Dave laid on the bed, completely nude. His prepubescent body was completely hairless, with stark tanlines on his thighs and arms, where the golden brown skin of his arms and legs, darkened by hours in the brutal Texas sun, turned suddenly to a pale, milky white. There was something unspeakably tantalizing about those tanlines to Dirk. Their crispness, the contrast of the sudden shift in skin tone.

He was lying on his stomach, his buttocks thrusting up into the air, a perfect, round mound, unblemished and hairless. It was, put simply, one helluva kicking ass. Dirk wanted to grab it, squeeze it. He wanted to feel every inch of his little brother's perfect 10-year-old body; his muscled back, his lithe form. He wanted to kiss every inch of the little boy, from his angelic face, framed with wisps of blonde hair, free from his ubiquitous shades (imitations of his elder brother's), which had fallen off on to the bed beside his sleeping form, down to his undeveloped crotch, and make him writhe in dry orgasm, his face contorting in innocent euphoria—

The alarm came suddenly. It took less than a moment for Dirk to snap to full awareness; he had always been a light sleeper. Almost instantly, though, he wished he hadn't. He had a vague sense that he had just been awoken from a dream that hadn't quite finished, that he desperately wanted to return to for the last fleeting moments of whatever fantasy he had been having. He dragged himself out of bed and turned off the alarm, mind searching blindly for the remnants of the dream.

It came back to him in the shower, like they often did. Flashes in his mind of seeing his brother laying prone, eyes shut and blonde eyelashes laying flat on his cheeks. Dirk loved that. His hair had always been the dirtiest of blondes, like someone had pissed on a brunet. Dave, though, ever since he first sprouted a few hairs, had had shockingly light hair. Dirk blinked the image of his naked brother from his eyes. He had a sudden deep guilt at remembering, a sort of slick feeling in his gut that wouldn't be washed away by the scalding water of the shower.

It wasn't the first time he'd dreamt this. It wasn't even the second, or third. It was always the same. Dave sleeping naked on painfully white sheets. Every time, Dirk had an irresistible urge to touch his baby brother, but never did. Dave's position changed often. Sometimes he'd be laying on his stomach, head turned to the side, like this time, and others he'd be curled, fetal, on his side, smooth, alabaster thigh positioned expertly to conceal his genitals. In other dreams, the dream-vision had less modesty, lying full out supine, arms splayed, legs spread, his bright pink nipples pointed at the ceiling, and his little boy dick and balls on full display. In one, he had even been erect, a little inch-or-two flagpole saluting his big bro, twitching every few seconds to beckon Dirk to fondle it, envelope it in his hand and give it the attention it begged for.

The water was cold, and Dirk was suddenly aware that his cock was painfully erect and that he had been standing there an uncomfortably long about of time, thinking about his recent, incredibly shameful subconscious fantasies. The thing was, they weren't entirely subconscious. He had always adored his little bro. Dirk was already 9 when Dave was born (in retrospect, the little tyke had probably been an accident), and since first setting shades on the pink-skinned, wailing infant, he had adopted him as his own pet. He had nurtured an obsessive caring brother routine for the past decade, and as he grew, Dave reciprocated with the most protracted form of elder brother hero worship ever seen. Dirk had lived for Dave for the past ten years, had loved him dearly and desperately. But more and more Dirk found himself thinking about how Dave would be going through puberty soon, would be a teen in a few years. He had started noticing how his body was already developing. He had started wondering how the innocent, withdrawn boy would deal with his burgeoning sexuality. He had started wondering how much Dave knew about sex. About sexuality. Had he discovered touching himself yet? Had some curious classmate shown him? Were girls' bodies starting to catch his eye? Or was it that he was realizing, as Dirk had realized at 11, that it was boys' bodies that caught his eye? And was it wrong that, on some level, Dirk hoped it was the latter?

These, ostensibly, innocent questions plagued Dirk. He wrote them off as brotherly concern. He had been left at Dave's age to discover for himself everything about sex and orientation, and he didn't want to leave Dave in the same boat. Would it be appropriate to teach the kid all about sex now? Or was it too soon? Would he treat it with the seriousness that it demanded? Probably not. Dave treated everything like a joke— not in the obnoxious way of most ten-year-olds, but in the dry, sarcastic way that he could have only learned from Dirk.

The incessant questions and thoughts about his brother's development wouldn't leave, wouldn't stop drifting in like unwanted storm clouds on a sunny day, until they permeated his mind.

Then the dreams started. Those erotic, but nonsexual, tableaux of his little bro. It was like a mold growing in his head. And it had gotten to the point that he couldn't deny it. He had the hots for his brother, big time.

"Yo! Dirk, you're taking fucking ages in there!" Dave's voice was accompanied by some light pounding on the door. He tried so hard to imitate his brother's voice; he lowered it, trying to copy Dirk's post-pubescent depth. Dirk had mastered the art of subtlety in speaking; always with a gentle air of indifference, but with just enough lilt and emotion to highlight what he was saying and indicate the degree f sincerity with which he said it. Dave's voice was an amateurish imitation, a flat, monotonous bored voice. The complete lack of cadence regardless of what he said gave the impression that Dave cared about absolutely nothing and was in some kind of constant state of mockery.

"Hey! Watch your fucking language, shitbag. You weren't raised in a fucking barn, dickweed." Dirk's reply was just snappish enough to highlight the inherent irony in his statements. He briefly considered that he was teaching Dave bad habits, but the constant air of friendly irony was too deeply ingrained in their dynamic to be dropped.

He shut the water off. He hadn't actually soaped anything up, but fuck it. His dick was no more than half-hard now, and going down. It would be best just to not think about it. He dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He opened the door to the bathroom to Dave's shaded, indifferent face. Like Dirk, he had nothing but a towel around his waist and sunglasses on his face. Against his will, Dirk found his eyes drawn down to Dave's exposed chest. Dave had always been a lean kid, and with his and Dirk's mutual interest in practicing martial arts (an interest that Dave had only developed to get even closer to Dirk) he was already gaining a muscular build.

Dirk felt himself chubbing up beneath his towel. He pushed past his little brother as quickly as possible, and tossed a quick, "It's all yours, dude" over his shoulder as he walked down the hall to his room. Dave gave a small grunt of annoyance, "Who pissed in your Bro-io's this morning, sunshine?" Dirk didn't respond, and when he got to his room, he closed the door behind him firmly.

Fuck. He couldn't even talk to Dave normally when he was horny now. It was like every time he saw his round, still-babyish face, Dirk could only imagine him lying naked in his bed. None of his visions of his brother included him though. It was as if that were some line, some boundary that not even his subconscious would cross.

Dirk heard the shower start. Dave was going to be pissed that Dirk had wasted all the hot water. He could see the kid in his mind's eye— letting the towel drop (he would be to lazy to hang it up), revealing his naked body, stepping into the cold shower and letting out and uncensored "fuck!" Dirk could see the water cascading down his form, beading and splattering and running in little rivulets down his little bro's body.

Fuck. He had to get out of the house. Dirk pulled on the first articles of clothing he could get his hands on, and grabbed his keys.

"I'm going to Roxy's, Dave! I'll see you in a few hours!" Dirk didn't wait for Dave's affirmative shout through the wall before moving from the bathroom door and running down the stairs, and exiting the house as quickly as possible.

"There's something bothering you."

"Maybe there is. I don't see what that has to do with you."

"I'm your best friend, your confidant, your— because I know you love this term— fag hag. You can trust me with anything."

"You have just guaranteed that I never confide anything in you ever, for saying that last one."

Roxy tinkered with a few knobs, and the flame on her Bunsen burner turned a sudden vibrant green. "I was saying it ironically, duh."

Dirk sat in a chair backwards, as sort of parody of what clueless adults think is a casual and approachable way of sitting for long, serious talks with their kids. He meant it as a clear statement that no such conversation would occur between himself and Roxy, as such an awkward seated position inhibits rather facilitates the exchange of meaningful conversation, and by sitting like this he was waving a big red flag that he didn't wish to have any profound discussions today. "There is a very short list, Rox, of things that aren't appropriate even in an ironic context, and the phrase "fag hag" is number 3 on it."

"I'm not going to pry, because I know that secretly you really want me to delve deeply into your psyche and demand that you tell me what's up so that you can admit it as if it were something that you didn't want to share when in reality you're dying to talk about it with someone. If you can't grow a pair and just tell me you don't deserve the Lalonde wisdom."

"Well, hey, that works well for me. Cause guess what: I actually don't want to talk about it."

Roxy poured a virulent purple fluid into a flask half-filled with an opaque brown in a way that seemed more like a pastiche of a B-movie's mad scientist than any actual chemistry. The mixture bubbled violently, but the white-haired teen was unphased. "Fine. In that case, you're going to help me with some alchemy."

"Your insistence on referring to whatever vaguely-scientific things you do in here with antiquated, antediluvian terms to give an air of mystique to them and the impression that they are somehow mystical is really actually pathetic."

"It's not an impression. My alchemy involves some very complicated majyyks. Magic is a real thing. I use it."

"Magic is fake as shit, and we both know it."

"Di-Stri, you've been my test subject for something like 4 years. You really doubt me still? Hurtful, dude."

"I believe you have an inexplicable talent for making ridiculously potent decongestants and sedatives, but I don't quite buy that you're tinkering with any sort of arcane arts here."

"Well, then. I think you'd better test out my latest brew. It's the most powerful stuff I've made, I think." She pipetted a single drop of a viscous grey substance into the flask, and a cloud of black smoke puffed out with a wumph. The cloud seemed to fall into a shape of a skull and two crossed bones before dissipating into the air. Dirk opted to pretend he hadn't seen that. Roxy continued, "And I think you'll like the results too."

She held out the mystery potion. Dirk stood, and took it from her, holding it up to the light. He was surprised at how it looked. Despite the ingredients he had seen go into it, the fluid had turned a pearly, translucent white. "Your magic bullshit looks like cum."

She took out a stainless steel thermos, and took back the flask, tipping it gently and emptying it into the thermos as she said, "That'll make it all the easier for you to guzzle down, won't it? Now, very important, do NOT— lemme say it again— DO NOT drink more than one tablespoon. At least at first. I wanna see the effects before any larger doses are taken. Also, text me the second it kicks in. I need to hear your every reaction." She screwed the spill-proof top back on the thermos.

Dirk took the container from her, "You legitimately frighten me, sometimes. Also, why give me the whole flask if I'm only supposed to drink a small amount?"

Roxy just clucked her tongue and shook her head, as if asked the stupidest question in the world.

So now what. Dirk sat in his car, still in the Lalonde's monstrous mansion's driveway. The keys were in the ignition, but yet to be turned. If he went home, it'd be more of the same. Avoiding Dave, or else feeling soul-crushing guilt that'd bring an Irish Catholic to their knees every time he looked at the cherubic preteen and imagined him in the endless compromising poses that Dirk's mind could provide.

Where else could he go though? Roxy would let him back in, no doubt, but he knew where that'd end up. With him breaking down and telling her everything and Dirk did not want that. Jane's? No, she was studying abroad for two months this summer. And Jake... Dirk wasn't even totally sure if they were on speaking terms right now, or if it was his prerogative to decide when they would be. Sometimes there were downsides to only having three friends.

Home it was, then. Dirk slammed the door behind him as he walked back in, entering through the side door from the garage right into the kitchen. And a second later, like a loyal puppy, Dave walked in as well. He didn't look as excited as a dog, though, but Dirk wasn't fooled.

"Hey," he said, opening the fridge and pulling out the jug of AJ, as if that was what he had come in for. "What's up, lil' dude?" Dirk responded, tussling Dave's hair in a satire of the "cool older brother" archetype.

"Nuttin'. You got plans tonight, bro?" It was said with such desperate indifference.

Dirk smiled. There wasn't a sexual thought on his mind. Thank god. "Nah. You know me; I'm taking summer break easy. Just me and my number one guy."

"How's a few hours of Tony Hawk: Ultimate Extreme Showdown 360 2?"

Dirk snorted, "That game has more clipping issues than a lobotomized hairdresser with a coupon catalogue. It's fantastically shitty. I'm in."

At the end of the night, the game had crashed three times for Dirk and four for Dave, and on the fourth the Xbox had begun to make concerning whirring noises and was too hot to touch. The pair agreed that this made Dave the undisputed champion of the session. It was only something like 11, but Dirk had the vague notion that this was probably late enough for a fourth grader. And he might as well get a full night's rest too.

Once Dirk managed to unplug the Xbox from the wall without getting close enough to be burned (the air around it was shimmering like a highway does on hot days in the summer, and the wood of the cabinet it was housed it was smoldering where the machine touched it), he stood up and dusted off his hands. "Well, time for bed."

Dave groaned juvenilely, then seemed to recall his indifferent schtick, and stopped. "Fine." He said, coolly. Then he hesitated. "Uh, Dirk... Do you think I could sleep with you? Like old times, when we had sleepovers in your room."

Dirk froze. Shit. Shit shit shit. It was an innocuous request, right? Nothing weird about it. He was spending the night with his little brother. A childish sleepover, the sort of thing that the two of them would outgrow too soon and never be able to do again. "Yeah, dude. Sounds fun."

Dave smiled broader than Dirk had seen him do for months. "Go get ready. I want your teeth brushed, flossed and mouthwashed."

"They're gonna shine bright like a diamond." As Dave went up to the bathroom to prepare for bed, Dirk grabbed his shoulder bag and returned to his room for the first time since getting home. He tossed the bag on his computer chair and began undressing, pulling off his shirt. He heard a dull thunk from behind him. The bag had slumped over in the chair, and from the mouth something had fallen to the carpeted floor.

Dirk wandered over and took a look. It was Roxy's quote unquote magic potion, still safely sealed and sloshing. Dirk picked it up. Roxy'd be pissed if he didn't test out her creepy formula tonight, but it wasn't something he felt like bothering to explain to Dave. She could wait.

He plopped the thermos on his bureau and began pulling out pajamas. Normally Dirk slept nude, but that wouldn't really be acceptable tonight. Or maybe it could be. He could talk Dave into thinking it was no big thing, cool even, to sleep naked. Get him to take off his pjs and whatever childishly-themed tighty-whiteys he had favored that night...

No! No, no, nope! This was not a good chain of thought. Dirk pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms he usually reserved for simply lounging in and a ratty oversized tee-shirt and refused to think anymore about naked ten-year-olds who were his brother.

When Dirk walked into the bathroom, Dave was spitting into the sink. Dirk stood beside him in front of the room-wide mirror. They each went about their nightly rituals silently, Dave flossing dutifully and Dirk brushing. Dave, even after having finished, loitered, pretending to be suddenly interested in the exact state of his molars as Dirk finished. Somehow, totally coincidentally Dirk was sure, the pair finished getting ready for bed at the same moment. They didn't speak as they filed out, Dirk first with Dave on his heels. Truthfully this was less out of ironic coolness as it was out of Dirk having no idea what to say. Dave held his own tongue out of a childish imitation or his brother.

They padded one after the other into Dirk's bedroom. Dirk felt awkward. Does he say something? Dave, luckily, however simply jumped onto Dirk's bed, bouncing a few times and sending the nicely arranged pillows and sheets into a slight disarray. He grabbed the television remote from the bedside table. "Do ya think we could watch some of those monster truck rally reruns before bed?" Dirk's TV, though old and small, was still better than the nonexistent one that Dave did not have in his room.

"Sure, dude." Dirk said as he mimicked Dave's bed-dive, landing beside him and causing the boy to grunt as he flew a good foot into the air. Dave, safely landed, sat up and began fiddling with the remote, turning the TV on and tuning it in to the trashy station that seemed to play nothing but monster truck rally reruns. Dirk took off his shades and set them delicately on the end table, then rolled on his side to look at the TV, and Dave sitting beside him.

His little brother was only a foot or so from him, sitting up and staring intently at the screen as he worked. Dirk was enraptured by the way that the television cast a bluish glow on his body that, from behind, gave him a strange blue nimbus surrounding him. Dave, finally satisfied with the thoughtless garbage on the screen, set down the remote, and then, seeming to almost have forgotten, removed his shades as well.

He laid down beside Dirk, the height differential making it easy for both to see the testosterone destruction fest on the screen. At first Dirk felt confident that the night would be fine. They were laying side by side is all, they would watch some TV and fall asleep. No biggie.

Dave craned his neck around, looking at his brother behind him. His vibrant red eyes somehow always managed to take Dirk by surprise, even in the dim, colored light of the television that poisoned the hue. Then, without asking of treating it as strange in any way, Dave turned back around and scooted, with little hops and shoulder wiggles, backwards towards Dirk.

Their hips met, and then Dave's back connected with Dirk's torso. He leaned his head back a little, right against Dirk's collarbone, only a few inches from his face.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. They were spooning now. No "almost" or "practically" involved, they were unambiguously out and out spooning. Dirk didn't move, and didn't object, and didn't even give any outward sign of discomfort as fat hairy men continued compensated for their small penises by crushing smaller cars with their oversized behemoths. Inwardly, though, he began screaming and panicking. He could feel every inch of Dave's body, his shoulder blades poking Dirk's chest (which, rather than annoying, Dirk found strangely pleasurable), his back laying flush against Dirk's front, and (oh god) his butt pressed right against Dirk's crotch.

He couldn't get hard. It wasn't an option and he wasn't going to allow it. Dave was breathing softly and steadily. Dirk knew he wasn't asleep yet, but the kid was settling into it quickly. Dirk focused on the television screen. He tried meditating; emptying his mind of thought, to escape the earthly sin of pleasure and lust. It kind of worked. He didn't get an erection at least, but he wasn't any less aware of his ten-year-old brother's chubby, round ass pushed up against his limp dick. Dirk had the sudden realization that there were only three layers of fabric separating his junk from his bro's buttcrack (Dirk didn't wear underwear beneath his fuzzy pajama bottoms). This seemed contradictory, somehow, to his constant nightly dreams of Dave, where no matter how aroused he was, there was no contact between the two, almost as if he was watching the boy on a television screen. And now he was so tantalizingly close to Dave, touching him even, and he couldn't do anything without ruining their relationship forever.

So Dirk lay there, letting his mind wander as far from the bedroom as possible. Dave's breathing grew deeper and slower, and his fidgeting became less frequent until it stopped totally. Dirk had no sense of time; every moment he lay beside his brother stretched into an hour, an hour of pure lust and guilt mixed together with a sonorous soundtrack of "Monster Masherfest XXI".

Dirk wasn't really aware of falling asleep. Somehow the complete alertness of staring unseeingly at the television screen while ignoring his fervent desire to brutally fuck his little brother in the ass slowly faded until he was in the semi-conscious state of half-dreaming. The television screen had ceased looking like a television screen. Now it was the light at the end of a long tunnel. Every vision he had ever had of Dave danced in front of his eyes, a bizarre dream ballet with every dancer played by his naked brother. Dave spreading his legs, revealing his virgin butthole; Dave asleep, angelic, beautiful body on display; Dave with a tiny, premature erection, throbbing and hard. Dirk was still acutely and painfully aware of Dave's bottom pressed hard against his crotch, almost seemingly harder than it had been when they had laid down.

Dirk couldn't prevent it anymore, not in his not-fully-awake state. His dick started pumping full of blood, pressing against Dave's butt. Oh god, it was the best feeling in the world, even half-asleep, having his growing erection jammed against his little brother's body. As his cock grew, it was forced downwards, uncomfortably. Subconsciously, Dirk shifted back, tugging at his crotch, and allowing his chubby to flop up in his loose pjs to lay against his belly. He sagged back to his previous position, but now his growing erection was pinned between the two of them. His half-hard dick was nestled perfectly in the cleft between Dave's buttcheeks, cushioned by the two or three layers of fabric separating them.

Dirk was not totally aware of what was going on. He knew that his dick was wedged in the kickin' ass of his little brother, and he knew that he loved the feeling. He thrust his hips forward some, feeling his cock grind against the fabric of his pajamas as it slid through the valley of Dave's butt. He began to gyrate, rubbing his cock up and down against Dave. It felt so damn good! Dirk could almost feel Dave pressing back against him, in sympathy with Dirk's own grinding. "God, that's right, Dave. You want my big, fat cock rubbing against you," Dirk mumbled, words slurred with sleep, "God, you're such a good little brother, such a good little slut."

He needed more, he needed to feel Dave's skin. He fumbled with his pants, yanking them over his dick, and thrusting back forward again, now rubbing his bare cock against Dave's pajama'd butt. His thoughts weren't coherent enough to realize that he would have to pull down Dave's pants to actually hotdog his brother without the barrier of clothes in the way, and if he had been awake enough to realize this he would have been awake enough to realize what a horrible thing he was doing.

He wasn't, though, and so he continued grinding against his ten-year-old brother, pajamas or no. His eyes were closed, and behind them he saw all the same dreams, but now he was in them. His hand covering Dave's little erection, stroking it tenderly; his arms wrapped around Dave's torso as they slumbered naked together; his dick, suspended right on top of Dave's virgin asshole, in preparation for entry, the little blonde beneath him panting in fear and anticipation. He was still mumbling, sexual epitaphs and proclamations of his adoration of his beautiful little bro. There was almost certainly a give and take now, every time he thrust forward, he could feel a force pushing back.

Dirk grunted. His orgasm was sudden, all things considered. He had felt like he was about to explode from the moment the pair had laid down together, and finally he had his chance. Cum exploded from the head, splattering over the back of Dave's tee-shirt and pants. Dirk roared on the second shot, as he thrust forward and pulled Dave's unmoving body up against his. His cock pumped more seminal fluid out, soaking a growing circle of Dave's sleeping garments. Two more dribbling shots, and Dirk's body went limp. He felt cock throb weakly, spitting the last few drops of cum into the vale between Dave's buttcheeks, adding to the already inundated fabric.

Drained, and never fully-conscious during this episode, Dirk released Dave and rolled back slightly, his whole body slacking. Exhaustion overtook him, and he never had the chance to reflect on what had just happened. His breathing grew deeper, and more regular, and the whole room was silent. Except for the TV still blaring monster truck rallies, that is. Minutes ticked by, and the warm cum drenching the seat of Dave's pants grew cold and began drying.

Dave lay perfectly still. He was almost certain that Dirk was asleep, but he didn't want to make a move til he was sure. He replayed what just happened in his head, over and over. It didn't feel real. He had thought it wasn't, at first. He had thought it was some dream, one of those weird, sexual dreams that he'd been having lately, always with Dirk at the center. Dirk standing naked in his doorway with one of those erections that John had told him about, not doing anything, just standing there, with that impenetrable big brother smirk, leaning against the door frame, and his big penis jutting out in front of him. In another, he was watching his brother stroke his hard penis, the way John had told him about, masturbating in his desk chair, glasses off, and reclining completely relaxed. Another was just Dirk exercising, pushups, pullups, sometimes weight training, but totally naked; he wasn't erect, or doing anything sexual, just sweaty and naked, his long flaccid penis swaying and flopping with every movement. None of the dreams had been like this though, they were always visual. Images and tableau of Dirk, never involving Dave in any way. So a dream that was purely tactile, the feel of Dirk's hard penis pressing against him from behind, seemed strange. Not that Dave's still-sleeping mind was able to process that much information; it just occurred to him a strange unplaceable feeling that there was something weird about it.

He wasn't sure when he realized that he was really awake, or if he did at all as it happened. But now, laying beside his now-comatose brother, his cum drying on his pants, there wasn't much way to doubt it. He remembered every moment of it with such clarity; the feel of Dirk's erection, his whispers (God! His whispers! Dave felt his own small penis begin to twitch as he thought about what Dirk had been mumbling, more than half of it things he hadn't understood), the thrusting, and (almost embarrassing now) his own gyrations back against Dirk's penis.

Dave, carefully, quietly, rolled from his place on the bed and landed his feet on the floor. He stood, and looked down at his sleeping brother. Dirk's erection had gone away awhile ago, and now his soft penis lay drooped across the sheets, still wet and glistening with semen. Dave considered the implications of the event.

He had had some notion of the inappropriateness of his reoccurring dreams. All of his knowledge of sex came from things he had picked up from listening to adults and older kids speak about it, and more primarily from John (he refused to admit to the little brunet that he knew more about sex than Dave, so all information had to be gleaned through casual conversation in which Dave had to pretend to be as knowledgeable, if not moreso, than John). Even with this fairly bare-bones sex education, Dave was more than aware that fantasizing about your older, male brother was weird and wrong for more than a few reasons (the thought of being gay made Dave nervous enough, but being gay and having an incestuous crush on his older brother made Dave sick with shame and fear). So naturally, this subconscious, terrifying crush was not even remotely near a topic of possible discussion with Dirk. But that didn't mean he couldn't act off of it, in childishly hopeful ways.

He didn't know exactly what he had hoped would happen by having the quote unquote sleepover with Dirk. That he'd be able to broach the subject of sex, and puberty, and masturbation? That Dirk would give him that inscrutable smile (that Dave practiced mimicking in the bathroom mirror every morning) and begin to talk and tell Dave everything he needed to know? That maybe the discussion of masturbation would lead to a live demo? Or maybe a tagteam effort? He knew it was stupid even dreaming about it, and he had been too nervous in the end to even mention it to Dirk before he fell asleep. Though, insanely, he had had the gall to lay as close against Dirk as he had.

What had actually happened went way beyond anything Dave had even dreamt of. He creeped out of the room and down the dark hall to his own room. He felt terrified, truth be told. He stripped his wet pajamas off, the shirt, pants, and underwear all. All three had gotten at least some of Dirk's, um, "come" on them. Would Dirk be mad at him the next morning? He got a new pair of pants and a ratty tee-shirt out of his clothes drawer; he didn't bother with underwear. No, that was insane, the guy would probably have totally forgotten about it by then. He pulled the pajamas on, the warm, dry fabric a refreshing change from the cum-soaked ones he had just removed. Plus, based off of what he had heard, and what had happened... did it mean Dirk felt the same way about Dave too? Dave left his room. He wouldn't think about that. It was somehow even more terrifying than the idea of Dirk being mad at Dave.

Dirk's room was still alive in the blue glow and cacophony of the all-night monster truck marathon. Dave considered his options. Should he try to clean the sperm from Dirk's penis? Or would the older boy wake up? Oh god, that option was just not acceptable. Dave leaned over, gently placing his knee on the bed and examing Dirk's flaccid penis up close. The cum looked completely dry, so, as delicately as he could, Dave grabbed hold of the waistband of Dirk's pants and pulled them up over his genitals. As he did so, his fingertip just barely brushed the head of Dirk's penis. The touch was electric; Dave gasped and his heart stopped for a second. But then the waistband was replaced, and Dave released it carefully. He surveyed the scene. Other than the dried seminal fluid still left on Dirk, there wasn't much else to be done.

Dave laid back down in the bed, this time with some distance between himself and Dirk's sleeping form, and grabbed the television remote. He turned off the TV, and the room was plunged into darkness.