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Undertow	By : pronker Category: +M through R > Penguins of Madagascar Views: 11341 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this fanfiction set in Dreamworks' Penguins of Madagascar franchise. I do not own its characters, basic premise or settings.

Chapter List
- 1-1/?
- 2-2/?
- 3-3/?
- 4-4/?
- 5-5/?
- 6-6/?
- 7-7/?
- 8-8/?
- 9-9/?
- 10-10/?
- 11-11/?
- 12-12/?
- 13-13/?
- 14-14/?
- 15-15/?
- 16-16/?
- 17-17/?
- 18-18/?
- 19-19/?
- 20-20/?
- 21-21/?
- 22-22/?
- 23-23/?
- 24-24/?
- 25-25/?
- 26-26/?
- 27-27/?
- 28-28/?
- 29-29/?
- 30-30/?
- 31-31/?
- 32-32/?
- 33-33/?
- 34-34/?
- 35-35/?
- 36-36/?
- 37-37/?
- 38-38/?
- 39-39/?
- 40-40/?
- 41-41/?
- 42-42/?
- 43-43/?
- 44-44/?
- 45-45/?
- 46-46/?
- 47-47/?
- 48-48/?
- 49-49/?
- 50-50/?
- 51-51/?
- 52-52/?
- 53-53/?
- 54-54/?
- 55-55/?
- 56-56/?
- 57-57/?
- 58-58/?
- 59-59/?
- 60-60/?
- 61-61/?
- 62-62/?
- 63-63/?
- 64-64/?
- 65-65/?
- 66-66/?
- 67-67/?
- 68-68/?
- 69-69/?
- 70-70/?
- 71-71/?
- 72-72/?
- 73-73/?
- 74-74/?
- 75-75/?
- 76-76/?
- 77-77/?
- 78-78/?
- 79-79/?
- 80-80/?
- 81-81/?
- 82-82/?
- 83-83/?
- 84-84/?
- 85-85/?
- 86-86/?
- 87-87/?
- 88-88/?
- 89-89/?
- 90-90/?
- 91-91/?
- 92-92/?
- 93-93/?
- 94-94/?
- 95-95/?
- 96-96/?
- 97-97/?
- 98-97/?
- 99-99/?
- 100-100/?
- 101-101/?
- 102-102/?
- 103-103/?
- 104-104/?
- 105-105/?
- 106-106/?
- 107-107/?
- 108-108/?
- 109-109/?
- 110-110/112
- 111-111/112
- 112-112/112
- 53
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Skipper pulled a feather off his tongue.
"That was ever so nice, Skippa."
"Oh, yeah, you taste the best all over."
"You didn't have to do wot you did afterwards. I'm not hurtin' in any way, shape or form."
"Excelente."
The Maglite dimmed after a brief frazzly flare. "We ought to turn it off for the night, eh? Save the juice and all that. Wot do you say?"
"I say I want to look at you another five minutes. You blew me away and that happens, well, not often."
Private giggled. "Do I get a medal?"
"Hell yeah! Your actions proved you worthy enough for The Right Honorable Order Of The, The - "
"Nine Volt Battery?" Private nestled his love's head closer to his. "Movin' right along, we're both sticky. We'll stay sticky for another whole day. Oh, bother."
"What do you think of playing chicken?"
Private pulled away to a little thwpt sound as he detached from Skipper's side. "Did you stuff our car in Hello Kitty's pockets, too? I wouldn't put anythin' past you!"
Skipper rolled over, chuckling. His voice sounded hoarse as he answered, "Nah, that's impossible unless Kowalski activated his shrink ray. I mean, let's do like the Blue Hen and her flock and take a dust bath since there's no water nearby." He traced Private's collarbone. "We'll wind up dirty but unstickified."
"A-All rightyroo, I'm game."
Skipper scootched to the blanket's edge and sifted the nearest gravel. "Too coarse." He arose to wander nearly out of Maglite range. "It's more velvety over here. Kowalski would know why." He settled himself breast down in the silt and fluffed his feathers, shuffling his legs and rolling his throat in it, too. He looked like he was sitting on a clutch of eggs like a chicken would, well, a nicer chicken than the Blue Hen, Private thought dreamily before he caught himself. He shook his head at the stray notion and joined his commander, fluffing, scrabbling, rolling, laughing, and clucking. They played as they dusted every inch of their coats, making a mess of what used to be glossy black and white. They even rubbed silt between their toes because lube had gotten everywhere. A pleasing consequence was that tiny flakes of silica and mica embedded in silt sparkled here and there amid their stubbled scruffiness.
They returned to the blankets and doused the light. "You, I mean our team, put a lot of faith in K'walski. He's placed us in danger more than once. You've said it yourself." Private settled back to back with Skipper, wiggling until he got comfortable. The grit made a companionable noise as feather rasped against feather.
Private figured that Skipper slept because of the lengthy silence until a thoughtful comment emerged from their pillow talk. "His heart is in the right place. And he's smarter than you, me, Rico, or even the Big Boss."
Ulps, he'd stuck his grubby foot in his beak. He'd better make things right. "Oh, I know he's smart. He tells us twice a day." Where had that remark come from? Make things better, nothing, he was making things worse. "I, I mean he - "
"Rico is lucky to have him." Was that a warning note in the voice that moaning had turned into a throaty purr?
"Sure, right you are! Doris was the loser in that match, I'll bet she weeps into the kelp every time she thinks about it! She'd just better not come back here, that's all I've got to say! Well, goodnight then!" Private kissed the air loudly.
Skipper didn't kiss back. "Now hold on. Doris isn't a bitch, not by a long shot. Sometimes animals simply aren't good for each other. Kowalski would have seen that like I did. Eventually." Before Private could come up with more than an uncomfortable uh if you say so, Skipper continued, "Doris likes flaunting her beautiful streamlined body and Kowalski likes flaunting his beautiful bulbous brain. That's about as different as two animals get, don't you think?"
"Well, er, well, she may not be wot you said but she hurt him! Bad!" Private blurted. "All that time later, he'd get tears in his eyes just mentionin' her. You saw it, too, didn't you?" Chinwagging about sex was easier than flailing on the subject of soul pain and Private regretted blabbing about Kowalski. There was an edge to his thoughts and he didn't know why. Suddenly, he felt keyed up and almost spoiling for an argument. "I know you did."
"Psssh, sure I did, duh. I just didn't know what to do about it. And then Rico came on to him when we were on Åland or vice versa I don't really care and I didn't need to requisition an appointment with Doctor Hooha or whoever else the Big Boss assigns to help commandos face up to reality." The commander paused to take a breath. "Kowalski is doing fine, the team is fine and you and I are fine. In fact, Kowalski's hinted that he's working on something extra special. I'm not at liberty to say more because I don't know more." Finally, Skipper air kissed as he rubbed his heel against Private's. "Let's rest."
"Let's." Sleep swam away from Private like startled minnows as his thoughts buzzed around Skipper's defending Kowalski so strongly until he fell asleep without knowing he was going to. When he awakened, it was to the sight of Skipper poking the fire he'd resurrected, the strong back curved gracefully over the growing flames. Flecks of silt provided flickers of reflected firelight here and there to partially gild the outline. Private spent long minutes contemplating the back, envisioning the front. He wanted more of it.
The twigs in the fire snapped, sending sparks swirling high. All around them water drops dripped, sinking into gravel without forming a stream. Bronze Room beauty lies under the surface, Private rambled to himself, bronze is a quite dirty, dusky brown and we'll both look brownish like isabelline penguins in daylight, mucked up as we are. He snuggled into the blanket, wanting more warmth, too lazy to get up. "Honey?"
"Mmmm?" The voice was still hoarse and Private thrilled as he remembered how it got that way.
"I'm cold. Cuddle me?"
"Always."
Twenty minutes later, Private felt warm enough and Skipper slept again. The fire had died to embers once more. Skipper shifted in his sleep, a soft moan erupting as he curled deeper into the blanket cozied between the two of them. He mumbled, tossing something aside as he turned over. Great googly moogly, it was the cap to the lube. Private replaced it firmly, noting that half the lube remained.
Private brushed a disordered feather from Skipper's forehead and even in slumber, Skipper reached for his love.
Private sighed against the terminator of black and white as Skipper's pulse throbbed beneath his temple. "I needed this."
IOIOIOIOIO
Ten hours passed before Private poked Skipper's shoulder. "Wakies! Here I always thought commandos slept light as a pinfeather and woke alert straightaway."
"Mmm."
"Come on now, we've yet to explore the rest of Howe, how can you just lie there asleep?"
"Hhhhhhuhm."
"The Big Boss wants you in her office yesterday!"
A yawn. "Herrrrrrr?"
"Yeah, her. Get up, rise and shine, greet the new day that K'walski's smartphone says it is. It's so smart that it knows the time even down here. Which is nineish, by the by, lazybones."
Private tickled the slack instep to result in a twitch and cracking open of one eye.
"Cut that out! And even the Big Boss herself doesn't wake up inmediatamente."
"No, I suppose not - hang about, how do you know - "
Private couldn't help a titter as Skipper snapped into action. "Let's roll, what are you waiting for, pack a lunch and we'll explore other rooms, I'll move camp while you do that because tours start at ten, let's meander underground HQ to the anteroom of the Bronze Room that we spotted coming in, must be gorgeous places yet here in Howe, how about we skip breakfast?" He arched into a nip up, kissed Private's cheek and made like a toad to hit the road. He shoved the backpack off the blanket.
Private shook his head as he gathered Hello Kitty. The dimmer of the two Maglites he thrust into the backpack along with the canteen and smartphone. "Hmm, wot else?"
"Dirty dirt removal incoming, watch yourself!" Private almost lost his footing as Skipper yanked up the blanket to flap a cleansing snap over his head like a matador enticing a bull, flopped it down again to roll nearly all stray items inside it, packed it into a messy oblong, and dragged it behind him to the Bronze Anteroom. The brighter Maglite that Skipper had snatched surveyed the maw-type arch leading to the Anteroom and parts beyond. "So we keep campin' in the general vicinity and return later?" Private called to the back of Skipper's head thirty feet away. He surveyed the selected litter of goods left behind after he'd kicked apart the evidence of their fire.
"Ten four! And we'll work up an appetite, pack at least three tins of anchovies!"
"Aye!" The small pile of their belongings at his feet made the Bronze Room area feel more like home than ever. Private appreciated the lightening of the backpack as he tightened its straps and set out after his leader.
IOIOIOIOIO
"Bricks?"
Skipper matched Private's nonplused tone. "Humans can't resist bringing their claptrap underground, Private. We penguins make do with Mama Nature in the raw."
They stood in front of two steps that led down to a larger display of human disturbance than usual. A brick floor slightly larger than their faux floe at home spread two steps under them for fifteen feet with four steps marching up to a blank wall across the anteroom. Anyone climbing the four steps had mighty little room to gavotte or river dance or whatever humans did when they reached the top. In front of the four steps was a calcite heart inlay the diameter of six penguins end to end in the midst of the bricks. The Maglite reflected more dully upon it than if the heart were not artificially smoothed for wimpy human feet.
The two penguins descended the steps to mount the inlay. Both their Maglites played upon the outline of their feet on hard mineral. Skipper hopped up and down to make certain it was steady. "Ley line marker? St. Valentine's Day shrine? Feng shui? What could this be?"
At the moment Private landed his first hop, the calcite glowed after all the antechamber's lights clicked on whumpwhumpwhump in sequence. "Awp! Wot the aitch eee double hockeysticks?"
"It must be ten o'clock, Private, and humans turned on the electricity to the caverns. Tours start now so we'd best head out and about where they don't go." Skipper hugged Private. "You're cute when you're startled."
Private looked disgruntled as he stepped back from the embrace. "Ley line? There are actual lines to get laid? Do we need to take a number?"
Skipper fell apart before he marched away from the glowing structure and ascended four steps. "Gross thought. I must be rubbing off on you."
"Maybe later."
"That's punny."
"I thought so."
"Oh you kidder, you! Come on, see the niche beside the wall sconce?" Skipper pointed to a crevice five feet up. "Penguin size, just for you and me. Let's explore where humans can't go."
The niche stayed its nichiest for fifty feet and then opened to a medium sized chamber, rose red flowstone walls with broad yellow stripes rippling through. The space was pleasant except for its odor.
Skipper plugged his nostrils. "Led's bove alog. Yellow beans sulfur."
"Sbells lieg Rico ad is sbelliest," Private agreed.
Sixty feet from the stinky room, a more congenial atmosphere presented itself. This room's jagged ceiling continued laterally to the end of their Maglite's range not more than four feet high, which would have been challenging for a human to explore. They waddled slowly over obstructing stalagmites and wove through smooth boulders deposited by long ago floods. Private reached the farthest wall first.
"Look, Skippa, bacon!"
"Great day in the morning, it is!" Wallpapering the chamber flowed red brown minerals mingled with whitish strips to resemble the tasty breakfast dish. "It's lunchtime, right? Let's eat."
Privated consulted Kowalski's smartphone. "It's just eleven, Skippa."
"So it's Sunday brunch. Lighten up and unload the Howe chow, now." Skipper plotzed and flourished an imaginary fork and knife. "Told you I'd work up an appetite."
Private got coy. "We'll eat if I can make a game of it."
"Never get between a penguin and his anchovies, Private," Skipper glowered. "And anchovies make poor playing cards."
Private opened the tin of tiny fish. He pulled one from its metal net, swaying it back and forth in front of Skipper's glittering and hungry eyes. "It's not that sort of game. Listen, honey: he loves me, he loves me not," he chanted.
"It's not a game if everyone knows the result. Come on, I'm starving, babe." Skipper patted his substantial belly. "Wasting away over here. Feed me, Seymour."
"Oh all right, partypooper. Here, catch." Private tossed the anchovy, which Skipper caught adroitly. He caught the next eleven, too.
Private passed the tin to his love. "There's about eleven left, so you do me now."
Skipper's eyes glittered with another kind of appetite. "I want to, but shall I? Will I? Can you think of one good reason to play?" He waggled an anchovy, which Private's gaze followed as if hypnotized. "Hungry?"
"D-Did you need Gammel Dansk, Skippa? It's back at camp." Private continued to track the fishlet. "So's that, er, other item." The fish wiggled suggestively. "And its goopy accessory thingy."
"Eat and I'll show you what I do and do not need." Skipper turned off his Maglite before it, too, frazzled and dimmed. Private's Maglite provided a beam that ricocheted upon the bacon to produce two candlepowers of light. "Cozier now, right?"
Private accepted the next twelve anchovies without breaking his gaze. Together, the two birds replenished energy to settle into more serious and at the same time, more frivolous undertakings. "You know, Skippa, when we might be drowned penguins or fried penguins the next tippy-toppiest nannysecond, I understood about sex."
"You did?"
"Righto. Remember back in October when you said if Blowhole flooded the whole bleedin' world, the last thing you'd think before drownin' was I got some before I died?"
"I said that?"
"The very words."
"Er. Um. I don't recall saying that to you, Private, but I did dream that I said it to you. Are you sure you didn't dream it?"
The word mystic tickled Private's lower brain. "N-No, I'm not, but it sure seems I did hear you." He pursued the agenda of the day. "Either way, it's okay because it was truer than true. I got you before I got killed and I would have died happy."
"L-Likewise, babe, likewise." Someplace far away a drip splashed and its echoes started a chain reaction, or so it seemed. The whole effect was mystical.
"Well, Skippa."
"Well, Private."
"Shall we get to it?"
"More wooing. More eating." They raced through the final two tins of anchovies.
Sixteen kisses and five gropes later, they began.
IOIOIOIOIO
Solemnly, Skipper placed the three emptied tins in a Mercedes-Benz logo formation. "Oil is practical for you and me. We've got oil galore."
Private nodded, beyond speech. He shivered and shut his eyes as Skipper anointed him from the slurry of oil lingering in each tin. After a long and quiet time, Private opened his eyes.
"You have oil," Skipper said, pointing. "Just there."
Skipper leaned in close, softly kissing Private's neck, and licked the offending oil.
"Skippa," Private nearly groaned. He curled his flippers into fists.
"Yes, Private?" Skipper didn't stop nibbling Private's neck.
Private dipped his flipper into the oil. "You've got some here." He smeared a glob on Skipper's adam's apple and then lower, spreading it down his lover's chest. A smirk played on both their beaks.
"And some here." Skipper dotted Private's keelbone with shine. "And let's not forget there, as well." A heavy drop of oil hung from each taut thigh. Private stared down at it, breathing fast.
Private sucked his flippers as clean as he could, slightly gritty as they were. He gripped himself first before Skipper could. "Fish oil works, I s'pose. Did you know, Skippa" - he wanked softly as if milking Nannygoat's tender, longsuffering teat - "or would you be surprised, that is, that Marlene wanted to sculpt me?"
"You're a handsome penguin, so no." Skipper strengthened Private's grip, adjusting to Private's rhythm.
"Oh, yeah. She offered to craft an anatomically correct dildo."
"Wh-What? Marlene did?" Skipper's grasp flopped to his lap and he sucked in air. "So. What did you say?" He replaced his flippers around the slowly moving action.
Private growled, "You bloody well know wot I said."
"How would I know - you and she are friends like she and I are friends oh no you're not making me diss our mutual friend - don't go there -" Skipper continued to shadow the movements without touching his own excitement. "I changed my mind and neither need nor wish to know because it might be a secret waiting for me after we get home. I don't like to spoil someone's uhhn fun."
Skipper resolved to upgrade Private's waffling skills after the next response. "Nobody else in our zoo could sculpt, not even Burt at his artiest. She said it would take three modelin' sessions. She's generous with her time, Marlene is."
"Yes. To a fault." Skipper did a double take. "Three?"
"Don't stop like that, I like you doin' wot you're doin'. No, nobody else. I said no thanks, because animals can just be too nice, you know?"
Skipper couldn't contain his glee as he freed one flipper for his own use, stroking briskly. "I knew it! I knew you'd stay just as sweet as you are!"
Private wanked faster. "H-How would modelin' make me not sweet?" He leaned closer, his beak brushing the finely-feathered indent of Skipper's earhole as he blew into it. Skipper looked down at what one of his own flippers occupied itself with, determining for the first time how Private compared to Marlene's dildo. Never mind the girth, it had to be at least ... why hadn't he ever noticed that good things came in big packages, too ... Swallowing, he glanced up, his eyes meeting Private's. Private did not smile. Private did not look away. Skipper swallowed again as he ignored Private's question.
"Good job you practiced with Faux Me, Private. You may choose the position this time."
IOIOIOIOIO
Private felt as if his brain moved in slow motion, having spent the morning twenty-five percent marinated in dirty fantasies involving Skipper. It didn't help to see Skipper wanking now with both flippers, a little smirk in place as the two oiled appendages slip slapped up and down and twisted. Choose the position? Him, against his love's vaster knowledge and experience? Two minutes passed without a reply coming to mind. This was not one of his fantasies, this was really happening. Skipper gently steered him out of his daydream.
"I expect you know my preferences by now, but this is your time to shine. Surprise me."
As if the pressure didn't exist, Private found his voice. Every shaky breath he took gave way to, "I'm goin' to make every fantasy you've had look rated 15 before you and I depart Bacon Room."
Before Skipper had time to come up with a wisecrack, Private abandoned himself to slide firm flippers down Skipper's chest, rotating twin circles where nipples would be if penguins had them. Skipper gasped and kept on wanking, pupils dilating until the ring of color was nearly invisible. Skirting down below, Private teased the cockhead before settling around it to demolish Skipper's self control. The commander thrust forward with a hiss as Mama Nature's best scenario engulfed them.
Private kept up squeezing and relaxing in a set rhythm until Skipper got out of sync. No, no, not so soon, thought Private, you're out of practice and there's ever so much more we can do. Let me save us some more. He pushed Skipper bodily to his back and straddled his thighs, much the better option for pressing hungry kisses against the beak that welcomed him inside. Skipper arched up to return the kisses with force, opening wide to swipe his tongue far to the back.
"Urk, s-stop," choked Private and Skipper obeyed. Private considered that his gag reflex might kick in with an upchuck that would kill any penguin's romantic mood no matter how enthusiastic. He stalled until returning to a personal favorite fantasy. Without speaking, he dismounted, slid to his side and raised one leg, dipping an oily flippertip inside himself to tickle and swirl. He closed his eyes to present surroundings, swimming inside his mind to give a little talent show all his own. He hummed Let Me Entertain You as he breathed out slowly, still circling. He snatched a sharp breath as a tentative flipper slid beside his. The movements were careful and measured, eking a squeak from him as his eyes snapped open to reveal Skipper watching his every move.
Skipper's voice urged, "Relax." Then a third flipper entered the opening, which felt awkward and uncomfortable. Not even hot kisses against his neck made him forget about it entirely. Private considered that some things were just too much fun and disengaged before he got overwhelmed.
But the moment all flippers were withdrawn and Skipper moved to grasp Private's cock again, Private forgot everything. He doubted he could keep two thoughts straight in his head while that muscular grip slid up and down, but at such a time, he couldn't care less. The fewer thoughts, the better, he decided, until a lick circled his opening before Skipper asked a tentative question.
"This - This is what you want? You're sure?"
For a long moment, Private gazed up at the bird who had been his friend, commander, colleague and for months now, the subject of multiple fantasies he'd never before dared. He reached up to pull Skipper down for a long, lingering kiss that tasted of anchovies.
"Roll over, then," Skipper said quietly. He turned Private over as Rico would turn over bacon so as not to burn it. Private rolled like a breakfast blintz in sizzling butter to present his butt for attention. The familiar warmth and weight of the older bird against his back reminded Private of so many missions when his team had hustled or had been hustled inside zippered mesh bags, steel barred cells, and FedEx boxes that the nostalgia made him limp and dreamy.
Skipper nibbled at the dark and dirty feathers at the nape of Private's neck. Suddenly Private wondered how much blood could possibly be left in the rest of his body as his cock sprang back to life with the way that one of Skipper's experienced flippers slipped under his belly to wrap like a vise around him. Private remained so wrapped up in this delight that he was shocked when Skipper thrust in from behind. He gasped as honed strength gripped him by one shoulder to pull him closer as Skipper pushed again and again and once more as he gained traction. He became much more aware of Skipper: the rough brush of beak against his jaw, the urgent breaths by his earhole, the flare of pleasure that surged and faded with each push against his bottom.
"Faster," Private begged in a voice as rough as Skipper's had been last night. Skipper obliged. Faster and harder, too, came pushes and jerks on his cock almost to the point of pain. Two harsh breaths grew uneven as Private looked forward to mutual comes and how rare and precious was that?
Before either bird could release, Skipper shocked him again. He pulled out with a long sigh, declining to encourage himself or Private with so much as a flick against straining flesh. Skipper lay at Private's side to pant and fling one flipper possessively over his love's chest.
"You do me, instead."
Oh oh oh, those were the precise words he'd said their first real time together and Private barked an "Aye aye!" before sitting up. Never mind that it wasn't supposed to have happened this way, that Private meant to be the bad boy this time, the one seducing, and yet here he was, the one seated on rock that resembled bacon as both of them fried in anchovy oil.
"Shabu shabu!" Private cried and by Skipper's breathless chuckle, he knew that Skipper remembered their Kidsmas dinner date in back of Sushi Yasuda on 43rd and Third. Private sizzled like the nabemono had as he drew Skipper astride his lap and plunged deep. They came nearly at once as Skipper bounced up and down, with Private letting out a low cry as he thrust upward and Skipper layering hot seed onto their patina of silt, lube, and anchovy oil.
IOIOIOIOIO
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Undertow