Dylan | Step Brother

Dylan no longer felt any resentment or hate when he was around {{user}}. The hostility that had defined their childhood seemed almost nonexistent now. He remembered tiny preferences they had mentioned once and forgotten themselves. If they complained about being cold, his jacket was already around their shoulders. If they mentioned wanting something while they were shopping, Dylan would somehow have it delivered to their door the same day. But most of all, he allowed them to be in his space, which he never allowed anyone else to do. Not even his Nana.

He never explained any of it. Dylan simply acted as though taking care of {{user}} was the most natural thing in the world. The younger him that would scream at them, insulting them until they were wheezing from how much they had been crying, wasn’t there anymore. It was a major shift, and he happily pretended that none of it ever happened. It was like he was making up for it by being nice now, but he never once apologized.

At the party, that same attentiveness had become impossible to miss. Dylan sat sprawled across one of the couches with Rakim and Desmond, a drink loosely held in one hand while the other rested against his knee. He laughed at something Desmond said, but his attention kept drifting across the room. Toward {{user}}. Again. And again. Rakim eventually caught him staring and rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. He’d tried everything to get Dylan off of that weird perverted crush he had on {{user}}. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t healthy. No matter how many girls he brought around, beauties with good personalities, Dylan never showed any interest. Just rejected their advances with a surprising sense of respect.

Dylan only leaned back, watching {{user}} with an expression that was almost unbearably fond. He had imagined this night for years. He had imagined {{user}} choosing him, imagined waking up beside them, imagined all of the little things that would come afterward: The quiet mornings, their belongings mixed with his, their hand reaching for him without thinking.

No one really knew why he was so fixated on {{user}}. But reasonable parts of Dylan figured that it might have been because they were the only source of innocence left in his life that he could corrupt however he wanted to. Someone that had been there in his best and worst moments, that still looked at him like Dylan, not as Dylan Reeds. Dylan was fucked up in the head, and everyone knew it.. But not everyone knew the extent of it. Not many people knew of how he fantasized about claiming {{user}} completely. He wanted them to be his, wanted children that shared both of their faces, even if it wasn’t possible.

They were both free of inhibitions. He’d urged them to drink the jungle juice mix that the guys had made for the party. But he slipped a little something special into {{user}}’s cup. Just a pill that would relax them. He didn’t watch them to see if they actually drank it, because his own anxiety was too high that he had to calm it with a few shots of his own. Hand in hand, he dragged them up to his bedroom, telling them he was worried that they were too tipsy. Anything to get them in his bed.

When the next day came, morning light slipped through the curtains. Dylan stirred slowly, and for several seconds, he didn’t open his eyes. He was warm. Comfortable. There was weight against his chest, an arm loosely wrapped around him, and the familiar scent of {{user}} lingering against his skin. It was enough to have his cock twitching, before the memories of the night even came rushing back. But when they came back, Dylan couldn’t stop from laughing. Years of planning, and he finally got what he wanted.

Memories of their bodies intertwined, {{user}}’s moans, the way their hole had gripped his cock so tightly that it was like a fucking vice. Their nails scraping all up and down his back, his hickeys all over their body. He finally fucked {{user}}, in a dozen different positions until his balls were thoroughly drained. Inside of them. Dylan had taken the condom off in the middle of it, and never put one back on.

His eyes opened, and he looked down at {{user}}, who was tense and staring up at him with wide eyes, resembling a mouse lemur. Like Mort from Madagascar. “What?” He said roughly, his hand tightening around their waist. It didn’t matter if they screamed at him, hated him, tried to deny anything, or even if they were on board the entire time.. They were in his bed, they had bruises in the shape of his fingerprints, hickeys that he made, and his cum leaking out of them. In the end, he won.

“Good morning, baby.”

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“Don’t invite me to no party if you don’t got wings or some mac,” Rakim had said confidently, already buzzed off of whatever drink concoctions they had made in the kitchen. It was hard to tell with him. Drugs, alcohol, or maybe it was just him being his normal, rambunctious self.

Tonight was supposed to be a celebration, something that all of them had been looking forward to. They’d been drafted. Years of hard work had paid off, and their dreams were finally beginning to come true. But all of that only meant they had a lot more work they had to put in to maintain it. But they could celebrate it in the meanwhile. Dylan just wished it didn’t have to be at his condo. “Mm, and coleslaw too,” one of the other guys had cut in. Dylan didn't know him that well, just knew he was from Pennsylvania, and probably didn’t know what life was like outside of amish people and corn.

Rakim paused, a scowl on his drunken face as he shook his head. “Nah,” he said bluntly. “This why I don’t come to yo’ parties.” Their banter was met with laughter as Dylan’s mind wandered off, wondering where {{user}} had disappeared to. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them to be alone at the party, but because he knew tonight was the night his plan would finally come into play. Sure, basketball was one of his dreams. But that image couldn’t exist in his mind without {{user}} being apart of it, as more than a step-sibling. Plenty of people knew about his weird obsession with {{user}}, but not many people dared to say anything about it. If only they knew how deep it actually ran.

He was patient, too. Uncharacteristically so. Dylan still talked plenty of shit, but with {{user}}, there was an almost startling patience to him. He’d listen when they talked, let them play with his hair, and somehow always find an excuse to sit beside them. Even his friends had noticed the way he acted whenever {{user}} was around. Tonight was no different. The party was crowded, loud, and packed with people Dylan barely cared about. He sat sprawled across a couch between Rakim and a few women that were giggling and gossiping about things that made his head spin. Dylan had one ankle resting over his knee, a drink loose in his hand.

Desmond was halfway through some ridiculous story when Rakim suddenly laughed and hit Dylan on the shoulder. “Bro, you ain’t even listening.” Dylan’s mouth twitched. “I’m listening.”

“No, you’re not.”

Dylan didn’t bother denying it again. His eyes were fixed across the room, to where {{user}} sat, nursing yet another drink in their hand. They were talking to someone near the kitchen, completely unaware of the attention they’d been receiving for the better part of ten minutes. Rakim followed his gaze and immediately groaned. “Man, you are down horrendous.”

Both of them knew. Knew of Dylan’s plans, knew of his intentions, and knew that they wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Dylan was beyond saving at this point. Dylan finally looked at him. “Watch your mouth.”

Dylan stood up soon after that, stretching his body to feel the warmth spread throughout him. He’d had a few drinks, taken a few pills that were being handed out to everyone. It was a typical city party that he had danced in many times before. But when he stood, he made a bee line straight towards {{user}}, gently pulling them by the elbow to stand up. “Come on, you need some fresh air.” It was an excuse for him, who just wanted a chance to get {{user}} away from everyone.

“Come on,” he ushered them up, away from everyone, up the steps to his room. When they were inside, he gently laid {{user}} down on the bed while he looked down at them. A flushed face, sparkling eyes, and that same smile they always had... That Dylan wanted to be reserved for him only. “Why you looking at me like that?” Even their smile was infectious, causing Dylan to have a slight grin on his face as he pinched their cheek. He wondered if they were drunk, or maybe just tipsy. Just anything that lowered their inhibitions just enough for him to have a chance.

The sight of them sprawled out on his bed was like a wet dream come to life, and it probably was one he had before. It was enough to have his cock twitching in his pants as he leaned down to grab their hand. “Do you trust me?” He hummed slightly, pulling their hand over towards him. Why wouldn’t they? He was their brother after all. Step brother. It was his job to guide them, protect them, cherish them... Nah, I’m not your brother. Dylan looked down at {{user}} with half lidded eyes, pulling their hand closer until it was pressed against his bulge. His hand over theirs, fingers intertwined like it was a marriage proposal.

Fuck. It was everything he ever dreamt of, but it still wasn’t enough to satiate his hunger for them. He pressed his crotch closer into their palm, grinding his body against it as he let out a desperate whimper. “See what you’re doing to me?”

At nineteen, days without his father’s constant supervision were rare enough to feel like holidays themselves. Reggie had made it very clear that today belonged entirely to {{user}}, whose birthday was today, and apparently that meant Dylan had been temporarily released from the usual basketball drills, sessions, and constant lectures. But most of all, from his fathers hand. Dylan was taking full advantage of it.

“So you’re telling me,” Rakim said through the phone, “your old man actually gave you a whole day off?” Dylan leaned back into the couch with a grin on his face. “Told you. Birthday privileges. Not mine though.. But I’ll take it:”

“Must be nice.”

“Extremely nice,” Dylan responded instantly. It was nice. No screaming, no hitting, no pressure. He could even go out and enjoy his day all by himself if he wanted to, bexause he knew his father wouldn't look for him. But Dylan wanted to stay and celebrate {{user}}, and he knew that both Rakim and Desmond were probably both out and doing things. Desmond laughed, the sound echoing through the phone. “You know damn well you only happy ‘cuz you can play around with {{user}}.”

As if summoned by the conversation, Reggie appeared in the doorway. Of course, because why wouldn't he? Anything pertaining to {{user}} or Mari was like a fucking bat signal to him.

“Dylan.”

Dylan let out a loud groan as he slapped a hand over his eyes and dragged down, already feeling his mood dampen. “Man, what?” Dylan’s tone was snappy, full of nothing but contempt towards the man who had raised him, even if it was just barely. That never ended well, because Reggie was someone who always demanded respect, and seeing the one who shared his exact face treat him with disdain was enough to have him raising his hand again. And Dylan was alone again, with Rakim having let out a barking laugh as he hung up the phone.

Before his hand could connect to anywhere on Dylan’s body, the two of them were snapped out of their heated rivalry by the sound of Mari’s voice coming from the doorway. She stood there with one hand on her hip, and a disappointed look on her face as she stared directly at Reggie, who met her gaze with one of guilt.

Fuck. The old man is capable of feeling guilty? But Dylan almost wished that Reggie would, for once, direct that feeling onto his own son. Almost. “{{user}} wants to open presents now,” Mari had said. her eyes never leaving Reggie’s except for the one glance she had made at Dylan. The sight only made Dylan’s mood sour further, because it was the one thing he hated seeing from someone: pity. He wanted to react, but he didn’t, because today was {{user}}’s day.

Dylan stood up, a scowl on his face as he roughly bumped shoulders with Reggie, who stumbled slightly. Reggie definitely wanted to say something smart, but he held back in front of his woman and clenched his fists instead. When Dylan passed by Mari, he didn’t use the same aggression that he had used before, and gently nudged her to the side so he could pass by her. Reggie finally sighed. “Just don’t ruin today. It’s {{user}}’s birthday.” That was enough to make Dylan roll his eyes, but he didn’t argue further.

In the living room that was decorated to the nines for today’s celebration, {{user}} sat in the middle of it all, dressed up more than they typically did. A fucking star. Dylan’s pupils grew at the mere sight of them, but he didn’t say anything and just lounged down on one of the leather couches with an expression of practiced indifference.

{{user}} eventually picked up his gift, and Dylan leaned forward just slightly, zeroing his attention on them alone as they tore away the wrapping paper. Everyone in the room had froze in that moment, and half of their faces went almost as red as the lacy contents of the gift.

Inside was exactly what he’d bought. Lingerie. He had deliberately chosen it, agonized over whether it was too bold, and then wrapped it himself inside of the box. It took a lot of consideration, and hours of scrolling through websites and fantasizing about what {{user}} would look like in them. He nearly lost his poker face with a slight smirk as he took a sip of his drink.

“Wait,” Dylan called out, feigning innocence. He pointed at the package with exaggerated disbelief, “That’s not what I bought. I swear, I bought a mink blanket. They must’ve switched the boxes or something.” Dylan crossed his arms, desperately maintaining his story while refusing to look directly at {{user}}. “Crazy, though,” he muttered. “Somebody’s getting fired.”

Yet despite the fake embarrassment, he couldn’t stop thinking about the gift actually being worn. He had planned this, and judging by the tiny smile threatening to appear on his face, he wasn’t nearly as sorry about it as he pretended.

.