IRC-Galleria

You're pinned against a wall, a door, the carpet of your room... It doesn't really matter.
You're always against something, though. He says that you're brothers and that brothers don't share beds so you're against the door of your room. Your parents are away and you're home alone, you're against and he's leaning heavily against you, nipping at your skin, careful to not leave any marks.

It's hot and you're panting, incoherent sentences leaving your lips and his hand slides inside the waistband of your boxers. You're shuddering, your fingers are grasping his arm almost painfully, nails digging into his skin.
His hand is cold against your skin, you're whining, not sure if it's too much or not enough. He licks his lips slowly, and you let out a shuddering gasp as he jerks you a bit rougher, a bit quicker. You can't help but let yourself fall against him, whimpering against his collarbone.

You're close and he knows it, and just as you need his touch the most, it's gone.

You whine and he tells you to be quiet, it's unfair because you just need it so much. He doesn't give it to you, though. He never does. It's okay though. Maybe it's even better that way, maybe it doesn't mean anything that way. It doesn't make you so bad and dirty. Maybe.

His other hand is still there, caressing your hair in a comforting way and you can't help but lean against the touch. You sigh softly but he doesn't smile.

When he comes out the bathroom half an hour later you pretend to be asleep, faintly hoping that he'd sleep with you this night. He doesn't. It's okay, though. You're brothers.

Maybe brothers are not supposed to share a bed anyway.