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Reckless Pt. 4 By. H. A. Kirsch Copyright 2012 - http://www.hakirsch.com

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"The Morning After"

The dog woke up in the cage unbound and covered in a plush microfiber blanket. The cage door was open. There was a water bowl a few feet away, mostly empty. There was a plate on the floor, with smears of something that smelled vaguely delicious.

He imagined that someone had untied him, unclothed him, fed him in the middle of the night. He had a dreamlike memory of it happening, but not who had helped. Kyros? Rex? He couldn't tell.

Shane crept upstairs and sat by the closed basement door. It wasn't locked; he could see the safety deadbolt and it pointed away from the door jamb. He waited. He waited so long that he started counting heartbeats. After three thousand, six hundred, he stopped.

One hour.

One hour and no sound from anywhere else in the house. No one was home. The dalmatian opened the door and walked around, carefully checking each room. The house was truly empty; Kyros' car was gone from the garage; there was no trace of Rex or his motorcycle; no notes; no nothing.

Kyros was probably at work. Rex... had he really even come over? Or had it been a fantasy?

Shane went up to his bedroom last, and peeked in. The room looked like something had exploded in it. His dressing mirror was shattered but in one piece, safety glass spiderwebbed across the surface. The closet was the epicenter, with the upper shelf completely collapsed. There was a

• Everything echoed -

electrical cord, lying

• Kyros leaned over him -

across some of the clothing and the shoeboxes full of all manner of gloves for m

• Not fucking, hands together, shoving at his chest -

asturbation. The cord was cut as if by a knife, and formed an open loop at the end of the searing orange. Where the two portions merged, there were the tight coils of a slipknot.

That was no hallucination. That was no fantasy. No, it was every fantasy Shane had ever had, ever. Instead of Rex strangling him, he hung himself.

And survived, only to see what? That Kyros was friends with Rex? Greek. Both Greek names. They knew each other. They knew each other intimately. They both knew Shane intimately, had both left fluids in his asshole, even if Rex only left some precum and dick sweat. They were both into the same impossibly pertinent kink as Shane, and Kyros had satisfied Rex's needs in just that department...

How long ago?

Shane went down to the kitchen. It was mostly clean, not really sanitary but tidy enough. It was evening, but the calendar on the refrigerator had the entire square blackened in. A full swing shift. Kyros wouldn't be home for exactly four hours and thirty two minutes.

The dog opened the fridge. Neat containers packed with food. He took one out and started eating it. Moussaka. It was almost disgusting cold, but Shane was so hungry that his hands had started shaking. He just barely managed a few mouthfuls before he started to feel like he was gagging. He scurried into the adjoining living room and slumped down on the sofa. Cold. So cold that he started to shiver. Then shake. Then convulse. He curled into a black and white spotted ball, nude and rippling.

After a few moments of desperate deep breaths, the chill subsided. After a few longer moments, he started to feel warm again. His muzzle started to sweat as the needed food finally made it into some blood sugar.

He finished the plastic container's worth of food, then returned to the couch to relax. After the chill, he felt strangely calm. He even detached a little, and wondered if perhaps something had broken inside. Maybe hanging himself had actually worked. Maybe he had died, and when he was brought back, when Kyros saved him, only most of him came back.

The living room door opened and didn't startle Shane. Or, it startled him so much that it circled around and returned to a state of simple alertness. It was Rex. And Kyros.

"Hey, your fucking dog's on the sofa again. You want me to get one of those sticky things?" Rex said, voice as gruff and deadpan serious as he could manage, charcoal muzzle wrenched into an honest playful grin.

"What?" Kyros said. He had arms full of groceries clutched in motorcycle jacket leather. Rex was wearing a cutoff jean jacket, camo pants, and a pair of deliciously worn cowboy boots. Kyros looked mean. Rex looked so ridiculous that he approaced bum scary.

"You know, like the fuckin', uh, like the lint roller things. Yeah. You know. Dogs climbing on the couch, shedding, like people used to fuckin'-"

"Put things away for me. You want to come over and hang out, be friends again, you do some fucking work." Kyros stepped forward and shoved all of the grocery bags into Rex's arms.

"You two are really friends? You really know each other?" Shane said, eyes stupid wide, ears as perked as they could get while flopping over.

"Haha! Lookit that face," Rex said, then clomped into the kitchen and started putting groceries in the cupboards. For real. Shane thought about that. Biker wolf. Leather club slut wolf hybrid. Anesthetized victim of erotic suffocation, almost? And now, domesticated animal.

"You ate my food," Kyros said, shoulders up, staring down at Shane. He kept his arms slightly forward, as if he had simply dropped the groceries and slowly let them sink down.

Shane kept staring blankly, until Kyros' words sank in. Then his blood ran cold and he started to sweat, prickling with heat on the outside but nearing that convulsing chill inside. The tiger stared at him, slowly leaned down in, sank down to knees. No, not in front of Rex. No. No? Please?

"Good, you looked sick when I left to work," Kyros said.

The dalmatian nearly wet himself in humiliated relief.

Kyros sat down and looked agitated. "Yes, I know Rex. I met him at a fight. I wanted to be a fighter. But, I am not good at it."

"Yo, he's fucking violent as all fuck," Rex added, from the kitchen.

"I don't do the right thing. How do you say it? Rex. Asshole dog!"

Something glass clunked down in the kitchen, and then Rex coughed. "I do this MMA shit, or I used to, and I was pretty good at it. Had a few minor titles. I met this fucking tiger at a fight. He came up to me after staring fucking daggers the whole match, and he said, 'Make me fight.' He comes at you like a fucking train, let me tell you that. It doesn't matter if you see the fuckin' flashin' lights, if you don't move, bam. You're down. But, but, and that's the fucking problem," Rex said, coming out. He had wet lips, and his ears were starting to turn heavy scarlet inside.

Kyros looked exasperated, like his own mother was telling a story.

"But he just goes rrawwrr and comes at you. If you can take that first pounding, then you can just knock him right off course, and he just couldn't get out of it. So he's not a good fighter. But whatever. Hey Kyros, go get that thing you got for your little puppy dog."

Kyros gruffed. "You get it, you have my keys."

Rex hurled the keys at Kyros. The tiger snarled.

"Go get the fucking thing for your fucking dog. This isn't motherfucking rocket science."

Kyros stepped up to him. In his head, Shane had been trying to imagine the burly Greek tiger and the wonderfully lupine hybrid with taped ankles and wrists and satin boxer shorts, wrecking each other in the ring. He imagined Kyros giving Rex a chokehold-

THUD. Shane focused his eyes just in time flinch them shut as something spattered across his face. "Yuck," he hissed, like a schoolboy, and looked at his hand. Wet splatters, a few of them blood. They smelled like Rex's spit.

"Get the fucking shit, Kyros, don't be a fucking ass!"

THUD! Kyros punched Rex again. The dog howled, clutched at his nose. Kyros wobbled forward, as if suddenly concerned at Rex's actual state. Blood dripped down the wolf-dog's half leathered hand. Then Rex snapped his fingers into a fist and punched Kyros so hard that the tiger sat down.

"Not in fucking front of your dog, you ass! Get the fucking shit out of the truck!"

Shane started to quiver again, and he didn't even know what it was at first. Another chill. No, not a chill. His eyes stung and burned and puffed up, then tears poured out down his cheeks. His lips curled and puckered, cheeks squeezing and dragging his muzzle into an agonized frown. Then the emotion poured out and he let out a keening whine.

Kyros stared, brow hard furrowed, then turned up. His eyes were hollow, but not vacant. They were desperate. The tiger turned around and stormed outside.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Rex said, sitting down to brush a hand over Shane's side.

I'm in another dimension, Shane wondered, as his mind divided in two. One side still sobbed, not at all comforted by the alarmingly male hand petting him gingerly like a housepet. The other was full of strange awe, that he had gone from strangling himself out of shame for letting some stranger fuck him in a club after promising to keep himself chaste, to seeing that stranger's friend turn up as practically a wife to a tiger he had known for years.

Kyros slammed the door back open. He had a huge fuzzy thing in his arms, a shapeless mess of cylindrical tubes. It had a big tag on it: "Pampered Housepets Adult Doggy Bed".

"We went to this kind of like second hand surplus place, looking for some shit that Kyros wanted to wear, you know, like while doing nasty shit like we did the other night, and he saw this. It's like some fucking vintage doggy bed from I dunno how long ago! It's real nice though, doesn't smell like anything but fluff."

"Shut up, I give it to him. Upstairs, dog." Kyros stomped upstairs.

The Master Bedroom. The cabinets were locked. No trace of their contents remained. All the toys were away.

"I put it here, there's enough space," Kyros said, and dumped the bed down in the corner. It looked nice in that particular spot, a natural fit in the otherwise gaping space where a sitting chair should go. "Go try it."

Shane whimpered, but hunkered down and walked towards the dog bed.

Rex tromped up the stairs, hung in the doorway. "Aww. That's so cute."

Shane climbed down into the bed. It was an enormous clamshell, with a big notch cut out of one edge, on the top part of the plush cushioned "shell". Once inside, Shane lost control of his body and relaxed, immediately comforted by the womblike coziness.

Outside, Kyros and Rex both stood, staring down at him. Both of them were squinting in one eye; Kyros had the darkened blood streaking his muzzle and chin from a bloody nose, while Rex just had a slick blackness.

The two left Shane to enjoy his new doggy bed. Outside in the hallway, the footsteps faded away, then stopped. Shane waited for them to enter his bedroom, but they just creaked in the hallway. That's right; he'd shut the door. Creak. Creak. Then, a soft grunt. "Oww," "You taste like blood right there," then grunt, then grunt, a wet sound, tussling, a thud, more wet sounds, a very sultry groan, and then insistent hushed whispers. "Waitwaitwait, what's this?"

"That is a room," Kyros said. More shuffling.

"No, no, lemme fuckin' see!" Rex growled and stomped. His next words came out with the hollow sound of someone speaking loudly in another room with the door open. "Jesus fucking christ, what happened in here?"

"Dog made a mess," Kyros said, voice taking on the most sniveling tone possible in a snarly tiger.

"A mess? A mess? Look at this shit!" Rex did something that made a whistle. "What the fuck is this? Your little fucking dog isn't all hot for that shit you're into, is he? No, he's fucking, he fucking, he fucking-" Rex perseverated, producing that alternating whistle, and then CRACK! "Don't fucking back away from me! Your fucking puppy dog hung himself! I bet I know why, he's a poor little fucktoy and you're a giant fucking asshole!" CRACK!

"Am not!" Kyros hollered, the words of a grade schooler, said with the desperate croak of something being attacked.

"You're a fucking asshole! You were always a fucking asshole! You wouldn't fight fair, you'd just fucking pound guys into fucking meat, and now you're fucking with this poor little dog!" Whiiii-snk. "Awwh! Fuck!" Rex hollered again.

"Get out of my house."

"I'm not gonna fucking-"

"Get out or I pull them off."

Both were very silent, except for breathing, for the next three minutes. Shane followed the trend, trying to keep his breaths slow and heavy, not just to keep from panicking but to simulate someone who was fast asleep.

"Fine. I'll fucking leave. I gotta go get paid anyway."

"Yes, go get paid for fucking."

"On fucking camera, you shithead!" SLAM!

Kyros started up the stairs. Clomp. Clomp. A creak here and there, amidst the heavy-footed steps.

Shane first assumed the tiger was coming to torture him. Kyros was walking with a very determined pace, the kind of pace that Shane had imagined many times, while covering his mouth with a gloved hand and furiously jerking off until his balls jounced against his hand.

Then, the tiger grunted and paused, and there was a muted, gristly snap. Then, a sigh and the same slow gait up the stairs. Kyros wasn't coming to torture Shane; maybe he was hurt?

The dog still couldn't fathom that anything positive could come of the night so far. Rex and Kyros had apparently fought over the new, warm-and-cuddly dog bed present; they fought in front of Shane; they fought in the hallway upon discovering that the dog had strung himself up in his closet just in time for Kyros to find him at the last second.

Kyros stepped into the room, moved to the corner of the bed, and started peeling off his clothes. After stripping down to a pair of compression briefs, he turned and looked square at Shane's dog bed. At Shane.

"Is it warm?"

Shane didn't answer. Second by second, Kyros' face twisted up, his shoulders lifted, and he started to get off the bed. "I ask-"

Shane whined hard and stirred around. "I like it, it's it's it's it's it's it's really warm. It's really nice."

"Good," Kyros said, and turned away. The light caught his face; it looked horrible, with cuts through the fur across the muzzle, even a bandage. They hadn't been there when the two unlikely friends had come home just an hour earlier.

The tiger dropped into bed and grunted, tossed, and then started to doze off with heavier and heavier whuffs. Then a sputter. "Get up in bed with me, dog."

Shane oozed out of the dog bed and slid up onto the comforter.

"At my back, give me a massage. Shoulders hurt," Kyros huffed, voice heavy and tired and a little punch-slurred.

The dalmatian slid underneath the sheets and up against the brawny feline. He went right for the money spot, just at the shoulder side of the nape. He started milking and squeezing, and Kyros immediately hunched and groaned. A few more increasingly heavy breaths, and Kyros was obviously asleep.

Shane clung to his back and stayed awake as long as he could, until he fell asleep without realizing, so full of warmth that he couldn't even feel the ends of his body anymore.