{"sf1_id":4105,"sf2_id":"Wel7qvR1","title":"Maranatha - Chapter V, as told by Q. I. Malloy","author":"khakidoggy","words":5478,"posted_at":"2004-11-23T06:37:00.000Z","tags":["Action","Doberman","German Shepherd","Lion","M/M","Mild Drama","Mild NC","Oral","Public"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/4105-maranatha-chapter-v-as-told-by-q-i-malloy","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/Wel7qvR1","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/06/3f/063fcf8e-26f8-4b1e-9d5b-bedf98761ef0","description":"#5 of Maranatha","content":"  \n  \n\n  \n\n  \n\nM A R A N A T H A  \n  \n  \n  \n© Osfer, November 2004  \n  \n  \n_All rights reserved.  \n  \n  \nMay only be distributed for free.  \n  \n  \nMay not be altered in any way.  \n  \n  \nContains material of an erotic and homosexual nature which may be illegal to  \nread in your country, state, province or region.  \n  \n  \nThe author takes no responsibility for transgressions on the part of the reader  \n  \n  \nComments welcome at  \n[[email\u0026nbsp;protected]](%5C)._\n\n  \n\n**Available on paperback in 2005**\n\n  \n\n[  \nMail the author](%5C) for information  \nor [  \njoin the mailing list](%5C)!\n\n  \n\nCheck out [Maranatha on WikiFur.](%5C)\n\n  \n\n~ Enjoy. ~\n\n  \n\n  \n\n* * *\n\nChapter V - As Told By Q. I. Malloy\n\n  \n\nJust a few minutes' shut-eye would be enough. Get my head to stop spinning, get  \nmy stomach un-knotted... But I can't afford five minutes. I leave the van and put  \nall my faith in Mark. If he's not as good as I think he is, we're screwed and  \nmore importantly, Owen's screwed but, fuck it, if I think about that I'll feel  \nworse than I am and I can't do what needs to be donw.  \n  \nI unbutton my shirt, letting it hang open over my belly as I approach the glass  \nwalls of the bank's lobby and idly wonder what day it is. The fact that I don't  \nknow worries me so I quickly turn my thoughts elsewhere, and think back to the  \nhours I spent between Alice's welcoming thighs, feeling the gentle firmness of  \nhis sheath and balls against my groin as I satisfied myself in him. He's like  \nOwen in that regard, he likes a selfish fuck the best, a fuck from someone who  \nunderstands that all Alice cares about is making him feel good, and accepts  \nthat... hospitality.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The thought gets me hard. Good. I can feel myself slipping out of my sheath,  \nrubbing up the inside of my trousers... Then a wave of nausea hits me and it  \nsoftens.   \n  \nI see Alice's face under me, looking so relaxed. Sex isn't about arousal, for  \nhim, it's about joy. He likes to be face-to-face, to see the pleasure on his  \npartner's face. Part of me thinks the boy's straight, deep down, but he's come  \nto enjoy the sight of someone's face at the moment they reach their peak so much  \nthat the thought of his own pleasure seems trivial. Guess he learned that from  \nOwen.   \n  \nGod, that boy gets me ha-a-a-ard. I can feel my body warming and not from the  \nill feeling that keeps growing. I'm hot. I'm horny, despite the fact that I'm  \nfeeling suckier by the second. I can barely see straight, I'm short of breath,  \nmy stomach's turning in all the wrong direction and my headache's started  \nbuzzing again. I arrive at the window-wall in this state and lean against it  \nwith one arm, then slump forward, draping my whole body against the glass.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I draw my tongue along the glass, tasting nothing. These guys keep their  \nbuilding clean. I slam my fist against it and the bang reverberates loudly. I  \nsee motion, from the main desk. Somebody's there. Somebody's coming. Now, with  \nmy body getting rocked by waves of disorientation, we get to see if I'm half as  \ngood as I think I am.  \n  \n  \nIt was about a month ago when I rediscovered the usefulness of pillow talk. I  \nwas walking out of the Dive, coughing the entrance's artificial smoke from my  \nlungs, with a handsome German Shepherd on my arm. Normally, as you may know, I  \ngo for the younger sort, but the younger sort don't often frequent the Dive so  \non a night like this, I'll pull a studly twenty-something for a roll in the hay.  \nHis going-out attire was conservative by Dive standars, a black tank top and  \njeans, and normally I wouldn't have given him a second glance... But he looked so  \nhappy to be in a place like this, it was so bloody obviously his very first time  \nin the Dive.  \n  \nI sat down and talked to him and, let's be honest, he was pretty stupid. I think  \nwe were a match for body size, with him being the fluffier, so maybe he'd come  \nacross a little more buff, I don't know. He was so damn happy that his first  \nnight in the Dive was going so well, that somebody as cool as me - and I'm not  \nbragging, I've worked hard to earn my cool - was actually taking an interest in  \nhim... It was obvious to both of us what sort of interest that was, but that only  \nseemed to make him more enthusiastic.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; So out we walked, did the usual 'my place, your place' routine and of course we  \npicked my place. The guy wanted adventure, he wanted something new and exciting  \nand, being the considerate citizen I am, I took the burden upon me of taking  \nthis studly Shep to be my bitch for the night.   \n  \nI didn't need to talk at all, just smile, squeeze, nod and be my growly,  \nfucktastic self. We got to my place, and didn't need to worry about being quiet  \nin case Anezka was asleep because we could hear the springs in her mattress  \ncreaking right hard and someone howling while she snarled at him, so she was  \nalready having some fun. Up the stairs we went - I had him g first and he  \ntraipsed like a puppy when I nipped him on the bum and when we got into my  \napartment I shut him up with a kiss and pulled his clothes off him.   \n  \nHe was no pansy pushover, but I got the impression that he was looking to be the  \nbitch tonight. Sometimes a guy wakes up and realises that he may be studly and  \nhe may get cunt or ass offered to him on a platter every night, but that he just  \nwants something else, something kind of secret. I rode him hard until dawn, and  \nnormally I'd have rolled over and gone to sleep halfway through the night, but I  \nwanted to impress him, so we only interrupted the fuckathon with a quick shower  \nwith him on his knees - he was a lousy cocksucker, so it was probably his first  \ntime, but bloody hell did he put a lot of effort into it. Then To the kitchen  \nfor a bit to eat and I'd have been content to share some heated-up Chinese with  \nhim in silence except he started talking again so I politely asked him to turn  \naround, grabbed his tail and shoved right on in, leaning him over the kitchen  \nsink, fucking him up the tailpipe while I fed him his food.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The sun came up, not much earlier than it did today and he suggested we catch an  \nhour of sleep, obviously looking to get snuggled... But I wasn't having any of  \nthat. I pushed him back, onto the floor, onto his back and grabbed him by the  \nthroat as I came down on top of him, thrusting inside him again, kissing him  \nhard as I squeezed his neck. He clamped his legs around my hips and kissed back  \neagerly, whimpering, groaning, his body begging for my seed even harder than it  \nhad during the rest of the night. I impressed him, and made myself proud,  \ndumping the fourth load of cocksnot up this dog's tailend since we got in,  \nwithout ever having softened.  \n  \nI took another quick shower and dragged him with me and even though we were both  \ncompletely spent, sexually, I insisted he shower on his knees. He seemed to like  \nthat. And then he noticed the time and his eyes almost popped out and he begged  \nme to give him a lift to work.  \n  \nSo I asked him, \"Where do you work?\" which was something I'd promised myself I  \nwouldn't ask this blabbermouth.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp;  \nAs I'd expected, planned, and to a much larger degree simply fucking hoped, it  \nwas a handsome, uniformed GSD that came up to the window. He was looking badass  \nwith a confident strut I hadn't seen in him before. I'd guess he was law  \nenforcement, maybe military before he went private and joined the bank's  \nsecurity force.  \n  \nHe'd told me, during the drive to the Northern Transnational building, his place  \nof employment, that he usually worked night shift but that he'd filled in for a  \ncolleague, and so he got a night off, which he spent at the Dive. He told me how  \nboring it was, that he simply sat at a desk and if something suspicious  \nhappened, he'd alert the local security force, and if a little alarm went off,  \nhe'd call the central office in Dubai and that's all he did all night.  \n  \nSee how much you can learn when you hang out with the right people?  \n  \nHis strut falters when he sees me, though. And what a sight it must be: a view  \nof the entirety of Stonemason Avenue, Maranatha's equivalent of Wall Street,  \nwith its deserted, shiny-windowed buildings glimmering in early morning light...  \nAnd a lone dobermann, his shirt unbuttoned, ripped a t the shoulder, claw-wounds  \non his arm, licking the window as he leans his hard body against it, one arm  \nagainst the glass and one gripping the fat bulge down one leg of his khakis. The  \nshep stops in his tracks and then hurries over to me, his confident gait  \nforgotten and replaced by an almost puppish excitement. He looks worried as much  \nas he does thrilled and walks up to the glass.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I lick it again and press my body against it, humping the glass. I must look  \nhorny as all fuck, sweating, eyes unfocused, but honsetly those symptoms are just  \nthe illness of the electric jolt I received in Athlete Electronics. He's less  \nthan a foot away from me on the other side of the glass, his mouth open. Fuck,  \nhe's handsome. I ought to bring him home to have a go with Alice, he'd love the  \ndog... But this dog doesn't want to be a stud. I can see it in his eyes. Not  \ntonight. He wants to be a bitch again, and when he sees me, he sees a chance to  \nfeel like that once more.  \n  \nHe turns to one side, taking a step in that direction, keeping his eyes glued on  \nme and, slowly, I follow. He grins, obviously taking the ease at which I follow  \nas a sign of dominance - do I even need to explain how hard it is for me to put  \none foot in front of the other? He's walking to the building's entrance, the  \nlarge revolving doors and the extra doors next to it. He takes the key-ring from  \nhis belt and swipes one of the cards through the slot on his side of the door.  \nAnd then he opens it, and I step in.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Fuck, man, Malloy, it's so awesome to see you, I didn't think I'd-\" I silence  \nthe stupid fucker with a hard kiss and push him inward, letting the door close.  \nHis keys fall to the ground and he tries to go back to them but I won't let him,  \nI keep pushing him backwrad, groaning needfully into his mouth. He could push me  \naway, he's strong enough and I'm weak enough, but he doesn't, het lets me push  \nhim, lets me take him. I'm in.  \n  \n\"Not... not out here,\" the dog manages to whisper as I start pulling at his  \nuniform, throwing caution to the wind. It's strange, but sickness and horniness  \ngo hand in hand for me, like some long-forgotten hetero side of me recognising  \nthe possibility of death through illness and instructing me to  \nbreedbreedbreedfuckbreed. It's that desperation I feel now, to get my endorphins  \npumping. I'm so fucking glad he doesn't want to do it out here.  \n  \nI push myself against him, groin to groin, feeling his hardness and, more  \nimportantly, letting him feel mine. \"Closet,\" I growl into his ear and,  \nhonestly, you should see him grinning. Something so simple, so plainly naughty's  \ngot this manly shep quivering like he's In heat and between my gropings and  \nkissings and his backward steps he manages to point in the direction of a door  \nnext to the elevators. Good, the rational part of my brain thinks, this is all  \ngoing very well. Oh, fuck, the rest of me thinks, I need to fuck so bad...  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I push him inside the small broom closet, taking a moment to watch him as he  \njumps at the sound of his walkie-talkie spurting some words. He was pulling his  \npants down at the time and scrambles, embarrassed, to pull them back up as he  \nreplies into the walkie, informing the security station that all's well in his  \ngruff, manly tone... which slips into a slutty little falsetto when he tells me  \nthey won't bother him for another half hour.  \n  \nHe reaches for the light-switch as I step into the closet, with him just pulling  \noff his shirt, and I bat his hand away. I unzip myself, grab the back of his  \nhead for another deep kiss before I push his muzzle down and as he sinks to his  \nknees, the door falls shut behind us, just in time to cover the sound of a  \ndiscrete alarm going off at his desk.  \n  \n  \nThe guy's naked, obviously ready for a fuck but once I feel those lips around my  \nshaft, I can't think of pulling out. He bobs his head a few times, giving my  \ndick a cursory wetting, no doubt tasting the semen from my romp with Alice, but  \nwhen he tries to pull off and get up I growl at him. Just growl. I don't push  \nhim or hold him... And that seems to get him going. To be told what to do, when  \nhe's strong enough to resist, that's what he's after and then he's whining like  \na puppy, making himself comfortable on his knees and really starting to practice  \nthe art of cocksucking. He's no good at it, obviously, but he's trying things.  \nTaking it slow, turning his head, bobbing it gently, learning how his mouth can  \nmake love to a warm, hard, dobercock.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I close my eyes, then, in the darkness and reach out to either side to brace  \nmyself between the two walls of the small closet, feeling a bucket tilt  \nprecariously against one arm. Oh, fuck, that feels good. The dizziness starts to  \nfade, the heaves in my stomach lessen and the blissful darkness of the closet  \nles me come to my senses. All I can hear is the shep's soft breathing, his wet  \nsuckling and the discrete swish-swish of his tail wagging against the floor.  \n  \nReally, that feels damn good. The aftere-ffects of the shock, which had built up  \nridiculously the more I ignored them, are getting flushed out of my system  \npurely by restful circulation, but to me it feels like my shep-bitch is sucking  \nthe poison out of me, each fresh spurt of preseed makes me feel better.  \n  \n\"You happy down there, bitch?\" I ask and now I don't even have to try for my  \nvoice to sound even, smooth and confident. I open my eyes, and can see his  \nhandsome face in the glimmer of diffuse light from under the door, and stroke  \nhis hair and cradle him to my groin. \"You're a good damn cocksucker... if it as up  \nto me, I'd let you suck me all day. You'd like that, wouldn't you, puppy? Nod  \nyour head.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; He's looking up at me, worshipfully, and so ridiculously happy. I'm glad I  \nhaven't given this guy my number, because, really, he'd never leave me alone. He  \nnods the affirmative and on the in-stroke I catch his head. My cock's as deep in  \nhis muzzle as it'll fit, with his lips kissing the beginning of my unswollen  \nknot, the black bulb of flesh resting in front of his nose. \"I don't got time  \nfor that, though,\" I inform him and start to push him toward my groin while I  \nshove my his forward, forcefully but slowly, letting him feel my domination. \"I  \nneed to cum, puppydog, so you need to be a good little bitch and swallow what  \nyou're given. And if you don't,\" I add with a snarl, looking down at him to see  \nhis eyes watering as my penis starts to push past his gag reflex, making him  \nmock-heave, \"I'll pull out, zip up, and find somebody else to take my load.\"  \n  \nThat does it. His eyes go wide, he grabs my knees and thrusts his face forward  \nwith a yowl. I hiss in a breath as I feel his teeth scrape over my knot - but  \nbloody hell, this guy's tapping into some instincts that would put most  \nfull-time cumsluts to shame. He knows what gets a dog off - comes with being a  \ndog himself, I suppose. He swallows me deep and his throat muscles spasm,  \nsomething I don't feel often since I usually court more expert cocksuckers. But  \nthis guy, he takes me into his mouth, knot and all and I can hear him whining  \nand gurgling and I know he's not having a good time, but he's going for it,  \nsucking my dick as hard as he can, whipping his tongue over my knot.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I stroke his face, and the relief of my physical aches is so great I don't feel  \nit when my stomach tenses and my balls heave and this studly dog gets what must  \nbe his first taste of doggysperm other than his own. I heave a loud, audible  \nsigh that turns into a groan that covers his unhappy sounds of discomfort, but I  \nkeep his head where it is, feeling him choke and gag on my juice, which just  \nkeeps me going. The image in my mind of this guard dog 'biting off more than he  \ncan chew', yet persevering even when the experience turns sour for him...  \n  \nFinally, I release his head and he immediately pulls off, gasping for breath and  \ngurgles up a load of semen, spitting it onto the floor by my feet. He's on all  \nfours, shivering and heaving and though I can't see his face, I hear the steady  \ndrip-drip-drip of his drool and my cockslime oozing from his mouth, and I can't  \nhelp but grin.  \n  \n\"That,\" he croaks, swallowing loudly and uttering a burp before he looks up at  \nme with a grin, \"That was awesome... Thank you.\"   \n  \nJesus fucking Christ on a stick. I've met a couple of dumb sluts in my life,  \nsome really good masochists, but this guy... I'm so disgusted with his lack of  \nself-respect, with the fact that he dares to, by day, go out and pretend to have  \nself-worth and then allow himself to be used in a manner he finds so  \nun-enjoyable, just for the pleasure of someone who hasn't said more than a dozen  \nwords to him, whose name he doesn't even know - I'm so disgusted with that, that  \nI reach down to his pile of clothes, grab a marker, flip him around with my boot  \nand write my phone number, real small, on his left buttcheek. I wanna try this  \nguy some more, once my business is over.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I zip up, open the door and leave, and I swear, I can hear the alarm dying down  \nthe split-second the door opens. Either it's my imagination or my luck's  \nholding, but either way, I'm feeling both confident that Mark did his job and  \nreally, really worried as the thought creeps into my mind that maybe he didn't.  \nThe guard-feller's keys are still lying on the floor of the main lobby and I  \nkick them up into the air, catching them without looking. I revel in the feel of  \nmy reflexes, finally restored after being off-whack, ass the cool kids say. I  \nflip through the cards on the chain till I find the one with the red stripe and  \nslide it through the slot by the exit door and for a second I think about  \nstealing the keys - god knows how much I could make with copies of those, if I  \nhad the time to dally like that - but instead, I toss them back on the floor,  \nexit, and close the door.  \n  \n  \n\"Not a hitch,\" says Mark with a proud grin as I open the car door, interrupting  \nme before I can ask if it went okay and I slam the door shut as we both whoop  \nand holler and high-five and do all that celebratory lark. He's glowing with  \npride and I'm glowing with afterglow and both of us are feeling really great.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Mark, my lad,\" I say as I strap my seat-belt on, looking over my shoulder to  \nsee the victorious raccoon among his electronic trappings, all powered down now  \nthe job's done, clutching a printout from the small standalone printer he  \nsnagged. There it is: cool. The kind a guy gets when he knows he's awesome, when  \nhe knows he's so awesome that it doesn't matter if nobody else knows. That kind  \nof cool. Mark's got it and that's almost worth more to me than the prize, the  \ntransaction printout he hands me as I start the van and drive off, confirming  \nthe immediate transfer of one hundred thousand bucks to the account of Q. I.  \nMalloy.  \n  \nOne hundred thousand dollars from the account of Mr T. Ferrum, of Sargasso  \nHoldings.  \n  \n\"Where do we go now, boss?\" Mark asks, drunk on victory and clambers back into  \nthe front seat, mewling in distress as one of his precious laptops clatters to  \nthe ground when I turn a corner.  \n  \n\"Looks like a good piece of kit, it can take a bump or two,\" I assure him and  \npunch him lightly on the shoulder. \"I need to go to the Sargasso building, but I  \nthink we'd better take a little detour. I owe you some money, Mark my lad!\" I  \ndon't even have to try to sound enthusiastic, I'm so proud of my geeky friend  \nright now.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The rest of the drive is quiet, both of us reeling in the high of victory. I'm  \nsure I don't need to tell a smart bloke like Mark that we took a big gamble, and  \nhe'd be a fool to try it again. You take what Lady Luck gives you, and you don't  \ncomplain, and you don't ask for more. The streets are getting a little busier by  \nthe time we pull up to my little corner, and I turn, drive down, turn again and  \nslowly drive down the alley behind Anezka's pawn shop, over which, in case you  \nforgot, I have my place of residence.   \n  \nI get out of the van, leaving Mark in it for the time being and walk to the  \nmetal door in the otherwise blank wall that marks one side of this alley. I look  \ndown either side of the alley to check nobody's looking and then I reach out and  \npush one of the bricks in the wall. It turns in place and, carefully, I pull a  \nsingle key from the hollow space behind the brick. Thank god Anezka told me  \nabout this, or I'd be stuck.  \n  \nRemember, I don't have anything with me except my clothes, my phone and the  \ncontents of my balls. My keys are in my car, my beautiful Corvette (pardon the  \npun, if you get it) and my wallet, well, I didn't bring my wallet in the first  \nplace. I blow the dust off the key and push the brick back carefully In place,  \nthen slip the key in the lock, praying... With a satisfying metallic clang the  \ndoor unbolts and opens and I swing it wide open, letting it stay like that.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; It opens into a storeroom that now serves as Anezka's bedroom. The room isn't  \nwhat you'd call cozy, but it's certainly lived-in . The bed's unmade, with  \nvarious types of manacles and handcuffs attached to the headrail, there's  \ncondoms strewn all around, some still wrapped, some used... I've told Anezka a  \nthousand times that the Immunizer at the free clinic is a little clunky and it  \nhurts a little and it takes an hour, but it's every bit as good as the one  \nthey've got in the expensive hospitals, and you only have to go there once a  \nmonth. She still refuses, saying that by the time a male ends up in her bed, the  \n'lack of sensiivity' caused by encasing his dick in latex and the loss of  \nmasculine ego that goes along with it are the least of the stud's concerns.  \n  \nOut of the bedroom, down the hallway and into the next room, the actual  \nstoreroom. The door's locked with a number lock - I dial in 2-0-6-9 and it  \nopens. With all the necessary doors open I go back outside, where Mark's been  \npatiently waiting by the van. No worry that I might have dumped him, no anxiety.  \nJust waiting, cool as a cucumber. \"Help me load this stuff inside, will you?\" I  \nask and open the side door of the van.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; It takes a few round trips, but we get the laptops, sniffers, wireless modems,  \nencryption modules, cell phones, dongles, dingles and dangles all stacked in on  \nwhat few shelves remain empty in the storeroom stacked with instruments, gift  \nsets, crockery and firearms. As we work, I ask Mark about the street value of  \nthese magnificent products and, offhandly, he remarks it's about eighteen  \nthousand bucks. He asks me again if he can't keep it, and again I assure him  \nthat that's not a good idea.  \n  \n\"So, I guess this is it,\" he says as I lock the storeroom door and lead him into  \nthe shop's offices. He looks a little forlorn, a little disappointed that his  \njaunt into crime was so short, yet proud that it was also so successful.  \n  \nI smile at him. \"Mark, you are officially a grade-A bank-robber. Now, you know  \nyou ought to keep your mouth shut about this or we'll both be in trouble. And  \nyou know that, whatever happens, I've got your back. So here,\" I say and open  \nthe simple metal lunchbox on the office desk that serves as Anezka's cash stash,  \nstacked with hundred-dollar bills, bound in decks of twenty. I pull out three  \nand hand them to Mark, who actually protests and peels five notes off one of the  \ndecks, trying to hand it back to me. \"Don't be ridiculous, mate,\" I assure him,  \npatting him on the chest. \"Now, call yourself a cab and get home safe. If I know  \nLucy she'll have Alice at a well-stacked breakfast table by now.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; It's weird, but I can feel the high of victory starting to fade. Maybe it has  \nsomething to do with the fact that I know what has to be done next, or the  \ncontinuous gnawing of the thought that Owen's still in trouble while I'm arsing  \nabout. The call is made and I stay with Mark until I see him sitting in the back  \nof the cab, make some idle, confidence-building chit-chat with the cab driver and  \nslip him an extra twenty to 'make sure he gets home safe'. It wouldn't do for  \nMark to get mugged between now and his victorious homecoming, would it?  \n  \nWhen he's gone, though, all my joy at his awakening to awesomeness, at the  \nsmoothness of my operation, my studly ability to get even a buff security guard  \nbegging to gag on my cock - all of that falls off my shoulders and I feel very  \nalone. I know it's bloody sentimental, and I'll fuck you kindly for minding your  \nown business, but... I want Owen to be here. Or if not here, at least somewhere. I  \nwant to know I can call him and arrange for a lunch-hour drive down Highway 68  \nor invite him to a grand banquet on a tight budget at the Dong Ma Chinese  \neatery, or shoot a few rounds of pool.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; No, I'll tell you, I fucking tell you what I want, I want to think about doing  \nthose things and put them off until later, because I know that Owen's going to  \nbe around later and we can hang out and I can fuck him and I can see my friend  \nagain.  \n  \nI'm a quivering wreck on my way back and I can just about manage to write a note  \nto Anezka, that I took six grand from the money box and left a crapload of  \nexpensive gear in the storeroom for her to sell, warning that it was hot, and  \nthat she should sell it as soon as she could or hang on to it for a few weeks.  \nThe letters are irregular, written with trembling fingers, and the ink is  \nsplotched here and there from a tear that found its way onto my pen and down to  \nthe paper. Put note in money box. Put money box away. Go out to hallway. Close  \ndoor. Go up stairs.  \n  \nI keep my spare key in the door itself, behind the brass nameplate and I don't  \neven bother putting it back after I use it, I just toss it on the table next to  \nthe door and walk into my apartment, pulling off my clothes and plugging my cell  \nphone in the charger. As I toss my torn shirt over a chair I swear I can hear  \nthe shower running and Owen's voice, singing some stupid boy band song,  \nsplashing water wastefully as he dances in my shower cubicle. I run to the  \nbathroom, but of course he isn't there.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; My sobs, or at least I think they're sobs, continue. Thing is, I don't feel sad,  \nper se. I'm just trying to unlace my boots and pull off my pants and get under  \nthe shower, and I don't want to be sad. But my body, it has other ideas. I  \nbarely make it to the shower and turn the water on, etting blasted with water as  \ncold as ice, but I don't even feel it. I sink to the ground, letting the water  \nfall down on me and my mind is a pure blank as I give in to my body's needs, and  \nhug my knees to my chest, and cover my face, and spend a good while crying and  \ngroaning and bawling.  \n  \n  \nThe water turns warm, and then cold again, and then later the sobs subside, the  \nshivers pass and my tears dry up. It's gone. Out of my system, out of mind and  \nout of sight. I still worry about Owen, but it's just worry, now. I've given my  \nbody what it needed - a good old cry, and now that I've let the water wash away  \nmy tears and my snot and my drool I turn off the water, stand up and touch  \nmyself.  \n  \nI'm all there. Hard belly, firm biceps - nicked by pretty lionboy claws -  \nhandsome face, crisp jawline, generous package, all there. I think of Owen,  \nwherever he may be and I feel worry, but no spasms. I think of Alice, in bed,  \nwaiting for me, rolling over like a kitten, mewling how much he loves me and I  \nget hard, but there's no pang of sentimental guilt. Stepping out of the shower,  \nI put on a fluffy black bathrobe, letting it dry me as I walk out into my living  \nroom and on into the bedroom, opening my closet and, dropping my bathrobe to the  \nground, I start putting on something I haven't worn in a long while.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; A suit, charcoal grey, with a cream shirt and a red tie. I paid nine thousand  \nbucks for this, way back when, and while it's a little tighter around the  \nshoulder now than it was then, it only makes me look better. Six hundred dollar  \nshoes and an honest to goodness Rolex start my accessorisations, and then I swap  \nthe simple silver rings in my right ear for one gold ring and one teardrop  \npearl, both from a small box in the clutter at the bottom of my closet. One  \nring, thick, silver, that slips perfectly around my index finger.  \n  \nThe mirror shows a sharp, don't-fucking-mess-with-me dobermann who looks ready  \nto take on the world. I test myself one more time, daring my body to shiver as I  \nthink about what I'm going to do next. I feel nervous, but not a one of my  \nfingers twitches, not so much as a flick of an ear or a tightening of the  \nstomach.  \n  \n  \nLadies and gentlemen, I present to you Q. I. Malloy.  \n  \n  \nFucking badass, so you'd better run.\n\n  \n  \n\n_To be continued._\n\n  \n\n**Available on paperback in 2005**\n\n  \n\n[  \nMail the author](%5C) for information  \nor [  \njoin the mailing list](%5C)!\n\n  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp;  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"Maranatha","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/4103-maranatha-chapter-iv-as-told-by-q-i-malloy.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/4125-maranatha-chapter-vi-as-told-by-q-i-malloy.json"}}