Biting his lip, Al pushes himself up on one hand and wiggles the pants down off his hips with his other. Now his erection is exposed to the air, but his legs are hobbled together by the cloth tangled around his knees. Despite himself, he can feel his breath begin to come faster, and the air seems to grow hotter around his face.
He reaches down and strokes his hand over his erection, jumping a little at the shock of sensation. This can't be that hard, can it? Like giving a handjob, only to himself. Tentatively he closes his hand around himself, tries to figure out which way to pull.
A few more minutes of experimentation finally finds an angle that feels good, and Al closes his eyes and concentrates on breathing as the sensations writhe up through his belly from his groin. Unconsciously he tries to spread his legs further apart, only to be brought up short by the hindering cloth. He huffs in frustration as he opens his eyes, and eventually has to use both hands to untangle the pants from his knees enough to kick them to the floor.
That done, he spreads his knees apart and tries to find the rhythm he'd had before; but in the frustrating little details he seems to have lost it, and after a day with clothes on again, the air feels bitingly cold on his skin. A small whimper escapes his throat, as the feeling of urgency recedes back into the background of incessant, throbbing need. He needs, he needs something, but it isn't this...
Without meaning too, he clenches his hand hard, and his nails dig into the too-sensitive skin on his penis; it sends a spike of sensation up through his spine that makes him thrash suddenly. The back of his head meets the stone wall, and he yelps with startlement as he sees stars, and falls off the edge of the bed onto the floor.
The stone floor meets his skin with a hard shock, and the pain and discomfort do for his erection what his own hand was not able to; the need and pleasure leap to the forefront of his mind again, overriding any thoughts of anything else. Before he really knows what he's doing, he's rubbing his bare crotch against the stone floor, both palms braced against the stone for leverage, and little gasps and whimpers of urgency slip past his lips into the empty room.
This is what he needs; and as he spreads his knees further, grinding against the slight roughness of the stone, he can feel his limbs trembling with the approach of orgasm.
Almost he can feel a body above him, as hot and hard and frenzied as his own; and he groans aloud imagining the feeling of a phantom cock filling him, driving him hard into the floor. He hears the harsh pants of his brother's voice, groaning in ecstasy of his own. Imagines his brother's hands roving all over his body, stroking his back and shoulders and scraping over his chest; he hardly notices his own hand moving to scratch over his nipple, and shudders in ecstasy when the nails draw blood.
"You're mine," a lust-roughened voice purrs in his ear, and Al gasps in surprise as red and gold flutters in the corner of his vision. "I'll never let you go." No, no, he doesn't want that! That wasn't his brother, that was Envy, and he shrinks away from those memories.
He squeezes his eyes closed, and forces the fluttering cloth in the corners of his imagination to change colour, from red to brown; forces the voice in his ears to lighten, to gentle. Now it's his brother above him, face flushed and hair coming out of its braid, falling over his face like it did this morning. His layers of white and brown are opened, rolled back and undone, revealing the beautiful, war-scarred body beneath; and it's all right again.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2010-04-19 03:52 am (UTC)Biting his lip, Al pushes himself up on one hand and wiggles the pants down off his hips with his other. Now his erection is exposed to the air, but his legs are hobbled together by the cloth tangled around his knees. Despite himself, he can feel his breath begin to come faster, and the air seems to grow hotter around his face.
He reaches down and strokes his hand over his erection, jumping a little at the shock of sensation. This can't be that hard, can it? Like giving a handjob, only to himself. Tentatively he closes his hand around himself, tries to figure out which way to pull.
A few more minutes of experimentation finally finds an angle that feels good, and Al closes his eyes and concentrates on breathing as the sensations writhe up through his belly from his groin. Unconsciously he tries to spread his legs further apart, only to be brought up short by the hindering cloth. He huffs in frustration as he opens his eyes, and eventually has to use both hands to untangle the pants from his knees enough to kick them to the floor.
That done, he spreads his knees apart and tries to find the rhythm he'd had before; but in the frustrating little details he seems to have lost it, and after a day with clothes on again, the air feels bitingly cold on his skin. A small whimper escapes his throat, as the feeling of urgency recedes back into the background of incessant, throbbing need. He needs, he needs something, but it isn't this...
Without meaning too, he clenches his hand hard, and his nails dig into the too-sensitive skin on his penis; it sends a spike of sensation up through his spine that makes him thrash suddenly. The back of his head meets the stone wall, and he yelps with startlement as he sees stars, and falls off the edge of the bed onto the floor.
The stone floor meets his skin with a hard shock, and the pain and discomfort do for his erection what his own hand was not able to; the need and pleasure leap to the forefront of his mind again, overriding any thoughts of anything else. Before he really knows what he's doing, he's rubbing his bare crotch against the stone floor, both palms braced against the stone for leverage, and little gasps and whimpers of urgency slip past his lips into the empty room.
This is what he needs; and as he spreads his knees further, grinding against the slight roughness of the stone, he can feel his limbs trembling with the approach of orgasm.
Almost he can feel a body above him, as hot and hard and frenzied as his own; and he groans aloud imagining the feeling of a phantom cock filling him, driving him hard into the floor. He hears the harsh pants of his brother's voice, groaning in ecstasy of his own. Imagines his brother's hands roving all over his body, stroking his back and shoulders and scraping over his chest; he hardly notices his own hand moving to scratch over his nipple, and shudders in ecstasy when the nails draw blood.
"You're mine," a lust-roughened voice purrs in his ear, and Al gasps in surprise as red and gold flutters in the corner of his vision. "I'll never let you go." No, no, he doesn't want that! That wasn't his brother, that was Envy, and he shrinks away from those memories.
He squeezes his eyes closed, and forces the fluttering cloth in the corners of his imagination to change colour, from red to brown; forces the voice in his ears to lighten, to gentle. Now it's his brother above him, face flushed and hair coming out of its braid, falling over his face like it did this morning. His layers of white and brown are opened, rolled back and undone, revealing the beautiful, war-scarred body beneath; and it's all right again.