The Hangover Cure
Hi there. This is just a little thing I slapped together because I was running out of steam on a couple of more ambitious projects. It's nothing special, no shocking plot twists, no elegant writing, no life-affirming character development. Just some light humour with a bit of a sex scene at the end, just for fun. Hope you enjoy it anyway!
Please note, there's two males having sex with each other contained in this story. If you shouldn't be reading it, make sure you don't get caught.
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The Hangover Cure
What's good for a hangover? Drinking heavily the night before, everyone knows that. Unfortunately, a hangover is no easy thing to shake off, and sometimes it's better just to face the music and accept the pain. A clear head isn't always the best thing, as two furs, stumbling out of a sticky watering-hole at 1:00 in the morning, found out.
"Who's des...desgin...desiginate...who's driving?" asked the first
"I thought you were"?
This was given some thought.
"I migh' have had a few too many..." came the reply.
"Y'sure?" asked his friend. "Cuz, I, I'm def'nit'ly over the limit..."
Cam and Jack, old childhood friends, never went out drinking without each others' company. This meant that they spent almost all of their evenings together. Today, they celebrated Cam's recent acting success; he had turned up to an audition on time, which was ample excuse for an alcohol-based celebration. Whether or not Cam had got the part was still up in the air. Cam had the looks to make it as an actor, with the natural grace that comes with being a cat, charming calico fur, boyish confidence and a twinkling smile. Unfortunately, he was too unreliable and indolent, often missing auditions, not bothering to learn his lines properly, and eyeing up choice members of the audience when he should be delivering a soliloquy.
Jack was the sensible one of the pair, at least compared to Cam. It was he who eventually remembered that neither of them had a car, and followed that up with the idea to call for a taxi. With an incisive mind like that, he was able to put his degree in political science to good use behind the counter of a local magazine store. As much as he liked to think he was an intellectual, he had a serious blind spot when it came to his fur. While it was clearly dark grey, and as thick and lustrous a coat as one could hope to find on a wolf, he swore blind that it was black. He swore about a great many things, to the point that he had no control over it, dropping F-bombs like an incontinent Fokker.
With many false starts, missteps, do-overs and near-misses, they managed to get both into and out of the taxi, pay the driver, unlock the door and stagger into Cam's home. Jack looked around, realization dawning.
"Thiss...'s not my fucking house..."
"Course 's not your fucking house, you live miles away".
"Oh yeah...C'n I sleep on your sofa, then"?
Cam grinned and shook his head. He wasn't ready to relinquish the day just yet. "S'eep is for th' weak," he said. "'re you weak, Ja-ck"?
"Nah!" said Jack and shook his head vehemently. "Strong! We're the stronges'..."
"An' y'know wha' the strong have?" asked Cam, his face a picture of drunken evil.
"Wha"?
"Gin"!
And so that night, the strong had gin.
***
It was hard for Cam to process the world when he woke up. It was full of things he didn't understand. He tried to wrap his head around the dull, pounding feeling in his head. It turned out to be pain. The next thing he noticed was that he wasn't in his bed; he was sprawled on the floor of the front room. He sat up, gasping slightly at the agony this caused, and was surprised to find that the clothes he was still wearing just slid off him. No...he wasn't wearing them, they had just been piled on top of him like a makeshift blanket. On closer inspection, he was completely naked. Another heap of fabric somewhere in the vicinity of Cam's feet shifted and groaned. Cam crawled over and recognized one of Jack's pointy ears poking out. For a moment, he considered asking Jack if he was naked too, but it was too early in the morning to be asking questions like that. Actually, it was nearly afternoon, but it was still too early.
"Jack...you...alright?" he wheezed.
"Ow," replied Jack.
"How much'd we drink"?
Jack seemed to think about this for a few seconds. "Ow," he said.
Cam rubbed his head, but that only made it hurt worse. "What day is it?" he asked, trying to piece together what he knew of life, the world and his identity. "And don't say ow".
"I think..." said Jack, before pausing again. "I think it's March"?
Slowly, Cam began to have an idea. He had a hangover, right? He wanted to not have a hangover, right? So...(and here the effort of thought made him clutch at his skull) he had to find some way...of making the hangover go away.
Jack said "Ow" a few more times while Cam took a breather from the exertion. Something prodded his memory and, wrenching himself to his feet, he pulled on a pair of pants (he didn't know whose) and shuffled into the kitchen.
There was a recipe his Uncle had taught him...what was it? He looked through the cupboards, hoping to recognize the ingredients as he saw them. Frosties...no. Doritos...no. Ah, pickles! Oh wait, no...not them, either. Eggs...eggs? At the sight of the eggs a bell rang in his head. It hurt. But he was sure eggs were involved, and he got two out of the box and broke them into a glass each. It began to come back to him...the hangover cure that his Uncle swore by: One egg, beaten; a teaspoon of vinegar; one of those fizzy vitamin C tablets that dissolve in water; mix well and top up to just over half a glass with flat lemonade. Cam couldn't find any lemonade, flat or otherwise, so he used apple juice.
Jack had followed and was watching him with the unmistakable emotionless expression of those who are still trying to remember why they're in such pain. He wasn't naked, but he wore only his pair of jeans. Cam handed him a dose of the remedy.
"'S my uncle's hangover cure," he explained. "Y'gotta drink it down in one gulp".
Jack sniffed dubiously at the concoction, muzzle wrinkling involuntarily at the acrid smell.
"No fucking way," he said.
"C'mon, both together on three. One..."
"No".
"Two..."
"Dammit..."
"Three"!
They both swallowed the drink. Between the vile taste, the stinging sensation at the back of the throat and the slimy way the fluid slunk down their necks, it was a surprisingly intense experience. Both furs were staring into middle distance with bulging eyes.
"Did it work...?" asked Cam, hesitantly.
"I can't tell," croaked Jack. "You sure it was a hangover cure and not something to dissolve kidney stones"?
Come to think of it, Cam wasn't sure. His uncle liked to invent his own little cures for everything; hangovers, common colds, acne, tennis elbow, gonorrhea, the list went on. This particular recipe could have been for anything.
"Cam..."?
"Yeah"?
"What exactly did we do last night"?
That was a good point. Cam couldn't really remember anything after leaving the pub.
"Drink?" he hazarded.
"I know we were fucking drinking," muttered Jack. "I just..."
Something about Jack's words made the fur on the back of Cam's neck rise.
"What is it?" he said. He couldn't deal with this. He didn't know what it was, but he knew he couldn't deal with it.
"Nothing, just...y'know, some of the stories you hear about what people do together when they're really drunk..."
"Yeah, but that happens to..." people exactly like us who do what we did, Cam thought. "Other people," he said.
But there was a little flicker at the edge of his memory. Nothing solid, just an impression...artificial light, dizziness, heat and...and it was gone. Could it be...? No, him and Jack wouldn't...not that Cam had any qualms about the gender of who he went with, but Jack didn't go for that sort of thing. Besides, even blind drunk, they wouldn't just...out of the blue...they'd never even talked about it.
The two of them met each others' eye and realized they were both thinking the same thoughts.
"We need to clear our heads," said Jack, firmly.
"Aye, right..."
"Don't say 'aye', you're not Scottish"!
"What? My name's Cameron Campbell, how could I be any more Scottish"?
"By fucking coming from Scotland, that's how".
"Don't shout!" yelled Cam, the noise sending stabs of pain through their heads.
Cam clutched at his skull, the noise from their raised voices nearly paralyzing him with pain. The rhythmic pounding was like a drum beat...and another memory came to him. They had stuck some crappy '80s remaster on the stereo and jerked and wobbled the dance of the drunkard to its tune. Inevitably, they had failed to keep their balance, and Cam had stumbled forward, making Jack trip over his legs. Jack had grabbed at Cam as he fell, trying to stable himself, but all that did was bring the calico down on top of him.
They lay there, panting...Jack's breath was so warm, and smelled of beer and gin. Cam could feel the rise and fall of Jack's dark chest as he struggled for breath. It made him feel...
"Did we..." began Jack, breaking through Cam's reverie, "Trip each other up, or something"?
"Heh, yeah," answered Cam, and chuckled nervously. "We were so drunk we couldn't even stand up".
"Cause I remember you lying on top of me..."
"Yeah, you remember," Cam gabbled, trying to stop Jack thinking too much. "We were dancing, and having gin and we danced and we were drunk and we danced into each other and fell over".
That was all. They'd had a shimmy and collided, nothing really unusual about it. People had accidents like that all the time, didn't they? He'd seen it on TV, on that 'You Got Caught On Camera Falling Over Like An Idiot' show. And yet Jack looked troubled, as if he could remember something Cam couldn't. His deep brown wolf's eyes kept darting to Cam and back again, uncertainly. Poor Jack...he was foul-mouthed and arrogant, but he didn't deserve this...much less from his own best friend.
Cam decided to focus on the matters at hand. They might distract from the troubling memories of the night before.
"So what do we do now?" he said.
"Aren't hangovers, like..." began Jack, thoughtfully, "when your blood-sugar's low as fuck, or something"?
"You mean we got to..."?
"Eat all of the sugar, yeah".
It seemed to Cam like a really bad idea, which somehow made it irresistible.
"Get the spoons," he said.
After having gorged themselves on spoonfuls of raw caster sugar, stale cookies and, of course, the frosties, they took a moment to reflect. Their heads were still sore, but if nothing else the sugar had helped with the stale taste in their mouths.
"Feel any different?" asked Cam.
"Not really," answered Jack, even as he felt the sugar rush begin to take hold. "You"?
Being a cat, Cam was rather sensitive to things like caffeine, sugar, catnip and so on and he gave no answer but to begin giggling uncontrollably. Jack couldn't resist joining in, and soon they were breathless and bent almost double, each laughing at the other.
They had laughed. Laughed at the expressions on each others' faces, laughed as the fur tickled their sensitive spots. The laughter went on until it hurt, and then they found ways to take the pain away. The laughter died on Cam's breath as he remembered the warm, flushed feeling and the sudden, impulsive kiss...he even remembered the look in Jack's eyes as he pulled away; shocked yet intrigued, and far too drunk to object. Knowing then that he had his friend in the palm of his hand, he moved in again, and made this one deeper and longer...
He blinked, coming back to himself, and saw Jack looking at him intently.
"We did, didn't we," he said, flatly.
"No..."
"Yes we did, I know we did. And you fucking know we did, don't try to-"
"Look!" interrupted Cam, trying to calm his friend down. "Forget about that a second. Would you do it now"?
"What"?
"Would you have sex with me right now"?
Jack's eyes widened in surprise and he spluttered out a reply. "Fuck...Cam, we've always...no, I wouldn't, I mean, you're...I don't..."
"Exactly," said Cam, sensing Jack might be about to embarrass himself. "You wouldn't, so we didn't. Simple as that".
Jack didn't seem entirely convinced, but he stayed quiet.
"We'll never remember properly, anyway," said Cam, not without a shade of hopefulness. "Whatever happened, it can stay forgotten".
In the privacy of his own head, Cam had violated Jack in a huge variety of filthy and obscene ways, but that had just been fantasy. Now that there was a real possibility that they'd crossed that line, he was surprised at how much he didn't want it to have happened. Despite his charm and charisma, Cam wasn't the type to make many friends. Most of the furs he knew were one-night stands, conquests and old flames. Facing the prospect of Jack, his first and oldest friend, becoming just another notch was...distressing.
Apart from all this, the sugar, far from lifting their hangovers, had made them tense and jittery. The atmosphere felt awkward and stifling, and neither fur knew quite what to say to the other.
"Still hungover?" asked Cam, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah..."
"We gotta try something else..."
"We tried sugar...we tried your fucking potion...what's left"?
"I dunno...salt"?
"Salt?" Jack didn't seem to like the idea much, but he said "oh, fuck it, worth a try" anyway. A quick raid of the already decimated kitchen yielded the bag of doritos and five peanuts. They ate in silence, Cam not quite being able to meet his friend's eye. The chips didn't last long, and the peanuts hardly seemed worth eating at all. Unable to face the silence, Cam hunted desperately for more salt, just to distract himself. No food was left, all he could find was a shaker of pure table salt. He wasn't the most rational person at the best of times, and between the hangover and the atmosphere, he was in no mood to be sensible.
He dipped his finger into the salt.
"Seriously?" said Jack, incredulously. "You're really gonna just...eat the salt. Fucking..." he shook his head, lost for more words.
Cam looked at the tiny crystals stuck to the fur on his finger. It would look stupid if he didn't do it. He put the finger in his mouth.
And that was the last trigger. The taste of the pure salt on his finger slammed another memory into the forefront of his brain. When he kissed Jack for the second time, Cam had felt a tell-tale poke around his hips. Jack, it seemed, had not quite drunk himself into impotence.
It was the same taste...flesh and fur, with a strong hint of salt. It was delicious to him, as delicious as the little yips and sighs he heard as he ran his cat's tongue along the underside of the swelling cock. A little bead of pre met him at the tip, and he lapped it up languidly, relishing the slight shiver Jack gave. Even after that single, slow lick, the wolf-shaft was already hard, knot throbbing under Cam's fingers. Cam took his time, slowly and carefully wrapping his lips around just the very end of Jack's manhood, giving the wolf a heavenly torture that, between the alcohol and the pleasure, he was unable to resist. Cam lowered his head gradually, allowing the tip of his tongue to probe for sensitive spots as he descended. Little twitches and grunts told him when he found what he was looking for, and he soon had Jack writhing and panting in blissful torment.
A blank spot in his memory...and then he was no longer kneeling between Jack's legs, but straddling him, preparing to lower himself onto the slick, twitching shaft. Jack's face held no discouragement. Whether his drink-and-pleasure-addled mind allowed him to understand what was happening or not, he clearly wanted it to continue. In his hazy, unfocused recollection, the sensation as Jack penetrated him stood out in sharp relief. He could recall the feeling of his tailhole stretching around the canine cock in vivid detail, with every slight pang of pain, every excited tingle, and finally the satisfying fullness as he reached the hilt.
Cam breathed heavily as he gave himself a moment to adjust, but Jack had other ideas. He'd gathered his wits from somewhere, and he grabbed Cam's hips, making him yowl in surprise. Cam might be on top, but Jack wasn't about to let him have control. Before the cat could react, Jack began to slowly pump his hips up and down, and now it was Cam's turn to moan. All too happy to surrender to the wolf, he lost himself to the rhythm of Jack's bucking until it all became just a fog of panting and pleasure. All too soon, he could feel Jack begin to throb urgently inside him, and they pushed their bodies together in one last thrust. The swelling inside him and the first jet of Jack-seed brought him, shuddering to his own climax.
Cam raised his eyes to the ceiling, the artificial light from the lamp dazzling him. He was dizzy with ecstasy, the heat of Jack's cum was almost scorching and...and it faded away. The memory of the come-down from his orgasm mingled with the here-and-now, and he saw Jack gazing at him sternly. Very slowly, Cam removed his finger from his mouth.
"Uh..."
"You don't need to say anything," said Jack. "Your face says it all".
Cam sat in nervous silence, waiting for Jack to say something. Did he feel betrayed? Did he remember as much as Cam? Would Cam lose a friend? Maybe it wasn't so dire...Jack might even be glad about it. Despite all his uncertainty, Cam didn't dare ask anything. When Jack finally broke the silence, Cam's hopes and fears reached an unbearable peak.
"I'm going down the pub," he said, and Cam was convinced he'd never see him again. The last thing he'd ever hear from Jack would be 'I'm going down the pub'. Well, at least it was fitting.
"You coming?" asked Jack, and Cam nearly choked.
"You mean it's...you...we're cool"? With the dawn of hope, the dull feeling in Cam's head receded, and his mind slowly became crystal clear.
"I don't know...let's go out for a drink, and see how things go from here".
Cam nodded silently.
"Just one thing..." added Jack. "Is there any gin left"?
"No".
"Good..."