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I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the roaring sound of the crowd fall on me. Most of the time it was just background music to me, like the white noise of a fan on while asleep. This was different. I was feeding off the energy, because I sure as hell didn't have any left on my own. My cream-colored paw flexed a few times; sure enough, it was still as numb as it'd been for the last inning and change. The ball spun and twisted in my fingers as I felt for the stitches with the pads of my paw. It was weird, really. As long as I'd done this, with as second nature as it'd all become, I could never resist the urge to extend and dig my claws into the leather for a better pitch.

Naturally, claw length was a tightly regulated affair so as to not give certain species an unfair advantage. In the early days of the games felines like myself dominated pitching. On a night like the game I was having, it looked like that old standby was true again. I wasn't throwing a no-hitter, but I was one batter away from a two hit shutout. I'd take that.

Up at the plate was a shaggy golden retriever, Louis "Miles" Hartnett. He was good, real good. It'd taken the front office idiots a few years to bring him up from the minor leagues, but I knew how dangerous he could be all along. They were probably talking about it up in the broadcast booth, actually; the fact that he and I were college roommates and played together. If they only knew how well Miles and I got along behind closed doors, or about our little bets...

If Miles had ever changed his batting stance a single tick, I sure couldn't see it. He _looked_like meant business. Miles took ownership of that plate by crowding it way more than any pitcher liked, and he was fearless; you couldn't brush him back. Hell, if you tried to go inside he'd usually just end up taking a trot around the bases.

I took a deep breath and brought the ball and glove up to my chest. The first pitch was a slider, and a good one. Miles didn't bite, though. As soon as the ball landed in my glove again I was leaning in, looking to see what Jones, my catcher, wanted. Fastball is what he signaled, and that was fine with me. Leg drive was good, release was a little off; the ball sailed up and away. I could feel the imbalance in my slender tail before anywhere else, just like any pro would tell you.

Miles offered a defensive swat at the ball. He just wanted to let me know that he could reach out and make contact, even if it was just fouled off.

Jones was giving me some stink-eye over that one, appropriate idiom for a skunk. He wanted a curve, this time. No way, I thought as I shook the suggestion off. Changeup? Alright, I nodded. That one was a beauty; diving down out of the outside corner and right underneath the swinging bat.

One more strike. The crowd certainly knew it, and they demanded it.

Jones called for another slider, which I shook off. Curve: shook off. I owed Miles my best: a strength on strength fastball. I finally gave a nod as the catcher figured out what I was doing. He set up low and away, but that's not where I was going to go.

If not for the adrenaline I would have probably would have been barely able to stand. My arm was going to feel like rubber the next morning, that was for damn sure, but I had one good one left in me. After a deep breath, my body went through the familiar, automatic motions. The fastball was pretty good, and it certainly had the speed I wanted. It also went right where I wanted, up and inner half of the zone. Problem is, it didn't reach Jones's glove.

The center fielder, Jimenez, took off in a full sprint with the alarming crack of the bat. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, was about all my mind could muster as I spun and watched the ball fly through the air. Jimenez was fast, very fast, even for a cheetah, and I couldn't tell if he had a shot at it or not. Both the fielder and ball were headed for the wall, and at the last second the spotted cat leaped in the air; extending a glove before hitting the wall and collapsing on the ground. Did he get it?

Jimenez got up slowly, and with a big grin he raised his glove into the air. The crowd went nuts and I couldn't help but pump my fist as he pulled the ball out of the glove and came running back to join the high fives and bro hugs that I was being mobbed with.

Tomorrow was going to suck, but that night was going to be magical.

*

Rodger's Park had always been a peaceful place to me. My normal routine was about a four K run through the green and wooded paths. My agent liked to freak out at the thought of my precious body being out in the real world and exposed to (horrifyingly) 'normal' people. Truth of the matter is that most folks didn't recognize me. Those that thought they did usually figured that Darryl Kinston wouldn't possibly be running around the park on his lonesome. On the occasion that someone asked me if I was me, I'd tell them yes...unless they seemed like the real creepy sort, of course.

I slowed down and came to a stop at a newsstand. After taking a few moments to catch my breath I snagged a bottle of water out of the cooler and set it in front of the clerk. The badger gave me a strange look. One of his bushy eyebrows went up, and he glanced behind him at a row of newspapers, then back at me.

Right on the front page was a big 'ol photo of me under the 'Kinston Tosses Gem' headline. I beckoned the paper towards me with a paw, and scribbled my signature across it with the pen that was there for signing credit card receipts. "Don't tell anyone, hm?" I said with a sly wink.

It was a quick jog back to my part of town. The cars and shops gradually got nicer, along the way. Finally, you started seeing well-dressed doormen standing in front of the apartment buildings. It was nice being able to afford space downtown, but I could never get used to having someone guarding my building like that. Girard was the usual guy, and the raccoon tipped his hat as he opened the door for me.

"Good run, Mister Kinston?"

"Very good! How's the day been?" I always enjoyed a little banter with Girard. The guy was a huge fan of the game, and I totally liked hearing his really bad opinions on things. It was even better when I was coming home from a bad outing.

"Oh it's been good, sir. Now go have yourself a nice night."

I smiled and gave the coon a hearty pat on the back and took the elevator up to my floor.

Something was off when I opened the door. My nostrils flared as a scent that didn't belong to me hit them. Canine for sure, vaguely familiar maybe... there was another smell in my home, too; someone had been microwaving some snack food. The fuck?

I took a few steps in and into my living room, and dropped my keys on the floor when I saw my old college roommate sprawled out on my sofa stuffing his face with pizza bites.

"Hey there, kitty" he said far too casually for a guy who had just broken into someone's house and was eating their food. Man, he looked good, too. He certainly had bulked up. Back in college he was doing the lean and mean thing, but now that he was getting a reputation as a slugger he seemed fairly content to fit the stereotype.

I folded my arms and raised a brow at the not quite unwelcome intruder. "How did-"

"I have my ways." Miles sat up and shot me a toothy grin. "Hey, listen man, they pay you _how_much and you can't do better than pizza bites?"

The joke got me chuckling and served to break the ice. I plopped down on next to the big retriever and grabbed a few of the morsels. "Yeah, well, I usually just eat out."

"Oooo, big contract life, huh?"

I shot him a scowl and tossed a fastball of a pizza bite at his face. Too bad he dodged it. "Goddammit Miles..." I smiled and kicked back, letting my feet land on his lap. "It's great to see you again."

He didn't skip a beat, and went right to work rubbing on my feet. Just like old times. The first few seconds were me being sensitive and ticklish, and then all my cares in the world melted away at my old lover's touch. The back of my head found one of the big pillows on the back of the couch.

I jumped a little as a claw moved across my paw pads. "Not fair that you get pink ones, Darryl. They're way cuter than mine."

"You'd know." I didn't share his fascination with feet, but I was never one to turn down a good rub. I was also never one to turn down the chance to make fun of his amusing-to-me fetish. Aw, hell, I was purring, which only got Miles grinning more. "Mmm, so why are you here now, all of the sudden? It's been years."

The swagger I knew all so well seeped through his smile (the shaggy, wagging tail didn't help). "Just wanted to hear you purr, again." The retriever gave my feet a pat and moved over towards my side of the couch, dropping a meaty paw on my chest. "Remember our bet?"

Really? Did he really go through all this for a silly bet? I_did_ remember it, of course. Whoever got the best of the other during our first professional meeting got the other's tail. I shook my head and chuckled, but there he was, looking right at me, snuggling up against me... he was serious. "Yeah, yeah I remember." I ruffled his headfur and smirked. "You must be a bit desperate for some dick."

"Yeah, I am actually. It's been forever. Bedroom?"

The retriever was up and heading for the room before I could even reply to his question. I wasn't about to hold things up.

A few minutes and some half-assed foreplay later and we were groping for the bottle of lube.

My tail flicked in anticipation as the cool lube spread across my exposed flesh. Miles had his chin resting top of his wrists; face down, ass up. I stayed on my knees behind him as I lined things up; wondering if his teammates ever noticed the manscaping he did around his ass.

I pushed forward and past the initial resistance. Damn, there was a lot of it, too. He'd gotten a lot tighter than I remembered. Then again, he was hardly ever on the bottom when we were going out; guess that hadn't changed much. Seeing him squirm and watching his face contort in pleasure got me going. Before long I was hips deep in golden retriever.

Miles's forehead bumped against the headboard and he let an enthusiastic, lusty grow fill the room. Good thing these walls were well insulated or there would be some irritated (or aroused) neighbors. I didn't give him time to get quiet, either. My paws found their way onto his flanks and I gave him just a small taste of feline claws as I rocked my hips back, then forward.

SportsTV had played a dozen replays of Darryl Kinston finishing a shutout, and the dejected look on Miles Hartnett's face as he flew out to end it. I guarantee that if they had a video of this matchup they'd be making a much_, much_ bigger deal about it.

I bit my lip and grunted when Miles offered a clench and a push-back. I returned the favor by leaning over his back and laying into him with a steady series of thrusts. He was _never_this energetic when he'd bottomed before. Should have made more bets with him.

Miles whimpered and writhed with every motion I made, and I had to admit that I just wasn't going to last long with this level of intensity. Making no bones about that fact I took a paw full of his neckscruff and slammed his face into the pillow; muffling the yelp my aggressiveness produced.

I wanted this to go longer, but was lost in the primal passions of instinct, and a few thrusts later I was over the edge. I buried my muzzle in his shoulder fur as my cock pulsed and throbbed deep within him, and he was mumbling something into the pillow that I wish I'd been able to hear.

Times like that I wish I had a knot. Miles sure seemed to revel in his. He took an almost disturbing delight in getting his cock stuck inside me, and I'm not gonna lie; I enjoyed that experience as well. Still, maybe one perk of not having one was being able to look down right after orgasm and seeing that cum-matted fur around his tail. I got to see that even better when I pulled out; which I did without warning just to get another exhausted 'merf' out of him.

I rolled off to the side and gave him a playful pat on the head before reaching down under his belly. Thick, warm fluid immediatly soaked into my paw fur, and I grumbled and rolled my eyes at Miles. "Seriously? You got off on my bed sheets? I was gonna blow you, too."

Miles rolled on his side, and felt up his own used ass with a paw. "Heh...you're just that good, I guess. Blow me later, let's go get some of this fancy take out you were talking about. After a shower, hm?"

I nodded and started to get up, but stopped and folded my arms. There was something I still needed to know. "Really, how'd you get in here?"

The golden retriever's muzzle curled into a big grin. "Your doorman is a River City fan."