Chapter Text
In your dream, everything is fine. You know this because Grandma is there, and Caleb is there, and what else could you need? The three of you sit around the dining room table, warm evening light streaming through the gauzy curtains, a veritable feast laid out in front of you. All your favorite dishes, prepared by Caleb of course; braised chicken wings, stir fried seafood noodles, walnut shrimp, even a little cake for dessert.
“Congratulations!” Grandma says, smiling widely.
“Congrats on your graduation,” Caleb choruses.
Right, your graduation. You’re officially a hunter, now. You smile back at them, open your mouth to say something, when the smell of sulfur hits your nose. That’s odd, it should smell like a homecooked meal, so why…?
Then fire. It consumes everything in a heartbeat, licking up the table, drowning the dining room in flames and heat.
You try to scream, to warn Grandma and Caleb, but they just smile at you, unaware of the fire slowly consuming them.
You wake slowly, like trying to struggle through deep water to the surface of consciousness. For a moment you don’t know where you are, think you’re still in the living room, until you see the little glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and realize you’re in your own bed, sequestered away on the second floor of Gran’s house. The dream pulls at you, though, and without hesitating you slip out of bed, step around the pile of plushies on the floor, and pad down the hallway.
Caleb’s door opens easily under your light touch, swinging open without a sound. Maybe you should’ve knocked, but you’re just here for a peek, just to check and make sure your older brother is still there, safe and sound in his bed. Just a peek, and then you’ll be able to go back to sleep.
Only, when you look, violet eyes are blinking back at you, tired but alert. Though he’s wrapped tightly in his blankets, he sits up a little, hair a complete mess.
“What is it?” Caleb whispers into the darkness, voice rough from sleep. “Bad dream?”
“Yeah,” you whisper back, lingering in the doorway.
He glances at the alarm clock next to his bed. Almost five in the morning, but when he turns back to you his gaze is gentle. Shifting, he lifts one side of the blanket for you, an open invitation. “Meimei.”
You melt a little at the endearment and crawl into the bed with him, letting the door click closed behind you. It’s warm, and as you snuggle into Caleb’s side, smells so strongly of him that you take a reflexively deep breath. His scent is earthy, dark, like the forest at night. It’s the smell he’s had since you were little.
“Tell me about it?” he rumbles quietly, draping an arm across your waist and pulling you just a little closer. He’s shirtless, an endless expanse of warm, tanned skin, but you don’t mind. If anything, it only calms you down more.
You shake your head at his question. You don’t want to relive it just yet, not when you’re starting to get drowsy again, and his strong arms are holding you so securely. “Gege, can I sleep here?”
“Just for a bit,” he murmurs back, chin tucking against your shoulder.
“Okay.” You wiggle a little closer, take a deep breath, and fall back to sleep.
Caleb has never considered himself a saint. If anything, he thinks to himself, he’s the devil, because only the devil would feel this way about someone whom he calls a little sister. If it was for you, he would commit every sin: greed, envy, wrath, pride, sloth, gluttony, and lust. Without hesitation.
Only, that’s not the Caleb you want. The Caleb you want is the charming one, the dependable one, the brotherly one. That’s the Caleb you come looking for in the middle of the night, scared to go back to sleep because of a nightmare. That’s the Caleb he tries to be.
Tries to. Fails to.
He watches you sleep. He can’t help it, not when he probably won’t get another chance. He watches the rise and fall of your breaths, the slight part of your mouth, the drool that you’re getting on his chest. And your smell—God, you smell like an angel come down to earth, bright as sunshine and clean like a mountain river.
He takes you in like he can’t get enough. Like you’re everything.
Just the feel of you against him is enough to drive him mad. At some point, you’d rolled over to lie on his chest like he’s your own personal mattress (completely okay with him). Your breasts are smushed up against him, arms tucked against his waist, legs tangled with his. Your hair falls over his neck, the scent of your shampoo washing over him with every breath.
He’s fine, completely fine. Except, no he’s not, because when he shifts your weight slightly off his chest so he can breathe a little easier, he accidentally shifts it right onto his dick.
He freezes. A bolt of fear and arousal shoots down his spine. If you woke up right now, would you notice? Would you notice the way he hardens against your body, the way his breath catches in his throat at the sensation of your weight against him? Would you notice that he’s done absolutely nothing to stop it?
You make a slight sound in the back of your throat, like a whimper, and shame comes crashing down over him, heat flooding his cheeks and the tips of his ears, even at the same time as his dick gives an interested twitch.
If you woke up right now, what would he do..?
But you sleep like a lamb, snoring softly, utterly trusting your gege to take care of you. You’re wearing one of his shirts, he finally notices, an old t-shirt from his high school days with the school’s logo printed on the chest. It’s too big for you, and one of the sleeves has slipped off, revealing the creamy skin of your shoulder and collarbone.
The urge to lean down and lick is almost too much.
Caleb fights back a groan in the base of this throat. It can’t be borne. You’re not even wearing a proper shirt, and you couldn’t be bothered to put on a bra just for your brother’s sake. Even now, with every rise and fall of his chest in time with his quickening breaths, he can feel the shape of you against him, the swell of your breasts pressed into his skin with only the thin barrier of your t-shirt to separate.
“Meimei,” Caleb whispers, feeling something tighten in his gut.
No response. Not even a twitch of your cute little nose.
A little louder, he repeats, “Meimei.”
And again, there’s nothing. You’re completely unaware. Which means…
Almost without meaning to, Caleb rolls his hips. The pleasure is instant, licking up his spine with a warmth that he thinks must be setting him on fire. You’re so soft against him, so small, and as his hips move again and again it’s all he can do to keep quiet.
His hands wander. He brushes them over your waist, trails the tips of his fingers just barely over the curve of your ass, your thighs. Your skin is so damn soft that it makes his hands tremble.
And you feel so good as his dick slides against you. Caleb can feel himself getting harder, a bit of precum smearing inside his boxers, dampening the front of his sleeping shorts. He wants nothing more than for you to stay asleep, and yet as his pace quickens, he imagines you waking up, hot and bothered, pleading with your gege to touch you…
“Uhmmg,” he grunts. It feels so good to be so sick.
He shouldn’t be doing this, should be innocently watching over you as you sleep, protecting you from nightmares, and yet he can’t help himself. He wants more.
With a shaking hand, he reaches and tugs his shorts down just a little. His cock is freed ever so slightly, just enough for the leaking tip to slip past the waistband. And there’s the hem of your shirt riding up just enough to expose a small strip of your stomach, and yes, right there—
It’s your skin against his, even just this little bit, and it’s enough to make everything so much better, feel so much better. His hips move faster, shorts slipping down just a little more with the movement. His precum is all over your belly now, he knows it, and God the thought of that is almost enough to make him cum, just imagining you noticing a stickiness on your stomach but feeling too shy to ask, too trusting to even think that Caleb could be the cause.
His hips stutter. He’s really going to cum. He’s going to cum and get it all over you.
“Meimei,” he can’t help but whine, and then he’s gone, vision going white and his hand shooting up to catch his spend on instinct, wedging between your bodies to fist his cock as he cums hard against your sleeping body.
He twitches through the aftershocks. Pleasure rockets down his spine and down his limbs. He came so hard his fingers are tingling, and with a sigh he relaxes against the bed, extracting his dirtied hand from between your bodies.
He came a lot, he notices distantly. He reaches over to his bedside table, grabs a tissue from the box, and calmly wipes his hand with it, throwing it into the bin from across the room with perfect accuracy and minimal jostling of you against him.
Caleb glances at the clock. His alarm for the morning is about to go off. He tucks his nose against the top of your head, taking a deep breath of your scent one last time, and then jostles your arm. “Meimei, time to wake up.”