Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/414953.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Walking_Dead_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Daryl_Dixon/Merle_Dixon
  Character:
      Merle_Dixon, Daryl_Dixon
  Additional Tags:
      Genderbending
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-05-28 Words: 1793
****** Playing with Fire ******
by veiledndarkness
Summary
     She hates the women he brings home for having what she can't. Written
     for the twd_kinkmeme on Livejournal.
She’s spent the better part of her life trying to keep up with her brother and
that’s no easy task.
Growing up with someone like Merle was daunting at best and she kind of hates
him but she loves him nonetheless. He’s rough and rude and nasty, but she still
wants him and there’s a part of herself that hates how much she wants him.
He treats her like a little brother. Except…except when she sees him watching
her.
There’s times when she can see him looking at her in ways he shouldn’t be and
it sends such a thrill through her. She feels vaguely guilty, like maybe she
wouldn’t feel that way about her big brother if she’d had a mother to teach her
how to be a normal girl, or that maybe it’s her fault that he stares like he
does.
He eyes her and she likes it, she likes the way he stares.
Maybe he’s too easy with his touches, maybe he holds her too close and when
they sleep outside during their hunts, he keeps one big arm around her waist,
holding her in tight and when her heart pounds the whole time he never says
anything about it.
She knows she’s nothing like the women he brings home from time to time. She
only knows that she hates them for touching him, for letting him use them and
she’ll spend hours brooding in silence until the bitches leave and Merle is
hers again.
It eats away at her and she can hardly breathe when she starts thinking about
everything she wants, everything she needs and how much she hates how she
feels. It isn’t right but she doesn’t give a shit. She wants him despite his
flaws, despite his attitude.
She thinks maybe, just maybe he wants her as bad and maybe that’s why the girls
he brings home piss her off more. She knows he cares, knows that he loves her
in his own rough way, so it only rubs salt in that never ending fucking aching
wound when he’s screwing some woman on the couch while she scowls at the
ceiling in her cramped bedroom.
It should be her and it just fuels her all the more until one day, a few months
shy of her seventeenth birthday, she sits down on his lap once he’s had enough
liquor to be sure that he won’t smack her upside the head for being forward
like that.
He stares at her and she tries to smile seductively at him, to entice him. He
rests one big hand on her knee, and she panics a little, afraid he’s going to
shove her off. His bottle of whiskey is hanging from his other hand and all she
can smell is the familiar scent of Merle and the all too familiar booze he
drinks religiously.
He doesn’t push her off though. No, he lifts his hand from her knee and he’s
rubbing two fingers down her cheek, wiping away a light smear of dirt that
she’d forgotten about yet again. Inwardly she cringes. Its times like this,
those little reminders that she doesn’t know shit about being a girl, not when
she’s been raised like she was a scrappy little boy.
She forces a smile again, tries to smile like she sees the women in Merle’s
magazines do, pout all sexy like and she only feels stupid when he raises an
eyebrow at her. He’s moving his fingers down her cheek, sliding over her neck
and she can’t help but move into the touch, shivering a little at the feel of
his calloused fingers.
“There a reason why yer sittin’ on me?” Merle asks, more amused than anything
else.
She shakes her head mutely. There’s no good reason she can think of besides the
truth and what if he says no? She leans back, her back pressed to Merle’s
chest, to the warm expanse of skin that’s revealed by his open vest and if
she’s holding her breath, it’s not her fault.
Merle’s hand settles on her shoulder, rubbing a lazy circle over her skin, his
thumb brushing under the edges of her worn tank top. She shivers again,
goosebumps racing down her body.
“Cat gotcha tongue, girl?”
“No,” she mumbles and tucks her head under his chin, feeling his heart beating
through his chest against her back. She licks her lips and tries to think of
something to say, her hips squirming back and forth. She’s nervous, more than
nervous but she can feel it, that slowly growing hardness under her backside
and it bolsters her confidence.
“Must be some reason why yer rubbin’ up on me like this,” he whispers in her
ear, his lips brushing over the lobe.
She stares into the fire pit that Merle’s had going for a few hours. There’s
nothing but a blanket of stars above them and the trailer is a dark shadow
behind their campfire. There’s nobody around and the flames are dancing at her
feet, gleaming and hypnotic.
Merle slides his hand down from her shoulder, slinking around her waist to hold
her in tight. “Asked you a question an’ ya best answer me,” he warns and she
can’t hold back the tiny gasp that squeaks out of her when his arm tightens
more.
“I…” she licks her lips. “Jus’ wanted to, s’all.”
“Uh huh,” he croons in her ear, “Yer playin’ with fire, little girl.”
A blush spreads over her face and her cheeks burn. “Ain’t so little anymore,”
she says carefully, letting one hand grip the side of Merle’s thigh. “Not that
you been noticin’.”
“That so?” Merle laughs a bit an’ there’s a brush of his lips over her neck and
now, now her skin’s tingling all over.
“Uh huh,” she mutters and squirms again and yeah, it’s there for sure now,
harder, pressing against her. Her mouth is dry but her heart’s pounding a mile
a minute. “Too busy with those skanks from town ta pay attention anymore.”
His chuckle is breathy and his lips are lingering on the nape of her neck, his
face buried in the hair that nearly brushes her shoulders. She tips her head
forward, giving him room, her legs trembling when she feels him nosing over her
neck, breathing her in.
“Jealous?” he asks and there’s enough smugness in his voice to make her curl
her hands into fists at her sides.
“No.”
Merle snorts softly and his bottle of whiskey slips down to the ground, freeing
his other hand. He’s got one hand around her waist; the other is sliding one
strap of her tank top down, dragging over slowly over her arm. “Liar,” he
murmurs, his thumb brushing down over the skin exposed, working the straps down
on both sides.
She’s nearly forgotten how to breathe and her heartbeat is pounding in her
ears, roaring over the slow, raspy voice of her brother. She can feel his hand
moving under the material of her tank, down to her chest and she feels her
breath catch in her throat when his fingers cup her left breast.
She holds perfectly still, staring into the fire as the pad of his thumb rubs a
teasingly slow circle over her nipple. She can’t move, can’t breathe and all
she can think of is how hard Merle is under her backside.
“This what ya want?” he croons to her, his thumb and forefinger tugging just a
little, enough to send a bolt of lust spiralling right through her. “Been
touchin’ yerself, thinkin’ ‘bout this?”
Her face burns with shame and desire. She has, far too many times to count. “N-
No…”
“Always were a shitty liar,” he chuckles and then her top is down, the material
draped around her hips, naked from the waist up. “Lie back now, tell me whatchu
been thinkin’, huh girl?”
She does as he says because she always has, and she lays back against his chest
again, her nipples hard, her lips parted as she breathes. Merle’s hands roam
over her stomach and chest, cupping and stroking and tugging until her hips are
wriggling about, until she’s panting and gripping his thighs for balance.
Her skin is on fire now, her small breasts trapped in Merle’s knowing fingers.
She presses her thighs in tight and tries to ignore how wet her skin is between
her legs. “God,” she chokes, gasping as he tugs on her nipples, rubbing them
harder than before.
Merle licks a stripe along her neck, nosing over the somewhat tangled strands.
“Know what ya want, I know, don’tchu worry, little sister,” he says as he lets
go of one breast long enough to reach for the button on her shorts.
She bites at her bottom lip, struggling not to whine when he moves his hand,
only to suck in a shaky breath at the feel of air on her damp thighs, at the
realization that Merle’s tugged her shorts down to her ankles. She can only
stare at his hand as he dips into her panties, the fabric strained by the size
of his fingers.
“Ahh, there we go,” he says and it’s through a haze of dizziness that she hears
the pleasure in his voice when his fingers touch her slick skin.
Her mouth hangs open and she pants unabashedly as he strokes her, one long
finger parting her, rubbing just where she needs it most, rubbing in that slow,
lazy way of his until she thinks she might scream.
She’s moaning, rocking back and forth on him, her hands coming up to hold his
shoulders. She can still feel Merle’s cock, hard and long and trapped in his
pants under her and she chokes on a sob at the idea of riding it.
Merle laughs a little, like he knows what she’s thinking, and brings one hand
back up to her right breast. He’s rubbing over her breast again, toying with
her expertly, his finger still rubbing faster, then slower, then faster again,
bringing her closer and closer to the edge.
“M-Merle,” she whimpers as her body stiffens and he pinches her nipple gently
right as he pushes his finger inside her and she’s coming with a broken sob,
rocking back and forth on him as she shudders, coming hard onto his fingers.
“Easy girl,” he whispers in her ear, still stroking her inside her soaked
panties, “Easy now, s’alright.”
She turns her head to the side, burying her face in Merle’s neck, shaking
faintly. She licks her lips and all she can smell is Merle, all she can feel is
his solid warmth and the tiny bursts of pleasure still radiating from her body.
She closes her eyes and clings to him tighter, pleased.
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their work!
 pancakes in a pan. “Good morning,” Lucifer offers as he reaches over
the grab a blueberry pancake off a plate on the back burner.
Michael doesn’t even chastise him; he only smiles and hums happily to himself
as he flips another pancake, before sliding it onto the plate. “Morning! How’d
you sleep?” Michael’s voice is a little too cheery for Lucifer and he laughs,
tearing the pancake in his hand in half before stuffing a piece into his mouth.
He chews, swallows, and watches Michael carefully. “I slept great,” he admits
because, really, he did sleep pretty well after getting off, “how about you?”
“I slept okay,” Michael shrugs as he pours batter into the pan and giggles at
the sizzling; he’s always loved to cook and his giggle only reminds Lucifer of
just how young Michael really is.
“Just okay?” Lucifer pops the other half of the pancake into his mouth, chewing
as he watches hesitation flash across Michael’s face before he turns back to
the pan, chewing on his lower lip. “What’s wrong?”
Looking up, Michael locks eyes with Lucifer and shakes his head. “Nothing,” he
replies quietly, turning back to the pan, flipping the pancakes over. Lucifer
sighs heavily but doesn’t push it, doesn’t ask Michael what’s going on when
there’s something clearly wrong with him — or maybe it’s Lucifer’s imagination.
They stand in silence for a while until their mother comes in, dressed in her
scrubs, announcing that she has to go cover for one of the other nurses.
Lucifer leans against the counter and smiles when she comes over and kisses his
cheek, muttering something about going out and doing something with Michael.
When she gets to his brother, Lucifer watches as they hug each other and he
wonders how long he’ll keep his sexual encounters away from their mother; it
would kill her to know that her youngest son is a sexual deviant. She leaves
shortly after that, taking a container of pancakes with her, bidding both her
sons goodbye as she walks out the door.
Michael waits a few minutes before turning to Lucifer. “You didn’t tell her,”
he says, forming the statement to sound like a question and Lucifer shakes his
head, snatching another pancake off of the plate. 
“I didn’t tell her,” Lucifer says in a flat voice before moving to the living
room. He sits on the couch and leans back, pulling his feet up, resting his
heels against the edge of the coffee table. As he sits there, Lucifer listens
to Michael in the kitchen and he eats slowly, chewing as he thinks of what he
and his brother could do on a Saturday. 
When Lucifer’s done with his pancake, he wipes his hands on his pajama bottoms
and reaches over to grab the remote from the table, turning the television on.
He goes through the channels once and finally decides on a movie that he’s
never seen before, but it looks to be the most interesting thing on at the
hour. 
“Hey, Mikey?” Lucifer calls out, leaning back against the couch, an arm thrown
over the back of it; he grins when Michael comes out of the kitchen, standing
only a few feet away from where Lucifer is sitting. “Why don’t you just leave
the dishes for later, huh? Come spend some time with your brother.” He can see
the hesitation on Michael’s face, watches as he turns back (no doubt looking at
the sink full of dishes) and smiles when the kid nods.
Michael moves toward the couch and jumps over the arm, settling into a spot
next to Lucifer, but far enough away so that they’re not touching. It’s
probably for the best, Lucifer thinks as he crosses his arms over his chest and
runs his tongue along his teeth.
They watch the movie in silence for a while and Lucifer’s mind starts wandering
off; he thinks about what he did last night and what Michael admitted to him
and he swallows hard, closing his eyes. His head tips back against the couch
and he sighs heavily, thinking about Michael on the middle of his bed,
squirming underneath him as Lucifer fucks him nice and slow.
He’s not sure how long he sits there, thinking about fucking his brother and
doing other things to him, but when the weight beside him shifts and
disappears, Lucifer snaps his eyes open. Turning to Michael, he frowns when he
sees that his brother is walking back to the kitchen and suddenly a light bulb
goes off in his head. 
Swallowing hard, Lucifer gets to his feet and turns the television off before
moving to the kitchen, standing right behind Michael. At first he just watches;
he leans against the counter, crosses is legs at the ankles and watches Michael
wash the dishes. This gets boring after a while and pushes off the counter,
moving his hands around the front of Michael’s pajamas, settling his hands just
over the waistband.
“Lucifer, what are you doing?” Michael’s voice sounds alarmed but otherwise
calm as Lucifer bends down, breathing against the shell of Michael’s ear. He
doesn’t think that his brother wants this until Michael groans and tips his
head back, laying it on Lucifer’s shoulder.
Perfect, Lucifer thinks to himself as he bites Michael’s earlobe. “I can’t stop
thinking about Dean’s hands all over you,” he whispers, words falling against
Michael’s ear in a soft breath, “and your hands all over him, that filthy old
man that seduced my baby brother.” Lucifer knows that it’s not true — that it’s
the other way around — but he says it anyway.
A moan falls from Michael’s lips and he drops the plate he had in his hand; it
clatters into the sink, but doesn’t break, something they’re both grateful for.
He moves his wet hands to Lucifer’s and squeezes them, his fingertips moving
along the backs of his brother’s hands, inching toward his wrist.
“Can’t stop thinking that you should be mine, Mikey,” Lucifer breathes the
words out and sucks on a spot near the hickey Dean left; he bites down on the
skin until Michael lets out a loud groan, then he pulls back. “I thought about
you, fucking him, and I got so turned on — but I was also jealous, thinking
about him fucking you for the first time. Did he, Mikey? Was Dean your first?”
Michael pulls his head away from Lucifer’s shoulder and shakes it, sucking in a
deep breath when his brother grinds against his ass; he squeaks and moves his
hands to the edge of the sink. “No, he wasn’t — wasn’t the first,” he whispers,
biting down on his lower lip, trying not to push back against Lucifer.
“Then who was, Mikey?” The words come out as a growl and Lucifer presses
Michael against the counter, moving both hands to his, holding them against the
sink. “Some boy at your school, huh? Some kid that had a crush on you and you
let fuck because you wanted it, like the slut you are.”
Swallowing hard, Michael nods and groans out, “Yeah, a senior.”
“No surprise there,” Lucifer chuckles, pulling away from Michael, dropping his
hands at his sides, stuffing them into his pockets. “Do you ever think about
me, Mikey?” He asks this casually, like they’re talking about the weather or
what’s on TV, as he leans back against the counter, watching as Michael turns,
eyes locking on his own.
“What do you mean?” Michael asks, voice tight and squeaky; Lucifer laughs
quietly at it, shaking his head slowly as he licks his lips. He looks at
Michael and wonders how long he’s been having sex, or how long he’s even been
into guys; Lucifer knew that he was into men when he was thirteen, he just
never told anyone — not even Michael.
Sighing, Lucifer crosses his arms over his chest. “I mean, have you thought
about me in a way that you shouldn’t have? Thought about me while you were
fucking someone else, maybe even touching yourself.” The look on Michael’s face
answers Lucifer’s question; the blush that creeps across his brother’s cheeks
makes him smile and he moves forward.
When he’s an inch away from Michael, Lucifer cups his jaw lightly and tilts his
face up, leaning down to brush their lips together. The kiss is soft and slow
at first, messy and awkward and Lucifer has to stop himself from laughing when
he realizes that his brother probably hasn’t had many sexual experiences. 
“How many times have you been with a guy?” Lucifer asks when he pulls away, his
mouth only a couple of inches away from Michael’s. His brother’s lips part and
his tongue darts over the lower one, tracing it carefully as he thinks,
shrugging his shoulders quickly. “You can tell me,” Lucifer reassures him,
thumbing across his cheek slowly, smiling.
“Not many - just the senior and Dean.” The admission makes Lucifer’s body
tingle and he can feel his cock harden in his pajama pants; in the back of his
mind, Lucifer knows that this is wrong and he pushes the thoughts away, burying
them deeper. 
His smile grows and he nods. “That’s okay. Have you ever given a blowjob?”
Michael shakes his head, his cheeks turning a darker shade of crimson; Lucifer
thinks that it’s adorable and leans in carefully, kissing the blush, his lips
dragging across Michael’s skin before he pulls away. 
“Come on.” Lucifer takes Michael’s hand and pulls him toward the hallway,
leading him to his bedroom, pushing the door open with his foot. He pushes
Michael inside and follows, shutting and locking the door behind them, though
Lucifer knows that their mother will be gone until late in the evening. “Take
your clothes off and get on the bed for me, Mikey.” 
Lucifer leans back against the door and watches as Michael stops near the
bedroom; he throws a look back at Lucifer, who smiles at him and licks his
lips, waiting. With a sigh, Michael pulls his shirt off and tosses it onto the
floor, hands immediately going to his pajama pants; with quick fingers, he
unties them and pushes the elastic down his hips, letting the fabric slide down
his legs.
From the door, Lucifer watches and bites his lower lip, looking at Michael’s
naked body, admiring it quietly; the voice in the back of his head pipes up and
reminds him that Michael is his brother — that he’s only sixteen. He ignores
the voice and watches as his brother moves to the bed, laying on the mattress
on his back, legs spread like this he’s done this a dozen times before.
“Good boy,” Lucifer breathes, pushing off the door to move over to the bed,
kneeling against the edge of the mattress, moving a hand along Michael’s
stomach, feeling him shuddering underneath the touch. He smiles and drags his
fingers between Michael’s abs before dragging them down to his cock, teasing
the head slowly. “You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, before moving onto the bed
between his brother’s legs, spreading them with his knees.
Something like a squeak comes from Michael’s throat and he spreads his legs as
wide as they’ll go, eyes locked on Lucifer, bottom lip caught between his
teeth. He breathes evenly, sucking each breath through his nose and exhaling
quietly, his chest rising and falling; Lucifer bends down to kiss it, fearful
that Michael may be anxious or nervous about this. “Don’t worry,” he whispers
against his chest, “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”
The words seem to calm Michael and he breathes slowly, his head tilting back
against the pillow, one hand going to Lucifer’s hair, long fingers tangling in
it, giving it a few tugs. A hiss leaves Lucifer’s lips and he kisses Michael’s
chest, biting in a few places before he moves down, kissing and licking his
stomach, making his way down to his brother’s cock.
When Lucifer gets low enough, he licks a stripe across the head of Michael’s
cock and grins when he sucks in a deep breath, the fingers in his hair
tightening. He does it again and slides his tongue down the underside, before
moving over Michael’s balls, reveling in the noises he pulls from his brother’s
throat.
“Turn onto your stomach,” Lucifer mumbles before giving Michael’s balls one
last, long lick; he sits up on his knees and watches Michael turn over on. Once
he’s face down, Lucifer pulls him onto his knees and spreads his legs slowly,
moving both hands up the backs of his thighs; he spreads Michael’s ass and
leans down, pressing the flat of his tongue against his entrance.
“Oh,” Michael moans, arching his chest toward the bed, sticking his ass out
more, fingers tangling in the sheets. Chuckling from behind, Lucifer keeps
licking and pressing his tongue against Michael’s ass harder, just barely
slipping the tongue in once before pulling it out. He spreads his cheeks more
and spits on Michael’s entrance before leaning back in, licking him until
Michael is a squirming, writhing mess in his hands, his body shaking so bad
that Lucifer actually stops for a moment.
A variety of noises and curse words come from Michael’s mouth and Lucifer licks
his lips, leaning in to lick his ass harder. He shakes his head from side to
side and tries to get his tongue in further, moaning at the way Michael pushes
back against him and the way he moans his name. The soft moan that holds his
name makes Lucifer’s cock throb in his pajama bottoms and he growls against
Michael’s ass, squeezing both cheeks roughly.
“God, Michael, your ass is perfect,” Lucifer mumbles before spitting on
Michael’s entrance again; he keeps licking until Michael screams that he’s
going to come and then he pulls away, letting go of his ass. A whimper fills
the room, high and drawn out, and Lucifer smirks, moving his fingers over
Michael’s entrance that’s still wet from where he spit on it.
“Want you to fuck me..” The words come out in a squeak and Lucifer leans
forward, pressing his lips against Michael’s shoulder; he barely hears the
words and he chuckles against his brother’s skin, pushing a finger inside. He
groans at just how tight and hot Michael feels around the digit and he pushes
it in further, listening to the loud, drawn out moans he elicits from Michael.
The finger slips in and out with ease, guiding by Lucifer’s spit, and he pulls
the digit out, pressing a second against Michael’s entrance. He pushes in
slowly and carefully, listening to the way his brother’s breath hitches in his
throat; Lucifer would guess that it’s been a while since he’s been fucked, so
he decides to go slow. 
Eventually, Lucifer works a rhythm and he pumps his fingers in and out of
Michael quickly, moving a hand around to his cock, just barely touching it. The
touch sends an electric shock of pleasure down Michael’s spine and he bucks
back against Lucifer’s hand, fucking his fingers slowly as he rides the
pleasure out. With small touches to Michael’s cock, Lucifer starts to scissor
his fingers slowly, working his younger brother open, listening to him come
undone underneath him.
“You wanna come, Mikey?” Lucifer’s voice is raw and low, rough when the words
come out and even worse when he moans, feeling Michael’s muscles clench around
his fingers. He gets his answer in the form of a throaty moan, the buck of
Michael’s hips, and the slick precome that’s coating his fingers when they move
across the head of his cock.
Lucifer pulls his fingers out and leans down, spitting on Michael’s entrance
before pressing three against them, pushing them back in slowly. He grips the
base of Michael’s cock and strokes him slowly, working both hands in time with
one another, listening to the moans and whimpers that come from Michael’s
chest; each noise goes straight to Lucifer’s cock and he bites down on his lip.
“Come on,” he encourages, twisting his wrist as he strokes Michael harder,
causing him to moan loudly, “come for me and I’ll fuck you.” Lucifer crooks his
fingers and starts separating them more, pulling a scream from Michael’s throat
as he comes, hips bucking back and forth as he buries his face in a pillow,
muffling his noises. 
Stilling his fingers, Lucifer keeps stroking Michael through his orgasm,
leaning over to kiss the middle of his back, whispering things against it; he
tells Michael it’s okay, that he’s got him, and he pulls his hand away from his
brothers cock. Lucifer wipes his hand on the sheets and laughs, thinking about
how he’ll have to clean them before their mother comes home, but he’s not too
worried about that. 
He settles back on his heels and rubs Michael’s thigh slowly. “How was that?”
“G-good,” Michael stammers, breathing hard as he pushes away from the pillow,
letting out a heavy sigh. “The hardest I’ve — I’ve c-come in a while,” he
admits, and Lucifer imagines that his face is bright pink from blushing, the
thought bringing a smile to his face. 
“I’m glad,” he replies, pulling his fingers out of Michael slowly, apologizing
when he hisses. Lucifer knows that he should have used more lube, but he was
too caught up in the moment; he wonders, for a moment, if Michael’s okay to be
fucked, and decides to ask. “Do you think that you’ll be able to take my cock,
or is your ass too sore? We don’t have to do it today — we can wait a while, if
it’s too bad.”
Michael shakes his head and looks at Lucifer over his shoulder. “I’m good,” he
replies, giving his older brother a smile, grazing his teeth over his bottom
lip. Lucifer nods his head and mumbles okay, leaning over to run a hand through
Michael’s hair, pushing the sweaty, messy locks away from his face, smiling at
him.
They sit in silence while Michael calms down, his breathing returning to normal
as Lucifer cards a hand through his hair, still smiling at him; he ignores the
fact that his cock is throbbing in his pajama bottoms and focuses on Michael.
When his brother nods his head, Lucifer takes that as a sign that he’s ready
and he moves off the bed, walking over to the dresser.
“Sit on the edge of the bed,” Lucifer says as he opens a drawer, pulling out a
bottle of lube and a condom, putting the wrapper between his lips as he shuts
the drawer. He turns and sees that Michael listened; he’s sitting on the edge
of the mattress, both hands on his lap, cock already half-hard again. “Jesus,”
Lucifer mumbles around the wrapper as he steps forward, dropping the things
onto the bed. 
Michael pushes Lucifer’s pajama pants down without being asked and he growls,
lifting a hand to the back of the youngest’s neck, cupping it lightly. His
fingertips brush along the hair that lies at the base of his skull and he
breathes deeply through his nose, giving his cock a stroke before pulling
Michael forward, giving him a silent command.
“Just go slow, okay? Don’t take too much and try not to use your teeth; it’s
okay if you use a little, but don’t scrape my cock too badly,” Lucifer laughs
the last few words out and tightens his grip on Michael’s neck, shuddering when
he feels his soft lips move over the head of his cock.
It takes all Lucifer has not to open Michael’s mouth with his fingers and shove
his cock into it, fuck his face and make him gag. He reminds himself that this
is the first time Michael’s done this, and he doesn’t wanna scare the kid off
blowjobs forever, so he lets him take his time, lets him explore and get the
hang of it.
Michael starts off with slow, tentative licks along the head before he wraps
his lips around it, sucking carefully; the feeling is intense and Lucifer has
to stop his hips from bucking forward. He bites his lip and looks down,
watching as the head of his cock disappears between Michael’s lips and damn if
that kid doesn’t have a mouth and lips that were made for sucking cock.
“That’s it,” Lucifer praises, smoothing a hand over the back of Michael’s head,
moaning softly, “just like that, take a little more — fuck.” When a few inches
of his cock slide between Michael’s lips and he starts sucking messily, Lucifer
groans and drops his head back, eyes shutting tightly. 
Moving both hands to the back of Michael’s head, Lucifer guides him gently,
helping him bob his head until he feels him gag around his cock; Michael pulls
off, mutters an apology and, just when Lucifer’s about to say it’s alright, he
sinks back down onto his cock.
A loud groan leaves Lucifer’s chest and he pants heavily, fingers tangling in
Michael’s long, black locks, tugging them fiercely. He’s trying to get Michael
to come forward, to take more of his cock, but his brother doesn’t budge; he
stays in one place, sucking his cock without finesse or any sort of rhythm,
though Lucifer doesn’t mind. The whole thing is awkward and messy — he can hear
just how sloppy Michael is with his sucking — and Lucifer’s head is dizzy, his
chest tightening as he tries to remember to breathe.
“Okay, gotta stop, Mikey,” Lucifer chuckles breathlessly, pulling his cock away
from his brother’s lips, groaning at the disappointing whine Michael makes.
“I’m gonna come if you don’t stop, and I wanna fuck you first,” he adds,
stroking his cock once before reaching over to grab the condom off the bed.
Michael pouts and it’s the sexiest pout Lucifer has ever seen. “I can suck your
cock later, if you want,” he says, the statement sounding more like a question.
“Yeah,” Lucifer replies, licking his lips as he tears the wrapper open, “you
can suck my cock all you want, at least until mom comes home.” It’s the first
time either of them has mentioned their mother and Lucifer stops for a second,
looking at Michael quietly. When his younger brother gives no sign that he
wants to stop or that he feels guilty, Lucifer takes the condom out and rolls
it over his cock.
As he strokes himself, Lucifer looks at Michael and chews his lip, thinking for
a second before turning to his closet. He grabs a belt from a hanger in the
back of the door and shuts it with his foot, coming over to the bed. “Get on
your knees and wrap your hands around the post on the headboard,” he commands,
watching as Michael obeys. 
It takes Michael a minute to get situated on his knees and he sticks his ass
out when he’s ready, hands wrapped around the middle post of the headboard. He
looks at Lucifer over his shoulder and grins, biting at his lower lip, his face
and neck flushed slightly; Lucifer thinks it’s adorable in a weirdly sexy way,
and he smiles back. 
“I’m going to use this to keep your hands in place,” he explains, showing
Michael the belt before he loops it around his wrists, working it back to wrap
around the post. It takes three loops before Lucifer and secure the belt and he
moves Michael’s wrists, testing the security of the belt, grinning when it
doesn’t slip. “Perfect,” he mutters, moving to take his position on the bed
behind Michael.
Lucifer grabs the bottle of lube and pops it open, pouring some of it onto his
cock before stroking it in, rubbing the excess against Michael’s entrance. He
slips two fingers into his brother without warning and scissors them just as
Michael starts to moan, his lips curving into a slight grin.
“Fuck — fuck me, Luce. God, please.” Michael begs incessantly and Lucifer pulls
his fingers out, immediately replacing them with the head of his cock, rubbing
it along the outside of Michael’s entrance. He teases for a moment, getting the
kid nice and turned on, making him beg louder before he slides in quickly, the
head of his cock pushing past the first ring of muscles.
The feeling of tight heat has tripled from what it was when Lucifer had his
fingers in Michael; he groans as he pushes another inch of his cock into the
kid, moving a hand to his hair, gripping it tightly. Pushing in slowly, Lucifer
moans Michael’s name out and gasps loudly before bottoming out, feeling the
muscles clench around him.
It’s almost too much for Lucifer to bear and he wants to come right there; he’s
never been inside of someone so tight and he doesn’t know how long he’ll last.
He gives Michael a moment to adjust before rocking his hips against his ass,
moving his free hand to the space between his brother’s shoulders, pressing his
palm against it. 
Moments pass and Lucifer pulls out halfway, only to slam back in roughly, the
sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air, mingling with their
noises; Michael is panting heavily and whispering Lucifer’s name like a prayer,
which only makes him pull out and thrust in harder. The first few thrusts he
gets in make Lucifer’s entire body shudder and he feels Michael clench around
him again, slipping a hand down to his hip, gripping it hard enough to bruise. 
“Lucifer, fuck me harder,” Michael begs, his voice is high and the last half of
‘harder’ comes out as a moan. Without hesitation, Lucifer pulls out all the way
and slams back in, leaning over Michael’s body, panting against his shoulder
before biting it hard enough to break the skin.
A loud moan fills the room and Lucifer’s hips start jabbing against Michael’s
ass harder, already losing rhythm before he had the chance to really establish
one. He sucks on the bite mark and laves his tongue over it, his fingers
digging into Michael’s hips roughly as he bites down again, determined to mark
Michael as his.
While Lucifer fucks him and bites his shoulder, Michael tugs on the belt and
pushes back against his brother, moaning his name loudly; he wants to stroke
his cock, wants desperately to come again, but he knows that he can’t. His
breath comes out in short pants, accompanied by high keening noises and several
curse words that Lucifer usually chastises him about using.
“Want me to stroke your cock,” Lucifer pants out when he pulls away; it’s not a
question, but Michael moans out a yes anyway, bucking his hips back against
Lucifer. When he feels a hand wrap around his cock, Michael nearly screams and
fucks into Lucifer’s fist before pushing back against his hips, trying to get
him to go harder.
The way that Michael is working his hips and moaning, it all goes to Lucifer’s
head and he fucks him harder; their skin slaps together roughly and Lucifer can
feel his entire body trembling, his hand slips off of Michael’s cock a few
times. When the kid whines, Lucifer puts his hand back and strokes in time with
his thrusts, hitting something inside of Michael that makes him moan out,
saying that he’s getting closer to coming each time.
It takes a handful of thrusts and another few strokes for Michael to come a
second time; he clenches his eyes shut and grits his teeth before moaning
Lucifer’s name out at the top of his lungs. As he comes down, he pants heavily
and whimpers, digging his fingertips into the backs of his other fingers.
“Jesus.. Lucifer.”
“I know,” Lucifer growls out, moving his come-covered hand to Michael’s hair,
tugging roughly at it as he latches back onto the bite mark on his shoulder. He
bites down harder and sucks roughly, his hips slamming against Michael’s ass
harder as his orgasm builds; he moans against his brother’s skin, tasting a
hint of blood on his tongue but he doesn’t care about that.
With one final thrust, Lucifer sinks his teeth into Michael’s skin harder than
before and sucks, moaning around it as he comes hard. His body shakes, fingers
trembling as he drops them away from Michael’s hair, pressing his palm against
the small of his back. One last thrust and Lucifer’s done; he pulls his mouth
away and pants heavily, moaning Michael’s name quietly before collapsing
against his back.
Neither of them say anything for a long time; they just breathe quietly and
Lucifer kisses Michael’s shoulder gently, running his hand up and down his
spine. When he feels like he can move successfully and without falling, Lucifer
pulls out of Michael and shushes him when he whines. “You’re fine,” he says,
kissing the middle of his brother’s back before pulling the condom off. 
He lays the used latex on the bed and undoes Michael’s hands enough to the
point where he can free himself, grabbing the condom as he gets off the bed.
Walking to the bathroom proves to be a difficult feat but Lucifer holds onto
the wall the entire way and stops when his legs shaky too badly. 
Once inside the bathroom, Lucifer drops the condom into the trash can,
reminding himself to clean it out before his mother gets home. He looks at
himself in the mirror and laughs at how sweaty his skin is and how his hair is
sticking out in a dozen different directions. Shaking his head, Lucifer grabs a
towel and wets one end of it, flipping the lights off as he heads back out into
the hall.
Walking back to his room is easier and he gets there without having to rely on
the wall too much, finding Michael laying on the bed, which has been stripped
of the sheets. 
“Thanks,” Lucifer says with a smile.
Michael shrugs and grins lazily. “Didn’t wanna lay in come,” he replies.
They laugh and Lucifer shakes his head, coming over to the bed, running the
towel along Michael’s cock, biting his lip when the kid hisses. He sits him up
a little and presses the wet end of the cloth against the mark on his shoulder,
kissing his collarbone as he holds it there. “I’m sorry about that,” Lucifer
mutters, looking at the blood that’s on the towel, frowning.
“I don’t mind.” The words come out as a soft yawn and Lucifer smiles, turning
to kiss Michael’s temple, resting their heads together. They sit like this for
a while and don’t speak until Lucifer pulls the towel away and tosses it to the
floor. 
“C’mon,” he mumbles, pulling Michael down onto the bed, letting him lay in the
crook of his arm, “I’m beat. We can take a nap before we have to get up and
clean the house to make sure mom doesn’t know what we did.” Lucifer chuckles
quietly and leans his head against Michael’s, listening to him hum.
In a few minutes, Michael is out and Lucifer pulls a blanket over both of them,
wrapping both arms around his brother, holding him tight. He’s still jealous
that Dean’s had sex with Michael before him, but he knows, in his heart, that
Michael won’t go back to him, not after what they just did.
Lucifer falls asleep with a smile on his face and he dreams of doing other
things with Michael; by the time he wakes up, Michael’s not in bed and he
frowns, figuring he’s done something wrong. He looks over the side of the bed
and notices that the sheets are gone and he breathes a sigh of relief.
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