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"Come on, Hector! You gotta help me! It's gotta be big...the biggest one yet." As Jouisse says this his index finger is poking incessantly at my shoulder, working toward a bruise. If he keeps that up, he's never going to get my help with his couch fort.

"Go help your brother," Dad says as he walks by with a basket full of dirty laundry. "You know he can't stack cushions as well as you."

Crossing my arms and pouting just enough to not seem petulant, I throw him a look that's melted his cold hard daddy heart more than a few times (and gotten me into his pants as well) but it bounces off some invisible force field of parenthood. "But I'm watching TV."

"Go on," he admonishes again. "We have DVR recording three shows, yours included. Back in my day you had to pick one to record onto a VHS tape."

"I know, Dad."

"So, go." He's smiling but I'm in no way off the hook. It's not like I don't want to play with the runt; I just wanted a half-hour in peace with my show. Well, I have a TV in my room anyway so I can pick up where I left off after bedtime or something. As long as I keep the door closed and the sound down no one's the wiser. It's a school night, but meh.

"Fine. C'mon, Jouisse," I grumble.

"Yay!" he shouts, way too loud for my ears. "We're gonna make it the best one ever!" He may be five, but he still toddles around when he runs. I can't remember ever having walked like that, but then again I can't remember a lot of stuff from my cubhood. Your mind starts going when you're thirteen, I tell you. It's all downhill from here.

The couch in the den is a convertible and not good for fort-making so we use the big one in the family room next door. By the time I join my little brother he's already jumped on and started flipping cushions to the floor. "C'mon c'mon c'mon!" he says each time he dethrones a cushion, and when he has a nice big pile he launches himself onto it face-first, glancing off to one side and rolling to a stop. Okay, I admit it. He's pretty cute.

I'm glad Dad didn't make me raise him myself. I mean, he's my son too, but it's kind of mind-blowing to think about. We still don't know if we'll ever tell him. If he takes after us, he might find it kinda hot.

As we put together the fort, I make sure to ask him questions about where which piece would work best and not take over the whole operation. I used to do it all myself but Dad told me Jouisse would never learn how to solve problems if I kept taking over. So I act merely as a builder, contracted out under my little brother's supervision. He takes such pride in figuring it out for himself, his little tail wagging, its white tip a blur. But when he realizes the walls are too far apart for our regular blanket, he starts sniffling.

"What now?" I ask, trying to sound concerned instead of impatient. His face is a study in pouty concentration, not crying but with extra-shiny eyes. He puts a paw on each knee, staring at the space between his splayed legs, a bulge of Pull-Up showing just beneath the hem of his shirt. It reminds me of my training days, though I was into undies by four and Jouisse is still teaching his bladder to behave. Sometimes I think he just likes wearing em.

"I dunno, Hector," he whimpers a little. He's looking at me for the solution but I'm not going to give it to him. I just grin my big-brother grin at him and he gives me his you're-a-meanie stare and crosses his arms and frowns but doesn't give up. He looks around, taking stock...and finally looks up. When his eyes get big and wide I know he's figured it out. "We need a pole! Do we have a pole?"

Smiling, I clasp my fingers and lean in a little. "We don't have any poles...exactly."

"Then we need a broom." He pauses. "Right?" I just shrug, and he takes this as his cue to scamper out from under the sagging blanket and tear claws across the carpet. I hear the sounds of rustling in the closet just off the kitchen, a clatter, more footfalls and then his head pops through between two cushions that form the "door" of the fort. Crawling awkwardly with our broom in one paw, he gets to the center of the space and shoves the handle end of the broom up into the blanket, effectively making a tent. He plops down and surveys his handiwork before looking at me with a pleased expression.

"Good job. I knew you could do it." He giggles and does a little butt-scoot dance over to me and throws his arms around my belly, and I can't help but scritch him between the ears. "Proud of you." He nearly wags me to the floor. Hugging me like he is has put his armpits in a vulnerable position, so I carefully move my paws until they're within prime tickling range. Then, I strike.

Jouisse squeals, trying to jerk away from my grasp, but my paws are bigger and I can hold him down while I torture him. In between fits of gasping he attempts to form words like "no" and "stop" but he can't quite find enough breath. This underhanded tactic--tickle so hard you can claim the ticklee never told you to stop--doesn't work most of the time under Dad's supervision, but I get away with it more than I should.

I'm not expecting to be kicked, though, and when he puts his feet up and pushes me away I roll to the side and almost hit the tent-pole broom. Suddenly he's on top of me, throwing futile punches at my stomach but making a fine effort. My arms are longer, though, and soon he's doubled over laughing and squirming again. His voice takes on an urgent tone but I keep going until his paws fall limp at my sides. He goes quiet. I stop to look into his twitching purple eyes...and then I feel it.

It starts as a minor vibration between my legs (and what thirteen-year-old can't feel that?). Then it's warm and then I hear the soft trickle. Jouisse grips me hard, claws on my skin, eyes open and shining and helplessly holding my gaze. I feel myself starting to bone up against his training pants and can't tell if it's from the temperature or the proximity or what. All I know is, I have to get out from under him. A roll to the side dumps him off me and I scramble back, pulling my jersey down to cover up the tent.

I realize the mistake I've made by reacting like that. Jouisse's paws clutch the bulge between his legs, unsuccessfully hiding the evidence. He sniffs again and stares at the floor, his tears falling from the sides of his eyes to drip onto the carpet.

"I'm sorry, okay?" I offer. "I didn't know you were gonna pee. Honest."

"You did too."

"No, Jouisse."

"Did too..."

I decide not to fight him, at least now while he's still upset. I reach out to him but he flinches into a tighter ball.

"Just go away." He means it. He may be five, but I know when it's useless. So I slink out of the fort, my boner gone, and pad upstairs.

I pass Dad and his basket of clean laundry he exchanged for the dirty stuff now in the dryer. "Hector, what's wrong?" he asks, stopping me in my tracks. It's fess up now or later, so I bite the bullet and tell him. I do honestly feel bad, but I didn't want to exacerbate it by trying to make up. Dad listens, nodding in all the right places, and when I'm done he puts down the basket and motions me to follow him into the master bedroom.

He sits on the bed and faces me, a configuration I remember well from many a night playing games after bedtime, but he's all serious now. "I thought we discussed this."

"But I helped him build the fort!" I start impetuously. "And I didn't even know tickling made him pee like that. Just at night, I thought."

"It never occurred to you that if he has a weak bladder, any stress could cause it?" No, it never did, and I feel chided for it. The possibility should have at least crossed my mind. Now I feel stupid, and rightfully so.

"Well, what do I do now? He's not talking to me."

Dad thinks for a bit, just long enough for me to get distracted by the bulge in his briefs. I'm used to it--and its contents--by now, but I can't help it. My sheath plumps right back up again. "I have an idea, and you don't get to say no."

Five minutes later I stop at the top of the stairs. Jouisse is still inside the fort; I can hear little noises coming from inside. Dad's paws fall to my shoulders and I sigh. Then one of them moves down to pat my rump, which crinkles in a humiliating way.

"This is so embarrassing," I whine.

"I don't think Jouisse will think so. He just wants to feel normal. This is a good way to help with that. Besides, I'll be down in a minute, so you won't be alone." He gently nudges my butt down one stair and I have my marching orders. I try tiptoeing to minimize the noise, and halfway down I look back up to plead once more, but he's already gone. Time to be a big brother, I guess. And I suppose it's not all bad. The soft padding inside feels pretty good on my still-plump sheath. Not like Jouisse'll notice under all the material.

The first thing I see when I peer through the cushions is the little guy still curled up in a ball (jeez, he's cute like that) and rocking slowly back and forth clutching his favorite Special Agent Oso plushie, the one he sleeps with every night. It's nearly as big as he is. The closer I get, though, the more I realize he isn't rocking as much as hunching up against the bear and making little whimpering sounds that definitely aren't from pain. I put a paw between my own legs and find a visible lump.

"Jouisse?" Thankfully he doesn't jerk away again, but just stops to open his eyes. "I'm sorry. I dunno what else I can say besides that." He searches my face for disingenuity while I try to adopt a front-down play-bow stance to make myself look less threatening. Next thing I know, he scampers across the small space and engulfs me in a hug, forcing me back on my haunches, but I gladly embrace him back. We crinkle together, the sound loud in this secret place.

"I hate it," he says into my neck, muffled by fur. "I hate it and I want it to go away." I hug him tighter, just so he knows I'm not going anywhere.

"I don't care. It's not that bad anyway," I say, choosing my next words carefully. "Can't be that horrible if you're not the only one." I pull away from the hug and watch him absorb that before looking around, his eyes going wide as dinner plates when he discovers I've traded my colored briefs for something else.

The first thing he does is poke me right in the bits, as if he can't believe I'm wearing what I'm wearing. Not a Pull-Up, not some middle-stage trainer, but a full-fledged diaper. Why Dad kept them he wouldn't tell, but he had to use packing tape to secure it around my waist. After all, I am a bit big for them.

"Whoa..." is all that comes out. If I tell him Dad made me do it Jouisse'll think I'm just trying to stay out of trouble. His little fingers stroke along the smooth surface, tracing a line out to the junction of my thigh where it gets paper-lacy. The soft pressure feels great on my trapped junk. "Where did you find it?"

I shrug. "Does it matter? Just wanted to show that you don't have to be a baby to wear one."

"You put it on for me?"

"Well...yeah, I guess." I'm not sure about the next part but I screw up my courage and hope for the best. "And...you can tickle me back, as much as you want. Fair's fair."

He narrows his eyes at me. "Did Daddy put you up to this?"

"Nuh-uh." I shake my head, and it's technically true. This part was all my idea. Raising my arms, I add, "Take your best shot."

I regret it almost immediately. Little fingers shoot up to my armpits and attack, quickly turning me into a writhing laughing mess. For the next few minutes it's all I can do to keep from kicking the broom and bringing down the whole fort. He pins me twice, and although I haven't wet the bed in years (haven't even had a wet dream) I'm starting to regret not hitting the bathroom before Dad lay me on his bed and downgraded my underwear. The added pressure of his body on mine doesn't help, and soon I'm gasping out "no" and "stop" just like he was.

"Nuh-uh!" he bellows, redoubling his efforts, fully engaged in my torture. Tongue stuck out between teeth, he's the world's most adorable sadist.

After some waiting I see my opening and roll us both over so now I'm straddling him with my arms out of reach. Jouisse sees this as an opportunity and switches to my inner thighs, an even more sensitive area. Trying to swat him away only gets my wrists held captive while his free paw does double-duty between my legs. A moment of panic seizes me when I realize my bladder can't hold out against this onslaught, sending a whimper out between my lips in place of a warning. He giggles at my desperation, unaware of my upcoming comeuppance. Trying to fight off the twinges ends up being too painful to bear, so I end up just letting go.

My whole body relaxes, just like Jouisse's did, the warmth blossoming from my sheath outward and down. It's a sensation I haven't felt in I don't know how long, and...well...it's not as bad as I feared leading up to it. In fact, it's remarkably comforting for some reason.

Jouisse stops tickling when he sees I've stopped resisting, and in the intervening silence we both prick our ears at the trickling. He looks down his chest at the growing stain between my legs, back up to my sheepish face, and back down again. Then he presses his paw flat against the material and pushes, squishing the already-soaked stuff around my junk. I can't suppress a moan, and we just sit there, as brothers, sharing a moment that should feel weird but ends up feeling pretty good, at least to me. I start to bone up as my stream peters out and I open my eyes to see him mouth a "wow" while he watches. And squeezes. He isn't helping things.

The warm envelope I've made withdraws a bit once the gel-things inside soak everything up but the comforting feeling remains. Jouisse's paw still kneads me, producing a decent bulge for him to explore. I can't move; it's as if I'm stuck. I don't much care to move anyway. But when I shift to feel him poking back, I can't help a grin.

"It's not so bad," he says with a lopsided grin. "I actually kinda like it."

"I think you're on to something," I reply, scooting so our soaked fronts touch, grinning between each other like a pair of conspirators. I bend down to touch noses with him, but somehow I end up with my tongue in his mouth. I feel him stiffen but melt into the kiss slowly once he figures out he likes it. And then I feel him REALLY stiffen.

After a couple of minutes swapping spit, I pull away; he looks very satisfied. He whispers another "wow" and wriggles excitedly. "That was neat, Hector. Where'd you learn to do that?"

As if on cue, Dad pokes his head in, unlit pipe between his teeth. "You boys behaving?"

Jouisse tries to scramble but I hold him in place. He seems to take the hint that we're not in trouble. "Mostly. Bein' a little naughty, but not misbehaving."

"Me an' Hector were doing kissing," my little brother proclaims. "With tongues."

Dad sends me a critical look. "Is that so?"

"I learned it from you, okay? I learned it from you," I quote the commercial with a shit-eating grin. "Anyway, we made up. And," I say, shoving up and away, "we had a couple accidents on purpose."

"Sorry, Daddy."

"Nah, that's fine," Dad says, bringing his legs underneath him, revealing much the same fashion as his sons. We both gawk at him, Jouisse more so because I'm already well-acquainted with what's underneath that diaper. "Didn't want you feeling left out, and I forgot I had some bigger ones lying around in the back of the closet."

"Why do you even have them?" I ask, clutching my soggy crotch.

"Because reasons," he deadpans back. "Sadly, I just went to the restroom, so I can't play along with that part. Looks like Jouisse has found a better use for Oso." He indicates off to my left and, lo and behold, damn if the little bugger isn't humping the stuffed bear while staring at Dad's crotch. "That feel good, son?"

"Yeah," Jouisse replies breathily. "It's suuuuper squishy now!" He clutches the toy close, a dopey grin on his muzzle and his tail all waggy.

"You do that often?" Dad asks.

Seeing nothing wrong with complete honesty, my little brother says, "Almost every day after you tuck me in. It makes me sparkly, and then it makes me real tired."

"Sparkles are good for that. Aren't they, Hector?" This is said with an unmistakably knowing look. Dad's version of "tucking me in" usually ends up with a dick in a butt, either mine or his. Butts are good for sparkles too.

"Yeah." Since Jouisse apparently thinks it's not gauche to hump a plushie in polite company, I press the wet material against my sheath, now fairly hard thanks to the conversation. It really is suuuuper squishy now. Actually, it's quite nice.

"Here, Hector. You might need this." Dad reaches through the "door" and comes back with two more stuffed animals. One is Brian, the other an original-looking Robin Hood. "You can't have a couch fort without some special friends, after all."

I take Brian and lean back against the couch to watch Jouisse switch to doggy style. Somehow he knows to hunch against the toy's rear, as if Oso magically comes to life every night after bedtime to help him get his sparkles. He casts Dad a guilty look, but Dad just sits there beside me and smiles. That's good enough permission for my little brother, so he goes all-out on the toy.

"Look at him go," I whisper, truly awed by the speed and frenzied motion. I couldn't do it like that when I was his age.

As if reading my mind, Dad says, "Don't ask me to go that fast next time. I'm liable to break a hip." That's when I feel his paw under my shirt, rubbing along the small of my back. "Don't you want to join? I bet it would be neat to share the moment."

Heat fills my cheek ruffs while a small shiver runs through my tail. "Wh-what about you?"

"I think I'll keep old Robin here company and just watch." He pats the toy by his foot. With an unusual hesitation (after you've fucked your dad you don't blush much anymore) I put the white dog against my groin, watching the legs splay apart around my covered dick, which has partially escaped and now rubs freely against the gel inside.

Jouisse giggles and I look up to see his eyes on my paw running the toy up and down, slowly but purposefully. I give him a smile, a token of approval, and he closes his eyes, grinning ear to ear and starting to pant. "Yeah. Yeah...yeah, yeah," he whispers at intervals. "Oh, yeeeeahhhh..."

I see no reason not to just finish myself off, but I'm not sure if I can get there without reaching into the diaper to get some flesh-on-flesh action. Jouisse is too quick for me, so I thrust once for every three of his. After a bit we're watching each other give ourselves pleasure and I feel real close to him...almost as close as when we kissed. It reminds me of my first...a lot of firsts, actually. The little guy is experiencing a lot right now, and I remember what that felt like.

Part of it is nostalgia, but part of it is also Dad's fingers working their way between my padding and the fur on my rump, following the curve of the cheek to the cleft where my hole twitches just like every time he gets near it. I can't help pushing back; it's pure reflex, and one at which I'm no novice.

"Can't...stop..." says my little brother, his hips a blur.

"Me neither," I reply. Dad's fingers are helping me along quite nicely.

Jouisse's face takes on a serious look. I know that look. I get that look when I'm pounding Dad's butt and I'm almost there but need to concentrate really really hard. One of Dad's fingers slides down to tease a claw at my tailhole and I jump a lot closer to the finish.

"Oooooh yeahhhhh," Jouisse moans airily before his hips get all wacky and he collapses forward onto Oso's back, grinding and grunting and sparkling his way through climax. He looks almost angry with his nose all scrunched up, before everything relaxes and he settles down, panting.

"Feel better?" Dad asks, slipping his claw in.

"Uh huh," Jouisse says into the carpet above Oso's head. "Tingly."

"Yeah, it gets that way. Hector?" Now his fingertip is pushing, trying to spread me open without lube. Not painful, but very sensitive. But it's getting the job done.

"Working on it."

"Jouisse, do you think you could come help your brother?"

"K!" Suddenly Jouisse is kneeling in front of me, not wiped out one little bit by his sparkles. Without being asked he presses his paw against mine, mashing Brian even harder into my crotch. My dick is surrounded by moist fur and it feels a lot better than it sounds.

"Try it without the toy," Dad suggests, and a second later his finger gains enough entrance to get past my ring. Each push sends me thrusting into Jouisse's little fingers, fingers that have curled around my padded shaft as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"C'mon, Hector," Jouisse commands. "Go sparkly."

"Yeah, son," Dad adds. "Get all the sparkles." It's too much for my poor horny brain to handle and I cry out a quick succession of barks as I thrust and throb and thrash about, bookended by naughty paws on either side. And it really does get sparkly, inside my eyelids, and the world fades away for a few precious seconds while I spooge the hell out of myself.

Dad's other paw is there to catch me so I don't tip over, and Jouisse's paw is there to...well, to explore my swollen member from outside its protective cover. I'm so blissed out that I don't even notice when Dad removes his finger. The next thing I notice is Dad asking if we want to order pizza for dinner, and I can only nod dumbly.

"You both could use a shower right about now, I think," he says over his shoulder. "I bet you can make it out by the time the pizza gets here. Sparkling always gets me hungry." He chuckles at Jouisse's word choice. But it is apt.

Jouisse's tail looks about to lift him skyward. "Yay baff!"

"Not bath. Shower," I remind him.

"Same difference," he retorts. "Scrub buddies?" He's trying hard to look at me without looking at my still-bulgey groin. It's been a few years since we took a bath together, and we've never shared a shower. After helping me get off, it probably doesn't make any difference now.

"Okay, scrub buddies."

"YAY!" he shouts, wriggling out of the fort. The sound of falling cushions perks my ears. I poke my head out to see a trail of pillows and cushions leading to the foot of the stairs. Jouisse is already halfway up. "You hafta use the rocks cuz the floor is hot lava. No cheating!" And, giggling up a storm, he races up to get the shower warmed for us.

I emerge from the blanket a bit sweaty, on shaky legs, and still a bit sparkly. But that's no excuse not to use the rocks so carefully set out before me.

Because the floor is hot lava, and one does not simply walk through hot lava.

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