[center][b]Slippy’s Problem[/b][/center]

[center]By Kaydrien Iceclaw[/center]





Slippy Toad had a problem. More accurately, he had a few problems stacking on top of each other. 

The main one just now was that there wasn’t a whole lot of privacy on board the Great Fox. Not guaranteed privacy. It was a big ship, but most of it was working space and machinery compartments. Slippy had his room entirely to himself, and that was about it. For most purposes that was enough.

But not tonight. 

Tonight Slippy slipped out of his room furtively, peering up and then down the hall with large froggy eyes. Finding no one- and why should he, on this side of midnight- he hurried down toward the ship’s communal bathroom.

The toad was dressed only in white briefs and undershirt, his usual sleeping garments. His webbed feet slapped against the smooth floors, a sound he tried to mitigate as best he could. Under his arm he carried a small member of the body pillow clan which flopped behind him.

When he reached his destination he once more led with his eyes, cracking the door a fraction to search for any of his teammates. Finding none and hearing no sounds beyond his own breathing and the hum of the engine, he slid through the gap.

Breathing a sigh of relief Slippy made his way over to the showers. That would be the best place for a little alone time right now. He carefully set the pillow on the clean tile of the floor. A moment later his underwear were set off to the side, neatly folded. 

Everything ready, he kneeled down, shuffled his body over the body pillow so that it was between his knees, and rested his weight on it. It was well-stuffed, a firm presence between his legs with his weight pressing his crotch down into the slight padded give. 

That crotch didn’t have anything much to distinguish it, at least in the front. As an amphibian Slippy didn’t have any sort of external hardware. Just a tidy little cloaca where his legs forked, a nondescript hole where a male mammal’s taint would be. 

Right now that cloaca was planted hard against the base of his body pillow with the weight of his body settled on it. He paused like that, dwelling on the feel. Gave it a moment. 

Then the frog shifted his hips. Forward, ever so slightly. Enough to change the pressure against his nether regions, pull the skin of his cloaca across the smooth fabric- super smooth; when one’s skin is naturally moist you need fine weave to keep the friction from getting uncomfortable- with his whole weight behind it, a press against his hole. He hummed in satisfied response then stifled the sound absentmindedly while he went for another grind on the pillow.

Slippy continued like that for a while, humping horizontally against the pillow his weight bore down into. In his mind he started to shape a picture to go along with the sensation. Carefully, as if he might lose it or break it if he thought too hard.

Gently his imagination added warmth to the presence between his legs. Then texture. A stiff quality. Stiff over softness, with a soft fringe to the individual bits of stiffness. 

…Feathery.

Imagination lost coherence even as it added detail. Sharp eyes fringed in red, a certain confident way of moving.

Darn it. 

Slippy lost his grip on the mental image. Tossed it like a live capacitor, as if he was afraid it might bite him. Or… say something smooth and snarky. That would send his mind spiraling, break his focus trying to fill in the words without ever coming up with something quite right and fueling self-consciousness into an inferno and, in short, ruin the mood.

Too much, too soon… and also not [i]enough.[/i]

He lay forward on his pillow. Letting gravity do most of the work brought his face down into a puff of compressing stuffing. The frog gripped the pillow to his chest with webbed fingers and began to grind his front to it, pressing in more than a back and forth. 

Froggy style, in other words.

With a soft drawn out ribbit in the deep of his throat he started again, slowly this time. Envisioning just a little more texture to the presence under him. How would h- how would that feel? A little scratchy at the edge of the plumes. Maybe soft down under that, between the flight feathers where his fingers dug in.

Add a little color. Blue, sky blue, no- not that sky, not Corneria. Darker, a little more vibrant… The horizon on Aquas on a good day at just the right time. Yeah. And a splash of red right under Slippy’s chin. He felt the bandanna would stay on. The yellow beak, underside tracing over the top of the frog’s head, tip scratching, a leering grin, the red-fringed eye’s looking down- no, still a little too much, he shied away from the face.

Not facing him, try the opposite way. Slippy slid his arms forward and around, pulling his now face-down lover into his chest, playing with the front of the bandana with his fingers in his mind. Feel the tailfeathers folded up against his front. The lines of those smooth rachis denting the damp froggy stomach chub. 

His crotch would be planted against the feathery blue booty in that case of course. More downy fluff coating taut buns, mmm. Slippy humped a little harder, added a little more motion to the steady pressure his amphibian genes required and delicious friction along his front. 

The tingling heat building between his legs sparked and caught and became a pulse as his hips seized. His cloaca squeezed and let loose first a dribble of thin froggy cum and then a spray, gushing over his inner thighs and cascading over the tight weave of the body pillow.

“Falco-“ Slippy moaned the name he had been shyly avoiding even in his own head, the vocalization turning into a throaty croak he lewdly tried to swallow. Tongue extending to lick the imaginary feathers at the back of the neck his orgasm turned into more of a thin pulsing stream between his legs. “Falco, you’re so hot…”

“Uhh, Slippy?”

It was a long, long several heartbeats before Slippy realized those three syllables came into his skull through his ear holes instead of originating from his fevered libido. The realization melded with the imminent postnut clarity still hanging unformed in the air, then hit him between the eyes like a hovertruck. 

Slippy’s reflexes tried to jump him away from the sudden danger (i.e. dying of embarrassment) but only succeeded in slamming him sideways into the wall opposite the shower room door. Stunned he blinked up at the very real bird looking back at him, leaning casually against the doorway.

“Soooo… you’ve got the hots for me, huh?”

Falco watched on in amusement as the terminally flustered amphibian scrambled his way upright, wide mouth opening and shutting silently several times before emitting a drawn out squeak. Unable to meet the bird’s eyes his gaze dropped downward, then instantly skittered away off to the side. Falco was nearly naked with only a tight jockstrap hugging the flatness between his legs. 

The whine acquired consonants, stuttered into indistinct sounds and then into barely-words peppered with nervous ribbiting. “-skjfaononosorryFalcoomgI’msorry-“

“Can’t say I blame ya,” Falco calmly cut through the rambling, hyperventilating, word salad apology. “But you’re delusional if you think you’d top.”

Slippy’s eyes very nearly bugged out of his skull. Falco’s smirk widened. 

The bird sauntered into the shower room to approach his teammate, eyeing the naked amphibian up and down, making a pointed stop at Slippy’s hands where they were clamped pointlessly over the frogs’ crotch.

“…You know you don’t got anything to hide there, right?” Falco said laconically. He tugged Slippy away from the wall by the shoulder, maneuvering himself behind the tubby technician. “Not a bad view back here though.”

A hearty slap of the frog’s buns extracted another ribbit from the increasingly befuddled Slippy. “Falco-?”

“I haven’t had time to rub one out for a while, so It’s your lucky day.” Sliding a pair of feathery fingers sidewise into Slippy’s mouth before the frog could speak further he added. “Zip it and let me work, k?”

Slippy felt like someone had opened up his skull and poured fizzing candy into his brain. Reeling and unable to believe this was really happening, he obligingly closed his mouth around the assertively offered digits, toothlessly sucking on his long-secret crush’s fingers. The much-taller bird crouched behind him, knees spreading out to the sides of his wider body.

Now Falco pressed to his back, not unlike Slippy had imagined clinging to his a moment ago. Sliding his other hand under Slippy’s arm and down between his legs he groped at the moist skin of Slippy’s crotch and down, hooking his fingers to prod at cummy cloaca.

Rather than press inward into that hole Falco tapped around the outside, exploring around the edges with his feathery fingertips while his other hand began to shamelessly fingerfuck Slippy’s mouth. He pulled his teammate into him to feel the shiver passing through the frog’s body. 

Without warning he plunged into the hole he had been teasing, shoving his index finger mercilessly all the way in and wriggling it around. Something of the motion was mirrored above, muffling the needy amphibian moan it triggered. Then, abruptly, Slippy was unoccupied at both ends.

“That’s enough of a warm-up.” 

No sooner had the declaration been made than Slippy found himself being lowered roughly to the floor and turned onto his side on the cold tile. Dazed and needy he gazed back up at Falco, watching the other man slide off his jockstrap. As with himself there was nothing beneath that underwear to bulge it out; between Falco’s legs was a neat vertical vent. Compared to Slippy’s cloaca this slit was further forward, actually more or less located at the bird’s crotch. The positioning offered a wonderful view of the glistening pink flesh peeking out between blue feathers.

He was not allowed to ogle for long. Falco dropped down onto his knees, straddling Slippy’s leg- the one on the floor- while he lifted the other, sliding forward  to collide with the other male at the hips. He had chosen the perfect angle and position to slam their lower holes into one another for a wet satisfying impact. 

Falco worked his hips vigorously, slapping Slippy’s cloaca with his own in a rapid rhythm. The hole-on-hole hits stung slightly at first but before long that hint of discomfort melded into the overall stimulation and had Slippy croaking low and pleasured in time to the rough hump he was receiving.

The bird’s satisfaction with the act manifested as a cool smirk across his beak. Watching a partner melt from his fucking suited his temperament to a T.

Their rough fuck became increasingly sticky as the two had begun to leak, their pre mixing with one another at their point of contact. Now and again their holes met just right for those slick emissions to form a seal skin-to-skin, vent and pucker sucking on one another for the brief instant of Falco’s backstroke, a tug that reached deep inside each of them.

With his lust building the bird’s movements began to shorten, becoming less and less of a repeated sharp slap and more of a grind. Not that he put any less effort into it- the wet cloacae kissed with almost bruising force, their sensitive flesh absorbing every shove.

Slippy couldn’t tell which of their holes was clenching and twitching more in that unrelenting mash together until Falco erupted. Cum spurting into him, and you better believe he was totally aware of [i]whose[/i] cum. He wasn’t imagining any of it this time.

“F-falco!” Slippy ribbited as bliss exploded in his midsection. He gushed his own orgasm into the mix, a backflow of their semen up into the ace pilot’s vent before Falco’s next spurt equalized the pressure. The seal broke. Cum spattered onto their inner thighs soaking into feathers and sliding off slick skin.

Slippy’s orgasm lasted long enough that he was still shivering, tingling, and oozing semen when Falco pulled away.

“Fuck…” Commented Falco, surveying the gooey disaster area between their legs. “What a mess… Guess that’s why you were here and not in your room.”

Panting and out of it from the events of the last several minutes, Slippy responded only slowly. “Mmmnngg… Yeah… Carpet.”

“Wondered if you were trying to get caught.”

“N-no.” Slippy’s cheeks heated. “Falco, I-“

“Don’t get all mushy on me now, I don’t do feelings on less than three shots of tequila.” 

Silence for a moment, while Falco tried to scrape the cum off his thigh.

“I was going to say I don’t think we can be a… a couple.“

The bird stopped, blinked, and looked over at his teammate. “I… Was kinda worried you were going to say the opposite of that.”

“You’re so cool and attractive and sexy-“ Slippy swallowed down a nervous ribbit at having to verbally admit as much. “-a-and I’ve wanted you a long time but we don’t- we aren’t-“

“We’re so fucking [i]not[/i] compatible like that.” Falco agreed.

They shared a sigh of relief, tension draining out of both of them now that they knew they were on the same page.

“Sooo…” Falco added. “As long as we're clear on that, though: Fuckbuddies?”

Slippy winced a little at the crudeness of the term, but smiled. “I’d love that.”

“Cool.” He put on his cocky smile again and pointed at the soaked, mussed feathers of his inner legs. “In that case, I think you’re one orgasm up on me. Get your mouth over here and fix that.”

The frog practically dove between Falco’s legs, eagerly nuzzling at his friend’s vent before he extended his tongue and dug in.

Falco moaned throatily as the amphibian tongue wormed its way into him. And in. And then in some more. “Fuuuuuck I knew you’d be good at that, froggy. Don’t stop until you’re out of tongue or we’re making out from the wrong side.”

Slippy had no problem with that. No problem at all.





[center]The End[/center]