Dylan leaned on the balcony railing, shirtless and oiled from the sun, gray sweats slung low enough to show the deep V cutting into his hips, every muscle carved from college football off-season grind. The high-rise rooftop was private—his mom's new husband's penthouse—city skyline behind him, river glinting below, fake grass under bare feet. He snapped the selfie, smirked at the preview: traps flared, pecs pumped, that cocky half-smile that got him endless DMs. Posted it with the caption “Living better than y’all.” Felt good.
The glass door slid open quiet behind him. Dylan didn’t turn right away—figured it was the maid or some shit. Then a soft voice, accented light, Filipino lilt: “Nice view, bro.”
He glanced over his shoulder. Milo—his new stepbrother—stood there in an oversized hoodie and basketball shorts, barely five-six, slim as a reed, dark hair falling over sharper eyes than Dylan remembered from the wedding. Kid had been quiet the whole week since the parents jetted off to Bali for their honeymoon. Dylan snorted. “Yeah, it is. Don’t get used to it—this side’s mine.”
Milo stepped closer, phone in hand, thumb scrolling casual. “Already did.” He tilted the screen toward Dylan: the fresh post, but zoomed on the likes rolling in, comments thirsty. Then he swiped—older pics, gym mirrors, locker room flexes, all public. “You post a lot. Always shirtless. Always flexing.” His tone stayed flat, almost bored. “Makes people think things.”
Dylan straightened, turning full, arms folding to flare lats wider—intimidation automatic. “Makes people think I’m hot. Problem?”
Milo’s eyes flicked down the torso, lingered on the sweats bulge, then back up. “No problem. Just noticed you blocked me last year when I commented heart eyes on one. Said ‘creepy little fag’ in the group chat screenshot.” He pocketed the phone, stepped even closer—close enough Dylan smelled his cologne, something sweet and sharp. “Mom’s gone two weeks. Dad too. Just us.”
Dylan barked a laugh, towering easy. “Cool story. Stay out of my way, shorty.” He turned back to the railing, dismissing him.
Milo moved faster than the bulk suggested. One second behind—next, his slim arm snaked under Dylan’s, palm slamming a damp cloth over mouth and nose, the other hooking the jock’s elbow to yank it back. Chloroform knockoff, pool-chemical sharp, soaked into a gym towel Dylan recognized too late—his own, from the bag by the door. He bucked hard—"Mmph—fuck off!"—free arm swinging back wild, elbow clipping Milo’s ribs with a thud—"Oof"—but the kid hung on grim, legs wrapping Dylan’s thigh for leverage, riding the thrash like a backpack. Dylan’s lungs burned for air, inhaling deeper on instinct, the fumes hitting fast—head swimming, knees softening, muscles turning syrup. He staggered, shoulder slamming the glass railing—clang—trying to pry the towel, fingers thick and slow now, Milo twisting the fabric tighter, face pressed calm to Dylan’s back, whispering hot—"Shh, big bro. Almost nap time."
Dylan dropped heavy to the fake turf, vision tunneling, Milo easing him down gentle—too gentle—rolling the bigger body face-up, straddling chest quick before the jock rallied. The haze cleared partial—aware, pissed, weak. Dylan growled low—"Get—the fuck—off"—arms pushing sluggish at Milo’s thighs, but the twink pinned wrists easy with knees, hoodie riding up to show smooth skin and the hard outline in his shorts. He pulled zip ties from the hoodie pocket—click-click—binding Dylan’s wrists to the metal railing post behind head, tight enough to bite, stretching thick arms overhead, chest arched vulnerable.
Milo sat back on Dylan’s abs, rocking slow, feeling the ridges clench under him. “Football star, huh? All that muscle. Still went down like a bitch.” He tugged the sweats waistband down inch by inch, exposing the trimmed pubes, cock soft and heavy against thigh—Dylan bucking hips weak—"Don’t—touch that, you little—" but Milo just smirked, fingers tracing the V teasing, then slapping the shaft light—thwack—watching it flop. "Straight dick. Gonna ruin it anyway."
Milo scooted up the bound torso slow, knees digging firm into Dylan's biceps, pinning the thick arms stretched overhead against the railing post, the metal cool and unyielding under the zip ties biting skin. His shorts dropped quick to thighs, smaller dick springing free hard and slick, the head brushing wet against Dylan's stubble as he straddled higher, settling weight on the jock's chest, ribs compressing slight with each breath. Milo grabbed a fistful of curly hair, yanking the head up sharp, neck straining—"Open, bro"—thumb prying the jaw while fingers clamped nostrils shut, cutting air ruthless.
Dylan's lungs burned quick, chest heaving futile under the pin, eyes widening panic as black spots danced, jaw unclenching desperate for oxygen—"Hhhk—"mouth gaping wide on the inhale, and Milo shoved in deep immediate, the head bumping throat hard—"Glk—hurk!"—saliva surging up thick, bubbling foamy around the shaft as Dylan's cheeks bulged, throat convulsing wild to eject but only sucking tighter, the bulge rippling visible under skin. Milo groaned low, hips rolling shallow at first, grinding balls heavy on chin, the breeze whipping cooler across Dylan's sweat-damp pecs, nipples peaking hard involuntary while the city buzzed indifferent far below, glass buildings reflecting the ruin like silent witnesses.
The rock dragged patient, Milo pulling back just enough for a ragged nasal snort—"Snrk—hhh"—from Dylan, spit strings snapping thick before plunging again, deeper angle now from the hair-pull, head tilted back farther against turf, throat opening unwilling on the repeat, wet glucks echoing soft off the railing—"Glk-glk"—each thrust forcing more drool to spill chin to neck, pooling sticky in the hollow of his collarbone. Dylan's legs kicked weak, sweats tangled at ankles limiting the thrash, heels scraping fake grass futile as his bound arms flexed veins popping, trying to buck the smaller weight off but only rocking his own face harder onto the dick, tongue flattening instinctive push turning to rub along the underside, heightening Milo's hiss—"Ssss"—hips circling subtle to stir the heat, balls dragging stubble raw.
Dylan's eyes watered constant now, tears tracking temples into curls, straight mind reeling—this fag stepkid, can't be real—but throat loosening gradual from the relentless slides, gags turning muffled hums—"Mmmph—hhh"—around the girth, saliva foaming whiter as Milo sped fraction, short snaps grinding the head against soft palate, holding there till convulsions milked him tighter, the rooftop exposure twisting hotter, sun beating on exposed abs clenching rhythmic, cock soft dangling ignored between spread thighs. Milo eased out abrupt with a slick pop, strings of spit bridging lips to tip, letting Dylan gasp hoarse—"Hhh—cough—stop, you—" but cut off quick as Milo slapped the wet shaft across cheek—smack—leaving streak, then shoved back in sideways, bulging one cheek obscene, the twist scraping teeth light but earning a warning grind deeper—"Behave, big bro"—throat spasming fresh—"Hurkk—mmph!"
The oral wore on calm, Milo repositioning knees wider for balance when Dylan's shoulder bucked weak, the shift letting him hump shorter, grindier, balls settling fuller on chin hairy drag, the constraint forcing Dylan's neck to crane more, turf prickling scalp as head ground back, hitches turning desperate nasal—"Nuuuhhh—mmmphmmm!"—no forming muffled around the intrusion, straight denial choking on the taste, musky and bitter coating tongue thick. Milo savored it, pulling to the lips tease, watching swollen red part reluctant before sliding home again, the cycle eroding resistance breath by breath, throat yielding softer each time, glucks wetter, saliva dripping steady to chest.
When the loosen hit noticeable, Milo pulled out slow, dick shining thick with spit, and shifted down seamless, knees hooking under Dylan's thighs to hoist legs high, folding the jock near double against the railing, sweats bunching ankles trapped, ass lifting exposed to breeze chilling the pucker sudden. He lined up quick, head nudging the untouched rim crude, no spit extra—just the oral slick—pushing steady slow-burn, the breach stretching fire immediate—"Yaaah—mmph!"—Dylan's yell ripping raw as the pop hit, hole clenching virgin-tight futile, body arching bound hard against ties, railing clanging from the strain, but Milo sank deeper calm, inch by inch, walls parting burning around the girth till hips flush, bottoming with a groan—"Tight family hole"—holding buried to let the throb settle, then grinding shallow circles, head scraping that spot accidental first—"Hah—unh!"—pulling sharp hitch from Dylan, legs quivering over shoulders, the fold cramping abs deep.
The grind evolved patient, Milo rocking hips subtle for deeper angles when Dylan's buck tried escape, the motion only driving him fuller, prostate nudged deliberate now on repeats, jolts sparking traitorous up spine—"Nuuuhhh—hah—nooo"—voice breaking breathy, straight confusion flooding as hole fluttered unwilling, rim gripping rhythmic on pulls. Milo whispered soft close—"Thought this rooftop yours? Wrong, stepbro"—repositioning one knee higher to spread wider awkward, the twist hitting fresh walls scorching, Dylan's hitches pitching—"Ahh—unh—stop there"—but Milo ground calmer, rules shifting just as endurance built, sweat mixing where thighs pressed chest, breeze whipping cooler on the joining, city skyline watching silent as control tightened endless, erosion deepening with every slow claim, no rush, just access opening quieter under open sky.
Dylan's cramp twitched sudden in the fold, thigh spasming—"Grrrh!"—kicking Milo's side off partial, dick slipping halfway with slick drag, hole winking empty throbbing, but Milo adapted swift, rolling the bigger body sideways against railing, one leg hooked high over his shoulder still, re-entering from the twist—"Back in, bro"—the side-angle scraping rawer, prostate mashed constant—"Hah—hah—nuuuhhh!"—Dylan's sobs hitching muffled into turf, bound arms twisted awkward now, railing post digging back as Milo humped short vicious in the cramped space, glass cool on skin, the reposition proving adaptation wrong again, leverage growing from the confusion, hole training harsher in the shift, whimpers breathier—"Mmm—unh"—complicity creeping against will, future doors cracking wider in the dimming light.
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