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Crisis

By The Brain of Lazarus

Rory tumbled through Pale Rock Road, chasing down the evening with thirty bucks to his name and a pocket full of cigs. His pickup sped across the local street leading to Merl's Local Gas, the sun slowly fading behind sheets of fiery violet clouds.

"Holy shit Bax, you suck_now," argued the coyote to no one. His empty passenger seat was littered with dinner, crumpled candy bar wrappers wedged in the seat, as _Bastard Baxley's "Wondered Too Soon" blasted on the radio.

"I mean I get it, trade in clean vocals for rough ones and put on a second bassist because why the fuck not. But dude, there's trying new stuff and then there's committing musical suicide," he muttered angrily, promptly switching away from the local radio.

He blamed Immanuel. That daft fox dog was always trying to get him into new music. Alternative stuff, retro, classic, all the good shit. But he failed to mention some of the artists decided to abandon their old sound in pursuit of something "experimental," however well that worked.

"Spoiler alert," he yelled. "It doesn't!"

The coyote shook his head. Then silently rebuked himself. No need to get riled up, it was just music after all. Really bad music, but not like someone was there defending it. Must have been the sugar. And the tire, the fucking tire.

He made a right on the intersection that led to Merl's or Shady Vale Town Square. It was getting a little past seven, and soon "Immanuel" would be ending his shift. The past several months Rory had made a point to pick him up when the work day finished. It wasn't necessary, Immanuel had his own car, but Rory insisted. The coyote needed something to do anyway, wasn't healthy to get locked up for too long.

Especially when there was only the fucking tire to think about. When Merl's came into a view, a cozy little gas station ringed with neon red lights, the truck's back left rumbled anxiously as Rory pulled in. Gravel, god dammit. The tire was assaulted by gravel. Merl never bothered putting in new pavement.

"Oh don't you dare you sonofabitch," hissed the grey coyote, fingers clenching hard on the wheel. He clenched his teeth and slowed down, easing in, before finally parking. He half expected to hear a sharp burst, but none came.

Ignition off. Rory sighed, slightly relieved. Every drive was a stress test now, as if he needed it.

Stepping out of his rustic red pickup, the cool air of Spring evening met him. Sharp senses sucked in the refreshing scent of blooming wild oaks and sprawling weeds. It wasn't all bad. He preferred autumn, since he got to wear his kickass jacket, but this was good too.

He entered Merl's, the tail end of "Wondered Too Soon" smacking his ears as he slipped through sliding doors.

"Ugh, god!"

A head of pristine white fur bobbed up to see him, casting stern blue eyes over the coyote.

"Huh?"

Immnauel's ears perked. He was Rory's "friend-but-kind-of-more-than-that-but-dunno," a dog-fox hybrid with bright, endearing features, fluffy tail, and lean figure.

"Man, how can you listen to this? Hot garbage. Hot. Garbage."

The greyish coyote, quite scraggly in comparison, strode up with comfortable bravado, resting his elbow on Immanuel's clerk desk. There wasn't anyone else about - because of course not, it was past seven on a Friday - so Rory didn't worry.

The hybrid glanced up, as if to see the sound. "Oh, I don't pick the stations, it's whatever manager sets it to. What's wrong with it? I thought you liked everyone's favorite Bastard. Also hi, Rory," said Immanuel in mock tone, flicking the other male on shoulder.

"Okay first, hey, okay second, I used to but now it's like he doesn't care and it sounds like ass. Not the good kind of ass, just ass."

The fox-dog tilted his head, bemused. "Wow, profound. Skewering the music industry with that one, huh?"

Rory gave an eye roll. "You know what I mean. Whatever! Just glad the song is done. And you're done, right? Ready to go?"

Immanuel looked surprised. He gestured to an electric clock hanging above entrance door. "Dude it's 7:28, I'm not done yet. I can't just - well, I can't."

The coyote raised his arms. "What? Whyyy nooot man? Thirty minutes to almost closing on a _Friday?_What kind of Orwellian tyranny bullshit is this?"

Immanuel rubbed his eyes. He knew the 'yote was half joking, but the other half was dead serious. "Merl is cool but not that cool. He's an old fuck and he expects you to be on time, and stay on time. Not like the lumber mill, I can't toss off if I got all my work done early, much as I'd love it."

"Lame," scoffed Rory. "That's lame. You're lame. Theresa would totally pop off early."

Immanuel snickered. "That's because she works for her mom, she gets benefits. Oh, shit. Speaking of, she gave me this!"

Sidetracking from their conversation, the lean hybrid ruffled under his black shirt and pulled out a trinket. Rather, a necklace, a simple leather hoop of black but with an intricate design of metal attached to it. The pattern was certainly unusual, similar to a pentagram, though with far more lines than necessary, ringed in a circlet of steel.

Rory inspected with intrigue. "Holy balls," he hooted. "Wicked. Like devil goatcock wicked."

The other male sputtered, stifling a laugh. "Like what!?"

Grey 'yote offered an exaggerated shrug. "I dunno! How would you describe it? It's mad devil-y. I guess?"

Immanuel shook his head. "I don't know. I think more like 'cool thing I bought from our friend,' but yeah, yours works too."

That was the funny thing about the dog-fox hybrid, Rory had noticed. He looked like an upstanding, regular guy. Well put together, athletic, flexible hobbies, nice name. But he liked collecting weird things too, stuff from the occult, letters of old horror writers, bad slasher films. The pair's relationship with their deer friend - Theresa - certainly didn't help, always hooking them up with downright "spooky shit," as Rory put it.

It helped the coyote escape. Getting into his friends' worlds for a while let him forget. Forget about the stupid stuff and that fucking tire.

The two went back and forth without interruption for the next half hour, until it was time to close. After shutting off the lights and setting alarm, Immanuel locked up and the two hopped into red pickup.

The fox-dog tilted a brow when he saw the crumpled wrappers possessing the seat.

"Sorry," said Rory, quickly shooing them off. "Had to eat dinner fast."

He started the truck and Immanuel hopped in. The radio started with a crackle, but was too low to hear.

"Huh? Dinner?" the other male said, picking up one of the wrappers.

"'Gatorbombs' and 'Snack Attack Bars' aren't dinner, you dope."

As the pickup rumbled to life, Rory felt himself tense, remembering the fucking tire. He glanced to Immanuel.

"Couldn't really afford a fancy eat out, El," he returned plainly. "And they're wicked good, promise."

Rory started to back out, clenching the wheel again as wheels rolled over the unforgiving gravel. Don't blow, don't blow, don't blow, he said to himself, checking the road.

'El', one of Immanuel's nicknames, noted the tone. And the tensing. And the flattening of Rory's ears, dilation of eyes, muzzle twitch with whisker wiggles. Was a "yotish" way of saying he was stressed, without actually saying it.

"That's kind of ridiculous," Immanuel responded. "You need to eat right."

Rory shrugged. "I dunno. Gotta' think about my week first. Let's stop in with Theresa first, maybe she's got some extra grub."

"Oh, uh," El cut in. "She's helping her mom move in some new stuff for their store. She can't hang tonight. Called me like, an hour before you showed up."

The grey coyote blinked, ruffling his head. Oh, he thought.

"Oh," he said. "Well damn! What about Jelly? She up for anything?"

"Joanne's out of town for the weekend, not sure what for," the dog-fox admitted. Their mouse friend, part of the "Fucking Four" Theresa called them once.

"Shit. I'm out of the loop." A bit of sadness hung on Rory's voice. He didn't turn, uncertain of where to go.

"You work too hard," said El, giving his friend a nudge. "Way, way too hard. And I'm full time at _Merl's._Don't blame yourself."

Rory flinched internally. He didn't want to remember work, or the dollars in his pocket, or the fading sun on this damn town, or his fucking tire. Couldn't he escape it, just this once?

He shuffled anxiously in his jeans, yanking out a bent cig. Fingers fidgeted for lighter, lighting the tip, taking a quick sip while lowering the window.

"Looks like it's you and me then, El-oh-el," he said a bit more cheerily.

Blue eyes watched him with a hint of concern. "I'm totally okay with that," the hybrid reinforced. He pointed to the smoking. "Thought you were cutting back?"

Rory looked at his friend. "Like you said. I work too hard. But I'm cutting back, promise. Uh, anyway. So where to dude mc'dude? Usually were leeching off Theresa's joint."

Immanuel nodded. He didn't respond at once, thinking it over carefully. They could certainly fizzle out the night by doing nothing at all, but El wasn't one for leaving his friends in a bind. Something was up. Big things, small things, it didn't matter to him, but he and Rory weren't part of the "Fucking Four" for nothing.

"My place," he suggested. "I'm going to get you something to eat, proper. Don't tell me otherwise, or I'll bite you."

Rory's ears perked. He took another puff of the cig, feeling better. "You're sure?"

El bared his teeth jokingly.

Rory nodded. "Free food is free food. Still at Murdoch Ridge?"

"Still."

The 'yote smiled, worries fading, at least for a moment. He turned up the radio and took a left, the sun surrendering to night as a mix sky of cloud and stars took over the horizon. A pretty sight, only possible on the backroads.

Shady Vale could be a nice place, Rory often mused, if you ignored all the financial stagnancy and mediocre opportunities. Whatever the town's founder - Morrius Murdoch - had intended for the place when he set up near the forested area, it certainly wasn't living up to its potential. Sure, lumber exports were okay and tourism for Pearl Lake was so-so, but you wouldn't get rich off it.

Rory started to pull closer to the center of town, which homed a few commercial business and smaller stores. Take a few turns and then you'd find Shady Vale Town Square, where Theresa and her kin shored up to sell all sorts of fetishes and oddities. Aside from this, a few clusters of apartments surrounded the busy part of Shady Vale, with wealthier folk a bit farther out in isolated neighborhoods. Not a bad place, if you liked being trapped.

It didn't take long for the chatting duo to get to Murdoch Ridge. It was a decent pocket of apartments, four buildings with three floors each. Safe and quiet, which was certainly enough for the fox-dog.

The 'yote pulled in next to El's not-as-shitty white car, taking one last sip of his cig. The pickup shuddered off, the two piling out as Rory stamped out his bad habit. He nervously checked his back left tire once again, prodding it, expecting the worst. Stable. For now.

Though he said nothing, the dog-fox took note of that, though didn't harp on it.

"Forgot how nice a view you get," Rory said, gesturing to the apartment complex marked "C." El lived on the second floor, which actually wasn't all too high, though it certainly impressed the 'yote.

"Yeah, a real king's tower, huh?" the hybrid shot back playfully.

Immanuel sauntered up the first flight of stairs, room on second floor. Rory followed, admiring the stability of it all. His own digs weren't quite as put together.

El went first, unlocking the door and stepping into "C-2F," 'yote quickly following. Homely ambrosia swept over them both, Rory eager to get inside.

Immanuel's apartment was always welcoming. Clean, for the most part. Nothing too luxurious, shift wages at Merl's didn't afford the hybrid fox-dog many luxuries, but he had all the necessities for a studio apartment. Aside from the usual "single" bachelor furnishings - basic couch, small table for eats, television stand - he had a shelf lined with occult objects or strange statues. Everything else was as basic as rice on paper.

"Make yourself at home," El chimed. "Think I can warm up something from the fridge."

Rory smiled. "Thanks. _Thanks._I hate imposing, dude. Hate it."

The other male shook his head, putting keys on kitchen counter as he made for the kitchen. "It's not imposing. That's what we do. Theresa would probably kick you in the balls if she found out you were eating junk food. Consider it saving you from her, Ror."

Scraggly coyote laughed. He supposed it was true, Theresa was a year older than Rory at twenty-five, and she wasn't one for nonsense. Well, most of the time. But she certainly could come down on you if she wasn't happy, always tried to be the 'lookout.'

"Now," Immanuel said, pointing at the couch. "Impose."

The grey coyote raised his arms innocently. As his friend went to the fridge, he flopped on the couch in exaggerated fashion, letting his arms fall over its shoulders. Head craned, green eyes closed, thoughts fizzled into a calmed state. Forget, he said to himself. Forget, forget, forget.

His gaze wandered to the left, eyeing El's shelf while the hybrid pulled out a plastic tray of something. Ears perked.

"Whoa! Is that new?" intoned the coyote, looking at a strange statue that sat amidst other oddities.

It looked like an elephant, though had three heads too many with multiple arms stretched in several directions. Two arms also held some kind of insignia. Upon closer inspection, it was the same one Immanuel currently had as a necklace.

A microwave beeped and buzzed to life. "Yeah," the hybrid called back, guessing at what Rory meant.

"Pretty creeptastic right? Don't know where Theresa finds this stuff. Had that same symbol and everything!"

So it does, Rory thought. Is it a god? An evil god? Can I pray to it? "Hey evil elephant god, stop breaking my fucking tire, thanks."

"She's weird," Rory tossed out. "And you're weird. Weirdos."

The microwave beeped, Immanuel scoffing. He spooned something to a plate and brought it over to Rory, setting it on coffee table in front of the couch.

"I though you liked weird."

Rory grinned. "I LOVE it. Love you. Uh, both, you. Ahem," ears flicked, eyes quickly snapping to food. "What'd you make me?"

El chuckled internally, even blushed a bit. But didn't hold on the subject, letting his friend-but-more-than-friend stay comfortable.

"Chicken. With a lot of sauce. Can't cook worth a shit. Joanne's gonna get mad, she showed me the recipe twice already."

Happily, Rory scooped up the plate and assaulted the piece of chicken with provided fork. A lump of mean drowning in orange sauce, he greedily gobbled a chunk. Dry, chewy, but hard to tell with all the flavorings.

"This is the best terrible chicken I've had in weeks," mumbled the coyote with a maw full of food.

"Considering your scale of quality is Gatorbombs or nothing, I'm not sure if that makes me feel better."

Not minding, Rory gulfed down the food in a few moments, even licking the plate with flat tongue to lap up the rest of the sauce. His hybrid friend watched with bemusement. Then realization. Was he eating well?

"Wow, uh. Want seconds?"

Immanuel didn't even wait for a reply before taking the plate and getting what was left of his previous dinner, tossing it in the microwave. Rory, he thought. Rory, Rory. Always trying to be the tough guy.

"So dude, what's with this tire thing?" El would say, bringing back a new plate of hot, over-sauced chicken.

Rory thanked his friend for the new plate. Then played dumb. "Huh? The what thing?"

"Your tire," Immanuel insisted. He realized he was starting to tread on a bed of nails. Maybe it was concern, maybe it was the doggish nature to see others happy and safe. He wanted to keep Rory comfortable, but, there was definitely something hanging over the scraggly 'yote.

The other male blinked, mouth stuffed with more food. "It's nuffin," he responded flatly with another muzzle full of chicken.

"You're eating my shitty leftovers I was gonna' throw out because you aren't eating because of a tire. I saw you. In fact, I could hear you. Was like a mini panic attack when we were parking. What _is it_dude? Car trouble?"

Rory stopped. He grumbled, sitting the plate on table with a loud 'clank.'

"I don't," said the 'yote. "I don't want to get into it."

Features sagged, ears drooped, green eyes went down. Immanuel sidled next to friend, watching him closely. Last thing he wanted to do was turn a Friday into an orgy of drama. But if not now, then when? Rory hardly talked about things.

"Can you please drop the super tough guy act?" El relented. "Babe, this sucks. The way you're acting? It sucks. You suck. The money, the food, the cigarettes. Who are you fooling?"

Rory didn't look at his friend. Just at the floor. His eyes tightened. "I'm gonna' leave!" he threatened.

"Oh yeah?" prodded the dog-fox. "So what then? You get all nervous and you smoke yourself into a coma and take a cold shower and hope your truck doesn't break down? Eat a bowl of mayo for breakfast in the morning? Fucking fuck. Fuckaroo. I'm your friend. Let me help you. Just talk to me."

"Why," intoned the 'yote blankly. "Why do I have to explain anything. Why this? Why can't I just forget about it!"

"Because you literally can't afford to."

Rory craned his neck. "UUUUGGGH." Then, he looked down, shoulders sagging. He sniffed.

"No, I'm gonna leave," he muttered. "I'm leaving. I'm leaving this stupid place. And I want to leave with you and Theresa and Jelly and fuck it all."

Immanuel blinked. "Leave?" he prodded cautiously.

"It's that FUCKING TIRE!" Rory broke out, subject switching. His green eyes started to water up. "

Third time, THIRD TIME I had to replace it. On that stupid fucking truck in this stupid fucking place. I can't anymore, El! This place! Shady fucking Vale! I'm suffocating! I can't get anywhere, I can't save anything! I take a step forward, and my tire fucks up!"

Rory's tail thumped angrily on the couch, voice beginning to crack. "This can't be it for me! This can't. I can't make a life in Shady Vale, El, I can't do it! I'm terrified. I'm terrified I'll be trapped forever. I'm terrified, one morning, I'll wake up, and you'll be gone, and Theresa and Jel and everyone else!"

He wiped his face. "Just. Just just just. The tire keeps setting me back. I think I'm getting ahead, and then I'm not. So I want to leave. I want to leave with you guys."

Silence lingered between them. Immanuel took it all in, processing the whole of it. Car trouble, life trouble, and the sense of being trapped. Okay, he thought.

"Okay," he said. "I get it. You're a real bleeding heart, you know that? What a softie."

Rory looked at his friend, wounded. Immanuel smiled.

"I'm glad you are. I'm glad you told me." the hybrid added. "This stuff. It's been on you for a while, huh? God, Ror, why didn't you tell us earlier? Tell me?"

The coyote looked ready to break down, but Immanuel sidled up to comfort him.

"It's heavy. Leaving Shady Vale? That's a big one. But I get you. And, to tell you the truth, I don't know how that would work. But. But we're not gonna leave you, Rory. Ever."

The coyote sniffed. "Don't believe you."

Immanuel scoffed, flicking his friend on the leg. "Babe! Don't be dumb. I mean don't be dumb more than usual. We love you and your stupid face so much. So much it kinda' hurts. Theresa, Joanne, me. And you love us."

"But," Rory mumbled. He leaned on Immanuel, his fingers clenched. "But you guys are smart. And I'm always dicking around at the mill. We can't make this work forever! Someone will get bored, and, move, and. . ."

El laughed. "We can't? Says who? I think we're pretty set on each other, dude. We'll find a way, because we always find a way. We talk to each other, though, that's how we do it. When I moved outta' my folk's place into Murdoch Ridge I told everybody, remember? Didn't want anyone to think I was going anywhere."

Sensing the coyote beginning to calm, the fox-dog hybrid wrapped his arm around the other male's shoulder.

"Look, moving together is a big step. It's not impossible. Sounds pretty cool, actually. But that takes time, planning, and patience. We all have to be ready, and it's a huge commitment. Couples already have trouble finding a house and living together. Four friends who love and fuck each other? What would the neighbors think?"

"Well," continued Immanuel, "At any rate. I understand, Ror. Shady Vale isn't really an inspiring town. But you're not alone. You don't have to go hungry, or pretend to be the tough guy, or suffer by yourself. Talk to us. We love you. I love you. And you love us, right?"

The coyote didn't respond immediately. He let off a defeated sigh. "Yeah. Yeah. I love, I love. I just. I wanna' lookout for you guys. Sometimes that means dealing with your own biz."

The hybrid nosed his friend, teasing. "What? That's dumb. That's a dumb, very dad thing to say. Why are you trying to be a dumb dad?"

Green eyes met blue. Rory offered a sheepish half-grin. "Well somebody has to be responsible."

"So says the wise 'candy bars for dinner' Rory," El shot back. He squeezed his friend's shoulder. "Feeling a little better?"

The grey 'yote shrugged, half-nodding. "Still live in a dump, still got bills, still got a shitty truck. There's always tomorrow. But yeah, better."

Immanuel frowned. He knew a few words could only do so much - there wasn't a magic sequence of letters which could make the coyote feel magically better. Worse yet, he knew it was fault, having forced it out of his friend. And that simply wouldn't do.

"I can make it even better better," the hybrid chimed, fluffy white tail starting to wag.

The coyote cast his friend a doubtful glance. "Uhh, does your elephant god grant magic wishes? 'Cause I don't see how that's possible."

The fox-dog place his soft hand on Rory's thigh, rubbing over jeans. Smirking, his hand would slip, pressing on Rory's groin.

"Kinda depends on the wish," said El with mischief in his tone. Rory's eyes widened.

"Whoa, whoa dude, whoa!"

El squeezed gently. "Whoa indeed," he chided. "I missed the way you feel. S'been a while, huh? Few months?"

Rory shifted, placing his hand over Immanuel's own, stopping him. He wasn't sure.

"I'm not. . . this doesn't seem right. . . like why now?"

"You need this," El responded softly. "Please, Rory. Let me. Let me love you, okay?"

The coyote glanced to the side. "Come on, man." Feigned resistance. He knew he wanted it. Mind, body, soul, everything. That's what they did. The "Fucking Four." They shared each other because they loved each other, even though it wasn't often said outright.

"Come on me, how about that?"

The 'yote blushed. He never quite understood Immanuel. Or, he did, but wondered why the perfect white-furred hybrid would ever waste his time with a scrap like himself.

Immanuel pushed his nose into the scruff of Rory's neck, breathing, sniffing at the coyote's scent, a mix of male and cigarette smoke. A bit strong, but definitely the Rory he knew.

"Ugh, fine," submitted the 'yote. "Stupid handsome fox. Dog. Dox?"

Hand lifted away from El's, allowing the hybrid to continue its exploration, roaming over the jean-covered groin while the white-furred male kissed at Rory's neck, then his cheek, whiskers brushing over face.

"Mmm, El works just fine, babe." Sneaky muzzle then prodded at Rory's lips, enticing him, the scrappy coyote blushing again, but returning to meet nose, tongue flicking out for a quick kiss. Then another. Then canid lips pressed together, dancing on the other, Rory placing hand on friend's neck.

His eyes closed. The coyote could feel Immanuel start to dig, skillfully unbuttoning his jeans, fingers sneaking into trousers, then briefs, gripping his malehood still guarded by undergarments.

"Ghn," he yipped, feeling himself grow hot, palm dancing over his hardening loins, digits caressing testes, El growling with approval.

Soon, Rory could barely maintain his kisses. Head tilted, eyes in a daze, watching the wall, feeling his friend lick his neck, then his hand, the mischievous fingers slipping under briefs now to wrap around his hardened mast.

"Ugggghhh," the 'yote groaned out, panting as the hand softly gripped him, taking long, steady strokes around his malehood.

"Wonder what you're thinking," intoned the dog-fox, leering at his friend with a lustful smile. His nose went to Rory's ear, breathing.

"What indeed," he continued in whisper, "Imagining me gorging on your cock, I bet. Was it on your mind? Secretly? You were probably so stressed today, but you just needed to fuck the stress out, huh?"

"Ugggghhh," repeated Rory. "El, oh El, ohhg. Don't. Don't. That's too much, I can't handle that, fuck. Fuckfuckfuck."

Immanuel laughed. "Let's hope you can handle a lot more, duder."

The hybrid pulled down his friend's briefs - or best he could - letting the stiff coyote sex greet the air with a stiff wobble, the proud pink flesh twitching freely. The hybrid set upon it, continuing to massage with hand, now going to all fours on the couch, his tail wagging with enthuse as he stroked the hungering flesh with attentive digits.

His other palm came to rest under testes, squeezing carefully to massage the furred sacs, enticing another chorus of moans from the coyote. Rory had succumbed at this point, sunk into the couch, head craned up, eyes closed, panting wildly as he soaked in each act Immanuel took.

A little pre dribbled from the tip to El's delight. But this was only a warmup. Pausing for a moment, the hybrid pulled off his black shirt, exposing his frame, a subtle sinew of practiced athleticism and slenderness. The necklace with the strange symbol dangled on his chest possessively, while one nip had a heavy ring piercing.

Rory stopped a moment to eye his friend stripping down, cheeks flushing, if it were still possible at this point.

"Aggh, shit man, when did you get. . . like I forgot. . . uggh why you have to be so hoot, fuck," mumbled the 'yote, losing himself to lust.

Scrambling, the coyote mimicked, fidgeting with his buttoned shirt and tossing it off, throwing it somewhere, while hastily tearing off his shoes, socks, and lower attire. The tethers found themselves in a neglected pile somewhere, Immanuel scoffing.

"Hey, don't mess up my nice place with your grody clothes," he chuckled, pulling down his own pants, albeit a bit more slowly. Blue eyes traced over the coyote's figure, a rugged lean one, nothing but strained pockets of muscle from work and a cigarette diet.

Rory didn't seem to hear, however, gripping his flesh and steadily stroking it where Immanuel left off.

"Grr, can't help, must do, need," grumbled the 'yote.

El finished stripping off, generous figure free to see. Oddly, his hips were a touch wider than most men, likely from his parents. His father was a natural sprinter and the genes from his mother's fox side had something to do with it.

Rory eyed his friend hungrily. "Mmwuh? Did you get fat? What? Sugar eater?"

El blinked, propping himself on all fours again, pristine white fur tail wagging. "Excuuuuse me?"

The coyote gestured with head. "Ass. Your ass is bigger. Fatty. Fat ass. Big butt, bigger than last time."

The fox-dog's eyes widened innocently. "I run track, you dick. I can lift more than you!"

At this point, Rory was out of it, mind swimming in desire, stress, and lust. "YeahIknow. It's a good thing. Bigbigbig buttbuttbutt."

El shook his head. Then, his hips. "If you say so," he said with a soft laugh. Perhaps the 'yote wasn't wrong, El' certainly had a more generous posterior than some.

The hybrid's head dipped, still on couch. His nose went to tip and offered a lick, getting a sharp, hissing gasp from his friend. He grinned.

"Guess we have something planned, don't we?" El shot to his friend, slowly lapping at the crown of Rory's malehood, flat wet rug tediously running across the sides from base to head.

"HNK!"

Rory stopped motions, his frame tensing. From here, El set to pleasing his friend, abruptly gulping the first few inches in maw, wrapping muzzle lips about the edges and offering a loud, sloppy suckle. Rory wriggled as the hybrid swirled his tongue, dipping head onto the inches, accepting every bit of it into his warm, oral entry.

El could feel himself get aroused, nose embracing the husky scent of hard-working Rory, his own hybrid cock stiffening. This is how he liked it, drawing out the pains of Rory, drowning all those frustrations with a little mouthwork.

He sank to the base, taking in every inch into his throat, mumbling with an approving moan, glancing at his friend submissively, whose legs were splayed out and eyes clenched with aroused bliss.

With a loud 'pop' he released the flesh, cock glistening with a sticky mix of saliva and pre, gripping the girth and rubbing the tip into his cheek. He wanted the flavor, the scent, the essence of Rory coated in his fur, smacking the tense flesh into visage, riling up another series of moans from the coyote.

"Jeeze, you _are_tense. At this point you're usually fucking my face, Ror."

Rory huffed, looking down to his friend, who grinned at him. "Nnng, no time or energy, just. Ugggh. Just. Gogogo."

El intoned with a pleasant hum, descending upon cock once more. This time, with increased gusto, sloppily slamming the thing into his maw, nose sinking back to base, rising slowly, making sure his sticky lips touched every bit of that veiny, hard flesh.

"Slllkmf," Immanuel mumbled, muzzle muffled by the circumference of cock. With each swift bob, his own body followed, rump wiggling and tossing, supple enough to feel the motion, while the fine sinewy of his lean form pressed and curved in unison.

He felt Rory buck a little into awaiting maw, tossing hips in vertical plea. Immanuel met this with increased, sloppy sucks, never releasing the flesh from maw, saliva messily beginning to dribble from chin and as he smacked into the cock's base over and over. The hybrid let off a little yelp as Rory encouraged by gripping supple haunches, squeezing the generous backside, caressing rump as the hybrid helplessly gulped on coyote cock.

"Nffff, nnnnnnng," groaned Rory, his inches twitching with feverish. "Shit, I can't I can't I can't!"

El's ear twitched, laughing with flesh still slamming into throat. Then, with abrupt realization, he felt a surge of seed explode from the tip, hot white essence pouring into mouth as he sputtered, quickly leaping off the flesh.

Spurts of white ejected from the tip, ropes of white messily washing over the hybrid's face. El coughed, own tongue dribbling with issue, holding the desperate cock and watching with arousal as it poured with backed up seed.

"Whoooa, hkk, wow. You were tense. You are tense."

Rory panted, form lurching and mouth groaning as a few last drips escaped him, sucking in breaths as he watched his friend with an apologetic gaze.

"Beenawhile," he mumbled quickly.

Immanuel nodded. "It has, Ror."

However, the coyote's hungry flesh did not soften. The messy, drenched cock was still defiantly hard, mocking the pair with its need. The hybrid was quick to notice, tail wiggling with enthuse.

Immanuel shifted his all-fours position on couch, crawling to Rory, placing hands on the coyote's shoulders. Slowly, he nestled his hips and rump into lap, where the sticky flank of mast rested between the split of the hybrid's white peach rump.

"We're not done, feels like. And I feel like I want to feel you."

Rory blushed, seeing his friend's own impressive malehood rest on abdomen, warm and pleasant in its own way. However, his mind - though drowned in arousal - gained a bit of sense.

"I'm not. Er, no rubbers. Dunno."

El chuckled. "We're clean, last I checked. And I trust. And I love you. And, I really want to feel you again."

The hybrid wiped on his messy face, kissing the coyote. It was returned with enthuse, Rory watching his friend with an expression of understanding and want. But he always took it seriously.

"You sure, El-oh-el?" he inquired cautiously. Giving each other blowjobs and handjobs was fine and dandy, Rory knew. But this was different. It was special. They didn't do it too often, since it was a big step above 'fooling around.'

The hybrid lifted his haunches slowly. Then, ever so carefully, placed his pink ring over the tip to Rory's pulsing male hood. Gently, he lowered, taking in the tiniest bit of male.

El shivered. "MMF. Very, very sure."

Rory sucked in a breath. His crown bristled with tingling warm and excitement, coyote nodding, as his friend sank onto loins, anal tunnel slipping over the glistening inches like a tight, warm sock.

Both gasped as the hybrid took all of the 'yote into him, feeling cock nuzzle prostate, ring stretched to the perfect point of pain and pleasure.

"Ohfuckingshitman," Rory grumbled. He latched on to the fox-dog, arm wrapping around slender waist, pulling him in, feeling pulsing cock nestle into furred abdomen.

"Nmmmmm," El hissed. He poured himself over Rory, pushing hands into couch cushion, wiggling generous hips, soaking in the delightful pang of warm cock inside him. Yes, oh yes, this was good. It had been far, far too long.

The coating of pre and saliva was slick enough to allow for robust movement. Tediously, Immanuel rose his hips, then fell. A loud, audible 'clap' echoed off apartment wall as rump met thighs. Then again, this time hard. Fat, white furred rump bounced in fleshy jubilation from the resounding action, hybrid cock twitching on Rory's stomach.

"Missedthiiis," the hybrid hissed into the 'yotes ear, eyelids clamped shut as he let himself dissolve into the other.

There was a hard smack. El lifted his hips, then crashed. Then sped. At once, a torrent of piston bounces rattled the hybrid's body. His generous rear began to dance upon the glistening cock, tossing off the inches with increased gusto, every motion creating a wave of fleshy echoes to ripple across his backside.

Rory groaned and yelped with his partner, feeling rectal tunnel grip him so desperately. Tight, but relaxed enough he could make a fit. A subtle bit of knowledge that El could take only him and his size. A comforting thought.

The 'yote wasn't content to sit idle. The loud, arousing smack of colliding thighs and rear enticed to him to thrust, his hips bucking with desirous momentum. Heavy shift pounded with piston strikes, crown bouncing into sensitive prostate, pulling forth a chorus of yelps and moans from El.

Rory licked at his friend, explored him, hands roaming over the delicate muscles of his back, dipping digits into soft pockets of flesh and muscle. His muzzle would kiss and nip at Immanuel's neck, dipping to chest, rolling tongue over nips, nibbling on piercing, his white-furred friend letting off an approved growl.

"Justalittlemore," the dog-fox hybrid intoned, head craning as Rory sped up his thumps, pounding into the rippling rear.

It didn't take long. They kept a steady pace of loving, infatuated grinds and bounces, El's rear tossing in gusto with every vertical thrust the 'yote gave him. But they were coated in yearning, and time, and frustration.

Rory gripped his friend's waist and started to buck furiously. He gave him everything. The fucking tire, the bills, the hunger, all those bits of anger and bubbled them into his pounding loins. Then his love, his adoration, his companionship with Immanuel.

Fuck it, Shady Vale wasn't so bad.

"NNFRF!"

The hybrid shrieked first and his twitching, pulsing mast of hungry pink cock burst to life. The rippling warmth and remorseless piston pounds of Rory's hips sent him over the edge, his mast trembling as ropes of hot white flooded out, coating the 'yote's abdomen, mingling in his stern, scent-y fur. He grappled with Rory desperately, holding on to the canid for dear life as he tossed his rump, though wriggling and jerking from the sudden orgasm.

"Ellllllllll. . ."

Rory groaned, heaving himself into the tight, hungry anal tunnel, burying his head in hybrid's chest. He felt the spurts of hot seed drenched his belly fur, before finally twitching and clenching, his own sloppy cock bursting with seed once more.

Immanuel wriggled, feeling the deluge of essence coat his tunnel, sitting firmly to grip every last drop, the warm buzz of his friend dripping inside. Rory gave it, all of it, all the struggles to his friend. Because that's how they did as a duo of the Fucking Four.

For a moment, they were bound with senseless twitching and throbbing, clung together in a sticky mess of hot breaths and pleasant afterglow. El didn't move, keeping his generous rump still, waiting for the hard mast to soften.

Immanuel rested on his friend, the hybrid and coyote gripped in pleasant embrace. After a while, Rory finally spoke.

"Ugh, you made a mess."

El laughed. "You_made a mess. On me. On my _face."

Slowly, the hybrid lifted up, allowing sloppy, drenched cock to slip from his hole, the rectal entry oozing with essence. He carefully rested again, letting his own mast nestle into Rory's, a comfortable merge.

The coyote rolled his green eyes. "Yeah but see you like that. Now my fur is gonna' get all sticky with water. Water, El. That makes it worse."

His friend shrugged. "Eh, you'll live. Could be worse. You could be a poor coyote working a lumber mill with a bad tire on a bad truck."

Rory did not frown. Rather, he smiled. Then laughed. "Hahah right, I'd be such a loser."

"Big time," joked the hybrid fox-dog. "Super loser sixty-four."

"Double loser DLC," added Rory.

They rumbled with soft laughter. The pain was gone. Thoughts of the broken tire subsided, for now at least.

Eventually, Immanuel stood, wiping his still messy, glazed face.

"I gotta' clean up real fast. You should too, probably?"

"Probably," Rory nodded. "Mind if I wash my clothes too? They're kinda not washed."

Immanuel smiled. "I don't. You might as well stay the night, too. We can see Theresa in the morning, if you want."

The 'yote feigned a fist pump. "Yesssss," he exclaimed. "Cause it's motha' fucking Saturday!"

"Mothafuckingsaturdaaaaay!" the hybrid howled back.

The couple settled for the night. Rory still had thirty bucks to his name, one less cigarette, and a bad tire. But he also had El. And Theresa, and Jelly. For what it was worth, he also had Shady Vale.