Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2756579.
  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:
      Weddings, Garters, Crossdressing, Boys_in_Skirts, Established
      Relationship, Sibling_Incest, Blow_Jobs, Mildly_Dubious_Consent
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-12-24 Words: 4054
****** Tradition ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "'Looks like fun,' Ryosuke says, so softly the words are lost to the
     sound of the crowd. 'Don’t you think, Haruichi?'" Ryosuke gets ideas
     from a wedding tradition and Haruichi complies with them.
Haruichi knows he’s in trouble the moment he feels Ryosuke’s fingers at his
spine.
It’s a normal wedding, one in a whole line of them as their cousins start to
hit their twenties and begin marrying out of or into the family. Haruichi has
spent the entire night trailing Ryosuke, watching his brother make elegant
small talk while he offers sharp-edged apologies for “my brother, you know how
shy he is.” Haruichi’s not shy, exactly, but he’s not good at the niceties of
social interaction the way Ryosuke is, and it’s easy to duck his head and keep
his hair over his face and let Ryosuke speak for him. He has every intention of
making it through the evening with a minimum of interaction and embarrassment
alike, is just falling into the crowd to watch their cousin Kuranosuke drop to
a knee in front of his new bride when the touch comes, and Haruichi doesn’t
have to turn to know who it is.
“Looks like fun,” Ryosuke says, so softly the words are lost to the sound of
the crowd. “Don’t you think, Haruichi?”
Haruichi blinks, takes in Kuranosuke’s blush as he hitches up his new wife’s
skirt, the way she’s lifting her hands to cover the crimson staining her
cheeks, the cheering teasing from the crowd. He can see it all clear as day,
like Ryosuke has spelled it out for him -- just the two of them, in Ryosuke’s
living room, Haruichi’s bare legs and Ryosuke’s smile the only teasing in
range.
He sees it, and he has to swallow, and is glad for the cover for his blush his
hair gives him as he jerks his chin in a nod. He can imagine Ryosuke’s slow
smile of victory, the taunt under the shadow of his eyelashes, and then the
touch at his spine turns into a brotherly slap at his shoulder, and Ryosuke is
offering full-throated mockery of “my baby brother, look at him blush, never
seen this much skin before have you?” Haruichi submits to the teasing without
protest; it’s not why he’s blushing, but Ryosuke lets his hand linger, and he’d
tolerate anything as all for that touch.
Ryosuke doesn’t say anything about it on their way home. He doesn’t actually
speak at all, leaves Haruichi to a bubble of silence as they make their way to
the train station, off into the dark-lit crowd at the last stop on the route
and through the dim streets to Ryosuke’s apartment. Haruichi doesn’t ask if
he’s invited; he knows, now, that the answer is always yes, and asking will
just bring him more teasing later. It’s better to take his welcome for granted,
and when they get to the top of the stairs Ryosuke even holds the door open for
him, and that’s close enough to an invitation to satisfy Haruichi’s need for
permission.
Ryosuke slips his shoes off almost without pausing, a single graceful movement
Haruichi has never been able to emulate, and disappears around the corner while
Haruichi is hunched over his feet tugging his own shoes off. By the time he’s
straightening and coming to pad tentatively into the house, he can hear the
sound of Ryosuke shoving a drawer shut as announcement before his brother
emerges from the bedroom with something pink draped over his arm.
“Haruichi.” He pauses, tosses whatever-it-is underhand; Haruichi throws a hand
out instinctively before he sees what it is and get a handful of fabric for his
trouble. It takes him a moment to identify seams, another to distinguish up
from down; then the folds fall into place, under and over make themselves
clear, and he’s holding a skirt, simple and uremarkable but for the bubblegum
color of the fabric itself.
“It matches your hair,” Ryosuke smirks from the doorway, and turns to retreat
to the mysterious interior of his room again. Haruichi is left standing in the
hallway, holding a skirt that matches his hair and is approximately his size,
with a suspicion of what Ryosuke wants but no confirmation.
“Aniki?” he calls, confusion lacing the question into a plea.
“Go put it on, Haruichi.” Ryosuke’s words are amused but an order nonetheless,
stern enough that Haruichi is alreadyturning for the pseudo-privacy of the
other room as his brother appends, “Just that.”
Haruichi blushes so hard he’s sure Ryosuke can see it straight through the
barrier of the wall between them. He goes.
Getting dressed isn’t the hard part. The skirt does fit, zips up the back and
settles around his hips like it really was bought for him. And the color is a
dead match for his hair -- Haruichi knows because it’s a match
for Ryosuke’s hair, can carry that implication through to his own. The hard
part is after he’s in the skirt, still with everything on but his slacks, and
he starts trying to guess exactly how far “just that” extends. The jacket,
certainly; it falls all wrong, has too much formality to it, and the tie has to
go as well. But then he’s left with a white shirt, and the last defense of his
boxers, and going too far seems like it would be worse than not going far
enough.
It would be easier if he had a mirror. He can’t see what he looks like, though
he feels awkward instead of particularly enticing; the skirt falls around his
knees, providing plenty of modesty, but it moves oddly too, shifts with his
weight so he feels in danger of exposure every time he takes a step. But when
he looks down he can see the thin fabric collecting oddly around the fabric of
his boxers, catching in telltale ridges, and maybe it doesn’t look so bad from
another perspective but Haruichi doesn’t want to risk it. He strips off the
boxers too, folds them and drapes them over the back of the chair under his
coat, and that’s really all he can persuade himself to take off. The shirt is
fine, it’s plain and white and simple, and after he tucks it into the waistband
of the skirt it probably even looks okay. He’s just contemplating the buttons
at his cuffs, trying to decide if he should undo them or leave them, when a
voice comes from the doorway.
“That looks better than I imagined.” Ryosuke is smiling, amused at some
personal joke, when Haruichi looks up. He’s leaning against the entryway, his
jacket off and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows but otherwise in the same
suit he was wearing, his tie still knotted at his collar and his shirt tucked
into the waistband of his pants. He looks elegantly disheveled, half-undressed
but still formal, and Haruichi immediately feels underdressed and overwhelmed
at once.
“Catch,” Ryosuke says. For a moment Haruichi is lost, missing the thread of the
conversation; then Ryosuke lifts a hand, snaps something off his index finger.
It hits Haruichi’s shoulder without any pain on impact, and he lifts a hand
instinctively to catch it as it falls. The shape of it in his hand -- the catch
of elastic, the friction of lace on calluses -- tells him what it is before he
opens his palm to see the delicate shape of a garter in his palm.
Ryosuke straightens from his graceful slouch, starts moving across the floor
towards Haruichi. His smile is fading, his eyes going darker until Haruichi
isn’t sure he could convince himself to move away even if he wanted to.
“Put it on.” His fingers close against Haruichi’s fingers, clasp his hand shut
against the garter.
“Why?” Haruichi has to ask, even though he knows why, he knows where this is
going. But there’s only so far he can go without reassurance, after all.
Ryosuke’s smile is like sunlight, burning and blinding at once until Haruichi
feels he’s blinking spots from his vision. “So I can take it off.”
Haruichi’s lungs empty all at once, turn his exhale into an audible gasp that
makes Ryosuke laugh, the sound low and purring in his throat. Fingers close
around Haruichi’s free hand, pull him sideways, and he goes without even a
thought of resistance, follows Ryosuke’s lead and drops his weight into the
chair his brother pushes him towards. He has to keep his knees farther together
than he’s used to, but at least the awkward angle of his knees helps disguise
the telltale shape of his rising erection against the thin fabric of the skirt.
“Well?” Ryosuke says, sounding impatient, and Haruichi blinks and realizes he’s
been sitting still for nearly a minute. When he looks up Ryosuke is standing
over him, his standing position granting him the temporary advantage of height,
and smiling down at his brother with the cutting smile that doesn’t touch his
eyes. “Are you going to put it on or not?”
There’s a possibility of refusal there, Haruichi can hear it, but it has the
same tone as the or else in a threat and the same effect. He leans over
immediately, forgetting all about his self-consciousness and anxiety about
keeping himself covered in his haste to fit the garter around his foot. It
looks too small in his hand, but the elastic stretches wide, slips over his
foot and up his ankle before Haruichi has to really contemplate exactly how far
Ryosuke is expecting him to go.
The first part is easy. He wasn’t paying very close attention at the wedding,
not after Ryosuke’s purr in his ear, but he knows that it’s got to go up past
his knee, at least. That only requires him to push the skirt up a little; it’s
almost that high just from how he’s sitting, hardly showing anything at all.
Haruichi gets the lace up just under the hem of the skirt, is just looking up
in silent inquiry when Ryosuke says “Higher,” like he can read Haruichi’s mind.
Haruichi doesn’t think about disobeying. He doesn’t even finish looking up to
see Ryosuke’s expression, just ducks his head again to hide the start of his
blush as he slides the skirt up higher, tugs the garter up further on his
thigh.
“Higher.”
He hadn’t even hesitated that time. Haruichi can feel his face burning crimson
as his hands travel up farther, past the halfway point, hitch the skirt up so
high it’s abundantly clear he’s not wearing anything under it.
He can feel Ryosuke’s laugh like a physical touch. “Keep going,
Haruichi, higher.”
Haruichi has to pause, in spite of the command in Ryosuke’s voice. He’s
flushing down his neck and shoulders, now, his breathing coming fast and
anxious, and he’s hard just from the sound of Ryosuke’s voice, from the edge of
laughter under his orders. He’s got his arm angled over his lap, but he’s
fairly certain that was a doomed attempt before he began; the skirt isn’t
particularly short but it is thin, and it’s hitching up in telltale wrinkles in
spite of his best attempts to press himself against the inside of his wrist.
And the higher he goes with the garter, the more skin he shows, the more
useless his attempt at concealment becomes. It’s enough that he hesitates for a
moment, tries to catch a panicked breath -- and Ryosuke takes a step closer to
him, looms over him so Haruichi has to tip his head back to meet his gaze.
“Aniki--” he starts, not sure if he’s apologizing or pleading, and Ryosuke
drops to a knee, reaches out to push Haruichi’s fingers aside.
“Haruichi,” he chides, but it’s gentle, it’s more amused than angry. His
fingers skim against Haruichi’s skin, catch at the elastic of the garter,
and he’s pushing it higher, up another inch so the skirt slides up well past
the point of decency, so he could see anything he wanted if he were looking
away from the blush burning in Haruichi’s features. “I always have to do
everything for you, don’t I?” His fingertips trace paths of heat up over
Haruichi’s skin, shudder electricity through his spine, and Haruichi’s arm
slips as the heat of his cock jerks as if in response to Ryosuke’s fingers so
close to him.
Haruichi takes a sharp inhale, half-panicked and half-thrilled by Ryosuke’s
proximity, and Ryosuke laughs and pulls his hands away. Haruichi can’t help the
instinctive embarrassment that closes his fingers on the hem of the skirt to
drag it back over his trembling legs; his knees are angled together and his
skin is burning all over his body but at least with his thighs covered he feels
like he can gulp a desperate breath of air.
Ryosuke rocks back on his heels, sets his hands in at the sides of the chair so
his arms are making a cage around Haruichi’s hips. “We have a problem, now,” he
says, sounding almost sincerely concerned. Haruichi’s fingers are locked around
the hem of the skirt, holding it down against his knees even though that’s
drawing the fabric tight against his erection, but Ryosuke isn’t looking down,
he’s staring straight into his brother’s face. The intensity of that stare
makes Haruichi’s hands shake, quivers in his voice when he says, “Aniki?” as a
plea for more information.
“I was going to take the garter off you with my hands,” Ryosuke says, his mouth
twisting around a not-quite-smile. “But I had to help you put it on.” He tips
his head to the side, lets the smirk at his lips rise into a proper amusement.
There’s a flash of white teeth, the threat of delight behind his lips, and
Haruichi knows what he’s going to say just before Ryosuke decides, “I’ll have
to take it off with my teeth, instead.”
Haruichi’s breath skids up his throat, escapes from him in a hiss that verges
on a whine, and Ryosuke’s smile spreads wider, catches at the corner of his
eyes as he sets his fingers against Haruichi’s knees and starts to push up.
Haruichi doesn’t offer any resistance to the push of his hands; the hem of the
skirt slides past his hold as his hands go slack under the force of Ryosuke’s
fingers, pushes up high across his legs and nearly high enough to bare the
garter again.
“You’re breathing hard,” Ryosuke observes, as if he hasn’t noticed how hard
Haruichi is or how badly his hands are shaking against the support of the
chair. He ducks his head for a moment, touches his lips to the other boy’s skin
and breathes out deliberately hard; Haruichi jerks, chokes on his inhale, and
Ryosuke’s laugh flutters against his skin. “You should calm down.” His mouth
drags higher, the skirt pushes up farther, and Haruichi is entirely exposed,
now, the fabric is doing nothing but catching against the edge of his hips.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I know,” Haurichi manages. Ryosuke slides higher, scrapes his teeth just
against the crease of Haruichi’s leg and hip, and the other boy jerks, startled
and flushed so warm he can’t resist the impulse of the reaction. “W-what are
you going to do?”
“Wait and see,” Ryosuke says. His tongue touches the lace of the garter, traces
a path just across Haruichi’s thigh, and Haruichi has to tip his head back and
stare at the ceiling in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. It helps to
not watch Ryosuke’s head so close to his hips, but that leaves him with nothing
to focus on but the damp heat of lips at his leg, brushing against and over the
garter without pulling it at all. The friction slides sideways, lower so
Haruichi’s legs slide wider without conscious effort, and then Ryosuke’s cheek
bumps against the side of his cock and Haruichi’s shuddering on a breath,
reaching to grab at Ryosuke’s hair and push him away.
“Haruichi,” and it’s chiding, gentle amusement sliding under Ryosuke’s voice.
“Do you want me to stop?”
Haruichi can’t breathe. Ryosuke’s not moving but his breath is blowing hot
against his length, his lips so close Haruichi is sure he’s shaking from
resonance just from proximity. He chokes on a inhale, blinks hard in a futile
attempt to clear his vision, and then lets his hold go, lets his hand fall back
to his side so he leaves Ryosuke free.
“Good,” Ryosuke praises, and it’s condescending, it should be insulting, but
Haruichi’s fingers are shaking until he clenches them in against his palm, and
then there’s the damp heat of Ryosuke licking against him and all thought of
what he should feel evaporates under the force of what he is feeling.
“Aniki,” he gasps, his voice cracking awkwardly in the middle of the word, and
even that doesn’t distract him from the heat crackling through his blood,
because Ryosuke is licking again, Ryosuke is leaning in closer and Ryosuke’s
mouth is sliding down over his cock, and Haruichi’s throat is closing off on
coherency and giving itself over to groaning. Ryosuke’s hands push at
Haruichi’s hips to pin him down to the chair, but he’s arching up anyway, he
can’t help the desperate attempt to get closer, more, faster than Ryosuke is
giving it to him.
Ryosuke pulls back, the friction and heat absent for a moment, and Haruichi can
hear the fluttering promise under his laugh. “Calm down, Haruichi, it’s just a
blowjob.”
“Hng,” Haruichi whimpers, and Ryosuke comes back down, slides his lips in
against the other boy’s length and sucks sensation over him, and Haruichi’s
head is spinning and this is so much more than he ever imagined this would be.
His hands are shaking, his fingers tense against his palms and his elbows
locked out so he can brace himself against the chair, and he’s angling his legs
as wide as they’ll go and skidding his feet against the floor, trying to gain
traction to overcome the force of Ryosuke’s hands holding him down. But he
can’t get an angle, or Ryosuke gave himself the advantage of positioning, and
for all Haruichi’s effort it’s Ryosuke’s movements that are controlling the
surge of heat in his veins.
Ryosuke pulls back again, takes a deep breath. There’s an edge of strain under
his voice, Haruichi identifies dimly, a tone to match the taut-pulled gasps in
Haruichi’s throat as he keeps gazing blankly at the ceiling. “You’re not going
to last.” Another laugh, a thumb slipping in a tiny caress against Haruichi’s
thigh. “I should have known,” and the heat is back, all at once, Ryosuke is
licking up against Haruichi’s length and taking him so far back his lips are
brushing the base of his brother’s cock and Haruichi loses track of the
details. He has no idea what Ryosuke is doing, no idea what his own hands or
legs are doing; he’s just choking for air, trembling uncontrollably under the
other’s hold, and then there’s an edge of friction, a scrape of teeth that
feels like electricity, and Haruichi gasps air and moans “Aniki” as the best
approximation of a warning he can offer before he shudders under the sharp
satisfaction of orgasm. Ryosuke doesn’t pull away; he keeps moving, friction
flaring up Haruichi’s spine and dragging out the ripples of pleasure until all
his sense of time is fractured and lost to the heat. It’s not until Ryosuke
pulls away, laughing softly far back in his throat, that Haruichi can take a
deep breath and let the lingering tension tremble out of his body.
“You’re a mess,” Ryosuke observes. Haruichi takes another breath, lifts his
head to look down just as Ryosuke ducks his head to bite at the garter, teeth
scraping across Haruichi’s skin before he settles his hold and slides the loop
down to the other boy’s knee. His hand lets Haruichi’s hip go, closes on his
ankle instead to straighten his leg; Ryosuke’s touch feels like it’s burning a
painless brand against Haruichi’s ankle as he slides the elastic down, shifts
his hold so he can drag the garter off over the other boy’s foot. He lifts his
head, the lace caught between his teeth, before he lets Haruichi go and reaches
up to catch the lace at his fingers instead. This time Haruichi is expecting
the snap towards his face, gets a shaky hand up in time to catch the garter
before it hits him.
“Move,” Ryosuke orders, pushing at Haruichi’s hip until he slides sideways to
sit on the floor instead of the chair. He can’t trust his legs to hold him,
doesn’t dare try to stand, but Ryosuke doesn’t protest, just flashes a smirk at
him before he moves to take the seat himself. Haruichi sees, then, the shape of
this moment, is tugging at the skirt as he moves to kneel between Ryosuke’s
spread legs and his brother unfastens his belt buckle.
“Leave the skirt on.” Haruichi glances up as Ryosuke slides the button of his
slacks open; Ryosuke’s watching his face, just barely smiling. His lips are
flushed, bruised pink and slightly swollen; the thought of the cause for that
stutters Haruichi’s breathing, makes his fingers skid against the skirt’s
fabric as he tugs it back down into a semblance of modesty again. He’s blushing
again, heat rising red to his cheeks, but Ryosuke’s pushing his clothes aside
and Haruichi knows what to do without being told, this time. He’s leaning in as
Ryosuke gets his clothes aside, barely taking the time to see what he’s doing
before he’s opening his mouth and fitting his lips around his brother’s cock.
This is familiar, easy with practice and offering the comfort of routine, so
even when the bitter-salt taste hits Haruichi’s tongue the tiny shudder of
pleasure that rushes over him is bearable, doesn’t affect the slow slide of his
mouth as he takes Ryosuke as far back as he can. Ryosuke makes a sound that is
mostly satisfaction and a little bit a groan, the leading edge of reaction, and
Haruichi leans in closer, rocks up higher on his knees and reaches out to brace
himself at Ryosuke’s hip and waist. He’s touching fabric, the crisp white of
shirt and the rumpled tangle of undone pants, but it still feels radiantly
warm, as comforting as the pressure at his lips and the heat on his tongue.
Then there’s fingers in his hair, almost-affection pushing the long strands
back from his face, and Haruichi shuts his eyes, tips his head in against the
contact, and sets himself to finding the rhythm that draws the touch in his
hair into a fist of breathless reaction.
It doesn’t take him very long. Ryosuke likes something a little different every
time, but Haruichi has gotten better and better at predicting what he’ll want
on a given day, until by now it only takes a few careful strokes of his mouth
to have Ryosuke humming satisfaction over him, to have Ryosuke’s fingers
slanting through his hair in affectionate approval. It’s enough, it’s more than
enough, maybe as good as the feel Ryosuke’s mouth on him, to have evidence of
his brother’s pleasure in the form of fingers digging gently against his scalp.
He can hear the soft shudder of Ryosuke’s breathing coming harder, the anxiety
of expectation pulling at his throat, and when Ryosuke’s hand pulls at
Haruichi’s hair just before he jerks up and spills hot over his tongue, the
delight that washes through the other boy is as good as his own physical
pleasure.
Ryosuke falls back in the chair after he comes, loosening his fist but keeping
his fingers pressed against Haruichi’s scalp. Haruichi takes a moment to pull
away, licking the last stickiness off Ryosuke’s skin before he draws back, and
Ryosuke pulls his clothes back into place one-handed so his touch lingers at
his brother’s hair.
“That was fun,” he purrs. When Haruichi looks up at him he’s only barely
smiling, his eyes dark and shadowed over with satisfaction and something eerily
close to affection. It’s odd to see him straight-on, without even the barrier
of Haruichi’s own hair in the way, and he can only stand to hold his brother’s
gaze for a moment before he ducks his head and leans in to rest his forehead
against Ryosuke’s knee instead. Ryosuke chuckles and ruffles at his hair, but
he doesn’t tell Haruichi to move, and Haruichi doesn’t offer to.
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