The Prisoner's Release and Other Stories (29 page)

“
Oh.”

Mikka patted him again. “Part of why I’ve been so sad this week is that I don’t know what I’m going to do next. I don’t want to leave, but I can’t keep imposing on you. I have to go to my sister’s place in the West End and ask her if I can stay there. And then I probably won’t see any of you for a while.”

“
You don’t have to...”

“
So I won’t need your money. My sister will take care of me for a while, and if I can re-create some of my designs, maybe I’ll get some buyers again.”

“
You don’t have to go. Take the money. Get started again.”

“
It’s not that easy.”

“
Then stay with us.”

“
I’d be a burden.”

“
Not if you take the money.”

“
Then I’m just taking your money.” Mikka chuckled, without real humor.

“
I’m giving it to you!” He felt a twinge in his throat as he cried out the words.

“
It’s not that easy.”

“
Only because you’re making it hard!” Jonas shook his head. “Do you think I would have worked so hard to make sure that we didn’t become mates if I didn’t feel anything for you?”

The words surprised him as they came out, and Mikka’s ears perked up slowly. “I know you do, sweet thing.”

“
Then stay. Not as my mate, but as part of our family.” He grinned. “You know, I need someone around to explain to me what I’m feeling.”

Mikka laughed at that, wincing as he did. He put a paw to his throat. “Well, I don’t know how much longer Hazel will put me up here.”

Hazel’s voice came through the door. “You think I’m gonna let you leave?!”

They both laughed then, and Jonas went to let Hazel in. She swept over to Mikka’s bed and stared down at the fox, paws on her hips. “You little furry ball of self-pity. Talkin’ about how families stick up for each other an’ then sayin’ you’d be a ‘burden’?”

“
Do families listen at doors too?” Mikka grinned slyly up.

“
They do if there’s foolishness goin’ on inside. Now you listen. When Tapha leaves, which he probably will soon, you can have his room. ‘Til then...”

“
He can stay with me,” Jonas said. He grinned back as they both stared at him. “Some of my clothes are starting to wear. I could use someone who knows how to mend them.”

“
I can do that. But are you sure?”

Jonas nodded. “I’ve been rather stupid. I don’t want a mate, but you know, I don’t want you to go, either.”

Hazel shook her head. “Never met a man who could say the word ‘love.’ Don’t know how you boys manage without a woman around.”

“
Fortunately,” Mikka said, “we don’t have to. Even when we think we’re having a private conversation.”

Hazel flicked her tail. “It’s my house, and you best not think anything you do in here is private, boy. Anyway, I just came up to tell Jonas that his first appointment is here.”

“
You’ve been listening the whole time,” Mikka said.

“
Yes,” she was unruffled, “but I only came up to tell Jonas that.”

“
Tell him to go up to the room,” Jonas said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“
All right, all right. Though I think he,” she nodded towards Mikka, “usually takes longer’n a minute.” She winked, and left.

Mikka smiled after her, then beckoned Jonas to lean down. When the cougar did, the fox reached up with a small paw and pulled Jonas’s muzzle to his.

They kissed, softly at first, then with more passion, and Jonas slid his arms around the fox’s shoulders. Mikka was the one who pulled back, brushing his paw down Jonas’s neck. “Go on to your appointment,” he said.

“
You missed yours yesterday.”

“
I’ll make it up later.” He grinned. “If I stick around...”

“
If?” Jonas showed his claws.

Mikka pretended to cower. “All right, I’ll stay.” He touched his throat and got up. “I think I’ll go get some water from Hazel.”

“
Okay.” Jonas reached out and hugged him again. “I’ll see you later.”

“
Yes, you will,” Mikka said. “You most certainly will.”

The cage is made of stone, cold and hard. He can see through the stone columns to the world outside, when he cares to look, but there is nobody out there he recognizes or cares to talk to. Their taunts fade in and out, easily ignored. Mikka lies naked next to him, sharing his bed, and Hazel and Selia are in the next bed over, he knows. The door of the cage is shut, but he is the one who closed it, more afraid of what is out there than he is of being inside. This time, that fear is distant, like the murmuring of the river below the bridge, and as the fox’s scent makes its way from his sleeping nose into his dream, he sighs and moves his paw through soft grey fur in both places, and for the first time, his dream inside the cage is not a nightmare.

THE PRISONER'S RELEASE

1

Volle raised his head at the creak of the door. Something was different, and in prison, something different could be very good, or very bad.

The grizzled skunk guard he’d called “Limp Stripes” after the kink in his tail had been the only creature he’d seen for the past month, ever since the rat (whose name he knew: Dereath Talison, junior Minister of Defense) had given up interrogating him. Dereath’s interrogations, though sometimes very painful, had provided something for him to brace his will against. The last of the physical injuries had healed; Volle wondered whether Dereath was just waiting for that to begin another round, or if boredom was his new tactic. The regular appearances of the mute skunk had been his only diversion.

Today, the guard who stepped into the windowless cell wasn’t Limp Stripes. He was a young white wolf, white all over except for a little streak of black down his left hip that Volle could see clearly because he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt.

And he was gorgeous.

Volle stared at the clean lines of his abdomen, nice and tight under his short white fur, up the well-defined chest, and over to the arms that showed muscle even when hanging relaxed at his side. He looked at the streak of black fur, where it disappeared into the olive-drab guard pants, and at the strong legs that filled out those pants nicely.

This can’t be real, he told himself. This is a fantasy I’m having. I’m delirious. Next thing this creature will say is that he’s here to rescue me.

A glance at the shapely muzzle did nothing to dispel that fantasy. The wolf’s expression was carefully neutral. He’d done nothing since closing the cell door behind him except stare back at Volle. Now he slowly lowered his paws to his pants, and started to unfasten them.

Oh, Fox, thank you for this wonderful dream.

The wolf’s snarl finally dispelled Volle’s fantasy. “That’s right, you fox filth. You should’ve talked under the lash. Now you get to be my plaything.”

So that was how it was. Volle watched the pants slide to the ground and stared at the thick white sheath. He could smell the wolf’s arousal now, and he thought he could even see a red tip emerging from the top of the sheath. Below the sheath, a full white sac swung around gently as the wolf worked his pants off. His legs were just as perfect as the rest of him: well-muscled and trim. He didn’t have more than a couple ounces of fat anywhere on him.

Watching Volle, the wolf moved a paw to his sheath and started to stroke it. “Yeah, stare at it, fox. I’m gonna …stick this in every hole you have, and when I get tired of those, maybe I’ll make some new ones.” The words rang hollow; more like a speech he’d memorized than a genuine threat. He was obviously working himself up to it, Volle noted, trying not to get too involved in watching the wolf masturbate. If he’d been here on his own to rape a prisoner, he’d have been fully erect and bursting out of his trousers.

That image made Volle’s own sheath stir. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but apparently there were some forces powerful enough to overcome the oppressive cold, dark, and filth of the cell. He shifted to conceal it and watched the wolf’s member extend and harden. This is a move by Dereath, he told himself. Counter it. But he couldn’t distance himself completely, and even as he thought, he found himself getting hard. Well…maybe that would be useful.

The wolf hadn’t noticed. He was staring at Volle’s muzzle and licking his lips—an obviously forced gesture that almost made the fox chuckle. His eyes were distanced enough that Volle was sure he was fantasizing about someone else. Probably a young bitch he knew. Certainly not a filthy, emaciated fox in shackles, even if he were into bondage.

Finally, the wolf dropped his paw. He let Volle have a look between his legs, then stepped forward with a menacing grin. “Ready or not, here I come.”

Volle let his muzzle hang open. “Oh, put that in here, big boy.” His voice was rusty from disuse, but he thought that added a certain something.

The wolf stopped. He looked uncertainly at Volle, registering for the first time that the fox was aroused too.

“Come on, please. I bet I can fit it all in. It’s pretty big, but I like that.”

“You don’t understand, fox. I’m going to put this wherever I want. I’m raping you.”

Volle hid a grin. “Oh, okay.” His paws were shackled to a single chain that was fixed into the wall, so without much difficulty, he turned over and got onto his paws and knees. His muscles protested, but he forced them through the motions. He lifted his tail as far as he could, which was just enough to give the idea. “I like it there, too.”

The wolf didn’t say anything, but Volle could hear him breathing. He heard two more steps, and then felt a strong paw on his tail, lifting it up. He was sure his bare, soiled rear was not a very appealing sight or smell. Turning his head, he gave the wolf an encouraging smile. “Go ahead,” he said. “It’s your duty, after all.”

He was pleased to see that the wolf’s erection had slid back significantly into his sheath. The wolf looked at him and held his tail for another moment, then threw it down with a curse and stalked back to the door.

Volle turned back over and watched him pull his pants on, admiring the nicely shaped rear and the white fluffy tail. The wolf kept his back to him and left the cell without a backwards glance. Volle heard the familiar click of the key in the lock, and then all was quiet.

He sagged back against the wall. Was this a one-time ploy or a first salvo? It was a good shot, whichever it was. Dereath, obviously, was behind it, but Volle didn’t want to give the rat too much power in his mind, so he imagined a cadre of faceless tormentors who knew just what he was attracted to, and exploited it expertly. Unbidden, visions of the perfect white body with the one distinguishing black streak came back to him, standing in front of him aroused. His sheath, which had lost its arousal, swelled again and he felt his member pushing to get out. He tried to keep it down—the bastards had shackled his arms and legs so he couldn’t give himself release—but he couldn’t get the image out of his head. In his mind, the wolf was smiling, walking towards him with a sway in his step so that his lovely long shaft swung from side to side enticingly. Volle could see the soft white sac, the sheath above it stretched to its limit, and the red slick length protruding from it, as though they were all inches from his muzzle. His tongue flicked out; he panted, moaned, and realized he was uncomfortably hard.

The vision in his mind smiled, standing astride him, and lowered that rump onto his erection. He could feel the warmth, the tight embrace, but it did no more than increase his frustration. With a cry, he rolled over and pressed into the cold stone floor, rubbing back and forth. It eased some of his tension, but it also hurt, and he realized quickly that he would never come to climax that way. Panting, he lay there, listening to the trickle of water running through his cell, and then forced himself to turn back over and look around.

From the far left hand corner of the cell, he could see another set of shackles on the right hand side, empty and rusted. His movement was extremely limited, but he could reach the narrow channel running down the middle of the cell where his drinking water flowed; further down, that was also his toilet. In the center of the ceiling was a small black hole from which he fancied he could feel a breeze sometimes (when the door was open), and beneath that, suspended from a chain, was a small torch whose smoke disappeared up into the blackness. In the center of the far wall, the only door to the cell stood, closed and locked.

Apart from him and the shackles, the only other thing in the room was the plate they’d put his food on. It was formless glop that always tasted like stale bread mixed with dirty water, and he had to lick it off the plate because they wouldn’t give him any utensils. Not after the incident with his first guard, a careless rat whom Volle had named Slacker.

He’d only had the two guards; he was not a normal prisoner and Dereath undoubtedly wanted to limit association with him. In fact, the lack of any other contact made Volle wonder whether anyone but Dereath knew he was in here. He hoped he’d see the wolf again. Besides being attractive, he was young and easier to manipulate than Limp Stripes, who did his job with mechanical precision, or Slacker, who just didn’t care. Streak, that would be a good name for the wolf, with his undressing and that cute black streak down his hip. His sheath throbbed with the thought of the wolf, and he sighed. The best thing he could do was to go to sleep, and hope that a dream would bring him the release he couldn’t give himself.