Brocklefield Station
I wrote this story for Snoe's short story contest. And, well, since the prize is art of the character in the story, and I don't have any art of my fursona, I - and I hope I can be forgiven for this - used my fursona as one of the characters, even though I normally can't abide self-inserts. The other character is Snoe's Weiss Elway, who is entirely his property. I...well, I'm not too versed in gay sex, I admit, but I hope this is acceptable. Comments - from anyone, not just him - are enormously appreciated.
The towering gate hung half-open, long since frozen into place by rust and by the dusty brown tangle of weeds that twisted about its iron bars. A brief gust of wind, warm and thick with the odour of industrial emission, swept down, rustling a bundle of damp bin liners stacked against the fence.
The scrawny panther gnawed uneasily at his knuckle. 'This...this was a bad idea.'
Smiling warmly, the towering stallion beside him gently squeezed his bony shoulder. 'Now, then...let's go over this again, shall we? How d'you know this place?'
The panther stood in silence for a moment, his eyes fixed upon the ground, clasping his paws together as he continued to chew at his knuckles.
'I...well, those lads used to take me down here after school a few times. Back when...' Extending a paw, he absently ran a forefinger down the gate's rust-eaten edge. '...back when the gate still closed, y'know.' He folded his paws over his midsection. 'They, eh, liked to see how long it took me to climb over the fence while they jabbed me with sticks...' He quietly licked his lips. 'Once I...didn't even try, though. I just sort of went and sat on the track until they went home. Actually, I spent the night in there, I think. I'm not sure why...it was just...it seemed nice.'
He licked his lips again. The distant wail of a siren drifted briefly by.
The stallion squeezed his shoulder again. 'And then...your mother's funeral, right?'
Another moment passed silently. The panther forced a stiff nod. 'I...I really can't think why I didn't go. I mean, I was on my way. But then I came here instead. I slept on the track again...' He started nibbling at his forefinger again. 'Can't...can't we just go?'
Still smiling broadly, the stallion slid a finger beneath the panther's chin and gently raised his gaze up toward him. 'The dream always starts here, doesn't it?'
The panther hastily turned his eyes back down. 'Y...yes.' he stammered. 'Or...or just inside the gate...'
Delicately, the stallion slid his hand down to the small of the panther's back, and gently nudged him forward. 'Go on, then. Take me there.'
The panther glanced briefly over his shoulder, teeth sinking into his lower lip. The stallion broadened his smile slightly. 'Phelix, if you can't move toward it, you'll never move past it.'
He edged forward, holding his hand steadily at the panther's back, and gave him another, firmer nudge; and with an awkward stumble, the panther, still looking up at the stallion's smiling face with unease, made his way through the rusty gate.
Even the distant wail of traffic seemed to fade almost away in the deathly silent little train station. The two short platforms had, by now, been reduced to little more than ragged and pockmarked stretches of concrete, blossoming here and with spots of sickly yellowish-grey moss, or with the occasional weed boldly poking its slender head through the cracks. But for a single bench, eaten away by broad patches of damp decay, and a rectangular, bunker-like little building of concrete and corrugated tin standing on the far side of the track, both platforms stood empty. At one end, a flimsy and warped wire fence; at the other, the platforms gently sloped downward onto a patch of concrete smeared with decayed, melted filth, abruptly ending in a crumbling and discoloured brick wall with a rust-blackened drainage grate at its foot.
Stepping slightly forward, keeping his hand at the panther's back, the stallion peered down over the platform's edge. The rails, warped by rust and decay, were barely visible amidst the clusters of thin, straggling weeds and old litter that had long since shrivelled into lumps of shapeless black rot.
He glanced down at the panther, who was uneasily pressing his thumbs together, his eyes fixed upon a jagged gash in the concrete about his feet. 'You slept down there?' the stallion asked gently.
The panther, not looking up, sucked noisily at his teeth a moment. 'I...I liked it. I don't know why.' He paused. Another short, damply warm gust swept down, and a loose fragment of bin liner noisily rustled its way down the opposite platform. 'I was quite sick after the first time. Missed a week of school and all.'
The stallion smiled again, shaking his head slightly as he pushed his spectacles up his muzzle. 'Well, go on, then. Take me through it.'
The panther glanced up at him, his paws clamping rigidly together, a look of wide-eyed, silently pleading apprehension on his face.
'Take me through it, Phelix.' the stallion repeated, a quiet firmness rising in his soft, kindly voice. 'All of it.'
Turning his eyes back down, the panther pushed out a long, stiff exhalation; and, after a long moment of hesitation, he turned himself toward the end of the platform that sloped down toward the brick wall. 'Well, it's...I'm always going this way.'
The stallion gave him another gentle push. 'Go on, then.' he repeated. 'And tell me everything. Everything you see, everything you hear, everything you feel. Everything, Phelix.'
The panther began to nibble fretfully at the tip of his thumb. 'It's...well, it's always dark.' he stammered. 'Not night. Just...dark. Always dark.'
Slowly, the stallion's hand slid its way up the panther's back and came to rest over his shoulder, still gently pressing him forward. 'Go on.' he repeated.
Wordlessly, eyes still turned down, thumb still in his teeth, the panther began to make his way forward, the stallion close at his back; and several long minutes passed in silence as the panther ever so slowly shuffled his reluctant way down the platform.
And as they reached the point of the platform just opposite the square little concrete building on the other side, the panther stopped, eyes still fixed upon the ground. A moment passed as he stood there, motionless. The stallion, smiling, gave his shoulder another squeeze.
The panther, not looking up, stiffly jerked his head in the direction of the little concrete building. 'There's...there's always...something watching me from there.' He bit down harder on this thumb, and murmured through his teeth. 'I...I don't know what...I can never see it...but...'
The stallion squeezed his shoulder again. The panther stood still for almost another full minute, distractedly running his thumb back and forth along his clenched teeth, before finally beginning to shuffle forward again. Beneath his arm, the stallion felt the panther's shoulders trembling just slightly.
In silence, they made their unhurried way to the platform's end and down the slope down to the patch of filth-smeared concrete. Reaching the foot of the slope, the panther abruptly hesitated again; staring down, he slowly rubbed a particularly thick patch of slick, blackened filth with the toe of his shoe.
'It's...usually so much thicker.' he murmured, his voice seeming to grow thinner as he spoke. 'In the dream. It's...it's like walking through a swamp.'
The stallion looked down at the panther, smiling silently, as he dragged his shoe back and forth through the filth for several minutes. Then, ever so gently, he gave the panther's back another shove. Again the panther stumbled forward, clumsily, heavily; he paused, arighted himself, glanced up at the stallion, and continued.
They made their way over the concrete, the panther moving particularly sluggishly now, dragging his heels through the filth with stiff deliberateness.
And as they came to the wall, the panther feebly shrugged off the stallion's arm from his shoulders; and with another stumble, he stood with his face to the wall, pressing his forehead against the dark, grimy brick.
Another moment passed. The stallion, stepping forward, gave the panther's shoulder a firm rub.
'There's...there's always...' The panther, not turning, meekly gestured behind him. 'I always...in the dream...I turn around here and...there's always something...on the other side of the fence.'
The stallion glanced back at the battered length of wire fence stretched over the railway. Beyond it, the track continued a brief while through a muddy patch of undergrowth before turning abruptly out of sight; beyond it, nothing moved but for a few fragments of plastic caught in the wire and fluttering limply in the breeze.
'I...I can't ever remember what...' - the panther's voice has shrunk to a feeble wheeze - '...but...I don't know, it's...it's awful. I can't get back to sleep afterwards.'
With a silent smile, the stallion gave the panther's shoulder a stiff tug, turning him abruptly about. Gently, he pressed his finger up against the bottom of the panther's chin; but the panther kept his eyes firmly fixed to the ground.
'No, I...I can't...' he rasped pathetically.
The stallion jutted his thumb out from beneath the panther's muzzle, and, ever so slowly, began to sway it back and forth.
'Phelix,' he said, that delicate firmness once again rising in his voice, 'none of it - none of it - will stop until you face it.'
The panther, his eyes still turned down, burbled something meekly. The stallion, smiling, continued to gently sway his thumb back and forth.
'Now,' he said, allowing his voice to carefully drop to a smooth, steady, soothing lowness, 'I need you to think, Phelix. Think about the dream. Everything. Everything you see, hear, think. I need you to go back there, alright?'
The panther's teeth sunk slowly into his lower lip. He said nothing; but steadily, his eyes wafted up from the floor and fixed themselves upon the stallion's gently waving thumb.
'Think, now.' the stallion went on. 'It was dark, right? Picture it. How much could you see? Was someone still watching you? I need you to remember.'
The panther let out another meek, indistinct stammer. Slowly, the stallion raised his free hand and brought it down gently upon the panther's shoulder.
'Everything, Phelix.' Sliding his hand carefully along the panther's clavicle, he fingered the top button of his shirt. The panther stood in silence, his eyes following the steady swaying of the stallion's thumb.
Gently, the stallion unhooked the first button, his smile widening slightly. The panther let out a formless gurgle; and with his eyes still fixed upon the stallion's thumb, he languidly raised his paws to his chest and began to awkwardly fumble at the other buttons.
The stallion, still smiling, let his free hand drift down to his groin, and unfastened the front of his trousers.
Drowsily the panther shrugged his shirt off his shoulders and let it drop into the dirt. Raising his hand, the stallion again brought it down upon the panther's shoulder, and pressed down firmly. In obedient silence, the panther lowered himself to his knees.
'You see, Phelix...' the stallion said inattentively, smirking at the wall as he slid his hand into his pants '...your connection to this place...whatever it is, it's irrational, and it's clearly just a vehicle for something deeper. You simply have to...face it...'
He pulled his rapidly swelling phallus out the front of his trousers; and smiling down at the panther, who gazed back up with glassy absence, he gently pressed down upon the back of the cat's bony neck. Meekly, the panther leaned forward, and delicately brought his tongue up against the base of the stallion's tip.
The stallion drew his tongue slowly over his lips. 'I...I really need you to consider what...what it is about this place that draws you to it...what it makes you think of.'
The panther made a faint gurgle as he wrapped his lips about the stallion's swollen shaft. The stallion smirked as he felt the panther's wiry whiskers brush against his scrotum; and with a silent titter, he lightly stroked the panther's fuzzy ear. 'Good boy.' he murmured.
Another moment passed in silence as the panther, glassy-eyed and silent, slid his tongue mechanically back and forth across the base of the stallion's shaft. At the other end of the station, the wind rustled the plastic caught in the fence.
The muffled wail of a car horn drifted over the wall.
Smiling down, the stallion carefully pressed his palm against the panther's forehead. The panther let the stallion's throbbing phallus slide delicately out of his mouth, and glanced up, his expression dazed and distant; and leaning down slightly, the stallion gave the panther's ear a gentle upwards tug.
'I...don't...' the panther muttered as he clambered gauchely to his feet. 'I...I don't know...I mean, when I was very young, we...we lived in this flat over...over a place kind of like this, sort of. It...I mean, it was more like a loading zone, I think, but...'
Smiling, the stallion kept his eyes on the panther's wafting, distant gaze as, slowly, his hand drifted down to the front of the cat's trousers and delicately stroked his belt buckle. 'Was this when your mother lived with Francis, then?' he asked, carefully keeping his voice at a low, steady timbre.
The panther's glassy eyes turned down as he absently began to fiddle with his belt. 'I...I think...I don't know.' he stammered. 'But...I think...I mean, I don't remember, but my mum says that...she says when I was really small, I sneaked out one night and...slept under a truck...or something.'
The stallion gave a smiling nod as his gaze drifted down, and watched as the panther, his fingers fumbling and ungainly, unfastened his trousers.
'I mean, it's...I didn't think...it's not like I want to be homeless or...anything...I mean...I don't....I understand aesthetics...I don't like ugly things...or...' the panther burbled on, the stallion watching in silent glee as he pulled his trousers down over his lanky, gangling, tousle-furred legs.
The stallion nodded. 'Of course...of course.' he said through his grin as he raised his forefinger and spun it about. Dutifully, the panther, his eyes wandering distantly, turned around and propped himself against the grimy wall, his bony posterior jutting outward.
Slowly the stallion ran his hand down the contour of the panther's spine, running his fingers through his tangled, bristly, matted fur.
'So, let's, uh...go back to the dream. You...really can't think what it is that frightens you so much at the end?' the stallion said, his voice, by now, a half-whisper, as his hands drifted down to the panther's waist and ran over the sharp, jagged contours of his gaunt hips.
His eyes to the wall, the panther shook his head. 'Never...I...I mean...sometimes I can remember for...a few seconds when I wake up, but...I'm too scared to...'
The stallion, smirking wider still, let his fingers wander through the spiny fur of the panther's rawboned buttocks.
'...it...I always feel...sick afterwards, though.' the panther went on. 'Like...really awful.'
Carefully, the stallion stepped ever-so-slightly forward, positioning himself just behind the panther's posterior. 'Go on.' he said with a tone of gentle encouragement.
'I...it...it goes on the whole day, normally. I just feel...awful, afterwards. Like...not nervous, especially...I'm always...but...more like...disgusted. Really...hollow, sometimes...' The panther's voice faded as the groaning, rattling roar of a truck passed just beyond the wall.
And as it did so, the stallion, leaning forward, snatched at the back of the panther's head by its fur, and roughly tugged it back; the panther let out a sharp, artless snort. 'Go on.' the stallion said again, gently as ever.
'I...I mean...' the panther grunted with discomfort. 'It's...I've...'
Lurching forward, the stallion violently thrust his erection against the panther's taut, scrawny anus, sending, as he did so, the panther's head slamming, face first, into the wall. 'Go on.' he quietly repeated.
'It's...it's just...' the panther said through the side of his mouth, half of his face pressed sharply against the damp and dirty brick. 'I've...I've considered...everyone it could be...and it...'
The stallion gave another violent lurch; and the panther let out another, sharper, more convulsive snort as he entered him. Biting his lip, the stallion, one hand about the panther's jagged waist, the other still pressing his head firmly against the wall, gave two, three sharp thrusts, forcefully working his way into the cat's clamped, rigid anus. 'Y...yes, and?' the stallion grunted distractedly.
'I...I can't think of...I...' the panther gurgled, his words, by now, barely discernible. The stallion, shifting the arm about the panther's waist slightly, lowered his hand to the panther's groin and wrapped his fingers tightly about his long, thin erection. The panther let out another snort.
The stallion thrust his hips forward, three, four, five times, snorting deeply, his teeth clenched, his fingers grasping the panther's phallus ever harder.
'I...I...' grunted the panther, almost inaudible amidst the stallion's hastening snorts. 'I...shouldn't...I shouldn't...like it here...it's...I mean...I don't...I don't like ugly things...'
The stallion's thrusting quickened; and impulsively, his hand slipped down to the panther's neck, grasping it tightly; the panther's words faded into gagging.
Then, throwing his head back, the stallion let out a piercing bray; and, with a sharp tug, he pulled the panther's head back and slammed it violently against the wall once again. And, his body shuddering fiercely as he felt his searing seed spill forth into the panther's anus, he gave the panther's phallus one final, particularly hard squeeze, feeling, as he did so, the panther's own warm ejaculate shoot forth and dribble through his fingers.
With a smile, the stallion stepped back, his retreating erection sliding smoothly out of the panther's warm rear. Gently, he wiped the warm seed from his hand off on the spiny, dishevelled fur of the panther's right buttock; then, his gleeful smirk receding into a kindly smile, he tenderly grasped the panther's shoulder and turned him about. Fastening the front of his trousers and arighting his spectacles, the stallion smiled silently down at him, watching as, his eyes still glazed and wafting, the panther sluggishly pulled up and buckled his trousers, and plucked his shirt from the smeared and grimy concrete.
'So,' the stallion finally said, in his warmest, smoothest tone, 'you remember what it is? The thing that scares you so much?'
For almost a full minute, the panther looked dreamily up at him, half-seeing and silent. Then, ever so slowly, a wide, wistful smile crawled up his muzzle. 'Uh...uh-huh.' he mumbled thickly.
The stallion brought a gentle hand down upon the panther's shoulder. 'Good, good. And it's not nearly so bad when you can put a face to it, is it?'
The panther nodded indolently.
The stallion glanced behind him. The crisp chill of twilight had begun to fill the air, mingling delightfully with the bitter, choking pungency of rubbish and industry.
He turned back to the panther; and sliding his hand along his shoulder, he tenderly stroked the panther's whiskers. 'It's not so bad here anymore, eh?'
Still smiling, the panther slowly blinked. 'Thank you, doctor Elway.'
With a sharp, warm chortle, the stallion fondly pinched the panther's fuzzy cheek. 'You know where to find me.' he said; and, sliding his arm about the panther's gangling neck, he lead them slowly back toward the platform.
Beyond the fence, the breeze picked up, and an empty bin liner tumbled out of the undergrowth.