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Patrick’s been tossing and turning for what feels like hours at this point. It’s nothing serious- he’s just held on to the energy that’s usually drained by the time he gets under the covers. Most of the time Pete is home to wear him out and piss him off and leave Patrick ready to pass out with exhaustion. Just by existing. And being a dick.
Tonight he is not.
His college’s soccer team had won enough to have advanced into some kind of tournament that Patrick doesn’t care about sports enough to understand. Pete had explained after their last game, of course. Not that Patrick was listening- he got that they’d won and it meant Pete would be out late in a much further away suburb. Sometimes Patrick thinks it’s unfair that his brother is cool and hot and athletic and talented and he’s… himself. Chubby and weird and nerdy and… whatever.
Blearily rubbing his eyes, Patrick scoots up in his bed. In a moment, he’s rolling over enough to pull at his curtains and then open up his blinds. The glow of the streetlights gives him dim light to see vague shapes- just enough to locate his glasses and get them on.
Soon he’s gently palming himself over his boxers. As much as he’d like to draw this out- pull up some of his freshly discovered and freshly downloaded gay porn- he doesn't know when Pete will be home. Ideally in enough time for him to finish and go to sleep and not have to interact with the older at all. The bed creaks under him as he shifts, eyes flicking to the clock on the nightstand- he’ll have another hour and a half, maybe two. Maybe. He has no idea how long soccer games are supposed to take but it’s probably longer after factoring Pete’s team celebration/team sulking and however he’s getting home.
He’s hardened a considerable amount just thinking about Pete playing soccer. Another recent development he’s doesn’t particularly want to dwell on. He’d much rather shove his hand down his underwear about it. The steady friction against his boxers has already doing a lot for him, the material soaked through by a wet spot of precum. The mattress creaks faintly with the subtle bucking of his hips as he grinds against his own palm. His other hand has to leave its place grasping the sheets to be lodged in his mouth to muffle his sounds. Just off instinct- Pete’s gone, their parents are out of town, there’s no need to be quiet.
There are no sounds except for his own heavy breath and the quiet wet noises of his fingers against his dick. He bites down on his flesh as his thighs start to tremble, back arching off of his mattress. His breathe hitches as he squeezes his eyes shut, hand moving even more frantically than before as he pictures Pete. Scoring goals in front of crowds. Smiling at Patrick with his hand on his thigh. Dripping wet with a towel low on his hips. What would happen if that towel slid onto the ground and what would happen after that- He’s so invested in the images in his mind, he’s so close to the edge-
A sudden noise from the hallway makes him jump. The door to his room swings open just in time for Patrick to pull his covers over his body and pretend he’s asleep. Fuck. Maybe his math was wrong. Or maybe he just has no grasp on time. He hopes the sheen of sweat over his forehead isn’t too obvious.
The smell hits first- gross and sweaty mostly, but with undertones of grass (both kinds)- and Pete’s voice follows soon after, “PATRICK!! Trick, dude, are you up?”
It wasn’t like Patrick could feasibly pretend to be asleep with how Pete was making a ruckus but he figures he’ll try not moving anyway. It’s essentially playing dead- but the vicious predator isn’t out to eat him, just loudly brag while he’s trying to sleep.
“We absolutely destroyed them,” Pete bounds into the room and Patrick took a moment to squint an eye open. He literally still has his glasses on his face, as if Pete would believe he was sleeping anyway. Pete’s jersey is plastered to him with sweat, streaks of mud up his shins. If he gets dirt on Patrick’s sheets he’s going to throw a fit. “Three-nil. Anddd I scored two of them!”
He’s gesturing wildly and every word is reverberating in Patrick’s eardrums like a cymbal. He stops just long enough to lean over Patrick’s bed and shake his shoulder through the blanket. “Are you even listening?”
“Yes. Good job,” Patrick mutters, hyperaware of his dick tenting against his hastily pulled up underwear, “‘nd goodnight.”
It’s not gushing praise, so Pete ignores it entirely. He flops onto the end of Patrick’s bed like a large hyperactive dog.
“You should’ve seen it, Trick,” Pete goes on, crawling up over Patrick’s body. Patrick makes a noise that’s halfway between a groan and a dying animal. He looks up to the sight of Pete looming over him, hair falling down in his eyes, arms bracketing Patrick. He couldn’t really escape if he wanted to.
Pete’s clearly not picking up on anything that Patrick is nonverbally communicating right now. He’s too high off the win, wasting no time in flopping down on his stomach beside Patrick and worming his way into the blanket. He drapes his arm over Patrick’s chest, rough material rubbing against the pale bare there skin. Pete’s attempting to wiggle into a comfy enough position, the leg closer to Patrick hitching up and-
“Ohh?” Pete asks as his thigh brushes against the hardness beneath Patrick’s wet boxers. Patrick freezes, hoping Pete will take this as his cue to leave. And maybe even learn to mind his business. Pete’s eyes widen, almost bordering on amusement, “Were you busy before I barged in?”
Patrick is going to smother him with a pillow. If he wasn’t held down by Pete’s limbs he’d be burying his own face into the bed. His face burns with mortification, “It’s none of your business.”
Pete giggles, “Uh huh.”
“Shut-”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, y’know, we all-”
“-the hell up.”
Pete shifts his weight more onto Patrick, the friction of Pete’s leg on his cock surprising a small whine out of him. Then, through his soccer shorts, a similar hardness pressing against his hip. Pete whispers under his breath, “Seems I’m a little pent-up too. Y’know. Too excited to fall asleep now.”
This can’t be real. Patrick’s in his bed and he can feel his big brother’s hard dick on his skin.
“You want this,” Pete says. He phrases it as a statement but Patrick hears it as the question it is.
“Yes,” He answers, “Please, God, I don’t-”
And then Pete is rising up on his knees, pulling away from Patrick. He sits back on his haunches and mumbles a “C’mere” before shoving his shorts down his thighs. Patrick can only barely see the outline of his dick but it makes him want to drool.
It takes at least ten seconds of Patrick just staring before Pete prompts him further. It’s so, so, wrong, but Patrick can’t seem to care as he reaches out to hook his shaking fingers into the waistband of Pete’s boxers. His throat is dry. He pulls the fabric down slowly, like it’ll change anything. All reasonable thought has long since evacuated his mind and all he can think about is how beautiful Pete’s cock is, stood erect, and how badly Patrick wants his mouth on it. He shifts up to face Pete’s crotch more head on, weight on his arms now.
Pete cups Patrick’s chin with a gentle hand, rubbing his thumb in a small circle over the younger brother’s cheek. Patrick’s mouth falls open easily.
“Fuck,” Pete whispers, moving to tangle the same hand in Patrick’s hair and tug him forwards. Patrick’s expecting to have his lips over his dick, but Pete stays far enough away to slap his hard cock on Patrick’s cheek first. It’s somewhere between humiliating and intoxicating. He wants it so bad. Pete’s seemingly in much less of a desperate frenzy than Patrick is, taking his time to trace his cock over Patrick’s plump pink lips. The movements leave sticky trails of precum and it takes all of Patrick’s restraint not to dart his tongue out to lap it up.
By the time Pete is finally ready to stop being a tease, Patrick takes him into his mouth without complaint, it’s an unfamiliar sensation but it’s not at all unpleasant. He’s struggling to think of anything that would be unpleasant with Pete gazing down at him as lovingly as he is.
“So good, baby boy. Just like that.” Pete continues, once Patrick’s grown comfortable with the weight on his tongue. Patrick hums at the praise, surprising a gasp out of Pete. He’s taking care not to graze Pete with his teeth, not quite sure how to position his jaw for it. It doesn't seem to matter when Pete starts rocking his hips forwards. They’re barely thrusts, and barely any of his dick is actually in Patrick’s mouth, but it’s nonetheless the most exhilarating thing the younger’s ever experienced.
Patrick moans around the cock in his mouth and his hands find themselves on the back of Pete's thighs. Pete loosens his grip on Patrick’s hair, which he mourns for a moment, before realizing it’s Pete giving him freedom to explore on his own. He experimentally sucks on the head, and then moves his tongue down the underside, mentally taking note of what makes his brother shudder.
The newlyfound confidence has him dipping his head lower and then lower- he hadn’t managed to fit all of Pete in his mouth, but it was enough to have him barely avoiding gagging. He could feel the tears gathering on his eyelashes as he stayed put for a moment, before drawing back. Pete seems to like that, judging by the way his hand finds itself back in Patrick's hair. This time it isn’t quite so tender, though, and his fingers are twisting in the mess of mousy brown hair and shoving Patrick back down.
He chokes, but the sound is muffled by the length filling his mouth. Patrick’s nails dig into the backs of Pete's thighs as the tears finally fall. The pain of his hair being tugged and the way his throat is being forced open is just overwhelming enough in a rough enough way that he thinks he might like more than the gentle touches from before.
He doesn't have much time to consider it before Pete is pulling him off though, and just staring. Patrick’s a mess, drool running down his chin and his cheeks flushed and tear stained and his eyes glassy and vacant. Pete is so in love with him and it takes every ounce of restraint to not say that. Instead he whispers out, “You’re so pretty. Prettiest boy. Perfect.”
He reaches down with both hands and grabs both of Patrick’s asscheeks, squeezing the soft skin. Patrick would probably glare or make a bratty little comment if he had any thoughts left in his brain beyond than the persistent chorus of petepetepete. As it is, all he can manage is a soft whine.
Pete was hoping to give Patrick some of his undivided attention… mostly, he was trying to hold off from blowing his load, actually. But then the other is opening his pretty mouth again with a mumbled “please” and Pete can’t resist that. He doesn’t even have to do anything before Patrick’s back on his dick with a sudden eagerness. He thinks for a moment that even if this fucks everything they have up, it’ll have been worth it to see Patrick gobbling down his cock with tears in his eyes.
Pete’s already on the edge, but he can hold off for Patrick. He cups Patrick’s face again, stroking down the side of his cheek. Twice, he taps the skin there gently with his palm.
Then he slaps.
In the grand scheme of things, it’s also gentle. It’ll sting for 15 minutes at the max. He feels guilty about it immediately, and rubs at the reddened skin. But the gasp and the dazed look in Patrick’s eyes… he’s not oblivious to the way his baby brother’s hips buck down into the air at the sudden pain. The reaction only makes him want to do it again. And again, and again, until he’s all red and flushed and warm to the touch.
But he doesn’t. Because this is Patrick’s first time and it’s almost definitely gonna be the last time as well because they’re brothers and he can’t fuck up his only chance that badly. He knows this. He’s sick and twisted for this, for taking advantage of his baby brother, not even 18, while he’s in college.
None of this matters when Patrick looks this heavenly with his mouth stretched so far open though.
Pete pushes the pad of his thumb over Patrick's spit slicked lips, pushing the digit in until it’s resting against his brother's tongue next to his dick. Patrick doesn’t seem to know what to do with that, and Pete doesn't blame him. The sight alone has him wanting to come in the boy's mouth. He’s honestly surprised he hasn’t already.
With the next breath of air that Patrick pulls back for, Pete is falling back on his butt and kicking his legs out for more stability. What he’s not expecting is for Patrick to slot one of his legs between Pete’s and then lower down as he went to take Pete back in his mouth. The damp material of Patrick’s boxers drags over Pete’s shin with every bob of his head now and it’s clear the added pleasure only spurs Patrick on further.
He can't believe how fast his baby brother learned how to press all his buttons- with his tongue flicking over the head of his dick and then his lips are wrapped tight around the shaft and and and-
“You’re so good, gorgeous for me, Rick,” Pete gasps as his hips jerk forward to chase the hot wet warmth that is Patrick’s mouth, “Such a perfect baby brother. Doing so good, fff- oh my god-”
He can feel his orgasm building and his body tenses. It seems Patrick can tell, because the younger brother's mouth is sliding down his length and he's taking as much of Pete as he can into his mouth even though it’s making him gag and- it’s the last straw for Pete.
He’s coming down Patrick’s throat and holding him there even as the younger tries to squirm away. Pete holds his head steady as he rides out the high. Finally, he lets him pull off. Patrick is coughing, and spluttering, a mixture of saliva and jizz dripping down his chin. It’s the filthiest thing that Pete is filing away into his brain and he hopes he never forgets.
He can already feel the guilt flooding him but he figures the least he can do is get Patrick off. Pete goes to grasp at Patrick’s cock through the fabric of his underwear but Patrick bats his hand away with an embarrassed cough. His face is an even brighter red than before and Pete doesn’t need to feel the darkened patch of fabric to understand.
The right thing to do, especially after a first time, would be to stay and cuddle and reassure his little brother, who’s already relied on him for all of his life before this. Pete can’t be that person right now. He can only stare blankly at the ceiling as Patrick is still coming down from his high with trembling legs until he abruptly gets up and disappears to the bathroom. He’s peeling off his soccer gear as he goes, without a word. Not even a “goodnight”, nor any other acknowledgement.
Patrick listens to the shower. Listens to Pete’s footsteps away from his room afterwards. He’d be stupid to wait for him to come back. To even hope he would. He doesn’t want to think about what he did and he doesn’t want to think about what it’ll change.
All he wants to think about is if it happened once, maybe it’ll happen again. That he hasn’t had enough of Pete’s cock and affection and filthy words and pretty face. That he can’t imagine ever orgasming to anything except the thoughts of what just happened.
He can only hope that Pete feels the same about him buried somewhere beneath the shame, and Patrick finally drifts into the dreamless sleep he was chasing earlier, limbs heavy and mind peaceful.