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Waste Away the Day

Chapter Two

A breeze swept through the valley convincing all the multicolored foliage to sway, submitting to the element itself. Bushes not luscious in appearance, viewed as deprived shrubbery, lined the upward slope of the hill, crafting an atmosphere of isolation. Scattered patches of dead grass, opposing the dirt landscape, made up most of whatever hiker went up it was to walk on. A thin fog hung over the valley, creating a bluish hint wherever light shined while the sun rose behind the mountain landscape. Massive random patterns of snow grew within the chain of mountains that lay in the far away distance, visible at almost every hill in Illinus. Nothing devastating occurs here besides a couple high schools suicides and misguided car crashes involving a drunk old man and a blonde terrier who listens to K-Pop too loud, but those are forgotten as if they're cashmere coats, resting in the back of an abandoned storage unit in the wretched, heated summer.

Two black, stitched sleeping bags and a maroon gym bag rested inside of a rock outcropping, not seeable from the quarter-mile distanced highway. Rillion was awake. Not moving or changing his position, he stayed there, checking off the day's schedule in his disciplined, still childish enough, mind. Like a straggling commando missing in action, facts zipped by in his head. You're on a week long break. Chance is with you. You love Chance. You'll love Chance until you die and then more after that. Today is the start of his training. It is the second day of the break.

The other sleeping bag rustled, causing the Fox to fake it. Stretching in an exaggerated manner then made Rill yawn on cue, as if waking from a cryogenic slumber that dragged out for six unintentional months. Chance sniffed the sensational air. Filling every bit of mountain air in his compacted chest, he kept the lower half of his body within the sleeping bag, propping himself up on two forearms. He repeatedly opened and closed his mouth, as if peanut butter was stuck upon the roof of his inner-muzzle. Reminded Rillion of when he teased Chance about how the first cum in mouth experience plays out.

Still groggy, Rillion glanced at the Husky with subtle awe before saying in a voice, dominated by want of ten more minutes, "Enjoy your first nights sleep as an official CC junior operative in training." Another yawn lazily glided from Chances mouth mid sentence, "Can we... shorten that? How Canine Scout Junior," Each laid in their bags, moving pointlessly in scattered patterns of rocking. "C.S.J? It even has a ring to it." Ignoring their conversation, Rillion stood up from his slumber, naked as can be. His absence in reality caused no realization of it. He walked over to the corner and began pissing into a natural rock formation that led outside, like a convenient drainage pipe.

The now nude Fox chuckled to himself as the switches turned on within his brain, one after one. "I'm naked," A lovable laugh echoed about in the tiny cave, "How did I," An unnecessary pause lingered. "Get naked?" The laughing Canine stopped, continuing to smile at his friend, showing off most of his pearly whites, "I didn't sleep last night when you thought I was. I heard you strip to your fur and besides that; sleeping nude is nothing to lie about. I'll admit it; I do it when my military obsessed boyfriend wants me to get closer on those special nights we all share." Chance stayed where he was but has his eyes travel to a lower, more appealing point of interest on Rillion's body. "One thing you should lie about is how that dried cum got on your stomach. Wait, did you... sleepterbate last night or what?" The Fox walked to his boyfriend, crouching down, placing a hand on Chance's grey, sleek cheek.

"I don't know how that's there and it doesn't matter at the moment. However, your morning wood is making me horny so I'm going to put on my clothes to consciously and literally keep me from jumping on top of you." At that Rillion walked to his bag and stated pulling out what he had on the night before to dress. Chance, though, adjusted to what was said and looked down in a motion that displayed more curiosity than concern. "Huh." said the Husky in a questioning, curiousness filled tone. He pulled himself out of the bag to reveal a stretched piece of underwear that presented moist marks along where the head rested in separated areas. With grey pants and a dark blue T on, Rillion looked over and stated, "You look like a teen who just watched his first two hours of porn."

Ten minutes of preparation faded by until both stood, calmly checking every pocket and zipper on their outfits. While Rillion wore items like this every day, except for the time a lost bet forced him to wear an islander tourist getup the day before break, Chance hadn't become accustomed to it yet. In some places it restricted most movement, the torso and crotch, but it allowed an invigorating rush of motion centralize in the legs and neck. Chance spoke during his adjusting of the fur tight sleeves that ran across the arms of his 5' 9" body. "Not forcing any secrets that may render me a loose end and will inevitably lead to organized assassination, explain to me how do you get to keep this stuff?! I swear it feels like this shirt is at least 200 bucks." Rill glanced up, realizing all of the checks being made were pointless and said, "Yeah, sport outlets contain our nations most advanced clothing technology," A Fox began to walk over to his lover through a strut that made no interested figure wish to look away, "Also, its so superior it even defle..." "Sarcasm is a tool used by those who like to talk past their limit. They usually don't have a snappy comeback at the ready either." "Can a comeback be something like this," At that Rillion graciously swept up to meet Chance's confused expression with a kiss that lasted for only one second, but it was the last time they would have a loving moment together, alone in a long time. Two muzzles began to stately back away, making sure every second of caressing was granted. "Besides, your limit got hit 'bout 400 words back."

Creating a natural heavy door noise, a grey rock ended its trip blocking the entrance to their cave hideout. The trainee stared around at his surroundings as another pushed aside an ear shaped rock to reveal a box. Looking over, the Husky turned saying, "A treasure chest," in a dull attitude of no surprise with a pinch of sarcasm, "Would be a tad more pumped but we're standing on a barren hill, so what's going to happen? A purple laser from outer space that transforms Illinus into a rave or does it involve being naked? If you don't mind, I've had a personal fantasy for a while about a holiday where nobody dresses in clothes. Kinda hot, right?" Smiling and looking down, admitting the misguided joke was, in some universe, funny. "By the way," A half smile remained on the Fox's face. "We'll need to make nicknames for each other. Nothing that's too dumb or common because we can't turn down the name we make up for each other. I won't explain but I thinks it's half joke, half brosiph bondage." An orange colored hand unraveled the now held open map. It displayed a topographic presentation of Illinus. "It's a map, I get that much. Bunch of lines, a legend, and color coded perimeters. Who in their right mind requested to get a document of this detail crafted about Illinus?" Rill looked up saying, "My parents made it themselves within one week of living here," Two grey ears flopped down at the remark. "Oh. How are they?" An expressionless voice came out of Rill's muzzle, "I'll get to see them tonight. You know, through the monitor screen like," A pause rained out any sense of confidence, "Normal. However, when we get to here," Upon a miniature circle was Rill's tense finger addressing the destination. "We'll have a break to establish our nicknames. Two miles is more than enough thinking time."

After a thorough explanation directed Chance how to use the map, they were hiking to a hill top that apparently had question mark on top of it. With one thinking the drafter just wanted to keep it mysterious, the actual creator drew it as its literal meaning. The term Rillion referred to that point as was "The part when you wing it."

Both were sweating, but neither showed signs of struggle. Silence reigned its rule due to Rillion specifically stating how CC scouts neverspeak on leave and, if needed, they used a complex dialect, that even Rill couldn't decipher, which sprouts its routes between Heliosophica, a dead race of eagle anthro's ancient language, and random clicking noises. Scaling upwards, Chance lead the trek without any care due to this episodes closing credits being upon the hill's pinnacle they were marching on at the moment. He allowed this as a time for thoughts.

Who knew I would be spending my day with him sweating like crazy outside of a dark bedroom. He seriously needs to get those Dads of his on a chat, so I don't see him depressed. Daddy issues are out of the question, at least I hope. Is it just me or did that hilltop stretch itself just now. My dick was so hard this morning I kept making involuntary, slow humping motions. It felt weird. I never get those that strained, with veins and throbbing like in the vids. Stop thinking about sex you perverted mutt. Rill wants it bad and he's holding back a lot. It's too much of a risk. Not only would having sex be a relief, but it would let me though Rillion's final mental barrier that blocks off his parents. No. It won't happen again.

Rillion's thoughts trotted along phrases as "Protocol" and "Objective." If it wasn't for Chance walking into him that untraditional afternoon, every day would be dedicated to the following priorities in order of importance; homework, studying academics, jerking off, working out, studying military documents of past records, jerking off, thinking about hot guys, fantasizing, jerking off. Hopefully the picture is gotten. Today, more than a couple of epiphanies went off in his disciplined, wannabe officer's mind.

7:24. Sweating. Ground semi-hard. Feet keep falling in. Training friend. Boyfriend. Training Husky with compact butt and severe morning wood issues. Nickname? Will be surprised at own. Chances, Think. Pokey? Frederick? Optimous? Muse? Helios? Boring, unoriginal. Think. Phineas? Gene? Montague? Capulet? Romanov? Habsburg? Luck? I'm close. Oppourunity? Latch? Adorable? It'll come to me later.

A sigh of massive relief filled up what space it could with Chance reaching the top. Before resting, he waited for his companion to arrive a second or two later, then glanced in his eye for a measure of approval. One slow nod occurred in reply, but halfway of finishing its destination, the Husky purposely fell onto his ass in relaxation. Breaths for air interrupted Rillion's comment, "Remind me what we're... doing up... here. I mean... come on... you lead." A now partially rested Husky replied, attempting a smile but not managing any facial expression that resembled one. "Your gracefully given nickname is hereby, from this point, is Wyvern." Massive amounts of relief flowed through Rillion at hearing his new entitlement. "Grateful, yours is Merick." Rillion had no idea what he just said but it sounded cool and some importance to society had that name on it. Chance, now Merick, looked around and saw an uneven bump within the dirt two feet away from his left arm. It was a tarp that blended in. "Uh, Rill, Wyvern, whatever; what is that?" "Oh, that. Left it here so we can get a harder thing out of the way. Your first kill."