Reprisal
#3 of SLASH Patrol
All content copyright Veritas( [email protected] ), 2004. Any resemblance to other persons or situations, real or fictional, is purely coincidental. Those offended by anthropomorphic, male, homosexual sex need not read on. Blah, blah, blah.
Reprisal
The general alarm was never Drevin Targe's idea of a pleasant wake-up call.
His head felt like it had just hit the pillow; the rest of him informed it that he'd been lying in exactly the same position for several hours. The combination was about as attractive as last week's coffee grounds.
But reflex was already taking over. The ferret eeled out of his cot, reaching into the locker for a strip of foil-packed yellow pills. All around the barracks, other sleepy pilots were doing much the same thing, and all of them were at the point that they could swallow their standard-issue stimulants dry.
Drevin was still doing up his flight suit as he stumbled out of the door. By the time he reached the flight level, the stim had kicked in well enough that he was actually able to run across the deck.
His co-pilot, Sub-Lieutenant Vreeshka Farkhar, was already in the back seat of their Shrike fighter; he'd been on watch when the alarm went off. The snow leopard, good man, was already warming up the engines as Drevin climbed up and strapped in.
"What the hell's going on?" Drevin asked, glancing over his part of the pre-flight routine. "They haven't scrambled us like this in months."
"The Red Daggers have lost their collective mind," Vree replied as techs secured the canopy. "They took out a contract on a pair of freelance civvies taking a package to the Seth merchant's guild. One of the picket ships found out about it when they entered the system, gave 'em a beacon. The Daggers didn't bother attacking the couriers after that... but they're threatening the Guild station in orbit."
Drevin snorted. "Red Daggers, huh? I've been itching for an excuse to blast those fuckers back to the stone age. Think they own half of known space." The mercenaries had been causing him, and SLASH in general, no small amount of grief for quite some time.
"Time to prove them wrong," Vree agreed. "Looks like we're up first, chief."
Drevin snapped his helmet into place. "Let's do it."
The deck crew towed their Shrike over to the first launch tube, and there they waited for a few moments while the air was pumped out. Then the outer door opened, revealing the deep, starry expanse of space. The clamps let go, and their fighter hung suspended instead by magnetic fields. "Unity Control to Rho-Yellow Six," said a voice over the speaker, "you are ready to launch."
"Rho-Yellow Six to Control," Drevin began, and took a breath. He looked over his shoulder; Vree nodded, gave him a salute. "Launch."
Red lights flashed on, ringing and lining the tube. One by one, each ring of lights turned green; once the last was done, at the edge of the hull, the Shrike was yanked forward, even the padded flight seat turning into a nearly painful pressure against Drevin's back.
But it only lasted for a few seconds. Then the Shrike shot out of the tube and Drevin took the controls in hand, guiding it away from the Bond of Unity and over to join the group of patrol fighters already on station.
They didn't stop - that would waste time, momentum, and fuel. But they did slow down enough that more of the launching fighters could form up. Even so, the SLASH wings would strike in waves.
That was usually just fine.
The SLASH pilots were keyed up and anxious. After months of nothing but dull patrols, most of them were so anxious to shoot at something that they actually hoped the Red Daggers would put up a fight. Drevin was no exception, his hands flexing on the controls, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Vree, for his part, had already picked out their priority targets and was assigning some pejorative nicknames to them.
It was amazing how many curse words and insults the snow leopard knew that were five letters or shorter.
The flight leader issued his ultimatum, and the Red Dagger wings responded by veering over on attack vectors. There was no obvious sound, of course - this was space, and none of them were so uncouth as to abuse the com circuits - but Drevin was fairly sure all the other SLASH pilots, much like himself, let out yells of joy as they pushed the throttle up.
Battle was joined. The Red Daggers were, by and large, good pilots, but they were highly competitive of one another, and very much used to working alone or in small groups. SLASH, on the other hand, drilled endlessly in large wings, squadrons, even fleet battles. The wing leaders kept their pilots close and knew where they, the other wings, and the enemy were at all times. Individual wings slipped easily in and out of formation.
Too, despite the enthusiasm of the SLASH pilots, they did exercise restraint. Normally, the plasma guns that rested on either side of the Shrike's fuselage would punch into their targets with lethal, searing bolts; now they fired lazy balls of cool gas that sparkled as they ploughed into their targets. The auto-cannon built into the wings did not fire, and the few missiles that left their pods exploded with the trademark ball-lightning flare of electromagnetic pulse weapons. Dagger fighters tumbled, lurched, spun out of control, but aside from a little singeing of their paint, the hulls stayed intact.
Even among the disciplined military pilots, Drevin and Vree were close. They had been flying together since they were boys, and kept up that practise all through their SLASH training and into their careers. None of their trainers or commanders had missed the value of that partnership or attempted to split them up, and now that paid off. They worked as a single entity, each with their respective tasks. Vree always knew which way Drevin would turn, and the targets he assigned were always the most relevant. Not necessarily the closest to Drevin's flight path - being too predictable, after all, was suicide. But he knew which enemies would present hazards, which would be easy to take a shot at and move on, and which to leave for other pilots in Rho-Yellow wing.
The Daggers were not so merciful; they fired with deadly force. But the Shrikes were nimble enough to evade most of their hits, tough enough to absorb what few landed, and deadly enough to incapacitate the aggressors before they did much harm. Very rarely, a Shrike or some other, more specialised fighter disintegrated into a cloud of burning debris; but each time, its crew ejected in time.
When the Bond of Unity and its escort warships arrived, the battle was basically over. The heavy tractor beams on the carrier could ensnare even an attack corvette in its own private gravity well, binding the engines so tightly that it had no hope of escaping, and the high-power masers on the cruisers played even more hell with electronics than the fighters' plasma pulses. Sensing defeat, many of the lighter craft tried to run. The lone Dagger cruiser was too big to be readily disabled, but a Raven drop-ship wove its way through the fighting and clamped onto a side hatch. The big ship became much less effective as marines swept through it.
Things were almost wrapped up when Drevin's threat display lit up with a missile warning - two of them, very close. He barely had time to reach for the throttle before the first missile hit, exploding against the shields in a cloud of charged gas. Overloaded, the energy barrier flickered and died, and the second missile slammed right above the engine housing.
Metal sparked, circuits fried, screens flickered and died. The omnipresent hum of the reactor vanished; a strange boom from aft told Drevin that the reactor plasma had just been vented through the engines. It was a safety mechanism, getting rid of the plasma in case the reactor's containment was overwhelmed by the pulse, but it still left them powerless and out of control, tumbling through space.
Drevin and Vree both snapped a choice curse. Life-support systems were simple, they'd have enough air for hours even without a single erg, but the angle of their spin was almost nauseating.
After a few seconds, displays started flicking back on. They were running on fuel cells, but the electrical grid was miraculously intact. Fuel vented over the hull, carrying away the excess charge still lingering, and damage reports started coming in.
Most of their systems were fine - damage in the cockpit was largely cosmetic; a few displays were out, but the computer was still running and able to shuffle information to different displays. The HUD was toast, but that wasn't what made Drevin wince.
The engine housing was reading a fault in the coils. It wouldn't hold if they tried to start it up.
The com crackled back to life, and Drevin heard the tail end of a request for his status. He keyed it on, hoping the transmitter was still working too. "Rho-Yellow Six here, are you reading this, Control?"
"Loud and clear, Rho-Yellow Six," came the reply, and Drevin breathed a sigh of relief. "You've drifted quite a ways out from the action. What's your status?"
"Engine is out," Drevin reported, "and it looks like most of our scanners are gone as well. But I think I can get the reactor back online and life support is fine. Fuel cells are still mostly full."
"Roger that, Rho-Yellow Six. Resistance has been neutralised and we are sending out salvage teams. What is the urgency of your situation?"
Drevin fed power and fuel to the reactor, and breathed another sigh of relief as it wound up, all status lights showing green. Automatically, the manoeuvring jets started firing, getting their spin under control. "Not urgent at all, Control. We can sit tight for a few hours while you deal with enemy ships and ejected pilots."
"Affirmative. This definitely will take a few hours. You fly-boys left us a real mess to clean up - good job."
"Glad to oblige, Control. Rho-Yellow Six out."
The radio kept constantly alive with traffic, pilots landing and the salvage work being co-ordinated, but as none of it was directed to their ship, the computer kept the volume down.
Vree shifted around in his seat. "Thanks a lot, chief," he drawled. "Sentencing us to a nice long wait. How shall I ever repay you?"
"Don't knock it," Drevin replied, reaching over to grab a squeeze-bottle from the life-support terminal. He popped his visor, took a swig of water and swallowed it down. "You could get some sleep - I probably will as soon as the stim wears off. Really, though - " He twisted around to look over the top of his seat. "How often do we get any time alone, these days, just you and me?"
Vree met his gaze, amber eyes softening, a smile spreading under his helmet. "You've got a point," he admitted.
Putting the bottle back where he'd found it, Drevin reached up to unseal his helmet and lift it off. Even the little bit of air movement made by the filters felt good on his whiskers after being crammed in like that. "C'mon up here, you," he said. "I've got room."
"Sounds like a plan," the cat said with a grin, lifting off his own helmet and undoing his restraints. A slight push and he drifted up into the space between Drevin's seat and the canopy, the ferret leaning over to one side and out of the way; then Vree pushed off the canopy and settled right in Drevin's lap.
The ferret wrapped his arms around the snow leopard, pressing his face into Vree's shoulder. This was free fall; that the heavyset Vree had a good three times slender Drevin's mass was irrelevant. They sat there with their arms around each other for several minutes, one of Drevin's feet hooked under a console to keep them from drifting up and hitting their heads.
Drevin slid his hands around, fingers stroking Vree's broad chest through the midnight-blue material of his flight suit, blood singing in his ears. The snow leopard let out a soft growl, arching and taking a firm grip on Drevin's shoulders, pulling himself into the ferret's touch.
Yes, Drevin thought as he slid his hands lower, it had been too long indeed. That was confirmed when his fingers crossed over a hefty bulge in his co-pilot's pants. He shivered, and Vree grunted, shoving that still-swelling bulge into Drevin's fingers. His blue-sheathed tail whipped over to the side and hit a console. Reminded, Drevin reached over with a free hand to lock down the controls. Almost everything went dark, and Vree's body became a hulking silhouette against the stars and the few remaining lights.
But Drevin's fingers knew the way, even without sight to guide them. They danced along Vree's belt, working the catches that broke the seal and made the whole thing loosen. Vree, sensing his aim as well in lust as ever in combat, pulled himself upward and leaned over the back of Drevin's chair, his feet wedged under the ferret's thighs. Even as the cat leaned forward, Drevin tugged his pants down a bit, and the darkness of the snow leopard's musky erection spilled out against his snout.
He danced his tongue over the tip, glided a finger over the ridges and spines just behind the head, and was rewarded with a delicious, growling moan. Drevin didn't linger. He slid his lips around Vree's glans and sucked hard, free hand moving over the feline's still-covered rump. Vree hunched forward even as Drevin pulled, feeding several inches of thick, rigid flesh to the ferret's hungry muzzle. Drevin's tongue pressed upward, tantalised by the rough spines sliding over it, then tickled by them as Vree pulled back.
Each of them knew his lover, knew what he liked and what he could take. Vree snarled, gripping Drevin's seat above and below, and fucked Drevin's muzzle with his entire substantial length. His tip nudged the back of Drevin's throat with almost every thrust, but the ferret was used to it, craved it, and didn't gag once. He kept his tongue moving and his lips sealed tight, both stroking every bit of black flesh they could reach.
Vree stiffened, breath suddenly quickening, and held himself poised with just the head of his cock in the pilot's mouth. Drevin lapped at it, heard the cat's breath grow faster still, and felt the thigh under his fingers tremble with tension; then a rush of thick, pungent seed cascaded over the ferret's tongue. He let it pool up for a few spurts, then drank it down, relishing in the musky aftertaste and the cat's hoarse pants.
With the euphoria and adrenaline of the moment fading, though, he felt a tingling in his fingers, toes, and tail, a curious lassitude and detachment. Vree pulling out of his mouth felt like it was happening to someone else. As the cat tucked himself back in and sealed his flight suit, some part of Drevin - that which wasn't awash in a fog of hormones and fatigue - reflected that the timing could have been worse for the stim to wear off. Pilots in combat would usually take another before the sudden crash was due; Drevin hadn't.
Vree's tongue, barely felt, stroked the rim of his ear. The snow leopard murmured something about always trusting Drevin to suck him off. The ferret was still trying to mumble an objection when sleep carried him off.
What felt like an instant later, he was woken by a sudden lurch. Groggy but otherwise somewhat refreshed, he took stock of his situation. Vree had buckled him back into his restraints and put his helmet back on. There was a slight feeling of pressure, of weight; looking out of the canopy, he saw the caution-striped form of a salvage tow. Vree was talking, thanking the tow driver for remembering to pick them up.
Drevin grinned to himself. He had plans for that cat, once they were back aboard the carrier. One of the curious side effects of the stim was that one's memory of the time it wore off was always amazingly clear. It wasn't that Drevin found it actually insulting to be referred to as an ever-willing mouth to fuck, but he thought it was high time Vree got a little reminder about the real status of their relationship.
Still grinning, he started plotting. Even if they'd had time adrift, it wasn't where he wanted to do it. No, he wanted more room, and he wanted gravity.
Aware that Vree had stopped talking and nobody was replying, he asked, "How long was I out?"
"Oh, you're up? I was thinking you'd make it to an even three hours, but you're just a bit short. Caught a little bit of a nap myself, but that's what the chrono says."
"Feels like longer," Drevin admitted, shifting around a little. "In a good way. What's our ETA back home?"
"About five minutes. The Unity's below us, or you'd see it. Evidently we drifted the same way they're heading."
Drevin reached over, flipped up a panel, pulled a knob out, and twisted it to unlock his controls again. As soon as the sensor display lit up, it confirmed that the Bond of Unity was practically close enough for him to get out and jump to. The tug moved out of sight beneath their Shrike, and the feeling of "down" shifted to what Drevin's eyes told him "up" should be, pulling him into the restraints.
It was a curious feeling, and to many, unsettling. But it was one any veteran pilot was familiar with and had learned to ignore.
Drevin glanced at the readouts. Manoeuvring jets were still good, and all that remained was getting into the docking tube. He switched on his transmitter. "Rho-Yellow Six to salvage crew, I think we can take it from here. Thanks for the lift. Unity, do you have a docking tube free?"
"Roger that, Rho-Yellow Six. Starboard tube seven is waiting for you. Salvage team Omicron, tube eight."
The tractor beam released, and Drevin took the controls in hand once more, tilting the Shrike until it was actually facing the way he wanted it to go and then gunning the manoeuvring jets. Progress was slow, and over long range it would have used fuel at an alarming rate, but right now it was all they needed. Being bounced around by a tug mere meters away from the docking tube was never Drevin's idea of fun.
They approached the mouth of the tube, and then the Unity's tractor beams took over, lining them up perfectly and drawing them inside. Drevin extended the landing skids as the tractor beams set them onto the elevator pad. The tube closed behind them, and after a few seconds that he knew were spent equalising pressure, the pad started to rise, the hatch above them sliding open.
The elevator rose flush with the Unity's massive flight deck, and techs swarmed the Shrike, tools in hand. One pair was kind enough to swing a ladder into place, and Drevin gladly opened the canopy. While Vree was climbing down to the deck, Drevin gave the faithful, battered fighter's console a gentle pat; then he swung over the edge and down himself.
Even as the Shrike got towed over to a repair bay, crews were already loosening armour plates. Drevin didn't envy them their task; EMP damage tended to be buried deep down, and the armour stayed in place over it. They basically had to disassemble the whole fighter to fix it.
That, thankfully, was not Drevin's job. He and his co-pilot made their way to the nearest exit from the flight deck.
Commander Sahl, the wolf in charge of the Unity's fighter squadrons, met them in the corridor. Of a size with Vree, the wolf was currently wearing simple-yet-formal work dress, midnight-blue trousers and a pale blue shirt, rank insignia on his shoulders.
He saluted; the pilots returned it. "Good to have you back, gentlemen. You did great work out there - not one person died today, to the best of our knowledge. We still haven't tallied up the numbers on that cruiser, but it looks like none of them shot each other, and the marines went in with stunners only. Spectacular performance by you all."
Drevin lifted off his helmet. "Just doing our job, Sir," he said.
"All the same, you did it better than anyone could have demanded. All of you, but you two in particular. Now, before I let you go, I'd like a quick word with you, Lieutenant Targe. Unless you're about to keel over?"
Drevin shook his head. "I'm fine, Sir."
"Good. Farkhar, carry on." Vree saluted and stamped off toward the barracks.
Sahl's office was right near the flight deck, and it was into that small but comfortable space that he led Drevin. He offered the ferret a seat, but Drevin demurred. Flight seats were shaped to accommodate his life-support pack, from which he now hung his helmet; those aboard the Unity, with few exceptions, were not.
"Suit yourself," the commander said, sitting behind his desk. "Lieutenant, you and your partner have high marks across the board for situational awareness, co-operative flying, and tactical ability. Have you ever thought about applying for command of a wing?"
Drevin blinked. He'd always thought he was just plain flying. "Sir, with all due respect for your estimate of me, I think Lieutenant Commander Atamnos is much better at that sort of thing than I am." Marco Atamnos was Drevin's own wing commander, and the chinchilla was in large part responsible for Rho Wing's good flight record.
"And he's comfortable in his job, yes. But he's not the only wing commander in my squadron." Sahl leaned back. "Rest assured, Lieutenant, that I have no intent to split you up from your co-pilot, and I'd be among the sorriest to see either or both of you leave the Unity. You'd still be working with same pilots, barring a few reassignments here and there, but I was wondering how you'd react to the notion of moving up to a command. Your simulator scores in that area are good, too."
Drevin thought a little longer. He wouldn't want to replace Atamnos, but to work alongside him... He had to admit that it had some appeal. And he'd still be flying. "If you think it's best, Sir, I'm not going to refuse."
The wolf smiled, reaching into his desk and pulling out a data-pad. "Then I'll just need your okay and iris print on this," he said, passing it up.
Drevin glanced it over. It was a standard SLASH form - a request for promotion. He couldn't help but notice that not only Sahl but also Captain Jameson, the Unity's CO, had already endorsed it.
The ferret took the stylus, scribbled his signature, and held up his eye to the scanner.
"Excellent," Sahl declared, standing up to take the pad back. "You'd best get a bit more shut-eye, Lieutenant - the Captain will be addressing ship's company at third watch. Dress up."
They exchanged salutes. "Yes, Sir."
"Before I let you all go," said the well-decorated fox with captain's bars on his shoulders, "I want to congratulate the pilots and marines on a job well done yesterday, and to the crews and our own gunnery staff for giving them the support they needed. On that positive note, I have a few reassignments to discuss." He gestured, and one of his aides stepped forward with a case and a data-pad. Captain Daniel Jameson glanced at the pad, then looked over the assembly. "Lieutenant Commander Farsey, forward."
Applause rang out as the commander of Psi Wing broke ranks and marched over to stand in front of the Captain. As it died down, the fox went on, "High Command congratulates you on a distinguished tour of duty with us here on the Bond of Unity. Now they have need of your talents as flight commander on Seth IV. I'm sure you'll do us all proud."
Applause surged again as the weasel saluted the captain, accepted his new position insignia and tour stripe, and moved to the spot of the deck normally reserved for departing officers. That left the head of Psi Wing empty, and Drevin felt his stomach turn over. Could Sahl have possibly arranged things so quickly? There were a few lieutenants in command spots, so it wouldn't really matter that Drevin had just applied for promotion, not had it granted yet. Psi was a fast attack wing, though, not a patrol/skirmish wing. That would be quite a leap.
A few more pilots and other officers, but no more wing leaders, were called forward and given new assignments. Too, the officers who had just arrived on the Unity were welcomed aboard and sorted into their new positions.
Then, "Lieutenant Vreeshka Farkhar, forward!"
Drevin heard a deafening cheer, and only realised a few seconds later that it had emerged from his own throat. Vree had had that promotion pending for months now - finally, here it was!
What the Captain said next, though, made the ferret's stomach turn over. "Farkhar, your tactical awareness has been recognised and is in demand. You will be joining Psi Wing."
Drevin's stomach kept churning as Vree took his new place. Either he'd be getting that command spot or he and Vreeshka would be split up after all this time. He wasn't sure which would be more disorienting, but he knew the numbers and knew that Psi was fully staffed.
"Which brings us to, last but not least, Psi Wing's new commander. Lieutenant Commander Drevin Targe, forward!"
The noise of the crowd faded into infinity. Drevin's body marched along on pure reflex. He was staying with Vree. He really was gaining the coveted spot at the head of Psi. But how under a dozen suns had that promotion gone through so fast? He'd just signed it early that morning!
His salute, too, was automatic. He hardly felt the Captain pinning his new rank insignia in place, and almost dropped the packet with his new wing patch as it was pressed into his fingers.
The fox grinned at him, turning off his microphone and leaning in close to say, "We've been working on that for some time, Targe. Thought this would be a good way to get your approval."
Drevin brought up his hand in another salute. "I'll do my best, Sir."
Jameson saluted back. "Then I'm sure you'll do well."
He caught sight of Vree's grin as he marched into his new place. It felt so strange, standing apart from the other pilots; but they smiled at him, supporting him. They'd get along fine. Drevin turned to face the Captain once more.
"I have one more piece of good news for you all," Jameson announced. "Having finished our tour of duty here in Seth, the Bond of Unity is returning as we speak to headquarters for refit and reassignment. While repairs are being made, that means every one of you - newcomers to the Unity, familiar faces, and those soon to depart - has been granted two weeks of leave!"
The applause following that announcement echoed through the whole ship.
Life took some strange turns, Drevin reflected, hanging his flight suit in his new locker. His bunk was still in a barracks with a whole bunch of other pilots, but he had an office now, a tiny space adjacent to that barracks where he could conduct any business that needed to be done in private.
And, looking around at all the pilots stripping down, he wondered if he'd have any need for it at all.
It was a fairly common reaction, really. After months of always needing to wear one uniform or another, it wasn't so surprising that given the chance, these pilots would, once out of their dress uniforms, not put anything else on at all. And by some quirk of fate, the shuffling of personnel had taken every single female out of Psi Wing. For a gay man, this was a dream come true.
Drevin reflected on his earlier life, on the time he first came to realise that his affections would always tend toward other males. His parents had been fine with that; the law was on his side; but some individuals had taken issue with it. They hadn't seen fit to strike at the athletic Drevin, oh no... they'd instead gone after his awkward, bookish boyfriend.
The ferret lifted a small, polished stone in his hand, gazing at the silhouette engraved on its surface. He'd had just enough time to share a last kiss with Flint before the weasel's battered body had just given up breathing. Thankfully, his heart had proven a little stronger. Strong enough for help to arrive.
Flint Farsey had come a long way since that day, but never, even in the hottest fighting, had he been so close to death as then.
Many of the best SLASH veterans had some injustice in their past, and for some reason, sexuality was still a focus of prejudice. So it wasn't all that surprising that the Authority had such a large concentration of bisexuals and homosexuals.
Drevin set the keepsake back in its little box and closed the door of his locker. A glimpse of bare flesh drew his attention, coupled with the heady smell of musk, and he reflected that no, he wouldn't have to worry about that sort of prejudice here.
Vree came up beside him, resting a big hand on his shoulder. "Congratulations, Commander," he said, smiling. "The Captain had me worried for a moment there."
"You and me both, Lieutenant," Drevin said, leaning into the leopard's side and burying a hand in thick chest-fur. "But we're still working together, and that's what matters."
"I'll drink to that," the bigger officer chuckled, looking over the crowd. He and Drevin both found their attention arrested by the sight of a skunk bound spread-eagled to the end of one of the bunks, a black mink on one side and an ermine on the other, both taking turns to lick at their moaning captive's erection. "Rowdy bunch we've found ourselves with, isn't it?"
Drevin grinned. The last part of his little scheme had just fallen into place. "I'm sure they'd love to be part of a little demonstration."
Vree instantly turned to look right at him. "What's that?"
With his free hand, the ferret gave his co-pilot's rump a sharp swat. "You need a reminder of what I can do with you, my spotty smart-ass."
The snow leopard looked around and licked his lips, tail waving and brushing against Drevin's leg. "You know, Drevin, it's been a really long time since we had more eyes on us than just from the next bunk over."
"About as long as it's been since I stuffed your tail, eh?" Drevin grinned; so did Vree. "Then let's get out there." He smacked Vree's rear again to scoot him out onto the open floor, digging in his locker again.
A few eyes were already on them, curious, but Drevin decided to make things a little plainer. He took a breath and pitched his voice to carry across the noise. "If I could unofficially have your attention, please?" It worked better than he'd thought; everyone turned to look, even the trio already putting on a show, though the mink was still stroking the skunk's shaft.
And Drevin wouldn't dream of stopping them. On with his own agenda. "I think most of you know Vreeshka, here, and me. Well, this big guy seems to have got it in his head that the only thing I know how to do with him is suck his cock, just because I had pity on him after the fight and let him get a shot off when I'd just got a few hundred!"
It was a weak joke, and got a weak chuckle back; but it got their attention. There were some appreciative whistles and cheers; from somewhere, Drevin caught a murmur of "Now he's done it!"
Satisfied, Drevin slid in behind the much larger feline, wrapping both arms around his waist. One of his hands still clutched the clear squeeze-bottle he'd picked up from his locker; the other made its way downward, dipping into the thick fur over Vree's groin, caressing the soft fuzz of his sheath, wrapping around it and squeezing. Vree groaned and leaned back a little, jutting his hips out as he stiffened under Drevin's stroking fingers, black flesh rising free of pale fur.
A wiry cheetah sauntered over, grinning past Vree's shoulder at Drevin. "Is this a two-person act, boss? Or is a little audience participation okay?"
Drevin, following his gaze to Vree's stiffening length, grinned back. "Help yourself, Drek. Vree, why don't you bend down and make things a little easier here?" He stepped back a little.
Vree shifted around a little, stretching out in that indulgent manner that only cats seemed to know as he got down onto his hands and knees. Drek Chakar slid into place under him, facing the other way, spotted arms reaching up and around his waist. A shiver passing through the larger cat's body told Drevin that the cheetah's muzzle had found its target.
He stepped back a touch more, starting to reach down, only to find that someone else's fingers beat him to it, closing around his flaccid length. "I'll get you ready, chief," said a broad-shouldered but lightly-built panther that Drevin, after a moment, recalled as being named Marik Fiaren. "Maybe you can spare a bit of room for me like he's doing for you, then?"
The very thought made Drevin shiver; combined with strong, stroking fingers on his swelling cock, it drew out a moan. "Yeah," he breathed, "that sounds good. Welcoming bunch, aren't you?"
"Pair of hot guys like you, of course we are," Marik said, sliding his free arm around Drevin's shoulders. He leaned in for a kiss, his breath hot on Drevin's muzzle, rough tongue just as insistent as his stroking fingers.
It took a very short time indeed for Marik's attention to get Drevin all the way hard. By then, Drek and Vree were engaged in a very intent sixty-nine, the snow leopard's head, hips, and tail getting into the motion in a very alluring manner. Marik gave Drevin's shaft a squeeze with both hands - there was plenty of room for a third, if one had been handy - and then, grinning, took the bottle of lube from him. He plainly had done this sort of thing before, and put an even coating of the stuff all over Drevin's length before taking his hands away.
For a moment, Drevin stood poised and ready for action, while Marik rubbed his slick finger under Vree's tail. The snow leopard arched a little, inadvertently feeding a little more of his hefty length to Drek, and the pair of them both moaned, in the cheetah's case rather muffled. Drevin just watched, licking his lips, as Marik slid one finger into the pale leopard, out and in a few times, then added a second and, after a glance at Drevin's groin, a third.
Looking around, Drevin could see quite a fine collection of male flesh. Vree was big, Marik was nicely hung, and from what he could see, Drek had a nicely slender rod of his own; but in terms of raw size between the legs, Drevin had them all beat.
Ah, well. Variety was good, and he ached just thinking about Marik's thinner, slightly longer shaft inside him, with the typical feline array of spines just behind the head. In the past, such equipment had been painful; not anymore.
For now, he took his place, setting his glans under Vree's tail. The snow leopard tensed and let go of Drek's cock again, nuzzling and licking along it while he thrust into the cheetah's muzzle. "Oh, fuck," he hissed, shivering as Drevin started to push in. "Who the hell gave such small critters as ferrets such fucking big cocks?"
"That better not be a complaint I hear," Drevin retorted, drawing his hand back and giving a hard smack to Vree's ass.
"Fuck," Vree moaned, drawing the expletive out for a good long time. "It's not. Oh, man, that's good!"
A muscular wolf moved in, hurriedly slathering lube on Drek's organ and shuffling over it. "Here," Sherras said, presenting his raging red erection to Vree. "I could use a little of your enthusiasm, spotty." He seemed about to say more, but instead arched back, moaning, as he shoved himself down on the cheetah's spike.
Vree accepted the offering, wrapping his hand around the wolf's knot and attacking the rest with his bristly tongue. Drevin pushed forward just a little bit more, letting out a groan as he felt the leopard's rump against his hips, his body so tight and hot around the ferret's aching shaft.
Drevin worked his length about halfway out and back in a few times, then felt a looming presence behind him, his tail brushing against sleek fur laid over hard muscle. He shifted his legs apart, gaining a little more leverage but more importantly giving room for the panther to move in. And so he did, slick fingers stroking under the ferret's tail, sending a shiver through the ferret's slim body.
Glancing over, he sized up Marik's length again. Vree's skin was truly pitch black; Marik's, like most of his fur, was a very dark brown that was close to it, but subtly different. Thinner than Vree's, yes, but that wasn't saying much; Vree didn't have so much length but was broader even than Drevin himself. But Marik's penis was deliciously long, and promised to reach places inside Drevin that the ferret hadn't felt touched in years.
He leaned forward, one arm across Vree's back and the other hand on the snow leopard's ass, squeezing, tense with anticipation as Marik advanced. Penetration took only an instant, but the wonderful ache of being stretched open lingered for long seconds afterward, and redoubled as the panther slid into him.
Going in, the bumps and ridges behind Marik's glans just delicately teased at Drevin's flesh. On the way out, he knew, that would become much more intense.
He craved it.
He reached back to put a hand on Marik's hip, stopping him, when the panther was a bit over half way in; then he himself pushed back, groaning, drawing out of Vree's warm body and pressing onto the hot cock inside him. He pushed back until there was no farther to go, and almost wept at the intense feeling of being so deeply entered.
That was nothing to the way it tickled as he lifted off, pressed forward. The raw feeling in his throat and the echo in his ears told him that he had genuinely screamed, and he sagged against Vree, panting hard.
It wasn't enough. He drove back, then forward. He was ready for it now; the sensation was blinding, but he didn't falter again. He just kept driving himself back and forth between the two males, gradually becoming a little more aware of his surroundings. Vree's shoulders were tight with a tension that told the ferret that he was close to climax. Drek's slurping abruptly became punctuated by a series of urgent grunts, the cheetah bucking his hips frantically and suddenly arching off the floor.
Sherras let out a low groan, fingers toying with Vree's ears. "Ah, that felt good, speedy," he rumbled. "Mm. I think you sure needed that."
Vree was next, his massive form shuddering, Drek forcing out delighted mumbles as he sucked and swallowed the snow leopard's load. The spasming around Drevin's cock was just too much - he cried out and shoved his hips forward, eyes squeezed shut, trembling as he shot deep into his co-pilot's body. Up front, Sherras howled, shoving Vree's head onto his cock and thrusting his knot into the leopard's clenched fist. Marik managed a few more wonderfully-intense thrusts before he grunted and shoved his body against Drevin's, warm semen shooting deep into the ferret's body.
The group held together for a few more moments, gasping for breath, before Marik pulled out and staggered over to sit on his bunk. Drevin, too, took a step back, shaky from the intensity of his climax but still standing. Vree released Sherras, who lifted off of Drek with a low groan, and finally the last pair separated, Vree sitting down a few steps away while Drek just sprawled.
The cheetah had the right idea. Drevin sank down beside him, face up, chest heaving.
"All right," he said, catching the eye of Jacob Maclean, a fox he'd encountered in the past. "Now I can suck someone's cock."
As the fox moved over and a new tangle of people started to gather, Drevin reflected that life was strange, but it sure as hell was good.