Smoking in the Stacks
Nova-white pages, glaring in their intensity from the nearby lamp, started to blur together before Nathan's eyes. Sitting back, he began to rub his face while silently cursing the instructor who demanded pounds of research for each paper. Without seeing, he easily smelled the dust, old paper and cobwebs. Papers turning, the occasional cough, and footsteps filtered into his ears. When the bright spots in his vision cleared, the canine looked around the room.
Green hooded lamps sent a dull spotlight across the solid tables, creating pools of light in the otherwise dim room. A handful of students sat at the tables or drifted through the stacks of books on both floors. The center of the second floor was open, letting him see the skylights above that held twilight at bay.
When his gaze came back down, a pair of hazel eyes hooked his own.
The watcher wasn't staring because of the adjustments Nathan had made to the Elwoods Academy's overly drab uniform. No, the novelty noose tie was not what drew the attention. But no sooner had their gazes made contact, the other looked away, unsuccessfully hiding behind a book. Nathan could still spy most of the offender's face, wearing a paw-in-the-cookie-jar expression coupled with flattened ears.
Nathan knew when someone was making eyes at him. That look of attractive consideration when they sized you up. And the fact that the feline owner of that gaze was male didn't bother him all that much. The cat had a delicate, angular face colored butter cream, with an almond-slanted hazel gaze. Slim shouldered and dark haired, he was down right pretty, rather than handsome.
Sliding his chair back, Nathan slid out and walked beside the desks. Instead of directly looking at Prettyboy as he drew closer, the canine instead flicked out his tail and brushed it across the other male's shoulder as he passed. That tail gave another extravagant flop just before he turned into the bookshelves.
Sure he was flirting, but he was also bored and needed to walk around. If he stared at those pages any longer, the text was going to imprint itself on the inside of his eyelids.
Nathan turned left as he reached the wall, strolling deeper into the bowels of the stacks. The faint whisper of shoes not his own brushing over the boards caught his perked ears. While not knowing if it were his cat or not, he kept on. Intentionally he drew further away from the librarian's desk, towards the far corner, and found the back stairs that lead him upwards.
Once upstairs, he walked until he was satisfied that his selected spot was far enough from anyone wandering up. There he stepped inside and absently read book titles.
After a minute he felt the presence of someone behind him.
Withdrawing a book, Nathan pretended to read the cover while casting a side glance. Prettyboy stood at the other end of the stack, trying - and failing - to conceal his glances towards Nathan. Said peeks were tentative at best, too short to provide him with a solid look at the canine. The tom's arms were close to his chest, while his shoulders slumped, giving the impression of trying to shrink into the book case. From this close, the both of them standing, Nathan could tell that they were roughly the same height; five and a half feet.
Dismissing his own book back to the shelf, Nathan turned towards the other male. Crossing the distance under the guise of browsing the shelves, he stepped right in front of Prettyboy. Leaning forward, his hand settled on a book over the cat's shoulder.
Their eyes met. Both grew still.
Heavy footsteps sounded much louder to the two, making them both gasp. Nathan turned, becoming far too fascinated with a book on the history of some island nation he never knew existed. Prettyboy stood beside him, stunned.
They remained until the padded clopping of some large equine went down the stairs.
Nathan pivoted and moved ever closer, hovering a breath from the feline. Prettyboy inclined his head, leaned closer, and lifted a paw, settling it on his shoulder. A slight lean forward and their chests touched. Nathan could feel the other boy's trembling, spy how wide those hazel eyes had grown. Prettyboy's breath barely came out, held back for something.
Muzzles suddenly collided like two cars careening on slick ice. Physiology made it harder, what with a long muzzle trying to kiss a shorter one. Cheek-fur fluttered under the heavy huffing whuff from dilated nostrils in between sharp, snuffling intakes of air. A raspy tongue tried to break its way between Nathan's lips, the rough texture scraping over his sensitive skin.
A clawing urgency had leapt into the feline's body, sending him to grind the sudden erection up against his thigh. For a fleeting moment Nathan thought he was trying to make out with a mechanical bull.
Or maybe he was the bull and the tom was the desperate rider; the cat's paws were everywhere. Grabbing Nathan's shoulders, trying to rub his chest despite the fact they pressed together so close, dragging nails along the canine's back, cupping his ass, pushing into his hair, fisting his scruff. It was like Prettyboy couldn't get a grip on him no matter how hard he tried. And the longer he attempted, the more enthusiastic his pawing.
Somewhere amid all the distraction was a kiss.
Eventually Nathan managed to wrestle control, literally - he pinned the tom to the bookshelf. Pulling back his muzzle far enough to force the cat to pay attention, he brushed his maw underneath the other male's, letting a few stray licks lead up the tom's jaw and up, over his lips, saturating fur in the process. When the cat tried to snatch him up in another frantic lip-lock, Nathan ducked down again and bussed their muzzles together.
With his breathing purposefully slower, and his palmpad petting along the feline's cheek and neck in the rhythm of his breathing, Prettyboy calmed down.
Everything relaxed except heartbeats and erections.
Nathan stared back into Prettyboy's eyes, letting the moment linger. Then he drew his front closer to the other male's until the cat was trapped between the bookshelf and a rock hard place. Only then did Nathan begin the slow, intent grind, while letting his paw rub across Prettyboy's shoulder, squeezing.
A faint purr started to bubble up out of his partner's chest, and the canine let his tongue loll in a lazy grin.
With a patience that his cock fought every inch of the way, Nathan leaned in and sank into a more contained kiss. Cats were an all together new thing for the canine, and his tongue explored the inside of Prettyboy's mouth, initially along the inside of the short muzzle, before he started experimenting with the famous sandy bumps across the new tongue. It was odd, scratching at his taste buds and yet like an intense touch on something sensitive, he wanted to keep pushing even though his body said ease off.
Once satisfied, Nathan let up, coaxing the now tamed paws to touch him. That Prettyboy did, taking like a boy on Christmas to the canine's body. Like before, the tom's paws were everywhere, but the second time the pace had changed. Regardless, the strokes and squeezes were sloppy, uneven, and completely new to the cat.
Nathan showed him how it was done.
Beneath his pads, the feline's body was smooth and sleek, his chest soft, and his hips easing outwards in a faint bell. Nathan imagined him naked, an androgynous slip that, with a little gussing up, could a downright effeminate and sexy. His paw on Prettyboy's ass only added to the fantasy. Beneath his kneading, the tom squirmed and pushed his backside into the grasping palm.
The eager slide of hips side to side frotted their restrained dicks together through the troublesome censor of clothing.
Nathan pulled back out of the kiss and caught Prettyboy's eyes. A show was made of his paw, pressed into the cat's chest and dragged downwards, first the palm, then the fingers, setting the rhythm before letting it sink lower. The stomach beneath his paw tensed, and the tom's hips bucked upwards even before Nathan's hand passed the bottom of his stomach.
Ever the cruel tease, Nathan diverted his touches, letting it slide across the feline's thigh, much to his victim's panting chagrin. Then up they snapped, digits wrapping around the feline's shaft as best they could with the clothes in the way. Squeezing down, he could feel the flesh jump slightly in his palm, seconds before Prettyboy sucked air through his teeth and sent his pelvis in an excited lurch. The rough loop of his fingers hooked underneath the tom's tip and gave a little tug.
They panted together, Prettyboy's breath barely outpacing the canine's, their mouths inches apart. Nathan was about to stop, to let Prettyboy free of his uniform slacks when the cat's body seized and pushed hard upwards. A sudden stuttering gasp escaped features folded in on themselves.
Prettyboy pulsed around Nathan's hand, and wetness spread in a steady rush. Sex stunk up the air, the smell of musk spiked with the flush of fluids. Surprised, Nathan just kept going, working the cat's shaft until the tom's tension melted and he sagged against the shelf.
Leaning forward to help him get steady, Nathan lingered, squeezed before taking a half step back, his paw remaining on the waning cock beneath the wet spot. Half-lidded eyes, hazy from the endorphin rush, peered back at Nathan in a look that was unintentionally sensual.
Prettyboy's eyes leapt open. He straightened up, features growing wild with something Nathan couldn't place. For all the world he looked like his tail had been slammed into a door. A whole body twitch pulled Prettyboy away from him, and the cat gave one frantic look around, then back to him.
Prettyboy slugged Nathan.
The punch hit him in the cheek, jerking his head back more from surprise than power. The actual punch had been panicked and more a forceful slap with the knuckles than any force applied behind it.
For a moment both were still, Nathan turning a stunned look upon the equally shocked Prettyboy.
The cat broke first, pushing Nathan out of the way and bolted out of the stacks. The canine could hear quick shoes thumping across the wooden stairs in a fearful sprint.
Nathan stood with a jaw just starting to ache, a still-throbbing erection pushing against his slacks, the scent of sex clinging to his fur, and a dumbstruck look on his open muzzle as he stared at the path Prettyboy had cut.
* * *
Lying in bed, Shay twisted in circles, inevitably staring at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. Questions he didn't want to answer leapt into the foreground of his mind despite his best attempts to deflect onto a better topic. Guilt was inescapable, as was the arousal that accompanied his reflections.
The next day was no better. He stumbled through school in a stupor, partial exhaustion coupled with the discomforting thoughts of the night before. Somewhere in there was a pop quiz he bombed, but Shay couldn't muster the focus on anything for very long, or enough gumption to care.
Up until he left the gymnasium and spotted the canine playing tennis.
Tight white shorts and the matching breezy shirt presented every lean facet as his mystery boy prowled out to swat the oncoming ball. He was graceful and swift on his feet. Shay couldn't quite place his particular breeding; the boy's coat was a browning rust, shot through with beiges and grays, and cream along the front like a coyote. Despite his height, the canine's body was lean muscle, and solid at shoulder, chest and hip. His muzzle was stouter and those eyes - he remembered the steel hues staring back at him - were intense enough to be a wolf's. A mix maybe?
Someone bumped into Shay, a mink yelling at him to stop blocking the path. Shay stumbled and then proceeded to jerkily walk towards the tennis courts. It wasn't until he had his fingers hanging on the chain-link fence around the courts that he remembered he'd punched the other male. Guilt and sudden uncertainty swallowed him up; why would this guy want to talk to him?
Turning away from the courts, he started back towards the path when someone called out, "Hey you!"
It was him. His stomach seized up in a knot as he turned to watch the canine wave to his partner and walk towards the edge of the court. A water bottle was snatched up as he stalked closer. Shay stared as the canine showed a pink flash of tongue while water splashed across it, matting down his muzzle and saturating the fur as he desperately lapped.
By the time the canine reached the court's gate, his collar and face were wet, and he still panted in the sun. "Come here."
On wooden legs Shay came forward, then inside the court as his mystery man opened the gate.
Looking him straight in the eye, the other male said, "You hit me." There was no offense in the words, no fury, just a simple statement like he'd commented on the weather.
Shay looked away, his ears folding back. "Look, I'm sorry. I just, I don't know what came over me-"
"Yes you do," interrupted the wolf.
Shay's head snapped up to find the canine's hard steel eyes on his. In defensive tones, his words skittering back. "But I'd never felt that-"
"Yeah you have."
Trading his racket into his off hand, the boy slugged Shay square in the chest.
Air exploded out of his lungs and his legs crumpled beneath him. On hands and knees Shay tried to swallow oxygen, but his chest ached hard.
Dimly he was aware of the other male's knees. "That was for hitting me." The words were very close to his ears. "You know exactly what happened. You're just scared. No matter what the shitheads who'll call you a fag think, there's no shame in it. You like dick, you like dick; you don't, you don't. It's that simple. When you can pull your head out of your ass and admit to whatever, get back to me. My name's Nathen; I'm in Crutchfield Hall." With that, the knees disappeared from his field of vision.
As he managed to stop wheezing, he watched as the canine walked back onto the court. Despite himself, Shay was quite aware of how the shorts clung to Nathan as he walked away.