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Cameron knew why they were driving to the spa retreat. He was the one who suggested they go, in fact. It was more of a need than a want: some long-lasting nostalgia tugging him by the scruff of his neck to return to where some of his best childhood memories formed. The strange desire went against his pragmatism; he was the type to save money for medicine and rent than the sudden need to act on an impetuous desire. He couldn't decide if the impulse was driven by joy or by dread, but perhaps that was because that kind of feeling was new to him. But so was the recent insomnia, and so were the strange dreams where the voice of a creature, friendly and formless at first, begged him to return to the spa. The long-tailed weasel's eyes drooped. He stared from the muggy seat of Dash's sporty blue Buick out the passenger window, watching the mountains roll by while the greenest grass he had ever seen swallowed them up. He flinched when they zoomed past a dilapidated country church long past its prime, where the white paint peeled off the belfry, revealing rotting wood.

Dash tilted his head like he always did before posing a question. The stocky Lynx had a warm smile despite his mischievous face, and his sturdy optimism kept Cameron's neuroticism grounded. "You thinking about that Flannery O'Connor quote we had talked about earlier?"

Cameron stretched his long neck, turning from the window to make eye contact while his left paw gripped his shoulder strap. "Which quote? She was famous for saying a lot of things."

"We were just talking about it earlier," Dash repeated. He cleared his voice and delivered with a bold enunciation: "I think it is safe to say that while the South is hardly Christ-centered, it is most certainly Christ-haunted." Cameron didn't think that Flannery O'Connor would sound like that, but he knew that if protested then Dash would put on a recorded interview and the weasel preferred quiet for now.

"Christ-haunted..." echoed Cameron as silhouettes of tree canopies shifted across his muzzle. They had driven out of sight of the old church by now, but when they turned a corner a new one had taken its place. This one was one story, brick, and covered in moss, and its black windows swallowed all light. "I'm not sure that's relevant to my hauntings."

Dash swallowed and nodded as he lazily swerved the wheel. "Your ghost doesn't seem like a societal critique."

"Definitely not," said Cameron with a little more venom than he would have liked. Dash squeezed his leg with a rough paw and Cameron's chest tightened. He exhaled. "Although the more I think about it... something paranormal might be a little more reassuring at this point."

Dash chuckled. "Don't make spirits feel welcomed. That's what makes them never leave."

Cameron sighed. "I meant I've been asking Annie about it. She said frequent cases of sleep paralysis are common for narcolepsy."

The lynx's broad muzzle curled into a frown. "So you might need medication then."

"Yeah," said Cameron, avoiding Dash's eyes again. "And there is no cure for narcolepsy so it would mean I'd be taking it forever."

"Medication's expensive," said Dash.

"Yeah. If it's narcolepsy."

"...you aren't sure?"

Cameron felt his fur bristle uncomfortably. He didn't want to think about the kind of things he sensed during sleep paralysis right now. "No, considering I'm not a doctor. But it could explain some things." The weasel felt the impulse to yawn and covered his mouth with a paw. Dash leaned left to plant a kiss on Cameron's neck. Warmth spread up the weasel's back as Dash's purr vibrated against him.

"Watch the road," mumbled Cameron.

They drove into a tunnel beneath the approaching mountain range. A comfy darkness enveloped them and the whirring white noise of underground cave reverberations put Cameron at peace for a while.

They pulled off of the highway onto a lonely dirt path flanked by a small copse of sycamore trees flanking the path. By the time they had finished the bumpy ride, Middle Mountain Springs lodge was waiting for them, and so was its ill-maintained dusty parking lot with three dozen cars or so. Annie's text message buzzed in his pocket.

Heyyy we're gonna wait for ya in the lodge bar. Neat how we're old enough to drink in it now. Not like that helped much considering the hostess thinks I look 13, lol.

Dash cocked an eyebrow when he parked the car. He stuck his neck out of the window and craned his head from the direction of the parking lot entrance to the front the lodge. The outside of the lodge had the look of a white farmhouse that had seen better days. Its tin roof was rusting, and the white paint betrayed fuzzy patches of gray mold. Whatever old style charm it might have had in the past just left Cameron with an uneasy sense of filthiness. Dash let out a whistle. "Considering all the cars, this place isn't unpopular. You'd think they'd be able to afford repairs."

Cameron reached behind his seat to grab his pack and opened the car door. "Renovating it would replace all of the old wood and might destroy the style. Thomas Jefferson used to visit here, so it's protected by the state."

"They could hire a historic preservationist. This place looks like it ought to be condemned."

Cameron silently agreed. The Middle Mountain Springs had always looked old to him when he was a child, but it never this bad. The plaque attached to the white sign at the front of a nearly dilapidated gazebo was only thing that looked brand new. It talked about the natural charcoal and Sulphur contained in the spring water and how folks used to bathe in it and drink it for the belief of medicinal purposes. Dash's large paws grabbed Cameron's waist and steered him away from the sign to the front door of the farm house façade.

"I know weasels are naturally thin but I don't want you to get flattened when that thing falls on you."

"Rude," said Cameron as heat rushed to the inside of his ears. The brass door knob jiggled when they grabbed it and the door stuck slightly when it opened. The lobby looked more like a country convenience store. Dark wooden shelves covered every inch of wall. They were filled with salt water taffy, canned preserves, pouches of biscuit mix and overpriced amenities such as toothpaste, toilet paper and dish washing liquid.

An old goat sat behind a low desk with a touch screen computer sitting on the edge of the desk. She wasn't recognizable to Cameron, but there was a familiarity in her cold eyes, the tight lines between her jowls, and the curling, gnarled horns that sprouted from her skull that mirrored the decline of Middle Mountain Springs. She supplied two papers from beneath the table as Dash and Cameron approached.

"Make sure to read and fill out the contracts and I'll find your reservation from there," she said with a drawl. "We don't accept cash, so have your cards and identification ready." Cameron raised a paw and opened his mouth. Nothing was as he remembered it.

"Excuse me m'aam, but I thought the hot springs were available if you reserved a room?"

"No. Hot spring reservations must be made separately and in an advance of twenty-four hours. We don't rent out rooms anymore considering the delicacy of the site."

"We reserved a space on the grounds anyway," said Dash, flashing the goat a soft smile that wasn't acknowledged nor reciprocated. He dug out his wallet from his pocked and placed it on the table. The goat looked at it without an expression. "I'll be paying for both of us--"

"--Two males with one card?" the goat interrupted. Cameron shifted his weight to his other foot. He didn't want to be near this person much longer and wished Dash would stop attempting congeniality. The weasel knew exactly what the context of males meant, here.

"That'll be the ticket."

"Your check out of the grounds is 11 am tomorrow. Here is a packet of the grounds and our available amenities. We don't have any spare tents to rent out at the moment, however."

"That won't be necessary," said Cameron, adapting the goat's tone to his own. She gave him a curt nod and the two left the lobby. "I remember where the bar is, so follow me. My parents used let me go with them and have a sip of their beer."

"Was that goat lady there when you were little too?" said Dash.

"No," said Cameron.

"I've never heard a person say males aloud when referring to me before. Seems like that woman was a bit of a space cadet."

"Bless her heart," sneered Cameron.

The bar was an open room with scattered tables, chairs and a booth in each corner. Cameron saw Annie's black paw beckon him over. This didn't surprise him because he knew how the cat loved her spaces cozy and private. Annie often had a smile on her face and laughed easy. Her whiskers always lifted when she tittered.

"You'll both have to pull up a chair because we're fairly full," she called out to them. And so they were. Annie introduced Cameron and Dash to the doe with horn-rimmed glasses and a polka dot dress as her roommate, Maya. The gray squirrel sitting on the opposite side of the table was Keith, a friend Annie had met in environmental science class, and his friend Nally, a Beagle who liked the outdoors and also admitted that he needed a break from school.

"They have some cheap beers but the bartender keeps shooting me dirty looks when I ask for a Dark and Stormy," said Annie, half way through a laugh. "I settled on some shitty coffee though."

"I always remembered this place as nicer, but maybe I was looking through nostalgia goggles." Cameron sighed.

"No, it was nicer! But it wasn't as old ten years ago," said Annie. Maya leaned forward to make eye contact with Cameron.

"This county has a stick up their ass about putting out the money for hiring an architect with historic preservation accreditation," said the doe with a slight lisp. "So it's just going to keep falling apart. Shame, too. This place was literally presidential a few centuries ago."

"At least the woods are still pretty, though," put in Annie.

"Almost as pretty as you!" attempted the Keith weakly with a slight smile. Annie grinned ear-to-ear.

"Good, because if you're going to be my boyfriend and keep me beautiful then you need to plant me in a pot of fresh soil with a pH of 6 every day," said Annie matter-of-factly. Keith rolled his eyes. Dash, unfamiliar with Annie's humor, tilted his head while Maya and Cameron cracked up.

"Aren't you the guy who has sleep issues too?" said the Beagle suddenly, breaking up the laughter and staring at Cameron. He had a harsh twang to his voice, and Cameron recognized what the bags under his eyes meant immediately.

The weasel avoided eye contact. "Nally was your name, right? Issues is putting it lightly, yeah. Sleep paralysis."

"Yeah, Nally's right," said Beagle, nodding with enthusiasm. "When you experience sleep paralysis, do you dream about here? Dreams about these woods?"

Cameron's brow furrowed. "Not to my knowledge, no. Never about these woods. It's hard to remember most things, anyway."

"But it feels like these woods, don't it? That same feeling, but duller?" said the dog again. Cameron didn't know how to respond. Gauging by the way the lodge and the old goat had made him feel, the dog wasn't wrong. It was that same kind of feeling that gives you goose bumps in a thrift store with the lights are off. Or an empty high school during the summer: an empty shell that doesn't feel so empty, and there's some sense of a presence watching you. "Maybe we can talk about it later. I need to use the bathroom I think. Might help me wake up a bit. Keith, could you let me out of the booth."

"Oh! Sure." The Squirrel's massive, bushy tail swayed as he scooted out from under the table and made room.

"Thanks bud," said the Beagle with a nod and a shake of his floppy ears as he rose and disappeared into a bathroom.

Dash cleared his voice. "I'm just a little disappointed I'm not going to get a chance to soak in the mineral water. I was hoping Cameron would get a chance as well." He squeezed the weasel's lap under the table.

"You're not missing out on much," said Annie, half-way through a laugh. "The Sulphur smells like rotten eggs and there's mildew on the walls in the changing rooms."

The bartender, who was a large black bear giving Annie the stink eye, brought everybody's drinks. Cameron had a good time catching up with his old neighbor and he was happy to see his boyfriend getting along with everybody. Maya had a lot of interesting anthropology stories to tell about local girls who claimed witches had "rid them like brooms" and Keith, impressively, could explain an issue of trophic cascade with the local monarch butterflies migrating the area despite being a lightweight and slurring his speech.

When the Beagle came back, the group had already had a few drinks, and Cameron had to restrain himself from choking on a cider when Keith, drunk off of his ass, had to stand again, sloppily, to make room for the Beagle without mauling Dash with his enormous tail.

After their drinks had finished, the companions grabbed their packs and headed out into the woods to find an appropriate site to set up camp. Cameron felt lighthearted now that he was a little tipsy, but the general unease never seemed to go away completely. The forest heightened it, even.

They found a clearing surrounded by bay trees that had the remnants of a fire pit: ash piles, stone, and charred twigs. Considering Dash and Annie were heavy weights and Maya didn't drink, they set up everybody's tents while Nally and Keith hunted for wood and more rocks.

Cameron gathered some old newspapers from out of Dash's car and lit the embers once the perimeter of the stone circle had been established. The heat and the smoke was getting to him, but he found the crackling sounds relaxing. Cameron could associate his best memories with campfires. It was one of the few disarming things that could get him to talk freely with strangers. It glowed like fairy dust, and it smelled like home, and food, and the embodiment of a fulfilling life. His heart broke a little every time it was time to leave a trip and douse the fire's embers in water. But he knew there'd always be another camp fire in the future.

Nally rolled up a log next to where Cameron sat in the dirt and planted himself there. Not wanting to be rude, the weasel locked eyesight with him and gave him a thin smile, but the Beagle only nodded.

"Sorry for going all rain man and shit back at the bar. I just got excited remembering when Annie and Keith talked about your sleep issues. Thought I might not be the only person having nightmares about these woods and felt a little less lonely." His surly cackle was nervous and Nally rolled his own eyes while he spoke as if he thought himself the earth's biggest ass at the moment.

"No, no, I get where you're coming from," Cameron assured, holding up a paw. "I don't think what you're saying is crazy or stupid. I've felt lonely after my dreams too."

"Almost like a hunger for companionship?" pressed the Beagle. Cameron's brow furrowed and he nodded. "Thought as much. You might be like me, or headed that way. Sometimes I can't get off my phone after a nightmare late at night. Feels like when I see these woods in my head I get emptied out spiritually. I can only fill up again after hours of reassurance from people I care about. Got too taxing on my girl, so she dumped me. I know my pestering drives Keith up the walls, but I never considered myself much of a bother in the past. Seems like my good days are drying up, and those bad dreams are all that's left."

Cameron wasn't sure if he should give the beagle a hug, a polite pat on the back, or to walk away slowly, but he thought the least he could do was hear the guy out. He leaned into the fire to blow on the embers then returned his attention to Nally, settling on a question. "I'm not trying to come off as flippant, but if you say you think these woods are causing you problems, why on earth would you come out here in the first place?"

Nally chuckled, this time with heart. "Probably because I'm stupid. But I don't believe in running from problems. If I could camp out here when I was just a pup a decade ago I can do it as a grown ass man. I need to fix what's wrong with me out here or might as well not go back."

"I had a similar idea," said Cameron. He felt something cold against his shoulder and turned to see the beagle handing him his beer bottle. He took the bottle, pressed it to his muzzle and gave it a quick swig. It tasted cheap, but there was a nice mellowness to it. "Thanks."

"No problem. Stay charged little buddy."

After a full day of campsite work, talking with friends and breaking out of his fugue, Cameron stretched out on his sleeping bag. He was too sweaty to slip inside of it. He wanted to unzip the side of the tent so that he could feel the cool mountain air instead feeling like he was getting cooked, but unless he rolled up the flaps covering the tent windows then there wouldn't be air circulation. He didn't want anything outside of the tent to be able to see him.

He could hear Annie and Maya laughing from their tent, and Keith and Nally were mumbling at one another at the picnic table, presumable still locked in a card game. A zipper noise made Cameron sit up. Dash's feather-like ears poked through the entrance of the tent. He crawled in on all floors clumsily with his massive, snowshoe-like paws and then flopped on his sleeping back with a great huff.

"You'd think more of them would want to go fishing instead of lounging around the camp site. I saw one of the biggest catfish jump out of a pond."

"Maybe they're called catfish because nobody else wants to eat them but cats," offered Cameron, shrugging.

"So what's Annie's excuse?" Dash's expression shifted into a pout.

"She'd probably say that renting the equipment was more expensive and time consuming than buying the fish herself."

"Damn it. You're right." Dash put his hands behind his head and stretched out his torso. The slip of his shirt pulled up, revealing a thin line of his sandy belly fur separate from his pants. Cameron stared, feeling sweat drip down the bridge of his nose. An insect chorus of creaking feelers filled the night, and a gust of wind rustled leaves in the trees. The embers of their camp's dying fire still crackled, leaving the strong scent of burning cedar.

"You're giving me the look." Dash grinned.

"I often give you the look," said Cameron, feeling the black tip of his tail bottle brush.

"Yeah, but it's a little different tonight." Dash moved his paw down his jeans slowly, gave his own thigh a squeeze and then moved to his waist. His belt jangled as he fussed with it. There was a snap, then cloth rubbed against cloth. The denim sounded heavy as it fell.

"You're wearing the olive underwear that matches your eyes. The tight ones."

"You saw me put them on this morning?"

Cameron swallowed. "I know. They're just my favorite."

"It's weird to have favorite underwear." Dash smirked. "You look best in the periwinkle jock strap."

The inside of Cameron's ears burned and he felt himself getting hard. "You know I'm not wearing those."

"The pink briefs are cute too."

"Or those."

"Your yellow nylon ones looked like you pissed yourself."

Cameron's eyebrow cocked. "That's so rude."

Dash's eyes twinkled. "It's true though."

"They're sporty."

"Watersporty."

Cameron huffed. "How are you so good at building the mood and at also destroying it?"

"Because I can just set right again if that's true." The crickets outside stopped, as well as the voices of their friends. Cameron snorted.

"Great, now they think we're fighting."

"Nothing wrong with a healthy tussle. Everybody does it." The lynx squeezed his groin when he said does it and Cameron noticed the Lynx's rising tent in his pants.

"We should wait a while."

"Oh?" Dash shifted to his side, pointing himself at Cameron while his head rested on the palm of his hand. There was a tiny wet spot on his underwear where the shape of his cock left nothing to the imagination.

"I feel gross and sweaty," said Cameron.

"You're not."

"I can smell myself."

Dash smiled to show the barest slip of his fang beneath his pouched cheeks. "I can too."

"Just wait until everybody else is asleep." What Cameron didn't want to say was that he felt a growing sense of dread that he couldn't explain, which was the real thing ruining the moment. For him.

"Won't you fall asleep though?" pressed Dash. It was more of a concern than a whine.

"Probably. Wake me up."

"You do have an easier time getting hard when you wake up."

"Liar."

"Nah. You're definitely bigger in the morning." Dash grabbed Cameron's sides and pulled him into a hug. "I love you."

Cameron's nose twitched and he compulsively pressed back, feeling the cat's flat chest against his long, damp back. "I love you too. But your body heat is baking me alive."

"Good point. I'll just open the--"

"--No," he squeaked. Cameron's paw had snapped up at Dash's, keeping it from the tent's thin canvas siding. Dash was shaken from a moment but nodded, snapping out of it.

"I wish your grip was that strong when I'd like you to open a can of salsa."

"Sorry. Scared."

"It's okay." He gave Cameron a peck on the cheek and slid back over to his side of the tent. Then he cupped his paw over his muzzle and hissed. "What isn't okay is that I'm still not naked!"

Cameron chuckled. He heard more rustling and then a stillness. It made sense to him to follow suit, so he squirmed out of his shirt and his pants, which was quite easy for him to do quietly considering his body proportions, and he folded everything neatly into a stacked pile before his feet. He was only in his nylon underwear now. It wasn't easy to get soft again instantly, so he lay prone, feeling his engorging cock against his belly as feelings of annoyance and endearment for his boyfriend drifted through his mind. As he softened, the alertness from being horny faded and he soon found his eyes drooping.

"Can I talk to you about something Dash?"

"Yeah?" the Lynx mumbled.

"I don't remember why I wanted to come here. I know I said that it might seem nice, but I don't know why I wanted to come this far out into the middle of nowhere. We could have had a nicer time camping out in a national park. Would have been closer."

"You seemed like you wanted to try something new." Cameron heard the uncertainty in Dash's voice. "I'll try most things once."

"Nothing about this feels new though. I have this itching sense of familiarity. It's the same kind of thing you get when... you're guilty about something you left behind. You ever build a tree house, growing up?"

"No, but my neighbors did."

"Well... my folks built me a tree house." Cameron tucked his arms under his pillow. "I had always wanted one. I cried until they built it for me. It had a thatched roof and windows and everything. I used to have my birthday parties up there. But they put too many nails in the tree and it didn't live very long."

Dash adjusted himself on top of his sleeping bag, tufted tail twitching in the air. "So, did it topple over?"

"No," said Cameron. "Remember that time I visited my parents a few summers ago? The treehouse was still there and that tree was grey as ashes. The paint on the sides was chipped and some of the windows had fallen out of the lopsided frame."

"Sounds dangerous."

"Yeah. That's the bad part. I still wanted to go inside of it."

Dash opened his mouth and yawned noisily. "Why?" he said, garbled, half way through.

"Because I wanted it to be new again. There was something there that I had missed. Something that could never be again. The tree was dead and the treehouse's structure was unsound, but I wanted to climb up into it regardless."

"I think everybody's wanted to fill empty spaces again at some point in their lives. Like those churches we saw on the drive up."

"Like Middle Mountain Springs," said Cameron.

Dash reached over to sift through the fur in his back. "It's okay. Catch a quick nap and I'll wake you."

Cameron exhaled into his pillow, and his exhaustion set in.

Until his eyes snapped open. The first thing Cameron noticed was that his whiskers shivered. He was freezing. Puffs like mist emitted from his breath, and it hurt to breath. There was a pressure on his lungs, like something invisible and heavy sat on him, but he could see nothing. He could see the roof of the tent, too. He had fallen asleep prone. He should have been staring into his pillow.

If it was this cold inside of the tent, then the window flaps or the door entrance had to be open. Everything about this situation was familiar to him. His mind just couldn't place why it was familiar. There was nothing there, aside from the vague sense that he was here, now, in this place, and he had the unshakable feeling of inescapable dread.

If the window flaps were open, then he'd have to tie them down. Upon attempting to move, he felt his muscles would not react. Every part of his body was numb. He couldn't even move his eyes. He couldn't see or hear Dash in the room at all. But he could feel the wind tickle his face. He didn't know how, he didn't know why, but he knew those window flaps were open. There was a nasty smell--nasty like hellfire. Something like rotten eggs. Like Sulphur.

There was a sound coming from right outside of the screen. It was a familiar sound: a raspy inhalation, then an exhalation that sounded more like guttural speech. There was a primordial weight to those indecipherable cries making up the sound of the breath, echoing at the same time in different timbres after it passed through some medium of grisly distortion. Cameron still couldn't turn his head to look out the window, but it didn't matter. Somehow, in his imagination, he could build what the face that stared at him already looked like: beady orange eyes on a face too broad and furless, molding skin on a maw too large, that opened far wider than conventional sense would make, and twelve antlers that drooped in wrong directions that could shift and rattle as if they were attached to sickly muscle.

But he had never seen it. Only felt its presence: its silhouette, its noises, its ancient weight. A weight so massive, and just on the other side of a thin strip of fabric, speaking to him in its breath-whispers. He could understand those child-like sounds for the first time.

_Look,_they sang.

He could not, even if he wanted to. It said it only once to let him know it was there without any doubt. It shambled back and forth, stepping on twigs, wiping its too-long digits on the fabric of the tent. There were no rips or tears; just that sandpapery sound.

But then he heard the soft zipping noise. His body didn't react. He could not react. The thin mesh of mosquito lining fell and the entire tent shook. He couldn't see it yet. It was slow. It was constant but slow. It stopped for a few times. The others had to be awake. Dash was a light sleeper, and Annie's tent was only a few feet away. But Cameron could no longer tell the difference between a few seconds and eternity. Maybe his perception of whatever it was invading his tent didn't align with real time. Maybe it was much faster than he could perceive. His heart thrummed as it beat against his rib cage. Cold tears emptied from his expressionless face as he could find that breathing was no longer possible.

But then, something shook him and he felt an immediate sense of breath and heat. He could only see black, until he pushed himself off of his pillow.

"You were snoring like you couldn't breathe so I poked you," whispered Dash. The inside of their tent glowed orange from Dash's battery powered lantern. Cameron looked around himself in a daze. The tent walls were different from the memories of his dream. Both large and small details were wrong. The zipper on the tent screen was beige, not black. The ceiling of the tent was white, not green. Everything was wrong.

Cameron wiped his eyes.

"You had another nightmare, I take it?"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember anything about it?"

"Everything's disappearing really fast."

Dash stalked on over to him on all fours. He brushed the side of Cameron's face with a paw. It smelled a little bit sweet and a little bit piney from his earlier hike. "I know something that's easy to make visible." He dipped his head down into Cameron's groin, throat rumbling. "Want it?"

Cameron trembled. He probably didn't want anything else more than this right now, but he was also trying to get over the shock of having his life spared by his boyfriend's horniness if what he had just experienced was real. "I'll probably be soft for a while."

The Lynx's rough pads slipped under the band of his underwear and he flinched, gasping. "I don't think you'll be soft very long at all, actually." Dash's deft pads curled around his member, groping his cock in a corkscrew motion. Dash wrapped a muscular arm around the weasel's neck and locked him into place. Cameron squealed as quietly as he could muster, and he hardened his Dash's greedy grasp. "See there?"

"I never disagreed," huffed Cameron, his eyes listing across the spots peppering Dash's broad, sandy chest to the puffy treasure trail leading to his olive boxers. He pressed his paw there, shyly, feeling the cat's engorged length. The familiar bumps were there, even the sharper bits that still made him nervous. Dash grunted and wrinkled his brow in pleasure when Cameron touched him while his pink tongue lolled past his open mouth. The cat's muscular arms worked the thick weasel in his paws, pumping him like he always did in their practiced routine. The noises of the insects outside started up again, adding to Cameron's security. As the lynx moved him inside of the cramped tent, he the fabric of his sleeping bag slid against nylon. Water from a nearby stream trickled, too, relaxing Cameron, eliciting a soft gasp.

"For a sweaty little thing, you sure are dry down there." He retrieved his paw from Cameron's underwear, leaving his throbbing cock pressed against the yellow fabric, making a noticeable tent.

Cameron took a moment to catch his breath. "You're not going to do the thing, are you? And don't call me little. I'm the same height as you. It's not like I'm a least weasel."

Dash brought the palm of his paws to his face and licked slowly and egregiously. "Yeah, you seem like a most weasel to me." His slipped his wet paw into Cameron's groin and applied several slow strokes, making the messy sound of spit and pre- polishing skin. Cameron concealed his whines as best as he could, but the wildcat couldn't help a few groans.

"Don't know why we're bothering being quiet. If you think we smell now then this place is gonna reek of come by the time we're through with it." Dash grabbed the thin fabric of Cameron's underwear with both paws and yanked them off, causing the weasel to curse softly. His glistening, slightly crooked cock bobbed in the air, thwapping his stomach, dragging a streamer of clear liquid.

"Shit," said Dash as he lowered his head and blew warm breath on him. "I gotta suck this tonight."

"Just remember... no tongue." Dash rolled his eyes as he bowed down to suck, planting both of his arms on the ground in a pushup position. He stuck out his tongue cheekily and folded it back, leaving the soft underside of it exposed. His warm, black lips enveloped Cameron's length as his pistoned himself forward and backward with his arms, letting his throat do most of the work.

Cameron thought it was cute how much Dash loved to suck dick considering he was the larger, stronger predator, and he had to make up for his less than accommodating oral skills. But, as Cameron found out living with him, the cat just loved the taste of come too much.

Dash pulled off for a moment. "Could you use your paws?"

Cameron blinked. "From this position?"

"The ones I like, I mean..." Cameron's eyes lit up.

"Oh."

Dash pulled away and licked his hands again, then smeared the saliva on Cameron's foot paws. The weasel snickered, trying not to kick the lynx in the face, but calmed himself after Dash had shot him enough warning leers. Dash repositioned himself to fellate the weasel while pulling both of the mustelid's ankles forward so that the foot paws cupped the cat's cock. As Dash went down on him again, Cameron had to stretch his neck so that he could watch his feet as while pumping Dash. The spikiness was always bit odd, and he'd occasionally burst into uncontrollable giggles, but he hinged his legs to work up momentum.

Dash pushed off again, leaving a clear trail to the tip of Cameron's dick and his muzzle. "I'm going to come too soon if you apply more pressure." Cameron giggled, and then Dash shot him a look. "Oh come on, the barbs shouldn't be that ticklish."

"They aren't. I'm just thinking about how your ears look like you're wearing stupid party hats every time you blow me."

"Oh you fucker." Dash went down on him hard this time. He worked his neck and shoulder muscles like a machine, smacking and sucking on the weasel's knob like he was starved for come and wanted to milk as much as he could into his greedy gullet.

"I think I'm close," grunted Cameron. Dash moaned with the cock around his mouth and then gripped the base of the weasel's shaft, pumping it, assuredly yowling if he didn't have something in his mouth to stopper the noise. They both squirmed together, rubbing and writhing on top of their sleeping bags which were soaked with their sweat. Cameron couldn't see when Dash came but he could feel it splatter on his chest, his calfs, and between his feet. The smell of it sent him over the edge, releasing the pressure built up in his loins in thick, stringy shots that filled up the lynx's cheeks.

When the two of them finished, Dash climbed on top of him, embracing him in a hug that felt more real than any kind of nightmare.

"Guys... guys! Wake up! Come on." Cameron's eye's snapped open. Dash was still on top of him, and the cat was rousing too. Annie's face appeared behind the mosquito screen of their tent window. "We don't know where Nally is! We found something that might be his foot prints, but I need you guys to get dressed and help us find him!"

When Annie left, the two of them looked at each other. Dash rolled off and scrambled for his clothes. Cameron found his shorts and shirt at the edge of his feet, working so fast that he didn't get the chance to wipe himself off before putting on his clothes again.

When the two of them were ready and out of the tent, they found Maya with her arms crossed, looking concerned while Keith held his long grey ears in a panic.

"His tracks lead into the forest but then they stop at a tree. Then they reappear somewhere else. It's like his climbing trees in his sleep. I can't even do that."

"They might just look weird because he was at different places at different times," said Maya, trying to calm him down but sounding not exactly confident in her own words.

"Do we even know that he was sleepwalking?" said Dash, still mumbling and half-asleep himself.

"Zip up your fly," whispered Cameron. Dash flinched and turned himself around while Keith hemmed.

"Nally sleepwalks all of the time in our apartment. Usually he turns on the sink and it wakes him up. He wouldn't shut up about Sulphur smells last night but I thought his nose was picking up the hot springs. Dogs have noses like that, right?"

"Then maybe he's at the hot springs," said Cameron.

"But none of the footprints lead there?" said Annie, bemused.

"Can't really think of anyplace else with Sulphur around here," the weasel grunted. "Might be a waste of time but it's close enough that I don't see the harm in checking."

"I can wait here and see if he comes back so we're covering more space," said Maya.

Keith made a short, quiet sound that Cameron thought might be a sob.

It was true that there weren't any foot prints leading to the bath house, but Nally's sleeping body was certainly there, wedged between the narrow opening of the padlock wooden doors. The old goat was there too, bellowing at the slumbering dog.

When he wouldn't wake, they saw her pull the Beagle away from the doors. Nally's left hand was full of splinters from scratching at the door, and he woke with a start. The goat kept holding him, screaming into his face about value, about respect, and about federal criminal behavior. She was working herself up into a frenzy while Nally seemed only barely aware of his surroundings until Keith had to step in. He tried to tell her that Nally was a sleepwalker and that it wasn't his fault, but the goat yelled past him, mentioning the police, the state, and criminal charges.

Keith held up his hands. "He didn't know any better. This could have happened to tons of people with a condition like his!"

"Is disrespect of government property a condition? Is smoking God knows what in the woods a condition?"

Annie had out her phone, and Cameron could see that she was texting Maya, telling her to pack up the camping equipment if they could and that they had found Nally. Cameron could tell that she was still stressed out, but noticeably more relied that Nally wasn't missing or had hurt himself worse in the woods.

"Let's start to pack up," Annie huffed.

The goat redirected her attention to the cat. "Pack up? No. You're with _them._You're staying right here until the police arrive."

"Actually, I'm not." Annie yawned and turned her back to the goat, texting to Maya and not looking back.

"If you want to leave the scene of the crime go ahead you little asshole! You're all together so you need to share responsibility."

"Actually... that's not true. We signed contracts," said Cameron. "And we didn't pay together, aside from me and Dash. We're the only ones who are together."

The goat shook her head. "I don't give a shit what the legal print says. You think I can't ban all of your hoodlum asses from coming back here? I will certainly do that at the bare minimum."

Cameron and Dash looked at one another. "You should get better at threats." They ignored the rest of the goat's ranting as they turned their backs on her. But as Cameron caught one last glimpse of the door, he caught sight of something in the dark gap leading into the bath house. It was the reflection of orange light, bounced off something spherical, six feet in the air. He turned away from that too.

Cameron and Dash told Maya and Annie goodbye as they packed up their camping supplies. They didn't get to see Nally or Keith again after the incident before leaving but Annie told Cameron that she'd keep them updated.

After the trip had passed, Cameron stopped having nightmares. He had forgotten a lot of the details in those bad dreams, even though he could remember how he felt in them. There was nothing that could fill him because he didn't feel an emptiness like before. Abandoned places he used to linger on felt more like empty parcels now. The loneliness that used to call for him, that used to give him that insatiable, emotional hunger was gone, fleeting like from him like another bad dream.

It was because that place from his youth, with the clean water and the kindly trees, was no more and would never be again. What Middle Mountain Springs had become was something lesser. The past was gone, and he was in the present, awake, alert, and with Dash, at least for now. He could live his current life and learn to sleep again. But, in the later years of his life, Cameron would have one thing that kept him from sleep on occasion. It was the long, formal text that Annie sent him about a week after their last camp out at Middle Mountain Springs:

_Hey Cameron? I'm sorry things got weird during that camping trip. Maya and Keith really like you and want to see you and Dash again. Maybe this time over coffee? Haha. I don't think Middle Mountain Springs was a bad idea, really. We were all having a fun time before that awful woman gave Nally a hard time for his sleepwalking. The police said that those damn doors were fine. But after we all went our separate ways, Keith said Nally left their apartment in the middle of the night just a few days after getting back. Keith also said Nally told him he was going back to the lodge for something he left behind. We haven't seen him in a week. Keith is flipping out because he's having issues coming up with monthly rent. It's a long shot, but could you contact the police if you see Nally? I hope that he's okay. See you sometime soon. _