Quillorama
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Title: Quillorama
Characters: Arthur Pic, Charles Pic
Rating: Blue Flag
Summary: The morning after they go bowling. Arthur is out of shape.
Warning: brocest
Disclaimer: Fiction. Completely made up.
A/N: Started this fic back in December, when Charles posted the photo below.
“Ow,” Arthur whines when he shuffles into the living room, his plaid slippers dragging on the floor with each step.
Charles lifts his eyes up from his magazine to look at his brother. Arthur’s hair is pointing in every direction, but what seems to be bothering him is his hand and his arm. He’s flexing his hand repeatedly and rubbing his forearm.
“Are you okay?” Charles asks.
“It’s from the bowling. Every muscle in my arm hurts.”
“You have not been training enough,” Charles says and tosses Arthur a throw pillow, which he cowers from instead of trying to catch it.
Charles returns to his reading, but is soon interrupted again by more whimpers coming from the kitchen.
“I can’t even lift the milk. Help me.”
“Use your other hand,” Charles calls out, because he’s used to the way his little brother works.
He continues reading, but from the sounds in the kitchen and the smell that makes its way to the living room, Arthur has managed to make himself a coffee.
When Arthur sits down next to him on the couch, Charles smiles at him. “See, not so bad.”
Arthur takes a sip of coffee then leans on Charles’s shoulder to see what he’s reading. “Even my butt hurts,” he says seriously.
“I can massage it later,” Charles says, “or just call up Emilien.”
Arthur scoots closer to him, eliminating whatever space was left between them. “I’d rather you.”
Charles smiles and doesn’t respond immediately, but his brother is restless next to him, shifting his weight, making the cushion dip underneath them.
“Would you stop moving?” Charles breathes out, but when he glances over, Arthur is looking at him sheepishly, lowering his gaze to his crotch area.
“Oh,” Charles says, finally understanding what’s really been bugging his sibling.
“Help me,” Arthur asks, his breath warm against Charles’s neck. “Please,” he whispers and kisses him.
Charles closes his eyes to enjoy the soft lips against his skin.
He slides a hand over Arthur’s pyjama pants, feeling the semi-hardness through the fabric. He pushes his palm against it then gives it a gentle squeeze. He feels his brother’s quick exhale followed by lips pursed into a smile.
His eyes return to the pages on his lap. He licks his thumb to turn the page while his other hand massages Arthur’s cock through his pants. When he feels the full hardness in his hand, he slides his hand under the pyjamas, reaching for Arthur’s cock right away. It’s warm in his hand, and he smiles at how hard Arthur already is.
He keeps his motions slow. He doesn’t feel like spit in his hand, and he’d have to get up to get lube. His help only goes so far. So he slowly and carefully tugs at Arthur, almost on automatic as he reads about the latest DTM news. Arthur’s cock, his cock, it’s practically the same thing. When he feels wetness at the tip, Charles runs his thumb over it and spreads it best he can, making the most of the little lubrication.
Arthur sinks his teeth in Charles’s bare shoulder, just enough to help him muffle a moan. He rocks his hips against Charles’s hand, trying to hurry the pace, to get more friction. Charles lets him but keeps his tempo the same, unhurried, slowly torturing his little brother, letting him wriggle. Arthur squeezes his thigh, mumbling words of encouragement, biting harder into Charles’s skin in between. Despite the pain, Charles lets him. He loves making his little brother come undone.
He strokes Arthur through his orgasm, and it’s not until his hand is warm and sticky that he puts his magazine away, intent on washing up. But Arthur takes his hand and brings Charles’s pinky to his mouth, closing his lips around the base and sucking it clean. Charles’s lips part, knocked into the moment by the intimate act. He shifts to face Arthur and runs a hand through his hair while his ring finger gets licked and sucked. He presses gentle kisses along Arthur’s jaw, and by the time he’s nibbling at his brother’s earlobe, his hand has been made as clean as possible.
“You need a better breakfast,” Charles whispers before kissing Arthur on the mouth, slow and tender and exactly what the Holidays should feel like. “Omelette?” he asks, punctuating the question with one last peck before getting up from the couch.
Arthur nods and follows after, wrapping his arms around Charles from behind. “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
.