Vixenscratch

Short stories and serials by Alexandra Herakai

The Fall of Judas: Lust

Judas cracked his eyes open and glanced over in the direction of the glowing screen in the other end of the room. His roommate was still sitting there, studio earphones covering the bear’s ears, and he appeared to be nodding in time with the music, ocassionally humming along. Now and then he paused, cocking his head a fraction, and typed a few words’ worth or clicked the mouse; probably adjusting something about the piece he was working on.

“Ian?” He didn’t speak loudly; didn’t really want to catch the bear’s attention. If he did, he’d have to think of something to talk about.

No answer, and the polecat’s black-and-white muzzle cracked into a secret smile. Ian was lost in his mystical, musical world, and long as he stayed there, he wasn’t going to hear anything Judas got up to as long as he stayed reasonably quiet. One black-furred hand slid downwards under the covers, caressing the lanky mustelid’s chest and belly. Staying silent was barely something he needed to keep in mind, anymore; he’d had enough practise to make it come naturally.

Staying still was slightly more difficult. He knew he could get as caught up in the moment as his roommate was in his music, if he let himself. It was easy, deliciously easy, to watch the bear through half-lidded eyes, guess at his breathing, and imagine how the ursine’s sturdier chest might feel pressed against his back, or how those solid arms might feel wrapped around him, pressing him in close. But those thoughts also made it hard to not squirm back against the bed as his fingers lifted the waistband of his boxers and their tips brushed against a shaft that hardly needed that encouragement.

Ian could never know, of course.

Could never know that Judas had been admiring him in secret practically since the bear had first stepped into their shared dorm room. Could especially not know that when the polecat’s fingers wrapped around warm, firm flesh, and he had to bite his lip to muffle an otherwise too-loud breath, in Judas’s mind those fingers weren’t his own, but Ian’s. Or that in moments like these, when the bear was so absorbed by his work as to be deaf to the world, his smaller roommate caressed his brown-furred form with his eyes just as much as he secretly stroked his hardening cock under the covers. 

Judas, guiltily, treasured those stolen moments, when Ian was, without knowing it, part of his slowly-building pleasure. Just as he fantasized about the bear stroking him, he fantasized about his fingers exploring every inch of Ian, including those inches he’d only snatched brief glimpses of. Having heard the bear sing, in his mind the moans he would tease from his roommate’s lips were that same smooth, musical baritone.

Ian wasn’t moving, and Judas licked his lips as he picked up his pace just a little. One part of him wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind and chase his building climax with everything he had, but he kept it in check. Had to. Ian could never know; who knew what the bear might do to him if he found out. Judas didn’t think he’d ever met a guy who’d have been happy to be part of another guy’s jerk-off fantasies.

Well… He’d gladly have been part of Ian’s.

But he hadn’t met anyone else who’d have been okay with it.

It felt like an eternity, stroking and fondling and teasing his cock torturously slowly, forcing himself to otherwise remain as still as he’d have been if he had been asleep like Ian thought he was, even when rubbing over a particular spot just so threatened to send a shudder through him tail-to-nose or touching another like that made his back want to arch like a sex-powered spring. But he couldn’t stop, not now.

His climax came over him as slowly as he’d made his way there, and he willingly surrendered to its embrace, his breath catching as he felt the sticky liquid it pumped over his fingers. It took him, held him, and then ponderously released him, giving him some precious moments of bliss before reality really sank in.

It was his fingers, not Ian’s, that were covered in his spunk.

It was he, not Ian, who had pumped his load out over his hand and belly.

And he was going to be really uncomfortable in the morning if he didn’t get washed up before he went to sleep for real.



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