Homecoming
Homecoming by Athalon> The early moon, its soul retched and hollow, cast the lonely, low, November sky - a lost and sodden orphan, thrashing and struggling - into the reckless, restless waves of the cold North Atlantic. I shivered, helpless, in the loneliness of the raw evening breeze, small and exhausted and sore, and tugged the oversized school jacket closer about me. My long ferret tongue tasted brine on the adolescent cinnamon guard hairs of my muzzle, which newly poked through the softer, orange baby fur there. The sea twisted and ached, unknowing and unaware, lashing like an anxious tail at the cruel, uncaring sky. My eyes burned from staring, sightless, across the black water. And from the salt spray, too.
Tears formed for these, and other reasons I just couldn't begin to understand.
I hadn't stayed for the football game, tonight, though. It was the last lineup of the year - homecoming - of my first year in high school.
And everything was going terribly wrong.
I had just failed my math test - again. And it was getting dangerously close to the point that I wouldn't even pass the class at all. Another first, for me.
My parents wouldn't have to kill me. They wouldn't, not even lift a paw. I'd take care of the shame and guilt all by myself.
For some reason, high school was just so much harder than I expected. Not that I didn't try hard enough. I spent too much time studying - certainly more than my friends - trying to please my teachers and my parents, all wound-up and tied in tummyknots worrying about it. My stomach hurt, and I didn't feel like eating, sometimes. Most times. Yet as hard as I tried at school, nothing seemed to be helping.
And my parents were having problems, too. Grown-up problems: a sort I don't understand. They'd just gone off on vacation to 'find each other'. That left me at home with my older brother Anews. Anews is cool: I didn't mind that at all. I just, well, couldn't figure out why they were both traveling alone. And to different places. To 'find each other'. Huh?
Maybe so they wouldn't yell at each other so much.
I wished they'd call once in a while, though. Maybe at bedtime.
And perhaps friends would have made it better. But the junior-high friends I'd had, they were now all into going out and partying. Being with girls - all mature and grown-up and stuff - and going on dates and kissing. I was pretty much the only one left behind. (I didn't understand about having a girlfriend - well, how to have a girlfriend, really. Or even think that I wanted one. Just something about it... I don't know - I couldn't figure that out, either. But, anyway...) When all of my buddies would get together, I was the one who was never paired-up, off by myself. They ignored me - or it seemed like that, and I felt just as left out as if I'd had sense and stayed home, instead.
But I'd gone to the game, that night, anyway. I didn't really want to, but my 'friends' would expect it. Not a good reason, I know. Better than staying home, anyway. Maybe I'd get a bite to eat there: I bribed myself with that thought. I caught a ride-in, with my older brother, who would be meeting his friends.
It was Anews' last year of school, and his last homecoming game. He was excited, eager to go hang out with his friends and cheer the team on - they'd actually had a winning season, believe it or not! But as we unloaded his stuff in the gravel parking lot beside the field, Anews paused to squat down in front of me. He straightened the too-big jacket on my small shoulders, and gave me a nice brotherhug. And then he stopped short, looking concern into my eyes.
"Are you sure you're all right, Athalon?" he asked, worry forming fuzzy ridges in the soft, blue fur above his short feline muzzle. He glanced around furtively, as if to check if anyfur was watching us. "Ya seem like ya might, ya know... have a fever or something."
"I'm ok," I assured him, lamely. He knew me; he'd see through it, I was sure. I almost wanted him to. "Just a long day in school. Long week. School." Not exactly the truth. And I felt bad lying to my big brother, guilty. But neither did I know what to say; nor what was wrong, either. I couldn't find words to fit to the hurt. Everything seemed all mixed up and tossed together. My tummy even queasied when I just thought about it.
"Ok, Athy. But if you're not feeling well, listen: I can take ya home..."
"No, I wanna stay and see the game," I insisted, trying to seem calm, mature. A small whine was sneaking its way into my voice. And I was suddenly disgusted with myself, too, realizing that I sounded just like a kit.
But Anews simply grinned, licking his muzzle, and said, "Ok, Athy," gently, as he ruffled the thick blond fur between my ears. "But if you start to feel bad, I want you come and get me. Or go climb up in the truck and lie down for a bit. There's a nice blanket under the seat so you'll stay warm." He unyoked the lanyard from around his neck. "Here's the extra keys. I've got the other set in my pocket, but don't lose these, lil' Squirt."
Lil' Squirt. He still thinks I'm a baby, I said to myself. Why can't I ever grow up?
Anews rose and turned, hiked up his snug jeans. Mine are looser, near to falling off, but his are cool in a way, too. Flexing his strong arms, he hefted the sloshing, rattling cooler of beer from the tailboard of the truck, and set off, his tail frisking about, to look for his buds. Beer was totally against the rules at a football game. But Anews didn't worry about such things. Ath worries: Anews just lives.
I wandered around by myself for a bit, checking out the school band tuning up, the TV crew getting things ready, dads grilling burgers and stuff for the the cheerleaders to sell. I pawed the change in my pocket, enough for a tonic, too, I was pretty sure.
Then I spotted my friends. They were in the highest row of bleachers, all laughing and joking, rolling about and hanging off each other and their girlfriends. Matt and Tommy kissed their girls, and then turned, and gave each other a big, warm hug.
And that did it.
Somehow... I realized I just wouldn't ever be part of that. I would never, ever, really belong.
The world went suddenly quiet, as I shrugged inside my big jacket. I could hear the heavy fabric slip against my fur. Things around me moved, silent things, things I didn't see. My belly got real loose, like I might have an accident right then and there. I felt myself leave the game, paws dug deep into the pockets of my jeans, and head down, my Doc's crunching and scuffing on the gravel shoulder of the highway. I didn't know where I was going. There weren't really any thoughts threading through my head just then. My paws, cold inside the stiff, hard leather of my boots, simply marched, obedient to a command I couldn't hear.
The ursine growl and draconic roar, of the frequent big truck soon masked out the deep-throated cheers, and brassy music from the game. The wind off the ocean picked up - or maybe it was because I was clear of buildings and stuff. I got farther and farther from school, still feeling nothing, heading nowhere that I knew. Just heading. Nowhere.
Escaping. Running towards. Towards what?
I imagined being on one of those trucks; riding, forever and forever. On and on, mile upon mile, like the unceasing crunch of my boots on the gravel. On and on. Out of touch. Free: not needing anybody. Not caring about being loved. About being...
My paws stopped, so suddenly that I almost fell. My insides got all watery again, and my paws went to my beltbuckle. No, not even running away would help. Nothing would help. Nothing ever helps. I listened as both the trucksounds and the gameroar retreated to whispers. Vision tunneled down to a tiny, centered orb of despair, and my knees failed me. I hit in an avalanche of gravel. Clutching my sore belly, I prayed in vain for a vomit to find me.
A quick, shaming ralph in the bushes, a sweaty-cold wipe-up with the back of my paw after - that would have been welcome. I would have been left feeling better, anyway. Better than I was. I thought to stuff my tail down my throat, make it happen. But the warm weakness and empty, purged feeling that follow were denied to me. Some sickness, the kind that roots in your heart, you just can't be rid of that easily.
I stood unsteadily: better for to recover, if I couldn't just be sick. The weather grew colder, the biting chill finding its way up the arms of my jacket, down the back of my neck, as I waited. November wind howled through the hollows of my soul. Dark, empty, cavernous places, where light never shows, and evil things crawl off to a wet, nasty death, in a shifting, shadowy miasma.
My boots had somehow grown heavy, cemented where I stood, sunk into that invisible mire creeping from my soul. But rousing my cold paws and stiff legs, and giving my muzzle a shake, I abandoned the shoulder of I-95, and dogged my way out across the dunes. It would clear my dizzy head, I figured.
I like the ocean, sometimes - even though salt water can kill a ferret. Maybe that's part of the beauty: the danger, the risk. To stand looking out at something you can never have, and dreaming about daring to try. Not caring that you'll surely lose. That loss will cost you everything.
I like the ocean.
I'm so afraid to try.
It didn't look like it would snow, I noticed. A sad thought. My boots squeaked in the sand, in countertime, as I tried to rouse myself. But then a sad thought wouldn't be lonely in my head tonight, I mused, trudging off again. At least the bracing sea air was helping - strong, astringent on my tongue, and in the space under my ears.
If nothing else, snow would have been pretty. I tried, actually finding half-a-heart, to hold onto that image. Pretty, until the melt and the mud had their way with the pure, virgin powder. I shook my head, sadly, to clear it away.
And, I realized - it didn't even seem like a storm coming. A storm would pass overnight, to leave the morning crowned with bright azure peace. No, not even just a nightstorm.
It was winter on the North Atlantic. Nothing special.
Just being a teenager. Nothing to worry about.
Endless square miles of desolation and despair.
The sea and sky didn't disappoint me: I wasn't really expecting to be cheered up, anyway.
And I thought about school, about the possibility of failing my math class. Probability. Hell, it was gonna happen - I was too honest to hide from the truth for long. Was trying as hard as I knew how, too. But it still wasn't enough. I used to get straight A's, once. I didn't even want to think about how all my other grades must be suffering, along with Math. And I was always so tired. No energy to fight harder, try a little more. The ship was sinking in heavy waters, and I was too weak to swim.
And I kept getting sick, too. Twice that week I'd had to come home, for a shower and change of clothes. My tummy burned like hell sometimes, too, and not just after shaming myself like that. Eating only made my insides worse. When I actually felt like eating, that is. I imagined dragons in there, gnawing me to pieces on the inside, while my life fell apart on the outside.
I thought about Mom and Dad. I hadn't told them about me being sick, or about school. But then they had their own problems. They were heading for divorce: it was obvious - I'm not a kit, whatever anyfur thinks. I'd even heard it from another fur in school - small New England town, and all, ya know. And even then: what could I do, anyway? They're grown-ups, and I'm thirteen. I can't possibly be expected to fix their problems, can I?
I wished I could, though - fix it. Fix... them. I wished I could do something, anything. I expected it of me; I did, anyway. Wanted to help - needed to make it work out, somehow. Needed to keep them together. Oh fuck - I was afraid of being left alone, with nofur at all. And nothing I did ever seemed to help at home, either. I tried so hard with that, too. But still nothing ever did any good.
And I thought about Roger, the cute yellow stripey tom who'd been my best friend for two years. We used to do everything together, and eat each other's lunches and and sleep in each other's rooms, too. He had the best smile, bright and honey-sweet, showing cute little white fangs. He always made me laugh when we were together.
And then he'd just up and moved away last yule.
With no goodbye. No new address.
Nothing.
"Better that way," I imagined him saying, pretending to be a soldier, a Ranger. "Clean break, hurts less." He wouldn't look me in the face, either, not even in my imagination. Where there was once a warm, shy feeling, suddenly cold, sharp rocks in the angry tide.
Death, She hunts in such places.
And without a goodbye or a call, too? I could never figure that one. Does a friend really do that? I could hardly believe that he'd say such a thing, even in the space under my ears (where the saddest of memories and the voices from dreams live). But less could I believe he'd actually do it.
But he did.
Perhaps I had just simply imagined he was gentle: maybe it was all in my head, all along. And that confused me more. It wasn't like we'd even swapped a hug or a lick on the nose - he's not like that. But it seemed sort of the same: loss, cutting to the heart; endless; eternal. Made my head throb to think about it. And my belly tremble, paws clutching to still it.
Sure, his parents had gotten a divorce. His mom was really messed up, too. It wasn't his fault he had to leave. Not his fault at all.
Of course it was. It hurt so much.
Would he really do that to me?
I shook my head again, hoping to clear it - bad choice. Blood pounded, and a swimming wave of dizziness followed. Snot throbbed behind my muzzle, and across my forehead, bringing tears. The icy seabreeze braced me, sudden as a slap, as I pulled in through my nose.
I trudged on.
Roger might have helped me with school, with girls, I told myself. Yeah - maybe. I needed him, more, to be with me, be my friend. Girlfriends might not matter so much, then. He'd help me with school, too. Maybe Algebra wouldn't have been such a disaster after all.
And... he'd have been there for me on that near day when my parents come into my room together. Sad and serious, and most carefully not looking at each other. To whisper that we need to have a little talk, Athy, a grown-up talk...
He was the first furry besides my brother that I ever loved.
My boots halted all on their own. A small, strangled cry escaped my muzzle.
Yeah, including my parents, maybe. The only one.
And he was gone now.
The wind was silent, listening.
"...if he were ever really my friend, in the first place..."
I nosewiped with the back of a paw, scrubbed tears away with the pads. At least I wasn't gonna sick-up now. Or something. The roll and thrash of the black water, throwing back angry slivers of light at the scowling moon, ignored a small ferret, standing alone on the beach.
I had tromped, paws thumping in dull resonance over the heavy, sodden sand, steadily up the lonely beach; skirting the low, wild cranberry bushes; ignoring the ocean spray and the penetrating, permeating cold; keeping between the shore and the dunes. I tried to imagine this walk - taking a walk like this - in the springtime. But, funny: I couldn't remember what the beach looked like in daylight just then.
Damn: I just should've gone back to the highway instead, I thought. But on I continued. Killing waves tracked me to the left; and dunes, sandhills beneath the blank stare of age-smooth, uncaring boulders, and the scowl of low limestone cliffs, on my right.
And darkness, abreast me, in the middle.
I was growing frightened - gradually - step by step, and breaker on breaker as they crashed next to me. I tried to remember the game; my classmates back there. And why I was trudging all alone along the barren, frosty, winter beach in the middle of the night. My buddies all had their girlfriends. They were always crazy about one furry or another. Whenever a pretty vixen or foxy bitch in smooth, ass-tight jeans would walk in front of them, they'd go absolutely nuts! They'd act crazy, or show off, or play-yiff, or do silly stuff. And whatever it was - and whatever they were feeling - it just wasn't in Athalon.
Plain and simple: not in me anywhere, not at all. Not even a little. I didn't even know how to pretend.
They'll surely notice, I realized.
When I even thought about it - like, tried to imagine how it might be - I ended up sick. Or sicking-up. And sad. My stomach churned like the ocean beside me, and sweat broke out under the fur of my face. No surprise, really.
I couldn't even imagine being like that. Yiffy for somefur. With somefur. Whatever could be wrong with me?
I'd just settle for a nice friend, I wished. Somefur warm. Somefur who loves me. A stripey yellow tom, with cute, white fangs... An innocent lick on the nose...
A slap like cold brine. Again.
I wished Roger hadn't moved away - gotten mad? - what?
"Why?" I asked the waves. "Why?" The sudden, angry shout was swallowed up in the wavesound of the eternal ocean. Swallowed up entirely, without even a trace. "Why?" a small ferret pleaded.
And no answer. Athalon wishes too much.
The beachsand was cold and wet through my jeans, and I realized I was sitting. Couldn't remember doing it, either. The sigh of the ocean was no deeper than my own.
An unquiet rumble brought my paw to my side. My stomach had been hurting more and more, lately. Less and less eating, and more and more trips to the sandbox. Sometimes on my knees, too. I hadn't wanted to tell anyfur, complain about it. Maybe I was getting seriously sick, on top of everything else. And somehow I couldn't remember ever feeling really well.
Couldn't even remember. And I was so tired, too.
The fierce bite of the ocean breeze through my light jacket, and the oppressive heaviness of sea and sky were soon too much for me. My nose was numb and stuffy. And runny - whether from tears or a fresh cold, I couldn't tell. The fur on my muzzle and face was sodden and matted, freezing to ice. The tender muscles in my legs were stiffened from the long walk - longer, perhaps, than I'd ever taken - and from the cold seat in the wet sand, too. I was hungry. Or thought I should be hungry: I was just too drained and exhausted to tell.
A vague whiteness to my right, confused and grayed, forlorn in the gloom, marked the seawall above which sheltered our house. I made my way carefully across the dunes - darker, now, with the passing of the moon - dragging numb, heavy paws, to the foot of the rusty iron balustrade, railing the stone steps cut into the face of the cliff. With a sigh, and a deep breath heaving my chest, I began to climb.
The kitchen light was on, small and chill, when I let myself into the silence of the house. Anews probably planned on staying out late, enjoying a last homecoming party with his friends. And he hated to come home to the dark. It was warmer inside, too, though I was so frozen through by the long seaside walk, that the inside of the 'fridge would have seemed even pleasant. Still, the quiet seemed grave, heavy; my home - alien - wholly familiar; yet aloof, unregarding.
Indoors, I hugged myself. And shivered.
The keys on the lanyard 'round my neck rang briefly, as I flipped the cord over my head and soft, fuzzy-round ears stiffened by cold. I tossed a mug of cocoa into the microwave, then stopped by the bathroom for a sudden, chill-shivery pee. Which seemed to go on forever, me standing there with the lights off and the door open, the night silence of the empty house and the distant ocean murmuring beneath the quiet tinklesound.
When I'd done, I went to my room, found the light switch. I stripped off my jacket and boots. They were both cold and damp to touch - and needed cleaning, too. I set them out, near the softly ticking radiator, to dry. It was just Anews and I at home tonight. And so, hoping that I'd get warm faster, I laid aside my shirt and pants, too. I padded out into the darkness of the hall, to fetch the hot drink, in my dark plaid flannel boxers, and gray woolen socks. I yawned like a shark, floofing the wintery sea air from my fur.
I cradled the cocoa gingerly between my paws, into Dad's private library. I don't know that it's really the warmest room in the house, but it seems that way, sometimes. The floor, and counters, and the shelves lining the walls, are dark polished wood. The tables and candlesticks gleam in the mellow light from the jade-shaded lamp and hurricane lanterns. I love the rich, strong smell there. Bookbindings and pipes, oil and polish, expensive leather upholstery, and a lively, crackling fire. A warm, furry, male smell. The fireplace was empty and dead, now; the thick, soft rug in front of it, a shallow, featureless flatness. But the fascinating fragrances of that favored room searched out my stuffy snout, lay siege to my dark broodings.
Setting my mug down by the big leather chair, I dragged the lap robe off the little sofa. What called me to this room stood, like a saint in church, high on the shelf by the mantel. A beautiful cut glass decanter, simple and chaste, filled with sweet brandy that tasted like orange medicine. It glowed with that magical color that I always dreamed my fur would be when I was full-grown. A precious potion of some wizened mage from a fairy tale.
I laid to, and pushed the library ladder towards the fireplace. It rolled silently on soft, rubber wheels over the hard, smooth oak floor. I climbed up, the carved wooden rungs of the ladder tickling my bare paws. That stuff was so warming when I was cold. I reached down the bottle, carefully, and sat on the countertop, to pour some into a small glass. The odor came up beautifully to my twitching nose, like blossoms in spring and orchards in summer. That stuff was so warming when I was sad. I added in a little more. Would Dad notice when he came back? So nice when I was sick. Nah. And lonely. I dosed it out again.
Stoppering the decanter, I climbed down with my prize. Even in the distant, reflected light, the magic fluid glowed warmly, dimly; secretly alive in the small glass in my paws. Enticing. Its very scent blazed; a fire, mellow, exciting. I climbed up in my chair, curled my tail 'round me comfortably, snugged the lap robe into place, and collected my hot chocolate.
I was set.
The first sip of the wonderful orange drink was awesome! (I coughed, though. Like always.) Warmth and love flowed out from my tummy, and filled my paws and my tail, thawed my poor, sore-frozen snout. I lapped up a little more, slowly, waiting for the cocoa to cool, and enjoying the wonderful, magical fire of the drink. My stiff legs were beginning to feel better, and my nose wasn't running anymore. And all the strange, confusing thoughts that chased me home, they seemed to have gone to haunt some other fur. The knots in my chest and belly, the worry and fear - they were each losing their hold as well.
Then I heard the kitchen door open.
"Hey, Athy? Are you home?" Anews called.
Oh, shit! I thought. Anews is pretty easy-going. He wouldn't tell on me, I knew. But he'd probably kick my ass if he caught me drinking. And I'd deserve it, too. So I did the first thing that came to mind. I gulped that whole glass of brandy, coughing and spluttering in the heat to finish it all.
"Ath? Where are you, buddy?"
The next thing that came to my mind, now a little more than confused from panic - and the brandy - was that Anews might come in the room, and find me smelling like cough medicine. It would be only too obvious what I'd been up to. So, again, with the first thing to come to mind: I snatched up the mug of cocoa, now just cool enough to drink, and gulped it down.
I was quite well and warm by this time! And feeling rather...
"There you are, Athalon! What happened at the game, Squirt?"
I hopped up, filled with sudden energy, and spun to call out a casual, "Hey, Anews..." And my butt hit the floor.
I tipped back onto the hearthrug, and somefur turned out the lights.
"Wake up now, lil' bro. Wake up!" Anews was shaking me gently. I opened my eyes. And got a relieved lick on my nose, for good measure. I was propped up on the small sofa, in front of a goodly fire, crackling brightly, and with lots of glowing coals. My mouth tasted like socks, and my head was fit to burst. My paws tangled in the blanket wrapped around me, and I struggled, meeping helplessly, to free myself.
"Here, take these," he said, as he sat beside me. The aspirin went down ok, and the cold water tasted beautiful. He smiled, and fussed with the lap robe, tucked it in all around me. I was relaxed and warm. But suddenly not comfortable, as I remembered. Not at all.
Anews gave me a hug - friendly, yet brief, hesitant. "How long have you been going at that stuff, lil' dude?"
I was caught. My muzzle dropped, and I nodded my guilt.
"Since they left," I answered, in a tiny voice, as I stared at the blanket. "Mom and Dad." It was true. Or close enough. Maybe a little longer.
"Jeez, Athy. You really did it to yerself. What were ya thinkin'?"
"But, Anews...! I..."
I tried to say that I was cold. That I was sick from the walk on the beach. I tried to say that I was sad and angry and lonely as hell - and just fucked up beyond imagining. What I managed was to put my arms around Anews' neck, and shake with sobs, like a silly little kit. Anews held me, and kissed my cheeks and forehead and muzzle, stroked my back and headfur, my little ears.
He let me cry myself out, which took quite a long time. Then wiped me up with tissues. And reminded me to blow my nose.
"It'll be ok, lil' dude." He wasn't cheerful, not exactly. Patient, rather: that's it. Understanding.
He left me to rest for a moment, and brought in a tray, heavy with cheeseburgers and tomato soup. Anews cooks pretty good for a big brother - I'll never complain. I didn't want to eat, still felt a little sick after my cry. But once he'd gently encouraged a few spoonfuls of soup into me, my hunger took over.
While we munched thick, juicy burgers, Anews explained the rest of what had happened that night. He and his buddies got busted by the cops for having beer - (told ya so, Anews!) - and so they took their party down to the beach. When he returned to the school to pick me up after the game ended, he couldn't find me. Of course. I bet he was really worried. Somefur who had seen me leave gave Anews the tip, and my bro put it all together (he's really smart) and came home right away.
He didn't make me feel dumb for leaving the game, to hike back alone. He even seemed amazed and proud that I'd walked all that way in the cold. I didn't see the point. I'll never do it again, anyway.
I told him that I was glad that he'd come home to find me. And I was, too. Being miserable is bad enough, and worse when you have to do it alone, too. I was feeling warm and safe, now. And finally comfortable, too.
"Athy," Anews began, cautiously, when we were done, and the plates piled in the kitchen sink. "What's up with you and Dad's brandy? You're too young to be doing that stuff, ya know..." He lay on the hearthrug, muzzle resting on his paws. His cateyes glowed in the warmth of the firelight.
Ouch. There it was again - you're too young, Athy, you're just a little kid. Shit. And from Anews! Why did I ever trust anyfur? 'Specially my brother. Why did I trust?
I snugged the lap robe to my chin, curling up as for sleep. Suddenly angry - sure I was - like a snake had just popped out of the bushes at me. But I truly didn't want to fight, just then. Was simply too tired to fight. Helpless, like it wouldn't matter, anyway.
And it was all just starting again, everything going wrong, wasn't it? Just as soon as I feel snug and safe and warm, like tonight, there's that awful push from behind. The floor falls out beneath my paws, and I'm drowning in a cold, killing sea. I was afraid I'd cry again, too: afraid Anews would see me. Strangely ashamed. My cheeks burned, and eyes; so did my tummy. Tomato soup was a bad idea. I just wanted him to go away, and leave me alone.
Instead, Anews came over to where I was lying, gathered me against him, blanket and all, and kissed the top of my muzzle, tenderly. "I'm sorry," he said, his eyes moist and shining. "I know what it's like. You're pretty much alone, aren't ya? At school, and all. At home, too."
I gazed up at him, at the soft, furry line of his jaw, and the warm, fluffy fur of his cheek. Nodded. A tear started down my own cheek, syrupy-slow and thick with grief. I didn't want to be angry at him - goddess! why was I angry all the time, now? I nodded again, just wanting to feel close to somefur. A soft whine started in my throat. I licked my own muzzle, needy.
"I saw some of yer buds at the game. You weren't with them. Made me wonder. Then I remembered how you never have any friends over. No visits. Or sleepovers. Not since, oh, that cute yellow boykit..."
"Roger," I provided, blinking at tears through my shiver. How did Anews know? Why did he remember, let alone even notice?
"Yeah, I forgot his name, there. You guys were... best friends, right?"
"Yeah," I agreed, sullenly. We were. Had been. I hoped. Bestfriends.
Anews studied me from the corner of his eye. "Cool. It's great to have a warm, soft, furry friend you can trust. I've got lots of buddies and stuff, ya know. But... the ones you can talk to - I mean, really share - they're special."
I nodded, wishing I still had somefur like that. Ever had somefur like that...
"You talked to him lots? Roger."
"I guess so..." My paws had gotten all trembly, and my face hot. I supposed I might start crying again, feeling the loss of my best friend. Bestfriend. Hoped to, maybe. Somehow, I felt closer to Roger when I cried. Anews' big paw held both of mine, a lifeline, secure.
"If he were here, I bet you'd have lots to tell him..."
My nose twitched, eyes leaking again, as I ticked off stuff in my mind. Yeah, Anews. Yeah. A whole list of stuff.
"Like about Mom and Dad?" He glanced at the blaze of the fire, own fear shining in his eyes.
"Do you think they're gonna get a divorce?" I asked suddenly, sadness and a strange hint of resolution, in my voice. I knew the answer. Even the guys in school knew. It couldn't be long, now.
Anews nodded his head, his small, pointy ears softened with grief. "I guess yer not a little kit anymore. You need to know..." His paw squeezed mine. "Athy, they told me before they left. They're off together - this vacation-thing - to try to work it out. Try, one more time." He sighed. "And if it doesn't work... then - that's it."
He struggled with himself, his tail lashing the floor as he fought. And lost. "Yes, Ath: they're gonna get a divorce," he sighed, at last. There: it was out. His head hung, heavy with relief and the pain of what he'd just admitted. To both of us.
I didn't cry. Anews did, though. A little. I held him, and petted his soft, blue fur, while he shook and wept. It really wasn't a surprise to me, after all: the divorce. Mom and Dad tried to keep the yelling and nasties to a minimum, I think. To protect us, Anews and me. Or maybe they thought they were trying.
Not really a surprise at all.
Anews sniffled, and wiped his nose on the back of his paw. "We'll be all right, Athy. It'll work out. I don't know what will happen. But I'll always be your brother, and I'll always be here and take care of you." He kissed me on the muzzle again.
I nodded, and he gave me a big hug.
"I'll take care of you, too," I promised, squeezing him tight-tight. I felt tears swim beneath my lashes.
And I would take care of him, too. Needed to. But there was a bright, brief spark, the pinprick of painful honesty - damnit, Ath! learn to lie - and sadness inside. I knew I was still too young. Just too small to ever give Anews the sorts of things a grown-up might need. Oh, I'd try: I'd love him. But in the end, it would just not be enough. As hard as I'd try, it just wouldn't work. Just like my parents.
I sighed against his shoulder, nuzzled, blinking a small tear onto his neck. It darkened a spot on his thick coat, lost in the rich blue fur. Like our shared sadness, common and ordinary, lost in the endless, heartless ocean of the world's woes.
"Look at us," he said, grinning bravely. "I'm crying like a damned kit, and you're all covered in sea salt. Yer fur's a mess! Mom would kill us both if she saw you like that! C'mon, I'll brush you down."
And with that Anews left for his room, returning with a big, soft catbrush. How odd, I thought: I'd been brushing myself since I was seven or eight. Anews certainly hadn't brushed me since I was kit: it's sort of a private thing. But I was more than preoccupied, wondering about Mom and Dad, and what they were doing at that very moment, to give it much thought.
"Ok, Ath. Why don't you lie down on the hearthrug. It'll be nice and warm there, and I'll have space to work on ya."
Doubtful, yet docile, I slipped from under my blanket, warm enough now that I didn't really need it. I lay down on my back in front of the fire. My tail searched out a comfort spot between my knees.
Anews carefully turned me onto my tummy, stretching my muzzle out before me, and brushed out my golden blonde headfur. I began to murr quietly as I relaxed, drifting; letting go of the sadness that hounded my dreams, and harried my waking thoughts. He brushed and stroked over my shoulders and back, pressing firmly with the other paw, drawing out my pelt as he flattened me against the rug. The murrs came slower and sleepier, as he worked his way towards my tail.
Heavy waves of soft, liquid sleepiness that always follow a good, drenching cry were stealing over me. The heat from the hearth kneaded my tired flesh. And Anews' brisk brushing and stroking, the slow rhythmic rubbing and scritching, opened me to every sound and smell: the sweet, fragrant crackle of the logs; the soft hiss of the catbrush; the deep, warm purr of Anews himself, humming quietly as he worked; the rich, male scent of his fur.
"Mmm," he purred, interrupting his steady, unceasing stroke. "Ath. Yer tail... It's pretty messy. The sand and salt got in your pants that way, too. I really need to take off yer shorts, to get in there and brush you out good. It won't upset you, will it?"
I giggled, a warm, comfortable boysound, and squirmed a little, as Anews pulled away the elastic of my boxers, and freed my tail from the hole in the flannel. We're brothers, and had prolly seen each other nakey a few times. But nofur every ran around our house like that, ya know. Yet when Anews' strong paws had slipped the shorts off me completely, I was still sleepy, and mostly relaxed and comfy. The feeling of trust would have been wonderful, powerful, if only I were really awake enough to really feel it.
It almost made me laugh when the brush first touched my bottom! I'd been doing my own brushing since I was a kit. It felt a little silly, but only a bit - well, maybe more than a bit - as my brother groomed my fur. Gingerly at first, then growing more firm and comfortable in his strokes, he cleaned away the salt and beachsand from my little butt, and short legs, and wide, sensitive paws. Anews worked all the way down, and back up again, before returning to my tail.
My big brother sat on the floor behind me, his legs between mine, and his rear paws on my bottom, trapping my tail between his knees. He started on the tip, brushing quickly, as the silly tail flicked about ticklishly in his paws. His strokes became longer and longer, slower and deeper; working upwards, clearing away the salt, and whispering through my thick fur thoroughly. My tail had almost given up its embarrassing twitching, and I was murring loudly, helplessly, as he reached my base.
And when he held me high in one paw, and began to brush my tailbase, where it joins my spine, I suddenly hunched back and up - completely by reflex, what a surprise - shooting my butt into the air like a rocket! My tail poked straight up. First time that had ever happened to me!
Anews chuckled, and I imagined a kindly smirk upon his sweet, feline face. He gave my tail a squeeze. "It's OK, lil dude," he whispered, "yer just growing up! Nothing to be embarrassed about."
Before I could even begin to be embarrassed, or even to figure out something funny to say, my muzzle piped out an involuntary eeep of discomfort. In bucking backwards like that (what a funny thing to do!), I'd scrubbed my sheath firmly against the rug beneath me. Owies!
I hadn't been thinking about anything yiffy, I swear. It just felt so good and all, all the brushing and scritching and stroking. And I guess I was just a little, ya know, turned on by it. But I wasn't, like, humping the carpet like a dog, or anything. Anyway, with that funny tail reflex, I'd stroked myself against the rug - and hard, too - pinning my small, young ferretness in an uncomfortable position underneath.
Anews noticed quickly. "Sorry about that, lil' dude," he chuckled knowingly, grasping my problem, and sliding a paw underneath my belly. My breath caught. He carefully raised my hips from the hearthrug, freeing my trapped sheath. He drew my knees up under me, so my tail and butt were sticking up in the air, to make it easier for him to brush me, and keep me from yiffing against the floor. I murred, and relaxed into the new position.
I suppose I looked really silly just then. But the long walk and the strong drink, and the hot cocoa, and the delicious supper, and the cry and the hugs and the wonderful attention, and all the stroking and brushing - I didn't care at all.
It felt like, like he knew me, inside and out. All over.
Warm. Accepting.
Like Anews loved me so much, nothing could ever be awkward or embarrassing or dirty.
He continued at my back and my bottom and my tail with that too-wonderful brush, taking long, smooth strokes from my ears all the way to my tip. Anews brushed under my tail, too - a tickly surprise which caused me to giggle! Nofurry had ever touched me there. (Glad I'd had a shower after school...) He worked his way along my spine, and up to my ears for some delicious ferret-long strokes - nose to tail - purring quietly to himself while I wiggled and squealed and sighed under the pleasure.
Anews draped my limp tail carefully between my rear paws, then stood, and padded to the kitchen. I heard him draw a glass of water from the crock by the sink, and he called back, "Ath, do you need anything?"
I was honestly so relaxed and wrung out, mellow and comfy, that I just couldn't answer. I hoped he wouldn't be upset that I didn't say anything. But truly, I couldn't have moved a whisker if my entire fur depended on it. Resting on knees and chest in front of the fire, all warm and delicious, with my nakey little bottom in the air, I churred to myself, a sleepy smile on my furry face.
Anews returned to the den; his soft, feline paws padding, the quietest of noises, upon the polished wooden floor. That's how relaxed I was: I actually heard catpaws! He set his glass gently on the table (which, again, I heard, rather than saw), and soft, furry, sliding sounds told me that he was...
"Sorry, Ath. I had to take a break. It's sort of warm in front of that fire. And brushing a four-foot ferret is no easy chore." Anews laid his soft flannel shirt over the arm of Dad's chair, and his jeans, too. I was going to peek, but I was sure he still had his boxers on. Could smell the tang, sweet-sharp and very male, of his damp flannel shorts. And Anews, too. My head got light, a fuzzy rush.
He padded over to me, then knelt, and resumed the brushing. A few more strokes here, and there, and the other place, renewing my murrs and the wonderful feeling of perfection in the moment.
And it was perfection. Math tests didn't matter anymore. Nor silliness about girls. Or friends at school. My insides felt as good as my out, and my tummy didn't hurt at all, now. Even the stuff about Mom and Dad - well, Anews said he'd take care of me, and nothing else seemed to matter just then. Just me, my brother, and that brush flowing smoothly and expertly over my fur.
"Ok, Athalon," he said, smacking me lightly on the bottom. "Turn over, now. Gotta do the other side."
I stopped in mid-murr. And eeeped. I was relaxed, and warm; feeling fantastic! - so it could have been much worse, I suppose. As it was, I only felt a little flutter inside.
"Turn over?" I was nakey, ya know... Didn't Anews realize that? But maybe it didn't matter, I added. It'd be ok. Really...
"Mmm-hmm..." I imagined his kind, ironic smirk, as he stared at my naked butt, waiting for me to obey.
I lifted up on my forepaws, and poked my head under, for a fast visual of my ferretness. All was in order: nothing to make things awkward. Although it was looking rather plump, I thought. And giggled.
"Go for it..."
Anews helped me roll onto my back. As relaxed as I was, moving seemed like some medieval torture. I didn't actually hurt, though; just seemed impossible. So my big brother turned me over, gently but firmly - like an innocent kit - and spread my paws to the four corners of the goddess. He mrowed (one of the few times I've ever heard him do that, curious) as he lay me out before him, and then he set to work with the brush again, cleaning and slicking and stroking my face and muzzle and ears.
I struggled my dark, round eyes open; gazed up into the bright, shining cateyes of my big brother. He knelt, strong and powerful (wonderfully so nearly nakey, too), beside me. It was so fitting: so right. And so warm and safe. So trusting. I reached out, and my paw found the soft, blue fur of his thigh, and lay where it fell, scritching gently. I stroked him, craving, needing to give in return, the silky fur slipping under my pads. The smile on his sweet face was augmented by the sound of a deep, happy purr, and he bent down to nuzzle me tenderly. He licked my nose. I felt like we were joined, somehow. Joined together.
I never wanted it to end.
My soft murrs were again filling the room, growing, while my attention was on other things. But this time the sound was stronger - I don't know - deeper. More grown-up. Wilder. I was lying there, all sorts of flang-dang; naked, yet unashamed; open and strangely bold, under my brother's eyes; meeting his gaze, and grinning unshyly; while I squealed and murred with pleasure at the best brushjob I'd ever had. Anews, smiling and singing to himself, worked carefully over the twin ticklespots between my forelimbs and chest, and groomed his way over my ribs to my belly.
It wasn't the first time Anews had ever rubbed my belly. We're brothers: brothers sometimes get up to belly-rubs with each other - everyone knows that. No big deal. But this time - this was certainly the best!
How do you describe the delights of the world's best tummy-rub? I don't know. But there's nothing better. We laughed together, and wept. We hugged. Time stood still, and we spent a score of summers chasing and playing in the deep, green forest; a century sharing the huddled warmth of a winter blanket; I writhed, unselfed, under his huge, strong paws. I was weak and trembling with joy, exhausted, spent, when he paused, grinning, and licked his muzzle.
Anews found the brush again, and resumed his downward journey, the soft bristles hissing through the hairs of my coat, down to my flanks, and across my sensitive, still-tingly belly (oh, heavens!), reaching the insides of my thighs. So relaxed was I, that even the ticklespots there didn't tickle, but radiated warmth, and peace, and well-being.
His touch was firm, male. Primitive. A brother's touch: meant to please (and oh, so good at it!), and yet not excite.
Pleasure in trust; trust in pleasure.
Love.
And yet it was exciting. In a way.
Not yiffy. Not really.
(I mean, not totally yiffy.)
But alive. So alive. Like being born, or something. Opening my eyes in the birthnest that first time. The oval head, and half-round, fuzzy ears, the pointy muzzle, the sight that first tells you who you are. Like...
Anews chuckled. He'd raised my footpaws to his thighs, spreading my knees, and was brushing me, now, on the short fur around my sheath. I didn't meep, not at all. If trust were a fluid, I had already drowned - and most willingly. A sudden murr escaped before I could nip it, as the stiffsoft bristles caressed beside my small ferretness (and not just beside), tugging gently at the fur, whispering soft promises of pleasure. My big brother just chuckled again, and brushed lower, smoothing the coarse, musky fur of my sac. I heard him sniffsniff, and sigh. His other paw nudged and nestled, smoothing and teasing, as he gently and carefully cleaned me.
Anews moved lower, again, brushing out the salt and grit that had gotten in around my tail. And below. His paw moved underneath, to lift me, my thighs easing farther apart.
I giggled. Not shy... Surprised, though: at the warm, open, receptive sort of feeling. It took a while, with all the sand and stuff, and I lay back, eyes closed, basking in the radiance of the fire, and the heat of Anews' unseen gaze. This is the best, I thought. Unnoticed, he let my tail sink back to the floor. And the brush started its way up my underneath.
A few more brisk, brief, sizzling strokes between my legs, and Anews' brush found the sac again, warm and trusting and loose and supple. With the lightest of touches, the greatest of care, he attended to me there, moving delicately, casually, to my most private sheath. I was exhausted of murrs, and received what he gave in silence; open, transported beyond myself, dissolving away as a cloud before the merciless sun of summer.
"Umm, sorry, Ath," he gigglepurred. "I guess you're really growing up, ya know?" I raised my head, and unstuck my eyelids, to smile and gaze proudly, lovingly, into my big brother's warm, shining face. And instead, almost bit my tongue off, at the near-screaming pleasure, as my maleness pushed its way - smoothly, pleasurably, and very wetly - from my sheath. Anews was looking right at my tip, all purple-red, and glistening in the firelight, quivering with the rapid skip-pattering of my heart. A steady, appalling stream of crystal spooge had begun to leak out, and a dark pool was forming in my tummyfur. I slapped my paws together over my shame.
"Oh, Anews! I wasn't thinking about yiffy stuff. I wasn't: I swear!"
Anews giggled. "It's ok, Ath. It just happens sometimes." The smirk on his sweet face was all love and understanding. Yeah - he'd never let me forget this, I knew.
But I wasn't really all that upset. Still pretty relaxed, even embarrassed as I was. Anews pushed my shoulders back down onto the hearthrug.
"Lie back, little dude," he said. "You'll turn into a hunchback grabbing your 'nads like that." And he giggled again.
I lay back slowly, obediently, my paws dropping meekly to my sides. I could feel the cool air, and Anews' eager gaze on my wet, exposed tip. A final surrender. Still kneeling between my legs, with my footpaws on his knees, he looked into my eyes. And in that moment we were joined, it felt, like nofur had ever been.
Millennia bowed, to wait.
I didn't quite understand, as Anews licked the pads of his paw. Then I felt him circle my tip, and pull my sheath away from my belly. My eyes were wide, and my fangs, bared, as he closed his paw around me. I wanted to scream, to pee, so intense was the feeling on my exposed self, until my flow of boyjuice had managed to wet Anews' paw enough.
He watched my eyelids sink to half, heavy with pleasure, then began a slow stroke on my ferrethood. Which popped my eyes open, again! I never imagined anything could feel so great! Another stroke, and I watched my redness appear, with a sucking squelch, from the blue fur of Anews' paw.
I looked up into his face. There was concern behind his joy, and he said to me, "Hay, Athy? Are you ok with this?"
I nodded, swiftly. "Oh, don't stop, Anews. Whatever you do, don't stop!"
Anews smiled. "Don't pretend you've never pawed-off, lil' Squirt," he said.
I shook my head, trying to keep my tongue from between my fangs, for fear of actually biting it. The strokewaves of pleasure were turning to tension, my muscles tightening. My tail twitched and thrashed between Anews' footpaws, and my butt lifted from the rug.
Anews' eyes got big. "Damn! Really? Ya gotta be kiddin'..." His squeeze on me got tighter, his downstroke more forceful. I prayed his pawpads would stay wet. His other paw slid under me, under my ass, spreading underneath and around my tail. I felt his tail tie with mine, trying to restrain its spasms.
I dropped into a steady, deep murr, a sort of pant, as Anews' grip tightened further. He smiled radiantly down at me, licking his muzzle in the cutest way, and stroking over my tender length faster and faster. Wherever this was going, it wouldn't have long to wait. My jaw locked, and my claws gouged the carpet, and I moaned loudly, for Anews leaned forward, giving me a final touch with his tongue, as I slid through his fist, and over the edge.
My ass tensed like I couldn't imagine, and I jerked upward, murring (if the roar of a jet plane were a murr). I panted even louder. Anews' paw had slid to the base of my ferretness, and forced me roughly back to the floor. His other paw was waiting, though. And pushed suddenly, penetratingly, against my tailhole.
I howled. I know ferrets don't do that, but...
I howled!
A zipping rip whizzed through my straining dick.
I howled!! Tiny licks of wet, white spooge leaped over the top of Anews' stroking paw. He purred, loudly.
I howled. His pads were suddenly so wet, so deliciously smooth, that I didn't care if the world ended that minute. I yiffed hard against his fist.
I howled!!! Anews forced me back to the rug, and the wonderful slippery-slick pawstrokes became a slow, rhythmic squeeze. My ass throbbed in countertime, gripping at Anews.
I howled, as I gave myself to him. Released myself into his paw. Spooge offered, heart opened, I delivered my best for him.
With chest heaving, I raised my head to find my big brother Anews smiling joyously down at me. His fur was the most beautiful shade of blue I've ever known, and his eyes held... rightness. I didn't fear for a second that anything was wrong. Nothing wrong with what we'd done. No guilt, no shame. Just love. Trust. And the wetness shining on his paw, and the wetness darkening my bellyfur. Just love. Trust.
A gift between boys. Between brothers. Something special that the whole world couldn't take away.
I leaned forward to rise. I wanted to hug him so badly. But Anews shook his head slowly, and my footpaws gently slid to the floor, at the brushing sound as he lowered his shorts. I gasped - never seen him that way before! I hope that I'll be as big as Anews, someday. His spoogeslick paw slid noisily over a kittyprick three times a long and four times as fat as mine. Huge! The muscles in his chest and arms worked, faster and faster under his smooth, tight pelt. His tail, free of mine own now, flailed and tore about, knocking over fireplace tools and scattering pillows.
And then, Anews, my big brother, grinned at me. With love in his eyes when they met mine, with yiff unashamed as they roamed over my naked self and musky, exposed ferretness. And tears. Understanding, and acceptance, and peace with each other. Peace with love. Comfy.
A warm, enveloping comfort - that's what joined us. Fused us. Freed us. I wasn't at all ashamed, or shy, but strangely, suddenly, proud of myself: of me, of yiffiness - of my very own yiffiness - and the spooge-slimy coating on my plump sheath and dripping from my red, exposed maleness. Anews watched me, his pleasure nearing pain, writhing the sweet, smooth fur of his muzzle, as he pawed himself to a finish. His whole pawfist was dark with spooge, which ran down over his marvelous swollen catsac. I gazed at his balls, gaped, mesmerized by their size. By the ultimate symbol of his big-brotherness to me.
I almost didn't have time to realize my own selfishness. But when Anews' eyes rolled up, his chestpelt tightened, and his muzzle dropped open, I knew I wanted to help - needed to be part of his joy. Now! His purr turned into growl, turned into roar. I gripped his thighs with my own, pressed his footpaws with my own, as I caught his tail in both paws. His long blue tail fought and wrestled, as I hugged it to my chest. Anews' shiny-red catcock, dripping his juices and mine, trembled and glistened as his paw tugged and stroked it. And suddenly I knew what I wanted.
My tongue shot out. And, as if yanked magically by my tongue, I tried to sit up, clutching Anews' marvelous tail, and hauling at the tail, and with my belly muscles. I was still too relaxed from my own come, too weak for sit-ups. My tummyfur pulled from mats of drying semen. I lifted my short ferret tail for leverage, and it wedged tightly between the firm, flexing catcheeks of my big brother's pumping ass. And when Anews mrowled, I knew I'd never make it. I surrended, dropped my shoulders back on the hearthrug, and stiffened my tail, pressing its love firmly into Anews' tailhole.
Pulsing waves of spooge rolled from his enormous catprick, covering his paw in thick, white goo. He yowled, and mrowled, and gripped my tail inside him, as jets of his marvelous kittyspunk began to spew wildly about. In moments - long, growling, shuddering moments, as he yowled and mrowled and sang the sacred hymn of feline yiff - I was covered, coated, absolutely concealed in thick, shining catcome. My thighs were drenched, and my 'nads and sheath covered with warm, slippery cream. My little red tip, still yiff-curious and poking out, twitched as Anews' richer, heavier load rained down upon it. It was envious, I'm sure, insisted on adding its own tiny dribbling contribution. Spoogeshot after spoogeshot covered me, chest and belly, arms and throat. I was covered in love!
I realized I'd stuffed my big bro's tail into my mouth when my tongue wasn't gonna reach its prize. It gave me something to nibble on, to keep me quiet. I nursed briefly on it, watching the waves of yiffspasm subside in Anews' bigger, maturer body. His maleness still moved within his paw, and dribbles and wads of spooge plopped and pattered to the floor between his knees. Goddess, I hope it can be like that for me, when I grow up.
I kept his tail in my mouth, until he opened his eyes. I think he had trouble seeing, as he shook his head, and tried to focus. Then I removed the tail, smiling in spite of myself. I felt so happy, so content. So comfy.
"Wow, Anews! That was cool!"
"Hi, Athy. Athalon." He was still panting, trying to catch his breath. "I guess I shouldn't call you that anymore. You're not a little kit anymore, anyways..."
I managed to lever myself up, letting go of Anews' tail, and using my paws to lift me. My tail was still in Anews' keeping, and he moaned, and his beautiful prick danced and dribbled goo at the added pressure on his tailhole. I gazed at it, huge - so delicious, distracting - and almost had to bite off my long ferret tongue again. For there was something else, something more important instead - Anews. I hugged my big brother so tightly, pulling him down onto the soft, deep hearthrug. He eeeped (and so did I) as our spoogey-slick tips met and slid alongside each other. But he raised up on forepaws, and smiled down at me, looking deeply into my eyes.
"I'm so proud to be your little brother," I said. "You always take care of me. And make me feel good. Make me feel cool and grown-up and stuff. I like what I am when I'm with you." I was starting to gush, and tears found me. "I love you, Anews. You're my best friend ever!"
I wish there wasn't such concern in his eyes, just then. But he smiled, and licked me on the nose. "I love you, too, Ath. Being my little brother hasn't stopped you from being my friend, too. You're so smart, and you tell such neat stories. I love listening to you, and being with you. I'm proud of you. And I hope I might get to be like you, someday."
"Really, Anews? You want to be like me?" I couldn't believe.
"Sure. You're really cool! For a lil' bro, that is." He tickled me. I giggled and tickled back. Anews laughed, and stopped tickling. He lowered his muzzle to mine, and rubbed my ears, nudging gently with his nose until my mouth got the idea and opened. Then things got all warm and wet and sweet and dreamy. I even thought I might get an erection again. But it felt so good and warm, and whole and complete, lying there with Anews' heaviness on me, his furry body covering me completely, his tail snuggling next to mine. Somehow, it wasn't yiffy anymore.
A fire banked to embers, to last the night through. Just... comfy.