FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Sequence 1 Merge 1, Reversal Tristan, Kelsirian Tristan looked at the banners over his desk as he leaned on it. They were small, but accurate. He wasn’t sure what he’d drawn them. No, he knew why he’d drawn them. He believed in them, respected them. He just wasn’t sure the feeling was mutual. How could so much in his life go the way it had if the gods respected him? As far back as his father’s obsession with surviving in the wilderness. An obsession that resulted in his brother’s death. Not meant to survive, his father said. He was better off in the Forest, he’d added. Tristan had wanted to avenge the unjust death, but all that had gotten him was a beating. The years were hard, but he’d learned. One day, he’d promised himself, he would be strong enough and avenge his brother. Only to return from the hunt one evening to find his father floating in the lake, face down. His revenge taken from him, he’d walked to the city and discovered his father had taught him nothing of surviving there. But he’d learned. His father had been good about that; he’d taught Tristan that learning was key to survival. He discovered he had an aptitude for the work that went into maintaining hovers and found work at a company with a fleet of them. Only for it to be dismantled in an anti-drug raid. They used the hovers to smuggle that across the continent. Tristan had barely avoided incarceration because he hadn’t worked on any of those hovers, so hadn’t been exposed to the narcotics. But he’d been left with a brand that made it difficult to find more work. He’d worked for that company, but hadn’t been among those arrested. How could he still be free if he hadn’t helped take them down? Could any trust someone who wouldn’t protect the company that employed him? The little work he found barely let him eat, and the brand kept him out of the military. The one place he thought he could be useful. His father had taught him to fight, and Tristan had been good, even if he hadn’t reached the point of being better. The only place he considered after that were the Hunters. He didn’t know if they’d take him. The ballads said they’d take anyone, test any willing, but that being accepted was hard work. Would he have been good enough to be one of them? He never got to find out. He arrived to the city’s Hunter Recruitment office to find the Military shutting them down. The gods weren’t in charge of protecting Kelsirians, they proclaimed. It was the military’s job. With nowhere to go, Tristan retreated to the alleys, the only place he could stay if he wanted to afford food. And even then, sometimes he had to eat what he caught there, and it was nothing like eating a kill in the wild. Out of desperation, he looked up to the stars, and made his way to a port. There, he traded his skills in repairing other’s work for passage to the station, and there, he worked any job he could, did whatever was required, even offering his body for the kind of sex that couldn’t appeal to anyone, leaving him with scars, until he found a ship willing to take him on. The Repair Master had been harsh. She had little patience for those taking work they didn’t know, but Tristan learned quickly and had a mind that adapted to builds he’d never seen before, letting her sent him to fix something on the ship and trust he’d do the job regardless of who had design the component. She’d been appreciative enough to offer him her bed, and he discovered that when given the choice, he had no interest in females. She’d been amused, and there were no repercussion from the refusal. For a time, he was content, even happy. So, of course, that was taken from him. An attack by Halan. An Earther captain, of all things, with a varied crew. They’d taken his crew with ease. They were merchants, not hunters. Tristan fought as hard as he could and prevailed longer, but found himself exhausted well before the Kersosteran and Shimbarian who had found him. Then, battered, but as defiant as he could manage, they had dragged him to the hold, where everyone had been gathered, the captain already dead. The Earther Halan, gun in hand. Tristan’s arrival interrupted the speech about how he was lenient, about how any who let his crew do their work would be fine once he had taken the cargo. Tristan’s captor told their captain how he’d resisted them, and Tristan thought he was headed for the Forest and wondered how Thuruksamian would judge him. He had fought as hard as he could. But no one had warned him how much tougher other species were. Ballad made his people the pinnacle of hunters, and while he wasn’t deluding himself into believing he was better than other Kelsirians, he had thought himself better than aliens. His thoughts were interrupted by the Earther’s smile. “You fought,” the Kelsirian next to the Earther said, translating. “You held your own.” The look the Earther gave him had a hunger in it Tristan was familiar with from his time on the station, and he wondered if that would be his choice. To submit to whatever this Earther did to him to avoid dying. Would he, now that he knew how good sex could be when it was with a friend? Could he turn himself into that toy, again? “I have a deal for you,” the Kelsirian translated. “If you fight for the Crimson, I will take you on. I will make you one of my crew. You will know glory that will make your gods proud.” That had been what he found he couldn’t refuse. His shame. He wanted to be good, great, and he found he was willing to abandon the friends he’d made for that chance. He’d been escorted to the Earther’s ship, placed in a cell until the situation on his previous ship was settled. His shame didn’t diminish until he was taken out and brought to the hold again for a chance to say goodbye. He couldn’t. He couldn’t look at the crew he was abandoning for his own glory. What helped him swallow his shame was that the halan departed with no more damage to the merchant ship than disabling their reactor. The captain had died, but that hadn’t been Tristan’s doing. An example, the translator said. To ensure the others understood who the Alpha was. And the captain, his Alpha, hadn’t lied. The fights against other crews were magnificent. His training with hunters serving under him honed his combat skills to a level he knew would have let him kill his father, if given the chance. There were a few odd things about this crew. One was how health conscious the captain was. Every few weeks he had to undergo a stay in medical, even if there had been no fighting. The technology was also different from the Medical on his previous ship, a mix of different technologies the Reoseph Doctor assured him worked well together. The helmet was to monitor brain function while they checked his body because it was well documented that the mind and body interacted and had to be monitored together. He let them do what they did, usually falling asleep partway through the checks, waking surprisingly refreshed. The other oddity was how sexual the crew was. His previous crew had gotten him used to pleasurable sex and not worrying about being naked. They hadn’t judged him for his scars, and neither did this crew. Even when asked, and he told them. It was more understanding than pity they responded with. He wasn’t the only one on the ship who’d felt like they had been abandoned by their gods until the captain found them. God sent, a few of them whispered. The captain laughed it off when he heard. No god wanted him, and he was fine with it. He had his crew. He already had all he wanted. And the captain enjoyed his crew. And the crew enjoyed him. There was no one the captain didn’t have sex with, except, possibly, Tristan, although he wasn’t sure why he still refused the advanced. The male was…. Well, everyone spoke of how skilled he was. Of how much stamina he had. And Tristan was curious. He had bedmates, but only Kelsirians. The other species didn’t appeal to him. Except the captain. He sometime dreams of him taking him. Of him using Tristan for his pleasure and loving it. Of simply holding him. Protecting that Earther. The dreams left him confused and wondering if Gezbiliam had visited him during them. He pushed away from the desk. He had a shift to get to. He paused in the door and looked back at the banners. “I remember you,” he said. But do you remember me? He wondered, heading to engineering. * * * * * “Capacitor is reconnected,” Tristan said, pulling out of the far too tight compartment. “Run minimal power to be safe. If the readings hold, bring it online fully.” Speaking Earther still felt odd after a year of it, but it came more naturally. The ship had a Dromian mentalist the captain was especially fond of. It perplexed Tristan. Dromians were nothing like Earthers sexually, or Kelsirians, or Kersosterans, or well, any of the species. They weren’t even flesh and fur. But the mentalist had an appendage where he and the others built on a similar frame had their cocks, and he seemed to enjoy the sex with the captain as much as everyone else. So why didn’t Tristan accept the captain’s offer? “Capacitor holding,” the Kersosteran at the board said. “Raising power.” Tristan couldn’t keep from looking at the male’s cock. Nudity was very much the norm on the ship. Sex wasn’t allowed in engineering, or anywhere work happened. But it wasn’t uncommon for people to vanish and return smelling of sex. He was among the few wearing pants. Although he’d stopped bothering with a vest months ago. He wasn’t sure why he kept the pants on when nearly no one else bothered with them. “Good work, technician,” the Shimbarian Engineer said. “Thank you, Engineer.” The male gave an amused shake of the head. Rank meant nothing on this ship, except for the captain, their Alpha. He’d gotten used to some level of disrespecting it, telling other technicians what to do as part of the work he’d been given, but as much as the Engineer repeated that he wasn’t one. Tristan couldn’t stop addressing him that way. “That’s very good indeed,” the captain said, and Tristan hurried to his feet. “Milak tells me you’re very good.” He licked his lips, looking him up and down hungrily. “That you’ve fixed things that had been iffy for a while.” “It’s just about adapting components, Captain.” “It’s Alex, Tristan. How often do I have to tell you? I’m only captain when we’re taking over another ship. The rest of the time, I’m just Alex. Or—” he grinned. “—Oh, fuck, you’re the best fuck I’ve had in my life! I can’t seem to escape that one either.” Tristan’s ear folded back and his cock hardened at the idea it might be him being fucked. “How about I reward you for all this hard work, Tristan?” his captain said. “You really deserve it.” He opened his mouth to say yes. “I’m honored, Captain, but I’m just doing the work assigned to me as best I can. Like we all do.” “Yes,” the male answered, amused. “And I reward everyone when they distinguish themselves.” “It’s not needed.” Why had he refused? Why did he keep refusing? Or rather, why did he find the captain so appealing? It wasn’t like they were on actual short name basis. His was an Earther name, and Tristan’s…. He had no idea why his father saddled him with so short a name. That there was an Earther version of it had to be Meddling on their part. But he couldn’t work out why. The captain stepped to him and placed a hand on his chest, fingers through the short black fur. He looked up at him and smiled. “I like this. I like you. Don’t ever lose this. When you finally say yes, don’t do it too easily.” “I—” he closed his muzzle on the possible responses. He didn’t know what would have come out. He so wanted to say yes, and yet wanted to refuse the male utterly. It was like there were two of him in his head fighting for who would be in charge. And he couldn’t decide which one he wanted to win. His captain caressed the side of his muzzle before turning away. “Since Tristan won’t accept my gratitude, Yarican, you get to accept it in his stead.” “Yes, captain.” The Engineer hurried after him. “Be sure to tell him just what he’s missing out on when you get back.” * * * * * Tristan bottomed in with a grunt and orgasmed. Then rolled off his partner, panting. Milak propped himself on his elbow. “Regretting not accepting the captain’s gratitude?” “I shouldn’t have told you.” “I’d have learned, anyway. You’re the only one who refuses him. We can’t help wonder why.” Tristan glanced at the banners, and Milak followed his gaze. “They aren’t in charge here, Tristan.” “They’re gods. They are in charge everywhere.” Where they why he resisted? Then why the dreams where he enjoyed being with the captain? Where they pleasured each other? “Their time is ending. We don’t need them anymore.” Malik leaned in and licked his muzzle. “We have each other, and that is enough. We have the captain, and that is more than enough.” If it was, why couldn’t he tell him yes? How could he be of two, so distinct, minds about it? He knew he wanted him. He wanted his warmth, the feel of skin against his fur. But he always wanted nothing the male offered. There was something…not right about what he offered; he was certain of it. Or had been certain. Why was his certainly wavering? Why was he concerned that it was? He pushed Malik on his back and climbed on top of him. “I’m tired of talking.” He grinned and positioned the male’s cock between his cheeks. “We’re fucking.” Fucking was a good way to not have to think about all the things he felt was wrong in his life, on this ship, in his mind. So, he ignored that it was fur under his hands as he rubbed the muscular chest, and that the cock entering him lacked the captain’s bulbous head, and fucked himself on it until his partner came, then fucked him, and they repeated the process until Tristan was slept from the exhaustion.