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He has no clue what her mum was thinking when she thought leaving them alone for all of forty eight hours was a good idea. ‘Cos it weren't, clearly. It's barely five in the afternoon and the living room looks like a fucking tornado has gone through it. Well, almost. Ruben had gone through it, and that was basically the same thing.
There are pillows, bottles and even some hash all scattered across the floor. In the middle of the mess, his brother is lying belly up, shirtless as he babbles on about some nonsense Niall isn't paying much mind to. Not because he's being rude or anything like that, but because he's so high he might actually start floating. Ruben had brought “supplies” as he called it, half of which are now tossed about on the floor, while the other half is in their system. The supplies in question were a load of booze, hash, a bit of food and a few pills of E. He reckons they should have more food, but right now he doesn't feel very hungry. He doesn't feel much of anything, if he's being honest, only a pleasant warmth that soaks his entire body, like settling in a warm bath after a rough day.
He sighs contentedly, and the sound of it makes Ruben's head snap up, like it suddenly reminded him that he wasn't alone, that Niall was there with him. He wonders if maybe it would be better that his brother forgot he was there.
“Ah, you liking it, then?” Ruben snickers, stretching in place. “Fuckin' told you— this is it, Bambi, best fuckin’ pills I've ever taken. Should take ‘em before school, y'know, make it bearable.”
Niall shakes his head. “You're joking. I can't even stand up like this, imagine writing and doing maths.”
His brother lets out a snort at that. “That's just ‘cos it's your first time, you'll get used to it. And that's the fun part, eh? It makes everything better. The food tastes better, even if it's shite, your clothes feel softer and, shagging— fuck. You have no idea, Bambers. No idea.”
A shiver goes through him at the way Ruben groans the words, the rumble of his voice vibrating in iall's chest. He swallows, mouth dry before he asks: “You done a bird while on E?”
There's a grunt in reply and he knows to take it as a yes, so he insists. “What is it like, then?”
“Like you're being electrocuted,” Ruben breathes, his hands gesturing softly, as if caressing the air. “But in a good way, like, just some buzzing on the tip of your fingers, on your lips, on your dick. Everything is just more, yeah? It's mad. You have to try it, son, you have to.”
He wants to sob, suddenly. Because having sex on ecstacy sounds fucking amazing but he doesn't have anyone to try it with, and even if he did, he doesn't think he would. Being high means being vulnerable, almost defenseless, and he doesn't think he could be naked and defenseless with just some random girl — his stomach churns at the thought — he doesn't know. He needs to build something with that person, something that he doesn't have the time or the courage to build. Probably never will.
“Sh. You're alright, c'mon, breathe,” His brother coos, and suddenly he's no longer on the floor, but on the couch right next to Niall, the sweat of his skin surely staining his mum's couch. He wants to be offended but he doesn't have it in him, so he just tries to copy Ruben's calming breaths as he's told. When he takes a deep breath, it's cut off by the sound of a loud sob, and he realises with horror that it's coming from him.
“Deep breaths, c'mon lad. You only had like half a pill, surely you're not that much of a fanny.”
“‘m not,” Niall protests. It's not even the pills. It's everything else. He doesn't think he's spoken to anyone that wasn't Ruben this week, with his mum being busy organising their trip or whatever. He doesn't even know why they've gone away, ‘cos they said they were seeing a friend of theirs who'd fallen ill; but Ruben said it was a lie, they were just off celebrating some anniversary and wanted some time off together. Probably to shag in peace and all that. Well, not shag. Make love. ‘Cos everyone and their mum —literally— has someone to do that with except for Niall.
“No, you ain't,” Ruben agrees, voice stern. “Listen Bambi, you're just in a bad high, yeah? Whatever is happening inside that little ‘ead of yours is just the fuckin' pills.”
Maybe it is. But it's the truth, isn't it? He's got no friends, no bird, just his mum and Ruben. His brother, who's not really his brother, who has to do fucking everything for him and he doesn't even like Niall. Or at least he wouldn't, if he knew. Christ, he doesn't even know. “I'm gonna die of old age and I'm never having sex on my own,” he whines.
There's a huff coming from his left side and the warm air blows on his face, the smell of beer assaulting his nostrils. “Nah, you'll be alright, shagger, you just need a bit of practice, yeah?” He looks to the side then, seemingly thinking. And that can't be good. Ruben thinking was never good. “Right, look here, I brought somethin’ for you.”
Niall holds back a whine when the heat emanating from his brother's body is gone, and resigns himself to watching Ruben rummage through some bag as he mutters under his breath.
He feels cold and yet sweaty at the same time, and everything seems too loud and bright suddenly. It hurts his eyes, his ears, even the pad of his fingers feel overwhelmed. The need to curl up into a ball and squeeze his eyes shut invades him, but then his brother is standing in front of him, holding up something.
It's a VHS, he realises through the mindfog. On its cover, there's a blond lass lying on a car, wearing a tight leather dress that doesn't leave much to the imagination.
“You rented a porno?” Niall asks, dumbly.
Ruben snorts. “As fucking if. Nicked it from one of the lads from school, what's his face, Richard or somethin’. He's a right pervert that one, but he has the good stuff.”
“Right.” He drags a hand down his face, and for some reason the palm feels like sand paper on the skin of his cheeks.
“Reckon it'll do you some good, watching a professional doing the shagging,” Ruben explains, waving the tape from side to side like he's trying to hypnotise him with it. “Ain't it great? You get to get off and it's educational. Never say I don't do anything for you, Bambers.”
Then his brother's turning around with a movement so graceful it looked like one of the twists he did when he danced. Almost standing on his toes, swift as he slides across the wooden floor. He's always like that, Ruben, like all his movements are choreographed; he never stumbles, never trips. Like he's walked this life before, somehow. Niall feels like his body doesn't fit him properly: he bumps into the doorframe at least three times a week, he always trips when he walks to school, and his hands seem to have a mind of their own half the time. He'd like to wear his own flesh like it was tailored for him, perfect fitting, like his brother.
But he can't, and that's why he fidgets in place, trying to get comfortable as the film starts. Shitty music comes out of the telly, trying to be suggestive, and Ruben is walking back to the sofa, strouting with his head up and swinging his arms like the Earth and everything on it was made for him to step on.
“What's— uh, w-what's the film about, then?” Niall asks, rather stupidly, as he realises as soon as he finishes uttering the words.
Ruben scoffs. “Who gives a fuck? No one cares about why they're shagging, you daft cunt, you just watch when the lass gets naked.”
His brother's eyes narrow then, studying Niall for a moment. “Fuck me, you're tense,” he mutters. “You're supposed to be dead chuffed, for once you get to look at birds on something that's not a scud book, and you can't embarrass yourself in front of her. Win-win.”
Niall doesn't mention the fact that he doesn't have that kind of magazine— he saw one, once, when his cousin had showed one to him in some family reunion, all whispers and boyish excitement. He remembers his shock when he saw all the naked ladies with their legs open and their big breasts, all soft curves and shining make-up. He was even more shocked when he noticed it didn't do anything for him beyond making him slightly guilty.
Nevermind that. He shakes the memory off and he nods, but pparently that's not enough for Ruben ‘cos he huffs, bending down to push at his shoulders. “Go on, just lie down and relax, shaggers,” Ruben says as he places a heavy hand on Niall's chest, pushing down until he's lying on his back. “That's it, there's a lad.”
A small yelp makes them look at the telly. The lady is in the arms of some bloke, wrapping her long, tanned legs around his torso. The man says something inaudible, words rough and slurred in a way that make the bird laugh and cause Niall to twist uncomfortably in place. He turns to his side, now fully facing the telly, as his hand clutches the front of his shirt until the knuckles turn white.
Ruben plops down on the sofa with a satisfied groan, right by Niall's feet. He lays his arms on the back of the couch, spreading his thighs until they're touching Niall's toes. His breath hitches at the feeling, and immediately he pulls his legs away from Ruben, drawing his knees almost to his stomach as he practically curls into a ball.
A loud laugh is pulled out of Ruben when the woman says something Niall didn't quite hear, and suddenly she's unbuttoning her top as she bites her lips. It looks ridiculous, the way she lowers her eyelids and slowly slides the clothes off her shoulders. It couldn't look more fake if they tried. He'd seen a pair of tits in real life — just the one, to be fair— and it didn't look like that. And no birds were doing all that, sticking out their tongues and getting naked in the middle of a road just because a lad asked. At least not for free.
He wrinkles his nose when rough hands pull the dress up, tearing the fabric and revealing that the lass had no knickers on.
“Look at the state of her,” Ruben marvels. “You can see how wet she is, look at it drippin’ down her legs, fuckin’ hell. I'm telling you, Bambers, this is the best of the best.”
He offers only a noncommittal hum in reply, hoping his brother doesn't want Niall's commentary on things. He can tell Ruben's excited by all this, he doesn't want to disappoint him. After all, his brother is only trying to help, even if it's doing the opposite, bless him. His heart is in the right place.
There's a sort of wet sound then, and he assumes it must be the film, but after a few seconds Niall realises it's coming from his right side. Not from the telly, not from the girl slobbering all over the bloke's prick— from his brother, right here, on the same sofa as him.
In a second, Niall's entire body tenses, clenching his jaw until he can feel his entire face hurt. The entire room echoes with that unmistakable squelch as Ruben speeds up his strokes, timing them along with the bobs of the girl's head on the telly.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Niall curls even further into himself, trying to drown out all the noise. The action seems to do the opposite, everything around him only invading his senses further— the light coming from the telly shines brighter, burning his eyelids; the fabric of his shirt feels like sandpaper on his chest, grazing painfully against his sweaty skin; and the fucking noise, God. The over the top moans coming from the slag on the film, crying out with every thrust and the slide of Ruben's hand up and down his length. Niall digs the heels of his hands into his eyes until it hurts, shapes forming behind his eyelids as he presses on them—
“Ey, ey, fuckin' cut that out,” a voice cuts through the onslaught of his mind. “Fuckin' hell, what are you doin'?”
And suddenly a pair of big hands are roughly peeling Niall's hands off his face. He gasps, his arms and legs trembling, and notices that he's drenched in sweat. He feels like he's fucking dying, he must be. There's some words muttered over him that he can't quite make out, but he doesn't care. He needs to go out, needs to breathe fresh air and possibly puke, if only to purge whatever it's in him that is making him feel like this.
But when he gathers strength to stand up, a strong, solid pair of arms wraps around his torso, bringing him down. He lands on the sofa with an oof, trying to squirm out of the hold, but Ruben's arms seem made out of stone, firm and unmovable on Niall's waist and chest.
“Right, calm down. Jesus, you only took half a pill, you soft cunt, breathe,” Ruben says, right next to his ear.
He's almost sure he took more than half a pill. And he's certainly sure that this is all his brother's fault.
“My fault?” His brother scoffs. Niall reckons he must've been thinking out loud. “I bring you stuff to relax and you start fuckin' shivering and trying to pull your eyes out, Bambi, 's not my fault.”
Maybe he's right. Maybe normal lads his age sit with their brothers to watch dirty movies together and they don't feel like vomiting like Niall does. Surely their hearts don't speed up when they see the sweat dripping down their brothers’ abdomen, their mouths probably don't water at the sight of strong arms.
The same arms that are keeping him in place right now, as Ruben lays down on the sofa behind him, practically spooning him. “You're supposed to toss one off when you watch one of these, you daftie,” Ruben coos condescendingly.
“I— I don't,” Niall stammers. Before he can say something though, a hand grabs the front of his trousers. He yelps, his hands flying to slap Ruben's grasp.
“Yer soft.” His brother clicks his tongue, resigned as he palms him through the fabric. Of course he's soft. Niall pushes his brother's hands off his crotch, panting with the effort. What does he even say now? That he bird's not fit? That the pills are not letting his dick get up or something? In the background, the woman on the film keeps screaming as he rides the bloke. He wonders how long the film is, if they give anything to the guy so he'll last longer. That can't be healthy.
“Fuckin’ hell, do I have to do this for you as well?” Ruben huffs. The words trigger all the alarms in Niall's brain before he can even begin to understand them. He gets that he probably needs to run, but he always would be better off running instead of being with Ruben.
Ruben's arm wraps tighter around the waist, pulling him closer until his front is plastered against Niall's back. The other hand takes hold of Niall's jaw, the pad of the fingers digging into the hollow of his cheeks. “Look at her,” Ruben orders, voice low and hoarse in his ear. “Look at the way her tits bounce about, yeah? Look at the way that cunt opens around the dick.”
Niall can't help but look, his gaze now glued to the skin, the curves, the fluids mixing into each other as they form something disgusting. And when Ruben's hand starts unbuttoning his jeans, he does his best not to flinch. They've done something like this before, with Mona. He'd guided Niall back then, helped him and all. It's alright. It's alright.
His brother's hand slides inside his pants, the skin on skin contact making Niall flinch. Ruben's hand is so warm, so rough with blisters and scars— a prisoner's hand, he'd told him once. A fighter 's hands. It completely engulfs Niall's cock, and as soon as he gives it the first stroke, it starts to harden embarrassingly quickly. He should be embarrassed, especially with the satisfied hum that Ruben offers in response.
Scratch that, he should be fucking furious. Because you can't call someone brother and then do this. Brothers don't do this. He's never had a brother, but he's quite certain that they don't touch each other like this. And yet, Ruben starts a steady rhythm with his hand, holding him in place with the other. This is too far, this has to be crossing a line. The thing with Mona was like jumping rope with the line, but surely this is so far off what they're allowed. Surely this is a sin of some sort.
He tries to turn his head around, at least to glare at him, but Ruben only clicks his tongue. “Eyes on the fuckin' telly, Bambi. Not telling you again,” he grunts, and Niall recognises the threat in his words. He swallows thickly as he returns to stare at the screen. The woman is in all fours now, her hair and tits swinging back and forth as she gets fucked.
Ruben's strokes quicken, and so does Niall's breath. He needs to focus on the telly, on the bird and her body, her hairless, tanned and thin body that gets pushed with every thrust. Not on the firm torso behind him, with the scarred and hairy arms, the pale skin. Not on the warm puffs of breath blowing right on his neck and ear. Not the big, coarse hand that's tossing him off.
A weak little whimper is pulled out of him when Ruben twists his hand, and he can feel his brother's breath hitch. For a second, Niall thinks Ruben has finally figured him out, that he's going to get up, call him a queer and batter him for his troubles. But he does nothing of the sort, only continues to fist his cock.
The bird on the telly arches her back, letting out a loud elongated moan, like a cat in heat. She's got her chest on the floor and her arse up as well, and the bloke groans before laying on top of her, covering the girl from head to toe as he ruts inside of her. It's almost animalistic, all pretense of elegance long gone— if there ever was any. The woman scratches the floor, squirming under the weight as she snarls, and the man only holds her down with a growl as he snaps his hips harder. For the first time since that fucking film started, it feels real. It feels authentic, like those two actors finally threw all the scripted rubbish out the window and just did what their bodies wanted to.
He would like to do it like that, Niall reckons. Almost feral, like. He would squirm, bite and scratch, but he'd like someone to hold him down as he does. Someone to stop him, with strength, with their weight. To make him take it until it feels natural, until it feels right. And he'd surrender, eventually. He always does.
“Ah, you like that, then? Like it when it gets rough, shagger?” Ruben snickers behind him and is interrupted by a few loud screams coming from the tape. “Look at her, the fuckin' slag.”
He bets Ruben likes it rough as well. Lately he hasn't been bringing birds home ‘cos their mums had told him not to, and surprisingly he had agreed. But still, Niall wonders. He probably gets the girls all sweet, acting all gentlemanly and all; and then when they're well into it, he starts going mad. Maybe he pulls their hair, or a hand around their necks— or his hands squeeze their waist so tight they have fingerprint shaped bruises the next day.
Just as he's holding Niall's waist now, his grasp tightening as Niall lets out little breathy whimpers. He can't hold them back, not when Ruben thumbs at the tip of his prick, at the same time his hot breath blows on the back of his neck and makes the skin rise in goosebumps. It's too much. The bird keeps moaning, and Niall's noises are almost as high pitched as hers.
There must be something wrong with Niall, he thinks, ‘cos this feels better than Mona. And that doesn't make any sense, ‘cos Mona is a beautiful woman, who had big breasts and inside she was so soft and wet— and Ruben is being so rough, his hand is almost dry as it speeds up its strokes until Niall feels like he's going to chafe.
“Ruben,” he gasps against his own will, the sound spilling out of lips like blood when Ruben punched him too hard.
He expects a punch or even an arm around his neck, like when Ruben's father had come to their house, but none of happens. He can't even hear his brother's breaths, although he can feel his heartbeat against his back. They're too close.
And then, Ruben is even closer, he can feel him leaning his head towards him until he's almost grazing the skin of his neck. His heart skips a beat, and Ruben's mouth is on Niall's neck, then, mouthing at the tender skin. He could die. He must've died and this is Heaven, or Hell; he doesn't mind as long as Ruben doesn't stop.
“Bambi,” Ruben breathes, right against his skin, and he feels the rumble of his voice before he hears it. It sends a shiver from head to toe, and this time Niall can't contain the moan that pulls out of him.
It must do something for his brother as well, because as soon as he moans, he can feel Ruben's hardness right against him. He grinds his hips against Niall's arse, the fabric of his trousers the only thing separating them. He can feel the shape and the warmth of it, he feels him hard and hot against him; just like Niall is.
Niall's body is being rocked back and forth with every movement of Ruben's hips against him, both panting into the air that's turning thicker by the second. It's suffocating, all of it— Ruben's arm holding him in place, the hand that's tossing him off far too quick and rough, his brother's breaths against his ear, sounding desperate. He's never seen him desperate. He's always on top of everything, everyone walking on eggshells to please him and he remains unmovable, unshakable. But not now. He's panting and rutting against him, all sloppy and desperate because of Niall. Only because of him.
He's sure he's letting out a stream of pathetic, broken sounds but he couldn't care less. He can't see the telly, can't even hear the sounds from the film, or the cars going by outside, or the birds chirping in the trees. There's nothing in the entire world except for Ruben's hot breaths on his skin, mouthing at his neck.
“Ruben, I—I’m—” he tries to warn, squeezing his eyes shut and thrusting into Ruben's fist. He only manages to move twice before he's spilling into his brother's (Christ, his brother, even if it's not by blood, his brother) hand. He trembles and cries out as he does, his entire body spasming and forcing Ruben to hold him in place so he doesn't fall off the sofa.
His vision goes white for a second, and all he sees in his mind is Ruben, Ruben lying down behind him, the white expanse of his skin and his strong arms, his sharp eyes and the way his cheek stretches into a cocky smile. He watches him like he's outside of his body, like he can see them now from the window; the only man he loves wrapped around him, crushing him, trapping him, taking care of him and making him feel good. There's no one else. He doesn't need anyone else.
He feels like comes for ages, his body still twitching, his muscles tensing like he's being tasered. Distantly, he can hear his brother whispering something in his ear, right while he strokes his length through the aftershocks. After a bit, his frame deflates, his limbs going limp like a puppet with its strings cut, and he lets out a deep sigh as he feels himself drifting off.
When Niall comes to, the first thing he notices is that the telly is turned off. He blinks a few times, trying to get rid of the drowsiness. The second thing he notices is that he's naked, and he feels slightly relieved by that fact because he was feeling a bit overheated before, the fabric sticking to his sweaty skin. He tries to stretch in place, and that's the third thing he notices: Ruben is still behind him, holding him in place. There's no longer a hand on Niall's prick however, and as soon as he comes to this realisation, the hand is grabbing Niall's thigh.
“Ruben?” He questions, slightly alarmed.
“Sh, you're alright.”
Before he can even process what's happening, his thigh is being lifted just the slightest bit, and right then Ruben slicks himself with his own mix of spit and pre-come so he can slot his cock in the space between Niall's thighs.
Niall yelps at the contact, feeling Ruben's hot length between the fat of his thighs, grazing his taint. It's so big, he marvels in his mind, as he feels the thickness and the length of it— far bigger than his own. The cock sits heavy between his legs and absentmindedly he muses that perhaps this was one of the reasons Ruben was so fucking arrogant. No wonder.
The hand lifting his thigh now squeezes his legs together, and Niall feels a bit daft when he finally realises what's happening. “Ruben, fuck,” he protests, squirming uselessly. “I'm not, I'm not—”
Not what? A voice in his head mocks. Not a bird? Not a poof? And yet he can feel his prick twitching at the idea, just as he shivers when Ruben's hand comes to squeeze at his waist. Like he's just another of Ruben's conquests, one of his girls that ends up without her knickers and with all her lipstick smudged. Something to be used.
But that's the thing, isn't it? All the girls have to go back home when it's done. Even if they give him papers with their addresses, their house phone number, he'll throw it all away and forget about it. But he can't leave this house, and he can't forget about Niall. He always comes back to sleep by his side, in the end. He wants to come back.
Ruben starts moving then, sliding his prick inside Niall's thighs. The grip on his waist tightens, and his brother lets out a deep groan. “Fuck, fuckin’ hell,” He pants, his movements speeding up a bit more.
Niall throws his head back, resting it on his brother's shoulder as he feels him thrusting in and out of his thighs, the slide making a lewd squelch. He squeezes his thighs together even tighter and bites his lips smugly when Ruben hisses at the pressure around his dick.
It's alright. He's making Ruben feel good, even if it's not doing much for him, just the thought, the idea is enough to send him spiraling. His brother could have any bird he wants, he could be off with any of the girls in their class or any of the others; but he's here with him. The idea makes pride to swell in his chest, the shadow of a smile tugging on his lips. Ruben he feels good because of him, he's groaning and panting because of Niall's body.
Suddenly the pump of Ruben's hips stops, his brother muttering something under his breath. Niall makes a confused noise he regrets instantly, and tries to turn around to see what's wrong. A hand comes to stop him, though, wiping sweat and God knows what else on his skin, as he turns Niall's head back around to make him look forward again.
“Just stay still, Bambi.”
The voice is more of a growl than anything else, the words slurred into each other. Something in Niall churns at the sound, his skin rising in goosebumps. Ruben is pulling away from him, the space between his thighs feeling cold suddenly. He swallows thickly, wondering if his brother has somehow come to his senses. But then there's a hand on his back and he's being pushed until he's laying on his stomach.
He whimpers at the sudden change while he tries to shift to get comfortable, but his brother pushes a hand between his shoulder blades, pinning him in place. It's then when he feels it, poking against his entrance. Niall's flight seems to kick in, and he starts thrashing, swinging his arms back to hit at Ruben.
“Get off, Ruben, off!” He exclaims, alarmed as he tries to shake off his brother.
However Ruben is stronger, heavier and bigger than him. As Ruben lies his body on top of his, holding him down with his weight, Niall becomes filled with dread. There's no way he can run from this.
“Sh, you'll be alright,” Ruben shushes him. “Just the tip, promise.”
Niall could laugh at the absurdity of it. Even he's not that naïve. He tries to speak, the words getting stuck at the back of his throat as his mouth goes dry. “Ruben, just— hold on, wait—”
His own heartbeat gets louder in his ears and he can barely hear how Ruben spits on his hand, slicking his length with it. Afterwards he spits on Niall’s backside, the warm glob of spit sliding down between his cheeks. His brother lines up right against his entrance, caging his legs with his own. Taking a deep breath, Niall bears down, knowing he can't stop this. Ruben is like that, like a storm or a tsunami, one of those things you take refuge or you run from; you don't fight it. He knows him too well for that.
His brother starts pushing inside slowly but steadily, until he gets the tip in and Niall actually screams, the sound of it probably heard by the whole neighborhood. When his voice dies out he gapes like a fish out of the water, his mouth hanging open until his jaw aches. It hurts, it hurts so fucking much it feels like it's tearing him apart from the inside, like it's killing him. It's the best thing he's ever felt in his life.
Ruben pushes inside just a centimetre further and Niall lets out a gargled moan, his nails digging into the leather of the sofa. It's like his brother is carving a place for himself inside of him, bullying his way into Niall's deepest parts, until there's nothing he hasn't invaded. Distantly, something in his head tells him they already share everything, so why not this too? His body is all Niall has, all that he owns, it's only fair he gives it up for Ruben as well.
It feels like an eternity until the tip is in, and Niall is panting, mouth hanging open as a thread of saliva hangs pathetically from his lips. A hand snakes around his throat at the same time the other arm wraps around his torso, and once again he's surrounded by Ruben, from the outside and the inside, this time.
“That's it, so fuckin' good, so good for me,” Ruben groans, his hips rocking back and forth in little circles, making Niall mewl with every movement. He feels feverish, his blood boiling from the inside as his body morphs to fit his brother inside of it. He needs to curl over in pain and push his brother off of him— he wants Ruben to push his head down and put it all the way in carelessly, he wants Ruben to break him open as he pleases.
To his credit, Ruben doesn't push any further. He keeps his promise, just pushing the tip inside and then pulling out, to shove it inside again. There's cold tears sliding down Niall's face, almost a relief on his feverish face. His hands tremble and a shiver goes through him when Ruben buries his nose in Niall's hair, inhaling his scent. Surely he can't like the way he smells, like cheap soap and sweat. But he must do, because his movements speed up, getting sloppier with each thrust and punching little ah-ah-ah's out of Niall.
And maybe no one else would like the way Niall smells, or how small and scrawny his frame and they most definitely wouldn't appreciate the way he's drooling all over the sofa. But Ruben does, it drives him mad. He inhales his scent before biting on his skin, his hips snapping faster as he pants Niall's name. He's just like him, in the manner he gets a bit uncoordinated and wild as he gets close, his hands squeezing Niall's throat — not too hard though, just enough for him to feel it. He couldn't do that with a bird, but he can do it with Niall. They can do whatever they want, they can become whatever they need to be. They can be this. They will.
It only takes a few minutes before Ruben's hips are stuttering as he comes, pushing more than halfway inside with a groan. Niall cries out then, the burn and the pressure too much, while Ruben is still pumping his hips as he empties himself inside his brother.
“Niall, fuck—” he moans, pushing inside even further. Niall gasps at the sound of his name, the pain mixing with a shock that climbs all the way up his spine, a flash of pleasure that drowns him out of nowhere.
He trembles, his half soft cock twitching and spilling just the tiniest bit onto the sofa. His entire frame shakes with the aftershocks, and he can feel Ruben doing the same before his vision fills with dark spots, some words getting lost as his eyes fall close.
The bedroom is quiet when he wakes up. Everything hurts, but at least the bed is far more comfortable than the sofa, and he's no longer naked. His eyebrows furrow at the thought, and turns to find Ruben sleeping in his own bed, still shirtless. For a delirious second he believes it was all nothing but a dream, but then he tries to sit up and a sharp pain shoots up in his lower back. Right. Not a dream, then. His brother must've carried him and put his pajamas before tucking him to bed. He smiles at the mental image.
He lies back down, his eyes fixed on Ruben. He thinks if this was like losing his virginity once again. Just another kind, the kind he thought he'd lose with some bloke many years down the line, when he found the right one. Well, no one could be more right than Ruben, could it? And he'd made sure he lost his virginity the first time, helping him during it and everything. Makes sense he would be the one to take the other one as well. Niall is certain his brother has never done that with another man either, so in a way, it was a first for both of them. He'd seen a part of Ruben that no one else got to see, and never will.
Snuggling under the sheets, he closes his eyes, and all he sees behind his eyelids is Ruben, and the last thought he has is that his brother will also be the first thing he'll see when he wakes up.