Date: Wed, 7 Nov 2018 00:03:31 -0500 From: RJ Subject: Brothers at Arms Chapter 4 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 4 ~ "No, I just mean... I just mean that you guys seem different. That's all." My mom glances back at us as if expecting a response. I just shrug. Dean, who's sitting right behind her, speaks up. "You keep saying that, but you're not telling us HOW we seem different." "I don't know," she says, finding it difficult to explain, apparently. "There's just less bad energy in the house." "So I was bad energy, is what you're trying to say," Dean challenges. "Don't start, Dean," my dad warns, and I can see my mom rolling her eyes in the rearview mirror as she drives. Only I seem to be able to tell that he's kidding. "All I'm saying," she says, clearly practicing patience, "is that feels like you two are more or less getting along lately." She sneaks a glance back at me. "Am I wrong?" No, Mom, you're not wrong. All week, Dean and I have gotten along exceedingly well. I think back on just last night. Mom and Dad weren't home, so Dean whipped out his stash of alcohol and we played videogames all night in the living room, drinking and laughing and joking until it sparked again. All I was doing was grabbing the controller from him to put it away when he grabbed me and pulled me on top of him on the couch. I was dizzy from the alcohol and was trying my best to focus and keep up with him, but I couldn't help but be surprised. Not because he initiated it; Dean was always the initiator, almost every single time (except for one instance where I was desperate for his cum and straight up asked him if I could suck his cock) and usually at very unexpected times. I was surprised where his hands were going. First, on the back of my head. Fine. Then, on my side. Sure, he does that plenty. Then, on my ass. Okay. A little out of the ordinary but he's grabbed my ass before. But then, his hand went right into my pants. Right into my underwear. Maybe five seconds after his fingers were rubbing at my hole I finally realized "Holy shit. Dean is touching me there. He's never touched me there before." And then, as if to surprise me further, his other hand went to my crotch for the first time. As we sloppily kissed, he slid his other hand in between us and groped me down below for a bit before finding his way into my underwear. When his fingers wrapped around my dick (already hard from him playing with my ass), I moaned so loudly. And I was so lightheaded and overwhelmed that I thought I had cum just from that. It'd been so long since someone held my dick, and after Dean's prior refusal to touch me, this was a welcome surprise. We both hurried to get our cocks out and stroked each other while we almost aggressively made out until we both shot loads all over one of his old band t-shirts. He laughed for a full minute to himself, and I stared at him in confusion. What was so funny? I just attributed it to him being drunk before he said "Nice dick, little bro." That got me laughing too. It wasn't even funny, what he said. But something about his stupid drawl and that sloshed grin on his face got me nonstop giggling. I collapsed on him and we laughed until we fell asleep like that. (I don't think Mom and Dad saw us when they got home, thank the high heavens). The events of last night still catch me off guard when I think about them. All week, it had been just two things: making out (which has always struck me as strange that he likes kissing me so much), and me sucking his cock. Sure, Dean would touch me every now and then, but only my ass if I had clothes on, and he'd never go near my cock. Not until last night. Maybe it was the alcohol in him. Even though we're closer than ever, he's still pretty closed off at times. And I'm noticing a trend: him getting fucked up means I potentially get glimpses of what he really wants. I wonder what he'll admit next time. I wonder what he'll DO next time. "Hello? Anybody gonna answer me?" I blink, Mom having interrupted my reminiscing. I glance over at Dean, who's smirking at me slightly before he shrugs. "You're not wrong, Mom," I assure her. We had just gone out for dinner to celebrate Dad's birthday. Unofficially, Dean and I were also celebrating the first time we've gone out in public without verbally or physically attacking each other. It's been a good night overall, but I'm dreading the amount of homework I have to catch up on. Mom pulls into the driveway and we all head up into the house. I plan everything in my head: take a nice shower, get ready for bed, and then hit the books until I collapse. I head to my room first to grab some clothes before heading to the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth. Once finished, I pull on some cozy sweatpants and a t-shirt and then step out of the bathroom. Dean corners me before I even make it to my bedroom door. "Why'd you lock the door?" he asks. "Huh?" "The door was locked." "Because I was using the bathroom?" I say with a slight laugh. "I don't lock the door when I'm in there," he says. "I always locked the door. You know, in case you try something," I point out. "I WAS going to try something," he says with a slight grin, and I get a little hard from just his look and his tone and his implications. "Well, you scarred me for life after you wore that Scream mask," I say, remembering how terrified I was when he wore a Scream mask and snuck up on me in the shower when I was little. He laughs. "Oh come on. That was forever ago." "Still." "You don't trust me now?" "No," I say with a smile. He grins. "Whatever. Come downstairs with me." "I have homework," I say, pointing to my room. "No, you're coming downstairs," he says decidedly. "Basement. Five minutes." And with that, he heads into his room and shuts the door. I'm a little reluctant, but if we're going to the basement, that means he probably has something on the guitar he wants to show me. So I head downstairs as instructed, but when I get to the basement, he's not there. "Dean?" I look around, and just when I think he's about to pull some shit (maybe pop out and scare me), I hear the door upstairs open and shut. He comes bounding down the stairs, wearing sweats and a tank top. "Sup, dork?" he says, looking me up and down before skipping the last few steps and coming over to me. "Um. You tell me. You're the one who told me to--" He cuts me off by kissing me. I recoil at first, thinking he's about to punch me. But he quickly sneaks a hand around my back and holds me in place, so when his lips press deeper against mine, I don't fall. Then, once I realize what's happening, I relax, feeling him grab onto me tighter. He breaks the kiss and then immediately starts pulling at my shirt. "Take this shit off," he says, pulling it over my head. Before I can even adjust my glasses, he's stripping me down more, pulling my sweats and then my underwear down to my ankles. He has me step out of them and then stands up, grinning at my naked body. "Better," he says. I feel all exposed all of a sudden. I haven't been naked in front of him like this before, so I start to blush -- especially when he grips my cock and gives it a few good strokes. I moan out, putting my hands on his chest. Then he lets go. He smoothly takes off his tank top and then steps out of his sweatpants, his own cock hanging heavily between his legs. I lick my lips a bit. He grabs himself, giving it a few good tugs and then rubbing it against my own dick before he puts a hand on my shoulder and guides me to my knees. Here we are again. My favorite place to be right now. I lick my lips again, making sure they're nice and wet before I reach up to grab his cock. "Nuh uh," he says, quickly wrapping his fingers around my wrist and holding my hand away from his crotch. "Mouth only." Yes, sir. I open my mouth slightly and guide his member in with my tongue. I look up at him as I take his soft, thick cock into my mouth and suck. I let my tongue swirl teasingly around his head, and gradually, he gets stiffer and stiffer until his cock is at its peak. I don't dare pull off. He lets go of my wrist finally and then focuses on my hair, playing with it while I bob back and forth. I slurp on his cock, drooling all over it. My mouth won't stop salivating, but I'm sure he doesn't mind. As I push in deeper and guide him into my throat, he groans, whispering "Fuck yeah, Stevie." Then, his grip on my head gets a little tighter. He moves his hand to the back of my head and starts thrusting his hips -- slowly at first, but then he speeds up and adds a decent bit of force. He adds a second hand, pulling me down on his cock with both of his hands now, and I grip his thighs for support. He's as deep as he can get. Holy fuck. I can't breathe. But God, I love having him in my mouth. In my throat. I've never taken a dick as deep as this before. My lips are kissing his balls and my nose is pressed firmly into his thin bush. Instead of pulling me off completely, he pulls me back but then brings me right back down, over and over, making me take him in longer strides. I definitely gag a few times as I gasp for the tiniest bit of air, totally overwhelmed. Eventually, he over-calculates his stride -- his cock slips out of my mouth and when he thrusts forward, his wet cock just slides up my face, knocking my glasses askew. He chuckles slightly, and as I catch my much-needed breath, I start pulling my glasses off. "No, leave those on," he says. "You look cute in them." If I could get any redder, I probably would. "You're gonna break them." "I'll be nice," he says, taking his cock and rubbing it gently over my face. When the head gets to my lips, and when my breathing has somewhat returned to normal, I part them slightly and let him sink in. True to his word, he's gentler. He guides me back and forth but at a much more manageable pace, which allows me to get into it more. I can add suction, or work my tongue in a more focused manner, and he moans deeply and softly. Then he pulls out of my mouth quickly, bringing me up to my feet. I don't even get a chance to swallow the spit that had accumulated in my mouth but he doesn't care. His tongue dives right in and we share a sloppy, almost rough sort of kiss. I grab onto him and he grips me a little harder in response. I let my fingers scratch down his back and he moans against my mouth, reaching down to slap my ass. I let out a little yelp against his mouth, and then moan when he grips that same cheek and shakes it. "Get on the couch," he says after breaking the kiss. I don't know how he wants me, so I just sit on the couch. He has no problem maneuvering me how he wants me: knees on the cushion, hands on the top of the couch, ass sticking out. My heart starts racing. This is new. And he's sober, right? I didn't taste any alcohol on him. His lips find my neck and I moan a little, tilting my head to bare more for him. He slowly works his way down, and my cock throbs a little more with every inch that he goes lower. Oh my God. This is happening. He's doing it. Please don't let it be a trick, please. I feel his hands on my ass again, and they spread my cheeks. "Damn, Stevie," he says, and I feel his thumb rub against my hole. I let out a little moan, my fingers gripping the couch tightly. And then, his tongue. Oh God, his tongue. So wet, and warm, and strong. There's no tentativeness on his part. He's clearly not having second thoughts. He went in with purpose, and with intention, eating me out like he's been doing this to me for years. My eyes flutter and roll so much that I almost give myself a headache, and I try to focus. He has so much control over his tongue. Every movement around my hole is precise, as if he knows exactly what to do to me, and I open up for him easily, letting him slip his tongue inside of me. My toes curl and my fingers are getting sore from gripping the couch so tightly but God it feels so good. It's making my dick drool. A long string of precum hangs from the tip. I knew he'd be good at this. I just knew. What I didn't know is HOW good he is. No wonder he's so popular with the ladies. When he pulls away, I'm practically shivering with pleasure, and I run my fingers through my hair before looking back at him. He's standing up behind me, one hand on my hip. He spits into his other hand and coats his cock with it. Is this really about to happen? He's not going to ask me if I want to get fucked (even we all know the answer is a billboard-worthy "Hell Fucking Yes")? He's not going to grab lube or anything? It's been a while for me. Sure, I use my fingers a lot when I masturbate, and if I'm in the mood, I do have a toy. But that doesn't compare to the real thing. Especially Dean's. But then I feel his head against my hole and without a word, he pushes forward. I wince, grinding my teeth together as he pushes through my ring. "Goddamn," Dean groans, holding onto both of my hips now as he slowly pushes forward. Wow. Wow wow wow, Dean feels bigger than I thought. I feel like I'm being stretched to my damn limits, and I let out a whimper. It's higher-pitched than I would have liked but I can't help it. He feels so huge inside me. And just when I think I can't take anymore, when I've reached capacity, he has more for me. He just keeps inching in deeper. "Fucking Christ," I groan, my body trying to pull away. Dean keeps me in place, though. "How much is left?" Dean just laughs. "Couple inches," he says, giving my ass a little pat before easing himself in further. My eyes are watering. It hurts, that's for sure, but I'm anticipating what comes after the pain: the bliss. The utter fucking bliss. "Spit on it more," I beg, and he does so without complaint, pausing his pursuit of taking me over to add a little saliva to his cock. I feel him pull back slightly before his fingers start rubbing around his shaft and the outside of my hole. Then he continues. Slowly and surely. And soon, sooner than I anticipated, I feel his hips press into my ass. Dean lets out a long sigh. "That's it, baby," he says, rubbing my back. One of his arms slides around the front of me to pull me up. He holds my back against his torso, his arm around my torso and his hand pressing lightly around my neck in a gently-domineering sort of grip. I'm trembling. Take me, Dean. Fucking take me. "Are you crying?" he asks, wiping away a tear with his free hand. "Sorry," I say. "Am I hurting you?" Even the little bit of concern in his voice makes me want to cum. "You're just so big." I hear him chuckle in my ear, and he breathes me in a bit. "You can't handle it?" I swallow, feeling my Adam's apple shift against his hand. "I can handle it." His fingers press on either side of my neck, lightly restricting blood flow as his other hand slides down my torso and grips my cock. He teases the wet head of my cock with his fingertips. I let out a shaky, high-pitched moan, my lower body twitching. "You sure?" I can even hear the grin in his voice. "Y-yes," I say, trying so hard not to moan. "Positive?" He's teasing me, and I hate it. I'm too overwhelmed by his hand on my throat, and his fingers on my cock, and his own member stuffed inside me. His calm, deep, teasing voice in my ear is not making anything easier. "Just fuck me." "What's that?" "Fuck me!" I say with a whine. Dean just laughs before kissing the side of my head and then letting go of my throat. He pushes me back into the original position, his hands on my hips as he pulls back a couple inches. I moan out at the pull-back, gasping for breath. And then, when he sharply thrusts forward again, I let out a grunted moan. Then again. And another one. Over and over until Dean starts to find a rhythm. My hole is clamped tight on his cock, and very gradually I start to accommodate him a little better. I relax. The pain starts to subside, and though it's still there, the better sensations take over. I arch my back a bit as Dean speeds up, really getting into it now. He lifts a leg on the couch to get even deeper as he penetrates me, and I'm a moaning mess. I can't even hear him over myself. I can't tell if he's making any noises. All I know is that my big brother is deep inside me, ramming my ass, and I am fucking loving it. I reach between my legs and stroke my cock, trying to time it with his thrusts. When I get it in sync, I'm already close. I'm already so close. And then Dean speaks up. "Can I cum in you?" I almost black out from those words. So soon? Or am I totally losing track of time? Then again, I'm right on the edge. "Yeah," I say. "Yes." But I'm already there. I'm right there. I bite on my lip hard and clench my eyes shut as it builds and builds until I finally cum. I let out the moan I've been holding in, spewing my load right on the couch, breathing heavily. Dean is saying something. I think he's cursing, but I can't hone in on the words. All I feel is him pressing deep. I can feel him cumming inside of me. God, it feels so hot. I vaguely hear him grunting but I'm so dizzy from the sex and my orgasm that I have to focus on breathing. In, out. In, out. Dean leans over and presses his forehead against the back of my neck. "Christ, Stevie," he says breathlessly, laughing a little. He bites my shoulder before standing up and pulling out of me. I let out a slight whine, looking back at him as he spreads my cheeks, studying my freshly fucked hole. I wonder if I'm leaking any cum. I'm so numb down there that I probably wouldn't be able to feel it. That is, that's what I thought -- until he runs his thumb across my hole. I moan from the sensitivity, pulling away quickly, and he just chuckles. "Sorry." He gives my ass a little pat. "Your pussy okay?" "Shut up," I say softly, still very much out of breath. "Really, though, you good?" he asks a little more softly. I glance back at him and smile slightly. "Yeah." "Good." He bends over to grab his sweatpants. "Y'know, I didn't actually bring you down here to fuck you," he says with a laugh. "I just wanted to show you a song I've been working on." I roll my eyes slightly. "But instead..." He grins a little to himself. "I didn't realize how horny I was 'til I saw you." That almost makes me laugh. Dean has proven himself to be the horniest guy I know. He even admitted that if he's not having sex, he's jacking off. "But whatever." He pulls on his sweatpants (I hadn't even noticed he wasn't wearing underwear) and then heads over to the back of the basement to grab his guitar. As he does, I put all my clothes back on and then lie down on the floor, exhausted. Dean comes over and sits on the couch (on the side opposite to the one I came all over), clearing his throat a bit. "What's it called?" I ask. "Not sure yet," he says. "I'm stuck on one of the verses, and the end." He pulls out his phone to pull up his lyrics. "But I've got a little down. Just curious what you think." I watch him as he starts to play. He's become a little more "fancy" with some of his guitar work with his last couple songs, but this one is a mellow, simple strummer with beautifully sad chords. He sings softly through the first verse, and the chorus has him singing in falsetto. Something about how his voice wavers while he sings "God gave up and I gave in" instantly makes me want to cry. After two minutes or so, he cuts himself off in the middle of a verse. "Nope, I don't like that bit," he mutters to himself. "That was beautiful," I say. He glances at me. "Really?" "I almost started crying at the chorus." Dean laughs. "Well, you're a pussy." "Fuck off," I say, sitting up. "Can I see the lyrics?" "Uh. Sure." He tosses me his phone and I catch it, scrolling through what he has typed up. Just as I suspected. Most of the time when I listen to Dean, it's not really about the lyrics. I'll catch a few lines at a time, but I'm so drawn in by his voice and his play style that the words have rarely mattered to me. But lately, I'm picking up on some things. Namely, the nature of his lyrics. They seem personal, emotional, and above all, sad. "Are you okay?" I find myself asking him. Dean stops fucking around on the guitar and looks at me. "Huh?" "It's just that... I don't know. These lyrics are kinda dark, right?" He shrugs. "I don't know. It's not any different than my other stuff," he says. "I wouldn't say they're 'dark'." "Well, they're not happy." "I don't know what to tell you, dude," he says, draping his arms over the guitar. "Are you just now realizing that I'm fucked up?" Something about his playful tone in this situation doesn't sit right. "It's not cool to be fucked up, you know." He rolls his eyes, the playful tone evaporating instantly. "What would you know?" he asks before picking up the guitar again and strumming random chords. I just sigh. "All I'm saying is that your lyrics seem sad." "Maybe music is a coping mechanism," he says, glancing at me. "Ever think about that?" "So what are you coping for?" He stops playing, groaning. "Stevie--" "I'm just asking if you're okay," I say quickly, before he can get mad. "You've been here for me, and... I don't know. I try to do the same for you. But you don't tell me much." He stares at me for a while as if trying to decide whether or not to trust me. Then, he just says "I know" before plucking a few strings. I bite my lip a bit. "Dean--" "You don't need to worry about me, Stevie," he says firmly. "I'm fine." Not good enough. No one is this invulnerable or holds back their emotions so intently for no reason. I know I shouldn't keep pestering, but I can't stop myself from trying to think of possible causes. Is it school? No, that'd be too silly for him. It must be something personal. Did something happen? It would have had to happen forever ago -- he's been like this for too long. Maybe he's depressed? Or something? I don't know. Maybe he's right. What the hell do I know? I have a slight idea, but I'm nervous to ask. "If I ask you something, can you promise me you won't get mad?" He looks at me. "Probably means you shouldn't ask it." "Please?" He stares before shaking his head. "Fine. Ask." "Are you... Are you gay or something?" It could somewhat explain things, right? Why he's detached from our extended family (who are extremely conservative). Why he's so easily triggered by the word "faggot" unless he's the one saying it. Why he's almost secretive about a lot of his true feelings. His answer is immediate. "No," he says, almost defensively, making a weird face. Then his expression softens. "I don't know. Maybe a little," he says, which surprises me. Now we're getting somewhere. But then he looks at me, his face hardened again. "But that's not relevant." "So that's not why you're sad?" "Who the hell says I'm sad?" "Uh, your songs do," I say, holding up his phone. He rolls his eyes. "Are people not allowed to write sad songs sometimes?" "ALL their songs?" "Maybe I get sad every now and then," he says, leaning over to snatch his phone out of my hand. He's getting frustrated. "But I'm fucking fine." "It doesn't sound like it." "God, Stevie, are you my fuckin' therapist?" he says, snapping quickly. "Just shut the fuck up about shit you don't know about. It's none of your fuckin' business and you're not that fuckin' smart." He must notice my surprised expression because he breathes and then calms down. "I'm sorry." "I just wanna help," I say meekly. I know I'm being stupid. Interrogating him isn't the way to get answers from Dean, and I know better. But I'm so desperate to be close to him. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, alright?" He sighs heavily, looking in my direction. "I'm really not a bad guy." "I know, Dean," I say honestly. There's just a lot going on, clearly. He stares at his guitar in his lap for a long time before he speaks up again. "I was never a good kid, you know," he says. "For no reason. I was just a terrible kid." I've heard the stories. Dean would get into constant trouble (that he almost always caused) ever since he was little. There were so many tantrums and fights and incidents that my dad eventually just dubbed him as "the bad seed." "And then when you came along, ever since you could form fuckin' words, it's all been about you. You you you. And it didn't help that you were so naturally fuckin' gifted and I couldn't do shit. I wasn't good at being good. I wasn't good at anything." He looks at me now, and I know I would have felt uncomfortable had he not been speaking at a steady, relaxed pace this whole time. "I mean, I've had to work for everything, Stevie. I've had to fight for everything." "I know," I start to say. "No, Stevie, you don't. No offense, but you don't know shit," he says. "When has anyone ever told you you're not good enough for something?" I feel offended at his assumption, but when I think about it, I can't recall a single instance. I just shrug. "All my life, all anyone tells me is that I'm not good enough. That I'm never gonna get anywhere. That I'm a fuck up." I wince slightly, feeling bad for having called him that a while back. "So yeah, you're right. I am fuckin' sad. I'm fuckin' sad, and I'm fuckin' angry all the time, and the only way for me to... I don't know, get it out of my system? The only way is to fight. Or..." He taps his guitar. In retrospect, I should have guessed that this is why he's such an angry person. At the very least, I should have known why I've been a target of his for so long. All the signs have been blatantly obvious, and I just never connected the dots. I've been openly called the golden child, even with Dean in the same room, and I would just smile smugly at him without realizing the damage words can cause. Especially if he's always been easily angered. It's easy to say "Oh, he's always been like this," (or, our relatives' favorite: "God made him this way"), but none of us really helped him veer off that path. In fact, we encouraged it by basically forsaking him. I'm certain he inherited that predisposition from our mom. She was like that too, but she grew out of it (mostly). If Dean has proper support, he can too, right? "I..." I stop. What do I say? Do I apologize? I feel like I have a lot to apologize for. Plus there's so much I want to say. I want to tell him that I understand why he's angry. That we all fucked up. That I worry about him. That I don't want him to hurt, or believe those things. I want to tell him that he's talented, really fucking talented, and that he should pursue this as far as it goes. But my tongue just can't seem to form the words. "You don't have to say anything," Dean says as if reading my mind. "But I--" "Seriously," he says, holding his hand up. "I'm just ranting. We're cool." He smiles slightly, which makes me feel a little better. Then he sits up, setting his guitar to the side. "Don't know about you, but I've had enough real talk for a fuckin' night. C'mon," he says, standing up and holding out his hand. I grab it and let him pull me to my feet. "Hope you're ready to get your ass kicked in Mario Kart," he says with a grin, and I laugh, following him upstairs and into the living room, forgetting about homework for tonight. I feel like we've made new ground. And over the next few days, I pay even more attention to how our parents act towards him, or people at school, just to see how they view him. It's interesting because I used to see him the same way they did: as mean, and no good, and blah blah blah. But now that we've addressed his lyrics and broken that ice a bit, he's more open to talking about his feelings. Or at least acknowledging them. There are still hints of resistance to being vulnerable, but I can see the walls starting to come down over the next month or so. He's less apt to shrug me off or tell me to fuck off if I ask him something a little more personal, and I do the same for him. We act like actual brothers finally, in the sense that we're mutually there for each other (disregarding the very un-brotherly fact that we're still very much fucking regularly). Everything just feels right. Mom and I get home one afternoon after shopping (she took me out to get some new clothes and we went grocery shopping on the way home). We lug as many bags as we each can carry inside, but there are still plenty more in the car. As Mom sets her bags on the counter, she sighs, looking at my dad, who's messing with some of the Christmas decorations around the kitchen. The holidays are just around the corner, and Dad's been a little too excited about decorating the whole house. "Where's Dean?" she asks. "He should be helping." Dean and I both know that when Mom (or, usually, Dad) comes home from the supermarket, it's our duty to drop everything and help bring in and put away all the groceries. "Upstairs with his girlfriend," Dad says nonchalantly, adjusting a Santa figurine until it's in perfect position. Both my mom and I pause for a moment, considering what my father just said. We glance at each other, both looking confused. Girlfriend? What girlfriend? "Who?" my mom asks. Dad shrugs. "I don't know. I think her name is Johanna or something." He says it so casually, as if this isn't a huge deal. Although, to him, it probably isn't. "Since when does Dean have a girlfriend?" my mom asks, looking at me now. She noticed Dean and I have gotten closer. We talked about it a lot while we were out. Maybe she thinks I'd have some insider info, but I've got nothing. Zip. I'm just as blindsided as she is. Again, Dad shrugs. "Apparently they've been dating for a few weeks." "Is this a joke?" My mom, intrigued by the news, starts pestering Dad for as much information as he can dish, but all he knows is that she's staying for dinner. I'm barely listening to them. Dean has had a girlfriend for a few weeks? And didn't tell me? And the thing is, our "routine" hasn't exactly been put on hold for this new girl. Hell, I still have a load of his cum inside my ass from him fucking me just a few hours ago. I wonder how things will change now. He brought her home and obviously introduced her to Dad. Maybe he was just "talking" to her before, and now they're serious. Maybe this is his way of saying "Sorry, Stevie, but we're done. I've got someone else to fuck now." The three of us handle the rest of the groceries, and while Dad starts planning out what he wants to cook, I head upstairs, still thinking about Dean and this mystery girl. Is she his type? What even is his type? Now that I think about it, when it comes to sex, Dean's type is just Girl. But anything romantic? No idea. I've never known him to "date." He's never brought anyone to the house (at least, not to introduce to Mom and Dad). This is a first. Maybe that's why this upsets me so much. Because it must actually be serious. Before I get to my room, the bathroom door swings open. And out comes a girl. "Oh!" she says in surprise, clutching her chest and then laughing. "You scared me." Then, she looks at me, seeming to recognize me after a few moments. "You must be Stevie, right?" I look at her. Irritatingly enough, she's very pretty. Just a hint above plain in terms of her facial features, but her skin is perfect, her hair is practically radiant, and she's got a flawless set of teeth. And her body is more or less a knockout. I'm sure I'd go for her like any normal straight guy would if I wasn't pining for her boyfriend. "Yeah," I say, a little dumbfounded too. She's too... well, "nice" looking. She looks like the generically good-girl type. Sweet. Well-behaved. Maybe even Catholic for all I know. To me, it doesn't seem strange that Dean would try to "corrupt" a girl like this. But for him to actually land one and openly call her his girlfriend? I'm surprised. "I've been dying to meet you. Dean talks about you, like, all the time." I blink. "Oh God." Dean talks about me? What does he say? She laughs a cute little giggle. "Don't worry, nothing bad," she confirms, though why would Dean be talking about me at all? I know we're closer than ever, but that still seems unlike him. "I find it sweet, honestly." "Find what sweet?" I ask, but just then, Dean's bedroom door opens. He glances down the hall at us, poking his head out. I notice he's shirtless. "The fuck you two talkin' about?" he asks. Before waiting for a response, he gestures to his girlfriend. "C'mon." She just rolls her eyes but smiles at me before heading back to Dean. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she says as he urges her to hurry up, and I hear her giggle before Dean tugs her into his room and shuts the door without so much a second glance at me. I find myself in an irritable mood during dinner. The five of us sit around the table and enjoy Dad's meal, and most of the conversation is centered around Dean's new squeeze (whose name is Joey, we find out). I hate that she's so genuinely nice. I'm annoyed by the fact that she's not annoying. I despise her for having no faults that I can easily pick out -- a fault other than her ability to so easily capture Dean's attention. I can tell that they fucked before dinner. Dean has that post-sex glaze in his eye that I've come to know so well over the past month. He even has a hickey, just barely peeking past the collar of his t-shirt. Weirdly enough, it infuriates me. But the thing that I hate most is that she's so similar to me. She's just an older, female version of me. I hadn't really picked up on that until my Dad said something. "Just like Stevie," he pointed out after Dean said Joey's near the top of her class. Once my dad made that statement, I started to make all other sorts of connections. We're both good at school. We both dress a little nerdier (though, on girls, it's admittedly more stylish). We both have nearly the same interests. Same temperament. Same humor (from what I can tell). Same weird ticks (like chewing on our lips more than normal). The only difference is that she still plays soccer -- but still, it's the same damn sport I used to play. It seems oddly coincidental (uncanny, even) that we have so many similarities. And the rational part of me keeps saying "Jesus Christ, will you relax? You're probably exaggerating." But that part is too small for me to care to listen right now. I'd rather be angry. Dad's the only one who notices my mood. "You okay, kiddo?" Everyone turns to me, Dean included. We make eye contact for a short second before even he looks away. I just force a smile. "Just not feeling super hungry." He must know how I feel. At least a little. Otherwise, he would have at least mentioned her. Right? He's normally so confrontational, all about "No bullshit" and not playing games. This just feels so unlike him, cutting things off with me in such a backhanded way. But then again, why am I getting so upset over this? He's his own person. He's allowed to date who he wants. Him and I, we're just having sex. And I'm his brother for Christ's sake. We already crossed one boundary, but it's not like I'm in love with him or something. ...Right? As we finish up dinner and I head back to my room, I'm very much aware of the fact that I could be overreacting. Or misinterpreting things. But whether or not I am, I'm still upset. And I think the real reason is that I don't want someone taking my time with Dean away. I hear it all the time at school: "Man, ever since my buddy got a girlfriend/boyfriend, I never see 'em!" That's a recurring theme. New relationships seem to soak up every last bit of free time someone has. I don't want that to happen with us, especially since we've finally gotten so close. Later, I'm in bed playfully thinking up ways to ruin their relationship when I hear a knock on my door. Then it swings open, and Dean's voice follows. "Yo, you awake?" I had heard them walking by my door earlier. He was walking her out. Maybe now he'll want to talk about whatever's going on. "Yeah," I say, rolling over and facing him. "Cool." He flicks the lights on and I recoil, squinting my eyes shut. "Jesus fuck-- Turn that off." "Seriously?" He flicks the lights off, laughing. "I can't see dick in here." "Good," I say, groaning slightly. As I rub my eyes, he comes over and turns on the much softer bedside lamp. "Better?" he asks. I nod. "Sure." I blink a few times before glancing up at him. He sits down on the edge of my bed just as I sit up. What's he going to say? Will it be an apology? Or a simple explanation? Or something like, "This is how it's gonna be now"? It's none of those. I figured we were going to talk, but Dean leans in and kisses me. Like always, it's sudden and without any sort of warning. And I almost melt right into the kiss like I usually do, but I stop myself, pushing him back. "Wait, wait," I say, wiping my lips. "What's going on?" He looks at me with genuine confusion. "What?" "What are you doing?" "The fuck does it look like I'm doing?" he says with a grin, gripping my leg through my sheets. But then he notices my face. "What's wrong?" I blink. So is this what he wants to do? How is he just going to bring a girl home unannounced and then fuck around with me a few hours later? Does he not care about Joey? That's a little fucked up, isn't it? But then again... What do I care? This is what I want, is it not? Arguing will only distance us again. And this isn't something I want to give up. So without overthinking it, I just swallow. "Nothing," I say. "Okay," he says, looking slightly amused before he leans in again. I meet him halfway and press my lips to his. As the kiss gets deeper and more intense by the second, Dean starts getting onto the bed and climbing over me. But I have other ideas. I use all my force to push him back. Our lips separate and he sits back on the center of my bed with his eyebrow cocked. That is, until I straddle him and push him onto his back. He grins slightly, watching me quickly take my shirt off. I stand up over him on the bed, hastening to remove my underwear. I toss it at his face and he laughs as I get into the position I want to be in: on his chest, ass on display right in front of his face. Eat it, Big D. I hear him hum a bit and feel his hands slide up my back before he pulls me up closer to his face to give him better access. "You're lucky I'm still hungry," he says. Then I feel that glorious tongue of his, and I forget all about the girlfriend situation. We have to keep relatively quiet, though. Our parents' room is right next door to mine, so I use every bit of effort to keep any noises to myself. I arch my back and sit up slightly as he goes in, grinding my ass against his mouth as he gives me long, deep swipes of his tongue. Then, he starts to work his magic and really starts eating me out. I bite on my lip hard to keep from moaning too loudly, but with the way he's going, with how deep his tongue is starting to get, I'm nervous I'll make too much noise. In the interest of distracting myself, I bend over and press my face into his crotch. He's wearing boxer briefs, and I find myself nuzzling into his cock, feeling his hardness, inhaling his scent, my hole twitching against his tongue as I breathe in that familiarity. I tease his cock slightly, pulling the waistband down just to expose the head, which is oozing a little pool of precum. I slurp it up and just suck lightly on the head, letting my tongue swirl around it and coax out a few more drops. Dean moans between my cheeks, getting daring enough to give my ass a firm slap that echoes throughout the room. I can't wait any longer. I need him inside me again, for the second time today. I pull away from his face and slide down his body, pulling his underwear off as I move. Once his drawers are on the floor, I press my ass right against his cock, grinding deeply and feeling his shaft rub nicely against my wet hole. He reaches down to grip his cock and slaps it repeatedly against my cheeks. I reach back and spread them, letting him pat his shaft right on my wet little pucker before his movements get a little more insistent. As he holds his cock up for, I raise myself up and then start lowering myself down slowly on his dick. I slide all the way down at a decent pace, digging my nails into his thighs as I'm filled up yet again. I would have thought I'd be used to it by now, but still, even after a month of semi-regular sex, it's still tough at the beginning. I quickly push through the pain though, sinking down until he's fully inside me. He grips my hips and groans quietly, letting me ride him how I want to. I grind deep before slowly lifting myself up and then bucking back down on it. He grunts and laughs slightly as I do it again and again, taking him hard and deep. I vary the pace, sometimes going slow, making sure he gets a good eyeful of the penetration. But mostly, I go moderately fast, panting as I bounce up and down on that dick that fits so well inside of me. It hits all the right places. Like my body was made for it. "Turn around," he says after a while, so I do so. I pull off and then straddle him again, facing him this time. But before I can get him back inside me, he switches the position wrestler-style, smoothly getting me onto my back and pinning me down. With my legs spread around him, he adjusts his hips and targets his cock without using his hands. Then, he slams right in. All the way. I let out a loud moan, and he covers my mouth as he pounds me, not letting up. He's rough with it. He just mounts me and takes me. Thank God I have a stable bed. I close my eyes, my cock as solid as it's ever been. I can barely move in this position. I'm at his mercy. When I open my eyes, I see he's looking down at me as he works his hips at a consistent, fast pace. He lets go of my mouth to press his hand against the wall behind me for added support. This gives him a slightly better angle, and I moan as softly as possible, arching my back as he hits my spot over and over and over again. I find myself staring at him. His eyes are now closed as he enjoys how I feel inside, and how he feels inside me. His mouth is slightly open and he lets out small grunts and moans every so often. He's so hot. So fucking hot. But then I see the hickey, just above his collarbone. I reach out and run my fingers over it, trying to trace it with my index finger. When I look up at Dean, he's grinning slightly. As if he knows what I'm thinking. I don't know what comes over me, but I get a surge of irritation and anger that turns physical. I hit him. I slap him, right across his damn face. Not terribly hard, mind you -- but more than enough to make him flinch in surprise and stop moving his hips altogether. He might be more surprised at the fact that I did something like that. It's definitely something out of character. I feel so fucking embarrassed. And shocked at what came over me. "Sorry, I--" "Shhh," he says, grinning and then kissing me. It's a quick, dirty, mostly-tongue kiss before he pulls back up, looking down at me. I reach up and rub his cheek where I slapped him, and he nuzzles his face into it like a cat. Then, I guess it's his turn to do something unexpected. He smoothly takes my thumb into his mouth and sucks on it in a way that makes my dick throb. It doesn't last more than three seconds, but it's enough to make me realize how close I am to cumming. Just as he pulls away and starts rutting his hips against my ass again, I tell him that I think I'm about to cum. He looks down between us and sees that I'm not touching myself. "Really?" "Yeah," I say, whinier than I wanted, but God, I'm so close, I can't focus on my tone. I arch my back, and Dean has to cover my mouth again once I finally cum because I'm moaning so loudly. It feels like my whole body is pulsing and tingling before all sensation is focused on my cock and my hole. I feel the cum surge through my dick and splatter on my lower body as my hole clenches and unclenches repeatedly around Dean, practically milking him. It does the trick though, because he gives me one more good thrust and fills me up with another nice load. I want him to just stay there inside me for a while, maybe kiss me some more, but before I can even begin to ask him to wait a bit, he pulls out and rolls off of me, collapsing next to me. We stay still, panting next to each other in silence. It takes us a little while to catch our breath. I glance over at him with just my eyes. He's got his hands resting on his chest as he looks up at the ceiling. I chew on my bottom lip a bit, wondering if I should say anything. But it spills out of my mouth before I consciously decide one way or the other. "Joey seems nice." He just keeps staring up at the ceiling, nodding slightly to myself. "Yeah. She's great." And that's all he says about her.