Day of Little Angels
The festivals were in full swing, and the children in their skull masks ran about in excited stupidity. The adults seemed a little more focused, occasionally shouting at their children in their native language, but mostly seemed concerned with other business. Their arms were bundled with sugary soda, candies, or small toys. Happy husbands and wives exchanged ideas of what they should buy for the coming night.
No one noticed the tall wolf as he walked along. At around six feet tall, he towered over the town's natives. His breed was purely lupine, and even beneath the skull mask he was wearing, the sharp point of his black ears marked him as a wolf. Not to mention his bushy tail that was out behind him, a sure sign that his heritage hadn't been polluted with any other breeds. To deal with the Mexican heat, he wasn't wearing too much: only a pair of green pants and a black tank top. He was well built, with muscular arms and a deep chest; the embrace of the tank top showed off his physique. His fur was mostly dark brown, with blackness over his appendages: his aforementioned ears, his arms from the elbows down, the end half of his tail, his muzzle, and his feet. His eyes were deep green, shining like emeralds against the whiteness of his skull mask, but when he didn't wear the mask; his eyes would perhaps lead a viewer to call him vaguely handsome. Only vaguely though. His head was a little too big and his neck a little too thick, his hands a little too large and his pads a little too rough, for him to be strictly attractive.
He didn't walk with a definitive purpose, like the natives did. He mostly just wandered around in fact. He didn't speak Spanish fluently. Fortunately though, most everyone here seemed to speak at least passing English, and two years of taking Spanish at the college let Lowe the wolf get by, however slightly.
He had been in this country for the past week, talking to anyone who wanted to talk. They thought he was a reporter, considering his nationality and the time of year he happened to arrive. Everyone had a story to tell if it meant that story would be printed in some American magazine or newspaper, and they could achieve a little sliver of fame. That's why they talked to him, and Lowe felt somewhat bad about that. Technically, he hadn't lied to anyone. He just...sort of...bent the truth, and didn't tell them everything, and let whoever he talked to come to their own conclusion about him. But he still felt bad, like he had lied to them.
Lowe met a great many nice people; a great many people he was happy to know and would have kept in touch with had he been completely honest in the first place. One of them was Jose: a painter who lived in the center of the city. Lowe had met him at a bar on his first night in Mexico. Jose was intrigued by Lowe, when Lowe insisted on drinking soda, even when Jose offered to buy him a local beer that was touted as "the best in all of Mexico." Jose had struck up the conversation because he thought that Lowe was an American reporter; what had given Lowe the idea in the first place. At that time, Lowe had been wearing a long sleeved black shirt and a green cargo vest, along with a large camera hanging around his neck. He had had his notepad in hand, and as Jose and Lowe talked more and more, the wolf hastily scribbled away.
Jose was a coyote, a bit lighter in build than Lowe, a bit lankier, with lighter fur and clothing that was a bit more local. Still, he spoke with flawless English. Maybe he was a businessman who worked the Mexican branch of his company, or a he had moved down here to return to his ancestral home after early retirement. The conversation had never really moved there. What they spoke about was the coming holiday. Jose had a wife named Maria. She had been pregnant with a pup, but something had happened. Jose didn't speak much about the specifics. He didn't seem able to. But he spoke about the coming holiday. About how they were going to give the soul of the lost youth an assortment of toddler toys, and an assortment of food, because he had passed before they could learn which his favorites were. He would learn in the afterlife, Jose said with a soft sigh. Lowe scribbled away.
Lowe and Jose kept in touch, and Jose was kind enough to show Lowe around. He translated for Lowe when they ventured into some of the older districts, where older locals refused to speak anything other than their native tongue. Lowe heard more stories, but none quite compared to that of Pancho, who Lowe met two days later, interestingly enough without Jose's help.
Pancho was an elderly bull who lived on the outskirts of town with his oldest son's family. One of the town's youths had tracked Lowe down; in Lowe's hotel room no less. The young bull calf panted, and in speedy Spanish attempted to tell Lowe...something. When Lowe finally calmed the bull calf down enough, the bull calf explained in English that his grandfather, Pancho, had a story to tell.
Pancho was a massive bull who could no longer leave the house: the poor man was on his deathbed. He was not suffering from any disease or sickness. He was simply old, having seen a great many things in his life, and now he was simply winding down like a toddler toy that needed new batteries. But, it had been decided, Pancho would not die until November 2nd. Having been on his deathbed for the past two months, his endurance and grit baffled the family's physician, who stopped by once a week just to check on him. And yet in all that time, his services were never needed. Pancho's heart just kept on beating, even as he withered beneath the bed sheets.
The bull was blind by now, but still fairly sharp. When Lowe walked into the room, trying to be quiet, the bull turned his head. The wet nostrils quivered as he noticed the alien scent, and he spoke very quick Spanish. The little boy who had brought Lowe here, Francisco was his name, spoke to his grandfather in equally speedy Spanish, and then addressed Lowe in English with: "I'm sorry. Grandpa does not receive many visitors anymore, and he does not like Americans. I have told him you are a Roman. He doesn't like Romans either, but he likes them more than Americans. Please forgive my grandfather. But, he would like his story told. He tells me all his stories, but I'm the only one who listens."
Lowe bit his lip, that feeling of treachery acting up in his stomach, but he nodded softly, and took out his notepad to write. The bull talked, and the youth translated, and Lowe struggled and scribbled to keep track of both the boy's words and the bull's mannerisms as he spoke, for those were just as important. First, the bull spoke of the wars he had been through. They had started when he was very young, and continued ever since. He had fought in some of the wars, fled from others. When he was finished speaking about the wars, he spoke of a woman named Laurette, who he met when he was in his young twenties, and knew he loved her since the moment he laid eyes upon her. And for the next sixty years they had lived happily together, until Laurette died eight months ago when a blood vessel exploded in her brain. Francisco had been the first to find her. Perhaps it traumatized the little calf, because he had grown much closer to his grandfather since then.
Then Pancho spoke about how he wouldn't die until November 2nd. November 2nd. Dia de los Meurtos. In English: the Day of the Dead. Lowe asked why? Pancho explained. The 2ndof November was when the souls of the departed came to visit. Pancho would travel to the cemetery where his wife was buried, pour two glasses of their wedding wine, and wait for her embrace to take him to the afterlife. Even through the translation, the determination in Pancho's decision was so strong. He was a strong man, a brave man who had decided this, and the world would assuredly conform to his will. Lowe scribbled the details down, but most everything would be locked in his head for a long time to come. The scribbles were just for the details.
Lowe asked if this was a traditional belief of the Day of the Dead, that a soul could leave in the same way the souls could visit, to which Francisco said no.
"There is no lore that states that souls can depart on that day, but my grandfather has decided it, and I am not one to question. I will go with him, to the cemetery. And I will wait for him, and say goodbye."
Soon enough, Pancho needed to sleep. As quiet as they could, they left the room, closing the door behind them. "Will you be visiting anyone that night?" Lowe asked Francisco.
"Yes. One of my brothers died several years ago. I will bring him his favorite soda: An American brand. Mountain Dew."
Lowe smiled softly. "I'll share one with you, on the 3rd."
It was November 1stnow, and Lowe was on the street, watching the festivities go about. The real partying wouldn't start until much later tonight. For now, the children were enjoying their masks, and the adults were heading for the cemetery. Despite the modernization of this particular city, no one was driving their cars. Everyone in the city seemed to be walking, in one great wave of furs. If driving was taboo at this time of the year, or it was out of communal respect to avoid congestion, Lowe didn't know. If he saw Jose or Francisco, or old Pancho struggling along, perhaps he would have asked, but he didn't see them. There was just such a wave of furs: fat and thin, tall and short. It would be impossible to find anyone in the sea of various fur shades.
Lowe didn't like crowds. He was used to living in the city, where everyone was living in their own little world, and only cared about what they were holding in their hand. The wolf had lived in cities all his life. He was used to rude crowds and having to shove and push his way to get anywhere. He was used to people so engrossed in their cell phone conversations that they didn't pay much attention, and expected everyone else to move out of their way. He was used to idiot drivers texting on their phones, and had grown cautious whenever he was on the street, afraid he might become the victim of some fool who couldn't break away from their phones long enough to steer. In short, he had grown to hate people because of all the crowds.
But this was somehow different. The people who were moving in the great wave weren't being pushy or selfish, or burying their extended snouts into their precious texts. In fact, everyone was oddly polite with him, and when he moved towards the side of the great wave, people actually let him pass without a sneer or a shove.
He took refuge in a tavern, which seemed mostly empty. Only the bartender: a tall, slim stallion, was inside. And when the stallion lifted his head and looked to the wolf with his black eyes, his lips turned into a smile. "Are you the Yankee reporter who is asking for everyone's story?"
Lowe growled. "You know, just because I'm from America doesn't make me a Yankee. And I take it you speak English?"
The stallion's laughter was deep and strong. He was a white horse with a golden crown, and absolutely massive. Boyishly handsome, despite his size. Maybe even a bit feminine, because of the wideness of his hips, but there was a bulge in his dark denim pants, that made it clear what gender he was. "Si señor, habla ingles. I get a lot of Yankee tourists. And they tip better when I can converse. You are the Yankee reporter though?"
Lowe sighed, then lifted his head and gave a mocking smile. "Yes...Yes I am! Have you got a story you might want to share? Did your wife give birth to a stillborn? Or, are you going to mentally will your heart to stop tomorrow so you can be with your one true love? Or something else, sweet and oddly loving and bitterly depressing."
The horse chuckled softly. "Everyone has a story, señor, except for me. I'm just the humble bartender, easing the sorrows of my patrons, and listening as they wallow and wail. Want a beer?"
"Mountain Dew," Lowe said quickly. A glass with ice was placed on the counter. The bartender opened a can of soda, and poured it into the glass. Lowe took off his mask. He spent a few moments examining it, and then set it down on the counter beside him, so his muzzle was free to take a long sip. "Really, what's your story?"
"Nothing interesting, Señor Lobo. I've known death, and I've seen life. I keep this tavern open now, in case someone forgot their party supplies. I'll close it in an hour or so, then head to the cemetery, and give an old school buddy a drink of beer."
The wolf smiled, tail wagging slightly side to side. He sat a bit straighter, and looked over the white horse. He looked to be about seven, or seven and a half feet tall, and as previously stated, was absolutely massive. His chest was broad and deep, and the rippling bulge of his pectoral muscles and biceps seemed barely contained underneath the light blue button shirt. His tail was the same golden color as the short cut hair on his head, and wagged every so often for no reason at all. His hips were about the size of Lowe's head, giving him a large and round, but no doubt firm, rump. And, of course the bulge in his pants. Given the length of the horse's legs, if Lowe leaned forward slightly, he was roughly at eye-level with the curve of the horse's denim clad groin.
A horse might be good, Lowe mused. He needed to find someone, after all, and he couldn't deny a certain attraction he felt for the equine, almost at first sight. He'd always liked equines, actually, but never known any intimately enough to do anything. And now... "Uhm... Mr. Bartender, forgive me. This might sound a little odd, but I assure you, this is just for the story I'm writing. Are you by any chance...uhm...homosexual?"
The horse's easy grin turned to a scowl almost instantly. He bent forward, lowering his head on his long, equine neck. Lowe leaned back on his stool, holding onto the bar so he wouldn't tip over. "Señor, what you want to do in your little Yankeesville is up to you. But don't bring that smut down here into my country."
Lowe nodded quickly. "Of course, sir. I meant no disrespect. Are you bisexual?"
The horse snorted and turned. The brown wolf looked to the glass of Mountain Dew, wondering if he really wanted to bother finishing it or just leave, when he heard the little bell above the bar's door ring. Lowe decided to take another sip. His ears twitched, and registered the newcomer to the bar had taken the stool beside him. Wondering why someone would have to take the seat directly next to him when the entire bar was empty, Lowe turned.
His company was a big cat of some sort. Even with the face of the big cat covered by the festive skull masks, the scent of feline was unmistakable. Lowe didn't really have a problem with felines. His roommate for several years was a lioness, so once he had seen the cat, he turned back to his drink. But he could sense the cat's eyes were upon him, and he turned back to meet the cat's blue gaze. The cat was wearing a pair of blue cargo pants, and a zippered white vest without a shirt underneath. White hair that was worn short, only visible when the brown wolf cocked his head slightly to the side to see past the mask. His fur was mostly an off white, with black spots over his arms and feet and probably his back and rump. His tail was fat and thick and wagging lazily side to side, before coming to rest limp behind him.
Lowe growled. "What do you want?"
The blue eyes of the cat blinked once. "Xander?"
Truth be told, Lowe hadn't given out his name much, while he was here. It wasn't hard to steer the conversation in such a way that certain specifics about himself were not mentioned. He had told Jose his name was Lowe, but never that his first name was Xander. Hearing his name put Lowe off guard, and he cocked his head to the side. "Yes...do I know you?"
The feline reached up to his mask, and slowly pulled it off, revealing the handsome features underneath. The feline's features, along with his white fur and black spots, were distinctly snow leopard, not particularly common...anywhere, for that matter. Lowe's eyes squinted. "Nick?"
The snow leopard turned back to the bar, and quickly ordered a Pepsi. The horse, speaking in Spanish, said something that could translate to "foreign teetotalers", though that would be using much more polite terms. Still, the wolf was more concerned with the snow leopard than the angry bartender. His tail wagged slightly, as the snow leopard smiled and blushed and looked down.
"What are you doing all the way down here?" Lowe asked.
"I'm on holiday," the snow leopard said with a soft smile. "What about you?"
Lowe sipped at his drink. "It's a very long story." He stood from the stool, and took out his wallet, leaving money for both sodas, as well as a tip. He politely thanked the horse for his time, and then asked if Nick would like to come out with him, to which Nick happily said yes.
The locals were still moving through the street in the mass wave, approaching the cemetery. It was a little harder to move now, because Lowe and Nick were going against the tide, but they gradually managed to go the other way, until they moved to a parallel street that wasn't as crowded.
"Really, what are you doing here?" Nick asked, ears twitching towards the wolf as they worked their way along the street. Lowe was taller by a few inches. Nick had to look up. "I know it's a long story, but my hotel isn't for a few more blocks."
"Yeah, mine isn't too close either." Lowe pondered to himself, and then looked to the cat. "I learned about this contest thing. This guy is accepting short stories for an anthology. I came down here to do some research on the Day of the Dead."
"What kind of story is it? Is it something about the culture? Or the people."
Lowe rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Uhm...Yeah, something like that. Some of the terms of it are that the story should focus on the holiday in question. But the main thing is, it's kind of supposed to be a romance fic."
"Romance? So you pick the Day of the Dead? Because that's such a romantic holiday, right?"
"All the other holidays were taken," Lowe grunted. "I could have gone for Christmas, or Valentine's Day. I bet everyone was clawing for Valentine's Day. But those went to more prominent writers. Who knows, though? This might be my big break? If there are other well known writers in the magazine, it wouldn't hurt if my name was in there too."
Nick smiled gently. "I'll be wishing you luck, then."
"Just...can't figure out anything to write. I drive all the way down here, interview a bunch of people, and I just end up getting depressed."
"Why depressed?"
Lowe looked around, making sure that they were still going in the right direction, and then resumed walking. "Eh...I don't know. Just... You'd think everyone would be depressed. This being the Day of the Dead and all. But everyone's pretty happy."
"And...that makes you sad?"
Lowe shook his head. "No...no.... It's just...odd to see people happy in what I would take as a somber holiday. But everyone is happy. Because...eh, it just must be nice to believe in something. Something in the afterlife. Maybe Americans have it the wrong way. Maybe we shouldn't wear black to funerals, and veils. Maybe we should wear rainbows. I can think of some people, I would be happy if they died."
Nick rolled his eyes. "It is an interesting festival though. Celebrating the afterlife. Believing that it's not...like...it's nice to think of a connection. That you could offer up some soda, or candy. A final goodbye, if you didn't get a chance the first time. It's a nice tradition."
"Is that why you came?"
The snow leopard shrugged. "I wanted to go somewhere. The flight here was cheap. But you...how goes your inspiration?"
The wolf shook his head. "I have no clue."
They arrived at the hotel. This city was well known for its tourism trade, and as such, the hotels were fairly upscale and well maintained. Nick was staying at a different hotel, which one he wouldn't say. But Lowe invited Nick up to the hotel room, to which the snow leopard once more agreed.
"I think I could write the short story," Lowe continued. "I don't really...there are such prominent writers in the contest. It's going to take a miracle to even get read, let alone chosen. I've got some ideas. Everyone is going with some supernatural dumb shit about having sex with a ghost. I can do something different."
"Something with awesome skull masks?"
Lowe frowned. "I left my mask at the bar..." Sliding his keycard into the door to his room, he leaned his weight against it and walked inside, holding it long enough that Nick would follow him in. The hotel room was fairly bare, having only a desk, desk chair, TV, chest of draws, and a bed. A bed enough for two, which struck Nick as odd. Why would Lowe have had requested such a large bed? The cat's ears twitched as he heard the door closed. Then the bolt lock was put into place. Nick turned around to look at Lowe.
"Uhm...Nicky...it's a romance short story, you know?"
"Yes Xander. I know."
Lowe blushed. "Well...you know...This sort of magazine I'm working for...uhm... It's sort of like..."
"It's erotica?"
"Yes Nick," Lowe said with a gentle sigh. "It's erotica. That's what the magazine is. I just need...something to base it on. The writing. Some sort of experience to base the writing on."
Nick sighed, and looked down. "And here I thought you invited me up here to catch up on old times."
"I did...I did... But...uhm...I was just looking for some inspiration. I've got to write a male on male fic. We both qualify. And I don't really want to go back to the bar and try to seduce the horse. He kind of scares me."
Nick looked to him, and smiled. "Would you credit me as a 'source of inspiration'? If you win the contest?"
"Of course I would..."
The snow leopard blushed red under his white cheeks. "So...uhm...what should we do then?"
Lowe could not deny he had a certain affinity for felines, perhaps even more than his fellow wolves. Although he still wished that he could have gotten a little farther with that horse bartender, this feline was far from unattractive. But Nick was still rather nervous as he sat on the bed. And Lowe felt rather bad. He wasn't trying to use him, but perhaps that's how it had come out. But the truth was, this was something he wanted. He just wanted to be sure that Nick wanted it too.
Lowe walked over, and softly stroked one of Nick's blushing cheeks with the back of his hand. Nick gave a little chuckle, and looked up to the smiling, black muzzle of the wolf. "You're alright with this?" Lowe asked, biting his lip. "It's not just for the story. The story was a convenient in. If you said no, I could just say, 'Well I was only interested in the story' but if you would like to do it...uhm... would you like?"
Nick smiled softly. "I would like it."
Then Lowe kissed him, softly on the lips. Lowe quickly backed away, blushing under his dark fur, and lowering his head. Nick took hold of his hand and pulled him down to the bed, and Lowe came to rest on top of the snow leopard. Kisses, nuzzles and licks followed. Regaining his predatory instincts, Lowe straddled Nick between his legs, and weighed his hands down on Nick's shoulders. Lowe was larger than Nick after all, and so was it was quite easy to pin the little feline underneath him. Lowe's rump was in the air, tail wagging side to side, as he nuzzled and licked at his partner. Nick, in turn, stroked over Lowe's chest and turned his head side to side, exposing his throat to the exploring tongue and teeth. A deep, throaty purr escaped Nick, who closed his eyes, somewhat enjoying this new sort of affection. Too many people went straight to the pleasure. But Lowe was treating him quite well, something he wouldn't have expected from someone so big.
Nick's claws went underneath Lowe's shirt, and massaged at his muscular chest. The sharpness poked at the fur, finding the skin held beneath, and ran the claws up and down. Occasionally Lowe bit a little hard, and Nick dug his claws a little deep. There was that mutual pain, until both relaxed and resumed the exchanges of affection. Nick's purrs were rising in pitch, and Lowe gave low growls and the occasional yap, finding the poking and scratching oddly pleasant over his sensitive ribs. When Nick moved to his belly, he lifted his head and gave out several chuckles.
Nick smiled up at the brown wolf, continuing to play around. "Still ticklish I see." He gave Lowe a little push, and Lowe backed away. Sitting up, Nick unbuttoned his vest and pulled it down, throwing it onto the nearby desk chair. Unlike Lowe, who was sort of bulky and large, Nick's body was more toned. Every curve of the rolling hills that were his abs; the pink nipples playing against the whiteness of his chest and pectorals; Lowe panted softly as Nick rested his hands back, simply relaxing on bed. It was Lowe's turn now, and he took the rims of his tank top. He pulled it off easily, and carelessly threw it into the corner of the room. Turning his back slowly, he undid his pants. Then in an exaggerated act, he bent forward to remove his pants. Lifting his tail, in an almost submissive act, he exposed the round curve of his cheeks to Nick's leering eyes, slowly exposing more and more as the rim of the pants slipped lower and lower.
"Have you been working out?" Nick asked. "You've always had nice shoulders, but you used to have no ass."
Lowe kicked the pants aside, letting them join his shirt in the corner. He turned around. His pubic fur was the same bistre as his muzzle and ears and arms and tail. Nick's eyes immediately focused between Lowe's legs, before lifting his gaze and looking to Lowe's face. "Your turn," the wolf said.
Nick stood, and turned around in the same way that Lowe had, showing the wolf his back. He undid his pant's button, and then slid them easily down his legs, hooking his thumbs into his underwear to expose himself fully in one quick pass. "You still an ass man?" Nick asked, wagging his puffy tail side to side, before lifting it higher to fully expose the curve of his cleft.
Nick always had an attractive backside. His rump cheeks lacked the black spots that were common over his body, giving them the pure grayish-white sheen. Each rump cheek was well formed, rounded just right, a little fat but far from oversized. The horse bartender might have had a more ample posterior, but truth be told, Lowe wasn't exactly heartbroken with what he was now presented with. When Nick looked back over his shoulder, to see Lowe simply staring, he swayed his hips slightly side to side. "Well, come on. You need your inspiration."
Lowe walked over, and reaching a hand out, gently stroked the grayish-white cheek with the back of his hands, top to bottom. Reaching the underside of the cheek, Lowe turned his hand, and now used his finger pads to brush the fur up the opposite buttock. Nick chuckled softly, and lowered his upper half onto the bed. He folded his arms under his chin and rested his head down, giving a cute, cat-like yawn, and succumbing to the stimulation as Lowe stroked him. He didn't notice as Lowe lowered to one knee, then the other, and was now kneeling before the shapely hindquarters of the kitty. Nick lifted his head slowly and looked behind him, but he couldn't see his lupine friend, as Lowe's face was now behind his hips. He did see Lowe's black fingers as they took firm hold of Nick's buttocks, and pulled them apart, exposing the tender skin of Nick's crack. Then, Nick felt the wet nose of the wolf brush his right buttock, and ease closer and closer to his cleft. With a low whine, he felt Lowe push his muzzle between his cheeks. Nick started panting gently, gritting his teeth, and adjusting his position so he could rest against the bed, while also pawing at the sheets.
Lowe leaned his head back and took a breath. Cats were clean creatures, but the smell in Nick's lower area was still overwhelmingly musky. He turned towards Nick's rump, breathing deep, and learning to tolerate the dizzying musk quickly. And leaning his head forward, tongue out; he dragged the wet appendage over Nick's left cheek. The taste of fur and musk mingled and mixed on Lowe's tongue, making his tail wag, and the black pubic fur between his legs tingle. Lowe dipped his head, and licked once more, but then turned his muzzle to the side and pushed slowly into the crack. Above him, Nick's tail swished side to side, occasionally batting at Lowe's eyes. Lowe closed his eyes though, and pressed his tongue against Nick's vent softly, poking and teasing. Nick gave a low gasp and shudder, shaking side to side. Gripping the bed sheets tighter, poking little holes in the fabric with his claws; he forced his body to loosen up, and gave the warm tongue easier passage inside. It was still a long process, but with Lowe's muzzle pressed up against Nick's vent, the tongue gradually pushed in farther and farther, deeper and deeper.
Nick quivered and twitched, his tail wiggling and wagging over Lowe's head, flicking his ears. In the open air, his sheath quivered slightly, and the pink erection began to ease its way out of its housing. But as there was no attention in that area, Nick didn't really notice. His focus was on the poking and prodding inside his anus. The wet, warm, textured tongue that was pushing deeper; rubbing against Nick's clenching and massaging walls. Little mews of glee dribbled out of Nick's throat. His chest kept heaving, gasping for breath, and his hand reached behind him. Finding the wolf's furry crown, Nick slowly pushed him forward, pressing the wet muzzle against his pucker harder, until with a deep breath, he managed to stretch his pucker around the bulk of Lowe's muzzle.
The feel was incredible. The short fur of Lowe's black muzzle, and the wetness of his snout, tickled and tingled the sensitive inner walls of Nick's bowels. His breath hiked and leveled out, only to hike again as Lowe struggled to open his mouth and slip his tongue in deeper. Nick mewed when he felt the rough texture brush over his prostate, his breath hiking, and he felt himself almost pass out. He roared and snarled, leaning his head down into the bed and mewing and whining. Another lick over his prostate, another, and Nick turned his head to the side, panting, twitching and moaning loudly.
And then it stopped. Nick whined and pressed his muzzle into the bed, growling loudly. He listened as Lowe rose slowly, also panting heavily. His large hands softly stroked and squeezed at Nick's cheek, though by now Nick was barely standing. He vaguely registered the pressure of Lowe's thick girth pushing between his cheeks, when he looked behind him and gave a little whine.
"No-no...doggy. Not doggy style."
Nick swallowed, and gathered himself however much. He climbed onto the bed slowly, wiggling his hips when his knees were upon it, then slowly rolled over onto his back. He lifted his legs into the air, and ushered Lowe to come over. By now, Lowe was stiff and fully hard. His erection, like a rod of black iron, sprung forth from his pubic fur. Clear pre dripped wetly out of the head of the erection, splashing to the ground with heavy sounds. Each step forward had the erection swing left to right, spurts of cream dripping out and making a stain in the rug beneath their paws.
Lifting Nick off the bed, Lowe held him in his powerful arms. Nick, in turn, wrapped his legs around Lowe's broad chest so it wouldn't be up to the wolf to take the entire burden. Nick was pressed so close to Lowe's chest, his penis was pressed between the two warm bodies, and treated well. And Lowe, how hard he was, his throbbing penis stood straight up. When he lowered Nick down, he did what he could to aim the snow leopard just right, so his erection would press against the stretched, lubricated vent.
Nick whined loudly as he felt the first pokes against his pucker, and turned to nuzzle into Lowe's cheek. Lowe adjusted his grip: one paw now around Nick's back, and one pulling and stretching at his rump cheek, giving the erection a clear passage to the widened vent. Nick's lubricated and stretched hole spread wide over the throbbing head of the iron black penis, then clenched suddenly. Little spurts of pre shot into Nick's walls, easing the passage as Lowe continued to lower him, steadily and gently. Nick's erection brushed against the furry chest of the wolf, leaving a visible trail of pre over his abdomen.
Lowe moved forward onto the bed, for a moment squishing Nick under the weight, but then quickly lifting up. Nick held tight to Lowe, like a baby cub would its mother, as Lowe shambled onto the mattress. He lay down gently onto Nick, wrapping his arms around the feline, as he began to hump softly into the warm mass of fur. Nick growled and whined, squeezing tight against his muscular lover. The length and thickness of the wolf's tongue had not prepared him for this sort of love. He gave little whines and growls with each push from the wolf, occasionally biting down hard upon his shoulder when the pressure grew too great. But with surprising ease, Lowe managed to push and hump his way until fully hilted inside the little kitty, and a state bliss overcame them both. The full length of Lowe's erection being massaged so wonderful by Nick's flaring and clenching walls, and Nick's prostate being pushed and prodded so gently. The embrace was warm and loving, with little licks and nuzzles and nips of affection playing between the two of them.
Lowe climaxed first. He pushed forward just that little more, hilting deeper into the warm cavern, and suddenly a heavy spurt of hot love pumped into the other male. Lowe arched his back and let loose a long howl, the sound echoing long through the small confines of the room. Lowe humped deeper and deeper, holding tight to the feline and squeezing him tight, as he ran out a glorious climax. Nick came moments later. Digging his claws into Lowe's back and squeezing his legs tight around the wolf's torso, his erection massaged by the two warm belly furs that were embraced, a heavy spurt of cream shot up between the two bodies, wetting their pectorals. Another spurt was soon behind, and another, but heedless of that, the two kissed and nuzzled and licks, clawing at each other as if wild beasts, until with a heavy sigh, Nick's head tilted back to the bed. Lowe lay down gently upon him, resting on him like a warm, furry blanket.
For sweet eternity, neither moved. In that embrace, they waited and held each other, occasionally one of them twitched and then went still, but mostly they just relaxed.
Lowe carefully pulled himself out. Holding gently onto the feline, he backed away. The warmth of Nick's rump cheeks massaged the heavy head of Lowe's black penis, giving the wolf a few more strokes before he was free of the embrace. In true cat fashion, Nick lay back on the bed, before curling up into a pile. Still soaked in the love he had given and received, he tilted his head back, suddenly feeling so exhausted he could not fathom staying awake. Though Lowe's eyes were heavy and his muscles weak, he managed to drag himself to the desk, before his laptop. Covered and smelling of love, he still opened the screen slowly. The glow of the screen woke him up somewhat. Setting his hands to the keyboard, he began to type.
It was several hours later that Nick rose with a heavy yawn, and a blink of his blue eyes. He stretched, very cat like, before rolling onto his side and looking to the glow of the screen, in the otherwise darkened room. "Xander...what are you doing up?"
"Inspiration," the wolf said quickly, fingers still gliding over the keyboard. He opened his mouth wide to yawn, and then resumed his typing. Nick rolled his eyes, and rolled over, slipping off the bed.
"We need to get these sheets washed," he said, before sauntering into the bathroom to take a shower.
When he came out a few minutes later, Lowe was making the final few brushes over the keyboard. He typed the final lines, yawned, then leaned back into his chair, panting as if he had just had climaxed again.
"What are you doing?" Nick asked again.
"Inspiration. I...I finally got the juices flowing. And I got something going. And...I'm going to send it in. Probably won't get in. Probably won't win anything though."
"Read it to me," Nick said, lying down on the bed, on a dry spot.
"It's still rough. I haven't edited it at all. It's bleeding edge new."
"Xander, I'd really like to hear."
The wolf looked to the screen. Gathering the computer, he turned to face Nick, and rested the computer in his lap. "Uhm...alright. Here goes." He swallowed once, took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and then began.
"The festivals were in full swing, and the children in their skull masks ran about in excited stupidity. The adults seemed more focused, occasionally shouting at their children in their native language, but mostly seemed concerned with other business. Their arms were bundled with sugary soda, candies, or small toys. Happy husbands and wives exchanged words as they talked."