
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6633151.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Bro/Dave_Strider
  Character:
      Bro_Strider, Dave_Strider
  Additional Tags:
      Dirty_Talk, Domestic_Kink, Sibling_Incest
  Collections:
      Smut_Swap_2016
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-23 Words: 1556
****** Dave: clean up. ******
by Laylah
Summary
     The dishes need doing. They're not the only thing.
You're not sure how ordinary kids know when it's time to do chores. At your
house, the key is when the booby traps go missing. The washing machine will be
suddenly empty of shuriken, or the path to the vacuum cleaner will have all the
tripwires removed. Or, like today, the smuppets poised to meet a grisly end in
the garbage disposal fuck off to parts unknown. So, time to do some dishes.
You're elbow-deep in sudsy water when something touches the back of your neck.
You jump, spinning around, brandishing a fork—at nothing. Of course. Okay,
cool, training and chore time can totally overlap.
It's really hard to stay vigilant and scrub crusty spaghettios off spoons at
the same time. There's a touch to your lower back, then an instant of fingers
through your hair, and nothing to show for it but the breeze by the time you
can react.
"I know you're there," you say, and immediately dock yourself like twenty
points for dumb horror movie dialogue. "What do you want, Bro."
Like it's ever that easy. He just lurks, somewhere in the apartment, unseen,
and eventually you have to go back to scrubbing. You know he's watching. You
bend over the sink a little more than you have to, like maybe you think you're
in a porno (you never know when you're in a porno). The next time he touches
you—fingertips dragging up the back of your thigh—you try to hold in your
reaction. You can play this cool.
You're putting a plate in the dish drainer when he grabs your ass. You nearly
drop the stupid thing, pushing back instinctively into his hand, which is then
instantly not there again. You take a few deep breaths and reach for the next
one. Bro squeezes your dick and you sag against the sink, swearing as your
hard-on moves from "strong potential" to "how YOU doin."
No, it's cool, you got this. You pick up a goddamn Old Spaghetti Factory
souvenir glass and peer at the little colony outpost of fungi who've claimed
the bottom of it as their brave new world. You turn on the hot water to
mercilessly drown the entire civilization.
Bro bites the nape of your neck. The glass slips through your noodly fingers
and cracks all the way up the side when it hits the bottom of the sink.
His laughter comes from right behind you. "Better than I thought you'd do,
little man."
"Thanks," you say. Your voice comes out shaky and thin and spoils your effort
at keeping cool but whatever, not the first time and not the last. Bro's
sliding his arms around you, going for the buttons of your jeans. You suck in a
sharp breath, your stomach going hollow, and his hands go still.
"You still got some work to do, though," he says. "Don't stop on my account."
You curse in your head where he can't hear you. He's not moving, though, and
you really, really want him to. You scrape together enough brain cells and
coordination to set the cracked glass aside and fish for the next handful of
silverware, and Bro finishes unbuttoning you. He slides your jeans and your
boxers down as you scrub forks clean. His fingers trail up the underside of
your dick as you dump more stuff in the dish drainer, then back down to cup
your balls and squeeze just a tiny bit. You whine.
"Almost done," he says. "Got something nice for you when you finish up." In
your peripheral vision one of his gloves hits the floor. You shift your stance,
spreading your legs a little, because you know what that means. Something nice
is his dick. (It's always his dick.)
You hear the crinkle and tear of a lube packet and try your best not to pay
attention. You are so going to get these last couple of bowls clean and not
drop anything. Bro's fingers slide wet through the crack of your ass and you
maybe breathe a little harder but you stay on task, you do. Two more goddamn
bowls. Bro pushes.
You do groan helplessly as his fingers press into you, and for a second you
just hold still and try to get yourself back under control. You want to push
back, rock onto his hand, give up on paying attention to anything but him. But
that's not how this game works. He's made it pretty clear what the rules are.
You rinse that first bowl and his fingertips find your joybutton, stroking you
inside so your dick jumps against your stomach. Fuck, he's going to wreck you.
For a second you just hold onto the edge of the sink and pant, until he pulls
his fingers almost all the way out and stops moving.
"Fuck," you say. "Right, I got this." You get back to work and so does Bro, and
you do the last of your chores while shamelessly panting over the fact that
you're getting fingerfucked to within an inch of your life.
You're pretty sure this is not how chores go in ordinary kids' houses.
"Okay, please," you say as you stuff the last bowl into the rack. "Come on,
Bro, give it to me, you know I want it, please."
"Well, I guess you've earned a little something," he says, this obnoxious fake
thinking-about-it drawl, and this time you do squirm back onto his fingers to
try to convince him to get with the program.
"I don't want a little something," you say, because flattering a dude about his
dick size never hurts, right? "I want your dick up my ass."
"Tch," Bro says. "Whoever raised you must be ashamed of that mouth."
"Yeah, I'm sure he loses sleep over it all the time." Bro smacks your ass and
you yelp, but whatever, because he's taking his fingers out and that means it's
time to move on to the main event. You arch your back, your ass jutting out
impudently, and you are so impatient the fifteen seconds it takes for him to
lube up feel like forever.
The fat slippery head of his dick nudges up against your hole and then he
pushes, stretching you out wide around it and filling you up. Your moan sounds
about as desperate as you feel, and you grip the edge of the sink with both
hands so you can push yourself back onto him.
"Fuck, that's right," he says. "Give it to me nice and easy like that. Sweet
little hole, and it's mine whenever I want it, isn't it? Never too busy to drop
what you're doing and bend over for me."
"Jesus, Bro," you pant. Your dick throbs and you're pretty sure if you touched
it you'd just go off right now. He's right about you, you're completely fucked
up for him. Any way he wants you, any time he wants you, you'd give it up for
him.
He wraps both hands around your hips and drives into you hard, and you take it.
You get done. He tells you you're good, tells you he's proud of you, how well
you've learned, how good you are at keeping up with him. Your cheeks burn from
the sweet-talking and you're glad he's fucking you from behind so he won't see
how flustered you get. He must know. He knows basically everything. But if he's
not actually watching you lose your cool, you can pretend it's not happening,
pretend you really are as good as he says.
"You want to come," he says, that flat tone that might be a question but
probably isn't, and you answer anyway because hell, why wouldn't you.
"Yeah, I do, I really do, you make it feel so good," you say. He makes your
dialogue stupid and inane, and you can only hope he takes that as a compliment.
"You want my help?" Actually a question that time.
"Please," you say. "Please, Bro, it's better when you do it, fuck," and that
last part is when he wraps a hand around your dick. It's the one that still has
the glove on, and the roughness makes you whine, your nerves jangling and your
everything hot and sensitive. You buck into his hand, fucking yourself on him,
your hands white-knuckled on the rim of the sink. He takes you apart, his hand
and his dick and his breath hot on the back of your neck, and you come so hard
everything goes blurry and full of stars.
Bro snaps his hips up hard, thrusting into you for another agonizing minute
before he goes still with a grunt and his dick pulses in your ass. He says
nothing, but his hand on your hip relaxes, one finger at a time. Your heart
rate slows gradually, and at some point before it's really back to normal he
pulls out.
You lean back. He's still there, which is cool. You can never tell when he's
going to be in the mood for a little postcoital bro-cuddling and when he's just
going to bail immediately. You like it when he goes this way, but you know he's
weird about physical contact sometimes. He does it for you anyway. Your Bro is
basically the best that way.
Ordinary kids don't know what they're missing.
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