Story by Athalon
DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations appearing in this work are fictitious, and are intended for mature audiences only. If you are not a legal adult, or it is illegal for you to read about adult situations, then you may not read futher. All characters belong to their respective owners. This story is not to be reproduced, copied, or otherwise published anywhere, in any way shape or form, without the express permission of the author.
The red panda’s eyes were huge. And not simply for an eight-year-old with mask and tail like a maroon raccoon. Nicol had never seen a pile of ice cream treats so big in his life! The plywood floor of their hideaway, The Twee House, was littered with boxes of fudge bars and Neapolitan sandwiches – and his very favorite, raspberry pushups!
T1 pried open a frozen custard cup, excavated with the wooden paddle spoon. Hoodsies were the greatest thing in the world! So said this foxlion, anyway.
T2 tore into a carton of lemon Popsicles. The twin put the stick end of the Popsicle into his muzzle, blowing to inflate it, make removal easier. The paper ripped, with a fluttery farting sound. The three boyfurs screeched in messy, confectious laughter.
“It’s so disgwusting,” T1 commented dryly, his frozen tongue numb. The fur was struggling the lid off a quart of Blue Bunny Vanilla. He displayed the azure rabbit on the top. “They even use sex to mawket ice cweam.”
The boyfurs laughed wildly.
“Ummm,” Nicol chided, with spoilt authority. “Yer not s’posta say that!” His muzzle was plunged as deeply as it could into a raspberry pushup. He wanted to see how much of it he could eat before pressing the plunger, extruding the pink and creamy shaft from its cardboard sheath. “It’s a 3-letter word! It’s naughty!”
T1 snickered. “Ok, ‘yiff’ then!”
T2 giggled, spraying lemon syrup.
“I bet we’re not s’posta say ‘cum’ either,” the other foxlion teased.
Nicol nodded sagely. “It’s ‘spooge’. We learned that in school.” He licked his sticky nose.
T1 rolled his eyes.
T2 lapped the edges of the polished wooden stick. The light turpentine taste of resin was strangely appetizing. “So you learned about yiff an’ stuff in school?” he asked.
The red panda sat up, snagged a Popsicle from T2’s box. If they were gonna come to him for advise and wisdom, he ought to be eating a big-boy snack. Image is everything, he knew.
“Yesh. We learned all about that stuff.” He found his paws needed licking off, and proceeded.
T2 winked at his brother. The twins had just changed schools, saw Nicol every day now. The kits at St. Lovejoy had all seemed kind of stuck up the first few weeks. But soon the foxlions learned what the place was really about.
T1 suddenly thrust his muzzle deep into the carton of ice cream. He pulled free with an explosive sucking sound. Nicol’s eyes popped at the sight of the mess.
“Did you blow a seal?” T2 asked, straight-muzzled.
“It’s vanilla ice cweam! And leave my fuwsonal life outta this!”
The twins burst into screamy peals.
Nicol the firefox looked on with reserved distaste. How they could possibly make ridiculous fun when he’d been sharing his vast eight-year-old store of knowledge with them, he had no idea. And less than a clue what they were laughing about.
T1 wiped tears from his eyes, noticed a moment later that Nicol didn’t get the joke. He winked at T2, whispering in the other foxlion’s ear.
“Hay! That’s not nice!” Nicol protested. “S’rude.”
“Aww, Nicky,” said T2. “You knew we was talkin’ ’bout ya.”
T1 giggled. “It’s only a sin if you didn’t know what we was whisperin’ about.”
Nicol’s fuzzy brows knitted, working out the moral calculus in his head. Satisfied that the twins were right – they were older, they had to be right – or that he simply couldn’t understand the point, he dug into the heap of frozen goodies on the floor at the center of the tree house. A virgin box of cherry bombs lay undiscovered near the bottom.
“So Nicol,” T2 baited, “You learned all about yiff at school?”
T1 smirked, in the know.
“Yesh. And all the right words, too. Yiff is a solemn thing,” he pronounced. “And you shouldn’t be making fun.”
T2 almost bit his numbed tongue right off.
T1 grinned widely. “Umm, Nicky? You don’t know what ‘blow’ is, do ya?”
Nicol’s face was absolutely blank with ignorance.
T2 snickered.
“Of course I know!” the red panda protested.
When T1 noticed his brother unobtrusively fellating a lemon Popsicle, bobbing up and down with a look of ecstasy on his face, they made eye contact, and he nearly rolled out of the tree.
T2 giggled, composing himself innocently as his brother howled. “It’s ok if ya don’t know. We didn’t know everything either.” At least not until recently. Their aunt had opened up the twins imagination considerably.
“I do know! I do! You jus’ think cause yer older and all…” The little guy blushed petulantly under his fur, clenched his jaw in anger, his eyelids against tears.
“Awww,” said T1. “We didn’t mean it. We was just teasing.” He dug out another raspberry pushup, gave it to Nicol. And a kiss on the nose.
The boyfur stopped sniffling, punctured the crimped foil cap with his fangs. His eyes went from brother to brother.
T2 added, “That’s right. We want you to tell us everything. We haven’t been at St. Lovejoy as long as you have.” He winked conspiratorially at his twin.
“Well,” began the red panda, earnestly. “Yiff is sacred and solemn and special. And you mustn’t joke about it.”
T1 and T2 locked eyes. T2’s nose moved ever so slightly to the left as he smirked. T1 struggled to keep his muzzle shut, his jaw dropping to suppress a fatal grin. Whichever twin broke the stare would surely laugh. And not only would they hurt poor Nicky’s feelings, they’d lose the chance to tease him still further. T1 gave a suggestive lift of one brow. T2 choked down a sudden sob of mirth, and T1’s eyes grew large.
“… and so every month the girlfur has a…” Nicol broke off. “Hay, yer not listening!”
“Aww, coontail, we were! We were listening all nice and quiet and everything!.”
“No you wasn’t! You was… You was…” His lower lip trembled.
T2 snugged the quivering boy close. “It’s ok Nicky. You don’t have to tell us. We was being bad. Yer right.”
T1 threw his twin a look. Confusion and dissent.
His brother shrugged. “We do want you to tell us though. You might be younger, but you got to learn all this stuff while we didn’t.”
“And yer very smart, Nik. We think yer prolly smarter than us anyday.”
Nicol thought that seemed fair. And the warm foxlion felt comforting around his shoulder, against his cheek. He’d be selfish not to tell the other boyfurs about yiff if they wanted to know. After all, he knew and they didn’t. And teaching the ignorant was one of the Seven Coital Works… or something – the red panda couldn’t remember what. He dug a Sundae-on-a-Stick from an open carton, took a huge satisfying bite.
T1 poked T2 in the shoulder. The panda didn’t notice.
They sat in silence for a while, scarfing down the freezer treats. The boyfurs had gone by the supermarket that afternoon, ‘an ice cweam wun’ they called it. With Nicol there, they were able to score twice as much. The young fur stood up front near the cash registers, while the twins checked out the back of the store. Then the little red panda had begun to sing. In Latin.
His voice was pure and sweet, from years in the choir and an innocence that touched the heart of everyfur who heard. The cashiers stopped scanning purchases, the teenfurs bagging groceries halted their packing, the manager padded out of his kiosk, tail held reverently low. Mozart’s “Panis Angelicus” floated serenely, beatifically, in the high soprano loftspace over hushed aisles and quiet cooler cases.
And at one of the freezer compartments, T1 and T2 filled their overlarge field jackets with everything they could reach. Nicol joined the brothers outside, while an ancient lioness within was still dabbing at her eyes with a lace pawkerchief. She waved at him through the plate glass at the front of the store as the boys made purposefully for their hideout. Nicky waved back.
*End of story*