Sick
#2 of Double Solitaire
"Gotta say I never pegged you as the sugar-daddy type." It's Marty behind the bar this time, even his joke sounding gruff and deadpan. The sturdy Rottweiler is the stronger, silenter half of he and Ed's relationship, though of course he's a huge sweetheart once you're pals.
"'f I r'member correctly, you never pegged me at all," I retort with an equally straight face, setting my beer down and stroking the tuft of hair dangling from the middle of my chin. "Though I don't exactly remember some of what went on due to consumption of somethin or other..."
That would have earned me a smack on the back of the hand from Ed, but from Marty it just raises a small chuckle. "Don't worry, I don't ever remember lodgin myself in musky-moose either." Marty closes the tap he'd been drawing from, grabs the full, frothy glass from under it, and opens the nearby fridge with his free hand. "From what Ed told me, I should more worried about the little tiger tail over there, instead of your own."
I sigh and try to think of a way to respond that won't sound like I doth protest too much, but Marty grabs a can from the fridge and stalks away to deliver the drinks he's holding.
I take another drink and swear to myself for the millionth time in the past week that it's simply not fucking like that, that I have no intentions of "creeping" on you beyond maybe a few more pleasant barside chats, that it's not all I can do to turn around once a minute and search you out among the modest throng of dancers. You'd be easy to spot. Your t-shirt tonight is electric pink, and even smaller-fitting than the blue one from a week ago. Against all odds, you're wearing shorts. Khaki cargo shorts, not too baggy. Your white and orange sneakers are the only thing I've seen you wear so far that actually match your bright pumpkiny furs.
With your fashion sense, you'd be easy to spot almost anywhere. For such a tiny tiger, you draw eyes easily.
Even as I'm thinking it, I realize that I've turned around and I'm doing just what I told myself not to do so much. Yeah, I'm looking for you.
There you are. Happily drunk again, dancing and grinning that grin with your tongue hanging out the side of your muzzle, just like I first saw you. Tonight I'd seen you come in with your friends, one slightly schlumpy wolf guy and two girls, one lizardlike and one some kind of cat. You had waved to me, and I'd waved back with a smile. I saw the kitty girl say something to you after a glance at me, probably asking who the weird old moose guy wearing flannel is and how you know him. You'd responded animatedly. I was optimistic about the impression I'd left on you.
I allow myself a few more seconds to watch wistfully as you party your little bitty butt off, hands in the air, one holding another shiny can, at least your third tonight if I'm counting correctly. Nothin wrong with having a go-to! There's a badger boy by you, maybe a year or two older than yourself, and you've seemed to take a liking to each other. And why shouldn't you? You're both young and crazy and fun and right in your prime. Go nuts on each other.
I even chuckle as I turn back around to my beer glass. See? Nothin doing.
I have a good swig and sit staring into my glass, swirling the thick inky stuff idly and watching the already-faded head cling to the sides. Usually this would be just another Friday night relaxing and soaking up the bar. Now I just feel tired and bluesy.
Probably about an hour wears on while I sit and try to work up either the courage to pep up some, or the grace to accept defeat and go home to a relatively early bed. I look behind me once and see you and the badger dancing pretty dirty on each other and you looking three times as drunk as when I first met you, that tongue trying to escape your muzzle altogether, and then look once again and you've both disappeared. I figure you've left together or gone back behind the bathrooms for some good fun. Yeah, I've been back there a few times. How do you think I met Daniel?
It's hard to say what's making me feel so bummed, but I've had this brain for about fifty years now and even I gotta admit that sometimes I've got a decent handle on how it works. It's easy to try to stay in denial, but I know it's something about you.
I gotta take a piss.
I leave a buck on the bar for my last pint, knowing Marty's busy but also knowing he'll see it and notice me gone, though my glass is still waiting for me with a few drinks left in 'er. Good ol' Marty. Eyes like an eagle, he has. Not to mention a dick like a trunk. Ed's a lucky bitch of a bottom.
The music assaults my ears as much as the smell of sweaty dancers assaults my nose as I work my way around the edge of the floor. Those who see me offer me a fair bit of room to pass by. Guess my age, my antlers, and my size ain't good for nothin, if you count "looking imposing" as somethin.
Even my jaded old face flushes hotly upon entering the bathroom and seeing what's laid out over the counter of sinks.
It's you.
Your pants are down to your ankles, and your young badger's working on his. He's right in the middle of saying something about how hot you look, but he stops and blearily looks over to me standing in the still-open doorway. He has a drunken, devil-may-shit grin on his face, his eyes almost drowsed closed. His fingers are still fumbling with the waistband of his designer jeans, and his brand-new, brand-name polo shirt is untucked and rumpled-looking.
My first instinct is to turn around, embarrassed and ashamed, and let you two do what drunk youngsters do. I'm no stranger to this sort of thing happening even in the bathroom of this place, but now that I've literally caught you with your pants down I don't know if I'll ever be able to talk with you again without plenty of awkwardness. I stay frozen for one more second, though, and look at you again in panic to see your reaction.
You don't have one.
Another one of those shiny cans is tipped over by your limp paw, a pool of the liquid it contained spilled across the sinktop and soaking into the furs of your face, which is resting there slack-jawed and tongue-flopped. And eyes-closed.
I'm over there in a second, and I've pushed the badger out of the way. Of course he's drunk and he falls on his ass. "'Scuse me, mister, he came in here with me. 'N' he told me to cum in him_in _here," the badger leers at his own slurred joke as he gets to his feet. He's the only amused one.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, he's unconscious!" I spit at him and pat your back to try and rouse you. Your whiskers don't even twitch.
"Naw he's fine, just drunk..." The badger kid pokes your side. "Hey tiger, yrrrr good ta go, right?"
I lean my ear down close to your face, the tips of my antlers clicking against the mirror. I can hear the slow, shallow intake of breath and then a flow of air past my ear, but I'm only slightly relieved. "No, he's fucking not, he's passed completely out! And you were still gonna fuck him?!"
"I didn't notice until jussss now! And what're you, anyway, his dad?!"
I don't waste a second or an ounce of remorse punching the badger's indignant little face. He falls right back on his ass and has no time to reorient himself before I grab two fistfuls of his shirt and drag him up.
"Get the fuck out of here right now. And I better never see you talking to Seth again, or anyone else I think you might also take advantage of."
He looks confused. "Is that Seth?"
I turn around towards the door and drop him, disgusted. "Leave. Before I call the cops."
He's still clutching his face and trying to stand up using one arm. "I'm not some fucking rapist!"
"You were about to be. And if you're not more careful in the future, then you're gonna be." I turn back to you, utterly done dealing with the stupid drunk badger, and shake you again, saying your name into your ear. It's the ear without the rings, but I still notice the cute little white eyespot on the back of it, and my heart flutters for a second in a surge of love and worry for you. After a few tries of me calling your name you give out a short groan but don't stir. Right there I make up my mind.
The badger picks himself up, redoes his fly, and grumbles out of the bathroom, opting to not verbally lob anything at me for finality's sake. I glance around the bathroom and realize I need to take advantage of no one being immediately around, since I know it'll only be for a second. I lift your limp, hanging tail and look under it. I'm so sorry, little guy...but I gotta check...
You're dry under there, and it still looks tight. I'm relieved ever so slightly more that he didn't manage to stuff anything under your tail before I got here.
I guiltily let your tail fall back down to protect what little modesty you still have from me. To the same end, I grab the sides of the waistband of your boxers from the floor and pull them up your legs, carefully threading your tail through the hole in the back. Your shorts soon follow them, and I fumble to button the front while reaching around you.
Your facefurs are still steeping in the fizzy stuff spilled from the can you were drinking, and I grab several paper towels from the nearby dispenser before wrapping an arm around your chest and hoisting you up, holding you close to me for support. I reach up to your face and do my best to wipe the sticky fluid out of your beautiful soft stripes. Your tongue still hangs loosely out of your slack muzzle. You poor, poor thing...
You're as cleaned up and dignified-looking as I can make you right now. I hook one of my arms around you and hold you up as I prepare to leave.
There's a loud flushing sound, and a stocky alligator guy barrels out of one of the stalls and lands on a sink, barely holding himself up while looking at us two with lidded, uncomprehending eyes. He'd been in here the whole time, probably passed out and throwing up. I feel sick and all I want is to get out of here, to get you out of here.
I push open the door with my foot, careful to let it not bump into you on the way out. Making my way back across the club while supporting basically all of your weight beside me is awkward especially with our height difference, but I'm still strong for an old-timer, and we make it to the bar, where Marty's waiting, wide-eyed. "Well you sure got yourself a--"
"I'll get my tab later. I'm taking him home with me."
The Rott eyes you in your current state, and looks back to me suspiciously. "You sure that's a good idea?"
"Oh come on, I just saved him from--" I make a quick decision to protect your dignity-- "from passing out in the bathroom for a night. I just wanna make sure he stays okay. Okay?"
I hate the look he's giving me. Do my friends really think I'm even worse than that dumb badger and that I'd knowingly take advantage of a passed-out young tiger boy?
"Seth! There he is!" The two girls you came in here with pull up next to me, obviously also having had a few. They also look warily at me holding you up. Your male wolf friend is probably off chasing tail of his own...
"I'm gonna take Seth home with me, to protect him. I'll take care of him and bring him back tomorrow."
"Um, I think we better just walk him back to the dorm..."
"You've both been drinking, and he doesn't need that long of a walk in the cold. Plus he needs someone who can look after him soberly, and without getting him in trouble. Look..." I fish around in the back pocket of my jeans, pulling out my wallet and then one-handedly extracting an old weathered card of mine. "Name's Bruce Hodges. My number's on this. Marty here knows it too, and he can get in touch with me. You can call it anytime to check on Seth. I just want him to be okay, and with someone."
There's no talking between any of us for a bit while the two girls look at Marty questioningly, then at each other defeatedly. "Alright," the lizardish one relents, taking the card I'd flopped on the bar. "We'll call tomorrow. You'll bring him back to the dorm when he's okay?"
"Of course, as soon as I know he's fine."
"He did say he knows you," the cat girl offers by way of tepid validation.
"We've talked," I tersely agree, hoisting up your sagging form. I nod to Marty and your two girl friends, then begin the task of dragging you over by the coat rack. I can't do much besides drape the coat I recognize as yours around your shoulders, and wrap it as tightly as I can around you. I do the same for myself, still having to hold you up with one arm. Once that's done I sigh and just lean down to pick up your legs in my other arm. This will get more funny looks but it's less awkward...and might keep you a little warmer hugged up against my chest.
The walk out to my car is freezing and tense. My poor heart is just a bleeding mess as I look down at your open-mawed face, your limp, dead-weight body still so light and thin in my arms. You scrawny little thing, you...I can barely believe what almost happened to you back there. I hope you've learned to be more careful now. Most people won't care about you as much as I did.
Back at my place I carry you in, lay you softly, softly down on the couch, and get a blanket to cover you. I get a big glass of water and set it on an end-table, ready and waiting for the instant you wake up dehydrated. Your little chest rises and falls slightly, looking peaceful for the moment. I settle into the nearby armchair for the night, watching over you every second. Just sitting and watching, like always.
You're the first other person to sleep here since Daniel left.
You'll be the last.