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Chapter 15

Jeff shivered in the chilly rain. A freak cold storm that had hit their Midwestern city in the tail end of summer, and the very much tropical cat huddled against it in his rented wool overcoat. The urge to lean over in his wheelchair to get warmth against the fur standing next to him was plenty strong, but he resisted it, not wanting to risk scandalizing the line of elderly furs who stood across from him, a black-clad shadow for the silvery metal coffin they all stood vigil over.

Besides, Jeff thought to himself, he had enough internal conflict to worry about. Messing around thinking about his relationship with the very male wolf to his right was about the last thing he needed while at a funeral for one of the world's greatest heroes. Especially when the group of six elderly folk across from him were the mightiest masters of magic left in the world...Theo's own colleagues in the Council of Magi.

Though the U.S. government's Bureau of Metapowered Affairs would ultimately decide whether or not their now-unnamed super-group would be liable in the events of the previous few days, those aged individuals across Theo Remy's casket from him and the other mourners would decide so many other things. Like, for instance, whether they would descend en-masse on the city to lock all of its magical doors and quietly snuff out anyone who could be carrying Warlocke's soul in a repeat of what they'd all discovered had really happened.

Or, he thought, maybe they were going to take Daimon Locke off the group's paws. Jeff had no idea what to do with the snide, rather standoffish black cat, and the police hadn't been enthusiastic about the prospect of arresting him with no real evidence against the clever feline. The whole group had spent two days being interrogated about the entire mess, from the murder of clergymen to the property-demolishing fight with Obliterator, to the meat monstrosity that Tokamak had apparently sacrificed himself to atomize. Apparently Daimon's DNA on church glass was considered 'circumstantial' since he hadn't physically killed anyone.

To Jeff's left, the other reason their entire group was still free shifted in his own wheelchair. Detective Kolter was bandaged almost from head to toe, but had been healed of the most severe of his internal injuries by the same blow of Paladin's sword that had ended Warlocke's life. The snow leopard twisted an ear towards Jeff, and grunted under his breath as the priest's last words of farewell drifted over the quiet crowd.

"So what're you lot gonna do now," the detective queried quietly, while shifting in discomfort on his wheelchair's seat. The IV tree next to him was clearly labeled 'morphine,' and as Jeff shivered in his coat, the other hunting cat seemed to squirm with itchiness, muttering under his breath.

John had an answer, before Eve and Mack could come up with one. Daimon hadn't shown up to the ceremony at all, not that anyone was surprised. Nor had Iron Horse, claiming she 'wasn't big on starin' at old peoples' corpses an' shit.'

"Dunno, detective. Probably take a few weeks gettin' our heads together, and figure things out from there."

Eve piped in then, with a smile dulled by all the tragedy, her usual ebullient cheerleader grin seeming faded at the edges. "Hey, we're the good guys. We can't let loss get us down."

Mack grunted, and startled everyone with his growled words, as he turned a seething glare on his girlfriend.

"Loss? Eve, you don't even know what you're talking about. Loss. What'd you just lose, huh? A favorite professor?"

"M-mack?" she stammered, startled by the outburst. Normally, her boyfriend would never even so much as say a negative word around her. He was too careful, too much the gentle giant. Now, she felt a throb of fear as the massive lion glowered and stared unblinkingly into her eyes. "What do you mean? We just lost our mentor!"

"No, Eve. You just lost one of your hundred friends. You want to know what loss is?" He glared at her, leaning in, as Jeff started trying to get up out of his chair. John put a paw on his shoulder and held the cat in place, shaking his head once as he watched with calm, knowing eyes.

Mack continued, pointing hard at the casket as other mourners slowly drifted off in their little groups.

"He cared about you, sure. But you have a hundred other people who do, Eve. To me, he was a lot more than just a mentor. He was like a father, almost. He helped me when nobody else bothered to even look me in the eye. The football team dropped me like a fucking rotten apple, and Dr. Theorem was there to pick me back up again. He cared about me when nobody else did...More than you ever did!"

"Wh-what are you talking about? Mack, I've always been there for you!" she shrilled back, looking more stunned than angry, as the massive lion growled low enough to make fur prickle from goose flesh.

"No, Eve. You were there for your boyfriend. You never even looked for what I was really like underneath that. Y'know what? I don't need a relationship based on illusions. We're done. Go find someone else to put on a pedestal."

Then he turned and stormed off, without a second glance.

Jeff chewed his lip, and let his long black tail lash for a moment, before looking up at his own significant other. John Silverstone was watching Mack go, as rain dripped off the timber wolf's muzzle. Seeming to realize he was being looked at with a question, the wolf squeezed Jeff's shoulder.

"Saw that coming a while ago...Didn't figure it was my business. Uh, Eve? Hon, you need a ride home? You're lookin' kinda rough..."

The vixen looked choked as she turned away from Jeff and John, and the black jaguar felt an uncomfortable urge to reach out toward her, despite the risks. Even being outside during a rainstorm had seemed like a bad idea, nevermind touching someone standing in a puddle of water. There hadn't been any incidents of released charge, though, even considering that he wasn't wearing his special electrical-channeling suit.

Eve's shoulders hunched, and she pulled herself together enough to answer John's question, though her voice sounded squeezed tight like she was holding back tears.

"N-no...You two go, I'll...I gotta think..."

"Alright, sweetie," John rumbled, as he took the arms to Jeff's wheelchair in paws. "Call my cell if you need anything, okay?"

She just waved them off, not turning to look. Her face was a mess of misery she didn't want to show her friends.

Kolter coughed and turned his head as he was being wheeled away by a young officer in his dress uniform. The snow jaguar called out, as he was disappearing behind a curtain of falling rain.

"Silverstone. Keep in touch. Maybe next time we can head this shit off BEFORE it gets to the pass and falls right off the cliff."

John grinned at the cowboy reference, and tipped an imaginary hat. "You bet, detective. Be seein' ya."

Then he wheeled Jeff down one of the graveyard's many cobbled paths, towards a rented limo provided by the city.

"As for you and me, kitty," he said, leaning in to steal a nip of an ear that had Jeff shivering and jerking in startlement at the wolf's audacity, "We can get on with the business of living."

Eve felt positively shattered inside, as the rain poured down around her. She'd stayed right where the others had left her for a while, just letting the cold water pound her headfur and back until she was soggy and resembling a drowned bright-red rat. It had given her time to go over everything she'd ever said to Mack, every gesture of love and devotion she'd made to the big lion.

Only now was she seeing the resentment in his eyes, all those times she'd talked over him or poo-poo'd one of his ideas. The low self-esteem that curdled under his big, powerful outer shell, that she'd only helped to nurture by being such a know-it-all around him. She'd always been the one to come up with plans, to take the lead, and now she realized it wasn't because Mack was easy-going or polite, but rather because he'd never had the confidence to tell her no.

Though they'd never gotten past second base, she felt strangely like she'd violated him, forced things on him he didn't want. She, the little 100-pounds-soaking-wet petite vixen, had taken a massive football jock with superpowers and wound him around her little finger like a toy. She'd worn him to parties like a piece of flashy jewelry, given him love like she would obligatorily give love to a pet, and never bothered to crack the book that was the real Mack Franklin.

If rot had a feeling, she sensed it in her gut, a sense of self-disgust that left her shaking, arms wrapped around her body as the rain pattered on her back like falling pins. Finally, after some time just standing there in the rain, she started to walk. The cemetery was mostly empty now, fully two hundred funeral guests having departed, leaving the metal coffin to be a steel drum in the rain.

First, she walked up to that container, and touched it with her paw. She'd almost expected to feel it thrumming with energy, as if loss had a life of its own. Instead, it was simply chilly and hard, as she supposed a casket ought to be. It gave her no insight to her own troubles, nor what had become of Bobby Shore, one of her personal idols.

The cheetah had been seen entering Dr. Theorem's home by a few students just before all the chaos began, and was now presumed dead. Tokamak was simply gone, in an explosion that had perfectly vaporized an exact sphere comprising one block of downtown. The last of the Nightsiders were gone, and with them any sense of protection their city had. Hell, most of the Midwest for that matter.

And her own team seemed fractured. Mack probably wasn't going to be coming back, she judged, and though Tish Henry seemed enthusiastic about "kicking some ass with some halfway-okay old people," Eve guessed she wasn't going to be much for teamwork. The vixen wasn't even sure she could really lead such a group...Or should, for that matter, considering how badly she'd frozen up, and how all her careful pre-thought plans hadn't even come up during the life-or-death struggle they'd been through.

With her ears pinned back and her sodden tail almost settling into the mud, Eve then turned away from Dr. Theorem's coffin just as the gravediggers were finally arriving to do that last bit of final work. Slow, subdued steps took the vixen down one of the cobblestone paths, through the oldest part of the city cemetery, where gothic mausoleums sprouted like grey teeth from the earth. She'd come to no conclusions, and just simply felt miserable, cold, wet, and self-loathing, as she wandered in aimless lack of direction.

The scent of a clove cigarette whiffed under her snout, and Eve had just enough time to furrow her brows in incredulity that someone would smoke those filthy things in such a somber place, before Daimon Locke's voice turned her towards him.

"You look like a rat corpse I saw in a storm drain once," he quipped, from his spot that sat just out of the rain. The black cat had found a gothic archway into a mausoleum and leaned himself up inside it, just out of the rain by an inch or so as he smoked away on his filthy habit. His smirk pulled Eve's eyes to his face, which was for the first time revealed to her.

With a startled shock, she realized that what she'd imagined as a foul monster hidden behind all that black gauze was in fact rather handsome, with smooth shiny black fur, a short feline muzzle, and eyes that glimmered a dark blue now that his magics were well put away. Had she not heard his voice, Eve never would have recognized the cat who now blew another muzzle-full of smoke at her. The only thing that seemed congruous with her imaginings of his face were traceries of white in the fur around his right eye that came from scars that looked to have been purposefully carved into the orbital bone. A pentagram, if she was guessing right.

Curling her lip, Eve growled reedily at him, jabbing a fingertip towards the relaxed, reclining cat.

"That's someone's crypt, you know! You shouldn't be smoking in it! Or be in it at all!"

Daimon looked up, tilting his head languidly back, and grinned smugly as he reached out a paw to pat the weathered old granite arch. Then he brought up a knee, and put his shin-high black leather boot's sole against the opposite side of the arch, bracing his slender frame as he turned to speak to Eve again.

"Trust me, they don't mind. In fact, I think your bitching probably annoys them more, if they're listening. Or maybe they're getting a laugh, watching you stand there getting soaked, like an idiot."

Eve glared as she'd never let herself glare before, butt back, soggy tail up, brows beetled and eyes narrowed. Which did nothing to mollify Daimon, who started laughing at her, while stubbing out his clove on the mausoleum's pockmarked stone. Finally, as she was starting to shake more from cold than impotent wrath, he waved at her.

"Come here."

"Why?"

The slender cat was shucking out of his leather longcoat, with all its little silvery dangles, and to Eve's beetle-browed surprise held it out towards her.

"Because you're freezing and I'll have more fun mocking you if you aren't dead of hypothermia."

She growled reedily.

"Fuck you, Daimon Locke."

He just smirked, and held his jacket out a bit further, letting rain drip on the collar.

"Stop being a dumb bitch and get over here."

"N-"

"Now," he ordered, with a dead-eyed stare of handsome dark eyes that made the vixen shudder with sudden, horrified memory of what those eyes had done to her once before. Yet, inexplicably, the gesture he was making, offering his jacket and his dry space, had touched something in her that made the vixen swallow her fear and reach for a bit of bravery, and Eve slowly padded over. When he draped the warm coat around her, Eve looked straight ahead, not wanting to make eye contact with the black housecat who'd sent her into a nightmarish coma just a short-seeming week ago.

She came up to mid-chest on the tall feline, and his jacket's hem was pooled on the ground when he finished buttoning the thing at her throat. For a moment, they just stood there together, the sound of hammering rain obliterating even the noise of their breath. Then, he broke the silence, with a voice that sounded just the slightest bit less snide.

"You look like shit."

Eve sighed, trying to break the pressure that had been building in her chest since Mack had first growled at her back on the cemetery hill. Unfortunately, her body betrayed her, and the breath came out not as a release of tension, but as a sudden sob that burst right past her defenses. In just a few seconds, she went from furious to sobbing like a child, with her face inexplicably pressed against the slender chest of one Daimon Locke, who stood there with his arms awkwardly around her shoulders as she cried out the stress and pain. If the ribs that had been hurt during their fight with Warlocke pained him, the cat showed no sign of it.

"I f-feel like shit," she whispered against his chest. Daimon just snorted, which blew across her big vulpine ears, before tightening the previously tentative hug.

"Why? Because some old man you barely knew died, or because your bitter dick of a boyfriend is being an ass?"

Eve tilted her head back, bleary tear-filled eyes meeting Daimon's dark orbs.

"So you...You did come to the funeral?"

The hopefulness in her cracked, wavery voice made Daimon roll his eyes and snort in exasperation. She wanted to see some good in him, and the cat found it adorably annoying.

"You're just determined to believe I'm a decent person, aren't you?"

"Evidence," she muttered back, before burying her face against his chest. Not that she was attracted to him, the vixen told herself, but because she just needed a proverbial shoulder to cry on.

"Evidence," he repeated, in a flat tone of questioning.

"You just...Let me wear your jacket...And are holding a crying girl in the rain."

"Maybe I just want to get in your pants," he retorted.

Eve snorted, and pulled her paw back, thumping him in the shoulder with a punch that bore no real strength behind it. No pain showed on the cat's face, just amusement.

"You don't um...Have anywhere to go do you?"

Daimon scowled slightly, and looked over her head out into the now-driving rain with a shrug, still holding the shivering fox against his chest. He was used to the streets, having spent a few years now living on them. The black cat also detected an agenda in her voice, and wasn't sure he liked it - if she tried to have pity on him, he resolved to take his jacket back and kick her out into the rain again.

"I...Only ask because I don't...Wanna be alone," she forced out slowly, taking deeper breaths between words to steady her voice. "And I need to prove to myself that I'm not afraid of you."

For a few seconds, Daimon Locke just stood there, staring down at the top of this little fox's head, perplexed. He had nearly killed her with the use of his powers, put her into a coma...And now, after one night of fighting for their lives, she wanted him to follow her home? He considered the dangers, a mind made paranoid by years of living on the run telling him this was a terrible idea.

One dissenting opinion that sounded to him a bit like the old priest who'd showed him such kindness told him what he wanted to hear though.

"Yeah fine, whatever. We'll go to your place. Just don't expect me to be your fucking cry-pillow all night."

Eve snorted against his chest, and hit him again, still ineffectually.

"Fine, I can live with that. This way to my car."

"Do you think Eve's going to be okay?" Jeff asked, as he finished maneuvering himself into the seat, glaring annoyedly at the cast that covered his right footpaw to the shin. John was behind him, taking care of folding up the wheelchair Jeff didn't plan to use ever again.

"Yeah, she's tougher'n she thinks." Jeff watched in wan amusement as John waved off the limo driver after a brief struggle over who would stuff the folded-up wheelchair into the vehicle. The self-styled working-class wolf won out in his brief but neverending battle with helpful people being obsequious.

The next question Jeff asked had his gut curdling up a bit in worry, especially since it was the second question in a lead-up to the real one on his mind.

"What about the team?"

John slid into the limo across from him, the tall wolf straightening out his somewhat wrinkled suit jacket. Jeff crinkled his snout at it, wondering just how the wolf managed to mess it up so quickly.

"The team won't ever be the same. Most teams don't survive a fight like this, and it's gonna take time for us all to get our heads together. I don't think Mack's comin' back, truth be told, but I think we picked up Iron Horse."

"Oh great...Foul-mouthed teeny-bopper...Just what we need to replace our simmering time-bomb football jock."

"Don't judge a book by its cover, Jeff. She's tough, follows orders when they make sense, and's got her heart in the right place. Plus the kid's tough as hell."

Jeff nodded, and chewed that one over as John settled in, buckled, and waved for the driver to get moving. The gigantic black boat of a vehicle was already in motion by the time the jaguar worked up the guts he needed to ask the question that was really roiling him.

"Uh..." he started out, then stopped himself, swallowing and taking a few breaths to try again. The ghost of a smirk from his lupine companion, as the wolf leaned back against his headrest and put his head on his paws, helped turn Jeff from nervous butterflies to chagrined aggravation. John was often smug, when he was nettling others.

"Hmmyeah?" John grinned, turning his head to regard the black jaguar's fidgeting with an amused raised eyebrow. Jeff just couldn't meet his eyes, and flushed red in his ears and on the pad of his nose.

Fuck it, the jaguar thought to himself, while bringing up a paw to rub at the side of his head self-consciously. He had to know the answer, especially after asking those lead-up questions.

"What about uh...Us?"

John let out a light chuckle, and turned to face his erstwhile boyfriend, the self-proclaimed straight male who'd never so much as touched a naked girl, thanks to the danger of losing control and electrocuting anyone too close. Immune to the power, and in full knowledge that Jeff had learned better control anyway, John Silverstone leaned over and tugged one of his jaguar's ears, before answering the furiously blushing cat.

"Dunno. What do YOU want 'us' to be?"

"John, I'm not gay," the jaguar muttered, glowering sullenly through his lowered brows. With his head tilted down so far, he couldn't see much of the wolf higher than the tops of his rented black suit slacks. The working-class wolf had even managed to scuff the patent leather shoes in the hour or so he'd been wearing them. That the funeral had been outdoors was the only excuse. He could most certainly smell the fine, lush, deodorant-accented musk that a bit of suit-sweat wafted under his snout.

Most especially when John sidled right up against him with his usual gentle boldness. Jeff wasn't sure whether to lean up against him and wallow in the masculinity and warmth, or to pull away and demand the other fur go back to his own side of the bench seat. An embarrassed glance toward the driver's window showed it to have been rolled shut to give them privacy.

"So you're saying you don't like it," John queried back, with none of the hurt or anger Jeff had feared. The wolf reached out and playfully bapped Jeff's arm with his knuckles. "You're saying those nice hot nights," his voice had lowered to a husk, "of you whimpering and blowing your load, kissing me, making the cutest bashful faces...You were thinking of Jenna Jameson?" He finished with his voice at normal speaking volume, a play on keeping their little thing a secret, despite the fact everyone somehow already knew.

Jeff curled in even tighter, his shoulders hunched under the still-wet suit jacket, as they rode in the back of the rented funeral limousine. The hunching just caused his left shoulder to press up against John even closer, in juxtaposition to what the night-black jaguar was saying. For a few moments, he struggled with an answer, over the clashing urges that roiled in his gut. He felt like a sailor floating on the sea in a storm, looking for any sign of hope on the wind-tossed horizon, something he'd been slowly learning to cope with ever since waking from the half-dreaming state of shock Gyro's torture had left him in. His only hope was the spar of wood he clung to, though it was another male, with a very nice cock he kept salivating for when the cat wasn't paying attention and clamping down on his urges.

"No...It's...I..."

"Hey, it's okay, kitty-cat," John said, as he leaned in and nibbled the edge of a sensitive suddenly-flicking round feline ear. "You're straight, I get it. You just happen to also like having sex with me." The paw around Jeff's back, hugging him to John's side, delved two fingers down to tickle at the slender jag's ribs, which just made Jeff jerk and stiffen more, and flick his ears back to pin down.

"No! Goddamnit..." he groused, squirming against the bigger, more muscular wolf. The teasing was in good fun, he knew. John's way of dealing with awkward conversations was to tease, play, tickle, act the jester to take the pressure off.

Still, he deserved the truth. Jeff sighed, determine to this course of action, though half his mind wanted him to shove the wolf away and start yelling, defending his own masculinity for some unknown, fool reason.

"John, it's not the dick I love, it's you!" the jag bolted out, knowing if he took it slow that his nerve would break.

The tickling stopped, and for a moment, Jeff felt a surge of terror that he'd done something wrong, said something offensive somehow. That he'd accidentally let go of the one plank of storm-lashed wood that kept him afloat and safe in the torrent and terror that was his life.

Then John's right arm tightened around his side in a sidelong hug, and left paw came up, taking Jeff's chin in a gentle grip that had the jaguar tilting upward, eyes following in bashful struggle as he tried to avoid eye contact out of embarrassment yet seek it out of desperate hunger for the connection it would bring.

Their lips touched in a gentle kiss, the wolf's seeking, tongue tracing, until the jaguar's lips parted and accepted the mostly-welcome twining of warmth and affection. Love, if he could let himself believe it. That thing he feared the most, because it left him the most vulnerable.

When they finally met eyes, when the kiss was done, John's were shivering with gentle laughter and a happy grin that left creases around them in the fur. A sign of age that the rest of his well-formed and athletic body never showed. For a moment out of time, Jeff remembered that the wolf was about ten years his senior, and that behind all the self-deprecating jokes, juvenile ribbing, and ridiculous humor, lay the wisdom of a long and rather hard life.

"That's the sweetest thing I think anyone's ever said to me, Jeff. I love you too, kitty." Then, to take the edge off that dreaded l-word, John's lithe body shifted, and he was nibbling the cat's ears again, as his now-freed left paw went straight down between the cat's legs to grab his nascent package through the all too thin-feeling suit pants.

Jeff jerked and gasped, unable to help the fact that his ears were an immense erogenous zone, full of an explosion of lust and boners whenever John played his masterful song on them. What with a paw kneading his crotch, entirely inappropriate given the clothes, the occasion, and their posh surroundings, Jeff almost shoved him away.

"J-john! W-we just left a f-f-funeral! D-dr. Theor-unf..."

The wolf silenced him by a squeeze to the scrotum, not quite hard enough to hurt, but enough to show him who was boss. With a playful but dominant growl, he took an ear between his teeth, tugged it, and whispered his intent.

"Best way to celebrate a passed mentor is by celebrating what they taught you. He taught me to love life, and protect and enjoy it. So, when we get back to the apartment, you know what we're gonna do?"

"N...No?" Jeff whimpered out, helpless and lost, yet safe and warm in his boyfriend's arms, as the wolf played with his sheath through the pants, and tugged at his ear between whispered, husky, promising, lustful lewd words.

"I'm going to teach you how to take a nice, hard dicking, right up that sweet, sensitive little pink star of yours. We're going to fuck until you cum, and keep going till you can take me all the way in. We'll go to sleep with me locked in your ass, and you wrapped in my arms, and we'll wake up with morning breath and go shower together. Wanna know why?"

"Wh...Wh...Why?" he begged, while shooting fearful, embarrassed looks toward the thin black divider that hopefully kept the driver oblivious to what happened behind him.

"Because I love you, I'm not gonna let you deal with the nightmares alone, and I want you to be happy...And I'm pretty sure you feel the same way, mister straight-guy-who-doesn't-like-dick."

The cat was ready to jizz his pants, squirming and huffing, slender barb-tipped cock twitching and leaking, as his wolf let go of the shaft that had rocketed from its feline sheath, leaving it scratching uncomfortably against the inside of Jeff's only clean pair of boxer shorts. He'd been worried the over-tight rented suit pants would show off the elastic line of briefs, and his last clean pair of boxers were the damnably uncomfortable Velcro-fronted pair he'd gotten as a gag gift from one of his apartment neighbors for Christmas.

The bastard wasn't going to get him off, Jeff realized, and whimpered needfully before suddenly remembering where they were, and how obvious a load of sticky white cum would be all over the front of his rented pants. He blushed to his toes, or rather kept blushing, since he was about as red as a black cat could get.

"Usually, right now, you say something," John joked, giving Jeff's ear one last, long, gentle tug that had the cat squirming and panting again.

"I...What should I say?"

"That you love me too."

Jeff couldn't say it. John knew he couldn't. So the wolf just accepted that it was what he meant, when Jeff's cheek went to the wolf's strong chest, nuzzling into the protective warmth of his loving, forgiving boyfriend.

Ten minutes later, they were inside Jeff's cluttered apartment, and clothes were coming off faster than feathers at a turkey shoot. Awkwardly for the black cat, though, John wasn't letting him disrobe himself. The wolf's dextrous, scarred paws were doing all the work, unbuttoning the nervous cat's shirt and tossing it aside, undoing his pants and pushing them off, before stopping to play havoc with their undressing by groping Jeff's bulging, sensitive package through those uncomfortable boxers.

Somehow, he was still managing to get himself undressed too. Likely, Jeff mused even as his deliciously-squeezed and manipulated cock was telling him to stop thinking, because John didn't care about getting his deposit on the rented suit back. Buttons were flying, and it would have offended Jeff Castillas if the normally persnickety cat wasn't busy struggling not to blow his load well in advance of the promised fucking.

When the wolf rubbed his face up against the musky bulge in Jeff's boxers, the cat hissed and grabbed at fuzzy ear-tips, and was grateful to be sitting on his bed already. He didn't want to know what falling from crutch-height would feel like. He was also grateful to have enough control not to start spurting cum all over his boxers and John's face.

"F-fuck..."

Jeff could feel the grin against his bulge, in the movement of his lover's lips as they mouthed hungrily at the length barely hidden behind the cheap polyester material. Fingers dug into his behind as well, pulling him forward into the wetness of a slavering tongue. John relented just before Jeff could reach the point of no return, grinning up at the cat as he dipped his fingers into the boxer's hem and pulled them down to pool around the jaguar's ankles.

The wolf spent a moment admiring the nice, slender barbed cock in front of him as it dripped and twitched in readiness. Cool air across its wet tip had pushed back Jeff's release, much to the jaguar's relief, letting him regain control of himself. Control he sensed he was about to surrender to someone else, as John's paws squeezed his rump, tugged the base of his tail, and then came away.

His lupine lover's grin had gone a bit darker, hungrier, just as he twirled a finger.

"Face down on the bed, kitty."

Jeff nodded, his maw gone dry with anticipation and nerves. The jaguar had never had anything up there before, except a few fingers, mostly John's, a few of his own when he was being adventurous. Now, he was being steadily pushed into taking a rather sizable wolf cock, and as usual when John was being lovingly dominant, it had the cat tingling in anticipation.

Paws gently gripped his hips, tracing them lovingly, just before he felt a cool wet nose touch under his raised tail, and a hot, sloppy tongue trail over the wrinkly pink pucker that hid just below that. Jeff sucked in a gaspy breath at the shock of sensation that came from that simple act, how dirty and strange and amazing it felt. A paw left his hip to reach up and cup his balls, and as the tongue slurped along his hole again, Jeff squawked at a sudden rush of sensation.

"Oh f-," he gutturally slurred, gripping into the blankets with his fingertips, as his hole clenched. The first jolt that went through his cock came with the delicious tingle of orgasm, as the cat wiggled and whimpered, then grunted in surprised discomfort as two fingers pinched just below the head of his shuddering shaft.

His balls tried to jerk, but with those fingers keeping his cock firmly clamped, the orgasm couldn't really get started. The jaguar whimpered and shivered, fur fluffed up, as his instincts re-set themselves, and his body cooled down ever so slightly. A chuckle from behind him, between his legs, made the cat flick his ears flat in embarrassment.

"Wow...You really like this, huh?"

Jeff grunted, and buried his face in his arm, even as the fingers released his shaft, letting it drool a bit of the over-pressure out. The cat wanted to cum, badly, and yet wanted to hold off as well. Blowing his load before the wolf was even inside him would be just flat terrible, he thought.

"Don't feel bad, kitty...It's fucking adorable that you almost blew from that."

Jeff grunted softly, embarrassed, before muttering a bemused response.

"No, it's embarrassing...I'm ten-seconds McGee over here..."

John snickered, which blew hot mirthful breath across Jeff's wet tailhole, causing it to clench and the cat to hiss. Which then caused the wolf to smirk mischievously, give another sloppy, drippy slurp, then blow across it again to make his cat wiggle and make disconcerted noises of pleasure.

"Hah, I could do this all night."

"J-just shut up and fuck me, okay?"

"Thought you'd never ask, kitty. Just uh, try to think of something other than sex while I get you ready, so you don't pop too early, okay?"

Quick paws reached past the cat to a bedside table, gathering up the necessary - and to Jeff rather embarrassing - tools for their carnal antics. A quick snap presaged the lewd sound of lubricant being squeezed from a tube, before his tail was gently pulled back upright, and warm, slick fingers began to probe and trace at his wrinkled, winking tail star.

The black jaguar put his face down against his arm, and tried to relax and calmly follow John's instruction, despite the storm of doubts he had about this act. All his life, he'd considered himself straight, though the opportunity had never come up to really try dating women. The chance of cooking someone to death with his poorly-controlled power had made even the lightest and most casual of touching a dangerous thing.

Now he'd finally found someone he could safely touch, someone who was flat immune to his powers. Someone who enjoyed Jeff's sardonic nature, found humor in nearly everything, could get the uptight cat to relax and go with the flow. Jeff was even attracted, he knew deep down, to the rough and tumble wolf. The only thing in his way was a nagging sense that he was giving up some aspect of his masculinity. If only, he mused, having his asshole played with by experienced, gentle, lube-slicked fingers didn't feel so damn good.

Their replacement by a hot, wet, lubricated cock-tip made him shiver and suck in a breath, his muscles stiffening up. John didn't push, not immediately, instead leaning forward to lay his paws on Jeff's back and gently massage his shoulders.

"We can stop, if you don't want to do this. I won't be mad, I promise."

Jeff shook his head after a moment of indecision, and bit his lip before speaking.

"No, I want to do this."

"Glad to hear it," the wolf quipped, as he gripped the jaguar's hips again, and began to exert a slow pressure that had his boyfriend sucking in a breath and trying not to tense too much.

Jeff made a soft hissing noise when the tip penetrated, spreading him open with a burning and uncomfortable sensation that had him digging his fingerclaws into the sheets. John stopped his thrust, and leaned down again, rubbing the cat's shoulders lovingly, working at the sudden shivering tension there until Jeff had relaxed again, and the squeezing pressure on his tip had lessened until the wolf could ease himself another inch further inside that clutching, slick passage.

Though the discomfort was more than he'd expected, Jeff toughed it out, worrying his lip and clutching the bed sheets as the strange sense of fullness began to overwhelm the slight pain and strange stretching that had almost made him tell John to stop. Then the long, hefty shaft squashed up against a spot inside him he'd read all about, in his bookish way of researching anything that made him anxious, and the cat let off a gasp as his cock throbbed and began to leak again.

"Hm, right there, huh?" John chuckled, as he drew back, then slid forward again, rubbing right over the feline's aching prostate. Jeff's squirming gasp confirmed what he'd suspected, and the wolf took his time prodding that spot, half-hilted into his boyfriend, giving little thrusts and adjustments until he was sure the cat could take more.

For his part, the black jaguar was overwhelmed, huffing and panting as waves of sensation blasted out from the spot his wolf was plowing into with studied grace. He wasn't sure at first that it was pleasure - It felt more like someone was squeezing his bladder and cock at the same time, making his balls feel heavy as they were jostled by the wolf's careful thrusts.

He struggled to parse the sensations, only realizing he'd blanked out a moment when he felt John's balls touch against his own, nestled low-hangers in a close embrace as the wolf leaned over him and took a rounded ear between his lips for a nibble. Jeff shivered from neck to toes, as his sensitive skin was gently tugged and bathed in warm wolf breath. The strange spongy-steel texture and bulging base of the spire that throbbed in his depths made the cat suck in breath past grit teeth, eyes closed against sensory overload as his body acclimated to the strange and mostly pleasant sensations radiating up from his well-stuffed rear.

John waited a bit, after the first few hilting thrusts, before whispering into the tooth-grasped feline ear of the cat that squirmed beneath him.

"That feel okay?"

"Hn...More," Jeff whispered back, eyes closed, the cat glad he couldn't see himself in a mirror at that moment. It was good, he couldn't deny it, but seeing himself taking another male's cock would have been too much, he knew. Jeff noted to himself that he had a lot to work on; power control, his own nervous antisocial tendencies, and now the matter of sexual orientation.

I'm bisexual, he thought to himself, as the wolf behind him chuckled, gripped his hip, and made a rolling motion of his lower body that stirred that steely rod in ways that made Jeff gasp and tremble, and bite into the sheets.

Then John's swelling knot nudged against the cat's twitching, spread-open tail star, and a bolt of pleasure shot up through him like an electrical charge, shattering those thoughts as he roared out in surprised ecstasy. He clenched once, twice, then in fluttering waves as the wolf cock drilled against him, forced him open, sinking in until the cat's spasming rump sealed tight behind it.

Jeff blew long ropes of spunk all over the sheets, a larger mess than he'd ever remembered making before, stunned by the detonation of pleasure that radiated down from his penetrated rear to his balls and back up in a seemingly endless cycle. Sometime in the middle of it, he felt the wolf plowing him explode, a damp sensation of hot fullness that only heightened his own release into an almost painful over-abundance of sensation.

When the wolf draped down over his back, pressing Jeff into the bed, the cat caught himself purring and didn't bother trying to stop. He just curled up there, warm and safe under a security blanket of hugging wolf, and dozed off in post-coital bliss.

"So that's it then?" Jeff mused, breaking the quiet in a whisper that caused the wolf spooning up against his back to shift ever so slightly. John's arm around his middle gave a gentle squeeze as the wolf responded.

"So what's what? Not sure whatcha mean, kitty."

Jeff didn't even bother to flick his ears at the annoying nickname, especially since it made him feel oddly more comfortable there, wrapped in the wolf's arms, still tied to the thing that had his rump speared open with the strangest and most delicious ache.

"So we just...Live happily ever after? Life goes on? What? After all that...Fighting and almost dying...We just keep going?"

John nuzzled at the back of his feline lover's neck, playing his lips over the black on black rosettes in the way he knew made his kitty shiver. Predictably enough, Jeff did just that, fur ruffling and inner muscles clenching involuntarily as the cat let out a slight bit of a purr.

"Heh, yeah. It's a war out there, hon. We're important soldiers in a vast war between law and anarchy. When the fight comes, we fight. When the fight's gone, we keep living our lives."

"It just seems so...So..."

"Anticlimactic?"

"Hah...Yeah, I guess so."

John smirked and snaked a paw down, grabbing Jeff's rather messy sheath and giving it a squeeze that made Jeff whimper into a bit lip, and press back against the wolf's hilted hips. The clenching of that no-longer-virgin tailhole made John grumble pleasantly, blowing hot breath across the nape of his cat's neck. It was a feeling he looked forward to repeating plenty of times in the coming days and years.

"So we make our own climaxes. We decide what meaning our lives have, Jeff, not this job. The job is just how we go about doing what we've decided to do for ourselves."

"Nnh...Stop squeezing my dick, it makes being mopey and philosophical hard..."

"Hah, who's not gay again?"

Jeff blushed, hot enough the wolf could feel it through all that fur, and pressed his back fully into John's front again, enjoying the sense of belonging, of safety, that being wrapped in that strong embrace gave him.

"I'm not gay, I just...My boyfriend's gay, is all, y'see..."

The wolf started chuckling low in his chest, sending rumbles through both their bodies that soon had Jeff purring in instinctive counterpoint, his half-hearted half-joking protests having long since died away to nothing in the warmth of such comfort.

"Whatever you say, m'dear."

A while later, Jeff felt the wolf moving again, and saw his arm appear to nab something off the bedside table.

"Heh hey. Remember how you were having problems with power control?"

"Umm...Yeah?" Jeff recognized the recording voltimeter he kept next to the bed, as John flipped it around a few times before reading it.

"Not so much as a single spark this time. Good work, kitty!"