oh, brother! 《 captain levi x contingency 》

It's rare for me to be caught off guard by an advance; most of the time, I actively engineer someone's interest in me, and even more of the time, I'm the one making the first move. Seeing my own little brother hesitantly come into my room in the middle of the night, wearing nothing but his dorky little swim team jacket and telling me he's horny, though? That's enough to catch me off-guard. And it's also enough to instantly make the tight, black boxers that are the only thing I'm wearing start to bulge obscenely out around the crotch, because I know there's only one reason he would come to me. One very big, very thick reason that I've flaunted to the world enough that even he would know about it.

I'm sitting in my computer chair when you come in, leaning back lazily, swiveled away from the computer toward the window to one side of my room, one hand clasped behind my head and the other idly scrolling at my cell phone. I don't look up for a long moment after hearing you speak. Maybe some part of me is giving you the chance to take it back and slip away before you get too deep into this. But you don't, and so when I slowly turn my chair to face you and settle back, my posture utterly assured in my near-nakedness, thick, hairy legs sprawling to either side, the mere beginnings of my hard-on straining against my boxers already thicker and longer than most men at full size, my expansive, hairy chest rising and falling in relaxed, easy breaths, you're still there, and a little smirk spreads on my otherwise bored, stubbly face as I realize that tonight might actually be more fun than I'd planned.

"The fuck?" I grunt, voice rough and deep and betraying none of my interest. No, the only thing that does that is the impossible-to-miss, tubelike bulge growing along one hairy leg, and I give that bulge a casual scratch as I stare at you through half-closed, dark eyes, making it twitch and swell powerfully. "What are you telling me for, you fuckin weirdo? Get out of here and go let your loser boyfriend wiggle his tongue in your ass, or whatever it is you queers do."

My eyes narrow a little more, smirk broadening, as you openly inspect the outline of my overly-endowed package. Showing myself off to a prospective bitch, seeing the way they drink me in, has always been enough to get my blood boiling, and the fact it's my brother doing it now is no exception. If anything, it makes my cock start to throb even harder than usual - after all, you're not exactly hard on the eyes, with those traces of softness mixing with the lean, athletic masculinity of your slender body, and I've always been a sucker for plump, full lips like yours...

Then you drop to all fours, and I'm a lost cause. I've never been very good at denying myself anything; and really, that's not my fault, but our pathetic old parents', who basically stopped saying 'no' to me when puberty hit and I started to outweigh Dad by dozens of pounds. Self-control isn't a part of my vocabulary. And right now, I decide I there are worse ways to spend a night than teaching my little brother my favorite past-time: ruining sluts' holes for little dicks forever.

Outwardly, the only manifestation of this decision is the continued swelling of my cock. I'm at about half a hardon now, and it looks like I've stuffed a water bottle down my underwear. It bucks around with barely-contained power, stretching out the fabric to the point it feels like it's about to snap. I stare down my broad nose at you, tilting my head a little, thoughtfully, eyes openly appraising your flushed face, your shining, juicy lips, and then fixing on the sway of your round, tight little ass as you crawl up to me. Idly slapping my phone against the armrest of my chair, one big, hairy hand scratching lazily at my thick, hairy gut, I snort derisively. "You fucked-up little fag. You come in here begging your own brother to give you some dick just because you know he's hung, and you think you can tell me how to treat you?" I make a point of looking down at the trunk-like bulge trailing down my leg, tucking a finger under the waistband of my boxers, and slowly tugging it down just a little, just enough to display wild, untamed pubes and the monstrously thick, veiny base of my cock. "Shit, I should rape your pretty little face just to teach you a lesson, baby brother."

My mouth was salivating in excitement, a thin, transparent string of drool trickling down the corner of my slacked open lips. It was impossible to think of anything else, not even the humiliation, nor the all too familiar pet names that only served to excite me more. Yes, I was a fucked-up little fag, a queer, and a fucking weirdo all in one package wrapped in a bow for you, but I was also your baby brother begging to be shown some mercy from sexual frustration. I was kneeling a foot in front of you now, hands placed submissively on my thighs for now before they would be given the chance to wrap around the impressive girth of your well-endowed cock.

I glanced up, forest-green eyes twinkling in anticipation just under the effeminate curves of my lashes. It wouldn't be long, I thought, before the corners of my lips would stretch like a ring around your throbbing sex and the face of innocence would be no more. I wanted to be bred, to be forced to take a massive cock even if my hole was too small, and love every pang of pain and pleasure that would accompany it. "I... sorry," I apologized dumbly, too distracted by the way you were tugging down your waistband to reveal just the thick base of your cock nestled in a bed of untrimmed pubes. My own cock, not even close to the size of yours, twitched in premature excitement. Cautiously, I rested my palms on each of your hairy thighs, rising onto my knees to take a better look at the monster buried beneath the cotton of your boxers.

I swallowed thickly, my desperate gaze proof enough that I wanted my throat fucked raw or at least until I'd gag and feel a bit squeamish. "Please, please," I begged. "Anything you want." A deep blush bloomed over my cheeks at how pathetic I sounded in my own head, but my lips had already pursed over where I guessed was the head of your cock, suckling eagerly at the damp juices staining the fabric. "Just don't tell mom and dad."

My smirk twitches upward when you apologize, clearly willing to say anything just to get a fix of a real cock. Maybe most guys would be disgusted to find out their own brother has the makings of such a wanton gayboy slut. Maybe, too, we've got more in common than I ever thought, though, because I'm far from disgusted. Suddenly, the fact our bedrooms are so close to each other seems like it might not be such a bad thing. Right now, I've got to go through the hassle of calling up any one of the airheaded high school bimbos I've picked out from our school population and added to my booty call list whenever I need to drain my always swollen-with-cum balls, but if I had one of my personal cum dumpsters living right down the hallway...

Besides, seeing you like this is way too satisfying. You've always been such a goody-two-shoes; y'know, besides being a queer. Keeping your nose clean, excelling at school, being the type who always treats authority figures with respect...is it any wonder I've always picked on you? And now here you are, all that stripped away, reduced to nothing but a desperate bitch in the throes of heat, pressing your lips into my twitching, heat-radiating monster cockbulge, reaching the same conclusion that so many others in your situation have - that sometimes only a big, hulking brute, who would just as soon beat up a sweet guy like your boyfriend as look at him, can give you what your body needs.

I look down at you through my half-closed, sharply perceptive dark eyes, that omnipresent smirk lingering on my slightly rough, chapped lips - I don't spend dumbass amounts of time grooming myself in the bathroom every morning like you do - tilting my head slightly, just watching your far softer, delicate lips suckle at the tip of my overgrown slab of cock through my boxers. The moist warmth of your breath, combined with the low murmur of your voice as you speak so close to it, is quickly making that fucklog swell, right against your mouth, lengthening and fattening until it looks more like someone's forearm is stuffed down my underwear than a water bottle. The tip you were kissing moves as I harden, no longer able to be contained by the cloth, a few inches of veiny, thick, pungently musky cockmeat slipping out past the leg of my boxers into the open air.

Blowing a breath out through my flaring, broad nostrils, I settle back a little in my chair, tossing my phone onto my nearby computer desk and then slowly maneuvering my trunk-like, hairy arms until both my hands are clasped behind my head, thrusting my hips forward a little, adopting a posture that says in no unclear terms that I know I'm utterly in control here. "Mom and Dad," I echo speculatively. "I wonder what they'd think of you now, you shameless, cheating slut." I pause, then smirk wider, looking down at my cock, nodding my head upward in a beckoning gesture. "Take it out."