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Tsuki glanced down the worn teakwood deck of the old yacht and wondered for the umpteenth time that afternoon what the Clydesdale sitting by the stern saw in fishing. Hooves propped up on the gunwale, floppy hat kept on his head by his equally floppy ears, he looked to be asleep. But the hand on the rod next to him was still clenched into a fist, still expecting that first tug of a bite that--at least to the Akita--would never come.

Yet the stallion sat there still, in his Panama Jack shirt and Hilfiger shorts, looking for all the world like the white-party attendant he was--they both were, or at least had been--and fishing when he had a perfectly good boat to fuck on.

The Akita certainly hadn't allowed himself to be dragged away from a perfectly good pre-orgy by a redundantly hung guy so he could wait for a line of nearly transparent filament to twitch. He tugged on his own pole, felt the same slack he'd been feeling for over an hour, and crossed his legs to pick at a toe claw.

If Dwight meant to increase the sexual tension between them--and even if he didn't--he was doing a damn good job of it. Tsuki wondered if the horse could smell the need wafting off his body. He licked his finger and stuck it up before realizing how silly it looked apropos of nothing, then quickly brought it back to his waist. Which put just enough pressure on his sheath to remind him that it was there. He wouldn't ask; that would be rude and presumptuous.

Then why the fuck was he here?

Because he'd sidled up to the horse at the white party, pretending to be interested in what he was talking about...which had been fishing. Because while he'd nodded all he could think about was beating the other boys to Dwight's well-stuffed shorts and getting away from it all. His ratty motel room on Key West had taken a distant back seat at the mention of the word "yacht," and though it was old the craft was most certainly luxurious, albeit by 1982 standards.

"You hot?" The little uptick at the end kept it from being a compliment.

Tsuki turned and saw Dwight, eyes still hidden in shadow. "Huh?"

"I asked if you were hot. With your coat, and all, down here." Speaking of apropos of nothing, though the Akita couldn't be sure he hadn't just tuned Dwight out.

"It's not bad," he admitted, wagging a tail that felt like a barely-rung-out mop in this humidity. He hadn't thought about his winter coat in hotter climes. He'd likely shed it all off just in time to enjoy the drier, still-chilly air back in Boston. "I'll say it's an acquired taste, though."

"Philistine." Twin hoof beats sounded on the deck as the Clydesdale brought himself upright and stretched, a great snort escaping his nostrils. Shivers ran up and down Tsuki's spine. "You deign to come to my state for a vacation and then you complain about the weather. Everyone knows what Florida's like." He strode the fifteen or so feet between them, stopping behind Tsuki and putting his hands on the dog's shoulders. He started to knead, the blunt tips doing what no claws could ever hope to accomplish.

Once again, not all hope was lost. Dwight had left his pole unattended, an almost-blasphemous lack of responsibility considering the price of the rod. Something about a bunch of carbon fiber and high-tension filament, he couldn't remember. It was not the rod he'd been looking for, anyway.

Dwight squeezed tighter with a delicate purposefulness. The Akita remembered the thickness of his arms with their thin coating of creamy horsehair barely concealing the unyielding curves underneath. He started to get hard, and this time he didn't even try to think it away. At the very least he would get a few proximity boners, and if he had to take care of them by himself back on land then so be it. In ten minutes he could find a willing fox, but it wasn't ass he was after.

The stallion seemed not to notice Tsuki's not answering. "You can't say it's not peaceful," he said, bending down to cross his arms about the dog's chest. They could almost pass for boyfriends, if not for the whole I-haven't-known-you-an-afternoon thing. "I come out here to think."

To his own surprise, Tsuki found his paws on top of Dwight's wrists, pressing gently. "That sounds like a corny line out of some pulp novel." He wanted to tilt up his chin and make out, despite the alfalfa smoothie from The Sugar Apple back on the mainland. Tsuki had stereotypically opted for taro root.

"Too bad it's true," said the horse. "I really do come out here to think."

Sensing a profound moment, and an opportunity to pounce for some sap appeal, Tsuki asked the obvious question. "What do you think about?"

Dwight took a squat next to the Akita's chair, holding himself steady by the railing. His fingertips clinked softly against the aluminum. "Depends on the time of year. April, I do my taxes out here. December, I have a few friends over for presents. Sometimes we fuck too, but not always." Tsuki bristled in all the right ways. "September, I think a lot about my brother's suicide." The bristle died. "But not too much. Doesn't do any good."

The stallion flicked away some mote or other. Either way his ear twitched and it was cute, especially because of that silly floppy hat. Tsuki bet that without the shorts, Dwight might have splinters in his junk by now. The twin globes of his ass looked damn good clad in white, and made his blonde tail stand out in a weird, good sort of way.

He suddenly resented the horse for perpetrating a sexual fraud, if that's what this was. He wanted to enjoy a beautiful Florida afternoon on a nice boat with a nice guy, but his dick wouldn't let him forget why he'd flown so far and spent so much on outfits.

Why couldn't he just enjoy the hospitality?

Because I was playing the game, and so was he,_he thought. _He knew about all the attention he was getting. He promised to take me away from the drama and show me a good time.

Dwight hadn't actually said any of that, but what else could one imply?

"You got a bite," said the Clydesdale.

"What?"

"You got a bite." Dwight pointed to the rod, which now had a slight bend.

"Oh. Oh!" Tsuki leaned forward and grabbed the rod by the handle, turning the slight bend into a severe bend. Dwight lunged after the tip and managed to straighten it out, but only slightly. "What do I do?"

"Back, then slack." The stallion's voice simmered at the edge of excitement. "Pull a couple feet, then wind your way forward." Calling up a long-forgotten memory of a fishing show on PBS he'd seen only because Sesame Street had ended and he had been too lazy to change the channel, Tsuki stood up and kicked his chair to the bulkhead. His flip-flops did a piss-poor job of keeping him from sliding. Dwight came around back and made up for it.

"Keep hold, and watch me." The horse's fingers deftly replaced his own on the rod and reel while the Akita held the shaft, unsure whether he was even making a difference. Dwight would hunch forward and reel in fast, then yank back before repeating the process. Tsuki wanted to help, he really did, but each time Dwight reeled in more line he got a solid bulge under his tail. It hampered his concentration, to say the least.

Soon they were pressed up against the gunwale, straining against the railing, which came up only about three feet. The big silver belt buckle slicing into his belly now seemed like a bad purchase decision.

"Holy shit..." The Akita saw it first: a flash of metallic blue just under the surface of the waves. It would almost surface, thrash in some semblance of a circle, and then disappear as Dwight gave it a rest, only to come back closer each time. This was no fish. This was Moby Dick.

"You're right." Dwight lifted the pole over Tsuki's head. "Move over so you're not hurt. I don't want to lose this pole, but you caught a marlin. It might be over." As soon as Tsuki ducked out of the way the Clydesdale surged forward again, the gulf breeze ripping the floppy hat from his head and over the bow, hopelessly lost to the waves. Neither of them really cared at that moment, though.

"Get back!" Both hooves against the gunwale now, the stallion cut a fine figure struggling against the massive weight of the fish Tsuki had unwittingly caught. His perfect buttocks flexed and strained, his great thick neck flecked with sweat-foam in the sunshine. It was quite the distracting picture, but Tsuki realized with not a little disdain that if Dwight went overboard the Akita would be shit out of luck to rescue him. Not that he couldn't swim...but a heavy winter coat weighed down by water plus two-hundred-plus pounds of beefcake horse to pull up?

Tsuki hoped Dwight had better cell service, because the middle of the Gulf of Mexico was a no-bars zone.

And the day had started out so nicely, too.

"God dammit!" Dwight whinnied. "Captain Ahab here caught the biggest fish in the fuckin' Gulf."

Tsuki decided to hear that as a compliment rather than an insult, and leaned over to look in the water again. A long blue spear sliced to and fro, frothing the surf like Dwight's skin. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked, hating the patronizing way it sounded even though he meant it.

"Nope, stay back." No sooner did the words exit his mouth than a horrendous crack issued through the air. Suddenly Dwight was on his ass, on the deck, and his bright white clothes were a bright, wet red. The rod clattered to the wood, in one piece, its line snapped.

Without thinking, Tsuki shrugged off his own shirt, balled it up, and pressed it hard up against the horse's nose while Dwight did his best to lean back to stave off the bleeding. The Akita didn't think for one second about how scared he was. He thought only of getting the stallion to a hospital before he died.

After a few minutes of labored breathing, Dwight blinked through wet eyes, coughed up a gout of unsavory-looking mucus, and mumbled, "I think it's stopped." Tsuki slowly took away the shirt, which was soaked through, and despite a few drips just inside his nostrils the bleeding had, in fact, ceased. He had begun to swell up and look like a cartoon horse, but that was more funny than anything.

"Do we need to get you to a hospital?" Tsuki asked, more gently this time.

"No, not necessary. The line broke and I got whacked in the face with the rod. Figures I'd invite someone who's never fished onto my boat and he catches the marlin I've always coveted."

"He got away, though."

"Still." Even with bloodstained teeth Dwight was cute. Not as kissable, but cute.

"Should we go downstairs?"

"It's called below, but yes. You do get to go down stairs." Tsuki helped him up and they made their way down the narrow flight, keeping the soiled shirt close.

The Akita sat on the floral-print sofa and watched, having run out of things he could help with. Dwight filled a glass with water from the sink, swished, and spat, swallowing the second time around. He didn't have any cold compresses so he filled a Ziploc bag with ice and hung it over his nose, looking ridiculous but smiling all the same. On the way over to the sofa he ditched his shorts and shirt, tossing them with a hoof over in the general direction of a trash can. What was left was a string bikini with a generous pouch, which looked like it needed every cubic inch.

Dwight leaned back, spreading his legs. The bag dripped onto his chest. It was a scene worthy of XTube...with a shoddy connection that wouldn't play video.

Tsuki went for his phone, remembered he had no bars and silently cursed the gods of cell service. Instead he zoomed in on Dwight's junk and took a quiet picture for later. Might as well make the best of it. After that the requisite awkward silence once again took hold, though with less purchase.

He woke up to find his left foot numb, no surprise since he was sitting on it. Dwight was snoring softly with the half-melted bag still on his muzzle like one of those half-melted Dali clocks. The light hadn't changed much, and neither had the time: merely twenty minutes had passed. He got up and limped around until the pins and needles subsided.

Dwight was hard. Not just fill-out-the-pouch hard, but going-to-rip-through-the-pouch hard. The kind of sexy hard a guy only sports in his sleep. The super-stretchy material had to be tented at least eight inches, giving an unmistakable blunt outline. It was the kind of underwear one wore to a white party when one was looking for action, and definitely not the kind of everyday wear any horse thusly hung would prefer.

Tsuki suddenly didn't care anymore what Dwight did or didn't want. He was going to touch that horse dick. He could swim to shore.

The shaft lay jauntily over the stallion's left thigh, held up by its own blood and the elastic of its cotton prison. Tsuki kneeled between Dwight's spread knees and pressed ever so gently.

"I was wondering when you'd get to that," Dwight said without the ice bag moving an inch.

Tsuki cleared his throat because of the embarrassing sound he'd just made and said, "You were giving me mixed signals all afternoon. What'd you think you were doing to me?"

"I could smell it, all right." Dwight grinned. "You dogs think you've got the super-smelling, but we're not far behind. That, or you're a naturally musky guy."

Despite the ribbing--or maybe because of it--Tsuki was achieving an easy erection. His paw, which had paused, now moved up to the head, tracing the ring that had yet to flare to its full potential. His jaw twitched in anticipation.

Dwight stood, clopped to the galley and let the bag drop into the sink. Then he let the undies drop to the floor. Then he let himself drop about five more inches. "I'm a bottom, you know."

The Akita snorted. "You've got to be kidding me." He watched Dwight take hold of his length and stroke from about the middle to just under the flare. A thick string of pre oozed out his straw, caught by the stallion's fingers and spread around the dark brown flesh.

"What, I'm not allowed?" Chuckling, he came back over to Tsuki and smacked him across the face with his member. Yes, it was hot, and he got a nose full of horse scent, but what Dwight was saying rang true. "Do you know how many people I've fucked in my life? Two. One was another horse, and the second was a woman for whom I did a favor. And even then I couldn't get in all the way. How can you possibly hope?"

To be fair, Dwight had a point. Tsuki hadn't been attracted to the Clydesdale as much as he'd been attracted to the idea of stealing a big-dicked male away from the white party. Some would call it shallow; he called it survival of the horniest. But now that he had what he'd sought, he didn't have any way of using it. Well, now, that wasn't completely true.

"There're other things," the Akita said, grasping the shaft in both paws and stroking in opposite directions.

"Don't make me feel awkward," Dwight interjected. "Get those off." Tsuki complied, heartened watching the stallion's eyes fondling him all over. His hands followed suit.

"Look at you, with your cute little tummy. You hide it well."

"Don't mention it. Really."

Dwight gave it several pats. "Why not? I called it cute, not horrifically disgusting. Akitas are meant to be fluffy. I bet you look funny when wet. My nose has stopped bleeding."

Until the stallion tilted his head downward and nipped at his lips, Tsuki didn't know he was going in for a kiss. The scent of dried blood wasn't as strong as he'd thought, and when he felt the super-warm swollen snout clamp on his own, he gave in. Gingerly, though, and slowly, as if a wrong move would injure Dwight further. Tsuki's whiskers twitched in delight when he felt his erection grasped and stroked in time with their fighting tongues.

"Bed or couch? Course, that all depends on what you want to do." Dwight's warm chestnut eyes placidly begged direction. "I don't think I can suck you off, with the way my nose is smarting. The kiss was nice."

Tsuki knew what he had wanted, but now faced with the fourteen-inch reality--not to mention Dwight's positional preference--he had to think up a Plan B. Which shouldn't have been as difficult as it seemed with the options open to them. But, now that he had all that meat between his fingers, his balls didn't seem so blue anymore.

"You said you were a bottom?" he ventured.

"Pretty much."

"I think I can work with that. Bed." Dwight led the way to the sleeping quarters in the bow, where a queen mattress tapered to a point following the shape of the hull. Slits of windows lined the tops of the sloped walls, letting in plenty of early-evening sunlight.

"Ah-ah, on your back," Tsuki corrected playfully when the Clydesdale assumed an all-fours position. Not that he didn't look damn tempting with his tail full-flag, but the Akita had other plans. Once on his back, Dwight's cock rested along one side of his belly, dripping anew.

Tsuki climbed between the thick thighs and set to lapping the ponderous bulk that was the horse's sac. Dwight moaned as if he hadn't had much attention down there in a while. At first Tsuki was surprised, but upon further thought realized he'd been projecting his own personal idea of what Dwight was about. He had to stop doing that and work on his altruism. Not every stud stallion and top wolf spent every day fighting off boy toys.

"Oh hell, what're you doing?" Each lap made the velvet-covered orbs tense up against the base of the horse's erection like lovers under a great tree. Musk filled Tsuki's nose right from the source, Dwight's sweat-infused taint. The way the Clydesdale was squirming, it was as if he'd never had a tongue down there.

"Making you feel good," said the Akita between licks, wagging his tail over his back so the stallion could see. "You sure you don't want to put that thing to good use?"

The way Dwight chuckled signified he knew something the canine didn't. "Even if you'd been practicing with Thor all morning before you came to the party, it would still hurt like hell. As hard as it may be to believe, I really am a bottom. Maybe you could put your thing to good use instead."

The thought had crossed his mind, but now that the possibility was there--there, and requested--Tsuki didn't quite know how to process it. Other than fuck the horse, which Dwight obviously wanted, and which the Akita wouldn't have a problem accommodating. Or he could keep indulging his size queenery, which Dwight wouldn't mind since he were a hot-blooded male.

Or he could do both at the same time.

Nuzzling up further against the stallion's sac, Tsuki planted paws on each side and pushed so Dwight would spread wide. The dark brown flesh of his hole came into view, with a sheen of moisture just as tantalizingly fragrant as the rest of his body. Without thinking of the most proper way to start a rimjob, he dived right in.

He felt the Clydesdale's entire body tense in surprise, and maybe a bit of disgust, as a good two inches of his tongue slid easily past Dwight's pulsating ring. He'd had partners whose libidos had tanked upon having their asses licked up and down. Then again, those guys had all been power tops who might not have liked their masculinity challenged in such a vulnerable position. "Whoa, there," he said with a calming paw to Dwight's lower belly, like a jockey to his steed.

"No, it's...it's just good, is all."

"Weird?"

"Yeah."

"That's fine." Tsuki prodded deeper a few times before giving several long, languid licks up to the horse's sac. He could do that all day long, and probably into the night too. And he hoped to be able to do it again, if Dwight let him. Not as boyfriends, obviously, but on a more familiar standing. After a fuck on a yacht, one could hope they would be more familiar. "You want lube?"

"If spit won't work, I got a little bottle above your head." The thought of sliding in courtesy of saliva kept the Akita effortlessly hard. One more lick and he scooted up, pushing Dwight's thighs apart. He tried to work up a good mouthful of drool, dribbling it on before thumbing it in the stallion's surprisingly loose hole.

"You a busy boy?" he asked, getting an indignant stare and flicking ears as answer.

Arms crossed, Dwight harrumphed. "I'm allowed to have toys." He couldn't stick out his jaw without his flat teeth showing. It was endearing...almost. "Feels like you'll need that bottle, sadly." He was right, though, pointing to Tsuki's left.

A small red bottle stood out from the rest in the tiny cabinet, and he took it down and squirted a goodly amount on his cock and Dwight. Spreading it around was nice, too; plenty of flesh on flesh.

"I've never done a...uh...puffy one like this before," he found himself saying, which sounded awful actually coming out of his mouth.

Dwight grinned. His hole winked. "Heh, puffy. Should be easy to go in and feel great around your knot. Don't you love anatomy?"

"And my mom wanted me to find a nice sled dog and settle down." Tsuki only had to center his tip and push. The skin and muscle gave way easily and cradled his length. "Shit. That's awesome."

"You're telling me. Yeah..." At the end of his first thrust the Akita bottomed out, watching his half-swollen knot spread Dwight's hole thin and then disappear, clamped cleanly inside. If the stallion decided to clench and not let go, it would be over in less than a minute. He was tempted too, sorely so, but the need to make it last was greater than the need to breed something like a feral. "How long's it been for you?"

"Too long." Tsuki ignored the oddity of the question and kept his hips moving. But he got to thinking, and depressingly he could not remember the last time he'd fucked something besides his own paw. Several partners from the past few months came to mind, including one coworker, but it was all top, top, top. Somebody would make a crack about his permacurled tail and he'd shoot right back with a come-on and eventually he'd be pinned up or down or against while whoever it was rutted him a quick one.

And then he'd go home and jerk out another load just to take the edge off.

So he said, "I can't remember the last time I topped. Years?" Dwight clenched and he groaned.

"Way too long." The stallion lazily stroked the bit of cock he could grasp, the first five inches or so. "Been a couple months for me. And I _live_on Key West. Go figure."

"Is it hard to find tops?"

Dwight lay back and grinned at the ceiling and played with the growing sticky puddle in the middle of his chest. "It really is." He sighed, which felt weird because introspection while getting fucked just didn't happen. Tsuki saw no need to stop, however. "They all want frail, delicate little bottoms they can order around. They think I'm the big guy, I'm in charge, I'm looking for a fox or an otter to suck my dick. People seem to forget that my ancestors loved being subservient."

That stopped Tsuki. The pause felt awkward so he palmed the stallion's balls a little. "How could anyone love slavery?"

Resting his hooves on the Akita's shoulders, Dwight smiled. "You're not hoofstock, so I wouldn't expect you to understand. I'm not talking about coming over on crowded boats and toiling under the paws of their masters. That's obviously horrible. But it...it's like the same thing you feel when you're running."

"Oh."

"You ever go running?"

"Not since I was a cub. I'm probably out of shape."

"You should try it again sometime. Discover how it feels to do the thing you're built for. Tie up to a sled." Tsuki stared him some daggers. "I'm serious!"

"Isn't that kind of...normative?" Okay, now his boner was flagging.

Dwight snorted softly. "Not if you love doing it. Life isn't all about bucking the expected. I come from a long line of draymen. My great-grandfather pulled water trucks when they had that little shaker in Frisco in 1906? Remember that?" He grinned a horsey grin.

"Point," Tsuki acceded. "I'll try out for the Iditarod next year. Can I fuck you now?"

"By all means."

He had to pull out and paw a little bit, but listening to all the soft sounds Dwight was making--minute grunts here and there, a cute nicker when the Akita repositioned himself, the snorted exhalation as he sank back in--helped it along quite nicely. This time neither of them held up the process by talking.

Which wasn't to say they didn't communicate. Tsuki couldn't help staring into the big brown eyes, first to judge Dwight's reactions to his motion and then because he was captivated. Not by the eyes themselves, but by the whole package. Having the Clydesdale's legs up on his shoulders was weird enough, but the kink factor seemed nonexistent. No bottom, no top, just taking their respective positions.

Topping wasn't so bad. He could do this again. Well, if he were required.

Nah. Next time he'd probably offer.

Don't assume a next time, you idiot. Yet by the look of things, Dwight might be more than amenable. It'd give them time to stretch the Akita's backside with some toys...

"Fuck, yeah."

"Feeling good?" The Clydesdale looked about as worked up as a disillusioned carny. With a smile.

"Sorry. Thinking about stuff."

"I like stuff. You can tell me after you come." Dwight pressed the hand that wasn't masturbating himself to the Akita's chest and played with the cream-colored floof there. Tsuki wished he were wearing a harness. Anything to tug on, perhaps with a cock ring attached. He groaned again. "You're so pretty. I'm glad I picked you."

Tsuki's legs trembled. His travel was super-slick because he was leaking like a fountain, helped along by the stallion's ability to clamp down on his knot even when it didn't pop through. One slip, though, and it would be all over. "I thought I picked you."

"I let you pick me," Dwight corrected. "I knew how many guys were clamoring over me at the white party. Gets on my nerves sometimes. At first I thought I'd scoop you up and play hard-to-get, turn the tables and teach you a lesson about assumption." He was still smiling, though, and showing those Chiclet-white, evenly-flat teeth. It was hard to stay mad at him.

Still, he made sure to tie the horse especially rough.

Dwight seemed unaffected. Instead, he whinnied deep down and fisted his shaft harder, rolling the dark skin over the venous maze underneath. His cockhead flared impressively. "Sorry about that."

"About what?" the Akita huffed. "It worked out okay." He could see his knot stretch Dwight's hole as he thrust, but this time it wasn't coming back out. He was too far gone to care. "Holy shit..."

"You there?"

Tsuki merely whined.

"Me too. You're gonna love this." Whatever it was, it would have to wait. His insides roiled, everything down south tightened up into a great pulsing heat and the release overwhelmed him. He could feel his tail trying to curl between his legs against its natural bend. From pleasure, not some ingrained omega mentality. Yeah, that was the ticket.

After several attempts to start a sentence, he gave up and enjoyed the few final spurts as they made their way out of his body.

"Mmmm, I can feel that. Nice." Once Tsuki could see clearly again, he was met with Dwight's strained expression. "You might want to close your eyes. Or not, if you feel lucky." With that, the stallion pressed his cock squarely against the Akita's belly and held it by the flare.

"Oh, God. Oh God, oh my God!" The first shot was merely a dribble, but the several that followed splashed against his chin, onto his shoulders, and coated him from the neck on down. Dwight never bellowed, never gasped or did anything other than smile his enigmatic smile while drowning Tsuki in cum as if he hadn't been laid in years. There was no way that much spooge came from those balls, big as they were.

Yet it kept coming, in a thick drool that ebbed but slowly. Once the Akita knew he wouldn't get an eyeful of cum he watched it pulse from the stallion's straw, fascinated. Never mind they were both a mess, along with the bed, now. They definitely needed to work on stretching Tsuki out. Anything else would be a waste of good seed.

"You're really that surprised? Your dick's up against my prostate. Has been the whole time."

"I didn't mean to!"

"This is all your fault." And Dwight burst out laughing, slapping the Akita in the chest with what remained of his erection. "You didn't even notice the plastic sheets."

"I...no, I didn't." Then they were both laughing, perhaps the first time the ice had broken clean through since he'd introduced himself at the white party. "Seems like a liability."

Dwight shrugged. "Can't help what we're born with. Make it work, like the man says."

Now there was a familiar phrase. "You watch Project Runway?"

"Tim's kind of a friend."

What rotten timing. Tsuki tugged; nothing. "I would do a happy dance, but...no. How do you end up knowing Tim Gunn?"

Dwight made a face and suddenly the Akita popped free, still dripping and an angry, throbbing red. "So now you're interested beyond a one-afternoon stand? You figure you can get some cheap designer clothes out of me?" Oh, that ever-present grin.

Except that wasn't it at all. To Tsuki it was merely talk that had just gotten much more interesting. He hadn't expected to have anything more in common with the Clydesdale than a love for dick, and rare was the opportunity for substantive conversation. Maybe it was the fact that he'd gotten off and flushed the hormones out of his system, but it could be that he was just plain interested. Out of character for him, but still.

He decided to play it coy. "Well, shoot. I was hoping for some new leggings and a mesh tank top, too." The fake lisp made them both wince.

Crawling off the bed, Dwight motioned for Tsuki to do the same. "I can't do leggings, but if I call in a favor he could personally measure you for underwear. You look like you could use a nice pair of sexy briefs. Black, with red trim? Yeah, he could make it work." The sheet was bundled and stuffed into a hamper. "I'll get that later. We need to wash off. Last one in the water tops next time!" Off he clopped to the stairs.

Not until he heard the whooping holler and felt the waves from Dwight's splash against the hull did Tsuki finally push off from the bulkhead, wondering when and if he would get off the yacht and back to the white party.

Right before he decided he didn't much care. But he couldn't let that cum dry in his fur.

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