Hair of the Dog
Author's Note: the following is a work of furry fiction. As such, it may contain material which may be offensive to some viewers. This can include, but is not limited to, sex between males, sex between characters of different species, job interviews, gratuitous muscle-bound tigers and horrific hangover remedies. If any of this you find objectionable, get the fuck out, bizzatch! Otherwise, read on and enjoy. Masturbate at your own risk.
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Hair of the Dog ©MMVII Whyte Yoté
It was always in dreams that Raley seemed to be ageless. At least, age never seemed to be a factor whether he was playing ping-pong with Abraham Lincoln or giving a lecture on thermodynamics while skydiving in the nude. Tonight was special, though, because even in the dream Raley was lucid enough to tell he was dreaming, and he knew it was a drunk dream.
Some people are blessed with the ability to sleep soundly without the hint of a dream, just a head on the pillow and a hangover the next morning. But Raley was not that kind of person. He was a mutt for whom most Friday and Saturday nights were spent preparing, partying, and eventually staggering home on someone else's shoulder. Almost always, Raley would end up getting his rear end pounded by his savior, which was fine, since that was the point of going out in the first place. But the dreams he had afterward, whoa man, they were something else.
Tonight had been no exception. The mutt typically didn't drink himself unconscious, but there had been this tiger sitting next to him at the bar who'd been just begging him with sly kitty-cat eyes to make the first move. Four or five martinis later, some interesting (and very pleasurable, he was sure) stuff had happened and now he was deeply ensconced in his own imagination while his body slept off its overindulgence.
He was floating in a cave, a huge open space...except this cave didn't have a ceiling as much as a sky. The cave was filled with water, and the mutt was surrounded by furs of all species--no one he recognized--but Raley thought he saw family and friends among the crowd. Everything around him was tinted a hazy turquoise, and it was this haze that kept him from truly seeing all the minute details of his surroundings. Like an opaque curtain, it hung heavily, lending a sense of incompletion to the dream.
Raley never wondered how he got here; it was always an accepted fact that he was supposed to be here and nowhere else. He bobbed effortlessly on the low undulating waves (which disappeared into the cave's walls instead of bouncing off of them, interestingly enough) his eyes fixated on one point in the sky, where misty clouds hung like moss on a stone.
A form began to materialize out of the haze, and Raley found himself already knowing what it was going to form, and that he had known it was going to emerge since the beginning of the dream. When had the beginning begun? He couldn't remember. But his tail started to wag underwater, floating him a little higher than the rest of his pool-mates, and he felt his muzzle stretching into a smile at the sight of the face of his mother emerging from the darkness. Everyone in the cave was trained upon her.
She was a mutt herself, bearing more resemblance to the German Shepherd side of the family than Raley. One ear lopsided, the glint of an upper fang, and clear eyes...those were the things Raley had loved about Mom before she died, and those were the things he remembered most fondly about her. It was like a proclamation from God Herself when she spoke.
"Okay," her voice was in the mutt's head, inside his soul, it seemed like, and he opened his mouth in preparation for what she wanted. They were all going to sing--Raley knew that--and somehow everyone else around him knew as well. Raley was faintly aware, as Mom raised her chin as if conducting, that he was doing nothing to keep afloat, though he wasn't sinking.
The sound of hundreds of muzzles opening in unison filled the cave, and suddenly there looked to be thousands of people now, all turned upward, all expecting the downbeat, all ready to join in. Mom's chin nodded, and the chorus rang out in perfect harmony: "United States, Canada, Mexico, Panama, Haiti, Jamaica, Peru..."
And that was the end of it. The hell?
Waking up naturally was never the method of choice for Raley. An alarm, at least, would jerk him awake without the feeling of overt loss that the end of a dream gave him. It was like having a rug pulled out from under his feet, or having a curtain thrown upon his head. There was a moment of vertigo, of swapping realities, as his conscious shifted into first gear and kicked his brain into drive. It pissed him off, more than anything, but at least this morning he had a good two seconds of ignorant bliss before he remembered how absolutely shitty he felt.
It couldn't be any later than eight o'clock. The blur in front of his eyes, though muted by Venetian blinds and a black sheet, told Raley the sun had already risen well past the horizon, and once he was aware of this fact any chance of him sleeping in was dashed. Blinking a couple times to clear his vision, he reached out an unsteady paw to shut off the alarm clock before it had a chance to voice its shrill opinion.
"Fuck..." Eww. Raley's smooth tenor had turned into Boris Karloff overnight. It was liquid and gravelly. He could even feel strands of saliva and mucus stretching from jaw to jaw as he yawned and turned onto his back, which was warm and moist. Once again, the mutt wondered why he went out and did such stupid things week after week after week. The body next to him shivered, then shifted away from him. Raley glanced over at the tiger's right ear, flicking in the low filtered morning light, and he had his answer.
Raley clenched his tailhole, simultaneously wincing and smiling at the pain. What a tumble that must have been. Too bad he didn't remember a lick of it.
It was a quarter to eight. His interview was at nine. On a Sunday morning. But they had liked his résumé and called him in, so he was apparently good enough on paper to merit a second glance. By the feel of his back and tail, he would have to spend some quality time with a brush before he got dressed. And he had to make one of those disgusting Prairie Oysters again, just to shake off the headache and shivers and dehydration.
It was worth it, though. Totally worth it. Raley closed his eyes and listened. It was Sunday morning, and there was no traffic to hear, not even the bratty Russian children from downstairs. Just the steady, deep breathing of the big cat next to him, underneath the comforter. He sat up--big mistake. Blood rushed in his ears and an invisible hammer pounded at the back of his sinuses. With a groan, the mutt flopped back onto the pillow, and snorted.
"You're awake, too?" rumbled the feline without turning. Under the covers, like the serpent from the Garden of Eden, the tip of his tail sought out Raley's hip, caressing its side and Raley's knee, making him twitch.
"Yeah. Got an appointment at nine." He snorted again and wiped a trail of snot onto his forearm, then onto the bed. His nose was clogged, and he was drooling out the sides of his muzzle. How he would convince the Personnel people he was quality material was beyond him. He did not want to drink that horrible concoction.
Garow's weight shifted closer to the mutt, his body heat following the roll of his torso. All of a sudden, Raley could feel eyes on him, and the heavy paw as it landed on his chest and kneaded through the comforter. "Last night you said it wasn't mandatory. You were all, 'I don't need a stupid job.'"
"Last night was a lot of things," countered the mutt, concentrating on the ceiling rather than looking at the tiger, whose gaze was fixated on him but not accusing. Garow had that kind of gentle, unaccusing power about him; he could pull the truth out of you and make you feel good about it all at the same time. It was part of what had made Raley such an easy lay in the first place. "You had to know I was drunk at the club. You can't have expected to believe everything I said."
"I suppose not. If it weren't important to you, you wouldn't go."
"And we could sleep in and act like it's a real Sunday," said Raley. He vaguely remembered something Garow had said about his own job, how it was a normal nine-to-fiver like the mutt was trying for. Something in an office or cubicle, real boring like that. But it paid well. "Do you sleep in on the weekend?"
Garow pulled the canine closer, blankets and all, and nuzzled his head up against Raley's neck, giving his right nipple a gentle lick. Raley shuddered; feline tongues never got any smoother, even when he had a splitting headache. "Nope. I keep my normal schedule. It's an accomplishment when you can say you've been up for six hours and it's only noon. Most of my friends, on the weekend, don't start moving until three."
"You gotta admit, there are times when you can sit and do nothing and it feels pretty damn good." Raley moved his left arm over the big cat's shoulder, petting along a pectoral muscle so tight it was a wonder it didn't break the skin. The tiger had a body the mutt could never hope to come close to achieving, but that was fine. It was better to ogle and feel, anyway.
"I agree with that," Garow purred. He scooted closer, moving more of his body over Raley's, covering the dog's warmth with his, and Raley knew at once what he was doing. "There are better ways of getting out of bed early, if you're not a riser. The trick is to just get your ass up and walking. Most people lack the willpower to do even that." The blankets were thrown up between them, and the mutt felt pressure near his knee, grinding needfully against the joint. Garow was purring quite loudly.
Spreading his legs to push back at the cat with his knee, Raley finally rolled onto his side and looked at Garow. But the smile he had heard in the tiger's voice wasn't there... just a pair of studious opaline eyes on his, a little bit glazed over from lust. For a top, the feline could beg quite well in body language. The mutt lolled his tongue around in his mouth, feeling the fuzz that had built up during the night. The amount of alcohol he had consumed had been excessive, that was for sure, and he hadn't bothered to brush his teeth. They felt like sandpaper. And his head was still in that invisible vise. Garow's paw cupping his buttocks did seem to distract some of that away, though.
Raley offered, in half-hearted resistance, "You shouldn't be taking advantage of me like this, so soon after last night while I'm still in a precarious state of physical stability." Just changing position caused his vision to swim a bit.
"What, fuck you while you're hung over?" asked the Tiger, offering his nose up for a nuzzle and getting a lick for his trouble. It was almost fun this way, Raley mused, getting to know Garow again after not remembering what he did before he passed out. It was refreshing, and he didn't have to worry about putting up a front or saying all the key lines. After you've fucked someone, or been fucked by someone, there exists a certain familiarity.
"Yeah, that."
"You think this is my fault?" asked Garow as the mutt felt thick, meaty fingers close around his sheath. It was full, it was a piss-hardon, but it felt no less electric. Raley couldn't help the low moan from escaping his lips, albeit more gurgly than he would have liked.
"That is just part of waking up and being male, I'm hoping you know." The tiger didn't respond, except to hold Raley's gaze and his cock with equal grip. Except Garow's eyes couldn't gently stroke him, which his fingers were starting to do. The interview was starting to float farther away in terms of importance. But jobs paid money, and tigers didn't. If they did, it would be illegal. Still, he ground into the paw, feeling more of himself slip out.
"I remember other actions had the same effect last night." That was unfair.
"I don't recall much from last night."
"Too bad. Your neighbors called the police, you were moaning so loud."
"That would be the third time. I need to pin a note to my underwear that says, 'Do not let this dog moan while fucking.' Ohhh..." Garow had found the special spot near the base of his knot, the one that sent him over when he tied, and was clawing at it. "I told you about that?"
"You didn't have to tell me; I could see it in the puddle of pre you leaked once I found it and worked it." As if to reillustrate this fact, the tiger brought several wet fingers to his pink lips and lapped at them. And smiled.
"You're good. And bad. But as much as I--and my cock--would like to stay in bed with you, I need to get up and make myself a Prairie Oyster and try not to vomit before my job interview."
"What the hell is that?" Obviously, Garow had not had the distinct pleasure of trying to suppress his hangovers the morning after. While Raley couldn't exactly recall how much the tiger had drunk, it couldn't have been any less than him. He didn't even look phased, but then again, he had all that sexy muscle to soak up the alcohol.
The mutt took to pawing at himself while he explained. "You take a raw egg yolk, salt, pepper, Worcestershire sauce, and Tabasco, mix it all together and drink it down. And try not to throw up, because it's really easy to. It's supposed to be a surefire hangover remedy, and it works like you wouldn't believe, if you do it right."
"How many times have you had to drink that shit?" the tiger's muzzle was scrunched up so far he looked like a Sharpei.
"I'll plead the fifth, but I might as well make it a regular weekend breakfast."
"You're already guilty in my courtroom. But you're cute, and I forgive you." Garow started up again on Raley's hot spot, making the canine murr and lick his dry lips with an equally dry tongue. There was something about a nice sharp point right where it was supposed to be worked him up to no end, and it wouldn't take much more of that before he was convinced to stay in bed all morning long. His tailhole clenched, agreeing with him.
"You're awful," said Raley, offering his crotch to the tiger in a lewd and purposeful way. He was sure, at this point, that it hadn't been hard at all to get him into bed, if Garow used the same tactics on everyone he met. First of all there was that killer body. That was a meal ticket in itself. And his deep rumble of a voice had that melt-in-your-mouth quality the big cats so often do, the kind of voice that is seduction in itself if spoken close enough to a sensitive canine ear. Finally, when Raley brushed his paw down where the tiger's sheath lay, he was reminded of a very big incentive. He shuddered all over from the feel of it, his rear end reminiscing as well.
"You said that last night, right before I mounted you. I wouldn't go saying it again; elsewise you might be apt to repeat history."
"Whoever said I didn't want that?" asked the mutt, bending to nibble on one of Garow's nipple piercings. "I just happen to have an unavoidable appointment this morning, for a very important job, and if I want to continue to have a roof over my head and a bed to get fucked in, I had better start earning some cash." Searching for something witty to save face, Raley spotted a pair of brightly-colored Hawaiian boxer shorts on the floor, on the other side of the room. "Unless you want to take me in as your cabana boy."
Garow smiled and circled his fingers around the canine length, using its slickness against its owner's willpower. "If I knew you better, I'd be tempted to say, 'Don't tempt me.' You know how roommates can be. Freeloaders and druggies and such."
"You can trust me. With a cock like this, how could you not?" Raley accentuated his innuendo by grinding into the tiger's navel, getting a long stroke for his troubles.
"It does fit so very nicely in my paw. Aren't you supposed to be getting ready?"
Raley allowed that he really should be at least out of bed and moving around; like Garow had said; that was the hardest part. If the mutt treated this morning like any other morning--especially any morning after a wild night of casual sex--he would most likely end up being ten minutes late out the door and forced to break numerous traffic laws on his way to the oh-so-important job interview, on which his future financial stability rested. As coy as he could be on the outside, this really meant something to him. Garow would understand, and if he didn't, there was always next week. And if there wasn't a next week, there was always the next guy.
"It's hard to get out of bed when you're being jacked off by a hunky muscley tiger half-shrouded in your cum-stained bed sheets," Raley said, grinning. Garow's ears twitched a little at that, as if he were put off by it. He had to know he wasn't the only one to have fucked the canine that week. Then again, it was never discussed, but at the types of clubs Raley went to it was kind of expected. Wait a minute--who said it wasn't the tiger's own cum that had stained the sheets? The mutt found himself wanting to remember so badly.
Garow resumed his stroking and grinned once again, his eyes gleaming in the diffuse light thrown onto the pair from the lone dirty window behind Raley's back. For a few moments the only sounds in the room were the soft shrill chirps of morning wrens in the trees outside and the steady click-click-click of wet pawpads over raw flesh. There wasn't even any traffic to distract Raley from his pleasure, and the instant he let the moment get to him he knew there was no turning back until he sprayed all over the bed, all over Garow, all over something as long as he sprayed at all. Dogs were like that.
"If I didn't know any better," Garow was purring now, an evil type of purr, "I'd say you have a bit more time to spare than you think. You remember what I made you do last night, don't you?"
"It was amazing." Raley had no fucking clue what the tiger had made him do last night, and he was trying hard to remember through the hangover haze that clouded the frontmost of his thoughts. It was really bad this time; he couldn't remember shit. Usually there was something that would trigger a memory or a series of memories, an action or an expression or a smell. Was Garow that enigmatic or had the canine been just too smashed to recall even a single iota of detail? But he was smiling, and it was convincing.
"How about I do that again, and send you on your merry way?" A roving finger moved from the base of Raley's sheath down past his balls and teased at his hole, running a small circle around the tight ring and making the mutt gasp and bury his muzzle in tiger chestfur, whimpering and licking the piercing in Garow's right nipple. Hello, Hotspot Number Two.
"I...I think that would be an inevitability," Raley panted, the wag of his tail pitching and destroying tents in the comforter. Garow purred louder, pulling the canine up close to his hulking body, and ground that impressive sheath into his upper thigh. He felt a measure of fluid escape and soak through to his skin, and it was viscous enough to tell what it was. It took no stretch of the imagination, really. Raley had a feeling where the tiger wanted to put that monster, and he felt himself lifting his legs in anticipation. What job interview? If Garow was at all altruistic, the canine would be getting off and getting out on time. There were ways.
Garow used his knees to spread Raley's thighs farther apart, the sharp claw never leaving that sensitive spot. The hardest part was feeling the probing back there open him up so easily, much too easily, which affirmed one suspicion about the night before. The feline's digit sunk in to the second knuckle, and he stepped up his purring when he had the mutt fully impaled.
Raley was finding it much easier to let his partner control him than to try and steer things a certain way. While some people's bed manners benefited from a casual suggestion or exchange of innuendo to determine the action, the canine was satisfied to just let the tiger do his thing, at which he was proving to be very skilled. It kept the excitement, and--even better--it released Raley from the guilt of being accused of trying to be more domineering than he needed to be. In an odd sort of way, he trusted the burly tiger, and he was absolutely dying to see what had transpired last night to help him sleep off his drunkenness.
"You never get tired of this, do you?" asked the tiger, gently moving his finger around inside Raley with a subtleness that belied his appearance. He'd sheathed his claw, thankfully, but the nub of it still prodded up against the canine's prostate; each time Garow pressed there he felt another small jet of precum shoot the short distance from his cocktip to the tiger's navel, into which he was humping softly. He shook his head, answering the question.
"Not with somebody as good at that as you are." It was a second or two before Raley was able to catch his breath, pleasured as he was. "We don't have much time, in case you wanted to replace that finger with something more substantial." Smiling up at the tiger, he saw exactly what he wanted to see: lust wrapped tightly in masculinity and barely hidden from the outside. Garow wanted him badly; he could see it in the feline's eyes, feel it in the length under his tail, and it was palpable in the air between them. It reeked of sex to his nostrils, and all they had to do was one little thing to make it true.
"Now that's an invitation I can't refuse." Removing his finger (Raley whimpered and squealed a little, blushing at being such a goddamn bottom) and replacing it with a pawful of lube conveniently plucked from the bedside table, Garow worked up a heavy slickness on his member and its future home. Raley's tail fairly whacked the bed with anticipation; he sensed a lot of tension needing to be released, and not all of it was from Garow. "Ready?" The mutt nodded, and braced himself on his side.
The tiger was a bit rougher than Raley had been prepared for, using his sizeable thighs to separate the canine's own and shoving himself under his tail. But it was his eagerness that made it all the more worthwhile, because he knew he was going to get a thorough pounding. He felt meaty paws spreading his cheeks on both sides, and just smiled into Garow's ruffled stripy fur, waiting for the moment.
It was as if something had exploded immediately behind his eyeballs: the sheer force of Garow's entry sent uncontrollable shivers up Raley's spine and into his head, where colors both natural and psychotropic danced in his vision. There wasn't any pain; the lube and last night's exploits had taken care of that, but he did scream softly (if that was even possible) as his insides were pushed asunder around the tiger's immense ten-inch girth. Warm, moist air flooded over his flattened ears, Garow letting out the breath he'd been holding all this time.
"Oh, fuck, that's tight."
"I try to keep it that way," Raley managed through his efforts to stave off a climax that had suddenly risen from nowhere. He tried to be the hot dog who always seemed just out of reach but always attainable. It was his front, but it worked most of the time when he actually got the urge to try it on. But the more tigercock Garow pumped into him, the less he felt like being coy and the more he felt like dribbling all over the chest and stomach against which he lay.
Suddenly it occurred to Raley that this was probably an exact repeat of what they had done last night...that, shortly after wandering drunkenly home, Raley had gotten Garow into bed and undressed, done something dirty and unspeakable to get the tiger primed, and they had ended the night in either this or any one of a myriad of positions, the dog getting pounded into a whining ball of so much hamburger. How he could possibly forget something like this was way beyond his thinking, but he and alcohol had never had a good relationship. His hangover was pleasantly in the background at the moment, now. Take that, booze! The canine thought, fighting back the urge to giggle because that would just not fit his current position.
Garow took his time in letting the mutt get used to his length, but a guy like him could only last so long before the need to release reared its ugly head and his hips started to move of their own accord. Slowly at first, though, because any faster and the big cat would pop straight through Raley's intestines.
Raley, meanwhile, was nearly licking a hole through Garow's chestfur. With every slow, purposeful thrust, the tiger drove him up and down the sheet, the canine's legs clamped around his waist so hard they were trembling. Stars danced in Raley's vision; it was that one fuck among many where you separate almost totally from reality in disbelief that you're being filled so adequately, penetrated so deeply, held so tightly yet you feel as if the world itself is falling away and you're floating.
It was like he was back in the dream again. Only this time, his mother was mercifully gone from the scene, as was the cave and the water and all the rest of the nonsense. Just his ass, a giant cock and his own swelling knot mashed into Garow's navel.
"I...told you...we'd have time," puffed the feline, pulling back from a near bear-hug to whisper nose-to-nose with Raley. Though deliberate and timed, Garow pumped with force and gusto, caring little about penetrating the deepest recesses of the mutt's tailhole. His paws were on Raley's shoulders, and now one skritched its way down his chest to encircle his cock with deft, swelled fingers. Those fingers squeezed and relaxed, squeezed and relaxed, and with the motion of their bodies the dog crept ever closer to the crux of his morning.
"Are...are you...looking at the clock?" Garow squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, on the verge, and slowed down to give them both a bit of a breather. He shook his head. God knew what time it was, then; too bad Raley wasn't facing a clock, and he didn't really feel like trying to turn his torso from his pretzel-like position. The sweat was starting to itch on his forehead, and his tongue waggled about, throwing strands of saliva every which way. Raley was a dog in bottom heaven, given up to Garow's dominant demeanor, and the tiger had no qualms about putting his weight behind his movements.
Speeding up again, this time the feline was not nearly as measured, nor as altruistic. Raley had seen that before in other men; it was the final stretch where another buildup without a result was out of the question. For a cock as big as Garow's, it must have been difficult enough holding back this long. Wondering how long it had taken last night, the mutt's breaths became labored and shallow, thin raspy things that dried his tongue and lips. The paw on his cock was still squeezing, though understandably intermittent. Even without the added stimulation, the assault on his prostate alone felt like it could be enough to finish him off in no time.
"Almost there..." Garow's green eyes met Raley's: dilated, fiery, not hung over in the least. The tiger's hips were sending the mutt up the bed inches at a time and back down again; when this kitty decided to bone someone he didn't take any prisoners. Raley just couldn't believe he had been too drunk to remember such a thorough coupling, if that is what they, in fact, had done before. He had a feeling they had done something similar, judging by the feel of his tailhole before all this started, but it was still anyone's guess. It was all only speculation until proved otherwise.
"Come on, you son of a bitch, come!" Garow rasped, adding his own spit to the mess between their chests. The tiger's paw, slickened with Raley's copious pre (no doubt helped along by the cockhead pounding the life out of his prostate), slid easily over the canine's length even though it was wedged between their bodies, and through the haze of bliss from his groin the mutt finally made the connection. Glowing and intense, the tiger's eyes were focused on him and his undulating form, and he had been waiting! He had been waiting for Raley to go over so his tailhole could milk the seed right from Garow's balls. Even in climax, the feline had everything under his paw. A level of orgasm denial that high had to have taken years of practice to hone.
Raley almost couldn't speak; his ass was pleasurably on fire. "You...*huh*...you want me to do it?" Garow was nodding even before the mutt could finish the sentence, and the natural need to do what was asked of him (it only happened in bed, though; everywhere else he acted the stud unless he was trying to get in someone's pants) let him give up the last bit of defense he'd been holding against the tiger's paw. "Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuck..." He swore under his breath, splaying his right leg high into the air. Feeling the sudden swelling in his pumping fist, Garow bore down and stroked fast, knowing just the right pace to bring the canine off.
It was so close it almost could have been simultaneous. Raley barely had time to ride out the waves on which he hovered before the tiger pulled him in with painfully extended claws. Teeth fell on both sides of his left shoulder, clamping down and making the mutt yelp. That yelp was smothered by Garow's other paw as it was shoved into Raley's muzzle to silence him. It was like the tiger was claiming him as prey, even though they were both technically predators, but in the grip of climax the feline was almost feral.
Only when Raley felt the last of his release did he relax some. His back bowed in and he felt the mess he'd made matting both their bellies into a tangled mass of fur. Slippery as it was, though, it made for some pretty decent afterglow thrusts. Garow still had a death-bite on his shoulder, but his growl had turned to a roar and died off into heated wheezy panting. He released his mouth before taking his paws away, flopping backwards onto the bed and wincing as his back stretched to a more normal position.
"I just have one question," Raley asked the exhausted cat while clawing first one nipple, then the next.
Garow gathered his breath, flexed his still-buried cock and said, "Go ahead."
"Is that close to what we did last night?"
For a moment, the tiger merely stared up at Raley, his lungs pushing the canine to and fro above him. He was thinking, but he looked wide awake; what was there to think about?
"To tell you the truth, I don't remember what the fuck we did last night. I was so fuckin' wasted." That was just hilarious. Garow was telling the truth, because he had no reason to do otherwise. The mutt mused how ironic it was that they had both ended up here in the same bed, yet how they hooked up, got home or how good the sex last night had been--it all was gone like so much REM sleep.
Smiling, Raley disconnected gently and said, "That makes two of us. Well, if just now was any indication of what we're capable of in bed, then do you trust me when I assume that we had a good night of drunken sex?"
"I'm with you on that, brother. Hey, look." Garow pointed at the wall behind the mutt, who turned to see it was only quarter past eight. Plenty of time to get a good lather, a thorough brushing, and maybe even breakfast before he had to leave.
"You're good. Very good."
"Thank you. You want to shower together or separate?"
"I think I prefer to go it alone. More room to clean all my nooks and crannies." The tiger nodded and rolled over to collect a towel with which to clean himself. Raley headed into the bathroom to get the water going. Then it dawned on him like a ton of bricks: the hangover was completely gone. The muzzy feeling in his mouth, the low-grade headache, the stiffness, all of it. He felt...well...refreshed, somehow, as if being fucked silly first thing in the morning worked better than all the raw eggs and Tabasco in the world. Maybe it was a hormone thing.
Maybe it was a sexy tiger.
Raley bent to turn the water on, then took a look at himself in the mirror. That was surprise number two: besides being a bit disheveled from the bed, his eyes weren't puffy and bloodshot. That had always been a telltale sign of a wild night. No one would be the wiser. Good deal.
"I may not know what I did, but I sure know how to make up for it," the mutt chuckled to his reflection, which was beginning to fog up. The water was hot enough, and as he pulled the plug for the showerhead, Raley noticed a couple of things awry. Everything was still in its respective place, but he swore he didn't remember bringing his extra bottle of lube into the bathroom. He always stored that stuff next to the bed. And there was one more thing, something very odd...
His tailhole twitched.
Back in the bedroom, Garow was flipping through a magazine he had found on the nightstand when Raley came out of the bathroom with both paws full. He had a confused and slightly worried look on his face.
"Garow?"
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Um," stammered the canine, a crooked grin turning up the corners of his muzzle. "Why is my shampoo bottle covered in lube?"
FIN
2/19-3/31/07