FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

---

There is no morning in space.

Nevertheless, as a convenience for those who were accustomed to the familiar measures of time, it'd become standard practice for all modern starships to come equipped with meters for Cornerian time-zones. Thus, as morning fell upon the distant Cornerian capital, so it was morning onboard the Voltaic, and the soft clicks of the ship's automated shutter systems sounded in their own pale imitation of the rooster's call.

A few moments later, that glossy black film began to silently roll upwards across the ship's surface, sliding away from the window panels along the starboard living quarters. Inch by inch, sunlight began to stream into the cabins as the light-blocking sheet was quietly pulled away. The sleek plexi-polymer surfaces of furniture glinted in the sunlight: a chair, a table, the corners of a small bed, with cold aluminum walls boxing them all in. A stat-com radio on the table blinked as the nascent light activated its solar batteries, and the low voice of an automated reporting system stuttered into life, detailing in droning tones all of the comet activity in the local belt. This was what passed for morning radio in the far systems of space.

Fox McCloud registered these sounds, and the light, but he chose not to immediately rise from the comforts of his bed. He clutched at the thin microfiber sheets which surrounded him, pulling them and the sparse warmth they offered closer to his body. He imagined that he might- with enough effort- simply will the universe around him to cease its intrusions. Sleep had only come to him a few hours earlier, so he could hardly be envied for just a bit more rest.

It had been an exhausting night: going over Slippy's newest stabilizer calibrations through the Voltaic's shoddy trans-com connections, haggling over a host of expensive repair parts for his spare Arwing with cut-throat fabricators from across the star system, and on top of all that, having to discretely wrap up the last of his father's affairs through cluttered Cornerian communication channels. Everyone had just expected so much of him lately. It was tiring.

Fox opened his eyes, staring blankly out of the Duraglass windows and into the light of a sun that wasn't Lylat. He was surrounded by foreign stars, and there wasn't a single soul in a hundred light-years who gave a damn whether he lived or died.

He was far from home, if there was such a thing anymore.

The report from the nearby stat-com radio caught his ears, and he turned his head to listen as it counted off the travel arcs of various orbital bodies detected in the local star system. He remained still for a moment, paws thumbing the reflective micro-fiber sheets idly as a list of numbers was rattled off: 3647a, 4759t, 938b4, 47f53,0e593, 327t4. These were trajectories, but none of the comets seemed to share the orbital path that he'd set for the starship. Satisfied that at the very least he wasn't going to be knocked out of space by a wayward chunk of frozen methane, Fox sighed and rolled out of his bed.

His morning routine as of late had become just as automated as the machines which surrounded him. First there was a check of the onboard systems through the command panel adjacent to his bed. The panel blipped into life slowly at the touch of his paw, and his bleary green eyes moved from one block of numbers to the next as he looked over the status charts. Life support was functional. Navigation remained operational. Heat control, water pipes, fuel pumps, microgravity bumpers, all nominal as expected. Then, since his ship wasn't in any danger of being destroyed by some miniscule breach or cascade system failure, he turned off the panel and dressed himself.

Having dropped out of the Cornerian Naval Academy only several weeks earlier, Fox hadn't yet shed the habits which had been beaten into him there so thoroughly. His clothes were all still neatly folded in their drawers, their corners tucked, and their edges creased sharply. They were all recently bought. When he'd left from the Academy, all he had left were his uniforms, and so he'd been forced to purchase a few new outfits to make up for the deficit in his wardrobe. Ignoring the more fashionable choices, he slipped on a slim-fitting shirt and pulled a pair of white boxers up over his narrow waist, tucking his bushy tail through the lycro _straps in the back. Even alone, he had felt it necessary to wear clothes. The _plexi-polymer furniture onboard the Voltaic felt too slick against his bare fur.

Dressed enough for a day alone in space, the young pilot then silently padded from his quarters to the main operations room. Automated lights flickered into life as he walked past, and systems began to activate here and there at the touch of a claw or a paw-pad. Of these, the most important was the pseudo-fab drink dispersal unit, and Fox waited patiently for the old machine to get to work after setting it to a cup of black coffee. He looked around the dimly-lit room while he stood, taking note of its contents.

The main operations chamber here was nothing like the one they'd had on the Great Fox, his father's former ship. The Voltaic was practically a junker in comparison, despite all of the glamour of its shiny accessories. It had no onboard weapons systems, limited monitoring capabilities, outdated warp travel, and minimum trans-com connections even at the best of times. Even its sleek metals and angular construction were outdated, a fashion of ship design left behind decades ago. But it was all that he could afford on such short notice, and he'd needed to get away from everything after the funeral. Taking the Great Fox would've only served as a reminder of what he was hiding from, out here in the cold nowhere.

A joyful beep from the dispenser cued that its services had been completed, and Fox gratefully grabbed the heavy alloy mug from its holder to sip from the steaming contents. Taking a seat in the comfort of a polished, white plexi-polymer chair, he looked back out at the stars through a slim window panel.

"Voltaic, what star system are we in right now?" he asked aloud, cueing a response from the onboard computer systems. A pleasant chime accompanied the computer's voice, echoing down the hall and across the cold plastic of the operations room.

Star system: 4H67 Omega.

Fox nodded, satisfied with the response. He'd never heard of this star system before. That was good. There wouldn't be any deep-space mining operations out here, and certainly no stellar colonies would have been built so far from the relative security of Lylat. No one would bother coming out to a place like this, to a star system so many light-years from anywhere useful. Sighing gratefully, he reclined back into the cold comfort of his chair, letting his eyes wander across the distant lights of nebulae as he sipped on warm pseudo-fab coffee.

He could be alone here, and that was just what he needed.

After all, he hadn't been afforded much time for himself since the funeral. He'd been run ragged with all of the tedious memorial arrangements, the meetings with Navy staff and maudlin sympathizers, and of course all of the rigors of the Academy, which he still hadn't been excused from. Up until now, he hadn't managed to set aside even a moment for himself to just think, and there was a great deal that needed to be considered.

For example, what was he going to do about the Great Fox? It was his father's ship, but it had still come as quite the surprise to learn that the vessel had been willed to him of all people, ungraduated and without rank as he was. It was a massive starcraft, a state-of-the-art juggernaut... what could his father have possibly expected him to do with it? He idly circled a paw-pad around the rim of the mug as he thought.

Now that he was absent, he supposed that his father's prized starcraft would likely be under the stewardship of the Cornerian Navy, and probably sitting unused in some shipyard. After the incident on Venom, its repair costs would be extensive; he didn't want to think about how he'd ever be able to afford such a thing on a student's salary. He sipped from his coffee and did his best to ignore the bland, plastic taste. If he tried hard enough, he could almost believe that it was real.

The Great Fox aside, he also had to consider what he was going to do with himself. He looked down past the mug in his paws, noting dispassionately the slim muscles and trim figure that the Academy had given to him. His lower legs were still intact, but a few more years of sub-space flight would see those muscles atrophy from the stress, and he'd have to go about getting that dreaded pneumatic limb surgery, just like Peppy and his father had done. His was a pilot's body, after all. He'd do what he had to.

But what could he do with himself, other than fly a starship? He'd never known anything else, and he'd never been expected to do anything otherwise.

Closing his eyes, Fox tried to imagine himself in his father's shoes. A broke, inexperienced young pilot who hadn't even graduated from the Academy, leading a team of aces down to Venom's surface in a busted-up starship, to a place that might as well have been Hell. It was absurd.

He frowned, looking back down to his quickly-cooling coffee substitute. Perhaps, with such dire thoughts, it wouldn't have been so bad to make his morning drink just a little bit stronger. Fox stood, returning to the dispenser machine to click through his options. One caught his eye, and he looked at the dispenser dubiously.

There's no one around to judge me, he thought.

"Voltaic, one shot of bourbon, Cornerian standard."

The computer system beeped merrily for a moment before responding.

System protocol requests confirmation. It is only 10:13AM, Cornerian time.

Fox rolled his eyes.

"Confirmed."

---

Several star systems away, another on-board computer system slowly blinked into life as its internal meters clocked in at the appropriate hour. Following standard protocols, the computer then wordlessly directed the ship's solar panels into action, and on cue those dark slates of absorbent metal turned to slake their thirst from the distant light of unfamiliar stars. In this fashion the old Arwing ß woke with all of the sluggishness that its senior status merited.

Starships of the Arwing class were of a much smaller variety than the ponderous Voltaic, but this one carried itself with no less dignity. Its narrow, angular design and streamlined alloys provided the craft with a graceful frame, and the silvery blue of its Cornerian colors were made all the more proud by the various markings of blaster fire and crude patchwork fixes which had been tacked on over the years. This particular vessel had doubtlessly seen decades of long service, and its scars spoke volumes for the resilience of both the starcraft and its pilot. As indicators and systems began to activate one by one within the timeworn vessel, they illuminated the cluttered cockpit and its sole occupant.

An old rabbit slept there, snoring soundly in the comfortable, aged leather of the pilot's chair. His greying head and tall ears were pressed up haphazardly against the cold Duraglass of the starboard windows, and his breath fogged the reflective surface in long, steamy puffs. Soon enough though, the beeping and clicking of the electronic systems filled the cramped space, and his sensitive ears flicked warily in response.

It took the grizzled old pilot a moment or two before he realized that the noises he was hearing weren't coming from his dreams. It had been a reasonable enough assumption. After all, he'd been in and out of cockpits like this one for decades now, and it wasn't terribly uncommon for him to dream of such things on a long flight. But these sounds were very real, and annoyingly insistent. He stirred slowly, stifling a buck-toothed yawn behind the back of his gloved paw.

Waking me up already, eh? Must be near noon on Corneria, he thought tiredly.

A quick check of the glowing blue monitors in front of him confirmed what he had already guessed by the stars overhead. The ship had carried him a stunning ninety-three light-years from the safe zones of the Lylat system, and he was now far beyond the reaches of Cornerian space. Rubbing away the last of his dreams, he flicked a few of the cockpit's switches and waited patiently for the Arwing to hum back into life. He'd slept for too long, and the engines had cooled a bit too much for his liking.

"Arwing onboard: system status," he called out, his husky voice twanged with that peculiar accent local to the southern hemisphere of Corneria. The onboard computer monitors blinked once in affirmation, then twice, and the old rabbit sighed in resignation as the screen responded with a single line of code.

Onboard systems... rebooting.

He should have suspected that the old ship would still need a minute or two to wake up. They were both getting on in their years, after all. Still, there were some things that he could do while he waited for her to get into gear. No sense in him just sitting there like an antique, collecting dust.

Reaching behind the pilot's seat, he gently pulled free one of the various life-support hoses for a sip of water. It was a regrettably sparse refreshment, and already warm from the heat of the stirring engines, but it was clean, and it would be enough to sustain him all the same. He took just a sip though, as there was no telling how much longer he'd be out in deep space. It wasn't easy for the Arwing's aged condenser unit to collect moisture all the way out here, and he didn't like the odds of finding a water-rich hydrogen gas giant in such a barren star system. Replacing the hose, he then made a quick check of all the vital systems that he could see from his current position.

He craned his head around as he looked. There was no leakage in the fuel systems so far as he could tell, and certainly no micro-breaches in his airlock. No issues with his cockpit or his flight-suit either, other than the stink. He didn't even need to bother giving himself a cursory sniff to tell that much. Being stuffed in a cockpit for two days had its unavoidable effects, like it or not. He'd just have to wait until he found the _Voltaic_before he could get himself clean again. A good shower would fix him up just right.

A slim line of text finally appeared on the monitors, interrupting his system check.

Engines powered on. Onboard computer systems operational.

Nodding in approval, Peppy set to work flipping switches and tuning systems for the long day of flight ahead. His experienced paws flew over dials and keyboards with all the practiced grace of a professional, and for good reason. There were few in Lylat who could match his experience with an Arwing... and fewer now than before, after Venom.

"Arwing onboard, scan for carrier-class or personnel transport ships within range. Transfer all available solar power from the weapon systems to scannin' if the designated search targets aren't found within the closest thirty systems. And also... apply secondary scanners for fuel trails and carbon-dioxide release casings, just in case he's passed through here recently."

The screen went dark for a moment. More text appeared.

Scanning.

The old rabbit leaned back into the worn leather of his seat, keeping his eyes glued to the monitor. Waiting. He told himself that he needed to be patient. It wouldn't do him or Fox any good if he just went flying off into the stars without any clues to lead the way. He'd just have to wait for the scan to finish first.

Tilting his neck back against the headrest, he looked up at the stars circling overhead. He'd always liked stargazing, since it was as good a way as any to pass the time in the long hours of space flight, and so he tried to focus on that. Just on that.

But errant thoughts tried to claw their way through the stillness all the same however, as they tend to do in the silence of space. Peppy put every effort into ignoring them. To think, after all, would risk reminding himself of how radically his life had changed over these last few weeks. To think might cause him to remember what he'd lost, and what he still might lose if he wasn't careful. Thinking also brought the danger of remembering James.

The stars offered him no comfort. There were no familiar constellations here to guide him. He was far from home. So was Fox.

"Where the hell did he run off to, James?"

It had been a shock to everyone when the young son of James McCloud had vanished after his father's funeral, abandoning both his prized place at the Academy and his father's estate. The pup had always liked to play the tough-guy act, with not even a tear shed at the service, but Peppy had known better. His father had kept his feelings to himself too, but over the years Peppy had learned how to read him. Fox was really no different. The old rabbit supposed that it'd only been a matter of time before the poor kid cracked, what with all that had happened recently... he should have seen it coming sooner.

No, he reminded himself. Not a kid anymore. Fox is nearly as old as we were when we first started running flights back and forth across Lylat.

Peppy sighed, closing his eyes against the light of the unfamiliar stars. He should have done something sooner, or said something. Anything. He reckoned that this was all his fault, really. He'd just put too much distance between himself and Fox after Venom to realize that this sort of thing was coming.

Long-range personnel carrier located. System 4H67 Omega. Identification: Voltaic M3.

The blinking affirmation of the computer screen was enough to pull Peppy's attention back to the task at hand. There were too many pirates and nutjobs out beyond Cornerian space for Fox to be safe out here, and least of all in an old Voltaic. James had made too many enemies in his lifetime, and Peppy could only imagine how glad they'd be to find his son out here, lost in grief and helpless as a babe. Setting a course of intercept for the Voltaic, he powered up the Arwing's boosters and departed from the floating chunk of nickel rock that he'd docked on for the rest.

He owed this to James. He couldn't give up on his son.

---

Cornerian bourbon had never been Fox's poison of choice. Truth be told, it was an acquired taste that he'd picked up in the company of the other young officers at the Academy, and a habit borne out of fashion rather than preference. It had always been a popular drink among the senior cadets, and he'd simply wanted to get off on the right foot with the sons and daughters of his father's peers. So, he'd learned how to swallow it down, and he always smiled through his distaste.

He hated bourbon. He hated the smoky taste, and the bitterness. It dragged on his tongue and burned in his throat like a hateful memory as it went south. Still, it wasn't so bad now that he'd downed a few glasses. It helped him to relax, and it kept the grief at bay so long as he told himself that he was having fun. He'd stopped mixing it with coffee after the second shot, and by the seventh, he was well on his way to forgetting his troubles. Drinking with the other cadets had taught him how to hide his disgust, but it certainly hadn't taught him moderation.

With his drink in hand, McCloud wandered around the halls of the Voltaic in the grip of a pleasantly dizzying haze, well aware of his own inebriation and happy with the fact. There was something beautifully liberating about ignoring one's responsibilities. He told himself that he deserved a chance to be selfish.

Passing by one of the ship's countless monitors, he stopped to glance at the blinking light of a notification, staring at the screen with bleary eyes. A ship was approaching. It was small, but with military designations. A dead weight suddenly dropped in his stomach as he read through the identification label.

Arwing ß.

Had someone from the Academy come to fetch him? A bureaucrat from the Cornerian Navy? Or worse, one of his father's old war buddies looking to give him more unnecessary sympathy? Fox chuckled darkly, taking a sloppy sip from his glass and wiping the remnants off the back of his paw.

Wonderful. I might as well invite them aboard. I'd love to send them home with a good story to tell. Fox McCloud, son of the illustrious martyr, getting smashed off his tail in the ass-end of nowhere.

With a flick of his claw, he activated the_Voltaic_'s automatic docking systems and set them to receive his 'guest'. He wondered briefly if he should fetch the fellow a drink, but then he decided against it. Maybe they would leave sooner if he was rude. As the manifold thoughts of how he could go about getting his guest to depart with more haste crossed his drunken mind, a more immediate concern began to rapidly form in his gut. From there, it crawled up his throat, and McCloud was forced to abandon such thoughts as he hurried towards the restroom.

He hated bourbon.

---

Even though he'd already received an 'all-clear' from the automated docking systems onboard the Voltaic, Peppy didn't direct his Arwing to land immediately. Instead, he circled around the old ship in a lazy orbit, giving himself just enough time to get a look at it from multiple angles. It was an ostentatious, bloated old junker- much like himself, he thought with some dry humor- and now that he'd gotten a good look at it, he could see why the model was discontinued. He couldn't fathom why McCloud might have chosen this secondhand carrier over the Great Fox. Still, its docking bay looked big enough to accommodate his Arwing, so at the very least he wouldn't have to deal with a space-walk on top of everything else.

Pulling his starcraft down below the larger ship's belly, he allowed the automated docking mechanisms to carry his Arwing_up and into the _Voltaic's interior port. There were a number of checks and procedures which needed to be carried out before he could exit properly: his cabin needed to re-pressurize and adjust to the Voltaic's gravity pumps, the exterior hull needed to be scrubbed and decontaminated by the port's auto-cleaners, and the recycling systems needed to clear out his resident oxygen, waste, and water supplies. With nothing to do but sit in the cockpit and wait for all of this to play out, Peppy had plenty of time to think.

Just what was Fox doing out here all on his own? He didn't seem like the sort of guy who would just run away from his problems. James certainly wouldn't have raised the boy like that, but then again, Peppy realized that he'd never really examined the relationship between father and son. There was no telling what lessons Fox had taken from his parents, or if they'd even really been that close at all. For all he knew, Fox might have shared none of James's virtues.

I'll just have to ask him when I see him, he supposed, making a promise with himself to get to know the boy better in the future.

A soft, ringing cue from the onboard monitor interrupted his thoughts, signaling that the Voltaic's docking sequences had been completed. With a grateful sigh, Peppy then took off his piloting gloves to unlatch the cockpit's metal sub-clasps. One by one the worn steel locks clicked away as he unfastened them, and soon enough a soft hiss greeted his ears as the airlock opened. Cool air rushed into the stale space of the cockpit as the glass entry panel slid away, and the old rabbit stood to take in the sight of the Voltaic's docking bay.

Standing was a careless mistake however, and one which he regretted almost immediately. His weary bones had been more or less forced into a sitting position for nearly forty-eight hours by that point, and he let out a pained gasp as the blood flowed properly once again through his sore limbs. Grabbing the lip of the cockpit with a paw, he leaned over the _Duraglass_and let the pain pass through him. At the very least, he was grateful now for these pneumatic legs of his. One less place to feel the burn.

After fighting through the blood-rush, Peppy slowly stretched himself out one limb at a time, as per usual. He'd need to stretch for a bit after such a long flight, and that shower he'd thought about earlier wouldn't hurt him either. There was nothing like sitting in a cockpit for two days to work up a funk.

Lowering himself gingerly from the edge of the Arwing after his stretches were completed, the old rabbit then proceeded to strip out of the confines of his flight-suit. He'd been wise enough to dress comfortably for the long trip, and even if his attire couldn't be called dignified, it would certainly serve for his needs here. A faded, worn-out beater and a pair of loose-fitting cargo slacks were all that he'd worn beneath the rig, and although his tanktop was still a bit damp from all of the sweat that he'd built up, he was sure that the Voltaic had some sort of laundering equipment that he could use to deal with it. With all of the boarding niceties out of the way, he left his flight-suit behind on the wing of his craft and proceeded out of the docking port.

The adjacent hall led Peppy into what he could only assume was the main operations room. As he'd already expected, the place was decorated in that stark style typical of the first era of long-distance space travel, what with all of the fancy angles and tacky, polished white _plexi-polymer_glittering across every surface. It befitted Cornerian culture in those early days; they'd thought that conquering the stars had elevated them, and they'd changed their aesthetic to match their pride. It brought a chuckle out of the old rabbit.

Still, there was no sign of Fox amidst all these gleaming surfaces. Moving on, Peppy poked his head into one room, and then another, before his superior sense of hearing at last picked up on the sounds of coughing coming from one of the anterior halls. Swiveling his tall ears to focus in on them, he followed the sounds through the dimly-lit corridors.

The noises led him down towards the starboard side of the ship, where a helpful wall-directory identified the area as the crew's quarters. Most of the rooms here were empty, which wasn't too surprising when weighed against the fact that the ship had only one occupant at the time. Undeterred, Peppy passed from one room to another in fruitless search before at last arriving in what could have only been McCloud's bedroom.

Perhaps, had the door been closed, the old rabbit might have recalled the civilized concept of privacy, and it's possible that he might have balked at the inappropriateness of his intrusion into another creature's private space. As it was, he simply walked in, and thus he noticed all too late the various personal articles which were scattered about the floor and amidst the reflective sheets of the bed... things that he was certainly not meant to see. Blushing furiously beneath his bushy whiskers, he swiftly turned roundabout and fled from the room with all of the haste that rabbits were known for, stopping only when he'd reached the end of the hall. His mind spun under the revelation that this brief glance had offered him.

That... couldn't have been what I thought it was. Those weren't... I mean Fox isn't... I suppose... he's more like his old man than I thought.

Peppy considered himself far too much of a gentleman to ever describe the nature of the numerous 'toys' and accessories that he'd just observed in his brief glance about the room, but what he'd seen was still enough for him to confirm what Fox was. Only a right, proper tailchaser would own stuff like that. An invert. James, himself... and hell, now Fox too. What were the odds that he'd be the same as them? Why hadn't he noticed earlier?

The rabbit's weary heart thudded heavily in his chest as old memories came flooding back to him. He tried to keep them at bay. Maybe he was just jumping to conclusions. After all, him and James might have fooled around back in the day, but they'd both settled down and gotten married to their respective sweethearts after their stint at the Academy. Maybe Fox was the kind of fella who flew two ways at once, just like James? And who ever said that it was right to judge a man's needs by the toys that he used to amuse himself?

The sound of coughing returned to him once again, alarmingly violent, and on cue those long ears of his rose and swiveled back to pick up on the source. Fox was close. Putting aside such admittedly inappropriate thoughts, Peppy instead tracked the sounds, which led him to another door after a moment of searching. Fortunately, this one was closed, and having learned his lesson on common decency so thoroughly, the old rabbit knocked instead of just walking in.

"Uh... Fox? It's Peppy... you remember, Mr. Hare? From your pa's crew? You alright?"

A few seconds passed in silence. There was no response. Fighting against the idea of privacy once again, Peppy decided to lean in, placing one of his floppy ears against the door to listen more carefully. He could hear water running somewhere, but little else.

"Fox? Can you hear me in there? Is this, uh... a bad time?"

Again, there was no response. Idling by the door, Peppy's thoughts turned dire for a moment. What if the boy had done something to hurt himself? He'd heard of more than one cadet who had taken such dreadful routes under the pressures of the Academy, and as James's son, Fox was under more pressure than most. Peppy's stomach lurched at the thoughts, and suddenly he couldn't just stand there and wait. Steeling himself, he opened the door.

Cold air rolled out to greet him as the metal panel slid open, and Peppy stepped inside without hesitation. By the looks of this place, he'd probably just found the starboard crew's bathroom. A compact shower stall stood tall in the corner, illuminated by pale lights from a nearby Omni-glow, and the soft hiss of water sounded gently from the other side the glass. Peppy recognized that this must've the source of the noise that he'd heard from outside the door. He walked over to it, stopping only to toss a momentary glance down at the toilet against the opposite wall. He grimaced in disgust.

If its contents were to be considered, Fox was probably feeling very sick.

Young McCloud himself was found just inside the shower, and much to Peppy's relief he didn't seem to be hurt. His modesty was also- blessedly- somewhat intact. His lithe form was curled up feebly on the tiled floor of the stall, shivering beneath the downpour of frigid water, and his white shirt and briefs were absolutely soaked through, revealing the warm colors of auburn fur hidden beneath. His bushy tail was tucked meekly down between his legs, matted and wet.

Peppy's old heart dropped in pity as he looked down at the sight. It was worse than he'd thought.

"Damn boy," he muttered sorrowfully, leaning down to check on the younger pilot's condition. "Wish I'd come just a bit sooner."

As he looked over Fox's shuddering form with care, he realized that the younger pilot's eyes hadn't opened. He wasn't conscious. Alarmed, Peppy quickly reached over and shut off the water; the damned thing was practically set to ice. He turned Fox over, only then seeing with some relief that the boy was still breathing. Small mercies.

"Fox, can you hear me?"

Peppy gave him a little shake. In response, Fox's eyes slowly slid open, and he looked back at the rabbit blearily.

Sweet stars in heaven.

Those were James's eyes, sure enough. Emerald and sharp, like nothing else.

Then Fox coughed and uttered a weak groan, turning away from the light as he rolled over on the tiles. The poor kid was still shivering, Peppy realized. He needed to get him out of those clothes, and quickly. Ignoring the protests of his old muscles, Peppy gently picked the pup up and carried him out from the room. His own clothes were getting soaked in the process, but that was of little concern.

Returning to Fox's bedroom, Peppy strode across to the bed, keeping his eyes forward so as not to take dubious glances at all of the erotic paraphernalia scattered about on the floor. He gingerly laid McCloud on the edge of the mattress before hurrying over to the dresser to find some towels and clothes. As he rifled through the drawers, he couldn't help but notice all of their neatly folded contents. How long had James and him kept up the same habit after they'd left the Academy? It was almost enough to bring a smile to his lips. Returning to McCloud with a few dry towels, he then did his best to help his friend's son change.

To anyone else, the task might not have been so awkward. Yet, as he slipped the cold, damp shirt off of Fox's slim torso, he couldn't help but remember the last time that he'd done that very same thing with the boy's father. A blush colored his whiskers as he tossed the damp cloth aside and began the task of removing Fox's briefs. He did his best to look away while he worked. He didn't want to compare the boy to his father, least of all now that he had some inkling of Fox's 'orientation'. Already he could feel the soft, damp fur of Fox's thighs, and from the corner of his eyes he could just see the creamy fur of his sheath.

Then, all too soon, Fox's clothes were removed, and so Peppy was able to wrap him safely away in the towels... away from his own prying eyes. From there, it was just a short trip to the sheets, and then Fox was tucked away, looking for all the world like the little kit that James had brought to show him so many years ago.

With Fox warm and dry under the sheets, Peppy was then able to take stock of the room. He made a note of the glasses of empty liquor which lingered on a few nearby shelves, and he'd spent enough time at the Academy to guess at what their contents might have been. The old traditions died the hardest, it seemed. One of the glasses still held some bourbon in it, and since Fox hadn't shown any signs of stirring, he took a discrete swig. He'd earned that much, considering what the boy had just put his poor heart through.

Settling down on the edge of the bed, he watched James's son as he rested. Truth be told, he'd avoided Fox ever since returning from Venom, for a number of reasons. How could he tell the boy that he'd left James behind? How could he explain, in gentle terms, just what horrible fate likely befell his father back on Venom? He couldn't, and it was just that simple.

That... and Fox just looked too much like James for him to be comfortable. Even now, looking at him served as a painful reminder, and Peppy couldn't help but recall old memories as he watched the sleeping youth. The years that he and James had spent at the Academy together, the countless missions, the triumphs and the failures. As for the other things that they'd done, the things Peppy couldn't share at the funeral... he tried not to think of those.

Fox groaned in his sleep, stirring, and Peppy went to kneel by his bedside, ignoring the complaints in his knees as he bent down. Fox's eyes were still closed, and so Peppy didn't feel terribly self-conscious as he looked down at him. In its own horrible way, it was as though he could see Fox and pretend that James hadn't died only a few short weeks ago. Hell, if he tried hard enough, he could almost imagine that this was James right before him, the spitting image of the young Academy ace he'd grown to admire, and love. How many times had he watched James sleep just like this, from the other side of the bed?

Peppy was too caught up in his nostalgia to think about what he was doing, or how wrong it might have been to use James's son this way. Fox didn't snore like his father though, and that broke a bit of the illusion. His breathing was soft, gentle, perhaps inherited from his mother, whom Peppy had never met and James had never brought up. Without thought, Peppy found himself reaching out, gently stroking the soft fur behind Fox's left ear. He'd often done that with James, to ease him out of sleep and back into the world, back to him.

Fox's eyes opened at the touch, and suddenly Peppy was drawn back to reality, and to what he was doing. This wasn't James. He froze, as prey species tend to do when confronted with a surprise, but Fox only stared with an unfocused expression. An interminable time passed between them as they looked at one another, and Peppy could only imagine what the young vulpine was thinking of him.

Then, softly, Fox spoke.

"Don't stop."

The words jarred Peppy out of his shock. That wasn't James's voice either. Still, as surprised as he was, Peppy was able to recognize what the boy had said. He continued petting the soft fur behind Fox's ears, and in response McCloud's eyes slowly went heavy lidded. He watched Peppy through his eyelashes, a veneer of sharpness lingering behind the glaze of liquor.

"Peppy," he said, voice husky with fatigue. "What are you doing here?"

Peppy didn't really know how to respond. Not right away. Pulling back his paw, he took a step away, leaning up against the nearby wall.

"I just thought... ya left so suddenly, kid. We were worried that ya might do something... I dunno. I spose' I got a bit scared, that's all."

Of course, Peppy had thought through this speech a dozen times already on the long flight here, but in the moment, with Fox staring back at him, he felt the words dry up in his mouth. Was this going to be a lecture, or was he going to beg for the boy for forgiveness? Both seemed appropriate. He found himself holding back tears, not knowing their source. Fox just watched him.

"I needed to know... know that you were safe. I can't be losing both of you, now can I?"

Fox's eyes widened at that, just a little, and he slowly pushed himself up. The sheets fell away from his shoulders, exposing the lithe muscles of his arms and the creamy fur on his chest, still damp.

"I'm not lost," he said, his voice slightly slurred. His eyes were accusatory.

"I-I'm not saying ya are, just-"

Peppy's word's fell away as Fox pushed himself unsteadily off of the bed. The vulpine's shaky paw slipped at the last moment, and Peppy found himself moving forward as a reflex, catching him just as Fox fell from the bed's side. There, Peppy held him. He could feel Fox's limbs shaking, just slightly, and as Peppy pulled him up, their eyes met.

Fox didn't pull away like the rabbit had expected. Instead, they simply stood there by the bedside, their eyes locked. It was an uncanny thing to Peppy; the spitting image of James was looking back at him, only a bit shorter than he remembered.

"Fox... you're uh... you should get back in bed. I think you've had a bit too much to drink."

Fox didn't move, although his paw still clutched around Peppy's shoulder. Some strange look glinted in his eye, fierce and confused. His grip tightened on Peppy's shoulder, and he swayed, pressing himself close for balance. Peppy felt a firmness grind on his hip, and he remembered all too well how completely unclothed Fox was, and how close. That blush returned to his cheeks against his will, rising swiftly to his ears.

"You came all the way out here, just to tell me to lay off my drink?" Fox finally said, eyeing him dubiously. He'd leaned in to speak, and his voice was a soft, coarse whisper against Peppy's lips, too close.

"No. Course not. But-"

"Then why are you here?"

Fox was so close, Peppy could smell the liquor on his breath, bringing with it all of those forgotten memories from theAcademy. The explorations. The experiments. The memories that he'd left behind when he, James, and Pigma had all graduated and moved on... the ones that he'd put to rest when he'd gotten married himself, so long ago. Fox pressed himself closer, and part of Peppy told himself that it was just for balance. Another part of him, rapidly hardening between his thighs, hoped shamefully that it was for a different reason.

"I... I just thought, you-"

His words were cut off then, as Fox leaned forward again, and pressed those soft lips against his own.

---

Fox didn't bother to think about why_he'd done it. He was drunk, Peppy was close, and the _Voltaic was locked in orbit a hundred light-years from anyone who would judge him for it. In that moment, it was enough just to have someone who cared. Peppy was enough.

The old rabbit's eyes widened in shock as Fox's soft muzzle pressed against his own, his bourbon-scented lips smothering into greying fur, but to his surprise Peppy didn't immediately pull away. His long, leporid whiskers betrayed his alarm as they twitched at the sudden connection, but his arms stayed dutifully locked by his sides. He didn't move at all. Hell, he might as well have been a statue, but for all of the small trembles that shook him with each probing inquiry of Fox's tongue.

What's his deal, Fox thought drunkenly. This is no fun.

Opening his eyes, he took a moment to glance at Peppy through the cover of his long lashes. The look on the rabbit's pale face gave him enough clues to parse together the problem.

Oh... that's what it is. Should've figured.

Simply put, the rabbit had frozen, succumbing to the ancient natural instincts of his ancestors in the face of the unexpected. He'd be quite stuck like that, Fox reckoned, for at least another minute or so. Perhaps it was wrong of him to take advantage of that, but in the heat of the moment Fox didn't care much for morality. A much more urgent force was tugging at him now. He pulled Peppy even closer to himself, pressing his slim body up against the rabbit's comforting bulk as he took hold of the opportunity.

Even as drunk as he was, Fox knew that this game wouldn't last. Peppy would snap out of his shock in a minute or two, and if he was given even a moment to speak, then the older pilot would surely go and say something responsible... something that would get him to stop. Then their fun would be over, and he'd feel guilty about the whole thing as he sobered up. They'd both go home to face the music together.

Fox didn't want that. He wanted to stay distracted. This was as good a way as any, and Peppy was making this surprisingly easy in his current condition.

With the rabbit's quivering lips kept occupied by kisses and sloppy, drunken fox-tongue, McCloud's fumbling paws found their way to the bottom of Peppy's tank top, pulling it up and over the bigger male's chest to expose the soft, plush fur beneath. He ran his soft pads up and down the rabbit's torso, teasing him with his claws, and feeling the smoothness of his curves and the hints of unyielding muscles underneath. There might have once been something to this old rabbit, before the decades had greyed his muzzle and tossed the pounds on him.

Peppy still tried to speak, to protest, but only occasionally now. Much to Fox's delight, he was returning Fox's kisses in full at that point, and he rarely had the chance to get off more than a dissenting syllable or two between the soft exchanges that they passed between their lips. They nosed breathlessly at each other's snouts, huffing like addicts. Peppy was giving in after all, and Fox knew why. He wasn't so innocent as to not have noticed the way this old rabbit had once looked at his father, and at him, time and time again. He'd seen the way that they used to joke and banter. It was practically flirting. Fox had once thought it charming, in its own way. Now, he was just taking advantage of Mr. Hare's old flame. It was all the same to him.

Pulling away from Peppy's lips, Fox leaned down to kiss and nip at all of those soft vulnerable places around the rabbit's thick neck. His sensitive canine nose took in the myriad scents he found there: the smell of an older male, raw and unabashed, with all the unkempt aroma of a man trapped in a cockpit for two days. He dragged his tongue across Peppy's clavicle, drawing a shuddering gasp from his prey in the process.

"F-Fox," Peppy finally stammered, his paws gripping white-knuckled on the vulpine's slender shoulders. Fox knew that Peppy could have probably gripped him even harder, or forced him away with a strong push. He'd felt those hidden muscles already, and he knew that there was much more to them than the old rabbit was letting on. He was being gentle.

But Fox also knew that Peppy wanted this just as bad as he did. The old rabbit just wanted to be the last one to give in. Maybe it would help his conscious.

"Fox, we can't do this."

Fox ignored him, bending down to nip at the exposed, pink flesh of the rabbit's nipple, crowned so vulnerably on a seat of muscle and fat. This silenced any protests, in the sense that proper words stopped coming out of Peppy's mouth. Fox worked on him there for a moment to make sure of his compliance, rolling the pert skin around with his tongue, grazing it with his canines, kissing, and sucking just for the fun of it. He loved feeling the bigger male squirm beneath him. It was more intoxicating than liquor, and just as sinful.

With Peppy distracted, Fox slipped a paw down to undo the rabbit's pants. Old-fashioned as he was, the old pilot still wore a belt like those Cornerian traditionalists in the capital cities, with no _hyper-lycra_or self-sealing comfort plastics to keep things in their right places. It took his fumbling paws a moment to undo the copper latch, unused to it as he was and thoroughly intoxicated, but that was half of the fun. He was working for it, he told himself, and so he deserved it. In the meanwhile, he kept the rabbit well occupied, swapping from one side of his chest to the other and lavishing the valley in-between with kisses, only occasionally coming back up to smooch the old man whenever he started to talk rationally.

Then he heard the satisfying 'click' of the belt as it loosened and came undone. Fox worked automatically from there, popping the button, slipping down the zipper, but at this the rabbit's ears perked sharply. His eyes shot open wide as a seeking paw reached into his briefs, and then with a sudden, forceful shove Fox found himself pushed back onto the bed. He bounced off of the side, falling back into the reflective sheets as a surprised yelp passed through his lips.

Free from Fox's ministrations at last, Peppy leaned back heavily against the wall. He stared down at McCloud with a pained expression, the look in his eyes almost... fearful. His breath was ragged. He was quite the sight, with his chest damp with fox kisses and his lips glistening from the touch of another male's tongue.

"No more," he said between heaving breaths. His age was showing at last.

"No more o' that, ya hear?"

Fox slid up slowly from the sheets. He nodded in response to Peppy's words, but his eyes were still on the prize, as it were. For all of Peppy's brave talk, he couldn't hide the truth now that his fly was undone. His briefs were soaked through from his excitement, and it was impossible to ignore the solid, hefty-looking mass pressing up hard on the fabric from the other side. Fox's nose twitched; Peppy smelled like sex.

By the look on his weathered features, Fox could guess what the old rabbit was thinking. He was about to cross a line, and one that he couldn't go back on once all was said and done. Fox didn't care about lines though. The only one that mattered had been crossed the moment he'd given up and fled from Corneria. What was this, compared to throwing everything else away? This was just sex.

Standing up from the bed, he took a slow, unsteady step forward, pressing himself back up against Peppy. He was careful then, moving easy. Too fast, and he might just trigger the poor rabbit's flight response. Another instinct he had to watch out for. Silly herbivores.

Leaning in close, and keeping his eyes locked with Peppy's, he planted a sweet, quick kiss on the rabbit's jowls. He reached out with a paw, placing it on the other pilot's broad chest. He could practically feel Peppy's heart thundering through his ribs.

"You're right," he said, softly. His claws scratched little circles in Peppy's fur. A ploy worked itself into the vulpine's sex-addled, drunken mind, and he searched for the words that might make Peppy stay. He held himself close to the rabbit, doing his best to look vulnerable.

This wasn't hard of course; he was vulnerable, even though he didn't care to admit it.

"I'm a mess," he said at last, after a long silence. The words came to him then, just what Peppy needed to hear.

"I give up."

A look suddenly flashed across the rabbit's eyes then. Grief and nostalgia. Peppy looked back down at him, and a thousand different memories played out behind his gaze. Fox knew who he was thinking about, even if it was wrong of him. They were both here for the same reason, because of the same man.

Peppy crossed the line then.

Leaning into Fox slowly, he wrapped his heavy arms around the young vulpine's slender form and pressed in close to kiss him. Before he knew it, McCloud had taken a step backwards, and then another, leading the rabbit back to bed and pulling Peppy down on top of him. The old pilot surprised him with his intensity now, and Fox felt himself pressed down into the mattress as Peppy curved over him. He'd been mistaken to assume that this old man would be the submissive one here, and as wizened lips kissed his own, he learned what his father had meant to Peppy Hare.

---

There was nothing rational about this decision, but then again, all of the rational thought in the world wouldn't change what happened on Venom. Peppy knew that this wasn't James, but he was close enough. It was a sickening thought, and yet, as he kissed the young fox there, and felt him writhe and moan beneath him, he knew that this would be good enough to help him forget.

Forgive me James, he thought, closing his eyes against the sight before him. It'd make this easier. He knew his way around a fox's body well enough to do most of the work without looking, and if he tried hard enough, he could also pretend that this was someone else.

With his eyes shut tight, Peppy focused on the tactile sensations peppering his lips and mustache. The boy certainly wasn't much of a kisser, that much he knew. Peppy's older, more experienced lips quickly made putty out of the young vulpine's innocent smooches, and Fox practically melted against the bed as he plied decades worth of experience into his work.

He took it slow, showing the younger male how to use his tongue, and guiding those silky paws down into his briefs as he silenced every whimper and moan with tenderness. He let his buck-teeth grasp at the vulpine's lower lip, tugged, and felt the soft kiss of Fox's gasp as it blew across his whiskers.

For all of Fox's timid sounds, his paws certshowed no signs of fear. Groping, drunken digits tugged down at the line of Peppy's underwear, and after a moment of fruitless effort Peppy brought his own paw down to assist. Then he was free, and his cock kissed the cool air of the bedroom for the first time. It wasn't kept waiting for long. Fox's paw swiftly wrapped around his length, bringing a shudder to the rabbit's hefty frame. It'd been a while since he'd been touched like this.

"Git down there, if ya want it so bad," he finally said through gritted teeth.

With a low grunt, the rabbit slipped off from atop Fox and rolled onto his back, letting the younger pilot slide down between his legs. He felt his pants get pulled down even further, and then gasped as cold air blew across his loose sack, only to be quickly replaced by a warm, inexperienced tongue. Long, loving licks rolled across his skin, and Peppy's paws gripped at the sheets. He endured it as much as he loved it.

He let the boy take his time. They were both trying to escape in this, after all.

The minutes slid by slow and heavenly as Fox provided his own form of worship to the older pilot's body, planting warm kisses here and there, and suckling sweetly at every soft bit of exposed flesh. His lips trailed in uneven lines south from his belly and down into the lush, brown fur of Peppy's treasure trail, and from there onto the main event. Peppy wasn't a braggart by nature, but he knew what he was packing down there. Nine inches was a lot for a rabbit, and there had been more than a few jokes about how he'd managed to stuff that thing into his flight-suit back in the day. Fox paid every inch its due, even sliding his tongue down into Peppy's sheath to lap up all of the musky essence that he'd built up over the flight.

Peppy's toes curled as the fox lingered there, and he couldn't help but pant and make weak noises as McCloud swirled his tongue devilishly. He huffed at his pubic fur with deep, needy breaths, surrendering sweet kisses along the sweaty fur of the rabbit's sensitive inner thighs, and giving Peppy intimacy that he hadn't felt in years. God, how he missed that. The soft sounds of suction and slurping filled the silence of the room. Only occasionally, he felt the sharp, smooth clip of a fang. Amateur, he reminded himself.

"Watch those teeth," he finally said, and he felt the fox respond appropriately. More lips now, bobbing tentatively on the tip of his long, thin cock. A flick or two of his tongue got the rabbit panting again, and soon all was forgiven. Maybe Fox wasn't as inexperienced as he thought. Still nothing compared to James though.

Peppy's eyes opened as the thought caught him off guard. He stared at the ceiling blankly, feeling the waves of pleasure now as though they were coming from somewhere far off, from someone else.

Gotta knock that off, old boy. You'll go soft on him.

He decided that he needed to take more control of the situation. Lying on his back just gave him too much time to think. Leaning up on an elbow, he took a firm grip of Fox's ass and pulled his tail out of the way. It'd be better to get him prepared from this end as well, and sooner rather than later. He wasted no time, leaning in to plant heavy, slobbery smooches all along the fox's velvety taint, his taut, creamy-furred sack, and that delicate little pink spot winking back at him. Fox made soft little whines against his cock as this new form of pleasure washed over him, and Peppy figured that this was probably a first for him too. It was a real pity that he couldn't take his time here... Fox deserved better than an old man like himself.

Both of the males worked on each other from their separate ends, each caught in their own world of denial. Peppy got his bushy whiskers wet from all the salivating that he worked up getting Fox ready, and on the other side, McCloud had started putting his paws to the task of admiring the rabbit's manhood. He worked Peppy's shaft from tip to the sheath, slobbering drunkenly as he lapped at the rabbit's musky pre. Occasionally, he reached down to fondle the older pilot's ponderous lowhangers, and Peppy wondered where he could have learned a thing like that.

They didn't teach that kinda thing when I was at the Academy, that's fer damn sure.

A guy Peppy's age can only take so much of that treatment for long, and soon enough the rabbit's heart started hammering loudly in his ears. His cock throbbed in the fox's paws, giving its own warnings in the wet stream of pre that ran down its length, and finally Peppy pulled his lips away from the vulpine's taught rear.

"That's enough o' that," he panted, wiping his mustache and whiskers free of spittle.

"Git on over the side there. Tail up."

Nodding, Fox pulled away from Peppy's slick cock with an audible 'pop'. Slipping off of the bed's side, he assuming the requested position and flagged his tail. His expression was dizzy and smug, with all the confidence of alcohol and youth. Peppy rose as well, a determined frown on his muzzle as he positioned himself behind.

It'd been years since he'd seen this sight: a young, lithe fox bent over in front of him, tail hitched off and to the side, legs spread and ready. Of course, last time he'd been younger, and he hadn't had such a paunch hanging over his field of view.

Reaching down, the rabbit grabbed his shaft and lined himself up. He took a deep breath, and heard McCloud do the same below. He prayed that this wasn't the fox's first time, but as he pushed inward and felt the resistance, and heard McCloud whimper and bite the pillow, he knew that it was. He didn't stop.

---

Strange as things were turning out, Fox had to admit that this was actually going better than he'd hoped. He'd really gotten that old rabbit to do the deed with him... the randy old fuck.

Still, a small, sober part of him grumbled in indignation at the scene. His tongue was mashed up against the cheap, dry fabric of his pillow, and his ass was hiked up in the air in a most undignified manner... this was really happening to him, here and now, in this busted old ship. Of all the possible choices, it was Peppy who would give this to him. Well, it certainly wasn't how he'd planned to lose it.

But as he felt that narrow, leaking tip press in against him, he knew that it'd be here and nowhere else. The pressure was what he felt first: slow, insistent, and painful. He'd heard horror stories from a few of the more 'open' cadets, and in grim preparation his canines set down hard upon the dampened fabric of his pillow. Behind him, Peppy grunted and gave a short buck of his hips. Then t pressure spiked, drawing a pained yelp from his lungs, but he'd felt it through the sting. Some of the rabbit had slipped inside of him.

Fox tried to imagine that it was someone else behind him now. Perhaps someone a bit younger, with abs.

No amount of daydreaming would change who it was, but to Peppy's credit as a gentleman, he didn't just rush the act from there. Grabbing the vulpine's narrow waist, the old pilot settled into the grind gently. Short, exploratory thrusts patted at the fox's ass, sliding the rabbit's shaft in half-an-inch at a time. It wasn't until a few inches had gone through that he first felt a different sensation flick at his nerves, and a soft moan was drawn out from beneath the pillow and as something inside of him was grazed.

Peppy whistled quietly behind him. "There it is... bout time I found it."

Fox wasn't so naïve as to not know what _it_was. He'd found it plenty of times before in the few quiet nights that he'd played with his toys. But it was another thing entirely to have someone else prodding at it now, someone real, and with all of the messiness and heat that went along with him. Peppy certainly knew how to work that little spot too. Having found his prize, the old rabbit gave short little thrusts there, rubbing his length back and forth across that sensitive gland with the practiced aim of a marksman. Each drive sent delightful shivers down Fox's spine, curling his toes, and he couldn't help but squirm in the firm grip of Peppy's experienced paws.

Back and forth, back and forth, Fox felt himself get worked up into a rhythm. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to tense up or fall apart as a result. Then, he felt the soft, heavy bump of Peppy's hips on his ass. The old geezer had actually bottomed out in him.

Slowly, Fox pried his jaws away from the damp pillow, turning his head around to see. Yup. It was still Peppy behind him, and nine inches deep at that. The rabbit's fur was damp and tousled with sweat He had a look in his eyes unlike anything that Fox had ever seen before. Fear, determination, lust, all boiling behind a face he'd always known for civility and modesty. It set his teeth on edge.

"What're ya lookin' at me like that for?" Peppy asked dryly, leaning over Fox's arched spine as he readjusted himself. He hoisted the heavy, metal weight of his leg up on the bed for better leverage and pulled McCloud closer. Fox's eyes settled on the gleaming alloys of Peppy's foot, a grim reminder of the career that they'd both chosen.

"I ain't done yet," Peppy grunted.

Rabbits were infamous for their pace and stamina in these situations, and Peppy gave full credit to his species then, pulling out and pounding back in with steady, powerful thrusts that had the younger male moaning once more into the heat of his pillow.

Fox could really feel him now. The rabbit's gut rubbed on his lower back with every thrust, and Peppy's gusting breath tickling the back of his ears. Down below, he could even feel the rough pat of the older male's heavy balls slapping loosely against the back of his own. Sweat dripped down onto his back, cold and musky, and he could smell Peppy's potency in the air, in his fur. All in all, it was just another layer of intoxication to his already addled brain. He knew he'd stink like a rabbit for days after all of this was said and done.

Minutes or hours could have gone, but Fox couldn't keep track. With that long length running back and forth, deep within him, it was so easy to just let go and pretend that this was his world. And so, he did. Limbs splayed, paws gripping the sheets, ass up, he surrendered. Peppy did much the same from his end of the deal, and soon the room was filled with the soft, messy sounds of an older rabbit rutting like nature intended.

It wasn't until the pleasure stopped that Fox even recalled where he was and what he was doing. Peppy pulled his leg down off the bed, wheezing softly, and he gave Fox's hips a faltering squeeze.

"This... ain't gonna work. My knee's giving out on me. Hop on up there, on your side."

Fox nodded dumbly, spitting out his soggy bit of the pillow and scooting up on the bed to lay upon his shoulder. Peppy joined him, the bed groaning under their weight, and soon the comforting warmth of the rabbit slid up behind him.

Spooning, Fox thought. A dizzy smile crossed his whiskers.

How romantic.

Peppy certainly didn't waste time with romance, however. Scooting up behind him, Fox felt the rabbit align himself, then curse under his breath.

"Shit," he whispered. "Gone soft."

Fox craned his head around over his shoulder, tossing the older male a concerned look.

"Do... do you need me to-"

"No. Just, hold on a second."

Fox's ears flicked as he heard the slick sounds of wet flesh being tugged urgently, and then Peppy readjusted himself. All's well when an old gent can get hard. A quick push, and Fox groaned as his body accepted it all over again.

This time the rabbit kept close at Fox's back. That broad belly grinded into the curve of his spine, and Peppy's thick arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace. Fox could feel warm breath on his neck, and he heard all of the little sighs and grunts as the rabbit pounded into him with short, powerful bucks. This was what I asked for, he thought. It felt good, in the physical sense. He told himself that was enough.

But damn if all the movement wasn't making his vision dizzy. The pounding didn't help his headache either. It was like... the rocking of an ocean, or a destabilized cockpit. He felt himself getting lost in it.

Good. That was the point.

Peppy gave Fox good measure from that side... and a few others, teaching the inexperienced young vulpine all the wondrous ways and positions that two men can get over their worries. Fox felt himself flipped onto his back, and then the rabbit heaved himself atop him. They looked at each other.

It was surreal to stare into another man's eyes while he found pleasure in your body, and Fox brought his paws up to scratch at the rabbit's chest idly as he was taken from this vulnerable, new position. His claws rubbed through the coarse chest fur, kneading. It wasn't with love, or hate, or any emotion at all really. It was just... a need to touch something. Peppy seemed to sense that too, and he leaned forward to press his lips against Fox's. He wasn't fond of the rabbit's mustache, but damn if he wasn't learning to love kissing.

They held on like that for some time. Fox wasn't keeping track. His long legs were tucked daintily around the rabbit's plump waist, his leaking sheath grinded up messily against Peppy's belly, and their bodies pressed close, desperate kisses swapped breathlessly between one another. Paws wandered freely, sometimes adjusting or pulling, sometimes going down below to touch at the place where they intersected, or to feel the weighty swing of balls or play with downy sheath. Just that, though. Fox wasn't hard, for some reason, although he told himself that he ought to be.

Peppy was though. All nine inches of him were hard, and deep, and the rabbit was doing his damned best to get them as deep as he could. His breath was growing ragged now, and he'd stopped all attempts at kissing. He was concentrating, Fox realized. Trying to finish what he'd started. It would be over soon.

Laying back into the bed, Fox tried to open his legs wider and let the big rabbit in closer. The dizziness returned to him suddenly, overwhelming, and the last thing he saw before the waves overtook him again was that look in Peppy's eyes.

He didn't have the life experience to recognize that look. He hoped that it wasn't grief.

---

Why the heck does he have to look at me like that?

Fox was staring back at him now, staring right into his eyes, and suddenly it was like James all over again.

That old tryst was coming back to haunt him now, bringing with it all of the forgotten pain and pleasure he thought he'd left behind. This burning in his lungs and that gnawing ache in his hips were new, but that vice-like grip that clutched so desperately at his cock, and those trim, velvety legs hugging at his waist... those were familiar. In fact, they were good enough to pass for the real thing.

It was that look that sent him over the edge though. Fiery emeralds, teasing him... those eyes gave him just enough fuel to imagine that this whole mess was real, and that he'd been given one more chance to show James how he'd really felt. Finally, he could make up for all the years that they'd just settled for friends. He had a hell of a lot of lost time to make up for.

"James," he whispered, knowing full well who heard him and who didn't.

Peppy's heavy hips pumped him deeper into what was already certifiably virgin territory, and he bit his lip as that sweet, rising heat churned its way from the back of his heavy balls all the way up to the slim, leaking tip of his cock. He closed his eyes against the reality that lay in front of him, letting the pleasure tug at his raw nerves and wake up all of those old memories, so dearly missed. They played in his mind like a raunchy film, and far too soon they brought him right up to the razor's edge.

Hunkering over Fox and gripping the younger pilot tight, the end came to him in a rush like it always had. A throaty groan tore itself past his lips as he gave another powerful thrust, and then he felt himself slipping over into the shuddering abyss of release. His balls pulled up, his thick hips rolled in slow, steady pumps, and he fell atop McCloud's soft body as he emptied himself inside of him. Thick, rich spurts built up over too long a wait spilled from him, only to be driven in desperately deep with those last, slow thrusts. He hadn't cum like that in decades.

Then, with all his fire spent and the memories played out, it was over.

Much too soon, Peppy thought. He panted softly in the quiet.

For a long while, he simply lay there atop Fox, shuddering occasionally as the younger pilot's tight rear drew out the last contents of his sack in a few weak shots. He could feel that boiling warmth still surrounding his cock, buried deep within Fox's body. He realized that he hadn't thought to use any sort of protection; it was just another indecency to add to the list. Almost apologetically, he bent down, kissing the young vulpine's tender snout. Once, twice. Fox didn't respond. He was knocked out at last, it seemed, with the bourbon having dulled his mind into some semblance of sleep. Peppy felt a bit of dampness clinging to his belly. Perhaps Fox had enjoyed himself.

All the same, his knees chose that particular moment to give out, and Peppy slipped off of them, pulling Fox with him gently as he sunk back down onto his side. There they lay, in the quiet of space, and as Peppy's mind cleared he was left alone with the terrible aftermath of what he'd done. He was still hard, and still throbbing weakly inside of his friend's son, but nothing that really mattered had changed. With nowhere else to look, the old rabbit's eyes settled atop Fox's head. He suspected that the poor pup would be out for a while.

Peppy wouldn't be sleeping any time soon though. He knew that much. His grizzled features set coldly as the weight of his actions finally dawned upon him.

"James... what do I do now?"

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Thank you for reading! Please feel free to vote, and let me know how you felt about the story in the comments below! I'm always trying to improve, and I appreciate all of your feedback. In the future, I plan on releasing four more stories related to this one. The next will likely focus on Wolf O'Donnell (woof), and appropriately it will focus on how Anger relates to the cycle of grief. Please let me know if there's something that you'd like to see in his story, as I know Wolf is a fan-favorite for many people.