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Almost immediately, the instant you open the door, you know something is wrong. Well, maybe not wrong, but not quite right. The kid is silent, and his dumb ass skateboard is still flat against the wall in the hallway so he hasn't gone out. He always makes noise when you get back, turns his music down, drops something or darts out of a room like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't be. It's endearing, in a way. He strives to stay in your good books but can't keep his hands to himself. You usually let him get away with whatever stupid shit he's up to, let him think he's as sneaky as he's trying to be.
But this. This ain't normal.
“Yo kid, where you at?” you try. Silence. He wouldn't be asleep; he spent the night hyped as shit on pixie sticks and Jackass reruns and passed out at half eleven, he's more than slept it off now. A smuppet drops on to your shoulder from above. Well.
You spare a glance up and yep, there he is. Floating in inch away from the ceiling, a hand clasped dangerously tight over his mouth and nose to stifle any giggles that may threaten to give his game away. You widen your stance, feigning mild disapproval to cover up the fact that you're freaked out as hell. You don't know what he's gotten into (you're positive you flushed that bad batch of pills a week ago, he never even saw them), but hair dye is definitely on the cards.
“Blue? Really?” He suits it, weirdly enough, but this isn't the time for that. You chuck your gym bag to the floor, flopping back on the couch and staring up at him as he rocks himself gently in the air, drifting down towards you, and he takes a huge gulp of air when his hands release his mouth, unveiling a disgustingly, beautifully maniacal grin, his eyes wide and bright as they flick around you, checking you out like he usually does, though with no sign of his usual shame or furtiveness.
“What's up, Bro?” he asks, over annunciating each word, dissolving into a fit of giggles as he flips over, hanging upside down above you, his weird heart-shaped shades slipping off his nose to land on your chest. You snatch them before he can reach for them, flicking them under the couch, and he laughs at that for whatever fucking reason. “No fair, now I'm naked!”
“You're more than naked, dipshit, the hell've you been doin' since I was gone?” Your authoritative tone doesn't seem to work, and instead of answering immediately he reaches down, brushes a hand against your cheek, knocking your shades askew, and he bites his lip over another giggle. He doesn't even flinch when you grab his wrist and pull him down, crushing him into you to check his eyes. They're dilated as shit; he's out of his god damn mind, if that wasn't already obvious, and he flattens himself against your chest, his legs tangling around yours, his shirt riding up over his back.
“Completed Link to the Past, fucked a smuppet, had a burrito...” he lists, voice dreamy, trailing a finger down your nose as he watches your tongue dart out to wet your lips. Your hold on him loosens, which is a mistake, but he's caught you so off guard that your head is spinning and rationality is not your greatest strength right now. He takes advantage, flipping himself over so his back is pressed against you, and he grinds his ass against your crotch while he pretends to stretch out, his hands flopping back to rest beside your head. Your grip relocates to his hips, half to impede any further movement, half to encourage it and fuck you're confused.
“You fucked-”
“One of the orange ones,” he cuts you off, grinning around every word, tipping his head back, licking awkwardly at your cheek, his back curving as he pushes back against you again and your fingers curl into his bare hips, the tiny shorts he's wearing riding up even higher. “Can't lie, it felt good, I can see the appeal. But I bet it ain't got shit on you.”
“Dave, seriously-”
“Mm, fuck Bro...” he moans, spreading his legs, grabbing one of your hands and pushing it down between them. He's hard, hot beneath the flannel of the shorts, and his hips rock up into your hand as he holds it down against himself. “I was thinkin' about you the whole time,” he breathes out, and holy shit this is the worst idea ever, but something is holding you back from flipping out. “I bet you feel, like, a zillion times better than those shits, Bro. I bet you're tight as fuck, I bet-”
“Dave, tell me what you took.” You level your voice out as best you can with him still squirming in your lap, using your hand to rub himself through the dampening fabric. If reasoning with him doesn't work, then you've only got one option left, and fucking shit, you really don't want it to come to that.
“Chemical X?” he giggles, rocking his hips back harder. You can feel your cock twitching to life with each tiny movement and noise he makes, and when he grabs your other hand and sucks a finger into his mouth you have to squeeze your eyes shut just to concentrate on not flipping him over and nailing him senseless. “Hey, would you fuck me if I was a Powerpuff Girl?”
“Dave-”
“Bet I'd be cute as fuck, man. You wouldn't be able to keep your hands off me. I'd let you, y'know, I'd let you fuck me so fucking hard. Fuckin' everywhere, I'd scream your name, let you fill me up with-”
“Dave! Fuck, quit it, tell me what you took, now!”
He bites gently at your finger, moaning as he rolls his hips up into your trapped hand, head curling back on your shoulder. Your control is slipping fast; he's lost his mind and is taking yours instead. He grinds back against your cock again, purring a satisfied little noise in your ear, sucking off your finger with a tiny pop.
“I took a level in onanism. I'm all kinds of upgraded now, fuckin' master of hedonists up in here. My body's a fuckin' temple and you're cordially invited to come kiss my god damn feet, kiss whatever you want, really, I don't mind. I want it, Bro. I want it so bad, want it from you, I-”
You really didn't want it to come to this. But you're down to your final option, backed into a corner by your tweaked out, half naked younger brother, and the only thing you can think to do to straighten him out is to shock him out of it. Push him far enough to snap him back into check. So you strengthen your hold, your arms straining as they tighten around him, thrusting your hand down into those tiny, tight fucking shorts and grasp him firm and quick, wrenching a high little whine from his throat. You grip his jaw, keeping a finger between his lips as you lock his head back, and push your hips up against his ass with a growl in his ear.
“You fucked up, kid.” you say, voice low, as intimidating as you can force it to sound, rumbling from the back of your throat and he fights to keep his breath steady with a little laugh, pressing his hips into your hand. Your hold on his jaw hardens and he freezes, lips wrapping around your finger again to suck as you warn him one last time. “I dunno what's gotten into you, and fuck if I even give a shit no more. I ain't gonna be cool about this now. One more chance, kid. What was it?”
“I fingered myself when I jacked it to the thought of you sucking me off,” he breathes, voice distorting around your finger.
“You brought this on yourself, you little shit.”
Your fingers wrap around his dick, pumping hard, making his back arch sharply, his ass dragging back against your cock, a long whining moan slipping from him, his tongue wild as it twists around. His legs spread wider, canting his hips upwards as much as he can, a half moan, half laugh pouring slow around your hand, his own having found a grip on your bicep, squeezing with every stroke of his cock.
“Fuck, Bro...” You thrust two more fingers in his mouth to shut him up, and he sucks on them gladly, humming little moans around them as you continue to pull him further towards completion. Perhaps if you can get him off he'll get tired, sleep it off, what ever 'it' is. You're not holding out much hope for that outcome, but its something to hold on to for the moment. He groans, deep and reverberating through your fingers, vibrating up your hand and arm, the sound sailing through your ears and every move he makes rubs you just the right way, like he knows exactly what he's doing. He doesn't, he's strung out, high as fucking heaven on fuck knows what. You think he is, anyway. You hope he is...
“Mm! Mmm!” He sounds desperate, thrusting up into your hand, mouth neglecting your fingers in favour of panting harshly around them, tongue absently swiping, and through it all he's still fucking grinning like a cat, his grip on your arm almost crushingly strong, hips frantic as they pump up and he screams on his release, a laugh lilting through the slew of high tones and half formed words, a sliver of spit leaking from the corner of his mouth. His lungs must burn, and his eyes remain closed as he breathes himself back down to earth. For a moment you think you've done it, you've beaten him, or 'it', or whatever it is you need to fix. Maybe he's letting you believe it. What if he's tricking you?
Psyche! He totally is.
“Ooh fuck...that was a good one, huh?” he says sweetly, voice simpering and quiet, pressing his hips back against your straining erection with a breathless little giggle, and your fingers twitch at the friction. Your growing paranoia has served you well, but has done nothing to prepare you for how right you should have been. “Hey Bro,” he whispers, turning his head, letting your hand fall from his jaw, pressing soft little kisses to your cheek as he reaches up and tangles his fingers in your hair playfully. “Let's see how many times you can make me come. I already did it twice when you were out, this makes three.”
“Dave,” you start, your voice surprising you with how gruff it sounds, thick in your throat, and you're about to clear it when he slips your hand from his shorts and wiggles around, turning to face you, kissing gently up your neck, along your jaw, licking soft at the corner of your mouth. His eyes are so bright, clear, like he's aware, like he knows exactly what he's doing and shit, what does that mean? He smiles, biting his lip at your silence.
“I wanna get you off so bad, Bro. Mm...I want you to fuck my face,” he murmurs, slipping down to mouth along your neck, spreading his legs over you to press against your dick again, grinding his own against it, and for whatever god awful reason your hands slide down to palm at his ass. The kid feels good, he's working every inch of his body just right, and this is fucking fucked, you're supposed to be looking out for him, raising the little shit, not fucking him! The hell is wrong with you?!
“Dave, I'm serious, just-”
He cuts you off with a long, low, whining moan, right in your ear, licking along it as he pumps his hips into yours. Your hands grip his ass tight in reaction and you hate yourself for it, but he's moaning right against your cheek now, licking pathetic little manipulative kisses, whining like he's in heat and begging for attention.
“Fuck my mouth, Bro...come right down my throat, please, I fucking need it so bad come on...!”
“Jesus, kid...”
“Please! I-”
His lips are almost obedient against yours, your hand in his hair forcing his mouth to you, and he welcomes your tongue eagerly, groaning into the kiss as his hands grasp your shoulders hard. Fuck, he feels so god damn good, twisting his body just perfectly all over yours, dragging his hips wide across your lap, sucking on your tongue like he was born to do it.
His mouth is fucking amazing; you can't believe you've never done this before, what the hell is wrong with you! He's so warm and light on top of you, licking around your teeth, bushing the roof of your mouth gently, clinging to you so hard, like he's trying to melt you both together. It takes you a few minutes to realise how loud you've become, groaning and breathing rough as you pull and tug at every part of him you can reach, all just from a kiss. Your enthusiasm is justified; his mouth is gorgeous, delicious and wet and ardent, insistent even. Even as he tries to take control, not that you'd ever let him; he's yours, you own him, he'll do whatever you fucking tell him to, he'd get on his knees and beg to be fucked, scream your name as you slide on up inside and ram him through the floor. Fuck, you might just do that...
“Bro!” He cuts the kiss in favour of crying out, rutting against you, delirious and sickeningly sweet, and your mind empties, leaving only traces of what you were thinking before. “Mm, fuck man, you're so fucking cool...” he mumbles, nuzzling his face against your chest as you try to regroup and get back to square-effin-one. This was bad for a reason...so...oh. Oh yeah. Baby brother brain-fucked on whatever narcotics he'd found from wherever. A CPS dream, in other words.
“Dave,” you pant out, and silently curse him for leaving you utterly breathless like some dame he's dragged back from the speakeasy. He's dragging his tongue across your sternum, tugging at your popped collar as he winks up at you. “You little bitch, I-”
Another kiss, and how he manages to make it even hotter is beyond belief. The feeling is back, the one that you got a little taste of before, everything amplified, colour and sound and every grind of his hips down into yours and every little tinkling laugh he makes into your mouth. You run this shit, and you grip him hard before flipping the both of you over, nearly smothering him beneath you. He screams, cries out, his arms locking around your neck, his legs twisting around your waist as you suck at his throat, licking a thick strip up to his ear and growling “let go.”
He obeys, arms and legs flopping down, grinning wide though his eyes are heavy, gazing up at you as you rip your shirt off and thrust two fingers back into his mouth. Kid seems to like it, and you don't bother holding back a deep, grunting laugh when he moans at being able to suck on them again. Grabbing at his leg with your other hand, you push it up and back, tight shorts straining over his half hard cock, and you press your own erection against his ass, grinning, biting your lip to cover another groan. “Fuckin' Christ, kid, you lost your god damn mind...” you intone, a laugh bubbling up inside you as he smiles, licking up your palm and dragging his shirt up to expose his chest, raising his hips as his legs stretch further.
“You ain't too far behind, huh?” he murmurs, tongue flicking between your fingers before he sinks them back between his lips. “Gonna fuck me now?”
“Don't talk with your mouth full you little shit, learn some damn manners.”
“Gonna teach me some, Daddy?”
Shit.
You come close to tearing off a finger with how quick you unbuckle your belt and shift your jeans down enough to pull out. Fuck, you're hard...and Dave's eyes gleam at the sight of your cock. You stroke for a second, letting him soak it in, using your wet fingers to slick up just a little. There's something about him that's making you act this way, something unnatural, has to be. His...willingness, or whatever, is playing a monumental part, of course, but whatever the hell he took is affecting you somehow. You're close to not caring, but logic holds you back.
He's vulnerable right now, maybe he's blacking out and won't remember this at all. He doesn't look that way, seems perfectly stable, actually, but this is your baby brother, who you raised, who loves apple juice and who you drive to school every morning and who you always beat at Tekken and taught how to mix, who-
His hand has joined yours on your cock. He's staring at it like he's starving. Just for a moment his eyes flicker up to meet yours, and the burning, diminutive little smirk that ghosts his lips is all the warning you have before tipping over the edge.
“Fuck my mouth, Daddy. I want it so bad...”
Jesus fucking shit, the boys mouth is nirvana. He opens without request, staring dreamily up into your eyes the entire time, doesn't gag once. He grips your ass and your hip, perhaps for balance, but you know he's just begging for more, moans muffled as you grip his hair and push in and out gently, watching his lips stretch around you. He sucks when you let him, hums almost absently as you thrust a little harder, a smile that you can't help dancing across your face. Look at him, like he was made for this, spread beneath you and swallowing you down like a grade-A whore, watching your eyes to see how you like it. You feel his tongue stroke at you as best he can; you know he can't really do all that much, but it's cool. He's glad for it, he wants it, he loves it, as is made evident by the way he moans as you pull back just slightly, and you feel his hand disappear, his hips shifting behind you so you know he's rubbing himself through those damnable shorts.
“Like it, baby? Everythin' you ever dreamed of?” Your voice is gruff, but who gives a shit. He nods as much as he's able, whimpering little agreements around your cock, his tongue vibrating against you as he struggles to keep his eyes open and focused. You puff out a laugh, grip his hair tight and slide deeper, feeling his throat around the tip of your dick and the little fucker swallows and Christ but you've lost this round, no question. Kids a maniac, pushing you deeper still by your ass, his eyes snapping shut as he rubs himself through you fucking his throat. “Fuck, baby...I could just do this forever...” you muse, thrusting that little bit harder now, seeing tears spilling down his cheeks, but he's so fucking up for it, his arm furious between his legs. You groan and stop, his lips flush against the base of your cock, and his eyes flash up at you in some kind of panicked plea, any kind of noise he could make completely suffocated and drowned out by your loud laugh, throwing your head back and pulling back only to drive back in as you spill, near tearing his hair out as you come down his throat. He chokes, eyes streaming as he keeps playing with himself, moaning when he can, and when you pull out fully, deep breaths searing in your chest, head spinning, and shit you feel even better than before, he begins a brainless litany of “thank you, Bro, thank you, fucking god thank you oh fucking fuck oh god thank you”.
You reach back and press a palm to his cock, half exposed through the leg of his shorts, and his body stiffens, suddenly silent behind that frantic grin, still watching your eyes, glazed, almost hypnotised and at your mercy. You just came, right in his mouth, down his throat, he swallowed every drop (which made you gosh darn proud) and you're still hard as a rock.
“Want me to help you out, darlin'?” you murmur, still looming over him, knees either side of his flat little chest, and he bites his lip as he nods, and he reaches up with his free hand, stroking you again. You slap his hand away with a snort and stand back, pulling him back down on top of you when you sink back. “Climb on up, baby,” you grunt in his ear, feeling his laughter in your bones as he slides off you, ditching the shorts before clambering up to sit on the arm rest above your head. All it takes is a light brush of your fingers under his legs to draw him down closer, balancing on his knees, bracing his arms on your stomach, positioning himself just right so you can lick hot and wet against his hole. He sighs aloud, thighs twitching either side of your head as you grasp his hips and hold him down against your mouth, twisting your tongue inside and fluttering it short and fast. He whines, arching his back to sit up, stroking a hand down his stomach to his cock, grasping and tugging at it to match your pace, grinding his ass down, hips rolling back and forth, choking little gasps streaming out.
“Fuck, man...” His voice is raw, breaking in his throat from your rough treatment, twisting every word into a rasping cacophony that further emphasises how far gone he really is. “Fuck me, Bro. I fuckin' need it, oh god, fuck me! That feels-oh! Oh fucking Christ, oh fuck!”
He's wet against your mouth, loose and ready, but fuck if it ain't gorgeous having him here on top of you, writhing down on your face, stroking himself hard, fast, crazy for the friction and your tongue inside him. You can't remember how this was ever a bad idea; the kid is a genius, and your only hope is that this continues forever.
He screams as he comes, yet again, painting his hand and your chest, rutting down against your tongue as he pushes himself through each little pulse, voice shaking around his fourth orgasm. You growl, grabbing his hips tight and dragging him down, pressing your cock immediately against his ass, teasing his opening with the head, needing him now, his back flush to your chest again, and he drags back down against you with a loud, sweet cry of your new apparent nickname.
“Fuck Daddy I want it, fuckin' please, please fuck me!”
Oh, how could you ever say no to that.
You push in with a deep, purred growl, right in his ear that he responds to with a high little wavering keen, knees dropping either side of yours, surrendering utter control. You slam up, his body jerking with the force of it, hands grabbing back at your arms as you clench yours around his waist. Its not long until he starts talking again, tripping over his words, your pace upsetting his rhythm, voice high and unnatural and intoxicating, his lips brushing your cheek with each syllable.
“Fuck me hard, oh god... Fuck me, Bro! Shit, I want it. It's fucking incredible, it feels so good- Ah! You're so fucking big, Jesus shit! Oh fuck, I want you to fuck me forever, just keep going! We don't need to stop, we never need to stop, fuck the world, just keep going- oh fuck! You feel so good Daddy! Fuck me! Ah! Fuck me!”
His words make sense. Why shouldn't you keep fucking him, there's no reason to stop. You could fuck him for eternity, until you die. You've got a good few years left, you could last it out. He's so fucking tight around your cock, so fucking hot and wet and accommodating, so open, and he grinds back against you like a dream, your rhythm almost arduous in its power, and he can take every hit. He was made for this, made for you, he's yours, forever, and you don't have to ever stop.
“Fuck me Daddy!
“Fuckin' shit. I got you, baby, you feel fuckin' great, keep pushin' back like tha- ah! Fuck, that's it, baby, keep goin'...”
Made for you, absolutely, there's no chance in hell that he isn't. He licks at the angle of your jaw, rolling his hips back to meet yours at every turn, singing a little harmony of prayers that matches your beat perfectly. He clinches around you, his flow faltering as you bring a hand to his cock and stroke, coil, flutter your fingers along it, and his voice can only find your name in the heat of the air, twisting his head, kissing your cheek with hapless little licks until you meet his lips with your own, thrusting your tongue in his mouth, fucking him deep and hard, fisting his cock as he screams between your teeth and comes once again, hard, blindingly hard, hot as an inferno.
He squeezes down around you so tight you see spots, sucks on your tongue like its all he has left, ruts his ass back against your dick, begging silently to come inside him, and you couldn't refuse if you tried. With a snarl, a tear of his shirt as he rips at it, licking at your lips with each whining, trilling little plea, you force his hips down against you, bucking up inside and growling a trillion-zillion dark, vicious little promises that you hope he holds you to. Gripping his thighs, pumping deep and incandescent in him, pulsing and sparking through each little shock as your lungs demand that you cool down.
“Fuck...uhh, fuck...I got you, baby...”
Words don't work. Not really. Not now, and he giggles again, and its contagious.
You're still hard, still inside him. Perhaps you'll never come down from whatever high you caught from him.
Perhaps you don't give a shit.