
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5459846.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Arrested_Development
  Relationship:
      George_Oscar_'Gob'_Bluth/Michael_Bluth
  Character:
      Michael_Bluth, George_Oscar_'Gob'_Bluth
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Public_Sex, dubcon
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-12-19 Words: 1716
****** hardly working ******
by universalgleam_(orphan_account)
Summary
     for a prompt on the AD kink meme: "GOB wants Michael to pay attention
     to him/let him help with the banana stand, but Michael just wants him
     to go away. When GOB forces his way in, Michael tells him to just sit
     on the floor and behave himself. When Michael is dealing with some
     customers, GOB starts blowing him. Michael is really embarrassed, but
     tries to keep his cool and handle the customers."
Notes
     first AD fic! hope it's alright. gob's meant to be 18, michael 16 (as
     far as i know their canon age gap was like 2-3 years so i figure this
     is accurate enough)
“What, not even for a few hours? Come on!”

Michael Bluth sighs and rolls his eyes. This is not the first time his brother
Gob has interrupted a busy day at work, and it certainly won’t be the last, but
Michael’s not just going to give in, is he? No. He wipes some sweat off his
forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a trail of chocolate there. It’s a
hundred and four degrees out, and all Michael wants is to get to five o’clock
so he can shut down the banana stand and go home.

Gob has mistakenly assumed that he’s a part of all this.

“No way, last time you ‘helped’ at the stand you almost burnt it down with a
joint and then you drank all the chocolate!”

“Chocolate, mmm… yeah, chocolate sounds good.” Gob licks his lips, eyes
flickering between his younger brother’s forehead and his eyes.

“Are you high?!” The glazed, unfocused eyes give him his answer. “Look, could
you just leave me alone? I’m trying to save up money for college.”

Gob bursts out laughing, trying to lose the grin when Michael scoffs and turns
away, but not accomplishing much. “No, no, Mikey, just – just let me help!
Please! Promise I’ll be good, come on.”

“No.”

The older brother elbows his way past Michael and right into the banana stand.

“Gob – hey! What the hell are you doing?!”

“I’m working, Michael.” (He’s not working, just dipping his fingers in the
melted chocolate.)

“No, no, get your hands out of there, that’s – Gob – fine, you can stay here,
alright?! Just sit on the floor and shut up, we’ve got two more hours till we
can leave.”

Gob is beaming. “Thanks, Mikey.” A rough, uncoordinated hug and, oh, great,
there’s chocolate all over Michael’s shirt.

“Yeah, whatever. Get down.”

Gob obeys and Michael wonders why he even bothered saying yes. He knows it’s
only a matter of time before he’s regretting that.
 
Astonishingly, Gob is quiet for just over fourteen minutes. Michael can’t
really figure out why he even bothered to stay, because even his brother’s
twisted mind couldn’t consider what he’s doing “work”; this seems to cross his
mind at that fourteen-minute mark, when he hisses “Michael!”

Michael’s busy helping a customer and just kicks his brother, hoping it’ll shut
him up, but it does the opposite; Gob, now offended, pokes him in the back of
his knee, causing his left leg to give out for a minute. After quickly handing
the worried-looking customer his change, Michael drops to the ground, furious.

“What do you want?”

Gob shrugs. “Nothing. Just bored. Can I have a banana?”

“No.”

“Why not?!”

“We’re not supposed to take any! And besides, you’re being kind of an asshole,
so even if I could, I–”

“–I’ll blow you for it?”

Michael freezes. Gob is looking right at him, those lidded green eyes showing
no sign of a joke.

“…what?!”

“Blow you for it. A banana. Your banana.” Gob chuckles, clearly impressed with
his wit. Michael, however, is not impressed.

“You’re – that’s not funny, Gob! You’re sick, I – God, this was a fucking
mistake – what do I have to do to get you to leave? And don’t say – don’t –
what are you –”

“Stop talking to yourself, Mikey, you sound crazy,” Gob murmurs, and he sounds…
different. He clearly wasn’t listening to a word his brother said, and his
thumb is running patterns over Michael’s thigh through his jeans. It makes
Michael shiver, and he pushes the hand off, standing up again, brushing his
hands down his shirt in some half-hearted effort to compose himself, but his
heart’s clattering around in his chest and there’s nothing he can do to stop
it. He glances back down at Gob.

“Just don’t touch me and I’ll let you stay.”

But even as he’s saying the words, he knows it’s useless. Gob is the touchiest
person in the world and for some reason Michael gets the worst of it.

Over the next ten minutes, Michael serves eight customers. He’s like a robot to
all of them, because for some reason, he can’t get Gob’s thumb out of his mind,
the way it traced swirls on rough denim without a care. It’s a few minutes of
this before he realizes that the thumb is back.

“Gob!” Oh, Christ. He meant for it to sound stern, but it comes out all breathy
and strangled, like a groan, and Gob grins at him which just makes everything
worse. Suddenly his brother’s hand is higher, and higher, and then he’s – fuck,
is he?! – yes, he is squeezing his dick through his pants and Michael digs his
teeth into his lip, eyes widening. He’s grateful for the lull in customers and
curses himself because, even as he’s frantically trying to push Gob’s hand
away, he can feel himself getting hard.

It’s nothing but a teenage reflex, right?! His anatomy has no way of knowing
that it’s a male’s hand there, a brother’s hand. Oh, God. Michael thinks he
could die. He swiftly dips down below the counter, fully intending to deal with
this once and for all, and finish his last hour-and-a-half of work in peace,
alone, with no distractions, and most importantly, no erections.

“Get out, now, you’re finished for the day.”
That’s what Michael intended to say, but he never got the words out, having
made the huge mistake of glancing at his brother’s face. Gob’s mouth looks all
swollen, wet and red, and it’s clear he’s been doing nothing but licking,
sucking, biting his own lips while he sits on the dirty ground. Michael forces
himself to look away because, tragically, this thought is only making him
harder and it makes absolutely no sense. A deep voice tugs him back.

”My offer still stands.” God, he doesn’t even sound like Gob anymore. He’s
still on the ground and the hand’s back on his lap rubbing rubbing rubbing and
it feels so nice that Michael lets go for a second, just a second, and gasps.
He doesn’t have to ask if Gob’s done this before, because a lot of things are
starting to make sense – Gob’s gay. Gob is gay. But Michael isn’t.

“Gob, I – I can’t–”

“Shhh… just let me, come on. You need to relax, guy. Let me help you out.”

“But I’m not–”

Gob seems to read his mind. “It’s not gay for you, Michael, you won’t even see
my face!”

“We’re brothers–” He’s abruptly cut off when he hears someone up above say
“…hello?” and springs back up, face flushed. His resolve is weakening by the
second, and he almost wants to just say yes.

The customer orders; Michael serves her, then glances down as she’s walking
away, and just like that his big brother is licking his lips and the zip’s
coming down.

Michael tells himself he’s just too tired to tell him to stop, because there’s
not a fucking chance he maybe, just maybe, really wants this.

It’s torture, feeling that hot breath on his lower belly as Gob’s long fingers
pull down the waistband of his briefs (at which point he whispers “Still
wearing fucking tighty-whities?!”) and Michael gasps as quietly as he can,
fingers white-knuckled on the banana stand counter, once his cock is pulled
out, Gob starting a slow, steady rhythm with his hand.

No one’s ever touched him there, not like this – there had been a brief tryst
with an older girl, Stacy Barroga, at a party in sophomore year, but it was
just some heavy touching through his pants, and she’d only been doing it to get
back at her sister – in fact, she might have even thought Michael was someone
else, and it had happened entirely in the dark. So for all practical purposes,
Michael’s brain forces himself to acknowledge that the first person to get
intimate with his… nether regions is his own brother.

His own brother whose eyes are suddenly so green and his tongue is flicking out
to gather the drop of precum beading at the tip of Michael’s cock. Gob smiles
when he tastes it, like he’s been dying to do it and just like before, a lot is
making sense now – the long hugs, Gob’s obsession with Michael’s approval even
though he’s younger, always wanting to sleep in his bed, hanging on his every
word – Michael can just barely think how long has this been going on before
another customer’s there and Michael snaps his head back up, no choice but to
continue working like nothing is happening.

The thing that surprises Michael most is just how fucking good Gob is at giving
head. He’s so attentive; even with the younger boy confined to tiny movements
of his hips and legs, Gob can tell what his brother likes best, and keeps
coming back to his most successful moves. His hand moves and stalls at just the
right points, with just the right pressure. Michael would sooner die than tell
him this, but it might just be the best work he’s ever seen Gob do.

Embarrassingly, the younger Bluth barely lasts five minutes, and he’s
thankfully not in the middle of a transaction when he comes, hips thrusting
forward out of his control as he practically fucks Gob’s face, and Gob just
sits there still so silent and filthy, and he takes it like a pro, swallowing
and everything.

Michael has never felt so weak or so sinful in his entire life. Gob, on the
other hand, looks like he’s died and gone to heaven. He reaches up to his
brother’s hand and tugs him down onto the floor, nuzzling his head.
“Michael.”

“Gob, I – what the fuck was that?”

“Mm… thank you, Mikey…”

“You must – don’t you regret it? We can’t–”

Gob laughs, a little more loudly than he should, given the circumstances. “We
just did.”

Michael can’t think of any way to respond to that.

Gob sleeps for the rest of Michael’s shift, drooling all over his sleeve.

At 5:03, the younger Bluth leaves, locking the stand with his brother still
inside it; if he’s such a magician, he can surely find his way out. He spends
the entire bike ride home congratulating himself, because miraculously, he’s
finally found a way to shut Gob up.
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