Under the Table
#1 of SLASH Patrol
All content copyright Veritas( [email protected] ), 2004. Any resemblance to other persons or situations, real or fictional, is purely coincidental. Those offended by anthropomorphic, male, homosexual sex need not read on. Blah, blah, blah.
Under the Table
Jack Larson shaded his eyes and tried to catch a glimpse of his destination.
He'd known roughly which way it was to the administration bunker when he first started walking, but Kirloff's weather was absolute hell; even in the middle of the space-port the blowing snow made it easy for an organic mind to get turned around. The fox could deal with asteroids, but snow? That wasn't part of his expertise. He could hardly imagine what the planet's storm belt was like.
He caught a glimpse of a low, sprawling building between hangars and struck out, sticking close to the walls when he could. When the wall came to an end, he folded his ears back and hurried across the gap to the next wall.
He really needed to get some of what the local population wore. Besides sticking out, his green flight suit didn't cover his ears without a helmet.
Oh well, that was a problem for later. Jack got his bearings, then dashed across the last gap. Large fluorescent letters painted on the wall revealed that this was indeed the "ADMIN" building; now there was just the matter of getting inside, and so long as he followed the wall, he'd eventually come to a door.
Luck was with him and he must've picked the right direction; he didn't even have to turn a corner before he came to an entrance. And an exit; they were two separate doors, and the entrance was open. Going in the entrance, he found out why: it was set up like an airlock, doubtless to minimise the wasted heat. Once he'd got to the other end, the sensors evidently figured nobody else was coming in, and the doors cycled, warm air rushing out to greet him. The door slid shut behind him, presumably opening the outer door as well; similarly, the inner door of the exit lock stayed open, waiting for people to depart.
Simple enough system. Maybe it didn't save the heat entirely, but it only let out parcels at a time.
"What's your need, sir?" inquired the skunk behind the desk. Without his dense outer clothing on, it was plain to see that evolution had been at work since skunks first settled on Kirloff; his pelt was much denser than those of skunks elsewhere in known space. He had the same friendly, welcoming disposition that the citizens of Kirloff - though not the world itself - were known for.
"The harbour-master told me to find him here," Jack replied. Best to leave it at that.
The man nodded. "Name?" Once Jack had given it, the clerk nodded again, touching his computer terminal and, after a moment's pause, speaking into his headset. "There's a Ser Larson here to see you... Yes, right away." Appearing slightly surprised, he looked back up to Jack. "Seems he's been expecting you. And bored; I knew it was a quiet day, but it usually takes me some time to get through even then. Down three levels, follow the blue stripe," he said, gesturing toward an elevator.
Jack gave him a quick word of thanks and went into the indicated lift. It was easy enough to figure out, and the transit was quick and smooth. The promised guiding line was not only blue, but labelled "HARBOUR MASTER" in several different languages.
Finding the right door was easy enough, but the trip still gave Jack the impression that the bunker was very extensive, especially for such a small port. Maybe it connected to storage areas and the like, but still...
Further speculation was curtailed by his arrival. Once he'd rung the door chime and spoken his name, the door slid open for him, and silently closed behind.
Veryn Farkan, harbour-master, looked up from his terminal and smiled as Jack entered. "I see you found the place all right," he noted. "Bad luck that you arrived during a snowstorm; we don't get many of them at this latitude." The big skunk waved toward the chair opposite his desk. "Make yourself comfortable."
Jack sat. "The main thing I wanted to ask you is, is there any work that needs doing around here? Something my partner and I could handle in our skimmer, by preference."
"Skimmer work, huh? Let's see." Veryn touched the computer terminal, looking quite intently at the screen. "Not much, I'm afraid; most of the work that we need mobility for also needs volume. The only thing that's still open doesn't pay terribly well, thanks to government regulations... The mail shuttle's broken down again. The collected mail disks for the past week are long overdue getting delivered, and they should still fit in your skimmer's hold. The run will probably take about two days, depending on how fast your skimmer is. It's a fixed-rate job, five hundred."
Five hundred for two days. Not great, but not worth dismissing out of hand. "Can I get back to you on that once I've had a chance to talk with my partner?"
"Sure thing," Veryn replied. "We haven't had anyone else come into port that's equipped to handle it, so it'll probably still be up for grabs. If you decide you want it... Here." He pulled a data shard out from his desk and passed it over. "This is my contact information on the local net. As long as you're in a place that has a signal, you can hook in and send me a message without needing to fork over enormous fees for a public terminal. Just tell me you'll take the mail and I'll know what you mean."
"Gotcha." Okay, that was the legitimate business.
"Oh, I know you said not to worry too much, but I'm due for a change in personnel. Just so you know, in about four days' time, nobody who saw you dock will still be here. A number of the topside crew will be doing underground maintenance work in ports all around the world; they'll be damned hard to find."
"Thanks," Jack said, grinning. He and his partner, Galen Torquil, had been dodging pursuit and gunfire for the past few days; it was nice to know that, for a little while at least, Kirloff might be a relatively safe haven. "Now, any idea where I can get some decent cold-weather wear on the cheap? I don't really want to wear my helmet around town..."
Veryn brightened, getting to his feet. "I think I can help you there," he said. "One of our workers recently had an order botched - got stuff in the wrong size. The stuff that was sent just might fit you - and it's surplus, worth less to the actual running of the port than the effort to send it back to stores or even the space it's taking up. Come along."
So Jack went along, and it turned out that a few sets of Kirloff's standard clothing were indeed in stock and in his size; thermal underwear, loose enough not to wear fur thin, pants, thick shirt, stockings, boots, parka, and gloves, all in a dark, somewhat shiny grey. It'd stand out in the snow - but not in a crowd around here, unlike Jack's flight-suit.
Out of habit, he dodged between a few of the shelves to get changed. Or at least, that was his intent. He'd just stripped down when he heard a swift, nearly silent step behind him; the next second, strong, black-furred arms slid around him. "I hadn't figured you for the modest type," Veryn purred in his ear.
"Some people don't like others being naked around them," Jack pointed out, keeping his voice quiet but unable - and unwilling - to keep the humour out of it. If Veryn thought business was done, that was fine; Jack felt much the same way.
"Their loss. My, you're in good shape for a spacer." Hands burrowed into the fur of Jack's chest and belly. "And it's so deliciously easy to tell without resorting to deep radar."
"I've had to move my own cargo from time to time," Jack said, "and got in a few scraps." He leaned back and swallowed a sigh. Veryn had dispensed with his shirt, and the skunk's thick fur was wonderfully soft. "Quarter-master's busy?"
A snort; a nibble at his ear that made it and him twitch. "Busy stroking off to the security cameras, I don't doubt. But he won't interrupt; I've scheduled myself off-duty for the next little bit."
"Pity," Jack sighed, not even bothering to stifle it this time. "I was looking forward to getting some maintenance done." Thinking of that gangly skunk sitting at his desk and jerking off somehow made Jack feel a little more excited. That he'd be providing the show for it didn't hurt.
"Mmm. A bit of work on the plumbing, maybe?" Thick, rough finger-pads danced downward, caressing Jack's sheathed member.
Right to the point - and even through Veryn's pants, Jack could feel a sizeable stiffness against his thigh. He wondered if the skunk had been at all able to get off in the past few months. "Something like that," he agreed. "Maybe a fluid check, maybe a bit of work in the crawlspace, who knows?"
"Oh, I like the way you think," Veryn hissed, lips brushing the side of Jack's neck. His fingers squeezed around Jack's shaft, tugging the sheath back and forth along it. Jack, feeling himself start to stiffen, let out a groan.
He put a hand on Veryn's wrist and gave it a squeeze. "But first," he said, "maybe I should have a look at your credentials, hmm?" It took a good deal of willpower to keep laughter at bay. Besides being funny, though, this was actually somewhat fun, and that simple pleasure was one he'd been missing in life lately, let alone the more advanced pleasure that seemed to be forthcoming.
Veryn seemed to be feeling something quite similar. He loosened his arms from around Jack, giving one last stroke to the fox's emerging tip, and rumbled, "Certainly. You should trust your mechanic, after all."
Jack turned around and burrowed his fingers into the dense fur of Veryn's chest, wiggling in until they felt flesh. Despite having what was typically a desk job, Veryn evidently worked for a living, and worked quite hard at that. He leaned into Jack's touch, a rumbling sound like a purr sounding low in his throat, his eyes half-lidding; they slid the rest of the way shut, his purr deepening into an outright moan, as Jack glided his hands down.
This much, from simply touching him? This might get interesting...
Jack knelt down on the cold concrete, and put such discomfort out of his mind, poking his snout at the sizeable tent in Veryn's pants. The skunk groaned, shivered, and arched forward, tail sweeping the floor.
Oh yes, this would be quite interesting indeed.
Jack undid Veryn's belt, tugged his pants open, pulled them and his underwear down a few inches; they stubbornly clung in place, but it was enough to let the skunk's trapped member free. Having not seen one of this species up close, Jack took a moment to examine Veryn's member as the cool air caressed his own. Right down to the fur, and even farther, Jack found, sliding his fingers along it, there didn't seem to be any evidence of a sheath. It jutted out a few inches, then took a sharp turn and continued upward for seven more. The shape might limit things, but it also might offer some possibilities. Plans started to form in Jack's head.
For now, he flicked his tongue over Veryn's bulbous tip. Musk greeted his senses, musk and a bit of salt, accented by a shudder and flavoured by a deep moan.
The skunk's member was ample, but so was Jack's muzzle. He parted his jaws a little and dove right down, sealing his mouth around Veryn's member right where it curved, his nose a tantalising fraction of an inch from the lower part; then, sucking hard, he drew his head up and off. Veryn gasped, straining upward, trying to follow him, and sagged, panting, when Jack's lips slipped off his glans.
Jack grinned, though the skunk was in no condition to see it, and licked over his tip again. One of the fox's hands slipped around the skunk's shaft and gave it a squeeze, the other pressing in a bit lower against his groin, black on black on black. Though the fur concealed everything to the eye, his touch discovered that the skunk's sac was quite ample, already drawing in close to his body.
"Decisions, decisions," Jack murmured, lips brushing against Veryn's tip as he did. "Do I trust you to hold it in for a while? Or to get it up again right after?"
"It'll go again," Veryn husked. "Ahhh. I didn't, mm, didn't expect to be this sensitive, but it'll go again. Oh, you're good with a flight-stick, pilot."
"Comes with the job," Jack replied, sliding his fingers along Veryn's length, giving his balls a squeeze. The skunk bucked and wriggled, gasping for breath. It couldn't have been more than a minute or so until he suddenly shoved his hips forward, biting his lips, turning into a stifled grunt what would probably have been a loud yell. His shaft pulsed under Jack's fingers, streamers of thick, musky semen streaking the black fur of his belly with white.
As the skunk's climax faded and Jack let his attention wander, he became aware of a big hand on the back of his head, now sliding to his shoulder; Veryn's other hand was grabbing the shelf behind him. Jack shifted back onto his feet, then stood, sliding an arm around the skunk's broad shoulders. "You needed that," he observed, and couldn't help but chuckle.
"That's for sure," Veryn sighed, his own arm slipping around Jack at chest-height, the other hand toying with the fox's chest-fur. "But something makes me think you could use it too." The latter hand dove right down, closing around that something and giving it a firm squeeze.
Jack stiffened, biting back a gasp and shoving himself into Veryn's hand. Besides his overall sensitivity, the skunk's grip had settled right around his knot.
"Very nice," Veryn purred, tightening his fingers a little, his other arm releasing Jack as he slid out from under the fox's arm, crouching down. "At other times, I might be able to find a good home for it. For now, though, I hope you'll excuse me if my urges lie the other way today."
Jack managed to keep his tail from flagging at the thought. He usually was the sort to be on top, but right now, the thought of Veryn's slender length filling him was very attractive indeed. Just one of those urges he got from time to time. "I can excuse a lot," he grunted, "for hands like you've got."
Those hands continued their work, one massaging around the base of Jack's sac, stroking and gently squeezing his balls, the other dancing up and down his shaft. Sharp teeth grazed over his nipple, drawing from him a sharp gasp to match. But the skunk wasn't trying to get him off - the motion of his hands was too smooth, too slow. While such caution probably wouldn't have worked on Veryn himself, for Jack it served to keep him groaning and tense, but quite some distance away from orgasm.
When the skunk gave a hard squeeze to Jack's knot and rose up to his feet, his shaft once more hard and gleaming black, the fox's plan fell into place. It worked in free fall, and since he could lift his own weight in gravity greater than Kirloff's slightly-above-standard, it'd work just fine here, too. He planted one foot against the side of the lowest shelf, the other on the ground, and used both to shove himself forward, throwing his mass against Veryn. The skunk grunted, but went along with it, winding up with his back against the opposite bank of shelves.
Jack didn't waste any time; he reached up to grasp the shelves on either side of Veryn's head, lifting a foot to put weight on the lowest shelf, then walking up to the second, and finally the third, knees bent and pressed into Veryn's hips, arms tense.
The skunk grinned, bringing his hands up to Jack's ass, taking up some of his weight and taking the chance to do some kneading. "Trust a spacer to use the furniture," he laughed.
"Gives leverage and makes height irrelevant," Jack agreed, turning his muzzle up to snuffle at one of the skunk's ears. It quivered a little at the touch of warm air, and Veryn tugged him a little closer. As dense fur closed around Jack's member, the fox didn't mind in the least that the skunk's hand wasn't on his cock anymore.
Confident that things weren't going to fall apart, Veryn let go with one hand, fumbling in a pocket, then wiggling free of his clothes, finally letting them fall and kicking them aside. For a moment, Jack wished he were a few steps back to enjoy the sight; but he had a good notion of what the pause was about, and he wasn't going to interrupt it.
Sure enough, Veryn lifted him up just a bit farther and slid a finger under his tail. He'd plainly done this before; his blunt claw slid into Jack's ring with hardly any discomfort at all. As the thick finger followed, fur matted with slick, viscous fluid, Jack forgot all about image and let out a moan of need.
Unlike some in the past, Veryn didn't tease him for that need, or even comment on it at all; he was, after all, quite familiar with it. But for now, his need was the complement to Jack's. After a few moments sliding his finger in and out, he drew it away, bent slightly to keep that stub-claw from catching and causing any pain. Jack, knowing roughly how far Veryn's cock stood out from his body, leaned back just a little, back curling. Then Veryn's glans pressed in where his finger had just been, and Jack felt himself sliding down, the skunk's slick, slender shaft entering him with no trouble at all. He slipped right down until his balls nestled on the lower curve of Veryn's member.
As Veryn lifted him, Jack pulled up with arms; when the skunk let him fall, the fox pulled his legs in. They moved with the same purpose, sliding against each other, moving with the same smooth synchrony of a practised deck crew. Their mouths met, tongues rubbing and twisting, and though their different-shaped muzzles didn't quite fit together and things were messy, neither of them cared. This was sex, plain and simple, and it was what both of them needed. The curl in Jack's body gave Veryn just enough room to slip his hand in, fingers dancing along his shaft, stroking and squeezing his knot.
Jack couldn't tell which of them came first. Just as Veryn gasped, shoved his hips sharply upward, and started shooting his second load deep into the fox's body, the spasmodic clenching on his knot was answered by a sudden swelling there, Jack moaning into Veryn's mouth and shivering as his seed flowed out into the skunk's dense, dark fur.
They stayed that way for several long, delicious moments, savouring the contact and the afterglow; then, acting on the same thought, Jack tightened his arms and Veryn lifted him off, letting the fox climb down, get back on his feet, and wordlessly dress in his new clothes. Veryn evidently carried a rag around to deal with more than just grease; after mopping himself up a little, he, too, put his clothes back on.
"Send me a message when you know either way about the mail run," Veryn told him as they slipped out of stores, the skunk casting a wink at the quarter-master that made the younger skunk's ears flush; evidently he'd called it right. "If we can get the mail out by 1950 tonight, it'd be a great help; some of this stuff's a week old."
"I'll let you know," Jack promised, shifting the duffel bag that Veryn had generously provided to store his spare clothes. "Depends on what else my partner's able to scare up."
"Understood. I'm sure we'll think of something if you get a better offer." They took the lift up to ground floor. "I realise Kirloff's not much of a tourist spot, Jack, but if you're ever in the mood to run deuterium I'd be glad to have you back." He paused at the entryway. "And if you need someplace to stay while the tanks are being loaded, I'm sure we could work something out."
A simple transport run had never sounded so attractive. Jack grinned, extending his hand; Veryn took it, and they shared a firm handshake. "I'll be in touch," Jack said, pulling goggles down over his eyes.
And as the harbour-master went back to his work, the pilot stepped outside into the whirling snow.