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An Unusual Family Unbearably Close

(October 13th)

It was nine in the morning when the door bell rang.

Later, much later, William and Aaron would describe that ringing bell with their finest hyperbolic flair: the words of consummate writers. It rang out like a gunshot -- the first shot to be fired in the coming war -- a jarring, piercing toll that shook them to their core and set their fur on end.

But such would be the words of those with the benefit of hindsight. Such would be the words of the veterans of that "war." Whereas on this day, just like any other, it was only the digital chiming of a bell. And not a soul in that small, cramped apartment had even the slightest clue of what it would come to herald...

And four pairs of ears, this lazy Sunday, perked at the sound. Aaron was still nestled in bed, and tugged his lover's recently free pillow over his head. His long, sensitive ears thanked him. Elliot was yawning, leaning into the open door of the fridge, and gave no sign of movement. Answering the bell was certainly someone else's job. And William was busy slipping himself into pajamas, having only just turned around in the hallway, after second guessing his choice to parade about in his underwear in front of his nephew. Not that Elliot would mind, of course...but his father might.

Kristoff, meanwhile, was halted mid-way though digging into a box. He cast his eyes up. He was alone in his new living room...his new bedroom...his new home. And there wasn't a single movement, a single sound, to indicate that this was soon to change. And the door was left to him.

So he turned and left the box, crossing the short distance to the front door. But, nearly the instant his eye lent upon the peephole, he drew back again. He was silent: rolling his feet to avoid any formerly unnoticed creaking in the floorboards; keeping his palms upon the door, for fear of letting it settle even a hair's width; and even holding his breath, lest the ears on the other side should side hear.

Robyn.

Robyn had come ringing this Sunday morning: the last face he'd hoped to see through that magnified hole, and the last visitor any of this apartment's occupants wished to welcome. He could be quiet. He wouldn't move, he wouldn't let the door move, and she would give up and she would leave. He wouldn't have to speak to her, Elliot wouldn't have to see her, and their Sunday could go on as he'd pictured it...in a word: uneventful.

But the bell rang again, and with it, the apartment stirred.

Somewhere, far away, came a groan from beneath a pillow. In the kitchen, the fridge closed, and a small voice muttered something about no one getting the door. And paw pads carried, heavily, a now-more-fully-clothed husky into the living room.

Every thump of those heavy paws on the hollow floor sent a shiver through Kris's spine, and when the voice followed it, the sound mad made him wince and whine...

"Kris?" William called from only feet away, "Why aren't you answering the door?"

The other husky, though, only turned an eye on him, cold and distant, but didn't say a word.

"No." Will shrunk back, "She's...?"

"It's mom?" Elliot's voice inquired, as he stood now, aside and behind his uncle. And he repeated without waiting for an answer: "It's mom."

Kristoff opened his muzzle, still afraid to speak, but hoping to at least whisper or mouth something. Something to confirm their assumptions, something to warn them that they should keep quiet...

"Kris!" but a muffled voice, through the door, stopped him. "I can hear you moving around in there. And I can hear that brother of yours talking, too. So, answer the door before I call the police!"

"The police?" Kris parroted back with a short, mocking laugh, his efforts to trick her away already hopeless. "I don't think they'll care that I'm ignoring you. Not a crime, honey." Honey. He hadn't said it with a hint of sarcasm. It just...came out. Damn. Old habits. "But they just MIGHT care about you showing up, uninvited, to cause a scene."

"They might also care that you're keeping my son from me!" she replied, all too cheerfully. "It's one thing to leave with him...honey," in HER voice, though, the sarcasm was thick, "but it's another thing entirely to deny me access."

And, of course, she was right. Kristoff turned back to his brother and his son with a sigh. Elliot seemed scared and sick: shoulders hunched, balance uneasy, and skin pale in those few furless and exposed places. William, though, looked nothing short of irate...

Kristoff answered without looking back to the door, "Fine," before turning, pressing himself to the frame, and cracking that door just enough to stick his muzzle through. "What do you want?"

And, without a word, she pushed herself forward immediately, struggling force the door open farther and step inside...

...but Kristoff was larger, and he held firm, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm trying to see my son!" she barked, as preachy and self righteous as a bark could be.

"You're not getting into this apartment, Robyn. This is Billy's home. And you're not welcome."

"I don't care whose home it is! You're holding my son inside! And I want to see him, now!"

"We're not holding-" Kris's voice rose as he felt himself being pulled into yet another argument with his wife. She was goading him. She was always goading him. He stopped himself, though. Play along, he told himself again and again: just play along. Let her do whatever it is she came to do, and the quicker she's done, the quicker she'll be gone. "Elliot?" he called back into the apartment, but his eyes never left his wife, "Come over to the door, kiddo."

"No."

There was no hesitation, no wavering of the voice. It was solid and sure. But there was also no anger or fear. It simply was what it was: a no. And at the sound of it, both Robyn's grimace and Kris's smile grew...

"You heard him," Kristoff could barely restrain his triumphant smirk, "He said no. I might not be able to keep him from you...but he can keep HIMSELF from you all he wants."

His wife could only sneer.

"He doesn't want to see you, Robyn," he explained happily, so to leave no room for misinterpretation. "So was there anything else you wanted?"

There was no hiding her emotions. Robyn was angry, she was embarrassed, and even in some way hurt that Elliot refused to even come near her. But she tried to hide it, nonetheless, and continued on with a renewed smile, "I came to give you a warning."

Kris's eyes rolled. A warning? No. She came to threaten him. "Did you?"

She nodded, "My lawyers are...doing whatever it is they do: filling out paper work, filing...injunctions?" Clearly, she didn't understand the specifics, and even that word -- injunctions -- was only borrowed from her time spent watching television. But, to be fair, her husband was no more verse in the matter than she. "In short: we're beginning the process of taking Elliot away from you."

Kristoff's jaw clenched. It wasn't that he hadn't expected it. She'd already threatened it, and he knew very well it was coming. But just two days after he'd left? He was far from ready to face it. "We've been over this, Robyn. He's fourteen. He has a say in where he wants to go," he argued, putting on a brave face, despite his fears. "Ten years ago, we could have gone to court and fought for weeks about who was the fittest parent...and then left it to a judge. But Elliot's not a pup anymore. This is his decision, now."

"But what if his decision is against his best interest?" Robyn tilted her head as if musing, though it was clear that she was only repeating a phrase her lawyers had said to her. "What if he was a drug addict? And he was choosing to live with you because you allowed it? Or even supplied him?"

Kris growled, and held himself from lurching forward, "You wouldn't-"

"No," she cut him off. "No, it was a metaphor, Kris," she explained herself as condescendingly as she could manage. "But, you see...the picture I'm painting here for you, dearest, is that it's not about which one of us is fit, or who has the most money," on both points, of course, she motioned to herself. "And it's not even about what he THINKS he wants. It's about him living in a healthy home."

"And you think you can prove that this one isn't?"

"My lawyers think so." Robyn craned her neck to look into the apartment what little she could, "After all...four men stuffed into a one bedroom apartment? It must be a little cramped, right? And a boy his age really needs his own room...his privacy...his space..."

At that, Kristoff seemed genuinely amused, "You're gonna' argue that this is an unhealthy home...because it's too small?"

And she just repeated herself with a smile, "My lawyers will. And they'll also remind the judge of what a big, empty house I have, all to myself...and of the empty room there, waiting for him."

Kris took in a breath and shook his head with a smirk, "Y'know, I've gotta' admit: I expected worse from you."

"Oh, and you should," Robyn's voice darkened with a wicked smile. "THIS one was my lawyers' idea. I have much...much worse." And just as quickly, her cheerful coo returned, "But they wanted us to start out small and to build to the bigger finish. Told me to save my big guns for later, in case this one didn't work."

Kristoff let her speak, eyelids drooping in frustration as her punch line finally dawned on him. And once she was through, he pushed her along to it, in the hope of avoid sitting through more of her dramatic build-up, "And I assume this is when you tell me that I can save myself all that pain, hassle, and money...and all I have to do is give up, now."

"My lawyers are only a phone call away, Kristoff. I can stop this before it ever starts," her smiled turned triumphant already. "You just have to give me my son."

"Not a chance, Robyn," Kris was firm, but calm. "Elliot needs me. This is where he belongs."

But something about those words cracked his wife's composure, "This is the LAST place he belongs! Here with you, and with William and his...rabbit." She averted her eyes in visible disgust, "God knows what the two of them do in this apartment."

And Kristoff absolutely loved watching her self-control break, "If you don't know how it works, I could draw you a picture..."

"You WOULD make jokes!"

"This whole thing is a joke, Robyn!" he shot back more seriously. "All you do is hurt him and control him, and you expect me to just send him off with you?" He shook his head in disbelief, "Not for the world, sweetheart!"

"Control him?" Robyn seemed genuinely offended. "I'm trying to protect him!"

"From what?"

"From you!"

Kris held up an open paw and closed his eyes, calming himself with a series of breaths before things got as out of control as the past week had repeatedly proven they could. "Look, Robyn. Elliot is staying here. With me. End of story."

"For now, maybe..." Calmer now, herself, Robyn fell back upon her cheerfully victorious mockery, "but be honest with yourself, Kris. You don't stand a chance in court. Not against my lawyers, my family..."

"...and their money."

"And their money," she repeated all-too-happily. "It's only a matter of time, now. Soon enough, he'll be coming home with me."

"Toffy..." William's voice broke in, tentative, but resolute.

Only feet away, in the living room, he had not spent these tense minutes watching the door and his brother's back. Though he listened to every word of Kristoff and Robyn's conversation, his eyes had been on Elliot. He had watched as the words -- Kris's included -- had hit the boy at times like blows to the stomach. He had watched the pain on his nephew's face. And finally, he could no longer restrain himself from speaking up for the boy...from speaking on his behalf when no one else truly was.

"Maybe we should ask Elliot what he wants, instead of talking about him like he's not even here."

At his brother's insistence, Kris looked back, and his eyes caught his son's. Those eyes. They were his mother's eyes -- Robyn's eyes -- and they were Kristoff's as well. Shining, cold, piercing blue. Eyes that could say more in a twitch, a shiver, or a blink, than an entire face worth of expression.

And at this moment, they were saying that William was right. Elliot was no lifeless prize to be fought over. And it was time his voice was heard...

Kris stepped away from the door and let it go, knowing before Robyn even touched it that she would take that opportunity to push it open wide. But, to his surprise...when she did, she made no motion to step inside. Whether it be from respect for William and his home, or from fear of some unseen repercussion, he couldn't say. But she didn't move.

And Kristoff spoke, now, to his son. "Billy's right, Elliot. This should be up to you. It should be your decision...not your mother's OR mine."

At that, William knelt before the boy, "You can stay right here with us, if you want to...and we WILL fight for you..."

"...but it won't be easy, kiddo," his father amended. "Court dates, lawyers...probably visits with the police and even psychiatrists..."

"Or you could just come home with me!" his mother chirped happily. "And then you won't have to deal with any of that. No messy court cases or testimonies...no police showing up and dragging anyone away." She leaned forward, paws on her knees with a wide, welcoming smile, "You'll have old your room back, your home...and all of this ugliness will be behind us." And slowly, she held out one of those paws, to beckon her son closer, "Elliot, please. I'm your mother. I love you."

But Elliot didn't move, "No you don't."

"Elliot..."

"No!" he cut her off. "After everything you've said and done this week? Really?" he laughed darkly, trembling from conflicted emotion. "I'm not going anywhere with you! I wanna' be with my dad. HE loves me! You don't."

"I'm the only one who DOES love you, Elliot!" his mother fired back passionately. "You think they love you just because they're letting you..." she stammered and stopped, not even capable of saying it aloud. "That's not love. They're only supporting this...sickness, because they're sick, too. That's the way people like this are, Elliot. They're sad and lonely, and they want you to be like them. But you don't HAVE to be!" She held out both paws, now, nearly begging him to come those few feet closer, "I can help you. I can fix you and set you back on the right path."

And if he was honest, a part of him wanted, still, to run to those arms. But the price was just too high. "Fix me? You don't wanna' fix me; you wanna' CHANGE me! You wanna' make me something that I'm not, no matter how much it hurts me...and no matter WHAT I want!" Elliot pointed at her vehemently, "You! You're the one who wants me to be like you! They want me to be happy. They wanna' let me be myself..."

"Oh Elliot..." gingerly, the female husky stood straight again, shaking her head in disappointment. "I'm so sorry I let this happen to you. If I'd known how they were..." and she shuddered, momentarily choked with emotion.

But it was in the space left in her silence that a single thought came to life. And not just to one...but to them all: to Elliot, to his father, and to William just the same. At once, in a singular moment of collective clarity, an epiphany occurred to them all.

She believed. Until now, they had perceived her antics and rants so cartoonish, so outlandish, that they were certain there could be no way that even SHE believed in them. But they were wrong. She ached. She worried. She loved. Somewhere, deep inside all of her delusions, her hatred, and her bigotry...she was acting out of love. She truly believed that her son was in danger: in danger from his father, from his uncle, and even from himself. And she believed that she was his only hope...

And as they each struggled with their own particular cocktail of pity and fear at this truth, and at just what it might mean...

She continued. "I would have never let you be exposed to this...let you be manipulated by their..." again Robyn stammered, but soldiered on. "And now there's...there's just no way to make you understand, is there? Especially, not so long as they're still here." But slowly, a hopeful smile lit upon her muzzle, once more, "But it's okay. It's not too late. You just hold on, baby. I'll get you away from this sickness soon enough, and we'll make everything better."

Kristoff and William could only stare in bewilderment, their image of her as the intentioned and calculating devil melting away, and the new one taking its place, somehow even less comforting than that. And Elliot shrunk away, much the same...even more unnerved by her feverish kindness than he had been by her ignorant bigotry.

She, though, barely took notice...and turned both her gaze and her colder tone back upon her now-slack-jawed husband, "You've been warned, Kristoff. My lawyers will be moving forward." And then gave Elliot one last apologetic smile, "I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry for what they've done to you...for what I've LET them do..." before she finally turned to leave, "...and for what I'm going to have to do, now, to get you back."

~

His father and uncle were nude.

They sat silent and smiling, together there on his uncle's couch. And they made no movement to cover themselves: no movement of any kind, in fact, save for the slow caress of Kristoff's paw up and down William's shaft. But somehow, in their silent stillness, in their calm and casual attitude despite their nudity and the young eyes upon them...Elliot felt as if they were beckoning him.

And he strode closer. His underwear, his only clothing, were tented to the point of pain, and he felt himself blush. His audience's own nudity not withstanding...being seen in his underwear in this state -- especially by his father -- was almost terrifying. But his stride neither broke nor slowed.

In moments, he was on his knees before his father, brash yet trembling -- and as silent as the huskies on the couch. And he reached out a paw, fighting past his own disbelief and groping for the elder dog's knot. But, just as his paw barely grazed that beautiful red flesh...William's paw slapped it away.

He shrunk back, stung both by the slap and by the smiles still plastering their muzzles: smiles that seemed now to be taunting him, as if laughing silently at the treasure he'd been denied. And then, inches before his face, William leaned down, and Elliot's father's shaft disappeared into his uncle's muzzle.

The boy's own shaft flexed at the sight, and the pain of his tented briefs spiked so sharply that his eyes snapped shut. And when he opened them again, heavy, hazy, and blinking...

...they opened to the darkness of his bed.

Elliot's father and uncle were not sitting nude on the couch, and his father's cock was not slipping into his uncle's muzzle...at least not tonight. But Elliot WAS in his uncle's living room, albeit on an air mattress. And the pain of his begging erection, too, was all too real...pained from being pressed, being grinded, against the inflated plastic beneath him.

This weekend had not been forgiving to the young dog. Friday alone, he was teased and denied twice: once when his teachers caught him in the parking lot, and again when he came home to see...what it was he saw. And since then -- he on his air mattress, and Kris on the couch -- he'd been sleeping less than a foot away from his father...a position far from the ideal location for any sort of private release. And he'd never been fond of doing that sort of thing in a bathroom...

But tonight, as he blinked into consciousness, and as the images of his dream were slowly traded out for images from Friday night -- images far more concrete, yet far less believable -- he could take no more! And he resolved to finally put an end to his torment.

As slowly and quietly as he could manage -- cursing every pop and squeak of his plastic mattress, as he went -- he rolled to the floor and rose to his feet. Everyone, his mother included, kept calling this a 'one bedroom apartment,' but that wasn't exactly true. This was a two bedroom apartment. The problem was that one of those rooms was an office: a home for William's computer, and now for Kris's as well.

Before tonight, this was a nuisance: an occupied room that could have otherwise been Elliot and Kristoff's bedroom. But at this moment, it was a godsend.

At the moment, it was an empty, private room with internet access.

And Elliot crept slowly across the living room. To say he was tired would have been a considerable understatement; he may as well have been sleepwalking. His eyes were hardly open, his movements were uneasy, every bit of his limited concentration was focused solely upon keeping himself quiet, and not a shred of coherent thought remained...

...thoughts such as those which would have normally told him to look for his father's sleeping form on the couch, or that would have drawn his attention to the dim light seeping from around the barely cracked office door.

But, completely oblivious to every sign that should have told him no...he pushed open the office door...

And he was met with a flash of light: of fur and flesh filling a brightly illuminated screen. It was only for the shortest of instants before it disappeared, but it was unmistakable nonetheless. It was the spotted flesh of an equine cock, squeezing into and encircled by ring of rosy flesh, white fur to every side, and the orange-red beyond.

It was the image of a horse burying himself into a vixen.

But disappear that image did. With a frantic click of a mouse, the violated vixen was gone. The sight it was replaced with, though, especially for the young gay teenager, was far more tantalizing...as his own father -- wide eyed, nude, erect, and dripping -- spun around in his chair.

Quickly, Kristoff snatched his discarded underwear from the desk behind him and held it before his now-barely-concealed pride, sputtering and stammering, at a loss for words. But his reflexes were far too slow. Elliot had already seen his all, for the second time in three days...

...or for the third, if one counts the dream.

Elliot's mind spun, and the room before him all but disappeared behind his flooding memories...each and every one of his father. In the boy's mind, the drunken elder husky wrenched himself desperately into his jeans, bending his rock hard shaft back into the denim, while behind him, Stan slept naked and spent, and William and Aaron rushed for cover. At the same time, he saw his father's dream avatar stroking his uncle's cock, as his own was swallowed whole. And now, to add to it, his father sat there in his mind, cock twitching, dripping, and begging for attention...interrupted by his own son, short moments shy of cumming.

Elliot felt his underwear tighten yet again, though, and he was instantly snapped back to reality, and to the realization of just how exposed HE was, as well. But that awareness came much too late...and he came back to the waking world only just in time to see his father's wide eyes staring directly at his tented briefs.

The boy covered himself immediately, as his fears overtook his every other thought. Did his dad know he'd come to paw off? Or could it be even worse? Did the elder husky think he was hard from seeing his own father's dick?? Of course, there was truth to both, but one was far worse than the other...

...and in a nervous panic, Elliot jumped to his own defense: "...great minds think alike?"

"Uhm...yeah," Kristoff finally managed to control his stammering enough to speak. But he was in no mood to have a conversation...least of all, like this. "I...I think should get dressed. Could you...uhm...?"

"Yeah!" Elliot nearly yelped, nodding like mad as he backed out of the room. "Right! Sorry!"

And the door had barely closed behind him, before he was sliding back into his bed. But despite the awkwardness he'd just faced, despite the awkwardness certainly still to come, and despite his fears about just what his father must think of him...his paw was in his underwear nearly the instant the covers were upon him.

And soon enough, he was outright pawing, as he prayed that his father would take his time before he followed him out. He replayed his dream, imagining that he'd slept just a little while longer, and where things might have gone. He replayed his father spinning around in that chair again and again, and he longed to not simply know how he looked, but how he tasted as well. And replayed Friday night, just the same. But, this time, not the image of his father struggling with his clothes as his uncle and Aaron fled...but instead those moments just prior, and what he'd seen when he and Hunter had first opened the front door...

...but at that moment, the door to the office opened as well, and Kris interrupted Elliot as surely as the boy had interrupted him.

Elliot's pistoning paw froze, as his barely awake mind flew into chaos! Thoughts of fear that his father would be upset at him for pawing, or for walking in without knocking...thoughts of frustration that he needed so badly to paw and couldn't...and even thoughts of fantasy: of what it might mean that both he and his father were alone and begging for the same release...

Kristoff's mind, though, was far more focused. He needed to be a father. He had no idea that he had become the object of Elliot's most recent fantasies. He had no idea of the effect he was having on the boy, even now, as he walked to the couch in his ever-so-slightly bulging boxers. But he DID know that he and his son had just shared an awkward -- and uncomfortably intimate -- moment. And he also knew what happened on Friday night...and that neither of these should be simply ignored...

"We're, uhm..." he finally spoke as he sat down on the couch: onto his makeshift bed, "we're making a habit of this, huh? Walking in on one another?"

His son, though, managed only a small laugh, the images of tonight, of Friday night, and even of his date with Hunter some three weeks ago, clear in his mind, "Seems like it."

"You know..." Kris continued uneasily, "we haven't really talked about what happened on Friday." He paused to cover his legs in his blankets, "...and about what you saw."

"We don't..." Elliot gulped, struggling to ignore the scent of his father's recent arousal as he sat, so very close...and in such airy shorts, "...we don't have to if you don't want."

"But we probably should."

And the younger husky, honestly, couldn't tell whether he was pleased with this or not. A part of him desperately wanted to talk about it, wanted any confirmation that it was all real, and even dreamed of a fantasy world where such a talk could end with him and his father...perhaps...

...but he knew that nothing like that would happen, and the more reasonable part of him was terrified. Terrified of the conversation riling him up even more, and of what might happen when his father noticed it had.

"Well...I guess..." Kristoff, though, continued right along, considering how best to broach the subject, "Are you okay? I mean, with Friday: it didn't...uhm...it didn't upset you, did it?"

"Why would it upset me?" Elliot answered just a little too happily. "It's not like I was seeing you do anything that I haven't done!" and even with the same person!

"No matter how much sex I've had," the elder canine responded, characteristically blunt, "it has never made me wanna' see my parents doing it." He laughed shortly, uncomfortably, but shook his head as he explained himself further: "But that's not really the point, is it? You didn't just catch me...having sex," for an instant, even HE struggled with his bluntness, but pushed on, nonetheless. "You didn't even just catch me having GAY sex. You caught me doing it with my own brother!" He took a breath, shaking off that confession -- if you could really call it a confession when it was something which Elliot clearly already knew -- and then he concluded: "I mean, that doesn't...I don't know...it doesn't gross you out or-or make you think less of me, or anything?"

Elliot went to great effort to ensure that his answer wasn't too enthusiastic, "...no." It was bad enough -- thanks to the scent, to the talk, and to what he'd just seen -- that he was terrified the older husky would notice his tenting sheets at any moment...but his father realizing just how much he 'appreciated' what he'd seen on Friday night would be immeasurably worse. And he continued, "I mean...I kind of already knew that you two did it..."

Kris recoiled, "You what??"

"Sorry! I mean: like back in high school," the younger dog explained. "The way you two talked, I...I kind of already guessed. Of course, I didn't know that it was still going on..."

And his father smiled as he finally lay back on the couch, "Neither did I."

A silence crept between them, then. For Elliot, he was again swimming in his thoughts, but now alternating between that and cursing himself for not being able to stop. He needed to calm down. And he needed to do it before his father caught on to -- or caught scent of -- just how much all of this turned him on. Kristoff, though, had caught that scent long ago, and simply assumed that his son was in the same unfortunate predicament as he...

And after a moment, he laughed to break the silence, "Looks like neither of us are gonna' have any luck getting off tonight, huh?"

"Maybe we should work out a schedule for private computer time," Elliot suggested, half-jokingly...

...and his father joked back, "Or we could just start remembering to lock the damned door!"

"Now let's not go doing anything crazy!"

The second it left his mouth, Elliot couldn't believe it had. He'd basically just admitted that he'd liked what he'd seen and wanted the chance to see it again! But, to his surprise, his father just laughed. And, of course, the sound of that laughter brought Elliot only hope. Could it mean...might the elder husky actually be receptive?

Kristoff though, unbeknownst to Elliot, had simply taken it sarcastically...

And with that, they put themselves to bed...or, at least, as best as either could manage...

Elliot's mind had finally slipped away from images of the past...and to thoughts of the future. His father was being so open, so calm about all of this. And he could still smell it: that perfect, forbidden scent. His father was still just as much in need as he was...

So was it possible? Was there any chance that the elder dog might be turned on enough, pent up enough, horny enough that he could actually be open to certain...propositions? Might he have been when he was back in the office? Could he still be now? And even if he was, could Elliot get up the kind of nerve needed to find out? And if he missed the opportunity now, would he ever have another?

Meanwhile his father, of course, was thinking of nothing but rest: of putting both himself and his aching, teased package to sleep, and of putting the awkwardness of this night -- and of the whole weekend -- behind him.

Elliot, though, slipped ever deeper into his fantasies and dreams. He knew it was best to not: he was only teasing himself. There was no way he'd be pawing tonight, or that his father would ever respond favorably to...to any of the things racing through his head. But no matter how hard he tried, he absolutely couldn't rein it in. And soon enough, in his mind, the older dog held him to the bed, pumping into the boy again and again...a fantasy so vivid, so real that he could even hear himself begging his 'daddy' for more!

Daddy.

He hadn't called his father that since he was a pup. But in this instant, it was the only word he wanted to pass his lips. And he could hear it again and again, in the back of his mind...far in the distance. Soon, he could even hear the squeaking of bed springs, and the tapping of a headboard against the wall. And the sounds drummed away in his mind, driving him crazier and crazier, hornier and hornier, closer and closer to bounding from his mattress and begging his father to make it real...until it finally dawned upon him...

...that he was ACTUALLY hearing it! And his eyes shot open at the realization. That wasn't his voice. That was Aaron's voice! And that was William's bed hitting the wall! THAT was the sound of Aaron and William fucking, a room away!

And from the couch, Kristoff growled and rubbed his brow. Daddy? Daddy?? Was Aaron seriously calling Billy daddy? Did Billy get off on that: on someone calling him their father and begging to be fucked? Did Aaron get off on the idea of pretending Billy WAS his father? How childish could they be? And why hadn't anyone ever called HIM daddy? Robyn certainly never did!

Oh. Of course.

He wasn't really angry at them. He wasn't disgusted with their immaturity. In fact, he was no better than they were! He was jealous, he was frustrated, he was horny, and the sounds thumping through that wall -- the sounds of the sex he couldn't have -- were nothing but a tease. And judging from the steady, pitiful stream of whimpers coming from Elliot...his son felt the same.

So, Kris had had quite enough of that! He'd be damned if he and Elliot didn't even get to paw off tonight, but had to lie there, listening to this!

"Hey!" he barked loud enough to be heard through the walls, "Some of us are trying to sleep!"

Immediately, the sounds came to a halt, punctuated by only the shortest murmur of voices...

...and as Kris smiled triumphantly and closed his eyes, he heard the tiniest final whimper from Elliot's bed.

"Thank you..."

~

(October 14th)

That Monday was a holiday.

It was by no means a big or an important holiday. It wasn't religious. It wasn't a government holiday that saw state run facilities shut down. And it wasn't even recognized enough for most banks to close their doors. But it was an excuse, at least, for Sibirskaia High...

It was justification enough for a four day weekend: a teacher work day on Friday and a day off for everyone on Monday. This had proven fortunate for the Masters, as it had left their weekend freer for the move. And it was why, today, Elliot had no reason to be up with the sun...

...but, still, he was.

He was awake, because his father was. Just the same as William: who was awake because Aaron was. Elliot may have had the day off from School, and William may have been unemployed, at the moment, but both of them slept only inches away from someone who DID have somewhere to be this morning...and this apartment was far too small to sleep through their rising.

And so, at this ungodly hour, windows barely shining in a blue haze, the four furs were gathered around the kitchen in various stages of undress, each and every one struggling to find the will to meet the day ahead.

Aaron grimaced at the taste and the burn of his energy drink, Elliot scratched and yawned, eyeing the living room and his bed, and Billy and Toffy hesitantly poured their morning coffee. Will, finished first, watched as his formerly black coffee turned beige with creamer, before sliding the bottle to his brother...who took it with a tired but mischievous smirk...

"Thank you..." Kristoff eyed both William and his bunny, "...daddy."

Mortified, Aaron froze: his eyes widening more at the sound of that word than from the effects of any energy drink. And beside him, Elliot laughed...though it was a laugh quickly cut short by the reminder of the previous night, and by the...tightening...that came with it.

And with a long, defeated sigh, William set his mug aside. "Okay, I hate to say this...but Robyn was right." He paused and grumbled as three pairs of eyes turned upon him, "We really need a bigger place."

~

There we go! Sibirskaia continues!

* This particular chapter (and the rest of Sibirskaia) was written entirely by yours truly: Oloroso Rhone! But it was based on characters and story lines I created jointly with my friend Phil Anthro Pist

If you'd like to go say hi to Phil, he's got an account on here at http://phil-anthro-pist.sofurry.com/ *

So there's been this lingering question: "Is Elliot attracted to his father?"

I thought I answered this way back in The Masters Chapter 3 when he was turned on by the idea of him and Will fooling around in Kristoff's bed. But still, the question remained. Well, has it been answered, now?

Also, now you've learned that Hunter and Elliot DID get home in time to interrupt the foursome! Don't you just love how I skip over important scenes like that, and only tell you about them after the fact? I do. But I'm the devil.

SIDE NOTE: Monday October 14th, 2013 was actually a holiday here in the U.S. I just didn't explain WHICH holiday it was in the story, because I can't decide whether it's a holiday I want to canonize for Sibirskaia.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

I welcome any feedback! Comment or PM me here, or email me at theottercoon[at]gmail.com See you around for the next 27 chapters of Sibirskaia!