Summer was in full swing, and the locals were happy for it. Children laughed and played in the fields, fresh fruits were in baskets all over town, and everyone was happy to see some sun.

It was past midday when Allan asked, “Have you seen Tabar lately?”

Raskin winced. Of all their companions who called the Northlands home, Tabar was the only one who’d insisted on coming with them on this journey to visit Allan’s kin. It had seemed like a pleasant enough decision in the cool spring, and they’d both been glad for his company – especially Allan; there was no hiding that the two had become quite enviously close. Not that they’d excluded Raskin in any way – in fact, they’d been far more welcoming than Raskin would have expected from any of the ground-bound races; Tabar was even less private about the particulars than Raskin was accustomed to, and that said even more compared to the almost-prudish decorum he’d come to expect. But there was no concealing that they were a pair, and Raskin, while a good and welcome friend of each, and, yes, a lover, was not quite a part of that bond.

But the plush fur that shielded the snow cat from winter storms hadn’t been quite so welcome as they’d come to warmer climes, and that had still been during a relatively cool spring. Now, with the breath of summer upon them…

“I’ll find him,” the drake promised, and slipped away from the gathering.

His search didn’t take long; the cat was sprawled in the shade of a towering elm. Only from a considerable distance did he look relaxed. As soon as Raskin was close enough to note the rise and fall of Tabar’s chest, it was obvious that things weren’t entirely well; the cat was panting hard.

“To tell the truth,” Raskin said as he crouched by Tabar’s shoulder, “I thought our journey would be shorter, or I might have warned about this. Allan’s kin were farther south than he’d let on.” He gave a light squeeze to that shoulder. “You look a right mess, Tabar. I’m sorry.”

The cat offered a wan smile, eyes cracking open. “I suppose I should have known,” he managed, “when you called the weather ‘cool’ some weeks back.”

“I’ve enjoyed warmer,” Raskin confessed. “But for one such as yourself…” He shook his head. “I don’t think the mere shade is enough for you, is it? Even in summer, there are cooler places to be found…”

“Cellars are musty places,” Tabar sighed.

Well, that was one option removed, then. Cool stone had been the easiest thing Raskin could think of for a ward against the heat. Which, short of magic that was beyond Raskin’s command, left… what? The stream, perhaps? “How much do you mind being wet?”

“It’s been the death of many,” was the cat’s response.

True; being wet out in the open in the Northlands – especially in the White Drift – was a death sentence even for the locals. Still… “But you’ve been through a few rain showers farther south,” the drake pressed.

Tabar brightened slightly. “Those were rather pleasant…”

Inspiration dawned. “There’s a place not too far from here, where the stream meets the woods and spills over a little ridge. The trees give some shelter from the sun, there’s bare stone without being shut in, and both the spray and the running water should help greatly…”

“So long as it’s indeed not far,” the cat replied. But if the smile on his muzzle was somewhat wan, it was a smile nonetheless.

That Tabar walked in silence was not new; he always had been a man of few words if action would do. It was no surprise at all that he moved now with a little less than his usual energy. Still, he moved easily enough; only one who’d known him for some time would notice that his breaths were laboured compared to his usual. Raskin had known him for long enough that he did notice, and it troubled him; but short of running to fetch Allan for some magical assistance, moving to a cooler location was about all they could do.

It was at least somewhat better when they reached the stream; along its banks, the tumbling water helped to keep the air cool. Tabar was still drooping by the time they reached the ridge, but no more than he had been when they’d started out.

Then, though, they looked down from the ridge at the end of their little journey.

“It’s… pretty enough, I suppose,” Tabar offered.

Raskin couldn’t help but laugh. “I didn’t bring you here to look at it,” he observed. “Come on.” He started picking his way down the tumbled rock face of the ridge.

The mist from the falling water was pleasantly cool on his scales, but it also left the rocks wet, and in some cases, mossy. Keeping his balance took some concentration. He got to the bottom without incident, though, and turned to look behind.

Tabar, sure-footed as ever, was little more than a step behind him. “It’s somewhat cooler, true,” he granted with a slight smile. “Still…”

It wasn’t hard to tell where his gaze was lingering. “This isn’t the Drift, Tabar,” Raskin laughed. “It’s quite safe. It might be a bit of a shock against this heat, but after that, all’s well. See.”

One glance around confirmed that they had the place to themselves. Raskin took a few more steps down to the edge of the pool that had been scoured out by the swirling water and slid out of his sandals. As he’d said, the cool water was a sudden chill around his feet, but one that ebbed quickly enough; a welcome treat on such a warm day. He unfastened the brooch that held his sarong in place, slipped the whole thing off, and set it under his sandals; and with that, he waded out into the pool.

It wasn’t a very deep pool – up to mid-thigh on him at the deepest. But that was enough that the water swirling around him, along with the greater spray from the waterfall, was a blessed delight.

He kept advancing until he was up against the rock. Water cascaded over him from head to tail-tip, sluicing over half-spread wings. In an instant, the day’s excess heat was gone; in the space of a few breaths, it was easy to forget that he ever had been overheated.

He let out a sigh, silent under the rumble of the falls. He’d needed this more than he’d realized.

A hand on his shoulder let him know that Tabar had followed his example. Moments later, that hand’s counterpart slipping around Raskin’s hip told him that the cat was much invigorated.

“It’s been a while since you had the energy for that, hasn’t it?” he laughed over his shoulder.

“The energy, yes.” Tabar’s snout pushed in against the side of his neck, teeth grazing fine scales. “The desire is long-standing.”

Though he of course hadn’t been nearly as melted by the heat, Raskin could certainly understand those pent-up urges; opportunity to indulge them had been scant. Perhaps that was part of why, when Tabar turned him around, the cat’s fingers on his slit were able to coax his hidden shaft to life in spite of the cool water washing over him. Perhaps he’d just forgotten how well his own kind could resist cold, so long as it wasn’t the bone-deep chill of the Northlands. Either way, Tabar’s insistent strokes brought a rush of heat to Raskin’s manhood, scales parting to let azure flesh slip into the open.

Before he could ask what the snow-cat had in mind, Tabar was kneeling in front of him, right there under the waterfall as it poured over them both. Even wet down, the cat’s thick pelt softened his contours, but there was an appealing play of muscle in his shoulders that was normally obscured; Raskin shivered, not from cold but from anticipation, his tongue darting forth.

He was barely even half hard by the time Tabar’s muzzle engulfed his emerging length, replacing the cool caress of the water with warm, soft heat in one motion; and he didn’t even let Raskin’s initial gasp fade before he set to work, raspy tongue teasing over the drake’s sensitive flesh. Not once further did he let the cascade meet that flesh; his muzzle stayed right against Raskin’s hip, tongue busily cradling and stroking his shaft, one hand on the drake’s thigh, the other slipping back, nudging under his tail.

That rough tongue was intense such as he’d hardly ever felt, relentless in teasing his most sensitive flesh. Combined with the pressure in back, it was an almost embarrassingly short time later that Raskin arched forward, wings straining against the wet, unyielding rock, fingers clutching at Tabar’s head as he pumped a fortnight’s worth of pent-up lust down the cat’s eager throat.

A taste of it still lingered in his muzzle when Tabar rose to kiss him, one arm sliding around to pull him in close.

“I wonder,” Tabar murmured over his cheek, “will this last long enough to fetch some oil from my pack?”

His hand splayed over the drake’s rear made fairly plain what he had in mind; and Raskin grinned a toothy grin. “I’m game to try if you are. And if need be, there’s always more water where this came from.”