by Kyell Gold
“It’s okay.” Streak sounded amused. He walked back to the door and sat down. “Thinking of your mate?”
“Don’t have one.” Volle regretted the admission as soon as he said it, but then decided it couldn’t hurt.
“So what do prisoners fantasize about?”
“I missed you.” He’d wanted to sound coy, but there was too much raw emotion in his voice for that.
Streak’s ears snapped up. “What, Gerrold isn’t enough company for you?” He tried to keep his tone light, with more success than Volle’d had, but the fox thought he could detect some emotion there, too.
“Is that his name? I call him Limp Stripes.”
Streak laughed, for the first time Volle had heard. It was a clean, happy sound, and brought a smile to Volle’s muzzle. “Why do you call him that?”
“His tail has a kink in it. I think. Plus, I’ve never seen him get excited or interested in anything.”
“I don’t think I have either. Limp Stripes. I’ll remember that.” He inclined his head. “What do you call me?”
“What’s your name?” Volle countered.
“What do you call me?” the wolf repeated, and Volle could swear his tail wagged slightly.
Volle hesitated. “Well, it was a tough choice between Gorgeous and Cute Butt.”
Streak’s ears flicked. “So? Which is it?”
“I don’t think I want to tell you.” Volle felt suddenly embarrassed.
“Aw, come on.” Streak walked over to him and knelt beside him. He pulled Volle’s tail away and brushed his erection with a paw. “I’ll—”
He didn’t get any further. The touch was electrifying; Volle jerked away from it, panting, and stared at Streak with wide eyes. “That’s how you’re going to get me? Tease it out of me with sex?”
The wolf had retreated and now crouched two paces away. “No! I didn’t mean…I mean, I forgot. I’m sorry, really!”
Still panting, Volle relaxed slightly. He couldn’t say anything, torn between his vigilance and his fantasies, which were now so close that he wondered if he were dreaming. Then Streak spoke again, and he was sure he was.
“Listen, I’ll prove I didn’t mean anything. Just…settle down, okay?” He inched closer, holding his paws out placatingly. Volle tried to stay calm, but his nerves were frayed and he didn’t know if he could stand it. Streak was only an arm’s length from him, and he couldn’t back up any more; the stone wall pressed against his back. The wolf’s scent was strong, filling his nostrils and adding to his confusion. He barely heard Streak say, “I’m not asking for anything, okay? I’ll just do this and leave.”
Volle understood a moment before he felt the warm paw close around him. He shut his eyes and moaned. Oh God, it was better than he’d dreamed. He tried to force himself to relax, but his body was tensing despite him, and the wolf had barely moved his paw up and down twice. He was going slowly, and Volle’s hips, acting without his consent, pushed into his paw, forcing the rhythm faster. Sensations coursed through him that he’d almost forgotten, electric currents pushing at his muscles and lifting his fur. His head pressed back against the wall as his breathing came faster, and he strained at the shackles as he finally reached the climax he’d been dreaming about.
It seemed to go on forever, and he lay immersed in it, floating in the waves of ecstasy. As they subsided, he slumped back against the stone floor, and he felt the warm paw unwrap itself from his spent erection. Dimly, he was aware of the opening and closing of the door, but nothing else aside from the strong scent of his musk penetrated his senses before he fell fast asleep.
The musky scent lingered into the next day, when Limp Stripes came in to drop off the morning meal and change the torch. The skunk’s nose might have wrinkled, or maybe he imagined it. He didn’t care. He was relieved, relaxed, and felt better than he had in weeks. It wasn’t just the release of more than a month of sexual frustration. He was looking forward to seeing the wolf again, actively now, rather than thinking about his situation or his companions. That was what they wanted, he knew, but he didn’t care.
Streak occupied his mind on and off for the next five days, during which he waited patiently every evening. His fantasies recurred, but without the intense frustration he’d felt earlier. He had the memory of that night to hold him over, and when he replayed it in his head, he felt the response in his sheath. His erection was not one of urgent need, however, but of a warm diffuse pleasure.
When the wolf did reappear, Volle sat up and smiled. Streak closed the door and walked across the cell, sitting down next to him. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “They didn’t send me back until tonight. I asked, but they wouldn’t let me.”
“It’s okay.” Volle smiled, enjoying the young wolf’s scent and proximity.
“Looks like you didn’t miss me quite as much.” Streak gave him a warm smile.
“Oh, I missed you. It’s just not showing as much.”
“Really?”
Volle nodded. “I wish…I wish we’d met somewhere else.” He voiced the thought hesitantly. It sounded awkward, not as he’d been thinking it in his head, but he couldn’t stop now. “We might have been friends. Maybe more.” The last part slipped out before he could stop it, and he fumbled to recover. “I mean, if you’re interested. I don’t know if you like males, or have a mate, or what…”
Streak shook his head. “No mate.” He hesitated, and then touched Volle’s paw. “And…I do. But, no offense, you kind of look like shit.”
Volle grinned. “I feel like shit. But I clean up nice.”
“I bet.” He paused, ears flicking, and then went on. “Hey. You know something?”
Volle shook his head. “What?”
“I…I missed you, too.” He said it bashfully, in a low voice. “I kept wishing I could come down and talk to you. Nobody else cares. They ignore me, or they call me ‘pretty boy’ when they think I can’t hear.”
“Well, you know, I’m pretty much a captive audience.”
Streak laughed softly. “I guess so. But I wish…I wish we’d met somewhere else, too.”
Volle smiled, flicking his ears. “Do they still think you’re raping me?”
“I guess so. De—my boss just asks how the session went and if you’re any closer to giving out information and I say,” here he put on a rough voice, “yeah, I can break that fox, just give me time.”
Volle’s rough laugh turned into a cough. Streak tilted his muzzle. “Are you sick?”
“Oh, nothing a couple months relaxing in the sun wouldn’t cure.” He coughed again.
The wolf was quiet for a moment. “I could see about getting you transferred…or getting out once in a while.”
“No. Don’t put yourself in danger for me.” Volle edged a little closer to Streak. “Tell me about your farm.”
“We had four fields, all corn. There were two plows, and my mother and I both used them. We had three horses, one that we got to replace Jenny. She was my favorite, but she was pretty old. The other two were foals from Gerta, our old mare who died about six, seven years ago. We named them Gerry and Geena, and the one we got to replace Jenny was a pretty mare named Tanya. Gerry and Tanya were good plow horses, but Geena hated being hitched up. She liked to be ridden, though, especially if you let her gallop…”
Volle closed his eyes and let the words wash over him. He felt he was standing on the porch of the farm, looking out at the cornfields, watching Streak ride by on a beautiful bay mare. He felt the sun on his fur and the wind through his tail, and he smiled.
“…I loved going to market because of all the things that were there. My dad used to buy me maple candy there, but after he died, I didn’t want it anymore. Last year we made enough from our corn to replace one of the plows.”
He was beaming proudly when Volle opened his eyes. “That’s impressive,” Volle said, though he didn’t really know whether it was or not.
Streak nodded, his tail wagging behind him. “Anyway. I’d better go. See you
soon.”
“I’ll miss you,” Volle said impulsively as the wolf got up.
“Me too.” Streak smiled warmly, and walked out the door.
So there it was. He was falling into their trap. He couldn’t help it, and he didn’t care. At some point, when he didn’t expect it, there would be a new face at the door, or maybe Limp Stripes would be the one, and he would be told that for the simple price of a piece of paper, or a name, he could see the white wolf again. If he held out, someone would bring him cloth with Streak’s scent, to remind him what he was missing.
It would be painful, but he was sure he could hold out. Sure, he’d had plenty of good friends, plenty of lovers, but he’d learned (the hard way) to keep himself unattached. That was partly what made him a good spy. But you’ve never been this lonely before, part of his mind cautioned. Never been confronted by this situation. It doesn’t matter that you know exactly what he’s doing. The rat knows how people work and he know how you work, and you’re working exactly the way he wants.
“I can hold out,” he insisted, and then realized he was talking out loud.
And what if you can’t? What then?
Part 4
Streak held one paw behind his back as he entered the cell three days later. “What do you have there?” Volle asked as the wolf walked toward him.
Streak knelt down just across the channel in the floor and his ears flicked. He was grinning. “Close your eyes.”
“Oh, I can smell it…” Volle closed his eyes anyway, and opened his muzzle. A few small cubes landed on his tongue, soft and thick. Meat! Chicken pieces, with some kind of sauce on them. He chewed ecstatically, letting the rich taste fill his head before swallowing. “Mmm. Oh.”
“There’s more.” Streak was holding a pawful of chicken pieces. He placed them in Volle’s muzzle a few at a time, smiling as the fox gobbled them down. “They really don’t feed you much, do they?”
“Mmm. Just enough to keep me alive. All the same tasteless crap. This is so good.”
“It’s not, really.”
“To me it is.” He looked longingly at the wolf’s empty paw, then stretched his shackles to lean over and lick the sauce from it. Streak twitched, but kept his paw steady until Volle had licked it clean.
As the fox raised his muzzle, Streak raised his paw to brush its underside gently. Volle looked at him and gave his paw another lick. “Thank you.”
“There’s more.” Streak winked, reaching into his shirt pocket.
“More?” Volle stared in disbelief as the wolf’s paw emerged with a thick slab of cake wrapped in a cloth napkin. He felt saliva pooling in his muzzle at the rich smell.
“Here, take a bit at a time…” Streak fed him the cake, piece by piece, and when he was done Volle licked his paw again.
“Thank you. Again. You didn’t have to.”
“I know. I wanted to. I can smell what they feed you. At least this is something nice I can do.”
“You’re too nice.” The heaviness in Volle’s stomach from the rich food was turning to unease, but he tried to ignore it.
“I like seeing you enjoy it.”
“Glad to oblige. Were you…always this nice?” The turmoil in his stomach was getting worse. He just hoped he could keep it down until Streak left.
The wolf’s ears flicked again, and he smiled that bashful smile. “I try to be. My mom always said to treat others as you’d want to be treated.”
“You do…a good job.” He was fighting a losing battle.
“Are you okay?” Streak leaned forward.
“Yes. No. Oh, I’m so-sorry.” Volle gulped and then lurched toward the wolf, hanging his muzzle down into the channel as the meal came raging back up. His body shuddered and coughed, and when it was over he lay there, the sour taste still in his muzzle, his ears flat in embarrassment.
“Oh, Canis, I’m sorry. All that rich food.” The wolf’s paw was stroking his head, as grimy and matted as the fur was.
Volle lapped some water from the wall, spit it out, and rolled back over with a little effort. “Not your fault. I probably ate too fast.” He gave a wan smile.
“Here.” Streak took the cloth napkin and wetted it in the water, then gently wiped off Volle’s muzzle. The fox held perfectly still while the napkin brushed the vomit from his muzzle and worked around his head, cleaning the fur between his eyes, along his cheek ruffs, and up his soft ears. Streak had to rewet the cloth several times, and when he was done it was filthy; even in the torchlight Volle could see that. But Streak stuffed it in his pocket without looking at it, his eyes fixed on Volle’s muzzle.
“You do clean up nice,” he said softly. Volle looked back at him without saying anything, looking into the clear eyes that were blue even in the dim torchlight. They came closer, slowly, until Streak’s nose was touching his own. Then, gently, their muzzles parted and met in a soft kiss.
Volle closed his eyes and sighed. He kept his tongue in his muzzle because he still had some of the sour taste on it, but he could feel the light flicker of Streak’s tongue against his lips. The wolf’s scent at this distance filled his nostrils and made him forget the queasiness in his stomach.
Too soon, it was over, and Streak was sitting up. “I guess I should go.” But he didn’t get up, or move to the door.
Volle nodded. “I guess so.”
They held each other’s eyes for the space of several heartbeats, and then Streak got to his feet slowly and fluidly. “Bye.”
“See you soon,” Volle said.
Streak nodded, and then was gone.
Volle dreamt that night that Streak returned, naked and holding a glittering sword. He held it over the shackled fox and said, “I can cut you free, but you must renounce your country. Promise you won’t give them the plans you stole. I’ll take you away with me and keep you safe.”
In his dream, Volle couldn’t take his eyes off the sword. He could see its edge, sharp and menacing. “I can’t,” he breathed.
Streak’s eyes pleaded with him. “It’s the only way we can be together.”
Yes, his body screamed, but he couldn’t make his muzzle form the words. “I can’t give up my country.”
“If you die here, they still won’t have your information. Why should you die?”
He could see his friends beyond the cell, mute and staring at him. Beyond them, the country he loved spread out: the red mountains behind the rolling plains, the sparkling expanse of Kell Lake, and the shining towers of the palace. “We’ll know,” they seemed to be saying.
He moaned and turned away. “I can’t.”
Streak’s blue eyes closed. Without a word, he raised the sword and swung it viciously downward.
Volle woke with a start. The torch had gone out and the cell was pitch black. His heart was pounding in his chest and his wrists were sore where the shackles held them. He flipped over, pressing his muzzle between his arms and waiting for his panic to subside. What would he do, if Streak came back and gave him that ultimatum? It would never happen, of course, but wasn’t that what he was being asked to do?
No, it wasn’t. He was simply being asked to betray his country and his friends. There was no chance he would have a life with Streak. He was going to die in this cell, or possibly in an execution chamber somewhere.
When Streak visited him the next evening, the dream was still lingering in his head, but he managed to force a smile. Streak returned it, and sat down across the channel in the floor, looking up at Volle.
“What’s this all leading to?” He said it quietly, but the intensity of his gaze betrayed the emotion behind it.
“You’re being used to make me betray my friends,” Volle said dully. “They sent you here to make me fall in love with you so they could use you as leverage on me.”
“They wouldn’t…” Streak began, and then stopped, thinking.
“They would. They are.” Volle looked away, at the stone wall on his other side. He traced the familiar pattern of cracks with his eyes. “Sometime s
oon, you’ll be told that this duty is over. Depending on what I do, maybe you’ll get to see me one more time. Maybe you’ll get to see me when they kill me. Maybe not at all. But then it’ll be over. You’re better off forgetting me.”
“I asked to be transferred,” Streak said, and Volle turned to look at him. “After that first time. I’d been living alone in the guard barracks for two weeks, and I didn’t think I could be the horrible thing they wanted me to be to you. But they wouldn’t transfer me. And it’s been over a month now, and you’re the only person who’s said more than two sentences to me in that time.” He drew in a sharp breath. “And you seem so much better than the other guards. They just care about their pay, and what pretty things they stuck their cocks into last time down at the pub. You care about your country. You care so much that you went through being whipped and tortured, and you didn’t tell. That’s honorable. You don’t deserve this.
“Maybe I would be better off forgetting you. But I don’t think I can.”
Volle’s eyes misted over. He fought to control his emotions. “It’s really the best thing…” he began, but Streak closed his muzzle with a paw.
“Oh, shut up,” he said, and leaned over, pressing his muzzle to the fox’s in a deep, warm kiss.
Volle arched his entire body into the kiss, his ears coming forward as his eyes closed in pleasure. Streak’s tongue was cool and slick against his, and he pulled it into his muzzle as though his life depended on it. He felt the warm caress of the wolf’s breath against his muzzle, the soft touch of his fur, and the hard points of his teeth as they slid against his own. The kiss was full of passion, hunger, and longing, and Volle returned it in kind.
He didn’t want it to end, but of course it did. Slowly, gently, Streak pulled his muzzle back. Volle lay back and opened his eyes. “Wow.”
Streak bit his lip, and rested a paw on Volle’s chest, tracing the line of one of his ribs. “I know I shouldn’t. But I can’t let go. I keep thinking if I can find some way to get you out of here—”