InsaneJournal

Algebra Help
"Dad...please."

Calvert makes a face of disgust.

"I'm not lyin'!" Pickles unbuttons, unzips, slides his pants down a little. There's a darkening bruise on his hip. "How'd I get that, huh?"

Calvert shrugs and looks away. "You're gonna make me late."



"Your brother is such a good Samaritan, Pickles," Molly says, beaming. "He got a nice new skirt today at the store, for a friend who couldn't afford one. He even had it gift wrapped."

"Oh. How...nice. Naw, that's nat creepy at all. I mean, he's a little angel," Pickles says, furiously erasing part of his last math problem. He did it wrong again. Fuck. "Mom, do you think you could try and help me with this algeb—"

"He got you something. He said you probably wouldn't like it, but I told him, 'Seth, it's the thought the counts.' Isn't it the thought that counts?"

"Yeah, but can I get some help wit' dis?"

"Why don't you ask your brother?"

"Fine," Pickles sighs. "Where is he?"

"Probably in your bedroom. Take your work up to the desk. Go on."

Pickles huffs, gathering his things, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, trekking up the stairs. "Whet are you doing?!"

"I don' like this band."

"This is my room!" Pickles's jaw is dropped. He can hardly get his head around the fact that Seth just tore his poster off the wall and is crumpling it up.

"It looks a lot better now."

Pickles sets his jaw, promising himself he won't cry.

"Why don't you tell Mom all about it, huh? I'm sure she'll believe ya. Hey, dere's a gift over there for ya. Heh."

Pickles has never been more scared of a present in his entire life. He sets the backpack down. "Heeeeey. Do you think you could help me with my algebra? I really have to get my grade up, or I might fail." He approaches the bed warily, looking at the white gift wrap. It seems to be taunting him. He swallows.

"It don't bite."

He takes off the paper slowly, cleanly, not ripping. He's not eager at all. He takes the top of the box off to reveal...the aforementioned skirt. "Right. Thanks. I get it. I'm a girl, or somethin'." He's relieved. It's just a joke.

"You wan' my help with algebra?"

"No. I want some help. Mom thinks you can help me."

"I'll help you."

Pickles waits for the catch, whipping his head around and glaring when he hears, "Then put it on."

"Excuse me?"

"Put it on. The skirt. Put it on, do a lil' dance, and I'll help you get that grade up."

Pickles lowers his voice. "I'm nat puttin' it on and doin' a little dance. You'll...you know, again." It's a statement, but also a question.

"Probably," Seth confirms. "It'd be a shame if you dropped out. Be moochin' off this family for the rest of your life. No escape, really, den, huh?"

The image Pickles has of himself at thirty years old, living in this room where Seth can get to him, looking at an empty wall where his poster used to be, eating dinner with his family every night, including with Seth on the weekends when he's not livin' it up as a middle class bachelor, makes him sick.

In fact, it makes him sicker than the image of him in a skirt, getting raped by his brother again. He blinks the wetness from his eyes as he's turned away from Seth, eyeing the skirt. He takes it into the closet and changes.

"Don' forget the lil' dance. Heh." Seth digs the homework out of the backpack, looking it over. Finally, Pickles has the strength to come out of the closet.

The skirt is a perfect fit. It stops above the knee, and he's never felt so exposed, not even that night when he was in his briefs and his brother stuck a hand right inside them. Pickles looks shy, because he is. He scuffs his sneaker on the ground. "Can I lock the door?"

"Sure." Seth looks over at him, nodding in approval. "Yeah, go ahead. It's your room anyway, right?"

"Sometimes," Pickles says carefully, and hurries over to lock the door. He's not getting in trouble for this.

"Math ain't your strong suit, bro." Seth beckons him closer with a finger. "Lemme explain how dis works. Put your hands on the desk, lean in, so I know you're lookin'."

Pickles has a deep flush of shame on his face as he does like Seth tells him.

"You take the first ones first. You know, like first things first. Then do you do the ones on the outside. I'll show you." He starts working the problem. "Hold the paper down for me, will ya?"

Pickles holds the paper, shooting Seth a suspicious glance.

"Pay attention, Pickles."

"Okie," he says quietly. He watches as Seth starts to solve it. "You do the inner ones, and then you do the last ones. Here, you won't never forget it this way." He brushes against the front of the material, over where Pickles's penis rests, ignoring the noise of protest, the way he freezes up. "First."

Pickles bites his lip against the urge to yell at him. He wants to know how to do it.

"Outer." Fingertips trail over his vulnerable outer thigh, and he's not surprised when they move to the inner thigh for "Inner," but he thinks they're dangerously close to his used-to-be-private-when-it-came-to-Seth areas.

"And last," he says simply, sliding his entire hand under the fabric of the white briefs. Pickles gasps. Seth grips the flesh, kneads it. "That's called FOIL. That's how you solve dat."

He won't stop groping Pickles's ass. Pickles's face is pink again.

"Seth, stap. Please...." He shivers, closing his eyes against the sensation. He's starting to respond. "I'll dance, if you jest stap."

The hand squeezes one more time, then comes out. "Okay. So dance."

Pickles takes in a couple deep breaths to calm himself down. He's so tense, and he's tingling all over. Honestly, he's not used to being touched like that, even with his sexual experience, which isn't inconsiderable. His eyes are a little red. That groping had finally forced a couple tears from his eyes. He stands up straight and starts dancing like a stripper might, but more slowly, more awkwardly, looking anywhere but at Seth. Seth's okay with that.

"Lookin' good. Here, come a little closer. Set on my lap maybe. Like a good girl."

"I'm nat a girl," Pickles whispers, but he steps closer, turns around, sits on Seth's lap. He rubs back, trying to ignore the growing erection in his brother's jeans. The sooner it's over, the sooner he can forget about it. That's what he's decided he'll have to do to stay sane, just forget and forget and not think. He's not thinking right now. He lets his hips take over. He grinds back.

He can hear Seth's breathing now, whereas he couldn't before. Seth's hand helps guide him, settling on his hip, which makes him cringe, but he doesn't stop.

"You like math, huh?" You like bein' a good student, lil' schoolgirl?" The hand moves forward, stroking over Pickles's own hardening length.

"Nat a girl," Pickles murmurs, breath hitching.

"Nat true, heh. I can feel your pussy right now, through dis skirt."

"That's a cack." He closes his eyes, grinding back a little more insistently, pleased to hear Seth gasp and go quiet momentarily.

"Teacher needs lube. Go get me the lube, lil' girl."

"Nat a girl." Pickles bends over to look under the bed. His cock is a hot mass in his briefs, gently tenting them, and the ridiculous skirt too. He finally locates the lube, wanting to throw it at Seth, but also wanting to make sure he plays nice and uses it at all. He's only fucked him once, and it was with plenty of lube, but he's not going to test him on that.

"Okay, lil' schoolboy. Gimme dat ass. Take off your briefs."

Pickles tightens his grip on the lube before finally deciding to slip the briefs off. He's still in his socks and sneakers. He leaves the briefs on the floor, slowly making his way back to Seth.

"Work dose hips, schoolboy." He unfastens his pants a little lazily, slipping them off, and his underpants. "Remember dis thing? Time for your practical examination."

Pickles thinks "schoolboy" might be even worse. He looks at the erection. "What if, uh...." he tries to play along, "a bully stole my lunch money, and...you know, I didn't eat nothin'? Could I...uh, you know," he makes the gesture for sucking cock, "instead?"

"Naw. You shoulda stuck up for yourself. I'll stick up fer ya. Stick up for ya right up your asshole."

Pickles feels his hole clench. He makes a face and steps closer to his brother and his hard, throbbing fate. He won't look Seth in the eye as he lubes up the shaft and loosens and lubes his hole. Seth doesn't rush him, but Pickles is still in a hurry. He doesn't want Seth touching him. He just wants this over.

Pickles passes his examination. Then he throws up.

Seth finishes explaining the rest of his homework to him and promises Pickles he won't fail on his watch. Pickles isn't very comforted.