---Fiadh’s perspective---
“You’re not going out dressed like that, are you?!” asks my dad.
“Yes dad, I’m going out dressed like this…” I sigh, half amused, half exasperated.
“You’re barely wearing anything!” he objects.
“And more than half the people on the station don’t wear any clothes at all!” I chuckle as I work to get my multicoloured curls to fall juuust right over my small antlers in the mirror.
“Yes… but you’re a Vekthian!… We wear clothes!”
“And I’m wearing clothes…” I say, pointing to my shoulders “…Clothes!…” then my crotch “…Clothes!”
“Hardly!… I wish…”
“Dad! I’m an adult! You get to tell me what to do at work! You do not get to tell me what to do in my free time!” I say, angrily, pointing to my antlers (nowhere near as large as his but a clear sign of maturity).
His face falls.
I feel a little bad.
“I’m… sorry, Son… I just… I worry about you is all…” he says, softly.
“I know, Dad… I know you do… but I’m telling you you don’t need to!… I’m not a little kid anymore and I just wish you’d stop treating me like one!” I say, pleadingly.
“You’ll always be my son, Fiadh… If you’re asking me to stop caring about you, I’m afraid it’s not possible…” he smiles, sadly.
I sigh, annoyed at the way he can’t separate fatherly love from his lack of respect for me as an adult, sidestepping the issue like he always does.
“Alright, Dad… I’m going now. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Alright, Fiadh…” he smiles “…and, if you see any of those strange green ‘diplomats’ who were raiding our bins earlier…”
“They weren’t my type, Dad, don’t worry(!) Bye…” I chuckle as I walk out of our workshop.
“Have fun, Son…” he wishes me as the door closes.
I definitely plan to!
---Björn’s perspective---
Would you believe I’m sitting in a gay bar on a space station on the far side of the galaxy?
It apparently only opened a few years ago.
Terran inspired but not Terran run, more’s the pity…
A Terran proprietor would probably have drinks a touch stronger than this Vinjirian ale I’m nursing!
I came here with Steve, who originally suggested it, but he (near instantly) managed to seduce a lusty Thruljec boy into leaving with him and, now, I’m here all alone.
It’s a shame Steve himself had no interest in me, firmly rebuffing my every oblique advance to the point where I stopped trying…
My heart aches somewhat as I imagine the romance of the reality (just a little to the right of my own) where I’ve just spent a year and a half cruising through the galaxy with an exciting, confident, New Australian boyfriend.
But, no use lamenting what was not to be.
Him being to my tastes does not mean he’s obliged to find me to his.
I am relatively at peace with the fact that, though I cut a striking figure, it’s not a particularly attractive one… at least to those I would be interested in attracting!
A lot of women over the years have seemed to be very interested in acquiring themselves an Ursus boyfriend and I’ve had to let them all down… except Katla, briefly… but who hasn’t experimented at uni(?)
If you were to describe me in simple terms; immensely tall, incomparably strong, deep voiced, intelligent, thrice doctored and… I don’t wish to be too much of a braggart but… very well endowed… I sound like a catch, don’t I?
It’s too bad that, stripping all that away, I’m just a boring old academic who does very little to arouse lusty passion in the kinds of boys I’d want to!
Now that Steve (the one of the two of us who was immediately identifiable as a Terran) isn’t with me, no one’s sparing me as much as a second glance as I sit on the floor by the bar, nursing my giant tankard of weak ale.
I’m just another alien.
A mild curiosity as one of a not readily identifiable species… but nothing more…
Of course, I know that, as an Ursus, I’ll be by far the strongest person within thousands of lightyears of here… but that fact isn’t visible to them…
Maybe I should just head back to the ship? Cut my losses for tonight?
Just as I’m thinking that, I hear an alto voice on my right.
“Heeeeey there, big guy…!”
I turn to look up into the grinning snout of a pink furred deer boy.
With me sat on my haunches on the floor (my head around 1.9m up), he stands a good 35cm taller than me.
He has a set of two small, purple, two pronged antlers on his head, an artfully coifed head of long, coiled hair, dyed in five colours, between them.
His bright blue eyes have rectangular pupils and sit facing slightly sideways on his skull.
His skinny body is covered in pink and white fluff and so little clothing as to look more suggestive than if he were fully nude!
On his top half, he wears only a set of sleeves that pass over his shoulders and leaves his entire chest exposed.
On his hips, he wears what can only be described as a set of purple speedos, cradling a very nice looking package.
A long tail with a fluffy white brush stems from the top of a nice looking posterior.
His pink legs end in purple hooves and his five fingered hands end in purple claws, not wholly unlike my brown ones.
“…congratulations(!)” he smirks “You have the honour and the privilege of buying me a drink(!)… I’ll take 0.7L of Vekthian lager, thanks…” with a cocky wobble of his antlers.
I raise the fur above my left eye (not really an eyebrow as there’s nothing to distinguish it from the rest of the fur on my face) at the boy.
He’s a tiny bit too far on the femme side but, otherwise, nearly perfectly to my tastes!
Cocky and confident… assertive and selfassured.
I’d really like nothing more than to think there’s any chance that I might end up bringing him back to my room in Elysium tonight…
Nevertheless, I look at the boy and open my snout to say…
---Fiadh’s perspective---
“Pass…” sighs the sexy sailor in a deep (though unexpectedly refined sounding) voice, who would promise to scratch exactly the itch that that (unfortunately straight) Threndian guy earlier left me with, before dipping his snout into the vessel he holds in his left hand and lapping up the strong smelling ethanol drink.
“You’re gonna pass…?” I say, incredulously “…on all this?” gesturing up and down myself.
He lifts his snout back out of his jug just far enough to say “Certainly seems that way.” before returning it.
“You know this is a gay bar, right dude? Why are you here if you aren’t into guys?” I taunt, knowing full well he is, since my [gaydar] is impeccable!
“Boy, my people invented gay bars…” he lies “…it’s never been a rule that you’re not allowed in if you aren’t gay, as far as I’m aware… Even if it were, being attracted to men doesn’t mean you’re obliged to buy drinks for any boy who comes up and flirts with you a little!”
I give a mirthless chuckle and flatly point out “The Terrans invented gay bars, dude!”
“Yes… Like I said…” he chuckles back, ignoring the fact that that isn’t at all what he said!
I turn my eyes to the ceiling and decide to just ask “Alright, Mr Terran(!) So why are you passing? Don’t pretend you’re not interested, I saw how you checked me out!”
“You are very much to my tastes… I just don’t think I’d hold your interest for very long at all and I would rather not waste my money buying a drink for a boy who’s far too young, cool and trendy to be interested in some boring old fart like me for more than about 90 seconds!”
“Don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted, dude(!)” I observe, wryly.
He shrugs his large shoulders (unfortunately clothed enough that I can’t see the thick brown fur I’m sure they must be covered in… It should be illegal for guys this hairy to wear clothes(!)) and says “You can be both…” amused.
“Pretty sure I’ve already spent more than [90 seconds] talking to you by now…?” I point out to him.
“Ah… that’s because I’ve offended your ego! Challenged your selfconfidence! You’re an attractive boy and you clearly know it. By refusing to be grateful for the opportunity to attempt to seduce you, I’m sure I’ve upset you and made you feel as if you have to defend yourself… If I’d bought you that drink, I’m sure you would already have wandered away!” says the large, shaggy, brown furred man of indeterminate species.
“Ah!… So this was all a cunning ploy to keep me interested then, was it?”
“I assure you, I am nothing like so devious!” answers the man I’m really hoping to go home with tonight in his rumbling, educated sounding voice.
Definitely didn’t imagine him sounding so sophisticated when I first spied him!
I judged him to be gruffer and coarser from his size and rather ferocious appearance.
I guess you can’t [judge a book by its cover]!
I definitely don’t dislike the juxtaposition of such prim and proper sounding translated speech coming out of that (almost predatory looking) snout in that low, resounding voice of his!
I pout down at the large man, only a little more than a head shorter than me even though he’s sat on the floor, thinking.
“Alright then, Mr Terran… what about if I bought you a drink?… Would that be acceptable?” I pose.
He examines his mostly empty vessel and then lifts his shoulders smiling “I suppose it would be.”
I pull my holo from its pocket on my sleeve and ask “What are you having?”
“I’ll take another 1.5L of Vinjirian ale, please.”
I stop in my tracks and turn to him, incredulously, asking “Dude… you know that stuff’s strong, right? You’ll make yourself sick if you just chug away at it all night like a normal drink!… I’m a Class 8 and that much alcohol would send me to the hospital!”
He chuckles “I can assure you; to a Terran, it’s no problem at all.”
I sigh and signal the Klarn manning the bar.
He comes over and looks to me expectantly.
“[0.7L] of Vekthian lager for me and [1.5L] of Vinjirian ale for Mr ‘Terran’ here, Mowvak(!)” I smirk.
Mowvak gives an affirmative gesture and turns to fetch our drinks.
While they're coming, I ask “So, I’m Fiadh, son of Fiaf. You got a name, Mr Terran?”
“Björn ‘Mimir’ Túpuson…” he lies, giving me a Terran triple barrel “…though I am rather a fan of ‘Mr Terran’(!)”
“Uh-huh… and what’s with the Terran act, Björn? Pretending to be something you aren’t isn’t very attractive, you realise?”
“I’m not pretending. It’s not an act. I am a Terran.” he answers as our drinks are placed in front of us and I tap my holo on the bar to pay.
I pick mine up and am bringing it to my lips when he, rather than doing the same, brings his out towards me.
I look from his drink to him, confused.
I’m about to lean over and take a sip of it, thinking that’s what he’s offering, when he explains “You tap your drink against mine.” smiling.
“Why?”
“The short answer is ‘tradition’.” he states.
“This would be one of your Terran traditions, would it Björn(?)” I smirk.
“It would, Fiadh. Yes.” he answers, simply.
I sigh and tap my lager against his ale.
“[Skál].” he says, the untranslatable word being given the connotation of a vague wellwish.
“Skorl.” I answer, attempting to mimic his pronunciation.
He brings his drink to the end of his snout and submerges just the tip in it, drinking deeply of the strong beverage.
I take a swig of mine before placing it down.
“You know, Björn… I’ve actually had a Terran before!… Nearly [a year] ago, a massive [dreadnought] came and docked at this space station for a few days. The scene in this bar got very Terran heavy with all the ones on shore leave… I don’t remember any of them looking like you, though!”
“If they came off the Spite then they probably wouldn’t!” he answers, nonchalantly.
“Oh yeah, how come?”
“The armed services don’t encourage uplifts (like myself) to enlist. I never fought in the War, partly because I was already too old but, even if I hadn’t been, also because we were exempt from conscription.” he explains, before dipping his snout back into his drink.
“Oh yeah? Why’s that then? If you actually were Terran, I’d think you’d be a much more formidable soldier than the normal type!”
“I actually am a Terran, Fiadh, and the fact that you’re making me insist on it is getting a little tiresome… As to the other thing you said; you’re right. There’s not a Human alive who’d hope to stand a chance against a combat trained Ursus… the only reason strength rankings tend to be dominated by Humans is because, as artificial sentients, we get put in the same category as genetically engineered supersoldiers… otherwise those lists would (currently) be dominated by us and other uplifts!… The reason the armed services didn’t want us is that that strength isn’t worth what it would cost them.”
I frown “Wait! If they were drafting you, surely they’d decide what to pay you, right?”
He smiles and wobbles his snout from side to side before saying “No, that’s not what I mean. I don’t mean they would have needed to pay us higher salaries, I mean that providing for Ursus troops in a Human dominated military would have been inefficient… I would need enough combat rations to feed 6-7 Human soldiers, I’d need a much larger suit of armour that was well outside the range of normal Human proportions (meaning it would need to be specially and expensively designed for me), my gun would likewise need to be a scaled up model to fit my hand…” he holds up his large left pawhand “…my bunk would need to be large enough for me to curl up on and sturdy enough not to collapse under my weight, I’d need a lot more water to drink and bathe with and any unit I went with would have to have a medic familiar with Ursus anatomy. Yes, an Ursus would have their uses on a battlefield but nowhere near enough to justify our outsized logistical cost. Especially when you consider that a normal Human is already stronger than just about any gardenworlder and that there are tools for most tasks between what they can do and what a tank can do!”
I stare at the man, it starting to dawn on me that this is beginning to sound a bit too well thought out to be some silly joke.
I seize my holo and open galactopedia.
“Terran Ursus?” I ask as I type it.
“That’s right.” he confirms, looking at my screen as the results come back “The first one there; Ursus sapiens.”
The page that comes up is headed by a picture of what, if the Human woman standing less than half his height beside him is any indication, must be an absolutely gigantic being!
The formally dressed Terran Ursus looks a little like the man next to me but… there are a few quite notable differences!
This man is much taller than the man next to me looks like he would be if he stood up. Maybe [60cm] taller?
His head is also a completely different shape and his ears are, proportionally, much smaller!
The most striking difference, though, is, where this man’s fur is a glossy dark brown colour, the one on the galactopedia page has fur of an off white with a much denser looking, fluffier quality.
Wordlessly, I turn the screen to my drinking companion and point to the man in the picture with a hoofclaw, a querying expression on my face.
He chuckles “Do me a favour and scroll down a little?”
I do as he says, revealing more pictures.
“There, that one, Ursus arctos sapiens, Brown Bear. The one at the top was an Ursus maritimus sapiens, a Polar Bear.”
I frown at the picture of the woman that does look a lot more like him than the first one but… “…Yeah… I’m still not entirely convinced. How do I know this isn’t just a picture of a Terran species that you’ve realised yours looks a lot like?”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Oh, in Óðinn’s name!” he exclaims, exasperatedly “Put your drink down on the bar for me, Fiadh.”
“Why? I can’t see how-waaaah!” I shriek as, the instant my hands were off my lager, a thumb was slid under the back of my top, between my shoulderblades, and my hooves were hoisted nearly [50cm] off the ground.
“Now…” says the man from whose arm I’m dangling, his voice not exhibiting any strain from the effort of holding me up, as he lifts his drink with his left hand to take a few laps of it before asking “…would you say you weigh 60kg?” he asks.
“About that much…” I answer, my voice trembling.
“And does being able to lift that much with one arm, like this, serve as enough of a credential of my Terranness?” he asks, his eyes flicking briefly down to my (expanding) pant bulge.
“I guess so!”
I feel myself jiggle in the air as he chuckles “Do you want me to put you down now, Fiadh?”
“Yes please!” I answer, breathlessly.
I immediately feel the solid ground beneath my hooves again.
I look around to the other patrons, all giving me and the enormous Terran funny looks.
Doing my best to hide my ¾ chubby between myself and the bar I turn to the man and say “OK, you’re a Terran… but you still lied!”
“Oh really? How’s that?” he asks, coolly.
I point an accusing finger at him and answer “You said I’d find you boring!”
His lips part along his snout, in what my translator insists is an expression of heavy mirth, as the man throws his head back in a roaring laugh, exposing a set of terrifyingly long canines as he does.
---Björn’s perspective---
“You’re joking!” laughs the boy from the far side of the booth we retired to after we were done dancing.
I sigh “Has anyone ever told you you’re a little bit cynical, Fiadh(?)”
“You actually fought one of these things and won?!” he demands, holding up a picture of a nonsentient polar bear.
“That description might be a little overgenerous to me! I managed to fight him off… I didn’t ‘win’, I simply managed to make him reconsider whether myself and my companions were quite the easy source of meat that he had originally taken us for… The fight ended when he decided that harp seals were a more worthwhile proposition for acquiring sustenance than we were! That’s all…”
“I’d say, under the circumstances, surviving a fight with one of these things is winning! Why were you even in the same part of the world as one of them? It says they live on maritime pack ice and polar coasts!” he demands.
“Yes… I spent a few years travelling Arctic North America for my first doctorate at Akureyri. Had to learn half a dozen different Eskimo languages as well as French and Aluet… Not sure how well I’d still be able to speak any of them except French, though. I think the friends I made might well laugh if they heard how rusty I’ve probably become!”
“I’m sorry…” he frowns “…did you just say you spent [years]…” he turns his holo around and bangs it on the table (a touch harder than I suspect he would have if fully sober), displaying a picture of a desolate looking Arctic landscape that’s covered in snow “…here!?”
“Not in that specific valley, no, but in environments very like it, yes.”
“You Terrans are [fucking] crazy!” he giggles.
“Yes… we are…” I smile “…glad I finally convinced you!”
He laughs “If you being a Terran is a con, it would be the most elaborate, well researched and well rehearsed con I’ve ever heard of!… It’d almost be more impressive!”
I chuckle.
Then, he looks up and fixes me (as best he can) with both of his sideways facing, horizontally slitpupiled, aqua blue eyes.
Still looking at me, he tips back the remainder of his weak lager before setting down the glass and scootching closer on the bench that’s about the right size for both of us.
He reaches a hand to slide into the fur at the back of my head and I allow him to pull my ear to the end of his blunt snout.
“Sooo… Mr Terran…” he whispers, sensuously “…I’ve managed to stay interested for, I’d say, more than ×100 [90 seconds]!… We’ve talked… we’ve bought eachother drinks… we’ve danced… I’m still interested… Would you say I’ve earned an invitation back to your ship?”
“We-ell…” I start, my breath hitching with excitement “…if you’re sure I haven’t put you off with the fact that I engage in polar bear wrestling as a pastime…(!)”
He lets out a delightful giggle and taps his hoof in a way that my translator lets me know is equivalent to a headshake.
“Please take me home and wrestle me like one of your polar bears, Björn(!)”
I give a nervous chuckle and begin sliding myself off the bench and down onto all fours.
The cervine boy frowns quizzically at me and asks “Why are you down on the ground like that?… Kinda prefer you looming over me(!)”
“It’s a long way and I get less tired when I walk on all fours.” I lie.
Not that that’s not true, just that, if there weren’t a certain something that being down on all fours makes easier to conceal, I’d definitely put up with the mildly less efficient gait!
“Alright then…” he pouts, clearly still disappointed.
“I’ll loom over you plenty when we’re back at mine, Fiadh… Though, I have an idea for how to make the journey there more satisfying for you…?”
---Fiadh’s perspective---
I sit astride Björn’s back as we make our way through Xartham to the port district.
He was right… This is very satisfying! Though we are getting some alarmed looks(!)
“You’re a historian, right Björn?”
“I’m a historiographer, Fiadh…”
“Yeah… see, I know your language has a distinction between those two concepts… Mine doesn’t(!) You know about history though?”
“I learned history from Katrín ‘Berserker’ Þorradóttir, the finest history professor in Terran history(!)” he says, wobbling his head with affected smugness.
“Alright, I’ll take that as a yes(!)… Do you know if any Terrans ever rode bears like this in your history?”
“Well, while I can’t say for certain that none ever did (since it’s impossible to prove a negative), I can state unequivocally that there is no evidence of any bear riding cultures that is currently known… You are far from the first to imagine it though!”
“Laaaaaaaame!” I announce.
He laughs in a way which does pleasant things for the organ I have pressed into his back.
We draw up to the hatch, on the other side of which is a rigid umbilical, leading to a large, docked ship.
The door doesn’t open. Instead, a woman’s voice emanates from it, speaking in New Norse (the same language as he’s been speaking to me all evening) “Hello there, Dr Túpuson… are you aware that you seem to have a young, mostly naked Vekthian man on your back(?)”
Lifting his head to the door, my date/ride answers “Well aware, Twila. This is Fiadh and he’s going to be my guest for tonight, if that’s alright.”
“Alright then…” she says, cheerfully “…just as long as he isn’t a spy or a stowaway(!)”
“It’s nice to meet you, Twila!” I smile happily up at the disembodied New Norsewoman with the strange voice.
“It’s lovely to meet you too, Fiadh!” she answers, surprising me by switching to perfect Vekthian.
I spend a few moments mulling that over before shrugging it off as a coincidence.
Terrans are well known as a species of polyglots and gaining access to translators seems to have done nothing to dampen their polyglotism… despite making it completely unnecessary in my eyes!
Funny coincidence, running into one that speaks such perfect Vekthian, though!
“You speak my language wonderfully!” I compliment her.
“Thank you, sweetie! So do you(!)” she jokes in return.
I laugh at that until halfway down the umbilical.
Björn brings me through the door in the front of the ship’s hull and turns left.
We’re walking through an absolutely breathtakingly large gallery, occupying what must be most of the volume of the ship’s starboard side!
If the ship’s shape didn’t give it away as belonging to an aerial species, this empty space would!
Then, my eyes drift down and I catch sight of something that causes me to freeze.
Urgently, I lean down to Björn’s ear and whisper “Björn! I think your ship’s getting robbed right now!”
His walking falters but he keeps carrying me towards where I saw the robber disappear as he asks “What makes you say that?” his voice calm.
“Earlier today, about six of these little green bipeds came to me and my dad’s shop and raided our bins for metal!… I’ve never seen their species before and I’ve just seen one of the same species going into that corridor on the ground floor, there!”
“Oh… That was your shop, was it?” he asks, dropping the whisper and not seeming the slightest bit concerned.
“Yes it was… Wait? You saw? You saw them raiding our bins and didn’t intervene? Some Terran you are(!)” I hiss back.
“No, I didn’t see… I heard about it when they brought the metal back here… Our coordinator was not best pleased!”
“Brought the metal…?” I start but don’t finish as, from the same corridor that I just saw one of those little green skinned folk disappearing into, emerges another one.
This one I recognise!
She flicks a terrifying pair of bright yellow, vertically slitpupiled, forward facing eyes to Björn and then up at me, making my body freeze and my blood chill!
“Hi there, Viig!” greets Björn, his voice friendly.
“Hi there, Björn!” she grins at him, baring four conical fangs, then she returns her attention to me and, obviously recognising me, greets “Hi there, greedy!”
---Björn’s perspective---
I come through the door to my room and hear two hoof clops as the (I can clearly smell) terrified xeno boy dismounts me.
“Explain!” he demands, tracking me with his gaze as I stand up to around 0.5m taller than him.
“I can try… but I can’t tell you everything.” I answer.
He narrows his eyes at me before asking “Are they actually diplomats?”
“They are.”
“Are they Terrans?”
“No.”
He pauses before asking “What species are they?”
“That’s one of the things I’m not allowed to tell you, I’m afraid…”
He scowls then asks “What did they want with the metal?”
“Ah… well… they aren’t as used to living as close to postscarcity as you and I do… They also come from a culture with a radically different (read ‘no’) concept of ownership. To them, to try to stop someone taking something you’re not actively using is ‘greedy’… It’s as bad to them as theft is to us. They wanted the metal, you and your dad weren’t using the metal and your dad told them he was throwing it away… they didn’t have any malicious intentions behind raiding your bins for it, they just don’t like what they see as waste.”
The boy keeps scowling up at me, gears clearly turning.
“Are they first contactees?” he asks.
“I can’t answer that.” I answer.
“By the Father of the [fucking] Forest! They are, aren’t they!… I bet they’re [fucking] deathworlders too(!)”
I say nothing.
He notices.
His face falls as he twists his head, his left antler falling and his right rising.
“No…! Come on…! Get real, dude!!!” he exclaims, incredulously.
“OK… Hypothetically…!” I start, holding out a clawed finger “…if your conjectures were correct, then that would be very confidential information! If your conjectures were correct, we would be on our way to Citadel to present them to Parliament. If your conjectures were correct, it would be bad if rumours of new deathworld species were to be making their way around the galaxy before they could be properly introduced and allowed to answer questions for themselves!… So, if your conjectures were correct, do you think you could keep it to yourself? It would only be for another few months…”
The femboy Faun sighs and turns his head away from me (still looking at me with a sideways eye), the ghost of a smile playing across his blunt snout.
“…I mean… it’s not as if anyone would actually believe me if I said I had deathworld contactee diplomats digging through me and my dad’s bins(!)” he observes.
“Mmm…” I confirm before continuing “…Listen, Fiadh… I understand that this is a lot to process so, if you don’t feel like…”
He silences me by whipping a hoofclawed finger towards my snout and interrupting “Gonna stop you right there, dude! You think I spent all that time working my wiles on you at the bar, successfully got myself invited back here and made my way past the scary little green lady just to back out now?!… You think you became less sexy with the knowledge that you’ve just come back from making a first contact? Because, if you think that, you’re dead wrong! Now…” he plops himself down on my bed, scootches himself up to the headboard and waves a hand over me “…lose the clothes, dude.”
---Fiadh’s perspective---
I sit up on the sturdy bed, expectantly waiting for the looming Terran to show me the goods!
He gives a nervous chuckle but seems to realise that making me undress first would be a little unfair, what with the free sample he’s been getting all evening(!)
He reaches a giant pawhand to his collar and hooks a foreclaw into his zip.
I imagine that (like for me) his claws make buttonups way too frustrating to wear!
He draws it down, revealing himself to be wearing nothing underneath that jacket…
I feel like I’m already halfway to cumming, just from seeing him slowly exposing all that brown fur that he has on his broad, deep torso!
He slides his jacket down his thick arms and drops it to the floor.
“Very nice…!” I compliment “…but I’d like to see… the rest, too!” flicking my eyes down to his lowers with a smirk.
“Well…” he chuckles “…who would I be to refuse a request such as that(!)” before reaching to the back of his trousers and pulling his short, fluffy tail free of the tailhole.
Then, he brings his hands to the front, to loosen them.
He works his fingers underneath the waistbands of the undergarment I’m catching sight of through his undone fly and pulls both it and the trousers down to the floor, over his unshoed pawfeet.
I burst into hysterical laughter at seeing what he’s just unveiled.
His face falls in dismay, misapprehending the reason for my giggling fit.
I’m trying to control myself but I’m still in stitches as he asks “Wh-what’s wrong???”
I wave and tap my hoof on his deep blue bedsheets, the soft surface giving the negative a dull *thud**thud* rather than the crisp *clack**clack* I’d really want!
Eventually, I manage “N-*hehehehehehehehe*-Nothings wrong! I just-*hehehehehehehehehehehehe*-don’t know why-*hehehe*-I wasn’t expecting-*hehe*-you’d be so-*HAHAhehehehehehe*-BIG!!!” gesturing to the titanic phallus that he’s just unveiled!
Other than the tip of his nose and the palms and soles of his paws, it’s the only part of him that isn’t covered in fur, though it sits above a large set of furry testicles.
It’s a rich red colour that I infer it to have from being filled with red blood.
It’s got a tiny bit of an elongated hourglass shape, with a wide base where it sticks out from his furry skin, tapering to a slightly narrower neck about ⅗ of the way up and flaring back out before abruptly ending in an angled, flattened glans.
The whole thing is the longest and fattest cock I’ve ever seen!
“Am… am I… too big for you…?” he asks, uncertainly.
I think about that, assessing the XL member…
I make a decision “You’ll… be a challenge… but I’m up for a challenge(!)”
Relieved, he says “I’m glad…” before dropping to all fours and slowly padding to the edge of the bed.
My stomachs swoop from the thrill of seeing this Terran hypercarnivore (yes, I know he’s an omnivore but that’s not as exciting for me so shut up!) stalking towards me with hunger in his forward facing, roundpupiled, brown eyes…
A forepaw (wider than my whole head) is raised onto the surface of the bed, the rest of him following it up.
As he approaches me, I feel the way he warps the stiff mattress which, by comparison, barely has any give under my weight!
He brings the end of his long, thick, sharp snout to my short, blunt, rounded one.
I lean forward and cradle his dense, solid, deathworld skull in my hands and plant my lips against his.
I close my eyes and inhale deeply through my nose as I kiss the magnificent giant.
He doesn’t smell as musky as I would have thought before I got close to him.
He actually smells surprisingly fresh… like a forest after a Spring rain…
“You realise…” he starts, his deep voice causing my breaths to catch as it reverberates through me, even though he’s speaking as quietly as he can without whispering “…that you would definitely die if I lay on top of you, right?”
I give a puffing, mirthful exhale as I answer “Yeah… kinda figured, dude(!)… Why don’t you take my clothes off and then lie back and let me figure out how to take care of it?”
He chuckles “What clothes(?)”
I sigh and (not whispering) answer “You sound like my dad(!)… Didn’t see you complaining earlier while you were eye [fucking] me, all night long(!)”
“*heh*…True enough(!)”
Then he brings his snout down to my collar and delicately pinches the slider at the top of my suprasternal notch, unzipping for a total of [5cm] until my top comes undone.
Together, he and I pull the sleeves down my arms and over my hands before he takes them in his left hand and tosses them off the bed.
Then, his attention turns (for far from the first time tonight) to my crotch.
I lift my weight off my hips, to allow my tail to be repositioned from behind me to between my legs and make my briefs easier for him to pull off of me.
Supporting his front half on his right pawhand, he reaches his left indexclaw to the crutch of my pants and hooks it under them, just below my testicles.
I give a squeak from the sensation of his claw gently scraping my taint.
He pulls his paw down, dragging my last stitch off me over my hooves and the platinum white brush on the end of my tail.
Tossing my briefs away to land with my top, my lover turns his attention to my crotch.
“You have a lovely little cock…” he smiles.
“Thanks… I know(!)” I smile back.
---Björn’s perspective---
I look at the little deer boy who a not insignificant part of my instincts are firmly telling me is a piece of prey…
Those are instincts I need to ignore though…!
As erotic as he seems like he would find it if I lost control on him, he’d need to survive it!
I would risk hurting a Human boy by being too rough with him and Fiadh’s cradle is (though unusually high Class) only a fraction as dangerous to evolve on as Earth.
I don’t really have a choice but to bottom for him.
Careful that none of his limbs, antlers or tail will be beneath me, I collapse all my 0.37 tonnes onto the mattress to my left, rolling onto my back.
He shrieks delightedly as the rebound of the stiff mattress throws him 30cm into the air.
Still giggling, he climbs onto my chest and nestles his pink furred arse against the top side of my cock, his own cute little thing pressed into the fur of my stomach.
Between kisses, the boy asks “*kiss*… Lube?… *kiss*”
Chuckling, my hand goes to a drawer in my bedside cabinet and opens it to pull out a bottle of clear gel with a pump top.
This is the first time it’s been used for anything but masturbation since I came aboard. (My digital and metacarpal pads are too rough against the sensitive skin to do anything comfortably without lube!)
The boy sits up on my stomach, absently exploring my sex with his tail as he pushes out a few pumps into his hand.
“Uhm… a word of warning…” I start, hesitantly “…I have a baculum. It’s a bone in my penis… just be careful not to bend it too much or it will break and I’ll need to take an embarrassing trip to the medbay(!)”
The boy scoffs “I know what a baculum is, Björn(!) Who doesn’t have a baculum(!?)”
Raising my brow, I enlighten him “Humans don’t have bacula, Fiadh…”
His eyes go wide as he first doubts, then narrow as he thinks.
“Is that why [Cpl] Altan’s cock felt so weird!? There wasn’t a bone in it…?!”
“I’d guess so…” I answer.
“How do they even stay erect without a bone?” he asks.
“Bloodpressure… that’s most of what keeps me erect, too… I don’t know about you.” I chuckle.
“Weeeeeird!” he jeers.
Then, he gives a gesture of his luby hands that’s translated as something like a shrug and stands to bring his hooves between my legs, kneeling down to begin smearing the gel over my sex.
I give a moaning sigh and tip back my head as I feel those hands working over my length.
I feel his lips against my flat glans as he kisses it.
My flesh melts from the soothing sensation of physical touch that the little pink Faun is providing for me.
Then, I feel him stand back up and turn around between my legs.
I bring my head forward to watch as the skinny femboy slides himself downward, moaning adorably from the sensation of my girth as it enters him.
His cute little arse finally squashes against my pelvis, his clawed hands clutching my knees, his tail whipping back and forth as he deals with the sensory overload.
Then, he lifts himself slightly before dropping back down.
---Fiadh’s perspective---
My stomach bulges, every time I bring myself down the titanic cock.
I bite my lip as I moan in pleasure.
His moans are deep, growling and animalistic…
This is exactly what I hoped it would be!
No… this is better!
This is everything I hoped for and more!
I can feel the density, the solidity, the power of the body beneath me!
The only problem is “Björn!…*huh*… I can’t…*huhhh*… keep going…!”
“Why? Does it hurt?” he asks, not sounding even a quarter as out of breath as I am.
“No!…*huh*… I just…*huh*… don’t have…*huh*… the strength!” I whine.
“Do you *mggnh* do you want me to take over?” he asks, only interrupted by a spasm of pleasure.
“YES!!!”
No sooner have I said that than a pair of impossibly powerful hands wrap around my chest and yank me backwards, where my head (slightly painfully) impacts a hard sternum.
My hooves hover above the mattress between his (comparatively) short, thick legs.
My tail base is squashed into the flesh of his stomach.
His right hand remains clamping my chest to his as his left slides down my front to where the tip of his cock disturbs the flesh of my belly.
A snout comes down to my left ear and whispers “I’ll do my best to be gentle, Fiadh… tell me if you need me to stop…”
With that, my entire upper body is crumpled as his powerful hips thrust him upwards into me.
My mouth wide open now, as my moans of pleasure have become shrieks, I do my best to withstand the vigorous onslaught the behemoth is subjecting me to until…
All at once, the air is crushed from my lungs by the (seemingly involuntary) tensing of his mighty arms.
He moans as my belly swells with his cream!
The ecstatic bliss leaves me utterly mute as my body spasms… then I orgasm as well, shooting a thin jet of purple up into the air, my body convulsing.
---Björn’s perspective---
“It… sounds like he loves you.” I say to the (very well fucked) boy, lying on my chest to recover.
“I know he loves me… I just wish he respected me! I wish he took the time to try and understand me! To see anything from my point of view!” he laments.
“Well… he didn’t disown you and toss you out in the station corridor when you came out to him, did he?” I point out.
“That’s not a high bar, dude!” he puffs.
“And, yet, it’s one that a lot of so-called parents have still tripped over in Terran history…”
“Mmmh…” he grunts, clearly still not liking the juxtaposition between the accepting Terrans of today and the hateful bigotry of our past that I enlightened him to, earlier tonight.
“What’s the main thing that you think is causing trouble in your relationship at the moment?” I enquire.
He sighs, thinking, before answering “I want to go and study engineering at a university somewhere in the UTC… He thinks its unsafe and too far away! He wants me to just stay here and keep apprenticing under him for the rest of my life!”
“Hmmm…” I muse, thoughtfully.
“What?” he asks, turning his head to look up my chest at me.
“Well… I know New Tromsø, the university I work for, has both a blooming gardenworld outreach programme and a fairly good engineering department… It’s also on a fairly low gravity world (as deathworlds go) and about as near to here as Terran Space gets (with the one exception of Nowe Mazury which has no universities as of now)… Would you like me to put you in touch with someone from the outreach programme?… They might be able to do a better job of reassuring your father than you or I could…”
He just stares at me for a few moments, agog, before finally managing “Dude… for real?”
“Yes… for real… I think your father may be mistaking your desire for a fleeting fancy, right now… I think talking it through with someone from the outreach programme might help him to realise that you’re more serious than that.” I smile.
“I don’t know what to say, Björn! Thank you!!!”
“No problem at all… If you give me your holocom, I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve got anything to report… and perhaps, if anything comes of it, you could look me up in a year or two when you get to Nova Fennoscandia?”
“Ooh… you gonna date a student(?) Scandalous(!)” he teases.
“Well, I’m in a different department, you wouldn’t be my student… and we will have known eachother since before you became a student… If you actually came and were actually interested in a boring old bear like me, then I’d run it by the ethics board but I wouldn’t foresee it being an issue… just so long as I don’t try to use my position to coerce you in any way about anything.”
A hand reaches out to grab my snout, pulling my head to force me to look into those aqua blue eyes.
“Dude… I am actually interested in you… and you have to stop being so down on yourself! It’s a total bummer!” he chastises.
“Well… alright then(!)” I chuckle, his hand not interfering with my speech at all.
“Good!… Now, is it alright if I sleep here?… I don’t really fancy hobbling home this late in the nocturnal(!)”
“No problem at all… just so long as you don’t mind pancakes for breakfast?”
He frowns “What’re [pancakes], dude?”