FSE

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Blair said he was trying to forget. He wouldn't say what could've been so terrible that he'd cancel our evening out, but when your otter's hurting, your otter's hurting.

So instead of another boring party, we decided to binge some shows. His head rested on my chest as we lay on the couch, my arm around him as I paged through the menus.

Trouble was, we'd been doing a lot of binging lately, and we were running out of shows that seemed appealing.

I handed off the remote. "Here, you pick."

"Ngeh," he said, fruitlessly scrolling down for a while himself. "Who even comes up with shows like these? If I wanted to see something bland I'd watch low-energy couponing at the grocery store, or bingo night at the church."

"Hey, don't knock bingo night. They're seasoned and will gut you."

The otter snorted, shoving the remote back in my paw. "Maaa~ax. Pick something."

"You know, I think they've invented technology to solve this," I said, scrolling back to the top and picking 'I'm feeling lucky' from the header. "All-seeing media corporation, pick for us!"

The menu faded out to a loading screen animation of a roulette wheel viewed from above.

"I never saw that before. Why do they make it look like a banner ad?"

"Guess they don't want anyone to see it," I said, watching the wheel spin. "They probably don't make a lot of money showing hit-or-miss stuff to people who don't already have something they want to watch."

The roulette wheel continued to spin.

"That why they'd make it super-slow, too?"

"Maybe it is the show," I joked. "Stare into the spinning wheel... find yourself getting slee~eepy..."

"Ooo..." Blair crossed his eyes and laughed.

"No lie though, it is kind of relaxing. No complex plot lines to remember--just a simple, spinning wheel that's probably chock-full of subliminal messaging."

The roulette wheel continued to spin.

"It does keep you in suspense though, doesn't it? I wanna see what happens next!"

'Place your bets' flashed politely in gold lettering at the bottom of the screen.

"Oh," he said. "Put it all on red, baby!" he added, just as I was choosing 'black' with the remote.

The roulette wheel came to a sudden halt, indicating with a flashing green that it had landed on '00'.

The screen faded to black and was replaced by a chubby gray-green dragon in a visor.

"Hey, we've got players!" he said, looking into the camera. "I'm Old Nick, host of Your Life or Your Life, and why don't you tell me about yourselves?"

There was a long silence as the camera remained focused on the dragon's face.

He reached up to tap on the camera. "I mean you boys."

A picture set in the corner of the screen appeared, showing a fox and an otter on a couch.

Us.

"'Old Nick'," Blair said. "As in actually the Devil Old Nick?"

The dragon winked. "Oh, you're too sharp, aren't you? We'll have to do something about that."

Supernatural pressure forced me back in my seat, anxiety flaring as it filled my chest and held me down.

I tried to kill the TV, but the remote had disappeared from my hand. "Computer, turn off the TV!"

There was a chime from the voice assistant and the screen went dark.

"I'm calling 911," I said, thankful my phone was still in reach.

"They can't help you," came Old Nick's voice from the TV as I finished dialing. The set was still off, but the dragon's face was on the screen anyway, smiling.

The call was answered immediately. "911, what's your emergency?"

"Help, there's a demon in--"

The phone disappeared from my hand. "I said they can't help you. And now, back to our show. Since you've wasted your chance to tell our viewers about you, I'm afraid I'll have to do that myself. It's time for our first segment, 'Guilty Pleasures'!"

The TV turned itself back on with the sound of canned applause and the image of Old Nick standing beside a pillory in which my otter was secured. By reflex I looked back at the couch, and indeed Blair was no longer there.

"Our first guest would have introduced himself as Blair Tiron, a recent communications graduate from KCU. But for the purposes of our show, we'll be introducing him by a more private name. Ladies and gentlemen, our friend is also known to dark corners of the internet as 'waterknotter', and here's some samples of his browsing history!"

The musical fanfare that accompanied this was far too upbeat for what I realized was going to happen. Blair didn't have any secrets from me; my alarm at seeing the videos that came up was less about surprise and more about despair at the thought of his attraction being made public.

The split screen showed, on the one hand, screen capture of a Tumblr feed being scrolled. Feral knots going into furry holes. A photoset of a farmer 'milking' a horse. Video of a tiger in a varsity jacket fucking a farm chicken. And the other side of the screen, clearly in sync with it, had my otter jerking off to it all, lost in his arousal.

"Now," the dragon said, his face on the screen very close to Blair's, "Outside of TV-land, you might be able to pass all that off as lies and video editing. Everyone knows TV is fake, after all. You could've been pawing to anything. That's why we're about to raise the stakes."

My otter's eyes widened as a strained barkbark came from offscreen.

"I hear this pupper was a friend of yours," Old Nick said. With a musical sting, the screen panned to what had once been a dog something like a husky before the Devil got to it. Its bearing reminded me of a dog an old drinking buddy of Blair's had--but this creature was emaciated, its bones showing both through what flesh it had, and where flesh had been lost; flames licked down its back, and there was hellfire in its eyes.

"Oh fuck," Blair said, shutting his eyes and looking away.

"So here's the choice before you. On the one hand, we could let this good boy have his way with you, and make sure everyone over the airwaves and the Internet sees how well this pup once knew you. On the other hand..."

The camera panned up to show that above the pillory was a guillotine blade.

"As you know, the name of the show is 'Your Life or Your Life'. Will you surrender any hope of a functional public life, being violated by a dog on the airwaves? Or will you surrender your neck before any rumors are fueled?"

A tune that was just distinct enough from the Jeopardy! theme to shake off the copyright lawyers played, as the camera zoomed in on my otter.

Blair had his eyes squeezed shut, holding back tears. I was shaking. That's not fair.

"I'm not going to lay down and die just because literally the Devil wants me to."

Old Nick snorted a puff of stygian red smoke. "You don't think literally the Devil would rather you spend a few more years racking up crimes for him?"

Blair scowled. "Oh, fuck you. I'm not gonna lay down and die just because the Devil wants me alive either. Better a living dog than a dead lion, they say, even if it's a bit late for that. C'mere, Buddy."

The Devil smirked as the dog came up to the pillory and started sniffing at my otter's rump. I could tell Old Nick was eyeing me through the screen, trying to see my reaction, but my eyes were fixed on Blair.

The big hellhound didn't take long to get aroused at the scent of my otter (well, who wouldn't, an irreverent part of me thought) and climbed on his back, thrusting experimentally under his tail. With his paws bound in the pillory, there was no way for Blair to guide the pup's rocket, and it took a few misses before eventually it found its target and started humping him rapidly.

"Oh, how very selfish of you," the Devil said, after silently watching them go at it for some time. "Only thinking this is about yourself. No thought for your fox, or your own poor mother."

"Shut up," Blair growled, as the dog pounded at his ass. "They already knew."

A close-up shot appeared in the corner of the screen, showing the dog's knot as it pumped against the otter's hole.

"Oh, they did. But how about their friends? It's not just your life ending here. Anyone who associates with you will wear the stigma as well."

Blair whimpered. A strand of his precum was shown dripping toward the floor. "They don't--"

"Your town will be in the news all across the country. This will be the first thing people think of when they think of this place, even after they forget your name."

"Stop talking," the otter growled.

"Giving up then?"

"Fuck no," he yelped, his voice broken somewhat by the dog knotting him. "I'll fight for what I know is good with people all day long, but there's no good in arguing with the Devil."

---

There was a banging at door of the apartment, and then a louder crash as it was broken down. A tiger and a marten in police uniforms burst in, and I could only point them at the scene on the TV.

"It's got my boyfriend."

The marten put her paw on the TV and the image scrambled momentarily; a moment later, my otter was back in the living room, free of the pillory and the hellhound's knot.

And the marten and the TV were both gone.

"The professionals have got it now," the other officer said, somewhat distracted by the sight of the glowing cum leaking from my prone partner's ass. "I'll keep an eye on things here for a bit just in case. You boys all right?"

I nodded, but Blair collapsed in against my chest, breathing hard, soaking my chestfur with tears. "I'm sorry, Max. That dog was..."

"I can guess," I said. "Don't worry. I still--"

"They put him down yesterday. Someone had found out about him, and he was confiscated. And they just...put him down. He never lacked for anything, we just let him play how he wanted. And they put him down. I only found out today."

The police tiger looked briefly uncomfortable, but didn't say anything.

"But what's the Devil doing with him? He was a good dog, and doesn't deserve Hell for anything."

I didn't know what to say, holding my otter as he sobbed against me.

The tiger cleared his throat. "Hey kid, you should know...the Devil isn't in charge of any kind of afterlife. That's Santa-Claus-level pop mythology. Demons just make hell on earth. They find the guilt and pain and secrets that are already making life hell for you, and crank 'em up to 11. That wasn't your doggo. Probably not even the Devil, he's got bigger fish to fry. Just some rando who wanted to push your buttons and make sure your pain killed you. Don't give 'em the satisfaction. I don't know what your involvement was, and I'm gonna pretend I have no guesses, but ain't nothin' in that case that was a capital offense. Uh, aside from the pup for bitin' that officer, sorry to say."

Blair sniffled and wiped his nose on my shirt, but didn't look up.

"What can we do?" I asked.

"Uh, find a good counselor? I ain't really qualified to help with personal problems. You, uh, are gonna have to work that out among yourselves, same as you would have done otherwise. It looks like the coast is clear for now... If you don't need anything further I'll, uh, leave you to it."

He tipped his hat and left.

---