FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Hey everybody. I felt like writing something a little different from what I usually write, so I did. This story is less about the sex than what I usually post, but there's still some sticky business in the last half of the story. Hope you enjoy.

---

"Mother Hen, this is Strike Leader Six, over." Stetson paused, hoping for some kind of response.

It didn't come.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. The stale air stank of grease and the coppery scent of blood; his own. He was hit, somewhere, but his whole body hurt too damn much to tell where he was bleeding from or how bad it was. A fleet doc had once told him he'd know he was in a bad way if he felt nothing at all, nothing but cold.

Stetson chose to take the pain as a good sign.

"Mother Hen," he growled into his helmet mic. "Mother Hen, this is Strike Leader Six. Low on ox, low on fuel. My controls are fading out. I think I've got a leak in my hydraulics, and I'm not confident my nav or IFF systems are still online. Please respond."

The low rumbling hiss of his Talon's thrusters and his labored breathing filled the silence that followed.

Stetson leaned forward, and regretted it immediately. Muscles from his waist to his rib cage cried out in a painful chorus, and his head started to spin like someone had slapped the ship into a lateral spin. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed away the pain and nausea, swallowing the bile that had crept up on the back of his tongue.

Everything had stopped spinning when he opened his eyes, but the pain was still there. He squinted down at his nav screen, tapping a few buttons. The orange-yellow display was all fuzzy, but he could read it clearly enough to tell he was on the right course for rendezvous. If the mothership was where it was supposed to be, he'd catch up to it...

Unless the nav system was broken, unless you;re just on a slow-burn out into dead space, far away from anyone that could ever find you...

"Stow that shit, sailor," he muttered as he slouched back into his flight chair. His Talon had taken a licking and kept on ticking; it was going to get him home. And if it didn't... Well. That's why the fleet issued side-arms.

Stetson took off his helmet and dropped it into his lap. His hair had grown longer than regulation allowed, but not by much. Just enough to make him look like a real maverick. It was brown and messy and drenched with sweat.

Past the armored glass was nothing but the yawning void of space. There was a great deal of bleak, empty darkness out there; but there was also so much more. Brilliant pinpoints of light dotted the sky, like thousands of glowing pearls pinned against black velvet. Blacks blossomed into purples, reds, and oranges, which all clashed for dominance of a never-ending sky.

If he was going to die here, in this place, at least his grave would be a far more beautiful place than a tiny plot in a Federation graveyard on whatever shithole planet happened to be nearby.

He drew in a breath, and met the dim eyes of the wiry stoat staring back at him. His reflection was faint, and painted with the neon yellows and angry, blinking reds which emanated from his display panels.

Was there anything that he regretted, anything left undone?

He ran through the hazy clouds of thoughts and memories that sloshed around in his aching head. There was nothing that stood out, but there had to be_something._ Didn't everyone have a few things they'd go back and change?

If there was one thing that bugged him... Maybe it was never finding the time for anyone outside of his squad, someone he might be able to confide in, at least a little bit. Maybe if I make it back...

His helmet made a crackle-hiss sound. He grabbed it with both hands and yanked it onto his head, straining to hear anything from the speakers.

"Strike Lead-" The faint words were drowning in a sea of static. He swore and banged on the side of his helmet, then frantically punched a sequence of buttons on the comm-link panel. If he could just... There! The static died down, and he heard the first voice other than his own for the first time in three hours."Strike Leader Six, this is Mother Hen. Strike Leader, respond." The voice was male, and it was loud and clear.

"Yes!" Stetson shouted at the roof of his cockpit, pumping his fist in the air. Hot tears ran down his cheeks and mixed with his sweat soaked fur. "Mother Hen, Mother Hen," he spoke into the radio. "This is Strike Leader Six. You don't know how glad I am to hear your voice."

The communications officer on the other end breathed a soft, amused sound into his mic. "Strike Leader, what's the status of your squadron? You're all alone on our screens."

Stetson bowed his head, staring into the dark wells where his feet rested on their respective pedals. Were they all dead? He couldn't say. Most were alive and fighting when he had to leave due to the damage he'd sustained. Whatever remained of them would be under the command Captain Paterson, his wingman, and a damn good pilot.

"Status unclear," he said, his voice tight. "I sustained heavy damage during the fight, and my craft was rendered combat ineffective. I had to RTB before we settled things, but I saw a bomber wing make it through. If the target isn't dead, it ain't happy."

There was a pause on the other end, and when the comm-officer spoke again, he could hear faint cheering in the background. "Copy that," the officer said, sounding pleased.

Stetson allowed himself a small smile. He must have been the first one to make it back and deliver the news. With the enemy mothership killed or crippled, there was nothing left in the whole damn sector that could challenge them.

"Mother Hen, my ship is in so many pieces that I'm not sure I can land it. Both engines are still hot, but there's play in the controls, and I don't know how much longer I can keep it together. Please advise."

"Is your ejection system still functional, Strike Leader?"

Stetson swept his eyes across the status display, which was bright and hazy. It took effort to read anything, but he squinted and found the ejection indicator.

It was one of the many blinking red lights. No good.

"Negative, Mother Hen."

"We could scramble a team to intercept you and cut you free of the ship, Strike Leader."

"Negative," he sighed. "I've got an ox leak, and... I'm hit. I don't have the time to wait. I'm going to have to bring her in."

Concern bled through into the officer's voice when he spoke, though it was obvious he was trying to hide it. "You're cleared for landing in bay six, Strike Leader. Emergency crews are on standby... Good luck. If- When you make it back, the first round's on me."

For a moment, he imagined the owner of the voice. He sounded young, hopeful. Eager. Maybe he was one of the fresh ones they'd taken on the last time they'd been in Federation space.

Sure, he thought. What the hell?

"Thanks, Mother Hen. I'll need it."

There was a soft electric chirp, followed by many more. Stetson looked up as his HUD picked up and identified the IFF signals of the many ships he was approaching.

Destroyers, frigates, and cruisers were arrayed in a massive screen around the mothership. Each of them was an order of magnitude larger than his fighter craft, hundreds upon thousands of tons of armor and guns.

He kept well clear of them. He didn't fly this far only to crash into the prow of a friendly ship. They seemed like lumbering giants in a vast ocean, but they were moving a lot faster than they looked.

He eased back on the throttle and opened up the brakes as he got closer and closer to the mothership. It was an immense grey-black thing that filled up his screen, dwarfing all of the ships around it. Unlike all the other ships, it had no long-range batteries, but it's hull bristled with point-defense weapons.

The Talon's HUD guided him toward the right bay. He fumbled for the weapons control panel and flipped up the safety cap on the emergency jettison switch. He flipped it, and heard a faint scrape as his remaining missiles fell free of their pylons and went tumbling into space. The cannon rounds would have followed, if he'd had any left.

White light poured from a gaping hole in the side of the ship as the bay door rolled up. A thin layer of energy kept the air in the bay from being sucked into the vacuum of space, but the armored doors were left down unless craft were taking-off or coming home.

A row of flashing red lights appeared on the floor of the landing bay. His HUD changed into landing mode as he nosed down toward the opening. It factored in the speed and heading of both ships, and told him right where he needed to point his nose. Under ideal conditions, it could even land the craft by itself.

Of course, under ideal conditions, he wouldn't be all shot to shit and bleeding out. There was no telling what gremlins were lurking in the wounded craft, and he wasn't about to trust his life to a computer built by the lowest bidder.

Stetson gritted his teeth and fought down the adrenaline rush he felt creeping up on him. He'd get one shot at this, one chance to land and make it to the med-teams before his fuel, his blood, or his oxygen ran out. He couldn't afford to be jittery. Couldn't rush things.

He could see into the bay now, but things were too fuzzy for him to see anything but general shapes and the red landing lights. Were there people in there, waiting, watching? Probably. The silence in the cockpit grew oppressive as he thought of all the eyes on him. The men and women in the bay, the ones on the bridge, the neighboring ships...

Screw living. He just didn't want to crash in front of this many damned people!

Stetson swallowed and flicked the switch that would drain what little fuel he had left in his tanks. Momentum was more than enough to carry him in, it was only a fire risk now. There was nothing left to do but land.

His arms were stiff, like he'd been standing at attention with a rifle held out at arm's length all day long. Everything seemed to be responding a second slower than it should, but it was impossible to tell if it was the ship, or his body. His eyelids were coming down, but he fought to hold them open, staring into the blinking lights that seemed so close...

One second the bay was hundreds of meters away, then he blinked, and it was rushing up to meet him. He yanked back on the controls with all his fading strength and screamed in wordless anger. The Talon's nose jerked up just before it hit the deck with a scream of it's own.

Metal screeched as the belly of his fighter craft struck the deck and slammed him back, banging his head against the seat. The Talon shuddered and spun like a top, throwing him around in his restraints like a rag doll as it pirouetted across the deck. He squeezed the polymer flight grips in his paws and held on for dear life as everything became a blur of sound and light.

I'm cold, he thought. Why am I cold? It was the last thing that went through his mind just before he blacked out.

---

When Stetson opened his eyes and was blinded by bright white light, he thought he'd died and gone to heaven. Then he took a breath and caught the faintly acidic smell of antiseptic paint and realized he was in the infirmary.

Another goddamn day in the Fed-Nay-Vay.

All things considered, the infirmary wasn't a bad place to be. It was quiet, aside from the occasional groan and the steady _beep-beep-beep_of EKGs. He stared up at the too-bright lights until he started seeing spots, then turned away.

There were a pair of bags hung up on a stand beside his bed, attached to his arm by an IV. Some guys got all squeamish about needles, but he wasn't one of them. After the first few hits from the inoculation guns in boot, you either got over it, or you learned to tough it out.

Stetson didn't know what was in the bags, but one looked like PlasPlus. The other was clear as water, which meant saline, or pain killers. If the faint body-wide tingle was anything to go by, he was guessing the later.

He licked his dry lips and swallowed, trying to conjure up some kind of moisture in his mouth. Stetson got a little spit on his tongue and slathered it around his mouth, then sat up, and looked himself over.

They'd dressed him in one of those flat-white gowns they gave everyone with a serious injury. His was spotless white, which meant all the bleeding had stopped, if nothing else. A cursory look over told him he had all his arms and legs, fingers and toes. _Thank God._He didn't even have any casts.

"Nurse," he called, his voice made hoarse by his parched throat. "Doc," he rasped.

A panda in a blue-and-white Fed-Med uniform came scuttling down the aisle to his bed. She was a squat thing, wide, all shoulders and arms. She couldn't have been much older than him, maybe thirty-ish, but there was something in her eyes that made her seem matronly.

"Easy," she cooed. She plucked his med-slate from the holder at the base of his bed and looked at it. "Ah. Captain Stetson," she paused and put on her best smile. It was tired, but radiant. "I'm Doctor Ri. How may I help you?"

"Water," he croaked.

She bowed her head, disappeared from sight, and returned promptly with a bottle of water and a straw. The doctor sat beside him and held the bottle still as he slurped down the cool water, watching, always smiling. Every gulp was nothing short of heaven, cool and wet and refreshing as the day was hard. He drank everything he could suck up with the straw.

"Better?" she asked.

He nodded and sighed, smiling for the first time in a while. "Much. Thank you."

"You're welcome." She chuckled and put the empty bottle down on a bedside table. "I put a lot of work into you. It would be a shame to lose you to thirst after all that drama."

He blinked. Was she a surgeon? He never would have guessed. Stetson pushed himself up on his elbows and propped himself up against the pillows, letting him get a better look at things. Many of the beds he could see were covered in bodies, though most, like him, still had all their limbs. The ones that didn't were dressed, clean, and calm. Stetson didn't recognize any of the people he saw.

Not a surprise on a ship a big as this one.

"Thanks for saving my ass," he said. "What happened? The last thing I remember was... Landing. How long have I been here?"

"About a day." She glanced up at his head. "Aside from the obvious concussion, you lost a lot of blood. You caught some shell fragments in the back, and while they missed your spine, they did cause some internal lacerations. Nothing too serious, nothing we couldn't fix, but one of them nicked your liver. It's a good thing you landed when you did, or you may have blacked out on final approach."

Dying on final approach. A few jokes that came to mind, but Stetson didn't feel like making them.

"We fixed you up, but you'll need to take it easy for a while. If you move too suddenly or strain yourself, you might tear your stitches, and you'll end right back in this bed." She wagged a stubby black and white finger at him. "You pilots tear yourselves up more than anyone else. Try not to cause any headaches because you decided to show everyone how tough you are, OK?"

Stetson laughed, cringed, then laid a hand on his pained side. "Someone else can be tough for a while. I want light duty and painkillers, ma'am."

She patted his thigh, then slid off the edge of the bed. "That's the spirit." Doctor Ri said. "Well, you've already weathered the worst of it. All your vitals are fine, and you seem responsible enough to handle yourself, Captain Stetson. You may stay here, or... I can release you to your quarters. It's your choice."

He slid his legs over the side of the bed, planted his feet on the cold floor, and pushed himself up off the bed. It hurt to stand up straight, but he came as close as he could, and threw her a salute. "If it's all the same Doctor Ri, I'd like to sleep in my own bed tonight."

Doctor Ri shook her head, slid the data slate back into it's cradle, and smiled at him. "Of course. Please, let me get some proper clothes for you, Captain."

---

The doctors wanted to stuff him into a wheelchair, but he wouldn't go for it. Having it around his quarters would have been a constant reminder that he could just sit down and take it easy for a while, a never-ending temptation to let himself go soft. No thanks.

It was a short walk to one of the lateral-elevators that ran the length of every deck. It wasn't easy, but he managed by dragging along with his shoulder against the wall. The drugs in his veins blunted the lion's share of the pain, but a throbbing ache remained in his gut.

Doctor Ri had been reluctant to let him go, but she gave him a goodie-bag with pills, patches, and instructions on how to keep himself clean and healthy. She'd been kind, and courteous, a professional through and through. She was a shining example of what a doctor should be.

He hoped he never had to see her again.

Stetson shuffled his way onto the lateral-elevator tram when it pulled into the station, and sat in the nearest empty seat. There were others around him, but many of them were walking wounded like him, and nobody was talking. He struggled to keep his eyelids open as the tram began to move, but ultimately lost the fight.

It seemed he'd barely closed his eyes when a polite, vaguely female voice announced, "Now arriving at the officer quarters, deck fifty." Stetson grabbed his things, pushed himself up to his feet, and stumbled off before the doors closed.

The scents of the many that had passed through the station still lingered in the air, wolves and cats and dogs and equines. They all ran together, blended with the rubbery smell of polished boots and sweat.

Home sweet home.

It was close to the middle of the 'day' cycle, so the quarters were mostly empty. Everyone had their duties, and the people that didn't were off celebrating, or sleeping. Most of his squadron was probably getting fall-down drunk at one of the officer's clubs.

He ambled down the quiet hallways toward his cabin, but when he rounded the final corner before his room, he found something he didn't expect. There was someone at his door.

Sort of.

Stetson watched from the side as a short doberman hemmed and hawed and paced the hall near his door. He was muttering to himself and gesturing with a paw held close to his side, as if he was trying to hide it.

Whoever he was, he was old enough to serve, hut young enough that he had to be fresh out of the academy. His sharp uniform lacked any medals or decorations, aside from the ones that marked his rank and duty. He was a second lieutenant, bottom of the officer barrel. Anyone that worked anywhere near the bridge had the same rank as the kid.

Stetson stood up as straight as he could, then stepped forward and clanked his boot heel on the deck. "Can I help you, lieutenant?"

The poor dog would have hit his head on the ceiling if he'd jumped any harder. He whipped around, his eyes going straight to Stetson's face- Then to his pins, his insignia, and his name. He snapped to attention and then threw a salute, his mouth flapping silently before he finally managed to blurt out, "Sir!"

It hurt when he laughed. Stetson tried not to, but hurt even more trying to keep it in. "At ease, Christ," he said. "There's no saluting in the living quarters, you should know that."

"Sorry Captain," he mumbled back, averting his brown eyes to the side. Stetson didn't have the faintest idea who the dobie was, or why he was acting so strange, but there was something familiar about his voice that nagged at him.

"It's alright. Please, I'm too drugged up to sweat the regs right now. Just call me Stetson." Stetson glanced down at the doberman's name tag. It read 'S. Wilker', which didn't ring any bells. A set of small, golden horns on his shirt collar marked him as someone that worked in communications.

Wilker looked back at him, and when he spoke, his voice took on a cautious but eager quality. "Stetson? So, you... You're Strike Leader Six, right?" He cleared his throat. "I was the one that was talking to you, on the comm-link."

And just like that, it all fell into place. The dog's voice was a dead ringer for the one in his memory.

Stetson smiled and stepped in close, putting his free hand on the dog's shoulder. "Thanks for your help," he said as he squeezed Wilker's arm. "You have no idea how glad I was to hear a friendly voice."

The dog laughed a nervous laugh and looked back at Stetson, his eyes never lingering on the stoat's face for very long. "Well, I can imagine. On the shuttle ride up to the mothership, I just remember staring out the window and thinking how small and lonely I felt, even though we were all packed shoulder-to-shoulder." He met Stetson's gaze, for a moment. "It must have been hard to be all on your own, with your ship as damaged as it was."

It was. But even though he was doped up, Stetson knew that it wasn't what the doberman wanted to hear. He shrugged his shoulders, and tried to ignore the sudden itch from the stitches in his back. "Not the first time I've limped back home, and I'm glad it wasn't the last."

Wilker stared at him with awe in his puppy dog eyes. The newbies were all the same- Show them a little bravado and they go all starry-eyed... But still, it was kind of cute.

"Well, uh, sir- Stetson, I'm glad you're OK. I'll just leave you to your rest." He shied away from Stetson and took two steps down the hall, then turned and looked over his shoulder. "Didyouwanttogogetadrinksometime?"

It took him a moment to process what the doberman had blurted out, and he laughed when he did. "You want to try again, soldier?"

The poor thing looked like he wanted to cut and run right there, but the damage had already been done. His tan cheeks flushed red, his eyes straying down and away from Stetson's face. "A drink," he mumbled. "On the radio, I said I'd buy you a drink when you got back- If you wanted it." He shrugged his shoulders and feigned indifference, but he glanced at Stetson with dim hope in his eyes.

Maybe it was the drugs, but the dog's shy-boy routine was... Hot. The kid was nervous as hell, but still willing to throw himself out there. It was a different kind of bravery than Stetson was used to seeing, but it was admirable, all the same.

"Can't drink," Stetson said, tapping his stomach. "My liver wouldn't like it, and I doubt it would mix well with my meds." The dog's ears fell.

Stetson brushed past Wilker and stuck his finger into the ID slot on his door. It read his print, chirped, and then slid away into the wall.

"But," Stetson glanced over his shoulder fast enough to catch Wilker's ears snap straight up. "You could join me in my room. I've got a couple drinks, some snacks. We could talk," he murmured. And maybe I can make you blush a little more.

Wilker made one of_those_ faces, like oh God is this happening_passed through his head, followed by _oh shit it is. Stetson didn't wait for his reply. He just stepped into his spartan quarters, and moved to stand near the small window that looked out into space. If the dog was as interested as Stetson thought he was, he wouldn't have to do anything more.

It took Wilker all of two beats to follow Stetson inside, his boots sounding softly on the bare metal floor. The door slid shut behind him and locked automatically. They were alone.

There wasn't much room in an officer's cabin; not at Stetson's rank, anyways. It was big enough for two, maybe_three people to stand in. There was a twin sized bed ( which had to be made perfectly _every damn day ), along with a small fridge and a few cabinets underneath the bed, and a folding metal slate beneath the window, which served as a desk.

Aside from the floor, the bed was the only place to sit in the whole room.

Stetson sat down and sighed. It felt good to have the tension off his body, but he had to sit just right to keep his skin from pulling at the stitches on his back. Wilker hesitated, but sat down next to him, his hands in his lap.

After a moment's rest, Stetson tried getting up to fetch the drinks ( and maybe tease Wilker while he was down on his knees ), but the pain in his back flared up when he moved. He slumped back against the bulkhead with a sullen grunt. Great. There goes that plan. There must be something wrong with me. I'm torn up, but I'm more worried about flirting than getting some rest.

"Would you mind, uh... Getting the drinks for me?"

"Sure," Wilker said. Stetson watched as the dog slipped off his bed and fell to his knees, rummaging through the fridge beneath his bunk. Seeing him on his knees like that made it easy to imagine him doing a few other things while he was down there, things that made the stoat's cock swell up against his fly.

Patience, he thought. It wasn't quite clear if the dog was into him, after all. Maybe he was just looking for someone to look up to- And if that was the case, Stetson would feel like a real asshole for trying to shove his dick in his face.

"Looks like you've got two cans of cherry soda, a lemon lime, and a few coffees."

"I'll take the cherry," Stetson said. Wilker tossed the two cans up onto the bed, then looked up at the slouching stoat. His chin was maybe two inches away from the pilot's knee. The dog had to smell him, the musky, masculine aroma of arousal hidden beneath a thin mask of clean linen. He wondered if the pup could see the subtle rise in the front of his pants, or the way his erection curled down across his right leg.

OK, he thought. Let's throw him an easy one. If he's into me, he'll know exactly what I'm looking for. If he's not, he'll just pretend it never happened... Or start a fight. Here goes.

"I should have some jerky or nuts or something in the cabinet down there." Stetson murmured as he slid his leg to the side, stretching his pants across his package. "If you're looking for a snack."

It wasn't exactly smooth, but it was hard to be smooth when you were stoned half out of your mind.

Wilker moved timidly, shimmying to one side on his knees. He didn't look up as he moved between Stetson's legs, but rigid posture made it clear he was keenly aware of where he was. One of his ears cut across the thigh of Stetson's pants as the dog leaned in to root around the dark cabinet. It was just a fleeting touch, but... _Mmm,_it felt good.

He stopped halfway down, then lifted his head slowly, his tan cheeks glowing red all over again. Stetson saw his nose twitch, then the dog's eyes traced up the slim muscles of his leg and stopped on the distinct outline of the stoat's erection. The feeling of having eyes on his dick just made it harder still, and at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to see the shy dog whip out his dick and go to town on it.

Stetson had to bite the inside of his lip to keep a shit-eating grin off his face. You like what you see, doggie? The bone jokes were so easy to make that he almost blurted out a few, but he had better manners that than. "Lieutenant?"

The doberman's ears perked and his eyes centered on Stetson's just like that, as if it was an ingrained response to being called by rank. "Yes, Captain?"

He slouched forward and laid a paw on the side of his head, his fingers scratching the spot just behind Wilker's right ear. The dog stiffened, then sighed and tilted his head, letting it lay against Stetson's hand. Stetson smiled and watched the stress melt out of him, not completely, but enough so that Wilker wasn't about to pass out on him. He hadn't met a dog yet that didn't love a good scratch.

"My doctor seems to think I should be getting some rest." He paused and put on his best, most devilish smile. "But I'm not too bright. In fact, I think I'm kind of stupid. It'd explain why I'm a pilot, after all. I'm worried that I might disobey orders and go wandering around, looking for some kind of trouble..." He traced a single claw up the edge of Wilker's ear, making the dog shiver. "I might need someone to make sure I stay in bed."

He could smell it now, the pungent odor of the dog getting as hot and horny as he was. It went well the cheap, sweet scent of his deodorant. Wilker showed him a shy but eager grin and lapped at the inside of his wrist. "I'd be happy to, sir; but I'm only off for the next hour. After that, someone else will have to assume my position," he teased.

An hour?_Stetson found himself wishing he wasn't wounded for the umpteenth time that day. Oh, the things he could do if his body was a little more cooperative... _What a shame. He'd have to keep things from getting too crazy for now, but later, on another day...

Another day? Heh. I haven't even fucked him yet and I'm already thinking about seeing him again.

"I think I can work with that," he murmured. Stetson lifted his boot off the floor and pressed it into the meaty part of the doberman's thigh, drawing a gasp and a laugh from the dog. "Can you help me with these things?"

"Yes sir!" he barked. He tore apart Stetson's bootlaces with all the glee of a grunt unwrapping a brand new rifle.. His touch was slow but just short of sensual, more like he was trying not to hurt the wounded pilot than anything else. Fingers and palms caressed his calves, ankles, and feet as they took away his boots.

"You're good with your hands," Stetson whispered as he felt the dog's paws do their thing. "Maybe you should be the one up in the fighter, and I should man the radios."

He laughed again, and damn it, it was good to hear him laugh. There was something light and free about it, something that made Stetson think back to when he was younger, dumber, and happier.

Wilker placed his paws on his knees and pushed them apart a little more, then ground his palms across Stetson's thighs as his fingers crept in toward his fly. The feather-light friction made his back and belly go rigid, which tugged at his stitches. He winced and barely swallowed down a pained grunt as he fell back against the wall.

"Are you OK?" Wilker asked. The worry in his voice was genuine, and yet, his paws remained pressed firmly to Stetson's thighs, with one warm palm just inches from the head of the stoat's cock.

"Yeah," Stetson replied with a tight grimace. "Just... Let me change position, alright?"

Wilker nodded and watched with a nervous smile as Stetson slid away and laid out flat on his back, his legs spread in a shallow V. By the grace of God, he managed to do it without looking like a complete wuss.

"Alright," Stetson breathed. "Let's try this again."

Stetson reached down with both paws and yanked open his belt, letting his pants go loose around his waist. The dog's eyes centered on his crotch as he unzipped his fly, revealing the bright white boxers beneath. There was no button to hold the front slit shut, which meant the dobie got a glimpse of the short brown fur just above the base of his engorged shaft.

"Lieutenant, I'm afraid I'm going to need you help again."

The dobie licked his lips, the tip of his pink tongue lingering on one pointed canine. "Copy," he growled back. He walked forward on his knees, then reached out and hooked his fingers into the waist of Stetson's pants. His short black claws felt wonderful as they dragged through his fur and hooked around his boxers.

"Take'em off," he groaned. Wilker was happy to comply. He lifted and rolled his hips as Wilker pulled them down, the dog's eyes glued to his groin as the cloth came sliding away. They both gasped as Stetson's cock sprang past his falling waistband, standing thick and full in all it's throbbing glory. Wilker didn't stop until Stetson's pants and underwear were on the floor, but never once did he take his eyes off the stoat's drippy dick.

Stetson had to admit, he liked the view. There was something about seeing his dick superimposed against the kneeling dobie's face that made the stoat want to do all sorts of nasty, messy things to the pup- Things they'd both enjoy.

"You'd better strip," Stetson said after a long pause. "It's not like you can borrow my uniform if I get cum on your's."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Wilker growled as he folded his fist around the stoat's dick, kneading the firm flesh between his fingers. Stetson closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the mattress, sighing, then gasping as the dog's breath breezed across his cockhead. "I'm going to swallow every drop."

As much as he wanted to see Wilker naked, he wasn't going to argue with_that._

He laid a paw across the top of Wilker's head and fanned his fingers out across it as the dog dipped his snout between his thighs and ran his smooth, broad tongue across the valley where his cock met his balls. Every swipe and drag left wet trails behind, matting his fur and making his flesh that much more sensitive to Wilker's breath.

Stetson squirmed and moaned as the lieutenant kissed and licked his way up the bottom of his aching prick, his rubbing fingers opening up just enough to allow his mouth to get at the meat beneath. A lot of girls and guys forgot about the hand action when it came to using their mouths- But not this pup!

His whole body did a little jerk when the dog's suckling lips hit a patch of skin on the underside of his cock just beneath his glans. He wanted desperately to rise up to his knees, to stuff his dick down the dog's throat and keep it there until he came, to fuck him until his eyes rolled back in his head- But his battered body wouldn't let him.

"Suck it," he breathed, his claws dragging through the fur on Wilker's head, raking across his scalp. He shifted his hips and ground them up against the dobie's muzzle, smearing his cock across his lips. "I want to cum in your mouth and watch you swallow it."

Wilker's face took on an impish quality as he pursed his lips on the tip of Stetson's cock, then he whispered, "Is that an order, sir?"

"Yes," Stetson growled back. "Get to it, Lieutenant."

"Sir, yes sir!" Wilker all but purred back. He popped his lips open and slid them down around the first few inches of the stoat's prick, bathing it in wet, sucking heat. The insides of his cheeks felt like warm, damp velvet as they collapsed around his shaft, rippling as he swallowed more and more. He didn't take more than half of it into his mouth, but the other half was held tight in his steadily pumping paw.

The scent of two horny men, much like sweat but somehow both sweeter and more masculine, filled the small room and blotted out all else. Stetson was growing desperate to cum already, and Wilker was getting just as eager to taste the pilot's seed on his tongue.

It wouldn't be long. Stetson watched as Wilker's head rose and fell in smooth strokes, his lips seldom faltering, even for a moment. They caught every drop of pre that dribbled into his mouth, and he looked up at Stetson and smiled with the corners of his mouth whenever he swallowed what had gathered in his muzzle.

He wants me to watch him, Stetson thought.He wants to know I'm watching while he drinks it down.Oh fuck! His long tail thumped against the side of his bunk as his frustration built. His wounds were like cuffs that bound him to his bed, keeping him from doing all the depraved things running through his lust-painted mind.

Wilker drew his mouth off the stoat's cock, and before Stetson could say 'What the fuck?' the dobie pushed his shirt up across his toned, slim stomach and bit the tender skin of his navel. His teeth were like pearly little daggers, and he sank them into his flesh over and over, with plenty of slow licks and nips in between the hardest bites.

It took every ounce of willpower he had to keep from squirming and bouncing all over the sheets as the dog teased him rotten. "Quit that shit," he moaned in protest.

He ran his paws down Stetson's waist, the claws on his fingers combing through the fur on his back as his thumbs cut lines down the edge of his tummy. Both hands ended up on his ass, greedily pawing over the stoat's sumptuous backside. They held onto his ass cheeks like a set of handles as he ducked back down again, his muzzle devouring Stetson's length all over again.

This time the dobie went all out. His head sank swiftly until his chin tapped Stetson's plump balls, then rose nice and slow, the tip of his tongue dragging on the bottom of his throbbing dick the whole way. Stetson's hands closed in around his head and grabbed his ears with his thumbs and forefingers, using them to draw his head down with more and more urgency as the pressure built at the base of his cock.

Wilker sensed when he was at that point, just precious seconds away from busting his nut in the dog's muzzle. He didn't pull away, or hesitate in the slightest. He just smashed his lips around the root of the stoat's cock and locked down around it, his skillful lips begging for the sweet release of Stetson's orgasm.

"Huhhhauh!" He cried as he shoved Wilker's head down forcefully, his nose pressed into Stetson's short and curlies. Stetson stared at the dog with fire in his eyes while his cock flooded his mouth with thick, rich cum. Wilkerson stared right back at him, never blinking as he gulped it all down. Not a drop of his seed escaped the dog's lips, and even when he was spent, Wilker didn't let up until he'd gone limp in the dog's muzzle.

"I told you," he breathed when he released the stoat's soft shaft. "Got it all, didn't I?"

And then some, Stetson thought. He sat up on his elbows with a huff as the doberman slid up close to the head of his bed. For a moment, he was sure Wilker was going in for the kiss- But the dog never quite got there. "You're a lot less shy when you're all fired up, huh?"

Wilker grinned at him, stood up, and sat on the edge of his bed. "Well..." He ran his hand down the stoat's flat tummy and toyed with his soft, slick dick, making him moan and squirm all over again. "It's hard to be shy when you've got a dick in your mouth, isn't it, sir?"

"I guess it is," he mused. Sitting like he was made it painfully obvious that the doberman was sporting a pup-tent that could hide a tank. Stetson wanted to peel back his pants and see what the dog was packing, but before he got the chance, the doberman stood up.

"I think I'd better go," he murmured, though everything from the tone of his voice to the longing look in his eyes made it clear he didn't want to. "I'll have duty soon, and I'd better clean up a little and brush my teeth. Things might get weird if everyone I talk to smells cum on my breath."

Stay. He wanted the dog in his bed, in his arms, even as he felt the building fatigue in his body pulling him back down against the thin mattress. "I guess you're right," he murmured, and yawned. "Shouldn't be long until I'm all patched up. Maybe you'd like to go hit the officer's club sometime?"

Wilker tossed out a lazy salute. "Sure thing, sir." He winked, then reached down and squeezed the bulging package between his legs. "I still owe you a drink, don't I?"

Stetson grinned and laid his head on his pillow, his eyes lingering on the meat in the pup's paw. "You bet your ass you do."

He smirked and turned around, hitting the button that made the door shoot open. "Get well soon, Captain." With one final glance, he stepped out into the hall and the door shut behind him. Stetson chopped his lips and sighed, nuzzling the cool, soft pillow beneath his head. Soon, he echoed in his tired, but happy mind. Soon.