Fuck Me Ragged - "Gear."
Fuck Me Ragged Part 3 - "Gear."
The school's webpage loaded. FINALLY. Bob's modem was being a bitch on stilts.
The fossa searched around and found the let-out times for the buses. Remembering his own stint in elementary school he knew that the kids who rode the buses usually got turned loose a little earlier than all the walkers. So he guessed 3:15-ish, 3:20-ish would be a nice time to be in the area.
Thinking on the matter, Bob realized he knew of a side street right off the turn for the school - a little nook skirting the side of a stretch of cafes and department stores - which would go amiss of anyone not looking directly down it. The perfect place to wait out the school buses. The perfect place to stalk prey.
It was just about time. The big brawny fossa stepped into his super-heavy gauge, ballistic-grade special ordered canvas jeans, tugging them up over his meaty thighs, tucking himself securely beneath the zipper before drawing it up. One mesh shirt later, he was out the door; a short drive after that, he was parked alongside an Italian bistro, playing Bejeweled on his shitty-ass Nokia phone, waiting for the last bus to clear the intersection.
Right on time, the first group of kids wandered past his hidey-hole. He spared them only passing glances in between rows and columns of semiprecious stones, not really bothering to size them up or admire them. Why bother? He already had a fun evening planned.
Ten minutes passed, still no bun-bun. Fifteen minutes passed. No bun-bun. He met and surpassed his old high score. His cigarette pack grew lighter and lighter while his ashtray got fuller and fuller.
Just when Bob was ready to fling his phone against the passenger-side door, a sharp white glint caught in his periphery. He looked up, immediately ducking down and dropping his seat back as far as it would go. He waited eight minutes, brought his seat back up, cranked the ignition, pulled forward and cautiously executed a flawless left-hand turn.
The road curved lazily beneath those high-ridged tires. Kevin came into view, wearing a tight green shirt and baggy khakis. Ahead of him was a nebulous cluster of kids diverging into separate cliques from which slow, disinterested-looking Kevin was gradually being left behind. Bob eased onto the brake, letting the gap between the cub and the other children widen to a sizable distance before moving in.
There was nobody behind him, so for a time Bob merely slowed to lurking speed and just watched. And watched. And watched. Watching those little hips swish. Watching the pink of the boy's bare pads as they lifted off the sidewalk and were brought back down again, conveying him forward. Watching the boy's big lopping ears as they swayed so casually against his shoulders.
Once he'd had his fill, Bob pulled up perilously close to the boy and blew the horn.
DADADA-DAH-DAH!! DADADA-DAH DAH!! DADADADADUH!!
Kevin jumped with a start, clearing the ground by several feet. His hair bristled out in all directions. His ears stuck out at panicked angles. He turned, arms up at the elbows, poised to block.
There was a moment of unfamiliarity in the boy's face as he peered through the tinted glass at the driver within, which soon gave way to sudden recognition, and then to pleasant surprise. Kev's face broke in a wide, toothy grin, his eyes lighting up. Bob, for his part, played it cool. He gestured, pulled into a parking slot on the opposite side of the street and idled his ride, rolling his window down.
"Yo! Fluffbutt!" the fossa smirked beneath his aviator shades. The bunny cub waved - one of those childish waves that involve the entire upper torso and which can only be performed while on tippie-toes. Once a burgundy minivan had cleared the intersection, Kev sprinted madly across, all but colliding with the door.
"Hey EASY," the fossa growled, leaning his head out over the threshold to assess for damage. "This paint job is new!"
But Kev didn't seem to hear him. Instead he was holding onto the door handle with both paws, his tail flitting so excitedly behind him Bob worried it might fall off and he'd have nothing to grip later.
"Holy crap, it's you!"
Bob coughed, grinning. "Yeah, it's me. What? You wanted a ride or some--"
Before he could even finish his sentence the bunny boy had sprinted around the hood and his paws were rattling the handle on the passenger-side door. Bob reached over, popping the door open and suddenly there was a little rump wriggling to get comfortable in the seat across from him. It all happened so fast.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you again!"
Bob stubbed his old cigarette and lit a new one, breathing in sweet carcinogens and sending a gray fist of perfumed smoke towards the bunny's side of the dashboard. "Did you miss me or something? I'd pretty much forgotten about you."
The boy scowled, sticking his little pink tongue out. "Nuh_-uh_!"
Bob reached out and tussled the boy's headfur. It was like a reflex. He wasn't even aware he was doing it until he heard the boy giggling, whereupon he looked over and saw the tyke's eyes peeking out from beneath a heavy cap made from his paw.
Bob hastily withdrew his palm, locking it with it's twin at the 10 and 2 positions on the steering wheel. Fog rolled across his brain. "Home?"
Kevin grinned, not seeming to notice the sudden change in the man's demeanor. "Yeah! Can I pick the radio station?"
"Sure."
They rode on in silence. Or in relative silence, minus the radio's frantic switching between teenybop pop and 80's glam metal.
"Parents home?" Bob asked after a while. But the bunny boy was jamming out, banging his head to a pop song that didn't really call for head-banging. Bob reached over and turned off the radio.
"Huh?"
"Are your parents home?" Bob repeated with artificial patience.
"Oh! Nah. Mom doesn't get home until seven."
Bob checked the digital clock in the dashboard. He made a mental note.
"What about Dad?"
At this, Kevin took one of his ears in his hands and began to fiddle intently with the tip. "No Dad," he said in a quiet voice.
The fossa nodded. Another mental note.
"So what do you do while you're home alone?"
"Umm..." Kevin gave this some thought. "Well usually I gotta do my homework. But not today - today's a Friday and most of my teachers won't give us homework on a Friday. Except Miss Crabtree sometimes will, but that's because she's old and fat and no one likes her and all the teachers want her to get fired but she can't be fired because she's got something called tenure. What was I saying? Oh yeah! Well, after that, I like to play video games or go play outside. Or go over to my friend Ty's house."
"Oh yeah," Bob said, dropping his seat back, low-riding. "What's Ty?"
"He's a fox!"
"A fox, huh? Is his butt as cute as yours?"
Kevin looked over at the man. The tip of his nose went red again. "I... I dunno! I've never looked!" Bob chuckled. It may have been a little risky, but it was well worth it. The boy's pink nose went literally beet red when he blushed.
"If you got so much time before your old lady comes home," Bob purred through the smoke of his cigarette, "you wanna come back to my place? Maybe hang out for a little while?"
Kevin's eyes got big. This time there didn't seem to be any uncertainty in his chubby little face. "S-sure! I just gotta get back before dinner. But yeah, totally!"
The fossa suppressed a smile. "Mom's not gonna get home and wonder where you're at?"
"Nah," Kevin said, pushing both ears behind his shoulders. The boy seemed to like fussing with his ears. "Momma's an LPN over at the old folk's home. Sometimes she doesn't get home until after I'm asleep."
Duly noted.
"Alright then." When the turn came up, Bob drove on. It wouldn't be much of a drive. Bob's "place" was a dingy motel room less than 20 minutes away.
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"This is where you live?"
The boy's voice conveyed excitement and surprise - not revulsion - as the "L" shaped row of motel rooms came into view. The Pink Flamingo Motel, with it's chipped and faded pink walls, drained swimming pool and flickering neon sign, was a vision of the 1970's that had fallen on hard times. Many of the windows along the one-story were tacked up with plywood. Many of the cars parked out front were clearly used for moving drugs.
"Neat!" Kevin said eagerly, fingernails digging into the windowsill.
"Yep," Bob coughed, smoke pluming out his nostrils as he shifted into park. "Neat."
Kevin's door opened before his did. Bob took his time fumbling around in his pocket for his metal key - the one that his asshole Pakistani landlord had given him instead of the standard card key for being a special "live-in handyman". Which, in Pakistani talk, must translate as "bouncer" because that's what Bob actually did.
"Get away from there," Bob growled as he fumbled to slip the key in the scratched-up slot. Kevin was wiggling his nose in the gap of his next door neighbor's car window, face grimacing at the curious smell. Bob could smell the grape kush from two cars away. "Hey! C'mon. Inside." But Kevin was through the door before he had even opened it fully. Bob slipped, throwing the bolt on the door, turning to find his new playmate in full pirouette, ogling the dingy innards of his bedroom the way a starving African child might ogle a buffet at Disney World.
"Woah."
Bob's 1-person, Queen-size smoker was an explosion of leather and electronics. The curtains were drawn and the shades tamped down, letting in very little light. Dark, heavy, scratchy clothes were strewn about the floor. A closet door was jackknifed open across the way - completely empty and seemingly never used, save for a leather biker's jacket hung from a hanger at the top of the door. At the foot of the unmade bed there was a full-size IKEA hutch with a massive plasma screen TV mounted on it. Framing the TV on either side were gaming consoles - four in total. On the shelves above were row after row of video game cases.
"YOU PLAY VIDEO GAMES?!"
Bob winced. Apparently the cub hadn't quite mastered his indoor voice yet.
"Oh man!" Kevin clamored up the side of the bed, standing on it and leaning over to get a better look at the fossa's game collection. "You've got Dark Souls!!"
"That's right," Bob said, kicking his way across the clothes-strewn floor. His back to the boy, the fossa slowly undid his belt. He popped the heavy button. His pants slid down his meaty thighs and he stepped out of them, standing and stretching in just his shirt and boxers.
After a time Bob turned and met the bunny's curious gaze. "Oh sorry," he churred dismissively, scratching the back of his neck. "More comfortable. You mind?"
Kevin, for his part, shook his head. Bob padded over, swatted the kid down and took a seat on the creaky metal spring mattress. He reached out and grabbed the 360 controller from the desk. "So. Dark Souls. You play?"
Kevin (the tip of his button nose just faintly red) clamored closer, sitting cross-legged next to his new buddy. "No. Not really. Mom won't let me. My friend Ty has a copy at his house and he lets me play it sometimes, but then he says I suck 'cause my character's low-level and I haven't gotten good at playing yet."
"Well...," Bob pressed the center button, powering the console on before flicking the controller into the bunny boy's lap. "How about you get good now? Maybe show Ty the Fox a few tricks next time you're over."
Kevin gave a loud yelp of delight as Bob pushed off the mattress. "Only thing is," the fossa said, kicking through the piles of dirty clothes, looking for something. "If you're gonna be a badass monster slayer, we gotta get you some gamer gear." Finally he found what he was looking for. Turning around, Kevin's eyes widened on what looked like a leather dog collar. It was about as thick as the one he was wearing, but instead of being fire-engine red it was a dark, menacing black. And instead of a doggie bell, it had stubby little spikes circling the entire length of it.
Bob held the thing out to him like a king presenting a sword to a knight. For the first time that evening, a glimmer of apprehension showed in the boy's face. Kevin looked up at the man's face. His eyebrows were raised and knitted.
Sitting back down next to the boy, so close that their knees were touching, Bob set the heavy studded collar in his lap. He smiled as his fingers reached up. The fossa's paws looked so big around the boy's neck, like catcher's mitts. His wrists brushed the soft undersides of the boy's ears as he gently undid the belt on the boy's collar, sliding it from the delicate curve of his neck. Bob avoided the cub's gaze as he quickly switch the red collar for the black one, expertly belting it in place. Not too tight. Not too loose. Just like he'd been shown.
As Bob shifted back to admire his handiwork, Kevin's eyes were strangely unreadable.
Bob's knuckles softly graced the underside of his chin as he withdrew them. "Ready for some monster-killing?"
To his surprise, the boy smiled. He reached up and traced a finger around one of the spikes. And he smiled.
They started their game. Bob slouched back on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows, more watching the kid than the game but still managing to give some helpful hints and pointers here and there. Twenty minutes or so in, Bob got a rather nice surprise when Kevin paused a rough boss fight and slid down off of the bed.
With his back to the man, the bunny fumbled with his belt. He popped the little bronze button. His khakis slipped down his skinny thighs and he stepped out of them, standing and stretching in just his shirt and his Batman Begins underoos.
After a time Kevin turned and met the fossa's surprised gaze.
"More comfortable," he said simply. "Right?"