FSE

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"Fuck are you shivering for?" A man asked. He was hunkered down, hugged on his back and sides by dirt.

"Bitch, you're cold too," the canine replied.

On the side of a bush ridden, gentle hill, five holes had been dug in a line. Each was about six feet apart from the other, shoulder deep, barely wide enough to fit two grown men. They all overlooked a clearing below, and beyond that, and all around in fact, were tall brush and small trees.

Private Newson and Private First Class Kemper were in their own hole. While Kemper stood guard, Newson was sat down, resting his head against the subterranean soil, having wrapped himself up in a camoflauged sleeping bag liner. While Kemper's torso and below were hidden, his head and arms were peeked out to man his rifle. In the nighttime of December, even though there was no snow, one might've thought the hills of Camp Pendleton were freezing over.

"At least I'm not having a seizure, Jesus Christ, stop shaking," Newson continued, smirking. "You're a dog with all that fur? What's it good for if not keeping you warm?"

Kemper shook his head, closing one eye to look through his monocular night-vision. It was a black tube mounted onto his kevlar helmet, the lens itself positioned over his left eye. He scanned the environment for any flashes of thermal heat that his infrared would pick up. He couldn't sight into his rifle with his night-vision mounted, but he didn't need to. He could see everything as though it were day, although, in a heavy green tint.

The weight of the rifle's barrel lied on the foregrip, which Kemper let rest in the dirt in front of their fighting hole. His hands, which were much like a human's, only furred and ending in clawtips, were placed strategically. One on the trigger, the other holding the handguard down. He prefered to let the ground stabilize his weapon rather than holding the foregrip himself.

"Go to sleep before I put my cock in your mouth," Kemper said.

Newson laughed, though he was careful not to be too loud. They were supposed to be defending their perimeter, but since it was only a training exercise, there wasn't any actual enemy to defend against; just the forested wilderness of the mountain they had hiked to. But God help them if a combat instructor heard them making too much noise, giving away their position.

"I've been trying to but I literally can't. Can't sleep when it's fuckin' freezing," Newson admitted. Even under the liner, he couldn't help but shiver along with Kemper. He could only imagine how Kemper felt wearing just his camo top and bottom, boots, helmet, and his flak vest. "So how you likin' your Christmas?" Newson piped up again. "Glad you joined or what?"

Kemper smiled. "Oh yeah, wearing the uniform makes it all worth it. Oorah, am I right?" He said.

"Oorah," Newson repeated, chortling. "If command let us go home you'd probably just be lying on the couch, jerkin' your meat, gettin' all fat and nasty. Might as well keep you here and do fun things, like stay up all night in a hole."

Kemper adjusted his pants, and checked his watch. 0109, it read. "You have like fifty minutes until your on," he stated.

Newson closed his eyes and sighed. Kemper was good company. Sometimes he made Newson forget just how shitty they had it. They graduated from boot camp together; a great accomplishment for an anthro golden retriever like Kemper. The drill instructors loved to pick on anyone who wasn't human. It often got violent.

"Hey, Newsie," Kemper spoke.

"Hm," Newson answered.

"I can take your hours for tonight. I'm not really that tired. And didn't you have firewatch last night, too? Yeah. Just consider it my Christmas gift to ya," Kemper said.

"Kemp, you're not staying up for thirty six hours straight, you absolute loon," Newson chuckled.

"You sure? It's just… you seem really fuckin' tired," Kemper pressed.

Newson rubbed at his eyes. "Besides, I'd rather have a PS5 for Christmas. But people snag that shit like it's toilet paper," Newson complained.

"You probably play Fortnite, don't you?" Kemper probed.

"Oh fuck no," Newson said.

"Yeah you fuckin' do, fuckin' suburban-ass little boy. Probably played Fortnite in Mommy's house back in the day," Kemper teased.

Newson's smirk grew. He always liked when Kemper tried to rile him up.

"Oh ok, so what was your life like then, huh? You have a girl back home, Kemp? You seem like a 'gentlemanly' kinda guy," Newson commented.

Kemper's smile went flat. He chuckled, but it wasn't full and free. "Well…" he began.

"Ooooooh," Newson half sang. "That sucks man. On Christmas day? You know Jody is trying her out in every position tonight," he said.

"Yeah honestly I, uh… never really had a girl," Kemper admitted.

Newson perked up. "Shut up," he said.

Kemper shrugged.

"Wait, really?" Newson asked.

Kemper tilted his head slightly, then nodded.

"There's no fat ass way that Kemper the sly fucking dog has never laid pipe," Newson asserted.

"I mean…" Kemper started, scratching at the line between his golden fur and his helmet.

"Are dogs just hard to get or something? Or, or, is it the human ladies that catch your eye, but you don't really catch theirs? Is that what's going on?"

Kemper shifted in place, moving his feet so that they didn't go numb in his boots.

"I'm… kind of more into guys, actually," Kemper spoke slowly, like he was aftaid to spit it out, but also wanted to get it over with.

That stopped Newson stone cold. And he practically was stone cold, with how little good his gear was doing to keep him warm.

"Oh. Well, shit. That's my bad, man. I didn't uh… realize. I was just trying to mess with you," Newson said. He kind of felt like shit in that moment. Kemper was genuinely a good guy. Newson fucked with him just like everyone else, but he would never intentionally say anything upsetting in that territory.

But aside from that, it was some of the best news Newson had gotten all year. And if he didn't take this chance, he knew he would never live it down.

Newson stood, letting the sleeping bag liner slip off into a clump on the dirt floor of the fighting hole.

"Kemp, I don't mean to get all mushy on you but," he paused. "Can I tell you something?" he asked.

Kemper turned his head from his observation of their surroundings to Newson. His black, puppy-dog-like eyes got Newson everytime.

"I'm fucking cold," Newson said simply.

Kemper was stiff, tense in his shoulders. And the poor look on his face. So nervous when there was no need to be. Even the way his ears hung loosely against his head, folded down by his helmet.

"Think you can help me out?" Newson asked, closing the already minimal distance between the two of them. He leaned his head so that his mouth was right next to Kemper's furred, floppy ear. "It would really make my Christmas," he whispered.

Newson felt just the tiniest bit of fear. He knew Kemper liked him, but he didn't know if Kemper liked him like he liked Kemper.

"Um… yeah, o- ok," Kemper stuttered.

Newson reached around Kemper's waist, intertwining his fingers on the small of Kemper's back. As Kemper let go of his rifle, letting it fall on its side, Newson pulled him in. While both their flak vests prevented a complete embrace, it was still pretty good. Newson laid his chin on Kemper's shoulder, and Kemper followed suit, although in his own hesitant, exploratory way. Newson soon felt Kemper's own arms wrapped around him.

"Mmmm," Newson hummed. "That's better."

"Yeah it is," Kemper agreed. "But uh, Newsie?"

"Hi," Newson greeted him.

Kemper chuckled. "No. Stop," he said, trying not to laugh. "Seriously though, I know this is weird and sudden but, I really like you. I wasn't sure if you swung that way-"

Kemper was cut off as Newson came up and planted his lips on Kemper's. His heart began to race, as did Newson's. Kemper's eyes were wide, staring in disbelief as his friend kissed him.

Newson himself couldn't believe he was actually kissing his crush. It was a strange series of sensations. A golden retriever's lips were obviously different than those of a human. They were thinner, and plus, Kemper had a snout. But Newson still got that feel-good head rush; it hardly made a difference to him.

He pulled away from Kemper, giving them both an opportunity to catch their breaths. Newson swore that if Kemper were a human, he'd be blushing. He was just so cute. His snout was a bit smaller relative to other males of his kind, and his eyes a bit larger. At first glance, some had confused him for a female. Newson simply thought it was adorable.

Before Newson could even suggest it, Kemper grabbed him by the back of the helmet and pulled him into another kiss, this one much more intense than last. Newson lets his hands untwine, bringing them up to cup Kemper's cheeks. Then, driving his boots, he pushed Kemper backward so that he was pressed against the edge of the hole. There was no resistance.

They pulled apart once more, panting.

"Fuck," Kemper managed between breaths. "Why didn't you tell me before? We could've…" he trailed off.

"Could've what?" Newson questioned. Kemper's expression was so needy, almost desperate, and Newson absolutely loved it.

"Um…" Was all Kemper said.

"No, tell me Kemp. Now I'm really curious. Tell me what we could've done," Newson said.

Kemper's face brightened, a smile forming before he broke into a bout of laughter. Newson soon joined in.

"What?" Newson asked, smiling.

"I'm sorry. I cannot take you serious when you start talking like a drill instructor," Kemper said, still chuckling.

"Ok ok ok," Newson relented, moving his hands to Kemper's hips. "But for real, did you have something in mind? Something you might've wanted to try?"

Kemper's smile became more subdued, almost skiddish.

"Um…" he trailed off again. "Fuck! I'm sorry. This is so weird. Like I'm excited, and you're really hot, and I never thought you'd like me back," Kemper rambled.

"Lucky for me that you have a thing for humans," Newson said.

"Do you have a thing for dogs?" Kemper asked.

Newson shrugged. "Who's it matter?"

"Well…" Kemper began, his furred hands drifting down Newson's frame, and as they passed the flak vest, he rested his fingertips on the belt buckle. "Have you ever been sucked off by a dog?" Kemper queried.

Newson had expected something of that sort.

"Can't say I have," Newson conceded. "Have you ever had a human blow his load in your muzzle?"

Kemper shook his head, already undoing Newson's tan MCMAP belt.

"I'm sure we can work something out," Newson said, turning his head to scan their surroundings. "But maybe not in a dirt hole," he continued.

With that, Newson let go of Kemper and put one foot on the soil lip, preparing to pull himself out.

"What if sergeant walks by and we're not manning our post?" Kemper asked.

"We'll hear 'em coming," Newson reassured, hoisting himself up and out. He brushed off his camies before offering a hand to his canine companion. Kemper took it, holding on as Newson braced and pulled him out.

With both of them on even ground, they were ready to move.

Newson pointed a finger. "That tree over there," he noted.

It was a skinny thing, surely no pine or oak, but it was certainly sturdy enough to lean against. Newson approached it, Kemper following behind him.

Brushing his fingers over the smooth bark, Newson observed the branches above, how the leaves blotted the moonlight, permitting only thin, ghostly beams to touch the ground below.

He turned. Leaned against the tree trunk. "Come here," he beckoned.

Kemper obliged, wrapping his hands behind Newson's neck. Newson rested his hands on Kemper's waist.

"You caught on pretty quick to this whole lovey dovey thing," Newson commented, observing how Kemper's blonde fur and black nose shone under the ambient light.

"I've waited way too long for this," was Kemper's excuse. He let go of Newson, who himself felt a sudden pressure on his crotch. He looked down to see Kemper groping him wholeheartedly with both hands.

Even through the thick, mesh fabric of his camo trousers, Kemper's ministrations were effective on Newson's hormone fueled body. Newson sighed. "Take your kevlar off," he told Kemper.

Abandoning Newson's crotch only momentarily, Kemper undid his chin strap, and carefully set it on a patch of weeds next to them. Newson followed suit, slightly adverse to the chilling winter breeze on his head, but not really caring.

Kemper was immediately back on Newson, kneading into his nethers with newfound vigor. He then sank to his knees, unbuttoning Newson's trousers, trying to keep his undone belt out of the way. Pulling them down by the hem, Kemper exposed the only thing left protecting Newson's manhood.

"Still have on skivie shorts?" Kemper asked.

"We've only been in the field one day," Newson reasoned.

Kemper shook his head, and pulled down the shorts as well. Newson winced at his genitals being open to the midnight cold, but was quickly drawn from this fact by a warm, slick presence gracing his shaft. He watched Kemper lick him his already half-mast cock with his long, pink canine tongue.

"Oh fuck yes, just like that. Lick it like a dog," Newson said.

Kemper smiled. He began lapping in full, broad strokes, using as much of his tongue as he could to paint Newson's cock with his saliva. Before long, Newson was hard as the wood he was leaning against.

Kemper stopped, stuffing his nose just under Newson's shaft so that he could taste the young man's family jewels as well. The whole apparatus was a lot different than his own red, tapered member, but Kemper couldn't care less.

Returning his tongue to Newson's circumcised tip, Kemper pressed his lips tight to it, slowly parting them to allow the length inside. Newson groaned unabashedly as Kemper took him all the way inside his warm maw. Newson hadn't had any sexual contact beside his own hand in months, so Kemper's muzzle was just about heaven. Newson resisted the urge to grind against Kemper's cute visage, and his willpower was draining the more and more lust-addled his mind became.

Kemper began to bob on him, already starting off at a speedy pace.

"Oh fuck, Kemp," Newson breathed. He thought he heard Kemper moan below him, even with Newson's cock stuffed in his mouth.

Kemper's soft, nubbly tongue rubbed and caressed the underside of Newson's length, pushing the topside against the wet, ridged roof of his muzzle. It was like Newson was submerging his cock in liquid heat, a tight pocket of his own personal pleasure. Just watching Kemper suck him off was enough to get Newson worked up.

Placing a single hand on Kemper's head, he began to stroke the golden retriever, going over his silky fur, scritching at that special spot between his ears, even simply petting him. Kemper never stopped nursing on Newson's stiff length. On the backstroke of his bobs, Kemper would suckle, drawing just that much more friction and bliss.

"Fuck, I'm close. Already fuckin' close," Newson said.

He couldn't wait to come right down Kemper's throat. Just the way Kemper stared up at him so innocently, it stoked a flame within him.

Encouraged by the news, Kemper redoubled his pace, gripping Newson by the hips as he dove tirelessly on his length. Even with the increased speed, Newson could feel every curve, crease, and ridge enveloping his cock, his pent-up balls already tightening up in preparation to unload.

"Kemper," Newson said, now grasping the dog's head. Kemper didn't stop. He knew.

He sank down to the hilt once more. That was all it took.

Newson gasped as he came in Kemper's muzzle, the two of them locking eyes as Kemper swallowed each successive spurt of thick, rich cum. Though it had seemed like hours, Newson's climax had lasted perhaps twenty seconds, but was no less potent for it.

Making sure to get every last drop, Kemper went about cleaning Newson's softening manhood with his tongue. Settling down, his breathing coming back under control, Newson was able to make sense of the world again.

"That was so good. Like, you are actually fucking amazing, Kemp," Newson said.

Kemper looked up at him with the cheeriest grin Newson had seen all day.

"I hope you're not down for the count just yet, Newsie," Kemper said.

And then Santa was there