FSE

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Striker and Zabivaka first met, ironically enough, at a football game.

The American canine met his Russian counterpart while watching a qualifier game in the stadium’s exclusive booth. It provided a perfect view of the match occurring down below, as well as a delicious international food buffet, different varieties of drinks, comfortable seating, and the company of fellow VIPs. Plenty of whom happened to be the previous mascots of World Cup games. Whenever they weren’t reminiscing about old times or comparing old games to current ones, they simply relaxed and enjoyed the venue as the football game progressed on the ground.

For Zabivaka, he came all the way to the stadium dressed in his iconic clothing, even as an adult, his signature goggles resting comfortably like a necklace. Wagging his tail against the deluxe sofa, he devoured a helping of steamy French fries and a strange American delicacy that reminded the Russian canine of his grandmother’s recipe for pelmeni; the helpful caterer’s assistant said they were called ‘cheese curds’.

Another dog whistled to is right. “That was impressive…” he said, audibly over a loud round of applause and cheering.

“Huh?” Zabivaka was too distracted by the memory of his childhood.

“You missed a great goal down there,” said the tan-furred, black-eared canine sitting next to him, holding what looked to be a can of beer. “Is the food that good for you?”

“You could say that,” he chuckled, setting the plate on a coffee table. “I don’t often go up in these exclusive seats. They’re comfortable, but there’s something about being in the stadium itself with your family or friends during the game that doesn’t compare…I’ll admit, the food is unbelievable.”

“You’re telling me,” the other dog said, smiling. “You’re Zabivaka, right?”

Said canine smiled back. “And you’re Striker, the American dog.”

“Sure am!” Striker beamed. “I remember seeing you at the World Cup in Moscow. You were amazing down in the field!”

“So were you, old timer,” Zabivaka laughed. “It must’ve been amazing to represent Los Angeles back in the 1990s. Sometimes I wish I was old enough to remember that time. Half of it, I wasn’t even born yet.”

“Hey now, I’m hardly considered an old timer,” he laughed. “There’s Willie the Lion, from England. He’s much older than me.”

“And just as handsome,” Zabivaka said, then gasped, placing his paws on his closed maw. “Um, I-I didn’t mean…”

Surprised at first, Striker grinned back down at the smaller canine, sitting closer to him without losing his confidence. Both their tails wagged behind them.

“You know, not that many people recognize me as much as they do you,” the American dog murmured sweetly. “I always get an occasional fan who flirts or offers to let me sign their chest, but you? You’ve got so many fans around the globe. They’ve flirted with you online, draw risqué fanart of you, speculate what your penis looks like, and even make body pillows of you. And I can’t blame them…”

Striker leaned forward to whisper against the other canine’s molten ears. “Mm, you don’t think I notice you checking out my ass whenever I’m in the same room?”

“Ahh,” Zabivaka silenced a moan once he felt the older dog’s paw on his thigh. “Take me.”

Striker shrugged, grinning. “Okay,” he said.

“Not here!” Zabivaka hissed.

Most of the people inside of the VIP box were too distracted by the game below to notice. The rest were eating the expensive food, distracted by social media, or conversing with themselves.

“I think I know a place where we can get some privacy, Zabi,” he smirked, then gently grasped onto the Russian canine’s wrist, pulling him up. “Follow me!”

Zabivaka suddenly found himself being guided out of the deluxe seating balcony and down a variety of different hallways. Then, the two dogs found themselves entering a different VIP box. Only, this one was closed off to the public due to renovations. After ducking with Striker under a ‘’do not enter’ sign once the coast was clear, one of them shut the door closed.

“Wow!” Zabivaka gasped, walking over to the window, half-obscured by saw dust. He could just make out where they had previously been, in the other VIP box seating. “I didn’t know you can get an even better view than from over there.”

“It’s also much more private,” Striker smiled.

The two canines looked at each other, grinning.

“You’re a naughty dog,” Zabi said, winking. “Bringing an innocent little pup to a place like this, just to play with my balls.”

“Hmm,” he huffed while approaching with a visible erection in his shorts, “says the ‘innocent little pup’ who ain’t bothering to hide his bone. Then again, hehe, neither am I.”

At that point, all that was left for the construction crew was to remove their tools, their equipment, and install the luxury refrigerator before the box could be used at the next game. Until then, it left Striker and Zabivaka with a private, unfurnished place to fuck. And fuck, they planned to.

The two dogs slobbered at each other’s lips, their tails thrashing against the air and Zabivaka letting the older canine grind harder against his crotch. His lither frame shuddered at the experienced touch, making the Russian twink squeak delightedly the moment his shorts fell to the floor alongside Striker’s. Within seconds, both were bottomless and leaking hard. Their cocks twitched and rubbed together as they wrestled orally for control, with Zabivaka conceding to the older, more dominant dog.

“Fuck me,” he pleaded to Striker. The Russian canine squealed as he suddenly got twirled around, and was pushed against the kitchen island, his tail being roughly raised upward. “Ahhh! D-Do you have a c-condom?”

His answer was given at the pop of a cap, and a slow trickle of cold lube.

“Yikes, that’s cold!” Zabivaka squeaked out. “Mmmm, so cold!”

“Wait until my cock’s inside you,” Striker said, tearing open a condom with one paw while rubbing his shaft against the Russian’s ass crack, and feeling up his right butt cheek with his free paw. “God, ever since you premiered, i’ve dreamt of fucking that ass…” Seconds later, he lathered his condom-covered dick in the lube, then aimed his tip at the quivering entrance. “Ready, Zabi?”

“Ready,” he replied, voice quavering with excitement. “Fuck me, Striker. Hard!”

Striker grinned and lifted his paw to place those iconic goggles from dangling around his neck to around those beautiful eyes glancing back at him. Then, the older dog grit his teeth alongside the Russian twink, thrusting forward. Allowed squelching noise filled the room, only to be drowned out by their moans. As well as incredible cheering down below in the stadium field. Somebody had scored a goal, just like Striker just did.

Zabivaka let out incoherent words in his native tongue, his actual tongue lolling out of his slack jaw as he pushed his hindquarters back on and off of that rigid shaft. He couldn’t get enough of it. It wasn’t the thickest cock he had ever taken, but he was lying if he ever claimed it wasn’t the greatest. The American canine knew how to grip his hips at just the right pressure, how to pump his manhood in and out at the perfect angles, and how fast to go without it being too rough. It left Zabivaka already on the verge of cumming minutes later.

Meanwhile, Striker too found himself in Heaven. He already got plenty of male tail back in California, yet he greatly enjoyed hooking up with other mammals during his travels across the world. The fact that his latest lover happen to be a fellow mascot was just icing on the cake. Icing that happen to be rich and creamy and musky as well as building up inside his fuzzy balls as they slapped repeatedly against Zabivwka’s coin purse. Each impact made the college aged canine whimper like an eager virgin. He could not get enough of hearing it!

“Grrr! Fuck, oh, Zabi! Fuck, take it, take it! Ngh! Mfh! Ahhhh!”

Zabivaka could only reply with words of incoherent Russian.

And speaking of which, that tailhole eventually squeezed so tightly around Striker’s cock, and he could feel the velvet walls convulse in time with Zabivaka’s orgasm. Streaks of warm cum stained the sides of the kitchen island, and Zabivaka collapsed atop the granite, his fingers clutching onto the sides as he felt Striker’s drool along his back. Soon enough, Striker also couldn’t hold back and gave one final firm thrust before leaning his slobbery tongue and creased forehead into the back of Zabivaka’s sweaty shirt.

Neither said words. At least, not ones that the other recognized. Striker uttered out deep moans while Zabivaka muttered sweet nothings in Russian. Both were nearly breathless. Both felt like they had won an incredible match. Both could feel their erections wither in satisfied contentment. At one point, their tired paws met together and squeezed in lustful friendship.

“Did you…enjoy?” Striker huffed out.

His Russian counterpart simply replied with, “Da.”

Down below in the field, everyone cheered again at a goal being achieved.

“Ever consider…visiting Los…Los Angeles…?”

“Mmmm…nyet. But I want to now, hehe.”

Moving slowly, Striker pulled his flaccid member out and peeled off the used condom. He tied it up and tossed it in the nearby trash can, then assisted Zabivaka with cleaning up (both each other and the VIP box). Neither could let go of their wry smiles. Not as they got dressed or even as they returned upstairs to their normal VIP box, or even when they exchanged phone numbers and one of them offered the other a chance to visit his hotel room.

Later that night, of course. There was still a football game to watch.