	The young hart let out a frustrated sigh, the normally delicate features of his face besmirched by the wrinkles of vexation. He looked down at the paper he was sketching on and his frustration became disgust. He snatched the paper up and angrily crumpled it into a ball, casting it onto the floor so that it might rest with the myriad of other failed sketches that littered his flat. The hart leaned back in his chair, slumping over its back so that he could stare at the ceiling. He sat like that for a long time, trying to collect himself and banish his consternation. He knew that some other artists could harness their anger and passion into great works, but he was not yet skilled enough. Unable to calm himself with meditation, he decided that he might quench his irritation with a nice hot cocoa at the local cafe.
	Bryce stood up, taking the opportunity to stretch out his supple, willowy arms and legs. He ran his hand through the long hair that partially veiled his face. Many likened its color to a burning ember but shy, reserved Bryce thought that he was not nearly wild enough to be compared to fire. He walked over to his bed (quite a short walk in his tiny apartment) and retrieved the coat that was flung over it. The autumn chill had delayed itself long enough, and finally hit Lorient in full, bitter force. As he put it on, he remembered that the coat was a little long and its ends would trail along the ground like the hem of some woman's dress. This effect was compounded when he tightened a belt around his narrow waist, giving him the illusion of possessing a young girl's curves. Bryce, of course, was completely oblivious to this as he slipped on his shoes and headed out the door, his mind entirely occupied with his work.
	Not many artists lived in Lorient despite its scenic nature and colorful population. It had no galleries and only a few citizens who were rich enough to afford such luxuries as fine art. But Bryce considered the sale of his art a happy side-effect, and he certainly wasn't in any need of money. He was the third son of a fairly influential duke. His two elder brothers had already claimed the position of "true" inheritors of the family name: one of them being groomed to succeed the duke and the other joining the Royal Academy for more intellectual pursuits. This left Bryce with fairly free prospects and he chose to pursue the arts, joining a priory many years ago to receive formal training. Though his father was distant he was supportive, funding both his education and his new lifestyle rather extravagantly. But Bryce was no hedonist, and was quite willing to settle for the small flat and a couple meals a day.
	Bryce made his way down the corridors of his building and out onto the bustling street. It was an hour or so before midday and he could hear the calls of merchants and the din of the people traveling along the road. The sharp cold shocked his senses though its cleansing immediacy was not entirely unpleasant for the young artist. He exhaled, enjoying the ephemeral shapes and patterns his breath coalesced into, then set out for the café.
	Bryce walked quickly but gracefully, a remnant of his noble upbringing. He held his arms on his chest, keeping his fingers knitted and near his mouth so that his breath could warm them. He paid little attention to the people he was dodging between, unaware of their conversations or utterances. He missed the group of young women who had been chatting at one of the produce stalls. As he passed by, they made a collective sigh, obviously smitten with his soft, delicate beauty. This of course caught the attention of some laborers nearby, who also saw the young hart and found him particularly charming, though perhaps this attitude would have been changed had they known his gender. Bryce was unaware of all the attention he had garnered, his mind occupied with trying to figure out his recent slump.
	For the past few weeks, the hart suffered an incredibly arresting case of art block. It was normally quite easy for Bryce to sketch or paint an impeccable specimen of a handsome man or lovely woman. But the strokes and lines that used to flow from his pencil or brush seemed to be stoppered, and try as he might none of his recent work ever came close to his standards. Bryce had developed a deep-seated fear that perhaps this condition was permanent and he would never be able to return to his passion. He hoped that a nice, rich cocoa and some time in the clarifying cold would absolve these fears.
	After a few more minutes of walking he reached his favorite establishment in Lorient: Cafe du Monde, a fine little bistro equally famous for both its beverages and its beignets. He disappeared inside the cafe for a moment then reappeared outside with a plate of the golden, puffy beignets and a steaming cup of hot cocoa. Though it was customary to order coffee with the beignets, Bryce had a bit of a sweet tooth, and could not pass up the opportunity to sample the rich chocolate that Cafe du Monde used. He sat himself at one of the tables located outside the cafe. Normally they would all be occupied but the day proved to be a bit too chilly and many of the patrons remained inside. This suited Bryce just fine; it gave him a relative peace in which to think. But first: beignets!
	He took one of the fluffy fried delights in both hands, gently shaking off the powdered sugar that was piled on top of it. He delicately nibbled at it, never having been able to quite outgrow his aristocratic tendencies. It was delectable; the sweetness of the sugar complimenting the rich starchy fried dough perfectly. Beignets were simple, but the joy their consumption elicited was quite deep.  Nibbling away half of his beignet, Bryce set it back down on the plate and took a small sip of his cocoa. It warmed his core and perfectly harmonized with his pastries. He blissfully ate his snack until all that was left was a plate of powdered sugar and a mug stained with chocolate on the inside. He sighed, but this time in warm contentment, and rested his head on his hand, gazing out at the street with a small smile brightening his face.
	Bryce watched the people move past him. Though they were adorned in heavier clothes that more resembled winter fashion, the hart could easily distinguish the shapes of their body and sculpture of their musculature regardless of how bundled in clothing they were. Bryce had a natural eye for anatomy which lent him a great appreciation for the living form. He tried to celebrate it in his work and, by the accounts of his teachers at the priory and admirers of his art, largely succeeded. That's why his recent slump was so frustrating; he saw his work as inadequate when compared to the beauty he was observing now.
	The hart became lost in thought, trying to sort out a solution to his predicament. He could feel inspiration welling up inside him just by viewing the anonymous throngs of townsfolk walking before him. He knew, however, that should he rush back to his studio the small flame of his muse would blow out. He needed to be able to constantly observe a subject and translate these observations down onto paper. He needed... it came to him so suddenly that he blushed upon the revelation, feeling quite foolish for not realizing it before. He needed a model.
	A model could provide Bryce with a constant flow of encouragement and the artist wouldn't need to imagine or fabricate a living person's details and features. But the question of where to find a model put a slight damper on the hart's rising mood. He had not been very active in the Lorient community in his year living here and had not made any real friends or even acquaintances. He supposed he could bribe a prospective model into posing for him; he had enough money that it would be no real concern. But that still required finding someone to bribe.
	He closed his eyes to ponder a moment, sorting through any possible subjects that might reignite his passion. As the young hart concentrated, he could hear a sound weaving through the underlying noise of the crowd. It was a harsh, rhythmic beat, occurring every few seconds with exact precision. Despite its relative volume being quite low, he found the sound to be mildly intriguing. He opened his eyes, trying to see where the sound was coming from. He scanned the crowds and realized the sound must be coming from across the street. He stood up, but remembered that it was foolish to try and see over the heads in the crowd with his short stature. He left a generous tip on the table, and headed into the crowd.
	He forded through the townsfolk as if he was fighting to cross a river. As he neared the other end of the street, the rhythmic sound grew louder and it seemed like it was accompanied by a loud, boisterous voice. He finally squeezed past enough people to clearly see the other side of the street and the source of the sound. Bryce found himself standing before a butcher shop, with slabs of meat and strings of sausages hanging in the dingy windows. He peaked over inside the entryway; its door was ajar, as if inviting customers in. There the hart found the origin of the sound that had compelled him: standing at the counter, chopping large cuts of meat off the bone, was a massive, dark ox. He would raise a hefty butcher knife over his head and slam it down with controlled ferocity, slicing off a section of meat and cleaving all the way through to the cutting board, making a loud thunk. Bryce saw the ox's muscles first; his clothing and bloodstained apron seemed barely able to contain them. The young hart was enamored with the ox's godlike build and wasn't able to hear the ox welcome him in. He just stood there and stared, entranced. This ox would have to be his model.
	Finally snapping out of his reverie, Bryce slowly walked into the shop, smiling brightly. The ox, for his part, couldn't help but find this young deer's smile quite attractive.

***

	"I just don't understand why I have to be nude!"
	Renard fidgeted behind the screen, betraying a shyness most uncharacteristic of his loud, boisterous nature. Bryce sighed, rolling his eyes and smiling at the brute's reservations.
	"You seemed so eager to help me back at the shop. And let's face it, the money I'm paying you for an hour of posing is probably more then you'd make in a week..."
	The ox poked his head over the screen.
	"...and you're sure you're good for it?"
	Bryce smiled and nodded. The hart's smile was infectious, and Renard was overwhelmed with a desire to help the little thing, payment or not. He had never seen the deer around town before and found his beauty quite incomparable to the other girls that would pass by his shop. Of course, Renard had no way of knowing that the young deer was actually a hart. Bryce hid his gender quite well, though unintentionally, behind his angelic, fiery hair, loose-fitting blouse, and feminine mannerisms.
	Renard sighed, knowing he could not bare to upset little Bryce, and stepped out from behind the screen. The hart marveled at the ox's mighty frame. Muscles swelled on his arms and legs suggesting the ox had a long, athletic history. Renard had a wide stomach, though situated above it were powerful pectorals and a thick neck, making sure that no one would confuse this large man for a lazy one. His charcoal fur shined with a magnificent luster, giving it an almost blue iridescence in the flat's light. The artist even appreciated the ox's manhood, large and thick despite its current flaccid state. Bryce was ecstatic; he couldn't wait to draw this arresting specimen of strength and virility.
	"So... what now?" asked Renard as he sheepishly shuffled a foot along the ground.
	Bryce remained quiet for a moment, still enchanted with the ox's physique. He snapped out of his reverie when he noticed the blush growing in Renard's face.
	"Y-yes... now just strike a pose, and I'll begin my sketch."
 	The butcher nodded, scratching his head as he moved over to where Bryce had indicated. He tried to recall some poses he had seen in artwork before, and found his repertoire quite lacking. Not knowing what else to do, he thrust his arm out to his side and took a deep, wide stance. He thought it would show off the muscles that Bryce was so enamored with. Renard looked over to Bryce, hoping to see one more time his misty-eyed adoration. Bryce was laughing.
	Perhaps laughing was a bit strong. The hart held a hand up to his mouth, trying to catch his giggles before Renard could hear them. The butcher was crushed, and immediately slumped from his pose in defeat. Bryce tried to collect himself, wiping his tearing eyes and taking a few short breaths.
	"I'm sorry, Renard. But if you could have seen yourself, you probably would have laughed as well."
	Renard folded his arms. "I came here to get paid, not to be ridiculed. If you know a better pose, why don't you come over here and show me!"
	Bryce's eyes lit up. "Excellent idea!"
	The hart jumped up and walked excitedly over to the ox. Renard's heart started beating faster and faster as the Bryce neared him, until finally they became close enough for Renard to smell the exotic scents that Bryce washed his emblazoned hair with. It smelled of foreign spices which Renard found both appropriate and intoxicating. The butcher found even Bryce's stature quite adorable, with the hart barely reaching the ox's chest when standing. Bryce, for his part, was lost in thought, trying to sort out the perfect pose for his model. He reached up to Renard's massive bicep and tried to clasp his hand around it. It was solid and tough, though the owner of the bicep was absolutely melting at the artist's touch. Bryce gently moved the arm into a more appropriate pose that would more naturally feature the ox's muscles. Satisfied, he moved to the butcher's other arm to a complimentary position, then began to kneel down to adjust Renard's legs.
	The ox gulped. Bryce was dangerously close to his member, and though he tried to think of something less exciting, all that was running through his mind was the hart's soft smile, gentle hazel eyes, and slender, supple frame. He was shocked when Bryce placed his hands on the ox's thighs, gently caressing them in an effort to get the butcher to move them slightly inwards. Renard could not resist looking down at the little hart kneeling before him and entertaining thoughts of a more licentious nature. Try as he might, Renard was fixated on an image of the young deer dragging a tongue against the ox's own erect cock, and he found such a sight, imagined though it might be, quite enthralling.
	The artist looked up at Renard when he was satisfied with the ox's new pose. The hart noticed that Renard was blushing a bit more than before, which Bryce found quite curious. Suddenly, Bryce noticed something that was moving out of the corner of his eye. He looked down and stared straight at an enormous, erect cock that was barely an inch away from his face. Renard looked up to the ceiling.
	"Bryce... I'm so, so sorry. It's just... you're pretty cute..."
	Bryce stared at the cock for a moment. Then, shocking Renard even further, the young hart began licking at the fat head of the cock with nary any apprehension. The artist wrapped a small hand around Renard's hefty member, lifting it up so that Bryce could begin licking and kissing the underside of it. He took his other hand and began to gently toy and tease Renard's plump balls.
	Renard was taken aback, both by the once shy little deer's forwardness and the skill at which he could pleasure a man. Bryce had been trained at the priory, both in the traditional arts as well as the erotic. The boys at the priory, being hidden away from the world as they grew into men, found they had developed strange new desires. Since no women were allowed at the priory, they asked feminine little Bryce to sate their new hungers. Bryce seemed to have a natural knack for such practices that equaled his natural skill in art. He found that such lewd acts were simply another way to appreciate the living body, and thus delighted in their execution, just as he was delighting in the taste and heft of the ox's cock.
	Renard's manhood was now glistening with Bryce's saliva. He moved a hand to run it through the hart's fiery hair, revealing the face that he found so precious. Bryce looked up and met his eyes, smiling while kissing the ox's cock at its base. The ox smiled back, thrilled upon realizing that the hart was just as titillated as he. Bryce's attention returned to the cock. He decided that he could no longer resist taking it in fully and wrapped his small mouth around its head. He sucked vigorously at it, licking around the head and gently nibbling on the shaft with his teeth. The hart could tell by the breath of Renard hissing between his clenched teeth that he was enjoying it. Pleased with the man's reaction, Bryce began to take more of the cock into his mouth, sliding up on it slowly and deliberately. He could not hope to take its full magnificence in his mouth, but Bryce was determined to try.
	Renard began to pant as Bryce bobbed up and down on his member. He was no stranger to pleasure, having visited many a brothel in his day, but had to admit that this little deer was definitely the most skilled cock-sucker he had encountered. He considered this simply a bonus, however, as he found that his heart contained both erotic desire and even genuine love for little Bryce despite the sort time they had known each other.
	Bryce began to suck more fervently on the cock, moving his head faster, intensifying Renard's pleasure. Bryce knew the ox was nearing a climax before even Renard himself did; he was that in tune with his lover's body. Bryce attempted to choke up on the cock as much as he could, which turned out to be quite a respectable amount for one so small. Renard found the new sensation of Bryce so far onto him quite spectacular, and the pleasure was enough to push the ox over the edge. He came, dousing the inside of Bryce's mouth with his essence. Bryce swallowed as much as he could, the rest gushing out his mouth and dribbling onto his lips, chin, and chest. The hart pulled back off the cock and looked up at Renard. The young artist's expression was as if he had just finished a task for a loved one and expected gentle praise. Renard smiled back down at him, intending to give the little deer praise in his own way.
	Renard pulled Bryce up quite easily. Though he just came, Renard was a creature of remarkable stamina, and his cock was still rock hard. He wanted to give the little deer as much pleasure as Bryce just gave him. He lifted Bryce's blouse over his head, revealing the hart's svelte, flat body. The ox usually preferred more endowed women, but somehow couldn't help but find the slighter, leaner curves of Bryce equally as delightful. He knelt down and began to lick at the little deer's nipples, sucking and toying with them using his teeth. The hart moaned out, clutching Renard tightly to his chest. Renard loved the deer's soft, high-pitched sounds and decided to try and illicit more from him. He took hold of the hart's pants and pulled them downwards, excited to finally see the little deer's secret. But, of course, Renard saw an entirely different type of secret before him.
	Springing up out of silk, laced panties was a small, erect phallus poking its head over the hart's interesting choice of underwear. Renard fell backwards, quite unable to fully comprehend what he just saw. He thrust an accusing finger at a perplexed looking Bryce.
	"Y-y-y-y-you're a guy!?" he shouted out ineloquently.
	Bryce cocked his head to one side, looking very confused at the ox.
	"Isn't it obvious?" he said, gesturing to his member.
	A cold sweat overtook Renard as he tried to understand what was going on. Little Bryce, the cute little deer that shyly walked up to his store, the adorable little thing that asked him to pose, the exquisite little nymph that just sucked his cock better than any woman, was actually a man. Renard stood up frantically, darting his head left and right in an attempt to look for his clothes. They were hanging of the screen and Renard made a mad dash for them.
	Bryce was quite surprised at the ox's behavior.
	"What are you doing? Didn't you just enjoy that? I thought we were really getting into it..." Bryce said, looking away despondently.
	Renard couldn't help but scoff.
	"Yeah, when you where still a little filly to me! Bryce, you're a man, I'm a man, it ain't natural!"
	Renard had finally managed to put on his clothes. He stormed to the door, grabbing its handle furiously. But something gave him pause. It was a soft, barely audible voice that came from the hart behind him.
	"You seemed to find me quite attractive before... why should that change just because of my gender?"
	The ox tried to pull the door open, but somehow found it incredibly heavy. Though one part of his mind was screaming at him not to, he turned back to look at Bryce. He was on his knees, head sunk down and ember hair masking his face. But Renard could see the faint glimmer of tears falling down and splashing on the hart's legs. Even knowing Bryce's real gender, Renard found that his heart was pierced with the sight of the hart's sorrow. Try as he might to banish such feelings, he couldn't help but realize that despite this recent revelation, his love and attraction for the little deer hadn't faded in the slightest.
	Bryce was wiping his eyes, trying to fight back the tears as Renard approached him. He could hear the ox's heavy footsteps nearing him. Bryce, finally able to compose himself, looked up and saw the vast, outstretched hand of the ox and the gentle smile that went along with it. The hart placed his own small, delicate hand inside of it and was suddenly swept up in Renard's expansive embrace. Renard lifted Bryce up, took a long look in his eyes, and kissed him deeply. Bryce had been kissed before, but nothing was quite so magical as this, and he wrapped his arms around the ox's thick neck, returning all of Renard's passion.
	They held each other in this close, warm embrace for quite some time until Renard noticed a small pressure pushing against his stomach. He broke the kiss and looked down, seeing Bryce's little cock erect against his body. The hart smiled and looked away, blushing deeply. Renard set him down and scratched his head, not knowing exactly what to say.
	"Well, this is all kind of new to me... so..." Renard looked at Bryce, hoping to be led on.
	Bryce couldn't help but laugh at the big brute's shyness. He grabbed Renard's hand and led him to the bed, gesturing for the ox to sit on it first. The ox did, placing his weighty body at the bed's edge. Bryce took a moment to take off his panties, which he threw to the side. Now that the hart was completely naked, Renard could appreciate the sylphlike curves of Bryce's body: the slight plumpness of his rump and the fine bow of his hips suggested that the hart was far more feminine then his innocuous cock suggested. As he gazed at Bryce, Renard found that his own cock was growing and hardening, until finally it solidified into an upward thrusting exemplar of manhood.
	Satisfied with Renard's returned enthusiasm, Bryce walked away to a cupboard to fetch a small vial of liquid. He poured some onto his hands, then moved over to Renard to pour some of the unguent onto the massive cock. It was cool and viscous, but Renard found it not entirely unpleasant. Bryce began to rub the unguent all over Renard's manhood, and he found the delicate touch of the hart was exquisite when matched with the slippery sensation of the new liquid.
	"What is this stuff? It feels... good" Renard said.
	Bryce giggled. "Something to help me..."
	When the cock was entirely coated, Bryce stoppered the vial and placed it under the bed. He then turned around so that his backside was facing Renard. The ox got a full view of the hart's ass, and found its white painting extremely cute. Bryce reached back and then spread his ass apart, revealing a tight little hole and signaling to Renard what was to happen next. Renard, eager to commence their next act, grabbed Bryce's waist and hoisted him up quite easily, positioning the artist over his twitching cock.
	"Now, lover, do it slowly..." Bryce said, betraying both fear and excitement in his voice.
	Renard's last intention was to harm the little hart, so he acquiesced, gently lowering Bryce down so that the tip of his manhood slid between the hart's two cheeks and into his ass. Bryce gasped out, delighting in the filling sensation of the large head. Renard was also breathing heavily, for never before had his cock had the pleasure of exploring such a tight, warm hole. The ox gingerly lowered Bryce further, and Bryce's moans and gasps became more frequent and lurid, until finally the hart rested on Renard's lap, fully taking in the massive cock. Renard realized that without the liquid this would have been largely impossible, and thanked the heavens for Bryce's forecasting.
	Bryce was still moaning and panting while Renard still couldn't believe the pleasure this tight, warm hole was giving him, even without any motion. The hart reached back, caressing the ox's neck as if asking him to begin, and Renard obliged, slowly lifting Bryce up and down. Though they were taking a slow, gingerly pace, the pleasure was undeniable, and both Bryce and Renard were moaning luridly. Bryce assisted Renard's efforts by bouncing up and down slightly, then more quickly, until finally he was comfortable with going at a more sensational pace. Renard, kissing Bryce's back, began to thrust more deeply into the little hart, which elicited a soft cry of lewd delight from the artist. As they became more comfortable with each other's bodies, they decided to quicken their pace, which brought about even more intense delight.
	Bryce was delirious with joy. Never before had he found so much pleasure in sex. Neither had Renard and he knew that their connection was deep and complete. He reached a hand around Bryce's waist and took his petite erect cock in his hand. The little thing barely fit in Renard's palm, but he was able to start stroking it furiously, to which Bryce cried out in joy. To return the favor, Bryce began to bounce more enthusiastically on Renard's cock, knowing that it would (and did) bring his new lover intense pleasure.
	The two moans heightened to cries as they fucked each other more intensely; Renard frenetically stroking the hart's cock and Bryce trying to take more and more of the ox's cock. Their vision hazed and their minds were filled with nothing but delight, and they knew that their climax would be shared and glorious. Bryce arched his back, moving his hands up to grab his hair as he came first, his essence shooting from his cock in a pearly arc. Renard came along with him, a deluge of warm whiteness filling up Bryce's ass and spilling out onto the ox's own dick. Renard fell backwards, his great stamina finally drained, and Bryce fell to his side, the ox's cock sliding out of his ass that was still leaking Renard's own cum.
	When Renard was finally able to move, he put a great big arm around Bryce. The hart snuggled up next to the ox's great body, finding his embrace quite exquisite. He nuzzled next to Renard's face and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, then whispered into his ear.
	"As delightful as this is, I still want to sketch you..."

***
	Renard was humming a simple tune when he heard the soft patter of feet he knew belonged to his new lover. He looked up from the cut of meat he was working on to see lithe little Bryce prancing into his store holding a large, flat object wrapped in brown paper.
	"Finally finished it?" Renard said, wiping his hands with an old rag as he moved from behind the counter.
	Bryce bounded toward Renard, handing him the package. "It took a little bit longer than I anticipated, because I wanted to get everything perfect, but I really think you'll like the results!"
	The ox threw one arm around the hart's shoulders, taking the package in his free hand. He tore away at the paper, eager to see his young lover's work. His excitement quickly turned to embarrassment, however, upon seeing the revealed piece.
	"You painted this!?" Renard yelled, gesturing at the portrait. The piece featured him in a highly obscene pose not unlike some pagan fertility god. Bryce nodded obviously quite proud of his work. The ox didn't have the heart to chastise the young artist, and decided to discreetly place it back behind the counter, promising Bryce that he would hang it up in his own quarters.
