There is something irrevocably, irrefutably, indisputably wrong with you. Something so deeply ingrained into your very being at this point that it made people stop and stare at you with mixed levels of interest and apprehension without so much as looking you completely over. It was an aura you carried around with you, you were sure of it. It made people nervous and it attracted them to you all at once. It was never what they thought it was, either. The truth of the matter is that you're just depraved. You are a bad, bad man. You've known that pretty much your whole life, but a new low had been reached that left even your mind reeling with its dissoluteness.

It was all Dave's fault.

He had to beg you to let his little internet buddy spend a couple of weeks here with the two of you. Here… in this apartment where your furniture consisted of cinder blocks, IKEA rejects, and odds and ends you found on curbsides waiting for the dump truck. Here, where the floor is littered with criss-crossing cables that took Dave years to navigate without tripping over. Where you had shitty bladed weaponry littered about with a heaping helping of smuppets on the floor, stuffed away tight in cupboards as well as the fridge. Here where you both kept your own mini-fridge in your rooms for actual foods, hid juices away in your closets, and stored fireworks in the dishwasher. Where you made your felt porn videos and puppet snuff films. Dave wanted to invite this prince of suburbia boy to spend two weeks here.

You said yes only because the brat never actually asked you for anything. But when he did… when he did it usually cost you. Mostly money, sometimes peace of mind, plain ol' peace and quiet. Like those turn tables you got him that you had to suffer months of screeching noise until your little brother figured them out. Or that phone that you still get overcharge fees on despite the unlimited texting option you had gotten him. His first month he racked up an impressive bill from text messages alone, and then the little fucker switched to instant messaging after you had switched him to unlimited texting. The shit.

But his grades were up, your vice stashes were untouched, and he passed your ironic random drug test with flying colors. He hadn't been giving you an exceptional amount of unneeded shit, either. So you let him invite his little friend as long as Dave made him aware of what he was getting himself into. That done and out of the way you let Lil Cal give Dave a congratulatory 'you have a friend' attack hug. You're sure Dave loved it. Those screams were of joy.

So about three weeks later your house is invaded by a strange being known simply as John Egbert. You thought he was Dave's age when your lil bro told you about him, about seventeen. When you met him, you assumed he had to be at least a couple of years younger, putting him at fourteen or maybe even thirteen. Later you found out you had it right the first time, the kid was just seriously vertically challenged.

"John, this is my bro. Bro, this is John."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Strider," he reached out his hand for you.

All in all, he was a pretty cute kid, in a shotacon sort of way. Endearingly messy black hair and big, bright blue eyes that were too vibrant to actually exist (but who were you to talk?) behind thick, rectangular framed glasses. Heh. Megane shota, a rare, but cute combo. He had buck teeth that somehow really... really seemed to suit him and made him all the more appealing. Were you as bad of a man as you could let yourself be you'd wreck this kid. The look Dave gives you over the twink's shoulder lets you know he's off limits. Damn. Ah well. Bros before hos, you'd let your brother have this one.

You didn't take his hand at all.

"Umm..." it takes the goober almost a full thirty seconds to realize it you have no intention to take his hand. He awkwardly lets it drop to his side and shuffles his feet. Cute.

A quick glance at Dave to make absolutely sure that you can't- nope, that look is pretty clear. John Egbert was off limits sign with flashing neon lights and everything. But that didn't mean you couldn't give Dave a hard time about it, either. What were big brothers for, after all?

You're a bad man.

You finally lavish the kid with your attention, "Sup, lil man. So your Dave's friend?" the pointless question earns you an eye roll from Dave that you ignore. As it is, the midget's eyes light up like Christmas. Like he had just unlocked some sort of bonus level. Fucking. Adorable.

"Y-yeah! I'm John," never mind that Dave already told you that, you both ignore his eye rolls, you doubt John would even know the smaller blond was doing it behind his shades. "Thanks for letting me stay over and everything."

You let the smallest of smirks tug at the corner of your lips and you swear this kid's eyes just got anime huge. "Anything for a friend of Dave's. Especially if they're all as cute as you," and then you chuck him lightly under the chin.

He goes from Christmas to Fourth of fucking July, peachy pale to cherry red in three seconds flat. Not a bad accomplishment if you did say so yourself.

The look on Dave's face is totally worth it. Those lips always in a 'I don't care' line were twitching downward, and his brows were so furrowed they had disappeared behind the rim of his shades completely. He was glaring MURDER at you and it was hilarious.

"C'mon John, let's go to my room. Bro has to head to work soon anyways."

Oh shit, what time was it? Damn, the sun was already down. You should really let the blinds up in your room sometime. Or at least look at a clock. You're pretty sure you had a few in your room. On the corner of your computer screen if nowhere else.

"Oh... okay. See you later, Mr. Strider," John waves as he's tugged along by the wrist, and you both ignore Dave's muttered 'You don't have to say bye to that asshole'.

"Call me Bro," you flick your hand once in a wave back and the kid's eyes nearly reach full out anime and he grins, color returning to his cheeks

"O-okay, Bro!"

"John. C'mon!" Dave is not a happy Dave. That shouldn't give you the shot of delight it gives you, but you had already admitted to being the opposite of good.

It wasn't like you planned it or anything. Thinking on your feet, it's a special Strider talent. One you're still trying to hone in Dave.

The next part was Dave's fault for just assuming you had work that night. Well, technically you did have work that night, but not as the DJ in a club like you're sure Dave assumed. You had orders to fill and videos to shoot for your other job, your website. The one that actually raked the big cash in. A job you had every intention of doing tonight as you parked your ass on your work bench. Until you heard a quiet moan. It was so soft you were prepared to file it away as a figment if your imagination, and then you heard it again.

The wall your bed was lined up vertically with was the opposite side of the wall Dave's headboard rested against. And these walls were paper thin. It took you a couple of years to fully master moving around your own room without Dave hearing you, and your own brother wasn't nearly so accomplished.

Another soft, muffled moan. That wasn't Dave, either. You'd heard your brother beating his meat before, that wasn't a sound he made.

Which left only one other person it could be. John. Your brows shot up to nearly your hairline. So he was that sort of friend, huh? It was obvious Dave had a boner for this kid, but John was much more subtle about his apparent feelings, to the point where you had been sure he had been oblivious to Dave's attraction completely.

"Dave… w-what are you doing?" Maybe he was…

Work suddenly became a lot less interesting. Lucky for you, your boss was a cool guy and wouldn't give you shit for slacking off for a few hours. (It's you. You are your own boss.)

Quiet as the ninja you're always accused of being you walk over to your bed, sitting on it's edge and leaning back to rest your head against the wall, just on the opposite side of the head of Dave's bed. Not a single spring whined and you gave yourself a silent pat on the back. You listened.

"Dave… D-dave stop!" Ah fuck… this was starting to sound non-con. You might have to intervene…

"What, you're going to tell me you hate it?" that's Dave's voice.

"Well… no, but…" non-con bumped down to dub-con.

"But what, Egbert? We're kinda in the middle of a delicate situation right now."

"But that's my point! I thought we were going to take this slo-oo-ohh!" John moans again, and you can hear where he claps his hand over his mouth.

A smirk plays at your lips and you wonder what Dave just did. You still might have to intervene, but for now you trust that you didn't raise a sexual predator. A deviant you can handle, a predator, you'd have to kick his ass. Repeatedly.

"Plans change," was Dave's dry response.


A heavy sigh. From Dave, you're sure of it, "I just… god dammit, John! Did you have to FAWN over him?"


"What?" John's voice echoes your thoughts, "Who?"

"The Prince of Sheba. Who the fuck do you think?"

"I'm pretty sure that saying is the Queen of Sheba. Do you mean Bro?" John's voice is just a touch amused.

Oh really now?

"For fuck's sa—Yeah, I mean Bro. Who else's cock were you slobbering over just fifteen minutes ago?" You don't have to see Dave's face to know he has that little furrow between his brows now. That little pucker of skin that is just oh so tempting to flick with a finger.

"That's funny, I don't even remember seeing Bro's dick, but maybe that'd explain the weird taste in my mouth. Or maybe that's just from kissing you," you think you might like this Egbert kid.

"You know what I mean, Egbert. You were all 'Oh Dave's Bro, I'm flustering like a Sunday school girl with a bad case of the vapors."

"Who still says 'vapors'?" You really like this Egbert kid.

"John— " Dave starts again, but the other boy cuts him off.

"Dave, you were the one always telling me how cool your bro is."

"That was before, and that's different—" Dave tries to interrupt John cuts him off again.

"You don't have to be jealous. I came here to see you, not him, right?"

"Jealous?" Dave asks, incredulous.

"Yeah, jealous. Of your own big brother, just because maybe I agree with you a little that he's really cool. Isn't that the point of all of this?" John's voice is soft, like he's trying to calm a wounded animal, making his voice even more muffled through the wall.

It only riles Dave up more, "I'm not jealous. That is so far from the point they live in different time zones. Different continents. Different sides of the world. They've never even talked to each other online that shit is so far from the point. If that shit and the point were to ever cross each other in a crowded street their eyes wouldn't even me-mmnph mnh fhnn... mmnh…"

The way Dave's rant was suddenly cut off makes you think that Egbert just covered his mouth, in your vivid imagination, with his own. The silence that stretches out afterwards, accompanied by the slightest creak of bedsprings just confirms it in your mind.

They had to be sucking face for at least two minutes straight, you were seriously considering just actually starting on your work when you hear John's voice again, throaty and just a bit breathy, "It doesn't matter if you are actually jealous or not. But you don't have to be, okay?"

A short pause, probably Dave gathering his wits about him (could John really be that good of a kisser?), before he hear his not!sulking reply. "Yeah, okay."

More silence afterwards. Yep, probably time to get your lazy ass to work.

"So can I?" Dave's voice hesitantly asks when you're half off the bed and you drop back so quickly, you mentally curse when there is the smallest squeak of the bedsprings.

But neither of them seems to notice, too preoccupied in their own world.

"W-what?!" you can just imagine the cherry red on John's cheeks. So cute. Lucky Dave, finding himself a shota.

"Can I do it?" Dave asks again, clarifying just a scant inch further. So eloquent and articulate, this brother you raised. Mostly you're annoyed that neither of them seems to want to voice what 'it' is. Your imagination is way too active to be satisfied without specifics.

Not that you should be imagining anything about your brother and his apparent boyfriend at all. You are a really bad man.

"I…" the hesitancy in John's voice reminds you that you were originally listening to make sure your brother wasn't forcing himself on his boyfriend.

"I'll stop if or when you tell me to. I just… really want to. We've talked about it enough. Don't you want to?" Ah… the sweet, sweet temptation of having your online boyfriend in your room for the first time. Still, that was skirting on really low. You might just kick Dave's ass on principle after this regardless of what John answers. Maybe dump a boxful of condoms on him over breakfast to kick things off.

"You mean you talked about it enough," John counters.

"You did, too."

"Not as much as you!"

Oh god, this was getting stupid and boring.

"But," oh, John is still talking. "I… if we go slow, okay?"

There's a beat, and then another, and it doesn't take much imagination to figure Dave is suddenly sporting his 'oh shit, I just got what I wanted way too easily, now what?' face. Like that time he came up to you and asked you for the newest iPhone and you said yes before you had to sit through his whole monologue about why he deserved it. Complete with the fish out of water opening and closing of his mouth.

"A-ah… whoa, wait… really?"

John laughs at him (and so do you, silently), "Yeah… really."

You hear Dave's bedsprings creak, a shift in weight, Dave repositioning himself, probably out of nerves than actual discomfort.

"Holy shit… Holy shit!" the words are murmured and you mentally slap your own forehead. You thought you had raised the little man cooler than that, but hell, you had been just as bad, maybe worse, during your own first sexual encounter. You'd been younger than Dave is now.

The bed creaks again, and someone giggles. John giggles. You had to believe it was John, because if you thought for even a second that it was Dave, you'd have to burst in there right now and smack him upside the head.

"Just kiss me, okay?" what was the world coming to that a dorky looking twink was out-smoothing your brother by a country mile?

"Yeah," Dave breathes in return and you can just imagine him visibly deflating as he tried to relax.

The next dozen minutes or so fall to silence again, accompanied by the occasional deep exhale, a sharp intake of breath, the soft squeak of bed springs when they'd undoubtedly shifted their weights. You should have started work at that point, but instead you find yourself straining your ear to hear anything building up in this promise of slow... something.

You almost miss it, the soft sound of pleasure, like drinking cold water on a particularly hot day and no one is around to judge you on the sounds of your lewd rehydration. A quiet moan followed by a sudden intake of breath so quiet you have to strain your ears to hear it.

The next one is just as quiet, a little choked back sigh of bliss, and god, would you give anything to hear it at full volume.

Apparently Dave agrees with you, because he says "It's just the two of us here, Bro's left for work. You don't have to keep your voice down." Bless his little perverted heart.

"D-dave!" John gasps in answer, and you close your eyes and imagine that his body was quivering just as badly as his voice. "Hmm, mnnnh!"

Ah fuck, no don't. That was good, don't muffle yourself out now. You imagine Dave just silenced him with another kiss. It's what you'd do if someone had just moaned your name like that. Fuck, imagine if that kid moaned your name like that.

You're a bad, bad man. But you suppose you could be worse.

Mentally cursing, you touch the aching lump in your jeans, trying to relieve the pressure and only making it worse.

"Aa-aaahn!" John moans again, the sound going up an octave half way through. Fuck… Fuck!

Whatever Dave was doing you wanted to punch him and praise him because god damn, the way that kid moans. It's dripping with newly discovered lust and so fucking genuine in a way porn stars can never hope to sound, and it's right by your ear, just a thin wall between you and the show that your little shit of a brother was undoubtedly enjoying.

"John," Dave breathes out so softly, you almost don't hear it. John answers with this incredibly soft moan that injects heat straight to your groin. The way Dave hums his appreciation a second later, you know you weren't alone. Fuck, just what was this kid?

And when had your hand undone the fly of your pants and decided to pay a visit to the inner sanctum of Boxer Land? Boxer briefs, but whatever. Details. The point is your hand was now having an intimate affair with Boxer Land's prime minister and lifelong sovereign.

You were spanking the monkey. Prepping your meat rocket for launch. Choking your one-eyed anaconda. Jacking off.

Another moan stalls your descent into a pointless tangent. It's deeper than any that had preceded it so far, the voice a couple of octaves lower.


Dave moaning shouldn't do this to your nervous system, but it does, twitches of pleasure racing down your spine.

And then John giggles. He fucking giggles. It's breathless and lyrical and so god damn sweet.

"Ah, fuck! John, what are you..." Dave doesn't seem to have the strength of will to complete that sentence.

A pause, then, "You don't like it? I can do it, too, right?" The little unsure quiver in his voice, like he's asking for permission.

Oh. Oh fuck.

"Oh fuck, yes," Dave groans out.

It devolves from there, words fall away to needy moans and breathless gasps. The symphony of youth discovering someone else's body for the first time. And you were there to listen in, each soft, quivering sound, feel them traveling through your veins like liquid heat, making your head foggy, like you'd stayed in a sauna for too long.

Blood pounded in your ears and it was hard to keep your own ministrations quiet as their sounds fell away to the dull roar. You didn't have to hear every hiccupping gasp and shaking moan to know it was there, speeding up your own strokes in time to their pace. Pre slicked your movements and fuck, you hope it didn't sound as obscenely loud as it did echoing in your own head.

They don't seem to notice it, at least.

Dave moans again, a low, desperate sound, and you have to squeeze yourself hard, tremors rocking you down to your core. Fuck, it never affected you like this before. But knowing he wasn't alone on the other side of the wall, that it just wasn't Dave getting off to whatever breeze blew over him that day... imagining your little brother's slim body, still growing into itself, taut with compact muscles straining over, under, against someone else's. It did things to you. Things that confirmed what sort of depraved man you were because you were imagining your own brother wrecked and soaked in sweat under you, so close he can taste it, but knowing he can't find his completion until you allowed it. His broken moans... you wanted to record it into a personal mix you'd gladly listen to each time you wanted to get off.

It was almost enough to make you feel bad. Almost...

But then John cries out, loud, choking, stumbling over itself. The kind of moan you hear from someone who has no idea what their feeling, but it's the most incredible thing they've ever experienced.

Oh. Oh fuck. It was like he was stumbling through his very first orgasm. Reaching, scrabbling, lost in the waves of sensation and drowning out at sea.

As unlikely as that was, your imagination was off and gone. Fuck, what you'd do to someone like John Egbert, sheltered prince of suburbia. Mnnh fuck, you could get off just to watching that cute face contort with pleasure, that adorable overbite worrying his bottom lip to plumpness as he tried to stifle the sounds of what you would do to him, touching him, tasting him, enveloping him, filling him. Hearing him gasp out your name like he was moaning Dave's right now as he made a mess over himself, on you...

You bite your own lip hard as you cover your hand in sticky, translucent white strings, breathing hard through your nose. Shit, getting off to listening to others getting off, and losing it so quickly. It was like you were back in junior high.

Things had gotten quiet on the other side of the wall, Dave must have joined John around the same time you did. For a brief second you panic that you might have been loud enough to have been heard. But the silence is broken by the raven haired boy, his voice soft, breathless, barely heard across the wall.

"Love you, Dave."

Ah fuck.

"Mmm, love y'too," Dave murmurs back quietly.

Double fuck. You feel a small stab of guilt.

You knew that already on some level. Dave wasn't really like you, as much of a game as he likes to pretend he spins, he's not the casual sex type. You know that because you were once like that yourself. But life had taken you too far away from those days, you'd become far too selfish to go back to those types of ideals. That didn't mean that you had to lead Dave down the same road as you, though. You'd do pretty much anything to keep him from it. You're glad that he seems to have found a steady partner, even if distance is a bitch. This is good for him, it was for the best that he wasn't trying to follow your questionable footsteps. Yeah... And you're not going to ruin that for him, so you should just leave them alone from now on. They only had two weeks together after all.

You might be a shit to Dave to keep him on his toes, but even you weren't a big enough asshole to impede on the short time your little brother had with his internet boyfriend. Though at the same time you knew what leaving them alone would entail. Well… They were almost adults; you could trust them to be responsible.

You reaffirm the mental note to dump a box of condoms on Dave. Other than that… other than that, you'd be a good big brother and leave the kids alone.

No. Forget that. Every plan to be as unobtrusive as possible to that little shit is just gone out the window.

Instead… instead, you were going to kill him. Didn't he know how hard you were trying to do right by him and his need to nut with his boyfriend? How hard it was to not be a bad, bad man and leave the twink alone when he left himself wide open for attack at every opportunity?

All you had done was grip John's chin so you could look at those baby blues sparkling in the early afternoon light. They really were a gem bright color. Like actual liquid sapphires. These are the type of eyes trashy romance novels wrote about, large, limpid, and bright. And the rosy color of his cheeks just complimented that. The shy sputtering was a nice touch, too.

But by the look on Dave's face when he saw you, you'd think he'd just caught you bending John over the table. As appealing as that thought was… No, you had promised yourself to be good for once. So you had hit Dave with a large handful of condoms, told him to be good and absconded from the living room, only to appear moments later with a large duffel bag overstuffed and bulging out the sides with packages you had to take to the post office and to a freight company. Orders ready to be delivered, a few rush deliveries and large items needing better service than what the U.S. Post Office could normally provide.

You'd told the kids that you'd probably be gone a few hours and left them money to order take out. You were trying your damndest to be a good guardian. You didn't even so much as throw Cal in Dave's face before you left.

You had only been gone a few hours. Everything had been normal when you had gotten back, both teenagers playing one of your shitty, glitchy video games, nibbling on cold pizza.

There was no way of knowing what was awaiting you when got back to your room and took your desktop off sleep mode. You definitely lost a few points there to Dave, you'd give him that much.

You're going to kill him.

Dave knows that the cameras around the apartment are motion activated, and he knows just about where all of them are, too. He knows that if there is shit he wants to get away with doing, his best bet is to do them in the bathroom or in his room. He knows this. Not that he can hope to get away with much of anything, but why stack the odds against his favor?

And yet there he was, just a bit grainy, but pretty good resolution considering the poor lighting in the room. On the futon, TV blaring the horrible soundtrack music to some fuck awful early 90's action flick while he's curls over the and blows his boyfriend.

It's perfectly positioned, too. From each of the 6 cameras that can catch what he's doing. From the overhead, to the TV cam, the vent cam, and even barest view from the plush cam set up on the kitchen counter, Dave had angled himself to strategically block the cameras' views partially so you can tell what he was doing without seeing what he was doing. Just the bobbing of his head and John's pleasured faces. Blissed out and moaning, tortured and wanting, John was covering his eyes with the crook of his arm, lips parted, glistening, moist, drooling just the smallest bits. His shirt was rucked up high enough to expose a single pink rosy nipple to the open air. And the noises he was making! Fuck!

That little shit, Dave. You know just what he's trying to do. It's a fucking challenge. 'The twink is mine, asshole,' clear as day in every bob of his head, in every obscenely loud slurp, and in every breathless moan of Dave's name in John's voice. With a sigh, you plug in your headphones, silencing the wheezy gasps and breathless moans, as sweet as the sounds were. The best porn was usually the porn where one or more of the participating parties was unaware that they were being filmed, as wrong as that thought was. You can usually tell the genuine article apart from actors. You didn't condone that sort of underhanded trickery, but it was still hot as fuck. Just another reason to beat the shit out of Dave later. You were supposed to be raising this brat to be better than you.

You slip the headphones on over your ears, the rest of the world dissolving away to the videos playing simultaneously on your large computer screen, your eyes unable to decide which angle to focus on.

Dave had thrown down the gauntlet in the form of underage porn. Really hot, really illegal in more than one way, underage porn. Oh fuck, the way John moans sends electric heat tingling straight to your groin. A part of you wonders if Dave had done this before, if he had experience in the art of making your sexual partner keen like a desperate whore, if he just had a lucky break, or if John was overly sensitive just due to the fact that it was clearly his first blowjob.

You had no intentions of doing more than teasing Dave through John before, but you couldn't let this lie. Not that you had any intention of stealing his twink away from him, either (as hot as having your own shota would be), no. But you'd teach Dave a lesson. And maybe by the end of it Dave would be thanking you.

"O-oh! Oh god! I'm cumming! Stop! Stop! It'll! Hnnn! I-innnn in your mouth! Not in-! DAVE!"

For now, though, you rewind the feeds and let yourself enjoy the show your little brother had gone through all the trouble of giving you.

You gave them a few days peace, let Dave think he had proven something with his little video. You know, besides the fact that some traits are genetic. Like perversion, apparently.

You barely let either of them see you, coming and going in and out of the apartment like it was just any other day. Lull Dave into a false sense of security by ignoring his antics and letting him fend mostly for himself like you usually did. The most attention you'd give them was letting them know when you'd be going out at night, or giving them money for takeout, and even that much wasn't guaranteed. You'd leave without word, leaving some cash for them to find, either set in plain sights or their reward for falling for your easily avoidable traps.

You think you'll keep documented footage of John Egbert being buried in a mountain of smuppets in your personal folder. For posterity. Watching it in slow motion was especially entertaining. At least Dave was chivalrous enough to take the brunt of an avalanche of shitty swords for his beau. Maybe you'd raised him right after all.

As far as things went in the bedroom (or outside of it), things were progressing slowly again. Without Dave feeling threatened and needing to claim his territory they had gone back to acting like two teenage boys (who happened to be dating). Watching movies, playing video games, talking about inanely boring shit, sitting in Dave's room, the little man on his computer and John on his laptop, chatting with mutual friends, and even video chatting together with said friends. Kisses were thrown liberally into the mix, as were cuddles (John was apparently big on cuddling). Only rarely did these sloppy make outs devolve into rubbing bodies and breathless moans. You still had it all recorded, the cameras just did that on their own. You just weren't deleting the footage. Maybe you'd make a compilation video of it all to give to Dave as a starting senior year present.

It wasn't until the start of the second week that you started to move. It started out easily enough. You accidentally caught John as you were coming out of the bathroom with only a small towel around your waist, and him only wearing a pair of sleeping pants as he shuffled his way out of Dave's room in search of breakfast.

"O-oh! Mr. Strider, good morning," he greeted you cheerfully, a morning person smile on his face.

"I told you, call me Bro, kid," you quip back with a light smirk of your own. You'd had a long night and you actually hadn't gone to bed yet, but a few days without sleeping never bothered you. You'd get in a few good hours before going to the club tonight.

"Bro," John repeats, scuffing a socked food lightly on the floor, "You… you can call me John. You know… if you like." He peeks up at you through lashes so long they were causing hurricanes in the Caribbean and you swear to god all you want to do is smash him to the wall and make him scream your name.

It might be time to find a fling. You were way too pent up and frustrated. As it is, you know you had to behave. Even if John had left Dave behind still asleep, Dave was a light sleeper and this commotion not ten feet away from his door was sure to tug at his hairline trigger senses.

You time it perfectly. "Sure thing," you lean in and ruffle his hair just in time for Dave to see as he adjusted his shades, wearing (probably ironically) the matching shirt to John's pajama pants and a pair of boxers, "John."

You're pretty sure the very first shounen-ai artist had had a vision of John when they tried to render the first moe uke blush in existence.

"Sup, lil' man," you nod your head at Dave in greeting, your hand still wrist deep in silken black ink locks. Your fingers trace along the edge of John's ear as your hand withdrew, and holy fuck. John shivers and his blush intensifies. So. God. Damn. Precious. And a weak spot. You wonder if Dave notices, or if he already knew. You throw a smirk at him either way.

The tension in the air is suddenly so thick, it broke the butter knife.

It melts and dissolves away against the force of nature called John Egbert.

"Umm… I… umm… Me and Dave bought some food stuff yesterday so I thought I'd make some pancakes this morning."

You answer him with a quirk brow and wonder if your stove even works. You can't remember that last time you've used it.

"Would… you like some, Mr. Str—Bro?" John asks with his thousand watt smile.

You drown out Dave's sudden "No," with a "Nah, kid. But knock yourself out. I'm just got back a couple of hours ago and I'm gonna crash."

"Oh," John looks disappointed and you wonder if he notices Dave's spine melting look, or if it was just you. Hmm…

"Save me some, I'll eat it later," and why did you want to placate that disappointed look, anyways?

"But they'll be col-"

"He can reheat them, Egbert. C'mon, I'm starving," Dave takes hold of John's shoulders and steers him around and towards the kitchen.

You suppress a chuckle and wonder if it'd be worth it to check the live feed of your cameras before going to bed.

It is.

You had taken the liberty of installing a few more cameras around the apartment while the kids were sleeping (the real reason why you were still up). And you knew you had a few months before Dave found them all, if he bothered to look for them.

You had the perfect view of not only John's face as Dave bent him over the counter, but of the way Dave's hips molded against that perfect little peach shaped ass in profile, from behind and even from an upwards angle on top of the fridge.

You were a bad, bad man.

It seemed that John was responsible enough to wear an apron when he decided to cook shirtless, and the ironically pink and frilly apron probably tugged at one of Dave's kink strings like it did yours.

"Dave!" John's voice was a harsh whisper, "What are you doing? Your brother is here."

"He went to bed," Dave murmured, kissing a bare shoulder.

"Yeah, like five minutes ago! What if he hears us?" John slapped away your little brother's hand from its southward journey over his stomach. They were like a frisky, newlywed couple. Kinky. "What's gotten into you?"

"Hopefully you," Dave murmurs so softly that the only reason you understood was because you grew up with him. Oho, really?

"What?!" John yelps, remembering half way that he should probably keep his voice down.

"Nothing," Dave hums and nibbles a trail up the twink's throat, nibbling the edge of his ear and eliciting a soft, sharp intake of breath. So he had noticed, jealous little bitch. "He won't hear us if we keep quiet."

His head turns then towards one of the old kitchen cams, knowing the view there was blocked. He knows you'll hear what they're up to, if not while it happens, later when you'd check the recordings, but he's assured that you won't see anything. Heh, and now the points were back on your side with a few more for your trouble.

His hands were southbound again, slipping under the apron and playing with the waistband of those pajama bottoms.

"Dave," John voice is all warning.

"John," Dave's is petulant. He nibbles along John's ear again, the brunette sucking in a breath and biting his lip.

"T-this... I..." John shuts his eyes tight for a moment and you know he's trying to keep himself reigned in. He wasn't doing a particularly good job, but man, was it good just watching him try. You were right about him. You could spend the entire day watching his face contort in pleasure, especially if he tried to keep himself in control like this. When he was fighting it, like now, but especially when he'd give into it, you think.

"W-what about breakfast?" he finally manages to ask.

"What about it?" Dave counters, rolling his hips against John's ass, pushing the smaller boy's hips forward into his waiting hand. He nips and tugs at his ear

"You… mmmnh, Dave…" John shudders, and you can see the subtle twitch in his tense legs when he finally pushes back against Dave's slow grind. "Y-you're the one… w-who wanted pancakes, asshole. Ah!"

"Found something I want more," Dave Strider, expert level petulant brat, "Besides, who says I can only have one or the other?"

They don't have pancakes for breakfast. You're not sure how far the two of them had taken the physical aspect of their relationship, but it was the first time you'd seen them having intercrural sex. John makes Dave clean up the mess of batter and other drippings in the kitchen while he washes said batter off his sticky and sweat coated body. Your own mess was cleaned up with some tissue paper. Aloe infused, only the good stuff for you.

You sort of wish you had cameras in the bathroom now, but even you had limits you forced yourself to keep. You were really starting to feel the fatigue now that the orgasm high was fully wearing off. You should actually try to get some sleep. You suppose you'll just have to content yourself with reliving each face and accompanying sound of bliss John Egbert made in your dreams. And maybe again on video when you woke up.

John made a special dinner for you that night for not having any pancakes waiting for you like he had promised; homemade lasagna, actually made from scratch. What a good house wife. You're sure it was the cause of the special, audio only, repeat performance of breakfast that you were treated to later that night while you tried to film new material for your website. Dave is lucky you can edit out sounds. And you're lucky you work to your own schedule. You don't think you've masturbated this much since you were in high school.

The rest of the week passes by in a blur of a pissing contest between you and your little brother, with John as the median as well as the prize. Lucky for Dave you weren't actually trying to steal his boyfriend, just trying to make him flip his shit. The result was always the same, you're sure the house was permanently permeated with a scent of their sex.

You weren't always there to conveniently watch and/or hear them go at it, but Dave was always nice enough to make sure performances you missed were enacted in the open and under watchful camera lenses. It has become quite clear that something is pretty wrong with Dave, too, despite your best efforts to make him better than you. Some things just went beyond nurture, simply a part of one's nature. That or you hadn't done nearly as good of a job as you imagined you had. In retrospect, you probably should have kept the porn website a secret from him longer than you actually had.

You wonder if there is actually something to that.

John left back for Washington on Saturday afternoon. The day now known forever as The Pancake Batter Rebellion was on Sunday.

Monday, you had set up a couple of easily snapped tripped wires from the entertainment center to your shoe. Lounging back on the couch in a slouch, the string was slack until you sat straight, which you timed perfectly with John crossing across the living room to get a juice box from the fridge. Slide your feet back to let him through, straightening your back at the same time so your knees aren't jutting out impudently in his way.

He never caught sight of the string at all. And when you used your amazing 'Strider Reflexes' to catch him before his face smashed into the ground, he had been so grateful. Flushed and stuttering shyly, but maybe that had just been because in catching him, by the wrist, you had actually whirled him around so that he crashed into your chest instead of the unforgiving floor. Timing was also perfect that it was at this moment that Dave walked into the living room, shower fresh, hair still damp. You gave him a completely guiltless smirk as John explained to him what had happened. You took your convenient exit stage right a minute later.

Body worship is a beautiful thing. As is John when his body is being worshipped. You're keeping that one in your top grade stash. Your little brother, the private porn star. You're so proud. And he also managed to reclaim every inch of John's skin in his name, bonus points.

Tuesday, early in the morning you had respected Dave's privacy by knocking, but asserted your authority as his legal guardian by coming in anyways. It had been in Strider speed though, and thusly you walked in on John changing clothes (underwear included, weird but nice) giving you the perfect angle view of that plush derrière. Dave had still been out cold at the time, but the little, if high pitched noise John had made had been enough to wake him.

Watching every last trace of sleep drain from your brother's face when realization set in was like watching a fast motion video of someone painting a work of art. There are just no words. You apologized for intruding, a gesture that had Dave gawking at you like you had grown a second head. Watching that shocked expression war with his 'carefully concealed' anger was hilarious as shit.

You told them you'd be out all day, which wasn't a lie, and doubled for a good excuse as to the reason behind your intrusion.

You have no idea what Dave did to John that day, but your mics were able to pick up muffled moans and gasps, and especially the moment John gets Dave to scream in return. Fuck, but do you like this kid.

Wednesday John caught you coming out I the shower in just a towel that barely went around your waist again. That was all on him. You just gave him a view, there was no way you could have manipulated him into ogling you like he did. Admittedly, you do have killer legs. And an upper body you could be proud of, because you worked for that shit. You think it was the lack of shades that actually did him in.

A good five solid minutes of just John looking you over passed, you're not even sure if the twink realized just how long he'd been staring, when Dave finally came around, muttering something about what could take John so long in grabbing a video game. He stared at you in open shock, too… a good thirty seconds. And you know his eyes had been roaming over your towel clad body behind his shades. When he snapped out of it, he had actually made a noise of angry frustration, taken John's hand by the wrist and pulled him back to the living room, game forgotten. While you had been changing you watched on your computer as Dave put on a movie instead.

Oddly enough that was all that had come from it… or so you thought. After you had left for work, Dave wasted little time in going down on John. He must have been frustrated; because he forgot to angle himself right or even block view of even the old cameras. You found out what John's dick looked like when you returned from the club that night. It was cute, average length for his height, but thick, a dark, rosy color at the crown when he was aroused.

You also found out that Dave was quite good at using his tongue bar to make John moan his name in different lengths and pitch. You have no idea where he learned that, but you're proud as fuck of him for it.

That was yesterday. You had plans for today as well, but they could wait. Between working two different jobs, pissing off Dave, and masturbating to two teenage boys fooling around, you hadn't let yourself catch up on your sleep as much as you should have in nearly the entire week. You could remedy that and be refreshed when you pissed Dave off in the afternoon.

I hope you enjoy! And I hope that you'll review if you can! Comments and reviews are my drug of choice! It keeps me motivated :3