Brotherly First Times
John grunted thickly, leaning back in a chair that did not quite support his weight as it needed to. Slender and lean to the naked eye, he was not a man that should have needed a stronger chair to bear him but the fact of the matter was that his long legs kicked out under the desk too far, the wood squeaking where it had been abused for a number of years already. The chair was second hand (or third, or fourth) but it had been Donnie who had outfitted everything in the new apartment, however small and rickety it was.
He scowled, hands back behind his head, hair a little shorter than usual, though it still draped down, reaching for his shoulders. Donnie had made him go, though he was just as bad as he was for keeping up on matters like that. He wanted to look slick and well-groomed, putting on a front, but the actual doing of it was harder than many, including himself, may have realised. It was just not the way things had been, school and a life under shaky parental figures behind them now, though moving out into an apartment for just the three brothers had been the best step for all of them.
They'd manage on their own, better on their own. Yet he was the oldest and the head of the family, his small bedroom sparsely furnished with paint peeling in the corner but, well, at least it wasn't damp and mouldy. John made a face, brushing his fingers through his dark hair once again as they came up short, his body still expecting there to be more length there than there actually was. It was funny how things like that worked and he wouldn't stop looking over his shoulder or even ahead of him too for the shadows that lurked, nipping at his heels.
No. He closed his hand into the fist, staring at the computer screen before him, a blocky, old thing, until it blurred, but not with tears. He wasn't one for that and had never been one for that, so it would not come to be yet again. It was not the way he worked and he grunted thickly, turning his face from the dank, grey light of midday streaming through the window, although there was no one on the other side that could have borne witness to what he so forlornly tried to lock away.
Maybe it would change him, one day. Maybe it would become him, one day. Maybe it would overcome him, one day.
Who was really to know?
There was only so much that a man could do, however, the squeak of the computer chair wheels grating against his eardrums. The smallest noise, sometimes, tap-danced on his nerves and his fingers drummed on the desk, stopping and starting, needing to relieve something, a tight muscle, and yet other parts of his body simply not being able to take the noise. What was wrong with him? Why was he like that? Had he just not gotten out enough lately?
He brushed the computer mouse with his hand as he jerked it back once again, heart pounding, and the screen flickered to life, the tab with his browsing history open. He could barely remember what he'd been doing before something else, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on, had distracted him but that paled into insignificance as he shook himself, eyes raking down the list of websites. So sordid, a man may well have wanted to delete or wipe them clean but John could not bring himself to care, daring anyone to look at what he looked at, even though there was more than one site in that list that called his attention, simpering and whispering out his name like a siren clad in holy clothes.
A favourite site and a click of the mouse. John grinned faintly, something lighter returning to his soul, making it just a little bit easier to lift his head, to tilt his chin up. Even the bristle of his hair on the back of his neck did not irritate him as much as it had, his hand on his thigh, scanning the screen for what could have been an old favourite or something new, something that was carnal and coarse and would chase all manner of unwholesome thoughts from his mind...while filling it with even less wholesome thoughts. And just what else was pornography for?
A little relief...yes. Yes, he needed that. That was just what he needed. Smirking to himself, John unfastened his trousers without thinking, his digits finding the button and zip without even having to look. He'd done it enough times, masturbation being one, little solace that could be taken anywhere, though he did rather prefer to have a partner for the deed itself. It could not be helped, however, as the clunk of a computer before him ground into gear, whirring in the heat of the summer, though there was nothing there to cool it down. Donnie had gotten the tricked-up gear for the computing side and, well, it was better-placed with him, as much as John grumbled publicly. It was his little schemes, after all, that kept them going with a little money in their pockets.
Donnie would be horrified to see what he'd been looking at later but, well, that sounded like a Donnie problem to him. Freeing his shaft, still soft, he browsed aimlessly, directionlessly, much as he went through the rest of his life. That was how it had always been for him and, well, he could not say that it had not, so far, gotten him to where he was. Just where he was, however, was another question entirely but something so intimately carnal could let him, at least for a time, languish in the moment, not think about anything else, the lusts of the body coming through above all else. It was rather like taking drugs, though the crudeness of snorting lines did not mesh well with him, something that was only to come into a grander air of finesse in later years.
Like all else, corruption would come.
His hand closed on his shaft, thickening patiently while he looked for what he wanted. All men, of course, as were his inclinations, but a man like him did not have to justify just what he was into. Lazily, he clicked through to another site and another screen, hardly caring what he was watching. Something dark -- bondage? Well, the guys there looked like they were enjoying themselves...
Not his usual style but John moved from one to the other as if they were changing fashions, his life ever in rotation to new and interesting things. The power and control, smug confidence, on the 'master's' face had his heart beat racing, imagining himself in that position, a leather-bound twink on the floor beneath him. He groaned deep in the back of his throat, losing himself in a fantasy that greatly diverged from the straps and tracings at play on the screen, imagining how someone would beg for him, how he would twist his hand into their hair, pull and yank.
"Fuck yeah..."
Just an exclamation but one that surely let him know that he was on the right track, his mind wandering. Leave that for the time being: there were other videos to check out. Men in the gym, rippling with muscle -- not quite for him, not that time. Maybe if they were on the floor, sucking his dick, making him feel like the god he well and truly was? John smirked, heart lifting, chest pushing out unconsciously. Youth and boldness clad in a sense of false grandeur could lead one astray but there was no wrong path when it came to fantasies, even if he did truly, in his deepest, darkest sense of being, want to stand above all men in that manner, the one that they looked up to, the one that dominated them all without even lifting a finger.
His cock pulsed, squeezing out a glistening drop of creamy pre-cum, and he gasped, breath catching in his throat where his windpipe should have been open. Was that not what all men wanted -- that ultimate power? On the screen, the men groaned, one dark-skinned, the others white -- but what did he fucking care about that? A fuck was a fuck and he was there for the lust of it, watching them move, his eyes on the slender man who was bottoming (ah, how fucking typical was that that they'd put him on the lowest rung of the ladder even there?) and the rise of his white flesh.
Yeah... I'd do him.
