Knotted by Blood

Knotted by Blood 2

Knotted by Blood
By: Zyran Blitz | knottedquill@gmail.com

DISCLAIMER

Welcome back, curious reader. If you made it through chapter one and decided to return for more, you already have a good idea of what you're stepping into--but let's make it clear for any new snouts sniffing around.

This story contains adult themes, unapologetically explicit gay content, and explores a growing bond between two brothers that's about to deepen in ways not everyone might expect. If this isn't your cup of tea, or if you're somewhere this material is restricted--or, critically, if you are a minor--this is your chance to turn away now.

For those sticking around: everything here is fictional, consensual, and purely fantasy. So find a cosy spot, settle in, and get ready for another enticing chapter. If you're enjoying the story, I'd love to hear from you--your thoughts mean the world. And don't forget to support the Nifty Archive to keep these stories coming.

Now, paws off the keyboard and dive in. Let's pick up right where we left off.

Chapter 2: Torn and Tethered

The room was heavy with the scent of sweat, cum, and sex--thick and clinging, impossible to ignore. Rowan lay on his back, his chest rising and falling in uneven, shallow breaths. His fur was damp and matted, sticky with the evidence of what they'd just done. His mind raced, thoughts colliding and tangling in a mess of guilt, shame, and something he didn't dare name. Callum, on the other hand, seemed unfazed. Instead of tucking himself away, he stood and stripped off his sweatpants and boxers completely, exposing his slick, glistening cock as it gradually slipped back into its sheath. His cock, vividly red and swollen, tapered elegantly to a pronounced head, slick with their mingled fluids. His balls, heavy and drawing tight against the base, swayed slightly with the movement. Casually, he used his boxers to wipe off the remaining cum from his groin and thighs, then tossed the soiled fabric into a corner of the room with a casual flick of his wrist.

"Shit," Callum muttered, grabbing the beer he'd left behind. He took a long swig, his tail flicking lazily behind him as he looked down at Rowan. "You good?"

Rowan blinked, his throat dry. "Am I... what?"

"I said, are you good?" Callum repeated, his tone light, almost teasing. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Rowan's stomach twisted, his ears flattening against his head. A ghost? he thought bitterly. I look like this because of you, you asshole. But the words stayed stuck in his throat, tangled with the lingering ache of arousal and the crushing weight of what they'd just done. Callum chuckled, as if Rowan's silence was answer enough. "Relax, Row. You're overthinking things. Again." He tipped the beer back, draining the rest of it in one long gulp before tossing the empty bottle onto the coffee table. "It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Rowan finally managed, his voice sharp and trembling. He pushed himself up on shaky arms, his body protesting every movement. "You just-- I just--"

Callum raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Yeah, you just came all over yourself, and I helped. You're welcome, by the way."

Rowan's face burned under his fur, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Don't fucking joke about this, Callum," he snapped, though his voice broke halfway through.

Callum shrugged, completely unfazed. "Why not? It's not like anyone else is gonna know." He leaned down, ruffling Rowan's hair in the same infuriating way he always had. "Lighten up, little brother."

Rowan swatted his hand away, his chest tightening with a mix of anger and something else--something raw and vulnerable. "I'm not your little brother," he hissed, his claws digging into the carpet. "We are twins. You are only 23 minutes older than me. That's it."

Callum tilted his head, studying Rowan with that same infuriating mix of curiosity and amusement. "Yeah, but I'm a half inch taller. Either way, you're my little brother," he said, his tone casual.

"And maybe not," he added, his voice dropping into something lower, rougher. "But it felt good, didn't it?"

Rowan's breath hitched, his heart slamming against his ribs. Don't answer that. Don't give him the satisfaction. But the heat rising in his cheeks betrayed him, and Callum's smirk widened.

"Yeah," Callum continued, his voice rough. "That's what I thought."

Rowan's stomach twisted again, the guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave. "You're such a dick," he muttered, turning his face away.

Callum laughed, a low, rumbling sound that made Rowan's fur prickle. "You'll get over it." With that, he straightened up, stretching his arms above his head. "Anyway, I'm beat. I'm gonna hit the sack."

Rowan stared after him, his jaw slack. "That's it? You're just... going to bed?"

"Yup," Callum replied easily, already halfway to the door. He paused, turning to glance back over his shoulder. With a lazy, smug grin, he took a deliberate sniff, the air pulling throug his nostrils audibly as he scented Rowan from across the room. "You should clean yourself up, Row. You smell like sex." His words lingered heavily in the air, mixing with the musk and memory of what had just transpired between them.

The door clicked shut behind Callum, sealing Rowan in a suffocating silence. His senses were assaulted by the thick stench of cum--his own and Callum's, now cooling and beginning to crust on his fur. The cloying odor of their mingled releases was disgustingly intoxicating. His body betrayed him, his cock twitching with a mind of its own at the thought of Callum's touch.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Rowan's claws sank into his thighs, piercing his flesh as the heat of shame surged through him. Yet, beneath that shame, a deeper, darker craving pulsed--something so fucked up it terrified him more than the guilt. He huddled there, knees clutched to his chest, drenched in their shared mess. His fur, matted and sticky with their jizz, felt like a filthy reminder of their debauchery. The stench was relentless, seeping into every breath he took, heavy and overwhelming.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The words hammered in his head, but they couldn't drown out the vivid memories: Callum's hands, firm on his hips; the pressure of his brother's body; his cock, hot and slick, grinding against Rowan's stomach--so fucking wrong, yet so goddamn right Rowan clenched his eyes shut, his claws tearing into his arms. I came like some horny bitch while my brother sucked and pawed me off. What the fuck is wrong with me?

The waves of shame crashed over him, each one more punishing than the last. His claws offered a brief, sharp distraction, but it was nothing compared to the torment of his half- hard cock, aching for more despite the swirling vortex of guilt.

You're a fucking freak, Rowan. A goddamn pervert. His mind was ruthless. Who the hell gets off to their own brother?

Rowan's breath caught in his throat as the echo of Callum's words lingered in the air. "Sure it's wrong, but it feels good, too." His voice had been casual, almost dismissive, but to Rowan, each word felt weighted, heavy with implication. Rowan shivered, his body reacting despite the turmoil churning inside him. Fuck him. Fuck his arrogance and that infuriating grin. He acts like we can just roll with this, like nothing significant just happened?

Yet, the anger quickly dissolved--fleeting as always when it came to Callum. No matter how much Rowan wanted to despise him, he found he couldn't sustain it. He yearned to blame Callum for the teasing, for his knack at pushing every one of Rowan's buttons, for that smug expression as he walked away--but the harsh truth clawed at him.

It's my fault. I allowed it. I never said stop. In that moment, I might as well have begged for it.

Frozen in place, Rowan could hardly breathe, the room closing in around him. His chest heaved with shallow, unsteady breaths, each one a stark reminder of the chaos that had unfolded. The room stank of sex--of his and Callum's cum mingling on his matted fur, a pungent reminder of their forbidden act. The memories assaulted him mercilessly: Callum's mouth on him, those confident movements, the depth of his gaze as he looked up at Rowan, making him feel seen, understood, and utterly undone. "No," he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. "Fucking stop. Don't think about it."

But his body didn't listen. It never did when it came to Callum.

Rowan opened his eyes, staring down at the sticky mess coating his chest and stomach. His fur was matted with cum--his cum from earlier, sure, but also Callum's. He could still feel the way his brother had rutted against him, the way his cock had pulsed and spilled thick, hot streaks across Rowan's fur. Rowan's breath hitched, his claws scraping lightly against his thighs. His cock was hard again, pulsing with every humiliatingly vivid detail that flooded his mind. He groaned, his tail curling tighter around his legs as if that would somehow block out the heat building in his body.

You're disgusting. A fucking mess. This is your brother, for fuck's sake.

But the shame wasn't enough to stop him. It never was. Rowan's hand hovered over his stomach, his claws twitching as he stared down at the mess coating his fur. The sticky reminder of Callum's release only made the ache between his legs worse. His fingers dipped lower, brushing against the base of his cock, and the jolt of sensation made his hips jerk.

And then Rowan saw it, sprawled across the carpet, the boxers Callum had nonchalantly used to wipe himself before casting them aside. The fabric was crumpled and stained, a stark reminder of their recent escapade.

A raw surge of heat raced through Rowan at the sight. Without fully understanding his actions, he found himself crawling towards the discarded underwear. The urge was primal, overwhelming. He reached them, his heart pounding erratically, and without hesitation, buried his snout deep into the fabric. The potent, musky scent of his brother's seed hit him like a wave, enveloping his senses, intoxicatingly vile yet irresistibly compelling. His paws moved instinctively, stroking his own length as he pressed his face further into the cum- stained boxers. The scent smeared across his muzzle, marking him, claiming him in the most perverse way imaginable. What the fuck are you doing, Rowan? his mind screamed, but the heat pooling in his groin was relentless. He ground his hips into his hand, his movements desperate and frenzied. The boxers on his face, the vivid, shameful memories-- they propelled him towards the edge with ruthless efficiency. "You're a fucking freak,Rowan," he muttered into the fabric, his voice a mix of disgust and arousal. This is so fucked up.

As he inhaled deeply, Rowan's muzzle was engulfed by the pungent, musky scent of Callum's cum on the fabric. The room seemed to pulse with the heat of their mingled scents, tightening around him like a den of primal urges. His paws worked furiously over his throbbing length, every stroke amplified by the forbidden arousal stemming from his brother's lingering presence in the soaked fabric. The boxers, heavy with Callum's release, pressed against his snout, smearing the sticky, cooling cum across his face. He rubbed harder, burying his face deeper into the scent that drove him mad, his breaths harsh and desperate as the walls of sanity crumbled. His hips bucked uncontrollably as he neared the peak, his mind clouded with the base need to mark himself as much as he was marked.

With a muffled groan into the cum-soaked fabric, Rowan erupted, his own hot release jetting across his fur, mixing grotesquely with the scent of Callum that painted his snout.

He lay there afterward, panting heavily, the weight of his actions--depraved and utterly damning--pressing down on him. The boxers clung to his face, a stark, damp reminder of the line they had crossed. As the fog of lust dissipated, replaced by a chilling wave of reality, Rowan was left to reckon with the visceral shame and the undeniable hunger that still clawed at his insides.

"What have I become," he whispered into the quiet, the taste of Callum's essence bitter on his tongue.

Exhausted and trembling, Rowan collapsed back against the carpet. His hand, slick with the residue of their mingled releases, fell limply to his side. The room's silence was oppressive, a stark contrast to the riot of his thoughts. The scent of their act was overpowering, the musk of sex wrapping around him like a tangible shroud of his own depravity. You're a nasty creep, Rowan. He's your brother, and you're getting off on this perversion. The self- loathing was a vise around his heart, yet beneath that, something else simmered--a dark, terrifying thrill that he didn't regret what had happened. As he lay there, the air thick with the unmistakable odor of sex, his body and soul felt ravaged by the intensity of his release. Despite the overwhelming shame, Rowan's hand rested against his cum-streaked stomach, a stark reminder of the line they had obliterated.

You came twice. To thoughts of him. Your fucking brother. The truth was brutal, unrelenting.

Callum's assertion floated back to him, mocking in its casual dismissal: "Relax, Row. You're overthinking it. Again." Easy for him to say, Rowan thought bitterly. Callum could walk away unscathed, always untouched by the chaos he wrought. Despite the urge to cleanse himself of the aftermath, Rowan remained motionless, curled protectively around his own turmoil. The shame was suffocating, but more disturbing was the part of him that craved more--the warmth of Callum's mouth, the firmness of his touch. This was madness. He knew it. Callum was his twin, not some distant fantasy to indulge. Yet as he lay there, every fibre of his being ached for what should have been forbidden.

"Fuck," he whispered hoarsely, eyes clenched shut. The sensation of Callum's mouth lingered, ghostly and too vivid, etched into his memory with indelible clarity.

He was supposed to reject these impulses, not yearn for their repetition. Rowan's confusion and desire twisted together, binding tighter with every remembered touch, every echoed moan. As he rolled onto his side, the carpet's rough texture against his fur was a harsh reminder of the reality he now lived. The thought of getting up, of washing away the scent and evidence of their transgression, seemed an insurmountable task. Because deep down, beneath the layers of guilt and disgust, Rowan didn't want it to stop. Not really. This wasn't normal. It wasn't. He wasn't supposed to feel this way about Callum--his brother, his fucking twin. And yet...

His eyes darted toward the door of Callum's room, his chest tightening with conflicting emotions. The memories were vivid: Callum's golden eyes dark with desire, the assured way he'd held Rowan down, his grip firm but caring. The way his lips curled into a satisfied smirk after he had swallowed, as if he'd savored every moment.

Rowan's claws flexed against the carpet, his stomach churning with a tumultuous mix of rage and longing. Part of him wanted to storm into Callum's room, shake him, and demand answers--Why did you do this? Why didn't you stop? Why did you make it feel so right? But another part, a deeper, more shameful part, didn't crave answers at all. It craved more. Rowan groaned, abruptly sitting up and burying his face in his hands. "Get your fucking shit together," he muttered, his voice harsh in the quiet of the room. Despite his resolve, his mind betrayed him, replaying every moment of what they'd done. The warmth of Callum's body against his, the heavy scent of him, the overwhelming weight pressing him down--it was maddening.

This is going to ruin our relationship. Hell, I've already ruined everything, he thought, his heart squeezing tight with dread and desire. The guilt was excruciating, but it couldn't drown out a more disturbing truth: no matter how wrong it was, Rowan wanted it again.

Forcing himself to move, Rowan felt every inch of his body protest. His fur was sticky, filthy, saturated with the scent of their mingled release. It was unbearable. He needed to clean himself, to wash away the filth and forget--try to forget--what had just transpired. But as he stumbled to his feet, his legs shaky and weak, he couldn't stop his mind from circling back to Callum's last look--so cocksure, as if he knew precisely how far Rowan would let him go. The way Callum's hands had gripped his thighs, holding him down, his tongue lavishing attention to every inch as though he had been waiting to do so for years.

Rowan's claws scraped against the doorframe of the bathroom as he staggered inside, his breath catching. His reflection stared back at him in the cracked mirror above the sink, wide-eyed and flushed, his fur matted with sweat and cum. He looked like a complete mess. No, more than that, he thought bitterly as he gripped the sink until his claws left marks in the wood. He was a disaster.

The faucet squeaked as he turned it on, cold water rushing out. He splashed it over his face, trying to scrub the persistent heat from his cheeks, but the memories refused to be washed away. He could still taste Callum--his tongue exploring, his teeth grazing, those piercing golden eyes locking with his as his lips stretched wide. Rowan groaned, his claws digging into the porcelain. Stop. Stop fucking thinking about it. But it was futile; his cock twitched, half-hard and aching despite having come twice already.

He turned off the water abruptly, the sound cutting out and leaving a deafening silence. Rowan gritted his teeth, his tail flicking behind him as he tried to steady his rapid heartbeat. His mind was relentless. Every second replayed in excruciating detail--the way Callum had moaned around him, the way he had wiped his mouth afterwards, smug and satisfied.

"Fucking asshole," Rowan muttered under his breath, his voice raw as his claws raked down his chest, tracing the sticky residue of their encounter. His stomach churned with disgust and a darker, more dangerous desire.

Because no matter how much he hated himself for it, he wanted to feel it again.

Rowan's need was visceral, a raw ache for the heat and connection he felt with Callum, even if it twisted his guts with its wrongness. His claws grazed over his stomach, catching in the thick fur as his breath hitched sharply. His cock, pink and swollen, throbbed intensely against his touch, leaking precum in a steady, eager dribble.

Don't.

His claws twitched, a desperate plea to his own spiraling desires.

Don't fucking do it.

Yet, his body rebelled, driven by the primal urge that overruled his conflicted mind. His hand enveloped his shaft, the sensation so intense that a guttural moan escaped him as his hips instinctively bucked forward. His fingers, rough and insistent, wrapped tighter stroking with a frenzied pace. Leaning heavily against the sink, Rowan's movements grew increasingly urgent. The slick, wet sounds of his palm sliding over his engorged dick filled the room, mingling with his laboured breaths. Each stroke fanned the flames of his memories, twisting them into vivid, carnal fantasies.

Now, Callum wasn't merely pleasuring him; he dominated him completely, pinning him down, their bodies locked in a desperate, heated grind. Rowan's swollen knot, never fully having retracted, pulsed at the base of his cock, adding a throbbing urgency to each frantic tug. He imagined Callum's weight on him, his equally stiff cock, identical in size and shape, pressing against his own, their knots brushing and catching with each movement, sending spikes of pleasure through his already oversensitive nerves. "You're mine, little brother. Don't fight it. You've always been mine," Callum's imagined voice growled low in his ear,rough and possessive, driving Rowan closer to the edge.

Rowan's hand worked his dick ruthlessly, the tapered head slick and shiny as his strokes grew sloppy with his own cum. His free hand scrambled against the cold edge of the sink, seeking purchase as his legs shook. His balls, tight and full, slapped against his thighs with each harsh pump, the sound lewd and utterly depraved in the silent room. The fantasy deepened, his mind conjuring the sensation of Callum's teeth on his neck, a primal claim as he thrust into him, his thick cock forcing Rowan's knot to swell even as it was buried deep inside. "Fuck, Callum," he gasped out, the name coming out as both a curse and a plea. His strokes became erratic, desperate, as he chased the overwhelming heat building deep in his gut.

Rowan's orgasm tore through him ruthlessly, his entire body clenching as he spurted thick, hot cum across the bathroom counter. His jizz, sticky and copious, splattered the cool surface and covered his sheath and thighs, mingling with the remnants of his earlier release. He sagged against the sink, panting hard, his twitching cock pulsing out the last drops of his load, each throb sending aftershocks shuddering through his exhausted frame.

For a fleeting moment, the sheer intensity of his release obliterated all other sensations. But as the tide of pleasure receded, the crushing weight of silence returned. Rowan stared down at his cum-covered hand and the mess he'd made, the tangible reminder of his shame and unchecked desire.

You're disgusting, his mind hissed, his throat tightening with self-loathing. A fucking wreck. And you'll never stop wanting him.

Rowan remained frozen, staring at his wrecked reflection in the mirror. The dim light cast unforgiving shadows over his features, highlighting the wild desperation in his eyes and the cum that streaked his fur and skin like a perverse mark of his sin. The scent of their combined release was thick in the air, coating his senses, a constant reminder of his deepest, darkest cravings. Rowan's throat was parched, his thoughts spinning wildly. You need to clean up. You need to wash this shit off before you lose your fucking mind, his mind hissed at him relentlessly.

Yet, he remained frozen, his claws digging into the edge of the sink, his legs rooted to the spot. The very idea of stepping into the shower, of scrubbing himself clean, made his stomach clench painfully. He knew it would mean washing away Callum's scent--the tangible evidence of their forbidden intimacy--and that thought squeezed his chest painfully, an ache so profound it was hard to breathe.

What the fuck is wrong with you? his mind screamed. You're covered in your brother's cum, and you don't want to wash it off? You're a goddamn freak.

The guilt was intense, twisting inside him like a knife, yet it couldn't suppress the smoldering heat that lingered under his skin. Memories of Callum's heated touch, the grinding pressure of his body, the visceral connection they'd shared--it was all too vivid, too raw to simply wash away. Rowan's breath hitched, his eyes fixed on the cum-streaked fur of his chest, Callum's scent enveloping him, mingling with his own. Despite his self-loathing, he couldn't bear to let it go, to erase the proof of what had happened. He groaned,his claws tracing down his chest, spreading the sticky mess deeper into his fur. It was repulsive, and yet, it sent a thrilling pulse through him, a reminder of the intimacy they'dshared. You're a disaster, he thought bitterly. A fucking disaster, and he's going to ruin you.

But the thought of cleaning up, of denying what had occurred, felt even more unbearable. Washing Callum off would be like denying those chaotic, passionate moments had ever existed. It would be pretending Callum hadn't been everything in those heated seconds. With a shaky exhale, Rowan pushed away from the sink. His legs felt like jelly as he stumbled back into the hallway, the musky scent of his brother leading him like a beacon. He made a detour, his eyes catching the glimpse of Callum's cum-soaked boxers discarded in the corner. On impulse, he grabbed them, clutching the fabric--now a forbidden trophy--tightly in his hand as he padded to his room.

Rowan collapsed onto his bed, the coarse sheets irritating his sensitized fur, but he hardly noticed. Clutching Callum's cum-soaked boxers to his chest, he curled tightly into himself, his heart pounding erratically. Even now, his knot remained swollen, his cock stubbornly rigid and leaking, refusing to retreat into its sheath despite the profound drain he felt in his balls. As he lay there, wrapped in the lingering scent and physical reminders of their encounter, a troubling realization dawned on him: he had been masturbating relentlessly to thoughts of his brother. The reality of it was as undeniable as the throbbing in his loins-- a mix of deep-seated shame and an insatiable craving that seemed only to intensify with each breath he took.

But masturbating relentlessly to thoughts of Callum wasn't anything new. Rowan had been doing it for years. As Rowan thought back on how this all started, a particularly vivid memory surfaced, painting a scene from their middle school, after a particularly muddy rugby practice, which had ended with them in the communal showers. As steam curled around him, Young Rowan found himself paralyzed in a fog of raging hormones, his gaze inadvertently locked on Callum. The water coursed over Callum's toned body, tracing the defined planes and curves that Rowan knew as well as his own. But it was the sight of Callum's sheath, slightly swollen, with the pink tip of his cock peeking out as he reached up to scrub his armpits, that sent a jolt through Rowan's body. Callum's testicles hung slightly lower from the heat, their outline visible against his thighs, drawing Rowan's eyes in a forbidden dance of desire and despair.

Callum had turned to chat, completely at ease, his voice bouncing off the tiled walls. "Never seen one before, bro? I mean, it looks the same as yours. We are identical," he had joked, a wide grin spreading across his face. His casual nudity and the playful flicker in his golden eyes had only heightened the intense flush of desire that suffused Rowan. The physical reaction was immediate and damning. Rowan's breath hitched, his pulse thundering in his ears as he fought to maintain composure. His own cock had begun to fill, the beginning of his immature knot swelling, a reaction so inappropriate it clawed at his sanity. Ashamed, he had averted his gaze, focusing on the cold, wet tiles beneath his feet as he struggled to calm his racing heart.

Realizing that his attraction wasn't just a moment of adolescent confusion but a deep-seated desire, Rowan had made the excruciating decision to quit the team. Rowan loved rugby, but he loved his brother even more, and he feared what might happen to their relationship if he was forced to shower next to the one who had such a noticeable impact on him. Afraid that Callum might clue into Rowan's secret desires, he felt his decision was the only way to protect their bond. Callum was furious; they had done everything together up until this point. Rowan told himself it was to focus more on his art, explaining to his parents that quitting allowed him to spend more time with his artwork and that he never really liked rugby--that he only took it up because Callum wanted him to. That was the first time he lied to Callum. But he also knew he had to escape the constant torment of his brother's nearness in such exposed, intimate settings.

Lying there in the dim light of his room, Rowan's mind painfully replayed the memory, each detail vivid against the backdrop of his current turmoil. His fingers tightened around the fabric of the boxers, the scent of their shared release a stark reminder of the line they had crossed. The conflict within him raged--his desires clashing with his moral compass, and the carnal draw towards his twin.

Still enveloped in the darkness of his thoughts, Rowan's mind drifted to another poignant memory--one that seared with the clarity of forbidden desire. It had been late one evening during their last year of middle school. They had spent the afternoon together in Callum's room, working on their final year projects, books and papers strewn about in organized chaos. Rowan had left his science book behind, and knowing Callum would be asleep by now, he'd thought it safe to retrieve it without disturbing him. He remembered the gentle creak of the door as he eased it open, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet house. The room had been dimly lit by the moonlight filtering through the half-closed blinds, casting long shadows across the floor. Callum was asleep, his chest rising and falling softly, the sheets tangled around his waist exposing his upper body. The air was thick with the residual musk of teenaged jizz-- a potent, heady scent that spoke of raw, unchecked release and the powerful olfactory signature of a youth just beginning his sexual maturity. Rowan's heart had raced, his breath caught in his throat as the smell enveloped him, flooding his senses.

Creeping closer, Rowan had intended only to grab his book from the desk. Yet, he found himself drawn irresistibly towards the bed, his gaze locked on Callum's peaceful face. The moonlight had illuminated his brother's features, softening the usual sharpness, and revealing a vulnerability that Rowan seldom saw during the daylight hours. His eyes had traveled lower, compelled by a force he couldn't resist. As Callum shifted slightly in his sleep, the sheet slipped further down his waist, revealing his still exposed shaft. Cum was smeared across his belly and sheath, glistening slightly in the dim moonlight--stark evidence of his nocturnal activities. The sight struck Rowan with a visceral intensity, sending a sharp pang of longing straight to his core.

Rowan swallowed hard, feeling a familiar ache stir within him, a heat that flushed his skin and made his palms sweat. He'd stood there, frozen, fighting the urge to reach out, to touch... Instead, he'd taken a deep, shaky breath, absorbing the scent that was so uniquely Callum, so intoxicatingly forbidden.

His fingers curled into fists at his sides as he wrestled with his desires, the book forgotten for those long, aching moments. The weight of his longing, of the secret he harbored so close, pressed down on him with the intensity of the silent room.

Finally tearing himself away, Rowan had snatched the book with trembling hands, his exit more a flight than a retreat. As he'd slipped back into the cool anonymity of the hallway, closing the door with a soft click, he'd pressed his back against the wood, his heart pounding a wild rhythm.

That night, tucked away under his own sheets, Rowan gave into the raw fantasies that gripped him. The vivid image of Callum, exposed and glistening with jizz across his belly, seared into his mind with unbearable clarity. He recalled the sticky trails of cum smeared over his brother's skin, the slight glisten on the pink tip of his cock poking out from its sheath. The musk of Callum's body somehow lingered in Rowan's room, perhaps clinging to his own skin or clothes after being so close to him. This deep, earthy scent of Callum's jizz, potent and heady, overwhelmed his senses, igniting the beginning of his obsession with the smell that defined such an intense, raw moment of sexual awakening.

With a shaky hand, Rowan slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs, his fingers wrapping around his own throbbing dick. He gripped himself tightly, the slickness of his own pre-cum reminding him of the wetness he'd seen on Callum. The urgent heat of his touch stoked a desperate need, driving him to jerk himself with a rough, relentless pace. Whispering Callum's name like a dark secret, Rowan let his fantasies take hold. He imagined it was Callum's hand on him, Callum's breath hot against his neck. Each stroke edged him closer to the brink, each imagined touch drove him deeper into the forbidden. When he finally came, it was intense, his cum shooting across his fingers and soaking the sheets. Rowan gasped Callum's name as a wave of searing pleasure mixed with sharp stabs of shame crashed over him. Lying there, his fur matted with his own load and his heart pounding with illicit desire, young Rowan faced the undeniable truth: this wasn't just a fleeting urge; it had become physical, and there was no denying the depth of his craving for his brother.

From that fateful night, Rowan's fixation with Callum only intensified. It wasn't just about stolen glances or accidental encounters anymore; it evolved into a deeper, darker obsession. He began to crave not just the sight of Callum but his very essence--the musky, heady scent that seemed uniquely his. Rowan found himself inventing reasons to linger near his brother's things, seeking any trace of that intoxicating aroma that could sate the hunger clawing inside him. This growing obsession led him to a new low. In their freshman year of high school, one day while his parents were at work and his brother was at practice Rowan had a dark desperate idea that took him to their cramped laundry room. He dug through the pile of dirty laundry like a wolf possessed until he unearthed the prize he hadn't dared admit he was searching for--Callum's boxers, unmistakably damp with sweat and the musky, potent, crusty residue of his cum. The scent struck Rowan like a physical force, igniting a raw hunger in him. With trembling hands, he brought the boxers to his face, breathing in deep, letting the thick, heady aroma of his brother's release saturate his senses. His cock responded instantly, hardening against the rough fabric of his own jeans. Desperate for release, Rowan grabbed Callum's worn sock and shrouded his throbbing dick with it, the familiar texture of the fabric adding an illicit thrill to each stroke.

He pressed the cum-stained boxers to his nose with one hand, while the other worked his dick furiously, wrapped in the sock. Each inhalation was laced with Callum's scent, driving him closer to the edge. The fantasy of Callum, the room, their shared spaces intertwined in his mind, blurring the lines between reality and the forbidden thoughts that consumed him. Rowan's breaths became shallow, his hips bucking into the grip of the sock as he imagined it was Callum's hand instead, rough and insistent. The room spun with the intoxicating blend of sweat, cum, and stolen moments, pushing him over the brink. With a choked groan muffled by the fabric of the boxers against his mouth, Rowan's body tensed, and he spilled his load heavily into the sock, soaking it thoroughly.

As he leaned back against the cold metal of the washing machine, spent and panting, the gravity of his actions settled over him. The boxers clung to his face, a stark reminder of the line he had crossed. Yet, the shame that flickered through him was tinged with a perverse satisfaction that he knew would draw him back to Callum's laundry again and again.

That started Rowan's clandestine visits to Callum's room as an almost daily ritual. He'd sneak in, searching for any piece of dirty clothing, especially sock, boxers, or best of all, a jockstrap from his gym bag. Sometimes, he'd find them just tossed aside, still faintly warm and marked with streaks of cum. He'd press them against his nose, inhaling deeply, convincing himself that as long as Callum never found out, no harm was done. The thrill of these secret moments had him bizarrely looking forward to sharing a dorm room, dreaming of unlimited access to his brother's underthings. However, everything changed during their winter trip senior year, right after their 17th birthday. One evening, while unwinding after a day of snowboarding, they found themselves alone in a hot tub, steam rising around them into the chilly air. Callum, relaxed and unsuspecting, launched into a story about his first sexual encounter behind the middle school science building with a guy from their class. His voice was light, tinged with amusement and a bit of pride, as he described how thrilling it was, the danger of possibly getting caught only adding to the excitement.

"You're not gonna believe this one," Callum began, his tone rich with smug amusement. Rowan, already feeling a vague sense of unease, forced a casual nod. Callum wasn't the kind of guy to hold back, and tonight was no exception. "So, this was back in middle school," Callum continued, his voice deep and unbothered as he relaxed against the edge of the tub. "You know that guy in my eigth grade physics class? Yeah, total brainiac. Anyway, one day after class, he pulls me aside, real nervous at first, like he's about to ask me for homework help or something. Next thing I know, we're behind the science building, and he's on his knees."

Rowan's breath hitched, his fingers tightening on the edge of the hot tub. He glanced away, feigning disinterest, but his heart was hammering in his chest. Callum, either oblivious or uncaring, smirked and kept going. "Man, the way he just went for it? No hesitation. Started off slow, teasing just the tip. Then he started licking like his life depended on it. I swear, he was tracing some kind of goddamn algorithm on my cock with his tongue." Callum laughed, his tail flicking lazily against the water. "Best blowjob of my life, hands down."

Rowan swallowed hard, his throat dry as Callum's words painted a vivid picture in his mind. He shifted in his seat, trying to adjust his posture without drawing attention to the growing hardness straining against his swim trunks. As he moved, the rush of a jet hit him unexpectedly, sending a jolt of sensation straight to his lower back. He flinched, startled, but the pressure lingered, teasing against the curve of his ass.

Callum wasn't stopping, his voice taking on a deeper, almost reverent tone as he described the encounter. "He had this way of building it up, you know? Sucking harder, taking me deeper, but never letting me get there too fast. It was like he wanted to keep me on edge forever. Fucking torture, but the good kind."

Rowan's face burned as he adjusted himself again, this time letting the back of his swim trunks slip lower to expose his bare ass. The jet's stream hit directly now, and the sensation was almost too much--an intense, throbbing massage that sent sparks racing through his nerves. He clenched his teeth, his breath catching as his cock twitched painfully against the tight fabric of his trunks.

"You should've seen it," Callum said, chuckling darkly. "By the time he was done, I was practically begging for it. And when I finally came..." Callum's grin widened, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "I swear, it was like fireworks. Blew my load right down his throat, and he swallowed every drop."

Rowan couldn't hold back the quiet gasp that escaped his lips. He quickly covered it with a cough, but the damage was done. The image Callum painted was too vivid, too raw, and combined with the jet working relentlessly against him, Rowan's body was spiraling out of control. His hips shifted instinctively, pushing back into the stream as his chest heaved.

"Fuck, you okay over there," Callum asked, raising an eyebrow. The question was casual, but Rowan felt like his brother's golden eyes were drilling into him, seeing everything.

"Yeah," Rowan rasped, his voice strained. "Just... that's some story, bro."

Callum laughed, leaning back as if he hadn't just dropped an erotic bombshell. "You're too uptight, Row. Maybe I should've set you up with him. He probably would've blown your mind too." The words sent a shiver down Rowan's spine, his stomach clenching with a mix of arousal and jealousy. He bit his lip hard, fighting back a moan as the jet pushed him closer and closer to the edge. He could feel it building, the heat coiling low in his belly, his cock throbbing and leaking into his swim trunks.

Callum stretched, his arms above his head, exposing the defined curve of his abs and the dip of his hips. Rowan's eyes darted to the water, his pulse pounding in his ears as he tried to ground himself. But it was too late. The relentless stimulation, the explicit imagery of Callum's story, and the unbearable proximity of his brother sent him careening over the edge. Rowan's body jerked as he came, the release hot and sticky, filling his trunks beneath the bubbling water. He clenched his fists against the tub's edge, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he fought to keep his face neutral.

"You're acting weird," Callum said, frowning slightly. "Don't tell me you've never had a blowjob before. You look like you're about to pass out."

Rowan forced a shaky laugh, waving a hand dismissively. "Just... it's a lot, you know? Good for you, though."

Callum smirked, shaking his head. "You're a damn prude sometimes."

Rowan nodded weakly, unable to say more as his mind reeled. The lingering pleasure, the wet heat clinging to his body, and the scent of chlorine mingling with the imagined musk of Callum were too much. As the two climbed out of the hot tub and headed back to their room, Rowan knew one thing for certain: His old hope that this was just a phase had turned into an obsession with his brother that had spanned most of middle school and all of high school. And it wasn't going to go away.

The cool hotel hallway contrasted sharply with the residual heat from the hot tub, sending a shiver through Rowan as they made their way back. The silence between them was thick, filled with unsaid thoughts and unasked questions. Once inside their room, the change from the harsh, fluorescent lights of the corridor to the dim, warm glow of their bedside lamp felt like stepping into another world--a quieter, more intimate one.

Callum shifted beside Rowan, turning onto his side and propping his head on his elbow. His trademark smirk was firmly in place, as though he could sense the shift in the air. "Man, college is gonna be fucking wild," he said, his voice low and lazy, like they were conspiring about something. The weight of his gaze on Rowan felt like a challenge, an invitation to look forward into a future fraught with as much potential for excitement as for danger.

Rowan swallowed hard, his chest tightening just from the way Callum's golden eyes glinted with excitement. "Yeah, I guess," he muttered, trying to sound casual.

Callum snorted, giving him a playful shove with his shoulder. "You guess? Come on, Row. New place, no parents breathing down our necks, nothing but hot, drunk people looking for a good time. Dude, I'm gonna get this dick so fucking wet. Throat, pussy, ass--don't even care, so long as it's tight. You'd better keep up, or I'll leave you in the dust."

Rowan tried to laugh, but it came out weak. His fur prickled all over. "Yeah, I don't think it's a competition."

"Everything's a competition," Callum shot back, grinning like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Seriously, though, think about it. We're identical, right? Same face, same body. What if we accidentally hooked up with the same dude--or chick? Like, what are the odds?"

Rowan froze. "I... uh... I don't know. Pretty low, I guess?" His voice cracked, but Callum didn't seem to notice.

"Right? But can you imagine? What if they didn't even know? Like, `Oh, I hooked up with Callum last week,' and then the next week it's, `Wait, why does Rowan fuck exactly the same?'" He laughed, the sound deep and rich, his tail flicking lazily against the sheets.

Rowan's heart was pounding, his claws digging into the mattress. "Yeah. That'd be... weird." His throat felt tight, and the heat rising to his face wasn't from the shitty hotel AC.

Callum's smirk widened, his tone turning teasing. "Weird as hell, right? Almost as gross as..." He paused, clearly searching for the perfect analogy. Then he laughed, that smug, shit-eating grin lighting up his face. "Almost as gross as, like, us hooking up. Fucking nasty."

Rowan felt the air leave his lungs. The words hit like a freight train, crashing through the fragile bubble of fantasy he'd built around Callum. His gut twisted painfully, his cock still aching from the memories of the hot tub earlier, and now this--as gross as us hooking up.

Callum didn't notice, still grinning like it was the funniest joke he'd ever told. "I mean, shit, can you imagine? Fucking weird twin shit. Hell no."

Rowan forced a laugh, but it sounded strangled even to his own ears. Callum just kept going, completely oblivious. "Anyway, I'm gonna wreck you when it comes to body count. I'll be pulling all the best ass while you're off being, like, the sensitive artist type or whatever. Just don't get pissed when I win, yeah?" He gave Rowan another shove, laughing under his breath.

Rowan barely heard him, the words echoing in his head: gross as us hooking up. He wanted to scream, to cry, to disappear. Instead, he just lay there, his chest tight, his claws clutching at the sheets like they were the only thing keeping him grounded. Rowan tried to smile, but his jaw felt tight. His heart hadn't stopped racing since Callum's offhand gross as us hooking up jab. "Yeah, it'll be... something," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

The elder twin snorted. "`Something'? Dude, it's gonna be epic. I mean, who else would I wanna room with? You get me, y'know? No bullshit, no drama. I don't have to, like, pretend to be someone I'm not around you. And let's be real, you're the only one who can deal with all my shit." He smirked, his tail flicking lazily against Rowan's hip. "I'd feel bad for some random dude trying to live with me."

Rowan swallowed hard, his throat dry. His claws twisted the edge of the sheet as he stared at the ceiling, trying to hold himself together. "You'd be fine. People like you," he said, forcing the words out.

"Yeah, but they don't know me like you do." Callum's voice softened, his grin fading just slightly. "You're my twin, Row. My other half. I mean, who else can I trust to tell me when I'm being a dumbass? And, I dunno, it just... makes sense, doesn't it? Us sticking together?"

The words were a knife to Rowan's chest. He wanted to scream, to tell Callum how fucked up it all was, how wrong it felt to share a space with him when every glance, every touch, every stupid joke sent him spiraling. But he couldn't. Callum was looking at him like he always did--with that easy, confident smile, like Rowan was the only person in the world who mattered. Rowan's voice cracked as he replied, "Yeah, makes sense."

"Exactly." Callum's grin returned, his golden eyes lighting up. "It'll be like having a piece of home, you know? And you're the best fucking roommate I could ask for. You're not some messy asshole, you're chill, and--let's face it--you won't cockblock me when I bring people back to the room." He laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest, and Rowan felt his stomach twist.

Won't cockblock him. The thought made Rowan's skin prickle uncomfortably. The image of Callum in their shared dorm room with someone else--his naked body moving, his knot swelling as he... No. Rowan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung to him like a fog. Callum didn't notice his twin's distress, his voice turning thoughtful. "Honestly, though, I hope you get out there too. You've been all... quiet about,like, what you want. You never talk about your type or if there's anyone you're into." He raised an eyebrow, his smirk teasing again. "Come on, spill it. What's the deal? Are you into someone? Girl? Guy? Both?"

Rowan's chest tightened, his heart hammering in his ears. "No one," he blurted, too quickly.

Callum laughed, the sound easy and warm. "Bullshit. Everyone's got someone. And hey, no pressure if you're into dudes or whatever. You know Mom and Dad don't give a shit. I mean, look at me--they were cool when I told them I'm bi. Didn't even blink. They're like, `Oh, cool, Callum likes everyone. Anyway, what's for dinner?'"

"That's great," Rowan said quietly, his voice hollow. He wanted to crawl under the sheets

"But seriously," Callum pressed, his tone turning playful again. "No one? Not even a crush? Come on, Row, gimme something. We're twins; you can't hide that shit from me."

Rowan's throat felt tight, his claws digging into the sheets. "I just... don't really think about it," he lied, his voice trembling.

Callum snorted, shaking his head. "You're so weird, man. Guess I'll just have to set you up with someone once we're on campus. You know, get you laid." He grinned, his tail flicking lazily. "I mean, it'd be kind of pathetic if I'm out there pulling ass left and right while my twin's just sitting in the dorm, sketching sad trees or whatever."

Rowan's stomach churned. He felt like he was suffocating, drowning under the weight of Callum's words. He had to get out--out of the bed, out of this conversation, out of Callum's orbit, before he completely lost himself. "Yeah," Rowan murmured, his voice barely audible. "I guess we'll see."

Callum's grin softened into something warmer, his voice taking on a sincerity that was almost disarming. "You know, I've been thinking about this a lot, Row," he said, his golden eyes catching the dim light of the room. "We've always been more than just bros. I mean, yeah, we're twins, but it's deeper than that. We've been together since birth--literally. No one knows me the way you do. No one gets me like you." Rowan's chest tightened, the weight of Callum's words pressing against the ache he already felt. His twin's tone was so earnest, so open, that Rowan couldn't bring himself to look away, even as guilt twisted in his stomach. Callum nudged him gently, his tail flicking against Rowan's leg. "That's why I know this year is going to be fucking amazing. I mean, you're the one person I can trust completely, you know? Like, I don't ever have to worry about my roommate being some weirdo sneaking into my shit or whatever. You'd never do that to me, right?" He laughed lightly, the sound warm and affectionate.

Rowan swallowed hard, his mouth dry. "Y-Yeah," he managed, the word sticking in his throat like a splinter.

Callum didn't seem to notice the hesitation. He reached out and ruffled Rowan's hair, his grin widening. "That's what I'm saying, Row. No one else gets to see the real me--just you. You're my favourite person in the whole wide world, and I can't wait to spend this next year with you. It's gonna be epic, bro. Just us, taking on the world." The words hit Rowan like a punch to the gut, a strange mix of warmth and unbearable weight. Callum's love and trust were so palpable, so genuine, and yet it only made Rowan feel more like a fraud. He wanted so badly to hold on to the closeness, to cherish the bond they'd shared their entire lives. But the darker part of him--the one that craved Callum in ways he couldn't admit-- threatened to unravel everything. Rowan forced a small smile, nodding as he blinked back the heat building behind his eyes.

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice cracking. "It's gonna be great." As Callum's words lingered in the air, a warmth mixed with unbearable weight settled over Rowan. He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts churning in the silence that followed his twin's excitement. Callum had always been so open, so unapologetically himself, and it was one of the things Rowan admired most about him. But it was also one of the reasons he could never be honest about the darker truths he carried. I can't do this, Rowan thought, his claws curling into the sheets beneath him. The raw guilt that had simmered under the surface for years finally bubbled over, forcing him to confront the reality he'd been trying to ignore. He couldn't live with Callum. He couldn't share a room, a space, a life with him--not without destroying the one thing that mattered most. Rowan shut his eyes, the memories of all the times he'd stolen into Callum's space flooding back to him in vivid, damning detail. The late-night ventures into his room, the stolen moments with Callum's boxers or socks, the desperate attempts to satiate the hunger he could never admit to feeling. Every time, he'd told himself it wasn't hurting anyone. Callum will never know. So what's the harm?

But now, lying in the dark beside his brother, those excuses felt paper-thin. It was hurting someone--it was hurting Callum. It was eroding the trust they'd built, the bond they'd shared since birth. Callum's words echoed in his mind, "You're the one person I can trust completely, you know? You'd never do that to me, right?" The warmth of his twin's voice, the unshakable certainty in his words, twisted Rowan's stomach into knots. Rowan's breath hitched, his chest tightening as he fought the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. You're hurting him, even if he doesn't know it. You're ruining the one good thing you have because you're too fucking selfish to stop.

A lump formed in his throat, and he pressed his face into the pillow, his claws digging into the fabric as if to anchor himself. You love him, his mind whispered. Not the way you're supposed to. Not the way that's safe or healthy. And that's why you have to let go. He couldn't stay in Callum's orbit, couldn't keep feeding the obsession that had consumed him for so long. Sharing a dorm room with Callum would be a disaster waiting to happen. Rowan had to create distance, not just for himself, but for Callum--for the relationship they still had, the bond he didn't want to lose. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and he swallowed hard, forcing the words into the silence of his mind. You're my favourite person too, Cal. That's why I can't stay.

His heart ached with the finality of the decision, but for the first time in years, clarity cut through the haze of shame and desire. He couldn't keep doing this. He had to stop. For Callum's sake. For their sake. Rowan took a shaky breath, the weight of his decision settling over him like a heavy blanket. The next year wouldn't be epic. It wouldn't be the adventure Callum dreamed of. But it might be the only way Rowan could hold on to the one thing he couldn't bear to lose: his twin.

Rowan lay sprawled on his bed, the coarse sheets rubbing against his cum-matted fur, but all he could focus on was the boxers pressed tightly to his snout. The heavy, heady scent of Callum's cum filled his lungs with every trembling breath, his twin's essence seeping into his fur and into his mind. The musky aroma clung to the fabric, a visceral reminder of everything they'd done, and of Rowan's inability to stop himself from wanting more. His cock twitched against his belly, knot still swollen and aching, the steady, humiliating drip of pre-cum adding to the sticky mess on his thighs.

A year apart. That was supposed to have helped. It was supposed to give him the space to escape this--this obsession, this all-consuming hunger for Callum that twisted his gut and burned beneath his skin. But it hadn't. It hadn't stopped him from thinking about Callum every single day, hadn't stopped him from pawing off to memories of his brother's body, his voice, his cock. He'd tried to move on, he really had. Rowan had made new friends, gotten involved in his art, even entertained the idea of dating someone else. But every time his hand wrapped around his cock, it was Callum he pictured. Callum's cock in his mouth, Callum's knot stretching him wide, Callum's cum filling him up until he couldn't take anymore. The dildo hidden under his bed had been his one solace, his one outlet. He'd knotted himself on it more times than he could count, biting into his pillow to muffle his cries as he came, whispering Callum's name like a prayer. But it was never enough. It was never Callum.

Freshman year ended, and Callum had brought up the idea of living together off-campus. Rowan had panicked--how the fuck can I share a space with the one person who makes me lose all control? But Callum's excitement, his insistence, had left Rowan powerless. And then their parents had stepped in, pointing out how practical it was, how much money they'd save, how much easier it would be for them to look out for each other. Rowan's resistance had crumbled. And now, seven months later, here they were. Seven months after moving in together. Just days after their nineteenth birthday. And today... today, Callum had kissed him. Callum had pulled him close, kissed him like it wasn't the most forbidden fucking thing in the world. And then he'd gone further--Callum had sucked his cock,stroked him, rutted against him until they were both covered in each other's cum.

And now here Rowan was, on his bed with Callum's cum-streaked boxers pressed to his face, the scent of his twin's release filling his nose and setting his cock throbbing again. He inhaled deeply, his chest rising as his balls tightened, a fresh pulse of sticky pre leaking from his still-aching knot. His dick had barely softened all night, the damn thing refusing to retreat into his sheath no matter how many times he'd jerked himself raw. Rowan took another shuddering breath, his fingers tightening on the boxers as he pressed them harder to his snout. His brother's cum clung to the fabric, smeared into Rowan's fur, a filthy reminder of everything they'd done--and everything Rowan had spent years fantasising about.

This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to feel this way. But fuck, no matter how much he told himself it was wrong, he couldn't stop.

Fuck, I'm going to do it again, aren't I? he thought, a rueful grin twitching at the corners of his mouth despite the turmoil swirling inside him. I just hope my dick doesn't start chafing from all this.

The idea was ludicrous, yet it held a kernel of truth that was harder to dismiss with each passing second. His body was a testament to the raw, uncontrollable desire that Callum elicited in him--a desire that was far from sated, evidenced by the persistent hardness and the slow, sticky drip of cum that stained the sheets beneath him. As he lay in the dim light, the soft fabric of the stolen boxers against his snout and the scent of their mingled cum filling his nostrils, Rowan knew that no amount of guilt could prevent the inevitable. With a resigned sigh, he shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on the fabric and bracing himself for another round of solitary pleasure, driven by memories too potent to ignore.