Date: Wed, 31 Oct 2018 16:02:21 -0400 From: RJ Subject: Brothers at Arms Chapter 3 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 3 ~ When morning comes, I'm the first to wake up. We hadn't moved at all in the night, so we're still in the same position as we were when we had fallen asleep: me on his chest with his arm under me for support. Surprisingly, I'm not hard for once when I wake up, and I begin to count that as a blessing until I notice Dean's cock is sticking out of the waistband of his boxers. That gets me instantly erect. Record-speed, really. God, I wish I could see better without my glasses. It's blurry, but I can see the pink head of his cock poking out in contrast to his dark underwear. I didn't even get to see him in his full glory last night. I had felt it, though. Oh, I had felt it. I don't budge. I stay still, resting against him and replaying last night's events in my head over and over until Dean starts to stir. He grunts a bit, stretching his body and even reaching down to give his cock a tug before I hear him smack his lips a bit. I look up at him just as he starts to open his eyes. He squints at the sunlight, flinching a bit and making a pained face before he rubs his forehead. "Fucking Christ." This is the moment of truth, right? What's Dean going to say about last night? My heart starts pounding in anticipation. "Feeling okay?" I ask. "Mm," he grunts, nodding slightly. "Just need water." "Want me to get you some?" "Yeah." Honestly, the only reason I offered is because I got nervous. I'm way too close to Dean right now, and that's a dangerous thing when I don't know how he's going to react about last night. I pull myself up off of him and hop off the bed, pulling on my glasses and clothes from last night before slipping out of the bedroom. It's dead quiet in here. I didn't even check the time, so it could be super early or super late and I wouldn't know the difference. I find my way to the little kitchen area. I grab a cup and fill it from the tap before coming back to the bedroom. When I get in, Dean is sitting up, rubbing his brow bone as if he has a headache or something. "Here," I say, standing in front of him and offering him the drink. He makes a weird noise before taking the water and gulping the entire contents down while holding his hand on my shoulder. That's a good sign, right? That he initiated some form of physical contact? Even if it's just a shoulder grab? When he finishes the water, he hops off the bed with a sigh and starts to gather up his clothes. He gets dressed quickly, makes sure he has his phone and wallet and keys, and then says "C'mon" before heading right out of the bedroom. And that's that. Neither of us mention the dorm room the rest of the morning, or the rest of the weekend, or even the first two days of the week. I don't even tell Ally. When I tell her about the party, I told her everything in detail that happened only AT the party. It's probably best to not disclose the more incestuous things that occurred that night. But, even if he doesn't mention it, I expected some awkwardness between us. Some weird tension. But there's nothing. Everything goes on as normal. As if it never happened. And it makes me wonder, does he even remember? I suppose it doesn't hurt if he doesn't remember. It's probably best. But I have this weird, unwavering, tiny little hope that we can do it again. Maybe even do more. I've already accepted the fact that I'm lusting hard for my brother. I just want to know if it's, in any capacity, reciprocated. It takes me a whole day to devise a proper test. I know I want to do it in a somewhat public environment so that if I push any buttons, I'm protected. But what to say? It doesn't come to me until dinner on Tuesday night. My parents, Dean, and I are all chatting, halfway through our meal, when I grab a bun from the center of the table. The butter is all the way next to Dean, and then the idea hits me. Just a new, innocent, ironic nickname to hopefully get a reaction out of him. When I ask him to pass the butter, he hands it to me, and I say "Thanks, Big D." He immediately freezes, his head shooting up. We lock eyes, and even when I turn back to my food, I feel him staring at me. But he doesn't respond. He confronts me about it after dinner, once Mom has gone upstairs and Dad has retired to the living room to watch something on TV. I'm in the middle of doing dishes when he cuts in front of me, pinning me against the countertop. "What the--" "Did you tell anyone about that?" he asks. "About what?" He flicks my forehead, and I wince. "Don't play fuckin' dumb with me, Stevie," he says threateningly. "I didn't. Jesus, fucking relax," I say, cradling dishes with one arm and rubbing my forehead with my free hand. "Good," he says, stepping back slightly. "Keep it that way." "Are WE at least gonna talk about it?" I ask hesitantly, looking up at him. He blinks. "The fuck is there to talk about?" I shrug. "I don't know. I just figured--" "You figured wrong," he interrupts. "Okay, okay. Sorry." I bite my lip a bit. "I just wasn't even sure if you remembered, honestly. You were really fucked up." He stares at me for an uncomfortably long time before he says "Whatever, Stevie" and walks away. After I finish dishes and clean up around the kitchen, I head into the living room. Dad seems to have fallen asleep on the couch, and Dean is sitting on the opposite side, scrolling on his phone while the TV plays in the background. "Are you watching this?" I ask him. He glances up at me, then at the TV. "No. All yours." I bite my lip, thinking about what I want to play. Since Dean is here, maybe it'd be a good opportunity to play something together. I hook up the old Gamecube and pop in Mario Party, glancing back at Dean. His eyes are on the TV, noticing what I just loaded up. I unroll the controllers and bring one over to him, offering it. He seems to think for a moment before taking it, and I smile. We play quite an intense round, full of playful banter and punches. During the last five turns, there is so much back-and-forth that, by the end, I'm not sure who will win. Turns out that I do, and I take my chance to boast, having narrowly scraped the win by a measly five coins. "Five fucking coins?" Dean says. "That's such bullshit." "Don't be a sore loser," I say, grinning. "Fuck you," he says, but he's laughing. "I demand a recount." "Just accept your loss." "I should've won. I thought Boo's lengthy ass tongue would help me out." "There's no way--" But I pause, seeing the look on Dean's face shift from cheerful to fearful. "What?" "Shit. Shit shit." He set the controller down, putting his face in his hands. "Fucking shit." "Dean, what's wrong?" I ask, concerned. "I have a math exam tomorrow." A math exam? Seriously? That's what he's freaking out about? "So?" "So?" He looks at me, looking clearly distressed. "I didn't study." "So go study," I say, checking the time. "It's only 9:30." "You don't understand, Stevie," he says, standing up and pacing slightly. "I suck dick at math. And if I don't get at least a C on this test there's no way I can pass the course. I'll fuckin' fail again." Now I get it. He's probably been slacking all year so far and is only just now feeling the pressure. "What subject is it?" "Geometry." Gross. I'm good at math, but geometry is fucking wack. I'm taking that class now too. And since he's not in the Honors section, I'm probably ahead of him in terms of material. Which means I could help him. "Let's go." "Where?" "Upstairs," I say, standing up. "I'll help you study." It's not easy basically teaching Dean the subject. He's bad at listening and focusing under normal circumstances, and I have to work hard to keep him motivated at first. However, after about an hour of struggling through the basics, something seems to click. I don't know if I said something, or he just had an epiphany, but suddenly he is on top of the material. Sure, it requires a lot of teaching on my part, but he asks appropriate questions and grasps the concepts way faster as time goes on. By the time we plow through the chapters his test is covering, he seems to have a general handle on things, and I sit on the edge of his bed feeling a little exhausted. "How are you feeling?" I ask. He's pacing slightly. "A little better, I think," he says, running his fingers through his hair. Earlier, he had gotten so stressed that he overheated, so now he's walking around shirtless. "I might be okay." He looks at me. "What do you think?" "I think you've got it," I say. I'm partly lying. I'm still worried that he'll wake up and not remember a thing, but if he took the test right now, he'd for sure get at least an A-. "Okay," he says, nodding to himself. "Okay." "Just sit down. Relax a bit." I check the time and sigh. It's past midnight. "I need a drink," Dean says suddenly, and then squats down to grab a box under his bed. It's full of liquor. He scans a few bottles before he grabs a clear one (probably vodka) that's three-quarters empty. He unscrews the cap and sits down in his comfy desk chair, swiveling around to face me. "Maybe you shouldn't get drunk," I suggest. "I just need a little buzz," he says, taking a swig. He takes it easily, but even I flinch at the thought of drinking straight alcohol. He sighs heavily, licking his lips before looking at me. "Thanks for staying up with me," he says. I smile. "Sure." He stares at me for a long time, to the point where it's uncomfortable. I'm about to say something, but he speaks up first. "Listen..." And then he pauses again. He's searching for the right words, clearly. Or it's just taking a lot for him to say whatever he's about to say. "I shouldn't have taken advantage of you," he ends up saying. I almost laugh. "It's just studying, it's not a big deal." "No, not that, you--" He stops himself. Was he about to call me stupid or something? Whatever. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and then looks at me again. Rather, he looks towards me, but doesn't meet my eyes. "I mean, that night, after the Halloween party." My eyes get a little wider. I didn't really think he'd bring this up after confronting me in the kitchen. "I've been beating myself up over it, actually." That's surprising. "What? Why?" "Because... I don't know," he says, sighing, looking up at the ceiling. "I let my fuckin' dick get in the way of reason." Weirdly enough, that's the most eloquent he's ever sounded (aside from in his lyrics). "It was a bad night," I say. He rolls his eyes. "That's not an excuse," he says, taking another swig from his bottle. I bite my lip a bit, moving his textbook off of my lap and then crossing my legs Indian style. "Don't feel bad. Honestly, I don't feel like you took advantage of me. If anything, it was the other way around." He snorts, looking at me. "How?" "I mean... It's not like I hated it." Dean just stares at me as if he doesn't understand what I'm saying. "You know I'm gay, right?" I ask. "So?" "So, that means I like guys." "I know what it fuckin' means, Stevie," he says, drinking again. "Just because you like getting it on with dudes doesn't mean you like getting it on with ME," he says, emphasizing that fact by pointing at himself. He has a point, actually. Now I feel stupid. As Dean takes a couple smaller sips, he just keeps staring at me. "Don't look at me like that," I say. "Like what?" "Like that," I say, pointing to his face. "Like you're thinking about punching me." "I'm not thinking about punching you," he says, resting the bottle against his lip. "I'm just trying to understand." "Understand what?" "Just... Hm." He sits forward a little bit. "So... And I just want to be clear... You're telling me... that you liked it?" I blush intensely. But when I look at him, I see that he's grinning slightly. It's that smirk he uses when he's teasing me. "Fuck off, Dean," I say. "I just wanna get this straight. Or, well... gay, in your case--" "Dean!" I feel this strange mix of embarrassment and the urge to laugh. "What? I just wanna know whether or not you enjoyed giving your big brother an H?" he teases. I roll my eyes. "Like you didn't," I fire back. "Excuse me?" "You obviously liked it." He cocks his eyebrow, leaning back in his seat. "How is that obvious?" "You came, didn't you?" "That doesn't mean anything, Stevie," he says, taking a sip. "Some would say that means everything." "Oh, here we fuckin' go with the philosophy lesson--" "Just admit you liked me jerking you off," I say. "Not so fuckin' loud," he mumbles, kicking my knee hard, the playful tone gone. I wince, rubbing my kneecap. "What, afraid someone's gonna call you a fag?" I snap back, irritated that he kicked me. It hurt. "No. I just don't want our goddamn parents hearing that I did shit with my little brother, you fucking numbskull," he says aggressively, taking a swig. Okay, that's a totally fair point. I was getting a little loud there. But I'm still mad that he kicked me. "We didn't even do that much, so relax." "Don't fuckin' tell me to relax." There's a pause. Dean seems to be debating on whether or not he should take another sip of the vodka, and I'm so tempted to tease him further. Eventually, I can't resist. "I'm still waiting for you to admit it," I say quietly after a long stretch of silence. "Oh my fucking God," he says irritably, looking up at the ceiling with an exasperated expression. "Yes, I liked it. Happy now? Will you shut the fuck up about it?" I smile slightly, trying not to laugh. "Yes." "Christ, you're annoying sometimes," he says, about to take a sip. But he stops himself, having something else to say. "Also, who the fuck has been teaching you how to handle dick?" I blink. "Is that a compliment or something?" "Just answer the damn question." I shrug. "I mean, I have a dick too, you know." He rolls his eyes. "I'm not talking about riding solo. This is like... like... next-level shit." He's leaning forward now, as if really trying to emphasize his point. "You do it better than most girls I've been with, and they're fuckin' sluts, dude." I just shrug again, working as hard as I possibly can to keep my mouth from smiling. "So I've had practice." He scoffs. "Practice." "What?" "What the hell does that mean?" "It means I've had practice." "On kids your own damn age, I hope," he says, almost like a warning. He's probably mentally gearing up to deck someone out, like he did Ivan. "You're not my own age," I mutter. His expression softens dramatically. He almost looks, dare I say it, ashamed, and he glances at the bottle sitting in his lap. "Fucking Christ," he whispers to himself, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. "I didn't mean it like that," I say, not wanting him to feel bad about it. "You're right, though," he says softly, running his fingers through his hair. "It's not a big deal," I assure him. He looks at me after a few moments, thinking still. "I don't know. I wasn't like this at your age," he says, gesturing to me. I shrug. "So? We're different people." "I guess," he says, taking another swig of his drink. How many has that been now? His tolerance is probably pretty high. He seems upset by it, so I go for a more lighthearted comment. "I bet I've gotten more action than you have." He glances at me, grinning. "Bullshit." "I'd bet money." "You'd lose money." "How much, then?" He just shakes his head. "Sorry, no, I don't believe you." "Why not?" "Because you're a fuckin' thirteen-year-old dork." "I've had regulars, Dean," I say, smirking. "Regulars. Plural." "Alright, fine, I'll play along," he says, clearly in a better mood now. He leans in. "How many people?" I count on my fingers. "Seven. No, wait. Eight." "Try nine, bitch," he says, looking smug and victorious. "I've got you beat." "You didn't ask how often I've had sex with those people." He opens his mouth and then stops, thinking for a moment and then laughing. "I want names. First and last." "So you can kill them? No." He rolls his eyes but he's still grinning. "Fine. But I'm getting to the bottom of this." He rubs his chin a bit, studying me. "When's the last time you had sex?" I blink, pausing. "That's not fair." "How is that not fair?" he asks, confused. "That's a perfectly valid--" "I haven't done anything since that video got out." He pauses, looking at me. "Really?" I nod. "Ivan was the first since then. And then..." But I don't finish my sentence. It's implied. Dean takes a long time to stare at me. I hate when he drinks and stares because I can never really tell what he's thinking. Then, he finally speaks up. "You okay?" "Am I okay? Yeah." "You sure?" He sounds earnest, and it breaks down that wall a little bit. "Yeah. I don't know. Maybe?" I sigh. "It's hard." "Talk to me." I glance at him before looking at my lap. "I don't know. Being gay is hard. But when everyone knows it... I don't know. I've just never felt so alone." I play with my fingers. "That's the hardest part." When I look over, Dean is nodding slightly as if understanding. "I'm sorry, man," he says. Half of me expects him to offer up these great words of wisdom, but I know that an apology is really the best he can do. And I still appreciate it. "I want us to be cool, you know?" he says after a moment. "Aren't we?" "Well, yeah, we are," he says with a soft smile. "I just mean, like... Well... I just want you to know that I don't feel weird about it anymore." He must be talking about the night in the dorm room. "I never felt weird about it," I say. "I mean, I did, but only because I felt like you felt weird." "Makes sense." "And I was scared of making you mad or something." He just grins. "Am I that unreasonable?" I laugh. "Have you met yourself?" "Cut me some slack, bro," he says. "It's hard to." "I cut you slack on a daily fuckin' basis--" I laugh. "Lies." "--so the least you could do is cut me some." "Why would I cut you any slack?" I ask, smiling, enjoying the banter. "Because I love you." There's a noticeable shift in the air as both of us realize what he just said. I don't think he's ever said that to me. I don't even know if he's said that to Mom and Dad ever since he got to that age where it's no longer "cool" to say "I love you" to your parents. I find myself staring at Dean. And my mouth slowly splits into a grin because he's blushing. He's fucking red. Redder than I've ever seen him. "You said you love me." "Stevie--" "You loooove me!" I tease, laughing and pointing at him. He only gets redder, rubbing his face. "Can you stop?" "Dean loves me!" I say loudly. "Straight from the horse's mou--" But then he pushes me right off the bed. "Fuck off, dude," he says, but even he's trying not to laugh. I stay on the floor, still giggling to myself as I look up at him. I feel giddy for some reason. Maybe it's because I finally feel appreciated by him. Or that he's being open enough to admit it. I sit up slightly, fixing my glasses before I stand up. "I love you too, you know," I say, smiling at him. He looks so uncomfortable and embarrassed that it's almost cute. Actually, it's really cute. Fucking adorable. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" he says. "Is that your way of asking me to leave?" "It's my way of telling you to get the fuck outta my room," he says with the slightest grin. I just laugh slightly. "Alright, fine." I bite my lip, looking him up and down before saying "G'night" and turning towards the door. Before I make it, though, he stops me. "Hey. Wait." I turn around, and he scratches his head before he comes over and hugs me. It's a warm, tight, loving embrace. I wrap my arms around him too and smile. It's very innocent, and very sweet. Plus, I can't say I hate the feeling of his skin against the side of my face. "Alright," he says, pulling back and then pushing me towards the door. "Out." I open the door and then look back at him. "How about a goodnight kiss?" I tease, puckering my lips. He rolls his eyes and then presses his palm against my face, pushing me right into the hallway and shutting the door in my face. I can't help but laugh. "Goodnight," I say through the door, waiting a moment. He doesn't respond, so I just head to bed, unable to stop smiling. I feel even closer to him now. Dean starts taking me to school with him (though I know I'll be left to my own devices for getting home since he goes out with friends) and our morning is filled with more loving banter than ever. But I also notice something else. The tension. The slightest, slightest hint of flirtation. I could easily be projecting my desires onto him (because my fantasies have, if anything, grown), but I'm convinced there's a bit of sexual tension between us. I feel it most when we're not talking, or when there's a lull in our conversation, or if we glance at each other a certain way. Or even when we talk about that night -- it's all jokes and fun, but the fact that he brings it up at all gets me wondering. And if I catch him staring at me, it's like I know he's thinking about that night, about my hand wrapped around his cock, about his little brother bringing him to orgasm. It's like I know it in my soul. I could be wrong -- dead fucking wrong -- but something tells me I'm not. Other than the sexual tension, I notice other new things about Dean. Namely, I notice how damn nervous he is over his grades lately. Not just geometry, but other classes as well. It's just not something he really likes talking about, though. He won't even talk about his math exam. Any time I ask him how he thinks he did, he just grunts, worry all over his face. Which I take as a bad sign. But then, on Thursday, Dean shoots me a text. "U home". I don't see it immediately, and two minutes later he sends me another text: "??" I'm just in my room doing my own homework, so when I check my phone, I respond with "Yea, why?" I keep checking my phone, but he doesn't answer. Maybe twenty minutes later, I hear the front door open and close downstairs, followed by Dean's heavy footsteps rushing up the stairs, skipping a step per stride. Then, he stops in my doorway. "Hey." "Hi," I say, looking at him. He's smiling slightly. "Guess what?" I don't say anything for a moment. Shit, he really wants me to guess? "Um... I don't know. What?" He rolls his eyes and groans before stepping into my room. He reaches behind him and pulls out a small packet that was rolled up and stashed in his back pocket. "Check it," he says, unrolling it and tossing it into my lap. I unroll the packet and realize it's an exam. Which must mean it's his geometry exam. And then I see the grade. "B+?" "B motherfuckin' plus," Dean says with pride. I look up at him. He's so antsy, trying to contain his excitement. "Shit, dude," I say with a laugh. "You did it!" "I fuckin' knew that shit, Stevie," he says, taking the exam from me. "Well, most of it. But it made so much sense, everything you told me, and just... Ahh, fuck. C'mere." He hops on my bed next to me and pulls me into a side hug, laughing. "D-Dean," I say, nudging my elbow into his side and laughing, my glasses probably getting bent. "Cut it out. And get your shoes off my bed." "Sorry, sorry," he says, letting me go and kicking off his boots without moving from his position. I laugh slightly, shaking my head and readjusting myself. "I've never seen you so excited about a test." "That's never happened before." He sits up against the headboard, head turned to me. "I only passed because of you," he adds, nudging me with his elbow. I smile. "Give yourself some credit. You learned the material." "True," he says, laughing. "But now you gotta help me before every exam." "I didn't sign up for that," I say. "C'mon. Help a brother out." I roll my eyes. "You're lucky I like you now." He even giggles. Fucking giggles. He's so giddy right now. "Like me? I thought you loved me." "Only on the weekends," I tease, smiling as I turn to him. There it is again. That tense feeling. Our eyes meet for a moment, and there's nothing there, not until his eyes flicker to my lips a bit. For all our jokes about the hand job, we never mentioned the kiss, really. Maybe because that's too intimate for guys like Dean. Sure, they'll all let me pull on their dicks all day but would rather die than admit they want to lock lips with a dude. "I'm proud of you," I say after a moment. I swear he blushes slightly. "Thanks." He's in a good mood. A really good mood. Maybe this is the best opportunity for me to test it. Plus, I think I'm so bottled up that I'm feeling too daring for my own good. Something has to break. And so I lean in a bit, eyes locked on the prize: his lips. I do it slowly, to gauge his reaction and see if he'll pull away. And I get closer, I notice he doesn't move. Just stares. "Stevie..." he says softly as I inch closer. "Please?" I say, licking my lips slightly to get them wet. "I don't--" "Please?" He doesn't say anything further. So I continue. And when my lips finally make contact with his, he doesn't pull away. He lets me kiss him. I realize it's very one-sided until, after a few seconds, I feel his lips push back against mine. It's soft at first, unsure, as if he's testing the waters. And then everything shifts. Suddenly, I can tell he's sure, because the kiss goes from zero to a hundred almost instantly. Even I'm caught off-guard, and I initiated it. I feel his hand come around to hold the back of my head as we kiss back and forth, almost fighting each other for the upper hand. And all I can think is "I was right! I was right! I was right!" My poor little heart can't handle this. I put my hand on his inner thigh as we kiss, and slowly snake my way up, waiting for him to stop me. He does me one better by reaching down to grab my hand and bring it to his crotch, much like that night in the dorm room. He keeps his hand over mine, having me feel him up the way he wants to be felt up. I grope him through his jeans and he grunts, pausing the kiss for a few seconds before reeling me back in. We both shift onto our knees in the middle of my bed. I keep pawing at his groin, and he has a strong hand on my lower back, often drifting to my waist or up higher. As we kiss, I try to get him to at least reciprocate, bringing his hand to my crotch. He touches me, even gives me a little grab, but nothing more than that. He pulls his hand away. I bring it back to my crotch, but he breaks the kiss slightly to say "Stop" and leaves it at that. So he doesn't want to touch me. For right now, that's fine. One step at a time. I can't let it bother me if I want this to continue. I undo his jeans and thank the heavens he at least doesn't stop me from doing that. When I open them up, I push them off his waist a bit (along with his underwear) before reaching in and grasping that familiar appendage. He's nice and hard for me already. Dean breaks the kiss and moans softly, looking up at the ceiling. I grin a bit. Does he not want to look at me? I lick my lips slightly. What if I just... I bend over and pull his cock free from the confines of his underwear and immediately take the head of his cock into my mouth. His body half-recoils and half-pushes forward, his hand going straight for my hair. "Fuck!" he groans, unable to resist sliding his hips forward. I hum on his cock, taking him a little deeper as I bob back and forth. I hear him say "This is so fucked up" to himself, but he's not stopping me. So, I'm not stopping. No fucking way am I stopping. I pull off slightly and grab his hips, motioning for him to lie down. When he does, I pull his jeans down mid-thigh before reaching over to hold Dean's cock up. It's so much better than Ivan's. Ivan has him beat on length for sure, but Dean's is beautiful, dark, and thick. Mouth-watering, really. It even makes my hole twitch. Not wanting to waste too much time, I go back to practically gobbling on his manhood. His hand is back on my head, his fingers combing through my hair as he watches me do my work. I glance up at him once, but I don't want to make him uncomfortable, so I focus on the task at hand, closing my eyes and showing him how much I enjoy this. I want to show off a bit. I want him to know what he's been missing, so I hold his cock up and take him into my throat, using just those muscles. He grunts, swearing and raising his hips. That's when he starts using me. I feel his hand on the back of my head as he holds me down on his dick and fucks my mouth. In and out, short rapid thrusts. I'm making a mess with my spit, and I'm gagging, and I'm dizzy from the lack of oxygen, but God, I am so turned on from how dominant he's gotten. And, like with the snap of a finger, he's sweet again. He pulls my hair to get me off of his cock, and I wince but moan slightly and then gasp for air, choking slightly on my saliva. "Christ, Stevie," Dean says, wiping my spit off of my face with his knuckles. "You okay?" "Yeah," I say, laughing. "I think I got carried away--" "You're good," I say, looking up at him. "I promise." He bites his lip a bit as if debating, but I make the decision for him. I use my lips to guide his cock back into my mouth and continue working him over. I reach into my own jeans and pull myself out as well, jerking fast as I bob. I use my tongue, suck hard, work him with my throat... I give him the full treatment, and he's loving it. I'm loving it. Who knew your brothers cock could feel so nice in your mouth? And as I work harder and relish in the moment, I'm anticipating my goal: a thick load of cum. "Stevie," Dean says after a minute. His hips are raising, and I take that as a sign: he's close. He repeats my name again, but I ignore it, taking him deep. He moans out and then pushes me off of his cock. "Damn it, Stevie, stop," he says. He sounds almost offended. I look up at him. "What?" "I almost fuckin' came," he says, gripping his cock hard at the base. "So?" I'm confused. Is that not the point of this? "Just cum in my mouth," I say. He blinks, looking at me. "Seriously?" "Yes, seriously." He looks surprised. Then he smirks, ever so slightly. "Damn, when Mom and Dad find out their golden kid is a total slut they'll--" I roll my eyes. "Shut the fuck up, Dean." I slap his hand off of his cock and take over, sucking on the top half and stroking the base eagerly. "Jesu--" He grunts, fingers in my hair again as I suck almost furiously. No one's stopping me from getting what I want this time. I need his cum. I fucking need it. And finally, I get what I've been waiting for. Dean tells me "I'm gonna blow" and then, a few seconds later, he's flooding my mouth with the biggest load I've ever received. It's thick and delicious and I instantly cum on the sheets as soon as I taste it. I swallow it down quickly, moaning between gulps, but I can't get it all. It's just too much. I have to pull off. As soon as my lips leave his cock he shoots another rope of cum at my face, right across the left lens of my glasses and probably a little in my hair, before I target it away from me. He reaches down to take over and jerk out the rest, which gives me a moment to catch my breath. I swallow again before I hesitantly look up at him. Now that we've both gotten off, the sexual tension is cleared. This is reality now. And there's no "I was on drugs" excuse to fall back on this time. We have to accept that we've seriously crossed a boundary with pretty clear minds. Dean just pants a bit, catching his breath as we stare at each other. I bite my lip a bit, sitting up on my heels and looking down at the sheets between his legs. That just happened. We just did that. Of course I know what I'm thinking, but what's on Dean's mind? What thoughts are running through his head? When I look up at him again, he's still staring at me. And then, slowly, he starts to smile. "B motherfuckin' plus," he says slowly. And I burst out laughing.