Sibirskaia: Casualties of War Part 2
(December 8)
A plaster cast tapped against the hood of a car.
The paw inside was numb, now, but he missed the pain. The sting reminded him. And he needed to be reminded. The wolf wiggled his fingers and flinched when the ache set in. Black fingers twitched and fell, hanging limp from white plaster...
...and Brandon Sutela sighed.
With every dull throb in his paw, the bloody face of a friend flickered into memory. He needed to be reminded. He needed to remember: to remember what he'd done, and what had been done for him. But above all, he needed...no...he deserved to hurt.
His left paw and its white plaster cast tapped again, a hollow thud against the hood of his car, while his right fumbled in his pocket, plucking out his phone.
He'd stalled long enough.
A quick swipe of his thumb unlocked it, and with three short taps, a hyena's profile picture filled the screen. He lifted it to his ear. He listened as it rang. And he waited...
"Hey Mic," Brandon was solemn...
...but the voice on the other end was chipper. Just how he remembered it: playful chiding and all.
"Yeah. Sorry I haven't been answerin'. I just..."
No need. Mic was understanding, as ever. Forgiving. The best friend he'd ever had.
And he wiggled his fingers and flinched. A reminder. "I was....thinkin' about callin' you last night, but-"
The voice assured him it wouldn't have done him any good.
"You were busy? What with?"
Respectfully, the hyena dodged the question. Asking, instead, if he really wanted an honest answer...
...and Brandon drew in a calming breath, "I think that counts as one."
Mic, though, jovial as ever, teased him with how much more he could have said.
"Let's, uhm...let's work up to that, okay?"
Laughter. The same old Mic: always the consummate hyena.
"So...how are you doin'? I mean: are you okay? Y'know...after, uhm...?"
The voice promised him he was fine, though not without his bruises...
...and, again, the wolf wiggled his fingers...and flinched...and remembered. "I'm really sorry, Mic."
The hyena wondered if this was the only reason he called. After all: it wasn't like Brandon to show so much concern.
"Not like me?" The wolf repeated, "Maybe that's a good thing."
The voice softened and darkened. The laughter stopped, and, despite everything, his friend showed him concern, as well: asked, in turn, if Brandon was okay.
"No." Wiggle. Flinch. "I'm really not."
Mic offered him a shoulder: offered him an ear...
...and on reflex, the wolf grumbled, "Do you have to make it sound so gay?"
The voice, though, met the complaint with just another joke...
...and, disarmed, Brandon couldn't help but chuckle, "Sorry." He hadn't expected to laugh. He always underestimated Mic; always took for granted what he had. He was a bad friend; he didn't deserve this. And he clenched his broken fist, causing his eyes to water as he stifled a yelp. "Yeah. I think I could use the company. And I, uhm...I don't really have anybody else to ask."
Of course, the hyena agreed. But first, he'd need to drop off a friend.
"A friend? Is it Hunter or Elliot? Y-you could bring 'em along with you if you want..."
No. Of course not. No one was ready for that.
"Yeah..." he should have known better, "You're probably right."
Not that it mattered, of course, the friend wasn't Hunter or Elliot, anyway.
"Right," Brandon nodded, as if Mic could see. "I uhm...I guess I'll just see you in a bit, then? Like what: an hour or so?"
Or less.
"I'll be here. Bye."
Casualties of War Collateral
(December 8th)
Four taps.
James Callaway's ears perked to the sound of knuckles rapping against Scott's front door. But who'd come knocking this early on a Sunday? Scott wasn't even awake, yet, and James, himself, hadn't even put on more than a pair of pajama pants. He stood, though, and made his way for the door. Maybe it was Jeff, back from his sleep over. But why would he be back so early? And why would he knock?
When James pulled open the door, though, he was greeted with the unexpected face of a rabbit.
"Uhm...Stan?"
"James!" Stanley Jones flashed a friendly smile. "I suspected you would be here."
And the raccoon rubbed the back of his neck, "Yeah...I uhm...I usually am." He chuckled nervously, "Honestly, I should probably just move in, already. At this point, I'm here so often, I'm really just wasting rent money on the other place."
"I must say," Stan arched an eyebrow, "I am surprised to see you answering the door, though."
"Scott likes to sleep in on the weekends," James explained. "But uhm...Stan? What're you doing here?"
"My apologies. We have a few things we should discuss." The rabbit motioned a paw, "May I come in?"
"Yeah! Sure. Of course." With a still slightly bewildered nod, James stepped aside, making room for his guest to enter, and then followed the rabbit to the living room.
"Should I give you a moment to get dressed?" Stanley asked as he stopped alongside the couch.
"I dunno. I'm not all that shy. So...only if it bothers you."
"It does not."
"Fair enough," the raccoon nodded and took a seat at one end of the couch, as his guest did the same at the other. "So what's this about?"
"A good many things, actually," Stan answered. "But to put it simply, I need your help."
"My help? What with?"
And he took a breath as he began, "Are you aware of how William lost his job?"
"Elliot's uncle?" James clarified. "I didn't even know he HAD lost a job, to be honest. Let alone how. So no."
"He was an agent with a publishing firm, and though the exact circumstances, for legal reasons, are more complicated than this explanation suggests..." the rabbit sighed, "...he was fired for being gay."
In this town? It was no surprise. And James chittered sharply: "Of course he was."
"Also...we have since come to learn that this leaves my brother in something of an...uncomfortable position as well," Stanley went on. "You see, he is an author working with the same firm -- really the only local firm, as it is -- and his progress toward publication has been halted."
"Okay..." the raccoon narrowed his eyes as he listened, still unsure as to what was going on.
"Meanwhile, of course, you know the story with Elliot."
And James paused, scanning his guest as he answered: "Very well, in fact."
Stan's eyes met his own. And there was a look in those eyes: a look of uncertainty and surprise. It was as if, for a short moment, they shared an understanding. But that was impossible. James knew everything. He knew about Will and Elliot. He knew just how true Robyn's allegations were. He even knew what happened between Elliot and Kristoff on their last night together. There was no way Stan knew as much as he did.
Right?
"Well," Stanley moved along, "details aside, the core of his mother's case rests upon homophobia: upon painting her bisexual husband and homosexual brother in law as villains, and citing her son's homosexuality as proof of their damning influence."
"Yeah. I got all that," James nodded. "But you said you needed my help? What does any of that have to do with me?"
"After Thursday night, I assumed that would be obvious." The rabbit pointed to the television, "Certainly, you have received phone calls, correct? Both you and Mr. Hammond, I would assume."
"Oh." The phone calls. It was true: the newspapers and local affiliates had been bothering James for days. "Yeah. Yeah, there've been a couple of calls for interviews."
"Only a couple?"
"I try to be modest," he shrugged.
"Let me cut to the chase here, Mr. Callaway." Stan tapped the cushion of the couch as he continued, "I have money. I have friends. I have connections. When Aaron and William discovered what the owner of their firm was doing, they came to me. After all, I have the resources. They do not." He pointed directly at James, "And neither do you."
"But..." the raccoon furrowed his brow, "...you still need my help?"
"Yes," Stanley nodded. "You see: I have something of a plan. Or, perhaps an idea. And I will, indeed, require your assistance. Because, Mr. Callaway, you have done something that I simply cannot do alone. For better or worse, you have the public's attention."
"Are you..." James blinked, as the implications of his guest's visit finally began to set in, "...what are you suggesting, here, Stan?"
"War, Mr. Callaway," the rabbit smiled. "We are going to war."
~
The world shifted. Shook. Slid.
Jeffery's body rolled to the right, and the haze of his dream world faded. Already, he'd forgotten the dream, but he was still disappointed. He wasn't ready to wake up, yet. It wasn't over. He wasn't done. Maybe if he drifted off again, he'd pick up where he left off.
But, again, the world shook. He was on his back, now, and he was trapped. Constricted. He wiggled his toes and stretched his legs, but his arms were pinned down.
"Wake up, Jeffy."
A gravely whisper tickled his ear, and his eyes flickered open. A blur of white, black, and pink filled his sight. He wanted to lift a paw to wipe away the haze, but his arms were still pinned. He squirmed. He struggled. And he blinked as the image grew crisp.
"What? Who..." he barely pieced together the thought, "...where am I?"
"Same place ya' were last night," answered the raspy voice.
Same place. Where...? Hunter's! Hunter's grandmother's farm house. Living room. Fold-out couch. And at once, the night flooded back. Donald and Hunter having their way with Elliot. His own threesome: sixty-nining Viri while Mic took the folf's tail. His new friends. His wild night.
And the image before him finally came clear. The white ceiling above framed a black face inches in front of his own, pink flesh showing from inside perked ears and from a lolled happy tongue. The face of a German Shepherd hung before him.
"Oh...hey Donald," the little cat mewled and stretched, once again finding his arms pinned. Pinned, it seemed, beneath his own blankets, from the weight of the shepherd on all fours above him.
"Mornin' Jeffy!"
A wet tongue assaulted the cat's face, and he winced, closing an eye on reflex. But he didn't squirm or pull away. He didn't fight or complain. After all, who couldn't appreciate the simple charms of a big, dumb dog?
"You, uh...wanna' let me up?" Jeff asked...
...but his happy captor just shook his head, "Nope!"
"Any reason why?"
"Well, I caught ya'! Can't letcha' go that easy."
"Oh?" Jeffery smirked. "Then...uhm...you want me to do something for you, first?" Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes!
"Maybe," the dog flashed a wide, toothy grin.
"And what do you have in mind?" Please say it involves a knot, please say it involves a knot!
"Let's start slow," Donald answered. "A question."
"Uhm..." damnit, "okay?"
"So there I am in th' kitchen, nekkid as th' day I was born. Still am, by the way..." Donald winked...
...and Jeffery immediately looked down to see all he could see. But the only thing in view was the dog's muscular chest pinning him down, as he went on with his story.
"And I got Elliot pushed up against th' ice box, snakin' my tongue into his muzzle, grindin' up on 'im...y'know: teasin' th' little guy. And then he pushes me away!" The shepherd looked absolutely flabbergasted as he retold the tale, "He says we already had our fun, and that I had somebody else here I needed'ta visit with. He tells me you got a thing fer knots, and that you been eyein' mine. Says we gotta' be good hosts for ya', since yer new to all this...and that I should come in here and give ya' what ya' been wantin' so bad." Jeffery could feel himself blushing under his dark gray fur as the dog finally made his point: "So my question is: was he right? You wanna' run at my knot, little guy?"
Yes! Of course! Please! Yes!
"U-uhm..." despite his excitement, Jeffery could barely stammer out an answer, "...I-I...I guess."
"Oh, no no," the dog above him shook his head, "I wanna' hear you say it. You beg for it for me...and I'll let ya' up, so ya' can get it."
Through the blankets, Jeff could feel the weight of the shepherd's sheath on his thigh. Not grinding. Not pressing. Not even hard. Just hanging there, lying heavy on his leg. He strained his arms. He wanted to feel it, even if only through cotton, but he still couldn't move. And above him, Donald grinned even wider at his predicament.
So the kitten drew in a breath. He could do this. After all his experience with Scott and James, and after what happened last night, what reason did he have left to be shy?
"I-I want it," he purred, despite the blush burning his cheeks. "Please Donald? Please let me play with your knot?" And to punctuate his begging, he leaned his head up, returning the dog's own slobbery affections with a lick on the nose, "Please?"
Before the blankets loosened. Before the shepherd moved and set him free. Before even one more word left either of their lips, Jeffery felt that heavy sheath stir against his thigh. He felt it move and thicken. He felt the dog press against him ever so slightly, for the briefest of moments.
But the blankets did loosen, and with a soft lusty growl Donald rolled to the side. Jeffery was free.
Immediately, the cat's eyes traveled down the shepherd's black body, to where the fur turned brown just shy of his huge, bulging sheath. The boy's mouth watered at the sight of the pink tip barely peeking out. He didn't look to see if they were alone, or if they were about to put on a show there, in the middle of the living room on the fold-out couch. And before he even realized he'd tossed off his blankets, his nose was against the end of the shepherd's sheath.
Shamelessly, he lapped at the protruding pink, tip. Snaking -- a word from Donald's earlier story coming to mind -- snaking his tongue inside the heavy sheath. He tasted the dog's pre. He breathed in the scent of musk, of both a shepherd and a husky, and the lingering hint of last night's cum. And he purred and pressed on, his lips pushing back the sheath as his tongue slid along the shaft within. Every beat of the dog's heart caused the fleshy rod to pulse and grow, inching it more and more into the kitten's hungry little mouth.
Beneath him, Donald didn't say a word. But he growled and moaned and breathed, as a paw lit upon the kitten's head. No force. No insistence. Just a paw, petting, stroking, and offering its appreciation. And Jeff slowly pulled back, closing his lips around the still growing shaft and suckling up along its length.
It slipped from his muzzle and stood there, tall, proud, and twitching. Still swelling: pulsing to life before his eyes. He wrapped a paw around it -- low, just above the sheath -- and pushed down. He watched the skin spread and release the slowly forming knot...
...and Jeffery shivered.
He'd learned about knots in these last few months. He may not have had one, himself, but Scott did. He knew how they formed and grew. He knew how they began as a tiny bulb, a little mound barely distinguishable from the rest of the shaft. And he knew how they could swell.
Already, Donald's was so very big in his palm, as he gently stroked the sensitive flesh. Already it was the size of Elliot's or Viri's, and it had barely begun to grow. And he'd seen it last night, too: the full girth of the monster. He knew how it would dwarf even Scott when it was done.
But he couldn't let that happen, yet. He had to be careful: play with the doggie's bone, but not let him get too excited. It needed to be manageable. It needed to stay small enough to slip inside. Then it could swell. Then it could grow. Then it could lock itself to the kitten. But until then...until it was time...he had to keep the monster at bay.
With a soft, feathery touch, his paw teased and explored the pink, veiny organ before him, but his mouth traveled elsewhere. Tiny kisses on the shepherd's stomach trailed down and down to find and nuzzle his heavy sack. And only now, finally curtailing his own lust enough to focus on more than just the dick in his face, Jeffery looked to the room around them.
They were not alone.
In a nearby chair, a tiger sat clutching the small white body of a folf. Chest to chest. Eye to eye. Hunter's body rocked with his breaths and Viri's grew tense and rigid as he sank down: the tiger's impressive barbed cock slowly disappearing beneath the base of his tail. And beside them stood a husky, his muzzle against the folf's ear. From the distance, Jeffery couldn't hear a word Elliot said, but he could hear the tone: soft, gentle whispers and comforting coos. Reassuring Viri as he was slowly impaled by the tiger beneath him.
"I wanna' get knotted," Jeffery heard it before he realized he'd said it. He blinked, surprised at his own boldness, but turned his head nonetheless to look back at the shepherd beneath him. And he repeated, "I wanna' get knotted. Bred. Tied. I mean: this thing isn't just for looks, right?"
And Donald greeted his request with a vicious, toothy smile, "I thought you'd never ask."
They moved in unison: the shepherd's paws guiding the kitten's body as they both rose and turned. Jeff took position, knees and elbows on the soft but rickety fold-out bed, and felt the big dog looming behind him. Donald's strong paws stroked down his back, and one took hold of his hip as the younger boy squirmed in anticipation. He presented himself, lifting his long gray tail and twitching it playfully in his new friend's face...
...as he felt the tip touch his waiting hole.
He pressed back on reflex, and Donald's paw gripped his hip tighter as he pushed in. The boy had done a good job. He'd kept the monster at bay. And as the shaft pierced him, it was thin and manageable, kept erect more by the bone inside than by the blood pumping through the flesh. It slid in quick and smooth, deeper and deeper, until its still forming knot pressed against his hole.
The sharp pole stabbed him deep inside, sending a shock that rolled through his body, from his spasming hole, to his stomach, and to the tip of his little barbed thorn. And he dropped his chest to the bed, mewling and whining as he pressed back, forcing himself wider and wider for the forming knot. But just before he'd spread enough to take it, the shepherd pulled away...and the kitten gripped the sheets, closed his eyes, and braced.
He took everything the massive dog had. The thrusts began, deep and fast, the bulb pounding against his begging hole once, twice, and on the third, finally forcing its way in, only to pop right back out. His legs lost feeling, his head spun, and he thanked God that he'd kept Donald small and manageable, as the slowly forming knot popped in and out, again and again with every thrust.
But he was growing. His shaft was no longer spongey flesh held stiff by a bone. It was a pulsing, throbbing rod, and soon enough, the knot was far too large to force its way in and out. And instead, Jeffery could feel the baseball sized bulb slapping against his hole.
"Tie me! Tie me, puppy. Please!"
He had no idea how many times he'd begged. He didn't know how Elliot, Viri, and Hunter were reacting to his cries of passion. But he didn't care. He wanted to be filled, knotted, and bred. And with a final, forceful push, the fully formed knot stretched him wide and forced its way back inside.
He tried to cry out, but his voice cracked and caught in his throat. The beast swelled more and more inside of him -- more than Scott ever had -- and he believed it was bigger now than it had been even the night before. It throbbed, it pulsed, and he felt waves of seed rushing inside of him. He'd been taken, he'd been used, and his own little thorn twitched and splattered the bed beneath him, without either he or the dog above laying even a single finger upon it.
And they collapsed, falling to the side. Donald held the boy loose in his tired arms, and Jeffery shivered as the shepherd panted into his ear. He was exhausted, he was sore, and he began to drift away. He'd long forgotten his dream, or even his fleeting desire to return to it. But sleep overtook him, nonetheless...
"Really??"
A voice startled him awake, and his eyes shot open. He didn't know how long he'd been out. The panting in his ear had calmed, but he was still tied, stuck fast to the shepherd. However long it had been, the knot hadn't subsided.
Jeffery blinked and looked up to find Mic standing alongside the fold-out couch. The hyena's brow was pinched in frustration as his eyes scanned the room...but whether it be from simple morning wood or from something more, his boxers stood at attention.
"You guys couldn't wait for me?" Mic complained. "Or at least come wake me up?"
"Sorry," came Hunter's voice from across the room. "Heat of the moment kinda' thing."
And from behind Jeff, Donald added, "Besides: no need to fret, Mickey. I'm sure one o' these boys'd love to help ya' out!"
On cue, the hyena's frustration washed away. He smirked, and his eyes scanned the room once again. Viri whimpered when they fell upon him. And Elliot smiled and licked his lips. Mic, though, bypassed them both and halted his gaze instead...
...on the small gray cat, still lying knotted on the fold-out couch.
~
"Really, I had fun. I promise!" Jeffery offered the biggest smile he could manage, though it did nothing to hinder his chuckling: his laughter at Mic's nervousness.
"Even after Donald's knot?" the hyena in the driver's seat, though, remained unconvinced. "Even with how rough I was?"
"I'm-" Jeff stopped. He wanted to say he was used to it: to rough sex, and for that matter knots, too. But as far as he knew, only Elliot & Hunter had any idea what his home life was like. And no matter whether he could trust Mic or not, this car ride was not the time to find out. So, instead, "I'm fine, Mic. Really! If I couldn't handle a little bit of pain, do you really think I would have been so interested in Donald's monster knot, to begin with?"
"Maybe not," Mic granted. "But there's a difference between takin' a knot and takin' a pounding. And I was-"
"And you were fine," the little cat assured him, yet again. "You weren't too rough with me."
"If you say so," Mic shrugged. "I guess I'm just worried that it could've remi...uhm..." and he stammered, trailing off and averting his eyes, as if second guessing what he was going to say.
Jeffery, though, knew exactly where he was going. "Worried it might've reminded me of the big bad wolf?" he asked, grim but forward.
"Yeah," the hyena sighed...
...and Jeff flashed a soft, little smile. "Mic. There's a difference between being rough and...well...you know."
"I do," Mic nodded.
And that nod. This was it. The cat had waited long enough. The party was over, they'd dropped Viri off, and they were alone. He had to ask: "But how?"
"Hmm?" Mic blinked. "How what?"
"How DO you know?" Jeffery pressed. "I mean, I never even told Elliot & Hunter about what happened! And I barely said anything yesterday that-"
The loud, sharp sounds of a ringtone cut him short, and the hyena took a paw from the wheel to reach into his pocket.
"Fuck," he winced as he looked at the face of a wolf on his screen. "Sorry, Jeff. I gotta' take this."
And Jeffery simply nodded and leaned back in his seat. He'd ask his question again when his friend's call ended. He'd find out just how Mic knew. How him simply mentioning the news, the day before, was all it took for the hyena to figure it out. But for the moment, his curiosity could wait...
...and he would simply watch the scenery go by while he listened to his friend talk, "Bran! And here I thought you'd lost your phone."
'Bran'? Was that short for Brandon? Wasn't that the bully who started all the trouble at school?
"Nah. No need to explain. I get it."
The car turned left, onto his street, and only then did it dawn on Jeffery just how close they were to his house. Clearly, he hadn't been paying enough attention to the drive.
"Eh, it wouldn't've done you any good, anyway," Mic's conversation went on. "I was busy."
The little cat watched the other houses on his street pass by...
...as the hyena in the driver's seat laughed, "You think you're prepared for an honest answer?"
Jeffery could see his house coming up on the left.
"Oh no, it really doesn't. I could say a lot more."
The car began to slow as they drew close...
...and Mic laughed aloud at his friend on the other end of the line, "Yeah, I figured as much."
A pause followed, a silence as this 'Bran' apparently spoke at greater length, and Mic pulled the car into Scott's driveway, parking there, in front of Jeffery's home.
"I'm fine. I'm a little sore, but I'm a big boy. I'll be okay."
A little sore? Jeff could only assume that this was in reference to the hyena's split lip.
"Is this all you called for, though? Just checkin' up on me?" Mic asked. "I mean, don't get me wrong, it's kinda' sweet, but it's really not like you."
And Jeffery wasn't entirely sure how to handle the situation at paw. They'd gotten to his house, but Mic was still on the phone. What was the most polite thing to do? How should he excuse himself? Should he nod, and smile, and get out of the car? Leave his friend to his phone call in peace? Or should he sit and wait? Let the hyena finish, so they could say their proper goodbyes?
"And that brings us to the real question," Mic went on. "Are YOU okay?"
Of course, it didn't matter what was more polite, did it? Jeff still hadn't gotten an answer to his question. And he wasn't going anywhere until he had. So he would wait.
"And that's why you called, right? Need somebody to talk to?"
Of course, in the meantime, his curiosity was nearly overwhelming. He wanted desperately to know what Mic was talking about, and to who. Was it really Brandon? What did it have to do with the hyena's split lip? Why did the friend on the other end of the line need someone to talk to? But, of course, these questions were definitely impolite. And the cat simply sat in silence and waited.
"Hey, I just said 'talk.' If you heard 'fuck,' that's your problem."
Jeff laughed aloud at the little joke. He hadn't heard what prompted it, but he could guess. And he turned to look at his friend, as he did...
...where he saw a smile spreading across Mic's muzzle. It wasn't from his little joke, though. No. It was far more earnest than that, and the wolf on the other end of the line was certainly to blame. "Sure thing, Bran. I'll swing by in a little while. I need to drop off a friend at his house, first, though."
What? Needed to drop him off, first? But they were already here. How long could it really take for Jeff to get out of the car, so Mic could drive away?
"Oh no. No. I don't think anybody's ready for that yet. I know you guys need to talk, but I think we should get things a little more sorted out, first."
Again, Jeffery wondered who this friend was. And wondered who 'Bran' needed -- but wasn't ready -- to talk to. Hunter and Elliot, perhaps? After all, if 'Bran' really was Brandon, then it would stand to reason...
"Besides, it doesn't matter, anyway. It's not either of them. You don't know this one. He's new."
At that, Mic and Jeff shared a quick smile and a glance: a polite acknowledgment that the hyena was talking about the little cat. And he held up a finger, letting Jeff know that the phone call was almost over.
"Maybe less."
The hyena nodded, as if 'Bran' could see him.
"Later!"
And, with that, Mic drew the phone from his ear, tapped the screen to hang it up, and turned his eyes to Jeffery...
...who was the first to speak: "Who was that?"
"A friend," the hyena answered with a wry smile. "Someone that..." he paused, "...someone I think you should meet."
"I, uhm..." Jeff stammered, reflexively looking out the window, at his house.
"Oh, don't worry; I don't mean today. We just barely got you back home. I'm not gonna' drag you off somewhere else. It's just..." Mic patted him on the shoulder, looking at him with that same knowing stare he'd shown when they'd arrived at the farmhouse, the day before, "...I think it might do both of you some good. You two...well, you have some things in common."
"Do we?" the cat blinked...
...and Mic hummed softly to himself, before asking, "Well you, uhm...you asked how I knew? How I figured everything out, so easy?"
"Yeah?"
And he held up his phone for his new friend to see. "He's how."
What? The friend on the phone? 'Bran'? What did he have to do with anything? He was the reason Mic knew? Wait. Did that mean he was a victim too? That would make sense, after all. If Mic knew another one of Tony's victims, then the news story would've been fresh on his mind. It would've been a lot easier for him to make the connection! So then, 'Bran' wasn't actually Brandon, after all! Or was he? Could Elliot & Hunter's bully really have been another one of Tony's victims?
Wait.
Brandon...Sutela?
"But look," the hyena spoke up, breaking Jeffery's train of thought. "You get on inside to your dads, okay? I can explain all of this later. You've got my number, right? Call me and we'll talk." He waved the phone at the cat, yet again, "Maybe even set somethin' up with Brandon, too."
Brandon.
"Right," Jeff nodded. "Thanks."
Finally, he unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned across the cab to hug his newest friend, and then went on his way: out the door, across the driveway, and up the walk as he heard Mic's car pull off and drive away.
And when he pushed open the door to his home, he was met almost immediately with the happy chitter of a raccoon, as his second father, James Callaway, caught him in a hug, "Welcome home, kitten!"
"Hey, James!" Jeff hugged back...
...and the raccoon pulled away to ask him, in the lewdest tones he could manage: "So...did you have fun?"
"I dunno," Jeffery answered bashfully. "I guess..."
"You guess?" James leaned closer and sniffed boy. "You certainly smell like you did! Pro tip: you might wanna' shower, first, if you're gonna' try and be coy."
The cat couldn't help but laugh at that, as his momentary shyness slipped away, "Yeah. Okay, okay. I had fun."
"Finally get some quality time with Elliot's knot?" James delved...
...and Jeff sniffed of himself, just as James had before, "Is that what I smell like? A dog?"
"Certain parts of a dog, yeah," the raccoon confirmed. "But that doesn't answer my question."
"No. Not Elliot's knot." Jeffery grinned, "But you would not believe the size of Donald's! Biggest I've ever seen!"
But that wasn't entirely true, now was it? No, the biggest the kitten had ever seen belonged to a wolf. But that was a different situation, and Tony didn't count. He didn't deserve to be up for comparison. Only Donald, Scott, Elliot, and Viri (in order of size) had earned that right.
Wait. Scott? Jeff turned his eyes to the nearby living room, where Scott sat silently on the couch. Fuck! He'd just been raving about the size of someone else's knot right in front of his master!
"Err...sorry dad," he mewled, as he padded slowly, guiltily into the living room.
Scott, though, had barely heard the comment. The words, of course, had hit his ears: his kitten's fun, his growing obsession with knots, and even the apology. But it was all little more than background noise.
Scott was elsewhere.
Physically, he sat there on the couch as his boy approached -- head hung, paws wringing nervously in his lap - but, mentally, he was lost. He'd been dreading Jeffery's return since the moment he'd left the night before. He'd been sick at the thought of the conversation to come. And now it was here.
In the face of everything else, the implied insult of his son's offhanded comment was the furthest thing from his mind.
"Dad?" Jeff, again, probed gently. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to..."
"What?" Scott blinked, finally roused enough to respond. "No, kitten. No," he offered a reassuring, albeit weak smile. "I'm a fox. I don't have any delusions about being as big as a Shepherd. Especially not one Donald's size."
"Then what's wrong?"
Scott looked first to James, before turning his eyes back to their son and patting the seat of the couch. "Sit down, buddy. We need to talk."
Timid and silent, Jeffery did as he was asked, while James, too, took a seat on the nearby recliner...
...and with a deep, steadying breath, Scott began. "We already told you how the school board meeting went."
"And I'm guessing the vote finally went through?" Jeff assumed. "And it didn't go how you wanted?"
"Oh, of course it didn't," the fox shook his head. "Three to two against the proposal...and we have a pretty good idea how the vote was split, too. But that's not what this is about."
"Uhm..." Jeffery just blinked, "...okay?"
"We told you about Brandon's outburst," Scott went on. "About James being berated, and how I had to out myself to defend him."
His kitten's muzzle split in the widest smile it could hold, "Yeah. You did."
And Scott knew why. He knew how important it was to Jeffery that they finally stand up and do something. He knew how much it bothered the boy that he had been so scared of doing so, for so long. And he knew how proud the little cat was of his father, now that he finally had.
He hoped that that fact, at least, would make today a little easier.
"We talked to you about the vote...about how we were waiting to hear how it went...and about how our hopes weren't very high." Scott clasped his paws together, drawing in another breath, "But what we haven't talked about...are the consequences. The price."
"The price of what?" Jeff sat just a little straighter.
"Of being outed," the fox answered. "Jeff, sweetheart...Brandon's outburst really made an impact with the board. And this isn't the most gay friendly area. You know that." He leaned back as he spoke, "Our students get away with it to some extent. I mean, sure, they get bullied and they aren't given the protection they deserve, but they have the right to an education. They can't be denied that just because they're gay. They can't get kicked out of school for it." He looked his son dead in the eye, "The problem is...James and I DON'T have a right to be teachers."
"W-wait!" Jeffery lurched forward in his seat. "Are you saying you're getting fired!?"
"No!" James answered for them both...
...and Scott added, "Not yet, anyway. What I'm saying is: we've gotten their attention. And not in a good way." He rubbed his forehead in building frustration, "Brandon has them convinced that we're dangerous. That we could be a bad influence at best, and raping our students at worst. We're under scrutiny. We're being watched-"
"-for the good of the children-" James interjected, sarcastically.
"-and, no. We're not losing our jobs. But they are in jeopardy."
"And that's not all," James added. "We don't just have the board's attention...or the staff's, for that matter."
"You've seen the news, right?" the fox asked his kitten...
...and Jeff stammered and blinked, before he could manage an answer, "Y-yeah..."
Scott couldn't tell if it was from uncertainty...if it was because he was finally beginning to understand the situation...or if he was simply flustered from having to turn his head back and forth between his two fathers as they spoke. But the boy's nervousness was mounting.
"Well," James explained: "we don't JUST have Sibirskaia and Brooksboro's attention. For whatever reason, this story is spreading like wildfire, and we've been getting phone calls for interviews, from all over the state. "
"Our private lives are quickly becoming public," Scott summarized...
...and the raccoon added: "And it's only gonna' get worse."
"Worse?" their son's eyes grew ever wider.
"Stan visited today," James began...
...but Scott interrupted him to ask the boy: "You remember Stanley, right?"
"Yeah," Jeffery nodded. "Hunter's dad?"
"Basically," Scott nodded back...
...as James continued: "He thinks that all this attention is a good thing. He thinks we should take advantage of it." The raccoon leaned forward, his chin upon clasped paws, "He says the fight doesn't have to be over. That just because they've said no, doesn't mean it's written in stone. That we have a platform to create change. And not just for us, but for Kristoff, and Elliot, and Stan's brother, and our students and-"
"And the point is: there are about to be a lot of eyes upon us," the fox took over. "A LOT, hun. We're under a legitimate investigation by the school. We've got parents demanding assurances that it's safe for us to be teaching their children. And those requests for interviews...?" he trailed off...
...and James concluded: "We're gonna' accept."
"Well, one of us is, anyway," Scott corrected him.
"You said something that really stuck with us, Jeff," the raccoon flashed the boy a proud smile. "After the news story with Tony, and when you were defending me against Scott: defending my decision to go to the school board, to begin with," he explained. "You said we'd been sitting back too much. You said it was time we did something. Risks be damned."
"But those risks, Jeff," Scott muttered, unable to hold back the dire tone infecting his voice...
...and he watched Jeff's ears pin down to his head. He watched the kitten sink into the couch. And he watched a shiver shoot through his little gray frame. The boy could finally see what was coming.
"I don't know what to do," the fox began, shakily. "People are going to be coming to our house. School officials. Media. Investigators. God, I don't know: maybe even the police!" His eyes darted about as he spoke, "And we won't ever know whether or not we're being watched. When we go to the store? When we're eating at The Bacchanalian? Fuck, maybe even when we're in our own back yard!"
He paused, wrenching his eyes closed, and steeling himself for what came next.
"It's just too dangerous for you to be here anymore, Jeff."
There it was. He'd said it. He'd dropped the hammer. And slowly he opened his eyes again, to look at his son. His son. His pet. His kitten. Jeffery's shoulders slumped as he was set upon by those final words. Crushed beneath the weight of it all. It broke his father's heart to see, and he cast his eyes away from the sight of it...
...as he frantically began to rattle off every thought that came to his mind: "But this is your home! We can't send you back to your parents, or put you out on the street! The only people we've trusted enough to even know you exist are Elliot and Hunter, and they're just kids! We have nowhere safe to send you-"
"-my apartment's not any better than here-" he heard James's voice interject.
"-and giving you up is NOT an option!" but it did nothing to stall his rambling stream of consciousness. "But...but I just...I don't know what to do! Where can you go? How can you be safe? How can WE be safe?" he threw up his paws. "If they find you, Jeff...God, if they find you, you could end up back with your parents or stuck in the system! And me and James? Our jobs and our students will be the least of our worries from behind bars!" Fists and eyes clenched tight, he hung his head yet again, "I'm so sorry, Jeff. I wish we'd never gone to that school board meeting. I wish everything could just stay like it was, and-"
A gentle little paw lit on his face. And he froze.
"No." The softest, sweetest sound. His kitten's voice.
And slowly, Scott looked up at Jeffery's smiling face.
"No," the boy repeated, his paw still holding his father's cheek. "We've done that enough. This is why we let Tony get away with what he did. It's why he was free to do it all over again. I meant what I said: it's time we did something!" His tiny smile tripled in size as his paw finally fell away, "You're doing the right thing."
"The right thing?" Scott repeated in disbelief. "Is it the right thing to put all of our lives at risk? Even if James and Stan change this whole damn town for the better, I still have an obligation to you! To give you the home I promised you. To keep you safe."
"I'm not afraid," Jeffery was confident...
...but the fox still couldn't understand, "How?"
"Because I trust you. And I know we can figure this out together," the boy answered, looking back and forth between his fathers. "Look: I don't wanna' be on the street, again. I can't go back to my parents." He shrugged, "And I can't stay here."
"Doesn't seem to leave any options," James noted.
"No," Jeff agreed. "But it doesn't mean we should back down. Hell, it's too late to, anyway, right? We just have to figure out where I CAN go."
Despite himself, Scott grinned too. He wasn't sure if he believed. The whole situation seemed just as hopeless now as it had the moment Jeffery walked through the door. But he'd forgotten. He'd forgotten how strong his kitten really was.
"So," Jeff asked, "any ideas?"
~
And Sibirskaia continues...
* This particular chapter (and the rest of Sibirskaia) was written entirely by Oloroso Rhone. But it was based on characters and story lines I created jointly with my friend Phil Anthro Pist
If you'd like to go say hi to Phil, he's got an account on here at http://phil-anthro-pist.sofurry.com/ *
So there you have it!
It's not clear exactly what Stan and James's plan is, yet, but they are apparently going to war! They've decided to do something to help Kristoff with his battle for his son, Will and Aaron with their struggles with the publishing company, and every LGBT student and teacher involved with Sibirskaia high. The problem is: all of the attention it brings has put James and Scott's connection with Jeffery in danger of being exposed. So who can they turn to? Where can Jeff go?
Find out next time, in Sibirskaia chapter 25, or "Casualties of War" part 3!
Anyway, thanks for reading! I welcome any feedback. Comment or PM me here, add me on skype, or email me at theottercoon[at]gmail.com
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See you around for the final 6 chapters of Sibirskaia!