Reclining precariously in his low slung camp chair, the two back legs digging into the denuded soil, Sorin looked out across the clearing and over the trees around his remote cabin, deep in the wooded foot hills of the brisk, Appalachian mountains.  At his paws, his young lover, Bryant, laying face up on the ground by the fire pit, masturbated freely, his huffing pants releasing clouds of steam into the chill, late evening air.  
	The trees were myriad, but invisible; in the dark, packed close together, they appeared an amorphous black mass, the tops irregular shapes that rustled gloomily in the wind.  The firelight did not reach them, and barely illuminated the back porch of the cabin.  A cold, bitter wind, redolent of cedar and pine, gusted over their little hideaway from the world.  A world that didn't, and didn't want to understand them.  Sorin sighed, melancholic, the sound overwritten by the chance contrivance of Bryant's exuberant, youthful orgasm, and the sound of feral wolves howling at the rising moon in the near distance.  
	Sorin leaned forward in his chair, to pet through Bryant's moistened fur, and looked out at the sky as he churred happily.  It was studded with stars, like milk with traces of strawberry syrup and honey splattered across its zenith, and speckled with clouds that obscured the sliver of the rising quarter moon.  In the crowed, dank city where he had grown up, the runt of a poor wolf who had been himself been the runt of a poor wolf, life had not been great, and the few twinkling stars that peaked through the light pollution and smog in the deepest parts of the night fascinated him.  
	Looking away from the captivating vista above to Bryant's cherubic face, he lost himself in his lovers blissful, post climactic expression, the black markings of a happy, chubby raccoon splashed with a few drops of immature ejaculate.  It made his heart flutter with love, memories of many a night of wild passion.  Silently, tainted by bitterness, he wondered how long it would last.  
	The chair creaked ominously under Sorin, scooting closer to the fire.  It was strong, but guttered miserably, blown by the wind whipping through the clearing, and clawing at his clothes and winter fur.  He wagged his tail and zipped his open sweater up, sitting forward and closer to the warmth to ward off the chill.  
	As Sorin shivered, a small hand on his knee caught his attention, and he looked. Bryant stood next to him, barely up to his shoulders while sitting down, the cooling runnel of semen drying into his fur, a bead of clear fluid clinging to the tip of his flaccid, uncut penis.  
	Bryant wedged himself onto Sorin's lap, and pressed his muzzle to Sorin's, tongue pressing inward.  The melancholy melted away, as did the cold, heart racing and cheeks flushing, noticeable even in the dark.
	This was the reason he so loved him; the touch of a woman did nothing, and men were lacking.  Nothing and no one had ever made Sorin feel so alive as Bryant did, with just the smallest of gestures.  
	For a moment, the decaying cabin and the bleak world from which he had escaped with Bryant was more distant than the searing sun and lush trees of the tropics, but Sorin felt as vibrant and hot as if he were there.  Tongue twined with Bryant's, his young, soft, pudgy body pressed against his firm, trim, aging one, their tails wrapped around each other lovingly.  He responded with a fierceness that would've seemed alien to any other that knew him.
	Sorin's cock rose uncomfortably, trapped in his jean, underneath Bryant, who murred softly into his ear and gyrated his naked hips over the rising bulge through the rough fabric.  Against his stomach, he could feel his lovers penis, risen back to attention, the only hard thing about him, pressed to his belly and leaving a thin trail of his earlier emission glistening in the flickering fire light on his sweater.  With each rock against him, his foreskin rolled, pulling back as his pert, tight scrotum as it dragged along the denim, revealing the soft, swollen pinkness of his glans, clear fluid beading at the tip.
	Silently, Bryant snaked a tiny hand between them to tug at Sorin's zipper, and he sighed with relief as the tightness vanished, it guided by his lover's hand out of his underwear.  For a moment, they rocked their hips together, penises rubbing against each other.  His small, firm length pressed insistently against his larger, thicker one.  
	Sorin stopped Bryant's rocking with a hand to his hip, and stilling his own; but he could feel his young lovers penis's enthusiastic twitching.  His hands pushed at him, separating from their kiss to complain, but he pressed more firmly into his muzzle, and he melted back into him.
	Not a light boy, it took Sorin some effort to pull Bryant's hips far enough forward to slip his cock underneath him, to slide along the crack of his ass.  Realizing what he was doing, his lover helped.  Now, with the tip of his dick pressed against his tail hole, he could feel it flexing excitedly, as did his cocklet, pressed into his shirt.  He removed that barrier, letting him rest his cock on bare fur, pre-cum dribbling onto his stomach.  Gladly, he weathered the chill air, which had stilled, all of its activity stolen and bound in the latency of their intimate embrace
	For a time, they rested, enjoying the closeness, tongues still wrestling and exploring the others muzzle, though they knew the others almost as well as their own.  The tension mounted, and Bryant impatiently began to work himself back and forth, trying to push himself down on Sorin.  
	It was tough, his hole so tight, every push making Bryant grunt and his prick bounce and throb, pushing into his belly like a hot iron bar, their passionate kissing broken at last so he could moan into his ear.  Every grunt as Sorin's rod sank deeper, and deeper, and deeper into him went up half an octave, becoming more drawn out until it was a long moan that challenged the wolves as he came to a rest, round buttocks flush against his lap.  
	Feeling a small wetness against his stomach, Sorin pushed Bryant back by the shoulders, to see his little stiffy, pearly beads of immature semen rolling down it's length, and into his fur.  The way his whole scrotum pulled itself up into him between each drop was cute, and he fingered his fuzzy pouch until he had finished.
	A sigh of contentment, a happy smile, graced Bryant's face, and he began to work himself up and down, going from still to energetically fucking himself on Sorin's pole in a near instant, erection bouncing erratically, hypnotically in front of him.  Oh how he wanted to lean in and suckle on it, take it into his muzzle and taste his sweet seed, but it was to far away, and he was not as flexible as he once was.  He leaned back into his camp chair, keeping a hand on him and enjoying the way that his anus clenched on him, tugging at his skin.  
	Sorin steadied Bryant, and put his forefinger and thumb around the small, twitching length, and rolled his foreskin forward and back over his swollen pink glans, letting his momentum do most of the work.  
	Together, they worked towards a mutual climax, tiny cocklet in Sorin's hand pulsing, spilling another couple drops of thin cum over his fingers, and he spurted deep, filling Bryant with his sticky gift.  
	Bryant howled in orgasmic bliss, the sound of his pleasure overwhelming Sorin's grunts, echoing back from the trees, inciting the wolves to renew their calls to the moon.