Sabbatical

Sobriety

"Goddammit, Wurlitz, that's the fourth time today!"

Samael glanced up with a half-grin as Nelson skidded into his quarters and flung aside the pink curtains, filling the rocky archway with her enormous frame. He seemed oblivious to her infuriated snarl even as it threatened to immolate the room and everything in it, replying only with a sugary smile while continuing to rub the towel against the damp fur on his neck. His eyes gleamed mischievously as he flicked his tail and sent a thin spray of water across his floor, the line of droplets landing dangerously close to Nelson's toe-claws.

She squinted at him, her glower never once leaving his cheery features despite the fact he didn't bother to cover up, leaving his drenched, nude body free for all of Sidewinder to enjoy. Samael supposed her tastes meant she wouldn't be interested though, even without the consideration of their odd sergeant-soldier-slash-handler-spy-slash-surrogate-mother-son relationship.

Still kind of impressive that those sharp green eyes didn't even twitch downward.

"Hey now, ain't my fault that we built our li'l rebel hideout on top'a Honkal's magical hot springs! An' it's my duty to make sure our folks learn 'bout all the ins 'n outs of our base," Samael replied smoothly, his teeth glinting as brightly as the crimson piercings in the warm shaft of light that carved through his room. "I ain't nothin' but Sidewinder's humble host, here to make everyone feel at home," he added with a sweeping bow.

"'Sidewinder's humble whore' is more accurate, and it's a real fucking stretch on the 'humble' part," Nelson growled back. "It ain't even been three periods since you, that fucking werewolf and your goddamn dick-sleeve had your little party, and you've already lured half the fucking cliff into your jizz-coated sauna!" She narrowed her eyes and then wheeled closer, her expression stony enough that Samael's jovial grin weakened. "I knew letting you get so fucking close to that bat was a mistake. You ain't got your focus, all you can think about is your next fuckin' screw!"

He almost hated to admit that the flash of Andee in his memories was enough to start coaxing forth his arousal. Lord, he couldn't get enough of that tiny bastard. He let his muzzle slide into another easy smile while shifting the towel down to cover his waist before anything blue could pop out in front of the rebel leader. "Aww, you know me, Mama -- when ain't I thinkin' 'bout that, eh?"

The grinding of her teeth nearly rivaled Andee's. "I know you better than anyone else, asshole," she retorted. He opened his maw to playfully protest, but she interrupted bluntly: "Yes, even better than Agent York. Maybe I don't share the same fucking lack of brain cells, but I know you, Samael. I know the difference between your usual dick-seeking and whatever this is," she muttered, throwing an arm irritably in his direction as he dripped away onto the cool stone floor. "So either Andee has you fuckin' begging for whatever substitute cock you can wrap your lips around, or it's --"

"Nelson!" She was cut off by O'Neill shoving his head through the entrance to Samael's room, his eyes darting between her scowl and the barely-modest redneck before he jabbed a thumb over a shoulder. "Chatter from the Episemon terminal hack got a line on a HADES patrol planning a sweep near the Potsfeld safe house. Temblon says it's legit, they haven't found the tap yet."

"Shit," Nelson spat out, already wheeling her chair around even as she leveled a glare at Samael. "We ain't done with this conversation, Wurlitz. You need to get your shit together because this arrangement I'm letting fly between you and the yappy tricycle is very fuckin' conditional!" She slung her chair briskly forward, muttering to O'Neill as she passed: "Don't let his wet, cave-raised ass distract you, I need at least one fucking man that can keep it in his pants around him..."

"Hasn't yet," O'Neill replied brusquely as he eyed Samael and the now-partially-tented towel wrapped around his waist.

"Yet," Samael crowed while cocking his hips to one side as a coy smile danced across his muzzle. His pink-dyed tuft sliced teasingly through the air again to spray water across the moonshine still humming softly away against the wall. "Gonna have a fresh batch ready to sample in 'bout an hour -- you get a few drops'a that on yer tongue, you might finally be ready to put a few drops on mine..."

After years of avoiding Samael's advances, O'Neill's dismissive snort was somehow still frustrating. "Get some fucking pants on, Wurlitz." He paused, his steel-grey eyes locking onto the bulge in the damp towel.

Samael's grin grew predatory.

"That shiny blue cock doesn't work on me...and I like dick," O'Neill added mildly. "What the fuck made you think it would work on her?"

The grin faltered and Samael huffed. "Now that's just rude, thinkin' I's tryna use my gay-magic on Mama. And hey!" O'Neill rolled his eyes, turning away as Samael jut his chin out. "Jus' 'cause I ain't yer type don't mean you still cain't come on by 'n gimme a thrill, goddammit!" The unflappable rebel continued down the hallway and Samael crossed the room to lean out of the archway so he could call after O'Neill with a pout: "You should give this fine rump a joy-ride! E'ryone else has!!"

"Real classy, Wurlitz," O'Neill's voice echoed over a shoulder. "You should consider inhibs. Might stop you from sounding like a teenager in the ruff one-forty-two-seven..."

Samael pursed his lips and stuck his tongue out after O'Neill while grumbling under his breath. He didn't normally pay the gruff lieutenant that much mind -- it'd been clear that he wasn't into Samael long ago, and there had been plenty of other targets to chase in the years since joining the rebellion. But he found himself staring eagerly at the older rebel's hips, nibbling at the inside of his cheek while admiring the well-toned physique disappearing around the corner.

"Yeah, well, maybe I am a teenager, jackass..."

He reached back to adjust the towel before his wrist bumped against his lower back. "An' maybe I am...oh..." He blinked and wrapped his fingers around the base of his tail as the realization slowly dawned on him.

"Aw shit..."

"CT! Hell, what're you doin' on comms, hot stuff? Yer way too cool to get stuck with a borin' job like 'at!"

Samael smiled to himself and tried to ignore the itchiness at the base of his spine. He supposed he was lucky that Wash almost never manned the L-Base radios, but certainly wasn't expecting any other ex-Freelancers to answer, either.

"You're not wrong about the cool part...but I should smack you, of all people, for calling it boring -- I've heard some of the conversations you and York have. Surprised the radios haven't started rusting with how juicy those get."

Samael's grin was unavoidable. CT truly was a blessing. "A'right, now, don't be gettin' me all side-tracked. I probably ain't got too long 'fore ol' Mama Thunderbitch comes rollin' on back by this way, an' my hide's been tanned plenty enough already." He rubbed a hand over the small of his back. "I actually was hopin' to have a quick chat with York, see if he c'n clear some space on his sparkly li'l rainbow-sticker-covered calendar, make a li'l room for a slumber party."

He could hear her entertained smirk. "Really, Samael? Half a day after your hot spring hop-a-dong and you're already on the hunt for Freelancer dick again?"

"Hey, hey, goddamn, someone puttin' out flyers for them hot springs or what?" Samael complained playfully. "How's everyone and their mama know 'bout 'em already?"

"Oh please, like York could even remotely wait to tell me all about your lurid, wet, nasty, multi-species threesome," CT retorted before she offered a chortle. "You better send me a goddamn invite next time, I'm tired of only hearing about all this rockin' gay sex instead of being able to participate."

Samael laughed again and leaned on an elbow, giving the microphone an entertained look. "Yer too gatdamn much, hon, boys don't know how good they got it havin' you takin' care'a them."

"Tell me something I don't know," CT replied with a chuckle of her own. "Anyway, what do you need York for?" Her tone shifted a bit as a hint of concern slipped into her words. "He told me you and Andee were good. Don't tell me you're--"

"Naw, naw, naw, we's good, we are," Samael interrupted, pushing reassurance into his voice despite the fact that the mere thought of Andee was making his whole form shudder. "It's, uh. It's...y'know. Puppy stuff."

"As long as I have known you, considering you had York, York, the ultimate ladies' man, shoving his dick down your throat the first day you two met...I know damn well 'puppy stuff' rarely means anything as innocent as it sounds," CT fired back.

Whether it was guilt or sheepishness, the smile he flashed the receiver was toned down. "C'mon, hon -- don't make a dumb redneck spill all his secrets on the open airwaves," he murmured, glancing over his shoulder to ensure Nelson's shadow hadn't darkened the doorway. "'Sides, y'know York's gonna give you the spicy details later."

"Hmph. No arguing that...but dicks aside, I hope you have your own goddamn badass-bitch-CT-lookalike to talk to somewhere over on that side of Sirca." Samael's smile pulled back even further. "We don't get to chat as much as me and York do, and Nelson's gonna beat your ass if you let that shit start affecting the job."

"I hear ya, CT," Samael replied quietly, earning a wary but satisfied grunt.

"Yeah, alright. Lemme go find your big bi brother so you can plan your matching claw polish for the sleepover..." He chuckled and rumbled his appreciation before leaning forward anxiously and clutching the microphone in both hands.

Yeah, this one was coming in hard...and he could only pray York wouldn't be weirded out by the request.

He felt his fur slowly pricking as the seconds drifted past, an uneasy hum building around him.

Too many fond memories lately.

The rhythmic thud of Xulod's music cradling the heated night in Andee's apartment, a soundtrack to the defacement of that burgundy armchair. The slap of the sailboat's hull against the Vossler's waters or the sun beating on York and Samael as their bodies writhed passionately upon the happy little island. He could feel the steam of the hot springs, smell the soothing effervescence of the bubbling waters as York rocked into him, as Andee slammed himself into York's maw in spite of every acrid word he'd ever spit about Samael's best friend. He remembered Andee's jaws wrapped around him and the cool steel of the ladder pressed against his thighs, moments before the bat had shoved him against the wall and proven size didn't mean a goddamn thing between them. And hard to forget getting the intimate piercings with Andee, the bat's silent tenderness in having Samael's peace offering crafted into the bits of metal that now decorated their bodies, linking them together in yet another strange way. Hell, even the painting of Andee framed in his quarters, teasing and tasteful and tempting all at once; his gleaming eyes watched over Samael's every move, judged every companion he brought to his bed. Perhaps unsettling to some, but wildly enticing to the hapless redneck.

Way too many fond memories.

He swallowed and nearly choked on the dry, cottony lump building in his throat. His shorts were uncomfortably taut, the stretch of the denim almost louder than the creak of plastic between his trembling fingers. It took a conscious effort to loosen his strong grip so he didn't shatter the microphone amid the deafening roar of his pulse pounding in his head, a raging tempo that sent blood surging eagerly through his veins. All he wanted was Andee, to clutch the bat close, to love and be loved by him, to hold his head to his chest and thrust into him until those blissful cries drowned out every other sound in the--

"Yoooo, Little Pup!"

His vision cleared and the hum tapered off to a gentle whine -- frustrating but no longer overwhelming. He took a deep breath and smiled, his shoulders lowering somewhat as he lifted the microphone to his maw. Sirca below, he was blessed to have a friend like York, someone whose mere voice was enough to soothe even the most frazzled nerves.

"Ayyy, Big Pup -- lawd, I'm glad you's there..." he admitted, dropping his free forearm on the table as he rubbed the microphone against his snout.

"Yeah, CT said you sounded pretty desperate," York replied, shifting easily into a playful lilt. "And here I thought our mineral-infused bang-triangle would have kept you satisfied for more than a day!"

Those memories made a round trip back through Samael's thoughts and he licked his lips. "Ho, buddy -- tell you what, a Sircan day's a long fuckin' time," he rasped before swallowing again and twisting a finger nervously into the microphone cable. "Are you, uh. Are you free fer a li'l while? Speed boat's not bein' used 'n I c'n be there 'fore the period's up."

He could practically see the confused blink from his friend. It wasn't the first time either of them had excitedly requested a visit from the other, but Samael felt the strain in his own voice, and he was sure York did, too. "Shit, Sammy...everything okay? Something happen with, uh..."

"No, no no no...I mean, yes, but. No." Samael wrinkled his muzzle and scratched at the end of his muzzle with a flustered sigh. "I, um. I gotta ask a big ol' favor from you. But 's kinda awkward askin' o'er the radio."

"Oh, well...geezus, Sammy, yeah, of course -- whatever I can do," York responded earnestly. "You've done so much for me recently, and you know I can always find time for my favorite little inbred redneck."

Samael smiled sheepishly at the radio. "C'n you spare like...a whole period 'n a half?"

"Good lord, what did you do?" York exclaimed. "Are you sure you can? Can't tell whether Nelson's gonna kill me or Andee first, but I think she might get you neutered either way if you're not careful!"

Samael exhaled briskly. "Heh. Trust me, pal, she'll give the okay."

"I don't even wanna know why -- last time she let you take that much free time, you had your arm in a sling." York paused and then added slowly: "You also came back with metal in your dick. I don't know if there's enough liquor on Sirca to get me on-board with that, buddy, no matter how much I love you."

Samael's smile twitched briefly toward a grin. That had been a lovely stay in Xulod, all things considered. New piercings, a helluva handjob to a handsome bat and a gorgeous painting.

...He owed Mutt a call after he finished with York.

"Heh. Promise I ain't got no new bullet-holes or broke limbs," Samael allayed even as he cleared his throat and added awkwardly: "I am gonna bring a buncha booze, though."

"That's not exactly reassuring -- you pull out something that looks even close to a power tool and we're gonna have words," York warned, though his tone was laced with a bit of mischief and concern alike. "But you know I got your back, Sammy. Wash doesn't have anything for me on the boards the next few periods...and I think South is gonna be in town, too. Perfect timing for you to swing by for a visit."

"Well now who ain't exactly reassuring?" Samael retorted, though he closed his eyes and sent out another thankful prayer for his friend. "I'll be headin' yer way soon, hon. I really 'ppreciate this."

"Any time, Sammy -- see you soon!"

Samael's expression relaxed as reassurance flowed across his taut nerves. Moments like this made it easy to understand why Andee was so jealous of York...but they also served as a reminder of how lucky Samael was. For all the trouble he and York got into together, Samael wouldn't give up his best friend for the whole damn ring.

The radio crackled into silence and Samael rubbed at his jaw while tuning to one of Angel's frequencies. Now just to hope that Andee wasn't hovering nearby.

Fortune was kind to him, however, as Angel was alone in her shop, and had been all too happy to go fetch Mutt instead of embarking on the usual hunt for Andee. Samael wasn't sure if it was because she'd seen the painting, herself, and understood Samael's need to send praise...or just because Mutt was a lot nicer to her than Andee.

...Also a decent chance they'd screwed, thanks to the fact Mutt's tastes might have been more broad than York's or Samael's combined.

"Fiffy! What brings you to Mutt's ear?" His thick accent was a welcome salve to the sharp blades of longing that whickered across his senses.

Samael closed his eyes, doing his best to picture his friend's handsome features...and not the dappled flesh that thrummed with all the shameless pride of Xulod's virility. "Heh...aw, y'know, I jus' wanted to give you a holler, thank you fer the goddamn gorgeous paintin' you did of Andee!"

"Oh, I am sure this is only reason for call -- not because you want second round with Mutt now that the blueberry is no longer ache!" the bat teased, his throaty chuckle sending a shudder along Samael's spine. "You and Andee both must be healed up good after what he tell me about ladder-time."

Oh, lord, those were the worse possible memories to crash into Samael's thirsting shores.

He couldn't stop the hot pant, doing his best to laugh through it. "Sheeeeit, hon, you know it! Like you ain't doin' the best body-work on Sirca, anyhow! At this point, I think it'd be a shorter list to figger out what you cain't do!"

"Get jizz out of painting," Mutt replied bluntly, though he followed it with a raucous laugh. "You make mess on canvas, Mutt charges more than handjob to fix! That is worth at least blowjob...and then you treat Mutt to road trip over Fiffy's new hardware!"

Samael suddenly remembered one of the few downsides to wearing shorts cut as high as his. The distinct sensation of warm flesh and cool metal pressed into his thigh and he shuffled the chair awkwardly forward lest another rebel pass the radio room and accuse him of trying to fuck the comms equipment. "Lawd, you know I'm d-down," he mumbled, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood and then forcing down a slow breath. "But, uh. But yeah -- thanks fer doin' such a great job with m-muh-my nasty li'l bat-friend, Andee ain't never looked so f-fine..."

Mutt's low chortle wasn't helping all the uncomfortable stiffness. "I am glad you like. And was excuse to make Andee be good subject for one time." He paused and Samael already felt the enticement oozing through the speaker. "The goose is still in Mutt's studio. Fiffy should visit, I take you both for special ride, heh...would be adshotarco..."

Then unfamiliar word only served to make Samael cringe with delight, his teeth clenching painfully together. "Ooh, lawd, hon, I, uh...n-nah, no, no, please don't. I, uh. I gotta. I gotta take care'a somethin' 'fore I, uh. See him again. O-on that note, there ain't no chance he's, uh...he's not near Xulod, is there?"

Mutt was silent for several seconds. Samael could count every turbulent thud of his heartbeat throbbing against his temples and he held his breath nervously until Mutt spoke with a mix of entertainment and intrigue. "Andee is running job with Pan and Rudy until late tonight. Fiffy is coming by, isn't he?"

Samael scratched at the nape of his neck with a crooked smile. "I ain't comin' to Xulod proper, but...yeah, I'll be in the area. I. I jus' got summin' I gotta take care of, an', uh. I don't wanna drag Andee into it. Or, um. Or. Or. Y'know. Hurt him." He winced and fumbled to add: "Hurt his feelin's, I mean!"

Mutt let his snort carry over the transmission. "Mutt thinks he knows what is happen. Is very sweet of Fiffy..." He paused long enough for Samael to attempt a response, then continued before the words could come through. "But you know Andee will be piss."

Samael shrunk his shoulders with a grimace. "Y-yeah, I know," he mumbled. "But if I'm the first chupa he been with, he ain't, uh...he ain't seen..."

"No, he has not," Mutt acquiesced. "But Mutt has." Samael's eyes widened a bit, the barely-contained desire threatening to overwhelm him. "Heh. Maybe next time. If you have plan, you have plan. Does plan involve werewolf Freelancer Andee is so jealous of?"

"Uh...m-maybe..."

"Does big top-sider often help Fiffy 'take care of problem'?"

"Well, um. Naw, I ain't actually asked 'im yet, it's kinda--"

"Mutt suggests drug. Lots of drug."

Samael flushed as he glanced over his shoulder and mumbled into the microphone. "I mean, I'm takin' some beer 'n 'shine...purdy sure that'll--"

"Fuck me, Fiffy is like idiot child," Mutt chided, continuing his interruption boldly. "Mutt puts together care package, leaves it by moss-rocks. You both thank me later."

Samael smiled even as his cheeks burned. "Shit...yer...yer far too kind, hon. A'right. I owe ya big."

"Eh, is least Mutt can do. You deal with many bullshit, but still come back to Andee. Maybe because soft brain, maybe because is way of Fiffy." Mutt grunted, his voice once more dipping toward playful. "You will need direction on how to enjoy goodies?"

A smirk at last felt comfortable on the redneck's expression. "Heh, naw. Might be some hazy memories from them crazy nights with you three, but I ain't no stranger to that good shit. I'll show York how to party down proper, Xulod-style."

"That is good Fiffy. Good luck...and do not be pussy next cycle!"

The rebel winced again, but the smile remained in place as he echoed his gratitude and then twisted the radio knob while leaning back in the chair. Well, the hard, awkward part was done, at least.

...Except for the part where he still had to tell York the details of this teeny tiny request.

All downhill from here.

It had been almost comical how swiftly Nelson had agreed to let him take the speedboat once he'd spelled out his reasoning. Apparently, both Trevor and Vincent were far too valuable to risk getting involved with Samael's adolescent Sampian needs. And the worst part was that Samael couldn't even disagree.

Neither he nor Nelson had forgotten the last time.

It didn't help that Samael wasn't sure what was considered 'normal' when it came to this sort of thing. His tribe hadn't shied away from such subjects -- in fact, open discussion was practically the law of the land in their snowy little corner of Sirca. It was why he'd been allowed to run his adulthood trials early...why he'd been granted the opportunity to explain his desire to leave home...why none of them had stopped him from embarking on a path that twisted far, far away from the isolationist ways of his people. A path guided by a man who swept Samael snugly under his wing before the restless young chupa's body had yet physically caught up to the hot-blooded maturity of his spirit.

Samael didn't blame Nelson for wanting to distance herself from the subject. No matter their unspoken bond now, those early quarters had been strained. He'd been forced to figure things out on his own the first time, which had resulted in a shitload of chafing, followed by countless long hours clutching and whimpering into pillows as too-recent memories clashed with the undeniable physiological urges.

He was less of a naive child by the time he met York...or at least less naive enough to be able to convince everyone else he was an adult. But it never got any easier. Handling it alone left his emotions barren and his body uncomfortable. But when he'd attempted to turn to what he did best, pushing into his passionate drives rather than avoiding them, he found only strained expressions and overwhelmed companions. Some hid their shock or discomfort so poorly that his self-loathing ruthlessly overcame the raw exhilaration and ecstasy, resulting in an awkward, shameful slink out of Sidewinder to go out and curl up in the welcoming snow-swept tundra for a few hours.

Sometimes he forgot it wasn't all sunshine and giggles being Nelson's most prominent whore.

As he jogged toward the rusty exterior of L-Base, Samael loosened the straps of his pack so it rode more snugly over the base of his tail, a rare burst of self-consciousness dashing through him. Its contents clinked softly and the rebel smiled despite the clash of anxiety and anticipation coursing through his taut body; Mutt hadn't lied about providing a hook-up.

After mooring the boat in the usual cove of Loch Krainen, Samael hadn't been lucky enough to come across any ground transportation and was forced to go on foot. He didn't mind, though. There was plenty to thank about his upbringing, inbreeding be damned. And a four or five hour traipse even through the muggy jungles of Lactan was hardly a strain for him in spite of his shaggy coat releasing a light mist of sweat with every pounding step.

Mutt's 'gift' was easily spotted when he'd approached one of the stash spots near the entry to Xulod, and was even more easily appreciated after Samael had taken a peek inside. Some pastries, some powders, some mushrooms and even a few brightly-colored tinctures that Samael remembered all too well from his narcotic adventures with Andee, Mutt and Paneko. Pretty much the only thing missing was that big, weird 'hookah' thing Andee had told him about after their meeting with Juwo regarding the Himroc.

...Mutt had also included a bottle containing a shimmering, off-white liquid. It had the consistency of clean motor oil and all but sparkled when it caught the stray beams of sunlight piercing through the jungle canopy. The bottle was marked only with a sticky note depicting a sketch of a roguishly-grinning Mutt, which made Samael rather certain he knew what it contained.

The talented bat was as much of an undeserved blessing as CT.

Samael mulled over facing his fears and scaling the side of the Lactan base to make use of one of the rooftop entrances -- even if he was on friendly terms with most of the L-Base rebels, it didn't mean there weren't still plenty of them who recoiled slightly whenever he strolled past. Whether it was due to his well-known proclivities, his tendencies as a loud troublemaker, or perhaps his intimacy with someone outside of his own species, he wasn't blind to the minuscule upturn of a muzzle, or the tiniest wrinkle of a frown. That didn't normally bother him much, but the less that word spread about his presence, the better. He wasn't trying to get yelled at since the urges screaming within his skull were fuckin' loud enough already.

He took a few deep breaths and wiped his palm pads against the scarce length of his denim cut-offs. There was something perfect about the fact he was wearing them; before he left for his Lactan, he hadn't even realized he'd slipped into the far-too-short shorts that York had gifted him in exchange for his, ah. Oral knowledge. Perhaps his subconsciousness must have known what a treat it would be for York. Or he was just a whore, through and through.

Probably both.

His tongue passed over his lips, though part of him was grateful for the quivering nervousness that muffled the wailing cries of need. It granted him the focus he needed to veer away from the facility's entrance and instead toward one of the trees that arched over the roof. He bit his cheek warily but pushed himself forward through the fear, leaping up with a grunt to grasp into a low branch and pulling his stocky frame onto the thick bough.

His weight was still enough to make it wobble and he closed his eyes with a momentary whimper as he clung to the tree trunk, hearing the flutter of each damp, loose leaf that drifted to the jungle floor. He inhaled raggedly again and then set his jaw squarely while prying one eyelid open and glancing upward. He knew he wasn't more than a couple of meters from the ground but it did nothing to assuage his terror, which only grew as he reached a trembling hand out to clutch the next highest branch. Another sharp breath, then a grunt of effort to yank himself up again, his paws clamping immediately into the branch as his tail followed suit with a dull knock of its crimson piercing against the wood.

Don't piss your pants, don't piss your pants, don't piss your pants...

The jeering of his packmates mixed with his dread, allowing stubbornness to worm its nosy head past the choking anxiety. His muzzle wrinkled and he forced his eyes open again, ignoring the way his vision swam after a brief glance down. He'd proven to all of them that his size didn't mean shit, that his dumb fear didn't mean shit...he'd passed his trials earlier than most of those jerks, decorated himself more vibrantly than them, proven his prowess on the hunt more competently than them, too.

He could do this.

His muzzle was dry as he shakily made it one step higher, then turned his head toward the roof. His jaw creakily parted to allow a whine to slip past. He could do this. He could do anything.

Two, three, four rapid in-and-out breaths before the wide-eyed rebel shoved himself away from the trunk to take a few quaking steps along the branch. It dipped with his mass and he nearly froze in place, but shook his head with determination and strode forward one more time before throwing himself into the air with a choked squeal.

It felt like his body hung in the air for at least a minute even if the rusted metal of the roof slammed into his paws before he had even finished the terrified yelp. He stumbled forward and barely caught himself on a strut to avoid falling onto his face, wheezing loudly and clinging to the metal support while staring back toward the swaying branch.

The broad, dewy leaves waved to him and he pouted before throwing up a middle finger in response. "Yer lucky I ain't got time to tussle!" he whispered threateningly, then huffing and peeling his fingers away from the strut so he could brush himself off. He'd done it, that was all that mattered. Pride had shoved aside the persistence and he held his head high, pretending he didn't already feel his shorts pleading for removal lest they be torn in half by the eager blue cannon primed and hungry for a lit fuse.

He peered over his shoulder at the pack, shaking it gently and smiling in relief when he didn't hear any broken glass. Fortunately his people were used to transporting jars of shine through blizzards and crawbear encounters alike -- a newborn baby would have been safe within the fastidious trappings of Samael's bundling.

And what he was carrying was way more precious than any dumb baby.

Samael went to the nearest hatch, grasping into the flaking metal wheel and gritting his teeth with effort as he wrenched it firmly. The stiff bearings were no match for his strength, popping free after a second or two and allowing him to smoothly twist the valve enough to pry the hatch open. He poked his head into the gap and peered down -- if his memory served, this ladder dropped into a supply closet somewhere near the barracks.

He paused to appreciate the memories of supply closets and ladders alike, then immediately regretted it as the stitching of his shorts began announcing their last will and testament. The rebel winced and shoved aside the fond recollections in favor of wiggling his broad frame through the hatch, squirming extra hard to squeeze the backpack in with him. Maybe the front entrance wouldn't have been so bad, considering the reception he'd be treated to if he and his 'gifts' ended up trapped and in need of a healthy application of butter to be freed of the tight opening.

But he was able to descend the ladder with only a bit of struggling, hopping to the cool concrete below as soon as he was clear. His eyes shut tightly and he mumbled a string of blessings while curling his toes into the rough flooring, praising every spirit on Sirca for the existence of solid ground.

He took a moment to compose himself, straightening the pack again and rubbing a hand through his headfur before peering down at his chest awkwardly. Sweat was dripping from his fur into a small puddle around his paws -- he could probably blame the thickness of his coat and the sweltering humidity of Lactan, at least, maybe convince himself it wasn't from the nightmare of climbing a stupid tree onto a stupid roof.

Samael dug his balls out of his stomach and strode to the door, then pulled it open to peek quickly in either direction. A few other rebels in the distance, but at least no parties or parades. He slid out of the closet and pulled the door shut behind him before letting a positive smile radiate across his features as he looped his thumbs into the straps of the pack and broke into a merry prance down the corridor.

He knew these hallways well, thanks to his regular visits, and let his paws carry him on the fastest route to York's quarters, hoping his best friend wouldn't be too far from familiar territory. The itchiness at the base of his spine was crawling back much too quickly, and as much as he loved playing hide-and-seek...he wasn't sure it would be all that fun this time around. His senses were becoming scrambled, every touch of rough brick, each sniff of damp, stale atmosphere, the sight of the flickering lights, even the faint taste of copper and mold in the air, all of it fighting for dominance with the persistent drumming of his pulse.

As the impatient thudding behind his eyes grew louder and louder, Samael shut out whatever he could and accelerated his pace to a jog. Right at this intersection, left at the next...just one more flight of stairs and then he was--Wash!!

Klaxons blared in Samael's mind when he spotted the unmistakable shock of yellow mane at the far end of the corridor and he stumbled to a stop, his paws scrabbling at the floor as he clung to the nearest doorway to halt his momentum. The rebel leader was turned to the side, inspecting something with a frown, and Samael's eyes bulged as he whipped his head left and right. He had only one choice, though, and Wash was already turning to continue in his direction.

Samael flung himself into the adjacent room, gripping the door and swinging it shut on instinct before suddenly freezing in place as a voice cut through the numbing drone of his burgeoning needs.

"Sammy? What the fuck are you doing?!"

He spun around, eyes the size of dinner plates as he plastered himself against the door, arms and legs spread as if holding back a stampede. It took him a stuttering moment to register why CT was peering at him from a worn armchair, a book resting in her lap and her paws propped onto a low table.

He'd been so lost in his tunnel vision he hadn't noticed it was her personal quarters he'd stumbled into.

"C-CT!" he stammered before releasing a pitiful whine and peeling himself off the door to shuffle toward her, his palms clutched into one another in hopeful prayer. "S-Sorry, hon, uh...fuckin'...c-c'n I hide in here real quick?!"

He'd never seen a more bemused arch of an eyebrow. "I think it's safe to repeat myself: what the fuck are you doing, you crazy redneck? I thought you came to see York." He opened his muzzle but she cut him off. "Furthermore, what the fuck are you wearing? It looks like you put a denim rubberband around your hips." Samael huffed, glancing over his shoulder. Andee wasn't wrong -- his ass really was just about completely hanging out. He then winced as she leaned to one side, craning her neck to study his pack curiously. "Christ, did you bring the whole picnic with you?"

"M-maybe," he mumbled, scratching at the back of his head and then shooting another look at the door. "I, uh. I jus' need'a duck down fer a minute, 'cause, uh...ol' Wash's comin' this way, I ain't think he'd be too happy to see me outta nowhere, 'specially me comin' down here to spend time with his big ol' pup..."

"The latter likely doesn't bother him as much as you think," CT replied with a half-smile. "Bet he appreciates a break from York as much as Andee does from you." Samael shrunk his head a bit but smiled sheepishly, knowing it was all too true. "The former, though...yeah, probably not at all." She twitched her muzzle into a full grin while picking up the book again to lazily turn the page. "You better find somethin' to hide in, though. Guarantee Wash is gonna poke his head in here when he comes by. He usually does."

Samael's eyes bulged again. "Wh-what?! Aw...aw shit!" he babbled as he twisted around on a paw and bit his lip. "Uhhh..."

"I know you've never been comfortable in a closet unless York's in there with you to play Rawdog Rodeo, but mine is plenty big," CT remarked, still grinning away as she glanced over the top of her book and then moved her eyes back to the page.

"Gawddamn, 'tween the incest 'n the midget-ness 'n the closet jokes, y'all all need new material!" Samael complained even as he removed the pack from his shoulders in favor of hugging it to his chest before dashing for her closet. He nudged the door open with a hip, taking a moment to appreciate the poster of Diamond -- he wondered if she and York ordered from the same magazine -- and then swiftly squirming in past the coats, shirts and pants while whispering in a strained voice: "Thank you, hon!"

"Just keep that dumb trap shut 'til the coast is clear," she replied in the same calm, entertained tone. "It's a win-win for me no matter what -- heads, I get to drill you on what the fuck you're detaining poor York for; bucks, I get to watch Wash have an absolute conniption over finding you in my closet." Samael could see her through the cracked door as she reached over to pick up a bottle of wine and sip heartily from it. "Either way, my afternoon just got a whole lot more interesting."

Samael whimpered again but clapped a hand over his maw and pushed the door almost completely shut, leaving just an inch or two for him to see and hear through. This was fine. This was just fine. He was good at hiding. He hid all the time, in dark corners, inside boxes, undercover, in plain sight...yeah, this was fine. And if Wash did find him, well. It's not like they were gonna fight, he would never fight Wash, Wash was York's best friend. York's boyfriend, even. Samael liked Wash, hell, he loved Wash because he loved York like a brother.

...God, at least the incest jokes carried water.

His rampant thoughts came to a jumbled halt when there was a knock at CT's door. Samael could hear her toothy grin without even needing to peek through the crack.

"Come on in, pants are on."

Samael held his breath as the door was pushed open, the creaking of the hinges followed closely by a small sigh. "Dammit, you say that even when you don't have pants on."

"...What can I say, York's crusade to go pantsless is enticing."

This time a full groan. "Considering his shirtless campaign hasn't caught on, I'm not too worried."

"I dunno -- Sammy seems to be on-board with it, I'm sure he's pushing for it at Sidewinder."

Samael scowled in the darkness. Oh, so now she was gonna be cute.

"Ugh, geezus, don't. Don't mention his name. He's got that stupid ability to just. Appear out of nowhere."

...Hard not to be impressed with the way CT didn't laugh, though Samael could feel that damn sly smirk. "Oh, he sure does," she intoned.

"Mm."

"Y'know, one day, we're gonna have to talk about why you hate that gay garden gnome so much. You can't tell me you didn't have at least a little bit of fun at that poker game."

"Mmm."

"Heh. Guess that that's for another day, though." Samael risked a quick glimpse through the gap again to see Wash standing a few feet past the doorway, his arms crossed. CT was cool as ever, plucking up her bottle of wine to knock back another gulp before offering it to Wash. "You wanna enjoy the rest of this with me, hang out, chat, waste a few hours here in my room for no real reason whatsoever like when we were kids?"

Oh, this sassy bitch was gonna be real cute.

Wash blinked and shifted his weight before sighing and gently pushing the bottle back toward her. "No, no, I just wanted to let you know I was gonna head out with a small team to meet with a contingent of Kiden's guys."

"Wow, I'm surprised you're going -- you hate those guys. Why aren't you sending York?"

Samael stiffened up a bit, his tail drooping. He knew CT wasn't the kind of person to sabotage their plans, no matter how reserved she'd been about Samael at the start of their interactions. But what the hell was she...

"I don't...hate. Ugh. Look, it's just." Samael watched as Wash loosened his arms and gave a softer sigh. "I would but I gave him the period off. And he. He's just like anyone else, he's not a superhero and he needs his time off, too."

CT chuckled and set the bottle aside so she could plant her hand on her chest. "I'm a little offended you didn't ask me, either...but then again, if it means you think I'm a superhero, I'm fine with it."

"You're a...super-bitch," Wash mumbled, but Samael could make out the hints of a smile tugging at the corners of the weary chupa's muzzle.

It pushed the concern out of his system and replaced it with a certain, odd warmth. He didn't mind it, though he was sure he knew a small, angry bat who would be confused or just plain annoyed as shit considering the way Wash treated him.

"Anyway, if you're offering, I'm not gonna say no," Wash added with a wrinkled muzzle.

CT cracked another grin. "Oh no no, some fresh air would be good for you. Plus this way the guys won't think you're being sweet to York. Y'know. Just because he's your boyfriend and all."

It looked like it was Wash's turn to stiffen up. "He's not. Christ. Is that what they're saying??"

"Oh yeah, the Lactan Ledger had a full spread on you two, detailing all the juicy nuggets...I think the title was 'From Frostbite to Frotting: How Two Best Friends Became Best Friends-with-Benefits'!"

Samael had to use both hands to muffle his giggle as Wash stared mutely and then groaned and dropped his face into his palm. "Goddammit, Connie! That's not funny!"

"It's pretty funny," she replied around a laugh before shaking her head. "No, your little gay secret is safe. You really think everyone's gonna judge you that hard? Because you know Tex wouldn't care, at least."

"I. I mean of course she wouldn't," Wash muttered briskly. "What we have is. Just."

"Yeah, I know," CT interrupted, leaning forward even as her words came out kindly. "It's okay to feel good about doing something nice for your friends, Wash. Not everything has to be practical or for the cause. I thought the goal was to avoid being Nelson, after all."

Wash's snout turned up in the most adorable way -- Samael almost had a burst of jealousy for York, snagging someone so difficult yet perfect like this emotionally-torn bag of nerves. It was enough to start coaxing his urges back to the forefront of his consciousness and he bit his lip hard in an attempt to override the heat with pain.

"That isn't funny either, ugh. Either way, I don't like to show favoritism, it always pissed us off when it happened at Specials and Freelancer..."

CT smirked at him. "Yeah, except now we're in charge. Who says we don't deserve to abuse our power now and then, eh?" She laughed at the flat expression her friend gave, nodding toward him. "You're doing a good job, Wash. I mean that."

Samael heard Wash shuffle his paws.

"I got the feeling York would love some quiet time when you get back." Samael's cheeks flushed -- did she figure it out already? The confused look on Wash's features didn't deter her as she only smiled and then tilted her head. "How long are you guys supposed to be gone?"

"We should be back by the end of the period. We're meeting them near the Episemon checkpoint."

"Oooh." Wash's expression was even more bewildered at the tantalized grin she flashed. "Don't worry, just imagining all the dramatic, exciting ways this story can end." Wash's eyes went to the book resting on her midsection while Samael chewed harder on his lip, the anxiety only seeming to enhance his drive. At this rate, his spines were going to start carving a hole in the bottom of his pack. "Anyway, find a gap in your busy, busy schedule to hang out with York when you return." Wash began a hesitant smile before she added: "I heard him mention picking up a whole stalk of bananas...lesson two must be intense."

"Oh, god...goddammit, what is wrong with you?" Wash groaned while turning on his heel to stalk out of the room.

"Super-bitch, remember?" CT called after him with a cackle as she picked the book back up and pretended to peruse it while Wash's stomping faded down the corridor.

After a few seconds, she lowered it and then glanced over to the closet while calling out in a sing-song voice: "Daddy's gone, you can come back out of hiding, lover boy..."

Samael huffed but couldn't avoid his smile as he eased the door of the closet open and stuck his head out, then gave her an entertained smirk. "I'd ask how often you said that when you was growin' up, but I s'pose you ain't had much a chance, way the cards got dealt to you 'n Miz Wash."

He still hadn't forgotten their very first conversation, when she'd chosen to reveal that tidbit about their past. She quirked a smile and Samael read silent appreciation behind the amusement. "Hey there, slick -- who says I wasn't the one hiding in the closet, eh?"

"Haw, fair 'nuff!" Samael guffawed, slipping his arms back through the straps of his bag and then not-so-subtly making a beeline for the corridor as the stiff fur continued grinding painfully into the backpack. "Thanks fer the duck 'n cover, CT, I apprec--hey!" He yelped in surprise as fingers closed around his tuft and yanked firmly to stop him in his tracks.

He whipped his head around to see CT's expectant smile. "You haven't answered my question, Samael. What the fuck are you doing here?"

Samael squirmed on the spot and tried to tug his tail loose, but her grip was firm. He huffed and then tapped a claw against one of his jaw studs sheepishly. "Lawd, lady, why you gotta make a guy more embarrassed than he already is, huh?" He took a quick breath and then flicked the mental switch as he thumbed over his shoulder. "A'right, a'right, so...I got some new, uh. Stuff. An' I wanna try it out, but. I don't wanna try it out on Andee jus' yet 'cause. Y'know, I ain't done it before and I don't wanna do nothin' wrong with him." He carefully clutched into the sliver of truth. "I don't wanna hurt 'im none 'til I know what I'm doin'."

CT squinted up at him for a few seconds before relenting and loosening her fingers enough that his dyed tuft could slip free. "God, you really are a puppy," she remarked while sitting up a bit to study him further. "And you're too goddamn sweet for your own good, just like York." He gave a small smile that she met with a finger thrust toward his stocky frame. "But, just like York, you're also one helluva good liar." Her eyes bored into his, though he stood his ground and met her gaze evenly. "You might be short, you might be inexperienced...but goddamn, you know how to read." She paused and offered him a half-smile. "People, anyway. Not sure about the written word, still, unless your literacy lessons with York are still going on."

He scowled and tried to hide the smile. CT wasn't finished yet, however, as she set the open book on her thigh and reached over to flick his bare stomach firmly. "Whatever you're hiding from me, I'm willing to bet your story is close to the truth. And while I should be a little hurt you aren't gonna to talk to me about it...I know how puppies can be." She leaned back in her chair again with a grunt. "Got a good enough idea why you're here, Shroom. But hey, CT-tax still applies, you know."

Her remembering the nickname he'd admitted from his childhood struck him the same way it had CT for his memory of the orphanage. He smiled again even as he crossed his arms with a pout. "I thought that was just fer poker!" He turned away from her smoothly to slide the pack off his shoulders so he could reach into it and pluck out a small jar of moonshine. Hard to miss the way she leaned forward with shameless curiosity. He didn't bother cinching up the bag too quickly so her eyes could take in the not-so-small collection of enhancements. "Careful now, you'd best not take nothin' but this 'shine without supervision...them bats whip up some nasty stuff!"

Her lips curled into a wolfish grin as she accepted the jar of liquor. "Cocky little snowball, like we didn't party in Freelancer." She paused and then smirked. "But I'll give you credit, shortstop. You've become closer to Xulod than even Tracer ever was. Wouldn't be surprised if you've seen more than most of us ever will."

Oh lord, that name. Memories tearful and passionate alike crashed into him and he took in a sharp breath before swiftly masking it with a confident chortle while replacing the pack over his thick shoulders. "Tha's right, don't be puttin' no harsh words on Cakkco Fif, you'll have to deal with more bats than even I'd be able to handle!"

"Samael Wurlitz, pretending he has limits on how many guys he can handle," she fired back, even as she looked satisfied and raised the moonshine toward him. "Okay, you got my blessing. But you and York better not make too much noise, or I'm crashing your weird puppies-drugs-and-sex party, got it?"

He smiled with honest gratitude, only tasting a faint note of guilt for the deception. At least she was aware he was talking around the truth. Made it a little easier to bear. "I appreciate it, hon. We'll, uh. We'll do our best." He ensured the pack was resting securely over his stiff spines and nodded to her before turning to the door. "Try'n catch ya on the way out!"

"If you're not completely shriveled up from dehydration," she commented while picking the book back up and tossing a friendly wave with her tail. "Tell York I'm jealous -- one day, that juicy Sampi ass is mine, Wurlitz."

He grinned and let it nurture his tortured needs, nodding back and then moving into the hallway so he could resume the harried sprint for York's quarters. Okay, now he knew how York felt in those moments before their first time in a supply closet together.

Holy shit did it suck.

Samael was certain a few of L-Base's rebels spotted him on the dash to York's room, but he didn't care anymore. If word got to Wash, then so be it. But this urgency was too thunderous and he knew if he wasn't in a safe space soon, the potential lecture from Wash would only be a whole lot angrier.

Part of him was still concerned about York's response. Throughout their years of vigorously-sexual friendship, York had always maintained a natural air of dominance. He wasn't a dick about it, no, but the lessons he'd had with Samael on the island and in the hot springs were telling. York was passionate about bringing his partners as much pleasure as he received, if not more...but he was clearly used to doing things a particular way.

And it wasn't like they hadn't experimented a bit, either, once or twice.

...But only once or twice.

Samael closed his eyes along the final stretch of hallway, his legs knowing exactly how many steps to take to reach York's threshold. He and his body knew a lot of things about York, like how tracing his tongue over the base of his sheath always guaranteed a more intense climax, or the path Samael's fingers took to to play through York's mane and elicit a groan of delight despite how fastidiously he maintained it, or how his heart matched York's with uncanny precision as he curled up on the big guy's chest to doze together after a particularly lively session, the way York loved from all his companions.

There were still dark corners, though. The person behind the key around York's neck was a shadow Samael hadn't tried to cast light upon, because he knew what that pain was like. And just as Samael had never found the right way to tell York about Tracer, York had been the same with his own past trauma. He was sure there were other secrets, but Samael's hands had roamed just about every inch of York's scarred form and never once come across an imperfection that wasn't beautiful, wasn't merely a frayed thread woven into the patchwork of the kind chupa's personality. All the same, he was haunted by the thought of saying something that went too far, that triggered some unknown flaw of York's and drove a wedge between them.

Yet as he approached the familiar doorway, his vision cleared as a voice piped up from the back of his cluttered consciousness. He could barely hear the words over the thump of his pulse, but they were crisp enough.

Samael was being an idiot.

This was York. This wasn't one of his casual friends, or even a regular lay. The bond he shared with York wasn't one easily codified to any kind of title or classification, nor was it subjected to any kind of rules or expectations that a normal relationship might be. They could communicate without words, without sight, even without touch, because their souls had long since realized a common language. And even if York told him no, he wouldn't shame Samael or let it come between them. He'd be there for Samael the way the two had always been for each other.

Didn't stop his heart from threatening to burst through his ribs as he gripped the doorframe and took a deep breath, slowly poking his head into the open entrance. "York?"

His friend was sprawled across the bed wearing a towel around his waist, peering through a thin pair of reading glasses at a magazine. He immediately lifted his head with a smile at Samael's voice, sending bits of water across the room from a damp mane that somehow still looked perfect.

In fact, everything about York looked perfect.

Samael's mouth grew dry as his eyes traveled slowly from York's powerful legs to the soft pink towel that did not mask and instead only accentuated the sharp contours below. His gaze remained there for only a moment, though, as every detail of York enticed him as much as the ones centered around his loins. The chiseled abdominal muscles, dotted with as many scars as Samael's. The broad chest, pushing taut against the most soothing hide of tan and cream. Arms that bulged but never threatened, not if you were a friend, not when they held you in the ring's warmest embrace. And at last two green eyes that brimmed with life despite the dark corners, despite the weight of unspoken pain that Samael had always clung to as a reminder that he wasn't alone with the ghosts of his past.

Those evergreen pools locked with Samael's own, a mixture of curiosity and concern cresting York's handsome features. "Hey, Sammy!" He paused to blink and whistle appreciatively as his eyes whisked over Samael's thick legs -- and the scraps of denim clinging to his hips. "Holy shit -- those the ones I got you? I can see it was a good as hell investment!"

He cackled and set aside his reading glasses while continuing: "Damn, you got here quick -- sorry 'bout the mess, I uh. Well, quite honestly, I wasn't really gonna clean up at all, I figured a natural state of chaos is more your vibe, anyway..." He paused when he realized Samael was still standing in his doorway with his fingers clutched fiercely into the straps of his backpack. "Um. You alright, buddy?" York grinned as he sat up, tilting his head somewhat. "What, is the towel too distracting? I hopped into the shower and thought I'd have more time to dry off before you got here."

"It sure is," Samael mumbled, blood rushing to his cheeks as the heat at his core flared dangerously. He was hoping to make his case first, to try and explain himself before dropping the reins entirely and letting nature take her course. But words were already becoming difficult, even without considering his weak literacy skills. He stared into his friend's eyes while blindly fumbling to remove the backpack, slipping one arm out and letting it slide down the other to thump to the floor and rest haphazardly against the dresser. "Ain't gonna be distractin' when it's on the ground, though," he added, grasping into just enough clarity to kick York's door shut before all but lunging for the bed as York gave a surprised squawk.

"Geezus, Sammy!"

York's voice was merely a droplet of water against the inferno of Samael's lust, sending up a steamy burst rather than soothing the fires. Samael panted hard when he half-fell onto the mattress, crawling toward his friend with an expression so hungry York scooted backward by an inch or so even as a stupid grin parted his maw. "Uh...wh-whoa, buddy...not complaining, but the last time you were like this, um..."

The memories of the aftermath of their side-trip to Lamtha were nearly enough to derail his eagerness. But not quite. Samael's eyes were still joined with York's as he prowled on all fours, reaching for the hem of the damp, fluffy towel. "I ain't drunk an' I ain't heartbroke," he replied in a husky voice, his baritone rumbling in such a way that York couldn't help biting his lip in anticipation. "I jus' need that dick, hon."

"Yeah-okay," York stammered in a single breath, his eyes widening anxiously and his grin growing more confident despite the way Samael felt his thighs quiver. "Not gonna try'n stop you, pal..."

Samael thought better than to tell York he might not have been able to stop him even if he'd wanted to.

The smaller chupa grasped into the towel and yanked firmly, pulling it easily away from York's frame despite his mass. York's grin tipped toward bewildered, but his expression was still drenched with excitement; it was all Samael needed to release the handbrake and let himself go with a whisper of gratitude for every fucked up similarity between himself and his best friend.

* ~ * ~ * NSFW Begins (Sobriety) * ~ * ~ *

Samael tore his eyes away from his partner's features to appreciate York's swollen sheath -- and the few inches of pink flesh already slipping out to greet him. He barked out a delighted sound and licked his muzzle while gliding between York's muscular legs with the finesse of a ballroom dancer. One hand had already shifted up to cup the warm orbs that hung lower than usual, no doubt thanks to a hot shower. York sat up slightly and Samael felt his eyes ardently watching every movement. He loved Andee with every bit of his heart, but sometimes it felt even his rapturous stares couldn't compare with the raw appreciation that emanated from his best friend's tender gaze.

Samael wrapped his other hand around York's sheath and felt his own shorts grow tight when York moaned and arched his back in ecstasy. His eyes flicked up long enough to enjoy the way York's head had joyfully rolled into the pillows before they shifted back to the prize awaiting his further attention. He smiled to himself and rubbed his thumb slowly over the small patch of near-white fur near the lip of his sheath -- it wasn't like the cream fur on his chest, it hadn't been a result of his treatments in Project Werewolf. No, just like the pale bib that decorated Samael's chest, this was one of those imperfections. One of York's wonderful, unique blemishes that set him aside from every other soul on this ring and allowed him to shine that much brighter.

"This here's the spot to be," Samael murmured before pushing his muzzle forward and running his tongue along the base of the emerging knot.

York groaned and clutched into the sheets even as he let out a quick laugh, uttering through clenched jaws: "You're such a dork, Sammy..."

"A dork who's gonna get you off in less'n three minutes," Samael shot back as the unbridled need took the helm. York started another laugh, only for it to morph into a gargling whimper of delight when Samael tilted his erection down into his awaiting jaws.

One of York's hands launched to the back of Samael's skull and he closed his eyes, moving his head forward before York could add an ounce of his own pressure. His friend's arousal slipped into his muzzle with familiar ease, though Samael's painfully-stiff spines weren't going to accept waiting for his usual oral foreplay. He needed to get right to business.

Samael gripped harder into York's leg to force his head further toward him, his snout burying into the soft fur at his waist as York's tail thumped violently on the mattress. Samael's tongue rolled around the knot that was still thickening, keeping his jaws closed securely over the entire length of his companion while moving his head rhythmically. One of Samael's hands shifted up to grasp York's hip and hold himself steady, repositioning himself to line up his partner's malehood with his throat before plunging his maw even harder forward.

"Holy shit, Sammy," York gasped, his legs flexing and shuddering against the stocky chupa's muscular torso as his fingers curled into his skull. Samael had only a muffled gurgle in response as York's length jammed neatly into his throat, his own tail jingling with his passion. York's hips moved to pull back on instinct and Samael worked in tandem, his head withdrawing in time only to shove back down insistently and encourage an automatic thrust in return. "G-goddamn!" York wheezed, even as he moved his other hand to the back of Samael's skull.

Samael moaned around his malehood, drinking in the helpless pressure from his companion's palms, knowing all too well York was already overwhelmed. He knew which buttons to press, he knew what the guy loved. And he wasn't manipulating it, no...no, god, no, he was using it to drive them both insane, to leap headfirst into this haphazardly planned attempt to assuage his needs with the one person he trusted not to judge him, not to dissuade him, not to be terrified into backing away with a disgusted expression and a cold shoulder.

...Though Samael wouldn't blame him if he ended up being just a bit apprehensive.

As his maw drove into York's firm abdominal muscles, he let his tongue slide out past the bulging knot threatening to force his jaws wide, maneuvering it down into the top of his companion's sheath while continuing to bounce his muzzle back and forth. Saliva was already flooding past his sealed lips to coat York's loins, bubbles forming from the way Samael refused to release his arousal and simply rocked his muzzle along it.

The moment his tongue slipped into York's pouch, York's fingers clamped even harder around his skull with an accompanying yelp. Samael could feel York's back arching and he added a twist to the short, rapid movements of his head so his teeth could trace gentle paths along the diamond-like knot, piling the sensations ruthlessly atop his elated friend. York's body took over and his shoulders slammed down into the mattress as a stifled cry rushed through clenched jaws. His paws planted into the bed on either side of Samael's legs, grounding himself so he could begin to buck wildly upward. It didn't matter that his erection hadn't emerged once since Samael had taken it in, it didn't matter that all he was thrusting were his own hips, slamming his crotch frenetically into Samael's maw with less rhythm than the two regularly maintained.

Samael didn't mind, drinking down every violent, desperate crash in a bid to tamp down the unquenchable flames licking at his insides.

He could feel the wetness at the front of his strained shorts as York's flesh jabbed the back of his throat faster and harder, each minuscule shove upward more uncontrolled than the last. "Oh...o-oh, christ, Sammy!!" York belted out, his hips leaving the mattress as he clung to Samael's head and loosed a jagged wail of pleasure.

The first burst of fluids was tiny, a mere precursor for what was to come. Samael guzzled it all the same, the muscles along his throat flexing with uncanny expertise as he wrapped a thick arm around York's waist to hold his hips up and against his maw. The thrusts were manic despite their microscopic distance, a barrage of forceful, uncoordinated attacks as if a climber's pick in a frenzied quest for the elusive peak. And Samael was there to encourage and elevate alike, meeting York's frantic moans with his own muted pleas as he looped his other arm around York, all but trapping his crotch against his muzzle.

York's head thumped back into the pillows as his tail swung and thrashed about, smacking into Samael's leg hard enough to leave a bruise. He cried out Samael's name, and then again, and once more...and as Samael felt his partner's length stiffen impossibly further, he finally eased the pressure of his lower jaw just enough for York's hips to be able to pull his arousal free. The sudden freedom of movement was met with a piercing yowl of excitement and York instantly thrust straight upward with the guidance of Samael's arms around his waist.

Samael's body was alight with raw ecstasy as York slammed himself in and out of his muzzle, relentlessly pumping his knot past his lips in a blinding rush. Strings of saliva coated his muzzle and York's stomach, but they only served to make the motions that much smoother in spite of the impetuous rhythm. York's fingers trembled violently and he held Samael's head firmly in place and worked into his jaws harder and harder until a strangled shout filled the room with his climax.

And finally, the fusillade Samael so craved. He nearly choked on the sheer volume that flooded his throat but swallowed every drop as he clutched into York's waist and begged for more through actions alone. York was all too willing to grant it, calling Samael's name again and pounding his steel-stiff flesh upward over and over while curling his spine to the point that Samael had to kneel to keep his head high enough for the onslaught of thrusting.

The intense orgasm lasted several seconds, several seconds of undignified yelping and paws slipping wildly on the sheets, several seconds of muffled groans and tears of effort mixing with all the other fluids streaking over Samael's cheeks, several seconds of two friends working together with such unbridled passion that it was a wonder the poor, overworked box springs beneath them didn't collapse from the strain. Samael's other arm joined the first one around York's hips, hugging his waist tight to his head as he continued moving his muzzle back and forth even after the torrent of bliss tapered off to a dribble. Didn't matter he'd kept his under-three-minute promise, he wanted every moment to last as long as possible to stave off the shame that hovered just over his shoulder.

"Hnngh...nnn...oh...o-oh, my...oh-my-god, S-Sammy..." York stammered, his hips and thighs wobbling violently as he attempted to lower himself back to the mattress. Samael's grip around his waist was secure, however, his bulging arms keeping York mashed against his jaws while he rumbled and bobbed his head, letting his tongue dance around the trembling flesh to claim every ounce of his prize. "S-Sammy, f-fuck...holy sh-shit..."

One of York's arms dropped to his side and the gasping sounds of delight shifted toward a whimper. It was enough to pull Samael from the thick haze of his pleasure, his eyes slowly opening to gaze down at York's flushed features, his friend's own eyes full of emotions both warm and distressed. His guilt twinged again and he carefully pried apart his jaws, wincing at the creak while gingerly lowering York's hips back to the mattress. York tried to lift his head from the pillows but seemed yet consumed by the cannonade of bliss. The hand still grasped into the back of Samael's skull shifted down to cup his cheek while Samael lifted his head carefully to allow York's drenched malehood to flop free.

* ~ * ~ * ~ NSFW Ends * ~ * ~ *

"Are...are you alright?" York managed while staring up at Samael's ecstatic features. "That was...geezus..."

"Purdy good, right?" Samael rasped, his voice hoarse from his efforts. He could already see the worry building in York's expression and he chuckled, closing his eyes and pressing his cheek into York's palm while shuffling forward to flop unceremoniously atop his friend's chest. "I'm good, hon...I'm good."

He meant it, too. His head was swimming, though it was within an ocean of satisfaction that kept the searing sands of his lust momentarily at bay. York lifted his other arm to drape over his shoulders, and Samael could still feel his muscles quivering. It had apparently been one helluva climax.

He'd given York a lot of amazing climaxes before, he was sure this hadn't been the best one. But he knew York would treat it that way, as he treated every romp with Samael. And Samael was sure York treated any other partner the same way, too, making them feel amazing and incredible and talented no matter how short or shitty the roll in the hay had actually been.

Except Samael knew the velvety-soft touch of York's true self, he knew that when those beautiful evergreen eyes drank him in, York was truly appreciating him. Every time. It was more than friendship, it was love. Not a romantic love, no, but the love of a genuine friend, a brother-in-arms, someone with whom you were comfortable sharing all your pain and joy and secrets.

At least most of your secrets.

It wasn't any fault of York's that Samael kept that one ache to himself, though. If anything, he avoided telling him because he didn't want to be another shadow cast across the burning radiance of York's soul. York was more than Samael's best friend -- he was a real hero. To his friends, to the Movement, to all of Sirca, whether or not she knew it.

Samael could pretend night and day to be righteous and to stand for justice, for freedom, for a new world that offered a better, peaceful life for all of the ring's inhabitants. He could preach about his belief that everyone deserved a chance to see that new dawn, about how he would give his life for the cause, risk everything he had for his friends, for the future. He even had the scars to prove it, a whole patchwork quilt of evidence beneath his thick, pale hide.

But what was a collection of idiotic, headstrong mistakes against the markings of a hero?

York didn't need to speak such words because he'd lived it. He'd been through Specials, he'd been one of Freelancer's best. Who knows how many lives he'd saved before he'd even turned to the resistance and joined Wash and CT in running missions that dove into the very heart of Omega's machinations? They were the real seekers of justice, the ones who had seen first-hand what terrors existed deep in the heart of the House. York wasn't just a stupid kid pretending to be a fighter, he was a true warrior. What he'd seen, what he'd lost, it made Samael's pitiful tale sound like a bad children's bedtime story.

York didn't just throw himself in front of bullets for his comrades, either -- he'd picked them back up when they'd tripped, carried them when they'd fallen. He was more than just a brick wall, he was a whole damn foundation. And just as North had selflessly risked his life to rescue Samael and haul him to safety without a single thought of his own well-being, Samael knew without a doubt York would have done the same had he been in North's place. They were heroes because they could do more than merely take a hit, they could save lives.

It felt wrong coming to him for this, no matter how close their friendship, no matter how tightly woven the fibers of their personalities. They joked about their proclivities, the way they both paraded proudly around with their desires pinned to their nonexistent sleeves. And even if they'd crashed passionately together the very first day they'd met, finding a deeper layer to their bond through the sex that started shakily but ended incredibly, York had never truly come across as a tramp. Everyone joked about it, how he was Freelancer's man-whore, but he could control himself. He was charming without being needy, enticing without being desperate.

He was a man everyone else could look up to. A man they could hope to be like one day, a man they could trust to help his friends lead the way to the impossible future. A man who wasn't perfect, who had certainly done things he wasn't proud of...but a man who owned his mistakes and strove to be more than his failures, who had taken on more burden than he deserved, but used it to elevate himself and be a beacon to his friends, to everyone whose lives were touched by his warming light.

He wasn't pure, no, but he was true. True to himself, to what he believed and what he wanted to be. His past didn't define him -- the key around his neck was a reminder, not an anchor. His body wasn't decorated with tattoos and piercings like Samael's because he didn't need to prove himself to the ring, he didn't need to shout who he was or what he stood for.

And his love for Wash was unparalleled. Were Samael a lesser man than he already was, he would covet that love, pray with all his strength that it could belong to him, instead. He chose to be happy, however, for York and Wash both. Wash deserved it, even if he resisted the connection. And York never looked as blissful as he did when he talked about his battle buddy. It was a love that had come after years of working together, learning to trust and understand every facet of each other...not like the impetuous, unpredictable love Samael was experiencing for the second time in his life, no -- York was mature, York cultivated real bonds, not the impulsive and emotionally-driven links Samael tried so desperately to maintain.

It didn't seem fair that York still spared so much kindness and attention and time for Samael. Second-best-friend or not, York had always been more than Samael deserved. Even if it had been nearly two years since their fateful introduction, sometimes Samael wondered if York was just unfortunate enough to be one of his marks, someone he'd clumsily seduced and drawn close thanks to the fact he was the first male York had ever been intimate with.

But he couldn't bear the thought of tugging that thread. York was his rock, and not even his darkest, cruelest thoughts could convince him that York didn't cherish their relationship just as much. They were doomed to be friends, for better or for worse, and Samael knew there was no one else on Sirca who was better suited to deal with him, the way York often told him no one else would have ever been able to open his eyes to the truth of who he was.

They were dumb puppies, alright...but at least they were dumb puppies together.

"I toldja I jus' needed that dick," he mumbled into York's chest, cracking one eye open and half-smiling as he swallowed the invasive thoughts that had bubbled up. No matter what his imbalanced hormones whispered about York, it felt too goddamn good being here, being held by his best friend.

York couldn't avoid returning the smile, even if concern still laced his expression. "I can see that." He stroked his thumb beneath Samael's eye, brushing gently through the damp fur. "You gonna tell me what the hell is going on to have you gobbling all this York goodness in record time, though? Haven't been able to decide if I should be excited or apprehensive ever since you called me up...and as nice as it is to feel your redneck boner talking to what's left of my boner through those sexy-ass shorts I got you, you know you're more than just a good lay to me, Sammy. Our crazy, weird, tight friendship has always been more than the sex, and you know it." York squeezed Samael's shoulders as their eyes locked. There wasn't a drop of embellishment in York's voice because he meant every word. "So talk to me."

Samael exhaled.

He should have promised ten minutes instead of three.

* * *

Samael Wurlitz was a lot of things.

He was a fast talker and a smooth operator, both in the field and in the bedroom. His verbal finesse was a match for his physical presence, and he knew too well how to use both gifts to their fullest extent.

He was stubborn and stuck to a code that made sense in some ways but was confounding in others, his very existence tied to the belief that all sins could be forgiven except his own. Anyone could be recruited to his side if he so deemed it, and he hadn't failed to convert even the most devout of targets.

He wasn't smart in any traditional sense, though his emotional intelligence was terrifyingly sharp, honed to a razor's edge that made his searching gaze as deadly a weapon as any blade. His literacy might have been questionable, but he was earnest and didn't try to pretend he knew more than he did; he was always ready to take on a new lesson, to eagerly absorb some new knowledge no matter the subject.

He believed in the cause and unceasingly offered his sweat and blood to it. And yet he also hated it, hated to fight those who were only doing what they knew, following orders for fear of their lives, their family's lives. He fought proudly, skillfully, even if a bit amateurishly, and never hesitated to put himself in the way of danger if it meant saving a friend. Hell, if it meant saving a stranger.

His sexual prowess was at the front and center of who he was, and he had little remorse about it. But he had his quiet moments, too, when he would show slivers of the shame, acknowledging that he knew it was all but a disease he couldn't control. He flaunted his easy ways but wasn't blind to the frowns and wrinkled muzzles and disapproving clucks that came with it.

Something in his past haunted him yet didn't restrain him; his resolve and will were nigh unmatched. To have his trust was to know you had one of Sirca's most loyal sons at your back, to have his ire was to feel the wolf's breath tickle the nape of your neck.

And to have his love -- not the love he freely offered to his friends, to all those he held dear, but to have his very heart -- was perhaps the greatest and most dangerous gift of all. His devotion alone seemed too much for a single soul to control. Opinions weren't kind toward the one who commanded that power, yet Samael loved him without question and without fear.

But above all these other things, Samael Wurlitz was York's friend. Most of York's friends had earned that right after weeks, quarters, years of enduring harsh trials and losses through Specials and Freelancer, proving themselves to be worthy of the real York, the York who was more than a grinning, teasing, attractive mask.

Samael had earned it in less than a day.

Whatever the reason that Samael hadn't pursued York as more than his best friend, York had in turn accepted it, knowing it wasn't because he had done anything wrong or because he wasn't ideal for Samael. Maybe the little bastard just had a glimpse of the future, or recognized that York wasn't ready for anything serious.

It hadn't done a damn thing to weaken their friendship. Whether on jobs or between the sheets (or in supply closets or in the back of a pickup truck or on a sailboat or rolling together on the cliffs of Highguard), the two had an enviable rhythm. York was all too aware it wasn't necessarily a good thing-- the number of times they'd taken a bullet or a blade or a punch to the face for one another couldn't have been healthy. But they were inseparable and no matter how much Nelson and Wash both tried to prevent it, the duo always found a way to meet up, fist bump and proceed to raise hell together, no matter the task -- or sexual position -- at hand.

Samael's piercing gaze might have been one of the few on Sirca that read emotions even better than York's, but York could still pluck out the apprehension and hesitation in his friend's eyes as Samael struggled to find his words. He stayed quiet, letting the matching thuds of their heartbeats even out with their steadied breathing while giving his strange little pal all the time he needed. Too many times over the last couple of weeks had he let Samael get away without sharing his side of things. The stories and rambling York had spilled about Wash to the tiny redneck could fill a book; in return, he'd only received scraps of disjointed notes and hastily-scribbled thoughts from his friend regarding his own burgeoning relationship with Andee.

Samael had spelled out some of the less-pleasant realities after their drunken rebound session following the miserable experience in Lamtha, and there had been plenty of coy stories about the way things had improved since then...but Samael was frustratingly talented at encouraging everyone around him to unpack their baggage while keeping his own cinched up tight. York was determined to be the friend Samael deserved this time, and stop taking advantage of the fact that the guy was an endless chasm for heartfelt disclosures and dicks alike.

Considering the way the stocky redneck eventually broke their gaze to look down at York's chest and study the finger he traced slowly through the cream-colored fur, York imagined Samael had hoped to be spared the difficulty. But he put all his strength into keeping his mouth shut -- no easy feat, either, since it took every inch of his willpower to not start babbling in an attempt to soothe his friend's discomfort.

"So, uh...so things with Andee is good!" Samael finally murmured, lifting his eyes and offering a smile that actually felt genuine. "They really is. We had a lotta good times together since we got our new, uh. New piercin's."

York smiled back and drew the claw of his thumb between Samael's shoulderblades. "That's awesome, Sammy. I don't know why you've been so nervous, it sounds like a good thing. Unless you're nervous about the fact that I can't be your boyfriend anymore."

He winked playfully, but part of him wondered if that was partially the truth. They had such a strangely intense friendship, physically and emotionally deeper than most romantic couples. What was going to change now that they both had another to whom they'd devoted their hearts? York hoped nothing, if he was being honest, because he valued Samael's companionship more than he knew how to explain. They came to each other for a reason, they spent so much time together not because of how awesome the sex was but because they completed something in each other.

Samael laughed softly and lifted his eyes again. "Naw, ain't that. Cute as it is fer you to think I'd even want a big ol' ex-Freelancer like you as my boyfriend."

He winked back but they both felt the twinge.

It would go without acknowledgment one more time, though. Maybe some other day.

Samael drew in another slow breath, sliding up a bit more across York's chest until their muzzles were nearly touching. "Um. Naw, I mean like. Things is...really good."

York quirked an eyebrow, his confusion dancing with bemusement. "Nice! But...so, what, you're bragging? Because I've told you all the delicious details of what me 'n the pine cone have been up to, you ain't the only one with a sexy, well-hung boyfr--"

"An' my ruff jus' started," Samael blurted while curling up somewhat atop York's torso, like his own muscular body had any chance of becoming inauspicious.

York blinked before grinning enormously. "Reaaaal nice, heh." His fingers absently stroked down Samael's backbone until they brushed against the base of his tail and -- yeah, sure enough, he could feel the stiff spines tickling his pads. He hadn't noticed them before, which he was absolutely blaming on Samael's particularly energetic greeting. "Sounds like the perfect time for you and Andee to--"

Samael winced as he interrupted awkwardly again: "Naw, hon, you don't get it, I." He licked his lips as his cheeks flushed hard enough that York felt the heat against his breast. "I don't wanna break 'im."

York blinked again, his fingers still tangled with Samael's erect spines. "Uhhh..." He tipped his head to one side while a gentle crease formed across his brow as he attempted to figure out what it was, exactly, his friend was trying to ask. "You don't...wanna..."

Samael looked to the side before grasping into a clump of York's shaggy hide and turning his gaze back to him. "He ain't never been with one of...our kind before me. He don't know...he..." He ran his tongue over the end of his muzzle as his eyes searched York's pleadingly. "With how good things is, I'm afraid I might lose control 'n...hurt 'im." York began to reply but his friend shook his head and leaned closer so their snouts touched. "I need yer help, hon."

York stared up at Samael for a few seconds. He was touched, since this was clearly something Samael had struggled to ask. But he was also more than somewhat apprehensive, since...

He cleared his throat and gingerly moved his hand away from Samael's stiff fur. "I mean...yeah, Sammy, of course, of course I'll help, but uh." He licked his own lips while shifting his hand to scratch at his muzzle. "It's. It's just your ruff, right? I'm honored, but...you can't, uh. I mean, was there no one at Sidewinder who..."

Not even Samael could hope to hide the sunken expression that overtook his features, his eyes sprinting shamefully to the corner of the room. "F-fuck, yer...y-yer right, York, this. This was stupid, I ain't..." He released York's chest fur and pushed himself up while clenching his teeth and trembling. "This was real fuckin' stupid, I shouldn'ta bothered you with this shit, I dunno what I was thinkin'..."

York watched in stupefaction as conflicting emotions warred loudly in his thoughts. Samael knew him, he knew what York liked and what he, ah. Hadn't been so receptive to in the past. And the hormones Samael must have been feeling if his cycle had just started, well. He'd been impulsive, that's all, it wasn't a big deal, they could laugh this off, continue that easy, natural dynamic they'd established from the first day their bodies had entwined.

But his heart ached at the sight of Samael's raw disgrace, and every single defining moment of their friendship came crashing through the doubts as his hand shot out to grab Samael's wrist. "W-wait, Sammy..."

He knew to expect the tears but was still pained by the embarrassed streaks Samael didn't have time to brush away as the other rebel hurriedly rubbed at his features. "I-i-it's okay, York, I'mma go t-take care'a this--"

York gripped more firmly into his arm as his gaze softened. "Hey, hey. Look, I'm just...I'm just surprised, that's all." He gave a hesitant smile as Samael stared down at him nervously. "You're the king of sexy-time. I, uh. I just never figured your ruff would be something you, um. You know. Would be so scared of. I mean, with how often we bang, I sorta figured you were in the ruff every damn week!"

York's words had the lilt of a tease, though Samael still shrank his shoulders. He shifted his weight and then slowly lowered himself back onto York, but his eyes continued roaming while darting anxiously back to his friend every few seconds. "I...uh." He swallowed and York frowned -- it was the rare moment when he could easily spot that Samael was struggling with the truth. "I ain't. I ain't learned a lot about...that stuff. B-back home, I mean," he stammered, his eyes flicking to York's and then down to his chest again as his voice dropped to a whisper. "I ain't sure what's normal, 'cause I only get my ruff once, m-maybe twice a year..."

York blinked again, unable to mask his own shock. "A...a year?" he replied incredulously before he could stop himself. York's own cycle -- along with most other guys he knew, came to visit at least once a quarter or so. "Geezus..."

Samael bit his lip and then squeezed his eyes tightly shut while he clamped his fingers around York's forearm as if bracing himself. "An'...the last time I was in the ruff, we. We had two of our folks request transfers outta Sidewinder."

York knew it would be impolite to gawk, but gawk he did. It made Samael scrunch backward, and York swiftly wrapped an arm around his thick torso to prevent him from trying to sidle away again.

He just needed a minute.

"You. Hoo boy, Sammy."

"It's a'right, York, h-honest, I...I don't wanna mess up what we got 'n I don't wanna make you do nothin' --" He winced when York lifted his other hand, but the larger chupa reached over and rubbed his thumb along Samael's jaw studs.

"Sammy, it's, uh. It's."

Oh god, what was he doing?

"It's. All good."

Oh god, what was he doing?!

"You've, uh. You've done so much for me and we've been through so much together, we're best buds. And, uh. I mean." He attempted a real-sounding laugh. "I've come a long way since the last time you and I tried to, erm. Switch."

Samael stared down into his eyes, looking torn between a laugh and an apology. "Hon, you...you started cryin' 'fore I even got halfway in."

York huffed in spite of the furious blush beneath his fur. "H-hey! I was. I was very new to it. As in. As in it was my literal first time." He pursed his muzzle and then puffed his chest out, forcing Samael's own muscular body to rise with the defiant motion. "Plus after Wash in the boat, uh. I'm. Totally more used to it." He scoffed in a vain attempt to bolster his own resolve.

The shaky redneck didn't need to know he hadn't tried it again with anyone else since that glorious -- and somewhat achy -- experience.

Samael sniffled but let a wary smile trickle across his features. York couldn't help but notice how much more handsome his friend always looked when he smiled. His heart swelled at the sight as Samael mumbled: "If...if yer sure, hon. I ain't mean to spring this on m'best friend, but it means the ring to me 'cause I ain't sure who else I coulda turned to..."

York's pulse only quickened as a mixture of pride and compassion overcame him. He and Samael truly had experienced so much together in their relatively short time as friends, yet it still never ceased to amaze him how much closer their bond could become. He propped up a more confident grin, even if its foundation quivered harder than his thighs from the orgasm he was still recovering from. "Heh, no big deal, amigo! Besides, if your ruff just means more awesome blowjobs like that one, this'll be a cakewalk!"

Samael's smile became warmer as his eyes twinkled, though his voice carried a very real note of sympathy. "Aw...York, yer sweet, but...when I say I'm scared of hurtin' Andee, I don't mean I'm afraid of suckin' his dick so hard it falls off."

York tried his best to maintain the cocky expression, but his eyes betrayed him as they widened somewhat. "Uhhh...huhhh, I. I mean. Yeah, obviously, I. I know. Duh. There's gonna be...um. You're gonna. You're gonna be...putting your...oh lord."

Samael's tender expression molted into genuine affection as he reached up and stroked along York's broad muzzle. "God, yer cute. But hey!" He brightened, and York could see the way he strained to force optimism through his concern. "I brought a whole shitload of treats to help us enjoy it more! It's the good stuff, too!"

York gave a creaky smile, trying not to bite his lip nervously. "Heh. B-booze or, uh. Or lube?"

It was a joke, of course, one to help ease the awkward tension of --

"Both!"

"Oh lord."

Samael giggled, though his eyes grew soft again as he rested his palm on York's cheek. "You sure yer still okay with it, York? It's a'right if you wanna say n--"

"Yep!" York declared, as boldly and stupidly as he'd done so the night Samael asked if they were friends after less than two periods of knowing each other. And god, if the sudden rush of adrenaline wasn't the same, too. It was nearly enough to overwhelm the sheer terror of being at the mercy of the craziest, horniest redneck he knew. "We're doing this!"

Samael beamed, most of the remaining vestiges of his anxiety fading to elation. "York, I ain't even sure how to start thankin' you..."

York lifted an eyebrow and did his best to steel his nerves as the various implications began to settle into place. "W-well, uh. How about we start with all your so-called goodies before you, erm. You know. Bend me over any furniture."

His friend chortled but nodded all too happily while sliding off York's broad chest to land sprightly next to the bed. "Oh yeah! I brought way more'n just moonshine 'n sex-juice, too! I got some stuff in here that'll take you on a ride, hon!"

"You mean other than the bumpy ride on your scary, metal-covered dick?" York replied awkwardly while sitting up with a grunt. "God, this is gonna be...this is gonna be loud, isn't it?"

Samael smiled over to him again with an apologetic tip of his head. "Haw. Don't tell me the York is scared of a li'l ride. Anyway, is it gonna be loud? Lawd, you know me. You know you, too."

"I do," York mumbled soberly before blinking as a light bulb went off. "Oh...oh shit, wait. God, I got an idea." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and snagged a pair of shorts to hurriedly tug them on while Samael looked curiously at him. "Heh. You're gonna love it. And I think he would, too." He smiled as his eyes met Samael's, his friend's expression shifting to one of appreciation as the realization dawned over him as well. "He hasn't had much company since our poker night."

Samael's bright smile warmed York's heart even further, making him almost forget what he was agreeing to. "Yer right. Big man's room's cozy and quiet. Ain't no one gonna bother us down 'ere."

York smirked. The excitement and apprehension were blending together seamlessly now. "Well, then we better hurry before anyone finds out you're here and starts asking questions!" he declared.

"Er...I did sorta run into CT," Samael noted with a sheepishly raised finger. "She, uh. She mighta figgered out a'least part'a why I'm here..."

York huffed loudly again, though they both knew it was impossible for either to be mad with the other. "Dammit, Sammy! Whatever CT-tax you paid won't be enough, she's gonna be in snoop mode, now!" Samael's eyes widened a bit while he slipped the pack over his shoulders again -- no doubt he remembered well how thoroughly CT had grilled him when they'd first met. York reached out to grab his friend's wrist and drag him toward the hall, not at all missing the irony of the fact that he wasn't the one suffering the urges of his cycle. "Quick, Operation Redneck Ruff Riding is a go!"

"You got it, hon!" Samael cried out as the two jogged together to the door, sticking their heads out simultaneously to peer in opposite directions before they proceeded to prance down the corridor with their arms still linked.

Maybe York had no idea what he was in for...but it was good to be reminded that despite the absurdity, some things never changed.

Red vs Blue © Rooster Teeth. Halo © 343 Industries. Concept by Myshu, assisted by The Department of Chupapology.