The Prisoner's Release and Other Stories (31 page)

“Did you take them?”

Volle shrugged. “Go ask your bosses.”

“We wouldn’t break a peace. Not without a good reason.”

“Like a poor harvest in the Reysfields?”

Streak’s eyes glinted in the torchlight. “Like the Ferrenians moving first.”

“You can check that too, if you like. Maybe they’ve done something in the last month. But last I heard, they were just fortifying defenses around the plains. Neither side is allowed to have armies on the plains , and neither side has violated that agreement.”

“I will check it.” Streak stared stubbornly at Volle. “What information do they want from you?”

Volle shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Now I know you’re lying. They must have asked you.”

The conversation was treading too close to dangerous waters for Volle’s liking. “Are those your new orders? Get information from the fox with kindness?”

Streak recoiled, but he didn’t look away this time. “No,” he mumbled. “I was…just curious. I don’t know what could be that important to them. Or to you.”

“I love my country and my King,” Volle said, “and my life is worth nothing to me if it would be better spent in their defense. Don’t you feel the same?”

“I…I suppose so…”

“Let’s hope you never have to test it.”

There was a lengthy pause, then Streak said, “No, I want to test it. I mean, that’s why I’m a soldier.”

“Aren’t you a soldier because they made you one?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I could’ve stayed on the farm, or taken a trade in town. I was past the age of conscription.”

“Why didn’t you stay on the farm?”

Now, he did look away. “My mom was okay without me. And you know, I’m too old to be living at home.”

“Is that what he told you?” Volle spoke gently.

Streak nodded. He looked down at the ground.

“I don’t think much of your stepfather, then,” Volle said, with more feeling than he had thought himself capable of.

The wolf just flicked an ear, and said, “I’d better go.”

Volle watched him go, watched the door close, and settled back against the wall. Poor kid, he thought, and set to grooming his tail again.

It was five long days before Streak appeared again. Volle had gotten fidgety by the third day, and on the fifth was almost tempted to ask Limp Stripes if something had happened to the young wolf. He bit his tongue just in time. That’s what Dereath wanted him to do: get attached, pine away for him.

His body wasn’t helping him much, either. It seemed every time he closed his eyes, he could see that white shape, highlighted by the flickering torch. The curve of his chest, the bulge in his arms and legs, and the large white ridge of fur between his legs, with the thick red shaft standing proudly above it. Volle envisioned all kinds of positions, most starting with the wolf just wrapping his strong arms around him and pressing that firm body against his. The dreams went on from there, and though he tried to avoid moaning his frustration, sometimes it was just too much. It was worst after he’d eaten, when he didn’t have hunger pangs to distract his lust. Amazing that with his cramped, weak arms, his matted and dirty fur, and his imminent death, he could still be so aroused by a dream. He wondered whether at some point the basic urges of life were all that would be left to him.

On the fifth day, after he’d eaten the evening meal, the images returned unbidden to him and he was almost trembling with suppressed desire. He clenched his fists, then pulled all his chains to their fullest extent and let out a loud scream of frustration, then fell back to the floor, panting.

“What’s going on here?” He hadn’t heard the door open, but Streak was standing over him, a halo of weak torchlight around him. His expression was hidden in shadows, but his tail was twitching as though he were worried.

“Oh. Nothing. Sorry.” Volle looked up at the wolf, and saw the slight shift of the muzzle as it examined his prostrate form, from his flattened ears down his gaunt, heaving chest, down to his tense and painfully obvious erection. “Uh…” He tried to swing his bedraggled tail around to cover himself, with only partial success.

“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.