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Served Coldly

by H. A. Kirsch (HawkWolf)

Title by Old Klingon Proverb

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Hawk woke up on the wrong side of bed in the morning, full of contempt that he couldn't place,

anxious bile that wouldn't settle out of his throat. By midday, the angry haze dissipated and left

him simply aroused, mind reeling around anything that had to do with sex. By the end of the day, the

thoughts had coalesced into a body spread apart and pressed to a bed, paid for and pounded.

The wolf stood in front of his full length mirror and held up a pair of leather riding gloves. His

shoulders were swarthed in a leather blazer with fine black cherry alligator highlights up the

lapels and down the back, pecs wrapped in a leather tank top, legs in his five-pocket riding jeans,

feet in knee-high flat-cuffed cowboy boots with a masculine snipped square toe. He fitted one hand

into the glove leather, fingers stretching and sliding into each finger sheath, then stroked the

other glove on. He looked at his hands and ran every species he enjoyed underneath them, then

blurred the images all together. He couldn't decide. Maybe he'd let them decide.

The woods outside of town flicked by, slowly replaced by houses here and there, then dense suburb,

then the rows of nouveau antique brownstones and glittering street lights of downtown. Four streets

over, and he parked his Mustang in a valet lot just one street from the red light district. He made

his way on foot to Hotel Tracy's, host of the most upscale of the cathouses in town. It catered

mostly to men seeking men, and was in decent repair. The rooms were intentionally scuzzy, Hawk

figured, so that there was always an air of forbidden filth. That air helped, since prostitution was

long legalized and the social stigma was almost window dressing.

"I feel like I'm at a Denny's," he said, looking at the Selector up at the front desk. The touch

screen showed a variety of images. All the cathouses in the city used the same ones, but Tracy's had

added images to the categorical buttons. Hawk prodded away, indicating his desires: Male, mammal,

carnivore, dress-up, oral, anal, masturbation, and one image that he could only assume meant, "D/S

play". The attendant wiped the screen off as Hawk paid his up-front fee and took his room card.

"Well, our waiters won't talk to you about anything weird when they're serving up your dinner," the

ferret said, and let his lips curl back. The ferret was a creep, always slightly head-tilted and

wearing on eyebrow spot higher than the other. When he grinned, he looked like a skinnier version of

Lurch.

"Yeah, great," Hawk said, taking his card up to the room. The room meant a particular person whose

interests best matched. Tracy's never let out who was going to be matched up, or who was even

available. Their schtick in the context of sex for sale was offering true service, and that meant

treating their whores like a fine product.

Despite the reputation, the rooms were like a bad mismash of cheap motel and dingy flophouse. They

all had queen beds and some sitting furniture, individual baths, clothes closets. The carpet was

unevenly colored and worn in spots, the furniture mismatched, and a pervasive scent of warm bathroom

musk came from the nature of the building. Hawk was just fine with that. If he wanted to fuck in a

nice place, he'd stay home and order out.

Hawk took up in the sitting chair, knees apart, boots flat on the floor, and stared at the door. He

would only have to wait a maximum of five minutes, said the weird ferret. Hawk waited, and was just

tucking his phone away after checking the time when the door opened.

"Hi," a voice said, momentarily sultry as a form came through. As he moved into the room light and

shut the door, his form sharpened to a white wolf a few inches shorter than Hawk. Fairly well built,

with the V torso of a lupine, fine marbled dress shirt worn with the collar popped up, trendy

relaxed boot cut jeans and burnished Doc Martens. He had a pungent scent of vanilla spiked with

alcohol, the sharp tang of freshly applied cologne. His fur was mostly even white, with traces of

darker ash around where a typical timber wolf had markings, ears tipped with black that puffed off

the tips in a few strands, tail similarly tipped. "I'm Christopher." The white wolf's face

immediately lit up and twisted into an incredulous grin as he recognized Hawk.

Hawk's reaction was pure shock, eyes wide, jaw dropped a crack, a dull gruh coming out between his

teeth. He leaned forward, gloved hands sliding along his leather pants until he grasped hard at his

knees. He had the same moment of startle as Christopher did, but his feeling was far darker. Several

unpleasant, humiliating memories crept into Hawk's head, all of them spearheaded by the snowy-furred

preppy wolf.

Christopher was a classmate from high school, one of the kids from the richer side of town who'd

gone to Parkside Middle School instead of Lainsville Creek like Hawk. When they merged in high

school, Christopher was smart and popular and even had a small posse of similar other wolves. Like

anyone who feels the power of popularity, he quickly turned it against anyone who wasn't aiming

social love at him. That meant loners like the morose black Hank were mouth-breathing blue collar

grunts who took auto-shop and wore shitty redneck clothing.

Years passed and Hank had forged his bird of prey nickname. Apparently, Christopher's massive

ambitions and hot-shot European college transfer plans somehow led him to be a prostitute. The two

stared at each other, Christopher approaching and rubbing his neck, trying to get a closer look.

"Man, look at you. Holy shit," he said, chuckling as he looked over the leather-clad black wolf.

Hawk rose out of the chair and quickly towered five inches over Christopher's head. It was the only

advantage he ever had previously, and it still worked. Christopher's body slacked off from that

patronizingly friendly tone and just hung in its clothes. "I don't fucking believe it. You're a

fucking whore."

"Hey, sometimes this is how it works out. I was in Europe for a few years, doing some language

studies, and when I came back, my parents... you know, had split up," Christopher said, starting to

unbutton his dress shirt from its rakish upper chest gap to his navel. "So when I tried to get

financial aid, they weren't... done with the divorce, and that federal aid stuff-"

"I don't give a shit why your ass is in this room. You see this?" Hawk cut in, untucking his black

wallet from the inside of his leather coat and opening the equally inky leather folds. He slipped

two bills out. "This is two hundred bucks. This means you do whatever the hell I want." He stuck his

gloved hand out without a hint of a shake. Inside, he was climbing a hill that he'd long since given

up on, and already near the top.

Christopher took the money in silence and stopped playing with his shirt. His white arm dropped

down, and he stepped over a machine that looked like a fancier hotel's intercom. He swiped an ID

card, then fed the bills in with a room-grating whirr. "So. What do you want?" He leaned on the wall

by the machine, apparently forgetting his role as paid sex object. Hawk did the same on the other

side of the gadget.

"They told me downstairs that bondage, anything that leaves a mark, bodily fluids that aren't piss,

come or spit, drugs, that's all out."

The white lupine blinked. "Well, yeah, that's not really what this kinda place is...for."

Hawk lowered his muzzle, yellow eyes remaining fixed on Christopher. "I like leather. What a

surprise. I like getting a nice, warm mouth on my dick. I'll settle for a slobbering dog mouth. I

like fucking. What the fuck do you think I like?" The wolf's voice escalated at the end. His cock

throbbed inside his leather jeans, but he didn't move to touch it. He waited to see if Christopher's

eyes would catch the swell and pulse. They dropped, then returned, looking ever so lightly harrowed.

The black wolf pushed away from the wall and Christopher followed, then shrank away as Hawk clopped

forward and pushed himself between wolf and wall. Hawk's leather gear creaked in the otherwise

silent room, along with the floorboards under the carpet. Christopher's eyes kept darting down to

boots, gloves, leather bulge, then back to the other wolf's face. "Why don't we start with what I

don't want."

Christopher almost backed onto the bed, but Hawk stopped him with a grab to the arm. The black wolf

moved around and again took up behind Christopher, this time reaching around the wolf's front.

"Sure," Christopher swallowed, tail beating against Hawk's legs at the trapping caress.

"I don't want this shirt. Take it off," Hawk growled, nose tipping towards Christopher's ear and

offering a growl. I always hated it, he thought. His gloved hands beat Christopher's, unbuttoned the

last buttons, then lifted to stroke at the other wolf's toned but hardly brawny chest. He pushed the

fabric down towards the arms, and Christopher took over. The white wolf squirmed and shucked the

white shirt free, then looked for a spot to put it. Hawk interrupted him by pulling back to chest,

and the startled wolf opened his white hand and let the fabric just fall to the floor.

Hawk continued. "I don't want these jeans," he said, and didn't have to add the command. He

fulfilled it himself, gloved hands sliding down Christopher's stomach until the other wolf shivered

against him, even let out a puppy grunt. As Hawk let his fingers play over the other wolf's curved

maleness, as Christopher grew a stunning hard-on that led him to slink his upper back against Hawk's

body and try pushing subtly into the smooth black leather, something bubbled up to the surface of

Hawk's memory. Hawk's whole body quivered and he rolled his eyes, snorting slightly and letting his

teeth grab and let go of Christopher's ear. The notion was too choice to resist.

"I remember when you and those other guys watched me put in my locker combination at the start of

gym, and stole my jeans." Hawk's fingers held onto Christopher's bulge. "And you went around telling

everyone how I must've had a cheap family for wearing pants from the big box store." The black

wolf's one hand grasped at the top of Christopher's jeans and worked the button free, then started

to slide the zipper down. "Then you and your friends pissed on them." The black wolf's fingers

reached in and released Christopher's bulging erection, shaft swinging out and throbbing up until

the foreskin rolled back.

Once Christopher's fly was down, nothing kept his trendy jeans from slowly working down his thighs,

then dropping to the floor around his bare feet. His thighs ground together, feet splayed in

comparison to knocked knees, and he squirmed back against Hawk. "I... I.." Christopher started to

say, but his words just wouldn't come.

"You, are going to go over to the closet and show me what kinds of getups they have for you boys,"

Hawk growled then pulled on the naked wolf. He let go and strode over to stand near the closet, even

twisting the knob open but waiting for Christopher to open it. The white wolf did, and exposed a

collection of naughty outfits. Leather pants and shirts, clingy spandex, one rubber suit, a pair of

knee-high riding boots, cowboy boots, and then thigh-high stiletto heels. A little drawer exposed a

few black matching opera gloves in fine leather. "You're fucking kidding me," Hawk sniffed,

fingering through the more effeminate items. Half of his face drew up into a wicked, twitching,

wired smirk. The other half stayed dead. "Who picks this stuff?" he chuckled.

Christopher's brow spots pursed up in the middle, and his black-tipped ears dropped slightly to the

side. "I do," he said, and the hurt stun him enough that his cock sagged. The loss of swollen

arousal forced out a glistening strand of precum that he caught and slapped at his leg.

"Put it on. The boots. The tall ones, and these," Hawk said, going to the liberty of taking the long

opera gloves out and handing them to Christopher. He palmed down at his own bulge, stroking at the

curve through his leather pants, handling it to the point that he had to stop and take a few deep

breaths.

The white wolf took the gloves and slid them on, hands stroking the leather up his arms in a few

careful strokes that were clearly measured and practiced. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed

and slid his legs into the tall, supple black leather. Once his feet were fitted into the stiletto

heels, he stood up and wobbled for a second, then approached Hawk. The cocky strut of a

popped-collar popular wolf was now degraded to the cross-dressing sashay of a whore, and Christopher

knew it. He reached out for Hawk's leather jacket and slid his hands up the lapels, then down the

material with his thumbs touching the wolf's trimmed chest. His arms then folded up, stepping close

to keep up with the tease, thighs and cock grinding up against the black wolf's leathered thigh.

Hawk grabbed Christopher by the head and leaned in, muzzle pushing against muzzle, black tongue

unfurling against Christopher's pink. Hawk channeled years of crushing, thwarted need towards

Christopher. The white wolf returned that need, something that was arousing first and confusing

second. The black wolf pulled his lips away, leaving Christopher's tongue to pulsate out and writhe

in the air. "You remind me of something," he said, then took Christopher down to the bed. Hawk

climbed in after the white wolf, still fully dressed in his leather suit, boots tangling at the

sheets. Christopher's ears sank and he leaned back, then lay back, then pushed into the pillows as

Hawk descended on him. "In those boots and gloves, with those little black tips at your ears and on

your tail, you look like a fox."

Christopher's eyes went wide, then formed that terrified, knowing pout again. As Hawk got closer,

Christopher lifted his blackened hands, pressing at the wolf's chest, sliding to the shoulders and

trying to stay the lupine's wretched, lopsided grinning approach.

"I remember one time, after some kind of Halloween costume party, I got fucked up. Real fucked up,

and ended up crashing some little party out behind the school. This fox I was always after was

there," Hawk said, and kneeled up on the bed, hands finally exposing himself. He worked each of the

buttons down as he told the story. "They all ran off, but I got him. I got him real good. I made him

choke on my dick until he threw up, and then I muzzled him and fucked him in the ass until... until

I was done. And the only person he told was you." Hawk's cock throbbed in his grasp, leathery and

veined, ebony and uncut, glistening slimy dickhead poking out through its hood. "And then you told

everyone else what I did." His length throbbed, and a drool of precum rolled out of the pisshole, to

get smeared against the side of Hawk's index finger.

The white wolf pulled out of his effeminate pout and stretched out underneath Hawk, but his adam's

apple bobbed under the soft neckfur. "Aren't you going to put one on?" His voice came out small,

unsure.

Hawk lowered his muzzle, until his irises were being chopped off at the top by his mean furrowed

brows. "No, I'm not," Hawk said, and reached over to the bottle of lube left on the nightstand. He

slathered one gloved hand with it, then milked the lube over his flesh until it squelched. "So

you're a wolf. I guess that means we share blood. I don't think you're going to be worrying about

that. You're going to be worrying about how, even if the next guy wraps it up, he'll still be

fucking my come around in your two-faced shithole."

Christopher's response was to twist his head to the side, followed by his shoulders, followed by the

rest of his body. He reached out one black hand across the sheets towards the nightstand and arched

over, body straining under fur. The wolf trembled and tucked his tail against his rump as he changed

position, but no one would mistake the pose for hunkering down.

Before Christopher could crawl away, Hawk flattened him down with a gloved hand between the shoulder

blades and leaned forward. He pulled the other wolf's tail up and gruffed, then nudged his dickhead

underneath it.

"No, I'm serious, I-I mean it!" Christopher said, voice falling from high. "I mean it!"

Hawk tightened the grip around his cock, forcing the black head to swell like a mushroom as his

fingers wrenched the foreskin back. Despite best intentions, the other wolf's hole couldn't resist a

concerted shove - it was already slippery, either from preparation or real use. Hawk stuffed inside

and let out a surprised grunt, then another deeper sound. His lopsided grin crept up towards his

jawbone, then balanced out on the other side. He tugged back, then pushed forward, letting his

weight carry him down against the crouching wolf's white back. Christopher's body was hard as iron,

shaking as the wolf cried out, eyes squeezed until they were leaking, then burst open wide as the

cramp inside turned from pure pain to the visceral sensation of pressure.

Hawk leaned back and fetched both of Christopher's black-clad hands and forced them apart, then

ground them up underneath the pillows. With nothing to grab onto, Christopher's face went with them,

muzzle stuffed under the edge of one. The struggle had Hawk pull back and then dig forward again,

with Christopher's tail curling and straining against abdomen fur and brushing with a faint whush

against fine black leather. Those several power thrusts lasted only a few moments, before the wolf

settled into a slow, overly-sensual deep rock.

Christopher's cry out was the exception to the rule - the gut-stirring slow thrusts had him quickly

groaning and slacking forward against the sheets, face finally turning and exposing his muzzle,

tongue hanging out and leaving a growing puddle of drool that ground into his fur. Hawk shivered and

turned the spine-crawling feeling into a mean chuckle, body pressing closer to Christopher's, hands

no longer pinning as much as stroking leather atop leather.

"I bet the guy in here before me was another wolf. I bet he held you down just like this. I bet you

waved your bushy little fox-tail in the air-"

"I'm sorry," Christopher said, closing his eyes and tensing bodily, the words coming out with a

twinge that made them unnervingly sincere amidst the sultry, fucked delivery. Hawk's cock ground to

a halt, resting up against the comfortable deepest point inside Christopher's guts.

"What?" Hawk's grip slowly tightened on the other wolf's long-gloved hands, matching up with the

increasing clench around his penetrating dick. His jaw hung down for a second, before flaring to a

snarl and then back.

"I'm sorry I was such a jerk," the white wolf continued, body squirming into a lifted-ass and

pulled-shoulders stretch as he squirmed beneath the impaling Hawk.

The black wolf's lips curled back again, this time hard enough to point his nose, ears swept back.

"Sorry doesn't cut it." Hawk slid back and knocked forward, then started nudging his hips to the

side, cock running up against the deep inner ring, the hilt of Christopher's whore ass. The white

lupine didn't take it like one; he cried out again, the sound sharp and holding only pain with a

sinking note of humiliation as the spike turned into a sharp ache. Hawk moved to clutch at

Christopher's shoulders, boot toes scraping at the sheets, gaining leverage to force himself through

that last inch. Christopher yelped again, this time cracking into a single sob at the end as his

muscles gave way and admitted his dickhead through. Hawk immediately snarled and started nailgunning

his fox-gloved counterpart. "You denigrate me and piss on my goddamn clothing, you humiliate me

until I'm so angry that it spills out through my cock while I'm fucked up, then you take that fox's

confession and turn me into a pervert with it! Sorry isn't going to do it. Taking my goddamn come up

inside your guts like a bitch is the _least_ you can do."

Christopher put up one last panicked struggle forwards. His face twisted with the painful horror of

being hilted, then melted into the awestruck gut pleasure of being deeply fucked. Even so, when Hawk

gave one last thrust and crammed hips to rump, leather squeaking in muscular strain, Christopher

wrenched away.

Hawk's cock exploded, cock flaring and pulsing as it stuffed through that bucking inner ring. It

prompted a groan, a momentary howl, then the sputtering grunts of satisfaction as the copious pulses

went increasingly sticky and thick. He simply uttered a hard grunt and yanked his cock out, bringing

another overstimulated sob out of Christopher. Then he snarled and spit in the white wolf's face.

Christopher heaved out of bed after the glob of saliva hit him all over the lips, gloved hands

swiping up to rub it off. He staggered into the bathroom and shut the door, then proceeded to open

the toilet seat and run the tap.

Hawk just slipped out of bed to stand fully. He felt dizzy, the heavy crash of orgasmic waves

leaving him wrecked like a shoreline, prostate aching. He walked to the little coat rack part of the

hotel room and slipped a bath towel down from a hanger, then mopped his cock up. He looked down at

the sweaty black length and felt a little cold trickle down his spine; he'd nailed Christopher with

only his own lube. He suddenly wasn't sure if Christopher's ass _had_ been wet, or if all those

cries from the violated white wolf were actual damage. Hawk replayed the image in his head, the

choppy memory of Christopher's face, the warm squirming clench around his dick, the way the white

wolf never _really_ tried to pull away. The knowledge that maybe he was injuring the wolf and still

getting those kind of sexual responses made Hawk's cock pulse and fill up again, and tempted his

gloved hands to tense and wring at the towel.

The black wolf slung the towel back into place, a rude streak on it proving that the hard fucking

had actually occurred. He stuffed his cock back into his leathers, massaging it into place, then

strode across the room to the bathroom door with slow heel-knocking struts. His hand reached out for

the knob, preceding his thoughts by a second as they formulated a plan to soil Christopher's other

opening. As he grabbed the metal knob, leather stretching tight over his hand, he heard more sound

come through the door. Plaintive grunts, the catch of breath, a few sniffs. The cold water appeared

down his spine again, and Hawk's cock shrank fast enough to cause his foreskin to shrivel.

Post-orgasmic haze was always a double-edged sword for the wolf, and now the bloody steel came up to

meet him as regret filled the void left by his seed.

A toilet flush washed the regret away. Hawk mashed his ear up to the door and listened very hard.

The sink ran to keep the rest of the sounds hidden, the wet and base release of an enema. After two

more flushes, the sink stopped and the shower sputtered to life. Hawk turned away from the door and

leaned up against the frame, black fingers untucking a cigar from inside of his jacket and bringing

it to his lips. He lit up and puffed up a mean cloud of smoke, then eased back. Despite the rules

mentioned at the front desk, someone had covered the smoke alarm with a plastic baggie.

The cold regret warmed back up to vindictive satisfaction, the feeling goaded into a lip-smirking

overload by the primal gloating of post-penetration. Hawk looked up at the ceiling and closed his

eyes. He tried to attack the encounter with various interpretations, and all of them led back to the

same conclusion.

The bathroom door opened and startled Hawk into snapping his gaze to the right. His eyes met the

equally startled eyes of Christopher. The wolf didn't drop his towel - this time, the surprise made

him pull the towel around his waist tighter. The black gloves and boots were gone, leaving

Christopher to his faintly tinted white fur and decidedly lupine muzzle and jaw. "Why are you still

here?" he said, traces of effeminate and vulpine posturing replaced by the clipped gruff of an

upper-class douchebag.

"You bleed any?" Hawk voiced his kernel of concern with a thick outer coating of cigar-holding

sneer.

Christopher wrinkled his face up and uttered a surprisingly manly grunt. "Just a tiny bit. I have

the weekend off," he said, returning full circle to the faulty confident attitude he copped when

he'd first found out who his client was going to be for the evening. Christopher immediately started

heading for the outside door to the hotel room, and Hawk instinctively followed. Just as the white

wolf's damp hand went to the knob, Hawk's beat it and blocked off the handle.

"Look, you have to get going. I have... another client coming in," Christopher said, brow spots

lifting up and pursing in a slight pout along with the stern push in his voice. "Look, I'm glad we

finally got to-"

"Finally what?" Hawk curled his lips back, cigar crushed into the hinge of his jaw. His leather gear

creaked as he leaned towards the other wolf; Christopher leaned right back.

"Well, I, I always wanted to... I just couldn't really say anything about it. We were just kids,"

Christopher said.

Hawk swiped the cigar out of his muzzle and swung it down towards the wall at the corner. It was

just a few inches from Christopher's hand and the white wolf yanked it back, then barked and backed

away. The ash end of the stogie hit the wall and splattered into smoke and dust as Hawk ground it

out. "Don't you dare tell me you always wanted to get my cock in your ass, you sad shit. You made

everyone stare at me and mutter shit to their friends as I walked around. You made some guys steal

all my shit to fuck with me because I was a filthy faggot. The only reason you're saying that

wistful shit is because someone paid you good money to take a cock up your greasy fuckhole." Hawk

bore down on Christopher until the wolf had backed right into the opposite wall. Christopher reached

for something, but nothing was there, and then he clung onto the wall. "Too bad your parents'

lawyers cost so much money, or else they could have just given some to you. Then you wouldn't have

to earn it by taking a load of my come so far up your ass that you'll taste it in the back of your

throat for a week."

The black wolf spun on his boot heel and headed for the door, barging through it with a swift yank

to the edge to ensure that it slammed closed behind him. He kept the strut up down the hall and

around the corner, straight into the fire stairwell and out to the first floor. A few hustlers and

waiting johns were milling about in the lobby, and they all swung their eyes over to the

power-stalking wolf in head to toe black leather. Hawk swiped his hand into his coat and withdrew

the room and elevator pass, then tossed it carefree onto the counter as he headed for the main

doors. The plastic card with its wallet-unfriendly lump skidded right into a startled concierge's

hands. Then he shoved his gloved hands out and blew the front doors open, storming out into the

bracing late fall night.

Itchy, anxious need for humiliated companionship had started Hawk's evening off, and now it had

received a full arc of climactic satisfaction. The wolf headed for his car, brimming with an

accomplishment that he had to tell someone.