Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3105269.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Kankri_Vantas/Karkat_Vantas
  Character:
      Karkat_Vantas, Kankri_Vantas
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Cambridge, Oral_Sex, Unresolved_Emotional_Tension, Siblings,
      Semi-Public_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-01-03 Words: 2169
****** and goodwill to all men ******
by Cerberusia
Summary
     Kankri, Cambridge undergraduate, has been asked to do a reading in
     the Carols From Kings service. His brother Karkat drops in for a
     visit the afternoon before the service.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Karkat would never admit it, but walking through the front gate of King's is
just that bit impressive. He turns right, ploughing a path through the tourist
throngs, and pushes open the chapel door, which has a notice stationed outside
stating, in several different languages, that the chapel is in use and not
currently open to the public.
He enters the antechapel to the accompaniment of The Angel Gabriel, which is
surprisingly catchy - he'll find himself humming it for days. The choirboys
barely even glance at him as he passes them; they're creepily well-trained. The
choir-master doesn't acknowledge him either, which means that either he's seen
the family resemblance or assumes that Karkat's a student because he knows
where he's going. He ducks into the vestries, and finds Kankri right where he
said he'd be in his text.
Kankri looks up to greet him, placid and smug as ever.
"Karkat," he says with just the correct amount of brotherly warmth which always
irritates Karkat (what doesn't? says Sollux's voice). "Good afternoon."
"Hey. Dad sent me." Kankri shuffles over on his bench, but Karkat ignores him,
slouching against the wall instead. "He's embarrassingly proud you're going to
be on the telly," adds Karkat, keeping his voice down: he has so got an 'indoor
voice', fuck off, Sollux.
Kankri just keeps his small smile. He probably thinks it makes him look
approachable; it actually just makes him look holier-than-thou. Karkat should
know, he had to live with him for fifteen years. Kankri going away to uni has
probably done wonders for Karkat's blood pressure.
"Well, come on, I've not got all day." Kankri raises an eyebrow, then sees
where Karkat's looking. The smile slips off his face.
"Not here," he says, disapprovingly.
"Why do you think I asked to meet up earlier? We can do it out there in front
of the choirboys whose balls haven't dropped, if you'd rather."
"The fact that their balls haven't dropped is presumably why they're
choirboys," mutters Kankri, but Karkat sees him look to the side and wipe his
palms on his thighs. Gotcha.
The thing about Kankri is, the more terrible and non-PC it is, the more he
secretly likes it. The more he invents ludicrous, long-winded arguments about
how offensive and problematic something is, the more it turns him on. He's a
psychoanalyst's wet dream, because he proves all those theories about the
repressed uptight ones being full of deviant sexual fantasies absolutely right.
Karkat pushes off the wall, steps forward - he sees Kankri's breathing catch -
and drops to his knees in front of him. Kankri's legs open, then quickly close.
He weakly tries to stop Karkat from undoing his belt, unable to look directly
at him, but Karkat slaps his hands away and reaches up his jumper to discover
that for once he isn't wearing his trousers ludicrously high. Someone has
clearly told him that he can't embarrass his family by appearing on television
in trousers up to his armpits: Karkat should probably give Porrim chocolate as
a thank-you.
Once he gets Kankri's belt undone, he slides his hands further up to pinch his
nipples through his shirt. Kankri jumps and squeaks, spreading his legs: Karkat
quickly shuffles in between them.
"Karkat!" says Kankri, as if in protest, but his fingers curl around the edge
of the bench and he keeps looking down at Karkat. Karkat ignores him and gropes
his chest, and watches Kankri bite his lip. It's hard to tell under his thick
jumpers, but Kankri is a little bit plump, and it makes it so satisfying for
Karkat to sink his fingers into his flesh. He squeezes and flicks Kankri's
nipples through thin cloth and feels Kankri squirm in his seat, a movement that
Karkat thinks of as peculiarly girlish.
Kankri's fun to tease, but this is a semi-public place and the choir are quite
audible through the wood, so Karkat takes his hands out from under Kankri's
jumper to squeeze his dick through his trousers. Kankri's thighs tense and he
makes a soft noise. Karkat gets his dick out without taking his eyes off his
face, so he gets to watch Kankri gnaw on his lip in anticipation.
Kankri's dick is engorged and hot with blood in his hand. He squeezes it,
swipes the foreskin over the head with his thumb, and watches Kankri's face
screw up further as he tries not to make a sound.
He could just give him a handjob and be done with it, but handjobs mean that
Kankri keeps trying to kiss him, and Karkat may have had his fingers up his big
brother's arse, but kissing on the mouth is too much like they actually like
each other, so instead Karkat seizes Kankri's plush thigh in one hand and with
the other guides his cock into his mouth.
Kankri makes a little muffled shrieky noise, slapping his hand over his mouth.
His thigh trembles in Karkat's hand. The choir sings on. Karkat sucks gently at
the head of his cock, remembering why he likes doing this. Kankri can deliver a
lecture all through an evacuation for a fire alarm test, but getting a blowjob
totally breaks his concentration. If he takes his hand away from his mouth now,
all the choir will be able to hear him, and as much as Karkat likes to hear his
brother embarrassing himself by making too-loud sex noises, watching Kankri go
pink in the face trying to hold it in is a pretty good substitute.
Karkat keeps sucking his dick in as relaxed a manner as he can carry off,
taking it half into his mouth and licking at it, then pulling back to rub his
tongue against the head, making Kankri make a little moany noise behind his
hand. Neither of them are notably above average: Karkat just hasn't done this
enough to be able to take more than a few inches of cock without gagging. His
technique seems to satisfy Kankri, at least, who clutches fretfully at his
shoulder because he's been told before not to yank Karkat's hair.
"Mngh!" Kankri's leg jerks and he screws his hips down into the bench, rocking
back and forth. It doesn't actually achieve anything, so Karkat lets him. The
muscles in his thighs clench more rapidly, and Karkat pulls off his cock to
give his mouth a break. His lips and palate feel weird after applying suction
for so long: he licks them, trying to get rid of the sensation. On the other
side of the wall, the choir have come to the end of God Rest Ye Merry
Gentlemen. They must have started in the middle, because he's sure he hasn't
been here that long. He hears thirty people all turning their sheet music at
once.
Kankri pulls his hand away from his mouth, breathing heavily. It has teeth
marks and a bit of drool on it, which Karkat wishes he didn't find as sexy as
he does. He squeezes Kankri's dick to see him jump and screw up his eyes and
bite his lip. He's normally such an enormous faceache, smug and self-satisfied
as any of the public school boys who supposedly share his subject, and the fact
that sucking him off shuts him up so effectively is most of the reason Karkat
enjoys it.
He considers the dick in his hand briefly as he prepares to put his mouth back
on it. He's not exactly a connoisseur of the male genitalia, and this one looks
much the same as any other, though it's the only erection he's actually seen in
person apart from his own. The special thing about it is who it's attached to;
that he knows that rubbing the glans hard will make Kankri squeak with
pleasure; that he knows it's hard for him.
His mouth feels normal again, so he slides his lips around it again. It feels
big in his mouth; the first few times they did this he was convinced he
couldn't keep his teeth out of the way.
"Hah, Karkat-"
The sound of Kankri breathily whispering his name makes him suck harder, and he
sees Kankri's hand fly to his mouth again. He's biting the heel of it,
spreading his legs wider. Karkat take his cock as deep as he can and listens to
him whimper.
The choir start up a piece he doesn't know, something not in English. Karkat
sucks off his brother with all he has until he feels Kankri tense, start
shuddering, dig his fingers into Karkat's shoulder hard, and come with a series
of throttled high-pitched moans, muffled into his hand. They must have heard -
yet somehow, the choir sings on.
Karkat stands up, yanking open his jeans and pulling out his cock, which has
been straining uncomfortably against his zip for the past ten minutes. Kankri,
slumped against the wall, rouses and takes his hand away from his mouth so
Karkat can push his dick into it. It's the only way to keep Kankri from kissing
him afterwards. He comes in about six seconds, shoving the hem of his jumper
into his mouth to muffle himself.
Aware of just how close they are to being discovered, they both pull themselves
and their clothing back together. Kankri's lips are red and puffy from being
bitten; Karkat knows his are worse.
"Anyway," he says quietly, "I guess I'll see you in Cafe Nero with Dad in-" he
checks his watch "-twenty minutes?" His voice is slightly hoarse: hopefully
that'll wear off before he sees Dad again, or he'll have to blame it on the
cold, and Dad gets so concerned about either of them potentially getting sick.
"Twenty minutes. Of course, Karkat." The flush is fading from Kankri's cheeks.
His voice, alas, remains perfectly normal.
If he were being uncharitable, Karkat might say that they only wanted Kankri to
do a reading because they'd get PC points for having an Indian guy: but the
truth is that Kankri has a really nice speaking voice, just like Dad, and he
reads very well. Karkat has vague memories of a smooth, gentle voice reading
him Harry Potter - that was back when Karkat was little and Kankri wasn't
insufferable yet.
"Sure, see you then." Karkat makes to leave, but Kankri stands up and holds his
arms out. Karkat stares at him for a long moment before realising what he
wants.
"No," he hisses, "absolutely not." Kankri and his fucking brotherly hugs
bullshit.
Kankri just tilts his head and keeps looking at him. Dad isn't around, so
Karkat could just abscond at this point and deal with being hugged only once
today, but when he goes for the doorway Kankri looks so pathetic that he
actually feels bad.
"Fine!" he says in an aggravated whisper, and lets himself be enfolded in his
brother's embrace. Kankri's arms wrap firmly around his waist and squeeze
gently. In fairness, Kankri's plumpness and big soft jumper make him a good hug
experience: the only other person Karkat hugs on a regular basis is Gamzee, who
can rest his sharp chin on the top of Karkat's head and judging by his
prominent ribs and knife-like elbows appears to subsist solely on weed. Karkat
regularly invites him home at Dad's urging so they can 'feed him up'.
Karkat, only an inch shorter than Kankri now, presses his nose into the collar
of his roll-neck jumper to smell familiar laundry detergent and unscented soap.
He'd never admit it, but the only way to make the smell more soothing would be
to add Dad's aftershave.
"See you then," he says again once he's extricated himself. His voice is still
hoarse, damnit.
"See you," echoes Kankri, smiling his polite 'approachable' smile again. Karkat
turns on his heel and leaves, his boots sounding heavily on the tile of the
chapel; he thinks one of the men in the choir gives him the evil eye as he
passes but fuck him, short of taking off his shoes he can't help it.
He emerges into the fresh December air and digs in his pockets for his gloves.
Is Kankri just going to sit there for the rest of their practice? Apparently.
He does love carols, after all. The sound of the choir fades behind him: yet
why should men on earth be sad, since our redeemer made us glad?
Why indeed? Karkat thinks, then wrinkles his nose. Kankri and his obnoxious
piety. Perhaps a year and a bit of a Theology course will have knocked some
sense into him: Karkat hopes so, in the interests of maintaining peace and
harmony in the Vantas household this Christmas. Unfortunately it probably
hasn't taken away his liking for sprouts, so Karkat's pleas to do Christmas the
Indian way this year are again doomed.
He's got ten minutes, so he heads to Heffers in search of the new Nora Roberts.
All the way through Cambridge's cobbled streets, scarf wrapped tight around his
throat, he can still feel the phantom warmth of Kankri's hands on him.
End Notes
     Yes, this was conceived while lying on the sofa watching this year's
     Carols From Kings.
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