FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Edited by wellifimust and Psydrosis

Artwork created in collaboration by @RoSphix on Twitter

My tip jar.

Word count: 4,266

---

The basket split upon the rocks with a nauseating crack. Two hours of work crumbled out of the wooden fissure and battered the sunset reflected-river. A multicolour barrage of berries and nuts rolled into the wide expanse of the river as slowly yet inevitably as a tongue of molten lava.

Ciro cursed to himself as he saw the fall from the side of the cliff. Sweat filmed his paws as he fought to maintain his grip, the wetness of the rocks matching the frustrated tears that welled up in his eyes. He wiped an arm over his black-masked fur and gazed up, measuring the last quarter left to climb. The remaining distance of the cliff seemed to twist and skew over him, every next grip a battle in the war to scale the ridge.

No. He couldn't go back to Walter with nothing.

Eyeing the sun's descent toward the trees, the brave raccoon drew in a breath and turned back toward the cliff. Fishing around for each grip he used on his climb, he slowly made his way back down, moving faster without the weight of a basket pulling at his jaw. He worked inch by inch over the minute, feeling about for new grips in the rock until he finally found it safe to hop down near the quiet river below.

"Hey, you! Stripes!"

Ciro nearly jumped right back up the cliff. Whirling around, stumbling back into the wall, the terrified raccoon locked eyes with a dripping, nude, six foot beast clutching the fatter half of his broken basket.

"These your berries?" the scaled man asked. "I caught an armful downstream."

Ciro rose a trembling paw. It dropped by his side as he glimpsed the fallen berries brimming the basket shard, and the careful, concerned look of an older man with the visage of something marine. Ciro suspected him to be a fish of some sort, judging by his red-black scales and his sharp-jawed, black-and-green face. He clambered to his feet and reached for the basket.

"Yes," he babbled, "thank you."

The raccoon went to reach for it, but the salmon cradled it against his chest. A smile crept up his mouth as he looked half-a-foot down into Ciro's eyes, sparse tufts of red hair atop of his head blowing in the breeze. "And you want to lug it up this cliff? I don't think that worked out for you the first time."

Ciro's nose twitched. His stare lingered on the curves of the salmon's dripping chest before he furrowed a brow and stepped forward, reaching for his goods. "I'll make it work. I've got a village to feed."

"Ah ha ha!" the salmon chuckled, raising the basket out of Ciro's reach. "You? Feed a village? What are you, twenty-three?"

"Twenty-two," Ciro corrected, crossing his arms, "but don't think I'll be intimidated by your antics."

The salmon grinned sheepishly. "Come on, lighten up! Don't take it personally! I'm just saying, I won't collect your nuts if they fall a second time."

Ciro felt his plan failing. He fought to keep it up by fixing himself with a sneer. "Yeah? What do you say I do, then? Leave them all for you?"

"I wouldn't refuse!" the salmon shot back, before glancing at the last speck of sun falling below the horizon. "But I'm a kind soul, hm? I'd rather help you back to your village. I'm in unfamiliar waters, but I'm sure I saw a path back west downstream."

Ciro squinted at the older fish: slippery scales shining shamelessly in the nude as he effortlessly carried half of the load. He glanced back at the cliff: a challenge that seemed so much harder from the bottom. With a sigh, he bent over to claw any stray berries back into the other half of the basket, and fell into step behind the salmon.

The pair walked a quiet minute together under the pink sky before the salmon glanced back at him. "You have a name?"

"Yes. I'm the son of Emil."

"Your name," the salmon scoffed, "I didn't ask for your Pa's."

"Ciro," he answered, glancing down at his feet. "I'm from the nearby town. Northwest from the big trunk upstream."

"Uh huh. You could live up your own ass for all I knew. This is my first time in these mountains." After a moment of walking silently, the salmon peered back again. "You guys all got striped tails in your town?"

As far as Ciro knew, they were the only species on the plateau. Not that he'd ever ventured much further. "Yup."

"And you...what, scavenge every day?"

"Sometimes. I also clean. And build." He thought for a moment, careful how much he wanted to give away. "And work for the bakery."

The salmon chuckled. "Hmph, a full package! I'm sorry to say my skill set isn't quite as diverse, though, y'know," he turned all the way back and winked, "I have my strengths."

Ciro inclined his muzzle. "Like what?"

"I travel. Ride streams from the ocean, see where they want to take me. Usually brings me to a village. This time it brought me lunch." He paused for a moment. "Name's Witt, by the way."

"Huh." Ciro blinked. "And you travel naked?"

Witt smirked. "Part of the fun. Even when I escort guys, most of them don't mind when I stay in the water. Other guys...well, they don't mind at all."

His swinging tail hid his bare rear from view. It didn't keep Ciro from checking, although he stopped before he could imagine Witt glancing back and catching him. The two walked on in silence as the sky grew dark, before they turned a corner and found a rocky path that wound up the side of the cliff.

"Here we are," Witt remarked, finally turning back to Ciro. "This path should take you up. About twenty minutes back the other way, you should be back at your place. Just...with two baskets instead of one."

Ciro collected Witt's shard in his other elbow and held them side by side.

Witt frowned. "You sure you can manage that?"

Ciro spun away, forcing a growl from creeping into his throat. "We need all these berries, and you've helped me out enough." He flicked his tail. "Thanks."

Witt crossed his arms and nodded. "Take care of yourself."

Ciro hugged the baskets against his chest as he marched up the path back to the cliff. He glanced down to find Witt waving at him before the salmon turned around, stretched, and dove back into the water.

A couple minutes into the forest, the sky was turning a lonely purple. He set down the basket halves carefully against the tree trunk. He stretched his tired arms for a few minutes, pacing through his exertion, before collecting the goods and finding his way home with the salmon's coy words on his mind.

---

The small fort in the heart of the forest bustled with residents. They flowed back from their stations, jobs, and outdoor excursions, flooding the dirt streets upon which Ciro walked. He weaved through them, basket pieces in hand, nodding back at those who greeted him on his way through the centre of town.

As he crossed the meridian, the town's fountain caught his eye. He slowed to gaze at the statue above the tiered reservoirs: two stone raccoon children holding a lamp in their paws. In the water below, countless gleaming coins dotted the bottom.

Just then, Ciro felt a paw graze across his tail. The thin claws didn't snag on him, and instead weaved through the flow of his fur, causing him to break out of his jog. He turned to find a short teenage raccoon sitting on the fountain's edge.

"Della," Ciro said, offering a half of the broken basket. "My arms are spent. I had to lug these cross-stream."

She took it, carefully leveling it out, before squinting her striking violet eyes. "How'd you break it so cleanly? These are quality woodwork!"

He moved on his way without much more thought. "It fell. Is Seth still making dinner tonight?"

"Yup. I hopped out since his dad's been worried about you," she answered, hurrying behind him.

"Thanks for that. It means a lot that you help me and Walt."

She smirked. "Beats helping out my own folks."

They walked further to the far side of town, turning a corner to see their house in the distance. Then, Della slowed down, so Ciro followed suit. She hesitated as she studied him.

"Y'know, I really feel like I get you guys better. Especially you, Ciro."

Ciro paused as he thought about that. "Why, because I'm as spry as you?"

Della shrugged. "You and Walter feel warmer. I just don't get the same with my parents." She raised a paw as Ciro began to protest. "I know, I know! You're not Seth's dad. But it's not like Walter sees a difference!"

"Fair enough," Ciro answered, though the statement stuck with him. Not many of his friends took on older partners, let alone ones twelve years their senior. Walter knew his experience, though. He once foraged, cleaned, built, and learned to bake, too, right here in town. As Ciro and Della reached the front door, he found himself wondering about which experiences the closed community might have forced the two of them to miss.

Della held the door for him, so he ducked into the warm lit interior. As the two wiped off their feet, Walter stepped out of the kitchen. He stood no taller than Ciro, but easily doubled his width.

The scruffy, fat raccoon spread his paws wide, stepping up to hug Ciro. "Ah, there you are! I was getting worried you fell!"

Ciro kissed him on the muzzle, whiskers rubbing over his snout like bristles on a paintbrush. "The basket did." He handed him the broken half. "Had to take a detour."

Walter stepped back and frowned, scratching tense claws through his slicked-back hair. "How full was it? Didn't I tell you to fill it halfway? You're lucky you didn't cut your paw."

Della cut between them, offering the other half to Walter. "Looks like we're lucky to have double the portion, then!"

---

The glowing tail of the flame quivered under a star-set sky, dancing a blazing red against the deep blues of the forest. Ciro watched it flit as he chewed, before his gaze drifted back to the table where he sat. Alongside him perched Walter and Della, both illuminated by bonfire flame.

"Love the nut roast, Seth," Walter remarked. "It's tremendous."

He sat beside Ciro, rubbing his neck and grinning sheepishly at his girlfriend. "Thanks, Dad. Della found the recipe at the library."

Della patted at her whiskers with a cloth. "Our teacher recommended it."

Ciro tilted his head. "Mr. Alting teaches cooking now?"

"He just knows the library well," said Della.

Walter snorted. "Old codger couldn't cook for his life! His stories are rock-tight, though. Better wordsmith than a teacher."

"I'll say," Ciro added, "because he never mentioned the path down the cliff."

Walter rubbed his chin. "The one around the Northern Corner? No wonder you took a while. I'm surprised you carried that much back on your own."

Ciro shrugged. "I had help from a fish who stopped on his way."

The table went quiet for a second.

Walter lifted his fork, talking around a mouthful of roast. "A fish? We haven't seen any around here in a while."

Ciro stared into his glass of water. He traced the lines of firelit condensation until they roused the memory of Witt's shiny, scaled chest. He grabbed the cup and took a quick drink before eyeing Walter again.

"Were his scales red?" Ciro asked.

Walter shook his head. "No clue; I only heard about it after the fact. Sounded like he passed through without a word."

"I don't think they can talk, anyway," piped up Seth.

Ciro glanced over at him. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Mr. Alting said it."

"Mr. Alting's never met this fish."

"All right then," said Walter. He perched his elbow on the table and leaned over it with the fascination of a confiding bartender. "What'd this fish say, then?"

Ciro studied the last bits of food on his plate. "Quite a bit. He said he was a traveller, though. Seemed like he just wanted to help me out."

"Where's he from?"

"Didn't say. He didn't seem like a villager."

"He have a partner?"

"Not that I saw."

Walter chewed the final bite of his dinner, dropping his cutlery onto the plate when he leaned back, frowning as he swallowed. "Sounds lonely."

"I guess so," Ciro said as he dove back into his meal.

When he finished, Seth stood up and collected each of their plates, leaving the table to discard the last scraps into the bushes as Della broke away to wave out the fire. Ciro lifted a leg over the bench to follow them before Walter leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey," Walter murmured in as hushed a tone as his stiff voice could fall to, "Seth's coming home with us tonight, and I know you have pottery tomorrow..."

Ciro glanced at his crooked, hopeful grin.

"Tomorrow night, you think we could play together again?"

Ciro rose from the bench. "Deal."

---

The sun spied him below the branches as he waded through the underbrush, measuring each step carefully between footprints left in the soil. Most of them strung together in lines, but the tracks would occasionally disappear into grass, or split off into someone else's. With his compass handy, there was little guesswork to be made.

Eventually, Ciro heard the sound of a gushing river guiding him free. He broke out of the forest, finding the same sunlit clearing where the steep cliff awaited him.

The stream was choppy today, rippling in the breeze. The riverside was barren of any souls as far as he paced along the clifftop. With nothing weighing him down, and the path down far into the distance, it was easy to find the motivation to swing his legs over the cliff and grip his claws into the rock to make his descent.

It only occurred to Ciro halfway down the cliff that he was here by not a sign or vision, nor with a scrap of evidence that a self-proclaimed traveller would stay in the same place the next day. The neatly pitched tent he pictured on the edge of the opposing trees was missing. So were any remaining dropped berries, at that.

He sighed and peered up at the sky. With hours left to find his way home, he strengthened his resolve and eased himself down until it was safe to hop down the final distance. Catching his breath and stretching his arms, Ciro crept across the rocks and sat down on the shore. He rested his feet where larger stones gave away to glimmering water-soaked pebbles, where the top of the river splashed against his soles.

Ciro couldn't manage to stifle the guilt that ate at him for coming here, or even thinking about Witt's body in this way. Walter wasn't his husband--yet--but they had a commitment. He knew all of his friends played around where they could, but he made the choice to settle early. The man he chose, he stuck with in spite of how his father felt about it..

Ciro tucked his muzzle toward his armpit, wincing at the smell. He lifted off his shirt, then scooched himself back as he shuffled off his pants. Stepping out into nudity, he let his long fur blow in the wind. With a drop of his clothes, he tiptoed ankle-deep into the river, the surface of the water tickling the skin beneath his fur.

The river seemed clean, though Ciro had no clue where it led. As he stepped further into the cool stream, he realized that he didn't know where people would live in it. He hadn't seen Witt in it for a second. At that rate, hadn't Witt said something of the Ocean?

Ciro reached down to cup water in his paws, splashing it over his fur, letting it soak in. He smiled as he thought of the drops running down Witt's scales. The sway of Witt's bare hips as he--

Did Witt call himself an escort? No, he said he escorted guys. But that could still mean...

Ciro stared into his open paws. He cupped them, then gathered a handful of water and splashed it over his face. Wading further into the stream, he lathered more over his shoulders, scrubbing into his fur and letting his paws work down his body. As he reached down to comb through his thighs, he blinked. A persistently hard penis poked eagerly at his arm.

He cursed himself quietly, giving himself a squeeze before trying to let the temptation go.

"Ciro!"

Eyes bursting open, his head swivelled around.

The old salmon popped up from the water upstream. He grinned and waved, then ducked back down and swam.

Ciro scrambled upright, smoothing down his whiskers with an errant paw, drawing both to cover himself up. Then he realized his parts were underwater. Then he realized Witt might be able to see underwater! He had to be able to if he swam so often! Ciro desperately squeezed his crotch in his paws as Witt rounded on him.

"Didn't think I'd see you back here!" Witt slapped a paw on Ciro's shoulder.

Shying away, Ciro scratched at the back of his ear. "Yeah! Me neither!"

Witt peeked over his shoulder to search the riverside. "Foraging again? Where's your basket? Are you holding it or..." His eyes widened. "Oh no. Did you drop it in?"

"No! I..." the hardness poked at Ciro's paws as he swallowed. "I didn't drop it. I didn't take a basket."

Witt eyed him skeptically. "That seems counterproductive. If you're here to relieve yourself, then I'd prefer you didn't go in the water." He raised his head, letting the sun shine over his smile. "It makes swimming a little less pleasant."

"Got it. I'm really just here for a dip," said Ciro. His penis started softening in his paws, which made him simmer at the nerve of Witt's interrogation. "Why are you here? Weren't you heading downstream?"

The sly salmon shrugged. "I was. I came across a threeway fork, so I chose to stick around before committing." He winked. "Sleeping on it, if you will."

The water punctuated a short silence between them. It was then that Ciro's fortune finally caught up to him. He watched as Witt's finely muscled arms casually tread water.

"Oh. Well, do you need a place to stay tonight?" Ciro asked, carefully restraining the interest from emerging in his voice. "I'm sure you'd like a cooked meal again. My...nephew's great at that."

Witt shook his head and chuckled. "Don't you worry about me. I make use of what I've got."

Ciro's chest deflated. He transferred his disappointment into a casual shrug. "Asking is a prized village custom."

Witt stepped closer to Ciro, standing straight enough that the raccoon's lowered snout pointed at the salmon's wet chest. "Is your pose a prized custom too?" Witt raised an eye scale as Ciro turned his confused gaze upwards. "Holding your nuts while talking?"

Ciro froze. His mouth shot open, then closed, then flew back open as he made a stiff noise. Catching himself in an even breath, thoughts racing back to Witt's grin, he fell back into a surprising yet comfortable smile as he settled on his quip. "I already told you I didn't bring a basket."

Witt's sudden, throaty laugh coaxed Ciro's ears back up and eased the tension out of his posture. He let his grip go and mirrored Witt's idly swimming hands.

"You have jitters about being nude around guys?" Witt asked. "Don't worry about it. It doesn't bother me."

"No, it's..." Ciro paused, backpedaling away from spouting the honest truth. While Witt watched him intently, he improvised. "I mean, yes. Everyone wears clothes in town. I'm just not used to it."

Witt frowned and glanced at Ciro's pile of clothes on the shore. For a moment, Ciro worried that he hadn't laced enough interest in his answer.

Against his doubt, Witt fed him a helpful question. "Do you like it?"

Ciro's ears flicked. He nodded instinctively before he stopped and replaced it with a shrug. "I don't mind it," he said nonchalantly, though that statement hung in the air. Instead, he cleared his throat and took a more blunt approach. "And I wouldn't mind showing you more."

A surprised look found the older salmon's face. It dissolved into an earnest laugh as Ciro winked at him.

"Since I've seen yours, and all," Ciro added quickly. "I'd just be repaying the favour."

"Mmm...smooth." Witt pointed to the edge of the river. "Let's move where we can see each other."

They waded to the rocks, where they both stepped dripping onto the shore. Ciro peered quickly down at Witt's length: not quite stiff, though still long enough to dangle freely. Witt matched the stare, inspecting Ciro's wood with the expertise of a carpenter.

"I think you're bigger," Witt declared finally, glancing up to meet Ciro's gaze. "Congratulations."

That remark made Ciro's heart flutter. He bottled his excitement to guide Witt on. "Really? You sure you don't need to touch it to make sure?"

Ciro watched the muscular salmon smirk and reach down. His cold scales made first contact with Ciro's body, forcing a gasp out of the raccoon as the long fingers slid his foreskin delicately. Witt seemed to get a kick out of that, so he milked the reaction by giving Ciro's balls a tug.

"Anyone ever touch it like this?" Witt breathed.

Ciro nodded slowly. The thought of Walter pushed back into his mind, which made him glance up at the trees on the cliff, as if the blowing leaves might be a sign of someone hiking through, about to catch them in broad daylight.

"Yeah, other guys," Ciro certified to swipe his thoughts back, "but none of their hands felt like this."

Witt whistled. "High praise. I never mind hearing that." He took it the wrong way, but Ciro decided fast not to correct it.

Witt's strokes were smooth and slick, slow enough that they seemed to taunt Ciro into bucking back into them. The meticulous movement of his fingers felt ghostly, as if they were just the first tool in Witt's bag of tricks to draw him towards orgasm.

Ciro gazed down at Witt's cock, which stiffened itself into readiness. Where it lacked next to Ciro's length, its girth delivered.

"Can I touch yours?" Ciro murmured.

Witt nodded emphatically.

He gripped Witt's penis backhand, taking care to work him in a reciprocal fashion, but struggling as he fought to stay steady. Ciro's strokes suddenly became short and urgent, mirroring his breath as Witt's precise fingers pushed him towards his peak.

With a cry, Ciro stumbled forward and slumped into Witt's arms. Witt limped back in surprise, barely catching Ciro as he pressed his muzzle into the tall salmon's shoulder and shot a breathless load over his outstretched arm.

Witt held him tightly through the final throes of his orgasm. When Ciro recovered, he shrugged away quickly, but Witt rubbed his arm when he straightened back up. "Needed that one, didn't ya?"

Ciro crouched down, committing back to his work on Witt's cock without a glance up. "Sorry. It just kind of snuck up on me."

Witt laughed. To Ciro's surprise, he placed his seed-covered hand on his hip without wiping it off. "I was like that too, twenty years ago. At some point, a new guy rubbing you doesn't hit you the same way." He remained silent for a moment. "No offense," he added cordially.

Ciro stroked him with both paws as he chewed over that remark. "If it's really not the same," he said, staring up to meet Witt's eyes, "then what if I used my mouth?"

"That could work."

Eagerly, Ciro bounced forward on Witt's cock. He cupped the bottom of the tip in his tongue, licking up the frenulum as he made quick strokes with his paw. Witt's hand landed on his head, rubbing behind his ears as he settled into his technique.

Taking his full length in his mouth was a little difficult, but he tried what he knew worked on Walter, bobbing fully over what he could, trying to work his tongue in where it fit. It worked well enough that, eventually, Witt's hand tightened in his fur.

Witt shuddered as he grumbled a hushed, tranquilizing moan. He shot several ropes onto Ciro's tongue that the raccoon dutifully licked up, swallowing greedily before popping back on for more. He only pulled his muzzle when the salmon began to instinctively shuffle away from discomfort.

Ciro quickly stood and perched up on his toes, craning his neck to close the gap between the pair and kiss Witt, who locked his arms around Ciro's back. They held their pose together, sharing each other's bodies, before Witt pulled back.

"Tomorrow evening, I'll be hovering around here, maybe a bit downstream," the salmon declared, grabbing Ciro's penis, "and you're gonna take me with this."

"Deal," Ciro nodded, before jitters poked at the edges of his mind. Only with his clothes on the ground, the taste of the salmon in his mouth, and the sun quickly falling toward the horizon did he remember the hours slipping away until his date with Walter.

(To be continued.)