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The Hawk, by H. A. Kirsch. Copyright 2003

Do not read this story. It will hurt you in strange ways, ways a young person like you cannot understand!

Do not believe everything you read. If you do, you will become an evil person just like Hawk.

If you like something, or hate it, or otherwise want to yell my way: [email protected]

http://wolfhawk.blogspot.com/ - Writings Blog

The black wolf looked around the empty bar, a ray of sunlight streaming in between squares of black paper blocking out the front windows. Dust swirled around in it. A television over the bar rattled out cable news, no games going on, no clientele to demand more risqu‚ fare. The inside of the place was dark, battered hardwood floors, scuffed by endless bootheels, a few black oak benches and booths, the walls decorated with ominous medieval-esque fare and shackles. Fake torches lit the air. Off to the back was a single restroom door with the ubiquitous male icon scratched into it with a knife. Next to that door was the hallway leading to the back room.

The wolf looked down at his long island and pounded it back, slamming it down to the bare wood bar. The bartender, reading a magazine, startled and lifted his muzzle.

"Uhm, you okay over there?"

The wolf nodded.

"Sure?"

A loud groan came out of his muzzle. "Well, no, I'm not really sure. Actually, I'm pissed, mad, and tired. I had auto lab this morning, then exams in all my classes. You'd think a community college would be nice and let you fudge things around, right? Yeah, right."

"I know how you feel. I barely scraped through college myself," the rat said, serving up the wolf a second long island.

"Surprise surprise," the wolf said, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, it's worth it. This place is mad-ass once the sun goes down. And a full moon.. forget it."

The door to the bar opened with a rattle of chains and metal, and someone strode in. The bartender nodded, cleaning a few glasses while standing up. The wolf looked back to his drink, downed half of it, idly swirling the rest around in the glass, ice clinking. He heard heelfalls approach, hollow thunks against the wood floor, a distinctive swagger laced with the rattle of boot straps. The stool next to him creaked, and something red appeared in his vision. He turned, expecting to see a fox.

"What the fuck?" the black wolf snapped, ducking his head, brow furrowed. He got a grin from the strangest creature, something akin to a fox stretched out, formatted to fit your T.V. Said creature was adorned in a red waistcoat, black leather driving gloves, a pair of astonishing red tights, and heeled black riding boots.

"That's the most fabulous pick-up line I've ever heard!" the creature squawked, a lopsided grin gracing his long muzzle.

"That wasn't a pickup line, you... you.. whatever. That was me expressing how fucking... uh, whatever." The wolf growled, and slugged back the rest of the long island.

"Hmmph. What a foul mouth you have, Mr. Wolf."

"What a terrible taste in threads you have, Mr... uhm.."

"Alzarre."

"Whatever. Jesus Christ, you look like Adam fucking Ant."

The creature cocked his ear, a tall, black, foxish affair with several rings in it. They jingled slightly. "Who?"

"Never mind. You don't have any taste either. You don't even have bad taste."

The wolf got another hmmph in response, the creature tipping his nose up. "Barkeep! Chop chop."

"Chop chop? Oookay, what can I get ya?" the rat said, sliding over, leaning an elbow on the bar.

"Give me, oh, a crimson tide."

The rat cocked an eyebrow, his whiskers twitching. "A what?"

The black wolf piped up. "Crimson Tide. Let's see... two shots of tequila, two shots of vodka, two shots of Tabasco."

"Two *shots* of Tabasco?"

"Yeah, two. Shots. You know, like, those little glasses? Two of 'em. Straight up Tabasco. Actually, whatever you have that's hot. Hottest, actually," the wolf said, tapping his glass idly on the counter.

"I see that my lack of taste is shared, eh? Make that two.."

"Did you really say the hottest hot sauce?" The rat interrupted.

"No, I don't' share your lack of taste, you bizarre excuse for a dirigible pilot-"

"dirigible!? I can't believe a wolf like you, all Tom of Finland, said the word 'dirigible!'" the creature scoffed, half cackling.

"Tom of who?"

"Never mind, never mind..."

"Ahem," the rat coughed, and got two sets of eyes. "The hot-"

"The hottest thing you have. Pour lighter fluid in there if you have to, dammnit."

"Oookay...if you say so," the bartender said, whistling through his teeth and measuring out the liquor. He disappeared back into the kitchen, reappearing with a bottle of habanero sauce. "Why's it called a crimson tide? It's more like a bloody mary-"

"No tomato, for one thing," the fox-like creature interjected.

"I don't see.. nevermind. Here you guys go. These are on the house. I can't believe anyone would drink something with two ounces of pure habanero sauce in it."

Both canids took theirs and slugged them back. The black wolf didn't flinch, the faux-fox shuddered momentarily, the insides of his ears flushing red.

"Oooh, it's like I'm on fire..." he whimpered, cracking a grin and exhaling peppery liquor fumes at the bartender, who backed away, eyes watering.

"No shit, dumbass," the wolf groused, hopping off his bar stool and heading for the restroom. Tom of Finland? Who the hell was Tom of Finland? And what the hell was that annoying... thing!? The wolf figured it was something to do with his motorcycle jacket and engineer boots, although he would have chalked those up to 'road-rash avoidance'. He walked across the seedy bathroom, stepping in front of a urinal and unzipping. He unleashed a black, limp cock, groaning as he pissed hard. The door creaked open, and the oddly familiar clop-jangle came across the floor.

"'The Pit', eh? What a name. What a name, and how true it is.." the foxish beast said. The wolf rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever."

The creature leaned up against the urinal next to the wolf, and peeked into the bowl. "Nice equipment you have there, Mr. Wolf of Finland. Want to show me how to use it?"

The wolf promptly turned and peed right at the creature, almost splashing his boots. The fox-thing yelped and hopped back.

"Well! Watersports, eh?"

"Fuck off, you pansy-ass loser."

"Do you even know you're in a leather bar?" the creature asked, putting a hand on his hip.

"Yes. Do you know you're wearing tights?"

"Stop making fun of my outfit!"

"Stop being an asshole. And what's with this Finland crap?"

The creature rolled his eyes. "You obviously don't know much about the leather scene."

"'Fraid not. 'Fraid I'm here to get drunk first, hence my being here at 5:30pm. I had a fucking rough day. I wanted a drink to cool down before going home and attacking yet more crappiness in my attempts to have a normal life, something which you probably don't have since you are trying to get fucked in the bathroom of an empty gay bar."

"Oh, I want to get fucked now?"

"Shut up, and fuck off. I said fuck off. There is no combination of you, me, and fuck that doesn't involve you getting the fuck away from me. Got it?"

"I think you're playing hard to catch, you stud.." the creature said, slinking up against the wolf, stroking the leather of his jacket collar. The wolf snarled, grabbed the creature by his lapels, and slammed him into the bathroom wall. The fox-thing wheezed and blinked, his head almost cracking against the tile.

"No, I'm not playing anything. Do you understand?"

He got a feeble nod.

"Good. Now, I'm getting out of here and going home."

He let go of the creature, who winced a bit before straightening his jacket. The wolf strode out of the bathroom, followed a few steps behind.

"You didn't even wash your hands!" the creature chided.

"Okay, look. What the fuck are you, anyway? You're like some weird fox-"

"I am *not* a fox!" the creature yelped. "I, Mr. Wolf, am a maned wolf."

"You look like a fox to me," the black wolf said, looking down his muzzle at the maned wolf. Definintely taller than a fox, much taller, but still an inch or two shy of the wolf. He was unusually tall for a lupine.

"Well, looks can be very deceiving. But, since you said you weren't interested, I'll honor that. However, before you leave in a drunken huff, I ask of you one thing."

"What?" the wolf groaned, impatiently, tail swaying a bit.

"Your name."

"What?"

"Your name, silly. I told you mine, you tell me yours. Simple, isn't it?"

"You told me yours?"

"Alzarre. You have a terrible memory."

"Well, I'm Harold."

"Harold! Blech. What a terrible name."

"Fuck you."

Harold stormed out of the bar. Halfway down the block, muttering to himself, he looked behind. No one was following him. He kept on walking, slower, swaggering a little from the drink, buzzing a bit in his ears. That Crimson Tide was a little too much, he thought. And someone is looking at me.

He turned to see a gray fox leaning against a low brick wall framing a parking lot. The fox was wearing no shirt, a black leather vest, a pair of chaps over pointed black cowboy boots, and a codpiece. The fox saw Harold stop, and slipped his ears back, quickly looking off in another direction.

"Hey you. Yeah, you. You were staring at me."

"Whaaaa? No, no I wasn't," the fox yapped, idly tapping a heel, trying to look disinterested.

"Yes you were. Don't worry, I won't beat on you or something. Just, I dunno, why were you staring at me?"

"Uhm, uhhhhhh uh c-c-c-cuz? You were there? And, uhm, nevermind."

"Nuh-uh, you aren't getting away that easy, fox-brains. You don't just sit around and stare at people in this part of town. That's like staring down a rabid dog. Just won't work. You wanna give people the once over, you better go over to the 4th Street district," Harold grumbled, walking up to the fox lazily, scratching his headfur. The fox's eyes brightened a little bit, a bushy tail swishing a little against the brick. The wolf looked at it.

"Uh, I wasn't giving you the once over. I was, uh, you know, you came out of that place. That uh, bar, uhm, The... "

"The Pit? Hah, what a joke. It's always empty whenever I go there. Maybe that's cuz I go to bars to drink, unlike everyone else."

"But it's a gay bar."

"It's an empty gay bar right now. What, you interested in it or something?"

"I've, uh, never been there, was wondering..."

"Okay, so there's this rat for a bartender, right? He's okay. Then there's this, well, was, this maned wolf. What the fuck is a maned wolf?" Harold snarled, flinging his arms up in the air, growing more intoxicated by the minute.

"I think they're from Brazil."

"Whatever. He's an ass. Real big fucking ass. Not the good kind of ass, the bad kind. I can't think of any way to describe him that isn't a fucking double entr‚e or whatever."

"Entendre."

"Fuckever."

"Are you drunk?"

Harold paused for a minute. "Well, maybe. Shouldn't have had that Crimson Tide."

"Crimson..?"

"Nevermind. You don't want one. So... you just wanted to check that place out, huh? What a fucking surprise. Stuff that thing any more and you're gonna be ripe for a ren fest, lil' foxy," the wolf smirked, and pointed a finger at the fox's crotch.

"Uhm, actually, I've never, I just, I've never worn this before. I just got all this stuff."

"Hah! That explains the fucking fag-tag."

"Whaaat? That's rude! I can't-"

"It's the goddamn tag on the back of your vest, dumbass. You look fine, I guess."

"You guess?"

The wolf looked the fox over. "Hmm, yeah, fine. Mighty fine, actually. Now, if you excuse me, I have to go be drunk in pieces," Harold gruffed, and hopped the fence. The parking lot belonged to a defunct used-car dealership.

"Uh, where are you going? The street's.. that.."

"Alley. I live a few blocks away."

"Oh. Uh, me too," the fox said, and hung back. Harold kept walking. After a few moments, he turned to look back, and saw the fox following meekly. Fine? Mighty fine? Actually, now that he thought about it, that fox was more than just fine. He was incredibly attractive. He pushed buttons. Harold had buttons, and the fox was pushing them as if they had great big signs reading, "do not press under penalty of caning" stuck to them. He was innocent, shapely, and wearing all leather.

Halfway down the alley, the wolf stopped. The fox stopped too, the dual clops of heels - cowboy and motorcycle boots - silenced. "So, uh... you live this way, huh?" The fox said, ears splaying. Acting on a growing twinge below his belt and above his balls, Harold backed the fox against the wall. His ears flushed hot.

"What do you think, fox?" he growled, showing his teeth. Harold felt his cock stiffen inside his pants, undoubtedly leaving a delicious outline in the black denim. He put his hands on his hips, staring down his muzzle at the fox, who slinked against the wall, tail fluffed out.

"Uhm, I think you'd look very handsome in a pair of black leather pants-"

"That's not what I meant, you sorry excuse for a slut."

Wide-eyed, flat-eared, the fox slowly sank down to his knees, lifting a trembling paw. The alley took a turn ten feet or so to Harold's right, and a pair of boxes blocked most of the view from the street. Nevertheless, Harold leaned a gloved paw up against the brick wall of the alley, blocking the fox off from view. The other drew the zipper of his jeans down.

"Y-y-yes, sir," the fox whined, and slipped his fingers into the opening in the wolf's pants, pulling out about ten inches of black cock. "Ohhh... uhm, uhm, you know, I've.. I-i... 've n-nev-"

"Shut up and do it!" Harold snarled, feeling a rush of blood go to his head, leaving him woozy. His pulse throbbed in his ears, vision flickering bright and spotty. He thrust his hips forward hard, his flared cockhead ramming right into the fox's muzzle. The fox's lips parted, all ten inches immediately sliding in. A vulpine hand grabbed at the invading meat, the other feeling for the wolf's leg. Harold grabbed both arms and shoved them back against the wall, pistoning himself back into the fox's throat. Wide-eyed, the fox gagged and whimpered, tears coming to his eyes as Harold pistoned slowly.

"C'mon, you little bitch, suck it when I pull back," the wolf hissed under his breath, the fox trying to comply. Despite his drunkenness, the wolf was right up onto the edge, tilting his head back, bucking hard enough into the fox's face that the poor creature's head rapped against the hard brick. After a few moments, the fox finally managed to pull off, taking a ragged breath.

"I can't, I can't breath-" he whimpered, right as Harold let out a grunt, his cock spasming, spraying long streams of sticky, thick white seed all over the fox's face. The wolf groaned and stepped back, woozy, bumping into the other wall of the alley. His cock slackened, dripping spit and cum onto the floor. All that was heard were two sets of panting breaths. Harold ran a hand through his headfur, brushing it back, the fox staring through Harold's crotch then slowly looking down to a cum-spattered, leather-gloved handpaw.

"Fuck," the wolf finally hissed, and stuffed his cock back into his pants. The fox stood up, wiped his paw shakily on the wall, then whined and wiped his muzzle clean, wiping the rest on the wall again.

"Yeah, uh, uhm. Uhm. Thanks, I guess," the fox said.

Harold, listening to the roar in his ears subsiding, pulled out his cellphone. "Hey, shoot me your info."

"Uh."

"Don't worry, just the number. I'll give you mine," he said, and pushed a button. His phone bleeped, and the fox's responded.

"'k," the fox said, and the reverse happened.

"So."

"Yeah, better get going."

"Uhm, uh, what's your name?"

Harold paused for a moment, already having started off down the alley again. "Hawk."

Upon reaching his modest, ranch house a few blocks away, Hawk hurried in and slammed the door. He leaned on it, listening. Nothing was in the house. Nothing. Nothing was stirring except his own heartbeat. He couldn't believe it. Stupified, almost scared sober, he flopped down on the couch and stared at the ceiling. After a few moments, he whipped his phone out and dialed.

"Yaaah, Derrin here," a thin voice responded.

"Fuck, coonbreath, you won't believe it."

"Yo, Harry, 'sup?"

"I just got kinda drunk at that bar, you know? Bad day."

"Bar? What bar?"

"The Pit."

"Christ!"

"Yeah, so I saw this fox outside, he wanted to know what it was like. So I told him, then headed off down this alley for a shortcut. You know?"

"No, but that's whatever."

"Okay, so, Derrin, he follows me. The little bugger thinks I'm gonna, I dunno, you know, get him off or something. But I just wanna go home."

"Yeah?"

"So, I uh, I uh.."

"You gotta be kidding. You what?"

"I whipped it out, slammed him against a wall, and fucked his face then shot off all over it," Harold blurted, and the line went silent.

Cell-phone static hissed.

"You what?"

"Don't make me say it again! I was all like, freaking out, but it was so... all the blood went to my head, it was like I was some, I dunno, I was like high or something.. and I think he liked it, but he was like, I think he tried to say he never, you know, ever had one of those.. but like, I've never done anything either! I fucking rammed my cock down a virgin's throat! I'm a fucking, you know? I've never done it either! I can't believe this!"

"God damn, are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious! Dead serious! I smell like fucking wolf cum! My underwear's got cum stains on it from when I stuffed it back in and hightailed it out of there!"

"Damn. Do you think he'll go to the cops?"

"COPS!? Whaaaat?" Harold screeched into the phone, his pulse rate going up. He couldn't have done that to the fox, could he have? No, it was impossible. Was it?

"I mean, dude, you.. kinda.."

"He gave me his number."

"What?!" the coon on the other end screeched this time.

"Shit. I gotta go."

Harold hung up, felt slightly queasy, and ran to the bathroom.