Date: Mon, 29 Oct 2018 15:39:20 -0400 From: RJ Subject: Brothers at Arms Chapter 2 Brothers at Arms by RJ This multi-part fiction involves the developing relationship between two brothers (aged 13 and 19). If you are offended by such themes, do not read. If you have any comments about my work, or even just want to chat, please don't hesitate to message me. As always, please support Nifty in any way you can. ~ CHAPTER 2 ~ When I wake up in the morning, I feel pretty well-rested. I check the time and see that it's just after 11 -- pretty late for me, considering I'm usually up way earlier than this. I groan and stretch a bit, licking my lips slightly and then giving my morning wood a little squeeze before reaching over to the nightstand to grab my glasses and put them on. As I do, I notice something on my desk. I squint a bit before sitting up and walking over. It's a box. Based on the packaging, in the box is a laptop. A new laptop, bought fresh from the store. There's even a receipt taped to it. Then, the realization hits me. Dean bought me a laptop. Which means he came in my room and set it on my desk. Which means he saw me 100% naked on top of my sheets, maybe with a hard-on depending on when he waltzed in here. I feel mortified. Now, my brother has seen a video of me performing fellatio AND seen me completely nude. My face is hot again. Fucking hell. I get dressed, putting on boxers and a t-shirt before opening the package. It's a nice laptop. Really nice. Half-tablet, half-computer. And it sure isn't cheap. I mean, the receipt is right there. I feel the sleekness of the computer, holding it in my hands. My curiosity trumps my embarrassment right now, and so I go look for Dean. I check his bedroom first, knocking. "Dean?" "Yeah?" he says, muffled by the door. "Can I come in?" I hear movement on the other side before his door unlocks and then swings open. He stands there (once again, just in his underwear), looking from me to the laptop in my hands before going back into his room. I step inside. "What is this?" I ask him, holding the computer up. He just shrugs, sitting at his desk and looking at me. "A computer." "Okay... But why?" "Don't you need one?" "Well, yes, but--" "So I got you one." "But don't you need one too?" He just shrugs. "I'm just confused," I admit. "Like, this is way nicer than the one I had." "Well your old one was shitty." "Yeah, but... why--?" "Just say thank you, you fucking dork," he says playfully, laughing. I blush but smile a little. "Thanks." He nods and then turns back to work on whatever he was writing at his desk. I take that as my cue to leave, so I turn away. But he stops me. "You know I don't hate you, right?" I glance back at him. I realize this is his way of apologizing. I bite my lip before holding up the laptop. "Now I know." He blinks before laughing softly. I spend most of the rest of the morning setting up my new computer, personalizing it, and exploring its possibilities. Dean swings by my room on his way downstairs to check out all the neat little things it can do. I've never owned something this nice (besides my phone, I suppose), so I'm very excited about it. After a while, I realize I'm spending way too much time playing around with it. I have to get ready to see Caleb. Caleb and I make plans to see each other around 1, so I make sure I'm dressed and (excessively) clean and ready to go. I fuss over my hair for a while before deciding to leave it alone. There's no taming it. He lives a few streets over (I used to go over his house with the rest of the soccer team for post-game parties), so I take my bike and make the ten minute ride over to his place. I park my bike against the porch, my heart racing as I get to the front door. Suddenly, I'm at a loss. What should I do? Knock or ring the bell? Aren't some people weird about that? Or am I just being weird stressing out about whether or not I should fucking knock? I choose the bell, and immediately regret it, causing an avalanche of thoughts to run through my head: "God, that was so fucking loud! I could have disturbed the entire house. Now his mom will hate me. And maybe his dad too. I should have just texted him that I'm here. Dumbass. Fuck, I'm so warm. Why am I blushing already? And sweating? I'm at Caleb's house. Holy shit. I'm at fucking Caleb's--" The door swings open, and there he is, standing in all his handsome glory. He gives me a vaguely cocky sort of grin before gesturing for me to come in. I step inside, immediately smelling some sort of body spray. Axe, maybe. He shuts the door behind him and smiles at me. "Been a while since you've been here." I'm probably still blushing. Probably? No, definitely. "Yeah," I say. "My mom asks about you all the time," he says, starting to head up the stairs. I follow. "You're the only one who ever offered to help bake those cookies she makes." "I just wanted to learn the secret," I say with a smile. "They're so fucking good." Caleb laughs. "She might have some hidden away. I can look when we finish up." "Cool," I say, my mouth salivating at the thought of his mom's delicious snickerdoodle cookies. "She home?" "Nah. No one is," he says as we get to the top of the steps. "Just you and me." I swallow. Just us? I shouldn't be so nervous but if I wasn't using my legs to walk, they'd be twitching right now. I follow him to his bedroom. I've never been in here before. It's just what I'd expect his room to look like: plain, with lots of posters of sports team logos and prominent athletes. A couple trophies on the shelves. Nothing crazy. He goes right to his desk, on which there's a huge monitor and computer system. Probably mostly used for gaming. "So you'll be happy to know that I've done quite a bit," he says. I shrug off my bag and stand next to him as he pulls up a PowerPoint presentation. It has all of his information on it, and it even looks organized and presentable. I'm impressed. "Wow. So this will be easy then," I say, laughing. We knock out the presentation within an hour, just combining my research with his and discussing how we want it to flow. We also do a bit of extra research and fluff up the PowerPoint nicely with extra fun facts and pictures until I'm certain it's a guaranteed A. Once we finish, I start packing away my things, feeling that satisfaction of finished homework. When I zip up my backpack and turn around, Caleb hands me my textbook. "Don't forget this." "Shit, thanks," I say, laughing and taking it. I start putting it in my bag. "You know, you should really come back to the team, man," he says. I turn and look at him. He's the only one who's brought up the idea of me coming back. No one else has really asked why I left (though we all know why). "I don't know, Caleb." "Oh, come on. You were a killer offensive," he says, nudging my elbow. I bite my lip a little. "Is Ricky still on the team?" "Of course," he says. "Then no." I maybe possibly perhaps would have considered rejoining the team (especially with Caleb asking me) if Ricky was no longer in the picture. But if he's still on the team, there's no chance in hell I'd go back. "Fine, fine," he says, holding his hands up. "But you're letting your talents go to waste." "I have other talents," I say meekly. What else are "smarts" used for? "Oh, I know you do." In other circumstances, the way he said that would have given me chills. Or made me hard. Or both. But, with the way that he's smirking at me and glancing at my lips, and with the thought of Ricky still on my brain, I feel instantly uncomfortable. He licks his lips slightly before his eyes flicker to mine. "You caused quite the stir with that video, you know," he says. I'm sure I go red instantly. Any mention of that video makes me blush in ways I never thought a human could. "Most of the guys won't admit it, but... well... you know." He grins a little wider. I almost choke on my saliva. "Huh?" I say. Of course I know exactly what he's talking about, but I don't know what to say it out loud. I freeze up. This isn't how I wanted this to happen. Suddenly his smirk is no longer sexy, and his swagger is intimidating, and I'm questioning all his "flirtations." He wouldn't be the first. How many times did I have to sidestep dudes who were just looking for head after hearing about or seeing that video? I'm hoping Caleb isn't that kind of guy. "Straight boy looking for easy head." I'm really fucking hoping he hasn't been so nice (now that I think about it, ten times nicer than he's ever been) just to... But then, I hear a belt buckle. I look down and see his hands undoing his belt, and I tense up. "Caleb--" "C'mon, Stevie," he says softly, opening it fully. "Just gimme a little preview." I should ask, shouldn't I? Does he like me or not? How do I even ask that? "I don't want to," I end up saying. He stops when his fly is down, looking surprised at me. "What do you mean you don't want to?" Something in his voice has changed. It's a little too intense. Almost like he's mad, even. "It means I don't want to." He stares at me before laughing. And then, after seeing that my expression doesn't change, he pauses. "Wait, you're serious?" "Yes." He laughs again, but it's a short, almost comically mean sort of laugh. "You've been coming onto me all week and now you don't want--" I cut him off. "Wait, what?" I blink. "I didn't come on to you." He snorts. "Are you joking? I can read the signs, Stevie." "I..." I don't know what to say. It's a blatant lie. He has to be lying. He initiated every flirt, every extra touch... all of it. I just followed along. I'm so confused. I'm so embarrassed. "I know you like me," he says. I feel like I could throw up at this moment. I'm almost dizzy. It's happening so fast. Regardless of whether or not I like him, that doesn't mean I want to blow him. Especially not now, after he's said all of this. "But you don't like me." Instead of a question, I say it as a statement. An acknowledgement of what I feel. As soon as the words leave my lips, I feel even more embarrassed. Of course he doesn't, Stevie. You're an idiot. He just laughs. "Christ, Stevie, I'm not a faggot." I blush again, but this time, it's with a bit of fury. Maybe I do have a bit of my mother's temper. Leave it to Caleb to bring it out of me. I have so many questions, so many concerns, so much anger that I can barely think straight. "I'm going," I say, putting my backpack on. "Seriously?" He puts a hand on my chest to stop me, his voice sounding a little softer. "C'mon, you don't have to go. I'm sorry." "I'm not sucking your dick." "Just stay." "Let me go, Caleb," I say threateningly. "Stop being so--" "Let me go!" I've gone beyond warm. Now I'm hot. I find myself clenching my fists, pressing my fingernails so hard into my palm that it hurts. Breathe, Stevie. Breathe. Don't do this. Don't be like your brother. There's no need to fight him. But he keeps pushing against my chest, and I snap just a little bit. I push his arm away from me and then use all the strength I can muster by pushing into his chest, getting him away from me. He stumbles back far enough for me to hurry past him, and I slip out of his room, scurry down the stairs, and run right out the door, ignoring him yelling my name. Riding back home on my bike helps calm me down since the air whips across my face. But it doesn't calm my thinking. A thousand things are zooming back and forth and sideways and upside down in my brain. Caleb flirting with me all week. All the guys who have cornered me in the locker room or the hallways or out in fucking public trying to convince me to blow them. Fucking Ricky for ruining my life and making that video. And showing everyone. Fuck you, Ricky. Fuck you. I don't even pay attention to how I get home. Somehow, all of a sudden, I find myself in my front yard, and I let my bike fall over in the grass before hurrying up the steps as if still running from Caleb. I open the front door and slam it shut. "That was quick," a voice says. I jump in surprise, but I realize it's just Dean. He's on the couch in the living room playing something on his PlayStation. He grins over at me. "How'd it go with loverboy?" I just stand there, slightly frozen. I wish he had been upstairs when he got home. I should have used the back entrance or something. I don't need this right now. I don't need it. "Stevie?" he says, pausing his game. "You good?" And then, I start crying. It floods out of me, completely out of nowhere. I must have just been holding it in without realizing it. The tears stream down my face and I'm full-on sobbing, pushing my hands under my glasses and over my eyes. My nose is already runny and my throat already hurts. Fucking shit. "Stevie? Jesus Christ." I hear Dean get up off the couch and then I feel something totally unfamiliar. I feel his arms around me. When's the last time he hugged me, for real? I can't even remember. I let go of my face and wrap my arms around him as well, smushing my glasses against his chest as I cry. "What happened?" he asks me. I can't stop fucking crying. I hate this. I hate feeling like this, involuntarily crying like this. I need it to stop, but I can't. "I thought... he liked me..." I manage to get out, heaving with each sob. I hear Dean sigh, but he just hugs me tighter to him, one hand rubbing my back and the other rubbing the back of my head soothingly. He doesn't say anything further. Just holds me and gently massages my head. I don't know how long I cry for, but slowly, I start to calm down. Maybe I just needed to get something that was pent-up out of my system. Maybe Dean's just extremely comforting for once. I start to realize just how comfortable he is. His warmth. His strong arms holding me. His heartbeat. I nuzzle into his chest and find myself enjoying the feel of a man. And the smell of him. Fuck, he smells good. Not like Axe. Like musk. I wear myself out with my little tantrum, and am just breathing in and out shakily as Dean holds me. I'm no longer crying, though, and after a minute, Dean speaks up. "You good now?" I just nod against his chest. "Cool." He doesn't move though, still rubbing my back. Half a minute later, he speaks up again. "I can feel your boner." I tense up. I hadn't even realized. I'm fucking hard. Even through my jeans I'm poking against Dean's leg. God damn it. God fucking damn it. I must have gotten lost in the feel and smell of him and unknowingly got all turned on by it. Jesus fucking Christ. How else can I embarrass myself today? "Sorry," I mutter. He just chuckles. "Don't worry about it," he says. "Happens." I want to move away (even though I also don't), but Dean's too strong, just holding onto me until I've completely regained composure. Then, after another minute or so, when I've stopped shaking, he pulls back and looks at me. "You're a fuckin' mess," he says, licking his thumb and then wiping the tears off my cheeks. I sniffle a bit. "Sorry," I say again. I don't know what else to say. "Don't apologize to me," he says, fixing my glasses for me. "Apologize to yourself for being a fuckin' pussy." But he grins at me, and I can't help but smile back. His tone helps calm me down. He's back to that playful version of himself. Maybe I should cry more often. "I'd rather be a pussy than an asshole," I tease back, pushing him away from me. He laughs. "Watch your mouth," he says before fixing my hair for me. "You wanna talk about it?" I shake my head. "Not right now." I need a moment to think. "I think I just wanna lie down." "Okay," he says, stepping back. "Let me know if you need anything." I know he's being abnormally kind but I'm too drained to be surprised. Crying really took it out of me. I'm beat. I head upstairs to my room and strip out of my shirt and pants and glasses before climbing under the covers. I bring the blankets over me completely. Usually, this would be the moment where I would let myself cry, in the comfort of my own room, but I had let it all out earlier. Right in front of Dean. I guess I shouldn't worry about him teasing me about it. He would have already. I end up falling asleep after lying in bed for a while, and when I wake up, it's because Dean is sitting at the edge of my bed and shaking me. I make a noise like "Huhng?" as I wake up. "You've been asleep for hours," he says. I blink a bit and then rub my face. Hours? Damn. "Sorry." "Stop apologizing," he says before he holds something up. "I got something for you. Maybe it'll cheer you up a bit." I squint a bit. I can't see much without my glasses, so I reach over and grab them before putting them on. Dean's holding an external hard drive in his hand, offering it to me. I take it. "Um... thanks?" I say, confused. He rolls his eyes. "It has your shit on it, dumbass." "My shit?" "Your stuff! From your old computer. I got Jason to, y'know, do his tech thing. He knows about computers and shit." My stuff? He must be talking about all my documents and music and pictures and whatnot. Things I had thought I lost. And Dean went through the trouble of handling it for me. Of course, he didn't do it personally, but he took the initiative to get it done. He hasn't done so many nice things for me within such a short span of time in... well, probably since I couldn't think for myself. "I... Um... Tha--" "Don't bother," he says with a laugh. "I fucked up." "Are you okay?" I ask. He cocks his eyebrow. "Am I okay? The hell does that mean?" "I don't know. You're all nice now. I'm just wondering if it's gonna last." Normally he'd shove me or say something smart in response to me saying something like that. But this time, he just smiles and shrugs. "I'm trying to, you know, turn a new leaf or whatever. If you don't like it, I can turn it back." "No, I like it," I say quickly, blushing but smiling. "Thought so." He pats my thigh through the blanket over me. "So we gonna talk about what happened today or what?" At first, I think he's talking about the hard-on I was pushing against his leg, but then he says "Am I gonna have to wail on somebody?" I laugh through my nose slightly before looking down at the hard drive in my hands. "I don't know." I sigh. "Turns out he's just like the rest of them." "Them?" He lies back on my bed, resting on his side a bit. For once, I feel like I can be candid with Dean. So I will be. "Ever since that stupid video got out, any attention I get from guys is either because they wanna bully me or because they want me to blow them." "Seriously?" he says, squinting his eyes. "Like, dudes just come up to you to get their knobs shined?" I hate the way he says that, but in essence, yes. "Basically," I say. "You're way too young for all that." "I guess." He looks at me for a second before speaking. "So what's-his-face, he did the same thing?" I shrug. "He claimed I was coming on to him or something. I don't know. I got so confused." "Did you...?" he says after a pause. "No," I say firmly. "I didn't do anything with him." "I thought you wanted to." "Yeah, until he turned out to be a raging dick." He smiles slightly. "I'm proud of you." I try not to let it show that I appreciate his comment. "I guess," I say, just shrugging it off. "I just don't get it." "Don't get what?" "Like... Why does this keep happening to me? No one LIKES me. It's always straight guys who want me to get them off. And I don't get the whole 'I'm straight but I want Stevie to suck me off' thing." I shake my head. "It just doesn't make sense. I mean, have you ever had a guy blow you?" "Yeah," he says casually. I blink and take pause. What? That was not the answer I expected. I was just trying to prove a point. But... A guy has been on Dean's cock? "Sorry, what?" Dean just laughs. "Don't overthink it." "Who?" I ask a little too insistently. "Remember Kyle? Super buff dude from Texas?" I nod in understanding. "Him." I can't even picture that kid sucking cock, let alone Dean's. "But..." "It was at a party, and we were horny, and drunk, and it just happened. Don't overthink it," he says again. "But, aren't you straight?" "Yeah." "So why--?" "Shit happens, Stevie," he says, starting to get irritated by my questioning. "I don't know what else to tell you." I completely lose my train of thought. What were we talking about before? All I can think about is Kyle's golden locks lost in Dean's lap. They were probably upstairs while the party was happening. Or maybe in the bathroom? How does that even happen accidentally between two straight guys. Maybe Kyle isn't straight? And did Dean reciprocate? That's a possibility, right? I have so many questions. "You're overthinking it," Dean says, breaking my thought process again. I blink, looking at him. "Huh?" "I told you not to overthink it but here you are. I can tell." He points to my face. "I just... don't get it." He just laughs. "You're book smart, buddy, but you've got a lot to learn." Dean continues to be nice to me (and even somewhat more patient than usual) over the next couple months. Which is great and all, but I've barely gotten that image out of my head: Dean's cock getting sucked. Initially, the daydreams started with Kyle in all his muscly, straight-seeming glory. But then it just turned into a general idea of a guy, and I'd pick and choose features to picture between Dean's legs. Lately, though, I've made the biggest jump: I've pictured myself. I hate to admit it, but God, what I'd give to have my lips around that dick. Sometimes, when we're hanging out alone, I find myself drifting off wondering what he'd feel like in my mouth, or what his cum would taste like. I haven't seen him naked since the first day of school, after he came home drunk. I wish I had been smart enough (and enough of a creep) to take a picture, because I'm already forgetting critical details. How much hair does he have down there? What was the exact shade of pink that colored the head of his cock? Were his balls big? I can't remember. Despite fantasizing about what he's got between his legs, it's great spending normal time with him. We play videogames, watch movies (some that he likes, some that I like), peruse each other's music libraries. He shows me his own music as he writes it, asking for critiques and such, and I eventually feel comfortable enough with him to show him some of my own writing. Since he's been good to me consistently through October, I feel like for once, I can trust him. What helps is that he even seeks me out, or invites me places. Just a few days ago, he invited me to a Halloween party with his friends. "Wanna come?" he asked me after dinner. I'm sure I looked surprised. "Isn't it a frat party?" "Yeah," he said. "So what?" "I'm 13." "It'll be fun." He nudged me on the shoulder. "Plus it'll be a good experience for your little ass." He doesn't leave much choice. After nagging me to come, I give in. He says it's not really a costume party, so I don't have to dress up if I don't want to. It's just an excuse to get fucked up. We drive about a half hour to the university where the party is being held, walking through campus to get to one of the frat houses. It's dark outside, and a little cold, and by the time we get there, the party is already raging. I follow behind Dean closely, and have to stop every few seconds because Dean keeps running into someone he knows. They do their handshake thing and pass a few words before Dean steps closer to the front door and then waltzes right in like he owns the place. I'm immediately uncomfortable. I knew I wouldn't like parties on this scale, but the music is so loud and it reeks of weed and drunk people are stumbling and laughing and tripping over me as we walk in. I'm too short to really be noticed amongst this crowd. I'm constantly afraid I'm going to get trampled or something. I really don't fit in. Also, I feel silly wearing normal clothes. It seems almost everyone has some sort of costume on it. Or at least looks cool. I tail Dean, not wanting to get separated from him. He's the only person I know here, it seems. Or, rather, like. We do run into a few of his friends that I vaguely know, but not one of them is even remotely welcoming. When Dean says hi, Charlie (who's just a more muscular version of Dean) glances at me and looks confused. "You invited your brother?" he says to Dean, clearly trying to be quiet. However, with the music and background noise, he has to speak at an elevated volume. So of course I hear him. "So what?" Dean says, crossing his arms. "He's a kid." "He's smarter than you, Charlie," Dean says with a smirk. "Whatever, dude," Charlie says, rolling his eyes. "He's still way too young. We don't need some faggy kid running around." Something in Dean's posture changes. "What did you say?" Charlie blinks, looking confused. "Huh?" "Did you just call my brother a faggot?" Charlie smirks, clearly thinking Dean is joking. "Well, I mean..." He glances at me once before turning back to Dean. "Isn't he?" Even I don't see the punch coming. Dean just laughs once before, out of nowhere, he swings. His fist connects squarely with Charlie's jaw, and Charlie drops to the ground like a sack of flour. All of us in the vicinity gasp in surprise, jumping back, but Dean has clearly had his fill of violence. He grabs my shoulder and ushers me out of the hallway, directing me into the kitchen where there are significantly less people. Dean was mumbling as we made out escape, but I realize he's saying things like "Fucking idiot" under his breath as we get into the much quieter kitchen. "Um..." I'm still in shock from the display of violence. "What was that about?" Dean heads right to the counter, where there are half-empty bottles of liquor all over the place. He grabs one. "What was what about?" "That. Why'd you punch him?" "Charlie?" Dean unscrews what looks to be a bottle of vodka. "Because he called you a faggot." He starts chugging straight from the bottle, and I wince a bit. "I fucking hate that word," he says when he takes a breath. I almost laugh. "Seriously?" "Yeah." "You say it all the time, Dean." "That's different." I almost have no words. What is his logic? "It's not, but okay," I say, but I don't think he hears me. He rummages through the cabinets for a glass before pouring himself a tall glass of vodka, surely much too much for one drink. "You want something?" he asks me, holding up the bottle of vodka. "Not really." "You sure? I'm sure I can whip you up something sweet." "I'm okay," I say, but Dean looks through the fridge anyway. He says "Aha!" as he reaches in and pulls out some cranberry juice and then grabs a second glass from the cabinet. He pours the juice, adds a little bit of vodka, and then stirs the drink with his index finger before handing it to me. "Try it." I sigh a bit before taking the glass and then taking a hesitant sip. I lick my lips. "Huh," I say, nodding. "You can't taste the alcohol." "All about levels, little brother," he says. "Drink up. I want you to have fun." The thing is, I do have fun once the vodka kicks in. I feel loose and a little more comfortable, and I have way less of a filter. Dean introduces me to some guys he used to hang with, and I surprise myself by making decent conversation with them, even making them laugh. I only kind of know one of them already. Ivan. He's super tall, lean, and has dark circles under his eyes that makes him look like he's wearing makeup almost. He also has stringy, shoulder length black hair that sometimes looks greasy. But he's sweet. He's been over the house a few times over the past year, and he's always been nice to me in passing (unlike the rest of Dean's friends). Normally, I wouldn't say he's that attractive. He's lanky, but he's cute -- just not my type, really. But, now that I have a little alcohol in me, he looks positively sexy. Especially wearing his dumb little devil horns. "Nice horns," I say, pointing to his headpiece. He looks down at me and laughs. "Are you making fun of me?" "No, no, no, I really like them," I say, smiling. "I promise." "Liar," he says, turning his attention away from the group and focusing on me. "What are you supposed to be, anyway?" I shrug. "A better version of myself." He must be drunk too because he seems to get too much of a kick out of that. He doubles over laughing, spilling the contents of his cup slightly. "Sorry," he says, trying to compose himself after he starts licking the drink off of his hand. "I don't know why that was so funny." I giggle a bit. "I think you're drunk." "I'm really not. It's just beer," he says, holding up his cup. "Kind of nasty, if you ask me." "Beer is so gross," I say, making a face. "Honestly, I didn't think I'd like drinking, but this isn't bad," I say, holding up my nearly empty cup. "Drinking's not my favorite," he says, running his hands through his hair. "Much prefer smoking." Then he looks at me. "You smoke?" "Like... weed?" I ask. He laughs. "Yeah, like weed." "I've never done it," I say. "Really?" He looks surprised. "How old are you again?" "13." His eyes go wide, and then he laughs. "Wow. Guess that explains it," he says with a chuckle. Just then, he gets roped into a small conversation with the people adjacent to us. They ask him about his opinion about some girl who just walked in. That's when I tune out, uninterested in talk about girls. I pretend to sip my now-empty cup, looking around aimlessly until Ivan catches my attention again a few minutes later. "How is everyone high except for me?" he says eventually, and they all laugh at him. "I'm gonna go light up." "Can I come?" I ask him as he starts to slip away. He looks at me with a slight smile. "If you want to," he says. "C'mon." I follow him upstairs. He seems to know his way around this place, but I doubt he's one of the frat dudes that live here. I doubt he's part of a fraternity at all, anywhere. He's just not the type. When we get upstairs, he stops at a room towards the back of the hallway and then pokes his head inside, maybe to see if anyone's in there, before stepping in. I follow him inside and shut the door. He turns on one of the lamps before heading right to the bed and sitting down on it with a sigh, pulling out a plastic baggie from his pocket. "Uh... you sure it's... okay to do that in here?" I ask. Isn't it kind of rude to smoke up in someone's bedroom without asking? "It's fine. This is Richard's room." I don't know what that means, or who Richard is, but if he knows him by name, I guess it's fine. I come sit by him as he pulls out some rolling papers and opens up the little baggie of weed. It's almost fascinating watching him roll them into joints. I've never seen someone do it before. Hell, I've never even seen weed in person. But Dean told me to have fun, so here I am, trying to do just that. I can't wait to tell Ally about tonight. Oh, she'll get a kick out of all this. He brings the joint to his lips and then lights the end before inhaling deeply, holding, and then exhaling with a pleased sigh. Then, he hands it to me. I take it hesitantly. "Uh. What do I do?" "Take it in," he says. "But then you want to get it in your lungs. And don't breathe too deep." I'm already confused. If I'm breathing it in, won't it go right to my lungs? Maybe I have to suck the smoke out? Whatever. I take it to my lips and suck it in. Then I try the "getting it in my lungs" things by breathing in. After a second, I regret it. I'm coughing like crazy, choking on the smoke, and my eyes are watering. Ivan is just laughing. "Deep breaths," he says, patting my back and taking the joint from me. "J-esus," I cough out. It takes me a full minute to regain composure and even then, I still cough a little. "I think I'm done," I say, laughing as I wipe tears out of my eyes. "It takes practice," he says with a grin. "Is it supposed to hurt that much?" I ask, rubbing my throat. It burns. "No," he says, cocking his eyebrow. "You might be having a reaction." But he immediately laughs at the horrified face I'm making. "I'm just fucking with you," he says, chuckling and taking another hit. "Fuck you," I say, laughing and pushing him over. "You scared me." "Sorry," he says, sitting back up. However, with one fluid motion, as he sits up, he leans into me and then presses his lips against mine. I freeze up, so caught off guard. Ivan is kissing me? Why is Ivan kissing me? But I forget about the why after a moment, because I notice how nice his lips feel. When he pulls back, he sits back up and takes another deep hit, coughing once or twice. "What was that for?" I ask, pushing up my glasses, probably blushing. He shrugs, grinning a little. "You're cute and I wanted to kiss you." Simple enough. "Yeah?" I bite my lip a bit. I bet Ivan doesn't know about the video, so this is different. This is purely because he likes me (in whatever capacity that may be). And he's an older boy, no less. An older "bad" boy. "Don't look so surprised," he says with a chuckle. "You know you're cute." I bite my lip again, chewing on it slightly as I look at him. He brings the joint back to his lips, but I'm already leaning forward. He pulls it out of his mouth in time for our lips to make contact, and I press a little deeper against them. Already he's moving his lips to match my speed, tilting our heads to the side slightly to get into it more. "Mm mm. Wait," he says, pulling back. He stands up and heads over to the nightstand to put out the joint, leaving it there. Then, he comes back to me. He takes off his jacket as he kneels on the bed and then crawls over me. Our lips make contact again. We kiss deeply as we both get more towards the center of the bed. Thank God he isn't heavy or crushing me. He's tall, but he's light. His tongue feels abnormally wet, but I don't mind. It makes the kisses a little more sloppy, and, in turn, a little more sexual. I reach down between his legs and rub him through his skinny jeans, and in response, he grinds into my hand. I break the kiss to tell him to get on his back, and he does so without complaint. I get on top of him and kiss him a couple times before sliding down, quickly undoing his belt and jeans. They're so tight, though. There's no way I'll be able to take them off without a bit of a struggle. So I settle for "just enough." I pull them off his waist and then reach into his boxers to pull out his semi, stroking it in my hand. I glance up at him. He looks a mix between surprised and amused, and he looks sort of funny with his stupid horns jutting out of his hair. I smile a bit before bending down and wrapping my lips around the head. He moans immediately, swearing and then sighing deeply. I take him deeper, sucking slowly, and I can feel him start to stiffen in my mouth. I stroke him to full hardness before pulling off to admire the size. It's not thick, really. But it matches his body: tall and slim. I look up at him, but his eyes are closed, so I focus on the task at hand. I go back to blowing him. I feel his hands in my hair and his rings rubbing my scalp as I bob back and forth, letting my tongue swirl around the head of his cock whenever I reach the top of his dick. He starts adding pressure to the back of my head and has me take him deeper, into my throat. I'm just thankful I don't choke this time. I focus, moaning on his cock as he guides me up and down, gently throat-fucking me. Eventually, though, I need air. I pull off to catch my breath, gasping for oxygen and then licking at his shaft. I go down to his balls to give them a little attention. He's looking down at me now, rubbing and slapping his cock against my face. "You're good at this," he says softly. "Yeah?" I say, not wanting to stop lapping at his smooth balls for conversation. "Fuck yeah," he says, running his fingers through my hair and then pulling me deeper into his crotch a bit as he jerks himself off with his free hand. "You got me close already." Maybe I am up for a little conversation after all. "You gonna cum?" I ask, moving off his balls towards the tip of his dick, licking my lips. "Might," he says, biting his lip and guiding the head of his dick to my mouth. I open up and let it slip in, suckling on the tip before starting to bob up and down. "Ah, fuck," he groans softly, getting into it. "You swallow?" he asks. "Mhm," I say, nodding, my mouth still full of dick. I speed up a bit, eager for it now. When's the last time I had some cum? Fuck, I'm so hungry for it. And then, divine intervention, it seems. I hear someone calling my name, and I pause slightly. The voice is getting louder and louder. Someone's coming down the hall, maybe checking every room for me, and I realize by the tone of the voice that it's the last person I want it to be right now: Dean. I pull off quick and swear. "Get dressed!" I hiss at Ivan, but he's not quick enough. The door swings open and there he is, my big brother, looking at me on my knees between Ivan's legs, and Ivan's hard cock still sticking proudly out of his jeans. Dean looks from me to Ivan for a solid three seconds before the anger starts to take over his face. "I fucking knew it," he says through clenched teeth. Then he comes over. "Dean, wait--" But he doesn't listen. He grabs my shirt and pulls me away from Ivan before jumping on top of him and wasting no time wailing on him. "Dean, stop!" I say. I tug on Dean's shirt, but it does nothing to stop Dean's fists from raining down near Ivan's face. Dean grunts out a few syllables with every punch. "Don't. Ever. Touch. Stevie. Again. You fucking. Pedo." With that last word, he deals a harsh blow to Ivan's face. I hear Ivan breathing heavily, groaning in pain, and when Dean hops off of him, I only get a glimpse of the damage before Dean's gripping my arm and pulling me out of the room. "Let me go!" I say, squirming in his grip. He doesn't do so until we're halfway down the hallway, but still, he pushes me against the wall (a little harshly, I might add). "Are you insane?" I say. This is the second person he's decked out because of me within the span of, what, two hours? I don't mean to antagonize him but I'm practically freaking out. I'm convinced he's going to punch me until I notice the expression on his face. There's concern there, mixed in with the anger. "Did he hurt you?" he asks me. "I... What?" I blink, confused. "No, he didn't hurt me." "You sure?" "Yes, I'm sure," I say. I realize I'm still out of breath from the chaos that just ensued. It happened too fast. "Someone told me they saw you and him going upstairs." "Well yeah, he was just... just showing me--" "His dick?" "Dean--" "I don't want you near him ever again," he says firmly. He's in protective big brother mode. It's strangely sweet. Though I'm a little pissed at him for cock-blocking me. Especially since Ivan was about to cum. Poor Ivan. I hope he's okay. "He's nice to me," I say. Dean looks at me all confused. "So, what, you're gonna let every guy who's nice to you fuck you?" he says a little nastily. That's totally unfair of him to say. Frankly, his comment hurts a bit, but I don't know how to respond to it. He seems to wait before sighing and then gripping my arm again. "C'mon. We're leaving." I just let him drag me out of the party as if I had done something wrong. As we walk across campus, Dean's rage seems to calm down, and his drunkenness seems to take over. It's a strange transformation. It's as if the angry side of him completely took over for a bit, and now that it's taking a backseat, the alcohol is back in effect. He's stumbling slightly, half talking to himself. He's fucked up. Way too fucked up to drive. "Where are we going?" I ask after a while. "Home." "You shouldn't drive." "I'll be fine," he says, just as he stumbles again. "Dean--" "Drop it, Stevie." "You'll kill us if you try and drive right now." He sighs heavily, stopping in his tracks and closing his eyes. "Fine," he says after maybe ten seconds of silence. "Where's my phone?" "I don't know," I say. Why the hell would I know? "In your pocket?" "Don't get smart," he says, patting his pants. He finds his phone in his pocket, and I have to help him get it out before he can use it. He unlocks his phone, blinking a lot and then rubbing his forehead as he calls somebody, bringing the phone to his ear. "Heyyy, man," he says, smiling. "Hey, li-- Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Listen, I'm super fucked up and need to crash somewhe-- Yeah, that'd be fuckin' tight. You're the best. Yeah, I'm like five minutes from there. Okay. Okay, meet you out there." When Dean hangs up, he doesn't provide an explanation. He just pockets his phone and starts walking in a different direction. "Where are we going now?" I ask. "I got us a place to crash," he says, and leaves it at that. We walk down the street, a little bit off campus, where the off campus housing is. It's basically just a long street of apartments or suites. I notice there's a guy standing outside of one of them, and he waves us over. Dean smiles and heads up the stairs to hug his friend, and they chat for a moment. I keep my distance until the guy points to me. "Who's the kid?" "My lil brother," he says. "Oh," he says, nodding. "He staying too, I guess?" "Yeah." "Well there's only one extra bed. One of you could take the couch or something." "He stays with me," Dean says firmly. It's clear that his friend doesn't know exactly what he means. Even I don't. But he just nods, maybe knowing better than to try to get information out of Dean when he's drunk and/or high like this. He leads us inside, and we take the elevator up a couple floors before heading to his suite. Turns out he has a few roommates that are all lounging in the common area. All three of them glance back at us before the friend leads us down a little hallway to one of the side rooms. "Mark isn't here so y'all can crash in his room." It's a single-dorm room, heavily decorated and personalized. This guy clearly loves wrestling, football, and Playboy, and nothing else. "Thanks, my dude," Dean says to his friend, hugging him again. "Any time, bro. Let me know if you need anything. You know where to find me." He leaves us alone and Dean shuts the door with a sigh, taking off his jacket and then his shirt as he walks over to the bed. He hops on, laying back and starting to undo his belt. "Do you want me to take the couch or something?" I ask as he strips, though that's barely a possibility. All those guys are out there lounging. "Fuck no," Dean says, struggling with his pants as he slips them off. "I'm not leaving you alone here. I don't trust nobody." "Okay," I say. Does that mean we're sharing this tiny bed? I watch him fuss over his jeans, and I almost offer help but I find it best to keep my distance when he gets frustrated. Finally, he gets them off his ankles and throws them to the floor, falling back on the bed with a heavy sigh, just in his boxers. I'm surprised at the choice of underwear. Usually it's boxer briefs. But then again, he rarely does laundry. Maybe all his favorite underwear needs to be washed. He looks over at me. "You coming or what?" "Oh." I bite my lip a bit, taking my jacket off as well. Should I leave my pants on? No. That'd be stupid. Or, at the very least, Dean would probably make some snide remark about wearing jeans to bed. So I take my jeans off, feeling somehow embarrassed in front of Dean as I stand there in my boxers and a t-shirt. I'm not taking my shirt off. That's not happening. I start to come towards the bed but he stops me. "Shut the lights off, stupid." I sigh, rolling my eyes. I cross the room to flip the switch before setting my glasses down and then coming back to the bed. It's pretty dark in here. I can just faintly see Dean's outline on the bed as I climb up. "Do you wanna get under the covers?" I ask. "No," he says. "I'm fuckin' hot." "Okay." I'm not hot, but I don't want to ask him to move off the covers to give me more slack, so I just lay on top of them with him, resting on my side with my back to him. I make sure that there's space between us, but I also have to be careful that I don't fall off the fucking bed in the middle of the night. We lie there in silence, and I listen to Dean's breathing for several minutes before I finally close my eyes, attempting to sleep and forget this whole ordeal. Then, after several minutes, Dean says my name. "Stevie?" "Yeah?" I ask. "You okay?" Am I okay? "Um. Yeah. Why?" "Just making sure." I don't respond for a few moments, thinking. "Are YOU okay?" I ask. He doesn't respond. After a few seconds, I say his name. "Dean?" Then I hear it. The sniffling. It gets a little louder, and then the bed (which is already a thin frame) starts shaking slightly. He's crying. Dean is fucking crying. I turn my head, and my body follows as I face him. His hands are in his face as he sobs quietly. "Dean?" "I'm so fucked up," he says. I don't know what exactly he's referring to. Is he talking about the alcohol and the drugs? Or is it something else entirely? "It's okay," I say, unsure how to console him. I reach out and rub his arm. That seems to jolt something in him, because he immediately responds to my touch. He rolls onto his side and wraps his arms around me, hugging me tight and pressing his face into my chest. My chin rests against the top of his head and I almost freeze in shock before I hug him back, rubbing his head soothingly. I let him cry, just like he let me cry against him when I was sobbing over Caleb. Though this is different. I've never seen Dean cry, and I don't really know why he is now. Maybe he really isn't okay. He doesn't cry as long as I did, so after a minute or so, he's pretty calm. He sniffles a bit, and then laughs against my shirt. "Shit," he says, sniffling again and then grabbing my arm and moving it off of him. I give him a moment as he wipes his eyes and whatnot. "Sorry." "It's fine," I say softly. My shirt feels wet. "Don't ever mention this," he says after a while. "I wasn't planning on it," I say. I really wasn't. Him playing music in front of me is a vulnerable enough act for him. This is on a whole other level. He rolls onto his back with a sigh, and I can tell he's looking up at the ceiling, maybe thinking about something. Part of me wants to pick his brain, but I shouldn't be too nosy. "You okay?" I ask, deciding to be general. "No," he says candidly, and I'm surprised at the honest answer. "I'm drunk, and pissed, and I'm stupid for taking something when I didn't know what it was, and now I'm all fuckin' dizzy and sad and horny and shit." I gulp. Horny? Of course that's the one thing I pick up most on. Not the emotional stuff, nor the drugs (which explains him acting messier than usual). The horniness. "I'm... sorry," I say. I really don't know what to say right now. Is he hard? I wonder if he's hard. It's so dim in here. Even though my eyes are adjusting to the darkness, and I can faintly see the shape of his boxers, I can't tell if he's hard or not. I wish there was a light on. "Just ignore me," he says. So I do so. We just lie there once again in silence, but it feels tense this time. I feel like he's on the verge of saying or doing something, because, now that I've adjusted to the lack of light, I can tell his eyes are open. His facial expressions keep changing, too. I can't tell if he's thinking too hard or what, but he looks stressed about something. Or multiple things. Then, he sighs. "God damn it." I hear movement down below. When I glance down towards the source, I see that his hand has slipped into his boxers. And, lo and behold, just a few seconds later, he pulls his cock right out of his boxers. He's hard as a fucking rock, it looks like. I can tell from the silhouette of it, and the way he's gripping it. What the hell drugs did he take? And can he take them more often? My mouth is this weird mix of moist and dry. "Do you..." I clear my throat. "Do you want me to leave?" I ask. "I don't give a fuck," he says gruffly. "Just... turn around." I swallow again and then do as he says, rolling back over so I'm not facing him as he jerks off. My heart is racing, and my own cock is rock fucking solid, but I don't dare to touch myself even though my dick is begging for relief. I listen to his eager, almost angry stroking sounds that slowly start to sound wetter -- probably from his precum. He lets out a slight moan or grunt every now and then but otherwise is solely focused on just getting off as quickly as possible. Then he lets out a noise of frustration. "It's too weird with you here." I bite my lip. "I can leave." He sighs. "I don't know." I'm assuming the only reason he doesn't want me to leave is because he thinks someone will take advantage of me outside this room. Half of me thinks it's sweet. The other half of me thinks he's being ridiculous. I could just hide in the bathroom and lock the door until he's done if he's that paranoid. Hell, HE could finish himself off in the bathroom. But he's evidently not thinking clearly. "Give me my phone," he says suddenly. I hop off the bed and dig into his pants for him, grabbing his phone. I notice, though, that it's at 3%. "It's almost dead." "Fuckin' hell!" he says a little loudly, clearly super frustrated. I flinch a bit. "What about yours?" "Why?" "I need porn." I blush a little but grab my phone from my pants pocket. Luckily I have a decent bit of juice on it, so I unlock it and hand it to him. He takes it, scrolling around, looking confused. "Where's Safari?" "I use Chrome," I say, hopping back onto the bed and taking my phone from him. Am I really going to have to navigate the internet for him? Apparently yes. "Here," I say after pulling up the web browser and offer it to him. "Just pull something up for me," he says, swatting the phone away from him. I notice his hand is still toying with his cock. "Like what?" "I don't know, Stevie. Anything." For a brief second, I consider pulling up gay porn for him, but I know he wouldn't appreciate that. So I just search something random on Pornhub and pull up a video of a cute girl getting plowed by a sizeable cock in the thumbnail. That should do the trick. "Perfect," he says, grabbing my phone from me and holding it up close to his face as he resumes jerking off. The screen lights up his facial features, and I watch him bite on his tongue lightly as he focuses on the penetration, listening to the girl moaning excessively. Dean doesn't ask me to get off the bed, so, taking advantage of the moment, I lie back down next to him. He still doesn't say anything. I watch his face for a bit before trying to get a glimpse of his cock, but the phone is so bright that I can't see anything beyond it. I just sigh, at least enjoying the fact that this is happening right now. Dean is jerking off right in front of me. I glance at the video, trying to put myself in his headspace. He finds this hot. He jerks off to porn like this, probably regularly. Somehow, I find that sexy. It makes the porn more interesting to me. "Do you watch porn like this?" he asks me after a while. I turn my head towards him, and I notice he had turned to look at me. I hadn't even noticed. "Like, straight porn?" "Yeah." "Not really," I say, biting my lip. "There's a dick in it. That's up your alley, right?" He's dead serious, which make this conversation sort of comical if I wasn't so turned on right now. "Yeah, but the girl kinda ruins it for me." He shrugs a bit, glancing back at the video. "She's kinda fucking annoying, honestly," he says. "She's hot, but she won't shut the fuck up." "Just turn the volume off if it's annoying," I suggest. "Help me." I grab the phone and then switch to silent mode before resting it upright on Dean's chest. I hold it up for him. Suddenly, the original noises are back -- wet stroking and soft moans from Dean. And now, I'm touching his skin. I can feel his heart racing against his chest. Against my hand. He's so warm. Fucking hell, my dick is so hard. "Fuck, that's hot," Dean whispers, watching the guy pull out of her pussy and go down on her. I lick my lips. I bet Dean eats great pussy. I picture him in the video instead, between her legs, eating her out hungrily in the middle of fucking her. On screen, the guy goes lower and starts eating her asshole as well, going back and forth, and I notice Dean increasing his stroking speed. So he likes that too. Immediately, the image of Dean eating out my ass floods my brain. He must like ass. Every straight dude is obsessed with ass, right? What's to say he wouldn't enjoy mine? Fuck, the thought of his tongue exploring me, tasting my most intimate places... My dick throbs so hard that I let out a slight moan. Dean looks at me. "What?" "N-nothing," I say quickly, happy he can't see me blushing. I just gesture to the video. "It's just hot, is all." "Yeah," he says, nodding in agreement. I want to jack off so badly but I don't want him to get mad. As the man on screen starts to finger both of her holes, Dean asks me another question. "Remember when you told me you're not a virgin?" I swallow. "Um. Yeah?" "So you've done... like... it all?" God, I want to hear him say it. "What do you mean?" I ask, playing dumb. "Like, you've taken it and stuff?" My dick is twitching. I'm sure my boxers are drenched with precum. "Taken it?" "You know what I mean," he says quickly, and his tone implies that I shouldn't push it any further. "Yeah," I say simply. He doesn't say anything else, but just continues jerking off, taking what seems to be a little break to play maybe play with his balls or toy with his cock (I just keep hearing it slap his stomach instead of full strokes) as the video switches to anal. I can't believe this is happening. I feel like the alcohol has worn off for me, and I'm in the right mind, but Dean? I need him to get fucked up like this way more often. He starts jerking off again, a little more slowly this time. Is he edging or something? But I get my answer after a moment. "This isn't working," he says. "What isn't?" "This. The video. Everything." He grunts and moves around a bit. "Forget it." I think he's putting his dick away. I turn off my phone and set it between us so it doesn't fall off the bed. The lack of the light from the screen puts us back in darkness. Once my eyes adjust, I see that he put his cock back in his boxers, but I can see the head is still sticking out. He must still be hard. I'm so horny. I'm so so so horny. It's that horniness that makes you daring, almost like you're drunk, ready to do something you'd never do if you were "sober." I'm so horny that I figure if he yells at me, or beats me up, it'll totally be worth it. All the times I'm going to jerk off revisiting this memory will be totally, completely worth it. All I need to do is touch it. But I can't. I just can't muster up the courage. I just sigh to myself, maybe a little more dramatically than intended, because Dean notices. "What?" "Nothing." Then, after a moment, I ask something. "Are you just gonna sleep?" "Yeah." There's another pause. Then, "Do you have any more room?" "Huh?" "I feel like I'm gonna fall off the bed." "Oh." He shifts a bit but puts an arm under me to pull me into him. Right into him. He stays on his back, but with me on my side, my front just slides up against his side. Which means my dick is right against his hip, and my knee nudges and rests right against his cock as I lay my head near his armpit. He grunts slightly, but that's it. I freeze. Oh my God. There's so much contact. My hand is even resting on his bare chest. His heart is still pounding (probably from the drugs), and his dick is still hard (also probably from the drugs). He doesn't say anything though. And I want him to say something. Say something, damn it. Please. I start to feel him gently rub my back after a while, mostly with just his fingertips moving slightly back and forth. Nothing more. But it feels nice. And I find myself doing the same to his chest -- subconsciously at first, but then I go along with it. I rub near his nipple slightly, feeling the sparse hairs around the little nub. It's not helping my dick go down, that's for sure. Fuck, he's so sexy. Why does he have to be so sexy? If God gave me an ugly brother I probably wouldn't be thinking such sinful shit all the time. But what's Dean thinking? I wonder what he'll say in the morning, when he's sobered up. And then. And then. And then, Dean shifts. All he does is slightly twist his back to face me a little more, but it's because he's reaching for my face. Specifically my chin. To tilt it up so that as he leans in, our lips can meet. Holy fuck. Holy fucking fuck, Dean is kissing me. Our lips are touching. I immediately push my crotch against his hip, feeling light headed. He's kissing me. And it's a real kiss, with hints of tongue as we start to make out. He's not making a sound. I wish he would moan or grunt or something, but instead, it's me making all the noise. Because holy fucking shit, Dean is kissing me. And then, his hand slides down my arm to grab my hand. He guides it right to his crotch, into his boxers, and onto his cock. I instinctively grab it, only vaguely aware of what's happening. I can barely even focus on his lips because all my sensations are focused on my fingers that are wrapped around my brother's cock. He's harder than any dick I've ever felt. Stiff as solid marble. I grip him tight, giving it a firm squeeze, and he finally lets out a groan against my lips, breaking the kiss. He helps me by pulling his boxers down under his balls and letting me stroke him properly. I relish in this moment. Holding his cock out in the open air, stroking him faster as his precum slides down his shaft and serves as lube, our lips close. We're no longer kissing. He's just holding onto his boxers under his balls with his thumb, and gripping the back of my shirt with his other hand. We just breathe on each other. I try making eye contact in order to attempt to guess what he's thinking, but his eyes are closed, his mouth slightly open, letting little moans escape as I speed up. He's so big. Bigger than I've ever had, at least. I slow down my strokes for a brief moment to tease the head, but he says "Don't stop." He must want me to go back to a faster pace, so I oblige, and he moans in approval. I lick my lips, looking down at my hand working up and down his pole. He makes so much precum that he's practically lubed up enough to fuck. God, how hot would that be? If he fucked me right here, right now? Much too soon, though, he's close. He doesn't tell me that he is, but I can feel his cock pulsing a bit, and his hips raising up a little more. And before I can even think about going down on him, he grunts and then cums. I can faintly see ropes of his load spewing out onto his torso as he says "Agh!" over and over with pleased little groans. As his cum pools over my fingers, it makes my stroking even louder. I keep working him over, sliding my fist over every inch, but he winces when I work the head of his cock. "Stop, stop, stop," he says, reaching down and grabbing my wrist. "What?" I ask. "Too sensitive," he says, and I sigh with relief, thinking I had done something wrong. I let go of his dick, and he lets go of my wrist before sighing heavily. "Fuck," he whispers, finally spent and relaxed. I don't know what to do now. I want to play with his cock more, but now that he's gotten off, tempting fate would be a bad idea. So I just lie there against him, cum all between the fingers of my left hand, head against his chest. "I think I saw some tissues over there," Dean says after a long moment of silence. I take that as my cue to hop off the bed and look. I'm blind as it is, but luckily I find them on the desk quickly. I grab some, wiping my hand off before bringing the box over to Dean. He takes some for himself and cleans up the cum off his body, and I can't help thinking what a waste it is. I could have swallowed that whole load. That's two times I've missed my chance today. He tosses the used tissues to the floor without a care before pulling his boxers back on with a snap. I set the box down and hesitantly climb back into bed, and when he doesn't take issue with it, I curl up beside him. I'm happy to feel his arm pull me into a more comfortable position. Here we are again, cuddling, my knee nudged gently against his balls with my own still very hard cock poking his side. But we don't say or do anything further. After a while, I recognize Dean's breathing patterns as how he breathes when he sleeps. He's out cold, I'm sure. It takes me a long time to follow his lead, considering everything that just happened, on top of the stiffness between my legs. But after a few centering breaths and maybe twenty minutes of just lying there with my eyes closed, I finally, finally fall asleep.