Thief: Chapter 4
#5 of Thief WIP
He felt so lucky, blessed even, driving across town with this wonderful otter sitting in the passenger seat next to him. Warren's chest was tight, a lump in his throat keeping him from speaking. Every ounce of his strength drawn from every second passed was exuded keeping himself restrained, keeping him from slamming on the brakes and having his way with his ward. His lifestyle, his occupation, had taken a heavy toll on him, wearing down his ability to enjoy the life he had been given. The casual sex with strangers, random tight-short, halter-top wearing subs picked up from a wide range of bars and raves and all manner of backroom parties...he bitterly enjoyed every second he spent with those hollow husks of people, and had constantly been seeking his next release. It made him feel dirty, even as it became his vice and sustained his well-being, a little bit of who he was being buried and lost in the sheets of every bed he'd thrown his naked body into for the past year. But now...
Now, he was certain, he could move past all that, and wash himself clean again. He looked over to Henry, who's gaze was drawn out the window, and a goofy grin slapped itself on his face--now this was a habit he could boast about. Whatever he did from this point on, right or wrong, he knew he could do it carefree and with Henry's best intention's at heart. Henry, who had--
Warren frowned, looking closer. Ears drawn back, eyes averted, entire body motionless...something was wrong, and it was his duty now to fix it.
"Hey--you doing alright there, buddy?"
He saw the whiskers twitch. "Fine."
Warren blinked, puzzled. "Your brother is getting out of the hospital, not going in. I'm more than sure he's fine too. Why so serious?"
That earned him a half-shrug. "No reason."
He was stumped. What had happened? He couldn't have done anything wrong--the talk had been sweet, he was giving a free ride to aid the stranded relative, the sex was...
"What are you thinking about, then?"
Henry shrugged again. "Just about what's...um, what I'm doing. After we get Tate, I mean."
Even more confusing. It made Warren's head buzz. "I'm taking you home. Right?" His ears twisted--he could swear he heard a small sigh.
"Right..."
Something was definitely being lost in translation. "So then what's the problem? I know you had...a little bit of a shock, last night, but its nothing to be embarrassed about. The first time is always a bit--well, icky, but that doesn't make you weird or bad...it just means you're healthy." He felt like he was teaching a sex education class. "Did it feel...good, at least?"
Henry was silent for a moment. "Not really. The other...part...was better."
This made Warren laugh inwardly, priding himself immensely. "Oh, really now? You mean the long, thick, hard dog part...?"
Movement was visible even through those loose jeans--Henry shifted in his seat, bringing his thighs together, and Warren again was forced to shun his urges. "Yeah, it's true that it can override other...sensations. It's a good thing I'm taking you home after all, then, so what is upsetting you?"
The otter's head spun to face him. He looked frighteningly angry. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Warren's heart nearly broke. Had he gone insane? "...I'm taking you home. Where you...live. Is that acceptable? I don't really have anywhere else to...take you..."
Henry's piercing gaze remained fixed on the driver, who had to remind himself to watch the road. "Taking me and my brother...home. That's your plan, right?"
"If you're suggesting that I plan on inviting your brother in on the fun, then that's not my plan at all--that's something I would need quite a lot of persuading with, anyhow. But I can't very much afford keeping you in that hotel room forever, now can I?"
That angry little otter face softened, and Warren could almost feel the heat washing behind those red cheeks. "You're taking me...HOME...to MY place..."
Warren's eyes widened. "What did you think that meant? I was just gonna leave you alone after getting the best lay I've ever had with another male? No sir, we're not even remotely close to finished yet."
Henry hid his face behind his paws, and groaned loud and long. "Oh my God...I'm so stupid..."
"Ahahaha!" Warren seized the otter by the scruff of his neck and pulled his head in close to kiss it roughly. "Yes, yes you are stupid, but not to worry little guy--in a few days time, you'll be more experienced with a cock than any moaner in this city, I promise!"
Henry slapped at his arm. "Don't use that word!"
"What, cock?"
"It's a bad...well, it's so..."
"So...sharp and honest, and leaves nothing to the imagination?" Warren shook his head and smiled, turning back to the wheel. "It is what it is. You'll learn to love the word, just like you'll learn to love the...hah, well, the cock."
Henry squeaked comically, clamping his paws over his ears.
It was unusually lifeless in the ER, especially for a weekend. Tate sat slumped over in the waiting area, an arm covering his face to shield his eyes and ears folded to block out noise. His head throbbed, aching in disorienting waves that surged every few moments, then receded, drawn back to offer a brief respite before breaking against the inside of his skull again. The drugs were wearing off; he felt as if he'd been waiting the entire day for Henry to arrive, when only a half hour had past since he'd ended the call. Phones rang around him, nurses chattered and footsteps rolled past him in and from all directions, an indiscernable pulse of constant noise that had long ago ceased to register in his mind. The only thoughts that pervaded his mind at this point were the complaints at his brother's lack of punctuality, and the small voice reprimanding his paw for straying too near to his jacket pocket, which sagged from the weight of the bottle of painkillers he'd been given.
He'd been conscious for a few hours now, but had spent every minute of them scribbling on papers and dutifully rehashing last night's events to the friendly neighborhood IA Agent Scarlet Robbins, a curt, overly-insquisitive blue jay. When Tate's drug-addled narrative had finished and it had become clear he wouldn't be any more use to Robbins than the still-unconscious Wade ("Your name is Scarlet but your feathers are blue, hahaha"), she dropped the interrogation and assured him she would be in touch as soon as he had fully recovered. She might have been extremely attractive, Tate had thought to himself as he watched her swinging hips and tailfan as she walked out, were it not for her bitchy demeanor.
A wayward child was tugging at his elbow, asking him something he couldn't understand but knew to be intrusive. Tate waved him away, and in doing so nearly blinded himself from the intensity of the white light reflecting off the waxed linoleum floor. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them slowly, meeting with Henry's, which sat below his unkempt caramel hair and above the rounded nose that was almost touching his own. Tate hadn't forgotten how young and, at times, silly his brother looked, despite the age difference of barely a decade.
"Oh, sh...I thought you were someone's brat for a second, Hen..."
"What happened to you. are you hurt? I didn't make anything worse by getting here late, did I?" Henry was pulling back his jacket, inspecting the bloodied patches in Tate's shirt. He sure as hell acted like a brat, Tate groaned to himself mentally.
"Yeah, yeah you did, actually...the doctors decided to release me because they're just that cruel and wanted me to die off hospital grounds, maintain deniability..."
He went quiet as he caught sight of the polished canine standing a few feet away, watching the otters silently. The stranger smiled and nodded once, offering a paw. "I'm Warren, Henry's ride. Pleasure to meet you."
Tate looked at Henry, then back to Warren, then back to Henry. "I'd shake, except I've no idea who you are or how you know my brother. The hell is this guy, Hen?"
"Uhhh, he's cool, don't worry about it," Henry stammered, appearing nervous. "You sure you're alright? Do we need to stop and get you anything, medicine or--?"
"It's a hospital, dumbass, they have their own medicine here. And you didn't answer my question." Tate glared at his brother.
All at once, Henry dropped his concerned demeanor, and his expression became accusing. "Yeah, right, like you've ever given two fucks about who I'm around, Tate," he snarled, baring his fangs. "You and your crackhead girlfriends--"
"Oh yeah, here it comes, the same shit about how horrible a guardian I am," Tate shot back, his hackles rising. "You're so tired of it all, things are all so fucked for you, aren't they, you little punk? Maybe you're new friend here is actually qualified to take care of you than the guy who practically raised your ungrateful ass, so why don't you go live with him? Pay your rent in blowjobs you queer fu--"
"Hey!" Warren barked suddenly, taking a step forward. Tate cut himself off, looking up at the larger male and bristling. When he saw the fur rising on the shepherd's neck, he relented, sighing and looking back to his brother. Henry's eyes shone with angry tears, his paws balled into fists, trembling.
"Forget it," he muttered as he stood, his headache becoming excruciating. "Let's just go, c'mon. I need to get to bed, that's all. Don't think anything of it."
He brushed past Warren, the static between them palpable, not bothering to look back to Henry. A couple of secretaries had begun to whisper and point, and more than a few patients had turned their heads. The last thing Tate needed in his state was the attention of gossiping strangers. Henry sniffed behind him, the duo's footsteps not far behind. He certainly didn't need to be involving a stranger in his personal life, either. Tate made a mental note to drop some gas money to make up for his behavior.