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Chapter 13: The Dawn

Roger stirred, but could not move very far. He was the first to wake, and he could still hear soft snoring above him. He had no recollection of what happened when he previously woke up, but he understood now that the wolf had been sleeping atop him, pinning him unintentionally to the ground.

He felt his face flush as he came to the realization, already having been extremely warm from the body heat. Indeed, it was such a heat that woke him; the sun was yet to come out, it was still dark outside, but it seemed to be in its approach.

His eyes adjusted accordingly. He could look around the room, but there was no purpose in it. He could not turn his head enough to look at the wolf, since the wolf was close to him already. He felt trapped in this situation. He was definitely not strong enough to remove the wolf.

A moment passed, and then he realized something. The wolf had not worn a shirt to bed, so if that situation had maintained, he would not be wearing one now. Roger moved a paw nervously and slowly up, finally touching the wolf's side. He confirmed that the wolf was without a shirt.

He blushed furiously, not having been in such a situation before. His breathing was strained, and it soon became erratic. He began to wake in mind and body, his flight senses kicking in, but the wolf made no reaction. He wanted desperately to escape, but he knew he could not. The best thing he could do was try to wake the wolf up.

He attempted to squirm, but to no avail. He then noticed something that he had secretly been dreading.

Since it was the morning, something else awoke aside from himself. He did his best not to move his waist, so as not to aggravate the situation, or worse, make the wolf notice it. The blushing did not stop, but rather got worse. He did not want to associate this event with the lust that grew in him as it often did in the morning.

He clamped his eyes shut and attempted to think of other things, things that would distract him and dissuade his bodily functions. He thought of school, of class, of tests and homework, of his family, of the wolf's family, everything that had happened recently. No luck.

He thought of his hobbies, his games, books, television shows that he hardly watched, the movies that had come and gone from his view. He thought of the football that had been practice, the tackle and the injury.

Yet, as he thought of that, his mind went back to being held up for that moment, the calming noises and whispers the wolf had given him. His mood lightened a little in response. He thought of fainting and waking up, seeing the wolf to the side. He had been taken care of by someone he hardly knew.

He reevaluated his opinion of the wolf atop him. He was a good friend, even if the fox had not been much of one. He was caring and did not want to see him injured. The fox no longer felt trapped.

He brought his arms up slowly and shakily, moving them to the wolf's sides. He placed them there, feeling the fur in his paws, and then held Hunter. He let out a soft sigh, accepting the situation as it may have been, and realized that this may have been the only time he could do this, since Hunter was too unconscious to know, and the fox did not want it known in any other case. He felt a little guilty.

The stirring in his loins did not abate, however. As he held the wolf in his arms, it exacerbated the situation. The feeling was stronger, and he cursed himself in his mind. The blushing returned. He knew the feeling would not be fleeting, so in his attempt to attach it to something desirable, he thought of the vixen in school, as he usually did in such times.

He could not think of her name for he did not know. He saw her face, her eyes, at least from the corner. They never looked at him directly, and he could not envision it. He saw her clothes and her books, all surrounding the body of which he could only imagine, yet even then so, he could not imagine it. He attempted, but it was fuzzy, blurred. He sighed.

An image flashed in his mind, one of the wolf from the day prior, after having seen him walk out of the shower. The wolf was fairly burly, as the case were with many of the football players. He was muscular; not too much so, but it definitely showed. Indeed, he also felt it under his paws, the muscles that felt that they had been under much duress.

He thought that that torso was now the one pressed against him. His lust surged momentarily, and for that he felt a pang of guilt. He released his hold of the wolf in protest, but it was too late. He warred with himself in his mind.

He knew he felt something in himself, something undesired. He tried to force it out of his head, thinking of anything that he could. He thought of his friends, but his mind would return to Hunter. He thought of home, where he could be safe from these things, the small portion allotted to him, his room. It was indeed his haven, but he was far from it. He became nervous again.

It went away for a moment, but his mind returned. He heard a soft rumble in the wolf's throat, a struggle to release, a demurred murr.

He looked forward. His head was free for the most part. He could rest his chin on the wolf's shoulder. He gazed about. He became more conscious of Hunter as his mind returned to where it once was not but a minute ago.

His urged returned. He gave a very low whine, a show of how he felt, yet he kept it short and silent so as not to disturb his friend. He moved his arms back to hug him one last time before he attempted to wake him.

His face flushed as he held onto the wolf, smelling the soap that had still kept a scent from the night prior. He also smelled the wolf in it, and in such a thing he acquired his identity. He felt himself stir again, in his place of lust, and he whimpered to himself. There was shame in his actions, in his thoughts, and he could only but blame himself for it, but at the same time he did not have the willpower to deny himself at least what little, fleeting enjoyment he had from such an abnormal situation.

Roger gave a sigh, let his arms fall to the side abruptly, and then squirmed. Anymore and he knew his desires would make themselves apparent, manifesting much more physically than he would hope. He knew that if that were to happen, it would be much more shameful and awkward than the alternative, of which he chose.

He shook the wolf and called his name in a normal voice.

The wolf woke.