Disorder Ch 07

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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Sinner's Garb

It did not happen where it was supposed to.

Maybe an abandoned warehouse. The, now underground, drug processing facility. Such a fancy way to put it, something that Donnie had come up with, putting words in an order that made sense. He would have called it something too wordy, something that those in their seedy employ would have tilted their heads at and tried to wrap their heads around, and that simply would not have done. But he didn't expect to lie out there with mud soaking his clothes, one shoe kicked off, dying in the woods with no one there to stand over him. There was no one there with him, opponents felled, lost to the waking world. In a similar way, it was quite true that his death without ceremony was nothing that would concern the rest of the waking and living world any more.

It was not to be that way. And, yet, it was.

John had never expected it to be in a ditch, the rain hammering down as if it too was eager to leech away his blood into the very essence of the earth itself. John fought to keep his eyes open, one eye half-closed with mud, although he had neither the strength nor the energy in his broken and beaten down body to come back to reality. Who wanted reality anyway when that was where all the pain was? Better to slip away, to sink away, to come down and down and down to the point where the darkness called him, twisted fingers and tendrils snaking through his body. And, so cold, so very, very cold. Would it be warm down where he was going?

Even the king, after his time had passed, had to fall, eventually.

John closed his eyes, breathing shallowly and unevenly, each and every breath snatched with the knowledge that, well...it could well be his last. And, for that fact alone, each and every one came as a gift as his life essence drained into the ground, the gash in his throat open to allow his blood to seep away. There was no coming back from a wound like that and it was only his tenacious stubbornness that, surely, had kept him holding on to the faintest sliver of life for so long, the ground and the weight of his body putting just enough pressure on the gash to slow the pulse and throb of blood. Yet there was no medical intervention coming and John would not have gone if he'd been attended by any kind of paramedic. What they found in his system would link him to at least a wrongdoing in some manner of drug use and there were hardly any questions that he could answer to either hospital personnel or police officers alike. And he wasn't going to spend the rest of his days locked up in jail for no good fucking reason.

So, let it come. He'd let it come. Drop by drop, blood trickling out, weaker and weaker with every passing second. He'd let it come. There was nothing else, after all, that he could do when the airs of speculation dragged him down and down and down.

But how had all come to pass?

*

John snarled, a ripping, blood-curdling cry that would have been more appropriate coming from the mouth of a wolf. But not a pack wolf, an alpha, oh no -- one that had gone off on its own, proving the might of steel jaws, blood and sinew, just how much pure, raw ferocity a heart could pump through the veins of a body simply designed to kill. Someone once had compared him to a lion, that house from that show that everyone was talking about for years, the spin-offs and the like, but he hadn't liked that. Who'd want to be a stupid cat when they could have the power of a true predator behind them, one that could live through the coldest winters, lean through the hardest of times, and emerge just as daring on the other side with darkness in their eyes?

Maybe that was him. Maybe that wasn't him. It didn't matter. Even then, he knew that nothing much was going to matter in the end. And that was just why he'd gone to see Donnie that day, for nothing more than a pleasantry. Of course, a pleasantry for him, when it did not involve their 'work', that was, meant a rough session of fucking and he growled again as he pinned his brother down to his bed, driving into his anal passage over and over again as if he'd never again get to feel the pleasure.

And, oh, what pleasure it was. His eyes rolled back into his skull, nails raking jagged lines down his brother's back, Donnie gasping and clawing at the bed as if he was trying to get away, sheets dragged up against his chest. He wasn't trying to go anywhere though, just bearing through his climax as he shot his load over the bed, hips yanked up under John's fingers, digging and biting into his bones. John held him tightly, too tightly, fixing his hips in place for the ram of his shaft. He needed it badly, needed Donnie, even if he was not prepared to admit that and it truly was something where the words would never, not even once, have to pass the barrier of his lips.

Like a kiss, a secret could be sealed away, the sense of unease pushing up in his stomach, threatening to throw him off. Slowly, slowly... Yet there was no slow in his world and ecstasy dug its nails into the back of his mind, demanding attention, even as he drew scratches on his brother's hips and lower back, searching for a hold to keep all in place, where it should be, despite the fact that he was the only one heaving and jerking erratically.

A snarled expletive was as eloquent as it got at the point of orgasm, hair hanging around his shoulders and down his back as he drove in one final time, a deep, guttural moan rolling forth as he spent himself. Each pulse of cum should have come as sweet relief in the presence of it leaving his body, balls tight and churning, aching for more, but his heart tugged, plunging into sullenness even as physical pleasure warmed him from head to toe.

Not the most fulfilling orgasm but not the worst either. Like the rest of his life, it would simply have to do. And there was still work to be done.

Wouldn't Donnie laugh at that if he knew? The notion of him, John, voluntarily doing even a single bit of work entirely of his own accord? And, even so, it was something that no one would know about until the deed was all well and done, the final chapter concluded and the seed, well...planted as it had to be. He would not be praised and he would not spread his arms out, as he had done in the past, demanding his due adoration and accolades but merely fade off into the depths where time had no meaning and he left little that was tangible in his wake.

Donnie, however... Donnie would be fine. That was what mattered.

They cleaned up in silence, John leaving Donnie there on the bed with his skin slick with sweat, seed glistening on his buttocks and thighs as if he had been used -- and, truly, that was all he had been. He had little say in what John did when they came together but, as a little thing between them, it was hardly something he was going to complain about when he got such a sweet deal out of it at the end of the day. With the hot water of the shower rushing through his hair, slickening it down to his scalp, John inhaled deeply, steam flooding his nostrils. In a way, the hot water was as exciting as it was calming and it was only the knowledge of what the day still held for him that kept his cock from throbbing to full hardness again, striving to plump up for the carnal needs of a body that, well, would not have that need for very much longer.

Think. Breathe. One step at a time. He knew the motions and he found a spare pair of clothes, shedding his crisp attire for jeans and a pair of new sneakers that looked like what Donnie would wear: not really all that important but branded and white enough that one could tell that they had never before been out of their box. The shirt he left open a couple of buttons, sleeves rolled back to his elbows, but there was not much he could do about his hair without some more obvious intervention and it was too late for that as he strode through the bedroom, intent in his snappy, long-legged stride.

"Where are you going?"

John paused but only for a moment. It wasn't like Donnie to ask something like that. They knew what was what, their little agreement, the strange sort of engagement and relationship they had between them. Brothers, yes, but brothers that, in part, did not act like brothers at all. Brothers didn't usually do the things they did, although that was something that could be applied to rather a lot of their relationship and not just the sexual side.

"Out."

A short answer. The one that he was expected to give and the roll of the eyes was just so too. He knew what to do and Donnie sat up, leaning back on his hands with a frown on his face. John met his eyes levelly. His brother, truly, was a shade too astute for his own good. That was why he'd had such a big impact on him, even on years back. Maybe that was why he'd gotten wrapped up in the drug world too, just thinking that he could make a quick buck and then the millions had turned into...

He pushed away the thought. Donnie stared, unblinking.

"I expected so."

Clipped and short: unlike him. John tried to shrug it off but the twinge that was not entirely muscular did not pass without notice as he shifted his weight back onto his heels, spreading his arms and raising both eyebrows.

"My dear brother... I didn't realise that you were keeping tabs on me."

"Hardly."

Oh, he knew, but there was only one thing that could be done, as much as it would darken the rest of his days. John smiled and pressed two fingers to his face, one lying up parallel to his nose and the other curled down and pressed to his chin, that look of complete sympathetic derision flush across his face.

"Did you want to be involved, Donnie? My, oh, my -- and here was me thinking that you hadn't gotten so attached to me, what with that little 'vacay' you took not so long ago. Left all the business here to me and, well, it all ran smoothly enough without you now, didn't it? Do you want to dig your fingers into the pie again to feel nice and big and important?"

"Oh, fuck you..."

He knew it then that he'd cut deep and hard into a heart that didn't deserve it but that was just something that John was going to have to live with, drawing himself up tall and barking a short, sharp laugh that was devoid of humour for reasons that Donnie could not even imagine. He was clueless on that count, for once, and there was little that he could do to prevent the path that John had already chosen, even if it was a route in life (hah, now that was a jest...) that he would not have ordinarily have chosen.

As Donnie dragged on his clothes, hardly bothering to clean himself up bar the essentials, John took a deep breath when his eyes were not on him. It was only a moment but it was enough to steady his resolve. Just what was he thinking?

Oh, Donnie...

"Actually, there is something you can do for me," John said slowly, turning with a carefully calculated smirk on his face as if an idea had just come to him. "There's a fresh batch of the new blend -- Religion, you named the thing -- at my place that needs to get down to base operations for testing. It needs bringing over to base. Can you do that, oh Small Donnie?"

If he'd been more with himself and his senses, Donnie would have scowled and rolled his eyes, realising right then and there that something was up as the words came out shallowly phrased as a question rather than the usual demand or something that was simply rhetorical. Of course, he would do it: that was the nature of their relationship. It was just how things had always been between them and, just as John had been counting on, he was moving to do as he was bid before his mind had even caught up with what had been said and just what his body was doing.

"Sure, whatever..."

Donnie, however, was not so far gone that he did not shoot a dark look back at John as he left the bedroom, whose expression did not change one bit, giving off the very appearance and simile of a man who had it all. And, for that time alone, he did. He had the money, everything that he could ever have wanted to relieve his sex drive... A relationship, of course, was not really on the cards in the traditional sense of the term, but he had what he needed. Above all else, it was the money that buttered his palm, passed currency from hand to hand and back again, when all was said and done at the end of the day. And he'd done what he needed too, waiting with his lips pressed just a little bit too tightly together for the re-entry that was sure to come.

One...

Two...

Three...

"John..."

There we go.

Donnie frowned, holding up a jacket that was marked with some unimaginable substance. Drugs of some kind, a little too obvious. John cocked an eyebrow, although sometimes it seemed that it was impossible for them to leap any further up to his hairline with how often he felt he had to do it around Donnie. Maybe that was one of the things that he was going to miss. Maybe not. Either way, it was clear that Donnie wasn't about to hike his way jauntily down the street with any kind of spring in his step with that kind of white powder smeared down his front. It wasn't even the good stuff.

"Yeah?" John shrugged. "Shit, you're making a deal over something like that, dear one? Take mine. It's warm out. I don't need it."

The implication that Donnie needed the jacket more than him rang clear in the air between them and a more stubborn soul may have left the jacket behind simply for that reason alone. Who, after all, would have wanted to be thought weak, a thought that was far more prevalent within the scope of the men of the world above the women? Everyone had to put on an act and Donnie still knew what was best for him, rolling his eyes when he was only half out of John's line of sight and making good his exit with his brother's jacket slung over his arm.

There may have been a muttered curse in there somewhere. John chose not to hear it.

Donnie could have, of course, taken another jacket of his own from the wardrobe but maybe he just wanted to get out of his brother's presence as quickly as possible; John had been told on more than one occasion that he had that effect on people. But Donnie would be nondescript enough making his way over to John's place and in enough time to avoid the fireworks and the fact that he was wearing a jacket that had been, long ago, trademarked as something of John's and John's alone amongst the three brothers would help him along his way. It wasn't, after all, John that they were after.

Methodically, John locked up, ensuring that the technical ventures were sealed away behind the coded entry system. Just for good measure, he changed the code too to one of Donnie's safe versions, the emergency steps that he'd set up in case something untoward came to pass. Of course, it would take him no time at all to hack back into his own system but John wondered if his name would again be cursed many times over before he did actually regain access or if he would be thankful at all that John had taken the step to protect his assets. Most likely, he would be cursed. And he was okay with that too. Anything less, truly, would have disappointed him.

Checking the doors, the security system. In a strange way, the slow, repetitive movements soothed him, breath catching just a little in his throat. He could not push things too far, of course, and he had to stay alert for something to change. They could be there at any moment and he most certainly would not be caught unawares. No, if he was going to walk into this, it was going to be with a smirk on his face and, undoubtedly, his middle finger pointing right at them too. No sense in going out, after all, without a bang.

He took a breath, checked his reflection. If he slouched just a bit, he could be mistaken for Donnie. His long-leggedness would have to be curtailed, however, drawn back just enough to match Donnie's casual gait. He tried it a few times up and down the living room, laughing at himself but staying out of sight of the windows at all times. Didn't he look a right fool? Donnie would have laughed. Or maybe he wouldn't have laughed because he would have been the one in the position of being mocked and that brought a whole new element to the situation by far.

No matter. It was done and, with the late afternoon sunshine dipping below the suburban street line, John set his shoulders back. It was time. The security system picked them up but he ignored it, turning off the warning and wiping it in but a moment so that Donnie would not have to see. He'd find out later, of course, just what had happened, but there was no sense in leaving it all on the screen to be replayed over and over again. It was one last little thing that he could do for him in the background of doing the little things and the big things too, even though he tried all he could so that it did not rise to his brother's notice.

He, after all, had a reputation to maintain. And he would die facing that reputation head-on, horns locked with the enemy.

John settled himself before the front door, keys in hand. The security system was set, nothing more to do. His heart pounded, mouth dry. He was glad, in a way, that neither of his brothers were there to bear witness to the act itself. It was better that way, cleaner and sharper, as deeply as it cut to face it just as he was, no more than he was. And, without any further delay, it was time.

At least he smelled good.

Too cliché. He locked up the house and set the codes, hidden from the undiscerning eye. It was the key that would be taken off him and, well, that was pretty much useless anyway with Donnie's home. No one would get in but it was merely a precaution that he had set everything to rights on the interior too.

Down the garden path, the hedges on the neighbour's side needing trimming. They had, most likely, been deliberately left like that, those on the inside ensuring that the neighbour didn't manage to get his yard work done and the hedges trimmed. Donnie had been considering hacking into his system just for those hedges. It was a simple little trick and one that Donnie should have seen coming ahead of time but, as seemed to be the case with the most untimely and crudest of plans, it was John who, in the end, stumbled into them with his head spinning with drugs and jaw unthinkingly, uncharacteristically, slack, a glimmer of drool at the corner of his lips.

The man who had revealed the plan to him, inadvertently, the fucking fool, had not breathed the Lord's sweet air for much longer after those moments, as frail and tentative in a drunken stupor as they'd been. It was the way of it, surely, especially considering who it was that was plotting the demise of the one that, somehow, he had determined would cause John the most pain, send him off the rails so that he too could be picked off and used up, as easily and as simply as anyone may have liked. They knew and, well, since they knew...there would never again be anywhere safe for the two of them, the fault line and weakness of their tryst exposed.

It wasn't the fault of the crony who had divulged the news but, hey, who better to take out his frustration on? Fingers pressed around his throat, John heaved him up, eyes cold and hard as the other man's popped out of his skull, hair lank and unkempt around his face. He'd been dragged about a bit first, scorned and mocked, solely because John could. He knew not what he'd imparted, what he'd taken to be mere banter in a bar coming to light as something far more sordid to John's more experienced eye. He knew what was going on even if the messenger didn't. The matter of fact was, however, that the messenger sometimes got the brunt of the beating regardless of their part in the deliverance of it.