Top for the Ladies, Bottom for the Boys (Patreon)

Sexuality was never really confusing for Axel—the tiger had it all figured out before he got his first F in calculus.He liked girls, yes, they were beautiful, and he chased them all throughout his years like any man his age would. As one wise man said, “Pussy is like a drug, once you hit it, you’ve already lost and there’s no turning back. Unless you were a fag, or something.” Axel didn’t quite remember who it was that said it, but he remembered it was an important historical figure. Whether it was Abraham Lincoln or Winston Churchill, you can’t really be a man of historical significance without something about you being problematic in the modern day.For the first few years after his sexual awakening (thanks to a risqué movie he watched late night on HBO at a friend’s house), he thought he only had eyes for the ladies. He fucked his way through the cheerleading team, the girls of the theater club, and even the nerds in that club where you just argued with each other for fun. Those girls were the worst to date, but the best to bang. Axel never won an argument he had with this anteater Lisa from the debate club. Although their relationship did last a whole year, which was longer than any other relationship he had in high school. She really was a good lay, despite how she used facts and logic against him in every disagreement.His pansexual awakening came not long after he started playing football at school. He was obsessed with keeping his physique up to the impossible standards presented to him by Hollywood and those other soulless corporations chasing growth and profit. He never went to the extreme, he preferred to keep himself “natty” as they called it. He got to where he was through sweat, burning muscles, and hard work. It was while he was building up his jock silhouette that he started noticing other guys and how good they looked.It started as him looking for inspiration, at first. He saw the other guys as Pinterest boards of washboard abs, legs that could kick open locked car doors, and arms that could pull a helicopter during takeoff back onto the helipad. Strength, power, and the ultimate male form personified.However, the longer he looked, the less analytical or inspirational his gaze became. His green eyes started to wander and his mind started to, too. From wondering “What protein shake does he use?” to “I wonder if he could give me protein.” It certainly didn’t help that the locker rooms were gendered, and he was constantly in there with other, hot, sweaty, and hunky guys.The first time he did anything with a guy, it had started out as an off-hand joke that one would usually brush off with a shrug of the shoulder in a locker room full of your football teammates. But that day it was just Axel and Troye, a puma, who the tiger had heard rumors of being gay.The joke had been about cock sizes, which is the only real acceptable joke in a locker room, because every other joke is just a worse version of the cock size joke. Axel had said something—he couldn’t even remember what, only that it was crass enough to make a lesser man blush. Troye laughed, that low laugh pumas have, the kind that sounds like a little grumble. Then he looked at him, not at the floor where straight guys are supposed to look during a cock joke, and said, “Yeah? You want to find out?”It was the kind of line a straight guy was supposed to bat away with a shove and a “fuck off, faggot,” because that’s how straight guys talked. That was the script. Axel had been handed the script. He had memorized it. He had performed it many times in this very locker room with standing-ovation success.But he wasn’t straight, not exactly. So, instead, he said: “Maybe.”Then there was silence, just hum of the locker room’s HVAC, the dripping showerheads down the hall, and the lingering funk of two-dozen eighteen-year-old apex predators who had spent the last two hours trying to put each other in the dirt. Turf and grass crushed into fur. Salt dried into the cotton of every cubby. The kind of room-smell that, in any other context, was kind of gross. Axel felt his heart in his throat, which was an idiotic thing for a heart to do, anatomically speaking, but he’d read somewhere once that the heart was a stupid muscle, and standing there in the empty locker room he became, finally, a believer.Troye stood up from the bench. He was shorter than Axel by about half a head, but pumas were built like tanks—all coil and shoulder, no allowance for the slack a person actually needs. He still had his pads off but his under-shirt on, that compression thing that made everyone look like they’d been cast in a Marvel movie. He walked over. Slowly. Not predatory—pumas could do predatory better than this if they wanted—but he didn’t want to scare Axel away. He was leaving him three exits along the way and would not begrudge him taking any of them.The tiger took none of them.When Troye got close enough that Axel could smell him—really smell him, not the diffuse room smell but the concentrated, specific one—the world narrowed to it. Salt-cured cotton soaked through twice over. The heavier musk a puma made when his body had been working for hours and was about to start working again on a different agenda. A top-note of grass, a base-note of something man smell. Axel was supposed to be repulsed by it. He was supposed to wrinkle his nose the way guys did when another guy’s funk got too close. Instead, the smell hit him low in the gut and stayed there, doing things he had never thought.“You sure?” Troye said. Quietly, as if afraid someone might overhear them.And here was the thing no one ever bothered to tell you about your first time with a guy: it wasn’t going to feel transgressive. It wasn’t going to feel like a door swinging open onto a new wing of yourself. It was going to feel like the most obvious thing you had ever done. Like someone had handed you a math problem you’d already solved in your sleep. Who better to know a man’s anatomy than another man?“Yeah,” Axel said. “I’m sure.”The puma leaned forward and kissed him.The kiss tasted like salt. Like the inside of a helmet at the end of the third quarter. Axel didn’t mind. Troye’s hand was on his jaw, thumb against the hinge of it, tilting the tiger’s head where he wanted it. Axel kissed girls a lot. Axel was good at kissing girls; he had a system. The system did not apply here. Troye didn’t need to be led. Troye was leading. And Axel—who led everything, who had captained two teams and quarterbacked a third—found that being led felt, embarrassingly, good.He let himself be backed against the locker. ‘Clnk!’The metal was cold through his shirt. Troye’s hand slid down from his jaw, dragged along his throat, settled on his collarbone like he was checking the architecture of the guy he was about to take apart. Axel made a sound he hadn’t heard himself make before, somewhere between a sigh and a question. “Nnhggh?” and Troye answered it by pressing his hips forward and letting Axel feel exactly what he was working with through the compression of two pairs of athletic shorts.“You can stop me,” Troye said into his neck, “any time.”Axel, who had never imagined he’d ever be in such a situation, said, “Don’t.”Troye didn’t drop to his knees. He pressed closer instead, the whole hot length of him, until Axel could feel the puma’s heartbeat against his sternum—steady, slower than his own. His hand found the waistband of Axel’s shorts and stopped there, fingertips just under the elastic. Asking. Always asking.“Yeah,” Axel said, before the question had finished being a question.Troye smiled against his throat and pulled the shorts down—slow, all the way past the knees, dragging the compression liner with them. Axel stepped out on autopilot. Standing in a locker room in just a shirt was, in any other context, the kind of situation he would describe to a therapist later in life. In this context his dick was casting an enthusiastic vote of confidence, his foreskin already half-retracted under its own initiative, the head of him flushed a shiny pink where it pushed against open air.The puma kissed down his throat, his collarbone, the inside of his bicep where the fur was unreasonably soft—a place Axel had never considered an erogenous zone. When the puma came back up, he had his under-shirt off (Axel had missed the magic trick) and his own shorts shoved down to his thighs. His dick stood out. It was big. Thick. Uncut. The tip just barely emerging from a soft hood of foreskin that pulled back further with every shift of his hips, dragging a bead of clear at its center. Axel had never spent any time thinking about other guys’ cocks in the descriptive sense. He found, abruptly, that he had opinions.“Turn around,” Troye said.Axel turned around.The locker was cold against his palms. He braced there as he felt Troye step in behind him—the whole warm column of him, the sweat-damp under-shirt long gone but the damp itself still there, sweat-cooled on the chest now pressing flush to Axel’s back. The press of something hot and unambiguous nudged against the small of his back. Lower, the warmer heavier weight of Troye’s balls rode against the lower curve of Axel’s ass—wet, practice-wet, the trapped heat of two hours in compression gear finally let out into open air. The smell that had been the whole locker room had become, intimately, just the smell of this one puma. Concentrated. Right against his senses. Axel was going to remember this smell on his deathbed.“You done this before?” Troye asked. Right against his ear. Breath warm. Salt-and-puma.“No.”“At all?”

“At all.”Troye’s hands tightened a fraction on his hips. Not possessive—paying attention. “Okay. You tell me if it’s too much. Promise.”“Promise.”The puma stepped away for a beat—Axel almost protested, the absence felt so immediate that he physically swayed toward where Troye had been—and then the click of a locker, a zipper, a soft fumble, and Troye was back. Whatever he’d produced from his bag, Axel didn’t ask.Wet fingers slid between his cheeks and Axel made another noise. “Nnngh.” He had never been touched there. He had never seriously contemplated being touched there. He had also, until five minutes ago, never spent any real time considering the feeling of another man’s balls pressed up against him, and now that feeling was the entire content of his consciousness.“Breathe,” Troye said.“I am breathing.” The tiger replied through a sudden and sharp exhale.Troye laughed, low, close to his ear. “Not like that. Calmly. Relax.” The way he said it caught Axel’s attention. It was a little odd, almost akin to the way a doctor would say something to distract a patient from a big needle injection. In just a few seconds, he would figure out why.‘Schllp!’The first finger going in was strange. Not painful, just strange in the way that any new territory is strange when you have never been there before. Troye took his time. One finger until it was nothing, then two until it was something, by the time it was three Axel had his forehead pressed against the cold metal of the locker and was breathing in a rhythm he didn’t recognize. His body was wet. Some of it was lube. Some of it was the puma sweat transferring from Troye’s chest to his shoulder blades with every motion. Some of it was the warm drag of Troye’s balls against the back of his thighs, soft and heavy and undeniably there, leaving wet ghost-prints on his fur every time the puma shifted his weight.“Still good?”

“Yeah.”“You sure? You’re gripping that locker pretty tight.”“Shut up and—”“Yeah?”“Yeah.”The puma’s fingers withdrew with a nasty wet ‘schlk.’ What followed was a brief mortifyingly empty feeling, which Axel resolved not to examine. Then the pressurized blunt fact of Troye lining himself up: hot, the soft slip of foreskin sliding against Axel’s rim before Troye eased past it and the head of him pressed in.‘Schllllllllk…’He pushed slowly—so slowly that Axel could feel every fraction of progress, every pause where he waited for him to adjust. There was a moment, somewhere in the middle, when Axel’s body wanted to refuse, when every locker-room-bred reflex twisted to reclaim the script he had so thoroughly shredded; and a heartbeat after, his body decided differently. Decided, in fact, to push back. To meet the puma.Troye exhaled a curse against the back of Axel’s neck that was not quite a word.Then he was all the way in, balls pressed warm and damp against Axel’s, and Axel was breathing through it. The funny thing, the genuinely funny thing, was that he didn’t feel ashamed. He didn’t feel like he had lost. He felt like he had stopped pretending to be something for the first time in eighteen years, and the relief of it felt really good.Then Troye moved, and the thinking stopped.Pumas, Axel was discovering, fucked.Troye didn’t slam into him. He rolled. The first stroke pulled back maybe half the way out—slow, almost lazy, the soft ‘shhk’ of wet dick on wet boyhole—and then pressed back in with the same patience, the soft ‘shp’of meeting bottom again. Not pounding. Not the rhythm Axel had imagined for himself, in the few small sleepless moments he’d ever let himself imagine this at all. Something slower. Something more like a man laying down a beat than chasing one.‘Shhk—shp. Shhk—shp. Shhk—shp.’Hips, weight, depth—controlled, deliberate, every stroke landing in a slightly different place, like the puma was running through a checklist of locations inside Axel that Axel had not previously known existed and did not have names for. The locker creaked at Axel’s forehead with each press, a small tinny ‘kk—kk—kk’ of metal against metal. The empty room was making its own quiet music with them.“Hh—” Axel said into the metal. “Hh—hh—”“Yeah,” Troye said. Quiet. Right against the back of his neck.“Hh—Troye—”“Yeah?”“I don’t—fuck—I don’t know what—”“I know.”The puma’s voice in Axel’s ear was a low steady thing—calm, grounded, watching. The same voice from a minute ago when he’d said “Relax.” Troye’s hands were on Axel’s hips, fingers spread wide, holding him steady against each thrust. His chest had come down flush against Axel’s back. The damp under-shirt was long gone but the damp itself was still there, sweat-cooled from the chest now pressing flush against Axel’s skin and warming up again in the friction of two bodies stuck together.A drop of sweat hit the small of Axel’s back. He felt it land. Slide. Pool briefly in the dip above his ass before joining the slick already going down into the cleft. Another drop.The locker room had become a wet rhythm of fur on fur, the soft slap of Troye’s balls against the back of Axel’s with every thrust, hot and heavy, sweat-slick from practice and even thicker now. ‘Plp—plp—plp.’Smaller. Wetter. The puma did not, would not, slam. The puma rolled.The smell rose up between them, the whole afternoon’s funk wrung out by motion: salt, fur, that thick under-musk, the heavier base-note Axel had been smelling on the puma since the kiss and was now sealed against, breathing in on every breath he took into the cold metal of the locker. His own smell was in it too. He could smell himself—his own arousal, the sweat collecting in the hollow of his throat, the heat of his own body opening up around the puma’s fat cock. The two of them. One smell. One body, almost.Troye’s breath was wet in his ear. ‘Hhf. Hhf. Hhf.’ Quiet, even. The puma was working. He was not winded. His fingers were leaving bruises on Axel’s hips that Axel was going to find in the shower tomorrow and feel kind of proud of.“Troye—” Axel said, not knowing what he was asking for.“Yeah.”“Hh—God—what are you—”“Just stay there.”Troye shifted his angle a fraction. The next stroke landed somewhere new—a small bright flash of nothing in Axel’s vision, like staring at the sun for half a second—and the noise that came out of him was not English and was not Tigrish and did not, frankly, seem like a noise that would come out of a jock like him.“Hh—HH—”“There,” Troye said, soft, into the back of his neck. “Got it.”“What—was—”“That’s where it lives. Your prostate.”Troye stayed there. He did not change his angle. He kept rolling his hips, ‘shhk—shp, shhk—shp’ but now every stroke landed on that exact spot, that bright sweet place inside the tiger, and Axel’s hands gripped the locker so hard his knuckles went pale through his fur. The puma was hitting it on purpose. He had memorized the address. Every roll of his hips delivered the same large precise package, and Axel was, slowly, coming apart against the metal door he was facing.“Hh—ah—ah—”“Yeah.”“Troye—fuck—Troye—what is—”“I never took you for a bottom, Axel.”A drop of sweat from Troye’s forehead landed on Axel’s shoulder blade. Slid down between them and joined the wetness already on his lower back. The two of them stuck together now in a small wet seal of damp fur. Axel could feel the puma’s heart through his ribs. Slow. Slower than his own. Working.Axel saw stars—the dumb cliche kind he had always assumed novelists invented for the dust jacket. Turns out: not a cliche. Turns out: documentary.The pace picked up. Just a fraction. The ‘shhk—shp’ got a little faster, the ‘plp—plp—plp’ of the balls a little louder, a little wetter. Troye’s bruise-making fingers on Axel’s hips were starting to tighten—the first sign of the puma’s discipline beginning to crack. His breath in Axel’s ear was beginning to lose its measure.“Hhf.’ Hh—fuck. Fuck.”“Hh—Troye—”“You feel—Christ—Axel, you feel—”“Tell me.”“Soft.”Soft. He had been called many things in his eighteen years—fast, strong, smart-ass, bro—but he had never, not once, been called soft. He had spent a not-small amount of energy making sure no one would ever call him that. And now, here, with this puma rolled into him from behind, he found himself liking it and wanting it.“Hh—Troye—”“Yeah?”“Mnng… More.”The puma’s pace picked up another notch. The ‘shhk—shp’ became ‘shhkshpshhkshp’, the gaps between strokes closing, the slick noise of penetration running together into one continuous wet rhythm. The ‘plp—plp—plp’ of balls became wetter, louder, more constant—‘plp plp plp plp.’ Troye was sweating heavily now. Axel could feel the drops landing in faster sequence on his shoulder blades, the back of his neck, sliding down between their bodies in warm small trickles. Axel’s own forehead was pressed against cold metal that had begun to fog with his own breath. He had not noticed when that started.“Hh—Troye—”“Yeah, Axe?”“Touch me.”His free hand left Axel’s hip and slid around to wrap the tiger’s cock, and the first stroke was almost enough on its own. Troye worked him with ease. Obviously, he had done this more than once before. He knew the mechanics of a cock from the inside: the smooth involuntary glide, the soft drag, the way you didn’t need friction because the foreskin did the friction for you. Not many girls had ever quite figured it out—they’d always gripped him like a stick-shift, all knuckle and effort. Troye applied institutional knowledge.The hand and the hips moved in time. ‘Shhk—shp’ inside; ‘shk-shk’ on his cock. The two slick rhythms layered, the puma working both halves of him at once, every stroke from behind echoed by a stroke from the front, and there was, suddenly, nowhere on Axel that was not being attended to.Axel moaned. “Hhhnnggghhhaaaah.” His vocabulary was getting smaller and his vowel range was getting larger.“Close,” he gasped, embarrassed by how soon, by how thoroughly undone he was—except Troye’s breath against his neck had gone ragged too, and the puma’s famous calm and collected demeanor was finally fully cracking, his hips losing rhythm for the first time, balls slapping faster and louder and wetter against the back of Axel’s thighs. ‘Plp! plp! plp!’ Now it was almost a slap. Now it was almost what Axel had imagined in the dark."With me," Troye said, half-order, half-plea.Axel held on. He didn't know how—willpower, panic, the locker—but he held on, even as Troye's hand worked him and the pace built and the wet sound of their bodies filled the room. The 'shhkshpshhkshp' of penetration had become near-continuous now, faster, wetter, the noise of a man losing his measure at the hand and dick of another man for the first time. Troye's other hand slid up Axel's chest, found his throat, settled there flat and warm.Axel could feel it gathering. The whole low coil of it. His balls drawing up tight against the base of him—that small involuntary tuck a body does when it knows what's coming, the soft sac pulling close and snug, the weight of him bunching upward into his own stomach in preparation. His cock in Troye's grip had gone heavier and harder, the foreskin pulled back fully, the head of him flushed an angry pink and leaking a thin steady stream of clear that ran over Troye's knuckles and down between his fingers. The puma worked him through it—sticky easy strokes that the foreskin did most of the work for—and Axel was, second by second, losing the thread of his own anatomy.Behind him, the puma's discipline had finally fully gone. Troye's hips were snapping into him in short fast wet thrusts now, 'plp! plp! plp!', balls slapping wet and quick against Axel's, and Axel could feel the puma's were drawn up too—tight, hot, high against him where they pressed forward into Axel's own sac with every thrust. Both of them wound, both of them at the edge, both of them held there by Troye's voice in Axel's ear saying “with me, with me, with me.”Three strokes. Four. The grip on his cock tightened just so, at the same moment Troye's teeth grazed the back of his neck."Now—"They went together.Axel came against the locker with a noise he was going to deny on his deathbed.“Hh—HH—HHA!!!!!” and the first rope went. He felt it. He felt the whole length of his cock pulse in Troye's grip, the hot tight throb that started behind his balls and traveled up the underside of him, and then 'splt'. The first thick rope shot out of him and hit the cold metal of the locker in a long pale arc, sticking and sliding down.The second pulse came right behind it, just as hard. 'Splt.' Another rope, lower, smearing across his own knuckles where he was still gripping the locker for dear life. The third was wetter, messier, the rope shorter. 'Splp.' Sliding warm down his own stomach and into the fur there. Four. Five. Six. Each pulse weaker than the last but each one its own discrete event, his cock kicking in the puma’s hand, his balls clenching tight up against him on every pulse and slowly easing back down between them. He had never seen himself shoot like this in his life. He had never been emptied like this in his life. His knees were trying to give and Troye's body against his back was the only thing holding him up.And Troye came into him at the same time, buried deep, balls pressed tight up against Axel's. The puma's whole body shuddered once against his back like a building shifting on its foundation.Axel felt the seize before the pulses came. The whole long length of Troye behind him locked up at once—every muscle going rigid, his chest pressed so flush to Axel's spine that Axel could feel the puma's heart slam once, hard, against his own ribs. Troye's grip at Axel's throat tightened a fraction—not squeezing, just suddenly more there, the weight of a man losing himself. And his balls—Axel could feel them—had drawn up tight and high against the base of him, pulled flush against Axel's own, the soft hot weight of them suddenly hard and round and clenched against the seam between his cheeks. Then the spasm.The puma's hips jerked forward once, hard, balls-deep, and held.‘Glrk, glrk, glork.’Then the pulses started. Axel felt every single one, the same way he was feeling his own—three, four, five thick wet kicks of the puma's cock inside him, each one a small hot detonation deep, each one prying upward and applying pressure to his prostate, each rope painting a separate stripe of spooge along his walls. 'Thp.' The first one—the biggest—a thick fat throb that Axel felt as a whole-body event, the puma's cock kicking once inside him and the immediate hot wet spread of it. ‘Spllrt.' The second came right behind it, just as hard, another stripe laid down somewhere a fraction deeper.'Thpsssrrkkkll.' A third—wetter this time, stickier, the warm pressure of cum starting to build up where there was nowhere else for it to go. ‘Skkkllllrrrthhkk.' A fourth, smaller—a softer kick of the cock now, but Axel could still feel the amount of cum being dumped into him. He felt warm, strangely full. Was this what the girls felt when he fucked them? Was this why they kept coming back for more?Troye's balls jumped against his own with each pulse, the soft hot weight of them tucking up and then settling and then tucking up again, the rhythm of his emptying playing out in the very base of him pressed flush to Axel's. A growl right against Axel's nape that did not technically contain any words but communicated more clearly than any sentence Troye had spoken the entire time they had been in the locker room. "Rrrnggghhh…" A low animal vibration that traveled from the puma's chest into the meat of Axel's back and stayed there for years.

The puma kept going. Three more small slow thrusts even as he was unloading, each one milking another smaller pulse out of him, working the last of himself into Axel and shuddering each time. Axel could feel each thrust drag inside him a fraction deeper, could feel his rim grip tight on each retreat and ease back open on each return. He could feel Troye's balls slowly easing down from where they'd been bunched, the spent weight of them settling back into a softer heavier hang against the back of his thighs. The puma did not stop until he was empty.‘Glrk, glork, gllrrp.’A small wet 'shlp' as Troye settled all the way in for the last time. Buried. Balls deep. His forehead lowered to rest against the back of Axel's shoulder. His breath there—'hhf. hhf. hhf.'—ragged, finally, the calm and collected demeanor not so much cracked as fully demolished and lying in pieces.They stayed like that. Just breathing. Axel's forehead against cold metal, his own breath fogging the steel in front of him, the long pale arcs of his own cum sliding slowly down the locker door in front of his eyes. Troye's chest sticking to Axel's back. The puma still buried, still throbbing in small soft aftershocks. Axel’s hole clenching in response, squeezing out every last drop of that puma DNA. He could feel the first slow trickle of warm cum starting to find its way around the seal at the rim of his whole where Troye’s cock and his ass met—a thin hot line easing down his taint, the leak that was going to be his problem to deal with in about a minute. Their mixed sweat cooling in the gap between two heartbeats slowly remembering they belonged to different bodies. The drip of the showerhead down the hall, oblivious, marking time.‘Splt. Splt. Splt.’Eventually Troye pulled out.The puma did it slowly. Carefully. Axel felt every inch of it in reverse—the long slow drag of the puma's softening cock pulling back through his stretched-out rim, every fraction of it making itself known on the way out the same way it had made itself known on the way in. Inch by inch. The wet 'shhk' of cum and lube sliding through. The hot pressure inside him receding by degrees, the puma's load already starting to shift around the seal as the cock made its slow exit. Axel could feel his own hole stretching wider as the thickest part of the puma passed back through—his tip, fatter than the shaft—and then the small wet 'plp' of the head slipping past his rim, popping free, leaving the cold air of the locker room hitting parts of him that had not been in open air in a long while. A trailing string of cum followed the cock out, white and thick and connecting them for half a second before it broke and slapped against the back of Axel's thigh.Then the leak started in earnest.Axel felt it immediately. His hole was—there was no other word for it—gaping. He could feel the cold air of the locker room hitting the inside of him, the slow stretched-open feel of a body that had not yet learned how to close around nothing. And the cum the puma had spent the last few minutes pumping into him had nowhere left to go. Axel felt the first thick warm trickle find the edge of his boy hole and ease over it—a fat slow drop of it sliding down his taint, hot and syrupy. Another followed it. Then another. Within seconds there was a steady warm dribble of it running down the inside of his thigh, mixing with the lube and the spit and the sweat already there, making a sticky mess of the fur on his upper leg. He could feel a thicker rope of it building at his rim—too heavy to cling on—and then 'splt' the first proper glob fell, hitting the tiled locker-room floor between his feet in a small wet pat that Axel was going to hear in his head every time he set foot in this locker room for the rest of his time at the school.The locker in front of him had not improved. The long pale arcs of his own cum were still sliding slowly down the metal door, finding their way to the lower vents, painting a small temporary mural of his evening. He was, frankly, going to have to come back with paper towels. Else coach would have to talk to the entire team about not cumming on the lockers again."Christ," Troye said. Quiet. Awed. Behind him."Yeah.""You're—""I know."Axel could feel the puma's eyes on his hole. He could feel them—Troye standing back a half step now, just looking at the mess of what he'd done to him, the wet stretched-open evidence of his doing. The puma's hand came back, gentle, two fingers running through the slow trickle on the inside of Axel's thigh and then up, smearing it along the curve of his ass in a small possessive motion."Sorry," Troye said."You're not.""No," the puma agreed. "I'm not."

“Heh.” Axel chuckled the puma’s fingers withdrew. He'd had something inside him for what could not have been more than a few minutes and was already, idiotically, feeling the lack of all of it—the cock, the heat, the weight of the puma against his back, the fingers. He turned around, mostly because his legs had decided they could be trusted again and he wanted to look at Troye and make sure he was real, that he had not dreamed this entire thing. And also because if he didn't move soon he was going to leak the rest of the puma's load down his calf and onto his feet, and getting another guy’s cum on your feet was fucking gay.Axel was met with the puma’s kind eyes when he turned to face him. He was real, shirtless, flushed, mouth still salt-shiny, looking at Axel with the kind of soft post-coital amusement Axel had only ever seen on girls. “You good?” Troye asked.“Yeah,” Axel said.It wasn’t a lie. It also wasn’t the whole truth—which was that he wasn’t just good, he was rearranged. Some piece of furniture inside him had been picked up and set back down in a slightly different spot, and the room was going to look subtly wrong to him forever now, in a way he was going to learn to love.Troye smiled, the kind of small private smile that straight men give each other. “Cool.”And then, because they were eighteen, and because the world hadn’t gotten its hooks into them yet, they cleaned up their mess, took a shower together, put their clothes back on, and went and got cheeseburgers.Axel got an F in calculus that semester.---That had been over a decade ago. Give or take. Cheeseburgers eaten, lives diverged—Troye gone to a college in another state, played professional football for a while before he got some cushy job on Wallstreet, Axel gone to the kind of life that did not include locker rooms or quarterback duties. The world had, in fact, gotten its hooks into them, as the world will with most people eventually. But the puma had left something behind. A door. Ajar. And in the decade since, Axel had walked through it enough times to wear a groove in the floor.Axel-at-thirty had a one-bedroom on the fourth floor of a building with a broken elevator.He had a heavy bag in the corner of the living room, a free-weight setup in the bedroom, and a refrigerator stocked according to a protein-forward calculus that would have impressed his eighteen-year-old self. He had also—and this was important—a sixty-five inch TV, a PS5 with NBA 2K, and a list of contacts in his phone who knew, without being told twice, that “come chill” was code.Cole was on the list.Cole was a wolf. Black-furred, gray at the temples in a way that was annoyingly premature and annoyingly attractive. Six-three. Worked at some clothing store where the dress code was “shirtless”. He played in a rec basketball league that took itself entirely too seriously. He had been to Axel’s apartment seven times. Tonight made eight. By the third time it had stopped being a question whether something would happen and had become a question only of when, and how Axel wanted to ask for it.Axel had several ways of asking.They were on the couch. Knees not quite touching. Cole was up by twelve points and being a dick about it. He played the Celtics like a man with something to prove, which, in fairness, he did—he had been cut from the Celtics of his hometown rec league at seventeen for some grudge Axel had heard about three times now. He talked through the game, which was his way: a steady low patter of commentary and self-congratulation that Axel had learned to tune out the way you tune out the hum of a refrigerator.“Tatum for three—what did I tell you, what did I—”“You told me to get us beers.” Axel didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Which I did. Drink yours and shut up about the points.”“Down by twelve, talking shit. Can’t be me.”“Down by twelve in the second quarter.”“Quarter and a half.”“You’re peaking early.”“Story of my life,” Cole said, and Axel could hear the grin in it without looking.It happened in the fourth quarter, when Axel’s Lakers had clawed back to within four and Cole was, despite the talking, starting to sweat. The wolf hit pause. Set his controller down. Got up off the couch with the small grunt big men make when they get up off couches.“I gotta piss. Hold the score for me.”“Take your time.”The tiger watched the wolf walk out of the room. His ass in those jeans. The cut of his shoulders rolling under the t-shirt. Axel listened to the bathroom door click shut down the hall.He had thirty seconds. Fifty, if the wolf washed his hands, which he knew probably wasn’t likely.He set his controller down. Killed the overhead lights. Left just the lamp on behind the couch—the apricot one, the one that gave the room its warmer color. He pulled the throw pillow off the far end of the couch and set it at the corner closest to the doorway, where it would be the first thing the wolf saw when he came back in. He grabbed a folded towel from the laundry pile by the heavy bag and laid it across the cushion under where his hips were going to be, because he was thirty years old now and the boy who had been pinned to a locker had taught him a few things about preparation.Then he lay down.Belly-flat on the couch, chest flush to the leather, the throw pillow tucked under his lower stomach to lift his hips a fraction off the cushion. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his exercise shorts and pulled them off—and then did the same with his boxers, but left them caught around his right ankle, the green cotton blend coiled lazily around him like a snake. He kept his t-shirt on, but rucked it up slightly so his lower back was bare, the orange-and-black of his fur catching the lamp behind him.He cocked one knee up under him just a fraction, so the hip on that side lifted and the cleft of his ass tilted, plainly, open. His paws curled lazily over the edge of the cushion at the far end. His tail flicked off to the side, dangling against the fabric.The tiger’s piercing showed at this angle. Axel knew it did. The two small silver beads of his guiche. Cole liked the piercing. The pose put it on display.Then he turned his head. Cheek on the back of his forearm. Eyes half-lidded. Facing the doorway.Here was the thing about being thirty: no embarrassment about this. None. The boy in the locker room had been, briefly, mortified by being bent over for the first time, and the man in the apartment was just—a man, arranging his ass on a couch for a friend, the way other guys arranged the appetizer plate before company arrived. He arched a fraction more on purpose. He let his tongue come out and touch his top lip. Theater of detail. Axel had earned, by thirty, the right to compose.Then he listened.The flush. The sink running. The squeak of the bathroom door. Footsteps coming back up the hall. The pace of them changing—slowing—at exactly the angle Axel had calculated for, the angle where the wolf would round the corner into the living room and see—Cole stopped.Axel did not move. Did not speak. He just turned his eyes a fraction further and let them catch the wolf in the doorway. The look-back. The slow one. The one that didn’t need words. He let it sit for one heartbeat. Two.The wolf's eyes traveled down. Slowly. The slow once-over of a man cataloguing what was being offered—the exposed lower back, the dip of the lower spine, the curve of the ass with the boxers loose around one ankle it, the paws curled at the edge of the cushion. And lower, in the cleft between Axel's thighs, the small bright glint of two silver beads. The guiche. Axel had gotten it done a year and change ago and the wolf had developed, over the months since, a thing about it—a fondness Cole had never put into words and didn't have to, because Axel had clocked it the first time. The beads caught the apricot light of the lamp behind the couch in two small bright points, a tiny detail in the middle of the larger picture, drawing the eye exactly where Axel had known it would.“Jesus fuck,” Cole said. Hoarse. Almost a whisper. “When did you—”“While you were pissing.”Cole laughed once. He realized he had been gently and completely set up, and was grateful for it. His hand drifted down to palm himself through his jeans—lazy, instinctive, the wolf’s body responding before the rest of him caught up.“You couldn’t even let me finish a quarter.”“Like I said, you were peaking early.”“Story of my life.”Cole crossed the room. Slowly, this time. He stopped at the corner where the throw pillow was waiting, and looked down at Axel: sprawled, half-clothed, ass arched, paws curled, looking up at him over the curve of his own shoulder. The wolf did not, for a long beat, do anything but look.“You’re a bad influence on me,” he said.“You can always say no.”Cole laughed again. Pulled his shirt off in one practiced motion. Unbuckled. Stepped out of his jeans, his boxers, and the rest of his pretense. Then he was on the couch—climbing up at the foot of it, big and warm, settling on his knees between Axel’s ankles. His hands slid up the backs of Axel’s thighs, slow, drinking in the texture of fur and warm skin, and stopped at the curve where ass met leg.“Only a stupid man would say no,” the wolf said.Cole made a small pleased noise. He liked the half-dressed thing. Axel knew he liked the half-dressed thing—knew it the way you knew the laundry preferences of someone you’d been sleeping with on and off for a year—which was, partly, why his shirt was still on. Composition. The tiger had given it some thought.The wolf lowered himself. His chest brushed the backs of Axel’s thighs. His hands slid up over the curve of Axel’s ass and spread him wide—thumbs at the cleft, the rest of his palms cupping each cheek—and Axel felt the cold air of the room hit his exposed hole, and then the heat of Cole’s breath replacing it, and then the slow exhale that meant the wolf was getting his bearings.The first thing was the smell.Cole let himself just breathe Axel in—face inches from his ass, nostrils flaring—before he did anything else. Axel could not see him doing it. He could only feel the warm shift of the wolf’s breath against his hole, slow and audible, the small wet inhale of a man who liked what he was getting. The inhales didn’t stay small for very long.‘Snff. Snffffff. Snffffffffffff.’Axel had not showered since the gym that morning. He had been on the couch in those shorts for hours, drinking beer and laughing at his own missed jump shots and getting warmer and warmer in his own fur. He smelled, by now, the way he smelled. Tiger fur and salt and the deeper musk a body makes when it has been at low idle for a long evening. The kind of clean-but-not-fresh that Cole, judging from the noise the wolf made into the small of his back, was firmly in favor of.“Fuck,” Cole said into him. Muffled. “You smell—”“Like what.”“Like you.”The wolf did not need to elaborate. Axel knew exactly what he meant. He had, by this point in his life, smelled himself in the right moments often enough to know what other men got out of it. The base note of warm fur. The mid-note of sweat. The under-note that was hotter and more specific—the deeper musk that lived between his cheeks, the smell that came up out of a man’s ass when his ass had been in shorts all day and was now in open air, the closest thing his body had to a signature. Cole’s nose was in it. The wolf made a small distressed sound at how much he liked it.Then his tongue.‘Slllllp.’Cole did not start gentle. The first stroke was a broad flat wet drag from Axel’s taint up to the small of his back—hot and slow and unmistakably hungry—and the noise Axel made into his own forearm was one he was going to spend the rest of the week pretending he had not made. “Hhhnnngghhaahh!”The taste, on the wolf’s tongue, would have been salt mostly. The deeper musk Cole had been breathing in, now distilled. Some of Axel’s own arousal, the sweat that had been collecting at his rim since the moment he laid down. Tiger fur. Skin. The faint mineral note from sweat. Cole pulled back for half a second with that taste in his mouth and Axel saw him swallow.‘Sssllllllrrp, smch… Glp.’He went back in.Flat tongue. Point of the tongue. Stiff and stabbing in tight wet circles right at the rim. Cole’s nose pressed into Axel’s tailbone—the wolf was breathing him in with every stroke, in the small intervals between licks, audibly, the slow wet inhale of someone not in a hurry. His scruffy chin—he did not trim on weekends—scraped just slightly against the sensitive skin of Axel’s ass and Axel’s whole body shuddered, hips rolling forward against the throw pillow, the soft cotton catching the leak of his own cock against his belly.“Nnnggghhhfuck…”Spit started running. Cole had a wet mouth. The wolf made saliva like he was being paid by the ounce, and within a minute Axel’s whole rear was covered with it—warm trickles running down his taint, pooling against his balls, dripping off them onto the towel beneath. Some of it, Cole licked back up. Some of it the wolf chased with the flat of his tongue, broad messy strokes from balls to spine that Axel could feel in his teeth.“Fffffffffuck…” Axel said into his forearm. The whole of his vocabulary, briefly.On one of the broad strokes from balls to spine, Cole's tongue caught on the beads of his piercing. It dragged over the metal and the wolf paused there. The small silver pair of them held against the rough wet pad of the wolf's tongue, the wet 'tk-tk' of beads against the edges of his teeth audible underneath the bigger noises he was making. The contrast was the thing. Cool steel, hot tongue. The beads stayed cooler than Axel's fur, cooler than Cole's mouth, the only part of him that wasn't on fire—and the wolf knew that, and worked them on purpose, his tongue circling first one bead then the other, then dragging across the space between in a slow flat lick. Then the wolf went further. His lips closed around the lower bead and he sucked—a long wet pull, the soft hot wet seal of his mouth working the metal, the small obscene 'shhlp' of suction as he drew the bead between his lips. “Hhnnngooooghh…” Axel moaned. So Cole did it again. Sucked harder this time, the hot wet pressure of the wolf's mouth latched onto the piercing where it sat in the most sensitive strip of skin on Axel's body, his tongue still working the metal inside his closed lips. ‘Shlp, shlk, shlp' of mouth and tongue and bead that Axel was, frankly, going to be hearing in his head every time he sat down for the next three days. Cole worked the left bead between his teeth—gently, just the lightest scrape of fang on metal, then released and started in on the right one. Same treatment. Long wet suck. Tongue working underneath. The soft fat sound of a wolf eating something he liked. Cole had asked once, in the months after Axel had gotten it done: "you get that for me?" Axel had said no.Below the wolf, in the space between his knees on the cushion, his cock was coming out of its sheath.Axel couldn't see it from where he was—face down, cheek on his forearm—but he could feel it. The first thick warm drop hit the back of his left calf about a minute into the work. Slow. Heavy. Heavier than spit. A small viscous droplet that slid an inch down his fur and stopped, clinging there in a clear glossy strand. Then another. A second drop, higher this time, settling on the back of his thigh—hot, gooey, wolf slime. The sheath-goo the wolf's body produced in slow heavy increments when he got hard, the natural lube that eased a cock out of its housing in the first place—and right now, with Cole bent over him on his knees with his face buried in his ass, that slime was dripping straight down out of him and onto Axel.The tiger had a mental glossary for this part of the wolf. From this position—Cole on hands and knees over him, face in his ass, hips hanging free in the space below—Axel knew the shape of what was happening even with his eyes closed and his cheek pressed to his own arm. The soft black furred housing of the sheath would be low at the wolf's groin, full and warm, the dark velvety pouch already swollen with the cock pushing its way out. By now the flushed tapered tip would be fully clear of it, pink and dripping with the slime the sheath was making at speed; then an inch of shaft, easing free, then another inch, getting longer and harder and more demanding with every minute Cole spent grinding his face into Axel's ass. The knot, still sheathed and deflated for now, was waiting. The balls hanging below—two tennis balls in their loose furred sac, the kind of weight that needed both palms to hold properly—would be swaying low and heavy with each motion of the wolf's jaw, full and warm and patient.A long viscous strand had begun to swing from the tip of him. Axel knew the shape of that too. A clear glossy thread of slime that lengthened by a fraction with every shake of Cole's head into Axel's ass, going thicker and ropier the harder the wolf worked. Eventually, it broke. 'Splp.'  The whole rope fell and landed on the towel beneath them in a small wet smear that joined the rest of the man juice collecting there. The leaking didn't stop. The wolf's body was making more, fast—the sheath full and engorged, his cock half-emerged and hard, his slime collecting at the tip and falling in slow heavy beads onto the fabric below in a private soundtrack underneath everything else: 'tk… tk… tk…'Cole did not seem to notice or care. The wolf was busy. His tongue was busy. His face was busy. His cock was just doing what wolf cocks did under these conditions—growing, drooling, getting itself ready—a slow steady drip of precum onto the cushion in a quiet patient rhythm.“Mhnnng…” The wolf grumbled approval. The deep wolf noise vibrated through Axel’s ass and into the base of his spine. His tongue went from working over the rim to working into it—small wet stabs first, just the tip, getting Axel open up in increments; then more, then more. The wolf’s whole face was pressed into him, nose buried, jaw working. Axel could feel the soft heat of the tongue inside him. He could feel the spit running down. He could feel the wolf’s pleasure in it: the constant happy rumble, the way Cole’s whole body leaned into the work, the way the wolf was eating him out like a man at a meal he had been thinking about all afternoon.Axel’s hole opened. Wet. Warm. Willing. The wolf’s tongue went deeper. The wet noise of it—the obscene wet-tongue-in-wet-hole noise—was loud enough to be the only thing in the apartment, and Axel—embarrassingly, predictably, the way a decade of practice had taught him—rolled his hips back into the wolf’s face with a small needy whine he had spent his early twenties learning not to be ashamed of.“Nnnggghh…”Cole’s thumb joined the tongue. Slid in alongside it, lubed with spit, working him a fraction wider. The thumb pressed deep, found that spot inside him, and pressed there gently. Axel’s cock kicked against the throw pillow beneath him. He hadn’t even been touching it. A heavy clear strand of precum strung from the tip into the cotton; another took its place. He was a leaking faucet. The pillow under his hips was wet to the touch.“Cole—”“Mm.”The wolf’s mouth came off him with a wet sound, but his thumb stayed inside, working the tiger boy slow. He pressed a wet open-mouthed kiss to the back of Axel’s thigh. His face, when Axel craned to look, was shiny to the cheekbones—spit-spiked fur and a low quiet flush across the bridge of his nose. He looked drunk on it. He looked, Axel had to admit, fucking great.“Drawer,” Axel said.“I know which drawer.”“Then move.”Cole reached over to the small drawer of the side table—the one Axel kept supplies in for reasons that, again, see paragraph one—and produced the bottle of lube. The drawer was a thing Cole knew. The drawer was a thing all of them knew.His thumb withdrew with a slow wet drag. Axel’s hole, abandoned, clenched and unclenched around the empty space, drooling onto his taint. He could feel it gaping just slightly. The cold air on his stretched-open rim. He had become, in the last twenty minutes, a sloppy wet thing presenting on a sofa, having the time of its life.Before the lube there was the show.Axel had his cheek against the back of his forearm and his eyes mostly closed, but he had the wolf's reflection in the dark glass of the TV in the corner—a smear of black-furred shoulder, the cut of his jaw bent down to watch his own hand work—and he watched what Cole was doing in the reflection because there was no point pretending he didn't want to.Cole was already hard.The wolf had been hard for most of the last ten minutes—since he'd put his face in Axel's ass, and visibly so all the way through the rim job, the slow leak of sheath-slime onto the towel below the couch having become its own private soundtrack underneath the wet noises he'd been making with his mouth. Axel had watched it happen in pieces, in the dark glass of the TV—the tapered pink tip easing its way out of the sheath while the wolf worked at him, more of the shaft emerging in slow patient inches the longer Cole spent eating him, the soft black-furred housing slowly giving up its contents to the open air.Now, with Cole sitting back on his heels and his hand wrapped around the base of his crotch, the wolf was just finishing the job. His palm cupped the dark velvety pouch of his sheath, fingers easing the housing back down the last fraction. The shaft was almost fully out—long, pink-red, smooth, shiny to the tip with the slime the sheath had been making all day long. Each slow draw of the wolf's grip eased another inch of him into open air, the housing retracting another smidge down the base, the cock standing up taller and harder by the second.The knotted base came last. Axel watched it come. As the long shaft fully cleared the housing, the bulb at the base of him slid into view—soft and round, not yet engorged, sitting at the join between sheath and shaft like a stopper. It would get bigger. Axel knew it would get bigger. Axel had developed, over the year, liking to how much bigger it got.Below the sheath, the wolf's balls hung heavy in their loose furred sac—two tennis balls large, with the kind of weight that needed both palms to hold properly. They swung gently as Cole shifted his weight on the cushions. Warm. Full.Cole caught him watching. Looked up. Met the reflected eyes in the dark glass."Pretty?" the wolf said. Dry."Shut up. Get on with it."The wolf laughed once, low, flipped the lube bottle upside down, and squeezed.The lube went on with the wet sounds of a hand on a cock—the squelch of the bottle, then the 'shk-shk-shk'of Cole's palm working from the tapered tip all the way down the long 11-inch pink-red length of him, and then a wetter slower pass over the soft swelling knot at the base, the wolf making sure that part of him got its share. He took his time. He always took his time on this part. Axel listened closely, eyes closed now, mouth slightly open. He was going to admit to no one how much he liked listening to it."Ready," Cole said."You don't have to ask.""I know I don't. Asking anyway.""Move."The wolf lined up. His pointed dick tip pressed against Axel's rim and stayed there for a long heartbeat—warm.Then he pushed in.He took his time. His hips pressed forward, and forward, and 'pop'—the hot full crown of him broke past the ring of muscle with a wet sound. ‘Shlp!' that punched a "Hnh—!" out of the tiger into the soft fabric of the couch."Hh—fuuuuuuuuck—"Cole eased in another inch. Stopped. Another inch. Stopped again. The wolf was watching it happen—Axel could feel his free hand spreading one of his cheeks wider just to see—and Cole made a small noise at whatever he was looking at, “Mhnmg,” his thumb running along the stretched-out edge of Axel's rim where the cock disappeared inside him."Look at you take it," Cole said, low. "Christ.""Just—fuck—keep going—"Another inch. The slow drag of the long thick shaft sinking in, every fraction of him making itself known. The wet 'shhk' of hot dick meat sliding through ass muscle. Axel's whole rear was already soaked—lube, the wet trickle of his own arousal sliding down his taint, the towel under his hips dark and ruined. He felt Cole's hipbones press into the curve of his ass, the wiry brush of belly fur—and lower, the heavy hot weight of the wolf's balls hanging full and warm against the backs of his thighs, that kind of weight he lived for.And there, deep inside him, just past his stretched-open rim—the soft fat fullness of the knot. The wolf had pushed it all the way in. He always did, this early. The knot was a bit girthier than the shaft even uninflated—a thicker fattening at the base of him that Axel felt pass the rim on the way in, a wider stretch of muscle around the soft fat swell, then the wet 'plp' of his own rim closing back behind it around the thinner base of the shaft. Now it sat lodged inside him—soft for now, not yet engorged, a heavier rounder weight nested at the deepest part of him. It would inflate later, once the wolf got going. For now it was just an extra fullness, a softer warmer more sitting deep where the shaft ended.Axel's body had a name for the feeling. Axel's body had been chasing this feeling for years.Eu-fucking-phoria“Hhhf—” Cole exhaled, all the way in. All the way in this time. "Christ, Axel.""Mmnghhh...""You feel that?""Yeah.""Yeah?""Just. Fuck me."Cole moved.

The first stroke was slow on purpose. Almost all the way out—the long obscene drag of him pulling back through Axel's tight rim, a soft trailing 'schhhk' of skin sliding on skin, the soft uninflated knot coming with it on the retreat—the wet 'plp' of the bulb easing back through Axel's hole and out, the pucker closing for a beat around empty air—and then back in, easier this time, a long buttery push that bottomed out with a quiet wet 'tmp' of hipbone meeting ass and, a fraction of a second after, another softer wet 'plp' as the knot popped back through and reseated itself deep inside him. Axel made a noise into the back of his own forearm.“Hhhffuhhhchh…”The second stroke was faster. The third faster. The fourth got the wolf his rhythm.By the fifth stroke the apartment had a soundtrack.'Plap-plp. Plap-plp. Plap-plp.'Cole's hips hit Axel's ass at the bottom of every stroke, flesh on slick flesh, wet enough now that the impact had a slap-and-suction quality—and a fraction of a second after each one, that smaller second beat: the soft wet 'plp' of the uninflated knot easing back through Axel's rim on its way home, the warm fat bulb sliding in and out with every full stroke. It was a stretch, every time. Every full pull-out and every full push-in. The widening of Axel's tiger boy pussy around the swell, the wet release as the bulb passed through, the soft reseat deep inside him. The kind of stretch you couldn't get from a shaft alone. The kind of stretch Axel was addicted to.The couch creaked underneath them in a smaller offbeat counterpoint, 'crrrk, crrrk', every time the frame shifted on the rug. The pillow under Axel's hips squelched faintly with each press of his cock into the wet cotton, dragging a longer and longer dark streak as his precum kept making more of itself."Fuck, fuck," Axel moaned, arching his back as the wolf pumped him full of canine cock."Yeah," Cole grunted, behind him. "Yeah, you like that kitty?"The wolf's balls swung. Axel could feel them—heavy, the slow forward-and-back pendulum of two thick wolf-balls on every stroke, the soft fat 'wmp' of them slapping wet against the back of Axel's own at the bottom of each thrust. Heavy enough that he could feel each impact in his teeth. Heavy enough that they were keeping their own time underneath the bigger 'plap-plp' of hip and knot, a wet syncopated clap on every downstroke, the warmth of them spreading wherever they touched.The wolf was sweating. Axel could feel it—the first warm fat drop hit the small of his back maybe a minute in, slid down the channel of his spine, pooled briefly at the dip above his ass before joining the rest collecting in the cleft. Another drop. Another. Cole was a heavy sweater under load. Axel knew this. Axel had asked for it many times.The smell rose. The whole room was getting closer, smaller, hotter. Sweat—wolf sweat now layered on top of his own—and the deeper undermusk of two bodies past the polite phase of anything. Cock and ass and the salt of skin and that hot animal under-note Axel had been smelling on Cole since the wolf walked in the door, now wrung out by motion, hanging in the air around them like weather. The cushion was a casualty. The air in the apartment was a casualty. The downstairs neighbor was a casualty.'Shhk-plp. Shhk-plp. Shhk-plp.'The wet draw and the wet hit and the small wet pop of the knot, in and out, in and out. Over and over. Cole was finding his pace. Not his frantic pace—the wolf had at least one more gear—just his work-pace, the steady measured pounding of a man who knew he had time. Axel's body was beginning to thrum with it. His knees were spreading wider on the couch on their own, his back arching deeper into the press of Cole's hand at the base of his spine, his hole—wet, hot, opened up, drooling lube down his taint—taking everything the wolf was giving it with a kind of grateful welcome. The knot was getting bigger. Axel could tell. Every pop through his rim took a fraction more give than the last one, every reseat felt slightly fuller than the one before. The wolf's body was building toward something.“Hhhk—' fuck—'hhhng—”"You good?""Yeah… Don't stop, fuck, don't stop."Cole laughed once and did not stop.His pace ticked up half a notch. Just half. The 'plap-plp. plap-plp. plap-plp.' became 'plapplpplapplp!' with the gaps between strokes closing, the wet seal-and-release running together, the knot now passing through Axel's opened-up pucker in both directions on a fast steady rhythm rather than a measured one. Axel's cheek dragged against the back of his own forearm with each thrust, his ear hot, the fur there going damp with his own breath. His untouched cock dragged against the wet cotton of the throw pillow on every press of his hips, the precum streak getting wider and darker, a slow leak that the cotton was no longer able to absorb so much as smear around.And then it happened.Cole pulled back on a long stroke—same as the others, the slow obscene drag of him out through Axel's rim—and the knot followed, the wet swell of it stretching Axel open as it came—but this time, when it cleared, when the bulb finally popped through and the rim closed behind it—the knot did not go back in.The next push forward came, and the swollen bulb hit Axel's rim from outside, and stopped there. 'smchmp.' A wet warm bump against the closed ring of muscle, the kind of bump that had become, in the last minute, fractionally too big to fit back through without effort.The wolf paused."There it is," Cole said, low. Pleased. "Hi."“Hh—”"Too big now.""Mhm.""I could push it back in.""I-I know.""Want me to?"

Axel's body said yes. Axel's mouth, because Axel was thirty and had developed a fluency in the choreography of these evenings, said:"Not yet."The wolf made a small approving noise. "Mm. Atta boy."The next stroke kept the knot outside.Cole's hips rolled back and forward again, the long shaft sliding through Axel, and at the bottom of the stroke, the warm fat fact of the knot pressed snug against the outside of him—not pushed past, just kissing the closed ring of muscle, parked there as a placeholder. 'Plap-pp.'The wolf’s hips hitting Axel's ass at the bottom of every stroke now had two distinct sounds: the wet 'plap' of skin on skin and, a fraction of a second after, the soft wet 'smmchp' of the knot kissing his rim before pulling back with the retreat. Every time the wolf bottomed out, the knot pressed in just enough that Axel's hole opened a fraction around it—not enough to take it, but just enough to taste it.A minute in Cole pulled most of the way out, just to look at his dick. Axel felt the hot empty stretch of nothing where the cock had been, the cold air on his open hole, the wolf's free thumb running around the slick gaping edge of him to feel the give. Cole made a small approving noise."Fuck. You should see this."“Cole—”"Stretched out wide. Drooling lube. The knot wants in there, baby.""Not yet.""Yeah?""Mm."“Heh,” the wolf made another noise—affectionate, almost a laugh—and slid back in with one long slow 'shlOoock' of a thrust, balls to base, knot kissing rim, and Axel choked out a "Hh—Hn—" against his arm that was very nearly a sob."Tell me." Cole smirked."Fuck me, Cole—"The wolf did.His pace doubled. The 'plapplapplap' of his hips against Axel's ass became one continuous wet sound 'plapplapplapplap' flesh meeting flesh in a fast steady wet rhythm that filled the apartment from the rug to the ceiling. The wolf leaned forward, chest hot and damp against Axel's back, his sweat-soaked belly fur sticking to the curve of Axel's spine, his hands gripping into the meat of Axel's hips with bruise-promising force. His breath was in Axel's ear now—fast, ragged, the low animal 'hhf-hhf-hhf' of a man fucking like he meant it. The knot bumped Axel's fuckhole on every downstroke. It was bigger now. Hotter. The wolf was getting close."You—'hhf'—like that?""Yeah—""Take it—'hhf'—taking it so good—fuck—"'Schlk. Schlk. Schlk.'The wet noise of penetration was a constant. The room had a sound now and the sound was them. Axel's spamming nothing but vowels. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” punched out of him on every thrust, his face pressed into his own forearm, the cheek-fur damp with his own drool because the wolf had been fucking him long enough that he had, somewhere along the way, started leaking from a third place.“Cole—‘hh’—Cole, fuck—”"Yeah—'hhf'—tell me.""Hh—God, you're—""I know."He did know.The wolf pulled back, again—just a little, just enough to look—and 'ptpp!' spat onto Axel's hole. Cole rubbed it in with his thumb and drove back in, and the new fresh lube made the next thrust go deeper and wetter than before, the knot pressing harder against his rim than the last few strokes."Fuck! Fuck! Cole!”"I got you, dude."Cole leaned over him fully now. Chest plastered to Axel's back, sweat to sweat. His mouth found the back of Axel's neck. Teeth scraped, just barely. A small low warning growl rolled out of the wolf's chest and traveled through both of them at once. His hips kept pumping, fast and steady, 'plap plap plap!' against Axel's ass, the knot kissing in and bumping back out repeatedly, and the new angle from lying over him made every stroke land deeper, hit harder, pull 'hhf' 'hhf' 'hhf' noises out of Axel he was barely aware of making.Then, after what could have been three minutes or thirty, Cole slowed. Gripped Axel's hips. Said, quiet against the back of his neck:"C'mere. Up."He did not pull out. He moved them—sat back on the couch and brought Axel with him, the wolf's cock tugging at his opening the whole way, every inch of it sliding inside Axel in a different direction as Cole levered them both into the new position. Axel's t-shirt was now stuck to his chest with sweat. The throw pillow had been kicked aside and was, somewhere, on the rug.Reverse cowgirl. Cole sitting on the couch, broad shoulders against the back of it, legs spread—Axel in his lap with his back to the wolf's chest, the wolf's cock buried in him from a new and immediately better angle—"Hh—oh fuck—""Good, huh?""Right—fuck—right there—""I know, baby. Ride it."Axel rode it.Hands braced on Cole's thighs behind him, feet flat on the cushions for leverage, lifting himself up the length of the wolf and dropping back down. 'Splp. Splp. Splp.' of his ass meeting Cole's lap, the way Cole's hand on his hip helped him find the rhythm. Slow grinds first, deep and circling. Then bouncing. The wolf's other hand sliding up his sweaty stomach, his chest, finding a nipple under the rucked-up shirt and rolling it slow between thumb and finger.And the knot. The knot was right there. Every time Axel sat down all the way, he felt the soft bump of it pressing against him from outside—bigger than before, engorged, the warm fat bulb that had been growing all evening and now sat right at the place where his body was opening around the wolf. Too big now to slip back through on its own. Too big to do anything but kiss him from the outside on every drop.Axel could see them in the dark glass of the TV. A tiger in lamplight. Yellow and black t-shirt clinging wet to his chest. Green boxers still dangling at his ankle. Mouth open. Cock bouncing flushed and hard against his stomach in time with the bounce of his hips, leaving a sticky wet line every time it slapped back down. He looked debauched. He looked like a whore. He looked fucking great.He sat down hard.The knot pushed back past his eager hole with a wet hot 'plp' of resistance and then 'shlOp!' it was inside him, popped through, the fat bulb of it lodged right in there. Axel made a noise. He could not, in the moment, have said what kind."Hhhhhhhhhhhfffuck! Cole.""Yeah, baby. There it is.""Hh—God—it's—""Stay right there. I got you."Axel stayed there.He could feel the knot inside him, throbbing softly with the wolf's pulse, swelling another fraction now that it was past his rim—the way it did, the way it always did, getting bigger and tighter inside him as the wolf got closer. His rim was stretched around the base of it. He could feel the swell pressing on places inside him that no shaft had ever reached, lighting up nerves all over his body. The wolf's cock kept moving in small short slow thrusts now—the knot was too big to pull out anymore, even if Cole had wanted to, even with effort—but each tiny grind dragged the swollen bulb against the spot inside him and Axel saw—well, more stars, but bigger ones.

'Plp. Plp. Plp.'The wet sound of wet skin sliding on wet skin, Axel grinding down onto Cole over and over, the knot inside him refusing to let either of them retreat. His thighs burned. He didn't care. Sweat ran down the inside of one thigh in a hot trickle. His own pre had collected in the trail of fur on his lower belly, a clear slick smear that the bottom of his t-shirt dipped into every time he ground down.Cole's breath was hot against the back of his neck. "You—'hhf'—fucking ride me, baby—fuck—""Hh—yeah—'ah ah ah'—"The wolf's hand left his chest and slid up further, settled at the base of his throat—flat, warm, weighty. The same hand-shape from over a decade ago. Axel let his head fall back against Cole's shoulder. Closed his eyes for one beat. Opened them.Cole's other hand came around and wrapped Axel's cock. The first stroke nearly finished him. Axel made a high broken sound.‘Hnnnng!’He reached down and swatted the wolf's hand off.Cole made a small surprised noise. His hand hovered for a second, knuckles still covered with Axel's pre, and then he laughed once into the back of Axel's neck."Haha. Hands off, huh?""Hands off.""You want it from the inside?""Y-Yeah. Nnnng…""Greedy."The wolf's hand slid back up to Axel's hip and held him, and he leaned in close against the back of his neck. "Then come like that. Show me.""Stay with me."The wolf had something else in mind first.He shifted his grip on Axel's hips, and on the next drop he didn't bottom out the way he had been. Instead, he lifted Axel up—higher than before, far enough that the swollen knot pushed back against Axel from inside—and held him there for a half-second of resistance before pulling him back down hard. The knot, very inflated now but not yet fully locked, gave with a 'plp' as it popped back into Axel's ass."Cole—what are you—HhnNGH!!!” the tiger went wide-eyed. His breathing stopped for a moment and he squinted his eyes shut."Two more." The wolf said through a huff, calmly. He lifted Axel again. The knot pushed at his rim from inside—bigger this time than the last time it had passed through, wider, more there—and 'PLP!' it popped back out, the loud pop of the semi-inflated bulb forcing its way through a rim that had nearly closed against it. Axel's hole gaped briefly around empty air. Then Cole pulled him back down hard and 'shloooock!!'—the knot rammed back through into him, the bulb pushing the rim wider than it had stretched all night.“Hh—fuck—fuck!!!!”"Yeah? You like that, Stripes?"“Fuck!!!”"One more." Cole lied.

The wolf did it again. Up—out—'PLP'—the knot popping past Axel's rim with a wet smack loud enough to be heard across the room, his hole gaping for a half-second, the soft slap of the bulb exposed against the back of Axel's ass—and then down hard—the knot back through, deeper, fatter, hotter, fucking him with the swell itself, the wide part, the part that was supposed to be a stopper and was instead being used like a battering ram.'PLP. SHLOCK. PLP. SHLOCK.'Axel's hole was making sounds it had not previously been capable of. Loud, wet, obscene cracks of his own body being opened around the knot on every pull-up and closed back around it on every drop-down. The whole apartment had it. The downstairs neighbor was learning new things about her upstairs neighbor tonight. Axel did not, in the moment, have the bandwidth to care."Cole—Cole, fuck—I can't—I'm—”"Mmhnm, c’mon kitty cat… Let’s cum.”The wolf settled him back down all the way—the knot inside him this time for real, the final reseating, the place the wolf wanted to come—and Cole's pace cracked the rest of the way. He couldn't slam, knotted now and going to stay that way, so what he did instead was grip Axel by both hips and grind harder, faster, his hips making small frantic shoves up into Axel that the knot translated, inside, into a constant deep pressure against the spot. The hand on Axel's cock worked him in ragged off-beat tugs, the wolf's breath in Axel's ear gone to almost-snarl—

"Cole—'hhg'—I'm—""Now—"“Hh—HH—HHAAAAAA!”Axel went.The first rope was the smallest. Axel felt it travel—the whole long pulse of it building at the base of him, climbing the underside of his cock in a single hot pull, and then 'splt'—the first thick rope shooting out of him in a long pale arc, hot and heavy, painting a stripe up his own stomach from his navel almost to his chest. The second came on its heels—'splort'—a bigger rope, even thicker, splashing up all the way into his face, then across his chest and his belly fur in a fat warm streak. Then 'splart'—a third—even stronger, coated his face again, then down his abs in a long slow line. The fourth was wetter, messier—'splrt'—the biggest yet, a fat hot rope that landed half across his chin and half down his throat, dripping in long warm threads into the collar of his rucked-up t-shirt. The fifth came hard and high too—'splpt'—splashing across his cheek and the side of his nose in a hot wet smear before sliding sideways into his open mouth, the warm salt of his own load on his tongue. By the sixth he was finally winding down—'splp'—a shorter rope, fatter than the first, landing in the trail of fur below his navel and pooling there.The seventh and eighth came as smaller pulses, his cock kicking weakly against his own stomach, each one squeezing out another smaller dollop of cum onto his belly until there was nothing left and Axel's face, chest, stomach, and the underside of his t-shirt were a hot wet smeared mess of his own load.His cock was still twitching when it was over. Empty. Untouched. He'd done that with nothing on him but a wolf knot deep inside him grinding the spot. Axel filed that fact away with a small private pride.His hole clenched hard around the wolf's knot through every pulse—and that was what got Cole.The knot swelled the final fraction. Axel felt it—the fat bulb of it growing one last increment wider inside him, the final stage of the inflation, the lockup engaging the rest of the way, the wet warm fact of his rim being stretched to its outermost give around the wolf's swell and not being allowed to close even a fraction back.And then Cole let go.The wolf's whole body shuddered against his back, and the first rope hit inside him—'splrch'—Axel felt it all, the hot fat throb of Cole's cock pulsing once deep where the wolf was buried followed by a thick wet warmth painting the inside of him in a stripe. The unmistakable feel of being filled. The first rope of Cole's load laid down at the deepest point, hot enough to register as a separate temperature against his insides, wet enough that the warmth spread outward fast.Then a second. 'Shlrt.' Another kick of the wolf's cock, another hot rope pumped into him with a wet jet-sound Axel felt as much as he heard—the low internal squelch of cum jetting deep into him, painting another stripe at a slightly shifted angle as the cock twitched in place. Then a third—'sploooort'—wetter, fatter, a longer pulse, the kind that registered as a full pour rather than a kick, the warm hot weight of another long rope of the wolf's load laid down deep against the inside of him. A fourth—'shplrt'—bigger still, somehow, the wolf's hips making a small frantic shove forward against the lockup as he pumped, the wet sound of it muffled deep by the seal of the knot. A fifth—'glrt'—and now the load had nowhere to go, and Axel could hear it, or feel-hear it, the low wet 'glrch' of cum displacing cum, of new pulses being pumped into territory that was already wet and full.A sixth. A seventh. An eighth. Cole had been holding it. The wolf had a lot to give.By the ninth pulse—'glchk'—Axel felt the slosh.It was a small, very specific sensation, and it took him a second to identify it. Somewhere deep inside him, past the wolf's knot, past the cock, past the deepest part Cole was reaching—there was liquid. Not warmth. Not pressure. Actual moving liquid, a small audible shifting of the wolf's load against the walls of him as the wolf's hips made another small grinding shove forward and the cum already inside him had to slosh sideways to accommodate the new pulse coming in. He could feel it.Axel's eyes opened. Then closed. Then opened again.Behind him Cole was shuddering through another pulse—'shplrch'—another fat hot rope adding to the pool inside him, the wet sound of new load joining the existing one in a low internal 'sploosh' that the wolf was working out of himself in small frantic shoves of his hips against the lock. Then another—'glrch'—wetter, smaller, the wolf finally starting to wind down. Then 'shlp'—a softer kick. Then 'splp.' Then 'tk'—a small last dry-feeling pulse. Then done.But Axel could still feel the slosh.He was full. Visibly full. He could feel the slight rounding of his lower belly, the warm fat weight of a pool of the wolf's load sitting inside him whenever Cole's cock twitched and shifted the contents. The wolf had emptied himself into a sealed container and the container had a level on it now. Axel could feel where the line was—somewhere up around his navel, the warm pool sloshing softly when he breathed, when Cole breathed, when either of them moved."Fuck—fuck—fuck—" Cole breathed against his shoulder."Mhm.""Mhm—Axel—fuck—I'm not—I can't—FUCK.. I love cumming in you…"The tiger smirked and they stayed like that.Tied. Boneless. Axel's head against the wolf's shoulder. Cole's arms wrapped around his chest from behind, still buried inside him, the knot still locked, the cock still throbbing softly with the slow aftershocks. Both of their chests matted with cum and sweat. The cushions under them ruined. The TV still glowed faintly with the paused game in the corner. The downstairs neighbor, somewhere below, presumably reconsidering their lease.After a few minutes, Axel laughed. Cole laughed, too. The wolf's knot was, very slowly, beginning to ease, but it was going to be a few more minutes yet. They were going to have to wait. They had spent many evenings learning to wait. Axel let his weight settle back into the wolf's chest. Cole's arms tightened around him. Pressed a kiss to the side of his neck in a very homo way.The paused 2K game in the corner timed out and went to screensaver.A small thick pulse—the last one, by the feel of it—kicked once inside Axel from Cole's softening cock. Axel’s hole clenched in response, and Cole’s dick got harder for a few seconds. The wolf grumbled into his neck and tightened his arms."Easy," Cole said in a whisper. "Almost."Some time later—long enough that Axel's thighs had stopped complaining and started doing the soft tired thing they did after a long evening—the knot eased enough that Cole could move. Carefully. Slowly. The wolf eased Axel up off his lap, and the cock began to slip out: first the softening knot, with a long wet 'shlp' of release as it eased back through his rim and the seal finally broke, and then the rest of the shaft, covered in a thick layer of white.‘Scchchhllk. Plp!’What followed was a deluge.The knot had held it. The cum the wolf had been pumping into the tiger from their chill session had nowhere to go, and now had everywhere to go all at once. The first thick warm ooze of it came out the second the knot cleared his rim—a fat hot stream sliding down the seam of his taint, hot and slow, finding every inch of fur on the way because there was nothing in the way to catch it. The wolf's load took the long route from his hole forward.Gravity made the route. In Cole's lap, Axel's hips were tilted forward, ass arched back against the wolf's body, balls and cock hanging free over the front of his own thighs—and the wolf's load, finding its exit, traveled the way water travels: along the path it was given. From his hole, along his taint, then down the back of his sac to the lowest point of him. Which was the underside of his balls. Which was, currently, hanging over open air.The cum found the piercing on the way. Every rope sliding out of him had to pass over the metal, and within seconds the whole guiche was coated, a slow thread of the wolf's load hanging from the lower bead before it released and slid the rest of the way down his taint toward his sac.Past the piercing, the cum found his balls. It coated the back of his sac in a slow warm spread, the fur there going damp and dark, the cum pooling at the lowest hanging point of him—the underside of his sac—where it gathered into a fat warm drop. The drop hung. Built. Grew heavy with the next pulse joining it. And then—'plp'—it fell, landing on the cushion between the wolf's spread thighs in a fat warm smear. Another took its place. Within a few seconds Axel had a slow rhythm of it: the wet warm slide of cum from hole to taint to piercing to sac, the building drop, the soft 'plp' onto the cushion. Over and over. The cushion under Cole's spread thighs was a small dark spreading puddle, growing by the second.He could feel his hole, stretched-open and gaping where the knot had been, leaking a steady warm stream of the wolf's load. The cum left him in slow obscene installments—a thick warm pulse, then a pause, then another thick warm pulse—each one taking the same route: hole, taint, piercing, sac, drip. Axel reached down lazily, swiped two fingers along the back of his own sac, looked at them—a fat warm coating of wolf cum on his fingers—decided he had no clever thing to say about it, and wiped them on the cushion that was already dirtied.Axel let himself collapse back into the wolf's chest. Cole's hand came up automatically and dragged through the fur of his shoulder. Axel could feel his own slow heartbeat. He could feel Cole's. Sprawled half naked in the wolf's lap on a sweat-soaked couch in his living room with the Lakers still down four on the game’s paused screen, and it was, possibly, the best he had felt all month."Hey," Cole said, eventually. "We finishing the game?""After a shower.""After a shower.""You're still gonna lose.""In your fucking dreams, baby."Axel eased himself up off the wolf's lap. Slowly. The leak followed him—a slow warm trail of cum running from his hole down his taint over the piercing and off the back of his sac as he stood, redirecting now that gravity had a new vertical to work with. His thighs were going to ache tomorrow. His ass was going to ache tomorrow. His couch was going to need a professional clean tomorrow. He felt good in the specific way he had spent his twenties chasing—the loose-jointed, mind-emptied, well-used good that came only after a man he liked had done something filthy and competent to him. He padded naked toward the bathroom, a slow warm trickle still finding its way down the back of his balls and dripping onto the rug with every other step. He did not look back. Cole—who knew the choreography—followed.

Art by SMU

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