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[b][u][center]A Show of (Musical) Military Force

By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]

Gus drove his van the way that he imagined older generations rode horses. He kept it from falling into the ditch, and he listened when it wanted to go somewhere else. Sure, it meant that he was never on time (anywhere), but it meant that he got to see a lot more of the world than anyone else did. The lion liked that; it meant that he got to live, and wasn’t that the point of everything?

He tossed his head as he let the wheels drag him off the main road and down a side path for the seventh time that night. The van wasn’t usually so finicky, but hey, the van went where it went. He ran his hand through his mane - trimmed at the front, poofy in the back - and flicked his vest out again. Only thing he wore, only thing he needed; long as he didn’t get back-sweat on the leather seats, he was fine.

Still, he winced as he shifted his weight. The desert heat had left his balls all sweaty, and they stuck to the seat like nobody’s business.

“Okay, maybe get something for the chair…”

Shaking his head, he leaned out the window, wiping down the windshield enough for him to see through it again. The sun was almost down, but the faint hints of yellow and orange on the horizon shone down on a small town on the next rise. Probably one of those places just off the main road, some old supply town or something that lost all its people when the highway passed ‘em by.

Nice enough places, usually. Not [i]great[/i], but, eh, the Southwest had a few less assholes than some places he could mention.

He drove up Main Street, looking left and right until he found a motel. People stirred outside it as he drove up, but he was used to bums and locals staring at the dirty van as he went by. Probably more of the same.

The bottomless lion pulled the van up, put it in park, and had just reached over his shoulder for his things when -

Ka-click.

Gus blinked at the sound of a gun cocking. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder back to his window to see no less than three Army soldiers - two raccoons and a puma - pointing their rifles at him. The puma gestured for him to roll down the window, and, with one hand on his suitcase and guitar, Gus obliged.

“Uh, can I help you, gentlemen?” the lion asked.

“How the fuck did you get up here? Who are you?” the puma asked.

“You know, I’d be [i]happy[/i] to answer that without a gun in my face. I don’t really think I’ve done anything wrong here; I’m just looking for a place to sleep.”

“How the hell did you get past the checkpoints?”

“Just…rode the road,” he said, shrugging.

“Wise guy, huh? Someone get this hippie to the commander.”

“Hey, now, my dad was a hippie, I’m just - okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hand in what he hoped was a placating gesture as the rifle barrels pointed toward his face. “Just let me get my things, okay? Don’t want to leave ‘em in here; floor’s rusted enough that they might fall through or something…”

#

Five minutes and a confused search later, the pantsless lion was seated in the middle of the motel lobby. He had three soldiers behind him, four on either side, and two that were talking together in hushed tones at the far end of the room. Gus sat there, tapping one foot with his guitar over his lap. The soldiers hadn’t liked letting him keep it, but they couldn’t think of a good reason to keep it from him. Yet.

As the two officers muttering to each other finally started walking toward him, he knew that they were going to be pissy. He sighed as he leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. Looked like it was going to be one of those nights.

“Name, civilian?” the coyote - Major or something, from the various buttons and pins - said.

“My name’s Gus. And -”

“What are you doing here?”

“...I was gonna say I was looking for a place to stay. But, looking around, I can see you aren’t much for hospitality,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Any chance I could get a name?”

“Major Grant,” the coyote said, giving a stiff nod.

“And him?” Gus asked, nodding at the spiny lizard at the Major’s side.

“Captain Thomas,” the lizard said. “Now, how -”

“Look, I feel like I’m not gonna be able to give any of you the kind of answer you’re looking for. Like, why is this lion half-naked in the motel? How did he waltz in? How come he didn’t stop at the checkpoints?”

“Those [i]were[/i] the questions. And if you are going to be flippant about it, we have ways of -”

“Oh, please don’t use that stupid old threat. Does that ever work? Does that ever actually work?” Gus asked.

“....”

“Look, I just wanted a bed. You got one of those?”

“This is a dummy town, meant to train the men in basic tactics,” the coyote said, snarling as he leaned in. “And if you think that you’re in trouble now -”

Gus sighed. No point in trying to talk to people like this. They were just pissy, angry all the time, and weren’t about to listen to anything sensible. All he did was ride the road; wasn’t that complicated, really. He leaned forward -

Only for the coyote to shove him back in the chair. Gus’s head whipped back and cracked against the back of the seat, and he hissed as he rubbed the sore spot. The major leaned in, right in his face, snarl pulling his lip back.

“If you think you’re getting outta here before you answer my questions, you’re dead wrong.”

“Eric, calm down!”

The spiny lizard pulled Major Grant - [i]Eric, was it?[/i] - back, one hand against his chest before quickly shifting to his shoulder. Gus continued to rub the back of his head, hissing through clenched teeth.

“Talk about your military discipline. Or lack thereof. Fuck.”

“I’d suggest answering my commanding officer’s -”

“You mean your boyfriend?” Gus muttered. “Seriously, he not getting any lately or -”

This time, he saw the punch coming, and he leaned to the right. The coyote howled as he punched the hard-wood back of the chair, grabbing his hand as Gus sat up again.

“Okay, if you’re going to be like that about it,” he muttered, reaching under the guitar. “Just gotta get the right pitch for this…”

Gus flicked the prince albert hanging from the tip of his cock and filled the room with a high hum that left everyone else wide-eyed and stiff. Humming and matching the tone, the lion got to his feet, throwing the leather band of his guitar over his shoulder and situating himself.

“I was all for some easy listening, but you want a punk? You get the punk.”

Just as the resonance faded and the soldiers started blinking their way clear of the paralyzing tone, Gus slammed his fingers down the strings. The soundwave that followed sent every soldier flying across the room and slamming into the wall on the far side. His fingers danced along the steel wires, his voice rising with the wailing instrument.

“[i]Empty hearts, empty souls,

Take this stranger off the road

Empty hands, empty minds

Treat this stranger oh so kind.[/i]”

The rhyme was shit, but that was what he got for making something up on the spot. He strummed the chords again and again, improvising a song on the spot. It was harsh, screamed as much as sung, ripping through their behavior and - most importantly - reminding them what they were supposed to do.

Welcome him.

Help him.

Be kind to him.

And as he played, their eyes went from scared to relaxed to happy, and the song sunk deeper and deeper into their skulls.

Gus bit back a chuckle as he kept playing, singing new instructions. They might be military, but from here on out, they were going to see him as their new commander. And there were going to be a few new…rules…for them to follow.

#

“Mmmph…now that’s better…”

Mock town or not, they still had coolers with snacks and drinks, and there were still beds. Hard ones, yeah, but you could make any bed soft with the right company. And Major Asshole was soft enough when he wasn’t screaming.

Or, they were. When he went around getting names, the Major mentioned something about being agender. Not sure how that worked, but he’d respect it.

With his head cushioned by a private’s ass and his feet up on the Major’s rump - and working his toes into the cheeks - he finally felt able to relax. The rest of the soldiers milled about, completely unaware that they were butt-naked, their cocks swinging, some pussies exposed and breasts bouncing, and everyone showing off the results of all their harsh training down here in the desert.

[i]Heh, can’t say the muscles look bad, can you?[/i] he thought, taking a sip from the water bottle they’d gotten for him. [i]Now, who do I want for a bedmate tonight?[/i]

Cause he had to have that, of course. He might be a traveler, but he was also a musician, a rocker, and a rocker needed his groupies. If he couldn’t get one from a show, then he could get one here. And besides, they owed him for shoving guns in his face as soon as he walked through the door.

He was still thinking about it when he heard the click-click of a radio or walkie-talkie. Looking around, he eventually spotted the stupid thing hanging out of the coyote’s pants.

“[i]Major, confirm your status,[/i]” someone on the other end said. “[i]You are past check-in time. Report.[/i]”

“...Huh. You guys have friends?” he asked.

The major nodded.

“Huh. Huuuuuuuuuh.” Gus leaned back, folding one arm behind his head and idly fondling the private’s bottom under his mane. “Guess I better start writing a new tune…”

Sure as hell wasn’t driving anywhere tonight; he was outta gas, anyway.

[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]

Summary: A little what-if of what happens if Gus were to find himself face to face with some of the military in a bad situation.

Tags: M/solo, Nudity, Gus, Lion, Mind Control, Military, Guitar, Music Hypnosis, Mildly Infuriating,