An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Rating: Explicit
Ship: Bro/Dave
Summary:
“Dude, can you stop taking the a-pops for once?”
Bro glares at him. “A-pop?”
“Shorthand for apple-pop cause it's—hey, don’t change the subject!” Dave huffs indignantly. “Quit taking them!”
OR! Carrie Underwood's ascension to a deific status
another day, another ‘lime posts a full wip b/c they’re not actually sure they’re ever gonna finish it.’ this one is actually based on someone else’s fic--i asked permission to write an alternative to the 3rd chapter because my alpha dave scale was out of whack. for every alpha dave i read and write who’s a terrible person, there must also be a decent one, u see. the fic is noncon and u should check it out because it’s good!! this wip, however, is not noncon exactly, though it does address it.
once again putting the nsfw tag on this puppy b/c there’s no actual sex but it is heavily discussed etc etc etc
please enjoy!
==>
Your name is Davis fucking Strider and you rule the indie movie scene. And the club scene. And whatever scene you feel like sliding into.
You’re looking for a lay, but when are you ever not? If there’s anything you’re known for that isn’t goddamn perfect cinematic shots, it’s being a rampant, unrepentant horndog. Also an occasional coke addict, but shh. You don’t have a problem. Everyone else has a problem.
The point is, you own this club. Not literally, but this place is your fucking bitch. You’ve been here a thousand times and you’ll probably be here a thousand more, and this time you know what you want. Some of your friends have been talking about some sweet young thing that’s been bar-hopping, getting super fucked up and generally going with the goddamn flow. Hot, young, blonde, a total babe--you know, your usual MO.
One of your pals points him out, there, drinking at the bar. He knocks back a shot while you watch, and you’re maybe kinda fucked up yourself, but his silhouette is familiar. Maybe you’ve fucked him before? Hard to say. You’ve slept your way through half this city and it’s a wonder you don’t have a hundred thousand STDs and a crab cinched around your dick.
You make your way over to him while he takes another shot. Hot diggity shit, he’s really going at it. When you get close enough some sorta deja vu hits you like a truck and when you slide your hand along his back you realize you know these shoulders. You know this hair. It’s styled differently than usual--not quite so sharp. Softer. Looks nice on him.
But this is your brother, and he spares you a glance and then doubletakes. Blinks hard. “...Bro?”
“Dirk, the fuck are you doing out here?” you say, nailing your brotherly greeting like the excellent family member you are. Your hand still lingers on his shoulder, and you draw it back when you realize. He’s skunk-drunk and reeks like vodka.
He also doesn’t answer for a while, mulling over his words with exaggerated consideration. “I’m drinking, chucklefuck,” Dirk says, and he only slurs a little. You’re almost proud.
“Yeah, I fuckin’ see that, numbnuts. Last I checked you were too young to drink.”
“Last I checked you got boozed up on our birthday and celebrated with some stupid floozy instead of me, so eat my ass, bro.”
Yeowch. That stings. “To be fair, she was hot as shit and leaving the country the next day. That accent? Right to my dick, dude.”
He scoffs and signals for another drink. You nab his hand and shoo off the bartender before she can get him one. To that he growls and turns to look at you with the surliest fucking expression. “The fuck, Davis?”
You do your best impression of the shrug emoji. “Can’t let you drink yourself to an early grave, lil’ dude. C’mon.” He doesn’t move when you make like it’s time to leave, so you hook a hand under his arm and start tugging him away.
Dirk grumbles but lets himself be dragged. Him being so compliant and malleable is weird as shit, but then again, you’ve never seen him drunk, and you’re hardly home nowadays. Lots of shit needs to get done in production, and you’re crashing on other peoples’ couches as much as you are the occasional office or alleyway. Maybe he’s just like this now. Look at you go, Davis. Drove your brother to early onset alcoholism. Nice fucking going.
He comes along while you say bye to your friends because you’re not a fucking animal, you can say goodnight to them before you fuck off. They laugh at you and give you knowing looks and all that shit, but you just roll your eyes. Not that they can see it, but you telegraph it pretty well.
When you hoist him into the taxi you called to get out of this joint, he looks more sulky than anything.
“Is this some sort of ploy for attention? Is that what’s going on here? Cuz Dirk, you could’ve shot me a text or somethin’. You don’t need to get smashed and join a sheltered suburban mom’s first orgy or whatever the fuck you were doing. Heard you were getting into some pretty fucked up shit, dude, like. When you start getting a reputation that shit’s serious. You shouldn’t be out drinkin’.”
“That,” Dirk starts, with emphasis, “is the most hypocritical horseshit I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”
…Well, he’s not wrong.
“Yeah, okay,” you agree, after a moment of quiet. “But still. I’m, like, twenty years older than you. My slut reputation is timely and well-obtained. You should just be a baby slut, not the talk of the town. And also using condoms and the pill. Are you on the pill? We should get you on the pill.”
Dirk looks at you like you’re stupid. “You’re five years too late to give me the safe sex talk, bro. Can’t you just leave me alone?”
“Not if you get herpes cuz some guy fucked you in the bathroom stall with pus and blood all up on his dick--”
“Gross.”
“--seriously, no way. You wanted my attention? Congrats, baby, you got it.”
“Don’t call me baby, it’s fucking creepy.” His lip has pulled up, but he looks out the window instead of at you. “I’m not your baby.”
You consider this and summarily dismiss it, in part because you’re a dick and in part because it’s patently untrue. “Yeah, no, you’re absolutely my baby.” You reach over and poke him in the side. “I raised you, fucker. Held you in my arms. Changed your diapers. Absolutely my baby.”
He smacks at your hand, still without looking at you. “Once again: eat my entire asshole.”
“Only if you take me on a date first.” You’re grinning, but his expression only gets darker and grumblier. His cheeks are flushed with alcohol, but you think they’ve darkened further. Dirk’s never been one to get embarrassed by a little dirty talk--you know, the normal kind, not the bedroom kind, you’ve never given Dirk the bedroom kind, but. The way he’s hunching in on himself, drunk and maybe flustered, makes you wonder if maybe you should have.
Woo boy, that’s the most fucked up thing you’ve thought all day, and you thought about Nic Cage’s saggy ball sack earlier. Purely for filmography reasons, of course. Looking at Dirk now that the idea’s in your head, though, you have to remember how he’s exactly your type. Cute blonde snarky twink? God, have you been lusting after your baby brother all your life?
You shouldn’t be thinking about that, but you’re kinda fucked up drugs-wise and when the cab driver drops you both off at your place, you pull Dirk maybe closer than you should. You’re just supporting him. It’s no big deal. He’s drunk as fuck.
You practically have to drag him up into your apartment, and then it’s just a matter of dumping him into his bed. You do it, as any brother would, by just fuckin’ dropping him onto it, and he grunts like he might kill you for your indiscretions. “Fuck you,” he says without much bite.
“Maybe later,” you say, and start unlacing his shoes. He kicks at you until he realizes what you’re doing, and then he just kind of turns into dead weight. Off come his hightops, and you chuck them into the corner before flopping in bed next to him.
You then remember you’re still wearing your own shoes, so you start kicking them off in the least coordinated way possible. Dirk turns his head to, again, look at you like you’re stupid. “The fuck are you doing?” he slurs at you.
“Gettin’ ready for bed,” you tell him, finally getting your right shoe off. Nailed it. The other follows shortly after. You unzip your pants too, for good measure, and start to wiggle out of them. “Y’know, we used to sleep in the same bed all the time. Back before I made it big, you know. When you were like five? You were just the cutest little kid, Dirk, you never stopped fuckin’... takin’ things apart. That poor toaster.”
“That toaster got what was coming,” he says, and you’ve softened him up some. His voice is less angry drunken sailor, more vaguely fond and reminiscent.
“You remember way back then, huh?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
You toss your shades on the nightstand and then roll onto your side to look at him, at the softness of his face and the fluff of his unstyled hair. You kinda wanna touch it. “I don’t know, man. You were so little. Fuck if I know what happened when I was five.”
“You’re also an old man.” He turns his head to look at you too, and his expression is more familiar to you now. That sort of invitation to be in on the joke that you both used to share with each other. Striders, together, on the same team. The way it used to be.
“I’m fuckin’ forty, you jerk.”
“Ancient.”
“Ex-fucking-scuse you.”
“I can hear your bones creaking right now,” he drawls, and yeah. That’s a little smile on his face. Success. You’ve done well.
“Fuck you,” you say without a lick of seriousness.
He looks smug when he echoes, “Maybe later.”
You snort and throw your arm over him. “Shut the fuck up, Dirk, you’re such a little smartass. I swear to god, someone’s gonna give you what for one of these days.”
“Sure.” He sounds like someone who’s already gotten what for. You remember what folks told you about him, about how he got fucked through bars and bars and bars, and something twists in your gut. Something jealous, something angry. He’s your little brother, and you know what happens to folks who get too drunk at clubs alone. You wonder what they did to him. You wonder if he wanted it. Part of you hopes he did, because the idea of someone raping Dirk makes you fucking furious, but part of you hopes he didn’t, because he should save wanting it for someone--
Special?
Someone like you?
Yeah, you’re hot shit. You know that. But you don’t think you’re hot enough shit for someone to save their virginity for, and especially not Dirk. Your baby brother. The kid you took care of for years until the fame kicked in and you just kept leaving.
Fuck, you’re a shitty brother.
“Hey,” you say, a little softer. Dirk makes an ‘mm?’ noise, half-asleep already. Last you remember, he was a massive insomniac. More points for drinking, you guess. “Those people you fucked. Did you want it? Heard some pretty fucked up shit, kiddo.”
He looks at you with his amber eyes, his mouth pursing into a thin line. After a while, he says, “Yeah. Yeah, I wanted it.”
You don’t know if you believe him.
You definitely know you shouldn’t rest your hand on his cheek, because one, that’s a stupid movie cliche that feels awkward in real life, and two, because he’s your brother. But he’s <i>your</i> brother. “Dirk,” you mumble back. He’s still, now, watching you from under pale eyelashes. “Were you really doing it for attention?”
He doesn’t answer for a while, staring at you like he’s trying to piece together some great puzzle. You’re not sure there’s a puzzle to put together. You’re not sure there ever has been.
“...Yeah,” he finally says, so you kiss him.
Dirk doesn’t really kiss back, but he doesn’t seem super surprised. He doesn’t freeze up, or try to hit you, or shove you away. He sighs into your mouth and doesn’t do much of anything. You pull away after a few seconds and he’s still just watching you, blinking slowly.
“Is that what you wanted?” you ask.
He keeps blinking like the answer’s swimming somewhere in his eyes and he needs to clear it away. When he realizes you’re not gonna do anything till he responds, he murmurs, “I don’t know.”
You don’t know either, but you kiss him again. His mouth tastes like vodka, like warm and wet, and he’s so… compliant. His hand comes up, but he doesn’t really do anything with it--it just hovers over your shoulder for a bit before falling back down. You kiss him again, and then again, and then along his jaw. When he still barely moves, you break off and watch him as intently as he’s watching you.
“Dirk,” you say, “if you don’t want this, you gotta tell me. I couldn’t live with myself if you got fucked up over this.”
Dirk, drunk, maybe lost, a creature in wait, just looks at you.
Your heart twists along with your gut. “Dirk, c’mon.”
He looks at you and then shuts his eyes, sighing. You get the feeling this isn’t really what he wants at all. This isn’t what he’s used to. He says, “I never thought I’d have to accuse you of being too nice, Davis.”
“Eat my entire ass,” you have to say back. You just have to. “You’re my baby and I love you. I’m not always nice but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be okay, dumbshit.”
“This isn’t how this is supposed to go,” Dirk tells you, and sounds vaguely frustrated about it. “You’re supposed to pin me down and tell me stupid shit about how I’m a slut and a whore and I’ve been asking for it since I was five and then you’re supposed to shove your dick in me and it’s supposed to hurt. You’re fucking it up, bro.”
Right, yeah. That’s definitely your heart twisting now. “Is that what you’re into?”
“Sure, yeah. Fucking hell, dude, just do it.”
You frown at him. “...No, I don’t think I will.”
He groans, frustrated, and flumps away from you. You, predictably, keep your arm around him and snuggle up close into his back. “Seriously, if you’re actually into rape kink I’ll fuck around with it for you, but Jesus Christ, Dirk. Have you even tried anything else? I cannot stress enough how not okay you seem right now. Like, has anyone sat you down and told you how drop dead gorgeous you are? Have you ever topped? Fucked while you weren’t drunk? Be real with me.”
Dirk, sounding for all the world like you’ve just actually started giving him the safe sex talk and that he would rather be anywhere else, says, “Forget it, man, don’t worry about it. I don’t want to fuck if you’re gonna be like this.”
“So you did want to fuck.” You grin in your epic gotcha moment and then remember you’re talking about banging your brother and promptly feel kind of weird about it. Not weird enough to stop, though.
“Ugh. Yeah, fine. Sure. I wanted to fuck.”
“See, was that so hard?” You kiss the back of his neck, feel him shiver, and wonder if you’re getting somewhere here. “We could do so many things, Dirk. You just gotta tell me about ‘em. I could call you a slut, or the most beautiful guy in the world, or! Fuck it, both. We love mixing metaphors here. You could fuck me so hard I can’t talk straight and you’ll finally get me to shut my mouth for more than ten seconds.” Beat. “Maybe.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Traditions: It’s Dave’s thirteenth birthday and, as is tradition, Bro’s upped the ante in his gift-giving skills. Last year he’d given the kid the most expensive turntables on the market, this year is different. This year addresses Dave’s ascent into manhood and teenagerdom. There’s only one suitable gift for such an important transition in life: sex. Not just any sex, but the best sex of his young life. That’s hardly difficult with nothing to compare it to, but Bro wants to ruin Dave. He wants Dave to chase the high of it for the rest of his life.
Who better to show him the ropes than Bro himself?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Homestuck Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dirk’s Bro | Alpha Dave Strider/Dirk Strider Characters: Dirk Strider, Dirk’s Bro | Alpha Dave Strider Additional Tags: Ambiguous Age, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Coaching, Sex Tapes, Sex Toys, Sibling Incest, kind of, Implied/Referenced Underage Summary: Stridercest Week Day 1: Discovery Dirk’s Bro left him with boxes of items and VHS tapes for various stages of his life. One day as a young adult, he unearths a hidden box aimed at helping him through puberty, including a taped demonstration. It’s clear that Dirk’s Bro decided maybe Dirk shouldn’t find this one after all.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Dreams: Alpha Dave wakes in the middle of the night to find Dirk straddling his hips, up to things no child his age should even be aware of, much less participating in.
I actually wrote this yesterday without realizing that Stridercest week was ongoing, but coincidentally it fits into today's theme perfectly! I started an account on Tumblr just to post this in the hopes of making friends. Please feel free to send an ask my way if you'd like to inspire similar content.
it’s FREE DAY and while i seem to have misplaced my ability to write (pensive emoji) i do have some wips i can post snippets of, so here! have half a fic that is based on my demonstuck series. it’s a non canon splinter where david is more of an asshole than expected and dave bears the brunt of it. noncon ahead, beware all ye who enter here. there’s not like. Full Sex because it’s not finished, but i feel it probably warrants that nsfw tag
==>
His hands are hot and insistent, unrelenting even as you push at him and try to squirm your way out of this goddamn mess of a situation. You don’t even know how you got here--you only know that he, the you-not-you, must fucking hate you. When he talks he sounds like you, for the most part, except when the cruelty shines through and you wonder if you’ve ever sounded like that.
“Get the fuck off,” you snap, but he doesn’t.
Despite your kicking, David - and yeah, you really have to call him that, don’t you - doesn’t get the fuck off. His shitty smile suggests that you’re hilarious for even trying to bring that option to the table. It’s insufferable, because he doesn’t even hurt you when you’re trying your damnedest to throw him.
“Nah,” he tells you, all amused. “This is free real estate, dude. I like my odds here. Thinking of takin’ up residence, makin’ myself of a good ole fashioned home. Not like you’ve got a whole lot else goin’ on.”
He kisses just on the side of your jaw and laughs softly when you swear at him, which. Kinda gay of you, but a breathy laugh near your ear makes you feel things you probably shouldn’t, which means you redouble your efforts and get absolutely nowhere.
“Can’t believe I’m modeled after something like you. You’re gonna grow up hot, jsyk,” how the fuck does he enunciate that, “but I guess I could call you cute and get away with it. Like Barbie doll cute, not Ken doll cute. Not that anyone actually thinks Ken is cute, cuz c’mon. Those plastic abs just don’t hold up.”
Part of you wants to engage in this conversation because it’s the sort of bullshit you love to riff off of, but most of you is panicking because he’s holding you down, he’s not letting you go, he’s nuzzling at your neck like baby’s sweetest prom date like ‘yes brad i’ll love you forever, i got my promise ring on and everything’. You try to whack him with your chin and he doesn’t even flinch. The sound you make when he starts kissing your throat could be most adequately described as a snarl.
“Don’t be like that, baby,” he says, so maybe Brad isn’t the best boyfriend so much as that skeezy eighteen year old worming his way into Jessica’s panties through peer pressure or whatever. It’s infuriating, and then it’s terrifying, because there’s too much weight on you and your arms are pinned on the bed and it reminds you of a dream you had once--
You bite his lip when he dips in for another one of those deceptively soft kisses and he isn’t angry. He laughs as a drip of hot blood lands on your face.
“Y’know, I’m gettin’ the feeling that you’re not really into this,” David says, as though you haven’t been making that explicitly clear with all your struggling and spitting.
“No shit he finally picks up on some social cues, give him a round of applause.” Your voice comes out caustic in a way that reminds you more of a certain angry friend you have than yourself, but you absolutely can’t think of him right now or you’re gonna be sick.
“I can change it up a little,” he continues, amused and faux-thoughtful. “Give it to you like your big bro likes it. I’m a flexible guy.”
You catch ‘big bro’ and you brain short-circuits because oh. Oh god in heaven (or satan in hell), this is your bro’s goddamn personal demon and they fucked. Of course they fucked. You knew that on some level as soon as you saw them in proximity, in the way they shoot the shit and the way they touch, but the bald confirmation of it punches you in the gut.
Not just the confirmation, but the idea that any version of you - anyone that looks even a little bit like you - anyone at fucking all - could do this to him? Hold him down? Fuck him up? Pull him apart?
What would that even look like?
You don’t realize you’ve gone slack until David laughs again, and it could almost be friendly. You know it isn’t, but if you shut your eyes you can imagine--you don’t know. You and Rose just hanging out. Stupid banter. Your own laugh when she catches you off guard.
But this is not that, and David looks you in the face with the cruel twist to his smile, even as his hand comes up to cradle your cheek.
“Maybe I’ll show you some time.”
When he kisses you again you’re mortified at how much of the fight has gone out of you. This isn’t how you were raised. Thinking about how you were raised only drags you deeper down the thought spiral, though, Bro’s imposing figure and the thought of it laid low. Laid bare. Your shoulders are shaking.
