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A full moon hung low in the sparkling night sky. Its silvery light streamed through the pines and skittered across the deathly still lake. But the night was still young, and the warbling coos of pigeons still echoed from the treetops where they huddled in cozy nests.

The hustle and bustle of the lakeside camp had slowly begun to wind down. The clacking of knapstones and scrape of sleds faded into eager voices that gossiped and giggled. For the Lentavohi chores ended at sunset. So, without so much as a moment's hesitation, they had set down their stone tools and hung the last of the fresh pelts to dry, committing to their leisure as diligently as they had set to work at dawn.

They gathered in groups, some stoking fires beside the still lake, shouting and laughing as they drank and roasted the day's catch of pike and bream. Others, however, took to the warmth of their large, pointed Lavvu shelters.

Sakara was amongst the latter, flanked by a four-strong warband of rowdy companions, plus one taciturn rearguard. But rather than spears they each carried a clay jug, the sickly white contents sloshing back and forth as they waltzed towards a shelter without a care in the world.

Besides being kin, as all Lentavohi were, they didn't seem much alike: from the quiet and scrawny fox that was Sakara, to the grizzled otter in graying fur and scarred sides, to the stocky lynx who belted out a warcry for no other reason than drunken shenanigans, to the hyena who followed behind and remained by far the quietest. But the Lentavohi were well enough used to these, well, not rituals, for these weren't what you could call rituals, especially not if Sana the Shaman were in earshot. These were all night gatherings, between these hunters, specifically, and the tribe paid the ruckus no more mind than they would the horses neighing in the night breeze.

Soon enough they found their shelter, marked by a piece of blackened ivory hanging over the entryway. The cover was set aside and within they spied a toasty fire, its flickering light making the heavy reindeer hide walls glow. It emboldened the crude hunting depictions daubed upon them, the deer appearing to leap across the shelter. Though perhaps they would not look so animated to hunters who had not drunk quite so much.

With all the grace of an avalanche they piled inside. Sakara wisely stood back and waited until the scrum of flailing, half-naked hunters had squeezed inside, then neatly slipped in behind them and pulled the cover shut.

"Lads," Tukki, the older--not old, he would insist sharply, if he needed to--otter raised a jug, "here's to us who take care of what needs to be done, without distractions!"

The others followed his example and drank, save the Hyena, nearest the door, who professed no taste for kumiss. "What's that mean, then?" he leaned forward and asked the fox next to him, once his muzzle was no longer occupied with the jug.

"He means..." the Fox, who very evidently did not at all share the hyena's reluctance to partake, "like... us!" He waved a paw around the sweat lodge, generally if unsteadily taking in the gathering of males--marten, lynx, badger, otter, hyena, and oh yes, fox, mustn't forget himself--stripped naked (or mostly) and relaxing in the steam coming off the fire-heated rocks before it billowed out the hole at the top. Initially scented with handfuls of lavender, the steam rapidly absorbed the scent of musk and sweat. One might be forgiven for wondering how so many drunken hunters could stand the smell of eachother. Did they like it or something?

The hyena, still stubbornly in his loincloth and vest, thank you, crossed his arms. "What kind of distractions, Sakara, do we," he cast an uncertain eye around the sweat lodge, "not have?" His scent was muted, but unmistakably there: metallic and rich, like a long-used cooking spit.

"You know," grinned the marten, though nobody'd asked him, "we're the ones who aren't going to be putting any whelps in anybody's belly!" His scent was sharp and peppery, like wild brassica.

"That's one way to put it," Sakara shrugged and shuffled toward the hyena. He pressed his shoulder to Conor's, enjoying the prickly sensation of his short, coarse fur brushing against him. "I have... My own way of putting it."

Conor's steely gaze was fixed on Sakara, an eternal frown etched into his grizzled muzzle. It didn't so much as flinch as the fox leaned over and pressed his cold nose to the hyena's lips, nor did it appear to provoke him when he felt something firm grope his long leather loincloth.

"I see..." The hyena mumbled matter-of-factly, giving the fox a gentle, but assertive shove.

Drunk as he was, Sakara took the hint and shrank back. The hyena often needed space, and he respected that. After all, Conor had been through a lot in his twenty-two summers of strife. Each of the countless scars that shredded his sinewy body was like a boulder, tied to his waist by an unbreakable cord, that would keep him from moving forward.

"But Sakara told me the Lentavohi are not hostile to... men such as us. Behavior such as this. So why a special place?" Conor added and cocked his head to the side curiously. "Do they merely tolerate us?"

It was a fair question, admittedly. Some tribes did not tolerate it, though they were the exception. A good chief knew not to let hate fester within their fellow hunters, lest they risk a knife in the chest, or a famine when those valuable hunters up and left.

"Not at all!" Yapped the lynx, which didn't clarify much, but his eyelids were drooping as he swayed unsteadily on his backside. When he finished, the thick-scented lynx tipped his head back and gulped greedily from the jug again and if there had been anything else he'd meant to say it was apparently forgotten.

"The tribe has no qualms with men like us," Tukki chimed in. His ottery musk rode over the top of the cacophony of male smells saturating the steam like an ocarina over the sound of drums, and his voice commanded a rich wealth of wisdom, no matter how young he tried to act. "A good tribe, a strong tribe, takes care of the whelps, of course. But not too many, eh? Oh, they're precious and you'll not hear me say different, but they're also mouths to feed."

"You want more hunters than you want fathers, if you get what I mean," the marten chimed in. "More folks bringing food in than bearing children to eat it."

"All you are too young to remember," Tukki said gravely, before he was interrupted by groans, paused to shout them down, took another drink, and then remembered what he had been going to say. "Back when I was still a whelp, we did starve. Game was all gone, we were living on only fruit and roots and even," he spat into the fire, "leaves. When the drought summer hit, and all the fruit shriveled, the elders had to choose. Feed themselves, or feed us young folk." He took another long drink. "Which is why now, you lot get to act like I'm old even when I'm still in my prime!" He sat back down, legs lazily spread as if in punctuation. The murmur of understanding agreement Conor had been about to speak retreated in haste from the sight of the not-old-still-in-his-prime otter's endowments on full display.

"So you're saying that now," the marten raised an eyebrow, "we don't have to worry about a famine because having us means the tribe doesn't have as many babies?"

"Well," Tukki said, "It'd also help if some of you would listen when I tell you to be careful about overhunting."

"Yeah," Sakara chimed in, "respect the elders!" and got Tukki's discarded buckskin thong flung in his face for his troubles.

"It sounds to me," said the Lynx, with feigned innocence, "like we need to give the big strong warrior a proper welcome." The last apart from Conor to still be wearing anything, he busily proceeded to unfasten his kilt.

"Putting yourself forward for the opportunity?" the marten bristled.

"Just practicing hospitality!" The lynx leaned backward across the marten to toss his kilt atop the marten's breechcloth and leggings and took the opportunity to relax atop the other male's lap.

"And why should he prefer your... hospitality to mine?" Tukki's whiskers quivered. "Young vigor's fine while you've got it, but I've got experience, you know. You could all learn a thing or two from someone who's had time to figure out what he's doing! You know, it wasn't ever just our horses that made the other tribes envious. I would go so far to say my... Personal touch sealed more than a few trades."

"I just enjoy the company," rumbled the deep, but kindly voice of the badger, earthy and soft like his scent, who lifted his arm from around the other side of the comparatively tiny marten to shrug. "I'm sure you'll find that we're all fun lads. I've had most of them, I would only advise that you be wary of this one," he explained and softly squeezed the marten under his arm.

"What's to be wary of?" The marten barked back stubbornly, squirming free of the badger, and the lynx, and coming to... Well, he hardly towered over the badger even in this arrangement. The marten cocked his head to the side and tapped his foot impatiently on the dry grass and fur.

"You came in my eye! Felt like it was going to pop for days," the badger grumbled, cupping the formerly afflicted eye with an oversized paw for emphasis.

A chuckle went up around the room at this revelation, and the lynx even gave the marten an encouraging pat on the back. But Conor remained unmoved, still nervously eyeing each of the hunters carefully before, at last, he came to his dear Sakara. In a very rare display, Conor gripped the fox's paw and gave him a tug. It was a show of vulnerability. One so fleeting you could blink and miss it. Sakara almost did miss it, enraptured in the unfurling banter before them.

"The point is," Tukki half-shouted over the din, "the tribe has no problem with any man laying with another man. Just cause I know what a good cock tastes like doesn't make me any less of a Lentavohi, and they know that! But we still, now and then, have to have a night all to ourselves, right? A place that's for us!"

The fox's gigantic grin vanished in an instant as he turned to acknowledge the hyena. The look on Conor's face was grim. Even more so than its usual corpse-like disposition.

"Sakara, this isn't the place for me..." Conor whispered as the fox drew nearer to listen, ears perked. The hyena opened his maw to explain how it felt, like the walls were slowly closing in, squeezing him, crushing the life out of him. Like the steam was suffocating him. But the commotion was too great.

"And after all the good things I've said about you!" The marten threw up his arms in an exaggerated display of outrage, his tone far from scathing. In fact, he seemed on the brink of uncontrollable laughter as he sat back atop the shaggy skirt bunched at the badger's feet, let his head rest back against the badger's belly, and rested his arms on the thick thighs on either side of him.

"You mean like 'big, cuddly bear with the girth of an oak tree,' Harjakas?" The badger hummed, reaching down and affectionately cradling the marten's head in his paw.

"Mmhm, that's a good one," the marten cooed, and pressed his head against the badger's soft chest. When he turned and shot a curious gaze at Conor, the hyena almost recoiled from the sudden attention. "Say, Sakara, don't you have anything good to say about that exotic treat of yours."

The expression made Conor's hackles rise. It was insulting, but in a way he couldn't quite explain, like his black-spotted sandy fur made him more of a curiosity than a companion. But as furious as it made him, he bottled it up and kept his muzzle shut. An ugly fate awaited him should he turn the Lentavohi against him.

Beside him, Sakara had noticed the raised hackles and the tension in those frightening muscles hidden just beneath a half-starved body. It made his own fur stand on end, though more out of surprise than anything else. So, the fox cleared his throat and quickly cut in.

"Please, he's not exotic, and he's not a treat. Conor is a warrior who walks many trails, wild like the wind," explained the fox. As he did, he made sweeping gestures that tried their best to explain the vast distances the hyena had traveled, then sank back with a smirk while he stroked Conor's inner thigh. "And breaking him was as fun as breaking in a spirited wild horse."

The others were hooked on every word, as if it were a tale of gratuitous bravery in the face of some insurmountable challenge declared by the spirits themselves. But Conor was much less enthralled.

"Sakara..." He growled subtly, while his odd tail began to thump the floor impatiently.

In response, the fox firmly squeezed the hyena's thigh, hoping to reassure his mate as he leaned in close. Sakara pressed his lips against those broad and scruffy ears, smacking his dry lips and whispering.

"They are curious. Let me satisfy that, and they will excuse you."

Conor huffed out of frustration, nodding once, before he pressed the back of his paw against Sakara and pushed the fox away. The fox silently obliged. It hurt, but he knew Conor cared. He only did this because he cared, and he didn't want to do anything that would hurt Sakara. But the demons had always made that hard.

"A rugged kind of hunter, ay?" Cut in Pehmeä's booming voice, chin on one knee, lost in thought as he pictured the kind of hyena Conor was in bed. "Like, back against the rocks, tongue lathering your member. Or a passionate night under an open sky, rolling around in the soft dirt and grass..." The lynx mused, trailing off as he became lost in this fantasy he had created.

"Sounds wonderful" added Harjakas softly, almost lost in this fantasy with the lynx, who was his, well, not mate. Rather, the lynx and marten were simply each other's favorites and very close friends, in a sharing the same Lavvu shelter kind of way. The number of times Sakara has asked didn't that count as being mates had so far not met with any further explanation.

"Bet he stinks good too," slurred the badger as he lowered a jug from his muzzle and spat sour Kumis into the fire.

"It is a bold and impressive claim, but that equine virility you boast is rare," croaked the otter, unconvinced after his brief appraisal of the claim, as he went on to explain with the usual nostalgia for a prime long past. "In all my years I've met only two who I can say for certain rut like ornery stallions. And one of them is right here with you," he claimed and reached down to flick his sheath, which elicited another groan from Conor.

"Now, now, easy friends. I can tell from those juicy red tips poking out of your sheaths that you're hungry for a demonstration," Sakara warned and gestured to the very unashamed collection of erections that were growing around them. "But understand, Conor wanders for a reason, and we must respect that."

There was a sigh and a disappointed huff, each of the hunters looking to each other with a nod of agreement. They would not get much more tonight, that had in all honesty been clear from the start, but they had tried nonetheless. Be it out of stubbornness or a desire to cheer up their guest was up to each hunter, and what they had sought from this night.

The thought to force things in a certain direction didn't even cross anyone's mind, no matter how rowdy they got nor how much Kumis they drank. Such activities were for the hostages they captured, not a welcome guest whose mate was your very kin. Such an act would undoubtedly enrage the spirits, let alone their kin and the fierce warrior who he bedded. And the wrath of the spirits was the last thing anybody, even those of poor reputation, wanted.

"Thank you, all, for your enthusiasm," Conor bowed politely, then slowly rose and stood before the sweat lodge's fire. "But I really must be excused. I don't like leaving Kuveli on his own," he explained as he wiped the sweat from his brow, and tugged on his chafing loincloth.

"Coddling a whelp. Won't do either of you any good," mumbled Tukki from across the fire, to which Conor flashed an ugly snarl. But a moment later, after prodding the fire with a stick, the otter rose and bowed unsteadily back.

"You are excused."

The snarl left Conor's muzzle, eventually, and after a few farewells he turned and gathered up his beaver skin boots. Just as quick as he put on the boots and fastened them with gutskins, he was gone.

The gathered company watched the entrance to the sweat lodge flap closed behind the retreating hyena. And like that, he had vanished into the cold darkness outside.

"So," Huolet stared at Sakara as if he wanted to press the fox against the wall with his gaze alone, "is it as big as you made it out to be?"

"Well," Sakara glanced down into his jug, found all the kumiss within it had somehow found its way into him, and so decided he might as well. "It's scarily big. Sometimes I'm grateful he takes it instead of giving it."

"I bet it would feel so good though." Pehmeä mused, "Hit the spot in just the right way"

"Hmph, well, why don't you train me then, Pehmeä?" Both Sakara and his stiffening shaft enjoyed the warm glow of brashness driving him on to tease the lynx, "I've always kinda fancied having my back against you and feeling your member between my legs. And you're close to almost as thick as my hyena, even if you're not as long." Sakara let the tip of his bright red tongue taunt the lynx for a moment, much like the tip of something else bright and red also determined to emerge. "Could be good practice."

Pehmea, alas, was too occupied to rise to the bait. "You, taking a ride on me? That'll be quite the sight! I'd almost do it right now if I hadn't promised my prickly little marten here a good night." The lynx nuzzled the back of the marten's neck, who had one hand down between the lynx's soft thighs where something else was rising.

"In that case, you better make me scream for more later." The marten grinned at Sakara though he was talking to Pehmeä.

"Now, this one," Pehmeä slid an arm around Harjakas' slim chest, and the marten's paw took the invitation to further exploration of the territory behind the lynx's fuzzy orbs, "This one's got what matters more than size: stamina, and hunger. Last winter, you remember that blizzard?"

"You gonna try to claim you two rutted so much it caused a snowstorm somehow?" Tukki snorted.

"During the blizzard," the lynx's voice wrestled its way over the otter's interjection, "we were trapped inside for three days and I had not a thing to do but carve patterns into a mountain goat leg bone. Well, this one lays his head between my legs and goes to work with his tongue. Took some focus to keep my hand steady, let me tell you. He suckles on me for the whole three days! We only stopped to sleep and melt bowlfuls of snow so we didn't die of thirst."

"You should see the kind of carvings," Harjakas grinned wickedly, "that a man starts putting on a bone after two days of having a hungry muzzle around his cock."

"And you two," Tukki harumphed, skeptical, "didn't feel any need to eat, these three days?"

"I can't speak for him," Harjakas said, "but I always had plenty in my belly!"

The otter grimaced the way a hunter does when he's walked into a trap, and knows it.

"I don't know," Huolet rumbled from beside the steaming rocks, "if a hunter can be trusted to give an honest account of his mate. Hunters brag, after all, and a man naturally wants to flatter the man he's mated to. Makes it hard to believe the things either of you," the badger's eyes darted between Sakara and Pehmeä, "say about your lovers. I prefer to trust what I've seen myself, thank you."

"We all know," Sakara sniffed, "how much you prefer to see everything yourself."

"And more so," Harjakas bristled, "we're not mated!"

"If you found a way," Huolet clicked his tongue, "to spend three days with a man's cock in your mouth without coming out mated to him after? Then that's an even taller tale than claiming to have sucked his cock for three days!"

"Already forgetting the time," purred Pehmeä, "that he came in your eye? That sound like something a mated man would do to you?"

"Oh, I never let a man being mated already stop me," Huolet grinned.

"We know!" Tukki barked and clapped the badger on the back.

"I'm just saying," the badger blinked at the effort it took to push through the kumiss-induced fog and discover what, in fact, he was saying. "being able to spend a night in the bed of whatever male wants me that night, that's the life! Some hunter's mate, she isn't interested tonight? No trouble, I know how to take care of that. Some fool of a gatherer gave away all his firewood, and now he's in for a cold night? Well, I can keep you warm. A pair of my fellow... how'd you put it, Tukki?"

"The thing about not putting whelps in anyone's belly?" The otter tilted his head.

"No, that was Harjakas," said Sakara.

"No, something about being the ones who don't get distracted." The badger finished. The company shrugged. "Well, two of us have room for a third, for a night. Even if one of them does get his spend in your eye."

"Oh," Pehmeä growled drily, "I wonder who he could be talking about."

"But that's the thing," Huolet finished, "Is it lets me live without distractions like Tukki said I'm pretty sure. I don't need to talk about how big my man's shaft is after he leaves without showing it himself. I don't need to make up stories about three day fucks. I don't have to speak for anybody but me. And any man who doesn't believe what I say about me, well, he's welcome to take me to bed and see for himself!"

"Sounds like you've all got an idea or two," Tukki leaned back on the bundles of sweet grass and sharp smelling cedar strips that served as seats, arched his back and spread his arms as if to stretch and certainly not to show off his still stocky and solidly muscled body, "But I'm not convinced you young studs don't all still have a thing or two to learn."

"From our elders?" Harjakas chirped.

"From a man with more experience." Tukki smirked. "Sakara. You got a big thick beautiful chunk of man like that, but you can't get him inside you? Harjakas, you call just holding a cock between your lips for three days a feat? I'll guess it's impressive, but that's gonna turn into a naught but a chore soon enough. And Huolet, you best be sure you're good enough in bed to make putting you there worth it!"

"I never said that!" Sakara bemoaned and shattered the mood which the otter had so carefully curated. "He's just shy and doesn't like strangers. And besides, I'm the one who puts it in him," he added with no small amount of offense. The fox turned up his nose then folded his arms and legs, with no desire to continue this insult to his prowess.

"You, on top of him?" The graying otter cocked his head to the side, a smirk stretched across his muzzle on the verge of laughter. "But he is built like a bear, and you... You look like a scrawny birch tree, fox!"

"Looks can be deceptive. You of all the hunters should know that," Sakara grumbled back dispassionately. But he couldn't help watching the otter, his eyes aglow, like he could see prey through the darkness. It sent a tingle up his spine.

"Looks like you've both got something to prove," boomed the voice of the badger. Its sound drew the attention of both the fox and the otter, who turned their heads at once with curious expressions.

"And we still need a show!" Pehmeä heckled with curled toes.

Sakara gulped and twisted his head back to Tukki, then at the eager-faced marten, lynx, and badger, and then back at Tukki. This hardly seemed like a sound plan, and frankly a night with a mortar and pestle would do less damage to the old otter scout. The fox paused and shuddered at that thought, only to raise his head and see Tukki's burning eyes fixed upon him once again.

By the spirits, they were really going to do this, weren't they?

"What's the matter, Sakara?" The otter said with a chuckle that seemed to rattle his chest, clearly having noticed the fox's maw hung open in surprise. "You look hungry like that. Perhaps you care to wrap your lips around some firmer meat tonight."

When it came to men, the only folks Sakara had ever bedded were his beloved hyena, and that lump of a wolf that was his chief. Both of which were his agemates or thereabouts, within five or so summers. He had never looked upon the few older Lentavohi in that way, not ever, and yet... Tukki stirred something in his loins.

Perhaps it was the sinewy body, not too strong, but not just skin and bones. Perhaps it was the way he spoke dirty, with a well-trained tongue capable of many tricks. Perhaps it was even that thong of his, which he never appeared to wear anything more than.

Sakara really couldn't say, and yet something in him wanted to at least be close with Tukki. To smell his scent and feel the bristle of that cold, gray fur against his nose. Maybe it was just some instinct, or even the will of spirits. Perhaps he saw something of Sana in him, and the fox had always wanted to try with Sana. Though, despite being open to just about anyone, the shaman was elusive when it came to intimacy.

"You've boasted a lot," the fox replied, after some thought. "But can you really live up to your claims?"

His lips flashed a coy smile and his legs unfurled slightly, a show of interest, but not quite acceptance of the offer. But it was enough for Tukki, and the otter's hungry smile widened while his eyes seemed to glow brighter.

"I think you and I need to go somewhere more private," Tukki cooed as he reached out his bony fingers. Gently, he ran them through the lush fur on the fox's chest.

It felt wonderful, and at his touch, Sakara knew he wanted the otter. He wanted him in that way only two men of their disposition could want each other, and he could smell that Tukki wanted him just as much. Tukki's gentle caress made his spine tingle, and the lust that followed was almost supernatural.

So, in a sign of agreement, he slowly lifted one paw and gently took hold of Tukki's paw. He still had his reservations, and they were certainly numerous, but in the end an old proverb came to mind: "When the cock wakes up, it has no eyes to care about looks, or ears to care what anyone's going to say." When he'd heard it as a young hunter it'd been meant as a warning, but as a man grown he supposed he had a different interpretation.

"Hey, but-" The lynx began to complain, but Tukki was having none of it.

"Ack!" The otter growled and shoved his palm in the lynx's face. "Stroke each other off if you're that desperate to see something."

A few chuckles went up around the room, but the mood was the same. Disappointment. But this would hardly be their last get-together, as Tukki went on to comment, and so they would get their show sooner or later. Perhaps even at the next trade meet, where they could meet similarly disposed men, or men who were curious enough to try being similarly disposed while they were away from their own tribes. All in good time.

For now, however, Sakara and Tukki rose and offered pleasantries to their companions. Because, no matter how disappointed they were, it would have been terribly rude not to show common courtesy to people who willingly showed you their cocks. To upset someone with such precious knowledge was a dangerous game indeed, and one nobody present wanted to play.

So they watched and waved, all while Tukki approached the fox and wrapped his bony arm around his waist, then gave Sakara's bare cheek a squeeze. The fox's tail shot right up, and he let out a pitiful squeak which invoked a chorus of laughter.

Once it died down, the two soon-to-be bedmates wrapped a reindeer pelt around themselves and swiftly disappeared into the frigid night.

They had to be quick, or the warmth of the sweat lodge that clung to their sweaty fur would be lost, much like their toes once the frostbite set in. But they had a night of heated passion to look forward to. Of warm loins and buttocks, and tight cuddles.

All this spurred them into a jog, the old scout's feet still steady as they hopped and skipped practically stark naked over the mud, rock, and snow.

Sakara counted them lucky that they saw nobody else. Even if casual nudity such as this was perfectly acceptable, he still didn't want to be caught with his cocktip peeking out of his sheath. Especially not by the chief, who often got rather jealous at the prospect of the fox bedding other men.

But as they rounded the last hut, caked up to their ankles in mud and filth, they could both breathe a sigh of relief. Tukki's shelter lay right where he had left it, not that it could run off unless the tribe was going on the move, and some do-gooder had packed up for the old otter. By the spirits, he never let that poor hunter live it down. Must hear the old otter's voice in his nightmares.

On the contrary, however, Tukki and Sakara piled into the Lavvu, neither hesitating a moment longer than they needed to. The flap that covered the entryway was thrown shut and just like that, the warmth swaddled both their naked bodies.

There was no light, besides that which reflected off the moon and shone down the Lavvu's smokehole. It wasn't much, but for the fox's eyes - trained as they were to follow the faintest tracks and swiftest motions - it was enough. In the darkness he spied the old otter's possessions, a rich history of a respected elder who, for all his big-mouthed boasting, never really opened up much.

There were two sleeping spots, the first big enough for two and quite impressive with a bearskin proudly displayed atop the pile of soft grasses and lesser pelts. The other was smaller, a common reindeer fur bedroll for one, what was certainly his cousin Sana's former bed. But why the old otter hadn't moved it, now that Sana lived in the shaman's lodge, he did not know.

Besides these, there lay assorted bits and pieces. Clay pots strewn about in the corners, and clothes half-eaten by moths hanging from the Lavvu's wooden frame. A bundle of spears, an empty quiver & bow all piled opposite what Sakara could only describe as...

A shrine.

It was odd, certainly. An old drum made from a piece of hollow oak, over which was draped a musty cloak and a cold, unlit tallow lamp. It was hard to make out but, just beneath the cloak, Sakara swore he could make out carvings in the drum. However, before he could creep closer and take a look, a weary Tukki cut in.

"My apologies, Sakara. If I knew I was going to have a guest, I would have left the fire smoldering. We might end up a little cold tonight," the otter sighed as he crouched beside the fire, probing the ashes with a stick.

Sakara forced a half-smile and chuckled in response. Without wanting to appear rude and nosey, he shuffled over to the firepit and joined the otter.

"We have each other's company, I'm sure we'll be warm enough with that." Sakara reached out both paws, cupped as if he asked for water. Or Kumis.

In turn, Tukki reached out and placed his palm against the fox's paws, all while they stared into each other's eyes. Sakara saw that glow again, fainter now, but still bright enough to rival the winter lights that danced in the night sky. And he was reminded of a time not all too long ago, where they had first come to truly bond.

Some months back, Tukki had woken Sakara gently some time before dawn. Each carrying a small bundle of light spears, they set out on horseback a half day's ride to the northeast, turning north into the hills, into grounds Sakara had never gone. Perhaps foragers came up here for roots or the Shaman, maybe, came up this way to gather plants, but if hunting parties came here Sakara had never been among them. And he could see why: the ground was all brambles and rocks, no grass for deer or tall elk. No signs of grazing, no droppings.

The confusion Sakara felt then was brother to the confusion he felt now when they reached Tukki's tent the otter, not old of course, but older, didn't embrace him. Didn't feel his body. Didn't taste his mouth or his fur, didn't press his muzzle against his chest or between his thighs. He slid back to sit against the folded bearskin bedding to make room for the fox beside him.

"What did you bring me out here for, anyway?" Sakara had asked when he dismounted from Pekka.

Rather than an answer, Tukki had hushed him with a finger before his mouth, and then gestured for Sakara to follow. He had, all stealth and confusion, as the otter hunter led him around the edge of a steep rocky bluff.

"Time was," Tukki sighed in the darkness of the lavvu, "I could mount a handsome hunter like you, satisfy him, call for another skin of mead, then turn around and mount and satisfy the next hunter without bothering to put my buckskin back on."

Sakara was suddenly aware how similar Tukki's tent was to his own, but how different the fact that no one else lived there, no one else slept there, made being there feel. No Kuveli on the opposite side of the firepit. No Conor crowding him against the wall.

"You ever tried mead?" Tukki asked. He didn't sound, for the first time that night, merely older. He sounded old.

Around the side of the bluff, all red stone that crumbled into hard milky white chunks if you put a foot wrong, was a tiny hidden canyon. A bright blue lake, mirror still, lay between think banks of rich heather. Across the water sprawled a flock of wild goats, and fat geese scrabbled at the water's edge.

Sakara had gripped one of his spears eagerly, but Tukki had put a hand on the tip and lowered it. "I didn't bring you here to hunt, lad," the otter had said. "Just wanted to make sure you knew it was here. This place's my secret, pretty sure no hunter but me knows it. Game here is fat and safe and slow. So if ever famine creeps near again, I'd know there'd be one place I could be sure of catching food."

The otter had looked deep into Sakara's eyes. "As long as one hunter knows how to find this place, and only one, mind, don't go telling anyone! Then the tribe doesn't starve."

"So why are you telling me?" Sakara had asked.

Sakara had tried mead, but Tukki went on without waiting for an answer. "Not what you expected when I dragged you home naked by your tail, is it?"

"Well," Sakara found his voice by climbing into the otter's arms, "maybe I like it better this way."

And then they did embrace. Then they felt eachother's bodies, from necks to chests to bellies to cocks to thighs. Then they tasted eachother's mouths, breathed deep the scent of eachother's fur. Then Tukki buried his muzzle in Sakara's chest fur till the otter's tongue found the fox's nipple. Then Sakara finally leaned forward to taste Tukki's scent, his soul, at the place between a man's legs where it's always the strongest and purest, half-hard and warm with eager blood.

It should be harder than this, though, shouldn't it?

"So why are you telling me?" Sakara had asked.

"For longer than you've been a man, I have been the best hunter among the Lentavohi." Tukki had sat, staring as the geese left the water's edge to mill about picking at the grass roots, for a long time in silence before answering. "But I won't always be."

All the way back, Sakara had made sure to memorize every detail of the way.

Tukki grunted and pulled Sakara back up into his arms. The otter's embrace was hungry, as if his lusts weren't for a warm maw around his cock but a warm body against his chest. As if merely being held were something one could lust after. Sakara's shaft was stiff and eager where it ground against Tukki's thigh, but Tukki's remained unready.

Looked like it was up to Sakara to start, then. The fox took a deep breath, then pulled back, turned around, and lifted his tail. Invitingly, he hoped. This wasn't the way he usually did things, but if Tukki thought he was worth taking to bed, then hopefully the sight would give, well, the needed inspiration.

It took a few moments, through which Sakara waited with baited breath, and then felt the soft caress of Tukki's paw brush against his cheek. Excitedly, the fox's tail began to sway, slowly at first, inviting the otter closer.

Yet, he did not feel the otter's warmth, for he never moved to rest his bulk upon the fox. Instead, he sat and continued to caress the fox, all while he stared down at his only partly erect cock with dismay.

He really wasn't what he used to be. Or so it seemed, Sakara felt sorry for him regardless. He knew what it was like to push another hunter down, ready and willing to be used, only to find his cock as shy as the hare that scurries in the bushes. You know it's there, but it won't show itself. Only, for the old otter past his prime, it must have felt so much worse. To know it wasn't just a bad day, but rather the way it would be from now on.

A promise was a promise though. And, his heart sinking at the sight of the passionless otter, decided he would make good on his promise no matter what. So he shuffled back and sat himself down, his large tail heavy with winter fluff wrapped around the otter, and his bare arse placed firmly in Tukki's lap.

"What will wake it?" Sakara glanced back, his head cocked to the side with a look that was both inquisitive and playful.

Tukki blew a frustrated breath through hollow cheeks. "If it won't show up for a handsome lad's rump in my lap, then I'd deem it won't be showing up at all."

"Not so," Sakara insisted, "It was awake in the sauna. I got a good look right before you tossed your buckskin in my face."

Tukki blinked, and Sakara felt something stir against the base of his tail.

"Well," the otter glanced away, which gave the fox a chance to nibble gently on the side of his neck scruff, "there's one thing. I've never actually tried it, but... you ever worn a buckskin pouch?"

Sakara shook his head. He'd always preferred breechcloth and hide leggings.

"Oh, you should try one, lad. But the point is, it's soft and smooth, it clutches you close and gentle, you can still feel through it. So sometimes I've wondered..."

"Wondered what?"

"...get off quick, lad, I need something."

Sakara lay on his back, watched propped on his elbows as Tukki turned and plucked something down from where it hung on the tent poles, pulled it up his legs, then returned and planted his knees on either side of the fox's face, leaving his muzzle inches from another buck-leather thong.

"You have another one?"

"Do you only have one loincloth?" Tukki tried to sound concerned, but there was a wild glee in his eyes and voice, and Sakara could feel stocky otter thighs on either side of his head clenching to keep control.

"I uh... Yeah, I do," he answered a little confused, his voice muffled by the otter's eager squeezes and divine bodily odour.

There was no understating how wonderful Tukki's scent was, a collage of sweat and dirt, of natural musk and the distinctive odour of sex. All built up over the otter's long life, his very soul, permeating his buckskin thong and licking at Sakara's lips. It only worked to stiffen the fox's cock, and make his spine tingle while the hackles on his neck rose instinctively.

Sakara closed his eyes and took a long sniff of that scent. It was an invitation by the otter, and he so badly wanted more. His tail began to wag like an excited dog with a new toy, to which Tukki chuckled and squeezed his thighs tighter.

"Mmm, you're liking this a lot, aren't you?"

Tukki lowered himself slightly, letting the bulk of the buckskin thong rest on top of the fox's nose. Sakara huffed at this, and moaned quietly while pressing his nose against the thong as his tail wagged harder.

At last, they both felt something stir within. Tukki bit his lip as a twinge of pleasure tickled his cock, which finally started to grow and push against the tight buckskin, and the fox who eagerly nuzzled it.

"That's it, fox, right there," the otter cooed and licked his chops. Without much thought, he began to rock his hips and gently ground the subtle bulge up and down the fox's muzzle. "Good, very good," he continued to gasp.

Sakara found himself pressing his cheeks, the sides of his muzzle, against the otter's pouch purely by instinct. His tongue reached for the tip of it as it passed by, but taste was irrelevant. The smell of otter, of the sweat of long experience, of aroused male, of worn and well-preserved buck leather, that was all he really cared about at the moment.

He was so lost in the experience that it took him a moment to realize Tukki's groin had vanished. The older male was shifting, leaning over the fox who lay naked and vulnerable on his back. Tukki leaned in close, buried his face in Sakara's neck fur, and inhaled deeply. "That's done it." the otter grunted hungrily.

"Done what?" Sakara blinked, confused. "Oh, that." he added when cock hard as stone prodded under his tailbase.

"And if I need a little refreshment," Tukki grinned as he plunged his nose back into Sakara's scruff, "just need to take a whiff of me spread all over your face, lad." His hips responded to the scent, pressed forward to grind his shaft against the fox's cheeks. "Better than mead."

Then, all of a sudden, Sakara's heart began to pound against his ribs, and a deep anxiety rose up from nowhere. His paws curled into fists and his claws ripped holes in the fine animal hides they lay atop. It was unexplainable, as if the wind had merely shifted and taken with it the barrier he had built to hold back his fears.

After all, he had never taken another man's cock before. And it seemed that some unseen force or demon had chosen now, the worst possible moment, when Tukki was even now done anointing his weapon from the little jar of bear grease, to remind him of that fact. The fox seized Tukki's shoulders and caused the old hunter to flinch.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Sakara barked desperately, his chest heaving as he panted hard.

"What now?" The old otter grumbled, a hint of concern in his voice as he stared at the fox with a half-annoyed, half-aroused frown. "You just remember you have gut worms or something?"

"I just, I wasn't-" Sakara stuttered and stammered, unable to find the words as he mind swirled in a malstrom of anxious thoughts. "Y- you made me jump, that's all!"

Tukki cocked his head at this, as if in disbelief. This intimacy of theirs had been far from sudden, but there might have been one explanation.

"Is this your first time... Taking another man?" He asked, now with genuine concern in his voice as he reached down and stroked the fur on Sakara's cheek.

The slight nod was all the confirmation Tukki needed, and he began to rest his weight upon the fox. In all his years, spent with spirits-only-knew how many other hunters cradled in against his chest, this wasn't the first time he had seen this. Their hearts yearn for one thing, but their brains can't shake the wild instinct that keeps them safe. And when they conflict, the results can sometimes be...

Irreparable.

But Sakara wasn't of weak heart nor weak mind, that Tukki had seen with his own eyes. He was sure the fox wouldn't let one measly setback stop him. Not least because Tukki's lust still burned hotter than the biggest bonfire.

"It is," Sakara answered, his voice meek and almost mouse-like. "It is what Conor likes, and so it is what I give him," he continued, his thoughts clearly more collected now.

"Then, do you still want me to mount you?"

"I..." Sakara inhaled deeply, enough scraps of the scent of Tukki's thong still clung to his whiskers to remind him why he was here. "I want to be. Help me."

Sakara felt the otter behind him go still. Then Tukki's paw took one of his wrists, pulled it gently back and guided it to the otter's erection.

"There it is, lad." Tukki whispered in his ear. "That's not so bad, is it?" The rigid cock throbbed against his pads, indignantly, as if in protest that its owner would think to minimize its potency. "Especially compared..." Tukki's other hand cupped Sakara's cock, gently stroked him back toward full confidence, "to this."

Steadily, Sakara's heartbeat was tamed, the otter's skillful and gentle motions like that of a seasoned rider training a new horse. Each stroke, each squeeze, and each time a fingertip grazed his shy cocktip, it all worked to rebuild the fox's lust. And it worked well.

"If your warrior," Tukki's palm traced the surface of Sakara's cock "can take this, then you can learn to manage mine..."

"Please-" Sakara huffed, but the otter silenced him with a finger.

"Quiet," said Tukki as he lowered himself, so close that their noses almost touched. "You won't learn if you speak rather than listen."

As if to drive the point home, the otter brushed the fox's paw away and took it for himself. And then, with both cocks in-paw, he began to stroke them together. The sensation of Tukki's warm and supple length rubbing against his own was blissful. He moaned and squirmed, and grasped in vain at the animal skins beneath them, arctic-blue eyes almost rolling into the back of his skull.

With each passing moment, the otter's strokes got swifter until, eventually, his motions became crude. But if anything, Sakara preferred it, the rough and primal touch driven by lustful instinct. The desire to breed, which a few might call misplaced or wrong though, they were men who could never understand the unique bonds that men like he and Tukki shared.

Each stroke, each squeeze, and throb of the otter's passion sent a wave of pleasure through Sakara. It made every part of him, every single nerve tingle in a way that made him thirst for more. And he would take more.

Tukki felt the fox shift beneath him and cursed as his impressive length slipped from his grasp. He too had been lost in it all, the excitement having chased away the weariness that clung to his old bones, at least for tonight. He glanced down only for Sakara, who now lay on his side, pressed their lips together and pushed his tongue into the otter's mouth.

Caught by surprise, Tukki dropped his length and grabbed the fox by the thigh as if he feared his lust would have him shooting into the starry sky through the smokehole. And by some ancient, yet sharply honed instinct, he knew the moment was now.

Sakara felt cold air rush through his fur as Tukki's thick arms released him and the otter pulled back to get between his eager thighs. There was a momentary flash of what was almost pain, something blunt and insistent pressing urgently for entry, and then with a dull thud that the fox felt echo from the base of his spine to the back of his neck Tukki's hips shifted forward and the old otter was inside him.

If only barely. If only for a moment.

Tukki snarled and collapsed forward, and his cock pulled free like a bent branch springing back into place. The otter's seed spurted across the fox's shaft, the otter's arms trembled on either side of the fox's torso, the otter's chest heaved as he gulped down the shared scent of the males that filled the tent like steam in the sweat lodge.

Huolet, Pehmeä, and Harjakas were unusually subdued when Sakara slid the cover back into place beneath the blackened ivory. If any of them noticed that Sakara and Tukki hadn't bothered to cover their nakedness on the way back, or noticed the distinct smell of seed on both of their fur, then none of them wanted to be the first to mention it.

At least not until the fox and the otter had resumed their respective places, across the fire and steaming rocks from eachother, as if neither had left to do anything more notable than empty their bladder.

"Well?" Harjakas finally yelped.

Tukki's eyes met Sakara's across the firelight. At the back of them was a single flicker of desperation, like one might see in a hunter asking for a promise to keep a secret and preserve something precious and irreplaceable.

"I think," Sakara held Tukki's gaze, "you've all got a lot to learn from him. He showed me more than one thing I'd not done before."

"Like, how not to break his hip when you tie the knot?" Pehmeä teased, without much thought of how the words might hurt the otter. Though, Tukki's often outgoing personality, how was he to know it would hurt?

"Oh," Sakara said, truthfully if not honestly, "he wasn't the one in danger of getting broken."

Sakara refastened his loincloth as he ducked out of the lavvu. He needed to get home, he had said, Conor would be lonely, he had said. And if they wanted to hear more, why, Tukki was still right there.

There were advantages to having a mate who had gone home early.

"Well," the voice, as Sakara slid into the smaller tent, was pitched low and soft enough to avoid waking Kuveli, "did you have fun?" The fox froze. In the dark he could just see a hyena sitting awake on their shared bedroll.

The tent was small enough that just by coming completely inside he was practically in the hyena's arms already. "Hm..." Conor whispered. "I can smell that you did."

"Conor, if you want-"

"I don't mind," the hyena laid a gentle paw on Sakara's muzzle. "I'm glad you had a good time. It's good you've got a place, or I suppose, that your tribe's got a place, for that kind of thing." It was too dark to read the warrior's expression, but the hunter knew enough about his past to know what it probably was. "It's just not for me."

"It could be." Sakara whispered.

"And maybe it will be," Conor sighed back. "But not just yet."

The hyena wrapped a strong arm around his mate, pulled the fox gently down beside him on the bedroll. "You could still..." Sakara felt a paw slide under his loincloth, "tell me about it?"