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The world was at war. Countries had formed alliances, tensions had grown, bucks had been passed. Things simmered until, finally, all hell had broken loose.

Apparently he was fighting for freedom. But Arthur had his doubts. He'd been in the trenches for five months, or so the calendar said. Truth be told, he'd have believed anyone who told him he'd been there for five years, or even fifty. Every minute was the same. The same endless pounding, the same flashing. The same acrid smell of burning, of death. If he was fighting for freedom, that freedom was death.

Could he hope for more?

Some death looked painless. Getting blown up, to be utterly torn apart and to have yourself rain down over the slag that divided the trenches. After all, it only took an instant. No time to feel the pain, correct? Or was it? Did that last infinitesimal moment stretch out for an eternity as the shrapnel tore through your body cell by cell as you infinitely approached the unattainable oblivion?

The young rabbit found himself face-down in the mud as the ear-shattering noise of a shell detonating not a stone's throw away pounded through his whole being. The instincts. He'd become rather more reliant on them since his life here. Not to know, but to feel when a shell was coming, where it was going to land, and to act without thought. His ancestors had been beings of instinct, supposedly incapable of rational thought and reason. Surely it was a bad thing to be made to revert to such a state?

But then, if this war was all that rational thought and civilisation was capable of producing, maybe enlightenment wasn't such a great thing after all.

At least savages only had claws and teeth. At least they waged wars where skill and strength could get you through. Now survival was based on pure luck.

And luck was something that everyone was short of at a time like this.

Arthur picked himself up, painfully. Everything was pain. Where was he? He'd been sent... he'd been sent... to check for survivors in the bunker to the north. It had been hit by a gas bomb. The actual probability of there being any survivors at all was slim to say the least. But orders was orders. He'd considered laying low for a while before turning back with a negative report, but... it wouldn't be right. What if there _were_ survivors?

There wouldn't be. There never were, not with gas. But what if there were?

It would be wrong if there were. Which there wouldn't be. But it would still be wrong.

The following walk through the muddy furrow to the bunker was long and uneventful. Just the usual rattle of gunfire and the thump of distant explosions interspersed by the squelch of his own paws in the mud - all noises that Arthur had long since become deaf to.

The lapine soldier approached the shelter. He didn't feel apprehension or fear. He'd seen death before. He'd killed.

On the ground outside the shelter was a new recruit. A young wolf, barely more than a pup. His dead paws still clasped a futile rag over his muzzle. Such waste. No doubt he'd be mourned. It wasn't long ago that Arthur would have wept.

The rodent thought. He was still a kitten, legally. Lying about your age to get to war. Madness. Madness such that it could only result from the naiveté of youth. But he'd lost his youth a long, long time ago. He'd lost so much.

The door was hanging open - it wasn't like anyone was alive enough to close it. Arthur peered inside. The scene was dim and unsurprising. Corpses on the floor, some huddled under blankets - not that a blanket made any difference here. There were no survivors - as was expected. He could return with his report, happy in the knowledge that he'd traipsed ten miles to state the bleedingly obvious.

The rabbit turned to leave when he heard a shuffle, from the shadows. A shadow. Without thinking, Arthur's rifle was trained on the gloomy figure.

"Halt!" he bellowed, eyes straining down the site, a digit quivering against the trigger. "Pritchard! Stand to attention!" snapped the shadowy figure in a familiar, clipped voice. Without thinking, Arthur's back straightened, and he rested the rifle butt in his left handpaw, the barrel leaning against his shoulder as he saluted with his right "Sir!" A red fox emerged from the shadows. It was Lieutenant Collins, but Arthur knew him as 'Sir'. Collins had been Arthur's C.O. for the past week.

The ranks usually got shuffled after a charge.

The fox scanned Arthur up and down with his light brown eyes. They had a twinkle in them. "Step inside, Corporal." The rabbit obliged. "Now take off your helmet." Once again he obeyed, tucking his helmet under his right arm. Without thinking he flicked his head, straightening his ears. "Sir, may I ask what this is about?" "Silence, Corporal." "..." the rabbit protested silently, but with due respect. And he had genuine respect for his C.O. Greg Collins started getting out of his shirt. Arthur blushed, his gaze wandering to his own large footpaws. "Stand to attention Pritchard!" Arthur's head snapped back up. By this time the fox was in nothing but his briefs, and he was quickly rectifying that. The nervous rabbit looked at the light bulb just above Greg's head, hanging from it's wire. It was a light bulb. Just a light bulb. There was nothing but the light bulb. "Pritchard! Attention!" "Sir... you're..." the rabbit stammered "And don't call me 'Sir'." Arthur eyeballed the now completely naked fox with great suspicion, and more than a hint of desire. He tried not to let it show. But what on earth _was_ his first name? "...Gregory?" he ventured "You're... starkers!" "Indeed. Don't you wish you were? I can see something wants to get out." Arthur's blush deepened. "Er... that's..." Gregory's tail flicked as he placed his handpaws on his hips. It was really very alluring. "I can see what it is, making a little khaki tent of your trousers. Come on, do you lift or give?" Arthur couldn't manage anything better than an exiguous squeak "It's a simple question" the fox persisted "do you lift or give?" "I... I don't know... I mean I never..." was all the reply the cony could muster, barely able to hear himself or even think over his own pounding heart. Before he knew what to do, the fox's lips were pressed against his own. Arthur was completely rigid, but he didn't protest. Slipping his arms around the terrified, quivering Rabbit, the fox pulled his head back. Criminy, he _is_ terrified. "Look, no one's going to find us. We're safe here... it's just you and me. No one else." Arthur couldn't be so sure. Greg began slithering down Arthur, his handpaws tracing their delicate way down his back, his slim vulpine snout nuzzling it's way down his chest and then his abs. Arthur moaned. He'd wanted something like this to happen for so very, very long. But that didn't mean that he was in any way prepared for it. Dropping his helmet and carefully letting his rifle drop on to the nearest soft surface (which, incedentally, was a blanket with a dead badger under it), he caressed the vulpine ears of his C.O. with his now free handpaws. He wasn't sure why, but he had to do something with his handpaws, and Greg's ears were there. Gently stroking the edges, feeling the fine fur against his pads; the fox sighed in appreciation of the attention his ears were receiving, mildly amused. Moving slowly, he ran his slim handpaws around Arthur's waist and undid his belt buckle. Firmly but sensually Collins moved Arthur's trousers down over the rabbit's hard knob, watching it bob slightly in front of his damp nose. Standing up from his squat, Collins kissed Arthur again. This time, Arthur tucked his arms around the fox, drawing his body close to his own, returning the kiss deeply. Shaking, Arthur moved his tongue forward so that it was in the muzzle of the fox. His first real kiss - it scared him to death. Arthur could taste the fox, and felt the fox's tongue explore his own mouth. And it kept going, with Pritchard unsure if he was in heaven or not. He sort of was, but he kind of thought it was gross and funny as well, and possibly immoral. But despite his reservations, something inside him compelled him to keep going, to keep tasting.

After what seemed like an age, Greg broke the kiss. For Arthur, the dreadful moment was over.

Before long, Collins slid his handpaws around the rabbit's shoulders, undid the top three buttons of his shirt and, placing a handpaw on each of his firm pecs, his fingers made little circles on the nipples that were there.

As his nipples hardened in response the rabbit found himself going in to a sort of sensory overload. He wanted to relax. He wanted to scream and shout. He wanted to run. He wanted to stay. He wanted to do everything, so he stood still doing nothing. It was all he could do. Sensing Arthur's unease, Collins spoke. "Just relax and follow my lead, OK? Relax and enjoy it." Arthur did his best. He took a deep breath, held it for three seconds, and slowly exhaled. Placing his no longer quivering but still jumpy handpaws on the fox's chest, he likewise fiddled his nipples. Greg hunched his head forward and, nuzzling Arthur's chest, took a deep sniff. Unsurprisingly, Arthur smelled of smoke, mud and gunpowder, but under that was the real him. Under that was a distinctly masculine scent, slightly grassy, but undeniably masculine and ready to go.

That is to say, it made Collins ready to go as he undid the remaining buttons on the rabbit's shirt, opening it to completely reveal his slim lapine body. Arthur wasn't big by any imaginative stretch, but there wasn't an inch of fat to be found on his lithe frame. He was hotly toned and, perverse though it was, he had the war to thank for that. Bending at the knees, Collins ran his handpaws and tongue down Arthur's torso, down past his chest, over his smooth boyish stomach, moving slowly on down until he came to Arthur's now rock hard prick. Arthur began to caress the fox's shoulders, moaning softly as the fox fondled his balls in one handpaw, and, taking the base of Arthur's cock in the other, he kissed the head with his soft vulpine lips, flicking it with his tongue. Truth be told, Arthur had no idea what was going on. He'd never had anyone to talk about this kind of thing with, and he for one had never considered using his mouth on a guy like this. Without warning Greg took the entire of Arthur's average sized cock in to his muzzle. Arthur's knees buckled. "Ooooh... that's... that's foul... ing... don't stop..." he panted, somewhat disturbed at what he was enjoying so much. Wasn't it supposed to be wrong? Greg slowly pulled back, pressing his tongue up against Arthur's cock as it slid out of his muzzle. Arthur exhaled a deep, shaky breath, only to gasp in pleasure as Greg thrust his head forward, once again immersing Arthur's dick in his warm, wet muzzle. The rabbit continued to caress the fox's shoulders, his actions being somewhat akin to a massage. The fox, feeling his way, moved his handpaws around behind the rabbit to squeeze his rump, his back arching in response. Putty in my handpaws, thought Greg. Fondling Arthur's round buttocks, Greg's fingers explored the area, working around the rabbit's fluffy stub of a tail, and down between Arthur's firm, furry spheroids to feel his warm tailhole.

Arthur was in heaven and hell. Wasn't this wrong? It felt very, very right. But that didn't meant that it didn't go against so much that he'd been taught and that he held dear. Trembling, he waited for a sign. Something? Anything? Aftre a million and two years by Arthur's reckoning, something clicked. A little light went on in his mind and any thoughts of morality were abolished. He went crazy, thrusting his meat in to the Lieutenant's warm, delicious muzzle. He had stopped thinking and started acting. Instinct. Faster and faster the fawn rabbit fucked his C.O's face, before long and without warning his seed shooting to the back of the fox's muzzle. "Ohhhhh... oh that's..." Greg held his head more or less still as Arthur continued to thrust, sucking the warm juice from the rabbit's twitching, pulsing cock, drawing it from him.

Arthur swayed as the room came back in to focus. Looking down at Gregory, his heart raced. What had he just done?

Greg, satisfied that Arthur's cock was clean and empty, drew back and let it slide from his vulpine muzzle where it flopped down, rapidly softening. Standing up he once again threw his arms around the nervous rabbit and kissed him deeply. Arthur noticed the salty, slightly doughy flavour that hadn't been there last time.

But the rabbit still felt ambivalent. His heart said "YES!" but his brain was terrified.

Breaking the kiss, the vulpine officer said, "Look, I know you're scared. There's no need to worry - you can stop this if you want. Just give the word. You could go back now and give me your report, and life will go on as it always has since this infernal war broke out. Only we need to know this ever happened. Hell, you could probably shoot me right now and no one would know - and I probably wouldn't even stop you. It's all in your paws. But before you decide, think. Is this really wrong? Isn't there enough hate in the world without having to kill off what love that survives?"

Love. Arthur's mind reeled at the word. Love. He had all but forgotten what that word meant. His head spun as feelings came flooding back, memories, too, and memories of feelings. Feelings that for so long had been banished to the darkest recesses of his being. He'd lost so much. He'd stopped believing in anything good.

He'd stopped believing in good.

What had he become?

Tears welling in his hazel eyes, he embraced the fox, finally surrendering to feelings he'd felt... not for that long actually. But he'd wanted to feel them. He'd wanted to feel them for longer than he cared to remember. "I..." he began, struggling to speak, the words sticking in his throat "I want to love." Collins smiled, happy for the first time in years to be alive. "Pritchard?" he said, playfully "Yes, Sir?" "You're standing to attention again." He was, too. So soon. But then, what else was one to expect from a rabbit? "Sorry, Sir." The fox stroked his chin in a comically-quizzical manner "No no, that's a very good thing. I was going to ask if you'd be interested in, well, bonking my brains out?"

Arthur froze. He was kind of hoping that Collins would be the one screwing him good and hard. But this was still an invitation that he could hardly refuse. "Sir, I'd love to." "And don't call me 'Sir', OK?" Collins found it more than a little unnerving. He'd hate to think that he was using his rank to take advantage of an emotionally fragile subordinate. Which he kind of was, really, but he hated thinking about it. "Sorry... Gregory." Truth be told, Arthur was actually more comfortable calling his commanding officer 'Sir'. Especially now. It made the whole thing seem more... normal.

Moving to an empty bed, Greg hopped upon it, lying tummy down and propping himself up on his elbows. "Come along, Arthur." he said, grinning "This moment might be ours but we still have a war to fight." he continued in his irrisistably clipped way. Upping his rump and parting his vulpine thighs, he revealed the near white fur between them, tail swishing in a 'come hither I say - come hither you reticent bastard!' manner.

Arthur gulped.

Impatiently, Greg flicked his tail upward, turning the 'come hither' in to a much less subtle 'are you going to stand there all day gawking or are you going to give me a good seeing-to?'

Arthur wasn't sure what to do. He licked his index finger and gestured 'up', shooting the fox a quizzical expression. Greg smiled and nodded in approval. Limbs shaking, the rabbit climbed in to position behind the canid.

With another tail-swish the fox wiggled his rump. Arthur gasped involuntarily as a drop of precum trickled down his dick.

Licking his finger again, the rabbit slowly pushed it in to the fox's hole, feeling it give a little, his own cock becoming unbearably hard as the tailhole engulfed his finger.

Placing a handpaw on each of Collins' buttocks and shuffling forward on his knees, Arthur lined his hard member up with the pink pucker under Greg's tail. Parting Greg's vulpine buttocks and taking careful aim, the rabbit pushed forward, pressing against the fox's tailhole. His cock was still wet from before, and Arthur gasped as, all of a sudden, the head was inside his commanding officer. Nervously, the rabbit pushed his shaft further in. Collins squirmed a little. It had been a while since he'd done this. Hanging his head and panting, Arthur was now hilted in the fox. He took a second to ponder the situation and drew back slowly. Greg sighed, his own cock throbbing, dripping precum like there was no tomorrow. It had been way too long. Now mostly out, the rabbit thrust forward again, unable to stifle the moan that forced its way from his muzzle. Again he thrust, and again. The rabbit was worried. He was losing all control of himself. But then, was it such a bad thing? So much had been turned on its head today. In the last half hour, even.

Greg moaned. Arthur clearly lacked experience, but he more than made up for that with his sheer passion... which was something the young rabbit had in droves. Faster and faster Pritchard fucked the fox, losing himself in the ecstasy. Greg smiled warmly as he stroked his own cock - perilously close to blowing his load and trying to keep it that way. For a few minutes there was nothing but the wet slapping and panting - until without warning Arthur let out a shout, balls tightening as he filled his C. O. with juice. Frantically thrusting his hips he'd never felt anything that good before - even the most honest, sincere moments with his closest friends couldn't compare, and he'd treasure those for as long as he'd live.

Greg came as he felt Arthur blow his load, filling him with seed. With a strange air of calm he remembered the first time he'd done this. It had frightened him, as he knew this frightened Arthur. But it was a good sort of fear - the fear of the unknown, when the unknown is more wonderful than you could have ever imagined.

Truth be told, the fear was only good in retrospect, and Arthur was petrified as he slowly drew his sensitive, softening member from the fox's ass. Greg wriggled a little. I had, after all, been a while.

Sitting up, Collins turned to face the rabbit, remembering exactly what he'd wanted to hear when it had been him. "You've done this before, haven't you?" he said, nuzzling Arthur. The rabbit shook his head, smiling sheepishly. "Now com'ere. We won't be missed for a few minutes yet." The fox threw his arms around the rabbit, and Arthur reciprocated the motion. There they sat, in each other's arms. There was no war. There was no time. It was just them in their own world, and nothing else mattered.