Windfall: Wrapping Up by Tempo

Windfall: Wrapping Up

Tempo, Adaptation, Canine, Dog, F/solo, Fanfiction, Fantasy, Hetero, Heterosexual, Husky, Knot, M/F, Masturbation, Otter, River, Straight, het, toy

#3 of Windfall

An otter grapples with her attraction to her best friend and then with a dildo.

_>>_Physical copies: http://furplanet.com/shop/item.aspx?itemid=798

E-book: http://baddogbooks.com/?product=windfall <<

Windfall: Wrapping Up

By Tempo

~ ~ ~

The talk show hosts had been right.

So had the cast, the crew, and a small but passionate Internet fanbase.

Over the final seasons of Strangeville, Kylie had fallen in love with her best friend.

~ ~ ~

Several months prior, Kylie'd been watching movies on the sofa of their Hollywood apartment. Her mother's voice, muffled through a bedroom door, faded in and out of her attention. Studio talk: as lead writer of a cable TV show, Mom spent a lot of time on the phone, very little of it sounding fun. The younger otter tried not to worry about it; she felt anxious enough already. Worse, she couldn't seem to pin down why.

A knock at the door made her jump. She bounced up from the cushions and onto her tiptoes to peer through the peephole. A scruffy coyote with kind eyes stood in the hallway. The lutrine opened the door. "Jake! It's you... Hi!"

"Hello, Miss Kylie." The coyote doffed a battered fedora. A slim suitcase hung from his other paw. One of her mom's sources, he had a habit of showing up at odd times, with even odder merchandise. His ears perked as he looked over the living room. "Your mother at home?"

"She's on a call from the network." Kylie bobbed out of the way. "C'mon in. I'm sure she'll be off before too long."

He stepped inside and wiped worn-in hiking boots on the doormat. A long tan coat draped from his shoulders, out of place and out of vogue in a Hollywood climate. Those gold eyes surveyed her, then the open door behind him. "You're expecting someone else."

Anxiety wrung her. "Max's due back today. Thought he might've gotten in early."

The canine nodded, muzzle shut on words he held back.

Trying to unwind the tension, Kylie chattered on: "He's back with his family in Montana, since we're between seasons. Guess they really missed him. I know how they feel." A nervous giggle bubbled up, unbidden. "Anyway, what's in the bag?"

His dusty paw hefted the briefcase with an air of theater. "Articles of inspiration."

Jake dealt in knickknacks and curios. Laura had bought a number of them over the years, but kept them in a box in her office, only taking them out when she needed inspiration. Kylie had caught glimpses of them: a strange curl of fossilized bone, a silver shot pourer fingerprints couldn't mar, an asymmetric black orb she couldn't study for long without getting a headache. How Jake and her mother settled on a price also eluded her. Not like her to keep secrets from her daughter, but both seemed to be putting on a show to add to their mystique. Anything to squeeze a little more authenticity out of the actors.

Whiskers perked, the otter nosed in on the case. "Can I see?"

With a coy smile, he drew back and patted the black leather case. "Serious inquiries only."

"You know Mom's good for it." She crossed her arms, standing her ground barefoot on the carpet. "When has she not bought your stuff?"

"I couldn't speak to what she might've bought. I have a terrible memory." A paw rose to his chest. "Occupational hazard."

The roll of her eyes traveled down her body.

Laura appeared at her bedroom door and seemed more frazzled than usual. "Strangeville's not getting a sixth season."

Kylie winced. No shocker, but not fun to hear aloud. Last season, when they were slated to be cancelled, Mom and the other writers had crafted the finale to tie up all the loose ends. Everyone loved it, especially the studio who then gave them a fifth season and expected more episodes like the last one.

"How unfortunate." The coyote shifted, briefcase in paw.

"We all knew this season was our swan song." Sadness seeped through her professionalism. "Though I would've liked to keep singing..."

He nodded, cheery smile faded to neutrality. "Where will you go now?"

Laura shrugged. "We have some friends and an old family property in New England. It's as good a place as any to regroup while I think of the next big thing."

The coyote's face remained impassive. "That where you came up with the show in the first place?"

Her expression shuttered, cooling her warmth a bit. "Something like that."

Oh that place. Great. Kylie had been there a few times as a pup, but only to pick up or drop off something. What little she remembered creaked, sprawled, and creeped everyone out. In addition, she remembered it being miles from anywhere, surrounded by overgrown woods on all sides.

The dusky canine straightened.

"They aren't going to stop paying me, Jake." A dark chortle rose from the middle-aged otter, then tilted her head at the office. "We can still talk business."

Together, they left the room, leaving Kylie alone with her thoughts. The end of the show depressed her. It'd been the center of her life for the latter part of her teenage years. She felt the need to get out of the apartment. As soon as Max got back, she'd grab him and drag him out to the movies or something. They had a lot of bumming around to do before the season ended.

Kylie sat up, the little lump of anxiety suddenly swelling to churn at her insides as sudden, terrible realization struck her. Bad enough Max spent shooting breaks at home, but once the show ended he would pack up and go back to living on the farm and she and her mother would fly to the other end of the country and she and her best friend would never ever lay eyes on each other again and what in the world was she going to do?

He arrived an hour later.

Before his bag even hit the floor, she bounced over and wrapped him in a massive hug.

He wagged and held her. "Hey there, rudderbutt." His paw patted her shoulder, off-balance and a little awkward. "Missed me, did you?"

"Yeah." She nuzzled against his chest. It occurred to her that she was holding the hug longer than she was supposed to, but she couldn't bring herself to feel self-conscious. This was Max, the nicest, safest guy in the world. She entertained a fleeting thought that she could stay like this forever, snuggled against warm fluff with strong arms all around her.

It all clicked for her then, like a wayward gear slotting into place. The source of her anxiety, her lack of desire for other companionship, the upswell of relief when he'd come back. Somewhere, without realizing it, Kylie had fallen in old-timey, pining-by-the-window love with her co-star.

Crap.

~ ~ ~

Shooting the rest of the season, the specter of her crush haunted her mind, but the frantic pace of production let her outrun it, if only for a scene at a time. She kept trying to get Max alone, to drop some perfect hint, or make some big, dramatic declaration. But they'd spent years settling into a routine and it proved impenetrable.

If she'd figured it out sooner, she could've come up with some kind of plan. Now, though, she had no idea what to do about it. As she stewed, her thick tail swished the bathtub's steaming water. She scrubbed the air from under her pelt, letting the heat soak her skin.

Of course, she lacked any first-hand knowledge on how to seduce anybody. Or second-hand. Third-hand she had plenty of, but those consisted of the romantic sub-plots to terrible movies. Here in reality, she was on her own.

She stared at the ceiling plaster, her mind tracing patterns in the chaos as she tried to come up with a plan. Her thoughts drifted to earlier that day.

~ ~ ~

Between scenes, the studio break room used to be a hub of activity. Now it stood quiet and empty, only those few people needed for pickups wandering through. Max busied himself at the coffee machine as she tried not to stare at him. For months, she'd been dancing around her growing attraction to him, writing it off as fear of moving away from him. His character had joined the show as a bit part, but now she couldn't imagine the series without him. For over three of the five-season run of the show, she'd worked, joked, eaten, and lived with him almost every day. But how the heck do you tell your best friend that being his best friend isn't enough for you anymore?

The tall, muscular husky set a coffee in front of her, with two creams and a sugar, just the way she liked it. "Just saying, I chewed plenty of tennis balls as a pup. I have a hard time acting like I'm scared of them."

She sipped the steaming beverage. "What, you don't like doing fifteen reaction shots to the same piece of green screen?"

He sat across from her and managed to look only a bit comical in the fox-sized chair. "I only have so many ways to look surprised."

"You sure have more than when you started." One elbow propped on the table, she leaned in with a smirk. "You'll be a regular dynamo back in Montana."

He nodded and sighed, his shoulder slumping.

Her whiskers lifted with concern.

He noticed and shrugged, then gestured to the studio. The muscles in his jaw worked over his anxiety. "All this is ending forever."

Kylie fought the urge to slump. The playful banter had been so normal that, for a moment, she'd been able to forget. "Cheer up, Maxie." Her smile weakened, but she was a better actor than he was. "You could stay in Hollywood." She leaned back and crossed her arms, thick tail swishing on the floor. "You're a big-time actor now."

He stirred his black coffee. "I'm not an actor; I just play one on TV."

Her tail tip bumped his shoe. "You'd get gigs."

"Yeah, you're right. But this was all just a special case, you know?" The canine spread his wide, white paws. "My already knowing the lore, you and I getting along, your mom looking out for me: it all sort of came together." One paw brushed back the hair the costume department had him grow out. "It's been fun, but the idea of doing it without you or your mom or the crew..." He sat up a little and straightened his sweatshirt, forcing a brave smirk. "Besides, Serge is basically me. If I got another job, people'd catch on that I can't act."

He'd just looked so brave and sad and hopeful, she'd wanted to kiss him then and there. Or hold his paw. Or even just hug him.

Instead, she'd wimped out and patted his shoulder.

~ ~ ~

Back in the bathtub, Kylie steeped in her thoughts like a mustelid-flavored tea. Hollywood portrayed otters as sensuous and self-confident, so everyone seemed to assume she had seductive powers to spare, not to mention a complete lack of shame. In reality, she'd had enough trouble working up the nerve to buy a sex toy over the Internet. Could she really risk alienating her best friend over a crush?

Deft paws worked a few globs of shampoo into her fur, the lavender scent doing little to allay her anxiety. They had, what, two weeks left of shooting pickup scenes? What could she even do in that time without seeming like a desperate weirdo?

She rinsed the lather and slipped out of the tub. After drying off and brushing her pelt, she eeled into the hallway. Towel wrapped around her, she scampered to her bedroom door just as an idea sprung to her mind. Slinking back into the living room, she rehearsed an excuse to walk past him. Getting a glass of water: that'd work. This wasn't the time for subtlety. Which was good, because she was terrible at subtlety.

Fantasies unfolded about dropping the towel with a sultry look, or him easing it from her wet body with those strong husky paws. From there, matters got steamier than any bath in the world. Ridiculous, of course--even if Max was interested, he was too much of a gentleman for an impromptu romp with his best friend. But maybe, if he saw her in just a towel, she could get the ball rolling. Maybe he'd even make the first move.

The otter paused at the border of lamp light. One paw stroked back a wet lock of hair from her eyes. She steeled her resolve and rounded the corner, swearing to follow wherever the moment led.

The dog lay sprawled on the sofa, muzzle closed in a quiet snore. Those muscled arms hugged a pillow. A t-shirt and shorts draped over his powerful form, hinting at a body she really wanted to get to know better. A book on writing lay beside him on the floor. The ceiling fan whirred, stirring his fluffy coat wherever it lay exposed.

A smile lifted her whiskers. The cold fear in her stomach fading, she padded over and turned off the coffee table lamp. In the faint glow of streetlights stories below, she watched him for a moment. Max living with them had never been the plan; at first, his parents took turns keeping him company at another apartment in the same building. She and the big fluffy canine had gravitated toward each other right away, and before long he ate dinner with them most nights. Whenever his parents had to head back to the farmstead, Kylie's mom had promised to keep him out of trouble. After a season together, they all decided it would be simpler for everyone if they just got a three-bedroom place, which allowed his mom and dad to head back to Montana full-time. In all honesty, Kylie and her mother just liked having someone else around.

He still slept on the lumpy old sofa enough that she didn't bother waking him. His fold-up guest bed couldn't be much comfier anyway. Apartments this close to the studio seemed designed to pack tenants like sardines. Besides, he looked so cute. She resisted a sudden urge to wake him with a kiss, or even a cuddle. He'd be an amazing cuddler, all soft and fluffy and caring.

No. Too late for her to act on her feelings for Max, at least for now. Not like he'd never visit, but the days of him sleeping on their sofa slipped through her paws like water.

The lutrine strode back to her room and climbed into bed. Not a waterbed, the studio had some kind of clause against them, but she'd gotten used to it over the years. Maybe she could get one once they moved back to Windfall? Her recollections of the town, of the massive creaky house there, had faded since her childhood. What would life be like there? What would it be like not living from script to script?

If only she had a script for confessing her attraction to Max. They'd had scenes together on Strangeville for years, working through scripts with an easy chemistry. She almost had more experience interacting with him as Cassie than as herself. Maybe her character could inform her a little. How would Cassie seduce Serge?

Wait.

Why was she thinking about this when she had the Internet to think for her?

In a frantic flop, she rolled over to grab her laptop. A few quick searches later, the fandom's collective speculation on that exact scenario lay before her. Most of them involved Serge ravaging Cassie between scenes. Intriguing, but if she and Max were going to tear off each other's clothes in a fit of un-foreshadowed passion, it would've happened already. Why'd real life have to be more difficult than fanfiction?

The stories with threesomes proved even less helpful, in addition to filling her with irrational jealousy toward several of the CG monsters. Then, of course, came a parade of kinks: she hooks up with a villain; he gets hurt and she has to comfort him with her vagina; she gets hit by a bus so he can console himself by sleeping with the entire cast; him getting her pregnant; her getting him pregnant; him turning into an otter; him as a feral canine on her farm; him as a vampire with the terrible secret of not being a vampire.

After an author-insert story where she was the target of the author's insertion, she sorted the stories by popularity and blocked a few of the creepier keywords. That helped.

The steampunk one cast him as a stoic swordsman and her as an aristocratic airship heiress--creative, though the prose got purple enough to embarrass a plum. Likewise, the forty-chapter crossover fiction appeared impressive, but so packed with references not even she understood half of them. Alien zoologists making them have sex would be nice, but she refused to sit around and wait for UFO abduction; she saved the story on her hard drive and moved on.

The alternative universe with them as regular high school students seemed cute, though it revealed a flaw in her plan: Cassie could see the future, which meant she could foretell Serge calling out her name in a moment of passion. Kylie would have to find her own means of advancing the plot. She corrected little details as she went. His fur smelled of shampoo and safety, not just untamed canine musk. His Russian drawl was fake. In reality, Max's only accent was a touch of cowboy around the edges, though she couldn't blame the average fan for not knowing that.

Another story caught her eye. Set during the camping episode, Serge had gone skinny dipping at a lake to wash the monster of the week off his fur, only to have Cassie catch a glimpse. She watched in secret as water flowed over his sculpted, fluffy body. Before long, he spotted her and cast her a sultry stare as he covered up.

Her imagination dove into the tale, showing Max all naked and muscled and demure, but with a coy smile.

The scene unfolded with her joining him in the lake, finding refuge from the supernatural world in the natural comfort of his embrace. At first nervous, the hot insistence of his erection grew in her paws, melting away any insecurities about his interest in her. Flowery prose followed, blooming into his confessions of passionate love for her.

Her hips rocked against the bed. One paw sank through the sheets and down between her thighs. Still damp from the bath, matters had only gotten juicer. She reached into her nightstand drawer and pulled out an unassuming silk bag. From it, she drew a sleek silicone vibrator; waterproof, of course. Best of all, it made almost no noise, a quality she envied in these matters. It'd proved an excellent investment over the last few months of increasingly frequent use.

Reading on, she teased the toy up and down her slit, then around her tender labia. She clicked it on, savoring the pleasant buzz it translated through her most sensitive regions. Deeper now, with a quiet squelch. In her mind and in the story, he entered her.

The otter imagined him holding her close, sinking deeper and deeper into her. Her every gasp caressed his name. She worked the toy further in; its little rabbit ears vibrated to either side of her clit, sending tingles of delight through her squirming body.

The story described her straddling his hips as he stood in the moonlit water, the night cool around them as passion burned within them. It detailed him pumping into her, worshipping her with every thrust, then clutching her close and howling to the stars as he spurted hot canine seed into her. The hot swell of canine flesh grew within her and filled her every need.

Her body curled around the pleasure surging from her toy. Waves of bliss washed through her body as she suppressed squeaks of pleasure. She wiggled and bounced against the mattress, bucking against the dildo.

Panting, she slumped against the bed and clicked the toy off. She shut the laptop. Her orgasm faded to a sticky memory. Webbed paws swept through the sheets, finding the bed bigger and lonelier than usual. As she rolled up in the covers, she wondered what it'd be like to have that big, probably lonely husky wrap his arms around her instead.

~ ~ ~

A few weeks later, airline passengers hurried past, wrapped up in their own storylines. Inoffensive music echoed down the white-walled corridors, punctuated here and there by the whoosh of a jet. Her mom stood at the counter, helping Max check his luggage, which likely weighed as much as she did. He had somehow crammed three years of his life into it, all his clothes and books and memories in a green canvas duffle.

Kylie bit her lip, trying not to make a fool of herself. Inside, though, she wanted to bounce off the walls, to bar the plane's door, to wrap herself around his calf and insist she was luggage. But cowardice and flight regulations prevented her carrying on or being declared a carry-on.

The husky hefted his laptop bag. "Don't look so down, rudderbutt." He smiled and set a wide paw on her shoulder. "We'll only be a couple hours apart." His other paw lifted, showing an old watch with two time-zones, already set for across the continent. "You know you can call whenever."

She wrung her webbed paws. "I will."

His eyes met hers with a quiet whine, tail still. "You okay?"

Kylie hugged Max like it might keep him from leaving. She pulled back to look him in the eyes. Behind him, the airport metal detector gaped with grey indifference. Her gaze flicked down to his lips. She could kiss him, and the music would swell and he'd wrap his arms around her and he wouldn't go to Montana. All she had to do was kiss him.

She didn't kiss him.

He waved as he headed past the check-in and onto the plane. Final boarding calls. Kylie watched as it taxied down the tarmac and lifted off.

Her mom put an arm over her shoulder. She didn't say anything, but looked on with the sad amusement she always got when new chapters started in life.

~ ~ ~

The three-story monstrosity sprawled from the Bevy family's past to Kylie's foreseeable future. Chipping paint and battered shingles complained of years of neglect in the briny sea air. She did her best to blink away the jet-lag, then sighed. Home sweet home.

Laura grabbed the last box and patted the trailer behind her hatchback. "Okay kiddo, I'm going to run this beast back to town. You gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine, Mom." She took the box and rolled her eyes. "It's just a giant creepy house."

"Our giant creepy house. Can't believe it's been twenty years..." The middle-aged otter threw an arm around her daughter. "A good twenty years."

"Has much changed?"

Her mother cast an eye at the woods that fringed the property. "Here's hoping."

The younger otter rolled her eyes, but smiled. As far as moms went, hers was alright, if a little dramatic.

With a final squeeze of her shoulders, her mother bounced into the seat of her hatchback, fired it up, and rumbled down the driveway.

Kylie carried the final box inside and set it down on the cluttered kitchen table. Her mother had labeled and color-coded all their possessions, but the writing on this one had scuffed off. Curious, she sliced through the tape with a claw and peered inside. Old books, diaries, bound in ancient leather covers. She opened one and found yellowed pages flooded with strange, inky scrawls. No name, no date, just an array of strange runes.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, a familiar custom ringtone. Her heart leapt as she scrambled to fish it out.

Max Saber: {The Internet says our show jumped the shark with the ship-in-a-bottle that turned out to be a voodoo doll ship.}

Her heart raced. Fingers fumbled over the touchscreen as she scrambled to reply.

Kylie Bevy: {Whatever! I liked that one. And we jumped the shark with the printer that murdered people with paper cuts.}

A moment passed. Max Saber: {Actually, that led to creative staff threatening to quit if they weren't given more control. So in the long run, it helped.} Very talkative for one of his texts; while far from stoic, Max tended not to waste words on what people already understood.

Kylie Bevy: {No wonder the fans like you. You're one of them!}

Another minute or so ticked by, leaving her twitching her foot and fidgeting with the phone. Around her, leaves rustled on wind, trees encroaching on the yard from all sides.

Max Saber: {Miss you, rudderbutt.}

Kylie Bevy: {Miss you too!}

Max Saber: {Still up for me coming to visit this summer?}

She smiled, cradling the phone between her paws. She took a moment to savor the idea that he missed her too, then tapped out her reply.

Kylie Bevy: {Count on it. : ) }

~ ~ ~

This is the first preview for my new novel, Windfall. Slate has been brainstorming with me on it from the start, since he's going to be drawing the illustrations.

Art: Slate