Disorder

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.

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Ch. 05

From Top to Bottom

Sometimes indulgence went a little bit too far, but that was hardly something that was going to concern two brothers who made a point to walk (or even run) on very much the wrong side of law and legality. Far beyond pirated movies in one's bedroom late at night, they had acquired a taste for the seedier side of life at an age that, perhaps, had been too young for them, although they were not, of course, to be held at fault for their upbringing. It was not that it had been anything all that spectacular or spectacularly bad either, just that it allowed them to drift and laziness to take hold, a distaste for the working world leading them into something that, well, paid just a bit better.

Donnie could have gone into a tech firm, if he'd had any inclination too, that was. And he had not. He could have spent years grinding away and working his way up the ladder -- right up to the point where someone of his level wouldn't be asked to do any of the actual work anymore and would instead be wrangled into management, skills wasted in lieu of something else, even if that was just where the money was at, in all honesty. Even schools had seen his aptitude for it and urged him to get his head together, to make something of himself, and Donnie could not have honestly have said that he had not taken that to heart as he applied himself from that point on -- just not quite how they wanted him to. He, however, would have said he was a success in his field, working away on programs to hack and disrupt to his heart's content, chaos reigning in a wake that he dissipated from each and every time as if he had never even been there to begin with.

That was the beauty of what he did: he left no trail and most certainly no trace. That would have rendered him far less than what and who he was, after all, and that was something that would have turned Donnie's quietly scathing lips down even more. Leaning back in his comfortable computer chair (he could not have called it a desk chair for everything before him was simply plastered with so many screens and base units that he could barely see the desk beneath them), he swivelled lazily back and forth, tipping his chin up as if he could see through the ceiling, which had long ago been painted a dark, slate shade. Outside, the sun may have been shining or it may have even been pouring with rain; neither of those states of weather had any bearing, however, on how he conducted himself or continued about his day.

Or was it night? He struggled to think just when his brother had arrived, a smirk on his face and black hair pulled back sharply from his shoulders, exposing the harsher angles of his face. There was a lack of charm about him that night but they had slipped back into the more private part of Donnie's otherwise quietly and calmly suburban home, which had proven itself time after time again to be the perfect base from which to conduct activities that he really did need to fly sweetly under the radar. Nobody expected such activities to go on there when families were smiling and children were playing cheerfully on lawns outside, all perfectly manicured as if every house posed in an attempt to outdo the one next to it. The shrieks and disturbances, however, were just why Donnie had gone to such extents with soundproofing. Perks came with falls, after all...

Day or night: it had to be night. The room spun around him, a cold glass in his hand. When had that gotten there? His lips quirked in a smile but he imagined that his eyes were dancing, even sparkling, something untoward and crazy, totally unlike him. The mere sensation of his hair brushing the back of his neck, probably due tidying up so that he did not look entirely scraggy and unkempt for his own sake and benefit, brought a shiver to his skin, goose bumps rising lightly as if he was struck by a sudden chill. But he was not cold in the slightest, every inch of his body tingling with desperate energy, although he was quite comfortable in his chair still, swinging back and forth, back and forth, with his chin tilted up to the stars twinkling above.

Something had slipped down his throat, pushed there by John's tongue. Although he had screwed up his face and shoved his brother away with a curse (too quietly muttered for John to really take him seriously), it had been too late to forsake the effects of the drug and he had merely chosen to cast his brother a look that surely told him exactly what he thought of him, shaking his head as he poured himself a glass of vodka. He wasn't sure where that particular bottle had come from, drunk as it was, but it had been bought legally with ill-gotten gains, which put him in rather tentative standing there. That didn't mean that he wasn't going to enjoy every last sip though.

It did not burn and left no shuddering aftertaste, the grain crisp and clear and begging to be taken in heftier doses still. Donnie could not have said in hindsight just what he talked about with John -- all bullshit, pretty much -- but he could say just how his brother's hand had pushed up his thigh, grasping the hardness of his cock through his jeans. Donnie grunted and thrust up into him, mind racing as the room seemed to shift and dance, although the hallucinations were normal, drifting him from fantasy to reality and back again so that the lines were blurred. And that was the best way to have it, was it not, euphoria coursing through him? That giddiness in itself may well have been the most potent of drugs but he could not have honestly have said whether his chest hurt from laughing or from something that he and John had already done together.

His cock in John's hand. Control. Power. Pressure. It was all intoxicating. The chair turned and turned and turned, not seeming to move in any one direction for long, but the soreness in his aching shaft told him, at least, that orgasm had not been had. More vodka slipped down his throat, his body, at least, remembering the muscles required to move the glass to his lips over and over again, just enough to get himself pleasantly buzzed as his emotions played havoc on what little mind he had left.

He couldn't sit still, finding himself pacing, belt loose, cock still hard, arms flying as he gestured excitedly. But John still sat there, leaning back against the wall with a bottle to his lips, some kind of whisky -- or, at least, it looked dark, something like that. Could have been rum. It didn't really matter though, even as his voice washed over his brother, the hungry look in John's eyes unmistakeable for anything else.

But John was not himself that night and he slumped down and down and down, seeming to grow smaller and smaller in stature as Donnie struggled to understand, through his own pleasant haze of bouncing joy, what was happening, amazement clouding his vision. Was he falling? Literally growing smaller? No, no... He couldn't have had that much of the tab if he was able to still hold on to that little bit of rationality, in that case, and he held up his hands, turning them over several times so that he could see both sides, new and interesting angles catching his attention in the glow of the computer monitors, still illuminated with something that he no longer understood.

It was funny how drugs could make him less than what he was even while he felt more amazing, incredibly so, than he ever could have with just mere liquor, inadequate and hopeless in comparison to the highs that could otherwise be held well and truly within his grasp. But John was far worse than him, unsteady as he swayed, seeming to spin and turn before Donnie -- yet that was just the computer chair moving again, the white lights blinking and glittering before him as he fought to regain some sense of comprehension, his brother out for the count and then some as he laughed softly.

What had John taken to render himself so far gone? Sure, he'd been smoking a pipe... A pipe, yes, that was it. Onto the harder stuff, although nothing that John really took into his system could be considered soft or easy. Cannabis had been entertaining enough back when they were much, much younger but that was not a time that either of them, personally, liked to linger on. Chilling out was much better undertaken with hard liquor without looking like a fool in the process and if John wanted to dose himself up on meth, taking the smoke deep into his lungs, that was well enough up to him. Donnie may even ask him for a sixteenth or whatever, just to see what the new blue he had in town was like.

Slumping to the floor, John groaned, his head tipping back onto the seat of the sofa cushion where the padding, at least, was thick enough to provide a comfortable enough rest. And then Donnie blinked, finding himself no longer in the space where he did his best work but another room in the house entirely, at the back where maybe a normal family would have placed a den or an office of sorts. Just how had they gotten there? He laughed at himself, tasting the liquor rising up once again on his breath, but it was hard to worry about such a little yet sudden lapse in attention when his brother was right there before him, head lolling back and helpless to anything else. Reeking of liquor, John laughed and let his head hang, lips parted even though he was breathing quite freely through his nostrils, simply too far gone in the realm of abject intoxication to hold onto any semblance of reality.

And then an idea entered Donnie's head. It was an idea that, very much, he should have pushed away the very moment that it made its presence known to him but, once there, it was hard to ignore, niggling away insistently as he ran his hand down John's arm, from the bicep to the forearm. He said he didn't work out and, really, was too lazy too, but there must have been something in whatever it was that he took to maintain some small level of muscle mass there, the shape discernible as his questing fingers languished and explored as they pleased.

A good brother, a family member that one could, really, have been proud of, may have taken care of John at that point, laid him down on a bed or the sofa -- either would have been acceptable -- and let him sleep off the worst of it. And yet Donnie knew well enough what John's appetite would be like when he returned to the world of full consciousness, the blinking in his eyes there and the lopsided grin that, somehow, still managed to be predatory as he lingered in a state of being that was neither awake or sleeping. His lips parted but if he slurred Donnie did not catch the words, lips curving up in a drug-induced smile himself as he made his move, his mind already made up for a decision that should never have been made by one of entirely sound mind.

Why not have his fun first?

His cock ached for release and Donnie crushed his lips hungrily, if tentatively, to John's, intoxication making him bold. It was a kiss just like any other and John returned it slowly, if not as commandingly as he used to. Really, if they had been anywhere at all approaching sober, John would have already have had his fingers twisted ruthlessly into Donnie's hair, dragging him down to his face, his cock -- whatever he wanted at that time. A kiss was not a sharing of intimacy between the two of them but a display of power where John could so very easily demonstrate his dominance over his younger brother, bearing him down and battling his tongue back as if the fight was not even something that was worth his time or his effort.

But John didn't have the presence of mind about him to even think about kissing Donnie back as his lips parted as if driven by some sense of autonomy, groaning against his brother. He was not passed out, by any means, but there was a sluggishness to his limbs and a heaviness there too that rendered them useless against his sides, the grunts of pleasure that he gave as Donnie groped and fondled his still soft shaft through his own trousers evidence of some measure of enjoyment. Yes, he could still feel and he was accepting but what Donnie had in mind for him was nothing like anything that John had ever experienced before.

Something in Donnie's gut pulled and lurched. Just how far could he go? How far could he push thing? Fuck, would John kill me... He didn't honestly know if John would try to go so far as to actually kill him but it sure said something strange about him that he felt willing, in that moment, to take the risk, taking the plunge to rip John's shirt open, buttons popping off and springing away in all directions as if they too were want to make their own kind of escape. He spared a moment for wondering what would come to him for destroying his brother's clothing in such a manner but he could not bring himself to even care about that as he let loose a feral-sounding growl, the nuance of gravity assisting him in pinning his brother down to the floor.

It was not a natural position for him to be in, chest heaving and hair hanging about his face in, seemingly, a tangled mess, his brother's shoulders in the curled claws of his hands. His glasses slid down his nose, near enough forgotten in what a commonplace feature they had become over the years in the landscape of his face, and he cursed as they threatened to slip off. Maybe that was why he was always on the bottom. In that case, gravity would at least help a bit in keeping the damn things on his face.

But that was by the by and he was hardly going to relinquish what scrap of power he had illicitly stolen -- was that not the way of it? -- for himself as he loomed over John, the man beneath him groaning and humping his hips as if he thought he was grinding up against Donnie. And it would be so very easy to let him do that too, putting himself back in such a position of bottoming, even though he could not guarantee, in that kind of situation, that he would get his satisfaction, his orgasm, from it. John had never been all that concerned about that and it was hardly as if he was going to pop out his hip sassily and demand what was rightfully his too like a scorned lover on the street, set on making a scene for all the wrong reasons. No, his place was good, the weird 'with benefits' situation they had going on doing the trick for a deeper sexual need that he refused to acknowledge openly well enough. Who really needed to go into any kind of deep introspection of what they liked sexually, after all?

John groaned and he snapped back to reality, fingers fumbling and striving to work quickly, lest even he lose his nerve. If there'd been anyone else but John beneath him, perhaps he would not have hesitated but it felt worse still to break the unspoken rule than it ever had to break a law set in stone and the papers of the country that they lived in. His trousers slipped down, exposing boxers that swiftly met the same fate, John's fingers twitching as if he was even trying to help his brother out but did not quite have the strength to.

"Wh... What?"

But that was just about all that John could get out as Donnie spared him a chuckle, a little confidence returning as he gave his older brother a condescending pat on the cheek. John would have made it a slap or a punch but he got his little digs in where they presented themselves, so kindly so too.

"Keep it together, bro, time you shared, hm? Not so much of the Small Donnie shit off you now, is there?"

In his state of mind, he caught himself taking on edges of John's speech too and rolled his eyes, although it was easier to focus on other things with John's bare cock rising hard and full before him. He didn't spare further time on dragging down his brother's trousers, leaving them around his knees, cock in hand. Usually, he'd be forced down on that length with it throbbing and pulsing in his grasp, already trickling pre-cum, but not that time. That time, his lips curved up into a lopsided smile that was not quite a smirk but the raw pleasure of resting on the brink of getting just what he needed, heart pounding so hard that his chest seemed to shudder with each and every coarse beat it gave. It was impressive, sort of, that John could get so hard and so quickly after getting so much into his system that should have inhibited such behaviours, although nowhere near as impressive as what Donnie felt he had in store for him too.

Cocky? He grimaced. Maybe. More like John? Undoubtedly. But he could embody John in the heat of the moment, if only to give himself that little push he needed to take control. It should have been easier to take control than it actually was, putting his trembling fingers down to the drugs coursing through his system, alcohol dominating and blurring what may have otherwise stalled him, forced him to put John up for the night and skulk off to his own bedroom or his blinking monitors, all begging attention for what he had going on in the background, constantly. The tabs were quick to wear off after playing with them for so long and everyone knew that they built up a sort of immunity after a while to different mixes and strains, which was why the drug business was something that kept on booming, regardless of how well-respected and so-called educated people felt about it.

Because they and alcohol too, if one is to call the intoxicant by its name, made people feel like they could be someone else, do something more than what they would do in their normal state of mind. They could push further, drive harder, fuck more, experience it all and everything would be fine, just fine. Of course, chasing that high would force them on to ever-increasing acts of depravity but that really wasn't Donnie's problem (perhaps John's) as he leaned over his brother and forced his cock into his mouth.

However, being as drunk and incoherent as he was, John was not really in any kind of position to give a blowjob, even though that also meant that he was incapacitated in terms of objection too, which was still good. Cursing, Donnie shuffled back on his knees, drawing John up with him as his brother, perhaps believing that he was tripping or caught up in some other sense of reality brought on by the drugs, came right along with him. Softer and more pliable than he could ever have imagined, John's mouth moulded loosely around his shaft, lips pursed and saliva leaving a nice, slick coating behind to grind by. John's mouth was...nice though. Nice enough that he had the courage to stroke his own cock back to full hardness and try again, John's lips half-closing around him as if he was imagining something else entirely.

But that was fine... As long as he got what he needed, something that he rarely seemed to get with a thrum of ardent desire from John, that was all okay with him. He could thrust, mimicking the powerful strokes that John gave when he was fucking him, but that thought made him just want to be on the bottom, swearing inwardly to himself. But he had to keep going, had to prove himself, had to get that little bit of payback for whatever injustice he thought John had done to him. That was how John would think, wasn't it? He'd be going off trying to get one over on Donnie and hammering away at him, perhaps even mocking him verbally if he had the breath with which to do so. That was not Donnie's style but he could still roll his head back, grunting and hissing through his teeth as he got into the moment, hips working furiously as he took his own depraved pleasure from his brother in the hump and grind of his fleshy shaft.

"Fuck..."

The word came out in a raspy hiss of air, breath that had not yet done its job in his lungs, judging by the tightness in his chest. A hot, wet hole around his cock... Now that was something that he had not had in a while, although before it had always been with the lucky other's lips pursed around it, seeming to try to suck him deeper. Those people, he was sure, had been trying to get something from him and that was maybe the beauty of the weird thing of their relationship with John, in that all John wanted from him was the sex. He wasn't fucking him to get a gig or get in better favour, no: he just wanted to screw. And that was the best way to go about things when times were changing, the ground itself seeming to shift in ways beneath their feet that the fabric of the very earth they stood on threatened to buck them off at any point.