FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

AUTHOR'S NOTE: IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T READ IT.

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A weasel superhero tries his luck at bedding a convenient rescuee, only to discover his empathy is no match for pure naïveté. A commission for Kuntos, that took too long but paid off for us both.

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FEEDBACK ALWAYS WELCOME TO: [email protected]

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"Wow, this whole room is just for me?" Distorter watched the kangaroo with amusement. He was looking at the weasel's spare bedroom like it was a special gift, given for a hard day's work or chores done. He shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and flopped down onto the bed, sighing and smiling. "This is so cool!"

"It's just a bed, man," the weasel replied, crossing his arms but grinning himself, pleased that such a small action could make someone happy. This was also ignoring the fact that just two hours ago the roo had been cowering in the far corner of an airline terminal, the traumatized victim of a crazed gunman. One of many.

That had been almost too close, even for Distorter's comfort.

Now, Sydney seemed to have recovered quite nicely (and quickly) from the stressful events of the day. He still wasn't quite sure he knew what he was doing, as he watched the roo cavorting around his spare bedroom like a kid on vacation. But when Sydney jumped onto the bed again, putting his paws on the windowsill and letting his fat tail wag the rest of him, he remembered why he'd put himself in such an awkward position. He licked his lips.

At the very least, the roo was a fair bit of eye candy. If he had to give a figure, Distorter would say that the decision to let Sydney stay with him temporarily was about half empathic goodwill and half trying-to-get-into-this-hot-guy's-pants. Of course, he would never say that. The attraction came only after the weasel had subdued the crazy coyote gunman, diffused the situation and picked up on Sydney's utter terror shortly thereafter.

The infrequent rescue-cum-sleepover was something he did from time to time. It polished his image with good word-of-muzzle, and sometimes he lucked out and came across a good-looking guy. It was a wonder no one had caught on to the fact that there had been no women so far. Perhaps it was all the better for his image.

"We're really high up," said the roo, gazing out the window onto the city below. "You must make a lot of money."

"I get by okay," the weasel replied in his standard humble tone. "Is it really that interesting? You never been in a skyscraper before?"

"Nuh-uh. Hee, everybody looks like ants!" Sydney giggled, then turned away from the window, bouncing to the floor and smothering Distorter in an impromptu hug. "Thanks for letting me stay here."

"No problem at all," replied the weasel, returning the hug, careful not to get too personal with it just yet. No use spoiling his chances this early; better to keep it to the "straight bro" A-frame hug, complete with space between crotches. "Is there anyone you need to call, to let them know where you are?"

Sydney pulled back, quizzical for a moment. As he looked at the ceiling, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. Then his face lit up. "Ozzy! I need to call Ozzy." His paws were clamped down on the weasel's latex-clad shoulders, as if the phone call was suddenly the most important thing in the world.

"Who's Ozzy?" Distorter asked, praying silently it wasn't the name of a boyfriend. A monogamous boyfriend, at least.

"My brother. Well, not my real brother, but he's kinda like a brother."

"Was he supposed to pick you up at the airport?"

"No, silly! He's back home. He dropped me off at the airport."

Distorter walked into the front room, with the roo following closely behind. "Do you know his number?"

"Uh-huh," said Sydney, reaching in his back pocket and bringing out his wallet. He plucked a piece of paper from the bill compartment and handed it to the weasel. Distorter looked it over: ten digits, beginning with 04.

"Where is this guy?"

"Australia."

"Oh. S'that where you flew in from?"

"Yep!"

"Huh. Okay, let me see if it works." The weasel picked up his cell phone off the kitchen counter where he'd left it, dialed the number, and waited. After a couple of seconds, he heard it ring, and after three rings or so, the line clicked.

"G'day." That brought an automatic smile to Distorter's face. A real Australian saying a typical Australian thing. The accent was thicker than Sydney's, but still very understandable.

"Hi," the weasel began. "I'm calling about a kangaroo friend of yours."

"Sydney? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine."

"Hiya, Ozzy!" the roo shouted, then giggled, waving toward the phone. Damn, if that wasn't cute as hell.

"Well, who's this, then?" Ozzy asked.

Distorter saw the roo starting to say something else again, but held up a finger to his mouth. "There was kind of a situation at the airport, but it's all right now. He was pretty shaken up, but I just wanted to let you know that he's fine and here with me. Um--"

"He said I could stay here, Ozzy! I don't have to do the motel now! Isn't that cool? He's awesome!" Sydney piped up, essentially finishing the sentence with which the weasel had been struggling. He didn't necessarily want to give up his true identity, because that usually made people either suspicious or opportunistic. He didn't get that feeling from Sydney, and Ozzy certainly didn't sound like it either. But still, better safe than sorry.

"Looks like I need to talk to Sydney," Ozzy said.

Rolling his eyes in defeat, the weasel replied, "Here he is," and handed the phone over to the roo, who dived into the one-sided conversation wholeheartedly.

"Hiya, Ozzy! Uh-huh, he's a weasel, and he's really really nice! Yeah, it was scary...some bad guy, he was really weird, everybody was yelling...but no, I'm fine and like I said, I don't need the motel! I dunno, lemme ask. Hey, can I trust you?"

Distorter looked over at Sydney, who was holding the phone to one long ear with both paws. He tried to read into the question, and the expression, but nothing. He even tried tapping into the roo's head, just shallowly, to detect any artifice, but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. How could anyone ask a question like that, one so basically pure?

"I'd like to think so," the weasel said. He couldn't very well say no.

Sydney said, "He says I can. Is that okay? Oh, alright...here, he wants to talk to you now." The roo tossed the phone back to Distorter.

"Hello?"

"Are you gonna take good care of him? He says he can trust you, and I'd like to think I can do the same."

"The only thing I can give you is my promise. Other than that, you'll just have to take my word for it, I guess. I can't ask any more from you than that." And it was the truth. He couldn't tap into Ozzy's head through the phone, so he was stuck with the standard stuff.

"Okay, I trust you. He's like my brother, so just make sure he stays out of trouble and keeps clean. Call me if you have any problems. He's pretty easy. Tell him I love him." The phone was loud enough for Sydney to hear, and he shouted his response. What a weird relationship, thought the weasel. But, whatever. With a curt but cordial goodbye, Ozzy hung up.

"He's the best, isn't he?" the roo asked, fairly hopping. Not a trace of sarcasm. Distorter wished he could be so lucky as to still be unjaded by the world, and even he was positive most of the time.

"You really look up to him, don't you?"

"Like a big brother, I told you. He takes care of me all the time. Dunno what I would do without him."

Probably go on living your life like the rest of us, the weasel thought, before mentally slapping himself for such a callous thought. From time to time, he still had to remember that not everyone had the mixed blessing of super-empathy. There was something interesting about Sydney, not anything he could place right away, and it bothered him more than he liked.

"He sounds like a nice guy. What is he, anyway?"

"Meerkat. He has really neat eyes, all green and brownish. He's all soft and stuff." Sydney's gaze became distant, his smile easy. It calmed Distorter down by proxy.

"Cool."

"Yeah!"

Then followed a silence only the weasel determined to be awkward. Sydney was sitting on the edge of the bed, paws clasped in his lap, the tip of his tail the only thing about him that was moving. He kept looking around the room, seeming to continuously find things to be interested in, as if he were seeing each object for the first time all over again. Actually, it was quite refreshing. Lightened his own mood, in a way.

"You probably want to clean up after the flight and...everything else," the weasel said, realizing he was starting to blush for no good reason. Kind of a weakness of his, though the roo didn't seem to notice.

Sydney looked at his paws, turning them over as if checking them for soil. "I guess I could. I don't feel dirty, but if you say so."

"This room has its own bathroom, right behind there in the corner. The shower and bath are separate, in case you preferred either or."

"Which do you want?"

"What do you mean?"

"You aren't coming?" Sydney canted his head, his ears semi-floppy. This statement struck the weasel as so unexpected that he nearly did a double-take. The roo couldn't have meant it that way. It...it was just too honest.

Distorter's paws went down in front of his latex body suit, thwarting any chance of his sudden and uncontrollable arousal being seen. Still, he found himself stammering out a demur. "Uh, nah, I'll go fix something to drink. See you when you get out."

"Okay!" Sydney said perkily, pulling his shirt over his head as he walked around the bed to the bathroom door, going for his pants along the way. Distorter just watched--stared, really--as the roo kicked his socks off and stepped out of his underwear right before disappearing into the bathroom. He'd gotten a glimpse, all right. Perhaps more than he should have, but Sydney didn't seem to mind or care.

"Whoo," he muttered, and promptly turned on his heels to pad over to the kitchen. Behind him, he could hear Sydney whistling as he turned the shower on and waited for the water to heat up. Grabbing a glass from a cupboard and filling it with ice from the fridge, he poured a can of soda for himself and leaned against the island, very aware of his erection and its stubborn continued existence. The body suit didn't do him any favors either. He just took a swallow and tried to get his mind on other things.

It was kind of hard when he could still feel the weak, diluted remnants of Sydney's emotions, like searching for a signal at the very edge of a wireless network. Snippets of carefree happiness here and there, a blissfully uncluttered thought process. He'd never really seen, or felt, anything like it before.

He shook his head and thought back on the events of earlier. The wild, scared look of the yote as he brandished his weapon with a shaky paw, so much so that he could hear the click of claws against the trigger guard. Seeing people in the terminal ducking as he drew a wide circle in the air with it. Coming onto the scene to the rank aural stench of fear and confusion. No anger. A TSA employee had provided a distraction while Distorter came up silently from behind, swatting the weapon away and subduing the gunman. The rest was police business. Any number of other heroes could have worked more effectively, but he'd been closest at the time.

Sydney had been in a far corner of the terminal, catatonic. The only reason Distorter had found him at all was because of the strength of pure fear he was giving off, much more helpless than the coyote's. He fairly stank of it, to the weasel's sensitive mind. Almost so much so that it had begun to affect Distorter's own emotions. For someone of Sydney's age, it was a bit of a disproportionate reaction, but he'd seen worse before. The weasel still didn't know what had possessed him to offer up his place for at least a short stay--doubtful it was the roo's sex appeal, at least not consciously--but when he heard singing from the shower, he knew he'd done the right thing. If sparks decided to fly, then it was merely a bonus.

He wanted to press further into Sydney's relationship with Ozzy. There was only so far he could get until he hit the limits of his empathic powers, and even then he couldn't tell much from just emotion. They were like brothers but they weren't brothers. They talked to each other like kids on the bus ride home after school. They seemed like they had absolute trust in one another, and that was probably the best thing about it. Still, one had to wonder if there was something more than friendship going on.

"Oh, Christ," he muttered as he felt a twitch between his legs. Of course he would have to think about it that way, wouldn't he? It was just another sign that he was a hopeless...what? Romantic? That would be reading too far into it. Hopeless erotic? Probably a more apt description. Something he couldn't help any more than he could help being a weasel. But the twitch went deeper than that. It resonated between his stubby ears like a radio signal, vibrating his aura in the way only arousal could. It was as unmistakable as if Distorter were doing it to himself: the singing had stopped, and Sydney was pawing off in the shower.

Distorter downed the rest of his glass, but his mouth was already dry. These were the times when he cursed his so-called "gift"--the times when he couldn't ignore what other people unwittingly did to him. Clubs were the worst: all those bodies dancing, gyrating, the grinding and friction working everyone around him into a sexual frenzy. And he could either accept it and blow a load in his suit, or leave and blow a load in the darkness of the nearest alley.

It came from the bathroom, just loud enough to hear over the running water. A gasp, followed by a moan. Oh, that was pure evil right there. The audacity that kangaroo had, to use his bathroom to pleasure himself. Then again, it was the weasel's problem that he could tune in and ride the waves right there with Sydney.

But, just because he was able to, didn't mean he should. Right? There was still some room left in the world for a little decorum. Room to be the gentleman, to rise above it all and prove the exception to the rule.

"Yeah, but I don't feel like it," the weasel said as he stood up, stretched (his suit tenting lewdly out from his body) and put his glass in the sink. Then he proceeded to the bedroom for some good old-fashioned voyeurism. What the roo didn't know couldn't hurt him. Besides, Sydney was practically bringing it upon himself.

The spare room joined with its attached bathroom by way of a doorless arch. The open floorplan, which was echoed in the absence of floor-to-ceiling walls in nearly every living space, gave the impression of more room than there actually was. The apartment itself wasn't small by any means, but with limited space any architectural advantage was welcome. The smell of wet fur mingled with that of lilacs, steam and the underlying musk from a kangaroo. Sydney's clothes lay where they had been discarded, with as much care as a distracted kid.

Another moan came from the shower as the weasel popped his head around the doorway to see if there was anything worth watching. Damn...too foggy for details, but at least he could see the long pink blob sticking out from the big brownish blob, and there was no mistaking that. Sydney even facing the glass, as if he knew Distorter was ogling him as he soaped up and cleaned off.

"Mmmph," groaned the roo, grabbing onto the top of the sliding glass door with the paw that wasn't wrapped around his cock. Warmth began to emanate from the weasel's groin, echoing that of his guest. He could practically feel the testosterone secreted and building up within Sydney's brain and body, and he ground himself against the wall, closing his eyes. The tightness of the suit constricted his sheath even further, the friction exquisite, its pulsing divine.

It was a guilty pleasure that brought back memories from his childhood, though they weren't entirely good. Nights when he couldn't get to sleep, when his mother smelled just a little bit different, and Dad was less strict than usual. There was never a sound from the master bedroom, but even in those early days of his teen years he knew what was going on. He would toss and turn until he could no longer ignore it, then throw off both covers and underwear and give in to sharing his parents' love life, if only to get off so he could finally sleep. It had taken some time to learn to filter out certain things.

But now was not one of those times. Now, Distorter watched as the blob behind the steamy glass pawed himself, coaxing his hips into a thrusting motion against his arm and unwittingly giving his host a great show. And he wasn't even being quiet about it. The weasel swore he thought he could see Sydney's muzzle scrunching up and relaxing as he built himself to higher and higher levels of pleasure.

What he didn't expect was the sudden yelp from the roo, followed by a strained intake of air he could hear even over the flowing water. And he opened his eyes just in time to see his glass shower doors covered in splatters of thick white spooge as Sydney panted away his climax. It came and went so quickly that Distorter didn't even have time to sync his psyche up so he could at least enjoy a simultaneous orgasm. Instead, he started coming down even before he'd peaked, and the result was a rapidly wilting sheath and a heavy blanket of disappointment.

The roo giggled. "All clean!" he singsonged and turned the spray to wash his emissions down the drain. Distorter swore under his breath, placing his paw over the crotch of his suit and finding it soaked through with precum. All that for nothing. Okay, well, he didn't get nothing out of it, but now he had to change clothes and put a load of laundry in.

The water stopped, and Sydney opened the door a crack, blindly grabbing for a towel and sending two others to the floor before succeeding. The weasel thought it best to play it safe, and went back into the bedroom to strip and put on some more appropriate streetclothes. He turned the television on to the weather channel as a matter of diversion, and had just finished tossing his uniform into the hamper when the roo came around the corner with a brush, grooming his arms.

"That felt good!" he chirped, and Distorter smiled at the innocence with which Sydney had handled his self-pleasuring.

"I bet so. This building has a kickass water-heating system, and I have yet to run out. Great for the muscles after a hard day at hero work."

Sydney dug around in his suitcase, once more giving the weasel a nice side-on view of his shapely rear, and pulled out a change of clothes. Boxer-briefs, shorts and a loose-fitting shirt that set off his marsupial body quite nicely. He turned to Distorter and clapped his paws down at his sides. "Now what?"

"I don't know, what do you want to do?"

"I dunno, whaddyou wanna do?" Sydney wrung his paws, looking at the floor, so bashful it was downright precious. It made Distorter wonder if the roo was the kind of person who could pay bills and get along in life without someone like Ozzy to help him. He felt a little sorry for the guy, but Sydney was obviously very happy where he was.

"Well, you're clean, but are you hungry?" the weasel asked, more because of his own empty stomach than Sydney's. He'd had a small breakfast, but after the whole airport incident, all of that had burned off.

Sydney creased his brow in thought for a moment, and his tail actually began to wag as much as it could manage. "Now I am, now that you said something!"

"What kind of food do you like?"

"Ooh! Ooh, I really like fruits and veg." Is there a place like that we could go?"

The question was, was there any place downtown they couldn't go? Distorter's apartment was in a central location, nestled between the business district and the midtown residential district, populated by those who couldn't afford to commute or those who could afford a luxury penthouse in a secure building. At street level were shops of local and national names, various cafés and outdoor restaurants perfect for a meal out on a summer evening when it wasn't too humid. From Vietnamese to Greek and everything in between, there wasn't much one couldn't find.

"I know the perfect place. I think you'll like it, and it's a pretty walk besides. Plenty to look at."

"Okay!" the roo said, probably more happy to be spending time with someone than anything else.

***

"Do you need a leash?" the weasel asked as he walked more behind the roo than beside him. Part of it was because Sydney kept running ahead to look at damn near everything he saw, and part was because his rear made for such an enticing view that Distorter wanted to enjoy as much as he could.

"Hey, I've never been here before," the roo replied. "Everything's new!" His effervescent personality and constant smile were truly endearing, almost enough to make the weasel forget about the half-boner he'd been sporting since they left his place, bound for the Terrace restaurant, eight blocks away. Distorter chose not to reveal that he'd never eaten there himself, and hoped it would prove a good choice.

The Terrace set itself apart from other vegan restaurants in that it didn't try to be a vegan restaurant. Sure, it dealt in organic Tuscan kale and free-range sweet potatoes, but it didn't reek of smug self-righteousness like so many of its gastronomic peers. The atmosphere was light and airy, owing to the atrium-like ceiling, half of which was a living garden that also contributed to the menu. It was the middle of the afternoon, so they didn't have to wait to get a table. Distorter had seen the long lines on the weekend in his comings and goings, and had wondered what so many people saw in the whole vegan movement. Granted, most of the patrons were rabbits and pandas and hoofers of all shapes and sizes, but he would see the occasional wolf or lion.

After getting over his initial disappointment with the menu (not a scrap of meat, not even freaking eggs), the weasel finally decided on a mixed-fruit salad followed by spinach linguine topped with a Rocky Mountain pine pesto. Nothing sounded disgusting, and if he couldn't have proper protein he could at least have some oily carbs.

Sydney ordered a similar appetizer, but he opted to specify what he wanted in it: kiwi, stonefruit, tamarind and quandong. After that, a salad with a picture that made it look like a miniature rainforest.

"What the hell is a quandong?" Distorter asked the grinning roo as the fox waiter left. To him, it sounded vaguely sexual.

"Oh, you'll like it. You can try it if you want! It's a fruit, and it's really sweet. It looks like a cross between a cherry and a pomegranate. One of my faves," Sydney said, curving his fingers around in a semi-circular shape.

"Hope I'm not allergic to it."

"Nah, you're okay." Distorter tuned in; the roo was actually being honest. He couldn't feel any self-assurance either. Sydney wasn't lying to himself, and he wasn't lying to the weasel. After so many dates with so many men, feeling the hubris as they lied through their teeth to his face, Distorter wasn't sure how to react to such blatant straightforwardness. And it didn't look like Sydney was even making an effort!

As it turned out, their early dinner was a very pleasant experience. The food came out exceedingly fresh, more so than the stuff Distorter could buy from the local grocery. Sydney explained that most of his entrée had come from the roof that same morning, and the weasel could see the appeal of that, despite his thoughts of an acid rain-fed salad. It didn't make him want to become a green warrior by any means, but at least the food was good.

Over coffee and dessert (the weasel had no idea how anyone could make tiramisu without eggs or dairy, but they had), the two traded stories about their lives. Sydney had plenty of questions about Distorter's doings as a hero, and more than happy when a fan came by to ask for an autograph and expressed her envy at him sharing a meal with a hero. The roo took it in stride, just happy for the attention.

The weasel kept asking questions, and he was listening, but at the same time he was tuned in and enthralled by what he was getting from Sydney's psyche. Distorter might as well have taken some wonderful drug, from the purity he felt. The roo had nothing to hide; his mind was clear and so was his conscience. It was like breathing pure oxygen after living in a smog-filled city his entire life.

Once Distorter paid the bill and they left, there was still plenty of daylight, so he suggested a walk down one of the main boulevards that served the myriad of street-level shops. Sydney agreed, of course, and wasted no time grabbing the weasel's paw and leading him along at a fair clip. It was entertaining watching the roo exclaim with delight every time he saw something in a window that interested him. He never seemed to get bored, never seemed to notice the news of the economy on the screens in the television store or the homeless donkey huddled behind a Dumpster.

It was kind of fun. Reminded Distorter of how he used to act a long, long time ago.

"Ooooh, lookit lookit lookit!" he heard Sydney squeal, right before his arm was just about dislocated from his shoulder. The roo was leading him toward the window display of a store whose name was "Delicious," spelled out in a loud rainbow of letters above the entryway. Not exactly the kind of wardrobe one would expect to wear on any normal day, or during the day at all, come to think of it.

"I don't think you--"

"Isn't it pretty?" Extra emphasis on the word. Not hot, not sexy, but pretty. He was pointing to an aubergine latex T-shirt stretched tautly over an overly-muscular dummy, surrounded by similarly-clad dummies. "It looks just like yours," Sydney cooed while running his fingers down the weasel's chest, both surprising and arousing him all over again. "Except it's not like your colors. But I don't look good in either of those."

Distorter ran his fingers over the front of his shirt, which was his trademark orange with blue sleeves, and matching blue shorts. He'd happened to get used to the feel of tight latex against his body, and he had the body to show it off. Plus, the color recognition came in handy on the street when he caught the eye of some fan or another. Or would-be ne'er-do-wells.

Sydney was still gawking at the window when the weasel asked, "Are you sure you want to go in? It doesn't seem like your kind of store."

"They got clothes, don't they? All the ones in the window are really pretty. You don't think I'm skinny enough?" Sydney did an impromptu turn in the middle of the sidewalk, causing an involuntary twitch behind the crotch of Distorter's form-fitting shorts. Sydney's tail lifted with the centrifugal force in an irresistible way. So when he felt his paw grabbed and tugged, he went with it willingly.

The dressing room was yet another surprise, and a challenge. The diminutive grey fox behind the counter was, of course, a total flaming queen. And a Distorter fan who thought he was being smart by hiding his eagerness behind a sly, come-hither smile. After a rushed autograph and a more-blunt-than-usual rebuff, the clerk got the hint and left them to their shopping. Sydney went for the rack of latex shirts, and picked out one in his size, dragging the weasel into the dressing room with him.

What followed was a game of hide-the-erection, while Sydney talked endlessly, oblivious to the show he was giving the weasel, who opted to sit with his paws in his lap. The combination of the tight shirt and baggy shorts on the roo's body made for more eye candy than he thought he could handle.

By the time he'd swiped his credit card and they'd left the store (the grey fox giving them the stinkeye all the way out), Distorter suggested it was about time to head back home, saying he was getting cold when in fact he just needed a breather from Sydney's constant energy. It made him feel older than he was, and the fact that he could glean nothing in the way of emotions from the roo added to that drained sense.

It was coming down dark when they got back to the weasel's place, the light of the sunset already fading from orange to a dingy, hazy blue. The first thing Distorter did was flop onto the living room couch, stretching his spine around one way and the other. Sydney sat at his feet, grinning with his paws on his pecs, feeling the shirt for what had to be the hundredth time. Distorter took the opportunity to venture a look deep into the roo's emotional psyche, but all he found was more happiness, and pure at that. It left him even more drained, and he actually caught himself dozing off but he didn't much care.

He could hear the television. He knew Sydney was watching Cops; he could tell by the horrible dialogue and the convenient omission of certain words. But sometime between consciousness and unconsciousness, the roo had wriggled his way next to the weasel, somehow fitting them both on the couch in a very close spooning position. And when Distorter opened his eyes, he found himself with a raging hardon, pressed solidly under Sydney's thick tail.

The flex of his cock was unavoidable: years of experience had drilled it into him, and feeling that warm rump made it almost automatic. Even so, guilt shadowed his mind for a few seconds after. Sydney wriggled and made noises that could only be described as "joeyish," and that didn't help the guilt. It was almost like babysitting a third-grader...with a nice, round ass and a decent package.

"You're warm," Sydney said. Distorter put his arm around the roo's waist and pulled him closer.

"So are you." The weasel didn't even bother to hide it anymore. If Sydney had a problem with it, he would say something. But from what he'd seen so far, he didn't think there would be any problem at all. And they stayed that way, watching idiots getting arrested, for the next twenty minutes until the show ended. By that time, the roo was responding to Distorter's prodding at his backside, bearing down just slightly and not realizing he was driving the weasel crazy.

"You're dirty." Sydney put his paw over Distorter's and pressed it into his latex-covered chest.

"You started it."

"Started what?"

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno, what do you mean?" Staring straight ahead, the weasel tried to understand the conversation they'd just had, before remembering he wasn't feeling any sexual attraction from the roo at all...yet they were now in a very sexual situation. He was so turned on it was painful, and more than anything he wanted to take it further. It wouldn't be taking advantage; it was clear Sydney wouldn't mind. Actually, it might be easier than he thought. All he had to do was play the roo's game.

"Well...you're dirty too, aren't you?" As good a question as any; use Sydney's mode of thought against him, play out the line and see if he bit. And surprisingly, he did, guiding Distorter down to his groin, which was just as hard. Distorter groaned, probably louder than he'd meant to, but he gripped the defined ridge just the same. Sydney gasped and made a marsupial churring sound.

"I guess I am, now," Sydney said. "Do you wanna go get clean?" In any other situation, in any other conversation, that would have been an overt come-on. With the roo, however, it was simply a means to an end, and an innocent end at that, at least to him. Distorter hesitated, though, suddenly pushed to the edge of a decision. He wanted it so badly, but now that he was faced with the prospect that it would actually happen, he hesitated. Well, screw that.

"Yeah, let's go," the weasel said.

"Yay!" Sydney was on his feet and off to the bedroom even before Distorter had a chance to sit up. He followed, shaking his head.

By the time he made it into the master bedroom, Sydney was already reaching to peel off his new shirt. "Whoa there, not so fast! Why don't you let me do it?" he asked, unaware of how transparently slutty it sounded until he heard himself saying it.

"Sure! I should have asked...Ozzy does it for me all the time back home," said the roo. He kept his arms above his head and waited while Distorter came around back of him. Swallowing the hard lump in his throat, the weasel hooked his fingers under the latex at Sydney's waist and pulled, revealing his coat of dark tan fur. The shirt peeled off easily enough, and was soon on the floor. He only took a moment to admire Sydney's fit body before unsnapping the tail flap on his jeans and reaching around to get the button in front. His mouth was watering.

The roo said nothing, merely standing and unaware of just how sexy he was, and what he was doing to Distorter, whose paws shook as he took down Sydney's shorts and exposed his boxer briefs, which really left nothing to the imagination. And again, he hesitated, his fingers tucked in behind the elastic, ready to denude the roo.

An empath like Distorter wasn't used to being "blind." And that's exactly what it was, too. Without emotions to tap into and use to his advantage, there was nothing to exploit, nothing to prey upon. For the first time in his life, it seemed, he would have to watch for facial expressions and subtle movements instead of relying on his crib-sheet super powers. Although it bothered him, the roo made no indication he could tell. He merely stepped out of his clothes, turned around and presented his member, fully hard, smiling.

"Your turn!" Sydney said. It was harder to peel Distorter's close-cut clothing from his body. Sydney was more than happy to do it, and the weasel was happy to just let himself be stripped, rid of the tight confines of latex that had trapped his erection for so long. When everything was off, Sydney whistled low. "Oooh, you got a big one!" he cooed, pointing at the obvious place and making Distorter blush.

What are you, twelve? the weasel thought. But at the same time, he couldn't deny how cute it was. Two grown males, naked and hard, and all Sydney could say was "You got a big one." It was as maddening as it was adorable. "You want to go get the water ready?" he managed to ask without staring too much between the roo's legs.

"Okay! Oh, yeah..." Sydney said before he threw his arms around Distorter in a tight, full-contact hug. The weasel's body was suddenly being caressed by short, warm fur, and something else even warmer. He leaned full-on into it, hugging back, matching the roo's force, reveling in the frottage. "Thanks."

"What for?" Just breathe, remember to breathe.

"Just bein' awesome, and not all serious all the time. Makes it not fun." Sydney broke the hug and, just like that, he was off to the bathroom. Distorter waited back in the bedroom with the remnants of their embrace still tingling the furs on his belly, and below, until he heard the water in the shower. "It's ready!" the roo called shortly thereafter, and the weasel joined him in the room that was quickly filling with steam. "You go first!"

When Distorter stepped into the shower, he was met with a wall of fog that weighed his fur down and opened up his sinuses. Technically, the space was big enough for five people, though the building's designers had built with comfort in mind, not orgies. But there was plenty of room for two, in any number of positions, some of which the weasel had tried and a few only those of his species could achieve. Sydney followed suit, his erection not having flagged one bit.

Immediately the weasel was glad he'd spent the extra cash to have a programmable water system retrofitted. In addition to three showerheads in the ceiling, there were heads mounted flush with the sides of the shower, whose temperature, pressure and pattern could be controlled by the panel mounted next to the glass door. Distorter set everything to run in a gentle shower, the most effecient way to soak them through to the skin.

"I didn't know those did that," said Sydney, backing up to one set of vertical heads, his slender body made even more so by the soaking. All the weasel could do was stand and stare, torturedly. It was like a scene out of any number of bad pornos, except the roo was oblivious. Water cascaded down his back, rippled around his hips and parted around his sheath, dripping from his cockhead and off his balls. Distorter could almost imagine a petroleum-jelly--covered-lens vignette, complete with corny music. Before he could start drooling, he reached for the shampoo and squeezed out a fair bit, working it into his head fur.

"Aww, let me do it!" Sydney said, looking almost hurt that the weasel had started without him. Moments later, skillful fingers were all around his head, massaging the soap into his scalp, ears and neck. Ozzy must be a lucky guy, he thought. The meerkat must get the same treatment almost every day. Sydney led the weasel with gentle paws, positioning him against the back wall to keep them out of the water while the shampoo did its thing.

"Oh, man..."

"Am I doing it right?"

"You're doing it fine..." Distorter struggled with the words, not only because Sydney was doing a bangup job of shampooing, but because the roo's lack of natural modesty meant he had no qualms about body parts touching. As Sydney reached around to get the weasel's chest from behind, Distorter felt the solid heat pressed tightly under his tail. "Oh, God, you're doing just fine."

"Yay!" Sydney squealed, hopping up and down, the tip of his member sliding between the weasel's soapy buttocks, bumping up against his hole. Distorter couldn't help but moan. It was just too hot, and it didn't matter that he was picking up nothing from Sydney's psyche. No games, no double entendres. Just pure sexual play, and that was empowering in itself. The weasel didn't feel the need to hold back or pace himself, but he still wanted to at least keep his hormones in check.

Still, he raised his tail and bore back onto the roo. He couldn't help that. He wanted it. And Sydney's head did penetrate, but only for a moment, before he withdrew.

"You can put it back in..." The weasel tried hard to keep it from sounding like begging.

"You're silly. Showers are for cleaning up, not getting dirty!" Sydney said, slipping a slick finger up under Distorter's tail and flexing a couple times. "There, all better." From there, he moved down the weasel's legs, stopping along the way to massage his calves and arches. It was almost as good as a nice, hard mounting...but not quite. As much as he wanted it, he wasn't about to push the roo into something he might not understand, or might not even like.

When Distorter was covered in suds from head to toe, Sydney ushered him over to the center of the shower, directly under the ceiling flow. The water was almsot scalding, but it loosened his muscles and relaxed his mind even further. Waves of happiness washed over him as the shampoo rinsed away, and it took him a moment before he realized he had tapped directly into the roo. But all it was, was a sense of belonging, and fun, and a complete unadulterated trust in the weasel.

"Okay, now it's my turn. Gotta be even-steven," Sydney singsonged before facing the far wall and placing his paws up high, palms spread. He spread his legs, too, as if expecting a severe frisking, and when he looked over his shoulder--tongue sticking out one side of his muzzle, thick tail making lazy arcs behind him--it was all Distorter could do not to lay that tail over his shoulder and go to town.

Instead, he approached the roo in measured steps, grabbing the shampoo as he went. Squeezing out a fair bit onto his paw, he rubbed it into a lather and started by working it into Sydney's head and up his ears. Sydney let out a moan that was loud enough to be incongruous with either an innocent discovery or a sexual reaction, and Distorter's powers revealed nothing he didn't already know.

"Ooooh, man, you're almost as good as Ozzy!" breathed Sydney, his head against the wall. Distorter ran his paws down the sculpted back, taking advantage of his position to feel out each muscle as his fingers came to it, finding nary a bit of fat anywhere, and marveling at it. The weasel thought he was in shape, but this roo was as fit as anyone could be...and he probably didn't even try. Distorter tempered his jealousy with excitement and kept moving down, barely aware that his hips were perilously close to slipping him under the roo's tail.

But he had more tact than that. Besides, holding back from his basal urges had the pleasant side effect of adding to the tension in the shower. Well, Distorter's tension, at least. Moving lower, he opted to spread more shampoo down the length of Sydney's tail, taking the opportunity to caress its thick length and admire the structure of it. He could see how one might want to hold it to his chest and hug it like an overstuffed plush, something he'd read in more than a few porn stories.

After making a quick pass down one leg and up the other, the weasel had nowhere else to go but dead center. His soap-slick paws found their way easily to Sydney's balls and, just above, his still-hard member.

"Ah! Oh..." The roo spread his legs, pushing back when Distorter ground forward, closing the distance between their bodies. With his other paw clutching Sydney's hip, he could get a better grip on what he had wanted for most of today. Long and narrow, befitting of his species, it fit nicely in his grasp, and was easy to manipulate. He bent it down a bit and began to stroke.

"Am I doing it right?"

Sydney took a moment to gather himself enough to speak. "Ozzy...usually uses his muzzle...but this is okay too. This is awesome!"

"Good," the weasel murmured into the roo's ear. His close proximity to Sydney's brain gave him carte blanche on tapping as deep as he could go. Finally, there was something he could grasp: it was sexual, but it was just hormones instead of the whole thinking-with-your-cock thing. Obviously, the roo was enjoying himself, but in a purely feel-good sense. He doubted Sydney was attracted to him, at least not sexually. But that was okay, as long as fun was had.

"Almost clean..." Sydney panted against the tiles, his body beginning to tense up. The weasel smiled as he nuzzled against the roos' head, taking small licks of the short fur between his ears.

"Show me," he whispered.

"Yeah...heh...really clean. Oh no..!" Sydney lost his words, pushing off from the wall so hard that Distorter had to fight to keep them both standing. But he succeeded, even keeping his hand wrapped around the roo's length as it twitched and bucked. Streams of white splattered against the wall and floor, quickly washed down into the drain. After the last of his spasms had subsided, Sydney was able to stand on his own...but not before turning around and giving the weasel a crushing hug, the sticky remnants of his orgasm buried in his navel.

"Thank you," said the roo. "That's my favorite part of the shower. You're just as good as Ozzy is."

"Mine too," Distorter replied automatically, but didn't feel the need to retract it.

"You do it weird, but it's a good weird."

"Well, I'm glad I'm good at something."

"You're good at a lot of things. Like being friends." And the smile the roo gave him was probably one of the sweetest, most innocent smiles he'd ever seen. Unabashedly free of guilt, or tension. So when he felt Sydney's paw grip his almost-forgotten erection and squeeze, he couldn't help but feel his own guilt. Grown-up guilt.

"You don't have to--"

"We can't get out until we're all squeaky clean," said the roo. "Ozzy says so."

Distorter grinned, relieved, and felt his tail wag just a little. "I like the way Ozzy thinks." He wanted to kiss Sydney. He wanted to lean in and stick his tongue as far down that marsupial's throat as it would go. But he would settle for even a lick of his nose in return, at this point. What he didn't expect, as he cupped the back of the roo's head to follow through, was for Sydney to take it as a different cue, dropping to his knees and taking him all the way to the sheath.

This was wholly unexpected, and the weasel cried out before he could stop himself. He held the roo's head against his groin in case Sydney might pull away out of fear that he'd caused pain, but his grip diminished when Sydney began bobbing and using his tongue. The long muzzle was the perfect size, offering enough depth to move around and enough width for liberal lingual stimulation.

After about a minute of this exquisite torture, Distorter just gave up trying to understand what, if anything, was going through Sydney's mind. His own emotions got in the way now, and even those were overshadowed by the waves of pleasure brought about by the roo's mouth. When his knees began to shake, he managed to kneel without ever having to separate from Sydney, leaning back and feeding as much as he could into that warm, moist place.

Every once in a while, Sydney would hum, adding vibrations to his already skilled performance. This was no slow buildup: from the start, the weasel had been edging closer to the end at a pace that rivaled his most fervent private sessions. Around the third minute or so he realized he wasn't going to be able to voice a warning in case Sydney wasn't the kind to swallow.

All he managed was a grunt somewhere in the back of his throat, and then his vision blurred. Sydney's tongue lapped up everything he had to offer, and the roo didn't even seem surprised by the rush. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the weasel's taste, and the explosion of musk that accompanied it. So much so that Distorter had to push the roo away when he got too sensitive, collapsing onto his back on the wet floor. Water fell onto his face and into his eyes, but he was too spent to care.

When he finally had energy enough to open them, he found himself staring into the blue-green-hazel blend of the roo's.

"All clean!" Sydney said, grinning like a kid who's done all his chores.

"Very," was all he could reply, because he felt dirty in the best way.

After a final rinse to prevent any residual stickiness, they stepped out of the shower and dried off, Distorter having to brush himself out more due to his longer fur. Well, there was that, and there was ogling Sydney's rear because the roo chose not to put anything back on before bed. And the weasel was fine with that. He was so fine, in fact, that he opted to go nude as well, partly because he liked showing off as much as he liked watching, and partly not to make Sydney self-conscious and ruin the view with underwear.

As far as the weasel could tell, Sydney had gotten nothing out of their shower together other than the fact that they were both clean now, and they'd had fun getting there. The lack of awkward tension made Distorter more awkwardly tense, especially since he wasn't getting any of the same from the roo. He kept telling himself it was okay, but he was really thrown for a loop. When the time came to say goodnight, a hug and a dook on the nose sufficed, and they retired to their separate rooms.

Sleep came easily to Distorter, a rare thing but welcome for once in a long while. It was also light, he discovered when he woke to the sound of his door easing open. He was already facing the side table, so he could read that only forty-five minutes had passed since he'd lain down. The long shadow of a kangaroo fell over him as Sydney came into the room and hovered by the side of the bed.

"Hey," a small voice said, a finger poking his hip. "Hey."

The weasel turned over. Sydney was standing above him, clutching a little meerkat plush against his chest. Though he was illuminated from the back, Distorter could see the glistening moisture at the edges of his eyes.

"What's up?"

Sydney sniffed, and his tears spilled over, down his face. "I can't sleep. I miss Ozzy. I'm sorry." It was hard to believe, at that moment, that the roo was right around Distorter's age.

"Nothin' to be sorry about. It happens."

"Can I sleep with you?" Line for line, it sounded like something out of yet another bad, cliché porn movie. But this wasn't a come-on. It was an honest-to-God request from someone suffering a real case of homesickness.

"Sure. Here, just hop in on the other side." Sydney came around the far side of the bed, looking very small, and climbed under the covers. Seconds later, he was spooned up against the weasel, tight as could be, clutching the plush and resting his head in the crook between Distorter's chin and forearm. It would have been easy to imagine them as lovers, or partners, if it hadn't been for Sydney's intermittent sniffing.

Still, it wasn't easy to ignore the effect of their close proximity. Dammit, just stop it! But that was like trying to tell a wolf not to be a carnivore; it was just part of his nature. Sydney's breathing grew more regular as Distorter put an arm around him, holding the roo tight, pressing his sheath up against the side of the thick tail and just enjoying the sensation. When he deigned to tap into Sydney, just a little, the contentment he felt enveloped them both more than any blanket ever could.

"Want to fuck me?"

The weasel's eyes shot open. "Huh?"

"I said, do you like me?"

"Oh." His mind was definitely somewhere he didn't want it to be. But if Sydney minded, he didn't let on. "Course I like you. Why do you have to ask?"

"Nothing. You're just all pokey on me. Ozzy gets pokey a lot, and I know he likes me. A lot."

"I like you a lot too, you know," Distorter said, nuzzling the back of the roo's neck, causing him to shiver. Sydney wriggled his rear, unaware that he was making a bad situation even worse.

"I can tell."

Sydney giggled, turning his head to face the weasel. "We could be a couple!"

Twitch. "We could?" Now was the first time Distorter had felt uncomfortable since the airport. He hadn't been prepared for that at all.

"Yeah! We could be a couple, like Batman and Robin. Distorter and his sidekick, Sydney the Wonder Roo! Heehee, how cool is that?"

First, Distorter sighed silently to himself, kind of relieved. But then he giggled, skritching his claws through Sydney's chest fur. Perhaps, in time, he might be able to find a way to convince the roo there was more to his and Ozzy's play than mere cleaning. For now, it was enough to press up under that tail and be satisfied with that. For now.

"I think it's worth a shot. I could always use a sidekick." Sidekick or lover, for Sydney, there might not be much difference between the two.

"Yay!" squealed the roo, burying his muzzle in Distorter's chest, the perfect place to sleep the dreamless sleep of the contented.

11/8/09-2/14/10