Gone Fishing: Part Two [18+]
#2 of Gone Fishing
Ciro lives in the heart of the forest, insulated from the outside world by a small community of raccoons. After a chance encounter with an adventuring fish, he begins to wonder whether this quiet committed life is really for him. (Part 2 of 2)
Edited by wellifimust and Psydrosis
Artwork created in collaboration by @RoSphix on Twitter
Word count: 5,206
The silence of the room snapped with a strike of sulfur against wood.
No flame sparked.
Another fruitless try followed by a frustrated grunt. Once more, and a flame finally kindled at the tip of the wooden shaft. A giant's hand held up the torch, igniting the first pillar, then moved to the one after that, working through a circular sequence of short matching towers. At the end of the circle, the giant glanced around to admire his work.
Walter raised the matchstick to his snout and carefully blew it out. He turned to the night table and dropped the stick, which was snuffed from both ends after many clumsy attempts at lighting the decorative, paw-sculpted candles. The raccoon bent over to spread his arms over the bed, ensuring for the fourth time that evening that the covers laid smooth. Satisfiction, if only for a fleeting moment.
He turned to the bedside mirror, spitting into his paws to string out his whiskers and gloss up his snout scruff. With a confident wink at himself, he tucked his shirt wrinkles below his paunch and tugged at the straps of his suspenders. When the front door swung open, the smile on his face grew.
"Bedroom!" he called to the house.
Another raccoon plodded into the room wearing a loose fitting shirt and trousers. He studied the soft glow of the candle chain leading to Walter. His frown turned into a gentle smile. "Posh outfit."
Walter gave Ciro his practiced wink. "Why don't you take it off?" he purred.
The salmon from the previous hour left Ciro with a strong aftertaste that he hadn't yet thought to wash away. As Walter's eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his hesitation, he threw some swing in his tail and stepped into a hug.
"You smell clean," whispered Walter, letting his whiskers brush Ciro's. "Let's take care of that."
He combed through Ciro's fur before lifting the younger raccoon's shirt off, letting the light sheen the dark fur below. Coaxing the stiffness out of Ciro's posture, Walter let the thin raccoon soften against his pecs.
"Feeling okay?" Walter asked, his chest rumbling against Ciro's.
"Yeah."
He broke apart and measured Ciro eye-to-eye. "Good."
The older raccoon let his suspender straps fall to the floor. The pair's remaining clothes dropped into a pile as they crawled into bed underneath the glow of candlelight.
"Ambient," Ciro remarked, breaking their uncomfortable pause. "You splurge on them?"
Walter grinned. "Rina was giving them away for free."
Ciro laughed and wrapped an arm over his chest. "It would've been sweeter if you said you spent half your budget on them."
"I didn't want to lie," Walter said, settling back against him. "It's your budget too!"
Ciro nuzzled his head against him. "I probably would've given you a hard time about that." He flinched as Walter's cold pads grasped the shaft of his penis.
"Then I'll give you one back," he snickered.
He pressed his pinky against his partner's balls, twisting his grip as he stroked over the pink skin. After a few slow strokes, he pulled his paw up to spit in it, dropping it back to slicken Ciro up. He certainly threw more into his technique than Witt, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
That thought had no place in bed with them, so Ciro shoved it off as he stuffed his muzzle into Walter's fluffy neck. He was immediately welcomed with an arm over his shoulders.
After a minute, an aroused Walter slipped away, crawling to the lower side of the bed and kneeling over to lap at Ciro's cock. He didn't spend much time getting acquainted, opting to hold the bottom of the shaft and bob down rhythmically to meet the paw. He looked up at Ciro attentively, watching his partner's quiet groans and movements, using them as a pendulum for which to move with. He kept at this for a couple minutes.
When no climax arrived, he lined his paws on Ciro's pelvis and bobbed up and down, shutting his eyes and grunting through each trip.
Despite his valiant efforts, fatigue forced him to pop off without satisfaction. He massaged his podgy cheek with a stiff paw. "You sure everything's okay?"
"Yeah, it's not you. It's just..." he dropped his glance feebly, "uh..."
Walter squinted. "You need dirty talk? Hard to do that with my mouth full."
Ciro grinned. "Might keep my head in it."
"It better," said Walter, rising onto his knees, "because I'm supposed to be the slow shooter between us!" He worked his own erection and positioned himself at Ciro's bottom.
Ciro lay on his back and lifted his legs, not taking his sight off his candlelit partner. "Let's see who shoots first, then."
Walter hefted one ankle over his shoulder, letting the other leg drape down as he spit in his paw. He stroked his smaller length, working in the makeshift lubricant, before he guided himself forward and slipped cautiously into Ciro.
"It's been a while," he mumbled to Ciro's wince.
The younger raccoon arched his back before settling back against the mattress. "I...can manage."
Walter worked himself in carefully, using his free paw to lift Ciro's bottom. Ciro's breath grew ragged, but it was the older man who gasped with each hesitant thrust, holding back the temptation to plow him harder.
"Go on," Ciro urged, staring above Walter's stocky, compressed chest. "I can take it, really."
The big raccoon shuffled apart his knees and let go of Ciro, laying against him and pressing him into the mattress. He leaned on his elbows for leverage as Ciro bent his legs around him. Craned over, tail swiping the air, Walter hilted Ciro with a newfound ruggedness, spurred on by the soft cries his partner let out below. Ciro's paws clasped around his back, clinging to the raccoon as if he were a branch drooping over a cliff.
"Not so talkative now!" Walter grunted.
Ciro caught up with a breathless grin. "You aren't?"
Walter stopped and glared down. For a moment, Ciro thought he angered him, until that fire in his eyes turned into passion. His teeth flashed in the light as he yanked up Ciro's rear, raised his hips in tune, and thrusted down into him. He pounded him with vigor, letting his hot breath wash over his face as he groaned in pleasure.
"You won't say that again," he muttered, "not when I'm fuckin' done breeding you!"
Their muzzles snapped together. Ciro claws nearly broke skin as he clung to his back and whined against his tongue. Walter shut his eyes, clutched Ciro's shoulders, and let out an urgent, carnal yelp. Through another lopsided thrust, Ciro felt the first rope of seed paint him.
He held the kiss, even as he descended from his peak. Eventually, he broke apart, let down his partner's legs, and panted hard before crouching down to finish sucking Ciro off.
Within a minute, Ciro groaned through his own climax. Walter licked up his load, then wiped a paw across his mouth as he rose and crawled over to lie beside Ciro.
"Sorry if I killed the mood," he mumbled.
Ciro stifled a chuckle. "You didn't. I asked you to go harder."
"Your load was smaller."
A quick pang of guilt hit Ciro. He lay motionless and silent as Walter wrapped an arm over his chest.
"I don't think it works like that," he said, scratching his chest fur. "I got off earlier thinking about you. Sorry I didn't mention."
Walter let that remark air out as a wide smirk crossed his face. "You couldn't wait? Guess you're hooked on me, huh?"
Ciro hesitated in reply. His gaze drifted to the night table past Walter, where a matchstick lay burnt at both ends. He closed his mouth.
As Walter slid an arm under his head, he turned to his partner and meekly accepted a kiss.
Before the turn of the hour, Ciro broke out of the forest. Walter left for blackjack shortly after telling him he planned to freshen up by the river, which forced the younger raccoon to brush off Seth's desire to tag along.
Hiking to the spot where he met Witt felt like a routine by this point. What he planned to tell him, he rehearsed several times strolling the path back. That admission seemed to morph into new excuses every time he said it back to himself, because nothing quite sounded right when he pictured himself saying it to the salmon's face. But still, in the back of his mind, the path ahead split. The allure still remained in that adventure-worn experience behind Witt's eyes, and the way it translated into delicacy and grace...something Walter never quite offered.
He paced about on the shore for a few minutes, fingering the fabric of his shirt, poring over what taking off his clothes to step into the water would mean. His bushy tail drooped against the rocks and his ears lowered under the boiling air. He wasn't exactly sure what he wanted out of this meeting, let alone how he'd handle it if Witt made any convincing pass at him.
Ciro recited Witt's instructions in his head. They obscured themselves the more he thought about them, forcing him to second-guess what he was once certain the salmon said. These eventually blurred into some amorphous pile of concerns that he'd already spent the better half of the day brooding over.
With a sigh, he stopped pacing and peered down the river. Witt had mentioned that he'd be downstream. Ciro couldn't recall if that was a direction. He looked to the skies, as if seeking answers from divinity.
The sun peeked out from the top of a tree past the opposing bank. The air still felt scorching, and the humidity made his fur mat down uncomfortably; he wanted to dip in the water, but he still feared of committing to it with nowhere to dry off at the brink of sunset. Instead, he walked downstream, his train of thought mixing with the current beneath him.
_Ciro first met Walter on a bread run, the first time he stepped into the bakery. His older sister was out on a trip, and his older brother was home sick, which left the then-twenty year-old to shop for his family alone.
The portly raccoon was awfully generous to Ciro, who'd later learn that his business was struggling after his wife walked out. Seth helped around a few times a week where he could, but his life was largely headed in another path. Ciro offered to shop alone for his family, simply to stop in and talk to the amicable baker. He didn't know why for the first few months of routine visit.
At some point along the line, Walter seemed to realize he'd found someone useful. He offered Ciro an assistant job to prepare the young raccoon for his life's duty as someone's house husband, considering his status as the youngest of his siblings. Walter was honest about the specifics, too: low traffic meant extra help was unnecessary, but he was in desperate need of someone to talk to on the long days where he lazed about._
The business picking up was probably first due to Walter's effort, but the older raccoon assured Ciro that his presence was necessary as a friend to bounce ideas off of and raise his spirits. After a few weeks, some of Ciro's friends stopped to visit, taking food home to families who would soon become enamoured with it and recommend the bakery to their friends as well.
Ciro's parents were surprised by their son's eagerness to immerse himself in laborious work at the bakery. He was far from finished with surprising them.
After two months of chatting up customers and learning how to bake like Walter, a realization slowly overtook Ciro. His fantasies, while once filled with a nebulous ideal of some man his age who would dominate him sexually and support his housework, soon took shape around Walter. The big raccoon was resourceful in a way guys his age weren't, always with a funny story to tell or an educated opinion to express. Ciro suddenly understood his initial attachment to Walter as an attraction that had no place to let itself out, other than through quiet, sneaky hours of masturbation.
A couple weeks later, Ciro mustered up the courage to ask Walter on a date. He stood behind the counter, hiding the shame in the sagging of his tail, and asked the blunt question. Miraculously, after talking Walter down from laughing at it as a joke, the older raccoon thought about it and casually agreed. Ciro figured he looked at another weekend alone, with Seth out of the house, and recognized that he had nothing else to do but entertain his friend's request.
On their first date at Walter's house, he asked Ciro to promise that their arrangement wouldn't become serious. He insisted that a relationship between them would shackle the young raccoon from younger, more fitting prospects.
On their fourth date, he told Ciro that their serious relationship shouldn't dissuade him from experimenting with his friends, just in case Walter couldn't meet his sexual needs. While this offer was never officially retracted, it seemed clear to Ciro that Walter only seemed to mean it about his village friends.
Still, this openness seemed to go against a lot of Walter's rigid beliefs. He always idealized the concept of settling down in the village, finding a job that hit a niche other residents needed, providing for himself first through his own wits and foraging skill rather than through dependence on other families. He already lived that life at one point, back when Seth was a kit and he had a partner to come home to.
He struggled to believe that Ciro wanted to be that partner for him now.
Ciro's father was furious when he learned that his son was dating the baker. Ciro was supposed to settle down with someone his age, who would hunt for him while he acted as a homemaker and shopper. Eventually, the two would build their own trade in town and create a life divorced from their old families. His interest in Walter must've been an act of rebellion.
This fight eventually let up. Ciro's father realized that his reluctance would only push his son further into the life of his chosen partner. Perhaps, he took Ciro's passion as a sign that his son had learned the lesson the tradition seemed to teach the village's children anyway. No one else seemed to complain about the newly open relationship of the pair.
Ciro was content with his new partner, who exchanged their unwritten work agreement for a domestic one, trading the informality of their friendship for affection and sex. Walter still insisted on dominating Ciro in bed and acting as a breadwinner between them, but he made a point to afford his younger partner the liberties of foraging whenever he wanted and sleeping with friends, as long as he never committed to them on his own. He was still enough of an avid traditionalist to stick to the village, never looking to move beyond it, but Ciro had never stopped to wonder if he disagreed.
A splash from the river shook Ciro from his reverie. A nude salmon popped out of the stream, climbing onto the rocks in front of him.
"Ah!" Witt called, letting a cagey smile crawl across his face. "There you are!"
Ciro glanced around. There weren't many landmarks down the path of the river, but he knew he walked for a while in his head. For once in his meetings with Witt, he found himself thinking quickly on his feet as soon as he saw the salmon.
"Of course," he said, offering a paw. "Did you think I'd skip out?"
Witt frowned at the paw. "You plan to get wet?"
The rehearsed script slipped out of Ciro's mind. "Huh?"
Witt yanked Ciro into a hug. His lips connected with the broad raccoon muzzle, tugging him up and into a kiss. He was a freshwater fish these days, but his mouth still tasted of salt as he smothered it against Ciro's. He grunted quietly before he pulled away.
Ciro's clothes were dripping. Whatever dilemma overcame him faded into the background long enough that he didn't care that his fur was wet and matted.
"I made a promise, but punctuality isn't my strength." He winked at Ciro. "I thought I'd make it up to you first thing."
Ciro put his paws on Witt's hips. Then he pulled them back, weakly. One of Witt's arms tightened behind him, while the other one crept down between Ciro's legs to squeeze him to stiffness.
"And I think I know the kind of favours you like."
If the script had been tossed before, it was torn to pieces now. Especially when he stepped away and turned around to give Ciro a look at--
The guilt he felt when Walter failed to get him off. He focused on that when Witt gripped his ass. Ciro and Walter talked before about the younger raccoon playing around with others, but this came with the expectation that they would be friends that Walter knew, and ones he agreed to ahead of time.
Ciro's erection poked toward Witt's outstretched ass, straining against the fabric between them. Witt smiled back at him.
A bit of that initial excitement came throttling back: the emotion he felt as he gasped and came early into Witt's hand; the emotion he felt when his titillating fantasies about Walter became reality in much the same way.
"I'm not really sure..." Ciro stammered.
"I can take you."
The bushes on the cliffside above were silent without a breeze blowing through. Ciro shuddered, his fingers laying across scaled hips. He tried to work it out in his head again, unsure if he was reasoning or rationalizing. He'd never been able to top before, and those shining, muscular red slopes tempted him like fallen berries.
He'd had time to sit and think on this. He'd made his leap out of the nest, diving straight into a home on the other side of the village. Now, seeing a stream winding to a great unknown pushed him ahead, prodding him to explore it.
But he'd already run away from home, doing so in the face of his father's insistence that his passion for Walter was a phase. Would exploring further beyond home be just as refreshing as it always was for him? Or was it an act of cowardice--a simple escape from something he failed to confront? This question seemed monumental to the raccoon.
Ciro's pants didn't fall.
He took a step back. Witt's confused glance met his concentrated stare.
"I talked to my partner," Ciro answered, voice soft through his dry throat. "He didn't want us going any further."
Witt took a moment to sort through that lie. His frown composed itself into acceptance, and he stood up straight. He didn't cover his erection when he turned to look down at Ciro, but he didn't pay it any mind. "I won't argue with that." He glanced at the sunset, where the trees fully obscured the light, and slid a hand through his thin tufts of hair. When he glanced down at Ciro, his face betrayed no emotion. "You guys marry in your village?"
"Yes." Ciro waved a quick paw. "We aren't yet, but..."
Witt waited for him to finish that thought. When he didn't, the salmon crossed his arms. "You ask him before our first time?"
Ciro felt like he was on trial. He peered at the limp ghost of Witt's erection, remembering how Witt never expressed interest toward the younger man in their first encounter. It was Ciro who made a brash proposition. He'd made his own bed.
He met Witt's eyes. "No."
There was some relief in giving that answer. Perhaps it was short-sighted and selfish of him to be here in the first place, but it felt good to say it for once.
Witt's eyes didn't judge him. "I see where our customs differ."
Before the young raccoon could respond, Witt turned around and took a pair of steps. He glanced back at Ciro and beckoned him, prompting him to walk together along the riverside.
Scales and fur dripped water on the rocks below. They made their way downstream silently. Ciro noticed that Witt's hips missed some of their old sway: his step now falling into a march.
As dusk befell them, casting orange over their bodies, the salmon finally cleared his throat to speak without breaking his pace.
"We don't commit, where I'm from." He didn't look back. "Just been through enough places where they do. Met enough guys who saw me as a side catch."
Ciro's eyes dropped to the automatic step of his feet. He figured his fitness outpaced the salmon's, but Witt still walked faster than he normally would. Faster than the night could overtake the sky.
But still, Witt spared no breath. "Even the idea of settling down..." he shook his head. "That's never been for us. I wasn't born in a village like you."
"Where were you born? The sea?"
Witt walked quietly for long enough that Ciro squinted up in confusion. The salmon was chuckling to himself. "Broadly. My mother always told me those waters were our playground."
The sound of their feet on the rocks punctuated the silence. Pebbles lining the shallow end of the river caused the rushing water to ripple on the surface.
"They weren't for me," Witt continued. "I wanted to see the land, from valley to summit. I didn't want to lay in the bed they made for me." He slowed down to let Ciro walk in step. Their eyes met between. "I see a lot of that in you."
Ciro combed a claw through the fur on his arm, smoothing out the crinks, letting the twisted and disorderly hairs fall back into shape. His striped tail picked up from where it dragged on the rocks. He didn't have anything to say, so he didn't pretend to offer anything.
Peacefully they walked around the curve on the cliff, where the path broke off to recede up to the trees. They strode past that, letting darkness engulf them and stars blink down overhead where they found the river split into three. The trio of smaller streams broke off into a mountainous distance, where they parted and weaved far away.
"I planned to choose a stream by now," Witt cut in through their silence. "But then I found you. And I needed to know what you wanted."
Ciro peered up and found his yellow eyes. "Were you waiting for me to stop you?"
"I was waiting to see if you'd join."
The young raccoon quieted down. His nose pointed to the river in front of them. As he thought, he picked through the fur at the base of his claws.
Witt looked over at him. He spoke softly enough that Ciro's poor ears strained to hear him. "Ciro, are you happy?"
Ciro's chest hardly rose as he inhaled. He thought about the forces that led him so quickly to play around with Witt, and the forces that, more sober and measured, guided him to reconsider doing it again.
"I think so," Ciro said.
"Would you split from it? If you knew you'd be even happier on the other side?"
Ciro thought about that for a moment. He shrugged at the salmon. "How would I ever know that?"
"Good answer." A proud smile overtook Witt. "You won't know, either way. It's why I waited for you before choosing my path. I'm always looking for that traveller's instinct in others. And I always want to hear their judgement."
Ciro's gaze slid to meet him. "What if you didn't find them?"
"I'd pick a stream on my own."
"What if it didn't take you where you wanted?"
"I'd swim back."
"Sure." Ciro scratched at his chin, working to condense his feelings into the problem. "But what if the current were too strong?"
The old salmon chuckled and shook his head. "I guess I'd have to live with it and move on." He turned his body to the raccoon, measuring the younger male's lowered muzzle. "That's the trouble of a hard choice, Ciro. No matter what you decide, you'll always think about what you let go."
A brush blew through his fur. Ciro turned towards Witt, away from the breeze picking up behind him.
"Do you think that choice is destiny?" Ciro asked.
Witt tilted his head, taken aback at first. He looked head-long into the wind, before turning that far gaze back to Ciro. "I don't think so. Not in a way we can understand." Even through the dark, his wink was clear. "But I think I've learned enough about the man you are to know which stream you'll pick, yourself."
The mountains stood towering, outlined by the night sky. Ciro could no longer see the river break off in the distance, but he could only imagine where its long branches reached. He put that aside.
"I'll be out there one day." Ciro's snout rose higher. He stared eye-to-eye with Witt. "Tonight, I've got a village to feed."
Witt nodded. "You've got a lucky man back home."
He took a couple steps to the moonlit river. When he glanced back at Ciro, the raccoon raised a paw.
"The current isn't strong," Ciro noted. "You can always swim back here someday."
Witt beamed. "Someday."
"And if I'm still here..."
The salmon's smile turned into a smirk. "Deal. I'll know where you'll be."
Ciro stepped forward. He reached to embrace the salmon, rubbing his whiskers against Witt's smooth cheek. Despite holding his nude body, Ciro's paws didn't seek to explore him. They just locked into the small of his back, holding the fish close as he tilted his muzzle to meet him in a kiss. Soft fur slid through calloused scales under the glow of the moon. The breeze wove between them and around them, spurring the waters to break and the leaves to sway, yet Ciro never flinched at the sound.
The young raccoon held onto the moment as it passed by like a wandering spirit. He'd made a choice, and the wise salmon's encouragement pushed him on without doubt. The pair broke out of the kiss, still holding each other on the riverside.
"Deal," whispered Ciro, before he let go of the fish.
Witt took a step back to the stream. With a brisk nod, the old salmon turned away and dove back into the rushing water.
The mountains in the distance stood tall, imposing under the spotlight of the moon. Ciro took one more glance at them before he breathed in the night air and smoothed down his whiskers. Looking to the moon, he figured he could make it home before Walter. A quick turn, and he was off through the forest pathway in the direction of the village.
Ciro's tail caught on a bush. He swatted at it quickly, but his claws caught someone else's fur.
Jumping fast, a chill ran down his spine. A raccoon fell to the ground and mirrored his panicked cry. The shorter raccoon's eyes wore a familiar vibrance under the moonlight.
"Della?" Ciro stammered. "What are you doing out here!?"
Her eyes shone as she clambered to her feet. Tears ran thin trails through her cheek fur. She caught her breath in a sob.
Ciro drew in a shaky breath. "Witt's a friend. He was heading north and he wanted to stay here. But..." he stared into the dirt upon which his shirt dripped. "Whatever you saw, don't worry. I'm gonna tell Walter about it."
Della blinked through her tears. "What?"
"The salmon. I was saying goodbye."
Della wiped at her eyes. Though dry, her look wasn't any less confused. "See you? I...didn't even know you were out here."
Ciro clamped his muzzle.
The younger raccoon caught her breath and continued. "My folks said they didn't want me with Seth unless..." a sniffle cut her off. "Unless I hunted for him. So I told them I would! But I lost my spear. And fell out of a tree. And..."
Ciro pulled the teenager into a hug. She pressed her eyes into his shoulder.
"Here," he said, breaking away to walk along with her. "Stay with us tonight. We'll talk with them tomorrow."
Her tail dragged through the dirt. Ciro now saw the scuffed fur on her arms as she mumbled, "They won't listen."
The night seemed serene again. The light of the village glowed faintly over distant trees. He smiled a bit, if only because she couldn't see it.
"You won't have to listen back."
_Dear Witt, the salmon of my affection.
I cannot guarantee that this letter finds your eyes. I've begun this note many times throughout your absence, but without knowledge of your location beyond a direction, I've never known where to start...let alone how to ensure it arrives in your hands. I can only hope against the forces of nature. That the winds won't knock this letter into the stream, that the basket holds sturdy under rain.
So quickly do times change. In five short years, the culture of this quaint village has shifted. Rather than settling down to a quiet life, many young families have departed to carve their own paths outside of our forest. Walt, my husband, has chosen to take this journey with me. Uprooting themselves, our children travel with us._
Walt resented you, at first. This drove a stake through our relationship and reminded me sorely of the lessons I had yet to learn. Soon enough, he was conciliatory. This grew into curiosity about your people. While my peers came to discover the same world outside of our village that your guidance pointed me towards, my partner, the older man, began to speak of the same interest.
There is nothing for me here, except for your promise to me. We knew each other for so little, yet our encounter kindled within me a flame pushing me to live a life like yours. We plan to hike down the west-most stream, where our friends write of sprawling mountainscapes and communities willing to share with them their homes. I cannot find the words to describe my excitement. And I couldn't thank you enough for your lesson.
If this letter finds itself in your hands, I'm glad you remember me. I hope the upcurrent was not too strong. I miss you, and while I wish I could stay for your eventual return, I'm afraid you were right about me. The spirit is in my blood.
On the slight chance that I catch you again, I would love to catch up. I think about you often, and I've thought long about what I'd tell you face-to-face. I would love to hear about your adventures and introduce you to Walt.
If you come across this note, feel free to write back. We'll return someday, and I'll be sure to check. Perhaps, this time, I'd be ready for you too.
Yours truly,
Stripes