Work Text:
You are Dirk. You are currently lying on your big brother's hotel bed, and lying beside you is your big brother, hand on your thigh, fingertips drawing a lazy circle. You are dizzy and you shouldn't be here. His hand goes lower, fingers slipping into a tear on your jeans and his touch on your bare skin prickles like needles.
You reflexively swat at his hand, or close enough to it. He draws it away only to return it back up, but this time gripping at your inner thigh. "Hey..." Dave chuckles. "I didn't even do anything yet."
Your tongue is thick in your mouth. You don't say anything back.
The prescription grade relaxants and sedatives he gave you make the edges of your vision blurry. He likes you malleable but a bit resistant. When it first began you refused to get drugged up, but either way you would get fucked, wanted it or not. Dave Sr. and Bro, they'd just use more force the more you fought back. So if you don't want it to hurt, much, you better let them get you so high you're practically serene.
Your older brothers always want to fuck after shows. No exceptions. They rile each other up on stage taking turns fellating that namesake dildo to the point they're about to explode from the pent up energy. They never fuck their fans, that honour is solely rested on you and your twin Dave. And each other when you're not available, but that's something people don't know for sure. There's all kind of rumours as to how to get in with the Twelve Inch Dicks leads and who they fuck. Some even dare to suggest each other by how they behave on stage. Nobody dares to suggest their teenage little brothers, except maybe on some shady mailing lists. You wish they'd pick the pushy dolled up goth girls even sometimes. Though just the thought of ink black lipstick marks on their faces draws some equally inky black feelings from your gut.
Dave's hand moves up to your stomach. His touch is warm through your shirt when he traces your side. He's sure to feel your hammering heart all the way down there. You turn your head, slowly so you don't get nauseous, to look at him. His gaze is soft and loving, black eyeliner slightly smudged. He smiles and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he meets your eyes.
It fills you with uncertain terror. He eyes you like his favourite piece of meat. Which you are.
"You were so cute on stage today, babe... Took a lot of self-restraint not to kiss you right then and there." Oh cool, he does have some self-restraint. Somewhere. "You could graduate from background vocals to front and center already. Really. I should write you your very own song," he muses fondly. As if Take Me Again And Again isn't all about you already. But you would be lying if you said that the thought of it doesn't make your heart flutter. You and him, sprawled on the couch, the steady click of a metronome, his dexterous fingers strumming out chords while he coaches you through the lyrics in his low, rumbly voice, going quieter and quieter while you gain confidence. You can already see the gentle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and the almost imperceivable nods when you add your own flourishes. He would ask how you like it and you'd give him your feedback and then you'd workshop it to perfection, together. You don't give an answer to his offer, but he doesn't mind, his coked up attention span is understandably limited when he's got more pressing things on his mind.
Dave turns over and supports himself on his arm over you. You can't say he looks bad. His black 12"D t-shirt is a size too small for him, accentuating his well built torso and bringing out the bulging shape of his pectorals. The strain makes the veins on his arm pop up and the sleeve gripping his bicep looks it's about to burst.
You swallow thickly. You think he sees how your eyes wander. He's a bad influence.
His free hand comes up to your chest, your neck, the back of your head...
He grips your hair tight so you can't turn away and covers your lips with his own. He kisses you with hard, drunken precision. His weight on you is slack and suffocating and as much as you push your hands against his chest, he's not budging.
His tongue is sloppily trying to find its way into your mouth but you grit your teeth tight. Not deterred, he keeps pushing it between the space of your cheek and teeth, licking along every little crevice he can find. You can smell the alcohol on the warm breath on your face.
He's not gentle with you. You think he sometimes tries to be, but forgets as soon as he gets excited. And with you he's always excited.
When he's had enough of your futile resistance he brings his other hand to your jaw and presses his fingers hard into your cheeks. The pain is blinding and you don't stand it for long, obediently parting your teeth to ease it. Satisfied he pulls back, spits in your open mouth and dives back in.
Your brother's warm, wet tongue fills your mouth and you try not to gag. His grip on your cheeks softens, relieved you let your jaw relax and close your teeth lightly around his tongue. His tongue piercing clicks against them and he makes a low sound in his throat. You know he's ready to have your cheeks in another vice grip if you decide to bite him.
It's hard to breathe with your nose smushed up against his face, but not hard enough to panic yet. His tongue tickles your hard palate and you keep counting the seconds.
Dave adjusts his grip on your hair and your nerves flood with fresh, stinging pain. He knows that holding on long enough numbs the feeling in your scalp. Grade A asshole.
Irked, you bite him. Not too hard, but hard enough to mirror the sting. His reaction time isn't fast enough to stop you, but he grunts against your mouth and digs his fingers into your cheeks to make you release him. If you really hurt him you'd have a black eye. You hold on for a second before letting him go. He pulls his tongue out of your mouth with a blissed sigh and gives one last, sloppy kiss to your lips before retreating for good.
You did right as he wanted. You're such a whore, so easy to bait.
His grip on your hair loosens, so you turn your head and spit his spit out. You won't swallow anything of his.
"Psh. Ungrateful brat." He sounds disappointed. Whatever, he's the one sleeping in these sheets.
He taps your cheek with an open palm. "What do I do with cheeky little things like you...?" The answer is beat them, of course. He wants to punish you, so you need to be disagreeable enough to get punished. You tried dead fishing him once, but he kept hurting you worse and worse until your resolve broke. You didn't really want to find out how far he would go and you still don't.
"Dirk?" He asks, caressing your cheek. "What do I do?" He repeats the question you were supposed to answer.
"...smack 'em," you say, quietly. His hand lifts off of your cheek and you wince before the hit comes.
He doesn't hit you hard but you let your head turn to the side with the force of it. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, expecting another. And another comes right after. It's harder and makes your ear ring briefly.
Dave moves to straddle you. He holds one of your free arms to the mattress, the other you reflexively raise to shield yourself.
"Don't be a pussy," he huffs and forces your arm back down. You flinch and hold your breath when he moves his hand again, but instead, he brushes your cheek with the back of his hand and forces you to face him again.
"I want you to look at me," he tells you. "Look at me while I hit you."
Slowly, ever so reluctantly you force yourself to raise your eyes to meet his. Your compliance earns you a swift smack. You reel back yet obediently return your eyes to his.
"Such a good boy," he praises you with a delighted smirk and readies his hand. You work so hard against your reflexes to not react. You concentrate on how his bangs hang over his forehead, how his brow piercings glint in the low light when he moves, how his smile reveals his sharp canines.
The next hit is swift and forceful and you cry out. He favours your left cheek tonight and each consecutive impact makes your skin more sensitive to the next one. The whole side of your face is throbbing. Your vision blurs. It's getting hard to breathe.
A sob claws its way out of your throat, involuntary and embarrassing. Dave stills. You try your hardest not to cry in front of him, but when you don't, he'll try his hardest to make you to. You try to swallow it down but the strangling tightness just won't go away. The corners of your eyes prickle as the first traitorous tear rolls down your cheek.
Dave inhales sharply.
He's on you in the instant. You still flinch at his sudden movements, but now his hands are cradling your face. This time you won't give him the satisfaction of looking at him. You firmly stare at the bedside lamp instead. Dave leans in close.
"I love it when you cry, babe," he whispers, you can hear that he's grinning. "I know I shouldn't, but fuck, you're so beautiful like this." He kisses your reddening cheek. The gentle touch feels good, it eases the sting.
He kisses the corner of your eye, your jawline, down your neck. He pauses, breathes in greedily your scent and clamps down with a hard suck. He leaves his mark on you so aggressively that there's no hiding it. Putting a choker over his hickeys makes them just more visible. You feel his tongue swirling on your skin, warm and wet and raising goosebumps on your arms and knotting your stomach. The anticipation of pain makes your chest ache when his teeth drag sloppily down the tendon on your neck.
Faintly, you start hearing a noise. A rhythmic thumping against the wall behind you and muffled cries. Dave lifts his head and listens for a moment, he hears it too.
"Oh shit, they got started already. Dirk we're falling behind," he says with a disappointed grimace. "This is what I get for focusing on foreplay." You don't think you agree on his definition of foreplay, Bro at least doesn't hit you until you cry. He's deceptively gentle at times when you're one-on-one, but he prefers you so drugged up you can barely move. That's his thing, you lay there and don't move a muscle while he manhandles you. You're not allowed to kiss back, not that you'd want to, or suck on his cock when he puts it in your mouth, also not that you'd want to. He would hold your hands and jerk himself off with them or rub his cock on your face and against your lips. He would tie you in uncomfortable positions so he'd have easy access and you can stay limp. You're not allowed to make any sound while he fucks you, no matter how hard he does it. You've compared notes with your twin, Bro seems to get a lot rougher with you than he does with him. He tells you Bro focuses more on getting him off too, you don't get the privilege. Or the humiliation.
And right now, on the other side of the wall, you hear him railing your dear, dear twin brother and he either gets to make sound or can't help himself. You bristle. You feel so helpless you can't protect him from this. Despite everything, neither one of you wants to leave. You would never leave him behind either.
"Why do you look like that? You wish you were with Bro right now? Junior sounds like he's having fun over there," Dave says suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts.
"Of course not," you answer quickly, at least half sincere. Dave doesn't say anything, he just keeps looking at you and it's making you nervous. He's supporting himself above you, so close his bangs are almost brushing against your forehead and his breath mingles with yours. You don't dare to speak when he studies your features, face impassive.
He tilts his head, just a bit, and carefully says: "You know I love you." You do know, otherwise he wouldn't be doing this.
"I know," you reply.
His laugh is easy and it chills your blood. Whatever he was feeling is gone now as he pushes himself off of you and climbs out of bed in unsettlingly high spirits. Reaching behind his neck he pulls his shirt off. His back is strong and muscular and you think you can faintly see old scratch marks running across the skin. When did you leave those? Yesterday? Or was it your twin? You mirror him and pull your own shirt off before he has to tell you to do so.
Dave grabs your leg, pulls you to the edge of the bed by your belt and starts undoing it. He's just as excited every time to see what you're wearing for him, like opening a present. You lay flat for him and pretend it's a choice you're making. Dave tears your pants down just enough to reveal your white and orange boxer briefs.
"Oh fuck yeah, I love these striped ones!" He exclaims, stopping for a moment to admire the sight. Your brother knows your underwear well enough to have favourites. You can't help the disturbed grimace but he isn't bothered. "You're so sweet, you really put thought into our special moments... I'm always in for a treat with you," he praises you while peeling your jeans off. He's not wrong either, you did dress up with him in mind. Why would you not? He kneels to kiss down the skin he's exposing little by little. His rough stubble scratches against the inside of your leg but at least he's being gentle for once.
Dave throws your jeans aside and you scoot back on the bed until you meet the headboard, pulling your bare legs up to your chest. You don't take your eyes off him even though you know he enjoys it. He stands up slowly, not breaking eye contact with you, and grins. You barely dare to breathe. Dave strips down to his underwear too. His cock is straining against his black boxer briefs, unmistakably rock hard. Your heart does a sickening flip at the sight and you avert your eyes.
No.
Please no.
Please not again.
You beg because you're hoping against hope that this time, this time is the time he grows a conscience during and not after. But he doesn't, he gets harder the more you cry and you can't help the pathetic sobs escaping past the lump in your throat.
He crawls onto the bed and kneels in front of your legs. You try not to look between his. He puts his hands on your knees and softly kisses both of them. The old scrapes and golden bruising still make you wince when touched. You know where this is going, so much for cutting the foreplay short...
Dave loves your feet. You keep your toenails painted black for him and he eats that shit right up. You let him grab your ankle and pull you to lie down while he lifts your leg on his shoulder. You brace your other foot against his thigh for stability and to ease the stretch.
"Shame I tore your stockings last time, now I don't have anything for you to wear," Dave murmurs cheek pressed against your leg and turns to kiss it. "I'll get some fishnets for you next time, baby, just you wait..." He continues voice low, slowly caressing your calf, other hand resting on your inner thigh. Your skin raises goosebumps. Fishnets definitely mean footjobs, he likes that you're wearing socks but he can still cum on your skin. You don't particularly enjoy when it gets between your toes. But it's easy, it's so fucking easy.
Dave cups your heel in his palm and kisses down to your ankle, you curl your toes to grab onto his shirt so you don't slip off his shoulder. He seems to think he's being sneaky when he 'subtly' inches your other foot onto his hard cock. You humor him and put pressure on it, he moans under his breath in response. It's thrilling when his eyes unfocus, his brows relax and his jaw goes slack. He can't help rocking his hips against your sole and you can feel a sticky-damp patch forming under the contact point.
You arch your feet like you're wearing high heels, putting more pressure on him, and he goes crazy for you. He grabs your other foot off his aching hard-on and lifts it up to his face. You quickly fold your arms behind your knees to support yourself and your leaden legs. He, in turn, has no trouble moving you at all. You press the ball of your foot against his cheek and the other over his mouth. This is the only way you can mess with him and he's getting off on it. You rarely get him looking that lovesick. Your foot muffles his moan, but he can't let himself be held back for long.
Dave grabs onto your ankles, feverishly kissing your soles. His teeth drag against your skin, breath moist and warm. You're kind of ticklish but you behave yourself. You could kick him in the face so easily, but you're not risking whatever he might do to you after. He doesn't feel pain the same way while high, it would only make him angry and unpredictable.
You prefer sadistic but predictable.
The disappointment is scalding when he slides his hands down your thighs and pulls them apart, still you obediently let your legs fall into the hooks of his arms. You really thought you could get away with a footjob this time, but of course he wants to compete with Bro. The sound from the other side has already quieted, so the stage is all yours.
Dave looks at you through the blond fluff of his bangs with the kind of intensity that makes your face feel hot. His mouth splits into a lazy smirk and the flash of a sharp canine fills the pit of your stomach with dread. "Let's get to the real fun, babe, I know you can't wait either. Keep your legs spread for me, yeah?" He whispers, low and heavy while pulling your underwear off. It's barely a genuine request, you couldn't close them if you wanted to. He pats your limp thigh appreciatively, but you think his thanks are unfounded and frankly undeserved. He should be thanking his dealer instead. But like the good little brother you are, you don't say anything.
He sits back on his knees and pushes his hips forwards. It accentuates the ripple of his fit stomach, raising and falling with his breath, and the sharp lines of his hip bones. If there's something Dave really knows it's how to be looked at. You swallow past the heavy lump in your throat. He hooks his thumbs onto his waistband and makes sure you're watching him. Attending the meat reveal is not optional, Dave makes it a show when he pulls his underwear down. The joke's on you though, because you can't tear your eyes away from the pale skin of his groin. His pubes spill over the waistband as it still clings to his rock hard erection. He keeps looking at you through his lashes as he tilts his head back and rolls his hips, teeth parted in a silent moan. You think of all the girls who want to smear their lips down that happy trail. None of them get to see the real him. Though, it wouldn't come as a shock that he's a total asshole. But that's the part that does it for them. His shaft bends under the elastic inching lower and lower, fighting to spring free. He holds his breath and so do you, even if you don't notice yourself doing so. It takes just one more indecent squirm for it to bust out of its constraints and there it is, his big fat cock. Every time you're taken aback by the weight and thickness of it, or maybe you're just easily impressed. His showmanship is flawless either way and his boxers are down.
Taking them off rest of the way isn't as graceful, but at that point he's just impatient. The strip show is over, fuck off. Or fuck on? Dave at least is on you before his hastily discarded underwear even hits the floor. He's leaking pre-cum. The warm, salty smell of his arousal turns your stomach. It drips steadily onto your skin and cools quickly and it makes you want to wipe it off, but you really don't want to touch it. He can't help rubbing his dick against your stomach; it's a show, for you. Look Dirk, look how hard you make me. Look how deep I'm going to penetrate you. Look at what is going to tear you apart. It twitches at your attention.
His balls brush against you, hot and heavy. You don't like how the contact with your soft cock sends little sparks up your spine and makes you shiver. Your lips part but you won't make a sound. You won't give him the satisfaction. He doesn't care about your pleasure, you know, but sometimes... sometimes you kind of want him to. He could, when he's sober, but he never touches you sober so you don't know if it would be any different. He's all mopey and apologetic, swearing he won't do it again but he will. You know he will because he always does. Stupid and desperate as you are, you forgive him every time.
He takes your parted lips as an invitation and his mouth is on yours, stealing a couple of sloppy kisses before he reaches for the lube.
He gives himself a few slick strokes before lining himself up with your ass. He holds on to your ankle, pressing your knee up against the mattress to keep you spread open for him. Already knowing what he wants, you sluggishly lift your other leg onto his shoulder. He lets out an approving hum and shifts a bit to hold the limp weight of it better against his neck.
The less you fight the less it hurts, you know this already. You try your hardest to keep yourself relaxed, which isn't easy even with your otherwise forcibly relaxed state. He's big and you are scared and he prefers you unprepared, but thankfully not without lube.
He pushes against you, slips a bit and adjusts himself again. For now he's nice enough to go slow and gentle about it, but you fear the moment he runs out of patience. Think of anything else, just not his big fat cock that's going to split you in two. Dave's eyes are downcast and concentrated. Wow, his lower lashes are so long. His lips part in anticipation when he presses against you harder, you can feel that this time he's not playing around. Your muscles finally give in to the insistent pressure and he sinks in with a satisfied sigh.
Your brother is inside you again.
You think your pained gasp made him harder just now. You feel cold and burning hot at the same time; it doesn't get easier, no matter how many times he does it. It feels like you're just getting tighter every time, which you hate and he loves. You struggle to take a breath with your legs pushed up against your chest and limply dangling over his shoulders. Dave stays still, enjoying the feeling of you gripping around him, but soon it won't be enough. Your nails dig into his biceps.
He leans down closer to your face, barely touching your lips with his own. He's telling you exactly how good you feel around him and how much he wants you. Or you think that's what he's saying, you're not really registering the words. There aren't many more words to register when he worms his tongue in your mouth and that suits you just fine. You take every distraction you can get. The spikes of his choker press against your throat and he's putting a bit too much of his weight on you. His breath comes out in heavy puffs against your cheek. The slow sweep of his tongue tickles on your hard palate. Your toes feel tingly.
Without thinking about it too much, you suck on your brother's tongue and make him groan against your mouth. You can feel him twitch inside you. You're being so good. Giving him a little nibble just adds to the excitement, but you should be careful about riling him up too much. He pulls away to suck in a shuddering breath that catches on the back of his throat like a low, drawn out growl.
Just as you feared, Dave doesn't wait around for long. The first time he slams back in you feels like his cock punches the air out of your lungs. You drag your nails down his arms, fully knowing it only excites him more. He moans against your lips. He kisses you between the thrusts, short pecks that don't all quite land where he aims. He manages to poke you in the eye with his nose and that's when he figures out that he doesn't have the coordination to be romantic about this. He gets up above you, holds your knees to the mattress for leverage and really starts to fuck you.
There is no space to squirm away from his cock. His pace is brutal. The bed frame bangs against the wall, but you're so well-medicated that you barely even notice it's you who's slamming against it over and over again. Bro is sure to hear you loud and clear. You hope your twin doesn't. You hope he has already slinked off after the mandatory post-coital cuddles. You hope he's already waiting for you in the hotel lobby, coming down from his high bundled up in an oversized hoodie with a pack of cigs pinched off Bro stashed in his pocket. But really, if you're not deluding yourself, you know he's right there on the other side of the wall, held tight under Bro's thick, tattooed arm, and can hear every single cry your big bro fucks out of you. God, once Dave gets distracted or passes out you'll go through his wallet, you two deserve a some sort of compensation for this stupid game.
After a while it gets easier. Honestly, this could hurt so much worse. It's a dull ache at most, warm and pulsing. If you weren't face-to-face with Dave you'd allow yourself a relieved grin; you're getting closer to the finish line, at least for the first round. It could be the only round if you manage to drag yourself out while he's in the bathroom. Sometimes Dave gets smart and takes your pants with him while he washes up. Some other times he just nuts on your face and you're forced to join him. You're yet to pick public humiliation over basking in his rotten attention. Just the thought of stumbling out of your brother's hotel room with your face plastered in cum and running into your drummer leaving for his morning jog is mortifying enough. With or without pants.
You stir to the sudden realization that you don't seem pained enough for Dave anymore. The second you relax and get used to his girth he gets bored. You recognize that look and the way he shifts his weight.
"Wait, please, please, please don't-" But he doesn't care. His hand closes around your throat and the other covers your mouth. You try to trash against him and pull his hands off but you're too weak to stop him. He loves it when you struggle, it makes him feel strong and in control. He's already both.
"You just get so nice and tight when I do this, come on, just a little more..."
His thrusts are deep and forceful and you can't do anything but take it. Colourful blinks dance across your vision and you can hear the deafening squeal of your pulse in your ears. One of these days he's really going to choke you out. Your stuffy nose makes breathing much harder than it needs to be, but you can't be blamed for not trying. The snotty whistle seems to really harsh his vibe, so he clamps your nose shut too. The building pressure inside your head feels like it could split your skull in two. Usually it won't take him too long to come after he starts doing this. Tonight though, he's taking his sweet time. An unfortunate case of a beer dick. You count the seconds but he doesn't seem to be getting any closer despite the sloppy, desperate rhythm.
You slap his arm to signal him that you really need to breathe now, but he seems to think that you can take more than that. His lips are moving. You catch none of it.
The world is swimming so bad you close your eyes and endure. You pitifully try to suck in air through his fingers but can't get nearly enough before he closes the rest of the gaps. A flash of cold sweat covers your skin. Your diaphragm keeps convulsing and your lungs burn, but your basest reflexes bring you no relief. Yeah, keep telling me that I'm suffocating, like there's something I can do about it.
Your fingers tingle, losing the little strength you have. Dave's wrists slip from your grip. He doesn't seem to notice.
Your brother's grunts above you start growing distant, and so does the pain. It's actually kind of comfortable. Warm and prickly. Numbing. It keeps building and building and you let your eyes roll back and let it take over.
You startle awake with a slap in the face. Right on the sore cheek, what the fuck? You're upset for exactly two seconds until you remember where you are and where you left off. Well, you're not quite how you left off; you're half draped over Dave's lap and he's cradling your head in his hands.
"Holy shit Dirk, you almost gave me a heart attack," he blurts out. His eyeliner has smeared towards his temples and he's looking a little pale. You don't think you've seen him this freaked out before.
"Come on, say something..."
"Something," you croak out, surprised of how hoarse you sound. Dave gently brushes your bangs out of your face. You shift a little. God you're sore. Your ass feels slick and sticky. Right, so he did nut in you before he noticed you were out cold... Well, you didn't expect any better of him.
"Oh thank fuck..." His sigh of relief is noticeably shaky. "I'll never do that again, I fucking swear." Yeah, you'll give him two times tops until he has beef with your windpipe again. Now though, you feel a bit of pity for him. Dave scratches at his scalp absentmindedly. He's high and distressed and doesn't know what to do.
"Thanks bro, really appreciate that," you rasp and reach up to touch his arm, hoping to distract him before he digs straight through his epidermis. Dave stops. His lower lip twists into a pout and the crease between his brows deepens. You'd think he's gonna cry. He leans down suddenly and scoops you close. "I'm so sorry baby, you were so good for me," he murmurs against your cheek, covering every single square inch of you in kisses. It's pretty nice. You drape your sluggish arms around his shoulders and hang on.
"I really didn't mean to go that far... I'm so fucking sorry," he repeats, voice cracking with the hitch of his breath. Now you really pity him. "Are you, like...alright? Should I- Do I need to...?" You already know what he's trying to ask, but you don't want to go anywhere nor even begin to try and lie through your teeth about what happened to you. Neither of you could pull it off.
"Could be better, but I'll live," you mumble against his shoulder. He didn't hold your neck all that hard, you'll barely bruise. And who cares about a couple of lost brain cells? You have way too many of those anyway. Dave presses a particularly wet kiss on your temple.
"Okay...okay..." He whispers, more to himself than to you. "It's gonna be alright..." Shaky fingers run through your hair, fingertips tickling the nape of your neck. "You're alright... I'm gonna stop, this time I really am."
He shouldn't make promises he can't keep, but you don't have the heart to tell him that.
After making sure that you really are okay Dave drags himself to the bathroom to wash up, and knowing him, to throw up too. He doesn't take your clothes with him. You appreciate the gesture, but your limbs are made of jelly and you don't want to test them against gravity. Even your eyelids aren't winning that match-up.
A harsh buzz against the tabletop snaps you out of your haze. You fish your phone down with a hand that's barely your own and squint at the dark screen. Oh, right, you need to unlock it first. You miss the * button a couple of tries before you get to the payload.
Your dearest twin has texted you: "you coming?" There's a pang of guilt for making him wait.
You send him a text back: "cant tmnght, david eucked md up" Even pressing the buttons down properly feels like too much exertion. You sink back into the sheets.
After a while you get back an emphatic: "oh shit :("
He definitely heard everything. Sure, you've been railed face-to-face with him, sometimes so close that you're practically licking each other's tonsils, but you're still a bit embarrassed. You don't answer, so he keeps on pestering.
"you OK?"
"xeag dnnt wnqry", you send back and at that point kinda give up. He can handle sleeping alone tonight, he's a big boy. You curl up and close your eyes.
---♡---
Dave comes out of the bathroom and seems spooked that you're still in his bed. Still here to remind his guilty conscience. He promptly turns on his heels. That's as much as you'd expect from him, the only thing Dave doesn't take is accountability. You hear running water. To your surprise he comes back with a small, wet towel and crawls onto the bed.
He starts from your face. The towel is heavy, scalding hot and rough like a mama cat's tongue. It cools quickly against your skin, but it feels nice. You let your head loll back. He wipes you down gentle and thorough. Over your chest. Down your arms. Between your fingers.
You take a peek at him through your lashes. Two distinct wrinkles between his brows. His wet bangs stick to his forehead and poorly washed eyeliner fills the crease under his eye. There's a strange fondness in your chest. Your eyes quickly flit over the angry red scratch marks all over his forearms when he gets up to wet the towel again. Surprising how deep you could claw him with your stubby little nails.
Your stomach shies away from the sudden hot towel pressed against it and you breathe out a soft moan. Dave perks up at it and his face relaxes into something resembling a nervous smile. He's doing such a good job. You can almost see the contentment beaming off of him. He traces the edge of your rib cage and on the way down dips into your navel. You're a little ticklish, but let him take care of you. He repeatedly tugs at your pubes. You didn't think there would be anything in them, you don't remember coming and it's not like Dave to pull out. Ruminating on this you almost forget to be concerned when he keeps going lower, almost. He slips the towel between your legs and you tense up. Out of every degrading thing he has ever done to you this is the one that really gets you flustered. He's not particularly quick about it either, but you're not going to argue that you don't need a little cleanup. Some of it feels more like fondling than cleaning though.
Finally his intruding hand withdraws.
You think you hear the sound of a wet towel hitting the floor. You're just glad it's not in the bed with you, it would be an unpleasant, cold surprise clinging to your leg in the middle of the night. Now it'll only horrify whoever is unfortunate enough to step on it. You can already imagine the noise Dave makes.
All the wet, exposed skin is starting to become a problem. You're shivering.
Dave pulls you to his chest and drapes a duvet over you into a cozy little cocoon. Safe and sound. You'll sleep this off and tomorrow everything goes back to normal, like it always does. Pleased, you settle against your big brother, taking in his warmth and the anxious hands tracing your ribs. You can hear him take a breath like he wants to say something, hesitate, breathe out through his nose and keep silent. It takes him a while to gather the courage to speak again, you've almost drifted off already.
"I love you, do you believe me...?" His voice is muffled against your scalp. You do believe, otherwise he wouldn't be doing this.