Unconventional
Conventions wore Brad out, these days. As a young ferret, he'd stayed up 'til three in the morning and been up bright and early at eight to squeeze the most out of the day. Now, more years later than he cared to admit to any but his closest friends, he had to retreat to his hotel room by midnight to have any chance of being upright before nine the next day. At least he'd gotten to the point where he didn't have to share a hotel room with three other guys. As nice as that sometimes was, he valued a good night's sleep more than the chance of casual sex, these days. He could always go find a quickie. Eight solid hours of rest? That was like gold.
Even if he couldn't always actually find a quickie. A lot of his friends had paired up, and even though some of them were in open relationships, it felt weird to him just thinking about it, not right. And the kids who would practically feel you up in the dance, well, they didn't run to feel him up as much. When you hit a certain age, they could sense it, even if you kept in shape and kept your fur clean.
Saturday night, he'd said good-bye to everyone a little past midnight, padded back to the hotel room, and been asleep by twelve-thirty. So when he woke, disoriented and tired, he didn't at first realize what was going on.
At first he thought he hadn't really gone to sleep yet. Then he saw the clock, the glowing number three that made the two numbers after it largely irrelevant. He sighed and closed his eyes. He still had four or five hours--
"Brian?"
The voice was calling outside his door. A short staccato of tapping claws followed.
"Dude, come on, get up."
The voice was high, young, and slurred. Brad couldn't tell if the speaker were drunk or tired. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for the kid to give up.
Tap tap tap. "Brian?" Brad pulled the pillow over his head. "I just saw you half an hour ago, man, don't do this." Tap tap tap. Brad stuffed fingers in his head. The voice became more muffled, less distinct, but the tap-tap-tapping drove through sheets and pillows and fingers.
With a 'tchah' noise, Brad threw the covers back. He grabbed a robe from the closet and stalked to the door, pressing his eye to the keyhole.
In the hallway outside, a short possum stood with his paw raised. Silver glittered down his pink ears, and the black convention t-shirt he wore was too big, sliding down to the right to expose a good chunk of his white-furred shoulder. His eyes, half-lidded, looked miserable. "Brian," he said again, "I'm sorry, I know it's late." He tapped on the door again.
"You've got the wrong room," Brad said loudly.
The possum started, then looked guilty. He shuffled on down the hotel hallway without another word. Brad kept his eye to the peephole until he could no longer see the kid. He turned away, and just as he did, he heard a faint tapping and the kid's voice again, "Brian? Brian?"
He stalked back to his bed and dove under the covers. Blessed peace and quiet, finally. But sleep didn't come. He saw the possum again, tapping on one door after another. It was stupid o'clock in the morning and he still hadn't found a place to sleep. What if he'd started in a whole other wing of the hotel?
Okay, but what if he was just making up a name? What if he was hoping for some soft-hearted or lonely loser to open the door for him?
No, he'd looked genuinely miserable. Brad rolled over on his side, restlessly. Dammit. He opened his eyes.
Fine. He'd throw on a robe and go out into the hall. If the kid was still tapping on doors, he'd take him in. Just to stop him waking other people up. Brad jumped out of bed, padded to the bathroom, and was still fastening the robe around his waist when he threw back the privacy bolt and opened the door. Keeping it open with one paw, he leaned out into the hall.
There was the black t-shirt, the silver-studded ear, the long, thick tail. The kid was just lifting his paw to tap on another door.
"Hey!" Brad called down the hallway.
The possum turned. His eyes got wide and he made a wavy gesture with his paw. "Sorry!" he hissed. "I'm sorry!"
Brad beckoned him with a paw. "Yes, you," he said irritably when the possum looked startled. "Is there anyone else in the hall? Get in here."
Slowly, the kid ambled down the hall toward him. When he was a foot away, he looked up at Brad. "I'm real sorry for disturbing you," he said. "I just can't remember Brian's room number."
Brad could smell sour cocktail mix when the kid talked. No wonder he couldn't remember. "It's okay. I have a couch," he said.
"Really?"
"For Chrissakes, kid, it's three in the morning. If you wanna wake people up all night, go ahead, or you can sleep it off here." Brad tapped his paw. "Come on, in or out."
"Thanks, sir." The possum shuffled past, hesitating once on the threshold until Brad stepped in and the door threatened to swing shut. Then the kid hopped into the room, and the door did close. Brad locked it.
"I'm not gonna hurt you or...or anything." He gestured through the dim light to the loveseat. "You can curl up on that for a few hours."
"Thank you so much, but, uh." The possum was gazing longingly at the bathroom.
Brad reached in and flipped on the light. "Sure, help yourself."
Then the kid moved quickly, jumping in and closing the door. Brad sighed and stripped his robe off, getting under the covers and pulling them up to his chin. Did the kid have to call him 'sir'? Ah, who was he kidding. He was an old softie. The kid would have a place to sleep, wouldn't be out on a couch in the lobby. Maybe in ten years, he'd open the door for some other drunk kid.
His eyes drifted shut. He kind of wanted to make sure the kid got out of the bathroom okay, in case he passed out in there or something, but he found himself imagining that he was back in his bed at home. The layout was different, but the bed smelled like him. Maybe it was Jay in the bathroom. There was someone in there for sure, someone he was waiting for. He would wait. He would...
He drifted off and back, half-waking from a doze, the room now darker. The bathroom light was off, and there was a strong scent nearby. Stale cocktail mix and musk, a musk like Jay's. His brain couldn't place it. Then he remembered: the kid, the possum. He must smell pretty strong to have his scent carry from the sofabed.
Something brushed his leg. It was soft and warm, not surprising, and he was still a little too sleepy to jump. The gentle touch slid down the fur of his thigh, then came back up. The pleasant touch stirred memories and more in him, and in his sleepy haze, he let it continue. His sheath tingled pleasantly, though the brushing only came slightly near it.
The kid must have crawled into the bed, instead of taking the sofa, and his tail was moving in his sleep. Brad felt a little guilty, felt like a dirty old ferret for enjoying it, but there was no harm in it, right? He should wake the kid up, tell him to go sleep on the sofabed. That was the right thing to do. But the kid had already had a hard night. And if his tail was touching where nobody'd touched in a couple weeks, he'd never know. If he woke up, Brad could pretend to be asleep. He was already half-asleep anyway.
No, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that the touch of the tail, back and forth, was getting him bothered, and hot, and making him want to edge down and to his left just a little, just enough so the tail would brush over his boxers and onto his sheath, too. He was already pretty hard, and restraining his paw from just reaching down and grabbing himself. The kid's weight and warmth lay less than two feet from him across the big queen bed. Maybe when Brad was his age, he'd have jerked off in bed next to someone else, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do that these days.
The longer he lay there, the longer he was fooling himself that this sleeping kid, this involuntary tail movement, meant that he was going to get some tonight. That was a nice fantasy, but it just wasn't healthy. Finally, he moved the other way, to his right. The possum's thick tail slid down off his thigh. For a moment, Brad just lay there, staring at the ceiling. Slowly, he closed his eyes. His erection throbbed. Just a moment, he told himself, to rationalize the fact that his paw was already on its way down to his groin.
His fingers closed around his hardness. He sighed. He was wide awake now. He was gonna have to go to the bathroom and rub one out. For a moment, he worried about whether he'd wake up the kid, but he was small and quick, and the kid was pretty sacked out. Even if he did wake up, he'd just think Brad was pissing. Brad had lube in the bathroom. It'd be fast.
The tail brushed his thigh again. Brad froze. It crept along his fur, curled over the curve of his leg so the tail tip teased the inside, and it was higher up, the narrow tip right at the edge of his boxers. Warm and firm, it was a little weird. He'd dated guys with prehensile tails before. Just not furless ones.
The kid was awake, he had to be. The way the tail was moving, purposeful but hesitant--it wasn't just sleep movement. Holding his erection, with the tail tip sneaking under the leg of his boxers now, he wanted desperately to let it continue, to reach over and grab the tail and bring it to his hardness. He wanted to feel it wrap around him, slide up and down.
Not that he was into hentai at all. He was just horny, and anything different from his own paw was pretty desirable. But the kid was drunk, he reminded himself. He was drunk and he might be underage and anyway, Brad hadn't had a one-night stand in forever. It wasn't what he came to the conventions for, not any more. And...and he was a kid. He wasn't interested in Brad.
So he reached over with his paw and grasped the tail. For a moment, he hesitated, and in that moment it curled around his wrist. To his surprise, when he moved his paw across his body, away from it and back toward the kid, the tail followed obediently. But it didn't let go. He tried to disengage, but the kid's tail pulled him so that he rolled onto his side. He tried to get his paw free, but the tail had coiled tightly around his wrist.
"Hey," he said, softly.
"It's okay," the possum said.
"Um..."
The tail let go. The possum rolled over on his back. "Oh. Are you gay? I saw the lube, I thought..."
"No, I mean, yes, but--"
The long muzzle smiled in the darkness, showing a lot of teeth. The tail draped over his side, as if of its own accord. "I want to pay you back for the bedspace."
"I said you could sleep on the sofa," Brad said, faintly, his own arousal making it harder and harder to deny. "Look," he struggled, "you don't have to...uh..."
"I want to." The kid didn't sound drunk, not any more. "It's okay, I got condoms."
There was a rustling noise and movement as he reached down off the bed. He held up a small square packet.
The thing about being a mustelid was that not only could everyone else in the room tell when you were turned on, but your own scent turned you on more and more, an upward spiral. Brad had, by this time, learned how to discipline himself enough to not automatically go whack off whenever he started getting the least bit aroused. But he hadn't had to exercise that restraint with another person in bed in a very long time. "It's not..." He stared at the small packet. "I don't know you."
"So?" The kid shook the condom. "I'm Colly."
"Brad," he said automatically.
"Now we know each other?"
"Colly," Brad said, and using the kid's name was weird, it was like he did know him better now. This wasn't 'the drunk possum in the hallway,' this was 'Colly, the kid feeling him up in bed.' He put a paw out to the kid's side.
Colly had taken off his shirt. His fur was thick and soft, if a little rough. Brad couldn't tell if it was the natural texture or just dirt. "I mean, I appreciate it, but, look, if you want, we'll grab breakfast in the morning. And if you need a place to stay tomorrow night, I'm not leaving 'til Monday morning."
Colly was quiet. His tail just lay across Brad's stomach, limp. Brad felt guilt creeping up on him. That's ridiculous, he told himself. The kid just propositioned you and you said no. What's to feel guilty about? "It's not you," he said. "I just...I don't really do the one-night-stand thing any more."
"Then why'd you invite me in?" Colly's voice was quiet and a little hoarse.
Ah, jeez, please don't let the kid start crying. "Because you needed a place to stay."
"I was gonna sleep with Brian too. You don't like possums?"
Uh-oh. "I like possums. I dated a possum once," he lied.
"Then it's me. I tried to clean up..."
"I told you, it's not you." Despite his intentions, his paw squeezed the kid's side, and the thick tail responded by curling tighter against his stomach.
"So what is it?"
You'll understand when you're older, he wanted to say, and then had to suppress giggles at the ridiculousness of the platitude. Before he could muster a more appropriate thought, Colly started talking again. "I'm here, you're here, we both like sex, I think, and we've got a condom...I mean, the only time I ever had a guy not want to have sex, it was cause he thought possums were fugly."
Brad's paw was actually stroking down the kid's side now. He'd edged a little closer without realizing it. "It's not that simple," he said, and before the kid could ask why not?, which Brad knew he would, Brad tried to find the answer, realizing with some surprise that it was not an easy question.
"Why not?" Colly said.
His tail had found Brad's tail and curled around the base of it. It felt good. Being in bed with someone felt good. His warm, breathing stomach under Brad's paw felt good. And the scent of Brad's arousal was not helping him think, not one bit. He wanted to hug the kid, press up against him,
(slide his aching shaft up into him)
and hold him. If the kid wanted it too, and he was grown up--
"You're over eighteen, right?"
Brad realized as soon as he'd said it that he'd already put them on the path that led to sex. The question had come out before he realized it, sounding like his last objection. He hadn't meant it that way, he'd just been stalling, unsure of himself. But he knew how Colly would take it.
Sure enough, Colly chuckled and said, "I'm twenty. You wanna see my license?"
And his tail pushed down into Brad's boxers. Brad sighed, pulling himself closer, up behind the kid. "No," he said, as the tail curled finally, wonderfully around the base of his sheath and squeezed. "No, that's okay." He tore the condom open and grinned. He felt surprisingly relieved that the decision was over. It was hard to believe that this random kid, from out in the hallway at three in the morning, was ready and even eager to be fucked by him. Go with it, he told himself. "I don't suppose you got the lube out of the bathroom?"
"Brought my own." The kid's paw came up again, holding a small tube.
Brad worked his erection out of his boxers and unrolled the condom down over it. He took the tube. "You've done this before."
Colly's tail loosened its hold on Brad's sheath, but the possum didn't respond until Brad had worked the tube open and squeezed some chilly liquid onto his condom-wrapped shaft. "I'm not a slut," he said.
Paw wrapped around his shaft, Brad couldn't stop himself from spreading the lube up and down. He passed the tube back to Colly, who took it. "I, uh, didn't think you were," the ferret said, wondering if he'd just as quickly moved off the path to having sex, the path he himself was already a good bit of the way down. He cursed himself for talking too much, for not getting right down to it.
"All my friends just sleep around," Colly said. "It doesn't mean I'll lift my tail for just anyone."
"I didn't think..." Brad rested his paw on Colly's side again, stroking further down to his hip. The kid had at least not taken off his underwear, he found. He tried to convey that he still wanted to move forward,that he didn't care if Colly was a slut or just a normal kid in a time when being a normal kid meant having a lot of sex.
"I like you."
Brad's paw was tight around his shaft, stroking the slick condom. "I like you too." The automatic response came as much from his groin as anywhere else, an instinct and a memory, like a passphrase to a secret club that he'd only just remembered. It took him back, to the awkward one-night stands when he wouldn't have paused to wonder if he really meant what he was saying.
Colly sure wasn't wondering. He relaxed under Brad's paw and brought his own back under his tail, rubbing there quickly. His tail curled back around the base of Brad's sheath, holding it while the tip probed at his balls, tentatively enough that Brad thought he probably had had some lovers who liked that. Brad didn't, particularly, but he wasn't going to last long enough for it to make a difference.
The tail, thick and awkward, had to get out of the way as it pulled Brad closer. There just wasn't room for it to be curled between them. Colly knew enough to move it out of the way, down along his leg, leaving room for Brad to position his shaft in beside it.
He draped his arm over the kid's stomach and held him. This was the moment, the point beyond which they would have Had Sex. "You don't have to--"
Colly grabbed his paw and brought it down along his stomach. He'd pulled his own erection out of his boxers too, and put on a condom. He wrapped Brad's paw around his own shaft and shoved his rear back into Brad's. Though the only noise he made was a hiss, the movement was an unmistakable "get on with it."
There was something refreshing about not thinking about it. Brad felt the pressure around the tip of his shaft and thrust his hips forward.
He matched his thrusts with the strokes of his paw. The kid squirmed and moaned quite satisfactorily, and Brad remained focused enough to appreciate the nice tightness and motion the kid put into sex. He pressed himself as firmly up against Colly's back as he could, around the thick tail, burying his muzzle in the rough, musky fur.
The kid's tightness felt so good around his erection, sliding in and out, that his hips were already moving jerkily, arousal building in his feet and paws. The kid was good and hard, too, moaning as Bard stroked him up and down, his thick body undulating in what Brad sure hoped was pleasure.
Brad felt ripples along his spine he hadn't felt in months, his own body twisting around the anchor under the possum's tail, his shaft sliding easily into and out of Colly's tight rear. He gasped, biting the kid's bare shoulder without realizing he was doing it.
But the kid didn't cry out or anything, just made some moaning, "Uh, uh, uh," noises as he bucked into Brad's paw and then back onto the ferret's shaft. Brad himself was moaning too, but a squeakier sort of moan, longer and more drawn out, as his arousal came to a head. His musky scent mixed with the possum's, shutting down his thoughts. His breathing quickened; he bit the possum's shoulder again and cried out, jerking against him in a spastic release that crackled through his whole body. His paw tightened around the kid's shaft, stroking hard and fast, pushing himself as far into the possum as he could go and straining there, his shaft spasming and emptying his frantic energy.
For a moment, the hot, dark room spun around him, alight with sparks. He made a squeaking noise, still feeling the shudders of climax roll through his hips and out into the kid. And Colly was squeaking too, now, writhing back against him. The possum's hips jerked forward, then again, this time completely disengaging from Brad, leaving his slick, condom-wrapped shaft to dangle against the sheets as the possum bucked forward.
Brad panted hard, clinging to the heat of the room and Colly's fur. His body kept twitching even after the possum had settled down, his tongue lolling, fingers and toes curling.
Colly had settled down already, stretching out. He yawned, muzzle gaping impossibly wide. He reached up to scratch at it. "So, thanks for the bed," he said, and exhaled, going still.
"Welcome." Brad rolled onto his back, bringing his slick paw down to wrap around his erection, feeling the pulsing heat still in it. He wanted to just close his eyes and fall asleep too, but years of experience and messes cleaned up the next morning forced him to slide out of the other side of the bed and pad to the bathroom.
He dropped the condom in the trash and looked at himself in the mirror. There wasn't any grey on his muzzle, not yet. Not like Jay, or Ferndon. He still had his handsome black mask. He dropped his paws to his waist, which wasn't that much thicker than it had been a few years back. The black-masked face in the mirror grinned back at him, looking down with him to where one paw held his warm sheath and erection.
He scrubbed his paws. Flicking off the bathroom light plunged him back into darkness. He felt his way to the bed and burrowed under the covers. Reaching out a paw, he felt Colly's warmth, even though he didn't have to; he could hear the possum's raspy breathing. Pleasantly worn out, Brad closed his eyes and sank down into the pillow.
He woke up to light between the curtains and movement in the room. The bed was empty, though the smell of possum remained strong. His eyes drifted shut again. He thought he should say something to the kid, but the kid was trying to be quiet, and Brad didn't want to embarrass him further. But he could still feel the tingle of last night in his groin, a very pleasant memory, and he thought he should say something about it.
He heard the door to the room open, saw through his eyelids the brightness of the hallway outside. "Hey," he said, almost without thinking.
The brightness remained. No sound of the door closing. Then, softly, Colly's voice. "I thought you were asleep."
"It's okay," Brad said. "Just wanted to say...thanks."
"I should be thanking you for the room." The kid sounded bothered, almost as though remembering that he had thanked Brad.
"I don't do the one-night-stand thing much anymore," Brad said.
"You said."
"Yeah. So, uh." He opened his eyes, saw the silhouette of the kid, one paw on the door. "It was nice. Just wanted to say."
"Course it was," Colly said. "I mean, it's sex. That's why we do it, right?"
"Well, yeah." Brad rubbed his eyes. The kid's outline grew more distinct. "But...you never know how it's gonna turn out after, right?"
Colly shrugged. There usually wasn't much 'after' for him, Brad realized. That made him sad. "I hope you find your Brian," he said softly.
"Thanks." Colly raised a paw. "Take care."
He moved out of sight, and the brightness of the hallway faded. But there was no sound of the door closing. After a moment, Brad heard Colly's voice. "You were pretty good," he said.
Brad smiled to himself. "Thanks," he called.
The light vanished with the thunk of the closing door. Brad closed his eyes again and inhaled the faint possum scent, then exhaled. He was about ready to head down to breakfast. Mike and Donna would be there in half an hour, and probably Kevin and Chris. But he wanted to lie in bed a moment longer and think about the night.
He didn't see Colly anywhere around the convention on Sunday. The possum probably had to take off Sunday. By noon, Brad had gotten caught up in saying good-bye to friends, attending a few last workshops, and planning complicated meals that involved various numbers of people and cars. By the time he stumbled back to his room after a few drinks in the lounge, he was really ready to go home. He packed a few things, left out his clothes for the next day, and crawled into bed.
The maids had changed the sheets. They no longer smelled like possum. Thinking about Colly kept Brad awake, though, and memory brought arousal. He turned over and ground his hard-on into the sheets, but that just made things worse. He should be happy, he thought as he rolled onto his back to face the ceiling. He'd had a nice one-night stand, with a kid who was, well, not unattractive. Who knew how he looked in daylight? It had been good, and he should let it go, not try to analyze why Colly didn't try to find him again, why none of the other single-looking kids around this place even gave him a sniff when he sat alone in the bar. Didn't matter, any of it. Tomorrow he could go back to his regular life of work, home, sleep, friends, and maybe, once a month, a date that might lead to sex. He sighed and rolled over again, burying his nose in the pillow, and tried to just go to sleep.
He must have succeeded, because the noise startled him, jerking his head up from the pillow. He looked around and saw the bright blue 1:12 on the clock.
Then he heard the noise again, the tapping of claws. And a soft, familiar voice at the door. "Brad? Brad?"
He grinned to himself and practically skipped out of bed to open it.