FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

by Roland P. Jackal

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The apathy with which space travel was now regarded hadn't always been there. There had been a time when every spacebound launch was accompanied by tens of thousands of excited onlookers, pushing and jostling for the chance at glimpsing the ascending craft.

But it was never going to last. The world got bored with space travel, to the point that the first stasis pioneers returned to much smaller cheering crowds to the ones that saw them off, which only thinned further when it became apparent that there were no mutations or other hilarious side-effects from long-term stasis exposure.

This shift in opinion was probably going to be worst for the crew of the Horizon Surfer - a superfast redshift-antimatter rocket that was designed to do two incredible things. Firstly, at the expense of almost every other aspect of the ship it would push the crew closer to the speed of light, relative to Earth, than anyone from that planet had ever previously been, accelerating nonstop for the best part of a decade to fall short of the cosmic speed limit by a margin that could be achieved on a terran bicycle. Or at least that's what Arnold Transtile (an arctic wolf who radiated genius and whose most astonishing accomplishment was arguably receiving less renown for masterminding and nurturing to fruition what was probably the most ambitious and spectacular engineering project ever to see the light of day than he did for his video blog that for the most part consisted of him pointing out phallic-looking components of the said ambitious and spectacular engineering project) had said when he designed the thing. Secondly, it would enter an event horizon-skimming orbit around a supermassive black hole for a while before slingshotting itself back to Earth. The whole point of the project was that the crew would experience such time dilation that they would have only aged a few years during the estimated two millenia Earth time it would take to complete the trip, and as such would return as the first earthlings to have travelled in time to a meaningful degree, with a time difference under their belt that could be measured on something that wasn't an atomic clock.

Only the bravest cosmonauts dared volunteer, and only the best of them were chosen. It was the golden age of space travel, when cosmonauts were badass, rockets were awesome and everyone knew damn well that cosmic limits were there for the sole purpose of being pushed and then broken once pushing them got boring.

That had been around 1,700 years ago, some centuries before the stasis chamber was invented. They hadn't been counting on that. Nor had they been counting on the sheer apathy with which space exploration was now regarded. True, it was possible that a brand-new "golden age" would kick off and be in full swing by the time they got back, but chances are they'd be returning to an Earth that simply didn't care.

It was both heartening and cruel that no one had yet managed to bring themselves to tell them that every aspect of their mission was now redundant. Maybe someone kind souls would even rustle up a nice tickertape parade for them, but that would only delay the inevitable time when they were sat down and told that no one was even slightly interested in what they had done.

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Someone with good senses might have been able to note the interval between when the alarm started and Ray's eyes snapping open. He sat up. Something felt different. Disabling the alarm, he mouthed some expletives at what he saw. An early riser by nature, the squirrel was nonetheless horrified at the time: 0450.

Untethering himself he floated to his alert screen to see what the emergency was.

Which it wasn't. Instead it read "Navigation Officer Effective Tingle to report to Bridge at 0500"

A shift? It would seem the dim but ultimately likeable (probably) fox had obviously found a solution. Ray wondered how afraid he should be.

Quickly Ray set about getting his uniform on, as always loathing the chore of getting his pants on over the sheer bushiness of his tail.

////////

Ray stepped on to the bridge at 0459. He was getting quite used to gecko slippers.

Stopping abruptly at his post and saluting, Ray with some mild amusement recalled the "Longest way up, wiggle wiggle wiggle, shortest way down" sketch. He didn't let it show, however.

"Navigation Officer Effective Tingle reporting for duty, Sir."

The grey zorro didn't turn to greet the squirrel, focusing instead on the main screen as he scrolled rhythmically through the ship's readouts.

"Tingle, what thrust could be sustained if we diverted all energy from shields?"

Tingle poked his screen a few times and said "Six point three metres per second per second, Sir, increasing at a rate of zero point zero zero three..."

"That's all I need to know. Divert energy from shields to the engines, maximum available thrust."

A few seconds of palpable silence passed

"Sir, are you absolutely sure?"

"It's not your job to wonder that, Tingle."

Ray took a breath and thought about mountain streams and the smell of a temperate rainforest until his tail de-bristled before he continued.

"Then may I make an observation in my capacity as the ship's Navigation Officer Effective?"

The fox thought briefly: that did sound reasonable.

"Continue." he said.

"I simply fail to see how deactivating the particle shield is in the best interests of the crew, Sir."

"What, we might get hurt?"

"We could die, Sir." Ray said, almost shouted, passing beyond wondering about Tingle and in to pity territory.

"Tingle, you are an intelligent squirrel. Is it really yet to dawn on you that our situation is hopeless?"

"I wouldn't say that, Sir."

"Oh? You mean there is some slim chance that we might survive?"

"That is correct, Sir." began the squirrel in a tone usually reserved for explaining how genocide really wasn't a very good thing after all "We set course for Sirius, bide our time until we're there, at which point we go in to stasis."

At this Terry turned and beamed at the squirrel his most disingenuous smile to date, "Raymond, is everything that simple to you? Keep calm and carry on and all? Just how insulted do you want me to be here? Or maybe I should return the favour and ask if you have actually considered what we might be eating as we bide? We have enough food in storage for six months, nine if we're careful. I suppose after that one of us will get to eat the other, but then what? I'm sure a crossword or two would help keep one's mind off food."

"Food recyc?" said Ray a tad patronisingly, trying to think of a clear summer morning

"Food recyc." Terry hadn't been expecting Ray to say that. Once again he stared at the squirrel, trying desperately to see any sign at all that he might be having a sick joke with him

"The Sternhund had food recyc systems as standard equipment." Ray persisted with the confidence of one who had perused a lot of wikis "It's not exactly a desirable situation but-"

"Food. Recyc." By now a look of utter horror had spread completely over the fox's face. A street preacher had once told him he'd burn in Hell, and at the time he'd been far too sceptical to believe in any such place. But the thought of eight years eating recycled food was making him seriously reconsider.

Finally calming slightly he spoke "It was built with one, yes, but that was before everyone involved realised they were just being gross. I think the one here got replaced with a VR suite."

"It was removed?"

"Of course. I mean it's not like anyone was ever going to use it... more than once." he added before Ray couldn't say anything, and turned back to face the main screen.

"A bit like the VR suite, really." he mused.

Ray was sheepishly staring at the full ship manifest that Terry had sent to his console, his left whiskers twitching slightly.

No food recyc. So even if they accelerated suicidally close to light speed, and even if the Sternhund was able to cope with the said speeds (Ray didn't know what its absolute limits were, but it was made with demi-lightspeed operations in mind and the warranty with Himmelphote was void if you ever took it above 0.67c) it would still be several years ship time before they reached the Sirius Nebula.

A rescue mission was even more farcical, as even if there existed a ship removed enough from the basic principles of science to reach them on time, the Emergency Deep Space Services were generally kept too busy rescuing rich twits who had crashed their solar yachts in to an asteroid or something to be worrying about an exoclaim crew who had only their own incompetence to blame for their predicament (and not the refined, "Oh dear this is most unfortunate well who's for champagne then?" incompetence that the rich yacht hobbyists had, either).

"Now divert shield energy to the engines and thrust, Tingle." the zorro ordered.

"With respect, Sir" began Ray, trying to sound as sincere as he felt "I am still at a loss as to _why_."

"Quietus." semi-growled the fox.

Ray visibly flinched. The word seemed to carry a vacuum behind it.

"Gravity, partial as it may be, will at least be comfortable." Terry clarified.

Blinking a few times and with a shaking handpaw Ray punched in the appropriate commands, and with a growing hum a certain amount of weight was returned to the bridge.

With a blissful sigh the fox rocked back and forth on his footpaws, somewhat impeded in doing so by the gecko slippers. Ray, meanwhile, appeared to be on the brink of implosion, leaning on his console and barely able to support his own partial weight.

"That is all, Tingle. You are dismissed."

Ray logged off his console and somewhat unsteadily made his way to the lift, his tail flailing somewhat as he readjusted to an environment with gravity in it.

Terry watched as he left, following his swishing tail down to his butt, and wondered what horny bastard had designed these buttock-accentuating uniforms. Despite his best efforts not to be speciest Terry still found himself smiling as he thought that it must have been a red fox somewhere. But it was only speciest if he actually started to believe it, right?

Once Ray was out the fox collapsed back in to his chair. He wanted to tell Ray he was sorry. To embrace him and tell him that no matter what he'd be there, but it wouldn't be very captainly, and even if it were he wouldn't know how. Then there was the part of him that had wanted to make the rodent stay, to layer on the protocol and watch him squirm. With a growl Sprot flicked himself on the nose.

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So the ship was to be their Quietus - the nest that all animals made when they knew their time was near. A grim smile crept across Ray's muzzle. It wasn't considered standard practise these days, dismissed by anyone who wasn't a hippie as an outmoded and primitive tradition, but in the end the astrophysicist and venture capitalist would make theirs alongside the Paleolithic hunter-gatherer whose greatest achievement was working out that you couldn't actually eat rocks.

One might think it silly to dismiss something so fundamental as the instinct to seek the comfort necessary to die with dignity, but the answer was pretty straightforward, motivated as it was by another fundamental instinct: everyone was terrified of death.

So folks didn't talk about it or acknowledge it. Or, if it was absolutely necessary, it was done so behind closed doors.

Which may have been why Ray was somewhat unprepared for the feelings he was feeling now.

He turned up the volume of the music he'd been listening to, letting Darren Hayes fill the room, blocking out his thoughts.

Smiling he relaxed a little. He might as well die a fag.

////////

The grey zorro tried to make head or tail of the newer Call of Duty games, and more to the point, how they were exactly the same as the ones he'd played as a kit. He really didn't understand what was so hard about letting the player see their footpaws when they looked down. As it was he could only assume he was playing as a floating midget. A glasses-wearing midget judging by how the blood splattered on the screen. He wondered why the lenses never cracked.

He was going to die here. Slowly of starvation, unless he took measures in to his own paws. Which was a problem for someone as fundamentally cowardly as himself. He lacked anything approaching the willpower necessary to take his own life.

Shaking his head briefly the fox re-focused on the game. He had to admit he didn't care too much for video games anymore. It hadn't been a conscious or sudden thing. It just seemed to happen without any push from any direction, and somehow without him noticing every game was like every other game, and none of them were as good as the ones he grew up with. That said, video games definitely had their uses, like as a platform for socialising, for example.

Of course he didn't know how he'd be feeling once the supplies ran out. Hunger would no doubt make him see things differently. He wondered if it would really be that difficult to eat Ray, and weather or not Ray was having similar thoughts about the future.

At least the zombie game craze seemed to be over. For now at least. The only problem was Ray hadn't been at his console for several days now, and so Terry was stuck playing with himself. At first it had been great, to get some practise in so that he wasn't completely hopeless for Ray, but the novelty was wearing a bit thin. That and Sprot wondered what the little guy was up to. Not in a suspicious way, just... he hoped he was alright. He hadn't left his quarters since they'd begun accelerating.

The grey fox smiled grimly. It was silly really, to fear death when he'd never really felt alive.

Or maybe he was just embarrassed to go to his death knowing that he had never actually tried to live.

With a quiet growl the fox forced his attention back on his appointed task of eliminating separatist scum.

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Ray lay spreadeagled on his bed, completely devoid of clothes. Running a handpaw down the almost-white fur of his front he brought it to a rest on his scrotum, and rubbed it momentarily before lifting his package and letting it fall, impacting gently against his inner thigh. He liked how they did that. It was... nice. Again he lifted his nuts and released, sighing contentedly as once again they fell back down. He liked that when his nuts were up, they would go down all by themselves without him having to tell them. Up was nice, and so was down. They were both nice directions, but he wasn't sure which was his favourite. He liked up because it was where you looked when you finished reading a book or met someone who was really tall, but down was also good because it gave you a place to sit or to go if the really tall guy you'd just met was kinda hot.

If one was very fond of understatement, one might say that Ray was drunk.

The squirrel lifted the bottle to his lips again and, after several seconds of sucking he realised that while his bottle had once contained spicy, piratey rum, it now contained air that merely smelled like spicy, piratey rum. He liked that too, because it meant he could try another flavour.

Dropping the empty bottle with all the others, the inebriated squirrel set out on the quest that had just presented itself: The quest that had to be done. He almost managed to get to the door without falling over a bottle this time. Things were looking up.

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It had been a long journey. Up one level and down a rather short corridor, which he was currently half way down. But it hadn't been an easy journey, finding that 'up' button in the lift had been quite a challenge for one. But now he could see his goal - the drink vendor. Not that it was a vendor as such, with no coin slots or anything, but the one outside the Captain Effective's quarters did dispense drinks of the ethanol-containing type.

Ray stopped. Captain Effective quarters. With a smile he staggered for the doorway.

Terry's ears pricked up as the computer obligingly played a satisfying "knock-knock" sound. He'd often wondered where the point laid in soundproofing a door that, if the computer playing a knocking sound was any indication, was clearly supposed to be knocked on. It's not like the standardised knock was an unpleasant sound effect, but it did make it somewhat harder to tell if someone was politely rapping on the door in order to offer you a donut or angrily thumping, or indeed being hurled against the door in the midst of a drunken brawl, and the last thing you want when opening your door quietly hoping for a donut is to find a bloodied corpse at your footpaws and a bar stool flying toward your face.

Not that it was really possible with a crew of two, but still, there was also the fact that in an exploration vessel designed to take its occupants trillions of kilometres from civilisation, why in the name of anything that has ever been worth naming did they think it would be a good idea to isolate the crew further? Sure, this way he could play thumpy music with no complaints, as could Ray. But a dull rhythmic thumping could be very reassuring when it was the only thing reminding you that you weren't completely alone.

Terry opened the door nonetheless, and while he hadn't really been expecting a drunken riot, he also hadn't been expecting a naked squirrel fall through it, grabbing him unsuccessfully on the way down.

He also hadn't been expecting the squirrel to pull itself up his leg and bury its face in his crotch.

The fox's arousal was almost instant, as was his realisation that the squirrel was far from sober. Easily lifting the slim rodent, who immediately aimed a kiss at his lips, Terry held the squirrel at arm's length.

"Come on..." Ray coaxed "You're in... to... me..." he continued, his train of thought derailing rapidly "Let's have some ffff..."

No way, thought Terry. He wasn't sure what turned him off more - that the squirrel's judgement was impaired, or that despite this he was still turned on. Composing himself as much as he could, the fox carried Ray in to his quarters and placed him on the bed.

Immediately Ray began curling up, slipping an arm under the pillow before resting his head on top, his breathing deepening almost immediately.

Yanking him back up, Terry supported the squirrel with an arm around, shaking him awake "No no - you're going to have a fuck of a hangover if you go to sleep now."

Or maybe he wouldn't, and Terry was just too used to being a greymuzzle.

Which was silly, since he was grey all over.

"Vvn og t p." muttered the rodent

"Can you stand if I hold you?" queried the fox, lifting slightly, and before any answer was given thought he might as well lift the squirrel on his own.

Padding to the bathroom, watching that Ray's barely-controlled limbs didn't smack the doorframe (which more or less meant he was cradling him by the end) Terry set the rodent leaning against the wall (down which he almost immediately started sliding) and began sorting through the bathroom drawers, finally retrieving a box of soluble Alconihl.

Terry had a pretty universal loathing for the social circle his wealth had forced him to move in to (it hadn't been so bad since his trips had meant that he was now in old money, and thus in to a circle where at least courtesy, if not ethics or actual genuine friendship, was at least valued), but they had shown him a thing or two that he couldn't deny liking.

One of these things had been anti-drunkenness pills. Frighteningly expensive, presumably because of the universal and unquestioned axiom that has existed since the dawn of civilisation that rich twats should have more fun than anyone else, they were exactly what they claimed to be, and worked on very simple but patented chemistry to neutralise the alcohol (and other common, booze-related impurities) present in one's system.

The tablet fizzed in the glass of water. Padding over to squat beside Ray he held the glass in front of him, shaking his shoulder

"Ray?"

No response. Terry held the still slightly fizzing glass under the squirrel's nose. Sniffing slightly, Ray was clearly aware of it on some level but not a conscious or willing one. Holding one of the squirrel's eyes open (feeling the finer fuzz of Ray's face against his pads and shivering slightly, he cursed himself for it), Terry blew in to it. Ray jumped in to consciousness and shook his head briefly.

Terry held the glass up "Drink this, Ray."

Ray stared at the glass for a good thirty seconds

"What's in it?" he said finally

"It'll pep you up, that's all."

The squirrel gave a brief nod and began to stare at the glass, presumably giving some serious thought as to which one he should reach for. Coming to a decision his paw shot out and missed both. Terry sighed as the partial-gravity liquid spread itself over himself, Ray and the floor, and went to fetch another, this time with a drinking straw.

////////

Ray had perked up somewhat, and was now wearing a pair of Terry's boxers. They were green with bananas printed on them. He had also receded in to the dangerously honest and talkative phase of drunkenness. He was right now enthusiastically telling the fox about the Horizon Surfer and all his associated feelings.

Terry was thinking more about it had taken four tablets to get this far. How much had that boy drunk?

"It was huge, so long that it couldn't be constructed in low Earth orbit because of the tidal effects during construction, so it was built about ten thousand kilo... metres out, but the best thing is that it still managed to be visible from the Earth's surface. In some ways it was like the old rockets, with a tiny capsule on top of a massive fuel tank. Half a million tons of antimatter to push it to within a... really really close thing to lighspeed."

Terry nodded. Nothing he hadn't heard before, but Ray spoke well, considering.

"And when it launched it illumi... il... lit up the whole dark side of the Earth... can you imagine that?" Ray paused for effect, having told the story this far at least a few times before "And for the last time ever, everyone on Earth looked up and were proud of... what they had ach... done. They could say with pride that they had built this majestic" Ray winced a little "...craft... ship that was going to take us to the stars... I wonder how many took it for granted that the whole world... almost... had co-operated to make it happen?"

Terry nodded. Co-operated, true, though always with one eye on how much their contribution would boost their esteem and associated trade opportunities.

The rodent blinked a few times, continuing after a deep breath "...we were brothers then. But not now. Not since... I just wish... I just wish that we had more pride in ourselves. I wish we had more to be proud _of_."

The squirrel's shoulders began to jerk in sobs. Terry, already becoming awkward, braced himself.

"Darren Bolete had... had promised that we would never use the a-bomb again. He'd cried when he said that, I dunno I usually can't take a crying... guy seriously... hypocrisy noted... but I'd wanted to believe that there was hope. But the thing is..." Ray took a deep, wet breath "How fucked up do things have to be for saying something like that to make any sense at all?" Ray balled his fists and, to a lesser extent, his whole self "That cunted cunt... Egbert cuntface Alabaster... fucking... cunt!" he shouted.

Egbert Alabaster, a water vole with funny glasses who looked for all the world like his life in politics was depriving a reputable accounting firm of a particularly zealous employee, had been one of those leaders who seemed to exist with the sole purpose of making the leaders before and after him appear to be really really good. To make matters worse it was honestly impossible to tell weather he was incompetent or avaricious, and despite leading his country to initiate the first nuclear exchange the world had seen in centuries it was hard not to pity the little guy.

Suffice to say he was quickly removed on pain of all-out war with every neighbouring country, and any others that were nervous with him in charge of a nuclear stockpile, which was all of them.

"It's the stupidity! An pleasant smile on an honest face smile can get you elected but what is it in the end?" sobbed the squirrel, apparently oblivious to the fact that Alabaster was the first and very probably only leader ever to truly unite the world "No one questions it... can't they see that it makes no sense?"

Ray leaned in to the fox, clinging to him and nuzzling him, leaving damp patches accompanied by wet sobs. The fox in turn held Ray close "That was our darkest hour, Ray. We're learning, slowly, and we will never go back there." he said before kissing the squirrel between his ears, trying to hide from his own words that he didn't believe.

"Just... what am I supposed to do?" Ray said rather dejectedly, anger turning to hopelessness "I want to make everyone see..." he added, his head falling on to Terry's shoulder, sobbing softly.

Terry closed his eyes. He couldn't cope. It wasn't that he didn't feel for Ray, because he did. He'd been there more than once, which was why he knew how hopeless it felt. It also meant that he know just how unhelpful it would be to tell Ray that this might be so. Terry instead just held the squirrel, stroking his back. It felt somewhat nauseating, but right.

After a period of time that felt both far too long and disappointingly short, the fox quickly nuzzled Ray's neck and stood up before padding back to the medicine cabinet, tucking his boner under his belt.

"Please, drink this." he said gently, holding another glass of Alconihl for the rodent to take, which he did. "And let's go sit somewhere more comfy, it's a nice bathroom and all but it's making my butt square."

Tingle only needed minimal help from the fox to stand this time, before both of them started on their way to the lounge.

"You know it almost makes me hope they never get around to building that Moon Laser Array." he said after a few steps "I mean the money was set aside when it was launched, the lunar land purchased with a helium-3 reactor planned... but it's all since been sold off for shorter term projects."

Terry remained standing, an eyebrow raised in confusion as Ray plonked himself down on the extremely comfy Captain Effective couch "Either I've just missed something important, or you 're going to make the world see things your way with a giant moon laser..." he said eventually, images of a supervillain Tingle floating in his mind.

"Oh... sorry!" giggled the rodent, leaning forward and pulling the fox down to sit beside him "Backtrack a bit, the laser was to stop the Horizon Surfer. As of now it's heading toward Earth at 99.99999... 9% of lightspeed... with no brakes."

Terry nodded and smiled, his mistherianthropic streak making out with the part of him that was into poetic justice.

"Drink up." he prompted, dropping another tablet in to Ray's half-full glass.

"Seriously? This stuff tastes like arse."

"You need it."

"It tastes like arse that's been around so much it's died and dropped off and then been around some more."

Terry grinned, resenting his own imagination "Drink it already."

Pulling a face Tingle took a swig, neglecting to let on that it was a lot less disagreeable than he remembered the previous ones being.

"So, before I came along did you ever find another guy attractive?" Tingle said, looking directly at the fox, who visibly jumped

"You what?"

"Come now Terry, I may call you Terry, mayn't I? I have eyes in my head, I know you're interested."

The fox was feeling rather hot under the collar "Well I won't deny that I find you... well..."

"Nah, how you put it doesn't matter that much anyway. What matters now is what's going to happen next."

A twinge of joy shot through the fox as the smaller rodent kissed him on the cheek before finishing his glass with a gulp and wiggling it upside down, a few drips making their sluggish way to the carpet "Got any more of this?"

"Yeah but that's not what you need right now."

Terry stood and fluffed out his sat-upon tail "I'm putting on some coffee."

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The grey fox returned with two steaming cups, padding in as gently as he could, having managed to go through life without ever mastering the art of carrying hot beverages, and the low gravity wasn't doing much to help things either. With a smile he placed Ray's drink in front of him, and his more or less in front of where he'd been sitting. Turning to sit back down the fox found the squirrel pressed against him. He was more than a little surprised, and not just because his periphery swore that Ray hadn't moved.

Without warning the lithe squirrel slid his arms around his Captain Effective, eliciting a quiet yelp. Shaking, Terry returned the gesture. For Terry at least, it had just gotten serious.

"Ray you're... you can't possibly still be drunk."

"Would it help if I were?"

"Of course not but... you know..." stumbled the fox, trying not to think of the obvious arousal in his pants.

Without words Tingle ran the side of his muzzle down Terry's, murring quietly as the corners of their lips touched. The fox squeezed Ray closer to himself, knowing only too well where this might lead - was being driven - and shaking with apprehension. This was odd to Terry. Of all the great things the world had achieved in its millenia or so of being reasonably civilised (maybe less, it kind of depended on who you asked), one of them was an unquestioned acceptance of homosexuality, and he'd been no exception to that. He'd thought. He still was, at least with others, but he found the notion of himself... uncomfortable. It was probably more that he had for a few years at least figured he'd figured himself out, mostly. All the major things at least. The fact that he liked girls, for instance.

"Do you like?" whispered the rodent, Terry's wood hardening in answer, rudely butting in because it knew damn well that his lips weren't going to think of anything soon enough.

Ray smiled and kissed Terry's cheek again, and Terry in turn wrapped his tail around Ray, drawing him as close as possible in to the embrace. He wanted to say words. Words that he felt were premature, but words that nonetheless, at this moment, would have been entirely sincere.

"This is nice, Ray... you're nice." he said instead

At this Ray brought his bushy tail around them both, and with a small resigned sigh slid fully in to the embrace, cheek to cheek with the fox.

About a minute passed.

It was the fox who summoned up the gumption to slide out of the embrace enough to touch his nose to Ray's and smile. Ray smiled back, his rodent incisors showing, making him look far too cute to possibly be healthy by Terry's reckoning. But that didn't make him want the little squirrel any less. Parting his lips slightly and moving his head slowly forward, Tingle took the cue and slid in to the kiss, properly tasting the fox for the first time, sliding his tongue forward to explore the vulpine muzzle. For an age it seemed they kissed, tasting each other, paws feeling their way over the other's back, the scent of musk growing stronger as their members hardened. Pulling back from the kiss, a soft smooch escaping as they parted, Terry looked at the squirrel with new eyes.

Even with his new eyes, however, he hadn't been expecting Ray to spin around and very deliberately lift his tail and bend forward slowly saying "Oh look, a penny!"

But that didn't mean it wasn't a sight and a half. The loose-fitting boxers accentuating the top half at least of the squirrels' small butt with the tail swishing, guiding the fox's line of sight down to a very deliberate target...

Terry whimpered as he felt a certain amount of pre escape his cock, and it was taking more than a little restraint on his part to stop himself from pouncing the small, alluring one. It didn't escape him that this might be the point, either, but...

"Or would your sleeping quarters be a better place to continue?" came Ray's clipped voice, cutting through Terry's somewhat repetitive and lustful but nonetheless appealing thoughts and bringing him back in to the moment. Or as in to the moment as he was ever going to be at this rate.

"Here then" he concluded, turning and unbuttoning Terry's pants, tugging them down to free the fox's hard member, delight filling his face as he set eyes upon his target. With a gasp from Terry Ray wrapped his fine paw around the pre-wet shaft, murring in appreciation as he began stroking, occasionally rubbing through the sheath. Terry hardly dared to breathe as his arousal grew further, his cheeks flushed. Noting the fox's swelling knot Ray sat back and enjoyed the view.

He had to admit he'd been with bigger guys, but at a little over seven inches Terry was no slouch. Extending his tongue only slightly the squirrel ran it up the fox's length, inhaling all the way through his nose.

The rodent swooned. That vulpine scent was really something.

Wasting no time he placed a paw around his vulpine C.O's fuzzy sac, eliciting a gasp from the fox, fondling lightly as he parted his maw slightly and took Sprot's cock in to his own muzzle, murring quietly at the taste, the feel, playing his tongue around the hot shaft. Terry murred deeply, petting Ray's head, wondering how this could seem so right, and why he was even wondering that, before he moaned loudly as Ray took him to the hilt, his expert muzzle like nothing Terry had felt before.

Now unbearably hard, the squirrel found that he had gone beyond mere whimsey or desire to positively needing to have the fox inside him, and, idly stroking his own cock through the boxers, he lead the Captain Effective by the paw to the sleeping quarters.

Stopping just inside the door he pointed sternly at the grey fox's pants "They're going to have to go for one thing, Sir."

The fox obliged, and looked up again to find that Ray had shed the boxers. Finally permitting himself to take a good look at the rodent's lithe body the first thing Terry noted was the narrowness of the squirrel's waist. Of course he'd perceived it before but here it was really something, before his attention was drawn to Ray's fine, almost radiant white fur outlining his there but only just pecs leading down to his flat, toned stomach, guiding him down to Ray's white sheath, from which protruded his average-sized cock (which wasn't bad going at all considering his distinctly smaller than average everything else), a bead of pre resting on the tip, and his well-formed sac, a small pouch containing two plump spheroids. Terry murred, his head spinning at the mere thought of what they contained, whereupon Ray's eternally clipped voice cut through his stupour.

"And that." Ray repeated, pointing this time to Terry's shirt. Terry shot him a lost look. "Off with them, Sir." ordered the rodent. Standing still for a further half second the fox finally registered, removing the last vestiges of his uniform, and Ray got his first good look at his C.O.

Again he'd been with bigger guys, but non were quite so well proportioned as the grey zorro before him. Ray had to lay paws on the fox, tracing down his arm, saying the muscles in his head, deltoids, triceps, biceps, those forearm ones with funny names, they were all there, well defined, and shivered when he placed a paw on Terry's chest; he'd been meaning to trace his paw down that too only the strong fox had other designs, pulling him in close.

"Like what you see?" purred the fox, fronting as much confidence as he could. Ray nodded, nuzzling deeper in to Terry's luxurious chestfur, feeling his generous pectorals, before picking him up and laying him back-down on the bed, his footpaws just off the edge.

Terry yelped in surprise, softening slightly, ears momentarily flattening.

"You ready Stud?" Ray queried, shooting the fox a cute look, stroking his now hard-again shaft, paying particular attention to Terry's knot. "As ready as I'm going to be, kid."

With a silent nod Ray steadied himself with a paw on Terry's stomach (who obligingly tensed, his hard abs sending a shiver down Ray's spine) and, lining up the fox's shaft and spreading his legs in to what was almost the side-splits, he lowered himself down, slowly impaling himself on to the fox's hard, slick cock. Terry couldn't help but moan as the rodent's tight ass engulfed his member, watching as the squirrel, eyes closed and head back, slowly descended on to him, inhaling shakily.

For Ray at least it had been far too long since he'd done this. Four weeks (personal perceived timeline) trapped on a ship where the only other guy was his C.O. - he hadn't really thought about that aspect of Exoclaim when he'd signed up.

Now down to the knot, Ray lifted himself so that Terry's pleasant cock was only just inside him and folded his legs to a sitting kneel, and with an energetic downward hump he began to ride fast, running his handpaws over Terry's muscular but not hugely toned chest.

Terry murred deeply, humping back up in to Ray, placing his paws on the squirrel's hips, pulling him down with each thrust on to his cock, his eyes glazing over as he wondered if it always felt this good, or if it was just Ray. The humping continued, Ray now huffing, almost overacting, which struck Terry as odd. That or he was just really in to dick.

Lies. Terry had heard enough in his lifetime. The fox moaned and arched his back - Ray really was something. But worse were the ones he didn't hear. The ones from the truly two-faced. Her.

Rachel Bacchant. The snooty backpedaling bitch who had hated him for never holding down a real job outside of Exoclaim. Some nerve considering she'd asked him out... maybe she had loved him then. Probably, in fact. At least Terry liked to think that. If he were being VERY nice he'd say she was stuck in her ways. And the resentment had grown. Grown until he swore she was incapable of having a single nice thought or thing to say about him. But oh no - not to his face. That would have been too convenient for everyone.

In the end she'd dumped him, something that Terry really regretted not beating her to. So he went back in to space. It was truly satisfying visiting her grave when he got back.

And to think that she'd been so perfect before then. Perfect, polished, and genuinely charming.

Gripping the squirrel and standing, accompanied by a gasp from Ray, the fox stalked over to the wall and shoved the little squirrel up against it, pushing the air from his lungs, fucking him hard, a growl escaping his maw.

Ray threw his head back and moaned, Terry's hard fucking exactly what he'd been craving, but filling Terry's mind was the scorn of his family as he grabbed Ray's skinny legs and forced them back against the wall, running his claws down the squirrel's calves. The father who he had never disappointed because the git had never given him expectations to live up to. Terry snarled and thrust his meat hard in to Ray, his knot slamming against the squirrel's tight hole. The suspiciously early 'to' times he'd get on personalised party invites; the sympathetic looks he'd get whenever he dared mention what he did for a living - not all of them were individually big but they sure as fuck added up over time. Again Terry plunged in to the rodent, growling deeply as he felt the tight ass give slightly, slamming the rodent harder against the wall. The self-centred fox who hated the world because he'd never given anyone a reason to like him. With a snarl that bordered on a sob the fox drove hard in to the squirrel, pushing him down at the hips, biting his lip until with an almost audible pop he was tied.

Ray moaned, his rock-hard cock now coated in a generous helping of pre as the ecstasy of Terry's generous knot filled his being, humping down on it (insofar as he could, pinned against a wall by the physically overwhelming fox), he felt so full, so close as the fox clawed at his sides and chest, glaring at him with burning eyes. Again he felt strong arms around him, carrying him back to the bed, his heart fluttering as the handsome fox pinned him, unable to move his arms as the relentless fucking of his ass continued, he was so close, but he couldn't let himself go first...

He didn't have long to wait. With a yelp he felt the warm release as his C.O. filled him with hot vulpspoodge, still fucking hard, still pumping him full until he was fit to burst, and with a joyous gasp Ray shot his load on to his and Terry's chest, clenching hard on the fox's cock, coaxing a reinvigorated stream of foxcum, the sheer volume too much for Ray as it began to leak on to the sheets.

After what was far too short a time by Ray's reckoning the fox let out an exhausted huff and collapsed on to him, spent.

Now free to move his arms, Ray slid them around the grey zorro, holding him close.

"I love you, Sir." he whispered.

Terry said nothing, fists balled, a his face fur matted with tears.