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There was just nothing Shekh could do about it. The hyena slammed the front door behind him as soon as he stepped back into the house, all of his fur prickling and tingling, his tail swinging, his mind roiling as he felt it tugged in so many different directions. Here at home he could clear his thoughts, and focus, and really dig into the source of what had gotten him so flustered: he wet his lips, swallowed, thumped his head back against the wall, let out another breath... and then curled his upper lip up against the base of his nostrils and took in a slow, deliberate sniff.

So he hadn't been imagining it. A sweet shiver bounced through his body and tightened his pants even further, his eyes fluttering shut in response to the scent wafting off of his own breath. Throughout the morning so far he had caught repeated little whiffs of it, fragments that he thought were just imagination or perspective twisted from something else around him. The little jagged spice, the edge of slight pungency, that touch of something that was nearly undeniable in its quality... while out running errands just now he had actually had to stop and slip into one of the bathrooms to enjoy himself a little bit, eyes closed, mouth open, body bent partially over as one arm pumped away at himself reliving the previous night's indulgence.

And now he was home. He took in another breath, tasted that scent still almost as strongly as he had been able to when driving home the previous night, and pulled himself away to head to the bedroom. Already those thoughts and memories stirred within his head, each one more enticing than the last: he heard the panting breaths and low, hungry moans, the wet slaps and squelches and slopping of firm flesh plunging deep into succulent wet meat, soft like damp velvet, and then slurping back free; he_smelled_ the thick drips of slightly foggy juice that had dribbled out across his muzzle, his cheek, his nose, his tongue where he had watched the two from underneath.

Halfway down the hallway he reached down to undo his pants fly, button going first and zipper second, then tugged the material down and forward just far enough to let his remnant eagerness swing up into the air. For a moment he paused there, head craned down, paws pressing into his hips, nostrils flared in trying to feel the thick, humid air already wafting up off of himself: he hadn't had a chance to shower between last night and this morning, and like thick syrup he drew his own scent in to join the other lingering along his lip. It was a deeper, rounder kind of aroma, cool yet savory, distantly salty, still maintaining that touch of acridity that reminded him something of ammonia.

He reached down, pressed the pad of his thumb against the rim of slick, supple skin, let it slip back just slightly to show pink flesh glistening with natural gathered wetness, then brought that up and smeared it right across the front of his nose, and it was almost the same. It still fed right back into the simmering arousal that had stirred within him since he had first gotten out of bed, though, and that was what he wanted.

The closer he came to his bedroom the deeper in his memories he dropped, one paw holding his opened pants halfway up his thighs, the other idly poking, touching, stroking. Where he shouldered through the door now, he remembered waiting at the front door of Hal's place the previous night, heart in his throat, tail stirring behind him; where the empty room greeted him now, silent and still slightly warm from when he had slept last night, he remembered Hal's door swinging open to show him the white-furred ghost bat greeting him first, and then the large, black shape pressing in from alongside his waist, the feral Great Dane's tail wagging.

But in a self-assured, _dignified_way, somehow. Everything about Camellia was like that, from the way she looked at Hal whenever he spoke to her, to the way she carried herself about the house as someone with four legs in a place very obviously designed for two, to the way she caught and reflected the bat's little praises and affections - and then, of course, even further.

While Hal had been chatting with Shekh at the door there - the hyena now stripped his shirt off, tossed it to the side, and easily kicked out of his pants and underwear as he approached his bed - one white-furred hand rested atop Camellia's head, then drifted down her neck towards her shoulders, along the smooth curve of her back, to the slightly sharp points of her hip bones, and then down further. And when Hal had finally stepped aside to usher the hyena in he had lifted that hand back up from underneath her raised tail, and there had been the slightest of wet noises accompanied by a twitch in Camellia's face and voice, and those long fingers had dribbled with clinging stickiness.

Hal had of course noticed that Shekh had noticed, and as the three had made their way down the hall he had brought those fingers to his mouth and slurped them clean, leaving his breath tainted with exactly the same scent that Shekh's still bore, so many hours later.

That wet dog smell. He shivered as he sprawled out atop his bed. Coaxed on from the memories of the previous night again he ran his thumb across the head of his shaft, stirring it through the coating of sticky warmth steadily dribbling: he had been nearly unable to focus during this morning's errands, and now that he finally had the chance to give in to it, there was no way he would be able to resist.

Shekh wiped the warm, sticky wetness against the point of his nose, resisting the immediate reflex to flick his tongue up and lap it right back off. Rich, hot odor of bodily musk spread through his senses, tickling at the back of his throat, fueling the flame simmering in his loins; the striped hyena rumbled in his throat, swallowed, and stretched out where he lay, legs spread with his footpaws shoved beneath the blankets, one paw draped lightly around the base of his twitching arousal while the other still touched and wiped there at his muzzle.

With his eyes closed it wasn't hard at all to slip back into those memories, and to swap his own scent smeared there, still dribbling down along his thumb, for that slightly different one. Add in a touch of coppery metal, a fringe of slight acridity, and then a good helping of tepid, heady canine, and then suddenly... back at Hal's apartment he was lounging back on the floor barely ten minutes after walking in, head propped up on a pillow swiped from the couch, staring up at one of the most delicious sights he had ever been witness to.

Rich black velvet meat stretched open around the ghost bat's shaft, wet canine spade tugging out and away from the rest of Camellia's body as Hal drew back, showing thick-veined pink coated, slickened, smeared in the gathered sheen of her wetness, a little sigh dribbling out from the Great Dane's parted lips just as these strands of liquid arousal dripped out of this end. Shekh's nose had twitched frantically with the weight of this scent, so familiar yet so unique all its own. If he drew too deep of it it almost made his eyes water, but still he found himself pressing his elbows back against the edge of the bed on which she lay, lifting up, drawing closer...

Until Hal pulled the rest of the way free with a thick, wet schluck. Loose drops of that clinging slickness flung from the end of his arousal, and the dog's sex jiggled in place with the movement. The surface of the black velvet had darkened with their shared wetness, swollen out to about the same size as the hyena's clenched fist: under the shifting of her panting body it bounced and shivered, soft silken flesh pulsing with her movements, succulent folds parting gently open to show where black tinted to luscious pink inside. A sharp-taloned hand came down from above, forefinger and thumb held apart, and lovingly squished up around the base of her spade, pushing it up against her body, stretching it from point to base, and then gently coursing in between the centered folds. They parted open with another wet smack and the Dane shuddered again, tossing her head to the other side atop the bed with an oozing sigh of pleasure.

A droplet of warmth had hung down and plopped against Shekh's cheek, shifting his attention away from the moist dark meat. Right there hanging down above his muzzle, so hefty that it bent downward about halfway along its length, Hal held himself with his other hand, thumb pressing back the lip of his white-furred sheath, three fingers stretched forward to keep his shaft angled. Shekh had licked his lips, swallowed again, and drew in another breath, this one tainted heavily with the inimitable aroma of canine musk, so thoroughly smeared into the fur around his nose already.

He hadn't actually touched Camellia yet. She was Hal's territory; the two did everything together, from sleeping to starting their day over coffee and breakfast to going out grocery shopping to relaxing in front of the TV before bed, and everything in between. It was Shekh's position to lie here and watch, so much closer than ever before, right within reach yet still so far away. As the bat pounded away at luscious, succulent meat, loose drops of arousal and slickness flung off and spattered his muzzle and tongue; each time he pulled out a few thick ropes of the stuff hung down and broke across his fur; as she wagged her tail in delight it thumped at his neck and shoulder, and he watched the way the pucker of her tailhole twitched and clenched and pulled and stretched with the movement. It was intoxicating, and tantalizing, and invigorating, and he wanted nothing more than to sit up and see if he could fit that fat spade into his mouth, to curl his tongue up between those wet silken folds and suck the slickness out of her... but he didn't.

That was part of the fun of it: watching Hal nearly lose himself in her presence and companionship, listening to both of them murmuring and cooing at each other, watching from aside the sheer depth of pleasure the two gave each other, and him indulging in the awareness; _that_was the fun of it. Shekh had shivered and sighed, nostrils flared to draw in her scent again - until a different wet warmth suddenly smacked against his cheek, then again, and again.

He remembered his focus readjusting again. Bright eyes behind the totem shape of the bat's leaf-nose sparkled down at him, deadly fangs glittering in a sly grin - and Hal hefted his hard cock and tapped it down against Shekh's cheek again, further adding to the slickness matting down his fur there. He shifted, licked his chops, and tilted his head to follow, drawing first his lips along the wet underside and then his nose to follow. Here all of that scent of dog and musk and bat focused and centralized, wrapping together into something powerful and heady, almost overwhelming; he closed his eyes and pursed his lips up against the underside of Hal's head, tongue flicking out just enough to feel the coating of warmth completely encasing him.

When his tongue had drawn back into his maw he could taste both of them. He shivered with the recognition, rolled the stickiness around in his mouth, then lapped at the bat's length again, and again, and again, now turning his muzzle up and to the side, now deliberately tilting this way so that his nose brushed along his tip. Then he had lifted up and back, felt the sheer simmering heat of Camellia's spade so close to the back of his head, parted his lips, held his tongue out to hoist Hal atop it...

...and then back in the present, back in his own bed, Shekh gasped, squirmed, bucked into the air, and then nearly doubled in over himself as the peak of his pleasure arced through him. The very same had happened to him back at Hal's apartment, bearing that warm heft further back along his tongue, filling his throat with the thick warmth of Camellia's wetness and musk, cleaning all of it off of the bat's length just so Hal could bury himself deep inside of her again... panting, shivering, painting his belly and chest in a third, a fourth, a fifth thick spurt, those memories swam behind the hyena's eyes wrenched shut. Even after he had gone home and brushed his teeth he had still been able to taste that wet dog on his breath, layered with the bat's scent and taste as well.

Finally he flumped back against the pillow, paw loosening around his still hard shaft, chest heaving in steady panting. That made three times today - once before he had left this morning and again while out in that bathroom in the back of the store - and three times he had only made it to the point in the memory where he had taken Hal into the back of his throat.

This was, to say, just over halfway along his full length. He hadn't even touched Camellia and yet still had to swallow around her, her warm slickness coating his lips, the interior of his mouth, and the back of his throat so that he could feel the sticky, delicious heat dripping down. Right afterwards he had sighed out and felt the heady aroma of her sex oozing from his breath, likely as strong as if he were to press his nose right up into the dense, plump folds of wet meat freshly stretched and filled from the bat's length, and draw in a deep breath of her scent straight from the source.

After all of that, after dutifully replacing the slimy slickness coating Hal's shaft with his own saliva instead, making sure to dig down into his sheath and polish his balls as well, the bat had grinned again, hoisted himself up, and plunged right back into the Dane, this time going fast and hard - and nearly bruising Shekh's cheek and chin with those balls. Within minutes Hal's breath had tightened and he gasped, and Shekh's ears flicked to the sound of a hungry wet kiss with Camellia, and then he had watched as the base of the bat's shaft and sheath pulsed with the volume and force of the load pounding out of him and deep into the dog's spade.

And then he had pulled out so that the last few spurts squirted out across Shekh's muzzle...

The hyena shifted where he lay and slipped his paw away, drifting in that hazy warmth of pleasure. Twenty minutes, he thought, and then I guess I'll go for a fourth...