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** No Spoken Word** by peppygrowlithe

The sun beat down on the windless plains of Diessa, and nothing cast a shadow. The endless roll and tumble of green hills marked points of civilization as iron-gated farms and fiercesome garrisons dotted the crests and troughs of the Ascalonian plateau. One could hear the blast of mortars or the gruff barking of orders or -- near the seven acre armory dubbed the Bulliyek Arsenal -- the collision of axe with tree. Bloodsaw Mill, connected to the Arsenal by a short, well-traversed road, was the most important lumberjacking operation within a hundred kilometers of the Black Citadel. Here trees were felled, harvested, processed, and exported, typically to the Iron-held capital to the southwest. It is from this mill that Verin Timberfall strode, lugging a great axe over his shoulder and sweating heavily. Massive even for a Blood, the gray-furred warrior took wide steps, carrying him forward with the single-minded purposefulness of a loyal ox. His big boots scuffed the beaten path, and his black-striped tail held low to the ground. He hummed to himself, a little cheery yet tuneless melody. Coming up on Bulliyek, he didn't take note of the figure standing just outside the gates until it called out to him. "Stop right there." Verin halted mid-step, one foot suspended in the air. He blinked, looking up at the purple-clad charr who had hailed him without recognition. "Uh," he mumbled, his jaw hanging. "Er, hey, were you talking to me?" The well-dressed stranger came to a stop. Compared to the practical heavy armors of the Timber Blood, this eccentric newcomer stood out. His suit was pressed and clean, a lavendar lapel that drew the eye down toward similarly colored slacks. He wore a violet hat perched gingerly between his curved black horns, with a white feather sticking out above the right ears. Gray eyes stared out from a face of dark brown fur. He looked upon Verin with amusement, determining at a first glance that whatever the big brute had in strength, he lacked in intellect. He lacked for dexterity, too, and Verin grit his teeth as he started to teeter on one leg. The purple-clad charr sighed. "Put your foot down," he said, and Verin complied. "Tell me your name, soldier." "Verin Timberfall!" came the deep, cheerful retort. "Uh, what can I call you?" The well-dressed charr didn't reply. He started to walk a wide circle around the Blood, sizing him up. Curious, Verin started to turn to face him, but stopped short when the other charr grunted, "Hold still." He stepped forward, poking at the bigger charr's armored bicep. Verin furrowed his brow, vaguely becoming aware that something was off. He held his ground as the stranger completed his circle, nodding as he came to Timberfall's forefront. "Tell me, Verin," he stated, looking up. "What were you planning on doing with that axe?" "I was gonna sharpen it," the brute mumbled. "Then I was gonna go cut some more trees." "I see. When is your shift scheduled to end?" "Uhh... dusk." The purple-clad charr shook his head. "It's over now. Drop that axe and follow me." A look of uncertainty crossed Verin's face, but he complied without hesitation. He hefted the axe off to the side of the path, and it landed in a great cloud of dust and dirt. He was lead into the Bulliyek Arsenal, his eyes looking around guiltily. "I'm... I'm gonna get in big trouble," he mumbled. "Don't worry about that," the stranger said, and Verin's tail gave a little wag. He smiled, saying nothing, but his face showed relief. Coming up on the southwestern exit to the Arsenal, a heavyset female shuffling through some papers noticed the two. She watched the well-dressed charr cross the gates before she she stormed forward, baring her teeth at the big oaf trailing behind. "Verin, what the hell do you think you're doing?" She smashed the back of her paw down several times on the documents she held in her hands. "We're running too scorchin' tight a schedule for you to be takin' breaks this early into your shift! Where the hell's your axe? Verin, if you lost another one, I'm gonna tear your horns off and stuff them--" "Um--" "Tell me who you are," the purple-clad charr said. With the hint of a smirk, he added, "Gently." The female raised her paw and scratched at the side of her head. She shuffled her feet. "Er... Jerias Timberstorm," she replied, her voice much quieter. "I'm Verin's Legionnaire." "Well, Legionnaire Timberstorm," the stranger stated, crisp and confident. "You're going to let Verin have the rest of the day off. In fact, let's give him tomorrow off too, shall we?" "Uh," she mumbled, her brow creasing. She looked down at the documents in her hand, crinkling them. "Sure, okay. I'll make sure the Quaestor knows." "Run along and do that now," he replied with a thin smile. He watched her turn around and scurry away into the armory, with a couple backwards glances. He spared a look over his shoulder at Verin, whose eyes were wide and his jaw partially open. "She's never given me a day off before," he murmured, awed. "How are--" "We're walking to the Citadel," the stranger interjected. "Get your rifle out and be on guard." "Okay," the Blood grunted, as he followed the other charr out into the Diessan plains.

* * * * *

Argan Shatterpelt was running late. It wasn't his fault, although he doubted the others would see it that way. It was the fault of the old dolyak who carried the mail to and from Lion's Arch, using the asuran teleportation gates set up on the outskirts of town. This afternoon, the fat cuss plopped down, rolled over, and started giving birth right in the middle of the gate, with her head sticking out into the Citadel and her butt hundreds of kilometers away in the rebuilt city of pirates. Most of the other charr found it hilarious; Argan found it mortifying. It slowed down the traffic to a mere trickle for over two hours as veterinarians and panicking asuran engineers ran about, leaving the poor mesmer to stand there clicking his claws at the bottom of the ramp and waiting shakily for the dolyak to deliver her calf so he could get on with his job. He hurried now through the plaza, peeking from envelope to envelope. He looked up just long enough to mentally trace a path from his current location to the artificing station, his first destination. He looked down to double-check the name of the recipient, and in so doing neglected to see a fat Iron guard stepping out from around the corner to the bank and colliding directly into him. Argan was a scrawny charr, only a meager few inches taller than a runt. His oversized paws contrasted with his thin torso, giving him a disproportionate and lanky appearance. The other, bigger charr effortlessly knocked him flat on his back without missing a step. Argan's arms flew up as he collapsed, spilling letters all over in a great cloud of paper. "Oof!" "Watch it, runt!" the Iron barked, then threw his head up and laughed as he saw the mail go flying. "Hrah hah hah! Hey, yeah, I recognize you! Yer Blackear's little mail-stooge, aren't you?" Sneering, he pivoted mid-step, slamming his metal boots down on one of the fallen letters. He smeared it into the ground, then stepped forward, leaving a dirty bootprint on the envelope. "You better get movin', shrimp. He's pissed as hell and you're to blame." He snickered as he heading off toward the Core, leaving Argan to scramble to pick up as much as he could. Argan didn't spare so much as a backwards glance. Physical insults like that were just part of being a charr. He ignored the little voice in his head telling him to curl up and die, and instead attended to the louder one telling him to hurry up and get the mail delivered, or death would be the least of his problems. He scrambled around on his knees, shaking and panting as he sloppily gathered them up letter by letter. He was just reaching for the final one when he saw a white boot out of the corner of his eye and a purple gloved paw reach down to pick the last piece of mail up. "H-hey, um -- that's --" "Be silent a moment." Argan blinked, but said nothing. He looked up the body of the well-dressed stranger. Argan spent every day running circles around the Citadel, and much of Ashford and Diessa too. He liked to think he had at least seen every charr who called this garrison their own, and yet he had never seen a charr with such a curious, immaculate, almost humanlike arrangement of clothing. A hundred questions burned in his head, and he gave voice to none of them. Finally, the stranger lowered his paw, and the envelope with it. He looked down at Argan. "Come now, stand up. This is intended for Ruuga at the Artificing station, isn't it?" "Yes," Argan replied quietly, getting to his feet. "Let me see the rest of those." Now, Argan was very protective of his duty. The charr he served may have alwaystreated him with disdain at best and outright hostility at worst, but he didn't blame them. He figured if he had grown up here, he would have been hostile toward runts too. Delivering mail was one of the things that gave his life purpose and drive, and he never took any risk that he figured would compromise his ability to complete it. He handed the letters over with a quiet swallow. The purple-clad charr looked them over, pursing his lips. "Legionnaire," he mumbled. "Craftsman, Legionnaire, Legionnaire, Centurion -- oh, Tribune Fatekiller." He looked down the front of the smaller charr, tilting his head slightly. "You must be a responsible carrier to be entrusted with letters like these. What is your name?" "Argan," the thin charr responded, and he frowned uncomfortably. The stranger took note of this. "That isn't the response you usually give, is it?" The little charr shook his head. "Why is that?" the stranger prompted. Argan scratched his shoulder and glanced to his right. "Um... I usually say I'm a Shatterpelt, but it's not... I mean, there is no Shatter warband, it's a..." "That's enough," the taller charr stated, nodding. He tucked the letters away into his lapel. "I'm going to hold on to these, Argan." "O-okay," the smaller charr whispered. "I'll -- I'll get in trouble though." "You'll be fine. Hold still." The stranger reached out and grabbed Argan below the chin, holding his head. Argan's eyes grew wide, his chops trembling. He was stuck between making eye contact with the fierce, quiet intensity of the taller charr's face, and looking anywhere but. He settled for the latter. His tail froze, its tuft stiffening against the metal ground. He dimly knew he had the capacity to escape, if not physically, then magically -- he could teleport, he could turn invisible, he could swap himself with an illusion, be gone in an instant. He held still. After what felt like a very long time, the purple-clad charr dropped his paw. He nodded. "You'll do. Come with me." He turned and stepped. Argan felt his feet budge, felt the lightness as he started to push one off the ground. It took every scrap of control and restraint he had to prevent himself from taking that one step. His brain was cloudy, and he was having difficulty holding onto his muddled thoughts. The stranger stopped. He looked over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. "Argan." "You're a mesmer," Argan rumbled quietly, his eyes widening as fear dawned. "Aren't... aren't you?" The purple-clad charr smiled, a genuine and toothy grin that persisted until he spoke. "Perceptive," he replied. "Most don't figure that out. Sometimes after. Rarely during. Tell me how you did." "I'm... I'm, um, a mesmer too," he mumbled, lowering his eyes. He had wanted to lie, and found he could not. "Ah. I suppose that makes sense." The stranger waved his paw dismissively. "It's of no consequence. You're clearly not an experienced one. Argan, step forward." The smaller charr felt his foot lift off the ground. Catching his breath in his throat, he moved toward the purple-clad charr, raising his eyes in apprehensive wonder. "Good. Stop thinking. Only listen. Now come with me." Wearing an expression of grim curiosity, Argan followed behind the stranger as they moved across the Canton Factorium. His glum walk, with arms and tail drooping, contrasted the confident and casual stride of the one who lead him past the Serrated Blade, turning before the Durmand Scriptorium to come across a nondescript storage house, just one of a dozen like its kind. Two charr wearing the symbols of Iron Legion stood outside the warehouse. The female, and larger of the two, was busy showing her companion about the capacity of the scope on her new rifle. She looked up as the well-dressed charr approached the doorway and scoffed at his appearance. "What's with the get-up?" she asked, grinning from ear to ear. "You going to a wedding in the Reach? Maybe the females're too tough for ya over here, huh? You gotta ram it into something soft and pink so ya don't break yourself, huh? Hreh heh heh!" "Stop talking," the stranger replied, and the female snapped her jaw shut. He reached for the handle to open the door. "You and your companion will wait out here for an hour. Make sure no one enters this building. You will tell them there is a rat infestation and that it is being fumigated. Stop them by force if you must. If anybody asks, you will tell them nobody is inside, and if they need to pick something up, they must return later tonight. Is that clear?" "Clear, sir," she replied crisply. Her companion scratched the side of his head, puzzled, but he nodded his assent as well. "Good. Carry on." He pulled open the door and gestured for Argan to enter. The little charr shot the two Iron soldiers a backward glance, and he heard the female say, "Uh, anyway, like I was saying, this thing is optimized for rapid reloading. See this compartment here..?" as the door slammed shut. He slowly turned to look around the storeroom. This was one of the less occupied warehouses of the Citadel, currently less than half full. Windows from on high streamed in wisps of light, calling attention to the dust floating in the air. A charr nose could detect the scent of metallic weapons and gunpowder in the many, many boxes in the back. The forefront of the building was more modest. It was a break area of sorts, with a table and some empty glasses, a pack of cards, a mirror on the wall, a couch, and, as Argan finally noticed, a big comfortable reclining chair, the likes of which he had never seen in the Citadel before. He took in a quiet gasp as he realized the chair was occupied -- and that the charr in it was sitting up to speak. "Hey... hey, I been waiting here for an hour! Uh, I almost fell asleep! Why'd ya pick somewhere so, uh, dark and warm? Makes me tired... Made me get naked too. Why'd you do that? Is it time for my physical? Oh, uh -- did I mention I just had my physical last week?" "Stop asking questions, Verin." Argan blushed, realizing just as the other charr was speaking that he was naked as his birthing day. The chair was reclined back at a 45 degree angle, and the heavy brute of a Blood encompassed it with his massive girth. Verin's legs were held up by the footrest, and his big hindpaws draped over the side. Argan lowered his gaze and turned his head, trying not to stare. The dapper charr strode forward. He took his hat off his head and set it gently down on the table. He looked into the mirror, taking a few moments to adjust his mane. He turned, cleared his throat, and spoke. "I'm not one for big introductions. You two are Argan and Verin -- see that you get along. My name is Daxus, but you'll refer to me as 'sir'. Is that clear?" "Yes sir," the two replied, Argan glumly, Verin enthusiastically. "I know you're somewhat aware of what's going on," Daxus said, nodding toward Argan. "But for the sake of the big guy, I'm going to explain a few things. Neither of you are in any danger whatsoever. You will not remember this encounter on any conscious level unless I say so. Both of your duties will be dealt with by me personally so that there will be no lasting repercussions. Now, listen. I want you to both relax. You may feel some tugs of resistance in the back of your mind. You will quench that need to fight it with every new order I give. Listen, obey, and don't protest." "Resistance?" Verin replied, looking back and forth between Argan and Daxus. The chair squeaked and groaned as he shifted in it, trying to see the orating charr better. "Uhh... What do you mean?" Argan just nodded, chewing on his lower lip. "Good. Oh, Argan," Daxus added as an afterthought, glance toward the little charr. "Start undressing yourself. Verin, watch him while you listen." Verin mumbled something resembling "Okay, sir". He turned and kept his eyes focused on the little mesmer as Argan slowly, obediently, started tugging off his robes, his legwraps, gloves, and slippers, flushing pink beneath the gray furs of his cheeks. He set them aside in a neat little pile by the door, trembling faintly as though he were cold. He held himself arm-in-arm as he looked toward Daxus. "Argan, you'll be doing most of the work here. I want you to enjoy it as much as you're mentally... and emotionally capable. Your desire is of prime interest here, you see. If you just..." And Daxus sighed, rolling his eyes. He leaned back on the table and crossed one paw over the other at the ankles. "If you just listen like a golem robot, going through the motions like some sort of trained devourer, then I'm going to be displeased. And so will Verin. Isn't that right, Verin?" "Huh?" Verin asked. He was still looking at Argan. "I understand, sir," Argan replied, giving the stranger a little nod. "I won't -- displease either of you." "Good. Verin, your job is the easiest of us three. ... Look at me," he added, grunting, as Verin snapped his head away from the little nude mesmer standing near the door. "Your job is to enjoy what Argan does for you, as much as he enjoys doing it. Do not act upon him without my express permission. There's no need to reciprocate. Just lie there and feel as much as you're physically capable. Is that clear?" "What's... um, what's ruh-sih-pro-kate, sir?" Daxus groaned. He turned to Argan with a grim, almost wry smile. "He really is all brawn and no brain, isn't he?" "Yes, sir." "Somewhat your opposite, wouldn't you say?" "S... somewhat, sir." "Tell him what it means." Argan turned toward the naked charr in the chair. He tilted his head slightly. Then he wet his lips with a quick roll of the tongue. "Reciprocate means to... um, return. Give something back." "Like... uh, retaliate?" "Yes, but...positively. It's a good thing." "Ohhh," Verin grunted, though it took a moment longer for it to really sink in. "Oh, thanks." "Y-yeah." Daxus looked the two naked charr over as they spoke, his eyes narrowing. Visibly aware of the gaze, Argan raised his shoulders and endured the scrutiny as he spoke. He lowered his eyes as he lapsed into silence and waited. After what felt like a long time, Daxus pointed at the sitting charr. "Verin's been working all day, Argan. He's tired, and sore. I want you to start at his shoulders and work your way down his body, massaging him. And remember what I told you." "Yes... sir." Argan stepped forward, feeling his heart catching in his chest. He thought dimly that he should put a word to the emotion he was feeling -- that there was something overwhelming and chaotic about it, both scary and relieving, a sensation that 'excited' didn't quite encapsulate -- but the thought couldn't take hold. As he approached Timberfall, the big brute of a charr looked up at him, blinking. He looked almost puzzled as Argan stepped around to near his head, and he took in a slight gasp as he felt the smaller male's smooth paws come down upon his massive shoulders. He pushed Verin's torso up slightly, lifting him up over the recliner just enough to expose his upper back. Argan dug his paws into Verin's flesh, kneading them. Verin was muscular and tough, and he did not stir even at the occasional prick of the claws. Argan extended his thumbs, pushing between the shoulderblades and massaging deep into the coarse gray fur and the muscle beneath. "Rrghh..." Verin rumbled, his eyes crossing for a moment before closing entirely. "Lumberjacks're always sore," he mumbled sleepily, nestling back into Argan's firm touch. He shifted in his chair, trying to make it easier for Argan to dig into the crook between his neck and shoulder, and the little charr quickly took the hint. The line about having been working all day was obvious to Argan's sensitive feline nose, now just inches from the bigger charr's black mane. The musk of the working charr was powerful up close, a primal and unquestionably masculine scent. Argan grunted, pulling himself away to focus on Verin's right arm. He took the meaty biceps in both hands, twisting his long padded fingers around it. "Work on his chest now." Argan felt compelled to oblige. He let the bigger charr's arm go, reaching his left arm around the big guy's head. He leaned in, hugging Verin from behind, and his smooth padded paws slid down from his shoulders and grazed over his nipples. He could feel the huge charr's chest rise and fall, feel the thump of his heart, feel every excited tremor and shift that Verin could not help. This close to Verin's maw, Argan could hear the male's steady, comfortable growl as he grew excited, the rumbling broken only by the occasional grunt as Argan's paws explored his upper torso. He massaged the darker gray charr's pectorals in full, fascinated by every gray fur. He could only just catch sight of the Blood's slowly erecting penis out of the corner of his eye. Verin turned, bumping the side of his muzzle against the side of Argan's. Argan could taste the hint of a meaty lunch on the big guy's breath. Still massaging into his chest, Argan moved in, and he thought they would kiss before he heard the voice behind him, closer than he had expected. "Verin. What did I say?" "Just lie there," Verin mumbled. He lifted his head to project over Argan's own. "But... but it ain't fair. He's doin' all the work! An'... an' he's doing real good too. I... uh... I wanna help him out. I wanna ruh-sih-pro-kate." Argan couldn't see Daxus's face from this position, but he could hear the irritation in the commanding charr's tone when he heard him mutter, "Thousands of Bloods in this damn Citadel, and I pick the one with a bleeding heart." Louder, he said, "I am telling you to be selfish, Verin. His enjoyment is not your concern. Argan, come around. Get to work on his stomach." Argan brushed his cheek along Verin's as he stood up, pushing himself off of the Blood's mighty shoulders. He took vague notice that he was himself partially erect, and found it curious that he hadn't realized it -- nor felt the need to sate it. He walked around the chair and went down onto his knees around Verin's midsection, sparing for the panting Blood a gentle smile. He reached out and stroked his fingers along Verin's belly. The big charr sputtered, his big jaw opening wide as he let out what could only be described as a manly giggle. Argan felt himself flushing red, grinning as he scritched the huge charr's belly. Verin wriggled in his seat, still chortling, his charrhood flopping around with every jerk and shift. He was still grinning as Argan reduced his tickling claws to a deep rub, running his padded palms over the smooth, lighter gray fur of his stomach and his belly button. Argan's brow was furrowed, locked upon the bigger male's hefty musclegut. He stole a quick glance up at the brute's panting face. Verin's jaw was slack, his eyes pooled over, each inhale a growl, each exhale a raspy grunt. Argan smiled in spite of himself. He reached for the big charr's other side, wrapping him up into a hug. He leaned in, putting his cheek down upon Verin's belly, looking up the brute's toned and muscular body. His fingers slipped slowly, gently south toward the massive Blood's waiting crotch. Verin was fully erect by this point, and his hips were churning in response to the smaller charr's touch, knowing on some primal level what was coming. "Argan, stop." He froze, the tip of one claw a mere inch away from the bigger male's towering shaft. His eyes widened in frustrated confusion, but he didn't budge. "Ignore his penis. No -- forget I said that," Daxus added quickly, with a light chuckle. "Sometimes I misspeak. I don't want you to ignore it, Argan. I want you to be fascinated by it. Entranced." Argan nodded slowly, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest as he took the entirity of the bigger charr's malehood into his vision. His fingers shook, mere inches from the gray sheath that housed its base. Verin let off a low, frustrated moan, not understanding. He plowed his hips upward, grinding against Argan's paw, desperate for a single touch. Argan trembled, his arm unable or unwilling to budge -- he couldn't tell which it was. "What I meant to say was... hmm... circumvent it. We'll come back to it. Move toward his legs." Argan spared an apologetic glance toward Verin's face as he shifted down, still on his knees. The tip of his own penis grazed against the cotton recliner as he got into position, sparing Verin's malehood a quick glance before he refocsed on his newly assigned task. Verin's thighs were meaty and tough, each one as big as little Argan's torso, and he had to rise up on his knees to reach for the inner quads. "RrrrrrrrRRRRPH!" Verin rumbled, his frustration at being teased mixing with the pleasure of the physical sensation, the pleasure of Argan's gentle paws kneading away at the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. "Rrrrgh -- hrrrrphhh -- mmrrrrrrrph!" Sometimes the big charr would thrust, plunging his hips upward with enough force to rock the chair, and Argan's thin arms had to hold on tight to maintain his balance. "Move to the end of the chair now, Argan." The voice of the stranger, which up to this point had been delivered with a sort of apathetic confidence, was growing more steadily intrigued. Argan could hear the older mesmer's breathing as he shuffled on his knees. He situated himself at the front of the chair, kneeling in front of the soles of Verin's footpaws hanging over the edge of the recliner. "This part right here is a bit of a weakness of mine," Daxus chuckled. Argan could just see out of the corner of his eye the mesmer picking at his claws. "You don't mind indulging me some, Argan." "No, sir." "Ask Verin if he's got sore paws." Argan blinked. He turned to face the lumberjack. "Verin, are you... sore? Does -- do, uh, do your feet hurt?" "Uhm." Even at the best of times, Verin had a hard time thinking coherently; now, aroused and mesmerized, his brain was effectively useless, and it took him a near full ten seconds to get a response out. "Uh... Uh, yeah -- yeah -- I gotta stand up and walk around all day... an' my boots're always too tight." "Tend to his feet until I tell you to stop," Daxus ordered. "And..." He waved a paw. "Really get into it. Enjoy it more than you think you should." Argan's breath catching in his throat. His heart was pounding like a drum as he reached out, gripping Verin's humongous left footpaw in both hands. His thumbs converged on the center as he pushed into the charr's biggest pawpad, feeling it sink under the pressure. The foot kicked and twitched, and it was an effort for Argan to hold it still as he dug his thumbs into the sole, massaging him as thoroughly as he could. He eased in a little closer to the Blood's big foot, feeling the warmth radiating off. It was musky and hot; dimly, Argan suspected that Verin had been pulled straight from his duties and was sent here without a proper bath. Much like himself. In what thought was still afforded to him, Argan thought that under other circumstances, the rank scent might prove too much for him; now, it was enticing, a primal and masculine smell that encouraged him to run his thin fingers up the sole and carress it in full. He was so caught up in his ordained task, he nearly missed the quiet monotone of Daxus's voice over the grunting and puffing of the sitting soldier and the thump of blood in his own ears. He glanced up from Verin's paws to see Daxus approach, looking down softly, almost piteously, upon the writhing Blood. "Verin. Tell me how much you're enjoying this." It took a few seconds for the massive charr to response; he was puffing and growling and grunting so fiercely. He looked up at Daxus with big cow eyes, getting the words out between loud breaths. "Lots... and, and lots. It... feels... so good -- sir!" A stab of excitement took some of the wind out of Argan, and he felt himself smiling helplessly and his fingers rose, kneading at the Blood's massive gray toes. Each one had a smooth black pawpad, and each one wiggled at his touch-- even more, when he dug for the fur between them. Knowing Verin was enjoying this gave Argan a powerful ingrained pleasure, a satisfaction that only encouraged him to service the muscular Blood further. Keeping one hand up near the toes of Verin's left foot, Argan reached for the right, smearing his fingers front and back along the sole as he played with it. "Verin, you should enjoy it even more." "Uh-uhnnngh... huffffff... h-huh..?" Daxus cast a quick glance at Argan, giving the younger mesmer a knowing glance. Argan barely caught it; he was moving closer to Verin's unattended foot, watching every twitch and shift with fascination. "You've never loved anything this much, Verin," Daxus exhaled, lowering his eyes to watch the reaction this had on the muscular, powerful, helpless charr. "You're so... hmmm... You're so randy that it hurts. You've never been this aroused before in your entire life." Verin responded as any male would. He lashed out with his right paw, grabbed himself by the shaft, and started to furiously jerk himself off. Precum collected at his tip and trickled down his hand. Daxus chuckled as he watched, amused, and let the Timber charr grind at himself for a few seconds before lightly telling him, "Stop. Don't do that anymore." Verin let out a sound halfway between a howl and a whine as he let go of his shaft. He put his arms to the side and dug his claws into the chair. His hips thrust upward, his ankles burying into the recliner couch to give him the leverage to do so. Argan moved forward, letting Verin's right foot go; he cradled the left by the heel, mindful of the sharp dewclaw, and soothingly stroked his sole, trying to comfort him. He wasn't sure if this was helping or just making the Blood's position worse, but he had no notion to stop. He could feel Daxus's eyes on him, and he saw the grand mesmer start to rise up out of the corner of his eyes. "Come on, Argan," the stranger grunted impatiently. "I told you to tend to him. That requires using more than just your hands." Clutching Verin's footpaw, trying to hold it still, he leaned his head in and nuzzled the big charr's smooth pawpads. Still cradling it by the heel, he kissed at the biggest pad, running his lips along the smooth sweat-sheened surface as his nose dug into the base of his toes. Up this close, Argan was once again astounded by the size of Verin's footpaw. Just this one was bigger than the younger charr's head, and even as he cracked his maw open wide, his chin could not touch the dewclaw. He moved forward, stealing a glance at Verin's erection pulsing proud and wet at the tip. He reached out for the other paw. He slid his fingers into the furred cracks between his toes as he pulled the foot closer, causing Verin to shiver and thrash, his cadence picking up. As he took Verin's biggest toe into his mouth, Argan realized that even through the muddled spell clouding his thoughts, he could not ignore the pounding of his flesh below. He was harder than he had ever been, and he could feel his hips churning, pushing his groin out into the empty space below Verin's propped up feet. He dimly wondered if he would be allowed to relieve himself -- but found himself awaiting Verin's release more eagerly. The muscular charr's twitching toes sometimes caused a claw to scratch along Argan's chin or inner mouth. Sometimes his leg would kick, like a dog getting a belly rub, and Argan would have to steady himself. One time, he was kicked right in the nose, and he recoiled, nearly falling onto his back. But Argan didn't stop; he knew there was no malice in Verin's actions, he was just overwhelmed, lost in bliss, and it was not the lumberjack's fault that he couldn't control his own strength with such a scrawny charr tending to him. Once Verin even groaned something resembling an apology. Argan made it a point to rub his fingers and face in extra hard, as though to say without words that all is forgiven. Argan would occasionally glance at Daxus. The purple-clad charr remained mostly clothed, though his hat was off; he was greedily watching the scene, but rarely participating. One time he set his dark-furred paw down upon Verin's belly and rubbed him; one time he reached out and grabbed his bicep with both hands; once he snuck his hand beneath Verin's chin and scritched him a few times. Otherwise, Daxus was content to let Argan do the majority of the work, with only a bulge in his violet slacks to suggest he was getting any carnal pleasure at all. "Verin," the grand mesmer grunted, though he looked toward Argan. "Bend your right knee, slowly. Tuck it into your chest if you can." "Okay, sir." Verin complied. His foot was wrapped up in Argan's grasp as he tried to pull it away, and the kneeling charr held on almost posessively, growling in his throat. He wasn't willing to give it up. Argan followed Verin's leg, pushing himself up off his knees and clamboring onto the reclining chair. The footrest easily supported their combined weights as he moved in closer, his arm extending as he kept the heavy footpaw gripped. Argan nestled up between Verin's legs, his right knee slipping into the small gap between the larger charr's massive thighs. He curled his body up against Verin's suspended leg, his penis grazing along the Timber charr's tight buttocks and sliding toward the crook of his knee. He nuzzled his face along the brown-padded sole, now able to prop the weight of his upper torso onto Verin's back. He smiled, peeking his eyes over Verin's clawed toes and looking into his face. He was a little astonished to see Verin looking back. The brutish charr was still panting for breath, but as he saw Argan's eyes crest his foot, he wiggled his toes against the other's face and gave a big, toothy, radiant grin. "Hi, Argan," he burbled dreamily, lifting his arm and giving a lazy wave. His voice was affectionate and appreciative. Argan felt his heart skip a beat and his stomach churn. He smiled back, red as a Flamer's blood beneath the gray fur of his cheeks. Looking Verin in the eye, he kissed hard into his toes, returning the affection in the only way he could. He buried the bridge of his muzzle in, savoring the masculine and musky scent of the worker charr -- kissing, licking -- fingers wrapping around the topside of the paw, pressing it against his face -- desperate, yearning to please the Timber charr to the fullest extent that he was capable. Verin's growling was like a storm, a hurricane beating against the window panes; he could feel the vibrations of the bigger charr's growls through the pads of his foot. Even so, Argan could detect a quieter growl and a heightened breathing coming from behind him. He craned his ears, detecting the stranger's voice standing near the paw of Verin's outstretched right leg. His tail stiffened as the stranger spoke. "Rrrr... rrrrr... reach out, Argan. It's time. You know what to do." Even compelled as he was, Argan could not react immediately, so stunned was he by his own anticipation. He could hardly breathe, hardly swallow; Verin's paw remained lodged against his mouth as the gray charr locked his eyes on the pulsing spire he had tried to ignore. His hand trembled as it left the back of Verin's foot; it moved slow, with gradually increasing speed, until he set the pads of his long fingers down upon Verin's sheath and pushed up his length. "Hnng -- gggrrrrfff-- rrrrfffff!!" Verin bellowed suddenly, his whole body thrusting upward into Argan's hand; his foot smashed against the smaller charr's face, and Argan had to lower his head and push back with all his might against it, barely able to withstand the unintended strength of the bigger charr's muscular leg. Verin plowed his hips upward against Argan's palm with a manic ferocity, bucking upward though already within the throes of mating, though it was only the underside of his shaft smearing against Argan's caress as he humped again and again. His cheek still smeared against the sole of Verin's foot, Argan stroked the supine charr. Verin was thick and long, endowed for his size. Even as the big charr churned desperately upward against him, Argan's touch remained gentle as he explored every pulsing inch of the lumberjack's malehood. Then he held it in his fist, and started pumping him off. Verin's face scrunched up, his eyes squeezing shut and his teeth clamping tight as he squirmed all but his groin as far back into the chair as he could muster. His hips pounded upward into Argan's paw as the smaller charr jerked him from tip to sheath, smearing upon him a thin coat of transluscent pre. His rhythm quickened, grinding Verin onward. Then Argan felt a clawed hand grasp at his scruff. He let out a tiny cry of surprise, hardly a whimper, but did not dare to move until he was forced off of Verin's foot and pushed forward from behind into the bigger charr's torso. His chin smashed against the Timber charr's sweat-sheened belly, his body tensing up just in time to keep from toppling into the bigger male entirely. He was on his knees now, both wedged between Verin's thick thighs. His breath caught in his throat as he heard the deep, rousing voice of the mesmer behind him. "Suck him, Argan. Verin, you hold him." He felt the big charr's muscular arm lift and thump down heavily on his back -- felt the chair shift and move with the movement -- no -- a different movement -- Daxus was climbing onto the chair from behind Argan -- but he couldn't think on that now. He lowered his head onto Verin's cocktip, kissing at the head before taking the shaft into his mouth. Like an animal set loose, Verin rammed his charrhood into Argan's muzzle so fast the little charr nearly choked. He squeezed his eyes shut as he moved his head around the penis, desperate to cover as much of it as possible with his chops and tongue without letting the teeth touch. Sometimes his forehead or the tip of a horn would brush along Verin's stomach, moreso when the big gray charr's arm pulled him closer, as he worked his way further down Verin's length. His senses overpowered him: the blood pumping in his ears, the paralyzing musk, the thickness filling up his mouth and slamming at the back of it, the sense of a strong yet undefined heat growing near his own groin. He was only dimly aware of an order to lift his tail, and made the connection only once he felt the prod of something poking at the pucker to his tailhole. He knew Daxus was behind him -- was mounting him -- was gripping him by the sides of his hips -- was plunging inside. Argan understood the importance without a word from the mesmer. He pushed back, even as it hurt, even as he thought his chest would burst if he didn't breathe. He willed himself to keep Verin firmly within his mouth, straining to open his mouth wide enough to get air in, knowing Verin couldn't be far, he's close, he's almost-- A splatter of white heat filled his mouth, heralded by a bellow just above his ears. Verin tilted his head back and groaned loudly again, pushing his hips forward as far as he could as his dick filled most of Argan's maw and his seed filled the rest. The smaller charr swallowed every drop he could, but it was all too much for him. His maw creaked open as he gasped for breath, a cascade of cum flooding down from his muzzle and soaking Verin's groin. Still panting for breath, he smeared his face along the shaft, nuzzling the remainder of Verin's seed out of him; he pushed its length against his belly, coaxing him onward with his nose and lips and breath. The huge charr rumbled and growled and moaned as he splattered shot after shot across Argan's face and over his own chest. Daxus did not relent even as Verin began to wane; he pushed in only deeper, slamming himself into Argan's backside up to the hilt. Argan craned his neck, trying to see the charr plunging into him, but Verin's massive paw remained firm on his upper back and blocked his view. "Lick him clean!" Whimpering, Argan closed his eyes and did as he was told. His paws gripped Verin by the sides of his body, clinging to him as he endured the powerful thrusts from behind. His scratchy tongue went all over Verin's still-throbbing member, lapping up the salty whiteness with a desperate hunger. Groaning, Verin stroked his mane, setting Argan's heartbeat racing. Seconds, moments, minutes passed, a blur of heat and sweat. Daxus was rutting him hard, too hard -- he could feel the mesmer's sac smashing against his own, feel his penis grind too far into him -- Argan wanted to cry out, plead for reprieve -- but he dug in deep and endured it, ingrained, spellbound, compelled to keep his posture rigid, until -- until he felt -- Argan groaned, opening his maw wide against Verin's still-pulsing shaft, his body shaking as he felt a rush of wet heat sloshing around inside his very core. His face scrunched up as his jaw fell open, and he pushed back against the spire now spilling itself inside him. He felt Daxus -- quieter, so much quieter than the dazed brute before him -- lean forward, felt him bite down on his scruff, felt the mesmer's satin jacket fall upon his backside. He became acutely aware of a pressure down at his own crotch. He bucked against it, having no choice; Daxus pushed him against it, forced his penis against it -- into it -- his insides were roiling -- he was proud, he had sated the two stronger charr -- they had to be sated -- Verin would not be stroking the side of his head if not -- Daxus would not be rewarding him --and then Argan realized, the thought cutting down his spine like lightning, that what he was thrusting into was Daxus's handpaw. The thought -- the pride at having earned this -- pushed him over the edge. He humped forward into Daxus's fist; he clung to Verin desperately, not caring if his sharp claws pierced the bigger male's flesh; he panted loudly as he held himself against him, sandwiched between the big lug and the master behind him, still climaxing, still biting down on the back of his neck. Argan dizzily fell forward into Verin, smashing himself against Daxus's fist until he felt the rush of ejaculate shoot from his tip and splatter like paint all over the supine charr's inner thighs. Verin's legs shifted, and Argan shifted with them; he felt the splash of his own cum against his stomach, knowing it fell upon Verin's body too -- his shaft, his hips, his tail. Argan buried his face into Verin's stomach, held so close by the heavy paw on his head that he couldn't breathe, he thought his chest would burst and that the pain was dull by comparison. As his climax began to wane, his legs gave way, and he collapsed against Verin's body with loud whimpers and pants for breath. He curled up against the bigger male, and only as he tucked his knees up against the lumberjack's thighs did he realize that Daxus had pulled out of him. He craned his neck, peering dizzily through blurry eyes up at the form behind him. He felt the chair move as Daxus picked himself off it, and he felt the rumble of Verin's chest as the Timber charr spoke. "Hey... uh, you're goin'?" Argan closed his eyes, one cheek smushed against Verin's chest, the other supporting the large charr's paw. He tried to listen, even as he felt his consciousness giving way, and he caught the quiet clack of Daxus's claws fastening the buttons of his pants back on. "I'm leaving now. Once I'm gone, you two will sleep for -- let's say ten minutes. Then you'll get dressed and leave. You won't remember me or my voice, and you won't..." There was a long moment's hesitation. A bit of amusement crept into the mesmer's tone. "Ah, scorch it. I'll let you two remember what you did. Just... vaguely, as though you were drunk." "'Kay," Verin rumbled, happy and sleepy. Argan could tell Verin was already drifting off, and he wasn't far behind "I'm off to deliver the mail now." By the time the metallic door to the warehouse slammed shut, Verin was already sawing logs, and Argan could only hear the second snore before he drifted off, snuggled up close against the big charr's bulk.

* * * Argan woke up, groaning as he lifted a paw to rub at his head. He was groggy, and the room was too dark. His first thought was that his pillow was too hot, and that the rest of him was too cold; he must have kicked his blanket off in the middle of the night. He pulled himself up slightly, reaching over his shoulder to flip his pillow over. His hand brushed along Verin's bicep, and he froze right up, his eyes going wide as saucers. "Ohhh... oh, uh, hey," his 'bed' grunted, shifting its weight. "Hey, you're awake!" Argan sprang up from the chair, launching himself forward, tripping over Verin's feet and collapsing head-over-tail onto the cold warehouse floor. He scrambled up to his feet, staggering backwards as his dizzy mind fought to make sense of what had just transpired. "Y-you -- how -- who -- w -- w-- what--"Verin blinked, his jaw going slightly slack. He smacked his lips a little as he sat up in his chair, peering at Argan. He scratched the side of his head, seeming unaware that he was wearing nothing at all. "You know who I am, Argan." Verin rumbled, though his voice carried a peculiar, puzzled tone. "We met. Uhh..." He looked down at his nudeness, then added sheepishly, "Uh, obviously." Argan swallowed. He shook his head, tearing his eyes off Verin with some effort. He searched for his clothing, and, finding them in a pile of blue and purple near the door, anxiously stepped toward them. "Right... ... Right, Verin. R-right," he mumbled, though his memory was a blur of heat and emotion. He felt as if he had drunken himself stupid the night before, and dimly wondered why he would do that and, now, why he didn't feel like he had a hangover. Verin watched the smaller charr dress himself. His tail was buried under his great bulk, but still made the effort to wag. "I, uh, I don't remember a whole lot." "M-me neither," Argan mumbled, embarassed. He avoided the other charr's eyes as he stepped into his leggings and tied them up tight. "I can tell I liked it, though!" "Mmm." "I guess -- uhh -- did we get drunk? I think we musta got drunk. I think you got pretty drunk too! Hrah hah hah!" Argan swallowed, red as a tomato beneath the fur of his cheeks. He hurled his robes on in a messy glop, hardly taking the time to tie them on as he trotted for the door. He reached out and grabbed the handle, but turned before he opened it up. He wasn't sure what to say, so he just looked back at the big charr. Verin was still sitting there like a moron, legs outstretched and hanging over the footstool, his back upright, his eyes half-open. "Ya gotta go already?" "Um -- y-yeah. I should... I mean, I gotta... ... gotta go." "Oh, okay." He nodded, still not fully grasping the situation. "Well, bye, Argan. For what it's worth, I think I lucked out, uh, I mean, more than you did. Cute charr like you don't usually go for, uh, uh, for dummies like me. What'd I do to deserve it? Did I buy all the drinks? Bet I bought all the drinks! Hreh heh heh heh!" Argan bit down on his lower lip; he had caught himself starting to smile, and he pushed it back down as best he could. He shook his head a little. "Oh -- no -- I mean -- I mean, maybe. I don't really... remember. But you're -- I mean, don't, uh... don't sell yourself short, okay?" "Sell myself?" Verin echoed back, his face scrunching up in confusion. "Uhh... like, at an auction?" "Oh -- no, I meant--" "And I ain't short either. I'm taller than you!" Argan put a paw up to his mouth to stifle his chuckle. Then he saw the righteous indignation in the bigger charr's face, realized Verin wasn't trying to make a joke, and he felt the laugh spill forth helplessly through his fingers. "What?" "Nothin', Verin," he responded with a shake of the head, cheeks red. He chewed his lower lip, hesitated a moment, then gave Verin a little wave. "... Bye." With that, he pushed down on the handle and stepped out of the warehouse, leaving the big charr scratching his head as he moved out of the warehouse and into the sunlight.