
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/696794.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Tsubasa:_Reservoir_Chronicle
  Relationship:
      Fuuma/Seishirou_(Tsubasa)
  Character:
      Fuuma_(Tsubasa), Seishirou_(Tsubasa)
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Incest, Sexual_Content, Dubious_Consent, CLAMPkink
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-02-23 Words: 2493
****** Midnight Sun ******
by stardropdream
Summary
     He wanted to see what kinds of reactions his brother would make, what
     kinds of cute noises.
Notes
     Originally posted to the CLAMP kink meme and then reposted to LJ
     September 15, 2010.
     The original prompt was for Sei/Fuuma as kids. Alternately, this fic
     could be entitled: "Seishirou is the World's Worst Brother."
At night, when the nightmares come, Fuuma sometimes crawls into his brother’s
bed. His brother never responds, but also never pushes him out, and that is
enough for Fuuma to believe that Seishirou at the very least doesn’t care if
he’s there. So, he spends many nights in his brother’s bed, sometimes pressing
against Seishirou’s side for some kind of warmth. Ever since the death of their
mother, Fuuma had been oddly quiet, complacent—but needy, as Seishirou sees it.
He is young and does not understand what it means to press up against another
body, to drape his arms over his chest, resting his ear against where
Seishirou’s heartbeat thumps loud and clear. The child does not understand what
it means to wrap legs together, to press up against another body, warm breath
passing over his neck as he sleeps. It doesn’t bother Seishirou, and he doesn’t
care either way, and he knows that Fuuma does not know the point of his
actions.

But one night, he is ready for Fuuma when Fuuma slips under the covers,
quietly, hesitantly, as if this would be the night that Seishirou would push
Fuuma away and leave the child to cry alone in his room. He has grown, in that
phase of awkward almost-teenaged stringiness, his limbs elongating but his
tendons still tight from childhood, the boneless flexibility of child’s limbs
stiffening up with his growth. He presses up against Seishirou, smiling a bit
apologetically at Seishirou as he rests his cheek against Seishirou’s chest.
Seishirou smiles in return, and lifts a hand to pet the back of Fuuma’s head,
fingers pressing through his hair. Fuuma lets out a small mewl of pleasure at
the touch, so unfamiliar and so desired, and sinks against his brother,
slinging one leg over Seishirou’s, tangling them together.

“Nii-san,” Fuuma breathes, breath wafting over Seishirou’s neck. Seishirou
continues to smile, saying nothing as he strokes the back of Fuuma’s head,
drifting down to scrape the blunt of his nails against Fuuma’s back. Fuuma
shivers against him, snuggling closer, face rippling with happiness at the
attentions. It was amusing, really, to know that his touch could influence his
little brother so much, to make him that happy when it did nothing for
Seishirou, other than perhaps a quiet curiosity to see what other kinds of
faces his brother would make, should he touch him more.

It was like an interesting toy. He stroked the hair from Fuuma’s forehead and
Fuuma closed his eyes, still smiling. Seishirou brushed his fingers over his
cheeks, over the shell of his ear, traced along his jaw. Pressed against his
chest as he was, Seishirou felt the spike in Fuuma’s heart rate, noticed the
way his brother squirmed closer.

“Nii-san,” Fuuma says again, drawing back slightly when Seishirou presses his
fingers over Fuuma’s parted lips. He blinks at his older brother, face slightly
flushed.

Seishirou smiles. “Hm?”

He wraps his arm around Fuuma’s waist, tugging the child up onto him, so that
they are pressed flushed together. Fuuma’s heart is still beating, and his face
is still red. He parts his lips and Seishirou pushes his thumb into his mouth,
thumbing along the flats of his teeth and prying his mouth open slightly, just
to see if he can. Fuuma does not resist him, and his eyes flicker slightly,
staring at his brother before they sink to half-mast.

“What…?” his brother begins but Seishirou doesn’t let him speak because he
tilts his hips up so they are pressed up against Fuuma’s and Fuuma’s mouth
parts again in a silent, open-mouthed expression of shock.

“Interesting,” Seishirou says, watching Fuuma swallow around the thumb in his
mouth. He presses his fingers into Fuuma’s mouth, pressing against his tongue
and stroking. Fuuma’s small hands come up to grasp Seishirou’s wrists, as if to
go and pull them out, but he does not. He just touches his brother, and
Seishirou touches him.

He lifts his other hand, pushing the hair away from Fuuma’s face. Fuuma watches
him, unsure, but not wanting to push his brother away, not wanting to lose the
soft caress of his touch, the burning sense of being wanted, no matter how much
it is built on a fallacy.

“Nii-san,” he mouths against Seishirou’s fingers and thumb, tongue brushing
over the digits, eyes wide and unsure.

Seishirou continues to smile, fingers stroking his jaw and down his neck. “Do
you like this, little brother?”

Fuuma doesn’t answer, but Seishirou takes the fingers from his mouth, strokes
the wet digits over Fuuma’s parted lips before drifting over the dip of his
chin, the underside of his chin, and down the lines of his throat, the
beginnings of an adam’s apple. He smiles, amused by his brother’s reactions.

“I…” Fuuma begins, swallowing again, thickly, around the lump in his throat
pressing stubbornly against the words he wishes to say. He stares at his
brother, face flushed, before he gives a small little nod.

“Do you want me to keep going?” Seishirou asks, amused further.

Fuuma looks uncomfortable, unsure, but thrilled. He nods. He does not want his
brother to go away, does not want his brother to push him away. He wants to
stay, where it is warm, where he is wanted, if only for amusement.

Seishirou keeps smiling even as he slants his mouth against Fuuma’s and tastes
him, biting at Fuuma’s bottom lip and delighting in the small gasp of amazement
his little brother lets forth, mouth parting. He bites, harshly, feels Fuuma
squirm, pleasure or pain he cannot know nor does he care to know—he bites and
licks and sucks Fuuma’s mouth into his own, sweeps his tongue over the rows of
teeth and pressing against a docile tongue. Fuuma cries out against his mouth
and when Seishirou pulls away, he admires his work—his brother, eyes wide,
slightly fearful, face flushed with pleasure, lips parted and swollen and red
from kisses. The best of all, Seishirou observes, as he pulls away to admire
his new toy, is that Fuuma is hard against him, or at least well on his way to
being so.

He cups his brother experimentally through the clothes of his pajamas, and
smiles when Fuuma gasps, rubbing a bit wantonly against Seishirou’s stationary
hand. Seishirou cups him, strokes his palm against the fabric covering his
brother’s cock.

“Wait,” Fuuma says, looking unsure, as Seishirou unbuttons Fuuma’s shirt,
fingers scraping across the quivering, pale skin. He curls his fingers around
the waistband of Fuuma’s pants and pulls them down, leaving his little brother
naked.

“Wait?” Seishirou repeats. “But don’t you want me to keep going?”

He smiles at his brother and his brother fidgets, staring down at his naked
form, straddling Seishirou’s lap. He bites his lip, still swollen and abused.
Seishirou leans in to remind his brother what it is he wants, kissing him.
Fuuma keeps his mouth open and like before does not resist Seishirou’s
invasion, letting his older brother do as he wishes, for his entertainment. His
hands shiver, press against Seishirou’s chest but do not push—just rest.
Seishirou knows he has won, knows that he had won from the beginning. It was
amusing, really, to see how desperately his brother longed for touch.

“Nii-san…” Fuuma whimpers when Seishirou pulls his mouth away, and does not
mouth along his jaw or neck, though he thinks of doing so. Instead, he passes
his fingers over his body, watching Fuuma arch and shiver, unsure what to do
with this new body of his, awakening touches and feelings Seishirou knows Fuuma
never realized existed.

He drags his fingers over the length of Fuuma’s cock, listens as Fuuma sucks in
a rattling breath and releases the tiniest of cries, arching against his
brother’s touch, thrusting without rhythm. Seishirou keeps smiling, amused, as
he strokes his brother, watches him writhe and cry out for him, eyes hooded,
lips parted, chest heaving with his pants. He watches as his brother’s brow
lines with sweat, and his smile widens slightly, and he even laughs a little,
thumb circling the head of Fuuma’s cock until the boy is gripping his
shoulders, curling into himself and crying out for his brother in something
that is almost a sob.

He pauses, however, when Fuuma’s hands leave his shoulder and instead press
into his own lap, small palms pressing against the bulge in his pants he hadn’t
realized was there. Well, that was a reaction, at least. His brother bites his
lip, curling slightly and writhing as Seishirou continues the ministration, but
his brother cannot last long, he is too young, too inexperienced. And he cries
out, arching, head tilting back as he cries out, low, and cum slides over
Seishirou’s knuckles and onto Fuuma’s chest.

Seishirou watches his brother arch and then slump forward, as if boneless. He
watches with quiet amusement the way the cum on his chest and stomach slides
down slightly. He lifts his hand away from Fuuma and regards his dirtied hand
with a calm, indifferent expression. The little hands on his own cock are still
pressed against him but are not moving. He’ll have to do something about that,
if he wants to sleep comfortably. It’s one thing to watch the amusing reactions
of his brother and listen to the silly sounds he makes, and Seishirou is
curious to see how much Fuuma would react if he was to press into his little
brother and fuck him.

So, with that amusing image in mind, he presses his knuckles against Fuuma’s
lips and Fuuma looks at him. Seishirou doesn’t have to say anything, but simply
smiles at Fuuma, and Fuuma cradles his brothers hand and licks his own cum from
Seishirou’s knuckles, tongue darting out as if hesitant.

“Good boy,” Seishirou says, with no real affection, but his brother swells with
pride with the praise.

When his hand is relatively clean, Seishirou strokes it through Fuuma’s hair.

“Do you want me to do the same to you, nii-san?” Fuuma asks, in a quiet voice,
body shaking—on edge, wanting to please his brother but also afraid.

Seishirou chuckles, without any real mirth, and tilts his brother’s chin back
so he can kiss Fuuma again, tongue in his mouth and pulling back only to bite
down hard on Fuuma’s lips, hard enough that the lip almost spills and he almost
tastes blood. Instead, he just leaves his bruising kisses and only pulls back
when Fuuma whimpers.

“I have a better idea,” Seishirou says with a benign smile, hand stroking over
his brother’s chest, collecting the sperm left from before. He drags his nails
over Fuuma’s chest for good effort as well, and the angry red marks that he
leaves behind cause Fuuma to cry out in pain, tilting his head back.

Seishirou smiles, hand coated in cum again before shifting, lifting Fuuma up
onto his knees over Seishirou’s lap. Fuuma lifts his hands, touching his
brother’s shoulders again, staring at him in confusion. Seishirou offers no
explanation, simply lets his hand drift between his brother’s legs and press
one finger into him. Fuuma tenses up instantly, eyes wide, mouth opening.

“A-ah, ow—ow, nii-san,” Fuuma whines, squirming. “What are—?”

“Stop moving,” Seishirou says, cheerfully enough, and Fuuma freezes, eyes wide
and stricken. Seishirou’s smile hardens slightly as he presses his finger
further into Fuuma, stretching him only slightly before pressing in the second
finger, using the cum to coat the way. He shifts Fuuma, positioning him over
him, before pulling down his own pants, freeing his cock. He presses Fuuma down
onto him, pulling his fingers away. Fuuma is not properly stretched, but he
strokes the rest of the cum over his cock, and it’ll be enough for him, at
least. He’s interested in seeing how Fuuma’s body will react to the intrusion,
what kind of noises he’ll make when he is filled. Fuuma bites his lip,
suppressing a small whimper, as Seishirou’s cock head presses inside Fuuma.

“N-nii—nii-sn,” Fuuma gasps, as Seishirou uses his hands to grasp Fuuma’s hips
and force the boy further onto his cock, not stopping until he is fully seated
inside Fuuma and Fuuma’s eyes are wide with unshed tears from the pain.
Seishirou is patient, stroking his brother’s hair in a fallacy of affection,
smiling at him.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Seishirou asks, but is not really
interested in the answer. He rocks his hips upward and his smile returns when
Fuuma gasps, eyes widening from the friction, unused to the touch and, at this
point, not sure if he likes his brother touching him anymore. Seishirou
thrusts, harder this time, just to see how Fuuma will react.

Fuuma cries out, a small, guttural cry, but the way his hips snap back to meet
Seishirou suggests a bit more wantonness to his actions.

“Hm,” Seishirou says. Amusing.

He rolls his hips and uses his grip on Fuuma’s hips to shove the boy up and
down on his cock, rocking up into Fuuma, slamming home. Fuuma writhes, tilts
his head back and cries out, biting his lip. A few tears slip down his cheeks
but Seishirou only watches them, makes no move to wipe them away. Fuuma’s grip
on Seishirou’s shoulders is tight, nails digging little half-moon marks into
his skin.

He moves Fuuma up and down effortlessly, shoving and using more force than is
necessary, but his brother is tight—but really, it’s the sounds he’s making.
Fuuma cries out, whimpers, and moans. His body rocks in time with Seishirou’s
thrusts. Seishirou watches Fuuma’s face as he shoves into him, watches his
reactions and wondering if he can do anything else, because he can see
something like this getting boring too fast, and Seishirou hates very much to
be bored.

But eventually he reaches his climax, filling his little brother. He does not
moan, does not even close his eyes. He quirks his brow, rather, and watches his
brother tense up, eyes flying wide open and staring at his brother with open-
mouthed shock. Seishirou smiles.

He slips out of his brother, and pulls his pants back up. Fuuma bites his lip,
staring at his brother still. Seishirou pushes Fuuma away, lets the boy fall
down to his stomach. Fuuma presses his face into a pillow and does not move,
does not reach for his clothing or even to fall back under the covers again. He
just lies there, and Seishirou, amused, brushes his fingers along the bumps of
Fuuma’s spine.

Fuuma lifts his head, staring at his brother with an unreadable expression.
Despite the pain and despite the insecurity of what had just happened, Fuuma
still wants to be touched. Seishirou just smiles at him.

“Aren’t you cute?” Seishirou asks, rhetorically. His hand stays on Fuuma’s back
a moment before lifting and ruffling Fuuma’s hair.

Fuuma frowns, thoughtfully, thinking over his brother’s words. And then he
offers a small smile to his brother.

“T-thanks.”
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
