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Taki was a lucky boy– he’d never felt a shortage of love in his life. For as long as he could remember, it was the one thing he happened to have an abundance of.
But admittedly, sometimes, he felt smothered.
Fuma was the best brother in the world. That had to be the preamble to this. It might look strange from the outside, that brothers with a seven year age gap would be so close, but Fuma practically raised Taki as a third parent, and he’d always be grateful for it.
“I knew from the minute I saw you, you were gonna be so much trouble.” Fuma would recount this story every year on Taki’s birthday. Whether it was just the four of them at the dinner table, or if it was at the park in front of Taki’s entire sixth grade class. Every. Single. Year.
“Mom knew ‘cuz she had a terrible pregnancy–” Fuma would say, poking giggles out of his tummy.
“--and dad knew ‘cuz you had those double swirls on your head–” then he’d grab Taki into a scalp-thinning noogie.
“But I knew because of the way you looked at me. Like it was gonna be up to me to keep you out of it.” Then, Fuma would wrap him in a giant, bone-crushing bear hug, as if he could trap Taki and keep him there forever. “I made a promise to protect you. And I have, ever since.”
It didn't matter the time, the place, or the company– Fuma took his job as Taki’s guard dog very seriously. And the birthday humiliation ritual was part of it. Or so he said. It seemed to work, anyway, because every year Fuma put him through it, and every year Taki lived to suffer through another birthday. Taki remained his cheerful, innocent, lucky self because everyone and everything had to go through Fuma’s wrath first.
That is, everyone except Kei.
!!!
Taki would never admit it out loud, but much like the memories of his own brother, he genuinely couldn't remember a time before Kei. And the crazy part was that, for all Fuma’s protectiveness over Taki, he probably wouldn't have even minded.
Kei lived down the street– his parents had been friends with their parents, and had happened to give birth the same year. They were destined friends from the womb, and were basically raised together. Little league, summer camp, dance club, SAT tutoring– where Fuma went, Kei followed, and where Kei was, Fuma was never far behind.
So of course, when Taki came into the picture, Kei was there, too.
When Taki cried at his first soccer game because the ref had shouted at him to get off the field during half-time, it was only a matter of seconds before hotheaded, teenage Fuma was stomping across the lawn, fists clenched. He’d gotten a few choice words in (“He’s fucking nine, are you that old and sad that you’re yelling at a nine year old, gramps?”) before Kei was stepping smoothly between them.
“He doesn’t mean it, he's just protective,” and with his signature, fix-everything smile, “but you should still apologize. You are, like, four times his age.”
Taki remembers watching through blurred eyes, wondering if he was gonna get kicked out of the team. He remembers Kei patting Fuma on the back while the ref fumed silently. Taki remembers Kei shooting him a sly wink. I’ve got you. He had that unaffable way of working his way around people– specifically around Fuma.
A handful of years later, when Taki was in middle school, he twisted his ankle after he’d been dared to jump between two lunch tables blindfolded. It was Maki’s idea (obviously) and while he’d been so sure of it at the time (“We can post it on Vine!”) he’d felt truly awful about it after.
“Dude, seriously it’s– ah– it’s fine, it’ll heal–”
“No,” Maki was shaking him by the shoulders, careful not to jostle his swelling ankle. “You’re brother’s gonna kill me!”
He was right. If Fuma had found out it was Maki’s fault (more accurately, his idea– it was Taki’s fault for agreeing, not that it would’ve mattered), he would've forbidden Taki from ever seeing him again. Fuma would’ve picked him up from school every day just to make sure of it. Fuma was in college now– standing at his full height, working out nearly every day, and basically oozing creatine and late-teenage pride. It would be enough to send any middle schooler running for the hills.
So Taki knew to call Kei instead. Because he knew he could count on him to pull up in his beat-up Honda Civic and take him home without the fuss of what were you thinking? And how could you let Maki peer-pressure you like that? You’re never leaving the house again!
All he ever got was Kei’s sweet, knowing exasperation, like nothing Taki did could ever be worthy of scolding. Just be careful where you march, little duck. And ever since that day Kei picked him up from school and helped Taki lie to Fuma, it had remained a secret. Their secret.
Taki hated keeping things from his brother. In fact, other than this one white lie (“You know how Taki is, he wasn’t paying attention and stepped off the curb…”) Taki never lied to Fuma. But if it was with Kei, that warm, syrupy pride masked any guilt he might’ve felt. Not because he was a bad little brother. Because… it was Kei.
Taki looked up to both of them– of course he did. He trailed behind them like a baby duckling– he wore the same, baggy cargo shorts that they wore, downloaded the same cool music that they listened to, ate the same spicy chips they liked until his mouth was on fire.
And while Fuma liked to pretend he was annoyed (“Taki, go play somewhere else, me and Kei are doing something–”), Kei never did. Maybe it was politeness, maybe it was pity. It didn’t make a difference to clingy, annoying, little brother Taki, because Kei always had that same, endeared smile saved just for him. No matter what they were doing– playing a pickup basketball game in the park, getting Slurpees at 7-Eleven, leaving for the movie theater– Kei would stop what he was doing and reach over to pinch Taki’s soft cheeks.
“I–is it okay if I come, too?”
Fuma would roll his eyes and make a stink about it (a short-lived, but admittedly impactful phase). But Kei was never like that, never made him feel like a nuisance. Instead of a “sure,” or a simple “yes,” Kei made it seem like he’d been waiting, like Taki had been expected and wanted for all along. He’d grin and tousle him all over like a puppy.
“Ah, there you are, duckie. Ready to go?”
In that sense, Taki had always felt double lucky. Not only did he have one brother who cared for him, he had two. It was easy for Taki to love Kei– the same love he had for his parents, for his friends, for Fuma.
But where it was clear that Taki wanted to be like Fuma, he’d always felt that there was something more about his love for Kei. No matter how often they saw each other, Taki’s hands would get a little sweaty. In a crowd of their friends, Taki was always listening for Kei’s laughter first. When they swam in their neighbor’s pool in the summer, his eyes always lingered on Kei (tanned, tall, practically shining in the sun) longer than anyone else.
Taki didn’t have a name for it until he reached high school. He’d hit a sudden growth spurt the summer before, and while he reveled in being nearly the same height at Fuma (“Get off your tippie-toes, loser,” “I’m not! Look–”), his voice was also cracking constantly and his feet would periodically forget how to function underneath him.
He was in that weird pocket of time when he still felt like a kid– still was a kid– but all his friends were starting to insist that they weren’t anymore. He’d never admit it out loud– not when his friends were drinking stolen beers and smoking their brothers’ weed (absolutely not Fuma), but Taki didn’t really get it– what was wrong with being a kid? What was wrong with being protected and doted on and spoiled?
And then that fateful night. Fuma and Kei probably didn’t remember– it was just another night out for them, home from college for the holidays and sneaking out of the house– but for Taki, everything changed. It had to have been around 2am when Taki awoke to the sound of tapping on his window. When he blinked blearily in the dim light of his lamp, he saw his brother and Kei waving at him, gesturing for him to open the window. Half asleep, he did what he was told, and the two of them came stumbling in. Fuma said next to nothing, just clapping him on the back and dropping a messy, annoying kiss onto Taki’s sleep-warmed temple before stumbling to the bathroom. Taki stared after him, wiping agitatedly at his face. Behind him, Kei shut the window softly, before shucking off his shoes and slumping down on Taki’s bed.
In the low light Kei’s skin glowed with sweat and tipsy heat and golden youth, and something churned in Taki’s stomach. He was suddenly awake. Suddenly unsure of what he was supposed to do, other than stand there awkwardly and stare. Kei’s hair stuck up from the wind– they’d ran from a houseparty halfway across town. His jeans hung low on his waist, the band of his boxes peeking tantalizingly out from the top. His loose button down hung open at the top, revealing an expanse of skin that Taki had only ever seen in the context of a family-friendly pool party.
Except now, Kei’s wide chest and neck was peppered with little pink marks, wrapping behind his ear and disappearing down his shirt. Taki’s mouth dried. He’d never seen a hickey this up close, and definitely not this many. Kei sat, long legs spread, on top of Taki’s bed, panting and heaving through his drunk grin. Taki’s mouth watered, and he might’ve actually drooled a little had Kei not reached over and gently pushed his mouth closed by the bottom of his chin.
“Sorry to wake you, Taki. I told Fuma not to go through your room, but he said it was the only side of the house that didn’t trigger the light sensors. I told him we should’ve just gone to mine, but he didn’t want your parents to get worried. He acts tough, but I think he’s still scared of them.”
Kei smiled conspiratorily, the one he kept especially for Taki. Taki nodded, even though he didn’t really hear much of anything. His eyes were still glued on Kei’s neck, on the marks– the bites. He wanted to reach out and feel them. Would they be raised? Did they hurt? Would Kei flinch under his touch, or shiver, or–
“Wild night,” Kei winked and, to Taki’s silent panic, began unfastening the last few buttons on his shirt. Taki had no shame now– not at 2am in his own bedroom, his toes digging into the carpet, wearing only his plaid pj pants and a ratty Domo t-shirt. He watched as Kei shucked off his shirt to reveal the expanse of tanned, unblemished skin over toned muscle. No wonder whoever it was had left so many bite marks. Taki’s mouth felt empty looking at it– he wanted to taste it himself.
Slowly, unhurriedly, Kei tossed the shirt over his broad shoulder and stood from the bed. He moved in close to Taki, damp skin pressing against Taki’s through his shirt. He could smell Kei’s spicy cologne, mixed with sweat and beer. He wanted to lean in and rub his face into it, trace his teeth over the marks like a teething puppy.
Kei said nothing about the staring, about Taki’s lack of breathing, or about the growing interest in his loose pants. Hopefully he didn’t notice, but then again when did Kei not notice Taki? All he did was give Taki a thankful nudge on his shoulder before lumbering out his bedroom and down the darkened hallway.
“Thanks again. See you tomorrow, yeah? Sweet dreams, ducky.”
Kei’s voice echoed in Taki’s mind and rattled him to his core. The smell of him lingered on Taki’s comforter, and seemed to cling to his walls long after he and Fuma went back to college. Taki had never felt need like that before, never needed something in his hands or pressed against his body the way he suddenly craved Kei’s.
He was always looking up to Kei– physically and metaphorically. He was always running after him, reaching for his hands, jumping for his attention. But now, Taki was beginning to hope–no, dream– that maybe that attention would be reciprocated. That maybe Kei could someday think about Taki the way Taki was starting to think about Kei– quietly, guiltily, achingly.
Taki didn’t date in high school– there wasn’t anyone who interested him (maybe, more accurately, no one who compared), nor was there anyone crazy enough to brave the shovel talk with Taki’s terrifying protectors. There was talk, of course. Overprotective. Babying. Brother Complex. It was the reality that Taki had come to live by– being both protected by and gated off under the hefty weight of Fuma’s shadow.
So Taki kept his fantasies close. In a lot of ways, Kei was the only person Taki could have these thoughts about. No one else was allowed to get close, allowed to touch his cheeks and nap next to him on the couch, allowed to share a straw (or a toothbrush, and it was once by accident).
And no matter how hard he tried to ignore them, no matter how wrong it made him feel afterward, Taki couldn’t stop imagining Kei’s long, solid, body caging him in. He’d close his eyes and think of anything other than Kei’s teasing, knowing smile, his sweet eyes, his amber-musk scent.
But even as the years stretched on between seeing each other, as Kei’s easy image grew fuzzy around the edges of his memory, banishing the thoughts of him altogether never worked. And in the dark, quiet hum of his bedroom, Taki would bite down on his tongue and release into his hand, imagining his brother’s best friend.
!!!
Of course, things changed. Flowers wither and bloom again. Restaurants close, and new ones open. Little ducks grow up and eventually swim away from home.
Of course, Taki couldn’t bring himself to go too far. He lived in a dorm, and made all the typical freshman-year mistakes. He failed his first test. He puked on someone’s carpet. He stole a ball from a frat pool table. And for the first time, he could do it without Fuma hovering over him, worrying into his ear. Taki felt older, more experienced, more mature. He loved his family, of course he did, but he liked the feeling of being Taki: The Person, not Taki: Fuma’s Little Brother.
That summer, Taki carried this almost-nineteen swagger back home with him. He swelled with pride as his parents worried over him (“You look thinner, are you eating full meals at the dining hall?” “Yes, I’m sure he is. He’s just lost his baby fat. He looks like a young man, now.”) He was taller, stronger, smarter, and more experienced. He had his drivers license, and a chain. He wasn't a kid anymore.
And just as the temperature was reaching its peak, Fuma came back in town to visit for Taki’s birthday. He’d never admit it out loud, but it was Fuma’s praise he’d been looking forward to the most, so when he got it, there was no stopping the goofy, aura-sucking grin from taking up his face.
“You look good, man. I like the haircut. And I’m guessing you found some workout buddies in your dorm?”
Since Fuma hadn’t come home for the holidays, it was their first hangout together since Taki had left in August. The two of them were long past pretending they didn’t miss each other– so they sat on their living room couch and caught up– there was so much to talk about, so much to update, and so much to poke fun at.
“So, what do you wanna do for your birthday? Mom and dad are going to Vegas with their friends, so how about a party for the party boy?”
Fuma waggled his eyebrows, and Taki rolled his eyes. God, how had he ever thought Fuma was cool? He was such an old man now. He smiled. If only baby Taki could see him now.
“I’m down for a party. I think most of my friends are coming home for the summer, so they should be back by then.”
Fuma yawned and stood up, cracking his back, then his neck, then his knuckles. The sound was as gross as it was nostalgic. It was getting late, and he technically had to work the next day, even if it was remote. As he turned into the hallway, Fuma looked up from his phone casually.
“Uncle Mark’s gonna retire soon, so Kei’s gonna be home for the summer, too. Is it cool if I invite him to your birthday?”
Taki’s stomach flipped. Kei. How many years had it been? At least three, when he’d moved away for grad school. He still remembered Kei’s going away party, his flushed, drunk smile, his warm hand ruffling Taki’s hair, and his slurred promise into Taki’s ear. Don’ worry, ducky. I’ll see ya later.
It turned out “later” meant three years. It meant in two weeks from now. Suddenly Taki didn’t feel sexy and cool and almost-nineteen. He felt small and jittery and nervous. He felt like hiding behind Fuma. In the excitement of college life, Taki’s mind had wandered from Kei. He’d forgotten how it felt to anticipate. And now he had to go back to being totally normal about it. Or, as Fuma would’ve said, the normal level of abnormal that Taki usually was.
Taki’s birthday couldn’t have crawled up any slower. His brain was working overtime trying to imagine every outcome, every situation, every reaction. Would he hug Kei, or shake his hand? Would he be honestly excited, or mature and non-chalant? Should he launch into a story, or let Kei ask him questions? When he arrived at the party, should he make a big deal out of it, or let him wander in quietly and naturally?
As always, Taki was a lucky boy. So none of this happened.
The morning before Taki’s birthday, he was awoken to a knock at the door. Morning used loosely. It was around 1pm when Taki shuffled to the door, his hair sticking up in fifty different directions and a tiny patch of dried drool stuck to his lip. It was a Thursday, so his parents were at work, and Fuma was nowhere to be found. Which meant it was up to Taki– the man of the house– to answer. His second mistake was that he didn’t even check the peephole. His first mistake was getting up at all.
The door swung open, and the hot, afternoon sun poured in behind the large, familiar, unchanged silhouette of Kei. His Kei. The thin fog of sleep that had been clouding his senses dissolved like cotton candy in water. Everything, down to his smile, remained unchanged.
Taki reeled back like he’d been punched. Wake up. Focus. He could still be the older, newer, Taki 2.5 that he’d hoped to be. Cool. Party boy. Mature. Taki stuck out his hand, in the quick, casual way he’d seen Fuma do to his friends thousands of times before.
Kei’s eyes flicked down to his outstretched hand. Then, he shook his head and grinned, before pulling Taki into his arms. It was almost familiar– Kei’s warm cologne, his cool studs against Taki’s cheek, his wide palm patting him gently on the back. But something felt…new. Taki’s chin wasn’t bumping awkwardly against his chest anymore, and Kei’s frame didn’t feel so much bigger than his. Still. It wasn’t any less overwhelming. Taki was sure his heartbeat was battering against Kei.
Then, as he strode into their house like he’d done a thousand– no, a million– times before, he pinched Taki’s cheek lightly.
“Ahhh, Taki! Good to see you, little duck.”
Taki crumbled. He was so fucked.
!!!
When Fuma got home, he brought back dinner, enough for the three of them. Apparently Taki had very characteristically missed Fuma’s text that said btw kei’s parents remodeled his room, so he’s gonna stay with us for the weekend. open the door when he gets here
Their parents were elated to see him of course– their surrogate angel-son. They wrapped Kei in hugs and compliments that somehow also felt like digs at Fuma and Taki (“It’s so nice that you’re back to help your dad, if only our sons were as diligent as you!”). Three short years didn’t erase a lifetime of memories, and it was clear that Taki wasn’t the only one who reveled in the familiarity. His parents left for their trip in the late afternoon, and by 8pm, it was just the three of them. It felt like old times– Fuma and Kei hanging out, with Taki trailing behind them, clinging to their conversations.
Except now, they could all drink.
Taki didn’t mean to get tipsy. But the cans were cold, and his hands were sweaty, and Kei was lounging on their couch with his long legs spread like an invitation– what else was Taki supposed to do? And in his defense, the other two weren’t doing much better. Fuma, with his healthnut tendencies, didn’t drink frequently and suffered from a low tolerance level. Kei, unfortunately for both him and Taki’s (horrible, horrible) mind, had a bit of Asian Flush– just three drinks in had red spreading from his cheeks to his ears, all the way down his neck into the collar of his t-shirt. Taki wondered how far it went, and whether it was hot to the touch, and what it would taste–
“So, Taki,” at the sound of Kei’s voice, Taki’s eyes snapped up from where they were really obviously ogling. No one seemed to notice, but that didn’t stop the blush from rising anyway. “Fuma said you had a fun year. Gimme the highlights.”
Kei’s eyes were a little pink from the alcohol, but no less focused. Even in his buzzed state, Kei held his attention like a vice. The AC was on (it fucking had to be), but Taki’s skin sweltered under the attention. Focus. Highlights. Fun.
“I–uh, yeah, it was great. I made a bunch of new friends, studied, and I joined some clubs–”
From the other side of the couch, Fuma yawned obnoxiously.
“Booo, boring. Those aren’t the highlights.” Taki chucked a nearby pillow at his head (nearly taking out an old family photo), while Fuma laughed. Kei shook his head disapprovingly, but didn’t disagree. Fuma took another swig from his beer and rubbed a hand over his flushed face. “What are the real updates? Are you talking to anyone? Hookups? You got a roster?”
Taki scoffed. What the fuck was Fuma talking about?
“Dude, I didn’t date anyone in highschool, and now you’re expecting me to have a roster?”
Fuma shrugged, then laughed again. “Yeah, you were so boring in high school, no action whatsoever–”
“Because you scared everyone away!”
There was only one incident they were all thinking of– sophomore year, when a junior friend had asked him to go to prom together. His parents had encouraged the idea, of course, but Fuma hadn’t stopped talking about it for weeks (“We haven’t even met this guy, and you’re letting Taki drive home with him? Do you know what most guys expect to happen at the end of prom night?”). He and Kei had stared his date down all throughout the pictures, and by the time night had come to a close, Taki had barely even held the guy’s hand.
He’d been lowkey annoyed at the time, but it was funny, in hindsight. Fuma was still laughing– all three of them were– but he didn’t deny it. Then, Taki watched in real time as something passed over his brother’s face.
“I…I knew there was no one out there good enough for you. You’re the baby of the family, and I hated the thought of someone taking you away, you know?” His voice was quiet, and thick with some unfinished emotion. Then he laughed humorlessly. “I was kinda a lot back then, though, wasn’t I?”
Taki wanted to shake his head, say no, somehow articulate that– yes, Fuma was a lot, but Taki had needed it. That he was always grateful. That, who knows who he would’ve fallen for, or who would’ve hurt him otherwise. But as always, the words alluded him when he needed them the most.
“It’s okay,” Kei’s voice cut suddenly through the air. “Taki understands. You were just trying to protect him. It was your way of showing you cared.”
Ordinarily, he would’ve bristled at someone else putting words in his mouth. But this wasn’t someone else– it was Kei. The one who took his side, who kept his secrets, and who knew him better than he knew himself. Even now, after all this time.
Fuma looked up at Taki for confirmation, and he nodded enthusiastically.
“You were a little scary, but I knew it came from a place of love, you know?”
“...Honestly?”
Taki laughed and nodded again, even more vigorously.
“Yes, honestly. You know I really can’t lie to you.”
Silently, across Fuma’s somber expression, Kei caught Taki’s eye, just for a moment. And in the glint of the low lamp, he winked. That familiar, oozing syrup crawled across Taki’s chest, and pooled low in his stomach. Something new shared between them.
Fuma nodded, trying to sober himself up. He chugged the last of his beer, before standing and stretching, then stumbling toward his bedroom with a slurred goodnight. Taki laughed. No matter how old they got, Fuma was still a little clumsy with the emotional talk. He was so good at listening– way better than Taki, anyway– but his conversation needed work. He wondered if that’s why he–
“So, you never gave me the highlights, ducky.” The couch dipped as Kei scooted closer, taking Fuma’s spot next to him. Taki tried not to lean in– Kei smelled warm and musky, just like he remembered. It made him feel cared for, hovered over, doted upon. Taki could feel his cheeks heating, his hands sweating again. Focus. He forced himself to relax, to look at Kei and smile.
“What do you wanna know?”
“All of it,” Kei smiled. “It’s been so long, I want as much as you wanna give me.”
Taki burned. Not just under Kei’s undivided attention. The implication of Kei wanting everything– of wanting him– had him melting like a popsicle in the June heat. Taki took nervous sips of his beer between stories. He was aware he was talking too fast, that he was rambling, that he was looking anywhere except Kei’s unwavering gaze, his parted thighs, his long, biteable neck.
Kei listened closely, nodded, and asked him questions. He was engaged, and interested. But Taki was also aware of the space closing between them. Kei’s knee was bumping his. Taki’s forehead was almost brushing Kei’s arm where it was slung over the back of their couch.
When Taki had just finished recounting the “Jo-Yuma Saga", Kei leaned forward and began toying with a strand of Taki’s hair. They were close now, too close. Taki couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat so close to him– on the couch during movie night? Around the campfire back when their families went camping together? On Taki’s bed, during those rare evenings when Kei would babysit him?
“Your friends sound really funny. I’m glad you found people who match your vibe.” Kei brushed the strand of hair out of his face and fixed some pieces at the top of his head, letting his fingers scratch softly against his scalp. Taki’s brain was buzzing happily– the heady mixture of alcohol and exhaustion, and exhilarating rush of Kei all around him. There was no escape now. Taki leaned into his hand like a puppy. His tongue moved on its own.
“Me too. Although, I still get a little homesick, sometimes. I get a little lonely.”
“Hmm? Really? Why’s that?” Kei’s voice washed over him like waves in a seashell. Taki leaned his head back against the couch and connected with Kei’s arm. It was warm, and solid. He turned in, toward in, rubbing his temple against Kei’s strong shoulder. He felt Kei’s arm wrap around him like a blanket. Warmth curled and pooled in his stomach.
“Dunno…so many of my friends are hooking up, or dating. But I can’t.” Taki pouted into the sleeve of his t-shirt. Kei laughed softly– he could probably feel it.
“Why can’t you? You’re such a sweet boy, who wouldn’t want to be with you?”
Kei rubbed his back in long, soothing strokes as Taki whined. The praise went straight through him, clouding his brain and dropping straight down. He couldn’t help it– he rubbed his thighs together in tiny, miniscule movements, hoping to hide his growing excitement, like a dog rutting against its owner. But like always, he couldn’t hide anything from Kei. Now that Taki was curled into him, Kei spoke directly into his ear.
“I’m serious. I know you’re not lacking options. What’s holding you back?”
“I just…I don’t have any experience with, like, dating, or…doing anything. I don’t wanna embarrass myself, you know?”
Taki’s entire face heated. He was sure Kei could see his ears turning red. Stop. Talking. Please. Fuck his whole plan of coming back cooler, more confident, and more desirable– who needed a plan when he could just admit to Kei that he was a huge loser virgin. Taki wanted to disappear. He wanted to curl into Kei’s side and never come out again.
Then, he felt Kei’s large, warm hand land on his trembling knee. And it slid, up, up, up. Until Taki’s breath hitched, and stopped. Then, it dipped in, in between Taki’s clenched thighs, and squeezed.
Taki gasped and whipped his head up, just missing Kei’s nose as he leaned in. The hand on Taki’s back moved to cup the nape of his neck, not holding him still, but holding him steady. Taki was shaking. He was panting. Somehow, Kei was the only thing holding him together, even as he broke Taki apart. He could feel Kei’s breath fan his cheek as he spoke.
“Do you want me to teach you?”
Taki shivered. It was a line Taki had heard from Kei thousands of times before. Kei had taught him how to kick a soccer ball without hurting his toes, how to max-out his toppings at the fro-yo place down the street, how to tie his shoelaces (the bunny-ear way). Taki had always trusted Kei. Why should this be any different?
In a daze, Taki nodded. He let his head press into Kei’s hand, and wet his lips nervously as Kei smiled at him sweetly. Dotingly. Kei was so pretty– he always was, always had been. But he looked the prettiest when he was looking at Taki.
Especially now as Kei leaned in to kiss him, slow and sweet like dripping honey, Taki tried his very best not to close his eyes. Not when he could finally count each one of Kei’s thick eyelashes. He could map out the adorable scrunch at the corners of his eyes. Taki had been staring at Kei for as long as he could remember, and somehow there was still so much to look at.
It was only when Kei started pressing harder, nibbling on Taki’s lower lip and coaxing his mouth open, that he finally closed his eyes and let himself feel.
The first observation was that it was really wet. Kei tasted bitter, like the beer he’d been drinking, but mostly it was the sensation that kept Taki squirming in his seat. The wet slide of Kei’s lips on his, the scrape of teeth against his bottom lip. He wanted more, but he was also hyper aware of his own body. Was he supposed to use teeth? Or tongue? And when was he supposed to breathe–
“Taki, open your mouth a little,” Kei wasn’t even out of breath. He said it easily, like he was instructing Taki to straighten his collar, and not let Kei stick his tongue down his throat. Kei’s hand slid easily from the back of his neck to his bottom lip, coaxing them open.
Taki– ever the intrusive-thoughts-listener– stuck out his tongue over the pads of Kei’s fingers, wetting them like a curious puppy. Kei smiled sweetly and pressed the pad of his thumb down onto the soft middle of Taki’s tongue. Taki’s eyes fluttered closed and he keened.
“Good boy,” Kei dove in again, this time letting his tongue tease over Taki’s lips, massaging the roof of his mouth and curling gently around Taki’s own. As always, Kei set the pace and Taki followed helplessly. Happily. Kei pulled off to give Taki a chance to breathe. He was so considerate. His hand was still squeezing the sensitive meat of Taki’s inner thigh.
In the tiny break Kei was giving him, Taki took the chance to reach for him. He tried copying Kei’s position– one hand on Kei’s shoulder, and the other landing on his leg. Kei had an athlete's build, and Taki’s hands looked tiny digging into the hard muscle of his runner's thighs. Taki pushed farther up– his fingertips brushing the growing tent in Kei’s pants. Kei groaned, then leaned back in to kiss softly at the corners of Taki’s spit-slicked mouth.
“You listen so well, you were always a fast learner, huh.”
Taki whined– a pathetic, tiny noise in the back of his throat. He wasn’t learning shit– he was grasping desperately for any coherent thought. His body was humming. His cock was straining in his shorts. Kei’s thigh twitched under his hand, and Taki’s mouth watered at the shape that was filling out. He wanted more.
Just like before– like always– Kei could trace the line of his eyes and read him like a book. But instead of giving him what he wanted, Kei took his hand and pressed a gentle kiss into his palm. He stared deeply into Taki’s eyes, like he could see directly into every fantasy, every secret wet dream. He wanted to pinch himself. How long had Taki been waiting for this moment? For Kei to finally look at him like this?
“Let me take care of you first, okay? Let me show you what to do.”
Taki let Kei move him, molding him like wet clay. In between each soft, mind-melding kiss, Kei was moving him down until he back hit the couch cushions. He stripped Taki carefully, unhurriedly, nipping and sucking on each new expanse of skin. It was unreal. Taki’s body was trying to pull him down, but he fought to keep his eyes open. He watched Kei move down his body, press soothing kisses into his skin.
He couldn’t stop memories from resurfacing– Taki scraping his knee on the concrete, lips wobbling pitifully, wondering why a middle school-aged Fuma wouldn’t kiss it better the way their mom always did. In the end, it was Kei who did it, a smile playing on his lips as he kissed the bandaid. It’s okay. I’m here to pick up the pieces.
Taki didn’t even realize he was fully naked until his hard cock slapped against his stomach, while Kei’s hands were tracing the entire length of his side. The AC was blasting and goosebumps rose on his skin where Kei’s warm hand passed over, but he felt like he was on fire. Instinctively, he arched up, bucking his cock into Kei’s waiting hand.
Taki’s cock was average (he was– He and Maki were basically the same size, don’t ask how he knew), but his length was dwarfed by Kei’s hand. His hips bucked up wildly– he’d never had anyone else touch his cock, and it was overwhelming. Kei laid a gentle, disciplinary hand on his hip to still him. He rubbed his thumb up and down his hip, while his other hand stroked his cock slowly, soothingly, encouraging pearls of precum down his sensitive head.
“Breathe, breathe.” Taki closed his eyes, trying to calm himself a little. But each pass of Kei’s hand sent blood rushing from his brain to where it was needed more, and it was getting harder and harder to focus. Kei swiped a teasing thumb over his slit, and Taki gasped, his hips moving on their own. His cock bucked into Kei’s hand, pushing up further, until his leaking tip brushed against Kei’s surprised mouth.
Kei gasped in surprise, before grabbing Taki by the base of his cock pushing him back down against the couch roughly, easily overpowering him. Taki whimpered under his disappointed frown.
“You’re supposed to be learning.” Kei shook his head, still holding him down by the base of Taki’s weeping cock. “You used to be so small, so cute, so good for me. But now look at you– big college boy, thinking you can act however you want now. Trying to put your little cock in my mouth, trying to take advantage of my kindness?”
Taki whimpered again and shook his head. Tears welled up in his eyes and blurred his vision. I’m still good, he wanted to say. I’m still yours. Kei wiped at his mouth with a delicate finger and licked the drop of precum off of it, staring down at Taki through hooded eyes. A single guilty, overwhelmed tear spilled out of Taki’s eyes.
“I-I’m sorry. Please, Kei please, I’ll be good from now on, I’ll give you anything you ask, I promise, please.”
Kei’s gaze softened, and he reached up with his other hand to wipe the tear off of Taki’s face like he’d done a thousand times before. He could never stand to see Taki crying, to see his sweet, smiling face crumpled into something small and pained. Kei leaned down to kiss his belly soothingly, his eyelashes tickling the skin there. Taki giggled despite himself, choking a little on the lump in his throat. He’d always been a happy boy, could never stay upset for long. Especially when Kei was there to bring him back.
Keh's hand released its vice-grip and went back to slowly stroking up Taki’s cock from base to tip, watching lovingly from below.
“Mmmm, that’s right, you’ll be good.” Kei’s voice was low and encouraging, and a little bit demeaning. It spread through Taki’s body and turned his bones to jelly. He nodded pathetically as Kei’s voice turned his brain to mush. “You beg so well, even though you’re a big boy now, you know who you belong to.”
Kei stroked his cock faster now, looking hungrily between Taki’s pink, twitching cock and his flushed, tear-streaked face. His breath was ghosting over the sensitive head.
“Tell me who you belong to. Tell me who you’ve been waiting for, Taki.”
“You–ahhh, fuck– Kei, it’s you, I belong to you–”
Then, as if Taki wasn’t already losing his mind, Kei took him in his hot mouth and sank down on his cock, taking it to the base. It was sudden and overwhelming, like every nerve instantly fried itself, then came back to life.
“Fuck! Ahh– Kei, please, wait–” Taki yelped in surprise, grabbing for Kei’s head and trying to pull him back up, which only seemed to spur him on further. Kei bobbed his head expertly, licking along the bottom veins and swirling his tongue at the head. He rubbed and squeezed Taki’s thigh, grounding him just enough to keep him in his body. Taki moaned loudly again, his voice echoing in the empty living room, before Kei finally released him. He continued rubbed a soothing hand up and down his thigh, like he was reassuring an anxious puppy.
“Shhhh, keep it down. Fuma’s just down the hall, you might wake him up.”
Taki’s cock twitched in his hand. Kei’s voice was rough and deep from sucking Taki down his throat. When with his eyes closed and his ears ringing, Taki could still hear Kei’s smug smile.
“What’s with that reaction, hm? Don’t tell me you want to get caught…”
As Kei pumped Taki’s spit-soaked cock with one hand, his other moved to circle his puckered hole. Taki gasped again. The words were still registering in his head, shame and pleasure clouding his vision. He looked around in a daze– they were still in the living room. Where he’d been having a perfectly normal conversation not even thirty minutes ago. Fuma’s empty beer cans were still on the coffee table in front of them, where he’d been sitting next to them.
Kei sat up and leaned over Taki to grab something, his body towering over Taki. If Fuma saw them now– Taki completely naked under a fully-dressed Kei, clinging desperately onto his t-shirt, his swollen cock pressed desperately against Kei’s– there would be no doubt what was happening. What Kei was doing to him. What Taki has been begging him to do.
Taki didn’t want to get caught. He didn’t. He–
“Can you imagine if Fuma walked in right now and saw us?” Kei smirked and flicked his hair out of his face haughtily, before diving back down for another taste. At some point, he’d wet his fingers, and Taki could feel the cold, lube-slicked tip of his middle finger breaching his hole. Taki had to bite down on his hand, had to focus on anything but Kei on top of him, defiling him. But Kei kept talking.
“He’d go insane, wouldn’t he? He spent all those years protecting his precious baby brother from the world, put his blood sweat and tears into it.”
Shame heated Taki’s face and brought fresh tears to his eyes– his cheeks were still wet, but he made no move to wipe it away. Kei sucked harshly on Taki’s leaking tip as his finger pushed deeper, a second finger stretching him open and curling inside until Taki was panting, mouth open. It was odd, and the stretch was a little uncomfortable, and Kei’s words made him want to curl into a little ball and blip out of existence. But he didn’t. He opened his legs wider, opening himself up. Because he promised Kei he’d be good. He promised that he’d give him anything.
“Poor Fuma. He did such a good job being such a good brother, raising such a sweet boy, only for his best friend to get you in the end.” Kei’s long fingers worked inside him, fucking inside him and curling like a promise of his own. With his other hand, he jacked Taki off at a punishing speed. His low, condescending voice ghosted over his cock. “Who’s gonna tell him? There won’t be anything left to protect once I’m done with you.”
Taki didn’t know what did him in, in the end. Kei’s calloused hand on his cock, the thick fingers pressing deeply into an unfamiliar bundle of nerves inside him, or the humiliating image of his own brother catching them together. Each sensation was somehow worse than the last. But suddenly Taki was releasing over Kei’s hand, narrowly missing his face and hair. Taki was twitching at the overstimulation, but Kei kept going, pumping him with his own cum at an unforgiving pace.
Taki had to shove him off by the head to get him to stop. And even then, cool air on his slick, softening cock still felt like too much. Kei gave him one last harsh pump inside his hole before pulling his fingers out. Despite his exhaustion and near-painful overstimulation, Taki’s hole clenched around them, trying to keep Kei inside. Kei leaned over him to grab a tissue from the box on the coffee table. As he wiped the cum off his hands, he grinned down at Taki’s spent body, his hole clenching around air.
“I know, I know you want more, don’t you? God, even now you’re so spoiled.”
Kei slapped his ass cheek harshly, pushing a surprised moan out of Taki and sending his soft, spent cock twitching on his pelvis. He couldn’t even catch his breath. Taki’s eyes fluttered, almost closing, and Kei slapped him harshly again. Reprimanding.
“You’re not done. I need to make sure you were paying attention and not just staring off into space like always.”
Taki swallowed and nodded obediently up at him. Kei was right to worry. Taki was always getting distracted, lips parted with his head in the clouds. Taki was trying to pay attention, of course, but it was just that Kei was doing so much at once, and he was so pretty down there. Taki loved looking at Kei. Even fully clothed, his muscles rippled under the fabric, all wide shoulders and lean muscle. And the contrast to his beautiful face– his eyes were so wide and doll-like, and his mouth was so good at what it needed to do, whether it was taking him apart verbally, or sucking down on–
“Hey–” Kei slapped his ass a third time, before squeezing the stinging, pink flesh between his fingers. Taki moaned as he was snapped out of his stupor. “I don’t think you learned anything at all. I was gonna let you try by yourself, but I think you need more guidance.”
Taki watched with wide eyes as Kei shucked off his shirt, then his pants and briefs. Taki thought his head was going to explode if he looked any lower, so he kept his eyes up. Kei’s lean chest and shoulders seemed to go on forever, and Taki wanted to lean in and take a bite. He tried to as he leaned forward, mouth open and pathetic and wanting, but Kei only shoved him back down by the chest. Then he kept moving up, and up, and up. Taki could only watch in disbelief as Kei moved to hover over Taki’s chest, his long runners legs bracketing Taki’s shoulders like a vice.
At this angle, Taki could only look up hungrily at Kei’s throbbing cock. He had no choice. It bobbed tantalizingly in front of Taki’s eyes, and he felt himself go a little cross eyed trying to look at it. He hadn’t even realized his mouth was open until Kei was poking a finger onto the spongy surface.
“Fuck, this is crazy. You’re gonna take it so well, huh? Practically drooling for it.”
Taki felt himself nod. His head was getting fuzzy again, and his mouth was filling with saliva in anticipation, as if his body had been preparing for this all his life. All that time for Kei.
He kept his mouth open obediently as Kei fed him his long, aching cock. His jaw stretched uncomfortably by the intrusion, but Taki was fixated on the skin on his tongue– silky smooth, unlike anything he’d tasted before. He was glad Kei was feeding it to him slowly, letting Taki savor it. Kei knew that Taki tended to rush into things, that he was always too quick to finish his dessert or skip to the end of a movie. He knew exactly what Taki needed.
Kei braced himself against the back and armrest of the couch as he fucked down into Taki’s eager mouth. The view was something Taki couldn’t have imagined in his craziest fantasies– even through his watery eyes, he could see every dip, every ridge of Kei’s smooth stomach, his lean ab muscles. With each slow drag, Kei’s thick head pushed deeper and deeper, the head nudging Taki’s throat. Each time, Taki breathed heavily through his nose as he’d seen Kei do, and began rubbing the back of Kei’s thighs the way he’d done to him earlier.
“Ah, fuck, good boy, Taki. So good, take it– ahh, just like that.”
The praise was going straight to his cock. Taki could feel himself getting hard again, and it was pure torture rutting his hips up into nothing. His brain was nothing but static. He rubbed his hands along Kei’s legs and squeezed, feeling the powerful muscles flexing and grounding himself. Taki looked up at him through wet lashes, and Kei’s hips began to stutter. Taki could feel his eyes on him, could feel the rhythm pulsing between them.
“So good, ducky. You were made to take my cock, huh?”
Ducky. Little duck. The nickname melted on Taki’s skin. No one else in his life still called him that– not even Fuma. It made him feel small, and protected. It sounded like the kind of care and sweetness that only Kei could give him. As he laid pliantly under Kei, caged between his thighs and gurgling on his cock, it scared him how badly he wanted to stay there. How much he wanted to be Kei’s.
Emotion overwhelmed him suddenly, and he slapped Kei’s thigh suddenly. Immediately, Kei pulled out to let him breathe and Taki gasped, nearly choking on his words and the sudden flood of oxygen. Kei moved back a little, hovering over Taki’s chest, just enough to look at his face properly for signs of distress. Kei gently brushed the sweaty bangs out of his eyes, and Taki’s stomach flipped.
“D-don’t call me that.” Taki’s face burned with embarrassment, and Kei’s body relaxed. Taki was fine– if so-turned-on-that-he-might-die counted as fine. Kei leaned down and rubbed the leaking head of his cock against Taki’s cheek, pressing obscenely into the babyfat still clinging there. It was gross, the way Taki could feel his own saliva wet his skin, but he leaned into it anyway, into the deep, addicting scent of Kei where it was the strongest.
“Don’t call you what? Ducky?” Kei was poking at him, teasing him, in every sense of the word. Taki forced himself to look back into Kei’s eyes.
”Yeah, I’m not a kid anymore.” Taki’s voice was thin and labored and unconvincing, even to his own ears. Kei raised an eyebrow nudging Taki’s bottom lip with his slick, wet cock. Taki opened his mouth without hesitation, letting his tongue hang out the way Kei had always found cute. He continued his pace, and took advantage of Taki’s mute state.
“I know that, but you’re still a little ducky, aren’t you? Even now, you’re still following me around, learning from me, practically begging me to take care of you.”
Kei threaded a hand through Taki's hair, gently rocking into Taki like he could break at any moment. Something told him even if he told Kei he could take more, he wouldn’t believe him. It was infuriating.
In one swift motion, Taki grabbed Kei by the back of the thighs and pulled, shoving his cock down, as deep as it could go. Taki’s throat spasmed around the sudden intrusion, and the squeeze of Taki’s throat closing around his sensitive head had Kei groaning and shaking. Hot ropes of thick cum shot down Taki’s throat.
Taki choked and sputtered, forcing himself to stay on Kei’s twitching cock. Kei pulled out slightly, and bitter cum flooded his mouth and spilled out the sides of his mouth. Kei sat back slightly, hovering over Taki’s chest, one hand holding the base of his cock and easing it out of Taki’s mouth.
Then, he was moving off Taki and pressing his heaving body next to him, leaving reassuring kisses into his sweaty temple and wiping his thumb gently at his mouth. The smell of beer and sweat and must and them– Taki’s head was buzzing like an old TV– warm and electrified and empty.
An old memory resurfaced– Kei and Fuma and Taki standing in their kitchen laughing around a can of whipped cream. They were in different clothes and different bodies, in a different time. Their faces were sticky with liquid sugar– residue from their previous failed attempts at launching globs of whipped cream into their mouths. Kei carefully held the back of Taki’s head, holding him steady as he squirted the cream directly into his giggling mouth.
“Messy, always so messy, little duck.”
Kei wiped over his pink, swollen lips. Errant drops of cum dripped down the side of Taki’s cheek, and Kei carefully scooped it up with two fingers before pushing them onto Taki’s lolling, pink tongue. His vision was blurred. The heavy, satiated, post-orgasm body was shutting down, succumbing to Kei’s care the way he’d always dreamed of.
He was floating. Was this a dream? Taki licked between Kei’s long fingers, lapping up every last bit of him and then some, just enjoying being wrapped up in Kei– fingers inside him, long legs and arms wrapped around him, keeping him warm. Feeling was spreading back into his feet and hands, but sleep was tugging at him insistently. Still, his cock was still twitching interestedly between them, his prepared hole clenching at the inattention.
He mumbled into Kei’s bare shoulder, and Kei carefully lifted his chin up to hear him better.
“What? One more time, ducky.”
Taki’s eyes were already falling shut, but he rutted his half-hard cock against Kei’s stomach.
“...you gonna fuck me?”
Kei chuckled lightly, his body rumbling against Taki’s cooling skin. He laid a land on Taki’s hip to still him, before patting him lightly, lulling him to sleep. Taki could barely register his words before deep, satisfied sleep took him over.
“Maybe if you ask nicely tomorrow, birthday boy.”
!!!
The party was chaotic and warm and familiar, the way all birthdays should be. Afterall, Taki was a lucky boy. He had love in abundance– it was the way he ended and started every new year of his life.
Taki stood on the grass around a plastic folding table, surrounded by his friends and family as they sang to him. The tropical, summer fruit cake glowed under the light of its candles. All eyes were on him, and Taki scanned the small crowd. His eyes held every one of his friends in turn. Everyone except one.
He didn’t blow out his candles, not yet. He couldn’t. Taki knew what was coming– everyone did. He felt Fuma sling a tipsy arm around his shoulder, and he braced himself. The speech began, and the familiar mix of affection and embarrassment flooded his body. Fuma’s grandiose (slightly tipsy) voice boomed through their backyard.
“I knew from the minute I saw you, you were gonna be so much trouble.”
Whoops and hollers and claps sounded from his friends. All except one. Taki’s palms went clammy as he averted his eyes, down to the cake.
“Mom knew ‘cuz she had a terrible pregnancy–” Fuma patted his stomach, and Taki doubled over. Not from the impact, but from the memory. The ghost of Kei’s hand pressing into his stomach and pushing him back down into the couch, and his cock dripping pathetically down his hand.
“--and dad knew ‘cuz you had those double swirls on your head–” Fuma patted him lovingly on the head, and shuddered. Taki’s head tingled. The feeling of Kei’s fingers tangling into his hair as he shoved his cock into his mouth and painted his throat white. His heart was beating out of his chest.
“But I knew because of the way you looked at me. Like it was gonna be up to me to keep you out of it.” Fuma turned to look him in the eye. Taki forced his eyes open. His stomach squirmed. Any twitch, any sudden movement, any wrong breath and Fuma would see. Fuma would know.
Fuma grinned at him proudly, protectively, lovingly, before pulling into a hug. It felt suffocating. Taki wondered if Fuma could feel the sweat on his back, hear his labored breathing, smell the traitorous scent of his best friend still lingering on his skin. His friends clapped and cheered around them– another successful year.
The candles burned and the wax dripped slowly down. Taki hugged his brother back, but his hands trembled on his back. Across the table, behind Fuma’s turned back, Kei grinned smugly. His arms were crossed over his broad chest– the one that Taki had fallen asleep, drooling on the night before. After he’d given Kei everything– everything.
“I made a promise to protect you,” Fuma clapped Taki on the back and held him a little tighter. Taki didn’t feel it. Kei held his eyes, dark pools of want. Of a promise of what was to come. Of what had already happened. Kei’s teeth flashed in the crowd as he mouthed Fuma’s familiar words mockingly. Taking them for himself.
“And I have, ever since.”