' as he felt a wet tongue snake into his ear, hot breath circulating around his neck with the humidity to make Ronnie's glasses fog.

"Now then... dasn't that feel good?" Ron gasped, between licks. "I don't have to ask... I already know. Whatever makes my bravva feel good, makes me feel good."

"Ngh," Reg returned a grunt. "You're a facking caant of sambody's, Ron Kray," he grimaced, desperately trying not to smile as twin teeth reached around him to nibble the fleshy part of his earlobe. He wouldn't allow himself to like this. Not only was he trying to give the boys up once and for all, he would deny himself the right to enjoy having his own brethren make love to him too.

But he was failing. A pair of lips - much like his own - too much like his own - found their way onto his. And it was as if he was gazing into a mirror. Or looking through the glass of a goldfish bowl, expecting to be fed and nurtured by loving hand - and instead becoming scared at seeing his own reflection, startled by how it was so like him in every manner. Reginald could not halt the stream of expletives which were to spill out against Ronald's lips, nor could he decipher his own ramblings - but had he could, he would have found them to be painfully submissive to Ron.

"Oh, awright," he murmured, between onslaught from a tongue which had been in and out of Reg's mouth more times than he could capably count. "Shit... Don't stop."

He didn't stop. But somebody had. The Scandanavian lad, currently lolled back onto his legs, was staring upwards at the canoodling pair in both wonder and wide-eyed arousal. Could there have been a more erotic sight than two identical twins passionately kissing? Under any other circumstances, a homosexual man would have been helpless not to admire the beautiful scene unfurling before him, if only at first out of curiosity. However, as soon as Reg realised that his dick - still gently held - was no longer being sucked, he glanced downwards. Ronnie, on the other hand, snapped.

"What are you lookin' at, you little toerag? I've half a mind to fackin' belt you for lookin' at me like that!" Ron sharply retracted his hand, as if to really hit him. But then his eyes twitched with the ferociousness of the madman he was, and immediately began to soften as he came down from his angered high - the often described 'shark-like' features now ranking in at mere barracuda. He breathed, deeply.

The boy was too petrified to have moved, regardless of his impending assault. Much to his fortune, Ronnie remained stationary - all but for reaching into the left-hand inside pocket of his double-breasted suit.

"Ere... 'Ave a tenner, son. Go an' treat yourself to samfin nice," he told him, sweetly, but was met with understandable confusion. "Go on... Fackin' scarper!"

This time, he didn't need a second invitation. He bombed from the room quicker than any human legs could carry him.

Noticing this unusual bout of generosity from his brother, Reggie chimed, "Gawd, you're feelin' flush tonight, Ron." Because, although Ronnie certainly wasn't rough with his boys (this sudden spurt of vitriol was out of character for him, despite the violence he would advocate in day-to-day life), he usually preferred to spoil them rotten, rather than have them go out and spend their wage alone. Even when he'd see them good to take their girls out, the night before he wanted them for himself, he'd still only spare a fiver. Giving this one twice as much was an implication of the sheer urgency behind his need.

"Samtimes it's worf it," was one of Ron's mantras; he may have occasionally berated Reg for lending money to who he deemed 'unworthy' fellow gangsters, but Ronnie could always justify his spendthrift weaknesses on weekends away in Jersey, a new suit, or a nice bit of 'subtle gold' as he would call it - on the basis that some things were essential luxuries. "Let's just say I bought 'im off."

And with that, Ronnie replaced the boy - position for position - before his twin could ask what he meant. Like with areas of London at that time, as Jack Spot had helped them weasel their way into the West End, Ron had muscled onto the boy's patch. If he couldn't have used his fists to gain it, then he had to retrieve his wallet from his coat and pay for it like everyone else. Whichever - whatever - he wanted that space on the floor between Reggie's legs, and he was so desperate he would have either killed bare-handed or spent a million quid in trying to get it. Ron was obsessive like that.

"Gawjeus," he smirked. "Like blowin' meself."

"Dowr ain't locked," Reg whimpered, realising the blond had left it ajar in his haste.

"Who gives a flyin' fack about the dowr?" Ronald spat, literally, and Reg leapt back. "Who's gonna do anyfin about it? Who's gonna say a fackin' dicky-bird to us? We're the Krays and we do what we want!"

"Our old mum would kill us though," Reggie swallowed the very thought, not daring to air his mother's name at a time like this. Taking the Lord's name in vain had nothing on what Ronnie would do to him if he even considered mentioning Vi. He'd have said that she was never to be a part of their darkest affairs - no more in this than when they were fighting gangs in their teens.

Through fear, he supposed - fear of being caught, fear of the boy tittle-tattling, fear of just Ron himself and what he was capable of - Reggie's prick had began to soften. But his brother was right; everyone in old London town was scared of the twins. Nobody would have spread this rumour around for running the risk of a bullet in the head - and Ronnie would have gone and done it 'an all... for him; for them. The thought of Ronnie's unwaning defiance towards society, especially when it came to protecting Reggie, became a strange turn-on. Those fingers had been around bloodied triggers in his honour, and now they were around his thick, wanton shaft. Soon he was rock hard again.

Ron took the cock fully in-hand and, after giving it a few pumps, slid it into his widening mouth. Ronnie always had to go to the limit of everything, and so found deepthroating the organ a cinch. At one point, he even successfully managed to fit both of Reg's bollocks in his gob at once... until the entirety of his groin was coated in a film of glistening wetness. "Greedy slag," he silently whispered, interspersed with mental curses, as he fell further into the throes of ecstasy.

"R--Ro--Ron!" he stuttered, gripping into the arm-rest covers.

Ronnie believed in simple solutions to simple problems. When someone was pissing him or his own off, he would dispose of them just as quickly as they would have flicked the V's. And yet again, the younger brother had come up trumps in solving Reggie's personal crisis; Reg was no longer interested in chasing after boys - that goal had certifiably been reached. Nor would the girls set his heart aflame. In his fantasies, there would just be him and Ron... Ron and him... the two of them and no interruptions.

Upon realising this, he came - without warning - mostly against Ronnie's stubbled, and now dripping, chin. But he stood by his original decision as to why, unlike Lord Boothby and Tom Driberg, he didn't want to share Ronnie's boys - and knew that he wouldn't want to the next time around. Because they just wouldn't be good enough compared to this.