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Offering Some Nub-Tail

For Linkin_Monroe

By Draconicon

One day. Just one bad day, and they were out on the streets. Not even with a crazy old man to look after them, either.

Then again, the day a Doberman needs a human is the day a Doberman retires, Desoto thought, nosing his way through some of the trash pressed up against the edge of the station. The moon overhead barely lit it up enough to make out the food trash from the wrapper trash, but his nose made up the difference.

"Smell anything?"

"Nothing on this side."

Desoto grumbled at his brother's answer, shaking himself enough for his blue collar to jostle around. The black burn mark on it slipped into view, and he growled, shaking until it rolled back around to rest on the back of his neck.

He shoved his nose back into the trash, huffing away for any sign of some food. There had to be something out here. Those junkers, that...Dodger...always had something to eat...it couldn't be that hard.

Then again, none of them had been dropped on the third rail.

Desoto grunted as his burns reminded him they were there, a scalding ripple of lightning all the way down his side. It ached enough that one of his forelegs just about dropped out from under him, and he only stayed up by slamming himself into the wall to keep his balance. His growl dropped down even deeper in his chest, and his lip curled up all the more.

He'd come too close to dying. If it hadn't been for Roscoe pulling him off the rail at the last minute...

Don't even start...You're a Doberman. Pain's part of the job...

Taking a couple of deep breaths until the burn pain faded, Desoto looked down at the trash again. There wasn't much left. If he didn't find something soon...

"Hey, hey, hey..."

Roscoe, closer this time. He turned his head. His red-collared brother hopped up from the area by the tracks, pulling a bag in his jaws. It hit the ground and burst open, spilling half-eaten sandwiches and some sort of fried vegetables all over the place. Desoto took one sniff and groaned, his stomach rumbling in a way that it hadn't done in years.

"Told you I'd find something, brother."

"Yeah, you found...something."

"You smelling anything better?"

"...No."

"Eat it, Desoto. Not like we have anything better to do."

"You first."

"Get over here."

The slight growl in his brother's voice was enough to convince him to drop it. There was no getting around Roscoe once he started to growl; only one dog had ever done it, and that had been luck more than anything else.

He slunk over to the pile of trash and started eating, and the other Doberman followed suit after he had a few mouthfuls. It was horrible...but at least it was something.

#

Having Roscoe help him up from the junkyard ground to their little hidey-hole wasn't the worst thing he had to put up with, but it ranked right up there. Desoto growled as his brother bit his neck and hauled him up, dragging him into a space they'd dug out...that Roscoe had dug out the same night they'd lost their human.

Desoto flopped over one of the cinderblocks, using it to keep himself half-upright now that his leg was acting up again. He stared out into the junkyard, still hardly able to believe how far they'd fallen in just a day.

"One bad day."

"Yeah. One bad day."

Roscoe sat beside him, leaning down until their collars touched. It was an old thing...from back when they were pups. Just a little reminder of -

He growled, snarling until Roscoe snarled back.

"Stop it, Desoto."

"Why? That Dodger messed us up every way he could...I can barely walk anymore!"

"They'll get what's coming to 'em. We'll make sure of it."

"Hmmph."

He laid down again, turning his head away. It was just...

He closed his eyes, trying not to think about his leg, and everything else, as he slipped off to sleep.

#

Morning came, and he opened his mouth in a wide yawn. His tongue dropped out, and he smacked it against the roof of his mouth a few times before looking around. He didn't expect to see Roscoe anywhere; his brother had probably given up after last night, or had gone to get revenge, or -

He blinked. On the ground just past the cinderblock was one of those breakfast 'dogs from those carts all over New York. It couldn't be more than an hour old, either; didn't have any of those mold marks or anything else that came when it sat for more than half a day. How...

Roscoe. He turned, looking at his sleeping brother. The other Doberman looked utterly exhausted; he must have gone out...and...

He looked down at the food. That was dangerous. He could have gotten caught by one of those 'catchers. Could have gotten snatched up...could have...

He's my brother. He won't give up on me.

Grunting, he pulled himself off of the cinderblock and hobbled over to the piece of meat. A quick bite broke off half of it, and he laid down, munching on it until it was gone. The other half, tempting as it was, he left. Roscoe needed something for everything he did, and that would only be the start of it.

It took another twenty minutes for his brother to wake up, the red-collared Doberman pulling himself up to all fours and stretching out. Desoto waited until he was done yawning before nosing the food over to him.

"Here...."

"Heh. That's for you."

"Don't joke."

"Not like I can. No TVs to break here."

Desoto grinned, rubbing one paw against his nose as he remembered the last good night. That time when his brother had shattered those mutts' TV and they'd almost eaten that stupid cat...Yeah. Good times.

"Look...eat it. I got something I wanna do for you."feet

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

As Roscoe leaned forward and started gnawing on the hot dog, Desoto stood up and turned himself around. It was a bit tricky, but he managed to get something to support his leg as he leaned his front-half down, and put his little nub up in the air. He looked down, grumbling, and waited for his brother to notice.

He was almost ready to shout when he suddenly felt a tongue under his nub. The soft, slick lick over his hole almost made him lose his balance.

"Nngh...You get it then, huh?"

"I get it. Hard to forget that offer."

"Don't make it often. You want it?"

"Question is, can you take it?"

"...You saved me, Roscoe. I can take it for that."

"Not like I wouldn't save my brother."

Nor was there any hesitation, either. Just two little licks, and he felt his brother's weight on top of him. Short, bristly fur ground against his back, and he growled at the pointed tip bumping against his haunches, grinding towards the little opening back there.

Heh...always to the point, he grunted with a soft smirk of his own. They didn't do this as much as they used to - their human, Sykes, had gotten them enough bitches to breed to not need it - but back before him...well, when you didn't have much, you made do, and Roscoe had always looked out for him.

Two more hunched humps, and that tip found its mark. Long experience came back in a rush as that tip pierced him, sliding in deep in one thrust, his brother's sheath wrinkling against his hole as his cock slid in. Desoto growled, feeling his hole burn from the sudden penetration, even as he felt that old, familiar pleasure of his brother's cock grinding down on his insides.

Roscoe didn't waste any time. No Doberman would, once they had someone under them. It was either bite and tear, or grab and hump, and his brother was humping away. Hard, muscled hips slammed into him again and again, and Desoto could feel his brother's balls slapping against him. Shaved, just as bristly as other parts of him.

"Keep that nub high for me, Desoto."

"I am, I am."

"Mmmph...yes..."

His own cock was starting to grow free of his sheath, the tip sliding down and pressing against a couple of softer blankets. Smelly ones, but who cared; they were soft and didn't cut him up like other trash might have. He grunted, pushing up his hindquarters a bit further -

"Grrrr!"

The Doberman groaned as his brother's thrusts seemed to go deeper, the knot already inflating against his hole. The few licks from earlier were hardly enough to keep Roscoe's cock pumping into him, let alone that...

But Desoto lowered his head, letting it pound against him, focusing. Dobermans were all about learning, all about taking it, all about being top dogs, top fighters, top guards. He'd take it, just like he used to.

The knot kept slamming at his hole, pushing deeper with each thrust. He bit down on the blanket, his teeth ripping through the cloth in short order as Roscoe reamed into his hole. Thrust, thrust, thrust, balls smacking off of his, knot swelling bigger and bigger, until -

POP!

In it went, and his teeth ground against each other as he fought the urge to howl. Roscoe had no such compunctions; his brother let out one that echoed through the entire junkyard, and Desoto felt the familiar heat of seed spilling inside of him.

His own cock dripped and twitched beneath him, not quite over the edge as Roscoe dismounted him, the pair of them standing butt to butt as more and more filled him from behind. Desoto slowly let go of the blanket in his mouth, shaking his head as Roscoe laughed.

"Your nub feels like it's gonna wag itself right off."

"Shut up...this was for you."

"Feels more like my brother needed this again."

"Whatever..."

"...Need a tongue finishing?"

"...Wouldn't say no."

The End