
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1129789.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Bro/Dave_Strider
  Character:
      Bro_(Homestuck), Dave_Strider, More_Characters_in_Later_Chapters, Mom_|
      Roxy_Lalonde
  Additional Tags:
      Stridercest_-_Freeform, Frottage, Alcohol, Oral_Sex, Blow_Jobs, Dubious
      Consent, Hand_Jobs
  Series:
      Part 2 of We_all_knew_they_were_going_to_fuck_eventually
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-11 Completed: 2015-04-13 Chapters: 8/8 Words: 20483
****** Your Surrender ******
by bench
Summary
     Bro is tempted. Dave is fine with this.
Notes
     This is a sequel to In_the_Next_Room although you don't need to have
     read it to read this.
     Many thanks to chair without whom this fic would not exist.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
You are reasonably sure you fucked up on such an astronomical level that
ballads will be written about how much of a dumb piece of shit you are. Epic
poems even. If you weren't working you would be slamming your forehead on the
nearest solid surface. Instead you flip over to your newest remix and try not
to take it too much to heart.
We're gonna rock this house until we knock it down
So turn the volume loud, cause it's mayhem 'til the A.M.
You are sure that Dave heard you jerking off. Normally you wouldn't care. You
are two dudes living in a one bedroom house; shit happens. However, you are the
adult here and you should have had enough self-control to not shout his name
when you came. It's been the better part of a week and you can tell, even
through two layers of shades that he is having trouble meeting your eye. He
heard you, there is no doubt about it. The real question is what the fuck you
are going to do about it now.
So baby make just like K-Fed and let yourself go, let yourself go
Say fuck it before we kick the bucket
The apartment is unnaturally subdued. You haven't had a strife in two weeks.
You have pushed your work schedule past normal, over busy, and right into
compulsive territory. You have never been so on top of orders in your life. You
can't stand to be alone with your thoughts and it's making you more than a
little psychotic. For fuck's sake you are practically his father, you have
raised him for most of his life, you are one fucked up man and you can't deal
with being in your own head.
The fact that you have no intention of ever taking your fantasies into reality
isn't much comfort when you spend every second of your increasingly limited
free time imagining circumstances where you would. You won't, but if things
were different, if he were older, if he weren't your brother, you would. You
wouldn't hesitate. He is the only person on earth who gets you and can come
anywhere near keeping up with you. You want him, and even if you won't act on
Dave's person, it won't stop your rather overactive imagination.
No matter how much you try to will it away the problem isn't going away on its
own. What you need is a distraction. Not another job or another hobby, but a
distraction. When you packed up for the club a few hours ago you shoved a few
condoms and a few packets of lube in your bag, with every intention of getting
some use out of them. And once the urge to fuck someone against a wall is out
of your system you are going to have a serious discussion with Dave. Straighten
this out.
If he wants to leave and live with one of his friends you would understand.
The idea of losing him makes you sick, but not a sick as taking advantage of
being the only person in the world that he can rely on.
You eye your drink with well-disguised misery then toss the whole thing back.
You aren't technically supposed to be drinking on the job. This has never
stopped you and it's not like a low buzz has ever been enough to make your
performance any less than the best that money can buy. Your boss doesn't even
bother shooting you glares over it any more.
But you usually stick to beer and only a few at that. When you signal the
bartender to send you another whiskey sour you know that you are fucking up yet
again.
You have long since bypassed "low buzz" and are working your way into
"marginally impaired" territory. If you continue at this rate it won't be too
long before the alcohol train takes you through drunkville to deposit you
soundly in hammeredtopia. Hopefully you can get off before you get to regret
town.
Exceptionally stupid analogies are never a good sign for your mental state. You
may have bypassed marginally impaired some time ago. Maybe your serious Dave
discussion will have to wait until tomorrow. What you definitely can't wait for
is a good fuck. With someone who is within ten years of your age. Because you
can't have sex with Dave. Ever. No matter how much you want to.
You groan and try to push all thoughts of Dave out of your head. You're on the
job, this really isn't the time to be thinking about your huge boner for your
kid. You might be drunk but you can still mix the sickest of possible beats.
You lean over the tables and gently nudge the bass down until you're left with
a trance-y treble tune and a fast snare/high hat beat that you gradually slow.
You can feel the tension in the air as the sweaty, writhing crowd below you
slows and stares up at the booth in anticipation. You keep bringing it down
until the dancing has almost completely stopped, the audience tense with
anticipation. You hold it just a second longer until the tension peaks.
Everybody in the club
You burst into action, cranking the bass and the beat up as the crowd explodes
into noise and motion.
You let yourself bask in the heady rush that always comes when your audience
reacts to your sick beats like puppets on strings. God DAMN but you are good.
Maybe the hours are kind of shitty and it's hot as fuck up in the DJ booth, but
you love your job.
Your time is winding down and you came here with a goal in mind. You might be
more than a little on the drunk side, but that doesn't really change anything.
From where you stand in the DJ booth you can see almost the entire club. It
won't be too hard to find a likely candidate. Who the hell doesn't want to fuck
the DJ?
When you climb the stairs down to the main floor there is a small cluster of
men and women around the entrance. To the inexperienced eye they would look
like just a few more clubbers, but the way they are not so subtly eyefucking
you gives them away. You fight down a grin at the predictability of it all as
you push through them to the bathroom. You'll pick someone out when you come
back. This is hardly the first time you have picked someone up after a gig
(although it has been much, much longer than you really want to think about),
so you just follow the routine.
You give the group a thorough but actually subtle look over. A young-looking
blond catches your eye. His pants don't leave a lot to the imagination and his
ass, or what you can see of it, is choice. The fact that he bears a more than
passing resemblance to Dave is not something that you are going to linger over.
You came here to get it out of your system, it doesn't have to mean anything.
After visiting the bathroom and drinking a few glasses of water in a (probably
useless) attempt to mitigate the hangover you know will be hammering on your
brain tomorrow morning, you make your move. The key is to be even more unsubtle
than the small group of hopefuls. You pause mid step on the way to the stairs
and look him over, long and slow. Then you stare unashamedly at his ass and
lick your lips. Meet his eyes, smirk, small nod. You can practically see his
blood rushing south. Without a word you head back up to the booth and switch
from your playlist back to mixing real time. You don't bother glancing his way
again.
It's child's play, really.
You are the master seducer, it is you.
------------------------------------
The club closes at two but it takes you a good half hour to get your shit
packed up.
Despite the wait the blond is waiting for you outside the back entrance,
leaning casually against the wall and grinning at his phone. He's smarter than
you had expected. Usually when you go after a fling you have to go collect them
around the front. When you shove the door open he turns to face you his smile
morphing into something that he no doubt thinks is a sexy smirk. It's trite.
You might be a little jaded.
You are too far gone to even consider driving home but your stuff will be safer
stashed in the back of your van than it would be left inside the club all
night. You are weighted down with equipment and the tangled cords threaten to
trip you at every step.
He starts to hold out his hand, but thinks better of it. "My name's Chris."
"Dirk. Carry this."
You drop one of your lighter, less valuable bags on the ground and turn to walk
towards your van without turning to see if he picked it up. Of course he did.
What the fuck else is he going to do. You shove all of your stuff into the van
and reclaim your bag without exchanging further conversation.
When you are done loading your stuff and slam the trunk shut you turn to find
him leaning against your van in the same way he was leaning against the wall of
the club earlier all forced-casual and overconfident. It's clichéd. The same
thing you've seen a hundred times before. The only place you can get some
originality is- nope, not thinking about that. Instead you step far into his
personal space, hands pressed to the cool glass of the window on either side of
his head.
"So, Chris." Your voice is a low purr that actually makes him shiver. You
contain a smirk. "What can I do for you tonight?"
He hooks his fingers into your belt loops with an ease that implied it was a
move he had been planning for some time. He uses his grip to pull you forward
until your body is flush against his and you are more or less breathing into
his hair. He is taller than Dave by a good half foot and he smells like shitty
cologne and cigarettes instead of- not happening, don't think about it…
"How about you fuck me here against your van."
You are finally getting somewhere approximating turned on. You can get behind
pretty much any kink a man can throw your way, but voyeurism is fairly high on
your list. You're can do this. You're making it happen.
"I think that can be arranged."
You press forward further, trapping his hands between your bodies and wedging
one of your legs between his. He immediately grinds down on it with an
exaggerated moan. You are distantly relieved that he can't see you roll your
eyes with your shades on. You're actually bored. Bored and more than a little
annoyed with yourself. How the fuck are you supposed to stop thinking about…
the thing you aren't thinking about if everything else is so damn
disappointing?
To distract yourself you go for his ear since it's just right there, finding
metal when you close your lips over the lobe. You tug at the stud gently with
his teeth. His moan this time is much more sincere. Maybe if you can really get
him going it will get you going. Yeah, that makes sense. He is still grinding
on your thigh and you can feel him getting harder. You honesty have a ways to
go. You blame the alcohol instead of your too-tall, wrong-smelling partner.
You work your way from down his neck until sucking and biting lightly until he
is approaching a shivery wreck. You think he would fall to the dirty pavement
if you weren't holding him up with your body. It’s honestly tiresome. You could
probably get off if he got his hands involved but…
Being honest with yourself, you feel just as filthy getting it on with this kid
as you felt last week fantasizing about your younger brother. It feels like
cheating. You just want to go home and try to forget all of tonight ever
happened. And then maybe take action to forget everything else too. You're
tired and sobering up and you just want to go home and get trashed and see
your- and go to bed.
Chris can has finally picked up on you lack of enthusiasm and has disengaged
his fingers from your belt loops to make for your dick. Fortunately being drunk
doesn't really slow you down, and in a movement faster than he can see you
snatch his hands away, pinning them to the van to either side of his hips. His
reaction is immediate and would have been rewarding before you apparently went
completely insane. Instead, with your new mental state, it just makes you
vaguely sick. You don’t want this and you were a dumbass for ever thinking you
did.
You step back abruptly and he nearly does fall with the sudden loss of support.
You stare at each other.
"I… fuck."
You definitely don't turn and run, but you turn and run flashstepping out of
his reach before you are really aware of what you are doing. Chris' shouting
echoes down the alley behind you, but you ignore it.
You are the biggest sack of dicks to ever exist. You have a massive boner for
your sixteen year old brother, you blueballed some poor kid with no
explanation, and you have no idea what to do about any of it. Except to find a
cab, go home, and drink until you pass out.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Dave makes a move
Chapter Notes
     Please observe new tags!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Fortunately there are always plenty of cabs in this part of town at night to
take care of drunk assholes like you. You find one idling in a parking lot a
block or so from where your van was parked behind the club. The driver asks if
you need a ride as you stumble, drunk and out of breath, towards him. You grunt
in agreement before sagging exhausted into the back seat. You push your shades
up to sit on the top of your head so you can bury your face in your palms.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
You are not right. You are broken in the brain. You can't get it up for anyone
but your sixteen year old brother, because everything else feels wrong.
And now you are going to have to go home.
And sleep on your fold-out.
Where you have one more than one occasion jacked off to thoughts of him.
Goddamnit.
Your thoughts are caught in an endless loop of "I'm so fucked up" and "what
fuck am I going to do now?" There is no answer and the words repeat over and
over and over.
You aren't sure how long you'd been sitting there in the back seat of some
random cab, face resting on your palms, before you realized the driver was
asking you where you wanted to go. You slur out the intersection closest to
your apartment and resume your miserable introspection.
It takes maybe ten minutes to get to your building, although the drive seems to
go by much faster. You over-tip apologetically to make up for sitting in the
back of the cab like an idiot. At least the driver can have a tolerable night.
The walk to the apartment's door takes too little time, so you stare it for a
long, uncomfortable moment unable to bring yourself to open it. Maybe you
shouldn't even be here. Maybe you should find a hotel there you can chase your
thoughts around your head without their subject in easy walking distance.
You sigh in exhausted defeat and key yourself into the building anyway.
You haven't thought of a solution to any of your problems. You can't stop
thinking, can't stop wanting. Maybe it would be a good idea to send Dave away
for all that it would feel like tearing your heart out of your chest. He has
friends in Washington and New York, you're sure one of them would be willing to
take him in. Remove temptation. You aren't sure what might happen if he stays
here. At best you'll die of sexual frustration. At worst…
You unlock the door to the apartment as quietly as you can, which isn't very
quietly at all. You wince and barely avoid tripping over a pile of shoes and
other crap in the hallway. Honestly you couldn't be much louder.
Hopefully Dave is asleep. You don't think you could stand it if he came out to
chat. You are one provocation away from completely losing your shit. There is
light spilling through the crack under Dave's door, but the apartment is dead
silent, no sound of music or conversation. Maybe he fell asleep with the light
on. Hopefully he fell asleep with the light on.
You had intended to take out your bottle of emergency scotch and drinking
yourself into unconsciousness when you got back, but you don't think that will
be necessary. You can barely muster the energy to unfold the futon before you
collapse onto it, still fully clothed.
You manage to remove your shades, at least, dropping them awkwardly over the
edge of the mattress and shoving a pillow under your head. In a few seconds you
are floating on the very edge of sleep. Then you are abruptly pulled back by
the creak of Dave's door opening.
Shit.
Hopefully he'll think you're asleep and just get his glass of water or whatever
and leave you alone. The last thing you need right now is an actual
conversation with the object of your obsession.
He walks over to the edge of the futon and stops. What the fuck is he doing? Is
he… staring at you? You can't sleep with him standing over you like this, your
body oddly inundated with energy by his inspection. You are too tired both
physically and emotionally for whatever new bullshit this is, but not exhausted
enough to sleep it away.
Go away Dave. Go away, go away, go away!
Instead you feel the futon shift as Dave climbs on top of it. It creaks softly
as he crawls across the mattress to kneel at your side. You are facing the
other direction so you can't see what he is doing. But he also can't see you.
Without your shades your poker face is completely gone and the last thing you
need is for him to see the burning desire in your eyes. You want him to stay,
but you really want him to leave. What you want him to do most is stop just
sitting there looking at you. With no better idea than to just continue to
feign sleep you burn with exhausted confusion and curiosity.
He lightly brushes his fingers over your back and you finally turn to look at
him.
"What are you doing, little man?" He starts violently and you stare at each
other, you with your face still resting on the pillow and he sitting on his
knees staring down at you.
He isn’t wearing his shades either and even in this low light you can see the
bright red of his eyes. Fuck. You love his eyes. You love how no one knows
about them but you. Your own eyes drift down to see that he is naked but for
his boxers. Fuck.
"Bro I…" His voice is quiet and hesitant and he is biting his lip and shifing
uncomfortably. You haven't seen him express this much since he was just a kid.
What is he doing?
"You…" His shoulders sag as he heaves a long, defeated sigh.
"Never mind." In a surge of motion he pushes back up to his knees and begins to
crawl away from you. "This was dumb, forget it. I'm gonna go to-"
You both stare at where you have grabbed his wrist, preventing his retreat. You
didn't mean to do that, why did you do that? Let go. Let go, let go, let go.
But you don't. Instead you tug gently until he is once again sitting with his
knees pressed against your side.
"What is it?" Your voice is soft, but Dave flinches anyway.
"Please stop avoiding me." He blurts it quickly, looking away from you and
blushing bright red.
"Avoiding-?"
"No, shut the fuck up. You wanted me to talk? Shut your mouth and listen to me
talk." His volume increases word by word until he is nearly shouting. He takes
a deep breath to gather himself, then begins again. "You are working yourself
into exhaustion, you won't talk to me, won't meet my eye, and do you have any
idea how long it has been since we've had a strife? I know what's wrong with
you, Bro and you know what? I don't care. So you need to get. The fuck. Over
it. And I am willing to help."
"What do you mean you know what's wrong with me? What do you mean help?" You're
drunk and exhausted and suddenly terrified. Your cool is completely gone. You
find yourself sitting up, knee to knee with Dave hands clutching his shoulders
in what is probably a bruising grasp.
"It's ok, Bro. It's all gonna be ok." He shrugs out of your grip on his
shoulders and slides into your lap in one smooth motion, legs wrapping around
to press his heels against your ass. Your brain blue-screens. The klaxons are
blaring in your head, sounding an alarm that you can't even begin to
understand. You are missing something here, something huge, but you are too
busy being blinded by abject confusion and no small amount of arousal to
connect the dots. You thought you had lost control of your life before, but
this is something else. Something terrible or wonderful or unbelievable, but
definitely life-changing.
When you wrench yourself out of your panicked reverie Dave's forehead is
pressed to yours and his eyes are boring into you. His hands have nudged your
shirt up just enough so that he can rest his hands on your bare sides, just
below your ribs. His thumbs are gently stroking the skin of your stomach. Your
own hands are limp at your sides.
"You still in there?"
You aren't. You have flipped so far off the handle that you have phased through
the fabric of time and space right into a bizarre parallel universe. A parallel
universe where you seem to inexplicably have a lapful of everything that you
have been wanting for the last year completely by his own will. You aren't sure
if this parallel universe is awful or awesome. All this time you have wanted
Dave, but you never actually wanted him. You never thought even in your wildest
dreams that you could possibly get the object of your obsession and even the
tiniest tease of getting it has rendered you entirely braindead. It is
thoroughly unexpected and thoroughly wrong and thoroughly wonderful. The real
world keeps fading in and out, time skipping around as you overclock trying to
reconcile you old worldviews with this new reality.
You come back to yourself to find Dave pressing light kisses along the side of
your neck and oops, your hands are in his hair holding him here, how did that
happen? He is talking quietly, probably to himself. You can only catch maybe
one word in ten but what you hear makes you glad he is down at your neck and
unable to see your face. You catch phrases like "so hot" and "fucking finally"
and "god please yes" as he presses his hardon into your stomach. And wow, yep,
the tired is gone and your dick is enthusiastically back in the game, your
problems earlier tonight entirely forgotten. When he has worked his way down to
your shoulder he bites down and you fade back out again with an embarrassingly
high-pitched groan.
The inside of your head is still a tangle of conflicted emotions. Glee and
self-loathing and lingering confusion all fighting for dominance. Distantly you
feel your body shuddering under Dave's ministrations and the voice of self-
loathing is becoming quieter and quieter.
When you come back your shirt is gone and Dave is toying at your nipples with
fingers and tongue, wresting the most pathetic and needy sounds out of you.
Your neck feels pleasantly sore and you know that you are covered with marks
that you are going to have to hide at work tomorrow. Your hands grip his plush
ass and it feels exactly like you imagined it would. Fantastic. But you aren't
supposed to be feeling your brother so you grab fistfuls of the sheets instead.
You are hard enough that you are surprised that you haven't burst through the
zipper of your pants. He is playing you like a set of turntables and you are in
so much trouble. Totally fucked. Emotionally, physically, and probably legally.
You looked it up once in a fit of desperate self-flagellation and the prison
time for the law-breaking double reacharound of statutory rape and incest could
put you away for up to fifty years. You are starting to think it might be
completely worth it. All the awkwardness and self-loathing and prison time
might be worth this one night with your little bro. He surges up to attack your
neck again, thrusting his hard-on against yours as a part of the motion.
You don't fade out again. Instead you moan like a virgin or maybe like a
pornstar and fist tightly at the sheets. You want to bury your fingers in
Dave's hair, run your hands up and down his back, go back to squeezing his ass,
but that would be admitting defeat. That would be giving into every single
fucked up incestuous thought that you ever had. So you hold the sheets like the
last rope connecting you to a ship in a storm and ride the waves of pleasure
that he is throwing at you.
"I'm gonna suck your dick, ok?"
You blink. You also entirely fail to do anything to prevent Dave from pushing
you back to recline on the couch and putting one of your hands on his head. He
pushes your unresponsive legs into a configuration that he seems to find more
suitable and gets onto his hands and knees in front of you. He leans down so
that his mouth is hovering right over the bulge in your jeans.
"You seem a little braindead up there so I'm just gonna go ahead get to it."
Your fingers are stroking through his corn silk hair entirely against your will
and he presses up against your hand slightly before he continues.
"Then I'm going to bed. You don't have to do anything but just sit there and
let me have this, alright? I know you're freaked out and I just wanna show you
that it's gonna be ok. When I'm gone you think on what I've said and what I've
done or whatever. And the later if you want to return the favor… I will be more
than willing." He smirks and you can no longer see the kid you raised. In his
place is a teenager who is eyeing your junk with an expression that you can't
describe as anything less than hunger. He wants you, he really does. Holy fuck.
He pops open the button of your pants one handed, pulls down the zip, tugs it
open. You are hard and it is awful. You are hard for your brother. You can't
wait to feel his mouth on your dick.
It looks like he is just as fucked up as you are and whose fault can that
possibly be? You messed it all up even worse than you thought.
The knowledge that you did something to make him this way is finally enough to
pull actual words out of you. "Dave, stop. Go to bed and we'll both forget this
ever- aah!"
He runs his hand over your cock and even through your boxers you can feel the
heat. Shit. This is what you want, but it isn't what you want. You need to stop
this, you need to stop him. You want to use your hand on his head to push him
off of you, away from the futon and out of your head, but he runs his tongue
over your clothed dick and it turns into a gentle grip in his hair instead.
Shit. Your hips roll up towards his mouth against your will and he gives a
pleasantly surprised laugh and you are a monster.
"D-Dave. This isn’t right, you need to stop, we need to-"
"Bro. You are practically shoving me onto your dick; I am sensing some
insincerity in your words here. How about you let me do my thing with minimum
whining and you have your existential crisis later. Just fucking… let me have
this. Ok?"
He puts his weight on one hand and uses the other to pull down the elastic of
your boxers until he can get his mouth on you. It's impossible to say no to him
when he is teasingly running the tip of his tongue along your length. You don't
know what to do with your hand in his hair. You want to hold him still while
you thrust up into his mouth, but at the same time you want to push him away.
In your indecision you do nothing. Say nothing. Your hand rests lightly on his
head, fingers brushing through his hair as he works you over. The way he is
very nearly worshiping your dick with his mouth combines with all the tension
and frustration you have dealing with these last few months it takes you a
sickeningly short time for you to start leaking pre into his mouth. Your head
says "monster, monster, monster," but he hums happily, you assume because of
the clear evidence of just how much he is turning you on. You are not going to
last long. You are too turned on and Dave is too good. One hand works at your
base as he sucks and licks at your head. He presses just so and you very nearly
scream.
Your brother is not touching you with the hands of a virgin and you wonder with
a sick sort of fascination where he got his experience sucking cock. Was there
somebody before you? Did he practice? The idea of your brother bringing this
kind of pleasure to anyone else sends a slowly-burning rage through you. He is
yours, your brother, your lover, your reason for living.
You give in.
You move your other hand to also grip his hair and thrust upward abruptly. You
expect him to pull away or flinch in alarm, but he groans and his whole body
relaxes like he was afraid of your rejection all this time. You could never
really say no to him.
He meets your eye, his own wide and trusting and full of (not love, not here,
not like this) lust and you thrust up again. He was holding out on you, you are
willing to bet that he could take you all the way down if he were so inclined.
But it this point it doesn't matter if he is so inclined, because you are.
His hands rest lightly on your thighs with just enough pressure to hold himself
up, not enough to prevent you from moving like you want and he groans and moans
as well as he can with your dick pushing down his throat. He looks so fucking
pretty sucking your cock, his lips stretched around you and a blissful
expression on his face. You are going to regret what you are doing when you
have time to think about it, but for now it is just too good.
You pull him all the way off of you so that he can catch a breath and he moans
your name like it's the only word he knows and you are done. You come on his
face and it is the loveliest thing you have ever seen. Your vision whites out
and you distantly feel yourself collapse against the back of your couch. The
only sound is a pair of panting breaths.
"Right then." Dave's voice is startlingly crisp. He slaps his hands on his
thighs in a somewhat disturbing imitation of someone walking away from a job
well done (which you suppose it is from his perspective) then in a quick surge
of motion he pushes away from you and off the futon. He shoots you a satisfied
smirk and flashsteps into the bathroom before you can muster the will to form a
word.
Chapter End Notes
     As ever I can be found on tumblr.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Summary
     Bro tries to figure out what the fuck to do with himself now.
You wake up at some ungodly hour feeling like death very, very lightly warmed
over. Your brain is pounding like it's trying to break free of your skull and
your stomach… ugh, probably shouldn't think about it. It would definitely be a
good idea to take a piss and sleep for maybe twelve more hours. By then you
will probably still feel like ass, but that's better than feeling like you
could die at any moment. You start to sort of pathetically wiggle yourself
towards the edge of the futon but are severely hindered by your boxers around
your knees and you remember.
You fucking fucked up. Ohhh, did you fuck up. You fucked up so bad that in the
future sick fires will be written in awe-struck tones about Bro Strider: the
man who screwed the standards of fucked up for the rest of time and ascended to
become the one true god, loved and feared by poor shits who think they fucked
up but now have someone to look up to and think, "at least I didn't fuck up as
bad as he fucked up."
Fuck.
Your underage brother sucked your dick and you liked it, you sick fuck. You
didn't do a thing to stop it. Your token-fucking-protest doesn't even begin to
count, you wanted it and you got it and if you weren't already hypothetically
going to hell if such a thing exists (which you doubt) you sure as fuck would
be now.
You struggle until you are face down on the futon and you think that maybe if
you just lay here long enough you will suffocate and escape this whole
ridiculous, awful, fucked up situation.
You have never been so at loss. Ever. And that includes the day your parents
died and left you with a toddler to raise, a mountain of debt, and no income to
speak of. It's pretty fucking bleak.
But now, just like then, you will come up with something and fix everything,
because that is what you do. The real issue here is Dave. What Dave wants. What
Dave did. If it were just you, just your fucked up creepy kinks, that would be
one thing, but Dave is complicit too now, and you just don't know what to do
with that particular revelation. You fucked up, Dave fucked up, and unless you
make a move right now you will probably continue to fuck up in an awful
combination of gleeful fulfillment and nauseating guilt. But you still don't
know what to do. Every idea you come up with is worse than the last.
Eventually the pressure of your bladder overrides your desire to become one
with the futon. What you need is to stop being hungover so you can actually
think beyond your own misery. Ok, you're doing it. You're making it happen.
You twist around and sit up purposefully, then sway wildly as your head and
stomach throb in protest (don't throw up). You inch slowly to your feet, one
arm wrapped around your waist and the other clutching your head like it is the
only thing holding your skull together. You aren't entirely sure whether or not
this is actually the case (don't throw up, you can do it). You complete the
rest of your routine mechanically. Shuffle into the bathroom and flip on the
light, which hits like a pickaxe to the frontal lobe (don't throw up, don't
throw up, don't throw up). Empty what little you have in your stomach into the
sink (shit). Turn on the water and alternate between heaving into the sink and
sitting on the toilet until the water is hot. You are fairly certain that you
have been lower than this before, but damned if you can think of the specific
instance right now.
You half expected being clean and somewhat more awake would make more of a
difference in your physical state, but of course it didn't, it never does. Now
instead of a filthy, exhausted, hungover wreck you are a clean, less exhausted,
hungover wreck. It's better than nothing, really.
You dress in the first articles of clothing you find on the floor and snag your
shades from where they fell under the futon (don't think about it) on your way
to the kitchen. Sweet, dark-tinted relief. You want to try to eat something and
drink a glass or ten of water, but the state of the place doesn’t make it easy.
The sink is full of Dave's dishes and the fridge is stocked with food Dave
likes and his clothes are strewn around on the floor with yours and you need to
get the fuck out of this apartment as soon as you are ready to handle the
fourteen flights of stairs down. All of your thoughts are stuck in this
miserable snarl of emotions and the last thing you need is to be forcibly
reminded of Dave every other fucking second. A hungover incestuous boner is
literally the worst thing that could happen to you right now. You force
yourself to think of something else.
Coffee might be beyond you, but you make a pot anyway (don't look at Dave's
favorite mug) and scrounge up an extremely stale bag of saltines from the back
of the cupboards. You are going to nurse that first cracker for maybe half an
hour, then get out of the apartment. It's ten thirty in the morning and there
is no way in hell that Dave will be up in the next four hours. You have time.
Then you find a few tell-tale white spots on the sheets when you go to fold up
the futon and it doesn't matter if you're ready to take on the stairs or not,
you need to get out of here right fucking now. And you probably need to not
come back for a while.
You toss a few hundred dollars from your emergency stash on the kitchen counter
for groceries, stuff a bag full of clothes, and you're out the door in maybe
five minutes. Once you hit the pavement you pick a direction and walk like
maybe if you push yourself hard enough you can outrun your thoughts.
Surprisingly it works for a while. You have no idea how long you have been
walking and pointedly not thinking when you turn a corner at full tilt and
knock some lady flat on her ass. Her hair is white-blonde and she is petite in
a way that makes you feel particularly awful for knocking her over of all
people in this city. You stare at each other like neither of you quite have the
capacity to react to the situation until she starts giggling and you start
disjointedly apologizing, poker face undoubtedly blown.
You reach down to help her back to her feet, struggling to get your facial
expressions back under control. She takes your hand and pulls firmly, lifting
herself a few inches off the sidewalk and nearly sending you toppling on top of
her. What the fuck is this woman's deal? You finally get her upright,
supporting her entire weight until she gets her legs properly beneath herself.
When you finally feel like she is ready to stand on her own you let go of her
arm where you were supporting her, but instead of accepting your apology and
wandering off the way you want her to she staggers sideways and you have to
catch her again. You think she is trying to say something as she giggles and
sways in your grip, but can't get it out through the force of her laughter. It
looks like you may have accidentally given some stranger brain damage. Because
you weren't already having a really, really shitty day.
Then she turns so that she is laughing in your face and you smell the alcohol
on her breath. Not brain damaged, just trashed in the early afternoon. Even
better. The last thing that you want is to be stuck babysitting some random
drunk person you found on the street, so you prop her against the nearest
building to make your escape, but she has your arm in an impressively steely
grip. When you try to tug away you only succeed in dragging her along,
propelling her away from the wall to slam back against your side.
Any remorse you had for knocking her over is now thoroughly replaced with
irritation. Running into her broke you out of your reverie and you have
apparently walked off your hangover. All you want now is to find somewhere to
think, maybe rent a room for a few nights so you can figure out how to get your
life back under control.
"Ok, I need you to step off, lady. I have places to be and peo-umph!"
"Shoosh!" She has the hand not occupied with keeping you close pressed over
your mouth. "Shooooooosh!"
You try to talk around her hand, but your words are stifled beyond
comprehension.
"Wow, you're like, really buff!" she proclaims, using her non-gagging hand to
squeeze your arm with gleeful appreciation. "I couldn't ask for a more
attractive dude to knock me over! But a gentleman should know it's good manners
to ask a leedy –oh hell– lady her name before you get her on her back! Not that
I am trying to eemply –imply– that you are a gentleman!" And she giggles again
and you kind of want to punch her and abscond for all that she is probably a
foot shorter than you and maybe a third of your weight, but you are frozen
under the perverse need to know what is going to happen next. It's like
watching really, really bad porn. Somehow even though it makes you want to burn
your retinas out you can't tear your eyes away out of sick fascination.
"You should prom– probably buy me coffee to apologize," she slurs happily as
she links her arm with yours and drags you purposefully back in the direction
you came from. You still can't believe that someone so waifish could have that
good of a grip. You don't really have much of a choice but to let her manhandle
you into a café just down the street unless you want to do her some actual
damage. This whole interaction has had a sense of unreality and you find
yourself just going along with it.
She drags you up to the counter where she rattles off her order with a speed
and coherency that belies her earlier drunken discourse. She gossips with the
barista like they are old friends and introduces you as "some fime –uh, fine–
ass I took in off the street lookin all lonely." The barista eyes you
sympathetically and you get the idea that this isn't the first time this has
happened. Blondie is absolutely psychotic. She released you when during her
approach of the counter and you take your opportunity to turn, ready to
flashstep the fuck out of this weirdness.
"Hey." Her voice is soft and a little bit sad. There is something in the tone
that stops you in your tracks and you turn to face her. "Just humor me for like
half an hour. I don't want to sit in here alone."
The loneliness in her voice and the loss in her expression resonates with you
and all the awful shit in your life more than you care to think about. You turn
back to the counter.
------------------------------------
Her name is Roxy and you are so glad you didn't leave. It becomes apparent
almost immediately that the drunken ditz act was indeed an act. She might be
more than a little buzzed ("I had just gotten out of a four hour presentation
to my broad- board of directors and let me tell you I took full advantage of
the post-meeting-brunch mimosas. I simply can't say nope to fresh squeezed
oj!"), but she is extremely sharp. More than that, she is compelling in a way
that you can't really put into words. The way that she treats each thing you
say as worth elaborating on and threads humor through the stories she tells
makes it seem like you could probably talk to her all day and long into the
night before you even realized how much time had passed.
"So what do you do that puts you in front of a board of directors?"
"Oh, I'm a scientist. I do science and shit. That's the technical term bee tee
dubs. Science and shit."
"I'll keep that in mind. I would hate to infuriate the scientific community by
using less-than-precise terminology."
"See that you do! We scientists can be a vicious bunch when we feel the
integrity of our profession is being threatened!"
Sarcasm-laden banter is a medium with which you are quite comfortable, and you
find yourself quickly falling into the rhythm of the conversation. You talk
about your DJ job and somehow she wrangles the whole puppet porn thing out of
you. It's something you go out of your way to avoid revealing to strangers, but
somehow she finds it both fascinating and hilarious instead of disturbing and
uncomfortable. You actually have to physically wrestle her phone away from her
to prevent her from looking it up right there in the café. Maybe you run and
produce for a puppet porn website, but you still like to think that you are a
guy with standards. You avoid going into the full details as much as possible
anyway.
She talks about her daughter and their ongoing war of passive-aggression with
an effusiveness that nearly has you actually, literally laughing out loud.
Which is not a thing that happens. Ever. Even the mild grin you allow to show
through feels sort of strange on your face.
There are awkward gaps in the conversation as she avoids talking about her job
(top secret shit, Dirk. Top. Secret. Shit.) and you avoid talking about Dave,
but you smooth it over together, you with stories of strange order requests
(how close to human skin can you make a puppet feel? Can you make it feel
warm?) and her with her bizarre adventures in motherhood (do you have any idea
how hard it was to find someone willing to tattoo a pink heart on a pony?), and
you get by.
She actually knows more about retro gaming than you do (not that you would
admit it out loud) and that particular topic lasts you until the café kicks you
out to close.
"So wanna continue this over a drink?"
"How about hell yeah??"
You have no idea where you are, so she whips out her phone and types furiously
for a few minutes before shouting triumphantly and dragging you off by the
hand, ranting excitedly about house liquors. You trail along behind her like a
very bemused kite. You more than half expected to find yourself on the dance
floor of some earsplittingly loud club given Roxy's overall demeanor, but
instead she settles you into a booth at a quiet bar while she scurries off to
get drinks. "I know just the thing, don't you worry your pretty little head
about it!"
You have carefully avoided thinking about Dave since running into Roxy and you
are pretty sure it helped. You feel a lot more calm about everything now that
you have put some distance between yourself and what happened last night,
although you still aren't ready to face him. Regardless you should probably
tell him that you aren't really mad, just… confused and frustrated. And that
you are going to be away for a few days to straighten out your thoughts. Heart
in your throat with nerves you really shouldn't be feeling just contacting your
brother, you turn on your phone. It chimes and vibrates frantically and shows
you a wall of message notifications. Shit.
TG: do you wanna talk about it??
TG: i guess not
TG: well
TG: …
TG: just so you know
TG: i dont have any regrets about last night
TG: although i guess you do
TG: im sorry
TG: are you ignoring me?? lease dont ignore me
TG: at least tell me that you're alive
TG: bro i swear im like 30 seconds from calling the police
TG: i wont do it again i wont do anything just answer me
TG: bro please don’t hate me
The force of the guilt nearly knocks you over. The last message is dated almost
four hours ago and you don't want to think about what he was probably going
through all that time. How could you spend the entire day carousing with some
random stranger and let your brother, your only family and friend, sit thinking
you hated him. He probably thinks you're dead or that you've abandoned him. You
are absolutely the biggest douchebag to ever exist. Your shades clatter on the
table as you toss them aside to rub at your face. Just when you thought you
were feeling better you feel worse than ever. Monster, monster, monster.
"Are you ok?"
You suddenly become aware of the warmth of Roxy leaning against your side.
While you were perfecting your 2X facepalm-self-hate combo she had placed a
glass full of something on the rocks in front of you and you grab it like it's
your only hope for salvation. She is sipping at something hot pink in a martini
glass while she eyes you with a combination of earnest curiosity and concern.
You toss back your drink in one go and it burns pleasantly as it goes down. You
aren't sure how you are going to deal with this without talking it out at least
a little and there is no one else to dump your troubles on than Roxy.
"I told you about my kid, right?"
"You mentioned him."
"I…" How much can you say without getting yourself and Dave into trouble?
Having some unbiased advice would be helpful, but you also would really like to
avoid prison time. You flag down a server and ask for another whiskey.
"Me and Dave– he's not my son, he's my brother –are having some problems. A lot
of them are my fault, but some of them are his and last night things sort of
came to a head–" haha, puns, "–and now I don't know what to do."
You press your glass full of slowly melting ice to your forehead and Roxy wraps
her arms around you, cooing sympathetic noises in your ear.
"I really just don't know what to do. Raising a kid is hard. It's hard and no
one understands."
"I understand."
"You think you do, but I promise you don't."
"My girl is in the teenage years too, I know what they are like. And I know
what you have to do and I think you know too."
"Well yeah, the obvious solution would be to talk to him, but I'm pretty sure
in this case it will just make things worse." Really it probably will. How the
hell are you ever supposed to look at his face again without remembering what
it looked like covered in your- nope, nope, nope, now is not the time. You are
ruined forever and you want to see him and make it right more than anything,
but it will never be right so maybe it's better that you never see him again
instead. Not thinking like this sure was nice while it lasted.
"Dirk. What the hell else can you do?"
There it is. The crux of the matter. There isn't anything else you can do but
talk to him and hope it doesn’t all go to shit. Even if you decide that it
would be best to be apart you still need to talk to him about it first. You're
trapped.
"Give yourself one more night, and then go deal with it. There is nothing worse
than shutting your kid out, I can promise you that. Whatever it is if you
really love each other you can figure it out."
If only she knew.
"Alright. You're right." You pick your phone up from where you shoved it across
the table.
TT: I'm fine. We'll talk tomorrow.
"Well in that case tonight let's just get really drunk and escape our child-
rearing angst a little longer."
She drains her pink concoction in a long, practiced swallow and you toss back
your second whiskey.
"Sounds good to me."
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
You stand in front of you apartment door for maybe fifteen minutes trying to
force yourself to go inside. Your Conversation with Dave is inevitable and
important and all that shit, but that doesn’t mean you are eager to face him.
You nearly drop your keys when the buzz of your phone just about startles you
out of your skin.
TG: you *better* be inside that apratment, mister responsible older brother!
TG: shit, *apartment
You smile thinly to yourself as you clumsily fit the apartment key into the
lock. You might be on the verge of death by nerves and hungover for the second
consecutive morning, but at least Roxy has your back. Of course if she knew the
actual details of the issues between you and Dave she would probably have you
arrested, but it's the sentiment that counts. You might have stood there all
day if she hadn't texted. There is something about having someone supporting
you and, more importantly, urging you on, makes your upcoming conversation much
easier to approach.
You take a deep breath, shove the door open, and immediately step back outside
to make sure you didn't come out on the wrong floor or something. But no, the
number on the door is 1413, like it always is.
After spending a long moment staring apprehensively at the closed door you walk
back inside as cautiously as you would if the apartment were wired with
explosives. Your heart is in your throat and your hands are actually trembling.
You have never been faced with such an utterly unnatural scene in your entire
life and you have seen all the porn. All of it.
The apartment is completely and utterly spotless, a situation which is wholly
without precedent. The place was a wreck from the moment you moved in and has
remained that way the last eighteen years.
You can really only think of two things that this could possibly mean: either
Dave actually cleaned on purpose, or all your junk was stolen by some extremely
thorough and tidy robbers. You honestly aren't sure which of the two is less
likely.
The tiny entryway is completely clear, the door framed by two neat stacks of
shoes– Dave's on one side and yours on the other. You marvel at the tiled floor
you hadn't even known existed before.
You walk into the hallway like it is covered in shards of glass rather than
ruthlessly scrubbed and sorted. The whole situation has thrown you even further
off your game, something you wouldn't have thought to be possible a few minutes
before, and honestly you are waiting for the other shoe to drop. There has to
be something more going on here, some revenge scheme or maybe an ironic prank.
But as you walk from the hall, though the living room and into the kitchen on
silent feet there is no explosion of puppets or rain of cheetos or anything
else. No traps that you can see, nothing conspicuously out of place. It's just…
immaculate.
Which means that Dave actually cleaned the entire apartment top to bottom in
the twenty-four hours you were gone. It looks like your departure brought out
some sort of cleaning mania. The sight of the kitchen leaves you hovering
somewhere between impressed and terrified. It must have taken him hours. You're
surprised it didn't take days. If you'd thought about it before now you would
have figured the only way to clear the place out would have been to just burn
down the whole apartment and start from scratch.
Looking back he had a similar fit once a year or so ago when you got pissed at
him for starting a fight at school, but all he cleaned then was the living
room. While neither of you ever brought it up, you are reasonably sure that he
was trying to apologize without actually saying the words. You and Dave are
almost never really at odds. You strifea lot, sure, but fights and strifes are
really incomparable. You agree on pretty much everything; have the same
interests. There is no reason for you to be pissed at each other. Annoyed yes–
pissed no.
Although maybe you would have started some arguments if you'd realized that
this would be the result.
After wandering for a while –not marveling, striders don't marvel– observing
the various features of the apartment that had previously been covered with
random junk, you find yourself entirely out of excuses put off talking to Dave
once again. You are already in the apartment, you know what you need to say.
This is it. You have also felt the buzz of text messages several times
throughout your exploration, and the knowledge that Roxy is either nagging or
looking for updates on the situation (or both) is no small amount of
motivation. You square your shoulders, mentally check that your patented
Strider deadpan is firmly in place, and walk towards the hallway that leads to
Dave's room.
You stand outside the door, fist raised to knock in irritating symmetry with
the way you stood outside the door to the apartment. When did you start being
such a huge fucking pussy? This is absolutely pathetic. Just knock on the
fucking door, bro. Be the adult. Deal with your situation. Talk to your
brother. Just talk, no fucking whatsoever. Don't think about the sounds he
makes or his pretty cock-sucking lips or the way he shuddered when you pulled
his- well fuck.
You can't do this. There is no way you can face him without fucking up even
worse than you already have. Now that you've had a taste of what it could be
like you can't get thoughts of fucking your brother out of your head. After
That Night all you want to do is fuck him on his bed or against a wall or any
of a wide variety of vertical and horizontal surfaces. You want to suck his
dick and tease him until he screams your name and tie him to the bed and show
him how much you cherish him. You want to fuck him slow and sweet until he sobs
with sensation, then fuck him fast and hard until he forgets how to speak. And
even worse than that now you know he wants it too. You've tried and failed to
forget the words he whispered in your ear That Night, and in this as in
everything he wants the same things that you want. The knowledge eats at you.
It burns.
You sag back against the opposite wall, then slide down to sit on the floor,
your hair clenched in your fists and your cool entirely, infuriatingly gone.
What are you doing here? What can you possibly hope to accomplish? All that's
likely to happen is you do or say something wrong and then Dave will either
hate you or fuck you. Maybe you should just turn and walk out. Put this off
another night, think about it more. He never responded to your message last
night so he might not even be here. You don't know where else he could be,
though. He never talks about school friends or anyone really. On the other hand
with the way you have been trying to hide yourself away from him for the last
you don't even know how long he could be the most popular guy in school and you
wouldn't know. And really why the fuck would he stay here in this apartment
that probably reminds him of you as much as it reminds you of him when he most
likely thinks that you hate him. There is no way he is going to stick around
looking at all your shit and thinking about-
Buzz buzz!
But there is nothing worse than shutting your kid out and what would waiting
hope to accomplish either? Nothing is going to change in a day or in a week and
maybe not even in a month. Any waiting would be to your benefit, not his, and
you need to put Dave first.
Fuck it.
Just… fuck it. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.
You stand and knock in one smooth motion, leaving no time for hesitation.
The complete lack of any sort response whatsoever is probably the most
anticlimactic thing that has ever happened to you.
There isn't even the sound of cloth shifting which you would expect if he were
trying to hide from you. Now that you have burnt up all your pent up nerves you
notice that there is no light on under the door. He might be asleep, it's still
fairly early in teenage boy time.
But he has learned well over the years to wake up instantly for any sound at
his door and now that you think about it you don't remember seeing his favorite
shoes by the entryway. You weren't really serious when you considered that he
might have left, but it's looking alarmingly likely.
You actually go so far as to press your ear to the door, an incredibly uncool
act to top off your incredibly uncool day. Dave makes you uncool. It is worth
being uncool to be back on good terms with him, though. You are also distantly
relieved that there is no one here to see you like this. Striders do not act
like nervous, love-struck virgins. It's just not done.
You hear nothing, not the sound of breathing, not the sound of someone shifting
in their sleep, silence. You want to just lay face down on the couch and be
miserable for a while, but you got this far. You can finish what you came here
for.
By now any Strider cool you might have had is long, long gone. No need to stand
on your nonexistent dignity now. You put your hand on the doorknob, take a deep
breath, and open the door the tiniest crack you can manage as silently as
possible. His room is just as immaculate as the rest of the apartment. So is
his bed.
He's not here.
He's not in this apartment.
All of the space inside of you that had been full of roiling nerves and
emotional turmoil has been replaced with a cold sort of emptiness.
You walk into Dave's room without really noticing you are doing so. The smashed
remains of his iPhone sit on his desk and you distantly note that he probably
never even knew that you were coming back.
You sit heavily on his neatly made bed to think or maybe because you aren't
sure your legs want to support you anymore and hear the crunch of paper. It
tears a little as you pull it out from under you with an intense feeling of
foreboding.
hey bro
i dont know if you are ever going to see this
since I dont know if you are coming back here
but I dont want to stay in this shithole alone
im going to new york to visit my friend rose
i dont want to stay there but if you don't want me around…
i guess i understand
i guess you can find me there if you want if not… ill figure it out
bye
The balled-up note lands neatly in Dave's trash can and your fist makes a not-
so-neat hole in the wall over Dave's bed.
You fucking do want him around! You want him around right fucking now so you
can tell him that you will never hate him, never fear him. What the hell were
you thinking? He's a Strider, of course he would react to the whole situation
the same way you did, by running away from it. But even if you had thought that
he might leave you never would have expected that he could have run away so…
drastically.
What if he likes it there? What if he doesn't want to come back? What if by
leaving him for a day you lost him forever? You feel sick and betrayed and
lost. How the hell could he do this to you? How could he throw himself at you
and then take off across the fucking country? The hypocrisy of the situation is
not lost on you. Apparently it was fine for you to leave him, but the second he
leaves you it's the end of the world. And yes, you know you are being unfair,
but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
You want him back. You don't even care any more about things being the way they
were. You just want him back in any capacity he wants. And you want it now.
TT: So.
TT: Roxy.
TT: You're heading home in a few days, right?
TT: I don't suppose you'd be willing to give me a lift to New York?
TG: what??
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry this took so long, writer's block got me good. As ever I can be
     found on_tumblr. Thanks for reading!
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
At some point during your day together yesterday Roxy explained that she was
only in Texas for a few days, much to your disappointment at the time. She came
to Houston to present her research to the heads of the oddly shady research
company she works for. You call it shady because they seem to have a rather
unusual amount of disposable cash for a research institution, although it could
be that Roxy is particularly important in the company's hierarchy; she was
impressively close-mouthed about her job. And it's not like you were going to
push for information. Glass houses and all that. Either way, Roxy has access to
some luxuries that a scientist probably shouldn't have.
What you're trying to get at here is that she flew south in a private jet.
The whole situation is almost supernaturally convenient, that just a day before
you have an abrupt need to go to New York you meet someone who can quickly and
conveniently get you to New York, but you are hardly going to complain. Instead
of having to go through the trouble of getting a last minute plane ticket you
can walk onto a private jet and be on your way without even having to print a
boarding pass.
You do have to wait a day for her conference or whatever it is to end, but Roxy
is more than willing to give you the lift you need. You hash out the details
over text and before you know it it's the next day and you are loading your
luggage into the back of Roxy's limo (seriously, what the fuck is up with this
company she works for?).
You didn't have enough time (or the brainpower) to fret over what you are going
to say to Dave once you get to see him in your rush to set up a hiatus message
on your website and find someone to cover your ass at the club, but as you
settle into the limo and see the aggressively curious look on Roxy's face you
know that you're going to face it whether you want it or not. You knew you were
going to be facing an overly friendly inquisition over the course of this trip
and the time has come. You school your features into your most expressionless
poker face and try to make your deep calming breath as subtle as possible.
"So Dirk."
"So Roxy." Your voice is as resigned as hers is intrigued. Not resigned, bland.
Because you are in perfect control of yourself and your life. Right. You stifle
another sigh.
"I gotta be honest with you, I really didn't think that your family issues were
this… issue-tastic."
"I tried to tell you."
"There isn't another kid in the universe who would up and leave the state over
an argument, I don't even know what to say to that." She still sounds like she
can't quite believe the situation she has found herself in. You are right there
with her.
"Yeah, I didn't see it coming either. I underestimated how impulsive the kid
can be."
"What he did was pretty fucking impulsive, I'll give you that." You shrug at
her, still preoccupied with trying not to let your expression give away just
how torn up you are about everything. "So where exactly are you going?"
"I did some digging around on his computer last night. His friend lives in a
nowhere town called Rainbow Falls so I was thinking I could catch a cab from-
" she is staring at you with an expression of pure disbelief. You mentally go
over everything you just said, terrified that she somehow figured out exactly
what it is between you and Dave, and find nothing odd. "What?"
"What… what did you say your brother's friend's name was?" Her voice is wobbly
with confusion or shock or some similar emotion and you are starting to feel
fairly concerned. What the hell did you say?
"Her name is Rose, Rose Lal…" it hits you like a brick to the face. It's all
you can do to not physically recoil from the realization. "Oh, what the fuck."
There is a certain level of coincidence that is just too much for a person to
deal with without strapping on rocket boots and blasting straight off the
handle. This is impossible, it's absurd, and you are an idiot for not putting
two and two together. The silence in the limo stretches on as you and Roxy
stare at each other in stunned disbelief. You are distantly grateful for your
shades, because you’re sure your eyes are cartoon-character-wide. Hers
certainly are. There has got to be some meddlesome god or trickster demon
pulling strings here, because this shit is too absurd to be believed.
"Dirk Strider. Dave Strider. Oh my god. How… How did I not…" She reaches over
to the sideboard absently and pours you both very tall glasses of some deep
amber liquor. You swallow down about half the glass without noticing what you
are doing, and the abrupt burn of the whiskey is enough to pull you out of your
stupor.
"Well I'll be damned." Your voice is impressively steady if a bit hoarse. Not
that the initial shock has faded you are feeling pretty calm, probably because
the whole situation is so ridiculous that you have transcended shocked and come
all the way back around to mild, understated interest. It is the penultimate
irony, and irony is your thing. You got this. As Roxy sips at her own drink she
seems to come to the same conclusion. Mental freakout time is over, time to
pretend this is what you planned all along, because if you look at the
situation too hard you don't know what will happen.
"Well, this makes matters a bit more convenient. Would you like a ride from the
airport to my home?"
"I would be honored." You are talking like two acquaintances discussing the
weather rather than two friends who just had the ultimate deus ex machina
dumped in their laps like a sack of the world's most unexpected garbage, but
it's a conversational format you are comfortable with. You are fluent in lies
and bullshit and Roxy seems to speak the same language. You chat idly about the
town of Rainbow Falls and New York as a whole until you roll to a stop.
Fortunately there is more than enough space back here to talk around the
elephant in the limo that is the overwhelming coincidence of your acquaintance.
The boarding process is even faster and easier than you hoped it would be, it
takes maybe half an hour from the time you step out of the limo to be settled
in one of the implausibly comfortable seats on the jet, Roxy seated happily
beside you. The leg room is absurd, the carpet plush, and the entertainment
options unspeakably vast. You are ruined for air travel for the rest of your
life. You flip idly through the safety brochure (comforting to know that some
things are the same in public and private planes) while you wait for departure
in an unspoken agreement to hold off on your big conversation until you are in
the air. The takeoff is the smoothest you have ever experienced.
As soon as the fasten seatbelt light switches off Roxy begins. "Can you tell me
what it is you are fighting about?"
"I… No."
"I didn't think so." She sighs. "Well how about this. I'll make sure that you
two get some time alone as soon as you get to the house and if there is
anything I can do to help…"
"Thank you." You can't remember the last time you sounded so sincere. Maybe
never. Roxy is really something else, you can't believe that you were lucky
enough to meet her.
"You sound like a man resigned to the gallows, lighten up! What's the worst
that could happen?" The cheer in her voice is so pleasantly unexpected that it
is almost enough to lighten your mood. Almost. Instead you give a humorless
bark of laughter.
"The worst? He decides to stay with you and Rose. Or go to Washington and
John." You can't quite manage to keep the bitterness out of your voice.
"Oh. Is it really that bad?"
"It really, really is." Maybe you have lost command of your voice, but at least
your poker face is still in place. You still have some modicum of control over
your life, however laughably transparent.
"If I can do anything-"
"I know." You don't want to hear her say it. You don't deserve her kindness,
you really, really don't. You are an asshole and a… you don't want to think
about all the things you are. Chances are good everything is going to hell in a
few hours and you hope you don't drag her down with you.
"Ok." With that she turns on some mindless action flick on the big screen TV at
the front of the passenger cabin, apparently as done talking about it as you
are. Or at least understanding how done you are and dropping it. You close your
eyes and sag back against your seat, exhausted from your conversation however
brief and from the last few days. Weeks.
At this point you are mostly just glad to be out of options. Your eagerness to
have everything resolved some way is almost enough to outweigh your
apprehension. You can no longer run, can no longer hide from your problems.
Unless you want to lose Dave forever all you can do now is follow Roxy to her
house, have your private chat with Dave, and hope you don't fuck it up. You
aren't even sure what fucking it up would entail any more. That's up to Dave
really. You have mostly resigned yourself to your lust and his… whatever it is
he has. When you talk, you know that whatever he wants he can have. That was
really where this was going to end up from the beginning, you just put it off
for a little while. From the first time you held his tiny infant self in your
arms he has owned you wholly and completely, that never changed. Whatever he
wants.
When you open your eyes again it's because the plane is descending. You can't
believe you managed to sleep with all you had to think about, but it has been
an exhausting few days. You get progressively nervous as the plane lands,
taxies, and comes to a stop. It's only a twenty minute drive from the airport
(a tiny, private thing) to Roxy's house. Your big moment is almost here and you
don't think you have ever been so anxious in your life. You had thought you
peaked walking into your apartment, then again opening Dave's door, but this
tops it all.
By the time you are ready to disembark you are in a daze of swirling thoughts
and apprehension. You think that if you knew what you really wanted out of this
you would be less twisted up, but you don't know, you just don't know. You are
in the back of a car and driving through a thick forest before you are really
aware that you have been moving. You distantly remember Roxy prodding you
along, but really the entire experience went by far too quickly for your
liking. You aren't ready, you can't do this, you are going to fuck up and Dave
is going to hate you (more than he already does) and then you are going to be
alone and without the only person who matters to you. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Roxy is talking to you, but her words are a distant buzz against the discord of
your thoughts. You aren't ready, but you are never going to be ready. You are
scared, but you are never not going to be scared. You unconsciously square your
shoulders as the road takes a bend and a boxy-modern house comes into view.
Dave is standing on the porch, a girl of about his age who resembles Roxy so
strongly that she might as well be a clone standing beside him with a hand on
his shoulder.
Dave.
Oh god, Dave. Now that you can see him all the nerves and paranoia slide away.
All that you want is to know he's ok, that he still cares, that you can still
be cool. You are out of the car and striding towards where he is standing
before it has come to a complete stop. You definitely don't run to the house,
but it is a close thing. Because Dave.
You jerk to a stop just before the steps, almost close enough to touch him if
you both reached out. And you want to reach out so badly, but his face is
coldly expressionless and you were right, he does hate you, he's going to stay
here and leave you alone, oh god. You make sure that your expression is as
schooled as his as you stand, heart in your throat.
Rose whispers something in his ear and turns to walk inside. The car had
continued around the side of the house once it let you out. You are together
for the first time since That Night. You want to do something, but you don’t
know what. You are both silent, staring, taking each other in and waiting for
someone to break the silence.
"Bro, I-" "Dave, I-" You both start and stop at the same moment. You missed him
so much.
You are frozen again. You don't know how to talk straight to him, don't know
how to break out of the web or irony and denial that you wove around your
relationship. He give in first. You knew he would, you know him. More impatient
than you, more driven in all his youth.
"Let's take a walk." You are the only person in the world who would be able to
hear the tension in his voice, but it’s there. He's just as wound up over
everything as you are. Consciously you knew this, but hearing it, seeing it in
the tightness of his stride puts you more at ease. His shoulder brushes against
your arm as he walks past you away from the house, and what can you do but
follow?
Chapter End Notes
     Spoiler alert: they do very little actual talking.
     As always I can be found and contacted on tumblr.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Summary
     Bro and Dave have a deep, meaningful conversation full of sincerity
     and genuine emotional release.
Chapter Notes
     No, not really.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The woods are surprisingly clear and you have to walk for a good five minutes
before Roxy's house is completely out of sight. Eventually Dave comes to a halt
in what you would call a clearing if this were a forest that actually had
underbrush. Instead it's more of a place with fewer trees than everywhere else.
Neither of you have said anything yet, and the silence is starting to get
uncomfortable. You still aren't sure what to say and you doubt he does either.
You are probably both waiting for the other to speak first, and in that case
you are going to be standing here in silence for a long, long time.
But at the same time you are more calm than you have been in days, finally
feeling like you have your feet under you. You were so wound up with worry over
what to say and what to do that you forgot that Dave is… Dave. No matter how
crazy things might get, no matter how out of control your life might be, he is
still your little brother, the only person in the world who matters, and you
almost let your stupid concerns about society and propriety get in the way. You
almost lost him, and for what? For giving you the one thing you couldn't let
yourself want but that you really, really wanted anyway. And when the fuck did
you ever care about propriety and society anyway? Time to make a move.
Keeping your face carefully blank, you turn and sit cross-legged with your back
to a tree. You're tired and completely out of fucks to give. It feels vaguely
wrong to give Dave the advantage of speed and height that sitting implies, but
you aren't here to strife. You're here to talk. Theoretically. When you glance
up at him he is staring with ill-concealed unease. You allow a single eyebrow
to arch above the rim of your shades and he slowly sits a short distance away
from you with a crunching of leaves.
"I'm sorry," you both say at the same time. This simultaneous speaking thing
had better not become a habit. Dave is your everything because he gets you, but
there are limits to these things.
The two of you go back to silent staring and you sigh mentally. This is stupid,
you are never going to get anything done like this. You jerk your chin up
slightly and he takes the gesture as you intended, scooting forward a few
inches. Then at sight of your re-arched eyebrow continues to scoot until your
knees are touching.
You take a breath to speak and hold up a hand, stopping Dave before he can
chorus with you again.
"What do you want, little man?"
"I-" he cuts himself off, probably to ensure his tongue can't run off before
his head catches up, bites his lip with thought (oh no, he's cute), then starts
again, this time with a distinct tone of determination. "I want you. I've
always wanted you."
And it’s as easy as that.
You move at the same time, Dave to grab at your arm and you to gently cup his
cheek. He feels so warm and soft and *there* against your palm. He leans into
your touch and you use it to guide him forward until he climbs into your lap,
knees pressed up against your ribs.
The weight of him against you feels like heaven. You missed him when you were
at odds and felt like the world's biggest asshole. You didn't realize just how
bad it was until you got him standing before you. You are not going to make the
same mistakes driving him away again. Your fingers tighten slightly at the
thought of what you almost lost and he inhales sharply as though startled out
of his own reverie.
Then you are on each other like two armies clashing, like galaxy's colliding,
like it's the end of the world and this is your last moment together. His lips
burn against yours, his hands slide up to your hair, pulling you down into him
and keeping your thoughts from drifting away again.
Not that they could. Dave's initial confession sent a surge of blood rushing
south and the pressure of his (perfectly plush) ass all up on your lap has done
the opposite of alleviate that situation. Your mouth and hands and thoughts are
full of Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave. You want to touch and taste every inch of him
and now you can.
Maybe not *right* now, though. You don't want him scratched up by sticks and
shit on the forest floor, and you are by now entirely reassured that there's no
hurry. You can do this again and again and again. You can tease from him every
noise he can make, every sensation he can feel.
Your arms are wrapped tightly around him like you could lose him again at any
moment and he is pressing against you like he is trying to phase into your
skin. His mouth is sloppy against yours, desperate and wildly different from
calculated heat of That Night. Every motion of your tongue has him gasping,
press of your hands has him whining in the back of his throat. His hands clutch
desperately at the hair at the base of your skull while yours wrap around his
back, holding him tight against you.
Your shades keep clacking together, but you can't be bothered to do anything
about it, can't imagine taking your hand off him for the seconds it would take
you to cast them aside. He feels amazing, you feel amazing, everything is
amazing. You feel so light that you could float away, all the worries of the
past few months of poorly concealed lust and days of even more poorly concealed
panic drifting away. You have officially thrown the last fuck you have to give
into the breeze. You can no longer be bothered with holding yourself back, with
holding Dave back, with holding anything back. You are going to touch your
little bro's dick in these woods and it is going to be amazing.
You shift your arms from where they were wrapped around his waist to grip his
ass and pull him sharply against you, making him moan. He pushes his pelvis
into yours to get impossibly closer and tugs your hair to position your kiss,
making soft little noises all the while. It is unbearably hot.
After more time than you can possibly remember passes, your kisses begin to
slow, the pace shifting from desperately frenzied, to slow and passionate.
Eventually they trail off all together, leaving you with foreheads pressed
together breathing each other's air.
After a long moment to catch your breath Dave leans back slightly, moving one
arm from where it is still wrapped around your neck. You can feel him trembling
slightly as he lightly grasps the arm of your shades. Your nod of agreement
would be imperceptible to anyone but him, but he knows and that's what makes
him Dave, what makes him yours. He folds them neatly before tossing them to the
ground out of the way and repeating the process with his own shades.
Slowly he raises his eyes to meet yours.
And somehow it is the most intimate thing that has ever happened to you. You
can count on one hand how many times you have been eye to uncovered eye with
Dave and still have fingers left over. Without shades the hurt and raw passion
in his eyes is as clear as if he were shouting it in your ear. From his
expression you imagine he is finding the same thing to be true of you.
"Dave, I'm so sorry." Your voice is hoarse and shaky.
"Me too, Bro."
You move unbearably slowly back to press your lips chastely to his and it is
all so sweet and so right that you almost feel that you could cry.
Or push into him and fuck him and claim him and burn into your skin and his
that you belong to each other. You've never been very good at deciphering your
emotions.
But that train of thought is entirely derailed when Dave begins pressing gentle
kisses down the side of your neck and you tilt your head back to give him room.
When he reaches your collar bone he sucks lightly then nibbles with a gently
scrape of teeth. You're pretty sure you groan, but you are too overwhelmed with
lust and emotion to be entirely sure.
Your hands are actually trembling as you reach between your bodies to get at
the button of his jeans. It parts easily and Dave sighs with relief at the
decreased pressure. The sigh immediately becomes a gasp when you slip your hand
between jeans and boxers. His fingers dig into your shoulders through your
shirt as his back arches.
And you haven't really done anything yet.
You begin to move your hand as well as you can, but you don't have much
leverage between the confines of his pants and the way your bodies are pressed
together. As much as you are loath to have a single inch of him that could be
touching you not touching you, some sacrifices must be made for the sake of
sexual progress.
You press your free palm against his chest until he begins to slowly fall back.
As much as you would like to see all of him, you really don't want his back
scratched up. Unless he's into that and and you were doing the scratching,
because that– you're getting sidetracked. At any rate, this is going to be a
clothes-on adventure.
Once he is flat on his back, knees hooked over your still-crossed legs and arms
relaxed above his head you pause and look, really look. He's beautiful, your
bro. His red eyes burn into yours with an intensity that takes your breath
away. He's slim but still strong, his white-blond hair glowing against the
ground. You brush a strand of it off his forehead with gentle reverence.
Your hand moves down, tracing the softness of his cheek, the curve of his
throat, the length of his ribs. As your hands move down Dave's breathing picks
up. By the time you reach the flat plane of his stomach he has his lower lip
tight between his teeth to stifle the needy whine that traces through each
breath. When your fingers brush the waistband of his boxers his eyes squeeze
shut and his head tips back like he's too overcome to watch. When you dip your
hand beneath the elastic he cries out softly and you surge forward to capture
the sound with your lips.
You hover over him on your knees with one hand planted by his head. His arms
come up to wrap around your neck as you kiss him gently and your other hand
frees him from his boxers. He whines softly against your lips as you run your
thumb over the head of his dick.
You continue to kiss him and work at his length too gently to really get him
off until he is writhing underneath you, each inhale a gasp and each exhale a
moan. You are no longer really kissing, more like breathing against each
other's mouths, but it is wonderful all the same. When you think he can no
longer handle the teasing grip you have, you release him entirely. He growls
your name and thrusts his hips, chasing your hand. You studiously ignore the
pressure in your own pants in favor of moving down his body.
You slip out of his grip around your neck and move so that your mouth is
hovering over his cock in one smooth motion. Dave snatches at the air where
your head used to be then shifts so that he can tangle his fingers in your
hair. You wonder distantly what happened to your hat.
Then you adjust the angle of his dick and sink all the way down until your nose
is pressed against the skin of his lower stomach. Dave's back arches as he
fights to thrust up, but the hand you have on his hip keeps him pressed to the
ground. You can't see his face, but you are fairly sure that his face is
contorted into a silent scream.
You stop wasting time and get down to business, curling your lips around your
teeth and bobbing your head up and down in a steady rhythm. Your free hand runs
up and down his ribs soothing and feeling what you can't see.
Dave doesn’t last long after that. He calls out your name in a choked voice and
you pull back to suck on the tip of his dick and then he spills into your
mouth. You swallow, tuck him back into his boxers, then sit back against the
tree to catch your breath.
Damn that was satisfying. There is nothing quite like the feeling of fulfilling
the product of endless fantasies. You can't wait to do it again.
Once he has recovered enough to regain voluntary movement he reaches unsteadily
for the bulge in your pants, but you gently swat his hand away.
"Fair turnaround little Bro."
"But-"
"Let's go home." You allow him to see a small smile. "Then we'll… continue
where we left off."
He nods with the barest hint of a smile in return before turning to lead you
out of the woods.
Chapter End Notes
     I'm thinking there will be two or three more chapters. Hopefully I
     won't take as long to write them as I did this one.
     As per usual I can be found on tumblr.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Summary
     Dave and Bro make it back home.
Not wanting to wait for the ancient, sluggish elevator, you opt for the stairs:
luggage, fatigue, and all. Every step is a mountain. You're strung out with the
exhaustion of not having properly slept in over a week, the stress of dealing
with Roxy post-woods, and wanting to just get to the end of this whole ordeal.
The ten story climb takes very nearly the last dregs of your energy. Dave,
dragging his feet wordlessly up the stairs next to you, looks to be in about
the same state. Never before has any Strider looked as pathetic as the pair of
you.
At least the end is finally near. All you have to do is make it to your
apartment and you can finally relax. You can finally stop stressing. All of the
uncertainty and worry has been worked through as much as a pair of closemouthed
assholes are going to be able to. This is the final countdown.
What you want now is to open that door, drop your luggage into the entryway of
your apartment, slam Dave against the door and kiss him until he can't stand.
What you are probably going to do is pass the fuck out. You have a lot of
raging passion that has been thoroughly smothered by a bone-deep need to sleep.
It has been a long week, and this has been a very, very long day.
All that you have done since the woods feels blurry and unreal, like everything
that happened between your decision to see this thing through and your imminent
arrival at your apartment was outside of time. Your standout memories are brief
flashes: strained conversation with Roxy's daughter, begging the customer
service lady for a flight, any flight, out of New York, Dave sagging against
you half asleep as you wait for a taxi.
You haven't really said anything to each other since your escape from Roxy's.
Both of you are overwrought and tired and what else is there to say, anyway?
You both know why you're running home, and you both know what you want. You'll
get it and then things, you suspect, will go more or less back to normal. A
Strider version of normal anyway. Likely even better than the normal of the
last while. You would be lying to yourself if you didn't admit it hasn't been
entirely comfortable between the two of you for a very long time. Both of you
knew that there was something going on and neither of you felt confident enough
to do or say anything about it. With that tension gone, you'll be able to spend
time together as brothers again. Between time spent like lovers. You hope.
You are startled from your reverie by Dave grabbing a handful of the back of
your shirt and you start, looking around a bit confused. You were about to keep
walking right past your floor and you shoot him the Strider equivalent of a
sheepish grin, a subtle twitch of the corner of your mouth, as you step into
the hallway. In a trend that you hope stops here, it take you a couple of tries
to get the damn door unlocked. You shoulder it open and trudge through,
dropping your bags with an enormous sigh of relief. It feels like thousands of
pounds of weight fall away rather than a backpack and a small sports duffel.
Feeling at once elated and unbearably exhausted, you and sag against the wall
of the hall. Finally, over.
Dave follows you in, kicking the door shut behind him with only a small
fraction of his usual force and accuracy. His bags join yours on the floor and
he topples into you, his weight helping to keep you upright. For a moment you
both stand there supporting each other and reveling in the feeling of being
home and together. He tries to kiss you, but can't quite reach and settles for
pressing a kiss to the underside of your jaw. You wrap your arms around him and
he clings to your shirt, face pressed into your chest. You close your eyes and
hold him close. If either of you sniffle a little the other carefully doesn't
notice.
After a few lifetimes of standing there finally, finally being able to just
hold him, feel his warmth, hear him breathe, you sigh.
"Nap?" you ask.
"Yes," he agrees. "Nap."
That decided he pulls away with more energy than he has exhibited since leaving
Roxy's place. Without having to look he laces his fingers with yours and pulls
you along towards his room. You trail behind, weaving a bit with tiredness. The
entire apartment is as clean as you left it which serves to contribute to aura
of unreality you have been feeling all day. You had hoped that getting home
would get rid of that, but it looks like you are going to have to sleep it off.
Again he kicks the door shut behind you both. He gives your hand a squeeze
before dropping it to strip down to his boxers. You want to eye him up while he
is so undressed, but you are too drained to give any more than a vague
appreciation. There will be plenty of time to show him just how much you like
the way he looks (as well as everything else about him) later. In great detail.
With your tongue. Even that image isn't enough to get your dick more than just
a little bit interested. You yawn until your jaw cracks as you follow his lead.
Even if Dave were trying to make something sexual out of it you don't think you
would be able to do anything about it. You bite your lip and think towards the
morning. There will be more than enough time to get him back under you then,
and Dave doesn't start school again for a few more weeks. Plenty of time. You
are both tired beyond innuendo and at ease with each other in a way that at
least for now transcends the rush of feelings you expected from finally getting
home.
Dave falls into bed like a felled tree, not even bothering with blankets. It's
still hot enough in Texas that with your shared body heat you won't really need
it. It looks to you like he is asleep the instant his head hit the pillow. You
toss your clothes down on top of Dave's and climb in behind him, pushing at him
until you are comfortable. He makes the perfect little spoon. You fit together
like puzzle pieces, his knees and hips slotted with yours, your nose buried in
his hair, breathing him in.
Wrapped up in each other, you sleep.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Summary
     Dave and Bro do the do and, for once, no one feels shitty about it.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
You wake slowly, drifting into consciousness like you’re breaking the surface
of smooth water. It's unfamiliar, but nice compared to your usual abrupt
awakening. You can still feel the gentle movement that woke you, and you are
somehow unbothered by it. Any other morning the slightest motion would have you
up and alert in an instant, but your feeling of contentment has sunk deep into
your bones. You don't remember ever feeling this warm and just… good.
You are about to let yourself sink back into the soft comfort of sleep when
another stifled motion lets you finally put together what exactly is going on.
You jerk awake, the sheets you had pulled up in the night that had been a
comfort suddenly tangling. "Dave," you breathe, not sure if you want to tell
him to stop or urge him on or something else altogether, but by then his hand
is already in your boxers and any words that you might have had are gone.
Instead you make a little noise that's half contentment and half protest and
struggle to sit up.
Dave reaches up underneath the sheet to put one hand like a brand on your chest
over your heart and you fall back boneless. His other hand is pulling down the
waistband of your boxers and pulling you out. You aren't hard or anything, but
it certainly isn't going to take long with the way Dave is feeling you up. On
top of that it was only yesterday that you were fucking on a forest floor. This
role reversal, Dave between your legs with you lying back helpless, has your
interest spiking. The memory of walking out of the forest the day before
without getting off is heady. You are a little lightheaded with how fast your
pulse is starting to pound.
He moves his hand slowly as he smothers your thighs and stomach with gentle
kisses, waiting with uncharacteristic patience for you to finish waking up. His
hand feels wonderful, but it is quickly becoming not nearly enough as you come
out of your startled, half asleep stupor. While you’re starting to get hard and
feeling ready for a little more stimulation, he doesn't seem interested in
doing anything other than what he is doing now: worshiping every inch of you
that he can reach with his lips and ignoring the one place you need him most.
You want to tell him that you are very awake, thank you, and that he should
maybe get this show on the road, but that is just as likely to startle him off
as it is to urge him on. You bite your lip to hold back a groan that is as much
want as it is frustration.
You try again to push yourself up onto your elbows and again he presses you
back down to your back with a barely there chuckle. You definitely don't whine
aloud, but you think it. You want to look at him; gaze into his eyes as he goes
down on you. It feels like you haven't properly seen him in weeks and weeks and
you just want to… you just want all of him.
Unfortunately for your libido Dave wants to be the boss right now. All you can
do is clench your fists and grit your teeth and try to think of other things
than your half remembered memories of the first time Dave did this. The heat of
his mouth and the press of his tongue, the suction and pressure. "Shhhhhhit,"
you hiss as Dave tightens his hand incrementally.
As much as you are starting to enjoy yourself more and more with every moment,
on one level this isn't really how you wanted this to go. You are starting
fresh here. Building something new. And you wanted to build it on level ground,
as equals. Face to face, lips meeting lips, slow passion, all that clichéd
bullshit that you had never gone in for until there was suddenly someone you
wanted to romance. Start this whole thing out, symbolically, as equals. It was
going to be all meaningful, goddamnit.
He presses his lips, finally, finally to the base of your dick and you decide
that your nice, pragmatic fuck can wait until later. He peppers small, lightly
sucking kisses up your shaft. You are already as hard as you can hope to be,
but you can still feel your dick make a valiant effort.
You finally find it in you to do literally anything other than lay here and
make noise. He isn't going to let you sit up, and that's fine, but you aren't
going to just stare up at the fucking ceiling. With one hand you shove the
sheet off and out of the way, then reach down to smooth your fingers through
Dave's hair. He hums and your hips jerk. With your free hand you grope around
until you find a pillow to shove under your head for a slightly better angle.
You can see the top of his head down the length of your body as he explores
with lips and tongue, showing far more patience than you have. You really want
to use the hand carding his hair to hurry him along, but your desire to let him
have his way with you is stronger.
You can't help but remember again the last time he did this. Your conflict. His
audacity. Your surrender. Your mutual passion. Your remorse. And all the shit
that happened after. This, no surprise, feels better.
The conflict is absent and all the space in your brain where it would have been
is full of want. He presses his lips to the place right below the head and
sucks ever so slightly. You don't bother to conceal your groan. You tug at his
hair with one hand and yank at your own hair with the other like maybe you can
control your own actions that way. He hasn't done any damn thing yet and your
toes are curling like you've never done this before, but it's ok. This is your
brother who knows you and loves you and understands you so well. Unlike the
rest of the world, he deserves to see your real face, not the stiff facade you
present to everyone else. He does it again and you finally get out the first
real word you have managed this morning.
"Please!" It's a whine and a plea and a prayer and Dave stops. You cuss. He
glances up to meet your eyes and presses one last kiss to the very head of your
dick. You barely even feel it with the way his eyes burn into yours.
"Dave," you breathe reverently.
"Bro-" he starts, but you grab ahold of his shoulder and urge him up. He goes
willingly, crawling up your body like something out of a dream. He settles
chest to chest with you, keeping his head up with an elbow on either side of
yours, chin in his hands. For a long moment he looks at you like he'll be able
to see the answer to some question in your eyes. Whatever it is he is looking
for he must find it, because he smiles like the sun. You can't remember the
last time he showed a smile. You taught him to hide his emotions from the cold,
cruel world, when did that start to include you?
You lose that train of thought pretty quick when his smile turns sly, his hands
slip down to cup your face, and he slowly lowers his head until the angle is
such that you can't quite meet his eyes any more. You wrap your arms around him
and hold him close.
"I'm glad you came for me," he whispers, lips just brushing yours. "I'm glad
you didn't let me… languish there." He says it like a quote, but he presses a
kiss to your lips distracting you from that line of thinking. He continues
speaking before you have the time to return the kiss. "She almost had it out of
me you know. What it was I was so out of my head about." He laughs a quiet
snicker. "I think this is better than spilling the whole thing. Yeah?"
"Hell fucking yeah," you snarl. Something in his words sparked something hot
and hungry in you and you are DONE being teased. You are awake and horny and
your sexyhot bro is all up in your business, but not taking it anywhere. It's
time for action.
In a motion too quick for the eye to catch, you flip over so that Dave is
beneath you, caged by your arms and knees. It was a move he could have easily
countered if he wanted to, something that you have used dozens of times in
strife after strife. But instead of fighting you he rolls with it. He looks up
at you breathing deep and clutching at your shoulders. You want to just carry
this on to its inevitable conclusion: kiss him breathless, bite him boneless,
hold him thoughtless. But you need to say something. You aren't the best at
responding to emotional situations, but you’ve watched enough TV, at least, to
recognize your cue.
"Dave…" You have to pause to swallow past your suddenly dry throat. You don't
know what to say, but you need to say something. You need to assure him that
everything is ok. "Dave, I'm not sure what else to say but-" you hesitate, not
sure if you have this kind of honesty in you. Then you man up. "I want you,
Dave. Only you. I think that I have for a long time."
You are trying to come up with more words, but that was enough. You see the
same flare in his eyes that he, a few moments before, sparked in you. He surges
upwards to claim your mouth with his own. You hadn't realized just how much he
was holding back until he really let himself go. His hands are everywhere:
pulling your hair, cupping your face, smoothing your back, clutching your ass.
You can't hope to keep up and don't even want to. You allow yourself to get
swept away by his passion until your head empties of everything else. It's all
you can do to keep from collapse. You hold yourself up through sheer force of
your tenuous will.
It's a slow burn. A touch of lips, then a press, then a parting. Dave whimpers,
pressing closer. His heels dig into the flesh just above your ass and his nails
find purchase just below your shoulder blades. The slight burn pinging up and
down your spine in a rush of heat. You don't whimper in return, but it's a
close thing.
You are the fucking adult in this situation. You are the one with years and
years of sexual experience. You can't let yourself swoon all over the place
from kissing like you're back in middle school. And as much as you want to just
kiss until you can't feel your lips you blueballed yourself like nobody's
business yesterday. You need to exacerbate this whole thing into something
purposeful for both of you. You start to kiss him with more purpose, hands
slipping under his back to arch him against you. His fingers settle, digging in
where they came to rest at your shoulder blades.
You kiss and kiss and kiss until, if asked, you wouldn't remember your own
name. Just Dave's. Your thoughts are full of Dave, your world is Dave. You
aren't sure just how you are staying upright. You feel weak. The strength
sapped out of every joint by overwhelming *feeling*. There is so much skin, so
much heat.
You are sure that you were going somewhere with this. You start to pull back to
give yourself a moment to think.
"Dave!" you hiss, distracted by his legs wrapped around your hips and the
sweet, sweet pressure. You can feel his dick press against your stomach and it
makes you want so much. Want to thrust against him until you both come, want to
grab your lengths together, want to thigh fuck him until neither of you can
think straight. Shit. You dig your teeth into his prominent collarbones to
distract yourself and it just makes him writhe and need under you.
"Shhhhhit!!" he hisses, digging his nails hard enough to leave marks for days.
You pull him closer.
"Dave, Dave, Dave," you gasp as you bite your way up his throat. In the edge of
your vision you watch his mouth fall open, and he drops his head back to give
you even better access. You move up, bypassing his mouth entirely to tug on his
earlobe with tongue and teeth and grind down against him. Dave writhes, clearly
not sure what to do with all the attention you are lavishing upon him. Your
hands are in constant motion, touching here, stroking here, pressing here.
All of a sudden it hits you a bit like a sledgehammer to whatever part of the
brain governs lust. You have Dave, your bro, the object of more of your
lascivious thoughts than anyone else on earth ever, right fucking here. And you
can have him in all of the ways you have imagined because he wants it too. You
are in his presence with him wanting you, and it's the first damn time you've
been together with access to lube, and goddamn if you aren't going to take
advantage.
Unfortunately you've both still got your fucking boxers on.
You abandon your assault on Dave's neck and shoulder - oops, that's going to
leave a hell of a mark - and push back, breathing heavily.
"No-" Dave starts, but you silence him with a kiss before pulling back again.
"Get. Yourself. Naked," you pant, already reaching back to push down your own
boxers the rest of the way.
He wriggles under you trying to get undressed without leaving the cage of your
arms and legs. You kick out with first one foot, then the other, until your
boxers land somewhere near the foot of the bed. His sail over your shoulder and
hit the opposite wall.
"Lube?" you ask, ready to run for your stash, but hoping you don't have to.
"Bedside table, bottom drawer," he said, hands skating down your ribs and over
your stomach to hover nearly touching your dick. You grit your teeth and don't
beg as you stretch for the drawer. The shift in position gets you what you want
anyway, bumping the head into his fingers. He thankfully takes this as a
welcome invitation and begins feeling up every millimeter as if he hasn't
already had his hands and mouth all over you. You miss the handle of the drawer
completely as your whole body clenches with the shock of contact. The second
attempt does it and you try not to flail around too uselessly as Dave's grip
firms to pump you as well as he can from his poor angle. You swear between
gritted teeth as your hands finally, finally close around a bottle. You pull
back with a triumphant shout that is only a little distorted by a whine when
Dave changes his grip.
Dave tries to snatch the bottle from your hand, but you hold it away. You still
have an idea of exactly how you want this done and no tempting brother is going
to sway you from your path no matter how sweetly he may fondle your manly bits.
You sit back, pulling away all together. He tries to pull you right back down
again, but you aren't having any of it. You shove him (affectionately) out of
the way until you are sitting against the backboard, legs not quite crossed.
Dave takes the hint with acumen, crawling into the space you left for him and
hooking his legs around you.
He is so much shorter than you at sixteen-going-on-seventeen that even half
sitting on your legs he has to tilt his head up to kiss you. You didn't hit
your final growth spurt until you were nineteen, so he still has time, you
reflect, and then quash that train of thought down like boner-killer it totally
is. The thought of watching Dave grow and mature out of this lanky teenager
sends something warm and possessive and not terribly sexual surging through
you. Fortunately it's easy to shift your focus to all that dick between the two
of you, and then it is all you can do to keep from shoving him onto his back
and having your way until your body is all he can remember.
You instead keep yourself still and close, cocks pressed between your bodies
and half-forgotten as you tease at his mouth with tongue then teeth, stifling
his sounds with your lips. You hold him close enough that maybe you could pull
him into your heart and keep him close and yours forever.
Eventually you realize that Dave is getting pretty near the end of his rope.
You could probably keep at this all day, but he is sixteen, with all the
associated hormones. You are holding him and he is pressing close enough that
he can't quite hump your stomach to completion, but he's certainly giving it a
concentrated effort. You snicker against his lips and he moans. Well. It's hard
to say no to that.
You reluctantly remove one hand from where the pair had migrated to his ass to
feel around for the lube. When you find it you don't bother wasting time. You
pour a bit out into one palm and then push Dave back in your lap enough to get
a hand between the two of you. With the other you adjust the angle of his hips
on your legs until your lengths are aligned just the way you like it.
At first you move slowly, just trying to get the lube spread around so that
everything will glide nice and smooth, but that ceases to be enough for Dave
almost immediately. He untangles one hand from your hair to join with yours
between you, trying to force the speed up. You try to keep it slow, draw it
out, and he tries to drive the both of you to the finish line. The result is a
steady pace that has Dave's toes curling and uncurling against your hips and
your breath hitching with each exhale.
Almost the moment you got your hand involved your kiss descended into a messy
smearing of lips and gasped words. Dave's are a litany of "please, please,
please" and yours is… you don't really know. It feels too good to think on
whatever your mouth might be saying. You are too focused on the feel of Dave's
cock against your hand and against your own for you to think about much else.
So hot and smooth and right. You moan and bite your lip hard to keep from
coming.
You adjust the angle slightly and let Dave pick up the pace. It is enough for
him. You feel his release against your stomach and up to your chest, which
topples you over the edge before you realize it is happening. You're probably
yelling and who knows what else, but you just gave the last fuck you had to
give.
You somehow manage to topple to the side that won't result in the two of you
falling out of bed. For a minute you breathe still wrapped up in each other as
close as you can get. His heart is pounding so hard that you can almost hear
it. That was far and away the best orgasm you ever had. You can't feel your
legs.
On further though that might be a result of the way they are tangled up with
Dave's. As much as you would like to lay here in post-coital bliss for the rest
of your life, more or less, you are both covered in lube and jizz and there is
not a single thing about your position that is even a little bit comfortable.
You untangle yourself from a clingy and more than half asleep Dave with
difficulty to head for the bathroom for a washcloth. As you push off the bed
you almost fall flat on your face with just how asleep your legs are. You
stagger from wall to door on your way, already planning just how you'll do this
better next time so you don't end up wobbling like a newborn colt.
Dave is still fuck-drunk and pliant when you return to clean him up. He doesn't
seem to even notice as you wipe him off and climb in beside him, wrapping him
in your arms once again. Which you hope to do every night for a long, long
time.
The thought hits you suddenly and it kills your buzz like a bucket of ice
water. Some day he is going to find someone his own age or go off to college or
get tired of you and then where are you going to be? Alone and pining all over
again as he moves on and starts his own life independent of you. Fuck. You
shove the thought out of your head angrily. There is more than enough time to
worry about that some time you didn't just have the best sex of your life. It's
amazing how even mutual masturbation can feel so much when it is with the
person you are about the most. Unfortunately Dave already felt you tense.
"What?" he mumbles.
No point lying now. That's what got you in this fix in the first place anyway.
"This can't last forever you know," you whisper. You can hear the fear in your
voice and hope that Dave can't.
"I know," he replies, resigned.
You are both quiet for a long moment.
"I know," he says again. "But let's make the most of it while we can." And he
twists around to cover your mouth with his own.
Chapter End Notes
     That's it! Thanks for reading folks!
     And happy 4/13!
End Notes
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