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Thrill Me

By Ellery Aristocrat

Part II

'Oh, god, Roman baby, your ass feels so tight, clenching down on my pawtips like that.'

Shut up.

'Yeah, spread that ass apart for me, that's such a nice ass, mmmh_, I'm gonna eat that ass, baby.'_

Oh, my god_, shut up._

'You like that baby, that feel good?'

No, it really didn't.

'Relax, baby, relax, it'll stop hurting, I swear, just, a little bit longer, I'm so close!'

For fuck's sakes.

The voice'd plagued me, followed me all the way home, cooing at me from every possible angle in the dark. I shook my head in earnest, slapping myself on both cheeks, growling quite vehemently, in an effort to scare off the demons that haunted me, but to fruitless ends.

The streets I walk through were of Bryson, my hometown, I knew these streets, even along the dark course I followed, my paws knew their way, but my mind... my mind had no way, it was lost.

'Beautiful, baby, that's it.'

"Oh, shut up," I spat into the night. "Fuck!"

The perverted voice echoing through my befuddled brain was a ghost from my past. It belonged to a photographer I knew when I was in high school who went by the name of Ché. I don't know why, it just was one of those things that people who're stuck up their own asses do, I think.

You see, I wasn't always the charming, cheery guy I am now; I used to be quite hateful when I was younger. I'd lived in Bryson for all of ten blissful years of my life, then my family moved out west, on the coast, where my Dad got this really great job, right high-up in some faceless corporation or something, where he made lots of money and we had nice things all the time, where everything was supposed to be lovely forever. Only, it wasn't - I fucking hated the whole affair. The goddamn city, the people, my father and his big, fat paychecks, the school I went to, the fucking snivelling little shits who attended it, _every_thing.

So, anyway, when I was around sixteen, going on seventeen, just as I was coming down from a gothic-phase, and in need of something else to try and piss my parents off with, I, through some mischievous providence, met Ché. He took one look at me, and with hungry eyes began lavishing me with all manner of wordplay - the shape of my body, the look in my eyes! Oh, I must be photographed, I must come to his studio for a session! Laments and woe at the thought that it may not come to pass:

'I insist, come by, just to see how things work, to see the studio! Oh, please!'

God, I can still remember the first time I got off the bus outside that little hole. It was an old, very square cement thing, covered with graffiti on all sides, and tucked under one corner of the building, at the bottom of a few steps lay his pathetic little studio, an open-concept-like cave. It was always dark in there, always gloomy, which, given how lovely my adolescent years were, I felt right at home.

So, our relationship developed. After a few days of observing, I started consenting to be in his photographs, shyly at first, but when he started asking me to start taking off articles of clothing, some feral, exotic part of me began to rear its head up, and I started loosening up. I remember standing there, flashes blinding me from all directions, completely naked, and looking up at Ché from under my eyelashes, the way I saw him eyeing me in each flare, how hot it made me feel. Under his eyes, I felt some dark impulse growling within me, I started to move my body in foreign ways, it was like these thrills had a will about them, and it was a very... sexual will, considering where they led. I still don't know where it came from, slowly emerging more each time I stood before him, the way I would arch my back, the way I would grope and fondle myself for him, to display myself for him, well, you get the idea. I remember I could barely contain myself throughout the school day, it was really all I could do to wait the day out, to keep these rather whorish feelings under wraps, only to let it burst forth before the lens again.

I remember the night when my seductive half reached its zenith; the first night I felt the power of it all. He came to me holding a few buckets of paint they were using for a backdrop, and, with a brush at first, painted me, colouring my fur with lines and patterns. I remember the slight tremble his paw had, the way the brush vibrated against my fur; the sheer electricity that struck through me when, at last, his paw touched me, as he placed two paw-prints on my rump in pink, and at this the impulse in me was alight like never before. As he stood up I looked greedily into his eyes, my unapologetic boner pointing right at him, which, really said it all. So I stood before them all, exposed for everyone to see, and my body moved in new ways, more freely than before. I knew right then what we were going to do, I knew he wanted it as much as I did, and even with the dozen or so sets of eyes hungrily scouring me from beyond my little stage, I could still distinguish his stare, I could feel it ravaging me. His little work of art.

So, needless to say, that was the night I lost my virginity. I've heard from some people that they were the most willing, and the most excited for their first time, so that it didn't hurt in the least, for their eagerness; that their first time was by far their most pleasant. Never since that night have I been quite so willing, but Ché still somehow made it hurt.

When I got home, all colourful and sweaty, I went to take a shower, but, looking at myself, I just couldn't bear to wash those marks away. I wore those colours with a pride, I had a man in my life who did sexy things to me, and let loose some dark, oozy part of me. I was hot shit, I tell you. So I wore those marks the next day, basking, ecstatic in the attention I got from everyone, at all the lovely stares and whispers behind my back.

In the coming weeks I thought that I was in love with Ché. I wanted him to fall for me, and was certain that he had - after all, he'd shown me how best to dress myself, so as to look sexier; he'd had my head-fur spiked up in the nicest way, with all manner of colourful dyes in it. But after time, I felt less and less affection from him. Instead of caressing me in bed, telling me all the ways I turned him on, how perfect I was, it became more about how hard or fast he could plough me. I became used to blood-stains in my undergarments, painful bumps on my head where it banged into the iron bars of the little cot in which we did our deeds.

Thinking back to it, I don't know how I could've been so fucking stupid. He'd taken three nights to keep me to himself, to properly break me in, as it goes, before I was expected to entertain and satisfy all of his crew in addition to him. But at least he took me first - that was surely one of the many ways he showed he cared. You hear about just how fucking hot it is to be the centre of attention to a large group of lusty men, see it glorified in all the pornos, and, for me, yeah, it was; every time I heard a guttural moan, felt a hot splash of cum splat on me somewhere, or sucked the pearly goo from between my paws, with the guys egging me on, it fuelled that dark part of me. The thrills it would give me when I'd do something like that... I can't even think of anything that compares, those paws kneading in between my spiked fur, the feel of them gently rubbing my sides, or sharply smacking my ass, it was just... ecstasy. The perfect drug.

Yes, it was so hot, at first, but then, when the rough play became more brutal, the little gang bangs became less about enjoying me, and more simply using me. I never understood what it was for them, what the purpose was, at that point, when the force with which I was reamed... I... I just can't imagine it was pleasurable for them, let alone me. Like they were going out of their way to hurt me, like they had a need to. But, hey, what the fuck did I care, I had Ché, and he loved me.

But what your average depictions of gang fuckery won't tell you is how you start to feel after a while. The thrilling trills turn to torment, I would enter the studio with a coldness about my ribs, and exited later with a gaping hole ripped in my chest. That may sound like a cheesy way of putting it, but that's what it felt like. Over a short time, I began to realize I was getting less and less from Ché, I realized I hadn't heard the word 'love' come out of his mouth in weeks, and even his hasty strides in bed became lacklustre, dispassionate. It was like he didn't even really want me anymore, he just struck in, fucked around in me with short, quick jerks for a few minutes, came in teaspoons, and then I was told to get out, but be back the next day, at the exact same time.

I kept coming back, every night, because, surely this was a phase, and when it was over, he would go back to loving me. It would get better, I remember just knowing it. I kept coming back for more because I loved him, I belonged to him, like I was an object. What possession worth having protests to how it is used?

Anyway, it all ended when I showed up on a day I was told not to and found Ché on top of some girl in our cot at the back of the studio, pushing his rump into her with soft, sensual pulses - the very same rump that had given me those loving pushes before, and moaning to her all the same dribble he'd once given me. 'Oh, yeah baby, you're so nice and tight, oooh, you make Ché feel like he's a mile long,' 'you like that? You're so beautiful, baby, oh god_...''I love you.'_ I don't like to think about what happened, but I lost it. I screamed, I threw things around and stormed out, making sure I ruined his most expensive camera in the process.

I took a long drag off my cigarette as I surfaced from these thoughts. I don't know why the fuck this was on my mind, so suddenly, so unprovoked, on such a night as this, after the miserable tryst with Taylor.

I'd just reached my apartment. I live in an old brick building on the street my old house used to be on, weird, I suppose, but I find it nice to be so close to my old home; like being closer to simpler times, without all this drama.

Inside my apartment, I went straight to the bathroom for a piss. My cock was sore, with an ache that radiated in slow, gentle waves. It may seem strange, but in a way, I liked the pain; I relished the opportunity to experience something other than bleak nothingness.

I guess, maybe there was something that came from tonight...

I wrapped my throbbing member up, and went to the sink, washing my paws of the night's spoils. I was still a little sticky, the area around my crotch was still a little damp with lube... and Taylor's fluids, as well as plenty of my own. While I was meticulously drying my paws, I caught my eye in the mirror, unable to quite interpret the look on my face. In my teenage years it was customary to see a sour, almost-scowl leering back at me. I appraised myself now, trying to figure out what stared back at me. I placed the towel on the rack next to the sink.

I am a tall, reddish-brown fox. I have dark roan patterns about my chin, on either side of my neck, and a flourish trailing down my chest. The tips of my footpaws, tail and pubic area were white, and my forearms down were brown. After the fiasco with Ché, when I began to realize the magical allure I had over a man's mind, it had always perplexed me. I was not sexy. I was very slender, and meatless, yes, but I have these huge bones, you see. I'm talking child-bearing hips and everything. My shoulders were broad, and rather thick, as were my hips, making for not so flattering curvature. My ass looked very nice and perky in the right jeans, and I hear a lot of people telling me how nice it is, but if you ask me it looks fat. I'm not buff, in any way, and the sharp points the fur of my face angled into wasn't very complimentary, either. Yet night after night, anywhere I went I could score a lay without even trying, guys would routinely just fall over themselves to get with me. Girls, too, but, whatever.

I watched myself thoughtfully, as my paw reached behind me, fishing around at my rump, retrieving my smokes from my pocket, and as I lit up. I flicked the bathroom's light off, and met my eyes in the small glow of my cigarette. I had a certain complacency over me that night, it was as if there was some conniving beast inside of me that had been dying of starvation, and I had let it eat its heart out. Or, maybe it was Taylor's, I dunno.

I exhaled into the mirror, the billows of dark smoke blotting out my reflection, blurring it with a deathly curtain, and I could take no more. I went to my room, finished my smoke in darkness, and attempted to sleep.

The next day, I woke up late, with a mild headache from all the alcohol I'd consumed the night before; my fur was all matted and sticky from the night's activity. I felt gross, sickly, which was a good thing, I suppose, because it gave me something to actually do.

After a lengthy shower, I stumbled around the apartment in nought but a towel, finally coming to the kitchen, where I put on a pot of coffee, and sat on the floor while it perked, smoking a cigarette as I leaned against my cupboards.

As I smoked, and unbeknownst to me at the time, outside of town, two men were screwing in a lawn chair. One, a foreigner, brand-new to the town, and the other, a local. The foreigner was a white leopard, and the local a white husky with blonde accents to his fur. They had met the night before at the liquor store, and had hit it off from there. They went wandering about town, drinking as they went, and ended up at the leopard's house. The leopard was smallish, with a pointed nose and hips so slender they may as well not have been there at all.

The pair watched television and laughed, being playful in all manner of ways. The husky laughed and jostled, testing his new plaything to see what delights he could get that night. He tickled the foreigner, and got a tickle back. The foreigner got up to get more alcohol, and responded with an encouraging look when his ass was slapped. When he sat down, his cock was grabbed, and his back arched, his muzzle letting loose a moan. The husky didn't care to pan out his game, he tired of it as easily as he had invented it, and he took the leopard there on the couch, followed immediately by another event on the bed. The two fell asleep in embrace.

The next morning, as I sat on the floor all-but-naked, waiting on my coffee, the husky, who had been about to light up a cigarette of his own in the sun porch, was met by the leopard, who was wearing nothing save for a massive erection. The husky merely grinned, fitting his unlit smoke between his teeth, unzipped his pants and mounted his new friend right there, on a lawn chair, not even bothering to fully remove his pants. He lit up his smoke while he was still reaving the slender malkin, flicking his ash down on its back as he went, a smirk crossing his face. He thought he was very sexy in that moment, like some filthy porn star, the charmer.

He came aggressively - strangely, at the same moment I butted out my cigarette, slid off the leopard, and collapsed into a neighbouring chair.

"Ahhh," he moaned in an English accent. "Can never beat that first fag of the day, can ya, mate?"

He left shortly after that, as the leopard showered, but not before he thanked him warmly for a lovely evening. What a gentleman. He mustn't much like the awkward, 'hey, we just fucked, so I'm gonna go' moment, because, in his haste he'd forgot his cigarettes. Tragic, I know.

I took my coffee out on my small balcony, leaning against the railing, watching the quiet town-life unfold before me. When I first moved in, I would spend entire days sitting, looking out at the life before me, watching the people and cars go by, reading old books, smoking, living the simple life. Those were the days, or whatever. I sighed, agitated - you know, because there's nothing to fucking do - and threw my spent smoke over the railing. Inside, I stood for a moment about my furniture, my appliances, all of which were second-hands my parents had horded over the years for me. I couldn't bear the company of it all, and I hasted out of the house, throwing on some random clothes from the floor as I went.

I wandered the streets for a good hour before the humidity got to me, and I continued my roving within the air-conditioned climate of the mall. But being around so many other people did nothing for my gloomy spirits. I picked up a can of iced tea and sat on a bench, eyeing people up as they went about their day.

I sat opposite a clothing store, with wide doors that left nothing inside hidden. Closest to me were two whispering women, giggling over pairs of underwear. I felt my eyes linger about them, as they selected various types of frilly lace and laughed at them. They stood close to each other, and whispered directly into the others' ear when they spoke, always cackling at what they said. They have a very loose air about them, they seemed the sort that you saw at clubs in miniskirts the size of belts, with their undies - if they wore any, mind - hanging out for the world to see. I caught one's eye, and she, without taking her sight off me, whispered something excitedly into her friends' ear. Her friend turned, eyed me up, and whispered something back. They laughed, eyeing me up over their shoulders some more. One, a slender fox with a coat much like my own, gently flicked a pink thong to the ground, exclaiming:

"Oops!"

She looked up at me with slut in her eyes, turning her back to me, and slowly bent over to pick it up, her friend cackling lewdly. For fuck's sakes.

They'd caught the attention of a polo-clad clerk who smirked at their attempts, and looked in my direction. His gaze met mine, and though he was far away, his face was obviously pained by what I'm sure he perceived as a heterosexual mating ritual of some sort. He looked so longingly at me. Poor mouse. Fuck, is it just me, or is it getting worse? I was starting to feel claustrophobic.

The girls were writing something down on a slip of paper, and the fox skipped over to me. She had a small, low-cut top on. She knelt down lower than necessary, placing her cleavage inches away from my nose. She looked down at me, eyes half-lidded in what I'm assuming was intended to be an attractive manner. She had dark purple eyeshadow on, which I thought was fucking ridiculous, the fur around her eyes were so dark a brown that it was nearly black.

With a crooked smile, she placed the folded paper into my lap, letting her pawtips linger over my crotch for a few seconds longer than necessary, before she returned to her snickering friend, swaying her hips a little too obviously. I opened the slip of paper with one eyebrow still raised. On it was written her number, and the caption, fuck us! I sighed and looked back at the girls. They have moved on, into the thicket, but occasionally one would glance up at me. The mouse had taken their place at the lingerie stand, and kept glancing up with sad, desperate eyes; wishing that I wasn't straight, that I would take him home and be everything he wanted me to be, instead of those whorish girls. I can't take it.

I have to get out of here.

I rose, and strut off as fast as I could, away from the store, feeling like every eye I passed was looking at me as I went. Was the air getting stuffy in here? I slowed my pace on the other side of the mall, next to a small photographer's studio, at the back of which a scene was set up, and a young, impeccably dressed cat was posing on a stool waiting to be shot. The photographer was carrying on in an unintelligible francophone accent. I hesitated, watching him wave his paws about animatedly, and then as he took a picture. Flash.

'Beautiful, Roman, my sweet, beautiful! Now purse your lips like a schoolgirl, yes! Oh, you're such a good little boy, aren't you?' Ché's voice struck through my head as the flash burst forth in the little studio, and suddenly I was in front of a dark backdrop, covered in several lines of paint, without a stitch of clothing on me. The room was dark, save for two halogen lamps placed on either side of Ché. He knelt over his camera stand, staring at me through the viewfinder. Beyond him I knew there was a slew of horny guys ogling me. It was the first time I had been so appreciated by other guys (so far as I knew, anyhow) and I was just loving the attention. I held my chest gently and pursed my lips for the camera, half-closing my eyes to give a more seductive look. I heard a few cat-calls and cheers from the small assembly.

"Yes, Roman, that's it," Ché said as I turned around and leaned against the background slightly, sprawling my paws across it. "You're a natural!"

I remember I was surprised at myself in that moment, I couldn't believe it, the way I was moving my body, how easy it was to flow around into these poses, to rouse the crowd and control their lusts. It felt, as I maneuvered around into these stances, like I was moving something along with me, as if the air around me was thicker with something hot, electric, and enchanting. I could feel the eyes of the crowd following me, entranced by my movement, and I knew that the better subject I was, the more aroused Ché would become. I faced away from them again, and placed my hands on my hips, spread my legs, and tilted my head to the side. I could almost feel the thrills that were stirring in Ché.

This was the evening where I first had sex. After he'd cleared the room, Ché took me to that wonderfully awful mattress in the corner of his studio; which, upon reflection more resembles an old, dark warehouse more than anything, and he kissed me, hot and hard. He'd told me what to do, in a thick, throaty voice that echoed out through my head in rapid succession:

'Open your mouth... more!'

'Grab my cock, ooh, yes!'

'That's right, take it all in your mouth,'

'Oooooh, god, take it, my sweet!'

'You make Ché feel so good!'

'I - uhn - love you!'

Then I was back, staring into the photographer's little rut, both he and the patron on the stool stared back, their uneasy faces making me all too aware of the twists and curves my own was in. I blinked, and felt whatever expression had came over my face vanish. I felt the flesh under my fur burn hot, my ears fold back, and I rushed outside as fast as I could.

I sat on the edge of a small brick garden in the front of the mall, its flowers all withering and dying of neglect in their raised partition. I hunched forward, dragging off my cigarette. I let out a loud, wet cough, and a grunt - I couldn't escape it; even my cigarettes were trying to subjugate me to their will. Fuck.

My heart was racing, and I was starting to feel dizzy. I held a paw to my brow, rubbing it nervously, and my knee danced around as if I were on crack. Fuck, what was happening to me? I felt my heart-rate start to increase at an fearful rate, my head started to swim, and it felt like I was high. My vision was blurring, and I felt sick. My heart was beating so hard and loud, like it was swelling in my chest, obstructing my windpipe - it was getting harder to breathe. I couldn't think straight, my mind kept wandering back to Ché, and his voice filled my head, every degrading thing he'd said to me when he started to tire of me roared in my ears. I felt like I was going to throw up, and the world started to spin. I pulled my paw up to take another drag and noticed with a fresh wave of panic that it was shaking with a violence. What the fuck was happening to me, I felt like I was going to pass out, oh my god - !

"Hey, can I bum a smoke, I seem to've lost mine." A voice said from somewhere around me, I couldn't comprehend where.

"Fuck yourself, buddy," I sputtered, not looking up, turning my head away. My voice wavered up several octanes. Not now, not now, I can't fucking take it, I can't escape it, they're driving me crazy, everywhere I go these fuckers just keep finding me!

"Whoa, are you alright, mate?" the voice had an accent to it, and an urgency I don't usually expect in these creeps. I whirled my head around as black-spots appeared in my vision, and when I saw him, the wild buzzing of my thoughts stopping short as I met his face. I don't know what exactly it was, but everything just sort of stopped as I beheld him, my brain ceased its sickening toils. I don't know how long I stared, but I felt my wits come back to me somewhat.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," he remarked, tilting his head slightly to one side.

His eyes, I thought, unable to believe them.

"That's disappointing," the words fluttered out of my mouth without me even catching them. He gave a nervous chuckle after he'd worked out what I'd said, but his face was still confused, and I reeled somewhat, trying to grasp what was going on.

"Well, you are fine, but I mean you didn't look so well," he said, his accent washing over me like a sedative. I didn't recognize this, what was I doing? I knitted my eyebrows together and tore my gaze away from his, looking at the ground. If I ignored him, I knew eventually he'd go away, he's only staying because of the magical allure I've got, guys can't seem to leave alone, and because he was worried; if I just pretend he'd vanished, then he will.

Then maybe that episode would return and I'd pass out, sprawled over the decaying flowers. Nice. I, without looking up, extended my smoke packet to him, feeling his paws jostle it around in my paw as he fished one out. As he sat down next to me, I felt a small rush flutter out from my chest, and I felt my knees give a small tremor.

"Well you don't look like you're gonna freak out anymore, so that's good," he observed. "I'm Trey, by the way."

"That rhymed."

"It does, yes." There was a small, expectant pause on his behalf, then, "and... you are?"

"Oh." I wrestled with myself, what was I doing? "Roman."

"Roman? Oh, well isn't that a nice name? Roman. Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

"Hmmm?" I said. I didn't know what was going on with me right now, but I didn't care so long as he kept saying things.

"Do I need to be taking you to a doctor or something?"

"No, nothing like that," I muttered. "I... I don't know what that was. I felt like..."

"Like?" Trey prompted.

"I don't even know." I replied, staring at my paws and flexing them. "It's over now, though."

"Well that's good," he drew a puff off his smoke.

I looked back at him, into those electric blue eyes. His fur was very fair, and had golden accents all about it, curling around his chin and up his face. His nose was a fleshy pink, and he wore a tight dark graphical shirt with short sleeves. He was hot. I felt my face tingle, and a heat rush forth in my cheeks. This was weird.

I should really get the hell out out of here.

"What?" he asked, a laugh playing about his voice, and his lips parted in a crooked smile.

"Sorry." I said. "I... I should..."

Go.

"I'm bothering you."

Go, now.

I had never been so confused over the mere presence of another man before. Fucking hell!

"No." I said softly, barely able to put any volume in my voice.

"Okay," his brow furrowed slightly, and he tilted his head down a bit. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Now."

Wait. Am I seriously saying this shit?

I stood up, a panicked feeling similar to my little episode flashing in my chest.

Get out of there, Roman, a voice in my head urged. Get out of there now!

"What?" Trey was saying.

"I, uh.... uh..."

"You should sit down, you look like you've had a bit of a fright or something, Roman."

Oh god, I love how he says my name.

I took a sharp drag off my smoke, and sat down next to him promptly, gently pressing my cigarette into the brick I sat upon, snuffing it out.

I sat there, feeling uncomfortable and strange, not daring to look at him again, but feeling his eyes on me, I struggled desperately to think of something to say; to solve whatever had come over me.

"I'm not, like, crazy, you know," I said.

"Oh?"

I looked at him. Dammit.

"Okay, maybe I am," I muttered.

He laughed, again giving me a scrutinizing stare.

"Well, if you really were mad, you wouldn't be able to admit it, so that right there is a good sign." He said.

We sat for a while, and the atmosphere turned awkward again. I was finally managing to wrestle down whatever was happening to my mind within his presence, smothering all the strange thoughts in my head and think rationally, when he said,

"So, are you from here?"

I took a breath and looked at him right in the eyes, bracing myself for the jolt they sent through me, and beheld what I could about him. He was shocking; in those eyes I saw many things, there was nothing hidden about them, no secret agenda, no dark lusts, and all that he was seemed to rush out at me. He wasn't looking to chain me up in the basement, either, so that was good. There was an openness to him, something carefree, but grounded. I wasn't like looking into Taylor; he certainly wasn't some pure little fuck, all starry-eyed and whatever, but I wasn't looking into, say, Elron or any of the other freaks I attracted. This was a novelty, an abnormality, something I didn't think was even possible anymore.

He didn't seem to be affected by my sorcery in any usual way, either. I could see the telltale signs of interest, but they were just that: interest. He was curious about me, intrigued by me as a specimen, not as a thing to dangle on his prick.

"Yes," I said with a touch more confidence in my voice. "You?"

"I am, actually - fifteen minutes' drive out of town," his eye flickered over my face a moment. "And you?"

"I live in town."

"I see, I see," he replied, looking away as he butted out. "Funny I haven't seen you before, how long you been here?"

"Let's see... about... three years."

"Really? I've been here for five, this is strange, you'd think I'd notice someone like you around."

I felt my face harden a little.

"Someone like me?"

"Well, you know," he said hasty, his eyes betraying worry that he'd offended. "Someone so handsome... I mean, uh, interesting. Sorry."

"Oh, don't apologize," I said. I couldn't see the blush under his fur, but his eyes said it all. He liked me! A small trill of excitement fluttered up from my chest, and I smiled at him.

Wait. Excitement? I blinked and saw my gaze drop to the ground. I glanced back up at Trey, perplexity splashed across my face as the gravity of the situation started pressing down on me.

"What?" Trey said. I lit up another smoke. No, no, something wasn't right, this was fucked.

"Sorry, I have to go now," I sputtered, and rose - probably looking like some melodramatic prat, but, whatever, this was just too weird for me. I stalked off as fast as I could, but, alas, in my haste I neglected to realize where the sidewalk ended, stumbled forth into the road, tried to catch myself, and fell, a sharp pain shooting up from my ankle.

"Fuck!" I cried as I crumpled to the ground.

Next I knew, Trey was at my side, helping me up, his arms all about me, and for an instant I was lost - all the sound in the world cut out and everything felt so still, serene... just, like a second, that is, then reality cut back in. Trey was helping me hop back to the curb, and gently set me back down on the neglected garden.

"You okay?" He was saying.

"Fuck, ow, I think so."

"Bloody hell," he muttered.

I laughed a little.

"What's funny? Where does it hurt?"

"My ankle, I must've just sprained it, that's all." I said. He was knelt in close to me, and I was suddenly glad to be hurt. "No, I don't need to go to the hospital."

He shot me a wry look, and slid in next to me.

"I lost my smoke."

"Light another?"

"I've only got one left."

"Right," He looked at me, and I looked back, his eyes were piercing, searching mine for something. It seemed like hours we looked at each other, as he plied me for... whatever it was, and I just basked in his. Then he nodded once, standing up.

"Wait here," he said, sternly. "Okay?"

"Uh, okay?"

"I mean it Roman, don't try and stand on that leg," he said my name again, I thought with a sort of inward giggle. He then marched off at a brisk pace back into the mall. While he was gone, I had a moment to come to my senses once more. Who the fuck was this guy, and why was I acting like some fucking bumbling schoolgirl for him? Who the hell am I, for that matter? This wasn't something in me I recognized. I had to go home, I needed to get the hell outta here.

Oh, fuck, how was I going to get home like this? It was just a sprained ankle, I was sure, but how the hell am I to walk all the way home on it? Shit! I fretted over this dilemma until Trey came back, and as soon as I saw him again, I didn't seem to care so much about it. It was still an issue, but not as pressing as his face and how it was pretty.

"Right, c'mere," he leaned down and helped me get up, placing an arm around my back, pulling my weight onto his. I couldn't help noticing how toned his arms were. "Now, where're ya parked?"

"Oh, uh, I don't have a car."

"Oh, well how far do you live?"

"A ways."

"I see," he paused, considering something. "C'mon then, I'm parked over here."

"Excuse me?"

"Well I can't very well leave ya here, and you're not making it home on your own, now are you?"

I mumbled something and let him lead me to his car. Willingly. I couldn't believe myself, I was letting a stranger fucking take me to his car, it had been a long time since I let a guy lead me to his car. I looked up at Trey through the corner of my eye as we hobbled along. This close I could smell his deodorant, a very subtle little scent, yet still intoxicating. I was getting aroused by his smell. I think he was wrong, I have gone insane.

When we reached his car - a newer-looking sedan in a hue of blue that matched his eyes, I noticed. He gingerly helped me into the passenger seat and we set off. He reached into his pocket and tossed a shiny green parcel at me. Smokes. He bought me smokes?

"You... you bought me smokes?"

"Well I can't very well leave you without nicotine to soothe your pain, can I?"

"I... suppose not."

No one's ever bought me smokes before... is that sweet, or... weird?

It took us a mere twelve minutes to reach my house from the mall, and that's accounting the horribly distracted directions I was giving. When we arrived so quickly, I made a mental note to get myself a car. Trey helped me up to my apartment, and onto my couch, fit me with a cigarette, even lit it for me. Luxury.

"Sorry the place's such a mess," I said once I was settled with my smoke.

He sat on an old, plush chair opposite the coffee table and looked all about him thoroughly, taking in every bit of my unkempt dwelling, not a trace of disdain about his gorgeous features.

"Nah, it's nice; it's...." he skewed his lips to one side. "Lived-in."

"That's just a polite way to say it's a mess," I said with a laugh. A laugh! I was laughing, oh god, this was just surreal. I didn't laugh anymore - let alone such an airy, normal laugh, it's preposterous!

"Well, are you going to be okay?" he'd asked.

"Yes."

"Then I guess I should go..."

"Oh." I hadn't even considered him leaving, like, it was the weirdest thing he could have said, and I think my voice betrayed that, for he sent another searching look at me. Little did he know I didn't need to search him at all, his look spoke plain enough for me: he didn't want to leave, and that was fine with me.

"Do you... want me to hang out for a bit?"

"Well..." I said, another impossible smile playing about my lips. "You see, nicotine is fine to deal with this pain, but, ow! What would really ease my agony is caffeine, but oh, how will I get to the coffee maker?"

He smiled, and I felt another of those elated pangs pulse in my chest, providing me with more proof of my insanity.

"A coffee sounds lovely," he said as he stood.

"Stuff's in the cupboard above the machine."

As he marched dutifully off to the kitchen, I stole a glance at his rear from the corner of my eye, and was rewarded with the sight of a small, but elegantly curved ass. I felt my ears fold back to accompany my blush, and had the sickening sensation I was going to burst into a girlish giggle.

He called out in a jovial way, making jokes while he prepared the coffee, and returned with a piece of toast for me, spread with butter. I didn't much care for something that plain, but didn't say so, and thanked him for it. My voice went all crackly and shy when he presented me with it. Like a fucking moron. Still, I felt my tail quiver under me as he returned to make the coffee.

When it was done, he came in and gingerly set it down on the scratched-up, old coffee table before me, and set down with his own. It was almost white.

"Would you like some coffee with your cream?" why did I say that?

He laughed nonetheless, and smiled at me.

I felt another terrifying wave of glee come over me, and, biting my lip, I threw caution to the wind. I found I really got along with him, not ever feeling uncomfortable, or imposed upon, and before long, the day had blown by. Without realizing how it'd happened, it was dark and late, we'd spent our time talking - just talking - I don't know how it happened, but that day I, well, I had a blast.

"Hey, where's the loo, love?" he asked after we'd had a fit of impetuous laughter, wiping a tear from his eye. I told him, pointing down the hall behind me, and off he went. A smile still about my muzzle, I sighed. My throat hurt from laughing so much, imagine that. I coughed, and resolved it was high time for another smoke. I lit up, watching the smoke slither up towards the ceiling.

I fidgeted around on the couch, and stood. The air in the room was a bit warm, and I fancied some fresh air, so, I crossed to the sliding glass window that led out to the small terrace, and stood, smoking. In the still that follows a raucous, intimate conversation, I felt the feelings inside me start to coil in, and turn into something, in light of the magnetism my husky companion has about him, more passionate.

Trey came out beside me, puffing on a cigarette of his own.

"Lovely view, up here," he commented, his voice wavering slightly.

"Yes," I said, staring out at the lights of the city. "Very... pretty."

He stood next to me, his presence billowing over me, blotting out all my senses.

"I used to spend entire days out here," I said, without realizing what I was saying. "Just watching life go on out there."

I felt a heat course through my veins, and I tossed my cigarette away with shaking paws. He did the same.

"Very rustic," he muttered, his voice directly in my ear. A tremble ran down my spine. I turned and met his gaze, our muzzles almost meeting. His eyes were smouldering, and for a moment I felt lost, unaware of what happened outside them. They had fiery qualities to them, emotions and intent they betrayed that I somehow could not comprehend in that moment.

"Yeah," I said, shocked at how my voice fluttered... at how my heart fluttered.

"Roman," he murmured, and then I kissed him, just tipped my head up, gently pressing myself against those soft, wet lips. I felt my tongue, under its own will, flicking out to softly brush the edges of his lips. He kissed back, gently at first, placing his arm around the small of my back and pulling me in. Someone moaned, a very pitiful, soft one... oh, god, I think it was me. I don't know, my mind sort of cut out, and I was just sent adrift in peaceful, lovely darkness, the only thing that existed for me was his tight embrace, he held on to me as if he was terrified of letting go; as if he was afraid that I would slip away into this nothingness and he'd lose me forever, or some other kind of poetic crap like that.

I know how this will sound, I feel like an idiot for even admitting it, but when our lips parted, when he finally pulled his head back just slightly, undecided, as if still worried about me slipping away, and his hot breath bathed my face, I was seeing stars. But, like, in my head, if that makes any sense. I had no thought, no awareness of anything, as I said, we were floating in a starry void, just the two of us.

I placed one last, small kiss on his lips, simply batting them gently with my own, and without really knowing what I was doing, I rested my head on his shoulder, placed a paw on his chest, felt his soft shirt under the touch, hearing nothing but his rapid heartbeat. I instantly started to feel stupid, and insecure, and uncomfortable. The urge to tear away and jump off the balcony surfaced in my mind. It was quickly seeming like a rational thing to do, too, when he placed his arms gently about me, and pulled me closer.

"Trey..." was the only word I could manage to say, and I just breathed it out, so natural, like I'd said it a million times before.

Then we went into the bedroom and fucked.