Afterglow
Author's Note: The following story contains adult themes and if you don't want to look at it, then...well...don't! Otherwise, whip it out and enjoy!
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AFTERGLOW ©2009 Whyte Yote
Even when I close my eyes, even when I'm crying into the pillow, it smells like you. It smells like both of us.
"What--what's wrong?" you ask, and for the first time you seem genuinely concerned. Not like when I came out. Not like when you thought you had scratched my tailhole. It has a quaver of sincerety that one just catches at the end of a sentence, or in the middle of a fight. Never in movies.
I reach down between my legs and grab the towel that caught my load, and part of yours, and fold it over to the clean side to wipe my eyes. The smell's even stronger now, and it's all over my face. I feel your knot swell a little inside of me, and push the towel back down to catch the runoff.
"Nothing." Of course it's a bluff, but it's worth taking.
"It's never nothing with you." Touché. If I were in a more stable mental state, I would have been able to see that coming. Then again, if I were in a more stable mental state, this whole thing might not have happened in the first place.
Sniff.
"I was just thinking of that time, when I brought you those clothes while you were living in your car at Wal-Mart. You know, just before you got fired."
"I told you, I quit."
"You stole a box of chocolates. You were eating a caramel on your way out the door."
A pause. Then you shift on your knees, and I can feel your seed squelching around somewhere deep. "I was hungry." I knew it all along, and I would be mad at you if we weren't tied right now.
"That was the second time I've ever seen you cry. I just...I just want you to know I didn't take off because I was ashamed. I didn't know how to handle it. I wanted to be angry, but I couldn't make myself feel anything but this horrible pity."
"Because of me."
"Because, even after the way you treated me, I craved more of the same. So I could try my hardest and still come up short. Because I fed off that. Because it's the only thing I knew." My ears splay back, but it's not your paw stroking my side that's the cause. It's the utter truthfulness to the words I'm speaking, and the bitterness with which they're spoken.
"I never set out to hurt you--"
"And now, I find myself free to do whatever, no consequences. And you know what? I can't do it. Just can't seem to find motivation without someone harping down my neck for a perfect job or else. How fucked up is that?" Deep down, I know it isn't your fault. Not totally. You are a product of your environment, and we both know what kind of environment you hail from.
"You think I never cared about you? There may have been a couple of times where things didn't go according to plan, but I always loved you. And I will."
"But how do I know what was real and what wasn't?" So simple on its face, yet how do you answer a question like that? How do you be honest without ripping the other's heart out? It's not like I needed to ask it in the first place; all I need is to remember any given moment in the past. I wish I could turn and look you in the eyes, but I'm not a big fan of anal pain.
"Is this real enough for you?" you ask, dodging the question but succeeding beautifully.
"This wasn't supposed to happen." Now I'm glad I can't see your face, because you would realize how hard I'm lying. How, now that you're eight inches deep and swollen under my tail, was this never supposed to happen? When did that change? When grabbed my arm and pinned me against the wall? When you stuck your paw down my jeans and moaned at my hardness? When I crawled up on the bed and raised my tail out of the way, practically begging for you?
But then you spit onto your cock, onto my hole, and pushed through. Whose fault was it then? I don't even care anymore. It's not worth arguing about, is it?
"It did, though. It still is. I...we couldn't control it. Are you going to deny that, too?"
I shake my head. I can't slough that off like so much water-and-duck bullshit.
"Does that say anything about our relationship?" You twitch against my hole. Still spurting. It drips down my balls, onto the towel. Not the biggest I've ever had, but definitely the most...different. "I'm going out on a limb here. Do you think this means anything?"
You're petting my lower back, and I'm not going to tell you to stop because I wouldn't mean it. You know it's my sweet spot, the ridge made by the base of my spine just above my tail. The spot that used to put me to sleep in the afternoons, between preschool and dinner. The fail-safe on nights when I was being rambunctious. The spot that, nowadays, ends up in an erection most of the time. Your paw there is large, heavy, and purposeful.
Fighting off the urge to moan through my teeth, I reply, "It has to mean something. I mean, unless you're saying it doesn't mean anything to you."
"I don't know what I think right now." I can hear so much in those eight words, much of it painful. I can't be mad at you, not at a time like this. Not with testosterone still thick in my blood, and the musk of you tainting the air around my head. I have no reason at all. Wasn't it a gift that you just gave me, your precious seed in exchange for my own gift, my body?
But that's too poetic. We were horny. We were fighting. Then we were kissing. And you fucked me.
You fucked me hard.
"What do you think?" And as you say that last word, your paw creeps down my side and below my belly and you find it, you find my sheath and it's still just as hard as it was when you sank beneath my hiked-up tail and said words I never thought I would hear coming out of your muzzle. I can feel you swelling up again, a constant leak matting down my spasming taint.
"I think it's a reaction to a touch. You're pressing against my prostate. Who would go soft?"
"I don't disagree with you, but...I think it's more about who's doing the touching." You sound so smug; the smile practically bores into the back of my head.
"You can't believe it either?" Then your touch is gone, and I feel empty without it. Had it felt right? I don't know. It didn't feel wrong.
I want it back.
"I might not be able to believe it for a while. Maybe after we've...finished and had time to talk."
"So you don't want me to repress this one too?"
"That's not fair."
"I'm sorry." It was supposed to have been a joke, but sarcasm doesn't bounce off pillows.
"Perhaps we should concentrate on finishing, first, and then maybe talking about it?" Wow, that's a voice I remember. "Maybe go get some coffee, take our time?" That paw is back on my tail base again, and I am comforted. Not so emotionally severe. Your belly rises and falls against my tail, but I won't wag it. Not just yet. Not until I'm sure. I consider suggesting ordering a pizza on delivery, but a neutral place like a public cafe probably lends itself better to honest discussion about...whatever it is we've done.
"You paying?"
You chuckle. How many years has it been since I heard that? "If you want. This one time." Do I dare put my trust in you again? How much forgetting does it take to forgive? If we can have a mature conversation, it would be a first. I would like having that first.
"Okay," I sigh, finally feeling your knot starting its spongy deflation. "I'll give it a try. I mean, after this, it shouldn't be that hard to open up."
"One would think so. I hope I can look at you the same way, though."
"Me too," I say, and I mean it. I really want to be able to do that.
"Thanks for putting up with me. I know it's not easy."
"It's a two-way street. You've had to put up with me for the same amount of time."
"I know. But thanks, anyway."
Could you really mean that? I think, for once, you do. "No problem, Dad. It's the least I could do."
FIN
1/13-1/18/09