Out of the frying pan for good pt.1-A tragic end calls for a bad beginning
Hello dear reader, this story is my small vacation from the 'Shane and Jack's snowy vacation' series (also a chance for part one to get approved, and maybe fix the story series problem). The beginning of this story was partly inspired by a joke in 'Norman Rockwell is bleeding', an hour stand up comedy special performed by Christopher Titus. Although only that small part was related, I still wanted to give exposure to Christopher Titus, as he is very funny, third only to Dane Cook and Lewis Black. This series contains m/m parts, so if you do not enjoy such pastimes, or are underage, you should hurl your computer down a ravine, because about 90% of the good things to be found on a computer contain/require those things. I hope you enjoy. Out of the frying pan for good - pt. one, a tragic end calls for a bad beginning. * * * Scott moaned as he gripped his stomach. He opened his eyes, and was met with the vision of dark brown wooden floor. He coughed as he slowly sat up, still clutching his bruised body. He shook his head slowly, and winced at the headache he possessed. He stood as best as he could, leaning against the kitchen counter top for support. He slowly regained his balance, as he recalled the events of the past twenty minutes. He had returned home from a long day of school, and briskly walked into the front door of the two story house. His bushy bright orange tail, tipped with white, bounced and swayed as he walked up the stairs, and entered his room on the opposite side of the hallway. He set his backpack down inside the indent of his closet, and walked back down the stairs, and into the kitchen. As he walked into the kitchen, he was greeted by his foster dad holding a bottle of Budweiser in his left paw, and a multi colored necklace in his right. "Scott, what is this piece of shit?" the inebriated canine spat out. Scott sighed, and said, "It's my pride necklace." After the last word had left his muzzle, he was met with a clenched paw to the side of his face, knocking him back a few steps. As he raised his head back up, the wind quickly escaped his lunges as another blow met his stomach. He fell to the floor, and was savagely kicked in the chest several times, before the beating halted for a few short seconds. Having set down his drink, and throwing the necklace onto the floor, his guardian grabbed Scott by his head fur, and lifted him onto his feet. Without releasing the grasp on his foster son's head, Nate pulled his right paw back, and quickly and forcefully plowed it into the fox's left eye. The last blow had sent Scott sprawling on the floor, banging his head on the counter on the way down. "I'm gonna watch the rest of the game, and when it's over, I'm gonna come back in here finish punishing your scrawny queer ass," Nate slurred, as he walked jaggedly back into the living room, collapsing in the chair facing opposite the staircase. When his foster dad was drunk, he had absolutely no self control. There was almost no doubt in Scott's mind that he would be beaten to death by the drunken bastard. Once he had regained control of his body, he stumbled up the stairs, still clutching at his stomach and chest, and made his way through the door of his room, and went to the closet. He threw out a couple shirts, littering the floor of his room in laundry, and finally found his copy of Webster's Unabridged Dictionary. He opened the book, revealing that except for the three quarter inch margins of each page, the book had been completely hollowed out. After retrieving its contents, he slowly hobbled back down the stairs to the living room. He met Nate in the living room, seeing him just finish chugging his beer, and tossing the bottle aside. "I'm gonna beat yer degenerate ass till you can't even stand." commented the mass of beer and muscle standing before Scott. "So you're going to kill me dad?" his dad nodded sloppily as he stepped forward and shoved the vulpine against the wall with all his might. After he could see straight again, as he had hit his head quite hard on the wall, he muttered, " I'm tired of you." As Nate was advancing on him, Scott raised his hands, aiming the silver plated .357 magnum at his soon to be former legal guardian. He pulled back the hammer and squeezed the trigger, three times repeatedly, each time releasing a deafening bang into the stale air. Nate fell backwards, his body landing on, and crashing through, the wooden coffee table. Scott sighed in relief, and went to the kitchen to get a bottle of water. * * * "So you say you found the gun in your father's closet, in that hollowed out dictionary?" asked the female lynx, her badge brilliantly reflected the light the sun was shining down upon them, as she questioned him in Scott's front yard about the incident. The fox nodded, and the feline officer jotted it down in her notepad. He had actually made a deal with some dog at school to get it, but knew he couldn't let the police officer know that. He had planted the dictionary in Nate's closet after he killed him. "Okay, that's all I need to know for now, you'll be interrogated further back at the station." She gave him a small nod and headed back to her vehicle. He was driven back to the police station to finish corroborating his story. Having a list of acquitted assault charges to his foster dad's name, the law leaned in Scott's favor, as the murder was declared self defense. He then met with an attorney to discuss what assets of Nate's he would receive. As the skinny orange fox returned to his house, being given the option to be emancipated and not go to another foster parent (he was still 17, so before the law had allowed it, he was not legally old enough to live on his own), he felt as if an unbearably great weight was lifted off of his shoulders. * * *
One month later...... Scott was streaking down the road in his vintage 1960's orange Pontiac GTO. The car had belonged to his foster dad, who had poured a lot of money into getting it restored. Nate had done so because he had no intentions of ever buying a car for Scott, even though F.A. had ordered him to use some of the monthly checks he got on driver's ed classes. Scott had always admired this car, and thanked the dead bastard for at least buying car insurance. He cranked up the volume on the stereo, bobbing his head to 'Lost Boys' by the 69 Eyes. He was pulling up to an intersection, and the light was green, so he didn't slow down from his speed of 75 miles per hour. There was a large pile of brush that had been clipped away from overhanging trees, and overgrown bushes, which was now sitting in a heap on the corner of the four way intersection to Scott's right side . If the large obstruction hadn't been there maybe he would have noticed the jeep hurtling down the road perpendicular to Scott's. The Cherokee, which was doing a speed rivaling that of Scott's muscle car, smashed into the front passenger side of the GTO, the sounds of tearing metal and shattering glass deafening the fox. The jeep careened to the right after the impact, and the Pontiac was thrown sideways, and began rolling at a still great momentum. The car rolled about seven times, throwing Scott from the vehicle on the sixth roll. It took about a minute and thirty seconds for both drivers to regain their composure. Shane opened his eyes and stirred slightly on the pavement, throbs of pain flowing through his head. He lifted his head a few inches off of the ground, wondering why he felt so wet. He soon realized that the full gas tank of his car had been torn open, and a large pool of diesel was accumulating on the asphalt and soaking most of his clothing in the intensely displeasing smell of fuel. While he was silently whining, his brain stopped as he heard a small crackling sound coming from behind him. Looking behind him, his eyes grew wide with horror as he saw the small flame making its way towards the gas flowing from the tank. As quickly as his damaged body would allow, he got to his feet and began slowly limping away from the wreckage. Unfortunately, he was still two feet away from the edge of the gasoline pond as the flame ignited the surface of the fuel. Within seconds, the intensely hot flames had engulfed Scott's entire body. He screamed in pain as walked several feet away from the concentration of fuel, and fell to the ground, still being devoured by searing flames. The driver of the black Cherokee slowly climbed out of his SUV, of which the front half was scrunched up into a block of now useless metal. The airbag and seatbelt had saved him from injury, but he rubbed his neck and cursed at the discomfort of the whiplash he had. He froze dead in his tracks and yelped out in fear as he saw the small figure of a fox, completely embedded in a large fire ball, limp away from the wreckage of the orange car, and fall to the ground ten feet away. After being snapped out of his shock induced trance, he quickly ran to the rear of the jeep and opened the trunk. He pulled a small fire extinguisher from his emergency kit, and rushed back to the helpless vulpine. He blanketed the small figure in white clouds of foam as he aimed up and down the charred fur's body. Once the extinguisher was completely empty, and the flames had been put out, he ran to his cell phone and dialed 911. * * *
The next day at St. Mary's hospital Scott slowly opened his eyes, although they struggled to stay shut. He tried to raise his paws to clear the sleep out of his eyes, but only his left came to his face. His right was held fast in a light blue sling, which he looked at in slight confusion. He looked down, and saw that he was lying in an intensely white bed, draped with a light blue sheet. He saw that his left leg was wrapped tightly in a bandage, while his right hung slightly off of the bed. He looked at his normally bright orange fur, and knew something looked wrong. It wasn't its usual shade, but instead orange that was black and singed looking on the ends. He blinked and felt a bandage on his forehead flex. Realizing that he was lying in a hospitable bed, he looked around for the call nurse button, as his throat was painfully dry. A golden lioness in a white nurse's uniform walked through the door smiling. "Well, I'm glad to see that you've woken up. I never like it when I get patients that are out for more than a day," the cheery feline stated. Unable to talk, Scott mouthed the word 'water', and the nurse smiled and fetched him a glass. He chugged the large glass in 2 seconds flat, and laid back against the large fluffy pillow. The nurse smiled and headed out the door to get the doctor. A large bluish-gray wolf, dressed in a white doctor's smock plodded into the room. For about fifteen minutes he explained the details of Scott's injuries, the worst of which were a few bruised ribs and some bad burns on his torso. He said that if the stitches in his leg, arm, and head were done healing, he would be let go that day. "Oh, and it appears that you have a visitor," the doctor informed him. This confused Scott, seeing as he had shot his only known acquaintance to death one month prior to the accident. He watched the door curiously, and then saw it swing open slowly. A lean, tan colored dingo slowly padded into the room, a nervous and worried expression on his face. He was dressed in black straight legged pants, a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of black menacing looking ankle high boots. The doctor told him that there was no serious harm done, and a relieved smile washed over his face. He had a cute smile, Scott thought to himself. The doctor and nurse left the room, and the handsome dingo took a seat in a leather seated chair next to the fox's hospital bed. "Who are you?" Scott asked, still unaware of his visitor's connection to himself. "I was the one driving the jeep that hit you," he said in a sweet voice, the concerned look returning to his face, and he pushed his ears back against his head as he said, "I was really worried, you looked horrible when they were loading you into the ambulance." His eyes scanned over the charred fox, and rested upon his naked right leg, which was the only part of his lower body visible. The dingo's eyes worked their way up his leg, and could just barely see a few of the fox's white crotch hairs. Blushing , he quickly brought his gaze back up to Scott's face. "By the way, my name is Eric." The fox smiled at Eric's curious gaze. "I'm Scott," he said, still grinning. Eric returned the smile nervously, and said, "Well, I'm really sorry about what happened., and if there is anything I can do to help don't be afraid to ask." "Actually, there is one thing," he replied, " I was on my way to check out a house, but with the hospital bill, and the car damage bill, it might take a while to sort out before I go to look into it. Do you think I could stay with you for a few days?" he asked with a timid expression on his face. He had sold his old house almost immediately, he didn't want anything to do with it ever again. He had been renting an apartment, but they had just raised the price that month, and he would have been happy to get out of there too. The dingo smiled a slightly more than friendly looking smile at this request. "Of course you can." The fox felt a small chill run up his spine at the small hint of lust in Eric's voice, but smiled gently back and said, "Thanks, a lot." * * * Eric unlocked the security door to his condo and led the way up to the second floor, his tail wagging slightly as he made his way up the dark red stairs. Scott intently gazed at the dingo's tight rump as he followed. He followed him through the door into the living room, and instinctively looked around. The carpet was dark green, nicely contrasting the complete white of the walls. There was a vinyl black couch against the opposite wall, right underneath a large window. There was a matching love seat complimentary to the couch, facing a large screen TV. A glass coffee table stood in the middle of the room, on top of which were several CD's and a bowl of guitar picks. Past the TV was a small, extremely clean looking kitchen, furnished with a refrigerator, dish washer, microwave, toaster, and coffee maker, all stainless steel silver colored. They had gone back to Scott's apartment and packed up his few possessions and articles of clothing. He had replaced his trashy looking wardrobe his father had supplied him with, and bought several new outfits, mainly consisting of overly tight jeans and button up shirts. "Home sweet home," Eric said. "Nice place," the fox replied. He spotted the black Les Paul sitting in the corner, and asked, "Cool guitar. Do you ever play it?" The dingo smiled and nodded. "I used to play too, but my foster dad smashed my guitar against a wall and threw it off of the porch, said I was being to loud." "Well that's too bad. Do you get along well with your father?" Eric asked. "No, but he's dead now." "I'm sorry to hear that." "Don't be, I killed him." The dingo gave him a startled look at this bit of information. Scott chuckled and explained his situation. Eric couldn't stop himself from smiling when he heard why his father had beaten him that night. The weary fox gave a wide yawn, and said, "Ugh, I'm already exhausted again. Do you have an extra bed?" "Yeah, it's the door on the far end of the hall, straight down," Eric said, also tired. They both strolled into their rooms and got ready for the night. Eric normally slept in his boxers, but because he had a guest, he instead decided to sleep in the nude. He slipped out of his clothes and hopped into his queen sized bed. He laid down, and perked his ears up as he heard Scott crawling under the sheets of the bed in the other room. * * * Scott walked into the dingo's room carrying a large black tray. He was nice and warm from the bright sun beating down through the windows. He walked towards Eric's bed, whose sheets were pulled up barely to his waist, exposing his toned stomach and chest. The fox smiled and set the tray over the slumbering fur, and rubbed his belly to wake him up. Eric moaned happily, and sighed with a large grin on his muzzle. He rubbed his eyes, and opened them to the sight of pancakes and sausage. "Breakfast," Scott said cheerfully. "Mmm, it looks good. You're so sweet, you didn't need to make me breakfast." The fox smiled at the compliment from the cute, sleepy dingo, "It's the least I could do after you let me stay here, with you. It's a lot cozier here than at my crappy little apartment." He scratched behind his ears affectionately, and walked out of the room. As Scott exited, Eric's eyes were glued to his backside. The fox was wearing a buttoned up blue long sleeve shirt, and a pair of tight, small black briefs. His tail was undulating through the air, giving Eric a great view of his soft, curved cheeks. He turned back to his breakfast and ate it happily, as he heard the shower turn on. As visions of the fox danced through Eric's mind, he felt his sheath start to grow and become firm. He could tell the next several days with Scott were going to be very interesting, to say the least. * * * I hoped you liked it, I am trying to get a bit deeper story behind this series than the more carefree Shane and Jack series. I was very pleased with how well my stories have been coming out so far, and if this one gets anywhere near the positive feedback I've been getting so far, I'll be very happy. Hopefully part two will be out soon.