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They're laying on the docks by the community house, soaking up some sunshine, and Ponk is lounging across the back of his boyfriend-- specifically the centauresque back-- in something of a cuddle. It's a bit like squishing your face against a very big dog, Ponk thinks. Or perhaps a cat, if a cat were the size of a horse. But the fur isn't coarse like a horse's fur; it's definitely got the texture of a double-coated dog. Ponk wonders if there's shedding in the summer. "How come yo fur is so thick ?" Ponk asks Sam, and then immediately regrets it after getting a mouthful. Maybe he does shed.
Sam, of course, replies exactly what one would expect: "To match my thick dumpy." It's said with laughter, half-flirtatious and half smug.
"How do you brush all that?" Ponk decides to ask, because hey, while they're on the subject. He is also electing to ignore Sam's little comment there.
Though admittedly half of Ponk's vision is obscured by fur and Sam's thick haunches, the other half can clearly see Sam's embarrassed expression. "We don't need to talk about that," Sam says. Ponk huffs-- once again his mouth is covered anew in fur, so he should probably lift his head off Sam's body, but he's comfortable damnit he ain't gonna move from being draped over the creeper hybrid like he's a giant pillow.
"Clearly we do, Sam. How much. Do you. Brush. Your fur???"
"Listen, I have a lot of fur and I'm a busy man, okay?" Sam starts indignantly. "I don't have time to be-- to--" He stutters, flustered, as Ponk finally raises his head to give him a very judgemental look. Ponk can, from how close he is to Sam, feel his heartbeat speed up a little as Sam gets all flustered about it. That's too adorable.
"So what I'm hearing is ' no, Ponk, I don't brush my fur, I walk around like a mangy lunatic.' So that's it, huh? Is that why I keep getting so much fur in my mouth?" He's teasing-- mostly. Because there's also an idea forming in the back of his mind.
"You wouldn't get fur in your mouth if you didn't shove your face in it," Sam pouts quietly, and Ponk laughs.
" Uhuh. Lucky for you, I have a brush with me. It's a dog brush but we're gonna have to make do okay? Since I get the feeling you don't even own one." Ponk smirks under his mask, but it's affectionate.
"What? I-- I do so have a brush! I-- Mmmnmm." Sam gives up his protesting in favor of mostly- quiet pouting as Ponk procures the brush he'd mentioned and starts running it along Sam's fur. Amused, Ponk watches the pouting turn to embarrassment, the embarrassment turning to fondness and affection. Sam winds up closing his eyes and doing something with his body that makes it look like he's half-melted, laying down his torso and head as Ponk starts brushing his haunches. He tucks his head comfortably on top of folded arms. The image of a loafing cat comes to Ponk's mind.
It takes only a few seconds of brushing for the brush to become a stick full of fluff. "You could make an entire blanket out of all of this," Ponk remarks. "You could sell it and become rich. I guarantee it. Somebody out there wants all this fluff," Ponk says, and he was going to let it all blow away anyways (as in, despite the promise of money), but with the amount he's producing he's pretty sure that if he did he'd get fur in his mouth if he so much as breathed in the area. So for his own sake he finds a bag he usually uses for… let's say produce… and starts shoving handfuls of fur in.
To be honest, though, Ponk is enjoying this-- enjoying the therapeutic motion of the brush against fur, and the sounds of contedness that Sam is making, as inhuman as they are. Why yo ass purring like a cheetah? Ponk is tempted to playfully ask, but he doesn't, because then Sam might stop. And Ponk doesn't really want Sam to stop. The noises are nice. It's a deep rumbling sound, mixed with a weird sort of chuff or maybe hiss, and his fur is a nice texture.
"Sam, Sam," Ponk sighs, shaking his head, "What would you do without me?"
Sam thinks about it for a moment. "Mmmm," He says, "Probably develop mats. Have all my fur fall out. Go bald and be the scariest thing this place has ever seen."
"You got that right. You'd lose all your good looks without me."
Sam does an attempt at a lazy shrug, which is, from his laying-down position, more of a slight body roll. "There'd be no point in having good looks if I didn't have you."
There's not actually a good way to respond to that, is there? Now Ponk's the one flustered. This just won't do. He tries to come up with a response-- how is Sam so smooth???-- and instead comes up with yet another massive clump of shed fur he has to peel from the brush. It nearly falls out of the bag. Ah, perfect! Distraction! "I might-- I might need another bag!"
Sam opens one eye in a lazy squint. With his posture and expression, he almost looks like a lion right then-- if lions had six limbs instead of four and were green, that is. "You're actually gonna sell it?" Sam asks.
Ponk hesitates. He hadn't actually thought about that. "I don't know," He sniffs, "Maybe."
To Ponk's surprise, Sam just closes his eyes and does that sort of weird melty-texture again. "You should. It's the least I can do for you, going to all this trouble for me."
Ponk's heart softens a little at that. Damnit, Sam, why'd he have to be all sappy about it?
"Yeah, well," Ponk replies, his turn to pout, " Somebody's gotta take care of you. You clearly ain't gonna do it yourself." He tries not to let too much affection filter through his voice, but he's pretty sure he fails miserably.
"You're too sweet to me, Ponkie~", Sam hums, oozing love-- aw no come on why-- and curling in his torso closer to Ponk.
"You ain't gonna be sayin that when I make bank off of your fur," Ponk replies, lost to the affection and hoping Sam understands it to be love anyways.
Sam does. Ponk finds himself curled in on, like a dragon guarding some big treasure, it's freaking adorable, and Sam's long enough laying down that he feels like a treasure for it. They fall into silence, a rhythm of hums and brushing and not-quite-purring, the warmth of the sun on Ponk's back mixing comfortably with the warmth of Sam's curled-up hybrid body. Eventually, after about two bags full of fur, Ponk decides despite his sleepiness that he cannot leave a job half-done. He tells Sam to turn around, and Sam is startled and flustered at his brusque tone which makes Ponk wiggle his eyebrows, and Sam sheepishly flips over-- still curling around Ponk, mind you-- so that Ponk can brush his other side.
They take care of each other. It may not be the deepest, most profound expression of love out there, but they're taking care of each other. It's nice, Ponk thinks, and there isn't really a better term for it. It's nice.
The sun is lower in the sky when Ponk finally finishes, the light of the golden hour sending dappled light on Sam's already dappled coat, making him look as soft as he actually feels right now, and as soft as his expression is. Ponk's dogbrush begging for mercy-- he idly thinks he'll buy one specifically for the heavy-duty type of coat that Sam has. Maybe make it a regular thing?
"You know what, Sam? That was a lot of work. Maybe I will sell some of this to make up for it. I bet it'd be good for felting." Yeah, Ponk is actually exhausted from all that. But he doesn't regret it. "You have way too much fur."
"You should sell it, you should, " Sam encourages genuinely, "You definitely earned it." He laughs and it's as bright as the day was when they first started.
"Mmmmm-hm!" Ponk agrees with a huff. He's definitely going to keep some for his own usage, but there's so much of it that he doubts it'd make that much of a dent. Maybe he could make a green blanket? "You're lucky I love you." Sam flushes and stutters, but Ponk's focused more right now on how sleepy he is from all that damn brushing and from the warmth of Sam surrounding him and the sunlight on his back. He lays his head back down on Sam-- this time, he doesn't get a mouthful of fur. He smiles. His true mission for the day… accomplished.
Sam realizes he isn't going to get any more conversation out of Ponk and instead opts to let Ponk rest on his back. "Have a good nap, Ponkie," Sam says lovingly, and kisses Ponk on the forehead. Ponk falls fast asleep, safe and warm.