Smokey/Seymour

	It had started so innocently. How had it come to this? Seymour wondered as Smokey nibbled at his third and fourth nipples. He certainly hadn’t really intended to go home from the bar with the bear, much less tumble into his bed.
	Seymour had been at the bar not far from the field office after work, simply sitting alone at the bar, nursing a PBR in his hooves when the wildfire crew rolled in like the flames that had so recently been sweeping across the sagebrush. They had obviously just come back from their burn clad in their Nomex fire-resistant gear. The air had filled with the smell of smoke wafting off their ruggedly handsome and ash-smeared features.
	Of course Smokey was with them, his shaggy fur somehow still gleaming masculinely under a layer of grime and soot. The curve of his snout was somehow wild but gentle under the broad brim of his hat. Seymour had been watching him for weeks, every time they were in the office. Smokey had developed a habit of holding eye contact just a little longer than the rest of the fire crew and of sometimes touching Seymour’s shoulder while they talked. Every time a little shiver of excitement ran from the point of contact down Seymour’s spine and settled in his loins like a brainfreeze but warmer and less painful.
	And then he was there in the bar. Seymour had watched him order while he brought his beer up to sip it, his herbivore eye placement letting him do so without turning his head and giving himself away. As Smokey had waited for his drink, he glanced at Seymour and a smile played across his muzzle like an ember when you blow on it. The grin of carnivore teeth had been unsettling to Seymour as he felt a wave of instinctual fear and flickering desire. He had looked away reflexively and nervously smoothing a tuft of pelt on his chest.
	And yet moments later he had felt the bear settle onto the stool sitting next to him, his muscular bulk in contrast to Seymour’s own lithe frame. After a few minutes Smokey had struck up a conversation and it was only a little bit longer before the “accidental” elbow brushes escalated to a paw resting heavy and strong on Seymour’s thigh. The animal magnetism had been palpable—like paper clips clinging to a magnet—and Seymour had practically stumbled over himself following Smokey out to his pickup.
	And now here they were, lying side by side on Smokey’s bed. The difference between Seymour’s cargo shorts and Smokey’s Nomex pants was almost funny.
	“You know, it’s almost funny, the difference between my cargo shorts and your Nomex pants,” Seymour observed nervously. He was trembling slightly in anticipation as he turned on on his side to face Smokey.
	Smokey grinned as he looked hungrily up and down at the pronghorn’s slim figure. Hungrily because he was a bear and a predator but also because he was aroused.


“Let me give you a paw with that,” the reclining Smokey chuckled as he brushed Seymour's eager but inarticulate hooves from the fly of his standard-issue Nomex firefighter's pants and slowly pulled the zipper down with a claw hooked through its eye.