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Lately, when Curse holds Hope in his arms, he can’t help but feel something churn in his stomach. It’s a hot sensation, filling him up in a way that spreads all over his body from the shaking tips of his fingers to a place between his legs that is much more embarrassing. Hope knows exactly what this feeling is, but his clueless-at-anything-related-to-love father probably does not.In fact, because Hope was adopted, there is a very good chance Curse has never had sex at all. Women throw themselves at him; men too, and Curse shrugs off each and every advance.It’s with this fact in mind, that when Curse asks if Hope is “doing alright,” that he tells a half-truth.
“My stomach hurts.” He wraps his arms around his midsection. With the buzzing in his head and the fire burning inside of it, the action isn’t very performative. “You don’t have to worry about me,” his eyes water, and he clenches his legs close together. Being face-to-face with Curse is only making everything worse.His father hums, “you’re not trying to get out of your apprenticeship tomorrow?”Hope groans. Even Curse humming risked spurring him on further. “I like the forge.”It seems to pacify him.When Hope first spots the handle of his hairbrush, it seems like a good idea. It’s long, and while it’s thicker at the end than it is the middle… isn’t that a good thing, based off of all the trash-talk he overhead around town? Rubbing it against himself, or watching the way it came back coated with wetness made Hope’s mouth water.
He tried for a very long time to not fuck himself, because he wanted to be untouched, new for Curse. The worst he’d ever done was rub his fingers against himself until the feeling of it became unbearable at which point he’d rut against his pillow. He could not, would not shove his fingers or anything else inside of him. That itself was a horrible secret that Hope would most likely have to take to his grave.
It wouldn’t matter now, he reasoned, as he lined the hairbrush up with his hole. It’s sticky; wet against his hands, and he’d have to clean it before Curse got home. It’s wrong, so very wrong, when it’s the same brush Curse would work Hope’s hair in the evening, firm hands parting his hair and resting on his shoulders.Feverishly, he pushes it in. It stretches him out so much that it hurts, and a cry is ripped from his throat by a mixture of pain and pleasure. It’s not good to do something like this, naked in their bed, when the handle of a hairbrush isn’t meant to stretch him out the way his father could.He pushes it in a little further, but it hurts so much he has to stop. It isn’t fair. He can’t be that small, can he? Dizzy, he catches his breath and rubs the drool away from his mouth. He buries his burning face deeper into his pillow, shame burning in his stomach as he shoves his hips up a little higher into the air, thighs pressed together. He moves to shove it a little further in, but finds a hand has stopped him, wrapped around his own, hips flush with his own.Hope scrambles away in an instant, knowing exactly who it is. He can’t bear to look at Curse right now, or imagine what look must be on his face. Disappointment? Anger? Worry?Whatever look it is, Curse tilts Hope’s chin up and kisses him softly on the lips. He’s always been calmed by that, grateful his father is probably a little too clueless to understand the implication of kissing someone on the lips. At least, that is what Hope believes until Curse swipes his tongue against his lips, deepening it. He doesn’t have any time to think about it, other than the fact that this is definitely out of the ordinary.So he kisses back the best he can, sucking on his tongue in earnest. When Curse pushes him down onto the bed he lets him.Hope watches in a daze as Curse slots himself neatly in between his legs. “Your stomach hurt?”“It was all I could think of to fix it…”“Would this help?” Curse kisses him again, rubbing his fingers against his clit. Hope feels tears prick his eyes and he wraps his arms around his father’s neck. It’s so much but so little, all at once. He rocks his hips back and forth against those fingers.Hope breaks their kiss for air, head tilted back against their pillows, leaking all over Curse’s pants. He must have passed out while touching himself, and this is a dream. That is the only option, because Curse is clueless when it comes to love and sex. He couldn’t possibly be wrong?He chuckles. “You can’t start with something so big, when you’re this small,” his voice a whisper in his pounding ears. “Why are you doing something this dirty with your hairbrush, anyway?”“Playing pretend,” he drawls, like it isn’t worse than it actually is. His legs lock around his father’s waist, because he belongs right there with him. When they’re this close he can feel Curse’s hips twitch against his, like he wanted to rut against him. Hope closes his eyes.“You should start small, like this,” he says decisively as his pointer finger sinks into him. Hope’s eyes water. It still stretches, still hurts, but he finds himself bucking against that hand until his waist is pinned down to the bed by a firm hand. It’s too much to process, and he closes his eyes, losing himself to the feeling of those fingers pumping in and out of him, over and over again. He’s dizzy, so unbearably dizzy, that he can’t say when a second finger enters him, only when he scissored them apart while sucking at his neck, snapping him back to reality.“It feels good when I do that, right?”“Right,” he whispers placidly, holding onto him even tighter. He needs him, needs another finger, his mouth, anything.“It’s my fault, really. I could have paid attention to your feelings and done this a little sooner, to get you used to it.”He whimpers, nerves too fried to say much of anything.“You’ve lasted so long for a beginner…” his thrusts go from something gentle to being a little more forceful. “It’s my job to teach you, and you’ve done such a good job learning.”
He nods, tears streaming down his face as he gasps.“You can let go now, alright?”Hope shakes his head no, making a sound of disapproval. “I want to do good…”“You did wonderful already. You’ve earned it.” He presses a soft kiss to Hope’s ear. “I love you.”It’s really embarrassing that it takes those three words to send Hope over the edge. His hips press feebly against his father’s hand, still pinning him in place as his mind goes numb from how good he feels. If Curse kisses him, he kisses him back obediently, if his hands brush against a sensitive patch of skin - which at this point is every part of his body - he whines and tries to move away from those red-hot touches, overstimulated.His head stays up in the clouds as his body comes down from its high, until the first coherent thought Hope can form is that a wet spot has formed in the front of his father’s pants.“I’ll do it,” he stammers.“It’s okay, I can do it myself.”Hope pouts, puffing out his cheeks. “Didn’t you just teach me?”He’s met with a fond laugh, pushed backwards into the sheets with yet another kiss.