The den that he'd painstakingly carved from the earth had been one hell of an undertaking, but it felt more like home than anything he could remember. Returning to a warm earthen abode when his hunts were over, curling up alongside his partner. The man he'd chosen to love. A man he ought to marry soon, before the sun finally set on his arduous lifespan. These were thoughts he rolled back and forth from one end of his mind to another throughout his days, but they were thoughts that often found themselves front and centre whenever he did return home. And there it was again, that word. Home. Was this home? It was still such a close tie to his years of indentured servitude, an offshoot of captivity at best. Yet.. perhaps he could make peace with that, for Mojito. The two had curled up together in bed many hours prior, as the moon was making its ascent into the inky sky. Throughout the night they'd rolled and shuffled until they were only loosely tied, a haphazard entanglement of slender limbs reaching across a short expanse of furs so that paws might caress ribs, that an errant sigh could tousle the fur of a cheek. Peaceful, content. The best sleep Nao had gotten in years, truth be told. Mornings were something he had always embraced with quiet solemnity, but now his mornings were bright, welcoming. He awoke to the sight of his beloved, with the silky strands of his cheek fur rumpled with sleep, and a bleariness in his eyes that took a few moments to clear. And then he would sometimes make the man tea. A warm drink to start the day. All too important in the winter, whose mornings were decidedly brisk despite the closeness of the warm Eastern sea. It was as the moon made its gradual descent from the apex of its climb that the dark furred man felt a subtle tickle against his belly. It took several moments for the sensation to pull him from slumber, a persistent wriggling against his stomach. A husky, sleep-addled groan escaped him. "Mo," he mumbled, the thought interrupted by a yawn that split his maw and stole his train of thought for a moment. "you need not wake me beforehand if you wanted to f-" the wraith's gaze landed upon tresses of pale fur, the points of short horns. Those endearing ears that were, quite notably, facing away from him. All of Mojito was, indeed, sound asleep with his back facing Nao. Which begged the question... It was a shrill, demanding squeak that finally drew his attention to the wriggling masses nestled between the two males. In the dark, they might have been a half dozen angry rats, determined to chew a thousand holes in their supplicant, unconscious flesh. But the unmistakable, soft scent of milk and newness and puppies flooded his nostrils right away. In another world, there might have been a lamp to hurriedly flick to life to reveal the little beasts that had appeared in his bed. Instead, he had to rely on the meagre trickling of moonlight that came through the entry to the den at this hour. Six little bodies, rolling and pushing and wiggling their way across the furs of his bed so that they might find comfort against his breast. "Mojito?" he used his beloved's full name this time. This situation seemed to warrant it. He cleared his throat, panic was beginning to tighten the muscles around his larynx. "Mojito?!" this time he knew he was quite loud, the way his own voice rang in his ears and the rotund little bodies between them jumped and began to whimper all at once. "Mojito, how did these get in our bed?!" at some point, Nao had gotten part of the way up, resting some of his weight against his elbow, and straightening his other foreleg as though he were going to push himself away from the incredibly slow progress of the little army of puppies. ""

Once upon a time Mojito Klein had been a young man, barely even two years old and he spent a single night of passion with the only woman he would ever love, y'know, romantically. Weeks later he discovered she was pregnant and Mojito Klein barely even two years old assured himself they were not his, his lover had slept with another man around when they'd shared their night together and she did not know who the father was. So Mojito Klein barely even two years old told himself it wasn't him. The reason for this was less callous than this simple description might lead you to believe dear reader, for you see Mojito Klein barely even two years old had grown up knowing he was different. Wrong. And though his heart broke for the pain of knowing his rival in love would win Mojito Klein barely even two years old had to tell himself he had not given his lover children for he could not bear to bring that pain of being different and wrong onto new life. Mojito Klein barely even two years old had been only half right, and half wrong. And though he would go on to make a great deal many mistakes he loved his daughter with all his heart. Still he told himself it could not happen again.

Mojito shifted in his den, finding himself rather rudely dragged from sleep by Nao. He groaned and rubbed at his face with his wrists, not wanting to let even his lover's voice draw him from rest. But there was no denying the urgency in Nao's tone. Something his still half asleep mind wasn't really registering on a conscious level, but somewhere deeper and more instinctual. Amazing what a brain could do when it loved someone huh? "Nao..." He said his lover's name, about the only words he could manage for a second as his language processes woke up. "What do you wan-" Mojito would never finish that question because as he was speaking it aloud, very proud of his language processor for getting there eventually, he had started to roll back towards Nao.

And he'd nearly rolled onto something. Something that felt distinctly fleshy, something that squirmed under him, something that gave an indignant squeak as he started to roll over it.

Bam! Awake!

Mojito quickly rolled himself back the way he came, off of the soft squirming squeaking thing and onto his paws. He'd never become alert so fast. Because Mojito knew that sound, knew the feeling of soft flesh not yet worn from time. Puppies.

Which was impossible.

And not in an "I faced nothing but scorns and rejection from my family for being born as a half-wolf half-dog and the idea of inflicting that pain on another child makes me terrified so I'm forcing myself to not even hope these children are mine" kinda way. But in an "unless a brand new mother snuck her children into the den while we slept and left her puppies for us to find it should be physically impossible for there to be puppies here we are both men who cannot get pregnant" kinda way.

And unfortunately for the both of them even if that unlikely story about a new mother were true, and Mojito very much doubted it. The puppies were here now and Mojito would die before he neglected a single one of them. They needed a source of milk and soon, by his best estimate these children weren't even an hour old yet, food was paramount! They needed warmth and sleep too but the milk was the most pressing issue.

He was also doing his very best not to focus on the tiny glimpses of them he could see in the moonlight. None of them had splotches on them that looked like Nao's. None of them had little mounds of fur on their heads that meant the buds of horns to grow in as they aged. None of them were a mixture of Nao's features and his own. Because that was impossible.

Unfortunately this slurry of thoughts would likely do little to offer reassurance to Nao as it left Mojito locked in place, his expression that of a deer having just spotted it's death bearing down on it and not a word dropping from his mouth.

Once upon a time Mojito Klein, now much older and world weary, finally let himself experience love again and fell in love with a slave man. Many things happened some important some not but in the end Mojito Klein now much older finally settled down with the only man he'd ever love, y'know romantically, and let himself feel comfortable in that. Safe in the knowledge that this time there could be no accidental puppies. It was impossible. But this time Mojito Klein now much older was fully wrong. It had happened again. And it was impossible.

"Speech!"

TABLE & CODE © REX 2020

Ah, Mojito was up. He was conscious, and there were those brilliant baby blues pointed in his direction. Then pointed down, then back up at him, and then back down, rinse and repeat. Neither of them spoke, because both of them were still wrapped up in the impossibility of what they were seeing. The little pudgy balls of fluff, to their credit, did not care. A gummy little mouth latched onto Nao's functionally useless nipple through the thin fur of his belly, and he yelped instinctively. With a stiff, shaking foreleg he tried to dislodge the little beast. "Hey, hey- stop that!" he hissed at the deaf, blind bundle of mottled fluff. "Mojito, my love, I am begging you to explain this." the dark furred male was struggling to keep his tone level, quiet. There was no use in yelling, and he had certainly endured worse than a hungry infant failing to nurse on him. It was surprisingly difficult to dislodge the pale lump from his belly, partly because the beast's pale paws were flailing awkwardly in a feeble retaliation. "One, two, three..." he trailed off as he counted the shadowed shapes that floundered within the plush furs where the pair had been peacefully sleeping a few minutes ago. "Seven." he finally said quietly, brows furrowed in a thoughtful frown. That was... a lot. ""