Chapter Text
You hum along to the radio while your dad drives to Dave's house, jiggling your knee absently while you watch the high rise your best bro lives in gradually get larger as you approach, winding through the narrow but busy city streets.
It's your first time staying at the Strider residence (and it's going to be for your entire March break!), and your father is acting as if you're moving the entire way across the country, not to the other side of the city. He's been giving you speeches all throughout the drive across town.
"Remember, son. Be responsible! No underage drinking, no parties, no drugs, no girls! I'm very proud of you for building up such a respectable social life. It's.." he keeps going, starting off a lecture about how proud he is for you being a normal teenage boy and having a friend or two. Honestly, you're pretty glad to be getting out of the house for a little while. You love your dad, you really do, but these constant cakes and notes of pride are getting annoying. You're sixteen- it's embarrassing to be constantly smothered by your father, even in public! He's practically overflowing with pride from all orfaces at all times. It's a bit too much, seriously.
Which is why you can't get your duffle bag hefted over your shoulder and your ass out of the car fast enough when he pulls up in front of the large building.
"Johnathan, wait!" he calls, rolling down the window. "Son, are you sure you're up to the responsibility of staying away from home? I'd understand if you'd like to just come back with me right now, and I'm sure David would also."
"No, Dad, I'm sure. I'll be fine, promise."
"I love you, John."
"Love you too, Dad," you grumble, hurrying inside the building and grabbing your phone, sending Dave a quick text asking what floor he's on again.
You receive a response quickly, instructing you to just go to the top floor and he'll have his brother meet you in the hall.
You're huffing and puffing and red in the face by the time you're at the top floor because holy shit, it should be illegal to have that many stairs. Why didn't somebody warn you? You push through the heavy doors at the top, breathing hard and radiating accomplishment that you actually made it to where you had to go, and you're frozen in your tracks when you see the person standing in front of you.
He's tall and obviously muscular, defined through his thin white polo (he's even wearing the collar popped- what a douche! Who does that?), with golden skin covered in freckles, darker and more clustered than Dave's, and honey-blonde hair spiking out around the orange hat nestled in the locks. He has equally spiky sunglasses nestled over his eyes, almost comically large and hiding most of his face. You can see a small, amused-looking smirk plain as day. All in all, he's so attractive it kind of hurts your eyes to look at him.
"You ok, kid?" he says; his voice is way deeper than his brother's, southern twang more pronounced. He sounds kind of like a sexy cowboy.
Alright, you definitely did not just think that.
You can't reply properly, too busy not breathing. You realize this and set to remedy this fact in a moment, choking out a huge breath and coughing when it's over, which turns into you practically hacking up a lung. He flashsteps beside you, gloved hand rubbing your back. He looks awkwardly concerned.
"Whoah, li'l dude, calm it down. They're just some stairs. Dave shoulda warned you."
You eventually manage to motion for the front pocket of your bag, and he gets the hint, digging through it.
"What? What're you.. shit, is this an inhaler?" he helps the mouthpiece to your lips, and your hand covers his to release the puff of medication and aids you in finally catching your breath. You're leaning onto him so much he's practically holding you, a fact you'll probably be overjoyed with later, when you aren't trying really hard not to die.
When that's ensured and you're only wheezing slightly, he pushes you back onto your feet carefully, hands on your shoulders supporting you when you sway a little, head spinning. You wait a few minutes before reassuring him you're not about to keel over anymore.
"Ok, ok. I'm good. Stairs just get me sometimes." All exercise, really. You're slightly pudgy and not very fit, admittedly, because asthma like yours and working out tend to clash slightly, and you don't always have a big, attractive man to help you with your inhaler.
"Dude, you're here fer, like, two seconds and you're already almost dyin' on me. This isn't a good sign."
"Nah, it happens. A lot, actually. Nothing to worry about!"
"D'you get like that when you fuck?" he's so casual about it that you almost start choking again. You're really awkward when you reply, and you inwardly curse yourself for that. An attractive guy appears and you turn into a bumbling idiot after almost dying on him. Nice one, Egbert.
"Uh.. I don't really know?"
"Oh. A virgin, eh?"
"..yeah. I'm only sixteen."
"I lost mine when I was two years younger than you, kid. No shame in startin' early."
You're pretty much as red as Dave's color of choice when you pass through the apartment door Bro opened for you, incredibly flustered, which he finds amusing.
"Dave! I didn't kill your shota! Almost, but not quite," he calls, dropping down the bag he had taken off your shoulder with a loud thump. Dave appears from a doorway you think leads to his bedroom, hair (a shade or two lighter than Bro's and tidy and soft-looking as opposed to pointy and sharp like Bro's) messy and red shirt wrinkled. You don't doubt he fell asleep in the time it had taken you to get up to the apartment.
"'Almost' killed him?"
"Yeah. Kid saw my sugoi bod and about keeled over," he teases, and you blush even more furiously.
"Dude, no! That it so not how it happened." You inform Dave, who laughs. You can almost hear him rolling his eyes from across the room.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. C'mon, bro. You can put your stuff in my room."
You dump your bag beside Dave's messy bed before flopping down on said messy bed. You then proceed to have a very long and very pointless conversation in which your best bro explained the definition of a "shota" and why his brother referred to you as such. You were left with the conclusion that Japan is very, very weird and so is Bro Strider.
"Dude, d'you wanna watch a couple movies?" Dave asks after that's cleared up.
"Huh? Oh, sure. You can even pick, since it's your apartment!"
"As if I'd let you pick," he scoffs, standing up from his place on the bed and stretching with a groan, heading out into the living room. You follow like a puppy, but stand back when he leans into Bro's room, feeling kind of shy around the elder Strider. "Hey, Bro, you wanna watch some movies with us 'til you gotta work?"
"Yeah," he says, sounding like he's stretching. You find yourself wondering if he was napping, and if he sleeps in all his clothes or just his underwear or possibly even nothing at all, but you stop that train of thought real quick because you know if you didn't things were about to get very, very awkward. You make your way to sit down on the middle cushion of the couch, relaxing back against that of said couch.
Both Striders come and plop down on either side of you seemingly in sync, something you find really amusing but also kind of flustering because you are a hormonal teenager and both Striders are fairly attractive and they are sitting fairly close to you; so close, in fact, that you can feel their body heat hitting your skin and frankly, that's quite distracting.
You can't really focus on the dumb movie; you keep sneaking glances at the elder Strider. He really is something to look at, all muscle and strength and just pure attractiveness. You kind of feel embarrassed for being so attracted to him.
You think he catches you staring a few times, because he's smirking at you again and looking at you from the corner of his eye like he knows exactly what you're thinking, and he keeps bumping his knee against yours, and is Bro Strider hitting on you? No. He can't be. He's hot and older, and you're chubby and sixteen, but his gloved hand is definitely on your thigh now, and he's still giving you a little look out of the corner of his eye while still keeping up the front of staring at the television. Your heart jumps a little, and you're full on staring at him. No, more like gaping. He looks amused at your reaction, hand creeping up your thigh. You jolt when Dave elbows you in your ribs, and Bro's hand actually disappears.
"Dude, watch! I love this part!" he hisses, not looking from the screen. Oh, good. You thought he would be harassing you about his brother's hand being in such a compromising place.
Bro keeps his hands to himself all through the the rest of the movie (and the next- some shitty kids' movie called Bee Movie that they deem 'BEEautifully ironic'), and you're not going to lie and say you're not disappointed by this. God, you're turning into such a whore.
After Bee Movie, Bro moves his hand from where it's spread out along the back of the couch behind you and stands, stretching his arms out above his head. You don't miss how his polo rides up a little from this action, revealing some of his tanned back, and you didn't think something so non-sexual could be such a turn on.
"Alright, kiddies. I'm off to the club for a few hours," he yawns. "Don't wait up."
"Aight, Bro. We'll be bad, promise." Dave responds. You just kind of watch him turn and shoot you a fleeting little grin before flashstepping into his bedroom and returning a moment later with a box of his records. He gives the two of you a little farewell wave over his shoulder and leaves without looking back.
"Now what?" Dave asks as the door shuts. You pause a moment, thinking.
"Could you tell me more about your brother?"
Your friend looks kind of confused, but responds.
"Bro? The dude's a fucking god. Not literally the god of fucking, well.. maybe, alright probably, but that's not what I meant. The shit with a katana, the shit with a throwing star, the shit with turntables and robots. He even has a robot of himself. It was kind of creepy at first, but Brobot's hellatight. Tighter than that Gucci, man. The puppet thing is pretty rad, too. Well, not the smuppets. I dislike those greatly." He shudders, probably thinking of being smothered by plush rumps, "But Cal? He's almost as cool as Bro. Just.. he's really, really cool, man. You can't even fathom the amount of cool the li'l man is packin'. It's like, every time he walks into the room the place turns into fuckin' Antarctica. That's how cool he is. Why?"
You make up some bullshit excuse about being curious about who you're going to be living with for the next week and he believes you.
The two of you end up watching a few shitty made for TV Syfy movies, both laughing at the bad effects, before the two of you fall asleep on his bed while engaging in some mad rad brocuddles.
You wake in the middle of the night with a tightness in your shorts, pressing up against Dave's ass where you're being the big spoon. You flush bright red when you remember what you were dreaming about, and who you were dreaming about doing it with. (hint: you were dreaming about sucking Bro's dick)
You immediately detangle yourself from Dave, really not wanting to wake him up with your little problem. The sun should be rising soon, it feels like, so you just worm your way back into the main room of the apartment and head towards the kitchen for a drink of water to clear your head. Then you notice Bro's door is cracked and there's a light on inside. He must just be getting home.
You can't help your curiousity, sparing a look through the sliver of open door, and you're a tad shocked at what you see.
Bro's back is to you, and he's in the process of stripping off his shirt. You see the tight muscles of his back contract and flex as he pulls the shirt over his head in one fluid movement, not as much as tousling his hat in his immaculately styled hair. You check him out thoroughly, eyes going over his freckled, broad shoulders, down the curve of his spine, and over the cute dimples of his lower back. You can see a sliver of orange waistband peeking up over his baggy black pants, and your mouth actually starts to water. You lean in a little further, trying to see more, and your shifting moves the door, which lets out a loud, drawn-out squeak. He stiffens, turning to look at you, glasses still firmly in place along with his pokerface.
Bro studies you for a long moment before he speaks, calm and collected while he drawls out his words.
"Well, shota, are you gonna come in or are you jus' gonna stand there and look pretty?"