Eventide - II
Chapter II
The bells tolled out over the abbey grounds, heralding the day as St. Niccolo's slowly came alive. Shining bright overhead, the sun swam in a near-cloudless sky as it warmed the earth. Today was the start of the Midsummer Festival.
Scrubbing a paw over his face, Owen went about extricating himself from tangled sheets. His dreams that night had been of the fox and their chance, if silent, meeting, though they were nothing like his own fantasies. Still wrapped in the spun cotton sheets, he padded over to look at himself in the mirror.
The face that looked back was a comical sight. His fur stuck up in a myriad of directions without rhyme or reason. Here and there, rich brown fought with pale cream, acting out some chaotic battle of fur. With a sigh, Owen pushed away from the bedraggled visage and the old anteroom, tail and sheets alike dragging along behind him.
The room had been renovated into a small study of sorts a few years before the young otter had become the gatehouse's current resident. Shelves were lined with old tomes and ledgers that contained the history of the abbey in neat, cramped font. More recently, however, a small stone bath had been built along the rear wall. As weary paws fumbled for the old sluice to let fresh rainwater in from the basin outside, Owen gazed out through a tall window set nearby.
A cluster of the Brothers and Sisters had already gathered on the lawn and had busied themselves with arranging long wooden tables and benches for the feast. Others milled about near the orchards, carrying baskets filled with freshly picked fruits and greens for last-minute cooking. Brother Albus, his portly form shaded by a row of overhanging creepers observed the abbey's young ones as they played near the groundskeeper's hut.
Turning away, Owen tossed aside the sheets and carefully slid himself into the refreshing waters of a much-needed bath.
A short time later, a still dripping Owen stood amidst a steadily growing puddle, a towel hanging half forgotten from his paw as he stared in disbelief. Sitting atop the carved wooden box in which he kept his things was a carefully folded parchment. Hastily drying a paw, he lifted the small note and began to read.
If you desire my coin purse, you will have to earn it. On Midsummer's night, meet me at the Golden Stripe--the Badger will assist you once there.
The careful, neat hand was almost as much of a surprise as the signature of "fox" that was penned at the bottom of the note.
Suddenly hesitant, Owen glanced about the room for unseen watchers before slowly lifting the lid of the small box. He half heard, half felt the sigh of relief that escaped his lips. Every-thing was still there, save for the remnants of what coin he had hidden away upon returning to the abbey--even the few silver that had been tucked away were gone as well, though there loss was largely overlooked.
Owen slid the note into the box before shutting and latching the lid, a blush coloring his cheeks as he hurriedly began to dry what little water remained from his fur.
The cool stones of the abbey resonated with each step of his paws as Owen wended his way to the kitchens. Waving to a dour-faced Sister Alicia in passing, he skirted a trio of assistants as they carefully navigated the busy space, all the while supporting a great, tottering cake that threatened to tip at any moment.
Near the back of the kitchens were the larders, which could be accessed via a great stone door that swung on iron hinges thicker than a grown badger's arm. The larder itself was a cavernous affair with walls and floor of worked stone with tall shelves built at regular intervals down its length.
Gurgling sounds of water, the source of the crisp chill in the air, echoed about in a faint din as the otter selected a few assorted fruits, cheeses, and cured meats. These were placed in a small haversack alongside the note from the mysterious fox. Pleased with his selection, Owen turned to go only to bump into Abbot Bernard who was rummaging about in a basket of yesterday's strawberries.
"Ah, Owen I had been wondering where you were when I didn't see you at breakfast! Are you getting yourself a little something as well?" Asked the elderly hound as he polished a particularly fat berry on the sleeve of his habit.
Owen hesitated a moment, before blurting out the first thing that came to his mind. "Uh, no, father abbot. I'm just going to run into town--Sister Alicia said she's out of some spices."
The abbot nodded in understanding as he bit into the sweet berry. Chewing thoughtfully, he smiled. "Well, alright. Just be back in time for the feast. I promise I won't tell Brother Sage you were pinching food from the larder if you keep quiet, too. I just can't resist these strawberries."
"Oh, um, sure." Owen replied as he scratched a paw behind his ear and made his way back to the halls.
Out on the old road that ran in front of the abbey's gate, Owen trod through the dust in the direction of the city. Though tempting as it was to swim the river and cut the lengthy walk to a matter of little over an hour, he feared for the delicate foodstuffs--as well as his own appearance. It would hardly do to meet the fox and look like some bedraggled thing washed upon the shore.
As the sun reached its zenith, Owen found him-self resting in the back of a hay cart which trundled along the road at a leisurely pace. He was making excellent time thanks to the kindly farmhand, a fat old vole whose face was lost in the bushy white of a beard that showed from under a wide-brimmed hat.
Gnawing idly on the remnants of the cheese, Owen watched the countryside roll by as the farmhand hummed an off key tune.
"Don' suspect it'll be too long now, water-dog." Called the vole from where he sat at the head of the cart. "[$city] is just o'r the horizon, now."
Sure enough, the walls of the city rose like some austere monument in the distance, their stones a testament to the architects of old who first built them centuries before the city had blossomed into a bustling metropolis.
"Yew goin' t' that big Midsummer festival they're havin'?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, you could say that." Owen replied as he stuffed the bit of cheese back into his haversack.
The elderly vole chuckled and leaned back with a wink. "Ah un'erstand ye. Met me own gel at that festival. Oh t' be young agin."
It wasn't long before the cart ground to a halt just inside the gates. The vole sprung from his seat with surprising alacrity and toddled over to speak with a pair of young stoats dressed in oversized tunics. Shortly after, he returned and leaned on the rear of the cart.
"Eh heh. Looks like ah'll be gettin' a good deal t'day!" The vole exclaimed with a grin as he fondled a small sack of jingling coin. "Well, 'tis the end o' the line, water-dog. Yew have yerself a good time now."
Thanking the farmhand for the ride, Owen began making his way towards the old market district. Though he hadn't a clue as to where the Golden Stripe was--let alone what it was--he had a feeling it would be near where he had seen the fox before.
Navigating the city, as it turned out, was a greater challenge than the otter had at first anticipated. The volume of creatures milling about the city had more than doubled since the prior day. Every street was filled with veritable throngs that bustled about amidst the din of performers, minstrels, and merchants crying their wares. Ultimately, Owen had to squeeze his way into an alley to escape the masses.
He immediately regretted the decision after having caught his breath. The alleyway was little more than a small niche between the two buildings, its back a high, rough wall that had seen better days. Dreading the thought of having to brave the sea of fur and flesh once more, Owen cast his eyes about for some other route.
His gaze finally settled upon an old, rickety ladder that lay beside a pile of discarded crates that had been stacked beside the wall. A quick glance up and the idea was settled: he would travel the rooftops.
With the wooden ladder positioned on top of the crates, its frame shifting on uneven legs, he stared up the steep ascent, a part of him wondering if he had gone momentarily mad. Hoisting himself up, he gripped the first rungs and looked skywards, remembering Brother Albus' suggestion for his fear of heights.
Moments later, Owen stood atop the sun-baked roof, his gaze sweeping over the vast breadth of the city that now seemed to sprawl out before him in an endless field of red clay shingles, each subtle rise of another rooftop like some mute crest of a crimson tide. The otter felt strangely empowered by where he stood; little could prevent him from reaching his destination now.
Tiles clattered beneath his paws as he made his way along the wending path. The gap to the east, which marked the course of the river, served as his guide towards the docks and the edges of the old market. Though founded on little more than an inkling, he fervently hoped that he would find the "Golden Stripe" and the fox.
His progress was at first slow, as lack of footing and the unnerving heights made a fair challenge of moving at any reasonable pace. By his best estimate of three streets, however, Owen found that he had built up an easy, if somewhat unorthodox rhythm of motion that oddly came rather naturally.
By the time he arrived at the edge of the old market district, the sun had barely sung but a fraction in the sky as the revelry continued on below. Luckily, the streets were quite empty, thanks to their distance from the main grounds of the festivities and the shielding arc of the docks. Touching solid ground once more after carefully negotiating his descent down the face of an old warehouse, much to the befuddled consternation of a pair of onlookers, Owen smiled in what he hoped was a disarming look before ducking down the avenue in the direction of the old bookseller's shop.
Though he passed a myriad of signs that announced in fading paint the names and wares of two dozen or more shops, he had yet to see the one he sought. Growing increasingly disgruntled as still more signs trailed past as he worked down what must have been the fourth street, Owen paused beneath the stout wooden beams of a small stable and fetched the note from his sack, suddenly wondering if he had accidentally misread the fox's request.
"Oi, otter!" called a gruff voice from nearby, "out of the way!"
Looking up just in time to avoid a massive keg pushed by a wiry goat and ambling bear, Owen ducked to the side and watched as the pair rolled the great wooden barrel up to pair of doors before disappearing around the back of the facility.
The goat reappeared a few moments later, dusting off his paws on a well-stained jerkin. "You lookin' for somethin' or are you the new hire?" He asked.
"Actually, I am." Owen replied as he glanced into the stable once more. "Do you know of a place called the 'Golden Stripe'?"
Cackling a laugh, the goat clapped him on the shoulder. "Must be new 'round here, then. You're standing next to it! Best brew in all of [$city]!"
Owen chanced another look along the face of the tavern. "But I don't see a sign."
"Eh, it fell off in the storm a few nights back; should be a new one soon. Ol' Badgermum ain't one to let the Stripe be without its sign for long." The goat replied before gesturing to the door. "Anyway, you get yourself on in there. Me 'n Chag still got a few more barrels to bring in."
Murmuring his thanks, Owen left the goat to his duties and made his way over to the huge oaken door that marked the tavern's entrance. Once inside, he found himself inside the belly of the great tavern. Constructed of stone and timber, it rose three stories to a vaulted roof of wooden beams that must have been even thicker than he himself. Doors and walkways lined three of the towering walls with dozens of rooms looming over the central commonplace, set beneath a trellised awning of vines and hanging lanterns, where tables were packed with all manner of creatures.
Owen wandered over towards the long bar, set near where he estimated the two hands had brought the huge keg only moments ago. Behind the low rise of decorated wood were row upon row of shelves lined with bottles of spirits, each one labeled. A single figure towered over even the largest of patron that sat upon the stools: that of a large female badger, her muzzle only showing the faintest hints of silvered fur as she doled out drinks with massive paws.
He took up a seat tentatively, giving one final glance about the place in awe and intrigue before turning to await the badger.
She came by within a few moments' wait. "What can I get you?" She asked, measuring out a pint from a tap as she spoke.
"I'm uh... I'm here to see a fox." Owen replied, flushing slightly.
"Not sure I can really help you there, hon. There's at least a dozen foxes here today--you'll have to be a bit more specific." She smiled, sliding the drink over to stooped elk.
"He's got golden fur..."
A nod. "Ah. You must mean Richard. Now, pardon me, but I'll have to ask why you want to see him."
Owen produced the note and slid it across the bar. "He gave me this."
Scooping it up in her paw, she glanced it over before shoving it into the pocket of her apron. "Ah, so you're the otter. He'll be along shortly, then. Here, take this and head up the stairs in the back. First door you see." She replied as she placed a key before him.
Doing as instructed, Owen padded in the direction that the badger pointed. The door in question was directly at the top of the stairs, though it bore no number as he would have expected. Curious, he tried the lock. With a dull clank, the key turned. A turn of the brass handle and the door opened on well-greased hinges with nary a sound.
The interior was lit by two dormers set in the angled roof-space, its shape seeming to fill the region above the stables. The walls had been carefully done over with a coat of plaster, giving the room a warm glow despite the worn and tarnished appearance of the wooden floor. While sparse, the room appeared lived in--a bed was set along the far wall beside a small basin and chest, with a modest assortment of books arranged along the tops of a few storage boxes turned furniture. Even a few garments hung on a rope line that spanned the space between two wooden posts, presumably to dry.
A noise from behind caught his attention. Turning towards its source, Owen saw the back of the golden-furred fox, his paw still resting on the brass handle of the door.
"So you did come," He murmured. Amber eyes looked the otter over for but a moment before their gazes met. The fox raised a paw to undo the clasp of a short cloak which he hung from a small hook set into one of the wooden posts. "I'm Richard--the fox whose money you took."
How could I forget? Owen wanted to say, but kept the thought to himself. "I'm sorry... I, well, I guess you already took it all back."
Richard nodded before taking a seat atop one of the unused crates. "Oh, it's alright really. I don't quite mind. It's not like the coin is even mine." He must have noticed the odd look Owen had given him, because he went on. "It's my father's."
"Oh," Owen mouthed, feeling rather foolish. "So then why did you give me that note?"
The fox smiled with a strange light in his eyes. "I wanted to meet you; to be able to talk with you. Though, I never quite caught your name."
"O-Owen," he stammered, "it's Owen."
Richard giggled softly, stifling it with a black-socked paw over his muzzle. "Is that all?"
Nodding, the otter began to explain. "I'm from the abbey--St. Niccolo's, that is--and um, the Abbot says that I was an orphan." It felt odd, yet strangely pleasant to be telling the fox such things.
"An abbey," murmured Richard as if he were mulling it over in his head. "I never knew there was one near the city. At least, not until I had followed you back to it."
This caught Owen off guard. Everyone knew of the old abbey on the south road. Shrugging it off, he asked, "How'd you get into the gate-house?"
"The ivy on the wall by the river; it's a lot like the ivy growing at father's manor. It's actually quite strong." The fox's ears perked up with intrigue as he leaned closer, his tail frisking lazily behind him. "You were quite interesting to watch, too."
The way that the fox had said it, so matter-of-factly made the fur on the back of his neck stand on end. Had he been watched the entire time? Owen was about to reply when Richard patted the space beside him with a paw. He hesitated before padding over to sit beside the fox.
Leaning back on his paws, Richard gazed up to the dusty windows of the dormers. A halo of motes swam about his head in the faint shaft of light that streamed down as he spoke. "Have you ever been to the festival?"
"Just once a few years ago," Owen replied absently, trying not to stare.
"If you want my purse, Owen, you'll have to be my escort for today." The fox grinned as he hopped upright.
Taking Owen's paw, Richard led him out to the hallway, using a key of his own to lock the door behind them before trotting down the stairs.
"Are you going out again, Richard?" Asked the badger from where she stood behind the bar, her owlish eyes watching them as they navigated the cluster of tables.
Richard nodded as he motioned to the rather bewildered otter that followed beside him. "Yes, Badgermum. Owen has even agreed to escort me about the festival."
Bess nodded as she accepted an empty mug from a patron. "You two have fun, then. Just make sure you're back at some reasonable hour."
The streets were little different then they had been only an hour ago. Even the old market was starting to show signs of the crowds that flooded the city. They were barely spared a glance as they worked their way towards one of the squares.
Following at paw's length, Owen gazed about himself--even from down below, the sights of the festival were astounding, perhaps even more so. Everywhere, bright pennants and banners waved on the light summer breezes, each carrying the scents of dozens of cooking fires that blazed all about the marketplace. Merchants cried out wares as festival goers ate, sang, and drank in merriment to the jovial setting, all the while observing the myriad performances of traveling entertainers, bards, and gypsies.
As they passed beneath a portico, Richard paused. "Are you hungry?" He asked, looking over the selection of grilled meats proffered by a squirrel with an oddly colored outfit.
"A little, I guess," Owen mused. "I never did have breakfast."
Silver changed paws, and the fox turned to offer a skewer of the meats. Owen hungrily bit into it. To his surprise, the meat was heavily spiced with a blend of rather alien flavors. "What is it?" He asked.
"From the Rinwald province," came his reply when Richard had finished chewing, "they are known for their spices."
"I've never heard of it before."
"Really? They do a lot of trading here--most of it in herbs and spices, but also with textiles. Rinwald is practically famous for its silks." The fox said as he raised a brow in curiosity.
They ate as they padded along, pointing out various sights. Richard was fascinated by all that they encountered as he led Owen about the fairgrounds with a strong sense of barely-concealed awe. A gentle tug on his paw called Owen back to his senses as Richard motioned towards a wide side street that cut behind the plaza. Lining both sides were artisan's shops and numerous alleyways that disappeared off to darker recesses.
Pausing before one of the storefronts, which sported wooden sign of a brilliantly carved knot like those found in the north lands, Richard ducked inside. Though dimly lit by a cluster of waxen candles that hung in glass bowls from the ceiling in rope sconces, the curious scent of leather belied its wares.
Richard had already found his way to a small assortment of trinkets by the time Owen made it through the labyrinthine maze of isles and narrow, cloth-draped tables.
"Find anything?" He asked, blinking away dust that hung about the shop's still air.
"Yes, but I'm having a bit of trouble with it," Richard said absently, his paws busied behind himself with some unseen object. "Could you lend a paw?"
Owen nodded, moving around behind the fox to examine whatever it was he was struggling with. It hadn't quite connected until the thick band of leather about Richard's tail came into view what it was that he had been doing. The decoration--a tail ring, to be exact--was made of supple leather stitched and branded with an array of complex knot-work patterns. Studs of beaten silver filled the center of each knot, the burnished metal glinting faintly in the light.
Taking the strings from the fox's paws, Owen feebly attempted to tie the leather thongs into their clasps. His gaze kept sliding to Richard's rump. Clothed as he was in the close-fitting dress of a wealthy merchant, the gentle curves stood out like twin hills obscured only by the brush of his tail.
"Owen? Is it not the right size?" Richard called over his shoulder.
"Sorry, it uh, it keeps slipping." He lied, not even believing that the other would accept his words.
A vulpine ear canted to the side as Richard gave a knowing nod. "Here, let me move a bit closer."
He was about to object when the fox pressed backwards as Richard's tail curled up between his legs, tickling more than just his legs. Gulping, Owen hastily tied the adornment shut.
"There, got it." He stammered, as he felt a lump rise in his throat. He did that on purpose, Owen thought.
Winking over his shoulder, Richard thanked the otter for his assistance before padding over to the merchant who sat on a stool at a work-bench nearby, his tail swishing from side to side throughout the transaction.
After a few hours, they came to a stop on one of the terraces that over-looked the wide grassy field in which dozens of small tents had been set up. Sitting atop the short retaining wall, Richard gazed out at a small group of performers who were acting out some historic event.
Owen leaned upon the wall beside him. "I thought you said you'd been to the festival before."
"Oh, I have," Richard murmured, his eyes locked with the figure of a rabbit swathed in draped fabrics who hefted a pike at an armored boar.
"But you seem so... mystified by it all."
The fox nodded, a sad look coming to his face for but a moment. "I've never been able to see it in such a domestic manner before; nor with anyone of my choosing."
"Busy tending to your father's shop?" Owen asked as he watched the boar pretend to be stabbed and fall to the grass sputtering.
There was a brief pause. "You could say."
"There's something you're not telling me, is there." He looked over, catching a glance from Richard out of the corner of the fox's eye.
"I can't really explain it here," said the fox, his gaze returning to the actors. "When we get back to the tavern--I'll tell you then."
Owen was just about to protest when the fox leaned over and kissed him on the muzzle. Though surprised at first--more so by the slick sensation of a tongue gliding across his own than the act itself--he fell into rhythm, and only realized he had been holding his breath when the fox slowly pulled back with a chaste smile.
"You've earned that much, otter."
The warm air of the Golden Stripe chased away the chill night air. Lamplight mingled with the hazy silver light of the moon as it shone down through the windows and spilled across the floor in great, shimmering pools. They sat on stuffed cushions woven of garish patterns; flowing lines and tight arabesques picked out in silver and bronze thread highlighted the muted cerulean and maroon.
Nestled with his back against the wooden frame of the stout bed, Richard smiled and passed an earthenware cup to Owen. Its contents were dark beneath a thick head of auburn foam and smelled of ale. Accepting it, Owen took up a space nearby.
"It's some of Olean's own brew." explained the fox as he poured for himself from a large pitcher that sat nearby. "Bess helps to make it. It's a lot stronger than most ales, but it also has a unique flavor."
Sniffing for a moment, Owen shrugged and lifted the cup between webbed paws to sip. A flood of rich, earthy flavors washed over his tongue, bringing with them a creamy sweet tang that he only just recognized.
"Hazelnut?" Owen blew a trace of foam from his whiskers.
"Almost," Richard gave a chuckle as he sipped delicately from his own mug. "This one has a touch of vanilla and something else. I'll have to ask Bess what it was again."
Owen nodded as he took a long draught of the stuff, enjoying the complex flavors. "It's good," he said through a pleased sigh as, "I think I like it better than Brother Edwin's ales."
"Olean would be happy to hear that."
Draining his mug, Owen poured himself more as he reflected on the strange turn of events that had lead him to the tavern.
"You're awfully quiet,"
"Hmm?" He looked up from his drink. "Oh, I was just thinking, really."
"Anything in particular?" asked Richard.
"Back at the terrace," he asked finally as he stared into the foamy contents of his mug in search of words. "I was wondering."
"About what I said?" Richard turned his head and perked an ear. "I can tell you now, if you'd like."
"Yeah--no, actually, I..." his voice trailed off as he took another sip. Scrunching his eyes shut as he tried to clear his mind, he mentally berated himself. You were never this way with Jeremy, he thought ruefully.
There was a shifting of fabric followed by the feeling of a paw placed on his out-stretched leg. "If it's about the kiss, I won't do it again. I had just thought--"
Owen cut him off. "No, no. That's fine. It was actually really nice." He admitted, already feeling the first warmth of color coming to his cheeks. A quick glance showed black-tipped ears slowly perking back up. "I didn't expect it, really."
"Oh," Richard's muzzle parted in a thin smile. "You had me worried for a moment. I almost thought I'd asked for the wrong otter."
"Huh?" Owen looked at him quizzically.
The fox giggled again, stifling it with a sip of ale. Owen couldn't help but find it remarkably cute in a way.
"You prefer males," he said softly as he set his mug aside. "I noticed you staring at the book shop."
If Owen had been blushing before, he must have turned crimson after the fox's comment. "You saw that, huh." Hoping to mask it with another drink, the otter averted his gaze, which settled on Richard's brush of golden fur.
"You're doing it again," murmured Richard.
"Sorry,"
"Don't be."
He looked up at the fox. The other's gaze was genuine--Richard truly meant his words. Cupping the mug between his paws, he sighed.
Richard's paw glided over to where Owen's thick tail rested on the floorboards. He traced his claws through the patterns of white fur that marbled the hefty rudder, leaving little furrows in the wake of his paw. When Owen merely gave a soft murmur of appreciation, he let his paw rise higher. Every few moments, he would trace tiny circles in the thick, chocolate-colored fur of the otter's tail, shifting his position so as to let himself reach farther, stopping only when Owen shuddered.
"Is something wrong?" Richard asked from where he now leaned beside the otter.
Owen shook his head slowly. "Don't stop."
With a subtle nod he slid closer as his paws continued their wandering, moving steadily on-wards.
Chin tucked against the wisps of fur that showed from the neck of his jerkin, Owen gazed in rapt attention, watching breathlessly as the fox wove deft fingers into the cotton. There was a light tug and Owen allowed him-self to be positioned so that he lay upon his back amidst a small pile of spare cushions.
"Comfortable?" Richard whispered, his paws halting for a brief moment as he positioned himself so as to straddle the hefty tail that now sprawled across the woodwork.
Owen blushed, murmuring an unintelligible reply.
Black paws busied themselves with the bone clasps of the otter's garments, undoing them with a practiced ease before slowly, gently pushing the offending clothing aside. As the fur of Owen's stomach came into view, Richard worked eager paw pads that ghosted over flesh and fur alike.
Owen attempted to help Richard from his own shirt, but kept fumbling drunkenly with the fabric until the fox intervened.
Richard smirked and pushed away the otter's paws. "Here, let me do it." Pulling the silken affair up and over his head, he tossed it aside haphazardly where it fluttered to rest over an assortment of nearby books, hanging like a limp banner from the crate's edge.
"I could have done it," Owen retorted.
"I'm not so sure. You've already had three." Said Richard, his paws already busy untying the strings of the otter's trousers. The sudden rush of air against heated flesh sent a tremor throughout his body. He hadn't realized that he was already hard.
Owen grunted as Richard slid those away as well. He looked up as the fox rose with a faint rush of fabric on fur; the other's face was a mask of bemusement and lustful intrigue, amber eyes locked with the shaft of ebon flesh that pulsed against his stomach.
Before he could ask, he felt something slap dully upon his tail. It was Richard's: heavy and thick, it bobbed in the air, the ruddy flesh standing out like a mast against the black of the fox's paw as it was shamelessly cupped. Owen felt himself shudder as his mind flashed back to the lusty fantasy on the balcony.
"Just relax, now." The words were just barely audible above the throb of his heartbeat. He watched in silence as Richard guided his member closer, breath catching as he felt the first tinge of pressure upon the hidden, furless ring beneath his tail.
"Have you ever done this before?" Richard asked, breathless, as he felt himself slide into place. The thick, lutrin tail twitched beneath him as Owen let out a muffled whine through clenched teeth.
Owen scarcely shook his head. "N-no..."
He could feel Richard's hesitation as the fox came to a halt, his eyes showing concern. "Are you sure--about this, I mean?"
"Yeah," he breathed. Lifting his paws, Owen curled his fingers into the patch of creamy fur that adorned Richard's chest before meeting the fox's gaze. "I'm sure."
Shifting his weight, Richard pressed forwards and began move once more. The feeling of the fox's shaft sliding into him, each pulsing inch of flesh was like wildfire as the sensations blazed through his body.
As Richard built up a steady rhythm, Owen became dimly aware of the rush of blood that coursed through him like a deluge. With each thumping heartbeat, he could feel the fox's sex come to a hilt inside of him, stopping for but a brief moment before drawing out almost to the pointed tip. Leaning over him, his body held up by webbed paws, Richard panted heavily as he thrust back and forth, the swiftly growing tightness pushing him every closer to climax.
His eyes hazing in the shadowy light of the candles that glowed about the room, Owen watched the twin points of amber reflecting each sensation. Something squeezed about the base of his sheath, rubbing briskly against him as Richard gave one final, hard thrust. A dull pop seemed to break the cadence of their breathing as they tied.
He felt more than saw Richard shudder, just moments before a heat grew beneath his tail and blossomed deep inside of him. With a hiss of breath, Owen felt himself crest the building rise of his own orgasm as wave upon wave left sticky tendrils of warm seed in their wake, each droplet catching the guttering candlelight.
Pulling the fox against himself as he came to a slow and breathless stop, he listened to how Richard panted and moaned against him, his shaft still leaking beneath his tail.
Richard buried his muzzle in the ruff or fur that ran along the otter's cheek as he closed his eyes, feeling himself drift into an exhausted slumber.
"I love you," he whispered.
Bess rubbed a paw against bleary eyes as she scooped up the little lantern. Shuffling from the kitchen to the stairs, she gave the tavern a final inspection. Satisfied that everything was clean, the doors were locked, and the tables ready for the next morning, the big badger padded up the creaking steps, only to pause on the landing.
The otter. She hadn't seen him--or Richard for that matter--leave. Though it was possible that they had snuck out again when she had been in the cellar, something nagged at her.
Upon trying the handle, she found the door unlocked. Leaning against the old wood, Bess eased it open before poking her head inside.
She couldn't help but smile at the sight of the two young ones lying amidst a veritable nest of cushions, both of them asleep in shameless nakedness. Creeping on tip-paw, she made her way over to blow out the candle that flickered and sputtered nearby.
Perhaps he finally found someone, thought Bess as she snuck back into the hallway with a muffled chuckle. Perhaps he has.