Friday, November 29th, 2019 — Theodore Huntington, age 23

	It’s just before two in the morning when the knocking starts at my door. I ignore it at first, seeing as I’m nearly asleep, and continue ignoring it until it grows louder and more persistent. I groan, kicking my blankets off of me and stretching idly as I sit up. I briefly debate putting pants and a shirt on, but decide that whoever has the gall to pound on my door in the middle of the night can deal with seeing me bare-chested and free-balling. 
	I do, however, slip my slippers on over my yellowed white socks, and shuffle lazily out of my bedroom and towards the door, adjusting my balls and ensuring that my fly is at least buttoned. Upon arrival, I angle my eye up to the peephole and sigh deeply. I undo the deadbolt, swing the door open, and deliberately spread a disappointed look over my face.
	“Thaddeus,” I state flatly, crossing my arms.
	“Um, hi…” he says.
	I stand there, simply staring at him.
	“Uh, can I—may I come in?” he asks sheepishly.
	“You’re drunk.” This is almost half a question, but first and foremost a statement. His semi-slurred words and pronounced lazy eye are a clear tell of his intoxication.
	“…Y—yeah…”
	“And Maria kicked you out again?”
	“Well… yeah.”
	“So what makes you think I want your fucked-up ass sleeping on my couch tonight?”
	“Because you love me.” He smiles a weird, drunken, sloppy smile. “Plus, mom’s house is much further of a drive.”
	“It’s what? You drove here?” I peer behind him to see his SUV haphazardly parked, his front tires digging into my front yard. “God damnit, Todd, give me your keys and get your ass inside.”
	He smiles his broken smile again and plops his car keys into my hand, making his way past me and into my living room.
	“I tell you, Teddy, you’re a lifesaver.”
	“Please, just… call me next time and I’ll pick you up.”
	“Next time? There won’t be a next time.”
	“There will if you don’t stop drinking like this. It’s fucking Thanksgiving for Christ’s sake.  Who gets wasted on Thanksgiving?”
	“Lots of people. What did you do for Thanksgiving?”
	This sounds almost accusatory as if I were the one who had done something wrong.
	“I sat my ass at home and ordered a pizza. Mom didn’t invite me. You didn’t invite me—thank God. And Gus is in New York visiting his dad—thank God. Because I’m sure he’d have a lot to say about you showing up at our doorstep in the middle of the fucking night.”
	He ruminates on this for a moment.
	“Jesus, Teddy. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you didn’t… I would have…”
	“Don’t worry, Todd. I’m sure I had a better Thanksgiving than you did.”
	“Christ. Quit it with the criticism. If I wanted a lecture I would’ve gone home to mom.”
	“Well, you came to me. So you’re getting one anyway.” I pause, sigh, and look at his disheveled nature with disdain. “Dude, your wife is pregnant. She’s due in, like, three months. You’ve got to get a hold of yourself.”
	He’s silent for a while. Behind his dark eyes, I see a hint of mist. He breathes in deeply through his nose and lets it out from his muzzle in a sigh. 
	“I’m not ready, Teddy.”
	“Then I’ve got bad news for you because you don’t have much time left to get ready.”
	“I don’t know that I ever will be ready.”
	“Well, then you should have worn a fucking condom.”
	“Oh, yeah? That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have to worry about getting anyone pregnant. When was the last time you rubber-wrapped y-you…your ramming rod?”
	“First of all, nobody says that, so please stop. Second of all, that’s—…besides the point.”
 	“So you take it raw, still, is what you’re saying?”
	“Thaddeus.”
	His full name is his cue to shut the fuck up for once. He swallows and stares at my carpet, undoubtedly judging the amount of fur and grime that have built up over the past few months of not vacuuming.
	“I’m sorry, Teddy.”
	I’m not quite sure what exactly he’s apologizing for, so I press him.
	“You’re sorry?”
	“I’m so sorry.” His voice is cracking, and I can tell he’s about to cry. What about is the question. 
	“For knocking on my door at two in the morning? Or is there something else you’re sorry about?”
	“God, Teddy. Don’t play dumb with me. You know why I’m sorry.”
	I don’t. “No, I don’t. Enlighten me.”
	“For—God, Teddy. Don’t make me say it.”
	I stare at him callously, crossing my arms again.
	“For—for—for fucking you up!”
	“Fucking me up?”
	“Yeah, I mean—you—I—we…I—”
	“Yeah…?”
	“I can’t, Teddy. I can’t say.”
	He’s sitting there on my couch, clearly unable to articulate his feelings. But I know what he means. Because we’re brothers. Not just brothers, but twin brothers. There’s got to be some kind of semantic difference there. I know he’s trying to apologize for the years of sexual misconduct and incestuous happenings. Although I’m just as guilty as he is for letting it happen—and wanting it. But there’s something inside of me that wants to hear him say it.
	“Well,” I start, hesitantly, “If you can’t say it, how am I ever going to know what you mean?”
	He lets out a sound that sounds like half a sigh, the other half a deep, perturbed sob. And then: “I’m sorry for everything.”
	Involuntarily, I heave out a belly laugh. “Hah! That’s—that’s all you could come up with?”
	He doesn’t know how to respond to this. My laughter was not something he had anticipated.
	“Todd,” I revert to his preferred name to reiterate my sincerity. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”
	“I—I can’t—I—”
	I try my best to cross my arms harder, wrapping my midsection in an uncomfortable hug. 
	“I’m sorry.”
	He breaks into a sob. Like, guttural, visceral sobbing. I’m almost convinced it’s an act until I hear the phlegm rattling in his chest as he gasps for breath through the tears in his throat. 
	I don’t know what to do. Here he is, sobbing on my couch, and I’m standing here in front of him, staring at him, wearing nothing but my dirty underwear, socks, and slippers. 
	As his lungs fruitlessly grasp for the thin air in my duplex, I feel some sort of sorrow for him. A part of me tries to convince myself that this is genuine emotion, but the rest of me doubts it. The muscles in my cheeks and lips twitch, trying to fight back sympathetic tears. Something something twin connection, as the professionals would say. 
	I wait for him to stop, but he doesn’t. So I feel I have no choice but to sit down next to him. There’s about a foot-wide gap between us; my legs are crossed and I have my hands in my lap. I simply sit there listening to him sob for about a minute. At this point I can think of nothing else to do, so I reach my right arm out and place it around his shoulder.
	“I’m—I’m so, so sorry, Teddy. I never should’ve...”
	When my arm embraces him, he leans fully into me, placing his ugly snotty snout against my chest. His right hand comes up to embrace my opposite side, resting between the fat rolls beneath my tit.
	A few tears roll down my cheeks. They are out of my control, as tears usually are. I feel for him, to an extent. I’m not ready for kids either. He may be more successful—and more married—than I am, but success does not equal content. In many aspects, we are the same person. But in just as many ways, we are completely different. And I don’t think his unpreparedness to be a father is what’s really weighing on him at this precise moment.
	I want to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for. But I don’t know if that’s entirely true. The question always lingered in my mind how things would be different if he hadn’t forced himself on me. Even the question of if he had forced himself on me at all still lingered. Did I want to touch him as badly as he wanted me to touch him? Would I have grown up to be such a slut as I am now? Would I have spent my teenage years lusting after my own brother, spending my waking moments longing for him to unleash his cum inside of me? What would my life be, now, if we had never clicked on that website that fateful Christmas night, almost fifteen years ago now? If we had stayed in our beds like good boys and just played with our GameBoys until the sun came up? If he had never goaded me to do all those things to him? If he had never grabbed my hand and shoved it down the front of his underwear? If he had never—
	His entire body shudders with an inhale, breaking my concentration, the air trying its best to work its way past the mucus conglomerating in his throat and sinuses. The exhale comes with another sob, excreting snot and tears into my chest fur. At this point, my eyes are streaming tears as well, but I try my best to cry silently, so that he doesn’t notice. I hug him tighter, and he reciprocates. 
	This closeness is something I haven’t felt in almost a decade; since Todd’s first ‘real’ girlfriend in middle school, when he decided he was too good for his ‘little’ brother. I know I had missed this feeling of holding him, but its absence was never so prevalent to me as it was when I felt his heartbeat against mine again. His hot breath on my skin, his warm flesh pressed against me. My mind flashes back to that childhood bedroom, with beds on opposite sides, staring at each other across a sea of carpet every night until we heard our dad snoring so I could part that sea and join my brother in that forbidden carnal knowledge siblings so rarely share.
	I clench my eyes shut and push the memories from my brain. It’s not like that anymore, I try to convince myself. He’s married. But I look at the sorry lump of a person lying in my lap and can’t help but feel as if he was always mine—only borrowed out to Maria like a highly-coveted hardback novel at the library. I still love him, despite everything.
	He belts out a blightful blubber and I pull his body closer into mine, rubbing that crevasse in his back between his belly and chest, where my right paw is almost trapped by his lamenting lard. My left hand travels up his back and to his head, where I rub his ear between my index finger and thumb. 
	I don’t have anything to say to him right now, I’m simply letting him work out his drunken feelings and chagrin on his own, with my body as the kerchief he uses to blot his nose. My own feelings are complex, full of repentance and contempt. But this is what brothers are for, right? A dirty rag with which to wipe your regrets.
	I rest my chin on his forehead and, for a second, long to lean my muzzle down and plant a reassuring kiss on his face. As if reading my mind, he squeezes me tightly and plants a kiss between my breasts, inhaling my scent deeply before doing so. My cock twinges slightly in my loose underwear. 
	I grimace. The last thing I had expected when lying down for the night was having to fight off sexual advances from my own brother, but here I am, half-chubbed and holding his cheek to my chest.
	“Todd,” I sigh, chastely. 
	“Teddy Bear,” he nearly moans into my bosom, and moves his right hand down from my love handles to my thigh.
	“Todd,” I say again, sternly this time. 
	“Please,” he pleads, “Just let me lay with you for a bit.”
	With his hand dangerously close to my nethers, and his elbow just barely grazing the bulge in my boxers, I have a hard time arguing with him. 
	“I miss you,” he says.
	“We see each other, like, every other week.”
	“You know what I mean,” he implies, his hand pulling at my thigh harder, grasping my boxers such that my tail pops out of the sleeve in the back, exposing my asscrack to the soft suede of the couch cushion beneath me. 
	“Todd!” I shout as loud as I can through gritted teeth while still whispering.
	“Please, Teddy.” He looks up at me, making full unbridled eye contact with me for the first time today. His eyes are wet and forlorn, pathetic and unapologetic. Needy. 
	“You’re married, Thaddeus,” I remind him. “You’re about to be a father.”
	“I don’t care, Theodoooore.” He anoints my full name with such poison it’s hard to swallow. “You’ve been my brother for longer than I’ve been married.”
	“I’m sure Maria would whole-heartedly agree that that’s a great argument for cheating on your wife. ‘Oh, he’s my brother, so it doesn’t count’!”
	“Exactly! It doesn’t count!” He lets go of the side of my boxers and instead reaches for the front—wrapping his paw around my cock and giving it a not-so-gentle squeeze.
	“TODD!” I almost scream at him, pushing him off of me—and the couch. He rolls onto the floor in a sad heap, looking up at me, hurt more emotionally than physically. “You’re married!” I’m almost screaming at him at this point. “And I have a boyfriend! We’ve been together for almost ten years! Grow the fuck up! You’re the one who told me we were done with this shit!” 
	He stands up wearily, stumbling to his feet, and says, “Alright, I—I’m sorry. I’m sorry for waking you. I’ve got to get to sleep.” He waddles to my bathroom without another word, loudly pissing with the door open. I can hear him missing the toilet bowl and splashing onto the floor and wall. I stand there blinking, trying to get the image of him strategically trying to urinate with a hard-on out of my head.
	I adjust my cock—recently awakened within its fabric prison—and storm off to my bedroom. I pass the door to the bathroom, ajar, and out of the corner of my eye, I see my brother, bracing himself against the sink and staring into the mirror at himself, the front of his trousers doused in the piss that didn’t make it into the toilet. I think nothing of it, and all but slam my bedroom door shut.
	I lay in the dark for about ten minutes before I hear my couch being eviscerated and pulled out into a sad excuse for a bed. It’s about three minutes after the tired old springs stop squeaking that the sobbing recommences in my living room. I lay in the dark for about ten more minutes after that, waiting for it to end.
	I try my best to erase the memories of our past—to denounce my previous actions and refuse to let them influence my choices in the present. But none of what happened years ago can erase the fact that he is my brother. Even if he continuously reminds me of the fact that he is ‘older’ than me, I cannot just lie in bed listening to him ugly sob in the other room without feeling some sense of despondent melancholy.
	My erection has not yet gone down, in fact, it seems to be even more persistent now, a stain appearing on the fly of my boxers; pre-cum leaking from the tip as I recall distant memories of nights sharing a bed with him. 
	Didn’t I always see myself spending the rest of my life with him?
	I assume all brothers feel this way, to an extent. You always expect your siblings to be there for you until the end, barring any unnatural circumstances. 
	But we had something different—something special. Something not even most twins could claim to experience.
	We truly loved each other, once upon a time. Or at least, that’s how I felt about it.
	I’ve always wondered, maybe, that if he had had someone else’s hole to stick his cock into, would things still have happened the way they did? Or was I simply a filthy handkerchief, my only purpose to serve as a cum rag? It never seemed that way, for me, at the time. At least not until after Maria. Not until after my brother ‘broke up’ with me.
	And after that, I had Gus. When he broke up with his—erm—‘boyfriend’ around the same time, we fell on each other for support. Neither of us fully understood what the other was feeling, but boy did we explore those feelings fully. Emotionally—and physically. 
	But now… all those things that I thought were in the past are coming back up—fast, hard, and emergent.
	Another loud sob from my living room breaks my concentration and reminiscing. For the second time tonight, I groan, kicking my blankets off and stretching idly as I sit up. I don’t work tomorrow…er… today, anyway, thank God. Black Friday isn’t that big of a deal when you’re a cashier in a grocery store. 
	Forgoing the slippers this time, I shuffle my way into the living room. He’s turned all the lights off, except for the single dim bulb that hangs over my stove. In the soft glow, I see he’s made himself at home: his pants, shirt, and boots are strewn erratically across my living room carpet, and he’s curled up in a ball on my pull-out couch.
	The blanket that previously adorned the headrest of my recliner is wrapped around his lower half, barely even keeping him warm. The couch cushions serve as his pillows. He’s still wearing an undershirt, having been subconsciously self-conscious about his moobs since we were kids. In his arms is the stuffed crow I’ve had since I was a toddler; a toy he was always jealous of, even though he had his (in my opinion) far superior stuffed blue jay. I feel a pang of envy, seeing his pitiful form clutching onto the last unadulterated remnants of my childhood, soiling it, but that feeling is soon overwhelmed by commiseration. 
	I’m not sure if he genuinely doesn’t hear my approach, or if he’s playing dead like a kid after a long road trip, but he doesn’t react when I whisper his name.
	“Todd?”
	I kneel on the very edge of the mattress, facing him, the ancient springs grumbling beneath my weight.
	“Thaddy?”
	I only call him this when I want to piss him off. It works, to an extent, and he mumbles and kicks his legs in protest.
	“I’m sorry,” I say, in earnest.
	I place my hand on his calf, stroking it gently. He inhales deeply, with great effort, the ghosts of his sorrows echoing in his lungs.
	“What are you sorry for?” His voice is thick with snot.
	I almost don’t answer, considering his non-response to my similar question earlier tonight. So I rebut with my own non-response, identical to his own: “For everything.”
	A sound emanates from within him that is half a sniffle and half a laugh. 
	“Fuuuuu-huuuck you.”
	I chuckle at his profane retort as my hand slips into the cuff of his right sock and down, to wrap around his ankle. I thumb around at his Achilles heel before moving my fingers deeper in to tease at his paw pads, my claws gently raking at the rough skin hidden there beneath the sole of his sock.
	His leg reacts instinctively and twitches; he smiles, his eyes still closed tight, and squeezes Jeremiah the Crow tighter. 
	“You fucking pervert,” he mumbles, half drunk and half asleep, as he pulls away. He rolls his body, turning to face the wall opposite me. His sock comes off in my hand and he rubs his thighs together like a cricket in heat.
	I yank my hand back as if I had just grabbed the handle of a hot cast iron pan. I stare at his crusty sock in my hand, resisting the deep urge to bring it to my nose and drink in his scent.
	Fuck.
	What am I doing?
	What am I doing?
	This is my brother. My brother for Christ’s sake!
	It was different when we were kids...right? It seemed more innocent, somehow. Some kind of... playful exploration. But now we’re grown. We’re adults. We have lives, jobs... he’s about to be a father. This is no longer experimentation, this is just sex.
	I thought we had left this all behind.
	I thought I had moved on.
	I thought this was over and done with.
	Of course, we would always be brothers.
	Of course, we would always be close. 
	But this? Here? Now? This isn’t natural. This isn’t right.
	This wasn’t what I had expected—nor intended—to happen when I had opened the door for him less than an hour ago.
	“Teddy Bear…” he whines, pushing his one still-socked foot towards me, aiming for—and successfully landing on—my crotch. “I know you’ve missed playing with my paws.”
	No.
	NO.
	Absolutely not.
	As the meat of his big toe meets the tip of my cock, two layers of incidental fabric separating them, I am faced with a horrible decision.
	My mind flashes to the engagement ring stowed in my nightstand drawer. How I saved up for months to get Gus’ favorite gemstone custom-set into the silver band. And then to a few months in the future, when my brother will be in the waiting room, anticipating his son’s arrival. With his wife—his wife—in a hospital bed screaming. It’s still bizarre to me that he’s married. But even with all of this information, and conflicting scenarios running amok through my head, all I can bring my mind to focus on is the sensation of my brother stroking the bulge in my underwear with his toes.
	“Todd, please.”
	At this point, I’m mostly trying to convince myself to make him stop, but my body longs for him to keep going.
	“Todd...” I beg him. 
	Now I’m not sure if I’m pleading for him to stop or continue. So he continues, and I don’t stop him. My hands clench, as do my eyes, and I give in to my desires, bringing his sock up to my face and inhaling deeply.
	The sock is residually damp, not having had time to dry off after he removed his boots, which, knowing my brother, he’d likely been wearing all day. His scent has changed ever so slightly since I last indulged myself in it. A hint of leather, from his shoes, is what I notice first. And then, beneath that, is the smell that is overwhelmingly him, an odor I have gotten all too used to, seeing as we had shared a bedroom up until the day we moved out and into our college dormitories. A scent that, even as a prepubescent boy, I had become addicted to, stealing his dirty socks and underwear from the hamper and sneaking them into the bathroom to gratify myself and rub one out on nights when I was in the mood but he wasn’t. But then beyond that smell, I detect something new. Perhaps it’s just a certain musk that comes with passing puberty, once your hormones balance and your body has completed its change. Perhaps it’s just something that comes with working such a physically demanding job as construction—the sweats of his labor imbibed by his work boots and then disseminated into every sock that graces their insoles. 
	I take another deep breath in and shudder, my chest heaving as I struggle to contain my emotions. My mouth swells with saliva, hungry for more of his scent. My cock throbs and strains against my boxers. Todd hasn’t stopped stroking my bulge, so he feels this, and takes it as a sign to press his foot against me.
	“Ohh, fuck...” I whimper, my trembling hips leaning into his touch. 
	“There’s my Teddy Bear...” he whispers. 
	“We can’t do this,” I protest. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this to Gus.”
	He stops and takes his foot off my cock, turning to face me once more. 
	“He doesn’t have to know,” he says. I can just barely see a glint in his eyes from the kitchen light. They look black and soulless in the darkened living room. They match the dark eyes of my stuffed crow he’s still clutching in his arms.
	He’s right, of course, Gus doesn’t have to know. But I will know. Will the guilt eat me alive?
	Gus knows about Todd and me, and our... previous relations. Obviously. He was there, during those few sleepovers at Sammy’s house before Sammy...well...
	I don’t think Gus knows quite how often we had these ‘relations’; I had hoped to lead him to think it was a rare occasion. But Todd and I fucked like rabbits growing up, especially in the wildest throes of puberty. 
	Todd does not seem to share my concerns about the consequences and consequent guilt that going any further with our tryst might bring. Seeing the look on his face, it seems like he needs this more than I want it. And God, do I want it.
	I hesitantly get down and lay down next to him,	my arm quavering with anxiety under my own weight. I pull the blanket up and around my shoulders, trying my best not to touch him. I rest my head down on the pillow and stare into his forlorn eyes, our noses inches away from each other.
	I want to protest more, but it’s futile. My mind is as made up as his. He did claim me first. He was my first everything. The first hand I ever held. My first kiss. The first hard cock I’d ever seen, touched, or tasted. The first person to give me an orgasm, before I had even discovered it on my own. The first cum I ever swallowed. The first person to fuck me, the first person to breed me. All of these things we had shared, but all I can think about is how long it has been since I’ve kissed—or even hugged my brother. So I do.
	It’s subtle at first, like shy teenagers in a darkened movie theater. I think I take him by surprise, because he doesn’t kiss me back right away, until I wrap my arms around him and press his body into mine. And then the dam breaks and nearly a decade of want and longing come rushing out. Teeth and tongues wildly gnashing at each other; it’s almost feral. I have this horrid feeling where I want to kiss him somehow deeper, but our muzzles are locked about as deeply as they can go. It’s as if I cannot hold him close enough like I want to crawl into his skin and become him. Reading my mind, he wraps his thigh around mine and grasps me with its strong muscles, our hardened cocks kissing through our underwear beneath the covers. I moan into his mouth and suck at his tongue.
	After what feels like an eternity of our flesh and fur and slobber thrashing ferociously, we finally break the kiss and I come up for air, panting. Jeremiah the stuffed Crow stares up at me horrified, having had his polyester filling squished between our chests as we kissed. I don’t want him to see anything else, so I toss him off the bed and into the living room. 
	I almost quit here, knowing that I should pull away and go back to bed. But our hearts beat—and our members throb against each other in near-perfect synchronicity as my gaze penetrates his. And I feel myself falling in love with him all over again. 
	I open my mouth to say something, but the words leave me; my mind swimming with thoughts and regrets and desire. The only sound I can eke out is a delighted “Ooohhh...” as he wraps his hand around my shaft and gives it a gentle squeeze.
	We lay there in silence for a moment, my arms around him and his hand around my rod, slightly stroking it with the pad of his thumb. I almost don’t need to go any further than this. I haven’t felt such warm, sweet, closeness in a while. It’s different with Gus. It’s almost too... intentional.
	But my thoughts are once again interrupted by Todd. Now, he throws the blanket off of us and sits up, tearing his shirt off. I don’t hesitate to crawl up to him and start nursing on his nipple. He sucks air in through his teeth—I doubt Maria ever does this for him. And I know how much he loves it. 
	My mouth occupied with his left nipple, I reach over to tweak the other between my fingers. He moans and grumbles, and pets the back of my head, which he knows drives me wild. His other hand reaches down to adjust his dick in his underwear—which I can now see are classic tightie-whities, my favorite on him. My fingers abandon his nipple and trail down his stomach to their grand prize. But I stop them before they get there, coming to rest just under his belly so that the back of my paw grazes the fabric against which his cock strains. I’m doing this to tease myself as much as I am to tease him. 
	I rub his blubber for a while before finally—finally, after so long—touching his cock with just an index finger. I trail it up the shaft slowly, circling the top of his glans, and then dipping my fingertip into the pre-cum that has leaked through his briefs, rubbing it between my finger and thumb, reveling in its intense sliminess. 
	I stop sucking on his nipple for only a split second to lick my fingers clean—overjoyed to be tasting him again—and then give him a quick peck on the nose.
	“It tastes much better straight from the source, you know.”
	Oh, Todd. Tactful as always.
	But something I’ve never admitted to him is just how much his juvenile, studio-porn-style dirty talk turns me on. And this is no exception. 
 	I give into my temptation and pull his waistband down, freeing him. I stare down at my brother’s cock, amazed at just how much he had grown since we were fifteen years old. When we were much younger, our twin genetics decreed that our dicks be exactly the same size. But puberty changed our bodies so that they differed in the most minute ways, blessing me with an ever-so-slightly more impressive length. Now, I’ve still got him beat on length, but the sheer thickness of it is almost intimidating. I’ve heard jokes about people being hung like a soda can, but Christ. 
	I wrap my hand around him, stoking the bottom of the head with my thumb, my mouth and his cock competing for world champion of drooling.
	He must be sick of my teasing by now, because he grabs me by the ear and forces my head lower so that his tip parts my jowls on the left side. 
	I could have done with some more foreplay honestly, but who am I to deny an unsucked cock, shoved into my maw? I open my mouth and lap up the juices I have coaxed from within him.
	My back is bent at an uncomfortable angle, so I straighten out, my legs dangling off the side of the pull-out couch as I lie perpendicular to him. 
	I can hardly contain myself as I open my mouth wider to welcome him in. He grunts and puts his hand on the back of my head, trying to push me down all the way. But I resist, only letting him go halfway, and flicking my tongue around the underside of his head. 
	“Ah—aw, fuck—ah!”
	I revel in his praise as I rest my cheek against his belly, suckling on his cock like a starving cub on his mother’s breast.
	I’ve learned to focus more on how I move my tongue and less on how much I move my head—it’s much more effective and will save me hundreds of dollars in chiropractor appointments down the line. Todd notices my newfound strategies and notes aloud: “God Damn, Teddy Bear. You’ve been practicing.”
	My mouth is full, so this time his praise elicits only a grunt in response: one of agreement. 
	“That mutt of yours is lucky,” he grumbles.
	I roll my eyes so hard I wonder if he can feel the muscles contracting in my face. I try to push my boyfriend out of my mind as I push my muzzle down onto my brother’s cock, my nose nearly grinding into his pelvis through layers of winter fat.
	“Ah—ah!” Todd cries, his leg muscles contracting in surprise.
	“M-Maria can never go that deep...” he complains, which is almost pathetic, because I’m sure I could go another inch or two before bottoming out and having to pull back in fear of gagging. But I don’t have time to think about that, because I’m focusing too much on flicking my tongue against the very bottom of his shaft where his cock meets his balls. I then move it slowly up, still flicking it like a snake smelling its prey, until I reach the head again and then start bobbing my head up and down, not daring to stop my tongue from doing its job of delivering pleasure. 
	His turgid tumescence twitches, and I feel my taste buds come alive with the essence of his pre-ejaculate. I milk his cock with my mouth like I’m squeezing the last bit of toothpaste out, yearning to savor more of his flavor. 
	“Goddamn.”
	I pull my mouth off of him with a satisfying Pop! and look up at him, panting and licking my lips.
	“You missed my cock, don’t lie.”
	I can’t lie, so I simply nod. I grasp his erection in my hand and lean up to give him a deep kiss, hoping he can taste his own arousal on my lips. 
	“Don’t stop now,” he pleads when the kiss is done.
	He doesn’t have to ask twice.
	I get up off the couch and reposition myself to better suck his cock. I crawl up in between his legs, lifting his heavy thighs and placing them over my shoulders, his feet on either side of me. He pulls me in with his legs, my torso melting into his lap, and his cock melting in my mouth. I struggle to reach his nipples with my arms trapped under his weight but, with great effort, I succeed. 
	I put all of my concentration into pleasuring him with every ounce of strength I have. I catch my foot on the edge of the couch bed and use it to shift myself forward and backward, putting the whole of my body weight into this long-anticipated blowjob. I’m getting almost as much of a workout as the ancient bed springs that cry for mercy beneath our combined weights. I briefly consider the neighbors, before deciding: fuck ‘em. I bury my snout into my brother’s fupa and hold there, waving my tongue around like one of those funky tube men that dance around outside a shady used car dealership. 
	He gasps and puts his hands over mine, and his hips start idly thrusting, something he’s done since childhood. I prefer to think of this as an involuntary reaction; that I’m doing such a good job his brain turns off and takes over control of his hips. He moves his footpaws up off the mattress and rests them on the small of my back. His left sock is still snug on his foot, but the right one is lost to the void of the couch. As he rubs my back with his paws, the claws of his bare foot digging into my skin with pleasurable pain, his thighs constrict around my head, preventing me from pulling my mouth more than halfway off his cock. 
	Not that I’m complaining. I happily return to thrusting my body against his, complimenting his motions with perfect timing. I’m extra careful about my teeth now that we’re fully into it. He grabs my hand and squeezes it, leaning down to plant a tender kiss on my fingers. He doesn’t let go. He never was the romantic type growing up—at least not towards me—so the gesture is unexpected and makes my heart flutter. 
	“Ah, fuck. Ah, s-stop!” he nearly yells. “I’m gonna cum!”
	He releases me from the chokehold he had me in between his thighs and pushes my head off of him. His cock stands at attention, glistening with saliva. It visibly throbs and pulses, and I know from experience that if I so much as breathe on it too hard it will set him off. So I hold my breath as he lay still with his eyes clenched, perhaps reciting the pledge of allegiance in his head, trying to will away his orgasm.
	After a few moments, when I think it’s safe, I take a deep, shaky breath, making up for lost time. He lies there lazily, panting as if he was the one doing all the work. His cock twitches again, a stream of pre spurting out, then oozing down his shaft.
	“O-okay, hold on. I—I think the coast is clear,” he says, unsure. I lick his weeping member from the base to the tip, cleaning off the still-warm pre-cum.
	With his go-ahead, I slide my muzzle down his length before he cries out as if in pain, putting his hands on the back of my head and shoving me down deeper than ever before.
	He wraps his thighs around my neck, locking my head in place. And then he begins what I can only describe as ‘skull-fucking my brains out’. I can hardly come up for air; my mouth is full, and my snout is so deeply buried in his pubic fat that I can’t even breathe through my nose. I am quite literally at his mercy. My only hope for survival is that he cums soon, because I sure as hell ain’t tapping out.
	My prayers are soon answered, because after only a solid forty-five seconds of pounding his pelvis into my jaw, he lets out a feral sound—some sort of howl mixed with a growl—and I feel the pulsing of his cock on my tongue.
	“Ah, fuck. Here it comes, hng—”
	I want to pull off of him—just a tiny bit, just enough so that I can taste his emissions. But my head isn’t budging. And I can feel him releasing into my throat, just beyond my taste buds, and I swallow—as if I had a choice. 
	After the strongest tides of his orgasm peter out and his thighs relax, I am finally able to pull my head back. I don’t tap out—especially not now—and I only pull off enough to be able to breathe through my nose again, milking the last few spasms and spurts of cum with an intense suckling that I can tell is almost too much for him to bear. The final drops fill my maw, and I resist swallowing, allowing the slimy fluid to accumulate in my mouth. It’s so good to finally taste him again. I never want to go back to not remembering the taste of my brother’s steaming hot milk. 
	The fresh cream lingers on my tongue, and I can taste it in my nostrils. It’s a disappointment when he pushes me off and I feel obligated to swallow, because I certainly could have laid there for hours with his cum-covered cock festering in my maw.
	“Jesus, fuck,” he pants, out of breath. “Yikes. I haven’t cum that hard since... since... holy shit. I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard. God damn.”
	He’s talking as if he just ran a marathon, or perhaps scored the winning touchdown at the Superbowl, or some other sports thing that’s important. I’m still lying there between his legs, my neck and jaws sore, but my heart hungry for more. Cum dribbles down my chin, down his cock, then down the seam between his balls, staining the mattress beneath us.
	I crawl up to his face and kiss him forcefully, pressing against his lips until he has no choice but to open his mouth and welcome my tongue in. I can still feel the sticky wetness of his seed wrapped around my tongue, and I know he can taste it. My cock is throbbing through my boxers against his stomach now; I still haven’t even fully undressed.
	I break the kiss and look at him. His eyes are closed and he’s smiling like a kid in a candy store. “Don’t tell me you’re spent already?”
	He makes a sound, and I can’t tell if it’s a groan or a moan. Maybe it’s neither, maybe it’s both. But I need more of him, and this time I won’t take no for an answer. 	
	“How about I be on top this time?” I suggest, a sly smile on my face.
	Being the younger—and more timid—brother, of course, I ended up on the bottom most of the time. Not that I minded. There was something about going into first-period English class and sitting next to my brother while the load he left inside of me the night before seeps out into my underpants. It made me feel dirty, in a way that I liked. But ever since I got together with Gus, I have bottomed quite rarely. Gus has only tried to top me maybe two or three times. He’s never knotted me, though. I did once beg him to as he fucked me, feeling the beginning of his knot pushing ever so slightly inside of me, but we were, unfortunately, unable to make it happen.
	Since then, I’ve slowly grown into my confidence, and found that I enjoy taking control when the time and feeling’s right. But when my brother grabs me by the throat and slams me into the pillow next to him with enough force to knock the wind out of me, my cock swells and I belt out an unnaturally feminine half gasp-half moan straight out of a bad hentai.
	“Heh,” he chuckles. “Not tonight.”
	He rolls me over onto my stomach and straddles me, his girthy meat sitting between my buns, and turns my head to the side. He’s somehow hard again—or perhaps hard still—after having just shot a load down my throat. His cock is slick with my spit and whatever cum I was unable to swallow.	
	“You see this?” He holds his left hand up to my face. I don’t answer; it feels superfluous. 
	He lets go of my neck and pulls off his wedding ring, tossing it blindly into the darkness. I hear it clink against the linoleum floor in the kitchen, scuttling off into oblivion. Likely under the fridge or stove, knowing his luck.
	He grabs my face with his freshly-divorced left hand and I whine like a bitch (excuse the speciesist analogy). He leans down towards me so that his nose is barely grazing my ear, and his hot breath tickles the insides of it.
	“Tonight,” he growls, “You’re mine.” My cock tenses and flexes against the mattress. I can feel a pool of pre-cum forming in the front of my shorts. He grabs his dirty sock from underneath the pillow where I must have dropped it earlier, and rolls it down over my snout like a muzzle.
	He gets up off of me and hooks his thumbs into the tailhole of my underwear, splitting them down the back with ease. I don’t even have time to mourn my favorite pair of boxers before he spreads my cheeks and stuffs his muzzle between them. 
	His cold, wet nose touches me first, making me pucker. He stays there a moment, huffing in my musk, before his tongue emerges from between his jaws and sends a shockwave through my body with a long, wide lick to the asshole. I gasp and shudder, pressing my hips back into him.
	Gus has never even so much as hinted at wanting to eat my ass. Not that I had ever asked him. And Teddy never would have done this when we were kids, even if I begged him. I had done it for him, once, for about fifteen seconds before he decided it was gross and made me stop. His eagerness to do it now makes me wonder how much of a freak Maria is. And how much of a freak Todd has truly become. And how much of a freak I have become, because despite never having considered analingus as a viable form of pleasure, I can immediately see why it’s colloquially become the go-to litmus test for whether or not your boyfriend is a keeper.
	I squirm around beneath him, lifting my ass into the air. He pulls my ruined shorts off of me and tosses them to the side. Then he wraps a hand around my meat and starts milking me from behind, still snacking on my anus like it’s the last supper. I’ve got a hair trigger after the incredibly arousing face-fucking I’ve just received, and my cock aches, leaving a trail of goo on the sheets beneath me. 	
	His muzzle and tongue go deeper now; he grabs my tail and lifts it with his free hand for better access. My chubby ass cheeks grab at his snout and pull him in deeper. 
	He comes up for a breath, replacing his tongue with a finger—then two, then three, leaving me writhing in pleasure as he wiggles them around, searching for my prostate. 
	Seemingly pleased enough with his preparations without a hint of regard for my pleasure, he calls this a job well done and thus concludes my first-ever ass-eating session, only a minute or two after it began. I lament for only a moment, because shortly after he pulls his fingers out of me, I feel the tip of his cock press against my hole.
	“This couch is gonna be the only thing pulling out tonight,” he bellows. Again with the corny dirty talk.
	He pushes against me, but there’s some struggle at first. On the rare occasions that Gus has topped me, it’s a bit easier, due to the tapered, canine shape of his penis. It’s got a bit of leeway, what with the tip having more of a point. But my brother’s cock is thick from the get-go, and he eases his way in slowly. 
	Once the head is in and I feel my sphincter relaxing a bit, enveloping his glans, I sigh into the pillow, content just to lie there with his tip throbbing inside of me. But he sinks in deeper, splitting me. I pull the sock off of my face so I can speak, tossing it aside.
	“Dude, I—I have lube, I think I should probably go get it,” I suggest, wincing.
	“We never needed it when we were kids.”
	“Yeah, but back then your cock wasn’t the size of a beer can.”
	He grunts in concession and pulls out of me. I rush to my bedroom and throw open my nightstand drawer to grab the lube I keep in there. I pause, only for a second, to look at the engagement ring not-so-subtly tucked in the back corner. What am I doing?
	God. Fuck. I’ve already swallowed his cum and gotten my ass eaten out. Is getting fucked going to make this situation any less of a catastrophe? I think not.
	I shut the drawer and return to the living room with haste, where my brother is still kneeling there waiting for me to retake the position. He’s stroking his cock idly as if to keep himself hard.
	Instead of getting back into my downward dog position, I lay on my back and wrap my legs around his hips, embracing his ass with my paws. If he’s going to fuck me, I want to watch him fuck me.
	He looks at me with a curious stare. As kids, we almost always did it from behind. It seemed less gay, somehow, that way. Back when we were concerned with keeping up appearances behind a closed door. I pass him the lube and put my hands behind my head as if sunning myself at the beach. He hesitates.
	“What’s the matter?” I ask him. “Did you want to fuck me from behind, so you could pretend I was your wife?” 
	He laughs loudly, and says: “Fuck no. It’s just... been a while since I’ve fucked a... a guy from this position. Hah, I’m not sure I remember how.”
	It seems difficult for him to admit out loud that he’s fucking a ‘guy’. Maybe only I have moved on from that, seeing as he has spent the majority of his adolescence and early adulthood acting as if he was straight the whole time.
	“Don’t worry,” I coo, “I’ll help you.” 
	I slide my body down farther on the bed, placing the spare cushion under my ass to give him a better angle. He lubes up his cock and strokes it, sliding the gel all along his length. He squirts some onto his fingers and smears it onto my hole as well, which is still sopping with his slobber.
	I fumble around with his cock, trying to guide him into me. When he can’t get the angle quite right, he throws my legs up over his shoulders with my feet to either side of his head, lifting my ass off the bed. My forbidden fuckhole now better exposed, I once again firmly grasp his meat and lead him to my entrance. The tip slides back in with ease, and he lets out a pleasured whimper. He pushes forward, sinking half of his length into me. He toys with me for a bit, fucking me ever so slowly, only using the first two inches to slide in and out of me. But I need him deeper, I need him inside of me, all the way. 
	I use my heels to try to subtly pull his shoulders towards me, hoping our twin connection will allow him to read my mind. As always, it doesn’t let me down, and he pulls out so that just the very tip of his tip is inside me, and pushes forward so rapidly that he hilts me in one fell swoop. We both gasp and cry out—him in pleasure, and me in pleasured surprise. He leans down on top of me, folding me in half, and he’s just barely able to lick the tip of my nose to give me a kiss. He’s got me in a certifiable mating press; I was unaware I could even bend like this anymore. 
	We lie there for a while, him just throbbing deep inside me, grinding his hips against mine, side to side, his cock settling into its new home. We gaze longingly into each other’s eyes like a couple of horny teenagers after prom. As if it would be another decade before we could do this again. Like I was a gift he couldn’t wait to unwrap. As if he wished he were a dog so he could knot me and be stuck inside of me until his body decided it was done. Like he couldn’t wait to be done fucking me so that he could just fuck me all over again. As if, despite being inside of me as deeply as possible, he wanted to go deeper. Like—
	All of a sudden, somehow, he seemingly does go deeper, his pubic fat smushing against my ass, spreading my cheeks, and allowing another hidden inch of his cock to emerge—and then delve into me. I emit a sigh, trying not to think about how my back is going to feel when I wake up in the morning. After he’s satisfied that he’s as far in as he can go, he starts thrusting, hard, fast, and deep. 
	I lean up as much as I can as he’s fucking me, wrapping my arms around this hefty neck. He leans down into me, once again reading my cues perfectly, and I kiss him as deeply as I can without breaking my spine in half. His tongue thrashes against mine until I lose my grip on his neck and fall back onto the bed, bouncing comically off the shitty, flimsy mattress.
	All throughout this, he doesn’t stop his thrusting. I close my eyes to better focus on my other senses. The sound of the bed springs and scant wire frame squeaking rhythmically beneath us; the feeling of the entire couch shaking back and forth with the force of his fucking. The plapping sound of his flapping balls slapping happily against my ass, and the feeling of them tickling the underside of my stubby tail. The smell of him, which is tinged with the fading scent of whiskey shots chased with cheap beer, but his musk is still there, hanging in the air like a fog clouding my mind.
	And, of course, the taste of his semen still haunts my tongue. I imagine his sperm cells trying their damnedest to impregnate my taste buds.
	But even with all of these other feelings and sounds and smells, I already miss watching his face as he plunges into me, so I open my eyes to see him already staring into mine. I want to kiss him again, but the task was too strenuous and uncomfortable, so I settle for a mutual, lustful gaze.
	He slows his pace now, but thrusts harder and deeper, pulling almost all the way out and then hilting me again with every propulsion of his hips. The back of the couch is banging into the shared wall between my house and the adjoining one. I once again think of my neighbors before once again deciding: fuck ‘em. I’m enjoying myself far too much to even think about asking him to stop.
	I shift my legs up so that I’m able to cup his face with my feet, rubbing the soles of my socks on his cheeks.
	“Come on, Teddy. Cut it out. You know I hate that shit.”
	“Aww, man,” I say, using my toes to pull his lips down into an exaggerated frown. “Well, you used to hate eating ass too, but it seems that must have changed.”
	“I... uh,” he seems embarrassed. “I figured it would be pretty much the same thing as eating pussy, so...”
	“I hope you’re not this rough with your wife.”
	“No, he admits, smiling. “Just you.”
	He tears both of my socks off and tosses them across the room. I’m going to have a lot of cleaning up to do in the morning. 
	Despite just telling me that he ‘hates this shit’, he turns his head to the side and licks the pad of my paw gently before popping my big toe into his mouth. Another thing Gus would never do for me. And neither would Todd, or so I thought. Both of them would let me indulge, at best, in playing with their paws, sniffing, licking, sucking, kissing, or simply giving them a good foot massage with their feet in my lap, pressing against the conspicuous boner in my pants. Todd had even given me a few footjobs back in the day. But neither of them would ever do the same for me—it just wasn’t in their interest—so I had no idea just how much I would like my toes to be sucked on. But now the answer was clear to me: I would like it very much, please.
	Soon enough he’s got nearly half my foot in his damn mouth. He’s slobbering on it, foaming at the mouth like he’s rabid, all the while still fucking me. The feeling is so erotic that I can’t help but reach down and start furiously masturbating, stopping just before I feel my orgasm approaching. As I watch him devour my paw, it’s hard to tell if he’s still doing this just for me, or if he’s actually beginning to enjoy it himself.
	The awkward angle at which my knee is bent begins to hurt, so I reluctantly retract my paw from his maw. Frothing drool escapes his mouth as he pants, a gleaming strand hanging from his chin and swaying with the motion of his thrusts. It breaks off, half of it landing on his fat tummy, the rest falling onto mine.
	I hate to be a pillow princess, but the compromised position he’s got me in keeps me from doing much in the way of aiding his efforts. But he’s lasting longer this time, due to having just climaxed not ten minutes earlier. I’m torn; half of me longs for him to unleash again, inside me. The other half wants him to fuck me until the sun comes up. 
	He goes in deep, pounding harder than ever before. The couch is now slamming against the walls, and I’m sure my neighbors are bothered by this. But I don’t care. I don’t even care when the flimsy legs keeping the bottom half of the bed upright fold in on themselves, the mattress collapsing so that we’re at about a thirty-degree angle. This causes me to slide down into his lap, impaling my ass on his cock. I gasp out in shock and pleasure, and then burst out laughing. 
	Todd’s gyrations finally come to a halt; he’s just as surprised as I am. He can’t help but start laughing as well, beginning with a few scattered chuckles before evolving into full-blown belly laughter. He’s so distracted by our unfortunate predicament that my legs fall from his shoulders and he leans forward to rest his forehead on my chest, which, like his, is still heaving with laughter. His cock slides out of me, but I don’t notice, because I’m focusing too hard on trying to laugh quietly.
	He starts to speak, then wheezes, as if what he’s trying to say is so funny he can’t even get the words out. He does this again, getting almost half a phrase out this time. I think he’s trying to say: “I guess you could say—”, but he cracks up before the punchline.
	I lie there in wait for him to finally finish his thought. But he never does. I guess I’ll never know what’s so funny.
	After our laughter dies down, I try to sit up, saying: “Alright, let me go fix this bed before we... continue.” I lift my leg to try and roll off the bed, but he grabs me before I can, wrapping my legs around his waist.
	“Oh no, we don’t have time for that,” he says, and jabs his cockhead into my perineum. “I’ve got something I need to take care of first.”
	His cock has slightly softened during our short recess, but that doesn’t stop him from gliding the tip back into my sacred hole. I feel his girth growing inside of me as he plunges deeper, muscles flexing and veins protruding. The downward angle of the mattress certainly lends itself well to the position we’re in. Every time he pushes my body upwards with his hips, gravity brings me back down, immersing him further in my depths.
	It seems as if the couch bed is somehow louder now, begging to either be put back in its upright position or, conversely, put out of its misery. But we grant it neither of its pleas, instead subjecting it to further tests of structural integrity. He resumes his staccato motions, obviously trying to stave off his orgasm and failing. I can hear his heartbeat drumming, and inside of me, I swear I can feel the blood pumping through the veins in his cock. Now I wrap both my legs around his waist, drawing him into me, and from this position, he’s easily able to lean down and kiss me. He’s got his tongue wrapped around mine when he stops the kiss to growl into my throat: “Fuck, Teddy Bear, I’m gonna cum.”
	He speeds up for a few moments. Then he slows down considerably, hilting before pulling back slightly and hilting again.
	I wish I could say I can feel him filling me up with his precious seed, but I can’t. I know he’s cumming, though, not just because he said so, but because of the tell-tale signs that are the quivering of his hips and the quavering of his arms. I do feel the final few flexes of his cock muscles inside of me as the last few drops are propelled from his urethra and into my rectum. I clench my asshole around him as tight as I can, trying to milk him for all he’s worth. He finally finishes cumming and slips out of me, collapsing on top of me. My unsatisfied cock throbs against his gut, crying for attention.  
	He says nothing, but heaves his weight against me with each labored breath he takes. This time I can excuse his panting; he actually did do all the work. And a noble job it was indeed, taking the life of an innocent couch bed in the name of pure, incestuous lust. 
	His winter fat is crushing me, constricting my rib cage so that I can hardly breathe. But I don’t complain. It’s been a long while since I’ve cuddled my brother like this, feeling him balanced atop my stomach like a breathing, stinking weighted blanket. And stink he does, the fresh scent of sex and bear musk fills my nostrils and the air around me, intoxicating. Now, I feel physical evidence that he did in fact climax inside of me: the cooling contours of his cum seeping from my ass, slickening my cheeks, and sticking to the sheets.
	Once he has nearly caught his breath, he kisses me yet again, sleepily.
	“Can I—uh, can I like, breathe for a second, here?” I plead, pushing him off of me. He rolls lazily onto the mattress, which is still lop-sided and grumbling.
	We lay there for a while, basking in our naked closeness. The uncomfortable angle of the bed was great for fucking on, but not for laying on. I’m strong enough to lift the bed with him laying on it, so I do, and right the legs so that we’re finally laying flat again when I join him again on the mattress.
	My mind is racing with thoughts and memories from our pasts, thinking of all the things we’ve done, and all the things we never got to do. I briefly forget that this was a mistake that can never happen again. He’s married. With a kid on the way. I’ve got an engagement ring squirreled away in my nightstand. I can’t let this happen again. But I push these thoughts out of my mind and instead turn my attention to my brother, who has conveniently been ignoring my still-erect cock standing at attention between my thighs. I grab his wrist and lead it to my crotch, the way he used to do to me when we were first discovering the wonders of masturbation together. But he pulls his arm back, hugging his own chest and clenching his eyes tight. I know he’s going to fall asleep soon, so I give up on trying to get him to get me off.
	My stiffness remains, however, as I think back to a certain secret of mine I’ve never shared with anyone, especially not him.
	“You remember that yellow tank top you used to hide under your mattress?”
	Todd, half asleep, only grunts in response, a kind of “Huh?”, asking for clarification.
 	“You know,” I continue. “That one you used as a cum rag for almost a whole year. That shit was almost as stiff as plywood.” 
	Todd grunts again, this time as if to say: “Ohh, yeah. I remember that.”
	“And remember that time you lost it, and tore the whole room apart looking for it? You decided mom had found it when she was cleaning our room, and figured you were dead. You were absolutely mortified.”
	“Mmmhmm,” he moans, stroking my head.
	“She didn’t find it,” I say, and I take a deep breath in. “I stole it,” I admit finally. “I stole it and hid it under my mattress.”
	He doesn’t audibly react, but he stops petting my head.
	“I loved the way it smelled. That weird, sweet scent of a hundred loads of dried cum.”
	He sits perfectly still.
	“Sometimes, after you went to sleep, I would sneak into the bathroom and put it on. I don’t think there was a single inch of that fabric that you hadn’t drenched in cum at some point. I would sit there on the toilet, jerking off, rubbing that crusty shirt against my chest and stomach, and thinking of you.”
	Finally, he speaks: “You’re a fffucking freak.”
	“I know,” is all I can think to say. I don’t know why I admitted this to him, after all these years. But it feels like as good a time as any. The part I don’t admit to him is that I kept that shirt. I took it to college with me, and donned it while masturbating in my dorm room as he was a thousand miles away in his own. I still have it, tucked away in my keepsake box hidden in the back of my closet where Gus will hopefully never look. 
	I go to speak to him again, but he is already snoring. The afterglow must have hit him hard. He rolls over and lays on his stomach, arms folded beneath his head.
	Typical of him, to get off twice and then fall asleep before even reciprocating once. Sure, he ate my ass out, but in the grand scheme of things it only served to prepare me for his entrance. This is why I had to sneak off into the bathroom to pleasure myself so often when we were teens. He would cum and go right to sleep. Not that it bothered me; back then I was mainly interested in taking as much of his seed as possible, through whichever orifice he pleased. I was such a people-pleaser. And I guess I still am.
	Gus is not such a selfish lover, but I’ve become accustomed to this with Todd. My cock is still leaking and twitching in the sticky air. And I know how heavy a sleeper my brother is. My mind instantly turns to dubious thoughts.
	On more than one occasion in my teenage years, I had been woken up from a pleasant dream to find my brother’s cock being rubbed against my cheek. Or sometimes I would find he had snuck over and rested his balls in my open palm, grinding his shaft against my wrist. Most of the time I would wake up and fulfill my duty as a sibling to get him off before going back to bed. I’m sure, sometimes he would get off without even waking me up. But sometimes, more than I’d like to admit, I would pretend to stay asleep and let him do his thing. Rubbing the tip of his cock between my lips, stroking himself until he finished, leaving my face sopping wet. Being used in my sleep as a living, breathing sex toy and waking up with my brother’s emissions stuck to my facial fur had a certain je ne seis quoi that drove me up the wall. 
	Once I had even overslept on a Sunday and was forced to go to church after only combing out the crusted cum on the ride there. I had tried to write it off as an extreme case of bedhead, which I guess wasn’t exactly a lie. It was here that my exhibitionist kink began to blossom. I had to excuse myself to the restroom to take care of my persistent erection before the people next to us in the pew noticed the tightness in the front of my dress pants.
	I eventually even took up a proclivity to sleep naked, just in case he wanted to use me in my sleep. And it certainly made cuddling him after he had a nightmare more interesting. He was always more prone to those than me.
	Reminiscing upon all these times he had molested me in the middle of the night, I realize I never had the audacity to do the same to him. Not that I ever really desired to; I was happy to simply be used by him. But this time is different. This time he’s in my house, on my couch, after cumming in my ass and down my throat, and all I got was my bootyhole eaten and a half-hearted handjob in return. My house, my rules. There are dues to be paid.
	I get up on my knees and straddle him, knowing that, especially after a day of heavy drinking, nothing will wake him besides the sun in his eyes or a very, very loud alarm clock. I had tried many things to wake him up when he was late for school, even once pulling him completely out of bed and onto the floor without success.
	So without further hesitation, I place my cock between his cheeks, my tip stroking the underside of his tail. My delicate balls sit atop his plump ones, and I reach back and fondle both sacks in one hand. He moans in pleasure in his sleep, but I do not fear waking him.
	I begin to gently slide my dick back and forth against his ass, feeling his warmth against me, and his lush fur bristling against my length. I know I’m not going to last long, being as pent up and worked up as I am. And having edged to near-completion once already. But I’m not going to let that stop me from enjoying myself. I spread his ass with my hands, letting his fat cheeks engulf me, squeezing my cock between his voluptuous glutes. Pre oozes out of me and stains his tail. I press the tip down against his tailhole, feeling his hot flesh against me. I dare not try to enter it; he rarely let me top him growing up, and I know he’s not as... trained as I am. But the feeling of his warm, naked skin against mine is heaven enough for me.
	I massage his butt, running my fingers through his thick fur. He inhales with a loud, growling snore, and then releases it with a pleasured sigh. I briefly wonder if he’s dreaming about me or his wife. But it doesn’t matter; right now it’s all about me.
	I get up off of him and stand to the side of the bed, just drinking in the sight of him. I give his ass another squeeze, unable to keep my hands off of him. I trail my finger down his thigh, then his calf, and finally to his ankle, where I toy with the elastic of his remaining sock. I creep my way to the foot of the bed and kneel there.
	I take his paws and press them against my face, rubbing them into my cheeks, his scent lingering in my fur. I sniff them like a bouquet of flowers, or rather like a fresh bucket of movie theater popcorn. I rest my head against his exposed pawpad, his toes curling under my shin, and bury my nose into his sock. I wish I had any idea why this turned me on so bad. What went wrong in my life to make me like this?
	I lay there for a while, bathing in his scent and pawing myself off, feeling my climax fast-approaching. I stop stroking when I feel like I’m almost there, and sigh, leaving my member throbbing against the air, begging for its release.
	Finally I stand up and move his feet together to form a nice resting place for my cock. I bend down and place my length between them, the stiff fabric of his soiled sock on one side, the cracked skin of his pawpads on the other.			
	It isn’t as soft and comfortable a feeling as rubbing against his ass, but the mere fact that I’m fucking my brother’s feet is erotic enough to negate any discomfort. I smear my pre-cum against his heels, pawing at my own shaft and balls, knowing that I won’t last much longer. 
	I grab his feet and use them to cup my cock, grinding against the rough surfaces.	 I only thrust my hips against him for a minute before I’m at my peak again. 
	I try to stop, not wanting this to end, but I’m out of practice with my edging. Once I realize I’ve passed the point of no return, I give in and start masturbating until my vision goes blurry and I involuntarily clench my eyes and teeth. 
	I’m amazed at the unrelenting force of my orgasm, both in strength and abundance of fluid; I can tell I shot far, even though my eyes are closed. I instinctively try to stay quiet—a symptom of having grown up fucking your brother non-stop while your parents sleep in the adjacent room—even though the only people I hazard waking being my prudish old neighbors. And as I said many times before, fuck ‘em.
	The last few convulsions of my sexual apogee slow down, and my cum is reduced to a dribble, pooling in the curves and crevices of his feet and wetting his soles. I am left panting, hovering above him, my crotch and right hand covered in stickiness. 	I lick my hand clean, sucking each drop from my fingertips. 
	With a sigh, I bend down to lick my cum from in between his toes. This is the first thing I’ve done to him since he’s fallen asleep that elicits a physical reaction: he kicks me right in the face. The pads of his paw meet my cheek, inadvertently smearing my cooling jism all over my jowl. I guess I kind of deserved that.
	Wiping my chin, I figure I will just let it dry there as he would have done to me, and he can figure it out in the morning. I stand up to look at the mess I’ve created. I try to remember the last time I even came, but I can’t. It had to have been almost a week and a half ago when Gus ran out to do grocery shopping and I was left to my own devices. My sex life and libido both leave something to be desired lately. 
	I struggle to take my eyes off him and an old adage comes to mind: Take a picture, it’ll last longer. So I scramble to my room to grab my phone off the charger. Swiping away a “good night <3 I love you” message from Gus, and a few increasingly irritated texts from my neighbor asking me to keep it down, I snap a few photographs that immediately go into my secret stash, in one of those apps that looks like a calculator until you type in the secret code. It’s filled with pictures and videos of Todd and me from our previous endeavors, a secret from Gus and Todd alike. I promised Todd I’d delete everything once things got serious with Maria. 
	I admire the photos for a while, basking in the sheer volume of ejaculate shining in the flash of the camera. The combination of waiting so long to bust a nut and waiting so long to have my brother bust one in me again must have put my balls and prostate into overdrive because I don’t think I’ve ever cum so much. I shot so far that there’s a stain on the back cushion of the couch. Ropes of semen plaster my brother’s back, the back of his head, his exposed ass, the backs of his thighs, and especially his feet. The bottom of his one remaining sock is soaked, so I reach down and gently slide it off his paw, using it to wipe the dribbles of cum off my dick. 
	I take a deep whiff of it, our two distinct scents commingling lustfully, making my softening cock pulse with excitement. I will definitely have to jerk off again before going to sleep. But I’ll spare him more of a mess and do it in my own bed. 
	He will not be getting this sock back anytime soon.
	I stand there admiring my work for a while, until my cock is hard again. I relent, and head back to my bedroom where I lie down to take care of things. 
	I use my tepid cum as lube to begin stroking as I open my secret stash and scroll through the dozens of pictures and videos. Poorly-lit photos of our adolescent cocks frotting in a darkened bedroom; screen recordings I took in secret of us jerking off together on ChatRoulette or Omegle, presenting ourselves for some pedophile hiding behind a looped video of a sexy vixen; selfies I took in the bathroom mirror of my face and maw covered in his cum.
	It isn’t long before I feel another climax approaching, and I roll his wet sock down over my length, squirting another hefty load into its damp fabric.
	I’m drifting off to sleep, the cum-soaked sock in my hand and my cock drooping lazily to the side, when I jolt awake.
	The security camera. I pray to God that Gus hasn’t gotten any notifications on his phone. He insisted on getting one outside and in the living room when we moved in. He’s paranoid like that. Luckily Todd had the foresight not to ring the doorbell camera, and I silently thank God for this.
	I quickly go to the computer to delete everything from the moment I went to bed the first time until now. But not before downloading the best parts of the night and saving them to my phone. I’ll delete the rest when I wake up in the morning. I doubt he’ll have any reason to spy on me.
	As I finally give in to the cold embrace of sleep, my dreams are restless and worrisome.

- - - 

	Before I know it, the sun is shining through the curtains and into my eyes. I go out to the living room, which is miraculously put back together. The couch is folded up nicely, blankets and Jeremiah the Crow set neatly where they were the previous night. All his clothes are neatly folded on the coffee table, his wedding ring sitting atop them, glinting in the morning light. Thank God he found it.
	I hear the shower start to run. Todd must be in there, washing away the massive load I left to dry in his fur. I knock gently and let myself into the bathroom, slipping off my slippers (the only clothes I’m wearing), and pulling back the shower curtain. 
	I join him wordlessly under the hot, running water and kiss him deeply. 
	We don’t do anything overtly sexual; we are simply two adults who wanted to shower at the same time. But we do like we used to do when we were cubs, lathering up each other’s backs and hindquarters tenderly, as brothers and as lovers. I regretfully have to wash away the remnants of his cum that have leaked out of me while I slept, but I hope maybe, before he goes home to his wife, he can fill me up again.
	I kiss him, the water dripping down our chins. He leans over and whispers in my ear:
	“Dude, did you cum on my fucking feet?”