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Dirk got away.
By now he must be falling into the hairy arms of his prince charming, begging to be whisked away from his evil tyrant of a brother. Where else would he even go?
It happened so fast. You turned your back for one moment and...
You need to convince him that you let this happen. You won't get drunk. You won't show him weakness. God, imagine him coming home from his sexcapade and you've drank yourself into a stupor waiting for him, sad and lonely. That would be so fucking pathetic, you get embarrassed just thinking about it. Pacing around the apartment chewing your nails raw and chain-smoking are perfectly acceptable substitutes for it while imagining in vivid detail the kind of debauchery your dear, sweet little brother is experiencing right now. You haven't felt this seethingly jealous after your first outburst.
You were solid, Dirk was finally starting to come around. You had a rough start for sure, but once he started initiating too you could have sworn the want was mutual. You treated him so nicely... And his laughter, you got him to laugh like before, breathless and airy. All that flirting and touching and kisses and lazy cuddles, it was almost like you really were lovers. Should have known it was a ploy. Did you already forget that you bunk with a manipulative little devil? A little devil with the sweet face of an angel. A little devil that sucks your dick so good you forget that he's one. He's not stupid, but you allowed yourself to be, a little bit. Won't happen again.
If he's even coming back.
Really, why would he come back?
Your chest constricts painfully. You need him, you need him so badly, but he doesn't need you at all. Should have taken him out of town while you could. Your face feels hot.
You've checked more times than you can count but he hasn't taken anything with him, save for his keys, phone and the clothes on his back. All his shit is accounted for, his backpack too, nothing to suggest that he's going to stay overnight anywhere or leave for good. It doesn't really bring you any peace of mind, he could just send Roxy to get his stuff and you'd have to behave.
You can't eat, you can't sleep, you can't focus.
You keep waiting for a message or a call, or really anything from him, but receive none. You're not going to be the first one to reach out either. You are NOT desperate.
As the evening stretches you give up pacing around and park yourself on the couch. The TV barely distracts you from the nausea tickling your throat. You reach for your cigarettes only to remember that you just had the last one. You throw the empty pack across the room in your frustration but don't even get a satisfying 'smack' out of it; it flutters to the floor rather gently. You're in fucking shambles. If you could, you would melt into the couch like an upturned Jello Cup on a dashboard in Texas summer. They'd need a specialist to get your remains out of all those sticky little crevices, with tiny brushes and all. That shit's stuck tight. Yeah, no, better burn the whole shit down into a vaguely fruity pile of ash and scoop it up in a little jar that Dirk can put onto the mantle of his figurative fireplace and play the forlorn widow. It's a prized family heirloom, sir, it's the remains of my rancid brother, sir, bless his soul. Oh shit, that sounds invaluable, better not let it fall into the wrong hands. And before you know it, bam, Dave Strider's ashes, the latest fad miracle substance everyone wants to snort up in the back of some club for rich assholes. Gives you a guaranteed 3 hour erection and an intrusive fascination with your relatives.
You perk up before you even register properly that you heard something: there's gentle rattling at the front door. You go through all the possibilities between the FBI and a murderous, well-armed boyfriend in the span of a second, but there's no way you wouldn't recognize your little brother's footsteps. They're timid, but they're definitely his. And alone.
He's home. He came back. He came back.
You're so ecstatic about Dirk returning that you almost forgot where he was, what he was doing and who he was doing. Almost. You will your muscles to relax and can feel all those tight knots just popping open like uncrumpling a can. The rush of blood leaves you a bit lightheaded, but you're as cool as a block of cucumber jelly, ready to welcome your little cheater home.
You can hear Dirk shuffling down the hall and suddenly stop in the doorway behind you. The silence is making you nervous, but you won't give him the satisfaction of looking over your shoulder. He's no threat to you. No threat at all.
After an uncomfortably long while he starts moving again and there he is, standing before you stiff and disheveled. You give him a measured look over the rim of your shades and ask him how his night out was. Dirk stays quiet. He's fidgeting, chin held down and lips pinched tight. You don't need to see his eyes to know exactly what kind of look he's wearing. Your chest swells with smug satisfaction. So it was that disappointing, just as you knew it would be and now he's crawling back to you all shy and apologetic. You weren't even really worried. Who even said you were? Okay, sure, you missed him, but when do you not? Surely he missed you too. It's terribly exciting to see him like this and it makes your cock throb, but hold your horses: you're supposed to be still mad at him, so you give him the cold shoulder. If he wants to get back into your good graces he should put in some work. He knows it too, because he stays put even when you shoo him away.
The silence between you stretches. You can see that he's thinking, hesitating... You're in no hurry, fuck, you can practically feel his skittish touch tingling on your skin already. What will he do first? Fall to his knees maybe? Apologize profusely and admit that he has made the biggest mistake of his life? That would be a start. He's got a straight access to your crotch and a lot to make up for. The zipper of your jeans is already pressing uncomfortably against your steadily chubbing dick.
Dirk seems to have made his choice.
He turns away and walks off. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't try anything, he just...leaves. You're so confused. What the fuck?
He locks himself in the bathroom and turns the shower on. You stay put and try to tell yourself he'll be all over you once he scrubs the stink of his boyfriend off his skin. You're the calmest motherfucker on earth. You're so ready for him. He's blow-drying his hair now. It's happening. Soon he'll be all dolled up for you and crawling at your feet, mouth on your cock like the good little brother he is.
Dirk goes into his room and doesn't emerge again. You can't keep lying to yourself; you've been rejected. Stood up. Brushed off. So utterly and thoroughly abandoned that you can't stand it. You don't know what to do with yourself.
Now you're starting to itch for a drink.
You hobble over to the kitchen, rummage through your booze cabinet and end up picking a bottle of bourbon gifted to you by somebody at some premiere some time ago. Fuck the details. This bottle is way too nice to be downing like water, but sacrifices have to be made for the greater good: if you can't get fucked up right this second you're going insane. Of course, you're going insane either way, but it seems way more fun with booze involved.
Too bad this time your issues are so big you can't get Rose to pick them apart for you. It's a miracle that she or her nosy daughter haven't caught wind of this yet. At least you don't think they have. If anything, Dirk is not a snitch and Rose is not known for her patience, so you figure you're safe for now. You fucking Dirk won't stay a secret forever though, but if you get him on board before this ticking time bomb blows in your hands you just might be able to talk your way out of it. If there's anyone who could accept you two, it's her. With the right story of course.
You get yourself a glass and sit down. Look at you, drinking alone seated at the kitchen table like a some sort of dweeb. God, Lalonde would be so proud of you.
You pop the cap off, fill your glass to the brim and bring it hands trembling to your lips, straight up rawdogging it no ice style. The first greedy gulp leaves your mouth pleasantly numb in the wake of the liquid fire washing down your throat. It's an instant relief. You deflate slowly, forehead bonking against the tabletop when you come to a rest, cradling your drink in your hands.
Are you really coming up second to a Lara Croft cosplayer with oversized polygons on the back end? What does he have that you don't? What can he give that you don't? He's awkward and unfinished, thin like a bean pole with the ugliest sparse moustache you've seen. His dick must be as limp as his handshake. You can't detect even an ounce of passion behind those nervous, beady little eyes. If he wasn't associated with Dirk you wouldn't have graced him with a second glance. Just one was enough for him to start feeling important.
And why does Dirk keep going back so insistently? The guy clearly doesn't care about him all that much, you haven't even had to turn him away from your front door. Not that he'd get that far uninvited, but a rugged adventurer like him should find a way, use those rock climbing grubbers of his to climb up the balconies or something. Your little Rapunzel stays in his tower all the same and the only hair he's letting down are your pubes. Too bad there isn't even a landline to passive-aggressively slam in his ear while Dirk gives you head. Really, what's one silly little teenage crush to the kind of stability and devotion you offer? You've always been there for him and you always will be.
You love Dirk. You love him so much it breaks your heart and he should know that. Still he sneaks out to fuck some pathetic loser, like you can't give him the railing of his life every single time. He has gotten way too comfortable with you. Does he really think he can do as he pleases and expect you to not be absolutely livid? If he's going to spit in your face like this he shouldn't be surprised that there are consequences. You'll hold him down by his throat and force yourself on him much like your first time, but this time you won't give him the luxury of slow and gentle.
He doesn't fucking let you be gentle with him. You'd think he's riling you up on purpose just so you'd hurt him. Shit, you'll give him exactly what he wants.
The image of him standing before you plays on the rippling bottom of your glass. If he wasn't there to grovel at your feet, why come to you? Was he gloating? Did you read him completely wrong and that tense chest and the tightening corners of his mouth were him holding back laughter? Look at me, you fucking loser, I just got dicked down by my sexy hunk of a boyfriend whom I actually love. You really thought I loved you? My own brother? Wow, that's so hilarious, I'd laugh if you wouldn't beat me black and blue for it. How does it feel knowing you'll have to force my hand if you want me to do anything to you? Perverted piece of shit. God, just looking at you makes me sick.
The rest of your glass doesn't even burn on the way down.
---♥---
You slam his bedroom door open with a loud bang. Dirk shoots up from under the blankets, wide-eyed and startled, and squeaks out your name. It's the only one that should be leaving his lips. You'll make sure it stays so.
Your principle of not leaving bruises on his face goes right out the window. He's for sure going to have a striking black eye tomorrow. The force of your punch throws him back and he collides with the wall. While he's still slack you dig your fingers in his hair and wrench him towards you. He grabs onto your wrists and takes quickly to his knees. Blood oozes from his nose and stains his teeth.
He's skipping straight over defending himself to appeasing you. "I-I'm sorry! Please, I'm sorry, Dave, I'm sorry, I love you, please, I love you-"
So now he feels like apologizing.
"I didn't hear you say sorry earlier this evening. You really think you can just brush me off like that?"
"I'm really sorry, please, I came back to you," he sniffles, eyes wet, sparkling like jewels in the dark. So many trapped and drowned things in that honey-amber of his, you included.
"And that's supposed to make me feel better after you've snuck out to screw some other guy?" You draw him closer, forehead pressed against his forehead. You're sure he can smell the booze on your breath.
"I won't- I won't do it again!"
"Damn right you won't." You can't stop your teeth from grinding together. Your jaw aches from the tension. "And I was being so nice that I didn't give you any hickeys for a while... This is how you pay me back?"
"I'm sorry..." His voice is so small. "I'll be better..."
It's so cute you want to smack him. He's still your sweet little angel despite everything; big, round eyes and a firm hold on your heartstrings. Fuck, you want to kiss him so bad and claim him yours again, but you don't know what kind of filth he has put in his mouth, so you better not. You don't know what you'd do if his taste was foreign to you.
"Yeah, right. I'll make it so you can't show your face to him for a while."
There's an unmistakable flash of dread on his face and a tightening in his throat, but he steels himself quickly. "That's okay..." Blood drips off his lip and onto the sheets. "I don't want him, I want- I want only you," or so he claims. Your heart makes a sick kickflip anyway, why are you this easy?
"Oh? Really? Well shit, you should have told me that from the start, I would have spared you from a black eye!" Your voice comes out deceptively sweet, but Dirk knows you well enough to not be fooled for a second. His teeth are chattering, he knows you're going to hurt him. You want to hurt him.
"So what was that earlier about? Found no other place to stand around for a minute? Fucking tease."
"I thought..." He hesitates, gaze darting between your eyes.
"Yeah, you can think? Then why didn't you think ahead a little, huh?" You give him a shake and force his head back even more. He struggles to swallow the saliva collecting in his mouth.
"...I thought you were angry."
"I'm fucking fuming."
He visibly shrinks, biting his lip, and still holding onto your wrists, he hugs your forearms closer to his body. If only he was always this adorable. You take a little more conversational tone. "So... Did you have fun? You never told me."
"No," he says and gingerly shakes his head in your grip.
"What a shame."
Still, he finds some sort of courage to try and set things right. "Please, I want you, please let me- let me show it..." He begs, voice cracking.
You hum and think about it.
Very well. You let go and he collapses against the mattress. Figures, all talk and nothing to deliver. He tries and fails to push himself back up but you've already lost interest. You take a step back and almost stumble on absolutely nothing. You catch onto the edge of his desk just in time to stay firmly on your feet. Jesus, your tolerance should be better than this, but then again, you drank a fuckton on an empty stomach. You're gonna regret it later, but right now you need to make Dirk regret screwing up your perfectly working arrangement.
You start pulling your belt open and Dirk tries to take over, going for your button and fly with shaking hands, sniffling and begging for your forgiveness. He really has the nerve to touch you, disrespectful little shit. You strike him for his efforts and shove him off you. Dirk cradles his tender cheek, head held down, sobbing. He wouldn't even be able to suck you off while crying like that. Not that you don't love him gagging and choking on your cock, but he just might love it too and you're not about to reward bad behavior. He needs discipline, he needs to understand that he can't leave his bro hanging like this.
You pull your belt free, worn soft and flexible with time. A newer, stiffer one wouldn't have the kind of impact you want. You close your hand around the buckle and let the rest of the length hang by your leg. Adrenaline prickles in your muscles like thousands of little needles. You're boiling under your skin. Breathe in and out. You slowly raise your arm above your head and slide the smooth leather taut through your fingers until the very tip. Your test lash lands on the bed with a loud, dull thud. It feels good. You've never been one for corporal punishment, but this time you can make an exception.
You swear Dirk grows a shade paler. He stares at you, eyes wide, stammering. You think he's trying to plead you to wait.
But you don't really care. You raise your arm to strike and he has no other choice than to curl up as small as he can and cover his head with his arms. The first lash draws a startled yelp and a gasp from him, almost as sharp as the snap of leather against his skin. He clutches himself tighter with a pathetic whine. It makes you see red.
You whip him good, leaving deep-red welts all over his arms and back. You whip him so hard even his boyfriend should be able to feel it and you don't stop until he runs out of breath to scream with.
When you're done he's choking on his own sobs. You chuck the belt aside and he flinches even the noise. Fuck, you broke a sweat. There's red lines running across your palm from the force of your grip. You shake your hand out.
The floor is swaying under your feet, but you're a master of balance and stay bravely standing. ...Though you wouldn't mind if you could get onto some soft, comfortable surface with something warm and fuckable on it instead. But when do you not when you've had a bit to drink? You cast your eyes down on the heaving, trembling mess on the bed. Might have broken the skin in a couple of places, if it scars that's just something more for him to remember you by. He got what he deserved, but it's not nearly enough for this kind of betrayal. He's lucky you still want him. You grab your cock through your jeans and fondle yourself firm while your brother is being an overdramatic little baby. When his sobs finally die down there's only one sound left; a low, wavering moan only interrupted by his hitching inhales, slightly muffled by the cradle of his arms. Yeah, you're so vile it turns you on like crazy.
You pull your zipper down and can see him tensing up at the sound. To your disappointment he doesn't move a muscle. But what can you expect? Directing is your job.
"Get on your knees," you snap and Dirk flinches into action. He does as you tell him to, clumsier and slower than he would usually be, but still just as obedient. Despite everything he still offers himself for you. He hangs his head and you can see the faint glint of his tears dripping off the tip of his nose and into the sheets. He doesn't really think he can get your pity now, does he? You'll fuck that out of him.
"Yeah, perfect, now stay right there..."
You kick your pants off in such a hurry you nearly topple over. To everyone's detriment you don't crack your skull open on the side of his desk. You can't stop yourself and nothing else does either when you climb in bed with Dirk. His arms shake under his weight, breath quickening as he waits for your assault.
You shove his head down against the mattress and grab a good fistful of his hair for leverage. He moans, that little whore. Fuck, that sweet sound zips right to your erection standing painfully heavy and full, the throbbing strangle of vein making sure no blood is going to escape from your dick ever again. 'Ever' being hopefully less than four hours or you're in a bit of a pickle. But don't fret, Dirk is here to take care of it for you, all night long.
You grab the waistband of his boxers and he, as well-mannered as he is, reaches back and helps you pull them down to his knees. For a moment you thought that he was going to defy you but this is a pleasant surprise. It's not like you're going to reward him for it though.
You line yourself up with him and spit for lubrication. It's hardly enough, but he won't learn if it doesn't hurt. Dirk tries so hard to relax when you press your tip against him, how cute. Just to tease him, you ease the pressure off a couple of times until you finally ram your cock inside. ...But it slides easier than you expected. Your lip curls in distaste.
"You let him fuck you."
It's a statement, not a question, and if your anger ever calmed down at all now you're absolutely seething again. Feeling the physical proof sets you off like nothing else; another guy fucked your little brother.
"You let him put his hairy little dick inside you? Did you put it in your mouth too, huh? Did you blow that buck-toothed faggot?" You demand and twist your hand in his hair.
"No," he whines, holding onto your wrist. "Please, Dave, no, I didn't...!"
"Don't fucking lie to me," you snarl. You're not stupid, you've taught him to give such divine head it's next to impossible he wouldn't show off for that loser, anything to wrap him tighter around his pinky. He's giving everything you've worked so hard for away so easily, it spikes your blood pressure. Nobody but you should get to enjoy his mouth. Your brother is not a cheap slut, even if he tries to act like one.
"I'm not lying, I'm not l-lying, he... Jake blew me."
You didn't think you'd get him to admit what he did with that little rat.
"Ohhhh... Well weren't you brave! So, how was it? Like fucking a sack of legos," you suggest.
"...Yeah, it was bad," he whispers, choked, like he's embarrassed to tell you that. He's being such a good boy that you reward him by letting go of his hair. You're all for encouraging honesty. "Go on..."
"I...couldn't finish. At all."
So on top of everything, his failure of a boyfriend sent him home unsatisfied. As always, everything falls on you to fix. You'll do it right. Dirk lets out a pathetic little moan when you start fucking him, slow and deep. God, he feels so good. You're angled right against his prostate, every time you brush past it you can feel him squeeze around you and hold his breath. He resists you, but it always makes him melt into an incoherent, dripping mess when you keep it up long enough. If he wasn't so fun to drive to his limits, you wouldn't have the patience to edge yourself like this. "Don't mind me, keep talking..."
He breathes in wheezing like he's being choked, but his exhale trembles in ecstasy. "I'm not gonna let h-him anywhere near my dick again, I swear."
It's the least you could ask of him, but you'll take it. After a while it becomes clear that Dirk doesn't have anything else to say to you without prompting, so if you want the juicy details you'll have to keep prodding. You're way too curious for your own good, and way too chatty. Fatal flaws, if you had any.
"So, how was his dick? Better than his mouth at least?"
"Barely felt a-anything..."
Oh, he knows just what to say to you. This is why you shouldn't trust this little silver-tongue, but goddamn does it feel good. You'll play along, nothing wrong with indulging just for a moment. You'll surely get your sense back after you get to nut.
"How did you fuck? Gimme some substance here," you say, though you're giving his boytoy way too much credit by calling mindlessly rubbing some sweaty parts together 'fucking'.
"I don't..." He starts, but wisely decides the humiliation will be the lesser bad. You can't even see his face, so what's the big issue? "...missionary."
"How romantic." Predictable for first timers, but then again, didn't you do the same?
"But I, um, couldn't look at his f-face so I... asked him to, uh, fr-from behind." Either he's embarrassed or can barely keep a coherent sentence together, both options please you to no end. "And I thought I could- I could t-think of...of..."
Spit it out already.
"...I wanted to think of you, but it just wasn't- It didn't feel the same," your little brother confesses to you, in the dark of his bedroom. You feel electrified to the tips of your fingers. "I missed you so bad," he moans. Your heart is racing, god, it's you who's going to melt. This kind of good behaviour ought to be rewarded with kisses.
When you lean down closer to him your eyes are drawn to a mark on his shoulder. Seeing it turns your stomach; a faint, half-moon shaped imprint on his milky pale shoulder. It brings you to a stop. "The fuck is this?" You ask and run your thumb over the reddened skin. "I definitely didn't leave that."
Dirk inhales sharply. His shoulder goes stiff at your touch and his skin raises goosebumps. You don't need to know braille to read 'oh shit' right under your fingertips.
"It's..." he trails off.
"Yeah, it's what?"
"He didn't even bite hard..."
"Didn't even bite hard," you mimic his voice. "Bullshit. Dirk, there's a fucking bitemark on you. I can count every single one of his ugly fucking teeth off your shoulder. That's no accident."
You really didn't think the limp loser had it in him. Message received loud and clear. You can't help being equally impressed and infuriated. Next time you see that cocky bastard you'll bash his head in, damned be the consequences. Instead, you bash Dirk's head against the mattress and really press his face in it when he tries to give you excuses.
"I don't want to see a single mark on you. You belong to me. You're mine, do you fucking understand?"
"Y-Yes," he takes in a hitching inhale. "Yes! I understand...! Yes, please, D-Dave, yes, I'm- I'm yours, I'm yours, please-"
"Do you know how I feel about others damaging my property?"
Dirk goes stiff under you. "...don't. Please, I asked him to bite me. It was me, he- he didn't even really want to do it."
"Hm. I see... Alright. So, wanna tell me why you asked him to do that?"
"You know..."
"No Dirk, I don't think I know," you say and run your tongue along the edges of your teeth. "You wanted to piss me off even more?"
"No!" He's quick to answer. "No, please, I didn't... I just thought...just thought it would, um... I wanted to feel even something."
God, he's so precious squirming like that.
"Wow, his dick game was that bad? Hold on, I'll help you get off," you tell him, mouth already watering, and bow your head. The spill of your hot breath makes him shudder when you press your canines against his skin, barely putting on any pressure. Dirk knows you don't play around with your bites, he keeps trembling and panting in terrified anticipation. He'll pass out if he keeps it up. The longer you wait the tenser he becomes and it's starting to irk you. So he'd ask his boyfriend for it, but not his loving, devoted brother who surely does it better?
You withdraw your teeth and huff: "What's up with you? Wasn't this supposed to be something you liked?"
He makes a small sound in his throat, sniffs and cautiously nods. To prove it he tilts his head invitingly to give you more space to work with. Pleased, you lean back in and whisper against his shoulder: "You know I can make you feel just the way you want..."
"...please," he finally begs and you bite down. He arches his back, practically pushing himself against your teeth, clawing at the sheets. He fucking wants you to hurt him. He loves it, you know he does. He gets so toe-curlingly tight too that you can't help rutting against him and groaning into his shoulder. Dirk shifts under you, really trying to meet your hips and take your cock as deep as it can reach, legs shaking.
He's sobbing by the time you ease your jaws off him and stop to admire your work. Now it's the imprints of your teeth on him, little dips with white edges. It's beautiful. He's beautiful. You don't hesitate telling him so and pressing well-earned kisses all over his undulating shoulders.
You can't stand your own slow pace anymore, so you grab his hips tight so he can't pull away and really start fucking him how you like it. He startles the change of pace. You've given Dirk plenty of time to adjust but he still dares to struggle against you and beg you to wait. He's wailing harder than during your first time. This time you let him, nobody will hear him anyway. And you, you've kind of grown to liking it when he's noisy. He keeps his back arched for you just right so you can pound him with reckless abandon. He takes your cock so good, much better than most. Though, you give him no other option.
"D-Dave, fuck, I can't-" He gasps between your thrusts.
"Yes you can, you've already warmed up. ...Or am I bigger than him?"
"Yeah, ah- you're huge," he complains. Hits you right in the ego. Sure, you know you have a big dick but it's nice to hear every once in a while. You reward him by not slowing down at all and he rewards you by not quieting down at all.
You're so morbidly curious that you can't help asking: "You didn't let him cum in you, did you?" He doesn't feel like sloppy seconds, but for all you know his cringe ass boyfriend could be squirting like a coughing water gun.
Dirk hesitates. "No..."
You're like a hawk on that little pause. "No, but...?"
"He had a condom on," he clarifies quickly. There's still something he's not telling you.
"His choice or yours?"
It takes a lot longer pause for him to admit: "...his."
Your jaw clenches and your teeth scrape painfully against each other. Still, you keep your calm when you answer him: "Well at least one of you had a little sense left...surprising it was him. Did you really think you could come home creampied and I wouldn't completely flip my shit?"
You can't see his face, but you can imagine just how beet-red it is all the way to the tips of his ears. His only answer for you is a pathetic whimper.
"You wanna get bred that bad? Don't worry, your big bro's got you." He takes your answer without further complaint, as you take him.
His skin is so hot. You adjust your grip on his hips and dig your slipping fingers deeper into his flesh. Your swaying bangs tickle your nose on every thrust and you kind of hope they'd stick to your forehead instead. Your breath burns your throat raw and ragged and you can feel every single impact against him all the way in your teeth. Dirk has still got a lot of atoning ahead of him before you're satisfied. It's a ripe time to repeat your demand:
"You'll break up with your boyfriend, yeah?"
"Yes!" His answer is swift and clear.
"What was that? I didn't quite hear you."
"-Yes, I'll break up with him! I'll break up with Jake for you! I'll never see him again, please-" He cries out and you feel like smacking him.
"Don't fucking say his name!"
He flinches when you raise your voice and starts babbling apologies, half of them rendered incomprehensible squeaks by your cock. He's gripping the sheets for his dear life, shoulder blades sticking up under his skin and sweat dripping down the crevices of his back.
You're so blindingly jealous you can't take it. Your chest cavity is a black pit of boiling tar, no wonder you can't help it spilling out of your mouth.
"Tell me you love me, and I want you to fucking mean it."
Dirk takes your order to heart. "I-I love you, Dave, please, I love- I love you so much," he whines, voice cracking each time your hips slam against him. His breathless gasps fill the space between you. You think you could even believe him.
"Keep begging, I'm almost there," you grunt, focusing only on your own building pleasure. Your dick has never been this throbbing hard. Apparently getting mad enhances your sexual prowess, he should do this more often.
"I'm sorry, please- please forgive me, I'll never cheat on you again!"
God, 'cheat', that's just the right kind of push you needed: yes, he's cheating on you, not him. You're his number one. As you should have always been.
Your breath seizes when you slam yourself inside him for the last time, muscles contracting almost painfully tight, warm and fuzzy like fiberglass in your chest. Holy shit you've missed him so much. You tell him you love him through clenched teeth. Your brother makes sweet little sounds when you rock your hips against him, pumping him full of your thick, hot cum. This time you feel like you're defiling something beautiful beyond repair. It's fucking dizzying and you ride it to the bitter end.
As your anger drains you become more and more aware of the mess under you. The mess being your little brother. Welts criss-cross his back, angry red and dotted with fresh bruising. Tomorrow he'll look like he's been ravaged by a pack of angry floggers. You don't want to know how permanent the marks will be. You've done a lot of despicable things to him but this one feels like there's no coming back. You let yourself fall off him.
Laying there, catching your breath next to your violated brother, the high really starts turning into a low. He did come back to you. He told you that he loves you and you beat him up for it. Psycho asshole. He's the best thing that's happened to you and you are the absolute worst thing that's happened to him. You're still drunk as hell, staring at the gently swaying ceiling of your little brother's room. You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't even be seeing his room from this angle. Especially not without pants on. What happened to keeping your baby brother safe?
The mess next to you moves. Dirk pushes himself up on his trembling arms and scoots closer. He collapses against your chest and clings on like a barnacle. A cream filled barnacle. You pull him close and absentmindedly stroke his heaving back, fingertips tracing the raised edges of swollen skin.
Your shirt is soaked through with sweat. It sticks to your skin, rapidly cooling. You feel disgusting. It doesn't seem to bother Dirk, he keeps his head buried in your chest and arms wrapped around you all the same. You press your lips on the top of his head and breathe in the scent of his scalp. The chemical sting of hairspray is missing.
Now that he's here, softly sobbing in your arms, you get the sinking feeling that you maybe shouldn't have done this. You were needlessly rough. You could have just... You brush your fingers through his soft hair and he tenses up, expecting you to grab it. You still your hand and plant kisses on his crown instead, that's the closest you can bring yourself to an apology at this point. You know your promises don't mean shit. He holds you tighter nonetheless. You're starting to feel ill.
You guide his head back and trusting that he didn't lie to you, seek his lips. Soft and salty. He readily parts them for you and goes limp in your embrace. You keep your kiss chaste at first, but your love is far from familial. How did it end up like this? You try to show him as much tenderness as you can to make up for your senseless violence, gently nipping at his lips and breathing in his warm exhale. It tingles on the roof of your mouth. He's perfect, he's so perfect. You slip your tongue in his mouth and kiss him deeply. He tastes warm, comforting and familiar. Thank fuck you don't come away with a curly black hair between your teeth.
He keeps his eyes downcast, but you can see a dull red half moon following the edge of his eye socket. It's not badly swollen yet, but it'll get there. You really can't let him leave the house for a week, or possibly longer. You need to get him an ice pack asap, but Dirk isn't quite done yet. He presses his head back against your shoulder and really snuggles in. And then, so very quietly he says: "Thank you..."
Your blood curdles in your veins the instant and your face goes numb. You think you might have sobered up just now.
"...W-what for?"
"I was so fucking stupid, I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking," he blurts, voice breaking. "I'm sorry, you were right about everything, I should have just... I'm a- I'm a lying piece of shit and a fuck-up, so, thank you for giving me another chance..."
His outpouring leaves you stunned. You're just glad he came back to you.
He reaches up to hold the side of your face and guides you into another kiss. It's softer, sweeter than the one you initiated, full of stomach-turning gratitude. But like the sick fuck you are, you eat that shit right up. Dirk kisses the corner of your mouth, following the hollow of your cheek until he's wedged between the pillow and your face.
"I'm so sorry, I should have... I thought you didn't want me anymore," he says against your cheek. Your poor heart clenches and you hug him tighter to your chest.
"Hey, why would you think that?"
"I'm disgusting."
"Come on, I don't think you're disgusting... I could never hate my best lil bro," you tell him, brush his hair behind his ear and kiss his wet sideburn. "But don't go pulling this kind of bullshit again."
"I promise," he sniffles.
You've never seen Dirk unravel like this. Not even right after your first time; he was quiet and mopey, slinking from your affections and trying his hardest to hide his tears from you. Sure he screams and cries when you fuck him, but he doesn't let you into his head when it's done. You've been dying to know what he thinks. Of you. Of this. You don't think he ever really wanted to cuddle, he would just lie down quietly and wait for you to leave him alone again. But now, he's clinging to you tighter than you've ever clung to him. It's so intoxicating, feeling wanted. You want him so bad too.
"I love you," you tell him. Your heart pounds so hard you can feel it in your throat. "I love you, I love you, I love you..." You kiss along his jawline down to his neck and bitten shoulder. He tilts his head back eagerly and swears his undying love for you.
You've got the boybride of your dreams.
You won.
You fucking won.