Jake had always been the heavier sleeper. After a long day hauling lumber, he'd crash hard in nothing but his boxers, sprawled on his stomach with one leg kicked out, the blanket barely covering his ass. I knew that because I'd watched him for weeks, heart pounding every time I slipped into his room after midnight.
The first time I touched him it was just curiosity, my hand sliding under the sheet to feel the heat of his thigh. He didn't stir. That gave me the nerve to go further the next night. I hooked my fingers in his waistband and eased the boxers down, slow and quiet, until his cock flopped out heavy against the mattress. Even soft it was thick, the head blunt and pink. My mouth watered like I was starving.
I leaned in and breathed him in first, that clean sweat smell mixed with the faint musk of a guy who worked hard and showered quick. Then I licked, one long stripe from balls to tip. Jake grunted in his sleep but didn't wake. I did it again, slower, letting my tongue drag flat and wet. His cock twitched, started to fill out, and I wrapped my lips around the head and sucked gently, tasting the first hint of salt.
He was getting harder in my mouth, stretching my jaw. I took more, bobbing my head in careful rhythm, one hand cupping his balls, rolling them while I worked the shaft with my tongue. The room was dead quiet except for the wet sound of my mouth and his slow breathing. Every time he shifted I froze, but he only mumbled something and settled again.
That risk made my own dick throb against my shorts.
I got greedy. I pushed his hips so he rolled onto his back, cock now standing straight up, thick and veined. I straddled his thigh and went down on him properly, sucking hard, taking him until my nose brushed trimmed hair. Spit ran down his shaft and I used it to stroke what I couldn't fit. His hips gave a tiny unconscious thrust and I moaned around him, the vibration making his balls tighten.
I didn't stop until he was right on the edge. His breathing changed, got rougher. I pulled off just in time, watched the first thick rope of cum pulse out across his stomach, then another. I licked the last drops from his slit, cleaned him up with my tongue, and tucked him back into his boxers like nothing happened. My own cock was leaking; I jerked off in the hallway with his taste still on my tongue.
It became our secret routine, though he never knew it. Every few nights I'd sneak in, suck my sleeping brother until he came, sometimes swallowing, sometimes letting it paint his abs so I could watch it dry. He never mentioned anything in the morning, just gave me that easy grin over coffee. But I knew the truth every time he stretched and I caught the faint scent of dried cum on his skin.
One night I got bolder. I climbed onto the bed fully, knees on either side of his head, and fed my own cock into his slack mouth while I sucked him. The heat of his tongue against me, even unconscious, nearly made me blow. I rocked slow, fucking his mouth in tiny strokes while I deep-throated him. When he came I swallowed every drop and came down his throat right after, watching his Adam's apple move as he swallowed in his sleep.
We never talked about it. He stayed the heavy sleeper, and I stayed the brother who knew exactly how he tasted at 2 a.m. The risk, the filth, the way his cock fit perfectly in my mouth, that was enough. Every time I left his room I was already planning the next visit, already hard again at the thought of sliding between his legs while he dreamed, completely unaware that his own brother was using his body like a secret playground.
