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Andrew drummed his fingertips along the kitchen counter as he idly waited for the toaster. His mind was amiss, this morning, and it showed. His brow was creased in a darkened furrow, his eyes glazed over as though he were elsewhere, strung deep within the recesses of his imagination. The frown told many tales, ones of pain and fear of a world so shockingly stark to the one he inhabited now. This frown stuck to his face, hiding the pensive stallion whilst the morning carried on ticking by.

The dull clunk of the toaster roused the male from his reverie, and brought his attention to the task at hand. Breakfast; a pivotal part of the day, and the brief time where Andrew could actually think clearly and concisely, managing to put his thoughts in order. It was that short period between wakening from a deep, somewhat troubled sleep to this moment where he had peace and quiet. He rose earlier than anyone in the household, but today his family were out, some staying with friends, partners, or merely on vacation. The Clydesdale snatched up the warmed toast from their slots and buttered them deftly, not wasting a single second as he munched on the mild snack for the beginning of the day. His thoughts, despite how they were all so usually neat and in order for the dawn, were muddled.

He heard the thud of a door slamming shut - the front door - and allowed himself a smile in mirth. Perhaps he wasn't entirely alone. Another visitor of the bar last night, by most standards; or an old friend dropping in to say hello... Either way, it didn't matter. He couldn't remember their faces or their names. He had only wanted company for the evening, so as to not feel so alone and cold in the world. To feel wanted, was what usually drove him. He wasn't happy with himself, but why fix what isn't broken? It worked, mostly, for him, so continue he did. His teeth ground the toast into pulp, gulping down the food and swilling his mouth with orange juice, freshly squeezed.

Today, however, something wasn't quite right. He'd been mulling over it since he'd heaved himself out of bed, showered and dressed; there was once face he recalled... But he knew them only as a distant acquaintance. Him... The guy he kept seeing dotted about the place. Andrew couldn't figure out why his mind was not of his own possession, and instead it was this puppet to a person he had barely met, someone he hardly knew.

He had a name, though. That much was his to own; Chris... That's right. Chris, the colt that attended the same university as he did, was a quiet individual, neither outspoken nor silent, not quite large but not really small, and yet still very much prominent to the older horse. He was the embodiment of average, and not normally anywhere near the tastes of what Andrew chased after - or rather were chased by in most cases. But he found the colt to be... enrapturing. The silken, caramel mane that practically shone in any given light, that gracefully fell down across his perfectly poised shoulders... His body, whilst not slim, was distinctly proportioned, so that the healthy weight showed where it was needed, yet retained that ever so charming slender figure. Andrew was shocked that no girl had snapped him up already; he was divine. Like that most exquisite chocolate in the box of hundreds, that single one you save for last because it has the best flavours, the smoothest taste and the richest ingredients. It seemed almost fitting as the horse's fur was a dusted gold, a dark cocoa colouring underneath, speckled along the forelimbs. He was an Arabian breed, and didn't have quite as much stock as the Clydesdale did. In short... he was magnificent.

Of course, the stallion never approached him. He'd learnt to be careful when dealing with guys. Most of the time they were straight, the rest of the time they were only wanting to get into his pants - just like everybody else. The only times he'd ever pick up men was when he was in a club or bar, and he could read the signs. But on campus, it was another story; Chris had always dressed rather effeminately, with tight fitting shirts, jeans that practically hugged his thighs and calves so gingerly with his mane done in such a way that sent shivers down the stallion's spine. But then again, Andrew had known not to judge people by their looks, since he was the shining example. Most just took him to be the thick-headed jock, and he had managed to startle on or two people with his musical talents or by quoting Shakespeare.

As he stared morosely out of the window, an overcast of clouds passed by, and translucent form of his reflection mirrored the horse as he stood in the kitchen. He didn't expect himself to, but he found his eyes casting a critical judgement over his looks, his stance, and his expression. He didn't see himself as handsome, and he never found himself to be of any particular remarkable qualities, though he was consistently reminded by those who clung by his side in a drunken stupor slurring how pretty he was and that he was a 'hottie'. He didn't quite see what they saw though, and often, in a state of bitter cynicism, he would have referred to himself as ugly. His breed of horse weren't known for exceedingly graceful looks, and being a draft made it all the more harder to make himself feel presentable. His fur, a faded charcoal grey to black, seemed coarse and unwelcoming, and the faint traces of a reddened scar snared its way across his shoulder, a haunting reminder of his history. His build was bulked, to the point where he knew he would be stereotyped in an instant glance, and the thought of so many eyes peeling away at him, wondering what was underneath those layers of clothes both unnerved him and made him feel more like a zoo exhibit due to his well-hidden self-consciousness.

The large horse sighed, snatching up his bag and lugging it over one shoulder. All these thoughts were bad for his brain. His body was a fixture of his life and unchanging, and Chris was a never to be touched conquest that he daren't go near. He was too good for him; he deserved far better than a misguided horse who sought validation in the beds of plenty others. He'd just face each day at a time, and push away these invasive thoughts of that beautiful colt showering...

---

The lecture draws to an incredibly dull end, and Andrew finds himself being surged along by the current of students as they all pile out through the doors at the back. He lost himself in and amongst the thrum, navitgating his way somewhat obtusely for his lockers, his size and gait both being a hinder to him as well as a help. He couldn't remember where his friends would be waiting today, so it looked like it was going to be a long few hours alone during his next lectures and free time.

The swivelled the dial on his locker, yanking open the battered locking door and threw some books in. They were old, anyway, and he'd read them twice through already. Andrew figured he might as well catch some of the glorious weather as the clouds had cleared, so he grabbed the book he'd decided to take a gander at recently and headed for an exit out onto the pristine looking complex. A grassy verge lay between the concrete paths adjoining the buildings, a few picnic benches had been erected for those who wished to lunch outdoors. Sturdy oak trees dotted the somewhat small field, and Andrew took refuge beneath the shady branches of the one furthest away from the buildings.

He settled down, put his bag on the ground against his hip and flicked to the bookmarked page from where he'd left off from yesterday. He recounted through the last chapter; a daring escape from invading forces as the hero, an exiled knight set to redeem his honour, and his unlikely companion dashed through the woodland, fleeing from the enemy. Andrew admitted, it was a little cliché from the off, but he found himself gripped by the fantasy world that the author drafted together. He felt a connection to the fallen noble, and was intrigued by the lore of the book. It also snatched his attention as it was finally one of the few novels that openly included gay relations as a major plot point, and not just a side contextual thing. He'd gotten to the point where they were resting from their retreat, and were washing up and camping near a lake...

...Tristan lazed on the lake's shore, rubbing an oiled rag over his armour as he contemplated how he might buff out the scratches and make the dents less noticeable. He would never have thought it, that his family's prized armour would be in such a state of disrepair. There was a village just over the way... If he could find a blacksmith willing to turn a blind eye to his coat of arms, he might be able to get the suit fixed. It's a shame his name was scorned by every tongue in the kingdom, nowadays. He missed the times he could ride freely from town to town, and be adored by all. Now, he was nothing but a peasant. No... worse, he was the dirt peasant's spat upon.

There was only one redeeming feature in this new world Tristan found himself in. The wolf, this pale furred, oddly-spoken wolf, had somehow found his way into the knight's life. He was arrogant, abrasive, and yet chillingly intelligent. He was everything Tristan should have hated... but the time they'd spent together - albeit not by choice - had... desensitised him to all that the things he might have despised. Asher... Why did Tristan care so much? Why was he always glancing back over his shoulder to make sure the wolf was following, whether he was okay or not? The foreigner was nothing more than a mangy mutt, his fur a blemished grey, with dusty maroon hair that flecked across his darkened brown eyes. He was like a ghost, a quietly spoken sort who always hung back in a conversation, but spoke feverously when he wanted to. He had that build, one of a peculiar petite fashion that seemed fitting for such a bizarre individual. His nose twitched whenever he seemed perplexed or curious about something, and he had this habit that drove Tristan wild... whether with need or with anger, he couldn't quite tell.

The horse shook himself; damn him! He longed for the company of women! He had a mistress for Lord's sake. Well... he did have. It had been so long since he had had another to warm his bed. His nights were filled with restless nightmares that left him bedraggled and exhausted, and he'd built a large appetite for the flesh. But his reputation meant most bar wenches would cross their legs whenever he approached, and even the crawlers along the street at night refused his coin. His loins burned... and they burned intensely whenever he gazed upon the gentle wolf...

He looked over now, watching with a percolated eye at the male, who was standing beneath the lapping waterfall with cascaded into the lake. The sight of Asher still made Tristan ache, and the image of all that water sluicing through his fur, making it gleam with the shine of the setting sun, giving him the reddened, golden hues. But Asher was naked, and Tristan's eyes trailed down the meek body to the maleness that glistened with wetness. A tip of pink was showing, but Tristan didn't feel aroused by the image... nor was he appalled. The wolf was admirably sized for a male of his stature, but whenever he turned around, and that fluffed tail of his hitched itself up and that succulent looking ass was on show... It made the stallion stir beneath his codpiece, and his slumbering giant begged for an audience with those delicious cheeks.

Tristan snorted; fuck it, he thought. He'd been forced to innumerable measures, and this was merely another to add to the list. It was simple nature, and a matter that would be veiled by a pact of secrecy under the confidentiality of the bedroom. Asher owed him his life, and therefore in turn he owed his behind too.

He stripped off his tunic and leather pants, leaving him wearing nothing but the loincloth once his codpiece had fallen to the ground. The cool wind nipped at his manhood, but he shrugged off the chill. Tristan strode from their little encampment towards the lake's shore, his stare fixed upon the wolf. His hooves cut through the water, and he waded in until he was at its deepest, the coldness swilling around his upper waist. He made his best to head toward Asher, and he didn't falter when the wolf noticed his approach.

"Come to shower, brother?" The wolf slurred in his strange tongue. He'd taken to giving Tristan the nickname 'brother' after all their hardships together, though the knight wasn't entirely comfortable with it, "The water is chilled, yes, but clean."

"I'm not here for the water," The stallion grunted, his paws quickly wrapping around the wolf's hips and drawing them together, "I'm here for what is mine." Asher squirmed beneath the domineering attitude Tristan exerted, and his mooned hazel eyes flitted left and right nervously,

"Brother... What is this? What are you doing?" His voice was filled with panic, one that rose in his throat, but Tristan sensed something else... Desire? Lust? He allowed a sneer to play across his face; the foreigner was a tail-raiser... His paws became more adventurous, more aggressive as he took control, pressing his snout so suddenly against Asher's. The stallion repeated a chant in his head, to keep his maleness alive, that he was just a hole, just an outlet for pleasure and release. That he just lacked the certain allure a woman's body did, her breasts and breeding chamber... But they could still fuck, and that's all he needed.

Asher seemed to stiffen as their lips touched, his eyes wide pools of brown, and his mouth became parted in shock, allowing Tristan to possess him, pushing his tongue deep into the wolf's mouth. It tasted bitter, like ale, and for some reason he couldn't get enough. He slid his dextrous tongue around, gliding it along Asher's teeth, over his tongue and along his cheeks. The wolf moaned seductively beneath the thick muscle, surrendering to its dominance.

Tristan took this as a sign that he was being given permission to continue. He ran his paws down Asher's hips, his palms sliding along the wolf's thighs, snaking and grasping him from behind. Standing beneath the water's rush, Tristan lifted up his companion, parting his legs. Asher seemed to get the hint, and without thinking wrapped them around the horse's hips, so that his bared ass rested on top of Tristan's sodden loincloth. His eyes seemed to haze over with a fog of confusion, his wolf cock throbbing already at an impeccable pink length. The horse paid it no attention, ignoring the grating sensation against his pectorals. Instead he ripped aside his loincloth, letting his growing length slap up against Asher's backside. Tristan slushed his hips forward and backwards in the water, his blotched horse cock grinding between the wolf's cheeks.

"Tri... Tristan... What are you...?" Asher's seemed haggard, panting breathlessly, "Brother, don't... please..." His arousal belied his words, and Tristan let his pleas fall upon deaf ears. He leant his hips back, gripping his cock in one paw before laying the head against the hot puckered hole of the wolf. He could tell by the feel of this old mongrel's rim that he'd been claimed before, and he was no stranger to having a male inside him. Tristan's fluids leaked against Asher, loosening him, preparing him for what was to follow.

"Trist... brother... please..." Asher clenched his eyes, shivering and shaking beneath the melting touch of a male, a touch he'd not felt for so long... "Please... fuck me... breed me like I'm your mare..."

That was all the stallion needed. He shoved himself forwards, hiking Asher's weight onto his own hips, forcing the wolf down onto him. Asher yelped, momentarily blinded with the sting of initial entry, and his face scrunched into an expression of pain. He bore through it though, and grit his teeth as Tristan began to fuck the wolf's hole.

"Oh... Tristan..." Asher growled, groaning to the heavens, "What... Why are you doing this?"

The horse shrugged, quickening his pace. He wouldn't last long at all, and he could already feel his balls churning, his flare pushing deep into the wolf's gut. His medial ring slid past the rim and deep past the swollen prostate, causing Asher to squirm in the stallion's clutches, the water splashing against his back, making him shudder with an overload of sensations he had long forgotten.

"Tri... TRISTAN!"

He exploded, cumming hard against the stud's chest as he let himself go, sinking in deep to the hilt on top of the horse. Tristan was pushed to the edge, groaning as he felt his balls erupt, and a blossoming wave of pleasure blow through him. Burst after burst of thick, creamy horse fluids seeped through the wolf's ass, until it began to spurt and dribble into the lake, trailing into long, thin strings of murky liquid.

"Hey Andy! Good book, I'm reading it too!"

Andrew bolted upright, slamming the book shut. His eyes darted about, looking all around him for the source of the voice as he hid his large bulge, shuffling on the spot. Chris was waving at him, walking along a path with two other girls. They were giggling at the smaller horse, who had the cutest blush spread across his quaint cheeks and a beaming smile. It warmed Andrew's heart to the core, and sheepishly he smiled back,

"Hi..." He waved rather timidly back, not sure why he'd been greeted so abruptly, and wasn't sure what else to say. He envied Tristan... He was just a character in a book, but Andrew felt that it was more than just that. That horse could claim what he wanted, exude the confidence to the point where he could saunter up to someone and have them within the instant.

Chris got distracted by the girls he was walking with, and they said something that made him fluster, and halter in his step. It just looked so freaking gorgeous, the way he stumbled so innocently, the way he blushed profusely... Why couldn't he be like Tristan?

Wait... why couldn't he be like Tristan?

Filled with a growing sense of power, confident that he could do this, Andrew got to his hooves and very nearly sprinted across the grass towards the effeminate horse, shouting out his name,

"Hey... Chris! Wait!" The Arabian horse slowed, and turned around, bemused by the rapidly approaching stallion. He let loose a huge grin, one that made Andrew's heart flutter,

"Yeah, Andy?" He asked, becoming more collected than before. The girls merely gawped at the behemoth horse, swooning and stammering as they said hello too. Of course, they didn't interest Andrew, and they paled compared to Chris to the stallion. However, Andrew was surprised to see that Chris maintained a cool posture, and had that vacant yet curious look on his face that looked quite adorable. He had to do this; otherwise he'd be haunted by these dreams of him forever,

"Do you... do you want to grab a coffee sometime?"

Then... there was a long, gut-wrenching silence as he waited for Chris's response...