Weasel Presents (3 page)

He cinched the robe around himself, returned to the practice room, and shelved the fallen sword, sniffing the leather-wrapped handle as he did. Like the baths, it held a number of scents, but the strongest was unmistakably vulpine, and strangely familiar. For several minutes, he held the handle to his nose, but the scent remained elusive. Finally, he put the sword away and headed back to bed, where even the mystery could not keep him awake for another minute.

In the morning, he slept until lunch, then went down to the barracks to try to find the fox. New recruits weren’t allowed in the practice room alone, so maybe it was some impatient cub who wanted to feel what it was like to hold a sword. As he approached the barracks, he heard Master Winson’s gruff voice running through the last of a series of basic exercise drills. “And down for twenty, nineteen, eighteen, you’ll do twenty more if I don’t hear you counting...”

“Fifteen...fourteen...” came a ragged chant. Jherik saw a class of ten recruits stepping forward in lunges, arms coming up with each one. They wore only short skirts, and it was not an overly warm day, but most of them were panting.

Mishel was among them, second largest next to the only wolf in the group, but the wolf was skinny and didn’t have Mishel’s build. Jherik watched the coyote’s leg muscles bunch and flow, and noted that the coyote was barely panting, even when they finished the second set on the other leg. The wolf’s tongue was lolling out of his muzzle, most of the others were panting hard, and one raccoon was hunched over with a paw to his side.

The coyote, by contrast, stood and jogged in place until Master Winson gave them a five-minute break before their kitchen duty. Then he stood and stretched his legs, one by one, holding them until his muscles bulged under his sandy fur. He raised both arms over his head, his broad chest flattened by the stretch, then arched his tail and bent to touch his toes. Watching from behind, Jherik caught a tantalizing glimpse of the bottom of Mishel’s shapely rear, and found himself unable to look away.

Mishel straightened slowly and languidly, and as he turned his muzzle ever so slightly in Jherik’s direction, the cougar caught a flash of the coyote’s eye and the slightest hint of a smile, and suddenly realized that the show had been all for his benefit.

He watched the group straggle up the road to the manor, picking up tunics from the edge of the field, and felt a sudden need to visit the practice room.

Two unsatisfying spars later, he remembered that he’d come down here to look for a fox. The dormitories held only a senior goat and raccoon playing a dice game; the other senior soldiers were probably drilling or in town relaxing, and the new recruits were probably all up at the manor helping in the kitchens or stables or wherever Drinn, the house steward, could put them to work. Master Winson might have been able to tell him which of the new recruits fit the bill, but Jherik felt oddly possessive of his mystery, and besides, talking to Master Winson would lead to questions about why he was wandering around the barracks in the middle of the night.

He could go up to the manor and search, but neither the prospect of walking through the kitchens and stables nor the idea of talking to Drinn to find out where the recruits were held much appeal for him. A visit to the kitchens might let him see Mishel again, but he didn’t want to appear to be too eager to see the coyote. He would arrange to run into him later that evening, perhaps, or the next day.

And besides, it occurred to him, he could always come back to the practice room that night, and see if the fox returned. That would be the best course, more private than the manor and easier than searching all over during the daylight.

He spent the afternoon doing some basic exercises to stay in shape, bored, but glad to have something on his mind besides his father and brother. When he felt he’d taxed his muscles enough, he did fifteen minutes more, and then walked slowly back to the manor.

After a short powder bath, he joined the family for dinner. His brother’s usual chair stood empty, and again, his father didn’t invite him to occupy it. Reminded of his brother’s heroic mission, stewing at the perceived slight, Jherik answered his father’s questions with monosyllabic grunts and ate his meal as quickly as possible. With little regard for the niceties of courtesy, and without his brother to keep him at the table, he felt free to get up before dessert was served and wander back down the manor to the barracks, ignoring his father’s half-hearted reprimand.

The anger stayed with him as he leaned against the barracks wall in the shade of the building, watching the setting sun paint the manor house a fiery red. Normally, at this time of night, Corrif and a few of Jherik’s other long-time friends in the army would be around to sit and talk, maybe throw a few dice, spar, or go into town and drink. Their absence stoked his discontent, and kept his tail thumping against the wood of the building as it twitched.

The group of recruits appeared at the crest of the hill some twenty minutes later, having undoubtedly helped clean up after the meal. Mishel and the young wolf were talking, the coyote waving his paws to make some sort of point. He didn’t notice Jherik until he’d entered the shadow of the building as well.

Jherik met his eyes coolly, fixing the coyote so Mishel would know why Jherik was there. The coyote looked back, stopped and said something to the wolf, then walked across the group of recruits as they padded tiredly inside.

“My lord,” Mishel said deferentially, stopping about two feet in front of Jherik and looking up at him with a knowing smile.

“Good evening, Mishel.” The sight of the coyote had driven other thoughts from his mind. His legs were thrumming and he was afraid that his desire was easily apparent to the coyote’s sensitive nose. He curled his tail around his leg, but couldn’t stop the tip from twitching. Then he decided he didn’t care.

“You wanted to...see me?” The coyote was standing respectfully, but pushing his chest out to show it off, even under the rough tunic. His legs, still bare, were impressive highlights against the shadow of the building.

Jherik cleared his throat. He very badly wanted to see the coyote now, all of him. “Yes. This way?”

He hadn’t meant to make it a question. To make up for it, he strode off without waiting or turning to see if Mishel would follow him. Around the back of the building, a small stand of trees grew against the outer wall of the manor grounds. Inside the trees, they would be at least partially hidden from the barracks. There wasn’t another sheltered place nearby. Jherik had hidden here with his brother, when they were younger and the soldiers played “hide and stalk” with them.

Memories of his brother brought old feelings back; he banished them as he turned inside the trees to face Mishel. The coyote grinned, his tail swishing behind him as he stepped closer to Jherik. “My lord?”

“I...enjoyed...your show today,” Jherik said.

Mishel lowered his ears. “I am pleased if my lord liked what he saw. I am at my lord’s disposal.”

Jherik stared at him for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the dusk, but he couldn’t find words. With a quick motion, he stooped and slid his paw under the fringe of Mishel’s skirt, lifting it until he felt the coyote’s sac against his fingers. He lifted his paw further, rubbing his pad against the thick ridge he found there as he lowered his muzzle to touch noses with the coyote, exhaling against him.

He was aware of the scent of his dinner on his breath, and suddenly the gesture didn’t seem as romantic as in the stories. But Mishel was growling in soft pleasure and pressing into his paw, wrapping arms around him to pull his hard body closer. A questing tongue licked at Jherik’s muzzle, nudging it open, pulling him into a kiss that ended with the coyote’s skirt on the ground and Jherik’s pants undone by agile paws.

Mishel was already half-erect by the time his paws found Jherik’s member. They traced up his engorged sheath and slid along the hard length to the tip, brushing on both sides. Jherik tried to keep pace, holding Mishel’s firm body against his with one paw pressed against the ridges of his back while the other curled around the coyote’s maleness. Both paws were rubbing, and Jherik didn’t know whether to be more delighted with the coyote’s firmly taut back or his growing smooth erection.

He moaned softly, overcome with sensations, and that was when Mishel dropped to his knees.

Jherik blinked in surprise as both his paws were abruptly emptied, but in that moment the coyote had already applied his muzzle to the cougar’s trembling length and was licking it steadily, and any objections Jherik was going to voice were lost in a flood of warmth. Each stroke of the tongue made him shiver, and he had to lean back and brace himself against the tree when Mishel’s entire muzzle slid down to take his length in.

Slowly at first, gathering speed, the coyote lowered his muzzle and brought it back up. Jherik watched his body ripple as his weight shifted with each stroke, finding that the view intensified the sensations spreading outward from his sheath. Mishel used his tongue and teeth, catching the fleshy ridges on Jherik’s member as he slid back, pressing them in when he moved forward. His tail wagged behind him in slow synchrony with his movements.

Jherik began to rock back and forth, keeping his moans low so they wouldn’t carry to the barracks. The coyote’s free paw explored the back of his leg, feeling the muscles, and Jherik felt a surge of pride at his body and Mishel’s interest in it. He tightened his legs as the coyote’s paw roamed them, and thrust into the smooth muzzle, growling in his throat and chest.

With each thrust, he felt the increased pressure of Michel’s tongue, and the firm grip of both paws, one at the base of his sheath and one around the back of his right leg. That one didn’t even move when Jherik had to shift his weight suddenly as his body was overloaded with sensations. He gripped Mishel’s powerful shoulder with one paw and the tree behind him with the other (so he could sink his claws into something) and clamped his muzzle shut as the moans and growls burst up from his chest and his seed burst out into Mishel’s muzzle.

For a second, he was aware only of that feeling, and then he sank back to earth, still pumping small spurts onto the coyote’s tongue. A few moments later, his fur settled and he relaxed, finally letting his muzzle open to pant. He squeezed Mishel’s shoulder as the coyote slid his muzzle off, leaving his shaft dripping in the evening breeze.

Mishel straightened up, pulling his skirt up, and touched his nose to Jherik’s. “I’d best not miss bed check.” He smiled and licked his lips.

“Uh,” Jherik said, nodding when he couldn’t make a more coherent sound.

The coyote smiled and padded back towards the barracks, while Jherik ran through every possible thing he could have said and hadn’t.

He was still leaning against the tree some minutes later, when the bell rang for bed check. Slowly, he pulled his pants up and fastened them. It was almost pointless to go back up to the manor now; he might as well wait in the practice room and see if the fox showed up.

Master Winson usually finished the check in about fifteen minutes. Jherik waited for what he judged to be twenty, savoring the memory of Mishel’s body and muzzle, and then padded to the barracks. It was easy enough to get in silently, and his paws made no noise as he crept through the hallways.

At the door to the practice room, he paused. It was still silent inside, so he was about to enter and wait for the fox, but he remembered that a fox could probably smell him through the door. Congratulating himself on his cunning, he crept instead to the armory next door and slipped inside, leaving the door open a crack so he could hear any sound.

Half an hour later, he was rewarded with the soft click-click of claws on the stone of the hallway. Pity foxes can’t retract their claws, he thought smugly, listening for the soft creak as the practice room door opened and then closed. He gave the fox a few minutes to get settled, then padded quietly up to the door and listened.

He heard the soft grunts and pants of exertion from inside, and grinned. This time, he didn’t bother to take a torch, just pushed the door open, slid inside, and closed it, leaning back against it.

The shadowy shape in the middle of the room dropped the sword it was holding with a loud clang. A moment later, Jherik caught his scent, again with that nagging tickle of familiarity. “Now,” he said when the shadow didn’t move, “maybe you’d like to tell me what you’re doing here.”

He heard the shuffle of feet. The shape was becoming clearer as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. “They won’t let us in here yet.”

The voice triggered the memory the scent had been trying to unlatch. Jherik leaned forward and sniffed the air. “Benton?”

There was a short sigh. “Yes, sir.”

“I thought you went with my brother.”

“No, sir. I asked if I could remain behind, and he selected another valet. I believe Kenseth went with him.”

The fox’s form was becoming clearer to Jherik now. He was about a foot shorter than Jherik, thin and lanky. It almost looked like his bushy tail weighed more than he did. Still, he was taller than Jherik remembered him.

“Why did you join the army?”

“I’m not very good at fighting. I thought I should be.” Now he could see the gleam of the fox’s eyes, turned towards him in the dark.

“Is that why you didn’t go with my brother?”

Benton paused before every answer as though he were afraid of saying the wrong thing. “Yes. I’m seventeen, I’m an adult. I can choose to join the army.”

Jherik smiled. “It’s okay, I was just surprised. I haven’t seen you in months, since...since...”

“Halliponte,” Benton said in a low voice.

“Yes! That was a disaster, eh? I thought it would never stop raining.” He chuckled.

“It did once we got back.”

“I remember that. I think I ran through all the curses I knew.”

He heard a slight cough from the fox that might have been a muffled laugh. “Marhik didn’t know what to say.”

Jherik felt the bitterness creep back into him. “For once.”

He could see the fox as clearly as the dim light would allow, now. He was wearing worn pants, but no shirt covered the soft white of his chest. The underside of his muzzle was a dirty grey, or else in shadow, and his head and arms were reddish-orange with darker streaks that Jherik thought he remembered were brown. Benton’s black ears had lain back at Jherik’s remark.