Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8669938.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Dave_Strider/Dirk_Strider, dave/bro
  Character:
      Dave_Strider, Bro_Strider
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Bro_is_abusive_and_a_fucking_ass, Choking, Shame, Humiliation,
      One_Shot, Asphyxiation_Kink, Stridercest_-_Freeform, erotic_asphyxiation
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-11-27 Words: 1263
****** Ribbon ******
by MalsWords
Summary
     I wrote this years ago and just found it, and by now I have no shame
     and it's the best choking I've written. I still ship this even years
     later holy shit. Also this is so abusive oh my dear god. I don't
     think there's a good feel in here.
     --
     Like usual, he appears out of nowhere. Dave doesn’t even realise he
     should be on guard until it’s too late. One minute Dave was washing
     the plate he'd used for dinner in the sink (bro kept fireworks in the
     dishwasher, so there was that), and the next firm fingers had ghosted
     over his neck.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Dave froze. His hands holding the dish trembled slightly as the warmth of Bro's
chest pressed against his back, one of Bro's knees lodging itself firmly
between Dave's thighs, effectively pinning him to the counter. With a breath
that could have potentially turned into a shudder if Dave hadn't tried so hard
to hold back, he put the plate on the drying rack.
He tried not to shiver as Bro's gloved hand slid across his stomach, bunching
Dave's shirt as it crawled up. The tiniest pressure radiated from Bro's
fingertips as he pushed Dave against him, trapping Dave's smaller frame between
his chest and the arm wrapped around his side. Bro's other hand rested on the
edge of the counter, pressing them both against it.
 For a fleeting moment Dave was aware of his brother's crotch up against his
ass, then more pressing matters took over his thought process as he realized
where the hand on his chest was heading.
No no no, please bro no anything but there, he wanted to plead, jerk me off and
fuck me silly but please /please/...
Instead, Dave managed a strangled sound of discomfort as Bro's hand found his
throat - not applying pressure, just resting there. Waiting.
And he didn't want this, didn't want his brother to know, even thought he
already knew, he had to know and his hands were creeping higher and now all he
could feel was how his bro was going to grab him, choke him, pin him down and
Dave would struggle and--
The damage was done. Dave felt the heat simultaneously pool low in his stomach
as the flush rose to his face, burning his ears and forcing him to swallow. His
blood was rushing lower, his growing hard-on pressing uncomfortably against the
cupboard door through his jeans.
Bro was breathing on his neck, his thumb working tiny circles around Dave's
jugular. Dave felt him smile against his ear, his lips brushing his lobe
slightly as he spoke.
"You sure are a kinky little motherfucker, aren't you?" He purred, his fingers
tightening slightly.
Dave swallowed the lump in his throat but refused to give Bro the satisfaction
of a reply. Instead he gripped the ledge of the counter, struggling to keep his
breathing level.
Bro applied more pressure, and Dave felt the anxiety curl through his chest as
he let out a low, choked groan, involuntarily pressing back against his
brother's chest. Bro's hands were huge, his calluses rough, the leather of his
gloves worn smooth at the palms but rough and fraying at his fingers.
"I've seen you do it, Dave. Is this what you like?" Bro hissed in his ear, all
velvet and seduction. Dave felt the heat of shame join his arousal in his face,
his eyes pricking hot behind his shades. There was no way he was letting
himself cry in front of Bro. There was no way.
"Is this what gets you off?"
The grip around his neck tightened suddenly, and Dave simultaneously saw stars
and felt himself buck forward against the counter, the resulting pressure
causing a long, reedy moan to worm its way from his mouth. Behind him Bro
hissed and let up on the pressure, though his hand didn't leave Dave's neck.
Dave slumped slightly at the pressure being lifted, his erection aching at the
intensity of how much this was getting him off. He felt sick - he knew he
should be fighting it better, but he couldn't. This was his fetish and he
couldn't stop his body from reacting to it with sheer force of will.
"Is this better than the ribbon, Dave?" Bro tries next, and oh god how did he
know. Rose had left a hair band at their house once, and after trying to choke
himself out while getting off proved difficult, tying the ribbon around his
neck and tightening it with one hand while pumping himself with the other was
much, much more effective.
"You're one creepy bastard, Bro." Dave hissed, trying his best to keep the fear
and shame out of his voice, "Watching your little brother get himself off -
that's all kinds of wrong."
You are Dave Strider, and you are a disgusting freak with a sick fetish.
Bro doesn't respond immediately, and it sinks in just how wrong he really is
when you feel him rut against you slightly as his hand tightens around your
throat again, and wow he's really hard and huge and he's whispering in your ear
but you can't hear him because you can't breathe and everything is white and
you're grinding against the counter.
When you do find your voice you want to tell him to stop, to get off you, to
get away and never touch you again, but instead horror grips you as you moan
like a whore.
 "M-more! Oh fuck, Nnggh!" you hear yourself hiss, and to your surprise he
complies, his hand that was against the counter finding its way between your
dick and the cupboard. You feel him shudder as he palms you through your jeans,
and no, that's not what you meant. Despite the attention he's giving your cock,
it's not enough - it'll never be enough and you know it. You don't even have
time to feel sick.
"N-no not there—Ghhh... fuck Bro!" You all but cry, and you can almost hear as
it clicks and he gets it. Everything goes either white or black, you can't tell
and you can't breathe. You try, and nothing gets through. It only takes a
second and a half of no air and you feel yourself releasing, shuddering, and
slumping against him. You can breathe again and suddenly Bro's not holding you
up and you slump to the floor.
You realize he's still standing above you, and you can hear him breathing, just
standing over you, hands at his sides and you won’t raise your head past his
knees. As the high from your orgasm dissipates the only thing you can think is
wow holy shit he’s watched me jerk off.
And now he knows. Or, you guess, he always knew. You can't bring yourself to
look at him; you can't focus on anything other than the mess in your jeans and
the shame that's burning through you. You hug your legs and stay frozen on the
floor. You don’t want to move while he’s there, you don’t want to get up and
risk looking him in the face. You’re not ready for that. So you sit, hugging
your knees and trying to stop focusing on his soft huffs of air.
You finally feel his presence lift as he flash-steps out of the kitchen. Across
the apartment the bathroom door clicks and you think yeah, you have to be just
as sick as me. Or maybe he was just teaching you a lesson.
Maybe he’s teaching you what you already know. You’re not really cut out to be
a Strider, you don’t think. You’ve let him down.
It takes what feels like forever to peel yourself off the floor and work your
way back to your room, and you don't even bother changing from your soiled
clothes or locking the door (it obviously wouldn't keep him out anyways) before
you flop onto your bed. You shuffle into the comforter awkwardly and it doesn’t
take long for everything to sink in, and you feel the uncomfortable heat and
sting of tears. You try to keep your sobs quiet as you bring your pillow to
your chest, but you don't think you do a very good job.
End Notes
     [jazz hands]
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