Dragoncrest Cliffs You're wanted coast to coast

Sobo was not as relentlessly hungry as his blood-brother, but one wouldn't know it from the way he constantly hung off a teat. More often than not, the boy was simply sleeping with it in his mouth, cradling it between his gums for the comfort it offered rather than the food. If Erzulie was away or her teats weren't in reach, the boy would find some other object to occupy his mouth. Sometimes this was his own paw. Sometimes it was his siblings' various appendages.

Today it was @Loko's hind foot that he sought, wrapping his lips around first the toes, then inching seal-like forward to seemingly swallow the entire foot into his wet mouth. Sobo was a large boy with a large maw, and his brother and sisters were smaller; what might have gagged them had little effect on him. With Loko's paw jammed firmly into his cheeks, the boy sagged and began to suck, hard.

Not for sustenance. He wasn't hungry. Merely for comfort.

He was the sort of sound sleeper who could sleep with his arse above his head and his limbs in a tangle. There seemed no position or circumstance that could stop the second-born from passing out after drinking himself stupid. Nothing except... that. That wet, squeezing, persistent weirdness that had engulfed his foot.

Loko awoke with a snotty snort. Instinctively, he tugged and twitched, but his paw was trapped, and somewhere in his puppy brain an alarm started to squeal. Loko squealed too—a sharp note of outrage. How dare thee, assailaint. Blind, deaf, and dumb, he contorted himself around to gum at the thing that was holding him captive from going nowhere at all.

Gum gum gum. Tug tug tug. His pudgy brother wouldn't budgy and Loko's noises became more noisy.

STAHP.

Loko stirred. Sobo felt it in the sudden jerk of the foot in his mouth, prompting him to latch down harder. There were no teeth there, but that didn't mean he couldn't exert some mild crushing force with his slick gums. Not enough for any sort of lasting damage, of course, but enough to hurt some.

It wasn't intentional, you understand. He couldn't hear Loko's squealed protests, nor did Sobo possess any sense of right or wrong. It was somewhat ironic that the older they got, the more this dynamic would flip around on its head, with Loko destined to be the one on top and Sobo, the submissive. Only time would tell where Merlin's two children might fit alongside Njord's. All four bore Erzulie's blood; all four would find ferocity in their own way, but Sobo, well, he was expending it all in these early days.

Abruptly, Loko's foot went far enough into Sobo's greedy gullet that the toes touched his uvula. The force of Sobo's gag made him rapidly recoil from Loko, chubby belly gurgling ominously while saliva filled his mouth. Two seconds later, he projectile vomited on his brother's backside.

But there was no stahp.

Not even his nasally squawks summoned the omnipotent assistance he was accustomed to receiving whenever he found himself in a predicament he couldn't navigate. But the spirits were on his side—all at once his foot was spat back out.

That he was then spat up on went almost without registration. He felt it of course. It was wet. It was hot. It seeped down to his skin. But there was nothing in Loko's head to signal to him what to do about it or even if he should care. So, he just kind-of-sort-of lifted his head and bobbed his blunt little snout around for a moment. If the small squeak he made was to take a physical form, it would appear as a '?'. Soon followed by the ellipsis of flat-lined brain activity.

It was back to regular scheduling for him. Loko crawled toward his brother, shoved his head under Sobo's chin, and kept trying to crawl further. His stubby paws scraped fruitlessly in the dirt in the manner of a turtle with its nose butted up against some rock while its pea-brain tried to figure out if it could move it, get under it, or crawl over it—ever animated but getting no where fast.

Loko's obliviousness would have been a blessing to Sobo, who was not only wholly aware of how terrible his tummy felt now, but also awash in the sour milk stench of his own sick. Ordinarily, another attempt to grab his sibling's wayward foot would follow, or maybe an interested sniff at the odorous mess, but all Sobo wanted to do now that he'd associated the feeling with the smell was get the hell away.

Alas, pudgy puppy bodies were not made for backing up and he did not come equipped with a suitable alarm for the ungainly attempt he made. It ultimately didn't matter that he tried. His brother followed him and rammed himself up against Sobo's tiny chest and neck, prompting the fat boy to drop all his weight forward in an effort to squish the smelly mass under him.

Hrrrrnnggghh.

Squished. He was squished. His small world had become even smaller. Loko didn't mind being somewhere near the bottom of a puppy pile but this felt entirely wrong and uncomfortable. His face was just too smothered.

He snorted and snotted all over his brother until his tireless worming and squirming succeeded and his nose popped out between a couple of legs. There it sucked in a big breath and sighed, and there the pup ceased his fussing.

His weighted Sobo-blanket might not approve, but he was fine here.

Sobo met every kick and wiggle with an unhappy grunt. He hated that he had to keep readjusting his weight to remain balanced on his brother's body, but he did it anyway. The smell was less intense this way. That was more than enough reason for him to maintain his higher ground.

Relief for Loko came in the form of a gasp of breath, and for Sobo, it came in the form of stillness. His fat melted in and around his lankier sibling's crevices until at last the boy was slack-jawed and quietly snoring with Loko tucked beneath him like some cherished teddy bear.

Loko slept, and life was good.