[18+] An old ritual journey takes a new form, a student learns the term found family can be surprisingly literal, and a bigot gets his.

Today’s story is the second and final part of “The Green Night” by Rob MacWolf, and you can find more of his stories and poetry on his SoFurry gallery. 

Last time, Gawain, a novice shaman, came to Bertilak, a much experienced one, for help dealing with the homophobic ghost of St. Galahad, his ancestor. Bertilak proposed that they have sex to connect Gawain with his own, much more supportive ancestors, to which St. Galahad responded with furious outrage.

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This week's two-parter is an adult story for mature listeners.

If that's not your cup of tea,

or there are youngsters listening,

you can skip these

and there'll be new stories for you next week.

You're listening to The Voice of Dog,

and today's story

is the second and final part of

The Green Night by Rob MacWolf,

and you can find more of his stories and poetry

on his Soafery Gallery.

Last time, Gawain, a novice shaman,

came to Bertilak, a much-experienced one,

for help dealing with the homophobic ghost of St.

Gallahad, his ancestor. Bertilak proposed that they have sex to connect Gawain with his own,

much more supportive ancestors,

to which St. Galahad

responded with furious outrage.

Please enjoy. The Green Night

by Rob MacWolf, part two of two,

read for you by the author himself.

His eyes were shut,

his paws were clamped over his ears.

It didn't help but he couldn't stop.

St. Galahad of L'Ougres,

the Interrupter, oracle of the old papacy,

theologian, philosopher, and unashamed bigot,

screamed fury at him, from what sounded like a thousand throats, from every direction at once. He could feel it in his bones.

He couldn't hear over it,

he could barely think over it.

He wondered if it was possible for this to kill him.

But then Gawain felt large hands cup the sides of his face, and pull him forward,

and he felt rough lips press against his.

He pressed back, he grabbed blindly at whatever was in front of him

like anchoring himself against a rushing flood,

and opened his eyes to find himself clinging to Bertilak's chest.

The badger's face was all intense concern.

His mouth was moving but Gawain couldn't make out the words.

He clung tighter,

even though that only made Galahad angrier.

But Gawain had done this exercise before,

first day of class.

Total awareness. Add everything to the story,

in your mind, of what was happening to you right now.

No matter what tried to grab your attention, don't let it hold.

Even the distractions,

just fit them into place,

one by one, and eventually you'd be aware of the entire moment you were in,

and everything in it,

including- "I said,"

Bertilak's voice finally broke through,

"hold on! If he's angry it's because he's scared what you're about to do is gonna work!"

"I don't think he is, actually," Gawain

fought not to shout over the cacophony

he knew only he could hear,

"I think that's just how much he hates the idea of me finally getting a man between my legs

and some dick up my tail!" He maybe could have phrased it more delicately, but he was under a lot of stress right now! "Uh, ok, well..." Bertilak fumbled for words while the dog clung to him,

"this isn't gonna be terribly romantic, ok?" "I...

I know!" Gawain shouted,

"I don't think he's gonna stop until I give up and leave!"

"People like that don't ever stop." Bertilak's eyes went distant, for a second,

"He's gonna keep hounding you no matter what you do..." "...

"...so I might as well take a shot making him shut up!"

Gawain kissed Bertilak, roughly,

deeply, angrily. He heard Galahad's screams worsen

as he felt Bertilak's hands slide up under his shirt

and down to undo his jeans.

He found himself not caring.

He kicked off his jeans, he let Bertilak pull his shirt over his head,

he lay back and let the badger's naked weight press him against the couch,

he ran fingers through striped fur

like a rock climber searching for tiny handholds.

"I don't know if I've got time to be gentle,"

Bertilak said into his ear.

"Don't bother," he replied.

"This atrocity, this abomination,"

St Galahad had apparently gotten back to actual words now,

"this changes nothing!

This is a sin before God and the fact you disagree is proof of your execrable reprobation!" Bertilak

grasped Gawain's shaft,

gave it as much teasing and stroking as he could while his other hand found its way between the dog's cheeks

to prepare him. "And if you think piling sin upon sin will amount to anything

against the power of truth

and goodness then your iniquity truly has rotted

every last rational

power-" "What the fuck,"

Gawain heard another voice bark the instant he felt Bertilak's cock press inside him,

"do you think you're doing?"

Part of Gawain was in a far green country.

He couldn't have said what time it was. Skies above were dark and star-filled, but the earth around him was lit like it was noon.

Behind him there was a hill,

covered with linden trees,

and in front of him was a still lake,

full of water lilies and rushes.

The grass he lay on was thick and soft, like a worn

and comfortable sofa. "It's

a rough time you're having of it, then?"

said a voice, somewhere to his right.

The same one he'd heard interject.

That's right, he was...

Gawain blinked. He was having sex, wasn't he?

He could feel it,

as if a long way away and in slow motion, Bertilak was mounting him right now...

wherever Bertilak was.

Wherever he was. He looked to his right.

There was a badger there, sitting on a stump.

Naked, which seemed... perfectly reasonable, actually.

He looked a lot like Bertilak,

but not quite the same. Older, shaggier,

different stripes.

This other badger reached down, pulled Gawain up into his lap, which was when Gawain realized he was also naked,

and pulled him into a kiss.

This fellow was strong, too,

and the erection now poking Gawain in the thigh was

thicker than Bertilak had been.

And he didn't seem at all surprised about anything going on, so when Gawain got the use of his mouth back

he was pretty confident about

saying "...you're Bertilak's ancestor, right?"

"Great great grandfather, lad,"

the badger grinned at the dog propped against his chest,

"though strictly speaking I'd be your ancestor too, now. That's how that works.

works." His hand wrapped around Gawain's cock and gave it a playful squeeze

"Cuthbert, at your service,

though last I checked on Bertilak

he was the one getting serviced..."

"What, I don't know

-" Gawain was cut off when a second forceful kiss filled his mouth.

"Easy, lad," the ancestor whispered,

"you enjoy yourself,

and let us take care of the interruption."

"-what's happening!" Gawain gasped, "Oh! Ooohhh..." he added, suddenly fully aware again of what was

going on between his legs

and how deep inside him Bertilak was.

Galahad's furious sermon continued to rage throughout the cabin

and echo around Gawain's ears. Bertilak's face was buried against his chest,

and the badger's tongue was busy with one of his nipples,

so if the badger had any comment he didn't get to give it before-

-Gawain found himself in an attic room.

The double doors at one end were thrown open wide to a balcony,

and a slow cool wind washed in through them.

The long acres of young cornstalks outside

rolled like ocean waves,

and overhead heavy thunderclouds turned the sunlight itself green.

He was lying on his back again,

on a calico quilt of all different shades from jade to emerald to olive.

He couldn't have said where he was, but that didn't matter.

Someone's arms were around him.

"Hey," a soft voice said,

and Gawain looked over his shoulder.

A possum, about his own age,

lying with his arms around Gawain,

his hands lazily exploring the dog's body.

"Hangin in there all right, man?

Don't worry, drought's gonna be over soon.

We'll take care of that."

"Hey," Gawain moaned,

though whether because Bertilak had picked up the pace or

because this fellow's soft hand

had found his groin

he couldn't have said,

"shouldn't you be... a badger?"

The possum laughed. "You didn't think you were the first other bloodline Bertilak," he ran a thumb over Gawain's cocktip in punctuation,

"you know, 'connected to,'

did you?" "Fuck, don't stop,"

Gawian gasped to Bertilak, back on the sofa.

-He raised his face from a viridian silken divan

and brushed aside several layers of covers, translucent, all of them,

and thin enough that they might as well have been spiderwebs.

Dark feathers cradled his shoulders.

"I don't know if I can imagine,"

said the grackle in whose lap his head had been resting,

"how you must have suffered.

You're beautiful, and irreplaceable,

and you deserve so much better.

better." The grackle laid a hand over Gawain's mouth

the second he opened it

"Don't deny it. You are,

and you are, and you do.

do." It was difficult to see what color his feathers were.

Not only were they brilliantly iridescent, but the light in here-

-some kind of vault, perhaps a church, perhaps a night club-

-was a thousand subtle slowly shifting emerald hues. He wasn't

technically fully naked,

he had draped over his shoulders and wound round his legs the same sheer green sheets

in which Gawain was entangled.

The dog wouldn't have known where to start extracting himself

if he'd wanted. He didn't.

Soft feathers stroked the dog's shoulders and face. "We're

not going to let him abuse you any more.

I promise." The grackle's voice was quiet and low and achingly earnest.

"Just a little further,

and it's finished."

"I'm almost there.

there..." Gawain moaned. "I think we can agree,"

the ocelot wore only a long unfastened bathrobe,

"that this is a little awkward.

awkward." It was the color of tart apples,

looked amazingly comfortable,

and completely failed to distract from the fact

that this man looked uncannily like his advisor.

"Nevertheless, whatever strength and assistance I might offer?"

He talked like him too.

They eyed eachother across the green comforter, printed with pinecones-

-a little faded where the sun had crossed it-

-as the bed was the only place in the tiny apartment for either of them to sit.

The wall in front of him wasn't so much a wall as the slope of the roof overhead,

save where a single dormer window interrupted it with a view of a familiar city outlined against the faintly cyan,

high summer false sunset.

Gawain was sure that if he got up and looked out,

he'd be able to see the university from here.

"This was their flat, for three years,"

the ocelot said, drily.

"My great-nephew and, well, your current paramour.

They would lie in that bed together, watching the city lights well past midnight,

talking about theory and practice and

what they would do with their degrees.

I had high hopes for them as a couple, you know,

but it didn't last.

Too different in their

approach to the art, I suppose,

and so the more they respected one another the less passion they could find for one another.

It can happen like that.

that." Most of the books on the little shelf by the window said

'Percival DeGral,

ShD' on the spine.

Most of them were bound in shades of deep emerald.

"But the thing to remember about our art,"

the avuncular ocelot continued,

and his style of lecturing was very familiar too,

"is that even if it does not last,

a bond once forged

is a source of strength

forever." His eyes, when they met Gawain's, were full of bashful honesty,

and Gawain could easily imagine Bertilak, younger, less set in his ways,

becoming very lost in eyes that looked like those.

"Provided, of course," the ocelot held out a paw toward Gawain,

"we choose to accept it."

Gawain reached out,

clasped the offered hand, and-

-Someone's lips were wrapped around his shaft,

and Gawain cried out in surprise as a tongue outlined his sensitive

tip. "Having fun?" laughed the raccoon,

raising his head from between Gawain's legs to grin at him. "S

-sure," Gawain managed to breathe,

and he managed to get out

"but it's going faster...

than I... can keep track of...

where I am... or who

-" before the raccoon's head dove back between his thighs,

enveloped him, and speech escaped him again. "It goes

faster than you expect,"

said the armadillo he was sitting next to.

Their legs dangled from the side of a boat, into a turquoise river,

under an impossibly large moon.

He clapped a leathery arm around Gawain's shoulder and pulled him close,

stroked the raccoon's ears between the dog's legs.

"Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to get to know all of us.

We're yours now, you're ours.

Just enjoy the ride-" -Gawain almost gagged.

Someone's cock was in his mouth.

He knelt on a carpet of moss,

so soft and deep

his knees sunk more than halfway into it.

The bison looming over him had one leg over his shoulder, one hand atop his head,

and was looking down an enormous chest,

sternly, like a disappointed, implacable, unstoppable elder god.

The bison's hair was the same color, the same texture as the moss.

The redwoods towering over the clearing were so high he couldn't see any top to them.

The bison humped his face lazily,

unhurriedly, as if he were alone here,

and Gawain was wordlessly grateful that he wasn't using his actual physical jaws

to do this. It would have been terrifying

if it hadn't been the hottest thing that had ever happened to him.

The bison looked down at him,

and winked, cheekily,

for just a split second-

-And he was back on Bertilak's

sofa, belly soaked, and Bertilak lay atop him and inside him as well,

still and satiated

and panting for breath.

"This is an affront to all nature!

This is violence against life itself!"

St. Galahad continued without any sign of stopping.

"But see how your foul and unnatural sorcery turns against you,

for it brings my spirit,

my words, my truth to denounce you!

Surely this proves above all else that every twisted thing you do is doomed to defeat itself!"

Bertilak's shoulders were hunched,

and he seemed to be wincing,

as if hearing something distasteful.

"I am as eternal as my righteousness

and I will hound you forever, pervert,

until you are cast into the outer darkness where-"

"You know what?" Gawain said quietly,

as he pulled himself to his feet.

"I think," he could feel others behind him?

Inside him? "you," they were boiling in his veins and in the air around him and he felt his feet leave the floor.

"Need," if he'd been able to see himself he would have seen his eyes shining green and brighter than the sun.

"To SHUT UP!" a whole crowd of other voices said with him,

no, through him,

they all came out of his mouth,

and he FELT the words

hit Galahad like a thunderbolt

and then the Interruptor,

his ancestor, was fleeing

and fading and gone,

like a meteor burning out in the night.

Gawain felt himself hang in the air a moment,

naked, humming with power.

Then it was gone and he collapsed onto the sofa,

narrowly missing Bertilak.

"Holy shit!" commented the badger.

"Yeah," nodded Gawain.

His chest heaved.

It felt like he'd just run some kind of sex decathlon.

"Could you... hear him,

at the end?" Bertilak nodded.

"Soon as I was inside you, he started

laying into me too."

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry," Gawain said.

"YOU'RE sorry?! After HOW many months putting up with him yourself?" Bertilak

shook his head.

"Important thing is, it worked."

"It... it did." Gawain said, to himself, or maybe more accurately

to the crowd of ghosts he could now dimly feel,

at the very edges of his perception,

waiting their turns to get better acquainted.

"It did! He's gone!"

Bertilak only had the one bed.

Gawain spent the night under a familiar green comforter,

more faded now, since its days in the little attic room,

and ragged at the corner from getting stuck in the washing machine,

in Bertilak's arms.

In the morning, after a little more sex, purely for enjoyment this time and because he had gone unfairly long without,

Bertilak walked with him to the bus stop.

"I'm still amazed it was that simple," Gawian said. "I'm still amazed," Bertilak grumped,

"at all the things you're apparently not getting taught.

Percy's gonna get more than a sternly worded email."

"Well," Gawain fought to keep his tail from wagging too hard,

"at least I know where to come if I need another practical lesson.

lesson." Bertilak laughed. "My door's always open for you.

And my bed." They kissed, as the bus rounded the corner

and headed for the stop.

"We've got common ancestors, after all.

all." For an instant, reflected in the bus window as it came to a halt,

they saw a wolfhound.

Thin face, old clerical clothes,

sour tight lips, frightened eyes.

They both glared at him.

He looked sheepishly away, and said nothing.

And then the only thing in the reflection

was eachother. This was the second and final part of

The Green Knight by Rob MacWolf,

read for you by the author himself.

As always, you can find more stories on the web at TheVoice.dog,

or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

And thank you for listening

to The Voice of Dog