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My GYM PARTNER'S BRO IS AT STATE, HO!

THE SERIES

PORTION II

by Eightane

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Rodrigo was the first awake, but not first to move. His hearing picked up stirs, whispers, with fine motive. Before his eyes could take the bright morn, filtering by slits through dusty blinds, there came rustles on the floor next to him. That is where they landed at passout, too convenient on a night like that, sleep-where-you-fall... When the bird wiped his face, dealt with the crust, he did so with grog and turned his cricked neck to the right.

There lay a symphony of tussle, from the ape on top and his chimpy dude under, not gettin' it on but the same type of close. Rod's hung-over self gave this a smile, watched the mancuddle of two true dudes, mojo strong through breathy smooch, oral hombrès, Jerr sprung on Will's rumbles and wrestler-hugs. Monkey sent crave and respect in his coo of 'Suuuup, bro', and got pancaked with love; the bond and depth filled their gaze on each other yet the dives were quick, tough, putting monkey under store-column arms. Sounded to Rod's ears like the 'rilla was... Singing.

... Yeah, no doubt, it was lyrics coming out the ape's bass, and familiar ones. No cause to concentrate either, their albatross host knew Cypress Hill when he heard it. But the track was tweaked. Will's snicker in his own reciting linked up nice with his bear hugs on Jerr, facial bombings, smearing his bod on that boi. The new, 'improved' track went a little something like this:

"Snipped-off shotgun,

Hand on my pump,

Lefty in your asshole,

{Puffin' on a blunt!}

Puff this shot-gun,

Suck a dick, chimp!

La-laa-laa-laaa-la-la-laa-laaaa!"

Jerr's airy howl laughed on the sounds, tickled by that and their morning high; Will prided on his own status of a circumcized bull, aside from the ease he found to slip in his version of hangin' tunes. Rod spotted the smoke trail, adrift up Will's further side, duly a squat spliff for a cool early burn. And Will might have owned the lowest pitch, but no one lit up the room's ears like Jerr. He cackled a smooth barrage. Face had lit with joy to the very tip of that cute damn snout. Gorilla man smashed down with muscle, pinned his uke where the tiny lungs pressed on him; Jerr got air but with the athlete's approval. Rougher he got, the more Jerr's tail whorled and whipped, lashin' up and over a back that held the power of ten trains and Butterbean. Will tumbled with him, slammed hips on his li'l orange ones, and the swift-talkin' fruit monkey pushed lips on the beardline, kissed on ape's rich brown stubble. He balled fists and socked Will in the lats with play in his heart. It would always bring the hammer down harder, make Will aggressive, get 'em frotting. Here, it went unblanketed and bare on the carpet. Any fool around could hear the slick push of creme guns riding their own pre across each other.

Rodrigo felt his chub grow through the feathers at his jet bush, tangled after all it saw firsthand. Other things compelled him though, the splitting temple throb for one, and dropouts of yesterday's details. He still worked to piece together most shit, just what the hell happened minus the bigger memories - Will hadn't just let his star-bro hog all the fat, sweaty hog - But that pain would bless and steal the edge from his headache. He blinked over and over, letting this solve part of his startup before he brewed the coffee. Same as it ever was, there, but now the new primates added sweet nothings, crooning a bunch o' warm to soothe.

"Got that number to the dry cleaners, dawg?" Jerr said it honeyed to his bigass bud, squeezed in the pecs and chest hair and paunched abs, pressed by great-ape frame and ever-massive junk straight on Jerr's twink guyhood and stomach, stiff-as-hell python filthy from dried jizz, bro spit, sweat and the beer Will had poured down it when Jerr's drunk ass begged to lap it off the 'tap'.

Will's nod went swift and shallow. "Yeah but they're shuttered 'til 9. Might as well be PM though, they're not handling yours with less than four days, a sandblaster and release forms from the governor."

Jerr laughed smug but bent the sound into lazy trill, so close on Will he could feel the shift in neck cords every time they moved a muscle, the shape of every inch that touched and planted him right where the fuck he was. Rodrigo guessed they'd be picking up wardrobes today, with also moving in the goods Will had spoke of... The bird admitted, to himself, he was fatally curious what made up Jerr's clothes arsenal.

Enough mulling the treats of rising like this, though, there'd be SO much time to get back in the groove with a fuller house and let Will back in his broke-in canyon... The faint memories, last night, Jerr slurrin' and slobberin' with yes, golden two ways. First, his praise while letting Rod feel what he profusely did being Will's cumsock, later joined by the coat of warm ex-beer he'd begged the ape and bird to douse on him, two guys sharing a urinal, a living one-

-Yes, enough for now, he thought more severely. He'd been wishing to heaven not to need to move. Forcing his back up, the head pain got around ten times its punch, and he cringed in short order; his beak had snapped shut on his own tongue. Will and his salty bruh were privy to a cuss streak in Spanish. Will laughed harder, proficient in it. Quentin was too busy not being there.

Genuinely. The turtle was a gone goose. Rod swept the room with eyes when they opened past the mouth AND brow pain, and sure enough, no sign of tortoise here. But all was answered when he heard the racket sounds. Outside, in dew and in his boxers, the fucker practiced. Lacrosse wasn't gonna rule itself.

And with little time spent here, Jerr still knew this, casual and callin' it to light while his voice suffered Will's love-push. "Izzat mean green half-daddy chasin' wins? Got his stick in his hand?"

Rod made like a snake with the chill lisped chuckles. Jerr was only three times as amused and thirty times the gay, hard and leaking under Will while tossing the entendre. Birdboy faced his pair of pals and answered, up on his yellow feet that went ambling toward the kitchen where percolated Colombian made it aaaaallll better. "He'll bring this place a trophy, was his claim yesterday. I don't hope or doubt, just let him do his thing. Hell if you ask him shit about it, he might actually talk more than five seconds." Rod crossed the threshold onto kitchen tile with lefty, then stubbed a talon on righty on the brass coupling that ended the carpet, and cursed more. There were Aymaran words peppered in.

He still had his ears to catch dialogue while shuffling to the brewmaker, this time of Will talkin' at his best bud. The gorilla held himself up on toes, only squashing his bro just enough to be living boss. "First Tuesday of the month. You wanna grace the gas station for a Fuze and a lotto ticket, or the quick-mart to get that with a side of Grabass Llama?" He shifted weight, bringing chin closer to Jerr's, a square wall to a rounded base. The query was about whether to take a 5-minute walk to try their chance at jackpot once - quick hit of adrenaline - or hitch a cab across town to the outskirts shop that had a certain stockboy, old schoolmate, friendly and handy... Good for anything in the backroom where he could take a screwdriver to the camera. Rules didn't apply.

Jerr laughed, shoved tongue into Will's mouth despite the utter size of the 'rilla tongue pushing in his. Shared gropes and spit, pre getting mixed, but they ended the kiss and he spoke. "Today it ain't what I want, effin' sad to say. We gotta get this place sewn up with our shit, man. Gas depot it is." It was hard when Will heard disappointment in that chimpy tone, but he knew it meant time was a factor. They both shook off the bad vibes, pressed noses and swiped oral muscles, play-fightin', Will's artery-sized veins up his arm distended with the hold he put on a hard-to-break monkey.

Plus, Will could use the excuse to get up, for the morning reason. "Rise and be ready to drink sunshine." It was said with sly curves on each letter; a familiar code phrase, and Jerr's eyes and smile and tail lit up like he was the orb of light. Will slapped his ass cheek and the chain on the ceiling fan wobbled. The chimp laughed, screeched happy and dug into Will's back beef with little hands, getting lifted with the big fucker.

He had face at Will's ear, loving him through words and halfway-dry-humps from sleepy hips, waiting on the treat he heard was in order. Rodrigo had caught all this, but ignorant of just what, distracted himself as he poured grounds from a bag to the filter in the maker's catchment. A spoonful spilled as Will carried bro-ass to the faded door for the house's john. This door wasn't then shut, so, so naturally.

No need to unzip, they were nude as fuck, forever how they slept together. Monkey disembarked, slapped Will a low-5 and got to business. Jerr's bowy legs stood in loose stance, his stubby hard-on able to pee through the 'crowding'. God knows he had practice. Will towered, put the hand far from Jerr on his prize cock, revealed its mass while the pressure ran down his piping. Jerr's face leaned in. An inch closer each second, thirsty as all hell. Their morning piss was his first drink of yeah-man, sweeter to him than any guts from an orange or grapefruit. And those nuts were like the latter... Freehanging at Jerr's peach-fuzz chin, and where he brought his right hand up to close nice and fondle like he always loved...

... Will's grabber shot down and plucked his wrist like a harpstring. There was confusion for the slightest span in Jerr's eyes. That shifted quick to begging, then instant regret. "Dude, nahhh, I'm sorry for the Snap 'n' Pop! Last night was lit, y' can't pin it on just me, we got stupid, crossed an' faded-"

He had tried diving into Will's meat, melding bashful with need, but the other hand stopped this. The huge ape's dick was just fine handsfree, heavy enough to point in the bowl, his thick yellow stream unbroken, unmolested by his close pal. Jerr was not fine, pushing against the hands, fighting straight-losses to that breadth of sinew. "Please dog, lemme at it! You're chubbed too, y' not gettin' it sucked out and it could be, fuuuck, man, fuuck G'!!" That voice was equal parts yearning gale and depressed bluster. He wouldn't be feeling that wizz down his tongue, it wasn't gonna splash his nose, tag him between the eyes, cascade through his gaping gob and straight to swallowtown.

Will put into words what it boiled down to, grinning, still relieved as it flowed out his long spigot into clear commode water. "I have all the mettle, I can wait it out 'til my next bladderload. Can you, cuteass?" He made sure it came out like toying with his bud, the very same as how he kept Jerr apart from him, denied. He watched Jerr's tail beat the tiles below, so damn frantic while rooted by that soft crack like ever, then looked pure-down to the top of his dong, chocolate curls of manbush and the lack of sightline for the weight pitching shaft and dickhead groundward. Jerr stared on it, unleashing its hot dudepiss. He couldn't even hold and aim the fucker. A twink's airy screams had never been more desperate. Slobber shook from the tip of his tongue's wilding. Goosebumps filled his taint, seeing all that dick so close to he and his fun-lovin' care. His monkey pee sprayed the seatback, manhood pointing straight-out, so erect just seeing his bro's unit. The impatience, the one-time ban here from serving that football mogul; that's why its short veins pounded inside it, maybe even jizzing through his own morning wizz if it got any worse.

For Rodrigo, it had only got better. Watching the coffee, but a feathery hand on his junk, tugging while he listened. Lint from his navel had fell out and tumbled over his mitt, which worked sweaty meat with the scent of the carpet and a primate's gums still pungeant. He had figured out what they did. He remembered the Snap 'n' Pop, a firework Jerr had never thought would come back on him, in this way at least. The bird snickered, eyes growing bigger just a tad the whole time. He whispered. "Shit, it was no dream then..." It would be so easy before then to think the fuzzy, grainy memories were dreamt overnight, or embellished the same route. Turns out, no, he really did take on a prime team of manlovin' freaks. His mind danced like his thumb on the fren, mini-stroking inside the larger tug while Jerr clamored to get what he couldn't. Will just let it fall to the water turning clear to golden. Jerr's hungry slobber slung onto the foam Will made in the loo and popped some; his own wizz was darker, ran slower and out, dick teetering on goin' off with white just watching Will go. The unclothed pecs and a heavy sigh now and then from tall strong ape weren't hurting.

The gridiron guy scolded his monkey with the warmth of bond, relief and moral 'high ground' if one could call it that. "You won't set off ordinance again. My fright over you, thinking some bitch tried laying waste to us... Funny now, eh, buster?" He made that last 'r' quiet as a mouse, almost like it faded into 'bustah'. Jerr had pulled a stunt like a poser might alright, and his toes glued to the grime under, pushing toward Will, getting held away every fucking time. Crime had consequence. But so close, like he could just reach out with mouth and take that handsome-

-Racket sounds got louder outside. Quentin was into something, adjusting the stick somehow, checking it. Who knew from in here. The rare delight of these new buds' bathroom play spellbound the bird, far-and-away more than the sound of coffee brewed and the turtle's hard practice... But holy damn, he still caught the implications there. Shellback-boy drank more than any of them, started earlier, and there he was, out and active before the hint of breakfast, since no new trash or dirty dishes were here like Q' had made his own early. He could hold his liquor like a Senator; or he had sense of duty no headache or stomach gripes could veto. And Will could attest to how he took his fluids champlike.

Jerr's miserable squeal-huffs told of how sweet the pain of not taking but still seeing every detail. Will's chest went solid, he'd clenched the core and the depth was so extravagant it bent his monster where it shook off. There were spritzes left, pouring out, and at this moment Jerr knew there were the 'piss lines' left, where if Will clenched his cock muscle there'd be three or four jets, the last of that man-stout brew, holed up in the tube from reservoir to musk hose.

... Now, at the end, Will's smile went indulgingly deeper and his giant fingers let go of Jerr right at the jaw around his need-hole. Almost as good as the lunge on that meat, then a run of lips up the fattening length, was the cry of gratitude. That and heat from that cool cock addict, between getting unleashed and slipping onto Will's dudehood like a silk jock.

Rodrigo kneaded his wood, played with every stiff inch while ten feet away Jerr drank those last sprays of guy piss, to the uvula. Will's faucet ended that far in; he'd never get Jerr to gag again, and due to him no man after him. Years of crafting that monkey's talent from the inside-out, his circumcised hose the brush of an artist. Into Jerr he dipped, such subtle knee work with the moves of a gigolo. It swept Jerr's gullet all the fuck over, and the meat fucking filled it. Swallowed wizz hit Jerr's stomach and his toes relaxed, twitching at ecstacy. He'd had his fix after all.

Will's hand pinched his hammer's base, pushed down and got it milked while peeling Jerr's mouth off his length like a whimpery, macho sleeve. Jerr trembled through all his bare lean limbs, breathing love on the dick he was coaxed slowly off from. He knew he'd have more later, when all of Will's irritation left him. Like a god he'd cool his temper when time was right; the comparison apt, being how Jerr saw that athlete, glancing up that strong mug more than once even if it meant the hung unit was outside his peripheral. Will had emptied to the last drop; no need to shake more, he'd made his better half the bearer of that.

Jerr rose up a tad, dragged his tongue through bush... Steel wool with scent for days and flakes of dried seed that came back moist instantly, they melted in his mouth. With a gutteral whine he gulped once and stood all the way, to bury face in pec valley; Will laid a bear hug over him, chuckled hearty, felt the breath from Jerr's snout blow on his chest canyon. No two ways about it, gonna be a good-ass day today.

Jerr dug his face out to look up at his main man. "'Preciate the swigs, I'll be earnin' it, f-fuckin' real..." He truncated 'for fucking real' from his need to lean back in and take whiffs from the fuzz of Will's chest, low 'n' straight unlike the meat curlies. He promised to deserve the grace that got his throat wet, and Will squeezed him a hard tight second, going over WHY he trusted this, all the past evidence.

Then the doorbell chimed.

Rodrigo's feet went askitter, sliding on the floor at shock while he'd been edging. Silently he went to full-body jerk and an air punch; he'd have to quit and put on pants. Well that would leave later, though... He wasn't shy either, he'd get Jerr to show him all the latest from the circles he kept, that monkey had his wiles proven. Hours-old memories sharper by the minute even while the coffee finished staging, a black lake in the glass kettle. He saw the steam rise while he yanked a pair of Lee's off the back of a seat in that kitchen; wasn't his, but Quentin wouldn't give a flip. Imagining the caffeine helped, while he trudged to the house's other end, the front entrance. With speed he brushed off his snailtrailed midsection and yanked the door open.

Two stocky hambeasts in denim were what he got for the trouble. Below their overalls were uniforms, and enough print visible on cream-colour tees to know a moving company's reps were here. The black-haired rhino dude on the left burped. From the bubbly sound to it, plus aroma waft, his breakfast had been a Coke and some Jack Links. The even-stockier raccoon to the right glared at his partner like he'd burn holes through him; so this would be the foreman of the operation. Raccoon-guy made their intro. "L.L. Fendt Movers, is this 890 West Univ. way?"

Rod gave them a slight nod, then turned his beak back into the house. "Yo Will! Your creature comforts, got 'em in!" He said it with happiness; the hired dudes meant he wouldn't be straining his back before his cup o' joe, or after. He walked back in, just as a boxer-clad Will strolled out the bathroom, and the undies weren't his. Rod looked low on him and his behind, heading out while he was bound for the kitchen, a smirk for the asscheeks of a bulging ape. Will jumped off the floor to the stoop and welcomed two fatass heavy-lifters with a view of beefy pride. They looked mildly uncomfy as he adjusted in the front; Jerr had made sure it lay fluffed by just the hot caress of mouth, that little time he got to after penance.

Rhino guy seemed least fine with the display, looking anywhere BUT their customer; his stars 'n' bars doorag said all that was unfit to, concerning him. The raccoon asked the 'necessaries', his face showed no real impact. "You William Silverback? This all comin' in the front?"

He hadn't waited to confirm the first before the second, bad idea bizwise. Will decided from there, no reason to confirm whether they liked some toying with. "Your type I often prefer to come in the back - *cough*of*grunt* but yes, front way's cool." He scratched over his pec, and barely hid a twist on his own bud. To spare the kind of thoughts he had of that 'coon, chub that can cushion his push... There was a place he could've stuck more modifier words, and to this and other things he clicked tongue. The reaction was stark and as clear as how the ape 'bent'.

Rhino guy had a fire in him... When and how it came out was unfortunate. "A'ight, we'll just get the stuff in, get outta your hair. Don't want no tips." Imagine which word he used more air on. He went for the truck, parked and idling at roadside. No hello or further info, completely cold to banter.

Will's eyebrows were parked deep on his T-zone, toward the banditface who stood alone and less of a nitwit. "Killer customer service there. Or the yokel's never seen a friendly adonis." He stepped back, and the big feet took up less of the entry. Not none, just less. "How many trips in, do you think?"

It was more to get a handle on how long it took than the work put on the movers; he'd enjoy watching them bust their ass even more now, as the rhino showed who he was inside and had sweating to do. But though Will expected they would know as pro's what they were up against, no such luck, as the raccoon told with a headshake that tossed his blonde curls around. "No way to know 'til we're knockin' it out." The wee smile he grew at that moment, meant there was respect for Will. The confidence, the BMI, or whatever inspired it, he was clearly raised right, versus his fatassed peon with horns for a nose.

Will acknowledged; he rapped the wood frame and stepped back inside. "All yours then. Just stay steady with the blue-taped ones, they're delicates."

Raccoon-man lifted his chin and stiff lip, complying. Will ran scenarios in his head, how that big boy'd wobble if he got to take him on the couch like Q', or any damn where he pleased, like the monkey still splayed in the john licking lips and lavishing the taste of Will's piss on his gob, never wasting a split-second of sense. The movers went to the truck's rear, set up the ramp and got going in the time Rodrigo walked two steaming mugs out the kitchen in his hands; they were sold by their efficiency. Will saw one cup held out to him. He took it with warm eyes, and sipped some of the strongest java his nineteen years tried. He and Rodrigo stood in the living room's side-reaches; moving dudes passed them on the way in with the first 80-pound box. Gorilla dude had his hands full, holding the coffee with one and snapping fingers loud as fuck with the other. "Are you trying to wake up, or get fueled to run four decathlons and a cancer jog?"

The bird laughed with lisp in small portions. Rhino and raccoon passed them on the way out for more. Will had a window while their backs were turned, commenting to albatross. "I asked for 10 in the morning, and what happened. They're earlier than Quentin out there... Where is he, by the by?" This was for the fact their turtle-racketeer had been whiffing it where the truck was now, but Will still heard the whoosh and footsteps like the shelled guy loitered.

He was accurate, Rod soon proved. "Oh, he might be in the back lot, there's a sea of parking out the hind door. He don't like how the asphalt does his shoes, but it gets used when he has to. Stupid lot's empty half the time anyway, why even have it. We could play in the woods or tie voodoo sticks to branches, those anti-warlock fucks." Silly with a smile.

"Alright then. Just a memo, also-" Will sort of half-looked away, to the open front door where the grunts outside loaded up with more. Rod's gaze went bigger when Will just yanked and dropped trou', boxers falling to his plods. Massive meat exposed, swinging in the swagger. "-Sir Rhino's one of those breeds. The real mental losers. This is to say, if he tries a stab at cooking drama here," ... Will took his tool in both hands; easily enough there to do so. He turned to the doorway, still open as before, made a barrel-cocking sound effect and peeled back his thick scar-line on that dick, while faking an explosion sound... His manhood was the rifle. With pure bass he put a statement to it, and let go of his dong where it swayed below hair forests. "Never bring a knife to a cannonfight."

Rodrigo heaved once; a breath so thick it was juicy. From the ape's fun threat plus sights of how Will so clearly thrived to show off and let Rodrigo in on that fucker all he wanted... Yeah, he'd drink his mug quick so there'd be time to 'work it out' before class. 'Twould be 9 AM, point-5 hours before they'd hit the books again. Surely these labour dudes would be done well-prior.

They'd been in the truck, hoisting more to carry in. Will reached down for his borrowed boxers and reassumed decency. Rod leaned back and saw perfection: the stone-carved ass on that ape like Michaelangelo scooped it, splendid views leading to when Will pulled fabric up and over. Raccoon shuffled down the ramp solo with a box, less bulky than the first but not by plenty. A 75-pounder, maybe. Will guessed its contents well, watching 300 blubber-pounds walk with a fourth of that, impressed. "Tote that Scorpion like a feather, Atlas!" He figured 'Hercules' would be a clichè.

The bandit-face dropped it cold and hard, thinking literally. But then it struck him, there's a bike brand with that name. Lifting with overacted care, he started on again, but Will gave him pause at the living room. "It goes here, big boy. I'll be posting it outside, my best and brightest needs the wind in his coif." He looked through walls to where Jerr still lay; The raccoon dropped the box with care, and where he was then and there meant this brought the box away from sight and let him glimpse the open door to the bathroom.

His eyebrow swam up his face. It marked surprise with nauseous undertone. "G-gee, you got your own thing goin' here..." He started to walk away for more, while rhino guy came in with some parcels.

Jerr's pose was spread-eagle naked halfway from shower to toilet bowl, feet out, footpads cool in the air above floor grout. His tool twitched, clear ooze dripped on the seam of his sack, nipples were hard as rock and lips wrestled with syllables to say something, anything, with his fingers buried up his hole like so. His neck bobbled in self-made heat and the scent of manpiss lay on his chops. Words were shades of wild thirst, untamed. "No fouls meant, bruh, my peg's just up for a true tease, y' missed it... Fffff-, it don't hurt havin' your mound in that blue denim, all good t' me! Workin' man, hah, 'preciate ya... You ever in the 'hood here and off the clock, wassup, we'll nab top-shelf suds and get stupid! And hot, an' you can try this deep dude!"

Rodrigo wore a frank smirk, just compelled to speak milder and tamp down the cringe he expected to witness. It was there, but light on a 'coon's face and not shouted in judgement. Will knew they wouldn't see this husker again, it's just how it was. But he could sure look covertly at the shape of motion in those jeans as the boss mover went past him back out. Rhino man had heard far less of it, but his share of earful brought him up a cough, from his diaphragm and the bowels of sickened contempt. He set down the armload of mid-weight boxes, almost throwing them, and made sure the gorilla saw his brown eye shine anger beams. He tugged his shirt, so the 'reason' he stopped was to fluff the overheat; didn't make his fleet moves and shittiness slip by.

But if he thought Will would be complicit and let him, that ship never left the harbour. "Timeout there bub, is that a problem I just saw take its little stand?" He referred to the guy's hate in a way that didn't name IT any more than the rhino himself; to get a 'phobe riled by calling him weak, or just being taken that way, was fun as it was hot for that tall top.

The rhino had bills at home, and two kids, unfortunate though they were saddled with such a father. Will thought of patriarchs alright, but society's type, when hornface lost cool. Employment be damned, rhino presented his grief like a blooming trashflower. "Yeah, would be great if you could keep the perv shit where it needs to be, no thanks."

Gorilla-bro made his ears ring with laughter. "Oh for certain! Stupid us, we forgot they'd cut token sluts and rape culture out of films while we slept overnight... I mean just the 90% of PG-13s with those front and center. Now 'R' flicks, well yeah you get why you're entitled a hair better now." He stuck his meaty arm in the air, made an 'O' with fingers and mimefucked it with another digit, then at mach 3 switched up to rubbing his two pointers. Clearly frot-pantomime, and showing this fun to be superior; the rhino looked like he'd whip Will's fuckin' ass if he wanted, but even his workwrought biceps just aspired to Will's set. Straights had to bear it 'n' deal with it. Rodrigo looked on Will like he would kiss that ape for the stand taken. No one knew better than Will, he would, the night hours worth of proof sufficed.

Eerie quiet started here, and kept through all remaining trips in, filling a fourth of the front room's mass when all was done and placed. Raccoon-man rubbed his hands together like soaping them up, it was coping with the red of friction burn scorching hands with rampant callouses. This, as the rhino brought a final box, the smallest yet, inside his vast palm. Boss-ringtail wrapped up the business talk while his help set it on a three-foot-high hundred-pounder, all the papery brown cubes of mystery. "That about does it. Just need you to sign, and put your cell number in the box beside it. That's if we missed something." He had a smile that started slow. "Or if God works miracles and you find damaged goods."

Poor fake-oppressed-rhino mumbled some quote about damaged goods being in the occupants' heads. Will chuckled, stood completely normal and watched it tower over short, bigoted beef. Rhino saw the green eyes of that primate, and feared in back-alleys of his mind just what the sick bastard would do to his asscrack with a moment's egress. He didn't know how thick Will indulged these visions, nor the roughness he'd do from ropes to cattle prods on a fuckstain like him. Lovers got hole burn, haters got BDSM.

The raccoon pulled a PDA-looking gadget from a pocket, as Will scratched his chest's apex of core fuzz, those cocoa coils, and thrived on remembering other hardheads. How good it felt to turn out gay-bashers, right from their sweet asslips. Maybe he'd run into the grey boy somewhere, and have another in a long line of bustin' it up the gardens of changed men. Will's hand signed off and supplied the phone digits, with thoughts hearkened back to pharisees freed of pious rage by sweet shoves of beercan-dick like hellfire. In his ears were the thanks from that raccoon, professional courtesy, while in his mind the audio of pre and spooge sprayin' out rock-hard cheeks of a strong ex-enemy won the day. Or the morning.

And on this one, Rod had just now took his first swig of wake-up juice. The joe was strong today; another perfect measuring job. "What a Tweedle-si and Tweedle-bum. Don't mind the rhino, buddy, I get the feel he goes home and cranks his babycarrot with two fingers to German fetish porn." He leaned and elbowed the ape lats, stirring down below for this. "Y'know, where if there's a hot femme fatale she's a fuhrer named Titler."

Will slobbered in a sloppy laugh, getting rich and loud as it grew. Jerr couldn't chuckle much, too busy dry-heaving for a minute or so. He emerged out the restroom pretty fine, maybe a tad wet and sticky in his monkeyhole where the fingers he'd spat on left his cumspill socket. He met Will at side-to-side, rubbed him casual on paunch and pecker with small hands and big-time expertise. Bird and 'rilla were unstacking the possessions; Will knew what was in each one by the letter he'd scrawled on their front panel. "... This is homegym stuff, here's the heirlooms... Shake machine, how you doing metalhead... Aaaaand the game lode, presto. We're good." So the gang of items was all here, none missing.

Rod had but one thing to say on the treasure trove, focusing in on Quent's whooshes moving around the outside of the house; the mover's truck had pulled away and refreed the front yardage. "You'll have fun breakin' all this out, that's the truth. I'd help you, but... Got this disease called Brokelazyitis. It-"

Will had heard that before from others, so cut short the profound description. "Yeah, received you clear, if I start to feel like wasting money I'll pay you to do my five minutes' breakdown in thirty." Rod almost resented that it felt so good, hearing this slight on his muscle power. Will had the right to, though. And the dick to. So his grew out of his quills, drinking more coffee. Will joked to him, stubble in the light of mid-morning. "You can decide to cook a good dish, pantsless. Those'll help." Rod breathed through the flattery, his blush not rapid like the bloodflow into southward parts. Energy seeped back in him, urging to walk up on the footballer, do heavy pettin' hot and perfect. Maybe groping those chesticles would do it, or if he slapped his feathered hands on THICC thighs to massage, then up and moved on the taint. Get Will to throw him on the wall and treat that ass like cookie dough, hairy beast rolling pin ready 'n' Will-ing. And that virile demigod is the kind of fuck-yes where you verb his name...

... Quentin burst in the front door, nearly scaring the bird, not looking great himself. The face was greener than before, than his usual baseline. Only HE had the scoop on what his breakfast had been, before his household left their dream worlds. This 'twas ill food that killed the sporty spell.

"Daamn, you ain't lookin' so hyped, bud," Jerr eminently noticed. Q' whizzed by on the way to the restroom, prone to use it for things less-carnal than the chimp who looked on with concern.

Rodrigo knew just what to say, after knowing what he saw. "If I took a stab at a guess, that's not 'day-after' but some evil on a plate." He tiptoed up to the door Quent had slammed on the way in there. Pressing wings on the white paint, angelic in his spread there, he crowed a tease. "Purge! Renew! Renew! Out with the 'Coli, in with the soda crackers!"

The tortoise said his first words of the day to this malefactor... They were burdened by slur from upchucking before and after. "I'm gonna tie your legs together and drop you on a mountainside."

Rodrigo melted down the door, in chuckle hysterics. Jerr sauntered up and spoke for the bird, with a hand put on the feathered shoulder. "Hey he still got wings, what's your Plan B?... Oh, ohhhh, maybe that's it, you got sympathy sickness. Who's the lucky chick?" He could look past mentioning a woman for a razor-edge joke.

He was lucky he hadn't hung on the door like an ingratiating Rod. Elsewise he'd have catapulted back in a flash when the bathroom door distended, pounded out by a pissed-off fist. Will laughed harder now than before, and hadn't been silent by all means.

Jerr's little laugh dominated Rod's hearing, close as the monkey stood, never far away from males he esteemed. They traded soft fakepunches, Rod even took advantage of amusement and proximity, sweeping Jerr in for a noogie and a squeeze. It ended with him feeling half-dominant himself; if a rarity before the apes entered his life, it looked like this would change. He stood so quick his feet left the ground an instant; they came back flat as something important hit his mind. "Shit, I guess we should find a better brunch before we put our minds through today, huh?"

He'd been comparing to Quent's misfortune here, and either way Will knew the gurgle in his paunch-laden abs. "Agreed to the fullest. I admit though, it'll be hard to leave this cardboard hill as-is." He'd had purpose, and looked down on Rod with lips stiff as the brawn of his unclothed and untrimmed chest.

Like it had been the gorilla's plan, birdboy caught on in no time. "I know goodly about the eat options nearby. You want me to go for takeout? My Accord's parked across the way, just out of sight."

He'd mentioned it to brag he had a car. The smile it brought to Will had such facets, bold as mesquite sauce. There'd be things he earned from using it communally... The mind and crotch raced at these facts. Jerr's arm went around the bird, and his twink core sidled on the albatross, lean bod pressed on an average fuzzpatched build. "I'm thinkin' Arby's... Is a shithole, so lead us to the real deals, dickfeels!" Funny he said the last part like a proper nickname, when really it just led his fingers down the snail trail to dark pubes and the avian schlong that grew among them.

Will had no reason to say more. They had good ideas and he adjusted his bulge, watched Jerr get handsy with their birdbro. He'd work through this massive store of possessions, they'd step out and feed three hungry galutes. Maybe four if they got saltines with a salad and a Sprite, the green wonder could use it.

... Five minutes further in the day, and the wind rushed through rust-brown bangs on a monkey with his head out the side window. A Crystal Method album made the speakers rattle... And the windshield, and fenders, and air control knobs. He played it up every time the car lurched; exhaust issues made it bray at the other drivers like a donkey with gas. Smelled like a close facsimile, the same, but bird and primate wouldn't let it crush their spirit, or gut vacancy. Down the three-lane boulevard their new tires cut a path, the only part of this hooptie that postdated the Clinton era. Rod believed minor car prob's could fend for themselves, but nobody should fuck with bad rubber.

Air filled Jerr's mouth as he kept wide-open at 57 MPH. Rod talked at him from the driver's seat, covering the steering wheel with quills; he was loud to make up for the winds. "I'll make this quick so you don't start your first Lab late, hah!! Whaddoya think Will wants to munch on!?"

Jerr leaned back in; his hair under the tight-'n'-safe cap looked like a hurricane had struck. "Pretty much if it's beef or chicken, it's on his list. No capers. I'm thinkin' quick stops don't sell that anyway, so focus on the meat!" He snickered and Rod looked over to see him tug his short twink dong and flap his tongue. So he then adjusted his shorts, below the lack of shirt Jerr convinced him was fine. They were riders, not walkers. And why not okay if the only thing that little bastard wore under his ballcap was a smile.

And trace, light flecks of what ANYone could identify.

"It's a plan!" Rodrigo corresponded.

But if he knew where to go with this, Jerr preempted him. "Just swing in here, on the right," Monkey dude asked looking towards a Hardee's. "Breakfast BLT with cool white ranch and a gravy biscuit, extra gravy. Tell 'em smother that bread in cream!"

Rod heard and manoevered and complied.

They were back on the blacktop in two minutes; he wasn't big on the Carl's Jr.-equivalent and set out for a fave place of his. "I swear this spot has breakfast crepes that'll make you scream at God, and cut your legs off just to be closer to the oven they came from." He was mildly annoyed, then, when Jerr blew a mouthful of biscuit out his mouth at the inner windshield. Only mildly since he knew it was humour's fault, from him.

They crested a hill and there the sign stood: a local place that seemed to wanna be McDonald's with a laissez-faire French twist. The playlist on the speakers changed, now it was later hits from The Prodigy. Rod pulled into a turn lane while a question for Jerr sprouted inside him. No more head-out-the-window, so no yelling. "Hey you wanted to hit the cleaners too, I thought I heard Will say? Got threads to pick up?"

Jerr's nod was full-body, then he dipped the bread in sopping salty liquid 'til the spiced white flooded off that biscuit, almost getting hard for his food by way of reminiscence. "Jus' shirts, and I take care of 'em, they're custom. Airbrushed or commissioned, nothin' like them or me dawg!" Rod's teeth showed out his beak, tickled pink by the truth of his friend. No sooner had he got his order, and chowed on the first bite, than Jerr caught another destination in his eyeline.

"Over there, Sonic, they got drinks that put the glow in yerr stomach, haha! Ocean water, fuckin' win. You mind?"

Rod heard and manoevered and complied.

They pulled away with half his crepe gone, unflattering crumbs on his chin but Jerr's lips going tight on a straw. One might say the 'sloppy' was balanced. He mulched up a bite and sent it to the stomach, but had one last thing for Jerr, to sate curiosity. "So these shirts are not just fractals or rockband gear."

"Ha-haaah! Nah man, try names of what I live for. Diagrams. 18+ and proud, I mean I won't spoil the trove, you can picture it!" In this case 'can' was standing in for 'I know you want to, feel welcome'. In fact if that was on a shirt of Jerr's it would make all the sense.

Rodrigo cocked his head once sideward, tore up in the finest way, knees fidgeting while his manhood pointed to the car's top. Jerr could smell the smegma past his drink, the food, and dinge of a car that saw more decades of life than River Phoenix. As if the chimp evolved just to pick out these treats.

One stop remained besides the launderers. Another quick decision by Jerr. "Hey here's just fine, pull in."

Rodrigo was the amicable type; he did as asked even though there wasn't an eatery or access road this time.

In other words he heard and manoevered and complied.

"... Uhhh, 'K. What are we getting here?" His car now lay on the highway's side strip, a pulloff lane for emergencies.

To Jerr, this was emergency, the bonabo on the sidewalk. They came to rest two feet distant; this 6-foot-3 dude was svelte, bigeared and not going anywhere fast. Jerr leaned out the passenger side; the guy's eyebrow piercing shined in morning rays. His pale lips were thick as the forearms, uncommon of such species. The chimp in-car had a functioning radar, alright. "You work out, eh man? I bet you need so'm those strongass limbs can reach around."

The guy came up, leaned elbows on the open window. He was all-business though he smirked. "Fifty, baseline. You want your wispy hole ate, it's extra." He stared around like he was used to alertness, for cops or the judgemental who liked them.

Jerr allayed the fears with his best line for this such occasion, of course having thus on standby. "I'll start with 75 and if you need more, it's here." He patted his hind; it wasn't a wallet and he didn't wear pants. Meaning was clear. The bonabo turned a smirk into a grin, stepped to behind Jerr and opened the rear right. Veins in his light arm skin made shading on the girth around them. Tufts of warm brown fur peeked out the pits where they joined the shoulders.

Rodrigo learned quickly, dinner and a show can never trump first meal and a 'ho. Add more stains to the ones not getting cleaned.

... When Will heard knocking, he was on box-number-2nd-to-last; In the corner of the kitchen was a standing pile, neatly tucked into itself by fins and edges: the cubes he'd handled and broke down easy as tissue paper. Rodrigo was the one rapping on the door. When the knob rattled and the ape unlatched it, bird and monkey stepped in to a sight unseen. The bird man reeled, playing up a near-miss of a fainting spell. "Fuckin'-damn big guy, you brought this plethora in?"

It wasn't the high-dollar home gym, in pieces at the corner but by size; nor the hand-blown bong with tribal swirls up an ornate notched string of glass beads like a roary up the side of a bigass draw chimney; the creatine powder nor L-carn' shake mix; the PC tower worth more than the house, maybe. But it all added up to nothing but good, and in the vein of that no questionable items. Rod noticed no blades, for sure no firearms. Of course if you're an able ape in the 300's-range and the kind of BMI they cast productions with, who needs a weapon when you're yours. The swell in Rod's birdhood wasn't even carnal, not mostly, when glad pride could be claimed there.

Will saw his impressed look and the set of food bags weighing his plumes. The ape plucked off two by two of his fingers, their weights were nothing to him. Jerr dropped a stack of shirts on the carpet, instantly dooming the base one to an unwashing, but who complained? He dove in to the bags, hungry in his upper sense and chomping the first of his before his tail could sink lazy to the feet's level. Will knew by his body language, loose and showing off wet spots of their side-errand, what was down with them. 'Spray-pattern was hard and wild; must be a bonabo', Will parsed. Years of background didn't give a fellow none of the clues. Handy with deductions all the same.

He stood wise and bare, the boxers were gone, and Jerr's mouth may have been on greasy calories but his eyes were on his bro's pendulum. It danced with the swing as did his little chimp abs in shallow twitch, needing always; but Rod' just kept a fix on the belongings, high-dollar heaven even down to extended editions of PC game rarities. Old novels on wars. Vintage gay spank mags.

This was a lot to unpack. Will, it seems, went for the unusual as he spoke low. "I brought in enough, with the style of not ending in a preposition." He leaned over, looked like he would knock the bird on his hip with his open knuckles. But what Rodrigo got was a reach 'n' grab; Will took a handlful of sidecheek, pressed the flesh in his palm lines. Left them as a minute-long tat on the albatross, left his face red and lungs full of half-gasp and butterflies.

Rod' scratched his other cheek, just nervous and still wanting contact down there, spurred to it. "I... yeah. Heh, it's what all you grounddwellers say." He stuck his elbow in Will's ribs; there was no bone felt through this much tough padding. Whatever, he still couldn't fly, as all three of them got. Rod twisted partway as he dropped to the bags and got his first meal out, and Will's. So this much was begun; Will rumbled with the rich sounds of a man who ate hearty, and Jerr's electric blues courted the fuck out of the sperm pipe he knew from such thousands of late nights. And days. And sabbaths, holidays, leap years...

They'd put on a few articles, just a top in Jerr's case, and leave out. Quentin could keep watch on the unpacked odds and ends, and hell, the stack of flat boxes he could lean on to hurl if the trashcan got full up. Will might have majored his mind on football around then - it followed the class today, after all - but he had attention here too. Time for the most abstract part of their present week, and by a mile the most dangerous. Labs of the college sort - science on steroids - awaited them.

The twink would participate with aplomb.

... All were on-course thirty minutes further in the pre-noon... Excepting Rodrigo, who had to turn around and sit out today, taking texts from family. All would be solved well enough and the classic pair escorted themselves. Will took a breath so deep it was haness; compounds that were abstract, varied as they were unique, bought his energetic vim. In the science center's atrium where glass curtains made it as good as outside, and his shoe prints mussed the floor. All persons around walked in the same direction; they knew like the gorilla did what high marks this place upheld with honours and renown. Jerr asked him what the hurry entailed, in his own words. "Hey we got a plane to catch?" In good spirits but snapping fingers, both hands.

Will shook a focused head. It lay atop an olive no-collar polo and jeans worth more than some cars. "When you have a curriculum you own a favourite. Guess what I've been itching for, the crazy side of me." He cut eyes down to Jerr then darted them around like mad. Jerr dissolved into a sigh. He didn't have a crazy side, there would have to be something else to contrast with it. At present, he was swishing tail behind a shirt that had particular designs; sure it was fresh and smelled of synthetic pine or some bull, but the shapes of magnified swimmers were clear; sperm big as his hand splayed on a backdrop with lettering on front, across his chest: 'Gotta catch it all!'

So yes, no contrast there, and he was up for anyone to make him smell like some bull.

He leaned his head away, inquisitive. "Kinda new hearin' this from ya, but the high school magic was ho-hum. I get you."

"You got it. Pop's so wise to say I should earn it like he did, no advanced classes, grade skips." Narrow, smarmy eyes. "Take the whole ride. Pleased to, dad. But now you see me feeling a dawn."

Jerr's eyes were the brightest under that roof; he all-but-fell on Will's shoulder, rubbing chin up the arm fur, true thickness. "Hey cut him some slack, y'know what he made'jou." The ends to which that monkey refenced, who could number; for right now the major intent was gender. Standing back up, he suddenly knew more of his own drivenness. "Shit, I can't help thinkin' I'LL be snowed by this, some degree. Even a year ago, remember thermite day?"

Will smiled like a jerkwad; he did indeed have a good hold of that memory. Three months seeing a burn scar on the side of government property's the kind of thing that sticks with you.

Jerr's mouth ran away with him more. "Tell you what, I won't abide fuckups. Like if we get in there and some dumbass or floozy's got the shaky-hand, we're claimin' sudden flu."

It got the ape to snicker. "The most deadly of them all. Hide your husbands, hide your scuzzbands."

The chimp heard total randomness, and busted out in laughs. Looking like he staggered, then fell from it overpowering him, what he did do was roll forward, right out of it. Slower, he walked to let his pal catch up.

Slower, his ass moved in his natural gait and Will stood far enough to see it for some crucial seconds.

What Jerr knew next when the 'rilla caught up to him, was that broad familiar hand, like half a skateboard's worth of hot motive in his direction. A fistful of monkey ass, half of Jerr's pink bubble in the big guy's palm, squashed in a vicegrip, then let go to be rubbed hard, massaged. The way Will looked down to him was hunger sublime... But even that wasn't quite the same as when spidermonkey turned that neck, flashed a tongue so hard drops flew from it, wild blues in his deprived-lookin' gaze going yonder over all a footballer's front.

One thing defined these long vestibules; the odd office-cul-de-sac, a cubicle rotunda with service windows, the manned kiosks for signup or questions or any such noise. One had been vacant, out of use today. Now, in a ten-second span, it had two primates whip in the door, slam it behind like lunatics, a chimp slip out his shirt like it's greased and the tall fucker peel out his green top and True Religions, packed in to where his muscles were canned sardines. Their salt was sweat and sweet on the tongue that crashed on them fervent. Jerr went after that bod like fire, blowing through pec crests, hirsuite valleys; and the six-foot-three flame tackled him, cracked a desk. Next to Jerr's ear was a CRT for their records system, on the side without a closed-circuit phone instead. They hemmed his head but nothing kept his hips static, pulled up by Will's mitts, tail below and in a spiral, wanting, needing. It furled and unfurled, a yo-yo with a worn base. The man who wore it down put the pipe right on there, rigid straight to the veins, within pre-weepin' depth of eight, instrument of destruction.

Outside there were chuckles, a few offputting grunts or rebukes; to even those two's surprise, the most of it was cheers. A few of the chiller dudes even rapped the glass, banged it. This was college, they were animals, and Jerr's hole was made for the carving. Tender flanks of assmeat in ripples and tidal waves, his ape throttling with XL-hell, but paradise while it butchered his dude's butt, made the gland rock like it coughed. Jerr's lungs did no such thing, but shouted music, the wavy range of chimp moans, squeals and down-ass dude language, damp all down his lean core, prebead on his uncut tip almost big as his dicklet's head. Will made thumps just flogging the desklip with nuts, hairy sack like a sock full of cue balls. His fuckin' monkey could talk through the monster's work. "Ohhhhh!! Bro FUUCK yeh GET it! Wreck me homeslice! Ah, AHHHHH Fuckin' TRASH that button-nnn-nn!!"

Will showed veins shaded like charcoal up his chest with the potence of the pumps. His grimace dripped spit on a true twink's belly, shallow valley that lived to collect fluids men could give. Fucked so hard Will's cut scar was a blur for what time it spent out of that tightness. Fat rocket beat Jerr's hole in like it owed him fifty grand. Jerr's marbles leapt in his scrote, tumbled on each other, the ache was so mild and awesome. The monkey shut eyes, his whole world became Will's cock, the jumbo rod jabbing him with bliss by the tons. Instinct made him forget anchoring; he slid his hand to lay at his manhood, short and slapping up and down with thrusts he suffered glad as shit. On other times he'd just take it in his hand and stroke it, make the utter good that much more of heaven's sensation; but he closed an 'O' around his base, put his sausage out cockring-style. The motivation flowed. ""Look at it maaan, gayest cock in the dang world! Don't weigh much but all the loads he's shot for guys, man, fuckin' waves of peak for me seein' or servin' the Y-... H-hhhhhh..." He melted into a coo that warped notes in sweet low male audio. This, because Will reached right the fuck there and closed a hand on his 4-incher, Jerr's package with a stream of pre out cuffs of foreskin. Shallow but with love he tugged that tweaker. Sparks were in his peer down to the eyes that loved him back.

Will's quake was his gut roaring all the steam; no manhole could he rail more than a one-night-stand and have it stay intact, but this. Jerr's heart swam in ecstacy with scorching on his tailroot, drilling those cavelips, punishing a pro pucker. Will's meat could push his damn head through the wall, but the monkey's hand held on that desk's lip; neck bobbling, breath high, he got a notion and looked up to the phone. His free hand he controlled enough, dropping the receiver off the cradle; dropped it again on the way to his mouth but he got it done.

Once safe between mouth and earflap, he pecked buttons one-by-one until the crackling told that he'd found the intercom. What the student body was subject to just after, said something of what his body took. "Attention classes, I - ohhh - want ALL the dudes w' sweaty tubesteaks in here, lehhh-et's see how you go off up my den! Party in front AN' back, ffff-... 'N' stick around, we'll have all the donut you can eat... Singular, G's! But come one, cum aaaall, bring yerr bub-hhhhhhaahh!!"

There were thunderclaps through the grounds; masses of students dropping books as they lost it with laughter. The desk cracked more under Jerr, the damn window took on spidercracks. Their quickie went sticky. At least one freshman winced and recoiled, jump-scared by the blotch of white mucking up a perfect view.

Forty feet outside and to the inner reaches of the lab footprint, who should emerge from a back storage/staging nook but a tall teacher, whiskers of thick spindle like three-pair of chicken wire. The underclassmen and women were filing in, dispersing down the rows of seating, half of a bowl that looked 'south' in ways akin to med school galleries. He was the point of attention - this he knew and was semi-used to - but never the main centerpiece. Behind him were the beakers, sheets of reference, other odds and ends to be presented and explained. An ape and monkey stepped in like anyone else, maybe a bit damper. But his face skimmed the large group, seated while still more bodies walked behind them. Ninety seconds more, his urge to start finally won over the polite wait for the latecomers... There never were any to this shindig, anyway.

He cleared his throat. The voice came in with nervous flits, but in charge. "Hi there, and welcome to the only place where you can cause explosions without expulsions." Clearly he expected a chuckle, though he didn't do so himself; looked like this wasn't the first time he'd used that opener.

Will elbowed his bud in the shoulder area; such was their height diff even as they put asses in seats. "What'd I tell you, boyo."

Jerr himself snickered and locked hands, cracking knuckles.

Otter man kept it up, hoping this would be the day it all went fine. "I won't do roll call, so you can all forget your names for now, not that I would... Heh... Would you like to start off with a bang?"

Guess which monkey that appealed to. He cupped hand over his hard-worker mouth. "No other way to start the day, longboy!"

There arose the requisite laughs, groans and chatter. The otter's face turned a less-pleasant cheek. Even Jerr didn't always know what made up another breed's slur... The meaning hadn't been for species, though, and at least the gorilla knew. Thus his hand creeping on Jerr's neck, then firm rubs in bro affection.

Professor was passive; and he remembered what he'd offered. "Okay then, let's take this blue ooze behind me..." He swung around, his lab coat curtained up, and it looked less like a rock-star move than a figure skater trying to single-axle on dry ground. He lost balance, tripped forward. Everything on the table sloshed with his weight's nudge; half the gallery of students skipped a heartbeat.

As he shook it off, a female voice entreated from front-and-center; Faith, from history, here to achieve like always. Her lip bent in cautious irritation. "Hey, are you stable? I don't want one of those 'cool' teachers who parties with the kids, I won't be losing a limb today."

He turned, the left half of his whiskers stood over his tiny scowl. Jerr heard Will blow a puff of steam; he leaned in to calm the ape, and of course found it impossible to leave the side-spoon. But the 'rilla would be fine anyway, as he then told in whisper. "Watch. I don't guess if he's hiding balls under that coat."

This he had on the ball... Mr. Otter picked her out from the crowd, her edgelord smile was top-shelf quality. He brought it down a shelf or two. "I believe in second chances so on we go." He picked up the flask, and in his tiny paw sloshed it more. Barely any reaction, since it had now been seen before, thanks to his error. But he ignored the ruined moment. "Sodium nitrate, in a steep dilution. Not dangerous as you see it here, although I wouldn't make a Mai Tai out of it."

Faith rolled her eyes. Even the two bro's and others had to agree here, he ain't at home on a comedy stage. Will's eyes were open though. He knew where it might be going.

The otter at last let them know him, if nothing else by now. "I've had people ask me before, 'Mr. Mickey, why are there huge vents on the ceiling, and I'm talking truck-sized?' Well the answer's clear-" He saw a gnat fly by, and got halfway into swatting it with his dominant hand, the one holding glass. Averted by what seemed like a miracle.

Faith had her own answer that precluded his, broiling with nerve. "Wow, this and they asked you that when you don't believe in giving names? Now I know you party, plus you write your own script."

He had had about enough of this; he started giving her the what-for, or he would if he didn't stutter a bunch at the onset. He felt as Will did, though, a complete lack of understanding what crawled up her ass. And the brawny bastard shot up out his chair, in service of the greater good. "Hey miss, if you have a bone to pick with him, do the right thing and don't. If you lived outside your own head you'd see he's a showman, let him tell his tale."

He said it, knowing it was futile. And she stood up, no more elegant than him, with the prettiest of pouty sneers. "I'll tell your tail to sit and shut it, meathead. Go finger your sock-puppet there, we don't have the time." Her accent of the last word was nothing less than priveleged, to a point even Will's wealth couldn't touch. Daddy dearest must have spoke her out of jams like this for all her life; unlike Will though, she drove it to the core of jackassery.

But no one could excuse her mouth this time. Slandering the monkey was the fatal mistake; Mister M' looked down his nose, through her face like the hollow it was. "You can leave now. See the dean before you think of showing up again."

No matter how old students got, there were the 'Ooooo's for this such an occurrence. Around her they nagged, while she shut her book, stuck a hand in the air like she stabbed through it, and stood as the very image of poise. Mickey may have been in smirks, enjoying her walk of shame, but the monkey she reduced looked at her through eyes gone red. Will's strong arm latched around him, close as a roller coaster lapbar, since she had to pass by on the way out. Will didn't cover his mouth; why should he, if the chance she left without a curt word was the same chance they'd all wake up in Egypt.

She fulfilled the expected; talking under her bangs but out her ass. "Have a ball with clown chemistry, fruits."

Jerr took out his A-game insults. "Sure, have fun scoopin' out the mounds of yeast in your Bratz panties, li'l girl."

He said it low, so few besides her could tell. She stopped on instant. Her fist balled, bracelets clacked lightly as she shook for the two seconds before she moved to lunge, like she'd rip that monkey's throat out.

Lucky for her more than anyone, Mickey caught her vocally mid-move. "EVACUATE yourself, m'am." Few if any of them noticed the shake in his voice, not being one for conflict. But he did his job. She let out a burst of air, pure childish huff. Jerr reached his mouth out and bit the breeze, like he ate her anger. Just as good as her tears, if the asshole even could cry. Jerr sent her out by one last quiet shutdown. "Yeah, shit your drawers and go back to papa, he loves you in spite of ya."

Mr. Otter planked his face with his hand; he lifted arms, mimed 'pressing' his hands to the floor, and they were refocused by the time the door softly shut behind her. Will looked skyward, knowing where they needed to see, and he started a chain of the same like a stadium wave. It helped Mickey, and the otter didn't miss this. His voice got back to the level of before. "Those grates up there I mentioned? Well they're mostly here for one thing." He did a 180 again, but this time like a normal person. Several tablets lay on the counter, far from where the beaker of blue had lay. This prevented accidents, or at least ruining the first 'trick'... Each one was white, flecked with dots that none but the otter and one feline in the class had the acuity to catch. Like giant Alka-Seltzer; or to Jerr, a stack of urinal cakes. Still sidled up to Will - his warm, male sofa here, made of black furred mountain chains of muscle - he licked lips just thinking if they were.

Mick' just dropped one in. No pomp nor performance. Crushed a big-ass tab of chalky something straight in the beaker. This brought its own gasp from the student body, a sudden meeting of two and only one identified. Will looked on it like the world's first sunrise. He waited.

A few bubbles, and a slight coloration of the air inside, at the bottleneck. Soon it was a slow gas, creeping in a bronzed brown out the mouth of the glass. Darker, then heavier, then outright profuse, smoke pouring from the container. He set it on the table, leaned down on one elbow next to it, posed like a lazy philosopher. Brown smoke billowed up, as if grain-sized missiles had exploded under liquid. In truth it was a chunk of reactants he introduced; they'd just watched him make an industrial-quality smoke bomb.

Will snickered, slapped his knee, as some in the audience almost panicked. The output was extraordinary. Though it blew straight up, away from Mickey's nostrils or anyone else's, the higher it got it expanded. The vents themselves were just adequate; brown convectives slid along the ceiling in a fluid roll, and a hundred watched the grates swallow it up. Will had an inkling, and looked away just once, to the showman himself; posed like that, his coat fell away behind, so the fly was visible. What wasn't was a bulge... The ape's smile was fresh and cruel. If he had the chance at some later point, he'd renew the knowledge of how no one gives it up for a power-stud like the guys lacking where it counted. Jerr felt his warmth on this point through the ape's very skin, so well did they know the other. And for causes, the chimp had an itch to volunteer.

Mickey leaned back off the countertop and faced those watching the smoke tower. "Exothermic: it's my favourite word. You can buy a smoke bomb in most states at a fireworks outlet, but there's additives, they won't burn instead of sputter. If I put my hand over this, right now, you'd see them carry me to triage with burns, third-degree." He lifted his coat, shook it out to rid the smell of the edge of its reaction. "I'll take a rain check on that."

He had some charm, but still sounded it out like the joke it wasn't. Jerr could by now hold no judgement; Will had purity of attention, after action in that kiosk outside claimed his third nut today. Jerr had no such luck, pinching his dickhole shut when Will went off in him, holding it back and dimming in a cheapo alt to chastity-fetish. He'd never wear the belt for it, Will had too much love to let his howlin' bro be shamed... But a little play works wonders, and Jerr left that office only minutes before, praying he could keep mind on school, still aching where his best dude's meatstick used him, injected him with cock musk like a turkey baster. Manscent. What the Y-born glands stockpiled.

He looked the longboy teach' up and down, and up again, while Mickey said shit Jerr couldn't recite back if they paid him a million to. "So now I have your curiosity. I want to ask who thinks I can turn water into whiskey." This impressed around 110% of the males listening. "... But I won't." Utter disappointment, from most of them. But he wasn't done. "Instead, I'm going to ask who wants to do that themselves."

Honestly some of them just didn't get that he'd asked for volunteers, the way he phrased it. Will knew, but even he didn't always need to run the show. He'd let another learner here do it. So he wrapped his fist around Jerr's wrist, and the monkey's hand was pulled up.

Jerr looked up at him with a face that was less 'You son of a-' and more 'You fuckin' know me'. And sure enough, Mick' had a motive to let him be the one anyway, pointing up to Jerr. "I think you look good for this, and I want to, *ahem* make it up for the disturbance earlier. C'mon down!" Rod Roddy he wasn't.

Jerr could care less how much rod he had, if it was just there, pressed in his boxers waiting to break out. Leaning up from Will, Jerr ambled down the stairs, more style in his left ankle than in the otter's whole. His face said to everyone else he was eager to help; he and Will knew elsewise. He jumped up on the 'stage' floor, shook the otter's hand; that teacher had some strength for a spindly cuss, thin like Jerr. Mickey assumed the thumb Jerr worked into his hand for a moment was some secret handshake; the monkey could be a Mason, who might say.

He looked down into blue eyes that never stilled. "You ready to get your hands on stuff they'd arrest you for outside here?"

Jerr's tongue hit the air with his rapid nod... Body swayed and he thumped his fist on his own chest in a double shot. "Let's do this, handsome."

Mikki laughed, all the sudden nervous again. "O-okay then, heh..." It was gentle on him though, just a light shock to his ears from what looked like a B-boy with a skater's mind. Not exactly right with any of those, but not far from them. He pointed to another flask, this one taller by far than the others. "If you can take that and hold it out from you, thanks."

Jerr did as told, got on one foot and leaned to reach it, then held it as described for him. He did indulge in holding the base part to his face, looking through the orange goo inside; by this filtering, the audience appeared to be trapped in amber. He ceased this and held it straight out, though, in time to not be scolded by the otter. Mickey looked out to the crowd; Jerr did too, inbetween cutting eyes, forging images in his head of what a tall daddy ott' looked like under those vestments. He'd seen enough naked swimdudes on Xtube rubbing out cream baths all over tribal tats or happy trails to have a good guide to go by.

Mister M' explained the task for the rest out there. "What he holds now goes by limonene. A simple agent distilled from citrus fruits, hence the name-" He finished the word, but stopped there; in looking over to see if Jerr was careful, he saw better the scope of that monkey's dress style. The white shirt, with lovingly-airbrushed giant sperm, and the 'Gotta Catch It All!' phrase.

He cleared his throat. Jerr gazed over, saw his distraction, and the nicest of smiles came over that chimp. A jolt belonged to the otter, but so did a bit of fluster, subtle modicums of the curious; Jerr would never miss such gifts.

He had fun with the flask and the attention, too. Held it high like the Master Sword, brought it down a foot or so and whisked his hand by like a model on a game show with prize reveals. Mr. M wasn't shallow, and didn't feel upstaged while he elaborated, pacing behind his helper. "So if you could be up close and personal like our friend here, you'd catch a familiar whiff; not just if you like lemons, but if you've ever cleaned a floor, or polished wood furniture. I'm not saying you'll end up as maids or janitors, not from my class."

Jerr, in accordance with the type of joke, tapped his fingers on the glass in the rhythm of a 'rimshot'. It got some laughs, and Mr. M felt his nerves die down for a second time.

Will figured bright flashes weren't explicitly allowed in these controlled environs. It was why his phone had its camera set to no-flash. He'd found something to do between note-jotting, and the beakers weren't the star of the framing. Professional shots of guy mouths. Zipper regions. Curves when the otter had his back to the pupils.

"But we're not gonna just let it stay there, alone, right? My chem' goes by the buddy system. Let's add him a pal in there." He went to the table, got a pillbottle-size cup, a weird brownish-yellow slurry within. It was mixed but 'dirty', particles floating in suspension. Jerr's tail was busy doin' a few kinks, hearing what he wanted to in the talk of buddies and adding him one. Mickey stepped close to monkey, who held the beaker steady as hell. It was when he poured it in - when he couldn't just stop and reel for anything - Jerr made vocal moves.

His airy voice muttered. "Yeah man, pour all that down the hole. Tall dude like you must be wicked w' that."

The otter started to pipe up, but devolved into voice cracking. He didn't spill a drop but got close to such a mistake; a little twitch in his knee, and just above it. Jerr's tongue could be seen liberally peeking out, already on its own instincts. Mickey took them along for more lesson plan. "I won't say what this is I'm pouring in just yet... Find page 4 of your book, it goes into great detail. You won't miss anything, this is a slow-uptake. We have around six minutes."

He looked down to Jerr, who looked into the glass. Colours like an overripe banana coated the inner reaches, and the orange there at first was enveloped, lighter in mass than its new neighbour. Much as the monkey knew to care and welcomed the intrigue, he had fine whispers again, to the tiny ears of an otter. "Y'know I wonder if that's the number of inches... More, less, it's all good." He made it a point to have Mickey's eyes on him when he faced the place of secrets behind the teacher's belt buckle. Silvery, it was the vault door to a wonder he could only guess. And in his yearn he did; could be an average meat missile, quick in thrusts but steady in delivering, or could be sheathed, waiting to be lapped around w/ flooding tongue 'til it burst forth and flowered from its furred mound, purple veins on red lovestick. Or a real trunk, wrapped in foreskin the size of Jerr's whole dangling peter, a slave to gravity while Jerr knelt and nosed its suspension. Mickey's whiskers moved. No one in the gallery was the wiser of what came over him; really, he couldn't say much better. The buckle restricted something.

"N-now at this point, if you're looking through the text, you might find something called 'anodizing'... It, eh, forms the basis of what you'll see here..." Jumpy in his cadence and the voice control, his tone was suddenly all over the place. He turned to the table again, but few students recognized the shift in his arm where he adjusted. His undies were tight as fuck, which for his volunteer was relevant; Jerr's cap swung left with his head, not about to miss where that hand went. Good thing for the teach' that he had a trinket to pick up from there anyway.

Obtaining a small keychain, empty of tags or keys and thus an oval ring, he shuffled up to Jerr again. Though his pace had went janky he was hardly less quick in getting back to the chimp, no hesitation. When Jerr peered into the crowd where Will sat, he saw an open book, and a man who resembled that phrase. Giant fist on his chin, watching the developments with great inner dialogue. What he wanted Jerr to do, happened to be just what he did. With a flick of the ass-rooted feeler and a vague "Ohp, sorry man", the monkey tail grazed right by Mickey's trousers. By the hip then down the front. In the swiftest 'accident', Jerr learned just what this smart longboy packed.

It wasn't much. But to a primate who lived with the same status, it became a rare treat.

Mickey's face underwent its own reaction; the most divine red took up his whole face. He talked on, but knew the fabric would only tighten, despite unsettled thoughts, knowing what the chimp now knew. "So we drop in the metal..." He did so, it clinked on the way down. Jerr swallowed along with the drop; nothing could rout his path now. His hole twitched, cheeks relaxed like they always did when open to a hot pipe. Mickey suffered in his pants, and wiped some honest-to-God sweat from his temple. "... You can do this anytime, it won't affect the, eh... Change..." Jerr's electric blues were all over him, no fucks given for where they were. The crease where the otter's gut should be in that button-up, 0% body fat. The sharpness of shoulder blades, where this older male's back was in fine shape, no hard labour for his lifestyle. Could likely give it to this howlermunk the way of Rex Steele from Jerr's 14th porn-drawer stash at home, that kind of condition. Mickey tried to proceed. "... Still four minutes, and when we get to that... Place... You'll know."

Confusion arose in spots among his students. The act had devolved, and it seemed their guide was not on the straight 'n' narrow. Well, to Jerr's knowledge, if one was concentration both's meanings applied. No matter the double-knit slacks covering Hanes within - cotton and scent layers - a pencil hardon stuck its head out to beg, like all friendly meat does to the pure needs of bro monkey.

Jerr watched him fidget and fudge to get back on track. It's not what Will's best bud wanted, by far, so he helped, and in his own way made it sweetly worse. "You got this, tall bro'. You stick head and shoulders above yerr clique, as m' man out there might say. Feel like the awesome G' you are and take the reigns, you own 'em, big-nuts."

He had never been less shy to show a dude how much his face belonged between two legs. Tipped his hat, darted his tongue like a damn hummingbird. Butterflies hit the otter's throat and went right to his loins; Mickey Jr. was a fencepost up under that buckle, and the balls were up on the split of his healthy thigh gap. Moving themselves, down when he tried to focus, up on himself when he even thought of that monkey's direction. He couldn't let it get to him; Jerr's bare ass was right, in all its... Polished-down... Holy shit, what he discovered that Will had knew all the while, and with matted trails thanks to the same 'rilla who sat transfixed...

"*ahem* I... Think it's time. Let's watch the fireworks." These were statements he couldn't fumble easy, brief as they were. He huddled up to the beaker in Jerr's hand; for the first time since he could remember, it was all white noise to him, the creaks of chairs leaning forward to glimpse, the muted words of those excited to be a part of it. Jerr was the only component here astride him, and when he huddled, Jerr sidled. Any closer and their cheeks would press each other. Ralph Lauren cologne was faint, he sure knew how to dab it with control in the morning rush. Mickey murmured the best he could think to. "Glad you're a part of this, now make me proud and observe. Looks like your big ol' chum up there has the right idea."

He'd remarked on Will, and the athlete's entrancement. Jerr's response was to lean up, find the otter's earslit and fill it with heat. "Yea, he's a true 'head for this, but you're the magician. Tell you the truth-" He didn't care, at all, how it looked when he reached with only tongue, graced the crease of that ear with a rapid drag up. At least most of the gallery saw. There were the requisite impacts; it was white noise to the both of them now. And Jerr finished with his own mini-lecture, soft and low in the hearing organ of a sprung elder. "-His power's in what he does to me... For real, I mean he knew what I'm about here before y' knew our faces, call it part of a blessing. FYI, M'man, you can't guess how well I know his taste. 'N' how thick his jizz goes down. No hate but fuck school, I could write a 5K-word essay on the weight I take, and right when I get woke from a sound sleep. You bed down tonight with branchoffs from that."

Luck was with them: the class soon ignored their chemistry, as even around this the real show went off in the flask. Bubbles rose in the center, a clear haze sped out the topmouth. Jerr and this otter were in their own place, and Jerr seemed to grow ever-closer with phrases of truth, one after another. "Fuckin' A I could teach you my dance. I'm thinkin' you're the type to kneel against a men's room stall, feet under the wall, ass on the hole. That carved-out gate for the good 'n' rigid... Mickey, dude, I could spin you into gold, get those jitters flushed out for good. All respect, li'l guy, from another peewee. We shoot hard, wassuuup."

At first, the otter's silence. Emotions played with him underneath the poker face... Behind them, beyond sight, Jerr's rear appendage played with a crack so nice it could take Will's power twice, in so many minutes. Mickey found something to say and its intent came through. "... Call me Jeff."

The monkey's face went to glow even more. He'd broke down barriers alright. Meanwhile his tail slipped in the back of slacks at their waistband and told him everything: Briefs. Hair tufts on those two sizeable cream tanks. A raised welt at the fragrant hole from overdoing a dildo. Uncut. Just 3 hard inches, even less than Jerr's twink-grade goods, but such a keen treat when framed by the golf-ball nuts. Likely a cute li'l head when it was soft laying atop the balls like on pillows. Jerr's tail took extra time and care, swishing on the pecker, making it feel worthy. To him, it would always be. "G' I ain't gonna beg... You got your show to run, I got my place, if you can't flirt with losin' this job I got nothin' but props for that. Just wanna know that nice-damn-sucker gets his, is all."

Utterly embarrassed, unable to stop, Jeff Mickey reached back to scratch his butt... It hit a different set of buns instead, and more sweep than scratch. He drew a breath noiselessly, all the air he could take in. Not once in his life had a buble been so sleek, bare of the tan fur that so covered this coveter every-other-where. Gave his own sub self a run for his money. Jerr had seemed psychic with the level of foresight... His qualities went on and on, as did his mouth. "Tell you what it feels like when you're edged up in a closet, dark where all you feel's my licker down your tool. So hot how you're sized, man. Not far from my dad's, an'at's tres-good to be... Love knowing it's all pleasure, no choke. Down to gag too, but I can't have it easy with m' bro like that, haaah~" He clowned at what could resemble Will's expense, but was no such thing, merely love for men in a different tier. All tiers.

Jeff M. put on his finest focus and acted for his pupils, showing wonder for the bubble-flood that threatened to pour over Jerr's tiny fingers. He put any fears to rest. "Now if you're scared for what happens when that mixture hits flesh, it's inert against it. No risk or damage. Might tingle a minute, that's the acids in the lemon part, like when you eat a pizza with pineapple."

There was more disgust in the audience now than when they thought the dude licked him.

He chuckled at the grumbles but spoke more, lower, to just his chimp aide. "You keep talking and showing what you're made for, and it'll choke you alright. I don't know the last time I was this... Wooden..." A hot guy, but his sex talk could use some work.

Guess who was up for that, while he looked in the beaker and trained himself away from just exploring otter-man. Jerr marshalled all discipline, flicking the glass once and making foam burst up and breach like a sea monster. "You can always know the last time, next time. The if and when's in your hands, tall bruh... And some strong hands they are..." He bit a portion of his lower lip, held it in his teeth. He let go with the choppers, and the lip slowly rolled back in place. So clearly there to share.

Jeff's nose jerked. He sniffed once, it usually held back his nosebleed. It barely did now, but as he leaned up, he could act like all his mind was on the lesson. Jerr held out the exhibit, legs open, chill as a Coors truck. The gallery ate up his presentation, J. Mickey had an appetite for his presenting. Will put his right fist in the air, loving it, and tapped on the desk, but not with another hand nor from above. He'd reach his goal of pressure-washing a desk in every class this campus. His pop should be proud. And Jerr would get to proudly walk out with a new keychain, correction, cockring, thickened by the fluid's work, his takeaway from being the help today.

Well, that and the seven digits he got told in a whisper. He'd be dialing them alright.

So the class went well, as lived by the maelstrom who said warm nothings to Jerr as he climbed up the stairs when all was done and time concluded. Out the heavy doors marched Will, renewed again by the scorchin' blizzard he put up under the bookperch. It would dribble-fall in rolls thick as syrup for a good half-hour, or the part left over when Jerr's expert-acting made like his shoe was untied as he'd come up to meet his major dude. It's not like chances were that peeps would care whether he wore shoes... It was even good for a snicker while he'd craned that neck and caught it fresh and piping-hot.

He had his fuckbro on his arm, going a billion MPH about the talks he had with Jeff, their new prospect. The great ape's vision was strong as his bod, with mental stills of the pre that darkened otter slacks by the time Jerr had been excused, with a slap on the ass, like the otter thought he was in football. Will chucked his partner's chin and put a hand under the white shirt, tracing Jerr's leanness with fingernails down the furred front. Jerr shuddered and laughed, then sank into the pecs of his idol-bud with his face, and hopped onto huge hands that held him. He chattered on with love and style while Will walked and he sat on those groping palms. "You right, man, that class was worth the rep'! Got shit to try outdoors next time we get our hands on Lemon Pledge, tchhahaha!"

"Preach to the choir some more, hotass." Will's hands dug into Jerr's rearmeat, greedy for the double bubble. "If I had my grime all over that chemist's table, there'd be interdimensional portals in the quad and songs in our hearts!" He knew it was corny; slapping Jerr's rear like a steel flail made it just fine. "Your eleventh finger was snaking up his best sides. I know you found shit out."

Jerr was jocular in falling his head on Will's neck, amped up, nosing the grey sinew. "He's got the height tied up in body, for sure... Nice little schlong sittin' its worm ass in some briefs. Howzabout you rip off the knit 'n' I'll tongue the nut?" Already helping his bro plan, giving all he should for the cause. Great habits die hard or never.

Will's sneer took up half his bro's sightline, and the pearlers were brushed immaculate, equal parts Rembrandt and an arm's blazing strength twice a day. Next Jerr knew he was cooing like a manbitch. The gorilla'd found his ring with a finger, but wiggled on it, tickled the living fuck out that takin' parkway. Jerr's arms hugged on his main man tough as the twink could, all ego, no muffling from size difference. Jerr didn't need to be his athlete bud to be an equal dude, he just needed that bud.

Leaning up and into Will's ear, he went sweet as a low-pitch harp. "He'll play into you like he wants, man, if he saw you once. You know you." What the orange ball of bro'gay bantered on never missed the mark.

Will dove his face into that chimp's, smushed nostrils, the snouts aligned as they shared taste and indulged. PDA in the halls, as students poured out around them, and wouldn't you know it, this milder display was met with not much noise or clamour. They breathed chuckles on each other, moderate loudness; they weren't in high school hell anymore, which honestly wore little on them to start with.

Jerr's eyes went lower a tad; looking in love, but while he was the cheer's sound dropped. "I knew little-miss-fuck-off might be around. Didn't think she'd go for broke with the mean streak. Sucks to be her." He seemed as though he played up the certainty, like it helped deal with her whole picture. Existing and such.

It was known by Will why, but he took a higher road. "Choices. It's what it all deals with, some were made and she botched them to New Zealand and back. If I think she'll be taken down a peg by it, you see why." He pulled Jerr in by the hold he had, both sides of that crack. Jerr's sweat welled in the split and seemed to agree with him, things should go further. Will topped off his appeal for good vibes. "Don't run your mind ragged over simple souls. She's got hers. Save that mind for me."

Jerr laid into the giant ape for two minutes of kiss, forgetting the world, the setting-up to do back at the dorm, Will's later tryouts, everything. A passing mouse girl even awww'd at it, in her blue skirt and in a tizzy not to get distracted as they were, she had the time concerns of a sociology major.

They might have stayed even longer, wrapped in each other of a PG-rated end for now, if the reception stayed at that.

"Careful, they'll have to gut the room if you keep that up." Over to the hall's side, one student knelt down. Tying her lace-ups, who should it be but the perfect moose. Her sloppy crossover style suggested she wasn't normally the one to tie her own kicks.

Now the phrase itself was no bomb dropped; from a friendlier cuss it might even be a peacible joke. Her tone left that chance in the dust. And her eyes made no attempt to fix on them, opting just to reduce from afar.

Will, perturbed that she'd even think they cared to speak after yesterday, had the plaster on his good will crack a wee smidge. "Maybe you'd do the honours. The baseboard's good for a swap to sandals when you forget how knots work."

Jerr put some lisp into whisper, a snicker right to his buddy. He knew they'd opened up the hate can, and was just gonna see what rubber bullshit popped out her now. Will was less detached and held his monkey into him, pecs-on-skinny-chest. Jerr sighed lively but it was drowned under shrill additions; Faith couldn't leave it alone. "Talk all you want, fag king, you carry your echo chamber. Yelling into a Twitter void." She cackled brief. Wanted Will to think she saw his guy the same as trolls or enablers, that would get to the buffoon.

It did not. He breathed firm out his mega-nostrils, but this did mostly service, blowing heat over Jerr and his neck-down trashy shirt. Will had his shoulders draped w/ bromance and his mouth on not-today mode. "Oh right, he's the only one here since you count for nothing." All he needed to say, guarded but untense as he rode that line out like a golden sleigh.

She stood, and marched. It was unlikely how easy he'd struck a nerve. How high she thought of herself... Or it was that much more a given, either way. Her trample wasn't away, though, but around them, a quarter way like a taunting orbit. She looked on Will and his height like she was twenty feet tall and he dared to defy nature. What was her problem? Jerr couldn't figure and hardly wanted to, claws out and anchored on Will's back, harmless through shirt and fur. If she said any more, they'd grow further.

Guess what she did.

"It's so funny you say that, since one word back to Belgrave and they'll be scrubbing you off a storm drain. I wanted here since it has THE high-rated economist program, nowhere else is good enough. They went down a notch letting in the primate filth." Now, it was a dead-ringer, that which had rubbed her the wrong way. Hair stood up on Jerr's spine. She inflamed it further. "I knew when you stumbled in, so much for decency. Start another AIDS somewhere's else, unless you don't wanna be found."

Enough was goddamn enough. Jerr resented having to leave those arms, but hopped off the two I-beams of muscle and joshed her with swing and spittle. "Threaten to off me, you'll need prosthetics to fix you. Threaten my bro and you're in the paper, front page."

"Hahaha! Oh you're cute when you try to be a man, awwww!" She meant his looks and species, he knew it right then and there. Will stepped up and laid a mitt on his hat, it kept him anchored. She spited this too. "Go on and deny you think about that, darling. A woman's right even when she's wrong. I wasn't born to be wrong. Make your play." That level of ego wielded was exquisite, in the lowest.

The ape's pacifying act towards Jerr bought restraint just sufficient to congile one nasty slam, which gushed out monkey's lips like he'd been waiting years to send it on. "Woman-jigga-what? Nah, sorry, your chest is way too nothin' to be ridin' a scrub's dick like y' tryinn'a ride ours. We should call y' Paris."

She pulled the clip from her hair. It was on. She stepped right up to the monkey and that retied, half-fixed sneaker stayed on tight enough to kick the piss out his shin; he kept the yowl in but felt the scuff marks alright.

Will saw him wince, and that tore it. Soon as it began, it was over, when he darted around Jerr and caught her with a blindside-left-hook. No yell, just the force of Zeus condensed in a punch that took her to the ground. She saw God having tea with birdies. They discussed trickle-down theories, and their words muddled as she woke back up. Her first knowledge was a splitting headache, and this sentence told in the cocksure brogue of Will getting negative: "So you know, when you define your womanhood by entitlement and petty shit, you show just how weak and fragile and breakable your femininity really is. I thank all gods you're the tiniest minority."

She put wide eyes up to above her; there were haloes around the bulbs, gradual in leaving. There, over her bruise rising, was gorilla. More anger than she'd netted from anyone. Jerr's arm hung around back of him, the other swiped at air like he wished a bitch would. She rubbed her head, tears welled and she got up screaming about murder, litigation, evisceration. In a slurring state the words were word soup. One thing was made whole from her lips, however, understood by the duo: "If you SHITpieces get off for this, what for!?" Not trying to be about why they might escape harm, but asking to just what ends their absolvence was admirable. Why respect them for the same untouchable perch.

Good thing Will had an answer. Though she cared none, he could be heard behind her, howling "Love and the fun" as he reached and took Jerr by the middle. Cradled him.

She was off and running, hadn't processed her own fear. In some ways, it was founded.

Silence set in from groups nearby; Will's eyes scanned the mobs and guaged the air; he didn't worry, but his capped other almost started to. There was precedent to think the public wouldn't care that she hit first. Not that this was 'deja vu' of any sort for the pair, but things worked out like that too often in the world, and worldly people knew.

But this wouldn't come down to cash and pull, though Will had fucktons of that; Jerr's fury had stole from him the reminder that they'd all been in science with her. A few said something like "Too hard, man" or "Wha'th'fuck, she's a chick" and walked on righteously, but this was outvoted. The good humour, two variations of 'congrats', even one insensitive clap... There was no fuel for fright here. Jerr drank in the endorphins, high-fived a respecter and clowned his wild ass back to Will whom he jumped on and hugged then shook in jest like mad, before melting over that man. Making like the ape's backpack, he was off with Will and the scene of the crime washed into nothingness, just another span of hallway.

Will would turn a lip down at the fate of a long discussion with the dean - yet fruitful, in the face of family's sway, AKA how it had led to more endowment funds than from hers - but a small price to pay for walking on, chin high, shoulders high, dick low and swinging at the ready for Jerr to grip it with feet, rub through the denim with toes and arch on the way 'home'. Will swung his head onto the chimp and caught him off-guard with an all-but-patented eel daddy kiss. Direct and gruff he jammed in the tongue, swapped affection with the dude who could take him every time and live to tell. And dance. But Will sang, in the li'l guy's ear, teasing and exploiting right as any deed from the steed of the ape world. "I put a ssssspellonyou..." The hiss came from one side of the lips; at times Will could be positively mafia. "-BeCAAAAAUSE you're fiiiiine! " He shifted down, stably, to break through the note with more tongue.

Rodrigo would get earfuls.

... Ten minutes forward, and birdboy did indeed, but Jerr got filling by other compounds. On the couch, that same haven for Quentin to flop down and sleep through liquor dreams, Jerr's knees sank into cushioning. Rod's were out and askew, and Jerr's asshole sat its open self between them. Takin' it right. Head back, bod' floating on the shove in, and that beaked fucker was studly when the top side of his vers' self came out. Jerr talked all at him in fluid waves while the pre oozed in what that crack hid, hairy and deep.

"D-dawwwg, I'm talkin' the sky filled with fog, think o-ooof Disneyland in Beijing! Hahah-hhhh-hyeahhhh!!" He got laughs from bird, and ape, and the turtle who lay on shell-bordering side, self-medicating with Mad Dog 20/20, elbow to the floor just like the propped-up rest of him. It hadn't been a hangover, rather bad brunch, but for an 80-proof-pro like him any swig was good hair-of-the-dog. Settled and settled in for the listen, he watched Jerr get dug and cry out with need for it, talkin' dick while dick used him, mixed those guts and brought out his best. Will leaned on the couch's end; his beefstick pressed the fabric in while he half-jacked off, his hand only on the top, a palm's worth of Gun Oil.

Jerr looked at him the most, forever smitten and now reliving how they shared what he mentioned. "I'm tellin' ya, Mickey had the look, he'll stick his in this cookie jar 'fore it's done!! Maaan, what I felt on that crack, under his slacks... It was felt, like the shit on a pool table, that kind!" His tongue rolled, over syllables and through his lust. Chimp assmeat wobbled so fast it distorted sounds of Rod plunging up in there, cookin' Jerr's hole with joyful burn. He could power bottom - for money, matchsticks or one minute of lickin' on a dude's fren after he wears bike shorts - but why rob this taller male of the greatness of goin' for it. In all things, as well as in his sweat-dripping parched-gut present tense, Jerr was sent to make men happy.

"I wanna lock down that Kitkat solo bar in his paaants, G'... We go back tomorrow, I'mma get a stamp on this hairline, patterned after his..." Jerr didn't mean that the otter had a stamp, but referring to what was his, simmering in double-knit day after day, if it was brought down like a paddle on the chimptwink. He wanted that skinny dick to show it could rule him even with disadvantage. The dude deserved that, being older. Bein' a guy. Rod's eyes put a shine on the nude chimp, twink abs tight between the pink buds and the snail trail of 'rust' to a bouncin' short one, a hard four over this average fuckbird. The Latin flyboy made it spurt pre' while the inches went hardcore in Jerr's jizzsleeve. Burnt up that gland he warred on in Jerr's recesses. The rib of a thick bulge on the bird's length - one helluva urethra - raked the chimp's inner craw, carved where pushing in, where the cave would heal just to get chipped at again.

Jerr's arms were noodled in the shoves, but he controlled the core, made his torso fall forward where his hat would dap that high feathered shoulder. Rodrigo found the monkey's tongue dug into pit forest; he lifted wing-arm, and Jerr buried face in the air-cooled swamp of scent, ate that pit like a fella's ass. Sweet, putrid heaven ran down his throat, smells that lived only where a male left his armbend to ripen. He came so close to cumming, bathing Rod's paunch in white gel and the steam of his tadpoles. He held back his millions of baby Jerrs but looked into the shoulder hide while he ate; flyboy had to miss the bliss on his mug like a thousand spliffs and three new Bethesda games. With glad duty the primate made a meal of Rod's armbend scruff, and talked when he could while he loved what they had. "Wish ya-aa-hhh... Were there, brummy... Watch'im sweat in his collar... See d' babydick point for me..." A 'd' sound was swapped in for 'th'; the more at ease Jerr was, and more used where he needed it, the slangier it left him.

Rod' talked with nerve right back, convinced the monkey wanted strength and attitude. He thought wise. "So it's not my curriculum, so what, boy... Mnnghhh, you still can shout out what you know I'd do wi'him. Punch that pucker, box that, you feel what I like!" Every harsher word was a shove to the hole, creeping deeper by a hair each go. Jerr's hunger ate the fuck outta that pit and then launched him out, laid his snout on Rod's neck, face hid from the world but not from Will's knowledge. The apedude reached and fondled the back of a true bro, resilient as he was open. Flesh up his furry lats was unloose, if anything, good vibes for a man of his daily top's caliber. Then Will's hand plotted course for the left of that ass, unscrupulous and self-led. That huge mitt knew the feel of displaced mass; it's how Jerr's cheeks were every time they made way for a good-sized one to beat it in and spray cream.

Jerr dropped the peach on Rod', the bird flung his rod up the hotway, and Jerr added one thing to the retell. "Swearin' it's like pop was there... Tall guy with a funnybone an' a ittybit-rocket, s'like bein' back home with dad... Miss sharin' a house, but y-yyou guuuys, fuuck yehh!!" He turned head to see back at Will, and gorilla-breath had the nicest damn grin, urging to pull him off and take over. He wouldn't for now, but who knew about a few minutes forward.

And, well... Rod had knew no-damn-nothing of Jerr's most crazed. He almost stopped his pace for a second, escaped his fuck-beat, but got back on it with a question, the only one. "You... Took it from your dad?"

The way Jerr clicked gums as he laughed, you'd think he waited half the day just to talk on it. "Look what he did for me, dudeness!" The word he ended by served a dual purpose: what Rod' was to him, and what Mr. Spidermonkey did, for his oldest son, the one ridin' a love spear while the bird swallowed air and a dry mouth. Jerr looked down at his own dick, out and exposed as fuck, jumping in Rod's hard press, wreathed in orange-brown. Trails of hair up to navel from a HARD cock, drowning the meat itself in curls. All that testo' and its artistry, growing him to be the man he was born to be. Small 'n' resilient. Taker all the way. More in one way than the science teach', and still bound to help that showman, find the time to make it happen.

Rod' beamed from his eyes in twinkles; he wanted info from the chimp. Jerr knew how to read it like a scholar, all the days he'd put attention on his meat-owner friends and nowheres else. Jerr dragged his face through black-fuzzed bird pit and stole a hellacious sniff, then freed and started; his voice went like a nitrous user on the first hit. "Lemme give a sample, then, just one time I let him in... Nnnah, fuck a one, I'll tell o' some cutouts from younger life, hah!... Fff-ffnghhh, push it 'til I crunch dude!! Here's what I had on the regular!!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The TV Guide channel showed November, year of our Lord 2016. Jerr saw none of it, his neck put him down; leaned straight-out, he faced a chair much moreso than the flat-panel to his unclothed rear. Couldn't talk, couldn't stop his doing, but he could certainly whine. It was higher, from a boi five kilos less what he weighed a year in his future. Fresh in his eighteen-status, and he'd made it glaringly clear what his gift should be. It took pestering, persuading, and three bottles of Yuengling drank to empty, but he'd made it so. With help from his friend, whose clawnails dug in his hips - and more important, whose height lied by indicating older than he was - they'd got a hold of the brews. Neither teen smelled of booze... That applied instead to the 5-foot-7 munk in a dark blue beret, behind dense pencilly facial hair and on the reclining La-Z-Boy. It was in leaned-up position; the father kept a good vantage while he held on Jerr's head, brushed his brownish curls under the cap. Encouraged his boy, who wagged at the tail to be taking all this firm, short cock from the very man who made him. His aide, accomplice, hung on his hind... Will made it his Fleshlight, just pounding him athletically for all he had. Floorboards creaked and birds wouldn't sit on the damn chimney.

"Mmmmmmm" was never richer from Jerr than now. Tasting the gun that shot him out. Jobbing every inch that expanded and worked to give him life. A no-compromise cock trooper for goddamn sure, Jerr's baby blues rose to his papa's chest, the thin build he inherited, the square jaw of a real guy who'd seen more than either he or the buddy on his ass. Will made it leak clear rivers, Vaseline, no rubber. Jerr's dad had one drunk request to've gone along with this; be kind to his son's hole, but no protection. 'What's the point otherwise', he'd thought in tipsy grey matter.

Jerr had it bad for Will, jonesing on the monster in his back porch, goin' tight when the tough bastard wanted, always. But in his front half were rare moderation and gentler bends. Lips to and fro, pull with care, tongue slippery and cool in its cruise. Even the vein thick on the meat at nine o' clock, northwest side of an older, married flogger, it too got a love-filled working. Jerr stargazed up his dad's bare chest, up grey steel wool imposed on yellow fuzz, past the cords and jowls that age and weather earned. Popped his lips off and nuzzled dad's dick while praising the man. "... Hearty dang stick, hell yeahhh! Hills' worth of vessels... Daaad, thanks, like... Fuckin' damn I looove this! Love youu!!" True bond of a father and his boy, through the curtains of thirst; Real, endless respect and love, while Jerr closed his hand on it, tapped his own face with it, licked every speck of it, served all the missile to the wiry grounds. His dad's bush tasted plenty like Will's... Not counting less turf-grass, more toner and wool, from a white-collar job.

Papa Spidermonkey panted, air rushed through the baleen of his dad facehair. Jerr went down on it a few full reps, moaned over top like the addict he saw in every mirror... Let go once more, talked from under it, balanced meat on a wide nose, one hooded bell like a fence parting two blue orbs. "Thanks so damn much, d-dad... Ohhh man, oh daaad, thanks so damn much for makin' me a boooy!!" He reached down with rightie, a spindle of a hand but never weak, to close on his own and tug. The gun he'd never have, never get to enjoy, if this throbbing daddy hadn't shot the right sperm. Jerr sucked the weapon responsible, lavished its salt and fullness. He'd always feel like his dad shot the right one alright.

His pop, in the fullest brogue of the Hebrides, talked sugared at his second-gen American peen fiend. "W-well you're not that, son, you're a man!!"

Will, in his infinite-himself, knew how to augment mood with verbiage. "Hear that, bud!? Enjoy and GIVE it UP, this shroom's got to spray!! AhhhFUUCK, bear down, fruit, PICKIN' yoouuu!! We're doing this... Over, and over... Get queer, FUCK THE FEAR!! RrrRRRGHHH!!!"

He finished like a typhoon; the uke's dad learned how they got down, for years by the cusp of this day. And Jerr lay bent and full with outright heaven. Pleased to be his father's manbitch. Screeching in his plugged throat for consummate loads. He felt a raise up, in his dad's hips; he buried nostrils hard on daddy's pube forest and sucked down every mouthful of the scrumptious building block, the meal that formed him and his own maleness. Sweet, sweet lurch overpowered him, and on every gulp he shot ropes of his own. Like his dong was showing daddy he could do it too. Mature and legal, ready and made to, he let go of loads in a row and whined when his snout ached, in vicegrip between two legs that pinched when they danced from climax.

His pop had such a good, strong crest, and all that made him euphoric besides eating dad's jism was feeling just how happy the man had been, bringing him in the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Jerr, man I can't... believe you..." huffed Rodrigo.

The best sentiment, nothing less polluting it. Birdguy split his joys, half from sinkin' it in that monkeyboi to the black-fuzzed hilt, the rest from lush epiphanies. Coming wise to how that thin thot lived for dick of any 18+ origin, no matter how close. Jerr fed the understanding with air gasps, booty drops, sounds that threatened to become words if they only bypassed the raw need. And then he swung back over to Will with a hand reached out, fingers on the true size of a footballer's pec. "Will, man, gettin' the desert-mouth, yehhh! Hook me up bro!" He slid lifelines on the nipple-end brawn; he knew Will got this lingo.

The strong fucker leapt on the couch, put his face to Jerr's. Pressed it with nose, pushed like the dominant bud he was. Jerr watched him lift up, look down straight in the eyes point-blank. Chimp's jaw opened like a method actor. Gorilla man rustled at the throat, a quiet hock; with love and deviltry he spat a fat one right in Jerr's mouth.

The orange tail kinked, fucking breakdanced in the air behind him, to Rodrigo's left while his best fuckbro held the right, and he took plunge after plunge of vertical surge. Avian cock made his ass feast on agony. Foam from the biggest, baddest dude around swirled in his taster. He fuckin' gargled it, called Will every sweet studly thing in the book, and saved love for Rod too while the kooky vers' hid the trout, so rough it's like he challenged Will. A taunt for a DP to put in this butch li'l fruit.

Beyond that, Rodrigo wished to lean, whisper in that munker's ear, but the way Jerr fell back on him - hugged the vessel of man screwin' that mangash - no need to. Jerr's hands dug on his chestfeathers; he could feel the salt, leftovers from what those XY pores created. "Gahddaaamn yeah, shoot in me while I taste his mouth homebo-ah!!"

He chucklemoaned. Rodrigo put teeth in the wind, swooped meat up that twink. A bird and an oven in that male taker. Jerr clung to him, core on core like Rod's cock swaddled that ass. It brought back other visions, in the same field as what he'd had by his dad. Same house, anyway, different time. "There's sooo much more, chief!... Never was a clean boy, in the mind, haaah, y' wanna... Hear more?"

Rodrigo bore down. He wore the most sincere of nods. Thought it would be about Jerr's pop, more of that heated fuel. What he got instead was almost as good. Jerr's lips tripped on the uptake. "Dude I wh-... When I was... Comin' up... Sprouted my first curlies... Hell, when they w'rre future... ALways man-lovin'!!" Communicating how he knew fate brought him to serve they who bulged. He caught the look of Rod's interest, when his didn't hide in clenched elation. He went for it whole-hog. "Destined, m'dawg!! In kidhood, I was groomin' this... The heart had th' keys... Mmm-mmnnff!!"

His lower lip wrinkled with his nibble. So many times past, taken by urge, being his own tutor...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the dusty room, Jerr sat akimbo, all eight years' worth of him at the time. Crushed Pepsi cans littered the floor; a tiny cut on his forehead was close to healed, after using it to practice compacting those cans like his dad and other men did with malted stuff. In front of the small TV his arm flew a toy plane... No wait, in the sky of his room, it's not a bird, it's not a plane... He had action-figure Superman by the chest, thickest place for his hand to hold on. The world's first famous superhero dived, swooped, and made 'whoosh'es through the monkey boy's teeth, while the old VCR under the tube made it blast He-Man across the screen in pixelly colour.

"Aaand down to the seas!" Young Jerr narrated as he did just that with Supes, like the hero glided on an ocean harbour for a quick sec. His legs fidgeted, no matter being crossed together. Magic was in the air to him. "There ya go, Mr. Stavros!" After playing a deep hero voice he set the Kryptonian down, next to a black curl-haired guy from a Fisher-Price playset; the apron and fashion suggested 'fishmonger'. So did his directing. "All the carp your cart dumped, back in action! Rinse 'em and the guys'll line up again!" His chuckle overrode him, a natural titter he just couldn't keep in. To scale, he had Superman stand about 1 millimeter from fishmarketdude.

"Thanks, Superman!" His voice for the fishy dude was, well, friendly. "Dang, your arms really are the mightiest around up close! Kickin', dude!" It didn't exactly mean much that this wasn't classic sea merchant dialect.

Jerr's hands, and focus, were all on the raven-haired Supes. The boy chimp pitched the fish seller forward. Plastic met plastic as he pretended the guy felt on superstrong forearm. Superman responded through Jerr by leaning in at the head. "Yes citizen, they're good for a lot, I'll slip you my home address." He giggled, and as the legs went uncrossed he half-rolled back but went upright again. Superman had a lower register, the more he said. "I keep it on a notebook, I'll tear you a copy out. It might be busy when ya get there, human buddy. Until then!" Superman flew away, Jerr's tongue flew out from his choppers. There was one missing next to freshly-grown eye teeth; he whistled on some S's, and on the huffs he did for a reason he half-knew by that year. 'Superman's worth some human friends, they're too cool', he'd think to himself. He reached and reconfigured his shorts, around the bump coming up in them. Annoying to have it tent and disrupt him, this would figure into when he finally swore them off. For now, though, still on as his eyes glanced to the TV, and got stuck there.

The transformation sequence. He-Man had the power, and through greyskull he captured the long-tailed kid over airwaves along with it. Jerr's parents always knew when this point in the show happened; it's why baby Jake woke up and had to be pacified and lulled back down, 'cause Jerr beat the floor in with a stampy foot, watching bulk rise and come to being on Eternia's prince.

Jerr's hand dipped down to the floorwood; these such days it had been shinier, and no sticky stains yet, the inducer wasn't quite prime. That hand went next to a giant plastic tote; nothing but the cast of these cartoonfests, and excluding the ones who were without a heavy waist region. Jerr hadn't woke his little bro this time; they'd had a little budget for this episode of He-Man, and so envisioned the change a bit diff. Closer camera, more furrows and ridges. Jerr's thumb lay on his storebought Adam, twiddling on a spot distinctly under the abs, while the animated version grew by lightning and might. It was so awesome. He watched to the very last frame of change, and then dug in the tote again. He-Man in his house could meet a lot of dudes, and right now he happened on Cyclops, a more mysterious X-Man.

"Well good day, an' to your eyewear! Earth men would say it looks rad." He posed He-Man like the laziest cat at a crazy party, how he'd seen the fun dudes on his dad's movies, Dazed and Confused to Club Paradise, the whole gamut. Once again, personal space did not exist with these plasticine men in the monkey's world.

Jerr did a remarkably good Cyclops, brooding and airy. Notes of welcomeness still seeped right in. "Thanks, but I'm an Earth man. There's not a lot like me, you'll see."

"Can you see? " Even a kid like Jerr had the simple joke to wedge in here and there, as He-Man 'stared' on the goggles.

Cyclops' comeback was better and finer. "I see there's no air down there, on ya. You block it with a good-sized bottom, superbro." He didn't have the butt in mind, though that was molded with care by some forgotten sweatshop worker also. At his age - and by family and locals - twopiece swimsuits had tops and bottoms. Pretend Cyclops had False Adam in his sights, by the smooth bulge.

Jerr's mouth slid across the words and in a sense made them lean on each other. "Ahhh, it's the same for you, thanks." He put his younger understanding into plenty here. "Let's rub 'em together so they feel extra-good, we won't take it off in public so we don't get in trouble." He had in mind the times he had, for going further when certain dudes were tall enough or short-sleeved on the sidewalk. Worth every grounding, or stern talking-to. One day the guys would know it was cool, and great, they wouldn't need to fastwalk away and avoid getting charged with what he didn't have context for.

He-Man on the telly rode his feline steed out to cleanse the land and vanquish foes. He-Man in his hands had a private party with an X-Man, in 'full view' as Jerr's noggin imagined it. 'Nobody would make superdudes stop havin' fun', he thought... 'I'm gonna grow up and train hard', he intended. Other boys would say it's to be like them. Jerr himself would be around 'em. He knew gyms were for building up, he'd been in one once before being escorted out. He must find some there, in the right ones, and after they pump up and get heroic, they gotta shower too. Just being, like... Bro's, they can get each other's backs and ears, and hot dogs...

He heard the call from the kitchen; a feminine beacon sounding off that lunch was ready. He pitched at the head, sad to leave his boys down here, but they'd be fine alone while he went to murder a PB&J, string cheese and a tall glass of milk. Adjustments were made to the pants. He stepped out his bedroom awkward, not paying as much mind to how his feet walked as he did to imagining more. He-Man liked Cyclops's crotch bump just as much. They'd stand and press on in while they revealed they both liked Pokèmon cards! Then they could put 'em down and reach in too, feel each other's snake. It's the rockin'est day ever for them, and it's ok since he didn't think or say badass so mom didn't hear it. Again.

It was a little more ok to say around dad though. He didn't care as much nor often, and when he DID, the spanking didn't foster a chimp so mad or irritated. And just after these papa-done punishments, when he walked back to his room with his pelvic hill, he knew how to fix it.

He was positive, one day he'd have thick grass around it like dad's when they used to bathe, or the one in that gym, his first feel of another's. True to life, he would, with the ammo he'd discover.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rodrigo's chest blew out and caved with desperate breaths, pumping meat into Jerr, riding goosebumps from the stories told. First one had been scandalous, more than slightly funny as fuck for the bird to hear him pay that kind of bloodline appreciation. The second was a lock-in for how fast the chimp fell into who he was; that early on and the signs were there and beating down proverbial doors. Jerr's snout wore utter heaven, glad abandon, twerkin' and doing all his low half could to make it easy for the bird. His eyes swirled in loose arcs. Nipple buds were hard and damp as the tip of his mini-toadstool. Any less for the ringtail slut wasn't living. A day without jettison for his bro's, from his skills, that's no life.

Jerr caught the tail end of a smirk from Rod that was loaded. So sublimely awe, as the praise broiled fine on a face lined with Latin scruff.

Will had his elbow up. It rest on the chimp's shoulder. Murmuring in his ear, more venerating orders. He was out of hearing range but Quentin read lips, despite the sauce intake, while the other two hit it off eyes-closed by way of that gland. The gorilla had pinache in endless store. Things like "He's the hole punch and you're a punctured paper moon, boi" were among the pep-talk-fuel given. Quiet in a lot of cases, the turtle put war whoops into cheering them on, so it was bombshells of noise between stays of jerking, chugging and squirming while his hole felt an itch. It was strongest when Will spoke; this too, would likely bear fruit. And Will's low-hanging set dragged the couch, moving by sway with the brobitch he planted arm on.

The bird's nutquills curried Jerr's taint fur, moored sweat in haze thick as an automated car wash. Avian meat sped its pound up, hitched Jerr at the leg split; it went so blazing now, the peak couldn't be but around the corner. And of blazing, Quent suggested to Will over the happies of grunt and ballmeat slapping on dude legs, they should roll and light up. He had the bottle a while now, again, so what Will heard were vowel combos that might be screamed by a head case to orderlies. The response was to flash a one-side smile and lean on Jerr harder. Then while the spidermunk's jaw came down on the hardest thrusts yet, Will's free arm rocketed his hand to the topgape. Worked his bigass fingers in. Stopped up Jerr's mouth and felt the hum up his giant bi's and tri's.

He knew beforehand they'd be loved on and sucked. This was nothing new. He had a novel taunt for each time though, and the shellback and winged dude both heard today's, inlaid with more man shit: "Suck my ballscratchers, fruit cup."

Jerr's cute ass sank harsh in fine damn ways. It took Rod for the ride of his life; in a flash he rolled head east and west on the couchback, beating in a hole and helping the bald spot grow just a micron. No hair would come back up where dick and its dense, savory ropes ground on the skin of Jerr. Will's monster soaked pre on the cushion below. The way Jerr 'ate' his fingers, knowing how they carried brown balls that won games, championships, the li'l simian might have him shoot from just hand work. Chalk it up to a long list of non-firsts, from years of yes, wrapped around each other like hungermates.

Rod's legs went so fucking stiff, they defied his anatomy to show muscle on the broomsticks they were. Thick damn drumsticks, as his beak opened, a cuss streak sweet as sugar started and Jerr's male ego made his ass go primal from the first shot. Made Rodrigo explode from a white-hot head. Had Will close to it from just loving that big hand, accepting his rule. Made Quent yell out word salad, tending himself, shouting that he missed a turn and would be goin' twice in that monkeycave. Jerr cared even less about the pain after one hot round than that drunkass tortoise in his state. After all, it only got real after the second abuse. They'd know in time how many days the chimp had took off on weekends, hotel room with his 'rilla, just seeing the number of times he could drain and get bashed.

Quent said straight-up, he meant to go twice in Jerr's hole; for all the slurs he did that snippet was decipherable. Jerr made some particular 'Mmm's and Will popped the fingers out, let his best guy speak. What Jerr had was for that turtle alright. "Go either way then, bossman!!... Nnn-nnnnghfuck it or wet it dooown, This hole's a pisser for pro's! You g-... Ffffuuuuck, you dare an' got the aim to spill nil? Practice, I'm yerr fuck'hn pisser!!" He warped the sound of the last of that.

It wasn't any beg the turtle heard before. He recoiled a tad. Then squared up. Then 'bated like hell, skin rolling up his cockhead, just about fine to do either. A dare's a dare.

Rod piped it into Jerr's keister, fucking besotted. Beyond hot for him, more pride in that chimp with every volley, acres of jizz put in a quart-sized buried lake. It would never dry all the way. Will planted his fingers in the sucker again, had him nurse and scream joy over them, ass rocked and defiled. A man's power in one end, a man's largeness in the other. Will took his hand out with a 'pook' but he couldn't poke fun at the small bruh in baritone, when Jerr was already yowling heat and love, and even went over yesterday's maybes.

His monkey tones were level for a man getting filled to fuckin' truck tire pressure. "Man if Garver was the right speed... Check those older pecs, get the water whiskers goin' with goodness... He can tell me to lay on a bed o' nails, G', if he plants that older stick where I drink from!!" His cheeks fell on Rod, maxed out the bliss both ways. In his mind, a slideshow of walrus and the otter of today went haywire, switched from one to the other. He took TNT to the prostate and spoke out. "Fat ol' stud and a tall drink of sea-skinny... Thinkin' good, Will, o' those starched collars on a chair. Attitude and antipode, good top, bad top!" At least select words were from Will, in past chatter; rubbing off was their most innocent share.

Quent had something else to add, slushily. "Ya got pics, right?"

Only Will could laugh that bastard laugh that came on. To Quentin, he had airs of conniving. It was made known why. "I'll pull up my phone and elucidate. Stand by for twenty megapixels of walrus fly and an ocean of ass, when he once bent down. I seize op's, like I did today's leaky mosquito bump." He had Jeff Mickey's bulgelet in memory cache... Jerr would do things with it like no other mortal. His effort was a true friend in its own right.

Rod's torso plumes stopped moving; too glued down with perspiring, joined on each other as he battered Jerr's assmouth. Took it to Redpufftown. Wondered in his wordless, shooting ecstacy how the chimp did it. Must be that it went like guitar stars and callouses; punish long enough and there's no pain, or it's twisted to joy and ordinary. When the ropes flew slower, found their last push and ammo, he opened eyes to the wild sub, and to Will so close-on. The big guy ook'ed and exhaled in low love... Jerr's tail found his hairy dong, and drove through the black forest on a ring around the base. Twisted up it like a barber pole, and so slowly tugged... Felt every inch like it was the first time, every time. Rod's heart glowed for a moment like the rest of him did for lots longer.

The monkey's hands went down to serve himself. Not jerking but pressing the fren, cupping lightweight nuts. Face set low and with a wee tilt to Will, his own. But no sweet talk took the place of the craze right now; he begged like a faggot and threw smug slang with it. "Gonna let you in the second he's done w' me, but soothe it like a bastard, y'know that gift!! I'mma spread these cheeks, piss up my asshole Will, c'mon wit' it! Can't deny me that hot brew from my bruh's, yeahhh!!"

Will's sneer blew hot air down his bro's face, fresh and brazen. Jerr meant to let Rodrigo glow a minute, in the sighs they heard. Will meant to pull him off, bend him over and do what the cocksucker pleads. If his uncle can bag targets in the bullseye five straight hours at a turkey shoot, no wonder he could hold that monster and fuck Jerr up by hittin' dead-center of that pucker, spraying piss. Able-bodied huge guy, every drop of his man-flavoured gold tagging the flawless ass, gettin' half to seep in and swirl with cum ponds, just from PSI of his wizz stream...

... It had to be now that the door got knocked on. Not Jerr's bum, but the real one ten feet away, house's front entrance. They were clearly annoyed to a point, but Rod' seemed the least of this, and HE was the one who lost time to gloat and rest. Will then relaxed, outwardly, and no fabrication for the sake of looking good. Wisely he'd parsed out that Rod' was expecting this.

So they had company. Will leaned hisself on Jerr pretty hard so the chimp would look up. He threw hand signals, and they were read in full: he may not cotton to all guests, but if they were like the movers, he sure as F'OOK would give it a go. His mind segregated real hand signs - for his sport and his team, their plays and the like - from the language only he and one other kept. Soon, there was hell to pay and show on the turf of higher education... Field signs would be his, he'd be varsity sure as his recruitment last March. Who should be his biggest fan, but the liveliest.

Jerr and the tank of ape were the rest of one another. With casual lament the chimp dismounted Rod... A pinch of sad couldn't outlast the moment he fell on Will. They wrapped into a ball of hard, rough wrestling. Rod got up and out of their way in the nick of time; while he limped to the door they hit the floor, tussled in sweet move and sounds. Jerr was pinned of course, but let up to 'fight back'. Rodrigo laughed for the lack of a line forking play off from tussle...

... All he saw plus the two past tales made total sense. Jerr'd got his brain sparking, since accordingly Will could nary be less active in growth and learning done. In addition, when... Just when did they stumble to each other's orbit. Had to happen sometime for the pair of gay clods who were all the man and all the catalyst for the other. Then he almost fell, making it to his pants to put them on. Trouble getting mobile. He hadn't bottomed; this was glory and practice of Jerr's juicing hole.

He'd open the door a crack... After all, with none else decent their cracks were on display if he flung it wide. The knock happened once more with Rod's hand an inch from the doorknob. It startled a bit, the raps were hard and had demand in them. Still, he swallowed nerves and creaked the door out its threshold, put his face in view.

In a way he wasn't prepped for what he saw; in other ways it was about as natural as he could sketch it before if he'd had the charcoal. The face was who he'd banked on, sure enough. A tall lad and with particular scars. He had figured right and his casualness set back in: he knew the guy.

Inside, Quent still had Will to slur at, and Jerr switching swift over to home-plate duty, a man of his word. Will slipped it in for a quickie and did so much harder than slip.

Q' cheered and hemmed and hawwed and burped suspiciously; might not be the best time to overdo it, all over the carpet. He held it like a demigod however.

Will had warm words for the shitfaced sod. "I promise you, terrapin, got all angles of those fuckers on the cell. At minimum, Garver's good for getting seeded on polaroid. If he sets up to be an issue like Faith..." He hesitated, shook it off and barked the end hotly. "Print him out and shoot on that face to the day it curls and fades from your mojo." To him, it was vigor in a thought. Stamp the world with man.

Rod' opened the door wide, secrets gone for lack of need. He was mellow; whatever it took to get this pal here. Welcome home to the dude the dean wouldn't see, but had every favour at will from the vers' albatross.

To be continued...