Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3403565.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Big_Hero_6_(2014)
  Relationship:
      Hiro_Hamada/Tadashi_Hamada
  Character:
      Hiro_Hamada, Tadashi_Hamada
  Additional Tags:
      Short, Not_much_of_a_plot, but_its_still_there, Incest, Age_Difference,
      sort_of??
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-21 Words: 1910
****** How Did We Even Get Here ******
by stargirl_(orphan_account)
Summary
     There are three main reasons why Hiro loves illegal bot battles. But
     after Tadashi storms in, Hiro's thinking there might just be a
     fourth.
Hiro loves bot-fighting. And when he really thinks about it, he can break it
down neatly into three reasons why.
The first is anonymity. He squeezes through the humming crowd, undetected until
he throws himself forwards.
The second is the moment of silence, when the audience doesn’t know whether to
laugh or pity him.
But most of all, amongst the stench of fried street food and the silvery
twilight, he loves to win. The fury in the eyes of his opponent, the
incredulity, the red hot rage.
These are the reasons Hiro blatantly ignores the law, pulls all-nighters fueled
by energy drinks to perfect coding, and holds his breath until he hears his
brother snoring in the bed next to him before he sneaks out.
Hiro’s head snaps backwards.
“You think a punk like you can hustle me?”
Cinderblocks dig into his back and his heart’s trying to beat its way out of
his chest in between thoughts of this guy really needs to visit an oral
hygienist.
Because in between the euphoria and the bursts of adrenaline, Hiro always
manages to forget about one factor.
“Well,” he says, and his ears perk up at the sound of a revving engine.
Tadashi spins to a stop, grabbing Hiro by the collar and heaving him onto the
back of his bike slamming a helmet onto his cranium.
Wind whips by Hiro’s ears and they race out.
The thugs are slightly more competent than the two Hiro faced at last week’s
battle, chasing after them on modified segways.
“Hold on!” Hiro plasters himself to his brother’s back, breathing in the scent
of citrus body wash and oil that clings to Tadashi.
Tadashi slips between two cars and they disappear in the back alleys of the
city.
“Hiro,” says Tadashi, his voice scattered by the wind, “are you hurt?”
And Hiro has to bite his lip because that’s always the first question.
“No,” he says, ignoring the throbbing in his left wrist.
“Good. Now, I toldyou that – “
“WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF THIS DORKY HELMET.”
Tadashi mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “it’s a safety
precaution” before he rolls to a stop outside the café.
One hand on the doorknob, Tadashi turns and says, “do not make any noise, Aunt
Cass is still sound asleep and tomorrow is some national donut festival, she’ll
need all the energy she can get.”
They make it up two flights of stairs before Tadashi slams the bedroom door.
“Unbelievable,” Tadashi whispers in his angriest voice, pacing the tiny
confinements of the room.
Sometimes, Hiro thinks there must be something wrong with him. He can trapeze
around the city, shuck off all responsibilities, reprogram mall security
cameras to track a single customer, but the only time his gut ever twists with
guilt is when his brother stands in front of him, trembling with concern.
“I didn’t know where you were!”
Hiro flops down onto Tadashi’s bed, the only one that’s actually has a
comforter that isn’t somewhere on the floor.
“But you tracked me down.”
“And found you cornered by lumberjacks, Hiro! Big, scary lumberjacks!”
“Tadashi, they weren’t really – “
Tadashi spins around, crowding into Hiro’s personal bubble. Hiro can make out
the tiny splash of freckles across his brother’s nose.
“You’re lying to me. I can feel it.” Tadashi’s words lack heat, but they slap
Hiro across the face.
Hiro’s chest constricts, and because he’s never been good at lying to one of
the only people he cares about, he rolls up his sleeve.
Tadashi’s warm hands wrap encircle his forearm, and Hiro blinks into the
blinding light of the bedside lamp.
“Are there any others?” Tadashi asks.
Tadashi’s gripping Hiro like he could shatter at any moment, and Hiro tears his
arm away.
“Bro, you need to chill.”
Tadashi tugs at the collar of Hiro’s shirt, and Hiro winces.
He braces himself for more pacing, another lecture. Instead, Tadashi just lets
his hands fall into his lap, and says, with a look of such unaltered pain
splashed across his face, “why do you do it?”
At this point, Hiro seriously contemplates handing him a written copy of his
list.
Tadashi traces the juncture between Hiro’s neck and shoulder, his fingertips
cool against Hiro’s burning skin.
“It’s because of you,” Hiro blurts out. One hand flies to cover his mouth.
Tadashi crumbles.
“No, don’t do that thing with your face,” says Hiro, “that is not what I meant.
It’s just – you always show up, right when I need you, like some knight in
shining armor. And I – I love it, okay?”
Hiro slumps backwards, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. They
sting, like he’d broken his pollex again.
He stares at the ceiling, where Tadashi had plastered posters of molecules and
cheesy jokes written in binary coding.
Tadashi’s face popped into view.
“So,” he says, “you just like being protected.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“By me.”
Hiro flushes, smacking Tadashi’s chest.
“Eww, you’re so embarrassing.”
Tadashi grabs Hiro and cradles him to his chest.
Hiro’s skin burns. He feels soft lips dip down, pressing a kiss to his
hairline.
He’s wrapped in a cocoon of warmth, but it’s not right.
“No,” he says, “this isn’t what I want.”
Cortisol must still be swimming through his veins, Hiro thinks, because he
presses a kiss to Tadashi’s neck, just below his Adam’s apple, the only place
he can reach.
He presses another, slightly higher, and another, craning his neck.
The arms around his stiffen. Hiro’s cuddling a solid board.
His cheeks burn. His gut twists. His heart aches.
He can’t bring himself to regret it.
“Tadashi, I –“
It isn’t the pounding of his own heart that Hiro feels. He doesn’t know how he
was going to finish that sentence because Tadashi grabs his face and kisses
him.
Tadashi kisses him like he’s going off to war, like he’s falling on a sword.
And suddenly, Hiro knows exactly how he would have finished that sentence,
because Tadashi beats him to it.
“I love you,” he says, running a thumb across Hiro’s cheek.
Hiro kisses him. It doesn’t make sense not to.
His kiss is sloppy, open mouthed with too much tongue, but it feels like his
first bot fight.
Blood rushes to the pit of Hiro’s stomach and Tadashi flips them over, bracing
himself over Hiro’s head, blocking out the outside world.
They’re pressed chest to chest, panting a symphony, and all Hiro can think
about it how Tadashi’s mouth looks just like the jar of cherries Aunt Cass
keeps on the top shelf of her fridge. Something pokes into his stomach.
Hiro swallows. Tadashi presses their foreheads together, his pupils blown wide.
“Hiro,” he breathes, and Hiro’s heart hiccups, “do you really want this?”
“Oh, hellyes.”
Tadashi chuckles. Hiro feels the vibrations crushing into his chest.
“Say it, Hiro. Please.”
Hiro reaches out blindly, finding Tadashi’s hands resting above his head and
entwining their fingers.
“I want you to fuck me.”
They’re both shivering. Hiro press another kiss to Tadashi’s mouth, more like a
clashing of lips. Tadashi’s fingers curl underneath the hem of Hiro’s t-shirt.
The shirt slips over his head and is discarded somewhere on the floor. Hiro
doesn’t have a moment to feel flustered before Tadashi kisses the tip of his
sternum, then his ribs, and Hiro’s fingers are curling into the sheets.
He tugs at Tadashi’s belt with fumbling hands because they both need to be
naked right now.
Tadashi laughs. “Relax,” he says, covering Hiro’s hands, “we’ve got all night.”
Slowly, like the thawing of ice, his unclasps his belt and tosses it to the
floor. He unbuttons his sweater, then his shirt. He pauses for a beat before
shucking off his pants, and then that’s it, they have shot straight past the
point of no return.
Tadashi reaches down, rubbing a hand along Hiro’s navel before his fingers dip
below his waistband.
Hiro wiggles out of his pants with much less grace.
“Your boxers are adorable,” says Tadashi, tugging at them. They slip down.
“Oh, shut it. You picked them out for me.”
Tadashi wraps a hand around his brother's cock. Hiro freezes.
"Tadashi, I - I've never - "
"I get it. Your crazy nanobots eat up most of your free time. Maybe you're just
a late bloomer." His grin warms Hiro to the core, and he pinches Hiro's hip.
"Don't worry, I've got you."
He aligns their cocks, both already leaking, and smears his hand. He gives them
a few good jerks and Hiro moans, his breath clipped. "Don't you fucking smirk,"
he says, so Tadashi kisses him instead. They’re moving, thrusting in a sloppy
rhythm when Hiro pulls back.
"Tadashi," he says, "could you..." His face burns, because there is really no
correct way to ask someone to fuck you senseless. He’s aching, and he knows
that he wants.
Tadashi kisses him, and the warm embrace disappears, there’s the sound of a
drawer shutting. Tadashi wraps his arms around Hiro, picking him up. He cradles
him to his chest for a moment; kissing the top of Hiro’s head in a gesture so
sweet it makes Hiro’s heart ache.
Hiro feels a knuckle enter into his entrance. It slips past the tight ring of
muscle, freezing cold. Hiro shivers.
Tadashi kisses his forehead and tightens his hold.
One knuckle turns into two, joined by another. Tadashi rubs against that
sensitive bundle of nerves, and Hiro lets out another breathy moan.
“Are you ready?” Tadashi’s voice ghosts over Hiro’s ear. Hiro nods.
He’s empty, and his grip on Tadashi’s neck tightens. Something nudges at his
backside.
Tadashi presses into him and starts to move. He groans, pounding out a steady
rhythm. Hiro feels like he’s being ripped in two. He’s rock hard, his legs
wrapped around his brother’s waist.
His nails dig into Tadashi’s back – he bets Baymax would suggest an
antibacterial spray,he thinks wildly – and slams his hips down.
“I can’t get close enough,” he breathes, tightening his grip. Tadashi just
moans his name, over and over, like a prayer.
At some point, his words turn incoherent, stumbling into each other. Tadashi
just grasps his hips harder, pressing into him over and over.
With Tadashi wrapped around him, Hiro feels - .
Safe. 
He tips over the edge. His vision goes white and he shutters, splashing
Tadashi’s chest with white-hot cum.
Tadashi’s thrusts become frantic, pushing deeper and deeper.
“Hiro,” he moans, one last time, before his hips stutter to a halt.
For a moment, Hiro just sprawls across Tadashi. If his brother decides to move,
Hiro would probably collapse.
They pant against each other, their chests rising and falling in unison.
Eons later, Tadashi shifts, swiping a shirt off the floor and using it to clean
off first Hiro, then himself.
“Hey,” says Hiro, “that’s mine.” He tries to swat at it but his arms are no
longer under his control.
Tadashi laughs and tosses it to the floor.
Hiro curls up like a cat. Tadashi settles down behind him and draws up the
covers.
Hiro shuffles over, nuzzling into Tadashi’s chest.
“Tadashi?” he asks, his eyes closed.
“Mmhm?”
“Can we do this every time you drag me out of a bot fight?”
Tadashi kisses Hiro’s temple, throwing an arm around his waist and tugging him
close.
“Sure thing, buddy.”
There are three reasons why Hiro enjoys illegal bot battles.
He may have just found a fourth.
 
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