Title: More Specific, the Sequel
Author: Xtreme17nc13
Summary: "I guess that being more specific with what you want, really does help..." Sequel to 'More Specific' -- 1674 Words
Disclaimer: They're mine, all mine! Well, they're mine since I changed the names. Does it count if they're real people I know?
Warnings: M/M, Slash, Inc,(some M/F) -- Don't like, don't read, don't flame.
Author's Note: Dosen't my title just scream 'ORIGINALITY'?. Lol, this for the few that reviewed this and asked politely, here's a sequel. I can't promise anything, but I hope ya'll like it! And if anyone cares, is my new best friend... Lol, on with it!

More Specific, the Sequel

Yesterday already feels like an eternity ago. I'd probably give anything to go back and redo what happened. This sucks. My brother is the biggest asshole in the world. Who the fuck does that to someone? Be more specific my ass! He knew exactly what I wanted, and he walked away. If anything, I'd say he whimped out of what i he /i really wanted. Jerk.

I mean, damn. He had me at his mercy. He could have told me to suck his toes, and God knows I would have done it. Maybe he just didn't want to cheat on Jenna. I'm not counting on that, considering he changes girlfriends like he changes his underwear. But that could be it.

Nah. I know for a fact he's already fucked around on her. It was with some chick from a neighboring town. Maybe I should tell dad that the walls should be thicker... At least then I wouldn't have to hear it all the time. There's only so much my sex drive could take, and listening to that seemed to push the limit every now and then.

None of this makes sense. All my questions are just leading me to more questions. Why would he just stop? Did he really want me to say it? That has to be it. Kyle likes sex, any kind of sex, too much to just walk away from someone young and willing. Even if I am his brother.

"Dammit!" I curse softly as the questions keep coming. I can't stand it anymore; I have to do something about it. Writing in my journal is completely out of the question. I could just figure it out on my own. Okay, new game-plan: Wait for Kyle to get home from whatever random party he's at, then give him the third degree until I get answers.

In my head, it sounds like a good plan. Now I just have to hope Kyle will comply. I take a quick glance at the clock. The red numbers read 10:14. He won't be home until at least midnight. Damn it. I wander out to the living room and settle in for the longest two hours of my life.


I jolt awake when I hear keys in the lock at the front door. I must have dozed off, considering the clock above the mantle now reads 1:22. I watch in amusement as Kyle stumbles through the door and kicks off his shoes. He's obviously drunk. Well, this could certainly complicate things...

"'Ey, Brannen," I have to bite back my laugh as he slurs his words together and he stumbles into the kitchen and grabs a left-over slice of pizza from the fridge. Kyle really is a riot when he's plastered, "Wha'cha still doin' up? Ain't ya sposta be sleepin'?"

"Kyle, it's Saturday night, which means no school tomorrow. No, I'm, not supposed to be sleeping. Aren't you supposed to be sober?" I cock my head to the side as I watch his alcohol laden mind process this information.

Then suddenly, he's grinning like the chesire cat, "Too true. I should totally be sober! But I'm not, an' its okay, 'cause I'm drunk!"

I sigh and mentally store my questions away for tomorrow. He's already acting like nothing happened, why should I bring it up? "Yes, yes you are very drunk. You should probably get some sleep though. Even if we don't have school, mom and dad would kill us if we skipped out on church."

Kyle frowns at me and realizes the truth in my statement. We both had to be up, showered, and dressed to go by 9:30, "'Kay, I'm gunna go ta sleep now," he yawns and uses the wall for support as he heads down the hall and towards his room. Then, in the blink of an eye, he's on the ground. The drunken idiot tripped over the step.

I move from my cozy place on the couch and help him up. Kyle latches to me like he'll die if he lets go. He'd probably fall again, but I don't think he'd die, "Brannen..." he sighs my name and it goes straight to my groin. Shit.

"Yeah, yeah. I got you," I help him to his room and gently lay him on the bed. He relaxes against the pillows and drapes his arm over his eyes.

I get up to leave the room, but his hand on my arm stops me, "Stay..."

Damn it. Why now? "Now, Kyle. You need sleep, not a baby-sitter," I force out, even though everything inside of me wants to stay.

I walk away and I'm almost to the door when he speaks again, "Please?" The word was barely an exhale, but I stop.

"Why?" I don't know if he could hear the hopefull tone, but I was hoping he could.

"Because I want you here," Kyle says with a bit more confidence

I walk back to the bed, and stop at the edge, "Kyle, why do..." and my words are cut short because suddenly I'm on him. Kyle had pulled me into an overpowering kiss. It was brutal and hair shy of painful. I want more.

I kissed him back with as much ferocity that I could muster.

"Brandon... yes..." Kyle moans into my mouth and I answer with a deep groan of my own. I grind against him and feel an equal hardness covered by cloth.

The friction we created as we crushed our erections together was incredible. If it felt this good with our clothes on, I could barely imagine how it feel if we were nude, "Kyle... clothes off... NOW!" I got out in-between kisses.

I feel his hands go to my back at that moment and he lifts my shirt off of my prone body. We break the kiss and he throws my shirt to some random corner, then quickly sheds his own. I straddle his thighs and we undo eachothers pants. I pushed my body up and pulled my pants and boxers off. Kyle raises his hips and I help him out of his jeans. He isn't wearing any boxers and it fuels my desire even more.

I crash our lips and bodies back together and were rubbing against eachother like there's no tomorrow, "Brandon, get my lube. Top drawer on the right," Kyle groans and I comply immediatly. I reach for the side table and open the drawer, my lips never leaving his, and quickly search for a tube of something, anything, and I roughly shove it into Kyle's waiting hand.

He flips us, so I'm laying on my back and he's above me. I watch with wide eyes as he opens the small tube and our eyes connect. Kyle coats two of his fingers and I move so my feet are flat against the matress, knees bent, and legs spread, "Hurry..."

A slick finger circles my entrance and lightly presses in. It dosen't hurt, just feels kind of odd. He has the one finger completly inside and is moving it in and out, then adds a second. He slides the two in and out and scissors them as he goes. And I'm seeing stars. I groan, loudly, and Kyle hits that spot again and again.

"What do you want Brandon?" his mouth is against my ear and I have no idea when he got there, but I don't care. I answer his question with a pitiful groan, but that dosen't satisfy him. He presses against that spot and asks again, "What do you want me to do?"

"FUCK ME!" I scream and I can feel the smirk as his fingers leave my stretched hole. I feel his cock press against me. Sliding in, slowly. Again, I have no idea when he lubed himself up, but I certaintly don't care either.

I groan in frustration and Kyle seems to understand what I want. He slams into me with one quick thrust. I feel so full, but not much pain. The thought of what's actually going on seems to over-ride my brains ability to process any pain at this point.

Kyle waits for me to adjust, and I press down on him. Silently letting him know I'm ready. If I was expecting this to be slow and gentle, I was sadly mistaken. Luckily, I would never expect such a thing from Kyle.

"Brandon, you're so fucking tight. Shit... you're fuckin' perfect," he punctuates each word with a thrust and hits the spot when he twists his hips at 'perfect'. I'm seeing stars again as he hits that spot. Repeatedly. I know I'm being loud, moaning, groaning. Hell, I'm probably screaming, but I don't care. The only thing on my mind is coming.

Kyle seems to understand this and grabs my neglected, leaking cock. He strokes me in time with his thrusts and I'm coming in no time, Kyle's names on my lips. A few thrusts later, I can feel Kyle reach his completion.

We're both panting and sweaty as he slips out of me with a soft 'pop'. I'm starting to breathe normally when it hits me. During all those kisses at the beginning, he never even smelled like alcohol. Didn't taste like it.... "Kyle...?" I say softly.


"You weren't drunk, we're you?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"I never said I was," I could hear the cocky smirk in his voice. Damn him.

"You asshole!"

"Oh, shut up," and he's kissing me again. I guess that being more specific with what you want, really does help...


Author's Note: Okay, I'm not confident in my realistic sex-writing skillz, but there ya go. Hope ya'll liked it. Please rate and review. Toodlez! --Ashlee