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In which Dave's body betrays him

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"Fuck!"

Dave growled as he tossed is sword aside, his strangely feminine voice making his stomach turn. Fuck Bro for making him strife all the god damn time, and fuck Bro for being so gad damn hot, and fuck his body for liking it. He locked his bedroom door and flopped face down on his bed. He tried to ignore the burn in his throat and the ache between his legs, to no avail. He turned on his back, toed off his canvas shoes, and unbuttoned his jeans, sliding them down cautiously. He didn't want to accidentally pull his suit covered boxers down along with them, he didn't need anther horrible reminder of what a disgusting freak he was, he hated his body, down to the very last hair on his gross girly legs.

He slowly stripped off his shirt leaving him laying in nothing but his binder and boxers. He hated his binder, it was uncomfortable, and sometimes hard to breathe in, but it was the best gift Bro had ever given him. He felt that uncomfortable heat between his legs at the thought of Bro. Fuck! Why couldn't he just get hard like a real man? He hated having to touch himself to find release, he hated having to acknowledge what kind of freak he was to get off, and the toys didn't make it any easier. He remembered when Bro had taken him to the sex shop to find ways to make it easier, all of the vibrators in the world couldn't make it easier, but Bro's kindness and acceptance made him want to cry, Bro was perfect in every way and his body wouldn't let him ignore that, fuck he really was a freak. First he had this bullshit body and stupid voice, and then he wanted nothing more than for Bro, his own brother, to love him in ways brothers shouldn't love each other.

He couldn't ignore the dull ache in his boxers anymore, it was killing him, he had to do something about it. He sighed heavily and bit the bullet, he sucked a long, pale, piano-perfect finger into his mouth and slid his hand slowly down his body, and under the elastic waistband of his boxers. He let his mind wander back to Bro, the way his muscles rippled in the heat of strife, the way the thin sheen of sweat made his own mouth water, to taste it. He wondered what Bro would feel like, skin to skin pressed against him, what his skin would taste like, all salt and man.

He found that sensitive nub he hated and pressed softly, rolling his fingers in soft circles. He hated the high pitched whimper that broke from his lips, but he would ignore that for now, he thought back to the time that Bro carried him home after he got the shit stomped out of him at the park, when a group of not so friendly boys discovered his secret. The way he cradled him and took care of him, his tenderness made Dave wonder even more what he would be like as a lover.

His body shuddered and he let out a moan, fuck he was close, he wanted it so badly, he needed the release. He recalled the time he walked in on Bro naked, cock in hand, and the way he came as their eyes met through shades, the way he stuttered Dave's name through shock and orgasm. He tried to convince himself that it was the sight of him brought Bro to orgasm and not Bro demanding he leave the room.

The memory of Bro spilling into his hand, Dave's name on his lips, and he finally found release. His body arched upward as orgasm crashed through him, and he keened out Bro's name, high-pitched and dainty, and for once he didn't care how soft his voice was, he didn't care because he knew bro didn't care, Bro loved him no matter what, and as the rush of endorphins filled his veins he closed his eyes and for one fleeting moment was at peace.