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Entering the college gymnasium at precisely 7:20pm, Rave Raccoon once again experienced the sensation of being in some sort of prison-break movie. He had watched carefully, and from an appropriate distance, until he was certain that the nearly military routine of the football jocks and the coaching staff wouldn't vary. The emphasis on discipline and rigorous training was the staple diet of creatures of routine. Everything was done a certain way, at a certain time, for certain reasons that (Rave wagered) not one of them could explain. It simply was. And that gave Rave the advantage.

Escaping the still-sweltering August heat, the raccoon stepped into the comparative coolness of the cinder-block construction belonging to the "serious athletes" of the college. No full-scale air conditioning in this area, as the shock from Oklahoma prairie heat to chilled, dry air could bring down even the toughest footballers. This suited Rave perfectly well, since it kept the environment ripe for the picking... if the pun could be forgiven.

Entering the now-silent locker room, ears twitching, he sniffed deeply and appreciatively. The last of the team and the coaches had left between seven and fifteen minutes ago. The air was still moist with the steaming showers that had helped soothe sore muscles, and the scent of soaps and fur conditioners hung about like a sensory-based advertisement. One of these guys, Reed realized, was vain enough to bring in a high-end, salon-style shampoo. Probably one of the lions, he chuckled; goes with the veldtland territory.

Underneath all of this pompous pompadouria was another scent, the one that Rave was so avidly seeking. The purpose of the showers was to ensure that the scent didn't escape into the outside world, but there was still one source left that would not be tended to until a certain undergraduate work-study slave came in to take care of it. Rave knew that he had at least one hour, and almost certainly more. The student, too, was a creature of habit, apparently studying (or whatever) until nine each weeknight, coming across campus from his dorm, and never arriving earlier than 9:08pm by Rave's notes. Therefore (he sniffed carefully), he should have the place to himself (sniff, sniff) long enough for him to enjoy...

El Dorado!

The raccoon grinned, his thickly-furred ringed tail flicking excitedly, as he found the huge mobile clothes hamper, filled to overflowing with the team's practice gear. Sweat-soaked shirts, pants, socks, and jocks aplenty, a veritable cornucopia of scent from bulls, bears, big cats, hyenas, even one powerfully-built hare whose ability as a place-kicker was unparalleled. Rave had to resist diving nose-first into the pile. The potent smells mixed and vied for his attention like a swirling soup of alpha-male pheromones, yanking at his more primitive hindbrain, going directly for his pre-verbal pleasure centers... and then right down to his cock.

Rave shucked out of his damp t-shirt and shorts, letting his cock spring free, his musk joining that of so many others. He took himself firmly in paw, grunting as only a male who knows he's completely alone will let himself do. His other forepaw he thrust elbow-deep into the hamper, grabbing some of the more composted levels of clothing, coming out with comparative gold - a shirt, two socks, and the straps of a foursome of jocks. Rave covered his muzzle in them, the scent almost making his eyes water. One was a bull, certainly; the shirt belonged to one of the tigers, fullback by the size of the shirt, and full-packed by the size of the jock. Oh by the gods, the sheer_maleness_ of it...

The raccoon moved his paw slowly along his pre-cum slickened shaft, so completely excited that he was sure he could blow his load at almost any moment. It was so difficult to find anyone to play with these days, even on a college campus where there should be at least a few drama majors or computer geeks to connect with. Instead, the place was about as homophobic as anyplace he'd ever seen. He could hardly wait to get out of here - soon, very soon, last semester, a December graduate, and he could go to some city where he could find his way into a male's pants and still have him in them. Until then... his paw paused, gripped himself tight to fend off the inevitable for just a bit longer.

He dug further into the basket, wondering if he might find one scent in particular among the many. One particular male that he had longed for, every tortuous day of his required PE classes. It was probable that the coaches had their own hamper, for better treatment of their clothes, or maybe just took it all home themselves, to be taken care of by some little barefoot country wife. Rave dismissed the thought with a deep sniff of yet another jock strap - ah, gods, one of the young bears, and his sweat smelled so sweet, like honey and berries and some deep, dark, mossy musk of caves and healthy runs in long hours of hot sun...

Rave whimpered, partly in lust, partly in pain. He wouldn't last long like this, and he wasn't at all sure he could get away with this too many times, and at the heart of it all, it wasn't enough. He knew that; what he really wanted could never... never...

"Private Party?"

The raccoon nearly jumped out of his fur, whirling around, backing up against the rolling hamper, nearly falling into it. He moved both paws to his groin, covering himself with the pawful of shirts, not entirely aware of the jock strap still hanging on his long muzzle.

"Looks like you got a head start."

The speaker was a well-built German shepherd, about Rave's own height, with traditional coloration save for the thick almost bush-like patch of dark-brown fur on his chest. The mahogany eyes regarded the raccoon steadily, his muzzle twitching in what could be a smile or a sneer. The shep, perhaps a dozen years older than Rave, leaned casually against one of the cinderblock walls, his strong arms folded across his chiseled chest, washboard abs covered only slightly by the wide trail of thick brown fur that disappeared below the waistband of modest, school-color gym shorts. Behind him, his well-kept tail wagged slowly back and forth in the thick, moist air, expressing something between pleasure and advantage.

Rave remembered to breathe, shook his head to throw the jock strap off of his muzzle. His heart was racing, and for far too many reasons. Surprise, for one; caught in the act. Fear, for another, and for multiple reasons. He had no business being in here, and naked, and pawing, and sniffing, and... Within the endless list, one reason stood out above all the others. It was Coach Burke. The reason his PE classes had been so difficult to get through. The reason he wished he could find the hamper with the coaches' clothes in it. The reason for so much pain, from his impossible desire for a certain magnificently beautiful member of the teaching staff - Coach Gerald Burke.

The shep pushed himself away from the wall and walked slowly toward Rave. The raccoon felt frozen to the spot, his breath racing, chest heaving, as if he'd just run track for way too long. He panted heavily, all the breath going through his muzzle, leaving behind the sweet smells he had been indulging in. Involuntarily, he felt himself cower next to the laundry hamper. The action seemed to surprise the shepherd, who stopped, his muzzle a still mask, his eyes an unknown.

Softly, the coach said, "Put those back in the hamper. Pick up your clothes."

For a long moment, Rave couldn't move. The coach waited a moment, then nodded once, slowly. It wasn't as if the clothing was concealing much any longer; the raccoon's erection had died a fear-filled death only moments before. Ears splayed, shame burning in his cheeks, Rave put the shirts, socks, and jocks back into the hamper. He began putting his pants on again.

"No." Again the voice was soft. "Leave those off." After a moment's pause, the shepherd continued. "There's no one else here. This way."

The coach jerked his head to one side, indicating the way to the faculty dressing area. Slowly, Rave stood, his clothes still in his forepaws, bunched in front of his crotch. He could feel his legs shaking. What would be worse - the campus cops, or even city cops making some sort of sexual offender bust that would last for life, or finding out that his "secret crush" was going to turn into one of those "straight" guys who think it's not rape if you do it to a fag? Rave's emotions were powerful enough that he was worried about losing it, turning into a crying sissy bitch, screaming and begging and humiliating himself beyond all thinking. He could fight bullies, he'd punched out one or two of the bastards before, but this... this was Burke, and this was Oklahoma, and this was Butch Central, and he was literally caught with his pants down...

Silently, the shepherd held open the door into the staff changing room, ushering Rave inside. The raccoon still panted heavily, still trembling, his mind unable to think clearly. It's only one guy; he could fight, he could at least get out of here with his life, even if he had to leave school for the scandal and persecution. One semester short, dammit, just one. Why did he have to...

He heard the slam of a dead bolt being thrown. At the door, the coach turned slowly and looked at him. "Rave Raccoon," he said softly. "Looked to me like you were having fun in there. Your own private party. Always figured you were gay, but you were always pretty careful about it. Didn't know that you had a certain... weakness. You hid pretty good."

With slow, measured steps, the shep padded forward, scratching his thick chest fur almost carelessly. "Good idea to keep hidden around this place, isn't it? Ain't easy being an Oklahomosexual. Kinda bass-ackward here. Especially in the sports arena." The shep moved past Rave to one of the large lockers at the back of the changing room. "All those gay fantasies about what happens in the locker room... not that I've seen, not around here. Everybody's too damned afraid of who might find out, or what might happen."

The coach turned around and regarded Rave with an expression that the raccoon could not understand.

"I have you at a disadvantage." He paused, as if thinking about that. "Are you afraid, Rave?"

All the 'coon could do is nod.

"Let me show you something."

Without hurry, the shepherd worked the combination lock on the locker bearing the name BURKE in simple square letters right out of an army stenciling kit. Unhitching the clasp, the coach removed the lock and set it on top of the locker. He opened the door to reveal a small array of typical equipment - whistle on a neck chain, a teacher's copy of a phys-ed textbook, a few empty hangers, some clothing, and a pin-up of a naked vixen making come-fuck-me eyes at the viewer. It was this that the coach looked at for a long moment, but without any change in his facial expression, except for perhaps... was that regret? Resignation? Rave didn't understand, he didn't...

Carefully, Burke removed the tape that held the picture onto the metal wall of the locker and pulled the vixen off and away, leaving behind another picture altogether, small enough to hide behind the first.

"It's as close as I could get," he said with little emotion in his voice.

Rave leaned a little closer, unable to believe what he saw. The picture was of a raccoon - a male raccoon - who might have been Rave's brother. The 'coon in the picture was of a similar gray, white, and black, with sharper demarcations in the tail and mask, while Rave's fur tended to blend rather than create lines. The build was similarly well made, not quite as muscular as Rave. The 'coon in the picture was also naked and sporting a very respectable length of mostly-sheathed hard cock.

"I couldn't get a picture of you. This is as close as I could get."

Remembering to breathe, Rave looked at the coach, finally realizing that what he saw in the shep's eyes was longing. Hope. Shame. And as if in reflection of himself, fear.

"I..." the raccoon tried to find his voice, "I don't understand."

"There's no reason to think that, just because you're gay, you'd want me." The coach's voice was quiet, a slight quaver coloring the words darkly. His dark eyes were softer than Rave remembered. "I have no hold over you. I know your secret; you know mine. We could probably make each other's lives hell. You could get me fired on a moral turpitude clause; outing you could get you run off campus." The shep shook his head slowly. "You don't want to find out what that feels like."

"Coach, wait." Slowly, Rave stood, naked, not caring. He swallowed once, still uncertain. "Maybe you don't know my secret after all."

Burke's eyebrows came together. Ears forward, he shook his head slightly.

"My secret is that I've had a crush on you ever since I started taking your class." His ringed tail flicking nervously, he stepped toward the coach. "And like you said, I was careful. Because I was..."

"...afraid," the coach finished. Gently, fingers trembling, the shep reached up to touch the 'coon's cheek. The feeling was faintly electric to Rave, as if he were only now aware that the powerful shep standing before him was real. Burke's breathing quickened, and it seemed as if he were going to speak, and then he gripped the young raccoon's head and kissed him hard and fast.

Whimpering, Rave threw his arms around the coach, crushing the shep's body against his own as he opened his muzzle to accept the passionately searching canine tongue. He felt the coach's forepaws reach around him, rub his back vigorously, reach down to cup his ass cheeks and squeeze them firmly. Rave responded similarly, grabbing at the silken shorts, yanking at them, and as the coach reached to pull them down, Rave dipped his paw downward to stroke the thick hardness swelling inside the shep's sheath. Burke groaned, gripping the raccoon's shoulders tightly, leaning down to nibble at his neck breathlessly, shivering at the touch.

Rave fell to his knees, enthralled by the sight waiting for him. He engulfed the still stiffening member, hilting it in his muzzle as he heard the coach bark loud, sharply, trying to catch his breath. A few feverish thrusts, as Rave sampled and savored each sensation, flavor, size, the realization this he was here, no longer a fantasy, this was_real.The raccoon released the cock, sniffed and snuffled at the hot, heavy, sweaty balls (_he hasn't showered), his head beginning to spin as he memorized the scent that he never thought he would ever know. His left forepaw went up to squeeze the beautiful ball sack even as his right began to rub his own swollen cock. Above the raccoon's muzzle, the coach reached down to stroke himself, pre-cum dripping copiously onto his shaft.

"Oh gods, Rave..." The voice was strained. "I've dreamed... so long..."He tasted himself on his fingers as Rave returned his attention to the coach's rock-hard cock. The raccoon was startled when the shep suddenly dropped to his knees and kissed him again and again, panting. Burke grabbed Rave's cock in a feverish grip, the paw covered in his own pre-cum, soon slickened further by the 'coon's. Rave grunted, gasping; the touch was powerful, demanding, and more desired than anything he'd ever known before, more than anything he'd ever wanted before.

"Are you feeling as close as I am?" the coach whispered.

"So fast," Rave panted, "want you so much..."

"Together! Now!"

Burke pulled one way, pushed another, and Rave found himself lying on the floor on his side, the coach's erection aimed directly at his muzzle as he felt his own hard cock being engulfed by the shep. Crying out, he grabbed the canine as he himself was held, pushing his muzzle down on the dripping cock, licking and sucking for all his life was worth, feeling the shep's tongue wrapping around his cock, as if every action was mirrored, as if whirling together, stimulation, stimulated, sucking, being sucked, his cock, Burke's cock, pushing, pulling, straining, reaching, closer, closer...

The explosion in Rave's mind was echoed by the muffled sounds of Burke crying out as the raccoon purged his balls into the shep's muzzle, and only seconds later, it was his own turn. The 'coon gripped the coach's ass cheeks tightly as wave upon wave of hot seed erupted down his gullet. Coach and student trembled in each other's embrace as they emptied themselves into each other, reluctantly releasing each other, falling over onto their backs, panting, whimpering, spent. It took nearly half a minute for Rave to gather himself enough for his forepaw to search for Burke's and, finding it, gripped it tightly as if fearing that this might not be real after all. He felt the shep returning the grip just as tightly.

It took a few minutes for speech to return. It was Burke who spoke first: "Just so you know... I'm not usually that quick on the trigger."

Rave couldn't help himself; he started giggling, and after a moment, the coach joined him. "I was afraid," the 'coon managed between laughs, "that you were going to think I was part rabbit!"

Regaining himself slowly, Burke replied, "You have no idea how many times I've dreamed up some sort of encounter with you. How much I've wanted you." He squeezed Rave's paw briefly. "I should have guessed that I couldn't hold back when it actually happened."

"You're not alone in that." Rave returned the squeeze and, after a long moment said, "What happens now?"

Burke, using his hard-packed abs for their purpose, sat up and regarded Rave with something the raccoon decided to call tenderness. "The door's locked. We can clean up in the coaches' showers. Unless one of the coaches wants in, we'll be alone. And yeah, I'm paranoid enough to worry that one of them might show up, so we probably shouldn't linger here."

"I don't want to leave you." The raccoon sat up quickly, put his arms around the coach. He wasn't crying, but he knew that he could start if he weren't careful. He held on to the shep as if he would never let go, and he was gratified when the coach returned the gesture.

"We don't have to leave each other; we only have to leave here. We could go to dinner..." Burke broke off, realizing that he was probably being stupid. There wasn't a restaurant or fast food joint in town that wouldn't know one or both of them. The coach with a jock, or Rave with a classmate, that might not get noticed. Otherwise...

"Damn this town," Rave whispered, turning to kiss the shep's cheek softly.

"I think you're too late." The coach tried a soft laugh, returned the kiss. "Rave, we can't let them win. I'm not going to spend the rest of my career here avoiding you. I can't live in the same town with you and ignore you. I won't let that happen."

Rave looked the coach in the eye. "Neither will I."

They kissed, slowly this time, Rave's forepaw caressing the coach's thick chest ruff as the shep stroked the 'coon's back tenderly. The moment prolonged, Rave cherishing the moment even as he began to wonder about future moments. He didn't usually think about the future all that much, but something made Rave think that his troubles - and his triumphs - were just beginning.