Author's note: for @microcest prompt 107: didn't see/hear you come in.
Shorter one this time! Just wanted to write something about them hehe ^^
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Neteyam walks silently, coming back from a successful hunt. He sighs softly, rolling his shoulders. The rest of his family was busy, so he dragged his hunt to their marui, setting it outside. His ears perk up at the sound of soft groans.
Neteyam furrows his brows, ears moving to catch the sound. It's coming from inside the marui. He turns to enter it, his steps slow.
When he looks inside, he sees his baby brother in his hammock, pumping his dick in his fist.
His brother moans softly. His eyes are shut in pleasure, his hips twitching and his back arching slightly.
Neteyam feels his face warm up, eyes going wide.
He should leave.
Lo'ak whimpers his name, leaving him frozen.
"Neteyam...teyam please...don't stop, please––" his breath hitches, hips bucking as he moans again.
oh...
Neteyam smiles, a lopsided smirk growing on his face. He quietly sets his bow down. He watches Lo'ak whine and pant, bucking his hips. He;s getting close, Neteyam can tell.
He slowly creeps up to Lo'ak's hammock.
Lo'ak moans, throwing his head back as he moves his hand faster.
"Tey––Tey, oh eywa." he whispers, whining. His hips stutter and soon enough he cums all over himself.
His breathes heavily, panting.
Neteyam chuckles, hovering over Lo'ak.
Lo'ak gasps, eyes opening to see someone, his eyes getting wide when he realizes it's Neteyam. He sits up, ears pinning back as he goes purple.
"Neteyam! I'm sorry, I didn't hear you––" he says, his breaths panicked.
"It's okay, baby bro." He chuckles again. Lo'ak turns his face away, curling up his body.
"You fantasize about me. That's alright." He leans closer, setting a hand on Lo'ak's knee before sliding down his thigh.
"You're getting ahead of yourself," Neteyam says, continuing his slow strokes.
"M'sorry…" Lo'ak mumbles, taking a hitching breath. Neteyam glances up at Lo'ak when he hears his voice. He sees that cute little pout on his lips, and those big, pleading eyes looking up at him. He looks so much like a child, so much like how he looked the first time they did this.
---
Age gap netelo for Springcest 2026
@macrocest
I went for the top row for the yellow time card
They grow up so fast | Deadline | Forever
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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.
