FSE

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Hello everyone. After being a lurker on this site for a long time, I thought I would throw my hat into the ring by submitting a story of my own. With the exception of one character mentioned, all of the named characters in this story (to the best of my knowledge) are original. The only two I really feel I own in any major way are Claude and Elijah (the main characters of this piece). My acknowledgements are at the end, and there are many. Without any further ado,

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A twig snapped beneath his hoof, and Elijah let out a small huff, not of surprise or satisfaction, but of exertion. It was the fifth hour of this hike, and the last time he had seen anybody else had been at least forty-five minutes ago. When Nic had suggested this boy's weekend at the mountain cabin, Elijah had agreed quickly. The instructions had been to carry what was needed in your backpack, as the nearest parking lot was at the base of the trail, and it would be a hike to get there. Elijah thought he followed Nic's instructions to the letter, but either the bighorn ram had gotten lost, or the raccoon had given bad directions. Pausing, Elijah tried not to feel the way the straps of his pack dug into his shoulders and around his waist. He knew he should have taken it for a spin before bringing it on his hike, but with his teaching load, the chapters he owed on his thesis, his work at the library, and the hundreds of other daily tasks, he hadn't found the time. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the sheet where he had scribbled the directions.

He knew he should have texted Nic before leaving. It had been three weeks since he had seen the raccoon in person, and when Nic had invited him for this weekend, they had both been three or four beers in. At the best of times, Nic's directions were a little on the vague side. If he had gotten lost, well Elijah was as much to blame as Nic was. It was another of the things he knew he should have done beforehand, and now that he was here, there was no use in regretting it. Even if he had texted, Elijah knew better than to expect a response from Nic. Getting Nic to respond to anything promptly was like pulling teeth from a crocodile or alligator without Novocain; it was possible but not without a great degree of difficulty and a mild amount of risk.

According to the directions, he should have arrived a half hour ago. As it stood, he was on a little used trail, over nine-thousand feet above sea level, and if he were lucky, he would get back to his car just around seven in the evening. It would be another two, two and a half hours back to his small apartment, and the day, one of the few he allowed himself for himself would have gone to waste. Not that the views hadn't been gorgeous and that exercising in nature instead of the gym wasn't welcome, but he had been anticipating a day with friends, a barbecue, a chance to see Ryan without his shirt on...Elijah shook his head. The last thing he needed to be doing at the moment was to be thinking of the kangaroo, of the way his mouth quirked in a grin right after he took a hit from a water pipe, the way the light glinted off the barbell through his left nipple, the thoroughly maddening habit he had of letting his broad palm rest casually on his thigh, thumb on the waistband of his shorts or jeans, inching them down, flashing a stripe of bare dun colored pelt.

Elijah's ears twitched as he heard it, a rumble, low distant, echoing above and among the trees and the mountains. Inhaling deeply, his nostrils flaring, Elijah swore to himself. Thunder and rain. His senses might not have the acuity of a canine, but he had spent enough time outdoors at digs, knew the sounds, knew the smells, and based on the prevailing winds, he guessed he had maybe about an hour and a half at most before he got caught in a downpour. Not for the first time since he had begun the hike, Elijah cursed Nic in the most colorful ways he could. He began to move down the trail, his footfalls a little faster than was safe, but with a storm on the way, speed was of the essence. On a trail like this, unless he found somewhere to shelter, a late summer storm could bring all sorts of unexpected surprises. Disorientation, sudden mudslides, and flash flooding were just some of his many concerns.

Moving as quick as he dared, Elijah hoofs were certain over the trail. The sky grew darker with each passing breath, and the wind picked up, going from a gentle whisper of a breeze to a sharp, keening howl that had the bighorn ram pull the pack closer to him. He had removed his shirt after the first hour and a half of the hike, and even with the change in weather, sweat still matted his grayish-brown fur. He had gone about an hour down the trail when the first drop of rain, heavy and fat fell and hit the top of his muzzle. Swearing, Elijah almost jumped, knowing it wouldn't be long before more drops fell, and he would be drenched. The weather forecast had said rain was possible, but not likely. By now, he should have been inside the cabin, holding a beer in his hand, listening to Alex ramble through his latest sexual exploits while Bill gave one of his great, deep bovine laughs that filled the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he would have looked over at Ryan, stare at the calloused footpaws of the roo and admired the toned calves and thick thighs.

Elijah snorted as a second drop of rain joined the first, and a third followed seconds later. Sniffing the air, ozone and fallen leaves combined with the growing overpowering scent of falling rain let him know just what sort of storm this would end up being. There would be no way he could make it back to his car in time. A flash, followed eight seconds later by the low rolling crash of thunder sent a shiver up his spine. He hadn't feared thunderstorms since he was a child. He remembered the naked thunder run he and his 'brothers' had done as part of their fraternity's hell week what felt like a lifetime ago. This was different. Then there had been a place to go, somewhere to shelter after the run around the frat house. Now, he was out in the open, it had been hours since seeing anyone else, his phone was buried in his backpack (and he doubted there would be good signal here anyway). At best, his clothing would get ruined, and he'd spend weeks replacing everything he'd brought with him. At worst...he snorted, willing himself not to think about it.

Another flash of lightning, brilliant and brighter than the one from moments earlier. Less than three seconds later, the thunder boomed, echoing among the trees. Turning his head, Elijah blinked and saw a break in the trail where he would have sworn there hadn't been one before. He saw, or thought he did, the outline of a building. While it wasn't the lakeside cabin Nic had promised, any sort of shelter would be welcome, especially now. He all but ran, the wind at his back and the rain falling harder, heavier faster, two drops became four, four became eight, eight became thirty-two, and at that point the big-horn ram stopped counting as the single drops became a sheet. He reached the side of the structure as another deafening wave of thunder rushed over and around him. Ozone was thick and heavy. He didn't want to know just how near the strike had been. The structure had seen better days, built of planks of wood so dark and weathered, Elijah debated for a fraction of a second if it would have been better to brave the elements than to try the door that seemed to hang slightly off center. He didn't debate long, throwing the door open as another gale of wind brought the distinct crack of lighting.

Elijah slammed the door behind him, undid the straps of the pack, and let it rest against the wall. It was a bare bones sort of structure, two rooms, barely separated by a wall. The only carpet was that of fallen leaves that had been blown in. Nothing hung on the walls. There were no outlets, lights, or any signs of electricity. There was a bed pressed against the wall, with surprisingly fresh sheets, neatly made that reminded Elijah of his freshman dorm room before he had pledged Alpha Kappa Epsilon. The ram exhaled, both relieved to be out of the storm, and wondering just what he had walked into. Besides the bed, there was nothing to indicate anything about whoever was using this...he didn't even know what to call the building. It was lived in, but Elijah could tell nothing about whoever called this place 'home' - if it even was their home.

A gale of wind rushed against the walls of the building and Elijah would have sworn he could feel it move against his now bare back. The steady percussion of rain, the blasts of thunder, and the shrieking cry of the wind bled through the thin walls. His horns dragged against the wood as he tilted his head upwards, and the ram wondered how much more abuse a building like this would be able to handle before it came crashing down around him. Those weren't the sorts of questions he thought about normally in his field, but they would be related at least tangentially for any future archeologist. Not that anyone would come up here for a dig.

The shrieking of the wind was relentless, steady, maddening. Tree limbs scratched against the aged wood, and rain hurtled downward, crashing against the small structure. Elijah exhaled and then opened his backpack. On the top was his shirt, and beneath it, the supplies he had said he would bring for the weekend. Although damp with his sweat, his shirt, was far dryer than he or his shorts. Looking around, and knowing he had a full change of clothing available; he used the shirt as a towel, drying himself as best he could. His shorts clung to his damp fur, as did the boxer-briefs he had worn. It took a second, but he was naked in a space that wasn't his, and there was a thrill to it. He scanned the room again, and there was still only the neatly made bed which told of an occupant. Elijah stepped forwards, his nostrils wrinkling slightly. There were hints of rose, jasmine, and the distinct scent of river water. Whoever had washed these sheets had done so recently. The floral odors were the sorts of thing his mother and grandmother had favored with their laundry soaps, and those scents lasted all of two days, three at the outside max.

He wondered if he had stumbled into the sort of cabin his aunt had used when she was in one of her 'get-back-to-the-ground' kicks. He certainly could see his aunt staying a place like this, built from reclaimed materials with only minimum furnishings to 'be closer to reality' as she liked to phrase it. Still, there was a bareness here that Elijah couldn't remember from the few times he had visited her when she had decided to drop off the grid. In those places, there was always some sort of kitchen, and generally, the signs of several bodies pressed in and against each other. Here, there was only emptiness. He placed his hand against the sheets. As he expected, they were cool, but the mattress was unexpectedly soft. His hand sunk into it. It was far more comfortable than the mattress he slept on throughout his college years, and it might even be better than what he had in his current apartment. It would be like sleeping on a cloud, he thought to himself. No one in one of his aunt's circles, or his aunt herself would ever have allowed themselves a mattress that comfortable. They were much more comfortable sleeping on the ground in sleeping bags made of recycled fibers. This bed would have been far too indulgent.

He left the bed and returned to his bag. He broke into the case of water he had brought and allowed himself a long drink. Gaining almost four-thousand five-hundred feet in elevation might not be the biggest or most dangerous of shifts, but he knew from entirely too many of Bill's lectures the importance of being well hydrated. It was one of the bull's favorite topics, and it was something he had rambled on for hours with Elijah only half listening. Granted, when Elijah talked about sherds and lithic analysis, he knew his former brothers weren't really paying attention. Such were the realities when your professional lives were so divergent from each other. You always knew your former brothers were up to something, and you were excited for them. However, you weren't the same as you were when you shared a roof with them and needed to worry about the Panhellenic council or what to make of the incoming pledge class. As Elijah finished his first bottle of water, he admitted to himself that he had been hoping this weekend would have brought back those memories of the 'last rush' of college. After this year, he would be all but finished with his dissertation, and he was going to be spending the summer working with the park service, helping them with a dig where it would be weeks on end where he doubted, he'd even have access to something as basic as reliable cell service.

As he capped the empty bottle and put it back into his bag, Elijah's ears twitched. He heard - or thought he heard - something that was not of nature. Against the cries of the wind, over the rush of rain, and through the scratching of the branches, there was...something...that set him on edge, had all his senses focused and bent outside of the small room. Closing his eyes, he let the world of sounds wash over and through him. There was the crack of lightning, followed shortly by the roar of thunder. There were the maddeningly regular waves of precipitation. There were the groans of the wind as it shifted. There has the rush of his blood and the staccato his pulse had become. Breathing slowly, Elijah brought himself back to a still place. If the image he used was of the time he had seen Ryan, fresh out of the shower, a towel clinging to his waist, pelt still moist from the shower, well that would be his secret. Ryan would never have to know.

Going back into his bag he dug out some granola bars, a fresh pair of underpants, and his phone. He slid on his underwear and unwrapped one of the bars as he waited for his phone to cycle on. As he suspected, there wasn't a bar of service to be found, and in the dull glow of the phone's screen, the bareness, the emptiness, the not-quite-lived-in quality of the small structure was all too real. The bed, slightly disheveled from where he had put his hand down, was the only thing that seemed solid, seemed tangible, seemed like it was real. Elijah shook his head. In weather like this, after the sort of day he had had, it was too easy to let the darker flights of fancy take hold and fill his head. He wasn't a lamb anymore, to be frightened by his uncles' or cousins' stories around the fireside. Ghosts weren't real, he had known that for most of his life. However, in this space, with the banshee-like wind continuing outside, with no hint of who used this space or why, or even what this space really was, it was too easy to let the stories of his childhood flood back.

Elijah's thumb danced over the screen of his phone, and he searched through the albums of photos. There he was with his first class of undergrads on his first day as a TA. His students had thought him crazed, no doubt, but the smiles on many of their faces were genuine and his grin, the flush of pride he saw on his cheeks was the best sort of thing to fight the shadows that had been growing in his mind. He scrolled further back, seeing himself with his mother, father, and aunt on the day he had been admitted to graduate school after the year he had spent working at the local history museum. Further back, to the day of his graduation from undergraduate, one arm over Nic's shoulder, the other over Bill's. A few more shots and he arrived at his personal favorite, the one of he and Ryan, both wearing board shorts, posing next to each other, each of them holding a surfboard with one arm, the other arm linked around the others back. As Elijah closed his eyes, it was easy to remember the way the sun had been beating down, the salt in the air, the cawing of gulls, and the sounds of his brothers, arguing, joking, and laughing as only college students on their last spring vacation were able to do. That had been the vacation where Ryan hadn't worn a shirt except when necessary, and he had shared a room with Elijah.

In the soft cotton of his boxer-briefs, Elijah began feeling the rush of blood to his prick, knew it was slipping out of its sheath. Palming himself through the thin fabric, Elijah exhaled, remembering the morning when he had woken up before Ryan. The kangaroo had rolled over in his sleep and his tail had forced down the sheets. In the light coming through the small beach house, Elijah had seen clearly the small of Ryan's back, the powerful tail, and well-toned ass of his brother, his crush, the one that had talked him into joining the frat in the first place. Nic claimed he was the one that had convinced Elijah to join, but without Ryan's easy smile and joked suggestion of, 'think of all the things we'll get to do together as brothers...' Without that, Elijah knew he wouldn't have been an Alpha Kappa Epsilon.

As his thumb began playing with the band of his underwear, pulling it down just a few fractions of an inch, there came the sound again, something that was too deliberate, too regular, too much of the ordinary and everyday that didn't fit with the intensity, the raw chaos of the storm. The ram paused, the hairs on the back of his neck on end as the chill ran down from the tips of his horns, down his spine, and reached his tail. His phone dropped, and the echo hung in the air of the small space. The ram who had been resting against the door, trying to use his weight and the weight of the pack to keep the door closed shifted slightly. Deliberately, he turned his head and he exhaled slowly. The rain continued its maddening percussion against the walls and the roof. The wind was relentless as it howled, and the ram knew there was something on the other side of the door.

Elijah remained where he was, as still as he could make himself. What waited on the other side of the door, he didn't know, but he knew there had to be something there. It was knowledge as deep as bone and blood, something he couldn't shake or deny. It was a certainty. More than that, whatever waited in the storm, whatever was on the other side of the flimsy pieces of wood against which he had been resting knew he was inside. It might not know who he was or what he wanted, much like he didn't know anything about whatever it might be, but it knew he was inside. The door swung inward, and Elijah had the presence of mind to pull back slightly. If this was the owner of the small structure, the last thing he needed to do was make them any angrier than they were likely to be.

An almost deafening crack of lightning followed instantaneously by a concussive roll of thunder coincided with the door swinging open. It took Elijah a moment to blink away the spots dancing in his eyes from the sudden brilliance. The figure literally filled the doorway, and Elijah swallowed as he realized it had to bend its head to get through the entry way. His head rather, Elijah thought to himself. There was something unmistakably male about him. It wasn't that Elijah hadn't met tall or muscular women. This figure, this being, radiated raw masculine strength and surety in a way he couldn't articulate. Everything about him screamed 'man.' He bent his neck further, his long muzzle looking down. His voice was the sort of deep that matched a frame like his, "Well, it's nice to see someone has made themselves comfortable in here." There wasn't any anger in the voice. Rather, it was measured, sure of itself, and slightly amused. As he took another step inside, Elijah noticed the rain-soaked shirt as it clung to a well-toned chest, a stomach off which one could do their washing, and a pelt that would have put any pearl to shame. Blinking, Elijah saw the spots of gray along the exposed forearms, the neck, and the strands of iron in the mane and hair. Stallion, the ram thought to himself, a draft, but which member of the draft family he wasn't certain.

"Cat got your tongue?" the stallion asked, arcing a single brow as he did so. The blood that had been rushing to the ram's groin switched directions and came to his face, darkening his cheeks, highlighting the black around his muzzle and nostrils.

"I'm so sorry," Elijah spluttered out, "I just...I mean...well..." no matter how he tried, Elijah was unable to find a way to explain himself. The stallion laughed then, and it filled the space between them. Moments ago, when there had been the roll and rush of thunder, the structure had been shaken from the outside. With the way the stallion's laughter echoed, hung, and clung to the wood, the shack shook from within.

"Take your time," the stallion teased, "I want to know just how a handsome ram ended up here in only his underwear."

Elijah knew his blush was darkening, spreading. The stallion's intense, dark gaze was unflinching, unwavering, direct, and powerful. Gnawing gently on his bottom lip, Elijah realized the gray dappling of the stallion's coat was more intense than he first thought. Instead of white with spots of gray, the horse before him was gray with specks of white, and water running from his mane onto the floor. He didn't seem bothered by it. How long had this horse lived up here not to be bothered by the rain? Curiosity, as ever, helped Elijah overcome his tied tongue. "I'm sorry," he repeated, this time slower, more controlled, his breathing even. He had adverted his eyes to one of the bare walls, not looking at the stallion. It was easier for him not to stare at the raw and primally masculine figure so close to him. With his eyes so turned, he missed the way the horse's lips twitched in a small smirk. Elijah continued, explaining about the weekend in the mountains, about Nic's shitty directions, about his decision to turn around on the trail and head back when he had felt the storm, about getting caught and seeing the small trail to the structure they now were, and finally about his decision to strip down to next to nothing. All the while, Elijah's ears twitched, and he was aware of water dripping from the stallion, of his regular breathing, and the cacophony of the storm outside of the thin walls. The stallion exhaled when Elijah finished, and the ram turned his gaze back to him.

"Well, I don't think you'll be the first or the last to get caught in one of these late summer storms," the stallion said, "tell me your name."

"My name?"

"Yes, your name, unless you want me to keep calling you underpants ram in my head?" the stallion asked. Elijah didn't need to be looking at him to know there was a smile on his lips. The blush, which had died down as he had been explaining himself, came back suddenly and if possible, more intensely than when the stallion had first entered.

"Elijah. My name is Elijah," he introduced himself, his head tilting down and his eyes darting towards the floor.

"Pleasure to meet you, Elijah. I'm Claude," the stallion, Claude, introduced himself, and there was the sound of movement. With his cheeks, muzzle, and nose still dark, Elijah turned his head to see the stallion bending over from the waist, with one massive palm extended. The ram felt himself go even darker as he took the horse's hand, felt the callouses on the palm that spoke of years of manual labor, of a life led in the wilds. Elijah's own such callouses had faded. Too much time with books and papers, and not nearly enough time in the field. The subtle callouses of regular sessions in the gym were nothing compared to the rough, sure, and overwhelming grasp of Claude's hand.

"So, is this, I mean..." Elijah began. Claude let loose another one of his deep, room filling laughs and he tossed his head back. His muzzle almost brushed the ceiling in such a posture. The room, which had seemed a decent size when Elijah had first come into it now seemed almost cramped with the easy way the draft horse filled it with both his body and his voice.

"Relax Elijah, you don't need to be so on edge," Claude reassured, placing one of his powerful palms directly onto the ram's bare shoulder. In his chest, Elijah's heart raced. The stallion was confident, easy, and sure of himself in a way few others were. Granted, Elijah had known stallions before. His best friend growing up had been an Arab colt, fond of running and passionate about anything that caught his fancy. Claude though was something else, something more than that. Perhaps it was that Elijah hadn't been in such a confined space with a stallion in a long time.

"Is this cabin yours then?" Elijah asked.

"Nice of you to call this shanty a cabin. No, it's not mine. I work with the park service out here, and structures like these are scattered throughout the park incase days like today happen. They're little more than emergency shelters. You could spend more than a night here, but you really wouldn't want to," Claude explained as he walked to the back left corner of the cabin, kneeling down as he did so. Elijah watched as the stallion's hands moved over the floor, his fingertips seeking...what the ram didn't know.

Claude let out a small snort and despite himself, Elijah moved closer. With water still dripping from his mane, the stallion pulled at the floor. A section of the floor pulled away, and the horse bent over, digging through the small hole. The floorboard which had been removed rested against the wall, and Elijah wondered to himself how he could have missed it. His eyes flicked back to Claude as the horse removed a small propane tank, a hose, what looked like a hotplate, and a bag. The stallion turned his gaze back towards the ram and offered another easy smile.

"You weren't too far you know," Claude offered.

"Too far from where?" Elijah watched as Claude turned back and continued digging in the small hole, giving off the occasion snort as his hands ran over something.

"The cabin your friend Nic mentioned. On the trail back down, you passed the turn that would have taken you there," Claude explained, "you give him too little credit. While his directions were off, they weren't as bad as you led me to believe with the way you described him."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Scout's honor, I'm not lying."

"Were you ever a scout?" Elijah asked raising a single brow, crossing his arms over his chest as he did so. Claude turned back to the ram, and there was an honest grin across his broad muzzle. "Earned my final merit badge and completed my service project in my junior year of high school," he offered, "I still have the photo on my phone, the battery's dead."

"It would be," Elijah said, shaking his head slightly, unable to prevent a smile of his own. The stallion stood then, and his hand moved to his left thigh. Elijah's breath caught in his throat as Claude dug around, shifting, water continuing to drip from his mane and tail. As Elijah's eyes had become reaccustomed to the dark, he was able to take in the various shades of gray and white on Claude's pelt. There was smoke, thundercloud, slate, iron, and dove contrasting against paper, ivory, eggshell, and that first seen and most striking pearl. He managed to pull himself back to the moment as Claude let out a nicker and he removed a plastic bag from his pocket. Elijah caught it easily when the stallion threw it. Inside the bag was a phone, similar enough to Elijah's that he found the power button in less than two seconds. Holding it down, nothing happened, and the ram chuckled. He looked up at the stallion, tilting his head to meet Claude's gaze. The same easy, friendly grin was still plastered across his muzzle, and Elijah felt another blush move up his neck.

"You look rather handsome when you blush," Claude offered. This caused Elijah to emit an undignified (if only in his own mind) snort, and to blush deeper. How long had it been since anyone had called him handsome? The most he got on Howlr or the equivalent was 'geek cute' or 'nerd hot'. Granted, in all the photos he had of himself, he didn't have one where he was wearing as little as he was now. He had seen too many of his friends throughout high school and college regret sending those sorts of photos freely. Those sorts of things always seemed to come back later and bite you in the ass.

"Thanks," the ram finally muttered.

"Been a while since someone gave you a compliment like that I'm guessing?" Claude asked.

"What are you, a psychic?"

"No. I already told you, I work with the park service," Claude said with that same easy smile on his voice.

"Doing what exactly?"

"Mostly trail maintenance, some mapping projects, and occasionally offering next to naked rams a place to stay for the night." The last part of the statement made Elijah swing his head up quickly. The smile had been replaced by a smirk. An honest to goodness, no holds barred smirk. Elijah laughed. It wasn't Bill's or Claude's laugh, but a laugh none-the-less.

"I walked right into that one, didn't I?' Elijah asked.

"You did, now if you don't mind, I'm going to put this little thing to use," Claude said, shifting his muzzle towards the tanks of propane and miniature burner, "I'm not much of a cook, but I think we both could use something hot in our systems, wouldn't you agree?"

Elijah nodded, and Claude turned, taking his time to make sure the tubing was properly affixed before he turned the tap on the propane tank and clicked the burner to life. The blue flames cast long shadows around the small structure, and they danced and shifted as Claude went about his task. Elijah watched as the horse moved about. With the new light source, it was easy to see the slight shivering of Claude's hand, his mane, and the way his tail twitched, sending droplets of water about.

"Do you really want to keep your shirt on?" Elijah asked. The horse looked up as he placed a cast iron pan on the metal ring above the small cookfire. Both ears were swiveling quickly, and his head was lifted. Elijah knew he was blushing again, and he took a deep breath, counted to three, released it before he again addressed Claude. "What I mean to say is I know being in wet clothing is the worst, and you don't want to catch your death of cold."

"I don't think anyone has ever caught a cold, much less their death of one, from staying in wet clothing," Claude argued back, almost teasing.

"You didn't say anything about your comfort. After all, you've already seen me in my underwear. I promise I won't laugh if you're wearing boxers with tiny hearts or have a tattoo in an ill-advised place," Elijah said.

Silence hung between the two of them for a long moment, and then Claude nodded, his ears now turned slightly to the side, clearly more at peace, more relaxed than he had been. After opening a silver foil packet, and putting the contents into the pan, the stallion stood. His hands made quick work of buttons Elijah had only noticed in the light of the flame. Inch after inch of dappled pelt and strong, powerful muscle came into view. Elijah was no stranger to seeing well-toned and sculpted bodies. He was a runner, and among his brothers there had been swimmers, wrestlers, lacrosse, and soccer players, and of course the general weight-lifting enthusiasts. Ryan had been both a wrestler and a kickboxer, still practiced as much as he could as Elijah remembered. He had gotten used to seeing the kangaroo in his singlet, clinging in all the right places to send sparks flooding directly to the darkest corners of his erotic imagination.

Claude's body was something else entirely. It should have been illegal for the stallion to wear a shirt. The deltoids, traps, and pecs all looked like something the most dedicated of the weight-lifting crowd would have sold their souls or at least their left testicles to achieve. Claude had an honest to heaven eight pack. Even Ryan, at fighting fit, had only managed to get six. Elijah dry swallowed as Claude finished removing his shirt and then put it to the side.

The stallion continued, his fingers moving next to the button of his pants. Elijah's breath hissed on an intake, and the ram was so far past caring if the horse heard him. Claude's movements were deliberate, not titillating or teasing. There was purpose to them that any stripper lacked. Not that Elijah was familiar with the world of strippers, but he had been dragged out as the designated driver more than once during his freshman year, and when he had finally come out to his brothers, they had gotten him a fake ID, taken him to the one bar about 40 miles off campus (at the edge of the city) that had male strippers, and ensured he had gotten at least three lap dances. Claude peeled off his pants with none of the flair or finesse Elijah had seen from strippers. However, Elijah knew he would never be able to forget the sight. Claude stood before him, thick thighs, an ass you could bounce a quarter off of, and low hanging balls. The stallion hadn't been wearing any underwear. Despite the rain, despite the wind, the stallion's testicles still hung heavy and low. Elijah couldn't take his gaze off them.

A soft nickering made Elijah turn up. Claude was looking down at him, the smile from earlier back on his muzzle, but there was something new to it, something not quite as open as there had been when Claude had been clothed.

"You," the stallion began, his dark eyes narrowing just a bit, "are now overdressed." Elijah knew he was blushing, his heart was thundering, and he sputtered, not sure what to say. Then it came, matching the thunder from outside. One of Claude's low, deep laughs and Elijah looked up to see the horse's head tilted back and laughter traveling through every inch of that powerful frame.

Elijah offered a chuckle of his own. Despite the storm, which had quieted slightly outside, despite getting lost on a hiking trail (perhaps due to Nic's directions, perhaps because he hadn't been paying close attention), and despite not being around Ryan, the ram was having a good time. Claude looked down at him, and the genuine smile was back. Elijah calmly extended his middle finger to the horse, who responded with a snort and another room-filling, wall-shaking laugh. It was the sort of story he wouldn't have believed - unless he had lived through it - Elijah thought to himself as Claude went back to the small propane burner, tending it and the meal that was cooking there carefully.

Saying the food was any good would have been an outright lie, and Elijah had never been a good liar. Even with the poor quality of the food, the conversation flowed easily. Claude shared stories of other storms and some of the things he had seen on the trails during his time with the park service. Claude told him about the time he had stumbled across a group having an orgy, and Elijah almost choked on his food. Claude was behind him instantly, powerful arms around his midsection, ready to administer the Heimlich maneuver. Feeling the stallion's heat, arms pressed directly against his chest, and soft breath teasing the back of his neck only made the situation worse for Elijah, especially as the speckled stallion chose to angle his head so that his muzzle ran against Elijah's left side, the side that had always been a bit more sensitive. However, Elijah managed to recover, although he knew he was blushing furiously. He tried not to think of how long it had been since someone had held him like that, how long it had been since he had last felt another body pressed against his own.

"I should have waited to tell that one," Claude offered, and for the first time since they had met, Elijah saw a hint of darkness around the nostrils and muzzles of the other male. He was blushing at long last.

Smiling, the ram said, "You couldn't have known how I was going to react, not your fault. You've got to continue though. What happened? How did the orgy react?"

"Well, this black bear, bigger than me..."

"It's possible for someone to be bigger than you? What are you, seven feet tall?"

"I'm only six foot nine. Anyway, this huge black bear came over, eyed me up and down, and asked me if I wanted to suck his dick."

Elijah was glad he hadn't swallowed anything recently because that would have made him spit out his food at the very least. His eyes went wide as he tried to imagine the scene. Claude continued the story, his hands moving through the air, voice rising and falling and filling the space between the two of them easily. However, Elijah was still fixated on the image of the naked bear, eyeing the stallion, and boldly asking if the stallion wanted to suck his dick. It seemed like something out of a porno, but Claude had said it so deadpan, so matter-of-factly, that either the stallion was one hell of a bullshit artist, or it was something that had happened. He was inclined to believe the latter over the former.

After the meal had ended, as Claude pulled a hand-powered lantern from the hiding hole, Elijah shared a few stories of his own. He told about the time he had gone streaking as part of his rush period. He told of the toga party where Bill had ended up naked in the middle of the dance floor halfway through the night. He told about the trip to the beach house, specifically when he walked in on Nic getting a blowjob in the kitchen. Claude was an attentive listener, asking questions at the right parts of each story to get Elijah to bring forth details. When Elijah mentioned what happened after he came out, the stallion let loose another one of his form-filling laughs, the one that echoed around the entire room. "I wish my friends in college had been more like yours when I came out," the stallion said as he brought a hand to his eye.

"You're gay?" Elijah blurted out.

"I am indeed quite happy," Claude answered as he turned his head back towards the ram, "but I'm pan, not gay. My last serious relationship was with a wonderful doe, and before that, I dated a trans-man wolf. He had the biggest knotted dildo, and I absolutely loved it when he would snarl, snap it on, and bend me over..." the stallion trailed off, another blush coloring his features. Elijah's head spun from the two revelations in such a short time. Not only was Claude not straight, but the stallion was far from the exclusive power top that stallions were almost always portrayed as being. Granted, Elijah knew that porn was far from the real world, but even in the few profiles of stallions he saw on Howlr or other dating/hookup apps, they almost always proclaimed themselves to be exclusive tops. Claude however had offered freely that he had been pegged, and...Elijah's eyes traveled down to the stallion's package. Claude's balls were lower now, and his sheath seemed slightly more puffed, thicker, fuller than it had been only seconds before. The memory was threatening to make him hard, Elijah realized. The ram arched both of his brows, wanting to ask more questions, to get further details about what had happened with the wolf. Instead, he simply asked, "So how did your friends react?"

"A lot of them just called me greedy. Some of them didn't seem to get the fact that I like the person, not what body parts they may or may not have. My campus' queer group was fairly cool about it, but there weren't many other pan-identified folks about. It was a bit lonely, but I made it through college, and then there was George..." Claude let out a small sigh.

"George was the wolf?" Elijah asked.

"No, the wolf was Max. George was a lion. He was about ten years older than me, and he was the one who got me interested in working with the park service."

"What happened with George?"

"It's a story you've probably heard before."

"I'd like to hear your version of it," Elijah said.

Claude gave another long sigh, his powerful shoulders rising and falling in a simple shrug. "Boy falls in lust with an older man. Older man and boy live together for a while. Older man wants a more traditional life, a house, the picket fence, two or three cubs. Boy isn't ready for that. Older man understands, and says goodbye, looking for someone who is ready for that life," Claude said. His mouth had become a serious line, and his gaze was somewhere off in the distance, somewhere that was not the hear and now of the shack. There was the boom of thunder, distant this time. The ferocity of the rain and wind had died down, and Claude sat, his long muzzle resting on a broad palm, dark eyes not focused. Elijah let him be with his thoughts. At least Claude had been with George. That was more than had ever happened between him and Ryan. There had been playful banter, lots of fantasy, and more than a few suggestive looks, or what Elijah thought were suggestive looks. However, he had never held the kangaroo's hand, never given him more than a playful side bro-hug, never felt their lips meet in a kiss.

They sat, each one of them alone with their thoughts. Elijah moved, going over to his backpack, and taking out his phone again. It was now past seven in the evening, and the storm, although much lighter, was still ongoing outside. He turned his head back, and he saw that Claude hadn't moved. His head was still in his palm, and only the light swiveling of his ears indicated he was still aware of Elijah's movements. Slowly, the ram returned to Claude. Sinking down, Elijah placed his palm on Claude's left shoulder, feeling the strong muscle beneath the soft coating of hair and flesh. Claude turned his gaze, his eyes widening as he did so. Elijah lifted the phone and showed him a picture. "You see the raccoon with the shit-eating grin, double fisting the forties?" Elijah asked, his voice light.

"That has to be Nic, right?" Claude replied.

"Got it in one, and the bull trying to pull off the frosted tips?"

"Bill. Why didn't anyone tell him it made him look like an idiot?"

"We did, but best of luck convincing Bill of anything once he's made his mind up about something," Elijah said. He went through the photos, showing different scenes, telling more stories, ones he hadn't already shared. All the while, he kept his hand on Claude's back. It was a small thing, but Elijah knew sometimes it was the small things that made the most difference.

Silence sat between them once Elijah finished showing Claude the photos. According to the screen, it was only a little past eight in the evening. It felt much later. Time could be funny that way, Elijah had learned. From the corner of his eye, he saw the horse open his mouth, and yawn. Elijah found himself mirroring it less than a second later. He looked at Claude, and Claude looked back at him, then they both looked at the bed. The almost perfectly made bed. Elijah knew he was blushing. He was past caring. If it had been a lifetime since he had last been touched, last been held, it had been even longer since he had shared a bed with anyone, for any reason. Even when he had had boyfriends, he wasn't the sort of ram who shared a bed easily. He turned his gaze back towards Claude, and the horse's muzzle and eyes were pointed directly to the bed. "It's all yours, I've slept on floors before, and I'll do so again," Claude said, raising his left shoulder in a half-shrug.

"Don't be ridiculous," Elijah shout back, "this is far more your space than it is mine. I'll make do with my backpack, somehow."

The stallion arched a single brow at him, and Elijah responded in kind, looking at Claude. A second passed, and then another. He couldn't tell what they were waiting for, but he knew he didn't want to be the first one to say the thought that hung on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed as the stallion's dark gaze was on him, unflinching, almost unblinking he would have said. Elijah's blush darkened, and his tongue darted over his lips, trying to will himself to say something, anything. "I've been told I snore," Claude said.

"And allegedly I talk in my sleep," Elijah said.

"What a pair we'll make?" Claude teased.

Smiling, Elijah moved towards the bed. His hoof-falls weren't the only ones. He looked at Claude, large enough to easily fill a bed this size on his own, still naked. Elijah had moved his own hand to the waist of his boxer briefs, and Claude moved his eyes from Elijah's down to the ram's hand. "You don't have to..." the horse began.

"I always sleep naked. It's the only way I'm comfortable," Elijah said. The two of them looked directly at each other, as Elijah pulled down his underwear. He knew what he looked like naked. He had seen himself in a mirror almost every morning. Still trim, perhaps without the obvious definition of when he had been competing in track, but nothing to be ashamed of. More than 'nerd cute', at least he thought to himself. He kicked his underwear to the side and slide between the crisp sheets, the mattress soft and welcoming to his weight. Moments passed before he felt the dip of the mattress on the other side. Focusing on his breathing, Elijah willed himself not to turn his head. He felt it then, Claude's back against his. Claude's mane teased the top of Elijah's head and despite himself, the bighorn ram turned just slightly.

"Sorry in advance if your mane gets tangled in my horns," Elijah offered.

"I've been meaning to get it cut anyway," Claude responded.

There was another small shift from Claude's side, then there was a click, and the shack was in darkness. Outside, Elijah knew the storm was dying. Closing his eyes as hard as he could, he focused on his breathing, willing himself not to pay attention to the rise and fall of the stallion's back, not to notice the subtle twitches of the tail as it dragged against his buttocks and thighs, and most importantly, not to pay attention to the heat radiating from the stallion next to him, and not notice how their breaths began to match each other's. It was like when he was a child, he thought to himself. He felt the tiredness in his body, knew he should be able to fall asleep easily and quickly, but it just wasn't happening. With his eyes still closed, Elijah tried to use the limited meditation techniques he knew. Inhale, hold for three seconds, exhale. Inhale, hold for four seconds, exhale. Elijah kept repeating the pattern until...

Sometime later, Elijah wasn't certain exactly how much time had passed, only that he must have fallen asleep. He had shifted though. He knew what had woken him, a strand of Claude's mane teased his muzzle. He had rolled over, and he was pressed against the herculean back of the stallion. A heartbeat passed, and then another. Claude's breathing was still as regular as clockwork. Elijah knew he should roll back over and try to return to sleep. He knew that he shouldn't be lowering his muzzle, inhaling the deep, rich scent of the stallion next to him. He knew he shouldn't inch closer, his erection free of its sheath dragging against Claude's lower back. All of these were things he knew, yet he was unable to stop himself from doing them.

He hated himself. Claude could have, should have cast him back into the storm when he had discovered Elijah in the shack. At the least, Elijah should have insisted that he take the floor, and woken up sore. It would have been better than what he was currently doing. Claude had been nothing but kind and welcoming, and he had done his best to make sure that Elijah was comfortable. This was how he chose to repay that kindness? Elijah's hand traveled over the obliques lightly, feeling the muscle, the heat, radiating from Claude. There was a small shift in the stallion's breathing. Elijah paused, not sure of what the slight hitch of breath might mean. Beginning to pull his hand back, he was shocked when he felt Claude's hand engulf his own.

They were pressed together, body next to body, and both knew that the other was awake. A heartbeat passed, then another. Elijah felt Claude turn, felt the fine hairs graze over his fur. The mane pulled away from his muzzle. Elijah's breath caught in his throat when he felt it. Claude's erection. It dwarfed his own. Claude could have been the horse from which the expression 'hung like a horse' was taken. Elijah had known the stallion was going to be big, considering his raw physical size, but this was...well it exceeded anything the ram might have dreamed.

Elijah tilted his muzzle up at the same time Claude tilted his muzzle down. They remained like that, muzzle to muzzle, less than an inch separating the two of them. Their breath mingled with each other, filling the space between them. He wasn't sure which of them leaned in first. He wouldn't be able to say. Their muzzles pressed against one another, soft and chaste. Then the kissing grew hungrier, more insistent. Soon their tongues glided and danced. Claude shifted, and his gargantuan erection slid against and over the ram's, and Elijah opened his mouth for a full-throated moan. The stallion took that for an invitation, and wrapped an arm around him, pulling Elijah closer.

Elijah was overwhelmed, overcome by the raw strength and masculinity pouring from Claude. Elijah tilted his head back, giving Claude access to his neck, access the stallion took as his tongue traced a long, liquid stripe in the gray-brown fur of Elijah's neck. Then Claude moved his muzzle over his collar bone. Flat teeth grazed over one of Elijah's nipples, causing him to shudder and rock his hips forward, making their erections grind against each other again.

"Tell me what you want," Claude whispered. It was deep, low, and even though said with no more than a breath, it seemed to fill the entire cabin. "Tell me what I can do for you." It was more than a suggestion, more than softly spoken words. It had weight, power, and authority behind it. It was a command.

"Please...keep touching me," Elijah gasped out. Claude rolled them, slowly, towering over him. The darkness of the cabin was almost complete, and as Elijah tilted his head up, he took in the deeper, more solid darkness that was the stallion above him. The ram knew Claude was looking down at him, seeing him. Even in the darkness, Elijah felt Claude's tireless gaze, directed right at him. The stallion's broad palm was on Elijah's thigh, fingers making small circles in the fur teasing, caressing.

"Like this?" Claude's deep voice echoed around him.

"Higher," the ram instructed. Claude's hand moved up, dragging over his thigh, teasing the curve of his hip, and then brushing against the flat plane of Elijah's stomach, deliberately avoiding the ram's leaking cock.

"You're a fucking tease," Elijah groaned. Distantly, Elijah heard a crack of lightning, and in the brief flash of light, he saw the grin crossing the stallion's face. Leaning up, the ram bit the stud's neck lightly. Claude let out a deep moan. It was something Elijah both felt and heard, and it reverberated in him, traveling through his fur, muscles, skin, blood, and bones. It filled every cell, every part of his body. He felt something wet drip onto his sternum. Without smelling or tasting, Elijah knew what it was instantly. It was pre. He had made the stallion leak, and leak for him. A wicked grin crossed the ram's muzzle as he buried his muzzle against Claude's neck.

"Put your mouth on my dick," Elijah said. There was a moment of pause, another flash of lightning followed momentarily by the crash of thunder. Then Claude's tongue teased his neck, worked its way down and circled a nipple, and came to the tip of Elijah's erection. The stallion had shifted, and Elijah wasn't certain how much of Claude was now on the bed. Hot breath ghosted over his dick. Then there were lips, hot and wet enclosed around the head of his shaft, and a tongue, broad, slightly coarse, and strong dragging over the crown of his cock. Elijah moaned and rolled his hips up. Claude accepted the thrust easily, taking him down to the root with liquid smoothness. A hand wrapped around the small of Elijah's back, holding him in place, and Claude sucked him hard, fast, and dirty, clearly with no intention of releasing him. Claude's tongue traced a vein of his member, going from crown to base, then base to crown, and finally circling the head again.

Another moan came from Elijah's throat, and it echoed off the ceiling, the walls, and the statuesque body of the stallion. It seemed only to encourage Claude to suck harder, deeper, if such things were possible. Elijah felt himself beginning to leak in the stallion's mouth. Claude doubled his efforts, moving his head back, his tongue swirling, darting, swiping, and dragging directly against and over Elijah's cockhead. His hands twisted in the sheets, and he swore. He swore in his grandfather's most colorful language. He swore as he hadn't since when he had fractured his wrist in junior year. He swore, his profanities overlapping. "Fuck don't stop. Oh, fuck, yes, harder damn it...yes, fuck yes..." It became a hymn, panted, faster, his words slurring together as Claude's mouth and tongue teased. Claude's calloused fingers dragged over his hips, his thighs, his buttocks, working the muscles, causing him to buck harder, faster, deeper, rutting himself into the willing maw of the horse.

There was an audible pop as Claude lifted his muzzle. Elijah was going to ask, going to say something when he felt the stallion above him shift. The mattress beneath him groaned as the large equine redistributed his weight, and Elijah needed to readjust the position of his head when something heavy, leathery, and scented of earth, musk, and salt dragged over his nostril and maw. No further invitation was needed. He opened his mouth as wide as he could and brought one of Claude's fat nuts into his mouth. He moved his tongue in clockwise then counterclockwise circles, using no pattern or rhythm that he was consciously aware of. He suckled, trying to open his mouth wider, not caring about the ache beginning in the hinge of his jaw. As Claude resumed working the head of the ram's dick, Elijah released the testicle he had been focusing on and moved to the other. It was as sloppy as it was enthusiastic. However, he was careful, making sure the tips of his horns weren't against anything sensitive. Although not an elk, deer, or moose, Elijah knew how sharp his horns were, and had scraped a few of his previous partners unintentionally when he had been going down on them.

The horse nickered around him, the vibration traveling through Elijah's dick and down his balls and perineum. Elijah opened his mouth wide, moaning, not sure if anything coherent or logical escaped his mouth. As the battering ram of the draft-stud's cock ground over Elijah's chest fur, the ram felt something hot and wet splatter his lower abdomen, groin, and thighs. More pre. He was making this stallion, Claude, leak with desire. As he lifted his head, Elijah's tongue traveled over the balls, snaked against the taint, and then reach the ring of muscle, Claude's entrance.

Inhaling deeply, Elijah scented only rich musk, sweat, and faint soapy smell of maleness. His tongue flicked out, over and against the stallion's hole. Above him, he felt a shiver run through Claude's body. The attentions to his dick stopped, and there was a heartbeat of silence, followed shortly by a second. "Do it again," the stallion's voice was slightly muffled by the sheets, by Elijah's thighs. Elijah put weight on his elbows, supporting his chest and neck as best he could as his tongue speared out pressing at the closed, hot, tight, ring of muscle, not seeking entrance, not yet. The top of his head was teased by the fine strands of the horse's tail and Elijah held himself where he was, his tongue moving vertically, horizontally, ghosting against Claude's entrance. The stallion snorted, and the hot breath teased Elijah's cock, thighs, and balls. Claude opened his wide mouth again and effortlessly took Elijah to the root. In-kind, Elijah's tongue worked double-time, and he placed his lips directly against the puckered doughnut of the stallion's ass.

A groan came from somewhere deep inside of Elijah as one of Claude's fingers, he couldn't be sure if it were the index or the middle, moved down the base of his shaft, over his balls, and began making controlled circles on his taint, teasing his prostate externally. He tried to focus, tried to put his tongue back to work, tried to mirror the motions of Claude's clever digits, however, Claude moved his finger and tongue in perfect mirrors of each other. If his tongue went left, his finger went right. Moan after moan of pleasure flowed from the ram's mouth, bleeding into the air, soaking into the wood, the sheets, the mattress supporting their bodies. Claude moved the finger and lifted his lips. Elijah would have protested, but he heard a slurping sound, then something wet and solid glided down his crack. Sucking in a breath, the ram waited. He didn't have to wait long. The wet digit flicked over his hole with maddening patience and precision. At his next sharp intake of breath, Claude's finger slid in arced just so, rubbing over his prostate on the first pass. Elijah's cock pulsed and leaked, and he could feel Claude's own precum on his chest. They were both ready for what would come next. There was only a single question left.

"Do you want to mount me or me to mount you?" Claude asked. His tail flicked, and some of the fine strands went directly over Elijah's forehead, past his eyes. Claude shifted again, and Elijah felt the pendulous weight of Claude balls over his chin and throat, the pillar of horse cock, teased his lower abdomen, only inches from where his own member leaked. It took a second, but the stallion was muzzle to muzzle with him. As he was still trying to decide, Claude leaned in, and their tongues met again. It was fluid, the way they blended and joined together. The percussive regularity of his heartbeat was mirrored almost perfectly by Claude's, and their rods pressed against each other. Elijah swallowed as he felt the sheer girth, length, and weight of the stallion's cock. He had read stories, and he had seen more than a few pornos were some slight twink ended up on the business end of a horse cock. Only one member of his friend group had owned being fucked by a horse.

Mike was a donkey, researching pottery-making traditions in the American Southwest, focusing on the different firing techniques that had been used over time. It had been a long night of shop talk, and more than a few beers were downed over the hours they chatted with each other. As they were both preparing for regional conferences, it had been a perfect opportunity to practice drinking and presenting. At some point, Mike's eye had been caught by a horse who had entered a bar and his expression darkened with lust. Elijah had turned his head just in time to see the horse, a dark chestnut with black around his muzzle and wide, white blaze between his eyes narrowing and leading to the tip of his muzzle.

"You know him?" Elijah asked.

"Biblically," Mike had responded.

Elijah hadn't been able to respond, his mouth hung open and the donkey's long ears swiveled. Over the din of conversations, the sound of a football game on the television, and other patrons and waitstaff moving about, Mike's attention remained focused on the brown horse. "Everything you've seen in porn, everything you might have read on the internet, it's no substitute for the real thing," Mike said, stood, finished his drink, and moved away. Elijah watched him as he came to the horse, saw the smirk on the horse's face as the donkey had approached. They had talked with each other for a grand total of perhaps fifteen seconds, before they walked out of the bar together, not quite arm-in-arm, but Mike was less than a full footstep behind the stallion.

In the present, Claude pulled back, and his hand traveled down up and down Elijah's side, going from the curve of his ass to the base of his neck, and then traveling down again. Claude's breath was slow, even, and aimed directly against his left nipple. Even in this moment of relative quiet, Claude found the right way to press all of Elijah's buttons. If it had been a long time since he had mounted someone, it had been an even longer time since he had allowed his guard down enough to turn over, to let another male inside of him. While he had a small collection of sex toys carefully hidden in the bottom drawer of his dresser - and used them on occasion, a toy was different than the real thing, especially when the real thing was as big as Claude's.

"Would I be able to..." Elijah began.

"You would. I fucked a ferret once. It took time, lots of lube, but we made it work," Claude said. Elijah swallowed. He thought of the blissful hunger he had seen on Max's face. He thought of the blush that had crossed Claude's muzzle when he remembered Max and the knotted dildo. Granted, part of that might have been the knot more than getting fucked. Elijah had taken a knot once or twice, remembered the way it had pressed directly against his prostate, how it had made his eyes roll back. The last lover he had bottomed for had been a wolf-husky hybrid who had loved to remain knotted to him, trying to pump as many loads as possible into Elijah's body. It had been an intense, short-lived relationship. Not because the sex was bad, but because of the demands of their schedule. The first year of a doctoral program didn't leave much time for a personal life, and his studies had always come first, always demanded the fullness of his attention.

"...and if I said I wanted to..." Elijah began, allowing himself to trail off. Claude's broad hand moved directly to the ram's cock, and a callused finger ran from his base to his crown, circling it, lifting a drop from his cockhead. In the near-total darkness of the cabin, Elijah heard the distinct sound of something being sucked. He imagined Claude, eyes closed, mouth wide open, muzzle moving up and down. He remembered the way the horse's lips had felt around him, and he shuddered.

"If you want to fuck me, I'm up for that too. I know you taste good, and I bet you feel even better," Claude exhaled, his muzzle almost directly against the ram's ear. Elijah angled his head and buried his muzzle against the column of the stallion's throat. He inhaled, their combined scents bleeding together, musk, sweat, pre, and lust. Elijah wondered what the next user of the cabin would smell. He guessed that there were cleaning supplies somewhere in the small hole, however, he didn't know how much good they would do.

"And if I said I wanted both?" Elijah asked, his lips on Claude's left pectoral. The draft horse was still for a moment, his muzzle pressing against the top of the ram's head, resting comfortably in the space between the horns. Then he felt it, the twitch of lips, and Elijah knew the large equine was smiling.

"Then I hope you have lots of lube," Claude said.

"I...may have brought some supplies," Elijah confessed. A rustling of sheets, a lack of heat, and then the mad whirring of the hand lantern being cranked. The small shack was filled with the yellow glow, and Elijah took Claude in. The stallion's cock was double his in length, maybe a little more, and it looked as thick as his wrist. The ram silently prayed that he hadn't bit off more than he could chew. His hooves hit the ground, and he rushed towards his backpack. He dug, all the way to the bottom, where there was the small bag for his toiletries rested. The zipper slid, and he held the 3oz bottle in his hand for a second. While he hadn't thought that anything would happen this weekend, a part of Elijah had wished that Ryan and he would finally do something. Although he had never been a scout, he had hoped, he had wanted, and he had prepared for it. Elijah was glad he had decided on it. His gaze moved from the bottle in his hand to Claude. The stallion's hand moved up and down his shaft, slowly, pausing as he reached the space near the middle, fingers flicking against the medial ring. Transfixed, Elijah stared for an even longer moment.

"We'll make it work," Claude's voice, deep, low, steady echoed around him drawing the bighorn ram out of his trance and into the present, "the question is do you want to fuck or be fucked first? Either is fine by me." Claude, Elijah thought to himself, was wasted in the park service. The stallion had the voice, the body, and the cock that would have made him a star for any number of porn studios. Then again, maybe Claude wanted to break that stereotype about horses. Not all horses were mindless rutting machines. Elijah swallowed, stood, his cock bouncing as he closed the distance between himself and the stallion. He came to Claude and placed his hand on the top of the stallion's dripping member. Collecting a bead of pre, he brought it to his lips, his tongue darted out. Claude's eyes grew darker, and the stallion snorted as Elijah's throat bobbed.

"I want to..." Elijah's voice was barely above a whisper, "feel this inside me." His hand moved back to the stallion's cock, traveling up and down it, following the path, mirroring the movements he had seen moments before. Claude leaned across, causing his dick to shift in Elijah's hand. Their muzzles met as they kissed, Claude's member leaking slightly and pulsing as their tongues danced with each other. As Claude broke the kiss, he locked his gaze with the smaller male's. "It will be easiest for you if you're on your hands and knees," Claude said.

Swallowing, Elijah nodded and assumed the position. His eyes closed as he heard, felt the movements of the stallion behind him. A broad palm moved down his back, over his buttock, traced his thigh, circled back to his groin, and cupped his balls. Claude's muzzle teased his sack, and then moved up. Elijah shuddered as the stallion inhaled him deeply. He remembered what he had learned of the different reproductive behaviors of the different mammals. He bit his tongue - wondering, if Claude saw him as a mare, his mare in this moment. The question vanished as the horse's tongue traced the ring of muscle slowly and deliberately. The draft stallion's tongue was proportional to his body, and as Claude moved it horizontally, vertically, taking a moment to exhale over the patch of moisture he had just left, and Elijah's cock leaked against his abdomen, over the sheets. "Fuck, yes, please, fuck, fuck, fuck," Elijah chanted when Claude's tongue probed in him. Both of the stallion's hands were on the ram's thighs, pulling him closer, holding him in place, giving Elijah the support he needed.

Elijah twitched his ears when the distinct snap of the lube being opened. A shiver ran up and then down his spine as a generous dollop hit his rim. As he inhaled, Claude's finger began teasing him. It had been a while since anything of any size had gone in him, and the ram had to focus on his breathing. Squeezing his shut eyes, the ram felt the starburst of pain as a broad finger began probing. Sinking his teeth into his lower lip, Elijah tasted blood. Then a moan flew out of his mouth as the finger slid, sparking heat in him. Claude shifted his finger, and it hit his prostate directly. Another move of his finger, again directly over the prostate. Claude was mercilessly precise. If Elijah had been swearing before, he was cursing in earnest now. When the finger pulled out, there was a moment of waiting before more lube, and two fingers pushed in. Claude was methodical, working in and out, swirling, scissoring his fingers, crooking them just so, making the ram's cock leak constantly, keeping him swearing, his eyes rolled back. He needed to feel more. Two fingers became three, moving in a waltz, going deep and slow on the one and three count, and bending, teasing on the two.

The ram wasn't sure how much more he would be able to take of this when the fingers pulled out again, and his ears twitched at the sounds of the bottle opening. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as Claude poured lube onto his hand, and then anointed his shaft. He worked down, the stallion's pre combining with the lube. Even in this moment of passion, the stallion was thorough, making sure as much of his member was coated as possible. Elijah swallowed as Claude positioned himself, standing, aligning his cock against the ram's hole. The draft horse rolled his hips, dragging his impressive phallus along and over Elijah's crack, teasing his hole. He paused as his head, not yet flared, but still broad and thick rested on the rim of the ram's body.

"Last chance to back out of this," Claude said, "I'm going to be honest. If I start fucking you as I want, I don't think I'll be able to stop until..."

"Until you cum," Elijah finished for him. Inhaling, the ram took a second to gather himself. This was it, the point of no return. He nodded, not trusting his voice for a moment.

"Are you saying..."

"Get in and fuck me, Claude," Elijah said. His voice was as steady as he could make it, considering the situation. The stallion didn't need to be told twice.

Elijah's hands twisted in the sheets as Claude began to push in. While three fingers would have been more than enough preparation for most partners, Elijah wondered if he should have insisted on a fourth. Every cell of his body burned, and for the first time since they had started exploring each other, the ram felt his cock beginning to wilt. The pain blossomed, fiery petals spreading through his haunches, pushing up his spine, lancing through his lungs, and making him shut his eyes in a different way. Earlier, he had wanted to focus on the sensations of his body. Now he did it hoping he could wish the pain away. Claude paused, rocking himself, hitting not his prostate, but something close to it, and the pain receded, just slightly.

"Breathe for me baby," Claude said. Elijah nodded, and remembered to inhale, exhale. The endearment fell from Claude's mouth so easily, so freely, that Elijah hadn't noticed until another two inches of the stallion was inside of him.

"So fucking tight," Claude hissed, "and you chose to get horse fucked." Another inch and then something harder, broader. The medial ring, the halfway point. Claude was only halfway in, and he was already if not the longest, at least the thickest of any of Elijah's partners. The ram exhaled and there was a slight pop as the medial ring pressed in. If his cock had gone down during the initial insertion, it was back to full hardness as that ring dragged over and against his prostate. The ram shifted, putting more weight on his forearms, allowing Claude to slide in easier, a little faster. The stallion took advantage of the new angle and pushed in. Pleasure, pain, they wound around inside, twisting through him, smeared together as he felt Claude's hips coming to rest against his ass, and heard the faint clap as stallion's balls swung forward, hitting his own.

Despite what Claude had promised, he held himself in place. There was a heartbeat of a pause, followed by another, and then a third. The stretch, the burn, started to fade as the reality set in. This, this was what everything had led up to. The flirtations with Ryan, the loss of the trail, the need to take shelter in the storm. He was here, on the business end of a stallion's cock, being filled as he had never been before. Elijah exhaled and gave a small nod.

"So good for me baby," Claude praised. Then he began, not a walk, a trot, a pace that horses could, and sometimes did, hold for hours. Not an outright canter or gallop, not yet, but each thrust spoke of need. Each was direct, and the force of each impact made the bed under them shiver and groan. The storm could have resumed outside, and Elijah wouldn't have known. Claude's grunts, his own moans, the whispered profanities, they were all the ram was paying attention to. With each slick motion, the medial ring pressed directly onto the ram's prostate. Then the thrusts grew longer, the pace the same. More of Claude was entering and exiting him, dragging against, and teasing the nerve endings deep inside of Elijah.

Sex filled the air, heavy and rich. It was masculinity, lust, dense, and almost honey-sweet. It was the sort of scent that once you smelled would linger at the back of your nose for the rest of your life, Elijah thought. Then Claude bottomed out again, his hips crashing into Elijah's upturned ass, and the ram's cock jumped, and the thought vanished.

Power: every move the draft stallion made spoke of power, of confidence. Elijah was dimly aware of Claude's fingers digging into his hips. He was more acutely aware of how the shift in position caused wave after wave of pleasure to roll from his prostate, through his cock, and up his spine. "Harder, fuck, harder, fuck, fuck me like I'm your mare," Elijah chanted. It was a spur for the stallion, who moved from trot to canter, from a two-beat to a three. As Claude surged forward, Elijah rocked back, taking the brutal, direct assault. He would be sore in the morning, he knew, but he was far beyond caring. The future was worlds away, this was present. What he needed in the present was more.

He felt something beginning to grow inside causing him to utter a wordless oath. Was that? It was, the stallion's, his stallion's flare was beginning to grow.

Their balls no longer clapped on each of the stud's thrusts. Claude had gone from canter to gallop seamlessly. The force, the intensity telling the caprine everything words couldn't. Words were superfluous. They would get in the way. Claude panted, grunted, snorted, reminding Elijah of every porno, every story he had ever read that featured a stallion. Mike had been right. Nothing lived up to the physical Claude's immense member inside him.

Then Claude came. A deafening whinny echoed through the cabin as the stud tightened his grip on Elijah's hips, pushing himself in. Blindingly hot, explosive in its intensity, Claude's orgasm alone threatened to send Elijah over the edge. Three, four, five bursts of hot, potent semen filled the ram's bowels. Claude panted, his cock still pulsing inside of the ram. He leaned down and placed a kiss first on Elijah's shoulder, then on his neck. Twisting his head, Elijah's muzzle met Claude's for a slow, lingering kiss. Claude slid out, gradually, and an ache echoed through Elijah. He felt seed leak from his hole, down his balls, onto his thighs and the sheets.

"Are you still hard?" Claude asked as they finally broke their kiss. Even with his legs shaking as they did, Elijah rolled over, his cock bouncing as it did so. Pre leaked from his head as if it were a broken tap. Claude's tongue darted over his mouth as he looked down at Elijah's leaking prick. Leaning in again, Claude's kissed the ram, all intensity and desire. Chest was against chest, and Elijah was almost overwhelmed by it. The stallion was against him: imposing, large, powerful, had just cum what felt like a gallon inside of him, and wanted...more.

"Good," the stallion said, and the grin on Claude's face was the sort that could have tempted almost anyone, at least in Elijah's point of view. "It's been a while since I've had a real cock inside of me, and I want yours. Now, how do you want me?"

"On your back," Elijah said. "I want to see you when..."

"When you fill me?" Claude completed the thought. The ram nodded. The two shifted on the bed and Claude lay back, pulling his legs to his chest. His hole, the ring of muscle into his body, was fog in color, an almost perfect circle. Elijah moved from the bed and fell to his knees. For the second time that night (or was it morning now?) he put his mouth to it. It was as just as he remembered, musky, slightly salty, the faintest hint of grass and earth, a taste that was totally the stallion's, intoxicating, maddening. His tongue flicked over and in, spearing, swiping, dragging. Claude was as responsive as Elijah could have hoped for, his moans echoing through the small structure. The bighorn ram was careful, assuming a similar angle of his head to the one he had used earlier in the night. The last thing he wanted was to injure Claude.

Elijah would willingly admit this was far from the most skilled rim job he had ever given. What he lacked in technique, he made up for in enthusiasm. It was all hunger, all need, done quickly and roughly. Based off the sounds coming from Claude, the stallion didn't have any complaints. Elijah wanted to make Claude as needy, as desperate as he had felt before the stallion had entered him. That might not be possible, as his own cock pulsed and leaked, and every cell of his body screamed at him to get inside the stallion and jackhammer, thrust madly, rut until climax. It would not be something slow and gentle. This would be no lovemaking session. This would be a fuck, hard, dirty, quick, and mind-blowing (for Elijah at least).

The ram felt still warm seed leak from his ass, and his tongue stopped mid-swipe. His finger flew, gathering a few droplets of the pearly fluid. Before it congealed, the ram pushed the semen-covered digit into Claude's waiting body. The stallion snorted, and despite the load he had just dropped, the head of his prick emerged from his sheath. Claude tilted his neck, looking down his statuesque form, eyes locking with Elijah's for a second. "You," he whispered, and then moaned as the ram's finger found the inner seat of male pleasure, pressing against it firmly, circling, and then drawing back, "are one kinky son of a bitch. I like it." Elijah smirked in response, repeating the motion, getting another moan, this time louder, stronger than the one that had preceded it. Elijah pulled his finger out of Claude, pressed back into himself, and using more of the stallion's deposit, coated two fingers that were quickly inserted into the tight donut.

Elijah was not as thorough as Claude had been. Like with his rimming, this was something quick, born from need. Also, while Elijah was well endowed - for a ram - he was no stallion. Still, based on the groans, the cock sliding free from its sheath, and the occasional "Fuck, right there!" or "Again, please!" that Claude shouted, Elijah guessed he was doing something right. When he had done as much as he had patience for, the ram pulled his fingers from Claude's body, slicked them with what might be the last of the stud's cum, and slathered his dick with it.

Lining himself up with Claude's hole, he looked down at the stallion. The draft horse's dark eyes connected with his. Elijah leaned down and brought his muzzle to Claude's. The two of them exchanged a lingering kiss before breaking. His dick was against Claude's tailhole, and he began pressing in. He saw Claude bite his lip, remembered the initial insertion, and tried to be as slow, as gentle as the stallion had been, despite the need building him, the part of him that screamed he should hilt himself directly. Claude's tunnel was a velvet vice, and it took a tremendous act of willpower not to lose control and cum as the stallion clamped down around him, the inner tunnels rippling and tensing around his cock.

Bottoming out, Elijah held himself still for a moment. Claude released the hold on his legs, and they soon wrapped around the ram's midsection, pulling Elijah further in, holding him in place. Not that he would have pulled out. This...inside of the stallion's body, looking down and seeing Claude's face full of desire, and want, was where he needed to be. He wouldn't move from here, not until he had come.

Elijah's first thrust was shallow, a mere twitch of the hips. A suggestion, more than an actual movement. It was a subtle thing that made Claude's eyes grow larger - darker - and caused the stallion's legs to tighten around him and make another inch of the equine phallus slide free. Elijah repeated it, and Claude gave a small nicker of pleasure in response. Off to a good start. The third thrust was more sure, more confident, and as Elijah pressed himself into the body beneath his, the stallion looped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him down for a kiss.

Their kissing continued as Elijah began to find his rhythm. Even though it had been a while since he had had a bedfellow, Elijah's body remembered, and as he shifted the position of his body slightly, he hit something inside of Claude that made the stallion break the kiss, gasp, and tighten his legs in response. His entire body, including the inner passage, reacted by tightening, threatening to send Elijah off like a rocket. He breathed, reciting the list of ages and their approximate ages as well as going through all the types of flint knapping he could remember. It might not be much, but it kept him from going over the edge, which was all he needed in the moment.

Elijah tried, as best he could, to follow the same sort of gait style fucking Claude had used. However, the way Claude's ass clenched and worked his cock made repeating the movements difficult. Also, he was no stallion. There were some things that horses could do better, he admitted to himself. Still, they found their pattern, and Elijah bit his lip as he continued plunging, fucking. His entire body tingled, all his senses focused on, entranced by the stud beneath him. The entire length of the stallion's cock was free of its sheath now.

He leaned down, feeling the small ache in his neck as his lips connected with the crown of Claude's penis. Elijah suckled it as best he could, his hips stammering for a moment, but then he was able to time his thrusts and the motions of this tongue, and if Claude had been incoherent before, now the stallion's moans and snorts of pleasure were an unending symphony.

All of Elijah's body ached, craved release. He bucked wildly against and into Claude, feeling the draft horse's body tense and work around his cock. Tasting a drop of pre on his tongue, feeling it slide down his throat, that was all it took to push the bighorn caprine over the edge. Three hard, fast thrusts, his hips slamming into the draft horse beneath him. He came, stars dancing at the edge of his vision, his body thrumming, alive in a way it hadn't been for a long time. He came, shot after shot of seed leaving him, entering the stallion beneath him. Claude, his own dick still leaking into Elijah's mouth, kept the ram in place with his powerful legs until the last volley of cum had fired from the ram's dick, and Elijah was shaking.

As the ram pulled out slowly, he looked down at the stallion. The stallion looked up at him.

"You said you had come up for a boy's weekend away, right?" Claude asked, his voice low.

"I did. What...?" Elijah began, falling onto the mattress. Claude looped an arm around him, pulling him closer.

"There's a well-equipped ranger's cabin about five kilometers from here. We can leave in the morning, as the storm has broken. Come with me, and I promise you a weekend you'll never forget," Claude's voice was measured, but beneath it, Elijah heard something more. Want, desire.

"I think I will, and I might rethink where I do my dig this year," Elijah said.

"Good," Claude said, running a hand down the ram's back, pulling Elijah closer. Elijah placed his muzzle against Claude's side, inhaled deeply their scent, their sex, and began to feel himself drift off to sleep.

---

I hope everyone enjoyed reading this. This is my longest creative project in years and I doubt I would have been able to finish it without some help. Special thanks go to Stinkdog. They helped me with the editing process and helped this story become much smoother. Additionally, a huge thanks to my longtime friend CanadianWusky, whose character I borrowed as a reference. I hope you liked seeing your boy as a cameo. Additional thanks go to the members of both Zaggy's and Mr. Stallion'sdiscord servers who gave me feedback as I worked through parts of this process and were willing to be my sounding boards as I wrote. If I left anyone out, I am sorry.