mcsr creep’s hands dont work

so doog had to hold his breath when his brother walked past his room, the door not even fully shut because he thought he'd have more time, and pretended to be asleep. he's already lying in bed, it was simple enough to shut his eyes and bite down on his tongue and force his hips to still even through the pleasure running through him, until his brother walked into his own room-- the room that shares a wall with his.

and it's not like he can get up to shut the door, because then his brother will know he's awake, and he'll want to talk, but doog is still hard and aching and dripping precome onto his sheets as he ruts ever so gently so as to not make any noise. he keeps pulling on his hair-- not entirely on purpose but it also makes him feel good and he can picture it's someone else, someone who sounds just like him but is taller and broader in the shoulders and could hold him down so easily.

so he can't shut the door, but he tries to stop and is so close to the edge, just a little more and he'll be tipped over. but doog always does this when he's home alone, he doesn't know how to be quiet. there's a reason he streams nomic on days he's pent up, because when he inevitably starts rutting up into the underside of his desk he can't hold back his whimpers and moans from how good it feels. how his hands stutter on his mouse and he'll fail a boatclutch and groan and drop his hand to palm at his dick through his shorts as he waits to respawn.

he tries to be quiet, he really does. it's just-- he's never had to be quiet before, not like this. and he doesn't think about how the thought of his brother catching him with tears in his eyes and a drooling cock makes it twitch under him. he doesn't think about his brother walking into the room and shoving a hand into his underwear and pulling his hair and calling him the names he usually means as a joke.

doog thinks he wouldn't really mind if they weren't a joke.

but he's not thinking about that, instead he grinds down into his mattress and tugs on his hair alone and pictures a hand on his throat as he bites down on his knuckles.

he's not very successful at swallowing down his moan when his toes curl from the pleasure at a different angle. he's going to have to do laundry after this. he keeps his eyes shut, pictures his brother in the other room with his own dick in hand, moaning his name. he thrusts harder into the mattress, faster, a keen slipping out through his fingers because it feels so good. it's not anything like when he wraps his hand around his cock and jerks himself off, this is better because the sensation is less intense, just building and building like the tide growing in his gut and in between his legs and making his breath hitch when he gets close to the edge again.

he moans a broken thing that might've been his brother's name if he was any more conscious of anything beyond the pleasure he feels. it's blanking out his brain, his limbs fuzzy from the sensation, his eyes fluttering open to see his brother standing in his doorway, the door not even fully open.

oh. oh-- doog shuts his eyes only to blink them open when his brother says "don't stop on my account" and-- and he doesn't look away. neither of them does.

doog keens, the hand in his mouth slipping out and reaching down behind him to press a finger to his rim, farther down to his taint, his legs kicking off his sheets so his brother can have a better view.

he's hard, doog can see through his tears, a tent in his shorts that he makes no move to touch as he watches doog moan shamelessly and rock forwards and backwards. doog wants him to touch himself, to touch doog, to move away from the door and pin doog down and fuck him, to tug at his cock and then slap doog's hands away and make him beg for it. to shove his head down until doog chokes on his cock and gags and begs for it.

so doog had to hold his breath when his brother walked past his room, the door not even fully shut because he thought he'd have more time, and pretended to be asleep. he's already lying in bed, it was simple enough to shut his eyes and bite down on his tongue and force his hips to still even through the pleasure running through him, until his brother walked into his own room-- the room that shares a wall with his.

and it's not like he can get up to shut the door, because then his brother will know he's awake, and he'll want to talk, but doog is still hard and aching and dripping precome onto his sheets as he ruts ever so gently so as to not make any noise. he keeps pulling on his hair-- not entirely on purpose but it also makes him feel good and he can picture it's someone else, someone who sounds just like him but is taller and broader in the shoulders and could hold him down so easily.

so he can't shut the door, but he tries to stop and is so close to the edge, just a little more and he'll be tipped over. but doog always does this when he's home alone, he doesn't know how to be quiet. there's a reason he streams nomic on days he's pent up, because when he inevitably starts rutting up into the underside of his desk he can't hold back his whimpers and moans from how good it feels. how his hands stutter on his mouse and he'll fail a boatclutch and groan and drop his hand to palm at his dick through his shorts as he waits to respawn.

he tries to be quiet, he really does. it's just-- he's never had to be quiet before, not like this. and he doesn't think about how the thought of his brother catching him with tears in his eyes and a drooling cock makes it twitch under him. he doesn't think about his brother walking into the room and shoving a hand into his underwear and pulling his hair and calling him the names he usually means as a joke.

doog thinks he wouldn't really mind if they weren't a joke.

but he's not thinking about that, instead he grinds down into his mattress and tugs on his hair alone and pictures a hand on his throat as he bites down on his knuckles.

he's not very successful at swallowing down his moan when his toes curl from the pleasure at a different angle. he's going to have to do laundry after this. he keeps his eyes shut, pictures his brother in the other room with his own dick in hand, moaning his name. he thrusts harder into the mattress, faster, a keen slipping out through his fingers because it feels so good. it's not anything like when he wraps his hand around his cock and jerks himself off, this is better because the sensation is less intense, just building and building like the tide growing in his gut and in between his legs and making his breath hitch when he gets close to the edge again.

he moans a broken thing that might've been his brother's name if he was any more conscious of anything beyond the pleasure he feels. it's blanking out his brain, his limbs fuzzy from the sensation, his eyes fluttering open to see his brother standing in his doorway, the door not even fully open.

oh. oh-- doog shuts his eyes only to blink them open when his brother says "don't stop on my account" and-- and he doesn't look away. neither of them does.

doog keens, the hand in his mouth slipping out and reaching down behind him to press a finger to his rim, farther down to his taint, his legs kicking off his sheets so his brother can have a better view.

he's hard, doog can see through his tears, a tent in his shorts that he makes no move to touch as he watches doog moan shamelessly and rock forwards and backwards. doog wants him to touch himself, to touch doog, to move away from the door and pin doog down and fuck him, to tug at his cock and then slap doog's hands away and make him beg for it. to shove his head down until doog chokes on his cock and gags and begs for it.

he traces each nipple with a thumb, circling them, and kissing each with a gentle suck. his grin turns a bit devious. he shoves you down again, pinning you. he bites and sucks and ravishes your chest, coming up and saying so cutely how it's a feast all for him. at some point, you feel one of his hands sneak down to squeeze at his dick, and he moans.

you're dizzy with want. his hands, his mouth, his dick, his infectious laugh - you want it all. you beg him to fuck you. he giggles, and you both undress. as his pants come off, he looks painfully hard, precum oozing down the tip. he lubes his fingers and preps you like he wants to edge you, to keep you so close, and yet so far. he laughs when you plead, smiling, saying that he wants you to cum on his dick, wants you to milk him. you come so close from his words that he pinches you, chastising.

he slips into you, slow at first, but then sliding home in one long stroke. you're bent nearly in half, and the stretch is so good, so incredibly deep. he's sweating now, his bangs sticking slightly to his forehead, and his trademark grin has been replaced by something hungrier. he barely lets you adjust before he's pulling back, fucking you in long, hard strokes, teasing your pleasure spots with skillful fingers. you cum embarrassingly fast, and his voice is strained when you blink back to awareness.

"please, please, i'm so close, i just, i need, ah-"

and you nod, telling him to finish himself. that you can take it, even as the overstim becomes noticeable. he leans down, bites your neck as he groans, and then replies.

"ah, gonna, gonna make you cry. gonna fill you, gonna, gonna- hnng." he throws his head back, panting, slamming into you so deeply you know you'll be walking funny for days. he resumes his quest to overstim you til you cry, and succeeds with practiced efficiency. he holds you down as you squirm, and his strokes grow less coordinated.

"ah, I'm gonna, gonna cum - fuck!"

kitty hax this puppy hax that

(I don’t know if the second pillow princess ask was also you but i’m gonna address that later lol. wait a bit for that one cause ill have his team members there probably. i have hbg brain rot right now. and fulham was there. so. ficlet below!)