Archive of Our Own ^beta

You’re a fuck-up. You’ve already accepted it. You accepted it years ago. It doesn’t bother you that much, not really, not anymore. You just try not to think too hard about it.

At least there’s one thing you haven’t fucked up so far, you allow yourself, eye trained on your brother. He’s alive. You’ve kept him alive and by your side. And that’s been your sole focus for the past seven, nearly eight years.

At least you didn’t fuck that up. The most important thing.

But you watch him as he crushes an empty beer can suspended in the air, an amused glint in his eyes, and relieved though you may be that he’s here, he’s with you, you weren’t separated and you've both made sure you never will be ever again… you wonder if you’ve fucked him up.

You weren’t prepared to raise a kid with superpowers at sixteen years old while on the run. There aren’t exactly any self-help books on that set of circumstances. You had to improvise the whole thing. You know you must have messed up countless times along the way, even though you did your best. You still do, surely. Maybe you shouldn’t let him say vulgar things so much so much. Maybe you shouldn’t engage in all your illegal activities around (and sometimes with) him. Maybe you shouldn’t let him use his powers to hurt people.

He gets that same glint in his eyes when crushing a human bone as he does crushing a beer can. And that’s probably your fault.

Again, you try not to linger on those thoughts. You did what you had to do. You both did. That’s all you ever do. Just… what you have to do.

And truth be told, you’re proud of him. At seventeen years old, he’s more of a man than you’ll ever be. He can protect the two of you better than you were ever able to. You wish he didn’t have to, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He seems perfectly content teaching a lesson to anyone who tries shit with the Diaz brothers.

More than content.

He looks over his shoulder at you. You whip your head back to the engine you’ve been working on like you were caught doing something bad. You feel like you have been doing something bad. You’ve been feeling that way a lot lately when you look at Daniel. In typical Sean fashion, you lock that train of thought back in the deepest corner of your mind. You have no desire to follow it.

You hear his footsteps approaching. You pretend you don’t. Then a hand, still chilled from the can resting in it fully intact just moments ago, claps your bare shoulder on your blind side. You flinch. He snorts at you.

“¿Sí, enano?” you sigh.

“I don’t think you can call me that anymore.” His smirk audible in the way he shapes his vowels. “I’m taller than you now…” He leans in closer, and his breath tickles your ear when he whispers, “ enano.”

You instinctively jab an elbow out, knocking it into your brother’s ribs, and laugh at him when he curls in on himself with a breathless “oof.”

You stop dead in your tracks when he straightens back up, grabs your wrist tight, and peers down at you with that glint in his eyes.

If you would stop to think about it, you wouldn’t be scared in the slightest. Daniel would never do anything to seriously harm you. Much like you for him, you know his primary focus in life is keeping you safe. You’re not in any danger. You never could be around him. But in this brief moment, you look up at your brother, and he makes you feel like you’re nothing but an empty beer can ready to be crushed, and you’re genuinely terrified.

You’re terrified, and you’re exhilarated, and you find yourself hoping, aching to beg your brother, do it. Please.

The moment passes as quickly as it arrived. Washed away by the steady river of passing time. Your arm is released and Daniel is laughing that breezy laugh of his like nothing happened.

As he casually asks you about plans for dinner, and you answer him easily while continuing work on this engine, you begin to think maybe nothing really did happen. It was just in your head. You’ve been on edge lately—you don’t know why, but you have—and it’s making your thoughts a bit crazy.

The two of you go to the little seafood place nearby that Daniel likes. Conversation is light and simple, with long stretches of comfortable silence as you eat and gaze out at the shimmering Sea of Cortez, and the weird interaction from earlier is effectively locked behind bars in your mind. Alongside every other thought and feeling you prefer to ignore.

You haven’t fucked with the other local gangs in a while. About a year, you think. You haven’t needed to. Business has been steady, thanks in part to yours being the only repair shop in the immediate area, but also simply because the general population likes you. When unprovoked, you’re pretty nice. And there’s still a good handful of older locals who remember your father fondly and treat his sons with kindness.

And you haven’t been fucked with during that time either. The stories about the two of you have spread, about los dos hermanos lobos. About the little one and his magic. Though you suppose they aren’t stories if they’re pretty much true.

Either way, Daniel’s reputation has kept unwanted company away for some time. Things have been calm. Calm for the longest stretch since that day in Seattle.

So you’ve let your guard down.

It happens when Daniel is at a party his friend Miguel is throwing. You gave him the “stay safe and have fun” talk Dad used to give you, handed him a wad of cash, and went to the garage to work on a car since you don’t have anything better to do on a Friday night without Daniel.

The garage door is open and you have two fans running for cross breeze. You thoughtlessly  discarded your shirt on the ground an hour ago. It’s a freakishly hot night, even for Mexico.

You don’t hear anything over the sounds of the fans. The first indication you aren’t alone is the business end of a pistol pressed against your temple.

You follow the directives shouted at you. Put your hands up, get on your knees. You reason in your head, over the sound of blood pumping in your ears, that it’ll be okay. You’ll give him the money he’ll ask for, he’ll probably rough you up a little, and then he’ll be on his way.

But he doesn’t ask for money. Apparently, that’s not what he’s after.

He’s talking a bit too quick for you, but from what you gather, your brother killed his brother, and he’s after vengeance.

Now you’re panicking. You have no idea what to do, how to help yourself. Daniel said he might spend the night at Miguel’s. He’s probably not coming home anytime soon. Your stomach churns at the image of him coming home to your dead body.

The butt of the pistol cracks across your cheek. Throbbing pain spreads down through the muscles of your jaw, and you feel warm blood trickle down your skin.

You’re shoved onto your back. A heavy boot stomps down on your chest, knocking all the air from your lungs.

You try to fight back. Of course you try. You rely on adrenaline and instinct to carry your punches and attempts to pry the gun from your attacker’s hands. All you’re having to show for it is raw, bloody knuckles, and ringing ears from a gunshot that you’re pretty sure just sent a bullet through your customer’s window.

This is it, you think, this is the day I finally die.

You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the next bullet to go through your skull. There’s honestly something poetic about it. Dying this way, after all you’ve done.

You’re almost excited for the end.

But tonight isn’t the night, it turns out. There’s a crash, and you open your eyes to see the man pressed into the side of the wrecked vehicle.

Your savior comes in the form of your little brother, who seems to intuitively know whenever you need to be rescued, and to be out for blood. He keeps his enemy pinned to the ground with his powers, but when he reaches him, he uses his bare hands to punch the daylights out of the man. Over and over and over again. All you see in Daniel’s eyes now is unadulterated rage. No hint of amusement. He isn’t having fun with this anymore. He’s just furious, more than you’ve ever seen him get, and the sensation wedged in the pit of your stomach tells you that he’s about to kill this guy right in your garage.

You pull yourself to your feet and stagger over to Daniel, catching his arm on an upswing. He whips around to face you, still holding the assailant by the collar, and the frenzied wrath coating his features sends a chill down your spine.

“Daniel, stop.”

“Why should I?” he seethes.

“We don’t need another body on our hands.”

He hesitates. Looks back down at the broken and bloodied man, grip tightening.

“Daniel. Please.”

Finally, Daniel loosens his grip and lets the man slump onto the floor. Your eyelids fall shut and you take a steadying breath.

And you hear the telltale crash of a body slamming against the wall at full force.

You look just in time to catch the tail end of its quick descent. The corpse rests there, silent, immobile. You follow its lead and let yourself sink to the ground.

And then it’s over.

“I can deal with him later,” Daniel says as he yanks the garage door down with a reverberating slam. “Right now, it’s time to take care of you.”

He rushes back over to where you lay, hands firm but tender as he helps you to your feet. When you can’t support your own weight, he lifts you up and carries you bridal style through the door and to the living area. The tips of your ears heat up.

“Daniel, you don’t have to—“

“Shh. Let me do this.”

You don’t try to argue with him. You never win arguments with him anyway. And you have to admit—not out loud of course—it feels good to let him take care of you. You no longer worry for his safety at every waking moment, but you will always have the underlying anxiety that comes with being Daniel Diaz’s big brother, and it’s exhausting.

For this brief moment, you can let the roles reverse. He can worry about you, and you can just curl up in his arms as he carries you.

“I didn’t think you were coming back tonight.”

“I wasn’t having any fun there. I was just anxious to get back home the whole time.” He looks down at you with a faint smile. “Must have a sixth sense when it comes to you.”

You’re placed on the edge of the tub when you reach the bathroom, Daniel stripping you down completely while it fills with hot water. He shoulders most of your weight when he helps you in, heat penetrating your muscles and melting away the aches. It stings on your knuckles and open wounds, but it’s a good sting.

You don’t put up a fight as Daniel washes your body and hair for you, fingers especially delicate around your cuts.

He’s done this for you before. Helped you bathe. Two, maybe three years ago. When a nasty bullet wound in your foot prevented you from getting too far on your own. You stubbornly refused his help with most things most days, but in your weaker moments, on the most painful nights during your long recovery, you did relent and allow him to help you with this. You were antsy and fidgety and uncomfortable the entire time. It was ridiculous, the two of you already used to take baths together when you were very young, but the recent times felt… weird, somehow.

Wrong.

Daniel’s voice rescues you from whatever path your mind was wandering to.

“Sean, I’m so sorry.” He’s giving you his big puppy-dog eyes, wracked with guilt. “I’m so fucking sorry, I should never have left you alone like that, I—“

“No, enano, it’s fine,” you assure him. You bring a hand up to caress his jaw, water dripping onto his shirt. “You couldn’t have known this would happen. I was the one who let my guard slip.”

He shakes his head. He places a hand over yours, keeping it locked on his cheek, leaning into your touch.

“I need to do a better job protecting you.”

“I’m supposed to be the one protecting you,” you laugh. That coaxes another small smile out of him.

“No. Not anymore. You protected me long enough. It’s my turn now.”

You begin to disagree, but your words get caught in your throat when Daniel’s other hand reaches out to you, fingers lightly tracing the features of your face. Your forehead. Your eyebrow. Your nose. Slowly, softly, over your Cupid’s bow, then across your bottom lip. You can’t figure out what he’s thinking. It’s like he’s wearing a mask. Features immobile, molded out of clay, with none of the little quirks you’ve memorized by heart to tell how he’s feeling.

The sudden thumb digging into your bruised cheekbone startles a gasp out of you, which melts into a moan.

Time stands still. Your head is devoid of any thought aside from the singular what the fuck what that? Daniel’s expression mostly remains stone, but you can see a hint of that sadistic amusement in his eyes. You know you should probably look away, but you don’t. Neither does he.

“Sorry,” he says absentmindedly.

You let out a breath that could maybe classify as a laugh. “No you’re not.”

The corner of his lips quirks up. “No, I’m not.”

He breaks the suffocating tension by pulling down the shower head and rinsing your hair for you. He helps you out of the tub, dries you off, bandages your knuckles and cuts. All with a quick precision and an easygoing air that doesn’t match the situation. Like that moment in the garage a week ago, you end up feeling crazy for even thinking something happened between you two.

Daniel brings you to your bed and tucks the sheets around you. He tells you he’ll be right back, then he’s out the door, leaving you alone to corral your thoughts.

Great.

You tell yourself to just not think about it. Any of it. About how you very nearly died back there. How you sort of wanted to. How you’re completely helpless without Daniel by your side. How Daniel killed that man despite your objections. Killed him in your honor, with more rage than you realized he had in him. And especially, above it all, you tell yourself not to think about what happened in the bath.

By the time he returns, presumably having taken care of the mess he made, you’ve pretty much successfully compartmentalized the events of the night. And you’ve fully worn yourself out.

“I’m staying here tonight,” Daniel declares as he nudges you to the side, leaving no room for refusal. He turns off the bedside lamp and settles under the sheets with his back facing you. The only sounds left are his deep breathing and the ocean waves outside, and thankfully, they work in tandem to lull you into a dreamless sleep.

Daniel doesn’t leave your side for a good long while after that night. Wherever you go, he follows closely behind. He doesn’t go to any parties, refuses to even go grocery shopping without you. You kind of feel embarrassed, being treated like a toddler, but mostly you don’t. You understand. It must have been scary for him. He needs to be around you right now, you suppose. Until the aftereffects of the incident wear off. You don’t mind. Maybe, if you’re being honest with yourself, you need it too.

The first time Daniel finally decides you’re allowed to be left alone again, he comes back home in the middle of the night, and he’s not alone.

He’s brought a few girls over before. You’ve tried to stay out of his hair when he has. Nobody wants their big brother hanging around when they’re trying to get laid. So you’ll find some reason or another to get out of the house and give them privacy.

Tonight, you hear him stumble through the front door absolutely wasted. You can tell by the way he snorts when he laughs. Another male voice accompanies Daniel’s, speaking too low for you to make out the words from where you stand in the kitchen. You hope Daniel’s companion isn’t drunk too— or if he is, that neither of them drove here. You make your way to the living room to say hi to whoever it is and judge their level of intoxication. You’re expecting Miguel or Luis, maybe Javier.

Instead, you see Daniel’s arms wrapped around the neck of a man you’ve never met.

A man who has his hand down your little brother’s pants.

You guess you’ve been assuming Daniel was straight, but it doesn’t surprise you that he’s not. You don’t care about that part of this. You’ve known for a while now that you’re some flavor of not-straight yourself anyhow. If you would’ve caught Daniel with some average teenage boy, like with the girls, you would’ve excused yourself and left the house to leave them be.

But this guy looks to be in his early thirties at minimum, and you feel your blood working up to a boil.

You clear your throat to announce your presence to the oblivious pair. The creep at least has the sense to jump three feet back from Daniel and look sheepish.

“ Hola, ” you greet, hoping that through tone of voice alone you can get across the sentiment touch my baby brother again and they’ll be fishing your corpse from the ocean.

This predatory asshole hums in response, looking at anything and everything in the room but you. Parting words race out his mouth as he hurries back out the door. Daniel doesn’t try to stop him. You glare daggers at the man’s back until he’s gone, then turn your glare to Daniel.

Daniel, who has the nerve to cross his arms and match your expression.

“Thanks a lot, man.”

“You’re welcome,” you grit out.

“Didn’t take you for a homophobe,” he bites, words laced with venom.

“I’m not a homophobe, Daniel, I’m queer.” You haven’t said that out loud to him yet, though you’ve suspected he’s suspected. Well, if the cat wasn’t out of the bag before, it is now. “I’m just not about to let some grown man lay his hands on my kid brother.”

“ Excuse me?” he scoffs, a bewildered, angry malformation of a smile splitting his face. “ Kid? ”

“You’re seventeen, Daniel. He was way too old for you.”

“Yeah, I’m seventeen, not seven! I can take care of myself!”

You haven’t raised your voice at him in years, but you’re getting dangerously close to it now. Though you might be angrier at yourself more than anything. Somehow, you know it’s your fault he’s done this. You did something to fuck his brain up along the way.

“Every seventeen-year-old thinks they can, Daniel. Doesn’t make it true.”

He steps closer to you. The glass in the room begins to rattle. You stand your ground, refusing to show weakness, but you do feel weak. You feel weak and powerless and helpless under Daniel’s stone cold stare. Your heart kicks like a snare drum, threatening to beat itself right out of your rib cage.

“I am not every seventeen-year-old. You know that.” He’s so close to you now, you can feel his breath on your face. The clattering around the room intensifies. You don’t buckle under his gaze, but you can’t stop yourself from nervously slipping your bottom lip between your teeth and biting down hard. His eyes follow the movement, then flick back up to yours. “I can hurt anyone I want to,” he says, voice dark and low. “You know that.”

Yeah. You know that. Good god, do you know that. Visions of crumpled limbs and flattened cars and pulverized bodies flash behind your eyelids when you blink and your knees are about to give out at any moment and for some inexplicable reason, you’re fighting back a smile.

You feel like you’re about to pass out, and you must look it too, because Daniel reaches out to grab your shoulders and hold you steady. The house stops shaking. The silence left behind is deafening. Daniel’s gaze sweeps down your body. When he looks back into your eyes, he does so with a shit-eating grin.

He pulls you closer, and it’s only when your hips press together do you realize you’re hard.

You wrench yourself from Daniel’s grasp and move as far back as your jello legs will allow. You bet you look just like the creep did when you caught him. Which doesn’t help the wave of guilt and nausea threatening to drown you.

As you go through your internal crisis, Daniel looks utterly unfazed. Smug, even.

“I fucking knew it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you sputter. How convincing.

“You get off on this.”

“On what?” you demand, and you’re partly asking because you don’t even know yourself, and you’re hoping someone else can give you an answer, even an answer you don’t want to hear.

He saunters up to you with total control and confidence in himself. You couldn’t get away from him if you tried. It’s as if someone superglued the soles of your feet to the hardwood floor.

“On violence,” he says, stepping closer and closer. “On danger.” His body is inches from yours. “On my powers.”

He breaks that final bit of distance between you two, warm fingers snaking down the sides of your bare torso, tucking under the waistband of your sweatpants. Your skin burns where it makes contact with his. Your whole body is heating up, your throat dry when you try to swallow.

“On me. ”

Your breath hitches. You place your hands on his chest with the intention to push him away, but you can’t. You can only stand there, entranced, feeling his heat under your shaking palms. His grin widens, showing off sharp canines. You open your mouth, but no sound escapes your lips.

“I do too, you know,” he whispers. “On my end of things.” One of his hands moves to the back of your neck, thumb caressing the short hair at the base of your skull, while the other hand pulls your hips to his again so you can feel his growing erection.

“I’d never do anything to really hurt you,” he continues, “not ever. But if you asked for it? If you wanted it? I’d do anything to make you feel good.”

His eyes are half-lidded and glazed over.

“And you look so pretty when you’re all bruised up, baby.”

“Daniel,” you finally croak out, “I—“

“I always felt like we were made for each other,” he barrels over you. “We fit so perfectly together, like a two-piece puzzle. This is just another way we fit so perfectly.”

You shake your head. “Daniel, don’t. You’re… we can’t…”

“Who’s gonna stop us?” he challenges. “We came here so we could do whatever we wanted. I want this. Do you want this?”

You don’t want to answer that question, because your only options are a blatant lie he’ll see right through, or a truth you aren’t prepared to give voice to.

“Sean.”

His grip on you tightens. Your vision is blurred on the edges.

“Do you want this?”

“...Yes,” you admit, voice small, because what’s one more fuck-up to add to the list?

Your brother crashes his lips onto yours.

It’s the culmination of a tension that’s been building up far longer than you care to admit. Every emotion you locked away in the deepest recesses of your mind floods straight up to the surface. You almost start crying. Tears of joy, release, near-agonizing arousal. You can’t recall a single sensation in your twenty-four years of life that felt better than this.

He pulls away to look at you like you’re the most precious gift ever granted to him.

And then he hauls back and slaps you across the face with so much force you nearly drop to your knees.

You drink in the sensation. The sharp sting echoing across your cheek. The way it makes your dick twitch. It feels like fucking heaven. You can’t form a coherent thought over the pain and pleasure that pulses through your body, so for once, you don’t hear any rational part of your brain reminding you that this is your baby brother, telling you how disgusting you are for this.

“You good?” he asks, cool and collected.

“Good,” you pant. “Real good.”

“Good.”

A constricting sensation wraps around you like a cobra, squeezing your rib cage just enough to make breathing difficult. Daniel lifts a hand and you’re rising off the ground, toes dangling in the air, and the throbbing of your erection is unbearable.

“Please,” you’re just able to grunt out.

“Please what? What do you need, baby boy?”

You whimper. “Touch me.”

You’re hurled through the air to crash-land on the sofa, coughing with the new rush of air filling your lungs. Daniel stalks up to you, the darkness of his eyes making you throb again. You press the base of your palm between your legs.

When he reaches you, he snatches your arm away.

“I didn’t give you permission to touch yourself, did I?”

You shake your head.

“Right. No touching yourself, mi bebé. ” He leans down until your noses are nearly brushing and grins at you madly. Like he’s about to devour you whole. “That’s my job.”

Both your wrists get pinned above your head without physical touch. Daniel leans over you. Runs a thumb across your nipple, then a tongue. Your hips buck up, searching for friction he refuses to give you just yet. You want him to hurry up— the waiting is agonizing, more painful than anything else he’s done to you thus far. You need him to bring you to climax. Right now.

“Please, please, Daniel, please. ”

“Be patient, angel,” he commands, and you realize he must not be new to this. He must have dominated previous sexual partners. How many, you wonder? And how intense did he get with them? Did he tie them up with rope? Does he have any toys? Whips, blindfolds, gags, collars, leashes?

How far has he gone, and how far will he go with you?

You groan in relief when he finally tugs your sweatpants down. Your head is already leaking for him. He hums at your dick in appreciation, and you squirm under his gaze, your cheeks getting impossibly warmer. He tosses your sweatpants, and now you’re completely naked under him.

You realize he’s still fully clothed—that doesn’t seem fair at all.

“Can I… can I see you too?” you ask, sweet and obedient in hopes he’ll take pity on you.

He purses his lips like he’s seriously contemplating refusal, but in the end, he decides to show you mercy and strip down. And you’re so fucking glad he does, because his body is driving you crazy. You never really let yourself look at him when he’s shirtless. You always avert your gaze. But now, you can drink his image in unabashedly. He’s lean yet toned all over, as the definition in his biceps suggests. He has some chest hair and a happy trail now. He’s really growing into a man, isn’t he?

“You’re beautiful,” you say without thinking. 

He laughs at you. “You’re adorable. How about you get on your knees for me?”

Once your arms are released, you scramble to obey.

You peer up at him from your spot at his feet. He grabs hold of your chin and turns your head from side to side, inspecting and appraising you like a piece of art.

“Hmm… how about right here?” He taps your right cheekbone. “You want a nice pretty bruise right there?”

“God, yes . ”

“What’s the magic word?”

“ Please. ”

“That’s my good boy.” His thumb swipes lightly across your cheek. A tingling sensation is left in its wake, like your skin can tell what’s about to happen to it, and it’s just as excited as you are. “Though I also accept ‘Daddy,’ for future reference.”

“...Good to know.”

Daniel’s fist connects to your cheek without warning. You can’t keep the grin off your face as the pain crashes over you in violent waves. You can’t wait to see the bruise.

“You like that, babydoll?”

You nod, not trusting your vocal chords. He runs gentle fingers over the point of impact, and the sensation is amplified tenfold after the hit preceding it. Then a slap right on the same spot, pulling a yelp from your throat.

“Daniel… D-Daddy, I can’t take it anymore, please…” You feel beyond awkward calling him that, but you can’t deny the allure of it. You’re embarrassed, but you also want to feel that title on your tongue again and again.

“Use your words, baby. Tell Daddy exactly what you want.”

“I want…” You gulp down the spit flooding your mouth. “I want to come. I want… Daddy to make me come.”

He coos. “Oh, how could I say no to such pretty begging?” He takes a seat on a couch cushion, patting his lap. “Come here and let Daddy take care of you.”

You crawl up to sit gingerly on his thigh. The first moment his fist wraps around you, you cry out loud enough to worry someone outside will somehow hear you. Daniel seems addicted to all the sounds escaping your lips, wrist twisting as he jerks you off, eyes trained on your face as he searches for the movements that get you the loudest. At this point, you’ve relinquished all control over your body. It’s in Daniel’s ownership now, to do with whatever he may please. You feel yourself slipping away, not in a bad way, in a very very good way, in a way you can’t get enough of.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train. Daniel pumps you through it until you’re squirming from the overstimulation, whining like a kicked puppy.

“Fuck, Sean ,” he growls, and then you’re shoved roughly onto your back, sprawled out under him, pinned down by one of his arms, trying to catch your breath. He smears your cum over his own dick as lubricant. You watch, vision hazy, as he takes care of himself above your torso. Words slurred, calling you every possible synonym for “pretty” in each language he knows. He only lasts thirty seconds, and then he’s spilling all over your heaving chest with a snarl.

The weight of his body crushes yours when his arm gives out. After taking a moment to catch his own breath, he heaves himself up and pulls you back into his lap. Cradling you to his chest, he rocks you back and forth, whispering praises into your ear.

“You did so good, baby. So good for me. I’m so proud of you, mi amor. ”

Ironically enough, that’s what does you in. Not the violence, not the gut-punch of an orgasm. These sweet words during aftercare is what brings the waterworks.

Daniel shushes you, kisses your tears away. He looks overcome with concern when you peer up at him.

“Are you okay? Was that too much? I’m sorry, I should have—”

“No, no, it was perfect,” you laugh wetly. “You’re… you’re perfect.”

It should probably definitely not be so easy to slip into this new dynamic with your brother. But as soon as it starts, you can’t stop. You don’t want to stop. It’s like these are the roles the two of you were always meant to fill for each other.

In no time at all, coming from your little brother beating you up becomes the new normal for you.

That’s not to say you aren’t drowning in guilt and shame over it, because of course you are. You wouldn’t be Sean Diaz if you weren’t. But Daniel is so eager for you, and you for him, that you’re able to wade through the waters and enjoy it.

You really, really enjoy it.

It turns out Daniel didn’t actually have that much in terms of toys before you got to him. When you admit you’re interested in more, hiding your face in embarrassment, he goes a bit overboard. He’s slowly building up a high-quality collection for you. Rope, handcuffs, collar and leash sets, blindfolds, paddles, floggers, cock rings… You have to wonder where he’s getting all the money to pay for this stuff. You write his checks, you know his part time job at the repair shop isn’t covering this.

But hey, you’re not in a hurry to put a stop to it. Not when you get all these fun new toys to play with.

Much to Daniel’s dismay, you don’t let it get past handjobs for a while. You want to establish some form of a boundary, redundant and useless as it may be, so you go against your every lustful desire when he begs to go further and sternly tell him no. He always respects a flat-out no when you’re getting intimate, although it doesn’t stop him from asking again the next time and hoping for a different result.

When Daniel turns eighteen shortly after the inciting incident, you give him the usual birthday routine you’ve set up for him in Mexico—waking him up with cake and subpar singing, taking him to a lucha libre match, giving him a present (a black leather blank journal from a local artisan, which took a good chunk from your wallet).

But you also finally relent and end the night with his dick slamming against the back of your throat. He babbles on and on about how pretty your lips look around him, how pretty you always look (he does seem to have a fixation on calling you pretty), hands fisted in your hair and tugging hard enough for your vision to go white. Daniel comes three times that night. So do you. He tells you it’s the best birthday he’s ever had.

And it doesn’t actually make that big of a difference, you’re fully aware, but it does alleviate some of the guilt now that he’s eighteen. Just a bit.

You think some people around town are starting to get suspicious, but you can’t tell if you’re right about that or just being paranoid. It doesn’t help that Daniel likes to push boundaries in public. Gets turned on by the possibility of getting caught. Truthfully, so do you, but that knowledge would be way too dangerous in Daniel’s wandering hands, so you keep it to yourself.

Due to the labor-intensive nature of your job, you have to be careful when and how the two of you fuck around. You can’t work efficiently if you’re covered in bruises and belt lashes—you learned that the hard way. So Daniel is courteous of your fragile body on weeknights. By “courteous,” you mean he’ll just skip the rough foreplay, wordlessly shoving a hand down your pants while you’re watching TV to tug at your cock until you ruin your boxers instead. You can’t say you’re opposed to it. The spontaneity is pretty sexy, and Daniel’s the one responsible for laundry anyway.

You aren’t exactly sure what’s going on with the two of you. Nothing about your dynamic has changed much beyond the bedroom. Maybe Daniel clings to you a bit more than usual, but considering how clingy he already was, the difference isn’t all that noticeable. He doesn’t call you any of his compliments and pet names outside of your sexual escapades, and you sure as hell aren’t calling him Daddy casually. He still goes off to those parties, and god knows what (or rather, who ) he does at those.

You guess nothing really did change. He probably just sees you as a means for sexual release, one that’s easily accessible and kinkier than anyone else he knows.

It’s not like he’s said anything different. Not like you’ve asked.

Time flies when you’re fucking around with Daniel, and August sneaks up on you before you know it. Which means you’re turning twenty-five. It’s hard to wrap your head around, considering you didn’t know if you’d make it past sixteen. It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long. You feel so fucking old.

You wake up on your birthday morning with Daniel’s head between your legs.

You instinctively reach down to thread your fingers through his soft hair. Not even to push him further down your shaft, just to be able to touch him. You’re still only half awake, barely aware enough to give a bleary smile when his criminally hot blowjob eyes glance up at you. This somehow feels even better when you’re all sleepy and out of it. Fuck, he needs to do this to you next time you’re high. You should’ve considered that ages ago.

Teeth sadistically graze the underside of your cock and you’re done for, spilling down Daniel’s throat with a breathy moan. He swallows every last drop. 

You’re given no more than three seconds to recover before he’s smacking your jaw and telling you, “hey, I’m gonna fuck your face.”

Jesus, you love when he does this. He holds your head in position with a fist in your hair, ramming into you like you’re nothing but a toy. You can only open your throat to the best of your abilities and blink away the tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You can’t really breathe, and you can’t get enough of it.

He doesn’t last long. Never does, but his practically nonexistent refractory period makes that a nonissue. For now though, he seems content with one orgasm, immediately dismounting you to flop by your side.

“Morning,” you greet him when you have the ability to speak again.

He beams at you like the ray of sunshine he is. “Morning. Happy birthday.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

He frowns. Snuggles closer to you, head coming to rest on your shoulder, an arm wrapping protectively around your torso. “Why? Birthdays are fun.”

“Not anymore. Now they’re just here to remind me how ancient I am.”

“What?” he scoffs as if personally offended. “Shut up! You are so not old!”

“Yes I am. May as well be a hundred.”

He gives your chest a playful slap. “Stop that, twenty-five isn’t old! And you better not be sick of birthdays already. You still have a ton more left.”

“Well, I guess they won’t be so bad, as long as they all start with you blowing me.”

You didn’t really mean to say that. It just slipped out. With him clinging to you like a koala bear, it feels so natural to think this will last forever. But you don’t even know what “this” is . You don’t know how long he’ll stay interested in you. At any point, he could get bored, or even have the sudden realization of how fucked up the whole thing is and hate you forever for letting him do it.

Okay, maybe that last one is a bit fatalistic—but you’re still nervous about your comment.

But Daniel doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. In fact, he nuzzles against your shoulder in that adorable way he does, and you can feel the way his lips stretch out into a big smile.

“You know, I could do a lot more than blow you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you sigh. The kid just can’t quit, can he? So stubbornly one-track-minded. You’d be annoyed if you weren’t head over heels for it. For everything about him.

It’s best to stop thinking about this before you realize how deep you’re in.

“Come on,” you say, shaking his arm, “what are we doing for my birthday besides blowjobs?”

He pops up quicker than you were expecting, like a champagne cork. “Present time!” Bony elbows and knees dig into the softest spots of your body as he scrambles over you and off the bed. You can’t get a word in before he sprints out of your room and into his own. You hear him rummaging around for a moment, then rushing back to your side.

“Come on, open it!”

You sit up and gently take the box he thrusts out to you. “Already? You don’t wanna wait til later?”

“Nope. You gotta wear it all day.”

“Ahh, so it’s something I can wear?” You inspect the fancy logo printed on the lid. You don’t recognize it. You give the box a little shake, and whatever is inside sounds and feels nearly weightless. You furrow your brows in contemplation.

“Just open it, Sean! You’re killing me here!”

Stifling a laugh at his impatience, you finally lift the lid and take a look at the contents. It takes you a moment to register what’s in front of you. When it hits, your jaw drops.

“Don’t worry, it fits. Tailor made to your measurements.”

You’re not sure you want to know how Daniel got your measurements.

“This is, uh…” You can feel your vessels fighting over where to send your blood: to your cheeks, or to your cock. “Wow. Damn. Now I feel like a loser for just giving you that dumb sketchbook.”

“Aw, don’t say that, I love my dumb sketchbook!” He plops down next to you on the bed. He presses his side firm against yours, never happy until he’s made sure you’re as close as humanly possible. “It’s so fancy, and I really like being able to draw with you. Besides, this,” he points to the lacy fabric in your lap, “is more for me than for you, honestly. I was a bit selfish this year.”

“I’m… glad you were,” you admit, taking in the sight of the wine red lingerie set.

“Oh, trust me, so am I. Go ahead, put it on for me!”

He leans back and watches you change with prideful, satisfied eyes. His surveillance makes you press your thighs together, hot and bothered under the attention. You’re overcome with that desire to be good for him, to do whatever he wants you to do, to make him happier than anyone else ever has. You’re his good boy.

If you had the stamina he did, you’d already be hard again.

“ Mírate, preciosa… ” 

You do take a look at yourself, standing shyly in front of the mirror. And you look good . You genuinely look good. You were afraid your muscles and facial hair would ruin the aesthetic, but this dainty pretty thing actually looks amazing on you. You have no clue how Daniel got this so perfect. But he did. You can’t remember the last time you looked in the mirror and liked what you saw.

“Dude, are you about to start crying?” he teases you. With a laugh, he stands up and makes his way over to you, arms snaking around your waist to pull you against him.

“I… I don’t know what to say, Daniel. Thank you. So much. This is probably the best present I’ve ever gotten.”

He plants a quick kiss on the side of your neck, and it’s so domestic and chaste and sweet you hope he’ll never let go of you, that he’ll keep holding you tight in his arms forever. “Well, I’m glad you like it. Since you’re wearing it under your clothes all day and everything.”

Oh. Right. That.

“And where will I be wearing this, exactly?”

“First to the movies. We can snag a spot in the back, so nobody can bother us while I play with you. Then I’m taking you to a party and showing you off to all my friends.”

You raise an eyebrow at his reflection in warning. “Daniel…”

“I know, I know! I won’t be obvious about it, okay? Only you and I will know.” He plays with one of your bra straps between his pointer finger and thumb. “Just like only you and I will know about this, huh? Our little secrets. How’s that sound?”

You crane your neck to kiss him. “It sounds like the best birthday ever.”

So maybe you exaggerated a bit. Now that you’re standing in the fancy old-money home belonging to one of Daniel’s shadier friends, packed in with all the other party-goers like a can of sardines, ears ringing from the blasting speakers, nursing the one beer you’re allowing yourself since you said you’d drive home… you can’t say this is the best birthday ever.

You realized a while ago you’re not really much of a party guy. If Daniel hadn’t gotten you in the mood with expensive lingerie and charming words, you probably wouldn’t have agreed to come.

But the few dances Daniel’s succeeded at roping you into have been kind of fun, to tell the truth. Being with Daniel is always fun. And it’s cool being part of this aspect of his life for a change. You never get to do that. Watching him have such a good time completely makes up for your own less than stellar time. And you have the added bonus of being able to keep an eye on him, get him home safe. You try to give him space to live his own life, but you do secretly get worried sick whenever he goes off on nights like this. Always afraid he won’t return.

This must be exactly how being a dad feels. How creepy is it to think that, considering the gift your pseudo-son presented you this morning, the one currently hidden under your black t-shirt and jeans?

Probably not as creepy as him actually being your brother. Oh well.

Daniel is smiling and laughing with a group of his friends. You watch him from a few paces back as discreetly as you can, knowing you don’t really belong in this crowd. You’re just Daniel’s weird (and scary, according to some) big brother hanging around with a group of mostly sixteen- to nineteen-year-olds.

Just as you start thinking you should go find something else to do while you wait for Daniel, you feel a light tap on your shoulder.

You turn around, and you’re met with a pair of emerald green eyes framed with thick golden lashes. You take in the rest of the man smiling at you. Tall and muscular, short blonde hair. A tourist, probably. You wonder why he’s here. Well, he’s undeniably pretty handsome. And he seems to be around your age.

“You look just about as stoked to be here as I feel,” his smooth voice booms over the background noise.

You return his smile politely and lean in closer so he can hear you. “Not too big on parties.”

“I feel that.” He reaches behind you to set down his beer bottle on a table, and you can smell his aftershave. He jabs a thumb at the chaos behind him. “Care to dance? You know, to pass the time?”

There’s a feeling in your gut telling you that this isn’t a good idea. This guy doesn’t seem particularly skeevy, but they never do, do they?

You glance back at Daniel, still chatting up his group. He’s nearby. If anything happens, he can come save you. Besides, it’s not like you’ll go home with this stranger, or drink anything he gives you. It’s just a dance. A dance to pass the time until Daniel is finally ready to go. And hey, if worst comes to worst, you at least know how to kick a dude in the balls.

“You know what? Fuck it, sure. Let’s go.”

You abandon your beer on the table. You’ll pour it out when you get back. You follow Green Eyes closer to the speakers. Your ears hate you for it, but you’re too focused on not looking like a fool while dancing to pay attention to any possible hearing damage. You think you’re at least better at dancing now than when you were a teenager. You’ve grown into your body, no longer all gangly newborn deer limbs.

Soon enough, you let your dance partner move behind you, and you let yourself grind your ass on him. He smells nice. He feels nicer. He puts one of his large hands on your hip, inching it up until it can slip under your shirt.

When he feels the straps and lace, he gives you a cute little gasp.

“Shit, baby,” he murmurs in your ear. Not your baby, you want to say, but you hold your tongue. You’re actually having a pretty good time right now. You like the attention. It’s flattering, knowing you’re attractive to this Hollywood-esque dude. It makes you think you must be good looking enough for Daniel after all.

You turn around so you can press the front of your body against his. He’s clearly absolutely taken with you. He’s already getting hard. You try not to laugh at that as you gaze up into those nice green eyes.

Those nice green eyes suddenly widen in agony, and you watch in slow motion as your mystery man drops.

Behind him stands your brother, pure violence in his narrowed eyes and clenched fists. Like when he killed that man for you.

You have to get out of here. Now.

You spot Javier lingering off to the side, watching the scene with intrigue and confusion. You snap at him to help the guy, and he flinches, but he does as he’s told and squats down on the ground beside the writhing figure. Still alive. Good.

You grab Daniel’s wrist and drag him through the crowd, all the way to the front door. He doesn’t fight it. Just stumbles along behind you, trying to keep up. You only release him when you’re at the car. You hurry to get in and get the fuck out of this place. You’re not sure if Daniel can ever come back. Maybe nobody connected the dots, but maybe someone did.

You always tell him never to use his powers in public. He never listens. He never fucking listens.

It has to be your fault.

Daniel doesn’t speak to you the entire drive home. You try to keep your eyes on the road, knowing how careful you need to be considering one of them is prosthetic, but you can’t help glancing at your brother every so often. He’s angry too. That much is obvious. But you can’t put your finger on exactly why. Was he afraid you were going to mess up his plans for the night? Was he feeling abandoned? Jealous? Jealous due to the borderline unhealthy codependency he’s almost always had on his big brother… or something more?

It’s probably time to stop pushing the thoughts away and finally have a talk about this unspoken dynamic between the two of you.

Of course, easier said than done.

You pull up to the house without any clue how to start this conversation. Daniel flings his car door open and stomps up to unlock the front door without giving you the chance to open your mouth. You press your forehead to the steering wheel and heave a shaky sigh. Then you man up, take the keys out the ignition, get out, lock the car behind you, and follow Daniel to the living room.

You find him pacing back and forth in a panic, face buried in his hands, papers and smaller trinkets already tumbling off shelves. Your anger towards him melts away. You hold your arms out.

“Daniel, come on. Come here.”

He doesn’t step closer, but he rips his hands away and glares at you in frustration and fear. “Is this not enough for you? Am I not enough for you?!” Books start falling off the bookcase with loud thunks. A vase shatters in the kitchenette behind you.

You close the distance yourself. A hand on each of his cheeks, pulling his forehead down to rest against yours. He sniffles, on the brink of crying.

“ Mi amor, you are more than enough for me. You’re everything to me. You know that.”

A choked sob. His hands come to rest on your hips, fingertips digging into your skin. The pressure is comforting. Grounding.

“Can’t you let me fuck you for real?” he begs, sounding so young and so vulnerable as a tear spills down his cheek. You kiss it away. “I know I can make it good for you. I can make you feel so good, Sean. I don’t want anyone else even getting near you, I don’t want them to take you away from me!”

He wails openly. The storm in your living room cranks up the chaos even higher, and you struggle to keep your eyelids open against the force of the wind and the threat of renegade flying objects. You pry your hands from his cheeks and wrap him into a tight embrace.

You’re the big brother again, for right now. You’re back to taking care of him. You sort of missed that.

“No one will ever take me away from you, enano. No matter what.” You run your fingers through his silky hair, back and forth. Hoping your touch is as comforting to him as his is to you. His hands are fisted in your shirt, face burrowed in the crook of your neck, coating it with hot tears. “I wasn’t even gonna do anything with him. I only meant to waste time while I waited for you. But if you don’t want me doing anything like that, I won’t. I’m all yours. Only yours.”

Slowly but surely, his sobs die down to the occasional sniffle, and the living room slips into a heavy stillness. He’s the first to pull back. His reddened eyes dart across your face, searching for something, and he smiles like he’s found it.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “And I’m yours. Forever.”

“Forever,” you agree, and you kiss him, intense and with purpose. His lips are cold and wet and salty, but it’s Daniel, so it’s perfect.

He lifts his tank top to dry the tear tracks off his face. And then he’s taking you by the hand and leading you to his bedroom with you trailing close behind like a duckling.

When you get inside, he presses you against the door and makes quick work of tugging your shirt off, kissing and biting every inch of skin he can get to under the lingerie. Electricity pools in your lower stomach with each hicky you receive. He marks you from your jawline down to your hipbones, making sure nobody can mistake you for anything other than his property.

“You’re so beautiful, Sean, so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses. “You have no idea what you do to me. How much I want you. Need you. Nobody else can have you, mi alma. Solo yo.”

His words carry the usual tone of authority, but there’s more to it than that. There’s something soft and sweet behind it.

Love, you realize. In love.

You feel like an idiot for not seeing it sooner.

“Daniel,” you whine, your cock straining against your jeans.

“¿ Sí, cariño?”

“I—I’m sorry about that guy. I’m so sorry. It was stupid. I just… I didn’t know how serious you really were about this. About me.”

He pauses in his movements, straightening his back to gawk at you. You’re too shy to look at him head on, but he gently tilts your chin up so you’re forced to meet his incredulous gaze.

“Sean,” he laughs, “I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen.”

Oh. Oh, okay, wow.

“You know, I remember the exact moment it happened.” He takes your hands and pulls you to his bed, spreads you out so he can straddle your hips. “When I painted those two wolves for you. I mean, I thought it sucked, I almost didn’t give it to you. But I did, and you were just… so fucking happy over it. Even got a few tears outta you. And god, I just couldn’t stop thinking about how cute you were, and how good it felt to make you happy. I realized I wanted to keep making you happy, forever. And that’s when I knew.”

You avert your gaze with a bashful smile. He likes a stripe up your throat. “Really? That’s what did it? Me crying over your shitty thirteen-year-old art?”

“Yep. I’ve only fallen harder since.”

You feel like you’re in a dream. The best dream you’ve ever had. You can’t believe this is real life. He loves you.

He loves you.

“I do too,” you blurt out. “Love you, I mean. I love you. I’m in love with you.” You can’t get the words out fast enough. You’re desperate for him to know, to truly understand just how all-in you are. That this is it for you. He’s the one. The only one. You didn’t love anyone before him, and you won’t love anyone after him. As soon as he was brought into this fucked up world, belonging to him became your sole purpose in life—for better or for worse. Whether he wants it or not, and thank the heavens he does, he’s stuck with you for eternity.

“We…” You pause, gathering the most precise words to summarize all your feelings. “We really were made for each other. We’re soulmates.”

He strokes your cheek. You nuzzle into his warm touch. “Will you let your soulmate finally fuck you how you deserve?”

You’re sure your smile matches the warmth of his. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

He kisses you with a mellow passion, slow and sloppy and making your toes curl. Then he flips you onto your hands and knees, grabs a fistful of your bangs, and yanks your head back.

He leans in to whisper with lips grazing the shell of your ear, “like I said—how you deserve. ”

Your face is shoved into the pillow, arms buckling under you. You can wiggle under his hold just enough to get a bit of air, but not enough to see what he’s doing, so the slap across your right asscheek startles a yelp out of you.

“One down, twenty-four to go, right?”

Oh, fuck.

Your noises become increasingly loud and desperate as he alternates sides and intensity. Halfway through and you’re sure you can’t make it the rest of the way. You tell him that, and he tells you “you can and you will,” and by the time he’s finished, the pillow under you is soaked in slobber and tears.

“Good, good boy, so good,” he praises you as you sob, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your spine. He pulls your head off the pillow so he can see your face. “You’re so pretty when you cry, baby.” A kiss on your tear-stained cheek. “So, so pretty.”

You gradually come down from your pain-induced high with Daniel talking you through it, and then you realize how much you need him inside you right this very second. He pulls down your panties to pool at your knees, but doesn’t allow you to take anything else off.

“Uh, do you have…?”

“Yeah.” He pulls away from you, leaving your body cold where his was pressed against it, and opens the drawer of his bedside table. You hear the the snap of a cap opening, the squelch of lube pouring onto his fingers. The thought crosses your mind that you should use a condom, but then again, what does it matter? You’ve already done oral without them, and tonight made you realize he probably hasn’t fucked anyone else in a while.

He works you open, slow, almost hesitant. For all his bark and bite, when it comes down to it, he really doesn’t want to legitimately hurt you. You hide your grin in the cotton pillowcase.

By the time he has three fingers in you, you’re a panting, begging mess for him.

“You ready?”

“Yes, Daddy, ready, please…”

He presses a final kiss to the back of your neck, coats his dick with more lube, and then you feel his head pressing against your hole. You grunt as he pushes past the first ring of muscle. He pauses.

“You good?”

“You’re not gonna break me, Daniel,” you snarl, “ move. ”

That’s all the permission he needs to slide the rest of the way in with a single thrust. You nearly shriek at the stretch, because it’s been a long time, because it feels so good, because your body has been waiting for Daniel for years.

“Fuck, Sean, you feel so… you feel… fuck. ”

He pulls back out to the tip, then slams back in as hard as he can.

Well, you don’t have to worry about him treating you like you’re fragile anymore.

You curl your fists into the sheets and don’t bother holding back your noises. Daniel is quieter than you (for once in your lives), but you drink up every huff and whine and moan and curse that spills from his lips like a glass of fine wine, the sweetest music to your ears. For all your hand-wringing and procrastination over this, you can’t think of anything better. The searing pain every time his hips snap against the raw flesh of your ass. The lightning bolts of pleasure when he brushes against your prostate. The way his voice cracks on your name. How this is the closest, the most intimate, you’ve ever been with him, and you didn’t even know it was possible to be closer to him after all you’ve been through, but feeling him inside you, surrounding you, filling up all your senses...

You shove your face into the pillow and scream at the top of your lungs as you come. Your beloved continues slamming into you with unrelenting force, wild and unhinged, thrusts losing their rhythm. The pounding in your ears muffles his shout when he spills into you, biting the junction of your neck and shoulder with enough force to pierce the skin. You whimper with each rapid exhale, overstimulated and hyper aware of every sensation.

Daniel doesn’t slip out immediately. Instead, he stays inside you as he pulls you down with him to lay on your sides. He cradles your body to his chest, spooning you and pressing sloppy, desperate kisses to the back of your neck, tongue darting out and lapping up the blood he’s spilled.

You can already tell you’ll be hurting for weeks. You’re wrung out and aching all over, and you’ve never felt more loved.

You eventually gather up enough strength to detach yourself from him, wincing at the newfound emptiness, and turn around in his arms. You want to be able to look at him, to see his gorgeous face all sleepy and blissful. He lazily rearranges his limbs to fit your new position.

“So?” he inquires, breathless and smiling. “Did you like it?”

“Loved it, baby. You were amazing.”

He practically glows under your compliments. “You too. You feel even better than I imagined. The best. Ever.”

You kiss his jaw, then let your eyelids flutter shut so you can bask in the afterglow. Marveling at how the planets aligned to give you this sweet, perfect boy, holding you with such devotion and care. Neither of you say or do anything more for quite some time. You can’t tell if minutes or hours are passing. You can hardly think at all right now.

It’s eventually Daniel who softly breaks the silence. “So, what about you?”

“What do you mean, what about me?”

“When did you fall in love with me?”

You almost tell him you don’t know. Since your subconscious kept it from you for so long, it’s hard to pinpoint a specific moment.

But then you remember a specific moment. And you know.

“You were fifteen,” you admit slowly. “It was after that raid went south and I got shot in the foot. I didn’t want you to know how much pain I was in. I tried to hide it so you didn’t have to worry about me. But you know me too well.”

He grins, clearly taking pride in that.

“You gave me a few baths during my recovery,” you continue. “There was one night, right before you helped me get out, where you took my ankle and kissed my foot. Right next to the bullet wound. Just for a second. I don’t think you even meant anything by it, but that hit me hard. It was so sweet. You were so sweet. You treated me like something precious.”

“You are precious. The most precious.”

You smile at him, serene. “That was when I fell in love. That exact moment. I just didn’t realize it until recently.”

“Oh yeah? What took you so long?”

“I made myself not realize it. I mean, you’re kinda my brother, you know? And you were too young. Way too young.”

“God,” he moans, “I wish you didn’t try so hard to be good sometimes. Could’ve taken you right then and there...”

He hugs you tighter, nips you lightly on the ear. You pull the prettiest moan from his lips when you mouth at his exposed throat, basking in the softness of his skin. And Daniel is adorable like this. Really, he is. He’s your boy and you love him more than life itself, and you literally wouldn’t trade this bizarre, beautiful relationship with him for anything else in the world.

But the weight of his obstinance, his unpredictability, his jealousy, is really starting to hit you.

You aren’t worried for your own safety. He hasn’t done anything to you that you haven’t found equal pleasure in, and you’re certain he never will. But the people around you? Anyone he views as competition or a threat, like the man from the party? They won’t be so lucky. If you’re not careful… you shudder to think of the carnage to be left in his wake.

You shudder, and your dick twitches.

Daniel, one of his thighs wedges between yours, notices your interest.

“Already? Well, who am I to deny my baby what he needs? Especially on his birthday!” He nudges you until you shift onto your back, ass burning from the pressure. He moves to straddle you with a palm planted by each of your ears. “What do you think, beautiful? Should I tie you up with that cute red rope this time? Would you like that?”

The thought of even moving a muscle within the next year makes you want to start crying again, but...

“I would. Yeah.”

“Perfect. And let’s see what other marks I can color this pretty canvas with, huh?”

You shiver when he trails a fingertip down your stomach, tracing over the multicolor bruises he’s already left. He has that look in his eyes. The one that gives you an adrenaline rush. The one that lets you know he’s about to have a whole lot of fun with you. The one that you’d be sure, if he didn’t love you as much as he does, would be the last image you ever see one day.

So, yeah. You probably fucked him up.

But he’ll always be right there to fuck you up in return, every night you ask for it, until your last dying breath.