Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3280697.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Big_Hero_6_(2014)
  Relationship:
      Hiro_Hamada/Tadashi_Hamada
  Character:
      Hiro_Hamada, Tadashi_Hamada, Fred_|_Fredzilla, Honey_Lemon, Gogo_Tomago,
      Wasabi-No_Ginger
  Additional Tags:
      Feminization, Praise_Kink, Spanking, Punishment, Safewords, Anal_Sex,
      Oral_Sex, Crying, Bot_Fighting, Safe_Sane_and_Consensual,
      Objectification, Protective_Older_Brothers, Begging, Multiple_Orgasms
  Series:
      Part 2 of A_Natural_Response
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-03 Words: 6031
****** Silk, Satin, and Lace ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Tadashi's eyes bore into the side of his head, surprised and hungry.
     “Oh,” he murmurs, hands spreading across the globes of his arse and
     squeezing lightly. “You like this.”
      
     Or, Hiro's tired of waiting and takes matters into his own hands.
Notes
     heyyy look guys i finally wrote the second installment in the NS
     verse
     *laughs nervously*
     i was totally taking this long on purpose
     i didn't have writer's block what are you talking about
See the end of the work for more notes
The last time Hiro was in a bot fight was months ago; after all, he'd promised
Tadashi, Aunt Cass, several police officers, three shop owners, six small
children, and one particularly concerned fire fighter that he would stop
fighting in bot fights as long as he attended SFIT. And he'd planned on
following through with his promises. After all, he wasn't so dishonorable that
he would break one mass promise to somewhere over twenty-three different
people. He had some integrity, after all.
Not to mention, for the past few months, Hiro's been far too busy trying to …
distract Tadashi. He's snuck past the divider that split their shared room and
surprised him under the sheets in the morning, taunted him during lunch and at
dinner, cornered him in bathroom stalls, locked them both in his private lab,
and on one particularly memorable occasion, had dragged him into a Ferris wheel
and had made surprisingly good use of the ten minute ride. For the most part,
Tadashi has submitted willingly, letting Hiro push him against walls and
swallow him down, had muffled Hiro's cries with a hand as he jerked him off
from behind—but not once has he ever put his pretty cock where Hiro wants it
most.
He was originally willing to wait patiently, but the closest he could come to
Tadashi fucking him senseless was letting his brother use the vibrator he had
bought all those months ago on him far too gently and sweetly. As much as Hiro
adores that vibrator, he wants Tadashi, and he wants him as rough and demanding
as physically possible. But after months of waiting, how could anyone blame
Hiro for resorting back to sex toys in an attempt to satisfy his increasing
sexual frustration? He's a teenager, after all—he has to find some way to get
himself off.
Not that this fact makes him any less humiliated from his apparent inability to
successfully seduce his brother, and he glances over his shoulder in a
habitual, guilty manner as he hovers his pointer over the zoom button to
enlarge an image of bright purple anal beads. If he adds these to his cart, he
will be the owner of these, a shiny silver cock ring, a ball gag, handcuffs, a
large assortment of ribbons, and several pairs of crotchless panties.
He can picture himself wearing each and every one of them; imagines slipping on
the scraps of lace that barely pass as underwear up his legs to cling to his
slim hips, pictures himself squirming as he rubs against the rougher fabric of
his jeans in all the right ways. He sees himself tied up with shiny silk
ribbons, hands bound behind his back or above his head, the thickest of the
ribbons wrapped around his straining cock; in handcuffs like a naughty thief,
gagged with saliva trailing down his chin, ready to be punished; and shivering
and whimpering, draped over his bed and stuffed full, quivering prick locked
tight in his cock ring.
He flushes as he feels a trickle of drool spill down his chin and wipes his
mouth hurriedly.
His brother lets out a particularly noisy snore, and Hiro stiffens, glancing at
the divider that separates their room, fingers frozen on his mouse until
Tadashi's obnoxiously loud snorts die down slightly. He bites his lips and
scrolls down, adding it to his cart and clicking to save and exit out of the
page before he slips back to his bed and dives beneath the covers.
As breathlessly enthusiastic as Hiro is to buy these, the excitement of the
situation is dimmed by the fact that he can't quite afford all these. What with
his bot-fighting career past him and Tadashi's refusal to let him begin working
(“You should be focusing on your schoolwork, and besides, Aunt Cass needs us to
help out around the cafe!”), Hiro has no way to fund his particular tastes.
There's really only one solution,he tells himself. You have to start bot
fighting again. The idea is slightly thrilling—after all, it's been months, so
he's a bit out of practice, and he'll have to rework his way into San
Fransokyo's underbelly—but he'll have to be careful, what with too many angry
ex-competitors recognizing his face and his bot.
Not to mention, he couldn't let his brother find out. If he remembers anything
about his bot-fighting days, it was his brother's suspicious ability to find
him no matter where he battled, be it in the worst slums of San Fransokyo or at
some foolish rich kid's house. It would be bad enough with his brother finding
out that he'd broken his promise, let alone find out why.
Hiro burrows himself deeper under his sheets, trying to calm himself out of his
high. He'll be able to work out the logistics of his plan in the morning. No
one has to know a thing. And if he feels any guilt prickling the tips of his
fingers, well, no one knows anything about that, either.
===============================================================================
He gets the idea from Fred.
“Don't take this the wrong way, dude, but you have the perfect figure for
cosplay,” the youth tells him cheerfully, taking a large bite out of his
sandwich. “Seriously!”
They're sitting together at lunch with Wasabi, Honey, and Gogo, enjoying the
heat of late summer spread out on one of Honey's beautifully sewn picnic
blankets eating a basket of food Wasabi had made the night prior. It's a lovely
day, if a bit hot, and Hiro is half sprawled on the ground as he eats, ignoring
Wasabi's admonishing entreaties to get him to sit up and eat properly.
Hiro blinks at him, oddly flattered. “Thank you?”
“Where did that come from?” Wasabi looks at Fred strangely, fingers poised to
pick up a nigiri.
Fred shrugs as he leans back, oblivious to Wasabi's wince. “It seemed like the
right thing to say. But seriously, man, you could dress up for a bunchload of
things! You could be an avatar, a spy kid, a magical girl—”
“Magical girl?” Gogo interrupts, scoffing. “I don't think Hiro has quite the
temperament for a magical girl.” She glances him over skeptically before
popping a dumpling into her mouth. “Too morally ambiguous.”
“I think Hiro would look adorable as Sailor Saturn, though!” Honey gushes,
leaning forward to rest her chin in her hands.
“You're right, he would,” Fred agrees enthusiastically, eyeing Hiro, who blinks
in confusion before shaking his head.
“Wait, wait. You think I'd look good in a girl costume?”
“Yeah, you have the figure for it!” Honey smiles brightly. “I bet I could whip
up a sailor outfit for you in a month or two …”
But Hiro stops listening as the gears in his mind begin whirling. Figure for
it. He can wear feminine clothing and people will think he's a girl. “I could
pass as girl?”
“With a little makeup and some hairstyling,” Honey amends. “Although, it
probably won't last much longer. You are fifteen, after all.”
“You should feel honored,” Fred says sagely. “There are lots of cos-players and
transgender peoples who would be very jealous of you.”
That was days ago. Now, Hiro stands in front of the bathroom mirror, toying
nervously with the neckline of the blouse he'd nicked from the attic. He isn't
used to wearing makeup, and the powders and liquids feel heavy on his face. As
far as he can tell, he's done a mostly competent job; he'd rounded out his
cheekbones and softened his jawline, even made his lips plumper and poutier.
Honey was right—at fifteen, his uncanny ability to pass as both female and male
will end soon. He'd pulled on on of Aunt Cass's puffy jackets to conceal the
way his shoulders are broadening, and he knows he'll have to talk far softer
and quieter to conceal the way his voice has begun to deepen. Still, his thin
frame and pale, neatly-shaved legs gracefully accentuate what femininity he
has, and he's managed to wrestle his hair into neat, delicate pin curls using
copious amounts of hairspray and styling creams he borrowed from Fred.
He looks … cute.
It's a strangely pleasant surprise; beyond simply the relief of the disguise,
he can nearly pass for a young woman about his age, if slightly younger, and a
particularly pretty one at that. He runs a finger over the rosebud pink of his
lower lip, tugging lightly at his skirt. Aunt Cass's school uniform, despite
being an old-fashioned seifuku, clings to his hips and squeezes his waist in
slightly, giving him a faintly curvy appearance. With a cleverly stuffed
brassiere and a number of pins raising the hem of his skirt, he looks like an
average rich girl attending a private academy in upper San Fransokyo, one who'd
fancied the idea of rebellion and believed she'd find it in bot-fighting.
Perfect for fooling the foolish criminals of the underbelly into
underestimating her. Er, him. It would be an especially sweet satisfaction to
see the shocked, disbelieving faces of criminals who'd bet against him simply
because he didn't seem intimidating because of his "gender".
He straightens and grabs his bag, shouldering it comfortably as he creeps out
of his room and down the stairs. The television is murmuring softly; Aunt
Cass's favorite crime drama is finishing up its marathon as she snores on the
couch. More likely than not, she won't wake until morning. Tadashi is
undoubtedly still at the lab, finishing up the final touches of his latest
project, and will almost certainly fall asleep there, drooling all over his lab
notes and half-sprawled over tools stolen from Wasabi's station.
He can't quite remember what it had been like his first time sneaking out to go
bot-fighting all those years ago, but he's almost certain that it must have
felt almost exactly like this. Well, minus the skirt and winged eyeliner.
===============================================================================
For the thirteenth time in two months, Hiro stands nervously in front of the
dark, calculating glowers of the low-life criminals surrounding him, twiddling
nervously with the baby-pink gauze of his new tutu. The bot-fighter across from
him, a woman in her early twenties wearing a brown leather jacket and a
metallic green dress that barely hits mid-thigh, glances down his sequined
silver hoodie and smirks at the sight of the lacy white corset that peeks out.
Her eyes meet his, flushed with want that makes his skin heat. He wonders
vaguely if Tadashi would look at him the same way.
At this point, Hiro can no longer deny the fact that he isn't doing this just
for the money. In fact, Hiro wonders if he could even say that money is truly a
factor. He'd gotten more than enough from his winning just after the first
three scams. No, it's the adrenaline rush, not of sneaking out, but the one
that comes from swishing around in skirts that barely cover the tops of his
thighs, his sparkly pink hoodies and petal-pink lip gloss, from how vulnerable
he feels with the wanting, hungry gazes and the slight, trembling fear that
comes from casting demure, fluttering glances towards smirking strangers and
always dancing just out of their reach.
He knows this can't quite be normal. He's well aware of the fact that many
women experience this sort of fear on a daily basis, knows that women have
learned to carry keys between their fingers and walk in groups, constantly
harassed by catcalls and creepy men who think they're being funny and who
typically never receive a lashing for their absurd immaturity. He can't help
but feel guilty for how much he enjoys this, but the shame of his strange
deviance is not enough to quell the excitement of giving his lookers soft,
demure glances, desperately trying to hide the way his flushed, leaking prick
strains against the soft lace of his panties and nudges at the fabric of his
skirts.
“Why don't we raise the stakes,” the bot-fighter says softly, and the others
all fall silent at her voice. “How about ten thousand yen?”
“I don't have that much money,” Hiro whispers. He really doesn't—even now,
after winning most of his bot-fights in the past weeks, the most he has in his
account is just above 5000 yen.
“The light curve of her mouth deepens, and he bites his lips, fixated on the
gleam of her eyes. “It's okay, kiddo. You'll only have to pay if you lose, and
then we can find some way for you to pay me back.”
Hiro swallows hard, knowing exactly what that could mean. He's made it to the
last round—there are no take-backs, no rematches to play after this fight ends.
He's still a little rusty from neglecting bot-fighting for so long, and judging
by the look in the other fighter's eyes, she has more to fight for than simply
ten thousand yen. He's certainly inexperienced, though he has a slight notion
that the bot-fighter is anything but and would be more than happy to enlighten
him. Hiro can't help but shiver in pleasure at the thought.
He wins the fight in a too-close victory, just barely managing to behead the
head of the other bot before it scattered the pieces of his bot too far for
them to regroup. He'd been distracted the entire fight, feeling the burning
gaze of the other fighter locked on the slight peek of lacy white underwear
peeking out from beneath his tutu, hunching over uncomfortably and keeping his
legs crossed in a desperate attempt to hide his too-hard prick and the tiny
damp spot it was beginning to leave on his underwear.
“Too bad,” the bot-fighter drawls, forking over her winnings to Hiro's
outstretched hands and tossing her lovely dark hair gracefully over her
shoulder. Her hands linger slightly beneath his, gentle and strong, and Hiro
flushes. “Next time, then. And, kid …” She leans down to murmur in his ear, and
he can feel her broad smile. “You should probably find another pair of panties
to wear. Looks like you pretty little cock ruined those.”
Her tongue darts out along the delicate skin of her lip as Hiro squeaks,
tugging frantically at his skirt, and she strokes one feather-light finger up
his neck, nudging his chin up to look at her. “Such a sweetie pie,” she
breathes, and Hiro flushes.
He doesn't get the chance to answer (although what he would have answered, he
doesn't know) because a hard, angry hand appears on his shoulder, tugging him
back to face the wild, angry expression of his brother, breathing hard, helmet
strapped messily to his head.
Hiro gasps and squirms, face burning with surprise and embarrassment.
“T—Tadashi! I—Nii-chan, what are you doing here? I thought you were sleeping.
At home.”
Tadashi's eyes trail down to focus on the tight It seems he's finally realized
what his little brother is wearing, and red begins to creep slowly up his neck.
“What on earth are you wearing?” he chokes out, and Hiro flushes, swallowing
hard and pushing down the front of his tutu nervously.
“Uhh. What I always wear?” Hiro manages in a nervous squeak, flushing deeply,
and Tadashi stares at him incredulously. He clears his throat and tries again,
trying to adopt the soft, high-pitched tone he's been using, still trying to
keep up the facade. “H-how did you find me?”
Tadashi's eyes flick up and down his form once, twice, three times before he
meets Hiro's gaze. Hiro almost wants to laugh; his brother seems to be
struggling, trying to decide if this choice of clothing is a closeted form of
gender expression that he should be supporting or if Hiro's just being an
idiot. Hiro would like to think it's a little bit of both. “Not important,” he
manages, and straightens, crossing his arms firmly.“We need to go home.”
Hiro rearranges his curls nervously. “W-Well, I mean—you aren't—I, I'm not—”
“Hey, let the girl have a little fun,” a voice purrs, and one of the men who
had been watching him before slinks up behind him, slipping an arm around his
waist. “We promise, we won't do anything to her. That she doesn't want us to
do,” he adds under his breath, and Hiro stiffens, face flaming bright red.
Tadashi's face darkens. “Let's go, Hiro,” he says pointedly, and tugs Hiro
away, nudging him onto the back of his scooter. “You and I are going to talk
once we get home,” he hisses in his ear, and Hiro clutches at the handlebars
and gulps when Tadashi covers them, grip tight and forbidding.
===============================================================================
It's well past midnight—the noises of the city are distant, muffled through the
pale fog that seeps through the streets like midnight creatures risen from the
depths of the bay. Aunt Cass is in her room, asleep; if one paused to listen
hard enough, the sounds of her snores would drift up to the room where Tadashi
stands, arms crossed, in front of Hiro, who sits on the edge of his mattress
with his shoulders bowed and his head lowered.
“You're bot-fighting,” Tadashi says evenly, voice dangerously calm, “in order
to pay for these.” He twirls the handcuffs around a finger, and Hiro flinches
as he tosses them into his lap. Right now, he's not the authoritative, gentle,
teasing older brother, but rather the father figure whose disapproval burns in
Hiro's bones and creates an awful, aching hole in his chest.
“Tadashi—” He tries desperately, but Tadashi shakes his head, and Hiro falls
silent.
“You promised Aunt Cass—you promised me that you wouldn't be doing this sort of
thing anymore.” He begins to stride back and forth in agitation, running his
hands through his hair. “I thought you'd stopped after you were accepted into
SFIT. Were—were you lying this whole time?”
“Dashi, no,” Hiro pleads. “I didn't—I swear, I wasn't trying to—”
“Wasn't trying to what?” Tadashi breaks him off. “Trying to hurt anybody? Hiro,
you just snuck out in the middle of the night—you know San Fransokyo isn't
always safe at night, especially where you went! You could've gotten hurt, you
could've—”
He breaks off with a growl of frustration, grabbing Hiro by the forearms and
shaking him slightly.
“Does it even occur to you how worried I was?” Tadashi whispers urgently, and
Hiro makes a tiny, quavering noise, looking up at his older brother with wide,
glassy eyes and a trembling mouth.
Something in Tadashi's expression breaks, and he pulls Hiro to him, cradling
him gently in his arms and burying his face in his hair. “Gods, Hiro.”
“I'm sorry,” Hiro tells him, voice shaking. “I'm really sorry, okay? I—I won't
do it again.”
“I know, I know, it's okay, I just—why?” Tadashi presses distracted, nervous
kisses around Hiro's temples before he lets his cheek rest atop his brother's
head. “I thought—after, after what happened, you'd seemed happy. I was happy,
you seemed like you were doing okay, I just—is, is it someone else? Did you
find—”
“What—Dashi, no.” Hiro looks up at him, startled. “Of course not.”
“Because—because if it is, someone else—that's okay, as long as you're happy—”
“Tadashi.” And Hiro stops him there, tugging his brother's face down and
kissing him tender and soft, just the way Tadashi likes it, because holy shit
is his brother an oblivious idiot.
He pulls away slowly, trailing his fingers down his brother's face, and Tadashi
blinks at him. “Oh,” he says awkwardly.
Hiro rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Oh.” He shifts and frowns slightly, tugging the
zipper of his sparkly hoodie down and tossing it away haphazardly, much to
Tadashi's chagrin. “Shut up and help me take this thing off. I am not sleeping
in a corset.”
Tadashi's cheeks tinge pink, but he chuckles under his breath all the same.
“And whose fault is it that you have a corset on?”
“Yours,” Hiro shoots back, squirming in his older brother's arms, struggling to
tug off his thigh-high socks and garter belt. “It's your fault for not helping
me—ugh.” He can't quite get his tutu off correctly—the waistband is just a hair
too tight to make it come off easily—and ends up sprawled across Tadashi's lap.
“Gah, you're useless.”
“I don't know,” Tadashi muses, gripping Hiro's waist and smiling down at him in
mock-innocence. “I kind of like where this is going.”
“Help me, asshole,” Hiro says in exasperation, flopping down wearily. “Those
bumbling hands of yours have to be good for something.”
“Hey, I resent that!” Tadashi flicks Hiro's thigh teasingly, and Hiro yelps in
indignation, squirming in Tadashi's lap.
“Stop screwing around and help me,” Hiro whines, writhing a bit, except now
it's turned slightly into rocking, and he freezes as his cock twitches slightly
in his white lace panties. (Are boys usually supposed to get hard from laying
across their brother's lap like a naughty child ready to be spanked? Because
he's fairly sure not.)
Tadashi's eyes bore into the side of his head, surprised and hungry. “Oh,” he
murmurs, hands spreading across the globes of his arse and squeezing lightly.
“You like this.”
Hiro flushes so deeply he feels his blood grow hot in his extremities, and the
corner of Tadashi's mouth curves up in a smirk as his little brother's cheeks
tinge pink under his fingers. “Ah … I, um. Well.”
“You're blushing,” he coos, and oh, look, there's the other Tadashi, the one
that isn't super nice and supportive and a little bit absent-minded, the one
that likes to fuck him with a vibrator and keep him on the edge of coming until
he begs for it.
Well.This isn't the direction Hiro thought tonight was going, but there's no
way in hell that he's going to stop it.
Tadashi leans forward, nuzzling Hiro's neck lightly. “Safeword?”
“ … Apples is good. And, and peaches is bad,” Hiro mumbles. “Um, and bananas is
slow down and pears is stop.”
“Apples and peaches,” Tadashi muses, spreading the globes of Hiro's arse, and
his little brother squeaks, arching his back as his cheeks go red. “And bananas
and pears. Are you hungry?”
Hiro laughs shakily. “If you leave now and get me food, you're not getting any
sex when you get back.”
His brother chuckles under his breath. “Noted. Hiro,” Tadashi says softly,
biting his lip nervously. “I want to touch you here.”
Fucking finally. “Apples!” Hiro says hurriedly, wincing when it comes out as a
yelp. “That is an a-okay, definitely yes, apple pie with ice cream and
aannngh~”
He cuts off with a choked gasp as Tadashi leans forward to press one sloppy wet
kiss to his pucker, and Hiro lets out a shivery whine when he rolls the tip of
his tongue around the rim before pulling back.
“Ah—ahhh—w-wait, where are you—”
“Hush, baby,” Tadashi murmurs, tone just slightly scolding. “After leaving me
to worry about you the way you did, I don't think you get to make any demands.”
Hiro shudders and shoves his hand between his brother's thigh and his
midsection to grope messily at the bulge in his skirt. “Hurry,” he begs, and
Tadashi clucks his tongue reprovingly, putting a firm hand on his wrist.
“I didn't say you could do that.”
“O-Oh,” Hiro whispers shakily, and lets his older brother draw his hand away,
pressing it firmly against the bed.
“I can't let you get spoiled,” Tadashi spoke as he nudges Hiro's tutu up his
waist, exposing the soft flesh of his arse, barely covered by its scrap of
lace. “You understand, right, Hiro?”
Hiro's breath catches in his throat as Tadashi's hand settles on the curve of
his bum, squeezing lightly. He's going to—oh, gods.
“Okay?” Tadashi asks him, and Hiro nods faintly, whispering “apples” before he
lets his face fall forward into his bedsheets.
The first hit is startling and sharp, stinging only for a bare moment before
the pain dissolves into a heady burn. Hiro gasps and rocks forward into his
older brother's thigh, pushed into the movement by the push of Tadashi's hand.
A second hit comes in quick succession, then a third, a fourth each forcing him
forward to grind smoothly against the rough denim of his brother's jeans.
“Agh—ahhn—Tadashi,” Hiro gasps, and Tadashi slows to a stop, hand still cupping
his bum. “N-no, please, don't—I need—”
“Hmm? What is it, baby?” Tadashi squeezes the flesh of his brother's arse in
his hands, kneading it firmly. Hiro turns his head to look up at his brother
with glazed eyes.
Fucking tease. “Apples,” he whispers miserably, and Tadashi smiles kindly down
at him.
The next blows are harsher, each leaving a faint sting, and Hiro has to stifle
his cries in the mattress, thighs trembling. They only last for ten more blows,
but by this point, Hiro is already so hard he's finding it difficult to think,
the tip of his cock a lovely cherry red to match the quickly fading pink
handprints littering soft curves of Hiro's rump.
“Apples?” Tadashi asks. Hiro tries to pull himself up, but his limbs are so
unsteady that he can't kneel on his hands and knees without them shaking badly.
“A-Apples.” The word comes out as a tiny, broken whisper, and Tadashi coos at
him, scooping him into his arms and capturing Hiro's lips in his. Hiro makes a
soft sound in his throat and leans into it, breath coming out in stuttering
whimpers.
Tadashi pulls away and regards his little brother with a soft, intent
expression. “I want you to sit on my chest,” he says after a moment, “and I
want you in my mouth so I can taste you.”
There's no room for argument in his tone; even though he knows Tadashi would
step back if he just said the word “pears”, Hiro feels vulnerable, exposed,
entirely under Tadashi's command. It's a fairly unfamiliar sensation—he's
usually one for teasing and snarking at his brother to rile him up—but despite
the alien nature of this encounter, he's more than willing to explore this new
discovery as much as possible.
“Come on, baby doll. Show me you can be good.” Tadashi's tone is smooth and
dulcet, and Hiro wants to bury his face in his brother's chest and let him do
whatever he wants to him. “Prove you aren't just a bad little girl.” He leans
up and breathes in Hiro's ear, “Naughty girls don't get to come.”
Hiro wants to say something obstinate and rude (probably along the lines of
“I'm not a girl”), but his mind is a bit numb, and oddly enough, the only thing
that leaves his mouth is a needy whine. He scoots up Tadashi's chest as his
brother lays back, biting his lips nervously as his brother tosses his legs
over his shoulders. The head of his cock just kisses Tadashi's lips, and he
looks up at his brother with hunger in his gaze.
“Look at you,” Tadashi breathes, leaning forward to blow cool air against his
the tip of his cock. Hiro shudders, whimpering slightly as his brother noses
gently against his foreskin, humming. “All soft and pink. I bet you taste
pretty sweet, hm?”
Hiro jolts in alarm, squirming and looking pleadingly down at his brother.
Tadashi grins up at him and, without warning, points his tongue and flicks it
up the underside of his little brother's cock. A squeaky, shivery whine bursts
from Hiro's throat, and he fists his hands in Tadashi's hair, trying
desperately not to arch into the touch.
Tadashi hums low in his throat and wraps his arms around his brother's arse,
swallowing him down slowly and easily. Hiro jolts, a strangled cry bursting
from his lips, and Tadashi takes him by the hips and rocks him back and forth,
in and out of his fluttering, pulsing throat.
The sounds that Hiro makes are raw and animalistic, and he flushes in
humiliation even as he twitches his hips forward, pushing himself further down
his brother's throat.“Ahh—Tadashi, please—” His hands fly back to clutch at his
older brother's wrists, hands spasming as Tadashi kneads the flesh of his arse
and spreads his cheeks. Almost as if in the distance, he can hear a soft click
and a squelching noise, but what that means doesn't quite register in Hiro's
head.
“You're shaking, baby,” Tadashi murmurs, voice muffled and words garbled, and
Hiro lets out a choked sob at the way his voice makes his throat vibrate, arms
trembling madly. “Don't worry, sweet, I've got you.”
One of his fingers, slick with cool lube, nudges gently against his hole,
fondly rubbing at the pucker, and slips in easily, curling and wriggling in
smooth circles; Hiro shudders and whimpers, drooping over Tadashi's head, and
one of Tadashi's hands moves up to rub comforting circles on the small of his
back.
It's too much, Hiro thinks dizzily; he thinks vaguely that he can feel hot
tears spilling down his cheeks as his brother slips another finger in. “Nii-
chan, I can't—ah, ahh, ahh—”
Tadashi hums softly and swallows around Hiro, throat pulsing around him, and
Hiro comes with a weak, gasping cry, writhing and jerking deeper down his
brother's throat. Tadashi pulls away and smiles up at Hiro, trails of come
spilling from his lips and down his chin, and Hiro slides back down Tadashi's
chest with a whine, letting his head fall forward to press his brow against his
brother's.
“Shh, shh, shh,” Tadashi murmurs, stroking Hiro's head gently. “You did so
good, baby girl. I'm so proud of you.” He slides a third finger in, curving his
fingers as the rim flutters around them.
“Dashi.” Hiro rubs his cheek against the tip of his brother's nose, and Tadashi
tilts his face up to press soft, distracting kisses along his cheekbone and
temple.
“You're so good for me, Hiro,” he coos. “Wish you knew how well you're
loosening up for me. Such a good little girl. So well-behaved.”
“Tadashi, please.”
“Perfect little girl,” Tadashi whispers, and pulls his fingers from Hiro
slowly, one by one, nudging him around and scooting him forward on his hands
and knees. He spreads him gently, eyeing him critically for damage or need for
more preparation, and, satisfied, presses a wet, sucking kiss to the pucker,
humming as Hiro jerks and squeals at the touch. “Look, baby, you're ready for
me.”
“Please don't tease me,” Hiro begs, and Tadashi coos words of comfort into his
ears, tugging him back to hover directly above the tip of his cock, rubbing it
gently against the slick flesh.
“It's okay, sweetheart,” his brother murmurs, and Hiro eases back with a needy
moan, mouth trembling as the head of his prick spreads him open, easing in
agonizingly slow. If not for his little brother's shivery mewls and squirms,
Hiro could almost be sitting innocently on his lap. “That's it, baby, take
every inch of it.”
He lets Hiro rock up and slide down at his own pace, supporting him with two
strong hands until Hiro is almost three inches from bottoming out entirely;
without warning, he pulls his hands away and lets Hiro slide down abruptly. His
little brother squeezes tightly around him with a sharp, startled cry, and
Tadashi hums and moans at the sensation, letting him calm and adjust for a
minute.
Hiro gives a shuddering whimper, and Tadashi sucks sloppy, red-bitten marks
into his neck, running his hands comfortingly over the taut laces of the corset
as his younger brother clenches around the intrusion, crying out each time he
rocks up into the tight warmth. Tadashi leans back slightly for leverage, and
pushes his hips up, feet digging into the mattress.
“You look so beautiful, baby girl,” he croons, and Hiro whines, letting his
head fall back against his older brother's shoulder. “All wrapped up nice and
pretty for me.” He strokes his fingers lightly along the trapped shaft of his
brother's cock, fingering the tip through the lace, and Hiro jerks and mewls,
clenching spasmodically around him. “Feel good, sugar?”
“Big,” Hiro sobs, squeezing around his brother as he shudders and writhes
about. “Please, please, please, n-need—I need—”
“Come on, sweetie,” Tadashi whispers, nudging his fingers underneath the flimsy
skirt and trailing his fingers around the protruding bones of Hiro's hips,
tantalizingly close to the base of his leaking, twitching erection. “Beg for
it.”
“Touch me,” Hiro pleads, and Tadashi obliges, wrapping his hand around Hiro's
prick and thrusting up with a soft moan.
“You're such a good girl,” Tadashi murmurs distractedly, enjoying the way Hiro
gasps shakily at the words and tightens around him when he grinds his hips in
circles gently. “My little sweetheart, you're so good for me, you know that?”
Hiro's breaths come out as frantic moans, eyes glassy, tears leaving thin,
quickly drying tracks on his rosy cheeks and sweat trailing down flushed skin.
“Ta—ahh, ahhnn~Tadash—” He cuts off in a shaky cry, arching forward off his
brother's lap and throwing his hands out to catch himself before he faceplants
in the bed. Tadashi follows him down, thrusts quick and hard and unforgiving
until Hiro's limbs tremble and collapse, fucks him mercilessly into the bed.
The slide is mind-numbing, all-encompassing; in this position, his front fully
pressed against the bed and his prick forcibly ground against the sheets, there
is nothing for Hiro to focus on but his brother's too-big cock stretching his
slick little pucker wide, pushing impossibly deep, every other thrust slipping
along his prostate and sending sparks shooting up his spine.
“Nii-chan, Nii-chan—please—” There are tears streaming unbidden down his face,
and he keens, breath heaving out of his lungs in sharp, wet cries.
“Come on, Hiro,” Tadashi croons, grinding down forcefully in sharp circles, and
Hiro shudders, clenching spasmodically around him. “Come for me, baby girl.” He
pulls back and slams in hard, the head of his cock rubbing hard against Hiro's
prostate.
Hiro comes with a startled scream, back arching hard, and his prick spurts
between his torso and his bed, ruining his sheets. Tadashi inhales sharply and
shoves in deep, moaning as the soft muscles clench down tight, milking the seed
that pulses from his cock. Hiro wails, writhing and sobbing beneath him, entire
body seizing before he goes limp.
Tadashi presses tiny kisses all along his shoulder, nipping lightly at the back
of his neck. “So good, sweetheart. My sweet little girl.” Tadashi rolls off,
pulling him into his arms and nuzzling his cheek.
“Fuckin' hell,” Hiro groans beneath him, and struggles to push himself up by
his hands, arms trembling. He brushes at the lingering tears on his cheeks, and
turns to stare at his brother, dumbfounded.
The reality of what he's just done seems to hit Tadashi, and his face grows
steadily redder, hands spasming as he reaches for Hiro, embarrassed squeaks
spilling from his throat.
“Hiro, I—I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—”
Hiro lets his brother gather him to his chest, eyes wide and chest heaving.
“That was …” Hiro manages, face still buried in his blankets. “Amazing.”
Tadashi's face turns maroon. “Well.” He coughs awkwardly and squirms. “I mean.”
His little brother manages to prop himself up at his elbows, eyes bright with
excitement. “I should wear these clothes more often!”
“Wh-what? Hiro—”
“What do you think of me in a seifuku? Aunt Cass already has one, but I feel
like it would be a bad idea to take hers, plus it's not actually super cute—oh,
how about a white one with a red bow? I think I have the ribbons to match that
I can put in my hair …”
“Uhm, Hiro—”
“I'll have to grow it out a little if I want to put it up—but how great would
pigtails be?” Hiro throws his arms around Tadashi's shoulders, eyes bright with
excitement. “I'm so glad we had this talk!”
A bead of sweat trails down his brow, and he smiles nervously at his little
brother. No, this night had certainly not gone as he'd planned.
Well, shit.
End Notes
     i should be guilty for things that i feel absolutely no guilt for
     ... i'll go to my corner
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