FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

--Chapter One: Wolf makes plans

The air was heavy with the scent of mercenaries. It was an unmistakable cocktail of smells, impossible to adequately describe but unforgettable once experienced. Body odor, male musk, decomposing scraps of food and discarded bottles of liquor whose minute remaining contents had begun to turn fetid all formed the basis of the scent. More apparent to the inquiring nose were the subtleties. A notable element was the melting plastic-like reek of overloaded blaster cartridges which galactic law in Lylat forbade. The scent of grease was pleasant and it was used on landing gear, cockpit hinges, the gimbals the lasers swiveled on, and any other moving parts of the fighters outside of the plasma-driven engine. The smells came together to form the distinct odor of the hideout.

It had long since stopped mattering to Wolf O'Donnell, ace pilot and only remaining member of the original Star Wolf squadron. The scents he personally carried on him were liquor and leather, his aged musk only obvious when his clothes were off. To him, the hideout smelled like any other he had been in. It stank of a desolate kind of home he had known for decades.

Wolf presently sat at the table in the cramped hideout's kitchenette. He chewed on day-old pizza and read the bulletins on his data pad. Its screen was heavily pitted and scored from years of angry claw swipes and jabs, but Wolf still found it readable. The bionic eye helped. He scanned the bulletins, hoping to see a familiar name crop up in relation to a tragic accident. A smile crept across the wolf's grizzled snout at the idea of Falco Lombardi, former pilot of Star Fox, getting spaced. It would have been fair, he thought. His wingman Leon Powalski had been a good fighter, even if his homosexual tendencies put Wolf on edge. Lombardi could claim all he wanted that he was just trying to disable Leon's ship, but Wolf knew what bloodlust was like. He didn't believe for a hot second that that bird of prey wanted anything but to destroy Leon.

No Falco, but Wolf found one well-known name in the bulletins. Team Star Fox selects recruit fresh from Corneria Aero Academy! Leader Fox McCloud to personally train cadet Desmond Lankett, whose record has been a flawless ...

Wolf dropped the data pad harshly on the table. Its screen flickered but held out. 'Hm, another goody two-shoes,' he muttered around a mouthful of cold pizza. 'Blast that pup out of the sky if I get the chance.'

A new head peeked into the kitchenette. Scruffy but even-faced, Lars Malcolm was Wolf's replacement for Leon and Panther both. And so far, he had proven himself a good wingman, if not a quiet one. That was a minor disturbance to Wolf whose brain was conditioned to expect nonstop chatter from his wingmen, but Lars was good. He was, in fact, gifted. He was also sadistic in a subdued way which Wolf deeply admired. Leon had been relentlessly cruel, but also lacking in subtlety. Wolf liked a man who could gladly draw blood and still keep a low profile.

'What pup?' Lars asked sleepily. He belched up what remained of yesterday's pizza and beer. 'Hey, any left?'

Wolf nudged the box across the table and said, 'Just some crap with Star Fox. McCloud's the only one left, still thinks he's got a fucking squadron.' Lars looked at him with a smile and he snapped, 'Fucking shut up, panda. It's different. McCloud's fuckbuddies retired, went to have normal lives. Leon's dead and Panther's probably nailing that Krystal bitch right now halfway across the system. I ain't got the same luxuries McCloud does.'

"Hey, I thought I was the best pilot you've seen in twenty years," Lars said noncommittally then bit into his pizza. "And besides," he continued with a mouthful of food, "they don't take our missions." He laughed. "You ever see Star Fox raiding a luxury cruise liner?"

"I seen 'em defend one," Wolf said sharply. "If Fox is building up a team, I plan to do something about it. I'm not gonna get outgunned by that-," he grumbled, finding himself at a loss for a colorful slur. He tossed his crust on the grubby cement floor. Roaches need to eat too, he thought absently. "I wanna find out about this Lankett fuck. See if he's some empty head or somethin' I need to worry about."

Lars often had a mildly stoned, glassy quality in his gaze, but now it was remarkable. He stood bemused. Wolf eyed him cautiously. He had seen this look on the panda's face twice before, and both times it preceded cold-blooded murder. "The fuck's with the killer stare, panda?" asked Wolf, paw resting on his holstered blaster.

"Desmond Lankett?" Lars asked, dropping the rest of the slice back in the box. He tilted his head slightly. "Is that what his name was?"

Wolf smiled, not understanding the significance. "What? Uh, yeah." He swiped the pad off the table, looked at it again. "Yeah, Desmond Lankett. Some top-honors fuck from the academy on Corneria. Friend of yours?"

"We shared a dorm," Lars said flatly. "He got me booted out of the academy."

Having already seen what Lars was capable of left Wolf unsurprised by the news. He asked with a chuckle, "The fuck did you do, Lars?"

The panda sat at the table, the chair creaking under his paunchy body. Without really thinking about it, he picked up his slice of pizza again and nibbled it. "Uh, lots of things. I inverted the plasma cell in his training fighter."

Wolf burst into mean-spirited laughter. "Bet that thing exploded as soon as he hit the boost."

"Yeah," Lars said, and chuckled. "He was so pissed. All the instructors were, too. He actually lied for me and said he did it, by mistake." He looked at Wolf, smiling his unreadable smile. It made Wolf uncomfortable, but the old wolf hid it under a poker face. "Desmond was always way too nice for his own good. It was when I started fucking him that he finally had enough. Pretty sure he liked it, though. He always came."

"Fuck, Lars," Wolf muttered. "Sticking it up your roommate's ass? Couldn't get pussy? I remember that academy being co-ed when I was there."

"Desmond has a pussy," Lars said as if it were perfectly normal. "But he got me kicked out. And now he's with Star Fox?"

"Wait, a pussy? Back up, what the-?"

"He's joining Star Fox? Right?" Lars insistently said, leaning forward.

Wolf shook his head. "Yeah. That's what the bulletin says. S'there if you wanna read it." Lars began doing exactly that, his nose pressed nearly to the screen. "Hey, if you wanna take this kid down personally, I'll leave the kill for you. Least I can do for you."

Lars finished reading the bulletin a few seconds later. There was not much to it past the salient points. "No. No, I don't wanna kill him. I want to fuck him again."

"You're a sick puppy, Lars," Wolf said, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice. "All right. You can fuck 'em if you want. Then what?" He mimed shooting himself in the temple. "P'chow. Blaster to the face?"

"Dunno." Lars shrugged. "But I wanna find him."

Although he was nearing fifty, Wolf O'Donnell was a sly and crafty animal. It was a job requirement for a mercenary, especially one whose bounty had nine zeroes in it. Wolf was quietly proud of the bounty he had managed to accrue even if he felt it was artificially inflated in many regards. He took the data pad and thumbed through the bulletins again. Within a minute he said, "Aha. Here's the ticket."

Lars got up, looked over Wolf's shoulder at the pad. He smelled the wolf, his nose subtly sucking in his malodorous scent. Lars was a creature who found Wolf to be the ideal male specimen. He was tall, aggressive, unwashed, old enough to be his father. For a year he had been under Wolf's guidance, and for a year he had considered offering services to him. Scenarios he played out in his head always went better than he believed they would in reality. Just let me suck your cock. It's not gay if you close your eyes. How about I just smell your asshole? You smell like my old man used to. It's not that weird. Lars imagined a broken nose for his troubles.

He looked at the data pad and said doubtfully, "Mining operation underway on Titania? Who cares?"

"We crash it!" Wolf said triumphantly. "We go in lasers blazing, bomb the shit out of some heavy equipment, shoot up some workers, steal some of the precious ore. They always separate the good shit out from the plain rocks. Get to bag some rough diamonds and your pussyboy. Fox is gonna be ready for trouble there."

Lars sneered. "Come on. A mining operation? He's probably too busy licking Desmond's pussy."

Wolf thought again about a man with a vagina. It seemed fundamentally wrong, but it was something he wanted to see in a circus freak fashion. "The whole point is that it's dull. Trust me on this, panda. He figures some bandits will try to hit this operation because it's so low-key, but there's a whole lot of money in that ore. He'll be there doing rounds with his new boy because it's a training wheels kind of job. Little prick's gonna be easy pickings."

The panda considered it. He thought the idea was dumb. But the thought of blowing something up and stealing some diamonds sounded fun, and Wolf was the boss. "I'm in if you are."

"Then we're going. Get the ships warmed up. We got a long flight ahead of us." Wolf thought of the Great Fox, Fox McCloud's mothership, and felt a twinge of envy. Sublight travel was sublight travel, but it was mind-numbing to fly for fourteen hours in the confines of a ship built solely to kill. And he suspected that Lars masturbated while his autopilot was on.

--Chapter Two: Desmond flies

The Arwing banked severely as it reached the edge of the beacon perimeter. A gentle warning flashed across the screen just below the pilot's normal field of vision. It read Training radius perimeter warning. Desmond Lankett already knew of it, had skirted it several times, and his ship now curved back like a boomerang about to whip its way back to its master's feet. As the Great Fox panned into view, he slammed forward on the thrust control and a halo of white-hot plasma gases erupted from the Arwing's booster. The g-force pinned him to the seat, causing a pulse in his vision as blood vessels constricted throughout his body, eyes especially. Then the g-diffuser took effect, rapidly dampening the effects of his boost until it was only a firm push against his body.

He raced underneath the Great Fox. Her milky white hull rushed above him like a lunar surface. He let loose a sharp and giddy cry, then said into the mic of his headset, "Ain't even a meter away this time! Ship handles like a dream, Mr. McCloud!"

A voice answered him first with a chuckle. Fox McCloud said evenly, "Hey, that's just Fox to you. You're a teammate, not an employee. And you better watch it, I just had her repainted."

Desmond replied with a good-natured laugh. He still couldn't believe that out of the forty-six who managed to avoid washing out, he had been selected to join the newest incarnation of Star Fox. It seemed to him as likely as winning the lottery. He was now part of the most prestigious squadron to ever fly between the stars, and Fox McCloud himself was both an idol and, so far, a good friend to Desmond who valued his skill.

Desmond brought the Arwing into the hangar bay on the Great Fox's spine. When he set down his landing gear, magnetic clamps thudded like pairs of cymbals against the struts. As he made his way through the Great Fox's spartan hallways and numerous lifts, he maintained a conversation with Fox.

"...which is why the Arwings aren't fitted with smart bombs anymore, but the turbolasers should do you just as well in a real firefight. Assuming we ever see one."

"'Cha mean by that? Ain't there always somethin' goin' on?" Desmond asked. He counted the decks on the final lift and saw he was nearly to the bridge.

"Desmond," Fox chuckled, "I don't know how to break it to you, but this is pretty much peacetime. There's some small issues here and there, maybe some missions of mercy to take care of, but the adventures are over for a long time. No more Andross, and all that goes with him."

The sliding doors of the lift wheezed open. Desmond stepped out onto the bridge of the Great Fox and was met in the middle by McCloud. The darkness of this room was unappealing to Desmond whose life so far had been wide-open skies and the brightly-lit halls of the academy. Most of the Great Fox was used and dreary, but no room was darker than the bridge. Banks of screens lined the perimeter along the ceiling of the room which was pinched toward the front but widened some twenty meters back with the vulpine cranium shape of its design. These screens provided much of the bridge's illumination, the rest provided by soft blue lights recessed into the floors.

Fox waited for Desmond, arms folded and smile charming but confident. This served to make him appear commanding, even slightly imposing, which was itself amusing because he stood an inch shorter than his new wingman. His middle age had not taken his famously handsome looks from him and he had not allowed his compact-muscular frame to rot despite peacetime. His build put him in sharp relief with Desmond who was effeminate, sported a noticeably round behind, and who wore his blonde hair at a decidedly non-regulation length. Fox privately found Desmond's long hair and braid appealing to look at. In the time since Krystal had left him, he had begun reverting to what was colloquially known as a space sissy. Like jailhouse gayness, space sissiness was a craving for closeness and love men aboard spacecraft tended to resort to. Rumors of he and Falco Lombardi abounded, never confirmed, lamely denied. Falco was gone, but Desmond was here. Fox was unsure, but he believed the foxcoon would prove receptive.

"How'd I do?" Desmond asked, speaking smoothly despite the southern twang of his voice. This accent was secretly a part of Fox's desire to have him around. It reminded him greatly of his deceased mentor and friend. "Figure I made the loop quicker'n I did last time. Jus' about got them Arwings mastered." He grinned.

"Damn fine flying," Fox said and clapped Desmond on the shoulder. He pulled the foxcoon along and led him further into the bridge. Screens flashed incidental reams of data about the specifics of the ship and her condition. Smooth green text, as it was now, said that all was well. Yellow text denoted warnings of a trivial nature with red text set aside for imminent dangers like breaches in the hull. Fox instinctively glanced at the readouts before turning his attention back to Desmond. "And guess what," he said, beginning to grin. "I've got a mission for you. For us. I'm not gonna lie to you, it's basic stuff, but it'll be some coin in the bank. This ship doesn't maintain itself."

Desmond smiled. His narrow green eyes appeared to Fox as lustful. The experienced pilot had to fight off the notion that Desmond was appraising him sexually. "It doesn't? Never woulda guessed."

"Smart ass," Fox replied. He sat down in his command chair central to the room. It creaked on its swivel base, something Fox had not thought much of before but found embarrassing now. Talking quickly, he said, "There's a mining operation on Titania and they need some ships in the area. I put in a bid on the job and it turns out we were the only crew who actually bothered."

Desmond's smile turned pensive. "Oh, well, good fer us, then. I guess."

"Yeah. Good for us," Fox said. "I already set a course. You wanna get us moving?"

"Sure thing," Desmond said easily. Compared to flying an Arwing, commanding the Great Fox was uninteresting. There was no fine control for the colossal ship. You fed it a course or put in a maneuver, and the ship's computers did the legwork. Desmond sat in the navigator's seat - Peppy Hare's old station - and did not notice when Fox looked away. Several keystrokes later and the ship began to resonate as the trio of boosters on its rear erupted into life. The resonance died down to a background hum and gradually, the vista past her armored viewports started to whisk by. "On our way to Titania. ETA i-i-is," he tapped a few keys, "'bout eighteen hours."

Fox leaned back in his chair. "Well, Desmond, now comes the worst part of spacefaring. Waiting."

The young pilot laughed sharply. "Never did like it back when I was a kiddy. Can't see it bein' any more fun now."

Fox listened to Desmond's cheerful southern voice and winced. Falco's voice would have been easier, would have made it better. The southern voice would do. It was familiar enough. "Desmond. Hey."

"Mn?" Desmond did not look up from the uninteresting data on Peppy's old screen.

"I have a way to pass the time." Getting these words out smoothly and confidently took all of Fox's willpower.

--Chapter Three: Corneria Aero Academy, three years ago

The first and last thought Lars had on his first day at the academy was I wonder if the old man would be proud of me. Lars was a gifted pilot but of a troubled, slow mind. Twenty years of his life had been spent under the thumb of his father until the day a massive stroke put him into a semi-vegetative state. A second, smaller stroke two days later caused the cessation of all higher brain function.

Lars cried for his father. It was his last show of emotion, and he understood that the old man would have slapped him and called him a faggot, but Lars could not keep it in. Twenty years of emotions steadily repressed under paranoid abuse spilled out of him like a punctured hull venting atmosphere. He cried through the funeral, not wailing and screaming but sniffling inconsolably. His only true outburst of emotion came when he was presented with his father's bloated body presented tastefully in the dress whites he had earned decades prior in the first Venom war. For Martin Malcolm, a full military funeral was furnished by the Cornerian Army for whom he had fought. For Lars Malcolm, he saw the hand of gratitude from the army as a means to find shelter from a world his father had secluded him from.

Lars passed his physical evaluation with ease. He received a token amount of counseling for what the psychiatrists considered to be a father complex. Lars spoke to the shrinks in a guarded voice about daddy's belt and drinking habits. He did not speak about daddy's singular lust. Alcoholism and domestic abuse were to be expected of a traumatized veteran but incestual pederastic tendencies were not, and he had no desire to tarnish his father's image. When the psychiatrists concluded him stable enough to serve, the issue was dropped. Lars Malcolm, age twenty-one, became a cadet at the Corneria Aero Academy where he was furnished with a dorm and a roommate.

Desmond was the opposite of Lars. A pleasant upbringing with loving parents who still lived in good health blessed him with a balanced personality. The natural talent he exhibited as a pilot was nurtured from a young age when he won a contest which granted him one hour of flight in a Corernian fighter just outside of Corneria's atmosphere. This was done with an experienced copilot who was able to snatch control away at any time, but such intervention had been unnecessary. Desmond learned the basics of control in five minutes. Within twenty, he had the ship twirling and rolling at his every whim. When the hour was through, he knew what he wanted to do with his future.

It was believed that Lars, with his troubled past, would benefit from a roommate whose personality was so noticeably chipper. Neither cadet was told that this was the reason for their being paired, but had they known, it is doubtful the outcome would have changed. The abuse Lars heaped onto Desmond was remarkable. Twenty years of helplessness against his father saw Lars lash out against the well-to-do fox in every manner possible.

The abuse began as mere school pranks. Desmond found his flight suit with its crotch cut out, the words easy access painted on the pelvic region above. His university papers were defaced with penis shapes and Professor Leary's rectum was penned in as a reference beneath the others. Lars personally believed that Desmond Lankett slept with the professor of aerodynamics to achieve the flawless scores his papers received.

The sexual abuse began a week into their time together. Lars discovered Desmond's genitals when he walked in on the fox undressing in the restroom. Desmond recalled the ensuing violation and made an attempt to hold back his tears which proved unsuccessful. He asked that the details not go public. For one of their most promising cadets, this preservation of image was a small favor to ask.

Lars Malcolm was placed on probation for six months. A day into the second week, he surreptitiously replaced the plasma cell in Desmond's training fighter with one which had had its polarities inverted. When Desmond attempted to use the booster to break free of Corneria's gravity, the cell exploded and sent the fighter spiraling back down to the earth. The ejection system spared Desmond his life without injury, but Lars was immediately ejected from the academy over protests that he had done nothing wrong. He blamed Desmond Lankett.

--Chapter Four: Fox McCloud reminisces

The slim form of Fox McCloud rolled off of Desmond and huddled under the gray blanket. "I'm sorry," he said for the fourth time. "I'm really sorry about this."

Desmond stared at the ceiling, studied the joints where plates came together with rivets. His paws folded just below his breastbone and an emotionless expression remained fixed on his snout. He said nothing.

"Look, about that-, I'm just sorry, it's really been a-," Fox had no idea what he was saying and so said anything that came to mind, "you understand, right? Don't you?"

"Y'know, I wasn't expectin' a whole lot," Desmond very softly spoke. "So I suppose I ain't that disappointed."

"I haven't had sex since-," the ace pilot cuddled into the blanket for support, "since about six years ago, so I think I'm just a little out of practice. Maybe we can try that again, maybe in a-, a few days or something. Desmond?"

The foxcoon rolled over, touched Fox's hip. The pilot noticeably tensed. Desmond rolled the other way, put his feet on the floor and reached for his pants in the dark. He dressed without speaking. The door slid open for him, casting a dim shaft into the room. "I'mma be on the bridge," said Desmond tonelessly, and left.

Fox lay in bed alone, wishing he could vanish into the darkness. The hum of the Great Fox's engines was something his ears were so attuned to that he no longer noticed it, leaving only his heartbeat, breathing, and the voices in his head. The latter could be noisy in times like this. He rolled onto his back, the rustle of the blanket giving him a respite from their admonishment. But soon they were back again, prodding at every weak link in his psyche like a discordant choir of bullies.

It was his fault that Krystal left. He thought of her slender, taut body and the utter lack of titillation he felt when she lay naked with him for the first time. He had laid over her, grinding furiously, avoiding her eyes. It was only when he shut his eyes and forced himself to believe it was Falco underneath him that he was able to climax. It had been the one and only time he ever achieved orgasm with her.

In a way, Fox had been glad when Panther Caruso seduced her. He removed himself from the employ of Star Wolf and took away the onus of his need to satisfy her. One by one the others left him, Peppy succumbing peacefully to old age, Slippy finding a life of his own on Aquas, and Falco being the last one to go when his old flame reappeared in his life. With her came the offer to escape the space sissiness which he and Fox tacitly never discussed. Falco left Fox with a good-natured hug and a promise to be there the next time things got ugly in the Lylat System. Fox bit his tongue against telling Falco how he really felt.

And now Desmond Lankett seemed like the latest link in a hateful chain. Fox McCloud believed the boy to be everything he needed: a peerless wingman, a cheerful friend, a lover to fight off the loneliness with. They kissed on the bed. Desmond took down Fox's pants and fellated him almost to completion. Fox encouraged Desmond to join him on the bed, to make it more special than that. Then Fox saw Desmond's vulva and he couldn't finish. He pressed hopelessly against the plump black mound between Desmond's thighs which smelled faintly of feminine lust and glistened between its lips with an inviting wetness. Desmond realized McCloud's complete gayness but stayed quiet until the ace pilot at last retreated.

Fox McCloud no longer cried about things. It didn't fit an ace pilot and a hero. He masturbated, thinking intently of Falco Lombardi. When he was finished and had dressed himself again, he made his way to the bridge.

"Course looking all right?" Fox asked, voice casual.

Desmond glanced away from the readout. He was at Peppy's station. "Mm? Uh-huh." He looked down at the readout again, then up at Fox. "You, uh-?"

Fox waved it off. "Everyone gets nervous now and then, guess I just had a little performance anxiety."

It was understood between both foxes that this was an attempt to save face. Desmond, who still wished to believe in the legendary Fox McCloud, smiled patiently and nodded. "S'all right. Doesn't hurt my feelings."

Fox nodded and found himself grateful for Desmond's tact. He took his seat on the bridge and wondered how to kill the next seventeen hours with the most obvious activity ruled out.

--Chapter Five: Wolf and Lars pass the hours

"Hour-mark check-in. How you holding up?"

Lars took his paw off of his penis guiltily. Video was disabled, but he still wondered if Wolf could somehow tell what he was doing. He said, "Not bad. Ass is numb. Balls hurt in this flight suit."

Wolf chuckled. "If they ache, let 'em air out. Who fucking cares? Pretty sure Panther let his nuts breathe in that ship."

The panda had no opinion of Panther Caruso, but the idea of Wolf O'Donnell letting his sweaty balls air out made his penis twitch. He clutched it firmly, held it, didn't stroke it. His heavy scrotum rested on the synthetic fibers of the seat. "Maybe I'll do that. Uh, how are you doing?"

"Bored out of my mind," Wolf snapped. "Been damn near eight hours of this. Always makes me stir-crazy. Ought to buy a freighter, turn it into a mothership just so I can stretch my legs when I have to do this interplanetary shit." His keen ears caught a distinct noise on the radio. He sneered and asked with a laugh, "You beatin' off?"

Lars tensed. "No, I'm not," he was quick to lie. This was his fourth time doing so and he was embarrassed that he had been busted. "Yeah, so, what the fuck else am I supposed to do? I read my diagnostics five times."

Wolf snorted. "Just don't get it on the fucking controls," he said, and snapped off the communicator. He rubbed his bare crotch absently. He had masturbated twice since they took off.

The mercenaries arrived at the barren orb of Titania on schedule. The radar profile for the Wolfen was well-known to all and necessitated a careful entry plan which Wolf had formulated with the help of some favors he had called in. It so happened there was a gap where the radar sweeps would ordinarily overlap, and once through, Wolf and Lars easily avoided detection on the night side of the planet by flying barely ten feet above the endless dunes.

"There's the excavation," Wolf said over the comms, spotting it on radar before seeing it with his own eyes. "Put down half a klick east. We're gonna catch some sleep. I ain't flying another fourteen hours like this."

Lars deftly put down his Wolfen between the dunes. Already the sand began to blow across its landing gear, errant grains scattering against the hardened glass of the cockpit. He said over the comms in a hopeful, almost childlike cadence, "We gonna get out? For a minute, at least?"

Wolf huffed. "If you're gonna be a crybaby about it, I guess so. You're supposed to be a hardass."

"My ass is nice and soft," Lars said petulantly, and opened the canopy. The frigid desert air rushed across his sweaty body and he shuddered from the shock. Still shivering, he climbed out and put his boots down on the sand. Despite the biting cold, he had never been so happy to have his feet on solid ground.

The wolf joined him and did a better job at hiding his shivers. He stood near Lars under the panda's Wolfen, the hull of which still radiated warmth from its plasma boosters. "Lars. Tell me something else about this Lankett kid. You said you fucked with him at the academy?" A grin. "Made his life hell?"

Lars scanned the desert with his deep green eyes as if looking for something particular. "Actually, he kinda made mine hell."

"Yeah, I bet. Bringing his pussy around you," Wolf chuckled, leaning on the landing strut.

The panda put his cold eyes on Wolf, causing the grizzled pilot a moment of pause. "Desmond Lankett's a cold son of a bitch," said Lars with utter seriousness.

--Chapter Six: Corneria Aero Academy, revisted

The first night Desmond Lankett and Lars Malcolm roomed together, the foxcoon pegged as a moron. Maybe a gifted pilot, but a simple mind ripe for exploitation. Lars could and would be made to do whatever it was he desired, and then he would be discarded. It was a simple matter of competition: getting Lars washed out quickly would give the instructors more time to notice his merits as a pilot and student. When Lars requested help on the papers, Desmond fed him poor information which the panda never doubted, thinking the foxcoon's demeanor and accent too sweet to paint him as anything but helpful and kind.

A week into their time together, Desmond found himself caught about to enter the shower. The panda saw his genitals and sped along the process the foxcoon already envisioned for Lars. The sexual relationship that began was consummated often and always to complete satisfaction for both. Desmond and Lars explored each other in the most lurid of ways. Scents and flavors of the musky male body were fine wines to their nostrils and tongues. Desmond's unexpectedly canine vulva enthralled Lars for hours at a time, and the fox savored every instant of the panda's lustful attention.

Desmond convinced the panda that they were lovers. He teased Lars with pranks, got the same in return. Occasionally these japes made it to the headmaster but Lars was quick to take every bit of blame, wanting nothing bad to happen to the only person whom had shown him unconditional love.

At times Lars questioned the pranks, asking if this was really how boyfriends expressed their care. Desmond was smooth as glass. He could have sold ice on Fichina. He would have made a better mercenary and con man than Lars could ever dream of being. "Aw, sugar, you're bein' silly. All this stuff's just playful. Ain't ya' always gettin' kisses when it's just me and you?" Lars could never argue with that. Desmond was incredibly affectionate - and lustful. He began to talk with the fox about a future together once they were out of the academy. Desmond played along, humoring Lars with his own fantasies of a life in love. The panda believed they might become a partnership which helped to make Lylat a place safe from criminals.

Then Desmond fitted the inverted plasma cell into his test fighter, knowing full well what would happen. In the tribunals to follow, he put to work his acting against Lars. The simple panda became known at once as a scoundrel and a rapist. The incessant mean-spirited pranks which Lars played on his roommate were all the evidence the panel needed to have him thrown out. His insistence that Desmond was his lover fell on disbelieving ears, sounding to them like the desperate ramblings of a predator attempting to hold onto his prey. Why had nobody seen them together? They were affectionate only in the privacy of their dorm, Lars insisted in simpler language. Even he realized how hollow it sounded. In exchange for forgiveness for his transgressions, Lars Malcolm left the academy at once and accepted his permanent banishment.

His turn to paranoid distrust complete, Lars offered his skills to anybody who could pay. Wolf O'Donnell thought he was just the man he was looking for.

--Chapter Seven: Raid on Titania

The nose of Wolf's ship pulled up from the dive and the turbolasers pounded the sand, leaving twin tracks of blackened glass up to the first landmover. The warning shots and the twin screams of plasma boosters started the alert and the workers began to scramble for the safety of the caverns they had already dug into Titania's surface. Nobody wanted to die for the company. An automatic alert was sent out through the orbiting communication satellite: the mining operation was under attack by ships matching the Wolfen profile.

Lars tilted down his craft and hammered the turbolasers into the massive red body of a landmover, a tracked vehicle with a long arm able to scoop many tons of earth up at once. The lasers burned through the plating, sending thick globs of molten metal rolling down the hull. Inside, the excessive heat melted hydraulic cylinders. There was considerable redundancy in the landmover's design and the failure of four of its main cylinders would cause only a minor loss of power in the scooping arm. The fluid inside vaporized on contact with the searing beams of the lasers and the burst of pressure within the red hull caused an explosion, sending the dripping molten metal flying in a spray and dislodging the next three cylinders. The looming arm of the landmover creaked on its remaining three cylinders. The fluid, unable to be compressed in any way, did not give as the many tons of steel of the arm tried to settle back down. Two of the cylinders burst open like zits, the third crumpling when the weight of the arm cascaded down with nothing to hold it at bay.

The scoop smashed into the sand like a metal fist and the arm started to seesaw the back end of the landmover up before it sheared through the front of the vehicle. It ripped the armor as if it were tin.

The panda's Wolfen looped over the wreckage, a grin plastered to the pilot's face. Wolf whooped and yowled over the comms, his elation over the the destruction obvious.

"Damn good shooting! Thing looks like you packed a smart bomb up its ass," said Wolf, and pounded the side of the cockpit savagely. "Bet that sets these fucks back a half-a-billion credits. Good!"

Lars' smile was dreamy after Wolf's praise. "I really did good?" he asked as he brought his ship around the excavation site. He thought of turning his lasers on the second landmover but decided against it. It had been luck the first time, and he didn't want to risk disappointing Wolf with a poor second try.

"Sure did, that was excellent," Wolf said. "Now have a look at this, kid!"

Lars kept his Wolfen on a slow circle of the area as he craned his head to watch the master pilot at work. Wolf dived for the hole the workers had ensconced themselves in. The artificial cavern's orifice was twenty meters wide, only a test hole as they searched for another vein of ore. Wolf O'Donnell, cackling with the kind of bloodlust Lars found intensely arousing, unleashed one of his smart bombs and pulled up and to the side. The ruby-red casing of the bomb gleamed in the scorching daylight then vanished into the cavern. It embedded itself in the wall, and the three workers who had chosen to remain near the entrance as lookouts dived to the uneven floor in surprise. All three laid eyes on the casing of the bomb. None had any time to speak before they were vaporized.

The pale blue explosion erupted from the hole as a shaft of light more intense than a welding arc. Lars looked away quickly, avoiding permanent damage to his vision. By the time he looked back the hole was gone, replaced by a collapsed depression of smoking earth and glassed sand.

"Holy shit," Lars whispered. "You trapped them all down there."

"Don't you get squeamish on me now, panda," said Wolf, irritated by the apparent weakness. "They'll get out. Just not in time to fuck with us. Put 'er down up here by the prefabs. I guarantee the diamond is up in here somewhere."

--Chapter Eight: "Great Fox..."

"...entering Titania airspace now," said Fox into the comms. "Repeat, this is Fox McCloud of the Great Fox and we are now entering Titania's airspace. Respond, anybody receiving me on this channel!"

Fox and Desmond exchanged uneasy glances. The foxcoon tried to smile but ended up looking more uncomfortable than he did before.

"I heard about them Star Wolf fellas," Desmond said. "Tough guys, ain't they?"

"It's just Wolf anymore," Fox said with some satisfaction. "Odds are he's trying to get some funds together to hire new pilots. He never could leave well enough alone."

Desmond smiled thinly. "What'd ya' want me for, then?"

Fox wheeled on him, the surprise obvious in his expression. "What?"

"You're actin' like Wolf wantin' teammates again is a bad thing. You want more teammates too, don'tcha?"

"It's different for me, for us," Fox huffed. "We're the good guys. We need to be ready for things like this," he said, and gestured out the viewport. Titania was growing larger by the second as the Great Fox started to enter its atmosphere. The heat of the entry caused the outer hull to creak and pop, but it held like it had so many times before. "Desmond, I'm gonna get suited up. I can still take Wolf one-on-one but I need support from up here."

Watching Fox head for the lift, Desmond said, "Th' hell can I do from here?"

"I don't know," Fox admitted, "but with Wolf, anything could happen. Keep an eye on things!" The door slid closed and Fox McCloud was gone. Desmond turned back to the viewport and watched Titania grow bigger still.

The shadow of the Great Fox blotted out the mining site, putting Wolf and Lars on immediate alert. The holds of their ships were full of rough diamonds and some other, less precious ores. On Wolf's orders, Lars cut across the dunes under as little power as possible. The belly of his craft nearly rubbed the sand. Wolf himself took to the skies above the site and fired taunting volleys of lasers at the Great Fox's distinct hull. Against a mothership built for war, the turbolasers were completely ineffective, but the message they delivered was obvious.

The Arwing of Fox McCloud streaked across Wolf's field of vision and curved wide. Wolf pulled back the thrust and cut as tight a turn as he could, leveling his turbolasers on the nearing shape of the Arwing. Both ships exchanged fire in a blue-green haze brilliant even under Titania's oppressive daylight. McCloud's fire hammered the slower-moving target of the Wolfen but artfully dodged all of the return fire. He said over an audio-only channel, "Got you outnumbered and outgunned, Wolf! Kill the engines and let's make this easy."

Wolf quickly assessed the damage, finding it minimal. He confidently pushed his ship up to full speed and pulled around, his finger eagerly waiting on the trigger.

Desmond watched the exchange from the Great Fox's view screens. He paced like a caged animal, thinking no longer of Fox as an impotent lover but his hero again. An alarm warned him of an approaching enemy ship which he glanced at, then wrote off as Wolf O'Donnell's craft moving near in the fight with Fox McCloud.

The Wolfen aligned with the rear of the speeding Arwing and Wolf was not picky with his shots. The brunt of his volley flew wildly around the Arwing, but a few of the searing beams collided with the plasma-fired booster. Its metal was already heated as much as it could handle and the sudden burst of heat from the laser fire caused the precision-made cone to warp. Fox compensated for the westerly list this left his ship suffering from, but he snapped over the comms, "Being a backbiter again, Wolf?"

Wolf laughed in rotten humor. "Better than being a pillow-biter! Say hello to your birdy friend for me."

Desmond, in on both sides of the comms chatter, smiled ruefully as the reality of his leader's sexual failure clicked into place for him. He pursed his legs self-consciously.

While the Arwing and the Wolfen banked and rolled and exchanged volleys of turbolaser fire, Lars approached on the rear of the Great Fox. He saw the hangar and smiled without humor. The proximity warning went off again; Desmond ignored it again. The panda's craft passed into the hangar and this time, a far more demanding alarm sounded and caused the foxcoon to flinch and utter a curse.

The dogfight stopped mattering for Desmond who quickly turned his eyes on the bank of screens showing surveillance of the hangar. The sight of another Wolfen was enough to make his heart leap into his neck where it seemed to fight for real estate with his Adam's apple. Then the canopy opened, and Desmond did not need to clarify the image to see that it was Lars Malcolm.

Desmond hurriedly opened a comms channel. "Fox," he said, nearly whimpering. "Fox, I got big trouble up here!" He looked back at the screens, no longer saw Lars, and so checked the other screens until he finally saw the panda walking up the hall from the hangar, blaster drawn and movements cagey.

"I can't help you, I have problems of my own down here!" Fox snapped back. "I believe in you, you can take care of whatever is going on!"

Desmond thought Fox seemed insincere. He drew his blaster from his hip, checked its charge, and raised its setting to the highest possible output. The kind of power a standard blaster could put out on its maximum setting was more than enough to punch a fist-sized hole through a torso. It also afforded the user only one shot on a full cartridge.

He trained the sights on the hangar door, but his fingers trembled. He saw Lars as the reaper coming to collect on his life in exchange for a life ruined.

--Chapter Nine: Reunited

The noise of the lift halted at the bridge, and in its place came the four simultaneous clicks of the locks engaging. Desmond stared at the lift, its door the focal point of his attention. The chatter on the comms was meaningless noise filtered out in the interest of survival. His breathing was quick, heartbeat rapid-fire artillery in his temples.

The doors eased apart at what seemed to Desmond a glacial pace. He saw a glimpse of a body in the split and pulled the trigger, sending a white-hot beam of energy across the bridge of the ship. Its heat bent the light around it like a very small, brief singularity but its core was anything but black.

Out of the lift came a large shingle of ablative armor taken from the hangar. Intended for one-time use on the hulls of the Arwings when especially hot entries were required, it absorbed the full strength of the blaster shot and had already begun to liquefy into slag when it hit the deck with a wet plop. Desmond Lankett did not smell the distinct odor of the melting armor. He only tasted fear in the back of his throat, its flavor metallic like copper and blood.

"Full charge, huh?" called Lars, then stepped onto the bridge and over the sizzling heap of metal. "Didn't guess you'd wanna murder me. Guess you always were a paranoid little shit, though." His blaster hung casually at his side and he drank in the ambiance of the Great Fox's nerve center with the thought that this was where he was meant to be, that Lankett the double-crossing tramp had stolen this from him. He put eyes on the small figure of the foxcoon and smiled, but his eyes were viciously angry.

"I got nothin' for ya' anymore," Desmond hissed. His ears splayed against his skull. "We never had anything. If you're still upset about us breakin' up at the academy-."

"I'm still pretty upset," Lars interrupted, leveling his blaster on Desmond. The way the small, delicate fox tensed despite the steel in his features filled Lars with a feeling of mightiness. Desmond had once controlled him with sex and love. The power now belonged to the subjugated. "Face or pussy?"

"What-?"

"Pussy," Lars said, and pulled the trigger. A bolt of brilliant energy sheathed in crackling arcs erupted from his blaster and impacted in the general region of Desmond's loins. It was a harmless burst from a deadly weapon, a setting made specifically to cause undue agony to its victim. The bolt underneath delivered a burst of painful heat but the electric discharge overwhelmed the nerves of his genitals with pain signals.

Desmond buckled to the deck, shrieking in agony, paws grasping for his groin. Lars strode calmly across the bridge, thumbing the intensity control on his blaster as he went. By the time he stood over Desmond, it hummed with power enough to vaporize flesh and bone in one agonizing flash. "Take off your pants, Desmond."

"No," Desmond breathed. "No, Lars." Tears rolled down his cheeks and his eyes focused on the aperture of the blaster. It was unbearable to stare into, impossible to tear away from.

Lars nudged Desmond's face with the toecap of his boot. "Don't make me stomp you so hard your teeth all break. Just show me the pussy and we're good."

Desmond reached for his jaws as he was forced to visualize just what the panda mentioned. Damage to his teeth was among his greatest fears, possibly the most severe of them all save death itself. To put it another way, the way Desmond compartmentalized his worry, his vulva would bruise but recover. Teeth were gone forever.

He had his flight suit's pants down to his ankles when Fox's triumphant voice came across on the comms. "Got Wolf in my sights! His ship's crippled! This is how it's done, Desmond!"

Lars reached for the comms panel but casually kept his blaster trained on Desmond. He found the appropriate button, pushed it in, spoke to the console. "Fox McCloud, you'll probably wanna hold off on shooting Wolf down."

Fox's reply was immediate and surprised. "Who is this? Where's Desmond?" he demanded.

"I'm an old friend of Desmond's," said Lars quietly, flashing a smile at the quivering foxcoon, "but to be honest, I'm more friends with Wolf now. If you shoot him down, you're gonna be wiping Desmond's brains off your nice bridge."

"Atta boy, Lars," Wolf cut in, and laughed. "You're getting a big cut for this!"

The panda smiled contentedly. "It's a pleasure just to be on the team, Wolf." He seemed lost for a moment, then said, "McCloud, dock in the hangar. Leave room for Wolf. Desmond and I will be waiting," he glanced at the foxcoon's green eyes, vibrant as watercolors, "up on the bridge."

Wolf was insufferably smug when he landed his Wolfen beside McCloud's Arwing. His boots made a deep reverb in the spacious hangar, the only sound there was to hear beyond the idle hum of the Great Fox herself. "Looks like I finally got myself a ship to call my own," Wolf said. Fox bristled and Wolf snickered. "Take a lot of work to make it look like a wolf, though. Maybe I'll let you keep it."

"Whatever you think you're getting away with, Wolf-."

Wolf lunged toward Fox, breaking the predictable walk he was taking for the lift. Fox flinched back but Wolf was quicker and stronger, and his muscular paw clamped around McCloud's neck. Then he leaned on the fox, riding him down to the floor and grinding his knee into the smaller pilot's stomach like a spike. Nose to nose, eyes to eye, Wolf O'Donnell said, "I already got away with it, pup! Your new pilot's as good as dead, if he ain't already. As for you," he snapped, pinched Fox's nose with his teeth, "we'll see how well you fly when your fingers are all broken. Maybe I'll cut those eyes out, too."

Blood dribbled from McCloud's nose. He shuddered beneath Wolf's weight, recoiled from his smell. "I don't think you would, Wolf," he whispered. He found it impossible not to look at Wolf's lone eye, which glared at him in an unreadable manner. "You're not that vicious, you wouldn't-."

Wolf groped McCloud's neck, squeezing tears into the fox's eyes. Over the strained yelp of the pilot beneath, Wolf barked, "Don't tell me what my inhibitions are, boy! I think being a space-lonely ass packer made you soft. S'matter with you? Sad your bird boy left you?"

Fox swiped with his short claws, raking them down Wolf's cheek. The pain invigorated the old mercenary, made him laugh even as he flinched away. He stood up from the wet-eyed fox and had the sights of his blaster trained on McCloud's forehead before the fox had even sat up. "Looks like I hit a nerve!" he said with a laugh. Blood dripped from the twin fissures Fox's claws had given him.

"Fuck you," Fox hissed from a hoarse throat.

"Language," Wolf replied with a smile. "Never thought I'd manage to get an F-bomb out of you, pup. Must really miss Lombardi's cock in your throat."

A voice came over the speakers in the hangar. It was Lars in his dopey cadence. "Wolf. I'm still waiting up here. Desmond is crying a lot. I think I broke his arm. You guys should get up here."

Fox grimaced. "If he hurts Desmond at all, I swear-."

"Shut up," Wolf dismissed. "That boy is dead. That's the whole reason we're here. Well, that, and now I wanna see if you really are a space queer." He holstered his blaster and yanked Fox up by the shoulder. The difference in heights made Wolf look like a father pulling along a petulant son. "Whatcha think of that, Fox?" A big grin. "I hear your new boy's got pussy, but I wouldn't mind giving yours a go."

"What Desmond has is none of your business," Fox snapped. He made an unsuccessful attempt to shrug Wolf off.

Wolf dragged him toward the lift. "It's my business," he said plainly. "You don't get a say in it. I doubt someone like you can touch pussy without gagging anyway. Be good and I'll ask Panther to say hi to your girl for you."

--Chapter Ten: The Reckoning

The lift doors opened. Fox scurried past Wolf who leaned against the opposite wall with a smile on his face, blaster in his paw. The wolf had done nothing when Fox had expected an ongoing homosexual assault. Laying eyes on Desmond, stripped nude and holding himself at the feet of a stranger with a blaster, helped Fox to marshal his thoughts. He always performed best when innocent lives were on the line.

"Desmond," Fox said urgently, walking fast across the bridge. He stepped over the cooled lump of slag without stopping to look at it. Wolf kicked it curiously as he followed in Fox's wake. "Desmond, are you all right?"

Lars put the blaster in Fox's face. The curved blade of its bayonet glistened in the cool lighting. Fox was relieved to see no blood on its edge. "I raped him," Lars said flatly. He stood bottomless, the black penis hanging between his legs tiredly flaccid. "I want to know how many times you fucked him."

"What kind of question is that?" Fox demanded.

"I told him ya' didn't," Desmond said, all exuberance stripped from his tone. "But he didn't believe me." He turned to the fox and the wolf, and both saw then the blood and brutality painted on his face. One eye nearly swelled closed as if he had put his face in a beehive. His snout was slightly swollen and a bib of drying blood had flowed down his chest from his nostrils and mouth.

Wolf pressed up behind Fox, bearhugged him. He bit the fox on the neck and smiled. "Lars, I don't think this guy's been into your pussy. Maybe the other side, though. What do you say, Foxy-boy?" Wolf insufferably cooed. He groped Fox's crotch, squeezing him through the tight leather of the flight suit. "You been sticking it in this southern belle's butthole?"

"We never did anything, we're not like that," Fox barked. "Let go, Wolf!"

The mercenary squeezed on what he guessed was Fox's cock. He was disappointed that Fox was flaccid. Or too small to feel, Wolf thought. That idea was funny. "I'm calling the shots now, McCloud! Get that flight suit off and pull apart those cheeks, 'cause I'm goin' in raw."

Wolf thrust Fox away, caused him to land on his knees close to Desmond. Fox leaned over the foxcoon, touching his shoulders, asking him urgent queries full of concern. Wolf and Lars exchanged a knowing glance.

Suddenly Lars took hold of Desmond by the hair and pulled him shrieking from Fox. He brought near the bayonet of his blaster, almost touching its edge to Desmond's throat. "I'll cut his head off, Wolf," he said coolly. "Might be nicer than just shooting him, actually."

"Fox, don't do it, don't let 'em hurt you," Desmond cried. Lars brought the bayonet in so its cold steel touched flesh. The foxcoon tensed, fresh tears sprouted from the corners of his eyes, and he urinated on the deck. "Oh, please, no," he wheezed.

Fox stood up slowly, fingers outstretched to show his harmlessness. Resignation covered his face when he began to disrobe. "It's not worth your life, Desmond," he said quietly. "It's not."

Lars smiled at this compliance. "Hey, Wolf. Do you think I can rape McCloud too?"

"Sure, kid. You earned that much," Wolf said. He was already halfway out of his suit with all its buckles and zippers and plating. "As long as you don't mind me getting some of your pussy there," he said, nodding at Desmond's swollen, black vulva. "Been a damn long time since I seen a box like that."

To anyone else, Lars would have been violently possessive of Desmond Lankett's pussy. Wolf O'Donnell was too perfect to deny. He knew that Wolf would appreciate the black peach that was Desmond's cunt. "Of course you can," he said eagerly. "I'd love to see that..."

Soon the four were nude save Lars who stood only bottomless. McCloud looked at Wolf's scarred, muscular body uneasily, his penis especially which was flaccid but fat. It was pink in hue and uncircumcised, and its size was in perfect proportion with his scrotum. The comparison to Fox's average genitals gave the impression that McCloud was small.

"Looking good, Wolf," Lars said.

Wolf looked at Lars with minor discomfort. "Uh. Whatever." He turned his attention on Fox, regaining his evil countenance. "Looks like you stopped growing when you were ten. No wonder your birdy boyfriend ditched you."

"Shut up and get this over with," Fox hissed.

The grizzled wolf took hold of his cock, started to fluff himself hard. Even semi-flaccid, it disgorged a fat wad of precum which slopped onto the deck. "Eager to get that shitter cored out, pup? Figures. Paws and knees, then, c'mon."

As Fox got down on the deck, Lars sat beside Desmond's cowering form and pulled the foxcoon across his lap. Ignoring feeble demands, Lars busied himself with Desmond's spade. His fingers found the pink inside still damp with discarded semen, past lips still wet from urine. "Shh, shh. Lemme check that box like old times," he whispered. "Pretend like you love me."

"I never loved you, you dumb fuckin' shitbag," Desmond hissed, fury trembling in his tiny voice.

"Well, I loved you," Lars replied. He dipped his head lower. His lips brushed an ear. "I won't kill you. I don't want to."

Desmond watched, numb, as Wolf O'Donnell pounced Fox's prostrate form. The wolf whooped and laughed as he forced his cock between the cheeks of Fox's ass. McCloud struggled beneath him but couldn't force off Wolf's sturdy weight. Finally Wolf speared open Fox's dry anus and the bridge of the Great Fox was filled with the breaking cry of its master in agony.

"Get him, Wolf," Lars said, smiling. He pumped Desmond's cunt with two digits, digging deep each time.

"Workin' on it!" was Wolf's boisterous reply. His hips smashed into the curve of McCloud's behind, balls swinging like meaty pendulums. His roars and snarls superseded Fox's cries.

The sheer animosity with which Wolf raped Fox was very arousing to Lars who dug his fingers deeper and harder into the writhing foxcoon's muff. His dark, uncircumcised penis rose from its slumber and began to throb. He hissed something into Desmond's ear, and then the foxcoon began to unenthusiastically masturbate Lars.

"Wolf, jeez," Lars panted. He was barely audible over McCloud's inelegant cries. "You're a fucking animal. You're so good."

Wolf harshly laughed at the praise. He was saving all his breath for the sex which went vigorously on and on. His cock gouged McCloud, but he believed that with some lube, Fox would have enjoyed this.

The panda smooched Desmond between the eyes. He didn't seem to mind how the foxcoon flinched away. Without care he nudged Desmond away then, picking up his blaster as he stood. "Hey, Wolf," he said, moving over then kneeling down behind the tangled bodies of Wolf and Fox. "I gotta do something. Sorry."

Wolf, whose scrotum was snug with oncoming climax, was paying only nominal attention to what Lars said. It came as an unwelcome shock when the red panda suddenly started to smell his anus. It interrupted his rhythm and caused his pucker to tense up. "The fuck you doing?" he demanded.

"Sorry," Lars said. "Can't help it. Just keep going. Just keep-," a deep, hard snort, "just keep going."

The wolf grimaced. "Weird fucking panda," he said, hunkering down over Fox. "I'm taking it out on you, McCloud."

Fox bit his tongue. There was no point in provoking Wolf.

Lars dragged his tongue up through Wolf's ass crack. The sweat and musk clinging to Wolf's gray fur was intense in its masculinity. Lars grunted. His cock drizzled its lubrication on the deck.

The wolf was surprisingly receptive to the lick. He reached back and patted Lars on the head. "That's pretty good," he growled. "Didn't take you for an ass-eater, Malcolm."

"I'll tell you why he's doin' it," Desmond bitterly said.

"Shut up or I'll cut your fucking tongue out," Lars said so viciously that everyone, Wolf included, flinched. Then he returned to his snack.

Wolf rested atop Fox for a few moments, looking at Desmond's vulva now. The moment had been interrupted with McCloud but the pussy was tantalizing. "Lars," he said. "How about I fuck your pussy and you finish up McCloud for me?"

Lars was loathe to stop now. Wolf's anus glistened with saliva and the stink of sweat and musk still demanded consumption. But Wolf was the boss, Wolf was everything to Lars in a universe where his father was dead and his boyfriend was a liar and a thief, and he agreed to the change of plans without incident.

As if sensing the panda's hidden reluctance, Wolf said as he pulled out of McCloud's throbbing anus, "Gonna have you lick my ass later on if you're down for that. Shoulda told me you were into that shit when you joined."

The panda smiled and watched Wolf's muscular ass as he moved toward Desmond. "I thought being space queer was only a requirement for Star Fox."

Both members of Star Wolf enjoyed a laugh. The members of Star Fox found no humor in any part of their present situation. Lars mounted Fox where Wolf left off and Wolf lay over Desmond face to face. The swollen red ring of Fox's anus gripped Lars' dark cock as hatefully as it had Wolf's, and very soon the panda found himself fucking the legendary pilot. This, he thought, was pretty good - but not as good as what Wolf was getting.

O'Donnell's cock nudged Desmond's vulva. "Please," Desmond whimpered. His paws with their delicate pads and thin fingers braced on Wolf's broad chest. It did nothing to stall Wolf, only made him feel even bigger and stronger than he already was. The wolf slid smoothly into Desmond's muff, foreskin pulling back and cockhead sliding through the muck of Lars' earlier donation. "Ple-e-ease, don't do this to me."

"Hush, pup. Let it happen. Lemme have that spade and nobody gets hurt." Wolf kissed Desmond. It was short and shallow, but the sound was obvious and drew Lars' attention. "You're one pretty girl, aren't you?"

"I ain't no girl," Desmond hissed, rolling back his eyes and splaying down his ears. "Ya' son of a bitch..."

Wolf entered deeply into Desmond, further displacing the sloppy-seconds lube Lars had left for him. He kissed Desmond again, growled to him, "You're a girl. That's what this pussy tells me." Then the sex began, gradual to begin but soon fierce in pace. Unlike his reckless and petty use of Fox McCloud, what he did to Desmond was skillful lovemaking. The smooth and deliberate way he moved was meant to please. Pussy was not something to be abused the way a rival's anus was.

Although he fucked Fox and took pleasure from the rape, Lars was watching Wolf and thinking of fantasies which he now believed were possible to realize. The wolf's sweat was still tart in his nostrils and it seemed to him a possibility that he could have even more from Wolf O'Donnell.

"This is some good pussy, pup," Wolf said in his most sexual cadence. He nibbled Desmond's jawline, chasing his snout as it tried to pull away from him. "Don't fight. Pretty girl like you deserves the best dick in the galaxy. You're gettin' it right here."

Desmond's paws slid around to Wolf's back. His claws, short and harmless, raked through the gray fur. "Stop, please stop."

"Gonna satisfy you," Wolf cooed. He kissed Desmond, nibbled his soft jowly lip. "Bet McCloud couldn't. One chick already ditched him."

"Damn you, Wolf," Fox said in an impotent, small voice.

Wolf grinned at Fox's outburst. His gaze toward Desmond was lewd, but somehow kindly. "Tell me, girl," he growled, "tell me, you're better than Fox is. Fox can't get over Falco. Say it."

The foxcoon grunted. "Fuck you."

Lars cut in. "Say it, Desmond. Fucking say it."

The wolf chained his kisses down Desmond's neck, ending with a bite on the throat. Desmond wasn't ready for it and he gasped, toes curling. "All right, okay," he whispered. "You're-, uh. You're better than Fox. He can't get over Falco."

"That last part," Wolf chuckled. "Say that again for me, honey."

"Please," Desmond whined. "I like Fox."

"Come on, girl."

"He can't get over Falco," said Desmond with a groan.

Wolf pushed smoothly into Desmond, pulled back just as easily. He kept going just like that, spreading Lars' earlier semen thin enough that it no longer mattered. His cock throbbed indulgently within Desmond. "You're gonna squirt, aren't you?" he asked, sounding incredulous despite his self-assurance that he was a sex beast without rival.

"I've seen him like this before," Lars said. "He's gonna squirt, yeah. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Fox? Do you really miss that Falco guy?"

Fox did not answer. His anus was already ruined and his ego had been mashed into a pulp. There seemed no point in defending honor he lacked.

Wolf moved his hips more quickly, nearly on top of the orgasm he had been close to when Lars interrupted him. Desmond seemed like the better place to dump his nuts than McCloud would have been, and he admitted as much when he said, "Rather pop in some good pussy anytime. Better not hear from you in nine months."

"I'm not a girl," Desmond said, sounding as defeated as he felt. He squeezed about Wolf's back, pulling in close like a lover might. Although his eyes were wet, the gaze behind them was unmistakably lustful.

The wolf smooched Desmond again but kept his rough lips pressed in. His tongue swabbed into Desmond's mouth, dragged over needle-like raccoon teeth and a smooth vulpine tongue. Desmond held back a groan, but every facet of his body language betrayed pleasure.

Lars watched with envy and lust as Wolf satisfied the foxcoon. His thrusts into McCloud's ass became especially vicious, dredging hisses of pain out of the ace pilot who thought it all had been wrenched from him already.

"Fuck 'em, Wolf," Lars hissed in the space between breaths. "Fuck 'em good."

Desmond uttered hapless words around the thick slab of Wolf's tongue. He raked his claws down Wolf's back again and again, stimulating but not harming tough mercenary flesh. His vulva pulsed with the rapid beat of his heart, hot blood rushing through the vessels in his loins just like Wolf's swollen cock throbbed in that slippery, dark pink passage Desmond nonverbally offered. His legs began to pincer around Wolf. The pucker of his anus winked at Lars' peeping eyes.

"Mmm-mmm," Wolf murmured around his swabbing tongue. His eye drifted shut and his gloved paw felt through Desmond's long hair, meaning to stroke but instead ripping tiny knots out of its strands. The pops of pain in Desmond's scalp only served to invigorate the foxcoon and he responded by yanking on Wolf's fur, tugging swatches of it nowhere in particular along his broad flanks.

Like a stallion being spurred, Wolf bucked harder into the writhing pussyboy. His meat plunging Desmond's box produced a deep, wet sound of suction. Slowly he withdrew his tongue and a web of saliva linked his lower jowl to the panting maw of the foxcoon. He crooned, "See, McCloud, this is how you treat a woman. Mmhmm. You know I fucked your girl Krystal? Plowed her with Panther."

"No you didn't," Fox croaked, looking away.

"Yeah he did," Lars agreed, knowing nothing of the matter. He nuzzled into Fox's crown, said, "He plowed her until she squirted. Like he's doing to Desmond now."

Fox McCloud began to softly weep. Desmond Lankett wept for Fox, whose feelings he valued even if his impotence was a disappointment.

"Please, Wolf, ya' proved your point," Desmond spoke. "No more. Please..."

Wolf's hips kept moving, his muzzle close to Desmond's. His hot breath washed across the foxcoon's cheek. "Forget that McCloud pussy," Wolf purred. "You got a real man here. I got everything you need."

Sexual ecstasy built up in Desmond like a virus compromising good health. Wolf was a fantastic lover and of that there was no doubt in his mind. In front of Lars the idiot panda, he could have quite gladly squealed bliss and locked mouths. In front of Fox it seemed abhorrent to be so resplendent in this good sex, but holding back the desire made it worse. If orgasm was his boiling point, he was dangerously close to spilling over the edge of his container.

O'Donnell bucked and ground into the boy with the cunt with the same insistence which had dazzled hundreds of other women in the system. Vaginal flesh gripped and gulped him, the dark spade and pink channel of Desmond's cunt undoubtedly among the best pussy he had ever known, but his real pleasure was in satisfying it here and now in front of McCloud. When Desmond began to tense and gasp, Wolf grinned wide. Desmond whimpered and Wolf answered with a howl. As Desmond finally came, oozing his sticky honey all the way down to the deck plates, the wolf said triumphantly, "That's how you satisfy a girl, pup!"

"Damn good stuff," Lars hungrily said and doubled down on Fox McCloud. He lacked the grace and care of Wolf, settling on brutality instead. Like the countless times he had masturbated on his way across the galactic void, he was now trying only to squirt one more time for the hell of it. His cock rammed deep into Fox, yanked back, rammed in again and repeated with the dumb quickness of a horny teenager just beating his meat. Fox's gasps and cries were meaningless to him, pleasing though they were to Wolf. He wanted to lock lips with Wolf, smell every inch of his body, drink his piss. Lars was not a sexual bottom but he would have gladly taken Desmond's place beneath Wolf O'Donnell.

It was with Wolf heavy on his mind that Lars erupted into McCloud. The salty protein of his semen burned McCloud's irritated rectal walls but the fox still breathed a sigh of relief, believing this marked the end of the ordeal. He was mistaken.

Wolf went on a while longer, making love to Desmond's box slowly now, not wanting to hurt the girl after such a good orgasm. He kissed Desmond gently, their tongues tickling one another like playful fingers as Desmond rode out his afterglow and Wolf came up slowly on his climax. The shame Desmond felt had at last been outweighed by the pleasure Wolf had given him, though he intended to cry rape the moment it was over with. Lars would not be surprised by the sudden change in attitude.

"Mm, here you go, girl. Here you go." Wolf spoke softly as though he were giving to Desmond an incredible gift. In a way, it was. He shot powerfully into the boy's box, overfilling that fat vulpine pussy with lupine seed. Its warmth spread throughout Desmond's body and the foxcoon crooned, squirmed beneath O'Donnell like the cheap whore he truly was. Only then did the bliss of the sex begin to fade. Soon he looked away from Wolf, now shamefaced and cold.

"You don't gotta act like you loved it," Wolf sneered. "I know you did, baby." He smooched Desmond's unresponsive face then pulled back, pulled out, cock dribbling on the deck. He was already half-flaccid. "Lars. You still want to do your thing?"

The panda looked at Desmond who slowly curled in upon himself, entering the fetal position. He looked down at the back of McCloud's head. "Not really. These two deserve each other."

Wolf and Lars dressed without urgency. Fox McCloud stayed passive as a corpse, only his soft weeping and the nervous twitches of his tail showing any signs of life. Desmond was mildly more proactive in pulling himself to a seated position. He hugged his knees and watched the mercenaries with scorn in his eyes.

"Always figured you'd end up bein' some shitty scumbag," Desmond hissed at Lars. The panda, in the middle of lacing his boots, looked at him. "Y'know, I did ya' a favor, gettin' y'kicked out. They were gonna wash ya' out anyway. Just saved y'some time."

"Shut up, Lankett," Lars said flatly. "You need to console your boyfriend."

Speaking of, Fox McCloud sat up slowly. His wide eyes fixed on Desmond. "Just stop, Desmond. It's not worth it."

"Why the fuck should I?" Desmond asked. "We're the good guys, these're the good-for-nothin' bastards we're supposed to be goin' after. Look what he did to you!"

"Desmond," Fox said firmly.

"Ought to listen to him, girl," Wolf said. "Might save you some misery down the line." He started for the lift and said, "Lars, c'mon. Lankett, if you ever wanna ditch the attitude and trade up, I can always use another good pilot."

The foxcoon's reply was an exaggerated laugh. "I'd never join any squad's got that dumb panda on it. Y'wanna know why Lars loves you so much, Wolf?"

Lars tensed, although Wolf was unfazed. Desmond began to speak again but silenced himself when he saw Lars approaching with frigid eyes. The look of worry which manifested on Desmond's face said everything. He realized that after all this time, he had finally pushed Lars too far.

Lars, features emotionless, kicked Desmond in the face as if punting a football. The prettyboy's jaw was no match for the metal toe of the boot and bone fractured, enamel grinding and shattering. The boy fell against the deck, blinded by pain. Blood gushed from his mouth, the lower jaw of which was noticeably askew.

"Lars, shit!" Wolf said. He could think of nothing else.

The panda reeled back and kicked Desmond in his exposed ribs. Something crunched in his abdomen and a deeply wounded sound, much too ugly to come from such a pretty creature, erupted from his blood-caked mouth.

"I told you I wouldn't kill you!" Lars snapped. He knelt hard on the deck, not caring that he bruised his knees. He rolled Desmond onto his back and his paws found the delicate stalk of the fox's neck. "I told you everything and I said I wouldn't kill you!" He wrung Desmond's neck, squeezing with such strength that he caused blood to spritz from Desmond's open maw. Then he thrust him toward the deck, bashing his head into the steel. "You said it was okay!" Again. "And that you loved me!" And again.

Desmond's body twitched. His paws grappled with Lars' wrists, but each successive bash saw his grip loosen. His eyes stared at nothing. His ears no longer heard Lars as he screamed of how he had loved and trusted Desmond only to know nothing but betrayal then and now. One swing caused a cervical fracture in Desmond's neck. Another impact cracked his skull. No autopsy was performed, so it was never known which injury killed the foxcoon.

Tears streamed from the panda's eyes when he finally let go of Desmond's neck. He stood up quickly, trembling and speckled with blood which wasn't his. He stepped away from Desmond, at first tripping over the warm corpse's leg and then his own boots before he righted himself. He passed by Wolf who stood uncharacteristically stunned. Wolf slowly turned and followed him. Then the only sound on the bridge was Fox McCloud as he wept over the body of his new recruit.

From that day onward, Lars Malcolm's face would always be seen alongside Wolf O'Donnell's. WANTED: For the murder of Star Fox pilot Desmond Lankett. Wolf would never speak of that day again, abandoning his usual braggadocio for guarded silence when the murder was brought up to him. He wanted no part of Lars' psychosis. Part of him thought to question the panda when they had rare moments of sexuality. Invariably his thoughts turned back to Desmond Lankett with blood oozing from his ears and eyes and he thought better of ever digging into the panda's head.