Meleth Dôreb (Brotherly Love)

Beta: Vesta

He is my brother.

The light in my life and the joy in my soul. Just looking upon him, I smile. I cannot help it. He is beautiful, spread lazily on the bed we share, clad only in his leggings. He is older than I am, though to look at us you could not tell. I stand well above him, my shoulders broader. I was built for the sword; he was built for the bow.

I quietly approach him, my blood already hot in my veins, my shaft heavy between my legs. The summer breeze dances along my heated skin as I drop the towel I had wrapped about my waist. Nude and hard, I mount the bed, laying myself upon his back, my arousal nestled deliciously in the crevice of his backside.

"Tôr iaur," I whisper, brushing the silver hair back from his neck, baring the mark I had left there the night before. "I crave you."

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his body. "So it seems. You are insatiable, tôr dithen." He wriggles slightly, separating his legs, and I groan.

"If I am insatiable, Rúmil," I begin, rocking against him, "then you are wanton and tempt me to desire you."

"Oh? I tempted you into my bed?" he asks, tilting his head so he can look into my eyes.

I smile, kissing his cheek softly. "Aye, you did. I was innocent of the ways of the flesh, and then you initiated me into them."

He rolls beneath me, bringing us face to face. "You did not seem to complain then, melethron."

"I am not complaining now." I dipped down, pressing my lips to his, petal-soft and pliant. Sweeping my tongue and nudging at him, he opens up to me. I taste him deeply, my tongue seeking beyond lips and teeth, finding his slick muscle and teasing him. We duel, the kiss languid yet fierce, and he thrusts up against me. I can feel his erection, hot and thick, and I crave the feel of him.

"Orophin," he whimpers when I pull away from him. His lustful eyes watch me as I remove his leggings, and he shamelessly parts his thighs, inviting me to do as I please.

And I will.

I bend to his arousal, licking from the downy base to the damp tip, suckling the slick, bitter seed. His eyes continue to watch me; I have never felt anything as erotic as when he watches me. Unblinking, steady. I slowly take him into my mouth, and then into my throat. He moans loudly, and his legs tremble slightly. As I pleasure him with my mouth, I reach to the side table and take hold of the salve.

Releasing him from my mouth just as he begins to swell, he swears at me. "Patience, melethen," I say. His eyes widen when he sees the salve and an impatient whimper escapes his lips. "Now who is insatiable?"

He actually blushes; he is more experienced than I in the ways of pleasure, and yet I can cause him to flush with embarrassment. He arches up, lifting his backside off the bed, silently pleading with me to take him. I am throbbing, almost painfully, and I am eager to give my sweet brother what he so desires.

"Hands and knees, Rúmil," I order, my voice hoarse, breaking slightly as I slick my shaft with the sweet smelling cream.

Rúmil turns over, presenting himself to me. It amazes me still the amount of abuse he can take; one can take him hard, fast and leave him aching in the morn, and he will beg for more when he wakes.

I am always there to offer that service.

He is beautiful. His hair drapes over his shoulder, exposing the side of his neck I marked. The dark bruise spurs my need further, and I slide a finger into my dearest love. He arcs, the smooth, pale skin glistening in the late afternoon light and his musical voice calling my name. He is my life and my love.

I waste no time, replacing my finger with my length. He cries out, and the muscles surrounding me clench and unclench as he quickly adjusts. "Are you sore, tôr iaur?" I tease him.

Rúmil gasps as I withdraw and thrust sharply forward. "I would not be so sore if you would treat my backside with a little more care."

"You encourage my abuse, seron vell." I prove my point by pulling my shaft out until only the fat head rests inside his passage, and remain still. Within moments, he pushes violently back, impaling himself on my length and wringing a cry from me.

He pants, resting his head on his folded arms. "Point taken. Now, take me!"

I grip his hips tightly, bringing his body back into mine every time I push inward. He is tight, like hot velvet around me. He grips my shaft as I move out, relaxing those sinful muscles to allow me easy reentry. I give him what he wants; I take him roughly, pounding into him as he meets every thrust. I know it will not take us long. Though I have had other lovers through my years, it is my brother whom my heart calls to, that my body yearns for and my soul cries to.

He cannot stroke himself, not with the intensity of the thrusts. But, I know his arousal should be straining, dripping, and I pull him up against my chest. The mark beckons to me, and I bend down, taking the bruised skin into my mouth and suckling. He bucks against me and brings his hand up to grasp his dark, needy pillar of flesh with eager fingers.

We rock together, the coupling much more tender now that he rests in my lap. I watch him as he pleasures himself and rides me, bringing us both closer to that shattering end. He tried to both flinch away from my possessive bite and press into it, conflicted and needy.

I fondle the tight pouch beneath his shaft with one hand and pinch at one of his nipples with the other, still latched onto the tender throat. He stills suddenly, that pouch I caress contracts, and his seed flows. I release his neck, hugging him tightly to me as I rock myself more forcefully into his shuddering passage. He is limp in my arms, whimpering and making soft sounds, and I reach that end, filling him with my love for him.

He is my brother.

And I love him.


	Navigation single-part stories Translations tôr iaur - older brother tôr dithen - younger brother melethron - lover (m) melethen - my love seron vell - dear lover		Meleth Dôreb (Brotherly Love) Beta: Vesta He is my brother. The light in my life and the joy in my soul. Just looking upon him, I smile. I cannot help it. He is beautiful, spread lazily on the bed we share, clad only in his leggings. He is older than I am, though to look at us you could not tell. I stand well above him, my shoulders broader. I was built for the sword; he was built for the bow. I quietly approach him, my blood already hot in my veins, my shaft heavy between my legs. The summer breeze dances along my heated skin as I drop the towel I had wrapped about my waist. Nude and hard, I mount the bed, laying myself upon his back, my arousal nestled deliciously in the crevice of his backside. "Tôr iaur," I whisper, brushing the silver hair back from his neck, baring the mark I had left there the night before. "I crave you." He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his body. "So it seems. You are insatiable, tôr dithen." He wriggles slightly, separating his legs, and I groan. "If I am insatiable, Rúmil," I begin, rocking against him, "then you are wanton and tempt me to desire you." "Oh? I tempted you into my bed?" he asks, tilting his head so he can look into my eyes. I smile, kissing his cheek softly. "Aye, you did. I was innocent of the ways of the flesh, and then you initiated me into them." He rolls beneath me, bringing us face to face. "You did not seem to complain then, melethron." "I am not complaining now." I dipped down, pressing my lips to his, petal-soft and pliant. Sweeping my tongue and nudging at him, he opens up to me. I taste him deeply, my tongue seeking beyond lips and teeth, finding his slick muscle and teasing him. We duel, the kiss languid yet fierce, and he thrusts up against me. I can feel his erection, hot and thick, and I crave the feel of him. "Orophin," he whimpers when I pull away from him. His lustful eyes watch me as I remove his leggings, and he shamelessly parts his thighs, inviting me to do as I please. And I will. I bend to his arousal, licking from the downy base to the damp tip, suckling the slick, bitter seed. His eyes continue to watch me; I have never felt anything as erotic as when he watches me. Unblinking, steady. I slowly take him into my mouth, and then into my throat. He moans loudly, and his legs tremble slightly. As I pleasure him with my mouth, I reach to the side table and take hold of the salve. Releasing him from my mouth just as he begins to swell, he swears at me. "Patience, melethen," I say. His eyes widen when he sees the salve and an impatient whimper escapes his lips. "Now who is insatiable?" He actually blushes; he is more experienced than I in the ways of pleasure, and yet I can cause him to flush with embarrassment. He arches up, lifting his backside off the bed, silently pleading with me to take him. I am throbbing, almost painfully, and I am eager to give my sweet brother what he so desires. "Hands and knees, Rúmil," I order, my voice hoarse, breaking slightly as I slick my shaft with the sweet smelling cream. Rúmil turns over, presenting himself to me. It amazes me still the amount of abuse he can take; one can take him hard, fast and leave him aching in the morn, and he will beg for more when he wakes. I am always there to offer that service. He is beautiful. His hair drapes over his shoulder, exposing the side of his neck I marked. The dark bruise spurs my need further, and I slide a finger into my dearest love. He arcs, the smooth, pale skin glistening in the late afternoon light and his musical voice calling my name. He is my life and my love. I waste no time, replacing my finger with my length. He cries out, and the muscles surrounding me clench and unclench as he quickly adjusts. "Are you sore, tôr iaur?" I tease him. Rúmil gasps as I withdraw and thrust sharply forward. "I would not be so sore if you would treat my backside with a little more care." "You encourage my abuse, seron vell." I prove my point by pulling my shaft out until only the fat head rests inside his passage, and remain still. Within moments, he pushes violently back, impaling himself on my length and wringing a cry from me. He pants, resting his head on his folded arms. "Point taken. Now, take me!" I grip his hips tightly, bringing his body back into mine every time I push inward. He is tight, like hot velvet around me. He grips my shaft as I move out, relaxing those sinful muscles to allow me easy reentry. I give him what he wants; I take him roughly, pounding into him as he meets every thrust. I know it will not take us long. Though I have had other lovers through my years, it is my brother whom my heart calls to, that my body yearns for and my soul cries to. He cannot stroke himself, not with the intensity of the thrusts. But, I know his arousal should be straining, dripping, and I pull him up against my chest. The mark beckons to me, and I bend down, taking the bruised skin into my mouth and suckling. He bucks against me and brings his hand up to grasp his dark, needy pillar of flesh with eager fingers. We rock together, the coupling much more tender now that he rests in my lap. I watch him as he pleasures himself and rides me, bringing us both closer to that shattering end. He tried to both flinch away from my possessive bite and press into it, conflicted and needy. I fondle the tight pouch beneath his shaft with one hand and pinch at one of his nipples with the other, still latched onto the tender throat. He stills suddenly, that pouch I caress contracts, and his seed flows. I release his neck, hugging him tightly to me as I rock myself more forcefully into his shuddering passage. He is limp in my arms, whimpering and making soft sounds, and I reach that end, filling him with my love for him. He is my brother. And I love him.