Work Text:
You’d already secured a reputation as a loose cannon on set of the first two SBAHJ movies, but since they'd earned you a blank check for the 3quel, you figured you had a hallway pass to keep dropping your unfiltered thoughts on top of cast and crew without consequence. Turns out, is there a word for the foot fetishist version of autofelatio? Because this time you’ve inserted one of your dogs so far into your own mouth you’ve just about triggered your gag reflex.
You were shooting an extended cameo with some up-and-coming omega actor producers all but forced you to write into your plot in hopes of hooking their talons into the elusive 16-21 demographic. He’d turned out to be a real dick, showing up late, treating the interns like his personal fan club and, most unforgivably, offering unsolicited edits to your carefully crafted script like you aren't the Michaelangelo of fart jokes. What really set you off though was when it was clear he was obviously in the middle of a poorly managed heat and seemed intent to fuck up every take of the single shot he was in eyefucking a hot production assistant. Annoyed and off schedule, you’d given him the professional advice to “get your mind out of your pussy and take your anti-slut pills before I come over there and throat fuck you with them.”
He’d been pissed, but you thought it was fine, it worked, he’d finally stuffed it back in his pants and stood there pouting in the exact place you'd marked, reciting the lines you wrote with the intonation you specified. But now all of a sudden, after filming has wrapped, that ungrateful babymaker hit you with a fucking lawsuit? Claiming you verbally abused him and, far worse in the eyes of the people who pay your bills, trying to get out of his contractually obligated press tour? Your own lawyers, provided by the studio of course, have assured you it'll all pass with the good old one two punch of a settlement plus public apology courtesy of your PR team. But you can't help feeling embarrassed about the whole thing, especially because, just like social media is theorizing, it's your insecurity that made you throw your trademark cool out the window in the first place.
The amateur psychologists of the internet are just guessing, but it's true, alphas and omegas have always pissed you off. You're a beta, so you’ve never been a part of their club, and by the time you found out you don't smell like jizz or whatever the fuck breeders love so much about each other, you already had so much childhood trauma from feeling left out and unwanted that it really did a number on your sexual psyche. You’ve barely even had sex, even since becoming rich and famous. Alphas and omegas intimidate you too much to try, and the few encounters you've managed to wrangle with fellow betas have been disappointing for both parties, to say the least.
So anyway, that's why you're taking a little mental health break and are on your way to your big Bro’s apartment in Texas. In fact you're almost there, the driver you’d hired to pick you up at the airport is pulling up to the familiar curb of that industrial Houston highrise at this very moment. He's not actually your big Bro, you're really twins, you guess, he’s just always been physically bigger. According to your mysterious and frankly ludicrous lore, y'all were abandoned as babies at the site of a fucking meteor impact, separated by the state until he broke out on his own at 16, found you, and took you with him. Which was sort of heroic of him, considering your experience in the American foster system had been pretty fucking typical. You didn't get beaten or raped or anything quite so horrible as that, but you were so neglected that you actually twistedly thought about what it’d be like to catch a fist or a finger sometimes.
Your Bro enjoyed an equally edgelordian origin story, you guess? He was supplied with adequate snacks and attention, but his government appointed parental units got fed up pretty fast themselves dealing with all the various let's say psychiatric quirks he quickly manifested. Instead of being stuck with the same shitty situation like you were for most of your formative years, he ended up getting passed around like a schizophrenic hot potato. You didn't realize the full extent of how mentally fucked he is before you moved in together. You have to spend enough time with Dirk and hear him share some of his truly wild hot takes with you through a fucking homemade puppet before you can tell he’s a fucking lunatic. But he means well, and you love him.
Your Bro is also an alpha with the most stereotypical alpha traits all stacked up like a Jenga tower on top of those already shaky cerebral structures. When you lived with him, sometimes his constant competing needs to both protect you and assert his dominance in the strangest ways could get exhausting. But when you're super stressed and just wanna hide from your responsibilities? That whole just shut up and trust your big brother attitude has its benefits.
You’ve ridden the elevator to the top floor of his building and are using your key in the door when suddenly your stomach drops. Why would you be nervous, weren't you just excited to see him? Oh yeah, there was that one other issue that, until you became Hollywood’s cutest scapegoat, had been your big Thing, your main source of ongoing emotional turmoil you were trying so hard to avoid but couldn't stop thinking about when you had a spare minute.
It was just the last time you saw your Bro in person, a little less than a year ago at this point, at this exact location. You were sitting on his couch, pounding a few brewskis to celebrate your second movie making bank in the global market. Some damaged little part of you must have really wanted to hold your success over him because, a little tipsy, you abruptly climbed the awkward conversational ladder and dangled the bait, asking, “You're still doing okay for yourself, money-wise?”
In response he’d picked up his phone from the coffee table and pulled up some kind of custom coded spreadsheet, handing it to you with a disclaimer. “This is just one of my accounts.”
You weren’t sure exactly what you were looking at, you could tell it was an absolutely batshit way to track investment performance, but that's about all you, even as a fellow stock market scammer, could determine without synchronizing your Dirk Strider decoder ring.
“Can you scroll to a portion of this document that would not require me calling up Tom Hanks and embarking on another DaVinci Code-style adventure to interpret?”
He leaned over you and flicked the screen.
“Holy shit,” you said, after you’d spied a column within human comprehension. “You make this much running your websites?”
“Amongst other endeavors.”
“All porn related?”
“No. But mostly, yes. I’d say adult content makes up around 80% of my current revenue stream, in one form or another.”
It wasn't quite what you were pulling in these days, but finding out his financial haul was heftier than expected did nothing to satisfy your fiending superiority complex. Time to seek your fix in a different, darker alleyway. “Could I see something you made, then?”
“You want to watch one of my videos?”
“Director to director.”
He maintained that same blank expression as always. “I wouldn't call myself that. I'm not on your level.”
That was all you needed to know, now you had to double down. “Come on, Bro, show me. I'm interested.”
He got to his feet, and for a second you thought he'd flee the scene, his typical strategy for dealing with any complex emotions. But he stuck around and asked you, “I assume not anything with me in it?”
Oh, fuck. “Uh, yeah. Probably not.”
“Gay or straight?”
“Gay.”
He nodded like he’d thought so. As he flash stepped towards his bedroom, you called after him. “And no puppet stuff!”
He'd returned with a laptop and hooked it up to the TV to show you a video with a typical porn plot, two buff guys playing prisoners, but the way it was shot made it seem like it was footage from a hidden camera, like you were peeping through an air vent. There was an almost antagonistic lack of action in the beginning, you were just watching the actor in the top bunk sleep for several minutes. Finally, the one on the bottom climbed up to wake him and they proceeded to have rough but also weirdly and at times uncomfortably passionate sex that came off as not meant for an audience. It wouldn't be every discerning gooner’s palmful of lube, but the subversive aspects plus the muscular ass on bottom bunk were really doing it for you.
“The rest of the videos on this site are similar, with different guys, all fighting and fucking. The idea is I’m like a guard or maintenance worker there, secretly filming and posting all this stuff.” He shrugged. “Not that you need to know all that.”
“I love it,” you'd said, no exaggeration.
In fact you were so enamored you continued watching, and when there was finally a break in the action, you suddenly saw you had reenacted your own version of that classic gag where someone gets a huge fucking boner without realizing. He’d noticed, he was looking right at it, and it’s not like you're small, you're decidedly above average, especially for a beta, plus your thin sweatpants weren't hiding much of anything. You started on an apology, but he quickly cut you off.
“All good. In my line of entertainment that's a compliment.”
“It's meant that way.”
He’d flashed a rare, relieved smile at you then and, not used to being this horny without crippling anxiety coming along and ruining it, you were caught by an overwhelming urge to get his hands on you, or more accurately get his hands on your dick. Without thinking, you turned your body towards him and opened your legs a little. But, in the next second when he seemed to reciprocate, you tensed up and pulled away instead. Then he did run, he’d gotten up and high tailed it back to his room and left you cringing. You considered heading to the bathroom to jerk off, but you just turned off the TV, shut his laptop, and calmed yourself down. When he came back, you both avoided addressing what happened, the Strider special. You managed to have a normal night afterwards, actually the whole rest of your visit was just peachy. You only started to think about the implications when you were back in California alone. Since then you’ve had a lot of sleepless nights where you wonder what would have happened if you hadn't pussied out. Maybe you would have finally been able to come with someone else in the room.
His apartment is a mess as usual, he still has plenty of smuppets, and knives and swords, and a variety of other questionable bullshit just lying around. You don't see any sign of him, though, as you set your bags down in the living room and head to the kitchen to check the fridge.
While you're attempting to locate a potential reserve of apple juice amongst all the beer and soda, you think you see a shadow cross the corner of the room. You turn to investigate, but oh shit he’s right behind you, he taps your shoulder and you almost jump out of your Gucci sneakers.
He’s stretching and yawning and saying, “Hi, Davey.”
You have some normal hey how are you, how was the trip type convo, and you debate with yourself whether or not to mention the reason you're here. You hadn't said anything when you'd asked if you could come home for a while, but you're sure he's heard the news, he follows your career like a fan. But like you thought he would, he's got his own plan, he tells you to relax and get settled in. He’ll pick up your favorite sushi and more juice, and he's already decided which big dumb movie you can watch tonight with the express purpose of insulting it.
Later, after you’re full of carbs and sugar and have just about cried laughing at your collective commentary, you feel warm and fuzzy enough that it finally seems safe to yap about your feelings.
He's always been the only person in your life who seems able to find you and pull you back to reality whenever you get too deep in your own head, that certainly hasn't changed with you making all your shiny new celebrity friends. So soon you’re running your mouth as usual. You don't stop at telling the story of how you lost your temper with that cute, attention-stealing omega, you even get into your real resentment, how you're jealous of Dirk too and everyone else who gets assigned a clear role in the sexual hierarchy. You admit how, because you're so bitter about your beta-ness, you haven't ever been able to keep it up for more than a couple minutes, and you think your brain is so broken it's convinced your dick it doesn't work right either.
“First of all, that little fucker ain’t that cute. You're way hotter and more famous and talented than he is. Any halfway intelligent observer could see this lawsuit is a cash grab. I bet you'll put a scene making fun of the whole situation in your next movie.”
“Yeah. Probably.”
“But about that other stuff? Hate on omegas if you want, for sure, they’re a bunch of little princesses. But you really think being an alpha is easy?”
“Is it not? You have to deal with getting horny on a schedule but, like, don't we all? Can you not just fucking control yourselves?”
“Well yeah. You have two choices. Either medically confuse your hormones or raw dog it like me and hibernate for a week or two every few months, unless you wanna risk sticking your dick in someone you wouldn't even look at otherwise. Maybe even get them pregnant.”
“I see.”
“That's why I prefer to sleep with betas anyway. Like say I did fuck an omega. If I wasn't careful, or he was under or over medicated, whatever, we could end up getting super attached. I don't want that for myself, and I don't want to put that on anyone else either.”
“Yeah, you're right. I’m looking at it like a selfish prick, I guess. But, you know what, the studio is so pissed I'm probably going to have to go through some kind of court-mandated sensitivity training anyway. Maybe I'll start treating y’all a little more nicely after that.”
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“Sensitivity training. That's a good idea for one of my projects.”
“I’m glad my real life career crisis has inspired you to make something everyone else can jack off to.”
“Sorry, it's too good to pass up now, especially if I can get it out while you're still a hot topic.”
“You mean you literally want it to be about me. Even better.”
“People go hard for that kind of hyper-relevant content, you can make a fat check if you're fast enough. But I wonder where I can find someone who looks like you on short notice.”
With that line, plus the stuff he said about you being hot and him preferring to fuck betas, you’re pretty sure he’s probably been obsessing over what happened the last time you were together, just like you have. You were willing to overlook the first two flirtations, but third time's the charm, he's obviously dying to get your attention.
Unsure of where you even want the proverbial elephant in the room to go, you decide to acknowledge it. “Yo, Bro. Remember last time I was here? When you showed me one of your websites?”
“And you were clearly capable of maintaining a healthy erection? Yeah, I remember. You wanted me to touch you, didn't you?”
You actually have no idea what to say to that.
“Am I wrong?”
“No. You aren't.” You take a deep breath.
“In that case, maybe we can both profit off your dirty mouth.”
“What do you mean?”
“You ever think about stepping in front of the camera?”
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Maybe I can't totally fix you, but I’m sure I can make you come at least.”
“What are you envisioning?”
“You as the recently disgraced director. Me as the HR guy brought in to teach you a lesson about how hard omegas have it.”
“And how would you do that?”
“I’d take my time with you, edge you, and make you want to bust so bad that you're begging me to let you finish. The rest is up to you. What would you like me to do?”
“I don't know. Maybe just hand stuff?” You clear your throat. “I'm pretty fucking inexperienced. And we're pretty fucking related.”
“That’s no problem. Are we talking a hand job only, or do you want to get fingered?”
“Uh, I think just touch my dick. Is that good enough?”
“I can work with that.”
“Sorry if it’s not what you had in mind.”
“No need to apologize, I just want to be clear on what you're comfortable with. If you really want to do this, I mean.”
You bite your lip.
“So, how about it, you up for starring in your own personal porn parody?”
“Honestly, yeah. But I don't want anyone remotely familiar with me to actually see this, this has to be some dark web shit only ultra pervs have access to.”
“For sure. It’s gonna be peak irony anyway, so obviously fake and low budget no one is going to think I’ve got the real D. Strider under me. We can call you by a stupid name if you want."
“Like D. Rider?”
“Exactly. I won't show your face, just mine. And if you're worried about your voice, keep those pretty lips shut for once. I’m sure it’ll be fine, though. I’ll have you making noises you never made before.”
Well, he's got your interest if not your confidence. You figure, fine, let him film it, that's kind of hot. You’re 99.9% sure you’ll make him keep whatever cursed footage he captures for his personal collection, you're not even sure if you could handle watching it back yourself, you might need to bury the very memory of this dubious venture after it happens. But he doesn't need to know that right now.
“Fuck it. Let's do it.”
“Amazing. Tomorrow, then? 8 PM, my bedroom?”
“You work fast.”
“Not much to it when you're a one man operation. Or two man this time, I guess. Which, we can split whatever we make evenly? Does that work for you?”
You initiate a handshake.
“I'm looking forward to this.”
“Me too,” you say, face burning.
The next day, your nerves are on edge. You try to stay busy and avoid listening too hard to whatever he's doing in his room or asking for more details when he steps out to run vague errands. You manage to make it to early afternoon without breaking down and are laying on the couch doomscrolling to distract yourself, absentmindedly cuddling a smuppet for no other reason than it smells like your Bro, and that's helping you to not freak the fuck out right now.
Suddenly he pops up, leaning over the back of the couch, making zero effort to hide how entertained he is at the way your arm is wrapped around that plush rump and your face is pressed into it.
“Got a job for you, if you want it.”
You answer affirmatively, and he hands you a credit card and tells you to go to the mall to secure your wardrobe for the evening. Specifically, he explains that you should get something that looks like what you would usually wear for work, but not nearly as expensive. Grateful for a task, you pick up one of his baseball caps to pull down over your eyes, just in case, and you head out with the keys to his truck in hand.
As you're browsing the racks at the first department store, you discover it's fun picking out your own costume to play yourself in a porno, what an enjoyable little mind fuck. As you assess your body and imagine what you’ll look like on camera while you're changing in the dressing room, you get a bit chubbed up, which is a hopeful sign of stiffer things to come.
You take your time and end up purchasing a cheap but stylish khaki suit you actually kind of like, with a black dress shirt and some fake leather shoes that you think will fit your Bro's instructions perfectly. You get home a little after 5 and he’s fucking around in his room again, so you start the long process of showering and grooming yourself. You even shave and spritz on your fancy cologne, although he's the only one who's going to benefit.
At 7:59 you get a text telling you he's ready whenever you are, Mr. Rider. You start making the journey from your old bedroom, which is still set up exactly how you left it, to knock on his door across the hall.
“Get your perky little ass in here, Davey.”
You enter and see he's rocking his own business casual fit, a baby blue button down with the sleeves rolled and some light gray pants that are hugging his own impressive assets in a way that’s already making you feel pretty damn unprofessional. He has his big bed pushed up against one wall, where he's replaced all the chaotic posters and artwork that had been hanging there with a single framed photo of a beach, the kind of soulless, mass-produced print a glorified guidance counselor for working adults totally would have in his office. There's a tripod set up in front of the bed, but not for a camera, it's for a phone. Guess he really meant it when he said this shoot would be low budget.
As you're surveying the set, he's eyeing you up and down, so you do a saucy little spin to show off your new clothes.
“You look amazing.” He steps towards you and makes a move for your shades. “But can I take these off for you?” You nod and tilt your head upwards to make it easier. He's not wearing his, fair is fair.
Once they're placed safely on the corner of his desk, he takes a longer look at your bare face than you’d expect him to, not like he hasn't seen it before. “It’s a shame we can’t show this. You're gorgeous, you know?”
“I bet you say that to all your girls.”
“Just the really profitable ones,” he replies, then cocks his head toward the bed. “Go ahead, lay down.” You do, you get comfortable on your back, and you watch him pull what must be a burner phone out of his pocket and fiddle with it before setting it up on the tripod and adjusting the angle. “That's it, just keep your head on that pillow right there, and we’re all good.” He looks back at you and narrows his eyes. “You ready?”
“As ever.”
He taps the screen then starts speaking after a few moments.
“Hey everyone, thanks for joining our session. We have quite the exciting case on our hands today. Here with me is a popular film director guilty of making extremely sexually charged and biologically insensitive remarks to an omega in the workplace. The roleplay exercise I’ll be conducting is designed to teach bossy betas like him some sorely needed empathy. We’ll be forcing him to experience what it's like to be in heat, struggling with your natural impulses. Which is something you’d think a man with his lack of self control could relate to without needing to resort to therapeutic intervention, but here we are.”
Thinking you’re being funny, you interrupt with a “fuck you”.
He glances at you over his shoulder. “I'm livestreaming."
Once the meaning of that phrase sinks in, you scramble and start looking for the quickest and easiest route to exit the shot without revealing more of yourself than you’d bargained for.
Dirk holds up a hand, silently ordering you to stop what you're doing. He grabs the phone, pauses the stream, then comes to sit next to you on the corner of the bed. “Is there a problem?”
“I don’t even know if I want this shit public, Bro. I thought I could decide later."
“And I thought you were all in.”
“Well, why’d you change the plan?”
“We didn't have a plan, you were leaving it all to me, right? The expert?”
“How many people?”
“Just a few hundred.”
“That’s better than a video?”
“Here, look,“ He hands you the phone and points to the corner of the screen, where the chat is popping off. You only have to watch for a few seconds to see donations begging Dirk to turn the camera back on are pouring in. Your audience must be very rich and/or depressingly desperate, because these numbers are fucking wild.
“That’s a lot of fucking money,” you say. “More than I expected.”
“See? They love you. And don't worry, I'll make sure no one ever reposts this shit, not anywhere that matters anyway.”
You trust him, but you still aren't sure you're okay with a bunch of strangers seeing you get jacked off, god willing, by your brother, especially not in real time. You've come this far, though, and you don't want to disappoint him. “I guess you can turn it back on.”
“Good choice.” He leans over to mess up your hair before getting up and setting the phone back in place.
“Sorry about that, folks. Our subject forgot to initial a page on his consent forms. But don't worry, all the boring paperwork’s squared away now. Shall we get started?”
On camera now, he returns to you and leaps into bed to straddle your thighs and slide both hands underneath your jacket in one fluid motion like a big cat. He starts pawing at your chest, your neck, and your shoulders, massaging you, exerting a gentle pressure with his fingertips, lightly cupping the curves of your pecs, caressing your sides, and squeezing you. He’s giving every inch he touches generous and thorough attention, while you close your eyes and try not to think about how many unfamiliar pairs of eyes are watching you get felt up by a blood relative. Gradually he lets his hands dip lower, circling your ribcage and running his palms over your hips and stomach.
Dirk’s going so slow and touching you so softly, you're surprised that you're already thinking about coming. After rubbing you down over your clothes for several minutes, he pops open the first button on your shirt and, thankfully by the time he's undone the last one, it's clear your dick is willing to join this evening's activities as an active participant. It’s so hard it almost hurts all locked up behind your zipper, growing bigger by the second but kept pinned down by Dirk’s own massive bulge, which feels like it's pressing onto you with more force than what he's applying manually with his fingers. It's becoming difficult to think straight, you take a deep breath, and you realize Dirk must have put on cologne or something like that too, maybe too much, because the smell of him is almost overpowering.
He's got your shirt completely open now, and when his big warm hands make contact with your skin, you arch your back and draw in an even deeper breath that lifts your chest closer to him. You don't know why you want it because you never have before, but you're a few seconds away from begging him to play with your nipples.
Luckily, he doesn't need a verbal hint, although you can tell as soon as he drags his fingertips back up to the area in question, he’s going to make you wait for it. He teases you first, drawing tightening circles around them with his thumbs, then backing off to stroke your sides again before repeating the process. He makes you pant and plead with your eyes for a full five minutes before he finally brushes those sensitive points of pleasure deliberately, still going so slow, so it feels like it might take another five before he's done with the first flick. And fuck, your dick does hurt now as he continues to rub them, you are super fucking aware of how heavy he is on top of you, and how good it would feel to free both of you from your pants. Or not even you, you’d settle for just him, so you could see his dick getting harder while he fondles you with no obstructions.
As he brings his thumbs back down right over your nipples, you moan. He was right, you hardly recognize your own voice. You’ve been avoiding eye contact, even though he's been concentrating mostly on what he's doing to you, but when you make that noise he does turn his honey-colored gaze towards your face and you meet it. Then he looks down at where your erections are rubbing up against each other and gives you a sly grin before hopping off both you and the bed with the same agility he displayed getting into it.
Now that you've been loud, fuck trying to keep quiet, you whine like a wounded animal as you reach up for him, hoping to drag him back down to you.
“Woah there, tiger, my clinical tactics must be working better than expected.” He easily evades you and turns to the camera instead. “Seeing some early success here, he's already quite excited with just a little manual stimulation. Maybe if you guys provide enough encouragement, I can bring you in for a closeup.”
You’re hurt. What the fuck is he doing talking to the chat when you're here, and your dick is ready to go? He told you he would make you come, and you’ve never felt closer. You must be as desperate as your current benefactors, because you're about to start throwing your own wallet at Dirk to get him to come back and finish what he started.
While you sulk, he's assessing the audience’s contributions. He tells them, “Come on, just a little more. Don't you want to see this Hollywood hothead rehabilitated?”
He steals a glance over his shoulder at you, and you are downright pouting, you’ve got your lower lip stuck out and your eyes wide and wet like a puppy’s. You're sure you look ridiculous, but you're so horny you don't care. It always takes a minute for you to assess what he might be thinking, so you're surprised as you look back at him now, expecting to see a slightly raised eyebrow or an upturned corner of his mouth giving away amusement, but instead you clock dead seriousness, he almost seems hungry.
After you lose the staring contest, he checks the phone again. “That’s more like it. Thanks everyone, I think I’ve got what I need to give you a better view for this next segment.”
He picks up the phone and joins you back in bed. You're still weirdly upset with him, even more so now, because since he's decided to turn the peepshow into a POV one of his hands is going to be constantly tied up, and that means you have to share him, not your strong suit. But he’s straddling your legs just a little lower this time, and the warmth and weight of him is back exactly where you need it to be, right on top of you. So you just try to lie back and focus.
He starts massaging you again, this time below the waist only, carefully keeping the camera pointed at your crotch. Of course he's using just one hand to touch you, but it’s even better than before, even more seductive. The pressure in your pants doesn't build up slowly, it only takes the initial touch of his finger as he glides it down your happy trail and beneath your waistband, and you are right back where you were when he stopped before, painfully sprung. He does the same thing to your lower body that he had done with your chest, he kneads and caresses your hips, your thighs, everywhere except your dick for long minutes that drag on and leave you bucking your hips up into the air, trying to entice him.
After far too much teasing, he unlatches the buckle of your belt and undoes it with a flick of his wrist. You hold your breath as he pulls the belt out through your belt loops and drops it off the side of the bed, then tackles your button and your zipper. He firmly grips the side of your pants and you wiggle your hips to help him slide them down a little.
You're suddenly very aware again of the fact that people are watching as he hooks a finger into the opening of your briefs, and your cock immediately slips through to expose itself. Now your hard, flushed red dick is front and center, getting eyeballed by hundreds of unknown pervs. Your face must be red too, but despite the embarrassment, you're so turned on your veins are practically throbbing.
Dirk is right there in the room with you, getting the best view in the house, VIP access, except he's not touching you either. Like the strangers on the other side of the stream, he's staring at your cock silently, and the look on his face is just as unreadable to you as if he was also watching from behind a screen in a completely different zip code. You'd like to think that intense expression means he’s about to grab a handful, but he doesn't. He’s just kneeling over you, resting his free hand on your thigh and looking like he's contemplating his life choices.
You don't care if he doesn't like the way it looks or it wasn't what he expected, he needs to touch your dick, fuck, if he backs out now you’ll never get the handy you've been fantasizing about since you watched his jailhouse smut together. You were probably fantasizing about it even before that, if you're being honest. Speaking of honesty, is a handy even what you really want? Your head is spinning with options, maybe you’d like more? There's something missing from your life that he could provide you with right the fuck now, you know that much, but the way he's looking at you and smelling so good makes the fact that he's not doing anything to you at all but filming you an unforgivable offense. It's not just causing you physical anguish to be pinned beneath him fully exposed and unmolested, it's emotional, you remind yourself once again that he promised he would make you come and now he's second guessing? What the fuck is happening to you, you’re so needy for his touch that you actually start crying. You feel it in your throat first and then, yeah, those are tears spilling down your face like hot lava.
You hiccup pathetically and he looks right at you and there's no way he couldn't notice you're bawling your eyes out. You think, shit, now he's really going to stop. You're a fully grown man crying like a baby in front of his big Bro, all because you just can’t keep your mouth shut, or your dick up for that matter, and you need him to fix it for you.
You don't give a shit about anyone recognizing your voice anymore, you need to convince your Bro you really want to continue, and this extreme and uncharacteristic reaction is just a result of your sexual frustration, certainly not regret. “I’m like,” you say, barely able to catch your breath enough to complete a full sentence. “Really fucking feeling it.”
“I can see that.”
Damn, is his voice always that deep? He speaks to you again, and fuck, you think about how nice it’d be to put your head against his chest so your can bury your face in those muscles and hear his deep voice right up next to your ear. “Do you understand what's happening?”
You do not, you're confused, especially when he turns back to his phone for a second. He flips the camera and says, “Sorry, technical difficulties.” Immediately after, he shuts the phone off, then suddenly and violently chucks it, you can hear it hit the opposite wall, hope he didn't have to make any calls later.
You’re panicking. “What the hell? You don't wanna do this any more?”
“Opposite. I need to have sex with you.”
“You need to what?”
“I am about lose my fucking mind. I cannot have anyone else looking at you right now.”
He leans in and presses his lips against yours, but you're too shocked to react, so he quickly moves to kiss your cheekbones, your temples.
“I only agreed to a handjob,” you remind him.
He presses his face into your neck and takes a deep breath, he's practically huffing it.
“I know we really did have a plan for that.”
Now, he's trying to get you to open up your lips again, licking at the corners of your mouth.
“Dirk? Dirk?”
“Sorry, but can you shut the fuck up? I’m about to kill both of us if you don't kiss me back, Darlin’.”
You realize that during your conversation he's slipped between your legs, which have automatically wrapped themselves around his waist, and he’s grinding his bulge aggressively against your ass cheeks. You turn your face to his and close your eyes and you let him kiss you again, but this time you return the sentiment. You part your lips and you welcome his tongue inside you. Now that you can taste him, now that you can smell that incredible fucking cologne or whatever it is he’s wearing up close, and he’s got you thinking about him fucking you, you fully go dizzy. You doubt you’d be able to get him off you if you tried.
“What the fuck, Dirk? What's going on?”
“Whoever told you you’re a beta was a fucking idiot.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When's the last time you got checked out?”
“I don't know. Probably when I was still a kid.”
He pulls back, propping himself up on one arm and snaking the other around your waist and down the back of your briefs. You feel his fingers sliding between your cheeks in a practiced way, and he immediately finds your entrance.
“Wait a min-”
You interrupt yourself with another uncontrollable moan as he inserts two fingers inside you to the second knuckle, and you're surprised how easily they slip in. You squeeze down on them involuntarily, and you shudder in pleasure as he curves them and rubs them up against your walls. When he pulls his hand back out and shows you his fingers, you can easily see they've been coated in a thick, sticky, translucent substance. “You’re a great director, but are you this good at acting?”
Your mouth drops open. “You think I’m an omega?”
You watch helplessly as he licks your slick from his fingers. “I’m pretty fucking sure, David.”
Fuck, yes, that is it, that’s what you’ve been wanting all this time, you’d love his dick inside you, wouldn't you? You want him to pull your pants and underwear off the rest of the way and spread your legs open and pound you til you're pregnant. “How is this possible?”
“You probably weren't showing whenever you got checked. And I doubt they took you to a good doctor.”
“But I’m a whole ass adult. I couldn't figure it out by now?”
He’s focused on humping and sniffing and biting you again, and his answers are getting snippy. “Somewhat common with a stressful childhood. Physically or mentally.”
“Or both?”
“Yes.”
“Oh shit. I’ve heard of that, I think. ”
“So can I, Davey?”
“Fuck.”
“Is that a yes? Tell me.”
“I feel like I can't move.”
“You smell so good.”
“I feel like I'm high.”
“Come on, say yes, I need you so fucking bad.” He lifts up his head and you see there's some drool spilling out of his mouth onto your chest, his pupils are blown out, he looks like he's strung out on coke or something. But you guess his current drug of choice is you. “Please, say I can have sex with you.”
The apparent loss of his legendary self control is incredibly hot. You're already fucked in more ways than one. “Bro,” you say. “I need you too.”
“Thank you. God.”
“I don't think I can even handle anything else.”
“Tell me exactly what you want, then.”
“I want your dick.”
He makes a low noise halfway between a moan and growl, then immediately sits up and starts tearing at your jacket. You share the same sense of urgency to get naked as fast as possible, but your thoughts are still so cloudy you can only go limp everywhere except your dick and let him undress you like a doll.
He moves onto your shirt, kissing and licking down the length of your torso as he removes it. Next, it's your pants that have to go, and your shoes, and all the while you're getting treated to more kisses along your inner thighs, your calves, even your toes. He even licks the very fucking sole of your fucking foot as he has it in his hand after pulling your last sock off.
Finally it's just your briefs, and as he lifts the waistband over your erection it's obvious he's struggling to do so with care. You can see his chest rising and falling, his jaw is tight, and his face has gone pink over the bridge of his nose.
He's looking at your still very hard dick like he can already taste it, so you aren't surprised at all when he places a hand on either side of your hips and leans in to stick out his tongue and trail it from your base to your tip, warm and wet and so very dangerous. Because when he parts his lips and takes your head into his mouth, you already feel your nut coming on, give him another second like that and you're done for.
You grab as much of his thick blonde hair as you can in a tight fistful and use all the force you can gather to yank his head away. “Dirk, please. I don't want to come unless you're inside me.”
You thought he was wild before, now he looks positively feral. He’s still drooling over you, you have never seen anyone do that for anyone else before, even on camera. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he pushes himself off of you and stands up. You’re about to protest, but before you can say anything, your words catch in your throat and you watch in silent anticipation as he unbuttons his own shirt and shrugs out of it. He takes off his belt, socks, and shoes, then slides down his pants and his boxers. His rock hard cock is also fucking huge, just like the rest of him. You knew it would be, you don't live with a guy who's that big for years without noticing an outline through some grey sweatpants or catching a glimpse when he's heading back to his room after a shower.
There's only one thing that's going to satisfy you, and that's not going to happen while you're staring at it. To show Dirk you're more than ready for him to mount you, you scoot your ass up a few inches and bring your knees up to your chest.
He gets back on the bed, moving between your legs, using his left hand to angle himself so he's right there at your entrance. Just his head against you feels impossibly large and thick, is that whole thing really going to fit? You aren't scared at all, you know it will, you know there is no way it won't, you would rather die getting torn in two than not have him give you the completeness you're craving. You think your spirit might just give up and leave this cruel world itself if he isn't filling up your achingly empty space in the next few seconds.
He gives you a look that you think is a question, so you're about to beg him to yes please, fuck me up right the fuck now, but he's already pushing into you, maybe he couldn't stop himself either. Because of all the slick you didn't know you could produce before he unlocked you, he's able to force his massive cock into your virgin passage without much resistance. It does feel a bit tight and ever so slightly painful. But it also feels like heaven.
You're counting the inches as he's maybe halfway in, when he asks you, “You doing okay?” By the sound of his voice you wonder what he’d do if you said no, he’s dying to be buried too, he can barely contain himself.
You nod, and when he enters you fully, pressing himself so very deeply into you, you start making noises you know won't stop until he's finished.
He thrusts gently at first, his own breath shaky with the effort of restraint as he tries to limit how hard he's hitting it to allow you to adjust to him. But do you even need to? This was what you were made for, it seems so insane that you didn't know you were before, and nothing you're feeling now is doing anything to discourage that new discovery. You are so tight but wet, he's so thick and firm but also warm and velvety, and you think you can feel every single point of contact, all the places where he's stretching you and you're squeezing him. He’s relentlessly consistent, pushing in and pulling out without letting either of you rest, increasing the speed and force in slow but exacting increments.
Kneeling, with his hands gripping your thighs, he's working up to a nice steady rhythm, and soon he's giving it to you real good, you feel him deeper and deeper and harder and harder. You sit up and wrap your arms around him to pull him to your chest, you're digging your fingernails into his back hard enough to break skin. You squeeze him between your thighs, grinding your heels into his ass trying to pull him in even further. Your whole body is on fire, you're so hot and so full and so ready to be bred you can't think about anything else. You're probably hurting him, but neither of you cares. He's really railing you now, easily fighting against your death grip to rock his hips back as far as he likes and driving back in violently enough that you're getting jostled beneath, no matter how much you claw into him or how tightly you hold on.
There's tension throughout your entire body now. You can feel it tightening in your balls like usual when you're masturbating, but there’s also a new, strange but pleasant pressure coiling up your insides, right where he's penetrating you the fullest. His head is pressing up against something you didn't even understand you had until several minutes ago, and you cannot believe it's happening, you are finally for the first time in your life going to come during sex, and it's with an alpha, the hottest and probably most fucked up one you've ever met, your big, scratch that, your fucking huge brother, with his monster cock up your ass, kissing your womb.
Ah, fuck though, you're suddenly nervous. Is it too fast? Should I tell him to stop so I can hold off?
He’s looking at your face, and even in the intensity of what he's doing to you, he can recognize that you're struggling. “It’s okay,” he tells you, as softly as he can. “Do it for me.”
Like you were waiting for his permission, you instantly blow your load. Every part of your body you're conscious of explodes with pleasure. As obvious as it was, you can't say you fully believed you were really an omega until this very moment, but with the way you’re clamping down in a steady rhythm that's unmistakably, biologically intended to coax his sperm out of his body into yours is the final proof you needed. Holy hell you are one of those little babymaking princesses aren't you? And, goddamn, you're finding out you were justified in your jealousy, because it’s a fucking lucky thing to be. If other omegas feel a fraction as good as this coming on hard alpha cock, they deserve any envy coming their way. You spill a nice hot load from your dick like usual, balls twitching tight up against your taint and busting hard enough to paint your own face. But the real money shot happens inside you, where you're convulsing around Dirk. Those consecutive shivers of pure physical bliss are much more intense, longer lasting and fuller than any of the orgasms you’ve felt by yourself before, these are a full body experience.
You’re still riding it out when he comes too, your pussy must have worked its magic, milking him until he couldn't resist, and he's got you so sensitive that you’d know what was happening even without seeing his face or hearing the way he's saying “oh fuck” in that extra scratchy drawl. He's still looking at you, but you don't know if he's even registering your satisfied smile, he looks like he's as lost in the pheromone sauce as you were, just mindlessly plowing you while he pumps you full of himself. You're so tender after coming, but you grit your teeth and take it for him, it's the least you can do to hold out while he gets his fill too. Knowing he’s coming inside you is almost as good as your own orgasm. You have never seen him so out of it, and you love knowing it's you who's making him feel that way.
He hits it hard with one last, super fucking deep thrust, then sighs and gently lowers himself onto you and rests his head on the pillow beside yours over your shoulder. He takes a hand and wipes your come off your face with his thumb, and you tilt your head and open your lips so he can bring it to your mouth and you can lick it and suck it off of him. You swallow it down, your first real nut that wasn't courtesy of your own hand.
He's still inside you, and while he isn't hurting you anymore now that he isn't moving, you're still getting stretched wide. He actually feels thicker and firmer than he did a second ago. When you wriggle your lower body a bit to test the waters, you realize he must be knotted up. Inexperienced as you are, you do know that's a thing that happens.
“We’re stuck like this for a bit?” you ask him.
He nods, eyes hooded, all cute and sleepy, and then he circles you with his big strong arms and rolls over so you're on top of him, for you a much more comfortable position. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn't pull out in time."
For some inexplicable reason, tears well up in your eyes again. Before you know it, they're streaming down your face and you can feel snot building up in your nose. You try to inhale, but your shoulders and your chest are shaking too much for it to go down smoothly.
His hands are on your face instantly. “Davey, what's wrong?”
“Am I one of those people?”
“What people?”
“Who you didn't really want to stick your dick into?”
He laughs quietly, which makes you cry harder, but before your next sob subsides, he’s squeezing you tight and rubbing your back, and you're already feeling a little better. “Not at all. I wanna do that again.”
“Am I gonna get pregnant?”
“We’ll get you a pill tomorrow so you don't. And then we'll get you some more, so we can do this all the time. Don't worry about anything.”
You snuggle close to him and lodge your face in the space between his chin and his chest.
Wrapping his fingers in your hair, he says, “I’m getting carried away. We can keep doing this if you want to, I mean. I just, damn, I really want to see more of you, if you want to have sex with me or not. I’ve missed you so much since you moved out.”
There's still a logical part of your brain that's like, your Bro has an excuse to be like this, he’s never been normal, but are you really gonna rip your floaties off and dive in to join him in the deep end of the crazy pool? Because that's what extending your family business beyond tonight would be, fucking crazy. But, you've missed him too. You can't help that, since you’ve been together, he's always been your safe space, even with all the caveats that make that a truly fucked up statement.
“I want it,” you say. “LA’s been pissing me off lately.” He leans in for a kiss, which you accept with tired but willing enthusiasm. “But it might be different than the last time I moved in. I’m more high maintenance now.”
“I noticed that, Darlin’, and I think it's cute. You're all classy and more confident.”
“And I’m gonna have to go back for work sometimes, for weeks or even months. If you want to keep doing this, you have to be dead fucking quiet, especially if you want to come with me.”
“Sure thing, you know me. I'm practically off the grid already anyway.”
“But what if I suck at being an omega? I don't even know how any of this is supposed to work.” As you say that, you realize why you’re being difficult, you're actually worried you aren't going to be able to handle him, not the other way around. After all, you just joined this club, he's been a card carrying member for years.
You stifle a sniffle, ready to burst out into tears again depending on how he answers. “How am I supposed to know what you need?”
“I ain't worried about all that either, Davey, it'll come naturally.” He slips his arms further down to the small of your back to get a firmer hold. “And if it doesn't, I got you. We know you respond well to training.”