Penalty
#2 of Touchdown
Penalty
©2011 The Origamist
The red ember begged for one last second, but just crumpled in a cloud of acrid smoke in the ashtray. The orange cat, a female in her mid-30s, sighed as she twisted the cigarette back and forth, outing it unceremoniously before flicking it to the side onto a growing pile of about thirty of the smokes' siblings.
Damien stared at the pile and swallowed hard, tugging nervously at the fabric draping him. When he had come in at in the late afternoon, he was wearing all new clothes that his coach, Trey, had bought him before he had driven the kitten home. His new sweatshirt was a deep purple, and his jeans a sky blue, almost like skinny jeans. He hadn't wanted them in the first place, but they made Trey growl with a smile, the adult shifting his loins. His bare feet were replaced with new, bulky skate-shoes, black and white with checkered laces. And he was still wearing those long, white socks.
The two had showered together until they were clean of each other's scents, with a lot of kissing and rubbing in the process, young Damien smiling in the muscular jaguars' arms. The steam, that musky steam and the warmth encircling his imagination and he closed his eyes, fantasizing back to the porcelain room he was in not an hour earlier...
The kitten coughed suddenly as he inhaled a passing cloud of smoke that brought him back to reality. His mother remained stoic on the couch, her back turned to him. The apartment was set up in such a way that when one walked in, the couch and living room was too the right, kitchen was on the left, bathroom in the middle, a bedroom on either side. No time or money for superfluity.
Finally, his mother sighed and turned around to him, a tired, maternal smile on her face as she laid her right arm across the back of the couch. "So," she started in the voice of a long-term smoker, heavy and softened, deteriorating. "That coach of yours called when you were still asleep. Hell, that must've been a good game for you to sleep until noon."
Damien just smiled back and shrugged, starting to walk back towards his room. "It was pretty good," he said, "we won again. Why didn't y- "
His mom cut off his question with a laugh of triumph. "Hey, that's my boy!" The laugh ended with a small cough, before she turned back to the wall, coughing and hacking in the smoke. Her son watched on in aggravated consent as she finished wheezing, smiting the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray. "Shit...I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she muttered, waving her left paw up as she stood, wiping the back of her mouth on her wrist.
The kitten grimaced and began to walk down to his room, knowing that she was going to try and give him a hug, try to appear like a normal mother for once. There was no probing about the locked door, the needle outside, her missing the game. It wasn't like he cared anyway.
"Damey, honey, I'm sorry I missed you there." Oh...so much for that line of thought. "I just found this other guy..."
"Another?" he replied dully, not bothering to turn around. His mom went through boyfriends almost like she did her smokes.
But to his surprise, she said, "Not all like that, hon. He's gonna help me quit." Damien whirled around in surprise, and she just chuckled, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, her smile hopeful and genuine. "He's actually here right now." Ms. Lafayette had been a hard smoker for as long as Damien could remember, so telling her son that she was quitting. All he could think was...
"What? ... Where is he, then?" The kitten turned back again, looking first to his mothers' room on the right to the bathroom in the middle, and then saw something odd about the scene. The bathroom door was closed, something that only happened when the door was chain-locked from the inside, as the apartment tilted towards the back a bit. And sure enough, there was the sound of metal scraping and the door swung open. Out walked a tall, tawny coyote, fiddling with a silver skull belt buckle and zipping up his fly.
He glanced up with a paternal desire in his eyes as he made eye contact with the young feline, and Damien shuddered as for just a brief moment, he saw Trey smiling at him through that stare. "And this must be the all-star I keep hearing about! How are you, Damien? My name's Max," the canine said. His voice was soft and deep, a deep sense of urban culture in his words. His khakis were pressed and straight, his plaid collared shirt a particularly preppy shade of blue.
"Max. Well, uh, hi. Damien," the boy replied, extending his paw. The adult took it and shook it, a grip like iron in paws like velvet. The older cat laughed a little as she stepped forwards to retrieve her coat from the kitchen counter, which also served as a dining room table.
Putting on her coat, she called over her shoulder. "I'll let you two have some man to man time. I've finally got a job interview downtown." The coyote grinned as he waved her goodbye, and Damien turned to wave as well. She made eye contact with her son, and smiled broadly with vigor that the kitten had not ever remembered seeing. "It's all going up, Damey," she said, before walking out the door again, closing and locking it behind her.
The orange cub's ears tilted down as he lost himself in another thought. So he had to spend the night outside - what of it? She was still caring for him as best she could, still was seeking help, and this time, it seemed so much more positive. He couldn't help but think the same thoughts he had every time something like this happened. It was all a selfish figment of his mind.
Max cleared his throat, and Damien looked back up into his face, turning his head as the canine knelt to be eye to eye with him. "Hey, she'll be back soon enough," he said, misunderstanding the cubs' expression. "And by the way, I like the new clothes. She'll notice soon enough." Without warning, the adult reached out and pinched the sweatshirt fabric in his fingers. Damien almost gasped as he realized it as well; his mother hadn't even seemed to notice he what he was wearing, even though they had both known - or was it just him? - that they hadn't gone proper clothes shopping in over a year.
"Well, uh, thanks," was all that the boy could really get out. The turmoil in the house seemed different than usual. He was used to these men moving in and out of the house, the fights, the drugs, the breakups and everything. But Max seemed so much different, and it scared him in a way he didn't understand.
The coyote smiled and began to walk past him to the kitchen, still trying to carry out a conversation. "You know, I'm a good friend of your coach. Trey's a nice guy." Maybe that was it, some sort of spark. Damien followed him into the kitchen in time to see him open up a beer bottle, turning and raising a glass in his direction. "We went to the same schools, first grade through college. We've shared a lot of memories," he said, sipping the alcohol and blanching. "God knows why she drinks this stuff; it's gone all flat or something."
The kitten smiled nervously before he dared to reply silently, a simple shrug. Max was telling him something that he wasn't hearing right. What was that coyote thinking? Usually, he could tell whether the men in his mothers' life wanted sex, drugs, love, or all three, but the canine was a hard read. He must have been studying the adult intensely, because Max frowned and tried to give a smile back. "Not the loudest boy on the block, huh?"
The cub blushed, and Max eased up, laughing as he walked forwards to fuzzle Damien in between the ears, a big paw making the smaller fur growl and flush crimson at the touch messing up his headfur. "Tell you what, let's watch some sort of TV, alright? It'll get your mind off of everything that's happening," the coyote said, walking towards the couch. Damien followed, and dared to give a quick glance at the adults' toned lower body. He was definitely handsome, but what was he here for?
The boy took a seat at the opposite end of the couch from the pile of burned-out cigarettes, and Max wrinkled his nose. He sat right next to the cub and sighed, giving him a tired smile. "She - your mother is a wonderful woman, but she just needs to get her...priorities...straightened out," he said before looking about the grayed, wrinkled couch for some sort of remote.
Damien reached in between the crack of one of the seats, and pulled out the plastic device, cracked and missing half the buttons. Max grinned at him when he saw that the kitten found it, and they both turned to the screen as Damien pressed the red power button, their reflections disappearing and their ears simultaneously perking at the electronic buzz. The black screen slowly faded into a shot of some sort of home shopping network, the default setting for the set. Neither of the felines living there knew how to change it.
Max appeared to ignore the babbling blondes on the screen, talking about how much they loved the new emeralds in from Nicaragua this year, taking a small sip from the beer he was holding. The coyote glanced at the bottle, then over to Damien. The kitten appeared to be watching with a slightly glazed look on his face, trying to think of some way to get a conversation started. He heard the adult chuckle, and glanced over to see him offer the boy the bottle. "You ever try beer, Damien?" The young cat shook his head, and Max just offered it again with a slight tilt of his wrist, the liquid making small, wet noises as it slid against the sides of the glass.
The boy eyed the liquid with a sort of caution tinged with disdain. Sure, he could try new things, but this seemed a bit far for him. Max grinned, and stood up again, holding up one finger to indicate his returning. Damien nodded, and turned to follow the adults' movements behind him. The coyote went back to the fridge and pulled out a bottle with a sunset on it, the words unintelligible. He got out a glass, and the cub turned back around quickly, pretending to be mesmerized by the television. He turned his head casually - or so he hoped - to see the adult pouring him half a glass of the golden liquid and handing it to him. Damien took the drink gently, giving it a sniff. He raised his eyebrows, turning to Max. "Is this iced tea?" he asked, taking a sip.
"Best around! Long Island iced tea," Max replied, noting how the boys' eyes lit up when he tasted the drink. There was some alcohol, sure, but the taste was just strong to have flavor and still taste like sweet tea that he was used to. He took a proper drink, then coughed, then took another drink. The coyote just sipped as he watched the kitten drinking, the deceptive taste of the drink overriding the alcohol. Damien smiled into the drink, and almost gave that smile genuinely to Max before he caught himself. Was he this used to the chaos, this used to change that he could illegally share a drink with a man he had never met, and who was presumably staying in their house?
"Does she notice anything, Damien?"
The cub glanced up, surprised, to see the adult looking towards the women on the television bitterly, with his paw clenched around the bottle. He shot Damien a look, growling, "You stayed out the whole goddamn night. You come back with totally new clothes, and she shoves you into my arms like I'm fucking Santa Claus." He began to chuckle, but out of disbelief rather than actual humor. The boy just stared as the big coyote as he shook his head, swigging his beer violently, clenching his fingers tight around the bottle.
Looking back, Damien saw where Max was coming from. As they stared together at the infomercial, he realized just how crazy his life was from that viewpoint. Together, he and his mother each spent long nights out, the changes and behaviors only recognizable as warning signs to the other. Damien's mother knew that when he came home earlier than normal and was silent, it was a bad day at school, due to the fact that usually he hung around with some friends before walking. And just by hearing, the son had figured out when his mother was either coming home drunk, high, or when any other sort of substance had found its' way into her. Damien also knew when she had small 'parties' in the apartment, the sounds of glass clinking, lighters flicking and the guests throwing up resonating throughout the halls.
The boyfriend issue was something else that the cub had gotten used to. His mom went through men quickly, as most were just long-term fuck-buddies. Each one, she often said during a dinner of stale Hot Pockets, could have some significance on her life, each one could make a difference; most of them ended up leaving because she didn't have the money to keep the drugs going. This coming and going made Max a new development here. How did this gentle, normal person end up in their house? And she said he was going to help her quit. Quit drugs? Drinking? Smoking?
All of the above! The voice chimed from the set, jerking the memories away from Damien and bringing the room back into focus, his eyes drawn lazily to the giggling bimbos. Suddenly, he felt a paw snake around his shoulder, and he glanced up with surprise as Max pulled him closer, sighing. "Sorry, kid...I know it's a lot for you to handle," he mumbled, glancing down to the kittens' surprised expression.
Damien shrugged a little, pulling his legs up onto the couch and leaning against the older male. He swirled the amber liquid in the glass he held loosely, and replied, "I'm used to it all." What else could he say? It was true - mostly - and it was obvious that Max had seen everything that was happening in their small family. There wasn't anything he thought was worth hiding. Oh, that Coach was here right now...he really needed a snuggle, but he made do with the coyote, who looked slightly surprised as the emotionally exhausted kitten snuggled against his chest, his exhaling making a gentle mewling as he closed his eyes just for a moment. For some reason, he was feeling sleepier than usual, but that thought soon evaporated from his mind as he took another drink, draining the alcoholic tea.
As soon as his glass was empty, the coyote reached over and filled it up again. The boy murmured his thanks as he took yet another sip, making the older male laugh gently at him. "Jesus, lil' dude, we're going to turn you into a regular drunk if you keep this up," Max said, grinning as he watched the cub keep drinking. But the boy shrugged it off as he just nuzzled himself closer to the coyote. The adult raised his eyebrows at the way the kitten relaxed around him, but didn't push him back as the small cheek pressed back against his breast.
The silence permeated the room, driving Max to fumble with the remote and click the channels, skimming past waves of advertisements, bad daytime television, cooking shows, and everything in between until they reached the music channels, near the end of the listings. The first one they reached was a instrumental station, a mix of jazz and blues. The coyote raised the remote, but Damien reached his paw up to stay his press, his fingers sliding lazily off the plastic as he shook his head. "This sounds nice," he mumbled, a tired smile on his face as he took another small drink. His eyes began to flicker, and his smile faltered as he tried to think about this. He had just slept well the previous night, and had had another good nap beforehand. He wondered why he was so tired now, but he was too tired to think about it.
Max took the drink from the young kitten and placed it on the ground, pressing a gentle fingertip to the boys' nose. "I think you've had enough for me," the coyote growled deeply, and Damien looked up at him with confusion. But before the cub could ask about it, he felt himself pushed over gently as Max hugged him, turning their bodies so that they were chest-to-chest. He glanced down towards the ground, but the adult took two fingers and tilted his head upwards, giving a smirk of condescension.
Damien tried to pull back, leaning against the hug and growling gently under his breath. "L...lemme go," he said slowly, a lot more slowly than he had meant to. He knew exactly what he wanted to say, but the words seemed to break off like parched earth, turning into verbal clay before they could come out. All he could think about was going back...
He imagined that instead of this new coyote, the new man who was going to help, a stranger, he was back with Coach Trey, the sturdy, gentle jaguar, his lover and friend - his boyfriend, if he dared. He painted that feline amber over the deep brown canine eyes, tried to place spots on the fur, but all he saw was that leering grin and jagged teeth, taunting him, weakening him. The kitten let his ears back and exhaled a whimper, trying focus back on the adults' face. Max spoke again, but the words and image were slightly out of focus. Damien shook his head as they started to drift back again, the tips of his ears twitching.
"I'll be honest with you," Max was saying, "Trey and I...we talked about a lot of crazy things in college. But you know what the biggest thing that we shared was?" The adult sat back upright, letting go of the kitten. Damien slumped back down and edged away, his eyes still on the coyote. Max glared at the television, a dangerous smile playing on his face. He didn't even look in the cubs' direction as he continued to speak, his paws laid on his lap gently, but deliberately, as if it took all of his control to keep them there. "The thing we both wanted to do the must, the deepest secret, was that we both wanted to fuck little boys like you."
Damien froze solid, his muscles locking up in his arms and down his legs, freezing him in place. He was sitting on the couch with his feet on the cushion and his paws behind him. Most of the fuzzy image of the coyote was seen over the top of his knees. Max continued, "When we got out of campus, we stayed in touch a lot. I went into relationship counseling and family problems and the like - a shrink. I talked to a lot of parents who sobbed their eyes out about those sorts of thoughts, the thought of sex with their children. And I stopped them all, but I told them that if their child wanted to do it then they should go ahead. They're so curious, and so cute. How could you say no to that?" He let out a soft laugh, almost of sympathy, before his gaze shifted to the cowering boy next to him. His eyes iced over and became as steel, and his smile became a thin line of contempt. "And then you came along."
Damien swallowed hard, and he hurriedly shifted his body as Max rose, giving the remote a click as the babble died away from the screen with an electronic fizzle. He kept eye contact with the cub as he circled, never blinking, never smiling, his fingers moving in and out as he glared the boy into submission. "Trey became a gym teacher, a coach. He never bragged to me about seeing you boys half-naked, about how all the kids came to him with their personal bullshit and how he loved all of them so. Oh no. The only time he was bragging to me was with you." The large canine stopped moving, and the smoky air hung stale about them as he faced the trembling boy.
"That pussycat and I never fucked in college, because he said that he was gonna save it for someone that he loved. He said that it just wasn't right to do it out of lust. But then...you show up and change everything. You became the only topic of what he blabbed about, the only thing keeping your shitty little team together. He told me how you liked to look at the other boys in the shower," Max went on, a large, toothy smile forming as he neared the climax of the sentence. The kitten splayed his ears back and swallowed hard, his mind racing and heart pounding. A bead of sweat dropped down from his brow, running from his eye like a tear.
But Max kept on smiling, his body stock still as he stared at Damien. The kitten began to breathe harder audibly, something he almost never did as his athletic physique always kept him in shape. It was rare that he ever breathed heavily in these situations, but now he felt his lungs nearly collapsing, the room bulging and out of focus. His eyes almost began to droop, but fear kept them alive as he held his ground in front of the maddened coyote. "I know what you are..." the adult said. "Say it. Say it to my face, boy."
The cub opened his mouth, but no words came out, just a dry, gagging noise. His throat felt like it was on fire, and he needed a drink of water desperately. He could only swallow hard as Max's eyes narrowed, and he leaned down in front of Damien, their noses nearly touching. "You are a faggot." Max stared down at the boy with the same dominant grin. "Say it. Tell me how much of a little cockfaggot you are."
"N....no..." Damien whispered, shaking his head slowly. Each shake made the room vibrate a little, and he felt his head start to pound along with his heart. The tea...oh no... he thought, but that unbroken sentence was soon pushed from his mind. Instead, his gaze slowly hovered to the right arm of the coyote that had suddenly moved up into the air, and the paw that was quickly descending towards him.
As soon as he could focus on the palm, it had already come down hard across the top of his cheek, the tip of the claws shredding part of his skin and tawny fur when the fingers raked past. But the flat of the hand itself made an intense force against his face, and a searing, stinging pain had rapidly spread throughout his entire visage, shattering his lethargic composure as he yowled, toppling over onto his elbow as he clutched his left paw up to the marks.
Max drew his paw back and smirked as Damien let out a sob, the kitten placing both paws pressed down on the cushions for support, elbows shuddering violently as he let his head hang in pathetic defeat. A drop of blood trickled down into the crevice of his lips and made a crimson line of liquid, shimmering in the dull light.
The coyote ignored the boy and instead perked his ears up and withdrew a slim flip-phone from his pocket casually, the vibrations ceasing. He opened it up casually and let out a soft chuckle as he pressed buttons, flipping the device down again and slipping it into his tenting pants again. "That was your mother," he said softly. "She's not going to be home for a little bit, because she landed the job and they have her working with the group already!" The kitten just let out a muted sob, and the adult sighed as he reached forward, firmly gripping the scruff of Damien's neck.
He held his breath from a sobbing gasp as Max lifted him nearly upright, the skin on the back of his neck tingling as he was forced into a sitting position with his rear hovering a couple inches off of the couch, his arms going limp as he stared into the eyes of the canine, licking the blood that was pooling around his mouth. But Max leaned forward and extended his tongue, giving a slow swipe across the childs' face, their tongues meeting as he cleaned off the blood he had spilled.
He withdrew his face and wiped his mouth with what he probably thought was a gentle smile, the half-drunk, terrified kitten closing his eyes and turning his face aside. Max peered back at him as he opened his mouth, letting out one single, squeaky word. The adult dug his claws into the nape of the boys' neck and twisted his face into a snarl, hoisting him roughly into the air, his toes hovering above the dingy carpet. "What did you just say?!" he shouted, shaking the young feline like a ragdoll. As he swung, Damien lifted up his face and opened his eyes, tears swirling with the blood as he forced his lips apart, a breath echoing through the irate silence.
"T...Trey..."
Max dropped him. Damien didn't even bother to try and catch himself as he crumpled in a heap to the floor, his head spinning as he felt the whole world go sideways. He felt terrible beyond any sickness, his aching heart the only emotion he could hang on to, his neck and cheek aching horribly, his living room spinning before him in a blurry haze. The coyote stood over him, fuming and clenching his paws. "I loved that fucking cat, more than anything," he hissed, gripping the sides of his pants, now wrinkled. "And you came along and took it. You stole him you little- !" Instead of a debasing name, he swiftly threw his foot forwards into the cubs' groin, making the small boy scream as he slid back from the force of the kick, a nauseating ache forcing its' way into every nerve in his body, his lungs seizing up as his stomach turned.
The adult looked down on the coiled child, the kitten contorting into a ball, sweat seeping through his clothes as his eyes rolled back in their sockets. His mouth opened in a breathless, soundless shout, his vision going out as he fought to stay awake, but couldn't. It was almost for the best; as he slipped into unconsciousness, the pain slowly formed into a throb, a distant ache that led the blurred room into blackness. He rolled his head over as he saw the blurry shape of a large figure looming over him. There was a movement, and his balls exploded in pain again, the tissue succumbing to the forceful foot as he surrendered to the darkness.
|----
He awoke to a room full of silence. Silence and the acrid smell of urine.
At first, as he looked out into the room, he had a sudden thought that he had died, but the whiteness turned out to be a stucco wall that was turned sideways in his vision. Cheap tile ran from the edge of the wall to where his head was resting, slowly coming into focus as he regained consciousness. His head pounded in a steady throb, and he winced just from waking up, the semi-hangover forcing its' way into his brain. His balls still hurt like hell, and he curled up slightly, cupping his paws around his tender genitals.
The first thing to strike him was the warmth of the whole room; it was too warm for this late in the year. It was to the point of excessive heat, like a sauna, and he could almost imagine the steam billowing out of the walls and heating his body. He had been there once, when the team and the other boys decided to spend a day at the local pool and gym, where they all pretended to be adults, stripping down and laughing and faking how they weren't uncomfortable with their penis sizes around the other boys. Nobody had lost their innocence quite yet, and they all remained average in their own minds, the kitten being the only one with roving eyes to the supple flesh of the other males, stretched around the wooden benches, misty vapor encircling them like a cloak.
The second thing that struck him was the smoke. Or at least, he thought it was smoke, until he realized that the only smell in the room was his own sweat, some blood - which he licked off his lips, and thus the scent disappeared - and that smell of piss, like rotten battery acid. It spilled out slightly onto the floor and drifted down the spires of stucco, ghosts playing tag in the walls. Also, his haunches and coiled legs felt wet, and for a moment he feared that he had somehow urinated in his sleep. But the water was still moving, and his own member was nestled in his sheath, as far as he could feel, and all his fur down there was still dry.
He blinked, and the room came more into focus. He could see that the walls were surprisingly cleaned, and almost seemed plastic in the way that the whole room sparkled. Water droplets from the steam has settled over everything, and the florescent lighting cast its' sparkles over whatever refracted its' light.
"Don't get up quite yet. You're probably having a massive headache right about now."
Damien widened his eyes in fear, and Max simply chuckled as he continued, rolling with the kittens' reactions to the point where the boy might as well be a ragdoll, or a common pet. "I mean, shit, you drunk quite a bit of liquor for a virgin - well, a drink virgin anyway. Sleeping for...what's it been?" A brief silence allowed the child to hear his heart beat once, violently, before his ears pricked to catch his tormentors' words. "It's round about midnight now. You've been on the deep end for, like, eleven hours. At least you woke up a little around nine." Something must have triggered in his body to signify his confusion, because the adult chuckled softly and continued, "Well, right around six-thirty, you started to thrash, and you barfed something crazy, kid. Sounded like you were going to die. Looked like it, too."
There was more silence. Damien tried to decode his scenario, his aching mind racing as his memory fumbled through the haze. There was a few wet slaps, feet stepping into a puddle. As the coyote stepped behind him, he heard the steady progress, then the full force of the shower bouncing its' water against the porcelain. The water leaking out of the open door vibrated underneath his immobile legs. Suddenly, and with a silent alarm of a figure kneeling down, Max reached over and grabbed Damien by the arms, lifting him up into a kneeling position.
The room careened as he was hoisted upright, but Damien took it in stride as he looked out over the whole bathroom. It was simple, and almost all white. Plain, rectangular cabinets, a mirror, also rectangular, a white toothbrush hanging on a hook on the wall, and silver handles. The cub caught the edge of his reflection in the mirror, and decided that the clawmarks across his face weren't too bad, and just took off a lot of skin. He was healing remarkably fast, and as he was lifted he began to wonder if this was all part of some dream, when he felt Max behind him. The coyote was naked and ground up against the boy as he also began to stand, trying to get him up onto his feet.
Damien worked his legs up as he tried to get his body upright, his arms out to the sides as he was picked up by the adult hugging him across his chest, the strong arms underneath his armpits. The boy realized that his kidnapper wasn't erect at all, and that he was treating the boy like a drunken buddy rather than a sex item or a capture. His soles met the cool tile, and he tried to straighten his legs on the watery floor. A thin layer had spread almost all across the bathroom, but Max seemed to ignore it as he crouched down again, tracing his paws over the kittens' sides.
Damien didn't try to fight back, but clenched his fists as he closed his eyes, feeling the coyote caress the bends in his digitigrades. "You're such a curvy boy," he chuckled, massaging Damien's toes before standing again. The cub heard a creaking noise, and opened his eyes to see the adult stepping out into the hall. "Sorry about that smell, by the way. A marking just felt ceremonial." With a teasing smile, he closed the door behind him, leaving the kitten and the open shower.
The boy listened to the receding paws as he was left totally alone before turning, testing how his legs were walking. He found that while his head was still pounding like a freight train, his balance was only mildly affected. Stepping into the white shower, European style with no tub, he closed the glass door and sank to the ground, the lukewarm water washing over his body. Crouching, he felt behind him and grimaced as his fingers traced over the matted fur where Max had "marked" him, shaking off the traces of urine as he reached up and groped over a shelf for some soap.
Soon, he was all lathered up and standing normally, his headache slowly receding to a dull throb. He stood out of the showers' flow and closed his eyes, trying not to think about how well-executed the kidnapping was. Max had gotten close to his mother, established the trust. He had seduced the cub with sugar and sympathy, and taken him for whatever he could be muscled into doing. But the one flaw was the plan, which was why his balls also ached and his cheek was torn.
Damien stuck out his paw into the shower to rinse it off before wiping the tear from his eye, a wavering smile tingeing his lips. The memory of that spotted Hercules, that aphrodisiac of muscle and tender grinding, the loving caress of his coach and mentor around him gave him a tether that he could hold onto when he fought against Max's will. "You can take my life," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the water, "but you cannot take my love."
The only response was the shower pounding away apathetically and the far-off sound of a siren. Feeling sheepish, Damien began to rinse the soap down the drain, and tried his best to prepare himself for the oncoming storm.
|----
Max gave him a slow once-over, smiling as he patted the bed. "C'mon, sit beside me. I'm not pissed off at you enough to bite."
The cub leaned against the doorframe uncertainly, but even when he glanced back up, the coyote was lounging in the exact same position, with the exact same grin, indifferent to the boys' standing with the exception of a small pawing next to him again as an indicator of Damien's padded throne. One glance around showed that the coyote seemed to have a taste for the plain; the walls were a pale blue, as were the sheets, and except for the plain wood floor, everything else in the room was white. Even the drawers in the corner were white. The whole bedroom - and the house, for that matter - was immaculate.
The boy was naked again. But for some reason, he didn't feel any sort of self-consciousness. Maybe it was because he was trying to mentally prepare himself for this, or because he wasn't aroused by the situation at all, or simply because he didn't care about being naked anymore. Just a couple of odd starts in the locker room can get you prepared for being naked in front of other males, but even that retained an amicable awkwardness. Max had a quality that somehow made Damien hate him and feel slightly comfortable around him at the same time, but mostly, the cub hated the adult at the moment. He did violently attack him, after all. Leveling his eyes with the coyote, the young football player walked towards the bed and sat, trying his best to glare. "My balls still hurt."
As if to incense the cubs' anger, Max shrugged and raised a paw flat, like a waiter carrying a platter. "Hey, you got me in a rough spot. Trey and I have a rough past, and now you're fucking him and he's fucking you, and you're what, eleven? Jesus..." he said, "I can't tell who the bigger pedo here is." Damien stared as the adult looked off into the distance, as if this situation was no better or worse than when they were watching the stupid television and drinking together.
But eventually, the coyote looked over and saw the anger marked in stone on the boys' face. His smile turned into a nonchalant grin - nothing condescending, just more serious than before. "Look, bro," he said calmly, placing a paw on Damien's knee, "I know I hurt you. And I'm sorry." Feeling the cub tense up under his palm, he let go and gingerly curled his fingers, partly because of caution and partly because of respect for his victim. "It just...bugs me, you know?"
The silence hung in the room like pictures in an art gallery that nobody was buying. Both parties stared at each other, an unwritten contest between them. Damien wanted nothing more but to get out and back to Trey, to get him to call the police and get the coyote locked up for good. So what if he lost his temper? He beat him up. He degraded the boy. He pissed on his unconscious body. His paws balled up into fists and he began to eye the adults' groin as a target when he jerked his head up in disbelief. "W-what?" His ears must have been deceiving him, the silence of the room overpowering his sense of hearing when Max just commented.
"I said, the door's right there. You can leave if you want." The kitten stared at Max before snapping his neck to the doorframe he had just come through. He could see a window, light, escape from here. He could see his way back home. He could even make out his pile of clothes sitting on the counter. He swiveled his head back around to the coyote, who was grinning down at him before turning away from the cub, picking up his cell phone - had it been behind him this whole time? - and scrolling through something.
Keeping his eyes on the adult, Damien slid off of the sheets and began pacing his way backwards across the hardwood floor. Groping behind him, he steadied himself against the doorframe and stared intently through narrowed eyes at the coyote. Max stopped scrolling and gave the cub a look of intent superiority. I know something you don't know, and you're nothing but a child. You can't handle anything in this.
The kitten kept watching as Max bent down, reached back and slid his phone across the floor to land spinning about at Damien's splayed footpaws. His toes curled in surprise, and he glanced back up towards his kidnapper, who, unsurprisingly, was now staring out the window. Picking up the phone, he started reading the text. It had apparently been through some sort of text or chat service, from the user of the phone to spotted_pigskin11. The cubs' stomach did a turn as he scrolled through with his thumb.
YOU: No shit!
spotted_pigskin11: ya he totlly fell for me <3
spotted_pigskin11: nice ass cub
YOU: Well, any chanc you can hit me up?
YOU: *chance
spotted_pigskin11: dude I dunno he really likes me
spotted_pigskin11: like LIKES me lol
YOU: Consider this...
spotted_pigskin11: whats up?
image_3955.jpg. sent from phone.
spotted_pigskin11: holy fuck
YOU: Asleep in the seat next to me.
spotted_pigskin11: oh fuck im horny again
YOU: Want me to head back over? His mother thinks he's coming to my place, but he won't tell.
spotted_pigskin11: wait wtf whats the thing on his cheek?
YOU: He fell, scraped against the counter. Poor boy
spotted_pigskin11: ah I c thank god
spotted_pigskin11: well why not have fun with him yourself? Lol
YOU: Do you really think he'll go for that? You did say he "likes" you...
spotted_pigskin11: bro all cubs are cumsluts
YOU: This takes me back to the good old days....
spotted_pigskin11: watch yourself
YOU: Sorry
spotted_pigskin11: Its kk he shouldv thought twice before being a poof but at least hes a fucking hot piece of ass
Damien couldn't read any further into the message his paws were shaking so hard. He saw the reflection in the phones' surface, and looked up to see that Max had come back to stand over him. "'A hot piece of ass'," he repeated, shaking his head. "And you thought he loved you."
The kitten felt a tugging in his chest, like his ribs were being compressed. All that time, and he had been thought of as a slut. And was he? He had teased his coach, and had used his dildo and fucked himself, and he had let Trey know before anybody else in the world because, secretly, he wanted that sort of relationship...but now, he had disillusioned himself into becoming in love. The first man besides Timothy he had touched, and he was in love. What was wrong with him?
Max placed both paws on the boys' shoulders. "So what will it be?" The coyote pointed to the door. "You can go home, or go to the coach and tell him. You can quit the team. You can do any number of things that you want to do for retribution, young man." The adult sighed and began kneading into the kittens' muscle. "Or you can stay here and live up to what that cat was saying. If you want it so bad, you can fuck me." A tear dripped down the cubs' face onto the floor, and he could feel himself clenching up again, like he was left in the cold with a needle in his foot. The canine in front of him just held on, keeping him steady. "What will it be, Damien?"
The kitten looked up with the white room reflected in his eyes, and opened his mouth.
--|--
Duhn duhn duhn! Comment or message me. The side with the most convincing argument will see that side written - confront Trey or yiff? Or something totally different? And since this is pretty short, it'll come out in two parts.
I am a horrible person
©2011 TheOrigamist