Court of Conquest: A Deadly Game
By: Mikolai
The basketball bounced twice before going back up against Damien’s head. He caught it with one hand, spinning it effortlessly on his fingertip, his fur slightly damp from the midday heat. A breeze brought the smell of freshly cut grass from the large lawn beyond the court, blending with the sharp scent of sweat on their fur. The sun was high overhead, bleaching the concrete nearly white, while only thin, wispy clouds dared to block its bright glare.

Alex, the twin otter boy, wiped his forehead with his forearm, puffing slightly as he leaned forward, paws resting on his knees. His tail hung limp behind him from exhaustion. Damien grinned, swinging the ball like a pendulum, his tail twitching in amusement. "Are you going to stand there panting all day, or do you actually want to try scoring?" he asked, dribbling the ball once with a hard impact that echoed off the high walls of the court. "Seriously, are you even awake? Or did you forget we’re playing?"

Alex glared and pushed himself up from his knees with a grunt. His fur was ruffled by the humidity, sweat soaking his whole body. "Shut up," he muttered, flipping off his twin brother. "You know I hate basketball. You always choose sports when it’s your turn." He already sensed the sting of impending defeat in his chest, bitter and familiar. But it wasn’t just about losing; it was Damien’s smirk, the way his ears perked up as if he’d already won before the game even started.

Damien snorted, executing a quick crossover that sent the ball snapping between his paws. "Oh, cry me a river," he said, rolling his eyes. "You always pick quizzes and nerd shit when it’s your turn. Remember last week? ‘Name every capital in Europe? Really? You wiped the floor with me. And I didn’t bitch. I took it like a man. You fuck me afterwards, calling me a dumbass, and then slit my throat for your experiment." He punctuated the last word with a sudden fake-out drive, laughing when Alex stumbled back, paws flailing. The ball thudded against the concrete as Damien pivoted, effortlessly sinking another shot. The net barely even swayed.

"That was twenty-seven to three," Damien announced, catching the ball as it dropped through the hoop. He tossed it lazily from paw to paw, pacing a slow circle around Alex like a shark. "And let’s be honest, those three points were charity. Like, actual mercy. I could’ve shut you out completely, but I didn’t, because I’m nice." He flashed his teeth in a grin that was all sharp edges. "You’re welcome." The breeze ruffled his fur, carrying with it the distant hum of a lawnmower somewhere on the estate. The scent of sun-warmed pavement clung to the air, thick and resinous.

Alex exhaled through his nose, shoulders slumping. "Fine. Whatever." He jabbed a finger at Damien’s chest, claws barely retracted. "But next time, I’m picking something you actually suck at. Like, I dunno, emotional vulnerability." He turned on his heel, tail flicking in irritation as he stalked off the court, his sneakers scuffing against the concrete.

Damien bounced the ball one last time before tucking it under his arm, trotting after his brother with an obnoxious spring in his step. "Ohhh, scary," he said, kicking at a loose pebble. It skittered ahead, vanishing into the manicured hedges lining the path to the mansion. "But hey, at least this time I’m not the one getting dissected, huh? Small mercies." He grinned, flashing canines. "Though honestly? Your scalpels freak me out more than your trivia."

Alex didn’t answer, just shoved open the heavy French doors with more force than necessary. The cool air inside hit them in a rush, smelling faintly of lemon polish and the expensive cedar panels lining the hallway. Damien kicked off his sneakers by the antique umbrella stand and Alex's shoes, ignoring the way their housekeeper would sigh later, and padded up the grand staircase after Alex, his claws clicking against the marble steps. "Seriously though," he pressed, bounding ahead to walk backwards in front of his brother, "what’re you gonna pick next? Competitive knitting? Underwater basket weaving?"

Alex pushed past him, shoulders tense, but Damien noticed a brief flicker of calculation—the way his pupils dilated for a moment before he masked his expression with indifference. That was the thing about Alex: he always had a plan, even in defeat.

The twins’ bets had become a ritual by now, forming a lopsided tower of Damien’s athletic wins and Alex’s narrow trivia victories. But trivia was too easy to dispute ("Oslo wasn’t Norway’s capital in 1814!"), and Damien had started memorizing flags just to spite him. Last month’s hangman disaster still stung. Alex had picked "Sixth Sense," and Damien guessed it while Alex almost got to see his brother be hanged naked. No, this next bet had to be foolproof—something with rules so precise there was no room for interpretation, and numbers so perfect there was no debate.

As Damien’s bedroom door clicked shut behind them, Alex finally eased his retreat. The air conditioning prickled against his damp fur, causing goosebumps on his arms. He saw Damien toss the basketball onto the top shelf of his walk-in closet—next to the lacrosse stick he’d used to humiliate Alex last spring—and then quickly pull his sweat-drenched jersey over his head. The fabric peeled away with a sticky sound, revealing the lean, muscular build of someone who spends more time in the gym than in a library. It was frustrating how easily he made everything look.

Alex hesitated, his claws catching on the hem of his own shirt before peeling it off with less grace. The cool air stung where sweat had matted his fur into clumps, and he resisted the urge to shake himself like a dog just to spite Damien’s perfect posture. Soon, both boys were naked. It was nothing new for these twin boys. 

The basketball rolled off the shelf when Damien pawed through the clutter in his closet, landing with a dull thud beside a coiled length of rope—thick, braided, the kind you’d tie a boat to a dock with. Alex’s stomach lurched. "Oh, hell no," he said, backing toward the door. "We’re not doing this again."

Damien emerged with the rope slung over one shoulder and a wooden chair gripped in his other paw, its legs scraping against the hardwood as he dragged it to the center of the room. Sunlight caught the dust motes swirling around him, turning them into flecks of gold. "Relax," he said, tail flicking. "It’s not like last time." But the gleam in his eyes said otherwise.

Alex’s ears flattened against his skull. His pulse hammered against his throat—right where the rope would go. "Bullshit," he hissed. "You say that every time. And then I wake up with claw marks on my neck and you grinning like you won the fucking lottery." His paws clenched at his sides. He could still feel the ghost of hemp fibers biting into his fur, the dizzying blackout rush when Damien’s grip tightened just a little too long.

Damien dropped the chair with a thunk in the center of the room and dropped the rope by the chair. "Yeah, well," he said, flashing teeth, "maybe don’t make ‘hanging’ the fucking prize next time if you don’t want me getting ideas." He said as he went to his desk to grab a knife. "Besides," Damien added, tilting his head, "you’re the one who left me tied up for three hours after that anatomy pop quiz before you came back to fuck me and then smother me with a pillow till I died. Pretty sure my wrists still have grooves."

The knife flashed in the sunlight as Damien sliced through the rope with one clean motion, dividing it into two uneven lengths. The fibers let out a dry, fibrous sigh as they parted. Alex tensed, ears flicking backward as he watched his brother put the knife back. Damien tossed one piece aside and coiled the other around his fist, stepping close enough that Alex could smell the salt on his fur, the lingering bite of sunscreen, and something sharper underneath—adrenaline, maybe, or just the musk of competition.

Alex’s breath hitched as Damien grabbed his wrists, twisting them behind his back with practiced efficiency. The rope bit into his fur immediately, rough and unyielding, and Damien’s paws worked quickly, looping and knotting with the same fluid precision he used on the court. Alex gritted his teeth, tail lashing once, but before he could snap an insult, Damien’s muzzle was against his—warm, insistent, as the boys kiss each other.

The kiss was all teeth and tongue, messy and familiar, and Alex melted into it despite himself. Their tails tangled together instinctively, and Damien’s free paw slid down the dip of Alex’s spine, claws dragging lightly over sweat-damp fur. Alex groaned into his brother’s mouth, biting Damien’s lower lip hard enough to taste copper. Damien just laughed low in his throat, nipping back before pulling away just far enough to whisper, "Still think I suck at kissing?" His breath was hot against Alex’s whiskers.

Alex’s cheeks burned hotter than the sun outside. He could feel Damien’s erection pressing insistently against his thigh, while his own matched it—aching and stupidly eager. The rope cutting into his wrists was tight enough to restrain him but loose enough to shift if he wanted. He didn’t. Not yet. "Your technique’s decent," Alex muttered, tilting his head to expose his neck. Damien’s tongue traced the pulse beneath his jaw in response to the invitation. "For a jock," Alex added, his breath hitching as Damien’s teeth grazed his throat.

Damien chuckled, the sound vibrating against Alex’s skin. "Decent? That’s rich." He pulled back just enough to meet Alex’s gaze, pupils blown wide with hunger. His claws trailed down Alex’s chest, teasing a nipple into a stiff peak. "Especially coming from the guy who came untouched last time I tied him up." He leaned in, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Alex’s collarbone. "So," he murmured against his brother’s fur, "you ready to die yet? Or do I gotta work harder?" His paw slid lower, palming Alex's erection. "Because I’ll fuck your corpse so good you’ll wake up just to cum again."

Alex chuckled sharply, breathless, and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Just remind mom to revive me in a couple of hours." He leaned into Damien’s touch, tail flicking. "I have that advanced chem test tomorrow, and my forgetful self always overlooks glycolysis." His voice quivered as Damien’s claws brushed the sensitive skin at the base of his shaft. "And—fuck—please try not to leave marks this time? Last revival was delayed because you gnawed through my femoral artery." The boys walk toward the chair.

"Please," Damien snorted, steering Alex backward until the back of his knees hit the chair’s edge. The wood creaked under his weight as he sat, the rope around his wrists pulling taut against the chair’s slats. "Mom is used to it by now." He leaned down, nipping the shell of Alex’s ear. "Besides, she’ll be home late. Work meeting." His lips curled against Alex’s fur. "Which means…" He trailed off, paw sliding up Alex’s thigh.

Alex’s breath hitched as Damien’s fingers ghosted over the coiled rope abandoned on the floor. The fibers rasped against hardwood as Damien dragged it closer, eyes gleaming with that predatory focus Alex recognized from the court.

"Easy," Damien murmured, circling behind him. The rope whispered against Alex’s collarbone, a serpentine caress before settling heavy and rough around his throat. Alex swallowed reflexively, the movement making the hemp bite deeper. Damien’s paws bracketed his neck, thumbs pressing just under his jaw—not tight enough to hurt, just enough to make his pulse jump. The scent of sunbaked rope filled Alex’s nose, earthy and dry, mingling with Damien’s sweat-damp fur.

"Final words?" Damien teased, breath hot against the back of Alex’s ear. His claws pricked at the delicate skin beneath the rope. "Better make them good. Last chance to admit I’m the superior twin." The tension in the rope fluctuated with each word, like a noose testing its weight.

Alex exhaled—slow, deliberate—letting the pressure sink into his throat before speaking. His voice came out rough, half-choked. "You… win this round." A pause, then a smirk cracked through the strain. "But next time?" His claws dug into his hands. "I’m gonna drown you in formaldehyde and mount your stupid smirk on my dissection tray." The threat dissolved into a gasp as Damien abruptly laughed.

Damien leaned in close, his lips brushing Alex’s twitching ear. "Looking forward to it," he said with a teasing tone, the warmth contrasting with Alex’s sweaty fur. Without warning, he tightened his grip, causing the rope to dig in, the hemp fibers scraping against his windpipe. Alex’s body jerked sharply, paws scrabbling desperately behind him. His tail thrashed a few times before stiffening against the seat. He struggled for air, each breath ragged and useless, whistling faintly through his pinched nostrils.

Their musk permeated the air—salt, musk, and a darker aroma. Damien’s erection pushed firmly against Alex’s back. He rolled his hips forward, grinding while Alex’s legs spasmed, feet knocking against the hardwood. The chair rocked violently. A muffled sound escaped Alex’s throat—part choke, part moan—as his own arousal pressed obscenely against his belly as he struggles.

Damien’s rhythm was methodical: a slow tightening, easing just enough for Alex to wheeze in a desperate gulp, then crushing again. His elbows were touching the back of the chair where he anchored himself. The rope creaked, fibers fraying against fur. Drool slicked Alex’s chin, his tongue lolling slightly as his pupils blew wide, black swallowing green.

His hips jerked involuntarily, thighs trembling. His cock leaked pre-cum as the semen landed on the boy's leg and the floor. The scent was thick and musky. Damien inhaled sharply against his brother’s nape, nibbling the damp fur there. "Fuck," he muttered. "You look sexy when you're dying." He punctuated it with another yank.

Alex’s vision tunneled, darkening at the edges like ink bleeding through wet paper. His lungs burned, screaming for air that wouldn’t come. But beneath the panic, beneath the white-hot pain of his body rebelling, was the undeniable heat pooling low in his gut. Every jerk of Damien’s hips against him sent sparks up his spine. He was dying, and all he could think about was how fucking good Damien smelled pressed up against him. Plus, how he wanted to cum so badly.

Damien tightened the rope again, twisting it just so—the way he knew made Alex’s toes curl. The hemp dug into Alex’s windpipe, pressing his neck so tight that Damian could see it digging deep in the boy’s neck. His chest heaved uselessly, his paws clenched behind him. The pressure built—not just in his throat, but lower, deeper—until his cock twitched violently, untouched and desperate. His tail thrashed once, twice, then stiffened as his body arched off the chair, hips bucking wildly. A hoarse cry tore free as he came in thick, spurting ropes—white stripes painting his stomach, the chair, the floor in a sticky mess. His orgasm ripped through him, violent and consuming, just as the last dregs of oxygen fled his brain.

Damien watched Alex’s cock twitch through the aftershocks, his own erection pressing painfully against his brother's back. He loosened the rope slightly—just enough for Alex to wheeze in a ragged gasp—before tightening it again, harder this time. But something primal surged in him then, something darker than competition, sharper than sibling rivalry. Their father’s voice echoed in his skull—cold, clinical—as his paws slid from the rope to cradle Alex’s jaw. "Twist fast," he’d said, demonstrating on a training dummy. "Like you mean it."

Alex’s eyes widened, almost pleading, before Damien wrenched his head sideways. The crack was louder than he expected, a sickening pop of cartilage and bone. Alex’s body convulsed violently, legs kicking out as his spine arched in one final, desperate spasm. His cock pulsed again, spilling another pathetic dribble of cum onto his already-stained fur. Damien held him through it, paws steady on either side of his brother’s face, watching as Alex’s pupils dilated into black voids.

Then silence. Alex went slack, his head lolling grotesquely to one side, tongue protruding slightly between parted lips. His tail, which had been twitching erratically against the chair, fell still. Damien exhaled, loosening his grip. The rope slid from Alex’s throat, leaving behind a deep, furrowed groove in his damp fur. The scent of semen and sweat hung thick in the air, mingling with the coppery tang of blood, just a trickle from where Alex had bitten his own tongue.

Damien waited, counting the seconds in his head. Sixty. One full minute for the corpse to settle. He watched the last tremors fade from Alex’s limbs, the way his paws were now still bound behind the boy's back, slowly unclenched. The boy's cock, half-hard and glistening with his own release, twitched once more before finally going limp against his thigh.

With a grunt, Damien hauled Alex’s body upright, adjusting the slumped posture until the boy sat almost properly in the chair. The head lolled unnaturally to one side, neck bent at that wrong angle, but Damien ignored it. He knelt instead, paws sliding up the inside of Alex’s thighs, claws catching on damp fur. The scent was thick here—salt and musk and something faintly metallic. Damien’s tongue darted out, tracing the curve of his brother’s hip before dipping lower.

Alex’s cock was still warm against his tongue, the taste of semen sharp and bitter. Damien sucked lightly, coaxing out the last remnants of cum, his own tail twitching as the flavor flooded his mouth. The body didn’t react, of course—limp and pliant as a ragdoll—but Damien smirked around the softening length anyway. "Tastes like defeat," he murmured, pulling back just enough to wipe his muzzle with the back of his paw. The words clung to the stillness of the room, too loud in the absence of Alex’s usual snark.

He straightened up, stretching his arms above his head until his spine popped. The afternoon sunlight had shifted, casting long amber stripes across the hardwood floor, while dust motes floated lazily between them. Damien moved barefoot to his dresser, nudging a pile of lacrosse gear with his foot as he searched through the top drawer. His claws caught on a half-full bottle, its label peeling, and he yanked it free with a flourish, the thick liquid sloshing inside.

Alex’s corpse slumped forward with a dull thud when Damien shoved it from behind, the rope around his wrists tightening as the deadweight dragged him to the floor. His tail curled awkwardly against his thigh, and his head lolled sideways at an unnatural angle, cheek pressed to the polished wood. His ass stuck up in the air—practically an invitation—and Damien hummed as he unscrewed the cap, the scent of industrial-grade lube sharp and chemical in the air.

The bottle gushed more than poured, thick liquid splattering over his cock in gloopy strands that clung to his fur. Damien tossed the bottle over his shoulder without looking; it bounced off the bedframe with a plastic clatter. Kneeling behind his brother, he gripped Alex’s hips, claws sinking into plush flesh as he dragged them backward, aligning his cock with the boy’s ass. The lube smeared between them, cold at first, then warming as Damien ground forward experimentally, smushing his erection against Alex’s entrance. The body didn’t resist—didn’t clench or protest—but Damien still exhaled through his nose, his tail flicking once in anticipation.

He pushed in slowly, savoring the unnatural tightness of a corpse that hadn’t relaxed into it. There was no give, just the steady, unyielding pressure of muscle and sinew yielding to his intrusion. Alex’s body rocked limply with each thrust, his head lolling grotesquely against the hardwood floor, tongue lolling out between slack jaws. Damien’s breath hitched as he bottomed out, hips flush against his brother’s ass, the heat of the boy’s insides clinging to him in a way that made his claws flex involuntarily. "Fuck," he muttered, rolling his hips experimentally. "Still warm." His voice sounded rougher than he’d intended, edged with something darker than arousal.

The scent of lube and sweat mingled with the coppery undertones of death, thick enough to taste. Damien inhaled sharply, tail lashing as he pulled halfway out before slamming back in. The wet slap of flesh against flesh echoed in the stillness of the room, punctuated by the creak of the rope binding Alex’s wrists. His brother’s body jerked forward with the force of it, the boy's limp cock bouncing pathetically against his thigh, still glistening with spent cum. Damien’s pace quickened, each thrust driving Alex’s face harder against the floor, his muzzle scraping wood with a sound like sandpaper. He could feel the tension coiling low in his gut already—too soon, too fast—but the sight of his brother’s lifeless form taking it, the way his tail twitched involuntarily with each impact, was too much. He dug his claws deeper into Alex’s hips, sure to leave bruises that wouldn’t matter in an hour.

A groan tore from his throat as he fucked into the clenching heat, the drag almost painful without Alex’s usual squirming. Something primal unraveled in him, something that reveled in the stillness, the utter dominance of pistoning into a corpse that couldn’t fight back. His vision blurred at the edges, thoughts narrowing to the rhythm of his hips and the obscene sound of lube-slick skin. The rope around Alex’s wrists groaned under the strain, fibers fraying as Damien’s thrusts grew erratic. He reached forward, gripping a fistful of Alex’s scruff, yanking his head back until the broken neck strained at an even more grotesque angle. The vertebrae ground together audibly, and Damien came with a choked snarl, hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt. Hot cum flooded Alex’s insides, the excess dribbling out around where their bodies joined, thick and pearlescent against the boy’s thighs.

For a full minute, Damien stayed like that—panting, trembling—as his orgasm subsided. The room smelled of sex and death, the musk cloying in his nostrils. Finally, with a grunt, he let Alex’s head drop. It hit the hardwood with a hollow thud, tongue lolling onto the floorboards in a wet slap. Damien exhaled through his nose, watching the slow drip of his own release leak from Alex’s abused hole. His softening cock slipped free with a wet pop, semen pooling beneath them in sticky strings. He wiped his muzzle with the back of his paw, tasting salt and something metallic—probably blood from where he’d bitten his own lip.

Standing, tail flicking lazily, Damien admired his handiwork: Alex’s crumpled form, the rope marks stark against his fur, the unnatural angle of his neck. The thrill of victory curled in his gut, warm and familiar, mingling pleasantly with post-coital lethargy. He padded to his closet, grabbed a towel off a hook, and wiped himself down with rough, efficient strokes. The fabric rasped against his softening cock, the sting a muted echo of earlier intensity. He tossed the towel onto Alex’s back—let the corpse deal with it during revival—just as his phone buzzed violently against his desk, skittering toward the edge with each insistent vibration.

The desk was a shrine to excess: a curved monitor stretching like a predator’s grin, RGB lights pulsing beneath the keyboard in seizure-inducing patterns, and a custom PC tower with liquid cooling that gurgled ominously. Perched atop it all, dwarfed by the tech, was a battered hamster plushie missing one eye and most of its stuffing. Damien scooped the phone up mid-buzz, swiping to answer with one claw-tipped thumb. "Sup." as Damien sits down in his nice chair.

"Yo, asshole," chirped a voice like a blender full of gravel and energy drinks. The screen flickered to life, revealing a canine squinting through thick, smudged glasses—Jaxon, 14, chronically online, and currently stuffing his muzzle with what appeared to be an entire family-size bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. Crumbs cascaded down his wrinkled chest as he leaned in. "You logging on or what? Squad’s waiting to get carried."

Damien blinked, then snorted, paw rubbing under his nose. "Shit. Forgot." He glanced over his shoulder at Alex’s corpse, legs splayed obscenely, cum still glistening in his fur. "Got... distracted."

Jaxon’s ear twitched on screen. "Dude. What the fuck? Stop fucking around and get your dumbass online!" He shoved another fistful of Cheetos into his maw, orange dust smearing his muzzle like war paint.

Damien’s grin widened as he adjusted his headset when he put it on his head, the leather squeaking under his claws. "Yeah, yeah. But first—tomorrow. Homework and studying at your house tomorrow." His tail flicked toward Alex’s cooling corpse, one paw absently scratching his own balls. "Price of my genius? I get to wreck that tight little doggy ass of yours."

Jaxon choked on a Cheeto, the crunch echoing through the headset’s mic as orange powder puffed from his nostrils. "Bruh," he wheezed, slapping his desk hard enough to make the screen shake. "You wish. Like I’d let a trash-tier Silver near my—" Damien cut him off with a middle finger salute, already clicking the game launcher open. The login screen bathed the room in neon blue, casting Alex’s limp form in an eerie glow.

"Uh-huh," Damien drawled, stretching his arms behind his head until his elbows popped. "Keep talking shit. Bet your asshole clenches just thinking about it." He smirked as Jaxon’s tail bristled on screen, the canine’s ears flattening.

Jaxon shoved another handful of Cheetos into his mouth, crunching loudly. "Fuck you," he muttered, orange dust puffing from his nostrils. "Fine. You help my dumbass pass chem, and maybe—maybe—I’ll let you tap this premium doggy ass." He slapped his thigh for emphasis, the sound muffled by sweatpants.

Damien barked a laugh, adjusting his headset. "Deal." His tail thumped against his chair as the game loaded, neon lights from the screen reflecting in his pupils. Behind him, Alex’s corpse lay sprawled in a drying puddle of cum and lube, one paw twitching involuntarily for a second before staying still. Damien didn’t glance back as he ended the call on his cellphone. Then he joins his friends in the game.

The lobby music blared through his headphones, a bass-heavy track with screeching synths. Jaxon’s voice crackled in and out, already mid-rant. "—swear to god, if Marco steals my drops again, I’m gonna shove his controller up his—" Damien snorted, tapping his claws on the desk. "Relax, mutt. Just follow my lead." The game’s countdown flashed on the screen, and Damien leaned forward, licking his lips to wet them.

Behind him, Alex’s corpse twitched—just once—a full-body spasm that sent his tail slapping against the hardwood. Damien didn’t notice. He was too busy headshotting a sniper three maps over, his crosshair flicking with predatory precision. "Gotcha," he murmured, grinning as the kill notification popped up. The enemy’s death scream echoed through his headset, drowning out the wet drip of lube and semen sliding off Alex’s abused butthole to the floor.