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Homeslickness

by Whyte Yote

The car was familiar, but the road was not. His mother had even turned the radio to his favorite station to help calm his nerves. Which it did, if only in the smallest of ways. He clutched the stuffed moogle to his chest, its little red pom-pom bouncing in time with his own. That might have usually bothered him, but today he was too distracted and anxious to care.

"I'm tellin' ya," said his father from the driver's seat, "you're going to like it." His voice carried the put-upon air of a parent who wants desperately for his child to enjoy something he may otherwise not. His wings twitched agitatedly through the hole in the seatback, though.

"Mog." His mother peered around her shoulder and smiled, and even though he knew she was trying to placate him as well, that smile calmed him down some. It always did. "Honey, you'll do fine. I know it's so soon after moving here, but we thought it would be best to get you off to a running start." Her wings weren't twitchy so Mog knew she meant it more than Dad had meant his. Dad was more the get-over-it type anyway, and that was the last thing a nine-year old kid needed right now.

"You'll see," added the big male. "You're going to make friends and forget we ever existed." Then he laughed, though Mog didn't know why such a thought would make someone laugh. Or happy. Maybe it was a grownup thing. If so, then grownups were weird. But that was established knowledge among cubs anyway.

"Just promise to give it a chance," his mother added. "Before you call, if you feel you need to."

"It had better be life or death if he needs to call. Hmph." And, with a curt nod, Dad was done talking about it. Mog hadn't even considered calling if he got homesick, but now the possibility hovered like a carrot on a stick.

Even if he didn't make any friends, he would at least get to go camping, something he'd never done before. For some reason that didn't scare him nearly as much as the move to an unfamiliar place had. And he'd be away from the new house with its empty walls and underlying scent of fox the cleaners hadn't totally eradicated from the carpet. By the time he got back home there would be new rugs throughout, so he was glad not to have to help out or be in the way.

He watched as they turned off the main road and into an established neighborhood with large trees and well-kept lawns. Most of the houses here sported brick façades and cedar-shake roofs, owned by families that obviously made more money than Mog's father. Not to say the moogles' new house was ghetto--far from it. It was everything they needed and some of what they wanted. And the thought of his new room, all set up and waiting for him to return, made him all warm and fuzzy inside, and he wasn't so scared anymore.

They pulled up just past a church and parked in front of a squat, innocuous one-story building that might have been a house in the past, and in another neighborhood. Its siding and asphalt-shingle roof stood out, but not really in a bad way. Parents and their kids milled about the lawn, carrying duffels and backpacks over to large piles on each side of the concrete walkway that led to the front door. The diversity of species was intimidating in itself, but Mog sucked in a big breath and let it out, steeling himself for the inevitable.

He threw the plush moogle in the very back, on top of his luggage, before anyone could see.

No one noticed when he stepped out of the car. No one turned their head, not even to smile. Mog felt a paw on his back, and he turned to see his father with his bags slung over each shoulder.

"I can carry my backpack," he said, and reached up to take it.

"I certainly wasn't going to." His father shrugged it off with a smile and walked over to the pile with an unevenly-laden gait, where he added Mog's purple duffel to the assorted bags.

The scent of his mother surrounded him just before her arms did. "Look at all those excited boys. You don't think you're going to have a blast?" She pointed in the general vicinity of the group, and Mog's gaze happened upon a panda and a fox with their respective phones almost touching. They shared a pair of ear-bud headphones plugged into the fox's cell, their ears wiggling in time with a song.

Across the way, Mog's father was talking with a tall white canine whose uniform--the T-shirt-and-shorts "Class B" versus the traditional navy "Class A"--belied nothing about his status. He wasn't a parent, though. Well, he could be, but he wasn't _just_a parent. Both men were looking in his direction, and when the canine crooked a finger Mog's mother leaned over to kiss his cheek. At least it saved him the embarrassment of a full-on lip kiss in front of potential new friends.

As he approached, he caught the last of their conversation.

"--bout the new place and new kids. We wanted to give him some time to acclimate before school begins." Paws on hips, his father grinned down, his pom-pom bouncing. "You're not going to give Mr. L'Hounque here any trouble, are you? Not gonna make him have to drive you home from camp?" It wasn't a question at all, but a warning.

Mr. L'Hounque wasn't an imposing man, but he was fairly tall, taller than Mog's father by a good few inches. Thick of build and sporting a healthy belly, he didn't come across as anything other than fatherly and good-natured, with lively blue eyes behind glasses perched on the bridge of his muzzle and an ivory pipe relegated to the corner of his lips. "What do you say, champ? Wanna give us a try for a weekend?" A big, warm paw landed on his shoulder and squeezed.

"Uh huh. Sounds like fun." Mog still didn't believe a hundred percent, but he'd seen in Mr. L'Hounque's face the potential that it would all turn out okay. So he erred on the side of cautious optimism and hoped the little white lie would turn into a truth.

"Right on," said Mr. L'Hounque, and he fist-bumped Mog, who held out his fist for his father to seal the deal. After a few parting words and one last wave to his mother as she rolled up her window, Mog was alone.

Until_two_paws now squeezed _both_his shoulders, and turned him around so he was face-to-face with the kneeling canine. Sweet tobacco scent tickled his nose and made him a little lightheaded. It smelled really, really good, and Mr. L'Hounque's pipe wasn't even lit.

"Thanks for covering for me there, Mog," he said. "Your dad's more worried than he lets on. You feel like proving him wrong this weekend?" How could the moogle say no to that? He'd been thrust from one father figure to another, and he liked how it felt. When he nodded, Mr. L'Hounque's face lit up. "Awesome. From now on, though, I'm Sébastien. This isn't a sponsored trip, so things'll be pretty informal this time around."

"Okay."

Sébastien pointed past Mog's head. Mog followed the claw until he saw a kid who looked like a younger version of the adult. "That's my son. His name is Hector. I betcha he'd love to be your friend. Oh, good, Ret's here with the trailer." A rhino in a big white van was pulling up to the curb, pulling a small U-Haul trailer behind it. "Go on and say hi while we get sorted."

"Okay." Feeling like he hadn't made much of an impression to deserve the nice treatment, Mog crossed the small expanse of lawn, dropping his backpack on top of the pile on his way. Hector was digging in his own bag when the moogle stopped and waited for him to look up. When he noticed Mog right next to him, instead of starting he merely smiled.

"Hi. You're new." A surge of heat rushed to Mog's ears, no doubt turning them as pink as his nose. He could feel it all the way to his pom-pom. Hector stuck out a paw. "I'm Hector."

"Yeah...your dad told me." The moogle met a firm shake that made his arm look like a wet noodle. Hector wore the same Class B as the other cubs and leaders, a brown T-shirt with pack identification and navy uniform shorts. Where Sébastien's white fur blended directly, Hector's went through a spectrum of blues to black. He took after his dad in build too, carrying a fair amount of curvature that filled out his clothes nicely. And his eyes were...

"Cool," Hector said, leaning down to dig in his backpack again. He came up holding a pawheld gaming system. "I got a DS. You play? My dad thought I'd like it, but mostly I just read. I got Advance Wars, though."

Mog found himself smiling, and it lit up his face, and he remembered how good it made him feel. He hadn't smiled in a while. "I got one too. And_I have _Advance Wars! Maybe we could try it out sometime."

"That'd be cool," Hector said. "We're not supposed to take 'em on official Scout trips, but since this is just camping we don't have to follow the rules."

"_Any_rules?"

Hector giggled "Not _all_of 'em. You still get to have fun." From behind them, a big booming voice announced a departure time of five minutes. Hector's ears swiveled before his head. "We'd better help pack the trailer. Hey, you wanna sit next to me in the van?"

Before Mog could answer, Hector ran toward the pile of bags, tail whipping the air behind him. And that was that.

*

At first, the noise from the wind and the highway around the big Econoline's slab sides couldn't compete with the cacophony of ten boys, but as the Scouts settled in for the long-ish ride things quieted down. Sébastien sat up front with Ret, a barrel-chested black rhino who was actually grey. Every time the van hit a bump Ret would duck down so his horn wouldn't poke a hole in the rented van's headliner.

Packing up the van and trailer had been a flurry of activity and shouting, with Mog finding little to do other than grab his backpack and follow the group without getting in the way. Hector had led him to the very back row, the special place in any big van where the occupants can enjoy the special pseudo-secrecy of not having anyone to look over one's shoulder.

He was busy looking out the window when he felt a poke. "Hey," said Hector. "You're brooding again."

"Huh?"

"You look sad." Hector's face was dour. "You shouldn't look sad. It's a freaking camping trip!" The goofy way the canine's mismatched eyes lit up brought out another smile, and made Mog realize he'd been clutching his backpack about his waist as if it were a life preserver.

He shoved it aside. "Sorry. I'm used to it. Being quiet, I mean, not being sad." Taking a deep cleansing breath, he asked, "Could you tell me who everybody is? So I don't look stupid?"

"You're not stupid," said Hector. "You'll get over it soon." The canine just wasn't having any of the moogle's self-deprecating mood, and Mog appreciated it. "I guess we start with Ret. He's the CubMaster."

"Is that like a Scoutmaster?"

"Kinda. We're not the whole pack. We're just the Wolf Den, and my dad's the Den Leader, though he's not a whole wolf. That's the joke, at least."

"You look like wolves."

"Coyolves," Hector corrected. Dad's half-and-half, and I'm three-quarters coyote."

Mog nodded. "Is that why your eyes don't match?"

"Nah. Just the way I was born. Dad says I used to have psychic powers and it turned my eye red, but I never believed it. I can't even do a Care Bear stare in the shower."

"Huh?"

"You ever stand in the shower and try to stare out your tummy?" The coyolf adjusted his seatbelt to a more comfortable position across his belly and looked at Mog. He was serious.

Mog fidgeted. "No. Should I have?"

"Not exactly. Sometimes I have too much imagination for my own good. Sometimes I write stories."

"Really? What about?"

Hector's eyes fell to his lap. "Just random stuff. Stuff I like."

"Maybe I could read one sometime." It was not like him to be so forward so quickly, but since Hector had approached him and paid him attention, he felt comfortable enough to take chances.

"Maybe," Hector demurred. "We'll see. Oh, hey, you wanna know the guys?"

Mog did, and he made sure to pay attention while the coyolf pointed out the other Scouts in the van. In the second row sat Hobby and Roger, the panda and fox he'd seen before. Now engrossed in a magazine, one held the pages open and turned while they both whispered--and sniggered--from time to time.

"Hobby draws, and Roger's got a big brother who's in the Boy Scouts still. He's almost Eagle," said Hector. "You could get a drawing of yourself if you asked Hobby. He does it in like no time."

Packed into the third row sat four cubs, though they still had plenty of breathing room. Hector pointed out Charlie (the blue-and-white husky), Fuery (the brownish-grey dog with glasses), Hima (the blonde snow cheetah) and Argos (the Corgi). He also pointed out that all Mog had to do was ask or introduce himself and the guys would have no trouble warming up to him.

"After we set up camp we'll be doin' stuff together anyway, so you can't help it," said Hector with a reassuring pat to the moogle's thigh. "Furry dipping."

"Whuh?" Mog tried to speak around the sudden heart in his throat.

Hector snickered. "Hah, gotcha. No, I wish. Feels better to me. But we have suits. You bring yours?" Mog nodded. "Awesome. The lake is really nice, and clean. Hardly any leeches." That was an obvious joke, and the moogle allowed himself a laugh, which got another paw on his thigh. While the paw itself wasn't warm, the feeling he got surely was. His chest got tight in a not-so-bad kind of way.

He wriggled in place and discovered his sheath had gotten half-hard, and while it was slightly less comfortable, it also wasn't. Hector didn't appear to have noticed. Of course he wouldn't; there was no way he could see anything. After considering asking the coyolf about it for half a second, he decided not to chance looking weird.

As if bat wings and a pom-pom weren't weird enough. It was then he realized that Hector hadn't even asked what he was.

*

The lake beckoned them with the siren song of its deep blue snowmelt water under the summer sky. Mog felt it, and he noticed the other boys stealing glances down the gentle slope of land to the shore as well. They could all be down there in less than twenty seconds, but the tent came first.

Ret and Sébastien had directed the Cubs to set up camp in a semicircle around what was to be their campfire pit, with the adults' tent across the way. The boys had paired off, and Hector had immediately picked Mog as his tent buddy, which took a lot of pressure off the moogle. It seemed natural that they'd pair up after spending the whole morning together, but Mog hoped he wasn't turning into a clingy wet blanket.

Now he kneeled in the grass, a small piece of rope in his paw, trying to tie a knot. His overhand knot wouldn't work, and he didn't know how to tie anything else.

"Suit up!" Ret shouted from the edge of the clearing. His voice carried all the way across the lake and back. "The sun won't be on that water much longer!" Hima gave a whoop and dived into his tent, which he and Charlie had already stuffed full of their gear. Argos started tossing random bags to Fuery to hurry things up, while Hobby and Roger had been changed and waiting for ten minutes already.

Hector was nowhere to be found. Panic started to creep in. Mog's fingers fumbled with the rope, dropped it, tried to tie it around the metal stake, dropped it again, and the front of the tent collapsed.

He wanted his mom. He wanted to go home.

_No, no, nonono shut up!_But his brain wouldn't shut up. It kept making him want to run to Ret or find Sébastien and grab the first cell phone he could to call home. He stared at the ground, and the ground got blurry from tears he couldn't stop. Clutching at his knees, he closed his eyes, let the tears fall, and tried to shout down the voice in his head.

"Mog?" That wasn't the voice in his head. And when the moogle opened his eyes, the blurry black-and-blue feet he saw belonged to Hector. "What's wrong?" He sounded out of breath. A paw was on his shoulder again, with its comforting weight. He blinked away the moisture and cleared his throat. No way was he going to look like a crybaby.

"I can't remember which knot is best to tie this stupid rope with," Mog feigned angrily, throwing the rope onto the tent for emphasis.

"Silly," Hector replied, "It's just two half-hitches. Here." Kneeling beside Mog, he tugged the pole back to vertical, made a loop in the rope and laid one end over it. "Canines know all about knots," he giggled.

"Why's it so easy for canines?" Hector looked at him as if he had sprouted a second head. Should he have known the answer? Was it in the Cub Scout manual?

"You're super silly." Hector smacked his lips, and Mog noticed it was wet and matted around the corners. The coyolf must have been thirsty, and looking for a water pump. "Now watch."

Mog watched Hector's paws move the rope swiftly around and under itself until the knot was tight. After pulling the tent upright, the moogle slipped the loop around the stake and the job was finished.

"Did you get how to do it?" asked Hector.

"Maybe. I might have to watch again." Mog paused, looking away. "Thanks for helping me." It was the least he could do to show his appreciation. He got a quick lick to his cheek in response before Hector disappeared into the tent with his gear in tow.

"Welcome! C'mon, let's go swimming!"

Blushing like crazy, Mog licked his cheek but didn't taste water.

Mog had never been naked in front of anyone else before, besides his parents, and that didn't really count because that was bath time when he was little. In a tent, with a kid he'd known all of three hours, was different.

He didn't quite know why, but it was.

Maybe because Hector dropped his pants and undies before the moogle could even open his duffel bag. And by the time Mog had fished out his bathing suit the coyolf was bent over, tail high, threading his legs through the holes and bouncing around on whichever one wasn't lifted. Mog got a good look at the tight little white sac before his stomach got fluttery again and he had to look away. From what he could tell, it wasn't much different from his own. Seeing it from behind, however, felt weird even though he'd done the same with himself in the mirror at home. As soon as Hector closed up his Velcro tail flap, he grabbed his towel and bounded out of the tent, leaving the moogle to undress in private. A part of him wished the coyolf had stayed, if only to help get rid of the awkward tension. Another part of him didn't believe that part.

*

Though the lake consisted of snowmelt from the mountains, its tributary flowed through enough sun-drenched fields on the way down to warm the water to a swimmable temperature. More than a half-mile across, it was still secluded enough for the Pack to be the only visitors this weekend. Their shrieks and laughter reverberated across the water and the low rolling hills on the horizon.

With Sébastien playing lifeguard and Ret in the water, the kids were free to horse around more than if they had been at a Scouting-sponsored camp. The adults only supervised as far as keeping the boys from hurting each other, and even then some titties ended up twisted and some heads noogied. Ret even gave rides on his horn, throwing one occupant off while shouting, "Next!" to whomever was waiting.

Mog had planned to stay close to Hector--until the coyolf swam over to the group and joined in their splash-fight-in-progress. He watched, waist-deep in the water, until Hima swept his arm and sent a wave crashing over him, drenching him from the pom-pom on down. His initial embarrassment couldn't hold up to the good-natured ribbing, and he soon joined in with gusto.

Something had changed. Something had finally changed for him, and Mog was deeply thankful. Hector had broken the ice, and he'd probably goaded the others into being more welcome than came naturally, but now they all seemed to be warming up to him as much as he was to them. By the time Ret corralled them up onto shore, he was part of the Pack, a boy among boys, and the thought of going home almost appalled him. It was going to be a short weekend.

The shenanigans lasted well into twilight, at which point the boys had to be almost dragged by their tails from the water.

After changing out of their wet things (wherein Mog and Hector fumbled around while they traded a flashlight), the campers gathered around the fire pit, where earlier they'd demonstrated their skills by gathering and building a fire teepee. Ret went to the van and rummaged around before coming back with a big box of matches. His face looked especially sinister in the up-lighting from his Maglite.

He took a single match from the box and held it up in his thick fingers. "Who thinks they can start the fire on the first try?" Everyone's paw went up immediately, except for Mog's. The moogle's hesitation did not go unnoticed.

Sébastien went around behind Mog and grasped his shoulders, making him shudder. No one noticed. He could feel the coyolf's belly at the back of his head, and his gentle breathing. "Our new boy, Mog, doesn't think he has what it takes. I know you're all eager to prove yourselves, but why don't we let him give it a try. If it takes, we'll know that all of you can work as a team, and that's more important than individual success."

"What country are we in, again?" Ret asked, his face screwed up.

Chuckling, Sébastien said, "You know what I mean. Everyone works to do their best, to do their duty and so on. But you need to know how to work as a team."

"I got the tinder!" shouted Fuery. "Well, me and Hima did."

Roger piped up. "Panda and I got kindling."

"And I saw you and Mog gathering branches earlier, too," Sébastien said to Hector. "In theory, one match should be all it takes." He narrowed his eyes dubiously. "But will it work? Mog, care to do the honors?"

Mog blinked, his wings twitching. Suddenly, everyone was looking at him, and Sébastien's palm floated in front of his face. That new-kid feeling crept in again, but one look at Hector's smiling muzzle dashed it before it could take hold. In one swift motion, he took the match, struck it along the side of the box, bent down and touched it to the bottom of the pile.

The flame caught on some dry grass from a nearby field, and it flared up quickly, spreading underneath the teepee and catching some dry bark on fire as it went. By the time the grass had burned out, the bark was aflame, and catching the good-sized twigs above it. The Cubs and their leaders watched wordlessly until it was a clear success.

"Good job, boys," Ret said. The fire pit erupted in a chorus of high-pitched cheers, shortly after which s'more fixings were brought out.

Despite all the sugar, by the time eleven o'clock rolled around the yawns had become more common than the laughs, and when Sébastien suggested everyone turn in few complained. Especially Ret, who looked pretty antsy to get to bed. He kept on throwing looks to Hector's dad and twiddling his thumbs. He looked awfully funny, with his tough skin and all.

Sébastien took the opportunity to teach a lesson on how to make sure a fire is out for good, dumping three buckets on the ashes and stirring between each dousing. Smelling of smoke, the boys paired off and retired to their respective tents. Mog waited for Hector, who beckoned his dad down and whispered on tiptoe, making the elder coyolf grin and chuckle.

"Don't worry, we'll be fine." Hector'd probably told him not to let the bedbugs bite or something.

"Ready?" asked the coyolf, gesturing toward their tent.

The moogle smiled. He finally felt comfortable. "Uh huh!" he said, following through the zipper and closing both the screen and the rain door behind him.

The campsite buzzed with the rustling of sleeping bags, pajamas and bodies tucking in for sleep. Holding the flashlight for one another again, the boys took turns changing for bed. Mog got out his footed pajamas, red with a white belly and planes on the front. He was feeling good up to the point when Hector stripped down to his Green Lantern briefs and stopped there.

"Ready?" asked the coyolf, slipping a foot into his bag. The contours behind his fly made that feeling in the moogle's stomach again. Just one of those things you didn't see every day, he surmised.

"Yup yup." Turning off the light, Mog lay it in the narrow space between their beds and shuffled inside the cozy felt lining of his bag. He zipped up, turned onto his back, and stared into space as his eyes got used to the darkness. Barely, just barely, he could hear Hector's soft breathing. The coyolf didn't sound like he was ready for sleep either.

After a few minutes, the awkwardness started to get to him. From the other tents he could hear whispering and occasional giggling. They were having fun. They were having that special kind of fun between bedtime and sleep. Those special little conversations in those seemingly crucial minutes before unconsciousness. Planning tomorrow. Reliving today. And he was alone.

"I like the planes on your jammers," Hector said softly. He meant it, too.

"Thanks," Mog said thickly, trying not to sound like he was crying yet again. He screwed his eyes shut but only squeezed out tears.

"World War II planes? I think I saw a Spitfire."

"Y-yeah, and a P-51 and a P-58 too. I think there's one more but I can't remember. Maybe a C-5." Visions of home raced through his head, his heart kicked up a few notches. "I like your Green Lantern undies. You into DC Comics?"

Hector giggled from the dark. "I don't really read 'em. I just wear 'em cuz Dad likes how they look. I usually sleep naked."

Mog sniffed. "That doesn't mess your fur all up?"

"Not me. Maybe I'm lucky. I just brush a little in the morning. Don't you get hot?"

"Sometimes." Then something hit him blindly, as if from the side, not even a vision of home but a baseless longing that made him cry out and blubber, shuddering in his bag. He hoped no one outside the tent heard. He knew Hector wouldn't make fun of him.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry." He wiped his eyes with the back of his wrists. "I'm sorry. I miss home for some reason. I'm having fun, but I miss home. I don't get it!" Pounding his fists against his air mattress, it was all he could do not to break down further. He knew he should be breathing, but holding it in kept him quiet.

He heard a zipper, and then another, and then suddenly Hector was next to him in the bag. The coyolf lay an arm over his chest, nuzzled his cheek and just stayed that way.

"What're you doing?"

"Let it go. I know how it feels. Don't worry."

Instead of being embarrassed at how much of a baby he was, he let it flow. And it flowed freely, coming out of him in rough, silent sobs that rocked both boys with their intensity. All the while, Hector rubbed claws softly through his neck fur, shushed him in a reassuring voice, and even licked his tears as they rolled down the side of his face. After a few harrowing minutes, the fog began to clear from Mog's head and he could think again, if not breathe.

"Need a Kleenex?" asked the coyolf.

"No, it'll wake everyone up." He sniffed just as loudly, though. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Hector propped himself up on an elbow, still right next to him in the bag, his tail failing to wag in the small space. "Same thing happened to me a few years ago. While my Dad was on the trip, too. That was kinda embarrassing. But he helped me get over it."

"How? I thought I was having fun, but then it...it just happens, I dunno." His sinuses drained and he could finally smell stuff. He smelled Hector. "How did you get over it? It's cub stuff."

"We're Cub Scouts."

"Yeah, but still."

"I could show you, but I dunno if you'd like it. It's pretty special. And pretty secret."

Special and secret. Two of the most important words in boyspeak. They pricked Mog's ears, and floofed his pom-pom, and made him apprehensive at the same time. He tried to mull it over in his head, tried to turn it this way and that, but those two words won out easily. "Show me."

Hector smiled in the dark, the nightshine in his eyes making him look slightly wicked. Or that could have been the one red eye. "Okay, but you gotta trust me. And let me know if you wanna stop. Look at me." Mog switched sides, feeling the coyolf's paw on his cheek when he settled against his pillow. Those mismatched eyes fairly glowed. "You trust me?"

Right now, Hector seemed like the only trustworthy person in the world. After having taken so many chances already today, what was one more? "Yeah."

"Good." But the moogle wasn't expecting a kiss. In fact, until their lips touched, he didn't think the coyolf was going in for a kiss. But it was just a peck, a dry smack and a nose bump and then Hector was just looking at him, cute as ever.

...cute?

"Feel better?" he asked.

After a few seconds to comprehend what had just happened, Mog told the easiest truth he'd ever told. "Well...yeah." It was crazy, but it was true.

Hector's voice dropped to a conspiratorial "boys only" whisper as their foreheads touched: "You wanna feel even better?"

Mog wasn't sure if he wanted to know how much better he could feel. He was about to say so when he smelled on his own lips what he'd smelled on Hector's earlier, when they'd tied that stupid knot. Foreign as it was, he liked it. And if feeling even better meant more of the same, then the moogle wanted that too. So he nodded, grinning like a fool.

"I was hoping you'd wanna," Hector murmured, already closing in. But when Mog pursed his lips, the coyolf turned his head and locked him sideways, much more deeply and securely this time. Mog didn't even have time to cry out in surprise, because Hector's tongue was just...in there. Moving around, like a snake. A really, really pleasurable snake.

Hector's paw came around his neck to draw him in, and that was when all the tension melted away: how could anyone stay homesick like this? No one had _ever_kissed him like this before, not even his mom, though Mog figured this wasn't the kind of kiss moms gave. Not usually. Whatever it was, Hector was good at it.

_But he helped me get over it._Hector's dad. Had helped. Him get over it. By--

Mog felt his tongue sucked into the canine's muzzle and played with, pulled and twisted and driven from cheek to cheek. The coyolf squirmed and wagged, tail thumping inside their shared bag, enjoying himself immensely. His paw roamed down Mog's side, around the curve of his rump and up to his ears, where they both discovered something very interesting.

"You got a stiffy," Hector panted, pulling on the pom-pom, which sprang back perfectly straight. "It's real cute."

"It's never done that before," Mog replied with what little breath he could catch.

"Are you hard yet?" The second the moogle got the gist of the question was the second he realized he was, in fact, hard. That didn't happen very often, mostly in the mornings. _Never_from a kiss, for sure. And he was embarrassed again.

Hector noticed when he averted his eyes. "Hey, silly," he said. "Look at me." And Mog did, mostly because he didn't want to disappoint his friend, who only wanted to make him happy.

"I'm sorry, Hector."

"Don't be sorry." The coyolf didn't miss a beat. "Sorry for feelin' good? That's the weirdest thing I ever heard." He pecked Mog on the lips again, whiskers atwitch. "I tolja I wouldn't do anything you didn't want. D'you still trust me?"

"You're the only one I trust right now."

"More'n your dad? More'n _my_dad?"

"I know you more than your dad anyway, so far."

"We'll change that." There was that conspiratorial grin again. Hector took Mog's paw and brought it down, down, between his legs and pressed against the hardness under the pajama bottoms. "Boners are like the best thing ever." Then he pulled and put it to the front of his own undies. A similar hardness pulsed within, and it sent electric jolts up and down the moogle's spine. They were well into the heart of Deepest Darkest Naughty now. That didn't stop him from squeezing the turgid three inches between his fingers.

Hector rumbled and nuzzled up under Mog's neck while they traded boner massages. If this wasn't Special and Secret, nothing was. The noise from the rest of the camp had died down, with the exception of a little rustling over by the adults' tent, but they probably snored and had trouble sleeping anyway. Bigger guys and all.

"Do any other Scouts do this stuff?" Mog asked after a time.

"Not that I know of," replied Hector distractedly. "There's too many clothes in the way. Let's fix that." He scrambled out of the bag and two seconds later, in true boy fashion, he was naked, though Mog couldn't see much in the dim light of the quarter-moon outside. "Now, you. C'mon!" He motioned for the moogle to stand too. But once he did, he found himself hesitating.

"Are you sure? What if somebody catches us?" It was silly, it sounded silly, but Hector's indomitable spirit wouldn't be quashed. The coyolf hugged him close, the feeling of their erections mashed up together the source of more odd electricity.

"You kiddin'? They'll prolly wanna join!" Hector kissed him again, the affection nearly driving him to tears. The feelings were almost too much. "Now I got all nekkid for you. You gotta pay me back."

Slowly, Mog unbuttoned his pajama top, the coyolf's night-visiony eyes watching him every step of the way. Hector's body was a dark grey blob with one dark patch for his nose and another between his legs. He swayed on his feet, tail counterbalancing behind him, sweeping almost the length of the tent.

The top half fell to the ground, and before he could second-guess himself Mog pulled the zipper down to its stop. When he drew his tail through the hole, the felt ensemble pooled at his feet. His arms got most of the way folded across his front before he remembered to put them down again. He found it decidedly difficult to keep from hiding, but he let them hang anyway.

Hector had his paws on his hips, very obviously looking Mog up and down. "You know what's almost as awesome as boners?"

"I dunno, what?"

"Bellies," said the coyolf, reaching out to tickle the moogle's white round stomach. Panic seized Mog's mind when he started a sputtering giggle, trying to pull away so they wouldn't cause a ruckus and wake the rest of the camp. Hector seemed not to notice or care, but he got the idea and enveloped the moogle in a full-frontal hug. Mog responded in kind, fingers digging into the canine's back when their bare flesh touched.

They stayed that way for some time, standing pressed together, swaying gently in the middle of the tent and taking in each other's scent. Hector smelled like a less complicated version of his dad, less musky man and more pure fur. The paws on his back roamed around, up to his shoulders and down to the base of his tail but never quite going much lower. Not knowing what else to do, Mog mimicked the motions, telling himself to just enjoy the moment and not let his mind, or his fears, run wild.

Hector picked up on it anyway. "Just because your thing is stiff doesn't mean the rest of you has to be. My dad told me that communication is important in times like these." He stumbled a bit over the five-syllable word, but he still sounded awful smart. "So, tell me."

"I've just never done this stuff before."

"I can tell."

"Sorry."

"No way," Hector said, moving his paws down to grip each of the moogle's cheeks and pull them apart. Mog found himself moaning into the coyolf's neck, perplexed that he enjoyed the feeling. "Hehe, you sound like a natural bottom."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll find out. Hey, you wanna kiss again?" Mog nodded, and took the initiative by planting his lips against Hector's, finding eager reciprocation. "I like you...a lot!" he said in between sloppy licks, their muzzles practically fitting like jigsaw-puzzle pieces. Mog would have replied in kind, if he could have pulled away to breathe.

The night didn't feel so cool anymore. Mog's face and ears were all flushed up and full of blood, not from embarrassment or shyness but from a whole new emotion he liked a lot but couldn't place. He wasn't too worried about placing it, since it felt so good. Everything felt so good, from the claws kneading his buttocks to the hot wet tongue against his to the delicious hardness pressing up against his, stabbing his belly and begging him to do things to it.

But he didn't dare, not without asking. And he didn't want to ask, lest he look weird. The last thing he wanted was to put off his new friend. Though, at this point, there wasn't much he would refuse to do. They were in this comfortable naughty place, a naughty-boy place, and the taboo atmosphere fueled the feeling rather than tamped it down. So he clutched Hector's ample rump and kneaded the flesh.

When they pulled apart, reluctantly, a big streamer of saliva separated their muzzles, like the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp. It broke, coating both their chins, and it was something Mog normally would think gross, but it was hot this time. He panted--they both panted--and his head spun, but damn if he didn't want more. "Wow," he said.

"Yeah?" Hector asked with that same conspiratorial glint.

"Yeah. D-did you say your dad--"

Hector leaned in and cleaned the mess from Mog's face, nose-bumping him when he was done. He slowly knelt, dragging his paws down the moogle's sides from his armpits to his knees, making them almost buckle. When his muzzle fell level with Mog's twitching little shaft, he gazed at it with visible hunger. "I'm really happy you like this stuff. You 'n me're gonna have a blast this weekend." He licked his lips. "Do you wanna sit down for this next part, or can you stand? I don't wantcha falling down."

"I think I can stand," Mog said, having no idea what the next part was, though he had a vague idea thanks to Hector's positioning. Vaguely aware of the scent-shift in their tent, he watched the coyolf stick out his tongue and give a long lick to the underside of his balls. A part of him wanted to be put off, but a much louder part of him thought it was just plain awesome.

When Hector started licking his dick, awesome just drove gross right out of the park. The transition from sheath to skin was as abrupt as rollerblading on asphalt versus carpet: suddenly the moogle's system lit up like a wildfire, nerves he didn't know he had coming alive all at once. He kept looking down at the coyolf, who held him by the hips as he swished his tongue around the little shaft, up and down the head, and made more trips down over his balls. Soft whimpering sounds escaped him, but he kept quiet enough so as not to alert anyone outside their tent.

Though that became much harder when, eyes obsequious and crafty, Hector pursed his lips and slid down, down, down until his nose bumped up against Mog's sheath. The warmth and wetness and all that sensation...that was why the coyolf had asked if he'd wanted to sit. He considered it for a moment, but settled on holding Hector's head while he bobbed up and down.

"Oh, fuck," slipped out before he could catch himself, in a voice that wasn't his own. He'd only heard the word enough times to know it was off-limits, but here, no one was listening but the kid who was sucking him off.

Once over the initial shock of his popped cherry, and a little more used to the feeling, Mog's mind started to wander. Watching his shaft disappear over and over again into Hector's mouth was nice and all, but he kept going back to those comments he'd made about his dad. He couldn't have meant what the moogle thought he meant. The image of Mr. L'Hounque came into his head, but beyond the friendly smile and the pipe it was all fuzzy.

Hector popped the tip out, smacking his lips. "You taste nice. Is it feeling okay?" His tail made big swooshy arcs on the tent floor.

"It feels awesome!" Mog rubbed one of the coyolf's ears between his fingers, surprising himself at his capacity for affection. Hector looked so goofy and servile down there on his knees.

"I don't wanna sound whiny, but...do you think we could share? You're a great kisser and I'm super horny now, heh."

Share? "Like, it's my turn? I think so." Actually, the idea of putting Hector's dick in his mouth hadn't occurred to him until just then. But while it wouldn't have been an option earlier this afternoon when he'd never heard of such things, now he was curious to see what it felt like. And tasted like. And what sounds he could get from the canine while he did it.

Hector saw the hesitation. "We can do it together, if you want. Nobody said I had to stop sucking on you." His smile had just the right kind of infection to it. "Do you wanna be on sides, or top to bottom?"

"What's the difference?"

"The difference," said Hector, standing up, "is that on our sides we have to lift up our legs, and the other way one lies on his back with the other on top of him. Doesn't matter to me; it's fun no matter what." Black-furred fingers lightly stroked Mog while they talked, shaft and sac.

"Well...whatever's easier for you."

"Sides! Yay!" the coyolf whisper-cheered, and guided the moogle down onto the sleeping bags. Putting a pillow under his head, he handed Mog's over and lay on his left side. "Now, you turn around the other way and use the pillow for support." It didn't look like it would work out until Mog actually got situated, and when his muzzle came up right near Hector's bits he got the idea. He found it natural to bend and raise his knee just like the coyolf's. Hector wasted no time in getting back to business.

Mog fought off his initial shiver and looked at the equipment before him. It was the first time he'd seen anything like it up close. The couple of times he'd caught his father naked at home were fleeting glimpses to which he hadn't given a second thought, and even then all he'd seen had been furry lumps.

This, however, had all sorts of sights and smells and a life of its own, twitching with Hector's heartbeat right in front of his face. It was about the same size as his, but with a much different shape. Swelling at the base, with a stubby shaft and tapered head, it made him wonder about the right way to start. He supposed it didn't matter, as long as he put it in his mouth. So he grabbed the coyolf's balls and squeezed.

Hector hummed around his mouthful of cock, lending a nice vibration to his work. The small sac in Mog's paw drew up and relaxed with no apparent regularity, but it was almost mesmerizing. Now that he was so close, the coyolf smelled even stronger, a tincture of his fur, breath and groin. The moogle took it in with a deeply, getting more information than he knew what to do with. He didn't care what it told him nearly as much as he just wanted to keep smelling it over and over again. But he had a promise to follow through on.

Without pausing to think about it, Mog aimed the tip at his lips and jumped into the deep end.

It didn't work very well until he licked his lips and tried a second time. Hector either didn't mind or didn't notice, but when Mog slid down to the bump he bucked a few times, humming and giggling and smiling around the moogle's shaft.

Once he actually had the thing in his mouth, Mog discovered it wasn't half bad. It tasted like skin, more or less like Hector's lips with a lot less spit. Slightly metallic, nice and warm and alive, and far more intimate than anything he'd ever done. And if the pleasure from his own groin was even a fraction of what he was giving the coyolf, he didn't mind doing it at all. He probably wouldn't be able to take the knot between his teeth, though.

The night dissolved into the quiet chirping of crickets close by and the occasional hoot of a far-off owl. The two boys in the tent by the lake made little noise, save for the soft rustling of the sleeping bag and a few wet slurps when one or the other would come up for air. After finding his rhythm, Mog closed his eyes and went by feel, sometimes jerking Hector by the knot but mostly just holding him by the sheath, caressing the soft fuzzballs with his fingertips and not much else. The coyolf was much more skilled, however, and from the get-go the moogle's cock had been one big growing balloon of pleasure.

Every few seconds Hector would slowly travel the full length, burying his nose in deep, even taking some sheath in. Mog's tip would slide past a soft ring and touch the back of the coyolf's throat, and Hector would swallow, adding a new depth to his technique. Mog tried, but stopped when he felt his lips peeling back from his teeth because of the coyolf's big bump at the bottom.

"It's okay," said the canine when he came up for air. "You don't have to go all the way. Mostly bigger muzzles only can." Another flash of Mr. L'Hounque, accompanied by another twitch. "Are you close?" Fingers kneaded Mog's balls.

"Close to what?"

Hector paused, the only movement the rise and fall of his belly and the pulsing of his cock in Mog's paw. "You know. Coming."

"Coming to what?" Not knowing what the coyolf referred to embarrassed him. It seemed like he should have known this stuff by now, but he didn't. He could almost hear the gears turning in Hector's head.

"Uh...that feeling down there that you need to pee? That one?"

"Oh, yeah, that would've been bad."

Hector's tail nearly thwapped his pom-pom off. He turned over and sat up cross-legged, his face downturned in consternation. "How many times did you hafta pee?"

Mog absently reached for his boner and stroked it to keep it hard, hoping he hadn't done something wrong. He couldn't remember exactly how many; it'd been more like one gigantic stream of pleasure with little peaks and troughs. "Maybe three? I dunno."

"Jeez, Mog, you shoulda come. You can always have another one."

"You're gonna hate me."

"What?"

"Another what?"

"An or--ughhh, just pee in my mouth, okay? I swear it's not pee. It prolly won't be anything." Hector looked almost angry as he put his muzzle down again and swallowed the moogle's flagging dick. His tail curled up over his back again, looking inviting for some reason. Mog wanted to reach out and pull it. So he did, and the coyolf moaned. That was nice. It was also loud.

Hector used his head to push the moogle backward, and Mog went willingly, propping himself on his arms and watching with heavy-lidded interest while the coyolf worked his shaft to a sheen. Eyes half-lidded and glazed, he looked to be in a trance, definitely enjoying the doing as much as Mog enjoyed being done. Soon came the sensation of impending pee, but despite his brain's insistence, he refused to tighten up and keep it from happening.

"Guh...gonna go..." he managed weakly, not knowing what was going to go at all. His hips tried to float above the tent floor but he kept them down. He wanted to thrust, to make the feeling come sooner, but it was doing a good enough job of that all by itself.

Sucking hard, Hector added his tongue to the mix in small quick licks, but it was his pleading look that sent Mog over. His lower half seized up and he barely got a fist in his mouth before he cried out, mercifully muffled. Muscles he didn't know he had spasmed over and over, but they had nothing on the explosion of sensation that sent stars into his vision and blocked out everything in the dark space. He kicked Hector away when it got to be too much, even though he didn't mean to do it as hard as he did.

"Sorry! Sorrysorrysorry!" Hector was grinning, though, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm, looking very satisfied with himself. They shared another quick peck.

"Don't be sorry," he said. "How was it? It was your first one, right? It's totally awesome."

No exaggeration there. Still shaky, Mog managed, "It was totally something. I think it was awesome. It almost hurt at the end!"

"Sorry, I just wanted it to be a long one. I dunno how everybody works."

"Everybody?"

Hector just giggled. "Well, I was going to finish too, but I think I'll wait now. I wonder what Dad's doing?"

Mog watched his sheath slide back over his dick. "Probably sleeping, like everyone else." Everything down there still tingled and felt warm, tensing and releasing. "Like we should be?" He didn't know how he would explain being dead-tired tomorrow to Mr. L'Hounque and Ret. Bad dream, maybe? Homesickness? Staying up late for boy-talk?

"Nah," Hector said. "He's not asleep." His eyes shone. He looked more like a coyote than ever. "Let's go." Before Mog could think about moving, the canine was at the tent flap, working the zipper up. Still nude, balls outlined in the bluish-white moonlight. Then he was out, dancing on his feet. "Brrr, come on!"

Left with no choice, Mog got up (and almost fell over, he was still recovering) and waddled to the flap. Hector stood out like a sore thumb pad even in the low light, and the moogle imagined he did as well. It was chillier than he liked, especially after all the body heat they'd generated in such a tight space. "You're crazy!"

"Like a fox!" Hector whispered back, tiptoeing across the tamped-down grass and sticks across the semicircle to the adults' tent. As they approached, Mog thought he heard gentle snoring, but he recognized it as snorting once they stopped. The coyolf put his ear to the canvas, perked it, and smiled.

Mog shrugged, palms up: What?

"Not sleeping," he whispered. "Dad." Mog's heart nearly leapt into his throat.

After a few panicked rustling sounds and some frantic whispering, Sébastien's voice came through the wall. "Yes?"

"Let me off, man!" Ret hissed.

"I told you, he's cool! Hey, son. What can I do for you?"

"I wanna come in. I have Mog with me, and he needs some questions answered."

_No I don't!_Mog signed.

"He does, does he? Is he cool?"

Hector looked the moogle up and down as if appraising him for sale. "He's very cool, Dad. Super cool."

"Sébastien," Ret began, sounding frantic, "I know we talked about this, but the new kid too--"

"Shhh! Come on in, Hector." And that was that. Hector fist-pumped and squatted to pull the zipper up enough for the two boys to squeeze through. Mog went first, pulling his pom-pom down to clear the small opening, on all fours until he tucked his feet under him. The coyolf followed, zipping the flap shut once he'd gotten his tail inside.

Mog's eyes adjusted quickly to the low light, and though he couldn't see everything, he didn't need to either. Mr. L'Hounque lay on his belly, with Ret atop him. Both were naked. Ret was covered in sweat. And the air, thick with musk, made the moogle's head spin. When Hector stood up, his boner stood with him, proud as ever.

"Smells good in here, Dad. Hi, Mr. Thompson." The coyolf gave a wave, to which the rhino replied with a weak wave of his own, his eyes decidedly distracted by the black boy boner. Mog felt himself and found just softness. His sheath didn't stand a chance against his nerves.

"Uh, hi, Hector," muttered the rhino, whose hips, Mog noticed, hadn't quite stopped. It seemed Ret had his dick in Mr. L'Hounque's butt, by the looks of the older coyolf's raised tail, and the idea seemed both gross and intriguing at the same time.

"Isn't he the tightest butt ever?" asked Hector. He wore a smile about a mile wide as he stooped to pluck his father's glasses from the bridge of his muzzle. "Last time you wore those while we played, you broke them, 'member?"

Sébastien L'Hounque grumbled. "Yeah, I know. You humped me into the pillow and broke one of the lenses. 'Member?"

"Hehe, yeah," giggled Hector. "You were begging me."

Mog and Ret looked at one another, their expressions mirroring disbelief. The moogle noticed a condom stretched over the rhino's big horn, thought of asking about it, and decided he just didn't want to know. Finally, Ret cleared his throat and supported himself with his forearms on Sébastien's back.

"Oooh, that feels good. Your arms, too," said the coyolf. "Remind me to have you do that tomorrow night." Ret snorted an exasperated scoff. "Now you're going soft. I told you to keep moving."

"Really?" queried the rhino, adjusting himself so he more or less loomed over all three of them. "What if this puffball kid goes back to his parents and tells them?"

"What, about how much fun he had at camp? How he can't wait to come to meetings and go on more trips? How we're such great leaders?" Sébastien looked kind of ridiculous acting flip while on all fours like that. But the Pack Leader took precedence over the CubMaster, even if the CubMaster was bigger and stronger. And had a condom on his horn.

Hector turned to Mog. "You wouldn't tell, would you?" he asked with fake innocence so transparent it was almost funny. Of course, the question answered itself.

"No! Uh, well, I'd say I had a good time." Three pairs of eyes watched him. "With the, uh, camping part. I wouldn't tell about the other part." Ret looked dubious. "Then Hector and I couldn't do it anymore. Each other, I mean."

"Huh," mumbled the rhino. "You were right about him bein' cute like that. And Hector: you say he's cool?"

"Super cool, Mr. Thompson." Ret's hips started up again, but not for long.

"Dammit. Sorry, Sébastien. Slipped out." Both boys stared while the rhino sat back on his calves and palmed the thick slick inches between his legs. It looked weird, all dangly with the sheath unattached, but made Mog twitch anyway. Plus, it was dripping.

Hector took a long sniff of the new scent. "Mmm, rhinos smell good. Do they taste good, Dad?"

"Better," Sébastien assured his son. "He was kind of musky after all the work we did today, but not too musky. And clean!"

"Back there?"

"Uh huh."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation," Ret said.

"Me neither," Mog agreed.

"I can't believe you let me rim you," Sébastien chuckled. "Amazing the things you find out you like, only after you man up and let someone do it to you."

"Says the guy who's playing the part of bitch. Oops, sorry boys. You didn't hear that."

Hector giggled. "My muzzle's zipped."

"Mine too," Mog said.

"That's why you're in this tent," Sébastien reminded them, getting nods in return. The big coyolf moved to a sitting position, giving everyone a great view of his leaky tailhole. Mog didn't exactly know what it was, but he assumed it was a grown-up thing since neither he nor Hector could do it.

Hector mouthed a silent wow. "You popped him once already?"

"Mhm," replied Sébastien, though Ret looked quite a bit less comfortable with the admission. "All my sweet talk worked him up."

"He's good at that," whispered Hector to the moogle, though it was more of a stage whisper. "Though I was the one who sweet-talked_him_this afternoon."

"This...after...?"

"Long story," Sébastien interrupted. "Gets longer every time we tell it, like a game of telephone. But you don't want to hear all that." Actually, Mog did. "Hector said you have questions?"

"Well..." Hector rocked a bit on his toes, eyes up. "He can ask questions if he wants. I just wanted to get him in the tent with you. He hasn't done much. Well, he has now."

Ret wiped his junk off with a nearby washcloth and sat next to his co-leader. Even that way, the adults were eye-level with the both of them. "Well, you know you can always come to us if you have any questions, Mog."

"Listen to you," Sébastien said, "trying to be all responsible. You couldn't even get the condom on."

"Shut...up!" the rhino retorted. "You were...asking for my cum," he finished, not quietly enough. "Lucky for you I'm clean."

"So you say. Yes, Mog, do as we say and not as we do. Make sure your partner is clean before letting him fuck you."

"And gettin' rimmed!" Hector chimed in.

Ret looked absolutely stricken, twiddling his pudgy fingers by his navel. "Is this really the time for The Talk? Shouldn't we leave that to Mog's parents?"

"Sure we can," Sébastien agreed. "We can show him the fun part here at camp, and his parents can fill him in on all the baby-making stuff at home." That didn't seem to satisfy the rhino one little bit. Though he stood well over six feet tall, he looked pretty small right now.

"I don't want to confuse him."

"Confuse?" asked the elder coyolf. Hector crawled into his father's lap and snuggled up against his chest, casually licking a nipple while Sébastien's paw found his boner and squeezed. "This morning you were miserable and pent up and sex-deprived because of your shrew of a wife, and just now you were working on your third load of the day into one or the other of my holes. You didn't seem very confused while you bit your lip to keep from bellowing out your conquest of my ass."

Mog watched Sébastien's fingers manipulate the little organ as it twitched in his grip, his own now responding with something akin to jealousy. The easy familiarity between father and son reminded him of how much he and his father didn't communicate. They had a good relationship, but it could be better.

It could be like this.

Leaning back on his elbows, Ret grumbled a sigh. "You win." His impressive junk sat heavily between his thighs, and Mog had no clue how that shaft could fit in anybody's butt. Or why anybody would want a dick in a butt. It was, indeed, confusing. "I'm already dead if this gets out anyway, so in for a penny. Right?"

"Right!" Hector yipped between licks. He gritted his teeth and shivered at his father's touch.

"You coming?" asked Sébastien.

"Not yet," Hector grunted, "but close. Don't wanna yet. I wanna try out Mr. Thompson."

All three males gawked at the little canine as if he'd grown a second head. Sébastien spoke first. "Son. Mad props for the eagerness, but...look at him."

Hector did look, and Mog followed his mismatched eyes. Between Ret's legs hung a wrinkled beer can-sized sheath of loose dark-grey skin above a sac about as large as a grapefruit. It wasn't even hard, not even close, and it looked like nothing the moogle had seen before. Not that he'd seen many dicks before this weekend, but still.

"I know, Dad," the coyolf said with a hungry lick of his lips. "Too bad I can't suck him hard. Yecch."

"You don't want to taste my ass on his cock?" asked Sébastien, half-kidding. "I know, I know, grossout."

Hector giggled. "Total grossout."

"Yet you're a champion rimmer."

"I'm silly, Dad, you know me." And then Hector tilted his muzzle up and met Sébastien's, and the two shared a slow, deep tongue-twisting kiss that stoked the envious fire in Mog's belly.

In between smooches, Sébastien said, "Why don't you two get acquainted over there? Hector'll need a good tonguing before he's loose enough for Ret."

As the coyolf turned back to his son, Mog had little choice but to face the big rhino. He could stand there like a dunce with his boner jutting out into thin air, or he could engage. A few feet away, Ret's forbearing stare told of a similar discomfort, and the commonality made the moogle feel slightly better about approaching his leader.

Pointedly avoiding the rhino's crotch, Mog stepped over and steadied himself with a paw on one big shoulder. Ret looked sidelong at him, his brow knitted.

"Hello, Mog."

"Hi, Mr. Thompson." They watched the coyolves on the other side of the tent, now entwined and writhing around, lost in their own little world. "Kinda weird."

"Kind of," replied the rhino. "Kind of cool, too. You don't see that every day."

"I miss my dad," Mog thought out loud, the blush creeping into his ears almost immediately once he realized what he'd said. Before any tears could follow he felt himself pulled to Ret's side. The rhino's hand held him by the waist, and it felt very comfortable.

"Homesickness is pretty common on a first campout, you know. I got it pretty bad myself."

Mog couldn't picture big, buff Ret being scare of anything. "Really?"

"Really really. Back then we didn't have cell phones, and there was only one phone in the whole place. I called my dad, crying. I was really embarrassed." Ret's eyes never left the pair of canines, but his words didn't falter. "You know what he said to me?"

"What?" Mog watched too.

"He said, 'Son, I want you to know I'm not mad at you. I'm not even disappointed. And I will come and get you, but it'll take two hours. Could you be brave for two hours while you wait?' I said I could, and he said, 'Then maybe you can be brave for a little longer if I don't come. Is just a little longer too much?' I said I'd try, and he said that's all he could expect. And you know what?"

"What?"

"I didn't call him back. I was brave for about an hour before I just fell asleep. And after that I wasn't homesick anymore." Ret patted the moogle's hip and looked him in the eye. "You seem like a pretty brave kid."

Mog sniffed, smiled, and plastered his muzzle to the rhino's before he could actually think about it. The leathery lips dwarfed his own, and he felt them draw back but then relax as Ret's body shook with a guttural rumble. The hand on his hip tightened, and they explored.

"Whoa. Dad, lookit them," he heard Hector say, but he didn't care much. He'd gone in for the kiss before his higher brain could stop him. All the background fear of wanting to go home or borrow someone's cell phone to call his dad melted away the moment he felt Ret vibrate against him, against _all_of him, and he knew the rhino wouldn't let anything bad happen to him.

A kiss was as good a way as any to thank someone, wasn't it? Hector seemed to think so.

"You two've been busy," Sébastien muttered.

"Tolja," his son replied.

Ret's tongue made hesitant darts against his lips. He let it in, licking back with as much force as he could muster against the large male. Before he could collapse against the big belly he pressed on Ret's chest and held himself up, humming softly, his pom-pom dancing with a need he hadn't known he possessed.

Sébastien had his son's rear in the air and half his tongue under the poofed-out tail by the time Mog opened his eyes. The faraway dreamy look on both coyolves' faces planted yet another seed of envy in the moogle's belly. Not for the act, specifically, but for the effortless bond they obviously shared. Before this campout, he might have considered it weird, if not outright gross. But if anything could change minds, it was the blissed-out faces of the L'Hounques.

"It's somethin', isn't it?" Ret asked, warm breath on his ear. "Seb wasn't kidding. If he hadn't revved me up and gotten me to fuck...er, do...him beforehand, I might not have believed it. But there you go." His hand moved over his swollen length like a fisherman milking a geoduck. It stood up proudly from his groin, foreign and fascinating, surrounded by a sea of thick mocha-brown pubic hair.

Mog wanted to touch it.

Ret caught him looking. "Hey, Mog."

Mog shoved his heart back down into his chest where it belonged. "Mr. Thompson?"

"If you're gonna do something, you'd better do it. I'm still not all down with this stuff. No 'our little secret' stuff for me."

"But...it is, isn't it?"

Sighing, Ret massaged his brow, the skin wrinkling one way, then the other. His wedding band glinted in what low light existed. "Sounds awful. But yeah. I already got one secret from my wife, but that's her own fault." He chuckled, his torso undulating. He was talking about himself, and Mog couldn't put the pieces together. He probably wasn't supposed to.

The moogle sat down on the meaty shelf of the rhino's right thigh, his calf pressing against Ret's cock, which left a slimy trail in his fur. Taking what he could in his paw, he squeezed a good dollop of fluid out and watched it flow down the side. He brought his fingers to his lips and licked, not sure why but far from shy about it.

"Jesus, that's hot," muttered the rhino. "Why's that so hot?"

"Stop trying to figure it out and just feel good," offered Sébastien, who went right back to Hector's tailhole.

"Yeah, dad, right there..." trailed the little coyolf.

And then, just because it was right in front of him, Mog licked Ret's nipple. Then latched on and kept licking. Almost as thick as the tip of Hector's dick, it fit just about perfectly; it comforted him and calmed him down. It somehow made everything seem less weird. And it certainly made the rhino dick in his grasp swell and pulse with a life of its own.

Ret's big, strong arm came around his back and stroked down to his tail, alternately petting and holding him in place. Puffs of warm breath made the fur on his head stand up and forced his ears back. And that deep low-frequency rumble punctuated it all. As blood roared through his head, drowning out everything but the two of them, he tried to think about his parents and his home and found he didn't want to. There was no point. He was here, he was now, and he was hard as a rock. So was Ret, whose oddly-shaped head kept spewing out that musky, slick fluid.

After a time, Mog felt himself gently pushed off, a long strand of saliva linking his lips and the nipple. It stood out stiff from Ret's chest and the moogle thought I did that. He looked down at his soaked paw and, beyond that, the raging rhino boner, and thought I did that too. A thought came to him, and before common sense could ruin the moment he bent down and swallowed as much of it as he could, thinking to curl his lips over his teeth just in time.

"Ffffffuck!" Ret hissed, apparently no longer concerned about vulgarities in front of youth. The massive thighs parted, sending up a cloud of fresh scent. Any hint of soap had been eradicated by the day's hard work, and only the scent of pure male remained. Mog thought _If this is what Africa smells like, then take me on safari!_He tried not to laugh with a muzzleful of precum.

Though he could only take the first couple of inches, those inches seemed to be Ret's most sensitive. Several times the rhino's hands wavered over his head as if to hold him down, but they never alighted. "Mog."

Mog ignored his own name and went down farther, forcing the blunt corona between his molars. Holding it there, he felt it pulse against his palate and coat his tongue. He knew, somehow, that something would happen if he kept going, but he didn't know if he wanted to be there when it happened.

"Mog." Two fingers under his chin lifted him off and he kept his lips closed, fluid pooling on his tongue. He looked into Ret's warm hazel eyes and swallowed, and the rhino shuddered, shaking his head as if waking from sleep. "Holy hell." Stroking the back of his hand over the moogle's erection, he said, "Look, Mog, I'd like nothing more than to keep you down there the rest of the night. But excuse me...I gotta fuck something. It's a grownup thing; you wouldn't understand."

"You're funny," said Hector, who was on his back with his legs up against his belly as far as the baby fat would let them go. "Grownup thing. Hehe!" He gasped. Sébastien appeared to be fucking him with his tongue.

Guiding Mog off his thigh, Ret knee-walked over behind the older coyolf and slid a couple slick fingers under his already-raised tail. His Shaft bobbed with his heartbeat, twisting this way and that with prehensility. But the tail came down and curled under.

"Oh come on," the rhino practically whined. "I'm dripping on the sleeping bag, here."

"Actually," Sébastien said, licking his lips, "I believe Hector called dibs earlier this afternoon." He grabbed a nearby pillow and propped up his son's rear. "I think I've done a thorough job prepping him."

"Can I still have my juice, Dad?"

"Sure." After rifling through a duffel bag, Sébastien produced a small bottle and gave it to Hector, who clutched it to his chest giddily.

"Seb, I can't."

"What do you mean?" Sébastien palmed Ret's sac and rolled its contents in his fingers. "I told you he can take me no problem. I practically have to push him off! He's not tied up, he's been rimmed wide open, and for God's sake, he's asking nicely."

"Pleeeease, Mr. Thompson?" asked Hector toothily, spreading his cheeks wide.

"I won't fit. That's all there is to it. Maybe Mog should, you know..."

Sébastien milked the rhino's shaft, applying the result under Hector's tail. Two fingers disappeared, then three. "If he can tie me, he can at least get your head in."

Ret's already-lined face became even more so. He looked so much older.Like, thirty years old, Mog thought. His rubbery lips worked, starting and aborting several sentences. Meanwhile, Sébastien moved out of the way and sat on his haunches next to Mog. With a resigned sigh, the rhino positioned himself. Hector muffled a squeal.

"You wanna know kinda how it feels, Mog?" asked the coyolf.

"In...in the butt?"

"Yeah. Like what I was doing to Hector."

Mog closed his eyes and remembered the envy he'd felt, and how it had tingled him all the way up and down.

Paws gripped his shoulders. "That seems like a yes," he heard Sébastien say without having to look. "Get on your back and let me at it."

"Do it, Mog," Hector encouraged. "Doggy tongue is the best tongue!" Seeing his friend smile, and the shine in his eyes, was enough to make up his mind. He lay back and let the older coyolf tuck a pillow under him as well.

Ret hovered over Hector, his belly pushing the pup's balls up against his knot. "You tell me if anything hurts. You hear me? And_none_of this leaves this tent," he told all three. Placing his head against the little hole, he guided himself through his fist. Grunting, Hector unscrewed the little bottle, placed it at his nose and inhaled. "That stuff's not good for you."

"But it's good for you," Hector replied while holding his breath. After about five seconds his eyes glazed over and his ears flattened. His entire body seemed to relax. "Oh God, Dad...I'm gonna...ohhhhhhhh..."

Making what could only be described as a rhino sound, Ret released his member. His face contorted in every possible way, from grimace to shock to disbelief. He struggled to keep his breathing even and his hips still. "Jesus Christ, I'm halfway in. Sébastien, _half my dick_is in your kid's...I can't even say it."

"It's okay. How is it, Hector?"

"Oh my God, Dad, it's so weird. But good! And weird!" The little coyolf took another drag. "See, Mr. Thompson? Toldja I could take it." And then he went limp and Ret slid deeper.

"Remember, son," Sébastien said as he pushed Mog's knees to his chest, "You only get three per session. Make it count." Hector nodded, screwed the cap and clutched it tighter.

If Mog hadn't been yawning when Sébastien licked over his hole, he likely would've woken up the entire camp. Instead, he managed a strangled gasp that ended somewhere between his larynx and esophagus. It caught there and, to keep from choking, Mog held his breath as if he were trying to rid himself of the hiccups. He felt so exposed and vulnerable, but knowing Hector's dad wouldn't hurt him made it easier to relax. He'd closed his eyes without knowing it. There was nothing to see but Sébastien's ears between his legs anyway. Right now was all about the feeling.

And the feeling was awesome. Any thought of the usually-disgusting combination of tongue and tailhole ceased to squick him like it would have at any other time. This was delicious, and beautiful, and felt very male, though he figured girls could do it too.

Sébastien pressed gently, curling the tip of his tongue to form a scoop, prodding against the yielding muscle. After three or four of these, Mog finally stopped clenching.

"Ahh, yeah, that'th greath." Sébastien never stopped tonguing; he just moved deeper. "Relaxth ang leth yourthelfth openg up." A disturbing thought flashed through the moogle's mind and he turned to Hector, whose tongue lolled halfway to his shoulder.

"He's not going to try to...you know. Is he?"

"No way, Jose. Not unless you say so. You don't think you're ready yet, do you?"

"No, he doethn't," the older coyolf chimed in. "That's your job, son. I'm not in the business of injuring people." Back the tongue went, about a billion inches inside of Mog. But it didn't feel bad in the least. He sighed quietly and enjoyed himself.

Even in the dim tent he could see just fine. Mostly he could see Ret, poised above Hector, his face a mask of concentration. Mog watched the thick hips move, barely perceptible, though they must be propelling at least a few inches back and forth past the little coyolf's entrance. A couple droplets of sweat perched on the edge of the rhino's pointed upper lip before falling to Hector's chest, the condom on his horn long forgotten.

He felt the envy again. It didn't matter that he wasn't as...talented...as his friend in the butt department. He wanted to know what it felt like, and if it felt as good as Hector's face indicated. If it felt even half as good as Sébastien's tongue, he'd at least like to try. There were, after all, two more days of camping left.

Ret gave a strong thrust, and snorted. Mog found Hector's paw in his, gripping tightly, the claws pinpoints of pain he didn't mind at all. He squeezed back, the two boys sharing the knowledge of all the good feelings in the world.

Eventually Sébastien got him loose enough to mimic a fucking action, sliding most of his tongue right past Mog's ring with nothing to stop him. At the end of each thrust Hector's dad would curl the tip up and tickle a spot down deep that made him feel like peeing, but in a fake sort of way. It was the cold coyolf nose under his balls, and the constant stimulation, that really drove him wild. Heartbeats pounded at his skull, and the whole wide world suddenly consisted of Sebastien's tongue between his legs. Mog _was_a tailhole, consciousness a gigantic tongue, and they were one being.

From a million miles away, Sébastien whispered, "Man, you loosened up quick," and redoubled his efforts on Moogle Caverns.

"Harder," Hector urged quietly. Ret shook his head incredulously and obeyed. Mog looked on in fascination at the rhino's flexing hips and trunk, gyrating over and over as he sank deeper into the little coyolf, no longer holding back. The male dwarfed the rest of them, a gentle giant, a reluctant lover.

Suddenly Mog's bits were bathed in warm slickness. He gasped, looking down the length of his belly to see Sébastien's muzzle clamped down on everything he had to offer. That the tongue on his balls had just been in his tailhole didn't seem to matter much compared to the odd-but-good rolling around in his sac. And when Sébastien moved up to his spike he couldn't deny the truth: Hector still had a lot to learn about sucking cock.

The older coyolf pursed his lips into a smooth sleeve and applied little suction, relying on friction to cover more ground. Watching the big white head move around, Mog wanted to reach down and guide him, pushing and driving the pointy ears. But he could no more do that than he could do a pullup in gym class at school. But Sébastien knew what he was doing, and that was good enough.

Part of him wanted to gently direct, but he wanted more to concentrate on the feeling as it was. It had already begun to build, and though he didn't have a knot Sébastien seemed to know as well. His tongue rasped across the underside of the shaft, constant and electrifying.

Mog reached out for Hector's paw and found it playing with a nipple. He wanted to share the moment when it came, but more so he didn't want to go through it alone in a tent with three other guys. He grappled with his friend's wrist until their fingers entwined, and dragged it toward him. Hector looked at him with half-lidded eyes that brightened as his body rocked back and forth on the sleeping bag.

Smiling, he asked, "You gettin' close?" His other paw had gone between his legs, stroking madly.

"Yeah." Heat built behind Mog's balls as Sébastien focused only on bringing him over the edge. The man's eyes looked up at him pleadingly, though when the moogle came he'd have nothing to shoot. An adult who wasn't telling him what to do, instead practically begging him to give. There it was, the tickle that wouldn't go away until it had wracked his body through and through. "Yeah!"

Hector squeezed his paw, beaming from cheekruff to cheekruff. "Do it." Like anyone could stop it now.

"Kid," Ret rumbled, "brace yourself." The rhino's hips trembled with restraint, his jaw set, those big flat teeth grinding.

Leaving his cock long enough to unscrew the bottle and take that last drag, Hector swept it to the side and looked back to Mog, who saw his eyes roll up to whites, his tongue limp and his fist flying.

Two more thrusts and Ret dug his fingers into the little coyolf's thighs to keep from puncturing a hole through his abdomen. A Richter-scale-worthy rumble punctuated the moment, and when Mog glanced down, the small length he could see of the rhino's shaft was pulsing rhythmically.

_He's coming. He's squirting inside of Hector. Oh, fuck. He's...coming..._The words rolled around in his head, meaningless by themselves but the mere thought of bringing someone to the point where they give you that part of themselves, that most masculine act...he couldn't absorb it all, and he didn't need to right now. He just watched Hector's blissfully satisfied face as he writhed through his climax, filled to the brim with rhino spooge.

He wanted it too. He could take it. If it made Sébastien half as happy as Ret looked...

But first he had to push the coyolf's face away. Sébastien looked positively crestfallen with a string of saliva connecting his muzzle to moogle dick.

"What's wrong?"

"I want it in me."

"That's not gonna happen." Sébastien looked dead serious with his Dad Face.

"Please, Mr. L'Hounque? Just the tip, just so it squirts inside." Ret and Hector glanced over languidly, still too far gone to offer more than weak smiles of encouragement.

"Uh..." Sébastien said.

"Go, Dad!" Hector said.

Ret just stared, bathed in afterglow.

Stars took Mog's vision hostage, but he could still make out the big coyolf hawking back and letting drop a big serving of saliva right onto his hole. He barely felt a fatherly thumb press it in and around while Sébastien asked Ret to pull out.

"Push, Hector," he said, and Hector grunted. A moment later Sébastien's cock was slick with rhino cum, and a moment after that so was Mog's dick. And then he felt the pressure and heat, but when his hole gave way more than two inches slid right in, and he felt nothing but full. "How do you feel?"

"Kupo," Mog drooled.

"Good enough for me." Sébastien began to move, just barely enough for some friction, but it was amazing. How often did Hector and his dad do this? How long had they been doing it?

"Moogles are stretchy," Ret murmured. Yes, yes they are, Mog thought giddily.

"Wow," said Hector. "You gonna come, Dad?"

"Oh, yes." Sébastien pushed the moogle's thighs apart, and Mog used the opportunity to grasp his erection and start flogging it. His fingers slid easily, and he just could not come to terms that he was pawing off with cum, getting fucked with cum, about to get even more cum inside him.

Hector turned and slid onto his side, stuck out his tongue and dragged it across the nipple closest to him. Mog registered it as barely more than just another pleasure point driving him faster. Merely existing in this moment flushed his cheeks and turned his heart into a crazy metronome. At least he had the presence of mind to clamp down on Sébastien's tip every time he withdrew that precious inch.

"Here it comes," the older coyolf said as calmly as if he were announcing Bingo numbers. It was obvious to everyone in the tent that he was struggling against his instinct to plow and knot the moogle, but he won that battle. With his tongue dangling over his front teeth, he panted and dug his claws into Mog's legs.

The world washed away, leaving only an insistent twitching and pulse after pulse of comfortable warmth that meant success. Mog tried to take it all in--his new friendship, joining the adults, getting well and truly bred--but mostly it just felt fucking good.

When the tingle from Sébastien's seed traveled up his taint to the base of his balls he sped up. Seconds later the other three watched with bemusement as the moogle writhed around, shooting blanks and murmuring "kupo" over and over as softly as he could manage. He expelled the coyolf in the process, feeling not pain but emptiness.

And exhaustion. Sex was hard work.

A towel over his rump brought him out of a light doze, tickling softly. Hector wiped himself before tossing another rag to Ret, whose stolid face indicated indecision about how he actually felt, even though it had looked like it felt awesome. Mog hoped the rhino wasn't too upset about the whole thing. Everybody'd had fun, and that was the whole point.

"You guys scoot on to bed," said Sébastien, looking at his watch for emphasis. "It's well after midnight. And no more playing. You'll both be crabby enough tomorrow as it is."

"You're the one who gets crabby. 'Cuz you're old," Hector smiled, complete with tongue. His father responded by giving him a peck on the nose, though Hector tried for some French kissing. The pup was incorrigible.

They tiptoed back to their tent as quietly as they had come, and after some fumbling with the zipper Hector had Mog belly-to-belly again, sheath-to-sheath, tongues dancing. Instead of fighting, Mog let his tiredness add to the dreamlike comfort of it all. Not long after, the coyolf slid away, failing to suppress a big yawn.

"All tuckered out," he said. "You okay?"

Mog paused. "What do you mean?"

Hector's shadow disappeared into the dark of the tent floor, all bundled up in his sleeping bag. "Well, a lot kind of happened. I got carried away, then Dad got carried away..."

"I asked for it," Mog reassured him, clenching for good measure. "It doesn't hurt."

"That's good."

"Moogles are stretchy."

Hector snerked, and Mog could practically see the big canine grin just a couple feet away. "Uh huh. That's also good. And we have two more days of camping, too! Good night, Mog."

"Sleep tight."

"Not after that, I'm not." They barely suppressed riotous giggling.

Mog lay on his back, staring up at the barely-visible ceiling, imagining the stars beyond it an infinity away. Two more days of camping. Sheesh.

He reached down between his legs and brought back freshly-slickened fingers. He'd be leaking all night. Sébastien would know how to get cum out of a sleeping bag. Grown-ups knew that kind of stuff. Bringing the fingers to his lips, he licked them clean. The taste followed him into a sleep that, while dreamless, carried the promise of things to come.

If Hector had anything to do with it.