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My Gym Partner's Bro Tends The Privates

Part One.

By Eightane

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"Consider your ship, arrived."

Those words, meant to instill comfort for the young gorilla, in such clear need of help, while [1] trailed off beyond them. Windsor's rear took only pain, from the lip of that barrel and its rust; his mudded jackboots, the starch-heavied pleats of his camo, the pile of yellow skins astride his knees, all proving the shit to which he'd mired himself. Comfort was unlikely... And least of all, if it came through that voice, a deeper shade of his own mumbling pitch. Will's knack, as it pertained to his younger bro, mirrored a certain friend's... Calm, confident, on top of their tween brothers' character. Maybe his try to help Windsor was futile... But maybe that wasn't a focus.

Either way, leaned as he was to that tentpole, hand-hewn denim shorts and a ragged Phillies jersey, relaxed in his brotherly observing, he could only grow Windsor's grief. His bare arm's muscle juggled the knife and transistor, above a sweat-stained pit but level with his entertained grin. "Well, you intend to sit there and stare? On your feet, soldier, and give your escape card a hug."

The younger ape's shock died in silence. Knees came together, his chin sank with the stare at his hands, and the peeling of bananas proceeded. "The 9:30 Greyhound pulls proximally by the main thoroughfare. Should you make expeditious haste, you may succeed in catching it."

A shake of Will's head, to enforce the mood of his chuckle. "Now that's gratitude." He lowered his palm, letting the objects fall where they may on dusty ground. Windsor's eyes never strayed from work, even while his five-years-elder strolled up, heavy paunch quaking in that jersey. "You know Mom has me fetch the mail each eve." He hunkered down by the busied ape, watching those hands speed their grey touch over fruit-after-fruit.

Peeled, curved poles went in a deep iron bucket; the skins continued piling just beyond. Windsor's eyes cut to his company. "It hasn't escaped my recollection. But what point do you attempt to contribute?"

Will didn't return the glance... Rather, his neck craned downwards, distracted by the fruit in Windsor's hand. "Just that everything you send, goes through me. And it would help to hold the cards further out, when scribbling... Cut down on the wrinkled bubbles, from boy-tears."

"Instigator, I'm courting fourteen and you're acquainted with how I loathe-"

The younger's pause came of horror, as Will lunged face to meet one banana in-hand; hugging it with his lips, raising his head, as it slid down his throat without effort.

The jersey-ed ape sighed in satisfaction, peering to his brother. His stubble-framed smile, met by panic. "Y-you lackadaisical despot..."

Will's palm circled his stomach in a rub. "Breakfast's long-gone. Even you couldn't wish for my starvation."

The full-dressed ape drew back his fist, but all it took was to see his brother's build, and how much stouter. So the fist was put to use, in lobbing a yellow skin to Will's nose. The only reaction, a brief blink while Windsor's tone cracked with emotion. "These were all accounted, prior to my start, from one to five-hundred-seventy-three. You've just purchased me fifty more sit-ups."

Those older green pupils darted low, then back, while his palm caught the falling peel. "I'd congratulate you, Winn." The soft rind was tossed, over and behind his shoulder. "Clearly, failure's bought you a tighter stomach."

A fact, and Windsor's gaze jumped to his gut, for even less time than Will's; but with a whispered grunt. "It's the single asset I've earned. And does me no good, in this purgatory." His bro received a face of bemusement. "But if you tarry here, I might divine a means to tell you just why you won't pull me from my posterior."

The elder's ears perked, at a distant sound; firm, full and in a perfect rhythm. "Look, I don't keep after lost causes. If you'd be fine with ignoring every card you wrote, just so you can say you shirked my help, that's meager to try and back me down. You have no-" His knees lifted, as those denim shorts went level with Windsor's face. "-The fuck is that?"

The sound, growing louder, closer. Will faced its general direction, then his bro, in time to both hear and see the answer.

"You should guess, from your devotion to the History Channel. It's midday march."

Will's eyebrows lifted... His sibling at a loss for what flew through his mind. He raised arms, to adjust his jersey; Windsor hardly cared why his smirk filled out. There wasn't time to ask, anyhow, as a tone rattled in Will's lumping pocket.

Black-furred wrist dove in those shorts, to grab his ringing cell... Windsor staring in all directions, to grievously ensure no one heard. As Will opened the phone's face, lifting to his ear, a freak breeze blew over them, hot and thick with stench of the laundry tent. Will's smirk only deepened.

"You've reached me, now commence the talk... Ahhh, what's good in the Hornbill's hood?" Will's knee poked out, in his relaxing stance. "... I see... Well when does he not have that effect?... You... You're joking..."

Windsor could only show his confusion. Will could only relax even further.

"... So he's en route already... Fuckin' A!... You know just as well as I. He wants a respectable shindig."

He paused, to adjust the bulge in those cutoffs, slowly. Windsor's fur hid the developing blush, while the back of his head faced Will.

"... Well he's a genius. The best kind... Nah, s'alright. I'm savvy to what work it is, cleaning that from chest hair like yours... Thanks large, fuzzbeef. 'Til next we meet."

He held out the phone, suavely snapping it shut. Glancing at his junior, he knew from the puzzled look just how little had translated. "Rhinoman sends his regards. And some fine news for myself."

The fruit was forgotten; Windsor barely knew how to feel. "Would I even desire to know?"

"Unlikely." He slapped Windsor's back, just hard enough to send a wave through his form. "But you'll hear it regardless. Charles Darwin Middle had a guest, this morning... Welcome to a few, not so much to his brother. Good for us, Hornbill was among the more pleasantly surprised."

The camo-draped gorilla shut eyes, with his jaw-jutting scowl. "I've already surmised. Please, say he went easy on Jake."

Will practically lunged for Windsor, as he rubbed the latter's scalp. "You don't even try and cover... Still so adorable. But no worries, he was there to throw your boytoy some cheer. So it didn't pan out, and he found himself... Sidetracked. Meantime, he learned what I'm up to." His giant palm, labouring to stuff the phone in his bunched-up pocket.

He could watch the fear develop in Windsor's pupils. "I... He can't..."

By now, the distant footsteps weren't so purely distant. Will's focus traced them, wearing his interest on his sleeve. "I give him thirty minutes, forty if he's caught a slower bus. Should there be even half as many 'privates' here, as I'm already hearing... Well he's just as wise to potential." A softer, friendlier backslap, to an ape taking on a haul of dread. "We'll get you home, no question. But why leave an open opportunity?"

Windsor sat dumbfounded, then remembered the bananas, his hands worked faster than ever; face damp with sweat, despising Will's every implication. His tone, more low and bemused than even his norm. "Three annums back, the school camping retreat. Last year, the sojourn to Sea World. Every new locale's just another 'playground' to you."

"Hold that thought..." Will's dusty sneakers brought him to the edge of the mess tent, as he peeked his head around it. They were there, and prepared... Thirty soldiers, five in each of six columns. Wolf, moose, echidna, to name a few; led by a seal in striped jacket. Will's gaze flipped back to his brother, one last time. "I'm off to secure that laundry tent. I'm sure you'd never tell its position... Not if you know I'll be blending in. Have fun with your fruits..." Drawing a breath, sizing up the five-row platoon, he ended in a whisper. "I'll be seeking a homonym."

He darted out on tiptoes, to wind his way around the mess tent's canvas. Expertly minimizing sound, so the marching company would continue on their way, thirty footsteps as one. Right up until a deafening tenor of "COMPANNYYYY, HALT!!" through the seal sergeant's chops, his body's turn, and their prompt obedience.

It was a mite confusing, how a sleek aquatic form like his could build pecs and a set of abs. If anything, he'd seen plenty of time to gain them; Thin wrinkles on his cheeks, crow's feet at his eyes, scar on his cheek and one half-concealed by his auburn crew cut. A 'lifer', here to whip his charges up to salt, taking no shit from a-one of 'em. The very scowl on those pockmarked jowls, telling twenty-nine of them he had serious cause for a stop. The thirtieth... Holding up the rear, and holding his hand up to the sun, blocking its intensity. To an aardvark with coke-bottle glasses, it was no joy how those rays would magnify within them.

"Alright, mongrels," Boomed the stripe-bearing seal, stepping to each end of the frontward row, in turn. "Before we get you sorry sacks o' guano to the swamp today, Sergeant Lain's gonna bend your ears a minute. Now I know it's been no cakewalk-" He took a moment, to spit a clear blob on the dirt. "Mashing us proud soldiers, the best shot of America's seed, up with those teat-guzzlin' MAMA'S BOYS of the ROTC." The rasping explosion, shaking the bristles of a porcupine before him. "What can I say... Uncle Sam works in mysterious ways. But if the green we save from that, gets us a new radio for the mess tables..."

Two privates, an elk and a condor, broke ranks to jostle and cheer. Lain's piercing whistle put a stop to it, as they turned to see his webbed hand, pointing for the ground in front of him. Two seconds, and they were standing on that spot, dropping for their implied orders.

He didn't bat an eyelash... Even if he'd possessed any. "Seventy this time, boys. One more peep out of either, and you'll be doing the course four times... 'Stead of just three."

They stifled the urge to sigh, or its equivalent through push-ups. Their super set to back-and-forth stroll, once again. "... But if buys us that, or a set of washing machines, made after your grandmommas leaked their first bloody ragstain, then I'd call it more than even. Now as I was saying... I've heard some things about those little shitbrains, mostly from you, and I won't say your hate ain't deserved. But just because their microscopic coin purses ain't dropped, don't mean they can't, or won't, make DAMN-good soldiers one day. At least that's what they're here to work for. That's what they want..." His head lowered to menace the duo, amid their forty-fourth rep. They didn't stop to look up, but somehow knew; and their pace grew instantly faster. Lain proceeded. "... Unlike certain salad-tossers right here. And not just these water-head stepkids. What you should take from all this, is it's business as usual. Give a thousand percent, even in your sleep, and we'll show those pull-up-loaders how it's done." Even at his age, he had no trouble sinking down on his toes, knees out and around the elk's temples. He leaned in, just enough for those jowls to menace the private's ear. "And if I hear about one little hitch, between you and those kids..." His whisper was just loud enough for the pair of screw-ups to catch. "... You'll piss red 'til Niagra grows tumbleweeds... You hear?"

"SIR, YES SIR!!" Filled the air, broken from exhausted panting. Through it all, the aardvark went unnoticed, before Lain hunkered down... And caught his short, out-of-form stature through all those differing legs. The seal's attention fixed... And resuming his six-foot stance, he strolled oh-so-slowly by the side of the troops, approaching the grey-furred marsupial, successful in sneaking up. Not that the former could have seen him, blinded by the sun's lack of mercy.

That tenor, brought a yelping jump of shock. "David, Yanni, Aardvark."

"S-sir, yes sir?" Far more of a question, than a proper response.

"If your name didn't give me a chuckle, I'd kick you out of this company faster than you can say 'my mother flicks her bean to New Age faggots'. I don't need some eggsucker who can't even take a little light." His eyes skewed down the shorter mammal, almost like he held contempt for every cell of him. "Go and help that head-case gorilla, 'til I find a more fitting place to drop you. Like on the end of my shoe."

"Yes sir, i-immediately, si-"

"ON THE DOUBLE!!"

Nearly causing the seal a choke, it came with neck's veins bulging out. David so jolted, he fell over himself just scrambling to follow command. Those short legs did their damndest to sprint, in the direction of Windsor, while the seasoned cetacean resumed his point at the front. Elk and Condor finished number-seventy, having done so enough to head for their slots in the group, not needing to be told. One final time, for the sergeant to stare down his unders, spitting a wad by the porcupine's toes. "Rest of you ladies, suck it up and earn those blisters. FORWAAAARD-" He swung a 180, his back to the camouflaged number. A single babboon in the middle took this cue, to give a high-pitched grunt, and purse her puffed lips. "-HARCH!!"

Dust fogged the pleats at their ankles, as they went dutifully on their way.

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Twenty stacks down, thirty to go, under netted canopy. It was bad enough his tiny marmoset fingers were charged with moving all those uniforms from machine to machine. But then to fold and sort each, on those rickety tables, when one shirt's weight was near-equal to his Lieutenant self... No wonder, he could boast being the only one around, built like a bucket-sized Hulk.

He hummed a tune through his buck-teeth, feet circling each pleat as he lifted and moved them. Not for happiness, or staying upbeat... More to drown out the brain-rattling racket from behind. At the least, Lain was honest about those four-foot relics... If unfamiliar with their spin cycle, you'd swear you heard a Bull in a china shop, if that bull was on crutches and the floor was waxed with Crisco. His ears had grown stronger than his body... If that's what you'd call the ability to take every sqeak, squeal and thud without flipping his diminutive lid.

He was used to it. He wasn't used to surprise interludes, or their tall form blocking out that high-hung yellow floodlight. So while the gorilla strolled up, he tensed those tiny biceps, and flashed through every stage of his combat training.

Will was struck dumb by the sheer novelty; a trophy-level beefcake the size of his head. It brought a smile, lasting until the handful of primate spin-jumped, confronting his stomach with a martial arts pose, and the cartoonish kung-fu screech.

So much for friendly admiration. It was only natural Will should lurch back, lips parted for his lack of being on guard. "Whoa, whoa, one thing at a time, single-serve." He relaxed, nearly coughing for the thick cloud of powder starch. It clung to his shirt, and he did all to brush it off; three seconds later, he realized how lost of a cause it would be. "I believe in a certain habit, I think it's known as 'hello'."

Marmoset pupils narrowed, tiny teeth clacked in their knashing, and he struck the pose for a basic disabling blow. "Don't know who you are, or how you got here, but I'm a three-time black belt and you'll wish you were in Gitmo on the count of three." One short leg anchored, as his other came out, heel-forward and speeding for gorilla's soft gut.

It lost, to the grip of a hand, stealing its motion in one simple grab. Will's face was gaga with self-approval, as he watched the rise of marmoset's shock. "Well you're a sight more agile than your peers." He gazed up to those large jade irises, shooting them daggers of defiance. "But you can still take a blade."

Will had to chuckle. "Factual, but not in the sense you intend." Far quicker than the marmoset's reflex, he shot two fingers down the tiny ape's belt, and came out with a standard switchblade. A brief giggle for how small it was crafted, before it went in his non-cell pocket. "Hone your concentration... And look into some Krav Krep routines, you could easily triple your speed."

"... The hell are you? Some yuppie-kid protester who broke off from his group?" His chin dipped, as he appraised through the top of his eyes. "Or just a bored hooligan?"

"You're O-for-two. More like my brother's keeper. You know-" He leaned elbow-to-knee, sinking to the incredulous monkey's face. "-The one who lives in a constant state of KP. Over by the mess tent, peeling half your week's potassium intake." A bit of pious indignation, not to Will's usual. "So go ahead, fetch the MP's. And see how fast I prove his mistreatment, and get two-thirds of this base a burgeoning feast of court-martial." He leaned up, arms crossing under that poked-out lower lip. "Call my bluff. I'm stoked to see how that goes."

The marmoset knew himself to be outmatched... Physically. But his position was one of guts and duty. "I can speak to the Colonel about him. But it won't help you." He reached down in those camos, snatching an also-pint-sized two-way. "Too bad, the dumb way you've gone about it'll only hurt him in the long run."

Will could've broken a sweat, or lunged to grab that radio, or tried to reason with the lower-level officer; all were understandable. Instead, he took a step back, that dwarf primate eyeing him. The two-way's button went unpushed, with the marmoset distracted; he knew something was up, but stood unable to predict what was next.

Gorilla's gaze went to the closest machine, sidling and quaking like all the rest. He couldn't stifle his grin; but neither would he have to. "Wow, your supers really spare no expense, do they?" He quipped, resting one palm on its top, judging every dirt-crusted corner. "I've seen one of these a while back... In a silent movie. Charlie Chaplain had it for pratfalls." The palm slid down, to become a fist and knock against its housing. It drew just what he wanted; a pensive gasp from his viewer. "You even feel safe around this artifact?"

"Knock it off! This is your f-first and only warning..." The tremble in his tone was palpable.

Will just laughed, genuinely shocked by what passed for adequate tech. "I know I wouldn't. I'd say one bad jolt in the wrong place..." He knocked harder, close to what he guessed was the motor. "... And at best, you have yourself a fireball. Or a nice few-second geyser of superhot parts. Look, it ain't even balanced." He switched knocking, for a grip of both hands on either edge, rocking it profusely. Even over the noise, he could hear the slide of boots, Lieutenant failing in the bid to stand his ground.

"For fuck's sake, stand down! You're gonna-"

Will's jostle only heightened... Rocking it so hard, three corners left the ground at any one time. "One brave soldier, you are. No wonder they have you in here, I mean God forbid this antique should ever tip over-"

Right on cue, the sound of a light crash on the ground: Lieutenant's shoe-treads, followed by a light on Will's back. Rays of the sun, striking from a part of the tent's flaps. He glanced back, just in time to see the makeshift-door end its disturbed motion. He held the machine, letting it come to rest, then strolled lazily to the table his company'd left. Smirking, he browsed the clean camos for one in his size. "Aaaand it comes full-circle. Fuckin' shame..." He adjusted his crotch, the bulge growing tight in his denim. "... Guy had potential in spades." His arms came up, shedding the jersey, tossed atop that washer; his dark, wide nipples half-erect. The machines' noise did command his ears; drowning out a shallow chortle. "No matter. Plenty of fish in the sea, boy." Gently grabbing himself, he gave the bulge a firm squeeze while it pulsed in its prison. "The day's even younger than it feels." His zipper was carefully undone. Thinking of that Lieutenant, of just how many men, and the showers, both surely nearby; it was a chore to pull the tab down that jutting seam.

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Shhh-shhhplp.

Few sounds are as iconic as the closing of air-doors, on public transit. So much that if one asked the twenty-ish riders on that dingy Greyhound what they just heard, most wouldn't even register the noise at all. Nor the droll tone of [2]. But bumps in the ride never grow less obvious... The frail 'gator gave a grunt, as her summer dress ruffled by the window, taking pain to roughly the same degree as her friend.

"Mildred, you think they'll ever cushion these seats?" Wrinkled hands resting on her purse. "I don't know how much more I can stand."

The feeble shake of a Komodo dragon's head, above a vinyl pants-suit. "Well, they never made that little powder-room handicapped-friendly. I don't think they care, Annie." Shifting in her seat, she centered on the first comfy position. "It'd be nice if someone did, nowadays. Then maybe my MediCare wouldn't lapse, without even a courtesy call from my caseworker." She glanced down, fingers locked together in her lap. "Of course, he happens to be a weasel." Those lips' crease took on a tiny smile. "Maybe he's just scared I'll get hungry, one day."

The weakest of back-hand slaps, on that dragon's side. "Ohhhhh, you old caution!" The same green fingers rose to the empty seat in front of her, shakily pulling her a few inches forward. Hairless brow lifted, her voice as commanding as it could manage. "Driver, how far to Rydell Circle?"

"T-two miles, m'am..."

Her question sated, she steadily returned to her seat; speaking just low enough to keep between the two of them. "At least some of the young'uns show respect. I've never seen a bull so nice and presentable."

"And always on time, too! I hope they give him a good, fat raise." The senior dragon cut eyes behind, then returned a busybodied pitch. "... Don't get in a fluster, but I think I heard the young lady behind us say there was an incident at a school this morning."

"Oh my... You mean one of the kids got hurt? They're so good at finding trouble, nowadays."

"No, I think it was an older boy, from high school, 'fooling around' if you know what I mean." She leaned in, to better emote her displeasure. "Something else more common, this day and age." She faced forward; unlike 'Annie', she opted to skip the helpful lean, and just shout across the half-filled bus. "Driver, did you hear anything about a school?"

"Nnnoo, I don't b-believe I did..."

Another firm bump for all the passengers, the wrinkled pair taking it with clear disgust. More muttering, amongst themselves. "I'm not sure, but I think she said they just questioned a teacher. He was acting suspicious, and they found some strange blot on his trousers."

"It's probably drugs, Annie. They put the goofballs in needles, now, and do them anywhere. There's just no shame like there used to be."

Still another harsh bump. Upbringing was all that bade them trust their bovine chauffer, and go about their gossip.

"I didn't hear her say they caught the boy, either... If he's crafty enough to dodge the police, I can't help but be a little scared."

They wouldn't think they were audible, until that young raccoon addressed them from behind, pearl necklace clacking on her vest's topmost button.

"Excuse me, ladies, but I believe they're still in the process of investigating." She glanced down at her smartphone, with the old bags glancing at her. "At least, that's the latest they have on News 4."

"Oh, thank you dearie." Mildred's hands never moved from her lap, while attention strayed back to her neighbour. "Amazing, what they can use those little gadgets for-"

The deepest, most traumatic bump yet; enough to knock Annie's elbow on the window insulation. Its soft rubber preventing her pain, but not her frustration.

"Driver, can we take a smoother street? Seniors aren't made of Play-Doh, you know."

"I... App-... p-... Polooooo... Sorry, m'am."

The bull peered down, to the space between he and the pedals. Panting, but whispering. "It's ain't so basic to manoever this thing. Lighten up, a tad."

What stood at his lap, under the blue-billed hat, drew head away from his slacks' open fly, and muffled the slurp of ending suction. "And lose half the fun? C'mon, dude, the taste alone won't let me. Never mind the fuckin' girth-"

His lips recircled the choad, stretching to down its moist mass. Tongue feeling its throb, he stayed a good twenty seconds before releasing it again. "-You said twenty more minutes and I'm there, right?"

"Y-yup..."

"So just sit back 'n' enjoy the next nineteen-forty-five. And do something to shut those prunes up, they fuck with my concentration."

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Dim, dingy, cluttered; not things you'd expect of an office, in the military. Two rusty metal file cabinets, half their contents bulging from the lip of tall drawers; three wastebaskets, filled even higher; smudges and stains, across the floor and two red cedar chairs. A stereo, old enough to dock the finest 8-tracks, now giving time to a tape of [3]. But to the owner and occupant, unkempt had a reason behind it; appear busy, for the unders that came to bend his ear. Such was the case, when that elephant darkened the door's smoky glass, and stumbled his way in. Double-barred stripes on his oversized sleeve, though subordinate, as he addressed the short form behind that desk. "Sir, permission to enter?" The pitch, higher than a two-ton mammal would fit.

"Granted, captain." Gruff, but otherwise emotionless, the wolverine's head never lifted. All focus on the paper below, his tan fingers carefully scribbling. "As you were. Make it short 'n' sweet, I have until two to get this headed for Washington." He took the five-or-so sheets in both hands, moving one from stack's top to its bottom, hitting them on the flat mahogany to bring all corners together. Short fangs peeked out from his lip; with no appreciable neck, they set just inches above a stiff collar.

A grey, wrinkled captain stepped inside; formalities done, he relaxed. Somewhy, his eyes would always skew to the Colonel's emblem; silver eagle, a sort of irony for what he was. Then the stare diverted to the picture frames on that desk, rattling as he cleared his throat. "Oh, you finally unpacked that box from Heather!" Hands clasped behind his back, a sly grin as he strolled closer. "She'd be ecstatic; this time, it took less than two months."

"What can I say, she's whipped me into shape. Maybe next time, I won't even be lying out my ass when I tell her I'm thankful." Finally, the wolverine's eyes met his friend. "Eight years have taught me well, Jim. You don't beat around the bush unless all hell's broken loose." He raised the fountain pen, shaking to refresh its contents. "Another private break his back on the bars?"

"I wish. At least then I might be tempted to laugh."

"Alright, worse, then. Another hash ring in the barracks?"

"Again, I could find that amusing."

Wolverine's hand dropped the pages; they slid down the desk on a film of air. Ten furry fingers locked gaps, supporting his chin; the scowl giving 'Jim' a muted shiver. "I can only take so much nothing... The longer it's dragged out, the less likely I'll unload on the party at fault. Are we clear?"

Sweat swamped the pachyderm's collarbone... He stood straighter, by instinct. "I've had reports, within the past few minutes. I think we may be looking at a three-forty-seven."

The eagle-badge wobbled, with tensing of the colonel's arms. "Beautiful. Details."

"First, my PL clerk's lost current in the loudspeakers. It was followed by some ungodly noise I'd unfortunately have to call music."

Tan brow raised, for a moment. "And I just thought someone spiked my coffee again. But that could still be some idiot here."

"Well not five minutes after, we had a sighting by the laundry area."

From resting head on his hands, to four claws tapping the desk. "Bigfoot? A yeti?... Something you'll name before I croak in this chair of old age?"

Jim's sigh, to better deal with the intimidation. "A gorilla, tall, stocky and teenage-looking. The same as Marmoset described, when he ran into my quarters, panting like a sloth in a marathon. Said something about stubble, and a jersey; garbled close to everything else."

The tapping ended. Above that silver emblem, two pupils shrank in an instant. The colonel's voice took a spell to return. "... I had him on duty there, working off penance for the Mardi Gras incident. Did he confront this gorilla?"

"And more, Ed. Tried to incapacitate him; said he failed, but wouldn't say how. He seemed a bit... Embarrassed."

The colonel's frustration, growing. "Damn-well should be embarrassed... Failed to stop an invader, deserted his post AND left that mongoloid there to who-knows-what end. We'll see how he likes those stripes, when they're shoved up his pisshole." Ed's own sigh, this one for thoughtful regret. "So we have some young knuckle-dragger, sketchy and loose on the base. And no intel on what he's up to."

"That's what we know. I've already sent out the code... Or tried to, anyway."

It was all too obvious to Jim, how he drew the colonel's focus. "Tried, you say."

Grey fingers, fidgeting. "The... Lines out seem to be dead. I hate to say we've been caught with our pants down, but-"

"-I know, you never liked to be held accountable. Before the day's out, get on your knees and thank Lucifer we do share a sister-in-law, or you'd see Marmoset shipped off, firsthand." Arms and eyes lowered, back to the forms and his pen. "In any case, that punk-of-a-primate's crashed the wrong party. I didn't cross three continents, and take a fistload o' shrapnel, to have some ape make a monkey outta me." Shuffling the sheets, in forced calmness. "Get those goddamn lines back up, at least there you'll be outta my sight. Dismissed, captain."

A trembling salute. "Y-yes sir, immediately!" Four seconds, fumbling shakily with the doorknob, before grabbing and slamming it behind him. One picture on that desk - of the colonel, and three wolverines who resembled him - toppled face-down to the polished wood. 'Ed' paused his scribbling, just long enough to shoot one hand for the frame, and prop it back up. A few more seconds writing, and he froze, to intensely stare upon the photo. Pen was dropped, rolling slightly on the desk while he took the square frame in his hand. The image was sharp and professional; he, the tallest subject within, and the only one in army fatigues. Below and to either side, two other males in street clothes... And then the shortest one, obscuring his chest, in the crisp ironed suit of a school principal.

Eyelids lowered, his lower jaw grinding the upper. "Over and over, I've had to hear you blow smoke about that pair. And I say they're just soldiers out of uniform, no harder to break." One eyebrow set above the other. "And I always hoped you couldn't prove me wrong."

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'Damn, just a landfill with window dressing.'

It struck Will hard on his stroll through the compound, past each olive tent, faded, tattered, some even straight-up ripped. 'No wonder Winn wants out... I'd seek a 1W for the vistas alone.'

His head poked up and forward, searching for some aspect of which he could approve. No such luck, while his fingers raked one hip, through the borrowed suit of fatigues. He wouldn't have guessed they'd be itchy... Nor that 2XL, his usual size, would have him poured into their tightness. Though he'd have to admit, for deliberately picking a dirty set, the itch wasn't all that puzzling.

Focused on the sad state around him, he hardly thought of the ground below... So a trip was inevitable, his cadence broken by a stiff, straight object to the toe. Steel-enforced boots saved from harm, and scrambling to stay on his feet, he glanced back, to find what surprised him even here.

He had to smirk; and speak aloud, just for the fact of it. "Holy hell... A billards tabletop? Just left to bake out here, like it's nothing." His pupils swirled, through a nonchalant shake of his head. "Plus those Maytags from Truman's era; they really take pride in this dump." He approach it, and lowered himself; quickly glancing around, confirming how vacant for the day's proceeding march, he laid a palm flat on its surface.

The dark-green felt was for friction, preventing roll from what it held in better days... Here, in cloudless sun, it took just enough heat to feel welcoming. Soft, warm on his mittskin, growing that smirk. Of many possibilities, one in particular seized him; but when a strong whiff from that uniform - and who'd worn it before - found his nose, he had all the encouragement needed.

Plopping spine onto three-by-five feet of warmth, its synthetic fuzz tickled and twirled in his natural. Right arm slid under his neck, triceps supporting while his second shot down for that zipper. In Jerr's absence, his bro's extraction was on hold. For plans to find their rhythm - among other things - he'd have a good while to waste. And the luck of a two-fer: on the one hand, no one around to stop him. On the other... There's just something about in-public.

A thin veneer of teeth in that grin, sliding the tab down what was still an admirable bulge... A hill of flesh, rising beneath the brown and green. The tab reached its lower end, and seemed to open the flap by itself... Due in part to just how quick he'd found the mood. Thoughts of the Lieutenant, and his well-sculpted beef. Of that laundry tent, just fogged with the stench of sweaty guys. And his monkey henchman, who couldn't be far, nor have any less of that agenda. Jerr's orange head, surely stuffed with the same kind of daydreams. This was what put Will into place... What drove his meat to stiffen, close to max while he plunged that hand through the flap.

Always a chuckle, when he took it in-hand... Seven-point-five made him the biggest gorilla he'd known, and a thick one besides. Sensitive enough, that when his fingers clamped down on the rod, pointed up to his face, he could watch its head engorge, and grow beercan-wide filling out. Most times, this would be the last straw, compelling him to speak dirty nothings; and the camp, so grunged and predominantly masculine, even more pulled it out of him.

"You crave some attention, bud? Yeah... All the swingin' dicks around got'chou sociable." He gripped it hard, the skin no less dark or smooth than his hands; it returned pure pleasure, shooting from tip down his calves. "Ohhh, fuck..." Both legs swinging arcs, while he stared on that slithole with affection. "Lieutenant had killer DSL, huh? Think they'd take your span? Or would you just... Mmm... Have 'im gag." The ape's mushroom, so hard it bounced light from the sun. Eyes narrowing, his palm slid down the ample size, then drew away to place fingers on the upper base. Pushing toward his feet, propping it to a vertical stand. Sometimes, it was enough just to relish that view; wide rim of the head, above his straight cut; a firm black spear, long and straight, thickest midway up, towering by ebony curls. So many men in memory, who let him know it was perfect; and if he dared to figure the times, Jerr would account for more than half. But to think of it, a sigh paired with one deep contraction of his tool, signaling what he couldn't ignore once reminded; that monkey's raw resource and talents. A short, fiery magnet, if he were South and all male equipment was North... Deep throat, soft lips and a tongue more 'practiced' than every pro athlete on the globe. The sigh became a gasp, while his palm wrapped that pipe, stroking in steady rhythm.

"Ohhh... Can't fuckin' wait 'til you're here..." Keeping head raised, the arm slid from beneath his neck, sinking by his gut to lift the shirt and expose a furred curve. With the air from inside, came a burst of scent; he groaned, stomach rolling, while it played upon his nose. Only ceasing his tight-grip crank, when he'd press a thumb to the fren, raking knuckle on that hypersensitive band. And with lips pursed in his 'Ooks' and moans, he retook the base in grip."Countin' the minutes... Rather have my right-hand man, than my right hand... OHHfuck..." His peak could sit no closer; arm sweeping the table's felt as he rubbed the spread of his paunch; in love with his tool, its size, his own form's manliness, how well he could edge that weapon. Steady on the brink, each tug a massive kick of sensation. "Effin' world-champ knobgobbler. You'd have me drained already, and on the hot sequel..."

Twelve straight minutes, never losing control. His toes' curl restricted, in those heavy boots, as he yanked to the tip. A grunt for each time he grazed the head, neck-to-ankles dampened with sweat... And a breath for each time he let off at that crucial point, just to stare downward. Watching the visible pulse; how far it had to course through his meat. Fabric bunched above his chest, his left hand clasping the fat, tweaking and twisting his nipple. How his tool was cut even pleased him... With fingers clasped on its lower side, jerking high, the line of transition curled up; like a smile across its thick center. But never as pronounced, as the grin by Will's stubble, keeping it rigid-but-reigned. Away from climax, but close enough to send bliss through the sum of his lower body.

Thus it stayed, until he caught the first echo... Pounding on the dirt, from behind. To his credit, he never meant to cum... So the warm-up was fine to end here. Jaw closing, eyes widened back to their norm, as he pulled those digits slow up his meat, a single pleased hum for the end of their grip. Taking hands to the ziptab, he gazed on his maleness one last time. Firm as ever, it bounced on his loins, before shaft, head and slit vanished below the line of copper teeth.

Noise only grew by each moment, while he shot to his feet; sprinting to the nearest bivouac, ignoring the table he'd soaked with sweat. It was in the knick of time; while he stood by the tent's rear, legs crossed in confidence with his outward stare, they crested what would have been his point of discovery. Only then, as he scratched the same hip, did the green platform's place seem more explainable. But his lips curled upwards... Even if they saw the damp outline, and somehow guessed, it would only fast-track the eventual.

Those thirty grunts, in line, only this time followed by the seal. Their cadence was perfect, in time and unison; but their sergeant's steps irregular, or even somehow-undisciplined, slowing while his voice took precedence. "ALRIGHT, shitstains. Good time you made, today... Y'might just amount to more than broken Trojans after all." Still barely strolling behind them, clutching a dented canteen, he entered Will's field of vision. The ape's interest was already piqued, when that bass had sounded... But nothing readied him for the sight. Smooth brawn, under smoother sealskin, so clear through the full-body motion of his gait. Grizzled, mature... And surely, Will imagined, experienced. Lain raised the canteen to his lips, downing gulps of clear fuel, eyes on the scattered platoon. No expression in particular, but Will's grin would gladly make up for it. He'd seen enough to know the sergeant stood admiring... Not the accomplished ranks of his thirty, or their worth, but his own skill in breaking them... What submission he'd pulled, from each one of their younger minds. Even his stance held swagger... And in Will's trousers, something refused to go down.

Both gorilla hands found their place... Right palm on the tent's main pole, steadying his vantage... Left, by his own pole, rubbing a hill in the camo. Fantasy took hold; even in the brief time where Lain's stare met the green-felt table, Will played it all out in his head. How it would look for the sergeant to drop the canteen, and pull that shirt over his chin. How his lips would bend, in a smile above what must be a damn-hairy chest. If one of those webbed palms dove by his waist, and did just what he was behind that tent... And took it further, dropping those pants to release Grade-A daddy meat. He could almost see the monster swing free, smell the grunge of his loins, taste what he would on his knees; if the sergeant took a hand to his scalp, and just pushed him down. He sure as fuck would... A man like him wouldn't do with gentle worship. He'd have Will forced down, choking like Jerr, as he called all the shots...

... Back in reality, Lain did drop the canteen; or rather, threw it violently to the ground, making clear where the dents originated. A grimace of rage, as he called after the dispersing privates. "GODDAMN ORANGUTAN, First thing this morning you were to trash this piece o' shit."

Will couldn't see, but easily heard, the fellow primate scramble up. Lain stomped just out of sight, as well; one breath later, Will caught the clap of an open-hand slap. "You think pool tables are made o' grain? You think they just rot on the dirt 'n' vanish?" A more striking sound, and a heavy thud. "It ain't enough, Jim broke the only thing that keeps me from strangling you pussies. Now take it outta here, an' then take your ass to my tent. Be ready to give two hundred... As many times as I say." Rustling on the dirt, as Lain stepped back into Will's vision. A single creak, for what he guessed was the table leaving the ground. The seal's hands met on his back, watching in approval. "Still amazes me, how fast you apes can move when you want to. Maybe tossin' your own shit does build strength." Quick, laboured marching from the orange primate, as Lain slowly paced beyond Will's eyes for the final time.

Before, Will's thoughts set hard on seduction. Now to hear the abuse, the insult, how Lain lacked all compassion... That rod poked his fly even harder. Waiting barely enough, as he rubbed the heap of crotch, to step out from the tent undetected. With a peek around the front, ensuring he was safe from detection, he saw Lain's back and rear slide behind his own canvas quarters. A worthy view, just as shapely as his front - and demeanor - would suit.

Sometime, that wood would have to rest. Will's bulge-rub abated, and moved to his chin, as he viewed the canteen. Flat on its side, but unlikely to have lost every drop in the toss... And a hot day brought Will's tongue over his lips. Planting one leg out for balance, he leaned to snatch it by the square-curved middle, raising to his lips as his core likewise lifted. There was a gulp or two left, and it flowed so easy down his throat.

If he'd been any quicker in tasting, it would've sprayed out. His eyes shot wide, but he'd already swallowed... So it kept to a single gasping cough. The canteen was raised to eye-level, and his smile grew by magnitude. "... Everclear..." He murmured, gaze moving to the sergeant's tent. "Funny, I'm both shocked, and thoroughly not."

He hiked up his trousers, as that vessel hooked into the waistband.

****************************************************************************

To persist, part two...