From: Snowcat To: snowcat@total.net Subject: a story Date: August 8, 1998 9:11 PM The dinner had been good - no, better than that. The little otter had outdone himself. There had been just enough yoghurt in the curried chicken to offset the bite, but not enough to overwhelm the blend of piquant flavours. A Mandarin orange and onion salad, while not technically Indian, had complemented the meal splendidly, it's cool tang off-setting the heat of the curry. Giblet had provided not one, but two condiments: Major Grey chutney and a hot lemon pickle that Plonq found quite delightful. The otter had also prepared Sag Paneer, saut‚ed Partha, and Papadums crisped to perfection - all served in what was obviously his finest dishes. The cat chastised the otter for going to so much trouble over his expense, but the other fur brushed off his comments, saying only that he rarely got the chance to cook for visitors, so he did not mind going "all out". The finishing touch on the meal had been a good Merlot, which, though debatably not a wine for drinking with a curry, had been good enough for them to finish two bottles. When they were both sated from the meal, they sat at the table, drinking the second bottle of wine, and laughing over "war stories" from work. The otter giggled himself into a fit of hiccups over the snow leopard's impression of his boss, and returned the favour with his own sordid tale of woe over his new trainee. When the last drop of wine had been drained, the otter picked up his glass and said, "Why don't we retire to the living room where it's more comfortable?" The snow leopard politely offered to help clear the dishes, but Giblet insisted that they would keep. The living room was small, but cosy. The only lighting came from the lamp in the fish tank against the wall, but it was sufficient to give the room a warm - if surreal - ambient glow. The furnishings consisted of a sofa, loveseat, a matching coffee table, and finished-pine end tables. A small entertainment console with a television and mid-range stereo graced the corner of the room, with a row of neatly stacked CDs held in place by a porcelain gargoyle. Plonq was delighted to see a painting of a non-morphic snow leopard hanging over the sofa. While he sat himself at the end of the couch, and rested his half-empty wineglass on the table, the otter busied himself queuing up a handful of CDs. "I don't have a huge selection of music," apologised Giblet, "I hope you like the Rheostatics." "Anything's fine, as long as it's not country," said Plonq airily. He sighed and stretched comfortably, his eyes continuing to roam the room. The otter was a much more meticulous housekeeper than he was, and with the exception of the ashtray on the coffee table, the room was spotless. The snow leopard squirmed a bit when he thought about the sty-like condition of his own house, with its abundance of cat hair, and sundries strewn about. When Giblet was satisfied with his music selection, he quickly moved to the sofa, and seated himself at the other end from the snow leopard, curling one foot under his rump, and hugging his other leg to his chest so that he could use the knee as a chin-rest. He cocked his head, and glanced over at the feline, who had slunk down in his cushion, with his feet up on the coffee table, and his wineglass balancing on his furry chest. "I'm glad you could make it," he said appreciatively, "I don't get a lot of company." "I never say no to curry," quipped Plonq. He returned the other morphs glance, and twitched his whiskers in thought. "Whatever made you transfer to a shit-hole like this, anyway? You came in from Edmonton, didn't you? Er, not much of a step down when you think of it that way..." "I just had to get away from my family," said Giblet, with a wry chuckle. "Especially my father. I think he was a Nazi in another life - no, skip that 'other life' part. Mind you, it was tough. I had to leave some good friends behind, and I'm not one for making a lot of friends easily." "I find that hard to believe," said Plonq, draining his glass. "You're one of the most outgoing furs I know." The otter shrugged, and dug out his cigarettes. He tossed one to the snow leopard, who accepted it without comment. He lit his own smoke, then held out the lit match for the other fur to do likewise. "All a sham," he said softly. "Inwardly, I'm really very shy. I guess I'm telling you this because I kinda see the same thing in you." "Hrm," nodded Plonq, a bit awkwardly. He fidgeted a bit, spinning his glass by its stem, before Giblet sat bolt upright. "Oh, but what kind of a host am I?" he blurted. "Do you like scotch?" "Scotch?" said Plonq, his feline eyes lighting up. "A fur after my own heart! What do you have?" The otter giggled again. "It's nothing fancy," he said, "just Grant's. Hang on, I'll go get it!" He leapt to his feet, and ran to his liquor cabinet in the hall. The snow leopard noticed a slight unsteadiness in the otter's gait, and thought, "The skunk was right, I don't think he drinks as a rule." The cat felt a pleasant glow himself - no, scratch that, he was assuredly on the verge of being drunk. He would definitely be leaving his car behind when he went home. Giblet returned a moment later, clutching a bottle of whisky, and two crystal tumblers. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, and said, "I think I'll let you pour. I don't know how much you want. Do you take your scotch with water or ice?" "Neat," said Plonq, waving the otter over to him. "But I should warn you, I'm a real pig when it comes to scotch. It's one of my few vices." "'sokay," said the other morph, swaggering to the coffee table and laying out the bottle and glasses. "Just pour what you want, and then give me the same." The cat poured himself two generous fingers of the amber nectar, and then did his best to match the amount in the other glass. When he was satisfied with his work, he recapped the bottle and picked up his drink. "Cheers," he mewled. The otter picked up his glass and returned the toast. He took a healthy swig of the drink, then stepped over the coffee table and literally fell into the centre cushion of the sofa, beside the snow leopard. For a long while they sat together without speaking, sipping their liquor and enjoying the music. True to his word, Plonq downed his drink in very short order, and sat, holding his empty glass pensively. In spite of the fog that was slowly descending on his brain, he noticed that Giblet had matched his pace. "More if you like," offered the otter. "Twist my arm," giggled Plonq. He refilled the glasses - giving each as generous a portion as before. In his inebriated state, he did not notice that the otter had slid a little closer, literally pressing up against him, so that he could hold out his glass for a refill. "Cheers," barked the otter, after the cat had replaced the bottle on the table again. He swung out his glass and dashed it against the snow leopard's, but in his enthusiasm, some of the contents sloshed over the edge and spilled down Plonq's chest. "Oh! I'm sorry!" he said in chagrin. Giblet quickly placed his glass on the table and began brushing futilely at the feline's wet fur. He had turned, and was leaning over so far by this point that he was practically in the other morph's lap. "I can't believe I did that - I'm so embarrassed!" "It's okay. It'll dry," said Plonq reassuringly, mimicking the otter's attempts to brush at the fur. "But it will be all sticky," wailed Giblet. "Did you want me to get you a damp cloth and towel?" "Don't worry about it," said Plonq, "I'll shower when I get home." He turned to put his glass on the end table, and in doing so, pulled the otter off balance. This time the other morph did end up in his lap. "Oops," said the otter, rolling onto his back and blinking up at the snow leopard. "You," said Plonq, "are very drunk." "You're one to talk," giggled the otter. "But there's something else you should know too." "Oh?" said the cat playfully, "and what would that be?" The otter held a furry finger to his lips and made a shushing sound. "It's a secret," he said, "it's my little dark secret. Lean closer and I'll tell you. Wouldn't want the fish to overhear." "You're a very silly drunk," said Plonq with a chuckle, but he complied, and leaned closer to the otter. "So what's your little dark secret?" he said in a stage whisper. "I think..." said Giblet, in the same hoarse whisper. "That is, I think I'm in love." With asp-like quickness, he wrapped his arms around the feline's neck and pulled him down, planting a firm kiss on the snow leopard's mouth. At first Plonq thought that the otter was only playing, but there was something in the passion of the kiss, and the way the other morph dug his fingers desperately into the back of his neck that made him suddenly realise that the otter was very serious. Giblet felt the snow leopard tense, and even in his intoxicated state, it suddenly occurred to him what he had just done. With an intensity that mirrored the passion in the kiss, he disengaged himself from the cat and frantically pushed himself away from the other morph. Plonq grunted as he received the flat of a hand in the side of his muzzle from the desperate otter. After a bit of uncoordinated effort, the little fur finally managed to free himself, and launched his little body across the sofa. "Oh Plonq," he breathed, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" For a moment he was torn between the urge to flee, or just die on the spot. Ultimately he chose a third option, and simply curled up on the far end of the sofa, hugging his knees to his chin, and shuddering. The feline was too stunned to take much notice of the otter's actions at first. His first thought was, "Did I just get kissed by an otter?" His mind whirled uneasily as it tried to cope with the reality of what happened, intermixed with the sensations of what he had just experienced. The cat was shocked, of course, because it had been completely unexpected, and it was not something he would have allowed if he had known it was coming. On the other hand, it had not been entirely unpleasant either. His mouth and nose tingled from the otter's prickly whiskers, and his lip throbbed slightly where one of Giblet's sharp teeth had pressed against it. When the otter had been up close to him (and one does not get much closer than that!), Plonq had noticed that the oils in his fur carried an agreeable, almost fishy odour, and he had left behind a pleasant aftertaste of tobacco and scotch. What left the snow leopard the most addled, however, was the passion he had felt in the kiss. Still, the otter had no business taking such liberties with his guests - especially when that guest was not one for getting that intimate with others of the same sex. The cat tried to speak, but for an instant, it seemed like the otter had sucked the voice right out of him. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Uh, Giblet..." he said, hesitantly. "Maybe you'd better go," said the little morph, his voice quavering with emotion. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. Please, just go." Plonq looked over at the other fur, and felt a wave of compassion sweep over him when he saw the otter curled up in a foetal ball at the end of the sofa. "Giblet, why?" he mewled softly, "I mean, why me?" The otter did not reply, but Plonq would not be deterred. "Was this some spur-of-the moment thing because you're drunk?" he asked, sliding over to sit by the otter. He sat with his hands in his lap, staring at the floor, but when the otter still did not answer, he continued. "I mean, everybody does silly things sometimes when they're drunk, and..." "It wasn't a spontaneous thing," said Giblet. "I've wanted to do that for a long time." "Okay," said the snow leopard slowly, "but why?" "Why do you think?" snapped the otter, "do I have to spell it out for you? You're always there for me at work. You always stick up for me. You're my only friend, and in spite of my best efforts, I think I've fallen in love with you." He unhooked a hand from around his knees and gave the cat a rough shove. "There, I said it. Now get out of here! Just go home, and maybe we can pretend this never happened, and salvage some little bit of our friendship." "I don't have that big an ego," said Plonq, reaching out and massaging the back of the otter's neck lightly. "I may not entirely understand, but I think I can live with this." The otter pulled away. "No you can't," he said bitterly. "You think that you can, but every time you look at me, you'll know how I actually feel about you, and you'll get creeped out by it. You'll always wonder what I'm thinking - and yes, I DO fantasise about you. In the back of your mind, you will always wonder when I'm going to try and make another move on you, and then you'll start avoiding me because I make you uncomfortable." "This is why you moved out here, isn't it?" said the snow leopard. He continued to scratch the back of the otter's neck in a manner that he hoped was reassuring. "Yes," whispered Giblet. "My father found out about me, and he went ballistic. He disowned me, and he turned my mom and my brothers against me." The little otter pulled his face from his knees, and blinked at the cat, the fur of his cheeks soaked with tears. "And now I've just dumped a big bottle of poison into the friendship pool." Plonq felt his heart wrench with another wash of compassion for the other morph. The feline knew a broken heart when he saw one, and it was apparent to him that the otter was all-but lost. A knot of fear nibbled at him, as he began to wonder what the little fellow would do when he left - anything was possible with the state he was in. The cat would never be able to fully explain what he did next, other than to say that it was a drunken act of desperation for a friend. He gently cupped the otter's tear-soaked cheeks in his hand, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. "Take your damn poison back, then," he said softly. "There, now tell me I can't live with it." The little otter touched a hand to his mouth in disbelief when the snow leopard was done, and gaped at his friend in amazement. "Oh Plonq," he croaked. "You don't know... I mean, I could kiss you." "You already did," said the snow leopard dryly. "Well I could kiss you again," said Giblet, and he did just that. He did it to be teasing this time, and expected the cat to pull away, but to his surprise, the feline did not resist. The otter stretched it out for as long as he dared, and then pulled back and appraised the snow leopard. "You actually enjoyed that, didn't you? I could tell. You find it kind of exotic, don't you?" "A little," acknowledged the cat grudgingly, "but don't start getting ideas." "Oh, but I am getting ideas," said Giblet, with a disturbingly seductive edge in his voice. "You liked it, and it's piqued your feline curiosity, hasn't it?" "Well of course I'm curious, but I don't want..." began Plonq, but the otter touched a hand gently over his mouth to cut off what he had been about to say. "Let me finish," said the little morph. "I know you're curious. You wonder what it would be like, and a part of you is appalled for even harbouring the thought." In a motion that was amazingly fluid and graceful for one in his condition, the otter literally poured himself into the snow leopard's lap. The cat found himself with the other morph straddling him, arms on his shoulders, and furry face only inches from his own. "I'd like to make a deal with you," said Giblet, his breath tickling the other morph's whiskers. "Let me satisfy your curiosity a bit. If you decide at any point that it's something you don't like, then just tell me to stop, and I will, and I'll never try this again. I promise. I swear." "I can't. I shouldn't," said the snow leopard uncertainly, "No! This is too weird." But the otter had leaned forward and was gently nibbling on his chin. Plonq swallowed hard, and in a voice that trembled slightly with a mixture of apprehension and indecision, he said, "You promise you'll stop if I say so?" The otter did not speak, but continued his nibbling, slowly moving his head around as he progressed along the side of the cat's muzzle and down the side of his neck. He pulled an arm from the feline's shoulder and reached under the cat's vest so that he could run a hand lightly down his back. The snow leopard trembled again, but not from trepidation this time. Giblet moved his other hand around and began to run it along the cat's back in the same manner of the first, tracing out the curvature of the Plonq's spine. As he did this, he tucked his head under the feline's chin, licking and nipping down the front of his throat. When he noticed that Plonq's tail was hanging over the front of the sofa, he sought it out and gently hooked it with his own, wrapping and massaging it sensuously. He stopped, suddenly, and pulled back to look Plonq in the eye. "Want me to stop yet?" he asked huskily. "No," said the snow leopard tightly, "so far so good, but I think you're moving along kinda fast there." "I'll go as slow as you like," said the otter. "Besides, the night is young, and I'm just getting started. I've got a lot of things to show you before we're done." He leaned over and fetched the snow leopard's scotch. "Here," he said, holding it up to the other fur's mouth, "let's finish our drinks first." "And you'll stop when I tell you to, right?" said Plonq again, taking the glass from the otter's hand. "Ack! This isn't going to hurt, is it? I mean, I've read about that S&M stuff, and I'm not into that." "It won't hurt a bit," promised Giblet, reaching back for his own drink. He took a sip, watching the feline intently over the rim of his glass, but never once moving from the other's lap. "I promise it won't hurt." "It won't get messy or anything, will it?" "No!" said the otter adamantly. He lied - it DID get messy, but it never actually hurt. And in spite of the old adage, curiosity did not kill the cat after all.