Aerin

Caleb has cooked for you as long as you remember. 

Back in your school days, he was the boy slipping snacks into your backpack to get you through afternoon classes. When your grandma was too tired to cook, he would step in without a second thought. But most of the time, Caleb didn't even need a reason to cook for you, he did it simply for the joy of watching you munch and gobble down his food, letting out muffled, “mmh, Caleb... i'sh sho good!” while he ruffled your hair affectionately. 

This habit didn't change when the two of you stepped into adulthood. He started showing up at your door with random home-cooked meals, always attentive to the moments you lost yourself a little too much into your work, gently reminding you to take a break by sliding a plate onto your desk. And on the days you were sick? Caleb stayed by your side, insisting on nursing you back to health with endless bowls of hot soup and comfort food.

Now that the man was your boyfriend, his gentle doting had become a daily occurrence. Before you even realized it, Caleb had become your sole source of nutrition. Maybe you had just relied a little too hard on your younger metabolism, but the endless stream of delicious food had made it easy to ignore the new, soft fullness your curves now carried. 

Until today.

Guilt radiated through your body as you peered down at the numbers on the weighing scale beneath your feet. Seeing confirmation of what you had been noticing in the mirror for weeks felt like a little pang to your chest. Maybe I need to make some changes, you thought, 

But Caleb, being the observant man he was, was highly attuned to all your shifts in emotion and habit. He wasn't unaware of the sudden guilt clouding your relationship with food. It started with you skipping meals, insisting you “just weren't hungry,” or barely finishing half your plate. Then came the peculiar questions, asking him exactly what ingredients he used so you could type them into a mysterious calorie-tracking app on your phone. 

All of it slowly caught up to him. Caleb couldn't help but feel a dull ache whenever you refused food he made for you. At first, he hoped it was just a passing phase, that you would go back to eating normally for him. But as he watched you push a fork around your plate yet again, his patience began to wear thin. 

You were sprawled on your bed, laying flat on your stomach and resting on your forearms, deeply engrossed in your book with your legs absentmindedly kicking the air behind you. That was when you heard your bedroom door click open. Your attention immediately diverted from the pages, looking up to see Caleb entering the room, balancing a small plate with what looked like a pastry on it.

Your face broke out into a soft, bittersweet smile, melting at the sight of your devoted boyfriend. But your brain quickly went into alarm. Sugar. Sugar. Calories! You felt terribly, horribly bad, because you were going to have to deny his food all over again. You watched as Caleb sat down next to you on the bed, the mattress dipping heavily under his weight. He placed the plate right next to you, completely in clear view now. It was a miniature, perfectly golden apple pie, the warm crust smelling entirely divine. Your mouth watered instantly at the sight. Caleb was perfect at making almost any dish, but apple pie was one of his absolute specialties. God, why must you test me? you mentally cried. 

Looking up at Caleb’s hopeful eyes, your heart broke just a little bit more as you sat up and forced the words out. “I don’t think I'm very hungry, Caleb,” you said quietly. A flash of hurt crossed his features before he let out a low sigh. He picked up the fork resting on the side of the plate and began cutting out a small piece. Panicking, you quickly continued insisting, “No, believe me! I’ll have it later-” Your voice faded as Caleb brought the fork to his own lips, sliding the piece of pie into his own mouth instead. A confused expression riddled your face now. 

You opened your mouth to say something else, when Caleb’s hand grabbed your jaw, tilting your face up firmly as he smashed his lips against yours. Before you could even think to protest, he bit down sharply on your bottom lip. The sudden sting made you gasp, your mouth parting perfectly for him. Caleb took the opportunity; Using his tongue, he pushed the warm, sweet bite of apple pie straight into your mouth.

He broke off the kiss just as quickly as it started, leaving you breathless and stunned, but he didn't forget to lean back in for a fraction of a second, lazily licking the leaking syrup right from the corners of your lips, and closing your mouth with a finger pushing up on your chin.

“So, are you still not hungry, or do you want gege to feed you like this?” A smug smile now rested on his face. Still starstruck, you couldn't come up with a response. “I’m gonna take that as a yes, then,” he said, pushing you back onto the bed. Keeping your mouth open with his large fingers, he fed you with messy kisses, licking up any syrup that dripped down your body until you had finished every last bite of the apple pie. 

By the end of it, Caleb had a noticeable tent in his pants. “Fuck- since you’re done eating. My turn now,” he muttered, giving you a deranged smile. He immediately pulled your shorts off, diving straight to your cunt where you were already leaking and ready for him. He shoved his tongue right inside your tight hole, letting all of your sweetness collect on his tongue before slurping it up like a starved man. You, meanwhile, could only buck into his mouth, gasping as you felt his nose press flat into your clit.

“Caleb...!” Your pleas fell on deaf ears as he only focused on one thing, losing himself in your smell, your taste, and you. 

And just like that, every single hope you had of losing weight was dashed. Every time you tried to deny his food, he took it as an open invitation to claim your mouth, tasting you again and again until you took everything that was given to you. Sometimes, though, he would get a little selfish, completely forgetting about your meal and choosing to have his fill of you instead. Like the afternoon he pinned you flat against the kitchen counter, drizzling chocolate all over your collarbones, neck, and chest just so he could lick you clean. 

He made it his personal mission to keep you soft, full, and utterly dependent on him, and the thought of your body plumping up solely because of him was enough to make him absolutely feral. 

taglist: @meanhamster @feral-espresso-boba @dbglow @hilliserose @violojezel @sickleddreamer

It hasn’t even been an hour yet, and you’re already sweating.

The weather is gorgeous, warm and sunny, and the track field is bustling with activity. Caleb said it was just a tournament, but he didn’t mention it was the first of this season’s two big competitions; whoever wins today will qualify for nationals. This, along with the abundance of fit young guys in running shorts going about, explains why there’s a lot more people than usual in the spectator area.

You sit among them, with a book open your lap that you’re only really half-reading. Next to you is the usual big bag of stuff. Drinks and snacks and towels. Sunscreen. A clean change of clothes, a portable charger. Just in case you need it, you tell your little brother when he rolls his eyes. He complains that he’s not a kid anymore, jie, seriously, do you really think he can’t take care of himself? But he insists on carrying it for you to your usual spot on the benches anyway.

You watch the spectacle of the human body being pushed to its limits while you wait for Caleb’s race to start. Students jump, spin, and collapse in graceful arcs, followed by a smatter of applause, and some faces you recognise are already warming up for the shorter running tracks. The overall atmosphere is cheerful, but there’s a tension in the air that isn’t normally there for the smaller tournaments you’ve attended. People are here today because they want to win. You spot Patrick jogging on the other side of the field; that means it’ll be Caleb’s turn soon.

As if on cue your phone buzzes.

Caleb 10:41

come down :) wanna see you before I go

You look around, but you don’t immediately spot Caleb in the crowd. He picks up on the first ring when you tap the call button.

“I’m over by the tents, jie. To your left.”

You look; a tall figure in the crowd is waving his arm in the air, and you wave back. “I see you. I’ll come to you—just give me a second. It’s so busy today…” You work your way through the other visitors, and Caleb, impatient, comes to meet you somewhere halfway. He catches your hand and twines his fingers through yours to lead you to the changing area.

You look around a little nervously; everyone’s already left, but you’re not supposed to be here. Visitors, even family, are directed to remain in the stands.

“Caleb, I don’t think—”

Caleb lets go of your hand and rummages in his bag. He’s already in his running gear; blue and orange on simple whites, his socks pulled up high. The bib on his back with says XIA in big bold letters above the number thirteen. “It’s fine, everyone’s already done. C’mon, come help me put on my bracers.”

“Seriously?” you say, half affection and half exasperation.

“Yep.” Caleb smiles at you, his little tooth slipping over his lip. It makes him look so audaciously, boyishly handsome that you’re smiling back before you even realise. “C’mon, jie, hurry up. Or I’m gonna be late.”

You shake your head, but you take the knee bracers when Caleb hands them to you. He sits down on one of the benches and you kneel before him, holding it out for him to put his foot through, then tug it upwards. His skin is warm to the touch. He spreads his knees wider for better access, and you lean forward without thinking. You glance up at his face just as you finish with the one bracer—which is a mistake.

Caleb is staring at you with an expression you’re not sure how to place. His eyes are dark and serious, and one hand slowly reaches for your face. It tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and lingers on your jaw. His thumb trails from your cheek to your lower lip—then presses down.

You quickly lower your head.

It’s ridiculous. You’ve helped him dress since he was little. There’s no reason why this should be any different—and anyway, he’s all grown up now. He can dress himself. He folds his laundry the way you taught him too, neat and quick. Every weekend a clean stack of clothes waits for you on the bed. Sweaters and jeans on the bottom, underwear on top. You keep telling yourself you’ll wash your own panties, but the tired habit of dumping your worn ones in the laundry bin is a hard one to shake, and by the time you remember to take them out it’s already laundry day.

You force yourself to focus.

The other knee bracer is already in your hand, and this time you make a point to get it on Caleb’s leg quickly and efficiently. You don’t look at him until you’ve dusted your hands and straightened again.

Your brother stands, too. He towers over you, and you take a small step back. His size almost startles you sometimes—every time you think he’s done growing he adds another few centimetres to his height.

“I’ll definitely win,” he promises you.

Then he’s gone, long legs carrying him out of your little world and back onto the field. The clock ticks. You hurry outside too, back to your bench. Caleb’s already on the other side of the field where Patrick was just a little while ago, going through his warm-up. There’s a lot more people gathering compared to previous runs; you think you even see a sign that says GO CALEB in pink letters.

You smile and shake your head, and promptly bump into the person in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise. “I wasn’t looking.”

“It’s alright,” the man says, then does a double take. He adjusts his hat and smiles, and now you recognise him, too; it’s the track and field coach. “But you’re Caleb’s mom! That’s good to see you here. You going to watch your boy?”

“Oh!” You fluster a little and bow your head. “Thank you for looking after him. Yes—he’s up next, right? I was just going to get to the stand.”

“Well, let me just say we’re real proud to have Caleb on the team,” Caleb’s coach says. “You know, he’s the best shot we have at winning the 800m. Though, just between you an’ me—if he keeps it up he’ll win nationals. Considering he started in high school it’s incredible. Just pure raw talent. You must be really involved in his training.”

The photos of Caleb’s naked sweaty chest flash before your eyes, and you stumble for a moment. “Um. No, sorry—I mean, of course I’m involved. But I don’t tell him what to do or anything. Caleb’s always been the one to decide how he trains—with his teachers’ guidance, of course.”

The coach gives you a sceptical look. “I’ve never seen anything like him. Not in all my years. But when I ask him about the future—I’m talkin’ Olympics here, mind—he doesn’t seem interested. Even said he might quit altogether after college! Imagine, someone like him…” The coach shakes his head. “It’d be a real waste. You might want to consider talking to him, tell him to keep going, you know. Athletes do their best when their parents support ‘em.”

“As long as Caleb wants to keep running I’ll keep supporting him,” you say mildly. “But if he wants to quit I won’t stop him.” The expression on the coach’s face sours, but before he can say anything else the 800m is announced, and you give him a polite smile. “I should go find a seat.”

“Wait,” the coach says abruptly. “Why don’t you watch from where I’m standing? You’ll know what I mean, when you see him go.” His disappointment has morphed into determination, and even though you assure him that you’ll be able to see Caleb just fine from the stands he insists you stick with him. In the end you give in, and stand somewhat awkwardly next to the coach with your bag between your feet while the runners are called to the line.

The boys get into position. Arms wide, palms on the ground, ass up and knee bent. For a moment the air is very still, and then—

BANG!

Your brother flies.

People in the stands clap and cheer; Caleb! Caleb! Caleb’s bib glares in the sunlight, a flash of light that trails behind him like wings in the midday sun. His legs are a blur. He moves so quickly you can hardly believe it; for a moment you’re afraid that he’ll burn himself out. He won’t last all the way to the finish line like this. 800 meters is the hardest, you’ve heard Gideon say. Putting out everything you have while maintaining enough energy to make it all the way to the end is a delicate balance. It’s not like short sprints, where you can go out in a blast, or a marathon, where slow and steady wins the race. You hold your body at knifepoint, at the edge of the flame, close enough to bleed and burn without going up in smoke.

But Caleb does it beautifully. His speed doesn’t falter and he maintains his form—until the very end, where he impossibly speeds up. His coach is practically jumping up and down beside you, clutching his timer in his hand and shouting encouragements. Gideon is making a good effort, too, but even as second in place he’s miles behind Caleb. It’s not even a competition.

You cheer for them both anyway. All the way to the end, until Caleb flies over the finish line; he keeps going for a little while longer, the momentum of his speed carrying him past where you and his coach are standing, and then his body becomes mortal again, bowing under the exertion. He bends, hands resting on his knees, while he catches his breath under the cacophony of applause.

“A national record!” his coach shouts. He waves the timer in his hand. “That’s a national record! That’s my boy!”

Caleb rises, chest heaving, and wipes at his brow. He sees you, and his face lights up. He’s stepping forward, already on his way to you—but the other runners pelt him, burying him in hugs and shoulder pats and congratulations that he can’t shake off. You smile and give him a little wave. A light fills you from within, pride and love and a tender, content sort of joy. You’d be proud even if he were in last place, but you know how hard he works. The meals he plans. The training he does. It’s only right, that Caleb gets what he deserves—which for him can only ever be the best.

Caleb shakes off the hands grabbing at him and jogs towards you; his coach already steps forward to meet him and give him his congratulations, too, but Caleb passes him instantly. He doesn’t slow, and before you have time to step out of the way or do anything at all but stand there and watch him with wide eyes you’re lifted in your brother’s arms.

“Oh—” the air rushes out of your lungs, and you instinctively cling to Caleb when he spins you. You laugh when he sets you down, but your face is hot with a nervous, giddy sort of embarrassment. A lot of people are watching Caleb—and by extension, you—and your little brother refuses to let go of you even when you push at his arms.

“Jie,” he says, grinning with teeth. “I won!”

You make eye contact with his coach—he looks surprised, but then he gives you an I told you so look that you decisively ignore. “I saw,” you smile at Caleb. “You were incredible, baby! You went so fast! Did you hear your coach? He said you got a new record—I’m so proud of you.”

Caleb beams. His hair is wet with sweat, and his face is flushed. He’s exhausted, you can tell, but it’s overshadowed by the light in his expression. He opens his mouth to say something, but his teammates are pulling him back again. It’s time for the medal ceremony, someone says, and Caleb’s coach pats him on his back.

“Let’s have mom wait over there, okay? You can go see her after you’re done.”

There’s no quick way to make it back to the stands, so you follow the group from a distance, hanging back at the sidelines so you don’t disturb them. Caleb steps onto a raised platform along with Gideon and another one of his teammates. The ceremony isn’t anything grand; the coach simply reads off names and what place they made—tacking on the fact that Caleb broke a new record when it’s his turn—and has the boys bend their heads so they can get their medals.

As soon as they’re dismissed Caleb hops off. Gideon says something to him and points in your direction; immediately Caleb’s head swivels, and he makes a beeline over to where you’re standing. You hold out a towel and a water bottle, both of which he ignores, and pulls you into another hug. Even after the lift-and-spin you’re unprepared for it, and you feel the blood rise to your cheeks. You’re very aware that a group of girls have been calling your little brother’s name from somewhere behind you in the spectator’s area.

Caleb is warm, and his skin is a little sticky. He smells good. “Mom,” he smiles when he pulls back. “I really won. Did you see?”

“Yes, baby,” you say, and you return his smile. “I saw. I got photos, too. You did so good.”

Caleb sighs, satisfied, and takes off his medal to put it around your neck instead. “For you,” Caleb says. There’s a chorus of squeals and awwws behind you, which makes you feel even warmer. Oh my god, you faintly hear a girl’s voice say. He gave it to his mom. I’m gonna die, that’s so cute.

“Don’t be silly,” you say, nervously embarrassed, and press a water bottle in Caleb’s hands. “Here, drink up. You must be thirsty. I have food, too. Gideon—do you want some?”

Gideon has slowly made his way over to where you’re standing and ducks his head, looking a little bashful, and accepts the energy bar you’re holding out to him with a barely suppressed eagerness. He groans upon the first bite. “Thanks, Caleb’s mom. You’re the best,” Gideon says through a mouthful of granola.

“Congrats on second place,” you say earnestly. “You ran so well today! How do you feel? You should be really proud of yourself.”

Gideon chokes on his energy bar a little, and thumps his chest as he coughs. His ears are fully red. Probably still warm from all the running he just did. “Thanks,” he says after he manages to swallow. “Actually, it wasn’t my best today. But I’m gonna do better next time. Also, um—” Gideon glances at your brother. “Caleb said you needed help clearing out some stuff in your apartment? Sometime soon? Which, like, no problem. I’ll totally be there to help.”

You melt a little. “That’s so sweet of you to offer, Gideon. You’re such a good boy.” You raise your hand and pet his head without thinking. Muscle memory. You’re so used to doing it with Caleb you don’t even realise how red Gideon’s face is until Caleb grabs your hand and puts it on his own head instead, scowling.

“Thought I was your good boy,” Caleb huffs. “Jie. Pay attention to me.”

Whoops. Gideon isn’t meeting your eyes—you hope you didn’t embarrass yourself and him. “Okay, okay. You’re my good boy too.” You ruffle his hair. “Now run off to your coach. He looks like he wants to debrief.”

You don’t see Caleb until a good while later. The coach keeps him much longer than the others—trying to talk him into going to the Olympics, probably. Gideon keeps you company for a little while, chattering to his teammates; apparently there’s going to be a party later at Patrick’s place. Blowing off steam after weeks of hard training. Gideon gives you a nervous glance at the mention of booze, but you studiously pretend not to hear.

By the time Caleb finds you again the sun has already sunken low in the horizon. Even if you’d tried to make it Jake’s dinner party you would’ve been well and truly late; you wouldn’t have enough time to change into the appropriate dress for it, for one, and he would’ve given you the cold shoulder all throughout. There’s a pang in your chest as you listen to the young college kids talk and laugh. You weren’t as carefree as they seem to be, but you remember being young and feeling like anything’s still possible. The world an open road at your feet.

It’s not that you wanted to go to Jake’s stupid work dinner. You don’t enjoy them. You always feel more like an accessory than a person; pretty, worth a glance, but just as easily dismissed a moment later. But you’re getting older. Tara’s wearing an engagement ring on her finger. Simone has a long-time girlfriend. You’re not sure if you want kids—you already have Caleb, for one—but if you had wanted to there’s not all that much time left to make it happen. And Caleb will soon be gone. In a few years he’ll be flying off, far up into the deep open blue above you.

Standing here, on the DAA campus, amidst young people dreaming about their future, laughing and talking about classes, about parties, about grades and booze and extracurriculars, you’re stupidly overcome with the feeling of being left behind. A parent’s heartbreaking privilege. Getting all misty-eyed over the past, while Caleb runs towards the forever heaven of tomorrow.

What a good thing. What a wonderful thing. How absolutely crushing, to look at your little brother walk over, young and strong, handsome and lean, holding up a hand and a half-smile at his friends before turning the eyes that look towards the future to you.

Time selfishly continues. You fold yourself in your car.

“I put your medal in my bag,” you tell Caleb as you zip your seatbelt over your lap. “Are you hungry? We can get something on the way home if you want. Or did you want to take a shower first?”

“Definitely shower first,” Caleb says. “I stink.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” You check your rear mirror. There’s a gaggle of college girls right behind the car, and you wait to let them pass. “But maybe hold off throwing me around next time. I’m way too old to be handled like that.”

Caleb gawks at you, then scowls. “All my friends think you’re really pretty.”

You actually laugh at that. “Did they say that? I knew they were sweethearts. Invite them for dinner sometime, okay? I’ll make them something nice.”

“I think you’re really pretty too. And I thought it first.”

You make a soft sound of amusement, and turn the keys in your engine. Your car gently rumbles to life. “You’re going to make an old lady blush.”

“Jie,” Caleb says, exasperated. “Stop it. You’re not old. Not even a little bit.”

“Old enough to be your mom,” you joke. “Just kidding—I’m actually your mom.” Caleb groans, and you start driving, manoeuvring the car out of the DAA’s parking lot and onto the road. “Buuut since I’m a cool mom, I’ll let you go to the DAA afterparty.” You laugh a little when you see Caleb’s surprised look from the corner of your eye. “What, you think I didn’t know? I was young once, too, you know. You should go and have fun. There were a lot of girls calling out your name while you were running. I bet some of them are waiting for you there.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Caleb scoffs.

You take a turn, and the tick tick tick of your blinker sounds over the gentle rush of the car. “It’s okay to go out and have fun, baby. College isn’t just for studying. Who knows? You might meet someone special. Besides,” you say, “you’re today’s star. I’m sure everyone would be happy to see you.” When that doesn’t seem to work either, you soften your voice. “It would make me happy too. To see you enjoy yourself.”

Caleb lets out a put-upon sigh. He props his chin up in his hand like a surly teenager and looks out through the car window. “Fiiine.”

He tries to weasel out of it, of course. He’s tired, he says. Why don’t you watch one of your movies with him instead? It’s the weekend—you could even do a marathon. He’ll make popcorn just the way you like.

But you shake your head. You make him shower and dress, and refuse to give in to his sideways puppy eyes. You know for a fact that his friends are expecting him; Caleb’s phone been lighting up non-stop since you got home with congratulations and invitations to all sorts of get-togethers after today’s race. As if he wasn’t popular enough already.

“I’ll take good care of him, ma’am,” Gideon promises when you deliver him to the party house’s doorstep. Already you see people gather behind him, curious and then excited when they see that the DAA’s heartthrob has come to join them after all. Wherever Caleb goes it’s impossible for him not to be noticed. Impossible not to be loved. You understand that feeling very well.

“I’ll hold you to that. Have fun, baby. I’ll wait up for you.” You give your disgruntled little brother a final wave and then turn, walking down the steps leading up to Patrick’s house. Before you reach the pavement you turn your head. Just once. You look back at your brother, and watch the door close.

That’s how it should be.

He has his place in the world, and you have yours.

You didn’t give Caleb a curfew, but he still makes it home on a respectable time. Or perhaps that’s just thanks to Gideon, who’s the one getting him home to you, puffing and sweating under your brother’s weight.

“Uh-oh,” you say when you open the door. Gideon grimaces apologetically.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I kept a real close eye on him and everything. He only had a few glasses, I swear.”

“It’s okay,” you say, slightly amused. “Here, let me help—” You take Caleb’s other arm, slinging it around your neck and shoulders, and together with Gideon you shuffle your way inside.

“Jie,” Caleb sighs. His head lolls against yours, and you hear him inhale deeply next to your ear. “‘M home.”

You nudge the door to Caleb’s bedroom open with your elbow, and you and Gideon deposit his heavy body onto his bed. He goes easily, compliant and loose, looking a little dazed. His face is flushed, and he keeps taking your hand and rubbing over your knuckles.

“Would you like me to stay?” Gideon asks. “I can help with getting him undressed and stuff.”

“No, I got it,” you say. “I’m sure you’re tired after today. Thank you—for getting him home, and for inviting him out. You’re a sweet boy. I’m glad Caleb has a good friend like you.”

Gideon stammers out a thank you and rubs his neck. It’s his pleasure, really. Caleb’s a great guy, friendly, wicked smart, and he works so hard, you know, and he does it because he wants you to be proud of him most of all, he’s told Gideon—or maybe he shouldn’t say that? But then you probably already know, since you’re his mom—or sister, really, sorry, he doesn’t mean that you look old at all. You’re really pretty. Sorry. He probably shouldn’t say that either.

You laugh and walk Gideon to the door. It looks like Caleb’s not the only one who’s been drinking. “Thank you, sweetheart. Get home safe, okay? You don’t need me to drive you?”

Gideon shakes his head. “No, ma’am. I got it. Thank you.” And he dashes off into the night.

You watch him disappear into the dark. It’s begun to rain; a faint drizzle touches your hand when you hold out your palm. You wipe it on your pants before turning back inside. When you go to check on your little brother you expect to find him asleep, but his eyes are open, and they crinkle in a dopey smile when he sees you at his bedside.

“Jie,” he says. Caleb rolls on his side and reaches out for you. You spare him the effort and sit down on the edge of his bed, catching his wandering hands in yours. He feels hot to the touch. “I’m sweaty. I needa’ take a shower.”

“Shower in the morning, baby. Sleep now. I’ll help take off your clothes if you’re hot.”

Caleb scrunches his face. “Mm.” His free arm flops back on the bed. “Okay.”

You laugh a little and brush the hair from his brow. “Who knew you’d get so cute when you’re drunk? Come here, sit up for me.”

Caleb heaves himself upright with your help, leaning heavily against your shoulder. “I’m not a kid,” he complains. “Jie. I’m all grown up now.”

“I know, I know, you’re a big boy. Arms up.”

You tug Caleb’s shirt over his head. His hair sticks up in all directions after you do, so you smooth over it with your palm, and then, unable to resist, plant a kiss on his crown. When you pull back you look into Caleb’s laughing face. “Again,” he says, and you laugh too.

“Spoiled,” you say, but then you do what he wants anyway. You kiss the top of his head with a big smack—mmmwah! and then nearly fall forward when Caleb wraps his arms around your waist. He nuzzles his face into your chest, and you feel his breath, warm and wet, through your shirt. Goosebumps ripple over your flesh. You’re not wearing a bra; you already changed into your sleepwear, ready to head to bed after seeing to it that Caleb got home safe. Your little brother’s mouth is dangerously close to your nipple.

“Jie,” Caleb mumbles. His hands bunch in the fabric of your shirt, then try to slip under.

This is where you kick yourself awake, and push Caleb back down on the bed by his shoulders. “Easy there, tiger,” you say, though your voice is weirdly strangled. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah?”

Caleb doesn’t respond, but he lies there pliantly while you scoot back and start unbuttoning his pants. You don’t know what you feel when you find him hard. Surprise, perhaps. Isn’t it supposed to be more difficult for guys to get it up after drinking? Or maybe it’s just because Caleb is a teenage boy, and there’s someone taking off his clothes? You wonder if he’s had sex before. There’s a damp patch on your shirt from the condensation of his breath. It brushes over your breast when you move, sending a tingling sensation down your spine.

It nearly makes you stop everything altogether. You’re not supposed to be thinking about these kind of things. Just let him sleep in his pants—tuck him in, turn off the light, and distract yourself with anything that isn’t your half-naked little brother waiting for you to undress him. But Caleb is watching you. Expectantly, almost curious—what will you do next? his eyes seem to ask, and then, as the forever follow-up: you won’t leave, right?

It’s a fight you’ve been predetermined to lose, and so you exhale and think of other things while you peel off his pants. Association reports. Jake’s things in a box in the hallway. The pink signs that students held up with Caleb’s name on them. His face when he ran to you, being lifted in his strong arms, suddenly weightless, with your body pressed against his. The swoop in your stomach when he stands suddenly and towers over you.

Caleb makes a low sound in his throat when you roll his pants off his legs. You ignore it. You don’t look at his hard-on, or his eyes, or his face, or anything but your hands neatly folding his clothes and grabbing a blanket to put over him.

“Stay,” Caleb says when you’ve tucked him in. His hands have drifted to yours again, big fingers circling loosely around your wrists.

“It’s time for you to go sleep,” you say gently. “Close your eyes.”

“I don’t feel good, jie.” A slight whine creeps into Caleb’s voice. “My head hurts. Please?”

His eyes glitter in the low light. The flush over his cheeks makes his freckles stand out more, even in the half-dark of his bedroom, and his brows are furrowed. The hands around your wrists tighten their hold slightly. “Okay,” you shush. “Okay, baby. I’ll stay. Until you fall asleep, okay? You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

Caleb relaxes, and he smiles, his little tooth slipping over his lower lip. Then, without warning, and with a strength and alacrity he shouldn’t reasonably be in the possession of, he gives your arms a sharp tug so you smack face-first into his naked chest.

“Caleb—” you scold, but he doesn’t listen. His arms wrap around you and press you against him in a tight hug. “Behave. Let go of me.”

“No.” The arms around you stubbornly squeeze tighter. “You never sleep with me anymore.”

You futilely push against his shoulders. He doesn’t budge an inch. “That’s because you’re all grown up now.” As if to illustrate your point you feel something twitch against your lower stomach. Your little brother is not quite so little anymore, and though you’ve known this for a while it’s a whole other matter to feel it for yourself. And it’s moments like these, where determination’s grip slips just a little bit, that in-between blinking you’re not helping your baby brother to bed anymore, but are lying, in bed, on the naked chest of a man. Whose dick is hard. Not because of you. As long as you can believe that it’s just a physical reaction there’s a chance to return to your usual boundaries.

“But I miss you,” Caleb says sadly. “You push me away so hard. Do you not want me anymore?”

“Of course I do,” you say, softening. “That has nothing to do with it. I just want the best for you. You know that, don’t you?”

Doesn’t he? You’ve given up your struggle, and stroke over his hair. Is that what he’s afraid of? That you won’t want him anymore, after he grows up? You doubt yourself suddenly. Have you not loved him enough? Given him enough? You thought that he was happy. Has he grown so much he’s learned how to hide what he’s really feeling from you?

Caleb breathes out against your neck. He’s burrowed his face into your shoulder, and you feel his lips move against your skin when he speaks. “You’re what’s best for me,” Caleb says hoarsely. “You’re so soft, jie. So pretty. I think about you all the time.”

Sensing that this conversation is again very rapidly encroaching dangerous territory you make another attempt to get out of his arms. The alcohol is messing with his head, and feeling his growing hard-on under the blanket pressing against you is messing with yours. You need to cool off. Get some air. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, and you know better than indulging him. If there’s a conversation to be had about his fears or anxieties it’ll have to happen in the sobriety of tomorrow’s daylight…

…but your well-meant wiggling backfires on you. Caleb moans unabashed when you try to wrestle free; his arms tighten to the point of steel, of iron, where you’re unable to move at all anymore. His hips roll mindlessly against yours, and you jolt when you feel his lips against your neck again. “I want you,” he whines, and you shudder when his words are followed by something wet against your skin. “I want you to suck my cock. Please, jie. Please suck my cock?”

Heat zaps through you. “Caleb—”

“If I win nationals, will you suck my cock? If I get straight As—if I become a pilot, will you—please, jie—”

“Caleb—no—you don’t have to earn me, baby,” you say. You’re at a loss. You feel warm all over; sweat pricks at the back of your neck, and the air in the room feels stiflingly hot. Oppressive. You can’t breathe right, somehow, and what little air you do get makes you feel dizzy. You can taste Caleb’s sweat in the back of your throat. “You know I love you, right? So be good and—” you shiver again, and push against Caleb’s shoulders with trembling arms, “—let go of me.”

“Then I want you to love me a little more.”

You look up at him, finally. Caleb’s eyes are vibrant and beautiful. Glassy, almost angry, the way he looks at you—like he’s telling you this is all your fault. Maybe it is. Maybe you did something wrong, to make him say these things, even if he’s drunk. Went wrong somewhere. Is it because you didn’t love him enough, or because you love him a little too much? Either way, the responsibility must lie with you. The eldest. The example. You search for words and find none. Nothing you’ve read in your parenting books has prepared you for this.

You lick your chapped lips and open your mouth, though you don’t know what words should come out. This is another mistake. Caleb’s still moving his hips against yours; his palm burns in between your shoulderblades, pressing you down against him. The rocking motion has been rubbing your shirt against your nipples, which have grown stiff and sensitive, and though you’ve been trying to lift your hips away from Caleb’s, all this does in the end, helped along with his hold on you, is set you up to feel his hard cock hump against your clit through your shorts perfectly.

Your breath is punched out of you, and before you can help yourself, out with it rolls a small sound—not even a moan, just a needy affected something that exposes how little you’ve been able to get off lately.

It’s enough. Caleb tenses under you in a way that erases any possibility of him not having heard. His half-lidded eyes gain a feverish sort of determination; he buries his face in your neck, sucking and biting at your skin, and one arm keeps you pressed flush against his chest while the other settles on your hip, moving you against him so as to repeat that same motion.

This isn’t difficult. The proximity, the heat of him, the guilty, horrible feeling in your gut that despite your self-reprimanding burns with need—it takes everything not to let more noises slip. You try to get up, to push away from him, to use your knees and elbows, but it doesn’t matter if. At some point Caleb hooks his legs over yours, feet locking you in place by your ankles, and renders any advantage you might have had over him useless.

“Caleb,” you grit out, voice wavering. “Caleb, stop it. Listen to your big sister.”

Caleb groans, eyes fluttering shut. “Say my name again,” he whines. “Jie, I love you. I love you so much. My dick loves you so much too—you can feel it, right? I’m making you feel good. Right? I wanna make you feel so good. I’d do it better than any of your boyfriends. Bet I’m bigger than them, too. Tell me you love me. Tell me I’m—nnh—I’m making you feel good. Please, jiejie—”

You squeeze your eyes shut. This close to him it’s impossible not to hear Caleb’s every grunt, every whine, all the little hitches in his breath, as he uses you to get off. You desperately hope he can’t feel the wetness in your underwear, because you can feel it soaked through, and you’re afraid that if he knew just how much of a reaction he’s able to incite in you he’ll never leave it alone. At some point your strength gives out, and all you can do is lie there and you take it, and try not to twitch or tense against Caleb’s touch, or his mouth insistently on your jaw, with little success.

The fire in your belly continues to be stoked higher. Caleb’s cock, even while clothed, is considerably large, and with the way his legs have trapped yours you’re spread open wide enough to feel all of it rubbing against the seam of your shorts. There comes a moment where you genuinely fear you might come—to the point where you, against knowing better, call out Caleb’s name again to make him stop—

Which, in a way, it does.

“Caleb,” you whimper, your voice a stranger’s to you, and Caleb stiffens, groaning, eyes shut. His mouth has dropped open, and a trail of spit connected to your neck breaks over your collarbone. You feel it cling there wetly as Caleb shudders and comes against you in his boxers—

—and then promptly falls asleep.

His breath evens, then slows, and his muscles relax. You lie there for a moment, trembling and uncertain of anything in the world, before gathering your strength and pushing up. Caleb’s arms gently slide off. His eyes are closed, and his face is flushed red. It seems the alcohol combined with the exertion have robbed him of all his strength.

You let out a shaky breath, and slowly, with clumsy limbs, extract yourself from him and the bed. You avoid looking at his crotch, where you know must be a wet patch. You grab his blanket, tug it over him, and then leave the room on unsteady legs.

You only gain a sense of reality after retreating to your room and closing the door behind you, sliding down onto the floor.

A mistake. A lapse in—not judgment, but in strength. You tried to stop it, you tell yourself. You did. Maybe you could’ve tried harder, but Caleb was drunk. Not in his right mind. You’d never want to hurt him. Right—your breathing steadies. He was drunk. With any luck he won’t remember any of this tomorrow, and you can pretend it never happened. And you’ll give him a stern talking to about watching his alcohol, and that just because you want him to go to parties and enjoy himself doesn’t mean that it can get to the point where he’s no longer able to think clearly.

You check your phone absentmindedly as you sit down on your bed, and see that Jake has texted you. He’s asking about arranging to meet sometime so he can come get his stuff, repeating his request to talk since you forgot to answer him yesterday.

You really, really don’t want to see him.

Are you fucking your little brother?

No, Jake, not quite, actually! You see, it’s just that your little brother dry humped you to completion while he was drunk, but no fucking took place, not to worry. And that wetness in your underwear? Purely physical, of course. Baseless accusations.

You bury your head in your hands.

Of course Caleb is attractive. You’ve always thought so—anyone with eyes would think so. And now, on the cusp of adulthood, he’s only continued to grow more handsome. He’s strong, smart, a great cook, and has a shining career ahead of him. A total catch—

—for anyone that isn’t you.

You let out a trembling sigh, and text Jake back to visit in a few weeks’ time. You’ll have to face him at some point. To your surprise you immediately receive a reply from him despite the late hour, confirming the date and time. And then, perhaps even more surprisingly—

Jake 00:35

i miss you

[img]

i was looking thru photos but i kinda dont wanna delete anything

do you remember this trip?

you were carsick the whole way. but even that was kinda cute

You tap on the picture Jake has attached. It’s you. You’re wearing a bikini, sitting next to Jake, as he takes the picture. You’re not looking at the camera—you’re holding a bottle of sunscreen, squirting some of it on your palm. You do remember this trip. It was a very hot summer last year, and so he suggested he take you to the ocean to cool off. It’s a hell of a picture to send you, and part of you feels angry—now that you’re broken up it feels like a violation of boundaries for him to be looking at you almost-naked, even if you’re wearing swimwear.

But what can you do? That’s just the way things go. I miss you, he says. It’s obvious what he’s after, and you have no intentions of entertaining him. You leave him on read and put your phone face-down on your nightstand.

But when you slip in between your covers sleep eludes you. You’re still hot, wired up. Your lower stomach throbs. Jiejie, Caleb’s voice whines in your ear.

Caleb and Sylus both agreed on one thing, they had spoiled you rotten. 

You knew exactly how to get your way with a stomp of your foot and a bit of incessant whining. They both had a massive soft spot for you, and you absolutely abused it. On the rare occasion that one of them actually stood his ground and denied you something, you simply went running to the other. Without fail, you always ended up getting what you wanted. 

So there you were, flopped unceremoniously across Sylus’s bed, dramatically huffing and taking your frustrations out on his pillows. You made sure your tantrum was obvious to the white-haired man sitting at his desk, casually flipping through documents. He looked up at your theatrics, a hint of amusement playing on his face. 

Seeing that your efforts were going to waste, you decided to kick it up a notch. You paused all your dramatic thrashing and sat up on the bed, going dead silent. The sudden lack of noise instantly caught Sylus’s attention. That's when you brought out the big guns. With a perfectly timed sniffle, crocodile tears began streaming down your cheeks. Sylus, defeated by your dirty tactics, tossed his documents onto the desk. He sighed, making his way over to the bed before pulling your body against his chest, enveloping you in a warm hug. 

"Alright, alright," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating against your ear as he stroked your hair. "We’ll get you your pet wolf. Don't cry now, kitten." 

The next of your schemes involved sneaking to the kitchen at 3 am in the morning, staying as quiet as possible as you tiptoed across the cold floors. You opened the fridge and retrieved the goods, and right as you thought you had gotten away with it, you heard someone behind you. Goddammit. You turned around guiltily to find Caleb standing there, leaning against the wall, shirtless and looking like he had just woken up. Ice cream in hand, you flashed him a nervous smile. "Pips, you know you can't have that so late at night," he scolded gently. Your instincts kicked in immediately. You pouted, hugging the tub close to your chest as you gave him your signature puppy eyes. "But Caleb, pleaseee... I've been craving it." Giving in, Caleb walked over and ruffled your hair with a sigh. "Fine, but not too much, okay?"

And just like that, victory was yours. Half the time, you made ridiculous requests just to test their limits, to see exactly how far they would bend to keep you happy. they were well aware of this fact too. But unbeknownst to you, Caleb and Sylus had recently made a plan. Deciding they officially had enough of your shit with the way your asks became more absurd by the day, they knew they needed to teach their bratty little girl a lesson. 

It was a day like any other, you woke up with a slow, heavy stretch, yawning your way out of bed and heading downstairs. In the kitchen, your two boyfriends were already occupying their usual spots. Caleb was making breakfast, while Sylus leaned against the counter, mindlessly popping cherries into his mouth and scrolling through his phone. Scurrying over to Caleb, you leaned over his shoulder, trying to peer into the pan. "I'm almost done, pips. Go sit down," he murmured, not looking up. You blinked down at the eggs sizzling in the pan, and like second nature, felt defiance bubbling up. You looked up at him with a sparkle in your eyes. "But Caleb, I'm craving pancakes today." Right as you expected to watch him immediately pivot to indulge your craving, he did the exact opposite. Caleb glanced down at you, held your gaze for a flat second, and deadpanned, "Nope." 

That caught you completely off guard. "Wha-?" It wasn't the kind of "no" that felt negotiable. It wasn't a "maybe" with extra steps. This "no" felt definitive. As you stood there, jaw slightly slack and confused, Caleb simply reached out, picked you up by the waist like a doll, and set you down next to the kitchen island. "Sit down," he ordered softly.

For once, you actually obeyed, slipping into the seat next to Sylus as if in a trance. Caleb caught your expression and let out a smug smirk. 

A few moments later, Caleb began setting the plates down on the island. Still reeling from the pancake rejection, your eyes drifted over to the bowl of juicy cherries Sylus was snacking on.

"Can I have som-" "No." 

Before the sentence could even clear your throat, Sylus cut you off. He didn't even look your way as he answered, instead, he popped another cherry between his lips, holding it between his teeth as he leaned back, his gaze locking directly onto Caleb. 

Wordlessly, Caleb moved across the space, leaning over the counter to meet him. He closed the distance and took the cherry right from Sylus's mouth, their teeth clashing in a quiet click. They both tried not to laugh at the sight of you looking like a kicked puppy. 

The rest of the day went on just like that, a rebellion was what it was. By evening, you were left thoroughly frustrated by the mountain of rejections that had accumulated all day. You could tell something was up, but you knew they couldn't keep this up forever. So, you decided to stage your own overthrow. 

When nighttime finally arrived, you got into bed a little earlier than usual. You could hear the steady rush of water from the shower Caleb was running in the bathroom, while Sylus was finishing up some work in his office. Smirking to yourself, you slowly stripped down to just your underwear, a lacy pair you knew that they were weak for.  Settling back against the pillows, you slowly spread your thighs and gave a few exploratory flicks to your clit. Mmm. As you started to play with yourself, your fingers spread your folds, rubbing gently before plunging two fingers shallowly inside. 

Despite always catering to your every wish and whim, Sylus and Caleb had one strict rule for you, hands off yourself. You knew not to cross this– you never had a reason to anyway, not with two utterly devoted men ready to give you more pleasure than you could ever give yourself. But after a day of them teasing and denying you, you didn't see why you couldn't play their game as well.

Soft moans spilled from your lips, juices leaking through as you could feel yourself getting hotter. Right then, you heard heavy footsteps moving through the hallway outside. Grinning, you worked yourself even harder now. Sylus, on the other hand, reached the outside of the room and knew immediately something was up; he felt your sweet scent filling the air, your faint gasps barely heard. Seems kitten is playing dirty. 

Walking inside, he locked eyes with you, only for you to scrunch your eyebrows and put on even more of a show, cunt in full display. And right on cue, Caleb walked out of the bathroom, skin glistening and a towel hanging off his waist. The moment he caught on to the events occurring in the room, he flashed Sylus an unhinged smile. 

Your mind had dissolved into absolute mush. Overstimulated as you were kept on your hands and knees, your back arched deeply as Sylus relentlessly drove into you from behind. 

You had lost track of how many times you'd finished already, yet there were no signs of stopping. Caleb, meanwhile, was in front of you, admiring the glisten on your face and lips from the previous load he shot up that he was still recovering from, panting with his abs clenching. 

You felt another intense orgasm coursing through you, cum and juice spilling out further as your pussy spasmed around Sylus, but this only prompted him to go faster. Tears streaming uncontrollably now, your knuckles turned white with how hard you were gripping the sheets, and you looked up at Caleb, almost pleading with him to reason with Sylus. Almost like Sylus figured out your ploy, he snapped your hips back against him harshly. “Oh no no no, he’s not gonna help you, sweetheart.” Caleb could only grin, giving you a mock pity look. “Aw, is pips tired? Should’ve thought of that before you decided to break the rules, no?” He looked over to Sylus. “Sy, my turn now.” Panting, Sylus plunged balls deep all the way into your cervix one last time before he pulled out completely, manhandling you to switch positions. 

Now you were sitting upright, your back leaning against Sylus with your legs being held up and apart by his veiny arms. Caleb took his position immediately, feeding you his cock from the front, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, a tad overstimulated from his earlier release. Sylus, looking at the vulnerable puppy boy, couldn't help but reach out and caress the side of his face, his fingers running through his slightly damp hair. Caleb only subconsciously leaned into his touch all the while plunging completely inside of you, moving in shallow, ragged thrusts. 

Then Sylus had an idea. Nipping at your shoulder, his fingers still tangled in Caleb's hair, he gripped a bit tighter, grabbing his attention. “You think she's ready for it?” 

“Huh? fuck– yeahyeaheyeah,” Caleb mumbled incoherently, looking absolutely pussydrunk by the way you clenched around him. You were confused. “Sy? Wha- what do you mean ready? Ready for what?” you panted, and right then, you felt something poke at your virgin back entrance. Fuck me, you thought.

Gathering all the slick from your combined releases and giving you a spit of his own, Sylus made sure you were well-lubricated before he attempted the intrusion. It felt weird in the start– an unfamiliar feeling– but you knew better than to oppose it. You were completely at their mercy. 

Soon enough, Caleb and Sylus found a shared rhythm, breaching your holes at the same time and building up an insane amount of pressure, slick sounds and moans filling the room. Even Sylus, who wasn't normally vocal in bed, was groaning and whimpering, and in no time, another orgasm ripped through you. “Fuck— yes baby, give it all to me. Come on, I know you can give me more,” you weren't even sure who was talking to you at that point.  

Hours dissolved into an exhaustive blur as positions were shifted and forced upon you. You were floating in and out of consciousness. You all looked like a litter of bunnies going at it for so long. You were tired, and just let them move you around for their own pleasure; their combined stamina was ungodly. You could feel your womb bulging with all the semen pumped into you, and finally, with bruising thrusts, they came at the same time, collapsing back against the bed. 

God, Smiling in your fucked out state, all you could think was, you still got what you wanted.

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