Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11358528.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Saint_Seiya
  Relationship:
      Andromeda_Shun/Cygnus_Hyōga
  Character:
      Andromeda_Shun, Cygnus_Hyōga, Phoenix_Ikki
  Additional Tags:
      blowjob, face_fucking, Anal_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-30 Words: 4446
****** The World's Best Older Brother vs The World's Most Degrading Blowjob
******
by nightfever_(drfeels)
Summary
     Shun and Hyoga have begun experimenting with a slightly wilder
     fantasies in their sex life, only to be caught by Ikki at the wrong
     moment. However, the conclusions Ikki comes to are very...misplaced.
Notes
     a short thing i wrote, using the classic ikki-catches-shun-and-hyoga
     plot. i had fun with it, i hope it's enjoyable. also please enjoy the
     stupidest title i've ever used.
The fibers of the antique rug that lays on Hyoga’s floor are digging into his
knees, and they itch, and when he shifts his position he realizes he’s been
kneeling for long enough that they’ve left imprints on his flesh. Little soft,
wavy imprints in pink and red, like small grains of rice. Everything on his
skin is always pastel pink or red, his skin is that translucent type that burns
in summer, and in winter, and indoors if he gets bored enough he can raise an
arm and trace the deep purple-blue of his veins down from his wrist to his
elbow.
His cheeks are even redder than his knees, burning hot, and it goes all the way
up his cheekbones to his temples and down the back of his neck, slow-spreading
flush.
Hyoga’s hand that cups his face is a deep gold in comparison, but equally hot
and reddened in the tips of his fingers. There’s pulsing in the soft flesh of
his palm, hot and alive.
Shun raises himself up on his knees, moves to undo the zipper on Hyoga’s jeans
where Hyoga sits on the edge of his bed. His heart is racing. The tips of his
ears begin to slowly turn the color of hot coals, and burn just as brightly.
“Remember,” he says to Hyoga as he begins to pull Hyoga’s underwear down to his
ankles, “you promised this time.”
“I’ll try,” he says. “It’s…harder than you think.”
“Just don’t hold back.”
He pulls his hair back behind his ears and drapes it over the back of his neck,
leans forward and sits himself between Hyoga’s thighs, still on his knees. The
carpet is still digging into them, but it’s now at the back of his mind. At the
forefront is just dizzying thoughts of Hyoga, the hot scent of his arousal,
still partially soft, but slowly firming. He strokes it with a finger first, a
test, and Hyoga lets out a long hiss of breath. Then he opens his mouth, lays
Hyoga on his waiting tongue, closes his lips around the shaft.
The taste of Hyoga, the feel, the sounds that come out of his mouth, they eat
up all of his senses.
There’s an overwhelming pleasure to it, to the feel of being able to inhale
nothing but Hyoga, like he’s being swallowed up by it all. He straightens his
throat, opens it wide, takes Hyoga as far as he can into the back of his mouth,
against his soft palate. The head of Hyoga’s length rubs against the roof of
his mouth and there’s something about it that tickles and sends a shiver down
his spine, a shiver that lands between his reddened knees, travels up his
straining thighs, right to his core.
Hyoga has promised this time not to hold back, and it’s clear he’s trying with
that. His hips are straining and gently rutting against Shun’s mouth in a way
that’s obviously controlled, and he wishes Hyoga would lose it, would rut
himself into his throat until he chokes, but he knows how much of Hyoga’s
nature that goes against, and so far this is plenty.
Maybe deep down this is him being born under Andromeda, this desire he has to
fulfil a need while being used. He wants Hyoga to rut into his throat, to use
him, to use his mouth and dig his hands into his hair and use his tongue as a
means to get himself off, just him. That’s what he’s pushing at, pushing Hyoga
to lose it and use his throat as as nothing more than a warm hole, without
worrying about anyone but himself, getting lost in his own boiling arousal.
Somehow, the thought of being used like that makes him throb between his legs,
deep and heavy throbbing that starts to ache.
The weight of the chains of Andromeda are pulling him, but this time it’s not
Andromeda but Hyoga’s hands in his hair, Hyoga wanting desperately to thrust
without reason, but holding himself back. He reaches up to stroke at Hyoga’s
thigh, trying to get him to relax, to let go further, further. Saliva paints
his chin and drips down and Hyoga’s arousal slips and the head rubs against the
inside of his cheek and it sends another quake down his spine and into his
guts, into his core, hot and white and spilling over all of his nerves.
His eyes are beginning to water and his lips are raw and throat sore as he
still swallows Hyoga down but he looks up through tear-tinted lashes and he
sees Hyoga’s head tipped back, lips shaking, clinging to the bedsheets with his
fists. Hyoga swallows hard and deep and breathes heavy and he pushes himself
further, until his nose buries in those gold curls and he chokes. He chokes on
Hyoga and tears flow from his eyes and he can’t see anything but he can still
taste Hyoga, smell him, Hyoga is everything.
Hyoga is everything as he pulls himself from his mouth and he gasps for air
with Hyoga’s taste on his tongue and teeth and Hyoga comes too quick and at the
wrong moment as his length leaves Shun’s lips.
It spurts out, white and dripping. It coats his lashes of his left eye and his
cheekbone and drips down over those raw red lips, lips the same color as his
aching knees and hot fingertips and the burning blush on the tips of his ears.
“Shun,” Hyoga’s breathing, and then he’s reaching for the tissues, bending to
wipe off what he’s already trying to reach with his own tongue but can’t. Hyoga
looks so confused, like he can’t decide between pain and something else. “I’m
sorry.”
“No,” he gasps out, because some of Hyoga has mixed with saliva in his raw
throat, and he coughs slightly, finally takes a real, solid breath through his
mouth. “No don’t be, that was…it felt good.”
“You look…” Hyoga starts to say, and he struggles, as though he can’t find the
words he wants in any of the languages he knows. “You look…really beautiful,
actually.”
He can catch a glimpse of himself in the edge of the full-length mirror on the
opposite wall, only part of his face, but enough to understand. There’s a
creeping flush all along his cheeks, wet curls of hair stick to his forehead.
His lips swell and shine, and so do his eyes, red-rimmed, lashes sticking
together from the few tears he’d dropped.
Not beautiful, but beautiful.
“He looks what?”
A strong voice from the doorway, and the creak of the slowly-opening door.
Unexpected. They’re supposed to be alone this weekend, with Shiryu in Five
Peaks, Seiya visiting Greece, and the others out for a holiday.
It seems Ikki has picked now of all times to return home for a weekend.
Ikki always had and still continues to have a terrible sense of timing.
“I knocked,” he says, before Hyoga can get his tongue in order, “but you
seemed…busy.”
Ikki’s calmer than he should be, which is frightening. Behind that calmness
they both know is a hidden landmine, one that’s going to go off when one of
them says the wrong word, and neither of them can think what to say first.
There’s no talking their way out. Ikki’s eyes are roving from Hyoga’s soft,
still-exposed length to Shun’s own raw lips and red eyes and mussed hair, and
then back. He locks his eyes on Hyoga’s.
“I knew you two were doing…intimacies,” Ikki says, as though he’s trying to
phrase it to avoid connecting certain words with the image of Shun in his head,
“but this is…what are you doing with him?”
He grits his teeth as he spits the last part out. It’s not disgust, but anger,
pure and simple.
“Nii-san—!”
“I’m asking Hyoga, Shun,” he says firmly, arms crossed, mouth set, “what kind
of things he thinks it’s ok to make you do.”
“But he’s not—”
“I didn’t make him do anything,” Hyoga says. His voice returns Ikki’s tone,
sharp and direct, right back. “He asked for it.”
“You think I’m going to believe that?”
“Ask him,” Hyoga says, and his eyes flicker to Shun’s, and they meet. There’s a
brief look of apology in there, as though he knows how awkward this is, but he
also knows Ikki is going to remain in staunch denial otherwise. “He can tell
you all the details, if you want.”
Ikki’s eyes set on him with a look that is almost pity. “Shun,” he says, and
his voice softens a little around the edges. “Did you—”
“I asked for it,” he says, calmly. He looks his brother right back as he says
it. He swallows down any sort of shame that’s trying to bubble up, because
they’re long past that now. His eyes are red-rimmed, but steady and honest. He
keeps them trained on Ikki, firm to his core. “It was my idea.”
Ikki’s shoulders fall a little at that, at the sound of firm but slightly
wavering determination in his voice. His eyes flicker from Hyoga to Shun and
back, as though he’s trying to determine if this is some elaborate lie somehow,
but it becomes clear it’s not. Somehow, he seems to take that a little harder
than the good-faith but misplaced idea this was some sort of manipulation on
Hyoga’s part of some kind of malformed sex fantasy.
Ikki bites his lip, and his eyes narrow as he stares Hyoga down. “If that’s how
it is, then.”
He swallows the last of his quaking fear that stirs in the pit of his stomach.
“It is,” he says from the floor, even if he is clearly not the one being
addressed. “Go downstairs, Nii-san.”
Ikki turns on his heel and walks out without another word, though the burning
aura he leaves behind is word enough.
Once he’s gone it feels like they can finally breathe again, like the whole
room’s atmosphere becomes a release of one giant, long-held breath. His aching
red knees wobble, and he lets them give out, slides himself backwards to sit on
the carpet.
Hyoga collapses backwards onto the bed.
“I thought I was gonna die.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t he, though?” Hyoga says. “He thought I was making you do some sex
slave fantasy. He wanted to kill me, I felt it.”
“He means well,” he says, pulling himself off the floor and onto the bed, where
Hyoga pulls him in for a hug, “but he did seem very…shocked.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Hyoga presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Maybe
we should make dinner instead of continuing this.”
“That sounds good.”
He sits up and bites at his lips, trying to suss out the best way to maintain
normalcy after this. He should wash his face before Ikki sees it again. He
needs to look presentable. Normal. First, bathroom to wash his face. Then
grocery list. He runs his fingers through his now-tangled hair and sits himself
up.
“Hyoga,” he says as he rises from the bed.
“Yeah?”
“Zip up your pants already.”
                                     * * *
The curry they collaborate on for dinner is delicious, but Ikki seems very,
very unimpressed. So unimpressed that dinner passes in weird silence, made
worse by the fact that they are the only three in the mansion right now, so
everything is eerily quieter than on a normal evening.
Ikki cleans his plate, mutters “Thanks,” and gets up to wash it without so much
as another word.
He actually doesn’t seem angry so much as deeply, deeply restless. The whole
time he ate he seemed unable to sit still, and when he rises to rinse his plate
it’s much the same.
“I’m going for a walk,” he says as he finishes, and he heads out without saying
any more than that.
He’s uncertain how he feels about that, but he knows Ikki well enough to
understand when to leave him well alone. He’ll come around when he’s good and
ready.
He does the dishes for his and Hyoga’s plates and they end up in the reading
room for a bit before retiring to Hyoga’s room for the night. Ikki still hasn’t
returned. If it was anyone else but Ikki, that might be cause for concern, but
all Shun can think is that Ikki is probably doing his best to sort out his own
thoughts, and for something like that, he needs to be alone.
They’ve already washed and brushed their teeth for the night and tumbled into
bed together in the dark when Hyoga begins to nuzzle into his neck. It tickles,
the feeling of Hyoga’s warm breath ghosting over his veins, and then Hyoga’s
lips meet the underside of his jaw and he feels his pulse double in time as
Hyoga sucks there and kisses down his neck and comes back up to meet his
waiting lips.
“Hey,” Hyoga says softly, fingering the buttons of Shun’s pajama shirt, “you
didn’t get anything in return earlier. Cause we got, y’know. Interrupted.”
“Are you suggesting something?”
“Just don’t get too loud,” Hyoga murmurs as he pops open the first button. “Our
rooms are far enough apart, but still. And don’t worry,” he says as licks the
shallow dip of Shun’s collar bone, presses a kiss to the hollow in the center
of it, “I locked the door.”
With that Hyoga kisses him full on the mouth, deep and heavy and Hyoga’s tongue
slips between the parting of his lips, licks over the parts of them that
earlier rubbed themselves raw on him. And the thought of that sends a deep, hot
wave of arousal through Shun, one that makes his teeth grind and his stomach
drop out, the idea that Hyoga is licking him where earlier he’d been holding
Hyoga in his mouth, violently sucking him down.
He feels his body heat up as Hyoga opens the rest of his shirt, slides his
hands up Shun’s smooth, pale skin, a moment ago cool to the touch, but now
starting to glow pink at the edges. His cheekbones light up red-hot, and then
the tips of his ears, the nape of his neck that Hyoga lifts his hair to kiss as
Hyoga rolls his nipple in his fingers. Hyoga then takes his tongue to the
center of Shun’s stomach, licks a hot line up, then back down again, then
traces up the bones of his hips. Down, down further, down the curve. Another
hot, wet line traces against him just above the top of the waistband of his
pants, and he writhes and trembles under that because it tickles.
Hyoga comes back up for another deep kiss, another one where their tongues
meet, gently stroking, and Hyoga takes his bottom lip and sucks at it and bites
it and he feels his lips getting sore again, just like before. It shakes him
deep, sends another hot wave through him, up his spine and down between his
thighs where Hyoga’s hand has gone to rest but now begins to move.
Hyoga palms him gently through his pajama pants and he begins to softly keen
when Hyoga traces the outline of the head of his erection through the fabric.
His hips rise to meet Hyoga’s thumb where it’s pressing against the tip, the
slit where he’s beading out fat, wet drops.
Mercy comes as Hyoga pulls his pajama pants down recklessly and tosses them on
the floor, with enough force that his bottom comes up to rest against Hyoga’s
thighs where he’s kneeling on the bed. And Hyoga takes his hands, parts his
legs and like this, half on his back, half in Hyoga’s lap, he’s exposed.
Hyoga’s eyeing up everything between his thighs, eyes slowly roving over his
hardness, the flush creeping up his legs, the soft flesh of his ass. He
trembles but not with embarrassment, with excitement, because Hyoga wants to
look at all these parts of him, Hyoga wants to see the things he’s done, the
things he’s going to do. Hyoga slides a finger against his ass, between both of
those soft cheeks, and watches him, meets his eyes and leans forward for a
soft, deep kiss as he swallows hard and breathes deep.
Hyoga parts him there, just with a thumb, to slowly feel against his entrance,
dry and smooth but hot and even without lubrication he can feel a soft bit of
give there. Hyoga pulls back from the kiss and he chokes back a noise as the
tip of Hyoga’s thumb rolls over the center and dips in just slightly, not
enough to penetrate, but just enough pressure to remind him how good it will
feel when he does.
Hot hands rove up and over his erection and Hyoga makes a fist and pumps him
lazily, agonizingly slow as he reaches over Shun’s body to the bedside table.
The lube is in the first drawer, like always.
Hyoga glances back at him as he tries to catch a breath, mouth open and dry,
thighs and hips shaking under Hyoga’s touch. “Condom?”
“Raw,” he breathes. “Please, just for today.”
“If you insist.”
Hyoga kisses his forehead quick and there’s the snap of an opening cap. Hyoga
slicks his fingers up until they’re shining, and only then does his thumb
return wet. It circles it slowly over his entrance, slowly dipping in closer,
but then pulling back. Hyoga gently pulls as the skin there, watches as he can
do nothing but gape a little, wordlessly, until finally Hyoga has mercy and
lets the tip of his thumb sink in, followed by the rest.
The noise he makes is almost inhuman, a high keening sigh, and instantly his
body is clamping down around Hyoga, like now that it has this, it never wants
to let go. But he feels as Hyoga slowly pulls his thumb out, and he lets out
another, softer sigh, because that feels just as good. Then Hyoga slides his
middle finger in, curls it and thrusts it deep, and it’s only a moment before
there’s another, because his body is more than used to this much.
He watches as Hyoga’s eyes keep flickering from his hands inside him back to
his face, and his eyes, and Hyoga leans in to kiss at his shaking thighs,
gently bite as he finds a place inside the soft, slick pink of his insides that
makes him moan and his hips move up against Hyoga’s hand, like he’s trying to
have sex just with that part of Hyoga alone, like he wants nothing more than to
desperately come, even if it’s just like this.
It’s the same as before, the same as letting Hyoga use his mouth, the arousal
in him so strong and desperate that he loses himself beyond repair. This is the
same as that, and it’s the intimacy of it, the feeling that Hyoga would bow to
him and let him use his hand like this if it’s what he wanted, if he asked, it
sets off a fire in him. It is a mutual exchange.
He doesn’t just want to be used, he wants to be used while knowing Hyoga loves
him enough to use him like that. Hyoga will trust him completely to the brink,
when Hyoga will let go of himself entirely, give everything over to him, and in
return now he gives him the same.
Strong hands inside him, opening him up, softening him to the point where Hyoga
can lose himself again, but this time inside his body.
Hyoga’s fingers withdraw. He’s gotten to the point where his mouth has dried up
from this heavy breathing and he swallows, brings life back to his dry throat
as Hyoga kicks off his own clothes onto the floor. Underneath he’s hard, his
body is flushed deep red in places and trembling. He slicks himself up until
he’s wet and shining in the low light.
Hyoga kisses him again so deep and hard their teeth clack together at first as
Hyoga presses him back onto the bed and presses in. The head eases in and his
body clamps hot and slick around it and he lets out that keening noise again,
because Hyoga’s hands are so sweet but this is better. It stretches him and
fills him in a way nothing else ever has or ever will, and the sweetness of
Hyoga’s chest against his, Hyoga’s heat and scent and the sounds of Hyoga’s
heavy breaths, the sound of Hyoga slowly losing himself, these are all the
little things that make his body bloom red-hot all over as Hyoga eases in the
rest of himself, until he seated firmly inside to the hilt.
They both take a moment to breathe deep, because at this part he always feels
like he forgets how to breathe each time. Each breath is shaky and white-hot
and he’s dizzy with how good Hyoga feels inside him.
And then Hyoga moves, slowly, and he really does forget to breathe for a moment
because his breath hitches and his stomach drops out and he feels imbued with
fever. His hands come up to Hyoga’s back and in his delirium he clings tightly
as Hyoga begins to thrust into him, harder, harder, his breathing goes shallow
and sweet and red-hot, then white-hot.
His hands claw and cling their way to Hyoga’s back and he feels the soft skin
slip under his nails as his breathing turns into soft moans and then high
keening and Hyoga’s taken hold of his hands and he pins them above his head.
And he lays there, helpless, as Hyoga pounds into his body, thrusts himself
deep into the slick-pink inside of him until it’s so fast it almost hurts but
he can’t feel it because his whole body is burning and numb with something
white-hot that singes all of his nerves. His thighs begin to shake until he can
barely keep them up and Hyoga’s thrusts start to get sloppy and slip as he goes
harder. One of his hands comes down off of Shun’s wrists and between his legs
and strokes at him and oh ah, he’s coming, he can feel it.
“Hyoga,” he breathes in the heat of it all, “Hyoga, Hyoga!”
And then his back is curling and his hips are sloppily moving on their own and
then they give out but Hyoga’s arm is there, underneath him, slowly letting him
down onto the bed.
Hyoga presses a kiss to his temple as he pulls out and he can feel what’s left
of Hyoga inside him, hot and wet and leaking out.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, and it almost comes out like a drunken slur because of
how dazed Hyoga’s left him.
“You’re welcome.”
Hyoga kisses him again, on the lips this time, and grabs a small packet of
travel tissues from the bedside table drawer. One comes between his legs, Hyoga
mopping up the mess he’s made, and he’s grateful for it, because he’s too tired
to even move. One of his hands has a deathgrip on the pillow behind his head
and he doesn’t even have the energy to release it. He just lays there, spent
and wrung-out as Hyoga finishes wiping him off.
“Shit,” Hyoga laughs, and the fingertips he presses to his own back come away
with a few drops of red. “I think I’m bleeding.”
He snorts at that, and laughs too, which makes Hyoga start to laugh again, and
somehow they both find it way funnier than it should be.
But at that he makes himself sit up, and he grabs the tissues from Hyoga’s
hand. “Okay,” he says, gesturing for Hyoga to turn around. “Let me see what I
can do.”
                                     * * *
They’ve already begun to settle into the dining room for breakfast when Ikki
turns up the next morning, looking still mildly uncomfortable but also slightly
refreshed.
“Morning, Nii-san,” he says, and he keeps his tone light, because this would
really be better if they could just put it all behind them.
“Morning,” Ikki replies, and he looks at the floor while he says it, and his
lips twitch, as though he’s still struggling to contain whatever it is he’s
trying to sort out.
He watches as Ikki helps himself to the coffee, which is just dripping the last
of itself into the waiting pot. Ikki takes a sip from the bone-white lip of his
mug, and the toaster pops.
“Ah. Toast.” Hyoga gets out of the chair and heads to the cupboard to begin to
prepare Western-style breakfast.
He watches as Hyoga reaches, as the loose armhole of his well-worn muscle shirt
slides back over the curve of his shoulderblade. The scratches peek out, still
garishly bright red and fresh but no longer oozing tiny droplets of blood.
They’re shiny with a slick coating of medical ointment. He can’t help but flush
slightly, because he knows last night he got far too carried away. Part of him
regrets it a bit.
Only a bit.
He watches as Ikki’s gaze follows Hyoga too, watches as Ikki’s brow furrows
when Hyoga’s shirt slips, and then the unraveling of that as Ikki seems to
process something.
Ikki watches carefully as Hyoga comes back to the table with one plate of toast
with butter and jam, one glass of orange juice, one mug of coffee, with milk.
He watches as Hyoga sets it all down in front of Shun, who just smiles at him,
and then he glances at Ikki with a second smile as he digs in.
And somehow, he knows Ikki seems to understand what he couldn’t yesterday, that
he’s always thought his brother would do anything for Hyoga, that Hyoga had him
wrapped tight around his finger, so tightly Shun might forget himself. That
might still be true, he has and would do anything for Hyoga, but it’s that last
part he’s wrong about. Ikki seems to realize this as he sits himself at the
table and Hyoga joins them, second plate of toast in-hand, shirt now re-draped
over the scratches on his back that were visible only moments ago.
He smiles at Ikki, and Ikki looks him in the eyes for the first time since last
night, smiles back and sips his coffee. It seems he’s gone from struggling to
some kind of acceptance, though he keeps eyeing Hyoga with a bit of suspicion,
but also concern. It just now seems to have finally hit him which of them is
wrapped around who’s finger, and exactly what that means.
Clearly, Ikki has understood he can be selfish just fine.
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