Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9861698.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Dave's_Bro_|_Beta_Dirk_Strider/Dirk's_Bro_|_Alpha_Dave_Strider/Dave
      Strider, Dirk's_Bro_|_Alpha_Dave_Strider/Dirk_Strider, Dave's_Bro_|_Beta
      Dirk_Strider/Dave_Strider, Dave's_Bro_|_Beta_Dirk_Strider/Dirk_Strider
  Character:
      Dave's_Bro_|_Beta_Dirk_Strider, Dirk's_Bro_|_Alpha_Dave_Strider, Dave
      Strider, Dirk_Strider
  Additional Tags:
      Guardian-Ward_Relationship, Sibling_Incest, Underage_Drinking, Drunk_Sex,
      Under-negotiated_Kink, Age_Difference, BDSM, Spanking, Painplay, Blood,
      Rimming, Aftercare, Bruises, First_Time, Voyeurism, Anal_Sex, Omorashi,
      Mild_Somnophilia
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-02-22 Chapters: 1/? Words: 3087
****** Teachable Moments ******
by thehatpile
Summary
     David is less than pleased when he catches Bro indulging in some
     high-risk masturbation. His solution: take matters into his own
     hands. Ten years of great sex ensue, after which younger brother Dirk
     catches wind and demands to be included in the fun. Meanwhile, Dave
     is dealing with his own intrusive fantasies. Which of course, he
     could never act on...
Notes
     This fic is the product of a collaboration among some bawdy bards and
     a peanut gallery / a coven of smutwitches / an association of
     venerable Strider enthusiasts / a pile of hats.
     This chapter is mainly the work of eighth_chiharu and wecameasfandoms
     with various suggestions from the hat pile, with extra editing by
     nuclearwinter and kyuutier.
Their five-year-old younger brothers are down for a nap when David accidentally
catches Bro on the bathroom floor, bare ass against the cheap tiles, pants
around his ankles. Bro gapes up at his brother, his dick primed and ready in
his fist, his wakizashi against the inside of his thigh, blood spilling from
the cut in his skin. David stares, his expression going from confused to angry
in two seconds flat, and what should’ve been a blissful finish tinged with
titillating pain is obliterated in a firestorm of David’s overwhelming
disapproval. He tries to protest that he knows how to handle his own business,
that this isn’t his first rodeo, but David is better at arguing than Bro is,
and he has words like arteryand child neglect to cement his points. Bro is left
with burning ears, a serious case of blue balls, and a sense of
irresponsibility that even he can’t ignore.
He’s also left with a slamming door and a cryptic promise.
Neither of which matter at the moment, because he’s seriously in the doghouse.
Bro cleans himself up and wipes his sword off before leaving the bathroom to
help David with chores that are normally entirely his brother’s responsibility.
Running the laundry down to the laundry room, cleaning the bathroom, dust
mopping the wood floors. House-keeping stuff Bro normally ignores or foists off
on David in favor of more ‘manly’ tasks. Eventually the twins wake up, and he
plays with them so David can make dinner (because despite his attempts at
apology, Bro’s idea of cooking is still dumping a box of Hamburger Helper into
a pot along with a chunk of raw hamburger and boiling it until the noodles are
soggy).
There’s downtime afterward, dessert for everyone in the form of technically-
expired candy from the grocery story where David works. Bro plays PS2 with Dave
and Dirk, but his mind isn’t on the game. Eventually, he hands over his
controller so that his younger brothers don’t have to take turns with Player 2.
He sits on the futon and watches David carry a basket of clean laundry into the
twins’ bedroom, and thinks about David’s parting bathroom words.
"When the kids go to bed tonight, I'll show you who handles what."
Did he mean it? David is way too serious most of the time, there’s no way he
was joking. Which means he really is going to do something to Bro once the kids
are asleep. An impossible thought, David is far too vanilla to do anything more
than get on top. But still, he saidit.
Bro’s strangely excited. He keeps trying to tell himself it’s going to be the
absolute worst, that David has no idea what he’s doing, he has no practice, he
could never pull off the things Bro wants—but that doesn’t stop Bro from
imagining David doing those things.
He has an uncomfortable half-boner, and he has to spread his legs to make room
for it in his jeans. His little brothers squawk at him for taking up so much
room on the futon. He tells them to sit on the floor if they don’t like it.
They huff and quiet down, going back to trash talking each other about the
video game. Only five, and already runnin’ their mouths. Cute little shits.
His siblings can’t distract him forever, though. Eventually, bedtime comes, and
with it, the return of Bro’s arousal—now with a distinctly nervous edge. He
helps David put the kids down in the single bed they own, tucks them in, reads
them their favorite comic book doing the voices the way they like. When he
finally gets to turn off the light and shut the door, he almost doesn’t want to
leave the hallway. Anticipation might be better than the actual event. Maybe he
should tell David to never mind, he’s not in the mood anymore. That’s not
chickening out, that’s just nature. Can’t be in the mood 24/7.
He goes out to the living room, footsteps slowing ‘til he reaches the end of
the hallway. David is on the futon in the dark, a cigarette in his mouth. Smoke
illuminated by the moonlight coming in the open blinds curls lazily into the
air, alights along the edge of something dark and long in David’s hands. His
blond hair seems to glow softly, moving in the occasional breeze from the one
half-open window. There’s a little bit of light from the city below, but not
much.
“The hell is this?” Bro asks casually. They don’t smoke in the house, it’s one
of David’s rules. “Gonna stink the place up.”
David pulls the long thing tight. It’s a belt. Bro knows because the buckle
winks at him once. “Doubt you’ll care. Anyway, it’ll air out before the kids
wake up. You wanna stall some more?”
Bro stops, everything below his navel tightening up like a clenched fist.
“Ain’t stallin’,” he says automatically. “Just wanted to give you a chance to
back down.”
“You mean a chance for you to chicken the fuck out,” David replies. He stands,
the belt still tight, his sunglasses black and opaque. “Get on the futon.”
They stare at each other for a hard minute while Bro’s ego goes in two
different directions and loses itself, unable to decide which would be more
macho: to get on the futon and take whatever’s coming, or blow David off and go
jack it in the bathroom to the fantasy of David performing exactly the kinds of
feats Bro wants him to perform but is too much of a man to fucking admit it.
Finally Bro shrugs. He crosses the living room with his hands in his pockets,
like he don’t got a care in the world. So what if David wants to make an ass of
himself? Doesn’t bother Bro none. Even when he steps on one of his little
brothers’ spare Legos, grinding it into the sole of his foot, he doesn’t
flinch. ‘Cause he’s a man, and David can’t spook him with his cigarette and his
belt.
“Now what?” he asks when he gets there.
David motions toward the futon with his chin, exhaling smoke. “Now you get
naked and get face down on that, and I handle your business.”
Bro snorts even as his cock shudders into rigid stiffness, painfully tight in
his jeans. “That’s sexy. You write that line yourself, Mr Webcomic? Or just
steal it from some cool gang movie?”
David doesn’t answer, just stares some more, and Bro’s the one to look away
first. He rolls his eyes as he does it—can you believe this guy?—and strips
off, flexing the whole time, ignoring the way his dick pops free and juts out
like a damn flagpole. Feast your eyes, D, check out what you're tangling with.
David doesn’t waver even a tiny bit. Bro gets on the futon, suddenly nervous
again, not that he’d ever tell David that. It amps up when his brother says,
“Put your arms out so I can tie ‘em to the frame. Grab the metal. You're gonna
need something to hold onto."
His cock is hard and pulsing against the cushion, and he reaches out and takes
hold of the metal, curling fists around it. "Don't gotta tie me. I can stay
still." His whole tone implies David won't do it, he can't - but his dick says
he hopes to god David will.
David barely responds. He uses the belt—leather? imitation?—to secure Bro's
wrists, twining the belt around the frame and knotting it tight. Bro tests it
with a tiny pull. It doesn't give.
“Okay, yeah, so I'm helpless, oh no~. Let's get this show on the road. Can't
lay here all night.”
“I got one rule for this,” David says calmly, voice low. He removes his
cigarette and flicks ash across the floor. Bro has to bite his lip to keep from
gaping at the shock of David purposely dirtying up the house. "You wake up the
kids, and I'll never do this for you again. You understand?"
Stifling his surprise, squashing his nerves down, Bro rolls his shoulders as
much as he can in another shrug. He lowers his forehead to the futon, tired of
craning his neck to see David. "I'm not gonna make any noise. What do you think
I am?"
David doesn't answer that, either. He stands there until Bro glances up at him
again, then rolls the cigarette between his fingers. He looks pointedly at
Bro's bare backside before stepping slowly toward it.
Bro can't help it: he tenses. His ass tightens up like he's a kid expecting a
spanking. He knows it, and he knows David knows it. He forces himself to relax,
but he can't help peering over his shoulder. David moves closer, the cigarette
still in his hand. He lifts it, and Bro's heartbeat quickens. His cock throbs
demandingly, the space beneath it growing damp and hot. His skin tingles, the
anticipation almost too much to bear.
Here it comes. Here it comes, hereitcomeshereitcomeshereitcomes—
David stops.
Bro almost groans aloud in frustration, but manages to bite back the sound just
in time. "Are you gonna spend all night posing for pictures? Y'ain't famous
yet, D. Either get on with it," he hisses under his breath, "or lemme get on
with my life already."
David puts the cigarette back between his lips, takes a drag, and exhales
smoke. He bends over. Bro tenses abruptly, but David comes back up with Bro's
discarded jeans. Without saying anything, he slides Bro's belt out of the
jeans' loops. The buckle clinks, seeming too loud in the deafening silence of
the living room. Bro's neck aches, but he can't look away.
Today, of all days, he had to wear the buckle in the shape of the great state
of Texas.
David hefts the overlarge amalgamation of molded stars, states, and steers, and
snorts under his breath. He glances at Bro, checks the buckle again, then lets
the whole thing dangle from one hand. "Guess we're getting on with it," he says
calmly, letting the belt swing slowly, the fat buckle at the end lazily
twisting and untwisting the leather. "You look a little tense. You sure you
don't want to wuss out?"
At the moment, Bro can't think of anything he wants more than for David to stop
teasing him. But he can't say that, and he can't show it. He rolls his eyes
instead and faces forward. He's done watching David. The man exists for
attention sometimes; Bro isn't going to give it to him. Either David ponies up,
or Bro wriggles his way out of this farce in the next 15 minutes and—
"Fuck!"
The belt slams against Bro's back, but that sting is nothing compared to the
bruising sharpness of the buckle as the metal corners bite into Bro's skin.
There's a razorfine sting that tells him he's cut, David cut him, and he shoves
his face into the futon as a moan trickles out.
"Shut up," David whispers, but it's not hurried or even angry. "Last warning.
Do notwake them up."
Bro struggles to find something snappy to say, but the vicious need that's
pooling hot and heavy in his belly sucks up all the blood flow. He can only
writhe against the futon, grinding his cock against the cushions, and oh, shit,
it feels so good—
David hits him again, nails him right over his kidneys with bruising force, and
Bro bites his lips to keep quiet, the meaty thud and faint clink of the belt
dizzyingly arousing. He ruts into the futon, not caring that it’s soggy and
rough beneath his cock, abrading the sensitive skin. David hits him again, and
it hurts, but then, it all hurts, hurts in the best way possible, all of it
fire along his nerve endings.
Another strike from the buckle, the corner catching him along his spine, and
the painful tingle slaps a gasp out of him. Pain twines with burgeoning
pleasure, anticipation as strong as need. David smacks the backs of his thighs
next, just the belt this time, the flat sting not nearly hard enough. It comes
again, like a child’s hit, and Bro grunts in desperate frustration.
“Goddamn tease, the hell you doin’—"
The heavy buckle meets his calf, nails it right in the ball of the muscle, and
his leg seizes, nearly cramping. His foot jolts up in response, the pain
different and worse somehow. David slams the buckle into his other calf, and
Bro jerks in surprise.
“I know what I’m doing. Stop moving. Thought I didn’t need to tie you down, big
mouth.”
David hits him in the back again with the buckle, then again. Bro drops both
legs to the futon, pulling on the bonds at his wrists as his brother finds some
slow, irregular beat that only David can hear, unpredictable and shocking. The
greedy heat inside Bro grows, scalding, demanding. His shoulder muscles bunch
as he uses that leverage to rub against the cushion, breathing hard through his
mouth as he listens, head down, the half seconds between strikes full of
torturous want, horrible expectation. He rubs his face, his lips, along the
cushion, sweating as the hunger inside him swells until it’s unbearable. He’s
gonna come, and he doesn’t want to. He wants to drag it out, make it last. But
he can’t stop it, his entire body is tense and wanton and David is perfect—
The blows stop suddenly, and a low whine escapes Bro before he can stop it. No,
he’s so close, so close, “Fuck, fuck, c’mon, D, please—"
The tip of the cigarette hits his forearm like a giant needle of unexpected
agony, branding him with pain and the stink of burned hair and tobacco, and he
comes so hard his teeth lock together. He shudders blindly against the futon,
hips grinding into it, smashing his cock as it spasms and spurts hot fluid into
the divot he’s made.
When the orgasm finally releases him, he sags back against the futon, panting
and dazed. The ache of a dozen new bruises is like the echo of what they’ve
done, and his arm is starting to hurt in a different, less pleasant way. He
still likes it. It’s a reminder, and he likes reminders. Trophies. He doesn’t
do sports, he doesn’t have any other trophies, but he’s pretty sure this is how
those Super Bowl guys feel after they win.
“Do I get a ring?” he mumbles tiredly.
David drops down in a squat beside him, worry warring with obvious satisfaction
in his voice. “I’ll make an honest man of you one day,” he agrees. “But maybe
we oughta untie you first.”
Bro thinks that sounds real good.
 
===============================================================================
 
David unties the belt and helps Bro sit up, looking over the damage. "You
didn't wake the kids. Thought I'd honestly have to stuff a sock in your mouth
after that first hit."
David has never spanked the boys. They’re too sweet. In light of his lack of
practice, he might have gotten a little carried away with this, but it beats
Bro jacking it in the fucking bathroom with blood running off his leg.
“Told ya I didn't need it,” is all Bro says. David helps him to his feet and
takes him to the bathroom.
He cleans the cuts with peroxide as he waits for the bath to fill, and runs a
cold washcloth over the burn. When the tub is filled he nearly has to fight Bro
to get him in the damn bubble bath. Hushed whisper-yells (too old for this kid
shit!—let me do my job asshole) are tossed around until Bro finally gets in the
fucking bath.
Too old for this shit—hell. You get the lion loofah and tiger washcloth now.
It's almost comical to see Bro squished into the tiny tub, his knees poking out
of the water. With his grumpy expression he looks like a child who doesn't want
a bath but has resigned himself to his fate.
David washes Bro's back with the tiger washcloth, taking time to massage
what'll likely be sore shoulders in the morning. He soaps up the lion loofah
and Bro tosses a look at him. Really, what grown man uses these things? But he
allows David to scrub him anyway.
David knows Bro likes this. Maybe not the animal themed washcloth and loofah,
but he likes the gentle attention. He likes when David does things like rub his
shoulders, or scrubs his scalp with those bony fingers. It's just nice.
The detachable shower head comes down and David works sure fingers through
Bro's hair, working out any knots and gently rinsing any product from it. Bro
hums his appreciation when David applies the shampoo, deft fingers rubbing his
scalp and working the soap through it thoroughly. He knows how to do this.
Probably because he'd spent so much time washing the twins’ hair.
He rinses, using a comb to make sure all the shampoo is gone and Bro's hair
isn't tangled. Applying conditioner doesn't take as long. He pats the hair on
Bro's head and gets him out of the tub, ready with Neosporin and band-aids.
When he's finished making sure the cuts are clean and the burn is covered, he
puts Bro on the floor to rinse out the conditioner. He runs the comb through
his hair again, ensuring it’s clean and all the tangles are out.
They can't blow dry it with the kids asleep across the hall, but he gets it as
dry as he can with a towel, working better than any beautician could. He combs
it one last time, chuckling at the way it sticks out before he parts it on the
side and pats it down.
Bro doesn't usually sleep in anything but his underwear, but David insists he
put on the fucking fluffy Mickey Mouse pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved shirt
in case Dave has a bad dream, or Dirk wakes up wanting to watch cartoons at
some ungodly hour. No need to worry the kids with the sudden appearance of
bandages all over Bro’s back and arm.
It’s irrefutably logical, and kid safety is always first, so Bro puts on the
fashionized form of slander and they return to the futon. They change the cover
and the sheets before turning on the TV and picking something from the shitty
list of late night television.
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