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It smelled like him.
That was the first thing Dave noticed upon picking up the leather jacket. Black leather, real high quality shit that had seen plenty of use but was extremely well taken care of – this was Bro’s pride and joy, the possession he cherished more than those dumb pointy anime shades, more than his nondescript gray hat.
In fact, his brother had specifically told him never ever to touch the jacket, lest he face some fate worse than pelting by smuppets, or an express trip down the apartment stairs.
So what had managed to bypass his natural sense of self-preservation to lead to this moment, to the soft material cradled in his hands, as if he still respected Bro’s affection for the thing despite very clearly going against his words? If you boiled down all the excuses wrought in metaphor and irony, the waxing poetic about vague nuances regarding the graceful symbolism in his “defiance”, the answer was really very simple; the asshole hadn’t been home last night.
Dave had extreme levels of tolerance far beyond anything someone his age would normally be able to muster, even more so in the case of his brother, but he still had lines and there had been a hell of a lot of crossing when Bro refused to acknowledge the occasion with his presence. It wasn’t as if Dave even asked for more than just having the guy there.
But Bro had taught him early on that he didn’t tolerate anything of a sentimental nature, not very much, and the unspoken desire had been present when he’d mentioned it to his guardian.
Was it really so fucking much to ask for his stand-in parent to attend an awards ceremony for their charge?
Apparently so. Apparently Bro couldn’t be assed to show up for once in his life because everything else in the world was infinitely more important than standing around for an hour and pretending like he gave a shit about the fact that Dave was good at something.
And that was why he was sliding his arms through the sleeves of the jacket that smelled like the man who was rarely around, and rarely there for him when he was around. Dave brought one of the cuffs to his face, the leather past his fingertips, completely obscuring his hand, and pressed his nose against the material. It was soft and smooth on his skin, and if he closed his eyes he could imagine it was wrapped around a strong, wide palm instead, that the smell was wafting off his brother himself instead of this residual presence he was clinging to in a moment of weakness.
He could probably camp in the damn thing, that’s how big it was on him. It was a blanket of silk-lined leather that responded quickly to his body heat, held it in and around him like the embrace he was pretending to partake in, but in some way it just made him feel small and insignificant.
No wonder Bro didn’t really care.
…Whatever, it wasn’t like Dave did, either. He knew better than that. This wasn’t revenge, this wasn’t a pathetic grab for attention, this was just some silly prank – some good ol’ teenage rebellion because maybe then Bro would look at him.
Ugh, he couldn’t even be assed to correct his thoughts anymore. Dave flopped down on the futon, still buried amongst the folds of black despite the growing danger of being caught, each tick of the clock raising the stakes a little more. He told himself that Bro wouldn’t be back soon, that there was no urgency to remove the article of clothing because he was going to be alone for a while yet, anyway. Of course, there was some part of him that knew better; he wanted to be caught, he just didn’t have the balls to admit it to himself and leave the thing on for that express purpose.
With no interest in sitting around doing fuck all in the jacket and otherwise reinforcing his likeness of a lovesick creep, he casually flicked on the TV, stretched out his legs, and proceeded to ignore the images flashing on the screen.
That’s how he dozed off, too. Big mistake, really, and he should’ve known better, but shit was hard when last night’s restful rating was in the negatives.
His payment for all that dumb heartache was the harsh impact of the floor with his shoulder. Consciousness exploded behind his eyes in a flurry of senses, of too many signals being sent to his brain at the same time. Disoriented, he stared up at his bro with a complete lack of comprehension as he tried to filter out the lights, the laughing voices on the TV, the smell still heavy in his lungs, the heat of the jacket’s embrace and the contrast of cool air on his stomach where the ebony leather had whipped to the side and left him exposed. It only took him a second to realize his shades had been jostled from his face, and then his hand was shooting out to grab them off the floor nearby.
Bro’s foot was faster and came down hard on the back of it, the grooves of his shoes digging into his knuckles and pinning the limb to the ground. Dave grit his teeth against the sharp pain that shot along his arm, but he was already aware of the fact that there would be no lasting damage; it had been a carefully calculated move, made for the purpose of stopping him as opposed to honestly hurting him. But without his shades he felt naked, vulnerable, his bright red eyes too passionate and expressive.
And yet his pride wouldn’t allow him to turn his gaze away from Bro’s face, his eyebrows knitted and painting the perfect picture of irritation and defiance.
They stayed like that for a while, his brother making it perfectly obvious that he had no intention of speaking first. His silence stated it clear enough, that he expected Dave to cough up an explanation without any further prompting. While nothing showed in that perfect mask, that thing Bro called a face, there was the unspoken understanding that Dave had done something Not Okay, made even worse by the fact that he’d left himself to be found doing it.
“Wow dude, what the hell do you want? Lay off.” His voice was laced with his annoyance, mirroring his expression to a lesser extent, and yet he made no move to struggle. Bro had caught him and there wasn’t much point in it now. Dave didn’t want to admit to the colony of butterflies that had suddenly taken up residence in his gut, however.
“Strip,” came the even, indecipherable tone, forming a simple order containing all the confidence of someone who expected to be obeyed to a T. There was just as much in the unspoken part of it, if not more: you know exactly how you fucked up, so here come the consequences. He hated when Bro did this, when he mocked the stream of bullshit that flowed nigh-fucking-constantly from between his lips like a broken fire hydrant, spewing unnecessary verses and supersized adjectives into the faces of anyone who dared to seek out his company…when Bro cut him down with plain and pure necessity like he wasn’t worthy of anything else.
But he did it, anyway, looking bitter and angry all the while. When he moved to sit up Bro let him, and he slid his arms out of the sleeves, watched it fold and pool around him in a big shapeless mess of all his godawful mistakes and failures like the slow collapse of a fading flower under the weight of its own wrinkled petals. And all the while his brother was watching, cold gaze hidden beneath tinted lenses but still like ice on his skin, easily piercing his remaining clothes and laying him bare. It was almost enough to make him squirm and in his desperation to be free of it, he shoved the jacket in Bro’s direction with the slight upward tilt of his chin.
Bro didn’t take it from him; his arms remained crossed over his chest and those eyes were still peeling away at his protective layers of indifference.
Dave’s nervousness prompted him to break the silence again. “Take your piece of crap jacket already, Christ. I’m not about to fulfill your weird living coat hanger fetish or some shit.”
“What exactly did I tell you to do? I said strip, not fork over the jacket; you’re not quite done yet, kiddo.”
Throat tightening, his grip on the leather turned white-knuckled and he figured his face was reflecting his surprise, because one of his brother’s eyebrows raised ever so subtly over the rim of his shades. Those butterflies had to have been having a god damn dance party in his stomach right about now. He felt sick.
“That joke’s so far from funny it’s looping back around in a whirlwind of what-the-fuckery. Excuse me if I don’t laugh but I think I got a bad case of whiplash.” Dave had the sinking sensation that it was not in fact a joke, but he still made to brush it off and get to his feet anyway, and promptly found Bro’s shoe against his chest. This time it wasn’t out and out pinning him to the ground but it was preventing him from getting up, and he swallowed hard as his blazing gaze followed the length of his brother’s leg up, past his stomach and his barrel chest with those broad-ass shoulders, all muscle and power and composure. When Bro was apparently satisfied that he wasn’t going to try and get up again, he gave him a nudge with his foot before removing it.
“Does it look like I’m kidding? I won’t tell you again.”
No, it did not look like he was kidding. Bro didn’t even have to outright threaten him – the bastard was intimidating as fuck just standing there, staring down at him with his arms folded, somehow holding an expectant air while simultaneously exuding the lack of shit giving Dave both admired and loathed. He tried to stand up to it, he really did, he fought back with an unblinking stare for as long as he could manage but their silent mental battle was one-sided and brief.
His fingers trembled a little as he pulled off his record shirt, tossing it onto the futon alongside the jacket, but he managed to still them by the time he was opening his pants and kicking them off. Although he didn’t have a damn clue as to what Bro was getting at with this shit, he knew well enough by now that calm indifference was expected of him regardless of his major inner turmoil. And yet he still had a pretty long way to go, apparently, because he faltered when he was down to his briefs, his thumbs hooked into the waistband but his hands refusing to push them off.
“I didn’t tell you to stop.” Clearly Bro had noticed and was losing patience.
Dave narrowed his eyes, but his wit had temporarily failed him, left him with nothing and no protection whatsoever. He had to wonder why the hell he was going through with this in the first place, why he wasn’t doing a better job of fighting back, because maybe this was just some way of trying to goad him into a strife…it was just some sick game, some mind fucking like everything else and he didn’t have to let himself be led into it like a docile little sheep.
It’s attention.
Although he didn’t want to believe it, he couldn’t help but notice the faster pace of his heart, the heat that each trembling beat flooded into his veins, and in some equally sick twist of fate all paths seemed to lead down, down…
He threw the underwear off in disgust and didn’t bother to hide, just sat there and stared up at Bro, challenged him to look at his body, challenged him to prove his depravity. And he swore he could feel it, that slow, unhurried sweep of hidden eyes taking in his young, pale skin and lithe muscles not yet fully developed but as toned as they could get at his age. A rush of excitement sung through his body and he tried to bite it back, tried to be as calm and composed as his brother because there was nothing he wanted more than to be considered cool by this freak of nature standing before him and staring at his nakedness.
And then Bro was handing him the jacket and he was momentarily stunned out of his thoughts.
“Put it on. I thought you wanted to wear it?” There was no explanation to his words, no hint at his motivation or reasonings or intentions, just another order that left Dave grasping for answers and so very much on edge that he felt he was staring straight down into the gaping maw of some horrific disaster. So why the hell did the thought of falling into it excite him?
I want his attention.
“In for a penny, in for a pound huh? Already had it on for a bit, why not just rub my naked skin into the lining to serve as a reminder for this moment. You are pretty fucking sick, Bro.” But his words didn’t mean anything, they wouldn’t affect Bro and they wouldn’t change the situation any. It was a lame attempt to maintain some level of control…some illusion of control, really. Because no matter what he said, he was still sliding the jacket on, the shifting of fabric loud in the room despite the TV still running nonsense. And there he was, a naked teenage boy wearing his brother’s leather jacket while said sibling loomed over him.
At least he didn’t have to wait long after that. He found himself on his back with Bro straddling his hips and god they looked so small in comparison. One large gloved hand had caught both of his wrists and held them down above his head, the grip leisurely and mostly unconcerned; the other hand was sliding down his chest, down his stomach, going so very slow and leaving burning trails where his fingertips touched, tingling where the leather scraped his skin.
“Stay,” Bro ordered, his voice like a low rumbling purr laced with his amusement and he knew it was a game, but he was trapped and there was no way he could stop himself from desiring it.
This wasn’t the attention he wanted, it wasn’t the affection he wanted or the relationship he wanted and nothing about this was right or wholesome in the slightest but fuck if he managed to care right now. His teenage hormones were flaring up something fierce as the hand holding his wrists moved, stroking his arm through the jacket and he could feel the pressure through the silk, the muted friction. It joined its partner down around his stomach and he kept his hands still above his head, right where Bro had left them, his eyes turned upwards towards the ceiling and mostly unfocused. He could feel his guardian take the zipper and was conscious of each metal tooth sliding into place as he zipped up the jacket, trapping in all the excess heat his body was exuding by the second.
Lips and teeth were on his ear, sharp and unforgiving and pulling at the sensitive flesh, and they were soon followed by the soft, wet pad of a tongue. Everything was so slow and casual and unconcerned, almost bored but Bro’s amusement was too obvious for him to believe that; Bro was letting him see his amusement, further rubbing the situation in his face. And he wasn’t able to do more than take it, to let it wash over him in a tingling, aching mess that both frustrated him and increased his desire tenfold.
That hot mouth was sliding lower, chapped lips pressing to the spot behind his ear, then to his jaw, brushing down his neck in varied pressures but each little touch leaving behind ghosts of tingling sensations. Bro’s hands were on him, too; having fully zipped the jacket up, he was dragging his palms up and down Dave’s covered skin, changing the pattern of folds in the oversized article of clothing, making the lining tease his chest and ribs and stomach. What started as strokes of fingertips down the material turned into more demanding presses that dug into his skin deliciously, that made him arch and want nothing more than to grab Bro’s shoulders, but despite his shivering and minor squirming he kept his hands down against the ground through sheer willpower alone. He could hear the movements of Bro’s hands on his body in the creaking of the leather, and the scent of the jacket and his brother was heavy around him, intoxicating and disgusting and exciting.
But it wasn’t anywhere near satisfying – it was tease, tease, tease in all the wrong ways, all the ways that shouldn’t have been but were still so very much like his brother that he wanted them to be, anyway. The pressure to his throat was extremely well calculated and deliberate, nothing ever hard enough to leave a mark, nothing ever passionate enough to fool Dave into thinking this was anything more than a lesson. What that lesson was he couldn’t be bothered understanding right now, however, because Bro was pushing the hem of the jacket up high enough to expose Dave’s dick.
All of his muscles tensed in anticipation and he found his breath hitching, catching, stopping while his eyes slid shut because all he cared about right now was feeling. It was too hot with the jacket zipped up, with Bro breathing against his neck and back up to his ear, but there wasn’t any relief. There was just Bro holding his hip, Bro thumbing the jutting bone, Bro sliding his covered palms across his trembling thighs…down across the outside, following a line to the inside, trailing up. All he could feel was leather and heat and electricity mingled with frustration and defeat because he knew he’d lost again, embarrassed himself again. That was perfectly evident in the way his hands were remaining still with nothing but a word to hold them down, and perhaps more evident in the way he pressed into Bro’s large hands.
Dave was drowning in the sensation of leather on his skin and he never wanted to come back up, not when it was curling around his length and fitting snuggly against him.
“F-fuck,” he moaned, unable to prevent his hips from jerking upward. The rhythm his brother set was torturously slow even when it came to this – especially when it came to this, and he stopped moving his hand at all in response to the bucking. Dave could feel the soft, chiding ‘tsk’ against his earlobe as much as he could hear it and his breath shivered on the intake.
“Sorry little man, I’m the puppet master here. It’s me pulling the strings and you playing your part, and right now that part’s to hold still. Let’s try again, shall we?” Bro breathed, that hint of a chuckle that hadn’t fully formed present once more in his sultry tone.
Dave said nothing and Bro didn’t expect him to, because soon his hand was sliding from base to tip and down again, repeating the motion over and over in a pleasurable cycle of torment. It was mostly the leather he felt, worn to a velvety softness that dragged up and down his skin, practically fried his nerves and made him dig his nails into his palms to keep his wrists down and hips still. Every muscle was pulled taut with the strain and he was sweating under the cover of the jacket, even though Bro was hardly doing enough to properly get him off.
Bro’s hand slid up around the same time he caught his ear between his teeth and tugged, and then his palm was rubbing circles over the head of his cock and Dave’s whole body throbbed. The noise he made was pathetic, some wavering sound that faltered and then died completely as he just tried to breathe, and maybe his guardian was enjoying this in more ways than he wanted to let on because he seemed to react, too…if only a little bit. Bro’s thumb ground into the tip, teasing around that little slit with the hard calloused skin and it was somewhat rough, somewhat uncomfortable, but entirely perfect, and in the back of Dave’s mind he liked to believe that the roughness was a consequence of his brother’s own sick desires. For that reason he was more than happy to put on a show.
With his back arched and his head tilted, baring himself to Bro, he purred and let it vibrate low in his throat so that each uneven mouthful of air made the noise shudder. But he dutifully kept his hands and hips from budging, even with the full-body tremors that threatened to send him into a fit of squirming.
Those efforts didn’t go unrewarded, either.
To his surprise and glee, Bro properly curled his hand around him again, and this time the strokes were faster, more focused on the head than in dragging it out with full-lengthed motions. The thought that he might have influenced his brother’s ministrations was enough to make it that much more pleasurable, made the feeling start to coil faster in his groin. He could feel himself twitching in Bro’s hand as he pumped him, each scrape of leather over flushed, heated skin sending another jolt through him…more reminders of what they were doing, reminders of what Bro was doing, how awful it was, how great it felt.
“O-oh shit…Bro, ‘m gonna—“ it was coming fast and he thought a nice announcement would only improve his circumstances. Part of him had been terrified that Bro would release him right then and there, recoil as if he’d been burned, but there was more evidence of his effect on his guardian; the pace increased, if only subtly, and Bro’s grip tightened. There was a heavy exhalation into his ear that he hardly noticed because he was too far gone.
Everything culminated into one sharp peak of sensation, into a single focus in which the heat and leather and sweat and Bro mingled and blurred the lines between his senses. He was coiled tight, taut muscles trembling, and then came the rush of release in fits of spasms that rocked through him, each shudder marking another spurt of white into the awaiting black-covered palm. Bro stroked him through the subsiding tremors until he was spent, held him for a moment longer, then moved his clean hand to slowly, slowly unzip his jacket.
The cool air hit his slick chest in a rush and he shivered, gave a soft “mm” despite himself, but his limbs felt too heavy and useless for him to do much more. He was still extremely aware of Bro above him, however…aware of the way he dragged the messy glove over his stomach, smearing his own cum across his sweaty skin. The hand continued its way up, past his chest and throat to hold Dave’s jaw in a grip just shy of bruising. He could smell himself, the combination of his seed and the leather and Bro making him dizzy, but he focused enough to hear his guardian’s words.
“Don’t ever let me catch you touching my jacket again. Okay, little bro?” It wasn’t a question or a request, but a statement said right into his ear with that same sort of sultriness and amusement combo going on. Bro pulled back soon after, still holding his jaw in place so he could look him straight in the eyes to emphasize his point. Once again Dave didn’t give a verbal response and Bro didn’t ask for one; he patted Dave’s cheek with the cum-smeared palm, abruptly finished removing his jacket from Dave’s shoulders, and then he was gone, leaving his little brother naked and lying prone on the floor.
As he stared up at the ceiling, a slow smirk began to curl his lips, and one hand lazily moved to drag his fingers through the mixture of sweat and jizz on his stomach.
Dave was already planning his next theft.