Cloud no. 9
1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real prompt, and commenting on that with your fill.)
3) Try not to get too srs business. ( Read more... )
He’d kicked Ed once, viciously, on some awful family holiday when he was too old for the humiliation, because Ed’s bony elbow was in his ribs, and he wouldn’t stop snoring. Ed hadn’t even flinched because, when it comes to sticking close to him, David’s sure Ed has skin like a rhinoceros.
All this is why he drinks more than is probably sensible, because why does he always have to be the one to sort out Ed’s problems, and Ed still hasn’t found Harriet’s coat so even if by some miracle the hotel do sort a separate room for him, Ed won’t be in it because he’ll want David’s reassurance about his job security, anyway.
Ed finds him just as the world has softened around the edges, and the alcohol in his system makes him far more sympathetic than he would have otherwise have been when Ed says,
“I can’t find it anywhere, David.”
He buys Ed a drink, tells him it’ll calm him down and do him good, and though Ed doesn’t normally touch the stuff he sips it obediently, just because he’s told him to. “I feel strange,” Ed tells him, a few glasses later, staring intently at his own fingers. “Numb.”
David laughs, though he feels the same way himself, and he gets to his feet, holds a hand out for Ed, and laughs again when they take a few steps and he has to say, “Don’t forget your jacket.”
It takes him three attempts with his room key, and he slurs Ed a story about a posh hotel he stayed in in America which only used swipe cards. Ed nods, seriously, though David doesn’t think he’s really listening, and they both collapse onto the bed as soon as the door’s shut, unsteadily.
He puts the television on because just lying there with Ed is kind of awkward, and it flickers straight to late night Channel 4, the sort of thing that would once have merited the red triangle. He turns back to Ed, to crack a joke about Mary Whitehouse he heard at the office to hide his embarrassment, but Ed’s too busy pulling the last of his clothes off and crawling under the blanket.
This is really one of those nights he’s not going to tell anyone about, David thinks, and his fingers hesitate at his own shirt buttons because he really isn’t sure both of them ought to be naked.
“Come to bed, David,” Ed whines, like just the sight of him standing is making him dizzy, and David decides it’ll be alright, because they’re only going to lie down and go to sleep, anyway. Except Ed wants to talk, incoherent prattle about anything and everything, and even as he’s doing it, David can see his dark eyes flickering between him and the television.
He should have turned it off, he thinks, but the remote is across the room, and it must be almost time for Teletext now, surely. He gives it his full attention for a moment, just to see what’s happening, and instantly wishes he hadn’t because it’s all breathy moans and dewy skin, and suddenly certain parts of him are overreacting.
And then he’s aware of other things, like the body heat he can feel pouring off Ed, and the fact his brother is so close his breath is on his ear, every time he exhales. He turns to look at Ed, to try and laugh it off, but Ed has been watching him not the screen, and his eyes are so dark David can’t look away from them.
They just stare at each other, his breathing getting shallower, and Ed’s hand strays to his stomach, daring. He starts at the touch, because it feels like electricity, and the air around them feels charged, the tension unbearable.
He wants Ed to touch him, he thinks, though he knows the idea ought to sicken him. He wants to touch his own brother.
“Don’t stop,” comes the unconvincing groan from the television, but it sends a flash of lust through him, his cock throbbing. Ed’s hand moves, his fingers trailing up across his chest, scratching, just slightly, though it feels like fire.
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Ed gasps, face screwed up like it hurts at the first tentative brush of his fingers, and he’s so hot and so hard that David wants more, and wraps his hand around him. “Oh,” Ed gasps, breathless, “Oh, yes, David,” and he takes hold of Ed’s wrist, pushes his hand down into the space between them.
He wants to kiss Ed. He wants to bite down at his full lower lip, and slick his tongue into his mouth and taste him. He can’t though, because that would be incest, and he turns his head to the side, bites down hard at his own lip, staring unseeingly at the television. Ed buries his face in the crook of his neck, breath hot and damp, raising goosebumps across his skin even as he mirrors Ed’s actions, and pushes into his palm with abandon.
Ed’s actions turn frantic a sign of how very much he likes it, and David works his thumb against the head, spreads the moisture gathering there. Ed gasps and groans in response, sucks at the skin of his neck and loosens the grip of his hand, trails it lower, until David’s shivering and helpless.
“Look at me,” Ed demands then, moving over him, supporting himself on one hand. “Come on, David.”
He can’t refuse, though he knows he should, and both his hands go to Ed’s hips, so he can push up even as he pulls Ed down against him. Ed looks wild, and he feels desperate, and he switches their positions, before Ed can drag them both down a road they can’t find their way back from.
His hand is on Ed and he forces himself to watch the screen, saying, “Touch me, Ed. Oh God, you have to touch me.” Ed does, clings to him, and drives him mad, like and unlike a million times before, and he pretends he doesn’t hear it when Ed tells him that he loves him, voice strained and hoarse, just concentrates on the feel of him hardening still further in his hand, and the way his body spasms beneath him.
David follows, helped along by the way Ed’s grip tightens, instinctively.
They lie side by side, flushed and panting, the sheets around them filthy. The film has finished, and the titles have run, and David realises that he’ll never know what it was. “It didn’t mean anything,” he whispers to Ed. “Did it?” When there’s no answer he stares at the ceiling, feeling sick. “I bet lots of brothers have done it. Don’t you think so?”
Ed burrows closer to him then, lays his head on his shoulder, and loops his arm around him. “Don’t be angry with me, David,” he says, and there’s so much anxiety in his voice that it’s comforting, because it means he doesn’t have to worry about himself, he just needs to solve Ed’s problem.
“I’m not angry,” he tells him, without thinking, holding him closer. Nobody’s going to know about it, he thinks. They were drunk; they didn’t know what they were doing. So really, he thinks, finally feeling calmer, it’s like nothing even happened.
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before Ed can drag them both down a road they can’t find their way back from.
Really liked this bit. It can be like that, in these Milicest fics, that they get rather lost in something they know they shouldn't. Ah, boys ;__;
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Glad you liked it anyway though! :D
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