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My Gym Partner's Bro, Cum-Laude (Part One)

by Eightane

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There'd been better days for Adam than this one.

A mirror showed him how it all came together: his black wool jacket, white silk on the shirt underneath, dark slacks with a pleat so sharp they could split a hair. His freckled cheeks, bent into the most bored of frowns. He took a moment, and those tiny boy-hands, to fumble with his collar; it never looked straight, but did well to make his arms fall limp by his sides, exasperated. "I look like a waiter."

The intended party heard: Jake Spidermonkey, two feet behind and to his left, using what small bit of the reflection Adam's stout build didn't block. His garb was simpler, just a corduroy pullover, in the un-lovely hue of salmon. He seethed at his own appearance; the mounds where fabric bunched up, the cotton dust and hair clumped into wee, oblong balls. "I dunno, is that worse than looking like your own dumpy uncle?" He reached down to his stomach and scratched; one swipe became a hundred, all over himself, like a cat who'd been squeezed into a holiday sweater.

Adam's eyes shut so tight they all-but crunched. "... Yes." He sighed; the only thing to help, was knowing it was just for one night. His stubby fingers shoved into his pocket; they came out with a long, red strip of fabric. "You ever messed with a bow tie?"

Jake looked to the sky in thought; or to the ceiling of Adam's bedroom, where their parents had seen fit to drop them. "Once, in a store. They make a great rope to climb out a window, if mom takes too long and ya got enough to hitch."

Another, louder human sigh. "Fine, just get over here. The quicker we get this over with..."

Jake didn't wait for him to finish. "... What, you wanna get to the school?" He winced, half-between a jolt and disgusted, but stepped up to his buddy's side. The tie was wrapped through its proper place, at Adam's... Apple.

"Don't even think that, Jake. It's just that if we gotta be there, we can sit in a chair and blank out 'til we drool. Better than being late, getting all our folks mad at us, 'cuz we took too long in front of this thing." He had pointed to the glass. Jake's primate digits pulled the last two motions through; it was tied, and yanked hard around his friend's throat. He didn't seem to notice the 'grrk ', or Adam's skin pulled tight on the windpipe.

"Pal, I hate to say it, but I'm not gonna care what your folks or mine would do. They're not even takin' us, remember?"

Adam wheezed through the clamp on his trachea. "Y'hhh, dey got ush a tackshi... Izh it h'rre yut?"

Jake looked down, through the floor, the direction of the driveway. "Pretty sure. I heard some honking, and a few words mom always swats me for." He stepped back, and admired his work; the red of the symettrical tie looked nice, against the blue of Adam's face. "Can't even think how Will or Jerr feel. Their little bro's care more for their big night than the pairs who raised 'em. 'Cept for Will's dad." He rolled his eyes like a true grade-B actor. "Never missed a thing, from the football games to the PTA meetings. And the school board meetings. And the police station meetings."

Adam's trembling hands shot up to the bow tie, and pulled on the midknot. It let out; his cheeks turned back to rosy. "I heard mom say they're headed to a restaurant, all five of 'em. Something about 'needing a break from all the happiness'." He flashed the mirror a family-portait smile; it looked fine enough to boost him with ego. "She said it the same as when they dropped me off at grandma's last year. When the chalk art I wrote on the car was 'Too good, they had to spend a day saving it in photos'." He breezed past Jake, who kept a perfect rhythm scratching. "I wonder where they put those prints. I never saw 'em."

"Maybe it's a private-night thing." Jake's skin was red to match the fur growing out of it. "Y'know, with the kids away, the geezers play."

"That's for one mom and one pop. Not mine, yours AND Will and Windsor's mom." His hand wrapped the doorknob, and opened them to the stairwell.

He took heavy steps down its tan carpet; Jake slid by him on the handrail. "S'not what I meant. It's like when you're a parent, and your kid's away at camp. How they clown around when we're not there to see 'em."

Adam watched him to the banister's endpost; snickering for how hard his butt chucked the sculpture atop it, and then for how he flailed the whole way through his graceful fall, landing on his nose. "Y-*snort*-yeah. Who knows what happens when they don't gotta think of us." His eyes widened with the detail he remembered; he pushed a hand in his other pocket. This time the sigh was for relief, confirming he still had the cash for cab fare.

His polished boots passed the bottom stair; he reached down an arm, to have Jake grab and help himself up. The fur, the skin and now his nose, all matched in lively red. Adam cracked a smile, and not just for how great a start they were already off to. "You wanna bet how Windsor looks when we get there?"

The monkey brushed himself off; hairy knuckles caught half his sweater's dustdots. He was made to ponder their other good pal, already at the event, volunteering. "Heck yeah, that's an easy one. Half a box o' matchsticks, he'll look ready for this..." He mimed a gun, self-held to the young gorilla's head; his thumb pulled back with lips gusting "pooom".

High-pitched human giggling; they approached the tall front door. "And the whole box, he'll still look happier than us."

Jake waved a pshaw; they stepped out into the cool night. "I'd bet against myself for that." They got halfway down the sidewalk; Jake stopped short.

"... Or wait, I could just change the bet... Or if I was right about both, then I could still-"

Adam's hand grabbed his forearm and yanked. More boot-clomps on the concrete below, with Jake staggering behind, gasp-'n'-scratch.

A big, burly arm tapped the metal outside the taxi's window. Its driver watched two boys fight each other on the way, and fought instinct not to peel out and scram.

******************************************************************************************************************

Grownup after grownup, filing through the heavy steel door, past the young gorilla. Windsor ignored the ache in his elbow, for the soreness in his throat; then ignored his throat for his ankles. Every parent was handed a brochure; every one of them thanked and greeted. Every goddamn second his gorilla feet held him up on the threshold, from schoolyard to hallway.

And his tux was half a size too large.

"Many thanks, enjoy the proceedings... Good eve, Mrs. Armadillo, your gown is divine... Glad you could make it, Mister Bullshark, curb your son- I mean congratulate your daughter for me..."

He shook hands, then shook his own arm to push away the spare fabric. Ingrid's father beamed on-sight of him; just chortling, to view an ape who matched a cummerbund with a beanie cap. The large cloven hand rubbed Windsor's scalp; the fact it was in passing, was the only thing to keep a seething jawline from exploding into rage. Still, he shuddered, knowing all too well from his intellect: to be an elementary student, serving as usher for a high school graduation, was Hades... But once he hit college, so many years after his brother, sitting in a room with adults like these could be full-fledged Hell.

The mental picture might almost have him treasure home life, around Will.

Almost.

Slips' mom dropped a peanut on his shoe; it bounced down the tongue and wedged in his instep. He thought for a flash, to maybe tell her no food or drink in the auditorium.

And then it dawned on him; he was doing this alone. Turn it to some kind of fun.

"Avast thou fated progenitors of graduates, witness what comes to pass when your rambunctious spawn is forced in with hundreds more, on the day of school they know to be their last. Prepare for shock and awe. Vomit bags are available in the lobby. Please keep all hopeless weeping to its quietest."

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The auditorium could be described as reverent. Lights were dimming, to cast a gentle glow on the rows of wooden seats. Most attendees had found the chair of their choosing; half of them turned to a neighbour, relating their experience, stories of their kids who would walk that stage tonight as adults. Every few rows, a smartphone's light could still be seen, as some showed off photos; the more proud parents, who would flaunt their joy all the way until the stage was occupied. In fact, only one parent truly sat alone; a stout, bearded gorilla, sitting tall with fingers locked in his lap. Not a fleck of dust messed the blue of his double-breasted coat; the smile he wore was positively regal. The age, and silver hairs sticking out from the rear of his collar, suggested what they all already knew: the star quarterback would have some kin in the crowd.

And he sat in patience. He, like most others, wondered why there was no one coming out; either from backstage, where the students sat in wait to be called, or from the heavy door to the left, where their fine principal was scheduled to step forth, and get their night of gladness going.

And so the fine principal did stand behind the door; in a foyer, mostly steady on his wolverine feet, in the presence of two friends. The five-foot mandrill, and the five-inch frog, looked on; while he stared to the floor, pulled a rather clunky cell phone from his pocket, and unscrewed its dummy antenna. They were close enough to smell his breath... So they could've guessed at the liquid inside it, while he raised it to his mouth and poured heartily.

Between the trio, Poncharello Pixiefrog was most grim. "If I phoned the school board with what I'm seeing now, you'd be in a bread line."

Wolverine's eyes looked glazingly through him... Their burgundy suits near-matched, as did their jobs; Pixiefrog presiding over Charles Darwin Middle school, Wolverine presiding over this, his personal hell. He cracked a thin smile, and 'felt' the gulp of booze hit his system. "So you can tell I trust you." He did well to almost hide the slur of his words.

Maurice, mandrill with tie-dyed shirt and the silkiest of ponytails, sided with Ponch. "We're here for support, Fenton. And friends don't let friends walk out there in the state you're showing us."

Wolverine glared, judging harsher with a gesture than the mandrill teacher ever could. "I'm not gonna cave, and let that zoo out into the world, without a little confidence." He took another swig; Maurice saw his chance, and swiped the phoneflask from his hand. Slowed reflexes meant an easy success; Fenton bared his fangs, but went on as if defeated fairly. "Ferr God's sake, I'm handing sheepskins to William and Jared. With that pinhole of opportunity, I should just wrap my hands on their smug, filthy necks, while I have the audience. All that's keeping me..." He looked to the flask, now being juggled by Maurice one-handedly, a scowl sent back to him. "... God bless Seagram's for the liquid clarity."

Ponch heaved a deeper breath than tiny frog lungs would ever speak of. "Could you not've just-"

Fenton, in his haze, wasn't done. "Y'know, 'cuz gin is clear. I dunno if you got that."

The frog was not impressed. "You're destroyed. But could you not've held them back? I'm sure you'd have excuses you could slam down. You forget, they used to be mine... I know the migraine, every day they darkened my doors."

Wolverine, despite himself, brought up a moment of truth. "So you forget the grades they brought home? You don't fail straight A's. Fuck if I know how they made them, but we're talking smart, studious demons, no cause to leave without the paper they earned." He winked to himself; the slur was even pushed through that.

Pixiefrog wished to kick himself. His legs bent far enough to slug his upper spine; he spent the next five seconds rubbing a fresh welt. "Come to think of it, when I graduated them to you, I still had that prescription for pain pills..."

Maurice recalled the fact. "Right, your surgery. The one fro-" He'd remembered the accident, and stopped himself, hoping Wolverine wouldn't.

He was wrong. The pile of tan fur teetered sloppily, pointed accusingly. "Jerr, age 13. Already got a hold of suction cups, so he could climb the outside wall and peek in the vent for the guys' locker room. And then his smart ass miscalculated."

Ponch's face went from cringe, to disdain, and then stifled a chuckle. "It was rich to see him wave through the window, with that innocent-guilty smile. I still don't know what made me think lunging at him was a good idea..." He cringed a second time. "... Plate-glass is bad for the skin."

"And lest we forget," Fenton coughed sourly, "My brother's career. And the wake we held for it."

Ponch raised a finger. "I believe that's self-inflicted. Sorry for the bluntness, but..." His glance was collected, poured through the top of his glasses. "... Well, ineptitude. Military men are sworn to own up." "Prosecuted, sure. But guilty..." Another swig for the night's MC, pausing after to exhaust a fume of alcohol. "Hell, his fault or not. Why split hairs, the head's already shaved."

Maurice, ignoring the bad example, walked past them. There was a square window, in the door between they and the auditorium; a large crowd was reassurance. "Hey, at least you won't be out there alone. If things get harsh, I'm sure their folks will lend a helping h-..." The second time he'd have to eat his words.

And both his padrès knew. Fenton spoke what they'd guessed. "They're not out there. It was the first thing I checked."

Pixiefrog's brow raised. "Even Will's father?"

"Please. He doesn't count." Wolverine strolled up behind Maurice; with his face to the window, it was child's play to sneak up, snatch the flask back, and empty its contents before mandrill bat an eyelash. "I coulda told you they wouldn't show their faces..." Maurice sneered at his trick, but stayed cool; he could see the wistfulness creep over Fenton's eyes. "Why expect them to do anything but dodge us, they see more than we ever would. They'd block it out, pretend it never happens." He held the flask straight over his maw; it gave the last few drops, and hoping for more, he took the brunt of his own soused rage. It was tossed with ire against the wall; it had the weight to bounce back and clock him in the shin. The hit would've hurt, if not for what it just finished giving him... He carried on, one last remark. "It's like when you're a parent, and your kid joins a cult."

Pixiefrog quit seeing him as a drunk, and now saw him as a drunk lunatic. "I don't think that's how most would cope, Fenton."

Wolverine sent a laugh through both corners of his jowls. "You should watch more basic cable." Maurice lifted a finger, poised to ask what the fuck that meant; he didn't get the chance. "Anyways, the lights are down, it's go time. If you see a red crosshair on any student's forehead, don't panic. It's for their own good."

Ponch was past the ability to tell what was a joke. "You're sure this won't end in disaster. I can't hold you back, no matter how much I want to."

Wolverine straightened his posture, and his tie. Somehow they both came out looking worse. "Yeah..." He focused on the half-a-foot of amphibian, many heads below him. "... I know." His legs carried him to the door; they did their best rendition of a train wreck. "Don't worry, boys, I'm just a bag of hot air. They've ruined teachers, pants'ed me in front of a state inspector, and left certain stains in every room of this school. I just hope when I push 'em out the door, they land on those parts they hold so dear."

He didn't end with a joke, so much as genuine hope...

**********************************************************************************************************************

.... But you don't cross a six-foot-two gorilla, tough as the sport he plays, nor any friend of his. Disregarding how they looked in the gown of tradition.

It was a sight worth ten oil paintings. A hundred animals in their late-teens, every size and species, clothed with cap and dress, split into their respective peer groups. The popular girls stood furthest by themselves, giggly and comparing their latest makeup purchases. A mob of nerds stood awkardly close, drawing off the 'ooh' factor of one student's PSP, playing bootlegged hentai. Plentiful clichès - the ones of high school reality - were out in full force. But the largest groups, the most boisterous, centered on the pair of Diane Fossey High's infamy.

Will's entire team stood tall, buff, smug the same as him, hinging on his every word. His arms lay akimbo; this only brought out the sheer muscle thickly wrapping them. "So Roethlisberger rears that arm back and sets off a Hail Mary. The whole time I'm yelling 'Catch that ignorant shit, you can't let it connect, it's murder.' And like I willed it to manifest, two seconds to play, Goddamn Steelers are down by five, possessing. They're so sure they caught Pagano off-guard. They don't bank on Tevaseu."

A thick-framed Komodo dragon, his best defensive lineman, sniggered. "I saw that shit live. He slipped right through the pocket, it was beauty."

Will dapped him. "Like me through a tunnel." The face of ego became a face of sly. "You crooks know." And it was fact they all did, intimately. No team in school history would come close to having their synergy... From what happened on the field, to what went down in the showers. Even in Will's gut, the happiness of graduating stirred in with slight regret, knowing what they'd leave behind.

Ten feet away, Jerr had no such sentiment; neither happy nor wishing, but too busy hunched down with three other students; the only rebels who could start as much trouble as him, stooped together in the shape of an X, all eight eyes on a spinning coin. The monkey, with square cap cocked sideways, narrated. "A'ight, bets are in, watch the fucker spin. Heads it's me and Blake, tails it's you two pussies." He mugged to the pair opposing him: squirrel with a frosted green flopover, and gecko with an eyebrow ring and tongue stud; Blake, the bucktoothed doberman crouched by his left side, wore a smirk.

Will went on, jostling with the team, bullshitting like the best of them. "Hand-to-God, Indie's on a pilgrimage. If they miss the playoffs next year, you'd better watch the moon and hope it's not blood-crimson." Around half of them understood, the rest didn't care; it sufficed to watch him play off his own spunk, and even dart those green eyes down to waist-level on a few of them. They thought on similar tracks, as any jock is apt to do... But in the case of these, similarity dealt with a common crave; the urge to know who, by the end of the day, would be groped, taken down and have the closest goodbye they all wanted.

... Barely different with Jerr's crew, as they recalled the feel of his mouth, on where it counted. All three could've spent hours on the memory, and how even now he ran his tongue on both lips; leading into the coin's loss of momentum, as it toppled down, ringing on smooth tile. The result was heads. "FUCK yeah, three-for-three." The pump of Jerr's fist whizzed by their heads; two of them took it more annoyingly. "Fair's nothin'-but, clowns. Cough it up."

The gecko seethed, lisping through the steel on his tongue; squirrel let off a string of mumbled cuss words. They piled the winnings forward; two lighters, a mint, a brass button, and a shrink-wrapped condom, ribbed for pleasure. Blake chuckled; his buck teeth meant it lisped a spray of slobber. Jerr wouldn't be disgusted, raking all to a spot between he and the dogdude; he'd lost much more spit on every one of them, just counting this school year. But seeing one of the items, he came upon a frown. "Dude... The fuck's this?"

He snatched the condom in finger-and-thumb; it was held high, then jiggled like some odious toy. The gecko lowered eyes, well-aware what came from his own pocket. "Like you of all jerks wouldn't know."

"I DO know. And I'm askin' why the fuck you think I'd want it." He crushed it in his hand; it dropped to the floor shaped like macaroni. Those spidermonkey knuckles, tough and hairy, pointed up to his jaw. "This don't compromise. You wanna undo that fly and I'll show you jus' why?" He couldn't act the part he tried for; it was meant to be stern, but nothing could forego his true countenance, a hardy crave on that wide, deep maw.

It had the gecko's attention, and the other two's. In a better time, and place, it wouldn't have to be a tease. And beyond that... If he hadn't felt those beady eyes, from above and close to the curtain. The glee melted off him; he sighed, and looked to the man at fault.

A kangaroo, joyless and judging. The county's star of cross-country and hurdles, an athlete in full. Legs like a demigod, confidence and style to rival his, strength and endurance to be the spirit of definitive trophy-lays.

And the single male their age, Jerr never touched.

Jerr chose to be the bigger man; looking down to the pile, divvying out what Blake would want that he didn't. "Careful, man. You keep starin' like that, your eyes are gonna stay that way."

It made little sense to the 'roo, or in general. "What, sharp?"

Jerr forced a smile. "Dumb as hell. Like the shitstain they're hooked into."

Will still pow-wow'ed with his team; but wasn't so aloof he'd not notice the 'roo and his best bud locking eyes. He felt the tension, and so moved himself to his group's outer rim, keen and observing. Impatience grew within him, the same factors that put Jerr off: a bulky, trifling uniform, the night's hurry-up-and-wait mentality, and now prospective conflict, with the same stiff they'd fought to brush off for months. The 'roo took a step, crunching down the distance from he to Jerr; however they'd regard each other in the past, he wasn't looking to defuse it.

He loomed over the four, Jerr and friends; the monkey's first act was to stand, and take his own step forward. "Jus' what can I do for you?"

The 'roo looked off, staring past the high white walls; then spoke his piece, in smooth and ominous tone, idly inspecting his fingernails. "Nothing. Just joining the energy here. No reason we can't bury the hatchet."

Nothing Jerr had ever heard sounded less convincing. "Not when it's clear through the other side o' the tree. I'mma give you a tip, free of charge..." He gestured up with his head; indicating for company to listen. "Show some breathin' room. It don't make a fuck what'chu think o' yourself, you can't stand up to four." Dog, squirrel and gecko caught the idea; two of them hiked up their sleeves, as Jerr elaborated. "Mind the slim 'n' spindly. We're the goddamn brawlers."

Blake - the single one who hadn't mimed his support - stood up to cool the fuss. "Guys, please. I'm a lover AND a fighter. It's called rough sex." His laugh cruised right on by, alone.

Jerr took another step; the 'roo stayed put, backing down no more than the primates. Will held up a hand to his team; they saw towards where he focused, and stood back to respect his business. He slipped in closer, still unnoticed; 'roo and spidermonkey gazed to no one but each other. Jerr broke a shaky silence. "I don't get you, man. You're not even a bastard, or a bully, you just make it hard for everybody."

The 'roo was perfectly detached; or at least made it appear so, cool and quiet to the point of camp-drama. "Everyone? Or you?"

Jerr's chin sailed up and back. "Good point. You're always on my ass... And hell if you don't make it a bad thing."

It honestly amused the kangadude. "One-track mind strikes again. So weird, it never ran to me..." He looked himself over, the narcissism only half-pretend.

The next words out of Jerr were a long time coming. "Wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole. Or if you HAD a ten-foot pole."

Every syllable grew firmer; Will saw the time to step out, and sidle his bud. The 'roo had three inches of height on Jerr; Will had four inches on him. Chat died fast among the other students; it left only whispers, and the fear things were headed somewhere ugly.

************************************************************************************************************************

Adam's boots met the floor at the top of the auditorium... Even on tiptoe, they gave a modest *clack*. "Jake, is it just me, or..." He'd walked just far enough into the room for his pal to squeeze past him; still swollen with hives, Jake resembled an orange version of the punching-bag toy that rights itself. "... Did Windsor seem kinda nutso?"

The spidermonkey scoffed; he had yet to quit scratching. "Naw. All he did was kid around, about hellions and fate and the tears of parents. Y'saw him smiling, didn't you?"

The human boy tread slowly down an aisle; a wide berth separated each step, so his tiptoe-gait was made more awkward. "Yeah, 'cause crazy folks never smile..." He heaped the sarcasm; but looked over the crowd, and spotted a consistency. His expression soured. "... Okay, what do you see here."

"Cripes, Adam, am I the snail answer man all the sudden?"

The scowl went unchanged. "Shell."

"No, but dang does it feel like it." Jake's hands whirled around his whole torso, vainly chasing the itch. By now, Adam tuned the noise out. "Jake, all the parents have street clothes. Jerr and the others'll be in those gowns." His face flushed red. "I'm the only one dressed like Lawrence Welk!"

"Who?" Jake scratched hard enough to topple himself; he rolled down a few steps, with a few 'ow's.

Adam's palm clobbered his face. "Never mind, my grandma's got these old tapes. Let's just find a seat and be invisible."

Jake sprung to his feet; they made a short search, past row after row of animal adults. Both boys couldn't help but notice, hardly anyone looked pleasant; fifteen minutes past when it was set to begin, and the stage sat dim and empty. Without sound, Adam pointed to a line of four empty chairs; they shuffled in and took up the middle pair. Timing was incredible; no sooner did Adam sweep the coattails from beneath him, and Jake slide his tail into the gap between seat and seatback, than the side door opened.

Some parents made a clap or two; the urge to applaud, for Wolverine at last making the scene. Those who didn't stop for realizing its lack of fit, would cease the moment they saw him walk. The mere ten steps from that door to the stage were a flurry of motion; so irregular, it evoked tap dancing. He had three wood stairs to ascend, before the podium; he stumbled, and half the audience caught a 'guh'. It was shaken off, and he recovered composure; dignity, however, wasn't coming back.

The podium was brushed oak; it held sheets of paper, a set of magnifying specs, and a mike on a bendy-brace. He moved the last, put on the middle, and scanned through an intro on the first. "Ladies and gentle-gun, proud parents and reachers of-..." His brow and lips wrinkled; the next sentence was mumbled. "Goddamn Courier font..."

Adam was there for Jake's sake, not from interest; he couldn't keep eyes off the multitude around him. More parents than he'd ever seen in his life, and just the way they judged the night's poor start, seemed directed at him. The clothes didn't help. "Jake... Let's get outta here..."

"Are you nuts?" Jake whispered above his scratches. "We just sat down, and now you're chickencrap."

"Well I'm not comfortable here..." Jake stared holes through him, in agony; he caught himself. "... Sorry. Can I just head up? I'll keep Windsor company, I'm sure he's miserable out there with no one else coming in..."

As if on cue, the hallway entry door clicked shut; human and monkey both turned to see. Windsor stood atop the aisles, hands behind his back, calm, dutiful and blank. Jake faced his friend. "See, it's fine. Now if you don't mind-"

He was cut off; the gentleman below them turned as they had, and shot them a polite, stern request. "Boys, the show is starting. If you could please..." The elder silverback paused; his eyes had fixed to Adam's uniform, then slowly back to Jake's head. "... Keep it low. Will's worked hard for tonight."

Jake nodded; burning up inside to be called down for what he was calling down. "Yessir, mister Gorilla..."

"Thank you. Hey, I see Windsor up there, he might come down if he sees you." He swung back to watching the stage; his hands never unclasped. "Relax and enjoy the show."

Adam missed the undertone in the patriarch's last phrase; he was too busy knowing he'd been seen, and praying for a heart attack.

Jake held back the scratching; his eyes dripped rain on the corduroy.

The principal went on in rare form. "Today, we honour a bunch o' kids who've pulled themselves up by their own bootstraps... Holy Christ, who wears boots with straps anymore... And they're walkin' outta here with proof of adulthood. I apologize for what's missing... We would've liked for the sound mixer to be present today, but he's out with a doctor's note. Something he apparently picked up from certain contact while here-"

A booming cough resounded from the audience; Will's dad, making sure it came clear and loud.

Wolverine stood - or leaned - unready to ignore it, and took the hint. "... Moving on, I'd like to start tonight appreciationly-... Appreciatively-... Thanking those who need thanking. I have a list of the parents in attendance, if you can stand when your names are called, and we'll have a round of applause."

He chose not to address the several 'boo's in the crowd. He knew what they didn't; anything, no matter how insipid, was preferable to bringing out the class, to have that pair be treated like they're worthy.

************************************************

That pair, in the meantime, shouldered up to each other. The 'roo wouldn't give an inch, and they faced him head-on.

Jerr's finger floated high, firm, pointed to their aggressor at abs-height. "You ain't me, you ain't him, you don't stand a chance of knowin'. So get'chur ass straight." His head matched the height of Will's pit, just inches from his nose; he wrestled with the urge, but his fury outpushed it.

The 'roo stood loose. No tension lay within him from neck-to-calves; the very span where his tight, lean brawn would show its fullest, if the gown had been absent. Every student around - all those who stared, curious or fearing or exasperated - saw no weakness in the three. And as they listened, the issue at hand began to show itself. "I am..." The 'roo grinned, in the manner of taunting them. "If I was a bastard, I could turn that right back on you."

Will's lower lip stiffened; a spark hit those green eyes; his arms instinctually tightened. "That's cheeky for a small-time pest." He lifted his head, to peer through the base of his eyes. "You've a sharp face... It might respond to rearranging."

The 'roo hid well a sudden fright... No part of him budged, and in the impulse, a genuine call-to-reason floated. "I dunno what you guys think I'm doin' here, but I'm not about to ruin the night for some pissing contest..." He looked to Jerr in particular. "It wouldn't have that feel if you didn't step to me. Don't bite the bulldog and he won't bite back."

He'd chosen words well; Jerr visibly cooled, to some degree, and seeing that made Will retract as well. But the monkey knew something went unsolved. "Fine, you ain't after a beatdown. Then what's got'chou in my face, blowin' smoke?"

Rolling eyes, on the track star. "You can't tell the diff between trolling for a fight, and just showin' you're not worth the time..." He could've named what really bothered him; but already, he'd tired of the conflict in itself. His hands went flat and open, gesturing appeal. "Fuck's sake, can we call peace for a day? I mean we're goin' separate ways. After this we'll be lucky to pass each other at a stoplight." The apeboys may've been defused, but Jerr tapped his own ear, bringing up what he disdained about the runner. "Got selective ears, man. They don't hear snitches."

"God..." The word came in pure frustration; at last, they'd met on what clawed at them, from both sides. "You would see it like that."

Will took a step forth; he and the 'roo were parted by a foot. "Either speak the piece, or this forearm hugs your neck. You can't walk onstage choked out."

The 'roos brow furrowed; he'd be telling it after all. From the start, each phrase was laced with conviction. "You forget there's real, serious students here. Guys 'n' chicks who want a good start, a safe base to work their minds. So they can leave and be READY for what comes after."

Jerr stepped up, once again next to Will. Footsteps echoed around, as half the student body closed in, and Jerr shirked. "Make a point, G."

It was stated plain as day. "And what the fuck've you been doing, month to month?" He reduced their distance even more; his left hand went out, pointing to Jerr so close he could feel the wisping fur on his fingertip. "I'll just let you name all the stunts you've pulled. Don't even go from the start, make it this year alone."

Jerr balked, and jostled... And smirked. "Depends on where 'stunt' gets goin', man. Will would say you're in highly subjective territory." He deepened pitch on the last phrase, for a flattering effect. It did him one service; the taller ape's hand slinking to his neck, warm and gentle.

"Then just tell what you'd include." He swung back, leering to the curtain. "We got the time; Wolverine's on the stand, we could build a car before he calls us out."

The quip helped dissolve what 'ice' had stayed, as did Jerr having license to remember all the fun of recent days. "From the top o' my head, here... Waxed the gym floor with super glue, carved the men's room stalls with some wide, smooth glory holes..." He looked past the 'roo, thinking also of their gin-soaked headmaster. "... Filled the blowhard's desk with printouts from BearsInChaps.com, the day his boss was due to swing by and pick up paperwork. I was stoked on that for a minute."

Will's hand slapped his back. "Put it up there with your finest work."

The 'roo waited, but heard nothing else; he took matters into his own hands, or hand, extending a finger for every one they'd missed. "Hooked firecrackers up to locker latches, that was always good for some hearing loss... Planted hemp in the legacy garden..."

Jerr supplanted. "Hold up, that was educational. I taught a good group how to care for their 'dro."

'Roojock proceeded. "... You turned in a transforming dildo for a lab project."

Will fielded this one. "If ten was too much, you could dial it down to six. Size that fits any user, try and say that's unworthy of a patent."

"And the whipped cream on the pie..." the 'roo started, then cringed at his own metaphor. "... Mr. Walrus. A fine history teacher, 'til he ran into you."

"Alright, time-the-fuck-out." Jerr made the 'T' with each hand. "You ain't the only shit who appreciates him. We didn't make the board toss him out."

"Yeah, and they ain't the first who tossed him out." He almost bent over, and resolved to be less direct, and more kind to his own stomach.

Will let off a low, rumbling snicker. "So we had our way of gratitude..." He looked down to Jerr, sharing pride. "... I mean a big, seasoned pop like that, from the soft cheeks all the way to that German accent..."

Jerr's lips were wet by his own tongue, slowly winding them. "The salt-'n'-pepper 'stache is what did me."

The 'roo watched them relish their memory; his anger was revived. "And before you lost him his job, I had the dumb luck to need a talk with him. You damn-well know what I saw, walkin' in after class let out..."

Jerr, as always, refused to let shame anywhere near him. "He bent over that desk pretty nice. And it was his lube we found in his coat pocket, so don't even stick that on us." He gazed up to Will, smiling wider every second. "His opium, too. Not a bad chaser... We should net more guys that get around like that."

Will, directly, made the first time they'd whispered... Knowing Jerr alone would take pleasure from it. "Had the deepest ass I've ever rocked... That desk fuckin' splintered."

Jerr's eyes could only narrow; his teeth poked out, a grin fully devilish. Will's hand stayed beneath his bud's head, in a slow rub. Jerr put his own palm to work, more illicit; guiding over the flesh of Will's taut buns. Half the bystanders laughed, the rest groaned.

The 'roo looked his closest yet to losing it. "You're a fuckin' blight on this place." He pointed straight to Jerr's nose. The monkey locked eyes with him...

... And wore something like pity, making tiny 'suck' noises through his fangs. "Too tight, too troubled. I know I said I ain't touchin' you, but when's the last time anyone did?" He watched the 'roo sneer; it was fun it itself, proving he could crack that calm. "But serious, man, if you thought he was so good here, you had the choice not to go flappin' your gums. You coulda turned the other cheek... Y'know, kept it in that fat head o' yours."

The 'roo was past rage; he boiled from within, showing the control of a saint. "What else to do when I find three dudes, leavin' drool and white puddles in the room I share. And usin' the chalk forrghgh..." He had to stop; a dry heave overwhelmed him, and bent his lean muscle to the floor. At least three-fourths of the student body joined in a laugh, the two accomplices loudest. 'Roo wiped slobber from his mouth, and tried saving face. "Shit, I'm not arguin' here. You got issues, fine, fuck it. I've just had enough collateral."

Jerr's brow raised high. Will stared daggers, but let his shorter ally handle it. Two wide monkey feet took a final step forward; meeting his chest with the 'roos flat abs. His tail flicked, but words were deadly-flat. "Issues, huh?"

All laughter expired. The 'roos fists balled up by each hip. "Heard me clear as a bell. Do your perv shit in a back alley, where it belongs. I'm through with the damage."

Jerr's eyes never left the jock's face. Heat surged through his core. "You sure? Sounds like you at least want some fender marks..."

The 'roo reared back; quick as lightning, he was poised to slug Jerr in that jeering mug. Unlucky for him, Will was faster; the fist was caught an inch from Jerr's face, and crumpled in the wide, strong mitt of their quarterback. Will squeezed with maybe half his power; even so, the 'roo was made to gasp, wincing in pain. Will's words were deadpan. "I heard somebody say they wouldn't ruin the night. That includes writing checks their arm can't cash." He released, and the combat was ended. 'Roo stumbled back; it took all his self-control not to shake his wrist for agony.

Everyone, popular girls, nerd clique, football team and more, stared palefaced on the moment. They all foresaw a fight, and most expected Will to hand him his ass on a platter. None of them predicted what followed; 'Roo shook his head, stared straight ahead, and pushed past the pair of primates. They stared him down every step, turning to watch as he sifted through the crowd, made a right and left backstage for the hall.

No one knew what to think; not even Jerr, whose mouth curled into a smile. The adrenaline dropped, and what rushed in was sheer, dumbstruck amazement. "Dude... He's outta here."

Will snickered, while his arms crossed back into themselves. If anything, he was more taken off-guard. "I wouldn't think the douche could even get that embarrassed."

"No shit, I... Fuck." Jerr's mood, and expression, turned a full 180. He darted eyes up to Will's. "If he does somethin' dumb, you know who takes the blame."

Will's eyes rolled, closed, and his mouth flew open. "FUCK that. So what do we do, chase and fetch?" Jerr nodded. Then sighed. Then hid another smirk. "No doubt. I'll go, you keep the gawkers in line. It's me he hates, anyway."

"Us, and you know it..." Will corrected, half-firm and half-joking. But he'd watched Jerr react; and saw through the guise of mere expression. Standing tall, he relented. "Go on, save our asses. Like he said, there's all the time in the world."

He, and everyone nearby, watched Jerr trace the 'roos footsteps; grinning that dubious way. Blake started to go after, but in uncertainty, he, Will's teammates and the monkey's other two buds, looked to Will for guidance.

Blake sprayed spit through his teeth. "Should we help?"

A shaken head, and no explanation. The gecko asked next, more impatient. "Sssso you wanna?"

There wasn't a shred of space, between the lips of Will's smile. "It's in the bag, guys, don't even work yourselves up." He looked over each of them, then the eighty-odd others... And then to the route Jerr had blazed. "... He'll handle it." ******************************************************************************************************

Maurice and Ponch felt three things: helpless, hopeless, and the cold mortar of bricked-up wall. Both sat low, against the side of the foyer, beside each other. Just listening past the door to the dirge, parent after parent called out, with Fenton messing up half their names.

"If I was ever the head of a train station..." Poncharello mused, "... And I had to watch three mentally-challenged temps try and park an engine, I think it'd feel something like this."

"Are we really doing any help?" Maurice sighed, knocking feet together. "We're just feeding on bad vibes, hoping he won't start to need us. Even if he does..." He leaned his head back; the ponytail softened a 'clunk' on the wall. "... We'd just be the two guys who pulled the principal off stage, before or after he makes the night into some real-life hell of a sketch show. One the papers find much funnier than the parents in attendance."

"Maurice... What's that tenet we teach every child who comes to us, before they even get to Wolverine?"

"... Trust?"

Ponch looked up to nothing in particular. "Works better than what I was thinking."

Maurice kept his look of defeat; until his eyes shot wide. "We're sitting here, tripped bad over Fenton. What about that duo..."

Ponch, for whatever reason, guffawed. "The thought didn't pass me. But they're here to take what's theirs, and kiss this rigamarole goodbye. Call me cuckoo, but out in the world's a better fit for them."

Within the mandrill grew a storm of recollection. Many years as a counselor, a pillar of Charles Darwin Middle. Knowing every act they commited; watching teachers, co-workers come and go, leave mere footprints when contact with the pair waxed too allowing... Rather on the outside looking in. He pursed lips and slowly nodded. "I think I dig where you're going."

"I mean even they know better than to fudge up their chance to be rid of him, and all this." He gazed to Maurice, with indescribable calm. "They won't be up to anything."

****************************************************************************************************

One solitary hallway lay dark around the two silhouettes. Filled with slurps, a moan and the strongest stench of man.

A pile of satin lay beside them: two robes, disallowed to get in the way. What lay beneath had come out; The 'roo's black tank, tightly squeezed over lean, solid muscle, propped against the lockers... And the monkey below him, kneeled on the jock's jeans, bottomless as always. Hard at work, burying his maw. For as loud as the 'roo groaned - his 'tenderized' hand dangling safe by his bare hip - Jerr took it up a notch; every time he could slide down those seven inches, take the heat and the musk, a stifled whine surged from lips-to-meat. He didn't have to look up, to know the 'roo felt every one of them; but he still made that choice, just to watch the bliss turn 'roo's jawline to a pure-pleasure sneer.

The 'roo's legs bent out around Jerr's temple; he leaned weight on the steel behind him. "Fuuuck... Can't believe... You're..."

Jerr popped the prize free of his lips; every word he shot back was with a tongueswipe, firm and affectioned. "This... Effin'... Pro? Yeahhhdude..." He made that tongue coast down the throbbing underside. "... Coulda told'ja... But you know..." He sent it back up; stopping on the foreskin, to tease and tickle the frenulum. "... Whuh's louder than words..." Two sturdy, massive limbs shook around him; the 'roo was endowed with extra skin, and he'd known just how wild it would bid him. A few more seconds, taking full advantage, breathing sly gusts for how he loved to cause that ruckus; and the backwards cap plunged down with the best of him, swallowing that length, just sucking for all its worth. Years of conviction, shattered in seconds. Jerr could now've hated himself, going so long without a taste; it was better than he'd even imagined. Of all the beef he'd serviced - drooling over rod after rod, so greedy for the men that owned them - few others throbbed this fucking hard. It took no more than that moment, standing close enough to feel the warmth off this 'roo, take the fragrance of a true, athletic male; now, the pulse beat on his tongue, its own thanks for how deep and soft his throat. Devoted wouldn't start to depict him... For how long and low he whined, every word was genuine. Authentic gratitude, just to have the time where he could pop up and glide back down. "Dayum that's a meal... You like that, man... Feel it right from the nuts..." Just once, he let himself pause, and only long enough to stare on every thick, pumping inch. Nothing could stop him plunging down, mid-phrase. "FuuuuuckmanMMMmmmm..."

Ecstacy was mutual, full beyond words. But their minds, what little could congile inside them, ran on separate triggers. The 'roo's would be obvious; all the chicks he'd impressed down the line, Jerr's mouth outdid them all; far past when any one of them would've tired, or at the damn-least wanted a break. The cold lockers weren't so great on his spine, but somehow they upped the experience; rigid, stinging chill, while a monkeybro's lips put heaven to his dick. It was instinct to wrap a hand behind that head; but for once, he didn't push. No amount of force from him could make Jerr go harder, more expert than he already did.

Just as the monkey was professional, coddling every inch with loving tongue and suction, so too were his thoughts, knowing just where to focus. The times he'd looked up, laid eyes on the manly bod above him, burned to his memory. He could keep them shut, focus on the hard, veiny flesh, and know just how butch the look of his receiver. 'Fits so nice,' he thought, meaning two things at once: a cock so strong on a stud like this one, and how the shape and size just sank in his maw. Just as the 'roo had a hand on his hat, rubbing slow in subconscious gratitude, he had his own use for a mitt: clinging to his own squat member, cruising down its four hooded inches. Making the head appear and vanish, in thick, curling foreskin... Dotting the inside of 'roo's dropped pants with his copious pre.

'Roo rattled the lockers; side effect from what he added, thrusting quick and strong down Jerr's throat, indulging how he loved the mere motion. His sneer ingrained; it was no longer just euphoria, but something else within him, on the rise; thinking on their conflict, and intensity. "Fuckin' perv... Nasty-ass, take your fuckin' medicine..." If anything, the thrusts only deepened.

And Jerr drank it up; like the pre he lapped from that 'roo's throbbing tip, he set into the mood like hell... Pulling back, humouring who he gratified, then bobbing on that shaft. "Bad as hell, man... Can't help it, gotta have those big-ass pipes like yours... Mmmnnf-mn..." He wound every direction, suckling and moaning; drool began a path down his chin.

'Roo stared nowhere else; watching Jerr lean in, move smooth as any other butch guy, while he took that rod so easy. Never was the jock so aroused... His jawline practically shuddered, pupils lively and shimmying. "Sack o' manlovin' trash. So fuckin' hopeless, all you want is dick... Deep in that piehole... Shit, you can't even gag..." Seeing that fact, laid out plainly before him, just took his thrusts to a whole new level. The last day in school, the endcap to upper adolescence, had one final thing to teach him: how this monkey, this spry, limber mascot for misrule and mayhem, lived on men and cocks the way he lived on air. 'Roo's time with track added so much, the force in those legs just pounding the shit out of Jerr's chops...

... The monkey strengthened everything, his wail, his breath, his mouth sliding all up and down that fuckstick. He beat his own dick faster than thought; his eyebrows arched and twisted at tough, aching random. "Mmmmmyoufuckin'stuuuud, man... MMMNph-h... Fuck mah face... Share that fuckin' gift..." What he named, was the selfsame tool he couldn't bear not to please, wet force and endless lust. He couldn't take a single pump from 'roo's hips, have those nuts smack his chin, without slinging his tail like a whip. So in the zone; so sorry he'd held back from this beefsnack, but so glad they'd had the tension. The fury, the hate they built and now dashed, just seemed to vigorate the taste. Salt, musk, pre and skin, past every side of his gums; no idea how long his mark could last, but as he knew, the time was in his hands. "Gawd'jurrfuckin'pre, Mmmffmm... Dude, say it... Mn-n-n-mmm... Say what the fuck I am..."

'Roo's shirt wrinkled; it took on curves and billows, while his abs drew in behind it. "Goddamn... No-good shit... Filthy... Cocksucker..." It became hard to speak; Jerr wanted his jizz, and he felt it, through every growing move. Just looking, he could barely keep up; everything from Jerr's neck up was in overdrive, licking, bobbing, wicking spit down every pre-leaking inch. Only pulling up, so fast and brief, to keep their prattle on a scorching-hot track.

The spidermonkey cranked himself merciless; hard as what he sucked, drenching his dom's jeans with clear. Amidst it all, he hid a chuckle. Will's face had popped in his mind; from the look of bliss, all the times he'd shown his best friend this same slice of passion, to a different look; the only other he'd seen close to as often, a smug, wise grin. He knew the ape wore it, backstage, patient while Fenton gabbed on. If anyone could guess how he'd 'handled' this - what he'd never skipped out on, a single day since he was old enough to drive - it would be that football fiend. The sentiment gave more than laughter... He could take it, and apply bits of the past. Maybe what Will would want... What every man loved, he'd seen enough practice to know. Lips and tongue were a partnership; whipping, suction, gliding. His cap sat tight atop him; even so, with how rapid he throated, went downtown on the track star, it wasn't saved from jiggling. "Mmmf... Fuckin'... Beef..." So deep on that dick, it looked the purest form of love, just as it sounded. "MMmmmnnnnnmnmn... Give it up, man... Feed me..."

'Roo writhed and shook above him; the washboard-stomach couldn't be stilled. "You... Want my... Fuckin'... Splat..."

"Thick... Hot cream... Mnnfff... MMmmmm... Dude, fuckin' shoot it... SHOOT f'rdis bro..." As much control as he robbed from the 'roo, he robbed more from himself; On the next cruise up, his teeth closed by the tip, soft nibbles on the hood. Though he was like what he craved, thoroughly male, a phrase erupted with submission; clear, deep, perfect notes of a uke. "... Cuuuuuuummm, G'..."

Monkey dick felt the oncoming burst; he tingled all the way to his mushroom, and ultrasensitive skin. He dove hard, hitting 'roo's glans on his palate, never easing force or attention; it even brought a cough, so near to a choke. Not a gag; as the runner had seen, he'd never field that reflex. Just raw speed by itself, throating the spear like a bat out of hell. A spindly tail curled and kinked, his smooth ass flexed, a lean torso twitched and rolled. Through the clamp Jerr had on 'roomeat, gentle, pleasuring, it couldn't hold back. He unleashed the longest whine, and the first rope of his load, splattered on the locker beyond.

'Roo heard the 'ding', like a bell was rung behind him; the knowledge, the sight of Jerr give in to the climax, and all that monkey did to steal his juice right out of him, had his breath rise. He could do one thing for Jerr; speak each thought, every boost that had him rapidly taking 2nd place. "Oh... God... Man... Fuck, it's comin'... You're gettin' it, I'm gonna... I'm... I'm..."

Jerr shot volleys; both pairs of cheeks drew in. One served every inch of the 'roo, enclosed on what he'd slicked by a watering mouth, gulping drool and pre as he willed it to happen. The other tightened, smooth and clasped on each other, tiny thrusts of his own to send the seed even further, every godsend time he fired off. The locker, the floor below and 'roo's jeans; he drenched them all in thick, hot cum, and not one came without its own perk in his whine. The peak overbore him; leaving in his mind one single item, a purified crave. 'Pop for y' boy,' he groaned inside his own grey matter. 'Let it loose... Lemme hear that howl...'

He got his wish, only by his own work and its depth. 'Roo shoved into his face; a pump so hard, it stung his lips, while they went toughly on. "... FUUUCK-I'M-GOIN'-... AHHH-H-H-H!!!"

Jerr's peak had just now started ending; jizz dribbled down his tip, past foreskin and fingers, streaking the floor, finishing a two-foot arc where everything lay splashed with his sperm. But if anything, his tail just went wilder; the last shove from 'roo had been the onset. Cream flooded his mouth, straight past the valley half-worn on his tongue. He could do little to halt the wail, rumbling his throat the same as every inch of that throbbing, shooting rod. He should've known, just from the heaviness of pulse, this persuaded-top would shoot like a cannon. It flowed down him even faster than he swallowed; would've took a wrong turn down his windpipe, if not for the perfect stance, product of the years. Hot, manly bunk, so much it could fill a glass, sent down to his gut. Not one second of quiet, still or lucidity, just a barrage.

'Roo hit Jerr's lips, unable not to pump; each retreat had his back slam the locker, barely feeling it. "UNNGGH... OHHH... URRGH... GORGE, QUEER... NNGHH-FUCKIN'-SLUT..."

Jerr sucked hard, whined harder, tugged every drop out his own spent wood. "MMMNN... MMMM..." He wouldn't dare speak; no reason was good enough to draw up, and not take that cumgun to the hilt. Except one.

He battled himself; it was so unnatural to him, pulling back amidst a man's climax, having even an instant where he didn't feel the shot rocket up through thick pipe. But he'd waited on a man like this, to find one that sprayed so hard, to try an idea. His lips parted, so close on the 'roo's tip they passed his slithole; the 'smack' was even louder than the locker, banging while the 'roo bucked back like no other time. Jerr's mouth went its widest; he forced his eyes to keep open, and watched excatly what he'd hoped for; one amazing shot, the speed of a car, shot through the air. Straight down his tongue; the very moment he saw that streak of white, it just flowed to the base of his throat. How it looked to him was beyond anything; he screamed a moan, and lunged back on that cock, sucking down the last few ropes. All while 'roo grimaced; struggling to process the strongest rope he'd ever sent.

His mind would stay fuzzy, through Jerr's milking his peak; nursing his length, even more than the monkey dick still taking gentle strokes. When he regained sensibility, gathered enough to gaze down, he saw the cap, rust-brown bangs and the snout above a muzzle buried deep. He knew, as Jerr did also, he was done; but the monkey thought better than releasing him. He'd had the peak, and found himself the willing prisoner. Jerr was there to lay out for him: how grand it could be, in afterglow and still taken down a soft, warm throat.

Jerr's greed knew no bounds; ears perked to catch the low vibrato, 'roo moaning while a dulled euphoria filled him, the way he filled that primate's maw. "Mmmfuuuuuuck... Can't let go, can y'... Oooooooohhh..." His audio was made to extend, relaxed and so much longer than before. No more violent moves, or the stark urge to release; it was all just gentle nirvana.

The monkey's knees shuffled in, to kneel against those legs, capture their heat. He'd met expectations; and every two or three slow dives, he'd come up and speak his mind. "Mmmm... Ain't no other taste like a stud's... Mmmmnnff..." He peered up past his hatbrim; they locked eyes, and gave expressions neither had known from the other. "... So'm about the jocks, man... Dudes're... Mmmmm... Dudes're a breed above."

The 'roo forced out a chuckle; it had to scoot past the wail, enduring like Jerr's work on his chubbed member. "... S'why we get the action..." He curled a smile to an even-higher smirk. "... S'why Will gets so much o' you. Unnggfff..." Jerr had him pause, revisiting the tease of tongue-to-fren. "... Say I'm lying."

Jerr multi-tasked; snickering, giving head a steady shake, dragging his tongue to 'roo's root. "Ya caught me... Mmmmnn... Truth is, you share a lot... The taste... Mmmnnf, a little o' the 'tude... Always good to stiff me up..." He couldn't bear not to plunge on it; smelled the funk, like he could even smell his own jizz, still below them in spots and lines. "That muscle... Built hard, end-to-end... M-mmff... Strong as hell..."

"Fuckyeah... Brings the bitches out..."

Jerr's shame only waxed more nonexistent. "... Bet'chur jockstrap's like his... Damp 'n' rich, man..." The 'roo's deep groans; the feel of oral, on top of how he'd now begun to follow Jerr's atmosphere. It was all too easy to humour. "It wafts up before it's even offa me... Sweat 'n' fur, straight off my package... UNNghhh-h-h..." A wave moved through his body; what he'd said to Jerr, inspired the deepest suck since they'd spent each other.

Monkey's tongue took over the task; winding up the head, down all four sides, breathing lust every step of the way. "Bet you'd fill my ass like him... Can't say if you'd hit as hard, but fuuuuuck... You make me wanna know..."

The 'roo just stood, imagined, lamented what they'd both opted out in the past; and then his head dropped, staring on the monkey with a grin. "You're like a glass house... He's a lot more than your go-to, ain't he?"

Jerr laughed, in a loose cackle. From anyone else, it'd be embarrassment; from him, fond pride. "Been the real deal through thick and thin, man, stuck on me since Barney and tricycles. More ways'n I can list... Might as well be half o' me."

"The better half, I'm guessin'..." He supposed what kind of 'yes' he'd hear back.

But Jerr balked, sly and hot for the meat he kept to teasing. "Psh. You want romance, watch a soap. My ego ain't sufferin'."

'Roo had a multitude of things that would each be fine replies. But they all rested, while he chose to lean back. Enjoying Jerr's tongue, his eyes being opened, and what was damn-sure preferable to killing time backstage.

************************************************************************* It's simply too bad, the student body's other 98 percent were trapped in the latter.

They didn't hurt for entertainment; most even forgot the night's boredom, watching the impromptu game that developed from Will, a few teammates and a crumpled-up flyer. Nerds, pop-girls, hipsters and more, all stood to one side of backstage; the action took rambunctious sworls around the other.

A lemur tight end screened the play; the 'ball' floated over his head, from Will's hands into those of a tall winged pipistrelle. It was run halfway to the flag stands, their 'end zone', with slick narration over him. Their quarterback wasn't content to just get in the action; between throws, he was the bright personna of colour commentary. "Thaddeus goes for the draw, perfect form, he's at the thirty, the forty-"

It seemed to come out of nowhere, the tackle from a tank-sized boar. The bat slammed the floor, and beyond the curtain, half the parents wondered why their seats shook. And why their principal never cracked a reaction, through his intriguingly aloof countenance.

Will stood to the side, cartoonishly mocking a referee's stiffness. "Ohhhh, Mayers from behind! You know, with the sight of a fruit bat, he didn't see that coming..."

Not even time to end that thought, before Komodo dragon picked up on the fumble. With a dive and a scramble up, he pushed off by scaled legs, launched over the pile-up and took it to the flags. The 'crowd' went wild; Will's arm put hellish strength into pumping, straight and fast in a single rep.

"Picked off by Roslin, and just like that it's 14 to 3! I tell ya, straight out of the islands, gifted wide receiver, the first man to belch the entire Cantonese alphabet..."

He abandoned the narrative schtick, for his own explosive chuckle. Komodo's scoring dance was half-breakbeat, half-ballet; Will and twenty others bent forward, like they were all hyenas instead of just two. Roslin moonwalked to Will, whirled, and slapped a three-part high-five on him, from palmbash to knuckletap to middle-finger slide. Raucous, right up until Blake broke from the crowd, snatched the 'dead ball' and raised it like a trophy. "Yeeahhh, in your face, fuckers! It's even autographed..." He uncrumpled the paper, and read from inside. "... With ALL our names."

Two of Roslin's fingers went to his mouth, standing in for an actual whistle. Blake's ears perked and swiveled; he looked on like a deer in the headlights.

Komodo started in, raspily. "Blake, you li'l shit, the game ain't done. You can't storm the turf for souvenirs."

Will snickered from behind him, while they both approach. "What's the call for this? Too many dicks on the field?"

Blake's face mixed 'embarrassed' and 'offended'. It made no improvement when Roslin came up, to slap him hard-square on the shoulder blade. "Nope. Just one."

Ever the fool, Blake stuck up for himself, in quasi-higher pitch. "Don't be jealous of fast hands, mofo's. Y'know if Jerr was here, you wouldn't be such poor sports."

Roslin spoke pretty much what Will was thinking. "If Jerr was here, he'd be on the floor laughing his ass off at how much you thought you were 'down'." He held out his palm...

... Blake looked down, analyzed why, and came up blank. "You want a low-five?"

"I want the ball." He held back more sniggers, and curled fingers rapid-fire. "It's just unfurled, I can still save it."

Blake gave reluctantly; but couldn't be asked to lose it with grace. "So you know CPR?"

Komodo dragon glared in confusion. "H'wha-" In a flash, he got the joke. His throat rumbled disapproval; Will, however, found it good enough to chortle.

Rough, scaly hands cushed it back into shape; Will stood over him, indulging Blake. "There, compress the lungs. Don't lose faith, it takes a while to get the heart started."

Roslin leaned up, pivoted his arm and tried a friendly strike on Will's face, all in one. Of course it was dodged, and his wrist was slapped back with a thicker one. "Your record stands, perfect zilch. We'll be parting ways when the draft comes up; I'll be in Indy, you'll be on the Lions. Or if particularly blessed, the Bengals."

Roslin flashed a mouthful of teeth, a half-pleasant grin. "Take it back, man. Them's fightin' words."

"Not on your life, pancho. Not even on your conduit." Roslin watched him throw his gaze downward; neither Blake, nor the others, nor anyone, could make him feel unnerved about sneaking ogles. Nor would the Komodo leave him hanging; Blake, boar and bat, all watched him pretend to scratch himself; grinding the flesh a bit harder than a scratch ever would.

Will was set up to comment, both jabbing and thanking for the 'show'. But he'd known how long the real pre-show was dragging. And how bored they were to start in the first place. And how much longer Fenton may drag on, regardless.

"... Yo," He started innocent enough, with smile and upward head tilt. "Be back directly. Just gotta wash the wall."

He'd ensured that Roslin, Mayers and the bat would overhear. It was incidental that Blake stood dropping eaves.

The beefy ape made tracks for the exit, smooth, steady and slow enough to be followed. As Roslin did, leering "That makes two of us."

Mayers would've fell in behind them, but saw something in the crowd of students that was eerily familiar. A dark blue smartphone, in the hands of green-haired squirrel. He felt his pocket, and its emptiness, while the rodent browsed images on-screen, chuckling at most. Then looked up, froze in horror, and watched a 300-pound boar lumber towards him. Squirrel sifted through the crowd; the chase was on.

Fruit bat saw enough to know what happened, and sprinted in to boar's aid. Blake saw enough to know where ape and lizard were headed. "Hey guys, wait up..." Gecko stood off to the side, neutral; watching squirrel eke past him, and boar all-but knock him down. Watching Blake run puss-ily after two football jocks, and hearing one loud announcement, above their own commotion.

Wolverine, by some miracle, sounded halfway-lucid. "And now, without further ado, your class of 2013!" It took the blink of Gecko's eye to count up the missing heads. "Sssson of a..."

To be needlessly continued...