Nico stumbled to the bathroom and shut the door behind him as quietly as he could. The light was blinding, awful, yellow.
He leaned his forearms on the sink counter and stared down at the drain.
"Shit," he whispered.
His dick was still straining against the fabric of his pants, demanding attention. Tangible proof of the remnants of the dream that still clung to him. Like a nightmare that had followed him to waking life.
He closed his eyes and clenched his fists.
It wasn't like he didn't know, didn't have an inkling that what he felt for his older brother- might go above and beyond- what was appropriate.
But for God's sake! He never had cause to acknowledge it before. He could dismiss dreams as just dreams. Uncontrollable, random, meaningless. He could refuse to delve into the implications of quickened heartbeats when Will pressed near; fluttery nerves, hyperawareness. These things did not have to be examined. And for so long, longer than Nico was proud to admit, this system had worked. Noting without interpreting, making observations without drawing assumptions. Supplying the barest rationalizations when they were called for. He thought about his brother, a lot during the day. When he wasn't there, wondering what he was doing, what he was thinking. He loved his brother and Will cared for him an inordinate amount, so that wasn't strange. Then, thoughts about his body he couldn't suppress. His muscled arms, how good he looked in that navy jacket, oh, when his blonde hair was tousled just right. He attributed these- almost intrusive- thoughts to simple curiosity every growing boy experienced. He was discovering what he liked, didn't like, only natural that he would look to the teenage body closest to him, brother or no. And the fact that Will was older. Had developed faster than him…
But never, never had he woken up with the truth staring him in the face. Unyielding, impossible to deny, ignore.
He was a freak.
Nico was very, very sick and had taken something pure and lovely and perverted it. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why did he have to take the one good relationship in his life and- and ruin it?
Why couldn't he have just loved him like a brother? Will cared for him so much. How would he feel if he ever knew how Nico thought about him? Immediately, blood rushed up to his cheeks. No, no, Will could never know.
But he was still hard. Nico glared down at the tent in his pajamas. He considered cruelly taking a cold shower. He was certainly over heated enough. But then he'd never be able to fall back asleep.
And what if Will woke up while he was in here, heard the water, asked why he was taking a shower in the middle of the night? He'd have to be fast.
He thinks back to Will sleeping in his bed and it's what sets him off.
Rather, it's what sets his dick off.
Vividly, his mind flashes back to his dream. Like a movie reel playing in his head, Nico feels powerless to stop it, can only watch as his memory replays itself. The way Will had encased him with his whole body, holding him down to the bed.
His thigh between his legs, pressing exactly where he needed it right this minute.
His hot wet tongue on his throat. The way Nico had whimpered, begged him to touch him. And he almost whimpered now in real life. But Will hadn't listened, kept his body hovering over his own while restraining his wrists to the pillows.
Nico bucked and hissed as his erection brushed against the cabinets under the sink. He relinquished his hold on the countertop to sink down to the bathtub edge.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck.
He hunched over and still the images flashed through his mind's eye. He feels too far gone to stop now.
Hesitantly, he slides a hand inside his trousers. And it's, yeah, as bad as he imagined it'd be. Nico has to fight not to groan. He cannot make a sound, lest his brother overhear-
And Jesus, why is that so arousing? It is, objectively, a horrifying worst-case scenario. Nico would die if Will caught on to what he was doing.
Having pushed his pants and boxers out of the way, Nico's got the full-frontal view of the product of his degeneracy. It's red and straining. It looks as desperate as he feels.
Just get it over with.
Determinedly, he strokes a hand down his length, drawing forth on the dream again. This one was stronger than any he's ever had. More explicit. Nico wonders if it's a product of his growing age.
For once, he lets his desire run free. Let's himself imagine what he could have, if he could have whatever he wants.
Will.
Sweet, older, charming Will. Who everyone likes.
Will, who never lets him get away with anything.
Will, when he gets strict with him.
Nico imagined his strong hands stripping him of his jeans, putting him in his bed, and having his way with him. For once, he wanted to see his brother be selfish.
Fantasy Will would hold him tight, tight, so he couldn't escape. Any attempts would be met with discipline. And Nico would melt within his arms. He'd give in, give up, surrender himself to the elder's demands.
Unbidden, a moan broke free and Nico gasped as he found his release.
After several long moments, he slipped out his pajamas and tipped backwards into the tub, turning the cold water on once he was directly beneath the shower head, letting the spray wash away all the sweat and bad thoughts.
After several more minutes, Nico slunk back into bed beside Will, clad in a fresh shirt and boxers. He hoped Will wouldn't ask about the change in the morning.
He lay staring up at the ceiling for an eternity, quite deliberately thinking nothing at all.