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Idiots.

_ _ The skunk had to marvel at just how deluded people could be when a stereotype had them by the genitals. Osmund glowered at them from the bench. One hand rested comfortably on his knee while the other curled a forty-pound dumbbell up and down. He felt his muscles strain with both effort and frustration as one of the passersby, a fox, visibly clenched their nose and dashed away.

"It's a gym! We all smell like shit, dumbass!" Osmund shouted after them. He received no response. All the same, he didn't feel like he could stomach people right now. Propping himself up with his poofy black and white tail, the skunk wandered to the weight rack and replaced the dumbbell. As he reached for the sanitizer to wipe it down, he heard a smack of metal on metal. He turned abruptly. A golden tiger in a sweat-stained undershirt and athletic shorts released a brief roar of enthusiasm. Fitness centers in general never smelled great but the odor of sweat and a hard day's exercise intensified as the tiger approached him, stretching his arms out wide. Not that he would ever judge for such a thing.

"Hey buddy," said the tiger. "Fuck those guys. You deserve to get your gains in in peace like anyone else. Don't let 'em get to you!"

"Oh, uh," the skunk, normally abrasive and direct, stuttered at the sudden acknowledgement. "Thanks man. That's cool of you to say."

"Hey," the tiger clapped an arm around the skunk's shoulder. The aroma of tiger funk fell over Osmund like a cloud, staggering his train of thought for a moment. "Name's Bruno."

"Os...Osmund," said the skunk. His breaths came deeper with every inhalation. He found very quickly he didn't mind the scent as much as he thought he would. In a way, the smell felt reassuring--powerful. "How are 'ya?"

"I'm doing great, man. Nothing like a rainy day at the gym. All the machines are empty for you and your workout buddy. What do you say, Oz, let me spot 'ya?"

"S-Sure," Osmund nodded. The last guy who had shortened his name ended up with two black eyes. However, when Bruno said it with such warm familiarity, it was hard to stay mad. Bruno led him towards the bench press, that arm glued to his shoulders and Osmund felt no desire to remove it. A part of him had an urge to nuzzle into the tiger's chest, but every other part of him decided that wouldn't do his image any good.

Still, it saddened him when that arm drifted away and the aroma with it. He felt like he had missed out--similar to the sensation of having the last bite of chocolate cake. The tiger gestured to the bench and Osmund lay upon it as bidden. He didn't register how much weight Bruno had loaded on either of the bar. The thought to check might have crossed his mind if Bruno hadn't stood above the bench, staring down into Osmund's eyes, crotch so very close to his nostrils. With one breath, that masculine aura filled him once again and he smiled, happy as could be to stare up into Bruno's eyes. Handsome, smelly, friendly, masculine Bruno.

"Grab the bar, bruh," said Bruno. He nodded, a placid smile drawing across his face as his fingers encircled the bar. "Up." He pushed up on the press. The weight didn't matter. Each side of the press could have held two tons and he'd lift it for that tiger. "Down." His arms melted like wax under the tiger's scent and down the bar came.

He followed Bruno's guidance, every rep up and down at his urgings. All the while, as he got more exhausted, he took in deeper breaths, becoming more familiar with the tiger's odor. It was powerful, narcotic and reminded him how heavy these weights were. How tired he was. Thoughts of the judgemental eyes from earlier had left him. Thought altogether slipped away as easily as the sweat slid down Bruno's musculature.

"Down."

Down came the weight, Osmund's arms as unsteady as gelatin.

"Down."

Confusion washed through the skunk. His arms had lowered as much as they could. The bar rested atop his chest, immobile. His arms screamed with strain, but the scent--that aromatic musk dulled all pain. His body felt powerless, especially in comparison to the titan standing so far above him.

Until, mercifully, the tiger reached down and with one hand--plucked the press from his hands. His arms fell limply at his sides, the workout forgotten. He breathed in more musk and marvelled at Bruno's titanic strength. Like a Greek God, his mere presence overpowered Osmund. He felt meek and malleable in comparison--inferior.

But this brought him no discomfort. It was natural to be lesser than Bruno. Who wouldn't be?

"Down." The tiger spoke. Osmund finally understood. Wriggling like a worm, the skunk brought his snout to rest between Bruno's thighs, where he could breathe only his manly fragrance. He sighed in bliss--those sweaty thighs as refreshing as a spring breeze to him.

"And down he goes!" Bruno bellowed. Osmund giggled stupidly as those thighs squeezed, securing him in his new favourite position. "There 'ya go! That's how we feed thirsty skunks! If you think you're having a good time now, just wait until we get you home. Gonna empty your brain in my pits. Whittle your will on my feet."

Osmund nodded as best he could, lodged in Bruno's crotch. His tongue enthusiastically slipped from his lips to extract whatever moisture bled through the fabric of the tiger's shorts. Whatever those words meant he was all for it!

"Aww, buddy! You don't even know what I'm saying! That's okay. You can sniff my boxer's allllll the way home. Once we've got you settled, I'll get you clear-headed enough to tell me all your secrets and then you never have to think again. What do you say? Would you like that boy? Who wants to give me everything he owns for the chance to lick my feet? Is it you, good boy?"

Cutesy and patronizing though Bruno's voice became, every word sounded like the most compelling debate Oz had ever heard. Some good points were made, all of which he agreed with. The skunk would come to find that agreement was as fierce an addiction as the pheromones in his brain.