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It had been approximately thirty-six hours since the eldest Strider had seen a bed. He hadn’t been trying to marathon consciousness but he’d just yet to find a point he could crash conveniently.
He’d started the seemingly endless sleepless streak in Hollywood, booked so solid he hardly had time to breathe. He’d been putting off an interview with a reporter known for ruthlessly prying way too fucking much for at least a month now and his PR people were starting to get irritated with him. Evidently they’d become irritated enough to go over his head and schedule the interview anyway, not telling him until the fucking guy showed up.
As predicted, Jack Noir was a fucking pain in D’s ass. He asked way too much shit to begin with, an alarming amount of it so personal D couldn’t help wonder if it was really for an article. He was a sarcastic fuck and not in the pleasant way his brothers often were, but in a way that grated on D’s nerves until he had to physically restrain himself from hitting the guy with a chair.
By the time the interview wrapped up, D was speaking through his teeth.
But the gods or whatever had no mercy for him, oh no, there was more to come. His assistant-who after this bullshit he was incredibly tempted to fire although it wasn’t strictly her fault-had booked a cover shoot for some important magazine right after the interview without enough time even for a coffee break in between. D was half grateful since it gave him reason to abscond away from Noir rather than making polite post interview conversation.
The little bit of gratitude died up almost as soon as it’d come.
The director of this shoot was, of course, Kanya Maryam. She was one of the most respected fashion icons currently in Hollywood and she was damn good at her job, mostly because if needed she’d steam roll over the human element her work required. D had been sure since the day they met, despite the woman’s unbridled enthusiasm for fashion, she would cut him in two if ever crossed and it made him respect her something fierce.
Today however was not the day for Kanya’s unyielding dedication to her work. All D wanted was to finish up quickly but the red-clad woman was having none of it. She posed him this way and that, trying out half a dozen stances to get the look she was after. Thankfully the headline of the magazine was something about D’s recent Hollywood take over so the scowl he was sporting helped their effort. Even if it hadn’t he wasn’t sure he had it in him to make any other expression, he was a director and not an actor for a reason.
It took two more hours under hot lights and way too many layers of clothes for the shoot to conclude. As soon as it had D was out of the vampire-esque clothes Kanya had swathed him in and onto lunch with a prospective producer.
The promise of food perked him up slightly, but the memory of who it was he would be talking to brought him right back down. Fuck.
He’d seen the distinctive red turtle neck-because this jackass seriously felt the fucking need to wear his hipster internet bullshit in California in the middle of the fucking summer-and decided he was going to need the biggest, most overpriced desert the place offered as a first course. He’d need a distraction to keep his hands busy and not on this guy’s throat.
It wasn’t his first time working with Kankri, but knowing what to expect didn’t make the conversation less frustrating. After ten minutes of a rant about why eating ice cream in front of a vegan was triggering, D could swear he could feel the vein in his temple threatening to hemorrhage. He excused himself to the bathroom to shoot a text asking his assistant to please please tell him what the cons to murder were exactly.
He got a response from Hal instead telling him that the biggest con would be him and he just about chucked his phone.
Three minutes after he’d rejoined Kankri ‘breathing triggers me’ Vantas, his phone began to ring and for the health and safety of everyone in the room he excused himself to answer it.
Without giving the caller ID so much as a glance he answered with a sharp ‘What?’.
“Whoa there King Vicious it’s just me.” Bro’s voice rang from the other side.
D rubbed his temples with his middle and index finger, taking a breath, “Sorry long day.”
“It’s 9 am.”
“Did you call for a fucking reason or did the clock on my phone spontaneously break making the company peep into their massive stores of backroom data and decide to recruit you as a replacement, since you’re obviously the most efficient time keeping piece available to me right now?”
There was a moment of silence long enough for D to regret the venomous remark. It wasn’t Bro’s fault everything sucked.
“Was gonna ask if you were still hoppin a flight tonight. From the sounda ya, you could use it.”
FUCK.
He’d forgotten entirely that he’d promised to come home today. He was booked solid until at least one am! Fucking hell why did he even try some days.
“I’m booked.” He sighed out, “Blitzed, swamped and swarmed. I’m at a lunch right now with the most irritating little troll of a man and after that I’ve got a release party to show for. I won’t be done till like one in the morning.”
“The wonder of having a private plane is that you can hop on it at any time.”
“Bro.”
“D.”
“Bro.”
“Treat yo self.” Dave’s voice called from the background.
Bro snorted and there was a rustling sound followed by a yelp like he’d thrown something at the teen. He probably did.
“Hate to agree with the brat, but he’s right. You’ve been gone for three months straight. If I know you, and brother do I, you’re about ready to get yourself arrested for something because prison sounds like a nice vacation. ‘M I right?”
“Derrick I can’t.”
Bro sneezed on the other line and followed it up with a quick, “Oh, sorry about that I’m allergic to bullshit.”
D tapped his forehead hard enough against the wall to rattle his teeth a little but a little smile ghosted over his lips, “That John kid is really rubbing off if you’re quoting movies now too.”
“Shut up and get your skinny ass home.”
“With a request so lovingly phrased how could I possibly refuse?”
“See you at balls o’clock.”
“Yeah, see you then.”
With that both brothers disconnected and D went back to his table where Kankri began a lecture about bad manners.
When D finally stumbled up to the door of the Houston apartment he and his brothers called home, he was at least half a day late. Turns out some asshole had scheduled even MORE things for him to do without telling him. And evidently each and every inane task was red flag important.
There were heavy bags under D’s crimson eyes that were well hidden by his shades, although the yawns stretching his mouth every other minute were not. He’d been up for so long he’d looped all the way back around to not being tired. At least his mind wasn’t, his body was ready to drop.
He slid into the apartment, well aware that it was far too early in the morning for any of his brothers to be awake. He’d just get to drop down and with any luck sack out on the futon next to Bro.
But what was luck to a Strider but some bullshit that never seemed to go in the right direction?
D got half a step farther into the apartment before a pair of arms was wrapped around his waist. They were too thick to be either of the twins, combined with the cool and slightly sweet musky scent surrounding him he was certain in a second he’d been caught by Bro.
“Thought you’d bailed.” His deep, melodious and comfortingly familiar voice rumbled from deep in his chest.
There were exactly two other people on the planet that would have picked up the very slight edge in Bro’s voice and both of them were in New York. He’d been worried, which wasn’t anything new, but he’d also been disappointed at thinking he wouldn’t get to see his older brother. D’s heart clenched in his chest.
“Nah, just tangled up in a never ending web of celebrity bullshit. Remind me I’m firing Vriska.” He said, allowing his weight to lean back into Bro’s solid form.
“What’d she do?”
“Booked me solid without telling me first, and then did it again about an hour after I’d finally finished running around like a headless chicken on a track team racing for the gold even though track is a lame ass pointless sport that definitely doesn’t allow chickens to join it.”
“When was the last time you sat down?” Bro asked, undoubtedly noticing how heavily D was leaning on him.
“Yesterday, maybe. I can’t remember.”
“Okay, pampering time.”
“Bro I—”
“I’m not nice very often D, keep bitchin and I might decide to strife your ass unconscious instead.”
D made a face. He recognized the bluff, even Bro wasn’t that cruel, but let it stand. He was too tired to put up much more than a token fight now anyway.
To his surprise, Bro scooped him up and carried him to the futon. Gently he set him down before setting himself to the task of slowly stripping D of his uncomfortable clothes. The suit was designer and tailored to fit but all that meant was that it held him close and made him look good, not that it was comfortable.
He started mercifully at the bottom, going straight for D’s shoes, knowing how much of a pain in the ass dress shoes were after having accompanied D on the redcarpet at least once before being made to swear to never do it again. He slid them off and kneaded D’s foot as it was freed. The eldest Strider cupped his hand over his mouth in an effort to avoid a moan. Fuck that felt so good.
He ultimately ended up laying back as Bro seemed intent on going slow and really spoiling him. As he stripped off his clothes, he massaged every sore muscle he revealed until D was a boneless mess on the futon.
“Jesus big bro you carry tension like a damn romantic subplot.”
D giggled at that, probably loopy from the endorphins the massage had released combined with lack of sleep.
“It’s that or I go around punching out all the people who piss me off. And that’s everyone depending on the time of day.” His words crammed themselves together into a slur.
Bro slid back up his body, making D appreciate the languid grace he moved with in even the simplest of circumstances. He’d watched him develop that skill through the years, starting out as an awkward kid with a ‘run before you walk’ mentality. He remembered watching him practice those kinds of movements, remembered how he used to watch his hands and legs and feet and arms to make sure they were all perfectly within his control. The grace was now something of a second nature to him, but his own awkward eager movements would still rear their heads from time to time, reminding D of the kid he’d helped raise.
His reminiscing was cut short by the soft press of lips to his own. Had he been fully alert, he might’ve noticed the look of affection briefly present on Bro’s face before he’d leaned in. Even still, he felt it in the way they kissed.
It was so so very rare for Bro to be honest this way. D had surmised he was allergic to sincerity if all the walls he’d constructed were anything to go by. But once in a while, usually after something terrifying happened, he’d let himself go. As a Strider and by the nature of that D was also somewhat allergic to sincerity, but he couldn’t deny how much he relished the moments they were both able to relax this way.
Bro parted his lips, flicking his tongue against D’s lips in a bid for entrance that was accepted quickly and easily. The kiss was unhurried and sweet, as careful as Bro had been since D walked in the door. While the eldest Strider enjoyed things hot and heavy just as often as the others did, this kind of tenderness was something he was implicitly weak to.
When Bro pulled back, D kept his eyes shut, focusing just on the sound of their breathing.
“Ya okay, D?” Bro asked, and the slight gruffness to his voice made D shiver.
“Yeah, ‘m good. Just wasn’t expecting to get sappy makeouts.”
Bro snorted but didn’t move from his position hovering above his older brother, “Yeah, well ya dun look like ya coulda handled much more. Yer likea flower wiltin in the sun.”
“Man you just had to ruin the mome—”
D’s sentence is interrupted once again by the pleasantly gentle crush of lips. Fuck, why was Bro so good at kissing? When had D looked away long enough for his shitty younger brother to get so damn creative with that tongue of his?
Bro leaned against D, the weight of his warm body a comfortable pressure against D’s own thinner one. Before this whole incestuous quadrangle had begun he’d always been irritated that Bro was bigger than him, surely as the oldest brother he should also be the biggest, the protector. But no matter how much he strifed or how much protein he tried to pack down, he was still skinny as hell. Strong, sure, but not as physically imposing as Bro was.
But now, laying beneath him, kissing each other slowly breathless, he appreciated his little brother’s bigger size. He felt safe, comfortable and protected. Bro would chase away his troubles the second D gave him the word. Of course it went the other way around too so he could let himself indulge in the feeling.
When they pulled back a second time, D rested his forehead against Bro’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his back and loosely held onto his shoulders. Familiar, warm, safe, comfortable, home. Home.
“Better?” Bro asked against softly.
D nodded but didn’t let up his grip. God how had he managed to stay gone for so long? The fact that he hadn’t flipped his shit sooner was a testament to the signature Strider calm.
“Missed you.” D mumbled into Bro’s shoulder.
“Missed ya too, ya skinny fuck.” Bro tucked his head down against the side of D’s own, “Bed’s too big without ya.”
D smiled into his brother’s shoulder, “Did the twins stop crawling in with you?”
“Both of ‘em have been havin’ a stupid amount of sleep overs. John’s in town so I haven’t seen hide nor hair of 'em for longer than a couple hours.”
Oh. That explained why Bro had been so adamant on him coming home. For all his talk, Bro hated to be alone more than just about anything. For a couple hours to maybe a day he was okay, but any longer than that he started to get antsy.
“Fuck I’m sor—”
“Hush up, ya didn’t know. You were busy, ain’t nothin’ new.”
“If you don’t let me finish a damn sentence I’m gonna hog tie you and gift you to the cougar down the hall.”
Bro snorted but otherwise kept quiet.
“I’m sorry I was gone so long, and I’m sorry about not keeping in regular contact. Been fuckin ambushed by nine different execs but that doesn’t make it right. I wish you’d told me though, I woulda given them the finger and come back.”
“I know D. But ‘m nota baby, I can take kickin it solo for a bit.”
“Shuddup, I don’t care how old you are, you’re still my little bro which makes it my job to take care of you. Bigger and stronger than me or whatever, don’t care. Still my little man.”
Bro made a disgusted noise but contradicted himself by cuddling in closer to D. He hadn’t just been the little brother in so long it made him a little giddy to hear it.
“You’re a fuckin cheese wedge, bro.”
“Fuck off I’m tired.” D muttered, nosing his neck.
“Take a fuckin nap, loser.”
“I’m too tired. I’ve been up for damn near three days now. I couldn’t sleep if I tried.”
D could almost hear the cogs in Bro’s head grinding together, or maybe it was just the smile he felt curling up against his hair.
“Need tuckerin out big bro?”
“Oh god Derrick no.”
“Sounds like ya do.”
“I swear to god if you fuckin do it—”
Before he’d finished the sentence he was already folding the futon out. D was still relaxed from the massage earlier and the break it had given his muscles made his reaction time way too slow to successfully flashstep away from Bro before he caught him back under his heavy body.
“Shush, ain’t gonna wreck ya or nothin’, relax.” Bro drawled into his ear, purposefully heightening that ridiculous accent.
“Bro I do not have the strength for this right now.”
“I know, just let me take care a ya D.” Bro crooned, once again playing with the accent, but this time twisting it into something sexy. Fuck him and his fucking silver tongue.
“…Fine.”
At that Bro looked up at him, golden eyes lit with affection and concern and fuck that little brother look, the one that made him look twelve years old and worshipful like D was the sun, the light in his world.
“You sure? I’ll stop if you really want.” He cupped D’s face with one thick callused hand.
D shook his head, “It’s okay. Just, uh, be gentle.”
At that Bro’s shit eating grin returned full force, “Dun worry, I’ll take care of your tiny blushing virgin body.”
D snorted so hard he hurt himself, “Shut the fuck up Bro.”
“So tsun-tsun.” His grin remained even as he began kissing down D’s neck.
“Oooh my god stop watching anime with Dirk.”
“But it’s so kawaii.”
“I swear to god you know how to kill a boner faster than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Shut up.” Bro rolled his eyes, reaching down to palm D through his only remaining bit of clothing, his boxers.
D did not in fact shut up, but his response was nothing but a breathy sigh so Bro let it slide.
True to his word, Bro went slowly with him, gently touching and teasing him. The slow pace made it hard to breathe in the best of ways and D enjoyed the way the heat flooded him, more like the warmth of drinking than the wildfires he was used to. Bro’s skilled hands knew him as well as he knew himself and deftly pressed all his buttons just right.
D sprawled himself back, his body language completely open as Bro’s hands skimmed over his slim hips and down his thighs. The understated strength in Bro’s hands took D’s breath away yet again as they slid under his legs and up to his ass. Bro’s mouth was attached to D’s chest, sucking a hickie to life just above where his heart beat.
Bro sat up to strip off his own clothes and D gasped at how suddenly cold the air felt without him, how the absence of his weight actually seemed to ache a little. He was back down soon however and D clung to him for a moment.
The elder Strider’s hands slid down his brother’s chest and to his muscled stomach. The faint white of scars stood out against his tanned skin, the softness of them did as well. Not much of Bro was ever soft so the silky texture of the healed over scars was distinctive. D had more than a few to match but none quite as spectacular as the golden eyed brother’s. He didn’t get hurt often but when he did, he went all out. D leaned in and kissed the crest tattooed over Bro’s heart. He didn’t miss the soft noise he made as he did it either.
“Fuck D if I didn’t know better I’d’ve thought we were makin love or something.”
“Who says we aren’t?” His words were soft enough that Bro could have chosen to ignore them if he were so inclined.
He didn’t.
“I get the draw but are ya… d’ya love me D?”
“Course I do, you’re my brother dumb fuck.”
“Ya know what I meant.”
D scrubbed his face with the heel of his hand. He hadn’t intended for them to get off course this way, actually he had no idea how it even happened. Yeah, he loved Bro, of course he did. But he wasn’t in love with him, no way. That would be weird.
Like fucking your brother(s) wasn’t weird.
“No, probably not.”
“Probably?” Bro lifted an eyebrow.
“Don’t fuckin do that, you sound like Rose.” D stalled, “Probably not, okay. I’m not 100% sure because yeah, I do love you and since we’re banging it kinda makes it closer to the other thing but at the same time I don’t wanna say it like that cause that’s fucking weird, but now that you’re making me think about it we’re kinda a little married and fucking Christ what is my life!”
“Air, D, breathe.”
Bro was right, he’d panicked and forgotten breathe, making himself light headed. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and tried to remember how to make his lungs work. This was definitely NOT how the night (morning) had been intended to go. Fucking fuck.
“Alright, now we’ve gotta talk.”
“Don’t wanna talk. I wanna go to sleep and wake up and pretend this shit is my brain being sleepy and not working right. We can do that right?”
“Nope.”
“I fucking hate you.”
“Nah.”
D rolled over, the mood now entirely fucked by his inability to answer a simple question.
“I remember when you were born. I remember getting up to lay with you when you were a baby because you’d cry all night if I didn’t. I remember your first day of school and how upset you were because we weren’t in the same class. I remember watching you grow up Derrick, as clear as day. You’ve been with me for almost my whole life, it’s bad enough that we’ve done as much as we have but I can’t…I.”
He didn’t realize there were tears in his eyes until Bro was pinching his cheeks where the wetness had stained him.
“First of all, you really need a siesta, only get fits like this when you’ve been up way too long. Either way this goes I’m gonna put you to bed. Second,” He waited until D looked at him, deep red meeting gold, “Ain’t a thing conventional about our family. Not us, not the girls, not even Mama. Not gonna tell you it’s anything any of us was expecting but life goes where it damn well pleases.”
“Derrick..”
“Hush, I ain’t finished yet.” Bro said, placing his thumb over D’s lips, “’m gonna be real honest with ya here big bro so listen close cause this shit ain’t happenin again for the next seventy years. You and me have always been like two magnets, stuck together since the day I was born. As much as I love the twerps, ain’t another soul in the world I love like I love you.”
D’s eyes squeezed closed and he made himself focus on breathing. This was nothing new but in this context the words made his heart ache in a way he wasn’t sure he could handle. He wasn’t sure this was something he wanted to feel.
“Come tomorrow, if ya still feel like this we can talk about it.” Bro’s voice had slid into that gentle pacifying range he reserved only for small animals and skinny brothers, “Ain’t never gonna love ya less, D. ‘M not sure if I can take it the way you’re goin but, fuck, I can’t say as I’d much mind tryin.”
D keeps his eyes shut for some minutes more, even as he nods his head along to words long since ended. He hasn’t got the slightest idea of what the fuck is roiling about through his heart, but Bro’s words, that easy assuredness in his tone, had relaxed him just enough to loosen his death grip on his self control.
He breathed out, long and slow as his eyes floated open. A rueful smile stitched itself onto his mouth and he met Bro’s eyes again.
“I’m sorry, Bro.”
“Oh are you ever.” Bro said not unkindly, giving his own little smile, “This is exactly why you ought not to skip sleepin for days, D. Ya start blurtin all kinds of shit you’da probably rather kept quiet.”
“I know man, once you’ve been up long enough boundaries just stop having meaning and you’re ready for fuck all.”
A genuine grin stretched Bro’s face and D’s heart did a flip. Fuck he wished he could control his heart the way he could his expression.
“Then we should probably get ya ta sleep before you haul off and do somethin’ really stupid.” He leans in closer and D can smell something orange flavored on him along with the staleness muskiness of the beer he was probably drinking earlier. It’s soothing.
“Sounds like a plan.” He agree as you lean in to press his lips to Bro's. Home.
Turns out it doesn’t even take more than kisses before D is snoring and dreaming of golden eyes.