Work Text:
“What, not even for a few hours? Come on!”
Michael Bluth sighs and rolls his eyes. This is not the first time his brother Gob has interrupted a busy day at work, and it certainly won’t be the last, but Michael’s not just going to give in, is he? No. He wipes some sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a trail of chocolate there. It’s a hundred and four degrees out, and all Michael wants is to get to five o’clock so he can shut down the banana stand and go home.
Gob has mistakenly assumed that he’s a part of all this.
“No way, last time you ‘helped’ at the stand you almost burnt it down with a joint and then you drank all the chocolate!”
“Chocolate, mmm… yeah, chocolate sounds good.” Gob licks his lips, eyes flickering between his younger brother’s forehead and his eyes.
“Are you high?!” The glazed, unfocused eyes give him his answer. “Look, could you just leave me alone? I’m trying to save up money for college.”
Gob bursts out laughing, trying to lose the grin when Michael scoffs and turns away, but not accomplishing much. “No, no, Mikey, just – just let me help! Please! Promise I’ll be good, come on.”
“No.”
The older brother elbows his way past Michael and right into the banana stand.
“Gob – hey! What the hell are you doing?!”
“I’m working, Michael.” (He’s not working, just dipping his fingers in the melted chocolate.)
“No, no, get your hands out of there, that’s – Gob – fine, you can stay here, alright?! Just sit on the floor and shut up, we’ve got two more hours till we can leave.”
Gob is beaming. “Thanks, Mikey.” A rough, uncoordinated hug and, oh, great, there’s chocolate all over Michael’s shirt.
“Yeah, whatever. Get down.”
Gob obeys and Michael wonders why he even bothered saying yes. He knows it’s only a matter of time before he’s regretting that.
Astonishingly, Gob is quiet for just over fourteen minutes. Michael can’t really figure out why he even bothered to stay, because even his brother’s twisted mind couldn’t consider what he’s doing “work”; this seems to cross his mind at that fourteen-minute mark, when he hisses “Michael!”
Michael’s busy helping a customer and just kicks his brother, hoping it’ll shut him up, but it does the opposite; Gob, now offended, pokes him in the back of his knee, causing his left leg to give out for a minute. After quickly handing the worried-looking customer his change, Michael drops to the ground, furious.
“What do you want?”
Gob shrugs. “Nothing. Just bored. Can I have a banana?”
“No.”
“Why not?!”
“We’re not supposed to take any! And besides, you’re being kind of an asshole, so even if I could, I–”
“–I’ll blow you for it?”
Michael freezes. Gob is looking right at him, those lidded green eyes showing no sign of a joke.
“…what?!”
“Blow you for it. A banana. Your banana.” Gob chuckles, clearly impressed with his wit. Michael, however, is not impressed.
“You’re – that’s not funny, Gob! You’re sick, I – God, this was a fucking mistake – what do I have to do to get you to leave? And don’t say – don’t – what are you –”
“Stop talking to yourself, Mikey, you sound crazy,” Gob murmurs, and he sounds… different. He clearly wasn’t listening to a word his brother said, and his thumb is running patterns over Michael’s thigh through his jeans. It makes Michael shiver, and he pushes the hand off, standing up again, brushing his hands down his shirt in some half-hearted effort to compose himself, but his heart’s clattering around in his chest and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He glances back down at Gob.
“Just don’t touch me and I’ll let you stay.”
But even as he’s saying the words, he knows it’s useless. Gob is the touchiest person in the world and for some reason Michael gets the worst of it.
Over the next ten minutes, Michael serves eight customers. He’s like a robot to all of them, because for some reason, he can’t get Gob’s thumb out of his mind, the way it traced swirls on rough denim without a care. It’s a few minutes of this before he realizes that the thumb is back.
“Gob!” Oh, Christ. He meant for it to sound stern, but it comes out all breathy and strangled, like a groan, and Gob grins at him which just makes everything worse. Suddenly his brother’s hand is higher, and higher, and then he’s – fuck, is he?! – yes, he is squeezing his dick through his pants and Michael digs his teeth into his lip, eyes widening. He’s grateful for the lull in customers and curses himself because, even as he’s frantically trying to push Gob’s hand away, he can feel himself getting hard.
It’s nothing but a teenage reflex, right?! His anatomy has no way of knowing that it’s a male’s hand there, a brother’s hand. Oh, God. Michael thinks he could die. He swiftly dips down below the counter, fully intending to deal with this once and for all, and finish his last hour-and-a-half of work in peace, alone, with no distractions, and most importantly, no erections.
“Get out, now, you’re finished for the day.”
That’s what Michael intended to say, but he never got the words out, having made the huge mistake of glancing at his brother’s face. Gob’s mouth looks all swollen, wet and red, and it’s clear he’s been doing nothing but licking, sucking, biting his own lips while he sits on the dirty ground. Michael forces himself to look away because, tragically, this thought is only making him harder and it makes absolutely no sense. A deep voice tugs him back.
”My offer still stands.” God, he doesn’t even sound like Gob anymore. He’s still on the ground and the hand’s back on his lap rubbing rubbing rubbing and it feels so nice that Michael lets go for a second, just a second, and gasps. He doesn’t have to ask if Gob’s done this before, because a lot of things are starting to make sense – Gob’s gay. Gob is gay. But Michael isn’t.
“Gob, I – I can’t–”
“Shhh… just let me, come on. You need to relax, guy. Let me help you out.”
“But I’m not–”
Gob seems to read his mind. “It’s not gay for you, Michael, you won’t even see my face!”
“We’re brothers–” He’s abruptly cut off when he hears someone up above say “…hello?” and springs back up, face flushed. His resolve is weakening by the second, and he almost wants to just say yes.
The customer orders; Michael serves her, then glances down as she’s walking away, and just like that his big brother is licking his lips and the zip’s coming down.
Michael tells himself he’s just too tired to tell him to stop, because there’s not a fucking chance he maybe, just maybe, really wants this.
It’s torture, feeling that hot breath on his lower belly as Gob’s long fingers pull down the waistband of his briefs (at which point he whispers “Still wearing fucking tighty-whities?!”) and Michael gasps as quietly as he can, fingers white-knuckled on the banana stand counter, once his cock is pulled out, Gob starting a slow, steady rhythm with his hand.
No one’s ever touched him there, not like this – there had been a brief tryst with an older girl, Stacy Barroga, at a party in sophomore year, but it was just some heavy touching through his pants, and she’d only been doing it to get back at her sister – in fact, she might have even thought Michael was someone else, and it had happened entirely in the dark. So for all practical purposes, Michael’s brain forces himself to acknowledge that the first person to get intimate with his… nether regions is his own brother.
His own brother whose eyes are suddenly so green and his tongue is flicking out to gather the drop of precum beading at the tip of Michael’s cock. Gob smiles when he tastes it, like he’s been dying to do it and just like before, a lot is making sense now – the long hugs, Gob’s obsession with Michael’s approval even though he’s younger, always wanting to sleep in his bed, hanging on his every word – Michael can just barely think how long has this been going on before another customer’s there and Michael snaps his head back up, no choice but to continue working like nothing is happening.
The thing that surprises Michael most is just how fucking good Gob is at giving head. He’s so attentive; even with the younger boy confined to tiny movements of his hips and legs, Gob can tell what his brother likes best, and keeps coming back to his most successful moves. His hand moves and stalls at just the right points, with just the right pressure. Michael would sooner die than tell him this, but it might just be the best work he’s ever seen Gob do.
Embarrassingly, the younger Bluth barely lasts five minutes, and he’s thankfully not in the middle of a transaction when he comes, hips thrusting forward out of his control as he practically fucks Gob’s face, and Gob just sits there still so silent and filthy, and he takes it like a pro, swallowing and everything.
Michael has never felt so weak or so sinful in his entire life. Gob, on the other hand, looks like he’s died and gone to heaven. He reaches up to his brother’s hand and tugs him down onto the floor, nuzzling his head.
“Michael.”
“Gob, I – what the fuck was that?”
“Mm… thank you, Mikey…”
“You must – don’t you regret it? We can’t–”
Gob laughs, a little more loudly than he should, given the circumstances. “We just did.”
Michael can’t think of any way to respond to that.
Gob sleeps for the rest of Michael’s shift, drooling all over his sleeve.
At 5:03, the younger Bluth leaves, locking the stand with his brother still inside it; if he’s such a magician, he can surely find his way out. He spends the entire bike ride home congratulating himself, because miraculously, he’s finally found a way to shut Gob up.