HOME    STORIES    LINKS   INFO

Title: Blush Response  Author: Delamore Pairing: NB/KD Rating: NC-17 for incest   Kelly smiles lazily, lips closed, his hand working in Nicky’s lap, almost casually. Except for the aching deliberateness of it. The skimming handjob without real contact. Nicky tries not to squirm, but his heart is thudding and his hips just want to move, and there’s this loose fire, like wine and lust, stirring in his belly, flushing his neck. People are watching, he knows people are watching. “Kel, stop.” “You know what I think,” Kelly responds and it’s entirely rhetorical, as his hand continues to rock and slide. “Think you're a tease--fuck, Kelly, stop." “I think you want me,” Licks his red lips thoughtfully, runs the free hand through his hair, as if considering, “to fuck you.” And Nicky thinks, no, yes, dear God, yes “Right here.” A predatory smile appears on Kelly’s shining face. “I could just… pull your stupid jeans off, bend you over this table. Take you in the back of this fancy restaurant.” “My jeans are not—“ “Or, the bathroom. Better that way.” He continues, pulling down the zipper. Slipping inside like a thief, searching out the secret of Nicky’s skin. And now Nick squirms, his hips pushing against Kelly’s warm hand, rocking in short, desperate thrusts. He realizes he’s making little snorting sounds. Swallows heavily to quiet them, taste of salt in his mouth. He watches Kel with wide eyes, then looks down at himself. Watches the dance of Kelly's hand, jerking him off under the table. People can see this, people are whispering. He tries to swallow again, finds nothing but desert. His skin prickles with imagined stares. "Kelly, stop." "Make me." Movement to his left stops his heart, and he looks up in panic. "Anything else, sirs? More water?" Waiter, holding a silver pitcher. Impatient expression skewing his dark features. Name-tag declares him "Marc" and so he shall be. "Uh, what?" Nick slides his hips under the tablecloth, one leg spasming for no reason, kicking out and knocking the table. Kelly chimes in with helpful snickers, smiling at a private joke. Hand slip-slides, running up and back down Nick's cock. An almost painful scrape of fingers rattles Nicky out of his seat. He grabs the table edge, holds on for dear life. Then, looking up at the waiter, he opens his mouth to speak, but giggles dumbly instead. "Sir?" Gives him something approximating the evil eye. "No. No. No wa--water. Water." Try that again. "No, thanks." Kelly swipes the head of his cock, smooths out the juice and sets in with renewed vigor. Going for the finish line. Nick realizes that he's humping into the handjob at the same time he realizes the waiter's still there. "Ready for the check, sirs?" "Yeah, sure. Shit. Sorry." He slides further under the table, scratches at his neck. Kelly's unoccupied hand plays with the rolls still left in the basket. Evil, Evil Bastard. "Alright." And Marc the waiter departs, without running and screaming. Good sign. "You asshole, stop--Fuck." Nick bears down on the table, stares at the woman seated a few yards away, who is chewing her food like cud. He tries to back down, resolved not to come in his pants in this fucking restaurant. Then Kelly's warm tongue crooks in his ear, bites hard on the earlobe, and he comes anyway. Slaps a hand over his mouth, bucks madly against the Evil Bastard Hand, shooting with the awkward energy of a teenager. When he can focus again, the cow-woman is looking at him with a spark of recognition, stalks of asparagus dangling from her mouth. He gives her a wild-eyed glance, then turns to his brother. Shoves him away so that Kelly's chair tips precariously. That gets a few questioning looks. "What? You said you liked to experiment, man." Kelly sounds much too delighted for all this. "I was talking about my wardrobe, dickhead." Nick tries to re-zip his pants with the little dignity he has left. Stopped by the Bastard Hand, reaching back in, startling Nicky with a quick squeeze. He almost jumps clear out of his skin. Instead, he slaps at Kelly and gives him a one-finger salute. "Probably isn't the time to mention this, but I don’t have my wallet." Kelly bats his eyelashes like a kittenish starlet. "Get the check, bro?" There are countless ways in which Kelly will pay for this. "I'm going to kick your ass. And then I'm going to fuck you, hard, up the ass. Bro." After he says this, he knows the waiter has returned with the check. He closes his eyes, sinking into the depths of misery. If this makes the news, his career is dead as disco. Which isn't that dead anymore, come to think of it. Still, it's just a-- "Figure of speech," he begins to explain, Marc's eyebrow raising contemptuously. "We don't actually fuck, because we're brothers." From somewhere next to him, Kelly lapses into a fit of the infamous Schultz giggles and Nick swats him without looking. Yes, there are many ways to pay Kel back and none of them involve money. But they will involve precious amounts of time and effort and possibly repeat cycles of Dionne Warwick. Celine Dion. And feather dusters.   -End