The Love we Hide (Gay Furry Romance/Thriller story) MA15+

Story Finale - The Love We Hide

A mane sticks.

*click. A dial clicks*

"Are you watching?" Asks the fur.

*as though on a will of its own, the dial clicks back into place*

Suddenly, the lion is off his feet, skidding along the floor. Carpet burn grating his balls and thighs. His leg in agony. The bloody bursting within his calf-muscles paired with the sound of his own, startled grunts.

"FUUUUUUU-" He's cut off as a tentacle, bright red in all things angry, lurches quickly around his neck to shut him up. Squeezing with all the thickness of a ravelling firehose – only this one makes fires, kitty-cat, you better believe it~ "UGH."

He attempt to touch his chest with his mane – which is growing slimier and bloodier by the second – locking his head down. He needed air already.

But he's seeing him...

The red pair of neon eyes, beaming from a growling thing in the corner. An insane red. Like the sun staring at you. These two bloody walls, cracking with the sheer strength of these tremors, ripping through the all of Level 6. Visible blackness was threatening through the walls, like the fading veins of some dying thing. Like a black-tar heroin attic. They spread and tore the wallpaper, making its recurring wallpaper into one that dangles and hangs in positions to snag your clothes on.

Mike stared in complete, primal horror.

That wolf, that fucking wolf. That idiot brother of Dusk's, that high-school, fag-boy dropout. The smoker. The alcoholic. The dying psycho-path who had done this to all these people.

Here he is,

His hind-paws hovering above the floor. His paws limp by his sides. This surge of strange, glowing tenticles erupting out of his back and sides. Wrapping around things, suspending him. Saliva drips from his fangs.

"TWIG!" The lion chokes out. "FUCKING- UHGHG" He manages to loosen the tendril for the briefest of seconds. "FUCKIN' DO SOMETHI-" A cobra from the underworld tightens, his larynx the field-mouse.

Twig, stands. Twig stares at it all, claws sweaty at his sides.

Mike notices, amongst all this mind-boggling, supernatural horror... that those searchlight eyes aren't slandered on him...

... no...

... not at all...

This demonic thing, is looking at the shivering mess of his younger brother. The bloody-wolf display of splinters and fun, of Mike's doing.

This end of a hammer, still deep into the socket of his left eye. Tears drip out of the young wolf, wetting the carpet below his agonized body.

His other eye cries blood.

The blood floats upwards. Licking at the ceiling, same as all the other red puddles scattered across these carpets.

Mike quickly came to understand why this older, stupid wolf was leaking spit. And it was nothing supernatural-

Dusk...

The wolf snarled so widely that even his back teeth emerged. His stare had such a white-hot intensity behind it.

As if to say:

No, Mike...

this is fucking personal.

And by pure chance, and this really is an unlikely, perfect moment. As though queued from the static charge, buzzing the air. The sweat, and grease, and blood of the horrors. This monster on the ninth floor of the Westing's hotel...