Someone, somewhere, was very lucky.

Ian didn’t know who. He didn’t even know if that someone knew about it. But the bear’s roommate certainly had his eye on somebody, and whoever that was, they had quite something to look forward to.

It wasn’t just the physical aspect – although, seeing the polecat dozing in bed, it was easy enough to think of times when Ian had seen rather more than his head and shoulders exposed. Too easy, in fact; it took an effort of will to bring his attention back to his schoolwork, back to the composition he was supposed to be writing. His eyes didn’t want to stay focused on the notes he was nudging around the staves; they wanted to turn behind him, to strain as though they could see right through the sheets, to drink in the sight of, well, however much of Judas wasn’t clothed under those covers. Maybe more.

But no. It wasn’t Judas’s mere appearance that made Ian envy that mysterious someone. It was the intensity of the slender youth’s need.

Need that brought a faint but intoxicating whiff to the bear’s nose. Need that would not be denied, would not even wait for time alone.

Ian should have stayed focused on his work, should have kept shuffling notes around, should have turned up the volume on his headphones and given the poor polecat what limited privacy he could. And yet… he couldn’t. He couldn’t help but still his own voice, couldn’t keep himself from twisting the knob not up, but down, couldn’t suppress the answering need that made his jeans tight. The music was just a whisper in his ear, now – maybe just an echo, a memory. What he strained to hear was not that, but the polecat’s breaths – soft, muted, but with just enough urgency to their rhythm to match the musk on the air.

Part of him wondered just who it was that had grabbed the mustelid’s attention so. Part of him, though, didn’t want to find out. If he knew the answer to that, Ian wouldn’t be able to imagine that it was him. Wouldn’t be able to hope that it might someday be his fingers that caressed Judas’s cock, his arm wrapped around that slight figure, his body the other youth might let himself arch against in his pleasure.

His tongue that the polecat’s semen might pulse across, rather than wetting the mustelid’s own fingers and leaving Ian with only the tease of a rich-scented breath.

God. Judas was smitten hard. Hard enough that he just couldn’t wait any longer for a chance to slake that need, to cool his ardour.

Whoever it was he wanted, Ian wished he could be in that someone’s place. Just for a night, even.

Ian bit his lip. His cock ached, pressing up against the tight denim, but if he reached down to adjust himself now, that’d be as good as admitting that he’d not been giving Judas his virtual privacy; that he had, in fact, been relishing in the other youth’s moments of stolen pleasure.

Some moments later, Judas stirred, pushing back the covers. He mumbled something about taking a shower, and Ian acknowledged it, clenching his teeth and forcing back a shudder.

Damn it, it wasn’t right that he be putting himself in someone else’s place, even only in his thoughts. Odds were that Judas wasn’t even into guys, after all, and was just crushing hard on some girl he’d met. God knew the polecat didn’t have much in the way of confidence, although why was beyond Ian’s power to guess. A marbled polecat’s striking pattern, a slender – maybe too slender – figure to show it to advantage… even without considering that Judas was bright, he’d be appealing to anyone with half an ounce of sense.

Certainly Ian couldn’t get the thought of Judas’s naked form out of his head. The thought of the spray from the shower slicking down that colourful fur, of his hands roaming about his body to work soap in, of the suds melting away and leaving his pelt smooth and shining…

Ian bit his lip, taking a few moments to get his cock settled a bit more comfortably. Judas wasn’t the only one crushing hard, and Ian wasn’t quite so lost as to not notice that. He just… wished, in a way, that he hadn’t already seen how keen Judas was on this unknown someone. Then he might have been able to work up the nerve to, oh, ask if the other youth wanted to have dinner sometime.

Wait, maybe not. Judas seemed to be struggling under the limits of his meal plan as it was; maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to remind him of that. Still…

Still, it was kind of a moot point now.

When Judas returned, slightly damp, smelling appealingly of wet fur and a bit less so of cheap, acrid shampoo, Ian called out a quick greeting and tried to refocus on his work, to put out of his head the scents of fur and musk, to dismiss the thoughts of how that body might feel under his hands if he were the one rubbing the suds in, to… damn it, it wasn’t working. The bear bit his lip.

Once the polecat seemed to have fallen asleep, Ian eased his chair back a little, risking a glance over his shoulder. Judas was lying still, facing the wall. Carefully, quietly, Ian stood and gathered up his toiletries. Every motion made his cock shift just a little bit against his jeans, a constant reminder of just how much he wanted the other youth, but he ignored it.

At least, he did until he’d stripped down and slid shut the partition on a shower stall.

The stalls weren’t exactly roomy; Ian had to squeeze right in against the wall to avoid being caught by the water when it came out cold. Maybe he shouldn’t have; maybe he should have kept the water on cold, at least for a bit.

But he didn’t.

He let the water run hot, soaking into his thick brown fur, coursing over bare, rigid flesh. This late at night, he had the washroom to himself, but he still swallowed the groan that tried to slip out of him as he caressed the underside of his cock. No telling when someone else might walk in for a late-night shower, and the running water could only mask so much.

He tore his hand away from his cock, grabbed the shampoo, and started to lather himself up. But even then, his mind strayed, imagining that it was another pair of hands that worked the suds into his pelt, that it was a lanky body under his own roaming hands. How that body might arch and twist under his touch. How it might press forward, the gasp that might accompany it, as his fingers curled around rigid flesh.

Ian gave up on scrubbing, turned around, and leaned back against the wall, panting hard, fingers sliding along his cock, his other hand just splayed against the tile. He closed his eyes and let the water slide over him unheeded, picturing that lithe form pressed up against him, arms and legs wrapping around, that slim but toned ass under his fingers. That snug heat wrapping around his cock, answering heat sliding against his stomach.

Orgasm raced over and through him, his hips surging forward, thrusting his bucking cock into his fist. He bit back a cry of pleasure, turning it into a soft grunt, and he stared down at the head of his cock – all that poked out past his fingers – as thick white streamers pulsed out of it, splattering inaudibly on the tile floor to be carried away by the water.

Porn star he wasn’t. But by his standards, that one would’ve been messy if he’d done it back in his and Judas’s room. The polecat would’ve needed to be literally unconscious to not notice the smell from that, even if the creak Ian’s bed would’ve made on that last thrust hadn’t woken him up.

Sighing, Ian got back to washing up. It just wasn’t fair. He wanted to take that quiet youth and give him some good times. To ease whatever those cares were that had Judas so subdued. To make him happy. Sure, he wanted to enjoy himself along the way, but what was wrong with that? He knew there’d be times when everything wasn’t nearly so fun, and he still wanted a chance.

But to even say a word about it would be an insult to Judas’s current attachment, in whatever form that might be. It would be like hitting on someone with a wedding band.

The bear finished rinsing off, shut off the taps, and sighed.

Somewhere out there, some lucky someone had no idea just how good they had it.