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I woke up with a startle. Sunlight was gleaming into my eyes from a crack in the curtains covering the bedroom window. A headache throbbed into consciousness, from behind my eyes, and made my ears flap down. I made a face. My brain was hurting. I yawned and found out that my tongue was pretty damn parched, too. I tried to swallow to get some saliva going, but it hardly worked. I huffed.

"Shit..."

I felt so damn tired, and sore in places, too, after another night of sex with that insatiable Rottweiler. Gerald was nowhere to be seen. That young little shit would bounce out of the bed after only small naps...usually waking me up by humping me, until I submitted to his will and let him have some more fun. That must've had during last night, too. I was feeling rather sticky in places. I rubbed a paw down along my side and dipped it under my tail to feel a mess there. Lube and doggie stuff. I snorted and wiped my paws against the mattress before I moved my paw to scratch my belly. The furs felt a bit matted there, too.

What a night...bouncing on his cock, taking it standing up, sucking out a load...hell...I even humped him until I spooged over his back. Gerald never let me top him properly, but he'd found that game amusing. It made for a hot doggystyle fuck afterwards, me almost tearing his sheets with my claws as I rumbled and humped my ass back against his pistoning cock. I stirred even thinking about it.

Hssssssssh.

Well, that explained things. The swooshing sound coming from beyond the drab door told me that the Rottweiler must've been in the shower. Getting clean and ready for a new day...it was Saturday. We often met on Fridays. It meant that a whole night of fun could be had, of course. That's what it also turned out to be. Hangover. Ugh. Maybe I'd have to get a drink. I hadn't even drank that much...just a little bit of vodka and lime...and a bit of that damn Kool-Aid Gerald kept gushing down. Had to keep hydrated, he'd say with a grin.

Hsssssssshh.

There he was...maybe soaping up that hot sheath or those cute buns. Sometimes he'd sing in the shower. Badly, of course, but the shower always made everything sound better. He told me once that he wanted to learn to play the guitar. He wanted to serenade someone, he said, with a wink, while groping my ass. I let him, and rumbled and purred and wrapped my tail around his leg. It was just sex, but it was fun. It was alright.

Hssssssssssh.

I felt a bit sleazy. I should get a shower too...then maybe have some breakfast and head out. I'd been neglecting gym a bit recently. No reason, really, lol, just...just didn't feel like it. At least my knee felt a bit better for that, I guess. Not so many squats. Except lots of staying on my knees, but maybe that wasn't so dangerous. Should get my ass moving.

Hssssssssh.

Damn hangover. Maybe Gerald had some Tylenol lying around somewhere. I'd have to ask him. I really needed to take a leak, too. There was a throbbing pressure in my belly. Damn old bladder. Time for some watersports, I thought dully as I threw the covers away and sat on the edge of the bed. I didn't even feel like stretching like cats always usually did when getting out of the bed. I just yawned a lot and scratched my ass a bit. All nice and fun and simple manly fun. Didn't go for my balls, even if they were practically glued by the furs against my thigh. Heh. That Rottweiler sure knew how to suck the juices out of a daddy lion.

Hssssshhh.

Lots of stuff that could happen in a shower, I thought as I trampled to the bathroom door. Maybe Gerald was in the mood. There was a rare time when he wasn't, lol.

"Morning!" I grinned as I swung the door open.

Hsssssssssssshh.

The shower was still running. Water cascaded from the showerhead, slickened the tiles and made his furs dark and mattened, like they always did with moisture. My own furs changed tone similarly, of course. His were all dark now. The water ran over him and onto the drain on the center of the floor.

"DUDE!"

He was lying on his side on the floor, sopping wet and not moving.

"HEY MAN!"

I almost slipped when I stepped closer. I felt my paws slipping away from under me, and I fell against the floor. My right wrist hurt when it took most of my weight. I shook my head, grunted, and toppled down onto my knees. That hurt a bit more.

"Hey man, no sleeping in the shower, dude!"

I grabbed his side and turned the Rottweiler over to his back.

His head swung with the motion and flapped to the side and stayed there, unmoving. A dark, discolored tongue unrolled from between pearly white teeth and touched the floor.

Oh fuck.

"Hey dude!" I grabbed his shoulders and shook him. His head bounced and shook alongside, twisting and turning. "DUDE!"

I grabbed his muzzle and opened it, and the maw complied, slack and without any resistance from the muscles. I had water splashing over my back now from the still running shower, and some went over his face, too. His eyes were open, big, blue, and so black.

"Fuck!"

I turned the shower off. Water dripped along my arms as I shook him again.

"Gerald...dude..."

What'd they teach you at the scouts...I tried to remember what I'd been taught before I turned out naughty...check...check...

"Check for breathing..."

I put my palm over his muzzle and waited, my own heart pounding.

Nothing.

"Shake and yell to try and wake..."

Oh God, I'd already done that.

"Feel for pulse."

I put my fingers over his neck to try and feel the beating of his heart. I changed the positioning of my pads about five times before I gave up.

"Fuck...fuck...fuck!"

Where was my phone? I stumbled and hit my elbow when I got and crashed into the bedroom. My pants were in a messy pile near the dresser. My phone was there.

My paws were shaking.

"County Emergency Services, How MayI help you?"

*

It was all just a blur from then on.

"Pupils fixed and dilated..."

"I'm not getting a pulse ox reading..."

"...doesn't seem to have vomited..."

"...airway's clear..."

"...wanna try epi?"

"...no, I think we'll call it."

"...we better call the PD..."

*

"Over here."

I'd been sitting on the couch for who knows how long with the female police officer before a wolf entered the room. I barely registered the plastic card he flipped out of his pocket.

"I'm detective Lorenzo from the Los Angeles Police Department. I'm going to have to ask you some questions."

I gave the wolf a sullen look and nodded, hugging myself.

"Yeah..."

He didn't sit down. He just stood there. A couple of furs wearing white coveralls walked past, carrying aluminum suitcases.

"In cases like these, we have to take certain things into consideration," the wolf spoke in a low, professional voice.

I didn't reply anything.

"What is your relationship with the deceased?"

My lips barely moved.

"Just a friend," I mumbled.

"I'm sorry for your loss," the wolf said.

I couldn't answer.

"Did he have any medical issues?"

How would I know? We never talked. We just fucked.

"I don't think so...he was healthy, I guess..."

"Did he use any recreational drugs? Alcohol, meth, cocaine?"

"Well we drank sometimes..." I said.

"Did he consume alcohol before his death?"

His death...

Oh, fuck.

"I...we had a bit of vodka last night..."

Shouldn't he been writing this stuff down? He wasn't really doing anything but standing there. The two other police officers were moving around the apartment, gloves on, poking at stuff, taking photos with little cameras as they did do. Why were they there anyway? The body was in the bathroom.

The body...

Good God.

"Did you see him take any recreational drugs last night, or did you take any drugs yourself?"

"No...no..."

That damn headache. That pain in my chest...

"Do you know any family members of his we could contact? Any partner or family?"

"No..." I shook my head.

I didn't know anything about him.

"Do you know where his phone is?"

I mumbled something about the bedroom.

"Detective!"

That was one of the cops snooping around. The wolf muttered an "excuse me" and walked over to the kitchen. The two cops spent a moment by the kitchen island before the detective returned. He was wearing a purple glove now, and in a little careful pinched grip he held a little plastic Ziploc bag. There was some white powder inside it.

"Do you know what this is?" the wolf spoke in a much less kind voice than before.

I stared at the bag blankly.

"I've never seen that before," I said, truthfully. "Is that drugs?"

"That remains to be seen," the wolf grunted. "We'll have to take in your personal information, mister. Do you have any ID?"

I mumbled something about my pants.

More furs in white coveralls appeared. These were carrying a stretcher.

I wanted to throw up.

*

They later found out that Gerald had died of a heart attack caused by an overdose of something the cops called Triple P, some kind of a synthetic amphetamine designer drug. The detective told me that it had been linked to at least four deaths of gay men in the area. The batch Gerald had taken before his death was somehow different from the usual shit, and much stronger than the regular stuff. They traced its origin to some chemistry student's apartment in Burbank. Apparently he'd been making some money on the side to fund his studies by cooking up synthetic meth. Just enough difference in the molecule to make it legal for a brief moment before the law would crack down on it. They charged the guy. They also charged a Dylan Morgan, whom had apparently been selling Triple P in gay bars throughout the area.

They found traces of the lethal Triple P in a jug in Gerald's kitchen, the one he always used for mixing Kool-Aid. He'd been drinking lots of that stuff recently, like he always did. No wonder, because I felt so hot and breathy so often.

But was it before or after I had some of that nice, refreshing Kool-Aid myself?

I was crying like a baby by the time I finished telling all this to Owen, after just having come from the police station. They told me I was not going to be charged, since technically Triple P had still been legal at the time when Gerald died and I had been dosing myself without my own knowledge.

He was 27 years old.

*