Author: Clair de Lune - ITML PM
The first intimate touch he’d felt in three years – the thoughtful, too-tender-to-be-strictly-brotherly kind of touch – was from his brother. Slash Michael/Lincoln.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance - Michael S. & Lincoln B. - Words: 454 - Reviews: 10 - Favs: 29 - Follows: 3 - Published: 03-23-08 - Status: Complete - id: 4149166
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Warning: Slash, incest
Notes: Thanks to Recycled Faery for the beta.
The first intimate touch he'd felt in three years – the thoughtful, too-tender-to-be-strictly-brotherly kind of touch – was from his brother. Happy, eager, greedy, never-enough touch. Began on his shoulders, ended a bit past his waist, a bit too south. He leaned into it.
The first kiss he'd received in three years – the deep, probing, wanton, unashamed kind of kiss – was from his brother. Hot, sweet, loving, mind-blowing kiss. Kisses, actually. Began nice and clean, ended up scorching and demanding, teeth nibbling and tongues dueling. He wanted more.
The first release he'd achieved in three years – the not-induced-by-his-own-wrist kind of release – was in his brother's hand. Hard, gut-wrenching, heart-breaking, blistering release. Almost too perfect to be real. Began with a light touch against his pants, ended up with Michael's fist tight around his cock, stroking and pumping forcefully. He needed to reciprocate. So he did.
The first release he'd given in three years – the what-the-fuck-am-I-doing and how-can-it-be-so-good kind of release – was to his brother. Fulfilling, brazen, caring, searing release. Oddly exhilarating. Began with Michael's breath in his neck, ended up with Michael's teeth sunk in his flesh, moans pouring and muffling against his shoulder. He hoped he would do it again. And again. And…
He could almost have discarded the whole event, labeling it as some sort of 'we're alive' ritual, though. He could almost have considered it as some sort of weird 'happen once, will never happen again' thing.
He could almost have done that if Michael hadn't brought his sticky, musky, covered-with-his-older-brother's-scent fingers to his mouth, and sucked dreamily on them. Tongue lapping along his knuckles, lavishing the palm of his hand and then offering it to Lincoln.
He could almost have pushed the memory away if he hadn't licked and mouthed the proffered hand, tasting Michael's saliva melted with his own scent. Teeth scraping, tongue smoothing his brother's warm skin.
He could almost have said it was more than enough if Michael hadn't kissed him again, slow and dirty, a thigh gently teasing him, a hand fondling his neck.
He could almost have stopped that – whatever that was – if Michael hadn't whispered feverishly right into his mouth: "I love you more than anything."
And Michael would have definitely stopped everything altogether if he hadn't answered: "Yeah, I know the feeling."
At this point, they both were pretty screwed.