***
Hector leaned back in the black canvas sling suspended by four long shiny chains and idly browsed through profiles on Growlr. Every so often his phone would buzz with an incoming message or a favorite on one of his pictures. All perfectly innocent, of course, even if the poses themselves were anything but. He would never go to a stranger’s house anyway. That was just plain stupid. Any visitors had to be vetted by his dad, and even then the bar was prohibitively high. Still, it was fun to see all the nice older guys, especially other dads, and even funner to tease.
A car pulled up next to the decorative hedge behind the gazebo in which Hector swung and the coyolf heard voices. A slam, some footsteps, a creak and another slam as someone entered the big backyard. The clomp of cleats preceded the appearance of a fox head directly above him.
“Hi, Damian,” Hector said without looking up from a picture of a Rottweiler being pounded by what looked like his son. Dads could be subby too. “Here.” He turned the phone to show the fox, whose face lit up as he tucked his tongue between his teeth.
“Naughty. I can’t believe your dad lets you get away with this stuff.”
“I don’t get away with it. He punishes me when I get home nearly every time.”
The fox set down his soccer bag and cracked his knuckles. “Uh huh. Punishment for you is him keeping his pants and underwear on.”
Hector smiled up at the grinning fox. “And he caves every time. I told you, if you can get your muzzle on their dick they’d be crazy to stop you. It worked for your coach, didn’t it?”
“Mmmm,” Damian mused, plopping back in his own sling and swinging his feet. “It sure did. It’s like his girlfriend just doesn’t know how to suck a dick. He said he keeps trying to tell her how to do it but I’m always better.” Hector heard him shrug. “I just learned it from you, is all. What’s the big deal?”
“Grownups, dude. Who knows?” Sitting up to shove the phone into the back pocket of his olive shorts, the coyolf leaned to one side so he could see the kit. “Was that your coach who dropped you off just now?”
“Yeah, I just got done with practice.” Damian stuck his legs in the air. “Stinky fox feet again.”
“Stinky fox feet always!” Both boys giggled. “I guess you’re comin’ from Cub Scouts?”
“Nah, I just wear this for roleplay.”
The fox sniggered. “You probably do.”
“Dad likes it.”
“Naughty!”
“Always!” This triggered a fresh fit of laughter that echoed off the gazebo walls but couldn’t make it past the tall hedges bordering the manicured lawn and pool behind the house. Once they calmed, Hector cleared his throat. “So, you know anything about this guy who’s sitting for us?”
“Nuh uh. I only know that Coach was eager to drop me off and run some errands. At least, that’s what he said he was gonna do. He didn’t even pull off so I could suck him like usual.”
“Wow, musta been an emergency.” Hector’s eyebrows knitted together. “Dad was the same way, except he told me he had company coming. Something about having a cute blue-eyed husky dad friend over for some fun, and I wasn’t invited. I only complained a little.”
Damian’s eyes went wide. He knelt in the sling and peered over at his friend. “Blue-eyed husky dad friend? Coach is a blue-eyed husky! You don’t think...”
Flicking his ears, Hector thought a bit. “You know, it probably is. Your coach and my dad are gettin’ it on and leaving us out of it!”
“Well, that’s no fun,” the fox kit pouted. “Maybe this sitter’ll leave us alone so we can fool around.”
“Maybe. I don’t even know his species. Dad just told me to mind my manners and do as told, like always.” Hector shrugged.
Damian shrugged. “Meh. What time is it? Coach said we couldn’t go inside until four o’clock on the dot.”
“Weird, Dad said the same exact thing. One minute past. We should go, I guess.” Hector hopped down and helped the fox to stand, and they padded out of the gazebo and down the stone path that led to a big cedarwood porch.
Past the outermost door the boys found themselves in a mudroom, with laundry machines to their left and coats and boots to the right, and a sticky-note on the inner door. Hector stood on tippy-toe and took it down to read it.
“’Hector and Damian: I went out to pick up some dinner, but will be back shortly. Please leave your clothes in this room as I know the fox is sweaty from soccer practice and shouldn’t feel awkward about being naked.’” He giggled the last couple words.
“Is that all?” asked Damian, already free of his shorts and jock strap.
“Nuh uh. ‘And, whatever you do, DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING ON THE LIVING ROOM TABLE.’ All capital letters, heehee. And he signed it something in a scribble. Well, okay.”
“Because I’m sooo awkward when I’m nekkid,” said the fox, staring openly as Hector bared his ample rump, turned away on purpose to give the kit an eyeful. Paws on hips, he thrust at the air while the coyolf folded his uniform neatly next to the pile of crumpled-up footie gear and socks.
“Stinky fox everything,” Hector muttered, turning just in time to get a face full of footpad. “Augh! Get away!” The inner door was the most convenient escape. Damian followed with grabby paws only to stop short to avoid running sheath-first under the coyolf’s tail. What a horrible thing that would have been. “What?”
“You smell that?”
“Yeah,” Damian wrinkled his nose. “Smells like a mowed lawn.”
“Smells like brownies!” Muzzle up, Hector looked about ready to float away to the next room like in one of those old-fashioned cartoons. “You sure you can’t smell that?”
“Well, now I do...but I still think it smells like cut grass.”
“Maybe. Grrr, now I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry, Captain Pudgemuffin.” Damian accentuated this with a couple friendly pokes of Hector’s tummy. “If you can’t wait until the sitter gets home, you need help.” He followed the flicking white tail through the kitchen and into what was likely the living room: table, recliner, couch and television, complete with video games from the past thirty years.
The coyolf crouched (showing off the nice black tailhole his dad liked so much) to pick up a plain gray controller. “My dad had one of these when he was a kid. He’s gonna be so jealous when I tell him I played Super Mario Bros. without an emulator!”
“Wooow, Sonic,” the kit murmured, picking up a cartridge. “Like, Sonic before he got old and fat. Classic. Oh hey, there’s your brownies. And a...vase, I guess?”
When he put down the controller and joined Damian, Hector couldn’t help but lick his lips. To the left sat a tin of brownies, cut up into neat little squares, complete with a butter knife stuck in the middle. To the right sat a purplish-bluish thing that looked like a modern-art sculpture with decorative moss somehow watered by a reservoir in the very bottom of the thing. Along with these curious items were more sticky notes: DO NOT EAT on the left, DO NOT LIGHT on the right. Of course, almost on top of that note sat a lighter ready to go.
The two naked boys knelt before the table thinking the same thing. Damian spoke first.
“Does he even know how kids think?”
Hector shook his head. “Either he’s seriously naive, or he really does want us to eat and light. I mean, what adult spoon-feeds this stuff without joking?”
“Has to be a joke.” Carefully, Damian picked up the glass thing and turned it around in his paws. He sniffed the mossy stuff...and promptly snuffled. “There’s your cut grass. Like, rotten cut grass!”
“So good,” Hector said, his snout an inch away from the tempting flaky chocolate crust. When he turned to look at the fox kit, familiar mischief gleamed in his mismatched eyes. “I don’t know about you, but I think he’s doing the reverse psychoshrinky stuff on us.”
“Why would he want us to eat some brownies and set some grass on fire?”
“Iunno. Grownups are weird.”
“Super weird. Well, do you wanna do it to each other?”
Shrugging, the coyolf picked up the lighter and held out his paw for the vase thingy. “Sure, why not? It won’t be the craziest thing I’ve ever done, anyway.” He slid the tray of brownies over to the fox, who picked a corner piece because everyone knows those are the best brownies anyway, and held it up.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Not really. I think you’re supposed to suck up the steam or something. I saw it on a cop show once. Just pretend it’s a dick and you’ll be fine.” Hector held the end up so Damian could clamp his lips over the rim. “Ready, on three?”
The fox nodded and mumbled something into the glass. Hector counted to three, opened up wide, and lit the mossy stuff, keeping the flame steady even as his muzzle was stuffed full of brownie. Flavor exploded on his tongue, sending his tail wagging. He was definitely getting the sweeter end of this deal. When Damian looked like he couldn’t breathe anymore the coyolf took it away and set it down next to the brownie tin. For a good ten seconds the fox held it in, cheeks puffed, until he let it all go in a coughing fit of acrid smoke and watery eyes.
“Owwie,” Damian croaked.
“Yummy,” Hector crooned, rubbing his belly for emphasis. “That didn’t look fun.”
“It was alright.” The boys sat across from one another for half a minute while the fox regained his composure. Hector didn’t see what the big deal was.
“Welp,” he said, “that was kinda pointless. When do you think this guy’s gonna get back?” Truth be told, he wasn’t too hungry anymore. “I’m not feeling very munchy now. That brownie was pretty heavy.”
Damian stared at the carpet in front of him for a few seconds before shaking himself out of it. “Yeah, I dunno where he went for food. Why?”
“He’s expecting us to be naked when he gets home. We can still fool around before then, if we go up in a room where we can see him pull in.”
“I like this plan,” agreed the fox. “I’m feelin’ kinda horny anyway.”
“Heehee,” Hector giggled. “I’m not too horny, but I’m sure I’ll get there eventually.”
“You always do.” Resigned to their fate and whatever punishment the sitter would come up with (it was his fault for leaving stuff in plain sight of precocious boys anyway), the fox and coyolf padded up the staircase to find a nice room to do boy stuff in.
7/5/15
***
Damian Fox and art are \r\n\t\t\t\t\t
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