It's The Little Things
A short and sticky little story.
It was the little things. The little tuft of fur that always stuck up on his neck that I couldn't help but put back in place with a tender lick. That faintly spicy, vanilla-like sent that my nostrils caught a clear whiff of as I buried them into the whimpering fox's fur. The oversized canine of his that poked out as his lips curled up in a smile. The way the short vulpine looked up at me. Yes, it was those little things that kept me coming back to the little port town where Sean lived.
I could have moved on to bigger and better things. The guys bugged me for awhile about it; wondering why I'd turned down a much more comfortable route in warmer climates and with better pay. Not that they wanted their cook to go, mind you, I was the best damn 'chef' (as they generously called me) that any of those poor sods had ever had, but it wasn't right of me to stay on like I did. They figured it out, eventually. Nothing specific, but what other reason than a crush or a lover would someone have for doing what I was?
It was the little things. How his kisses inexplicably tasted just a little bit like strawberries, and how his paws grabbed at my hips as I pressed him against the brick wall of his small house. It was the way his tail spiked up and twitched with excitement as my fingers took hold of his petite, but shapely ass. It was the way my big shaggy grey furred belly pressed against his eerily soft white one.
Sometimes we shared dinner first; whether going out or me attempting romance and cooking Sean something. Tonight wasn't one of those nights. Tonight we'd barely said hello before the touching and kissing and pants-tightening started, and if I had any hesitation it was whisked away by him whimpering out "please, Kevin" as our bodies pressed together. I liked seeing our differing shapes come together--another of those little things, maybe.
I was a raccoon, and a kinda chunky one, at that. My dad had shared some wisdom with me once: never trust a skinny chef. I liked to think he'd have been amused to see me become one. Nevertheless, I was very conscious of that fact. There have always been the chubby chasers, sure, but I always found it a little hard to believe a cute little guy like Sean would actually find me attractive. I got the feeling I wasn't quite his type, and he really wasn't quite mine, either; it was just a drunken bar hookup that started this, after all. His neckfur was out of place, again, and I lapped it back down like usual. I wanted him right there against the wall, fuck being romantic and sappy and going to the bed. Of course, he didn't exactly keep his lube out on the living room table, so when he broke away from the hungry kissing and groping and beckoned me to his room I didn't protest.
We left our clothes in a succession of outer to underwear on the path between his living and bedroom knowing full well that gathering up all the articles after sex was going to be annoyance, but also not caring in the heat of the moment. The little fox almost leaped onto his bed, and I was right behind, and then on top of him. The bed creaked in protest as I added my weight to it. It'd be alright, though, it certainly wasn't going to be the first time we'd tested the sturdiness on that poor frame. It wasn't that I was that big, really, it just seemed like it with as petite as Sean was. While any normal person would be inundated with the smell of aroused fox, and trust me I was, I couldn't help but smirk at the background odor of freshly laundered sheets. He washed them every time when he expected my ship to put in, and that cheap, pungent detergent had become something I looked forward to.
Sean wasted no time flipping over onto his belly, which gave me a much-appreciated view of his ass with his fluffy tail draped over top. I didn't waste time, either; giving Sean a few pats on the butt and motioning upwards to let him know I wanted the fox on all fours. Yeah, against the wall would be nice--maybe later. He shivered and lowered his head (and ears) in submission as my meaty paw gave his dangling cock and balls a stroke and squeeze; ending up under his quivering tail. Sean recovered his senses enough to reach into his nightstand drawer and toss me the bottle of lube that he kept there. Same stuff as always, and damn good stuff at that. The clear liquid was cool on my flesh--a result of the whole house being cold and damp--as I spread it generously around my shaft with a paw. It warmed up soon enough, and I bit my lip in anticipation as I spread the lube over my bulbous head (which Sean always found an amazing feature, for some reason).
There was plenty of leftover lube clinging to the fur on my paw, so I squeezed it up onto my index finger and sank it right into that inviting opening. He gasped and the fox just couldn't help but push back against the intrusion. Those needy eyes of his told me he was just as hungry for it as I was. The bottle of lube rolled off the bed and hit his hardwood floor with a sharp, plasticy thud, but neither of us stopped to consider that. Sean wiggled his rump upward while I guided myself against him. He stopped at that moment of contact; breathing heavy and waiting for me to push forward, which I did without hesitation.
I took it slower than my primal urges wanted me to. That fox's ass just felt so goddamn good with the way it just spread open to accommodate me, like I actually belonged in there. Whatever noises he was making were drowned out by the low rumble coming from my throat. I didn't make it all the way in on the first few thrusts, but each one got deeper until I'd finally sunk. He lowered his head and buried his face into the pillow almost as if he was afraid someone would hear his yips and moans as I moved inside him. I grasped his hips in my paws and pulled his body against the epicenter of the pleasurable feelings coursing throughout me.
Fuck, I wasn't going to last long. I never did the first time we fucked on a visit; 88 days on the boat'll give one a short trigger. He knew it, and dammit if that sly little fox wasn't trying to get this session over with by squeezing down on me, humping back; all those things that got me off. He knew there was more, better--in his mind-- sex coming later. Me? I liked the first 'happy to see you' romp more.
My vision got cloudy, my thrusts lost their rhythm, and my throat let out a growl as I gripped him hard; holding his body against mine as I climaxed. We remained there for what seemed like forever just panting and giggling little unsaid jokes at each other until I pulled out and rolled off next to him. I'd have offered him a hand or muzzle, but the sticky spot on the bed and his paw said he'd taken care of himself already. Sneaky fox.
As I'd expected, finding my clothes proved a lot harder than taking them off had been, and that one sock in particular was really doing a good job of hiding. Sean wasn't the cuddly sort after sex. The fox had his own routine, and it was no different. "So what's for dinner," he looked at me with hopeful, perked ears.
"Depends what you have in the kitchen and pantry." Normally I wasn't big on doing my day job for people, but I made an exception every three months or so. The fridge was mostly beer and leftover carryout, but there was a mostly uneaten rotisserie chicken, apple juice, and tortillas. "Hm," my pondering got Sean all cute and curious, and I made a show of raising my brows and looking through his cupboards and pantry. Garlic cloves, vinegar, oil, onions, some dried chipotle...actually, I could work with that. I set a pair of onions down on the cutting board and waved him over. "Cut these up".
Sean took a knife and started to remove the outer layer, "like diced up?"
"Yep." I got to work on the chicken, and made a nice little apple chipotle sauce. The ingredients in that fox's kitchen would have made a lot of chefs scoff, but I was used to working with dried spices and canned goods on the boat. There was something I liked about making mediocre elements into something tasty. I had to hold back a chuckle when Sean proudly slid me the board of onions. His idea of cutting up was crude, but it'd work.
I did the cooking alone, though, and he knew that. My fox, if I could even call him mine, was content with watching his show on TV while I made dinner. The shredded chicken tacos with sauce came out pretty good, which he reminded me of between seemingly every bite that he had.
We'd never said, "I love you" to each other, and probably never would. He never asked if I had flings in other ports, but he probably suspected. He wouldn't have been wrong, either: there were others. There weren't others that I cooked for, though. There weren't others that I lied awake in my bunk at night thinking of. There damn sure weren't others that I'd passed up a 'better' route for. I couldn't place my finger on why he was different; maybe it was just those little things, after all.
After dinner, but before our paws started wandering again, my phone rang. Ship was headed out early to avoid a storm and they needed me back. Sean wasn't happy about it, but we said our goodbyes and shared a kiss.
I liked that little town of his. The cold, damp northern air felt good in the nostrils. It was clean, not like a lot of the more industrial ports we stopped in. Then, just one little thing caught my eye on the way to the boat. It was a quaint, log cabin restaurant with a sign hanging by a string in the window.
Hiring One Experienced Cook
Inquire Within.