Order Up
Author's Note: the following is a work of furry fiction, involving acts of yiffery between two males. If you don't like this, it's your cue to head the other direction. Otherwise, read on and enjoy this random quickie. This story is dedicated to Chris Wolf, because he read my work and decided to become my friend. Plus, I just like dedicating stories to people. Thanks for the idea, wolf; you know I can't leave it unfinished.
Feedback always welcome to [email protected]
Order Up ©MMIV Whyte Yoté
Deep in the heart of the city, traffic flows as lifeblood among the caverns of steel and concrete. Silence is nonexistent; everywhere there is movement and chaos. It is a Friday night: people are going to dinner, taking in films, having fun among their millions of co-inhabitants. There are those who have partners, and those who hope and look and sift through the disorder for a semblance of sanity.
Along the thoroughfare sits a stately brick structure with a rainbow awning: Maxine's. Anyone passing by can tell what the majority of its patrons have in common, although one doesn't have to meet certain requirements to dine in. Inside the smallish, packed dining room all sorts take their meals with much gusto and discussion, such as is not found in other establishments. Conversations overflow with laughter, good humor and camaraderie. Silverware and glassware clink on fine porcelain, as servers dart to and fro, narrowly missing tables, diners and each other.
All this is lost to the wolf in the kitchen. He spares a sideways glance out the food prep window across the stoves, sees the diners, and quickly goes back to work as serving trays full of the remnants of meals unfinished rattle down the metal rollers toward his station. He separates the glasses, plates and silver, placing each one in its own plastic rack after giving them a cursory spray of hot water.
"Why...why did I apply here?" he asks himself under his breath, and takes another tray off the line. His paws are wet and matted with soapy water and food particles, the claws feeling as if they'll never get clean. He interviewed for the dishwashing job just this afternoon, was accepted without much fuss, but now the lupine wonders why he had accepted. He was having second thoughts. He was desperate for cash, sure, but was it worth this? Probably serves him right.
He sets the washer in motion, steam billowing out of the top and heating the room momentarily with scalding moisture. The wolf can feel it sticking to his fur, practically sucking the silvery sheen from it. He'll need a good conditioning tonight. Hopefully his hot water hasn't been turned off yet.
Distracted by his thoughts, he grabs a tray, unaware of the huge puddle of gravy on one corner. It slips forward and down through his slick finger pads, its contents tipping toward the edge. He shoots out his right paw to balance, but only succeeds in knocking it further forward.
"Gah! Shit!" he shouts loudly, but it is inaudible to the kitchen staff. He overcorrects once again, and the whole mess tips back onto him, and he topples back onto the rubber non-slip mats on the floor. Gravy, not to mention other unidentifiable fluids, coats the front of his apron, his paws, and his brand new khaki cargo pants, bought just yesterday. All too late the wolf kicks himself mentally for not having the foresight to change into more durable clothing.
The plates and glasses have fallen, but remain intact. The floor is covered in a gooey mess, almost as much as covers the wolf's lower torso and legs. He sits spread-eagle for a moment, regaining his composure and some dignity, and picks himself up with the dinnerware.
Walking over to the sink, he sprays his paws off, smelling the acrid odor of used food. He wrinkles his nose and turns away, just in time to see the servers' door burst open and a tornado of white jet into the kitchen in an unusually fluid manner. He takes a closer look.
"My people at 42 want that prime rib medium, not ALIVE, Harry! Unless you want to advertise a Mad Cow Special, I suggest you cook 'em like I order 'em!" A voice, smooth and sarcastic, shouts chidingly at the head chef, the one who had hired the wolf earlier in the day. There is a grumbling response from the stove area, presumably from Harry, but the wolf is not focused on that at the moment.
His gaze, instead, is fixed on the server making his way deftly around the kitchen. He watches as the arctic fox swishes through the maze of stainless steel and iron to the linen area. His head disappears for a second, and reappears with four napkin sets, presumably for a reset table. He turns on his toes and rushes back towards the wolf, looking ahead but not seeing him.
The vulpine is completely white, from his small ears to his slender bushy tail. He must make good money by the way he's dressed. Not because the clothes are fashionable (which they are...very), but because of the way he wears them. The curve of his right ear is pierced with three silver studs. His mesh tank top clings to his chest tightly but not obscenely, outlining his nipples and accentuating the slim toning of his swimmer's build. Just as tight are the short-SHORT-lavender cutoff jean shorts, which leave almost nothing to the imagination and rise from his groin over the tops of his thighs. He walks quickly and easily on bare digitigrade feet, claws clicking on the floor. It almost looks like he's floating. A black bracelet hangs from his right ankle. The wolf brings his gaze upward, and catches a glint of violet in the smart eyes, but not for long.
The OUT door to the floor is right next to the dish area, but neither fur notices the puddle of coagulating slop on the exposed tile in front of it. The fox is almost to the door, and reaches a paw out to push it open. As he turns the corner, he steps directly into the puddle on the floor, losing his grip. With his momentum his feet shoot out from under him.
"Yah!" A small, yip-like sound escapes the fox and his face takes on a wide-eyed expression, a complete reversal of just a few seconds ago. Before he can think, the wolf reaches out ahead of himself and puts his arms directly under the falling fox, catching him just inches from the floor. He squats on his haunches, bearing the weight and cradling the vulpine closer to keep them both from hitting the ground. He grunts as he struggles to stabilize himself.
The fox stares up at the ceiling for a moment, still a little shaken. The wolf stares at the fox without realizing it, losing himself in his deep violet eyes. They meet his gaze and the vulpine turns his head to look at the wolf straight on. Blushing, he averts his eyes and stammers, "I-I'm sorry, sir. Didn't mean to...I was just cleaning that up." He feels a clawed finger under his chin, lifting it to look back at the fox. His heart skips a beat, and he forgets he is holding this other fur just off the dirty ground.
"Are you going to stand there fingering my ass all day, or are you going to help me up?" There is no anger in the voice, only playfulness and inquiry. The claw moves, skritching the wolf's chin twice lightly. He shudders to himself and lifts the fox to his feet, noticing for the first time the firmness of the buttocks underneath that white tail, which wags enthusiastically over them.
"You're new here, aren't you? Never seen you before today," the vulpine asks, giving the wolf a once-over for the second time.
"Yeah, just started this shift. Is it that obvious?" The wolf avoids eye contact again as he talks.
"You'll get used to it after a few days. That is, if you're not fired first." A look of abject shock and worry crosses the wolf's face, then: "Just kidding, hon. Harry hired you, and Harry's got a good eye." The fox spares a longing glance at the wolf's apron-covered crotch. "A very good eye, apparently." A sly smile crosses his face, and he practically floats back out to the floor as if nothing had happened just then.
Having returned to reality, the wolf looks down and realizes what the fox had been staring at. Despite the apron, it is obvious he is pushing some serious cotton. Even through his jeans, it shows. Embarrassed at what the fox obviously saw, and at his own overreaction, he slaps his forehead (dumbass!) and returns to the dishes, which have been piling up during his little interlude with the white fox. He finds it difficult to keep his mind off those violet eyes, and his erection remains, half unsheathed and poking at his zipper. He readjusts himself and tries to clear his thoughts.
* * *
It is an hour and a half later into the evening, and despite it being a Friday night the dinner rush has slowed to a trickle. The wolf has been let go, much to his delight. He feels he could get used to this job, but the last 90 minutes have been hell in another way. The fox hasn't made another trip into the kitchen, but remains on the wolf's mind nonetheless. His initial arousal never died, and he's been waiting for a break impatiently.
He finishes up his duties, rushes into the bathroom and into the far stall. After closing and locking the door, he sits down on the commode. Pushing his apron aside, he unzips himself and pulls his sheath out of his boxers, letting it, and two inches of red flesh, poke from the surrounding fabric. He sighs, free at last, and stares at the white tiles on the far wall. His heart beats heavily in his face.
Something has come over him, and he doesn't know what it is. It scares and excites him at the same time. It was only in the last couple of months that he had started to really notice males. He had known for some time that he wasn't interested in girls, but it never occurred to him that guys would spur such a reaction. He applied at Maxine's not out of his attraction, but because they were hiring. He's okay with it, sure, but that fox!-
The way that fox looked at him, there was something to read in his beautiful deep eyes. It was frightening and intimidating at the same time. Could a fox as beautiful and captivating as him see something in a plain grey wolf dishwasher like himself? Or is he less plain than he gives himself credit for? He looks at his half-hard wolfcock, shrouded in short soft grey pubic fur, slick with pre...and thinks maybe, yes. He slides the sheath down over his growing knot, effectively sealing his fate: he won't be able to leave unless he relieves himself.
"Need some help?" coos a familiar silky voice from the stall next to him. The wolf freezes, petrified and afraid of what to do. He hears rustling, and looks up to see the smiling face of the fox. He's too nervous to even cover his engorged wolfhood, which now juts fully erect into the air.
"Hi again. Miss me?" The fox smiles coyly. "My, Harry does know how to pick them, doesn't he?" The white head disappears for a moment, then the vulpine's whole body slides underneath the stall divider, touching nary a tile on the floor. At once he's standing over the wolf, looking at him as one might look at a pet. He puts an arm on each side of the wolf's head and comes in close, forcing him to lean back on the toilet. His muzzle comes side to side with the wolf's, and he whispers: "I never got to thank you properly for saving me earlier. My prince charming." He bends down and drags the tip of his nose over the wolf's neck, chest, and down to his groin. He nuzzles into the fly below the lupine cock, digging into his balls, and inhaling deeply the scents of trepidation, nervousness, and lust.
"I want to taste you." His eyes are alight with anticipation. The wolf thinks he must be dreaming. Knowing exactly what to say but unsure of how to say it, he swallows dryly, grimacing at the sandpapery feeling in his throat. How could anyone refuse such a generous offer?
The fox wastes no time and dives in, hilting the wolf in one gulp. A not-so-soft moan escapes the wolf's mouth as he watches his cock disappear between the fox's lips, feels the intense heat and wetness, the rough tongue and sharp fangs against his flesh. He bucks his hips involuntarily, sending little spurts of precum into the waiting mouth below.
The fox bobs his head expertly over the shaft, one paw on the knot while the other travels under the wolf's shirt and plays with his navel. The lupine can only stare straight ahead, closing his eyes at intervals, wanting nothing but to feel that hot muzzle on his wolfhood. He approaches his climax, but is denied it as the fox abruptly pulls away and pants, moisture coating his lips. He waits about ten seconds, then dives in again, pulling the wolf up into a whole new level of arousal.
The wolf presses onto the fox's head and neck, trying to hunch upward to match the thrusts of the trained throat, but the fox can sense the inexperienced lupine will not last long and pulls back against the trembling paws. Instead he slows his rhythm to a tortuous pace. He drags both sides of his long tongue and the tips of his fangs over the throbbing flesh. The wolf's moans are replaced by a low growling murr, something the canid has never heard coming from his body. It excites him further, and the waves of pleasure become a constant, rising feeling of impending release.
Before their eyes, the former ping-pong ball-sized knot swells visibly to rival that of a tangerine, pushing the grey sheath further down the shaft and stretching it tight. The wolf bends over the vulpine's bobbing head, but jerks back from a particularly hard jolt of pleasure. He lies back on the toilet, arms lax at his sides, thrusting absently into the hot orifice. The lid of the tank clanks loudly in the otherwise empty bathroom, the only other sounds being the wolf's rumbling chest and the soft wet suckling of the fox.
The lupine member twitches and the white muzzle pulls back to the tip. The fox caresses its underside with his tongue and grabs hold of the cock with a paw, slick with sweat. He begins a rapid stroking motion-knot to mouth, mouth to knot-with his thumb and forefinger in a tight "O". The wolf spreads his legs wider and his feet leave the floor, waist humping erratically. The wolf looks at the ceiling, the bright white fluorescents casting even and hard light on the two of them, the fox seeming to shimmer in his vision.
Suddenly he's into his climax, unlike anything he's felt before. It runs from the base of his tail, under his balls and out his wolfhood, into the waiting fox. He marvels at the fact that he can feel his cock pulsing, muscles clenching, knowing his seed is flooding the throat but not feeling it. All he can feel is the increasing heat around him, and the oncoming afterglow.
A few tense seconds later the wolf relaxes, all but spent, onto the porcelain commode. His head hangs heavy on his chest, which still heaves but is returning to normal. He opens his eyes, a feat in itself, to see the fox let his cock out of his mouth. The red and swollen stalk plops against his navel, heavy and over-sensitive. The fox swallows the remaining wolf seed with a satisfied look on his face, as if after a light but tasty snack.
The fox leans in close to the wolf's nose. "That, my adorable coworker, was quite the load. You should be proud." The lupine can smell himself on the wispy breath. He starts to say something, but the fox puts a clawtip to his lips.
"No need to thank me. I'm sure we can work something out...if you want to." The look in his eyes says and I'm pretty sure you want to, and the wolf knows it's all too true. All he can do is smile, something which looks dopey and irresistible at the same time. The fox grins warmly, gives the lupine's nose a final lick and unlocks the stall door.
The wolf hears the door click shut, and returns to himself. He zips himself up, even though a good two inches remains unsheathed, and goes to the mirror. He splashes water on his face and looks at his reflection, still trying to wrap his mind around the events of the day. Something, he doesn't know quite what, has changed inside of him...most definitely for the better.
He can't stop smiling.
~FIN
3/24-4/11/04