Day 20: Grasp
Wincest, explicit. "Here's the rule. You keep your hands on the headboard, I keep going. You let go, so do I."
"You wanna play?" Dean grins down at his little brother. "Fine. Let's play. Grab the headboard."
Sam looks at him curiously, but obeys, wrapping his fingers around the wrought-iron uprights. It's probably a good thing that bed-and-breakfast's owner has closed down for the week while they take care of her poltergeist problem; there isn't anyone else around to hear the sounds Dean's about to wring out of Sam.
"Here's the rule. You keep your hands on those bars, I keep going. You let go -- " Dean spreads his hands " -- so do I."
"Simple enough," Sam says, but they both know that doesn't mean it's going to be easy.
Dean starts slowly, brushing his fingers along the length of Sam's shaft, gratified to see him start twitching immediately. Dean increases the pressure, dragging his fingers now, and soon Sam is fully erect. Dean circles the fingers of his left hand around the base, and with his right, begins to tease around the head, rubbing with his thumb, dipping into the slit, and Sam makes a strangled moan. His arms tense like he's trying to do a pull-up, muscles bunching beneath the skin. "Dammit, Dean -- "
Dean smirks up at him, and keeps doing exactly what he's doing.
He's half-hard himself , without even touching his own cock. There will be time enough for that later.
Now, he ups his game. With his left hand still on the base, he applies a good dollop of lotion to the head, then rubs the palm of his hand across it and massages it downward over Sam's shaft. He starts stroking in earnest then, but keeps the rhythm slow and easy. Sam arches off the bed; Dean shifts position so that he's sitting on Sam's legs, pinning him. He keeps up the slow rhythm for another long minute, then goes hard and fast for half-a-dozen strokes, bringing Sam to the edge, before slowing down again.
"Fuck you," Sam growls.
"Maybe next time."
"Gah!"
Dean smirks. Slows his hand even further, backs Sam well away from the edge before speeding up again. His eyes dart between Sam's cock, Sam's face, Sam's hands clenched determinedly on the ornate headboard.
Three more times, he brings Sam to the edge before backing him off. By the last time, Sam has gone completely nonverbal, gasping and moaning and whimpering. But he manages to keep hold of that damn headboard.
Finally, it's time to reward Sam for his self-control.
The next time he brings Sam to the edge, he only slows for a moment -- long enough for Sam to let out a desperate moan -- before increasing the pace again. He keeps it steady, shifts his weight so that Sam can thrust at least a little, and lets events take their course.
Sam arches, his cock pulsing in Dean's hands as the orgasm rocks through him. Dean keeps stroking until he's wrung the last of it from him. He cries out, once, and Dean is really glad that they've got the bed and breakfast to themselves. Then Sam goes limp, shuddering, and he finally lets go of the headboard and drops his arms to his side.
Dean finishes himself off quickly; as aroused as he is by the sight of his brother coming undone, it only takes half-a-dozen strokes. Then he stretches out beside Sam, who is still -- still! -- jerking with the aftershocks.
He throws his arm across Sam's chest, Sam buries his face into the crook of Dean's shoulder, and they settle in to get a few hours' sleep before they call the owner to tell her it's safe to come back.
This entry was originally posted at http://were-lemur.dreamwidth.org/240682.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
"You wanna play?" Dean grins down at his little brother. "Fine. Let's play. Grab the headboard."
Sam looks at him curiously, but obeys, wrapping his fingers around the wrought-iron uprights. It's probably a good thing that bed-and-breakfast's owner has closed down for the week while they take care of her poltergeist problem; there isn't anyone else around to hear the sounds Dean's about to wring out of Sam.
"Here's the rule. You keep your hands on those bars, I keep going. You let go -- " Dean spreads his hands " -- so do I."
"Simple enough," Sam says, but they both know that doesn't mean it's going to be easy.
Dean starts slowly, brushing his fingers along the length of Sam's shaft, gratified to see him start twitching immediately. Dean increases the pressure, dragging his fingers now, and soon Sam is fully erect. Dean circles the fingers of his left hand around the base, and with his right, begins to tease around the head, rubbing with his thumb, dipping into the slit, and Sam makes a strangled moan. His arms tense like he's trying to do a pull-up, muscles bunching beneath the skin. "Dammit, Dean -- "
Dean smirks up at him, and keeps doing exactly what he's doing.
He's half-hard himself , without even touching his own cock. There will be time enough for that later.
Now, he ups his game. With his left hand still on the base, he applies a good dollop of lotion to the head, then rubs the palm of his hand across it and massages it downward over Sam's shaft. He starts stroking in earnest then, but keeps the rhythm slow and easy. Sam arches off the bed; Dean shifts position so that he's sitting on Sam's legs, pinning him. He keeps up the slow rhythm for another long minute, then goes hard and fast for half-a-dozen strokes, bringing Sam to the edge, before slowing down again.
"Fuck you," Sam growls.
"Maybe next time."
"Gah!"
Dean smirks. Slows his hand even further, backs Sam well away from the edge before speeding up again. His eyes dart between Sam's cock, Sam's face, Sam's hands clenched determinedly on the ornate headboard.
Three more times, he brings Sam to the edge before backing him off. By the last time, Sam has gone completely nonverbal, gasping and moaning and whimpering. But he manages to keep hold of that damn headboard.
Finally, it's time to reward Sam for his self-control.
The next time he brings Sam to the edge, he only slows for a moment -- long enough for Sam to let out a desperate moan -- before increasing the pace again. He keeps it steady, shifts his weight so that Sam can thrust at least a little, and lets events take their course.
Sam arches, his cock pulsing in Dean's hands as the orgasm rocks through him. Dean keeps stroking until he's wrung the last of it from him. He cries out, once, and Dean is really glad that they've got the bed and breakfast to themselves. Then Sam goes limp, shuddering, and he finally lets go of the headboard and drops his arms to his side.
Dean finishes himself off quickly; as aroused as he is by the sight of his brother coming undone, it only takes half-a-dozen strokes. Then he stretches out beside Sam, who is still -- still! -- jerking with the aftershocks.
He throws his arm across Sam's chest, Sam buries his face into the crook of Dean's shoulder, and they settle in to get a few hours' sleep before they call the owner to tell her it's safe to come back.
This entry was originally posted at http://were-lemur.dreamwidth.org/240682.html. Please comment there using OpenID.