golden tickets in simple bars
The laptop fan whirred to life, cutting through the quiet air.
Roxas chewed at his lip, staring at the flash drive currently held tightly between his fingers. It was small and rather plain, only a tiny golden sticker decorating its surface. The screen booted to life, and Roxas took a shaky breath.
This was bad.
The flash drive went in with ease, a window pulling up within seconds. Blood pounded loudly in his ears, eyes focused on the single folder that loaded.
Sora_FreetimeFun_log38.
This was extremely bad.
If suspense and anticipation hadn’t corded tightly around his neck, Roxas probably would have scoffed and then been furious at the fact that Ienzo had been spying on his brother enough to get thirty-eight files worth of data. God, probably even more!
Roxas sighed. Sora always had a way of attracting oddballs. He saw his reflection on the monitor and looked away.
He was just overly concerned. That should have been a good enough reason that he traded Ienzo concert tickets for one of these USBs. After all, it was only natural for a caring brother to wonder where his dear sibling wandered off, too, right?
What were brothers for, right?
Right?
Instead of continuing to question his very pure and very reasonable actions, Roxas moved the mouse, clicking on the folder. It opened, two files loading: log38_notes and log38.mov.
He clicked on the notes, wondering if they could prepare him for what was to come.
Data-entry 38:
Sora is extremely cute in this one as well.
Roxas pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew that well-enough without some stalker’s additional, lavishly worded input. He propped his chin on his palm as he skimmed the rest of the text. It was mostly poetry about how cute Sora was and various little things that Sora did that were super endearing. Oddly, it helped relax him. It seemed just to be Ienzo’s observations on Sora’s daily habits. Nothing out of the ordinary—
—Until the last part.
Sora found himself at a loss for words. A reverse of the typical “cat-got-your tongue.”
Roxas raised an eyebrow.
I wonder what he tastes like. New objective added to list.
He paused, trying to process the line. Taste…?
Roxas frowned, tension coming back. Was Sora messing with shady people? He closed out of the notes and moved the mouse to hover over the .mov file. Was his brother getting sprawled across pool tables and in close contact with danger?
(A bit of a jump in logic, to any other person, Roxas was sure. But, he knew the kinds of crowds Sora had a habit of attracting and the types of things his brother was open to trying.
Sometimes he wished Sora wasn’t so inviting to everything. Made for less stressful evening talks.)
The mouse clicked, and a new window popped up. Roxas waited with bated breath for the video to load.
When it did, his mouth went dry, a loud cry sounding from the laptop. He scrambled to pause the video, thankful that the house was currently empty.
Staring back at him was Sora. Sora, his sweet, cute brother, was sprawled across something that was most certainly not a pool table.
He rubbed his eyes, leaning in close to make sure he was processing the still-frame correctly.
Sure enough, Sora sat with his legs draped over their professor’s face, pants thrown on the floor and knee-high socks clinging to his calves. His face was bright red, mid pant as his body bowed forward, clinging onto the man beneath him for leverage. His jacket was still on, and Roxas swallowed, never having appreciated how well it followed the dip of Sora’s waist and rested neatly above the curve of his hips.
Roxas leaned in closer, blindly reaching for his headphones.
Sora had a pair of simple panties on, Dr. Vexen’s long fingers holding the center to the side as the man ate out his brother. There was slick glistening on the professor’s chin, strands of long, golden hair clutched tightly in Sora’s hands.
With shaky hands, Roxas plugged in his headphones and pressed play again.
“D-Dr.!”
Wet slurps filled the room, Sora rocking forward, large hands on his ass and holding him down. Sora’s head rolled back, and he practically sobbed, chest labored with heavy breaths.
Roxas had to hand it to Ienzo. The quality of the video was incredible. He pressed his legs together, groaning as the pressure helped alleviate the pain of his growing problem.
“More! More More More!” Sora begged, fat tears rolling down his flushed face, rutting desperately on the professor’s face. His thighs trembled and quivered, voice breaking as the wet squelches grew louder and louder.
He noticed that there wasn’t a shirt beneath Sora’s jacket and thought back to the last time they bathed together. They had been roughhousing when Roxas fell forward and accidentally slammed against Sora’s nipples. Sora had made a weird noise, and Roxas immediately implemented a “no-more-baths-together” rule.
He swallowed hard, focusing back on the monitor. Did Sora’s jacket feel good brushing against his nipples? He ground the heel of his palm down on his erection, drinking in every one of Sora’s cries.
(He wondered if Sora would be up for roughhousing again. Roxas still had a pair of leather gloves from that band thing his friends had roped him into a while back. Surely, they could have some fun again like old times, right?)
Sora’s movements on the screen became more frantic, desperate in the stronghold of the professor. Roxas had to hand it to Dr. Vexen, for someone who appeared relatively weak, the man certainly had no trouble holding Sora in place.
A thumb moved and dipped between Sora’s folds, Roxas pressing his hand down harder, teeth tearing into his lip.
“Come for me.”
Sora’s body arched back, hips raised as his release left him violently, spraying the front of the professor’s shirt. The coat slipped further open with the movement, Roxas instantly noting the bite marks that circled Sora’s nipples. Saliva pooled in his mouth.
He wondered what they tasted like.
“That’s good, Sora,” the professor said fondly, massaging circles into Sora’s exposed skin, tongue lapping at the slick that coated the teen’s thighs, “That’s very, very good.”
Sora’s body trembled. Dr. Vexen lifted him off and laid him down like a doll. He turned and lifted one of Sora’s legs, hints of a heavy cock hanging between his legs.
“Now, don’t fall asleep on me just yet.”
Sora tilted his head and giggled.
The video cut off.
Roxas let out a shaky breath, lifting his palm. His body was practically on fire. What was that? What in God’s name was that?
Sora, who always blushed at the mere sight of a Hallmark movie kiss—
—and the Sora who boldly rode the face of one of their professors, let alone one known for being a notorious dick. God, what was that?
He blinked and groaned into his hands. God, Sora was probably riding that dick every day, seeing as how his brother was always happy after his “afternoon tutoring sessions.”
(Roxas was torn between feeling jealous of Dr. Vexen and the unspeakable urge to smash his skateboard through the man’s window.)
He closed the media player, leaning back as he tried to will the blood out of his dick, remembering a recent conversation.
“He’s gonna go searching for it somewhere, soon,” Axel said nonchalantly, handing Xion a new popsicle. “They don’t always stay pure, y’know?”
Xion took a bite of her ice cream. “Speaking from personal experience, huh?”
Fucking Axel and his stupid, accurate predictions. Roxas closed his eyes.
“He’s gonna go searching for it somewhere.”
His dick throbbed.
Roxas stared down at his pants. His hands twitched. He licked his lips, tasting the faintest hint of blood from where his teeth had sunken in.
Sora was always fond of physical touch before Roxas made it off-limits. But, if it were to help Sora, then surely it wouldn’t be so bad, right? He knew a thing or two about Sora’s academic weaknesses. Plus, it would save on Sora’s commuting expenses—if the professor wasn’t paying for them—and strengthen their bond, one that had suffered ever since they entered puberty.
Roxas could be a good, caring brother and help Sora out in a lot of ways—ways that an old man like Dr. Vexen probably couldn’t.
Sora’s giggle echoed in his head, and Roxas groaned, unzipping the front of his pants.
What were brothers for, right?