The stolen stash

by BRK

 Brothers Ron and Don break into a certain house normally occupied by a couple of pizza hunks and their friends, just for fun—and then things take an interesting turn when they find the occupants’ massive stash of highly unusual cannabis.

Added: Feb 2023 2,601 words 1,421 views 4.5 stars (2 votes) This story was commissioned via Patreon Vignette Party.


Ron watched his kid brother disappear through the moonlit ground-floor window and grimaced. “This is a mistake,” he muttered, but he hoisted himself easily up onto the sill and boosted himself into the darkened room beyond. Don was waiting for him in the gloom, crouched a few feet away, though there was only enough light for Ron to make out the silhouette of his rangy, college-jock form and, most distinctively, the pile of thick, dark curls he kept in a supremely messy faux-hawk. As his eyes adjusted he caught Don’s grin, and his heart sank a little. His bro was a little too keen on this pretend-urbex-slash-casual-burglary thing he’d gotten himself into, and his decision to tag along on his irrepressible brother’s cross-country pattern of illicit behavior to keep him out of trouble was feeling more and more suspect. Don’s cheery insistence that they were breaking into houses just to “explore, like those YouTube guys” was undermined partly by the fact that they weren’t filming any of it, which Ron was sure was half the point of urbex, and mostly that the places they were “exploring” weren’t abandoned sanitariums or crumbling churches but normal upscale houses that people actually lived in. But if they did it the usual way, then Don wouldn’t be able to lift odd possession here and there just for the thrill of it.

Ron looked uneasily around the space they’d dropped into. Some kind of rec room, maybe, by the look of it—he could make out the shape of a pool table, at least, off to his right, a rack of cues mounted on the wall beyond. To his left were a bunch of big comfy couches and love seats, with lots of oversized cushions strewn about between them. Ron frowned. There was something deeply lived-in about this place, like it retained the energy and vibrancy of the people who lived there. “You sure no one’s here?” he hissed at Don.

He thought he could feel Don rolling his eyes more than he could actually see it. “I told you, I’ve been casing the place for a week,” his brother whispered back calmly. “They’re all at that wedding in town. We’re good, bro.”

Ron felt a strange warmth slither up his spine at this mention of the house’s delectably brawny occupants. Don had related his intel regarding the crowd of impressively oversized hotties who lived here excitedly and at some length—apparently they had quite a local reputation, most of the town being more or less gaga for them. It was two of their own number who were getting hitched. Actually he thought Don had said he’d heard four of them were getting married. Must be some kind of double wedding, he thought.

Ron didn’t normally go for the big hulking boulder-shoulder types, preferring tight swimmer’s builds like—well, like his own, mainly, honed and cut as it was from daily runs and long hours doing laps. And Don’s, though Don was a bit hairier than he liked. But all the talk about the locally famous pizza hunks and their equally upsized housemates and the way the townsfolk seemed to fawn over them made Ron weirdly self-conscious to be in their home, and in an oddly sexual way. It didn’t help at all that the air in this place was permeated through and through with the smell of some seriously intense cannabis. The redolence was strong enough he was already feeling pleasantly light-headed just from being inside the building. He sighed. He was such a pushover for weed, and it always made him horny as fuck. His black cottony shirt felt tight across his chest, inviting his attention and tactile appreciation, and he had to fist his hands to keep them from straying upwards and getting up to any self-worshipping mischief.

This was definitely a mistake, he thought, as he sucked in more of the dope-tainted air through his nostrils.

He was about to suggest they turn back, but Don was suddenly at the doorway like he’d time-jumped there, still slightly crouched and beckoning to him eagerly. Ron blinked. Fuck, they must do a lot of weed in this house if he was already losing track of sequential time.

“C’mon!” Don whispered, before disappearing down the shadowed hall beyond the open doorway. Ron straightened and reluctantly followed, surreptitiously adjusting his already rock-hard erection as he did so.

The house was sprawling. It turned out to be a lot bigger seeming than it seemed to be from the outside, filled with room after room decked out with oversized furniture and pervasive signs that the inhabitants knew how to entertain themselves. He wasn’t sure Don was as conscious as he was of the none-too-subtle aroma of pot (mixed here and there with an enticing undercurrent of spunk and sweat)—at least, not until his bro seemed to follow the increasingly strong scent into the house’s cannabis treasury: a huge upstairs bedroom given over to heavy, old-fashioned bureaus that reeked of weed even before they started pulling open the deep, square drawers and found they all contained bag after bag of premium-quality hash in dozens of specialized strains. Even in their sealed containers they were having an effect on Ron, and that was with his horniness already having been building to stupefying heights the whole time they’d been wandering the house. As soon as Don saw what they’d uncovered and turned to him with a stunning grin that shot straight into Ron’s nuts and made his hard-on pulse with interest, he knew he was a goner, even before they found the drawer full of bongs.

“Don’t,” Ron urged, his voice sounding weirdly rough in his own ears. He leaned over his kneeling brother as he rifled excitedly through the equipment, close enough he could feel the warmth from his gently-flared back. Unable to help himself, he dropped a hand on his brother’s shoulder, the contact forcing a tremor of pleasure all the way through him.

Don grinned impishly up at him, his dark eyebrows and bright eyes making him look like all kinds of trouble. “Don’t what?” he asked not-so-innocently. He’d selected a couple of bongs and was already moving on to the bottom drawers of the main stash, the ones that seemed to hold the most select packages of the strange and cryptically-named strains. He pulled out a few that looked promising and moved everything to a sturdy oak table nearby where he set down a couple of blows and started making two mixtures of weed, using some of the varieties for the first and others for the second. Ron guessed he wanted them both to have different experiences, because they could—those three words being more or less Don’s motto.

Ron stood very close behind him, jittery with need, his firm pecs lightly brushing his brother’s warm shoulder-blades. “Dude, we should go,” Ron said, knowing it was futile to even say so. His attention was on Don’s neck, anyway, and how close it was to his lips. If he bent down just a few inches…

“Relax,” Don said easily as he worked. “You worry too much.”

You should be more like me,” Ron said.

Don chuckled. “No objections there, apart from the nagging,” he said. “You going to help or what?”

A few moments later found them ensconced in an oversized comfy chair in the corner of the room together, smoking the pilfered weed they’d found in their borrowed paraphernalia. The chair was just big enough for the two of them two comfortably wedge themselves in hip to hip, their legs and flanks pressed firmly together. After a few seconds’ awkwardness jostling their gym-thickened shoulders, Ron just slipped his torso slightly behind Don’s and wrapped his right arm loosely around his brother’s neck, trailing his forearm down his muscular chest. Don settled contentedly in against him, sliding his stocking foot along Ron’s. Ron was so turned on at this point, he thought his fat iron rod of a dick was in danger of ripping free from his jeans. He tried keeping his thoughts neutral as he breathed in the powerful fumes and held them in as long as he could, his brain clouding by the second. The whole house and everything around them seemed fluid and unsubstantial, unlike his hard-bodied scamp of a brother.

What had he been thinking about? Fixing his brother. He wondered what he would do if he really could change his brother and make him better. As the high-intensity weed went to his head and filled the corners and crannies of his body and existence, the idea of revising Don into a more viable version of himself seemed more and more perfectly normal and plausible. He tried giving it serious thought. There had been something about Don being more responsible; but then, he wasn’t sure that was right—if Don were more responsible then they wouldn’t be here, doing this, feeling this. Anyway, all Ron could think about was their bodies and their muscles and whether Don was as hard and turned on as he was.

He snuggled closer, eliciting a few happy hums from Don, and took another seriously potent hit. He wondered a little why he couldn’t quite think straight, and whether he cared much about that. Twisted and curlicued thinking sounded more fun anyway.

An inspiration struck him—he could just ask Don. “What would you do to me, if you could change me?” he murmured in his brother’s ear. The idea of Don changing him unexpectedly appealed to him, sending a shudder of arousal through his already teeming body, but he did his best to ignore it and listen to his brother’s suggestions.

Don laughed as he leaned cozily into him, as if he’d said something really funny. “You’re always running everywhere,” he said, “running, going for runs…” He trailed off, and Ron nibbled his ear playfully to prompt him. “Oh yeah,” Don said, laughing again. “So, yeah, you should have, like, three legs, so you can run even more.”

Ron laughed too, not just because it was funny but because he was already so stoned that Don saying he should have three legs, speaking the words but also saying them in a different way that wasn’t words… anyway, Don saying it seemed like it had twisted the actual taffy-fabric of reality in just the right way that he actually felt like he’d grown an extra leg next to the two he already had. He knew it was just the weed, but it was funny to think it was real.

He draped his extra right leg over his brother’s left leg. That made Don giggle. “See?” he said proudly, his vowels sounding extra-long for some reason. “Looks exactly right on you.”

“Then you should have three legs too,” Ron said, glad he hadn’t lost all of his logic in the soaring, disconnected high that had saturated his brain. The room pulsed and twisted slowly around them. Everything was like taffy, especially him and his brother. “We should be alike in All Things.”

“Absolutely,” Don affirmed. He tried putting his middle leg over Ron’s right leg, which was draped over Don’s left leg. He couldn’t quite manage it, so he settled for dropping his hand onto Ron’s thigh and running it slowing up and down. “Ron and Don sounds like twins anyway.”

“Right?” Ron said. He couldn’t remember how many teachers and camp counsellors and whatnot had assumed that brothers named Ron and Don must be twins, and there was always confusion when it turned out they weren’t. It’d be simpler if they just went with the twin thing. “We should always both look exactly the same,” he said firmly, and took another long, heady toke.

“Exactly the same,” Don agreed. “Except I get to keep my chest hair,” he amended.

“Nope.” Ron shot that right down. “No chest hair. We’re much hotter without it. Mucho sexy.” He laughed as a new thought struck him. Now he wouldn’t need a mirror to get turned on—he could just look at his brother! So much easier.

“And you get to keep having the smaller dick,” teased Don. He reached back with the hand he was using to stroke Ron’s thigh and squeezed Ron’s sizable left-crotch boner hard through his pants. His right-crotch boner flexed in sympathy.

Ron moaned inwardly, delighting in the touch. “No, we both have your big, hard, footlong dick,” he said. He didn’t have a free hand to reach for Don’s impressive boner, which was par for the course—he’d seen it a few times but had never had it in his hand. If they both had Don’s dick, at least he’d be able to touch it sometimes. “We should have more arms, too,” he said, because it made sense that they should have the arms they needed to feel each other’s fat, ruler-busting dicks and cuddle and hold their bongs all the same time, and Don hummed his agreement. Wait, Don’s wasn’t actually a foot long, was it? No harm in rounding up, though.

Don had returned his hand to Ron’s thigh, which felt like a shame. No, wait, he was still squeezing Ron’s dick. Oh, right, the extra hands. Awesome. He found a free hand he hadn’t had before and stared feeling up the tight, rippling abs that Don had, exactly like of his own, as he toked again. “Okay,” Don said, concentrating hard to get the complicated idea out, “how about, we keep your footlong and my footlong and we both have both dicks in both crotches.” He giggled and added, “Because we’re three legged so we both have two crotches!”

“Like I didn’t know that!” Ron laughed, and blew a raspberry against Don’s neck in punishment. Don giggled harder and turned his sweetly handsome face toward him, eyes shining. He really does look exactly like me, Ron thought gleefully, and in that moment the idea of Don looking exactly like him made him completely irresistible, so of course he smashed his own mouth over his brother’s. Don kept giggling into the kiss, which made it even messier, and that was kind of hot, too, like they couldn’t control their giddy, giggling passion.

The next few hours were a delirious blur. They lost their clothes at some point, which was fine, and then they were on the thick, snuggly rug in front of the chair instead of in it, which worked out well because Don wanted to see how many of Ron’s cocks he could make cum and Ron wanted to do the same to him, and eventually they were floating curled up together after a whole slew of amazing orgasms, Ron feeling like he and Don were kind of sharing their two amazing, identical bodies. He wasn’t sure how that would work, exactly, but he also couldn’t imagine a better fate.

Eventually they were discovered, and all sorts of life-changing things happened as they found a new home and a new family made up of a muscular, sex-loving cadre of very loving, very playful, large-than-life guys who’d discovered all the joys of a certain brand of rare, specialty cannabis and what becomes possible once you’ve had your share of it… but that’s a story for another time.


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