John doesn't often find himself alone with the elder Strider sibling, but when he does, things always go wrong. It's probably just 'cause Bro isn't used to dealing with kids other than his own brother. Or maybe he just forgets that not everyone is like Dave. Meaning that, unlike his aloof best friend, John doesn't really know how to react to being buried in Smuppets or to opening the fridge to an avalanche of dangerous weapons.
But what makes him the most uncomfortable, even more so than 'Lil Cal or the flash stepping, is how casual he is.
The way he speaks and goes about, not giving a fuck, saying whatever he wants and doing just that as well, sometimes it leaves things open to very uncomfortable grounds.
Case in point, this moment exactly.
John blinks, mouth slack, “Wait, what?”
They're sitting on the same couch, separated by a few feet and an ocean of awkward. Bro's got one leg crossed over the other, arms slung up over the back of the couch, and he's not even looking at him, but he's definitely addressing him. John can see it in the way he's gone oddly still, and, of course, by the words coming out of his mouth.
He just can't believe what's he's hearing, is all.
“Did you just... ask me if I was..?”
“Yeah. Can't really see a kid like you getting into anything like that. But I figured I should ask before I start judgin', you know?”
“Why would you even, I mean, wow! We are really talking about this.”
Bro shrugs, giving him a cursory glance out of the corner of his eye, “Well?”
Squirming in his seat, John stares awkwardly at the television against the wall, arms limp on his lap. Eyes shifting anxiously, he screws his mouth up a bit then shrugs, “I dunno, I guess I am! I mean, I just never really had the chance. Not yet, at least. There's a girl I could, well... I could probably kiss her on the mouth. But, eh, that's probably about it!”
“So it's not that you aren't interested.”
“Oh, I am. Just, you know.”
“Yeah, you're a pussy. I know.”
John laughs out loud, completely taken by surprise, “That's kind of rude, don't you think?”
Bro just shrugs.
Fingers twiddling idly in his lap, John cocks his head and stares up at nothing in particular while he speaks, “I guess I'm not the bravest guy. Or, well, maybe I'm just not good with girls. I could be if I wanted to though!... maybe. Okay, probably not, but who cares. No girl will ever rival that of Liv Tyler, that's for sure. And I'm not gonna settle for just anybody! So for now I am just forever alone John, and that's alright with me.”
“I could change that.”
“Though I really do like – wait, what? What?!”
“Christ kid, do you need me to check your ears, too? Fucking pathetic. No, wait, is it that you're just not listening to me? 'cause that shit's not cool, either.”
“No!” John nearly shouts, and it's more of a choked, stuttering cough that follows. Bro's turned to look at him, one of his eyebrows drawn low while he waits for John to cough up the anxiety that's suddenly pervaded his throat. It takes him a good thirty seconds and two eyefuls of tears, but he finally recollects himself and just kind of sits there, staring, unsure of what to say.
Until, “Are you propositioning me? Or is this some kid of elaborate prank you and Dave schemed up to make me feel weird?”
But when Bro opens his mouth to reply, John starts up again, “No, wait! You just want me to say yes so you can call me a homosexual! That's it, isn't it? Well ha, ha! Not today, nope! You've probably got microphones and cameras set up and everything. Heheh, poor you, I already figured it out. Too bad! You – ow, hey!” Rubbing the spot on his arm that Bro just pinched, John pouts up at him, “What was that even for?”
“You talk too fucking much.” Is his reply, and he looks pretty close to punching John in the face. “Just come here, you little brat.”
“Little brat?” John insists, chuckling hollowly. “You're not that old, you know. You can't be more than, what, twenty-five?”
“Old enough to put you in the goddamn corner with 'Lil Cal and a few of my cameras if you don't do what I say.”
“Fine.” John sighs, eyes rolling up towards the upper frame of his glasses. He glances down at the couch, then scoots a whole six inches closer. “Better?”
And Bro just leans over and seizes him by the arm, hauling him over to lay over his lap, “Better.”
Then commences a long, drawn out period of awkward in which all John can think to do is blink up at Bro's glasses while the other completely ignores him. The eyes behind those shades are focused on the tv, guileless, or at least seemingly so, to the blatant confusion on John's face. That is until he clears his throat, tongue darting out to wet lips that have gone dry. The motion catches Bro's attention, and he inclines his head ever so slightly, “I thought you were... um... what are you doing.”
“Trying to watch my shows. You got a problem with that?”
“No.” John says, scratching at the bridge of his nose. “But I kind of thought you were going somewhere with this and now I'm kind of confused again.”
“So you want me to, then.”
“Not really, no. I never said that.”
Grunting, Bro shuffles a bit to get himself comfortable, then heaves John up to sit on his lap. There isn't even a choice in the matter; one minute he's down and then he's leaning into Bro's chest and chilling on the most solid pair of legs he's ever encountered. Considering that he's probably only ever been on three pairs in his life – ie: his dad, santa, the creepy neighbor lady from across the street who always brought him sweaters for winter – it's not really that big of a deal in the end. But it's still pretty weird, and he's not really sure what to do with himself after that! But Bro seems wholly unconcerned, legs uncrossed to... wait, no, that's not really okay. He's maneuvered his knees between John's, forcing them apart, leaving him, well, really uncomfortable. He tries and fails to bring them together again and lets out a huff of disapproval.
“I take it back, your uncomfortable prank is working out pretty well.”
“I'm not really into jokes.” Bro says, and John realizes just how close to his ear that voice actually is. “Not your kind, at least.”
“Right.” John manages, hands twitching anxiously on the outer parts of Bro's legs, hips wiggling a bit to situate himself into a more suitable position. “You're into the whole irony thing. Got it.”
A noncommittal noise fills his ear, and John sucks in a breath, “Heh! Well I guess you got all the footage you need, and all that jazz. You can let me down now.”
Bro draws him slightly closer, nosing at the fine hair brushing against the back of his ear.
“Seriously, any time now.”
There's something warm and soft against the side of his neck, and John really doesn't want to know what it is, even though he's definitely already got the basic idea. “I really don't think you should be doing any of this.”
Hands toy with the loops on his pants, threatening to drag them down, and Bro is definitely must be ignoring him, he must, he has to -
“I think you've gone and gotten the wrong idea, Bro. I mean, everyone knows I'm not a homo -”
“Just shut the fuck up and let me help you already, Jesus. Try to help a kid and all he does is whine and cry. Enough already.” John lets out a jumbled series of noises and vowels when Bro accentuates his last words with a thrust of his hips, hands clamping tight on his waist. Right. Yes. This is a prank gone wrong and there's definitely no way out of it, not with the iron shackles gripping his hip bones.
Shit, this is really happening.
And all John can do is try not to panic right then and there.
Bro's hands wind themselves into his hair, carding through it and picking at random strands. His lips meet the back of John's ear, eyes closed behind his glasses, enjoying the silky feeling beneath the pads of his fingers. John lets him, unsure of what to do, but reproachfully enjoying the feeling of someone else playing with his hair. He could probably go to sleep like this, with Bro's fingers massaging his scalp, but the hot breath against his ear was just unnverving enough to keep him wide awake.
“You're a good kid, John.” Bro says lowly, tightening his grip momentarily. “I'd like to change that.”
“Something tells me that's not exactly legal.” John replies, but all it earns him is a bite to the earlobe.
“As if I've ever cared about that kind of shit.”
One of Bro's hands winds itself out of his hair, trailing down his neck, gloves cold and crisp against John's heated skin. He sucks in a breath and holds it tight, legs going stiff whereas they'd once been swinging as that hand fiddles with the collar of his shirt. Bro's other hands never leaves his hair, flipping it up, twisting it, then smoothing it back down. He's almost obsessive in the way he curls his fingers into it, knuckles almost white at times as their owner breathes deeply of John's high grade shampoo. His dad is that kind of guy, always ensuring they're well stocked in the way of hygiene products and classy smelling salts. Shits expensive, but Bro isn't about to complain, not when every flick of his wrist fills his senses with more of the stuff.
Regardless, John's a high-strung ball of nerves as that hand releases his collar and dips lower, grazing a nipple through the thin fabric of his GB Slimer shirt. His knees jerk unpleasantly at the sensation, twitching anxiously as two fingers grip it tightly, rolling it through the sheerness of his clothing.
This isn't really okay, he wanted to say. But his brain had long since shut down, leaving him susceptible to anything and everything Bro wanted to throw his way. And if he was honest, very honest, actually, he was genuinely curious. What it would be like, maybe... No, wait, no, his brain switched on just long enough to snip that thought in the ass. John Egbert was not a homosexual, he had a very affectionate stirring for the girl sitting two seats and three rows away in his Advanced Topics class. That was proof enough for him, that was all he needed and -
He let out the breath he was holding in one awkward, shambling squeak, unaware that Bro's hand had dipped so low. It flicked idly at the hem of his shirt, taunting him, teaming up with the smirk on Bro's face and the cruel edge to his chuckle as he clamped tight to John's neck with tongue and teeth and pent-up need. His hand never stopped moving, twining through that feathery hair while the other brushed the small silver button to John's jeans.
Christ, he was really gonna -
A very unseemly, startled moan found its way out, John's body jerking sharply back into Bro's as that same strong, gloved hand palmed him through his pants. His legs clamped down tight on Bro's, knees struggling to meet again, and his hands clench tightly to whatever they could find.
“Ssh...” Bro croons into his ear, but it's hardly comforting. “You're a good boy, John.”
That hand gropes at him, tracing the outline of his dick through the fabric between them. John's rigid in Bro's lap, only just realizing that the only thing holding him down now is his own hands anchored to the legs beneath him. But Bro is still whispering in his ear, nuzzling the drying trails of saliva on the side of his neck, and petting his hair. So tenderly, almost as if he were some treasured pet, a doll kept close and protected, preened, dotted upon. He almost feels spoiled until Bro's hands tighten, dragging him painfully away from his thoughts and into the cruel reality of what's actually occuring.
There's a hand grinding against him, drawing frustrated, awkward thrusts from his own hips, and it's definitely not his own. Not to mention that, well, it's definitely a guy's hand. He's almost sure no woman could be this harsh with him and still make it good and, fuck, it is good. It feels good. He's loathe to admit it but now that he's actually thinking about it he doesn't really care that it's not a girl between his thighs at this point.
Shit, that's so gay. That's so homosexual. That's... it's...
“Fuck.” He stutters, and it's the single most embarrassing word he's ever muttered. Bro bites down on his neck, harder, sucking bruises towards the surface of his porceline skin as his hand coaxes John's dick to life.
“Yeah, that's right, it feels good, doesn't it?” Bro's arm snakes under his, reaching up to grip John's hair while simultaneously pulling him further into the warm cocoon of his body. “Tell me it feels good.”
John tries to tell him that that's the girliest thing anyone could ever say at a moment like this, but all that comes out is a strangled heap of words as he bobs his head in consent. It earns him the full undoing of his fly, and Bro's hand dips into the folds of his clothing to grip the base of his dick. Another sound that John wants to lay no claim to grinds its way out of his teeth, mocking him as he pants for breath, hands scrabbling now at the hand pumping him and the one laying siege to his bangs.
Those leather gloves are soft as velvet, smooth to the touch and cool against his dick. It's better than anything he's ever felt before, better than his own hand, better than any of the porn he's ever grudgingly watched, linked to by Dave and mocked until he had no other choice.
John's pretty sure he's getting uncomfortably close though, hips bucking up into the hand holding him. Bro's hips are working against him, grinding into his ass, and even though it should be mortifying he finds himself leaning into it, reciprocating the touch as he gasps for another breath of air.
“You're so good. You're doing great.” Bro whispers to him. “I'm starting to think you were lying to me.”
“Wasn't.” John manages, turning his head into the hand at his temple. It ghosts across his face, abandoning his hair long enough to caress John's cheek, and then to slip a thumb into the crook of his tongue. The urge to bite down is immediate and strong, but Bro's hand forces his jaw apart, coaxing his head back to rest against the crook of his shoulder so he can place small, open-mouthed kisses against his jawline. Tongue trembling, John lets the thumb in his mouth touch his five senses, salty and sweet and firm, all the same. It rubs against the grooves in his teeth and into the plush, moist pit beneath his tongue. Glides up against his palette and tickles the inside of his cheeks. He moans one low, hot note, mouth closing, and sucks before he realizes what he's doing.
Bro exhales deeply, nosing his cheek, “Tease.”
Slipping his hand free, Bro runs his other hand up the curve of John's dick, thumbing the slit, smearing pre-cum along its length as it travels back down. John sucks in a breath of air through his teeth, the taste of salt and leather still fresh on his breath, groaning encouragement. The hand enclosing him fucks itself fervently, twisting and squeezing, applying pressure here and there. John's chest tightens painfully as he begins to feel light-headed, unable to form words or speech. All he can do is cling to the arms entwining him and pant feverishly against Bro's neck, all inhibitions lost and gone.
He knows he's close; his hips have taken on a pattern of their own, grinding into the hardening mass beneath him and the fist before him. It's much too much and before he knows it the end is right at the tip of his tongue. He can almost taste release as it dawns on him, writhing in the very core of his body as he comes undone.
Or, at least, as he tries to.
A frustrated, angry sound breaks free, and John fucks the air mercilessly, reaching with his own hands to relieve the overwhelming pressure inside him. But Bro's taken away all contact, save for the vises around his wrists, holding him back from the very thing he'd been promised.
“Lemme go.” He pleads, arching into a taut bow of hazy pleasure, moaning helplessly when Bro thrusts lazily against him. “Please, just let me go.”
Bro shakes his head, “Not yet.” Then shoves him roughly away.
John lets out a shout of surprise, just barely catching himself on the coffee table. It scoots a few inches across the floor, rolling the carpet up, but he's already collapsed atop it, stopping both his fall and its procession across the floor. He lets out a wheeze, blinking confusion out of his eyes. His glasses have gone askew, hanging precariously off one ear, leaving him nearly blind in one eye and blurry in the other. Before he can adjust them though, a sultry hum of approval freezes him in his tracks.
"Nice view." Bro says, and it takes everything John has to steel himself and peer back over the curve of his arm. Legs crossed once more, cheek on his chin, the elder Strider sibling looks almost kingly, as though the couch were his throne and John were his lowly servant. He hums low again, appreciative, and the curve of a smirk graces his face.
"You're a real pervert." John grumbles, meaning to get up, but his legs have turned to jello beneath him. Leaving him with no choice but to stare down the man behind him, a pout firm on his face, every inch of him trembling. A strange mix of feelings are bubbling up inside of him, anxiety, fear, need; it's awkward, but not altogether unpleasant. Bro just kicks further back, grin baring down on him, shades hiding absolutely everything.
"Alright, kid. Call me whatever you want, but it's time for step two. You ready for this?"
"I'm not as big of a pussy as you think I am." John bites back, frowning, but the moment Bro so much as twitches he's recoiling. It's not exactly fear that's driving him. More like a volatile mixture of nerves and arousal that's got him jumpier than hell. Bro leans forward a bit, leg extending, shoving John into the table with the toe of his shoe, "Gonna need you a little lower than that, Egbert." He says, and John's more than glad to hide his face in the crook of his arms.
Flush against the table, the sweat pouring off his body glues him there, sticky and warm as he pants for breath. His legs fumble awkwardly on the floor, spread bizarrely, toes clinging to the carpet. Bro's raising his hips, the leather covering his palms sticking and squelching. Awkward and uncomfortable are the first words that come to John's mind, but pretty much everything that night had been namely so, so instead he focuses on the television in front of him. The screen had long since gone blank, set on mute, turned off, remote thrown to the side. But if he squinted and tilted his head just so...
"Oh my God." He whines, realizing that he it's his own face staring back at him. And beyond that, Bro's, watching him watch himself, that same smirk prompt and stark against the black backdrop.
"Yeah, you just keep watching." Bro says, fingernails digging into John's skin. But he shakes his head, burrowing further into the sanctity of his arms, and Bro lets him. There's too much happening on his end to care, hands firm on the kid's round ass. His dad's a baker or something, so it kinda figures he'd have a real soft, ample thing working for him. And he does, to which Bro is very pleased. His hands are large enough to palm them in their entirety, thumbs digging in, spreading, leaving John as open as anyone could ever be. Bro hears the kid wavering, pictures him worrying at his lower lip with that obnoxious overbite, and allows a shudder to ripple through him.
Deciding that he can't be a total asshole at this point, he softens up, crooning again, thumbs rubbing small circles into the meat of John's ass. His thighs are still quaking, blood buzzing furiously beneath his skin, and Bro almost feels sorry for him.
But not really. He doesn't at all. John'll like it soon enough and he's pretty sure they both know it.
Spreading that perfect ass even further, he shushes and soothes as best he can, whispering about how good of a kid John is, how he's such a good boy, how he's just so proud. It would be insulting to his reputation in any other context, but for now, he chalks it up to the fact that this is his brother's best friend he's dealing with here. With that, he flicks a couple loose strands of hair away from his face, tucking them up into the sweaty bill of his cap, and leans in.
"Fuck." John drawls, stretching the word until it breaks into a high-pitched whine. Bro hums against him, fucking hums, tongue drawing circles around the entrance to his body. Scrabbling at the table, John tries to tell him that that's pretty gross dude, think about what you're doing, but his tongue has turned to literal mush in his mouth. It writhes in confusion, and he has to settle for biting down on it to keep himself from swallowing it and choking to death. The taste of blood fills his mouth, and Bro flattens his own tongue, lapping at him, touching him in a place he'd never dared to even think about.
Bro's hands never cease in their movements, tapping silent beats against John's hips, pinching and pulling, soothing, thumbs spreading his ass wider and wider to accommodate Bro's tongue. John's moans fill the silence of the Strider apartment, pervading the halls and furthest rooms. He tries to muffle himself and earns a swift bite to the ass, "Don't even think about it."
But it's pretty daunting, perhaps more than he thinks he can even handle. Shoving his knuckles against his teeth, John bites down, breath heavy and moist against his hand. Bro's tongue wriggles inside him, fucking him, prompting his toes to curl and his eyes to roll back. His pants are tangled around his knees, tethering them together, and Bro hitches them further down, then off completely, taking John's shoes with them. Tossing them to some unknown corner of the complex, he leans in once more, loosening what he can, licking one final, slow path up the center of John's ass.
"There's still no way you'll be able to take it." He muses aloud, leaning back to admire his glistening handiwork. John stiffens visibly beneath his hands, braving the television to gasp up at Bro's stoic face.
"Take what, exactly?"
"The twelve Smuppets I plan to shove up your colon." At the look he gets, Bro smacks one cheek, leaving a bright red imprint and earning a wince, "What do you think I mean? My fucking dick, that's what."
"But... you're... you're not really going to, are you? How would you even?"
"Virgins." Bro grumbles, ignoring John's annoyed expressions and frustrated words in favor of spreading his ass once more. His thumbs are almost tired from doing so, having to work so hard to reveal something so tight, and he throbs in anticipation. It'll be difficult, but that's no problem for him.
He's done it all before, and John won't mind. Not for long, at least.
"Just shut up for a little while longer."
Reaching into his back pocket, he slips out a small bottle of lube he always keeps on his person. He holds it in one hand and uses the other to flick the catch on his gloves. Then peels them off one after another with his teeth, letting them drop to the floor between his legs. Flicking the top of the bottle back, he pours it over his fingers, catching as much as he can, keeping it from dripping over the sides as he does so. When the bottles nearly empty he tosses it behind him, coating his digits thoroughly with the stuff.
All the while John watches him work in the screen, peering out from the crook of his arm, trying to remain as stealthy as possible. If Bro glances up, he looks hurriedly away, this time glancing at the door, wishing he could run through it.
Well. Maybe he wants to run through it. He's not really sure at the moment.
Those fingers are upon him again, stretching, one already dipping inside him to coat his inner walls. It dives in to the knuckle, then back again, fucking him on it, just as Bro's tongue had done. John clamps down on his arm, feeling a second join the first, and lets a whine filter through his teeth. They stretch him, moving further with every thrust, up to the knuckle and out to the nail each time. Bro's incredibly careful, more so than John thought he would, but by the third finger he's got tears in his eyes.
"Ssh." He hears. "You're fine."
"Fine my ass." He croaks, to which Bro nods his head in consent.
"Finest I've ever seen."
John doesn't reply to that. At this point in time, he just doesn't know how.
Scissoring his fingers, Bro moves deeper, curling this way and that to find the spot he knews will relieve John of his concerns. He brushes against it idly, feels John's body go slack, and continues his work.
His other hand pats lube onto his busy ones knuckles, around the center of John's body, on his ass and anywhere else he can think of to do so. He never stops stretching the kid though, and he's up to four fingers, easing it open. Time flies but that's alright, they've got all the time they need and Bro's not in any hurry.
John, however, has other thoughts, "How much longer?"
His voice is little more than a whisper, clouded with things Bro is proud to have brought to fruitition. Bro pats John's ass absentmindedly with the flat of his hand, then draws the quaint, impudent nose of a Smuppet in the lube he's smeared there.
"You think you're ready?"
"I dunno." And at least he's honest, Bro decides. "But I don't think I'm, uh, gonna last much longer."
Where he'd been idly rubbing the swelling spot inside John, he immediately ceased, only just stopping to think about what it might have been doing to someone so inexperience. He'd thought John had been ultimately discomforted, but it seemed he was wrong. Widening his fingers one last, final time, he took his hand away, "Alright, Kid. We'll see just how ready you are."
The stretch of his zipper sliding down was the loudest thing he'd ever heard. John's spine was taut and pronounced, visible through the thin fabric of his shirt, plastered in sweat and lust. Bro pulled his own up over his head and flung it over the kid's back. But when John went to tug it off his glasses went skidding across the floor, as well. He made a noise of complaint, moving to get them, but Bro pulled him back by the hips, running his dick up the crack of John's ass, "You won't be needing them." He said, and that was the end of that.
Edging his pants down further, Bro slathered his dick with all the lube he had left, practically drying his hands off with it. His knees were a bit cramped as he positioned himself, but after rising a bit he found he could lift John to the sufficient height he needed. His legs trembled a bit but that was alright, this wasn't about him anymore. It was all John now.
But before he started...
Where he'd been panting for air on the table, John yelped, trying to find purchase once again as he was flipped onto his back. The table smacked him hard, bruising his shoulder blades, but he was more concerned with the blurry, imposing figure towering over him. Bro watched as a slow, prominent blush ran down John's body. Coloring his face and neck, blossoming around his nipples and tinting his stomach. An arm flung itself over his face, trying to hide the absolute mortification there, and Bro chuckled lowly, grinding lazily.
"It's so much better if you watch." He whispered, and John let out a mangled, devastated moan. That was the absolute last thing he planned on doing.
With the ache growing unbearable, Bro decided to stop teasing him and get down to it. He prodded John's entrance once, twice, letting the kid know he was there in case he really wanted to quit. But there were no complaints from his counterpart, just a haughty moan and a whimper of anticipation as Bro slowly eased the broad head of his dick past that first ring of muscle.
At this point, John couldn't even form words. All he could do was let out garbled, strangled sounds, ones that mingled with grunts as he dug his nails into the coffee table. His stomach hollowed out, chest heaving as he fought for air. Bro eased in as slow as he could but the kid was definitely panicking.
"It gets easier." He promised, but he wasn't sure if John even believed him. Regardless, he slid in as carefully as he could, sinking until he could go no more, John's body too tight and too taut to take it. Stopping for breath, he took in the sight before him, all blushes and sweat, mouth open in a pant.
John looked about ready to pass out, but at the same time...
His dick was definitely enjoying it.
Reassured by that single thought, he pressed on, urging himself to pull out just as slowly as he had gone in. It was just as torturous to him as it was to John, but in an altogether different way. With the help of the lube things were pretty smooth though, and he clamped down hard on John's hips, drawing him closer as he thrust back in.
“How you doin', kid?”
John's arm shifts a fraction of an inch lower, revealing a single, hazy blue eye, “... fine.”
And then, as he drew almost all the way out, he thrust back in harder than he had before, and John's eye disappeared once again. Bro's hands were tight on him, giving no slack as he ground them together, thrusting harder and harder. The lazy, idle pace he had taken up was replaced with something more feral, more worthy of the act, and Bro let his eyes fall closed, simply enjoying.
Beneath him, John's back was taut with pressure, arching up and away from the table as he fought to find friction, One of his hands was inching towards his straining dick, looking to relieve the building pressure there, but Bro smacked him away.
“Who's here to take care of you?” He demanded, hips slapping into the back of John's thighs. Already reaching again, John let out an angry yowl when Bro flicked him away again.
“Who's your big, strong daddy now, huh?”
“That's really... the most fucked up thing, dude.” He gasped, but a single, needy tear was leaking out of the corner of his eye. Truth be told he was really getting off on it, but the desperation was clear on his face, evident in the erratic thrust of his hips.
“Tell me.” Bro insisted, hand ghosting over the place John so desperately needed him.
“C'mon kid.” A single pass over the head, dipping into the thick substance leaking from there. When he took it away a long string followed it. “Favor me.”
“Uhn.” Was all he could say, teeth digging into his lip so hard that a droplet of blood was starting to pool at the corner of his mouth. Arms at his side now, John didn't even care how pathetic he might have looked at that moment. Though really, to any eye he was probably the most favorable thing anyone had ever seen. Especially in that moment, in the yawning expanse of his mouth as he choked on a silent scream of pleasure.
“You're...” He tried, tongue dipping into the bright red flecks on his lower lip. “You're my...”
Fucking him harder now, balls slapping thick and heavy, Bro cupped John's sac in his palm and massaged gently, “Gonna have to do better than that, kid.”
“You're my daddy, it's you.” John wheezed, body clenched so tight that, if Bro hadn't grasped his dick in his hand he might have broken clean in two.
But he did, and the effect was almost immediate. The kid's body collapsed in on itself, cum splattering his belly, mouth hanging open as he struggled for air. Bro pumped him a few more times, letting him ride it out, then grasped those bony hipes once more, hammering him. He probably should have stopped to think about how much pain John would be in the next day, but all that mattered at the moment was his own release. He smeared some of John's cum across his fingers, popping one into his mouth, and sucked it clean, moaning to himself when he glanced down and caught John watching.
It was too much.
Pulling out, he grasped himself in his hand and beat it to his own rhythm, one he'd become finely tuned to. In seconds he was seeing white, growling low in his throat as he shot his load over Egbert's trembling stomach.
And then, like a train wreck, they just stopped and stared at one another, chests heaving to catch up.
Sighing, Bro zipped himself back up and plopped onto the couch, sated and tired. John sat up on the table, carding a hand through his hair, coming to terms with what had just happened. Trying, probably, to decide if he'd liked it or not.
“Dave will probably be back from the store soon.” He said a minute later, trying to stand, but failing. Everything hurt; his hips, his head, his back.
“Probably.” Bro agreed, but he knew Dave wasn't going to come back anytime soon. He'd made sure of that.
“So I guess I should... go home..?”
Bro shrugged, “Or you could shut the fuck up and chill out here for the rest of the night.”
John blinked up at him, assuring himself that it wasn't, in fact, a true prank of some sort. He already had his shirt back down, had found his pants and pulled them a majority of the way up. His glasses, which he had only just managed to retrieve, slid slowly down the bridge of his nose as he slipped them on.
“Uh. Yeah, or I could do that. I guess.”
He finished pulling his jeans up, glancing up at Bro every now and again. When that was done he sat up further, wincing, then drew himself up, hand on his hip, supporting himself. But before he could take a seat Bro's hand shot out and caught a fistful of his shirt, dragging him down into his lap.
They sat like that for several minutes, John thrown over Bro, the elder Strider not saying anything, remote once again in hand as he fished through random channels. John cleared his throat, then wormed his way under one arm, pulling it around his shoulders. Drawing his knees up, he curled up against the man's side, letting out a placated sigh once settled. The moronic grin on his face was more than enough for both of them.
“Better?” Bro asked him.
Slowly, he nodded, “Better.”