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Beach Side Service

I remember looking at this piece, commissioned as a YCH from LittleBadWolf back in June of 2024, and thinking to myself that Mortimer looked really sexy in it. He may not be incredible buff, especially in comparison to the rest of my cast, but the confident swagger he displays is alluring. I had a feeling he would turn out that way, but I could’ve never predicted just how hot he would look.

I also remember this story fondly because it was the first time I was ever told that I’m a “softcore porn writer”. One of my friends said that when they were reading, and by their logic I could see where they were coming from. As someone who is ace/aro, the label is more amusing to me than anything else. I would have never thought to describe myself that way, but nor do I mind it.

I’m also proud of this piece because it only took a few hours to write despite it’s higher level of quality compared to a lot of my other work.

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Even on their beach-side vacation, Edmund wasn’t the kind of person who skipped out on his morning training. Careful not to disturb his partner’s slumber, he snuck off to the roof of their hotel. Without the usual equipment from the Magistrum’s Training Center, the young tigerkin went through the body weight routine that he and his martial arts instructors planned out for him before he traveled to Oplentis with Enigma.

And as he completed his last push-up, he stood up, looking to return to his room in order to shower off the sweat. Surprisingly, his partner, Mortimer, had already left the room. On the bedside table, his comm unit was beeping, a sign that there was a new unread message. He didn’t have to guess who the sender was as he flipped it open.

“I’ll be at the beach. See ya once you’re clean, big guy.”

Sure enough, once he had finished his morning rituals and slipped on his swimming trunks, it didn’t take long to find the rabbitkin sitting at a booth near the beachside bar in his own swimsuit. Edmund would never mistake his bun-bun for anyone else, though perhaps it would be more accurate to say that they saw each other in that moment. As their eyes met, Morty, with a confident grin, called him over by tipping the glass that was in his hand.

Walking up to his adorable boyfriend, the tigerkin’s titan-enhanced nose picked up on the smell of alcohol, but it was faint. Whatever Mortimer was drinking, it wasn’t strong and he doubted anyone else would have even noticed. He reciprocated his lover’s grin with his own, partly in gratitude that his nose was spared the overpowering scent of booze.

“Keepin’ it light, Morty?”

“Yep. One of us can still get drunk if he doesn’t ‘drink responsibly’.”

Edmund could only smile and lightly shake his head as he sat down beside him, giving the rabbitkin a gentle kiss on the cheek. They both exchanged knowing, tender gazes, eyes saying enough that only a single word from the big cat was needed. “Thanks.”

“Of course, Ed.”

Before long, a waitress had arrived with a cocktail for Edmund. As it hit the table, he could tell through scent alone that it was for him: The lack of alcohol was a dead giveaway.

“Just the way you like it, right?” Mortimer wrapped an arm around his partner’s strong, naked torso, feeling its soft fur, eliciting an involuntary purr from Edmund as he took a sip. Sure enough, the lapine was dead on the money, picking out a drink that was just sweet enough without being overpowering, gently burning the back of his throat with the fizz of the club soda.

“Yeah… Dead on. Thanks, man.” Pausing to take another sip with an expectant Morty looking on, he continued. “You know, I like seeing this side of you.”

Mortimer’s ears bent forward, a puzzled expression crossing his features, “What do you mean, Ed?”

“You’ve gotten stronger, man. And I’m not talkin’ just physically. The Mortimer I first met wouldn’t have been confident enough to go out tah the bar ahead of me an’ order the perfect cocktail just to set things up like this. Ya trust yerself in a way ya didn’t used to.” Now it was Edmund’s turn to wrap an arm around Mortimer, each of them pulling each other together as in soft, fuzzy embrace.

“Heh. You really think so, Ed? I don’t feel all that different.”

“You never do, Mort. Ya spend all day with yerself, and changes are so gradual that ya barely notice they’re happening at all, but the people around ya can. Just like I notice how you’re running and shooting is paying off. You fill that swimsuit out nice.”

Neither one of them had consumed anywhere near enough booze to be intoxicated, and yet it was doubtful anyone at or walking around the bar could tell the difference between them and any other drunken college couple for how happy they looked together in that moment.

“So you think I’m sexy, Ed?”

“I always do, Mort. The difference is now you feel sexy.”

And in that moment, their joy couldn’t be more genuine.