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Another Coyote

By Televassi

"Do you know why your progenitors came to space?"

Xolotl startled the coyote with their question. The words made the canine's hackles rise and eyes widen, but it was the yelp that he produced that made it sound like they'd stuck the dog with something unpleasant.

Admittedly, it was an odd question to start with. Not the sort of thing you'd expect at a deserted sub-station between the interstellar backwaters of nothing and nowhere. The decor was equally bleak, adhering to that Old Earth, roadside diner aesthetic that had come and gone from history centuries ago, but some bright spark thought it worthy to blast out among the stars. Its fixtures were as old as the progenitors the hybrid asked of; made for maintenance and refuelling of both ships and bodies. So, perhaps it was just a side-effect of the rough coffee the assembly made that the coyote behaved oddly, but something about his reaction suggested it was due to the possibility of a conversation with him that came as the surprise, and rather the question itself.

For Xolotl, it only made the canid seem all the more odd to them, and therefore, interesting. They discarded the glass they were half-heartedly polishing, and wandered out from the kitchen towards the most exciting thing they'd dealt with all day. Perhaps week. Their paws tapped softly on the smooth plastic floor as they stalked through the empty diner towards the dusty-furred troublemaker, each step making the coyote's tall, pointed ears swivel and cut through the air like knives.

The hybrid was not dissuaded, but they kept the smirk pulling at their muzzle inside for the moment. A coyote mod was a promising start on their plans. He seemed authentic, a real adherent to his ancestral design. Xol's black box had audited his ship's data as soon as it came up on the scanners, which had given them plenty of time to check for anything untoward before granting final docking and boarding privileges. But still, they'd watched as he insisted on playing each moment sly and stealthy. Slinking up to the counter. Settling down, playing all mysterious, despite being the only customer on this tiny, glorified refuelling station orbiting the Drevosian Rings. If the coyote was trying to play games, he was doing it out of sheer aesthetic devotion. Such authenticity for the old 'pioneering' days felt admirable - a Godsend, to use the archaism - because Xol was so, so bored of the usual white noise their life had so far played out too.

A real coyote was what they needed, but it would take more than a simple question to find that out.

"Hello?" Xol prompted, taking the spare seat on the opposite side of the coyote's booth. They ran their eyes up and down the lanky dog, framed by the bare aluminium and tacky red leather upholstery, but he didn't seem to notice, or acknowledge Xol as he kept gulping down his coffee.

Maybe this dusty mongrel of a gene-mod came from a different Old Earth lineage. So Xol tried something else.

"Parlez-vous Sol Commun?"

"What, you mean English?"

The coyote grunted in reply, taking another muzzleful of the rocket fuel the matter assembly thought was a passable coffee. He seemed to like it - the stuff bringing a spark to his eyes that couldn't be hidden by the way he grumbled and scratched beneath his kin, while downing it like a chaser in a drinking competition.

He smelled odd too; like slightly singed fur - like he'd blasted his pelt in the UV shower one too many times to strip away any other scent about him. Also promising evidence.

"Do you know why your progenitors came to space?" Xolotl repeated, keeping their face stony.

"Like fuck I know?"

The coyote shrugged, throwing a filthy look back at Xol, the absolute mongrel of a gene-mod with the audacity to ask anyone else such a question. But something sharp in the coyote relented. Perhaps it was something reflected in their eyes.

"The feeling I have in my fur is that they weren't stars-in-their-eyes idealists." He paused, stealing a better look at his company.

Xol was canine superficially, but successive generations of mixing gene-mods had taken them well beyond their forebear's starting parameters. Most of Xol's fur was brown, from slender limbs to lithe frame. Only the lines around their eyes were black, making their pale blue eyes stand out all the more against their dusty tan fur. At least nature had spared one part of them from feeling so drab.

What was notable however, was what the hybrid had done to go against nature's attempt to re-establish the grain. They'd dyed their head-fur and mane was an eclectic mix of purple and blue, which they let spill down over their eyes, tangle down their back, and sprawl over their shoulders in a chaotic mix. They dressed with similar contempt. Old Earth style skinny jeans with some interesting patches sewn on, and other bits cut out to accommodate their digitigrade legs. Compared to the coyote's sterile, three piece jumpsuit,

The coyote sniffed. Xol smelled curious.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I know mine were assholes. Who else would maroon their kids here?"

"And here is...?" The coyote blinked. "I wasn't really paying attention to the computer."

"We don't don't get idealists round this side of the Drevosian Rings. Only prospectors without permits, free-lance miners without permits, and sometimes bounty hunters - you guessed it - without warrants. The only change to that theme is the occasional pure-bred, un-modified Terran fanatic wishing to colonise the stars with humanity's seed. I hate those guys."

"Doesn't everyone?" the coyote sniffed, turning away from the company and looking out through the shielded glass.

Like most of space, it was dark out there. Even with visual enhancements inlaid into the glass, he couldn't see the far off twinkle of distant stars. On his solitary flights deep in the void, their occasional glimmer of starlight sparked some naive hope - for other worlds and something better, but the coyote was a realist. He didn't need to have an old navigator gene-mod to be able to understand the maths - the odds were far too slim. Really, all life was just chaos - vibrations briefly raging against the laws of physics. The far off stars were too perfect to be sullied with biology's messy byproducts.

"Which one of those are you descended from then, dog? Since you're stuck out here too." The coyote grumbled, turning back and looked at Xol. Framed against the same aluminium edges and red upholstery, they seemed tired, worn out, and a reluctant part of the furniture.

"Assholes." They whistled the word as they shoved their tongue between their sharp teeth. "They came up here believing they'd get to corner a whole new market."

Xol laughed bitterly, looking at the empty space surrounding them. Station-hubs formed much like stars: but here there was neither the diaspora, nor gravity enough to pull a community together here.

"Good job they did," the coyote commented. He tried to keep the tone neutral, but a casual flick of his eyes across the diner's outdated, well-kept features spoke loud enough of their lack of use.

"Stellar," Xol replied. The bitter taste in the mutt's mouth was palpable enough for the coyote to smell. "But I suppose it's a good lesson to learn young: rich folks always stay rich, poor folks..."

They bit their lip and tapped their claws against the table.

"They can't have been all bad, your progenitors." The coyote said, relenting. "Who decides to scrape virtually all humanity from their DNA unless they felt it was poison? Why decide to flee to the stars and start over, if they didn't believe the Old Earth was irredeemable bullshit?"

"How kind of you," Xol shrugged, and flicked their tail behind them.

"I mean, I try," the coyote replied, brushing his fur with his claws. "You seem eager to get something off your chest, but I should make it clear I'm in no way some moralizer to take confession either."

The coyote shrugged, lighting up a cigarette in their company just to prove the point. It was a redundant delivery system, sure, but the archaic way had a certain charm when it came to getting chemicals into the system - or at least the coyote thought so.

Xol, however, seemed curious. They leaned forward, resting their elbows on the table, propping up his muzzle with their weary paws.

"What's your name, 'yote?"

"You first," he sniffed.

"Xolotl. Said Sho-lo-til, or Sho for short."

"Tlaloc," the coyote smirked, letting his own name say he was natural at the pronunciation.

"Well, Tlaloc. You may be right about getting things off my chest... but I'm not the one who was just pining at the glass back there, thinking there's something more out there. You're not one to lament your situation - docking a two-seater spaceship out there."

Tlaloc's fur rippled at the accusation, and he shot his venom back through his slender muzzle.

"Says the small business owner. But hey, grass is always greener and that." His fur bristled - he was surprised that the sudden turnabout actually hurt. "I suppose this hub doesn't handle like a two-seater," the coyote added, sprinkling a dash of wit to at least to give his comment a plausible diplomatic edge - if he still felt about going that way.

"I don't own the place," the hybrid sighed. "It's an inter-generational debt consolidated by several inter-generational guarantors, backed up by a consortium representing a conglomerate of orbital smallholding speculators, that together form a complex front that has purposefully loose historical links to the big Old Earther corporations, for the express purpose of providing them with plausibly deniable, but strategic mechanism for delivering cash injections to numerous sites across the Sol with development potential, despite the moratorium on such activity so anthropomorphic orbital settlement can develop without terrestrial interference."

Xol paused for breath, enjoying how the coyote's eyes both popped and glazed over.

"I'm saying, there's no grass up here, coyote. For either of us. They buy up inter-Sol real estate so they can get to work spreading their roots out beyond the planet. And if their development works disrupt the delicate gravitational tides of the Rings, and send an asteroid or two hurtling out into random directions?" Xol leaned back, pushing their head against the hard red leather. "Well, they're not liable for any Kesller syndrome event. And they know they'll have plenty of gene-mods willing to take the fall - getting on the property ladder is a useful quid pro quo, even if utterly unequal in the grand scheme of things... In short, I take all the risk, they get all the money, and when this place actually becomes worth something, they'll kick me out and fill it up to the rafters with humans I bet."

The coyote watched the hybrid's weary eyes.

"Hate to say it, but it's kinda the same with spaceships." Tlaloc gulped down a hearty draught of his coffee. He contemplated telling his potential fellow comrade that he'd in fact stolen the ship, but that perhaps could come later.

"Always read the fine print. Always follow the money," Xol shrugged.

"Well, it could be worse. We're lucky they couldn't find a way to copyright or licence our DNA either. 'Cos you know the fuckers would turn us back in a heartbeat if we could, for breaking free from Earth." Tlaloc finished, spitting the black grinds back into his cup that the assembly had missed.

"Or trying to," Xol countered.

They went back to their respective silences. Tlaloc nursed the dregs of his coffee and contemplated the next move they wanted to make once refuelling was done. Xolotl stood up and wiped down the empty tables, clearing away only dust.

"I still think we've got it good, actually," Tlaloc piped up.

Xolotl kept on working, but their large, disc-like ears turned towards him.

"It's perspective I guess. Maybe it's me, but I'd sure hate to be rich enough to be invested in it - stuck playing a game I never made the rules for. I've got nothing to lose myself - so I can call them out on their bullshit, and watch how far they have to fall."

"A spaceship is hardly nothing," Xol snapped, exasperation rippling through their fur like the wind in fields of tall grass - the kind of frustration that came from someone who didn't realise how good they already had it. If they had a ship like that, they'd be gone from this place in a heartbeat. Paperwork be damned, the Sol was big enough to hide in. But, instead of telling the coyote how ungrateful they were, Xol went for a more logical retort.

"So what? Do you really think the collapse of Old Earth would be cause for celebration, and couldn't possibly have any negative ramifications for us?" The hybrid shook their head and muttered, going back to their chores.

"Well," the coyote shrugged, pausing for a moment to scratch at an errant tuft of fur on their neck. "I suppose so, but even these days, doctors still won't hesitate to amputate..." The coyote gestured erratically with his paws before slouching back into his seat, as if losing his tail were a fair price to pay. "I guess even if this game we're stuck playing were to come to a crashing end, we'd just end up being forced to play someone else's."

Xol took another long moment to size up the coyote, and his seemingly on-brand advocacy for anarchy. He looked like he'd been places: from the different colours of dust on his jumpsuit, to the odd couple of inter-Sol curios hanging from his belt. It was his eyes - careless, half-lidded, that said he'd seen plenty - enough that Xol was starting to think the coyote's cynicism was justified, rather than some ignorant belief.

"Well, if that's the case then, what other game would you rather be playing?"

"Uh... I'm a coyote? I've never thought about making up rules, much less sticking to them."

"Humour me." Xolotl challenged, putting the spray and cloth to the side and getting closer once more. "There's always a first time, and the universe doesn't like absolute chaos."

"Why? There's no point in making rules for a game only I want to play. And even though it's just us here, it'd be rude to ask you to play a coyote's game when no one asked you if you wanted to."

"Did anyone ask me whether I wanted to play the rich folk's game?" They shot back, sharp.

Good, a promising player.

"Which one again? For the record."

"The money one."

"Ah, the original game. Thing is, even I don't get to quit that," Tlaloc bristled. "I might not want to, but I bet you'll still charge me for the coffee and fuel."

"Doesn't mean much. You've got a rep at least."

"What's that?"

"For not paying," Xolotl smirked. "Did you think that this far out and with margins this tight, your credentials wouldn't be scanned before docking?"

"Doesn't mean I have to like playing their money game either," he replied indignantly.

"Obviously. I just want to know if you'll keep to your rules this time."

"If we're playing a new game, I'm making new rules too. Call it payment in kind, since I know you're not going to pay me for the coffee or the fuel."

They both looked about the diner, just in case some new customer had wandered in and shrunk back into some nook of a booth. It was futile - of course it was only them.

"Sure. But what's the game?"

"Liars," Xol smiled. "With the aim of eventually, getting to the truth about things."

"Fine," the coyote grinned, throwing his arms behind his back and spinning about on his chair. "What are the rules going to be?"

Xolotl bit their lip, swaying back and forth on the spot. It took that moment for the coyote to realise the pleasant scent rolling off them with each cycle from the scrubbed air. Were they in need? It was a distracting thought, and one better spent appreciating this part of them that each breath brought.

"If I see through your lie, you lose one of these."

Xol reached over the table and prodded the coyote's worn fatigues.

"Well," he grinned. "That's a very coyote suggestion."

"Maybe. I've always wondered if there was some in me."

Tlaloc kept nodding. "Question is, when did we start playing?"

"When you sat down and ordered," they grinned.

"Fine. And under what condition do you lose one of these too?" Tlaloc grinned, catching Xol's sleeve.

"They're not rules if they don't apply to us both," Xol replied.

"How idealistic!" Tlaloc countered with mock awe. "I found it was always one rule for them, another for everyone else." He stopped teasing and straightened up, the grin dropping from his face as he scanned Xol's face for any tells. "How many lies have you counted then?" he promoted, wishing to see what they looked like when they thought they were telling the truth at least.

"Three."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Three just so happened to be the number of pieces of clothing on him before things got down to bare fur and all... au naturale.

"Name them."

"One, that you were going to pay me for the coffee and fuel."

The coyote nodded, pulling off his shirt.

"Two, telling me the grass is greener on the other side."

"Really?" He smirked, losing his belt and sadly with it, his jeans too. Damn technicalities...

"Three. You not being a dreamer."

"Explain," the coyote grumbled, unwilling to surrender less his clothes, and more his reputation and a well practised cynic. Half of the shit he got away with was because folks believed he truely, didn't care if they threatened him with the worst.

"You don't fly a spaceship these days if you're not in love with the idea of the freedom of spaceflight. Despite it's all being automated these days, despite the original Navigator-mods having been bred out a long time ago, and despite so much of the Sol having been mapped in detail..." Xol sighed and sat next to him, on his side of the booth. The hard red leather creased and squeaked between them. "You still think like it's some Wild West out there."

The coyote gulped, looking down at his underwear. He wasn't fussed about losing them, oh no - he liked where this was going - but losing this game so soon was definitely a nick on his reputation. And he didn't want to end the foreplay so quickly, even if now so close to them, he could smell their overbearing, mind-addling need. Stars, they were making it hard for him to think. Pleasantly so - better than getting hard liquor to turn off those irritating, thought-processing nerves. But no, even if he wanted defeat, he didn't quite want to be conquered.

"So close, but no..." Tlaloc took a deep breath, gripping his seat with his claws. Tight enough that they pieced the cheap, plasticy 'leather.' "You're wrong about the grass." He turned and held a paw up against the window, tracing his clawtip over the dots of light beyond. "There is something better out there. We've just got to look hard enough to find it."

The coyote turned back to the hybrid next to them. He could swear they'd shuffled closer, but his ears must have betrayed him by choosing not to hear it.

"It makes sense, since you said I'm such a dreamer," he grinned, finding at least some of his higher functions still burning away as his breathing slowed and deepened pleasantly. "That, or you end up saying you're wrong about that instead. Either way... I make it that I have one lie left," he chuckled, kicking off the lower half of his jumpsuit so only his underwear remained. The garment was far too ordinary and less exciting than Xol must have imagined, judging by the slump on their face.

"So, my turn then?"

"No," Xol laughed. "I wasn't saying I spotted only three lies."

"Uh-huh?" Tlaloc mused, leaning towards Xol with a signature grin, enjoying how every breath of them got him drunk for free.

"Shame you lied about owning that ship though."

Tlaloc laughed - it was fair enough after all, and having a stolen ship definitely insured his reputation against this early loss.

"Going to arrest me then?" he growled, adding a wink for good measure.

"Depends. It wouldn't send a good message to my usual customers, and I don't really like playing with handcuffs," Xol countered, keeping a palpable air of suspense to their entire encounter.

Tlaloc laughed, conceding. He pulled back for a moment and lost the black trunks that kept the fun hidden. Shedding the last illusion of modesty came naturally to the troubledog. A good bit of nudity always sped things along, so he locked eyes with the hybrid, daring them to drop their gaze south and take all of him in.

He was certainly proud to show off what his present company would see: something if, he could admit, he'd admired by himself many times. In just the fur as close as primaeval nature intended of him, he was sleek and slender. His fur was light and glossy, a mix of earthy browns pleasing to the eye; soft, tan, and creamy across his stomach, chest, and across his sheath, beyond which things trended darker, until his extremities faded from brown to almost black. It was a touch of space, he liked to think, but he knew that was more an edge to the full goods on display: his plump, swelling sheath, the leaking crimson tip of his canine cock, and the perfectly full, round balls beneath.

"What about your lies then?" Tlaloc breathed, his fur rising with confidence.

"Aw, cute," Xol smirked, keeping their gaze up. "Why should I tell you, and squander the sweet advantage of my victory?"

"Well... you're a coyote too."

The hybrid paused like they'd been stuck. Their eyes lost their concealing softness, the pupils sharp with hard edges.

"Go on." Their tone was entirely neutral, and Tlaloc knew to tread carefully.

"Not in the breeding sense, or the gene-mod sense. But you've got it too, haven't you? You've got that... feeling right?" Tlaloc bristled, trying to stick a pin down on that thing inside him, inside them both, that made everything so...

"Fuck." His lip trembled as he scratched his muzzle. "I dunno. It's like you're one paw in reality, or like you're always floating in zero gravity. None of this, nothing, has any weight to it. Like you peel everything sold back and find it's all hollow - so to cope you just keep picking and picking, taking what kicks you can get from everyone else blocking out the absurdity of it all - the lies everyone else believes wholeheartedly - but really you envy their stability as they wander through life without doubt. But you can't hold it together - you're still so alone in that dreadful cynicism, and you wish things could just go back to the way they were again, even if for a moment, just so everything can make sense again."

Tlaloc looked up at Xol, his golden eyes faltering. They always said the eyes were windows to the soul, and here he was being sincere - quivering with the vulnerability of the first authentic moment in a long time.

"Don't you dare call any of that a lie either - I'll fight you on it," he growled.

"I feel it too," Xol shrugged. They hadn't changed much in the remaining moments between them - their fur still and motionless, neither rising or falling. While the same intoxicating scent rolled off them, the coyote felt certain that the moment for such play had passed them by. As he leaned over to gather up his discarded clothes, the hybrid shattered their stillness. They growled, telling them to stop.

"Why did you let me dock?" Tlaloc whispered.

"What kind of life do you think I have here, watching folks come and go, but never going anywhere myself? I need to get out of here. Perhaps I needed to know how authentically 'coyote' you are to take the risk I'm planning." Xol finally looked down. They reached out, trailing their paws softly through his fur, like a ghost finally restored to physical form, savouring the long lost experience.

"It's not as fun when you put it that way," Tlaloc shrugged, crossing his legs and flicking his tail up over his sheath. He harrumphed further in mock hurt, staring back out through the reinforced, tinted glass. "You get a reputation like mine by doing things, not talking about them. And who comes up with a game like yours if they're not looking to play something more fun?"

"You think some quickie bent over the counter would help me?"

"It's the most authentic service you could ask of a coyote," Tlaloc replied. He took another deep breath, detecting, once again, how Xol's need had not diminished.

"Well, I am still figuring out whether you're the right one to elope with..."

"Well then... you're the one still wearing clothes." The coyote shifted, feeling his sheath swell. All this teasing - he could only tolerate so much coyness before things got physical.

"That's because, according to the rules of our game-"

Tlaloc gave a needy growl, grinned, and licked his lips.

"One: you lied about not being a coyote yourself. Two, you definitely are a dreamer - you wouldn't accept being stuck here because of your asshole progenitors if you weren't. Three, you lied about having some navigator in you. No wonder you're itching to get away from this place."

Tlaloc folded his arms and spread his legs, letting the grin stretched across his muzzle grow.

"Shall we call it a draw and have some proper fun?"

"Depends on your definition of fun. There's several," Xol reminded him.

"Fortunately, I like plenty of types of fun." The coyote smirked, running his eyes up and down his fellow dreamer while they fiddled with the belt-loops of their jeans. Judging by the shift in their scent - from need to a delicate mix of hope and fear, they needed a little reassurance. He was only too happy to provide.

"After all, I hear navigators have plenty of, well, choice in that department..."

Tlaloc met Xol's eyes, letting them linger with knowing before seductively moving away. But instead of removing their own clothes, Xol slipped out from their booth and headed over to the diner counter. They grabbed one of the red leather bar stools and gave it an experimental squeeze with their paw. Then, they bent over, lifting their tail and swishing it about through the air behind them, while they pressed their chest against the tool, gripping it tightly with their arms for what was to come.

"Come on then," Xol huffed, but there was no disguising the note of apprehension in the air. Tlaloc grinned and gave an affirming growl.

"Fuck yeah."

No sooner had he finished uttering the words, the coyote returned to Xol's side. Tenderly, he reached around their equally sleek and slender waist, fumbling with the belt and zips until they fell away from their rump with the grace of autumn leaves. With care, Tlaloc took their clothes and folded them neatly on the stool beside them, enjoying how the scent of their need grew stronger in the air between them. He broke his silence at the slightest needy whimper Xol's lips betrayed, taking that as his queue to cease his polite treatment and begin a more carnal appreciation.

"Plenty of fun options indeed."

Nestled between the supple contours of Xol's rump, beneath that flagging tail and cute, pink tailhole and above their balls and knotted cock, Xol's taint gave way to canine spade: their thick, triangular lips glistening with their sweet-smelling need, appearing so very fuckable. Tlaloc growled approvingly, watching as both of their sexes twitched almost to every heartbeat, as the heady mix of nerves and need mingled throughout their body.

"Fuck, it's been a while since I saw such a fine spade."

"You... like mine?" Xol whispered, his own knot leaking beneath his legs in clear excitement, even if the nerves were still present in his voice.

"Of course," Tlaloc replied, getting down on his knees so his muzzle was level with their ass.

The coyote didn't feel the hard floor on his unprotected knees. He was preoccupied by the sight. He ached to have a talented tongue enough to say something that cut through their nerves, their anxiety, and show them their beauty. Instead, Tlaloc pressed his muzzle against Xol's warm, soft, feminine entrance. Before his conscious mind caught up, his tongue slipped out from his muzzle and slid over their tasty entrance, his taste buds buzzed with delight, responding instinctually to Xol's heat.

When Tlaloc's thoughts caught up, he doubled his uninhibited exploration - reaching out to hold Xol's leaking cock, dextrous paws working the twitching shaft and thick knot. The coyote only stopped his ministry when his brain started to beg for air, breaking his deft cunnilingus only for a lungful or two of air before redoubling his efforts, as if all other biological necessity was a chore.

"That's one way- to show you love it." Xol shuddered, their pussy dripping with saliva and need.

"Just inspecting the goods." Tlaloc grinned, giving Xol's knot another encouraging squeeze. The pressure sent a wave of pleasure through the hybrid's body, nerves twitching as any other electricity between them dissolved in the current of bliss. It was powerful enough to stop any verbal reply, permitting only a whine of pleasure.

Xol sighed when the wave passed, attempting to claw their faculties back. From the contented groans they were making, it was a reluctant endeavour, but there was no way the coyote's tongue and paws alone could sate the warmth blossoming between Xol's legs.

Tlaloc's knot tingled and throbbed in his sheath, swelling greater while more of his pointed member spilled from his sheath. At the tip, his cock was a light, creamy pink, but as he worked his sheath down over his tapered shaft, it became a deeper red. When it came to the knot, a good couple of inches later, the colour was a deep, alluring crimson. He fondled himself, slowly pulling the stretchy sheath over his knot while it remained manageable. Finally, freed from his sheath, the bulb swelled even larger, almost entirely round, throbbing with the promise of a fulfilling tie.

A sultry look back to Xol revealed the navigator waiting quietly, paws gripping the diner counter in anticipation. Seeking to enhance the mutual pleasure that was to come, Tlaloc quickly unsheathed Xol's knot as well, but instead of releasing his grip, he took a firm grip behind their knot, teasing them while he lined his own tip up with the wet, glistening spade before him.

Of the two of them, it was Xol who remembered enough of themselves to articulate what was to come. Reaching behind them, they pulled the coyote closer with a growl.

"The only words I want to hear from you next are, oh fuck, and how hard you're cumming."

As if to prove their point, a thick drop of their arousal leaked from their pussy onto the coyote's cock, covering him in the warm, intoxicating fluid that made him shiver. For all the coyote's smart talk earlier, he was now reduced to the right noises: a mixture of horny babble that betrayed one very clear lie: Tlaloc had been outplayed, and he was loving every second of it.

With his head covered in slick arousal, Tlaloc slipped his canine pride deeper and deeper into the hybrid's slick depths. Spade filled all the way to his knot, and their own knot held firmly in such a sensitive spot... the coyote levelled the score. It was hard to tell who quivered, who uttered a flustered moan, or who's tail twitched erratically behind them like it was wired wrong. Each thrust felt heavenly. Knot shoved firmly against that hot, wet spade, still refusing to yield. But as the frenzy of their lovemaking increased, a desperate, inevitable edge crept in. Each thrust was no longer smooth, but twitchy and erratic. Every breath, thin and quick. The union between their bodies approached with all the inevitably of gravity collapsing stars, and between such unrelenting forces, their desire for each other could no longer be separated. When the coyote finally felt his thick knot pop into the hybrid's juicy spade, their tides of pleasure collided and became one. They gripped each other desperately. They pushed harder, firmer, quicker, trying to bring their bond deeper and deeper until their shared climax came: pumping their warm seed deep inside that warm spade, and painting their lust across the underside of the counter, and the diner floor.

Eventually, the frenzied need of their bodies was sated, breaking like the storm after a tempestuous ocean. They both began to breathe independently, the distinctions between them surfacing after their bodies achieved their desires.

"Fuck..."

They heard those words first over the roar of blood rushing behind their ears. There probably had been more, lost to the frenzy of their lovemaking, a sound only their cells had heard.

"That was..." Tlaloc growled in throaty satisfaction, joined in primal unison by Xol. The resulting duet was equally content, and it was some time before the coyote felt pressed to speak again.

"So... what risk were you alluding to earlier?"

"Nothing you couldn't handle I'm sure," Xol murmured contentedly, eyes still wandering beneath their eyelids.

"Sounds promising." Tlaloc shifted his weight slightly to find a more comfortable position to wait out their tie.

"Mhmm, you know... a little bit of arson and elopement."

"Nice. And where would you go?" the coyote chuckled. He got the gist, but it was by far more fun to hear them say it.

"That's a nice two-seater you've got parked out there," Xol teased, wiggling his hips and enticing a muted hiss from the sensitive coyote.

"Scandal! What a breach of contract!" he pouted, bending over to give Xol an affection lick on the back of their head. "Think of what you're doing to those poor, wealthy benefactors!"

The two of them cackled together, enjoying both the irony and satisfying tingle of their shared connection.

"I'm sure they wouldn't miss it," Xol rationalised. "Frontiers are risky. Could be anything really out here: stray asteroid impact, critical reactor failure, raid by pirates-"

"There aren't any pirates out there," the coyote smiled.

"Oh? You sure seem to enjoy plundering some booty," Xolotl shot back

Tlaloc groaned at the pun, and pushed his knot a little deeper into that sensitive hole in response. The garbled words that followed were much better.

"Just as well navigators are better suited to provide-"

"Sorry to break it to you, but I didn't inherit any aptitude for complex mathematics though."

"And there I was getting all excited about offering my spare seat as co-pilot."

"Yeah, well, don't tell me the computer doesn't handle it all these days anyway. At least this way you'll have better conversation?"

"Just conversation?" Tlaloc teased, still firmly tied in that warm, slick hole. "And there I was thinking we were getting to understand each other."

"Not to say you're aren't charming," Xolotl scoffed, "but I've kinda been itching for a good reason to escape and burn this place to the ground for a while now."

"No offence, but I don't blame you," the coyote paused, taking another look around the diner. He tried to disguise his heart sinking, but he couldn't stop his ears and tail from drooping. He might have been a coyote, but he was a dreamer too.

"How come you waited all this time?"

"I just needed to meet the right someone who wouldn't think I was crazy. And well, to pass me the match."

Tlaloc felt his spirits rally as he saw Xol looking back, a contented expression spread not just across their face, but their whole body. The kind of look that spoke of more than just pure satisfaction, but perhaps, the beginnings of something deeper.

"So, another coyote?"

"Yeah," Xol smirked. "Another coyote."