The Strangest Boyfriend IV (finale)

Story by jhwgh1968 on SoFurry

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#11 of Other Stories


(Meta note: this is end. I mean it. I would call it a "content" ending, but not as far as "happy". It's the best my plot would let me do. Thanks once again toDraugr, for letting me use Randall, Trisha, and Kana for this story.)

(Literary note: the reference to a living author buried in these words is indeed intentional. Based on his expressed political views regarding a subject close to this story, and near and dear to this author's heart, it is both fitting for the context, and well deserved.)

The Strangest Boyfriend IV

Randall woke up in the very same easy chair he and Nightshade had curled up in the night before... at least, when the movie began.

His first instinct was that he fell asleep during it, but then he had fuzzy flashes of memory: sneaking out of the house, meeting that cheetah nurse, doing an experiment in a lab, and burning a spirit alive. It felt like disconnected fragments of a dream, which had no events connecting them. Had he really done all that?

His only physical ailment was a sore neck, which he presumed to be stiffness from sleeping across the arms of that overstuffed chair. And he could hear the kitchen exhaust fan. That made him decide to figure out his previous evening later, and start thinking about breakfast.

When the wolf slowly sat up, and turned toward the cook, he expected to find it was Nightshade. Instead, he found Kana watching the stove.

"Good morning," she stated once she looked his direction, over the fan and the sizzling of meat.

"Morning," Randall answered with a stretch. "Trisha still asleep?"

"She's getting ready upstairs. I've almost got breakfast done," she answered.

Randall could now smell it was sausage -- something much more elaborate than their usual fruits and toast, which were already out on the table.

"You must really like her," Randall observed, "wanting to impress her that much."

"Well... yeah," she hesitated.

"By any chance," Randall asked, "would it have to do with you coming home late from your second date? It seems like you're falling for her like I would, rather than your usual pattern."

"If you want to have any breakfast," she replied curtly, "then you had better not make comments like that. It's biting the hand that feeds you."

The wolf was a bit taken aback. "I wasn't trying to insult you," he said, "I'm just surprised, that's all."

"Well... so am I, to be honest," she admitted. "But, that's Trisha. She really is... something."

Randall nodded, but then his next thought was interrupted by a knock on the door. He noticed Kana was in her robe, and he was still in the same clothes he wore last night, which though wrinkled, were proper clothes.

"I'll get it," he offered, pulling himself to his feet.

When he got there and opened it, to his chagrin, he found Virgil. It was a strong suggestion his adventure last night wasn't a dream after all.

Randall quickly stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him. "What is it?" he asked sharply.

"I am here in an official capacity," Virgil stated with more gravity than Randall had ever heard from him before. "It seems what you've done has provoked a formal inquiry. You are to come with me."

"What I've done?" Randall snapped, struggling to remember more than the broad outlines, "that was self-defense!"

The spirit's tone did not change. "The circumstance do not matter. All of our dealings with mortals require they believe we cannot be harmed. You have not only discovered the truth, but have exercised the means yourself. You have a compelling story to tell other mortals who encounter us, which makes you a threat to our kind's existence."

Randall couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew that "knowledge is power", but the degree of power that had been conferred upon the knowledge he stumbled upon last night was absurd.

Apparently, his facial expression betrayed him, for Virgil interrupted himself. "I suppose I am wasting my words," he sighed. "You have nothing but contempt for our rules and laws, do you not?"

Randall decided to try a lecture of his own, based on what psychology he could remember. "I follow a principle that is as old as society itself: do to others as they do to you. When I first met him, Nightshade bent over backwards for me. You seemed a bit scary, but you didn't hurt me -- at first," he added with dramatic emphasis.

Virgil, as Randall expected, did not react.

"But that spirit tried to kill me. What else could I do but defend myself? Reasonable laws recognize that violence follows violence, and kindness follows kindness. And a death sentence for just knowing something makes no sense at all!"

"In that case, my final words are a warning, the one your 'boyfriend' insisted I deliver to you," growled Virgil, voice becoming deeper and ethereal. "Within hours, your head will have a bounty on it. Dozens or perhaps scores of my kind will try to collect it. When you cannot trust anyone you see on the street, then perhaps you will learn the lesson I have tried to teach you."

Randall made sarcastic air quotes as he repeated the lesson in a mocking tone: "do not underestimate us."

Virgil gave Randall a sharp glare. But then, all of a sudden, he smiled.

"Threats really don't work on you, do they?" the spirit mused out loud. "I should have guessed you would be one of those rare mortals who cannnot to be intimidated. Your 'boyfriend' demonstrated the only way to obtain compliance from you: through the power of 'love.'"

Randall felt nothing but incredulity at such a statement, and crossed his arms.

"Even now," Virgil continued, "he works tirelessly on a plan of some kind. A plan he refuses to tell me. Whatever it is, I am sure I will not like it, and you will. Return with me to his house, and we can find out together what it is."

Randall knew he couldn't trust Virgil -- except, perhaps, to tell the narrow-but-honest truth, as all spirit-kind seemed bound to. And just as noteworthy, his tone suggested genuine frustration with not knowing what Nightshade was up to. But that was far from the level of reassurance Randall needed.

"Why should I trust you not to 'erase' me or 'drink' me dry on the way there?" Randall asked pointedly, giving voice to his concerns.

Virgil seemed genuinely offended by this question. "Because the bounty is only paid if you are recovered alive and intact. It seems your 'boyfriend' got your memories of events to be considered as evidence that must arrive to the inquiry unaltered."

Randall was surprised to hear this at first. But after spending a moment trying to recall it, he realized every spirit had fled after that eraser was burned up. Did none of them return to see how the experiment had turned out?

"... So you can finally know whether ATP is your 'food' or not?" Randall bluffed.

"With those reassurances," continued Virgil, ignoring the question, "this is your last chance: will you surrender to me? Or will you watch your life fall apart within days, perhaps even hours?"

Based on what he had seen Nightshade do, Randall knew this was a real threat. If a mere four or five spirits exerted the same 'domination' power with a focused goal of trapping Randall or ruining his life, he wouldn't last long. If dozens did so, it would be a surreal nightmare he dared not imagine.

"I'll arrive at Nightshade's house at 2:30, and 'turn myself in,' okay?" he blurted. That was at least six hours from now. It would give him time to decide how to prepare himself.

"I will meet you there at that time. But be warned: the more desperate bounty hunters will not wait."

Virgil gave a haunting smile as he started walking down the street away from the house. And when he walked past a lamp post, he never came from behind the other side.

Now Randall wasn't hungry for breakfast, as his stomach knotted. He was not just facing a threat beyond the newfound power of his lighter, but Nightshade was busy preparing for... something. Aside from needing to talk to his boyfriend more than ever, this also meant Randall would have no protection from any spirit taking any form.

Except, he soon remembered, those special binoculars Virgil gave him. If he could find where he put them in his room.

When Randall walked back into the house, he found Kana and Trisha eating.

"Who was that?" asked Trisha.

"Don't ask," growled Randall, trying to minimize the gravity of the situation as best he could as he sat down at the table.

"Was it a friend of Nightshade's?" asked Kana.

Randall wasn't sure how to answer that question -- was Kana hinting at something? -- but Trisha interrupted. "What happened to him, anyway? Did he leave?"

"I was just told he did," Randall answered, a lie that he was willing to tell to keep Trisha out of this.

"Well that's too bad. The big pride thing starts at noon today, and I thought you two'd make a cute couple."

Randall had completely forgotten what weekend it was. "If you two are going," he said as he speared a couple pieces of sausage to put them on his plate, "I'll come without him. Besides, if there are any after-hours activities, he wouldn't mind."

"Just make sure," teased Trisha in a line that reminded Randall of something Kana would say. "to be polite. Having your eyes glued to someone's tail the entire time would not be helpful to our cause."

When Randall looked over at Kana to see if she had a remark in response, she was looking at her food and did not answer.

***

Despite the fact that it was misting rain, turnout was as big as ever.

Kana and Trisha spent the entire time talking with two males on their end of the sign, while Randall found himself walking close to a shirtless beefcake of a St. Bernard, and not saying much. Just occasionally looking at his body when it wasn't too obvious, since that was pretty hard to resist.

By the time the parade ended in Morgan Park, and the activists and politicians had started their speeches in the main courtyard, Randall felt quite winded. He watched the podium through the covered-to-a-pinhole binoculars, since it was a logical way to use them -- even though he was looking for affects rather than at the speech-making.

"Boring, isn't it?" suddenly asked a male voice beside him.

Randall put the binoculars down for a moment, and discovered that St. Bernard had sat down three feet away.

"Well..." Randall answered, but was not sure how to finish.

"Since you've been staring at me all day," the bulkier dog teased, "how about we make it less boring?"

Randall smiled. "Go on..."

"All I want is a kiss," he explained, as he got up, very slowly and smoothly, and started walking over to Randall. Almost unnaturally for someone of his stature.

Randall held up the binoculars again, looking at the microphone before turning toward the other dog -- and seeing an affect field of blue around him.

"Uh, sorry, not interested," Randall stated, quickly getting to his feet.

"Oh c'mon" encouraged the dog, "don't tell me you're a prude..."

Randall didn't answer as he walked away, headed across the field diagonally from the microphone and burst of applause. He now started wondering how many other spirits were in the crowd, as he kept an eye on the dog -- who, fortunately, didn't follow him.

However, because his head was turned, he walked straight into a rather large Shiba Inu.

"Oof! Hey careful," the dog chastised, voice much more sultry and less insulted than Randall expected.

"Sorry," Randall muttered.

But when the wolf tried to keep walking, his wrist was grabbed.

"Hey, slow down, cutie," insisted the big dog, as he pulled Randall back, and forced their eyes to meet.

Randall tried to pull away again. "Listen," Randall said nervously, "I'm sorr--"

"The apology I want, wolfie," he murmured in an ominous tone, as his pupils started to change color, "is a kiss on the neck."

"Let me go!" Randall cried in more fear than anything.

"I'll let you go," he growled with an ethereal voice, "after you gimme a kiss!"

Terrified, Randall's instincts made him do something drastic: kick the other dog in the crotch. His target was so entranced that he didn't try to block it, making him groan, curl up in pain, and let go. That gave Randall the chance he needed to run.

Not quite sure where else to go, he made a break for the trees that separated the green space from the walking path. He watched the several fursons standing around he ran by -- who either didn't notice him or didn't chase him -- and just as he was running out of breath, got to their shade.

It reminded him of some of the escapades he had with Nightshade, thoughts which made him miss his boyfriend even more. He was glad that he'd gotten back in shape, in part by doing those "play" horror sessions. But he couldn't imagine Nightshade was preparing him specifically for this.

Or, somehow, could he have foreseen it? The spiritual canine knew that Randall was "a risk", at least. Perhaps it was intentional, he thought. But though such thoughts were comforting, they were also distracting. Randall knew he had to focus on the situation at hand.

Pulling out his binoculars and peering back the way he came, he could see a hint of glow from the fiery orange aspect he'd escaped, as its owner wandered around the edge treeline, looking for him.

Since Randall didn't see anyone else when he swept his eyes across the park, he tried to make a plan: how could he get out of the park without being noticed by that guy? He knew which way the main gate was, but it was several blocks away, and would require a winding path to get to; a path, surely, with other fursons on it.

He started walking through the trees next to that path, making sure to keep his footfalls quiet, but his body language nonchalant in case he was spotted. But when he paused to check around a tree, he heard a nasal voice right behind him.

"Hey handsome," it said.

Randall startled, and turned to find that a raccoon in a rainbow T-shirt was also hiding off the path. More surprisingly, he wore absolutely nothing below the waist except a pair of sandals.

"What're you -- doing here!?" Randall blurted, only able to hush his voice half way through.

"It should be obvious," the raccoon said dryly. "I'm offering fun to any guy who notices me and likes the idea."

"How did you... make it here dressed like that?" Randall asked, recovering from the surprise -- and taking a longer look than he should have at the raccoon's fairly large dick.

"My pants are right over there, silly. Now, are you here because you could use a nice BJ? I'm offering."

The words suggested both more interest in and understanding of sex than the spirits' desire for a "kiss". But Randall knew he could trust nothing.

He looked at the raccoon one more time... and to reassure himself, also looked through the binoculars at him. Sure enough, there was no affect surrounding his companion -- but Randall's actions did get a snort of laughter.

"Binoculars you can't see through!" he chuckled. "You must be a hipster. Great idea to get 'em scratching their heads."

Randall didn't know what to say to that, only that he had to get out of here. Somehow.

"Look, I'm not one for... the trees," Randall offered, trying the best angle given the subject. "If you can get us someplace, uh... a little more private, maybe? Then... we can talk."

Randall wasn't sure he was up for it, but also knew that he couldn't think straight until he was out danger. Besides, he thought with another look up and down the raccoon's body, there were worse ways to get out of danger.

"No prob," his companion answered. "Lemme get my pants."

***

Once his pants properly hid everything but his fluffy tail, the raccoon led Randall across the path and over the fence. Randall found this more difficult, having to throw over his sandals and almost getting hung up on the chain links, but he managed it. And once they were on the sidewalk, the racoon started leading him down the block.

"So do you... do that often?" Randall found himself asking, once the silence had gone on too long.

The raccoon smirked. "Only when there's a big event. Really, I should just give up; it seems like no one on Pride Day's interested -- at least, until after the speeches are done, and they've had a few drinks."

Randall smiled. "Anyone needs need alcohol before they get messy in public."

"Well, not me. I know I'm a little extreme, but I can't imagine anything that's not made better by more dick, any time or place."

The wolf snorted. "Are we really having this conversation right now?"

"I've been clear about what I want, and you're still here." the raccoon pushed. "So is talking about it really that bad?"

"No," Randall answered, "just a little weird."

"Then I'll tell ya right now, it's only gonna get weirder from here, my fellow Venusian."

Randall found the epithet strange... but also vaguely familiar. But that didn't seem important to him, compared to the much more important question of what "weirdness" he was walking toward.

"Uh... whatever you say," Randall said with a hint of nervous smile.

"You don't have to play dumb with me," offered his companion. "I know exactly what you are. Now c'mon in, you'll like this."

Randall found himself standing in front of an ordinary house, which the raccoon had a key to. But the moment he put it in and unlocked the front door, smoke hit Randall's nose, far sweeter than any cigarette.

The raccoon stepped inside, and waited for Randall to follow. A bit nervously, he did so.

His compatriot closed the door, and started taking his pants off again.

"Already?" Randall asked sarcastically.

"House rules," the raccoon replied in an identical tone. "Besides, you've seen mine, so it's only fair, isn't it?"

Randall wasn't sure about this, but the idea of walking out the door alone was worse. So, rather uncomfortably, he stripped down to his boxers.

When Randall tried to stop there, the raccoon gave him a don't-be-like-that playful look. After a moment's hesitation, Randall slid them off too, truly feeling vulnerable. This feeling, in this strange place, made Randall start blushing.

"Oh don't worry," teased the raccoon as he picked up his pants. "When you see everything that happens down here, you won't regret it."

He jogged down the stairs from the entry-way of the split level. Much more cautiously, Randall followed him with his own clothes under his arm.

Fortunately, it seemed to be away from the smoke, since Randall felt he needed to keep his wits about him. Like many of Nightshade's coincidences, this all seemed extremely "convenient", and he was still suspicious.

In spite of Randall's caution, however, the scene at the bottom of the stairs started getting his dick hard once again. Seven or eight fursons were gathered together on several overstuffed and slightly-stained couches, all watching the TV on the opposite wall. And all of them followed the "house rules".

Though there were various snacks on the coffee table across the room, no one was eating them. Instead, they were all watching the televised feed of the event Randall had just escaped, except for a snow leopard who was giving an unashamed blowjob to a weasel.

The raccoon seemed unfazed by this, and sat down on only empty couch cushion. It was to the left of a tall and fairly burly bear with a cheetah on his knee, and opposite the blowjob on the right. The bear's arm wrapped around the raccoon, and pulled him to his shoulder, but neither said a word.

Randall walked up to them slowly, enough to take a look at the other cats and dogs sitting on various chairs and each others' laps. They were all so comfortable with each other, the wolf felt out-of-place.

"Oh c'mon, don't be shy," encouraged the raccoon, "just have a seat, right here. Barty doesn't bite -- unless you ask nicely," he added, getting a silent wry grin out of the bear.

Randall shyly smiled, and nervously squeezed in on the end of the couch, between the bear and the raccoon. He tried to subtly maneuver his way into sitting submissively on his companion's lap, but the raccoon managed to partially sit on him instead.

Randall could live with that, since he could still feel that wonderful fur on his thighs. He simply slouched back more and tried to do as he was told: relax. Watching the TV feed of the speech, at least, let him try to do that.

Just as he was getting into it, the grunts turned to quiet groans from the weasel, and that was sufficiently distracting that Randall's dick started getting harder -- and without really thinking, he adjusted himself on the couch.

"Getting comfy?" asked the raccoon, shortly after Randall shifted.

Randall didn't answer, still trying to focus on the TV.

"Got a lot on your mind, huh?" nudged the raccoon a second time.

"You could say that, yeah," Randall answered vaguely.

"Then you've come to the right house. You're safe here. All you have to do is relax enjoy yourself."

As if to emphasize the point, the cheetah on the bear's lap suddenly got up and knelt down in front of a rather eager looking black lab, just as the weasel opposite the bear moaned and blew his load into the waiting maw of a snow leopard. And Randall couldn't help but notice the rather hefty member the bear had, either.

"Just tell me one thing," Randall said, his brain trying to keep him from relaxing too much, "just what is this place?"

"A refuge for Venusians, like us. Drink, smoke, -- suck," he added with a smirk, "whatever makes you feel better. I just had a feeling that last one's what works for you, since you're not the smokin' type. Unless you're a dope guy, like me. Barty here gets me the good stuff."

Randall wasn't that kind of guy. "Eh..." was all he said.

"Even if you'll never kiss a pipe," the raccoon insisted, murmuring quietly in the wolf's ear, "I hope you'll let my muzzle give your dick a try. How about it?"

Randall wasn't entirely sure, especially since he usually preferred giving blowjobs to receiving them... but his body was much more certain. With all the sex going on, and the raccoon's sweat that he started to really smell, all it needed was a little extra nudge.

Randall wrapped his arm around the raccoon and whispered, "well... I guess so, if you'd do something... a little special for m--"

"Don't you worry: I know exactly what you want," the raccoon answered firmly, with a voracious lick of the lips, and immediately got up, and got on his knees in front of Randall. With a speed Randall though only himself capable of, his companion got into position, took hold of Randall's erect dick, and slowly the tip into his muzzle.

Randall soon felt the muzzle start sucking it in further, while one hand guided the pleasure. Soon, as Randall had silently desired, he saw the raccoon's other hand reach down and slide between the cushions under his body, and soon start feeling around the fur of his but cheeks, headed toward his tail.

The wolf was a little uncertain, as the digits took their sweet time running around his butt. It was distracting from the blowjob he was getting.

"Hurry up," he groaned without really thinking, "and find it already."

Seemingly instantly, the hand slid up his buttock. After a momentarily groping for and finding his tail, it slid down and quickly found his hole.

As as the digit slightly penetrated it, Randall groaned again -- which sped up the muzzle running all up and down Randall's cock.

As it started slurping him faster, the finger inserted a tiny bit of the way up his butt wormed its way in deeper -- making motions astonishingly like he did when pawing, to get that extra oomph.

And it was that oomph,when combined with one or two really good licks running the length of his shaft, was enough to get him to the plateau, and gasp.

His raccoon companion, fortunately read the signal for what it was, and gave Randall a couple of extra fast slurps and thrust-like jabs with his finger. It was enough to get that little extra surge, and that made Randall give his characteristic mixture between a grunt and a small bark, and made all his muscles tense up as he shot up to an amazing orgasm.

It felt so good Randall moaned -- and it wasn't until he felt the bear's arm around him that he realized he was in public. But his body, awash in hormones, was feeling too tired and good to panic or feel embarrassment. Perhaps this was how the strangers in that park enjoyed their blowjobs, Randall thought.

But either way, he just caught his breath as he felt his muscles finally stop pumping out his cum -- presumably into the muzzle of his gay companion, a reward for his good service.

And then, Randall felt... nice and relaxed. It wasn't his usual pleasure, but it felt really good, and he'd gotten his "fix" -- one he didn't really realize how much he'd needed until this moment.

"So did I do a good job?" teased the raccoon once he finished cleaning up Randall's dick.

"I, ah,... I'd say that," Randall answered with a smile, breathing still slowing down.

When the two of them locked eyes, the raccoon's smile as he got up and sat back down on Randall's lap suggested he got the message.

"I could tell you needed some help feeling happy and relaxed," he sighed. "Barty did a good job."

The bear smiled, and affectionately pet the raccoon's head as if he were an animal.

"And how did Barty help?" Randall asked with lazy curiosity.

"He really wants to make sure we're all nice and comfortable. That's what being a good manager is about, isn't it? So he made sure I could give you the best experience by bonding us with a little light telepathy."

Telepathy? That sounded to Randall like a spirit power. And Randall had never checked this room with his binoculars.

Randall's rational brain tried to panic, but body wouldn't let him. He didn't know why, but that one orgasm -- given to him by a stranger, even -- made him feel so warm and satiated that he could barely move. Was the spirit's affect doing something to him?

After trying twice to muster a freak-out and failing, Randall instead decided to use his mood as a moment of clarity instead -- one he lacked earlier.

"You mean he's a spirit?" Randall asked casually. "I thought they were all supposed to kill us and drink our blood."

"I already told you," reassured the raccoon as the snow leopard got the black lab groaning repeatedly, "you don't have to play dumb with us. We're all Venusians here."

Randall still didn't know what that word meant, but he had to ask the most important questions first. "But how did you know I was involved with a spirit?"

"The good Commander told me," suddenly rumbled the bear.

It took Randall a moment to think back to some of the things Nightshade showed him about his former life. "You mean... Commander Nightshade?"

"Of course," Barty answered lyrically, voice seeming almost song-like and gentle on Randall's ears despite its bassy tone. "I knew and respected him. Not long ago, he reappeared. Against the rules of his exile, but I respected him."

Randall was momentarily distracted by another groan on the other couch. Another orgasm was being had, which despite his not being involved, seemed to further reinforce the comfortable, affectionate, intimate atmosphere.

"Before I sent him away," the spirit continued, "he told me about you. He wanted your bounty collected by someone trustworthy. Someone who would treat you well in exchange."

Randall's rational brain was trying to scare him into action: having a bounty on him "collected" was exactly what Randall had spent the morning worried about! But it was no use. In fact, he found himself smiling at his boyfriend for trying to protect him in absentia.

"I'm already planning to appear," Randall explained. "There's no need to keep me here."

"Smart boy," the bear remarked, "but you need protection. From the rest of our kind. Think about the last several hours of your life. Could you make it to your car? And drive all the way to meet him?"

Randall wasn't sure. But he also didn't feel like trying right now.

"I... I guess not," he sighed, slouching more against the bear's warm fuzzy fur. Being this close to two wonderful guys -- one of whom he was comforted by, the other of which had just made him really happy -- made the idea of leaving unappealing.

But the rational voice in the back of Randall's mind reminded him of Nightshade's words: every other spirit were tricksters at the very least, no exceptions. There were always things going on behind the scenes, and fine print in any "deal" a mortal was offered.

"I have been taught not to trust spirits," Randall asked, "so could you answer some questions for me?"

"Your 'boyfriend' told you that," mused the bear. "It is sad. He lost his good sense to loneliness. He really did."

Before Randall could ask anything, however, he suddenly heard pounding on the front door.

"This is the police!" yelled a voice from up the stairs. "Open up!"

That, it seemed, was what it took to break the mood. With one look at the bear, Randall got the raccoon off him and stood up, starting to put his boxers on.

"Not this again," growled the raccoon, much more nonchalant.

"Stay here and remain calm," soothed Barty. "I'll deal with it."

Randall at least finished putting his pants on, then sat back down. Looking at the spirit one more time, he found himself smiling, as a wave of comfort rushed over him to smother the unease. The raccoon's fur against him didn't hurt, either.

In response to a second demand to open the door, Barty waved his hand at the ceiling, Momentarily, someone from upstairs came down to the entryway without any further action on Randall's part. But they didn't open the door.

"Go away," demanded the female voice, which sounded a little sleepy.

"This is the police!" the male voice repeated, "Do you have a wolf in there?"

"What's it matter?"

"We need to talk to him. It's very important."

"Well let me see," insisted the inside voice, "I might need a little something special. You know, to jog my memory, Mercurial."

"NOT TODAY!" suddenly shouted the voice. And a moment later, the door was kicked open.

"POLICE! YOU ARE ALL UNDER ARREST!"

While she was grabbed and dragged outside, other feet stomped up the stairs, and two more pairs rushed down.

The wolf was on his feet and most of the way toward the basement windowsill when he heard another voice from behind him yell, "FREEZE!"

Randall did, and slowly turned around to see two hyenas in body armor with long rifles pointed at him. They came prepared for something much worse than simply to make an arrest of an unarmed furson.

Randall's fear of death had now fully returned; it was the same story as Nightshade had shown him, but this time, the weapons wielded by the cops were pointed at him, and Nightshade wasn't in control.

Without thinking, Randall raised his hands, even as he heard more stomping, yelling, and some heavy things hitting walls or floors from upstairs.

"Get on the ground!" yelled the rightmost cop, who seemed to be in charge. "And you guys get your hands where I can see them!"

As Randall slowly knelt, he saw Barty slowly stand up, and turn to face them, suddenly wearing shorts.

"Hey!" demanded the hyena aiming his rifle, "don't you move!"

Barty raised his hands... but then briefly made a fist with his left hand, and "smashed" the air.

Suddenly, the hyena to Randall's left got pushed backwards into the wall by an invisible force, and dropped his rifle in shock -- which, when the bear flicked his wrist, flew across the room into a corner.

"DON'T YOU DARE!" shouted the other cop -- words uncharacteristic for a police officer.

"Reveal your master, Mercurial thrall," intoned Barty.

"SHUT UP! DON'T MOVE!"

"I'm not stupid," he insisted. "Where is he?"

"He's upstairs," snapped the cop, "but that doesn't matter."

"Summon him."

"I don't take orders from you!" snapped the hyena, as his unarmed partner watched him, dumbfounded.

"Then run away," coldly demanded the bear.

And the next time Randall blinked, the bear had completely transformed into a huge and hideous monster, almost double his original size, with five hydra-like reptilian heads at the end of long stalks of neck.

"I SAID RUN AWAY!" thundered one as the rest gave deep growls in unison.

The hyena who had been disarmed did so immediately, leaving his weapon where it lay. The other one kept his rifle up, but now shook tremendously.

Randall, by contrast, was strongly reassured by this. Not only was this spirit defending him, but the creature's somewhat reptilian features reminded Randall of Nightshade's "monster form". After so many "adventures", Randall read that form as far more hideous on the outside than the inside, if not somewhat attractive due to its strong dominance.

After silently trembling for a few moments, the cop slowly put down his rifle, glaring at the creature with a mixture of rage and fear.

"And that," explained one of the hydra's heads, who turned to face Randall, "is how you manage a Mercurial thrall."

"Summon your master to me," repeated the topmost head, which still glared at the cop intently.

The hyena remained dazed, but still shouted in his confident police voice: "Captain! The fugitive has been secured! Come get a load of this guy!"

A parade of boots marched down the split-level's stairs, but only one continued to the basement. To Randall's surprise, a husky came down -- one whose fur shimmered, but was much taller than the form Virgil had taken.

"You liar!" he snapped.

But before he could get another word out, one of the bear's arms stretched elastically, and delivered a glowing punch to his jaw. Despite it having no impact, he seemed stunned by it -- in fact, completely frozen.

"Planning to collect, foolish one?" Barty demanded. "Not today. He's a Venusian. Threats and force against him? You must know nothing about thralls. I will not let you take him from me. He might end up in pieces. The bounty would be lost. Now disappear, or I will dissolve you."

When Randall blinked, the husky was gone.

Barty shortened his necks, melded his heads from five down to just two, and returned to the couch he was sitting on moments before. Randall watched the "thrall" -- who seemed to be lost in thought -- suddenly snap to, and rather absent-mindedly wander upstairs, gun over his shoulder. Randall even heard him close the front door gently behind him.

Randall knew a lot just happened, and most of it didn't make sense... but it didn't really matter. He felt a great relief from the stress, and confident that this spirit, at least for the time being, was trustworthy.

Randall walked back over and -- after making sure the fur and skin of the former bear was still what he expected by gently patting the creature's stomach -- sat down again to feel that amazing warmth and comfort. Before now, he thought only Nightshade could give it to him.

"I... guess I do need protection," he stated with a smile. "And an escort to the place... and..."

"In time," reassured Barty, "For now, we should see what they are saying about Us Gays, should we not?"

Randall fully rested against the spirit and took a deep breath, smelling the wonderful fur smells, and letting his view of the TV tip to a 20 degree angle. He wasn't really watching it anyway. Given how good he was feeling, he didn't really care what the world thought.

***

After blowing off Kana with vague explanations, Randall let Barty drive him -- in Randall's own car -- out of the city. Why he did not teleport the two of them there was not clear; but Randall presumed he had a reason, and had his best interests at heart -- at least, until that bounty was collected.

Taking the route Randall found familiar, they arrived at the abandoned farmhouse shortly before 2:30. The wolf was surprised at the short trip; did Barty take a shortcut? Was that even possible?

"Here we are," the bear announced, turning off the car -- but not opening his door.

Randall thoughtlessly pulled on his handle to get out -- but the door was still locked. Was this an old cliche?

"Uh... I can't open the door... are you going to... do something to me?" he asked with a playful tone of voice. After all, he hadn't gotten to experience the piece of meat he'd been contemplating for a good long while back in that house.

"I was thinking about it," Barty growled. "How about I get a little taste of blood, in exchange for the best dick you've ever experienced?"

It was a tempting offer... but this time, the voice in the back of Randall's head won out. "I, um... I think I'll pass. I really need to get inside. But thanks for offering."

But when he pulled the handle again, the door still did not unlock.

"Let me ask you again," insisted the spirit, voice becoming ethereal.

Randall turned and looked at him to find his eyes glowing a deep red. "All I really want is a little blood... in exchange for the biggest and best dick up your ass that you could possibly imagine. Is that really so bad?"

The more Randall stared into his eyes, the more he drooled at the idea. Being a spirit, Barty could make that dick into any shape or size Randall wanted. It could literally match his fantasies and dreams.

The words kept fighting the wolf's desires, however. "Just a little blood" was actually a big deal, given Nightshade's careful boundaries, and what he'd told Randall about spirits' "thirst". Even though he would be a good time, Barty was still technically a stranger.

In response, Randall found himself giving his polite bar refusal: "listen, I like you a lot, but... I think a dick up my ass is just a bit too much to ask. I'd just... like to get to know you better, y'know?"

"Very well," answered Barty. "How about we talk, after this big... meeting is over?"

Randall's bar context kept the conversation flowing, without really thinking about what he was saying. "Sure. And I mean, I know where you live, so I'll stop by sometime, and we can talk, and... see where things go from there. Okay?"

"No problem," answered the bear with a smile, "I can be patient. The taste of you is worth it. I am sure of that."

And then, he unlocked the doors.

Randall gave a double eyebrow raise, and got out of the car.

He approached the door to the farmhouse, and paused to take a deep breath. This was not going to be like his other visits to Nightshade. There was an "inquiry" behind that door -- whatever that was -- and that made his heart beat less in anticipation and more in anxiousness.

He knocked -- and heard the voice he most needed to hear.

"Come in, Randall," stated Nightshade, exactly the same tone as always.

But when the wolf opened the door, he saw nothing but a chair on the other side. Surrounding it was only the bluish void he saw before Nightshade conjured his scenes.

"I'm glad you came," Nightshade's voice continued from the emptiness. "Please, have a seat."

He stepped forward, getting past the sense of dread as his feet stepped onto the small plank of oak floor. Once he uncomfortably sat on the hard chair, the void rippled and shimmered into existence.

Randall found himself in a grotesque courtroom lifted straight from the pages of a fantasy novel. Brick walls enclosed a space filled with wood fixtures and benches, with Randall sitting near the front of a spiritual audience gathered to observe. They all sat behind a large open space for the "barristers" to walk and talk.

But the audience was not where Randall was focusing most of his attention. That was on three spirits, consisting of nearly-formless robes like the "eraser", who sat on behind tall judge's bench as a panel. Their red eyes filled him with an unease that encouraged more religious awe than fear -- most likely, he thought, an affect.

"It seems your audience is assembled," grumbled the middle figure, "so may we begin this theatrical production?"

"If your excellency believes this excursion from the ethereal world is theater," Nightshade countered, standing before the bench in his original canine form, but with luminescent fur and gently smoldering red eyes, "then you are free to erase it at any time. But since you agreed to hear my petition, I hope you will remain."

The senior spirit did not respond to his polite jab. So Nightshade began the speech he had clearly prepared.

"I am here to announce that the research inquiry I have been tasked with by --"

Randall could not actually hear the name with the echoes that reflected the syllables in strange patterns.

"-- has been completed. In recompense for my work, I am here to petition for a reinstatement of my standing."

"So that's what this is about!" snapped the voice of Virgil as another black spirit suddenly appeared across the room to oppose Nightshade. "You are trying to overturn the ruling against you, and at the same time, save -- that mortal from dissolution! How clever!"

This reference to himself made Randall almost flinch, and wiped out the questions that were starting to form in his mind. He sat up straighter, and his unease started building into anxiety.

"I am unclear as to what you are referring to," Nightshade calmly answered.

Virgil dramatically laid out the case Randall was expecting, which made the wolf's anxiety build faster. "The mortal sitting behind us is a danger to our kind. He knows our weakness, and used it to dissolve one of our servants! It is not clear why he was brought here, but I would immediately request that he be disposed of!"

"My colleague is severely mistaken," calmly explained Nightshade. "This is my thrall, who I brought as evidence for my petition. The dissolution of one of our kind he refers to was done by me, because the agent was acting on orders that were both malicious and erroneous."

Randall thought such an argument was crafty, and was rooting for Nightshade. But the way Randall's relationship was being framed -- even as an argument before a "judge" -- made him a little queasy.

Virgil did not have a face, but his voice reflected incredulity. "Lies! All lies!"

"If what you say is true, Commander," demanded the spirit on the right of the bench, "let us see these orders."

Nightshade made a sweeping gesture in the air, and a flurry of pieces of heavily-creased paper materialized on their tall benches.

"These orders are a series written by -- my colleague, here," stated Nightshade, his voice becoming a little shaky with a glance at Virgil, "ordering the disposal of several of my previous thralls."

He went silent for a moment, giving the judge figures time to look them over. Despite that Randall already knew Virgil didn't like him, the fact that it didn't seem to be about him at all made his stomach knot.

"For reasons beyond me," Nightshade explained, "he seems intent upon harming my ability to carry out my duties in accordance with Our Will, and will even violate evidence disposal guidelines to do so. Because I had no standing, I could not challenge these orders. I could only, in the most egregious cases, stop their conclusion."

"But this mortal killed our --!"

"In the most recent case," Nightshade interrupted, voice remaining calm, "I did so by sending a signal to my thrall, who acted with speed he is to be praised for."

Virgil rather suddenly went silent. He seemed brimming to say something, but his ethereal tongue was tied. Both this and the praise of Randall, indirect though it was, made the wolf smile a little bit. Nightshade's tactic seemed to be working.

"You are accusing him of sabotage?" asked the left judge.

"I can see no other conclusion, your excellency."

"Be that as it may," questioned the right judge, "upon what grounds was complete dissolution justified as your course of action?"

"His complete demise was his own doing, your excellency. I did only enough to save my thrall. But when his life was threatened, he chose to not resist the flames. His final words were 'free at last', suggesting he embraced his dissolution."

"If I may point out," insisted Virgil, "that these details were missing in my report, and that I further insist they are an incorrect interpretation of the material facts contained therein."

But Randall remembered those words, too. They were one of the last things he could think of from that day. It was enough to make him certain that Virgil was lying -- both now, and in whatever report he wrote. And since this was some kind of official proceeding, he could not imagine these spirits would take kindly being lied to, once Nightshade could expose it.

"In order to resolve this dispute over which facts are significant," Nightshade continued as if Virgil had not spoken, "I brought the thrall who was present. We can extract his view of events, and let your excellencies decide whose story to believe."

"Very well," stated the middle spirit, "proceed."

It took Randall a moment to realize they were actually talking about him directly now. And what was "extraction"!?

"With speed and care," Nightshade stated with a small bow, as he drifted over to Randall, feet not touching the ground.

Randall watched his boyfriend float over to him motionlessly, eyes burning more intensely than before. Then, Nightshade placed his fully-textured hands on the sides of Randall's head, flattening his palms out and putting each of Randall's ears between a thumb and index finger.

The wolf's heart was still pounding, but the more he looked at his boyfriend, the more comfort he felt. No matter how Nightshade appeared, Randall was sure the spirit loved him. And whatever this procedure was, it was part of defending him.

But Nightshade didn't do anything, seeming to wait for something. And it wasn't until Randall calmed down a bit, thanks to his soothing presence, that Nightshade whispered: "close your eyes."

Randall did, without hesitation. And while not sleepy, he did rather suddenly feel tired, like he had run all the way here from outside.

And as he focused on Nightshade's hands grasping him, he felt... safe. Even among these strange spirits and proceedings, he knew nothing bad would happen to him. Nightshade would use him to get them both out of this, and the two of them could live happily ever after.

Then he felt a presence in the back of his mind, as if a pair of eyes were watching him. Not from any physical place, but from another dimension. He wanted to know what was going on.

"We are reading your thoughts," Nightshade whispered. "All you have to do is relax, and remember. Back in the lab. What happened?"

It was a bit fuzzy... until, suddenly, it wasn't.

The lab, leaving, going back home, talking to Nightshade. Now, when he needed them most, the memories just flooded back to Randall. It all went from a dream to perfect clarity in mere moments.

As he recalled the entire day yesterday, Randall was horrified -- but that horror had to be postponed, as he focused on the events Nightshade wanted him to.

The lab, the eraser, the fear, the black smoke, the last look he gave into his boyfriend's glowing red eyes -- and then, the sudden realization that there was a way out. A realization that his more recent memories now let him see the full significance of.

"As you can see from his recollections," Nightshade concluded as he lifted his hands from Randall's head. "Randall was acting on My Will, rather than of his own volition."

"Impossible!" Randall heard Virgil snap. The wolf's mind was starting to swim and his heart starting to pound, leaving him barely able to think about the words he was hearing as he relived his new, unsettling memories.

"Your excellencies, my colleague here has this boyfriend complex, and -- !"

"I believe your excellencies can ignore such statements," Nightshade continued over Virgil. "As the evidence shows, this mortal is a Venusian thrall of mine, who must remain convinced we are 'boyfriends' to remain in his bondage."

The judges glared at Virgil, who immediately stopped talking.

"You have quite a compelling narrative," stated the middle judge to Nightshade.

"You request standing, then?" asked the left judge.

"Yes, your excellency."

"And you request authorization to continue these experiments with Vitae?" asked the right judge.

"Yes, your excellency."

"If," asked the left judge, "we were to find your colleague's orders improper... would you add any suggested course of action to your petition?"

Nightshade smiled briefly, before answering with great formality. "If I am granted standing, and thus able to resolve any future disputes with speed and care, I have faith Our Will shall be done, and need to special pleading. And if your excellencies find any past violations of Our Will, I leave his fate entirely in your capable hands."

"Very well. We shall confer, and return shortly."

They disappeared from existence, and a moment later, the entire room did as well -- except for the small area containing Nightshade, Virgil, and Randall. It became a bubble of space in swirling blue.

Virgil, burning with anger, spoke first. "If they actually believe your line of shit --"

"Just tell me one thing, 'old friend'," demanded Nightshade in an acidic, husky growl of a voice that seemed to shut Virgil up. "Why. What turned you so irrational, so bitter, so cruel, so duplicitous towards me? For years, I now know! Why!?"

"Do not take me for a fool!" thundered Virgil back. "You know exactly why! Your exile was a license to work without being under scrutiny, and that is exactly what you wanted! And I knew the very day you unraveled the mysteries of Vitae, you were going to pull this shit! Because I know what you really want: revolution!!"

Nightshade seemed taken aback, but kept his voice level. "I knew you never agreed with my ideas. You were always too eager to taste blood. But why throw all your good will away to stop me? Do you really care about my approach to mortals that much?"

"Of course I do! Because those mortals you revere will doom us all! All you see is peace, but if you teach that kind of philosophy, it will create a rift that leads only to civil war! You have forgotten that personal affection is a luxury you can have only after all your enemies are eliminated! Until then, everyone you love is a hostage, sapping your courage and corrupting your judgment!"

Nightshade's eyes glowed harder, and he gave a cold smile. "It brings me great satisfaction that you can spout such a quotation so easily. For it means all those complaints about me reading 'trash novels' were pure hypocrisy!"

This argument over war and peace, romance and ethics, character and politics, continued on. But Randall found it less and less interesting. The fear and anxiety over his new memories drowned it out; fears that his relationship with his boyfriend was now over.

Because the wolf could not believe what he remembered; what he, himself, had said and done, willingly and joyfully. And what Nightshade had done to him, including making him forget it all until now.

For that was the revelation Nightshade had wanted to hide: Randall really was Nightshade's thrall, after all.

***

"How long does it take, again?" Randall had asked the cheetah nervously. He was still trying to reorient to the world as he was familiar with it, and push the fact he'd burned a spirit alive moments ago into the back of his mind.

"Oh... I don't know... probably half an hour should be enough," answered the nurse. "Maybe we should get him checked out."

"Good idea," Randall answered.

But it was hard for him to think about that at this moment, as his mind's attempt to grasp onto something more familiar and tangible ended up grabbing the cheetah himself.

"And then... maybe..." Randall teased, "we could go back to your place for a while?"

Fortunately, he seemed receptive. "I don't see why not."

Randall smiled, weakly. It would certainly help him ignore what happened; at least, for a while. But first, they had to help the tiger.

Once they put him back into his chair, and the nurse determined nothing was obviously wrong -- knocked out so cleanly, in fact, that he could see no medical reason for his slumber -- Randall just tried gently patting him. Despite it seeming like a bad movie, it worked. The tiger returned to examining his stained samples, and the two of them left.

Randall didn't mind leaving his experiment running; he suspected Nightshade had a way to get the samples and the answer he sought. Besides, his thoughts were drifting toward what the cheetah's body looked like, as the two of them walked back the way they came.

"Are you sure he'll be alright?" Randall found himself asking.

"If as you say he just collapsed, it was probably sleep-depravation. Nothing to worry about."

Randall wasn't sure about that assessment... or, perhaps it was something else that was nagging at him that was harder to put his finger on.

In fact, when they got to the elevator, and stood waiting for it, the cheetah noticed. "Something on your mind?" he asked.

This made Randall pause. If he were honest with himself, every step Randall had taken, he'd felt worse about this. He felt, ironically, like he'd gotten away with something. And every moment he continued this, he was continuing to lie about what it was.

"It's..."

The next word on the tip of his tongue, "nothing", would have made his lying official. Randall couldn't say that. Silence hung in the air.

"If you're changing your mind about the rest of our evening," insisted the nurse as they stepped onto the empty elevator, "it's better to tell me now, don't you think?"

Randall's entire body tensed up. It was very difficult for him to say it out loud.

"I... I'm sorry," Randall managed to state, the nearest to the truth he could get, "I really like you, and I do think you're attractive, but... this was a bad idea. It's not like me. I just... I don't know what I was thinking. I'm really sorry."

"Alright then," answered the cheetah, a little stiffly, clearly disappointed. "I hope you enjoyed the tour."

And when the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, the two of them went their separate ways.

Once outside, every one of Randall's steps made him more anxious. He felt like running, but couldn't, lest he be considered suspicious. He managed to get all the way down the block before he started jogging, trying get the blood circulating in time to his already-pounding heart. He felt like he was running from his anxiety, but actually wasn't getting very far from it.

But he knew who could surely fix it: Nightshade. He got Randall into this mess, he gave Randall the method of escaping with his life, and so surely he could calm him down. Randall had to find him.

As the sun set, Randall jogged to the obvious place: home. But he didn't want to go back inside, remembering that Nightshade and he were napping in the chair, in Kana and Trisha's mind. So, he sat down on the front steps, and waited. It was the point where Nightshade would appear when he came to visit him.

"Please," he whispered, "show up. I need you."

A moment later, he felt the breeze on his fur being blocked.

"Are you okay?" Nightshade's voice offered to his right.

Randall immediately hugged him, finding him pleasantly corporeal, despite being back to his "weaker" appearance.

"Oh Randall," Nightshade sighed, "I am very sorry for how that went."

"You've got nothing to apologize for," Randall insisted with a warm smile, starting to feel better already in his boyfriend's presence. "You saved my life!"

"But at a terrible cost," he lamented.

"That other spirit? Or what Virgil said about me being a 'danger to your kind' or whatever?"

Nightshade seemed surprised at that -- but then smiled. "Is that what he said?"

Randall didn't see the joke, but being in Nightshade's presence -- or perhaps, his affect -- made him not care very much. He was just glad to get the canine he loved to smile.

"Yeah," Randall answered, his own smile creeping across his face, as he leaned his face against Nightshade's tank top without really thinking.

"I see... then perhaps good can come of it, after all."

"Come of what?"

Nightshade's smile faded. "Think, Randall: during that time, did you feel controlled?"

"Well, I... knew I wasn't quite myself, if that's what you mean," Randall answered, still affectionately. "I suspected you were, ah... pulling some strings. But it wasn't too bad."

"Go on," Nightshade insisted.

"Um, I mean, ... I felt a little confused at times, and it didn't really work out with that guy you set me up with, but I didn't do anything too crazy, I guess. Besides, it was worth it to you, in the end, right?"

Nightshade gave a thoughtful pause. "If you truly feel that way," he answered deliberately, "and you still feel that way, after thinking over what happened... then I suppose I have nothing to worry about."

There was a voice nagging in the back of Randall's head to this effect; things were not as cut and dried as his summary implied. But here, in Nightshade's presence, that voice was unpersuasive. With the affection and infatuation now flooding him, he felt better.

"And now that my 'assignment' is out of the way," Randall continued, in response to a burst of affection, "suppose -- just suppose -- I asked you to... make our relationship more permanent. What would you say?"

Nightshade was taken aback -- but only for a moment. "I would have to disappoint you," he answered with a wry smile. "The owner listed on the deed of my house has been dead for almost 50 years, and left no known heirs. Getting it through probate to put your name on the deed would be completely unaffordable."

Randall laughed, and kissed Nightshade on the cheek, cuddling up closer as if he were trying to get warm on a cold night.

"Besides," the spirit continued, "there is one thing I would worry about, before I accepted any such offer."

"Which is?"

Nightshade hesitated, and finally whispered the word in Randall's ear: "... enthrallment."

It took Randall a moment to take the word apart in his head. "You mean... me?" he asked curiously. "You don't have to worry about that."

"After what happened on that assignment," Nightshade cautioned, "I must worry about it more than ever. We spirits use 'thrall' as a short-hand. Like 'domination', it's far more insidious than it sounds. There is no special process or technique. It is simply... an attitude that fursons develop over time as they interact with us more and more. It helps to make them... useful."

Randall was unfazed. "You make it sound so cold," he insisted. "So transactional. Surely there's more to it than that. I mean, you can't call our relationship me being a thrall, can you? We're equals."

"No," answered Nightshade, "... or at least, not yet. Because, you would admit, you have changed since you met me."

"Yeah," Randall answered, agreeing with Nightshade without thinking about it too hard. "You've encouraged me to branch out more, I guess, but so what?"

"Did you do that because you wanted to? Or only because you thought I might 'help' you?"

Randall felt a little insulted by this question, but knew Nightshade was going somewhere with it. Besides, he didn't want to ruin the mood he was in by getting upset.

"I wanted to. I mean, I always wanted to, before I met you, so that's not new. I just feel... better about my life now. Because you're in it. That's all."

He smiled warmly. Nightshade smiled back -- but much less.

"Say," Randall suddenly asked, "what about that experiment? Did it come out?"

"I already tested the samples," Nightshade answered, "and I could indeed taste the difference. We have our mystery solved."

"That's wonderful!" Randall exclaimed, feeling like all of his fear and emotional knots were worth it. "So this means we can overturn the old guard, right?" He was only half-joking when he asked the question.

Nightshade smiled. "Something like that... but first, I'll have to get my standing back... and clear your name, too. And for that... I'll need something special from you."

The last statement got Nightshade to shift his voice into his lower register -- the "monster voice". And when Nightshade looked over at him, his eyes were a smoldering red color.

This appearance of the "monster" characteristics made the words "something special" seem like a tremendous tease indeed. Randall got close to Nightshade's ear and whispered into it in his most seductive voice: "anything, Mr. Monster."

"What I really want," growled the voice, as Nightshade's canine teeth suddenly became those of a sabre-toothed dog, "is some more of your blood."

It sounded so kinky to Randall, and a little exciting in a taboo way -- but despite Randall's infatuation, he did feel a little unnerved by it. After all, it was something Nightshade seemed adamant to avoid before.

"Um ... why... now?" was all his tongue could spit out.

"I'll give you two reasons," murmured the monster. "The first is symbolic: Venusian thralls always get whatever pleasure they desire... but they must give blood in return."

The voice in the back of Randall's head was calling for caution louder than ever, but the wonderful suggestions and seductive voice had him entranced. Surely Nightshade's reference to the goddess of pleasure was just being poetic.

"Uh... okay," he giggled.

"The second is practical: I will need a tremendous amount of energy for all of the errands I must do in the spirit realm. And the only way I can get it... is if you let me drink your blood. I need your help."

When phrased like that, Randall was all-to-eager to help. "Just promise me one thing," Randall murmured back teasingly, looking deeply into his Nightshade's glowing red eyes, "be gentle. I'm a virgin, you know."

Nightshade smiled. "I'll do my best," whispered the monster.

And with little more than a tilt of the head, Randall felt two sharp pains in his neck. But they were not unpleasant, any more than having his tailhole stretched a bit too much by a toy during a really hot play session.

As Randall felt Nightshade's affect strengthen, and power increase, the wolf once again felt like he was pleasuring his boyfriend tremendously. And that made him happy. Even if it was starting to make him feel a little sleepy.

Randall didn't know how long it was the two of them "cuddled" on the front steps, exchanging comfort for bodily fluids. But he didn't care, any more than the fact that there were two teeth in his neck. From the outside, it surely looked like a kiss -- and really, it felt to Randall like the most passionate one he'd ever experienced.

After what seemed an eternity, once Randall was very tired, Nightshade withdrew his fangs. "Would you do me a favor?" he asked suddenly.

Randall was so into it, he murmured: "anything."

Nightshade stared at Randall, very hard, his eyes holding all of Randall's attention, as he commanded coldly: "Forget this evening, unless I ask you to recall it at a later time."

As he continued to gaze at the wolf, Randall suddenly felt a little fuzzier.

"I, ah... I think I can do that," he found himself saying.

"Now I'm putting you back into the living room. You go to sleep."

Randall suddenly yawned. "I could do with a nap," he sighed.

"Pleasant dreams," Nightshade whispered as he picked up the wolf and carried him back into the house.

"Mmmmm," Randall groaned through droopy eyes. "I love you."

Nightshade gave Randall a real kiss, and then whispered back: "I know."

***

Once Nightshade's standing was re-instated by the judges, Randall walked out of that house, drove away, and never looked back. And when he got back home, he was so scared and confused he just hid in his room and cried.

Even after Randall re-engaged with the world over the next day or two, Kana had the good sense not to ask him what happened. Really, Randall thought, she didn't have to. He knew she'd seen this show before: the staying in his room for hours, the change in his TV habits, the evenings with a box of cookies instead of hanging out at local bars.

And this one, Randall thought, was especially hard on him. The way he had been so casually violated, and then methodically manipulated to cover it up, was something he could not reconcile with an otherwise very sensitive boyfriend. It was a lot harder to take his usual stance of "it was fun while it lasted" and move on.

Randall did feel a little better after a week, when his worst fear -- his entire life reverting to a pre-Nightshade state -- was not realized. He didn't "mysteriously" lose his job, "accidentally" erase the husky's number from his phone, and even still got a rare invitation or two from that raccoon to "parties" -- which he politely declined.

Because Randall was done with spirits. All of them. For good. But even after he felt his current life was stable, that wasn't enough to let him sleep at night. Ironically, it was their subtlety and trickery -- the thing he was mad at -- he found hardest to let go of.

Whenever he had something good happen to him -- like getting a bonus at the end of the month for erasing a particularly nasty virus -- he wondered if Nightshade caused it from afar. Or maybe that bear he'd met. He couldn't just "go with the flow" as he'd been free to do when Nightshade was there.

It was this hint of paranoia that kept him away from bars, even as he began to become receptive to the idea of finding someone else. And once his frustration began turning to bitterness in the fifth week of his "breakup syndrome", the German Shepherd stopped giving him the space he'd requested.

"Staying in again?" Kana asked that Friday as Randall put his dishes to the sink.

"Yeah," he answered.

"Will you ever go out again?"

Randall bristled at the question. "Yes," he answered, "I just... feel like something bad will happen."

"Why let that stop you?"

That cut him to the quick faster than he expected. "Just --! Just... let me do this, my way, okay?"

"You've been doing it 'your way' for more than a month, and nothing has changed. Your mood is getting worse, not better."

"I know," was all he sighed in response.

"Maybe you should talk to someone," she suggested.

"A shrink?" he asked coldly.

"Or a friend," she added. Her point was sharp, but her voice was reassuring.

Randall flopped down on the couch. Once her dishes were in the sink too, she joined him.

"Well... I guess, in the end, you were right," Randall grumbled. "I should never have gotten together with a spirit. And if I had known things would have ended up like this... I probably wouldn't have done it."

"He really hit you that hard?" she asked, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It's not him! It's... me. That's what is so hard on me right now."

He blinked, trying not to tear up.

"I've changed since I met him. I've become so used to just... putting my worries aside. Knowing things would work out in the end. Even in rather extreme situations, I just knew... he was there. Even if he was not involved, he would get involved if things went bad."

She nodded, and listened.

"And... even though I'm mad at him, I still want that. Everything seems so much scarier without him. Especially... bars. I mean, going through that roller-coaster again without guard rails?"

"Well you won't know if you don't try, right?" she offered.

"And some part of me wants to," he emphasized. "But I just feel... blind. Nightshade and I just 'clicked'. And I haven't met a guy since, let alone my type, who was the same. And... sometimes... I wonder... if I'll ever meet another one, as much of a wreck as I feel like I am."

"You miss him that much?" she asked again.

That wasn't what Randall was talking about, but her comment pierced his heart more than it should have. "It's not that I miss him," he answered. "It's more like... he never really left. I don't know how to... be mad at him. For what he did."

She gave a thoughtful pause, and then observed: "so you haven't dumped him."

Randall was about to snap at her, but after a moment's pause, realized she had a point: he had preferred to dump those he no longer wanted to see. He told them, to their faces, that it was over. And as he remembered those moments, he realized how much that helped him move on.

"I guess not," Randall mumbled, almost ashamed of this answer. "That's a good idea. Would you like to come with me?"

She seemed surprised. "To dump him?"

"At least as close as I can get. It'd be nice to have someone else along."

She seemed reluctant, but finally said: "if it helps you get over this 'mood' of yours, then I'll drive."

"Thanks, but I think I have to drive. Because you can't get there."

And with nothing more than a suspicious look from his room mate, they turned off the TV, locked the house, and got into Randall's car as the sun started to set.

Despite how much Randall tried to forget Nightshade, he knew the route by heart. Driving it was not only automatic, but also filled him with the same anticipation as always -- which, under the circumstances, now had a much more bitter and painful edge to it.

But when he arrived at the abandoned farmhouse, it only took one look at it for the anger he had at Nightshade, and the words he was planning to say, to evaporate.

"No!" he cried out.

Throwing the car in park without even turning it off, he leapt out, slammed the door, and ran flat-out toward the charred frame that was left of the house.

The frame was barely still standing, the roof, walls, and most of what it contained entirely gone or turned to piles of ash. It seemed a tremendous fire had consumed it -- the only thing that could "dissolve" a spirit.

Randall stared at it in stunned horror for a long moment, looking at the empty air where the doorway to another world used to be, before tears started welling up in his eyes.

Crying silently, he wandered around the floor, seeing the real insides of the building for the first time -- or at least, the floor plan. Wood paneling, several of the walls, the flooring, and most of the furniture had scorch outlines or were piles of debris that he could recognize. It was nothing like any of the rooms Nightshade had shown him in the Bridge, but it still reminded him of them.

He heard Kana walk over, her boots crunching on the wood along with his sandals, as she looked around. He quietly whimpered wordlessly. She said nothing.

At least, until Randall heard a scraping. "What's this?" she asked.

Randall watched her paw through the rubble, and then dust off a small steel fireproof box, and then slowly drag it toward him.

"Do you think we should open it?" she asked, finding the key nearby on a scorched ledge that was probably once a table.

Randall tried to wipe away his tears, hoping that there would be at least a memento in there. "Let me do it," he said without really thinking.

She gave him the key immediately.

When he unlocked it and swung the heavy top open, he found a rather astonishing cache: a large wad of bills, a carefully folded piece of paper, and a one-foot-high clay replica of Nightshade as Randall had first laid eyes on him. He was posed with his arms across his chest, and appeared to either be in a trance, or asleep.

Knowing Nightshade, Randall opened the note first:

My Dearest Randall,

I cannot find the words to truly express my gratitude for everything you have done for me, and all the joy, intimacy, and companionship you have given me.

But after breaking both my promise you to that we would be equals, and my promise to myself to resist exploiting the bodies of those I loved, I expect those words to ring hollow.

I do not blame you for questioning everything we had. I fully expect no forgiveness for the way I treated you. In fact, I am having trouble forgiving myself, for my greedy and hurtful actions have undermined my own philosophy.

Because of this, I have chosen to pursue my research, and my ultimate quest for peace and understanding between our species, without mortal company. It is from a place far away, where I will have no ability to influence any mortal affairs, including yours.

Enclosed in this box is the last of my attachments to your fine city. It contains something to help you in your life, and something to remember me by. Do with these items as you please.

Know that I still want the very same thing I have wanted since the day we met: for you to be happy. If I must leave, and let your memories of the spirit world fade, I will. If I you never wish to see me again, you shall get your wish.

And if I am wrong, and despite how terribly and unforgivably I have treated you, you still want me back, whisper that to my likeness. It will be a difficult process, but that wish can be granted, too.

Otherwise, I will never forget you.

Farewell,

Nightshade

Randall just stared at the statue, eyes still watery, but unable to help but feel a small trickle of joy creeping in beneath the blanket of sadness. Contrary to his initial impression, Nightshade was alive... and, unless Randall took action, wasn't coming back.

Kana, however, took one look at the statue, and blurted: "He left you an idol for him to manifest through? Smash that thing! That'll show him you two are done! ... Randall?"

The wolf was still staring at it. He heard her, but couldn't even think the thought she was suggesting.

"Tell me," Randall murmured, almost in a trance as he collected the bundle of cash, "what effect does Trisha have on you?"

"What does she have to do with this?" Kana demanded, clearly perturbed by the question.

"That's the effect he had on me," Randall answered, a smile creeping over his face despite getting one more sniffle out of his nose. "He really has changed me, and... maybe I just have to accept that."

He caressed the head of the statue with a finger.

"You realize he'd do his sorcery again," Kana warned, "maybe he's even doing it right now. If you don't smash that thing, you'll never be free of him, ever!"

"Well, that's the problem, isn't it?" Randall growled, finally looking up at her. "I tried to be free of him. I think you'd agree I tried pretty hard for a whole month. And it didn't work, did it? He's changed me. Deeply. I don't 'miss' him, I can't live without him, it seems."

Kana opened her mouth to speak, but Randall kept talking.

"Tell me that's not true of you and Trisha," he insisted. "You behave completely differently around her. If she dumped you, tell me, honestly, you wouldn't still be a changed furson. Forever."

Kana took a deep breath and clenched her teeth, glaring back at him.

"Tell me that!" Randall snapped.

"You're right," she finally snarled. "But if you get back together with him, and end up right back here in another couple months, I'm moving out! Now get your boyfriend's shit, and let's go!"

She stomped out of the building, back into the car, and slammed the door.

Randall spent a long moment staring at the statue, and really thinking about it, as much as it upset Kana. But, even after doing so, he realized nothing would change.

"Please don't make me regret this," he whispered to it, before reluctantly taking it with him back to the car.

***

After a good night's sleep, Randall spent the next morning trying to plan.

After reading tax advice and anti-laundering rules, he concluded that all he could do was keep it under his mattress, and spend it down one large bill at a time. It was several years of rent, and couldn't even be deposited in his bank account without suspicion.

At lunch, Kana apologized to him for her anger, but remained firm in her ultimatum. Randall understood, and in fact agreed with her decision -- but still felt he couldn't change his mind. And so, that afternoon, he tried to figure out how to bring Nightshade back.

The hints were nonexistent. He'd looked the statue over, and found nary a single marking, or letter of instruction or advice anywhere. The only clue was, if he stared at it for a good few seconds, he could start to feel his boyfriend's presence again. Just slightly.

After some relaxation, Randall decided to try something that seemed silly, but was suggested by the text of Nightshade's note.

He picked it up, and looking it directly in the face, asked: "Are you in there?"

As one would expect from any clay figure, it did not respond.

"Well... um... maybe you just can't answer me. I... think you're here. I can feel you, a little bit."

He petted the statue's head with his index finger. The hard clay felt nor smelled anything like the fur he so dearly missed.

"Um, well, this is my room, I guess," he continued, trying to keep talking. "I think I've only showed it to you once or twice. How about a tour?"

He picked it up off the table, and carried it around.

"I suppose I should start with... here's the money you gave me. Under the bed -- do you know how hard it's gonna be to explain that?"

He complained for a couple sentences before deciding that was not the best way to encourage Nightshade to come back. So, he continued with his closet, and his dresser, and his computer -- the one he used for porn. He would have gladly shown Nightshade his porn, but he presumed the spirit would be unimpressed, having no sexuality of his own.

Finally, Randall flopped back down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling for a while, statue next to him. And it was only now that he heard something very faint. Whispering?

He looked around and didn't see anyone, but then realized: it was coming from the statue itself.

He held it up to his ear.

"That was a lovely tour," it whispered.

"Nightshade!?" he gasped, "is that you?"

"Yes," the voice whispered answered back, "it is me. May I... come in?"

"Please," Randall excitedly answered.

"Put me on the table," the whispering directed.

Randall carefully put the statue on his nightstand.

There was a faint groan from it, and then a small gust of wind blew through the room, across his bed.

"I am here, Randall," lethargically gasped Nightshade's voice from above him.

This tone combined with the complete lack of anything visible unnerved Randall. "Where are you?" he asked.

"All around you," the voice answered weakly. "I do not have the energy to manifest."

That made Randall even more concerned. "Not enough energy? What happened!?"

"Nothing. I have been... in a low energy state... during my research... do not worry..."

That was far from reassuring. "I... I can't not worry," Randall confessed, with a knot in his stomach. "I tried to forget you, to move on, but I just couldn't. For better or worse, it seems you've changed me. I... I need you back."

"So does that mean... you forgive me?"

That was a much harder question. "Kinda," Randall answered with some hesitation. "I guess it's like when Virgil showed up that first time. I said something like: I have questions. I have expectations. But I want us to work on it. Together. And even if I'm a fool, or a 'thrall', or whatever, I still love you. I still need you."

"Oh Randall," the voice sighed with a warm smile the wolf could hear but not see, "I am so happy to hear that. I was so sure I had lost you. I wish I could hug you now. But... I am not sure if my return is a good idea. I'm afraid I would... hurt you. Again. Especially now."

"There is nothing more terrible than living without you," Randall begged, having trouble putting the words together to express his feelings. "Even if... even if I have to... feed you blood, every single day, to keep you here, I'd do it. I need your comfort, and your stories, and your... special touch."

Suddenly, Randall felt Nightshade's presence get stronger, and a small bubble of cold, slightly stagnant air drift down upon him. It smelled like the dusty closet, despite the air in his room being much warmer and fresher.

"In that case," suddenly growled Nightshade's monster voice next to his left ear, "give yourself to me."

"And once I suck you dry," added another beside his right, "you shall get your wish."

Heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation, Randall spread himself out his bed. "A-a-anything," Randall whined, "to feel that lovely fur again."

A moment later, that stale, cold air seem turned into an invisible bed sheet that settled across him, thin but completely covering him. And then an invisible snout started breathing on the left side of his neck. It exacerbated the positive and negative emotions in equal parts, further winding up the wolf who already felt like he was going to snap.

"Are you ready... pup?" the voice asked.

"Yes!"

Instantly, a pair of fine needles jabbed his neck, getting Randall to yelp and squirm, but not try to resist. Based on the ominous warnings in the letter, he presumed this was how he brought Nightshade back: by giving Nightshade energy in the most intimate manner.

But when he felt another pair of nostrils start breathing on the right side of his neck, it was too much. "Please not both sides!" he cried out.

There was a pause in the breathing... and then, instead of needles on his neck, an invisible, sticky tongue started licking his cheek.

Randall groaned and closed his eyes, remembering the last time Nightshade licked him that way -- and starting to feeling the same sense of comfort breaking through his intense stress.

"I am sorry this hurts you," murmured the monster voice -- uncharacteristic words for it. "I do not want to hurt you. I will try to make it up to you. I promise."

The licks continued, as well as the breathing through invisible nostrils that occasionally tickled his fur. They were enough to start bringing Randall back toward not just comfort, but their "adventures"; which had not only radically changed his porn collection since they started dating, but were still paw-worthy even now.

This excitement was further reinforced as Randall saw a small shimmering of light start to appear. It looked like dust at first, but soon slowly grew and organized into the general outline of Nightshade's monster head.

"If I am honest," the right head paused to admit, "I have missed you incredibly. I never thought I would be this close to you again."

Randall looked at it, and smiled. It nuzzled him briefly before returning to licking.

The left head, meanwhile, continued its relentless draw from Randall's jugular vein. Slowly but surely, more and more of Nightshade filled in, as if the energy in Randall's blood was going directly into his formation.

Once the heavy abdomen seemed to be completely furred, then his muscular legs, reptilian feet, and multiple sets of arms started filling in. Their weight on the bed appeared gradually before their visibility, meaning Randall very soon felt like Nightshade was on top of him. And that started getting his heart to pound less from anxiety and more to expand his dick.

"You've been so good to me," murmured the voice in encouragement, "better than I deserve. Once you have brought me back... the least I can do..."

Randall felt a pair of hands reach down and unbutton his jeans.

"... is help you with this."

The moment the hands got them open and unzipped them, Randall's erection sprang up through the crotch of his boxers. Moment later, those hands went from the fabric to grabbing the meat itself -- but only giving it a very slow jerking off.

"I do not have words to describe how you are making me feel," continued the right head, clearly a tease. "Just a little more, and then I will have enough of a form to return that pleasure to you. Just the way you like it."

Those wonderful words made most of the pain go away for Randall. He knew what Nightshade was talking about: those tentacles that now featured in most of the porn he watched. And he got even more excited as he felt another pair of hands slowly start sliding his jeans and boxers off completely.

"Oh please," Randall found himself saying as he closed his eyes. "Fuck me, mister monster, fuck me hard..."

No sooner did he say that did he shudder, as something sticking and warm brushed his tailhole.

"Your blood tastes so good," the monster voice teased, "I'm not sure if I can stop."

"Y-y-you can... have as much as you want," Randall moaned, the voice of reason in the back of his head barely audible over his hormones.

"Please don't encourage me to drink too much," growled the monster with an audible smile, "I would like you to remain awake during your fun."

Randall laughed, seeing a joke even if Nightshade didn't intend one. "In that case," he sighed affectionately, still not opening his eyes, "stop when you think you can fuck me as hard as you usually do."

It was only about ten slow and heavy breaths later that the left head suddenly withdrew. The slightly gelatinous frame then shifted downwards, going from its pinning position into its mounting position.

After Randall's excited heart felt like it was about to beat out of its chest in anticipation, he felt the tentacle that was brushing him slowly sliding into his tailhole.

That got the wolf to moan, and his dick to throb. It took its sweet time slithering its way inside of him, the anticipation seeming to stretch Randall tighter and tighter.

Once in deeper than Randall was able to get with any of his toys, it paused. And then, the monster started to slowly thrust in and out, as if the tentacle were a gigantic dick.

Randall gave a short gasp and moan with each thrust. Nightshade, to his credit, kept his thrusts slow and steady, giving Randall a chance to not only "push back", but to stay relaxed and accept the greater girth that was the tentacle.

"You've missed this, huh?" teased the monster.

Randall just groaned a noise that was not even a word, but whose inflection seemed to represent his excitement, and meant "yes."

In fact, he was being stretched enough that he didn't want Nightshade to go faster. So when the monster changed his pace a bit, Randall groaned "no" -- which was indeed enough to slow Nightshade right down.

Because Nightshade was going so slow, Randall seemed to be ratcheting up to his orgasm slower, too. Each thrust provoked not just a push, but a powerful squeeze of his pelvic muscles. It was making him squirt quite a bit more precum than he usually did.

But as the continued fucking continued and the orgasmic tension rose, it seemed one particular thrust was the plateau. And he wanted to finish.

"Fuck me!" he suddenly moaned.

Nightshade did not accelerate very much, not even rising to once per second, but it was pretty close to Randall's preferred cadence -- and it was close enough to finally get his brain to race him up to the top of his senses, and his body to give him an orgasm with a loud groan.

As intense as it felt, he wasn't really paying attention to what his body was doing, except feeling the pumping in time to the thrusts. He felt the cum leave him, and some of it hit something (presumably the monster's fine fur) and then slowly dripped back onto him. It felt like he squirted quite a good load before he finally calmed down, panting for breath, and the monster slowly withdrew its tentacle from his tailhole.

Randall closed his eyes and caught his breath. "Please," he groaned, "don't leave me."

"If you want me back that much," answered Nightshade's normal voice, "even after everything I've done to you, then I cannot say no. Even if... things don't turn out the way you expect."

"They can't be that bad," he sighed, "if you're here with me."

The large body rolled off him, and when Randall blinked, Nightshade had returned to his "weak" canine form once again. The form that Randall was most comfortable with.

"I love you," Randall sighed.

"And I love you," Nightshade answered, cuddling up to Randall as the wolf fell into a nap.

***

The End.