Attribution Error (M/M) (Pt. 8 of "Under The Devil's Eye")
#8 of Under the Devil's Eye
Attribution Error
Pt. 8 of "Under The Devil's Eye".
by H. A. Kirsch (HawkWolf)
Hawk sat down at his dinner table with his twelfth grade yearbook. He'd bought it on a lark and
never even opened it; now those years were half a life away. His cell phone sat on the table,
blaring out some random noise in between someone else's words.
"So, I hear you had a wonderful time at the whorehouse last night," Alzarre's voice said, syrupy and
yet uninterested from the other end of the line. The guara was no doubt distracted by something
choice wherever he was.
Hawk's text message: "had great time at fuckhouse, tell you later". "Yeah, you aren't going to
believe it." Hawk opened the yearbook to the photo section and started scanning around. 2,000
photos.
"Well, tell me about it? Please? Or do I have to come over there and tempt you?"
"You're going to come over and tempt me anyway. I need a little something to deal with the
consequences of my actions. Did I ever tell you the kind of stuff that went on in high school? I
always had problems. I never really listened to authority so I was always getting in trouble. I
never really did awful shit, I just didn't follow the rules. I had a few friends, that tiger guy who
turned himself all red, this raccoon, some fags in the theater department. But we're talking like
four friends here." Hawk's distraction had his Brooklyn drawl turned up to the point that Alzarre
made a few clucking sounds as he tried to understand. Despite his smarmy, put-on British accent,
English wasn't even the maned wolf's first language.
"Poor wolf, I'm sure they pushed your head into the toilet a few times... everyone else... not your
friends," Alzarre said.
Hawk's fingers slid over glossy page after glossy page. Some faces were easy to recall, his few
friends or people who were always doing something with someone and winning something for it. Others
had already vanished, unfamiliar, strangers that he wondered if he'd ever seen. Then, once he
reached the "N" section, his fingers came to a halt on the photo of a smiling red fox in an ascot.
Peter Norsten. Hawk's cock immediately hardened inside his pants, the kind of involuntary erection
that stiffened on the inside in a way that hurt. "Did I tell you about the guy who always was
picking on me? Some smart kid, this wolf who had some half-jock friends who'd come around and steal
my shit, yell stuff at me all the time, tell me I smelled funny, looked poor, all that crap?"
"Isn't that how it always is?" Alzarre said, voice wistful and put-on.
"Did you even _go_ to school? I bet your mommy just read math problems to you in between applying
Christ the wrong way to Haitian voodoo zombies or some shit," Hawk groused. He held the page and
started flipping further, to the back where all the group shots and call-outs were. There was Peter
Norsten again, along with the lupine Christopher Gillick, Adrian Paul - who took the affection and
uninspired nickname 'The Highlander' due to the television show and his dopey expression's
similarity to the real Adrian Paul - and two other wolves that he could never remember the name of.
They were all doing a friendly hug. Peter was the odd one out, a rich-red perfect example of Vulpes
Vulpes amidst some timberwolves.
"That was my stepmother, and don't talk about her like that, giving her actual credit for
something," Alzarre hissed. "I was homeschooled. Get to the point or I'm not coming over to... you
know..."
"I got fucked up and raped this fox. It was a mistake. I was hallucinating, I couldn't really
control myself, see what was right or wrong."
"Yes, as opposed to now, where you very well know it's wrong to violate poor, whimpering vulpines,"
"Shut up, goddammnit, I did it and I felt really bad and he must've felt really bad because he gave
me funny looks at school. And did he tell anyone important about it, so I'd get in trouble? No, he
told his friend, this wolf Christopher, the guy who was always fucking around with me, and he told
everyone else at school. From that moment on, I got dirty looks, jeers, people started stealing my
stuff - people who I didn't even give the time of day to - and even the administration seemed to
know I was some kind of filthy, unclean shithead for screwing a boy fox in the ass. Do you know what
I did to him?" Hawk's arousal fought with the recollection of the stinging regret and scarlet letter
humiliation. "I fucked his throat until he threw up, then shoved him down into the dirt and fucked
his asshole until he pissed on himself. It took like half an hour and when I got off, it left this
vacant hole inside me."
"You know, Mr. Wolf, you mention this vacant hole... perhaps continuing to fuck anything that looks
like a fox is not really going to help. How is putting your dick into someone else's hole going to
fill in yours?"
"Stop making sense. So I went to this whorehouse, and I filled in their little questionnaire menu
thing, and guess who came to the room to satisfy me? Christopher Gillick, the wolf who humiliated me
all those years."
"Oh!" Alzarre said, and proceeded to unleash a wailing cackle. "Oh dear."
"I fucking came so deep in him, that I think when he was frantically trying to shit it out
afterwards, that I'm sure some stayed behind to haunt him for a little while." Hawk said this with a
proud grunt and sat back, looking down at the picture. He'd forgotten Peter's last name, so finding
it was a big help. "Get the fuck over here. Get over here fucking now. I'm in a mood. It's your kind
of mood."
"I'm on my way to see the Wolf of Finland, yes I am," Alzarre said, and hung up.
Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang again. Hawk interrupted his dinner to answer it. "Aren't you
supposed to be here already?"
"Oh, Mr. Wolf, are you giving a blowjob or putting something else in your mouth?"
"Answer the fucking question."
"Actually, I can't come over. It's a very long explanation. I completely forgot about something very
important here." Alzarre gave no indication what 'very important' was, and the background sound
through the phone was garbled by digital transmission to the point of white noise. "But I can
harrass you by telephone. It's not quite as good as finding some pills and taking them..."
Hawk picked up the phone and disposed of his dinner dishes, then returned to the table. Peter
Norsten's photo stared up at him, a grinning red fox and his wolf buddies, a bunch of rich kids who
got what they wanted. Christopher had certainly fallen from grace; that left Peter as an unknown. A
vulpine unknown. "You know, I don't even know where you live. Do you actually live anywhere? You
have to live somewhere. You have to have a closet for all your goddamn outfits. My shit takes up an
entire room," Hawk snorted into the phone.
"Your little story is so unfortunate. Poor little fox. Poor little wolf, I guess, although it's a
little hard to, to see, oh, what am I saying," Alzarre said, then consumed something. "It's hard to
feel too much sympathy, considering that you raped him. Look at all those others... the one in that,
what was it, the house that someone was building? We tied him up with cabling, I think. Or the one
that worked at your job a few years ago. Well, you met him after meeting me, and it was a
coincidence..."
Hawk snarled to himself and slapped the yearbook shut. "What was I supposed to do? Apologize?"
Hawk's mood crushed in on itself, no longer full of dark sexual energy. The internal throb to do
something vicious and visceral was replaced by shame. "How do you apologize for that? And that
fuckhead didn't have to go around and tell everyone. It could have been a secret. I told that little
bitch not to tell anyone!"
"Mr. Wolf, have you ever seen those big advertisements on city busses, where they give all the
'excuses' for violence against women?"
"That fox knew everyone wanted him. You should have seen how he acted in the showers. How he was
always goofing off, all that shit."
"I think you're mad that you lost your opportunity to apologize to him when he ratted you out. I
think that's what happened."
"You don't even know what it's like at high school. Weren't you home schooled? You just said-"
Alzarre cackled again. "I was a prodigal terror, a voodoo zombie, and now I'm fabulous. This isn't
about _me_."
Hawk leaned onto the table and mashed the phone against his ear. "What the fuck kind of drug are you
on now? Are you on ecstasy? Is it making you all sensitive?"
"Well, it's interesting that you seem to like foxes so much. You even like me, even though you're
always so grouchy. Do you like me because I look like a fox?"
"Don't give yourself so much credit, Al."
"That's not how you shorten my name!" Hawk imagined Alzarre pouting on the other end of the line.
"So why _do_ you like them?"
Hawk divested from the table and moved into the living room. That wasn't much better - hard,
unfeeling modernist eating surface gave way to rectangular gleaming black leather. The sofa wasn't
very comfortable, but it was intimidating - good for houseguests - and it was rich, fine leather.
The wolf sprawled out on it and idly petted the surface. "I don't know. Maybe it's just some
aesthetic thing, like the black ears and the fur color and that little dark ring at the end of the
nose, and the bushy tail, and they're usually kind of slim. This one guy I know used to be fat, but
now he's kind of stocky, and he's the exception."
"I have dark ears, that little ring at the end of my nose, I'm very slender, and I have a bushy
tail," Alzarre said, leaning on each 'I' with an air of drunken self-importance.
"I dunno, maybe foxes are just some kind of thing. They're smaller and they make those little yappy
sounds, I don't know. I really don't. They smell, too, but I kind of like it. It's like when you
jerk off and your dick smells later that day."
"Didn't you tell me that you know some lion who does that?"
"Yeah. Look, go do whatever the fuck you're doing, since it's obviously more productive than coming
over here and going hunting with me or whatever the fuck we were gonna do," Hawk grunted.
On the other end of the line, Alzarre sniffed. "Yes, and you go and sulk around in your little
square-everything house." In the background, there was a very obvious clink of glass. "Oh, shit. You
know, I think I may have been a chemist in a former life, this isn't really that hard..."
Hawk looked at the phone, and then hung up. Alzarre was predisposed, undoubtedly up to no good.
Exploding laboratory glassware had a sound Hawk remembered from his ill-fated attempts at chemistry
class in high school and community college. Hawk had intended on having Alzarre come over for some
debauchery, either at the expense of Alzarre's own genitals, or with a trip into town to both use
someone else's.
Peter's face came back into his head, and the rest of the fox's body followed. Hawk's erection
swelled again, and the wolf solved the ache inside it by opening his battered old jeans and hauling
the length free. The black shaft swelled in his fingers, head mushrooming inside the skin until it
was stretched thin and leathery. Peter's showers, which Hawk had watched so many times as he did
some side work as an athletics department janitor for his high school, were notorious in the wolf's
mind. The fox was especially careful to wash his foreskin, unlike most of Hawk's classmates, and
would nearly jerk off. One time, when everyone else had left, the fox satisfied himself in a
hurried, peeking-over-the-shoulder way that left the wolf literally drooling down his shirt. The
peephole in the shower was right at dick level.
Hawk stretched out on the leather sofa and started pumping, absently rubbing his face against the
musky, smooth leather of the back as he milked up underneath his dickhead again and again. Peter had
been a swimmer and Hawk had spent pool days in gym sitting on the sidelines with a fungus infection
in his ears, watching the red fox pound through the water in a package-hugging racing suit.
The fox was even affectionate with his friends, the wolves led by Christopher and then his own
clique of foxes, and Hawk had peered at them, glared at them in the halls as they gave each other
bro hugs and scruffles and even pantsed each other. Hawk's cock slicked up with his precum and he
closed his eyes, filling all of his vision with the fox's body.
The wolf opened his eyes and grunted, itchy with need. He got up off the sofa and headed for the
bedroom for a little more comfort, shedding all of his clothes. In a hurry, he pulled out his 'jock
drawer' and emptied it onto the floor, bent on having a little gear play, perhaps to imagine the fox
sucking on his jock-wrapped dick. At the bottom of the resulting pile of thongs, rubber sheath
briefs, and fetish jocks... was a plain cotton jockstrap. It was the kind used as an actual athletic
supporter, and from the yellowish sweat stains, was actually used. In a moment of sexually enraged
pigginess, Hawk swept the jock to his head and mashed his snout into the front pouch, huffing the
time-tempered scent.
Instead of his own powerful musk, or the scent of various other people he knew who would have left a
jockstrap in his house at some point over fifteen years, he got a whiff of the skunky tang of fox.
Up until that very moment, Hawk's cock was surging hard; the scent instantly stopped it. It wasn't
the scent of Michael Jasek, the eccentric nerd who hung out with Tomasz; it wasn't Chad, the fox
Hawk had been seeing for years and years. It wasn't Armand, the shameful slut who had prompted Hawk
to violate him on company property until the two were fired.
It was Peter. The smell didn't bring back eroticism. It brought back a helpless feeling, body driven
to do something that Hawk very much wanted to do, gaining pleasure in a disturbing way as his mind
was twisted by hallucinogenic mushrooms. It brought back the smell of vomit and urine and the
disgusting after-effects of seriously prolonged anal sex (the story had circulated that Hawk had
fucked Peter for well over forty minutes - Hawk couldn't remember at all except for it being
'long'.)
Hawk's cock sank, shrinking flesh forcing out a long drool of precum. The wolf tore the jockstrap
off his face and hurled it at the floor, then stared at it. He'd stolen it from the locker room as
retribution for years of his own clothing being stolen, only to realize that it was Peter's. It
stayed secreted in the wolf's little private spot in one of the plumbing access utility closets,
then had gone home at some point and ended up buried in Hawk's gear.
The wolf's mind shifted from Peter over to Christopher. The wolf hadn't turned out so well - a
profound jerk rendered into a prostitute selling his asshole and slutty little whimperings.
Christopher had never been nice to Hawk, and trying to humiliate the black wolf was a purely
negative move even if it hid a desperate lust. One aspect of that humiliation was Hawk's treatment
of Peter, and that left Hawk feeling knotted inside. He didn't know what was bad and what wasn't,
what was a mistake and what was genuine violating sadism, what was drugs and what was wolf, what was
pain and what was pleasure, whether or not Peter really came during those forty asshole-ramming
minutes or if Hawk just imagined it to make himself feel better.
Banned from masturbating by the sour taste in his mouth and the faded musk of Peter Norsten still in
his wrinkled nose, Hawk ran a bath and stewed for an hour. At the end of it, as the dirty water from
his body swirled a few black hairs into the tub drain, he made up his mind.
The weather was too cold for his usual outfit, even with a high-necked shirt underneath the
expensive leather and alligator blazer. Hawk opted for his long German leather coat instead, then
headed out. Traffic was light, almost alarmingly so, and a cold breeze dusted a few flurries about.
The wolf had spent hours attempting to figure out everything he could about Peter. He lived in the
old part of town, in a wealthy gated subdivision. He was married to a fox named Melinda, who worked
as an operations coordinator for St. Catherine's hospital. He had a son named Jared, who went to
Lainsville high. (Hawk wondered if the young fox had any secret admirers.) Most importantly, thanks
to a break to take care of a little leftover business from work, Hawk discovered that he had a
tenuous connection to Peter outside of that one night fifteen years earlier. Several weeks earlier
the two had been less than ten feet from each other at Hawk's company, Lainsville Powersport, and
neither had the slightest idea.
Getting past the gate was easy. No one had left it open, but the security camera had iced over
during the snow and melt the other day and it probably couldn't see anything. A moment with his cell
phone and the internet, and Hawk figured out how to get the gate open by way of a bad design choice
in the keypad box. He drove up to Peter's address and pulled up. The driveway was empty and only a
few lights were on at the house. He got out and braced against the cold, then made it up the steps
to the front door. Clear of ice and snow, no crunchy salt bits to ruin leather. Nice touch.
He rang the bell and after a few moments, the door opened. Hawk perked his eyebrows as the deadbolt
popped; then he remembered that gated neighborhoods didn't receive solicitors. Peter's face appeared
and twitched. "Hello?"
"Evening," was all Hawk said as he stood on the front step, blasted by the porch light in his face.
"I'm sorry, but we don't take solicitors here, this is a gated community," Peter said, and started
to close the door.
"Yeah, well, I'm not soliciting. I'm not selling you god, I'm not asking for a survey, I'm not
trying to make you buy a fucking vacuum..."
The fox tilted his head in true canid style. "Uh, well, then what are you doing here? Are you with
the police?"
"I'm guessing you don't recognize me," Hawk said. That prompted Peter to squint for a moment, then
widen his eyes.
"Oh. Uh, well, I guess... you can come in, it's awfully cold out," the fox said, and stepped back,
bringing the door with him. Hawk stepped into a little foyer with hardwood floor peeking out from
underneath a big utility mat, benches on either side, and coat racks. It looked old, but antique
old, well-kept. Peter shut the door. "Can I... take your coat?"
"I'm fine," Hawk said, waiting as Peter looked confused and thwarted. A hissing sound somewhere in
the house sputtered its way to a breaking whistle, and then just a solid harsh tone.
"I'll be right back, my tea's done," the fox said, and hurried away. He trotted on the balls of his
bare feet, brush of a tail clutched over by one hand so it didn't flail. The gesture was effeminate,
but not in a prancing way. Peter simply wasn't incredibly masculine as a person, not when he was a
teenager and apparently not in the present.
Hawk stepped out of the foyer and into the living room. Or rather, 'great room', which looked like a
sitting room mixed with the stunning stairwell at the end of a home. The stairs were grand and wide
at the base, then curved up slightly to meet around with the upper hallway. The effect was almost
that of a classic mansion, on a suburban scale. Everything was trimmed with rich, old wood, and
there were paintings very evenly spaced on the great room walls. One of them was even a portrait, a
vaguely Peter-ish fox with the same ear and eye spread and easy smile, but in mid-last-century
proper business dress. A bowl of incense sat on a small table near the entrance, next to a
touch-screen phone. Hawk picked it up, compared it to his, let the thing sit in his gloved hand,
then set it back down.
"Would you like some tea, or maybe coffee? I have egg-nog, but it's not very good," Peter called
out. His voice had a slight shake to it, like he'd run into the kitchen, or like he was scared.
"Irish coffee. Use the egg-nog for the cream. You can go easy on the whiskey if you like," Hawk
said. Instead of the mid-tenor of Peter's voice, the wolf's Brooklyn brogue filled up the space and
nearly rang the picture frames. After a tense few moments alone in the anachronistic but very kept
house, Peter reappeared, holding a steaming mug of tea and something less immediately hot and creamy
up top. It was a heavy liquor glass full of black coffee with a speckled cream topping. The wolf
took it and the heat went right through his supple leather gloves; almost too hot, but he'd been
standing outside for about twenty minutes to get through the gate. Hawk sipped at the drink - hot
coffee, whiskey, a little honey, and the spicy custard-thick eggnog. "You actually made a fucking
irish coffee."
"I was a bartender at the Triad Hotel downtown, when I was in college," Peter said, blowing and
sipping off his tea. "You have something..."
Hawk just curled his black tongue out and around his ebony lips, swiping the errant wipe of white
from the top of his drink. He stared at Peter until the fox averted his eyes. "Thank you," he said,
then pulled another sip. Behind Peter was a decorative mirror. Hawk looked like an SS agent come to
check out someone's papers, collar even lifted to guard off the frigid December cold, cradling a
bribe in the form of hot liquor. "It's very good."
"I'm sorry, I forgot your name..." Peter said, leaning on one of the staircase supports. Hawk looked
up the staircase, around to the upper hallway. There were a few tape lines with greeting cards taped
to them, but there weren't any other decorations.
"Hawk."
Peter crossed one arm over his lower ribs, and held the coffee, then slipped his arm down when he
realized what he looked like. "Hawk, I didn't think that was-"
"Harold Kirsch, but everyone calls me Hawk nowadays," the wolf said, trying to keep from breaking
into a half smile as festive irish coffee warmed up into his ears and let him realize he was looking
down at the shorter fox. Peter was nice to look at, wearing an open-collared casual polo and
battered indigo bluejeans with a squarely trendy hole over one knee. He looked like he was relaxed
around the house, and it almost made Hawk smile for real.
"I see... well, this is kind of an unusual high school reunion, but how are you?" Peter's question
had a double-twist at the end, as he indicated questioning whether he should even be asking. He
dunked his teabag, then squished it against the side of the mug with a spoon.
"Fine. I live in Dawson Woods, I own a nationally-renowned motorcycle engine shop and work at
Lainsville Powersport... in fact, that's where I got your address, from the delivery sheet. The BMW
hybrid power pack for your bike's going to be in on Tuesday."
Peter looked slightly relieved, then sighed even more into a slight slouch. "Well, I'm glad that's
coming in on time. I would have thought the holiday would mess things up. I work for an investment
bank. Vermillion Bank and Trust. We work a lot with the Fresh Start Outreach, so it's not just me
trying to be a greedy ass. Like when all the banks were messed up when we were in school."
Hawk perked an eyebrow. An eye for an eye. "Interesting."
"We invest venture capital into small businesses, on the condition that they work with Fresh Start
Outreach. People get a helping hand back onto their feet, businesses get the money they want and the
employees they need, and we get a return on our investment as well as more customers. Did you say
you live in Dawson Woods?
"Yeah. Off the little trail at the end of it."
This impressed Peter, whose eyebrows lifted up and a little huff came out of his slender,
black-tipped muzzle. It was no doubt due to his position in life as a banker, living in a fine and
pricy historical house. Hawk's house was probably just as pricy, but the wolf's background was
mechanical engineering, small engine repair and construction, and wreaking havoc with his sexual
entitlement. The two were living in completely different worlds, in the same town.
"I saw the name, and then I thought... that's familiar. I thought I would drop by. You look like
you've done pretty well for yourself. This is a very nice house," Hawk said, testing the waters to
see what happened.
Peter took the bait. "Oh, it's not really... I inherited it," he said. "My parents were far more
well-off. My grandfather founded the bank, and my dad was the vice president. That's his picture. My
mother's is upstairs, in the master suite's dressing room. It's kind of strange having a
professional fine portrait of your mother when you're coming naked out of the shower, but she left
that in her will. It was the favorite part of the house."
Hawk narrowed his eyes. A sob story about divorce and failed college financial support; a sob story
about deceased parents - just after Peter graduated from college, if Hawk remembered from the
newspaper stories. Something knotted up in his gut and sent a prickle into his cock. He sipped from
the coffee again, now half empty. It was a very, very strong drink. Single malt scotch, well over a
standard single measure. "I-"
"Can we... do you mind if we go to another room? I never really like having conversations here, it's
a little too big," Peter said, and headed up the stairs. Hawk started after, boot heels producing a
tremendous thunk-creak on the old wood stairs. Peter stared down at the wolf's boots - there were a
couple footprints on the rug right at the foyer. Peter walked around in socks for a reason. Hawk's
violation of the unspoken rule made the wolf's mean grin come back for a second.
The pair went up into a room lined with bookcases, a desk, a day bed/chaise by the window.
Everything was beautiful, like out of a restored home magazine. Red upholstery, deep cherry wood.
Hawk stood on the oriental rug, heels still on the wood floor. He lifted to his toes and tapped the
heels down, getting another look out of the corner of Peter's eyes. The fox went and leaned by his
desk. "This is my study. It's... why are you here?" Peter let the words come out with a huff. "I
thought I was never going to see you again."
Hawk had two answers. He didn't want to vocalize either of them; one would probably have a positive
effect, and the other... "You're a very attractive fox, Peter." The black wolf opted for plan C,
and it worked like a charm.
Peter shook his head and palmed at the forehead, lips pulled back in a pained snarl. "No no no,
look, I hope that's not why you're here, because you're going to leave empty handed. Mr... Hawk. I
just, that's not who I am any more. I'm glad you think that way, but I've just left that behind."
Hawk perked one eyebrow. That wasn't anticipated. "What do you mean, left it behind?"
"I've accepted Jesus now," Peter said. Before Hawk could sputter out an incredulous chuckle, the fox
cut back in. "I don't go around trying to push it in anyone's face. That's not how you make friends
and it's a cheap way to make enemies. But it's how I am now. Melinda and I... my wife, we... we
believe. Jesus helped me through my parents' death, and it helped Melinda through depression in
medical school, and he may even help Jared. We don't know yet." Peter paused. "Melinda and Jared are
at Melinda's mother's place. She's recovering from a minor stroke so they figured a family reunion
up in Maine was a good idea. I have to do some work tomorrow, of all days," Peter said, voice
trembling as he tried to mask his mollification with anecdotes. He looked down at himself, as if
finally being struck with the self-doubt that a compliment can bring a modest person.
"What do you mean, left it behind?" Hawk repeated, lowering his muzzle, eyes fixing on Peter's
cat-eyes. When he tried that move on Christopher, it had instantly punctured the wolf's ego. It made
Peter's head recoil until his chin was almost tucked into the neckruff, hands lifting like he was
going to push the wolf away from the other end of the room.
"I was in a very bad emotional place when I was in high school, and I wanted to be... I wanted to be
used, so I'd feel wanted. I guess? I met Christopher and he laid this hard sexual thing on me as
soon as he found out that I wasn't.. against it. I started realizing something was wrong, because he
never wanted to... satisfy me, it was always about him getting off. Then, when you attacked me, he
goaded me into telling him. I didn't want to, because... because I didn't want him to get jealous."
"Why would he be jealous about me raping you?" The word came out much more easily than Hawk
imagined, like the tension had already lubricated the moment.
"Because I came, while you were doing it."
Hawk let out a heavy sniff through his nostrils. "Then why-"
"If I told him that I came, I knew he was going to.. I don't know, do something really bad. Maybe to
me, or maybe to you. So I told him that you hurt me and made me throw up and all that, but I didn't
tell him that I was drunk and I felt so much better after I hurled all over. I didn't care that you
shoved me into it, or kept me down until I wet myself. When you were on top of me, I wanted to cry,
I felt so... and eventually, I came."
Hawk's eyes burned wide and yellow, brows lifted and then pursed down in the middle. He clutched
onto the glass hard enough that his glove leather squeaked, then set it down with a thump on an end
table. "You told him that I raped you so he wouldn't hurt you?"
"I had to say something at that point, I'd already started talking, and it just seemed so likely..
he would really go and do something crazy, to too many people, so I said.. I said that you forced
me, because I couldn't think of anything to, blame myself."
"You told him that I forced you to have sex, and left out that you liked it, so it wouldn't hurt
you. But did you realize he was just going to turn all of his anger onto me and tell everyone he
could find, so that everyone was whispering to each other and staring at me and calling out to me
every day I set foot in school for six months? The only reason they forgot is when Sandy tried to
kill herself in the principal's office, and it fucking distracted them."
"I really think, I really think you should go. You can't come in here like this. If you, if you
broke in through the gate, this is private property." Peter took his cell phone out, shaking, and
went to make a call. He stared at it, prodded at it, flipped it up to his ear.
"I took the battery out while you were getting your tea," Hawk said. "You left it on that table
downstairs."
Peter's eyes went wide and then rolled up, swung down.
"I saw your phone interface box outside isn't connected to anything anymore. I bet you only have
cellphones. Since your wife isn't here, then I guess that's the only phone. Except mine, and I'm not
going to let you use it."
"If you came here looking for forgiveness, you can forget about it. I can't do that. That is totally
against God-"
"You are a _fox_. Don't you think that's against God?" Hawk stepped backwards and pushed the door
shut. Peter's ears sank backwards and he lifted his hands to stroke them so that they didn't cramp.
"If you liked it then, you'll like it now, too. Even if Jesus fucks you in the ass now while you
fuck your wife." The wolf unbuttoned his trench coat and then swung his arms out, shimmying and
dropping the heavy leather to the floor. His upper body was clad in a leather shirt with a laced
neck and laced arm cuffs, with the leather 'too small' so the lacings exposed fur underneath as if
the garment was being ripped apart by his muscles. Atop the shirt was a leather harness, heavy-duty
straps wrapping waist, shoulders and chest. Below the belt and hidden by the coat were a pair of
leather jodphurs, simple and heavy leather with a subtle relaxed loose thigh on the outside. Hands
were wrapped in smooth, black equestrian riding gloves; boots were his gunslinger cowboy boots, knee
high with a snipped square toe.
"I can't do this, I can't. How could you think, how could you ever think...?" Peter huffed out at
the end.
Hawk's mind scrambled for a second, then cleared up. He was standing in Peter Norsten's study, with
the fox backed against the daybed at the windowsill, in full leather gear, burning with black coffee
and whiskey. "I can smell what you've been doing in here while your family's away," Hawk said,
nostrils flaring as he added another sniff for effect. "You need the kind of company that you
haven't had since... for a long time."
Peter repeatedly shook his head, tail fluffing around behind him and smacking at the daybed. He
looked panicked, not so much in need of escape as in support. He sat down. "I can't... I just, I've
spent so long living this way now, I just can't go back to how I was. I have a son, who's going to
be starting high-school next year!"
Hawk's brain continued to sparkle and static inside, as the situation became so overheated that he
couldn't believe what was happening. Peter wasn't flat out ordering the wolf to leave, nor was he
trying to attack or run away. He was just beating himself up with his own emotions. That gave the
black wolf free license. "You have a son now? Then you can take my company in the same bed where you
made him."
Peter cracked and one eye opened up. "What?"
"I'm not going to take you right here. I'm going to do it in the same bed where you fuck your wife."
That didn't provoke anything from Peter except a dull look. "You do fuck your wife?"
"Yes," The fox squeaked, and bolted up, pushing past Hawk. The wolf stormed out to follow, only to
watch Peter stalk arrow straight into the master bedroom, not towards the stairs. Hawk followed - it
was opulent. The bathroom was connected with a full dressing room, the size of the study and
comprising massive closet space, and the bed featured a canopy and dark imperial British woodwork.
"I don't know, I don't know where to.." Peter said, hands nervously touching his shirt, his thighs,
his shirt, his thighs.
Hawk felt like he was in a movie, in slow motion, and slowly paced around, listening to the
resonating clunk of his boot heels on the thick hardwood floor. Each thunk made the fox's ear
twitch. "Take them off, then lie on the bed."
Peter finally grappled onto his shirt and rolled it up halfway, exposing the cream streak up his
front side, nestled into the deep reddish orange around the rest of his body. Then he tugged it up
off his arms, and Hawk stared. The fox was the same swimmer's build, literally as there was a pool
visible from the master bedroom's window, lit up and covered against the hard winter. The fox's body
had hints of more age, a little harder angles and a little scruffier coarse muzzle fur. Peter then
clutched at his jeans and undid the belt, then the fly, then stepped out of them. There was no
filthy surprise, not even underwear. His cock flopped out, bloated like it was hard, dangled down
like soft.
Hawk stepped towards Peter, who stepped backwards toward the bed. The fox eventually sat, then
scooted backwards as Hawk stepped to the edge. The black wolf leaned down, leather breeches
squeaking as he kneeled onto the bed, then straddled up over Peter. The fox lay there, arms at his
sides, hands flat to the sheets, back arched like a disobedient toddler. Hawk leaned in closer, one
arm on either side of the fox's chest. "I came here to apologize to you. You have the nerve to tell
me that you actually enjoyed what I did to you, then you tell me that Christopher was going to hurt
you if you told him the truth. You saved yourself, instead of telling the truth." Hawk's muzzle
reached the fox's ear, and he could feel the heat coming off it in fast pulses as the ear quivered
under his breath.
"I thought he was going to hurt me, to do something really bad. He... I was really..." Peter mewled,
voice catching. Hawk looked Peter in the eye and the fox just stared back, forlorn, wide-eyed, and
slightly wet.
"You thought he was going to hurt you? Do you know what kind of wolf Christopher is now, Peter? He's
the kind you pay for a good time. He's a fucking whore. He's a whore who dresses in girly shit and
lets you fuck him without even wearing a condom, all because you gave him some money. You were
afraid he was going to hurt you?" When Peter raised a hand to push away at Hawk, the wolf lunged it
in and grabbed the vulpine by the throat. Peter grappled with it, but Hawk never removed his
fingers, only easing up when the fox eased up, until he was left holding the fox against the sheets
and nearly strangling him. "When I let you go, you're going to wrap your arms around me, lean up,
and kiss me. You're going to do it. I won't force you."
Peter froze for a few seconds, then twitched forwards. Hawk mimed the movement a few seconds later,
and their snouts approached each other. Peter's eyes closed as he parted his thin black lips and let
his pink tongue snake out. His hands lifted and met with the wolf's leather shirt, traced one of the
straps around the back, and curled fingers on. The tongue was met by Hawk's, the two wrestling and
producing a groan from each mouth. When Hawk pulled away and looked down, Peter's cock was swollen
into a subtly curved arrow, foreskin too tight to stay in place once the shaft was jostled. The
flesh rolled back, nestling behind the bulging rim of a powerful erect dickhead.
"I bet you have toys in the nightstand. To help your wife get off. I hear that's a problem with a
lot of women." Hawk eased up and then leaned over, reaching into the nightstand. He felt something
soft and furry, then leathery, and withdrew it. A pair of sensuous handcuffs.
Peter responded by tucking back against the bed and looking away, holding both wrists up. The
expression was that of giving the wolf what he wanted - the rest of Peter was visibly pained. Hawk
fitted them around the wrists. The vulpine closed his eyes and started muttering. Hawk was able to
make out, "Lord god", "...sinning in such a foul way..." and that was enough for him. The wolf
snarled and looked over into the drawer; there was a comfort-ridged ball gag, another pair of cuffs,
several dildos and bottles of lube, and something that looked vaguely like a standard prostate
massager. Hawk grasped for the gag and the massager and a bottle of lube.
"Don't give me that shit," Hawk said, and took the gag up to Peter's mouth, nudging it against the
mouth. The fox groaned and struggled left to right against it, then closed his eyes again and
relaxed. The ball pushed in, and he let out a muffled, defeated groan. Hawk pulled the strap snug
and buckled it - the buckle was up next to one side of the ball. Then he grabbed for the fox's
cuffed wrists and unhooked the carabiner between them, then forced the hands back to the fox's
headfur. The gag strap had a second collar strap that Hawk fixed in place, and then a clip for the
carabiner to hook to. With the hands back against the strap, Peter could hardly get the tips of his
fingers to either side of his mouth.
Hawk took the bottle of lube and opened it, gloved hand holding the metal toy up to the bottle's
cap. He slimed the metal up with his gloved fingers, then moved the toy towards Peter. The fox
cowered and shook his head, but slowly pulled his knees up despite the gesture. His asshole was
tight, a black star nestled in the creamy underfur between his legs. Hawk introduced the head of the
toy to Peter's hole as the fox's legs shook and held back, and realized too late what the strange
black stripe was down both sides of it. The fox's hole immediately clenched up and Peter let out a
startled cry into the gag. Then after a few more seconds, his hole clenched again, slurping the toy
inside. The fox's eyes rolled back into his head and his legs slid down, stretching out, kicking in
slow motion, a gurgling groan coming out of his muzzle. Hawk nudged the toy into its deepest
position, then stared at Peter.
"That's shocking you, isn't it? I bet you use that with your wife, when you're fucking her. You
can't come in her wet, squirming cunt unless you're getting shocked like a studding racehorse," Hawk
said, reaching to show the fox his gloved hand, then surrounding the erection with it. He wrapped
his fingers slowly, almost drumming them against the heated, tight flesh. Every second or so, Peter
cried out and strained as the electrical pulses hit straight into his prostate.
Hawk stared up and down, from cock to face, giddy inside and wrenched with that crooked mean grin.
Peter admitted that he wanted it? Then the fox was going to get more of it. The cries turned into
urgent groans, then into a stuttering near cackle, then a tortured sob as the fox's cock throbbed
and pulsated under Hawk's hand, creamy jets of spunk firing square onto Peter's chest. Hawk plucked
the toy out and the fox's spine sank to the sheets; the wolf plied his hand around the sticky mess,
glove leather grinding it into fur, and Peter let out another sputtering sob.
The wolf then rolled onto his side and spurted lube into his hand, the other set of fingers prying
his leather fly open and exposing his own shaft. The length rose out, black flesh swelling into a
glossy, leathery rod, glistened up by the lubricate. "Climb up on me. You're going to fuck yourself
onto my dick, until you come. Again. Until you come, and I come. It's going to be just like before,
except you're going to do all the work that you like so much."
Peter looked like a zombie, eyes wide, focused on the distance, lower jaw matted with drool, chest
rising fast and hard. He slowly moved into position, body straining and tensing as he tried to keep
his balance with his elbows sticking out, body moving into the offered position. He closed his eyes
and started to sit back - Hawk had to reach behind him to guide the shaft home. It stuffed through
Peter's asshole with a yelp, and the fox cried out hard enough to send spit flowing out the corners
of his mouth as he sat down and impaled himself. He reached his limit and panicked, body lurching
upwards, only to drop again. The vulpine stayed away from being hilted by bouncing like that, knees
soon shaking back and forth.
Hawk felt something sober that he'd attributed to hallucinating out of his mind; his gut felt empty
as the fox rode him, sexual feelings numbed at his cock but boiling higher up inside the body. Hawk
groaned, dizzy and snarling, as the over-stimulating tight hole milked his cock so hard that it
sent him into a flashback. He could smell wet dirt, raunchy scents of ass and sweaty foreskin and
the skunk spray of fox urine; he could hear his leather gear creaking and squeaking; he could feel
that nudging, vibrating sensation inside his guts even as he stuffed his own cock into a warm hole.
After totally losing touch, Hawk drifted back in. Peter was still riding him, body reaching an
uncomfortable equilibrium with an angle that let him thrust and sink down with as much control as
shaking, burning thigh muscles let him. "Wait, wait," Hawk grunted, leaning up and seizing Peter by
the shoulders. "I wouldn't want you to fall off," he said, unscrewing the carabiner that held the
fox's wrists together and to the back of the gag/collar. "Who wears this usually? You or your wife?
I don't see any strap-ons in there but you're not crying too hard over this..." Hawk let the fox's
hands come down to the lower back, then attached them together again.
With his hands able to grasp onto things, Peter leaned back and clutched at one of the wolf's
thighs, leather squeaking under his fingers as he kneaded hard and started the body-arching rise and
fall. His cock stood out, still hard, sometimes sagging to half-mast, only to throb its way up to a
subtle, vein-bloated curve.
Hawk felt increasingly numb, completely aware of his cock inside Peter's squirming, tight but
accepting asshole but feeling mostly a strange detached feeling as he watched the closed-eye fox
ride away. He tried to imagine what was going through Peter's head - his wife, his favorite fantasy,
the voice of God, an endless stream of prayer?
Peter's lips twitched against his teeth, curled back, and his jaw started to work at the ball-gag.
The fox groaned and leaned back harder, forcing Hawk's dickhead to bump along the prostate
continuously. Before Hawk could start offering his own ass-clenching pushes, the fox's cock spurted
off again, one spurt slopping out and landing in his fur, the rest pumping out in a sticky drool
down the shaft. Peter let out that shuddering sob of pleasure again, then strained up and pulled off
with a visceral gruh from his gagged mouth. The fox sank against the bed and just lay there on his
side, eyes sleepily lidded.
Hawk stared at his cock. Still hard, no come leaking out of it. Technically, Peter had violated a
rule, but Hawk couldn't bring himself to enact a punishment. The numb feeling was starting to eat at
his stomach. A million things ran through his head, all of them mean and vicious and they all
pointed back to Peter. The fox was married, had a teenaged son, had found God, and he was still
getting fucked by a wolf. Hawk had grown up, but he was still taking things that weren't his... but
just like last time, Peter was giving it away.
The wolf's cell phone rang in his pocket, and he untucked it from the snug leather and put it up to
his ear. "Are you done playing with your chemistry set?"
"Mr. Wolf, do I have legs?" Alzarre asked, voice distant and floating.
Hawk sneered and grunted into the phone. Peter's eyes opened and filled with terror, ears tucking
flat against his head. Hawk narrowed his gaze at the fox until Peter looked away. "What the fuck
kind of question is that?"
"I think they're on the other side of the room, I'm not sure," Alzarre purred into the phone, his
faux-English accent failing him back to a clipped South American accent. In Hawk's reality, Peter
let out a groan of discomfort and struggled against the cuffs. "Oh! Oh you have someone there. Is it
that little weather-casting fox that you like so much?"
Hawk's brain searched for a solution to his problem. He could lie, he could tell the truth, he could
hang up and let Peter go, he could... The wolf rolled over and peered into the nightstand. Slightly
larger cuffs. A blindfold. He grabbed both and rolled back. Peter was actively trying to get out of
the cuffs when Hawk - still clutching the phone - rolled back and pushed the two items into Peter's
chest. The fox quit struggling and offered that wide-eyed, terror ridden stare. Hawk kept the phone
mashed to his ear. "Same species, different person."
"Well, you don't really... oh, you can't possibly mean-"
"Exactly."
"Oh," Alzarre said, then let out some kind of languid grunt. "Mmmm, that, well, I'm not sure that's
such a good idea."
Hawk took the phone away from his ear, looked at it, then looked Peter in the face. He mashed the
speakerphone button and set the phone aside, then took the cuffs off the fox's slender chest and
went down to the ankles. Peter whimpered and shook his head, squirming his legs apart - Hawk just
snatched one and fitted the cuff around it, then bent the knee back and forced Peter over to the
side. The whimper turned to a cry, then a muffled fox-siren, as Peter rolled himself by way of
flexing his legs. The attempts to kick didn't work very well, as Hawk managed to pull one ankle back
to hook the cuff to the wrist carabiner, then restrain the second ankle. Peter's fox wail ended and
turned into urgent complaints, tail smacking the sheets with stiff slaps.
"Seems like a fine idea to me," Hawk said loudly.
"Mr. Wolf," Alzarre said, voice pumping the two words out as if he were drunk. Hawk imagined
Alzarre's inky, gloved hand reaching out and clutching unsteadily to his arm for the confidence.
"You have, oh, was his name... Was it Peter? You have him there? He sounds unhappy. I might be...
I'm very... I'm somewhere else, Mr. Wolf, but I'm not _stupid_."
Once the cuffs were on and Peter was effectively hogtied, Hawk slipped the blindfold onto the fox's
head. Instead of panicking further, Peter quieted down, just whimpering and grunting at the strain
of having hands and feet nearly rammed together, body formed into a well-rounded C on the bed. Hawk
climbed out of the fox's sumptuous bed and stalked into the dressing room, then the bath. He shut
the door and mashed the phone to his ear. In the mirror, he stood dick-out, lean and leather-clad,
with a rude smear of semen on his thigh, headfur tousled up between the ears.
"Dammnit, Al, damn your fucking burned-out junkie ass. How can you, how can you _exist_ and then
second-guess something that I'm doing?" Hawk groused into the phone at a hard whisper.
"I recall that you raped a poor, innocent fox and were quite shamed over it. You can't tell me that
you've gone back for _seconds_. Americans just love buffet eating, don't they?"
Hawk's response was a curt snarl. "He _liked_ it, you shit. He betrayed me, to that goddamn _wolf_,
he was being railed by Christopher and didn't want to get hurt by the mean, abusive douchebag brat,
so he told him that I raped him."
"Well, you _did_-"
"He LIKED it, can't you fucking listen?"
"Oh, I should have come over, we could be lying on a hill somewhere, holding hands and looking into
God's eyes," Alzarre said, voice wistful and drifting. "His terrible, terrible eyes."
"Don't you start on this God shit, Al. I already got an earful of it from this goddamn.. hrruh.
Fox." Hawk looked back towards the door to the bathroom. It was still shut.
"Mr. Wolf, it's.. ahh, so late, how did it get so late? Time flies when you are brewing magical
witch potions," Alzarre mumbled. "Mr. Wolf," he started again, and the phone crackled as if it was
being manhandled. "It's Christmas now. I think we're all allowed a little bit of God."
"I'm not a fucking Christian. Try to pull your head out of your ass for a few seconds and tell me
what the fuck to do? Why the hell do you think I called you? You've gotten yourself out of some
fucking weird situations." Hawk stood at the toilet and let out a heavy groan, prostate aching as he
forced piss out through it. His stream sputtered and stop-started as he tried to go through a
half-hard dick.
"Did you go there to rape him, or did you go there to apologize? Those seem, like, two.... mmh."
Hawk thought about the question. Those were his two choices. When he made up his mind in the
bathtub, he decided to pay Peter a visit. He dressed for both possibilities. They were equally
balanced, and the answer to the question was: "I don't know."
Alzarre let out a deep sigh, then a giddy squeal. "Oh, I just pissed all over my face! I heard
you... doing it, and though, oh I need to go now, and I was playing with myself, and-"
"WHAT DO I FUCKING DO?" Hawk snarled into the phone, so loud that his voice came back into his ear
distorted and staticky.
Alzarre reversed the sigh with a big inhale. "Well............... oh, what's that movie, with the
angel, and the... it's really dreadful, no, that's not the right idea. I suppose if you've gone to
all the trouble... nnh."
"You are _USELESS_," Hawk snapped, then shut off his phone and slid it back into his pocket. He left
the bathroom at a slow, cautious clop, heading out into the bedroom again. Peter was still on the
bed, breathing hard, staring blankly across the sheets to the alarm clock. 12:04AM. Hawk let out a
gruff as he realized that Alzarre was right. It really was Christmas now. It'd been Christmas Eve,
no traffic, family away for the holidays.
He thought about that as he looked at the hog-tied vulpine. Peter was alone. It was sad, unless the
fox was lying, but who tells a stranger that no one else is home? Maybe the fox had calculated the
response. Maybe he was just lonely. Hawk decided he'd figure out, and there was only one way. He
took a deep breath and turned on his heel, then stomped out of the bedroom to head down the hall. He
entered the study and retrieved his coat, then slung it on and leaved it open, harness and leather
shirt showing through the opening, cock hanging down. He stuffed back into his pants, then made for
the bedroom. He barged back in the door and Peter jerked on the bed, blinded head moving around.
Hawk realized he'd blindfolded the fox, so he just looked down at himself, then back to the vulpine.
"I'm going to take care of you," he said, then stepped over to the bed. When he touched for the
ankle cuffs, Peter jerked.