The Museum Piece
#3 of The Fantastic Spring Semester of Andy and Chris
Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.
This is the second part of an ongoing series I am working on that, for now, has a very straightforward name: The Fantastic Spring Semester of Andy and Chris_. The story itself is shaping up to be a pastiche of, or homage to, old action serials, and here is the second installment -- now with added plot elements; part of this complete breakfast! Standard disclaimer - please offer criticism, feedback, etc. If you don't, I can only get better through blind luck._
"The Museum Piece," by Rob Baird.
--
Essay finished, he had trekked the distance onto campus and now waited, as the clock ticked through quarter of nine and the activity in the student union slowly died down. He was skimming the articles in the Colorado Daily when he felt a warm pressure on his shoulder. He turned, to see the sharp muzzle resting there, and tilted his head a little. "Mm? What's this about?"
"It's an intervention," Chris said, with a grin, nosing his neck playfully. "About your drinking problem."
Andy tilted his head in the direction of the table. "Diet Coke?"
"Mm. You think I didn't notice? Four, sometimes five cans a day..."
"I don't have a problem. I -- I could quit any time. It just helps me concentrate, that's all..."
Her grin widened, and the Border collie stuck out her tongue. "Oh, of course."
The smile was still crinkling her features when he twisted in his chair to give her a kiss. "How was work?"
"It was alright! Nothing too special. You ready to go?"
He finished the last of the cola and stood, slipping the bottle and the newspaper into their respective recycling bins. "Yeah. Am now, anyway. Museum closed, what, two hours ago?"
"Yep! I checked the building; it's all quiet. It'll be perfect." She hooked her arm through his, leaning against him as they pushed through the doors and out into the relative calm of the cool evening. The museum was immediately next door to the student union building; it was a quick walk.
As she fished out the keys from her purse, Andy leaned against the other door, watching her. Her eyes were alight with a singular purpose -- the fierce, focused expression of someone on a mission. Visiting the museum had not been his idea -- and she had not equivocated in any way about the purpose of the meeting. But he had never been able to tell her 'no' -- not with her bright eyes, and the half cock of her floppy ears, and the way her tail wagged whenever she saw him.
And, of course, what could go wrong? Chris held the door open for him, and he slipped into the darkened building, feeling around for a lightswitch. He had found it, and was starting to press the button, when her paw gripped his wrist. "Discretion, husky."
"Sure, but my night vision isn't so good."
"You didn't bring a flashlight?" She gave a chiding whuff of breath, poking his side. "Be prepared! That's the Boy Scouts' marching song." The harsh white circle of a bright LED light appeared, cast from her other paw. "Fine, I'll be your seeing eye dog. C'mon, don't dawdle!"
He followed close behind her, padding through the dim halls of the museum that, bereft of life, seemed almost haunted in their silence. Occasionally the beam flickered over an exhibit -- a dinosaur skull here, a bow and arrow there. In the stark light, the relics cast menacing shadows.
"Oh! Hey, this is new!" For her concerns about discretion, the collie had no problems about giving voice to her boundless energy. In the darkness it was hard to see her tail; he felt the breeze born of its animation first. The lamplight fell upon a few sharp, angular objects, decorated in streaks of black and white paint, that at first he thought might be remnants of a weapon.
"Mesa Verdean sherds, ca. 1100 AD," he read from the card, and a glimmer of recognition dawned. "Broken pots! I knew it."
She turned, and in the darkness he felt, rather than saw, her stern glare. "Not just any broken pots, either! Anasazi... Look at how well preserved the colors are!"
He couldn't tell anything about the colors, really, except that they matched Chris's own palette. He paused, and gave her a little squeeze. "You know," he said. "I just realized something."
"What's that?"
"Why you Border collies go into archaeology. You find these pots, right, and they're all broken... You get to put them back together again. It's a natural outlet for your herding instincts, isn't it?"
"Oh. Well, yes, obviously," she said with a snicker. "It took you that long to figure out?" Her tail beat against his leg in a quick tap-tap-tap as she took his paw, leading him away from the exhibit, her gait an easy, half-skipping stride -- not fast, but sparking with energy. Chris rarely walked anywhere; the intensity bound up in her diminutive frame wouldn't stand for anything so demure. "You know what a Border collie's favorite card game is, right?"
"Poker?" If there was such a thing as the diametric opposite of a poker face, Chris had it. "God, I would love to play poker with you some time."
She turned in mid-step; he could see the silhouette of her ears as they pricked questioningly. "Was that a pun? I can't always tell if you're punning, nanook." Chris paused, fishing out her keychain and opening the door to a stairwell. "Anyway, no. Fifty-two pickup."
Andy chuckled, shaking his head as they padded up the stairs to the office on the top floor of the museum building. It was packed with boxes and books; there was no dust, suggesting it saw regular use, but the musty smell lingered nonetheless. "What is this?"
Turning, the collie gave him a wry grin. In the moonlight, and the diffused amber of the streetlamps outside, her canine teeth glinted with the smile. "A good place to start..." She wrapped her long arms around him, drawing him close and craning her head upwards to give him a playful kiss. "Don't you think?" Her nose rested against his, lightly, to let the question linger.
With a rumbling growl of approval, Andy ran his paws down either side of the collie's body, tracing the curves with splayed fingers and an insistent, gentle kneading touch. "The museum director's office?" His fingers plucked at the fabric of her t-shirt to accent the question.
Her grin widened, and she tightened her embrace. "But he's not here, is he?"
"Mm -- no..." Seen from a distance, the Border collie often seemed sylphlike, with her slight frame and her easy movements. It was when she pressed to him, with the heat of her body melting into his and her hips a firm and devilish presence so snug against his own, that she became alive, tense with raw, sensuous electricity.
Irresistible.
Chris let out a little bark, deeply muffled, as he pressed his lips back to hers in a sudden, passionate kiss. The wolfdog's paws found her rear, squeezing her -- fetching a soft moan from the collie, even as his tongue slipped past her lips, parted willingly for him. He felt her fingers at his sides, holding him, guiding him as she stepped back, shuffling awkwardly with him until her legs brushed against a table perched beneath the office window.
Her paws roamed over his back, occasionally kneading roughly as their embrace drew a spark of particularly bright emotion. She drew his tongue deeper into her muzzle, teasing at it with her own, gasping as they touched, and the intertwining brought a growl from far back in the dog's throat to match a firmer press of his body into hers. When he finally broke the kiss he was panting, and each breath carried a hint of that feral tone.
Andy took her by the hips, lifting her up and setting her on the edge of the table -- it was mostly clear, anyway, and the few pens that cluttered the surface could be easily retrieved. He gave her calf a nudge, and she parted her legs slightly, obligingly. He wiggled his ears, giving her nose a teasing nip, and then settled down to his knees.
Looking up at her, framed against the window, he paused a moment to watch her silhouetted frame -- the raven black of her fur cast by the night sky into shadow, the white turned soft like a distant cloud. Only the rise and fall of her chest -- still quick, still taking breath in shallow pants -- marked her as a living creature.
That, and the warmth of her legs about him. He ducked his head down, under her skirt, feeling the fabric weigh down his ears until the sounds of the world became muddy and indistinct -- though not enough to mask the ticklish, breathy giggle as his whiskers brushed the downy fur of her thighs. He nosed up and along her leg, leaving a line of kisses, ruffling the fur with his hot breath. Her legs parted further, invitingly, until at last his nose rested against the soft, sheer fabric of her panties.
Gingerly, he cocked his head, nudging her skirt up to give his muzzle room to get purchase on the thin cotton. He caught the elastic band on one of his canine teeth, drawing it back and down the collie's long, soft-furred legs until he could take it in one paw, pulling it the rest of the way down and off her, muzzle still beneath her skirt. Her scent caught his nostrils -- faint at first, a soft, enticing fragrance that drew him closer again until, even blind, he could tell that he was right up against her.
The first touch of his tongue, that soft, silky warmth brushing the lips of her sex, drew a murmur from the collie above him that deepened into a throaty moan, such that he had no choice but to repeat it, skimming just the tip along her in a teasing, slow exploration, all the way from the bottom up to the hood of her clit, skirting around it by feel. Her paws found his head through her skirt, kneading at his flattened ears, and he started over.
When she gave his ear a slightly sharper squeeze, Andy growled playfully, taking the cue to begin moving faster -- drawing his tongue up, pressed lightly into the cleft formed by her parted lips, to the accompaniment of a soft, pleased sigh from the collie, who relaxed back and against the table in a movement that pressed her hips closer to his questing muzzle.
Had their places been reversed, Chris would no doubt have been at the task with her single-minded, characteristic intensity -- quick and fevered. It had its place, but Andy had every intention of taking his time -- now lapping at her gently, now slipping within her, probing her wet folds as they parted around his tongue. He listened for her quiet gasps and shivering moans, feeling her tense and shift, seeking out the spots that made her lithe back arch with the sheer pleasure of it all.
She was growing wetter, and the sound of his tongue as he speared it deep within her, exploring her body hungrily, became progressively more lewd. He leaned back to find her thighs closing about his head, although he had gained enough distance to lap along her lips, cleaning her of the tangy, sweet fluids that spilled forth onto his tongue. This provoked another, deeper moan from her, and he carefully leaned up, flicking the tip against the small button of her clit lightly, until she started to tremble, quivering around his muzzle.
"Andy..." she murmured, her voice strained and slightly broken. "Hold up."
"Mrhmh?" His muzzle was pinned, and the sound was indistinct.
Chris's giggle wavered, caught between that undignified reply and the sensations that his tongue had drawn forth and threatened to unleash fully. It was a moment before she relaxed the grip of her legs and found the presence of mind to speak again. "I... Ah... Fuck me, Andy, please..."
Strained with emotion, the declaration, even with the impassioned and slightly vulgar oath, was less assertive than the collie usually managed, and he equivocated for a moment, muzzle still right up against her sex. "Mrmnmnr--"
"Now."
That was more like it. He slipped back from beneath her skirt and stood, straightening up and leaning against her -- locking her in a deep kiss as, distantly and without real guidance from his brain, his paws worked to undo his belt and the zipper of his jeans. Everything having been discarded, and lips still pressed firmly to the collie's, he hiked up her skirt and guided the pointed tip of his rigid length between her legs, rocking forward to hilt himself within her in a quick, powerful thrust.
Her heated yelp of delight broke the kiss, but it didn't matter -- he dropped his muzzle to nose sharply at her neck as he started to move -- swiftly, in deep, eager strokes that buried the whole of his aching shaft deep inside her, each thrust fetching a gasp from the collie, right against his pointed ear. She was near dripping wet; as he took her, he could feel the wetness of her arousal sliding down her lips to dampen her skirt, soaking her fur -- and his, as he bucked his hips, grinding against her urgently.
Chris was starting to cry out, muzzle open with the passionate yips and barks that filled the small room. Andy's ears twitched with the raw, unmistakable emotion behind them. His pace built, and he gritted his teeth as he leaned into the collie, pinning her against the wall behind the table, which slammed precipitously against it with each thrust. The pens and pencils, flailing about like victims of an earthquake, fled for the edge and fell to the floor in a distant clatter.
She had wrapped her arms and legs around him, snugly, urging him on with the squeezing press of her feet at his thighs, pulling him closer. His panting breath was starting to come in increasingly insistent grunts, and he stifled these in the dense fur of her neck, as if ignoring his rising peak could postpone it. His knot swelled, and it became increasingly difficult to press it inside -- until the time when he did, and was unable to withdraw it.
Now his thrusts shifted tone and tempo, into quick, constrained bucks that drew a high-pitched, needy whimper from the collie, broken only by her sharp intakes of breath. Suddenly she bit his ear, and the distraction collapsed his resolve entirely. He thrust as deeply as he could, body rigid with the pleasure that coursed through him, an involuntary groan spilling into the collie's throat at the first spurt of his release.
Chris gasped, letting go of his ear, and with the second pulse, accompanied by another hitching grind of his body above her, she gave a little quavering wail that cut off in a rush of breath. Her back arched, and her frame seemed to compress around him, as though the world had collapsed to where their two bodies joined. The contractions milked his shaft wantonly, and she twisted and squirmed beneath him as he filled her with the sticky heat of his seed.
It took all his willpower not to simply collapse on the collie, hips still jerking as he emptied himself inside her and her spasms eased with the dying of his own climax. His arms were shaky as he held himself up, and eventually he leaned back -- taking her in his arms and rolling her to take her place on the table, settling her warm, light frame into his lap.
Several minutes passed before they spoke. Finally, he gave the collie's nose a nibble, his paws starting to smooth down the fur that had been disturbed. "So if this was a good place to start..."
"Mm?" Her nose wrinkled a little with the grin. "I thought it was."
In the soft light of the spring nighttime, her eyes seemed to glow softly, and he was captivated. "Well, then, that's next on the agenda?"
"I thought we might try some light -- " Her head cocked sharply, and one of her ears pricked upright. "What was that?"
"What was what?" He held his breath -- and then he heard it, the soft creak of a disused window being forced upon. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "This building?" He nodded, after a moment, in answer to his own question. "Downstairs, I think. What's downstairs?"
"Archives." For once, Chris was also still. She leaned up to peer out the window, putting an uncomfortable pressure on his still-trapped member that drew a quiet yelp from him. "Sorry." She settled down, licking his nose apologetically. "I don't see anything."
"Still, should call the cops, maybe?"
"Yeah." She leaned over, catching the strap of her purse, and pulled it close enough to retrieve her phone. The call took another five minutes -- time for Andy to shrink enough to withdraw, although he waited until after she had hung up to do so. She stretched out a leg to catch her panties from the floor, and, as he put his pants back on and buckled his belt, she used them to blot up some of the mess they had made. Satisfied, more or less, she turned to him with her ears quirked. "So, should we go investigate?"
"What?" He forgot to be quiet, and the words that followed were a harsh whisper, as if to compensate. "Are you nuts?"
"Think about it like an adventure. C'mon. There's only one way down into the archives -- follow me."
He started to craft an objection, but as soon as he opened his mouth she put her finger to it, stilling him, and then she was slipping back into the stairwell, padding softly down it. He considered grabbing her, and trying to keep her from going -- but there was no arguing with Chris, and no way of stopping her once she had acquired an idea.
Outside the door that led downstairs, they paused. There was muttering from within; the sound of someone grumbling irately, unable to find what they were looking for. Shelves opened and closed; boxes were tossed around aimlessly. Chris turned the key in the lock, and opened the door slowly. It was dark below; a red light flashed periodically, as a flashlight beam swept over the collections. She tapped him on the shoulder, and when he leaned close she whispered, her voice no more than a breath. "Get up behind him, and wait for me."
He shut his eyes tightly -- what they were doing was, of course, painfully stupid. But, when she started moving down the stairs, he followed her. Neither made a sound, and then they were on the landing. The intruder was still busy, still banging around, and didn't seem to notice the pair.
Andy crept stealthily around the stacks, trying to keep the overloaded shelves between him and their quarry. His heart was racing; it was nearly impossible to control his breath, shallow and rapid and nervous. Why hadn't they waited? Why were they not just sitting around until the cops could take care of it?
"Aha! There you are!" This cry came from the burglar, and at first he thought that Chris might've been discovered. "Oh, she's going to be very happy that you turned up here. Finally get paid, I hope... ha!" He laughed -- and then yelped, as the full force of a powerful LED flashlight struck him in the face.
The next shout was Chris. "Alright, hands up! Andy!"
He stepped out behind the shelf -- the man was still frozen. He was clad entirely in deep, navy blue, from his pants to his balaclava, and it was impossible to tell his species. Andy couldn't see Chris, hidden as she was behind the bright light, but he caught the glint of metal, arcing through the air. Handcuffs. He blinked, but caught them deftly, and padded forward to take the man's wrists, lowering them to clip the cuffs in place. "Now what?"
Chris clicked the light down to a lower setting and grinned, eyeing her handiwork. "Book 'em, Danno." The man held a box in his right hand, and she took it, setting it on a shelf before the disarray of the stacks seemed to strike her and she placed it in her purse for safekeeping instead.
"Why did you have a pair of handcuffs?"
She ignored this question, but the burglar spoke up. "Wait. Are you... are you not cops?"
"No, just students." She flashed another grin, her tail starting to wag, casting shadows in the red glow of his discarded flashlight. "You just got lucky."
"Of all the fuckin' days," the man growled, and slumped heavily to his feet. "I get took by some fuckin' Scooby Doo shit? Couple'a kids? Shit, I wasn't even supposed to be here." The collie prodded him for more information, but he said nothing, and remained quiet even after the police arrived ten minutes later to take him into custody.
They were accompanied by the museum director, clad in a rumpled shirt that suggested he had been roused from bed. After the cops had left, he turned to the pair. "Good job, you two. When I hired a student assistant for the museum I hadn't quite anticipated your dedication to duty."
"All in a day's work," Chris said with a winning smile. "We didn't want the museum's collection damaged."
"Mm-hmm." The director was an older lion, the color in his mane long having faded, and when he shook his head the frizzy grey hair shook with it. "Should I ask what exactly you two were doing here after hours? Or... why you had a pair of handcuffs, miss Cowan?"
"You know, I'm actually curious about that myself. I --"
Chris gave her boyfriend a shove to quiet him, and launched into her own explanation. "Of course, Dr. Templeton! You see, Andrew here is an English major, and thus unaware of the... myriad of disciplines encompassed within the sciences. Particularly, the very interesting rituals and artifacts of anthropology and, uh, biology, and, uh, well -- obviously, I thought the best plan was a first-hand demonstration. And where else would you go but here for that kind of thing?" Her ears were perked, her tail wagged, and the mischievous glint to her eyes was only discernable with practice.
Dr. Templeton raised an eyebrow. He began to speak a few times, stopping each time to reconsider his words. "If I read between the lines, are you saying that you intended to become intimate in the University museum?"
"Oh! No!" Next to her, Andy breathed an inward sigh of relief. "It was more than intent, Dr. Templeton." Andy flinched; the professor just blinked, and when he did not immediately respond she continued. "You taught me in ANTH 2020, right? Did you ever know me not to finish something I'd started?"
"I..." Templeton sighed, and removed his glasses, rubbing a broad paw over his temple. "You know that there are security cameras, right?"
"Really? Do they record everything?" Chris's head was tilted, but her expression suggested curiosity over concern.
"Pretty much." He sighed wearily -- that expression, the what have I gotten myself into look that Andy frequently shared and Chris never seemed to feel, plain on his face. "And what am I going to tell campus security? Oh, hell. It was dark... maybe there's nothing. Maybe they didn't see anything... Although I think the system records sound -- you guys were quiet, right? I hope?"
The sudden toothy grin that crossed her features made cheekily plain her recollection of the night's activities, and her voice was bright and matter-of-fact. "Nope -- generally not. But about your problem... hmm!" She clucked her tongue thoughtfully, as Andy shut his eyes and willed himself to disappear. "Well... I don't know what you'd tell campus security. But if you have it on tape, and you can come up with a good pricing structure, I've got an idea for what you could tell the treasurer, at least."
He had been largely silent, but now Andy spoke up. "Can... can we hold off on that? I know the budget is all... eugh... sure, and you guys want to fix that... but I'm not actually comfortable with making my acting debut on CCTV."
Chris scowled at him. "It's for the University, Andy. Don't be selfish."
"Right, but I don't think I gave my permission. Was there a release form? Did I sign a release form?"
The Border collie closed one eye thoughtfully, stroking her muzzle. "No. There wasn't really a form, I just told you it was okay 'cause I was on the Pill and --"
Dr. Templeton held up his paw, shaking his head quickly. "That's okay. I'll... it'll work out. Just... I'll take care of it. You have a good day, you two." His tone suggested that, her willingness to provide them notwithstanding, he was uninterested in hearing further details of the evening from the Border collie.
Outside again, she leaned on him, laughing merrily. "Ah! That went well, don't you think?"
"I'll admit that the museum wasn't as boring as I thought it might be. No ghost, though."
"Close enough! And besides, there's always next time!"
He raised an eyebrow, voice dry, echoing her. "'Next time'?"
The collie laughed, and turned to give him a kiss. "Sure. Wouldn't want the handcuffs to go to waste."
"Wait. About that..."
Her jaws clicked, teeth white and sharp in the light of the low-hanging moon, but her only answer was a puckish grin and a wink. "Like I said: next time."