Chapter Text
Every morning, Desmond greeted Oliver with a hard smack on his ass. Sometimes, it felt like he threw in a quick squeeze, fingers digging into the flesh, brushing perilously close to Oliver’s hole. Oliver hadn’t figured out a way to bring it up in a way that wouldn’t embarrass his little brother or make him sound like a pervert, so he let it drop. Men slapped each other’s asses all the time. Desmond was just overenthusiastic.
And innocent, he thought ruefully. When Oliver had been that age - only four years ago - sex had been on his mind constantly. It seemed like all he’d done through most of his teen years was curl up in a corner and wrap his fingers around his dick, trying to ignore the growing wetness between his legs.
Desmond didn’t even seem to know what sex was, though. They’d started journeying together two years ago when Desmond finished his apprenticeship under the local swordsman and been officially named a Level 1 adventurer. Since then, Oliver had seen plenty of women flutter their lashes at his tall, golden-haired younger brother, and seen his brother gaze cluelessly back at them and ask if they had something in their eye.
Oliver had done his best to encourage him - God knew it had killed him every time he turned a woman down - but Desmond shrugged, looking bashful. “I don’t want just anybody,” he said. “They gotta be special, you know?”
That kid, Oliver thought fondly.
It had been one of the most difficult conversations of his life, but a year ago, Oliver had finally broken down and told his younger brother that it wasn’t really appropriate to pinch his nipples when they wrestled and play-fought. Desmond liked doing that, like they were still a couple of kids rolling around together.
“You’re just saying that because I always win,” Desmond said with the air of someone delivering a foolproof argument. “You’re such a goddamn cheater. Can’t take a little tit play.”
Oliver flushed and fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest. Desmond’s gaze had dropped down to his chest, a smirk tugging his lips. It was their day off and they’d foregone their usual armor. Oliver had stripped down to the waist. Yesterday Desmond had pinned him down, knees on his shoulders to keep him immobile, fingers racing over his sides as Oliver squirmed away. He’d grabbed both of Oliver’s nipples and tugged on them while Oliver yelled between gasps to stop. The rough treatment had left red and puffy, slightly swollen still. That was why Oliver had gone shirtless today, the rough fabric irritating the sensitive flesh.
(His underwear had been wet with slick as he peeled them off that night. He didn’t acknowledge that.)
“That’s not it,” Oliver said sternly. He drew himself up, taking a deep breath. His chest swelled up. Desmond’s eyes went dark.
“You don’t see me grabbing your tits,” Oliver said. “How would you like it if I did that?” He took a step forward, holding his hands up menacingly in jest.
“Aw,” Desmond said, “but mine aren’t as big and juicy as yours.”
Oliver resisted the urge to turn red. Redder. Desmond had been saying that kind of shit to him since they were kids, just to get a rise out of him. His tits - his pecs - were no bigger than anyone else’s. Oliver had no desire to explain to his brother why being compared to a girl flustered him so badly. Really, he should have put a stop to it sooner. No wonder Desmond didn’t get it.
“I mean it,” Oliver said. “I’m your older brother and you need to listen to me.”
Desmond rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he said, but the next time they started horsing around, Desmond stayed carefully away from his chest. He was such a good kid. Polite. Respectful.
Not long after, the spanking had started.
*
Since they had started adventuring together, Desmond had reached Level 9 and traded in his wooden sword for a blade that caught the sun with every swing. The handle had a carved dragon wrapped around it, its tail twining around the blade. He’d grown at least six inches in height and filled out. Swinging a sword all day built muscle along his shoulders; walking and running all day made his legs long and lean.
It had been Desmond who first proposed they partner. Desmond had been 13 and clingy as anything, tagging along behind Oliver determinedly so that you don’t get kidnapped. Paranoid little shit, Oliver had complained.
Desmond had already been studying under the local swordsman, trading lessons for basic chores. Oliver had worked out a similar arrangement, but it had been clear that he would never be more than passable. Desmond had the talent. It would be better, Desmond said, if Oliver learned a support skill, so that by the time Desmond graduated they’d be a team.
It was a good plan. Oliver had agreed and found work with the local healer, who was always grateful for an extra pair of hands. He took up archery, to provide some form of long range combat, and was pleased to find that he was better suited for the bow than he had been for the sword. He’d stayed slim and somewhat small, never really gaining the height that the gods blessed his brother with. And, fine, all the archery had caused his chest muscles to get a bit bigger, but the difference was hardly noticeable.
Since they’d set out, it had been one quest after another. Oliver was, frankly, exhausted, and when Desmond proposed they take a break at an inn for a month or two, he’d been relieved. They had plenty of gold, but Desmond had suggested they share a room.
At that, Oliver had hesitated.
Desmond made fun of him for that. “We’re brothers,” he said. “You got something to hide? Feeling a little shy?”
“Fuck you,” Oliver said. Desmond had grinned, then swept his legs out from under him and thrown him over his shoulder, one hand casually gripping his butt cheek. Then tossed him into the nearby lake, laughing when Oliver surfaced red-faced and sputtering.
The inn was great. Good food, cheap beer, decent music. A steady stream of adventurers coming through kept it safe and reputable. The rooms had copper bathtubs inlaid with talismans that turned the water hot as soon as it was poured in, which was an unheard of luxury in the wilderness. Desmond, shameless as ever, bathed whenever he felt like it. Oliver always waited until he knew his brother was occupied for at least a few hours.
The inn even had laundry service. Desmond collected their dirty clothes and delivered them to the maid, who returned everything the next day clean and pressed.
The only problem was -
Oliver groaned.
His underwear was going missing. He hated confrontation, not to mention the maid was a sweet, giggly girl barely out of adolescence. She’d probably lost his clothes and not realized. Underwear was cheap, he might just buy some more in the local shops and avoid dealing with it. He’d hate it if she were fired over the error.
He had to have at least one pair left. There was no way he was going commando.
Desmond had left that afternoon with a vague mutter about going for a walk. Oliver had seized the opportunity to take a long bath. Now, however, he found himself naked and rooting around on his hands and knees for clean clothes. He stuck his head under the bed, trying to reach for the bag that had gotten shoved into the far corner beneath it. Legs splayed open, his ass stuck out behind him, pointed towards the doorway.
He didn’t hear the door open and close, or the sharp intake of breath. But he did hear the footsteps of his brother approaching, and jerked out from beneath the bed and scrambled to his feet.
Desmond was staring at him, mouth open in shock.
Oliver backed away, hands out in front of him. “You didn’t see anything,” he said immediately. Humiliation turned his fair cheeks red. He didn’t know where to look.
Desmond licked his lips. When he spoke, his voice came out hoarse. “Do you have a pussy?”
*
Oliver had a pussy. He didn’t like thinking about it - it set him apart from other boys. He’d heard of boys with pussies before, but never of boys with both cock and pussy, and instinctively he knew it was something he needed to keep secret. As he got older and conversations with his agemates became more lewd, listening to his friends talk about how much they wanted to shove their cocks into pink, wet holes and wreck their slits made him uncomfortable.
Not in a way he understood, or wanted to understand. His cock would stand up during those conversations, taking an interest in hearing more. That, he could handle. What made him nervous was the throbbing heat in his pussy as it clenched around nothing, the clear slick he’d find coating the inside of his underwear.
He jerked off sometimes. But he never fingered himself, refused to even think about it. He was a man - a man that sometimes pinched and rolled his nipples when he masturbated, a man whose pussy dripped and drooled at the slightest provocation, a man who sometimes thought about tilting his hips up and back so that his little brother’s smacks would land on his clothed pussy. These thoughts made shame build low in his gut, so he stopped jerking off. His body was perverted, but his mind didn’t have to be.
But now his little brother knew his secret.
*
There was no hiding it. Oliver bit his lip, then admitted, “Yes.” His eyes shot up to meet Desmond’s. “It’s a secret. Don’t tell anyone, Desmond, I mean it.”
“You say that a lot,” Desmond muttered, and took a step forward. Something about the way he moved made Oliver uneasy, an instinct triggered in his hindbrain. But it was Desmond, his baby brother, so he ignored it.
Oliver scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “It’s embarrassing,” he snapped. “Try to understand where I’m coming from, little brother.”
“You’re still a man,” Desmond said soothingly, taking another step.
“I’m a freak,” Oliver said before he could stop himself. The self-loathing in his tone surprised even him. “It’s weird, okay? I don’t - I don’t want to think about it.”
“Okay,” Desmond said agreeably. His voice was still lower than usual, rasping a little over the consonants. He hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip. Oliver observed this; Desmond had always been ridiculously transparent, guileless and devoid of manipulation. He clearly wanted to ask something and was too afraid.
“What is it?” Oliver said.
Desmond peeked at him through his lashes, a blush dusting his cheeks. “Can I see it again? I mean...I’ve never seen one. Not in real life.”
That’s right, Oliver thought. His little brother was a virgin. A surge of pity mixed with shame swept through him. The first pussy his brother had ever seen, and it belonged to a family member. Oliver felt disgusting.
“That’s not a good idea,” he said, shaking his head, but Desmond hit him with a pleading look and he felt his resolve crumble.
“Please?”
Oliver hesitated. Desmond, sensing his advantage, pressed on. “Just a quick look,” he said. “So it doesn’t come as a surprise when I do meet a girl I like.”
He was going to regret this. “Fine,” Oliver said shortly. “Just...a peek.”
Desmond beamed, a look of pure boyish delight crossing his face. Oliver felt even more like an ancient pervert. His brother dropped to his knees, startling him.
“Just raise your leg,” Desmond prompted him. “You can rest it on my shoulder if you get tired. Lift your cock out of the way. It’s just a good angle, big brother, don’t overthink it.”
A little helplessly, Oliver obeyed. Desmond caught him by the ankle and pulled his leg up high, careful not to overbalance him, and Oliver was left exposed to his brother’s eyes. He kept his gaze straight ahead. Something about the situation felt weird, like it had gotten away from him. Then he rebuked himself - nothing about this was normal.
“Wow,” Desmond said. His breath was coming out faster. “Nice cunt.”
Oliver jerked at that, but Desmond’s fingers were tight around his leg, keeping him from falling. He glanced down and saw that Desmond was staring at his body with a weird intensity. He wasn’t smiling; and he didn’t look particularly young and innocent either. Less like Oliver’s baby brother, and more like an adult man.
“You don’t even have balls,” Desmond observed. “Do you think you can get a girl pregnant?”
“...I don’t know,” Oliver mumbled. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
Horrifically, he felt his cock beginning to stir. His pussy gave an excited twitch, slick starting to gather. Even his asshole seemed to itch, somewhere deep inside.
Was he getting turned on by this? By his brother looking at him? What the fuck was wrong with him? Was his body really this disgusting?
“Desmond,” he began.
“Can I touch?” Desmond interrupted. He didn’t wait for an answer, reaching out with his free hand.
“That’s enough!” Oliver said, injecting as much force as he could into his voice. He ripped his leg free, overbalanced, and fell on his back, legs falling open. Desmond looked down at him, taking in the half-hard cock that lay exposed against his belly, and for a second Oliver didn’t recognize him.
The moment passed. Desmond backed off.
“Sorry,” he said. “I got a little carried away.” He laughed sheepishly.
“You need a girlfriend,” Oliver told him bluntly. “I’m getting dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs for dinner.”
By the time he’d made his way down, Desmond was gone. Oliver ate alone, grateful that he didn’t have to face his brother. He hadn’t liked the way Desmond looked at him, nor the tone of his voice, and couldn’t quite convince himself that it had been in his imagination...and, in some strange way, he’d liked it a lot. Desmond’s hand would be rough with calluses; what would they feel like rubbing inside him?
Oliver forced himself to think about something else.
Desmond hadn’t returned by the time Oliver went to bed. They shared the bed, a throwback to childhood, Desmond slinging a casual, proprietary arm over his waist as they slept. It was like sleeping with an octopus; Oliver had woken up more than once to Desmond pinching his nipples in his sleep, digging his fingernails into the tip while Oliver fought the urge to moan, and on one notable occasion, Desmond had started rubbing his erection on him, grabbing handfuls of his ass and pulling them back to grind his dick against Oliver’s hole. Oliver had kicked him awake for that one and, blushing, Desmond had apologized.
Stuff like that was inevitable when you were so close. Accidents happened. Right now, though, Oliver didn’t trust himself not to hump Desmond in his sleep. The thought made him feel vaguely sick, almost nauseous with guilt. He hadn’t blamed Desmond for molesting him, knowing his brother had to feel the way he felt now.
Keeping a careful eye on the door, he reached down and began to stroke his cock. If he got off at least once before bed, maybe his body would calm down.
Masturbation was a mechanical, slightly joyless affair. He wiped his come off on a rag, blushing. He never had found another pair of underwear and the crotch of his pants was slightly damp with his own slick. In the morning he was definitely going shopping.
He woke up alone. When he went downstairs, he discovered his brother had left a note for him. I’m sorry about last night. I think we need some space. I’m going to do some solo adventuring. I’ll be back at the end of the month. Desmond.
It was the first time they’d been apart for so long. Oliver read it and tried not to feel rejected.
By the time the end of the month rolled around, Oliver was so lonely he could hardly stand it. He’d never had sex, too scared someone might learn his secret. After a few weeks on his own, he’d found himself eyeing up the other patrons at the inn, just for the sake of having someone to talk to and touch. If it hadn’t been for Desmond, he probably never would have gone into adventuring, he reflected ruefully. He wasn’t really equipped to be alone for long stretches of time.
Desmond’s familiar profile, silhouetted by the sun, came as a relief.
“Desmond!” he called out, grinning.
Desmond turned, and for a moment Oliver thought his brother might still hate him -
But Desmond beamed and waved back. “Big bro,” he said as he stood up and enveloped him in a hug. One hand dropped to his lower back, right above the curve of his ass. The heat of it seemed to burn a hole through Oliver, who cleared his throat and took a step back. He was such a pervert, he berated himself.
Desmond studied him, brows drawing low. Then he looped an arm around Oliver’s shoulders and steered him towards the bar. “I heard of a dungeon that no one’s cleared yet,” he said. “It requires at least two people. Couple teams have tried, but no one’s emerged yet.”
“Sounds tough,” Oliver said, trying not to smile too giddily. It felt easy and good, to fall back into their usual dynamic. “I’m bored out of my skull here.”
Desmond smiled. His eyes had gone dark and full of anticipation. “Want to leave in the morning?”
*
The dungeon was a day’s ride away. They rented a couple horses whose tack featured homing signals that activated at the end of the allotted time, guiding the beasts home with or without their riders. Oliver ended up on the back of a horse slightly too big for him. He’d never been the best rider and tried not to bounce too uncomfortably on its back. He didn’t want to think about the way his body had started to heat up on Desmond’s return or the steady, persistent leak of slick out of his pussy, which felt hot and sensitive - but jolting around on the horse’s back, legs spread a bit too wide for comfort, made it impossible to ignore.
He felt Desmond’s gaze on his back and ignored it, ears turning red. If Desmond was so willing to forgive him, there was no way he was going to tell him why he was struggling. What was he going to say? Sorry your older brother’s getting turned on from riding a horse?
The dungeon, when they found it, had a pretty ordinary looking setup. A cave entrance, with a wooden sign out front that recorded how many groups had tried and failed. Oliver looked it over, eyebrows rising. No names he recognized, but there were a lot of them.
He added his and Desmond’s to the list. The final prize was 75000 experience points, enough for both brothers to level up, and a random drawing from the prize chest.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Born ready,” Desmond replied easily. He flashed a grin at Oliver, who returned it in kind.
Together, they entered.
*
It didn’t take long for Oliver to figure out why this dungeon had such a low clearance rate.
“What kind of pervert designed this place?” he demanded, cheeks flushing.
The first door was located in a room containing only a single lever. The lever was covered in ridges and ended in a bulbous tip. Just looking at it made Oliver feel embarrassed.
Neither brother could get the lever to budge. They paced the room, exploring it for clues, but nothing offered itself. It had taken several attempts before they deciphered the runes scratched into the door, which were nothing less than instructions for one person to strip naked and fuck themselves on the lever.
Desmond chewed his lip. “We can flip a coin,” he offered. He didn’t say what they both knew - dungeons were one way only. They could unlock the door, or they could hope that they didn’t starve to death before the next set of adventurers came through.
Oliver closed his eyes. “Are you serious?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Desmond shrugged. “It seems fair,” he said. “Someone’s gotta do it.”
Grimly, Oliver began to strip. First came the gloves, then he tackled the straps of his leather armor. The cold air made his nipples stiffen into peaks almost immediately. “There’s no way I’m letting you do this,” Oliver said. “I’m older, it should be me.”
“Oh no,” Desmond said. “Don’t sacrifice yourself, big brother.” His voice was...weird. Almost amused. Oliver shot him a look, but Desmond looked genuinely upset, tears starting to gather in his eyes. He dismissed it.
What Oliver didn’t say was, there was only one person in the room with a pussy. At least pussies were designed to have things inserted into them. They had no lubricant or oil to help ease the passageway. Not even any salves or creams, which had all been exchanged for bandages with healing magic woven into them. Desmond’s idea, as they were more efficient and powerful.
It had to be him.
He wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.
Desmond had returned to examining the doorway, evidently searching for a loophole. Oliver was grateful to have such a devoted little brother.
“Hmm,” said Desmond. “You’re not going to like this.”
Oliver froze. “...what is it?”
Desmond gave him an embarrassed look. “It’s an equal opportunity door,” he said. “Kind of makes sense, right? Can’t eliminate parties on the very first obstacle.” He gestured. “So...you’re going to have to use. You know.” He blushed. “Your other hole.”
Desmond was right. Oliver didn’t like it.
“I’m gonna break,” he said. Mutually, they turned to look at the lever. It was at least eight inches long. Oliver couldn’t even wrap his hand around it all the way. He swallowed, mouth dry with something that wasn’t entirely fear.
“Don’t worry,” Desmond said. “I have a plan.”
Desmond’s plan was simple in concept, but breathtaking in obscenity. Oliver wanted to cover his ears, or ask what Desmond had been up to in the month they’d been gone.
Oliver was going to masturbate. “I noticed you get wet a lot,” Desmond said, stuttering a little over the word wet. Oliver wanted to die. In a mumble, he added, “I saw you rubbing yourself on the saddle.” Then Oliver was going to take what Desmond unblushingly referred to as his pussy juice, a phrase that made Oliver want to scrub his mouth out with soap, and smear it into his asshole and stretch and lubricate himself that way.
And that was how Oliver ended up on his knees, pushing a finger into himself for the first time in his life.
“Don’t look at me,” he protested, wincing.
Desmond blinked at him, all round-eyed innocence. “There’s nothing wrong,” he soothed. “Big brother is being really brave and cool.” Oliver’s cock had responded with alarming enthusiasm to the scenario and curved up against his belly, leaking precum from the tip. It was Desmond’s recommendation that he not touch himself there at all, and focus only on stimulating his pussy to produce slick.
Oliver obeyed. He pushed another finger up inside, trying not to sob at the stretch. The lever was several times thicker than his fingers and was going to go in his ass. How exactly was he going to do this? He dug around in himself, grinding his clit against the palm of his hand fruitlessly. It felt good, but he was nowhere near wet enough.
Distantly, he heard Desmond sigh.
“Big bro, you really have no idea what you’re doing.”
Oliver avoided eye contact. “I don’t masturbate,” he mumbled. “I don’t - I don’t touch myself like this.”
Desmond stood up, brushing his knees off, and came closer. He squatted down, face inches from Oliver’s pussy. Oliver flinched. He could feel Desmond’s breath on him. Wasn’t that too close?
“That’s obvious,” Desmond snorted. A mean look came over his face. “I guess it’s up to your little brother to make your pussy feel good.”
Oliver pulled his fingers free. They came out with a squelching sound, but he didn’t have time to feel humiliated. “That’s - Desmond, no,” he said. “You don’t have to do that.”
Desmond rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to be stuck here for hours while you finger yourself,” he said. “And I don’t really think you want to try and complete this dungeon with a bleeding ass.”
Oliver had never heard that tone of voice from him. It made him feel...strange. Small and ashamed, and intensely aware of the wetness that trickled down his thighs. Abruptly, he wanted to close his legs and tell Desmond to wait for the next group of adventurers to come and help them through.
Desmond put a hand on his inner thigh, holding him open.
“Relax,” he said, looking amused, and pushed his fingers in. He wasn’t gentle about it, shoving two fingers in and crooking them up in a single, practiced move. Oliver yelped in shock from the sudden intrusion, thighs clamping shut around the invading hand.
He’d been right about the sword calluses, he thought dizzily. Desmond’s hands were rough, rubbing over the private flesh without care. Oliver tried to squirm away, unable to stop the whimpers that rose up. Desmond caught him and pulled him back, pushed his legs open again. Desmond was so much stronger than him, Oliver realized with a mixture of terror and ashamed lust. It was so easy for Desmond to hold him down and fuck him open on his fingers.
Desmond pushed a third finger in. “I don’t feel a hymen in there,” he said. “Big bro, you been slutting it around? Thought you were a virgin.”
Oliver covered his face. It was the only way to detach himself. “Probably all the riding,” he whispered.
“That’s true,” Desmond agreed. With his other hand, he began rubbing at Oliver’s asshole, smearing the slick around the tight pucker. “Is that why you’ve always been pretty shit on horseback? Too busy rubbing your fat cunt on the saddle?”
“No,” Oliver said, but the word was cut off as Desmond began working his thumb inside his asshole. “Please, Desmond, this is - this is too much.” He’d never even thought about playing with his ass before; having his brother finger both open simultaneously made him feel strung out on nerves.
“How else are we going to get through this?” Desmond asked practically. “Calm down, big brother. You’re acting like you’re being raped.” He snorted and scissored his fingers apart. “Hey, look. Well, I guess you can’t. Anyway, I can see right up inside your cunt when I do this.” He pulled out and gave the head of Oliver’s cock a light slap.
It was too much. Oliver came, come hitting him in the face. His asshole, still speared on Desmond’s fingers, convulsed wildly around the digits, making them feel even bigger.
Desmond regarded him with surprise, eyebrows raised. “You’re pretty easy, huh.” He grinned. “Solves that problem for you though.”
Before Oliver could ask what he meant, Desmond dipped his fingers in the come, dragging them through the mess on his face and chest, then brought them down to his asshole and began fucking him again. He hooked his fingers in the puffy rim and pulled it apart slightly, while Oliver squealed and thrashed. Then added a third finger and stabbed back in, rooting around as Oliver moaned. Every time Desmond hit a certain spot inside him, it was like lightning shot down his spine, connected straight to his cock which had already begun to rise.
Was this really his brother? Oliver had never heard him talk like this. How did Desmond even know about all this?
“You made such a mess,” Desmond complained. “Kind of looks like you pissed yourself down here. Let’s clean it up, okay, big brother?”
“Don’t call me that,” Oliver begged. He couldn’t take it - being called big brother by someone knuckle deep in his ass.
“Why not?” Desmond said, sounding puzzled. “That’s what you are, right? You’re my big brother.” He twisted his fingers, punched back in straight at that same spot. Oliver screamed; his pussy squeezed around nothing.
Desmond pulled away, and for a moment Oliver didn’t know what was happening. He blinked tears away, staring at the ceiling and trying to suck in air. His chest heaved.
Desmond picked him up and positioned him over the lever. The tip brushed against his hole, cool and enormous.
“Wait,” Oliver said desperately. Now that it had come time to perform, he was suddenly afraid. “Wait, Desmond, it’s - it’s too big, it won’t fit. You have to stretch me more. Please, Desmond, I can’t, I can’t. I’m a virgin, I can’t take it. Finger me more, please!”
Desmond regarded him. Then said something that made no sense to Oliver, not at the moment.
“You shouldn’t have said no to me,” he said, and pushed Oliver down.
Oliver’s mouth fell open in a wordless, soundless scream. He felt like his entire world had just narrowed down to what was happening between his legs, the burning stretch of the lever entering his body, rearranging his insides. The ridges and bumps decorating it caught at his rim, pushed and bullied his insides mercilessly and brought more tears to his eyes.
It hurt. For a single second he held suspended at the center of more pain than he’d ever experienced in his life -
Then something was coming out of the lever, a warm liquid that soothed his hole and helped him glide the rest of the way down. It made his entrance tingle and he swiveled his hips, trying to scratch that itch from the inside, and groaned at the way the lever seemed to shift -
The lever started to pump, fucking him up and down. It...it was moving inside of him, twisting around like a serpent and stretching him out, and with every undulation it ground over his prostate and dragged a scream out of him.
The door to the next room opened, but he didn’t notice.
Desmond crouched down by his face. “Why don’t you play with your tits?” he suggested, voice mild. “I bet you’ll feel even better when you do.”
Oliver raised his hands up and began to do just that. Desmond was right; every time he pulled on his nipples, a spark of pleasure burst out from his hole, like there was some sort of connection between them. For the first time he noticed that Desmond had an erection tenting the front of his pants. How selfish, he thought dizzily. Desmond had made him feel so good and asked for nothing in return. What kind of older brother didn’t take care of his sibling?
He bent forward and nosed at Desmond’s cock.
“That’s right,” Desmond said, sounding pleased. A hand pet his hair. The other went to unbuckle the front and draw out his penis. He slapped Oliver with it lightly on the face, leaving a streak of precum smeared across his lip. Oliver blinked up at him, then opened his mouth.
Desmond shoved in. The hand in his hair tightened, guiding him up and down the length. It wasn’t that different from being fucked on the lever, Oliver thought distantly. He was just a couple of holes. The salty, clean scent of his brother filled his nose, the head of his baby brother’s cock hitting the back of his throat with every thrust. Wasn’t there supposed to be a gag reflex? If there was, it didn’t seem to be kicking in.
Desmond hadn’t said to stop, so he kept playing with his tits. They were so sensitive by now that he didn’t dare be too aggressive. His hips shook from the force of the pounding.
“All it took was a little push,” Desmond was saying, “and you just turned into a whore. Always knew you had it in you. I should have fucked you years ago, big brother. Think about it. How much fun would that have been?”
Desmond didn’t seem too interested in his answer, but just in case he was, Oliver nodded around his cock.
Desmond groaned. He wrenched Oliver off, then came all over his face, come splattering over his eyelids and cheeks. Oliver opened his mouth to catch some, licking his lips.
Desmond looked at him, grin tugging at his mouth. Went around to the other side where the lever was still pistoning in and out of Oliver’s hole, and squatted down to take a closer look.
“Your cunt’s drooling all over the place,” he commented. “Think it’s hungry?”
“Yes,” Oliver sobbed out. Would Desmond finger him again? He wanted it so, so badly. His pussy had been left empty most of his life. For the first time, that struck him as wrong.
“Too bad,” Desmond said. He dipped his finger in and gave it a twirl, then pulled it out and held it up to Oliver’s mouth. “How’s it taste?”
Oliver sucked on it. “Good,” he said around it.
Desmond was laughing at him. That made Oliver happy; he liked it when his brother was smiling.
Desmond walked away, entering the next room. There was a loud grinding noise and the lever began to pump in and out faster. Oliver came around it, legs kicking out, his cock spraying his own come to mix with the mess already on his face and chest. He couldn’t get up - no matter how hard he tried, his hole kept sucking on the lever - and moaned, overstimulation blending pleasure into pain.
Liquid sprayed out of the tip of the lever, coating his insides. Hot and thick, it filled him up until his belly bulged and he fell forward, groaning weakly. His vision was swimming. Gratefully, he allowed himself to slip into unconsciousness, dimly aware that Desmond had returned and pulled him free.
*
When he woke up, he was on his hands and knees, arms strapped to his sides. He was tied to an altar mounted to the floor, chest thrust forward into the two openings on top. His feet didn’t touch the ground, leaving him to dangle over the edge helplessly.
There was something in the box, he realized with horror. It felt like...tongues, licking and biting at his nipples. Hundreds of them. A strange pressure in his chest was building up.
He was hard. He wiggled his hips, trying to rub his cock against the surface, but it produced a strangely dissatisfying friction. He bit back a whimper, and tried to ignore the way his exposed holes twitched.
“Oh hey,” Desmond said, walking up. He patted Oliver’s butt as a greeting. “Nice to see you up and awake.”
“Wha - what’s going on?” Oliver slurred.
“I figured out the second key,” Desmond said cheerfully. “All you gotta do is lie there until you come from having your tits played with.” A finger slipped into him. Oliver pushed back reflexively, trying to encourage it to fuck him deeper. "I'm sure there won't be any side effects."