Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3496346.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Marvel_Cinematic_Universe, Captain_America_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Steve_Rogers/Brock_Rumlow
  Character:
      Brock_Rumlow, Steve_Rogers
  Additional Tags:
      Modern_AU, Alternate_Universe_-_No_Powers, Stepdad!Rumlow, Teenage_Steve,
      Infidelity, Blowjobs, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, PWP, literally_no
      plot, HYDRA_Trash_Party_adjacent, Daddy_Kink
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-07 Words: 6356
****** In Too Deep ******
by trill_gutterbug
Summary
     Steve coughed, and his words were slurred because he was being
     careful with his teeth. “I want to-- I like that. You can do that, I
     don't mind.”
     Brock paused, eyebrows going up. “You like that? Choking on cock?”
     Steve said very softly, “I like it, yeah.”
      
     (Or, the stepdad!Rumlow/teenage!Steve non-powered AU no one asked for
     or wanted.)
Notes
     This is for my lovely Poose, whose idea I completely stole and then
     spent six months complaining about. She's such a good sport.
     There's no dub- or non-con in here at all, but there is a spot where
     Rumlow thinks he wouldn't stop even if Steve wanted him to, so use
     your own discretion on that one, I guess? I mean, Rumlow's sort of
     his own warning.
     The daddy kink is slight, and towards the end.
     Oh, and title by shinelikethunder, who is a terrible pun enabler.
Brock didn’t know how long ago Evil Dead 2 had finished; the muted DVD menu had
been cycling for a while now. It was hard to pay much attention to anything.
He’d been hard since twenty minutes into the movie, when Steve had given up
pretending to stay on his end of the couch and slid his feet into Brock’s lap.
Ten minutes after that, because Steve was seventeen and not subtle about
anything, Brock had lifted an arm to let him muscle in underneath it.
There wasn’t much point staying upright after that, not once Steve put his
mouth on the underside of Brock’s jaw and started kneading his big hands
against the tops of Brock’s thighs like a hungry kitten.
All the lights were off in the house and the tv had auto-dimmed a while ago,
but Brock could see the digital display on the microwave that said 11:03. Sarah
wouldn’t be home from her shift for another seven hours, and Steve had already
stuck her dinner in the oven for easy reheating. The blinds were drawn, the
doors locked.
That giddy, guilty look Steve had given him when Brock suggested a movie before
bed had had Brock on edge ever since. He thought Steve might be developing a
Pavlovian response to movie nights-- he’d gotten his first handjob under a
crocheted blanket on this couch, after all, with War of the Worlds playing in
the background and his mom snoring beside him. Brock hadn’t been that turned on
over sneaky second-base fumbling since he was fifteen. It had been too risky to
let Steve return the favour, but he’d carried Sarah up to bed after and fucked
her like a man possessed. She’d sleepily complimented his enthusiasm and gone
right back to snoring, and Brock had lain there in the dark, breathing too
hard, thinking about the hot-eyed way Steve had watched him leave the living
room, hungry and unsubtle.
The memory made him shiver. He pushed Steve down on his back, and Steve’s legs
fell open around his hips, a warm triangle for Brock to slot right into. His
chin tipped up, inviting, but Brock held back. He took his time breathing in
the salty good smell of boy and cheetos and coffee, feeling Steve’s thighs
thick and solid against his own. “How was school today?” he asked.
Steve snorted. “Shut the fuck up,” he said.
Brock grinned. Steve’s hands were braced against his chest, fingers curled in
his t-shirt, and Brock traced a finger up the length of one forearm, felt the
cords of muscle and the soft hair at Steve’s wrist. “Did you go to the gym
after?”
 “Yeah, I went a few rounds.”
Brock hadn’t; he’d taken the day off work and stayed home, hung out in the
garage and drank beer by himself in the backyard and fucked around online. Jack
was filling in for him at the gym and he definitely wouldn’t have let Steve
slack off on his routine.
“That’s good,” Brock said. He let his hand slide back down Steve’s arm, rubbed
his knuckles at the firm swell of bicep under Steve’s t-shirt. “You’re feeling
really good.”
Steve shivered a little. His hands tightened in Brock’s shirt, drawing him
down. Brock caught himself against the couch by Steve’s head. “What?” he asked,
grinning. “Didn’t get enough of a workout earlier?”
Steve sighed, nosing the line of Brock’s neck. “Well, Jack was good, but he
wasn’t that good.”
“You must not have been enticing enough.”
“I don’t know,” Steve said, his mouth right up against Brock’s collarbone. “I
was wearing these little booty shorts and a sweatband and I did a lot of
bending over…”
Brock snorted. Jack was about as interested in sexy people as he was brooms-
- much less Brock’s underage stepson. That was Brock’s particular affliction.
“I guess we’ll have to finish up here,” he said. “Show me your moves, kiddo.”
Steve bit the edge of his jaw, humming.
“Hey, careful,” Brock murmured. It was one thing for Steve to end up covered in
love bites, but Brock couldn’t show his face at the breakfast table with
hickeys Sarah hadn’t given him. Steve had gotten carried away once before and
Brock had only gotten out of it by claiming an accident with a new client and
faulty gym equipment. She hadn’t been suspicious, he was pretty sure; Steve had
backed him up, looking only very slightly panicked.
She’d laughed and told them both to watch their asses, that she’d get in
trouble if she kept sneaking them into the hospital for emergency stitches and
x-rays. For three years, she’d had the patience of a fucking saint with Brock,
even married his dumb ass, and she didn’t deserve to find out something like
this just because he couldn’t be bothered to pay a little extra attention in
the heat of the moment.
“I am being careful,” Steve said. He licked at the bite, deliberately too
gentle. “Don’t be such a downer.”
Brock rolled his eyes and turned his head to remind himself exactly how the
back of Steve’s mouth tasted.
Eight minutes later, Steve's breath was hot against the side of Brock's head
when he said, “Could I--” and broke off with a wet clicking swallow and a
hesitant mmh.
“What?” said Brock, mouthing along the tendon in Steve's neck, big gentle bites
that were more licking than teeth, tasting all his fresh sharp sweat. “Speak
up, baby.” He kissed the point of Steve's jaw, pressed his nose into the hot
jumping spot where his pulse beat strong. “I can't say yes if I don't know what
you want.”
Steve lifted his chin so Brock could get underneath, test his teeth on the warm
skin there. “Can I go down on you?” Steve said, voice a deep rumble against
Brock's ear.
Brock took a slow indulgent breath, smiling to himself. He made Steve wait for
an answer, biting gently around his Adam's apple and the curve of his
collarbone. “You want to?” he murmured. He kissed the base of Steve's throat,
the dip of his clavicle. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah,” Steve said. His neck was rough with goosebumps, throbbing with heat. It
was too dark to tell, but Brock thought he was probably bruising up nicely with
a thin flush of stubble burn. “Yeah, I want to.”
Brock didn't bother answering. He rubbed his thumb along the collar of Steve's
shirt, easing it down. He scraped the side of his chin against Steve's chest,
between the dip of his pecs. Steve flinched, and his breathing hitched, but he
didn't pull away. His hands were on Brock's sides, restless against his ribs.
Brock sat up, got on his knees so he was straddling Steve’s lap. He put both
hands on his own belt, thumbed at the buckle. He knew Steve was looking, eyes
probably locked there.
“You want this, you sure?” he asked. “You want my dick in your mouth?”
Steve nodded. He shifted between Brock's knees, leaning forward. His hand moved
toward Brock's, but Brock pushed it away.
“Don't touch,” he said. “I didn’t say you could touch.”
“Sorry,” Steve said, not sounding it at all.
Brock snorted and patted Steve’s cheek, gentle but sudden out of the dark. It
made the kid inhale sharply, twitch. “You have to pay attention. Listen to me,
okay?”
That was their deal, had been from the first time, nearly two months ago, that
Steve backed his ass up into Brock’s crotch at the kitchen counter and, for
once, didn’t pretend it was an accident. Things happened Brock’s way, or not at
all. He had way more at stake in this, after all, than a horned-up teenage boy
who hadn’t even dated anyone yet.
“Okay.” Steve dropped his head back against the arm of the couch. “Yeah,
sorry.”
“I bet.” Brock pulled the end of his belt through the buckle, but didn't undo
it. He rubbed one hand down over his cock, where it was hard and angled up
toward his waistband. It was uncomfortable, bent in his boxers like that. He
squeezed it, felt it up along the length and groaned under his breath. He
rubbed his knuckle against the head. “Tell me,” he said. He was starting to
sweat at the hairline, and reached up to rake his hair back, wipe the back of
his wrist over his forehead. “Tell me what you think about my cock in your
mouth.”
Steve made a noise like he was trying to swallow a moan. He squirmed between
Brock's knees, half rising, and Brock leaned back so he was sitting on Steve's
thighs. Pinning him.
Steve's muscles jumped, but he was good; he kept his hands to himself and went
still, breathing hard. “I think,” he said, “that I want to suck you off.”
“Oh, yeah?” Brock grinned. He thought Steve could probably see the flash of his
teeth in the dark. “You think you'd be good at that?”
Steve nodded. “I learn quick,” he said.
“What if you're really bad at it, though?” Brock squeezed himself again, got
his hand around his cock and shook it through his pants. Ground the heel of his
palm against the base. It kicked in his hand and he felt the head get a little
wet. “You gonna listen to me if I tell you how to do better?”
“Yes,” Steve said. “I'll listen to you.”
Brock let go of his cock long enough to open his belt all the way, and the
button of his fly. He paused there, let Steve wait, let him feel the loose ends
of the belt dangle against the top of his thighs. “Really?” he said. “Because
you're pretty bad at listening. Remember yesterday when I told you to put the
air compressor away and you left it in the driveway?”
Steve sighed. “I said sorry for that. I got distracted. I'm not going to get
distracted if you're...”
Brock waited, but he didn't finish the sentence. “If I'm what?”
Steve took a slow breath. “If you're, you know... Right here. Telling me.”
“Sure,” said Brock. “Well, I guess there's only one way to find out.” He found
Steve's hand in the dark and lifted it. Laid it flat against his lower belly
and let Steve feel the flex of muscle there. He clenched his abs, rubbed
Steve's hand across them. “How about that? You like that?”
“Yeah,” Steve said. He was breathing with his mouth open now, harsh but quiet.
He pushed his hand up under Brock's t-shirt, stroked the delineations of six-
pack and pecs. His touch was admiring, curious. Brock took his wrist and drew
it back down, cupped Steve's hand around his cock.
“Squeeze it,” he murmured, and Steve did. It sent a shock of deep raw pleasure
right through Brock’s balls. He held Steve's hand still and pushed against it,
rubbed himself on it. Used it like a sex toy. “Open my zipper,” he said.
Steve fumbled to obey, and Brock sat up a bit straighter to tug his jeans down
over his hips. His cock flexed in his boxers, rising up straighter. He hummed
appreciatively, stroking one finger down the length of it.
“Come on, touch me,” he told Steve, and Steve did. He cupped his palm over the
head and fondled the slide of Brock's foreskin. It was too rough through the
boxers, but Brock held still and let him explore for a minute. He wanted to
reach down and feel Steve's erection, feel the way he filled out his sweats,
but he was pretty sure Steve would dump his load the second anything touched
him. And that didn't need to happen yet.
“That's right,” Brock told him. “So far, so good.”
Steve laughed a little, breathless. His fingertips traced the elastic of
Brock's boxers, nails scratching through the short hair. Brock took his hand
again, guided it through the flap in the front of the shorts. He curled Steve's
fingers around his cock. “Jerk me off,” he said.
“But I--” Steve hesitated.
“I'll stop you,” Brock said. “Don't worry.”
Steve was clumsy, but he was right-- he did learn fast. All it took was a
couple corrective touches and a murmur of direction and he was jerking Brock's
dick like a pro, twisting on the upstroke, thumb planted firm and delicious on
the head.
Brock could hold off for a while, he knew that, but he wasn't sure Steve could.
The way the kid was starting to breathe, hitched and high, sounded like he was
about to come in his pants.
“That's enough,” Brock said after a minute. He grabbed Steve's wrist, stopped
it. “You're doing good,” he said. “Real good. Take a breather.”
Steve trembled between his knees, but in a fierce kind of way. If a light had
been on, Brock thought he would see Steve's nostrils flared, his jaw set. He
probably wanted to push up and shove Brock over, rub off against his thigh.
“You think you can fit that in your mouth?” Brock asked. He nudged his hips
forward against Steve's hand, reminded him how thick and long his cock was.
“All of it?”
“Yes,” Steve said.
“Wow,” said Brock, gently mocking. “You really think so?”
Steve fingers went tight around him. “Totally.”
“All right,” Brock said. “All right, big man, let's find out.”
It was a pain in the ass, getting his pants and his shorts all the way off, but
Steve didn't break position the whole time. He stayed flat on his back,
waiting, and when Brock moved up to kneel over his chest, he even kept his arms
still, trapped at his sides. He was trying so hard, testing his own patience;
Brock wanted to laugh and give him a noogie, but he resisted.
Instead, he grabbed his cock at the base, flexed it a few times. It was hard as
nails, full and warm. He rubbed the foreskin up and down, dug his thumb under
the crown. When he leaned forward and braced himself over Steve's head, fist
planted on the arm of the couch, Steve's mouth was already open, his hot wet
breaths gusting over Brock's crotch.
“Ready for this thing, baby?” Brock asked.
“Fuck yeah,” Steve said, and ducked forward to fit his mouth around the head.
He was slick inside, soaked and flushed for it. It made Brock's hips drive
forward automatically, burying himself in the back of Steve's throat with one
quick push.
He pulled out right away, but not before Steve had already choked, fists
clenching at Brock's bare thighs.
“Sorry, sweetheart, sorry,” Brock murmured. He held off with just the tip of
his cock resting on Steve's tongue, riding the flex of it. “Didn't mean to.”
“No, it's--” Steve coughed, and his words were slurred because he was being
careful with his teeth. “I want to-- I like that. You can do that, I don't
mind.”
Brock paused, eyebrows going up. “You like that? Choking on cock?”
Steve said very softly, “I like it, yeah.”
“How do you know?”
Steve shrugged; his shoulders bunched against Brock's arm. “I've seen lots of
porn. Face fucking, you know.”
Brock grinned. It nearly hurt how big he grinned. “Porn ain't real life, kiddo.
Deep throating isn't easy.”
“I know, but I can do it,” Steve said. “Try me.”
Brock nudged his hips back and forth just an inch or two. The head of his cock
rubbed the roof of Steve's mouth, not quite deep enough to touch the soft give
of his palate. “Sure,” he said at last. “Let's give it a shot.”
He went slow, pushing in. He eased his cock along Steve's tongue toward the
back of his mouth, taking his time about it. It was the kid's first time
sucking cock, after all, Brock guessed; he needed to enjoy it.
“Hey,” Brock said. “You ever done this before?”
He felt Steve's fingers dig at his hips, a moment of hesitation. Carefully,
Steve shook his head.
“What, really?” Brock grinned. “Nobody hit you up for it in the locker-room?
Behind the bleachers? What are kids doing these days if they're not having
illicit sex on school grounds?”
Steve made a garbled kind of noise that Brock thought he could probably
translate as Oh, I don't know, learning?
“This planet's definitely going to shit,” Brock said. He slid one hand over
Steve's head, through his thick sweaty hair. His hips followed the motion,
grinding forward into Steve's mouth. He didn't go too deep, not yet; he stopped
before his balls got close to Steve's chin.
“That feel good?” he asked. It wasn't nice, asking questions Steve couldn't
answer. He got a muffled hum, and it vibrated in all the right places, made his
cock flex once, responsive and eager.
“Feels good for me,” he murmured. He rubbed his thumb in behind Steve’s ear,
tucked his fingers at the nape of Steve’s neck. “You’ve got such a smart mouth,
baby, it’s hot from running all the time.”
He grinned, because even if Steve couldn’t see him real well, Brock liked
giving him a hard time and Steve knew it. Against the insides of his thighs,
Brock felt Steve’s arms tense. He had such good muscles, Steve did, ripe and
freshly grown. One of these days, probably soon, he’d be giving Brock a run for
his money.
“You want more?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just long enough to make sure
Steve wasn’t going to say no. He lifted Steve’s head with the hand on the soft
damp back of his neck, tipped forward enough that his cock slid another half-
inch inside. “Yeah,” he said under his breath, more to himself, because it felt
so fucking good.
Steve really didn’t know what he was doing, and there was the threat of teeth
halfway down Brock’s dick, but it didn’t matter; his mouth was slick as a
pussy, and his tongue fluttered against the underside of Brock’s cockhead,
pressing it up into the roof of his mouth.
He pushed in a bit further, and then pulled out. Steve squirmed, leaning up
after him, but Brock got a pinch of hair between his knuckles and pulled him
back down.
“Hey,” he said, reining his cock with one hand circled around the base. “Take
it easy.”
Steve swallowed, open-mouthed and wet. He didn’t answer, just leaned into
Brock’s hand. His belly was heaving under Brock’s ass, tight with hard panting
breaths.
“Taste good?” Brock asked. He rubbed himself firmly once, root to head, milking
out a shiver of sharp pleasure that snapped at his balls, sprouted goosebumps
down his arms.
“Uh huh,” Steve said. He nodded, and his mouth brushed Brock’s knuckles where
they were curled around his cock. “I like it.”
Brock lifted his thumb off his cock and touched Steve’s bottom lip with it,
pressed it open. Steve didn’t try to draw him in, but the way he swallowed
again, and his head rocked in Brock’s palm, said he wanted to.
“You’re being so good,” Brock told him. “You are a quick learner, aren’t you?”
Steve shrugged. His teeth nipped Brock’s thumb when he smiled. “I like to think
so,” he said.
Brock snorted and pushed his thumb in farther, between Steve’s teeth, down to
the back of his molars. He rubbed the slick inside of Steve’s mouth, pressed at
the sensitive give at the back of his throat. “Open up,” he said, and when
Steve obeyed, nudged his cock inside again.
He didn’t go far, just enough to lay the tip on Steve’s tongue. He slapped it
there a couple times, gentle motions that made Steve open his lips wider, got
him slick inside with greedy spit. It made Brock’s dick kick out a sympathetic
little burst of precome. He groaned at the feel of it, pushed it deeper into
Steve’s mouth with his cock and his wet thumb. Steve couldn’t close his lips
around him, not with the thumb in his way, but his jaw clenched like he was
itching for it.
“Put your tongue in the slit,” Brock murmured, drawing out just enough that
Steve had to strain to obey. He licked the head, sloppy, and Brock felt a hot
trickle of spit run down his balls. It made him hum under his breath. Steve’s
tongue dug at his slit and Brock rubbed his foreskin forward, buried Steve’s
tongue inside it. Jacked himself like that slowly, careful, the edge of his
fist meeting Steve’s mouth. One of these days, he was going to dock the kid’s
cock like this, jerk himself off inside Steve’s tight foreskin, make him cream
all over the tip of Brock’s dick. Steve would probably cry, it’d feel so good.
Fuck.
He pulled back, gentle. Let go of his cock and pushed Steve’s head down against
the couch with two fingers in the center of his forehead.
“Good boy,” he murmured. He rubbed at the sleek inside of Steve’s cheek with
his thumb, felt the solid sharp teeth, dipped into the tender groove under
Steve’s tongue. “I’m gonna go deeper this time.”
Steve swallowed, breath catching, and Brock slid his thumb back to feel it, the
spasm of those tight wet muscles. They clenched up around him, fluttery and
private. He couldn’t help it, he slipped two more fingers in, rubbed gently at
the back of Steve’s throat.
“That’s nice,” he told Steve. “You’re going to feel so nice on my cock, aren’t
you?”
Steve made a muffled “Mmm” noise.
“Yeah,” Brock murmured. “That’s right. You do as you’re told, okay? No teeth.”
Steve hummed again, wiggling. Brock squeezed him between his thighs, briefly,
just a warning. He eased his fingers out, wiping them dry on Steve’s cheek, and
rocked forward to feed his dick into Steve’s mouth. He held it at the base
between two fingers, held it back. He had to ease into this, stretch Steve out
slow and gradual.
He got to the back of Steve’s tongue and paused, barely halfway inside. Steve
made a sound, an eager pleading kind of noise. His hands moved; Brock felt them
circle his ankles and squeeze.
Brock grinned. He ran his thumb around Steve’s mouth, feeling the stretch of
it. “More?”
The noise Steve made this time was lower, more of a growl. Brock slid a little
farther in, just a quarter inch. It was knocking him off balance, moving from
the hips like this. He let go of his cock and planted both hands on the arm of
the couch, either side of Steve’s head. His belly nearly touched Steve’s face.
“Good?”
Steve didn’t answer, he couldn’t. His cheeks hollowed and Brock groaned at the
suction of it, the way it pressed his cock up into the roof of Steve’s mouth.
The next push lodged the tip of his cock at the back of Steve’s throat, just
where it started to narrow. The muscles there contracted, tightened. Steve’s
hands did the same on his ankles.
Brock took a breath to say something, maybe a little jab that would make Steve
squirm some more, but there were no words in his mouth. Just a knot in his
chest and an unbearable need to thrust. He made himself do it slow, one steady
push that breached Steve’s throat and pressed his hips right into Steve’s face.
He held there, braced, chewing his own lip, until Steve’s deep heavy breathing
started to catch. He eased back just as Steve gagged, shoulders lifting
helplessly from the couch.
“Okay, hey,” Brock murmured. He didn’t pull out, just far enough Steve could
breathe around his dick. “Okay?” His own voice was starting to sound cracked,
wobbly.
Steve nodded, teeth grazing. Brock winced, shifted his weight so he could flick
the side of Steve’s head. “Careful,” he said. “Again?”
This time, there was no scrape when Steve nodded. Brock could tell he was
looking straight up, eyes fixed on Brock’s face. He pushed back in, faster this
time, and waited, balls pushed up tight to the underside of Steve’s chin,
Steve’s nose pressed into his pubes. He felt the way Steve’s throat worked
around him, clenching and relaxing, the reflexive squeeze of Steve’s fingers on
his ankles.
To his surprise, Steve didn’t choke this time. His throat spasmed harder and
harder, obviously doing everything he could not to gag again. Brock ticked off
the seconds in his head, thirty and then forty and then a minute. Finally, he
drew back. Steve took a harsh breath through his nose, ragged, but Brock didn’t
wait for him to finish before pushing in again. It took three thrusts before he
choked.
Brock went with it, pinning Steve’s shoulders with his knees, riding it out,
the rippling grip of muscle and sinew like a fist around his dick. It took a
minute, and when he relented and pulled free, Steve jerked his head aside,
coughing hard. Brock’s cock slapped wet against his cheek. His chest heaved
under Brock’s ass, but Brock didn’t wait for the last shuddering cough to pass
before turning Steve’s face back toward him. “That’s enough,” he said. “You’re
fine, come on.”
Steve took him again, panting but eager, and Brock sank all the way in. It was
too good to take slow; he was already feeling right on the edge, ready for it.
He rocked his cock into Steve’s throat, shifted his knees so he was straddling
Steve’s head, flat on top of him.
“Good boy,” he rasped, grinding his hips down. “You’re doing good, baby, just
relax.”
It was clearly a struggle for Steve to take him, not to start choking again
right away; he was tense as a board between Brock’s legs, muscles shivering.
His throat worked at Brock’s cock, trembling tight and hot. Brock groaned, felt
himself spurt precome thick and juicy. His foreskin was peeled right back, head
naked to the clench of Steve’s slick muscle. It squeezed him so tight, milked
the length of him. Steve’s breathing was laboured, short whistling pulls
through his nose; Brock wanted to pinch it shut, let Steve writhe and fight
under him, work him that way. But he didn’t. He ground forward, down, and that
cut off Steve’s air enough, smothered him against Brock’s belly.
“Take it, that’s good,” Brock panted. He clenched his ass, humping more than
thrusting, not pulling out at all. “You’re gonna make me come, sweetheart,
you’re gonna make me.”
Steve whined, thrashed under him, but Brock didn’t think he was trying to pull
away. Even if he was, Brock wasn't sure he'd stop. He was too close, his whole
body locked down and ready, thighs cramped with it. His cock was a spear in
Steve’s throat, prying it open. He pushed and pushed, squeezed his eyes shut
and clenched his teeth, breathed through them.
“Here it comes,” he gasped, when there was no way he could hold it anymore.
“Ready? You fuckin’ ready, kiddo-- Fuck.”
He started coming on the in-stroke, buried it deep and lost his rhythm. His
fists clenched against the arm of the couch, slipping. The force of his hips
against Steve’s face nearly sent them both onto the floor, each helpless jerk
of Brock’s cock making Steve fold up and gag under him. He could feel spit and
jizz leaking around the seal of Steve’s stretched mouth, and he knew it was too
much, knew he was taking it too far, but he couldn’t stop. His body was making
its own choices, greedy with orgasm, and there wasn’t a fucking thing he could
do about it.
It took a while before he was back in control, rigid above Steve’s shaking
body. He was so sensitive it was nearly painful to move inside the vice of
Steve’s throat, but he pulled out slow, easing back.
Steve jack-knifed up after him, retching, struggling with his arms still
caught. He was gasping for air, coughing, shaking his head. He was probably
seeing spots, hearing colours, oxygen-deprived and dizzy.
“Hey,” Brock said, panting, unsteady and catching himself with a hand on
Steve’s heaving chest. “Hey, cool it, it’s okay.”
“Please-- I gotta, Brock--” Steve begged. His voice was thick, and broke on the
please. “It’s-- I’m…” 
It struck Brock speechless for a long second when he realised Steve wasn’t
asking to get free, wasn’t upset or even uncomfortable. He was desperate.
“Oh, baby,” Brock said. His open gasping mouth split into a wide, hungry grin,
toothy. This-- this, he could work with.
He settled back, easy and languid, into the cup of Steve’s hips. His knees felt
weak, although they weren’t supporting him. His cock was going soft against his
bare thigh, dirty and wet, cooling.
He kept a hand planted in the centre of Steve’s chest, holding him down.
Against his ass, Steve’s cock was rigid, twitching. Brock rocked on it, ground
it between his cheeks. “Something like that, sweetheart? Is that what you
want?” he asked.
Steve’s hands, still trapped, wrung at Brock’s ankles, twisting the hair. “Yes,
yes, oh my god, please, Brock, can I-- can…”
“You want to just rub off on me? Right here in your pants like a twelve year
old?”
“I--” Steve’s teeth started chattering, and he broke off into a deep wet
sniffle. He had to be soaked, tears in his nose and jizz thick at the back of
his throat. He could probably hardly breathe.
Brock leaned forward, lifting his ass from Steve’s crotch. He felt it hitch up
after him, selfish and rude. Steve sobbed, tensing, but Brock caught his wet
chin in one hand, gave him a warning little shake.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Be good.” He ducked until his nose brushed Steve’s.
“Kiss me.”
Steve obeyed without hesitation. His mouth was fiery against Brock’s, slick and
fat with abuse. He tasted like cock, like bleachy spunk and clean salty mucus.
His tongue slipped into Brock’s mouth when Brock coaxed it to, nearly languid
with exhaustion but so responsive to the way Brock teased it, stroked it. He
kissed so well, this boy, even distracted and tired. Especially then.
Brock could have stayed there another hour. He was going lazy, loose all over,
sated, kissing Steve raw, but that wasn’t fair; Steve had been so good, he
deserved to get his own. Brock eased off slowly, sucking gentle and firm at the
swollen tenderness of Steve’s bottom lip. He murmured, “You ready, honey? You
want--”
Steve cut him off with a frantic nod and a gasped, “Uh huh, yeah, I want it,
please.”
“Such nice manners,” Brock said. He straightened out his legs, Steve’s fingers
peeling off his ankles one at a time. It was hard work, sliding down Steve’s
body, his own lax and uncooperative, but he got himself settled in the space
between Steve’s legs. Flat on his belly, he wrapped his arms around Steve’s
hips, tilted them up.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” he warned, when he felt Steve touch the top of
his head. “I feel you pull my hair, you’re shit outta luck, hear me?”
“Okay,” Steve said, quick, stammery. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Relax.”
But there was no way Steve was going to relax before he came. He was shaking
under Brock, damp soaking through his sweatpants at the backs of his knees and
the vee of his pelvis. It made Brock want to whistle under his breath, that a
little deep-throating could get his kid going like this, make him so wild for
it. Definitely hadn’t inherited that from his mom, that was for sure. Sarah was
great in bed, eager and curious, but Brock wasn’t going to be be throat-fucking
her into incoherence anytime soon.
He was careful pulling down Steve’s sweats. If the waistband caught on his
cockhead, or snagged his balls, that might be game over. Just the pressure of
Brock’s wrists on the insides of his thighs was making him buck up and whine.
His heels were nudging Brock’s ribs on either side, too hard and ticklish, but
Brock didn’t make him stop. There was only so much the poor kid could worry
about at once.
The smell of him made Brock’s mouth water, when he got the pants down far
enough. It was all teenage boy smell, sweat and salt and a little piss, musky
in the soft space where his balls touched his leg. Brock had never been all
that partial to giving head, not in the way Steve so obviously was, but he
thought if he hadn’t just come, this might make him want to. He knew he wasn’t
going to get much of a taste-- Steve was already thrusting, clenching, and
Brock had barely so much as breathed on him.
“Ask me for it,” Brock said, growly in the back of his throat, squeezing
Steve’s thighs. “Come on, convince me you want it.”
“I want it,” Steve said immediately. Brock could just make out the way he was
clenching his fists together above his own head, holding himself back. “Please,
I do, I really want it. Brock, fucking-- I need, just--”
“You need it?” Brock smiled, rubbed that smile against the sensitive side of
Steve’s balls. “Do you really?”
The way Steve gasped was sheer frantic pleading. “Yeah, yeah, I fucking need
it, oh my god, I do, put your mouth--”
That was enough. Brock didn’t think he could take much more of it himself. In
one motion, he curled his hand around the length of Steve’s cock, jacked it
once,  and slid his mouth down over the head.
Steve made a noise that the neighbors probably heard, his entire body folding
up. Brock held him down at the hips, forced him flat, and sucked. The head of
Steve’s cock was already juicy with precome, slick in the foreskin where Brock
gathered it up around his tongue, and it tasted even more delicious than his
pussy-mouth had. Brock didn’t think it could get much better than this, not
with the way Steve’s balls were already tightening, ready to go off, the scent
of him hot in Brock’s nose.
But then Steve seized up like the taut skin of a drum, sobbed, “Daddy!” and
busted his load in the back of Brock’s mouth.
Things went a little hazy after that. Brock was too fucking shocked, seared
with explosive instinctive arousal, to even pull off. Steve came and came on
his tongue, sweet and sharp and so much, like he didn’t regularly jerk himself
off twice a day. His thighs clamped shut hard on either side of Brock’s head,
but he kept his hands away, head thrown back against the arm of the couch,
crying his way through what looked like a bone-shattering orgasm.
Brock sucked him through it, startled into generosity, and didn’t let off until
Steve’s cock started going soft in his mouth, and the twitches went from
helpless pleasure to oversensitive discomfort. Even then, he gave it a couple
extra cruel licks, thorough between all the delicate furrows and ridges, before
letting go and slowly sitting up.
Steve didn’t move. He had one arm over his eyes, the other dangling off the
couch. It was too dark to tell, but Brock knew he had to be pink from forehead
to navel, that full-body sexflush he got like a red flag of invitation.
For a minute, there was nothing but the ticking of the dining room clock and
the thickness of both their breathing, loud in the darkness.
Finally Brock said, fighting to keep the grin out of his voice. “Daddy, huh?”
Steve didn’t move, but Brock knew his blush was deepening from one of arousal
to one of mortification. “Shut up,” he mumbled.
“Aw, come on.” Brock slapped the inside of Steve’s naked thigh, made him
flinch. “That was hot.”
There was a pause. “You think so?” Steve asked, quiet but not quite shy.
“Fuck yeah.” Brock reached down to touch his own cock, which was still soft,
but kicked a little under his fingers. “Definitely worked for me.”
Steve was quiet a second longer, and then he slowly lifted his arm and peered
out from the shadow under it. “Are you sure? It wasn’t totally creepy and
gross?”
Brock snorted. “Kiddo, you ain’t even heard creepy and gross until you’ve lived
through my college days.”
“Ugh,” Steve said. “I don’t want to know.”
“You don’t have the security clearance anyway.” Brock swung his legs over the
side of the couch and got to his feet, groaning. He took it slow, ready for the
rush of blood to new and exciting places. He found his jeans on the floor and
reached down to pick them up. The hand Steve smacked against his ass while he
was bent over wasn’t even a surprise. Brock reached back and caught it, dragged
Steve straight off the couch by it.
Steve yelped and fought back, trying to tackle Brock’s feet out from under him,
but Brock dodged his clumsy arms and hopped over the coffee table, grinning.
“Go get some sleep, you dumbass,” he said, backing off from the way Steve
squirmed and flopped on the carpet. “You’re getting up for a run before school
tomorrow.”
“Oh, yeah, right, that,” Steve said, going limp with one leg still hooked up
over the couch arm. “You going with me?”
“Yep.” Brock draped his jeans over his shoulder, ran a palm down the centre of
himself, gave his balls a quick friendly squeeze. “Your dear old dad wouldn’t
let you out on the mean streets all alone, what kind of father do you think I
am?”
“Oh, fuck you,” Steve said, scrambling up to his feet.
Brock took off ahead of him toward the stairs, barely dodging a flying tackle,
but Steve caught him at the top of the steps. They crashed too-heavy into the
wall, already sloppily kissing, laughing.
And even though, ten minutes later, they split up breathlessly toward separate
rooms at the end of the hall, Brock to the one trimmed in lace and blue flowers
and Steve to the one with baseball posters on the walls, they never ended up
all that far apart.
 
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