Chapter Text
You haven't seen your bro in eight months because he's been busy shooting his latest movie. You haven't spoken to him in three weeks because he's supposed to call you on Sundays when he's free, but he's forgotten the last few times. You haven't spoken to any other people in that time either, unless cashiers and delivery people count. And really, you order most shit online and get by with just nodding as far as communication with strangers goes.
So maybe you are a bit enthused when he walks in the door. You're not waiting at the door for him (though you are listening for it) and you don't run up to him (though you do meet him there) and you think you should be somewhat congratulated for that. You offer a fist for him to bump and you're overwhelmingly grateful that your face is hidden in his shoulder when he pulls you in for a hug instead because he feels like home and you're not even close to as chill as you want him to think you are.
He'll never respect you as an adult if you cling to him like a little kid, so you count out three seconds carefully. And then you let yourself have another two seconds hugging him because he hasn't let go yet either. And then you step back.
'How was the flight?' you ask.
'Plane food is ass,' Bro says, picking up his suitcase and chucking it inside the apartment a bit more so he can close the door. He looks at you again and grins. 'Did you get taller again?' he says.
'I think I've finished growing by now,' you say. 'Though you have been away forever, so it's possible.'
Bro claps his hand to his chest as if wounded and staggers back like a dork before grinning at you again. Your heart feels swollen in your chest, like an actual physical thing, which is ridiculous. Your bro has this stupid habit of making your body disobey basic rationality.
'So, what's on the agenda tonight?' you ask as you both head into the apartment properly, inwardly cursing yourself for such a bland question. That's two for two.
He gives you a tiny self-deprecating smile. You love that you get to see the full range of his expressions, even if he hasn't taken his signature aviators off yet. Watching his interviews, you'd think he doesn't have any except neutral.
'Dirk, I love you but I'm about 30 seconds from passing out. Unless you have food. Then I'm dinner plus 30 seconds from passing out.'
You make sure your disappointment doesn't show on your face.
'I have food,' you say.
'You look after me,' Bro says, smiling gratefully. He flops onto the couch and you see his eyes fall shut behind his shades. Yeah, you're gonna get him food and bring it to him and sit next to him, hoping he says literally anything to you. God you're pathetic.
You touch Bro’s shoulder to wake him up when you have the instant ramen you made for him, but he doesn't even stir. You push him on the head and he still doesn't wake up. You run your fingers through his soft hair, dragging your nails against his scalp.
Why isn't he waking up? How fucking tired is he? You were only gone for like 5 minutes making this!
You're really just stroking your bro's hair now, aren't you? You twist your fingers around a portion and pull harshly, to justify what you're doing.
He groans and wakes up.
'Food,' you say, holding it out to him.
'Mmm,' he says. 'Yeah. Fuck I'm tired, Dirk. It's … mmm.'
You let go of his hair, way too late. He doesn't notice.
You blame … everything, absolutely everything, for the way your mind immediately starts to wonder what else you could get away with while he's in this state. Everything from your own tired state (you might have been too nervous to sleep last night, it's been eight fucking months), to the pictures published in Cosmopolitan of him earlier in the year, to just general stupidity.
You really shouldn't have thought about those pictures. You think about them way too often. You shouldn't. Think about them. Especially not while Bro is right there. Oh look, you're thinking about them. It's fine. It's not like you haven't seen your bro practically naked in real life. Oh look, now you're thinking about that instead. Such a fucking improvement.
He puts aside his empty bowl on the coffee table and pats the couch cushion next to him. Huh, you just stood next to the couch and watched him eat his noodles while you thought about him naked, that sure was a weird thing to do, even by your standards. You sit next to him and he scruffs your hair for a moment before relaxing back into the same position as before and closing his eyes.
You take his shades off, fold them up and put them on the coffee table.
'Thanks,' he mumbles. 'I'm not sleeping, chuck a movie on or something. I'll go to bed in a minute.'
He's clearly lying, but you pick up the remote and fiddle with it for half a minute while you try and control your damn thoughts. You've always struggled with getting stuck on one particular train of thought with no stations or alternate tracks to divert you. This particular train is one you have a love/hate relationship with, because on the one hand you don't want to be thinking of your bro that way and on the other … whenever you've given into it, you've been treated to the best god damn orgasms of your life and hey, that's hard to argue with. Especially when the you that's on board for more orgasms points out that no one needs to know that you masturbate at all, let alone what you think of when you do.
When you look back at him, Bro’s asleep again. You can tell. You lean on him slightly, hoping your weight is uncomfortable enough to wake him up and make him be present with you. It isn't.
He's slouched in the corner of the couch, which makes it hard to lean on him the amount that you've decided is proper. Your stupid brain tells you that you should err on the side of more. After all, the dickhead should be awake. It's his own fault.
This might as well be a cuddle. You don't really do this with anyone, but the warmth from his body is nice. You rest your head gently on his shoulder and slowly relax into it. Okay, maybe spite isn't your primary motivator here. Whatever. He should be thrilled to get a cuddle off his bro who he hasn't even bothered to keep in proper contact with. Jane's dad calls her at least every second day, sometimes more. Hell, her poppop is in a family group chat with her and checks in more frequently than your bro. Not that you don't understand. He's busy. Famous. (Jane’s poppop is busy and famous too.)
He's not wearing a suit like he so often is when he knows he's going to be seen in public. Instead you’re pressed against a plain button-up shirt that’s soft against your cheek and probably very expensive jeans. You trace a crease from one side of his chest to the other, wondering who else gets to see him like this. You can't remember anyone staying over when he still lived here. He's never talked about partners to you at all.
There's actually a lot of creases in this shirt. Maybe he didn't iron it. Or maybe it got creased on the plane. This one goes right across his nipple, you can feel how it gives a little easier than the rest of his chest. When you trace it again, it's still soft but you can feel the bump of it a bit more.
You take your hand away and watch his face carefully. You did that. You made his body react to you. He's still very asleep. You swallow nervously before putting your palm back on his belly, watching his eyelids the whole time. Nothing.
Sometimes you get thoughts that start with I wonder what would happen if I … and they're very hard to resist. Once you wondered what would happen if you angled your bunsen burner slightly differently and what happened was that the chem teacher's very low quality blazer caught fire. And you liked her fine. You probably could have figured out what would happen if you had resisted that thought, you were 16 god damn years old and plenty clever enough, but for some reason your brain insists on finding out in a very practical way.
You wonder what would happen if you put your hand exactly where it is now, but under Bro's shirt.
What will happen is that you'll be touching his skin and he may or may not wake up but either way that's a weird thing to do. Not as bad as setting someone on fire though. Your fingers hover at the hem of his shirt for a moment. You think it would be less alarming if you ease into the contact, rather than just suddenly putting your hand on the skin just under his sternum.
You let your fingers touch him just below the hem. You feel more fabric and realise that's the waistband of his underwear. You aren't going to dwell on that too long. You just move your hand slowly and gently up his stomach until you're on his chest.
His skin is so warm and soft. Even the hair that runs below his belly button down towards where you're not allowed to follow is soft. You can feel his pulse under your fingertips. It's somehow intoxicating, more intimate than you were expecting.
Okay. Time to stop. You wanted to know what would happen. This is what happened. You can stop now.
You're not going to stop. Eh, you tried.
You're at least not going to be stupid about this. It's like boiling a frog or whatever, you're going to be slow and gentle and let him get used to your hand on his bare chest before you follow your unignorable impulse to find out what his nipples feel like. (Nipples, Dirk, they’ll feel like nipples. Why are you like this?)
His heartbeat is so steady and his breaths are even and just slightly heavy with sleep. You stroke his chest slowly, in a way you have to imagine is soothing, moving towards that same nipple you touched before.
You barely resist the urge to pinch him harshly. You don't actually want him awake. You don't think you want him awake. You're kind of swinging back and forwards on that. Instead you move your finger in light circles, feeling his nipple stiffen into a peak underneath you. You look at his face, but it hasn't moved at all. You wonder if he's dreaming to match what you're doing.
You let your gaze drop from his eyelids to his lips, then to his throat. You wish he wasn't wearing this shirt, but it's still interesting to see the shape of your hand underneath it. And below your hand the shirt has hiked up a bit, showing the contrast between his slightly more tanned skin and yours. Almost as if he actually leaves the house. It’s not like there’s less sun in Texas than California.
You only look at his pants because you like symmetry and you might as well look at his whole body. Your fingers freeze when you see that his nipple isn't the only thing that's reacting to your touch.
You glance down at your own crotch as if you need visual confirmation that your own dick is pressing almost painfully into your zipper. You unbutton and unzip your jeans and carefully rearrange yourself. The pressure fades back into background noise and your attention is once again fully on Bro. Which makes you think that if you don't do the same for him, your game is over, because maybe your hand isn’t enough to wake him up but surely that discomfort would be.
You drag your hand down his chest, still committed to the idea that if you have one point of contact it'll be less noticeable. His button unpops almost too easily. The zip resists at first, mostly because you're trying not to drag it too obviously over his dick. You get it down and hesitate. This is a bigger deal than what you've done so far.
You slip your hand into his jeans and rest it lightly over his cock. You can probably do this without actually touching him. Keep the barrier of his underwear between you. Go back to touching his chest.
You just need to get an idea of how he's currently positioned so that you can make him more comfortable. You feel tentatively down until you find the shape of his balls. You aren't going to touch them again, so you make sure to get it out of your system, cupping them gently and exploring them thoroughly.
You leave them be and drag your hand slowly and gently up the length of his dick, feeling where it's confined uncomfortably and where you'll need to rearrange it. Which will take a little more pressure than you're currently using. You'll need to be firmer.
You stroke him again. You need to get him so used to this light touch that he won't notice when you move him. He's growing even harder in your hand as you touch him, which makes sense but also is making the prospect of running out of room even more urgent. You don't know if he'll even fit comfortably inside his briefs even once you rearrange him.
If it was you, you'd be pulling your dick out. But then you'll be touching him skin to skin, which you were trying to avoid. Not out of lack of interest. You want to touch him more than you've ever wanted anything. But the risk …
On the other hand, surely there's not that much difference from what you're doing now and what you want to do. And if you made him more comfortable, you could get away with more.
You don't know what the right answer is, so you go with the one that you want to be right. Bro's erection is already lifting his waistband up from his hip enough for you to ease your hand inside. You carefully find the shape of his dick and then pull his briefs up a bit more so you can guide him free. He's hard and hot and you realise you don't want his waistband pressing into his shaft either. Carefully and slowly, you shift the fabric down until they're below his balls.
You're glad his jeans are the kind with the low zipper and probably won't bother him, but you'll keep your hand shielding his dick from the cold metal just in case.
Actually, you have two hands. You shift so that you're sitting up a bit more and hold his jeans away with your left hand, stroking at his hair with your fingertips. You wrap your right hand around his tip, watching how his foreskin shifts as you slowly stroke him.
He has to be fully hard by now. His skin feels like it's stretched thin and he's distractingly big and heavy in your hand. His head is starting to leak a small amount of precome. You don't want that to drip onto his belly. You move your palm over it and then back down his cock.
Bro sighs softly and you look at his face. He's still very much asleep, but that's the first noise he's made, the first indication he's given that he's remotely aware of what you're doing. You really shouldn't want him to do it again.
More pre is beading on his head. You're not one to do the same trick twice. Without thinking about it further than you want to, you're dipping your head down and licking him clean.
You have to suppress a groan of pleasure. You fucking love the taste of dick in general, but Bro's is even better than you could have anticipated. Or maybe it's that you've been fantasising about this for way too long. You lick him again, lingering and feeling the texture of his slit on your tongue.
Bro's next breath is a little shakier than it should be, so you lighten your grip on his shaft and the pressure of your tongue, but you keep moving. You move your lips over his head, wet from your licks and then slide your mouth a little lower.
This time you can't quite help the moan of satisfaction as you wrap your tongue around him. It's muffled enough that you barely hear it yourself, but you take more of his dick into your mouth in an effort to shut yourself up.
You shift yourself into a more comfortable angle and suck lightly up before dipping down again until his head is pressing against your throat and then past it. You love the feeling of this, love that you're good at it. It's almost scary, that pressure right where you breathe, and it just feels satisfying in a way you can't quite name.
You reach into your pants and squeeze yourself for a bit of relief. It isn't relieving. It makes everything hotter and harder to deal with and suddenly you're wondering if you even want him to come in your mouth when your ass is right there.
Can you do that? Can you not do that now that you've thought it?
You slide from the couch onto the floor, still holding his dick gently in your mouth. You're not about to ruin this by having any sudden sensations. He shifts closer to you as if he's chasing your mouth and you have to take him all the way to the base again to reward that.
You slow down so that you can be confident in your ability to take your pants off and suck him at the same time. It's not easy, not least because your hands are shaking with nerves and arousal, but you get them off. There's nothing you can do about your shirt, or not easily and quickly at least, but you don't mind.
You let your mouth get even sloppier than it was, encouraging your spit to drip down his dick and onto your hand. You're desperate enough to just hop right on him and you're sure you could manage it if it wasn't also for the fact that you don't want him waking up.
So instead you rub your now slick fingers against your hole. You can't help but try and sit back on them even though you're the one who's in control of them. Thanks to an apparently misguided attempt to wank out your frustrations before Bro got home, you take two fingers immediately.
You groan lowly and take Bro back into your throat as pseudo punishment for your noise. It is just about the opposite of discouraging. You spread your fingers with more urgency, as if that will help. You just want him inside you already, you're burning with need.
Finally, you can't take it anymore and you slowly remove your mouth, careful not to lick away too much of your spit. You have to move his hand to make room for your knees and you can't believe that that feels almost more risky than riding him until you both come, but it does.
You breathe evenly and deliberately as you hold him steady against your hole and slowly start to sink down.
Oh God, he feels better than any toy could. You close your eyes as you take in the sensation of the stretch, of everything. You pause once you've taken him all the way in, just enjoying how it feels. You open your eyes so that you can check that Bro's still asleep.
He is, but his hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat and there's a small frown between his eyes. He looks fucking gorgeous like this. You wonder what orgasm looks like on him. You slowly lift your hips and then drop them again, watching his face closely.
His expression barely changes, but there is some movement. His breathing isn't as steady as it was and his fingers occasionally twitch like he's going to grab you by the hips and guide you harder and faster. It's an exhilarating thought.
Harder and faster sounds pretty fucking good to you. You grab the base of your dick desperately to try and delay your orgasm as you grind against him. Your movements are getting sloppier and you tip your head back as if that will help you breathe easier. God, you want to come so badly.
Bro moans and you force your head back down to look at him just as his eyes open. Oh fuck.
He frowns in confusion as he takes in what's happening and why the fuck haven't your hips stopped moving and now he's reaching for your waist. His fingertips just brush you when his frown of confusion transforms into one of ecstasy and you feel him come inside you.
Your breath hitches in surprise and you can't help that you're coming too, clenching around him and scrunching up your face to try and hold back a moan. It doesn't quite work.
He stares up at you, you can feel his eyes on you, but you look at your come on his belly and shirt instead. You're such an idiot. You can't believe you did that.
He grabs you by the arm and pulls you down and close to his chest. You don't resist. You couldn't, not now. You have no idea why he chooses to kiss your forehead and stroke your hair instead of yell at you.
No, you're not getting away with fucking cuddles here, you don't deserve this shit. You try to wriggle away, but he holds you firm so you punch him in the throat (why???) and fall off the couch. You land on your knee, and then you're off, flashstepping to the bathroom and locking the door behind you.
'Dirk, what the fuck?' Bro calls after you. You hear his footsteps down the hall and then the sound of him staggering into a wall. God, he's still sleepdrunk. You turn the shower on and strip off your shirt, getting in before it's even had time to warm. You probably don't deserve a hot shower, but you can't quite bring yourself to turn the tap off to keep it cold.
There's a knock at the door. You ignore it. You hear him try to turn the handle and then try and force it. Nope, apparently he can't break through the lock.
'Dirk, christsake, talk to me.'
Nope, not happening. God, what were you thinking? Even if he hadn't woken up, what, were you thinking he'd just think he'd fucked someone else in his sleep? Or that you could have cleaned him up while he was still sleeping? Or that he'd think that wet dreams now come with a wet dick? Like, honestly, what were you thinking?
'Come on, kid, you should really let me in.'
Were you hoping he would wake up? You just don't know anymore.
'Fine, I'll talk to a wall, you think you can stop me from talking? I've been reliably informed it's impossible to keep me from shooting my mouth so buckle up boyo, it's rollercoaster time.'
He hesitates for a moment and you find yourself straining to hear him over your shower like an idiot who deserves talking.
'Not a rollercoaster like my dick, just to clarify. A rollercoaster like my incredible guardian feelings talk skills. You know, like how that sentence made sense. Fuck.'
You roll your eyes to yourself. Why do you love him. In literally every way. Argh feelings are the worst.
'I'm not mad, Dirk, I mean, I don't really know what I'm feeling apart from tired and also come-stupid, but I'm not mad. Do you get that? Like when you jizz it feels like all your brain has escaped through your dick? Actually, pretend I didn't ask that, it's not the time. Unless you wanna answer, 'cause I am kinda curious.'
You should just try and drown yourself in the shower. If anyone can figure out how to do it, it's you.
'Can you just not be all worked up about this?' Bro says. You actually manage to hear his yawn through the wall and over the shower before he speaks again. 'I wanna go to sleep but I want you to be okay more.'
You don't know what to do. You just have to ignore him while you get your head straight. He tries to talk to you several more times before he goes quiet. You don't hear him walk away, which is a bit confusing. You step out of the shower and wrap yourself in a towel, clutching it close as if you deserve the comfort.
You open the door and see that Bro is slumped in the hallway, asleep and in a really awkward position. You sigh. You can't leave him like this, not when he's there in the first place because of you.
You kick him lightly but he doesn't move. Because he's a fucking deep sleeper, apparently. You crouch down and swing his arm over your shoulder before heaving him up. He manages to get his feet underneath him and lean into you, but he doesn't feel entirely awake.
'You 'kay?' he mumbles as you drag him to his bedroom.
'Yeah, sure,' you say.
He sighs and nudges his head into your neck a little bit more. You're pretty sure that's supposed to be affectionate.
You drop him on his bed and he awkwardly shoves his jeans and shirt off until he's just in his underwear. You watch until he's finished and you realise you probably shouldn't have. He seems to be asleep again, but the blankets aren't even close to covering him. You pull them up, assuming it's the least you can do.
He grabs you while you're bent over his bed and pulls you in with him, flicking the blankets over both of you and holding you firmly to his chest. You try and wriggle out again, but you can't. He's too strong and this time he’s got your arms pinned under his so you can’t hit him again. Not that you want to. You stop struggling, but you don't stop thinking. You don't deserve how nice this feels.
You really don’t mean to fall asleep. You glare at his chest until your eyes burn trying to force yourself to stay awake. You’re so fucking tired.