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Chapter 33

After an hour of struggle,Derryhad given up on doing anything about the aching, knotted-up boner he'd been sporting ever since Nivea had been very nearly pulled right off his prick by the arrival of their commanding officer. Groaning, the wolf rolled onto his back on the couch in his bedroom, glaring at his bright red, leaky cock, glistening like candy in his bedroom's soft white light. He then glared at the pair of casts he wore, knowing all too well that trying to rub himself off with them would be a painfully abrasive disaster.

All that humping the couch had accomplished was giving him a feeling of teenagerish embarrassment, and leaving a damp stain in the cushion he was sure he'd be heckled about at some point. Grumbling, he glowered down at the swim trunks that dangled from his ankle, having fought him for half an hour as he tried to get them off without bashing his casted paws all over the furniture.

Worst of all, Nivea hadn't doubled back to find him after Tenh had finally left off. His stomach knotted up again at the thought, wondering if she was upset, or if his chance with her had somehow been destroyed forever. For the most part, he just hoped she was okay, and not freaking out quietly in her own room after the nerve-wrenching events of their rather jerked-about day of leave.

He wriggled, growling under his breath as his untended-to-cock throbbed and dribbled again. The wolf's balls felt bruised and achey, like they were overfull to the point of bursting. Derryhadn't been blue-balled like this since he was twelve, and hadn't known that the simple fix for this aggravating pain was to jerk off.

"God-fucking-damnit..."

He nearly crapped himself with sudden terror when his door thudded open, and little Jenny Greenway rushed in bouncing like a cartoon, only to stop short with her eyebrows shooting up like they were trying to leave her forehead with designs on low orbit. Always quick on her feet, the grey-furred feline spun and slammed the bedroom door shut, just as Bill Verman had been about to walk in with Derry's bags.

A muffled 'Hey!' came from behind the door, to which Jenny giggled wickedly and responded.

"Sorry my shining knights! Damsel in distress has a dragon to wrestle!"

The laughter outside hadDerrytrying unsuccessfully to cover his eyes with casted paws, succeeding only in rubbing the rough plaster into his face fur.

"Shit...Sorry, Jenny, I uh..."

"You have a boner, and poor wolfie is too gimpy to take care of it. Not your fault. Let me!"

The sheer ridiculousness of her statement had him almost laughing, despite wanting to cry in frustration, though both conflicting emotions seemed so unimportant when she bounced over to the couch and unceremoniously grabbed his knot, giving it a squeeze that had him leaking and gasping.

"I uh..."

"Wolves have an inherent problem with priapism, due to the biological necessities of such complicated vessels," she lectured, while using one of her small, delicate paws to gently stroke from just above his knot to his tip, milking out another dollop of pre she then used to further lubricate him.

AsDerrylay his head back and closed his eyes, her lecture continued, barely heard and not much understood.

"In un-altered humans, extended arousal can turn into 'blue-balls' when blood pools in the scrotum." He paid more attention to the fact that she then leaned down and licked at his aching balls, sucking one into her mouth a moment before letting it pop free. Derrycould almost see her grinning, even with her eyes closed, the pretty young scientist enjoying the strange dichotomy of biological lecture and sex act.

"With wolf-human hybrids, however, once the knot is fully engorged the penis is unable to naturally deflate without the endorphins and oxytocin involved with orgasmic release..."

Her breath trailed over his tip, andDerrycouldn't help pushing his hips up toward her, though the cat teasingly pulled back, continuing her gentle paw massage of his straining prick.

"F-fuck, Penis Professor, st-stop...Ungh...Just suck my dick already!"

Jenny went silent, and with a lurch of embarrassed shameDerry's eyes shot open, fully expecting to see a look of incredulous anger for having shouted something so domineering. Instead, her face was plastered with an exultant smirk, as if she were reveling in some accomplishment reflected in his words.

Then her muzzle was wrapped around his cock, bathing it in heat and warmth and an electric sort of pleasure that made him flop his head back against the couch arm again and unconsciously grasp at her with casted, useless paws. In response, she wrapped a paw around his heavy, swollen balls, pressing them up around the base of the knot she rhythmically squeezed with her off paw.

He lasted all of thirty seconds.

Chill wintry wind redolent with weeping moisture ruffled the Dragonslayers' dress uniforms as they stood at attention with the 17th Marines. Piercing the mist that swathed them, golden sunlight streamed down, bathing and warming them despite the morning chill, slowly burning away the fog that roiled and and wove around and through the great field of graves that sprawled all around them. They stood at the heart of a grand military graveyard, entombing Atria Prime's honored warrior dead going back all the way to it's initial colonial Marine defenders of many centuries past.

Almost half of the 17th had been wounded in the pitched battles of the conflict coming to be called the Galactic Civil War. To Nivea's right at the far corner of the Dragonslayer unit's line section, some thirty Marines were in wheelchairs, bandaged and casted, and in one case carrying a mobile dialysis unit. To Derkin's left on the other end, a double-row of somber and respectful media snapped photographs of the military formationas it stood at attention, in readiness for the final speech before interments truly began. In front, past several more ranks of Marines standing in file, dozens of black metallic caskets held the deceased, killed in battle, and draped with the USF's flag.

On the hillside below them, and in the valleys in all directions, dozens of other formations stood attention as well, each honoring its lost warriors with hundreds of service people lined up in silent memorial and vigil as they were entombed. Derryfelt a muted sense of pride, mixed with sadness and regrets, that their unit was receiving the highest honor of the day. Behind a podium just a few feet past the last row of caskets, a stone and mortar monument was under construction, though everything but its short wide set of carved steps was covered in tarpaulin.

President Jared Bull, a retired leatherneck of such age that he looked as if a stiff wind would blow him down the hill, stood resolute between podium and monument, facing the blank-faced and dress-uniformed Marines with a stern but placid look, as he waited for some signal only he could hear.

His speech came without any prompt or cards, voice amplified by a simple microphone clipped to the lapel of his grey suit, as soft chill winds ruffled his age-whitened tiger fur.

"Just a few months ago, life was peaceful. We had our trials and tribulations, our highs and lows, and by and large we lived our lives in a state of peace and security. We now know that sense of stability was false, a beautiful gold leafing covering the grisly truth that lay beneath.

"This war has been brewing for decades, perhaps a century, from amidst the mire of galactic politics. Resentment against the original human species has seethed and simmered, as those who fail to understand the necessity of discipline and restraint argued for finding ways around needing the oldest human species among us. They saw the need for core-human breeding as a method of control, exerted from Old Earth and the Senate.

"They are not wrong. Our own biology was designed in such a way to require interbreeding with the core humans every few generations. This was purposeful, to help prevent just the sort of galactic dissolution we are now seeing. In their childish desire for freedom from all restraint and responsibility, factions such as the United Galatean Federation seek to snuff out our creators, and in doing so all of us as well."

He gestured out and down with an ancient, withered paw, toward the glistening rows of caskets arrayed before him. Down below at the other ceremonies, video and audio feeds of his speech were being shown on large screens, elevated for each unit to see and hear.

"Before us lie the heroes of this struggle, fallen fighting not for politics or money, but to defend what they believe is right, and to aid their brothers in arms. Take heart in their sacrifice, and for every pain you feel when remembering them, overwhelm it with a sense of joy at their accomplishments and courage. Remember each one for who they are, and for what they contributed to. Lastly, remember to fight on in their memory.

"I won't bore you all with further political grand-standing. Not here, not today. This day is for these brave sons and daughters whose corporeal bodies lie before us, and for their courageous spirit. We salute them so that we will never forget the lessons they taught us, about war, about life, and about ourselves.

"Thank you for all you have done."

That last comment, directed at the caskets themselves, came out in a quiet voice far less hard-edged than the stern parade-ground tone of his speech. As trumpets played the ancient traditional burial tune, and as caskets were lowered by machine into their prepared homes, the honor guard raised their rifles.

The rippling crackle of rifle salutes drewDerry's eyes upward, watching the balls of white-hot plasma streaking into the sky, to fade away in the daylight above. Jared Bull waited a minute or so, for all of the salutes to end, before speaking again.

"The list of commendations and medals to be awarded is a long one, even without a Galactic Senate to approve the highest honors. So, I will only personally announce one. The rest will be given at ceremonies by brigade."

A few nearby Marines, still standing at parade rest, gave slight ear flicks of relief. No one wanted to miss the ceremonies, of course, but to stand at attention for the many hours such a number of ceremonies could take would be incredibly tiring, especially for the walking wounded that made up almost a quarter of the force's number.

Bull continued, his ancient stick-like legs apparently undaunted by the long time standing.

"In the course of honorable service, many of us will be confronted with situations wherein we have the option to take action in a way that will save the lives of our comrades at grave risk to our own. Every warrior here, seeing such an option and knowing their own measure, would do what they thought best. Whether that means exposing themselves to danger while drawing enemy fire off pinned comrades, or courageously grabbing an enemy grenade and throwing it back before it can detonate.

"Some of us go a step beyond such heroic acts."

"On the fourth of March, Fist of the Nascent Dawn, under the command of Captain Adriana Leith, engaged the Star of Aden over Centauri VII. During the course of battle, the two capital ships became engaged in boarding action. Outnumbered nearly four to one, the Fist's Marine detail and Naval security staff fought heroically, forcing the enemy to pay in blood for every step forward.

"Cut off and without equipment, Staff Sar'nt George Herrin managed to stay unnoticed and stealthily approached their point of entry. With the assistance of the Ix'kat queen Kilk'ik'Ktch and her drones, the Staff Sar'nt stormed through the docking gantry, overcame the enemy's guards, and reached the Star of Aden's targeting computer center before enemy forces could respond.

"As the Star of Aden's security teams realized what was happening and attacked in force, Staff Sar'nt Herrin managed to gain control of the targeting center despite being hit and mortally wounded. If he had surrendered, it is likely he would have survived, albeit as a prisoner of war. Instead, he chose to spend his last minutes disabling the Star of Aden's targeting computers.

"Captain Leith informs me that without those targeting computers disabled, the Fist of the Nascent Dawn likely would have been destroyed in the ensuing exchange of fire. At the cost of his own life, Staff Sar'nt George Herrin crippled the enemy and saved the lives of many other Naval and Marine service people.

"For this act of conspicuous valor and selfless heroism, I am hereby posthumously awarding Staff Sar'nt George Herrin with the Atrian Star, our highest regional honor. I am also privileged to present him with the Naval Conspicuous Valor Cross."

The withered old senator then nodded his wrinkled head to one side, signaling the Marine Colonel that stood at the base of the podium. In cadenced, booming tone, so familiar it gaveDerrya surge of boot-camp adrenaline, the tiger officer barked out.

"Company, present arms!"

The honor guard stepped forward, their rifles held properly, their stride made as one, in a symphony of hard boots on hard stone.

"Fire!"

These shots weren't rippled, like the ones before. All the same,Derrycouldn't help the slightest flinch, as his gut clenched to the sound.

"Fire!"

Off to one side, he saw Nivea's left ear twitch, with the second set of reports. Other Marines had slightly less poise, still a bit shell-shocked, muscles twitching. None broke ranks, though, or made any but the most involuntary of moves. Despite the harrowing battles they had seen, their professionalism won out.

"Fire!"

The last shots went off, and Senator Bull's assistant arrived, letting the old tiger sit back into his wheelchair. With that, the ceremony was over, and the Colonel called them dismissed.

Songs had been sung and libations poured, among the Marines of the 17th. Hours passed, in the bar they'd bought out for the night, as stories of the fallen were exchanged, backs were slapped, drinks were drunk as only Marines could drink, and pool was played. Derry, Niece, and Clicks had occupied a corner of the room for some time, mostly in silence, drinking and watching the other Marines cavort about until the wee hours, occasionally fielding friendly conversation from their now-former unit mates.

Derkin and Olly had spent hours milling with the Marines. As a pair of nominal outsiders, the otter and armadillo had been treated with varying degrees of respect at first, until at some point in the night the Marines had gotten it out of their system and welcomed the two as brothers in grief and celebration.

Waters and Kerr hadn't been seen since the ceremony on the hilltop. Derrysuspected they had run off somewhere, alone together so to speak, though he had no real evidence to go on. Either that or the two spooks were meeting with some 'handler' of theirs.

As for Jenny, the other Marines had made it clear that this was a military-only event. He'd had to ask her to stay behind at the hotel, though she hadn't seemed as annoyed by that as the wolf had expected.

Then he'd spent a few hours drinking quietly, thanking other Marines for their consolations and congratulations for SSGT Herrin, and quietly enjoying time with his squad.

Derrylifted his head up, letting the booze-flavored straw slip sloppily from his lip, as Derkin thumped a heavy digging claw on the table and grinned. His face was flushed, yellowish skin having turned somewhat orange from all the singing, laughing, and boozeing.

"Hey bosh-man...Olly's bitchin' out on more party...We're gonna go back to th...Uh...Th' bungalow and have shecks. Um. Secksh."

The wolf raised an eyebrow, and glanced past him. Sure enough, the otter's chest brace seemed to be all that was holding the walker pilot warrior upright, his eyes lidded half shut and head leaning to one side against the cushioned headrest of his wheelchair. ToDerry's left, Nivea giggled drunkenly, and swung a paw forward in a graceless arc that nearly knocked everyone's drinks over, giving Derkin a big thumbs-up.

Hardly sober himself, but at least realizing it,Derrygave a chuckle and mirrored Nivea's thumbs-up. He only saw Clicks trying to mimic the motion when her taloned arm surged ominously into his left eye's peripheral view. The wolf had shut off his ocular implant to avoid the confusion of seeing computer-assisted graphic rendering with a very much chemically-impaired brain.

"You two go...Have fun. Just walk safe, okay? You hadda lot to drink, Corpsman."

Derkin waved off his concern, though the motion seemed to throw his center of balance, causing the muscular armadillo to swagger like a tree in a windstorm in holding his balance.

"Shid...Yeah...I'm gonna gedda...Cab..."

As the pair trundled off, Nivea leaned up next toDerry, so close her breath ruffled the fine fur on back of his ear.

"Heh...I got five dollars...Says whiskey dick..."

Then she slipped off the table edge, and her head and shoulders landed onDerry's lap with a soft thump of furry flesh on casual khakis.

"Huh..."

Derryblinked down at her, pushing his drink away with a paw made blunt and senseless by cast and drink, before sitting back in the chair. Something told him he shouldn't hang over her like he'd almost been doing, that she might feel somehow trapped. The wolf didn't realize he was grinning happily and his tail wagging, as Nivea snuggled into his groin with sleepy eyes and a drunk grin.

Somewhere off to his right, the strange ratcheting noises took a second to resolve in his head as speech.

"You squishies are SO fascinating! You drink the rot-nectar and get silly, hee hee!"

Turning his head,Derry's eyes trailed up Niece's slack-muscled body, modestly-clothed now yet no less delectable for it, until his vision was filled with the slightly-blurry green and red of Clicks' carapace. He gave the bug a big grin, and an easy laugh that would have felt strained without so much drink.

"It's called getting Drunk, Clicks. Well...Okay, I'm a little drunk, and Niece is smashed, and Derkin will probably throw up before he sleeps..."

Nivea wriggled a bit then, and bit his chain of thought in half when her paw dug into the wolf's lap and grabbed at his khaki-covered package.

"Whoah sh...Niece, not here!" he hissed, only to get a dopey grin from the wolf girl, as she licked her lips. Her breath had warmed him, he realized, just as the alcohol did. Only now it was centering right on his crotch, which rested a tantalizing couple of inches from her drink-dampened muzzle. The paw didn't leave him, as Clicks let out a chirp.

"Uhoh, mating dance! I hafta go!"

With that, the bug queen surged to her feet, and with her peoples' strange and seemingly-impossible grace leapt out onto the dance floor, scattering startled tipsy Marines as she skittered away making a noise not unlike snickering.

"We're makin' Clicks giggle," Nivea mumbled, before her bright pink tongue flicked out, slurping wetly along the crotch ofDerry's pants. He tried to push at her with casted paws, awkward and trying not to shove the drunken girl to the floor.

"Niv...Uh...Look, you're really drunk right now and..."

"Hm?"

His mind screeched to a near-halt when her fingers managed to hook his zipper, and tug it down with an unsubtle 'ziiip' he was half-sure could be heard in orbit. Trying to grab at her paws was utterly futile, just leading to her giggling and pushing his casts aside to nuzzle and lap at the boxer-briefs behind them.

Her tongue traced him; even flaccid, his sheathed cock was large and solid enough to be found easily. Worse yet, to his mind, he wasn't entirely uninterested, if the heavy feel of his crotch was any indicator. Shielded from view of the whole bar-ful of Marines only by their own drunkenness and a table skirt, Niece Gordon giggled and pawed at him, fumbling at the hem of his boxers like they were some sort of Gordion Knot. Derrycouldn't do much but sit there and try to talk her down from an act his crotch kept screaming at him to allow.

"Nivea!" he hissed. "Niv!"

Her tongue slid along the cloth, tickling his cock just beneath the tip in a way that made him suck in a hard breath and wriggle in the chair.

"Gordon!"

A hissed shout of her surname, and the Marine girl was looking up at him, chocolatey brown eyes unfocused with lust and drink. She wore a dopey smile that was fading, as some instinct recognized a commanding voice.

"Private Gordon," he continued, praying her alcohol-soused brain would continue recognizing his orders-voice, "zip me up. It's time to leave."

For a moment, to his terror, she did nothing but stare at him, so close to his throbbing, growing cock he was worried she'd just ignore him and go right back to making a valiant drunken attempt at slobbing his knob. Then her brain seemed to register and process what he'd said, molasses-slow, and she rolled a bit to give herself access, carefully zipping him back up.

"S-sorry boss, I...I'm really really drunk right now and...I just want you to know how...Uh...How much I love you and..."

He reached for her paw, bumping it with his cast, then moved the blunt plaster up under her chin, tilting her head until they were meeting eyes again.

"Nivea, I love you too...Have for a long time. But this isn't what you'd want if you were sober, so it's not what's going to happen okay?"

Her eyes slid downward, and she nodded, as serious as a drunk, then slowly wobbled to her feet before offering him a paw. Once he'd stood, they made for the door, calling out to the bartender to get them a cab. He had just enough time to put an arm around the suddenly quiet girl and pull her in close for a word before the bright yellow atrocity pulled up, smoking a bit from its tail end.

"Niv...I want to be with you, but this isn't how it's going to happen, alright? I don't want you to regret anything in the morning."

Leaned against his side, she nodded, and then burrowed her cheek against his shoulder, eyes closed. He could almost feel her embarrassed realization of what was going on, a wave of heat through liquor-cooled skin. Unfortunately, she was still drunk enough to grope him, despite all that had been said. Derrywas rolling his eyes in frustrated amusement when the cabbie pulled up. By the time they arrived at the hotel, her head was in his lap, though this time with her eyes closed, sleeping like a drunken cherub.

Getting her to the front door was a bit of a trick, considering his own moderately-drunk toppling, and he thumped his forehead against the door in aggravation upon remembering yet again that he couldn't operate a key to save his life.

"Niv. Nivea?"

She mumbled against his shoulder, which blew air across a chill patch of drool. Derry's ears went back with a sigh.

"Niv. We're at the hotel. I can't use the keys, and I don't think anyone's here."

The only response she gave was to snuggle into his shoulder and loosely hug an arm around his middle. With another sigh of aggravation,Derrydecided to eschew politeness, and kicked the door firmly, twice, sounding loud thuds into the hotel suite beyond.

Thirty seconds and five more kicks later, he'd nearly given up. Then, Nivea finally spoke, seeming to have come back to some semblance of consciousness.

"Herrin's dead, Dare."

He pushed down the urge to grumble at her. Being stuck outdoors for so long was jangling on his nerves, even more so because he was basically defenseless. No one was responding to his booted thumps and none of the lights were on, so it seemed likely the other three had gone off someplace for whatever reason. Or that all three were sleeping like the dead.

The realization he was so keyed up about that kind of stupid thing after what Nivea had just said sucked the wind right out of his anger, replacing it with a sort of empty sadness he hadn't yet allowed himself to feel.

"Yeah."

"No. I'm bein' sherious...He's dead...How fuckin shit is that?"

Derry's heart felt like it had been filled with liquid lead, as his mind finally caught up with what she was trying to say. He'd seen other Marines die, even given them the orders that lead to their deaths. Somehow, knowing that a direct superior, someone he had served under, trusted with his own life, had died in battle seemed a new sort of terrible.

He wrapped both arms around Nivea, and held her there as the wolf girl sagged up against him again, while trying to dig a key from her pocket with sloppily-drunk fingers.

"I hope Clicks is okay about it...She was there when it happened."

"Yeah," Nivea whispered, as the electronic keycard clattered against their suite's door. She was too drunk to make it fit in the narrow reader slot, and whined in frustration.

Derryfrowned slightly, watching her, and made quick calculation before sliding his cast under her wrist. With a click, the card slid through its slot, and he managed to turn the handle with his other cast and shove the door with his hip before the damnable thing could re-lock.

With her leaning against him, they fell straight through the doorway in a heap. Nivea lay atop his back, pinning him to the floor despite her near-total limpness. With a snort,Derrymanaged a joke, despite the weighty sense of loss that lingered upon the edges of his half-sedated mind.

"Heh. Teamwork, right?"

Atop his back, he felt as much as heard her snicker, a loose-muscled vibration of her lungs going straight through firm breasts that sandwiched all too nicely against his shoulder blades. Her muzzle came to rest along the back of his neck, then, and Nivea wriggled slowly, clumsy with poor motor control.

"Take me t'bed, bosh man..."

"Not sleeping with you tonight, remember?"

Her grunt was decidedly un-ladylike, as she managed to flop a paw down over his face. Blowing at it with breaths through his snout,Derrygrumbled and planted his elbow, shifting his weight by muscle alone until she slid bonelessly off his side. Getting up involved rolling himself over onto his back and working from there. At which point Nivea was lying on the floor like a noodle, sprawled out as if she owned the whole floor.

"Gordon, c'mon, get up."

"Muh...I don' feel good..."

Aw shit, the wolf thought, kneeling down to loop his casts under her arms. He had to get her into the restroom, which was through the door to her suite, before she upchucked all over the floor.

A short struggle later, he'd managed to boot the bedroom door open and waddle with the softly whimpering wolf to the bathroom door. Nivea had doubled up, like she was trying to pull her feet towards her head and her face towards her gut, while hugging around her middle. The wolf girl's tail was between her legs, and a low whine grated againstDerry's ears, as his snout finally sensed just how much she'd had to drink by what was wafting out of her fur, clothing, and breath.

"Bluarghk!" she commented, which struckDerryas an excellent editorial on the fact that she was now face-down in a commode, vomiting up drinks had in remembrance of a lost comrade. Nivea shook in his arms, powerful muscles contracting as her stomach messily ejected its contents in a spray that made his own gut grumble in an entirely unpleasant, curdling fashion.

"Real sexy, Gordon. Yeah, I'd tap that," he joked, to fight off his own nausea, and to hopefully detract from hers. The miserable noise she made told him he hadn't succeeded in that second part, as her chin came to rest against the splattered porcelain.

"Aw damnit," he muttered, seeing her face come to rest in the chunky whitish mess, unable to do much but watch it soak into her fur before her eyes shot open and she heaved again. He couldn't even rub her back. AllDerrycould do for his poor drink-sick squad mate was hold her a bit more upright and put his chin on her shoulder, dangerously within the splatter zone.

After a third sudden, groaning expulsion, she went quiet for a while, laying there limp and miserable in his arms on the floor of their bathroom. Her breathing slowly eased, from ragged post-vomit gulping to a gentle susurrus, and he was about to start thinking about how to get her into the bed when she spoke in a hoarse tone.

"D...Dare...?"

She looked so helpless he couldn't help but kiss her temple and squeeze her protectively.

"Yeah?"

"D'you still love me, after all this?"

"Uh...Well yeah, duh."

"'Swhy I love you too."

The weeks of their recouperation leave passed slowly by, and after those first few days time settled into a blissful release of stress and pain that finally allowedDerryto relax. Within the first week, he was able to see Trisha in person again, and introduce her to the entire team who had saved her. As was her way, she politely greeted them all, then quietly listened to their ongoing banter, adding her two cents when she saw an opening but staying largely quiet, observant, vigilant.

He'd also taken to sharing a bed with Nivea and Jenny, despite his concerns that such a thing would be awkward and a jealousy-inducing mess. Then he'd caught the two of them 69-ing on Nivea's bedroom floor two days after the drunk-and-vomiting incident, and laughingly gotten over his bashful terror that the Jenny-Nivea peace accord would collapse like a stricken galaxy imploding on itself.

To his wry misfortune, Nivea had gotten skittish about the idea of sleeping with him, though, ever since walking in on Jenny spread open on his massive shaft, squealing in orgasm. Not that Nivea was shy about just about making out, he discovered. Despite her fear of his 'gigantic trench anaconda,' Nivea seemed plenty enthusiastic about surprising him with sneak tonsil-devouring attacks.

Blue balls would have been a way of life if not for the entirely accommodating little grey cat woman, though she had to split her days between hanging about with the Dragonslayers and doing some manner of research science work on the computer that made Derry's head spin the few times he tried to ask about it. Nivea Gordon, with her advanced education and familial connections with the biotech industry, seemed to have bonded with Jenny Greenway over the massively complex math she crunched daily.

Derkin and Olliver,Derrynoticed to his chagrined amusement, seemed to not be of enough mixed feelings about lewd behavior to avoid screwing whenever the opportunity presented itself. As he pushed the front door to the hotel suite open with paws that felt fresh and new now that the casts were just off, the smell of sex hit him like a battering ram. Combined with the symphony of grunts and slaps, and the squishing noise of a lubricated orifice being pummeled, the sight of Olliver bent in half over the back of the couch, upper body laid along the cushions as Derkin plowed him left nothing to the imagination.

The armadillo looked up whenDerryclosed the door, too tired after hours at the medic's office to go back outside, and waved to the wolf with a cheeky, sweaty grin while growling and grinding against his boyfriend's ass.

"Hey boss-man."

Without pausing in the least, he gripped Olliver's strangely skinny hips and kept plowing him, as the otter groaned out incoherently under the sensuous, throbbing assault. Derryfought down a blush by shaking his head and striding for the kitchen, pretending nothing was amiss despite long instinct to run from people having sex inculcated by years of dodging the rather vicious hookers of Irontown's undercity.

"Hey, uh, Ziggy. Olliver."

The otter didn't bother responding, except to make a squeaky ululating sound barely muffled by the couch cushions at all. Soft split-splat sounds madeDerryblush finally, despite the awkward embarrassment mingled with long-conditioned spikes of distant anxiety.

"Oh f-fuck!" Olliver grunted, as he continued to twitch out a thick load onto the floor between Derkin's footpaws, a thingDerryhad to turn his eyes away from to avoid being transfixed by the sheer strangeness of their intimate act being performed so publicly. As Derkin began panting and grunting through his thrusts,Derryfinally remembered why he'd gone for the kitchen, and turned toward the sink to gather soap from the dispenser into his newly-freed paws. The sink in his room's private bathroom was just too small to really scrub in.

A quick flick of the faucet, and he was washing away three weeks worth of itchy paws and oil-matted fur, three weeks in plaster having made them so filthy the cabby that drove him back had rolled down the windows. At least he'd been polite enough not to actually comment on the rotting-bandage stink.

"Hey uh..." The awkwardness-wall that normally surrounded talking to people during sex was already breeched, though its rubble wriggled throughDerry's voice. Though the grunting and slapping sounds didn't slow, the wolf saw Derkin turn his head, evidently able to pay attention to both carnality and words.

"Have you heard from Kerr or Waters? Haven't seen them since the funeral."

"Nngh...Nope..."

More slapping of hips resounded around the apartment, asDerryshut off the sink. Which very nearly caused him to turn the sink back on, just for the sake of white noise to help keep his head from exploding out of embarrassment. A long-cultivated instinct to conserve anything so precious won out though, and he had the faucet off in time to hear Derkin's response question.

"How 'bout...Mm...Niece and Greenway?"

"They're uh...Having girl time, before we...Y'know...Ship out again. Went to the mall, I think."

"H-huh...Even with the rationing, the mall's...Ngh...Open?"

"Fuck, Ziggy...Ughn..."

"Take it, bitch..."

Derryslapped a paw over his face, feeling as if he ought to run and hide. Still, he had to say his piece.

"Guys, I uh...You know I'm cool with you two being...Y'know, gay right?"

No response came but more grunting and squishing slapping noises.

"But having sex in the common room isn't cool. Not professional, y'know?"

"Yeah, nnh...Sorry, thought you were with the girls and would be out...Won't do it again..."

"Right. Uh...Okay that's it."

A buzz from Derry's room cut through his remaining embarrassment, and he jogged over. That noise was a special sound, one that meant a call from command was coming in. Strangely, it seemed to settle his nerves more than three weeks of R&R had.