Date: Tue, 14 Feb 2017 10:59:59 -0500
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Karl and Greg 15

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/karl-and-greg/karl-and-greg-1) for warnings
and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between blood-related men. 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. Skip food-related
paragraphs with (^) at the start. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at
donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

All I could think about was Greg, and how completely fucking unfair all of
this was. I got to the park where I usually took stretches at the gazebo
and just blew through. Mistake, I'd find out later that day when my legs
called in that debt. I had just had the most fulfilling and meaningful sex
of my life last night, an actual dream come true. I went to bed happier
than I could ever remember and made lo... FUCK! had sex with Greg in the
middle of the night and was so contented and slept so well snuggled into
him and now, a handful of hours later, the world SUCKED! I felt myself
slowing and looked around. Shit. I had unconsciously started my 10-mile
loop and I was so not up to that! I turned back, knowing that it would make
this about a six-miler. And now my arms were starting to ache as much as my
heart. GAH! I pushed harder and harder trying to get my brain to stop. Greg
moaning from what my dick did to his ass. Greg begging for more. Greg
screaming at me this morning. Greg crying, last night from the sensation
and this morning from hurt. Greg whimpering with pleasure. Greg looking at
me like a bug. I rounded the corner to the house and just... lost it. I sat
on the Jenkins' porch and just shook for a minute. What the fuck was I
going to do now?

*****

Karl & Greg 15: Who's Whom?
By Bear Pup

M/M; emotional bonding (not bondage); anal; rimming; flipping

That worry was removed from my list of responsibilities quickly. I heard
Greg cough next to me.

"You're going to freeze out here, little brother." His voice was quiet,
calm and matter-of-fact.

He was right, too. I had been cold when running; sitting still had left me
with quivering muscles and chattering teeth. I went to stand and realised
that I hadn't stretched before during or after that impromptu
run. Everything cramped at once and Greg reached out to help me. Without
another word, he helped me hobble to the house, practically lifting me up
the stairs.

The pain was... intense. On top of the mental whiplash of last night and
this morning, I am not entirely sure I was completely conscious. He took me
up to the bathroom we shared and I stood shaking uncontrollably.

My mind flashes forward and suddenly the tub is full and steaming. Flash
and I try to cover myself; Greg had stripped me then laughs at my utterly
ludicrous modesty. Flash and he is helping me step into the tub and I
nearly bring us both crashing to the floor as my cramps and balance
conflict. Flash and a scream (mine) as the steaming water boils my frozen
skin.

Flash and his hand is at my neck, holding me above the water as my quaking
muscles send ripples and waves onto the bathroom floor. Flash and Greg is
now naked and wet. Flash and his hand is gently sponging me, long strokes
soothing my tortured muscles. Flash and he's looking at me, brow furrowed
in the "Greg is Thinking Deep Thoughts" expression that always makes me
smile ruefully, as I know I'd never follow them. FLASH!

I took in a deep, shuddering gasp. It had been long enough that the water
had started to cool when I really came back into myself. Everything, I mean
*everything* ached. I think my eyelids cramped at some point. Greg's thin,
almost-delicate hand had never left the back of my neck. I looked up and
was suddenly lost in the pools of his eyes. I had chocolate-brown ones like
Pa, but Greg's were a startling emerald green that flashed and shone. They
sucked at me, pulling me, drawing me upwards.

"I love you Greg," I slurred, and felt myself start to cry. I felt Greg's
hand move to the end of the tub and heard him remove the bung, the water
draining away and gravity retaking my body. I didn't have the energy for
wracking sobs or a crying jag, but I let the tears flow freely. I knew I'd
irretrievably lost my chance, pushing Greg even further away than he'd ever
been. But it would be okay. I'd find a way to survive. I just let the sense
of mourning in, but didn't let it engulf me. There will be time for
that... eventually.

Greg pulled me upright and I was frankly shocked at the strength in that
long and lean frame. I blushed hard as I couldn't stop myself from looking
at his prick, soft like mine but so different in shape and colour. Greg
worked me into the tub's corner and used one hand to steady me as he dried
me, splitting the difference between rough and tender as the fluffy towel
moved and he pulled and turned me like a plaything.

Greg helped me out of the tub, my muscles no longer cramping but weak and
painful. He shoved some pills into me and forced me to swallow them with a
glass of water, then guided me to my room. The bed was not only made, it
was fresh and clean and my weak and silent tears began to drip again. One
hand on my arm to keep me steady, he flung back the covers and coaxed me
into the bed. I laid down and closed my eyes. Some interminable time later,
I felt a rush of shock run through me as Greg crawled in and snuggled his
back into me. It was then that the floodgates opened and I wept without a
care for image or strength or manhood. I let it wash through me as I hugged
him tightly, soaking his hair with my tears.

I awoke an hour or so later, finally coherent. Greg was still there but I
could tell from his breathing that he was not, perhaps had never been,
asleep. I pulled his shoulder to get him to face me. My face scrunched as I
tried to think of anything to say, but there were no words. I had lost what
I wanted most, had brutalised the person I cherished and I knew that book
was now closed to me. But I still wanted to make it, well, not 'right' but
at least 'righter', 'more right'? Fuck, Greg was the one who knew the
words.

He watched closely as I struggled and finally put his finger to my lips and
whispered, "I know, little brother. I know. And now we have to try
something else.

"Stay here and stay warm. The Advil will kick in soon if it hasn't already,
but you are going to be sore for days. I need to run a couple of errands,
then we'll sit and... get to know each other?"  He left and I drifted back
to sleep, confused and in pain, body and soul, but relieved that someone
with some sense was taking over for a while and would figure things
out. That had always been Pa. That it was now Greg ran a cold knife through
my heart, but still helped.

When he shook me awake, it was well past lunchtime. As an athletic,
newly-minted 18-year-old, I was ravenous, especially after the brutal run
and subsequent shaking and cramping which every athlete can tell you saps
more energy than any exercise could ever do. I followed him (and an
indescribably-wondrous smell) down to the kitchen table. A huge bowl sat
there, steaming. I plopped down and set to like the starving man I was.

^ It was easy to forget, with that light and lithe frame, that Greg was an
athlete as well. I was probably ten shovelfuls in when I realised he's
concocted the perfect post-injury meal. Lean chicken grilled and cut ,
mixed into a pasta (Luigi? No, that's a Mario Brother... whatever that flat
shit is that's like spaghetti after a steamroller) in a bright sauce of
lemon and garlic with almost no hint of fat, maybe a bit of olive oil.

^ Without a single comment, he rotated the bowl when I'd demolished
half. As I attacked the next quadrant, he replenished the empty
sections. This went on for a heavenly lifetime as my body demanded, and
got, and endless supply of healing food. When I finally relented and sat
back, Greg calmly took the two-thirds remaining and ate it himself, adding
some 'shaker cheese' (I think it's really cheese-flavoured sawdust but
never had the guts to check) and croutons since the added fat wouldn't
matter to his uninjured body.

I just sat and watched. I was a wreck mentally, emotionally and physically,
and Greg's calm and unruffled manner was driving me insane. Without a word
-- he'd said nothing even when waking me -- he turned and rinsed the bowl
and put it into the dishwasher alongside the pans he'd used. He turned to
me and cocked his head, just looking at me with that intense and
deep-thinking gaze.

I was about to explode with tension when he finally said, "Let's do my room
this time. That way if you freak out again I won't have to defrost your
sorry jock ass."

No hint of a smile. No hint of ANYTHING. Seriously, I was remembering why I
wanted to kill the fucker so many times since I was, like, six as I
followed him up. His room was, as always, immaculate. The room of someone
so completely in control that he knows which socks are at the top of his
drawer. Fuck, I rarely knew which drawer my socks ended up in!

As before, he sat with his back against the headboard -- his, this time --
and motioned me to sit at the other end. I did so. I was frustrated,
afraid, worried... but relieved that someone who, well, wasn't *me* was
calling the shots. He again let the silence reach my breaking
point. Milliseconds before I screamed, he spoke up. Yeah, that whole
fratricide thing was still totally an option.

"What did you want to be when you grew up?"

My head rocked back and my brain tried desperately to catch up. I then did
what worked for me on the court and on the field; I just let it
happen. Instead of athletic release, I simply unhinged my jaw from my brain
and answered the question.

"A builder like Pa when I was young, then a firefighter, then a
mechanic. Still a mechanic, honestly." There was a thoughtful pause.

"I never knew. Sure, when I was a kid, fireman or astronaut popped up, but
since I was like, I dunno, ten? I never really knew what was next. I like
History. I like English. I have no idea what that makes me qualified to
do. I envy you that, you know, little brother? I envy the fact that you
know where you might go next..."

"Where I might go next? Huh. I never really think about it. Shit just
happens. I'm a good mechanic, and Pa's connexions at the Speedway just,
well, like I said, happened. If I think about it, I guess there will be a
wife and kids at some point. A house, I guess. That sort of thing. I know
I'm pretty dumb and should be thinking about all that, but I just don't."

Greg frowned. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Put yourself down. You're not dumb. You never were. You didn't pop up in
class like a fool, like me, but you always got the right answer in the
end. You're not dumb and I don't like you saying so, but I guess that means
I have to stop thinking I'm a wimp. Yeah, this is going to be tough, baby
bro."

I smiled at that old nickname. I think he meant it as a sort of put down at
one time, but it always made me warm and tingly.

"What do you love to do most?"

"Fuck." FUCK! I'd let my mouth on autopilot one question too long. I looked
up and Greg was not looking at me as I expected, disgusted, afraid or
mad. He had his head cocked to one side, just looking at me again. I
blushed beet-red and looked down.

"I like fixing things. Cars. Stuff..." my voice fading away.

I could hear a slight smile in his voice, "No, I think your first answer
was the right one. You know what, Karl, I think I'm learning it's what I
like best as well."

I look up in hope and wonder. Could he... Could he *possibly* mean with me?
His face gave nothing away.

"What do you like about it? The fucking, not the cars?"

Well, it seemed like my 'just go with it' answers have worked better than
thinking, so... "I liked making you squeak. I loved hearing you moan. Oh,
the whimper, that was so great, it made me feel so good to hear that! I
wanted to get you off and love the fact that I di..." my brain snapped
back. He asked what I liked about sex, not sex *with him*. I'd blown it
again. I glanced at him quickly then away, unable to look him in the
eye. He was silent for way, way too long, and his voice wass oddly detached
when he spoke.

"The... the way you looked at me, the hunger and the need and the, I don't
know, the animal lust." My head popped up like a piston. Greg wasn't
looking at me, but at his hands. His voice was quiet with a weird sound of
wonder, as if he was shocking himself with each word, or just discovering
them after they came out.

"Your tongue at my ass. It was heaven. Better than Pa, even. How much you
wanted inside me, that I'd made you feel like that. That my body excited
you. I always thought you, well, found me useless except for help with
homework. That my body would even interest you was... That seeing me made
you...

"And what your cock d... did to my ass. Oh, God, I didn't think anything
could be like that."

Greg's voice almost disappeared and I could see tears dripping from his
downturned nose, "And... and I did mean it. I did want to be your bitch."
His eyes came up to mine, tears still flowing. "You're right, you never
told me I had to be, I know that. But I think it's what I wanted you to
say, so I could, could... could let go for once.

"You can't understand, Karl. I don't even understand what I'm saying. All
of it really... no, *I* really fucked myself up, and then tried to lay it
off on you. And then, then when Pa... what I'd wanted... what I'd begged
for... and..." his voice shuddered and his eyes got wider as he kept
looking at me. "...and it wasn't as good, Karl. What I dreamed of, you know
with Pa was, wasn't as good as you."

Okay, I'm not the sharpest chisel in the toolbox, but it was as if Greg had
started speaking Swahili or something. I could not make the words
process. He could not be saying what I was hearing. I went back over the
drugs I'd tried in the past, but I didn't think that pot or coke caused
hallucination or flashbacks. I'd have to check.

Greg kept looking at me, maybe waiting for me to catch up. If so, he'd have
a long, long wait.

"And then in the night. I came so hard. You know I came twice, Karl, twice,
just from you fucking me. And they were... perfect." His voice finally just
faded to nothing at all.

"When you were out trying to turn yourself into a Jocksicle, all I could
think about was how good that felt, and how much I loved making Pa's food
and how much I loved making your face go crazy with lust. I don't
understand any of this Karl, and I'm scared."

That last statement was one I *could* process. Protecting Greg had been my
universe since I was a child. I launched myself across the bed and dragged
Greg into my chest.

"Don't be scared, Greg, please? Never be scared. I thought I'd die when I
realised I'd hurt you, let Pa hurt you, whatever. FUCK! You're right, I
don't understand it. I never did understand anything. That's always been
your job, Greg. But mine it to keep you safe, big brother, and I'm never
going to forget that again."

With that, we both started sobbing into each other, his tears soaking my
chest hair and mine drenching his fine blond head. That lasted a while, but
-- okay, sue me; I was a teenager with raging hormones holding the guy I'd
fantasised over since I started knowing was fantasies were for. I tilted
Greg's head back so I could look in his sparkling, magical eyes.

I bent forward and kissed him and then felt him respond. With that my
passion just overwhelmed the tiny number of brain cells that I was blessed
with at birth, and I lost myself in the deepest and most desperate kiss I'd
ever known. Greg's hands were around my neck, locking me to him. Mine were
in his fine blond (tear-soaked) hair, pulling him into me. When the kiss
broke, Greg was looking at me in wide-eyed wonder, obviously at a loss for
what to do next. Leaving my brain off to the side like normal, I looked at
him and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Will you fuck me, Greg?"

"Huh?" Now my big brother was one of the most articulate people I'd ever
known, so his response almost made me laugh. I reached down and felt his
hardness. I could feel that, like me, the closeness and the kiss had him
raging and moist.

"Put this in me, Greg. Please?"

"HUH?"

"Fuck me Greg. Make me yours."

At least one brain cell fired as I saw comprehension dawn. I rolled back
and grabbed my legs, pulling them up and presenting my ass for him. FUCK
did that hurt! My muscles were still on fire from the beating I'd given
them and I... could not fucking care less. It would not be my first fuck,
but I prayed it would be my best. Greg whimpered as he looked at me for the
longest time. My cock, ass, balls, ass, chest, ass, face, ass, arms, ASS!
He dove in like a starving man and I screamed in pleasure.

Greg had always spoken eloquently and with great passion, and his tongue
was now doing the same without the need for words. My ass had never felt
the kind of desperate need that Greg dragged out of me. His lips and teeth
and tongue were... beyond words that I know. I heard the high whines, the
whimpers and the squeaks long before I knew they were my own. My deep voice
was on holiday as pleasure sent my tone into the rafters... with my soul. I
was in heaven.

Years of ecstasy later, I groaned at the loss as Greg pulled back, twisted
to the side and came back with an industrial-sized bottle of lube. I was
about to smile when his first long, thin, slick finger found me and I
shouted with joy and awe at his skill. I was writhing, all aches and pains
utterly ignored as they were dismissed in waves of lust and love.

One finger became two, and with that he found my nut. My head went back and
my eyes went further. It was... beyond. I'd ask Greg for words later, yeah,
ask Greg what the words are. He'd know. He always kneeeeeeeeeeeeeeew! The
third finger sent me into spasms of delight. After mere moments, I grieved
as they vanished.

Then screamed in pure and unadulterated lust as I felt Greg's dickhead
enter me. He held as I adjusted and all I could do was grunt my pleas for
more and more and MORE. Then he gave just that to me and I was both filled
full and fulfilled at once.

The physical sensations were amazing, but it was the emotional ones that
drove me to madness, panting and crying out. Greg was taking me. I was
pleasing him. It was everything I wanted.

Greg fucked me long and hard, short and quick, deep and slow, and I basked
in the ecstasy of his attention and his pleasure. Everything was
simply... right.

I felt him reach down and begin to stroke me and I frowned up at his face,
finding that he was frowning as well, puzzled and thinking Deep Thoughts. I
was bereft when Greg suddenly and without completion pulled out and yelled,
"FUCK IT!"

He grabbed my arms and pulled them wide, then wrenched my (admittedly
cramping) legs down. I was too confused and upset and horrified at my
failure to realise what was happened until Greg turned his back to me and
plunged himself down onto my leaking cock.

"FUUUUUUCK!" We screamed in absolute unison, absolute bliss. His ass was
everything that it had been and more, as this time Greg was using it for
his pleasure, and using me as well. I began to cry from the perfection of
this moment. Greg rode me, and rode me hard, his amazing and perfect globes
twisting and bucking and swaying as he found the perfect angle. His long
and lean back writhed, muscles so defined and clear under the near-hairless
pale skin.

"FUUUUUUCK!" Again, that scream in harmony as we both felt my cockhead
start to pummel his prostate. In moment, though, I screamed alone as Greg's
long, supple fingers returned to my own ass and my own launch button. I was
flinging my head from side to side in need and desire, but mostly in a
desperate effort not to explode until Greg was satisfied. He brought me
close over and over and over, always finding a way to hold me at the edge,
torturing me, tormenting me, playing me like an instrument of pleasure and
joy -- both his and mine.

I heard as his own voice rose in pitch and knew we'd last no longer. With a
power-plunge down and a brutal finger-fuck up, Greg and I began to unload
in unison. Even over his back, I could see Greg's jism erupt, painting the
bed and wall beyond. I unloaded into his ass, unable to scream more as I'd
no air left. I flooded him and he blew over and over. The release was
physical, mental, emotional and perhaps even spiritual. Greg finally fell
forward off me and onto my legs. I summoned what strength was left and
flipped atop him, chest to back, pulling him to me. I rolled and spooned
him, snuggling and clinging to him, feeling the aftershocks of his orgasm
as he could feel mine. I dragged the blanket over us and we were both
asleep in moments.


<eof>

Author's note: For reasons that I can't explain, I am especially proud of
the word, 'Jocksicle'. Sorry, just had to share that.

If you are liking (or hating but feel compelled to read) Karl & Greg, take
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*****

Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 12 chapters, more coming, .../camping/canvas-hell/
Karl & Greg: 15 chapters, more coming, .../incest/karl-and-greg/
The Heathens: 3 chapters, more coming, .../historical/the-heathens/
Beaux Thibodaux: 4 chapters, LOTS more coming, .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
Mud Lark Holler: 4 chapters, more coming, .../rural/mud-lark-holler/
Turntable Rehab: 4 chapter, more coming, .../authoritarian/turntable-rehabilitation-services/