4:21
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This is the first story I've made public, and I would love to get some comments about it
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He sat up in bed with a hard gasp, his chest rising and lowering swiftly, his breathing fast and shallow. He felt his fur slightly wet with the cold sweat he always suffered from when he was having a nightmare. He rubbed a hand over his slight aching abdominal muscles, the other one staying on the bed behind him. He felt blind at first, his eyes only slowly adapting to the dark room. The red light from the digital alarm clock slowly turned from a blur into numbers. He blinked a couple of times, his head still spinning from the rough awakening. 4:21. More details started to appear in front of him, the room slowly returning to the shape he was used to. His breath slowed down as he felt the slightly cooler air kiss his moist fur, causing the small hairs to stand up a little. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh with a hint of despair in his voice. He never recalled his nightmares, he only knew that they made him feel small, fragile and scared. He turned his head and looked over to his left, smiling softly as he saw the face of his mate, the only guy he had ever loved like this. His mate looked so peaceful, completely unaware of the struggle that had just taken place right next to him. That was how it should be. He didn't want him to worry.
His hooves gently sank into the carpet as he threw them over the side of the bed and down on the floor. He gently stood up, trying not to make a sound. He walked over to the chair where he usually threw his cloths when he went to bed. He could still feel the anxiety and adrenalin in his body. He reached down and picked up his boxer shorts, first slipping the right leg in, then the left, finally pulling them up in place. He lifted the thick dark red bathrobe from the armrest of the chair. It had been a present from his parents some years ago. He slowly slipped into it, first his right arm, then the other. From time to time he wondered why he always put it on the same way. It wasn't really a question he wanted an answer to, just one of those small things that your mind spends time on when it has nothing better to do. He tied the belt loosely around his waist, slowly opening the door out to the hallway.
He stepped out into the corridor. He left the light off as the darkness never bothered him. He wanted to go back to sleep afterwards and too much light always made him wake up even more. He walked past the open door leading into his home office. He continued onwards walking down to wards the front door of the apartment, taking a left, stepping into the bathroom. The room was lit only by the moonshine, coating every surface in a slightly blue light. He started to feel the cold air sink in through his fur and into his skin. He shuddered lightly and felt his muscles flex gently, the warm blood spreading out through them, giving him a sensation of having just slipped into a warm bath. He turned his head and was met by his mirror image looking back at him. He turned and faced himself, posing a little, turning and moving his arms as to see if it really was a mirror. The bathrobe had fallen open a bit and he smiled warmly, letting his hand rub down over his flat stomach. He had worked very hard for this and he was proud of it. He patted it gently a couple of times with his left hand, the right reaching out to turn on the water.
The soft splashing seemed to bring his hearing back, soon followed by the sound of a car driving through the street. He let the water run for a little while, wanting a cool drink before he got back into bed. The thought of water brought made another of his senses kick in. He felt the pressure on his bladder, letting out a low snort. He always hated how he was never able to overhear that particular signal. It was absolutely impossible for him to go back to bed without relieving himself. He left the water running softly as he stepped over to the toilet, lifting the dark wooden seat up. He used a single hand to untie the belt and move the robe to the side, his other hand lifting his manhood out of the soft cotton boxers. He let out a soft moan as he relieved himself. It didn't take him long, but it was needed. He slipped his black meat back in his boxers after giving it a couple of slow strokes, just for good measure.
He turned around and walked back to the sink, with a gentle push flushing the toilet. This "nightmare ritual" was something he had gone through so many time that it seemed possible that he could do it with his eyes closed. He picked up the bar of soap by the sink holding it under the water as both of his black hands started rubbing over it, feeling them get slick. He put the soap back in the small indentation in the sink, slowly washing his hands. He dried them off in the small blue towel thoroughly. He hated when his hands were cold and wet. He turned the water off, moving a glass under the tap, then turning it on once more, letting the cold liquid fill it half way up. He grinned with a light snort as he thought about that annoying armature psychiatrists question, "Is the glass half empty or half full?". He didn't really care. To him it was a glass of water, and no amount of wordplay would change that fact or tell people anything about what went on in his mind. He hated when people acted as if they knew something because they had taken the time to read a book written by an alleged smart person. To him, quoting material wouldn't get you anywhere compared to thinking for yourself. The same attitude applied to those holier than thou religious people who always thought they needed to save him from some sort of fictional faith. He would always take the time to talk to them. It was one of his personal hobbies and he always put a small mark in the victory column when they suddenly changed subject to escape a logical arm bar he had managed to put them in. He had been told by some that his behavior was childish and disrespectful. He didn't think so. They knocked on his door and stepped into his domain. He considered them to be the aggressor and hence defended him accordingly. He drank the water.
He walked faster down the corridor on his way back. He was more awake, his senses sharpened, his movements controlled. He waited outside the bedroom door, taking a couple of deep breaths, calming himself down before he stepped back in. He looked over at his mate who was stretching, sending him a gentle sleepy smile back. They didn't speak. He slipped his bathrobe off and threw it back on the chair, not even taking the time to see it land in its usual spot. He pulled the duvet off the bed along with his pillow and the sheet. It was still slightly wet from his sweat. He reached up on the top shelf in the nearest closet, lifting new linen out. His mate was already fast asleep again. He loved him so dearly and he was amazed that he never heard a critical word about his nightmares and the commotion they caused at the strangest hours. The new sheet was quickly in place, looking so soft like pure white snow. He always took the time to make sure that no folds were left. He paid attention to some strange details at times. His personal pet OCD. He always figured that everybody had some of those. As his thoughts went down that road, his hands worked on their own, soon having made the bed for him without him really noticing. He smiled and slipped his boxers down, letting his hand fondle the black zebra package. He crawled down under the duvet and moved up close to his mate, reaching over him and pulling him closer, pressing his groin gently against the smaller zebras rear. They spooned 19 out of 20 times when they went to bed. They both loved it. It's the absolute shortest physical distance between two people who love each other. Some regard it as sexual but it doesn't have to be. It's a position that signifies protection, trust, love and care.
Only one more thing passed through his mind as he drifted back into a soothing sleep so close to the love of his life. He didn't know why he had nightmares, but he would happily endure each and every one of them as long as he got to spoon with his mate one more time.