"There is no other love like the love for a brother. There is no other love like the love from a brother."

The sky above the border collie was matte tan, strong and unbending steel, the sweat poured along his face, soaked his pelt. He hissed as a bead of sweat trickled into his right eye. He tossed his head to the side, grinding his palm into his eye. "Damnit all- " He grumbled, pulling his hand away. He'd failed to realize his palm was coated in a fine layer of dirt and grease, which he'd surely just smeared over his mug. He groaned out in discomfort. A sudden kick to his boot took him by surprise, he nearly slammed his head as he jerked it upward.

He pushed his hands against the steel wall above him, the wheels on the creeper he lay on creak softly. He could see a pair of legs- Someone was standing there, waiting for him. "Corporal Bennett. Let's go, c'mon." The collie sat himself up as soon as he had the clearance, he squinted as his eyes adjusted to the early morning sunlight that suddenly enveloped him, made him painfully aware of how hot it was now that he was relieved of the shade that working on the underside of his M1A2 brought. The brightness played well on his strong face, his lips were pulled tight and his pale blue eyes were almost as intense as his gaze.

The man before him, a shorter otter, flashed him a grin, shaking a handful of envelopes. He'd squat down, fingering through the envelopes. "Mail call, boy. Lessee here... Adams, Lee- Bennett. Here ya' go. I keep forgettin' your first name is Wyatt. You some kind of John Wayne cowboy back home?" He handed the letter off, a shiteating grin on his face as he held his hands up with his pointer finger and thumb held out like a pistol. The collie raised the corner of his upper lip at the feeling of sweat that had soaked into the paper. "That from the missus?" The otter inquired, wrestling the rest of the letters into the rear pocket of his coveralls.

"What- No. It's probably from my parents or-" He paused long enough to actually look at the writing on the envelope. Messy, definitely done by a younger hand- It was from his brother. "That'd be... Ezra. This is from Ezra, my lil' brother." The otter snorted, letting out an exaggerated grunt as he shot up to his feet. 

"His handwriting is shit." He'd laugh.

"He just turned 9, give the kid a break. Besides, you didn't learn to read and write until you joined the Army, right?" Wyatt grinned, as did his friend. He jabbed his pointer finger toward the canine. 

"Fuck you, man." He laughed, turning on his heels, though he'd stop in place, a thought crossing his mind. "Hey. First Lieutenant is doin' rounds, so... Try to look pretty for him, huh? I don't wanna sit through another uniform brief. And get your hair cut soon- Any longer and you're gonna start catchin' hell." Wyatt subconsciously brushed his hand through his tapered hair. By God, he was right.

Wyatt laid back down on the creeper and rolled back under the tank. He stared at the letter in his hand, holding it up away from his face for a moment before he retrieved his work knife from his coverall. The blade swung out with a distinct *Click!* and he weaseled it into the envelope, slicing it open with little effort. He'd work the letter itself free, folding the envelope in half over his finger, shoving it and his work knife back into his pocket.

It took him a moment to fully decipher what was written on the paper after he'd unfolded it, and the butterflies in his stomach flapped about. This was definitely Ezra's handwriting. Their parents must not have been home to help him write this time around.

"Dear Wyatt-
	Hi! I got your last letter, I wish you'd use the laptop you took more often though. Using Skype would be way better than doing this. Mom says writing letters is important. Mom also said you got a promotion? That's really cool! I bet you're like really important now. Dad finally got a new job, he helps build buildings now. That's really cool too. Did you hear about my team? We're one of the top teams in the state now! Your Army thing is supposed to be over soon, right? I miss you. Call me, big brother!

-Love, Ezra!"

Wyatt felt his heart flutter, and he'd laugh, folding the letter back over. His head rest back against the padding of the creeper and he closed his eyes, holding the letter against his lips and nose. He was counting the days down at this point. One more month. One more and he'd have his certificate and that sweet DD214. He'd be back home, see his parents, most importantly; see Ezra. He pushed the letter into his pec pocket and turned his attention back to the task at hand, his eyes focusing on the mud caked belly of the tank. His hand patted about... Where was it? His digits crawled over something warm, metal- That's where his grease gun had run off to. Wyatt grunted as he maneauvered himself further under the tank, wrestling the grease gun into place.

There was another kick at his boots an hour into his maintenance. His grease gun clattered to the floor and he shimmied his way out, staring up at the uniformed man before him- A German shepherd, tired eyed, roughly in his late 30s. He bounced his brows, staring at the comparitively greasy pup before him. "Corporal." He muttered. Wyatt pushed himself to his feet.

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"I take it the treads have been looked over, right? Greased? Ready to go?"

"Yessir. We could roll now, if we wanted. Engine's lithium greased and lookin' good too."

The Sergeant laughed, nodding as he took a few steps to the side, inspecting the left set of treads. "Sharp, driver." He glanced up at the collie. "Maybe a bit heavy on the tread lube, though. You know the DoD probably pays out the nose for this stuff. You know how Uncle Sam feels about waste."

"You mean his love/hate relationship with it? Loves doing it, hates seeing it done?"

The shepherd snorted, walking back around. "So... Bennett. Word on the street is that you're not planning to reup after your contract ends? You really leaving me? You're one of the better drivers this platoon has."

Wyatt paused. His thumb brushed over the pointer finger of his right hand, and he grumbled lightly under his breath. "Sergeant, I did my four years already and-"

"And they were great. Are you really telling me you don't like it here in Afghanistan? Like, to my face? What am I supposed to do without my hot shit driver?"

Wyatt simply bounced his brows, chuckling. "Something like that, yes." It was funny for a moment. And then he rolled his shoulders, shrugging. "I like to think I've gone and fulfilled my obligations. I earned my way out. I wanna see my family without there being six to eight month pauses between." He stopped. "Besides... Bein' crammed in the Abrams for 36 hours on security details fuckin' SUCKS. You can't tell me I'm wrong neither. I get back in the civilian world, there'll be no more pissin' in bottles and shittin' in old MRE bags ever."

The Sergeant shuffled over, nudging Wyatt to the side as he took a space to lean himself into the tank. "You're gonna miss it. Eventually. You're gonna come back, boy."

"No. No." Wyatt clasped his hands over his ears. "Don't fuckin' say thaaaaaaaaat." He groaned aloud. With a laugh, the shepherd waved him on. "If you're wrapped up, go get cleaned off. Get some grub, take a break."

"Yessir." Wyatt snapped off a quick salute, hustling out of the maintenance bay.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Night came quick enough, quicker than he expected. Midnight had rolled around, and the barrack was unusually sparse. Wyatt wrestled his boots and fatigues off, crawling into his cot. He stared at the cheap pre-fab ceiling for a few minutes before he rolled to his side, opening his footlocker to retrieve the cheap, paycard flip phone he brought with him on deployment. Flipping it open, he winced at the brightness of the screen, thumbing through the contacts. 'Home'. That's the one he was looking for. He pressed the call button, a crude vector of an old house phone bounced from side to side on the screen before it flashed, displaying ticking numbers. A voice rang from the phone.

"Is that -my- pup finally calling his mother?" Laughter came from the phone, a deep feminine voice. "Hello Wyatt! How are you, baby? Are they treating you alright over there? How are the tanks?"

"Hey Ma. They're uh. Alright? The natives are restless as always. The tanks are still tanks. Still cramped. Our loader busted his chin open on Monday, but. Otherwise, same old same old. I can't wait to get home though, like... You have no idea, Ma."

Another laugh. "I've got plenty an idea, baby. It'll be great to have my oldest pup back home. You know, your father got his welding certs finally. And Ezra got this huge trophy for his room. He's been so proud of it. Hell, he almost talks about the thing as much as he talks about you."

Wyatt laughed softly, a far cry from his mother's raucous laughter. "That's great to hear. I can't wait to get back to you guys." He paused, allowing her to talk longer, catch him up on everything. Eventually he'd pipe back up. "Hey Ma? Is Ezra home? Mind passing the phone off to him?"

"Of course, baby."  Wyatt held the phone away from his flickering ear as the speaker exploded with the sound of rustling, the sound of young hands trying to hold the latest, massive smart phone. The voice of a young boy came loud over the speaker. "Wyatt? Hi, hi! When do you come home?" The sound of his little feet pattering across the kitchen floor resonated through the phone, as did the sound of their mother yelling for her phone back.

"Ah, hey buddy. I'll be home in a few weeks. How've you been?" He murmured. Hearing his little brother's voice brought a certain warmth to his stomach, and invigorated the butterflies in it.

"Good! Our team made state! You're gonna be back before I start school in August, right?"

"Yeah, buddy. We'll have the rest of June and July to hang out." Wyatt clasped his palm over the reciever of the phone as Ezra jabbered away. He rolled onto his side, hugging his pillow against his torso. He'd wrap an arm about it, clasping his legs about the pillow. He hugged it for dear life as he listened to his little brother excitedly talk his head off. 

He talked about starting a new grade soon and growing up. The longer he talked, the stranger Wyatt felt. His heart swelled but his stomach sank. He dug his fingers into the pillow. As Ezra began to go on about starting his new soccer season and how warm it was getting, Wyatt felt an odd pang, an overwhelming feeling began to tug at him. He dealt with another eternity of this before he spoke up again.

"Hey, lil' brother. Listen, I ah..." He sighed. "I need to get some rest, buddy. Big day tomorrow. I'll call you again soon though, alright?" Another pause, and then came a whine from over the phone.

"Alright, Wyatt. Love you, big brother."

"...Love you too, lil' guy."

he pulled the phone away from his face, he grumbled, thumb hovering over the disconnect button. For whatever reason, he hesitated until the line hung up from the other end. Snapping the phone shut, the border collie pulled his pillow free and rolled onto his back, slamming his head down against the pillow. That feeling still ate at his insides. It was a nagging, deep sensation. 

He closed his eyes, mulling over what Ezra had yammered on about. He thought about his brother playing soccer, getting to sit in during one of his games. He was a talented midfielder. He thought about the agile young pup dashing about, controlling the ball, passing it about. He imagined himself cheering, how his brother's team won their game and how his brother ran to him for a hug. He thought about the boy's damp pelt, the smell of sweat and budding musk on his fur. His athletic form...

Wyatt groaned uncomfortably to the empty barracks as he opened his eyes, gingerly pushing his sheets down just under his thighs. The off green fabric of his issue briefs hugged against not only his natural bulge, but the growing form staging itself there. He huffed, biting at his lower lip as he took a quick glance toward the barracks door. He had time, he thought, he could pull this off.

The border collie pulled the hem of his under shirt up above his abs. He stared intently at the bulge as he slithered his hand into the fly of his briefs, uttering a soft grunt as he pulled himself free of the bottoms. His plump, low hanging orbs spilled out against his inner thighs, and his eyes immediately caught the angry red of half a tubesteak jutting from his thick, swollen sheath.

Wyatt shuddered as he brushed his fingers over the slick, hot flesh, exhaling in response. The more he touched, the more he spurned himself on. More and more with every stroke, every touch and brush of his fingers. Soon enough he found himself at full mast, he'd gently wince with each strong throb that pulsed through his cock, made the slab bounce. His fingers slowly curled about the base and he'd begin to stroke.

Wyatt let his thoughts return to his brother. Kissing him, undressing him... A warm bead drooled against the webbing of his thumb, dribbled onto the pelt of his abdomen. Was he leaking already? It hadn't been more than 5 minutes of touching himself yet. "Fuck..." He groaned, tucking his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before it popped free.

His left hand dropped down, cupping his hefty, damp sack, fingers fluttering, making his orbs roll about in his palm. He'd squeeze now and then, grunting softly in response. The fingers of his right hand stopped occasionally, tips tracing over the beginnings of his knot starting to balloon at his base. "Man. Already...?" He grumbled.

He groaned softly with each stroke. His need was palpable, his body rather honest about his need judging by the ache that coursed through his manhood with each throb and the way it drooled against his digits. The underside of his hand and pinky slapped against an ever growing bulb, occasionally he'd loosen his grip, swallowing his knot with his hand in order to squeeze it. His hips rocked, tugging his knot against the tight grasp he had on it.

His tongue drew over his lips and he closed his eyes again. His broad chest heaved with each heated pant. He imagined the tight grasp and tugging as though it were Ezra. As though he had just knotted his baby brother. The idea was enough to send him over the edge. Wyatt's abdominal muscles tightened, and he'd loose a heated, indulgant groan as his cock twitched, squirting a copious helping of puppy batter across his stomach and chest, completely rendering pulling his shirt up to be useless. Thick ropes of rich, white seed decorated his lower stomach and OD green top. His lips pursed tightly, his nose crinkling at the sudden feeling of something hot, wet and thick splattering against his chin and lower lip.

Wyatt tossed his head back against the pillow again. His maw hung open as he panted, tongue loling freely from his muzzle. He exhaled, long and loud, squeezing his eyes shut while he'd attempt to regain his breath. "God, Ezra.. "