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08: Rest for the Wicked

Getting into_the private room wasn't difficult, a quick bribe to the burly horse guarding the door and Lyric was told to keep his mouth shut and shoved on through. It was the night after the shoot-out with Fletcher's bounty hunters, and since Miss Meridian had elected to postpone the show's most recent debut, Lyric had wandered into Bantam to see if the resident drug lord couldn't help him pick up a lead on the Sultan's Curse. The trail was cold, but he had some hope. Since first setting up camp in the Vellem Province, Lyric had been catching the tail-end of shady conversations, the majority of which had something to do with some character named 'Nadine'. If the rumours from the addicts he'd threatened were true, Nadine was an exiled member of the Curse, though whether by choice or not Lyric had never been able to figure. She spent most of her nights in the invite-only backyard of _Harriet's Hideaway, the trashiest saloon in the city, and after cautiously nursing two drinks, Lyric had offered up his entry fee. The Curse's trail might be cold, but he wasn't giving up on finding the violent nomads. According to what he'd learned in Fulbright, they were somewhere in Kallinger - he just had to narrow it down.

The horse showed obvious signs of fatigue, little red spider-webs touching the whites of his eyes. A smooth-talking jackal that just wanted to score a point of Rust wasn't gonna hurt anything, or so he thought.

Getting into the back was easy, but three steps through the door and a nasty looking fox drew on him, and Lyric suddenly found himself slammed up against a wall.

"Whoa, whoa-there partner," Lyric exclaimed, slurring his words a little and sticking his paws skyward. His normal jacket had been covered in bounty hunter blood, so he was in grey jeans and a red flannel shirt, his slide-action pistol tucked into an ordinary waist holster. He disliked the change, but his usual shoulder clip would garner far too much unwanted attention.

"Don't you fuckin' partner me. Th'hell you think you're doin comin' in here? You see a fuckin' invitation for dumb pieces of shit on the door? Ya dumb piece'a shit?" The fox had a tight fistful of Lyric's shirt, the barrel of his revolver pressed painfully deep into the jackal's abdomen. "Go'an make fer that iron, I'll blow you out right here." Lyric half wanted to make a joke about blowing, but the guy looked like he was way too hopped up on Race to appreciate it.

"Jus' lookin' to score pal." Lyric said slowly, glancing around. The door he'd come through had opened to a mosquito-netted porch, which in turn led to a spacious, open-air plot of dirt, surrounded by a high brick fence. A handful of rusting oil drums were scattered about the yard, fires lit inside them, the warm median blaze creating a kind of dreamlike haze in the humid night air. Lyric imagined it'd be a nice place to nod off, if it weren't filled with paranoid outlaws and psychotics.

"Plenny'a dealers inside. So you best turn the fuck back 'round 'fore I bleed you dry." The fox snapped. Nearby folks were half watching the exchange, but none had made any kind of move to help or hinder.

Oh so hardcore aren't you? Lyric thought snidely. Using all those grown-up words. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"I wanted somethin' better than what they got in there, somethin' ain't cut with dirt." Lyric protested.

"There's nothin' for you here. Partner." The fox hissed. He let go, stepping back and motioning toward the door with his revolver. Lyric readjusted himself, wiping his nose and glancing around. This approach was _not_working out well.

"Okay, fine, fine ya got me." He said, half-chuckling in an attempt to diffuse the situation. "I'm here fer Nadine." The fox cackled at that, and nearby two staring wolves chuckled along with him.

"Y'know how many shitheels like you come through askin' to chat to the lady? You one of 'em little babies think they've stumbled on the next big thing, ain't got a clue about how the real fucking world works huh? Nadine don't want none of your retard sales pitch."

"No, she's gonna want to chat to me, jus' lemme through." Lyric insisted. The fox stepped back, levelling his revolver with Lyric's eyes.

"Get. Out." He grunted, lips curling to reveal misshapen and cavity-filled teeth, slotted into neglected blackening gums.

"I'm a-one killed Chester up in Gallentry. I got bad history with the Curse an' I need friends," Lyric blurted, desperately hoping the exile rumours were true. The fox went still, brow furrowed. The two wolves sitting near him, looked to one another, then up to him.

If this doesn't work, I'm dead. He knew it as a certainty, no getting away from it now, he'd played his paw.

"Ay Scout, maybe Nad'd like to hear 'bout it." The darker furred one said. "Can ask?"

"Don't y'fucking _Scout_me!" The fox snarled boorishly.

"Maybe Nad'd like to hear what?" A firm, female voice said loudly. The fox glanced back at a burly wolverine walking forward, her boots thudding rhythmically on the porch's wooden floor.

"This shitheel's just talkin' out his ass Nad, he don't got nothin' serious." The fox insisted, glaring at Lyric.

"That so?" Nadine looked past the fox, eyeing Lyric. She wore loose black cargo pants with high boots, her top in nothing but a grey singlet. A small steel ring had been pierced through her nose, and while the majority of her fur was brown, the wilder strands on her head tapered into sunspot orange.

"I killed Chester in Gallentry!" Lyric interrupted, glancing around. "A bounty for every province north'a here, the Curse gunning for me hard, and a whole load of Rust'at needs movin. That's all'a it, all I got." He let his arms fall to his side. Nadine nodded, and after a moment of tense silence she slapped Scout on the shoulder.

"Kiddo you did good, but mama'll take it from here." The fox nodded shakily, uncocking his revolver but still holding it tight in paw. Nadine jerked her chin at Lyric. "You. Come talk, since you're so desperate, but touch that iron and you're dead."

"Yes ma'am." Lyric said cordially, nodding and striding after her. As he passed 'Scout' he let his shoulder slam into the Fox, shrugging at the resulting glare. He followed Nadine off the porch and towards the back end of the open yard, stopping near a blazing barrel. He noticed that the others kept an eye on them, but held their distance; they could talk in private.

"So. Chester. I ain't friends with the Curse boy, so don't hold back now y'hear?" Lyric nodded.

"Well...s'like this. I's kickin' round Gallentry, tryin' to scrape some money together. Stumbled upon a friend you mighta met, some mid-ranking member of that fuckin' Cult they're always meetin' with. Anyway he was lookin' to make some side himself, said maybe he could score me some extra B-strain Sleep." Lyric shrugged, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. He put it to his lips and inhaled slowly, trying to buy himself time. He hadn't planned this backstory, making it up as he went along.

"You're crazy already, you know what them whack jobs do to folk that screw 'em over? You think havin' the Curse gun for you is rough...boy you're a straight up idiot." Nadine said, crossing her arms. Her eyes narrowed. "You ever seen someone get flayed?"

"Nah, it was gonna be offshoot like I said. It's not the primo, they woulda never noticed, never cared. 'Sides, I'm used to makin enemies by now." He chuckled, but the wolverine continued to just watch. "Anyway. Ol' Chester decides I'm makin too much noise for him, he doesn't like competition, the fat fuck. So he drops me in with the law. I go down, three coppers dead, an' I've got a date with the gallows booked and paid fer. My Cult pal thinks I'm done, he scoots off. I get free'a custody - courtesy two dead law - on my way out of that cesspit Fulbright I pay Chester a visit, get my due, seems only fair. Turns out he was sitting on a whole heap'a Rust"

"Huh." Nadine replied, cocking her head. "Chester was a feral, that's the truth... So whaddya want now then?" Lyric sighed, dropping his cigarette and stamping it into the dirt.

"I need a friend s'all. Some guns, a little money, a little advice. I don't know any good places to sell round these parts, so I's thinkin' I hear you're ex-Curse right? So what'bout I give you what I took from Chester, you move that however you like, and in exchange you put me back in touch with the Cult. And I asked around 'fore comin' here, they're like ghosts. You're the only one who'd know where t'find em." Lyric exhaled slowly, knowing it was a big ask.

Rust was a powerful stimulant, a highly addictive and hallucinogenic blend of about three different uppers. He'd seen it rip lives apart, and had recognised it the second he found the small stash on each of the bounty hunters' dead bodies. Every one of the wolves had had a tiny vial of it all to themselves, and he was betting they bought it off the Sultan's Curse.

No wonder they were all so eager to get killed, prolly all hopped up off their tits. He'd thought, pocketing the drugs. He didn't have nearly as much as he made out to Nadine, but as soon as he had a location for the Cult he could disappear from her world forever. It was easy to get lost in the drug world, he knew that from his time hunting them.

The Sultan's Curse moved primarily Sleep and Rust. The former was supplied by some secretive Death Cult, and a group of cooks from the Quindon Province baked the latter. Nadine seemed stuck with moving Race and Moon Rocks, though where she got them from Lyric didn't know. Sleep was in a league of its own though, a bastard inhalant with a body count so high nobody bothered remembering the specifics - it was a blight on the South, and while Lyric wasn't trying to fix the world's drug problems, hurting the downers production wouldn't do any bad.

Beau Riddon was the one Lyric wanted, a prominent member of the Sultan's Curse, and bona fide scum of the Earth. He knew the Curse were in Kallinger Province, but not where; the Cult would. If Lyric got the Cult, he got the gang, and he got Riddon. Simple.

Finally, this nightmare can be over.

"What makes you think I know where those crazies hole up?" Nadine asked, paws on her hips.

"You're ex-Curse. If anyone would..." Lyric shrugged. "And it goes without saying I think, that once I _do_have my hands on this Sleep sideline, I'd be more than happy to help share it around with my friends. And I don't got many friends right now Nadine." The wolverine seemed to consider, looking away and fidgeting.

"And this shit isn't gonna start something with those Sleep movin' lunatics? I'm already on shaky ground with the Curse, I don't need more enemies." She said.

"No way, you need friends, we're the same." Lyric replied. "And they ain't gonna care, so long as people still buy their Sleep they won't give two shits, and people will _always_buy Sleep."

"An' how do I know you're for real? I don't even know your fuckin' name pal." Nadine said, eyes narrowing as she stepped forward. Lyric didn't move, waiting until she was nearly eye-to-eye with him.

"Name's Haldrick. And I'm your new best friend."

"I take it you don't have any samples of this Sleep-B then?" Nadine's lips peeled up.

"No, but I do got some of that Rust." He dug out one of the translucent vials, filled with a small red powder. He shook it before Nadine's face. "That's free." The wolverine hesitantly took the vial, popping the cap and eyeing the powder.

"Aight." After a moment she poured a small mound into the crook of her thumb and forefinger, pressing it to her snout and inhaling viscerally. She snapped her head back and held it, exhaling through her mouth. "Fuck." She exclaimed, whipping her head back and spitting into the dust. "I ain't never gonna get used to a kick like that... Aight then." She held the vial out.

"I'm not one to use from my own supply." Lyric said, looking away. "I'm gutter trash, but some trash got standards." The last thing he needed right now was to accidentally get hooked on some drug.

"Well, it's my_supply now, right?" Nadine said, pouring another small mound onto her paw, which she held to Lyric's face. He hesitated, but she'd as likely kill him if he refused. Shit. Gritting his teeth, he shoved his nose into her paw and inhaled, mimicking her head flick. After a brief pause, it hit, dripping down the back of his throat as his went heart into aftershocks. Breathing heavily, he swore, flexing his fingers. It started slow, then got faster: his chest began to tighten, his eyes felt as if they might burst out of his skull, his fur began _vibrating. He shook his head violently.

"Damn." He gasped. "Somethin' huh?" Nadine nodded, noticeably twitchier.

"Yeah, good shit. Y'seem on the level Haldrick, but...well I don't trust easy." She said, turning about. "I'm sick and tired of being fucked over, you understand obviously. So forgive me bein' a little shy."

"Nah, I get it I get it, it." Lyric said, still bouncing internally from the Rust in his system. He sucked in air through his teeth, his insides wiggling. When do I start seeing shit? He thought. Hallucinogenic. That was it. That was the word.

He was suddenly hyper aware of the weight of his eyeballs within his skull. The goo of his sclera fighting to be free.

"See now, there's this dumbass kid in town, moves somethin' here and there. One'a his guys and one'a my guys got in a fight, people got hurt. Been at each other's throats a few months now and we're both sick of it. There's a sit down happenin' day after tomorrow. We was gonna call it off after my second got picked up by the law, but since you're here..." She shrugged.

"Makin' a move?" Lyric asked, raising an eyebrow. The wolverine shook her head.

"Nah, nothin' like that. Just need to explain to him that he's gotta calm the fuck down if he wants to keep a'hold his guts. You're in if you want my help, no other way 'bout it. I'm a blunt woman Hal and I know what I want." Lyric laughed, trying to stop his mind from spinning out of control. On his peripheral, the oil-drum fires were starting to bleed.

This isn't good. This is not good. He thought. But he needed a lead on the Curse. Beau Riddon had done too much to be left alive, and he couldn't just hope to bump into them down in Kallinger - it was a three-hundred and fifty thousand square kilometre province. From what he could tell, Chester had been a kind of protégé of Beau's before the Curse relocated to Kallinger, and if Riddon had helped birth what Lyric found in that bear's basement... Just focus, keep on track.

"What are friends for Nadine?" He asked. "Day after tomorrow...where do we meet?" The wolverine smirked, slapping him on the shoulder.

"That's what I like to hear! But you won't have to meet me anywhere, because we're gonna hang right here in the hideaway, so I can keep an eye on you. 'Sides you ain't got anywhere to be, right? Prolly could use somewhere to lay low, if anythin'."

"I'm good, I'm good. Just like my space s'all." Lyric tried to look chill, but he wasn't sure if his face was still working properly.

"Nevertheless, love to keep you around. Friend." And with that, she patted his chest and walked off. Lyric watched her go, trying not to fall over, and thinking he'd made a horrible mistake.

The day of Lyric and Nadine's sit-down, Fletcher spent his time practicing with his rifle. Aloysius had tsked at him using his injured paw, but damn it felt good to shoot again. He'd been forcing down the morning oats when Meridian had shown up with the Raiji twins in tow, the leopards both wearing comfortably tight exercise gear. Fletcher hadn't missed how well defined their athletic bodies were beneath the clothing.

"I've had enough sitting around already, it's about time we got some work done." Meridian had led with, not bothering with formalities. "The show being delayed is a bit of a downer, but it's also the perfect time for us to squeeze practice in for you Fletcher - everyone else is ready to go, they're just waiting around while we fix up the tents." Fletcher had gaped, setting his bowl aside and trying to explain that Lyric technically still had his rifle, all the while blushing furiously.

"Still?" Meridian had exclaimed, waving her claws. "You know, it doesn't matter. I don't give a damn what that cranky jackal wants right now, especially since he's up and decided he's too good to tell us where he's going off to, before bloody disappearing for three stinking days. I swear Fletcher if he's not back in time for the show I'll kill him myself."

"I believe you." Fletcher said. The raven chuckled, shaking her head.

"Just go and get your damn gun from his tent. We'll meet you by the river." And then they'd left, Narem grinning at him over a shoulder as they went.

Returning to Lyric's tent had been weird. Fletcher had nearly been caught stealing underwear the afternoon before - something he could have never imagined himself doing in the past, in fact he was still in shock of it. He'd lain in bed the night of, squirming with arousal, but too guilty and shy to actually retrieve the sweat stained shirt and boxers. He'd been able to catch the faintest smell of it from beneath his cot, but that had only made him blush deeper. He'd considered returning them, but that idea seemed somehow even worse. Destroying them?

Maybe. But try as he might to deny it, he did want them. He tried once or twice to reach into his sleeping shorts and start getting off, but the embarrassment of what he'd done was too much, and he couldn't concentrate.

So he'd left them beneath the cot for the time being, falling asleep with a hard on so firm it nearly hurt, and waking up the next day hardly thinking about it, though his own pants had been ever-so-slightly stained with precum he'd leaked during the night.

Least it wasn't a wet dream.

When he retrieved the rifle he'd skulked in like a thief, grabbing it and running away as quickly as he dared, somehow terrified someone would see him. A careful examination of the weapon before his practice had revealed that the jackal had actually _cleaned_it, which was kind of annoyingly thoughtful.

Practice went well, and seeing Meridian and the twins' shock at just how easily he managed to hit everything gave Fletcher a surreal kind of high. He missed only one target in their first round of testing, and that was because Meridian had tossed five little ceramic discs into the air, deliberately trying to make him fail. He'd hit the other four, but hadn't been quite fast enough for five (though with practice it did seem doable). He'd never received much praise in his life outside of Thume, his father's version of a 'well done' being to just not criticise him. To have three people's jaws hanging open in shock, followed by verbal acclaims made him feel...twisty. He blushed every time, looking at his feet and desperately wondering how best to respond.

They spent two hours out by the river, seeing how many weird and strange ways Fletcher could hit things. His injured wrist throbbed during the practice, but he was too enamoured by the excitement of it all, and pushed himself past the pain. He in turn was astounded by just how high Nobu could launch Narem, the twins springing off one another with gravity-defying ease.

They'd been eager to try Fletcher shooting discs out from their paws mid-air, but Meridian had called it as being too early for something quite that risky.

"Your eyes, they are incredible devices." Narem had said at one point, after Fletcher had hit two discs with one shot. "I did not think many of these things were even possible."

Fletcher had simply laughed, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. Shooting was one of the few things his father hadn't minded him doing as a teenager, even within their inner-city mansion grounds. He'd had few friends, couldn't go out, and got bored after reading for hours and hours...there weren't many other options besides practicing his hobbies.

"You did good, colour me impressed Fletcher." Meridian said, as they were walking back to the circus grounds.

"Thank you." He'd said quietly, ears tingling from the compliment. "I think I'll need to buy more ammunition soon though, I didn't bring much from Fulbright."

"I'll talk to Theodore about getting you a proper supply package for things like targets and bullets." Meridian replied, sighing. Theodore Bamen was a wolf Fletcher had only had minor interactions with so far. As well as being in charge of the finances with Miss Meridian, he was also a singer in the show. From the few times Fletcher had tried to chat with him, he seemed a bit stuck up.

"I think..." He began. "I could get more spectacle by hand-loading the rounds. I can put more gunpowder in the casing, and even add little charges to give tracer-lines."

"Tracer-lines?" Meridian asked, her beak pursing as best it could as she cocked her head.

"So the audience can see the bullet trails as I fire, rather than things just exploding. We can also make them louder. My rifle uses a pretty large calibre already, so it shouldn't be too difficult to modify."

"Well, you're the gift that keeps on giving aren't you?" The raven squawked with amusement. The exclamation drew Narem's attention, who looked back from his position up ahead.

"Fletcher is _well_worth the violent hell we've been put through so far. If all we had to do was have Lyric kill four people, we should have hired him months ago!" Meridian had tsked at that, and Fletcher was left unable to respond. Try as he might he couldn't feel more than a passing guilt over the bounty hunter's deaths. They'd walked straight into enemy territory with guns drawn - didn't they deserve what came next?

The real surprise of that day had been Thume, sitting up by the fire near he and Fletcher's tents, voraciously devouring a bowl of the plain-tasting oats leftover from the morning meal.

"You're awake." Fletcher said stupidly, taking a seat on a log across from the old goat.

"I am." Thume replied, not bothering to finish chewing before he spoke. "You aight boy? The fox-doc filled me in on the shit I missed."

"Yeah, I'm okay." Fletcher said uncomfortably. "You really scared us though." He quickly added, pulling his tail into his lap. Thume just grunted, glancing up from his food.

"My bad." He said. "I'll try not to get shot next time we get attacked by your father's goons." It seemed like a joke, but knowing Thume it could easily be serious.

"Please." The coyote said, smiling. "How do you feel?"

"Lousy. Damn fox-doc wants t'see me twice each day. Fuckin hell."

"You were lucky."

"They say that." Thume said, and they went quiet. Fletcher was the one to break the silence, right as Thume was setting his now-empty bowl aside.

"Thume..." He began slowly. "You said some really weird stuff, when you were sick. Like, you kept yelling for me to 'bring them back' and...kooky stuff like that." The goat levelled his weird eyes, lighting a cigarette and putting it to his lips, all without breaking eye contact.

Fletcher looked away. "And?" The goat asked.

"I was wonderin' if it meant anything s'all." He admitted. "Did you...I don't know, used to have some family or something?" Thume sighed, his eyes staring into the fire. He waited so long to answer Fletcher was beginning to wonder if he remembered the question.

Finally, he spoke up, glancing away as he mumbled the words. "No, I never had a family boy. None but my parents' least, and they were, well. It don't matter none, not anymore."

"But you kept sayin'..."

"It doesn't matter, what I said." Thume said forcefully, his gaze flicking right back to bear down at the young coyote. "I was on death's door damn it, I ain't got no family 'cept you Fletch, I accepted that a long time ago. Don't bring these threads back to me, can't a man just have a bout'a madness w'thout everyone askin' questions all the time?"

Okay... Fletcher thought, a little taken aback. But you lost something right?

The goat stood, dusting himself off.

"I been sleepin' nearly three full days' son, think I need a walk to...to clear my head."

"Alright." Fletcher replied. Thume paused, before saying;

"Jus'...have you ever heard of somethin' called Sleep Fletch? Not nappin', but a drug, like Rust or Race." His face was a weird mixture of concern and anger, and Fletcher shook his head.

"No...what is it?"

"An inhalant. Don't matter none, this whole...thing...it brought back old memories." He sighed heavily. "I shouldn't be here damn it, I'm sick'a this."

"Yeah." What else could he say?

"Jus' keep away anyone offers you Sleep. Not even once, y'hear?" He leaned in and Fletcher nodded.

"I will, promise."

"Good, good." The goat had said, mostly to himself.

And that brought Fletcher to now. Sitting on his bed, alone. He was a blend of confusion over Thume, and excitement over the practice.

And I'm by myself. Thume's walks are always long... He thought, biting his lip. Their tents were separate, but the additional layer of privacy was nice.

Paws shaking, Fletcher leaned over to his tent flaps, buttoning them down before laying back on his cot. He dug beneath it for a moment, bringing up Lyric's shirt and underwear and dropping them onto his chest. That action, combined with the fact he hadn't gotten off in more than a week, had his sheath stiffening already.

After a brief pause of hesitation, he pushed the shirt underarm into his nose, inhaling deeply and sighing. It smelled just like when the jackal had pinned him down a few days ago, saving his life in the process. He imagined Lyric's muscled arms and toned body in it, sweating as he worked, the handsome jackal's broad shoulders pressing into Fletcher's chest.

The coyote's paw slipped down to his jeans, and he clumsily undid one of the buttons, shoving the pants down to his knees. His dick stood firm in his own cotton underwear, the grey fabric sporting a large stain of precum at the tip of his cock. He let out a heady breath as his paw snaked beneath his waistband - it had been so long since he did this. Still pressing the shirt into his face, his paw stroked the length of his dick, groaning and gyrating his hips as he did. It felt so good, he was actually salivating.

Next he put the shirt aside, holding up the underwear of Lyric's he'd taken. It felt so bad and forbidden to hold, just looking at them and imagining a jackal package bulging inside. As he imagined it, his dick twitched in his fingers and he knew he wasn't going to last long like this.

Fletcher draped the stolen underwear over his face, holding the rich scent to his nose and drinking it in, his other paw practically tearing his underwear down, kicking them and his jeans right off himself. Precum leaked out his dick and onto his fur, and he grunted as he thrust into his hand, the copper and salt aroma of Lyric's crotch sweat making him dizzy. He pictured the jackal above him now, his knotted cock hovering before his mouth, sliding in and out. He imagined Lyric moving throughout the day, his penis tightly shoved into the boxers, working up that scent.

Before he could think about it, he'd reached down and slipped the jackal's underwear on himself, the tight-fitting material hugging his balls and cock. His knot was out now, and he gave it a squeeze, the shirt once again over his nose, stroking his dick inside the underwear that Lyric had worn.

Just thinking that was incredibly hot, and he gasped aloud.

He began to pick up the pace, groaning, feeling his orgasm build distantly, his balls tightening as he thought about Lyric, precum staining the contraband fabric. He grunted, methodically moving his hips, the boxer material grinding against his tip, the smell of sweat and grime from the shirt burrowing deep in his snout.

With a final cry Fletcher came, with four, five, six, seven ropes of thick cum shooting into the underwear. His crotch was suddenly drenched in cum, the build-up all coming out at once as he shook and quivered in place, sucking on the shirt underarm as he moaned. He shook and trembled, his legs and arms left weak as the orgasm subsided. Panting, he looked down at himself, holding Lyric's underwear open to see the white liquid clinging to just everything inside it, the smell of it hitting him a moment later.

Still out of breath, he put the shirt back beneath his cot, but left the underwear on, just allowing his cum to soak and dry in it.

Fuck. He thought, trying to remember if he'd ever finished that hard before. His entire body was a mess, shaking as if someone had removed all his bones. His dick had gone soft, but it was already starting to perk up again, and he knew he could probably get off a second time soon if he wanted to (though with drastically diminishing returns).

More than the aftershock of such a session, was the realisation that he liked Lyric. That in fact he really liked Lyric, that he wanted to kiss him, and hug him, and do far more to him than that. To just be near him.

And that idea terrified Fletcher.

_Damn it. _