Bones
Fifteen
There’s skin under Nick’s fingernails, soft and creamy and tinted pink. One hand hovers over the sternum, thumb pressing into the hollow and fingers digging into the sharp curve of a shoulder. The other hand feels vertebrae, contracting and arching beneath his touch. The other boy has left scratches down his stomach and arms and back and well, everything else he’s been blindly grasping at so at not to float away. They’re like tally marks of destruction, they are.
Nick knows this is wrong. He knows it is, but Jamie is just so soft and warm and his insides are so lovely that he almost understands Jamie’s wish to constantly see his organs and bones and muscles. Almost. This might be sick but it isn’t that sick.
Jamie’s eyes are soft, watery, and he’s too quiet for Nick’s liking. Nick digs his nails in deeper, and thrusts in again harder and harder because he knows Jamie likes that. Pain is good. Pain means life. The younger brother is breathing heavier now, his eyes squeezed shut and every so often he lets a low mewling sound escape his lips. It feels so good and so odd and Jamie hates that this feeling will end soon. His stomach clenches, that feeling rolling through his stomach down through his toes.
It hits Jamie like a wave, this orgasm. It comes in phases: the slight tingle, the warmth that floods his body, the explosion of fucking colors, and then the calm.
Nick smiles down at his younger brother, so sweetly writhing in the afterglow, fingers rubbing the sticky whiteness into his ribs. He comes minutes later, but he likes the feeling of Jamie’s body. He wraps his arms around Jamie’s neck, leaning his forehead against the small chest that’s just as breathless as he is. Nick would fall asleep like this if he could, but in a few minutes Jamie’s going to push him off and wrap the sheets around himself in a cocoon because there’s only so much intimacy he can take.
Nick knows this is wrong. He knows it is, but Jamie is just so soft and warm and his insides are so lovely that he almost understands Jamie’s wish to constantly see his organs and bones and muscles. Almost. This might be sick but it isn’t that sick.
Jamie’s eyes are soft, watery, and he’s too quiet for Nick’s liking. Nick digs his nails in deeper, and thrusts in again harder and harder because he knows Jamie likes that. Pain is good. Pain means life. The younger brother is breathing heavier now, his eyes squeezed shut and every so often he lets a low mewling sound escape his lips. It feels so good and so odd and Jamie hates that this feeling will end soon. His stomach clenches, that feeling rolling through his stomach down through his toes.
It hits Jamie like a wave, this orgasm. It comes in phases: the slight tingle, the warmth that floods his body, the explosion of fucking colors, and then the calm.
Nick smiles down at his younger brother, so sweetly writhing in the afterglow, fingers rubbing the sticky whiteness into his ribs. He comes minutes later, but he likes the feeling of Jamie’s body. He wraps his arms around Jamie’s neck, leaning his forehead against the small chest that’s just as breathless as he is. Nick would fall asleep like this if he could, but in a few minutes Jamie’s going to push him off and wrap the sheets around himself in a cocoon because there’s only so much intimacy he can take.