Date: Sat, 22 Apr 2017 08:24:21 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Brother Bear 2

Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/brother-bear/)
for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights
reserved. Includes sex between adult men, two of whom are related. Go away
if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my
characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of
future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html
to keep the cum coming.

*****
Previous Chapter:

"So, Bi--Will, what did you tell Jerome here that you fantasized about?
With me? With you and me?"

Jerome gives Billy a hug that is just shy of a Heimlich to get him
breathing again. When my brother finds his voice, it's smaller and higher
than before.

In a breathy whisper, Billy says, "Everything."

*****

Brother Bear 2: Nighttime in Minneapolis

by Bear Pup

*****

"Just to be clear, since Will is having a bit of trouble with the whole
'talking' thing, how do you feel about this, Jerome." I stare levelly at
him, but with a smile that clearly says that I'm up for... fuck, I don't
even know what I'm up for!

My brother's 'husband' (yeah, it will for damned sure take time from me to
drop the air quotes; so fucking sue me) looks me up and down, slowly and
confidently. "If it makes Will happy, it makes me happy. And, yeah, you're
a hot fucker which makes it even easier. Just one note: You hurt my baby in
any way, physically, whatever, and you'll bleed to death before they can
reattach your cock and balls. You hearing me, 'big brother'?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. I spent a decade taking care of your baby when
he *was* a baby. So, baby bro, finish your drink and restart your
breathing. Have you guys had dinner?" They shake their heads. I slowly
reach down as if by unconscious habit into my nothing-to-the-imagination
undies and give a good, long scratch and rearrangement. Billy's breath
catches in a series of hiccups, and Jerome literally licks his lips.

"So, you guys get cleaned up. Tonight is my treat," I smile, "and if anyone
asks, you are Doctors Morgan and Myers and we're talking about Sildenafil."
At their blank looks I smile wider, "Same as Viagra, we brand under the
name Zadira." I look at the straining and staining pouch trying to
constrain Billy's fireplug. "Not that I think we'll need any. Get showered
and dressed, and I'll treat you. Out in the hall in ten?"

I step next door to my own room and shuck my 'Pharma Drag' outfit for nice
jeans and a Polo, both slightly too small for me which really makes my tits
and ass pop. I make a quick call to a restaurant, then retouch all the
things that soften or disguise my less-perfect features. About ten minutes
later, I lean against the wall across from their door in a casual pose I've
always liked. It focuses attention on what I know to be my best features. I
briefly wondered why I am suddenly in full seduction mode. Simple answer?
Seduction is fun, even for a sure thing.

That brings me back to the 'OMG! This is your BROTHER!' line of
thought. Somehow, I want to be really bothered by this; it feels 'right' or
perhaps 'essential' to guilt heavily over it. But I can't. He's not a
kid. We don't live under the same roof. Neither of us is taking advantage
of the other, really. He can't get pregnant and I'm not getting fucked so
that's not a worry.

And for some reason, perhaps the geekiness itself, the 'husband' reminds me
of one of the guys in high school who would give anything to swing on my
baseball star's baseball bat, especially after a hard, hot, sweaty game. I
don't recall his name; I'm not certain I knew it then! But I damn sure
remember the second time he sucked me. It was after a brutally-hot,
insanely long game. I reeked but his puppy-dog desperation caught me even
from the stands so I demurred on a shower and a change, pretending to hurry
'home'.

'Home' in context was the home-side dugout of the practice field, perhaps
fifty yards away. I smiled widely when I saw his needy face peek around the
edge. He had taken the chance and ran to the dugout, praying that this
time, this time I'd meet him again. He was literally quaking with need as I
sauntered down the steps. His hands trembled so much that he had trouble
unfastening my belt. I just smiled as he fumbled.

He finally got my pants down but I stopped him when he went for my
jock. For some reason, the win that day and the long battle for it had
stoked me harder than anything. I ordered his hands behind his back and
ground my reeking crotch into his face, forcing him to breathe in my musk
and feel my stiffy rub across his face. I briefly got lost in the look of
primal, thoughtless lust in his face as he sucked in lungful after lungful
of my stench, face coated with my sweat and juices. Suddenly his deep
inhalations turned to short chuffs and he whined loud and then whimpered in
a staccato rhythm known to every boy since Adam. He'd unloaded in his pants
without even touching himself!

The rush! The POWER! The sheer animal dominance of that fact make that
little dugout scene the best head of my life that day to this. I actually
made him cum again, this time by running my cleats over his still-covered
cock as I plundered his mouth. His muffled screams of release and
shuddering cries around my cock were the last part of the perfect blow job
and I jammed forward and literally unloaded straight down his spasming
throat.

He waited in that dugout every home game for the rest of the season. I gave
him three more thrills over that dozen or so games, actually getting head
from a cheerleader once and cumming mainly from the knowledge that the
little cocksucker was waiting, desperate and hope-filled, for the stud-load
that was at that moment gushing over the cheerleader's bra (she never let
me cum in her mouth). By Christmas break, he was suddenly the devoted
book-carrier and flunky of Steve Laxman, second-string infielder but also
major force on the basketball squad. They were tight (pun intended) for the
rest of our time in high school.

The door cracks open and Jerome looks out and holds the door for Billy who
is either scrubbed pink or blushing or both. He's wearing a calf-length,
brown leather coat, clearly warm and clearly expensive, over jeans and a
painted-on blue tee. Jerome is in camo pants and lumberjack shirt with a
hunting jacket. I smile at him, "From hunted to hunter in one change of
clothes?" He looks down as himself and then back to me and laughs.

"You're quick. I'll give you that. A lot of folks even in the fandom would
have to have it explained before they'd get the joke. Where we headed?"

"I've got an SUV, and I called and got a table for us at a place I take
clients. Ever been to Corner Table?" Both shake their heads. We head out
into the already-dark early evening. Corner Table is a local place with a
menu that changes as often as the weather. We chat on the way, Billy
obviously nervous and Jerome delighted by that fact. Apparently, Billy is
normally the confident conversationalist of the pair. I ask about food
preferences. Jerome can't do shellfish but Billy is open for anything.

I pull into the lot and step through the vestibule. The hostess seats us
and takes our coats, always a nice touch. The waiter comes over with waters
and asks if we'll need menus and I note the surprise on Billy and Jerome's
faces. "Anything on the tasting menu have shellfish tonight?" The waiter
thinks for a moment and replies in the negative. "Great, we'll do that,
please, with pairings." Jerome has a slight frown so I turn to him when the
waiter scurries off.

"The food is chef-driven, and amazing. They have a regular menu, but as
long as you're not allergic to something, you will never, ever have a bad
meal here going with the chef's choice. Plus, surprises are... exciting,
don't you think?" He smiles and nods slowly. The waiter is back with
wines. Apparently, today's focus is goose and some part of that creature
appears in each of the five courses from the foie gras torchon with local
ramps to the dessert (bruleed goose-egg custard with caramelized
cherimoya). Each course is matched with a brilliant wine, often one used in
a sauce as well.

The other advantage of the tasting menu is conversational. The delivery of
each course is a nice icebreaker, as is the first taste. Other than that,
the dinner is nicely paced for a salescreature like myself to do the subtle
pitching required. Tonight, though, it a get-to-know-you kind of thing.

Jerome, as advertised, is a geek's geek. He works for an investment house,
your basic Predatory Nameless Corporation, on complicated financial shit
related to something called 'The Merc' that I obviously am supposed to
recognize. He is, apparently, very, very good at it. They live on a
relatively high floor of a condo a couple blocks off the Magnificent Mile
with views of the Pier, Lake, Loop and even peek-a-boos of the Sears
Tower. Damn! I thought I was doing good with my Sherst Pharma gig and
flipping historic renovations in Memphis!

Billy relaxes enough to talk, and his profession to me screams 'kept
woman'... okay, 'kept guy'. Apparently, though, it's well paid and
competitive. His Art History degree (I flush; I don't think I knew that was
his major) got him a curatorship at a museum that happens to be literally
across the street from their building. It is a paean to the Gilded Age,
complete with a Tiffany dome. Since his passion is Art Nouveau (especially
prints and posters), it's an ideal gig.

The thing that I watch, though, comes straight from my work talents. The
key to dealing with doctors' practices is understanding the subtle dynamic
between the partners. Jerome hangs on every word from Billy. On the other
hand, Billy shines with pride for Jerome's accomplishments. It is clear
that Jerome considers his job as a boring, necessary evil to keep Billy in
the 'right' lifestyle, solely from Jerome's point of view. Billy wants
Jerome to be respected, happy and proud. Interesting.

When the final course is cleared and the check dispensed with, we head back
to the hotel. The two get a lot of attention on their return, with
invitations to innumerable room parties. They demur, politely. I notice
that they are both respected, but the attention is invariably on Billy and
a number of people, mainly wearing STAFF tags, are obviously seeking to
impress him or gain his approval.

We finally make it to their room, Jerome holding the door for both of us. I
see no reason to waste time. I ask Billy for a cocktail, 'bartender's
choice' and if I may use their bathroom. I do need to piss, but more
importantly I want to pump my chest with a dozen quick pushes off the sink
counter. I also tease out my nipples a little for maximum impact. I am
ready to make a serious impression.

I go back out and freeze. Apparently, I am not the only one ready to rock
and roll. Billy is in nothing but a pair of tiny blue undies and Jerome is
down to his camo pants. They're snuggled together in what is apparently
their accustomed position on the sofa. I smile and pull the shirt off,
gratified with the simple and appreciative appraisal. I turn and pull of
the shoes and pants (never socks; I hate socks) then lean against the
counter. I pick up the cocktail, this time something that is almost silver
and startlingly cold and crisp. And, I'll admit, fucking delicious... and
fucking strong!

I lean in a way that pushes my crotch forward and tightens my undies,
bringing my assets into full relief. They both notice my clearly outlined
cock and balls with open appraisal. "So, Bi-- baby bro, this is your
show. Where do you want me, kid?"

His voice is soft and husky, "Right there." Billy stands and moves toward
me like a kid might approach a doe that he is afraid will startle before he
can pet it. I look at his eyes. No. He moves like a fox worried that the
rabbit might bolt. "Can I...?"

"You don't even need to finish the sentence, Will. The answer is yes." I
look to Jerome now, "I don't know what you guys are into. Do we need a safe
word?" He shakes his head, eyes darting between Billy's ample ass and my
chest.

Billy moves forward and reaches up to my face, running his finger across my
lip. I don't know why, but I find gestures like that incredibly erotic. I
lick my lips after the finger passes and begins to traces down my neck. I
stretch and purr like a cat. The knuckles of his other hand graze my chubby
prick, starting it toward hardness, then both his hands are behind my head,
pulling me down into a gentle kiss. I let him initiate and own the kiss
until I felt his tongue dart teasingly across my lips.

I wrap my arms around him, shoulder and waist, and dive into the kiss with
everything I have. We duel lightly for a moment before Billy sort of melts
and accepts my invasion of his mouth. My hands roam his back and sides,
especially that incredibly-fuzzy ass and the adorable 'cottontail' of hair
right above it. It's Billy's turn to respond, and he growls into a low moan
as both of my hands now trace the swell of his ass, then slowly up his
paraspinal muscles, felling them ripple as his body adjusts position
automatically.

I pull back from the kiss and watch Billy's eyes flutter open, the gold in
the hazel almost glowing. I look across his shoulder to see the reaction of
his 'husband'. Jerome is breathing hard, face and chest flushed, and
certainly not upset. My mind is snapped back to Billy as his face moves
south. I'm a bit over 6' 3" feet tall and Billy is, at most, 5' 6". Without
me curling down to kiss him or Billy standing on tiptoe to reach me, it
puts his mouth about an inch below my neck.

I shake as he licks my clavicle then tongues my jugular notch before
latching onto my left nipple with his lips and my right one with his
hand. My head goes back and I arch my chest instinctually. Billy is working
my tits better that anyone has ever done. Even Maryann, a woman who adores
having her own played with and who knows and loves to push all of my
buttons, has never raised goosebumps across my chest so quickly. When the
nibbling starts, I purr again, long and low as the gooseflesh spreads
across my entire body. Then he switches, left for right, and I grab the
back of his head and grind it onto my pec. Far from being offended, he
intensifies his work and rumbles low in his chest in satisfaction.

I nearly fall when Billy is suddenly gone, pulled back a foot. I look down
and see his face, red and... predatory. He steps forward again and licks
his way down my stomach, taking his time at my bellybutton. I'm not
terribly sensitive there, but the sensuality of the act makes me moan.

Billy has my utter and undivided attention as he slowly peels down my
undies, gradually showing more and more of my... I pause. Um, when did I go
from chubby to iron spike? I don't recall sending those mental orders
southward! Apparently, the troops were acting on their own initiative. I
gasp as he gets the band to just the right/wrong place and my cock POPS
upward, raking through the tender-rough beard of his chin before smacking
wetly against my belly.

I am really ready for some lips-on-cock action, so my head snaps back
upward again with a long groan, this time in surprise and pleasure. Billy,
hands on my smooth ass, has started to nibble lightly in the furrow known
as Apollo's Belt where the leg meats the torso. I have always been
exquisitely sensitive there, and no lover has ever exploited it... and it
never crossed my mind to ask! Who knew it was a g-spot for me? My baby
brother, apparently.

I jump and look down as my nipples cry out in delight. Billy's hands remain
on my ass, but I never heard Jerome move. He is now rolling and teasing my
nubs as he grinds his camo-covered cock against the back of Billy's
head. Billy takes a moment to roll his skull against the crotch of his
'husband' then switched to my other side. The sudden whine is my own, a
sound I don't recall making since I was in my twenties.

I'm again left gasping when, as a single person, they pull back leaving me
shivering as their saliva and my own sweat get brushed with the cool
air. Jerome and Billy are looking at each other. Honestly, I can't see any
expression of either face, not even eyes. Billy then smiles and Jerome
looks up. "We think this should move to the bedroom, stud."

Billy had stripped my underwear to my feet so I step out of them and walk
through the door to the nearer of the two beds. Billy's small stature
belies his strength, and I find myself lifted bodily and laid face first
onto the bed. Without a word, both are licking up my sides as I lay there
moaning. When they reach my shoulders, Billy stands probably since I'm
facing his way. He turns and pulls the blue tiny blue undies down, exposing
a perfect ass. He bends wide, the musculature of his tanned, furry,
sculpted ass looking like a fleshy heaven. I reach out a hand gently trace
down the crack and he whimpers; I watch a quiver shake those golden globes.

Seeming reluctant, he turns and peels down the blue cloth covering that
fireplug prick. A lush thicket of dark curls surrounds what might be one of
the thickest pieces I've ever seen. Now, to be fair, I haven't seen a lot
of hot cocks in person. I don't perv (much) in the gym and I'm usually not
very reciprocal when a gay guy propositions me. If he wants to get off
pleasing me, I throw in helping hand or foot, but that's about it. But like
any normal male, I do watch porn. The one-eyed snake staring at me has a
long, deep meatus and looks like nothing less than a coke can, thick, short
and a blazing, angry red. He leans in and kisses my cheek, then manually
turns my head.

Jerome is there. He peels back the flaps of his pants and lets them
fall. It's a hell of a sight. His jock is plastered wet with sweat and
pre. And what is inside is... formidable. He drops the pants and yanks off
the jock quickly. Okay, bad adjective choice. 'Formidable' is one thing,
but Jerome is flat out hung. His dick is thinner than my own
more-than-hand-span girth (how does one measure 'thickness'? Never really
knew). It is, however, at least a full inch longer than my
normally-impressive seven-plus inches (for size queens, that's seven and a
quarter hard, and seven and just shy of three-quarters after edging with a
cockring. That kind of detail matters to Maryann).

So if Billy is a fireplug and I am a railroad spike, Jerome is armed with
nothing short of a sabre. All that becomes background thoughts as Billy
repositions my head and both he and his 'husband' go fucking nuts on
everything from my ears to the nape of my neck. Next they are, well,
everywhere, tongues and hands, teeth and fingers. It is unique; intensely
erotic but also... clinical in a way. It's like they are cataloguing all of
my sexual triggers.

And then they get to my ass. I love the feel of Billy's beard and Jerome's
stubble on my lazed-smooth cheeks. I practically flip out when they tease
the opposite of the Apollo's Belt, that fold where ass meets thigh. I find
out it's as powerful a stimulant as the front! All the attention has me
leaking into the sheets but also sighing like a good (non-erotic) massage;
utterly relaxed but completely into it. That may be why it takes me a
crucial minute to realize what is happening.

Jerome has my cheeks pulled apart, close enough to the continued
massage-stroking that I don't notice... until Billy's tongue hits my
pucker. I go to buck him off and holler and find instead that I'm howling
with pleasure and doing everything except pushing him off.

Outside of a well-gloved, cold-handed doctor, the last thing other than
toilet paper and soap to go there was... a baby thermometer. I've *heard*
of rimming but couldn't imagine why anyone would want it done, much less do
it. Holy fucking saints alive, I am instantly in heaven. I am pouring
precum and my balls churn and I'm making noises that I can't describe, much
less spell. Then Billy pulls back and blows on my exposed hole, I yelp,
then rumble a deep and powerful purr when he returns.

But nothing perfect lasts forever. It's almost as if Billy know precisely
when the wonderment crests. He pulls back and I turn and literally snarl at
him, wordlessly demanding that he get that fucking tongue back in
there. His upper body strength is incredible. He uses my own turning
movement and exaggerates it and I'm suddenly on my back. As Jerome begins
to gnaw and seduce my nipples, Billy wallows -- there is no other word for
it -- in the rich funk of my armpits, nibbling and ticking and teasing the
tender flesh. Now this I have had done by another musk-obsessed school kid,
this time in college, but I've forgotten how stimulating it can be. They
both lick their way down my body and make me whine with delight.

I moan aloud and pop open my eyes as one of my sensitive balls gets sucked
into each of their mouths. I look down and get lost in a pair of golden
eyes and another of startling, liquid brown. The one thing that is
identical in each pair is the lust, determination and triumph. I knew that
no matter what happens next, sleep is not on the agenda for a long, long
time.

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
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