Work Text:
Yuta wishes his mom never remarried.
Don’t get him wrong—he’s thrilled she’s happy again, and he doesn’t mind his stepdad, as focused on work and distant as he is. No, the problem comes from his stupid fucking stepbrother.
Yuta first met Mox when he was 12. Mox was a few years older, and immediately, he seemed to put a target on Yuta’s back. He’s never done anything too serious; most of the time, he’s just a fucking nuisance. Still, Yuta will never forgive him for shaving off his eyebrows in his sleep three days before the winter formal in eighth grade.
The problems really kick up when Mox starts high school. He tries out for football at Yuta’s mom’s suggestion—he knows she suggested it to try and give Mox something to focus all his energy on, give him something to work towards so he doesn’t end up getting high beneath the bleachers with the burnouts—and he actually makes the team. He’s the wide receiver—something Yuta makes endless jokes about—and apparently he’s pretty good at it? Yuta is forced to go to all of his games, no matter how much he hates it, but he rebels against that requirement by bringing a book to read instead of paying attention. Might as well make his way through Les Misérables.
The thing is, Mox gets popular. And muscular. And somehow even more handsome. And that becomes a problem, and Yuta’s problem specifically, because Mox loves to sneak girls into his room in the middle of the night after games. They share a bedroom wall, and Mox’s bed is right up against it (because God hates Yuta), which means Yuta can hear. Every. Fucking. Thing. He knows what Mox’s dirty talk sounds like. He knows what Mox sounds like when he comes.
It fucking haunts Yuta.
The thing is...the thing is. Okay. Obviously, Mox is attractive. He’s muscular but still lithe and he’s got pretty blonde curls and sleepy blue eyes and a crooked grin and—okay, you get the picture. Yuta knows Mox is attractive. But Mox is his fucking stepbrother, so Yuta is firmly not going down that path no matter how many wet dreams he has. He refuses. He has some dignity, god damn it, so it doesn’t matter that Mox walks around in nothing but tight briefs after his showers like he wants someone to look. Yuta’s not going to fall to the temptation. He holds his resolve, all the way through to his junior and Mox’s senior years.
Until…
It’s a rainy Saturday afternoon when it comes to a head. Yuta’s trying to catch up on homework when he gets a text from his stepfather. It’s about Mox—of course it is, the guy barely talks to Yuta otherwise—and Yuta rolls his eyes. Mox never answers his fucking phone, which means Yuta is frequently the middleman for their parents trying to reach him. Yuta hates it, but it’s more likely that he’ll sprout wings and spontaneously start speaking German than it is that Mox will learn to respond to a text, so he’s stuck with it. Mox’s dad wants to know when this year’s season ends, which is code for “how many more games can I miss this year?” Yuta sighs and closes his geometry textbook and pushes away from his desk.
He hesitates outside of Mox’s door, which is chronically shut. Yuta fucking hates going into Mox’s room. It’s messy and unruly and smells like weed and cigarettes and his stupid fucking pads. He takes a deep, somewhat centering breath and shoves the door open. “Hey, your dad wants to know—”
He immediately regrets not knocking.
Mox is lounging on his bed, one arm pillowed behind his head. His head, which is tipped back, mouth slack and eyes half-lidded, because his other fucking hand is stroking his cock. Yuta just stands there like a fucking idiot as Mox lazily rolls his head to look at him.
Finally, Yuta’s able to unfreeze, and he frantically covers his eyes and rushes out a quick, “Shit, sorry, my bad,” as he half-turns out of the room. He’s already a step out into the hallways when Mox’s voice cuts through his panic.
“What’s Dad want?” Mox’s voice is breathy and uneven, and Yuta hates that he can recognize how close Mox is. The urge to look at him is nearly unbearable.
Yuta gulps. “Um. It’s okay, I can ask later, you’re—busy, I’ll just—” He’s trying to make his retreat, again, but once again, Mox stops him in his tracks.
“Just fucking tell me, dude.”
Yuta grits his teeth. He’s still got his hand covering his eyes, and he’s fighting with everything he has to keep his fingers from sliding open enough for him to look. “He wants to know when the season ends.” He manages, digging the nails of the hand hanging at his side into his palm. He wants nothing more than to leave and never speak of this again (really, he wants something else, but he’s not even going to acknowledge that).
Yuta can hear Mox rolling his eyes. “You mean he wants to know how many games he’s going to blow off in order to work overtime?” He huffs, his voice starting to even out. Yuta shuffles his feet awkwardly. There’s a long moment of silence.
“Look, man, just tell me and I’ll get out of your hair and let you. Y’know.” Yuta gestures vaguely with his free hand. He’s painfully aware of how red his face is, and he hopes against hope that his hand covers enough of it to hide that fact from Mox. If not, maybe Mox will assume it’s embarrassment.
In lieu of answering like a normal person, Mox says, “Dude, drop your hand already. It’s just my dick.” He sounds more exasperated than anything, which Yuta takes as a blessing. There’s a long moment of silence before Yuta’s hand falls to his side.
Yuta tries not to look. Really, he does. It's just that Mox had company over the night before and he looked stupidly good after his game and Yuta is a much weaker man than he thought he was. So he looks.
Mox still has his hand around his dick, but he’s not stroking anymore, simply holding. He’s still hard, flushed and veiny. His chest is rising a little unevenly, and when Yuta finally manages to look at his face, his mouth is split into a lazy grin and his eyes are a little glassy behind the hair escaping from his ponytail. Yuta feels a violent stab of want run through him—want for what, he doesn’t know. Something about hands and dicks. Maybe his on Mox’s? Or Mox’s on his? It’s hard to identify when his brain is currently melting in his skull.
Sadly, due to said brain melting, his mouth opens before he registers what he’s saying. “You don’t have to. Stop. On my account.” As soon as the words catch up to him, his eyes go wide and he breaks eye contact with Mox. He doesn’t slap a hand over his mouth but it’s a damn near thing.
Mox’s answering chuckle is breathy and low. Yuta’s eyes fell back to focus on his dick, because Yuta is a weak, weak man, so he’s already watching when Mox gives himself a slow, teasing stroke. Yuta watches the tendons in his wrist move, the flex of his thighs, the way he squeezes and rolls his wrist slowly at the tip. Yuta’s dick twitches in his shorts. “Like what you see?” Mox asks, low and sleazy and sounding like the cat that got the cream.
It finally manages to unstick Yuta’s feet from the floor. He stammers out an apology and stumbles back to his own room, slamming the door shut behind him in a panic. He just stands there for a moment in the middle of the room, face buried in his hands, as he tries to slow his heavy breathing and will away his erection.
He doesn’t get very long to himself before the door knocks into the wall and Mox walks in. He slams the door shut behind him, but Yuta’s too busy staring at the fact that he’s still naked and hard to really notice. He comes to stand toe to toe with Yuta, eyes set and heated. “You gonna finish what you started, or do I have to do it for you?” He asks, arms folded loosely across his chest. Yuta just blinks at him. Mox sizes him up for a moment, and for a second, Yuta’s worried he’s gonna get decked. Mox’s eyes keep flicking between Yuta’s and his lips, and it should be so obvious what’s about to happen, but it still catches Yuta off guard when Mox leans in and kisses him hard.
Yuta’s never kissed a guy before—despite the fact that he’s known he’s queer since he was around 14—but he thinks Mox may not be a good benchmark because he’s. Well. Fucking Mox. He kisses like it’s a fight, hard and intense and biting. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and his stubble scrapes against Yuta’s own facial hair. Yuta moans so loudly that Mox pulls away and clamps a hand over his mouth. He’s breathing heavily, mouth spit slick and red, as he hisses, “Shut up, we don’t want your mom to hear us.” Yuta realizes with a start that shit, that’s right, they’re not home alone right now and there’s a very real chance she’ll check on them if either of them gets too loud. Yuta hates how the thought of having to be so quiet about this makes his cock jump.
Mox slowly removes his hand, eyes daring Yuta to make another noise. Yuta doesn’t know where the confidence to say, “Then you better find a way to shut me up,” comes from, but he’s so glad he says it when he sees the slow, predatory smile that spreads across Mox’s pretty mouth.
Yuta knows he should be expecting it—after all, he’s the one that made the insinuation in the first place—but he still feels like he’s been punched in the gut when Mox says, “You ever suck cock before, Wheeler?” His voice is deep and rough, his fingers digging into Yuta’s trap. Yuta slowly shakes his head. It’s not like he’s never thought about it—dear god has he thought about it—but he’s never had the opportunity. He has no idea if he’ll like the reality of it as much as he likes the idea, but there’s a hot guy with his dick out practically offering to let Yuta try and god, he wants.
Yuta can’t stop staring at Mox’s cock, still hanging hard and heavy between his legs. Yuta’s mouth waters so heavily when he watches a drop of precome bead at Mox’s tip that he has to swallow twice. There’s a long moment of silence, and Yuta can feel Mox’s eyes on him, before Mox finally hums. “I dunno. Maybe I’m too much for you. We wouldn’t want to overwhelm you for your first time.” And look, Yuta isn’t stupid. He knows when he’s being baited, and he knows when he’s being baited by Mox specifically, but he still shakes his head frantically.
“No, I can take it.” He manages around the spit that keeps flooding his mouth, tongue heavy and unwieldy behind his teeth. The speed with which he answers and the sheer desperation in his voice is enough for Yuta to know he’s going to be mortified about it as soon as he stops thinking with his dick. He licks his lips absently.
Mox just...looks at him for a minute, the air charged and thick. It’s almost like he’s waiting for something, and Yuta realizes with a start what it is after a long moment. He crumples to his knees so fast that his kneecaps ache from the force with which he hits the carpet. Seeing someone else’s cock—and not just anyone’s, but Mox’s cock—this close to his face makes him so hard he gets dizzy. Mox’s cock is big and red and pretty—there’s no other word for it in Yuta’s delirious mind—and Yuta is torn between being nervous and wanting to swallow it fucking whole. He’s not terribly long, but he’s so thick that Yuta’s jaw aches just looking at him. His pubic hair is unruly and dark, and god, Yuta wants to just bury his nose in it and lose himself.
Mox wraps a hand around himself and rubs the head of his cock against Yuta’s mouth, smearing precome across his lips. Yuta gasps on instinct and Mox takes the opportunity to slowly feed his cock into Yuta’s mouth. He pushes in carefully, one hand coming to rest on the back of Yuta’s skull. Yuta moans again, startled and too loud, and Mox responds by shoving his hips forward until his hips are pressed to Yuta’s nose and his cock is buried in his throat.
Yuta chokes and gags and the tears that gather in his eyes immediately start to fall. The hand in his hair turns brutal, digging in and pulling, as Mox grits out, “Be fucking quiet.” Yuta can feel his throat convulsing around Mox’s cock as he tries to breathe through his nose, vision fuzzy with tears. He manages to meet Mox’s eyes, and he can’t exactly apologize or promise to stay quiet, but he tries to let Mox know regardless. Mox must see his want written across his face because his lips spread into that sleazy grin again as he says, “Oh, so that’s how this is gonna be,” before he grinds his hips hard against Yuta’s face.
Yuta can just barely nod, but he’s so hard it hurts and he wants Mox to just use him so badly that he feels hysterical with it, so he does anyway. The movement causes him to pull against the hand in his hair and the sharp wave of pain that spikes across his scalp makes him whimper. Mox swears under his breath, thighs flexing as he mutters, “God, you’re something else, kid,” with something Yuta can’t quite place in his eyes. It can’t be reverence, not how Yuta thinks it is, because if anyone here is feeling worshipful, it’s the one on his knees.
Mox slowly pulls back, and Yuta can feel every fucking centimeter of his cock dragging its way out of his throat as he does so. Yuta barely gets time to gulp down a lungful of air before Mox snaps his hips forward so hard that Yuta’s nose aches when it crushes into Mox’s pubic bone. Once Mox starts, he doesn’t stop, fucking Yuta’s face in quick, erratic strokes. Yuta can feel the bruise starting to form on the back of his throat, and he knows he’s going to be unable to speak normally for days. He’s gagging so hard that sometimes he feels like he might throw up, and the wet, gurgling clucks coming from deep in his throat as he chokes make his vision swim with arousal.
Yuta grips Mox’s calf with one hand, the other leaving the floor to press against his aching cock. The lack of support makes him waver, Mox’s thrusts hard enough to jar him off balance, and the only thing keeping Yuta upright and in place is Mox’s hand in his hair and the cock in his throat. Once he touches himself he can’t stop, grinding his palm against the bulge in his shorts. He can’t even bring himself to stop touching long enough to get his hand actually in his pants, so he just humps his hand like a dog in heat as Mox starts to groan through his teeth above him.
Yuta feels floaty, almost like he’s both centered in his body and completely outside of it at the same time. His eyes, still steadily leaking the hot streams of tears that Mox is fucking out of him, slip half-lidded as he leans in as far as he can and tries his best to breathe. He can’t really do anything, can’t work his tongue or really swallow or try and add to Mox’s pleasure, can only tuck his teeth and let Mox fuck him however he wants, and the sheer helplessness he feels is enough that he has to back off his hand before he comes.
“Fuck, that’s a good hole.” Mox groans, head thumping back against the door. Yuta squeezes his eyes shut and whines, shaking tremors wracking through his body. He squeezes his cock painfully hard, trying to stave off his orgasm. He doesn’t want to come yet, wants something so viscerally he’s sick with it, but he can’t quite identify what it is with how heavy and empty his head feels. Mox’s thrusts—which never had any real rhythm to begin with—falter and grow stronger, which Yuta didn’t think was even possible. “Gonna come.” Mox warns, voice stretched thin and breathy. Yuta makes a noise he’s never heard from himself and squeezes Mox’s leg as hard as he can, hoping that it signifies just how badly he wants it.
Mox buries himself deep and grinds his hips in jerky little circles, jarring the back of Yuta’s throat. Yuta can’t fucking breathe, vision starting to swim as the oxygen deprivation starts to seep in. Mox shoves his fist against his mouth, teeth digging into the side of his finger, as he comes. Yuta can feel his dick twitching against his tongue, come just barely hitting the back of his tongue before it slides down his abused throat. Yuta sputters and chokes, trying desperately to swallow what he can. It doesn’t take long before it starts to fill his mouth and spill from his lips, dripping down his chin to land on the floor in between Mox’s feet. He isn’t sure if it’s his inexperience or if Mox just comes a crazy amount, but he feels like he’s fucking drowning in it.
They just sit there for a moment, breathing heavily in the silence of the room. Yuta closes his eyes and lets the heavy weight of Mox’s slowly softening cock lull him into some deep, spacey part of his brain. He’s so hard he thinks he’ll come as soon as he touches himself, but it almost seems to fade into the background. He slumps forward, resting his head against Mox’s hip as he sighs through his nose. He isn’t sure how much time passes, but it feels like a substantial amount before Mox slowly eases himself free. Yuta blinks his eyes open. He’s so dazed that he can’t even feel ashamed of the way he whines at the loss.
Mox’s cock is shiny with spit and come, hanging soft between his legs. Yuta leans in and nuzzles it, his sensitive tongue slipping out to lick it clean. This close, without the rough facefuck occupying his every sense, Yuta has the opportunity to breathe in Mox’s scent, heady and musky and thick. His pubes scratch against Yuta’s face, but he can’t be bothered to care.
Eventually, the ache in Yuta’s jaw catches up with him and the come on his chin starts to dry and itch slightly. He pulls back and sits on his heels, blinking up at Mox as though he’s coming out of a stupor. Mox is looking at him almost indulgently, and he drags his thumb through the tacky mess on Yuta’s face. He gathers it up and feeds it into Yuta’s mouth, petting the sore middle of his tongue with the callused flat of his thumb. Yuta obediently sucks it clean, a garbled moan rumbling out of his throat as he rocks his mouth around the digit.
Mox slips his thumb free and slides his hand back into Yuta’s hair. He practically pets Yuta, hand moving in slow, easy passes. “How you feeling?” He asks quietly, gaze scrutinizing. Yuta feels flayed open and vulnerable, feels a little like Mox can see every hyper-aware nerve ending in his body. He blinks slowly.
“’M good.” He slurs, wincing at the scratchy feeling in his throat. Just as he suspected, his voice is wrecked, raspy and thin. He clears his throat and immediately regrets the way it causes his muscles to scrape against each other. “Little sore.” He admits, massaging the hinge of his jaw with a clumsy hand. Mox chuckles.
“You wanna stay down there for a little bit? Wanna keep going?” Yuta weighs it in his head. As nice as it is here, his legs are starting to ache and he really wants to at least wipe his face with something. He has to debate whether he wants to move, but he immediately knows the answer to the second question.
“Help me up?” He asks quietly, not quite trusting his half-asleep legs to support him on their own. Mox nods and says, “Of course,” offering his hand for Yuta to grab. He heaves Yuta onto his feet, grabbing his hips to steady him when he wavers slightly. Yuta leans against him as he regains his balance, brain slowly tripping in his skull as his equilibrium resets.
“C’n I kiss you?” Yuta mumbles, eyes falling to Mox’s mouth. His lips are a deep red and slightly swollen, almost like he’s been biting them, and Yuta’s mouth aches for an entirely different reason. He has to ask, though—he knows he probably tastes like come, and he can’t look that appealing right now.
Mox’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, his thumb rubbing slow, easy circles around the jut of Yuta’s hipbone. “You’re cute.” He says, leaning in and slowly licking into Yuta’s mouth. Yuta’s lips are bruised, there’s no doubt about it, and he can’t quite stop the pained whimper that builds in the base of his throat. He notes curiously that Mox’s spent dick twitches against his thigh. Huh. They lazily kiss for a while, Mox’s hands a grounding weight around Yuta’s waist, Yuta’s hands skating restlessly across Mox’s body. He feels skin hungry and desperate, the ache of his cock becoming more and more insistent until it’s all he can think about. He pulls back with a gasp.
Mox cups his cheek and holds him still as he inspects his face. Yuta can’t even imagine what a mess he makes—his mouth is dropped open as he pants, used and sloppy, the last bits of come flaking on his chin, his skin flushed and feverish against Mox’s sweaty palm. He leans into the hand and just allows himself to breathe. “Do you want more?” Mox asks again, voice low and steady in a way Yuta doesn’t feel.
Yuta blinks at him. “What more is there?” He asks slowly. His brain feels like it’s moving at half speed, stumbling over every thought that sluggishly forms. He pictures Mox’s mouth on his cock, wet and hot and sloppy, and nearly whimpers.
Mox shrugs. “You could fuck me.” He offers it casually, like he’s suggesting what to eat for dinner and not the realization of every wet dream Yuta’s had for the past two years. Yuta’s nodding before he registers that he’s moving, head swimming with how desperate he feels.
“Yeah, please. If you’re sure.” He manages, swallowing the mouthful of drool that suddenly appears from under his tongue. Mox grins and pats Yuta’s cheek, only a little unkind.
“What good manners,” He taunts, pushing off the door to walk over to Yuta’s unmade bed. He flops onto the mattress and wriggles around until he’s comfortable, flat on his stomach with his head pillowed on his folded arms. He looks at Yuta with lidded eyes. “Well? Get your lube.” He says after a moment, startling Yuta out of his stupor.
He wobbles his way over to the bed, stopping to wipe his face clean with a dirty shirt and dig his lube out of his bedside drawer. He drops it next to Mox’s hip as he cautiously kneels behind him, eyes trained on Mox’s body. His back is well-muscled, covered in a few deep scars across his shoulders. It’s not even remotely close to the first time Yuta’s seen it—sometimes it seems like Mox is allergic to wearing a shirt—but it’s the first time he’s been allowed to just look his fill. His gaze trails down the line of Mox’s spine to the dip of his lower back and the swell of his ass.
Yuta’s hands shake as he carefully places them on Mox’s ass. His skin is warm and soft, paler than the rest of his body. There’s a supple layer of fat over the hard muscle of his glutes and Yuta can’t help himself from digging his fingers in to feel the give. Mox makes an appreciative noise and pushes back into his grip. “You know what you’re doing here?” He asks, looking at Yuta over one strong shoulder.
Yuta makes an uncertain noise. “Um. I’ve done it to myself a few times, but.” He shrugs awkwardly, still laser-focused on the feel of Mox underneath him. He slides his thumb into Mox’s crack and spreads him open, breath catching at the sight of Mox’s pink hole. He carefully rubs the flat of his thumb across it, feeling the easy give beneath his touch.
Mox rumbles out a noise of pleasure. “Same principle. I’m still pretty open from this morning, so it shouldn’t take too much. Just get your fingers nice and wet and stretch me open.” He stretches languidly, the muscles of his back bunching under his skin before he melts into the rumpled sheets.
Yuta nods obediently. He’s loathe to remove his hands from Mox’s body, but the promise of getting inside him is far too alluring to ignore. He pops open the half-empty bottle of lube and wets his index and middle fingers, pausing for a second before also getting his ring finger. He’s so focused on what he’s doing that it takes a moment for Mox’s words to fully catch up with him, and he freezes just before he touches Mox’s hole.
“Wait, this morning?” He asks, brow furrowing. Mox snuck someone into his room last night, sure, but as far as Yuta knows, they were gone before he woke up.
Mox hums. “Claudio spent the night.” He answers, eyes trained on Yuta’s face like he’s trying to gauge his reaction. Yuta’s stomach swoops.
“Claudio Castagnoli fucked you this morning?” He asks, bewildered and only a little breathless. Claudio is on the wrestling team, and he’s pretty sure everyone has heard the rumors of the beast he’s packing in his pants. Yuta’s also had a major crush on him for approximately forever—Claudio may or may not have played a crucial part in Yuta’s queer awakening.
Mox grins. “Turns you on thinking about it, huh?” His eyes twinkle. “He fucks like an animal.” He sounds pleased, gaze razor sharp on Yuta’s skin. Yuta flushes and looks away. He knows he’s kind of an open book, but the ease with which Mox is able to read him feels a little uncomfortable at times. “He’d fucking snap you in half.” Mox says easily, his grin evident in his voice. When Mox finds a button, finds a way under someone’s skin, he’s like a dog with a bone, never letting it go until he absolutely has to or he gets bored. Yuta knows that he’s going to be hearing about this for the next fucking year.
He tries to shut Mox up by stroking his wet fingers over Mox’s hole. He slides a shaking digit in slowly, shuddering at the heat that envelops him. He sinks right down to the knuckle easily, and he barely thinks before he pulls back and returns with two. There’s almost no resistance—it’s like Mox’s body was built for this, blooming open around Yuta’s thin fingers like it’s his favorite thing. He rocks his hand, spreading his fingers as he pulls back, feeling the give of muscle around his knuckles. He mindlessly adds a third after a few strokes.
“God, Claudio would love to fuck someone like you. Loves having someone smaller than him to push around and break.” Mox breathes, hitching his hips backward. He tilts his pelvis like he’s trying to get a specific angle, and Yuta is so stunned that it takes a long while for him to realize what Mox is looking for. He feels around with his fingertips clumsily, crooking his fingers until he finds his target. Mox moans when his fingers bump against his prostate, bleeding into a whine when Yuta keeps applying more and more pressure with the pads of his fingers. He drags them away slowly, letting Mox feel every rough callus on his skin. Mox squeezes his eyes shut and swears.
Yuta remains focused on his prostate. He wonders if he can get Mox hard again, if he can make him come like this. Mox’s cock is visible between his spread legs, and Yuta watches with rapt concentration as it twitches and slowly starts to fill. His mouth waters again. Yuta keeps up the gentle stroking of his fingers until Mox starts grinding against the sheets, hips hitching like he doesn’t know which sensation to lean into. He stops once Mox seems to find a good rhythm, withdrawing all three fingers quickly.
“Fuck, you’re an asshole.” Mox gasps, clenching visibly around nothing. Yuta stares a little dumbly. “C’mon and fuck me already.” Mox demands, wiggling his hips back and forth. Yuta’s halfway through lubing up his cock when a thought hits him. He hangs his head between his shoulders and swears.
“I don’t have a condom.” He groans, tipping back to look at the ceiling. He’s never bought any—dating has never been a focus or concern for him, and it’s not like people are lining up around the block to shoot their shot. Still, he feels a little stupid for it, like this is something he should have somehow expected despite how fucking ridiculous this situation is.
Mox huffs out a laugh. “Well, you’re clean,” he sounds so certain that Yuta’s almost a little insulted, “And so am I, so. Go for it.” He shrugs and tips his hips up, reaching back with one hand to spread himself open. Yuta stares at his shiny hole for a moment, brain skipping in circles. He knows it’s stupid—Mox literally just said he got fucked by someone else this morning, and Yuta has a sneaking suspicion that safety is not necessarily a concern of Mox’s. Still, Mox is open and willing beneath him and it feels both like a damn shame to not take advantage of that and also like an impossibility to walk away now.
He decides, fuck it, and shuffles forward. He presses the head of his cock to Mox’s hole and immediately bites his tongue, stifling a groan at the feeling. He slowly pushes in, breath flooding from his lungs in one hard exhale as he sinks deeper and deeper with little effort. Mox is wet and hot around him, walls slick and gripping as Yuta bottoms out. He has to take a moment to just sit there and breathe, determined to not make a fool out of himself by blowing his load immediately. He’d literally never live that down.
After taking a moment to gather himself, he draws back, eyes fluttering shut at the easy drag. He reaches down and spreads Mox’s other cheek, the two of them holding him open so Yuta can watch his cock disappear inside Mox. Yuta is about average thickness—he thinks—but he’s long enough that he wonders how deep Mox can feel him as he gently pushes back in. He builds a steady, easy pace, unable to look away from the stretch of Mox’s hole.
Mox groans, a frustrated sound that lingers in his throat, as his fingers dig into his own skin. “Harder.” He demands, shifting his hips restlessly. Yuta’s helpless to do anything but comply, adding more force behind his thrusts. He hangs his head, the hand not on Mox’s ass gripping hard around his hipbone. He can’t help but speed up, too, but he tries to reign himself in, tries to hold back. He doesn’t know how much Mox is still feeling—fuck—Claudio from this morning, and he’s gotta be sensitive from already coming once. He doesn’t want to overwhelm Mox or hurt him or anything.
Apparently, Mox doesn’t agree, because he clenches tight around Yuta and forces his hips back. “C’mon, you can do better than that. Fuck me like you mean it.” He goads, rolling his hips like he’ll take over if Yuta doesn’t give him what he wants. Yuta grits his teeth and shoves his hips forward hard before drawing back quickly, just to see what reaction he’ll get. It doesn’t disappoint—Mox grinds his cheek against his forearm as he bares his teeth in a grin, shoulders slumping. “Fuck yeah.” He mumbles, sliding his knees under him to get a better angle.
Yuta tightens his grip and adjusts his stance, sliding his knees wider underneath him. He fucks Mox, giving into every instinct telling him to go harder and faster and rougher. It felt good before—of course it did—but like this, with Mox moaning and clenching around him as he snaps his hips forward, it feels fucking divine. Yuta can already tell he’s ruined for anyone else.
Mox is starting to get loud, mouth hanging open around hitching moans and grunts. Yuta can’t stop staring at the pink flesh of his tongue. On one particularly hard thrust, Mox makes a noise that Yuta can only describe as a squeal, high-pitched and so loud that Yuta shoves his face into the mattress on instinct. Mox moans again, panting against the sheets. Yuta flattens himself against Mox, belly to back like they’re animals, and wraps a hand around Mox’s mouth. Mox’s eyes go wide when Yuta growls, “Quiet,” into his ear. He’s not giving this up, not for god or money, and he’s not going to let Mox’s big mouth ruin this for both of them. Mox nods a little frantically and digs his teeth into the meat of Yuta’s palm.
Yuta buries his face in Mox’s neck as he fucks him frantically, chasing after his orgasm. He’s desperate to come, can feel it building in the base of his spine, can taste it on the back of his teeth. He can’t quite keep himself quiet either, so he clamps his mouth around Mox’s shoulder and digs his teeth in as hard as he can to muffle himself. He tastes blood, and Mox clenches around him, and the combination makes Yuta come. His orgasm slams into him so hard he’s winded, sparks going off behind his eyelids. He slumps against Mox, body going limp and boneless. He pants and tries to return to his body even as Mox squirms and clenches around him.
“Fuck, make me come, you can do it, make me come.” Mox begs, aching voice muffled by Yuta’s palm. Yuta drags his hips back and grinds them in deep, breath stuttering at the aftershock that wracks through his body. He fucks Mox clumsily even as he tips into overstimulation, whining around the mouthful of Mox’s shoulder still caught between his teeth. He grinds his jaw together, trying to dig open the wounds he’s made in Mox’s skin on a hunch. Mox makes a garbled noise and tightens around him, his walls flexing around Yuta as he shakes and comes onto the sheets. He breathes heavily into Yuta’s palm, body twitching as he comes down.
Eventually, Mox groans and licks Yuta’s palm until he pulls his hand back. “You’re heavy,” He complains, wriggling under Yuta like he’s trying to buck his weight. Yuta knows Mox could easily throw him off, so he appreciates the kindness of not being jarred around this soon after what’s without a doubt the most intense orgasm of his life. He manages to pull himself upright, sinking back on his haunches as he gingerly pulls out of Mox.
His hole is puffy and red, and Yuta stares dumbly as his come starts to leak out over Mox’s balls and softening cock. His own twitches and he winces, the sensation sharp and oversensitive. He pushes his come back into Mox with two fingers, feeling the wet squelch of it around his knuckles. He can’t keep his hand still, lazily fucking his come back into Mox with strong curls of fingers. Mox groans and bites his forearm, jaw ticking every time Yuta strokes over his prostate. His hips keep hitching restlessly, pulling away from the sensation before leaning back into it. It doesn’t take long for tears to gather at the corners of his tightly shut eyes, spilling over and wetting his long lashes. Tears streak down his face, falling across the bridge of his nose to gather in his messy hair. Yuta keeps at it despite the way Mox’s body shakes, partly because he’s fascinated by the way he responds, partly because he wants to see if he can get Mox to come again, and partly because he’s enjoying himself.
The clenching of Mox’s body when he comes is weaker this time around, and the fluid that spurts from his cock is thin and clear. Yuta slides the fingers of his clean hand through the mess and pops them into his mouth, licking them clean. His mouth still feels awkward being unoccupied, and it takes him a moment too long to realize when there’s no more come on his tongue. He pulls his fingers free, grateful that Mox’s eyes are still shut and that he didn’t just witness Yuta practically sucking his own fingers.
Yuta collapses next to Mox, flopped onto his back. He pants up at the ceiling, trying to form a single coherent thought. It hits him like running into a brick wall—he just had sex with his stepbrother. He let Mox fuck his face and fingered Mox and came inside him and fucked an orgasm out of him and then made him come again just because he fucking could. Jesus fucking christ.
“Three weeks.” Mox mumbles into the pillow. His breathing has slowed into something heavy and easy, and he’s grinding his face against the pillow like he’s trying to burrow inside of it. His hair is an absolute rat’s nest, tangled and frizzy around his face. Yuta kind of wants to yank on it, just to see what Mox will do. He shakes away the thought—he needs to get a fucking grip on himself.
Yuta blinks at Mox. “What?” He asks after a moment, utterly at a loss for what Mox is talking about. Mox mutters under his breath, and it takes Yuta nudging him and asking again for him to finally pull his face from the pillow.
“Until the season ends. You said Dad wanted to know.” Mox mumbles. Yuta stares at him, bewildered, as Mox snuffles and seems to promptly fall asleep. He keeps staring, trying to catch up through the sheer panic of what just happened between them.
“What the fuck.”