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If you aren't mentally mature enough to read about various forms of sex, then go away. I don't care what your physical age is - legality varies widely, anyway. If you're too repressed/undeveloped to be reading about sex, why are you here? This story not intended for use during operation of nuclear facilities, aircraft navigation/communication systems, submarine vessels, nuclear weapons, sharp pointed objects, or any other hazardous activity in which failure could lead to death, injury, property damage, environmental damage or lawsuit. All natural; No preservatives; 98% Fatuity-free. Close cover when striking. Practice safe sex ... practice, practice, practice - until you get it right.

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Final Edit. Deepest gratitude, thanks and hugs to those faithful readers who spotted typos/errors and emailed me.

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Battle, Aftermath, Love Blossoms

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First Week, Summer 1, Year 1580

Groaning, Isaac gazed in the mirror. His face should have been nice and round, like any normal lynx. He snorted - instead he was beginning to look like a siamese cat. He'd lost so much weight he was getting gaunt.

What was he going to do about this, about his ever-growing desire for Samuel? How was he going to get his good sense back?

He'd been visiting Samuel almost every day, taking him to meals and entertainment sometimes, sometimes just going for a walk or fooling around in a park.

Well, whatever he was going to do, he would have to do it next week. Right now, he had to report for his bi-monthly week of active service with the Border Guard.

~=~

A well-built mature lynx strode up to the taller cougar who was standing by the boarding ladder of a zeppelin airship. The lynx was in Naval uniform: grey canvas-like breeks with a half-dozen buttoned pockets, tight-fitting long grey tunic (which showed off his muscular chest and arms well) buttoned up the side, white leather belt with pistol-holster and saber-scabbard dangling, black shiny leather boots, and a soft light-blue cap with a pin representing a pair of golden gullwings on the front.

He briskly walked straight up to the cougar (who was dressed identically, save for his cap being dark-blue and bearing a pair of golden gullwings with a star centered on them instead) and came to the position of Attention. "Senior Pilot Lieutenant Isaac Tufts reporting for duty, Commander Sage," he said in a heavily-dignified, solemn voice, smartly clapping his right paw to his chest in salute.

"Very good, Shags. Don't know what we would do with the old girl without your, um, masterful steering," grinned the cougar.

"Oh, doubtless end up either on the wrong border or skewered on a tree. Remember, I've seen your shaved attempts at trying to drive."

"Hmph. Smart-rump."

"Ser yes ser - very smart - and the best pilot of the best airship in the best Navy in the world. Serving under an adequate commanding officer ..." Isaac ducked as Commander Sage took a half-hearted swing at him. "Now, boss, you know what happened the last time you tried to hit me," he chided his long-time friend and superior officer.

"Only because you pulled a trick on me - you should have been on your butt on the mat instead of me."

"Well, y'know, after thirty, bodies start to wear out and slow down. Older furrs shouldn't be entering physical combat matches; they're better off doing something like playing chess."

"Alright, alright, enough shite, Shags. Here's the patrolling order for this run." The Commander waved over the others of the airship's crew. Everyone huddled around the plotting board as he showed them the route, waystations and particular points of interest assigned to the Council Air Ship Broken Claw.

~=~

Her motors purring comfortingly like a huge cat, the CAS Broken Claw lifted off and soared to its cruising altitude, then floated off on its way. After less than two days, the airship reached its southernmost waystation and commenced gliding along the border. Three very boring days passed ...

"I hate this," Tufts announced.

Commander Sage turned toward him. "Anything in particular you hate, Lieutenant?"

"I hate trying to see where I'm steering us to when we're in the middle of one of the thickest cloudbanks I can remember," groused the pilot as he strained to peer out the forward window.

"Well, since we don't have some magical gadget to let us see better than with our eyes, you'll just have to carry on. That's what we have lookouts for. Please try not to run into any of those 'granite clouds', Shags."

The lynx just snorted and laid his tufted ears back flat at the very suggestion.

"Engines are working perfectly, Commander Sage," reported Chief Engineer Slytherington, an alligator in the same sort of uniform as the two other officers, but with so many layers of woolen underwear, woolen shirts and woolen sweaters bundling him up under the uniform that Commander Sage once suggested it would be easier - and friendlier - to just stuff an entire sheep inside his clothing. It was cold duty in an airship - those Sailors from the cold-blooded species who volunteered for it were well-thought-of.

"Hope so. We're liable to see some action this trip, and it would be a pity if we had to just hang there to give those damned Southerners target practice."

"Never happen. We're too good. And they are just a pack of crawlers and squawkers."

Commander Sage blinked rapidly. "Um. In case you haven't noticed, Chief Slytherington ... you are a lizard, too."

"Yeah, but I am a Northern lizard - born and raised in the Great Divide Range," the Chief Engineer grinned. "Them? Shaving flatlanders. They only have anything better than donkeys because the Island Confederation keeps them supplied with modern equipment. That they break," he snorted, flicking his tongue out to its maximum length.

A sudden scream came from the Port Lookout as he crumpled at his post.

"That could be - WHATTHEYIFFWASTHAT?!" The sound of bullets ringing off the gondola armor was loud enough to hurt their ears.

"We been drygulched!"

"Yeah - glad now we added that new armor you bitched about? No matter what it weighs?"

Chief Engineer Slytherington didn't even try to answer - he was diving for the ladder from the Bridge, getting back to the engineroom where his battlestation was.

"Pilot Tufts! Get me some altitude!"

"Aye-aye, ser. Already rising, Commander. Look - there they are."

The enemy airship was sweeping toward the Broken Claw at maximum speed, the DALA gunners firing madly, attempting to take the most advantage of their surprising the CAS airship. The two airships went into a slow dance, each attempting to get the best firing angle on the other while keeping their own airscrews shielded by the gondolas. There was no way for an airship to do anything quickly.

Since it was impossible to do both perfectly, both Bridge crews had to frequently wince as slugs zinged in. There came another scream of pain as the CAS Port Wing Gunner took a heavy-caliber rifle bullet through his chest. He dropped and lay unmoving as his blood made winding trails across the deck in response to the constantly changing speed and angle of the Broken Claw.

This maneuvering went on for two hours, with each crew doing its best to sharpshoot the Bridge windows of the enemy or to damage the enemy's airscrew enough to disable the other airship. It was like nothing so much as a slow, three-dimensional dance between two buffalo - there were only so many maneuvers an airship could use against another airship. Pilots called it "the dance of death."

Finally, the Southerner broke off and fled south. The Broken Claw couldn't follow, as they had no doubt that the Desert Alliance of Lizards and Avians had plenty of anti-air weapons just south of the border. It would delight them to be able to bring down a Northern airship and claim an "invasion." This was nothing new to the CAS crew - it was the usual pattern. Whenever a Council airship managed to knock a DALA airship to the ground, the Southern crew all suicided. Analysts couldn't decide if it was because they had been thoroughly terrified of what Council interrogators would do to them, or if they were more afraid of what the Alliance would somehow do to them if they didn't.

The DALA airship crews (always all-avian) always seemed very poorly-uniformed to the CAS crews. However, their fighting equipment was right up-to-date and efficient. Of course, none of that was made in DALA, it all came from the Island Hegemony off the southeast corner of the continent.

~=~

Upon the airship's return to its base, the crew assembled in two lines on the ground at the base of the main ladder from the gondola. Commander Sage had signaled the loss of the two crewfurrs to the ground during the landing approach. They came to Attention and saluted as the bodies of their two dead crewmates were carried down and over to the waiting morgue wagons. There was total silence in respect for the lost Sailors. Even the wagondrivers were hushed.

After that, as per routine, everyone had to immediately go see the debriefing officer. This occupied them for about three hours, then they were turned loose to clean up. The debriefing Intel officer, a pantheress Commander, said, "It's a shame we lost Gunner Sanders and Airfurr Grace back to the All. On the other paw, I'm delighted that we had no other serious injuries, just assorted bruises and a few small cuts. However, the Broken Claw definitely needs to be repaired by the base. That's going to take some time, so ... you Regulars all have forty-eight hours off. Go do something debauched. You Reserves are excused from the rest of the week's duty ... IF you have your paperwork all caught up."

Chief Engineer Slytherington snorted and snapped his jaws, an impressive sight when a five-foot-tall gator does it. Several of the smaller furrs took an involuntary step backward away from him. Everyone knew he was a respectable being, but there were stories about when furrs picked fights with him in bars ...

"Oh yes. Sure. Right. Leave the Claw to the gentle ministrations of those, those groundlings! Not until Cactus City freezes over. Not their hides on the line. Anyone wants me, I 'll be at the shops."

~=~

As Isaac stepped out of the headquarters building into a gloriously-sunny Summer late afternoon, he was almost knocked off his feet by a flying red missile.

"Oh All, oh All, Isaac! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did you ... Did they ..."

"Whoa, whoa - hey, Samuel, what's all the fuss? Yes, I'm fine, I'm fine. What are you doing here?"

He was enveloped by a sobbing young tod. Samuel had his legs and tail wrapped tightly around Isaac's legs, his arms clenched around Isaac's torso, his face buried against Isaac's chest.

"I - I called to ask about next Onedy and they said that ... and I thought you might have been killed and they wouldn't tell me anything and there wasn't anything in the news and then they wouldn't tell me and I thought you were killed and when I got here I saw the wagons and I thought ..." The tod was weeping bitterly, his tears pouring out, soaking Isaac's blouse. He was shaking so hard, Isaac did not dare pry him loose - Samuel probably would have immediately collapsed.

"Hey, hey, Samuel. I'm fine. Honest I am. The crawlers didn't even come close." With great difficulty, he took three steps back to a concrete bench by the walkway. Carefully sitting down, he put his paws under Samuel's rump and lifted him into his lap. It brushed through his mind how much nicer it would be to do that if they were both naked. Instead, Samuel was wearing denim shorts and a t-shirt with "Go Navy" printed on it.

The tod's face was squinched up, his eyes still watering, his ears so flat against his skull that they almost disappeared into his headfur. His tail tucked completely up between his legs, covering his belly up to his chest.

"I was so scared you were ... were killed," the young tod wailed. His face plastered against Isaac's chest again. He sobbed as though his heart was broken.

"Why, Sam, you care that much?" Isaac marveled - no-one since his mother and father died had been so concerned about him.

"Well, yes! I don't have anyone else! No-one will even talk to me at school - a lot of them think it was somehow my fault Dad was executed and the others just don't care about knowing me," the tod blubbered. "You're - you're my only friend, and I couldn't stand it if I lost you."

"Here, wipe your eyes and blow your nose," Isaac said, pulling his kerchief out and pressing it to Samuel's muzzle. [By the All,] Isaac thought, [how do I deserve this?] "Come on, Samuel, loosen up and relax. I'm fine. Honest. Not a scratch on this cat. As soon as you can walk, we'll go have dinner. I have forty-eight hours extra free time. We can go to a show or something."

After Samuel gathered his wits, they walked to the public transit station. On the way to his apartment, he said, "I have to change clothes before we do anything. I've been in this same outfit all week and it's getting ripe."

Samuel shyly tilted his head up. "I - I think it smells nice. It smells like you."

"Heh. Well, yes, it certainly does. A lot of me. A lot of well-aged me. And you did try to push your muzzle clear through it. I think you may have dented my ribs," Isaac joked. He immediately regretted that, as shock and fear flared in Samuel's face.

"No! I didn't, did I? I'm sorry I'm sorry ..."

"No, no, relax - just a joke. But I really do want to peel these off and take a nice hot bath. Can you wait that long before we eat?"

"Oh sure."

~=~

Isaac's apartment was nothing fancy - just a place for a bachelor to keep his uniforms, his formal court-suits and his casual clothing. He didn't even have a couch, just three small armchairs in the main room. He'd covered the walls with framed photographs and pencil sketches of his now-deceased parents and of scenery he'd admired on his various trips for the Navy. His bed took up almost all the floor space in the bedroom. The kitchen was just barely big enough for a stove, sink and icebox. He did have a nice big bathtub, though - he'd never liked showers.

He lowered himself into the hot sudsy water with a sigh. Despite what he told Samuel, he'd collected a few good bruises and strained muscles during the battle. Piloting an airship required maximum use of both arms and legs on the wheel, control levers and pedals. The linkages were all mechanical - no-one had come up with a reliable electrical control-system yet, and hydraulic lines were too vulnerable to damage.

Stretching out to his full length of five-feet eight-inches (not including his ears), he sank into the soothing water until only his face and tufted ears were out. Closing his eyes, he just let himself float, feeling the nearly-scalding hot water soaking all the way into his fell. He let out a long drawn-out sigh of weariness.

Suddenly, he started counting paws. [Okay, left paw is here ... right paw is here ... then what ...?] Opening his eyes, he found Samuel leaning over him, gently rubbing Isaac's chestfur with a sponge.

"Wha-"

"Well, I did thump you, so I thought I should try to make you feel better," mumbled Samuel, blushing but not withdrawing his paw.

"But ..."

"Please, Isaac, let me. I've wanted to do something for you for ever so long."

Samuel's ears weren't perked up as usual - instead they were sticking out horizontally like little black wings. Isaac noticed Samuel's lips at the corners of his muzzle were pulled up, exposing a bit of his back fangs. [He's serious! He really does want to try to please me.]

Tufts lay back and relaxed as the tod's strong fingers scrubbed hard at his matted, filthy fur. He almost fell asleep in the comforting hot water, but Samuel poked at him, making him roll over to where Samuel could scrub his backfur too. All good things must end though, so eventually Isaac climbed out of the tub to dry off. As he worked the rough towels over his body, he thought he noted Samuel paying surreptitious attention to what he saw. [Hmm ...]

Once he had the bulk of the water out of his fur, he stepped into the furdryer cabinet and turned the hot-air fans on. When he came out, Samuel snickered.

"What?" inquired Isaac, one eyebrow raising.

"You, um, you ... well, you look like a tumbleweed!"

"Never seen a dried cat before?"

"No, never."

The lynx tried to maintain his dignity as the young tod attempted to swallow his chittering laughter.

"Harrumph. Impudent pup." When Samuel turned to open the bathroom door so they could leave, Isaac snapped his rump with one of the wet towels. Then he strode on into the bedroom, ignoring the outraged yelp.

"It has been a disgustingly long week. I need to sleep on through until tomorrow morning. Do you think you can control your undignified noises until then?"

"Is - is it really alright if I stay here?"

"You did tell them at the Orphans' Hostel that you were coming to see me, didn't you?"

"Yesser."

"Then they won't worry. I'm too tired to eat. Are you tired enough to crash, too?"

"Oh yes, Isaac." The tod's eyes were big at the thought of actually getting to stay at Isaac's home; he thought Isaac was the most wonderful furr who ever lived.

They flopped onto the big bed. The lynx gave a yawn that seemed to start somewhere down around his toes. That set the tod off, and he yawned uncontrollably too. The emotional stress he'd been under when he thought his hero had been killed had drained him and left him exhausted. They fluffed pillows, pulled blankets over themselves, and were both asleep within minutes.

In their sleep, the two furrs gradually moved closer and closer until they were snuggled together. Their dreams that night were happy ones, filled with memories of contentment.