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It’s not like Hiro asked for this, you know?
Not outright, anyway. He didn’t actually have to say anything. He never does; all it takes is a lingering glance and a come-hither smile, and not thirty seconds later does he have somebody in his arms, forehead-to-forehead and their hands on his hips. Doesn’t matter who’s with him. Boys, girls, anyone in-between, they all seem to want to wrap their arms around his waist, grind into him hard. Hiro doesn’t really get it. As far as he knows, his hips are bony and his waist is small, no abs or definition to speak of.
He supposes it doesn’t matter, though. What he does know is that his hips, as it turns out, are capable of rolling in ways that are apparently borderline inhuman, back and forth, side to side, without him really having to think about it. He can’t even help it. He hears the bass rattling his heart in his ribcage and he has to do something, has to dance along and sway and run his hands through his hair and accept whoever decides they’re going to join him for the night. It’s so much more fun than dancing alone.
Except he’s used to slipping away from the dance floor alone, ghosting to the doors before he can be caught and prevailed upon to spend the night in some stranger’s place. He has no interest in this. All he wants is to be left to his own devices, to ride out the high and the alcohol in the comfort of his bed, sneaking his way around the creaky floorboards so he doesn’t wake up anyone else in the house before he collapses into the mattress and falls asleep with his head swimming. He never follows anyone home, and he never lets rogue hands wander around under his clothes. He’s good at avoiding them. Good at getting away, good at getting to safety and waking up the next day and going through the whole routine all over again.
He doesn’t quite know what to do when the one slipping his hands under Hiro’s shirt lives with him.
He doesn’t quite know what to do when the mouth biting at his earlobe belongs to his brother.
He’s got no idea what to do when he discovers he really fucking likes it.
“More,” he commands. His shirt’s riding all the way up his torso, so much so that he might as well take the damned thing off, except that he’s got more important things to focus on. Like the fact that his brother is pinching mercilessly at his nipples, pulling hard enough to almost hurt. Hiro grits his teeth. It’s good, and it’s wrong, but he’s so, so fucking drunk, so done with thinking about things and figuring stuff out. Tadashi’s the one always going on about consequences, anyway, and if he’s decided that reality can go fuck itself, then Hiro’s certainly not going to think about this too hard.
Tadashi lifts him forcefully by the hips, dragging him away from the headboard and taking the duvet with him. His expression’s almost angry, not that Hiro cares overly much. Tadashi can make whatever kind of face he wants, as long as he keeps doing what it is he’s doing. Hiro doesn’t want to know what’s on his brother’s mind tonight. It makes no difference either way.
But Tadashi’s always been good at figuring Hiro out, so it really shouldn’t come as much of a surprise when he suddenly rakes his nails down Hiro’s chest, leaving long, angry red welts all the way down to his stomach. Hiro groans. Normally he’d be ticklish, but under the oppressive weight of alcohol and the bulge between his legs, his torso just feels sensitive, every touch of his brother’s overstimulating and rough. He likes it. He likes it a lot, and he doesn’t even try to hide how much he wants to rut into thin air, how much he wants his brother to take his fucking pants off and do something.
Tadashi smacks him. Hard, on the ass, with no warning at all. Hiro bares his teeth. Tadashi slaps him again, on the other cheek, this time. Hiro responds by grabbing hold of his big brother’s arm, untrimmed nails digging painfully hard into his bicep. It must hurt, because Tadashi’s got short sleeves on and Hiro can see little crescent- shaped marks when he lets go to readjust his grip, but if Tadashi’s not going to give him what he wants, then Hiro’s not going to be nice about it.
He yanks on the hem of Tadashi’s shirt, not letting up even when he hears a couple of threads snap. Tadashi grunts and tugs the infernal thing off on his own, exposing the flush that goes all the way down his torso. It’s hard to tell if it’s arousal or alcohol making him this red, but Hiro can figure that out later; it’s nothing new to see his brother without a shirt, even if it is pleasant, so he reaches out to scratch along the trail of dark hair leading into the waistband of his pants. Tonight is a night for new experiences, after all. A night for new cocktails, new sensations, new sights. New tastes and new barriers broken, if Hiro has his way. Not that he’s specifically interested in his brother, though. At this point, Hiro’s sure that literally anyone could come in here and take Tadashi’s place, and Hiro wouldn’t care.
Tadashi probably wouldn’t agree, not if his expression is anything to go by. He’s still got that fucking look. All hard edges and an unforgiving downward tilt to his mouth, brows furrowed and jaw tense. There’s a tendon sticking out in his neck that Hiro wants to bite down on. Rip out with his teeth, maybe, because who the fuck does Tadashi think he is, barging into Hiro’s club during Hiro’s song, pulling him away from his friends and his body shots and dragging him home kicking and screaming? Shoving his hands up Hiro’s shirt and forcing him against the headboard, biting his Adam’s apple and wedging one of his legs between Hiro’s? Reaching into his back pockets and throwing out the carton of cigarettes that Hiro had bought with his own money, and replacing them with his hands instead?
Un-fucking-believable. Literally unbelievable; if Hiro didn’t have Tadashi’s hands on his ass, worming their way into his underwear, he’d have trouble believing his stick-in-the-mud brother was even capable of this sort of thing. Not that Hiro’s got any right to talk, seeing as he’s a lame virgin, but he’s got an excuse, he’s seventeen. Fucking Tadashi with his old-man cardigans and dumb dad jokes has no place here. He doesn’t belong with the taste of rum and the echoes of thumping bass. He doesn’t belong in Hiro’s bed making Hiro’s cock hard. He’s supposed to be warm and sunny and sweet, not hot and overwhelming and looking down his nose at Hiro and making him squirm and feel trapped in his own skin.
Tadashi grips him by the jaw, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to keep him in place. “Make yourself useful and open your mouth.”
Hiro sneers. “Make me.”
Tadashi bites hard. Right where his shoulder meets his neck, which he might have some trouble covering up tomorrow, unless he can filch some of Aunt Cass’s concealer. It’d take a miracle for her not to wake up from the noise Hiro makes, rage and pain and arousal all at once, even if he does grit his teeth just to spite his brother.
Tadashi pauses for a second; no footsteps come pounding on the stairs, no voice calls through the door to ask what’s wrong. They’re safe. Tadashi is, anyway. Hiro’s not sure what his future entails, not when this vindictive asshole of a man is giving him a look that says promises hellfire.
“I said,” Tadashi snarls, “to make yourself useful and open your mouth, you stubborn, infuriating, back-talking little fucker.”
Hiro’s zipper is yanked down. Tadashi manages to get Hiro’s jeans off his hips even with his angry kicking. They’re so tight they don’t make it very far down his legs, but Tadashi seems to take this in stride. He lets Hiro stay like that, bound at the knee by unrelenting denim. It makes it easy for Tadashi to flip him onto his front, pinning Hiro’s arms to stop him from moving.
He bites the back of his neck; the last coherent thread of Hiro’s mind makes a stupid comment about kittens and their mother, but he ignores it. It feels weirdly good to have his brother’s teeth raking down his spine. Good enough, in fact, that he doesn’t try to move when Tadashi releases him, fisting his hands in his pillow at the feeling of a tongue digging into the dimples in his back and then into the junctures of his shoulder blades.
“Mouth. Open,” Tadashi says again, whispering against his hair. Hiro keeps his mouth tight shut, purely out of defiance. Tadashi puts his tongue in Hiro's ear.
That does it. Hiro gasps; it’s weird. He’s expecting the same disgust that comes from getting a wet willy, but it doesn’t happen. All he can think about is that the insides of his ears must somehow be connected to his groin, because his hips are grinding into the mattress without his permission at the feeling of a wet tongue making itself at home. He doesn’t even notice when two of Tadashi’s thick fingers force themselves into his mouth, only biting them out of some ingrained predilection for disobedience.
Hiro gets it. His stupid, over-protective brother knows exactly what he’s doing; he’s staining Hiro’s personal life with after-images of himself. Conditioning him. Training him. Making it so that Hiro’s not going to be able to taste booze or dance to good music without thinking of this, without remembering Tadashi’s hand gripping his hip and the salty taste of Tadashi’s fingers as he sucks on them instinctively. Manipulative bastard. Hiro can already see himself stumbling home from the club, aching to be touched and knowing that there’s someone at home waiting to provide it for him. He’s spoiled, now. Nobody else knows his ticklish spots like Tadashi does. Nobody else feels completely safe even when they're leaving a patchwork of bruises.
Tadashi removes his fingers without a word, prompting a noise of frustration until the tip of one of those fingers presses up against Hiro’s asshole. Hiro lifts his hips.
“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” Tadashi says in his ear, voice gruff. Hiro grunts and pushes his hips further back, an obvious signal that he’s perfectly fine. Better than fine, in fact. This is good; so, so good, so much better than using his own fingers because Tadashi’s are bigger, longer, and at a better angle to reach into him. This is going to be amazing. He’ll make sure of it. He’ll make sure Tadashi finds every single one of his sweets spots and works at them until he screams.
He’s balanced on his knees, face in his pillow, head turned a little so he can breathe. He rocks back and looks over his shoulder. “Touch me.”
Tadashi’s face twists into something completely unlike him. Imperious and cold, and he rotates his wrist, searching around for Hiro’s prostate, mouth lifting into a crooked, humourless smile when he finds it and Hiro keens. He doesn’t reach around to grab hold of Hiro’s dick. “Say ‘please’.”
“Fuck you,” Hiro responds immediately. Tadashi presses harder against his prostate, but still doesn’t give him what he wants. Hiro does something between a groan and a growl; if Tadashi won’t help, he’ll do it himself. He can live with the idea of touching his own cock while his brother fingers him. He doesn’t need Tadashi to get off. He doesn’t need Tadashi to do a god damned thing.
Except, Tadashi shoves him, knocking his knees off-balance and sending him sprawling onto the bed. Hiro can’t move his hand with Tadashi’s weight on his back, but he really wants to, because this new position means that Tadashi’s even deeper now. He shrieks into the pillow in frustration. Tadashi pinches his ass.
“Say ‘please’”.
“Please, you piece of shit,” Hiro almost sobs, gripping the sheets hard enough to rip them if he moved. Tadashi laughs hollowly and turns him onto his back. It’s not fucking fair, the way he’s hit his growth spurt and Tadashi can still throw him around like a ragdoll. It’s like nothing’s really changed in the past four years. His brother’s still over-protective and he’s still fucking powerless against how Tadashi is everywhere at once, oppressive and controlling and comforting at the same time.
He sinks his teeth into Tadashi’s shoulder when he gets too close, just because he can. Because he’s horny and wrecked and he doesn’t want to be teased. Tadashi hisses and takes a hold of Hiro’s cock, pumping roughly, no preparation, to teasing. Hiro wails.
“Quiet,” Tadashi snaps at him. He’s right, because Aunt Cass is in the house, but it still makes Hiro angry. He bites him again, this time on the neck, where it’s definitely going to leave a mark the next morning. It’s only fair, really, because Hiro’s certain he’s not going to be presentable for at least a week.
His brother gives a particularly rough tug. “Brat,” he says, eyes focused on the way Hiro’s cock leaks precum all around his fist. “Always getting into trouble. You never listen. You run off and do such stupid shit, and then you come home and act all cute and everyone’s too nice to you. I should punish you. Hurt you. Just a little. So you learn a lesson.”
Hiro can’t really formulate a response to that. His middle finger expresses his sentiment pretty well, though, even if it does make Tadashi even angrier. At this point Hiro’s not sure if he’s being contrary or if he just wants to make Tadashi hurt him more. Either way that’s what happens, because Tadashi jabs his prostate particularly hard. He hasn’t trimmed his nails in a while, it seems, and Hiro makes a choked noise. It’s good. Stupidly good, and he doesn’t give a shit what Tadashi wants to bitch about, as long as he keeps touching him like this. He tangles his hands in his own hair and rocks his hips back and forth. Tadashi’s hands start going faster.
Way, way too much. He’s dizzy and breathless and angry and he doesn’t know how he’s lasted this long, doesn’t know how he hasn’t come with Tadashi aiming right for his prostate and rotating his wrist and moving his big, rough hands from the base all the way till the very tip of Hiro’s cock. It’s like there are ants crawling under his skin. His blood’s boiling. He wants to scream.
He’s expecting the orgasm, although perhaps not quite this hard. His back aches of its own accord, enough to make it feel like his spine will snap in half. Every muscle he has tenses and he writhes, mouth wide open and pupils blown. Tadashi’s hands on him are the only anchors keeping him grounded, but he still feels like the waves of his orgasm are going to make his heart stop.
Tadashi, mercifully, lets go. He doesn’t give Hiro much time to come down from his high, though; almost immediately, he’s yanked upright, one of Tadashi’s hands gripping his hair and the other, the one covered in his semen, pressed against his mouth.
Hiro cleans his brother’s hand dutifully. Tadashi watches him the whole time, making sure Hiro gets every bit and shoving his index and middle fingers into Hiro’s mouth for good measure. Hiro almost chokes, but Tadashi doesn’t let up. “Practice.”
Hiro doesn’t understand. They’ve already been through this, Tadashi doesn’t need any to prepare him anymore, he can put his fingers into Hiro’s ass as much as he wants. Hiro can take it. He likes the slight sting from the lack of proper lubrication, and anyway, if Tadashi had wanted lube, his come would probably have worked better than his saliva. Still, he obliges, not making a fuss at the bitterness in his mouth even though he prefers sweets. He stares back at his brother unblinkingly, eyes wide and liner probably smudged beyond belief. Tadashi doesn’t seem to mind. He holds his gaze even as he pulls his fingers out of Hiro’s mouth to undo the buckle of his belt and pop the button to his jeans with one hand.
Oh. So that’s what he’s after. Hiro mentally shrugs and lets himself be guided towards Tadashi’s crotch, mouth already wet with saliva and lower lip plump from being chewed on. The post-coital high’s made him mellow and pliant, and he willingly noses into his brother the moment he pulls his zipper down. He smells of soap and sweat and musk. Odd, but not unpleasant.
This is what he’s been waiting for. Now that the edge of desperation has been taken away, his curiosity is back. Tadashi stops moving, allowing Hiro to impatiently tug his jeans halfway down his thighs. He’s not wearing any underwear, which is surprising, but Hiro ignores that information in favour of staring openly at his big brother’s cock.
It’s. Well. Not huge, but definitely not small, either. It’s thicker than Hiro would have imagined, hanging heavy between Tadashi’s legs and making Hiro wonder what it would be like to have something that big stretch him open. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, not when he knows how thick his brothers fingers are. That should have been some indication. Not that he can be blamed, anyway. Most people don’t think about what their brothers look like naked. Neither did Hiro, until tonight, but then again he’s drunk out of his mind and generally prone to making bad decisions.
Actually, his head’s clearer than it was when they left the club, but Hiro’s not about to admit that. Instead he focuses on how he’s going to fit all this into his mouth, having barely even kissed anyone before. He still hasn’t, actually. Tadashi had dragged him home and manhandled him into bed without so much as a chaste press of lips. A big jump from that to sucking his dick, but whatever.
He starts off with little kitten licks, more curious than arousing, but he hears Tadashi inhale all the same. It’s a nice noise. It’s a noise that makes him feel powerful, the same way it feels to roll his hips on the dance floor and have people lining up to be with him. It’s intoxicating, the way his brother’s staring at him, mouth set in a thin line and a hand guiding Hiro’s head further onto his cock.
It’s salty. And a bit bitter, and way too big for Hiro to take without accidentally scraping his teeth against. Tadashi tugs harshly on his hair. A warning. Hiro wraps his lips around his teeth and tries again, mimicking the way he licked Tadashi’s fingers earlier. He’s getting better at it. He breathes through his nose, hands running up Tadashi’s thighs to settle against his hips.
“Unbelievable,” Tadashi says under his breath. Hiro can’t tell if he’s angry or upset. “Fucking unbelievable, Hiro. Can you even imagine what you look like right now? Do you have any idea what I could do to you? Do you have any idea how much I wanna grab your stubborn little head and fuck your throat raw?”
Hiro shuts his eyes. He can’t talk with his mouth full, but he moans to show that this is not in any way a bad idea. Tadashi barks out a laugh, fisting his hand in Hiro’s hair and grabbing his jaw with the other, thrusting just hard enough to make them both groan. “Fuck. And here I thought you were so fucking cute, my sweet little brother. Now look where the fuck we are. You’re gonna kill me one of these days, Hiro. Who thought it would be a good idea to put make-up on you, hmm? Who looked at you and thought ‘sex’?” He leans over and pushes Hiro to swallow more, letting up only when Hiro starts to choke. “Maybe I should thank them, huh? Should I do that? Should I tell everyone how good you look with a cock in your mouth?”
His dick is hitting the back of Hiro’s throat, making his saliva come up wet and thick. It’s unpleasant, and his jaw’s starting to hurt, but Tadashi doesn’t make things any easier. On a hunch, Hiro swallows, bobbing his head as much as he dares with Tadashi’s increasingly brutal rhythm. Tadashi keeps going. Once, twice, thrice, and then he yanks Hiro off his cock, letting him gasp in just enough air before his mouth is being filled again.
Hiro can barely even move at this point, but there’s something satisfying about sitting back and taking it. Tadashi looks so big from this angle, so masculine, so much stronger and older than Hiro. He’s stiffening again at the realization. This time he’s not sure he can blame the alcohol when he reaches between his own legs to palm himself roughly.
Tadashi notices this, of course. Hiro expects him to sneer, but all he does is coo, leaning over Hiro and tilting his chin up so he can watch his eyes slide shut. “Look at you. Adorable. You just go ahead and do whatever you want, don’t you? And everyone else goes along with it. Everyone else likes it, even me, even if you piss me off so much I can’t think straight sometimes.”
Hiro closes his eyes and focuses on syncing up Tadashi’s movements with his own hand. Tadashi smoothes Hiro’s hair away from his face, and then pulls. “You don’t care about a god damn thing,” he says quietly, voice strained as his movements become more erratic. “I never asked for this, you know,” he says, jaw clenched. “You never give me a choice.”
He comes with a bone-deep groan. It’s bitter and overwhelming and Hiro hates the taste, but he loves the way Tadashi’s face contorts when he keeps sucking even when the spurts stop coming. Tadashi chokes out a laugh and reaches down to put his hands between Hiro’s legs. “You’ll ruin me, baby brother. You’re going to fucking destroy me.”
Hiro doesn’t even consider being sorry.