Chapter Text
It begins with a pair of black stockings.
You are almost fourteen and your big brother is watching something obnoxious on TV, loud enough that it drags you from your room, clad in boxers and a loose t-shirt. It's one in the afternoon, but your bro never makes you go to school or anything, so you pretty much have no schedule.
As you step barefoot and lazy into the living room, your eyes fall on the TV. It's some kind of anime, girls in pigtails and short skirts flouncing around and innocently groping each other, the subtitles indicating that they must be comparing cup sizes and underwear colors.
What the fuck.
You know Bro watches this shit for the ironies, but it sure gets on your nerves sometimes. Like, he's practically blasting it at full volume. You always wonder how much the neighbors can hear.
As you head further into the living room, Bro doesn't seem to notice you, but you glance at him out of habit. That's when you see it. Bro's got these tight jeans on as per usual, and your eyes are instantly drawn to a very, very obvious bulge in the crotch area.
Jesus. The dude's gotta be at least fifteen years older than you and he's still got the libido of a teenager. You avert your gaze for a second before glancing back out of some morbid curiosity. That outline of his junk looks so much bigger than yours, and you're starting to mentally compare dick sizes before you remind yourself that he's your brother. The thought makes you tear your eyes away.
"Damn, bro, save some cartoon poon for the rest of us," you state calmly as you head for the kitchen. Bro's still staring at the TV as you dodge a ninja star that pops from a drawer. Daily life in the Strider household. "Zettai Ryouiki," he replies.
Are you supposed to know what that means? "Try that again without the moonspeak," you shoot back. You're getting better at being witty. Bro glances over his shoulder as you start placing some bread slices in the toaster. "It means Absolute Territory, and it's hells of huge in Japan. Those people got their kinky shit figured out."
You raise an eyebrow at him. Bro's always been shameless with sharing his various fetishes, so this isn't really that strange to you. "Cool to know," you reply, sounding disinterested. Bro's silent for some seconds before he speaks up again. "Man, this chick totally looks like you." That makes you glance up at the TV. There's a girl on the screen with short, short blond hair and brown eyes bouncing around, accompanied by some truly gratuitous panty shots.
You roll your eyes. "Yeah, holy shit, just take a screencap and upload it to my Facebook 'cause nobody could possibly distinguish between me and this generic anime broad." You step out into the living room and take a seat on the opposite end of the futon from where Bro's sitting.
"'Cept you got some gangly-ass boy legs, so you couldn't pull off grade-A Zettai at-fucking-all." Bro punctuates the sentence with a helpless sort of shrug.
You really, really should not be offended at the implication that you don't have girly legs, but something about the way Bro says it makes you inwardly bristle. Like it's a challenge that you definitely can't win. Your brow furrows. "Kinda glad for that, but I'm pretty sure I could rock anything and make it look good."
Bro stares at you dead-on. "Think so, smartass? Wanna try?"
That makes you fall silent. Try what? You simply stare back at Bro, trying to think of a clever retort. Before you can do that he stands up - yeah, still kind of hard and apparently not giving a shit. You force yourself to look up at his face instead of that unapologetically huge package.
"You're on, kid," Bro says, and then he's walking to the side of the room and plopping down in front of his computer. You're not sure what, exactly, you just agreed to, but you try to act like you're not interested. Whatever the hell he's up to, you've no doubt you can handle it.
When you finish your toast, Bro's still busy typing away on his computer. He doesn't say anything to you so you spare a glance at his screen - some girly layout in pink and white with stripes, that's the kind of site he's on - before you head back to your room. You start getting dressed. It's hot outside and hotter in the apartment. Your plan is to go out, skate for a bit, come home and dick around on the Internet for the rest of the night and forget this conversation with Bro ever happened.
The day passes. The next morning, you wake up with little memory about yesterday. Aside from some sick grinds you pulled at the skate park, you haven't really had the whole "you totally couldn't rock a pair of thigh-highs" thing on your mind.
Bro, apparently, has.
Once you sit up and your eyes adjust to being awake, you notice two long, dark strips of fabric hanging from your door frame. Oh, fuck.
Annoyance starts to flood your body the way he's placed those stockings up there, like he's not expecting you to actually put them on or anything. It's definitely displayed like a dare and it's definitely on purpose. You get out of bed, groggily walking to the door and yanking both stockings down. The material is lighter than you'd imagine, soft, barely weighing a thing. You've only got a pair of plaid boxers on, so you sit back down on the edge of your bed and give yourself a generous pause.
You have no idea how they work so the first attempt is you jamming your foot into one leg. It stretches that fine material and won't slide on easily, so you pause. Don't really want to poke a hole anywhere or Bro will totally think you did that shit to try to worm your way out of the dare. You take your foot back out and try the more logical approach of rolling the long piece of fabric up until you can slip your toes right into the end, then you start to carefully pull it up your leg. It feels almost sleek, lightly cool at first - considering they're just glorified socks, they seem especially well-made.
As you do the same motions with the other one, pulling the thin, thin material up to about the middle of your thigh, you start thinking about what Bro was saying yesterday. Something like "absolute territory". You wonder what his reaction will be when you come out like this, and you can only hope you surprise him.
Whatever. Time to show your bro up. You're going to be the victor here.
You walk out into the hallway, into the living room. Crossing your arms over your bare chest, you wait for Bro to notice.
He's sprawled out half-clothed like you on the futon, playing some shit-stupid Tony Hawk game on the 360. It takes him just a second to turn his head and and look your way. There's silence for a second, and his little skater dude crashes into a pole.
"Looks like I was right," he finally comments, turning back to the game. "You ain't got that Zettai swag."
... And that just pisses you off. The way he sounds so dismissive and unimpressed. Which, you know, is a pretty common reaction from Bro, but you were hoping for at least a thumbs-up or some kind of kudos for putting these stupid things on.
Indignant, you stand your ground. "Bullshit, I look great. Prop me up in one of those human trafficking auctions and I'm instantly sold for six million to some obese Russian druglord."
You can see Bro raising an eyebrow, but still won't turn your way. "Yeah? How 'bout we poll the masses?"
You blink. "What do you mean?" Bro gets off the futon fast and fluid like a cat, tossing the controller onto the mattress. "4chan. Ain't no better route for quick and brutal honesty. Let's take some pictures, kid."
Okay, that makes you a little uneasy. "Pictures of what, the stockings... ?" Bro's nodding and he's already heading for your room. "Hold up," you interject, darting after him. "I don't wanna like, dole out nudes to a buncha basement-dwellers." Bro's flipping out his phone and swiveling your computer chair around, taking a seat in it like he owns the place. "Nah, just your legs an' how little justice you're doin' those top notch thigh-highs," he replies. Just some casual insult. You frown but find yourself standing still near the door, waiting for him to get a picture. "Where the hell did you get these, anyway?"
"Get on the bed," Bro quickly instructs before he answers your question. You pause for a second before obeying, heading over to your bed and sitting on the edge. "Got 'em express delivered from a specialty store online, that's where."
"Oh," you reply, sounding bored. This is one of the weirdest games you two have played yet. Bro's tapping through his phone to get to the camera option, and he points the lens your direction after activating it. There's some beats of silence. Then, "Don't sit like that." Bro's speaking up again, suddenly, a commanding edge to his voice. "Pull your legs up near your ass but not under it."
You give him a look. Your brother's generally so laid-back, hearing him talk like this is kind of different. "Guess you'd know how to camwhore like a pro," you mumble, but you're doing as he says, sliding your knees up onto the mattress and tucking them into a pose. Bro seems to examine the image he's got in the view, tilting his head to one side.
"Theeerrre we go," he drawls, voice soft, sounding like a parent coaxing their child or a professional photographer shooting a model. Something about his tone makes you slightly self-conscious, and you fidget a little out of habit, shifting your small body around on the sheet.
"Wait, yank your boxers up a lil'. Not a good look here." God, Bro just has to make this as awkward as possible, doesn't he? You roll your eyes before reluctantly slipping your fingers into the ends of your boxers, tugging them up until they more resemble briefs. It definitely shows off the thigh-highs in question, just a few inches of your pale white skin in between them and your underwear.
Bro snaps a picture, finally satisfied, and he diddles around on his phone again before turning to your computer. You're getting off the bed as Bro downloads the picture of you - he was merciful enough to keep your face out of it - and types up the URL for the infamous image board.
Bro jumps on /b/. You can't help feeling a little anxious as he starts a new thread. "Nobody's even gonna see it on here, dude," you complain, placing your hand on your desk. Your brother ignores you, typing up a simple message in the text box: rate my gfs thigh highs.
And then he's posting it. And then he's refreshing the page. And then it's taking only seconds for the the replies to start piling in.
You're trying really hard not to seem interested, but after glancing toward the screen and noting that suddenly a scrollbar is necessary, you lean forward to take a look. Bro's scrolling through the replies pretty quick, skimming, but you catch a few of the message contents.
- 8/10 get some better panties
- cool jailbait bro
- It's a trap.
- got more OP??
- man i wish i could get my gf to wear stuff like this :\
- Tell her to get on cam
- oh WOW............. i have that same snoop dogg poster.
All right, you're done. You can feel your face starting to heat up at the comments - a few trolls but it's mainly compliments, and as Bro taps F5 the comments only get more lewd. He looks amused.
"-- See? I got like half that thread duped. Over half," you say, sounding cocky. You've totally won. Bro keeps reading in silence before shaking his head, standing up. "'S more like a mixed bag, but hey, I'll concede defeat for now, lil' homie."
It's good enough for you. Bro's almost always the final one-upper, but it looks like you got his goat this time.
Once Bro's out of your room you hastily strip the stockings off and simply toss them into a corner.
The rest of the day doesn't deviate much from the normal routine. You and Bro just sort of drift off into your own things, and later that night, Bro tells you he's heading out for some DJing gig. You give him a little nod from your computer, slipping your headphones back on, and that's about it.
As the night goes on and Bro's left you alone, you remember how great it is, having the apartment to yourself. You can play your music as loud as you want without Bro bitching, you can walk around in skimpier undergarments without feeling self-conscious around him, you can play on his Xbox without suffering a barrage of noogies. And, maybe best of all, you can watch some legitimately-produced smut.
Bro has all these subscriptions to, like, fifty porn channels on TV. You know it has to be for irony because he'd be the first to tell you that you can watch it on the Internet for free (and he'd give you some suggestions while you're at it). But at your age you've got sex on the brain for at least fifty percent of your waking hours, so of course, in your boredom and freedom, you decide to check out what these channels have to offer. Maybe porn's better if you pay for it.
You head out to the living room in a plain pair of briefs and flop onto the couch. Even with the bare minimum of clothing on and a multitude of fans going, you're still hot. You brush some hair off your forehead as you turn on the TV and flip to channels in the triple digits, lazily lying back against the couch.
Once you hit the porn you have to scope it out. Fifty channels full of tits and dicks and you're gonna be picky. You flip through the selection at leisure, nothing really catching your discerning eye except for a few seconds at most. But quite suddenly, one particular scene makes you stop.
It's a girl on her hands and knees, ass toward the camera as she's sucking one guy's cock, another guy planted behind her and jerking himself off in anticipation. What really gets you, though, is the fact that she's wearing these lacy black nylons.
They make you think about your stockings.
You don't move at first, just sitting there, watching some roided-up dude grabbing this girl's hair, manuevering her mouth around on his fat dick, listening to the way she makes all these noises of pleasure and sucks on him. It's making you hard, but you can't get your mind off those stockings, your eyes trailing over her body and thinking about the way yours look in comparison.
There's long seconds of admiration of the view on-screen before you stand. You start walking back to your room.
Looking for the stockings, you feel almost embarrassed. Embarrassed of where your own mind went as you watched the way the girl was taking that cock in her mouth, the camera panning expertly over her skirt, her ass, the sleek material of her nylons. Dude must've gone to film school and graduated with honors to be able to make you think about yourself in her position like you just did. You locate the stockings and start slowly pulling them on, feeling almost shy as you head back out to the living room.
Taking a seat, your fingers trail down over the half-hard bump in your briefs. You rub yourself through the fabric gently, just watching the porn at first. It's once the scene changes its point of view that you close your eyes and let your mind wander.
It's gay, but you're thinking about what it'd be like to suck a cock. How it would feel to have someone grabbing you hair like that, tugging your face toward their hard dick. Really gay, but this is your fantasy and you can think about whatever you want. You're thinking about how it would feel if another guy came in.
"Look at this sissy bitch," one of them might say, and you imagine one of them smacking your ass as you tug your dick, now fully-hard. "Little homo wants his ass turned out, doesn't he?"
Shifting positions, you roll belly-down, squirming against the couch cushions. You lift your hips and slip your hand back down toward yourself, jerking off your hard cock a few times. You start pretending you've got a dick pressed against your ass. You rock your hips back against it gently, grinding your dick against the soft cushion below. It doesn't feel too great and you grab for one of Bro's pillows instead, straddling it between your thighs and trying to fuck it. The pillows smell like your brother, and you think about him briefly, guiltily - then try to will the thought away.
You're already getting close to orgasm as a third guy comes into the fantasy - Christ, it's turning into a gangbang. You can feel your face and upper chest getting hot, panting as you speed up your pace and you're so absorbed in it that you almost don't hear the sound of keys sliding into the front door.
Wait.
Oh, shit.
In a sudden panic you sit up, simultaneously changing the channel and grabbing your discarded briefs, yanking them back on with a speed you're pretty sure you've never attained in a strife. Shit shit shit shit shit. Bro's been gone like five goddamn fucking hours and he has to come home right now. Awesome.
What Bro'll see as he comes in is you, knees drawn up to hide your erection, hair mussed and a sheen of sweat over your face and neck. You try to look relaxed.
But you can feel the shift in the air, the pause as his eyes fall on you. "Well, damn, kiddo," he starts, and you can tell he's a little tipsy. "If you like playin' dress up that much then maybe I should take your ass shoppin'." Oh. Right. You forgot to take off the stockings and they're still pulled high and tight over your legs.
You shoot Bro your best "give me a fucking break" look. He's grinning widely and you want to deck him as he saunters over to the couch, one gloved hand sliding roughly against your scalp, ruffling your hair in a way he knows annoys you. The smell of vodka and club sweat's wafting down all over your head. You're not really down with the idea of Bro touching you very much while you're still sporting a hard-on, so you stand up, making sure to keep your back turned toward him.
But like the asshole he is, Bro already knows.
"Nice chub, princess," he snorts, and you feel little flames rise to your cheeks. "Yeah, don't wanna turn around and gouge your eye out or anythin'. I'm gonna crash." You're out of the living room in seconds, leaving your amused and inebriated brother to his futon.
Your balls are aching as you shut your computer down, as you settle into bed. You're too embarrassed by what just happened to resume your kinky little fantasy, so you tug the stockings down and toss them away from you once more. You get yourself off quickly, your orgasm weak but relieving as you think about nothing in particular.
Whatever. Fuck Bro and fuck his "games".
With your boner taken care of you eventually drift off, hoping to hell that tomorrow Bro will have forgotten what he'd seen the night before.