{"sf1_id":571626,"sf2_id":"noX5z7x1","title":"Navigating the Labyrinth: Part II - In Search of Words","author":"Rufus01","words":6216,"posted_at":"2013-08-02T21:44:00.000Z","tags":["Anal","Bareback","Character Development","College","Cum","Fox","Foxes","Gay","Gay Relationships","Knot","M/M","Oral","Series"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/571626-navigating-the-labyrinth-part-ii-in-search-of-words","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/noX5z7x1","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/27/89/2789f838-6421-4ca1-a5b7-8e7061648248","description":"#3 of Victor \u0026 Miles\n\nWow, so yea, it's been forever since I've submitted some writing. Even though I write for free, I hate making my commissioners wait. It's been one hell of a year. Truth be told I've been sitting on these stories for months now. They've all been in near completion for a long time, but coming up with the ideas to fill in the last gaps, and then finding time for my mate and I to collaborate on editing is a huge challenge.\nThe story you're about to read was probably the most difficult of this series to write. This story had to serve a number of purposes. It had to reboot a series which has been sleeping for six months. It had to introduce new characters and new temptations, and develop them to a certain degree. It had to further Victor and Miles relationship to a meaningful degree, and give some clues to where things might be going. Then it had to have plot. So yea, this was a huge challenge. I had to throw out three other false starts before I settled on this one.\nPart two here is a divergence of my usual style. To accomplish all that needed to be achieved in this chapter; I decided to experiment on a form of non-linear narrative. I've wanted to play with non-linear narrative and memory for a while now. I decided to give it a shot in this one, well aware of the risks I am taking. I know it's not a style best suited for porn, but I also felt compelled to show more of the protagonist, his thinking, and his growth. So this is more of an intermediary chapter, showing more of how he feels about sex, than the more graphic in-out elements of it. I'll keep my fingers crossed that works and that some of you enjoy it. Stay tuned for part three, which is a more traditional piece, which will be up tomorrow.\nIf you're interested in stories, I am currently taking commissions, feel free to send me a note.","content":"\u0026nbsp;\n\n**Navigating the Labyrinth**\n\n**Part II - In Search of Words**\n\n**By: Rufus Quentin**\n\n**For: Vickfox**\n\nVictor always had a hard time describing the moments after sex.  \nThat is whenever he and Miles didn't have to rush in anticipation of a  \nroommate's return or quickly abscond from their impromptu hiding place as soon  \nas fluids traded place. \u0026nbsp;He tried writing it down once or twice, but the  \nwords always seemed too pornographic, or too cliché to be worth keeping, and  \ntoo often both simultaneously. Only in the moment did the experience feel most  \nauthentic, too unreal to be real and yet too physical to be one of the figment  \nfantasies that pop in and out of existence like some Higgs boson, or such  \nunstable elementary particle that only leave complex scatter of clues to hint  \nthat they ever existed. Needless to say he liked the feeling he didn't have a  \nword for, the feeling of being observed at his most vulnerable and observing  \nthat vulnerability on another, the satisfaction of having been used to attain  \nsomeone else's satisfaction, and the physical strain and light headedness not  \nunlike at the end of sixteen laps or so when the electric trembling of  \nexhausted muscles rattled him to his fingertips.\n\nThe moment, if it could be called a moment, became somewhat of a  \nsearch, something willed about by the dropping of hints and manipulation of  \nmanipulateables.The search never seemed to end with the  \nexhaustion of his body and the not in-and-of-itself undesirable tingle creeping  \nall the way into his mind's tendrils. He found himself lying naked beside Miles  \non another Friday night, marked inside and out with cum, experiencing that  \nsubtle burn of tiredness in search of a word, in search of language capable of  \nlocking up the carousel of signs proceeding past the periphery of his senses.  \n\u0026nbsp;In the disconnected wanderings of his thoughts he more or less  \nconsciously made an effort to reduce to letters the contentedness, the  \neuphoria, the afterimages of pain and shame for when memory did not suffice.\n\nHe could still count the number of times he and Miles slept  \ntogether, although he wasn't quite sure he could call it that since it only  \nliterally resulted in sleeping twice. He knew it would be a matter of time if  \neverything held its course when he would lose count, provided his numerically  \noriented mind would allow it. He didn't want the feeling to go away with  \nrepetition. He didn't want the fact that he slept with a guy on a regular basis  \nto become routine and lose part of its strangeness. The idea that recently  \nbecame reality still possessed certain weirdness, a little taboo that  \ncomplicated matters sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.\n\nHe really didn't have an answer when his mother asked him why he  \nsounded so upbeat during one of her weekly calls. Nor did he really know how to  \naddress his brother's e-mailed inquiries to number and nature of his lays. The  \nfamiliar voices, the same repetitive stories, and the scents of his home that  \nseemed to come through the receiver took him back to when he still believed that  \nwhat he was doing with Miles was impossible. Once or twice he hung up from  \nthose calls with the intent to call Miles and break things, whatever they were,  \noff.\n\nIn the moments of rest after sex he found his tongue practicing  \nvarious formulations without giving them voice, to find a way of telling home  \nhe found an avenue of happiness. He believed he needed to find only the right  \nwords and a form would follow, and that a form, correctly spoken, could negate  \nall prejudice. On the other hand he found a certain pleasure in keeping the  \nknowledge secret that between five and ten minutes earlier he had the fox on  \ntop of him cycling through the desperate and selfish thrusts he knew from  \nexperience meant imminent climax. For not the first time Miles begged him to let  \nhim tie via a huffed and assertive sounding plea into his demurely backswept  \nears. \u0026nbsp;In the seconds it took for him to search for a cute way to say no  \nhe almost let himself be knotted, taking the steady impact of the  \nformidable-seeming bulge against his already sore and distressed tail-hole and  \nwondering what it felt like for it to slip the short distance inside and what  \nit would mean during the moments after. \u0026nbsp;Sure it would have brought a few  \nseconds of pain, sure it would have meant certain social implications, but the  \nfirst would have subsided, and news of the second needn't travel beyond his  \ndorm room. He kind of regretted saying no again, although at the same time he  \nwas relieved that he did. If he could arrange a next time before winter break,  \nmaybe it would happen then, he thought.\n\nYet that line of thinking became  \na familiar one which ran its course every now and then but always resulted in  \nthe same, a mumbled and grammatically unsound excuse a second or two before no  \nanswer meant yes. Sometimes he wondered if he made himself too available or too  \neasy, and if their friendship ran the risk of becoming one based on the  \noccasional negotiation of sex. A tie, no matter how intriguing it sounded,  \nwithout any other pretext than fun, would only trivialize mateship, he  \nconvinced himself. Plus in the occasional moment of shame and self-doubt,  \nhaving a boundary gave him something virginal about himself to hold onto, even  \nif only a psychological security against the moments he felt overwhelmed, but  \nwith each passing week he needed that security less and less.\n\nPart of what he enjoyed about the time after sex was the inability  \nto concentrate. He could stare at the TV or the ceiling without having to exist  \nin the moment. \u0026nbsp;Sometimes it felt as if he existed in multiple times at  \nonce, as if the entire span of his waking period stretched before him and  \nincluded him, as if he could walk into any moment and seize the memory like  \nsomething physical. He recalled his morning ritual, the search for the black  \nmoleskin in which every facet of his life stood written in enviable concision.  \nDazed and half-asleep he would shuffle through the layers of loose-leaf and  \ndebris around his bed and on his desk. No matter what care he took to lay it  \nsomeplace obvious, his mornings began with a search. He remembered going  \nthrough backpack's pockets, producing not the moleskin, but the zip-lock bag  \nfull of flat packets, the condoms Miles gave him. Bringing them out into the  \npale-gray light and letting his synapses slowly compute what in fact he held,  \nresulted in the fur of his spine bristle in anticipation of a shiver. He held a  \npacket of reminders of all the risks he began to take. He felt the slight  \nsoreness in his tail-hole, the soreness he and Miles never really let subside  \nsince their first time a few short weeks ago. A warm rush of anxiety reddened  \nhis cheeks and ears, and produced that other weird sensation he didn't know how  \nto describe, the primal sensations of fear, guilt, and shame all at once that  \nvery much belonged to the present.\n\nHe stared at the bag of jagged edged metallic squares with round  \nblisters, opened it and retrieved one. He let his finger-pad trace the  \nsaw-tooth edge and remembered how when he was younger, condoms felt mysterious,  \na strange gateway to a realm every hormone in his body commanded him to enter,  \neven though at the time he didn't know how they worked or how to even put one  \non. He remembered finding one in the wallet of his father, back when he was  \nbarely old enough to know what it was and what it meant. Back then he  \nconsidered stealing it for one of those highly unlikely just-in-case moments,  \nbut its expiration date preceded his birth date and he knew it would turn to  \ndust if he even tried to open it. His dad probably kept it as a talisman; some  \nweird fertility symbol from some period in his life Victor knew nothing of and  \ncared to know nothing about. It felt uncanny, almost repulsive, to discover  \nthat his dad had a sexual side, but it made him feel like more of a person and  \nnot just some half-distant authority figure. Now he held onto about a month's  \nsupply and he didn't know what to do with them.\n\nYet again they forewent a condom, even though he slipped one into  \nhis wallet for the now likely just-in-case moment. Earlier he considered asking  \nhim to wear it as Miles withdrew his tongue from his tail-hole and reached for  \nthe lube, but he kept quiet, silently peering over his shoulder trying not to  \nlet his anticipation show too much while Miles painted the bare patch beneath  \nhis tail in cool slickness. Once again he nodded when Miles asked him if he was  \nready, and again the words that left his muzzle while Miles' slender fox-cock  \nslipped past his ring into the bare warmth of his passage hardly sounded like  \nprotest. After that, all apprehension vanished and the race to attain that  \nrewarding rush of cum began.\n\nOver the past few sessions he learned what Miles liked, the most  \nsensitive parts of his cock, and a few other tricks that made him appear more  \nactive, even on bottom. He even learned how to delay the inevitable, something  \nMiles rarely took his time with. He just needed to exaggerate his eagerness,  \nlike push back into the thrusts with as much force as he received them, clutch  \na paw or bushel of fur, \u0026nbsp;or whisper something dirty pertaining to  \nknocking-up or a simple form of encouragement not unlike \"harder.\"  \n\u0026nbsp;Recently Miles started asking to tie, usually in the last seconds as he  \ngot close. The question had a way of triggering the warmth of a blush hidden in  \nhis ears and cheeks, a response not to the question itself, but to the fact  \nthat he often considered letting him.\n\nSince they lost their virginity to each other, as he assumed, he  \nexperienced Miles' developing forms. Not just postures, but a whole confidence  \nand style, evidenced in every meeting where circumstances permitted  \npenetration, no matter how brief. \u0026nbsp;As the number of those meetings, or  \nfucks, or whatever they were grew, the forms and variations thereof left him  \nfeeling a slightly different catalogue of emotions during and afterwards.  \nSometimes Miles would keep going as he came until well after his climax had implanted  \nitself within him, others he would just thrust deep let the throbs carry his  \nsemen as deep as his jets would allow. Once or twice he held him tight to the  \npoint where claws pressed their way down to the flesh, and in a rare instance  \nhe appeared distant and barely connected to the present, not even offing a bit  \nof reach-around. No matter how he finished, Miles always left him with the  \nsubtle rush of warmth and the not unpleasant soreness.\n\nIn the beginning he agreed to \"bottom\" for Miles because he just  \nwanted to be with him and figured it was the easiest way to get him interested.  \nOne of the things he learned about himself was that he liked it. The worst of  \nthe fears and anxieties vanished by their third or fourth time and it simply  \nbecame his role. Though he never agreed to it openly, he liked the fullness,  \nthe feeling of having Miles on top of him panting and exhibiting his most  \nprimal characteristics, and not least the little trace of substance that felt  \nlike an expression of ownership. He felt closest to Miles during those final  \nmoments, during the rising crescendo of movement, during the most forceful  \nthrusts committing to an immediate release, and the row of exhalations as  \neverything began to wane. The moment Miles left him bred and blushing, sighing  \nwith shame and elation, and receptive to the warm seep of sperm within the most  \nintimate part of his body became a moment worth chasing. He enjoyed that  \nfeeling, even after the phantom internal slickness that stayed with him after  \nMiles pulled out faded from one day to the next.\n\nEven though he grew up under the general assumption that the only  \nthing worse than being gay, was being the gay one taking it, he couldn't shake  \nan illicit satisfaction that seemed to stem from a regular source of sex.  \n\u0026nbsp;When he walked around campus, he stood taller. When he talked to people,  \nhe talked clearer. When he sat by himself, he didn't feel so alone. He wondered  \nif he should credit having lost his virginity, as if that bizarre social  \nconstruct had in fact possessed some sort of materiality and that with its  \nloss, he became somehow lighter and more relieved of some toxic element of  \nhimself. Or perhaps, and most realistically, he just grew a bit over time. It  \nstill felt as though some metamorphosis took place the previous three weeks,  \nand that he somehow purged some of his undesirable traits and become a little  \ncloser to the fox he wanted to be.\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\n\nHe started burning the candle at both ends, so to speak. He  \nattended parties without complaint. He met new people and didn't need Miles to  \nbegin or mediate the conversations. He was friends with Beth now, and even met  \nher strange girlfriend, Lauren. He became a bit more assertive with Miles too,  \nmanipulating, orchestrating, and taking on an active role down to explicit  \nfrankness as to his intentions. Sometimes it also meant shooing a roommate out  \nof town for the weekend, or disappointing someone else, someone like Lauren.  \nShe, arguably enough, became the first on campus to enter into his regular  \ncircle of friends without Miles' direct assistance. At least he talked to her  \nand told his jokes, he made her laugh. Conversations seemed to flow even as  \ntopics shifted beyond gaming and the usual pleasantries.\n\nHe somehow forged a rapport, if not a friendship, with Lauren  \nindependently. She paid for part of her tuition working on a student salary in  \nthe rec-center four nights a week. They met at the beginning of the semester,  \nback when he decided to start exercising to keep the freshmen fifteen from  \ndeveloping into the sophomore forty-five. She worked at the reception back  \nthen. He remembered how she took his ID, giggled at it, and commented on his  \nsomewhat awkward likeness. He told a joke. She laughed and asked him where he  \nwas from. By the time he passed on into the chlorinated air of the gym, he  \nwasn't quite sure if he had been flirted with, or if he had been just another  \nrecipient of the same small-talk afforded every other guy to pass by.\n\nHe saw her again and pretty much every time he went. She  \nremembered his name and all the things he told her. She even offered to train  \nhim when one of her appointments turned up no-show. He learned she even played  \nWarcraft. From there the ice broke and he became the veritable wellspring of  \nchatter, sharing experiences, tricks, and speculating over the coming  \nexpansion. She wasn't the kind of woman he would ever approach, not because he  \ndidn't find her beautiful, but because he automatically considered her out of  \nhis league. She didn't have the looks you would find on the cover of a  \nmagazine, but rather an unconventional attractiveness, a tom-boyishness he  \ntended to prefer in women. This regard for her, coupled with his shyness, delayed  \nany serious interest in Lauren. As his rapport with her matured, he already  \nbegan to develop eyes for Miles, and she stayed what she was.\n\nShe nearly slipped from his thoughts, especially during the last  \nweeks of the semester when the stress of balancing his studies and his  \nrelationship began to take its toll. That was why it struck him when he saw  \nLauren that morning on his way from his biology lecture hall. He felt dour for  \nhaving directed at him the professor's reproach for being late, and for blanking  \non the last three questions of the quiz, one he definitely needed to ace to  \nkeep himself in \"A\" range. He first saw Beth on the way to the commons and  \nconsidered avoiding her, feeling too down to want any sort of attention, but  \nshe recognized him, waved, and slowed. An oddly familiar collie accompanied  \nher, one whose gender appeared vague from a distance. Only on approach did he  \nrecognize the irregular array of spots dotting the steel blue and white of her  \nface, the muzzle that easily produced a smile that could pass for genuine. It  \nfelt strange to see her out of context, away from the chlorine-scented gym and  \nunflattering uniform and into even more unflattering men's jeans and a tattered  \ndenim jacket patched in a comprehensive history of 1977 London punk.\n\nBeth greeted him and introduced Lauren as her better half, a  \nlittle fact that took him by surprise for a number of reasons. He never once  \nplaced Lauren as a lesbian, but when he took into account her short head fur  \ntussled into something resembling a mohawk, her attire consisting exclusively  \nout of men's clothes, and a carefully crafted alternative image, all the  \nfactors fell into place with an obviousness he chided himself for not noticing.  \nHe felt disappointed, but could not isolate the exact source, nor could he  \nexplain to himself why. She said hello. He returned the greeting. Then she  \nchided him for having become scarce with an assertive vehemence that made his  \nears droop. It took him by surprise to bear witness to, let alone receive a  \nlecture from her, when he only ever saw her smile. Yet their rapport quickly  \nresurfaced and leapt from topic to topic in confusion inducing non-linearity.  \nBeth stood idly by as he, the reserved one, let the words flow like water down  \na little stream.\n\nBeth could only edge in the quick inquiry of how he and Miles got  \nalong. The question eroded a bit of his confidence. It was still a formulation  \nnew to him, one that possessed a strange dissonance he was still far from used  \nto. The question also outed him to Lauren, something he felt a great deal of  \nregret towards, though he didn't know why. She would obviously support him for  \nit, perhaps like him a bit more, but it seemed as if he could almost hear the  \ndeadbolt lock on the door that slammed shut the moment Beth introduced her. He  \ndidn't know why it bothered him either. As he dissected the uncanny feeling on  \nthe way back to his dorm and sorted its elements in piles of jealousy and  \ndisappointment, he could only attribute it to some species or gender specific  \ndrive, or perhaps just the faintest suggestion of greener grass.\n\nIt also felt strange to talk about Miles. The pronoun \"we\" seemed  \nawkward coming out of his muzzle. He reported no news as good news, keeping the  \ndetails brief. She nodded with a hum, listening with full attention, but adding  \nnothing beyond the advice to remain patient. Before the feline and her  \ncompanion parted ways, Beth invited him to her room for a game night. Part of  \nhim wanted to accept immediately, the other contemplated the interference it  \ncould bring into his rubric of plans involving a certain other fox. He nodded  \nbefore he could show hesitation. Both the women smiled, then to each other. She  \nasked him to let Miles know too.\n\nThat invitation became the burden of the day, even as the door to  \nhis room shut behind him and he nested himself in front of his computer, trying  \nto right click his way into a blissful state of distraction. It seemed he had a  \nchoice. He delayed making it until the last possible moment. After a few hours  \nof zoning in and out of awareness, doing mundane kill quests in Arathi  \nHighlands while letting flutter in and out of his thoughts the more explicit  \nfantasies within which Miles played a more than significant role, he finally  \ngot a text from him. It surprised him that so many hours passed. He stood at  \nthe door before he even logged out.\n\nMiles wore a thick jacket now that the weather became colder. His  \nears were tucked cutely under a knit cap. Miles smiled, beaming some  \nsubcutaneous arrangement intended for more than just friends, the kind that  \nmade him want to pounce the fox then and there. He quickly pulled Miles in, let  \nthe door click shut, let a somewhat awkward moment pass in which they silently  \nswayed where they stood until he ventured a kiss. He felt Miles' body stiffen  \nat first, as it usually did at the onset of kiss, before he invariably relaxed  \nand his paws found just the right places upon him. With each time he noticed  \nthat interval of tension decrease. He wanted to kiss Miles until his lips  \nbecame sore. He wanted to strip for him and to be seen naked. He wanted to feel  \nhis intimate fur. In that moment he would consent to anything, down to Miles'  \nmost illicit wishes. After a moment where it all felt attainable, Miles broke  \nthe kiss and informed him of a change in plans. They would go to the lesbians.\n\nIt hurt to pick up his jacket, to find his boots, to power down  \nhis computer and lock the door to his dorm room he managed to secure as private  \nfor the night. He didn't have much to say on the way down the stairs and into  \nthe cold night, nor on the way down the street, past houses already garlanded  \nin Christmas decorations. Only the ten-thousand thoughts sprung through his  \nhead like atoms in a chain reaction. At the woods he slowed down and came to a  \nstop, darting a paw to grab Miles by the sleeve. He smiled and let his whiskers  \nbristle. A visible exhalation left his nose.\n\nHe darted off into the forest, dragging Miles with him. He raced  \nand Miles stumbled. Desiccated leaves rustled beneath them. Ice crunched under  \ntheir boots. They ran between the trees, swatting away leafless twigs. It  \nbecame a chase in no particular direction. They left behind them a crooked path  \nof disturbed ground. He let himself be caught at the base of the largest tree,  \na place where the light barely reached them, where swaying branches shielded  \nthem. He found a kiss, and then another, then the depth and intensity he badly  \nwanted. Miles held him the way he liked it and let his paws find new places on  \nhis body to claim. He kept the images like still photographs, recalling only  \nthe action, the movement, and the panting. He remembered how their whiskers  \nfenced, and how their tongues fought between their muzzles. He remembered the  \nvapors, the scents of his lover, and the taste of his breath. They needed no  \nwords to agree.\n\nHe remembered the clink of the belt buckle and the little rattle  \nof brass and the rasp of the zipper experience taught him to bring down without  \ncatching. He remembered the blues and grays of clothing blur in haste and  \nimpatience and the success of coaxing visible a white flash of pubic fuzz from  \nbehind a no longer immovable seeming band of elastic. He allowed his muzzle to  \nbrush the softness of sheath and his nostrils to breathe warmth into Miles'  \nfur, refusing to let him feel the cold. \u0026nbsp;He let his whiskers reacquaint  \nthemselves with male aspects, brushing intimacy in search of the scents of his  \nlover. He remembered the moment his tongue-tip tasted the slit of his fox's  \nsheath, where many dozen brief licks soon found their place. He understood that  \nwith the rest of Miles' paw behind his ears he entered into a silent agreement  \nholding him to finish what he began.\n\nHe knew exactly how nervous Miles felt without needing to cast a  \ndiminutive look upward. He felt it too, even as his fingers massaged the base  \nof Miles' sheath and the familiar emerging firmness. It felt as if uncountable  \npairs of eyes peered through the crossed leafless branch work, threatening to  \nexpose him at his most vulnerable. He had to trust that only Miles' watched him  \nbetween quick over-the-shoulder glances. He performed so that Miles could see  \nhim curl his tongue around the smooth skinned maleness and lap delicately at  \nthe crest of vulpine cock. He heard the blissful sigh as his lips wrapped  \naround that growing arousal and his tongue cradled it with the occasional flick  \naround its ridges and tip.\n\nWhen he considered the strange path to the present, he couldn't  \nremember the intermediate moments, just the blur of minutes and movement  \nmerging time and space in some surreal montage reconstructable only in the  \nimagined sparks of recollection without any clear linearity. He saw an image of  \nhimself sliding his muzzle up and down Miles' erect length, twisting, angling,  \nwilling his tongue along the smooth venous shaft. He recalled the softness of  \nMiles' sack and pubic fuzz passing beneath his paw-pads and intimate scents and  \ntastes that had a way of triggering the recent memories of what so drastically  \nchanged him. He urged himself to continue, short of breath and sore, constantly  \nseeking out new angles and techniques, forcing his tired tongue to perform new  \nflourishes around cock-tip and developing knot.\n\nSoon it became a match of accommodation. His own contributions and  \ncreativity became subordinate to Miles' quick and needy bucks straining his  \nmuzzle to the brink of his ability. He felt the weight of the paw against his  \nback-swept ears and the forceful bump of knot against his lips. It in the  \nprolonged minutes of stress and strain he found no objection, no complaint  \nworth voicing. He liked the moments between coaxing Miles into play and losing  \ncontrol to what he started. He liked the pressure of Miles' anxious and rushed  \nnon-verbal commands and the sound of the gasps that left Miles' parted lips in  \nvaporous clouds. In those moments the burdens, the external concerns, the  \nwrongness all seemed furthest from his thoughts.\n\nHe could read the signs of Miles drawing close and anticipate his  \nneeds and shifting focal points, but at the same time he realized that he had  \nnever taken it that far before. They long since crossed the point where he  \nusually stopped and raised tail either by his own volition, or by Miles'  \nrequest. He recalled the choice of continuing or quitting and turning up tail,  \nand wondered if and how another decision would have impacted the present. \u0026nbsp;He  \nrecalled a moment of fear as he felt Miles' cock throb in ever increasing  \nfrequency, as the taste of fox-pre spread through his muzzle, and as he  \nrealized Miles had no intention of ceasing. In the moment he recalled the  \ndistracting simultaneous tasks, the guarding of Miles' smooth length from tooth  \nand fang, the guidance of his sensitive tip between cradled tongue and palate,  \nand senses overloaded by tastes and scents. He remembered the details and  \ndimensions of Miles' knot as he held it in his paw, how it grew and pulsed  \nagainst his paw-pads. He remembered the throbs and the direct taste of pre he  \nnever before found in such quantity.\n\nThe final moments became an indistinct sequence of actions, not  \nmovements. Miles bucked forward, leaving the last actions to him. The force on  \nthe back of his head became great. Miles' knot pressed past his lips. His  \nfingers desperately pushed back sheath to wrap around the very base of his  \ncock, and his tongue and lips did all they could to make real his intentions.  \nHe recalled the wait following the cessation of moment, the moment in time not  \nmeasured in intervals, and the suspense as he tried dearly to keep his fangs  \noff the cock filling his muzzle down to the throat.\n\nMiles buckled over, releasing a cloud of breath that enveloped  \nthem both. A restrained call of elation broke the quiet and caused an echo  \nunlike the sound of any wildlife. With his whiskers interlacing with pubic fur,  \nhis muzzle enveloped in the heat of sex, and his ear tips burning under the  \nbite of cold, he felt the throbs swell against his lips, tongue, and palate.  \nThe throbs proceeded jets of considerable force and gave way to the sensation  \nof certain warmth accumulating at the back of his throat. That viscosity spread  \nas the pulses reached their apex and waned, eventually reaching his tongue and  \neliminating all curiosity with the direct and undeniable taste of cum.\n\nHe sensed the passage of time through the warm waves of breath  \nwashing over his scalp and the whips of mist before his eyes. He kept a tight  \nseal around Miles' cock even after his climax tapered to a trickle, he didn't  \ndare to move or let a drop of mixed fluids escape. Only then did he recognize  \nhis lungs' call for air and begin to wonder what to do with the muzzle full of  \nsemen. In his fantasies he always swallowed, but in the moment he began to  \ndoubt if he should. As his tongue stirred the solution of pre, sperm, and  \nsaliva he scrambled to recall any guiding code or etiquette, but he swallowed  \nmore out of reflex than anything, feeling thick cum coating his throat. With  \nthe barrier broken he swallowed the rest with complete willingness,  \nexperiencing a level of illicit satisfaction that frightened him.\n\nWhen he pulled free, he didn't want to look up. He watched the  \nwaves of mist escape his muzzle as he satiated his need for air, stirring the  \nremainder of semen around his muzzle between breaths, and letting Miles'  \nflavors decode. As he watched Miles hastily stow his arousal back inside his  \nboxers, wincing as he coaxed the semi-firm state into a comfortable enough  \nposition, the bitterness, the acridity, and the salinity of semen coating his  \ntongue made it impossible to smell or taste anything else. He tried to recall  \nthe exact taste, flicking his tongue around his fangs as he did back then in  \nsearch of a trace, but all he found was a faulty reconstruction of sensory  \ninformation and details frustratingly eluding him.\n\nHe got to his feet and brushed the ice from his knees, feeling  \nunsure of whether he liked the taste, or if he should like it, or if it  \ndisgusted him. They nervously looked all directions as Miles jingled his belt  \nback together. A zip pulled them back into the realm of innocence. Only the  \nrapidly fading taste and a cold spot of pre pressing against his peaking  \ncock-tip evidenced the fact that he just gave his first successful blow-job.\n\nThey exchanged no words on their way back to the path. Even the  \ntrip to the lesbians passed mostly silent. He burnt to say something to Miles.  \nAt the time being, anything would have sufficed. His limbs felt ready to pounce  \nand restrain him and bathe him in licks. Of all the things in the world he  \nwanted to do, he wanted to kiss him. It pained him that they left their  \npseudo-secret place without doing so. The next opportunity seemed like a  \ncentury away. Only as they turned onto the block of Lambda house, did he ask,  \n\"how was it?\"\n\n\"Shush,\" said Miles, turning a glance his way.\n\n\"Please,\" he said.\n\nAll Miles did was sway into him in his usual irreverent manner,  \nbumping him onto the lawn of someone's house. The playfulness, the wordless  \nmessage of the gesture didn't amuse him that time. While he took it as the best  \nthank you Miles could offer, he wanted it to mean \"I love you,\" but he knew he  \nwould deceive himself if he assumed as much.\u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\n\nHe sat down between Lauren and Allen around the table at Lambda.  \nAnalog gaming took some getting used to, but he could roll along with it, and  \neven win a few rounds. He managed to speak with Lauren between turns, and slip  \nto her some of the less explicit details of his life. She asked him too many  \nquestions to count and seemed to take a genuine interest in his relationship.  \nShe even invited him out for a cigarette, which de declined, but followed  \nanyway. In the cold and in the fumes of breath and tobacco she asked him how  \nold he and Miles were. When he answered she smiled.\n\n\"Oh, wow. You've got nothing to worry about, hun.\" She said,  \nexhaling smoke. \"You guys have been active for what? A month? Six weeks? And  \nyou're each other's firsts? He's practically a cub, just like you. He doesn't  \nknow better. You can't expect a mature relationship from a nineteen-year-old.  \nYou'll be lucky if someone matures in their late twenties. I've dated a guy  \nwho's license said twenty-seven, coulda' sworn he was sixteen. Complete dork.  \nAll teenagers are dorks, no offence.\"\n\n\"None taken, but how old are you?\" he asked.\n\n\"Twenty-one. FYI you don't ask women these things.\"\n\n\"You're not much older than me.\"\n\n\"I'm not saying I'm that much more mature than you, but I did get  \nan earlier start than you and a lot can happen in two years.\"\n\n\"You dated a guy before? I thought you were with Beth?\"\n\n\"I am. Moved in with her three months ago. Met her right here at  \nthe beginning of the semester. Came by with my U-haul the very next day.\"\n\n\"I'm confused.\"\n\n\"Oh I get it. Look, my sexuality is like a... dartboard, wait, a... I  \ncan't think of a good metaphor. It's complicated. Let's just leave it like  \nthat. Beth is probably the person I've been closest too on an emotional level.\n\n\"I think I know what you mean. Mine's weird too. I'm not sure what  \nI am. Before Miles I always thought I was straight and those feelings just  \ndon't go away. But now, ya. I've got something for Miles, you know? But for him  \nthis is all an experiment, and I'm not sure where it's going. Sometimes I feel  \nhe loves me, other times I feel like a sex-doll.\"\n\n\"Like I said, he'll learn. It takes time, maybe a long time, and  \nthe best you can do is keep talking and teach him what you want. Even if that  \nmeans training.\"\n\n\"That's what I've been doing.\"\n\n\"Keep at it, and don't sweat it. I don't want to play down what it  \nmeans to have a first. The first is a big one. It can really determine who you  \nare as an adult, but keep an open mind and you'll figure out what you are.  \nMeanwhile, you have a lot of friends here, and a new round of a game that's  \nwaiting for us,\" said Lauren before tossing her cigarette out onto the snow.\n\nAfter a few more rounds he managed to lure Miles home early with a  \nwhisper promising a tie. Though he reneged on that promise, it succeeded in  \nbringing the fox to bed. \u0026nbsp;Once again he lay there slowly breathing the  \nsex-scented air, unsure of where their relationship was or where he even wanted  \nit to go. He wondered if Miles had the same thoughts, but his expression looked  \nfar too neutral, too engrossed in late night cartoons to confess anything  \nworthwhile. Part of what the moment of rest after sex affords, he thought as  \nthe fragmented images replayed themselves in an ever less authentic cycle, is  \nthe ability to work the then broken and unprocessed thoughts into something  \nmore coherent. Perhaps it afforded a deeper understanding of oneself and one's  \nchoices, or at least it gave the impression of such.\n\nA sideways glance spied Miles' spent pink cock contrasting with the stark white  \nof his belly-fur. Miles' still swollen knot prevented its retreat back into his  \nsheath. It had nothing to do but lay there in the slow process of recovery,  \ncoated in a slick sheen of cum, lube, and pre. Part of him wanted to doubt that  \nhe had that cock inside him, and that allowed Miles to ride him and to cum  \ninside him for the umpteenth time. The sensations, not least the phantom  \ninternal slickness as well as his lubed up and sore tail-hole were real, part  \nof an ever growing catalogue of facts. A feint veil of disbelief cloaked  \neverything he saw, and made it hard to believe the present. The five weeks  \nsince their first night seemed like a long time, but as he lay there he  \nrealized it wasn't. \u0026nbsp;Two months ago, he would have considered this  \nimpossible. Six months ago back in the heat of summer as he floated in his  \nparent's pool, the reality of being with a guy, while at the back of his head,  \nwouldn't have made it on the radar. Time goes fast, he thought to himself,  \nbefore reaching over to apply a stroke to Miles' slick length. The fox didn't  \nseem to mind, looking down and then back at the screen. Only when he leaned  \nover and let Miles' flaccid fox-cock disappear between his lips, did he wrestle  \nhis attention away from the tube.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nNavigating the Labyrinth: Part II - In search of Words © Rufus Quentin\n\nCharacters © Vickfox\n\n  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"Victor \u0026amp; Miles","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/492418-navigating-the-labyrinth.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/572158-navigating-the-labyrinth-part-iii-more-or-less.json"}}