(no subject)
Title: Soothing Hands
Author: Dissy
Summary: The twins heat the room...
Disclaimer: Not real, never was, never will be.
Dedicated to: Kriiiis, Dana & Britttt
Tonight is simply another night of performing for the thousands of fans who flock to venues all over the country, hoping to get a close glimpse of the band members of Good Charlotte. After most performances, each band member would usually hang around, sign a few autographs, strike a few poses for the camera’s, and for those who were lucky, they would score a hug from one, or both, of the infamous Madden twins.
Tonight, though, is a whole different ball game.
It’s midnight in the Madden hotel room. Many would wonder why the twins would share a hotel room, especially with how ‘rich and famous’ they have become. Bonding. That’s the whole reason behind a shared room. Twin. Bonding. If you thought I wrote ‘binding’, then you need your eyes checked by your local optometrist.
The only light to be found within the hotel room is the dim glow of the candles that are situated on the nightstand, casting shadows of the two exposed bodies against the wall, the younger of the two bracing himself over the other, straddling his brothers waist. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, exposed bodies.
Hands are gliding, kneading and melting into the somewhat pale, yet pigmented skin below the younger twin, whose name we come to know as ‘Joel’ as the man below him lets the name roll off the tip of his tongue by means of a groan being ripped from his chest. The room temperature keeps rising by the milliseconds, bodies becoming covered in a sheath of sweat, adding to the friction being created between the two brothers.
Now I know my details here have been scarce. If you give me more time, we shall get to the end of this tale. So shall I continue? Yes I shall.
So the elder twin is moaning and withering around, yes? This only intensifies more when ‘Joel’ digs his fingertips into his brothers’ hips, causing him to jolt off the bed, bucking from the sudden, unexpected action.
Joel’s motion continues, back and forward, skin contact so painfully needed. He grunts incoherently to the body beneath him. I’m assuming it was along the lines of “fuck Benji, so tight”. Yet onwards he ventures, adding more pressure, delving deeper. Oh so fucking deep that it causes them both to cringe.
A shrill cry of pain that lasts only seconds before Joel’s hands are comforting his brother, soothing him before he once again continues with his ministrations.
Benji can no longer keep his mouth closed. Parched lips are parted, grunting, gasping and groaning to the man above him. Wanting, needing more contact. Aching for more contact.
Granting his brothers every wish, Joel’s hands glide all over his heated skin, exploring places that no one else has the chance to see as often as he does. Although he is becoming tired and knows he won’t last much longer, he continues what he hopes is the act of pleasuring his brother.
Eyes closing, breathing shallow, bodies aching, the twins know this will shortly be over. After all, how long can one last for? Arms eventually have the tendency of giving way, knee’s weaken and collapse also.
In hopes of preventing this, Joel reaches a hand out, curving it around the slick, heated package that’s been exposed to him for the past twenty minutes or so. Giving a few swift pumps with the pressure of his wrist adding to the motion, he feels the warm, somewhat sticky substance coat his hand a seep through his fingers, dripping onto his brother stomach.
Massage oil.
What else would the twins be doing in a hotel room at midnight, after a show, you dirty minded souls…?
So ladies and gents, that brings me to the end of this tale. Next time I could perhaps spill the beans about the twins other means of tension relief. "Stress balls".
----------------------------
A/N- how cruddy, aye? Should there be more confusing, deceiving short tales to continue on from this?
Author: Dissy
Summary: The twins heat the room...
Disclaimer: Not real, never was, never will be.
Dedicated to: Kriiiis, Dana & Britttt
Tonight is simply another night of performing for the thousands of fans who flock to venues all over the country, hoping to get a close glimpse of the band members of Good Charlotte. After most performances, each band member would usually hang around, sign a few autographs, strike a few poses for the camera’s, and for those who were lucky, they would score a hug from one, or both, of the infamous Madden twins.
Tonight, though, is a whole different ball game.
It’s midnight in the Madden hotel room. Many would wonder why the twins would share a hotel room, especially with how ‘rich and famous’ they have become. Bonding. That’s the whole reason behind a shared room. Twin. Bonding. If you thought I wrote ‘binding’, then you need your eyes checked by your local optometrist.
The only light to be found within the hotel room is the dim glow of the candles that are situated on the nightstand, casting shadows of the two exposed bodies against the wall, the younger of the two bracing himself over the other, straddling his brothers waist. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, exposed bodies.
Hands are gliding, kneading and melting into the somewhat pale, yet pigmented skin below the younger twin, whose name we come to know as ‘Joel’ as the man below him lets the name roll off the tip of his tongue by means of a groan being ripped from his chest. The room temperature keeps rising by the milliseconds, bodies becoming covered in a sheath of sweat, adding to the friction being created between the two brothers.
Now I know my details here have been scarce. If you give me more time, we shall get to the end of this tale. So shall I continue? Yes I shall.
So the elder twin is moaning and withering around, yes? This only intensifies more when ‘Joel’ digs his fingertips into his brothers’ hips, causing him to jolt off the bed, bucking from the sudden, unexpected action.
Joel’s motion continues, back and forward, skin contact so painfully needed. He grunts incoherently to the body beneath him. I’m assuming it was along the lines of “fuck Benji, so tight”. Yet onwards he ventures, adding more pressure, delving deeper. Oh so fucking deep that it causes them both to cringe.
A shrill cry of pain that lasts only seconds before Joel’s hands are comforting his brother, soothing him before he once again continues with his ministrations.
Benji can no longer keep his mouth closed. Parched lips are parted, grunting, gasping and groaning to the man above him. Wanting, needing more contact. Aching for more contact.
Granting his brothers every wish, Joel’s hands glide all over his heated skin, exploring places that no one else has the chance to see as often as he does. Although he is becoming tired and knows he won’t last much longer, he continues what he hopes is the act of pleasuring his brother.
Eyes closing, breathing shallow, bodies aching, the twins know this will shortly be over. After all, how long can one last for? Arms eventually have the tendency of giving way, knee’s weaken and collapse also.
In hopes of preventing this, Joel reaches a hand out, curving it around the slick, heated package that’s been exposed to him for the past twenty minutes or so. Giving a few swift pumps with the pressure of his wrist adding to the motion, he feels the warm, somewhat sticky substance coat his hand a seep through his fingers, dripping onto his brother stomach.
Massage oil.
What else would the twins be doing in a hotel room at midnight, after a show, you dirty minded souls…?
So ladies and gents, that brings me to the end of this tale. Next time I could perhaps spill the beans about the twins other means of tension relief. "Stress balls".
----------------------------
A/N- how cruddy, aye? Should there be more confusing, deceiving short tales to continue on from this?