The howling winds had come to rest, and the gentle rays of the winter sun broke through the dispersing clouds; the night’s blizzard had passed and a new morning dawned on the denizens of the taiga in the far north. A flurry of ice and snow had swept through the boreal landscape with brutal swiftness, but critters this close to the north were used to such frigid weather, having waited out the storm in relative safety and warmth. 

Sensing that the danger was finally over, cautious eyes and twitchy snouts poked free from their homes among frosty trees and piles of snow, ready to forage and hunt and, in the coming weeks, mate. One such animal dug his way out of his snowed-in den, his fluffy white fur coat protecting him from much of the chill. He sniffed at the air, ears flicking about attentively for anything moving nearby—be it his prey, or his enemy.

The fox had no name, no sense of self beyond the immediate, but he wasn’t mindless. He had hopes, dreams, even possessions, what little they may be. Shiny rocks, smooth stones that caught the eye, those were his favorite. One such trinket was an opal his mother gave him when he was a kit. Overjoyed by the shimmering present, he took it with him whenever he went.

While names were foreign to him, Shimmer was as close to a name as the fox had. For that shimmering jewel was his treasure.

Shimmer stood on a large stump in the middle of a clearing, continuing to sniff the crisp morning air as he surveyed his environment. He didn’t expect to find anything so soon, but luck was on his side. A flicker of motion in the corner of his eye; a flash of something darting out of the snow and swiftly back under cover. 

His fine-tuned ears swiveled in its direction, perked and ready to capture any noise, no matter how slight. Tiny, rapid breaths; the quiet shuffling in the underbrush hidden below the sheet of fresh, undisturbed snow. The unmistakable squeaks of a vole, of prey, reached Shimmer’s sensitive ears as he licked his chops in anticipation of an upcoming hunt. 

The arctic fox crept low to the ground, all but disappearing into the snow. Only animals with the keenest eyesight could spot him through his natural camouflage, and it was so cold that scents were useless unless perfectly downwind. 

Luckily for the hungry fox, and unluckily for his prey, the vole was upwind. 

He crept closer, silent as the snowfall itself as he padded through the fresh cool softness. 

Disaster struck as he was preparing to pounce. 

Another animal might have panicked at the sight of a huge, taloned monster five times their size snatching their prey in deadly silence, but Shimmer was smart and collected. Despite how rapidly his poor heart raced, he managed to remain hidden, quiet, and still as a corpse. 

Owls had been infesting this part of the woods since winter ended; today was no different.

The huge gray owl didn't notice him, and with a silent swoop of its massive gray wings, it vanished, taking his meal with it.

Shimmer was on edge the entire way back to his borrow. He had gotten lucky. He knew without a doubt that he could have been the vole. He could have been carried off without a sound. The owl was big, its talons sharp and wings large enough to lift him nowhere good.

The hungry part of him was just annoyed it had stolen prey that was rightfully his. Owls were always like this, taking what wasn’t theirs. Big, stupid, flying lumps of feathers. He’d hunt them if he had been larger, steal their prey, terrify their little hearts, and see how they liked being helpless for once. 

He spent a few more hours begrudgingly hunting and managed to catch another vole, albeit this one was only half the size of the previous. The unfairness of it all bothered him as he carried its limp body home in his jaws. 

Shimmer halted outside his den, sniffing suspiciously. Something was off, wrong. He walked back and forth, fur standing on end as his nose led him to the base of a nearby pine tree where the snow was suspiciously depressed. He leaned in, only to reel back in alarm at the bird of prey so white it seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

He dropped his vole in fright, the tasty morsel sinking into the snow in front of the owl.

The owl in question barely lifted its head, eyes opening a sliver to stare at him. Shimmer puffed out his fur to look big and threatening, but as the seconds ticked by without the owl doing much more than look at him, he managed to relax his posture. It wasn't a very big owl, anyway. Nothing like the other, darker owl had been. Maybe about twice his size.

Shimmer cautiously circled the snowy owl, sniffing the air to get a better idea of what he was working with. Unlike with fellow foxes and most other forest critters, he couldn’t immediately tell the bird’s gender. Its scent sorta reminded him of the few female foxes he’d had the pleasure of sampling, but it wasn’t exactly the same. It did have a similar twang to it, though, that sweet and tangy aroma of a vixen just entering heat that drew Shimmer in closer before he realized his paws were moving toward the larger predator.

The owl tensed at his approach, feathers puffed up in a way that looked very silly if he didn’t know just how deadly owls could be. It didn’t attack, only shrunk further in on itself, even when he was close enough to sniff its feathers. The oddly feminine scent grew stronger, leading to him subconsciously deciding she was female. 

With the increased potency of her scent also came the subtle sharpness of blood, so slight that it must’ve been fresh. Other, more unsettling details soon made themselves known as he continued to examine the shivering owl. Broken and frayed feathers stuck out from her right wing, caked with dirt and darkened fluids. The limb itself was extended and bent at an unnatural angle, upsetting even the fox as he peered at it.

Having a broken wing, it was no wonder she hadn’t fled. 

Shimmer whined for the injured owl, his feelings confusing the fox greatly. Owls were monsters that stole, and killed, and all sorts of other nasty things. They were annoying, flying rodents that snuck about, using their magical abilities to snatch prey without a sound. 

Hadn’t he fantasized about this very situation? Where foxes were big and strong, with owls weak and helpless? Rarely did he get into fights with them, actually never, but he knew they would kill him without mercy if they had a chance. And here one was now, weak and helpless and small, exactly how he wanted her… or so he thought.

As his enemy looked at him with dull, yellow, dejected eyes, he couldn’t find it in his heart to attack her. She was clearly scared of him—him, a fox half her size!—but her yellow gaze lacked the spark of conflict. She seemed perfectly aware of her situation. One of her most important abilities for hunting had been taken from her, and now she was left in the snow, cold and alone, fated for a slow, inevitable death. He couldn’t imagine the crushing hopelessness she felt knowing there was no help coming; knowing that she was already dead.

Not even an owl deserved that kind of fate.

Her life was in his paws.

In a moment of insanity, Shimmer picked up his catch, walked over to the downed owl, and dropped it by her side, giving the motionless rodent a little nudge with his snout for good measure. Warmth bloomed in his chest, almost enough to overpower his rapidly beating heart. It felt good to give her the vole. Like he’d made the correct choice. 

He swiftly scampered away; just in case she decided to peck at him. Even if he didn’t think she’d do it, she was an owl, after all.

She looked between him and the vole with clear confusion. Her hesitation was understandable; animals rarely helped each other, and he assumed owls to be particularly despicable in that manner. But then her expression softened, those impressive eyes of hers brightening with hope. She moved as though intending to reach the vole, then stopped. She glanced his way, tense and unsure.

He gave her an encouraging yip, then mimed eating by opening and closing his mouth. Once she understood that this was a gift, that this was for her, that it wasn’t a trap, perhaps she’d fill her undoubtedly empty belly. Perhaps all he needed was patience, to be non-threatening and casual until she trusted him. 

She approached, slowly at first, but soon that hesitation of hers shattered, and she didn’t waste any more time before lunging at the vole and shoveling it down her beak. He stared in surprise at her voracity, and could only watch awkwardly as she lifted her head, repositioned the vole to be head-first, and downed the rodent in a few quick gulps. The lump that once was a vole vanished into her breast, and she ruffled her healthy wing with a pleased coo.

She remembered she had an audience, withdrawing into herself again, though she did give him a shy sounding coo of… thanks? Shimmer couldn’t tell, exactly, but she seemed appreciative. Regardless, it felt nice, and Shimmer puffed out his chest, proud at having helped a fellow animal in need. Even if they were an owl, she didn’t seem so bad.

Maybe bribing an owl to come on his side would keep the other, nastier ones away?

Liking the idea, Shimmer yipped at the snowy owl and did a little dance, moving slightly toward his den before moving back toward her. She didn’t seem to understand at first, and even seemed suspicious, but it wasn’t long before she took a few shaky steps his way. Soon she was stumbling after him like a lost kit.

Shimmer led the injured owl to his den, a tunnel dug under a large pine tree he frequently marked, hidden under a pile of snow. 

She stopped at the entrance, peering inside with big, hesitant eyes. It was large enough for the owl, but only just.

To encourage her, Shimmer went ahead of her into the den, made his way to the much larger main chamber, then poked his head back out. He growled playfully as he exited, and waited outside for her to gain the courage to enter, ears perked as he waited for her decision.

It took a few more moments, but eventually the owl gained the courage to enter, taking one cautious step after another. As her bravery rose, so too did her tail-feathers, giving him his first glimpse of the owl’s sex. Shimmer knew female bits when he saw them. And that odd, tailhole-like crease in her feathers was very female looking indeed, confirming his earlier assumptions.

Helping a girl in need made him feel even fuzzier inside.

Shimmer followed Snowy inside, making sure not to get too close lest he startled her. He couldn’t resist a few curious sniffs, though, memorizing her exotic scent. There was some grossness under the sweetness of mud and blood, but that wasn’t anything a thorough grooming wouldn’t fix. Her feathers were a little scruffy, but they were pretty and white, and he found himself staring with interest as they entered the den, him taking up the rear. Being so white and pretty, he decided to think of her as Snowy.

Snowy settled at the back of his den, wings tucked around herself. She was shivering again, though she seemed a little more alert now that her belly was full, staring straight at him with cautious optimism. It was clear she didn’t fully trust him, not that he could blame her. He was a fox, and she was an owl. Of course she shouldn’t trust him. 

He’d given her the vole though, so that had to be worth something.

His stomach grumbled its disappointment, however, upset that he gave the enemy his dinner. He couldn’t help the whine that escaped his throat, not looking forward to sleeping with an empty belly.

Snowy tilted her head at him, eyes soft as she hooted guiltily. She understood what he had given up for her, that he willingly went hungry to fill her own rumbly tummy instead. 

He lay on his belly, forelegs crossed as he tried not to whimper. He had intended to groom himself after dinner, then have a nice, long nap, but now he had to go back out and hunt for two. Were there even enough voles for that? What about hares to share? Hares were much harder to catch than voles, but they filled the belly oh-so wonderfully. 

Thinking about the juicy and plump animals had him salivating.

Shimmer tilted his head toward the den’s entrance, pawed at the packed dirt of his den with a paw, then glanced at Snowy and gave a short, sharp yip. He wasn’t sure she’d understand she was supposed to stay here, but she let out a curt hoot and hunkered down, shuffling into an even tighter ball of feathers.

Assured that she would stay put, Shimmer stalked toward the exit, prepared for a long, tiring hunting session.

After that disastrous first hunt of the day, Luck was on Shimmer’s side. He’d caught not one, not two, but three adult hares! After storing them in the bushes outside his den—they were much too big to carry at the same time—he all but skipped into the den, bringing in hare after hare in his smug jaws, hanging limply by their broken necks. He dropped the largest of them in front of Snowy with a satisfying thump. She looked about as impressed as he felt.

They ate together, sharing the fattest hare while the other two were stored neatly in the corner of the den for tomorrow. Snowy used her large talons to hold its body steady as she tore small chunks out of their meal with her wickedly sharp beak. Shimmer, meanwhile, was content to shove his now very bloody muzzle into its body cavity, munching on its tasty organs and delicious fat.

When they were done, the hare was little more than skin, fuzz, and bones, leaving both predators fat and happy. Shimmer stretched himself out on the floor of his den with a dramatic yawn, kicking out his hind paws. Snowy then surprised him with a yawn of her own, something he hadn’t known owls could do. It was cute, at least until she extended her beak to its fullest extent and gave him an unsettling view into her bizarre maw and throat.

The roof of her mouth was full of odd ridges, sharp and angled all the way toward the back of her throat. Her tongue was also weird, dry and scratchy looking, but not nearly so bizarre as the spiny pink roof of that toothless maw. It honestly unsettled him a little. She clacked her beak afterward in much the same way he smacked his muzzle, though she tilted her head at him when she noticed his staring. She quickly lost interest when she began preening, distinctly avoiding her injured wing.

Shimmer had curled himself into a ball intending to go to sleep, and nearly succeeded when he was disturbed by Snowy’s beak poking into his fur. He glanced at her with sleepy, weary eyes as she nibbled his coat, and it took him much too long to realize she was trying to preen him.

Not one to say no to a free grooming session, Shimmer stretched himself out to give Snowy better access, which she happily took advantage of. Her efforts were clumsy at first, perhaps even unsure, but she made up for it by being very gentle with her beak and showing him that while her tongue was as rough as it looked, it proved very effective at getting the dirt out of his fur. 

She moved down to the thinner fur of his belly, unintentionally tickling his nipples with tiny nips and strokes. Having her so close to his underbelly sent a brief rush of danger, run, fight! through him, but her gentleness soothed away those instincts, allowing him to relax, growing oddly comfortable being groomed by the enemy. 

Perhaps too comfortable. Her ministrations had teased his red taper out of his sheath, a droplet of clear glistening fluid dribbling down the semi-erect tip. He didn’t pay it too much mind; his penis did that sometimes outside of mating season, especially when grooming himself. His guest had others plans, pausing her efforts to stare in wonder at his newly revealed tip, eyes wide with curious intensity. She tilted her head at it, let out a confused coo, then tilted her head some more.

Shimmer didn’t understand her reaction. Had she never seen a penis before? Apparently not, because she leaned in with the very clear intention of poking it with her beak, only for him to growl out a warning before she got too close. She jumped at the noise, glancing his way with widened eyes. She stared for a moment before lowering her head, letting out an apologetic hoot.

Shimmer deflated at the show of submission. She hadn’t known any better, he couldn’t stay mad at her for that. 

To show he wasn’t angry, Shimmer leaned in and licked the owl across her beak, cleaning it of the hare’s tasty juices and also getting his first taste of his new friend. This was something he’d do with a vixen whenever he wanted to show affection or to apologize if he did something wrong. Snowy wasn’t a vixen, and they definitely weren’t mates, but she seemed to understand the gesture, even going so far as to lean into his tongue in a soundless plea for him to keep going.

The singular lick turned into an impromptu grooming session. Snowy cooed with delight as he licked and nipped at the feathers on her head, swiveling her head this way and that to give him better access, sometimes to an absurd degree. He purred in amusement as her tail feathers fanned out, though that amusement faded when she tried to spread her injured wing, emitting a squeak of discomfort for her efforts.

He briefly paused the grooming session, pulling away from her neck to stare at her damaged wing. Snowy let out a disappointed hoot when he stopped, having very much been enjoying his touch, more so than even the last vixen he was with. Owls and foxes had more in common than he thought.

Shimmer leaned into her wing, and gently, very gently, started to clean it. She pulled away at the touch at first, making it very clear from the first lick how uncomfortable this was. But she’d clearly been neglecting herself, likely due to the pain, the poor thing. The worst thing to do after an injury was to let it fester. Cleaning it was important, no matter how much it stung. 

The feathers on her head and neck were soft and stout, feeling very much like fur. That almost familiar texture was completely gone by the time he reached her wings. The larger feathers clung to his tongue in ways fur did not, many breaking off with ease from being so damaged, caked with the sharp twang of dried blood. Snowy emitted low, sharp hisses as he cleaned her best he knew how, being very careful not to put too much pressure on the wing itself with his muzzle. 

Last year when he had kits, one of them fell and scraped her leg. She had whined and yowled as he and his mate cleaned her wound, but he knew from experience what happened when you neglected it.

His first mate hadn’t been so lucky. She refused to let him touch a wound on her leg, a little thing caused by a sharp stick, but neither of them knew just how dangerous that could be, and so he let her be. He would never forget the weakness in those last few hours, her panting whines growing quieter, strained until her last breath.

Determined not to let that fate befall Snowy, just as he saved his stubborn kit from a similarly horrible end, Shimmer sniffed out every last wound buried in her feathers and licked them without mercy, swallowing dirt and muck alike until all he could taste was clean, healthy blood. 

Snowy was not a happy owl. She squirmed and squawked throughout the entire process, even pecking—weakly—at him whenever he lapped at a particularly dirty wound. Her struggles never hurt, which said a lot about how much trust she was placing in him. It felt nice to be trusted.

His sniffs eventually turned up no more dirty wounds, which was all well and good as Snowy was clearly very much done with the entire process, looking all frazzled and upset, her puffed-out feathers telling quite the story as to her feelings on the matter. He tugged out the last of the broken, dead feathers, and Snowy let out a relieved hoot when he pulled away. 

He nuzzled the tense owl under her chin and purred his feelings, his way of telling her how brave she was. There was nothing he could do for the broken wing itself, but with a few days of rest, food, and safety, she would heal.

Once she calmed down, the rest of the night was spent grooming and preening each other, and Shimmer eventually fell asleep curled around Snowy, embracing the owl’s warmth.

 
Shimmer learned more about owls in the next few days than he ever expected to. The first major surprise was when Snowy coughed up a pellet of hare bones and fur. He’d thought something was wrong with her at first, that Snowy’s wounds were festering into a sickness. But Snowy didn’t even seem to understand his avoidance until she noticed what he was staring at.  Even then she just gave a dismissive hoot and acted like nothing was wrong, letting him know that was probably the case.

The pellet was hardly the only thing to come out of the owl. While Snowy was strong enough to leave the den to do her business, she wouldn’t leave the den without him, and so began a routine of them relieving themselves together. He suspected she was afraid of being ambushed while grounded, unable to escape. He couldn’t blame her.

These outings of theirs taught him another odd thing about owls; their mating parts and tailholes were one in the same, something he learned completely by accident when he looked Snowy’s way at quite the inopportune time.

In another stroke of bad timing, mating season was fast approaching, and Shimmer increasingly wondered how he’d get another mate when he had a grounded owl to take care of. It had been days since he saw a fellow fox; usually he saw at least one or two in that time, and smelled hints of one’s presence. But there was no one. No vixens leaving her mark to show interest, no rivals to counter his own claims. It was like they were avoiding the area.

He was certain Snowy was the cause. Like any animal, she had a unique scent, one she shared with other owls. It wasn’t bad once he had gotten used to it, but it was the scent of danger, the scent of death and apex predators. It was a scent he now carried. Sleeping with Snowy, rubbing up against Snowy, grooming and being groomed by Snowy. Shimmer would be lucky to approach a vixen again with how much he reeked of owls, let alone mate with one.

A whine tore its way from his throat. Oh, how he wanted to mate again! Mating was wonderful, nothing else could compare. It felt indescribably good, relieved all his stress and worries, was fun in all the best ways, and though it left him with responsibilities for a few seasons afterward, the emotional satisfaction of raising a family with a lovely vixen made it all worth it. Only once had he sired kits, but reminiscing their rapid growth into independence made his chest swell with pride to this very day.

He occasionally saw some of his kits, most recently his littlest who still had that scar on her leg. She seemed to be doing well, and he wished her a wonderful first mating season. Perhaps her mate will even help raise her kits like he had. She had a fiery energy to her; he didn't pity any male who tried to skirt the responsibility.

His stomach growled a reminder that he had not eaten since yesterday. Snowy looked at him with sleepy eyes, before tucking her head back under her good wing. Her stomach had been making noises all morning too. It was time to hunt. 

Shimmer licked and nuzzled Snowy goodbye before heading out for his morning hunt. He never got quite as lucky as that first day. The two remaining hares were consumed surprisingly quickly, the recovering owl having quite the appetite for someone who wasn't moving around much. 

Shimmer had trouble finding more, forcing him to settle for a few measly voles a day, if that. It was already a barely sustainable meal for a fox, let alone a huge owl. 

He wasn’t the only one who understood this. When he returned yesterday with only a single vole, Snowy refused to eat, despite the audible rumblings coming from her fuzzy white belly. Instead, she picked up the small rodent and dropped it by his feet, letting out a confident hoot in the process. Her intentions were clear. Touched by the gesture, and too hungry to resist, Shimmer ended up being the only one to eat that day.

Today would be better. Today needed to be better. Snowy was counting on him. When he first began caring so much for the owl, he wasn't sure. It happened gradually, starting with that one moment of pity, and building into a fire that kept him moving forward. Snowy was his friend, maybe more, and she clearly felt the same way about him.

Before Shimmer left, Snowy emitted a sharp hoot, capturing his attention. He looked back and saw those expressive yellow eyes of hers shining with worry. He was having trouble finding food, and they both knew it. 

It was frustrating, but Shimmer knew he just had to be patient. Prey tended to mate around the same time foxes did. They'd start leaving their dens, becoming adventurous and bold as they foraged for food and searched for potential mates to woo.

He intended to give Snowy an encouraging yip, but the noise he made proved embarrassingly 'clickety' and sensual instead. Snowy didn’t seem to understand the implications of the accidental vocalization as she warbled back softly and tucked her head back under her wing, returning to her usual morning nap. He knew what it meant, though, and he was embarrassed for both of them. 

After all, Shimmer only made that noise around the vixens he liked. 

Too hungry to mull over the not-unappealing thought, he left the den, belly rumbling and senses heightened as he prepared for a long, grueling day.

Shimmer caught five voles today. That was better, but he feared it wouldn't be enough. 

He ate two of them on the way, and carried the rest to their den by the tails. He froze in his tracks, mind tripping over itself. Their den. Not his, theirs. When did that happen? 

He mused over the concept, struggling to put a paw on his feelings. It felt right, he eventually decided. Snowy was pleasant company. Her feathers were soft and warm, perfect for snuggling after a long day of hunting. She was kinder than any owl he'd met—which wasn't saying much, but she was also nicer than some foxes. Especially territorial males, something he was admittedly guilty of being at times. 

She made an excellent grooming partner. He'd grown used to her beak around more vulnerable areas, and while she avoided his sheath and balls, everywhere else was fair game. She didn't seem to mind how thorough he could be with his tongue, only actively disliking his touch when he groomed her wings. Her flavor, especially under her tail feathers, wasn't what he'd call pleasant, but it wasn't much different than grooming a fellow fox.

Arousal during grooming was a natural, unavoidable reality. They were comfortable with it, but he had to admit a certain level of shock when he discovered the form arousal took with owls. An otherwise subtle opening, that two-in-one hole of hers would puff out and flex against his tongue whenever he was cleaning it. He was curious, but taking things further wasn't the goal of grooming, and Shimmer kept things swift to not accidentally rile her up too much. 

He wasn’t sure he succeeded. The bird's strange, reactive hole demanded his attention during last night's grooming, pulsing and clenching more than ever, almost winking at him. Like it wanted him to go further. He couldn’t be sure, but even Snowy seemed startled by how her body was reacting.

Shimmer indulged in a deep, shaky breath through his nose. He couldn’t deny a growing fascination for that strange, rippling orifice under the snow-white owl’s pretty tail feathers. He very nearly gave into the desire to see where things could go, to give into the strange thoughts that were becoming increasingly common around her. Thoughts that went beyond simple curiosity. Thoughts of growing closer, becoming mates, and knotting her tight, rippling hole, filling her with his seed. Filling the loneliness in his heart.

The arctic fox panted as he continued his trek home, flushed and hot. His arousal was evident in the way his tip poked out of its protective sheath and into the cool, biting air. Oh, how he craved to bury his aching length somewhere warm and snug; to soothe the cool bite against his loins, satiate the burning need roaring in his underbelly. That squishy slot tucked away under Snowy's tail feathers was exactly what he needed. How wonderful it would feel to slip inside and ease his growing burden.

It was everything a horny fox could ever want.

Shimmer whined at the intrusive thoughts. He knew it wasn't possible; didn't even know if he wanted it to be possible, but the fast-approaching mating season played strange tricks on the mind. Made him want things he shouldn’t, pin after animals he couldn’t breed with. He needed to clear his mind, pretend everything was fine, for Snowy’s sake.

She was a friend, not a potential mate. He wouldn’t ruin that with his urges.

Shimmer wiggled his way through the snow-covered entrance of the den as he arrived home, the biting cold shocking his erection into submission. 

He intended to forget all about his impossible thoughts, only to be struck speechless as he entered the main room of the underground tunnel, dropping his prey in the process.

Snowy's back was up against the wall, legs outstretched with her tail feathers fanning out beneath her, comfortable as an owl stuffed into a fox's den could be. His friend was oblivious to his return as she glided the feathery tips of her good wing against her quivering sex, staring between her legs with intense focus in her half-lidded yellow eyes, her beak parted in a soft coo. It was a literal feather touch, Snowy treating herself to the softest, gentlest care she could when the rest of her was designed to rend and tear. The intimate contact triggered powerful flexes in the bird’s exotic hole, spurring those lip-like folds into wet, squishy motion. 

Soft squelches greeted his ears as Snowy pleasured herself, as her most intimate opening flexed and trembled against her feathers, again and again. It signaled desperation so intense, so breathtakingly needy, that not even the horniest vixen could match.

It seemed Shimmer wasn't the only one affected by the seasonal pull in the air.

The fox had pleasured himself before. Not often, but occasionally he'd lick himself a little too much, get a little too excited, and end up knotting his own muzzle. Clearly Snowy didn't have that option, settling for the softest, safest option she had: her wings.

He remained fixed in place, unsure what to do as he watched his friend pleasure herself. Should he leave? Snowy was at her most vulnerable since he found her in the frigid, unforgiving snow outside his den, weak and injured and faded for a slow, lonely death. He had helped her then, saved her life, and gained a friend in the process. But he couldn’t help her now. Not with this. She was an owl, him a fox. Even if this owl wasn't his enemy, that didn’t make them compatible, no matter how often he’d fantasized about it recently.

There was nothing he could do to ease her pain.

His breathing picked up as he watched the snowy owl's clumsy attempt to get off. Her technique looked about as unsure as he felt, but it was clear she was enjoying herself. She curled her talons, breathing fast and heavy as she humped her feathers with equally rapid jerks, like a young tod trying to slip inside his first vixen, only to waste his seed all over the back of her thighs. 

An analogy he definitely did not have any experience with.

The more he observed the owl’s technique, the more he was certain that Snowy was new to this. Her being larger than him made it easy to forget that she was smaller than the other owls he'd had the displeasure of meeting. Not much smaller, but enough that it was probably her first heat, if owls were even like vixens in that way.

Snowy’s noises of delight soured into frustrated squawks as she tired herself out before she could finish the job, her odd genitals fluttering and squelching in a slow, pulsating fashion as she leaned back, panting hard, her hot breath visible in the air. He wasn’t sure how he knew she hadn’t finished, but he knew, and he didn’t like knowing. Snowy was his responsibility, his guest, but more importantly, she was his friend.

He found himself remembering back to the time he stumbled upon a vixen in heat pleasuring herself. She had also been young, clearly overwhelmed by these strange, new feelings coursing through her. She nonetheless picked up on his intentions to help, ceasing her desperate licks as the promise of true relief arrived. She hadn't known what to do at first, but he did, and they played, and marked, and licked, instinct guiding them toward the proper conclusion as he claimed his second vixen, satisfying her first.

If Snowy were a vixen, a fellow fox, he’d have jumped at the opportunity to introduce her to the wonders of mating. He wouldn’t hesitate to shove his snout under her tail, sniffing and licking and slurping until her first orgasm stole her breath away. Then he’d mount her, tie her, breed her; fill her belly with kits, his kits; make her his, just as he was made hers.

Snowy was no vixen. There would be no breeding, no adorable, needy, exhausting aftermaths. There would only be the pleasure; a deep, carnal pleasure without consequence. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure itself. The thought left him feeling like a young tod all over again, confused and horny and desperate for release. Why shouldn’t he help her? Why were they incompatible?

Deep inside, he knew it wasn’t to be, but he didn’t know why, only that every instinct he had cried that it was wrong, it wouldn’t work, and he should leave his friend to suffer alone. Well, instinct wasn’t everything. He couldn’t sit around and watch as a friend went through such need alone, couldn’t let her suffer like this. She had no one else. She clearly needed help. And he was the only one who could lend it.

Shimmer puffed out his chest and stepped forward, one paw at a time, not bothering to hide his presence anymore. Snowy’s head immediately swiveled his way, and she let out an embarrassed, tired hoot in welcome, doing nothing to cover herself or hide what she had been doing. Those gorgeous yellow eyes of hers pleaded with him in ways he wasn’t sure even she understood, and yet she spread her legs further, showing him exactly where it hurt. 

The desperation she conveyed in that one look alone was enough to solidify his resolve. 

He returned her greeting with a soft yip as approached. He wished he could tell her that he understood her pain, that she wasn’t alone in this feeling of hers, and that he was here to help.

Snowy accepted his advances with another, even needier hoot, doing nothing to stop him as he approached her slowly pulsating sex and lowered his snout. Nostrils flaring, he immediately buried his nose against those warm, squishy folds and breathed deeply, growing dizzy as he inhaled her intoxicating scent. She squawked at the sudden contact, clearly very sensitive after her failed attempts to get off, but she didn’t squirm away, didn’t peck or bite. The trust she conveyed in simply letting him do this was impossible to overstate. It was a trust earned by caring for her in her time of need, hunting for her when she couldn’t do so herself; it was a trust built through closeness, from grooming to sleeping together, simply spending time with the young owl. 

She’d already stolen his heart and he hadn’t even realized it.

He’d scented her plenty of times before, but it was only to memorize her scent. Now he was going all out, sniffing and yipping in much the same way he would for a vixen, only a vixen would be equally as active, squirming away playfully as she returned the gesture with sniffs of her own, perhaps squirting her scent in the process. 

Snowy wasn’t like that. She remained still, cooing softly as he sniffed and smelled, her excited eyes following his every move as her vent quivered eagerly. His own arousal grew along with the owl’s, literally in this case. He could feel the heaviness between his legs, his penis swelling as it swayed back and forth along with his shuffling legs. He padded in place, digging into the dirt with his claws, kneading the ground as he shed a mountain of anxious energy. Instinct demanded he run and dart; chase and play! Tire himself and his vixen before eventually claiming his mate. 

Once again, she was no vixen; Snowy’s lack of boundless energy more than proved that.

Shimmer focused all his excess energy into eager sniffs. The owl’s scent was stronger than usual, interesting and exotic in ways that drove him dopey-eyed with lust. He couldn’t get enough of it, and it wasn’t long before Shimmer’s sniffs escalated into eager licks, treating her to a side of his tongue she’d never experienced before. This was no gentle grooming, but a full-on oral session, and Shimmer left nothing of her juicy bits un-licked.

Her hole flexed faster in response to the aggressive stimulation, tensing hard every few licks. He only just started wondering if she was close when she unleashed a loud, pleased cry, jerking herself into his snout as her fleshy opening exploded into rapid pulsations. She clamped down on his tongue as she cooed her pleasure, each squeeze accompanied by a volley of warm, gooey squirts across his tongue. 

At first, Shimmer wasn’t sure what was happening. Clearly that first internal spasm had splattered something warm and gooey across his tongue, but as the ejaculation continued, Shimmer reeled back, sputtering in surprise at the unexpected volume of gooey heat filling his mouth, dribbling down his muzzle. He didn’t have long to question why a female owl was ejaculating when the next squirt struck him between the eyes, startling him into swallowing the thick load before he could think to spit it out. It went down heavily, warm and slimy the entire way to his stomach. 

The familiar aftertaste of seed lingered on his tongue, a masculine flavor that defied explanation: that was, if Snowy was female.

Snowy seemed blissfully unaware anything was wrong. The very clearly not female owl was all too happy to keep humping the air as white streaks of hot, sticky seed arched toward the fox, fleshy vent madly winking away with every glistening white rope. Shimmer could do nothing but take the lines of heated pleasure with dignity; he just knew it would be a nightmare to groom this out of his fur. 

Barely ten squirts escaped the owl before the powerful ejaculations ceased entirely. But his vent remained active, squelching wetly with each urgent squeeze as more milky-white fluid dribbled from its rippling pink depths, bubbling lewdly as those orgasmic motions never ceased. It reminded him of his own orgasms, where he’d squirt a whole bunch at first, then stop for a while, still twitching. Then he’d start squirting all over again. Except, he usually remained tense for… a while, while Snowy was already starting to slump down and relax, the gooey evidence of his masculinity leaking from his trembling vent, pooling into a sticky mess across his tail feathers.

Shimmer leaned into that bubbling vent and samplied the owl’s powerful musk, curious despite himself. His nostrils flared as he sniffed, filling them with the unmistakable scent of a fertile male. It was strong, intoxicatingly so, and he had to wonder why Snowy never smelled like this before. He’d scented his vent not even a few minutes ago, and it was nowhere near this strong. Did owls smell feminine until they climaxed?

He’d expected such a scent to be a turnoff, that he’d be put off by the maleness in it, but he found himself hard as ever. If anything, his erection was stiffer now, twitching between his legs as he licked his snout clean of the owl’s uncontrolled pleasure, shivering as the thick salty flavor of seed greeted his taste buds. It honestly made him feel a little dizzy, so potent was its taste.

Snowy then surprised Shimmer with a nuzzle, hooting happily as he rubbed his beak along the fox’s cheek, either oblivious or uncaring about the gooey mess he left in his fur. Clearly Snowy didn’t think anything had changed between them. To Snowy, Shimmer had simply helped him feel better, just as the fox had helped after he broke his wing.

Shimmer considered this. He thought he was only into vixens, but having a male owl ejaculate in his face, and still remaining hard, had him questioning that assumption. Was this even okay? Were owls and foxes supposed to be like this, were male owls and male foxes supposed to be like this?

As Snowy continued to nuzzle him, rubbing that hard, shark beak against the side of his snout with a gentleness he’d never have expected of an owl, Shimmer realized he didn’t care. Snowy was his friend. His denmate. The owl wasn’t just an owl; he was his friend. His big, powerful friend, gentle and sweet, and more attractive than he ever expected an owl to be.

He’d already broken the species barrier; what did it matter if Snowy was male too?

Coming to terms with his feelings, Shimmer returned Snowy’s affection with yipping enthusiasm, licking and nuzzling Snowy’s beak to show that lovely owl just how fine with him he was. Snowy seemed put off at first, almost confused by how affectionate he was being, but he quickly embraced it, cooing softly as his vent continued to audibly ripple with slow, rhythmic squelches, a sexy noise Shimmer’s ears easily picked up on. Whether he was still cumming, or that was simple arousal, he didn’t know. He also didn’t know if Snowy even realized there had been an issue at all, let alone the difference between males and females, given his lack of dangly parts. How could you even tell a male and female owl apart? Shimmer didn’t know, and he knew he probably never would.

Shimmer pulled away from the affectionate owl and barked playfully. Having Snowy’s attention, Shimmer turned his right side toward Snowy and lifted a hind leg, revealing a red, swollen penis, fully free of its sheath twitching with need. Shimmer whined and humped the air, furthering his point by making his length bob between his legs. He wasn’t entirely sure what Snowy was willing to do, but he hoped the owl understood another’s need, so different from his own, but so very familiar.

Snowy clearly understood. Still sitting up, the owl lifted his own legs higher, presenting his dripping hole with talons outstretched and curled at the ends. His pink insides clenched, a rippling contraction that squeezed out a dollop of thick seed, oozing out to join his already messy tail feathers. He gazed into Shimmer’s eyes, the need in those large, yellow irises lessened after the first orgasm, but was still definitely present. He was ready for more, eager to experience the conclusion of their unusual tryst.

It had been so long since Shimmer mated a tight, warm hole, that the fox rushed forward with excited urge, knocking Snowy onto his back as he mounted the owl. His hips moved almost without conscious control, the fox whining as he jerked them forward to try and stick it in his friend’s warm, squishy orifice.

Snowy hooted in protest at first, off put by the suddenness of Shimmer’s enthusiasm, only to freeze when Shimmer managed to line up his tapered tip with that trembling opening. The heat alone nearly had him shove inside right then and there. He refrained, at least long enough to look into Snowy’s eyes, to be sure he was ready. The owl let out a soft, needy coo as he relaxed, submitting fully to the smaller fox weighing him down. 

Shimmer settled his paws on Snowy’s chest, licked his beak, then thrust into Snowy, letting out a howl of triumph as he sank into the owl’s warm and squishy tunnel. Those exotic depths greeted the horny fox by collapsing with another orgasm, clamping on him with rhythmic urgency, encouraging the fox into shoving himself deeper, thrusting harder. Bubbly seed squelched from their union as Snowy’s climax squirted out around his shaft. Shimer could feel each pulse of ejaculation, twin jets of high pressure goop that splattered his shaft on two fronts.

Encouraged by the owl’s pleasure, Shimmer buried himself to the sheath in his friend’s squishy bird hole, yipping in delight as it proved more active than any vixen’s spade, tightening with shuddering intensity, again and again and again as more warm, messy squirts dribbled out around their unusual union. But he was no virgin, and he knew when to pull out before slamming right back inside, stimulating Snowy’s walls with every exit and causing him to squeak with every plunge, Shimmer growling affectionately. 

Shimmer mated Snowy with deep, powerful thrusts, never ceasing even through Snowy’s messy squirting. Plap, plap, plaps echoed throughout his den, loud and telling. Anyone listening in would be able to tell what was happening, not that the fox cared. He had to knot his exotic friend, needed to spill his fertile seed as deep in the owl’s warm, clenching tunnel. The instinct to breed demanded nothing less.

He got his wish a few humps later when his knot inflated to its full size, stretching out Snowy’s hole as pleasure swelled to the surface, intense and tingly. He couldn’t contain it, didn’t want to contain it. Shimmer buried his snout into Snowy’s neck as his climax arrived, and he whined as he filled Snowy with the first of many glorious spurts.

The owl squawked loudly in surprise as he was stretched, and squealed even louder when the first of many hot squirts filled his rectum. Immediately, his insides clenched, relaxing just as quickly as twin splashes of slippery heat splattered Shimmer’s knot, again and again. 

Shimmer nuzzled his cooing friend, the one he was sharing such grand pleasures with. Snowy returned the affection by vigorously rubbing his beak against his cheek, cooing sweetly, settling his healthy wing on Shimmer’s back and bringing them even closer. 

He licked the side of the beautiful creature’s beak, to the owl’s cooing delight, and snuggled into his warm, soft feathers, intending to wait out the lengthy tie in the best way he could: in the loving embrace of his mate.