Out of Position (10 page)

Junior year I moved into playwriting with the theater group, and suddenly I had a whole new vista to explore. I’d always liked to write dialogue best, and here was a medium that was all dialogue—perfect for me. Brian encouraged me, and I wrote parts for him in my plays. There was even a part for him in “Square Room,” but he never got to play it.

It was funny how, of all the things that changed our lives, we never suspected that football might be the most significant.

 
It’s right after Salim tells me to stop fidgeting for the third time that Dev walks into the restaurant.

I say “restaurant” even though it’s just the small cafe associated with the hotel, and I say “walk” even though Dev is slouching, his head down, tail dragging on the ground. I know how he feels, but I can’t stop my tail from wagging when I see him, and as he meets my eyes, I hope to see similar excitement.

Instead, he just looks back down as he approaches our table, pulling his chair out and slumping down in it. He avoids my gaze like a kid who’s done something wrong.

“Dev,” I say, “this is Salim. I’ve talked to you about him a bit.”

“Hey,” Salim says.

“Hi,” Dev says. “Sorry for letting you down.”

He says it to a spot on the table between me and Salim, but it’s definitely meant for me. “You played an amazing game,” I tell him. “You couldn’t have done any better. You can’t score points for our offense.”

He shrugs, fiddling with his silverware. I regret inviting Salim to dinner, now, cursing because I hadn’t anticipated this. Dev has had such a great run this season that I forgot, until now, how he would react to a loss. And this one stings much more because it was the playoffs, and because he thinks he’s let me down.

That just makes me determined to fix it. I lean across the table to Dev and gently lift his chin. “Hey, if you’re going to pout,” I say, “go back to the room.”

His head jerks up. He looks angry at first, then stubborn. “Fine,” he says, but he doesn’t move.

“You do remember how the game of football is played, right? You are aware that what you do happens when you’re on the field?”

He glances at Salim, who’s looking nonplused. “I know how to play…”

“I mean, unless Darron was looking to the bench for you to call in his decisions. In which case, yeah, I’d say you let us down, because that pass he threw into coverage was pure crap and he should know better.”

“I could’ve saved that one long play.”

“No, you couldn’t.” That sets him back. “You’re good, but you’re not Red Lightning. They ran a perfect out and Seito dropped the ball exactly where it needed to be. You couldn’t have prevented it, so stop acting like an ass and enjoy dinner.”

“Oh, very nice,” he said. “You don’t have any idea what it’s like out there.”

“I know what I saw and what I saw was a perfect pass against which you did the best you could. You altered the game significantly and you did a great job and you’re pissing me off by acting all sad about it.”

“Aren’t you upset that we’re going home?”

He’s acting more perky now, and I could probably stop, but I’m kind of getting into the argument. “Sure, but we took number one down to the final minute. I mean, a couple breaks and we win that thing. And they’re better than we are, believe me. I was watching.”

That makes him bristle. “Oh,” he says coldly.

“You know, everything’s not about you,” I say. “They don’t have anyone who can match up with you, and you know it. There, I said it out loud.”

We stare at each other for a second, until Salim makes a noise and Dev and I look over at him. “Sorry,” Dev says, and glances at me with a smirk. “Sometimes the fox and I get into it.”

Salim looks uncertainly between us. “Should I leave?” he asks me.

I shake my head and grin. “Don’t worry about it. How’s the Cosmo?”

“It’s okay,” Salim says, and then turns to Dev. “Hey, I thought you played very well.”

Dev looks at him and says “thanks” in a clearly offhanded way.

“No, really,” Salim says. “Wiley explained it all to me and I could see what he was saying.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” Dev says, and slides me one of those looks that snaps taut the cord between my heart and my sheath, and I thank goodness they’re talking because for a moment I wouldn’t be able to speak. I thank goodness twice that Dev doesn’t know what he can do to me with that look.

The dinner goes on pretty well after that. Salim relaxes visibly once we stop arguing, and we all enjoy the wine he orders. We talk about the renovations on campus, the news of the world, the world of science, and Salim and Dev find out that they both took the same basic Biology class two years ago. Salim’s a chemistry major and took it his freshman year; Dev took it as a sophomore. They exchange stories of the class while I sip wine and tease Dev’s paws under the table.

After dinner, Salim grins at the both of us shyly and says, “So, I was thinking about taking a walk for a couple hours. There’s a movie playing in the campus theater I want to see.”

“Oh? What movie?” Dev asks before I nudge him sharply.

Salim just smiles and shrugs. “I don’t remember the name,” he says, and Dev, understanding, looks embarrassed.

“Oh, well, enjoy it,” he says. “I’ll probably be gone when you get back. Got to get back to the team hotel. The bus leaves at like seven in the morning.”

They shake paws, and Salim says, “Very glad to have met you.”

“Nice of him to leave us alone,” Dev says when he’s gone.

“Nice nothing,” I say. “He wanted to stay and watch.”

It’s probably a mistake, because Dev still has all these preconceptions about gay guys and what they’re into. His eyes go wide, then narrow, and I head him off, laughing. “Joke, stud.”

He growls, and says, “All right, are we done?”

He means the table. I nod, so he tosses some money on the check. I say, “Let’s go.”

We’re barely inside the door of the hotel room before he shoves me against it and presses his muzzle to mine. I squirm and wrap my paws around him, panting into a deep kiss.

He thrusts his tongue against mine and growls deep in the back of his throat. Dev isn’t a gentle lover by any means, even when he thinks he’s being soft. His tongue and paws press into me with determined resolve, always making me feel like he’s fighting a battle inside and forcing himself to touch me. I know better, of course, by this point. He plays football the same way, with quick, forceful movements; that’s just how he is. In football, it’s an asset. In romance, it takes a little getting used to.

I’m always the first one with my paws in his pants. I see him only once a week, and by the time our Saturday rendezvous rolls around, I’m hungry for him. Besides, it’s always seemed necessary to get him going. Now, tonight, when I get a paw past his pants, he’s already rock hard and it’s clear that he got himself going without my help.

I give him some assistance anyway, rubbing my paw against him as we kiss and getting a deeper growl in return. I love that growl. It reaches into some primal place in my brain and scares the crap out of me. Consciously, I know he’ll never hurt me, and it’s just a demonstration of his power, but I still get that little buzz of excitement. He’s my own private roller coaster, a visceral thrill ride on so many levels, and I never get tired of him.

He slides his paws under my shirt, lifts it off, and I moan back into his muzzle, sucking my stomach in for his appreciation. We haven’t broken the kiss, and that’s nothing new. Our kisses could set world records, and when we break them, I see my hunger for more mirrored in his tawny eyes. For now, our muzzles remain locked, and our paws slide all over each other.

It isn’t until we break the kiss and start to move to the bed that I get the feeling, and I stop and grin at him.

“What?” he says, clearly impatient but interested, because I don’t usually stop in the middle of things.

“This feels different,” I say, gesturing around at the room. “First time we’ve done it outside my apartment.”

“Yeah?” He looks around the room. “And you’re not wearing a dress.”

I cock my head. “Does that bother you?”

By way of answer, he reaches out and undoes my pants, sending them to the floor. “Does it look like it bothers me, doc?”

I start to answer, but he’s got his paw on my cock and is rubbing, and my thoughts about how our relationship has progressed don’t seem nearly as important anymore, so I push him over to the bed without saying another word.

He’s still not much for the oral, though he’s tried it a couple times, but when I see him lying back on the bed, that nicely shaped bulge pushing up against his boxers, that’s all I can think about. I slide them down and slip my black fingers behind his gorgeous pink cock, lifting it away from his stomach and watching his expression as I do.

His eyes are half-lidded and one paw is tensed over the sheets, anticipating what I’m going to do. I like to draw the anticipation out now that he knows me well enough to know what’s coming next, so as much as I want to just take his whole length into my muzzle, I start out just breathing on it.

His fingers twitch. I breathe again, letting my fingers stroke very lightly around the base where I’m holding it, pulling the sheath down his length. He makes a low sound of pleasure that’s not a growl or a purr, but somewhere in between, and he makes it again when I lightly trail the tip of my tongue up his tip. I can taste him, rich and musky, and I can’t stop myself from pressing my tongue harder against him to get more of the taste.

I hear the rasp of his claws extending into the sheets. Oh, well. Might as well keep going now that I’ve started it. I lick again, cleaning him off, and then slide his tip into my muzzle.

He shudders a bit and I moan too, just loving the feel of him against my tongue and the roof of my muzzle. Sliding up and down, I lose myself in the feelings, letting my paw caress his sheath and sac, the soft white forms that feel so good paired with the hardness sliding through my lips.

But it’s not all physical. As I’m going down on him, I’m remembering the grace and power in his body down on the field. I’m listening to the sounds of pleasure he makes and getting a little thrill that I’m the one drawing those noises out of him. Knowing who he is and who I am, it’s special in a way that it wasn’t with any of my other boyfriends. This big, powerful football player is lying back on my bed—well, my borrowed bed, in this case—pretty much at my mercy.

As I roll his length around my muzzle, pressing my tongue against it, I use my spare paws to pull his boxers down further in the course of caressing him. He’s lifted his own shirt off while I’ve been sucking him, without me noticing, so I let my paws roam around his finely muscled hips and up to his belly, which he tightens for me. Once I have his boxers down to his knees, I slide my own down. My erection isn’t as impressive as his, but it’s just as hard now, and when I let him slide out of my muzzle and move up to straddle him, he wraps his paw around it and smiles just as nice as you please.

I’ve brought some lube with me, stashed in the drawer with the Bible. While he paws me, I reach over him and bring it out, making sure he sees it as I flip it open with a practiced paw. He watches me with the hint of a smile, holding his breath, his paws clenching the sheets. I can feel the desire; it comes off him in waves, like a scent that fills my nose and sinks in through my fur. I squirt too much lube out and don’t care.

I’m panting, as impatient as he is as I smear the lube under my tail and stick my fingers inside myself. It teases him when I just sit there and play with myself, but it teases me, too, kneeling astride his hips, feeling the heat from his cock on the underside of mine as my fingers slide up and down, a prelude to the main event. I reach down and squeeze our two lengths together, pumping gently. His breath gets raspy. My tongue lolls out.

I’m ready, more than ready. The prelude is over; my paw slips out and comes around to stroke his cock and slicken it all up. I savor again the gorgeous hardness and maleness of him, my paw rubbing up and down until he squirms and lifts his legs, pushing me forward. I grin, rubbing my slick rear over his shaft, and then in a quick motion, pull him up and push my hips back.

He’s big. I was sore for two days the first time I took him. Since then, well… I’ve had practice.

He slides in all the way like he belongs there, and both of us close our eyes. I love to watch his eyes roll back as I slide back and forth on him, so I open my eyes first. My hips press back until my rear wriggles against his fur. I hold there and then start moving forward and back.

There go his eyes, and his paws come up to my hips, holding me as I ride his shaft. I like to try to come at the same time he does, but mostly I just want to make sure he comes first. Then I can get myself off pretty quickly. Hell, with his huge cock thrusting in and out of me, it’s all I can do to keep from spurting all over his chest.

Every nerve in my body is tingling. Below me, the gorgeous tiger is moaning, panting hard, his hips starting to slam up into me. I think he’s past the point of knowing what he’s doing. His paws are painfully tight on my legs, thumbs digging into my hips. I can feel the strength and power in him, and still I’m directing the action, just a little fox riding the tiger.

And when he comes, it’s beautiful. His legs draw up behind me and he chokes out a moaning roar, slamming his hips hard into me, and every muscle in his body is taut and thrumming so hard that I feel I’m a part of it. I’m already stroking myself quickly, and a moment later I am part of it, my muscles hard against his, shaking in tune with him as my climax builds from his.

My favorite moments with him are these. He’s panting, looking up at me and smiling. I can still feel his hard warmth inside me and I can smell our climaxes in the air. It’s the one time when I know exactly what he’s feeling, because I’m feeling it too. I lean over, ignoring my sticky mess in his fur, and kiss him on the lips, gently, our driving need now sated.

His paws travel up and down my side, claws half-extended and making tracks through my fur, making my sensitive skin shiver in response. I look around and once again get the feeling that by taking our relationship out of my apartment, we’ve matured it, made it more real.