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Dave asks if Bro can sleep over on the couch for a few days and your answer is immediately no. “I wasn’t asking, I was telling,” Dave snips at you.

“I don’t care.” You change the channel. There’s nothing to watch. “I don’t want him here.”

“John, he’s my brother. I’m not putting him in a fucking hotel for a week just because of your delicate feefees.”

“I do not have delicate feefees.” You idly slap him across the stomach with a throw pillow. “He’s not staying here.”

“All right, let’s have a vote. All those in favor?” Dave holds up his hand; you don’t. “All those against?” You raise your hand while Dave puts his down. “And guess who resolves all tiebreakers.” Dave takes his hands makes thumbs-up gestures at you, then points it back at himself.

It makes you snort. He thinks he’s in control. “Wanna bet?”

He jumps you, pushes you off the couch and onto the floor like he wants to pin you. He’s all lithe and tight, wiry and pliable, and while you have some serious muscles, you’re nowhere near as flexible as Dave. You wrestle him right back, pin him down on the floor, but the second you have him down, he kicks off, gets your own arm behind your head, forces you into a split, and you’re fucking dying. “Say it.”

“Nope!”

“Say uncle, damn it, I don’t wanna actually hurt you.”

Shit. He’s serious. “Fine,” you mumble, and you start to wonder what you’re actually getting yourself into.

--

The week before Bro’s supposed to visit, Dave cleans the entire apartment. By ‘clean’ you mean scour. Every surface is sparkling, to the point where you could eat off of just about anything. Ew, does Bro eat off the floor or something? Anything that’s at all compromising has been locked in Dave’s closet. He’s alphabetized his record collection after sorting it into subsections by genre. You caught him going through your own tie rack and Roy G. Bivving the fuck out of it.

Who the hell is he trying to impress?

--

Two days before Bro’s supposed to get here, you have one of those dreams that leaves you jolting awake, feeling like you got socked in the stomach. And you have a boner. Nice. Fuck.

You open Dave’s door. Crawl onto his bed. Peel back his sheets and blanket. He wakes up before you’re done, reaching out for your shoulders and pulling you up so he can slip his tongue into your mouth. You’ve done this before, the whole seeking solace on his mattress thing, and by this point, it’s not weird or anything. It’s only weird if you talk about it.

Dave’s all soft panting noises, huffing out short breaths through his nose as your hips rut down against his. He’s the one to strip you first, hand hunting for your hard-on so he can stroke it. You only kiss him harder when he does that, stripping him so you can grind up against his skin. He’s so smooth, delicate, pale and fragile, and only you get to see him like this, sleepy three in the morning sex with his hair mussed and his shades off and his eyes blinking open slowly and his hands in your hair holding your head in place so he can taste the inside of your mouth.

Your hips move against one another’s and the head of his dick runs back and forth along your happy trail and leaves dickdrool behind to run down your abs and the underside of your cock nestles against his stomach, soft skin over nothing but muscle, and he moves, and you move, and you kiss, and he kisses back, and you only stop so you can let out a groan as you finish, splattering cum nearly up to his chest, and you hold him, breathing hard, as he humps himself up against you, forehead nestled in that safe space between neck and shoulder while he cries out and runs little fingernail tracks down your deltoids as he spurts, once, twice, again.

You only hold him for a moment, sleepy and bewildered even at yourself, before you think to pull away. Dave’s already reaching for the tissues on his bedside table by the time you leave. At least you can fall back asleep this way.

--

Bro arrives, and he’s nothing like you expected.

He’s a hot mess. Seriously, he comes in, dumps his things, and it’s like he thinks this is his own home. “Uh, hi,” you say, as a reminder that other people actually live here.

“John?” He pronounces it jawwin. “’Zat you?” You force a smile and a nod. “Well, come over here and shake my hand, boy.”

You don’t want to think about where those biker gloves have been. Dave shuffles in, dragging another of Bro’s massive duffels—he’s staying for a week, not a year, what the hell does he need all this shit for? “John, yeah, this is my brother Dirk. Bro, this is Egbert.”

“Got it.” Bro’s white polo and skinny black jeans are a liiiiiiiiiiiittle too tight for your liking—you catch yourself staring more than a few times. How does he even get into those? Does he paint them on? “I’m just gonna go take a shower, then.”

He just walks back to the back rooms like he owns the place, shuts himself in the bathroom that you and Dave share. “Is he always like this?”

“Come on, you know you get grungy at airports too.”

“No, I mean--!” What do you mean? “With the coming in here and—and dumping everything, and—“

“Lighten up, Egbert.” Dave claps you on the shoulder. You want to rip his hand off. “He’s only gonna be here a week.”

A week is starting to sound like a mighty long time.

--

The premiere is two days later, on Thursday night. You swear to God Dave brought someone home in the interim, but there’s no one else in the apartment in the morning, just Dirk flopped on his stomach on the couch, snoring up a storm. Still, you heard fucking. It happened. You’re sure of it.

So obviously, you spend Thursday night alone, masturbating furiously to xtube and hating yourself for not having a girlfriend’s place you can stay at.

--

Saturday morning, you wake up to shouting in the shower.

It’s not your fault you share a wall with the bathroom, but it’s annoying sometimes, like the times when Dave whistles as he’s pissing, or yodels in the shower, or just generally pipes knocking and alien sounds while you’re trying to sleep. Still, it’s six in the morning. Why the hell is one of the Striders yelling in the shower at six in the fucking morning? On a Saturday, no less. Time for coffee and early morning BBC. You curl up on the couch with a steaming mug and a worn fleece blanket and pretend you don’t exist.

It doesn’t exactly work, because there’s a faceful of wet Strider coming from the back of your apartment. Dirk’s just got a towel—fluffy, pink, where the hell did Dave even find that, or is that Dirk’s?—around his waist, and nothing else. Unless you count his tattoos. And the shades. The shower’s still running. With every footstep, Dirk trails water on your carpet. “Do you need something?” So sue you. You’re still a little grumpy.

“Coffee.”

You point. He moves in that direction. He pours some, and you watch little drops of water run down his back, across his tattoos. You wonder what they mean. Once he has—is he drinking it out of a regular drinking glass? what a weirdo—a glass of coffee, he turns around, leans back against the counter, tips it back, and absolutely guzzles it down. When he does that, his adam’s apple bobs, bobs again. He slams the glass back down on the counter and you startle a little. “Don’t break it!”

“Wasn’t gonna.” You kind of hate him a little for looking like Tyler Durden wearing Squirtle Squad shades. And if he’s Tyler Durden, then Dave is his Jack, sidling into the kitchen in a matching fluffy pink bathrobe. “Mornin’, squirt.”

“When did you get your caffeine enema?” Dave’s the only one who hasn’t had his morning brew. He doesn’t even drink coffee, just this sickeningly-sweet energy drink that tastes like apple juice on steroids. “Sorry, Egg-butts,” and he hasn’t called you that for years, is he trying to impress his brother? “Don’t think we left you any hot water.”

“I’ll get over it.” Maybe not. Dirk makes himself at home on the couch again, except when he flops stomach-first this time, his head ends up kind of in your lap a little as he looks blindly at the television. “Uh, excuse you?”

“Don’t sit on my legs.” Directed at Dave, apparently, who does it anyway. The towel slips down a little around Dirk’s hips and he’s on your lap and this suddenly is very not okay with you. “What, John?”

The way he says your name… “Nothing.” You put your too-hot mug of coffee right over your crotch to discourage anything from happening. It gets cold before Dirk moves off of you.

--

Someone’s hollering from the back of the apartment.

Fucking hell, you left for an hour to make your Sunday grocery run and this happens? “Dave, cut it out,” you yell right back. You don’t mind when he brings people home, just—could he at least have the decency to text first? You’d have stopped for coffee or something.

“Oh, oh my god, fuck, breed me, fucking—“ That’s not Dave. That’s—that’s Dirk.

You amend your complaint as you set down your groceries, start stuffing things in the refrigerator. “Dirk, cut it out.”

He does, mostly. There’s still muffled sounds coming through, a deep growl in the background of it all, but it sounds like Dirk’s getting fucked stupid back there. Well. You just. Won’t go back there, then. You’ll just put everything away and turn up the television or maybe you could spontaneously teleport to Mars or enter another galaxy wouldn’t that be cool—

“John!”

That one’s definitely Dave. “What is it?”

“Need a little help back here!” What now? When you get to the back of your apartment, Dave’s bedroom door is closed. Dirk’s nowhere to be found. You knock on Dave’s door. “Just get in here, shitlick!”

It’s not locked. The door handle turns effortlessly and oh my god you are going to slowly back out of the room and pour a gallon of bleach into your eyes. You get right back out of the room as fast as you entered, closing the door behind you and leaning up against it, trying to catch your breath and massage your heart back into some sort of rhythm. You are dying. You are dead.

Because behind that door was Dirk. Dirk and Dave. Naked. Together. Dirk was—he was naked, on his knees, his entire body flushed this amazing shade of light pink, and his chest was in this intricate rope harness, his arms bound behind his back, and Dave—Dave was holding Dirk’s chest off the bed with his hand fisted in the ropes across Dirk’s back, Dave was just as naked, Dave was dick-deep in him, fucking his own brother, and their bodies were amazing when they were fused together and Dirk’s mouth was hanging open and he was drooling a little and Dave’s fingers had bite marks on them and Dirk was still wearing his gloves but neither of them were wearing their shades and both of their eyes were half-lidded and Dirk’s cock is pierced and it was leaking all over Dave’s sheets and Dave’s hips were quivering as he tried to keep from moving and fuck. Fucking Christ. You shouldn’t be having an aneurysm and an apocalyptic hard-on at the same time but your body manages to surprise you.

“Egbert,” Dave yells at you from the other side of the door again. “I wasn’t kidding, I meant now.”

“Hold on a second.” Your voice cracks. You hate yourself. “I’m having a 404 error right now.”

“You’re supposed to be thinking with your other head. Get the fuck in here or I’m gonna punch you in the nose.”

You take a breath. You take five breaths. Your heart rate is never going to slow down. When you open the door again, nothing has changed, except that Dirk is now whining, a constant sound stuck in his tensed throat. “What the hell do you want.” You don’t even attempt to hide your boner.

“My bro here,” and Dave jostles himself forward, making Dirk’s face smash into the mattress and a cooing sound come out of his throat, “won’t shut the fuck up, as I think you heard.”

“You need to shut the fuck up and pound me so hard I can’t see,” Dirk grumbles, but the sound is moaned and breathy. He hasn’t flagged, even a little bit.

“So,” Dave talks over him, drawing out, and Dirk starts that high-pitched dog noise again, “I figured I should find something better for him to do with his cock-holster.”

“Oh my God.” You’re going to pass out. You lean a hand on the mattress to keep your knees from buckling, and it leans both the Striders forward a little; they both make a small noise of alarm. You like that noise. You like hearing it in stereo. “You don’t seriously mean.”

“He’s a filthy cockslut. He loves being spitroasted. Don’t you, Bro?” Dave lets go of the back harness; Dirk’s shoulders fall to the mattress, straining his head, but then Dave leans down to yank savagely on his hair, pick him up bodily so Dirk’s back is nearly flush with his chest. “Don’t you?” For punctuation, he thrusts right back in.

Dirk’s dick bobs. You can see every piece of metal in there by now: a ring through the head, five rungs of a ladder. Jesus Christ. It’s slick with his own pre, too, swollen and red and in desperate need of attention. But Dirk just bellows out a desperate noise and swallows, hard, and the sound that comes out is only a whisper. “Yeah.”

“I. Couldn’t. Hear. You.” Dave is absolutely brutalizing his brother—his brother, you still can’t get over it. Dirk, the fantastic specimen of finely-carved man, taking it from Dave. Every word is accentuated with a slap as Dave jerks his hips, and Dirk’s eyes flutter closed with every thrust.

“Yes,” he says. When Dave thrusts again, he starts outright babbling. “Yes, I need it, I want—I want your cock in my mouth, I wanna suck your dick, sir…”

That. That one’s new. That one you didn’t expect. Holy shit. Between that and the other name, you’re pretty much set for life as to things that can get you instantly hard. “Call him Daddy,” Dave purrs into his brother’s ear, biting it a little for you. Oh god do you wish his teeth were on your skin instead.

“Daddy, please—“

That’s it. You’re done. You hastily unbuckle your pants, fumble out of your shoes, push your socks down and squirm out of your pants. Your shirttails are still hanging over your hips, but you don’t care. Your dick is getting some much-needed relief just from being freed. “Let him down,” you tell Dave.

Wonderful boy, excellent, he always does exactly as you say. “Get up here,” he tells you in return.

Yeah, that—that would probably be better. You end up with your back against the headboard, your back cushioned, and you start to undo your shirt even as Dirk looks at your dick with a hunger you’ve never seen before. “You like it, don’t you.”

“Yes, Daddy—nngh!” Dirk fades away as Dave draws the noise out of him with another powerful pistoning. “Let me have it, please, fuck…”

“Get over here.” Dave helps by smashing Dirk’s face into your pubes. Then that hot tongue—oh fuck he has it pierced—is running over your dick, licking it from root to tip, and then he fucking—swallows it down, gets most of it in his mouth, and you can practically feel his gag reflex spasming around your corona. “Fucking christ, Dirk…”

“Dog,” Dave corrects you. Fuck, this is some really fucked-up kinky shit you’re balls-deep in now, Dirk deep-throating you even as Dave says that word, moaning as Dave starts to move slow and steady in him, drawing out, pushing in, slow so slow. “He’s my little bitch,” Dave tells you. You try to thread your hand through Dirk’s hair to guide his movements, dominate his mouth the same way Dave’s taking his ass, but Dave’s hand is already there. You don’t try to move it. “Thrust. He can take it.”

You push your hips up, and Dirk moans, low and sweet. The sound reverberates through your entire dick, and you can nearly feel his hum in your balls. You hold your dick there, watch Dirk’s face turn red, enjoy how his body jostles while Dave takes his sweet time, and you and Dave both tug on Dirk’s hair at the same time to bring him off. He gags a little, chokes, drool spilling out of his mouth to coat your dick, coughing as he gets air back to his lungs. And he’s never lost his boner. “You love being used like this, don’t you.” It’s not a question.

Even so, he answers you by sinking his mouth down on your cock again, nodding as he does. It changes the pressure of his mouth around you, the feel of his hard palate, then his soft, against the sensitive head of your dick. “Take it,” Dave murmurs down to him, “take it take it take it,” almost like he’s coaching him through this.

And Dirk does, look at him, you have no idea how he’s doing it but he is, deep-throating you and holding you there. “Fuck, I need to—“

“Do it, John, he needs it,” and you can tell that Dave’s holding back, too, doesn’t want to give Dirk too much too fast.

You pull down with your hand in Dirk’s hair. Let Dave pull him off, then push him down again. You and Dave start a delightful tug-of-war with Dirk’s head, and he moves on your cock, giving you the best fucking blowjob of your life, even while he’s moaning and drooling because of what Dave’s doing to him. Even Dave’s starting to make noise now. How long were they fucking before you came back home?

Doesn’t matter. It’ll all be over soon. You’re deliriously light-headed, surges running down your spine, pulse heavy in your cock against Dirk’s tongue. “C’mon,” Dave’s growling, “c’mon, you little bitch, I wanna see you blow while you got your holes plugged.”

Dirk’s eyes roll back in his head and he makes a sweet, tremulous sound; you pull him away from your cock just so you can hear it. Yes, it’s beautiful, songlike, as he gives up, gives himself over, and you can see him coming, without needing any attention to his cock, just spurting over and over again onto Dave’s sheets even as he sloppily tries to lick you, thrust back onto Dave’s cock.

“Make him cum,” you realize Dave’s still murmuring, even as his thrusts have gone to double time, “make Daddy mess your pretty little face,” and you’re gone, you’re obliterated, every nerve ending on your body exploding and something in your gut hooking and pulling down like you just got punched in the stomach and the best nut you’ve ever had in your life ends up in thick white streaks across Dirk’s face and he is loving it.

You recognize the look on Dirk’s face. You’ve worn it before. You know how this moment feels. You know the noise Dave makes, but it’s different now, somehow harsher, that keen when he finishes, burying himself in his brother and holding that rope harness so tightly his knuckles go white and he’s even biting his lip fuck you love it when he does that.

Dirk laps at your cock, gets it clean. Dave pulls out with an undignified squelching noise, like sucking a boot out of mud, and that still somehow doesn’t make what just happened any less hot. “Good boy,” you murmur down at Dirk, tucking his hair behind his ear as he continues to use his mouth on you.

Dave absconds. Dirk curls up between your legs, head on your thigh, breathing hard, almost twitching with aftershocks. You don’t know how to untie him, but you can make a good start while Dave’s gone. Ah, he’s just coming back with a washcloth. What a good—brother? roommate? whatever. “I’ll get it,” Dave tells you. Good thing. Your fingers are too dulled to work right now.

That warm washrag swipes down your stomach, wipes Dirk’s face clean. It can’t do anything for the sheets, but Dave gently rubs it across Dirk’s cock, and the other man whimpers a little at the feeling but doesn’t move. Dave even gets it back, to where—fuck, he was barebacking, holy shit.

You decide it’s best if you turn off your brain entirely and pass the fuck out.

--

And you still have until Tuesday.

You’re not quite sure what to do with what happened, exactly. The Striders are brushing it off like it was nothing, but for you, it was disorienting, and not entirely in a bad way.

Dave has to go in on Monday. You don’t, not if you call in. Which leaves you and Dirk, in the apartment by yourselves. Yeah, he ends up sucking your dick again. What? He’s really good at it. You have a feeling that Dave got to the after-work blowies first this time around, too. How long had they been… doing that? They seemed practiced.

Dave fucks him again Monday night. You can hear it in your room, but instead of intruding, you let them have their privacy. They don’t have to know that you’re furiously beating off in the room next door, remembering pornographic lips wrapped around your cock and a hum that ran straight up to your skull. They fall silent before you’re done, though, and you’re still pumping your dick, trying to finish, trying to get these images out of your head, when Dave just bursts in. Doesn’t knock or anything. It’s not like he hasn’t seen your dick before, but still. “Want my sloppy seconds?”

“Oh, fuck yes.” God, it’s almost difficult to walk, you’re so turned on, but it’s totally worth it when you see Dirk on Dave’s bed again, face-down ass-up like a dog, and he’s sloppy as fuck and absolutely gorgeous this way. His asscheeks are cherry-red from Dave’s hips slapping into him; his entrance already looks thoroughly abused, and jesus christ Dave did him raw again, because you can actually see cum dripping out of him, dear god that should be illegal. “Condom?”

“Don’t need one. He’s clean.” You probably should have asked before you stuck your dick in his mouth, anyway, so it’s almost a lost cause. “No lube either.”

You almost pity Dirk before he makes that dog-whining noise again. Fuck, he still hasn’t cum. Dave is a bastard to him. “Can I at least jerk him off?”

Dave nods tersely. “Don’t be nice about it, though.”

That, at least, gets you to laugh, even as you’re climbing up onto the bed and cupping Dirk’s plush rear in your hands, kneading and getting him to keen. “Since when am I nice?” This beautiful man in front of you, fuck, his skin is that rosy color again, glistening with sex-sweat, and you form so effortlessly to his body and tease him with the head of your cock against his taint, pressing against his balls until he nearly barks with tensed anticipation, and then—

Sloppy. Sloppy as fuck. But it also means you don’t need to worry about hurting him, you can just thrust and thrust and thrust and take as much as you damn well please and it doesn’t take long before you peak inside him because you had to have been jerking it for an hour while the Striders fucked in here. You bite down on Dirk’s shoulder when you crest and that just gets him to howl.

Right. His cock. It’s slick with precum, but when you wrap your hand around it, weird metal bumps are intruding against hot, soft skin. It’s different, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad. You stay inside him, pump him once, twice, and he’s gone, cursing quietly to himself as he pulses in your hand and cums on the sheets.

Dave nearly has to get a crowbar between the two of you to separate you. You just want to collapse. He might have also gently guided you back to your own bed, because you remember curling up somewhere that isn’t covered with jizz.

--

Dirk leaves, and by Wednesday things are almost too quiet.

You can’t sleep again.

You sneak into Dave’s room again.

Well, maybe not too quiet after all.