Chapter Text
You wake in a strange bed, with an unpleasant taste in your mouth and the distinct sensation that a tiny man has taken up residence in your brain cavity and is currently hammering nails to hang pictures on the inside of your skull. You hope he’s enjoying his new home. The room is dimly lit—the sun seems to be up, but the shades are drawn—so you can’t see a lot of detail. There’s a full glass of water on the bedside table, and as you stare at it, memories of last night slowly filter in through the hangover haze, and you realize that this is Dirk’s apartment. He left the water for you, you guess. You slowly maneuver yourself to sit on the edge of the bed and take a sip. You’re a little queasy, but the water helps ease your dry throat.
You don’t want to think about last night. So it was a mess; so you were a mess, metaphorically and literally. A weaker man might think that kind of nuclear fuckup was too much to brazen his way through, but you are not that man.
Strategy is key, though. You crack the door to check the terrain and find you have a clear path. Gratefully, you escape to the bathroom to empty your aching bladder and splash some cold water on your face. Leaning on the counter, you stare at yourself in the mirror. You don’t smell as bad as you might (you have a dim memory of showering last night), but you look pretty terrible. Mussed hair, dark circles under your eyes, and as an extra prick to your vanity, Dirk’s clothes are way too big on you, and you look like a kid wearing his dad’s clothes... which is uncomfortably close to the truth, especially given that there’s a dark purple hickey on your neck and Dirk put it there.
Casual is the way to go, you think. You take a deep breath and venture out into the common area. Dirk is on the couch in the living room, tapping away at his laptop—working, you suppose. Though his back is to the door, he must hear it open, but he doesn’t react. You flop down in the corner, as far from him as you can get, but try to project nonchalance. Your choice of seat is purely coincidental.
“How’s your head?” Dirk asks calmly. He doesn’t look up from his computer screen, but his awareness of you is so palpable you can practically feel it on your skin. “Stomach okay? You had quite a night last night.”
Shit, you sure fucking did. You wait for him to reference how it ended, but he just keeps typing, and you relax slightly.
“It’s a little fuzzy,” you hedge. It’s kind of true, but you remember Dirk’s hands and mouth on you, learning your body with terrifying thoroughness and precision, with vivid clarity. Worse, you remember all those sloppy emotions you vomited all over him. Also you came in your pants. You remember that.
“I remember it pretty well,” he says neutrally. “At least, the parts I was there for. Feel free to quiz me if you need anything cleared up.”
“Um, yeah, maybe later.”
“Sure. Are you hungry? I can make eggs, if you’d like. Protein is good for hangovers.”
“Not really.”
“You should eat. I’ll make you some eggs,” Dirk says decisively, as if he didn’t hear you. You’re too beat to argue with him, so you just watch from the couch as he gets to work in the kitchen. He moves confidently, like he knows what he’s doing. Your bro never cooked for you, or at all. He was more interested in stockpiling canned food than putting anything you could actually eat on the table.
“How do you like them?” he calls over, never halting his industrious movement.
“What?”
“Your eggs. How do you like them?”
“Oh. Scrambled, I guess.”
“Gotcha. Feel free to lie down if you need to. You must feel like hell.”
“I’m good,” you say, tucking your knees up against your chest. It’s kind of fascinating to watch him. Good with his hands, you think, and you feel your face heat as you remember, in technicolor, just how true that is. You don’t mind watching the muscles in his back work through his t-shirt, either.
Calling you to the table, he puts a plate of eggs in front of you and follows it up with a glass of water and some tylenol. His solicitous caretaking makes you feel like a child in a way that is disconcerting, but not entirely unpleasant. No one treated you this way when you actually were a child.
“No eggs for you?” you ask, as he sits opposite you.
“I ate earlier,” he says.
You make idle conversation with him as you eat, which gets easier as you feel the painkillers start to kick in. The eggs are good, but you’re not surprised by that; you’ve noticed that Dirk takes care to be skilled at everything he does.
As you push the remnants of your eggs around your plate, you idly kick your foot and your toes brush against Dirk’s ankle. It’s an accident, but you hear his breath hitch and then you watch him re-regulate it, and you just want to crack that iron self-control, mess with him and see him let loose a little. So you do it again, firmly and with intent. Since you already spilled your guts on the table you might as well get laid. He lets you feel up his ankle for several minutes before he speaks up.
“Do you want to talk about it, then?”
Your toes slide up his calf. “Talk about what?”
“What happened last night,” he says patiently, meeting your eyes without blinking.
“Does it look like I want to talk?” You smile at him, raising your eyebrows. Something changes in his face that you can’t quite identify.
“Right,” he says calmly, as if your foot isn’t creeping its way up his thigh. “Got it.” It’s almost at its goal when he stands abruptly, making you jump at the sound of his chair scraping on the floor. Before you realize what’s happening, he’s got a fistful of your shirt and he’s yanking you to your feet and shoving you backwards. Your back hits the wall with a satisfying thunk and his mouth is on yours and shit, he’s never kissed you like this before. The other times he was so careful—even last night when he took control—it was like he was trying not to spook you. There’s no trace of that caution in the way he grips your jaw, forcing it open for his tongue. You make a helpless noise, grateful for the way he’s pressing your body into the wall with his own, because you’re pretty sure you’d be on the floor without it.
As suddenly as he began, he stops kissing you. He pulls back, watching your face intently, and his hand slides up your torso to wrap long fingers around your throat—not hard enough to choke, just enough so you don’t have a choice but to look at him. With his other hand, he caresses your arm, so softly, up and down, as you stare at him wide-eyed.
“Are you sleeping with that guy?” he asks gently. “The one you were with last night. What was his name… Alex?”
It takes you a second to get your mind around the question.
“Sollux?” He nods patiently. “Yeah, sometimes.”
“Yesterday?”
You’re suddenly swamped with guilt, even though you have no good reason to be. You never made Dirk any promises. You’re not even together.
“Yeah.”
“Slut,” he says dispassionately, and your dick throbs. Like he could sense it, he wraps his hand around your semi through your sweatpants, not gently.
You manage a sliver of defiance, though your voice is breathy and strained: “That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”
“That’s alright,” he says soothingly, massaging you through the cloth, working you into full boner territory. “I knew who you were, and I’m more than happy to take advantage of it.”
“What?”
“Are you planning to let me fuck you, Dave? Right now?” He grinds his palm against your dick, and you swallow a moan.
“Yeah, I think I am,” you say slowly, with effort.
Dirk smiles at you like you’re a puppy who just successfully performed a new trick. Like he’s praising you. It’s kind of humiliating, but not as much as the fact that it’s working for you.
“I’d like you to be sure, Dave. I don’t handle disappointment well, you see.”
“Um…” You swallow hard. You should probably take a second to think about it before committing to incest, right? “I’m sure,” you say quietly, knowing it’s true.
“Good.” He kisses you softly on the lips, then grabs you and tosses you over his shoulder before you even know what’s happening.
An undignified whoosh of air passes your lips as you land on your back on the bed. He puts a knee on the edge of the bed between your legs and his fingers hover over your waistband.
“Last chance,” he warns you.
“Do it,” you say impatiently, and he yanks your borrowed sweatpants down, baring your dick.
“Christ, Dave.” He touches the piercing at the base of your cock, and you suck in a breath. “Was there a sale? Pierce your junk once, get three free?”
You wrestle yourself onto your elbows and leer up at him. “What, you don’t like it?” Your meat is indeed well-adorned, although you flatter yourself that it’s tastefully done, even elegant.
“I’m not sure yet. I’m going to need a closer look.” With a tug, he pulls your pants all the way down and off. “Spread your legs, Dave.” You comply eagerly, but he makes an impatient noise—evidently he feels you haven’t put yourself sufficiently on display for him—and sets strong hands on your thighs, forcing them almost uncomfortably wide. “Keep them like that,” he orders.
“Aye-aye, cap’n,” you smirk. If he’s trying to humiliate you, he’s forgotten that you’re more than used to being ogled in a state of undress. It’s what you thrive on. He gives you a hard look and a smack on the thigh for your insolence. “Ooh, Daddy,” you purr, “hit me harder.”
“Shut the fuck up, Dave.” He’s annoyingly calm and controlled, even though you know he’s hungry for you. Instead of falling on you the way you’d like, he examines your genitals in an almost clinical fashion, handling your cock delicately—you squirm, needing a firmer touch—and fingering each piece of jewelry in its turn. It feels like he’s been scrutinizing your junk for hours by the time he lifts your balls and finds the barbell piercing your taint. He prods it gently, and your dick jumps in response.
“You like that one,” he observes.
“Yeah, uh,” you babble, “that’s my favorite. I named it and everything. Be a pal and touch it again? Maybe harder?”
“No,” he says, standing up and leaving you spread and naked from the waist down on the bed as he looms over you. You may have underestimated his ability to fluster you, but you don’t hate it.
He takes his time undressing, but you enjoy the show, tossing off a flip comment about role reversal, which he snorts at. Once he’s stripped down to his boxers and retrieved the requisite supplies from his bedside table, he has you scoot up the bed. You try to roll over, but he pushes you onto your back with a heavy hand on your shoulder.
“I want to see your eyes,” he tells you, and it makes your heart thud unpleasantly against your rib cage. You put a hand on his chest, signaling time out.
“Hold up a sec,” you say. “I just wanna make sure we both understand what’s happening here. ‘Cause I feel like I did say I’m not lookin’ to get into anything messy.”
His face is unreadable. “Yes, you made that more than clear last night, despite your less than lucid state. Believe me, I’m not looking to give you anything you don’t wish to take. If all you want from me is casual sex, that is what you’ll get.”
You pretend to believe him. You’re good at pretending. “Cool. Carry on, then,” you say with an easy smile.
“Thanks for the go-ahead,” he says acerbically, “but I think it’s your turn to take some initiative now. You’ve been showing a stunning lack of reciprocity thus far.” Before you can open your mouth to object that he hasn’t exactly let you, he shows you exactly what he means, taking your hand and placing it on the bulge in his underwear. You are immediately distracted from your complaints—your eager little fingers can’t pull his boxers down fast enough so they can wrap themselves around his cock.
“Hello, big boy,” you coo, directly to Dirk’s penis, as if the man attached to it doesn’t exist. “You’re a looker, aren’t you? Bet you turn all the boys’ heads.”
“Dave.” Dirk is obviously trying to sound annoyed, but the effect is kind of ruined by the strain in his voice as you rub your thumb along the edge of his glans.
“What’s up, Dirk?” you ask innocently, not taking your eyes from your new favorite penis.
He heaves a sigh. “Nothing. Keep going.”
“Aces.” You give him a stroke, keeping the pressure light, and resume conversation with his dick. “And where do you wanna go today, little friend?”
“Here,” Dirk says shortly, pressing his fingers against your hole. “Does that sound good to you?”
You finally make eye contact, pouting. “Sure. I’m kinda hungry, though. Can he stop off here, first?” You slide a finger into your mouth and you can literally see Dirk’s field of vision narrow to that one point. It takes him several seconds to reply.
“No,” he finally says, with obvious reluctance. “You’re well overdue for a good fucking.”
“I just got fucked yesterday, though,” you point out, aware you’re playing with fire. “Did you forget already?”
His eyes narrow, possessive fire flaring in his amber irises, and he squeezes your balls just a touch too hard, making you moan. “I’m not convinced it was good,” he hisses. “I think I can do better.” Releasing your sack with a lingering caress, he squirts a gob of lube into his hand and starts coating his fingers slowly and deliberately. “Let’s find out if I can get you too wrecked to mouth off to me, hmm?” His finger massages the ring of muscle, then slides in. “I like my chances, personally.”
“Where has this Dirk been?” you wonder aloud, stretching your arms over your head and resting them in the pillows in a way that you know displays your body to its advantage. “He’s nasty. I like it.”
“This is me, Dave,” he says calmly, fitting a second finger into you and studying your reaction. “I’ve been here the whole time.” A third finger, and then he presses up, making you immediately forget what the two of you were talking about. Dirk leans over you, his fingers still working, and takes one of your nipples between his teeth, biting down hard enough to make you yelp, then soothing it with his tongue as he puts steady pressure on your prostate.
“Fuck,” you gasp. “I’m ready, fuck, put it in me.”
He lifts his head to stare at you, then slowly withdraws his fingers as you squirm.
“Ask nicely.”
You touch him imploringly, trailing fingers down his gorgeous chest. He could strip, you think, his body is that nice. “Please fuck me, Dirk. I want you to.”
“Good boy.” His smile is warm and genuine as he puts the bottle of lube in your hand. “Get me ready for you.”
“Fuck yes,” you say. “I’ll get right on that.”
When you’re done, Dirk helps you lift your hips, easing a pillow under them, and then he’s poised over you, dick in hand, guiding himself into you. It’s the biggest dick you’ve taken in a minute, and you groan at the stretch, digging your fingers into the mattress.
“God, that’s good,” you mumble. Dirk silences you with a kiss, and you tangle your tongue eagerly with his. He’s not as rough with you as you expected. Instead, he takes you apart with precision and care, thrusting deep but slow until you’re shaking under him. His hands touch your body like they’re learning it—feeling out your ribs, the dip of your waist, your hips. He stops there, fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises, to pull your hips up into his thrusts, letting him go so deep into you that you can’t help a stuttering cry. You wrap your legs around his waist, urge him on with heels digging into the small of his back. He rests his head against your neck, and his earlobe is right there, so you sink your teeth into it. He actually growls in response and picks up the pace, slamming his hips against yours so hard that you feel like you’re struggling to breathe. At the same time, he reaches between you to take hold of your erection, and you almost sob with relief. The way he’s been grinding over your prostate, it doesn’t take much before you’re a moaning, trembling mess.
“Are you close?” he murmurs in your ear. You nod frantically, and he presses a kiss to the corner of your jaw. “Ask me.”
“Please make me come?”
“I think I can manage that.” And he sure fucking does. You come hard, with a yell, your neck arching back into the pillows. He milks your dick through it, still thrusting, and within seconds you feel his body stiffen with his own orgasm. He makes a choked noise as it hits him, then slowly collapses over you.
“Damn,” you mumble. “We shoulda been doing that the whole time.”
He chuckles and lifts his head to kiss you softly. It’s a lazy kiss, open mouthed but low heat, asking little. You kiss him back, ignoring the unfamiliar warmth blooming deep in your chest. It’s nothing. This is fine. You can handle this.