The entrance to the locker room swung open, its rusted hinges groaning at the might of the tall Doberman pushing it without even a grunt of effort. He sauntered into the room, surveying the empty surroundings with a silent glare before huffing and continuing toward the showers. The shower stalls were old-fashioned metal affairs that had been installed in an industrial building decades ago; they were all identical, each one equipped with two taps: cold water or hot. There weren't any soap dispensers either, but there were plenty of towels. Charles would be coming in any moment now, no doubt fretting over the unhygienic nature of such facilities.
"Bruce!" There he was.
"You're late," Bruce said flatly, throwing off the towel he'd just wrapped around himself and walking past him to pick up a bottle from the table behind the showers. Time to tell him the bad news. "I don't think there's enough warm water for both of us to shower one after the other, so we're going to have to shower together."
"Oh my God, you've got to be kidding me! I-It's so cramped!" Charles' voice rose several octaves in pitch, distraught.
"It'll be fine," Bruce assured him, pouring some shampoo onto his hand and beginning to rub it vigorously into his own head fur. "We can do this quickly and get out of here before anyone else comes in and sees anything."
"What if someone does?"
"Then we'll deal with them when they show up. Plus think about it, we can wash each other to get those hard to reach areas—"
Charles groaned, such a description was too vivid to be heard when he was about to be naked in front of Bruce. And what was he talking about 'deal with them', Bruce was six feet tall and weighed around 240 pounds while Charles was only five foot four inches tall and 100 pounds! To Charles, Bruce was a titan, a colossus who commanded respect and fear simply by existing, he was just a runt. Still, he needed to get clean, the humid day he had today made sure he felt sticky and gross for the whole workout, and he was tired of the sensation.
"Fine. Let's go."
They stepped into the shower stall, closing the door behind them. It was only then that they realized how cramped the space was, barely large enough for the two of them to stand side by side. The showerheads hung down from above, pipes and valves jutting over their heads like a rusty crown. There were no windows, but light seeped in through the cracks between the concrete blocks making up the walls of the locker room.
The shower filled with hot water, steam rising from the floor and cascaded down over their bodies. The soap smelled industrial; only purchased for budgetary reasons. After one last look at each other, Charles reached out to grab Bruce's head fur with his left hand and began to rub some of the thick lather into his right hand. He started at the top of the dog's head, rubbing the hair back and forth until he was satisfied with the amount he had applied. Then he moved on, working the shampoo into the long, bushy tail. When he was finished with that, he worked the rest of the lathering foam into the Doberman's body, paying particular attention to the muscular legs and chest. He was careful not to use too much since he didn't know what kind of reaction he would get.
Bruce, meanwhile, had taken the opposite approach. He lathered the goat's body with the shampoo, starting with the shoulders, neck, and upper torso. He continued, massaging the goat's chest and stomach, occasionally running his hands across the soft, feminine underbelly. He was getting more aroused by the minute, and the thought that he might be washing anywhere near his friend's genitals made him feel slightly sick—in a good way. The prospect of seeing another man's cock, even if it wasn't erect, excited him far more than he cared to admit. He was a dog after all—dogs were instinctual like that.