Date: Sat, 5 Nov 2011 13:08:08 +0200
From: logansingh777@gmail.com
Subject: Farewell Clarke

The following story is a complete work of fiction. It contains detailed
descriptions of a homosexual nature and is not meant for viewing by persons
under the age of eighteen. If such material is illegal in your area and you
are not allowed to view such content, or if you find such content
offensive, do not proceed. Any descriptions of people dead or alive and any
description of events that may resemble non-fiction stories or people are
by complete coincidence.

Farewell Clarke

	"So, does this mean that things have to change?" I asked Clarke, my
brother.

He was sitting behind me on our bed while I studied at the desk. I chose
not to look at him, because I was certain that he would say that everything
would now be different.

How could they not be?

He was going away to college, I would see him over Christmas . . . maybe,
and that was about all the certainty that I could think of. In those few
moments that he took to answer me, I had imagined him living his life away
from home. He would find a girl friend, bring her home some day, call me
`buddy' or `bro' or perhaps use my full name, Gregory. Usually, it would be
just `Greg', and he would be right beside me, or on me, chest to chest,
between hard passionate kisses --

	"No," I froze when I heard that word come from his lips, "nothing
will change."

He sounded so sure, but a bitter-sweet feeling ran through my body. He
would miss me as much as I would miss him, he hated leaving home.

I continued to stare at the screen, disbelieving what he had said. It was
inevitable. The distance alone would change things - from spending every
waking moment, and every unconscious one with me, to not seeing me at all,
not touching me. He was a very horned up guy, like every other eighteen
year old man, but our whole life, I was always his outlet. Sure,
occasionally, okay, more than occasionally, there would be this girl or
that, but they never meant anything deep to him -- or perhaps I am
mistaken?

Maybe I was being overly conceited to think that his entire world revolved
around me, his sixteen year old brother.

	"Gregory . . ." there we go, he had already started using my full
name . . . "my entire world revolves around you" I smiled then, at his
words coinciding with my thoughts. I guess he used my name to express his
seriousness then. Alright, so things weren't as bad as I thought they
were. However, it felt as if my entire world was caving in. To me, it felt
as if I had to depart with something huge in my life, like my senses. Could
you imagine what it would be like, spending the last few days with your
sense of smell, or taste, sight or hearing? How could I go on, or find a
new equilibrium in life? But I had to, because, he was not mine, and he had
a life, and if I had to suck it up and let him go, then I would do it. I
loved him that much, that I would not hold him back.

Clarke was standing behind me now, his hands on my shoulders, rubbing them
with his strong fingers. The discussion of his departure was not new, he
had spoken with me first before he made any decisions, and I `approved' all
of them, in his words. I didn't think that I had the right to approve
anything in his life. Clarke was my hero. I needed his approval, not the
other way around.

He bent down and kissed the top of my head, the only person I ever allowed
to mess up my hair. He lingered there. I imagined his eyes were closed, as
he rested his forehead on my head. A flash ran through my mind, of times
when I would do or say something that he liked, and he would do that, mess
up my hair. It annoyed me a few times in the beginning, but I learned that
it was one of his many ways of showing me his intimacy, and love.

	"We should go down for dinner," he said, letting go of my
shoulders, straightening up.

	"Alright, I just have one more paragraph to this chapter."

He had walked to the door, and was about to open it when he turned around.

	"Greg?" he called to me softly. I turned to him, "Never forget how
much I love you." He had an uncertain look on his face, as if I would
somehow forget. I doubted even myself. I thought that I would.

	"I won't Clarke," I smiled back at him. But it was an empty smile.

He must have noticed, he stood there a moment, biting his lip.

	"Promise?" he asked, looking intently at my face.

	"I promise Clarke, I will never forget."

He just nodded, opened his mouth as if to say something but walked away and
shut the door.

I was being ripped apart on the inside. I felt hot tears rise up to my
eyes, but forced them away. My face was getting hot, and my hands were
trembling a little. I took a few deep breaths and forced myself to
relax. There was a knock on our door.

	"Son?" It was dad, "Greg?" he called and peeked inside. I looked at
my screen, hoping that I would not have to look at him.

	"Dinner is ready, you better come down," he said. Dad was awesome,
of course, I knew no other man like him, but from what I heard from
friends, my dad was considered the best.

	"Just a sec," I responded. He agreed and then left, shutting the
door behind him.

What the hell, I thought. There was no way that I was going to complete
anything tonight. I headed downstairs.

	"You alright Greg?" mom asked as I entered through the kitchen.

	"Yeah?" I asked back. `Hmm,' was all she said. But the look she
gave me said that she knew better. Maybe my eyes were a little red.

	"I'm just a little tired from all the reading," I half lied.

All through dinner I noticed mom and dad pass looks from me to Clarke. Dad
spoke to us, just about school, and talked a bit about a project he was
working on at work, and mom about her flowers and vegetables in the back
garden, the usual stuff. Clarke and I however, did not speak to each other.

He looked up from his plate, and instinctively I passed him some water, his
hand lingered on mine just a second longer than was necessary when the
glassed passed between us, dad noticed, Clark smiled and said thanks and
continued with his meal beside me.

I loved sitting with him at dinner. When we were younger he would always
cut up my stuff into smaller bits before getting to his own food, and he
would always make me eat my veggies and stuff, teaching me about how
important it was. Even now, or at least for as long as he would be around,
he would continue to teach me everything he could.

Dad and Clarke retired to the T.V lounge after dinner, chatting some more
about plans for college, and stuff that he had to do and check out. I
listened while I helped mom with the dishes. Dad and mom always spent time
together after work, they would cook together and talk till we came down
for dinner, and after, I would help mom. Clarke would usually help dad with
the lawn and pool and stuff. We all had duties, and as mom and dad taught
us, it would keep us close and help us bond.

I sat opposite dad in the T.V lounge for a bit with Clarke and mom, who was
doing some of her sewing next to dad. He and Clarke were watching a little
bit of a soccer game.

	"I'm off to bed honey," mom said and kissed dad on the lips, "Night
boys,"

	"Night mom," Clarke and I replied together.

After some time, Clarke said that he would be off too, so as to get an
early start in the morning. Dad said good night and continued watching the
game. I gazed at the T.V, but did not pay attention.

	"You doing alright Greg?" dad asked. Crap. I needed to pull myself
together!

	"Yeah, just a little tired dad," I said to him, making myself
believe my lies, "I'm just concerned with my exams in a few days."

	"Anything in particular on you mind son?" he asked, now watching
me, and giving me his full attention.

	"Nothing I can't handle," I said, "I'll be in tip-top shape in no
time!" I assured. I was dedicated to my studies. They all knew that.

	"Okay," dad said, standing up, "remember, if there is anything you
need help with, do not hesitate to come to me," he looked at me with his
serious face for a moment and I nodded in response. This would be his
attempt to let me know that after Clarke left, he would be more than glad
to fill in the gaps. He said that he was going to bed. It was a Friday
night, so, I could stay up late.

I switched off the T.V shortly after he left, turned out the lights and
went to brush my teeth.

Clarke was in bed when I got there. He was lying on his back, staring at
the ceiling. My PC was still on, I turned that off too.

	"You can continue studying you know," Clarke said, "I'm not that
sleepy yet."

	"Neither am I." I smiled at him in the darkness, my eyes quickly
adjusting to notice his bare chest, strong and hard . . . He looked a lot
like me, or rather, I turned out a lot like him. I looked like a younger
version of Clarke, we were both muscular, and our grey eyes were the same,
our noses, and bushy eyebrows - except hair styles. Mine was a little
longer and spiked a bit, and his was shorter, brushed in a very handsome
side path.

Even our hands looked the same, except his had a few scars from fooling
around while growing up in different places than mine had.

He smiled back at me -- and, I loved how his stubble was so much harder
than mine.

	"Oh yeah?" he raised an eyebrow. I lay beside him, just a few
inches away, my hands resting on my chest, looking up at the ceiling as
well. We talked for a bit, about going to the mall to get a few things, and
then, when things grew a little darker as the hall light went out --
signifying that dad was going to bed, Clarke pulled me closer to him, his
hands on my arm, and his lips close to my ear.

	"My world revolves around you Greg," he said to me, in a deep
whisper. He kissed my jaw, and then my neck. I lay still, unresponsive to
his affection. He began to withdraw, I felt his hands loosen on my arm. I
stared at the ceiling for a bit, wondering about what must be going through
his mind. I was placing a distance between us, I knew that I had been for
several days now . . . being less intimate with him, pretending that his
leaving didn't mean anything . . . that I was going to be okay. Only at
that moment, when he was withdrawing from me did I realize that by doing
this I was hurting him, which was the last thing I had wanted to do.

	"Will you promise me something Clarke?" I asked him in the
darkness, as he slowly turned onto his back again, keeping his hands away
from me, completely removing his contact with me.

	"Anything Greg," his voice was still that deep whisper, but he
sounded woeful. That hurt me more than anything, and I realized that he was
hurting more than me. I was being selfish.

	"Promise you will never forget how much I love you?" I asked him,
turning to him, placing my hand on his chest, tracing its way around his
muscles, between his pectorals, moving to his hard abdomen, then back up.

	"Of course," he said, taking my hand in his, lifting them up to his
lips, "that I will never forget, no matter what," he kissed them and his
other hand crept beneath my back, taking a hold of my shoulder as he pulled
me toward himself again, till I was almost on him. I looked into his eyes,
and he looked into mine.

He looked so handsome in the moonlight from our windows, which is not meant
to sound conceited, as this compliments myself as well.

I drew closer, to him, and then he changed positions, in one deft movement,
he was now above me, our hands still clasped between us, and we were chest
to chest, I could feel his hardness against me, and his hardon, throbbing
but unmoving on my stomach. I placed my free hand at the back of his head
and pulled his to myself, lightly kissing his lips with mine, he responded
the same way, gently, intimately, rubbing my hand in his, holding the back
of my head. I opened my mouth a little, tentatively licking his lips, and
he did the same. We were on the same page.

My hand traveled down his back, pulling him tighter against me at the
waist, making his throbbing weiner dig into me through his shorts, and next
he was grinding against me, his tongue exploring my mouth.

He let out a little chuckle, and so did I . . . we were acting like a newly
wed couple.

	"This is good," he said to me, and continued kissing me, both his
hands on either side of my face, rubbing my jaws and ears, pressing his
forehead against mine as he took in a breath, and dove his hot tongue back
into my mouth. I had both my hands on his shoulders, his body had grown hot
so quickly, and he was becoming moist, I could smell it radiating off of
him . . . I loved it.

He would have been happy doing this all night, I knew he would, but I
wanted to give him something more. I moved my hands to the front of his
shorts, and when he didn't object, only kissed me harder, I slipped them
in, touching his hot, wet weiner. I couldn't help it, I lifted my wet
finger to my lips and he chuckled again as I licked them, and then, he went
back to kissing me.

Sure, I had jerked him off before, and much more, but we were a little
distant over the past few weeks, and he had never once or persuaded or
influenced me to get intimate with him. He was always like that.

I pushed him away for a second, and indicated that I wanted to get on
top. I moved away from his lips and traveled down his chest, kissing and
teasing his hard nipples, he was breathing so deeply, and his hard shaft in
my hand only got wetter. I kissed and nibbled my way down to his hardness
after a few minutes.

After removing his shorts I placed my lips over his foreskin and sucked out
all of his pre-cum, savoring his essence, and then pulled back the skin,
and started taking him in, as much as I could, which was three quarter of
the way down comfortably, I was so crazed for Clarke tonight though, I
pushed myself further, taking him in deeper, and deeper, making my way to
the base of his hardness.

	"Greg," he called to me concerned, placing his hands on either side
of my head, gently pulling me off. I shook him away, my hands holding his
down as I forced my brother's weiner into my throat. I loved his so
much. Before I knew it, my nose was getting tickled by his wiry trimmed
pubic hairs. I lingered there for a moment, realizing that I was extremely
hard and aroused myself -- I felt as if I would cum myself without much
stimulation.

	"Ah Greg," Clarke purred, "your such a stud!"

I bobbed up and down a few times, and then came up for air. One deep breath
and I was down again, taking him in back to the base.

	"I'm gonna-" I stopped and completely withdrew as he withheld his
orgasm. I released his hands and licked his weiner head, tasting him, and
then went back to it. It seemed like a short time to me, but it was not, I
was blowing him for quiet some time, alternating between my new found
talents of deep throating him to rapidly blowing him regularly. I was so
into it that I did not hear him the second time, or maybe I chose to ignore
him, but I felt him shoot in my mouth, hot thick ropes of brother-essence.

He shot hard into my mouth and muffled his cries of pleasure into a pillow
he pulled over his face, some of his seed escaped my lips and I chased them
when his orgasm subsided and he stated massaging my head. Clark sat up and
pulled me up, locking his lips with mine, kissing me so hard and
passionately, holding me tight against him, his fingers pressed hard
against my arms and jaws.

His lips moved away from my lips and wandered to my neck -- he was careful
not to leave marks -- then to me chest where the same teasing I gave his
nipples was paid back. He was better than I at this I assumed, he pushed my
onto my back, slid off my shorts and began licking my shaft, drinking in my
essence as well, doing to me what I did him, first sucking out what ever
pre-cum I had through the fore skin, then pulling it right back and taking
me all the way into his throat.

Clarke was bigger than I, and has been able to take me all the way down for
years. I was so horny for him, I didn't want to cum and indicated that I
wanted to stop, but he didn't catch on.

	"Something wrong Greg?" He asked after a moment.

	"Not at all," I said to him, sitting up, "I just wanted you to make
me cum in another way . . ." I said to him. He smiled and kissed me again.

	"Don't worry," he said, grabbing a hold of his hard weiner, "your
big bro is ready to go again."

He kissed me, holding my neck.

	"But first I want to taste you stud," he looked at me, "can I?" he
asked, as if I would refuse.

I nodded and let him get back to it. In no time, he had my toes curling,
and I had to bite down into my fingers as I felt my orgasm build up. I shot
maybe seven hard shots into his mouth, and I could hear him swallow, but
the last bit he savored in his mouth for a bit, licking my shaft and
testicles for a bit. I felt him move down, his hands grip my butt cheeks as
he prepared to get me a bit moist. He licked and played for a bit, his
tongue working his little brothers love-hole for a bit-

	"Clarke," I said to him desperately, "I need it now!"

He stopped immediately and left the bed, walking over to our dresser and
grabbing something for lube. I felt his finger enter me and rub some
around, I needed him, didn't he understand?

	"I don't want to hurt you Greg," he said, his hand on my chest,
"It's been a while for you . . ."

	"I'm ready," I assured him, and took a hold of his weiner, guiding
it to my entrance, he stalled a moment to rub some more of his lube on his
shaft and placed it at the entrance of my cleave, bent down to kiss me as
he slowly and gently pushed in. I lifted my legs to give him more space,
and soon he was right on top of me, chest to chest again, just the way I
liked it.

I placed my hands on his hips and pulled him closer, forcing in more than
he intended, he looked at me concerned, but I smiled easily and kissed him.

Soon he was thrusting gently, making love to me, touching me all over,
kissing my lips and neck, my chest and nipples as he drove into me. I
kissed back whenever I could -- but when he was on top, he was in charge,
and he always rendered me powerless to his kisses like this, making me
stifle moans of pleasure and chuckling silently and kissing me over and
again when I started feeling it real good.

My hands were above my head, tightly grasped into one of his, the other
holding my jaw as he kissed me again and again, his shaft driving into me
completely, grazing my prostate gently with every maneuver, his hard abs
rubbing against mine, his nipples and chest never breaking contact with me,
our legs pressed hard against each other, and his scent all over me . . .

Clarke withdrew for a moment, I guess he would have cum if he continued.

	"Come on," he got onto his knees, pulling me up, turning me around,
"let's make you cum."

I got onto my hands and knees, he re-entered me, and pulled my up so that I
was against him. He loved kissing me when we made love, and feeling my body
rubbing against him was a sheer pleasure on its own.

We were both on out knees in the middle of the bed, I was rock hard and
dripping pre-cum in huge globules, and Clarke was running his hands all
over my front, but never making contact with my pelvic area -- he knew what
I liked, what I wanted . . .

His hard hands manipulated my nipples as his tongue unceasingly licked and
prodded my mouth, driving me ever closer to our goal.

Each time he thrust into me, he grazed my prostate, hard. Each time he
withdrew, he grazed my prostate hard. In this position he could move more
freely, harder and faster.

Soon I was huffing and panting in pleasure, but his lips never parted with
mine, he nibbled my lower lip, or the upper when I need a moment to breathe
deeply, and then he was back at it, making love to my mouth and ass,
grabbing my hips and driving his hard weiner in and out of me just the way
I wanted.

I felt my own weiner get harder, and my testicles drew up closer to my
body, and I was saying his name, into his mouth and in soft whispers that
were growing louder ever so slightly. He clamped his lips down on mine for
the finale, his hands moving firmly to my nipples, pulling me tightly to
himself.

Several more thrusts and then it began. First, just a spurt of my cum, I
could feel it oozing up my urethra, and then it intensified a bit as my
anal muscles tightened, making his weiner press against my prostate harder
-- I was frozen in the moment, unable to move, but he kept on thrusting,
and kissing away at abandon.

It started at the base, from the depths of my cavity, like a radiating
bomb, building in magnitude and strength, and then, I could feel it all at
one, my brothers arms around me, his body hot and slippery against me, feel
his throbbing, dripping, hard weiner thrust in and out of me, my prostate
expanding, the cum rushing to the tip of my hard weiner, and then, like a
sudden crashing wave, my orgasm hit me, making me shut my eyes tight in the
darkness, Clarke's tongue still in my mouth, so overwhelming, his arms
overpowering, holding me in place, several shots of my cum flew across the
room, and still he thrust.

	"Hold on Greg," he said against my ear, he was stiffening, I could
feel it already, my prostate was still on fire, and then several fires of
hot cum was being deposited into me, and Clarke was still driving into me,
panting, trying to keep quiet. I for one could not take it any more, and my
muscles were pushing against him, and he was thrusting into me -- it was
ecstatic.

After a moment, Clarke thrust one final time and got a bit weak in the
knees and dropped us both chest down into the bed. I could hear him
breathing heavily into my ear, kissing me, hugging me, telling me that he
loved me so much.

	"I am yours forever Gregory," he said.

I turned a little, and told him that I loved him too, that my entire world
revolved around him and he kissed me even more, deeply, hot and full of
passion . . .



Hope you guys enjoyed. I do not think that there will be a sequel to this
one, but who knows, I may yet change my mind. Share your thoughts --
logansingh777@gmail.com

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