Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3558545.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      ダイヤのA_|_Daiya_no_A_|_Ace_of_Diamond
  Relationship:
      Kominato_Haruichi/Kominato_Ryousuke
  Character:
      Kominato_Haruichi, Kominato_Ryousuke
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Established_Relationship, Blow_Jobs, Hand_Jobs, Dom/sub,
      Power_Dynamics, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot,
      Breathplay, Finger_Sucking
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-04-06 Words: 3040
****** Responsive ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "It takes a lot to surprise Ryosuke, when it comes to his brother."
     Ryosuke isn't expecting to be surprised, but Haruichi is responsive
     and Ryosuke is adaptable.
Ryosuke always appreciates the rare times that he and Haruichi aren’t in a
rush. He likes the frantic interludes too, the ones where he smiles like he has
all the time in the world while Haruichi hyperventilates himself into a haze of
arousal and panic at once; it’s fun, like that, easy to maintain control just
by holding his composure while Haruichi works himself frantic. But there’s
something to be said for the opportunity for more leisurely interactions, and
taking advantage of them when they present themselves, so when Ryosuke’s
underclassmen roommates are both visiting home one day there’s no question at
all about what he and Haruichi will be doing.
He doesn’t explain the situation to Haruichi. It’s enough to pull his brother
in, to lead the way back to his room; Haruichi will follow him without asking
questions, without knowing until Ryosuke pushes the door open that they’ll be
alone. And Ryosuke knowing they have all the time they need is different than
Haruichi knowing that; retaining that piece of information retains the upper
hand, too, forces Haruichi to trust to Ryosuke that they won’t get caught
without any confirmation himself that this is true.
He’s obedient anyway, as ready to bow his head to Ryosuke’s will as he ever is.
Ryosuke doesn’t sit down once they’re inside and the door is shut behind them,
and Haruichi doesn’t move to take any of the various options for seating; he
stays on his feet, hovering near the door until Ryosuke gives him a smirk by
way of comfort and gestures him farther into the room. Haruichi comes like the
movement of Ryosuke’s hand is a leash, steps forward with his head ducked down
so Ryosuke can’t see his face. Ryosuke is certain without needing to see that
Haruichi is watching him through the shadow of his hair, staring at his
brother’s face like it’s the only important thing in his whole life, but that’s
fine too; he doesn’t need to see the expression when he can imagine it, when
he’ll see it in a few minutes anyway.
“Down,” he says, the first words he’s spoken directly to Haruichi all day, and
Haruichi goes, his knees giving way like they operate on a trigger Ryosuke is
holding under his tongue. Ryosuke can reach out without stretching, ruffle his
fingers into Haruichi’s pale hair, and the strands give way as easy as
Haruichi’s resistance did, pushing up and aside so he can see the pink-gold
shine of his brother’s gaze. Haruichi’s lips are parted, his breath coming fast
enough that it sounds like an implicit offer in his throat, and Ryosuke lets
his smile go wider, lets his touch at the other’s hair go so he can draw his
fingers down across Haruichi’s forehead, the line of his nose, the soft of his
lips, as if he needs the tactile contact to remind himself of the features he
memorized years ago. Haruichi’s skin is warm under his touch, burning into a
self-conscious flush in the wake of Ryosuke’s fingers, and when he pauses at
the other’s lips Haruichi opens his mouth wider without being told, offers the
warm damp of his mouth for Ryosuke’s fingertips.
It’s not a novel idea, in itself, as much as that Ryosuke rarely has the
opportunity to go this slowly, to savour the slide of Haruichi’s tongue against
anything but his cock. It’s thrilling, as much a psychological rush as their
usual interaction is a physical pleasure, and he’s going warm and breathless
without any stimulus besides the gentle slide of Haruichi’s lips sucking
against his fingers. He pushes in deeper, curls his fingers to press flat
against his brother’s tongue, and Haruichi doesn’t protest, sucks like he’s
trying to pull Ryosuke’s touch in deeper still, like he’s encouraging the
casual possession of his mouth.
The thought makes Ryosuke smile, slides his hand in deeper until he can brace
his thumb at the corner of Haruichi’s mouth to steady the motion of his fingers
as he presses against the other’s tongue. Haruichi makes a noise, a whimper
more of appreciation than of protest, but he doesn’t lift his hands, keeps them
braced out with his fingertips laid flat to the floor instead of coming up to
touch Ryosuke’s hips. That’s satisfying too, proof that Haruichi is keeping
hold of the memories of their past interludes as well, until when Ryosuke says
“You can,” he doesn’t have to specify and doesn’t bother restraining the smile
of pleasure audible in his voice.
Haruichi’s hands come up right away, land feather-light at Ryosuke’s hips, the
most minimal approximation of contact. He has strong hands, the proof of his
inherent and trained strength obvious every day at practice, but with Ryosuke
all his strength is dampened, all his control brought to bear on himself until
his every motion is careful with deliberation. The fingers at Ryosuke’s hips
trail sideways, against the waistband of the older boy’s jeans, and Ryosuke
draws his fingers free of Haruichi’s mouth, pushes his damp touch back in
against Haruichi’s hair to hold it out of his face again. With his eyes
uncovered Ryosuke can see the way Haruichi looks breathless, looks shocked out
of self-awareness, looks like he’s afraid to meet his brother’s gaze; he’s
staring at his hands instead, breathing faster as the denim slides free of its
fastenings and the tension at the waistband goes slack. He’s setting a faster
pace for his inhales than Ryosuke himself, giving off the panting desperation
Ryosuke likes best in him, and when the older boy lets his free hand drag in
over Haruichi’s shoulder to press against the side of his throat, that’s all
he’s intending to do, just let his fingertips linger against the other’s pulse-
point so he can feel the proof of adrenaline in Haruichi’s veins as warmth in
his own.
It takes a lot to surprise Ryosuke, when it comes to his brother. He has grown
up with the other, has learned his personality as thoroughly as he knows his
own, and in more recent years has formed Haruichi into what he is now, has
ingrained the reactions he draws on every time they interact until he would
have thought he could predict Haruichi’s responses down to the words the other
breathes against him. But even then he’s sometimes surprised, as he is right
now when his thumb brushes against Haruichi’s throat and his brother gasps and
leans in to press against the resistance.
Ryosuke doesn’t know why he didn’t consider this before. It seems obvious, now,
a logical progression from what they’ve done before, what he has done to
Haruichi and what Haruichi has willingly submitted to. But he hasn’t considered
it, and he’s left breathless with surprise for a moment, only Haruichi’s absent
gaze saving him from complete loss of his facade.
At least it’s not hard to adjust to. It’s not that he’s appalled; far from it,
when he can feel the rush of the unexpected power liquid-hot in his veins. He
blinks, lets his breath out as subtly as he can, and then he’s back in himself,
his fingers curling bracing against the back of Haruichi’s neck and his thumb
settled close at Haruichi’s pulse. The hands at the front of his jeans have
gone still, Haruichi’s attention all melted away under Ryosuke’s touch, and
that gives him a starting point, a framework for his response while his
heartbeat skids itself into frantic overdrive at the excitement under his skin.
“Haruichi.” He slides his hand in farther, lets his thumb go from suggestive to
actively pressing against Haruichi’s throat, the pressure more an intimation of
more than any real restriction on the other’s breath. “Did you forget what
you’re doing?”
“Ah,” Haruichi says, his voice thrumming like he’s working with far less air
than he has, and his hands move again, more awkward with haste now than they
were before. Ryosuke doesn’t comment on the shift; he’s too intent on holding
his own breathing to inaudible levels of calm, fighting back the purr of
excitement that is threatening his composure. Steadying his breathing does
nothing to calm the heat in his blood, though, leaves him flushed so hard at
the inside line of his jeans he brushes against Haruichi’s fingers as the other
pulls his jeans open. Haruichi doesn’t seem to mind, barely notices; he’s
gasping instead, leaning forward before he’s even reached for Ryosuke’s boxers,
and Ryosuke isn’t sure if it’s desire for his cock or desire for the pressure
at his throat that rocks his brother’s weight in so hard against his hand. He
doesn’t move, regardless of the reason, keeps his hand where it is so
Haruichi’s breathing catches into a hiss as he pushes himself in against
Ryosuke’s hand.
“Open your mouth,” Ryosuke says, proud of how steady his voice sounds in spite
of the shuddering excitement of the situation firing in his veins. He tenses
his hand slightly as Haruichi pulls back, maintains the edge of the pressure
the other seems to so crave, and that gets him a shaky moan, faint but
superheated for all its volume. Ryosuke can feel the sound jolt up his spine as
if he’s been shocked, set him on fire until it’s hard to pull his hand from
Haruichi’s hair, hard to push his boxers aside to free himself from the
confines of the fabric. It’s okay; from the way Haruichi is panting he’s in no
state to notice Ryosuke’s less-than-perfect composure, and he’s opening his
mouth, parting his lips on the slick heat of his tongue in an unspoken offer.
Ryosuke doesn’t hesitate to take it. This is familiar, this is easy even with
the rhythm of Haruichi’s breathing sticking hard under his thumb; he braces
himself with a grip at the base of his cock, tips Haruichi’s head slightly back
with a nudge of his fingers, and then he can rock his weight forward, fit the
flushed head of his cock past Haruichi’s lips and against the warm give of his
mouth. The slick almost-friction settles into his blood like satisfaction, the
promise of pleasure so strong it’s nearly as good as climax in truth, and then
there’s Haruichi, whimpering sound Ryosuke can’t hear but can feel purring up
against his cock and humming under the pressure of his thumb. It feels like
heat, raw and powerful as a fire, and when he thrusts in deeper Haruichi leans
in to meet him, speeding the motion and cutting off the edge of his breath
against Ryosuke’s hand. Ryosuke can feel the pressure against the support of
his fingers, the voluntary movement of Haruichi sparking him into a new idea,
and on the next stroke he doesn’t move at all, just holds his hand and his hips
steady and lets Haruichi lean into both the choking pressure and the heat of
Ryosuke’s cock on his tongue.
It’s thrilling, like this. Ryosuke knows what he likes, knows what Haruichi
likes, has woven the two into an ever-changing game that Haruichi plays without
ever knowing the rules to, but this is something else all over again. He knows
that Haruichi is devoted to him, that he has won himself eternal adoration that
verges over into obsession in some situations, and he’s just as dedicated in
his own way, ready to accept Haruichi’s affection without letting the other see
the calculations that have to happen to make that acceptance as seamless and
simple as possible. This is new, unplanned and uncoordinated, and it’s a rush
to see how easy it is anyway, how quickly Haruichi’s rhythm falls into a near
approximation of Ryosuke’s preferred speed without any guidance at all. Ryosuke
can feel Haruichi’s breathing on his skin, the way it skids out into breathless
hissing when the other leans in too far against Ryosuke’s hand, and it flushes
him as hot as the actual warm friction against his skin. He’s breathing faster
himself but he’s sure Haruichi doesn’t notice; when he lets his now-unnecessary
hold on himself go to push Haruichi’s hair back, Haruichi’s eyes are shut, his
entire expression fallen slack and calm with appreciation. Ryosuke can stare at
him without danger of being seen, can let his control over his expression slip
into the affection that comes as naturally though far less easily as the
distant amusement he’s trained himself in, and when he takes a breath it sticks
in his throat like a premonition, like it’s his own throat pressing against the
resistance of his fingers.
Haruichi doesn’t look up. Ryosuke is half-expecting it, some hazy sense of
foreboding telling him he’ll get caught with his eyes soft and his lips parted
on affection, but Haruichi doesn’t open his eyes, and doesn’t look up, and
doesn’t slow his movement. He’s leaning in harder, farther, relinquishing his
breath into Ryosuke’s hands like there’s no sense of danger there at all, until
Ryosuke can feel the heat in his stomach drawing tight and strained around the
anxiety of expectation. Haruichi can too, or maybe they are just familiar
enough with each other that he knows how long it takes, knows what to do as
Ryosuke gets close, because he’s tightening his lips, curling his fingers into
a hold at Ryosuke’s hip, and when he ducks in farther it’s enough to take
Ryosuke’s length in across the whole radiant heat of his tongue, enough that
Ryosuke can feel Haruichi’s breathing stall completely for a moment as his
thumb presses into the other’s throat. Ryosuke takes a breath, lungs filling
with the air Haruichi can’t inhale at the moment, and when Haruichi whimpers
sound that stalls as a hum at the other’s fingertips Ryosuke tips his head
back, and shuts his eyes, and lets the shuddering wave of pleasure break over
him. Haruichi slides back, sucking air through his nose as his throat clears
the pressure, and even that motion just vibrates more heat out into Ryosuke’s
blood, trembles through his hands and under his skin until his own breathing is
going harsh and strained with inattention.
When he blinks his vision clear and tips his head back down Haruichi is sitting
back on his heels, running his tongue over his lower lip to lick his mouth
clean. It leaves his lips pink and flushed with suggestion, an offer Ryosuke is
far too self-indulgent to refuse.
“Haruichi,” he purrs, lets his weight drop down over his knees without pausing
to straighten his jeans. He keeps his balance forward, high over his knees
instead of rocked back as Haruichi is, sustains the advantage of height even
with the shift to put him on-level with the other’s mouth. “You should have
told me you liked being choked.”
Haruichi goes crimson, the color far darker than the pink of his hair or even
the shadows of his eyes under his pushed-back hair. “I didn’t--” he blinks,
looks away and down, and Ryosuke grins and lets his hold on the other’s hair
go, grants him some illusion of a barrier while he reaches down to press his
fingers to Haruichi’s jeans.
“Maybe it was my fault,” he says in a tone that implies the opposite, lulls
Haruichi into a gasping incoherent protest as he tugs the other’s pants open
one-handed. Haruichi’s fingers curl against his wrist, not pushing him away as
much as trying to balance himself, and the button slides free, the zipper
opening to Ryosuke’s experienced fingers. “How could you have known otherwise?”
“Aniki,” Haruichi says, starting the sound as a protest and ending it as a moan
as Ryosuke’s fingers slide in past his jeans to press against the damp spot at
the front of his boxers. Haruichi’s hot right through his clothes, his cock
pressing in against Ryosuke’s touch as desperately as he pressed his throat to
the other’s hand minutes before, and Ryosuke shifts his hand, fits his fingers
in to cup his hand against his brother’s length through the thin barrier of the
clothing between them.
“It’s okay,” he says, like he’s considering, presses in with his palm as if the
contact is incidental. Haruichi jerks, whimpers, and Ryosuke tightens his hold
at the back of the other’s neck to hold him steady. “I know now, right?” When
he digs his thumb in against the dip in the center of Haruichi’s throat he can
feel the other’s cock twitch against his palm, another spill of liquid
dampening the fabric at his hand. Haruichi’s head goes back, the motion an
offering and suggestion at once, and Ryosuke leans in closer, presses in
harder, grinds his palm against the other’s length as he pushes in against
Haruichi’s throat and listens to the other’s breathing go strained and
overheated in equal parts. It’s like playing an instrument in the form of his
brother’s breathing, cutting off the other’s gasps and half-formed moans as
Ryosuke hears them, until he has Haruichi trembling just the cusp of pleasure
like he’s waiting on a signal to tip over the edge. And then he pushes in
harder, drags his palm against the damp friction of Haruichi’s boxers, and when
he laughs an exhale Haruichi quakes under his touch and spills hot against the
barrier between him and Ryosuke’s hand.
Ryosuke lets his hold on Haruichi’s throat loosen as the other shudders through
his orgasm, easing the pressure off until it’s just glancing contact again by
the time the last aftershocks have faded to let the other curl in limp against
the support of Ryosuke’s hold. Ryosuke slides his hand free, only the faint
damp clinging to his skin to speak to what he was doing, and when he reaches up
for Haruichi’s face the other lifts his head to turn in towards the contact
like he thinks that’s all he’s going to get.
He wouldn’t be wrong, most days. But they have time, today, no need to rush
themselves into an appearance of composure for the sake of appearances, and so
Ryosuke leans in towards Haruichi and fits his mouth to the warm wet of
Haruichi’s half-parted lips so he can feel the other’s breathing directly
against his skin.
It’s worth the reward of a kiss, to have had control over both their breathing
at once.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!