Joy ride

by BRK   

Tag and Lys are only pretending to gad about the universe in their grandparents’ borrowed sportscruiser, Lys rather less willingly than Tag. Then the universe takes a hand and makes it all a little more real.

Tag smiled as his passenger fidgeted anxiously in the passenger seat. The deeper they penetrated into the banned, starless reaches of sector ζ-W13, the more upset his straightlaced younger brother, Lys, became. Tag wasn’t sure which was giving him the bigger rush: secretly joyriding in his grandparents’ souped-up sportscruiser, or Lys having kittens across the cockpit as they did it.

Heh, cockpit. ‘Cause Lys really is a cock. And an ass. It’s that irony thing the tutor-turtle was always talking about.

He and his brother had a rivalry, mostly consisting of Lys aggressively being the “responsible one” in the family’s eyes, particularly the all-important grandparents who ran the conglomerate and a tenth of the planet, and Tag being the “fun one.” Sometimes Tag envied their parents, who seemed to have opted out of the cutthroat position-jockeying and spent most of their time off-world these days. Most guessed correctly that Tag, by positioning himself as a hare-brained man-child, was trying to avoid the drag of what normally happened to elder siblings. The part that they didn’t get was that being the “fun one” was, in fact, fun, and fun is… fun.

These hypothetical observers, Tag was aware, tended to further assume that when he roped his upright brother into his escapades, as now, he was trying to discredit him, or win him over to the dark side, or whatever, tainting the limelight Lys earned through hard work and rational behavior out of jealousy or something equally invidious. Tag never really understood that kind of tar-my-brother-with-my-own-brush reasoning, to be honest, even when he saw some of his peers seemingly doing it themselves. If the main theory about the shirking was correct in Tag’s case (which it largely was), the corollary would be for Tag to let Lys be as responsible as he liked and get himself buried up to the neck in the very burdensome future Tag was sloughing off.

The truth was, one look at the video of this very moment, Tag giggling and Lys freaking out as they hurtled into unknown space, would reveal all to anyone who cared to know. And get some insight into Tag, in the bargain, because yes, Tag was the kind of older brother who’d always derived more than a bit of soul-calming glee from the simple act of winding up his gratifyingly responsive and congenitally uptight worrywart of a sibling.

“This is so stupid!” Lys was saying. “We shouldn’t be out here. We have to abort.” Predictably, he waited a beat and lunged across to the controls in front of Tag to where the big “Abort” and “Commit” buttons were behind the control wheel. Tag slapped his hand away.

“We can’t stop now, little bro!” Tag laughed, relishing Lys’s discomfort. “We’re in deep space!”

“You know as well as I do that it’s just a projection tracking a probe until you hit ‘Commit,’” Lys gritted out, letting some anger show on top of his agitation—he hated being called ‘little bro.’ He turned in the seat to face more toward Tag, crossing his arms over his chest. “We can stop at any time. We shouldn’t even be in the car!”

“Come on, don’t be so dramatic. We’re both adults and fully licensed, as you know.”

“Not for the fucking Forbidden Wilds!” Lys shot back hotly. “And Grandma Sigma explicitly said—”

“Gramma Sig is a boring old technocat. Like you, little bro. Not that you look it as much as she does,” he added teasingly, glancing over at Lys, who actually had an inch of height and a few kilos of lean muscle on Tag, and looked like a poster-boy for his chosen sport. Fortunately, track prodigies like Lys would never had the adulation and bro-comradery of future regional-class antigrav-soccer stars like Tag. Otherwise Lys might have been more focused on recreation and adulation, which would be bad for Tag. In his family Tag saw jollity and truancy as his province by right, and guarded them accordingly.

Lys pushed back his insta-dyed sweet-caramel hair—the only high jinks Tag had ever pulled him into that had actually rubbed off on him, his caramel locks this week matching Tag’s shorter fudge-brown perfectly—and took a deep breath. “Unseal the doors, Tag,” in the tone of someone declaiming that the time for frivolous gaiety was over.

“Nope.”

Lys rattled the door control mechanism ineffectually. “Un. Seal. The. Doors!” he repeated, a little more hot under the collar this time.

Tag grinned, his heart humming happily at the sizzling dynamic between them. He checked his controls and peered ahead into the high-res viewscreen. “Too late, little bro. Fun has been detected!” he said, pointing at the round white dot on the screen that was becoming planet-sized at an alarming rate.

Lys gaped, then slapped a hand over his eyes, chanting under his breath. “We shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here…”

“We’re not ‘here’,” Tag said dismissively, gesturing at the surface filling the screen as they leveled and started zooming over the flat, featureless pool-cue-like landscape. “It’s just a projection from the warp probe, remember? Probe’s there, we’re not.”

“Until you hit ‘Commit’ and we’re swap-teleported to the probe’s actual location,” Lys hissed, peeking through his fingers and gasping. “Fuck, we’re in so much trouble. What the hell is that?”

“I’m not gonna hit ‘Commit’,” Tag said. “What’s wha—holy pulsar shit!”

Rapidly hurtling toward them, in the center of the flat nothingness of the chalk-white plain, was a giant stone edifice. It was like a fortress or a citadel had erupted from nowhere, all in pastel blues for some reason. They were heading straight for it.

Tag froze, just for a second, unable to react. Lys, panicking, leapt across for the “Abort” button. Instinctively, Tag tried pushing him away again, but the simulated turbulence as the probe raced along inches from the ground jostled his seat enough that he accidentally lurched forward and managed to press his hand against Lys’s… directly on top of the big, red-lit, impossible-to-miss “Commit” button.

“No!!” Lys shouted. He yanked his hand free and tried bashing “Abort” a couple times, but it was too late. A feeling like a thousand lightning bolts shot through them, and then they and the sportscruiser were on the planet surface for real—blowing right through the bronze doors of the pastel-blue citadel and into the great room beyond.

“Shitballs!” Tag shouted, yanking back on the momentum controls. They tumbled through the huge, high-ceilinged, reflective-walled hall like a Hroshiian Star Lummox on a bender. Their speed was slowing, though not quickly enough to avoid crashing through the far wall and into the small chamber beyond. It, too, had reflective walls like smooth, deep crystals, but little else seemed to be present except the solid-looking plinth in the middle of the room. Something round and faintly aglow with a moving pastel-blue pattern was mounted dramatically on top of it, the focal point of the room and the only thing in it apart from the plinth it stood on.

That looks important, Tag thought. His heart sank—it wasn’t the first time his shenanigans had resulted in a bit of property damage, which was the kind of thing that made his behavior seem more troublesome and disruptive to the rest of the clan. He yanked back furiously on the controls as the cruiser’s speed pushed it forward. The vehicle was slowed but did not actually stop until its nose butted right into the heavy, solid-looking plinth, the contact finally siphoning the last of the damaged vehicle’s momentum. The plinth shook infinitesimally, communicating the tremor up to the luminous, surface-crawling sphere sitting atop it. The sphere wiggled, rolled a little, fell to the ground, and cracked open.

They sat there a moment, stunned. As the wreckage settled, a screen lit up on the console between Tag and Lys. A still, rather severe-looking image of their grandmother appeared, with a button underneath to accept the call, and another to reject it. Lys got to the screen before Tag could, jabbing the “Reject” button so hard the screen dented. Lys burst out of the car, throwing up the gull-wing door and stomping shakily into the crystal-walled chamber, cursing quietly to himself..

Tag followed suit, just as upset. He moved around to the front of the car to review the damage with a practiced eye. They’d gotten off lightly, he decided. The front end of the cruiser was crumpled but reparable, which was more than could be said for the broken orb. The crack in its side was emitting a weird-looking yellowish smoke that seemed to have funny patterns in it. Symbols, but ancient ones. No, not ancient exactly—more like arcane. What did they call those? Runes? Sigils?

Tag moved around the plinth to stand next to Lys. His passenger seemed to be gearing up for a good yell, and the trouble with responsible ones is that they could make trouble stick. Tag took the offensive, heading him off. If he was lucky, he could drive some chagrin under his skin and balance things out a bit, fallout-wise.

“This is all your fault,” he said quickly, gesturing calmly to the mayhem around them.

Lys gaped at him. A stone fell from the wall they’d crashed through, thunking the top of the car and rolling off, leaving a small dent.

They watched this silently, then Lys rounded on him. “My fault!” he responded, more or less as Tag had expected. “My fault, you brainless attention-whore bully?”

“Bully?” Tag repeated, surprised and angry. “Bully?!”

The smoke rising from the mysterious orb suddenly shot into both of them, right through their snug, V-necked house-lounging bodysuits. The brothers stumbled slightly on their feet. Lys shook his head.

“What was that?” Tag asked, frowning.

Lys blinked several times, looking up at him. Tag was shocked to realize Lys’s eyes had suddenly gone from light brown to a vivid orange-yellow. “What was what?” Lys asked. “And don’t try to change the subject. Why can’t I have had a good brother instead of a fuck-up like you?”

Tag felt something massive and inchoate twist inside him, like his inner soul was being reformed. He didn’t like it. The stress of the crash and Lys’s fury had him on edge. He glanced agitatedly at the crystalline walls and saw that he, too, had yellow-orange eyes. This was wrong, this wasn’t his fuck-up. He knew his fuck-ups and they weren’t like this. What in the nine planets—?

“Hey,” Lys hissed, slapping Tag’s chest with some force. “You listening, dickhead?”

Tag rounded on Lys, out of patience. “Yeah, I’m listening. I get it. I’m not your fraternal ideal. And what would that be like, huh?” he sneered, staring hard at Lys. “What’s your better version of me like?”

“Better!” Lys shouted defiantly. “In every way!”

“How?” Tag demanded. “Be honest. How is ‘Better Tag’ better? What’s your dream version of me? Or can you only complain and list petty faults?”

The yellow-orange eyes seemed to blaze with pent-up indignation. “Dream Tag? Dream Tag takes care of me,” Lys said. “You don’t get me in messes. You look after me. You stay close to me. Because you fucking love me.”

The words sizzled between them. Tag glared at the smaller man, more flummoxed than he could admit. This was because, in the moment it took him to process exactly what Lys had said and all its meanings, all its hidden layers, he realized. He knew with an icy shiver up his spine that he did love Lys. Not as brother, but as someone who pined for him, who’d fallen for him, hard—a profound and inborn feeling which, he was equally and unequivocally aware, had most assuredly not taken pride of place in his heart of hearts as recently as one minute before.

The worst part was he couldn’t hold this blundering, reckless fuckery against his clueless pretty-boy brother. Because he fucking loved him. He would forgive Lys anything, even instantaneously and obliviously remolding Tag with a few rage-sputtered words into a lovesick simp who deeply and intensely felt all these things that he would not, in any universe, have willingly chosen to feel.

Tag’s stomach kicked as he became aware of his feelings for Lys settling into his mind and thoughts. He’d always “loved” Lys, of course, in that passive way you loved a kid brother who got in the way a lot and whom you occasionally found entertaining or found common cause with. But he was feeling something a lot more, now.

“What—?” Tag said softly, confused.

“You love me,” Lys insisted. “Dream Tag loved me. Deeply. P-passionately.” Lys blinked as if realizing he’d gone farther than he’d intended.

Tag realized he was flushed and a little warm under his form-fitting clothes. He was more than usually aware than usual of Lys’s lithe, athletic physique, right there within reach. He wanted to touch it—not just to slap him on the back in brotherly bonhomie or rub his shoulders after one of his meets like had had before, but really run his hands over the hard curves of his arms, his chest, and other places, too.

“What are you doing to me?” he whispered.

Lys still looked truculent, his colorful eyes vivid, even as his brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

Tag tried regaining the offensive, engaging in some good old-fashioned older-brother taunting. “Sounds like you’re into me, hot stuff,” he accused, raising a fudge-brown eyebrow. “That would explain a lot.”

Tag had known Lys liked men, and had actually caught him glancing at Tag once, when they’d had to use the group showers at a retro-softball game the year before, after Lys had turned 19. Or was it more than once? His memories seemed to be re-forming in real time. There might be more to Lys’s appreciation than he’d thought, the thought. “Sounds like you might just be way into me, in fact. Am I really your type?”

Lys stared, then his mouth slid sideways into a very cute smirk that Tag urgently wanted to kiss off him. Fuck, what is this? I like women—don’t I? But Tag knew the answer. Tag liked Lys. And from the looks of things, Lys liked Tag and always had. Or—He remembered his own yellow eyes in the crystal reflection.—Did I just do that to him? Are we both fucking with each other, and only I know it?

He eyed Lys narrowly. Naw, he was always a little into me. I just amped it up for him. “I am your type, aren’t I?”

“Not exactly,” Lys said smarmily, his eyes locked on Tag’s.

Tag’s brows lifted, too curious to be offended. “Go on, then,” he said. He stepped closer, as though daring Lys to do something about the heat that was gathering between them. “You’re describing ‘Dream Tag,’ remember?” he said cockily. “Don’t stop now.”

Lys’s smirk was still there, but there was a hunger in those yellow-orange eyes now, too. “Taller,” Lys said. “You’re taller.”

“Than?”

“Me,” Lys said, looking up into Tag’s eyes with sly appreciation. The air between them seemed to crackle with mutual desire as Lys enjoyed tilting his head up to stare smolderingly at Tag, and Tag appreciated everything about Lys from just slightly above the perspective he was used to.

Tag’s eyes narrowed, even as his blood heated up. Lys was looking at him with no confusion, as though this was their normal configuration. “Do you know what you’re doing?” Tag breathed.

“I’m turning you on,” Lys said confidently.

Tag smiled shakily. “Damn right you are,” he admitted, feeling his balls tighten and his cock swelling in his soft, accommodating bodysuit. “You’re getting pretty heated up too,” he added. “Of course, you’re always super-horny.”

Lys’s smirk was now a playful leer. “Super-horny for you,” he amended.

“Super-horny for me,” Tag agreed, and Lys closed the distance between them, pressing his limber, athletic form against Tag’s. He shivered as he felt Lys’s hard cock pressed against his hip, a sensation that jolted Tag’s half-hard dick into full tumescence in seconds. Lys’s cock was significantly larger than average, which—weirdly, from Tag’s attention-loving point of view—had always made Lys self-conscious and furtive about nudity.

Tag was proud even of his nicely thick, average-sized cock, and even prouder of what he could do with it. Holy sky dragon balls, now I want to do those things with Lys. That mouth… that ass….!

Barely an inch separated them. As one, they wrapped their arms silently around each other, their faces drawn close. Tag noticed movement in the corner of his eye and knew it was their reflections inside the crystal walls, all the Tags and Lyses coming together in a loving embrace. The two of them looked damn good together.

Tag was feeling extremely aroused, more than he could remember being, and all of his heat was aimed at the fit, lean-muscled man in his arms. Might as well keep going, he thought, his mind hazy with lust. Lys should get the version of me he wants… right?

“Go on,” he repeated, offering his own smirk. “The ideal me. Dream Tag. I want to hear it.”

“Apart from being super-horny?” Lys teased, wiggling his chocolate-brown eyebrows.

“For you,” Tag agreed, wanting to keep some focus to his suddenly desperate, nonstop desire to make love. Was Lys really unaware of what was happening to them? “What else, pretty boy?” he asked.

Gearfucks, did he just get a little better looking? Damn.

Lys licked his lips. “You… love big cocks,” he said. “Big, big cocks.”

Tag could hear his breathing, in and out. There seemed to be no other sound, though he thought the room should be echoing each other’s heartbeats for how loudly they were pounding. “Like yours?” he suggested.

“Like mine,” Lys affirmed. His cock squeezed against both their lower bellies. Tag reveled in the sensation—he did love big cocks. This was wild, Tag thought. A few oblivious words, and Lys had turned him into a size queen. He loved massive cock, the more massive the better.

Tag bit his lip, as though he had spotted a problem. “But… I like big cocks,” he said leadingly. At the hint of worry in Lys’s eyes he continued, “and your cock isn’t big… it’s huge.”

In the space between heartbeats, Lys’s wide, rigid wang was now forearm-sized and raging halfway up their torsos. Lys looked a bit scared, his latent self-consciousness about his size unknowingly having increased exponentially along with the tool in question. “You… you love huge cocks, too, Tag,” he asserted boldly, his breathing slightly ragged as he visualized the ideal version of the man holding him. “Crave them. Huge, gigantic cocks.”

Fuck yeah I do.

Tag was losing track of this game and what was supposed to be real, too caught up in his Lys-lust and his monster-cock fixation. “You mean,” he said in a low voice, bending a little closer, “like, colossal, arm-sized cocks that top out at the shoulder and are hard all the time, with massive, heavy balls to match? Like yours?”

The cock between them suddenly was pushing their chests apart like a warm, phallic wedge. Looking down, Tag saw that the wide, plum-red cockhead had appeared past the V-neck of his black bodysuit and had started nuzzling wetly into the notch of Lys’s collarbone like it belonged there. Tag drew in a breath and the smell of Lys’s cock and precum filled his sinuses, quickly intoxicating him.

He moved his face another inch closer to Lys’s. “I do, in fact, crave them,” he affirmed. “One, in particular.”

Lys’s breath caught. “You are my Better Tag,” Lys whispered, his yellow-orange eyes full of adoration and something new, something aggressive. “You’re my Dream Tag. You,” he said, “are everything I ever wanted you to be.”

Tag gulped. Lys pushed up and kissed him. The giant, tightly squeezed dong at the center of their suddenly handsy embrace flexed madly between them as they shared their passion. Lys broke the kiss finally, gasping for air.

After a moment Lys looked around, as if vaguely remembering where they were. “We… we need a bed,” he panted, looking back up at Tag. Tag didn’t know what was going on, or how long it would last. But his love and lust for Lys was real—and his craving of Lys’s enormous cock was, if anything, even realer.

We can wangle that. Heck, we can wangle anything. “There is definitely one nearby,” Tag said confidently. “Somehow… I feel very sure that is the case.”

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