Your crazy big sis with delulu

Just vibing and writing about strange enemies-to-lovers and forbidden love ships INTJ Owner of @missnavigation

[fanchonfallen]

Hold me in the Afterglow - Chapter Index

SUMMARY: After a long time, Lo'ak finally decides to visit his brother's memory at the Tree of Souls. Little does he know that he won't be meeting just a memory.

Neteyam is finally free in Eywa’s embrace, yet the absence of Lo’ak suffocates him more than ever. He had hoped in vain that his brother would visit him, that he could hear his voice just one last time—but Lo’ak never came. However, when his baby bro finally does arrive, their reunion changes everything. Pairing: Neteyam x Lo'ak Pay attention to the warnings! If it’s not your genre, DO NOT READ!!! Genre: sibling !ncest, M/M 18+ NSFW! post-canon fix-it, hurt-comfort, mutual pinnin, smut with deep feelings

Special thanks for my dear @missnavigation, who is the perfect Neteyam kinnie and helped me a lot with the Neteyam-povs ^~^ Love ya ♡

I'm not really a fan of !ncest in real life, but these two little kittens have burned into my soul forever, and after atwow, I needed something to ease my pain. So... a little Neteyam x Lo'ak mutual pining hurt/comfort.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 - End

[fanchonfallen]

Hold me in the Afterglow - Chapter 6 - END

Chapter index Previous chapter

SUMMARY: After a long time, Lo'ak finally decides to visit his brother's memory at the Tree of Souls. Little does he know that he won't be meeting just a memory.

Neteyam is finally free in Eywa’s embrace, yet the absence of Lo’ak suffocates him more than ever. He had hoped in vain that his brother would visit him, that he could hear his voice just one last time—but Lo’ak never came. However, when his baby bro finally does arrive, their reunion changes everything.

Pairing: Neteyam x Lo'ak

Pay attention to the warnings! If it’s not your genre, DO NOT READ!!! Genre: sibling !ncest, M/M 18+ NSFW! post-canon fix-it, hurt-comfort, mutual pinnin, smut with deep feelings

Lo'ak

Every single muscle in his body trembled and clenched as a wave of fierce sensations washed over him; his eyes went wide in shock, and his mouth hung open in a silent cry of ecstasy. For what felt like the hundredth time, the thought flashed through his mind: what the hell was his brother, really? He was definitely not just an ordinary Na’vi. More like some kind of deity Eywa had sent to Pandora in mortal form, solely to destroy him.

Neteyam penetrated him with just one finger, but that alone was enough for his body to betray him. When he touched some secret, hidden point inside him—one Lo’ak himself hadn’t even known existed—his back arched, his vision went white, and as he thrust his hips forward, a surge of pleasure exploded through his core. He couldn’t compare it to anything he had experienced before. In the past, he’d turned to his own hand more than a few times when frustration built up, but this… this was a completely different level of pleasure.

Lo’ak panted, his voice catching in his throat. His fingers dug into the long, silky blades of grass, gripping them tightly as if trying to anchor himself to reality. The world seemed to spin around him, colours blurring together, until nothing remained but Neteyam, who gazed at him with near reverence, his stare so deep and intense it was as though he had never seen anything as beautiful as him before. For a long, breathless moment, Lo’ak could do nothing but tremble and twitch, his body shaken by the aftershocks of the intense orgasm. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once; he felt alive, yet utterly vulnerable.

Then, as the initial shock began to fade, Lo’ak became sharply aware of what had just happened. He didn’t even fully understand it himself, and that uncertainty made his face flare hot with embarrassment. He looked down at himself, fully expecting that he had surely made a mess of both himself and his brother—but… he saw nothing. He was still hard, his intimate parts coated in some kind of clear fluid, but beyond that there was no sign that he had come. Huh? But he had definitely felt it!

Lo’ak swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He wanted to run, to hide from the intensity of what had just happened, and yet… he wanted to experience it again, to chase that height and the sense of completion this strange experience had promised him. He looked up at Neteyam uncertainly through his lashes. He feared he would find some kind of triumphant superiority on his face, but there was no trace of it. His brother watched him gently, with open curiosity, as if Lo’ak were the only thing that mattered in the entire universe.

„Was it good?” he asked cautiously, and Lo’ak felt like kicking him. What kind of question was that?! Besides, he was certain that through the tsaheylu Neteyam must have felt at least some of it too.

„It was…” he began, sounding both irritated and shy at the same time, struggling to find the words. „I never knew…” In the end, he gave a tiny, barely noticeable nod.

Despite his hesitation and the lingering shock, there was a new hunger in Lo’ak’s eyes—a desire to explore this new, sensational world Neteyam had opened up for him. He knew he should be ashamed, but the memory of that otherworldly pleasure still burned brightly in his mind. His gaze searched his brother’s face, timid and pleading, desperately wanting to learn and experience every secret of his body and his desire. Apparently, Neteyam was more than willing to help him with that exploration. His finger continued to work inside him slowly and gently, experimentally curling toward that spot that made Lo’ak’s thigh muscles tense, gradually increasing the pressure until he started to whimper beneath him once more. He was no longer in control of his own body, and even though he most wanted to sink into the ground from embarrassment, he found himself pushing his hips toward Neteyam’s finger, murmuring his brother’s name in a daze.

He was getting close again—oh hell, he was sure that just a few more thrusts and…! But then Neteyam slipped out of him, and the stretching sensation intensified as a second finger joined the first. He heard his brother whispering sweet things in his mind while kissing him everywhere he could reach, including his painfully hard erection, to which he kept returning again and again. He fingered him slowly and gently, giving him time to adjust, even though Lo’ak wouldn’t have minded if he’d split him open. He wanted it—wanted it so fucking badly that he nearly shouted at him to forget all of it and just fuck him, hard and wild, the same way he never hesitated on hunts before loosing an arrow. Fine lines appeared on Neteyam’s forehead, and the corner of his mouth curled upward.

„Impatient,” he shook his head, his tail giving a playful flick behind him. “It’s a bit bold to compare it to killing, expecting me to mount you while you’re still this tight.” Lo’ak was sure all the blood drained from his face. But no—he wasn’t going to get embarrassed! He’d already gone through that a few times today, even before Neteyam’s fingers had mapped out every place on him he himself had never explored.

„If you can read my mind this well, then you should know what I want, I—I can’t take it anymore!” He carefully lifted his knee and distractedly pressed it against the nerve-tempting monster between Neteyam’s legs. Oh fuck, how badly he wanted to feel it inside him—thick and hot, completely filled by him…

His brother’s lips pressed into a thin line as the sensation shot through him, while he struggled to pull himself together. A few of his braids fell forward over his shoulder, giving him a threatening air.

„Okay. You asked for it.”

Oh. He might have fucked this up.

As a third finger slid in—fuck, all three of them—Lo’ak no longer had a voice left to protest or to urge him on.

He had no idea whether the pain of the stretch or the pleasure of the fullness was stronger, but both urged him to arch his spine and gasp for air as he pushed himself back against the friction. It was starting to… hurt like hell. But even then, he couldn’t stop.

„Easy…” he heard his brother’s voice, but he had never been the obedient little brother.

„Ugh… it’s stretching! Neteyam…” he complained, and to keep himself steady he grabbed onto his brother’s strong upper arm. Naturally, that didn’t stop him from pushing himself downward. Neteyam let out a resigned sigh.

„Skxawng… do you trust me?” A pretty interesting question coming from someone who had half his hand up the other’s ass.

„Let’s say I do,” he whimpered.

„Then relax—and don’t move!”

Easy for you to say, he wanted to reply, but through their bond he could clearly feel the raw desire and the mind-shredding restraint radiating from his brother. Neteyam was careful to slide his hand in and out slowly, preparing him bit by bit, even as he was clearly suffering himself. Lo’ak trembled as he struggled for air, trying to reassure him that he was okay, that he didn’t need to worry anymore, that he was ready—so ready there were no words for it—but there was too much he would have had to say, and all he could manage was a soft moan. Instead, he condensed everything into a single word, a single whisper.

„Ma Teyam…”

His brother’s hand froze, and he himself seemed to lock up as well. He stared at him in disbelief, his beautifully shaped lips forming a silent ’ah’. He pulled his hand out of him so suddenly that Lo’ak clenched around nothing, whimpering at the sensation he’d been deprived of. Then all he felt was Neteyam on top of him, covering him with his broad chest, pressing him into the ground, trembling. The arm braced beside him, the stomach pressed against his own, the hand clasping his wrist and pinning it to the earth. Oh yes—finally, finally he was showing mercy! But… his face was strange. If he hadn’t thought it was madness, he would have believed he was about to cry. Ah, impossible! He never… or did he? He tried to find answers through their bond, but a fog settled over Neteyam’s thoughts, and only a single phrase echoed there, again and again: Ma Teyam. Huh? He hadn’t been joking when he’d said it—but he hadn’t thought that…

„Say it again” his brother asked. His voice was deep and sensual, yet far too vulnerable.

„M–Ma Teyam…” he tried carefully, surprising himself with how much heart he put into it this time. He was probably blushing all the way to the tips of his ears.

And then he felt something big and thick pressing up from below. It was larger than he had expected based on its appearance, and even though he was already as loose as he could possibly be in his current state - damn, just an hour ago he had been sobbing for his dead brother at the bottom of the sea, and now this very person is taking his virginity! - he realized that Neteyam hadn’t exaggerated when he warned him that this wouldn’t be exactly painless.

Oh fuck, oh fuck!

Neteyam pressed his lips against his, swallowing his painful moans. With his free hand, he reached between them and stroked gently, trying to distract him. He felt as if he was grinding away at his own sanity, yet he moved slowly, cautiously, keeping his focus on him the entire time—on his quivers, his whimpers—as he gradually pushed past the barrier.

The tsaheylu sent warm waves between them as their bodies connected, and when the thick crown pushed over the edge, they both moaned at the same time.

„Ma Teyam…” he whispered into his brother’s ear, and he wanted to stroke his back, but instead the sensations hit so intensely that his nails dug into the skin rather than caressing it.

„You okay?” Neteyam asked, his voice trembling as he still tried not to lose the last remnants of control.

„More than okay” he sent through the tsaheylu, unable to speak. All he could do was hope that his brother was still paying attention. Soon, his worried voice echoed in his mind:

„Does it hurt a lot?”

„Not really… just you’re… really big… oh damn!… Just keep going, ’kay?”

He pressed deeper and deeper, and his body received him with a painful yet yearning embrace, going ever further. Eventually, even his legs wrapped around his brother’s waist, pulling them even closer together. He couldn’t even tell anymore which of them was making the more awkward noises.

Probably him, after his brother’s prayer-like whisper reached him.

“Baby bro… Lo’ak… Ma Lo’ak…”

Neteyam was utterly lost in himself. What he felt was beyond words: the warmth of the love of his life enveloped him, they had become one, and nothing else mattered—he simply surrendered to the deepest waves of desire. He was with him, inside him, on him. He spoke incoherently, clutching him as he claimed him inch by inch, as if he had been waiting his whole life for this. Oh… perhaps he really had…?

“You’ve tormented me for so long… Ma Tìyawn… Ma Kalin-ah…”

Perhaps the words affected him more than he expected, or perhaps he was hearing the echo of thoughts he had never dared reveal—but Neteyam’s words struck him straight in the heart. His body arched against him, as if to absorb him completely, and in response, Neteyam slipped fully inside, hitting that precise spot that sent electric jolts coursing through every fiber of his being. Shame no longer mattered.

„There! Oh Eywa, Neteyam, please, there! It feels so… ahh, so good!” He panted more and more desperately, his eyes closing, unable to keep them open any longer. „Ma Teyam, please! Tsmuka‘an… take me… I wanted to give this to you, only to you, always… only to you!”

And Neteyam no longer held back. His braids whipped back and forth as he drove forward with wild, relentless thrusts, trying to maintain the angle that made Lo’ak see stars—and somehow he managed it. No matter how infuriating it could be that he always succeeds at everything, this time his younger brother whispered his gratitude silently, just for him.

He had expected that once they got this far, his brother would be wild and unpredictable, but the way Neteyam still held him with both arms, protective as always, filled him with such profound love that his eyes misted over.

Then Neteyam began to tremble more and more over him, his movements growing increasingly uncontrolled.

„I’m sorry… oh Eywa, Lo’ak, I… I’m sorry, I can’t… hold back…” he panted heavily. Lo’ak almost laughed at him—it was ridiculously endearing how he tried to persevere despite being so inexperienced and despite having waited so long for him.

“Don’t hold back,” he begged, resting his head against the curve of his shoulder. “Do it… like this… like this… ahh yes, come… come inside me!”

“I—” Neteyam began uncertainly, but he couldn’t finish, his body finally surrendering completely. The feeling of his brother coming inside him was unlike anything he had ever known. He felt the warm rush spilling into him, the wild thrum as his body emptied completely down to the last drop, his movements in sharp contrast to how utterly still the rest of his body had become.

Neteyam’s trembling, the desperate friction of his own body, and the heat coursing through him were more than enough to push Lo’ak over the edge as well. Finally—oh, finally—he came, thick strands enveloping them both, likely leaving his brother’s back scratched raw in the process.

They lay like that for a long time, panting over each other, lazily caressing one another, while Neteyam’s softened form still remained inside him. He didn’t want to let go. No, not yet… it couldn’t end. Not yet…

After the heat of desire finally subsided and their breathing returned to something resembling normal, Neteyam carefully slipped out of him, despite his silent protests, and rolled beside him in the grass. He was breathtaking—his eyes still shining, a satisfied smile on his face, faint purple flush lingering on his ears. This… this was how it was meant to be. Damn it, why couldn’t it have been like this? Not here, not in this place, but at home—their home.

As the haze of passion lifted and the cold reality crept back in, Lo’ak pressed closer to his brother and, after a little fidgeting, clung to him. He tried to hold back, but the tears came. At first small, almost imperceptible sniffles, as if it were nothing, and then he could no longer hide them.

„What’s wrong?” Neteyam asked, though he surely already knew. The tsaheylu did not lie.

„I… I don’t want to let you go,” he admitted desperately. „Don’t… you can’t leave me alone! No one else… no one could ever replace you out there!”

He saw, felt his brother’s heart breaking for him, and no matter what he tried to say, he could not lie to him.

„In whatever form, if there’s any way at all, I’ll come back to you,” he promised, pulling him into a tight, reassuring embrace. So… certain of himself. How could he be so certain?! He held him just like they used to as children, whenever he was broken and in need of comfort. „Wait for me, okay? Take care of yourself and the others until I can be there.”

He knew one thing for sure: no one could possibly be better suited for this task than him. How could anyone ever fill his place?

„Neteyam… no… I… I can’t…”

Two strong arms closed around his waist, and a gentle kiss landed on his forehead.

„You’re stronger than you think, skxawng!”

At least someone still believed in him. Yet, it wasn’t that simple! How could he come back? The dead don’t return, and if they somehow did, they would never be the same.

But there was something in Neteyam’s smile… something that made him believe this wouldn’t be their last moment together. True. After all, he was Neteyam! If anyone could return from Eywa, it would be him, without a doubt.

That—somewhat—reassured him.

„You know, it doesn’t matter how you come back, in what form,” he said finally, frowning slightly, „but if I could have a choice, I’d appreciate it if it wasn’t totally embarrassing to tell Mom and Dad later.”

A small laugh brushed his hair, and his brother’s old, conspiratorial smile spread across his face.

„Hmm. Maybe I could fulfill your childhood dream, and you could become Toruk Makto like Dad. You wouldn’t have to bring home some Na’vi girl to make a flashy entrance.”

He couldn’t tell if he was joking, but the old instinct to hit him flared up again.

„That’s a terrible joke, bro!” he rolled his eyes. „Sure, knowing you, you’d definitely be the most terrifying Toruk anyone had ever seen, and you’d ruin my reputation—but forget it if you think… you can do this with me again! And well… it was good… so…”

Neteyam just laughed, wholeheartedly, as if they were still kids on their old base, when everything had been fine. He wanted to lean in, wipe that ridiculous grin off his face, but…

Something was wrong. He was choking.

Neteyam looked at him questioningly, then pure panic washed over his face.

„Don’t tell me you connected to the Tree of Souls in the water, skxawng! Damn, you’ve been here for hours!”

He saw his brother’s desperation as he quickly separated their kurus and tried to lift him, but his form began to dissipate slowly, as this place—the tarsyu flowers, their favorite tree…—all fell apart.

He rarely saw his brother cry, but in that moment, he clearly saw the tears rolling from half-closed eyes.

„Wait for me, Lo’ak, okay? I love you—” he whispered weakly.

He wanted to say it too. He wanted to say goodbye too, but… darkness claimed him as his lungs finally gave in. With the last of his strength, he clutched onto something that held him, lifting him weightlessly toward the water’s surface.

Thank you so much for reading our very first Avatar fic all the way through! ^^ It might seem like a sad ending, but there’s no need to sniffle: We’ve already sketched out the continuation, which is shaping up to be a pretty long slow-burn fic. Fortunately, the third movie didn’t undo any of my original ideas—actually, it helped! The story will take place afterward, and I’m doing my best to keep all the canon events from The Fire and the Ashes, though Lo’ak will be a bit older. And Neteyam… well, I have a lot of exciting things planned for him, and since I discovered quite a few untapped possibilities with the Magkwan clan, I think it’ll be really fun to explore that territory together with our little blueberries ;) A small note after the chapters, before the continuation: Thanks to Eywa — and Payakan — Lo'ak didn’t drown, but he was completely certain that he hadn’t just hallucinated the experience. True, he didn’t dare speak about it to anyone; he simply quietly missed his brother in the time that followed. After that, Neteyam appeared to Lo'ak only as a memory, just as we saw in the movie — until the day when Neteyam’s memory suddenly vanished from the tree of memories.

[fanchonfallen]

Hold me in the Afterglow - Chapter 5

Chapter index Previous chapter

SUMMARY: After a long time, Lo'ak finally decides to visit his brother's memory at the Tree of Souls. Little does he know that he won't be meeting just a memory.

Neteyam is finally free in Eywa’s embrace, yet the absence of Lo’ak suffocates him more than ever. He had hoped in vain that his brother would visit him, that he could hear his voice just one last time—but Lo’ak never came. However, when his baby bro finally does arrive, their reunion changes everything.

Pairing: Neteyam x Lo'ak

Pay attention to the warnings! If it’s not your genre, DO NOT READ!!! Genre: sibling !ncest, M/M 18+ NSFW! post-canon fix-it, hurt-comfort, mutual pinnin, smut with deep feelings

Neteyam

Although it had been his habit for years to playfully tease his little brother, Neteyam never intended for Lo’ak to genuinely feel ashamed. Seeing the (not so much smaller anymore) boy’s shoulders tense as if his own thoughts had shackled him, his fingers nervously drumming on his thigh before clenching into fists, as if trying to gather courage – it filled him with guilt. He recognized that gesture: Lo’ak always did this when something weighed too heavily on him, and Neteyam hated being the cause of his burdens.

He sensed that his brother’s thoughts had become scattered, so much so that even he couldn’t make sense of them anymore. But the questions "Where to?!" and "How?!" still echoed sharply between them.

It was hard not to smile, though he did feel a bit sorry for him. This kind of vulnerability was unusual from him – Lo’ak always seemed so confident, even when he wasn’t, but now… he was curious, expectant, and frightened all at once. Neteyam sighed softly and slid a little closer to him, moving slowly, cautiously, as though trying to tame a frightened wild animal.

"Would you like me to tell you?" he asked gently. The possibility lingered between them, giving Lo’ak the chance to refuse if he wanted. His little brother looked up at him, pale as death.

"Eywa spare me from getting a lecture from you!"

The answer was somewhat disappointing, but also a relief. In his current state, he wouldn’t have had the strength to give a reassuring explanation, and although his head was foggy from a delayed orgasm, he would never, under any circumstances, force him.

Maybe it was a mistake to want more, he thought. He should have been content with what he could get, despite the fact that it was a miracle that this possibility had even been given to him at all.

Then, from somewhere, far away, Lo’ak’s voice spoke beside him:

"Just… show me instead."

Neteyam’s blood froze in his veins, then ignited like a blazing fire. His brother’s words were quiet, almost inaudible, yet they echoed in his chest for a long time, to the rhythm of ancient drums, which might have been his own heartbeat. He could hear his own ragged breath, the pulsing of his heartbeat in his ears – or perhaps it was Lo’ak’s? It was hard to tell, as their senses mingled through tsaheylu.

After the last sentence, the silence between them vibrated strangely. Neteyam tried to understand how seriously Lo’ak meant it, but his brother wouldn’t meet his eyes, staring fixedly above his chest, his lips pressed together as if trying to take back his own words – but in the end, he didn’t.

Neteyam raised his hand slowly, very slowly. He moved as though afraid Lo’ak would flinch, but when his thumb gently caressed the back of his brother’s hand, he didn’t pull away. He was still tense – but he stayed still. With a defiant expression, perhaps a bit too determined, he watched.

Neteyam took a deep breath, trying to calm himself: he didn’t want Lo’ak to see how close he was to the edge, and he tried to steer his thoughts away from what he would most like to do with him immediately, without delay – but he knew perfectly well that Lo’ak wasn’t ready yet, and he would sooner throw himself in front of a machine gun again than hurt him.

"We’ll only go as far as you want," he assured him, gently stroking the back of his hand with his thumb. Each touch sent electric jolts beneath his skin, and he strongly suspected the feeling was mutual.

Lo’ak let out a soft snort, but this time it wasn’t mocking – more like he was trying to hide his own embarrassment.

"And what if I don’t know how far I want to go?"

Neteyam smiled. Not because it was funny – but because it was so typically Lo’ak. His little brother had always lived this way: craving new experiences but being afraid of them at the same time. Always wanting to dive headfirst into the unknown, yet fearing he would disappoint someone again.

In reality, he was always far more talented and capable than his peers – honestly, even more than him – but his constant need to prove himself led to endless mistakes, followed by a spiral of self-criticism from which no one could pull him out.

He didn’t want him to worry about the usual habits now; not in front of him.

"Then we’ll figure it out together."

Lo’ak finally looked at him.

There was something in his gaze – not exactly fear, but not full determination either. It was more of a quiet anticipation, like someone standing at the edge of an unknown cliff, unsure if one more step would lead to death or the most wonderful experience of their life.

So Neteyam decided to take that step for him, and he gently placed his hand on the boy’s cheek.

Lo’ak’s skin was warm beneath his fingers, his chest rising and falling faster. Slowly, cautiously, Neteyam traced the elegant curve of his brother’s cheekbone, down to his neck, over the graceful slope of his shoulders, barely touching him, yet feeling the boy shiver. Not from fear – it was something else, something that encouraged him to continue.

Anticipation? Excitement?

In any case, Lo’ak’s wide-open eyes met his, as if searching for an answer: as if he couldn’t decide whether what they were doing was right or wrong – yet he didn’t want to stop, not even for a moment. Instead, he leaned closer, his palms settled against Neteyam’s back, his soft fingertips pressing into his skin as he embraced him.

With Lo’ak nestled between his legs, skin against skin, Neteyam felt his own patience being stretched to its limits, every nerve in his body urging him to finally act. Years of pent-up passion raged within him, an ancient instinct he had endured for longer than reason should allow – warring against his resolve not to rush now that he was so close to him, even though the desire burning in his body was slowly consuming every remaining thought.

Patience. You are stronger than your instincts. You can’t. Not yet… Damn it!

Eywa forgive his weakness, but he wanted him so badly! He had never wanted anything so much in his life. He wanted it, wanted it so much it almost hurt physically.

Just… a little longer…

Slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward. Good. His control proved perfect; every movement, every touch remained completely under his command. Mostly.

Then Neteyam felt Lo’ak’s lips part beneath his, and his little brother moaned into their kiss – and it was over. He was no longer capable of asking for permission or waiting for a response – at least… not like this. He wanted to claim him, to intertwine with him, even if only their tongues pressed together. Even such a small expression of possession drove him wild; he couldn’t stop, no matter how the small, warning voice in his mind screamed that he was going too far.

Even if he was committing an ancient sin, he had never wanted so badly to break the rules. He explored every tiny inch of Lo’ak’s mouth, kissed him until his lips were blood-red, sucked, nibbled on those tempting lips, traced the adorable, sharp fangs, and kept returning to the boy’s sweet, uncertain tongue, which welcomed him despite all its doubts as if it had come home.

It seemed his brother felt the same – his hand moved slowly, his fingers nervously curling around Neteyam’s waist, as if afraid that if he let go, everything would vanish.

So… adorable… He had to protect him, no matter what.

He couldn’t help but hug him tighter, gently caressing him, gradually lowering him beneath him until Lo’ak was completely laid out among the soft blades of grass. The dawn-colored light of the tarsyuk painted his face, reflecting charmingly in the glowing tanhì freckles on his forehead. He could have recalled their placement at any time, having marveled at them since his brother’s birth, watching the tiny changes. He knew which were the first, and which were the most recent. Come to think of it, their pattern resembled the blooming flowers around them. It explained a few things.

He wanted to say something to praise him, to tell him how wonderful he was, to make him understand how lucky those were who could continue to admire him day after day, and that every single part of him – even those he hated about himself – was perfect in his eyes. But to his surprise, Lo’ak spoke first.

"Neteyam…" Not "bro," not the mocking "hero warrior" or "golden child." Just Neteyam… If he had asked him now to destroy Pandora, he would have done it. His brother looked up at him in awe, his hand sliding up to his temple, gently tracing the patterns of his stripes. His eyes sparkled astonishingly, his pupils wide, and his voice trembled slightly: "Have you always… looked this good?"

Something impossibly hot spread through his chest, a wave that left him unsure whether to laugh, be stunned, or doubt his own hearing. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he only hoped he didn’t look as foolish on the outside as he felt inside. Lo’ak… had never complimented him since they were kids.

"Did you hit your head?" he asked with a confused smile. His face felt so… warm.

Lo’ak turned his head away, offended, but Neteyam was painfully aware that his grip on his back hadn’t loosened for even a second.

"Does it sound that unbelievable?"

… Yes?

"It’s just… I didn’t expect it."

Lo’ak huffed in frustration but didn’t move. He couldn’t have, really – Neteyam’s closeness enveloped him so completely, it was as if his very breath held his world together.

"Just forget it!" he grumbled finally, trying to turn away, but Neteyam didn’t let him. He was still smiling at him – a genuine, slightly incredulous, but endlessly warm smile danced on his lips.

"I’d rather remember it. Forever, if possible," he said, his fingers lightly tracing Lo’ak’s arm, up and down, lingering briefly at the crook of his elbow. "You haven’t said anything like that to me in a long time."

His brother’s eyes narrowed a bit, and for a moment, it seemed as though he wanted to respond, maybe even deny it, but in the end, only a deep sigh escaped his lips. Neteyam watched him – the stunningly long, thick eyelashes, slightly damp and sticking together, the tiny, worried crease between his eyebrows, his fingers nervously fumbling at his shoulder blades as if searching for something to hold on to. He didn’t expect anything to change until he acted – but then Lo’ak moved suddenly.

In one swift, unhesitating motion, he slid his hand to Neteyam’s nape and pulled him closer. There was no subtlety, no warning – and that was what made it so heartbreakingly true to who he remembered: his skxawng little brother, who always ended up letting his heart guide his actions, and who always made Neteyam be who he truly was.

He was surprised, but then the raw, pure passion his brother put into that kiss wiped away all other thoughts. This wasn’t like their previous, tentative attempts – this had something demanding in it, something relentless. As if Lo’ak didn’t just want this, but needed it, and wouldn’t allow it to be delayed. The feeling that pulsed through their bond struck through him with such force that it made him dizzy.

Neteyam moved instinctively, one of his hands gliding down Lo’ak’s side, his fingers lightly brushing against his ribs, all the way down to his waist before finally settling on his hip. As he leaned in deeper, he felt Lo’ak’s lips part slightly beneath his, his breathing quickening. One of Lo’ak’s legs lifted gently, pressing his thigh against Neteyam’s hip, as if instinctively seeking contact, as if any distance between them was too much. They pressed against each other, hard, hot, demanding. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lo'ak…” His name was just a soft, barely audible whisper, a drawn-out sigh from his lips, as Neteyam tried to pull back a little, to calm himself, to buy just a little more time before he tore off all restraints and turned into something monstrous; but the boy held him back with his leg, leaving him no escape.

“I want it…” Lo’ak’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but Neteyam heard it. He heard it in every single cell of his body.

He didn’t know exactly what his brother meant, but whatever it was, he wanted to give it to him. Immediately, with his entire being. The desire that pulsed through their bond surged through his whole body, and surely, they both felt it, the yearning turning into a self-reinforcing cycle between them.

“What do you want?”

A moment of hesitation, a few sharp, drawn breaths… Lo’ak looked just as lost as Neteyam felt. He barely heard the voice in his head a heartbeat before five fingers slid beneath his stomach, desperately wrapping around his hardness. Fuck.

"You... to... p-put it in me."

…

That was definitely not among his first ten guesses. Almost – but only almost – he laughed, right before he remembered to be shocked by what he had heard. He had to swallow, but something got stuck in his throat.

"Do you even know…?" he asked, eyes wide.

The response came with an irritated growl: "Don’t look at me like I’m an idiot, as if there’s any other option!"

He quickly brushed his hand away from himself; it was hard enough to hold back as it was, especially with the touch mixed with that request, making a certain part of him unmistakably interested.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to hold back?" he asked with a disbelieving smile. "Trust me, I want it too, but you’re not ready yet."

Neteyam felt Lo’ak’s body tense in his arms. Whether it was his words or his own uncertainty – he wasn’t sure. His little brother stared at him silently for a moment, then let out a frustrated sigh, rolling his eyes.

"You always do this…" he muttered.

"Take care of you?"

"You’re overprotective!" Lo’ak’s eyes flashed, and as he looked at him again, there was that stubborn determination that always defined him. That fire that broke all rules, defied every command, and sometimes left even his family unable to follow his thoughts. "Every time I truly want something, you try to stop me because you think you know better what I need!"

Neteyam’s heart pounded faster. "I just—"

"I don’t want you to keep suffering!" Lo’ak’s hands slid to his shoulders, his touch strong and firm, not hesitant or shy. "I don’t want you to protect me from this too!"

This kid, seriously…

"It’s going to hurt." Neteyam’s voice was gentle, barely more than a whisper. Not a threat – just a simple fact he couldn’t ignore.

Lo’ak didn’t waver for even a second. "I won’t die. And if I do, at least I’d be here with you!"

Neteyam’s throat tightened. He knew he couldn’t win this argument – though he didn’t really want to. The touches, the body of the person he loved most pressed against his, the taste of their kisses on his lips – everything he had held back until now was now a reality. A reality he never thought he could possess, and Lo’ak was now offering himself to him.

His eyes slowly traced over the thin face, the determination, the desire, the uncertainty he still tried to hide. Then he leaned down, gently resting his forehead against his brother’s.

"Alright. Let’s do this. But give me a little time first, and try to relax, okay?"

Lo’ak’s breath caught, but he didn’t back away – he only nodded.

Then Neteyam began to move downward – covering him in kisses, marking every tiny stripe and spot he passed over. He tasted the sensitive skin of Lo'ak's neck like a starving man, savoring the tiny gasps he earned in response, delighting in finding those spots that made his little brother shiver. If he hadn’t been so desperate, he would have lingered longer, discovering every secret point, but he was already past the point where he could allow himself that luxury.

Lo’ak’s body was tense beneath him, his breathing quick and ragged, as if even he couldn’t decide whether excitement or anxiety was taking over. Neteyam’s fingers glided down his hips, settled along his sides, as though trying to soothe him, but in reality, he was falling apart a little too.

His lips left wet, red marks on Lo'ak’s collarbone, his chest, his stomach. His tongue drew a small, sensual circle around his navel, and as he moved lower, he heard his brother sharply exhale, his flat, toned stomach tightening beneath his mouth.

"You’re doing so well, just breathe," he whispered, settling between his brother’s knees, his hands gently gripping the soft thighs. His movements were instinctive, his kisses trailing lower and lower. He knew Lo’ak needed him to help him unwind, to release that tense anxiety, and with every touch, every breath, that was exactly what he aimed to achieve.

He felt Lo’ak slowly surrendering to the sensation, his body relaxing beneath him, becoming more open – and Neteyam knew exactly when the moment came to move forward.

He looked up at Lo'ak, as if trying to assure him without words that everything was okay, that he was here with him, that he would protect him – even from himself. His brother’s face was unimaginably red, his lips slightly parted, his gaze hazy, his damp lashes clinging together – at once vulnerable and demanding. His entire existence seemed to exist just to make Neteyam lose himself in that wonder.

Neteyam’s fingers slid along the inside of his thighs, gently, patiently, just enough for Lo’ak to feel his touch, but not enough yet. He heard the faint whimper that slipped from his brother’s lips, felt the way his hips moved instinctively, as if begging for more without a single word.

"Shh…" Neteyam whispered, pressing a kiss to Lo’ak’s stomach before he leaned even lower. He moved deliberately slowly, letting the sensation envelop them completely, letting every nerve in Lo’ak’s body eagerly await the next touch.

And when he finally did it – when his lips softly touched the most sensitive spot, when his tongue traced the neglected, aching part’s natural curve with a smooth, wet motion – Lo’ak’s body tensed.

A stifled gasp, a long sigh, and Neteyam knew he was exactly where he needed to be.

He chained down every screaming demand of his own body – he wanted too much to feel every shiver, every tiny reaction from Lo’ak, and he needed to know that it was all for him – that every moan, every twitch of muscle was the result of his touch. Lo’ak’s fingers tangled in his hair, first hesitantly, then more firmly, and Neteyam smiled at the gesture.

Yes… that’s it, let go, baby bro!

Just shut up, please! – the desperate voice echoed in his head.

Oh? So Lo’ak had tuned into the tsaheylu? That might… make things easier.

Or more awkward.

He decided that the only way to maintain his remaining dignity in Lo’ak’s eyes was to banish all other thoughts from his mind – most importantly, to block out the other’s thoughts. Only the sensation… oh. Hmmm…

The nature of tsaheylu was unique. He could sense the same raw waves he caused, though dulled for himself. He slowly marveled at his own self-control.

He continued tasting Lo’ak with dedication, unsure whether he was instinctively good at this despite his lack of prior practice, or if his little brother was just so adorably sensitive – either way, the boy soon became a trembling mess under his mouth. He was barely coherent, his palm clenching and releasing in Neteyam’s hair, following the rhythm of his lips working on him.

"Nete… yam… yes, like that… oh, like that, more…"

He was loud. He had always imagined he would be, but actually hearing it was more arousing than his most heated fantasies – the ones he indulged in on those tough nights when he couldn’t hold back anymore.

He had always pictured it, but the real Lo’ak exceeded his fantasies, the way he swayed, helpless and lost in the pleasure, his head falling from one side to the other, his face flushed a deep purple like the rays of the setting sun, constantly moaning. His taste was addictive, so enticing and sweet, like a ripe fruit waiting to tempt him into sin, and the masculine, musky scent seeping from his skin grew stronger with every passing second, leaving him dizzy. There was nothing else in the world but his voice.

"…teyam… there, don’t… don’t stop… Nete… oh, Tsmuka‘an, please."

Oh, fuck… that name – the way his little brother called him, perhaps for the first time since he was six, shot straight to his core, as if he wasn’t already at his limit.

Thanks to their bond, he began to experience the overwhelming pleasure flooding Lo'ak as if it were his own, mercilessly guiding him toward the same desperate craving. By now, he was practically starving for it – to finally be inside him, to feel Lo'ak’s hot body tightening around him, to reach his peak together, clinging to each other in desperation.

His brother was close – he could feel it. More and more liquid seeped into his mouth, slipping past his lips, making his chin and mouth messily, maddeningly wet, with the excess trickling down between Lo'ak’s thighs. He had never seen anything so breathtaking, so utterly intoxicating.

Drowsily, he reached lower, his hand wrapping around his brother’s rock-hard shaft, and as he continued to pleasure him with the same rhythm, tracing every tempting vein, he lifted Lo'ak’s legs onto his shoulders and leaned down, his tongue venturing even further.

Not for a moment did he try to hide his intentions – he wanted Lo'ak to know exactly what he was planning. Yet despite that, when his tongue first traced along the most untouched part of him, Lo'ak shuddered in startled surprise.

Everything is okay – he assured through the tsaheylu, and once again he descended upon those utterly adorable creases that – perhaps a sign of a twisted mind – he had longed to taste and tease for what felt like an eternity, until they finally opened up to him.

As his hand continued to caress Lo'ak and his mouth followed the rhythm of his movements, the moment came sooner than he had expected.

With his brother’s dying whimpers ringing in his ears, he pressed forward with the index finger of his free hand, and without pausing, he carefully, gently curved it, slipping it through the tight ring of muscle. Holy fuckin' Jesus – perhaps that was the expression their father had once used. He had no idea who Jesus was, but their bond suddenly pulsed between them with such force that no Na'vi expression could describe it. Even without moving his finger, that single cautious, exploratory intrusion was enough for Lo'ak to arch beneath him, experiencing such an intense orgasm without actually reaching release that even Neteyam shuddered, caught in the waves of sensation surging through the tsaheylu.

Next chapter

[fanchonfallen]

Hold me in the Afterglow - Chapter 4

Chapter index Previous chapter

SUMMARY: After a long time, Lo'ak finally decides to visit his brother's memory at the Tree of Souls. Little does he know that he won't be meeting just a memory.

Neteyam is finally free in Eywa’s embrace, yet the absence of Lo’ak suffocates him more than ever. He had hoped in vain that his brother would visit him, that he could hear his voice just one last time—but Lo’ak never came. However, when his baby bro finally does arrive, their reunion changes everything.

Pairing: Neteyam x Lo'ak

Pay attention to the warnings! If it’s not your genre, DO NOT READ!!! Genre: sibling !ncest, M/M 18+ NSFW! post-canon fix-it, hurt-comfort, mutual pinnin, smut with deep feelings

Lo’ak

He had always been convinced that his brother’s emotional range was about the same as a pa’li’s: silently doing his duty, following orders, and at most, getting frustrated if he didn’t get something right on the first try (just on the second). However, he would never have assumed that Neteyam would willingly connect his neural queue with another Na’vi—let alone anything else—unless their parents had explicitly approved of that person as a suitable mate. Even if the girl looked more like a syaksyuk than a woman. That had always been a fact in his mind.

And yet, tsaheylu dragged him down into depths he never expected, hitting him with the crushing realization that, for his entire life, for as long as he could remember, he had completely misunderstood the person who had always been by his side.

Neteyam… saw him. More precisely, he saw only him.

No, it wasn’t just that he saw him—every fiber of his being was bound to Lo’ak, so desperately, so achingly, that Lo’ak had no choice but to start questioning the complexity of his own emotions.

Like an ocean, he was consumed by all the repressed emotions and restraint that had been buried inside Neteyam for what felt like an eternity—emotions that, without exception, revolved around him. Seriously, he was starting to feel ashamed that he had never noticed any of this before. Even when glimpses of Neteyam’s true self peeked through his perfect mask, he had never realized the truth; he had always just grown more annoyed, thinking his brother was messing with him, teasing him. But to feel how deeply, how intensely he had always been loved... it twisted his stomach into knots.

Neteyam, meanwhile, was holding onto him as if he knew exactly what kind of turmoil he was going through and was determined not to give him a moment to be consumed by guilt. His hands were everywhere, clinging to him like a lifeline, desperate to touch him, to make up for all the times in the past when he hadn’t been able to. He was wild and passionate in a way Lo’ak had never seen before—so much so that it nearly drove him insane.

What the fuck, seriously?! Lo’ak had never felt so... wanted. If Neteyam had ever lost control of himself like this in the past, he never would have stood a chance against this relentless siege on his sanity!

He was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, overwhelmed by the flood of new sensations—physically and mentally alike—yet he only felt more insatiable, more exhilarated. He wanted Neteyam’s attention, the reverence in his eyes that was directed at him and only him. He wanted his thoughts, the ones that ached with longing for him. And he didn’t even understand why experiencing them was making him so damn excited.

There was hardly any untouched skin left on his body; Neteyam had covered nearly every inch of him with kisses. And though his entire being was now overly sensitive beneath the heat of the air and the friction of two insatiable hands—or was it that he was the one burning up?—a deep, searing emptiness formed inside him. A void he had no idea how to fill. The kisses only made him crave more, just like the increasingly… bewildering memories.

At first, he didn’t understand what he was seeing when a scene unfolded before him: a slightly younger version of himself, mouth open, drooling onto the floor as he slept curled up against Neteyam, while his brother watched him with quiet affection. Why was this here, among everything else, as if it was so important? But then he noticed that something… wasn’t right.

The Lo’ak in the memory mumbled something incoherent, a small smile tugging at his lips. Neteyam quickly turned onto his side, back facing him, as if he had been caught. But memory-Lo’ak didn’t wake up. Instead, he reached forward, his hand sliding clumsily up Neteyam’s chest before grasping the firm muscle with a soft sigh. Neteyam lay still, eyes open, not even daring to breathe as one hand fumbled against him. And when, by accident, it brushed over his nipple in the briefest of glancing touches, he had to bite his lip to keep from making a sound.

Then he felt it—and so did the present-day Lo’ak watching the memory—something pressing against his back. Something warm and undeniably hard, just as he let out a contented sigh in his sleep. No, this isn’t real, Neteyam thought frantically. And with him, the current Lo’ak, frozen in horror.

“-teyam…”

It was just a barely audible sigh, yet Neteyam’s breath hitched sharply. This had to be a dream, he told himself. He wasn’t the type to have these kinds of dreams, but this had to be one—because Lo’ak would never, even in his unconscious state, think of him like that… His younger brother pressed closer, burying his face against his back, his hips beginning to move, grinding against him in an ancient rhythm, soft, desperate moans spilling from his lips.

Neteyam couldn’t breathe. His mouth parted, trembling. He tried to hold himself back. After all… his brother was just dreaming. It was natural at his age; he couldn’t help it. And he… he was the older one. He should have controlled himself in this situation—he had sworn to Eywa herself that he tried!

But the sensation of the most important person in his life—the object of his deepest, most forbidden desires—rubbing against him was enough to send his own arousal skyrocketing.

He suffered for what felt like an eternity—long, agonizing minutes that stretched into hours—before finally, breaking past the last shreds of his dignity, his long, slender fingers slipped beneath his tewng, trembling as they wrapped around his own growing erection. The heat of it burned his face, and though some part of him knew he should feel ashamed, the overwhelming experience of Lo’ak’s desire—combined with the intoxicating pleasure surging from below—set him on fire.

His legs trembled as he touched himself more and more desperately, matching the rhythm of Lo’ak’s gentle movements against him. It was so… warm… both his brother and himself, their bare, sweaty skin sticking together. He used all his strength to avoid letting his tail’s excited twitching brush against the other boy’s stomach and risk waking him up. Left with no better idea, he curled it around Lo’ak’s thigh—unknowingly pulling him even closer.

He thought it couldn’t get any worse. But when Lo’ak, in his sleep, shifted closer and pressed a tiny kiss between his shoulder blades, he nearly lost it. He felt his own body react instantly, and the sensation was almost unbearable. His face flushed dark purple, and he could only pray to Eywa, to fate, to the entire universe that no one would wake up and see them in this impossible situation.

A few strands of hair fell into his clouded vision as a thought formed in his mind: Lo’ak… if they were alone, would he be willing to do this with him? No, of course not… but what if he would? He imagined them lying face to face, both of them touching themselves—or perhaps each other? Their hands moving in the same sweet rhythm, their quiet gasps blending together, Lo’ak looking up at him with that adorable, soft purple flush, so close to the edge, just like he felt now. His precious one—what sounds would he make, how would he struggle for breath while held in his arms, until his body arched against him and he lost himself completely?

At that moment, he felt his younger brother twitch slightly behind him, his tewng pressing damply against him as he rode out the last waves of pleasure. The mere sensation was enough to push him over the edge as well, completely covering his hand and stomach.

Though this wasn’t his first time, he had never experienced an orgasm this strong, this intense. It felt like a miracle that he managed to stifle a desperate cry as his very soul nearly left his body.

His vision was hazy as he turned toward his younger brother, gazing in awe at the peacefully sleeping, adorable face before him while struggling to catch his breath through his heaving chest.

"You’ll be the death of me," he whispered, brushing a stray braid from behind Lo’ak’s ear that had come loose from the others.

The scene blurred, and a deep confusion washed over Lo’ak, nearly making him dizzy. Neteyam’s thoughts receded, as if his brother had finally managed—through great difficulty—to push them away from Lo’ak’s sight, making the present space and time sharpen into focus.

He was still straddling his brother’s lap, but Neteyam was no longer kissing him. He had gone still, his arms barely touching him, as though offering him the chance to push away without effort if he wanted to. His face was pale, with only two faint spots of color forming on either side of his nose. His ears drooped, and he looked so utterly pathetic that Lo’ak had never seen him like this before in his life.

"I’m so sorry," Neteyam said softly, his voice breaking. He looked so fragile, so vulnerable, that Lo’ak’s own shame suddenly didn’t seem so important anymore. "You weren’t supposed to see that. I… I thought… I could control it."

He reached for their bonded queues, ready to sever the connection, but Lo’ak—for reasons he himself didn’t understand—stopped his hand.

"Okay, that was pretty fucked up," he declared. "I think that was my fault, so don’t worry about it. Sure, I’m burning up with embarrassment now too, but like you said, we don’t have anything left to lose, right?"

"You know, I can see what you're thinking too. It horrified you."

"Hey, hey, hey—there’s not a Na’vi alive who wouldn’t be horrified seeing themselves in a… uh… wet dream, about their brother—… eww…"

At the "eww" part, Neteyam seemed to shrink even further into himself, and Lo’ak cursed his only talent: making already bad situations even worse. He had only one idea left to salvage this mess, even if it meant his dignity would be burned to the ground.

"I admit, it caught me off guard, but it didn’t bother me. In fact, what you were thinking about… well… I liked it too."

We’re not dying of shame, not today! Maybe later.

"Huh? Really?" Neteyam’s eyes glimmered with disbelief, every tiny golden speck within them lighting up on their own.

"I’m saying, I wouldn’t be against trying it. Preferably while we’re both awake. I don’t have much experience, so I’m not promising it’ll be good, but why not?"

"Lo’ak… We’re before Eywa."

Well, that certainly hadn’t stopped millions of years of Na’vi ancestors from rolling around at the base of the Tree of Souls right after their tsaheylu.

"Then I hope Eywa brought a snack. Besides—" he lifted their intertwined queues "—we’re basically married now, so if she didn’t object before, she shouldn’t now."

Uh, shit. Had Neteyam’s smile always been this devastatingly gorgeous?

Any attempt to salvage what little dignity he had left—if he had any to begin with—evaporated as he crashed onto Neteyam’s sweetly curved lips, like a man dying of thirst upon an oasis, while his brother pulled him in again, tight, until the undeniable proof of their desire pressed together through their tewngs. The pleasant sensation shot down their spines, begging—pleading—to be repeated over and over again.

Neteyam was so... damn, hard, and the realization that he was the cause of it made him reckless. He only intended to shift forward slightly, just enough to relive the pleasant friction, but once he started, he couldn’t stop. Just like in that memory—except now, a thousand times more embarrassing—he found himself pressing against him.

Fuck, fuck... ! If they kept this up, he would coming to his shame without even being able to see the part of Neteyam that excited his imagination the most. He didn't dare look down between them and confront it, but he wanted to more than anything.

What could it be like? Neteyam didn't look down at himself in the memory, and the last time he had seen his brother naked was when he was about five years old, and since then... he had probably changed a lot. Could he be as perfect and unique as every other part of Neteyam?

Two hands fell above his knees and gently squeezed.

"If you're that curious, you can take a look," Neteyam murmured in a much deeper voice than usual. He held his gaze as his fingers slid upward, stopping just at the top of his thighs.

"What?! How did you know...?"

"I hear every thought of yours, crystal clear." His expression turned amused.

"HUUH, are you messing with me?! How is that even possible? I can feel your emotions, see images, but I don't hear anything!"

"I think the only explanation is that the more advanced one always takes control."

The obvious provocation almost drew out Lo'ak’s usual response, the one ready to burst with a snide remark, but then he remembered who was speaking: it was Neteyam, the one who had given his life for the idiot he was. He swallowed and looked away.

"Hey, shut up! I just don’t have any experience with this yet."

The skilled hands untied his girdle in an instant, and he hissed as the free air suddenly caressed his heated, naked member. Neteyam looked into his eyes the whole time, but his hot hand moved ever closer to take his soul.

"You’re the first for me, too."

Oh, okay. Something stirred his heart at this confession, and he had no idea why it made him so happy. Then, as a warm palm, not his own, enveloped him for the first time in his life, all thoughts vanished from his mind, leaving nothing but Neteyam's damn talented fingers as they began to move up and down with careful but decisive motions on his lenght.

It was so insanely good that he couldn’t hold back the pleading moans that spilled from his lungs one after the other. He weakened so much that he had to grip Neteyam's shoulder, his forehead pressing against his chest. He couldn’t even say where the thought came from, but the recently seen memory flickered in his mind, remembering how sensitive his brother was here. So before he thought too much about it, as an experiment, his lips brushed against the other’s skin, his warm breath gliding over the taut peak, and then his tongue made a single slow, pleasure-filled small circle around it. All the muscles on Neteyam’s abdomen tightened at once.

"Ahh, damn... Lo'ak..."

He didn’t hear his brother speak like this very often, but he definitely liked it. As he tried to hold back the urge to push forward into Neteyam’s palm like a wild animal, he remembered what his brother’s exact fantasy had been, and he thought it was time to show him that he had always underestimated him.

“Wait a bit,” he sent through their connection, and despite his brother’s reluctant protests, he peeled his fingers off. It was hard not to groan in disappointed frustration as he lost the pleasurable friction, but he knew what he was about to do would be much better—at least for his self-esteem.

He moved slowly down, tasting every beautiful mound of muscle. He had always watched his brother's body with envy, but seeing it through a different lens, knowing it was his own, feeling the taut lines under his own hands, hearing the sounds of his gasps in his ears as their souls connected, affected him in a way he had never known before. Lower and lower, as Neteyam's trembling grew stronger, and when he reached the line of the tewng at his hips, his brother grabbed his hair. "Don't," he gasped. "Don't..."

Just relax. You've always taken care of me, now just leave this to me.

As he tasted the sensitive skin, he couldn't help but glance to the side, at the imposing, sizable bulge beneath Neteyam's girdle. To ease his embarrassment, as he began to undo the side strap, he couldn't help but remark through their connection:

It's unbelievable that you've been hiding this all this time.

Neteyam was completely beside himself, gasping for breath as his brother's unsteady fingers struggled to remove every obstacle that held even himself back from madness.

His thoughts only suggested one word in return: Skxawng...

He almost felt like laughing, it was so much like him. So much like his brother, with whom he secretly loved to tease. And now he wanted to repay him for all the care he had showered him with since his birth.

With a sly smile, he pulled the small cloth off his lips as he stared into Neteyam's narrowed eyes - but then, when he finally saw what he had wanted to see all along, he nearly choked on his own saliva.

Holy. Fuck.

He had underestimated him. He had so damn underestimated him! The mere sight of him was enough to make his own even harder, and as every last drop of blood drained from his head, he couldn't help but stare at him.

Since childhood, he had always been driven by a kind of curiosity to taste things he shouldn't — he even remembered how his parents panicked when he once ate an atokirina - but never, ever had he felt such a strong, desperate desire to have something in his mouth. Big, thick, and beautiful - he was sure he would never find anyone else even remotely attractive again.

Neteyam fidgeted awkwardly under his gaze. It seemed that on one hand, the waiting was driving him crazy, and on the other, perhaps he hoped his younger brother would change his mind — otherwise, he was ready to be damned.

And Lo'ak decided he would no longer leave him in doubt. After all, he's a grown man - or something like that. And he's just going to suck another grown man, who happens to be his brother - no big deal.

"Wait, you don't have to if you don't want to!" Neteyam said quickly, grabbing his younger brother's arm. Unspoken between them hovered the thought that maybe this was the last time he could stop himself. But he didn’t back down.

"I want to."

"Then... if it's too much, don't be afraid to stop..."

Pfft. And once again, the overprotective older brother. Do you always have to underestimate me?!

He had just wrapped his fingers around the base of it, and Neteyam's hand jerked to his mouth, as if it would hold back all the embarrassing sounds he couldn't control, but he wanted to hear them anyway, so he was determined to ruin him as much as possible, so much so that he couldn't control himself. For the first time in his life, he wanted to dominate him.

He had only run his hand along his entire length a few times, and Neteyam was immediately leaking. Ahh. He says don't do it, when he's so desperate!

A little smugness warmed his smile, and he placed his other hand on his brother's thigh, forcing a way for himself. He moved his fingertips slowly as he leaned gently against him, taking a deep breath.

Neteyam's scent intoxicated him. He hadn't thought anything could turn him on so much, but it was good, it really was so damn tempting that he wanted to scream to himself.

He started with a small, soft kiss, then when he first licked the top of his head, he felt his brother's hips involuntarily thrust forward. Eywa, how long he had been waiting for this! He couldn't blame him.

He lazily pushed him back to the ground, mentally gathering every secret knowledge he had on the subject that Spider had shown him a few years ago, laughing amicably through an old digital book at the base - admittedly, it was mostly done by women for men, but he didn't see any reason why not.

He licked him slowly, trying to coordinate the rhythm with his hands. When he succeeded, he felt Neteyam completely fall apart beneath him.

"F-fuck..." he whispered in a throaty voice, leaning back a little so their eyes could connect. There was something intoxicating about it, connecting physically and mentally, while pushing the boundaries of his always exemplary, collected brother. He felt the time had come, and without breaking eye contact for a moment, he slowly took it into his mouth.

Two trembling hands sank into his hair

"Lo'ak... uhh.. damn..." .

He wanted to laugh to himself in joy that he finally had such a powerful hold on him, but he overrode the urge to be even better. Even more, even more unbearable. He tried to avoid hurting him with his teeth, even if it meant having to uncomfortably open his jaw.

Neteyam had experienced greater pain because of him.

Still, looking at it from the outside seemed much easier than doing it. It was hot, twitching, throbbing, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to accept in. His brother's moans formed a melody more beautiful than the Omatikaya lullabies, and the deep pleasure on his face made it seem, from the outside, as if someone had just put him in his place. Because of him. Only because of him.

This gave him strength, and he began to suck harder, eliciting guilty moans from him. He let it go deep again, his tongue swirling around the shaft, his fingers not moving from the base, only his other hand sliding up the flat abdominal wall, holding it down so that he couldn't move forward even at the height of pleasure.

"Ahhh... Lo'ak, yes... like this..."

He wanted to answer, but... finally, he could.

I love you, he said in his thoughts, and if he hadn't been sure he had passed, Neteyam's twitching proved it. Maybe he had answered, but he hadn't heard.

All the more so the increasingly unholy sounds, and he wanted more of them, as long as possible, prolonging the moment. He wanted to enjoy every little tremor that his bare mouth caused from him, the most heroic warrior he had ever known - but he felt that neither of them could hold out much longer, so he quickened the rhythm a little, and helped him with his hand.

More and more powerful thrusts, while from time to time he released it from his mouth, then took it even deeper. Neteyam was only moaning incomprehensibly under him, one hand gripping the grass beside him, the other in Lo'ak's hair, and he was no longer able to control himself, so that his hips wouldn't sway in an ancient rhythm.

Then the taste suddenly became even saltier, it throbbed even more forcefully, and her hips began to shake, but then, as if he had come to his senses, he suddenly sat up and pulled Lo'ak off him.

"Wait...wait, ahh, Lo'ak...wait!"

Scared, he pushed his brother's hand away, then clasped his own hand around his base, gasping for breath for a few moments until he could calm down somewhat.

"What is it?" Lo'ak asked in confusion. Did he mess something up? Did he hurt him?

"No, no, none of that," he replied. So he could still hear his thoughts. "Just...not like that. I..."

"What?"

"I want to be inside you," Neteyam growled. He looked as if he had just revealed his darkest secrets.

Lo'ak stared at him with a frown, his tail wagging behind him. Okaaay....

"Um, I don't want to be a party pooper, but how can you? You know, I'm not a girl," he rubbed the back of his head.

There was a long silence between them.

"Dad talked to you about these things, right?"

"Dad just said that once was enough for him, I can ask you. But I would have been trampled by a herd of Angtsì!"

"Baby bro. You know how two men do this, right?"

Huh. What??? Two men... can do more than that?

Maybe... he shouldn't have asked Spider back then.

Next chapter

[fanchonfallen]

Hold me in the Afterglow - Chapter 3

Chapter Index Previous chapter

SUMMARY: After a long time, Lo'ak finally decides to visit his brother's memory at the Tree of Souls. Little does he know that he won't be meeting just a memory.

Neteyam is finally free in Eywa’s embrace, yet the absence of Lo’ak suffocates him more than ever. He had hoped in vain that his brother would visit him, that he could hear his voice just one last time—but Lo’ak never came. However, when his baby bro finally does arrive, their reunion changes everything.

Pairing: Neteyam x Lo'ak

Pay attention to the warnings! If it’s not your genre, DO NOT READ!!! Genre: sibling !ncest, M/M 18+ NSFW! post-canon fix-it, hurt-comfort, mutual pinnin, smut with deep feelings

Neteyam

Words carried great weight—he had always known that. That was why he always thought twice before speaking. But his little brother had a way of making him impulsive, even when he was alive.

He had feared that the secret in his heart would remain forever unspoken, locked away without ever passing his lips. But now that Lo’ak knew—and hadn’t reacted nearly as badly as he had expected—a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders, one he had carried for years.

How long had it been? He couldn’t even remember when the simple, innocent love between brothers had shifted into something else entirely. Something more forbidden, something far more consuming, burning inside him with a heat he could no longer control. When it came to Lo’ak, his body moved on its own, drawn to him instinctively. He would have followed him to the ends of the world, no matter the cost.

And his brother—he always went where his heart and thirst for adventure led him, often recklessly, straight into danger.

Neteyam understood why, even if it frustrated him. Lo’ak couldn’t help but seek proof that he was worthy of attention, of praise—recognition he had never been given. And Neteyam, despite knowing this, had never been able to make up for their parents’ approval. He was… just a brother to him. Nothing more.

He loved every sky-high tree of the Hallelujah Mountains, the thick, humid air, the way the sunlight filtered through the canopy, coaxing the vibrant flowers to bloom. But none of it mattered as much as Lo’ak’s presence. It was the only reason he could let go of his home—especially this place.

He could still see that day before his eyes, the memory burned sharp and indelible in his mind—when he had played here with his eight-year-old little brother.

Lo’ak had fashioned himself a crude headdress from fallen feathers, kneeling at the base of their tree, draped in a richly patterned syuve. His face was streaked with uneven, pale violet lines, reminiscent of how the future Tsahik was adorned in the old Omatikaya tales—though Neteyam was fairly certain that, during an actual tìrusey, a real Tsahik’s markings would be… a little more deliberate than this.

The thought sent a strange tingling through his stomach, especially as he watched Lo’ak, wrapped in their mother’s syuve—one that had been passed down in their family for generations. His laughter rang bright and full of life through the trees.

“If Mom finds out you stole that, she’ll wring our necks,” Neteyam sighed. It was more than likely that if they got caught, he wouldn’t escape punishment either.

His little brother, meanwhile, had just finished his masterpiece—a hideous feathered Olo’eyktan collar. Neteyam didn’t stop him from standing on his toes to drape it over his shoulders, but he still felt like they were doing something they shouldn’t.

“We’ll put it back before they come home, and they’ll never know,” Lo’ak waved off his concern, admiring his handiwork with satisfaction. Then, suddenly, his expression darkened as he glanced around.

“Someone should be singing the ritual songs. We should’ve brought Kiri!”

“Oh, that would’ve been fun—watching you two argue over who gets to be the Tsahik.”

“Pfft, she never would’ve beaten me!”

Lo’ak declared confidently. Neteyam smiled at the memory—his brother’s smug grin as he adjusted the feathered collar, the proudest accomplishment of his life so far.

Neither of them had ever actually witnessed such a ceremony, but Lo’ak seemed to have memorized everything their mother had told them the night before, trying to recreate it as best he could—with a few creative substitutions for the proper items.

Neteyam never forgot the stomach-churning taste of the “spirit-cleansing” drink, a concoction of mashed herbs and berries, which Lo’ak had forced down his throat after much pleading. He couldn’t taste anything for days afterward.

Still, the victorious smile that spread across Lo’ak’s face after successfully making him drink it had somewhat made up for it. (Even if Neteyam had briefly considered what it would actually take for him to be genuinely mad at his idiot little brother.)

Lo’ak hadn’t quite grown into the role yet—his performance was too childish, exaggerated—but his enthusiasm, the bright sparkle in his eyes, the complete devotion with which he threw himself into the game… it enchanted Neteyam.

“Well, there’s just one thing left,” Lo’ak announced decisively. Then, without warning, he grabbed Neteyam’s hand. “Tsaheylu!”

Neteyam was so startled that he didn’t even have time to protest before Lo’ak was already reaching for his braid, his small, clumsy fingers trying to grasp the neural strands. The gesture was entirely childlike—naïve, playful, and yet so natural that, for a moment, Neteyam’s heart skipped a beat.

“Lo’ak!” He jerked back in shock, shoving his brother’s hand away. “Don’t do that—Tsaheylu isn’t a game!”

“But why not?” Lo’ak blinked at him, confused. “Mom said that’s how the Olo’eyktan and the Tsahik bond before Eywa—so they can feel each other’s hearts!”

The thought was so innocent, so pure and earnest, that Neteyam had no idea how to respond. He just stared at Lo’ak—his flushed cheeks, the streaks of paint smudged slightly across his face, the way he impatiently tapped his fingers against the crook of his elbow, waiting for an answer.

The wind stirred their braids, as if Eywa herself were watching them. But was she giving them her blessing? Or was it a warning?

“…Maybe one day,” Neteyam murmured at last, a strange feeling curling in his stomach. He didn’t dare say more. He didn’t dare admit that even then—even back then—something about Lo’ak made him feel a way he shouldn’t.

“Well, in that case…” Lo’ak muttered, narrowing his eyes in concentration. Before Neteyam could react, his little brother reached over his shoulder and tugged his braid forward, then grabbed the frozen Neteyam’s one and simply draped them over each other.

Even though their tswins did not connect—only rested against each other, hidden within their hair—the intensity of the sensation surged through his entire body, weakening his knees, the tingling coiling deep in his stomach.

For the first time in his life, he felt something like this—an unfamiliar, profound attachment that defied all reason.

He knew he shouldn’t be so affected by the sight of their hair entwined. He shouldn’t have felt anything at all. But feelings never asked for permission.

They were simply there, lurking irrevocably beneath his skin. Haunting him on sleepless nights as he lay beside Lo’ak on their sleeping mat, when no one was watching, and he inched closer—covering him, warming him, running soothing fingers over his arm when he had bad dreams, shielding him from everything and everyone.

At first, it had been mere childish devotion. But as the years passed… as he grew older, it became harder and harder to explain to himself.

Like when Lo’ak, exhausted from a long hunt, lazily rested his head on his shoulder, mumbling sleepily—probably his usual complaints—but Neteyam had to summon all his strength not to touch him.

Or when his little brother stormed ahead of him after an argument, tail lashing with frustration, and Neteyam couldn’t not notice how beautiful he looked like that—flushed with raw emotion.

Then, the stolen touches became more frequent—just as the heat in his body flared every time Lo’ak wandered too close. Sometimes, it was a near thing, maintaining control and not doing something irreversibly foolish.

Like when Lo’ak’s legs draped over him in his sleep, curling into his chest, his tail wrapping around his thighs, and Neteyam felt like he was going to lose his mind—his fingers clenching so tightly into the mat that his knuckles turned white.

Year after year, the torment only grew stronger until his resolve solidified: If he was ever chosen as Olo’eyktan, he wanted no mate but him. No matter what was expected of him, he would never be able to bond with anyone else.

And now, here sat Lo’ak, fully grown, beside him—their hands entwined between them. Even Neteyam himself marveled at how naturally four fingers laced together with five.

From the look in his eyes, Lo’ak might have been thinking the exact same thing. His eyes shone, perhaps even brighter than his tanhìs, like stars in the night sky, making the curve of his forehead all the more striking.

He regarded their fingers with that same childlike confusion he always had—ever since he first realized he had one more than his brother. And in the midst of his endless self-reproach, he bit his lip in hesitation.

“Neteyam…” Lo’ak began cautiously, uncertainty lacing his voice. His head dipped slightly, as if he couldn’t bear to meet his gaze.

Oh, Eywa, how he loved hearing his name from his lips—especially in that soft, bashful tone.

Neteyam wanted to memorize everything about this moment—how Lo’ak ran his fingers through his own hair as if trying to summon courage, how he parted his lips to speak but seemed to think better of it, shutting them just as quickly.

"What is it, baby bro?" he asked with a laugh, trying to ease the tension. "You look like you're about to drown in your own thoughts. Don't think so hard—just spit it out!"

"I'm just… curious about something," Lo'ak huffed, like an agitated young palulukan. His nails curled reflexively, digging into the back of Neteyam’s hand—then, realizing how sharply he had overreacted, a faint purple flush spread across his cheeks, and his ears flattened.

Under his brother’s curious gaze, he grew paler, as if struggling to gather his resolve.

"In the end… you didn’t do it with anyone else, did you?"

For a moment, Neteyam didn’t quite understand what he meant, and his thoughts strayed to dangerous places. No. Lo’ak definitely wasn’t implying that.

"Do what?" "The… Tsaheylu."

...

Oh. His breath caught, and for a moment, he had no words.

They weren’t children anymore, and this question was far more intimate than if Lo’ak had simply asked if he had lain with someone before—he might have recovered from that easier.

But of course, his little brother had never cared for things as simple as respect and propriety.

"You never gave me a free moment when I wasn’t busy with saving your ass," he finally sighed, exasperated. "When would I have? With who?"

"Are you seriously blaming me for that?" Lo'ak scoffed. "You had plenty of chances—any Omaticaya girl would’ve had you. Probably most of the Metkayina, too."

"As if I ever wanted any of them!"

There it was. Another fight, just like when they were reckless kids, wasting time. And who knew how much of that they even had left?

Neteyam was about to say something to break the tension when Lo’ak’s next words reached him.

"And me?"

It was barely a whisper, as if speaking the words aloud might change everything.

Him, the eternal rebel—the one who had never feared anything.

"If you really… love me, we could have done it."

The question struck his chest like an arrow. It was as if all the air had been ripped from his lungs, as if Eywa herself had stopped time for one fleeting moment, just long enough for Lo’ak’s words to pierce the deepest, most guarded part of him.

Lo’ak’s question shook him. Neteyam could no longer hear the wind rustling through the trees—only the sound of Lo’ak’s breath, his heartbeat pounding too close to his own.

This was a trap. A beautiful, tempting trap, one he could fall into with a single careless step—never to return. The answer pulsed within him. Yes. He had always wanted him. Lo’ak had always been the only one he had ever thought of, the only one he had ever longed for with every nerve in his body, the only one no one else could ever compare to.

But it couldn’t be. The bitter truth sat heavy on his tongue.

"Lo’ak…" His name fell from Neteyam’s lips like something fragile, something that hurt to say. And maybe it did.

"We… we can’t."

His brother frowned in confusion.

"Why not? We’re not kids anymore, and we don’t have time to keep waiting for someday!"

There was a tremor in his voice, deep beneath his frustration. Neteyam’s lips parted—then closed again. He wanted to tell him. Wanted to explain that Lo’ak didn’t understand what he was asking.

Tsaheylu wasn’t just a gesture, not just a kiss or an embrace; that if they did this, he would likely never be able to bond with anyone else ever again. And Neteyam was already gone.

No matter that he had been given this one moment to say goodbye—he was only a memory. Nothing more. No longer a part of this world.

"You still have an entire life ahead of you," he said finally. Pain seeped into his gaze, and the words left bitterness on his tongue. "You would bind yourself to me forever, and I… I’m not here, Lo’ak. I can’t be with you."

Lo’ak’s lips pressed into a tight line.

For a moment, he closed his eyes—then opened them again, and Neteyam couldn’t not notice the way his irises shimmered, as if he were barely holding back tears.

"And you think…" he asked, voice hollow, "I would ever want anyone else?" Neteyam froze.

"If you're the only one I’ll ever be able to connect with... that’s more than enough for me!" The boy grabbed his shoulders roughly, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline.

"That’s all I’ve EVER truly wanted, so you’d better fucking find a way to drag your dumb ass back to me, I don’t care how, you hear me?! NO EXCUSES, Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan, if anyone can do it, it’s definitely you!!"

Lo’ak’s tail lashed irritably behind him, and he probably didn’t even notice how, in his intense emotions, he had climbed over Neteyam’s legs and curled up in his lap. The sight of his stormy, furrowed brows struck like a lightning bolt, and even the sounds of the rainforest seemed to quiet around them, as if Eywa herself were holding her breath.

The question hovered in the air, fragile yet burning, like a freshly bloomed loreyu flower in the morning dew.

Neteyam’s fingers tightened over Lo’ak’s hand, his touch searing, feverish. He stared into his brother’s eyes, then at those well-shaped, faintly violet lips—the ones he had spent so many nights staring at while Lo’ak slept peacefully beside him, oblivious to the maddening, sinful thoughts that tormented him.

Neteyam’s heart pounded in his throat. As his brother trembled above him, as if regretting the question, as if he wanted to take back his words, Neteyam already knew—he couldn’t let him go. He couldn’t let this moment slip away.

Slowly, with almost sacrilegious reverence, he lifted Lo’ak’s hand and brought it to his lips. His kiss brushed over each finger, one after another, returning again and again to the one Lo’ak despised most about himself. His name slipped from Neteyam’s lips like a sigh as he continued his silent devotion, and this time, Lo’ak didn’t pull away. Neither of them moved.

They only watched each other, floating between emotions, in a world where neither past nor future mattered—only this moment.

Neteyam reached forward, his face stopping mere inches from Lo’ak’s. He could smell him—that clean, familiar, yet maddening scent that set his blood on fire.

"I want to do it." The words left his mouth with such raw honesty that even he was surprised by them. He was no longer the golden child, not a heroic warrior, the pride of his people—just a young man holding the one thing he desired most in his arms. "Fuck, you have no idea how much!"

The weight of the confession crashed down on them both, breaking through like a dam, releasing everything he had tried to suppress for years.

Lo’ak’s fingers trembled as they pressed against Neteyam’s face, as if afraid he would disappear if he didn’t hold on tightly enough.

"Then do it." His voice was barely more than a breath as he brought his queue forward, offering it with averted eyes. "Now."

"But…"

"JUST SHUT UP AND DO IT! I want this, and I know you too, so there’s nothing stopping us, okay?"

Neteyam hesitated, but he couldn’t resist any longer.

Carefully, as if handling something fragile, he reached for Lo’ak’s queue, taking his own between his fingers. The moment was sacred—not a game, not some childish experiment, but something deeper, something true, something that would change everything forever.

Lo’ak’s lips parted slightly as Neteyam slowly drew them closer, their skin warming where their bare stomachs pressed together. Lo’ak tensed above him, a soft, shuddering whimper escaping him; even that was enough to make Neteyam feel like he was burning alive, but nothing could compare to the moment their neural tendrils brushed together, then intertwined— Neteyam felt as if an entirely new world had opened before him.

The first contact was explosive. In a single breath, he felt everything—Lo’ak’s thoughts, his emotions, as if their souls had fused into one, beating with a single heart. His brother clung to him in surprise, his pupils blown wide, his spine arching as the new sensations crashed over him.

Love. Curiosity. Pain. Want…

Neteyam squeezed his eyes shut, realizing there was no going back. Lo’ak knew now. He could feel it all. And he accepted it.

As his thoughts surged through their bond, as his brother grasped the full meaning, as hesitation slowly melted into understanding—Neteyam instinctively wanted to shield him from it, from the overwhelming storm inside him—but there was nowhere to hide anymore.

Lo’ak’s breathing grew ragged, his gaze locked onto Neteyam’s face.

"I…" Lo’ak’s voice echoed deep inside him. No words, just raw, unfiltered emotions flowing between them. Neteyam clenched his teeth, his hands curling into fists, trying to restrain himself—but when Lo’ak’s fingers traced down to rest over his chest, right above his heart, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

"Me too…" he whispered, and like a starving beast, he yanked Lo’ak closer, his lips descending upon his brother’s neck with wild, fevered desperation.

Their breaths mingled, their bodies aligned as if they had always meant to fit together this way. They had no idea what they were doing anymore, only instinctively moving against each other, the tsaheylu deepening their bond—not just through the connection, but in every lingering touch, every shared longing.

Neteyam’s lips parted involuntarily as Lo’ak’s hand slid down his side, lingering at his waist, igniting a thousand tiny detonations low in his belly. And when Lo’ak leaned in to press their mouths together, they both groaned into the kiss, their minds and bodies spiraling into a shared descent.

He felt every hazy, heated thought—both his and Lo’ak’s—the ones his brother might never have admitted even to himself. But Neteyam knew. He felt it. Oh, Eywa… and it was driving him insane. They were alone in this perfect, unrepeatable moment, and nothing else mattered anymore.

But… this came with something else—something that was about to push them past a boundary they could never return from. When his hands slid down Lo’ak’s back, and his fingers brushed the base of his tail, his brother’s breath hitched sharply.

Neteyam couldn’t stop himself from gripping his waist, pulling him even closer against him—stunning both himself and Lo’ak with the realization that their bodies were ready for an entirely different kind of connection too.

Next chapter

[fanchonfallen]

Hold me in the Afterglow - Chapter 2

Chapter index Previous Chapter

SUMMARY: After a long time, Lo'ak finally decides to visit his brother's memory at the Tree of Souls. Little does he know that he won't be meeting just a memory.

Neteyam is finally free in Eywa’s embrace, yet the absence of Lo’ak suffocates him more than ever. He had hoped in vain that his brother would visit him, that he could hear his voice just one last time—but Lo’ak never came. However, when his baby bro finally does arrive, their reunion changes everything.

Pairing: Neteyam x Lo'ak

Pay attention to the warnings! If it’s not your genre, DO NOT READ!!! Genre: sibling !ncest, M/M 18+ NSFW! post-canon fix-it, hurt-comfort, mutual pinnin, smut with deep feelings

Lo’ak

The world of memories had always been a strange experience, something one could never truly get used to—even if na'vi children learned to enter it before they could walk.

A strange experience, but never like this.

When he finally gathered the courage to connect to the Utraya Mokri after so long, he thought he’d only stay for a few moments—a brief encounter.

He had hoped for something simple, a nostalgic glimpse into the past where his brother would greet him with a smile, maybe caught in the middle of an old adventure or a shared game. He wanted to see Neteyam the way he had always been: smarter than him, stronger and braver, as perfect as he had always been—and for that, Lo’ak had always hated him. Well, if he was being honest, "hate" wasn’t the right word. Pain in the ass—that was probably the term Dad had used once.

When they were kids, his brother had been his biggest role model, and he had believed that he could follow in his footsteps—even with his five fingers and stupid eyebrows. Small details, who cares?

Naively, he had believed that it didn’t matter how he was born, that one day he, too, could be great—maybe even the best. But after being compared to his brother so many times and always falling miserably short, that feeling twisted into something much uglier. Everyone always questioned why he couldn’t behave like Toruk Makto’s son, why he couldn’t be an example to their people—everyone, except his brother.

Neteyam, though he teased him constantly, never made him feel like he wasn’t good enough. In fact, despite all his annoying pestering, he had been the only one capable of convincing him otherwise. Lo’ak had hoped to relive a moment like that from the past, but… As the world unfolded around him, something felt off.

The landscape was familiar, yet foreign. The leaves of the trees shimmered strangely, as if he wasn’t inside a memory but a dream. The air was heavy, unreal. He knew this place, but… he had never seen it like this.

And there he was—Neteyam, just as he had last seen him, but his eyes looked more tired than ever. He lay among enormous, blooming flowers, leaning against their old favorite tree, like an ethereal masterpiece, as if he were a part of this dreamlike scenery.

He was still so breathtakingly beautiful that Lo’ak felt his heart ache. He knew this was just a memory, an illusion, yet his brother’s presence felt so real that he couldn’t push past it.

There was so much he wanted to say… so much he wanted to ask…

It was a grave sin before Eywa to disturb the dead, to disrupt their rest by reminding them of their fate. But he had been pretending for so long—how could he do that to the only person who had ever truly been his anchor?

His whole life, every action, had been a mess of mistakes—and though he knew how many rules he was breaking once again, his legs could no longer hold him. He collapsed to his knees, spilling out a stream of meaningless apologies.

What did it change? Nothing. He was as pathetic as a child, but he couldn’t stop. Even in death, the brother whose blood stained his hands had to be the one to comfort him.

And then, suddenly—he had no idea how—but Neteyam’s lips were on his, and under that kiss, Lo’ak felt himself turn into liquid protoplasm.

The mantra of I’m sorry in his head was instantly replaced by oh fuck.

He had no idea what they were doing—well, he knew, but he didn’t understand. Why?

This was just a very weird dream, right? The whole world, all of existence, time itself—stopped.

He could feel the other’s breath, his heartbeat (was that even possible?), and his body couldn’t decide whether to freeze or catch fire.

Neteyam’s kiss felt as if it had always been there, buried beneath his skin, carried in his blood, even if he had never known it. It felt good; too good, maybe.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind that this was the farthest thing from right—not just between boys, but between brothers—but he couldn’t stop the waves of heat rising in his stomach.

He wanted it. Damn it, even if Eywa punished him for this, he still wanted more!

He was absolutely inexperienced in this, but he still tried to keep up with Neteyam’s annoyingly skilled mouth. Who the hell had taught him this? If he ever got back, he would have to find them and beat them up. Even if it was a girl.

It was too easy to get swept away, and he must have forgotten to breathe because he nearly choked on his brother’s name as it slipped out of his throat, completely beyond his control.

He felt Neteyam’s arm shudder beneath his own, and the sensation sent a shiver down his spine as well.

It was only when his brother pulled back slightly that it even occurred to him to question what the fuck they were doing.

If their mother found out that he had been kissing the memory of his dead brother in Eywa’s presence, she would probably claw his eyes out on the spot. But this flushed, handsome boy in front of him… (Wait, what?!)

Was he really just a memory? A memory shouldn’t be able to do things it had never done before, and Lo’ak was absolutely certain that Neteyam had never done this with him.

"You stopped," his brother smiled at him, and his warm palm slid into his hair—just like it always did whenever he had pissed Neteyam off so badly that even he felt like he had gone too far. Oh. So this was just another prank. And he had fucking fallen for it!

"What the fuck" he muttered irritably. "Are you messing with me?"

He expected this to be the part where Neteyam laughed at him and told him, Why else would I have done it? But instead, the boy lowered his gaze, and the only thing in his expression was pain and… longing? This can’t be—

"I would never with that" he said, pulling back just a little more.

Lo’ak couldn’t help it—he physically felt his sudden absence, and he hated it.

Okay, they needed to talk. Or maybe he should leave? They said the longer your soul lingered with Eywa, the harder it was to return to your physical body. How long had he been here? A few minutes? But no matter how much he tried to convince himself, he didn’t want to leave. Never again.

... No—he scolded himself—, do you even realize what that would mean? And who would even miss me there?! Maybe Payakan.

"Lo’ak?"

His brother’s worried voice yanked him out of his thoughts.

Neteyam rarely called him by name—"baby bro" or "skxawng" were much more common—and usually, when he did, it was because he was absolutely furious with him. But this time, his voice was gentle.

It completely threw him off. Seeing his hesitation, Neteyam took a step back. Not much, just enough to make the air between them feel suddenly too cold.

Lo’ak’s brain was still foggy, like his brother’s kiss had knocked all sense out of him. Maybe it had, because when Neteyam tried to pull away completely, he reached for him instinctively.

He didn’t think. He just grabbed his arm.

Not too tightly—not as if he could actually hold him back—but Neteyam still stopped.

"Don’t… don’t go," he heard his own voice, and his whole body trembled with the realization. He wanted his closeness more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. Neteyam closed his eyes. A long, shaky breath escaped him, like he had been trying to avoid this moment.

"Lo’ak…"

His name slipped from Neteyam’s lips like a quiet prayer.

"Why?" Lo’ak asked, though he wasn’t even sure what he was asking for. His brother looked at him again, his gaze dark and full of emotions Lo’ak had never let himself see before.

"Why did you kiss me?" His voice was firmer now, but no matter how hard he tried, it still trembled slightly. "This isn’t a memory. You’ve never done this before."

Neteyam’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if holding something back. Then… he just looked tired. "Because I always wanted to," he finally said. Lo’ak’s stomach clenched.

"This… this can’t be true."

The words hung between them, but neither of them moved. Neteyam’s lips curled slightly—not in the easy, brotherly smile he so often used to brush things off, but in something sad, something aching.

"You realize I haven’t changed, don't you?" he asked softly. "You’re just finally willing to see."

Lo’ak’s mouth parted, but no words came out. Slowly, carefully, Neteyam placed a hand against his chest, barely touching him, as if Lo’ak might disappear beneath his fingers.

"I have nothing left to lose," he continued. "No more ‘right’ or ‘wrong.’ No more responsibilities. No more duty. There’s only what I truly want."

Lo’ak’s grip on his arm tightened. He didn’t let go. He couldn’t. Neteyam turned his head slightly, as if he couldn’t bear to keep looking at him, as if saying the next words would be too much.

"And I want you. I’ve always wanted you."

Something inside Lo’ak snapped. All these years… he had never even considered that his brother felt this way. He had thought Neteyam protected him at all costs, risking himself over and over, just to prove how much better he was.

Neteyam… wanted him? What the hell did that even mean? It couldn’t mean that. Could it? Then what else could it possibly mean?! And if this was just a memory— No.

This wasn’t a memory.

His gaze dropped to his brother’s chest, and his eyes widened in shock at the faint, yet undeniable scar that shimmered over his heart like a golden star.

This wasn’t a memory. This was the real Neteyam. Was this the real Neteyam?!

Eywa, what kind of game are you playing with me?!

"I’m sorry if it disappoints you," his brother’s voice broke in a way that was so unlike him. What was he supposed to say? He hadn’t been prepared for… this. Not for Neteyam to be the one to appear before him— The one who knew exactly why he had died. The one who knew his sin.

"I tried to bury it so many times, but…"

And Neteyam didn’t blame him. Instead of yelling at him or pushing him away, he had just admitted that he actually… always…

Lo’ak didn’t think any further. Thinking wasn’t his strong suit anyway.

He surged forward, grabbing his brother by the shoulder with one hand while the other slid to the nape of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss so intense that if Eywa were to take his life the next moment for this disgrace, he wouldn’t regret a thing.

The kiss burned on his lips like searing embers. There was nothing soft about it, nothing careful—Lo’ak wasn’t careful. He never was.

And Neteyam… Neteyam didn’t pull away. Quite the opposite.

Lo’ak felt his brother’s hand gently press against his cheek, fingers tracing his cheekbone as if trying to memorize it. As if he wasn’t sure how long he had left.

That thought clawed bitterly at Lo’ak’s throat. It shouldn’t be like this. Neteyam should be here. In his body, in life! In the world where Lo’ak was too—but he wasn’t.

The realization stabbed through him like a blade.

A panicked pain swirled in his chest, a crushing weight he couldn’t shake even if he wanted to. And yet, beneath the pain, something else was lurking. Something warm. Something familiar. Something he had perhaps never wanted to see before.

Slowly, he pulled back—but not all the way. He pressed his forehead to Neteyam’s, letting their breaths mix.

"You…" The words died in his throat. He didn’t know what he wanted to ask. He didn’t know how to ask.

Neteyam exhaled softly. "I’m sorry."

Lo’ak frowned. "For what?"

Neteyam’s hand still rested on his cheek, as if afraid that if he let go, Lo’ak would disappear too.

"For saying it too late."

A strange tremor ran through Lo’ak’s chest. Neteyam’s eyes were hazy, filled with sorrow, longing—and something else Lo’ak was just now beginning to understand. It had always been there.

Neteyam had always looked at him like this—not just as family. Not just as the protective older brother to the reckless younger one. And Lo’ak…

Too many things clicked into place at once. The way Neteyam always stood up for him, even when it meant getting punished too. The way he had always mattered more to him than anything else—even his own life. And the way that, when he lost him, it felt like half his world had been taken away. His breath caught in his lungs.

"Shit."

Neteyam looked at him questioningly, and Lo’ak’s mouth twitched. His heart was pounding somewhere in his throat.

"You… you’ve always loved me, haven’t you?"

Neteyam’s gentle, sorrowful smile was louder than words.

"Took you long enough, skxawng."

The nickname slipped from his lips so tenderly that Lo’ak felt every ounce of resistance inside him dissolve. Yes, now he knew.

He had always loved Neteyam too—he had just been too stubborn, too foolish to recognize it.

And now… maybe it was too late.

Pain tightened in his chest again, but Neteyam was still here. He was still here, and Lo’ak buried his face in his brother’s shoulder, clutching him like he could bring him back, like he could change the past.

Neteyam’s fingers slid into his hair, caressing around his tswin, the sensation shooting straight down his spine.

"It’s okay," he whispered. "I’m still here."

And Lo’ak held onto him like he never wanted to let go. Looking past his brother’s shoulder, he suddenly noticed the strange flowers around them—flowers he had never seen bloom in the real world before.

"This… this isn’t how it should be," he murmured, glancing around in a daze. His brother only let him pull back enough to follow his gaze. "And why this place, out of all our memories?"

Neteyam’s expression darkened slightly before a faint, almost mischievous smile flickered across his lips.

"Would you have preferred waking up in our kelku that morning I caught you jerk—"

"SHUT UP!" Lo’ak’s hands clamped over his brother’s mouth instantly, his face igniting in flames.

Neteyam chuckled against his palms, his chest shaking with silent laughter. Lo’ak’s entire body tensed—damn it, was Neteyam making a fool of him again?!

"Are you serious right now?! You had to bring that up?!" he growled, yanking his hands away.

"Hey, you asked. And let’s be real, it could’ve been way worse. At least we never saw the tersyu bloom before."

Lo’ak glanced skyward, as if pleading for patience from Eywa herself.

But his brother didn’t let up. His gaze softened, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter.

"But I think I know why. Maybe… we’re here because this was one of the first times I wasn’t trying to pretend I wasn’t who I really was."

The air shifted between them in an instant. The lightheartedness vanished, and Lo’ak felt his heartbeat quicken with an uneasy sense of anticipation.

"I don’t remember us doing anything different here," he admitted. "Or… "

His breath hitched.

"Oh, no—this isn’t about that time when we played olo'eyktan and you married me, is it?!"

Neteyam’s eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, and then—there it was. That familiar, guilty half-smile, the one he only wore on those incredibly rare occasions when he actually got caught breaking the rules. Like he was debating whether to talk his way out of it—until he let out a quiet, resigned laugh and lowered his head.

Lo’ak stared in shock as his brother’s ears darkened to a deep shade of purple.

"So I was right."

Neteyam exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away.

"We were just kids," he muttered, clearly trying to downplay it, but his voice was too soft, too unsure.

Lo’ak snorted. "And?"

Neteyam finally met his gaze, and that was when Lo’ak saw it—that strange glimmer in his eyes. The hesitation, the nostalgia… and something else.

"And… maybe I took it a little more seriously than I should have."

His voice carried a rare, quiet shyness—something Lo’ak had never heard from him before.

Next chapter

[fanchonfallen]

Hold me in the Afterglow - Chapter 1.

SUMMARY: After a long time, Lo'ak finally decides to visit his brother's memory at the Tree of Souls. Little does he know that he won't be meeting just a memory.

Neteyam is finally free in Eywa’s embrace, yet the absence of Lo’ak suffocates him more than ever. He had hoped in vain that his brother would visit him, that he could hear his voice just one last time—but Lo’ak never came. However, when his baby bro finally does arrive, their reunion changes everything.

Pairing: Neteyam x Lo'ak

Pay attention to the warnings! If it’s not your genre, DO NOT READ!!! Genre: sibling !ncest, M/M 18+ NSFW! post-canon fix-it, hurt-comfort, mutual pinnin, smut with deep feelings

I'm not really a fan of !ncest in real life, but these two little kittens have burned into my soul forever, and after atwow, I needed something to ease my pain. 🥲 So... a little Neteyam x Lo'ak mutual pining hurt/comfort.

Chapter index

Lo’ak

..........

With every passing moment, he was more certain—coming here had been a mistake.

Months had gone by, yet he could never bring himself to face Neteyam’s memory. His brother’s figure haunted his dreams every night, and though he had become better at pretending during the day, feigning that he was fine, upon waking from those dreams, he wanted nothing more than to scream. Desperately, hopelessly, until perhaps even Eywa would hear him and take him away too. To him. Instead of him… Anything would be better than this.

No matter what he did to occupy himself, the gnawing emptiness always found its way back to him. If things were different, Neteyam would surely be there, teasing him for doing a half-hearted job, throwing in a few sarcastic remarks about his lack of skill—only to pat him on the back and call him an idiot with a smile, like he always did. He hated him for that. He… missed him so much.

Something had been lost with him, something irreplaceable. His parents no longer scolded him, no longer compared him, yet the unspoken accusation lingered in their silent gazes. He was certain they would all be happier if he had died instead of his brother. And oh, how happy he would be! Or at least… happier.

More than once, he caught glimpses of blame in his mother’s eyes, or fleeting glances from his siblings whenever Neteyam was mentioned. Just a brief flicker in their gaze, but he knew exactly what it meant. They had looked at him like that countless times throughout his life, whenever he messed up—just like always. But this time… this time was different. This had crossed a line. They would never forgive him. And he would never forgive himself.

Back then… when things felt too much, he would retreat, pulling his knees to his chest, rocking himself on the highest branches of a tree—until he came. Usually teasing him, ruffling his hair, refusing to leave until he admitted exactly how he felt. And when at last he snapped and spilled all his pain, Neteyam would just be there, reassuring him that he wasn’t alone, that he always would be. No matter how many called him a freak, a demon-blood, no matter how many times he got hurt because of his own stupidity or how often Dad punished him for yet another reckless act— but now, he wasn’t there.

Because of him.

The water had become such a part of his daily life that it almost felt like he had been born metkayina. By now, even in his most distressed moments, it no longer troubled him to quiet his heart—at least, physically. Inside, there was only war, but his heartbeat gradually slowed, merging with the soft rhythm of the waves.

Did he even have the right to be here? He didn’t think so. Perhaps he would only catch a glimpse, a memory—but how would he react to seeing him? To his killer… And how could Lo’ak stand before him without crumbling beneath the weight of guilt, without begging to take his place? He deserved life so much more. Everyone would be so much happier if they could trade places!

He would never hurt anyone again. And maybe, just maybe, his soul would finally stop aching.

One last time, the five-fingered hand he had always despised curled into a fist as he connected his tswin to the softly glowing tendrils of the Utraya Mokri. And as his mind sank into the swirling, luminous currents, a single tear rolled down his cheek. —

Neteyam

..........

Being with Eywa… was like sinking into the purest, most serene spring. No pain, no fear, no hunger—only comfort, as his soul lay bare before the vastness of existence, waiting. Perhaps to be reborn, he thought. Honestly, this wasn’t such a bad state to be in. A place, where he no longer had to wear the mask of perfection.

He could simply be himself. Eywa had no expectations of him. She let him rest at last, without the constant worry of Lo’ak sneaking out in the middle of the night, getting himself killed... … Oh. Shit.

He barely managed to stir from the weightless stillness, but his eyes fluttered open hesitantly.

Lo’ak…

Was there anyone to stop him from doing something reckless now that he couldn’t? He could only hope their parents weren’t too harsh on him. That… they didn’t blame him. After all, he had been the one to fail. Maybe they refused to admit that it was his mistake, but logically, it had been that one misstep. That one careless moment, when he hadn’t protected himself properly, despite all of Dad’s lessons on how to evade such an attack. He hadn’t controlled himself. He hadn’t positioned himself correctly when he stepped out of hiding. If only he could tell them!

Lo’ak… there was no one left who would know where to find him when he was hurting. No one to comfort him—not that Neteyam had ever been very good at it, but he had cherished every moment when his brother’s sulking would, after enough pestering, break into the smallest smile. And then everything was okay again—because Lo’ak was already thinking up his next reckless idea, the kind that, at best, would only break his neck.

Did he… at least miss him? Even a little?

"Do you truly wish to know?"

The voice came like a gentle melody in his mind. He should have been used to it by now, hearing it so often, but still, he shuddered, as if caught in something shameful.

His face flushed, hiding behind a shy smile, though he knew there were no secrets before her. Out of habit, he still tried to suppress his emotions.

"It’s foolish," he murmured. "Surely he enjoys his new life as the eldest brother. No longer compared to me, no longer expected to be like me. Without me, he can finally be who he always wanted to be."

"And yet, your heart aches."

"Just… because he never came. I understand why he wouldn’t want to see me, but… even if he can’t hear me, I just wanted to hear his voice. See that skxawng face of his. Know what memory would come to his mind when he thinks of me."

It hurt. More than he expected. So much time had passed, and all of his siblings had come. At first, tearful, then later, with bittersweet smiles, recalling only the good times they had shared. But he never came.

He, whom Neteyam had waited for most of all, had never come.

"You have yet to use your wish."

Eywa knew him too well—there was no use denying it. When she first spoke to him, she had offered a gift, a small compensation for giving his life to save another. He could have used it anytime. But all along… he had wanted to use it with him. Was it selfish to feel disappointed that he never got the chance? He didn’t blame him, but…

"He won’t come, will he?" His voice broke, and the warmth of the endless peace turned cold, freezing as his soul shattered into tiny, aching pieces.

For years, he had suppressed everything—every longing, every forbidden feeling he shouldn’t have had for his own brother. He had hoped Lo’ak would at least love him as his brother. But no matter how hard he tried to get closer, he had never been able to make him... see him.

"Perhaps it’s for the best. If he came… if I saw him again, I’m not sure what I would do."

His vision blurred with tears he had never allowed himself to shed. He was ready to let go, to fade into nothingness—until Eywa’s voice pulled him back.

"In that case, would you like me to send him back?"

Wh-what?

A strange, blinding light engulfed him. Neteyam woke up leaning against the trunk of a massive tree, surrounded by vibrant tarsyu flowers blooming—a sight so unusual he immediately deemed it peculiar. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

It took a few moments for his senses to return after the lingering numbness, but once they did, he recognized the place instantly: their secret “base,” where he and Lo’ak had played countless times as children—just the two of them, without their sisters or parents.

They had stumbled upon it by accident after his younger brother had run away from home in a sulk, and Neteyam had found him curled up against this tree, tears streaming down his face unstoppable.

He could still recall the frightened desperation on Lo’ak’s face before he wrapped him in a comforting embrace, making the younger boy so stunned he momentarily forgot to sniffle.

"Don't cry," he had said with a smile, gently stroking Lo’ak’s messy braids.

"I'm not crying!" came the irritated reply, and Lo’ak shook off his hand.

He would never admit it, but Neteyam knew anyway: he was hungry. Tired. Scared… He knew every little movement his brother made all too well.

"Were you afraid?" Neteyam had asked, sitting down beside him cautiously, leaving just enough space in case the little boy wanted to lean into him. Of course, he didn’t. "It’s okay now. I’m here with you."

"Great. Now we’re both lost!"

Always the optimism, since the day he was born. And it seemed Neteyam’s life mission was to cheer him up, over and over again, despite it all.

"Do you remember what Mom taught us? If you’re lost, ask Eywa for guidance. Eywa shows the way to all her children."

He reached out to touch a nearby tarsyu. Back then, it looked nothing like the dreamlike spectacle it had become now—it was wrapped in a thick cocoon, shying away from his touch.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at his brother. There was something similar between him and this plant, the way he hid within his own imaginary cocoon, too shy to reveal his bloom. But Neteyam was certain that if Lo’ak ever opened up, he would be more beautiful than any flower on Pandora.

"Any other plans?" Lo’ak had asked skeptically, but then his eyes widened as an Atokirina' gently landed on Neteyam’s outstretched finger.

For a few moments, they both stared in awe—first at the Sacred Tree’s seed, then at each other—until, suddenly, hundreds more appeared, floating before them in an interwoven chain.

"See?" Neteyam laughed. "Eywa is showing us the way home."

They returned to this place countless times afterward, just the two of them. The tarsyus never opened their petals, just as Lo’ak always took a step back whenever their bond grew too close.

More than anything, Neteyam had wanted to see him there, among the blooming flowers, once more—one last time.

A soft breeze caressed his face, and an Atokirina' drifted gently before his eyes. As his gaze followed its path, a tall shadow suddenly fell over him.

A tall, lean figure with loose braids, a leather strap around his waist. A palulukan dagger hung at his side—a blade, all too familiar. Once, it had been his own.

So he had kept it?

His dead heart felt as if it had started beating once again. A strange, tingling warmth spread through his entire being—something akin to pure happiness—as he took in the sight before him.

Lo’ak… He had grown so much. Taller than in this memory, even taller than Neteyam remembered from the last time he saw him. His hair was no longer tied to his tswin, left to fall freely on either side of his face.

He was older now, and yet… He looked more lost than ever, staring at Neteyam shocked. He seemed on the verge of speaking when, suddenly, he just dropped to his knees.

"I’m sorry," Lo’ak said, his voice carrying an unfamiliar edge, deeper than Neteyam remembered… had it changed while he was gone?

Neteyam couldn’t stop himself from leaning in, a soft smile spreading across his face. His brother may have grown taller, but he was still the same lost little boy as always.

And yet, something much heavier weighed on him now.

Neteyam wasn’t sure what to say to avoid ruining this moment—the last moment granted to them.

"Sorry for what?" he asked, startled by the sound of his own voice—it had been so long since he last spoke that it almost felt foreign.

But Lo’ak reacted instantly—his body tensed, his ears twitched, but he didn’t look up.

"I’m sorry… I… I should have…." Neteyam stared at him. Lo’ak was trembling.

Not like when he was a child, overwhelmed by frustration. Not like when his feet had frozen to the ground, afraid, as he tried to claim his ikran. His fists clenched tightly on his knees, as if that was the only thing keeping him from completely breaking apart.

Neteyam’s heart ached at the sight. Every word he wanted to say got stuck in his throat. This was the moment he had been waiting for, and now… now he was frozen, unable to move. Lo’ak… His Lo’ak. Wild, stubborn, irresistibly free, always defying every rule in his path.

And yet, here he was, kneeling before him, shattered—every ounce of strength and defiance abandoned, as if he had finally surrendered in a battle he was never meant to fight alone.

Neteyam swallowed hard and instinctively reached out, wanting to touch Lo’ak’s hair—to feel that he was really here, finally, after so long. But his fingers stopped midway.

Would it only make things harder? Would Lo’ak even want him to?

His brother gasped softly, as if carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. His body shook, but he didn’t lift his head.

"I’m sorry," he whispered again, barely audible. "I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry that I get to live, and not you—you, who deserved it so much more."

Neteyam didn't know what to do, his heart was pounding. The love he felt in that moment was so overwhelming, it was almost unbearable.

"Hey," he finally said, hoarsely. "What kind of nonsense are you saying, baby brother?"

He didn’t hesitate anymore. He reached forward and cupped Lo’ak’s face in both hands. His brother’s skin was warm under his touch, his tears leaving tiny trails across his cheeks.

"Look at me," Neteyam said softly. Lo’ak’s eyes slowly opened, and when their gazes finally met, Neteyam felt his breath hitch. Those beautiful, warm golden eyes he had always loved—now broken, yet burning with a strange mix of pain and love.

"You are not to blame," Neteyam said firmly. "You never were. I chose to protect you. I chose to give my life for you, if needed."

Lo’ak shook his head.

"But if… if I had been stronger… if I hadn’t been such a burden… If I had just listened to you…."

Neteyam sighed, wiping away his tears with his thumb.

"You were never a burden, Lo’ak. Never."

Lo’ak’s lips quivered, as if about to protest, but Neteyam didn’t let him.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently against his brother’s, just as he had done so many times when they were children.

Silence settled between them—a single, eternal moment where only their breaths mingled, and their hearts beat as one.

Then, Lo’ak moved first. He lifted his hand hesitantly, as if afraid Neteyam would vanish before his eyes. But when his fingers touched his brother’s arm—he was there.

This wasn’t a dream. Not an illusion. Neteyam was real.

Tears welled up again, but this time, not from pain.

Neteyam watched him, uncertain. He had always been a sensitive boy behind the defiant mask, but he had never fallen apart like this.

What could he do to cheer him up? Or at least snap him out of it. He shook his head slightly, then slowly pulled his brother’s face closer and leaned in.

Lo’ak’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening—when his brother gently brushed his lips against his own, it was as if every thought in his mind had vanished. Neteyam kissed him carefully, tasting him softly, giving him the chance to pull away if he wanted to.

Lo’ak’s breath hitched, and he remained motionless for a long moment. Then, barely perceptible, like the touch of a delicate petal, Neteyam finally felt the slightest movement of his lips—and his little brother, the one he had longed for all his life, hesitantly kissed him back.

The sensation surged through every nerve in his body, and he nearly cried out in joy.

"...teyam..."

His name, in Lo’ak's voice, just beneath his lips—it felt like too much to bear.

Maybe he had gone too far. But did it even matter anymore? He only managed to pull back just enough for their gazes to meet, and though he could see the thousand unspoken questions in the other’s eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to answer them.

"You stopped" he finally murmured with a gentle smile, reaching up to stroke Lo’ak’s flushed, trembling ears.

Next chapter

[gctcf]

[fanchonfallen]

Just writing some smutty new ideas on ao3 😊😙

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[dinoistrash]

Sometimes you fix your purple gf but she isn’t really.

thats what you meant, right anon?

[fanchonfallen]

[fanchonfallen]

-Finally watched Maleficent-

Beginning of movie: I know a lot of people ship Malora but I am determined to go through at least one movie without another ship.

Middle of movie: huh... Well that's cute but no, nope, NO I shall not ship this.

20 minutes until the end: MUST. STAY. STRONG.

End of movie: fuck... Come on... I don't need another ship. I ALREADY HAVE TOO MANY FEELS WITH MY OTHER SHIPS.

10 minutes after movie: I found great fan art and fanfiction... I hate myself a little bit.

[shes-lost-in-my-mind]

One of the best Maleficent fanvids I have ever seen ♥

[doodlesonice]

the new official art is so cute i love this family!!! 

[otabekismybff]

Just Imagine... [Yurio’s Crush on Yuuri 1/3]

Yuri Plisetsky’s POV

GPF - SOCHI (Episode 1)

Sees this Japanese skater with amazing step sequences, something Yuri struggles with himself, and follows him to talk to him.

Plans to talk to him, but the idiot’s crying and you can’t get over how he’s already shattered your illusion of how great he is.

Accidentally makes him fear you, but if it motivates him to skate better, then mission accomplished.

Watches Viktor totally not know who he is and offend poor Japanese Yuuri, who is already upset with himself.

Tells Viktor he better damn well apologize to Yuuri at the banquet.

Looks up Yuuri Katsuki online and discovers he’s 23. Wtf, he looks like he’s 16.

GPF - SOCHI BANQUET

Makes Viktor apologize to Yuuri

Is called out by Yuuri and insulted for the bathroom talk, challenged to dance off

Enjoys dance off more than kittens (wtf is that even possible?)

Wants to talk to Yuuri more, but Yuuri starts gushing about how he’s been Viktor’s fan forever and challenges him to a dance off

Takes pictures of dance off for Viktor, but can’t keep his eyes off Yuuri (result: all shots of Yuuri are stunning, but pics of Viktor are crap)

Never sends Viktor the pictures, but makes Viktor and Chris send him pictures from the banquet (’for blackmail’ is the excuse)

Tries to forget about Yuuri, but keeps looking up his old routines online, uses Google Translate to read his profile on the Japanese figure skating site, and takes up video gaming because Yuuri lists it as his hobby

Can’t bring himself to delete the pics from the banquet

Still bothered by how old Yuuri is, but still doesn’t know why

Checks results of Japanese Nationals, only to see that Yuuri came in last place

Deals with crushing disappointment by playing video games and avoiding articles about how Yuuri might retire

A TRIP TO JAPAN (Episode 2)

Sees video of Yuuri skating Viktor’s “Stay Close to Me” routine. It’s not perfect, but he’s landing his jumps and the step sequence is just as fantastic as expected. (What the hell. If he can skate like this, why didn’t he do better at the GPF?)

Finds out Viktor left to coach Yuuri, and feels a strange sense of jealousy. Wasn’t Viktor supposed to choreograph his senior debut short program? That’s right. That’s all he’s jealous of.

Stalks Viktor’s social media until Viktor tags the location (#ninja, Hasetsu Castle), then takes the first flight to Hasetsu

Doesn’t know where the crap Yuuri lives, but thankfully a local fisherman points him towards a building and says “Viktor”

Finally sees Yuuri, but the idiot runs right past him without looking at him. Yuri makes a point to stand out, so he’s very taken aback

Loses himself to anger (since he came all this way and Yuuri’s ignoring him) and kicks Yuuri, then blames Yuuri for it. (Gah, it’s his fault I feel this way! Whatever this feeling is…)

Calmly tells Yuuri about Viktor’s skating career, accidentally reveals his true thoughts. He knows he can surprise people because people have been underestimating him all his life.

Reminds Viktor about his promise. Viktor proposes a battle, which quickly becomes “Onsen on Ice.” Since Yuri wants to see Yuuri skate again, he agrees. Besides, there’s an irrational desire to get Viktor away from Yuuri. Again, he has no idea why.

Yuuri gets assigned the upbeat song. Yuri’s jealous, but he also really wants to see Yuuri skate it.

ONSEN ON ICE…VERY EROS (Episode 3)

Can’t focus on this “agape” bullshit because he doesn’t believe love exists

Even though he treated Yuuri like crap, his family has taken him in to their onsen, given him shelter, and fed him. Is it a cultural thing? Even Yuuri is being way kinder to him than he deserves…

Watches Yuuri skate like crap again. What happened to the poledancer? That was the most “eros” thing Yuri had ever seen.

Yuuri’s “eros” is katsudon (pork cutlet bowl) wtf. Suddenly has the urge to call Yuuri ‘katsudon.’ It beats the other insults, and secretly it makes him happy since it’s Yuuri’s favorite food and his “eros” apparently.

Viktor makes them stand under waterfall in white robes. Feels oddly relaxed around Yuuri, remembers his step sequence and his “Stay Close to Me” video, and then thinks of his grandpa, someone else who makes him feel relaxed.

Oh snap. Does ‘feeling relaxed’ mean ‘unconditional love’? Yuri feels it for both Yuuri and his grandpa, but he pushes away the idea of Yuuri. Grandpa is his agape. That’s it.

Yuri can see Yuuri’s entire chest through his robe. It’s oddly fascinating, so he makes himself look away. Then he sneezes. Gosh, he needs to get out of there fast.

“Where’s Viktor?” he says. “Nagahama Ramen.” Yuri grabs Yuuri’s hand. “We’re going there too!” Yuuri pulls away at his touch. “Huh?” He’s so surprised and his cheeks look a little flushed. He rushes ahead. They don’t end up going to Nagahama Ramen.

Is shocked when Yuuri very politely asks him to help him land his quad Salchow. Wait, does Yuuri see him as real competition? (He’s been expecting everyone to underestimate him because of his age. Yuuri asking for his help is oddly touching.)

Picks a sexy see-through outfit for his agape performance. It’s got a cross at the center so it fits the theme…probably.

Fails to present a perfect performance. Since Yuuri sees him as a real competitor, he wanted to prove it once and for all. He can’t even hear Viktor’s cheers.

Finally gets to see Yuuri skate again and it’s unlike anything he’s done before. It’s just so “eros.” And that step sequence. He missed a landing on a jump, but Yuri hardly notices. Oh crap. His heart is pounding. This is different than any performance he’s ever watched before. It’s making his chest clench tightly.

Sees how Viktor is looking at Yuuri, remembers the banquet, realizes that Yuuri will win this Onsen on Ice for sure. Viktor didn’t come here just because of the video. He’s got a crush on Yuuri. And for some reason, that hurts Yuri deeply.

Leaves before he can cry, almost starts to cry outside but Yuko stops him. He tells her to pass on the message that he’ll beat Yuuri one day. Run away…he tries to convince himself that’s not what he’s doing. It’s not like Viktor would let him stay anyway. No, Yuri needs to improve and then he can face Yuuri again…and it’ll give him time to figure out this strange feeling.

The whole flight back Yuri can’t sleep since his mind is filled with worries. Yuuri is 8 years older than him. Why does that still bother him? This is stupid. He shouldn’t be thinking about him, but he can’t help it. 

BACK IN RUSSIA (Episode 4)

Once back in Russia, Yuri throws himself back into practice. He needs to be better. Next time he faces Yuuri he wants Yuuri to be impressed with him. He tries not to think about it too much, but in every spin, every jump, he feels a tug at his heart, he remembers that pounding during Yuuri’s performance.

Lilia arrives and Yuri’s ready to do whatever it takes, to become someone else. He busies himself with practice, not only to become better but to distract himself. Don’t think of Yuuri. Don’t think of Yuuri. Stop saying his name. It’s ‘pig’ or ‘katsudon.’ Katsudon…eros… That performance. The banquet. Crap. Why did katsudon have to be so delicious?

Yuuko texts that Yuuri’s producing his own free skate program. Yuri’s glad he got her number. She’s his only line to Yuuri. Ever since Onsen on Ice, Yuri refuses to contact Viktor, that traitor. How cozy is he getting with Yuuri? He was soooo flirtatious. Does he really like Yuuri? Could Yuuri like him too? He’d noticed a fair amount of blushing from him. Crap. Why does he even care?

The assignments for the Grand Prix Series are announced and all Yuri can think about is whether he’ll see Yuuri or not. Will he get to compete against him? How will he face him now? But even though he’s worried, he’s excited to see Yuuri again. Especially to see him skate. Yeah, that’s all. He likes Yuuri’s skating. That doesn’t mean he likes him…or does it? But Yuri can’t deny it anymore…he’s probably liked Yuuri from the first time he saw him skate.

PART 2

[padaleckhi]

#yoiweek2017 | three → a tale of the sleeping prince option d | character development → yuri plisetsky

[floppydusk]

can we please take this moment to look at a yuri who blushes at the sight of a vulnerable yurio