Boxed Lunch
An exhausted college lynx climbed worn wooden stairs, tail thumping quietly as it dragged from tread to splintered tread, his spotted yellow coat slowly going brown and grey by stripey turns. Afternoon light the color of urban weariness dodged and sniped through the inner city interior, a jungle of antique banister turnings, walnut and maple and ash. He might not have been so tired today, the teencat mused, had he actually stayed in college. Only one semester along and he'd desperately needed a break, had gotten himself a job waiting tables. It wasn't bad, usually. But this weekend had still been a busy and sleepless continuity of sorority girls and frat parties, the exhausting ancient rituals of sacrifice to that queasy, togaëd goddess Dawn, her illegitimate son of unknown sire, Hangover. The noisy Monday lunchtime crowd had made the first paw-sweaty Algebra 101 exam seem like so much kits' play.
Zeke scratched his ear frill, eyed the number wrought in iron script on the painted apartment door. He didn't know Aaron all that well. A little stand-offish, maybe. But nice. The studious young fox with the playful manner and restless tail had stood an open offer of hospitality the night they met at the party. And grinned lots, too, open in other ways. A place to hang out for a bit was what Zeke needed most at the moment, as he honestly didn't think he could make it all the way home on paws that day. He was almost entirely used up. Owning a car was out of the question on tips at a Chinese place, and nofur had been home when he called around for a ride. The lynxboy hadn't gotten all that much sleep in the past few weeks, and anxiously, it had caught up with him at the first opportunity. Zeke was really desperate, and just too tired to think of anything else.
He knocked. No answer.
Of course. Aaron was at school. Or the gym.
Zeke knew the little fox worked out, was pretty buff and built, specially for a fur so compact. It certainly turned the heads of every vixen in the room who wasn't into the taste of carpet. Zeke couldn't afford gym himself, didn't have time for it anyway. He missed working out, since high school. But the lynx was naturally strong and tight under his pelt, went easy on the beer (mostly), on other recreational substances even more. Got enough attention from girls, himself, too.
He turned to go, ears drooping, paws scuffing the floor. Hopeless. Sighed. Should have known a surprise visit probably wouldn't work out.
And stopped. The door handle was a cut glass bauble, antique; the lockplate, sand-cast metal. It had a old-fashioned keyhole. Ornate. Zeke knelt on the landing, peeked through. Couldn't see much. But it gave him an idea. Fumbling the red Swiss Army from his pocket, he selected a blade, and managed to snick the latch. If angels or their ruddy cousins filled the void to witness, Zeke neither saw nor felt.
He rubbed his muzzle, too tired to be ashamed for having learned such a questionable skill once, frankly too weary folding the knife to really think out what he was doing in the honest first place. And the sight from within the quiet space which creaked open like a blossom before him rewarded his desperate imprudence with blind impartiality, a lenient concession to his sleepy need.
It was cool and fresh as Zeke nosed into the fox's apartment. Light accentuated the airiness, muted by clean paper shades, lofted skyward by high vaulting ceilings. After the soot-greasy windows in the hall, the paw-worn staircase, this was like stepping into another world. Even traffic noises seemed to disappear unaccounted in the strange and welcome sanctuary. Relief, cool and quiet, to fatigue hissing in his ears.
The floor was polished wood, oak dark with age and highlighted by a recent sanding, generous coats of yellow wax. Trees of the art sort screened nondescript and modern prints on stucco walls, hid the truer dimensions of the odd cathedraled room. A shallow granite fireplace from another age broadened one wall, drew a soft fuzzy sofa and a pair of matching casual seats into a friendly huddle around the deep, fluffy hearthrug. The collapsed pile of textbooks and loose spiral papers on the floor next to his paws testified to the obvious occupation of the furry tenant.
He whistled. College on parents' money must be nice.
His own preëmpted school experience hadn't exactly been most triumphant. Zeke had then only a vague notion of what he wanted to do after high school, simply applied to the local university as an unconsidered matter of course, drifted into his first detached weeks there after the acceptance letter had arrived in the mail. A seeming-eternity of difficult classes in subjects he didn't care in the least about only heightened his sense of purposelessness and lack of direction - a feeling which Zeke most hated in all the world - until he knew he first had to figure out, What am I going to college for in the first place?
He certainly didn't feel at ease in the fox's empty flat, despite his team-jacket self-confidence, not even as relaxed and informal as the place was. This wasn't frat-hall living, chipped turquoise Formica and rowdy comeraderie and carpet stained with things that didn't bear thinking about - someplace Zeke fit in. And all that aside, there was the fact that his invitation had been self-inscribed with a pocket utility tool. Tail held low, he passed behind the sofa, ran a paw lightly across its velour back. The upholstery tickled, felt even crisp and ScotchGard-slick with its newness.
The lynx withdrew, guiltily; rubbed his pads. After a hectic morning serving food, he felt less than fresh himself, even with clean-scrubbed paws. Fur stiff, unnaturally hot and dry. He scratched at his chest, the exposed white underpelt which showed at the breast of his happi coat. The short Oriental jacket had pulled free of its belt as he scritched, and hung open, loose about his tight-cut abdomen, wide shoulders. Zeke stretched and yawned, eyed the sofa, lids drooping. The couch looked so welcoming for a crash. Perhaps he could have a shower first, though. No point in messing the furniture up too much.
A kitchen opened to the right as he made his awkward way along the length of the strange apartment. Small, neat. Clean. The cat didn't whiff food, didn't quite feel hungry either. But then he never did after working.
Discovered bottled water cold.
Drank.
Exhaled.
The deprivation from sleep was closing in on him, cool throat only mildly bracing even after the long walk, thoughts coming dull and slow. He discarded his happi on a flat bench by what seemed to be the rear stairway door, sat to remove straw sandals, slipped off black linen drawstring pants over bare gold-spotted pelt. Further back in the apartment there would be a place to get clean, to rest, he was sure. He rose, yawned, and forgetting his clothes there, plodded on.
Aaron's bedroom. Neat, tidy. Green baize and dark cherry. A masculine, feral smell. He scritched. Bathroom was through there, so Zeke dragged paws. Considered a shower, didn't think it was pressing his luck or imposing too much.
After all, he'd only met the fox at that party. They weren't close or anything, hardly friends at all. But it seemed to him like Aaron was easy-going, and wouldn't mind anyway. He yawned again. At least he didn't think the fox would mind. Hoped not.
The shower looked... cold. Too much shivery white, too much old enamel. The lynx sighed, slouched before the framed mirror, scratched at one shoulder doubtfully. But finding a clean washrag, he wet it at the sink and dry-scrubbed his itchy fur, fluffing it to a damp, rough pile. His nap-starved dizziness, a pleasant detachment, told him he'd made the right choice, as he worked over parts sensitive and numb. A shower would have kept him sooner from sleep.
Zeke hung the soft cloth, gave a scritch here, there, and the other place, and padded back through to the bedroom. The shadowy green quilt looked so cool and soft; the room, darkened by drapes, sniffed of clean vulpine.
Denlike. Secret.
Safe.
He felt small.
Cherry dresser. Zeke ran his tail over the varnish-mirrored surface, a kittenhood fetish. Shivered.
He would borrow boxers. Regretted not wearing anything.
Yawned. Wouldn't do for the fox to catch a strange fur asleep naked.
Yeah. Yawn. Sleeping.
Maybe just a rest first. A lie down.
Yeah.
Aaron whistled on his bounding way up. The workout had left him feeling pumped! Stair treads flexed, bounced with him as he climbed. Blood sang through his muscles, swelled his 18-year-old sheath. He squeezed himself, black-soxed paw in the pocket of tan chinos, green tank top over deep red fur. Finals were approaching, and the active college vulpine had been forced to prioritize, neglect some needed fursonal activities, close yiffy encounters of the self-relief kind. He sorely regretted when that pair of wolves had shown up in the shower room after gym. Aaron had been just about to try his first public paw off.
He settled for Subway, and a narrow transparent take-home bag swung like a delicious blivet from his furry paw. Aaron was pretty frugal, wore the preppy button-down look because that's what he happened to have in the closet, fresh and neat yet recycled from finishing year at boarding school. Scholarships were paying for most of his needs, hard-earned yet only just sufficient. The slightly upscale furnishings which presented themselves as he keyed the door were a gift from his new mother. One he wasn't quite comfortable with: his dad had just remarried not too long before the old fox died.
But that was behind him, Aaron figured, the door clacking to just as he pulled in his tail. New city, new crib. Chill. He pocketed his Oakley's, inhaled home.
Smelled soy. "Aww, dammit..." The fox untied the sandwich sack, poked in his pointy muzzle. Tuna. Onions. The metal tang of canned olives. Vinegar, hint of grapes and balsam. Pepper.
"Hmm." No soy sauce.
Withdrawing from the bag, he glanced about with an uncertain scowl. Sniffed. Soy sauce - the fox was sure! He nosed at the lunch wrap again. Maybe they'd spilled some on the roll, he thought. And sighed. "What can you expect?" But Aaron didn't let his irritation go too far, no matter how much he hated Oriental food. After all, the Certified Sandwich Artists behind the counter were probably struggling their own way through the passive-aggressive quagmire of sophomoric higher education.
But neither did the rich and noxious scent of soy seem to be coming from the sack at all. The fox stuck his muzzle in, sniffied again, a quick double pull to activate the more acute range of his senses. No, it wasn't coming from the snack, word. He nosed his own paws. Nope, neither something he'd picked up that way. Then stuck his muzzle under his armpit, licked fur. Clean. Cologne. Fox. He snorted again, figured it was the neighbors cooking or something. Maybe he'd forgotten a window open, Aaron thought almost dismissively, moving thence towards the kitchen. Not good in a strange city, even on a safe street of converted old manses. He smoothed pawmarks on the back of the sofa where the plush caught the light, a bit of a neat freak, unremarking. The fox would have to be more careful in the future, decided to, living alone as he did.
There was an empty plastic bottle of Evian on the counter, narrow and ribbed like some sort of weird dildo. Aaron tossed it in the trash, replaced it with the Subway sack. And then halted. He didn't remember drinking a water before he'd left. The fox peeked into the hamper curiously. Stoppered squeezie that the spring water had come in, finished box of Yiffy Pops, the carton of milk which he'd emptied into his cereal just that morning. He shook his head, released the paw-pedal. Just too much on his mind lately for his own good.
He was taking a full academic load, proving himself to himself (and to his parents, to which he might neither admit), regardless of cautions about the ever-difficult first semester. Literature and History were going by OK. PreCalc was requiring study; Anatomy/Physiology, taking time he could scarcely afford. Physics boggled the fox. It was so different from what passed as Science at his high school. Latin turned out to be fun, and taxed him not at all, a strange choice of elective that appealed to his sense of the Classic, the humor of the Prep School Snob as well. But the IT class, OOP Java Programming, was a joke. Who but a retarded, yiff-frustrated, and socially inept preteen moron could come up with a computer language so freekin' bad? His tail shuddered just to think of it.
Aaron scribbled on the grocery list held magnetically to the fridge. Not having anything good in his pantry for breakfast tomorrow could ruin the whole day. Then with a pause, he turned back to a fresh notesheet, drew out a small diagram. Yeah. Divide and factor. That was the answer, the missing piece to his final computer project, the technical finesse that would pull in top marks in a class that had turned out to be more philosophy than math. The fox grinned, nodded, tore off the page. It never ceased to amaze him how a morning's workout could magically bring revelation, inspiration; surprising and creative solutions leeched out by pure fragrant body sweat.
Studying the schematic in his paws, Aaron moved unvigilant towards the back of the apartment. His sheath, never quite forgotten (as with all foxes!) was going to get its swelling due - as soon as he'd fixed the new programming plan in his mind, filed the scrap of rare brilliance with his other worknotes. It was mostly to organization that he owed having been able to keep up his grades so far. And to an awkward solitude, the unfortunate separation from old and cozy friends that comes with out-of-state tuition. Cause or effect? Sometimes he almost realized how close to the emotional edge living his comfortable college experience really was. And multitasking, he undressed with one paw, slipping the singlet over his head, chucking his chinos on the backdoor bench.
It rang in his sinuses like a firebell.
Soy sauce.
UML fluttered symbolically to the floor as the fox bounded for the front room. He skidded on pads, pawsweat and carnauba making the floor slick, heightening the chill sense of danger. Aaron examined the sofa where he'd brushed against it. Yes, pawmarks. Not his. "Somefur's been sitting in my chair," he whispered.
Back to the kitchen. Incredulous stare at the wastebasket consolidated the conclusion. "Somefur's been eating my porridge..." The biggest problem with fairy tales, the fox noted with an ironic shiver, is that horror writers are way too fond of them.
There was somefur in his apartment, Aaron was now sure.
Nine-millimeter Glock in a shoebox on the coat closet shelf. He stood silently on the bench to reach it down, clicked in the oiled magazine as quietly as he could. Chambered a round. And stepping down, found the clothes. Odd shirt, jacket, whatever. It utterly reeked of all things Asian as he turned it over in his paw. The fox's stomach lurched, and not only from adrenaline. Straw sandals, big, outstripped his own prints by several sizes. The pants were rumpled and soiled, equally fragrant with food. Messy. He showed fangs. Hesitating, Aaron thrust his nose into the crotch, nibbled. Male. This was not what he'd wanted to come home to find. He laid his back against the wall, ears down; tail flattened, forced limp by tight control over its terrorized twitching.
Aaron held the cold weapon skyward, hard steel muzzle gently beside his own. It triggered a memory, a self-betraying revelation from that sabotaging traitor, the Unconscious. His father had pressed the pistol into his paw, held the young fox bodily close as they bid farewell that autumn. "Don't let your mother know about this," he whispered beside the teen's face. "Son, you've always been strong. You won't let me down."
The foxboy swallowed, pawed something that felt suddenly like unwelcome moisture at the corner of his eye. The wetness of his dad's tongue against his cheekruff as they kissed goodbye that day came back like a dear scoring claw deep within his chest. Aaron knew that he was strong. Knew he could handle this. Years of martial arts in gym, weight training, and wrestling might even make the gun unnecessary. Yet there was a nagging whisper at the untimely appearance of angelic memory, as if this danger wouldn't end as it should. As if a small boyfox might be seeing his father again very, very soon.
He put it out of his mind.
A cool vulpine nose poked into the bedroom, a different sort of muzzle followed. Lying on the bed was a male lynx, perhaps no more than twenty. He whiffed of teriyaki. Aaron pointed the Glock at the ceiling, released the ammunition. And remembered to breathe again. The catboy on the comforter was nude, knees drawn up and footpaws toward the fox. Vulnerable. Maize fur spotted with tan, drooping gold forelock, white underneath where inner thighs and scrotal sac showed undefended beneath the tail. The fox wouldn't need a gun if he had to take out this napping fratkit - what a hayseed! - he almost giggled in relief.
"Somefur's been sleeping in my bed... And he's still here!"
Aaron glanced down at himself, his own perfunctory nakedness. Tough, muscular arms. Big, strong legs. Slender yet powerful torso. Clothes wouldn't make much difference, he decided. Might even get in the way. The smaller fox could take care of this unexpected visitor better without pants.
Zeke the yellow lynx bounced on the dark green bedcover as the red fox's pounce hit him, a Rastafurian mix-it-up punctuated by growls and yips. They tussled and rolled, countered and leveraged, muscles straining against will and raw male hormones. Zeke was caught by surprise, knocked sprawling. He fought back as best he could, muddled with sleep and confused by the rolling-over. Their malenesses exposed themselves from sheaths as the two furs strove like naked Romans on a fresco, grappling paw and tail together.
It was wild and exhilarating.
Epic.
Heroic.
Pulses pounded, blood sang in their ears, hearts throbbed in chest and temple and tail as they pulled and shoved, twisted and forced, seeking to serve the greasy blue plate of submission each upon the other. Pursuing domination, a moment of respite and room to breathe, then reëngagement from a point of better advantage.
They grappled, too close and fast for blows, too evenly matched - weight against skill - to really get hurt. Zeke smiled as he struggled, Aaron smirked back. The stakes rose at the combat got fursonal.
A lamp toppled, the miscellany atop the nightside table swept shockingly onto the floor by the fox's excited brush. Bedclothes were utterly laid waste. Aaron ended on the better end of a pin, with Zeke's left footpaw in his armpit and the meeping lynxboy on one side with knee pressed right up to the chest, when they finally recognized each other
"Hay, you were at that party!"
"So were you, foxbutt. Obviously. Now lemme up!"
Aaron fought for purchase upon the slippery skewed bedspread, shifted weight with his free paw onto Zeke's struggling shoulder. No way was he letting this napping fratcat go! Even if they knew each other - at least a little. He realized the intrusion on his dwelling, didn't resent it in the offing, open and free about lots of things, generous from an upbringing of plenty. But the laughing lynx was simply too playfully bold and defiantly daring for his own good. The teen's slitted eyes twinkled at the vulpine with challenge, feline invincibility, even as his crotch and tailhole were humiliatingly exposed by the restraining fox above.
"So how'd you wind up here? And how'd you get in?" Aaron wasn't angry anymore. He grinned back in sure and yiffy control of the situation, youthfully unaware there was anything yiffy in it at all. His slender, foxy penis had spontaneously regained its showertime eagerness, and he dripped wet crystal on the bedcovers unnoticed.
"I took off early at work, needed to crash out. You told me to drop by anytime!" Zeke struggled, the fox putting him down again soundly.
"I meant when I was home, Spots. I damned near shot your ass!" His spastic tail waved energetic and erect behind his head.
"Yeah? Well maybe you should have!" He wasn't going to be talked up that way. "Pussyfox like you can't defend himself with paws alone." Zeke suddenly shoved harder, redoubled his efforts, threatening to toss the smaller, straining foxboy right off the bed. Aaron tucked in against the surprise, favoring towards Zeke's tail in case the trapped catpaw under his sinewy arm were to slip, the knee lash out at his face. Just because he was winning wasn't an excuse to wrestle unsafely, or assume that victory was certain. His own footpaws dug for leverage against the mattress.
"I'll show you pussy, Pussy!"
Zeke's paw tore away from the fox's grasp as the smaller fur lunged forward to counter, their bodies shifting suddenly as bedsprings creaked with shrieking complaint. Aaron slid out of control, slamming against the lynx's back, his slim slippery foxness fetching solidly into Zeke's spread and vulnerable tailhole. He felt his sac come to a sliding stop against the lynx's soft fuzzy butt, the cat's errant footpaw on his own trembling knee.
Both furs froze utterly; eyes wide; muzzles open.
Zeke couldn't make a sound. His mind had simply been shorn clean away.
"Don't move or I'll...!" Aaron whispered - uncontrollably, petrifyingly close to filling his friend with wide-eyed, screaming spunk. He didn't even dare say the word, jinx his jism to spooge. Vision blossomed in a swirl of silent detonations and psychedelic light, psychic praecursors of the impending explosion so pulsing to youthful peak in his gym-swollen loins. The threat of spontaneous climax was a dizzying acrophobic ledge, and he bit his tongue to steady himself, hung on with all claws out. It was a tilted nauseous panting sagging ledge, from which he slowly slid.
"No! No! Oh, not inside me! Please!!" Zeke begged shivering, roiled on a geyser full of denial and rending pain. To him, suspended on a surge of panic above the gaping dark crater of unreality's hungry chasm, almost nothing could be worse than taking his buddy's wet come.
The fox squeezed his eyes tight against what was happening, fought unthinkably the escapist void, grappled not to give himself over. Or give in. He struggled against the slide to release, plunge headlong into the fluid, pulsing, pumping flow of hot white spurting semen; eternal prostatic memories of that ancient primal rhythm, which sought to join him body and soul to the humping, thrusting lunge of vulpine ejaculation. Fangs gritted, eyes tight shut, he battled against his very being.
Neither boy had in their short lives ever thought about trying this with another male. Not even once. Zeke's paws trembled with forced submission. The fox fought for all he was worth.
"No!" Aaron panted, crying out with a sob from the helpless effort. "J-j-just let me calm down!" He was breathing too fast, struggling valiantly to get the sensations from his sizzling virginal cock under control, trying to fend off all sorts of other emotions at the same time. Feelings that threatened to rupture who he was, rend his identity like a forfeit, even as he teetered on the brink of a cherry orgasm sure to flatten his fuzzy balls.
"Get off me, please? Take it out!!" Zeke shrieked in emasculating desperation.
Aaron shuddered in violent dismay. "Oh gawd no..."
"Jeezes, don't cum - please!" Panic excoriated the lynxboy's frightened words. His tail literally stood on end.
"I won't! I..." He squeezed his furry red thighs together, drew back the intimate muscles in his immature teenaged groin. Only to find that it made him tremble uncontrollably, whine, as drops of foxstuff rolled out and over his embedded penis tip. He yelled out, positive he was just about to spooge his straight buddy in the ass right then and there.
"Oh gawd, did you?"
The fox shook his head vigorously. Zeke felt rather than saw it.
"P-p-promise?" The lynxboy was going cold and hot by sweaty, sickening turns. He so wanted to die.
Aaron nodded against his back, battling motionless to rise above the smothering lava of another impending orgasm, the earthquake waves of his balls. "Promise..." It wasn't something he could let happen either. The foxboy wasn't like this!
Zeke leaned forward carefully, separating himself from his friend's torso. Reducing tingly contact. It made it somehow easier, at least a bit. Less humiliating, less unmanly. At least less... No, not that word.
Gay.
The thought of another fur's foxness inside him... It blew his shuddering mind, totally. Wasn't exactly familiar and comfy in his ass either. But there had been no ripping pain, no soul-rending agony as his tailhole had been taken. It hadn't been a rape, not exactly.
"A-accident!"
"What?"
"Accident..." Zeke's head was swimming. His spots were swimming. It felt like the bed rolled on a barren high sea of insanity.
Aaron nodnodded, taking his tongue between fangs. "Yeah, accident. Yeah. Sor-ry!" Even speaking wasn't safe, and he cried out, voice cracking, bit Zeke on the shoulder, by reflex slammed his groin hard against the lynx's firm butt. His panting suddenly accelerated beyond control, and he squeezed his eyes and tailhole against the uprushing swell from his screaming groin. The fox moaned helplessly, forced himself to recite integrals to calm his straining wet prick.
"Don't! Oh gawd don't! I'm not this way!" The catbelly quivered in rippling waves. Zeke struggled to defend against the feeling in his tailhole, to classify it, categorize it. Reason it out of all fucking existence! Fight!! To mentalize and find a word that could describe the alien sensations that were invading his once-virgin behind like the flood of Aaron's hot pre-semen he was trying so hard to deny. To discover a safe college concept to let him understand and accept, without the danger of it driving him absolutely mad. Or, just to get away from the throbbing shame so deeply and irresistibly - so penetratingly - within him.
He yelled his frustration between sharp fangs!
But Zeke found only a horrid, dismaying truth wherever he looked. The hard throbbing foxness up his ass just wasn't that painful at all. Which, to Zeke, was the source of a greater torment. For it to be as wrong as the boylynx knew it was, it must hurt. It had to!
"I'm not! I'm not!! I'm not that way!!!"
"Just hold still," pleaded the fox, impatiently. He took a deep breath, braced his paws, began to draw his throbbing member from the spotted yellow cathole. A sudden wild burst of raw, tight stimulation made him scream aloud, and he swore he could feel a despairing spurt of his teenage pree sent involuntarily into the cringing male. The wave of dirty shame which followed made his yiffy cock all the harder.
Zeke moaned with dread and loss. "Did it happen?" It had, he was sure. He'd been spooged. His humiliation was utterly complete!
"N-n-no. I don't thi... " Aaron felt the catboy's guts spasm instantly around his length. Felt guilt at his own insensitivity, pleasure at his tip, intoxication at the sensitivity of his dick so deep within a buddy. "I didn't. Really!" The burning stake of a lie. And amazement that he could experience another fur's feelings through his own penetrant maleness.
"Just pull it out! Please!!" Zeke sobbed piteously.
"I... I can't. I'll spooge it for sure if I try again. Almost did already." Aaron flushed scarlet, knowing by share of Zeke's humiliation. His own: the prospect of having to live with the memory of this forever.
Zeke groaned, lay his head on the pouting pillow to wait. Aaron relaxed against him, resting against the other fur's back again. The lynx pulled away roughly, until a vulpine howl of anguish froze him rigid as the fox within.
"Did you?"
"No, dude! Just keep still." He was trying to sound calmer than he felt, less exasperated at the infuriating feline kit trembling against him than he really was. To save Zeke from the propagation of fear and the desperateness of their situation. To shield himself from the weakness of his own shaking, his helplessness, the frustrated sting in his clear vulpine eyes. "I gotta come down off it a little first."
Aaron passed a securing paw around Zeke, spread it firmly on his stomach. He hauled the other furboy back tighter, which Zeke only resisted. But at least it might keep him from pulling away, triggering the fox's spooge-off in a momentary loss of control for both of them, he thought. "Hold still, dammit!"
The lynx leaned as far forward as he possibly could, desperately trying to distance himself from the whole unfathomable experience. A waving whimper broke from his muzzle. He thought he smelled blood on his tears.
Aaron didn't have the heart to tell Zeke. And Zeke obviously never had the straightboy lockerroom experience to know about a male fox's knot. With a deep sigh Aaron shut his eyes again, now against a gentle weeping, as when the trap has sprung shut on paw and all else is in vain. He wasn't sure - this was only his first time... his first time with another male. With another male... What a shock the phrase was even to him. Yet that wasn't the worst of it. The foxboy was almost positive that the dreaded possibility had already happened. He thought they might have tied, the hyper-swollen base of his canid cock trapped in the clinging cat's tight tailhole.
Aaron stroked Zeke's tummyfur a little, slowly, so slowly at first that neither would have noticed, despite their present engagement. Would had to have noticed. Then only so slowly that either might have chosen not to notice. Mutual deniability: the hallmark of heterosexual male affection.
"What are you doooo-ing?" the lynx moaned needily.
"Relax, Napster. We both have to. If you don't let go and quit fighting, I'm never gonna get out of there." Which was at least partially true. If Zeke didn't stop moving around, stimulating Aaron's long and sensitive erection, the foxboy himself would never calm enough to release his embedded knot.
Zeke nodnodded, fluffed the pillow beneath his sullen head. No way in the world when he woke up that morning would the cat ever have imagined that he'd be spending the afternoon on the end of a fox's phallus. It was too outrageous to think about. Even now! He still couldn't get anywhere near the idea of what this meant for his future, his masculinity. Sense of his self. Ever getting laid the right way again! But he clamped down, fisted his paws, gritted his fangs, and battled the embarrassing shame of it all.
The fox groaned behind him. Zeke had tightened down in too many ways, and a snug wave of slick rectal stimulation had rippled up Aaron's slim and deep-hilted dick, drawing him in to the hilt. He smacked the lynxboy on the ass. "Let go there! Do that too much more and you're gonna get my stuff whether you want it or not!"
Zeke moaned acquiescingly, nodded. Weak. He was. Realized how much more shame was coming from his behavior than from the awful degradation of a lengthy foxtool within him. He could almost feel it tickling his belly button from the inside. But that was probably imagination, the lynx knew, like the self-pity that had him dripping tears onto the pillow just moments ago. He sniffled, turned back towards Aaron as best he could.
"Sorry about that, man. I'm just... I'm having a tough time handling this." Sincerity colored his tone, did more of bringing the furs together than penile penetration ever could.
"Don't worry about it. We'll be out of this soon." His voice broke, confidence. "I'm sure this happens to guys all the time."
Zeke snickered, sniffled tears. "Every day, yeah." He would have laughed at the incongruity, didn't. Mostly because he was sure the spasms would trigger Aaron's wet finish where he wanted it least.
The fox giggled cautiously. "Oh, sure! I mean, have you ever seen guys wrestling naked together a second time?"
The catboy shook his head. Laughed anyway. "Wish I had a beer."
"Me too. Got a sixer in the fridge. Maybe we can..."
There was silence between. It was plain as Saturday football. There would be no "after we get out of this." Nothing between them would ever be said, when one boy finally managed to pull his softened sheath from his friend's enveloping ass. Nothing between them would ever again be shared but a few awkward stumblings, a hasty goodbye.
Funny, Aaron realized, how they could go from being a casual chatup at a college party, to sharing a yiff - even an accidental one - to never, ever speaking again. And all without so much as an argument. All without getting a chance to ever be real friends in the first place.
He rested against Zeke's back, the shorter fox laying his throat comfortably along the lynx's warm fuzzy neck. Aaron's nuts were drawn up so tight it almost hurt. He tried to relax, let the feel of fur calm him. It wasn't working.
Zeke didn't pull away this time. He could still feel the strange tickle of the vulpine yiffer deep within him. Or maybe it was the fox's paw stroking idly at his tummy. Whatever. He wasn't minding it so much just now. As long as I don't have a choice in the matter, what's the point of being too upset? he thought.
Just wait till I get out of this, though...
Aaron longed to fill his mind with vixens. Blue catgirls. Sheep. Anything remotely or utterly or even probably female. Just to get through this. Just to move past the experience of mating another male under the tail. But he knew that way led only to a sudden sloppy release in his buddy's bowels. So he lay very still, thinking of nothing, paw caressing Zeke's chest and belly in an attempt to relax him too. To relax them both.
Then he realized it. It was feeling good to pet the catboy like that.
He shook his head to chase away the alien thought. No point in going on that way. Not right now. Might even be better to risk fantasizing about girls instead, chancing the involuntary spoogey finish. He knew he'd have a hard enough time getting past it all, putting himself back in order after. Sure, they'd never speak of the event. Never speak of anything. Never tell anyfur, never even see each other or be seen together ever again, lest they arouse memories or suspicions, embarrassing moments of silence, eyes meeting knowing eyes.
Or arouse other sorts of things. Aaron shook his head again, trying to clear it. He was having little success.
"Are you doing OK back there?" He heard concern under mrowling need in the seeking, whispered growl. A measure of laxity. Zeke was certainly less uptight than before. The fox tested the hypothesis, drawing back slightly his pube from the feline fanny. And moaned as he shuddered, abruptly and quite strenuously. His paws shook with spasm.
"Aww, you didn't?! Shit!!" Zeke seemed utterly resigned by then, angry nonetheless. Almost at the point of tears again, too, thick emotion clouding his voice. It was raining defeat, and he, without an umbrella.
Aaron shook his head, held on tight to the soft, silky kitty pelt against his chest and belly. "Nah. I was just testing. Seeing if we were ready yet. No-go."
Zeke sighed. "Do you have any idea how long this will take?" He knew he sounded impatient, was probably whining, too. And resolved to tough it out, to take it like a cat. Or give it his best shivering try, anyway.
"Umm, no. Not really. It's just..." An awkward thing to have to say, given what they both were so desperately trying to prevent. "It's just, everything usually depends on -" Aaron was about to say "the male", but amended carefully, "- the fox tossing his spoo. I don't really have an idea what happens if one tries not to. I guess it doesn't come up too often."
Zeke laughed ironically. "Sort of contrary to the point, with you f0xx0rs, isn't it?"
Aaron giggled, friendly. "Yeah. I guess it's a first for me."
The catboy laughed again. "You don't think I always spend my time off with a foxcock up my butt, do you?"
Vulpine grin. Sad. "Guess it's a first time for both of us."
There was something warm in that. Safely and mutual-deniably so.
But something shared nonetheless.
"Yeah. We're having our first time... Together!"
They both laughed. Aaron scooted still closer, careful of the swollen prick connecting them, stole part of the pillow from under Zeke's heavy head. It was at least comfortable there, he thought. Could be worse.
Well, yeah, it could be worse... But Aaron wasn't thinking about that on the moment. He rested and tried to let his body unwind, the entrapped knot soften. Petted the soft warm kitty against him, too, keeping away thoughts. Inhaled the fragrance that could only belong to a yiffy male. Intoxicating, even as he tried to tell himself it wasn't. It started to remind him of things, comfortable things, pictures of less pressured times, memories of family and den and siblings. Play and laughter and belonging. Those seemed like good thoughts to think about. Relaxing. Anything but vixens...
Zeke lay quiet too, listening. He could hear his own heart, an echo from within the fox on his back. It was sort of like meditation, anything to help him unstress. Accept.
Oh gawd, I'm not really accepting this, am I? he protested. The limp and shivering lynx knew he couldn't work through the trauma right then. Wouldn't be able to, any time soon. It was better just to concentrate positively on relaxing, letting go and helping Aaron withdraw. He rested very still again, listened. He could hear his own heart, an echo of the feelings from within the fox on his back. Their pulses were slow, sort of soothing, a little like the calming tick of the large old clock at his grandparents' house. Or the largetto beat of the metronome on his mom's piano in the parlor after school.
An icy chill ran suddenly through him. How would he ever explain this to his parents? Zeke's head swam nauseously, his insides got fishy-cold and tight.
Aaron felt it. "Are you OK, buddy?" The fox wondered if maybe his friend was in pain, getting cramps or something from the phallic presence. Frankly, he didn't know much about tail yiff, himself. Wondered if lying there waiting it out might not create other problems for them both.
Zeke nodded. "Just thought of something bad there for a moment. How'm I gonna tell my 'rents about this?"
Aaron quirked a vulpine brow. "Tell them? But why?"
The yellow lynx considered it for a moment. "Yeah, I guess not. But..."
"Feeling guilty?"
"... Yah." There it was.
"OK. Me too."
They lay together in silence, each listening to demons and shared fears within, and to eachother's heartbeats as always, by turns.
Aaron thought of his own family, his dad. In a stab that would ordinarily have withered any boner he'd ever got, the foxboy realized he did care what his pater thought. Wondered, too, what the proud old todd would say if he could see his own bright and shining boy balls-deep under the tail of a male whom he hardly knew. He erfed, knowing what Zeke was feeling.
They lay together, as absorbed in the layered doubt, the dim peril of conscience that is the memory of family love, as any two furres could be. Yet biology is destiny, and the paw stroking and caressing over a tummy awakened the ancient instincts of feline race.
The catboy began to purr.
Aaron smiled. He knew what was causing the warm fuzzy sound. Hoped Zeke wouldn't notice it himself, and get more ashamed about the feeling. And then wondered how Zeke could possibly not notice own purring. But he knew it wasn't voluntary, anymore than if Zeke had started up a stiffer from the presence of the fox's firm, throbbing penis.
Then he wondered why he was caring about Zeke's feelings at all. Of course - he didn't want nervous feline tension to cause the tailhole around him to vise down any tighter on his cock. That was the reason. He tested the fit again gently. Better. At least he wasn't going to cream the kittyhole upon just an idle movement or a sneeze. Aaron grinned. Maybe they were finally getting somewhere.
The bedroom filled with a pastel palette of misty glowing colors: rainbows, twinkles, starbursts, sparkles. Zeke tripped on it, a purr seen from the inside. The world just couldn't be any better. He yawned, smiled broadly in leisure. Suddenly it didn't matter if he was stuck to a fox for an entire week. Nothing else mattered but the scritching, the pet, his own voluptuous purr. Zeke could hardly even remember why he'd felt so uneasy about the whole yiff issue before. But a sensuous rumbling purr is too short to ruin with worry. He cruised up and down on the endorphin river, the cat with kaleidoscope eyes.
Twisting around again, Zeke saw Aaron smile. And grinned up big, too.
There was a low embarrassing sound, a fetid liquid suckling. Aaron felt his cock move about suddenly free in Zeke's body, lubricated on a thick and pleasuring outflow of his own copious precome. He placed his paws on the lynx's back to push off.
And Zeke's
purr
crashed.
The room returned to him in sudden dark wood and disheveled bedclothes. Drawn shades. Overwhelming desperation renewed, the reek of anal lust. He sensed Aaron's prick move within his rectum, slide away. The panic returned, the hollow shame and helpless degradation. Humiliation of being yiffed up the butt, taking male spooge unwillingly.
The feel of the soft furry chest against his back was instantly too much for him. Zeke jerked forward to lever off the vulpine, inadvertently humping back on the slender foxy yiffer. It stroked blatantly and wetly within him, and what he felt most was an overwhelming sense...
Of loss.
Aaron felt a paw soft on his tailbase.
Zeke's. Holding him in place.
The fox grinned, wry sadness and weary amusement breaking his heart, leaned forward to rub shy noses with the lynx. Curled his arms around the warm fuzzy body that had become so improbably familiar.
"Please?" Zeke begged again, appalled even more than ashamed at his own heart's development. "Just... just stay here a moment." He felt so weak and vulnerable, in agonizing betrayal of his very self.
The fox nodded, slowly, huge eyes confiding the mutualness of the feeling - surprise, disgust, and wild overarching pleasure - his baffled astonishment at the sudden surrender. His own vulnerability and irresistable guilt. The love. For the first time in his life, Aaron understood that his maleness could be gentle. "OK. Just a moment, though..."
The lynx blinked once. Twice. Rested his exhausted muzzle beside that of the little fox upon his back. Licked his nose. Felt his friend do the same, a tongue momentarily against his own cheekruff. Made a tear. And arms around him, paws on chest and tummy. Strong. Firm. Male. He propped on the pillow again, sighed out the dregs of doubt and uncertainty, his sensitive feline pads closing around a caressing foxsock.
Am I really going to do this? Aaron asked himself numbly. He knew - the aeternal instinct of those unnumbered aeons before memory yet arose - that the cat was asking more than a tarrying moment's patience. Nor just a pause to cuddle. He was begging far more than Aaron had ever thought of giving to another guy. Yes, a guy. The fox's reaction wasn't one of revulsion, but merely that of a raft with neither rudder nor oar nor compass rose. He was swamped on a sea of benumbed emotion where no shark of decision or dilemma had ever swum before.
"Zeke?" The name tasted salt in his muzzle. "Dude... do you...? Are you really down for this?" Aaron had to be sure. He knew there was no way either of them could survive another accident, a misunderstanding today. If they even could survive this one.
Breath hissed in yiffy resolve between gritted fangs as the lynxboy drew slowly up the length of the fox's slender shaft. Aaron's tongue lolled with his groan into the cat's ear. Zeke heard him mrrr in deep erotic pleasure, was filled with the sound of his tremulous moan, heavy heat and wetness from his muzzle. The tight and gloriously slippery tailhole descended the full length of the throbbing vulpine cock. Zeke felt so full! The heat within him was an awesome surprise. He rolled his pelvis backward as Aaron hit bottom. The fox's member caressed something inside him, and the cat mrowled wildly, helplessly, showing fangs.
"Liking that?" his friend smirked.
"This is... wicked strange!" The lynxboy's breathing was speeding to match his moaning tailthrust on the fox, faster and faster, the slowly accellerating flex and release of muscle and tension and fang and sphincter taking on an existence of its own. His mind had already been turned inside out and pulled over his ears like underwear. There wasn't anything left but imprisoned surrender to the torturous, sensitive strokes upon his swollen feline gland. Aaron pressed gently against him as their fuzzy bodies met, hunching to intensify the moment of tip-thrilling resistance and shuddering tingle. The catboy's limp hanging penis began to pree the sheets.
The fox clung tight, burying his muzzle in spotty shoulder fur, and gently raised his hips to mark his buddy's rhythm. After an hour combatting his own climax, tantric breathing to keep down the explosive release of his own yiffy juices, motion itself was like a dance. His fuzzy foxballs, denied the outlet of orgasm, had filled the kittyhole with gallons of slippery goo. He slid in and out effortlessly as Zeke moved against him, with each successive penetration seeking again and again the center of the cat's pleasure, the secret spot that made him moan.
Zeke has ceased to think. It was an indescribable feeling inside, the physical sensation of the fox's awesome penetration - the uncomfortable dilation and strange-but-comforting pressure, presence, the more vague tickling deeper within - the improbable joining of these overwhelming essences to his emotional feelings as the cock in his tailhole rode irresistably again and again over his interior sex. He was immersed in the amazing reality of it, without even mental distance to justify or analyze, to score himself with the claws of morality, or impale himself of the fundamental horn of damnation. The lynx stretched back against his friend, leaning into love, felt the muzzle over his shoulder.
"You OK?"
"I - I dunno. But don't stop."
The fox snickered. He hadn't thrust himself once. Yet. His petting brushed against kittysheath, experimentally.
Zeke pressed back and held it. Groaned aloud.
"I think I'm supposed to do this," the fox whispered, wrapping his paw around Zeke's penis. The lynx's prick had remained flaccid throughout the accidental tie, all the anal activity so far. But with a few pulls, and a trip to the tip for a coat of hot running precum, Aaron's fist had raised his quivering catbuddy to full throbbing erection. Zeke moaned in surprised excitement as the slippery wet foxpads slicked pleasure over his turgid and sensitive flesh. He couldn't remember ever having been so aroused in his life.
Aaron was amazed at his friend's size. He realized he hadn't gotten more than a glimpse of the two wolves in the gym shower earlier. And wondered if they were so endowed themselves. Curiosity like that hadn't bothered him since junior high.
Wasn't bothering him then, exactly.
"It's never been like this," Zeke whispered between tremulous fangs. "You're doing me better than I can."
The fox grinned, rubbed his cheek against the cat's. And drew his pelvis away, slipping out to the tip of his slender length. The air on it seemed shockingly cold, after being buried deep and without respite in the lynx's small and tight toaster-oven butt for so very long.
"Oh gawd!" the cat groaned in drunken amazement. His cock jerked in his friend's firm grasp.
Aaron yiffed himself back in, encountering a bit of expressure at first, then more, sliding deep, faster and faster as he broke through. Zeke mrowled with helpless cherry pleasure, clutching, paws and tailhole. He gasped as the fox's groin smacked against his tailbase.
"Hurting?"
"No. Just... Aaron?"
"Yeah?"
The lynxboy hesitated, hypnotized as his buddy withdrew from his ass, buried eager foxcock to the hilt in his furry butt. It hung up on the cat's prostate again, cascaded over on a sensitive sheen of thrilling precum as the vulpine increased his stroke. The trembling feline screamed at the intensity of the secret stimulation, his stiffness in the fox's paw. He could feel the fuzzy sac come to rest under his tailhole.
"Still OK?"
Zeke only nodnodded.
Aaron raised his knee, and bending, slipped the leg under and in front. The bare lynxpaw there fell solidly back, behind the naked fox. Zeke's crotch was spread wide open and cooling, his dignity and reserve stretched thinner than it ever had been in his entire life. Aaron felt for his buddy's balls, exploring the soft furry saddle between thighs and prick and tailhole. But working downward again from the throbbing and swollen catcock - after several more shucks and paw-teasing strokes - he located the fuzzy nuts, pulled up tight beside the base of the lynx's thick sheath.
"Feels like a dream," the feline whispered.
The fox nodnodded, and penetrating deep again, set up a slow, shallow yiff. Zeke sighed, turned his head back to catch the vulpine nose with his tongue. Aaron moved his muzzle away, as gently and casually as he could. Just because he was buttfucking a buddy didn't mean he wanted to be kissed.
But then again..., he realized. And flicked his own tongue at the lynx's ear frill. It was soft and furry, dry, not as smooth as flesh; it dragged with pleasurable resistance against him as he licked. The oral sensations went right to his peen, and he humped his hips back still further, increasing the length of his paced yet impatient yiffstrokes.
Zeke moaned and smiled, shuddered as the foxprick caught and thrummed his male G with each long thrust. The unceasing and rhythmic repetition of poke, press, pluck, and sheath-swelling slip against raw nerve endings within him was followed by the heavy thump of Aaron's scrotum against the lynx's crotch, an encore of the thorough treatment his p-spot was receiving inside. He barely felt his own cock so expertly masturbated by another male.
The prick in his paw was unlike anything Aaron had ever known. He squeezed it tighter than his practiced wrist was used to, all full and hot and pulsing, forcing downwards in sudden quick slips of slick pads and flowing precome. It was unreal, the thickness and heaviness of the massive throbbing flesh so unlike his own rigid point, so wet and squirming and sensuously alive. So male. Maleness. Not only Zeke's penis was in his fist, but the catboy's maleness. It was a heady feeling, like the scent of steaming sweat from their grinding groins as they mated, a buzzing dizziness and a powerful high.
"Cum in me," Zeke pleaded, not realizing he said it until the words hung in the air. And hang they did.
Aaron sobbed aloud, humping wildly against him.
"Do it, buddy. Please!"
And Zeke turning, Aaron met his gaze. Trusted the want he saw in those eyes. The need. Acceptance, if only for the moment. He felt the internal swelling as his spooge mounted itself to deliver.
The fox twanging and tweaking his interior nut was the center of his whole being, Zeke's tailhole so amazingly crammed and widened with each deep-delved pelvic thrust. The paw on his prick, fang-grindingly tight and silicone slimy, brought him pleasurefully near to pain, helplessly close to orgasmic surrender. And when his eyes met Aaron's, round and wide and quivering-wet, he cried out and fell into bliss.
The spasm of sperm hit Aaron like a plane crash. He slammed his crotch against Zeke's ass, the firm furry cheeks trembling as he took his friend. A blast of hot jism tore through the tube of his straining dick, ripping away a virginity his mind had never accepted - had never even known! The second huge splurt was sheer agony, the fiery intensity of the fuck redoubled by the rebounding wave of spooge, the rip of jetting cum through his interior passage. And then the pounding throb of pleasureable canid orgasm came, spizz and squirt and geyser and gush, as the fox's prostate pumped and poured and pulsed and shot his slime-oystery spunk into the heavenly slick tailhole of the mrowling, yowling lynx.
Zeke's whole world was the white-hot pressure and soothing wet lotion of foxscum in the secret place within his being that he had only so recently discovered. The boyfur had begged for what he understood not, received in abundance. And completed, in ways he could neither know nor comprehend, was suddenly gripped by an orgasm of a paw tighter than Aaron's stroking fist. He cried out as his prick swelled, sensitive tissues stretched glossy thin and purple within the circle of the fox's pumping pads. The ejaculation struck him in the muzzle, taking his face, his fuzzy chest. Covering his furry belly in a flood of shining feline semen. The spraying yiffer in his sore and battered butt shot more of the shuddering redfur's load within Zeke, and the cat's cock responded in kind, drenching his own head and ears and face with renewed heartbeat surges from his shuddering, swollen loins.
An anguished climaxing moan, and Aaron jerked himself free of the tantalizing tailhole which threatened to drown him in delight, embed his swollen knot again, a yiffy punishment for pleasure. Zeke clutched ineffectually, groaned desperately at the sudden evacuation, the hollow left behind in his soul. The fox flopped forward, bereft of strength and conscience, sagging over the lynx's shoulder.
Zeke's tongue caught semen from his muzzle, drew strings of spooge from his face. Aaron licked, too, in the rythmic jaws of an ancient foxness as old and deep as the tides.
They both realized about the same instant. Looked away. It was a shyfox and darklynx who rose from eachother's trust, resumed the mantle of being a guy once again.
Aaron went to the bathroom to wash. Tried the sink, but he was too big of a mess for that. He got the shower running, stepped into dripping angst. The water was nice on his muscles strained from wrestling, sore from the yiff. And his cock. The fox tried to ignore the feeling. He scrubbed his penis thoroughly before letting the tender length retreat into his sheath. It looked painful and red as he saw it go, and he reminded himself to hunt for flannel boxers when he dressed.
"Hay, Zeke?" he called out. He'd left the bathroom door ajar, maybe so his friend wouldn't feel suddenly alone - shook his head at his unaccustomed sensitivity - but also that he might hear if the lynxboy decided to trash the apartment in post-coital rage. He didn't know what came next, what could. Would. Was uncomfortable with the experience, didn't want things to get further out of paw. "You wanna share? More hot water that way."
And realized instantly that it had been a mistake. He kicked himself. Showering together would only compound the shame that had begun to steal over the other fur. Over them both, the fox admitted.
But there was motion, shadow and color beyond the shower curtain. Aaron peeked out, furry red muzzle matted and dripping on white tile. The lynx was standing close to the tub, paws searching his naked waist for pockets to hide in. He hung his golden head; kept his eyes carefully from the fox.
Aaron motioned him in, watched Zeke hesitate, guilty and shy. Sympathy was in his vulpine heart, mutual embarrassment on their faces. Zeke drew back the plastic, stepped in. The fox moved carefully around the bigger fur, letting him have the spray. He tried not to watch the cat washing up; succeeded, mostly. Was certain their gaze didn't meet. Naked and soapy and wet, he felt like an orphan in the rain, the droplets like summer loneliness.
The bed was made, dark green covering shrouding the buried deed. Zeke was in sick ebony mourning and blanketed under Aaron's thick kelly bathrobe when the fox returned. The lynx huddled with knees to his chin, protective arms around ankles, footpaws close to battered bottom. The spotted tail lay limp and wretched. It was worse than just over. There was a different and most final end unfolding itself before the catboy's unseeing eyes. He showed little awareness as Aaron sat down bare-chested beside him, the Subway - divided - in two napkins.
The fox shivered. "Are you OK?"
"No. Will I ever be?" Disturbingly placid, tormented both. Mind rimed with ice.
Aaron slowly hung his guilty head. "Hurts?" He didn't need the answer. Was there, himself, too.
A nod. Returned. Neither looked at the other for a while. Forever.
"I cried," the fox whispered suddenly.
"Pussy." There were tear streaks on Zeke's cheeks and muzzle, a graveyard of resignation in his voice.
"It won't happen again. I promise." But so little ever would, Aaron knew. So little would ever again matter. Time had run out and he could feel the world withdrawing around them, they from eachother, the cold quiet death of electrons. The light of the stars in heaven will not end with a trumpet, save only the cry of a child.
"Damn straight." Sorrow overarched masculine defiance. A feeble attempt to rescue something which could never be repaired, the distressed paws grasping ineffectual air as the hearse pulls silently away.
Then shiny black despair. "My dad's gonna kick my ass! He'll fucking hate me!" The lynxboy struggled, wounded and gasping, sank beneath drowning waves of choking sobs, titanic shipwreck of the heart.
Aaron put out a paw. Zeke seemed so far away. Beyond the fox's reach. Beyond rescue. Untouchable, as all who button shirts to the left. Falling, his pads petted the dark green comforter on which the furs both sat, a symbolic stroke in consolation and sympathy which they neither saw nor felt. The world was even then ending, and angry solace in their shame shared the only memory upon which they were left to dwell.
He wanted to push away. Wanted to find a reason, make Zeke go. Hit out. Get him out of the apartment, out of the building. Close the door, put the whole crazy afternoon behind them. Him. Them.
Cruel reality trumped cruelty royal. Aaron found he did not want to be alone.
Was. So very alone.
A paw rested firmly on his, at the side opposite to Zeke. He turned his head, knew that only in which sorrow that is beyond time could it be.
"Dad?"
The elder fox smiled, grey whiskers and familiar weariness like a favorite old sweater. He nodded. "You've never let me down. You know that, don't you?"
The son's muzzle dropped; a tear followed. He turned to his friend, to what he needed to do. Looked back.
Knew.
And then Aaron's paw was on Zeke, the other around his shoulder.
The catboy sniffled, wiped on Kleenex. "Yeah."
"If you don't mind, my dad begs to differ."