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His fingers twisted in one another, entwined together - wringing back and forth as his thin, round ears perked. His eyes darted from side to side, directed first at the formidable, built form of his Father to his left; then, his gaze traveled to that of his much smaller older Brother. He sat directly across the table from the youngest mouse, whose God-given name was Fulke. Fulke steepled his digits, hiding the better part of his face from view with his paws as he attempted to remain impartial. His big round ears remained perked and rotating on his head like little satellite dishes. Of course, our young friend lived long, long before such things... But I digress: back to the matter at hand.

"...I just hate goin' there and getting into fights and arguments, dad," The older of the two adolescents at the table whined. He stared at his empty plate, having not been excused from the table yet due to their little verbal altercation. The eldest mouse, a large male who presided at the head of the table,, shot his firstborn a disapproving look but said nothing. He was clearly 'fed up', as his adage went. Fulke could hear the persistent, obviously bothered tapping of his father's foot on the wooden floor beneath - never a good sign.

"That's no excuse not to go, Don. You've no right to decide what's best for you," was his reply, spoken as always in firm, measured, and deliberate tones so as not to be misunderstood. His eldest son would often try to find small loopholes in his vernacular in order to justify his disobedience. These days, Father knew better. Don's reply was, of course, to stare at his Father with an incredulous, very pubescent slack-jawed gape before protesting:

"Uh-huh...because you know what's best for me, right?" He asked, the legs of his chair scraping the floor dramatically as he stood. He still hadn't been told he could leave the table. The irritation was clear in his dark eyes and the ruffling of his fur, the slight curl of his lip and the lashing of that naked, whip-like tail. He smacked the end of the aforementioned appendage into the leg of the table by mistake, and winced accordingly. Fulke had to preclude himself from snickering at his brother's foolish mistake. That by turns just seemed to make him all the angrier. "Listen, you...Aaagh!!" He groaned in frustration, shaking his head like it was full of fleas. He had apparently decided against whatever he was going to say next.

"I've had enough. I'm going to bed..." He said, turning and marching off with appropriate theatrical fashion - without even being excused! His father tried to protest, but the SLAM of the dining room door seemed to conclude any possibility for further conversation.

"Who does that boy think he is?!" Father asked, groaning and clenching his fist around his wooden spoon hard enough to nearly snap the thing.

A silence boomed over the table as Fulke gave a desperate glance towards the cuckoo clock, its' hands slugging along like molasses.

"...How was work, dear?" Was all Mother had to say.

Both of the two remaining males at the table looked at the only female in their little family. The thick-bodied, brown-furred mousewife had a great fake jovial grin on her face, one that made her youngest son's stomach turn as she ungracefully attempted to change the subject. She succeeded, with Father's help:

"Oh! Ah, it was fine...old Witley Badger came by and brought his whole brood's mashing-shoes," the Father said happily, as if he had forgotten his own question. His frown turned upside down as quick as a fox's tail at his wife's mention of his work. He always loved to be asked about his day - even Fulke knew to ask him occasionally, else he might get upset, think his work unimportant. He seemed all too happy to abandon the subject of his son's truancy in favor of talk of shoes. After all, he was 'just a cobbler', as Donovan had said before, inciting Father's ire - accordingly, his little brother pretended to be interested presently. In truth, he didn't find his Father's work all that interesting - but it put food on their table, and that had been good enough for all of them thus far.

The mouse leaned forward, listening to his Father. Fulke even knew the badger family mentioned - they owned one of the nicest trees he had ever seen, with great grape vines growing up the trunk and proceeding into the leaves of their home. They were locally famous for the wide variety of preserves and wine they produced, and even sold them fresh; and were rather well-off for it. Father was no doubt flattered by the fact that they had come to him first to fix their shoes, wealthy as they were.

He continued, shoveling more porridge into his mouth. "Anyway, they were all frayed and split. I don't know what those folks do with those shoes to make them break so! That's the second time he's come to me in a year with as many pairs..." He explained, shaking his head with a guttural little chuckle from his big belly. Fulke heard the shrill sound of his teeth scraping against his spoon and it made him feel even more nauseous, ears pinning back from the sound.

"Oh, that's wonderful, dear! He paid you up front, yes?" She asked, standing and orbiting the dining table to where her first son had been eating. She retrieved his dishes and brought them to the small wooden basin in the corner to be washed with river water later that night. Father nodded sagely, watching Fulke as he spoke. "Oh, of course! In part, anyway. The rest comes when I finish. It ought to take a little while, though, a month at most I'd wager..." And then, a little hum of contentment as he picked up a big clump of spinach, wrapping it around his fork to shove it utterly into his mouth.

Mother's gaze inevitably turned to her remaining son, who had been very busy staring absently down at his plate. The platter was still nearly full of the peppered, steamed greens and roasted carrots his Mother had prepared earlier that evening. His porridge was in an adjacent bowl, half-eaten and probably cold too. She scrunched her mouth to one side, reading his dissatisfaction in his face and heaving a sigh. They could hear another, slightly more muted door-slam from the other side of the house, too, and the boy saw his mother's lips twitch just a bit at that. Donovan may not have been in the room to argue, but he wanted everyone in their little tree-home to know how upset he was. Still, she was clearly trying not to look affected. Fulfilling her matronly role was something this woman took very seriously, and seeing her boys arguing had put her in a mood, too.

"How about you, Fulke?" She asked him. He blinked in surprise over his fingers, almost as if he had just been woken up. "...Sorry?" He asked, blushing. She tsk'd disapprovingly at his lack of attention. "Are you finished? You've barely touched your food..." There was worry in her voice. Fulke frowned.

"That's okay, Mom. I'm not hungry. Can I be excused?" he replied in a lilting voice, tailtip curled around one of his ankles in anxiety. Mother looked first to her husband with a second sigh. He nodded, and then she gave her own approval. "Of course, dear..."

The boy stood, pushing his plate away from him. He had barely eaten, and he felt nauseous. Nothing like coming out of your room for dinner and your father and older brother immediately launching into an argument. It was like this more frequently lately, and he wasn't used to such conflict in the house. But the thing that the young mouse hated the most about it was the faux-normalcy, the palpable tension that had been in the air over dinner while they asked one another the usual questions. Fulke nodded respectfully as he rose.

"Thanks for dinner, mom and dad," He told them automatically. He didn't really hear what they said as he left the room, lost in thought. The fourteen-year-old boy (that's mouse years!) padded quietly through their small home, three-fingered paw running along the dirt wall on his left side as he moved through their simple kitchen and the den, past his parents' master bedroom and up to his brother's door. He paused, and then knocked a few times. "Hey...Donovan...it's me." He told him. Fulke waited and waited for what felt like hours but was actually exactly eight seconds, trying a second knock and then a third before simply turning the knob on the door and stepping in uninvited.

---

Donovan hadn't heard the younger of the two mice creeping closer. As soon as he had left the dinner table unexcused, the mouse had stomped off to his room, slipped under his soft cotton blanket, and groaned his frustration to no one in particular. He laid there in thought for a moment, contemplating school, girls, his family, and the very nature of existence itself. After some time, he'd feel a little warm and slip his trousers off. Like many adolescent boys contemplating the meaning of life, this soon meant he had an erection. Oh well, he thought - this would cheer him up, or at least distract him for a little while. And so, he set to work, his slender fingers soon teasing his member delicately. The mouse watched as his thumb and forefinger tugged his foreskin up and over the head of his penis, a little bit of sticky pre-cum clinging to his digits. The older sibling could still presently hear voices at the table. Certain he was to be left undisturbed after that dramatic exit, he rolled his shoulders. Scooting up on his bed slightly, the mouse boy leaned down, bending his knees - he seized one ankle and carefully, gently put it up over the back of his neck. He might have been the smaller and chubbier of the two brothers, but he had his mother's flexibility. He was able to bend his back, crane his neck and thrust his hips in just such a way that he was able to push his cock past his own lips. It felt nice - warm under his blankets, the little mouse boy teased his balls with one paw, rolling and teasing them to and fro. He didn't really like the taste of his pre, but it was the idea of sucking it up that was hot to him. He had discovered masturbation a couple of years prior and had been addicted to it since. He'd even taught Fulke how to do it. But it was only recently that he had figured out some other...activities.

Just as he was about to bust, Donovan heard the knock on his door. Panicking, he freed his cock from his mouth, tugged his trousers up hurriedly. He heard his brother's voice, and he flopped over onto his belly. Better to bury his obvious tent into the mattress than to be caught in the act. He remained silent, hoping Fulke would presume he was asleep and go away. He had no such luck.

---

His big brother was laying on his bed, face buried in his pillow. His tail was wrapped around one of his legs. The larger of the two mice stepped closer to him timidly, putting a hand on his back and rubbing it in small circles, humming quietly in what he hoped was a consoling fashion. He could smell the faint scent of arousal, but made no comment on it.

"Aaagh....who does he think he is?!" the older mouse redirected his father's sentiment upon him, turning his head on his pillow to look at his sibling. Fulke could see his face then, scrunched up as if he had just eaten something foul. Fulke didn't at all know what to say to him, but it was fine - his brother continued to rant and rave, anyway. Consoling him was always nigh-impossible. Donovan rolled over onto his back and gave another frustrated groan, finally sitting up after much tossing and turning. He tugged his favorite blanket up around his belly, hiding his erection before his brother could notice it.

"He doesn't know what it's like to get crap from all the other kids all the time. He was always popular and perfect and blah blahbity blah..." His brother pounded the mattress with a balled-up fist, leaving the younger mouse staring blankly. It might have been funny, if Don wasn't really upset. Seeing his big brother act like such a child often left him speechless. He licked his dry lips, summoning the will to speak and say something.

"Uhm. Donny...he just wanted you to go to school. I don't think that he meant anything by it."

"Oh, cut it," Was his brother's response, too embroiled in his own upset viewpoint to hear anything to the contrary, logical and level-headed or not.

"He thinks I have to be as popular as he was in school..." The mouse shook his head, making his brother shrink back just a little bit, raising an eyebrow. Fulke had known that Donovan was going to skip school today to stay home and read his books, but their father had found out when the local truant officer paid him a visit at work. He accordingly came home furious; the tension had been palpable in their little residence for the rest of the day. The younger mouse observed as his older, chocolate-furred brother rested his ankle on his knee, heaving a mighty sigh. "I don't wanna go tomorrow, either...but..." He groaned, grabbing his pillow in typical drama-queen fashion and hugging it to his face and snarling. He snarled about as well as any mouse could: that is to say, not well.

Fulke couldn't decide whether to roll his eyes or once again, attempt to cheer up his grumpy sibling. Donovan seemed set on making the worst out of his situation, making his father the enemy rather than attempting to solve his problems. You see, Fulke had always been 'the logical one' between our two Brothers - even at the ripe young age of fourteen (that's mouse years!), he exhibited a knack, a forté for measured, extremely level-headed thought. This ran the risk, as it always does, of making him seem cold or detached; in reality, that was not true at all. Young Fulke empathized with his brother terribly; seeing him so distraught over his social ineptitude made him feel all the worse for being powerless to change it himself. And further, his brother thought he was taking their father's 'side', when really he was just trying to keep them all happy and find a middle ground. Always confrontational, always with the taking of sides...but such is the worldview of a teenager.

He let his tailtip touch the other mouse's, watching it pull away almost immediately. The younger mouse boy gave a frown and stood up, turning. "I'll be in my room if you decide you want to talk about it."

"Talk about what...?"

Fulke turned around, raising an eyebrow again. What did he mean, talk about what...? The thing they had been talking about the whole time! Foolish Brother. Fulke gave his own little sigh this time out of pure frustration, and moved to decisively explain to his brother.

"The fact that dad isn't trying to make you feel bad. He doesn't think you have to be like him either, Donny. He just wants you to go to school and do what you're supposed to, but instead of explaining to him what's happening and why you stayed home, you argued with him about it..." He said, his voice trailing off at the end of his sentence. He didn't want to risk actually angering his brother, and so found himself holding his tongue - he had wanted to really tear into him, tell him that he was acting like a brat - but that wouldn't do anything.

Donovan wouldn't have any of it, anyway. He groaned. "Whatever, Fulke...."

"So are you going tomorrow?"

"...I'll think about it."

"I'll tell mom if you don't." A cheeky grin.

"Like hell you will!" An evil glare.

Fulke gave a laugh at that, playfully punching his brother's shoulder before turning away and opening the door to his room once more. He turned and glances over his shoulder: "...but, really. I won't tell her, but you should go. Dad will find out if you don't anyways..." He said.

"Anyway," Don shot back, swinging his legs off his bed, peeling off his socks so he could let his feet rub up against the cool dirt floor. He reached over to the small oaken shelf beside his bed to retrieve the small but thick tome he had been perusing lately - the elder brother always had a fondness for reading both history and fantasy alike. This tome was bound and woven together with yarns of hemp twine twisted around one another and slipped through small holes that were made on the left side of the leaflets. Their Mother was a book-binder, though not by trade - she was taught first by her father, whose father was taught by his father, and so on. This, of course, meant that our two brother mice were very familiar with the process thanks to their maternal uncles, who carried on the family trade. It also afforded them the opportunity to read books that many other mammals hadn't. Fulke stared blankly as his brother started to read. Had he forgotten what he was going to say?

"Huh? Anyway what?" Fulke prodded, trying to figure out if his sibling had simply decided that what he had to say wasn't important, or if something else was wrong. He was so obtuse sometimes, Fulke thought.

"You said anyways. That's not a word," the elder brother said pointedly, eager as always to point out when someone else was wrong despite his own unwillingness to hear the same directed at him. His younger brother rolled his eyes.

"...Ugh. You're insufferable," was his reply, though there was a smile on his face. "...Anyway-" He began, correcting himself this time. "Get some sleep. We have school tomorrow, and we'll see if you can't just...I dunno. Make some friends? I'll even help ya," he tried - Donovan had some acquaintances, certainly, but he had no real close friends other than his brother and cousins. Fulke knew his advice was practically useless...and it wasn't that his brother was lacking charisma. He could be high-strung and emotional, though, and despite how outspoken he was, he had a hard time connecting with new people.

"...I'll try." He replied, glancing up from his book for only a split second. Fulke didn't really feel as if he had made him feel any better, but there was little left he could do that wouldn't irritate Donovan. So with that, he let himself out and closed the door behind him much less violently than his brother had minutes ago. He sighed - his chest felt a little heavy and he sympathized with Donovan, but at least he didn't feel sick. He thought he might have a headache now, though. The mouse hurried back to his own room, passing his parents' bedroom and through the den, into the kitchen where his father was still sitting. Mother mouse was nowhere in sight.

"Hey, Fulke. Is Donny okay?" He asked nonchalantly. Fulke felt rather upset - his father seemed a little cold about asking him, a certain aloofness in his voice that made the younger mouse think that he didn't really understand the way his first son felt at all. He nodded silently, before deciding to speak after a short pause - the little mouse had a terrible habit of that. 'That', of course, being those short pauses between or before sentences where he would think carefully about his responses.

"I think he'll be okay. Probably just wants some alone time," he said, hoping it would sound reasonable enough that his father would not pry deeper. Fulke was totally unlike his brother in demeanor and form, and his tendency to think before he spoke and look before he leapt was likely where he differed the most.

"Hmmm...well. If he wants to talk, he knows where to find me," was Father's reply, standing and approached the small fire pit beneath their chimney, where Fulke's porridge had been poured into a small bowl to be reheated. Fulke couldn't help but ruminate on the irony of the situation - Donovan thought that their Father didn't understand - and to be fair, maybe he didn't. Still, he hadn't tried talking out what ailed him with his paternal figure. Instead, his attempted 'discussions' were consigned to yelling. And yet, Father was open to listen and talk, or so he said. The whole thing frustrated Fulke, too - who was to blame? He shrugged, but the older mouse was facing away and didn't see it anyway.

"I'll let him know. I'm gonna go to bed - where's Mother?" he asked as he walked away, toward his room - it was on the exact opposite end of the dwelling from his brother's.

"Hm? Oh, I think she's out in the garden. She's bringing Uncle Eilert some fresh produce later this evening, or tomorrow," he said, moving towards the living-room, away from Fulke. The young mouse nodded - their oldest Uncle on their Mother's side was a kind-hearted gentlemouse for certain, and even better, he had introduced Fulke to someone very special.

I'll see you in the morning, Father. Love you," He said, trying to be gracious - he didn't want to seem like 'the good one' or otherwise make Donny look worse by being so courteous...that had been the source of many an argument between he and his brother of late as well. No, he just wanted his Father to feel a little more secure in his relationship with at least one of his sons. He saw the chubby old mouse crack a smile.

"...I love you too, kiddo. Now get that tail to bed. You got classes early." Fulke smiled - Donovan would have no doubt corrected their Father's grammar, but the younger brother was not so argumentative. Fulke nodded before slipping through the threshold into the hallway, turning right and into his room, closing the door behind him. The young mouse breathed a sigh of relief. It felt good to be alone after all of that.

Fulke hopped up onto his bed, a feather-stuffed mattress on a low-to-the-ground frame. He had topped it off more recently with another 'mattress' of sorts, an expensive cotton topper that made his bed far more soft and comfortable than previously. He peeled off his tunic, taking it up and over his head before carefully folding the garment back up and setting it on the small shelf adjacent his bed. His trousers were next, the mouse's nightly ritual finishing with his britches before he slipped under the covers. An unlit candle, ready for use was on the thing as well. He tossed and turned restlessly under the covers for a while - there was a lot on his mind, and he had big plans. He might not have been as smart as his brother, but Fulke was a clever boy nonetheless.

And like his brother, the young mouse also had a bit of mischievous streak.

It was an hour later when he finally heard the shutting of the door to his parents' room on the other side of their little home, his ears having been perked as he laid under the blankets, listening for that very sound. When he heard it, he immediately hopped up. His mother and father were in bed by now, no doubt. He tugged on his trousers but skipped his shirt for now, the brown-furred little mouse boy reaching for a candle from his night-stand. He tip-toed out of his room, turning the knob of his door so that it wouldn't latch loudly when he closed it.

He crept into the kitchen, moving softly and silently as he could, wishing they didn't have wooden floors in this part of the house. Every little creak of the floorboards beneath him made him wince as he bent down near the fireplace. The fire had been put out, but he was able to light his candle by putting the wick up against one of the still-hot coals tucked into the ashes. He smiled, satisfied as he moved to the door, unlatching it and pushing it open, closing it behind him and securing the outside latch so it wouldn't swing open. He was free!

The young mouse darted off into the dark, the sky grey-turning-black. The moon would be out and would help to light his path...and it wasn't too chilly, either. Everything was perfect. His heart pounded in his chest and his feet skittered on the ground, mind racing as he set off into the night.

---

((Whew! That was a lot for exposition. I know the autofellatio scene may seem a little added-in, but I wanted to show a bit of Donovan's sexuality while also adding a little bit of a tease. What did you guys think? And thank you very much for reading!! <3 -JO ))