Passing Out Part 1
"Fuck---" I hit the wall hard.
Somewhere behind me I can feel the cold winter air blowing smoothly through the open doorframe. I breathe in heavily and push against the wall, stumbling as the floor drifts listlessly to the side. My claws dig into the wallpaper and I stared at the gashes left behind, vaguely aware that now there are five---now seven---now three---now I'm laying on the floor staring up with what's gotta be the most blissfully unaware gaze in the world; and all I can think about is how I never noticed how bright the lights were.
There's a loud whoop from the doorway as Derrick stumbles in, paw bracing himself against the side-wall. His shirt's unbuttoned and hanging open so I can see his cream colored chest and stomach as well as the darker tones of brown that wrap around his back--- and if I could at this level of this inebriation, I would be so hard right now. Maybe if I weren't so drunk, I'd realize how stupid I look, sprawled out on the floor of my apartment, just inside the front door. Maybe if I weren't so drunk I'd be wishing Derrick a goodnight, I'd take a long shower, and then I'd crash. Maybe if I weren't so drunk I would be thinking about something other than my best friend's soft stomach fur or the way it led my eyes lower...
But let's be real: I'm drunk---so who gives a shit about the alternative.
Derrick half-amble-half-wobbles over and sits down heavily next to me, my eyes tracking the light hazelnut happy trail the whole way. The only evidence that he's even slightly tipsy is the way all of his weight is resting against the wall, and the way his eyes are drooped just a little, and the way he keeps spinning...
"Some party eh?" He says, a comradely paw landing heavily on my shoulder. The words are drawn out a little longer than usual, and a sloppy grin is plastered to his muzzle. I think I'm grinning, but I could be drooling, and I almost straight up attack him, resisting the urge to press my muzzle against his only because my thought process doesn't make it that far. I try and nod, and the world shakes uneasily, but aside from that I can't tell if I succeeded. He seems satisfied with it.
Normally I'd never have gone to a party: it's not my usual scene, and on an average day I certainly wouldn't have been drinking. There's something about a twenty-first birthday which makes everyone and their grandmother want to pressure you into tipping back a few cold ones with some buddies, and there's something about Derrick which makes him so damn good at it that by the time I was on beer four I was convinced the whole thing was my idea. Two hours and three-to-seven shots later I'm unable to stand, sitting uncomfortably in the front-room of my apartment, and staring at my best friends abs wondering what they felt like---under my paw or against my back, either one.
Derrick leans his head against the wall, still smiling like an idiot, and I can't sum up the words to make a move. I phonate a little, a rumble in the back of my throat, trying to say we should get him into the bedroom and out of those clothes, or that it was hot in here and that I definitely knew who was responsible, but instead my stomach heaves a bit and I lurch forward, throat closing instinctively---setting the world spinning again.
"Woh Buds! Let's not go doin that now, yeah man?" Maybe he wasn't drunk at all and I was just thinking he was talking slower than usual; everything else seemed to be moving slower---well---it had ever since I couldn't focus well enough to read the clock in the bar (and stopped caring that it existed...). I was barely even aware he had gotten up. I could feel his strong paws on my arms, their grip tearing me away from the comfort of the floor and back to my unsteady feet.
I almost collapsed, but he had already winched his shoulder beneath my arm and was steadying me, so instead I just fell sidelong against him, my muzzle ending up pressed into his neck and my sight filled with nothing up deep brown fur---I couldn't help myself but breathe in deeply.
We were moving down the hallway towards the bedroom (I glanced up and saw the familiar picture-frames pass by shakily), and I couldn't help but grin a little, everything going according to plan. I could hear his voice drifting mutedly through to my dulled senses, it was calm and reassuring, a hint of a protective tone hidden in among the slurs and the slow drawl; nope, definitely wasn't my imagination: he was drunk.
"There we go...jus', jus' a little further's all y'gotta go..." there was a lengthy pause, and the world got a little darker as we pass---I assume---from the hallway into the unlit bedroom. I'm excited, so I press closer to him, and it feels like he's pressing back. Suddenly everything's white and glaring, and I have to squint for a second, the faintest hint of a throb passing behind my eyes. As everything begins to go---more or less--- back into focus I can feel myself being let down, my knees landing hard on the plush-knit and still slightly damp surface of my bathroom rug, head turning dejectedly to see the shiny porcelain bowl in front of me; somewhere in my head, an angel dies.
I look up at Derrick with a glare I hope will scar him for the rest of the night and grab onto the rim of the toilet, attempting to hoist myself up. My pawpads slip and I fall against the wall, back crunched uncomfortably under my weight, tail bunched up in a painful bundle, and I can hear a growl boiling in my throat as I thrash angrily out at the world...which in this unusual circumstance is populated by Derricks shin, and I can feel my claws slide roughly through denim and the unfamiliar warmth of flesh.
There's a loud yell and a long string of well used obscenities. I lay back numbly against the wall, trying to figure out what just happened, my eyes losing focus enough to only make out the faint outline of a writhing wolf. I can smell blood in the air, and slowly the pieces come together. I try and mumble out an apology, scrambling to get up, and this time I get all the way to my knees, but somehow between my disorientation and time-lag, by the time I look around again, he's gone.
I check behind me. I have no idea where he went, but I can still smell his blood, and it's strong enough that he has to be close. I Check on top of the vanity: no good. Where on earth could he have gone, I was only standing up for, what---a minute or three? I check in the sink: nothing...I check behind me again.
Then I hear it and perk my ears up attentively: a familiar voice, followed by the now familiar interjection 'holy fucking mother Joseph'. I remind myself that the wall is my friend and pull myself to my feet, stumbling out of the bathroom and into the hall, ears leading me immediately to the right and into my room, paws grabbing onto the doorframe, claws digging into the wood. I stare in at the horribly littered floor, the faint light of my sideboard lamp, and the light-brown colored canine seated on the edge of my bed licking at the crimson stain on his leg.
The first thing I notice is the slight blush that creeps into his cheek-fur as I catch him licking his cut like a pup, it makes his whole face turn reddish-brown. The second thing I notice is that in order to get at the gash (which in my defense wasn't too bad!), he had stripped off his pantsâ€"so they were now lost, possibly forever, amongst the clutter of the floorâ€"and he was seated half-naked on the side of my bed.
I know! That's what I thought too!
Because of the recent string of events, the thoughts of sex had completely fled my addled brain, but with this recent development they suddenly came roaring back with a passion.
I'm pretty sure I'm blushing now; mouth agape, tail drooping demurely between my legs. Derrick's still looking at me with that cute blush, and his jaw is still open, tongue lolling out. That moment, essentially the most awkward one we'd ever had together, seems to drag on forever as I feel my heartbeat thumping rather hard against my chest. My eyes drift over to the clock on the nightstand; I still can't make of the numbers flashing in red across it...which explains a few things.
He finally gathers up enough sense to cover himself, grabbing the sheets of my bed and pulling them roughly over his midriff. I try and stammer some form of objection but to no avail, so instead I make do with closing my mouth and I continue standing casuallyâ€"well...leaning heavilyâ€"against the doorframe. Suddenly a thought comes to me, long in coming as it was, and I fumble my way back out into the hallway, vaguely aware of Derrick stammering something behind me, and make it (somehow) back into the bathroom, having to squint again as the glaring white sets off pulsing throbs in my head.
I have to grasp onto the cool marble of the vanity as the floor pitches unsteadily to the right again, and by the time I'm confident enough to move again my paw feels stiff and there are small scratch marks on the stone. I attempt to lean down and open the cabinet doors to the storage area beneath the sink, but the polished handles suddenly jerk out of reach. Those Bastards. I try again, this time they move swiftly to the side and I just end up jamming my paw against the stained finish. I'm getting rather sick of this.
Then I feel a paw on my back, and I glance back over my shoulder and see Derrick there, framed in the doorway and miraculously reunited with his slacks. He's putting a bit more weight on me than is probably safe. He leans down and easily opens up the cabinets, revealing the dank interiorâ€"some cleaning supplies, some mildew, an unopened box of condoms, and a small first aid kit. Apparently he understands what's foremost in my mind, because he takes ahold of the counter, leans all the way in, and pulls out the first aid kit, smiling warmly at me. My mouth is hanging open again, so I quickly shut it, nodding stupidly.
He helps me back into the bedroom, both of us leaning against the other; he's certainly no wall, but we manage alright. He's limping a bit, and I can tell it's not just because of the booze, but he puts on a good show and soon we're both seated along the side of my bed, med-kit in paw.
As soon as he lets go of me I lose my balance and topple over onto the bed, legs sprawling rather helplessly in the air. I can hear him laughing and the soft sound of the first-aid kit being openedâ€"that sterile zipper noiseâ€"and rather than righting myself dignifiably I settle with staring at the ceiling, which really shouldn't be moving that much, and the lights keep growing dimmer and dimmer each time I blink...
I startle out of my reverie when the whole room suddenly shifts in a very tangible way to the right. I try and struggle, grabbing onto the sheets (and only succeeding in mussing the bed), but all the fight's left me, so instead I just lay back, realizing a moment or so later that Derrick had grabbed my legs and turned me all the way onto my bed, my back sinking comfortably into the cushion. I see him smiling down at meâ€"his grin is still a little lopsided, but caringâ€" and for the third time that night I try and vocalize my feelings: this time it only comes as a low groan. He chuckles softly and shakes his head.
I look down and see the fresh white of medical grade bandages through the tear in his pants and have to wonder how long I've been out. I let myself relax a bit, the soft downy mattress feeling unusually stable, and can already feel the lights dimming again. Suddenly the light is off, and I glance over; Derrick's turned off the sideboard lamp and he's headed towards the bright frame of the lit hallway, still limping just a bit but otherwise not noticeably hurt.
I try and grab his attention, not wanting him to leave yet. I make a throaty gurgle and while it's not exactly what I had intended, it certainly works. Derrick pauses and looks back over at me and my rather prone form sprawled out over the covers. I try to look him in the eyes, but I can't quite focus that well, and the throbbing behind my eyes is getting progressively worse, but hopefully he gets my drift. I clumsily wave a paw at him, motioning him back and I make the gurgle again, this time on purpose because at least I know how to make that work.
He tilts his head, then slowly turns around and limps back over to the bed, I'm pretty sure I see one of his eye-brows raised. He's three feet away from me, and I can smell him again, and with his shirt still hanging open like that I can see the edges of his dark blue boxers peeking over the edge of his waistband. I reach over and try and grab onto that waistbandâ€"try and pull him in and get a taste of exactly what I want, but I miss and my hand slides ineffectually down his thigh.
He lets out a surprised little yelp (A pretty cute one if I says so myself) and takes a stumble back, eyes wide, nearly falling flat on his tail, and I giggle. He glares at me, a hint of confusion still visible in the way his mouth is agape and the way he looks so adorably speechless. He regains his composure quickly and turns to leave again, and I curse the way my vocabulary has been reduced to grunts and groans. I try and motion him back, but everything seems useless. His hobbling outline gets farther and farther away, finally getting all the way to the door. He looks over his shoulder one last time before stepping out into the hallway.
I feel myself reaching for him, wanting him to understand, wanting him to turn around, come right back here, andâ€"andâ€"Fuck!â€"a new noise suddenly breaks through the silence, and I'm not entirely sure what it is or where it came from, but it certainly gets Derrick's attention, because his head peers around the doorframe into my room. I think fast and make the noise again, the high-pitched sound causing the wolfish outline's ears to perk, and, of course, I'm whining!
Derrick limps back in, and once he's close enough for me to make out his features, I can't tell if he's smiling bemusedly, or if he's vaguely irritated, so I make the noise again, this time with all the piteous timbre I can manage. His ears fold back and he hobbles forward, head cocking confusedly to the side.
"Hey buds...what's up...?" He asks in a soft nearly-whisper. Now, either I'm having difficulty in distinguishing sounds, or the adrenaline has worked him up enough to burn through some of the alcohol, ‘cause he doesn't sound like he's slurring anymore. I stay silent, not trusting myself to make any new noises. After a longer pause he turns, albeit reluctantly, and heads back out againâ€"definitely not what I wantedâ€" so I whine again: cute and needy as I can.
"Oh fine. Y'big wuss." He says, voice dripping with what I'm pretty sure is resignation or sarcasm as he comes back towards me and sits on the edge of the bed, glaring at me. With no small effort on my part, I roll over, slowly making my way onto my left side, leaving him (hopefully) temptingly behind me. Nothing happens for a moment, so I look over my shoulder, and after the blur clears he's still sitting there, looking at me. With the force of will, I wag my tail, resulting in a rather pitiful flop, and whine one last time.
He rolls his eyesâ€"that I can tellâ€" then looks back over his shoulder towards the hall, nervously almost, like he's checking to see if anyone else is here. His eyes dart back into the darker corners of the room, mulling things over slowlyâ€"I swear I can see the gears turning through the gleam in his eyes. With a begrudged ‘mrowl' he climbs onto the bed after me, tossing his shirt to the side in the processes, and lies down behind me. I smile clumsily and grab for his paw, finding it on the third try, and pull it over me, draping his arm across my chest. He seems about to protest, but then he just lets out his breath in a resigned sigh, contenting himself to just lay there, chest pressed against my back. I can feel the warmth and can't help but blush a bit when I realize that the gentle rumble in my ears is coming from me, and that I'm murring rather loudly...
I wriggle back towards him, enjoying the way it feels to have his arm wrapped over me and the smell of him drifting to me on his soft breath. At this point, I'm not entirely sure what I want to happen. Up until this point I've just been trying to get here, and though I had several (rather explicit) fantasies, now that I've gotten here I find myself more than content with things the way they are, and even in my inebriated state I can't quite make the leap to make a move and break the moment I find myself inâ€"not with Derrick...and not with the lights dimming like that.
I close my eyes and just press back up against him, letting my vision drift away and losing focus on everything, a softer oblivion taking over and numbing out the hearty throb between my ears and the stiff warmth that comes with Derrick's proximity. Soon I'm not thinking about anything, and I'm pretty sure nothing else is out there...but then something presses against my leg...
I shift against it, not quite realizing yet what it might beâ€"it must be Derrick's phone that he left in his pock...no...no it's too bulky to be his thin streamlined cellular...it must beâ€"I press back firmly and there's a gentle rumbling sound, and a muzzle pressing into the nape of my neck...but this time the rumbling isn't coming from me...
Without warning I'm murring again, and though still not quite at full functioning awareness, I know enough to see where this is going. I let the sound of his breathing come back to me, slightly faster than normal, and he grinds against me slowlyâ€" I can feel his hard sheath pressing inside my legâ€" and I push away from the dulling numb of sleep, the aching throb of reality rushing back, but I don't care. His paws are now wrapped fully around my chest rubbing at it through my shirt as he lets out an almost inaudible moan which I echo as I grind back against him, feeling his hardening cock against my thigh sliding so sensually across it.
His paws are under my chest, and though I don't know when it happened, I'm just glad it did. His paw-pads are brushing through the fur, and I can feel his clawsâ€"ever so slightly extendedâ€" teasing at my skin; I press back against him, drawing another moan, this one louder, and by now I'm fairly certain that both our intentions are clear. His right paw dips, nimble fingers slide below my waistband and cup my sheath firmly, massaging along it as I sigh loudly, his other paw wrapped under me, pressed against my stomachâ€"and though my body isn't reacting as I'd like it to right now, I'm pretty sure the loud moan I give off is proof enough to tell him how much I'm enjoying this.
His hips have repositioned and he's now grinding directly against my ass, my tail draped uselessly over his hip as he presses in hard under it, cause us both to groan in unison as he continues rubbing over my mostly-soft sheath, rolling my balls lightly in his palm. His left paw moves from my stomach, suddenly deciding to be useful as he clumsily unbuttons my jeans, the zipper sliding down to free the confined space he was working in. I hump forward, almost from habit, but soon I'm grinding back against him, wanting to feel that hard length pushed up under my tail, breathing harder as I feel him lick roughly against my neck, nibbling at the crook(whichâ€"don't get me wrong, I would normally have loved, but right now it's a little pointless)...
I feel his thumbs hook at the waistband, and I lift my hips up, letting him pull the intrusive garments down; I feel the cool air of the room through my fur and the loud rumble in my chest is starting to drown out all other sounds. Even so, I can hear the subdued noise of a zipper and the rustle of cloth as his hips leave my rear for a moment. I whine softly, back arching as I try and press back against him, but it's not long in coming before I feel him against me again, now warmer and more personal as I feel his hard shaft coming to rest against my thighâ€"I can feel the dampness through my fur as he humps forward again, his length sliding up my thigh and under my tail again, rubbing between my cheeks through the soft fur. He lets out a shuddered breath and I can feel the shiver the runs down his spine.
He grinds forward again, and it feels so slow, his hot tip pressing against my entrance, and the needy whine from before rejoins the cacophony of sounds as he presses harder. My mouth is hanging open, eyes drooped to half-lidsâ€"and I'm definitely droolingâ€"pressing back against him, thankful for the first time that night that everything I do seems numb.
He grinds again, and I'm not even sure if he realizes how close he is to...â€"I grunt as his tip slides in, and his moan is unmistakable from my own, low and drawn out as the first inch slides through. He keeps pressing, and I feel nothing but pressure as another inch slides in, and I moan out, loving the sensation, the fullness I feel, even in this blurry haze.
He pulls out a bit then thrusts back in, and a small yelp escapes my throat, but I press back against him, his cock sliding just a bit further in. He's panting heavily into my ear as he thrusts again, and it feels like it slides easier, another inch disappearing, his muzzle pressed sensually into my neck, and I'm moaning again. Until today, I had never been particularly glad that canines came naturally wet, but right now it's as if that one fact makes everything wrong in the world alright.
With one joint thrust, him grinding forward and me pushing back, I feel his hips go flush against me, and he pauses for a second, his lengthy groan hanging in the air, and all I can do is revel in the feeling of him inside me, as I shift my hips a bit, smiling at the soft grunt I get at this.
He slowly pulls out all the way to his tip, and I shiver as it slides through my ass, then he presses forward hard and I can't help but moan loudly as he slides easily all the way back in, his slowly swelling knot meeting a moment's resistance before sliding in too.
His arms are wrapped around me and I can feel the warmth of his chest against my back, even through my shirt; he starts up a rhythm, pistoning in again and again and I press back, arching as I try and get even more of him in me, not satisfied with just the dull jolt each time he hits my prostate; his muzzle comes to rest in the crook of my neck as he pounds faster at my ass, groaning and grunting and pulling me as close as he can.
I'm breathing hard, but he's breathing harder, and I can tell he's close. Without even telling it to my paw somehow migrated behind me and was grabbing at him, pulling him against me, wanting everything in me, his swelling knot ramming uncomfortably against my hole with every pass. I can feel the way his thrusts are becoming erratic; the way his moans are growing louder, and the way his panting speeds up, his hips meeting mine with some unholy needâ€"
â€"then it happens, and I can't help but gasp. With one final buck his knot slams against my entrance and with just a moment's pause slides in, and I can feel a mixture of pain and elation as Derrick's body shudders, his muscles convulsing and a long low howl piercing through all other sounds as he comes hard, the sensation of blissful warmth spreading through my stomach as his seed shoots into me, his loud cry muffling as his bites against my neck, pressing me to him with all his might.
His claws are out, and I can feel them pressing painfully into the chest, but I don't care; His jaws are still clamped into my shoulder, and I can feel a small trickle of blood running down my neck, but I don't care...
Derrick slowly releases my neck, lifting his head up so he can lick at his bite-mark softly. There's a soft rumble from his chest as he murrs lightly in his afterglow, and I can feel the same rumble mirrored in mine. His paws are rubbing over my chest softly, tracing unknown patterns along my torso, and the lights are dimming.
His breathing is slowing down, and mine is too, and I feel him lay his muzzle down in the crook of my neck again, his paws still roaming along my chest.
In the distance I can hear him saying something, and his ears are back, his paws slowing down, then stopping. The lights are dimming...
There's a soft dampness against my neck, and I'm not sure what it is. Everything feels warm, and there's a gentle white oblivion slowly wiping out the throbbing I feel passing behind my eyes. All sounds begin fading away, leaving everything soft and quiet, and the lights are dimming...
Aurgh! I forgot putting this down here the first time. Right! so uh...anyways, this is part one of two---I think. because I might make it more depending on what you guys want. This one right here wasn't very usual as far as what most people here normally read, and I understand that, but it's what the characters required for their set-up. the next chapter is gonna be from Derrick's perspective, and there won't be any drunk involved...cause 1. writing from a drunken perspective was hard, although 2. it was really frickin' fun.
So yeah! if you have any comments or ideas I would absolutely love to hear them. Seriously, frickin comments help, specially if there's something about it you didn't really like. It helps form everything up for me nice and proper for my next writings.
I'mma get part 2 up ASAP, but a college schedule is tough. Luckily I'm on spring break, so that's why I started on this project now. I have a week to finish it up. If you want part 2 done quickly like, then gimme some reasons to get it done in a week *winks and chuckles*
Hope you liked part 1, an hope to see from you soon!
---Ned