12. Mikhail
Mikhail
Glancing up from my cards, I narrow my eyes at Daniil. This little shit is cheating again, I know he is. “The Beach” by The Neighborhood drifts through the room while he shuffles, and I don’t care what he says, he does something to that deck.
“I’m not cheating. Stop looking at me like that,” he says without even glancing up.
“I want you to tell me how you do it.”
He scowls. “Why does everybody keep accusing me of cheating? Not my fault for being smarter than all of you.”
Cursing under my breath, I wipe sweat off my forehead.
It’s hot as hell in here. He’s in a white t-shirt and boxers. I’m down to just boxers, both of us sprawled on the living room floor because we’ve given up on life. The AC’s broken or useless, just pushing warm air around like that’s helpful.
We woke up like an hour ago, and I’m already restless.
He had already left the bed when I woke up, and it pissed me off.
I was looking forward to waking up with him still there, pulling him close and getting off again.
Instead, he was already up, and now I’m sitting here playing cards when I’d rather be doing something else.
My eyes drift up to him, and I take him in. How have I never realized how beautiful he is? Then again, I’ve never thought about any guy that way before. Not until his pretty pink lips were wrapped around my cock.
His hazel eyes catch the light from the window, flecked with gold and brown, and that silver hoop in his nose glints. I’m so obsessed with that piercing.
His black hair goes slightly past his ears and falls to the sides on his forehead, curling at the ends. It’s usually messy and sticks up whenever he wears his hoodies with the hood up, but right now it’s deliberately messy, styled in that effortless way that probably took him five seconds.
His smaller frame fits perfectly against mine, lean but defined with that six-pack and subtle muscle definition from all those sparring sessions I dragged him to. He only has one tattoo, right over his heart. Our family motto.
We are so fucked up for doing what we did yesterday.
I’m not stupid, it’s… not something you do with your own brother.
I just don’t care. He better not download that dating app again, or I’m going to find whoever sent him that message and make them disappear.
What the fuck was that about? Some asshole asking if he’s into twinks?
He brings out this possessive streak in me that I gave up fighting years ago. Something about him triggers this need to bite, mark, claim, make it so everyone knows he’s mine. My brain bypasses all logic and goes straight to caveman territory whenever he’s close.
I’m trying my hardest not to overthink this because I’ve never had a crush on anyone before. Ever. And I think I may be crushing on him and have been for a long time without knowing it.
I’ve been with plenty of girls, but I never liked any of them. It was always quick and meaningless. Get in, get out, forget their names by the next day. There was this one girl when I was sixteen that I dated for a week, but that ended after I kissed him on that roof.
My mind drifts back to what we did, and my cock stirs in my boxers.
When he sucked me off, he was so enthusiastic and eager and desperate for it. Kept going even after I came, working me over with his tongue until I was shaking and oversensitive.
No one’s ever done that before. Most girls pull off the second I finish, but he just kept going, greedy and relentless like he couldn’t get enough. I almost groan out loud just thinking about it. My cock jerks against my boxers, already half-hard again.
Is it gay if I get hard thinking about another guy? Fuck if I know. I’m so confused about this entire situation.
Does he want me to fuck him?
He said he wants to get fucked. I remember that conversation, how flustered he got admitting it before I had my blackout episode and we kissed.
And last night when I pressed against his hole, the way he moaned and pushed back against me, he was practically begging for more. He wants my cock, not just my fingers.
Anal has always been my thing. Whether I’m watching porn or having sex, it’s what I need, what gets me off harder than anything else.
Being with a guy instead of a girl shouldn’t be much different, and I’ve heard it’s even better for men because of their prostates.
I want to make it good for him, want to watch him fall apart when I’m buried inside him.
The thought of being inside him like that, feeling him clench around me, drives me fucking crazy.
My cock is fully hard now, pressing uncomfortably against the fabric of my boxers, insistent and impossible to ignore.
It’s not gay to want to fuck him.
…Right?
I’ve never looked at another guy and felt anything, never wanted to kiss one or touch one or do any of this.
The thought never even crossed my mind before him.
Now I can’t stop thinking about doing it again, about pushing him down into the mattress and making him fall apart, about hearing those desperate sounds he makes when he’s needy.
This doesn’t mean I’m gay. I’m still straight. Very straight. I just happen to want to fuck my brother, which is completely different.
But the thought doesn’t bother me as much as it probably should. We’ve always been messed up. Codependent and obsessed with each other and incapable of functioning apart. This is just one more fucked-up thing to add to the list.
I’m never letting anyone else have him. He wants connection? He’s got me for that. He doesn’t need some random asshole when he has me. He’s been through enough, and he deserves to have one person who doesn’t hurt him, who just wants to make him feel good.
My cock throbs again, and I shift slightly, trying to get comfortable.
This is going to be a long couple of days if I can’t stop thinking about his mouth and his body and the sounds he made.
But screw it, maybe I’ll figure out what this means by the end of it.
Either way, he’s not getting away from me again.
He drops a draw four onto the pile and my eye twitches. He’s cheating, I know he is.
“Tell me how you do it.” I point at him accusingly, cards clutched tight in my other hand. “You’ve had three of those already. That’s not possible.”
He shrugs. “You just suck at Uno.”
This little shit.
I toss my cards aside and launch myself at him, pinning him down with his arms locked at his sides. I glare into his face. “Tell me how.”
“You can’t handle losing.”
“I can’t handle losing to cheaters.”
He tries pushing me off, and I go with it, letting him flip us so he’s straddling me with my arms trapped under him.
He’s panting a little. “You watch me deal the cards, you dumbass. I don’t cheat.”
“You rig it somehow. You always do.”
He starts laughing, just full-on laughing in my face.
I hate him.
He rolls his eyes. “You are ridiculous. Do you know that?”
Shoving my arms up, I grab his shoulders and roll us again until I’ve got him pinned underneath me. My necklace swings down and taps against his matching one with a soft clink.
“Get off me,” he grunts, wriggling under me.
“Not until you admit you are a dirty little cheater.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m going to smother you with a pillow in your sleep.”
His throat moves when he swallows, and I can’t stop watching it, staring longer than I should. His golden family crest necklace catches the sunlight, and I track the movement up to his neck before meeting his gaze.
“Admit you cheat at Uno, or I’m giving you the biggest hickey anyone has ever seen. Choose.”
He blinks. “A what?”
“A hickey,” I say slower.
“I’m not cheating, you just suck at Uno, and you are too stubborn to admit it.”
I dive for his neck.
“Blyat,” he shouts, trying to twist away from me.
He shoves at my shoulders, but I press my mouth against the side of his neck and bite down hard, sucking the skin between my teeth.
He stops moving entirely, his body going rigid beneath me, and I work the flesh harder, feeling his pulse hammering wildly under my lips.
The taste of salt and his body wash floods my tongue as I drag it slowly up the length of his neck, and when I suck harder and bite down again, he jerks underneath me with a broken sound.
“Oh fuck,” he groans. “Suck harder.”
His hands grip my arms, holding on desperately while his breathing and moaning pick up. I obey instantly, sucking harder until the skin pulls taut between my teeth. He groans, and I feel it vibrate against my mouth, spurring me on to bite down even more.
I want this mark dark and brutal, visible to everyone. Something that screams mine without a single word needing to be said. My mouth moves up to his ear, and I bite his earlobe, tugging it between my teeth before dragging my lips across his jaw to his mouth.
When I press my lips onto his, he makes this soft, desperate whimper, and I lose whatever control I had left.
I grind down into him, my hard cock straining painfully against my boxers, and he gasps and arches his back to meet me.
Our cocks rub together through the thin fabric separating us, and the friction is almost enough to make me come right there.
“Your mouth is incredible,” I whisper against his lips, barely pulling back enough to get the words out.
His hands slide down my chest to my ass, squeezing hard enough to leave fingerprints, and then slip inside my boxers. He wraps his hand around my cock and pushes my foreskin down teasingly slow, exposing the sensitive head.
“I want you to fucking wreck me,” he whispers and bites his bottom lip while watching my face.
I crash my mouth back to his, rougher this time, and he keeps jerking me with maddeningly slow strokes that make my hips stutter. His thumb swipes over my slit and the precum there makes everything slick.