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The otter grips your wrist and pulls you through the swirling tide of other students, his blue eyes bright and ears perked. His anticipation, his excitement, are both clearly visible to you in that gaze: he looks back over his shoulder at you again and again as though ensuring you're still there, despite his firm yet still gentle grasp on your paw. His touch is warm, and soft; you notice that his claws are painted, a soft olive green that well complements his fur.

Another student jostles against you, backpack brushing against your chest, and you briefly get tossed within the passing-period crowd. Lukas looks back, stands up on his tiptoes, then finds your face again and waits for you to catch up; the next hallway is relatively clear, surprising you somewhat. The otter sees this, grins, and waits for you to come closer.

"Almost nobody knows these bathrooms are back here," he explains, with a nod toward the door. A black-furred fox pushes out from inside, glances at the two of you, and then continues on his way, the sight immediately forgotten. "Pretty much just us orch students. So we might see one of the directors - that'd be awkward - but we should be good. Ready?"

Quiet concern in his eyes, his brows raised, his ears forward; he needs to hear this answer. You think about it, you remember the conversations via text, you remember the gradually increasing intensity of the words and statements, then the exchanges of photos and videos, then the breathless enjoyment and indulgence in those conversations across the past few weekends... and just like when his paw had brushed across your thigh in the previous period, that deep, intoxicating stirring begins again, and you know you have your answer.

He knows it, too. At your small nod his muzzle brightens and his rudder flicks, and he turns to pull the bathroom door open. There's someone else standing at the urinal, a brown horse with his head tilted back and low sigh shuddering from his lips; one ear flops aside at the squeak of the door and he looks your way, then back to his business. Lukas pauses, halfway to the stall, then looks back at you, at him, then back again - and then he steps forward to the empty urinal, unbuttons and unzips... and waits.

The horse remains, still emptying himself out, sounding like a hose spraying out across hot concrete. And he continues, and continues, and continues; he shifts his stance, rolls his shoulders, sighs again, glances down, looks up, glances down, and then finally gives himself a few shakes, pauses, and moves to fold everything back into his pants. He doesn't even look at you as he slips by, ignoring the sink completely on his way out. You make as though to take his place at the urinal, looking over your shoulder in case someone else might come in, but for now it looks like the coast is clear.

At the neighboring spot Lukas sighs his own relief, though for a different reason than the horse had, and steps away - and you can't help but look down towards where he keeps one paw cupped around himself. There's the light tan fur that you've already seen so many times in the pictures and videos the otter has sent you, looking so soft and plush where it fizzles away to smooth, supple skin underneath, barely visible between his fingers... he keeps his pants up with his other paw, peers around you towards the door, then reaches out, grasps your wrist, and tugs you towards the back of the bathroom.

The door finally swings shut behind the horse, suddenly blocking off most of the noise of the other students. Then there's the thump and clack as Lukas locks the stall door behind each of you, then the soft rustle of clothing when he shifts his backpack off his shoulders, the rattle when he drops it to the tiled floor, and then another rustle as he, too, kneels down. Then you feel his paws at your waist turning you to face him, followed by the strange but enticing sensation of his fingers flipping your shirt up, tugging at your pants fly, popping the button, pulling the zipper...

Then the cool air of the school's bathroom swirls in around you, tickling at the base of your revealed sheath, your hanging sack, your bared thighs, before Lukas's paw slides in underneath. Reflexively you can't help but shiver at the slight tickle of fingers brushing along such sensitive spots, at which you're still unaccustomed; he looks up you and you down at him, his nose twitching with your scent - you hope it's not too much for him, since normally you don't shower in the mornings before school but made sure to do so today - and then he licks his lips, takes in a breath though barely-parted lips, and leans in.

As soon as his nose touches the side of your sheath, a sharp shiver bounces up your spine, like nothing you've ever felt before. You can't help but giggle faintly; you thought that that was just a figure of speech. Lukas's breath tickles through your fur as he draws in your scent, the otter's eyes already closed; you can feel his mouth drop open, then the hot humidity of his sigh oozing out across the front of your balls, coaxing them to draw slowly upwards. A noise from outside startles you, but he seems unbothered, and nobody else enters the bathroom.

For now, at least.

You reach back, brace yourself against the stall wall, and think about dropping your other paw to between his ears on the back of his head, just like you had fantasized doing last night. But no, that would be a little awkward, and you don't want to force him: he noses up along the side of your sheath, his interest in your scent and warmth turning you on more than you had expected, and then glances up to you again.

"Passing period's only six minutes," he says, his breath tickling out across the base of your sheath. He nuzzles up again, nose lifting underneath your steadily growing arousal. You can't believe that this is really happening, can't believe that you're actually here, with him, and that he's really doing this - but the sensation of his broad nose against your underside, the slight tickle and slide of wet lips across wetter shaft, the warmth of his tongue as he curls it out to get a taste... it all makes you shudder all over again, and next thing you know, you're thrusting forward against his muzzle. "And we've already burnt two of those. Think we can get you finished up in four?"

You open your mouth to answer, caught halfway between a jibe and an honest response - you've pawed off in one of the bathrooms here before, the one upstairs behind the math hall, and when really pressed you know you can get your time down to just two minutes, but that's not really something to brag about - but then his lips wrap around your tip, and he suckles softly, and his tongue slips forward to cup underneath your cock, and then everything else is gone to you. Your head thumps back against the stall wall and a sigh drips from your lips, and then Lukas's nose is in your pubic fur and your sheath is wrinkled up against his lips, and you can feel him pressing his mouth around you, drawing his tongue back and forth across your underside, and holding you there as you quickly grow to your full size.

Then before you know it that one paw has come out to exactly where you had imagined it. The fur atop his head is short, soft, yet slightly stiff, resisting the touch at first. One of his teacup ears flicks against your thumb, and on instinct you reach out to rub across it; Lukas sighs into the fur at the base of your sheath, nostrils flaring, and then draws himself back, one paw coming up to squeeze at your base as he does so. It's everything you expected and more, and yet at the same time still slightly less: as he starts to settle into a rhythm on you, lips taut and tongue cupped, occasionally he runs over a spot that makes you grimace and tighten, or hits a section a little_too_ sensitive so that you jerk and pull back, but - it seems like he's quick at catching on, and before long returns to a slower, gentler investigation.

Another part you can't believe, as soon as he starts: when he pops his mouth back off of your now fully hard cock, twitching and throbbing across his face, he comes in close to your sheath and then sucks the supple skin in between his lips, stretching it gently, nipping and mushing it. He swallows, shivers, nuzzles up underneath your shaft, then closes his eyes again and tilts his head, mouth parting around your base; you start to reach down to move yourself out of his face, but he beats you there and instead strokes you across his muzzle, eagerly smearing his short fur in the slick touch of your natural musk. Already your scent has started to waft up and tickle at your nose, warm and familiar, and the creeping dread of self-consciousness begins to trickle in as well - but Lukas seems completely ignorant.

Or, even, he enjoys it. He swallows, flicks his tongue out across the lip of your sheath and briefly underneath, and then noses up beneath your cock again, taking another deep, full breath. His mouth falls open, his eyes take a moment to focus, and then he drags his tongue up along your twitching underside, circles it around your tip, and once more closes his lips around you; this time, though, he holds back on diving down and instead remains at the end there, sucking and slurping and swirling while his paw pumps away at your shaft. The sensation is phenomenal, like what you do to yourself when lying back in bed every night, but so much more: before you know it you're halfway crouched down, your own backpack providing an uncomfortable support against the stall wall, and reflexively thrusting forward into his muzzle as he paws you off directly into his mouth.

It takes a moment, but as that familiar urgency steadily grows your ears perk to another sound. Your heart leaps in your chest and you actually partially soften up in response, but then you realize that it's just Lukas himself, his other arm jerking at his side and in his lap. You lean your head to the side to watch, seeing the same hard cock that he showed you in his pictures, doing the same thing that he did in those videos. His eyes are closed, his nostrils flared, and his mouth still tight around yours as he paws both of you off, you into his maw and himself out across the bathroom floor. You think you can feel his own approaching peak as well, evident in how his breathing gradually picks up, and how he works faster and harder at you, pushing your sheath back, squeezing down a little tighter, a little faster...

...until there's nothing you can do. You grit your teeth, you try to warn him; you buck forward, double over, scrape your backpack loudly against the stall wall, and nearly lose your footing - but then the otter's muzzle is clamped down around your shaft again, and your paws are scrabbling at the back of his head for support, holding him down. Then suddenly there's that bright, powerful burst, and you gasp, and moan out, and thrust, and thrust, and_thrust_, and he's swallowing down each spurt, he's drinking your load as you pump it out across his tongue and the back of his throat, and you can feel him swallowing, his tongue lifting up against you, his mouth clamping down. He remains there, breath puffing through his nose in your pubes, and then in another fervent, frantic moment he jerks, and jerks again, and then lets out a long, low sigh... and as he pulls back off of your cock you see dribbles of white oozing out from his own across his paw, the streaks of his finish blending into the white tile underneath.

Then muted through the closed bathroom door, both of you perk and listen to the sound of the bell marking the start of the next period. Still panting, a little bit dizzy, you look down to Lukas, and he grins, licks his lips, plants another kiss to the still-dripping end of your cock, and stands up. As he does so his bumps against yours, warm and damp, and you throb all over again.

"Sorry," he says, and giggles a little bit. You watch, enraptured, as he stuff himself back into his underwear and jeans. This close to him, his breath smells like your musk. The realization hits you like a hammer, and if anything just works you up even further. "I almost got it. Let's do this again sometime, yeah? Like I told you, I have fourth period on Thursdays off. But - I got calculus next, I gotta run. Thanks! I'll text you!"

And then he's out the stall and the bathroom a second later, footpaws thumping down the hall. You stand there a moment later, half-hard shaft still hanging out, still catching your breath, still a little dazed. Did that really just happen? Four more minutes pass by the time you make it to your next class, the door closed, the teacher already starting in on the lesson. You take in a breath, swallow, shift your paw in your pocket, and then reach for the handle with the other. In your pocket your phone vibrates.

Just once. A received text. A minute after sitting down, the teacher marking you down as tardy, you slip it out and take a peek.

[1] unread message from: [Lukas]. Preview: Nobody in the hall so I thought I'd step to the side and show you my gratitude... [Image attached]