Knotted by Blood 3

Knotted by Blood

By: Zyran Blitz | knottedquill@gmail.com

DISCLAIMER:

Alright, here's the deal: this story is pure, unfiltered fantasy--explicit gay content featuring two wolf brothers navigating some very knotty territory. If you're not into that, or if you're sneaking around where this kind of material isn't allowed, it's time to turn tail and leave.

Still here? Great. After diving into Rowan's backstory last chapter, we got a taste of what's been brewing beneath the surface. Now, things are heating up, and our two wolf brothers are about to cross another line--one they can never uncross.

Everything here is fictional, consensual, and absolutely dripping with tension. Grab your lube, get comfortable, and let your imagination run wild. If this story's making your knot swell or leaving your sheath uncomfortably tight, let me know--I love hearing what you think. And don't forget to toss some support to the Nifty Archive so this den of creativity stays open.

Now, stop lurking and start reading. The Ashbourne Twins are waiting.

Chapter 3: In the Same Mirror

Callum was halfway through a bowl of cereal, leaning against the kitchen counter in his boxers, when Rowan walked in. He didn't need to look up to know his twin was avoiding his eyes. The nervous energy practically radiated off him, palpable and unmissable.

"You're up early," Callum said around a mouthful, his smirk creeping over the rim of his spoon. He didn't bother to mask the amusement in his tone.

"Yeah," Rowan muttered, his voice tight and frayed. He shuffled past Callum with sluggish, uneven steps, his fur dishevelled and sticking out in odd tufts as though he'd spent the night rolling in his bed--or more likely, fighting sleep entirely. His bloodshot eyes darted around the room, carefully avoiding Callum, while his tail flicked with anxious, erratic movements.

Callum paused mid-chew, letting his eyes track Rowan's every awkward move. He didn't even glance in Callum's direction as he poured his coffee, but the twitch of his ears and the faint tremor in his hands betrayed him completely. Still thinking about it, aren't you? Callum thought, a low hum of satisfaction curling in his chest. He swallowed his mouthful, placing the bowl on the counter with deliberate ease. "Sleep okay?"

Rowan flinched, his hand trembling just enough to make the mug clink softly against the counter as he set it down. His fur bristled slightly, as if the question itself had physically struck him. "Yeah," he said quickly, too quickly. His voice was tight, the words clipped, like he was rushing to end the conversation before it could even start.

Callum chuckled softly, crossing his arms over his chest. "You sure? You look kinda... tense."

Rowan turned sharply, his cheeks already burning a vivid red under his fur. "I'm fine, Callum," he snapped, his voice sharper than it needed to be, wobbling on the edge of something defensive and desperate.

The outburst only made Callum's smirk widen. "Alright, alright," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, though his eyes gleamed with something far less innocent. "Just asking."

He didn't stop watching, though. Couldn't, really. The way Rowan's fur was mussed from restless tossing, his ears drooping slightly with exhaustion, the faint pink beneath his sleepless eyes--it was written all over him. Rowan hadn't just been lying awake all night; he'd been reliving it, over and over, and it was etched into every stiff movement of his body. Bet you did, little brother, Callum thought, savouring the sight of him.

Rowan gripped the counter tightly, his claws scratching lightly at the edge as he kept his back to Callum. He could feel his twin's gaze, heavy and unrelenting, and it made his stomach twist painfully. He hadn't slept at all. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Callum--on top of him, golden eyes dark and ravenous, his lips wrapped around Rowan's cock, taking him apart like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. The memory was seared into him, leaving him hard and aching every time he tried to push it away. Instead of sleeping, he'd spent the night furiously pawing at himself, over and over, unable to stop the endless spiral of fantasies about his brother. His sheets were sticky, his cock was raw, and his knot had barely gone down by the time the sun rose. And still, no amount of release had eased the unbearable tension that twisted in his loins. The memory alone made Rowan's body betray him, his chest tightening as he fought the urge to glance over his shoulder at Callum. No. Don't. Don't fucking give him the satisfaction.

"You're staring at me," Rowan said suddenly, his voice low and accusatory. He didn't turn around, but his ears flattened against his head, his tail flicking behind him in agitation.

Callum tilted his head, smirking wider. "Who says I'm staring?"

"You are," Rowan muttered, his hands curling into fists on the counter. "And it's fucking annoying."

Callum's laugh was low and rough, rolling through the room like a taunt. "Can't help it," he said easily, his smirk sharpening. "You're just... fun to look at this morning."

Rowan's breath hitched, his tail giving a sharp flick, but he didn't respond. His claws scraped against the counter, his jaw clenched tight as he stared into his coffee like it might offer some kind of escape. But there was no escaping the heat of Callum's gaze, the way it bore into him, picking apart every twitch, every flush of his cheeks, every flicker of his ears. Callum leaned casually against the counter, his golden eyes never leaving Rowan. He didn't know why it mattered so much, why watching Rowan flounder like this made his chest hum with satisfaction, but he couldn't look away.

Seeing Rowan like this--flustered, skittish, so clearly consumed by the memory of what they'd done--was fucking addictive. The memory alone was enough to make Rowan's body betray him, his cock stirring against the tight waistband of his jeans, thickening with every passing second under Callum's unrelenting gaze.

Fuck. Stop it, he thought, his claws curling against the counter's edge, scraping lightly at the surface. He doesn't care. He probably hasn't even thought about it since last night. But that wasn't true, was it? Callum's gaze was too sharp, too deliberate. His smirk too knowing. The way he was looking at Rowan now--like he could see right through him, into the mess of shame and arousal that was steadily taking over--made Rowan's cheeks burn even hotter. His cock throbbed faintly, traitorous and heavy against the fabric of his jeans, and his tail flicked restlessly behind him, a physical betrayal of the turmoil inside him.

"Why do you keep staring at me?" Rowan snapped, his voice cracking slightly as he turned his head just enough to glare at Callum.

Callum shrugged, his smirk widening. "I told you, bro, I'm not staring."

"You are," Rowan muttered, grabbing his mug and turning his back to him. "And it's so fucking annoying."

Callum's laugh was low and rough, the sound rumbling in his chest and vibrating in a way that Rowan felt more than heard. It made the fur along Rowan's spine prickle, his ears flattening in response. His jeans felt impossibly tight now, his cock fully hard and pressing insistently against the fabric, and it was all he could do not to adjust himself.

He's messing with me, Rowan thought bitterly, his tail flicking in agitation. Of course he is. That's what he does. But the throbbing ache between his legs refused to subside, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. Every time Callum's eyes lingered on him, the pressure seemed to build, his cock straining against his jeans, desperate for relief.

Callum pushed off the counter, sauntering over with the easy, predatory grace that sent Rowan's heart racing. He leaned casually against the counter next to him, his shoulder brushing Rowan's just enough to send a jolt of sensation through him. Rowan stiffened immediately, his claws gripping the edge of the counter as his tail curled tightly against his leg.

"You sure you're okay?" Callum asked, his voice dipping lower, every word dripping with deliberate intent.

"I'm fine," Rowan muttered, his ears flattening further. His voice wavered, his body betraying him with a slight tremor that only seemed to amuse Callum further.

"You don't look fine," Callum said, his smirk sharpening, his golden eyes flicking over Rowan's flushed face. "You look a little... flustered."

Rowan's breath hitched, his eyes darting to the side, anywhere but Callum's face. "I'm not," he said quickly, but the faint tremor in his voice betrayed him.

Callum chuckled softly, leaning in just enough for Rowan to feel the warmth of his breath against his ear. His scent followed--a heady mix of musk and sleep, sharp and distinctly Callum--and it made Rowan's cock twitch, his body reacting instinctively despite the shame curling in his chest.

"You're a terrible liar, Row," Callum murmured, his voice low and teasing, his words sending a shiver down Rowan's spine. "You know that, right?" Watching Rowan squirm under his gaze was addicting, far more than Callum wanted to admit. The way his twin's ears flattened, the way his breath hitched every time Callum got too close--it sent a pulse of heat straight to his sheath, an unbidden twitch of interest that made his stomach clench.

Rowan jerked back, his shoulders stiff, his chest tight with the effort to stay composed. "Cut it out," he snapped, his voice shaky and uneven. "Just leave me alone."

Callum tilted his head, the smirk never leaving his lips. "Leave you alone?" he repeated, his tone light but teasing, like he wasn't even trying to hide how much he enjoyed watching Rowan squirm. "Why would I do that?"

As he leaned back against the counter, his smirk deepened, but his own body betrayed him too. His cock, trapped in the confines of his boxers, had started to swell, the pink tip just barely brushing against the fabric as it extended from his sheath. He shifted slightly, the movement subtle, but it only sent a faint jolt of pleasure straight through him, making his claws curl against the counter. Teasing Rowan shouldn't feel this good. Watching him squirm, flustered and awkward, shouldn't make his cock throb against the thin cotton of his boxers, but it did.

Rowan glared at him, his hands trembling as he set the mug down on the counter. His claws flexed against the ceramic, his entire body coiled like a spring about to snap. "What do you want, Callum?" he asked, his voice sharp but wavering under the weight of his brother's gaze.

Callum tilted his head again, his golden eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something darker, something he wasn't ready to name. "What do I want?" he repeated, his voice dropping into something rougher, more deliberate. His smirk widened as he leaned in slightly, his presence overwhelming in its confidence. "You're the one who's been acting weird since last night."

Rowan froze, his stomach twisting painfully, his cock throbbing harder against the fabric of his jeans. The words hit too close, too raw, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. "I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Callum's claws tapped lightly against the counter, the rhythm slow and deliberate as he leaned in closer, close enough that Rowan could feel the heat of his breath against his ear. "Sure you don't," he said softly, his tone dripping with mockery, his smirk sharp enough to cut.

Watching Rowan squirm under his gaze was addicting, far more than Callum wanted to admit. It sent another pulse of heat through him, his cock growing harder, the fabric of his boxers brushing against the slick head in a way that made him bite back a groan. He shouldn't enjoy this so much, shouldn't feel the stir of arousal coiling low in his gut just from making Rowan uncomfortable, but fuck if it wasn't intoxicating. Callum shifted closer again, their shoulders brushing deliberately this time, the contact sparking another jolt of sensation through him. His cock throbbed, pressing insistently against the fabric, and his smirk deepened as his golden eyes locked on Rowan's flushed face.

"Come on, Row," he murmured, his voice dipping to a near purr, his tail flicking lazily behind him. "What's got you so worked up?"

Callum's smirk didn't falter as Rowan bristled and grumbled, avoiding his gaze while gripping his coffee mug like it might shatter in his hands. The way Rowan's ears twitched and his tail flicked behind him betrayed everything he was trying so desperately to hide. Callum didn't even need to press further; his twin's flustered state was doing all the work for him. But then it hit him--a faint, unmistakable scent curling in the air, sharper than the coffee Rowan had brewed, more potent than the lingering musk of their shared space. Callum's smirk faltered just a fraction as the realisation sank in. It was him. His own arousal, hot and heady, creeping into his nose and threatening to betray his carefully crafted exterior.

His golden eyes darted downward briefly, and he saw it--his cock pressing against the thin fabric of his boxers, a dark patch of pre-cum just barely visible at the tip, glistening faintly. The sight sent a faint shiver through him, one that had his sheath tightening further and his knot swelling, pushing uncomfortably against the restraint of his underwear. Fuck, Callum thought, his claws flexing against the counter. Pull it together.

The flick of Rowan's tail, the slight hitch in his breath, the way his cheeks burned brighter than ever--it was all too much. Teasing Rowan was supposed to be a game, a bit of harmless fun. But the heat coiling low in Callum's gut, the twitch of his cock every time Rowan stammered or avoided his eyes, was anything but harmless. It was fucking dangerous. Callum shifted, his claws scraping lightly against the countertop as his tail flicked with a nervous energy he didn't usually allow himself to feel. A drop of pre-cum escaped, sliding warm and slick down his shaft before falling onto the top of his paw. The sensation made his breath hitch, his stomach tightening with a sharp jolt of arousal. He couldn't keep this up. Not like this.

"I'm gonna grab a shower," Callum said abruptly, his voice steady but slightly lower than usual, rough around the edges. He pushed off the counter, deliberately avoiding Rowan's gaze as he turned toward the hallway.

Rowan froze for a moment, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift, but Callum didn't give him time to respond. His claws clicked lightly against the floor as he made his way to the bathroom, his tail flicking once, twice, before disappearing around the corner.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Callum let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. The bathroom was cramped, humid, and carried the faint smell of damp towels, but it was private, and right now, that was all he fucking needed. He leaned against the sink, his claws curling around the edge as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His golden eyes glinted in the dim light, his fur slightly ruffled from the lazy morning. His smirk, usually sharp and cocky, had softened, giving way to something more thoughtful.

Teasing Rowan had always been fun, but this... this was different. This was dangerous. The way Rowan had flushed, the nervous energy radiating off him, the tension crackling between them--it had gotten under Callum's skin in a way he couldn't ignore. And last night? Last night had tipped the scales entirely. Callum's gaze flicked downward again, and his breath hitched at the sight of his cock, already straining against the tight fabric of his boxers. The damp patch of pre-cum had grown, and the pressure was unbearable now, his knot swelling slightly as the heat in his gut simmered higher.

"Fuck," he muttered, his claws flexing against the sink. He shoved his boxers down in one swift motion, letting them pool around his ankles as his cock sprang free. The thick shaft twitched, dripping steadily, and Callum couldn't stop the soft hiss that escaped his lips as he wrapped a paw around himself. The slick heat of his pre-cum made every movement easier, his strokes slow and deliberate as he leaned forward, bracing himself against the counter.

His thoughts wandered unbidden, and Rowan was there immediately--his flushed cheeks, the way his ears twitched nervously, the sound of his breath hitching when Callum got too close. The memory of last night followed, sharp and vivid, Rowan's gasps and moans ringing in Callum's ears as clearly as if it were happening all over again.

Callum groaned softly, his strokes quickening, the heat in his gut spiralling higher. Callum's strokes were deliberate, each pull along his shaft sending waves of heat coursing through his body. As he leaned heavily against the bathroom sink, his mind careened into uncharted territories, his thoughts darkening with each heated fantasy that unfurled.

What else would you let me do, Row? The question echoed in his mind, a tantalizing whisper that made his cock throb harder. The fantasy deepened: Rowan, looking up at him with those wide, amber eyes filled with a mix of fear and desire, his body bared and vulnerable under Callum's intense gaze. He imagined sliding his fingers along Rowan's spine, tracing the arch before dipping lower to explore more intimate territories. The thought of pressing his fingers against Rowan's tight entrance made his breath catch--could he push one finger inside? Two? Feel the heat from within, hear Rowan gasp out his name?

"Fuck," Callum muttered, his voice a hoarse whisper as his hand quickened. His eyes shut briefly, savoring the illicit thrill. The image of Rowan, bent over and waiting for him, was vivid. His tail lifted in submission, his hole twitching in anticipation. Callum's own cock leaked, the tip glistening with pre-cum as if in answer to the unvoiced plea in his fantasy. His eyes snapped open, a jolt of shock mingling with his arousal. The sheer intensity of his desire was unexpected, yet undeniably enthralling. His sheath tightened, the slight brush of fur against sensitive skin sending shivers down his spine. His tail, usually a lazy flicker behind him, now thrashed with each pulse of his heart, betraying his animalistic arousal.

"Rowan, would you let me?" he groaned aloud, not just to the empty room but to the image of Rowan he conjured in his mind. He pictured thrusting into him, their bodies slick with sweat, Rowan's moans filling the air--a soundtrack to their forbidden union.

His fantasies didn't stop at mere penetration. He envisioned Rowan beneath him, utterly wrecked, as Callum claimed him entirely, their knots locking together in a carnal dance as primal as any their kind knew. This thought--the raw, visceral image of being knotted with Rowan--drove Callum to the edge of sanity, "Would you fucking love it? Being filled, being held down, completely fucking mine?" His voice was rough, laden with a raw need that surprised even him. Each stroke now was a testament to the dark, pulsing desire that Rowan had unwittingly unleashed in him.

The door creaked, snapping Callum back to reality, but not enough to halt his actions. Instead, his movements became a deliberate performance. He locked eyes with Rowan's reflection in the mirror, his smirk sharp as ever. The sight of Rowan, frozen in the doorway, cheeks flushed with desire and shock, only spurred him on. Callum's hand moved over his erect cock with a slick, obscene noise, emphasizing each stroke as he watched Rowan watch him. His balls tightened, his knot swelling visibly, the promise of release imminent as his breathing grew erratic.

The sight of Rowan's dumbstruck expression only fueled Callum's desire, his hand speeding up, the wet sounds of his vigorous strokes filling the cramped bathroom. Pre-cum mixed with the slickness of his hand, allowing for even smoother, more tantalizing pulls along his engorged length. "Seeing something you want, Row?" Callum teased, voice dripping with a challenge as his hand blurred in motion. His eyes, darkened with lust, never left Rowan's reflection in the mirror.

His breathing grew heavier, each inhale sharp, as he approached the brink. Callum's cock strained, the tip now fully flushed, as pre-cum beaded and dripped steadily onto the tiled floor beneath him. "Can't stop picturing it, can you?" he husked out, the raw edge in his voice betraying his imminent release. "Me and you."

The tension in the room was palpable, thick with unsaid promises and the musky scent of Callum's overwhelming arousal. As his tail bristled and his body tensed, Callum was utterly consumed by the act--a vivid portrayal of untamed desire, his body a testament to the raw, unchecked urges that drove him.

Rowan's breath hitched audibly, and Callum's low chuckle filled the steamy air of the cramped bathroom. "Yeah," he murmured to himself, his voice laced with dark amusement. "That's what I thought." Leaning against the sink, Callum's hips began to rock forward rhythmically, his paw wrapped firmly around his swollen shaft. His thick fur bristled slightly as arousal built, the tufts around his sheath matted and darker with his growing wetness. Each stroke was deliberate, his claws gliding along the engorged length, from the pulsing knot at the base to the tapered, slick tip peeking out with every pass.

"Fuck," he growled under his breath, his voice a raspy whisper of raw desire. His golden eyes, wild and hungry, remained locked on Rowan's stunned reflection in the mirror. He watched as his twin's gaze was drawn to the sight of his heavy, furry balls, drawn up tight against his body, bouncing slightly with each fervent stroke. The sight of Rowan, so utterly transfixed and unable to look away, sent a thrill of dominance through Callum. His strokes grew more urgent, his grip tightening, the slick sounds of his paw sliding over his rigid cock filling the small space.

"Shit... fuck," Callum grunted, his head dipping as he neared the edge. "Here it comes..." His muscles tensed, his breath caught--then the release crashed over him with ferocious intensity. "Fuck, fuck!" Callum roared, his body jerking spasmodically as his cock twitched violently in his grasp. Thick, hot ropes of cum shot out, splattering loudly against the counter, some arcs reaching the fogged-up mirror, trailing down in viscous, sticky streaks. More of his seed pooled in the sink and dribbled down his fur, matting it further in his scent.

His growls and gasps were primal, echoing off the tiled walls as he rode out the waves of his orgasm, his body shaking, his fur matted with sweat and cum. His legs nearly gave out from the intensity, his claws scraping the porcelain as he struggled to steady himself. The musky scent of his load now dominated the room, a stark, heady aroma that marked everything with the essence of his unbridled lust.

Panting heavily, Callum leaned back against the counter, his smirk finding Rowan's wide-eyed, flushed reflection. His twin hadn't moved, his eyes locked on the vivid display of raw sexuality that had just unfolded before him. Turning slowly, his semi-erect cock still glistening with the remnants of his load, Callum closed the short distance between them. The musk of his arousal was palpable, wrapping around Rowan like a tangible force. "You liked that, didn't you?" Callum teased, his voice thick with challenge. The smirk playing across his lips was both triumphant and expectant.

Rowan, still silent, swallowed hard, his gaze darting helplessly between Callum's smoldering eyes and the thick jizz that clung to his furred hand, from the tip of his oozing cock, and the mess across the bathroom. His own arousal, undeniable and intense, made his throat tight and his pulse race. Callum's chuckle was a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the air, reaching out to wrap around Rowan in a way that was almost physical.

Stepping even closer, the heat from Callum's body mingled with the charged air, bridging the gap between temptation and surrender. Callum paused, his gaze fixed on Rowan, and a realization dawned, striking a chord of curiosity mixed with a hint of mischief. Damn, bro, you're really into this, aren't you? His thoughts raced, piecing together Rowan's recent odd behaviors with this undeniable attraction. Has it always been like this? Is this why you've been so off lately--because you're struggling with these feelings for me? Wanting me but never daring to say it out loud?

A playful smirk curled the edges of his lips as he eyed his cum-coated finger, the thick, creamy jizz glistening slightly in the dim light of the bathroom, its viscous, slightly translucent whiteness evident. I bet you'd love a taste, but you'd never ask, would you? Let's see...

Without waiting for a response, Callum reached out, his voice low and teasingly gentle. He brushed his finger across Rowan's lips, the sticky cum clinging and stretching slightly as he pulled his finger back, catching slightly at Rowan's parted lips. "I know you want to taste it," he murmured, his tone a mix of question and tease. "Go on, lick your lips."

Rowan froze, his body tensing as the scent of Callum's release enveloped him. Despite his mind screaming to pull away, the warmth and the thick texture of the cum on his lips were strangely compelling. He let out a shaky sigh, and almost against his will, his tongue flicked out, grazing the salty, musky trace of Callum that was undeniably intoxicating. A soft, involuntary moan escaped him, his eyes fluttering shut, knees weakening under the flood of conflicted emotions.

"Good boy," Callum's voice was soft, tinged with playful satisfaction. At those words, Rowan's eyes snapped open, a visible shudder running through his body as if the phrase had struck a deeper, more primal chord within him. Callum observed Rowan's reaction, stepping back to give him space, his voice still low. "There's more where that came from, by the way. Feel free to clean up my mess in the bathroom."

With that, Callum turned, winking over his shoulder as he walked away, his tail flicking nonchalantly. Rowan, left leaning heavily against the doorframe, was a picture of turmoil. His lips tingled where Callum's seed had touched them, and the shame and excitement warred fiercely within him.

Rowan remained rooted in the doorway. The air was thick with the scent of cum, clinging oppressively to the cramped space like a blatant provocation. The taste of Callum lingered on his lips--sharp, salty, and so profoundly personal it was almost unbearable. His claws dug into the wood, grappling with the raw, unsettling thrill that surged through him at the thought of what his brother had just implied.

Rowan knew he should walk away, cleanse himself of this moment, but his body seemed unwilling, almost eager, to follow Callum's taunting suggestion. The overwhelming mixture of desire and dread was paralyzing, leaving him stranded in a sea of tumultuous emotions that he was both desperate and terrified to navigate. His lips tingled persistently, the residual stickiness from Callum's touch mingling with the sharp, salty taste that haunted his tongue--undeniably, overwhelmingly him.

"Fuck," Rowan breathed out, his voice barely a whisper but trembling with the weight of unspoken words. His claws dug painfully into the wooden frame, his body on the brink of collapsing under the emotions swirling within him. What the fuck is wrong with you?

The bathroom was a visual testament to Callum's raw, unchecked desire. His seed was splattered across the mirror, thick droplets slowly streaking down the glass. Pools of it gathered on the counter, each glob reflecting the dim light, and more dripped lazily into the sink. It was more than just a mess; it was a blatant, visceral claim--a claim on the space and, undeniably, on Rowan himself. His gaze flitted between the chaotic aftermath and his own reflection staring back at him. His fur was disheveled, cheeks vividly flushed, and lips parted and shining faintly at the corners where Callum's cum had marked him. He looked utterly destroyed.

Because you are destroyed, his mind hissed venomously. You're a goddamn disaster. Guilt writhed in his chest, a coiling, suffocating presence that could not dampen the inferno of heat blazing beneath his skin. His erection pressed insistently against the confines of his jeans, a torturous reminder of his own depravity.

"Fucking hell," Rowan cursed under his breath, his tail lashing wildly with agitation. He knew he needed to leave, to wash away the filth, to erase the memory of what had just occurred.

But his feet refused to obey.

Instead, his haunted eyes were drawn back to the mirror, to the ribbons of cum slowly tracing their way downward. Each line seemed to pulse with a vile life of its own, and his stomach churned with a mix of revulsion and aching desire. He could still hear Callum's voice, low and mockingly sweet, echoing in his mind. "Good boy. There's more where that came from. Feel free to clean up my mess." Rowan squeezed his eyes shut, his claws scraping down the wood of the doorframe, each streak a desperate attempt to anchor himself to reality. His brother had orchestrated this moment with precise, cruel intent--leaving him shaken, flustered, completely undone. Callum knew exactly what he was doing; he always had.

And Rowan had allowed it. He had stood there, passive and yielding, even going so far as to taste the degradation Callum offered with a flick of his cum-stained fingers.

"Fuck you, Callum," he whispered, the words cracking with a raw edge of betrayal and longing.

Despite his whispered defiance, Rowan's claws tensed against the frame, his tail wrapping tightly around his thigh. The throbbing ache that built low in his abdomen refused to be ignored, spreading through him with an intensity that threatened to consume him whole. Even as he cursed under his breath, Rowan's claws dug into the wooden counter, his tail wrapping tighter around his thigh in a coil of tension and desire. The ache at his core was overwhelming, igniting his veins with forbidden lust.

The mirror before him was smeared with the stark evidence of Callum's release--each streak a deliberate taunt, each droplet a challenge. Clean up my mess, Callum's teasing voice echoed in his mind, smug and provocative. Rowan's breath caught in his throat, his body frozen yet internally screaming for escape, to flee from the scent of Callum's cum that saturated the air. Yet his feet were rooted to the spot, betraying him.

With a trembling breath, Rowan edged closer to the counter, his gaze transfixed on the lascivious display in the mirror. His claws grazed the surface tentatively, then, with a hesitant touch, he traced a thick streak of cum. The fluid was warm and sticky against his fingertips, tantalizingly tangible.

"Godsdammit," he whispered, his voice laden with both dread and yearning. His stomach knotted with conflict, yet his body moved on instinct, driven by a primal curiosity he couldn't quench. His tongue flicked out, tasting the salty, musky essence of his brother--a flavor so distinctly Callum it sent a shiver down his spine and forced a moan from his lips.

Rowan clutched the edge of the counter as his legs wobbled, threatening to buckle. The shame that washed over him was sharp, slicing through the fog of arousal with relentless clarity, yet it was powerless against the pulsing desire that commanded his body.

"You're a fucking mess," he berated himself, his voice ragged with self-loathing. But the rebuke was hollow against the backdrop of his escalating arousal. His tongue, traitorous and eager, swept over his fingers again, capturing every lingering trace of Callum's cum. The silence of the bathroom amplified the sound of his heavy, laboured breathing, painting a vivid picture of his turmoil.

Rowan faced his own reflection, his amber eyes clouded with a mix of desire and despair. This isn't over, he thought grimly, his claws tightening on the counter. Callum's provocations would not end here, and the terrifying truth was that part of him--a dark, needy part--craved whatever would come next.

The room was thick with the scent of sex, an undeniable testament to the acts just committed. Callum's essence was splattered everywhere--bold streaks across the mirror, decadent pools on the countertop, dripping slowly into the sink. It was a scene of erotic defiance, too raw and potent to be ignored. Rowan's entire frame trembled as he leaned in closer, drawn inexorably to the tangible proof of their encounter. His lips, still tingling from where Callum had marked him, burned with the taste of his brother's seed--salty, potent, and inextricably linked to the overwhelming sensory overload that gripped him.

And Rowan had relished it, each forbidden droplet a searing touch to his conscience and his cravings alike. "Fuck," Rowan whispered, his voice quivering. His stomach knotted as a desperate urge to flee the bathroom surged through him, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the carnal chaos surrounding him.

Yet, he remained rooted in place.

His amber eyes fixated on the countertop, where thick, creamy pools of his brother's jizz beckoned. The sight twisted his gut with a painful jolt of arousal, driving a throbbing heat straight to his engorged cock.

You're a sick fuck, his conscience hissed, but the admonition was feeble against the overwhelming pull of his desires. Trembling, Rowan extended a clawed finger, tracing through the puddle of cum. It clung to his fur, unmistakably warm, its presence visceral and potent. He drew his finger to his lips, his breath hitching.

The taste exploded across his tongue--intensely salty, distinctly earthy, unmistakably Callum. It sent Rowan's senses into a frenzy, his knees nearly buckling under the intensity. A guttural moan escaped him as he savored every residual drop, his tongue eagerly lapping at his fur. "Gods-fucking-dammit," he groaned, frustration and lust intermingling in his whispered curse. His cock strained painfully against his jeans, each throb a stark reminder of the insatiable heat swirling in his gut.

Rowan couldn't tear his gaze away from the mess. It taunted him, dared him to indulge further. His breaths were shallow and erratic, his body acting on its own volition. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the mess. It taunted him, dared him to indulge further. His breaths were shallow and erratic as his body acted on its own volition. He bent forward, his tongue sweeping out to capture a particularly thick streak of cum near the counter's edge. The texture was sinfully slick, the taste overwhelmingly potent.

As his tongue made contact, a deep, resonant moan escaped his lips. "This is so much better," he murmured to himself, the words muffled against the cool surface of the countertop. Unlike the crusty remnants on his cum-stained rags and the musky scent of dirty boxers he'd been sniffing and licking all these years, this was Callum's cum--fresh, warm, and potent. The realization sent a jolt of pleasure through him, heightening the intensity of his actions.

Each lick sent shockwaves through him, each flavor profile more intoxicating than the last. His mind screamed for him to halt, to rise and escape this depraved scene, but his primal instincts drowned out all semblance of reason. This was his brother's cum, Callum's essence. The realization fueled a perverse thrill, a humiliation so sharp yet so intoxicating he couldn't cease his actions. The young wolf's tongue made meticulous work of the counter, collecting every lingering trace of Callum's release. His eyes shut tightly, lost in the sensory overload of taste and scent, in the memory of Callum's unabashed moans as he'd climaxed, knowing full well Rowan was spectating.

The fantasy of Callum, dominant and smirking above him, urging him to clean up like a desperate, willing subordinate, overwhelmed Rowan. It was degrading, it was humiliating, and it was undeniably arousing. As Rowan's tongue dragged along the countertop, collecting the thick, glistening traces of Callum's cum, a perverse satisfaction enveloped him. The taste was intoxicating--so raw and potent it eclipsed all his previous experiences. For a fleeting moment, as he savored each stroke of his tongue against the cool surface, Rowan forgot to hate himself for what he was doing. He was completely lost in the flavor, in the sheer immediacy of Callum's essence, and it felt undeniably right.

His body responded with overwhelming urgency. Rowan's jeans grew uncomfortably tight as his cock throbbed relentlessly against the constraint of his fabric. Precum leaked copiously, dampening the fabric, a testament to his unbridled arousal. His knot pulsed vividly, each beat a stark reminder of his desperate need. The sound of his heartbeat thundered in his ears, so loud and insistent it nearly drowned out the quiet of the room. It was as if his entire body was converging on a single point of no return, teetering on the edge of release just from the act of cleaning up after his brother.

With one final, lingering lick that gathered a stray, sticky strand from the edge of the sink, Rowan allowed himself a moment to simply breathe in the heavy, musky scent that filled the air--the scent of sex, of Callum. His chest heaved with each ragged breath, and as he straightened up, his entire frame shook with the effort to control himself. The bathroom fell silent but for the sound of his laboured breathing. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his amber eyes wide and glassy, his lips slick with cum, his face a tableau of conflict and desire.

And then he saw him.

Callum.

Rowan froze, his stomach twisting violently as his amber eyes locked on Callum's reflection. His twin was leaning against the doorframe, his golden eyes dark and gleaming, his smirk sharp and knowing. Callum didn't say a word. He just watched, his gaze dragging slowly over Rowan's flushed face, his trembling hands, his cock visibly straining against his jeans.

He must have been watching for a while... seen everything. Rowan's breath hitched, his chest tightening as the shame burned hot and heavy in his gut. But beneath it, tangled with the guilt, was something else. Something darker. He saw me bent over the counter... gods, he watched me lick up his cum like a starved animal. What must he think of me now?

Callum's smirk widened slightly, his golden eyes glinting with satisfaction. He held Rowan's gaze for a long moment, the silence stretching thick and heavy between them.

And then, without a word, Callum turned and walked away, his tail flicking lazily behind him.

Rowan's claws flexed against the counter, his breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. The taste of Callum still lingered on his tongue, and his knees threatened to buckle as the weight of what he'd just done crashed down on him.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. So fucking desperate for his taste that I'm... But even as the shame twisted tighter, even as his chest burned with humiliation, the heat in his veins refused to die.

Because no matter how wrong it was, no matter how much it terrified him...

He wanted more.