The clouds hung heavy over the swamp, still raining off and on, soaking the brothers as they worked. Jermaine, Kendrick, and Terrence were shirtless, their skin slick with rain and sweat, muscles flexing as they hammered loose nails back into the sagging porch. The wood groaned under their weight, splintered and warped from years of rain and neglect. Jermaine’s arms swung in wide, careless arcs, his laughter loud as he missed the nail and hit his thumb instead. “Shit!” He sucked the throbbing digit into his mouth, grinning around it. “Ain’t my fault this wood softer than Bryce’s ego.”

Kendrick, crouched beside him, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of dirt. “Man, you wildin’. Terrence, tell this nigga to focus before he break his whole hand.” Terrence didn’t answer, just grunted and yanked a rusted nail free with his teeth before spitting it into his palm. His jaw was tight, his movements sharp—still pissed about Bryce dipping earlier, leaving them to handle the storm’s aftermath alone.

Jermaine’s tall dark, wiry frame glistened under the clouds, the muscles in his arms and back shifting as he worked. The thick outline of his flaccid dick swayed slightly with each movement, the loose foreskin peeking out from the leg hole. He didn’t bother adjusting it. Why would he? Ain’t nobody here but his brothers, and they’d seen it all before.

Kendrick’s stomach growled, loud enough to cut through the hum of cicadas. He pressed a hand to his bare stomach, his own ribs visible under his smooth, dark brown skin. “Ayo, I’m starvin’. We ain’t ate since yesterday.”

Terrence finally looked up, his dark eyes scanning the sky like he could will food out of the clouds. “We ain’t got shit in the shack but them damn green beans and half a loaf of moldy bread.” 

Jermaine tossed his hammer aside and stretched, his back popping. “Man, fuck this porch. Let’s go fishin’. Rain just stopped—swamp’s full, fish gonna be jumpin’ in the buckets.” He didn’t wait for an answer, already stepping off the porch and selecting the fishing poles on the side of the house.

Kendrick didn’t need convincing. He was already on his feet, adjusting the waistband of his shorts. “Bet. I ain’t tryna be out here fixin’ shit on an empty stomach.” He followed Jermaine down the path, his own bare feet slapping against the damp earth.

Terrence hesitated, his gaze lingering on the half-fixed porch. But his stomach growled too, and he knew Jermaine was right. Food came first. Always. He grabbed the rusted fishing poles leaning against the shack and the dented buckets they used for bait. “Aight. But we ain’t wastin’ all day. We need to get this shit done before dark.”

The path to the swamp was slick, the mud sucking at their feet with every step. The air smelled like wet earth and rotting leaves, the scent thick enough to taste. Jermaine walked backward for a bit, grinning at his brothers. “Y’all see how Bryce dipped? Man act like he too good for this life.” He shook his head, his wild afro bouncing. “That nigga gon’ learn one day. Ghost ain’t gon’ keep lettin’ him crash forever.”

Kendrick snorted. “Man, Bryce ain’t learnin’ shit. That boy got a one-track mind—pussy, clothes, and lookin’ pretty. In that order.”

“And food,” Jermaine added, “‘cause he sure as hell ain’t eatin’ with us.”

Terrence’s jaw clenched. “He ain’t shit. Selfish ass nigga.”

Jermaine waved a hand. “Nah, he just young. Hell, I was worse at his age. Remember when I used to sneak out every night, leavin’ y’all to do all the work?”

“Yeah, and we still do,” Terrence muttered.

Jermaine laughed, but then his face twisted. “Ayo, hold up. I gotta piss.” He didn’t slow down, just turned, unbuckled his shorts, and pulled his dick out right there on the path. It hung heavy between his legs, dark and thick even soft—six inches of smooth, uncut flesh, the foreskin loose, the head just peeking out. He didn’t bother stepping off the path. Just planted his feet, aimed at a patch of mud, and let go with a sigh. The stream hit the ground with a soft hiss, steam rising slightly in the humid air.

Kendrick didn’t miss a beat. He turned, pulled his own dick out through the top of his boxers. It was shorter than Jermaine’s, the circumcised head already glistening. He aimed beside Jermaine’s stream, the two of them pissing in sync like it was some kind of contest. “Bet I can draw a better design than you,” Kendrick challenged, flicking his hips to make his stream zigzag in the mud.

Jermaine scoffed. “Man, your dick too small to draw shit.” But he tried anyway, twisting his hips to carve a wobbly J in the dirt. His dick twitched in his grip, the loose skin shifting as he moved. “See? Art.”

Kendrick’s stream faltered as he laughed. “That look like a damn worm, bruh.”

“Nah, that’s a masterpiece,” Jermaine shot back, shaking off the last drops before tucking himself back in—no wipe, no shame. Kendrick did the same, his dick already retreating into his boxers.

Terrence walked ahead, pretending not to notice, but the corner of his mouth twitched. He wasn’t about to pull his out just to join in, but he couldn’t deny the relief of hearing them laugh. Even if it was over piss.

The fishing dock was just a few rickety planks nailed to some rotting posts, jutting out over the murky water. The brothers flipped their buckets upside down and sat, their bare feet dangling over the edge. The water below was still, the surface broken only by the occasional ripple of a fish or the lazy drift of a water bug.Terrence set up on the dock while Jermaine and Kendrick went down to the bank.

Jermaine knelt in the mud, his fingers sinking into the damp earth as he dug for worms. The cool, slick dirt squished between his knuckles, and his dick twitched in response, already half-hard from the way his shorts rode up. “Ayo, Kendrick, you remember that time Lamar tried to eat a worm raw?”

Kendrick burst out laughing. “Man, that nigga was hungry hungry. Swore it was protein.”

“Shit was wild,” Jermaine said, placing a fat worm into the bait bucket. “Terrence damn near beat his ass,” Jermaine said as he pulled his dick out a hole in his shorts. Fuck. His breath hitched as he begin to stroke his dick using the slick mud.

Kendrick crouched beside kneeled behind him, poking at the mud with fingers. “Ayo, you find any yet?”

“Yeah, I just pulled out a huge worm wanna see?” Jermaine muttered, his voice rough. His fingers kept moving, rubbing slow circles as he long stroked the shaft of his dick, the friction sending a jolt up his spine.

Kendrick glanced over—and sighed. “Man, what you doing?” He didn’t even sound surprised, just tired, like this was the third time today. “You supposed to be diggin’ for worms not playin’ with yours?”

Jermaine didn’t stop. “What? I’m multitaskin’, got worms in the bucket already.” His grip tightened, his arm moving in short, rough jerks.

Kendrick rolled his eyes. “Bro, we about to fish. Don’t bust in the water we fishin’ in.”

“Bro chill I’m a sharpshooter’,” Jermaine shot back, his hips lifting slightly. “You see that rock over there, Watch this,” he said as he stroked his dick faster.

“Man, I ain’ t watchin’ nothing. You get any on me and we throwin hands.” Kendrick responds back.

Jermaine came with a groan, his cum shot in the air landing on the rock, he pointed at. “Told you I got aim.”

Kendrick dug out a handful of mud with worms, then looked at Jermaine and said, “Yeah, aim like a blind man with a water hose.” He shook his head. “Now wash your hands before you touch my pole.”

Jermaine wiped his hand on the grass, smirking. then tucked his dick back in, the wet spot darkening his shorts. 

Kendrick side-eyed him. “Then don’t eat till we get back.” He shook his head. “Man, you worse than Bryce.”

Jermaine grinned, finally gathering a group of worms. “Nah, he’s an imitation. I’m the original.”

For a while, they fished in silence, the only sounds the occasional splash of a fish breaking the surface and the creak of the dock under their weight. Jermaine glanced at his brothers. Kendrick was leaning back, his eyes half-lidded. Terrence sat rigid, his pole gripped tight, his mind clearly still on Bryce.

“You still mad at Bryce?” Jermaine asked, baiting another hook.

Terrence’s grip tightened. “Nah. I’m done with Bryce. That nigga don’t care about nobody but himself.”

Jermaine shrugged. “He just goin’ through it. Hell, remember when I was his age? I was a horny little whore, too.”

“You still a horny whore,” Kendrick cut in.

“Facts,” Jermaine admitted, grinning. “But Bryce different. He don’t care about people. He just care ‘bout what they can do for him.”

Terrence scoffed. “And you did?”

“Nah, but I liked people,” Jermaine said. “I just liked pussy more.”

Kendrick barked a laugh. “Man, you love pussy. Shit’s your whole personality.”

“And?” Jermaine spread his hands. “At least I’m honest. Bryce out here manipulatin’ girls just to crash on their couch. That’s weak.”

Kendrick’s line twitched. He yanked it up, but it was just a leaf. “Speakin’ of weak, you think Deon gay?”

Jermaine blinked. “The fuck?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Kendrick said, recasting his line. “Nigga always smilin’, always happy. You know them gay niggas be like that.”

Jermaine burst out laughing. “Man, Deon ain’t gay. That boy got more pussy than you and Terrence combined.”

“I get mine in,” Terrence muttered.

“Oh yeah?” Jermaine leaned in, grinning. “When’s the last time you hit, big bro? You still fuckin’ that friend with benefits?”

Terrence shot him a look. “That’s my business.”

“Nah, nah, we need details,” Kendrick pressed. “I think you gettin the same action Lamar is gettin,”

“None,” Jermaine yelled out laughing. “That nigga asexual or somethin’. Never see him with nobody.”

“Or maybe he just don’t flaunt it like you,” Terrence said.

“Or maybe he can’t flaunt it,” Kendrick joked. “You ever see his dick, Jermaine? Bet it’s like a groundhog peeking out to see if it’s 6 more months of winter.”

Jermaine howled. “Man, Lamar’s dick disappears when it’s soft. Like a damn turtle.”

Terrence finally cracked a smile. “Y’all wild. Lamar ain’t gay, he just quiet. And why ya’ll talkin’ about niggas dicks anyway?”

“Cuz girls act all innocent but they do anything for money and dick,” Jermaine snaps back.

“And you lucky you got that monster,” Kendrick shot back. “Shit’s the only reason girls tolerate your ass.”

Jermaine clutched his chest, mock-offended. “You hurtin’ my feelings, Kendrick.”

“Nah, I’m just keepin’ it real,” Kendrick said. “You ever think about what would happen if you didn’t have that dick? You think girls would still mess with you? I don’t have an issue pullin girls but they flock to you.”

Jermaine opened his mouth to retort, but Terrence’s pole bent suddenly, the line taut. “Got one!” He yanked back, but the fish fought, dragging the hook sideways. The line snagged on something—crack—and Terrence cursed. “Shit, it’s stuck!”

Jermaine didn’t hesitate. He kicked off his shorts, his dick swinging free and dove into the water with a splash. The murky liquid closed over his head, cool and thick. He surfaced with a gasp, shaking the water from his afro. “Where it at?”

“Under that branch!” Terrence pointed.

Jermaine swam over, his dark body cutting through the water like a knife. He ducked under, his hands groping blindly until his fingers closed around the thrashing fish. He surfaced with it gripped tight, water streaming down his face. “Gotchu!” He grabbed the fish with both hands but it was slippery. He manages to get a lipgrip on the fish and raise him up in the air. “I got ’em,” he yelled out while he and Deon do a celebratory dance. 

Jermaine, still naked, started doing the dick sling motion which angered Terrence, “Aye, don’t be doin’ that with our food,” Terrence said yelling at Jermaine. Jermaine put the fish in the bucket butTerrence had enough. He lunged, shoving Jermaine back into the water. Jermaine came up splashing, laughing, and then all three of them were in, wrestling, dunking each other, the fish forgotten for a moment. The water was cool against their hot skin, the mud slick under their feet. They laughed, rough and loud, the sound echoing over the swamp.

For a little while, everything was simple.

By the time they got back to the shack, the sun was setting, dipping low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple. They gutted the fish on the porch, their hands slick with scales and blood. 

Inside, the propane stove hissed as Terrence fried the fillets in a dented pan, the scent of sizzling meat making their stomachs growl.

Kendrick opened the can of green beans and placed them into a bowl while Jermaine pulled out the moldy slices of bread while saving the slices that looked ok.

They sat at the table, Jermaine took the first bite, burning his tongue but not caring. “Damn. We ate.”

Kendrick grabbed a piece, blowing on it. “Terrence, you ever think Deon is gay?”

Terrence paused, a fillet halfway to his mouth. “Nah. Deon just… Deon.”

Jermaine shrugged. “If he is, he is. Ain’t my business.”

“But if he was,” Kendrick pressed, “you think he’d tell us?”

Terrence chewed slowly. “Nah. He knows I’ll beat his ass. He’d take that shit to the grave.”

Jermaine licked his fingers. “See, we brothers, we shouldn’t have to be fake with each other. I ain’t gonna ever be fake, especially with my family.”

“I know one thing them lil niggas out there running the neighborhood. We need to get out and hit the club up,” Kendrick said loudly.

“Club 23A, I’m with it!” Jermaine responded.

And just like that, they ate at the table. The fish was good with green beans and bread. Their bellies were full as they sat on the couch and enjoyed each other’s company.

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