Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3854848.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Big_Hero_6_(2014)
  Relationship:
      Hiro_Hamada/Tadashi_Hamada
  Character:
      Hiro_Hamada, Tadashi_Hamada, Cass_Hamada, Honey_Lemon_(Marvel), Fred_|
      Fredzilla, Wasabi-No_Ginger, Gogo_Tomago
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Sibling_Incest, Smut, Sex, Established_Relationship, Oral_Sex,
      Anal_Sex, Fetish_Clothing, Objectification, Masturbation, Anal_Fingering
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-05-01 Words: 8483
****** Heuristics ******
by shotabootyshorts_(vegetables)
Summary
     Hiro stares, blankly, at the wall of socks. There’s at least three 11
     year-old girls next to him, picking out sparkly knee-highs with their
     mothers in tow. By now, Hiro can definitely feel the judgment from
     his fellow shoppers, and he tries to sink further into his hoodie and
     disappear forever, because there’s no way these parents do not think
     he’s some poor child in the midst of an identity crisis. Hiro wishes
     this was the case. At least that would be normal, unlike the actual
     reality, which is that Hiro is buying thigh-highs so he can seduce
     his brother and make the stupid idiot show him some goddamn passion.
Notes
     I mixed peach schnapps, expired Red Bull and black cherry whiskey,
     then wrote this, because no one was around to stop me. Send me more
     bad, nonsensical cocktail recipes here.
     Bro~ English professor didn’t show up. Need to kill a few hours. Meet
     me in the lab. ;)
     Sent at 3:23 p.m.
     Hurry up, nerd. We’re losing time. ♥
     Sent at 3:40 p.m.
     ’Dashi? I just tried calling. Are you ignoring me? :(
     Sent at 4:02 p.m.
     Come on, you nerd!!!!
     Sent at 4:07 p.m.
     FINE. I’M LEAVING.
     Sent at 4:16 p.m.
     also, i hid your usb drive because you suck
     Sent at 4:17 p.m.
===============================================================================
24 texts and 14 phone calls later, Tadashi finally answers his goddamn phone.
“Finally!” Hiro shouts. “What if I had been in danger?”
Tadashi has his little brother on speaker as he looks at the GPS app he
installed on his phone. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he chides as he studies Hiro’s
exact location. “What danger could you currently be facing outside the school
cafeteria?”
There’s a brief pause before Tadashi hears Hiro make some kind of strangled
sound of annoyance, followed by the rustling of fabric. The small dot on the
GPS app shifts back and forth until it relocates across the screen. Based on
Tadashi’s memory of the campus, Hiro just threw his hoodie into the school’s
commemorative water fountain.
“You know, Aunt Cass pays good money for your clothes,” Tadashi says. “I
suggest you fish that out. Besides, I’m just going to install a tracker into
whatever other jacket you start wearing.”
“No, you’re not,” Hiro argues, angrily; “because I’m going to move out and get
an apartment with Gogo across town, and you won’t be allowed to visit, so
you’ll never be able to touch my clothes again, and how will you possibly
handle not knowing where I am 24/7, you big creep?”
Tadashi sighs. “I have to go, Hiro,” he replies, dejectedly. “I have a lecture,
but I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
“Whatever,” he dismisses.
Only after Hiro hangs up does he realize he didn’t yell at his brother quite
enough.
“Whatever,” the boy repeats to himself, ignoring the stares from his peers.
===============================================================================
Hiro kicks various pebbles on his walk home. It’s Friday, and Aunt Cass will
still be out for the night. She’s off playing trivia with her friends at the
bar downtown, and it normally excites Hiro to know he and Tadashi have the
house to themselves. However, based on today’s complete lack of response from
his brother, tonight isn’t going to entail anything apart from an argument.
It’s nearing 9 p.m., and Tadashi should be home, but Hiro doesn’t know what to
expect. His brother has a habit of staying late at the lab, even on Fridays.
Neither of them have been in touch since the phone call, so Hiro spent the
evening with Fred and Honey Lemon. They had pizza and way too much popcorn and
watched The Rose of Versailles, because, according to Honey, both boys needed
to “embrace the true origins of the shōjo genre.” It’s always a great time with
those two, but Hiro is still pissed off.
Tadashi is avoiding him again. His idiot brother does this at least once every
three to four weeks. It’s like some kind of emotional guilt menstruation that
sneaks up on Tadashi each month.
When Hiro arrives home, the lamps are off in the kitchen and living room, but
the light that floods down from the attic staircase tells him his brother is
awake. He stomps up the stairs to their bedroom.
And, of course, there Tadashi is: Sprawled out on his bed in his dumb pajamas,
reading a book and looking nonchalant.
“Hey, Hiro,” he greets, and his cheery tone is completely inappropriate, given
the emotional trauma he has caused his little brother.
Hiro drops his bag and (still damp) hoodie on his side of the room and looks at
Tadashi, skeptically. “The least you could do is apologize for not responding
to my texts, bro,” Hiro says. He folds his arms when he approaches the foot of
Tadashi’s bed.
Tadashi starts to say something but stops mid-sentence when he catches the grim
look on his sibling’s face. “Listen, Wasabi was right beside me when I got the
first one. He almost saw it.”
Hiro is insulted. “That’s his problem. Why was he even glancing at your phone?
And, who cares if Wasabi sees it? You could tell him it’s a joke.”
Tadashi closes the book he’s reading. “That would be fine if all you ever did
was send texts,” he says; “but, how am I supposed to explain why my brother
sends me half-nude photos?”
Hiro sort of forgot about that. Last week, bored at home, he’d been so
desperate for Tadashi to reply that he ended up stripping down and snapping
photo after photo of himself in bed, his t-shirt draped halfway up his chest
and his fingers progressively falling further down his body until they hooked
the waistband of his briefs. He sent a total of eight pictures, and the only
response he received from Tadashi was a very rude text that read: “Stop it.”
“I bet you deleted those,” Hiro says. “You jerk. It took a long time to get the
angle right, and Mochi kept jumping on the bed.”
There’s a stretch of silence, and the next look Tadashi gives him is
exasperated.
“It’s just a lot to handle,” Tadashi concludes.
Hiro unfolds his arms and lets them hang at his side. He doesn’t feel guilty
for the salacious texts and pictures, but Tadashi’s tone reminds Hiro that his
bonehead of a brother isn’t necessarily trying to push him away. Tadashi is
just—well, he’s overwhelmed.
Hiro often wonders whether his own dismissal for the severity of their
relationship is simply a matter of his difference in personality, or if he
actually doeslack some level of maturity. Hiro knows his hormones are outpacing
his ability to understand them—even a genius isn’t spared that one—but, raging
hormones and taboo relationships aside, Hiro knows enough about what he wants
and how to pursue those desires. And, Tadashi has to know this, too; otherwise,
Hiro is certain his older brother never would’ve touched him in the first
place.
Hiro eyes Tadashi critically for another moment before sighing.
“Okay,” he surrenders; “I’m sorry.”
You win, Hiro thinks as he kicks off his shoes and crawls into bed with his
sibling.
Tadashi scoots aside and places his forgotten book on the nightstand.
“You smell like popcorn,” Tadashi notes when he nuzzles Hiro’s neck. “Did you
have fun at Fred’s house?”
Hiro is melting into Tadashi’s touch, but he still grimaces at the question.
Really, he should’ve kept his hoodie in that stupid fountain.
“Why do you get to stalk me, but I can’t send you sexy pictures?” Hiro asks,
and he thinks it’s a very valid question.
“It’s my right as the older sibling,” he replies.   His fingers start combing
through Hiro’s soft hair. “Sorry, knucklehead.”
Hiro rolls his eyes. If he doesn’t initiate something soon, he’ll be stuck
cuddling with Tadashi all night—and, after today’s many travesties, Hiro thinks
getting off will be proper justice. Not that it’ll be much different from
tender snuggles and timid kisses. Because, damn it, herein lies another problem
Hiro has with Tadashi: How fucking gentlehe always is with him.
Tadashi’s idea of passion is all too kind. Most times, he won’t even slide his
tongue into Hiro’s mouth without preceding it with heavy eye-contact and the
declaration of love. The only touch that isn’t apprehensive is the petting of
Hiro’s hair, and Hiro isn’t a goddamn cat. Frankly, Hiro is surprised he
doesn’t come home to bouquets of roses and candlelight dinners with classy
music playing from a record player. And, they don’t own a record player. So,
Tadashi would have to go buy one. And, he totally would.
Hiro knows he shouldn’t be complaining. Tadashi loveshim. But, Tadashi is so up
in his head all the time about their relationship. Again, Hiro sighs; it’s
frustrated and over-the-top, and he does it against Tadashi’s shoulder. His
older brother is merciful enough not to waste time asking what’s wrong; he
simply presses his face into Hiro’s mop of hair, breathing in his scent before
kissing his head, softly.
“So, are you going to stop ignoring me every few weeks, like clockwork?” Hiro
asks, putting on his best pout.
“I never try to actively ignoreyou,” he tries to defend, but it lacks
direction. “I just—I don’t think we should be doing those kind of things in the
lab anymore.”
Hiro quirks his brow and draws a hand up Tadashi’s shirt, fingers spreading
across the skin. “It’s always so exciting, though,” Hiro reminisces. His voice
is playful, and it matches the smirk drawn on his lips. “Remember last time?
How I made you suck at the back of my neck and slide your hand down my—?”
“Yes, Hiro,” Tadashi says, swallowing.
Hiro laughs and climbs into Tadashi’s lap. He can already feel his sibling
tensing up—and not in the good way. This isn’t going to be easy, tonight.
“Okay,” the boy says, objectively. His hand resumes its work under Tadashi’s
shirt until he manages to pull the dreadful attire off his brother.
“Agoraphilia isn’t your thing. That’s fine. We can find something else.”
Tadashi doesn’t fight when Hiro’s mouth aims for his neck. He doesn’t even
raise a protest when Hiro reaches in for kiss. It’s easier when Hiro directs,
Tadashi thinks; less daunting. Hiro lets out a needy moan and kneads himself
against Tadashi, whose hands fall to grab at his younger brother’s hips.
“Isn’t this enough?” Tadashi asks between kisses.
“Sloppy making-out? No, this is definitely not enough.”
“No, Hiro,” Tadashi corrects. “I mean, just this: Here, us, alone—simple.”
Hiro grumbles. Well, if Tadashi wants to open this can of worms, so be it.
“But, you’re so—careful, Tadashi. Why are you so careful? I’m not going to
break, you know.”
Tadashi makes a thoughtful noise. “Are you sure about that? You do weigh, like,
90 pounds.”
“I do not!” Hiro barks, shoving his shoulder. “Come on, nerd. Isn’t there
anything that you like? Anything you want to do?”
“No, Hiro; this is fine,” Tadashi says, automatically.
Hiro scrunches his brow in disbelief. “Dude, I’m serious—please,” he says. He
makes sure to rub against Tadashi again, emphasizing his point. “There has to
be something. Anything. I’ll do it.”
“Where is this coming from?” Tadashi asks, and he has to pull away, because
Hiro’s desperation is almost startling.
“I know you’re a huge dork, but I refuse to believe you’re actually
thisvanilla; that’s all.” Hiro leans back in and breathes against Tadashi’s
ear. “So, what do you want? Want me to wear a dress? Sit on your face? Call you
daddy? All three?”
Tadashi’s complexion turns. His grip on Hiro’s hips is suddenly an awkward
attempt to urge the boy off his lap. “Hiro...” he draws out. “It’s late. Maybe
we should just sleep.”
“Ugh—forget it!” Hiro yells, flopping onto his back.
It’s silent, afterward. Hiro curls up into a melodramatic ball at the center of
the bed, and Tadashi stays positioned against the pillows, rubbing his temples.
Eventually, Hiro gets cold and worms his way back up the bed, next to his
sibling. He takes up too much space and hogs the blankets, but Tadashi
tolerates it without protest, simply stretching his back and finding what
comfort he can. Hiro readjusts himself and makes a point to steal several more
inches of bed space by twisting his body until his back is facing Tadashi.
There’s a sad whine mixed in there somewhere, and Tadashi has to laugh to
himself. Hiro’s mad, but he’s also being theatrical. Tadashi carefully turns to
press against Hiro. When there’s no response, he reaches over the smaller body
with a tight embrace, fingers grazing the exposed skin of his stomach from
where his t-shirt has ridden up.
“Leave me alone,” Hiro groans. “I don’t want your pity handjob.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Well, it should be; I think I deserve one.”
“Goodnight, Hiro.”
Hiro’s response is another irritated groan.
“Love you, too,” Tadashi says.
===============================================================================
When Hiro wakes up, the sun is glaring down on his face, he has terrible
morning breath, and Tadashi is not beside him. Worst of all, he’s fully
dressed, which is never a sign of a good night.
Hiro yawns and looks at the clock. It’s too early for a Saturday. He stuffs his
face back into the pillow, then immediately decides against it, because it’s
definitelytoo early to be breathing in Tadashi’s comforting scent when the
idiot’s nowhere around.
When he hears footsteps on the stairs, Hiro bundles himself in the sheets,
hoping that it’s Tadashi so his brother can see just how sad and miserable he
has made him, once again. But, it’s Aunt Cass.
“Hiro?” she calls out, clearly inspecting the boy’s empty bed. Hiro mumbles a
reply, and Aunt Cass pushes back the room separator. “Honey, what are you doing
in Tadashi’s bed?”
Hiro shrugs. “His mattress is more comfy.”
Aunt Cass laughs and walks around the bed to feel Hiro’s forehead. “You have
the same type of mattress,” she tells him. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, just tired,” he says. Then, peeking out from the comforter, he asks: “Is
Tadashi downstairs?”
Aunt Cass shakes her head. “He said something about going to the lab.” Her tone
is a mix of pride and concern. “On the weekend, too! He’s going to work himself
to exhaustion—if he hasn’t already. You should really try to convince him to
have some fun once and a while.”
“Oh, I try,” Hiro says, truthfully. He vaguely wonders if his aunt hears the
implication.
“Well, don’t wasteyourSaturday just sleeping,” she lightly scolds. “Come down
to the restaurant; I’ll whip you up something for breakfast.”
“Thanks, Aunt Cass,” Hiro says, a sincere smile spreading across his face as
his aunt ruffles his hair and stands to leave.
Alone, Hiro twists and turns in Tadashi’s sheets, then glowers at the ceiling.
He tries to analyze last night’s discussion. It didn’t really get anywhere, now
that he thinks about it. First of all, Tadashi, the sly bastard, tricked him
into apologizing; then, to make matters worse, his brother completely froze up
when Hiro made an actual attempt to get Tadashi to tell him what the hell he
wanted.
Really, Hiro thinks, they’re not even good at having proper arguments. Or,
rather, Tadashi isn’t. Hiro figures he could probably scream in Tadashi’s face
and kick him in the shins, and Tadashi—stupid, perfect, patient Tadashi—would
just shake his head and tell Hiro that everything’s going to be all right.
In retrospect, Hiro questions how the hell he even got Tadashi into bed, at
all. Their first time hadn’t been perfect, but that was to be expected, and it
wasn’t like Hiro was disappointed. It was good; it was nice. Tadashi was
careful and loving, and Hiro felt safe.
But, it’s been seven months since this started, and Hiro no longer wants
Tadashi to whisper his name and kiss his forehead and ask if there’s enough
goddamn lube. He wants Tadashi to be rapacious. Clearly, the two of them have
creative differences.
Maybe Tadashi doesn’t have the same crazed hormones as most students his age,
but Hiro knows that, just because his brother is the hilarious epitome of a
dork, doesn’t mean his sex drive is nonexistent. It just needs to be
jumpstarted. Hiro just has no idea how.
Another grunt.
Hiro sits up and searches for Tadashi’s laptop. He usually doesn’t bring it
with him on the weekends. Hiro needs a distraction, and he thinks snooping
through Tadashi’s computer will do the job. He yanks the laptop out of the
case, starting it up and entering the same password Tadashi has been using for
the past two years. (Really, Tadashi, you’re so predictable.) Tadashi was right
in the middle of a lab report when he shut off his computer. Hiro briefly skims
the report before minimizing the window and browsing Tadashi’s personal files.
His folders are just as organized as one would expect. In the past, Hiro’s
investigated all of them, searching for videos or pictures that could be
considered incriminating. Of course, there was nothing. Hiro’s not an idiot,
either; he knows how to scrounge up hidden and password protected folders—but,
nope, nothing.Not even on any of Tadashi’s external hard drives. Tadashi was,
and still is, painfully and frustratingly pure.
Except, well, for the whole sleeping with his brother thing.
Annoyed all over again, Hiro mindlessly clicks through folders. He laughs at
Tadashi’s dumb anime folder, full of high-quality scans and promotional art
from his many favorite series. Typical otaku behavior, Hiro thinks as he clicks
through the folder with dull interest. It’s not that exciting. Hiro would
happily wage his college tuition on Fred’s collection being more interesting
(and perverted). Actually, Hiro’s own folders are probably a lot more pathetic
and—
—wait a minute.
Hiro stops, then clicks the arrow key back and forth between two files. He
promptly starts from the beginning.
There’s a reoccurring attribute in Tadashi’s favorite characters.
Rin Tohsaka. Louise Françoise. Lucy Heartfilia. Kyou Fujibayashi. Taiga Aisaka.
“Holy shit,” Hiro breathes, his jaw dropping in half-disbelief, half-elation.
How has he not realized it before?
Thigh-highs.
“You idiot,” he then laughs out, and he’s not sure if he’s referring to himself
or his brother.
The laugh turns semi-maniacal as he exits the folder. Once he’s stowed the
laptop back in Tadashi’s bag, Hiro makes his way back over to his side of the
room and starts up his own computer. He immediately starts his research.
A purple pair is the first to catch Hiro’s eye. They’re sheer with lace trim at
the top. Another pair, green opaque nylons with ruffles and bows, are just as
fetching and, according to the reviews, quite popular. But, the longer Hiro
browses, the more he realizes sheer and opaque aren’t going to cut it. Those
are too sexy. He needs to keep it simple.
Classic over-the-knees. Cotton. Black.
Hiro’s about ready to add the socks to his shopping cart when he remembers
they’re not going to magically appear at his doorstep within the next hour. No,
he doesn’t have time to wait for these things to come in the mail.
Hiro shuts down his computer and grabs his shoes and hoodie. The jacket smells
like gross fountain water, but at least it’s dry—Hiro’s just grateful he’s
still dressed in yesterday’s clothes. There’s no time to change. This is an
emergency.
===============================================================================
On a Saturday afternoon, downtown San Fransokyo is, as Hiro predicts, a
madhouse. Hiro has to mentally prepare himself for the crowd by stopping at the
Orange Julius stand. He suspects the workers are ready to poison the smoothie
mix because there’s far too many tourists hovering over the one recognizable
brand name, rather than choosing a local establishment whose juices aren’t
chemically distrustful.   Hiro feels only slightly bad about this, as well, but
he really likes Orange Julius. Besides, he only brought 3000 yen, and he’s not
about to spend 1200 at a fancy juice bar when he has important socks to
purchase.
Orange Julius in hand, Hiro enters a boutique that is probably targeted toward
pageant contestants. There are no immediate glances sent his way, but he still
feels weird. He makes sure to pull up his hoodie and obscure his face.
To his left, a toddler is throwing a tantrum whilst her mother straps high-
heels to her feet, and even Hiro can recognize those shoes are about three
inches too inappropriate for a child. To his right, another mother is berating
her teenage daughter about “fat calves” and “wide hips.”
Hiro rubs the back of his neck as he awkwardly stands in the middle of the
shop.
“Why, Tadashi?” he mutters to himself. “Why do you have to be so damn
reserved?”
When he senses an employee is about to ask if he needs assistance, his feet
start working again. The socks are adjacent to the abused toddler in stilettos.
Hiro stares, blankly, at the wall of socks. There’s at least three 11 year-old
girls next to him, picking out sparkly knee-highs with their mothers in tow. By
now, Hiro can definitely feel the judgment from his fellow shoppers, and he
tries to sink further into his hoodie and disappear forever, because there’s no
way these parents do not think he’s some poor child in the midst of an identity
crisis. Hiro wishes this was the case. At least that would be normal, unlike
the actual reality, which is that Hiro is buying thigh-highs so he can seduce
his brother and make the stupid idiot show him some goddamn passion.
He’s grateful his hoodie covers just how red his face is beaming. Hiro pulls
out his phone, nearly dropping his Orange Julius in the process, and does a
quick search of Tadashi’s favorite characters, just for validation that the
black thigh-highs will do. He’s pretty sure one of the mothers is glancing over
at his phone, and Hiro can only hope she doesn’t think he’s a disgusting freak
who is buying apparel for a kidnapped child bride in his basement. Maybe she
thinks he’s searching for cosplay accessories. Yeah, cosplay. That’ll be a good
excuse if the mom or cashier or government asks any questions.
Hiro stuffs his phone back in his pocket and reaches out for the first pair of
black thigh-highs he spots.
“Excuse me, young man?”
Hiro yelps, leaps back, and drops the neatly packaged pair of socks.
“Y-Yes?” he answers, and he feels about six inches tall as he stares up at the
female store attendant.
She smiles, politely. “We have a no food or drink policy in the store,” she
explains, gesturing to his beverage. “There’s a sign right on the door.”
He starts breathing again. “Oh,” he answers. “Um, sorry. Okay, I was about to
checkout, anyway.”
“Ah, wonderful. I can ring you out.”
Hiro nods and picks up the socks. He’s about the color of tomato, and he thinks
he actually hates Tadashi, at this point. This is all that idiot’s fault. Hiro
keeps his head low as he follows the attendant to the register. When she rings
up the socks, he can’t even muster the courage to look up from his shoes.
Perhaps that’s for the better, he theorizes.
“Have a good day,” the lady says, handing over the socks in a small plastic
bag.
Hiro smiles at the cashier with nervous, overly-exaggerated enthusiasm before
grabbing the bag and whirling around to leave. He turns around so quickly that
he collides with the teenage girl and her verbally abusive mother. The flimsy
paper cup that holds his Orange Julius explodes, leaving all of them covered in
a tangerine-colored mess.
After apologizing profusely, the store attendant, who is no longer all smiles
and goodwill, reminds him this is why there’s a no beverage policy for the
store, then not-so-gently asks him to leave.
Hiro is more than happy to abide.
===============================================================================
Back home, Hiro dodges Aunt Cass as he rushes through the café, keeping his
arms crossed to hide the orange sludge on his hoodie.
Mochi is perched at the top of the apartment stairs, eager for attention, but
Hiro zooms past the cat and heads straight for the bedroom. This, along with
Hiro pushing him off the bed several dozen times during that semi-nude photo
session, will surely be added to Mochi’s growing number of reasons why he
dislikes the youngest member of the Hamada family.
Hiro will have to make amends, later. Otherwise, he’s absolutely certain that,
if Mochi ever learns to talk, the calico will go running straight to Aunt Cass
to tell her how often Hiro has ignored him in favor of pursuing incestuous
misdeeds.
Safe in the confines of his room, Hiro throws off his hoodie.
Yesterday, it was fountain water. Today, Orange Julius.
Hiro wonders if it’s time to retire the damned piece of clothing.
“Both were Tadashi’s fault, anyway,” Hiro concludes as he sits on the edge of
his bed and rips open the package of socks.
The cotton feels thicker between his fingers. They’re not the least bit sheer,
either, which is reassuring. For a moment, Hiro strains his ears to check for
any movement downstairs. Nothing. Aunt Cass remains busy in the restaurant, and
Tadashi is still at SFIT.
Hiro abandons his shoes and socks and, while he’s at it, his shirt and shorts.
Clad in only his briefs, Hiro leans down and glides one long, cotton sock over
his leg. The fabric is soft against his skin. Pleasant. Hiro’s heart is beating
a mile a minute. There’s something oddly exciting about this whole thing. He
pulls the other sock on and straightens the fabric into place on both his
thighs.
Hiro rises to his feet and looks at himself in the mirror.
Okay, so, it’s a bit weird to be standing in his briefs and wearing goddamn
over-the-knee socks; but, Hiro thinks, maybe, he actually looks good. He knows
he has nice legs. In Tadashi’s more relaxed moments, he’s paid special
attention to Hiro’s long legs, massaging his calves and squeezing his thighs,
all while his mouth works at his younger sibling’s neck and shoulders. Hiro
shivers at the memories. Tadashi’s hands always feel so good, especially when
he’s not so timid.
The fabric accentuates the thin shape of his thighs, but he’s a bit
dissatisfied with how boring his gray briefs look. He clearly didn’t think this
through enough. What the hell is he supposed to wear withthe thigh-highs?
Tadashi would be too overwhelmed if Hiro went out and bought a matching dress,
and there’s something a bit too intimidating about greeting Tadashi stark
naked, sans the thigh-highs. Tadashi wouldn’t like that much, anyway; it’s too
forward.
He starts pacing, then realizes how comical this must look—padding back and
forth in the room in his underwear and these stupid socks. He stops and mutters
a few swears, directed to himself and Tadashi, and the entire universe.
He’s about ready to call the whole thing off when he spots one of Tadashi’s
SFIT shirts hanging over the desk chair.
Problem solved.
Hiro grabs the shirt and throws it over his body.
“You’re too good, Hamada,” he tells his reflection, laughing as he thumbs at
his briefs to slide them off.
This is already better. Remarkably so.
There’s a strange gratification in seeing himself drowning in Tadashi’s large
shirt. Even greater when he turns around and glances over his shoulder to see
how the shirt covers him justmodestly enough, the hem dangling over the curve
of his ass. Yes, muchbetter.
A grin spreads across his face, and the courage returns. He’s going to do this.
He’s goingto get Tadashi to break.
Hiro spends a good twenty or so minutes doing a quick cleanup of the room. It’s
half past five when he hears his brother’s Vespa pull up. His heart races. He
gives himself one last primp in the mirror before settling on Tadashi’s bed.
It’s a good sign when he only hears Tadashi talking to Mochi. It’s probably
still too busy in the café for Aunt Cass to leave.
Hiro gulps and sits back against the pillows. His thighs stay pressed together,
one leg resting and the other propped up. He makes sure to also pull at the hem
of shirt, careful not to be toorevealing. Another wave of doubt washes over
him, because he suddenly feels ridiculous, but there’s no time to back out.
Tadashi is already up the stairs, and his shadow is shifting behind the thin
paper of the room separator. He’s halfway through calling out Hiro’s name when
he advances past the corner and sees his brother.
It takes exactly five seconds for Tadashi to take in the scene.
He stares. Wordless. Face red.
“Hiro...” Tadashi starts.
The younger boy smirks and tilts his head, feigning innocence.
“Why does it smell like Jamba Juice in here?”
Hiro’s expression falters.
“It’s not Jamba Juice; it’s Orange Julius!” he yells. “Jamba Juice is
disgusting, Tadashi. Also, that’s not the point. You dosee what I’m wearing,
right?”
“Well, yes,” Tadashi answers. “I’m just not sure why.”
Hiro’s suddenly not sure, either.
This was rash. Impulsive. Hiro can’t even remember what he was envisioning. Did
he expect Tadashi to grab him and pin him to the bed with brutal force? Did he
expect Tadashi to bend him over and fuck him until he was aching?
Hiro’s legs fall flat on the bed. “I thought you’d be intoit,” he admits.
Tadashi removes his hat and places it on his desk. His eyes scan Hiro, but he
says nothing. Of course, Hiro doesn’t miss how his sibling’s lower-lip
disappears beneath the top.
“You look...”
Hiro brightens. “Yes...?”
But, Tadashi continues to struggle.
Displeased, Hiro huffs and rises to balance himself on his knees. He’s eye-
level with Tadashi, now. “Is it that difficult to give your little brother a
compliment?” he inquires, urging Tadashi closer by grabbing at his cardigan.
He flushes. The shirt Hiro has apparently stolen is huge on the boy’s slender
form. When Hiro stretches his arms out, wrapping them around Tadashi’s
shoulders and pulling him close, the material hikes up, and Tadashi knows if he
looks down, he’ll get quite the eyeful.
Hiro’s mouth nips at his jaw. “Please,” he whispers, hot breath escaping his
lips as they travel to press against Tadashi’s ear. “Tadashi, you’re not fair,
you know that? You’re driving me insane.”
“Aunt Cass is right downstairs,” he reminds Hiro, placing his hands on the
boy’s shoulders.
The younger boy hums, thoughtfully, as teeth graze Tadashi’s skin. “The café
doesn’t close for another two hours.”
Tadashi shuts his eyes when Hiro shifts against him; and, soon, he’s conceding.
His hands drift under Hiro’s shirt—my shirt, he thinks—and it doesn’t take long
before he’s raking at the boy’s back. Hiro moans and clings closer.
“You look good in my shirt,” Tadashi tells him. His hands travel down,
squeezing his brother’s ass. Another whine. “And, these,” he continues, a
finger now hooking into the top of one thigh-high; “I can’t believe—Hiro,
you’re ridiculous.”
“I’m not the one with a collection of waifu pictures, bro,” Hiro retorts,
directing his mouth onto Tadashi’s. He grinds against him, pleased when he
feels how hard Tadashi already is, then pulls at the man’s belt. It drops to
the floor with a heavy clank, and he immediately starts yanking off Tadashi’s
cardigan and shirt. “I think I look waybetter, though.”
Tadashi laughs against the next kiss and slips his tongue through Hiro’s lips.
Outside, there’s traffic bustling, and it’s strange, Tadashi thinks, to be
accompanied by that level of street noise. People, still out and about. The
sun, although fading, is cascading over their bedroom. It’s different. They’re
used to the fleeting wind of the late trolleys, the squeal of an old car
braking at the corner light, distant horns and screeches from several streets
over.
Hiro is pressing into Tadashi’s mouth so urgently that his knees begin to inch
off the bed. Tadashi steadies him and reaches down their bodies to explore
between the boy’s legs. He’s not quite hard yet, but that changes when Tadashi
strokes the insides of his thighs. Fingers tease the heated skin, and their
lips still cling to one another.
“Ah, Tadashi,” Hiro pants. He’s pulling at the waist of Tadashi’s jeans and
underwear, still trying to get the infernal things off. “This is all I wanted,
you know. For you to pay attention. Why is that—so difficult?”
Tadashi manages to step out of his last pieces of clothing. He immediately
pulls Hiro back toward him, nails digging into his hips as the boy eagerly
rocks against him. The friction then quickens, and Tadashi buries his nose in
Hiro’s hair. When he starts to tug at the shirt Hiro’s wearing, the boy arches
away and smirks.
“Ah, ah,” Hiro chides, wagging a finger. “I think I’d rather leave it on,
’Dashi.”
Hiro urges Tadashi onto the bed. He goes down without a fight, allowing Hiro to
pin him against the pillows and crawl into his lap. Their mouths quickly fuse,
and a muffled cry is heard from Hiro when he feels Tadashi stroking his cock.
“You’ve been waiting for this, all day, haven’t you?” Tadashi asks in a
whisper. “I’m surprised you didn’t send any pictures.”
“As if you would’ve responded,” Hiro says. He scoots away from Tadashi’s lap
until he can stretch his legs out on either side of the man’s chest. He raises
one foot and invites Tadashi to touch. “Although, if you’ve had a change of
heart, I’d be more than happyto accommodate you with photos in the future.”
Tadashi finally allows himself a thorough look at Hiro’s legs. Color hits his
cheeks again; only, this time, it’s ten shades brighter.
“Jesus, Hiro,” Tadashi comments, laughing in an exhausted heat of arousal and
amusement. He reaches out to touch his brother’s legs. “Ridiculous,” he
repeats.
“You love it,” Hiro shoots back.
There’s an intense look of concentration on Tadashi’s face as his fingers
sprawl across the cotton. He moves his hand up just a bit, then leans in to
kiss Hiro’s foot. Hiro doesn’t mean to let the small squeak escape his lips,
but he wasn’t expecting Tadashi to be so explorative.
“Very nice,” Tadashi chuckles.
Hiro hopes Tadashi doesn’t expect a footjob—is that a term?he briefly
wonders—because he knows his limits, and he’s definitely not nimble enough with
his feet for that to be anything except awkward. Luckily, Tadashi doesn’t seem
to be interested in anything beyond molesting the hell out of Hiro’s ankles and
soles. And, it feels good. Tadashi is touching him in all the right ways. It’s
ticklish in an erotic sense, nerves being stimulated with the soft press of
Tadashi’s fingertips and mouth. Hiro enjoys the way Tadashi’s breath feels
against the cotton. His legs are growing hotter, and the heat beneath the
fabric of the thick socks only serves to excite Hiro further.
Really, he could get used to having his legs worshipped like this...
When Tadashi gently bites at his heel, Hiro throws his head back, gasping. He
can feel Tadashi smiling against his foot, and the jerk does it again. Beneath
Hiro, Tadashi is achingly hard, and he makes sure to squirm against his
brother’s lap, causing Tadashi to bite a third time. This time, it sort of
hurts.
“Uhn, Tadashi,” Hiro whines, but he’s still squirming, impatient.
Tadashi rubs Hiro’s foot before wrapping his hand around the boy’s small ankle.
He slides his hand up to caress Hiro’s calf. Tadashi gazes at him, hungrily,
before bringing his hand up further, spreading it across the boy’s thigh and,
eventually, to the soft, pale flesh of his ass.
“Do you want me to touch you?” Tadashi asks. His fingers are trailing just
centimeters where he knows Hiro wants them, and he watches his sibling’s face
turn crimson as he nods. Tadashi pulls his hand away when he feels him about to
crawl off his lap. “Mm, no, Hiro—stay there,” he tells him.
Hiro does as he’s told while Tadashi reaches to grab the lube from his
nightstand. Hiro bites his lip. “Hurry,” he breathes out, watching his brother
pop open the bottle.
Of course, at the sound of Hiro’s request, Tadashi goes even slower, rubbing
the lube between his fingers at a leisurely pace. Two can play at this game,
though. Hiro bends his right leg and sweeps his foot over Tadashi’s chest, his
toes curling beneath the sock as he grazes Tadashi’s nipple. He practically
cackles when Tadashi stops and gawks at him, stunned by his flexibility.
“I said, hurry,” Hiro tells him, smugly.
Tadashi smirks. He pushes Hiro’s thighs apart until his fingers are able to
reach back between his legs. There’s a weak mewl from Hiro, and Tadashi rewards
him by wrapping his other hand around the boy’s neglected erection.
“Nngh—feels good, Tadashi—so good.”
Tadashi begins a slow rhythm. Already, Hiro is gasping and panting, and a small
trail of precome leaks from the tip of his cock. Tadashi thumbs over it,
spreading the fluid across the length as his hand continues to move up and
down.
“More,” Hiro demands. He stretches his leg again and links it over the crook of
Tadashi’s arm. He guides it toward his brother’s face and presses his toes into
his mouth. “Put your fingers in me, you idiot,” he snarls.
Tadashi has to pull away to adjust his back on the pillows. Hiro’s long legs
make the position easy enough, and neither of them have to abandon their tasks
as Tadashi leans against the plush cushions. Hiro wiggles to feel his brother’s
hard cock rubbing against his backside. He wants so desperately to have it
inside him—fucking him, rough and hard; but, first, he wants his fingers.
“Please.”
Finally, there’s one finger; then, carefully, a second. Hiro buckles forward
and yells his brother’s name.
“Mm, yes, ’Dashi,” he breathes, rolling his hips on the slick fingers.
He clenches around Tadashi when his fingers dive further. He’s already aiming
for Hiro’s most sensitive spot.
“Touch yourself,” Tadashi tells him, releasing his grip on Hiro’s cock.
Hiro groans. God, was this too much to ask? Hearing Tadashi speak like this
makes Hiro insatiable. He whimpers and grabs his cock with one shaky hand, gaze
heavy on his brother. Tadashi twists and bends his fingers, and Hiro cants his
hips into the touch with a sharp inhale.
“Holyshit,” he breathes.
Hiro’s legs tremble. He wants to collapse and demand that Tadashi just fuck
him, but his brother’s ravenous expression stops him. Hiro’s never seen Tadashi
look at him with such lecherous hunger. It’s almost more rewarding than having
Tadashi buried deep inside him. Hiro laughs amidst his next groan, diving his
toes back into Tadashi’s mouth. And, shit, Tadashi really seems to like that,
because Hiro can feel his erection twitching beneath him. Hiro makes sure to
lean back, rubbing against it as he continues to stroke himself. Tadashi’s moan
vibrates through his entire body, and the fabric of the sock is wet with his
saliva.
Tadashi, the bastard, is barely helping, at this point. He’s just watching.
Watching as Hiro fucks himself on his brother’s fingers and strokes his own
cock, whimpering and sweating and pleading—all while dressed in Tadashi’s
stupid SFIT shirt and wearing goddamn thigh-highs.
Hiro loves how licentious this feels. It’s the exhibition, knowing Tadashi’s
attention is only on him. There’s a strain in his thighs from just how wide his
legs are spread, and Hiro bites his lip as his fist works at a faster pace on
his cock. Up and down, up and down. It only takes one final curve and winding
of his hips for Tadashi’s fingers to hit him just right. His muscles tighten as
he comes, pulling his foot from Tadashi’s mouth and throwing his body forward.
He chokes out a sob and spills his hot release onto his hand and stomach.
Tadashi expects Hiro to fully collapse on his chest, but the boy stays put,
breathless and hunched over. There’s a determined look in his eye as he
collects himself and gives his limp cock a few extra strokes.
“You’re beautiful, Hiro,” Tadashi tells him.
“S-Shut up...” he growls.
Hiro pulls himself off Tadashi’s fingers, only briefly wincing at the loss
before he traps Tadashi’s thighs beneath his small hands. His mouth is on
Tadashi’s cock in the next second, barely giving Tadashi a moment to protest
before he’s taking the hard length into his mouth.
“Shit, Hiro,” Tadashi gasps, and his hands flail. He’s about to urge his
sibling off him, but he freezes when Hiro groans around his erection. “Hiro—ah,
you—”
Hiro’s tongue teases the tip, then laps around the base. A single hand is
working alongside his mouth; it’s still slick with his own seed, and Tadashi
shivers at the filthy sound produced when small fingers pump at his cock.
Abruptly, Hiro withdraws and smirks.
“You want me to stop?” he whispers. Each hot breath pools around Tadashi’s
cock, and Hiro chuckles at how broken Tadashi looks. His mouth is moving,
attempting to speak, but there’s only incoherent noises.  Hiro’s smirk widens.
“Hmm, I didn’t think so.”
Their gazes lock as Hiro licks his lips. Tadashi groans and watches, once more,
as his cock disappears into his baby brother’s wet, accommodating mouth.
“You don’t have to—ah, Hiro, shit.”
Tadashi’s hips rise into the hot confinement. He curses when he feels the tip
of his cock press against the very back of Hiro’s throat. Hiro gags but is
quick to settle himself. He stifles the next sound of discomfort and shuts his
eyes, allowing himself to fall into a rhythm.
“Hiro,” Tadashi whispers—so broken, so defeated, so happy.
The boy’s eyes flutter back open when Tadashi’s hands rest against his head. He
hums around Tadashi’s cock, then sinks forward. Tadashi’s fingers curl. He
pulls Hiro’s hair and rolls his hips, holding Hiro still as he takes over and
slides his cock deep into his brother’s throat. Hiro gags—loudly—and comes back
up with a string of saliva hanging from his mouth.
Fuck.
It’s depraved, Tadashi thinks. It’s so lewd and perverse, but the way his
brother looks with those glossy eyes and stretched jaw—fuck, it’s incredible.
Hiro, too, apparently loves it. He wastes no time when he catches his breath.
He’s sinking down on Tadashi’s cock again, holding himself in place, and
Tadashi quakes and moans. That tight, hot mouth is taking him whole. Hiro pulls
back, just a bit, but some spit spews down his chin, and thatsends Tadashi over
the edge.
“Hiro, I’m—”
But, when Tadashi attempts to draw him off, the younger boy grunts in protest
and plunges deeper. An incoherent mix of swears, tangled around Hiro’s name,
flow from Tadashi’s lips as the orgasm thrums through him. Hiro’s eyes shut,
swallowing what he can.
Hiro pulls off and collapses at the foot of Tadashi’s bed, feeling pretty damn
pleased with himself as he wipes his mouth. He considers saying something smug,
but his concentration is jolted when he feels Tadashi grabbing his legs.
“Hey, Tadashi—!”
He pulls Hiro by the thighs and slides him across the sheets to loom over the
smaller body. Hiro yelps in surprise, looking up at his sibling with confusion
until he catches Tadashi’s inflamed stare.
“My baby brother—in thigh-highs,” Tadashi observes, heatedly. He leans down and
captures Hiro in a thorough kiss, moaning inwardly when he tastes himself on
those lips. “You’re truly something else, Hiro.”
“You know,” Hiro says with a grin; “black wasn’t the only option. There was
quite the assortment, so I could make another purchase, if you wanted.”
Tadashi’s hands coast down Hiro’s legs and squeeze his calves. “That’s not
necessary,” he whispers against his neck. “These are more than fine.”
“All right,” he concedes, wrapping his arms around Tadashi. “I don’t think I’m
allowed back in that store for a while, anyway.”
Tadashi decides not to ask. Instead, he snakes a hand down Hiro’s body, slowly
beginning to stroke him. Hiro swells under Tadashi’s palm and immediately
squirms closer.  The SFIT shirt is bunching around his chest, but Hiro doesn’t
dare remove it, despite the chafing; he’s far too invested in the way Tadashi’s
eyes fixate on the attire’s loose fit.
Hiro whimpers and arches his back, reminding his brother just how shameless he
can be as he starts to lift his legs. Tadashi smirks while his free hand runs
up Hiro’s thighs to pinch the exposed flesh. He then snaps the end of the socks
and allows his fingers to graze beneath, and Hiro makes an appreciative
noise—even more so after he feels Tadashi’s hardening cock rubbing against his
thigh. Hiro’s actually quite impressed by his sibling’s refractory period; and,
for a moment, he’s divided about teasing him now and praising him later, but
the thoughts evaporate when Tadashi straightens his back and slings Hiro’s legs
over his shoulders. The boy gasps at the change of position, feeling exposed
all over again as Tadashi settles between his legs.
Obscenely bent and legs hiked, Hiro’s breath catches, and there’s no resistance
when Tadashi slides into him, still stretched and slick from before. Hiro’s
toes curl beneath the socks. He hisses out a swear, and Tadashi pushes himself
forward until Hiro’s tight entrance fully encases him.
“Tadashi...”
Hearing his name from Hiro, twisted with eager desire, makes his chest
constrict. Tadashi grabs at the collar of the SFIT shirt, pulling Hiro into a
fervent kiss that leaves the corner of his brother’s mouth damp with drool.
Tadashi’s resolve is gone. His forearms are clamped firmly around Hiro’s thighs
as he thrusts into him, over and over. Hiro is wet and so tight, and it
astounds Tadashi how small his brother’s body is, how he is completely bent,
yet Tadashi can reach down and capture that panting mouth with his own. The
rich, echoing sound of Hiro’s voice fills the air, and Tadashi pulls the boy’s
hips higher, making the angle easier as his cock slides in and out.
“Fuck,” Hiro curses. He’s sweating far more than Tadashi is, at this point. His
feet feel moist under the cotton, and the shirt is clinging to his sweaty
chest. “Mmm—so good, ’Dashi.”
The nickname only unravels his brother further. Tadashi presses his nose into
Hiro’s calf, breathing into the fabric as he bites at his ankle. Hiro repeats
the nickname, and Tadashi’s hand works at his leaking cock with a nearly
painful grip until Hiro’s body spasms, climaxing for a second time. The hot
white fluid coats Tadashi’s fingers, and his thrusts instantly become more
frantic. Hiro—the devilish, knowing brat—constricts around him. That’s all it
takes for Tadashi to spill into Hiro, silencing a loud grunt by clamping his
teeth hardaround Hiro’s ankle.
Strained, their bodies untangle, and the room becomes unusually silent. Hiro is
still at the foot of the bed, Tadashi at the head; and, the younger boy manages
enough energy to knead his foot against Tadashi’s hip, playfully. Tadashi
doesn’t mind. He simply stares at the wooden joists and beams above him, taking
notice of how the green paint is chipping near the ceiling’s slant. When Hiro’s
foot stops moving, he thinks, perhaps, his sibling has fallen asleep—but, soon,
Hiro starts laughing. He clutches his ribs and sits up to look at Tadashi.
“I knewI’d get you,” he brags between chortles.
Tadashi wishes he had a defense ready, for that. Unfortunately, he doesn’t
disagree.
With a long yawn, Hiro finally removes the SFIT t-shirt, using it to clean off
both himself and his brother. Tadashi isn’t too pleased by this, but he figures
they’ll probably have to burn that shirt, along with the socks (and their
entire bedroom).
“That last bite really hurt,” Hiro complains. He strips off the sock and
examines his ankle, eyes widening when he sees the deep indentations of
Tadashi’s teeth. “Dude, look!” He shoves his foot in Tadashi’s face.
Tadashi tries to show empathy, but he all he does is chuckle and gently guide
Hiro’s foot away. Hiro pouts and removes his other sock to throw at Tadashi’s
head.
Eventually, Tadashi peels himself from the bed. “Aunt Cass is probably going to
need help closing.” His tone has that familiar sound of wariness that it
usually does, post-afterglow. “We should shower, then help her out.”
Hiro cranes his neck to glance out the window, where the sun is only just
starting to disappear behind neighboring buildings. It’s still so early. His
thoughts turn mischievous as he wonders whether Tadashi will be up for more,
after dinner. He smirks to himself and stands.
“Oh, by the way,” Hiro says, following his brother into the bathroom; “I’ve
decided you owe me an Orange Julius.”
===============================================================================
Come Monday morning, Tadashi still has not supplied Hiro with a replacement
Orange Julius, despite being filled in on the horrific destruction of the last
one. Hiro reminds his older brother about this quite vehemently during their
morning commute, but Tadashi pretends he can’t hear the clamors over the sound
of his Vespa. They pass a total of three Orange Julius stands on their route to
SFIT. Four, actually, if Hiro counts the one currently closed by the health
department (and he does).
“This is absurd,” Hiro bemoans, sitting at a lab bench and staring at the
textbook and worksheet before him. “I can’t concentrate without sugar. My
education depends on it.”
Gogo quirks a brow. “Wouldn’t it be more convenient if you just got addicted to
coffee?” she reasons. “I’d kill for my family to own a café.”
Hiro just groans and frantically texts Fred about the dire importance of
obtaining sugar.
By 10 a.m., Fred strolls into the lab with an Orange Julius drink tray, passing
out obnoxiously-colored smoothies to his friends.
Gogo takes a sip and blanches. “This tastes like piss,” she says. She opens the
lid and inspects the inside, because she’s fairly certain nothing should taste
this revolting unless someone did, in fact, urinate in the cup.
“It’s tolerable,” Tadashi bargains, after a taste.
Fred is already halfway through his large cup when he points out: “Yo, Wasabi,
you haven’t touched yours.” He looks hurt until he realizes this works to his
advantage. “I’ll drink yours, if you don’t want it.”
Wasabi surrenders the untouched cup and watches as Hiro jots down some notes on
his paper. The boy is in considerably brighter spirits, now that he’s gotten
his way.
“Tadashi, are you sure it’s okay for Hiro to drink one of those?” Wasabi asks,
concerned. “There’s 54 grams of sugar in a small. That’s the equivalent of 13
teaspoons of sugar.”
Fred rubs a hand to his chin and gives Hiro a once-over. “He’s right, little
man. All that sugar could stunt your growth, and you’re already pretty short
for your age.”
Hiro glowers and clutches to the smoothie as though it’s an oxygen tank.
Tadashi just laughs and takes another hearty gulp of his own beverage.
“Good morning!”
The cheery greeting comes from Honey Lemon, who saunters into the lab, clapping
excitedly about a new school week, all while adorning a chiffon blouse, pleated
mini-skirt, and a pair of pretty, black thighs-highs.
Tadashi chokes on his Orange Julius, dropping the cup to the floor, where it
promptly explodes.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!