Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/571408.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Bro/Dave_Strider
  Character:
      Bro_(Homestuck), Dave_Strider
  Additional Tags:
      Hand_Jobs
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-11-23 Words: 1577
****** Four outta Five ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Dave finds that there’s more than one way to enjoy a bath.
You’re usually a shower kind of guy, but nothing beats a hot bath after an
evening or strifing and getting your ass handed to you by your bro.
You got a couple of good hits in and you like to think that if the weather had
permitted, you would have been able to get the upper hand. Unfortunately, the
sky decided to lose its shit and the two of you had to go call it quits and go
inside or risk getting struck by lightning.
You strip off your clothes, ignoring the bit of blood that has seeped through
and stained your left sleeve. Thunder cracks loudly outside, but it doesn’t
bother you anymore, not like it used to when you were a kid.
Once your clothes are off-- thrown messily on the cool, tiled, floor—you climb
into the tub and hiss. You’ve clearly set the temperature to liquid Hell rather
than just molten lava like you like it. You shift from side to side, working up
the courage to lower yourself into the boiling vat of Strider stew you got
brewing around you. 
It doesn’t take as long as you thought it would for you to get used to the
water and a moment or two later, you’re sliding down into it, letting the hot ,
soapy, liquid massage sore muscles and reminding you exactly where each cut or
scrape you’ve managed to obtain is located. 
When you’re settled into the tub, your back resting against the shower wall,
you remember that you have a bottle of apple juice sitting on the floor next to
you. You’d put it in the freezer so that it’d be cold after your strife, but
that battle had progressed much longer than you’d thought it would. Now instead
of just being cold, it has reached that level of slushy perfection that almost
brings a tear to your eye from how wonderful it is. 
You lean over the side slightly, just far enough to reach your arm out for your
liquid gold, which sounds kind of stupid and reminds you of porn you once
accidentally saw, so you make a note to yourself to give your favorite drink a
new name. Your fingers brush the tip of the cap just as another crack of
thunder explodes somewhere outside and the bathroom lights switch off, leaving
you engulfed in darkness. 
“What the fuck?”
You don’t exactly freak out. You’re all about analyzing the situation in most
cases. You know that there are only three logical explanations as to why you’re
fucking currently taking a bath in a pitch black bathroom. It’s simple really,
either the storm has caused a power outage, Bro forgot to pay the electricity
bill, or he’s decided that now would be the perfect time to fuck with you. 
You rule out the second explanation. The two of you can’t handle internet
withdrawal for shit, so you know he would never let the power get turned off.
You sit up straight and lean forward a bit, ignoring the fact that you can’t
see and hoping that it has somehow magically heightened your sense of hearing.
While doing this, you realize that explanations one and three could be combined
and it’s not worth the trouble to think about it, so you simply go back to
leaning against the cool, wet, wall and reaching blindly for your apple juice. 
You end up knocking it over, but thankfully you haven’t opened it, so you’re
not worried about it spilling all over the floor. You consider leaning over the
edge to search for it, but the sudden hand in your hair distracts you from that
thought. 
Your head is tilted back and you stare up at nothing because you can’t see
anything. You inhale through your nose and get a whiff of Bro’s cologne, which
makes you groan quietly. You remember being twelve-years-old and cutting grass
in the hot Texas heat to afford a bottle of some shit you couldn’t even
pronounce just because you’d remembered him sniffing one of those samples that
came in the magazines and saying that it smelled good. 
That was five years ago.  
And it doesn’t matter what other fragrances are released. 
 It’s still the only cologne that he ever wears. 
You hear the sound of water dripping into water and then you feel it rolling
down your chest and abs. Something gently drags against your skin and you’re
willing to guess that it’s the red loofah that Bro bought you a few a days ago.
It rubs back and forth across your chest, lavishing your nipples with extra
attention before being abandoned altogether and replaced with warm, calloused,
fingers. 
Lips are at your neck and work their way up to your ear, sucking the lobe into
his mouth and biting gently. You gasp and thrust your hips only to cry out when
a wet hand wraps around your equally wet cock. 
“Bro...”
“Quiet,” he orders you in that tone of his that he uses when he wants you to
fucking pay attention. 
His hand grips you firmly and he pumps your dick agonizingly slowly, but still
rewards you each time his thumb swipes across the slit. 
Your hands are clenched under the water, but they dart out and grab onto him,
dripping fingers soaking the soft cotton of his shirt. He releases your ear to
bite down on your neck, it’s not gentle, but the spike of pain only makes you
buck against the fist which is slowly--though somehow rapidly--stroking you to
orgasm. 
“Bro,” you say, but you’re unable to continue. You wonder if he even realizes
that three of your five senses are on fucking overload right now. “W-Wait,
you’re--” 
He interrupts you by sliding his tongue into your mouth and it tastes just like
your favorite brand of apple juice. 
 Make that four of your five senses. 
Bro speeds up his hand and water splashes around you. You can’t stop yourself
from meeting each downward stroke, vigorously slamming your hips upward,
causing even more water to flow over the edge of the tub and onto the floor. 
“You’re this close, already?” Bro whispers, taunting you with his fucking silky
voice that you both love and despise. “I’m gonna’ wait,” he says and pauses to
kiss you again. “Gonna’ wait until you’reright fucking there.” You’re moaning
now, loud and uncontrollably while your hands continue to pull and grip at his
shirt. “And then I’m gonna stop.” He chuckles and you gasp and drop one of your
hands to tug helplessly at his wrist. “And I bet you’d still cum, wouldn’t you,
Dave?”
He never gets the chance to put that little experiment into action because you
cum, hard and fast, with a cry that challenges the roaring thunder outside. 
Closed eyes and panting, you go to lean back, but he grabs you by your hair
again and pulls you forward until your head is resting against his chest. He
leans down, his lips brushing gently against your cheek and whispers, “One more
time.”
Your eyes snap open, which makes no difference because it’s too dark to see.
“N-No,” you whimper and shake your head. “I can’t.”
“The fuck you can’t,” he whispers back. 
Both your hands are around his wrist now, trying in vain to pry his hand off
your sensitive, but still hard cock. He has his other hand against your chest,
holding you back against the wall and you curse, whimper, and moan when you
feel that familiar bolt of pleasure shoot down your spine. 
“Ahh, fuck,” you gasp, toes curling, calf muscles tightening to the point where
the warm water massaging them is deemed useless. “Bro...”
“Yeah?” Bro purrs. 
And you cry out once more, shuddering and spilling into his hand and into the
water for a second time. 
“Round three?”
“No!”
Bro snickers, but shows you a bit of mercy. “You’re lucky I’m such a kind and
considerate person.”
You still can’t see him, but you don’t feel him next to you anymore, so you
figure he’s no longer next to the tub. A few second later, you hear the
bathroom door open and the lights turn on. Half a second after that, the
bathroom door closes again and your left alone in the bathroom, sitting in a
tub of cooling water mixed with your cum. 
You try not to think about how sort of gross that is.
Of course, it’s not gross enough for you to get out right away without taking a
least one swig from your icy apple juice. 
Or at least, that had been the plan. 
But upon leaning over to search for it, you realize that it is no longer there.
Any other time, you’d up and ready to strife again.
You do not pilfer a man’s drink.
But Bro has made it so that you can barely move. 
 Strifing is a thing that’s definitely not going to happen right now. 
So you can’t strife, but you can certainly shout your exact feelings for Bro at
the moment. You carefully select “fucking douche” from your vocabulary. 
The bathroom door opens not a moment later and Bro pokes his head inside and
smirks at you. “You just earned yourself round three.”
You remind yourself to eliminate the words “fucking” and “douche” from your
vocabulary. 
Or to at least never use them consecutively when addressing your brother. 
 You think you’ll stick with showers from now on. 
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