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“Daaaad!” you call through his bedroom door. He must be busy polishing his pipes, flipping through the Dadly Depot catalogue, or doing some other equally fatherly activity.
“Yes, son?” calls his deep, kind voice from within his room. You slouch against the wall pulling out your phone. You check your Pesterchum as you talk to your dad.
“I forgot to tell you- Bro’s coming over. I asked him to help with Dave’s cake.”
“Ah, how kind of him,” Dad remarks. “I’m glad you’ve taken an interest in baking!” You stick out your tongue at the inaccurate comment.
“Dad, it’s his birthday. What am I gonna make him, a pizza?” His low chuckle rumbles out from behind the door, sounding closer than it was before. A moment later, the door opens revealing a smiling Dad holding his trademark fedora.
“That would certainly be a first,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, son, I have to get to the bathroom for a shower.” You step out of the hallway, but not without giving him an incredulous eyebrow raise.
“Why do you get dressed up to shower?” He laughs and sets the fedora atop his gelled hair.
“A man must always look his best. Remember that, John.” And with that cryptic response, he steps out into the hall, ruffles your hair, and stows away to the bathroom. You’re still wondering just what he means by that when your phone vibrates in your back pocket a few minutes later. It’s Bro, of course, who has texted you “knock knock cutie”. You laugh and run to the door, opening it only to be crushed in a full body hug from Bro.
“Jesus christ-!” you exclaim. He responds by taking two generous handfuls of your ass. You let out a yelp, the sound muffled by your face being shoved into Bro’s chest. “Uh, Bro?”
“Yes, Egbert?” he asks dreamily, still having a firm grip on your butt.
“You can let go now. Also, you’re kind of really sweaty. I’m uncomfortable,” you squeak. Bro slides his hands up to your back, gives you a last painful squeeze, and steps back, putting his hands in his pockets sheepishly.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Where’s your hot daddy?” You laugh and smack him on the shoulder.
“He’s showering. And don’t call him that. It’s weird!” Bro looks at you like you’re insane.
“But it’s true! Just look at him!”
“He’s my dad.”
Bro shrugs. “I’d give him a poke.” Now you’re the one who’s giving the arrant looks.
“Just come help me make this damn cake.” You beckon him with a finger and lead him into the huge kitchen.
“How do you even make a cake?” Your jaw instantly drops. How can someone who was a child prodigy be so stupid?
“Uh, eggs, sugar, flour? Have you heard of those things?” you snark, rummaging around the cupboards and fridge to get the aforementioned ingredients. Bro was silent, probably staring at your ass as you rummaged about the kitchen.
“Well, yeah. Just because you know that there are hands, wheels, and screws in a watch doesn’t mean you can build one. Unlike me,” he boasts, giving you an annoying grin and putting his hands on his hips.
“Stop giving me that face and open this flour.” You throw the sack at him which he thankfully catches and lifts over his head like a football.
“Goal!” he exclaims.
“That’s soccer, moron. Just open it.” You watch him as he unsuccessfully tries to open it with his hands, then grabs a boning knife from the block and tries to commit murder against the poor sack of flour.
“Dude!” you shout, running over to wrench the knife from his hands. “There are so, so many things wrong with what you were just doing.” He gives you The Look; where he raises an eyebrow condescendingly and waits for you to finish doing whatever is annoying him at the moment.
“Okay, this is a boning knife. For fish. Not flour bags,” you lecture. You see him take a breath and reach forward to pinch his lips closed. “Do not even make a joke about boning right now unless you want a death wish.” His eyebrow lowers, almost looking impressed. “Trying to cut something like that will break it. Also, how flabby are your arms? God damn.” He sticks out his lower lip in an attempt to be cute. It works, but will not deter you from the matter at hand. You grab the flour from his hands and open it with embarrassing ease.
“Here,” you snap, handing him the flour along with a measuring cup and mixing bowl. “Two and three-fourths into this bowl. Think you can do that?” He gives you a disparaging sneer and roughly snatches the flour from your hands, creating a small white cloud in the air between you.
“Sure thing, princess. While I’m at it, do you want me to wipe your ass too?”
“I’m sure you’d love that. And please don’t make a mess of the kitchen. My dad will kill us.” Bro drops a cup of flour into the bowl with a dreamy smile on his face.
“Mm, I’d love to see him mad. I bet it’s sexy.” You sigh sadly, drop more dry ingredients into his bowl, and stick in a spoon. “Stir.” He thankfully does what he’s told as you mix the wet ingredients. It’s delightfully quiet for about thirty seconds until he starts talking again.
“Hey John.”
“Yeah?” you ask, not even looking up from your bowl.
“Where do you think we go when we die?” You drop your whisk into the bowl and stare at him, trying to replicate his Look. You can feel that it’s not working and pick up your whisk again.
“I don’t know, Bro. Where do you think we go when we die?” you ask with all the false patience of a kindergarten teacher.
“Candyland,” he says, still retaining the stoic facade. You raise your eyebrows and stare at him, stirring slowly.
“Why are you like this?”
“Like what? Handsome and charming? I don’t know, John, why are you annoying yet really fucking adorable?” You roll your eyes.
“I don’t know either. Still trying to figure that one out.”
He snorts and holds out his bowl.
“Think these are all mixed now, though I can’t really tell, with everything you gave me being the same color and texture.”
“Granulated sugar and flour are not the same texture at all. Or the same color! What is wrong with you?”
“All looks white and powdery to me,” Bro concludes.
“Whatever. Now we have to mix the wet and the dry,” you say, grabbing his bowl and slowly folding it into the wet ingredients with a rubber spatula.
“I wanna mix your wet with my dry. Or vice versa; I’m not picky.” You give him a smirk filled with contempt and quickly finish the job, putting the empty bowl into the sink and turning back to Bro with crossed arms. He deftly sticks a finger into the cake batter and wipes a sticky orange streak across your nose, all the while cackling wildly.
“Oh my god, you’re so cute!” he exclaims. Without thinking, you dip your hand into the mixture and wipe a huge smear onto the front of his white polo. “It is on like fucking Donkey Kong.” He snatches the bowl from your hands and does some freakish ninja jump onto the kitchen island, holding the batter high above his head. You grin wickedly and stick a finger under his armpit. You’re glad you guessed his weak spot correctly, because he reflexively drops his arms with a giggle and causes batter to splash out onto his jeans.
“Oh goodness golly gracious, now my pants are dirty. Guess I’ll have to take them off.” He sets down the bowl behind him and starts to undo his belt, sighing like he has no choice.
“Bro! My dad is in the house!” you exclaim, hands flying to his.
“Doesn’t he take, like, famously long showers? Even though it probably doesn’t take much for him to look good.” You roll your eyes and pull your hands away.
“Fine. I’ll suck your dick, but only a little.” Bro whines and wiggles his butt against the counter. Fuck him, you just cleaned those.
“Can’t I suck yours?” he implores. You roll your eyes again, damn you’re getting good at that. Champion eye roller. Your baby blues are the highest in the world. Wait. What’s happening? Oh yeah; dick sucking.
“Fine. Just… do it quietly.” He hops off the counter and in turn, picks you up and sets you on it. You sigh and tug down your pants, revealing surprisingly bright orange boxers. “Was gonna save those for later, but you were so damn eager.” Bro gave a wolfish grin and went straight for the kill. He rubs at your crotch a bit, eyebrows knit.
“You’re not even half mast!” he exclaims.
“Yeah. Baking doesn’t really get me going these days, Broderick.” He hums as he slides his hand into your boxers, his hand freezing against your cock.
“Christ-” you say through gritted teeth. “You have incredibly poor circulation.”
“Don’t mock me when I’m going to suck your dick, dude. That’s impolite.” He pulls off his glasses and hat and looks up at you with those heavy-lidded amber eyes, and jesus, okay. Now you’re getting hard. “Mm, there we go. There’s the lil guy. Here he comes.” You gape at him and slap his hands away from your junk.
“What the hell! It’s not little!” Bro smirks and rips your underwear down your thighs.
“It was a joke, god. Now lemme get my mouth on that sausage scepter.” You curl your lip and put your hands on his broad shoulders.
“Fine.” He winks and your dick twitches. God damn him and his hotness. He toys with your cock a little more, getting you about half hard, before closing his wet lips around the head. You hiss as he works his way down your shaft, using his hands to gently squeeze your balls. All too soon, he slides his mouth off your cock and makes a comically puzzled face. “What the fuck is wrong now?”
“It needs something,” he says, reaching behind you for god knows what.
“It’s a fucking dick, what else could it-” Before you finish your sentence, he slaps something wet and cold onto your cock. “Did you just put fucking cake batter… on my dick?” Bro scoffs and waves the question off.
“Yeah. What, you don’t like foodplay? It’ll be great, you’ll see.” You ball your hands into fists as he starts to smear the batter all over your shaft. It feels… weird. Not bad, but weird. It feels better when he flicks his tongue around the beads of precome and pumpkin batter on the head of your cock, looking up at you with those fucking eyes again. He pulls off almost immediately and you swear on your father’s life that you’re going to kill him.
“It’s still not right, man.” You dig your teeth into your bottom lip and stare daggers at him.
“I think it’s fine.” He shakes his head and crosses to the other side of the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets. You hear him let out a giggle and your blood runs cold.
“Poooour some sugar on me,” he sings as he literally pours orange crystal sugar all over your dick. You cannot believe this. But, you’re fine with it, as long as he goes back to sucking your dick. Which, thankfully, he does. He swallows you down to the hilt, the sugar scraping against your shaft making for quite an interesting feeling. As he moves his mouth up and down, you bury your hands in his oddly textured hair, pulling lightly. You let out a soft moan and he laughs, teeth scraping against the head of your cock. You hiss and tighten your hands in his hair.
“Watch the hair, dude,” he says, voice muffled by the dick in his mouth.
“Watch the teeth!” you exclaim. He scoffs and gives your dick a firm squeeze, winking at you. Ugh. Fuck him. Right in his hot, tight, muscled ass. Wait, why were you mad, again?
He completely takes his mouth off of you and opts for his hands instead. You whine and keen as he swirls his thumb around the head, other hand still playing with your balls.
“I’m close, dude,” you breathe, hands shooting behind you to hold yourself up. You manage to graze the bowl of cake batter and knock it off the counter, causing it to spill all over the floor, and Bro. He winces and shakes his head.
“Let’s ignore that until you shoot your load, mm?” You nod and bite your lip. Bro snaps his head to the side, hands suddenly freezing. He shakes his head again and pumps your cock faster than before, quite obviously aiming it at his face. But you’re not paying attention to any of that, just writhing under him as he gets you off. Seconds later you’re seeing white and your head lolls back, letting your orgasm take over. You moan loudly as your legs shake, your cum shooting out in hot bursts that hit Bro’s face. He slowly licks up your shaft, gathering up any of the cum that dribbled down the side. He wipes his mouth and ruffles your hair.
“Bro!” you exclaim, smacking his hands away. He smirks.
“Dork.” You look down and give him your own smirk, pointing at his jeans.
“Did you seriously cum in your pants? I think you’re the dork here.” He reddens and covers his crotch with his hands.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“It’s okay, Bro. It’s okay to have the libido of a twelve year old hormonal teen boy. That’s alright.” You push his chest lightly and he pushes you right back, making you fall back on the counter. “Fuck you. I’m staying here, it’s comfy.” There’s a noise behind you, like someone is clearing their throat, and your heart jumps to the pit of your stomach. You and Bro turn around at the same time with twin grimaces, seeing you Dad standing at the front of the kitchen wrapped in a towel, mouth agape.
“Boys! What in the world are you doing in here?” he exclaims. You and Bro look at each other, horrified and dumbstruck.
“We, uh-”
“I just-” He runs into the kitchen past you both, kneeling on the floor next to where you dropped the bowl.
“All this perfectly good cake batter, wasted! I can’t believe this!” he exclaims, staring at the floor and thankfully not your now flaccid dick.
“I’m sorry! Uh…” you start, but he cuts you off with a wave of his hand.
“Just. You boys get out. I’ll clean this up.”
“Sure, dad!” you eke out, hopping off the counter with your tail between your legs. By tail, of course, you mean your dick. Bro follows you into your room, closing the door behind you and letting out a huge sigh.
“What. The fuck. Just happened,” you gasp, flopping down on your bed.
“No fucking idea,” Bro admits. “But we should do that again sometime.” He grins and you swear an anime streak of light goes across his shades.
“Fuck you.”