It was Thursday morning, which meant no classes until 2, their room mate was at work, and Calvin had hung the diving mask on the door handle.
Their room faced south-east and was on the second floor, and opening the French door and drawing the curtains aside flooded everything with sunlight. It could have been a secret boudoir in an exotic city, their roommate's junk strewn over half the floor the hastily abandoned belongings of Calvin's rival, interrupted while paying for the power to abuse, and escaping out the window at Calvin's entrance. He would save his lover from the desperation forcing him to sell his body!
Hobbes stretched luxuriously and with casual athletic strength, flashing his fangs and extending his claws, emitting a deep purr more like a growl. What a ham. Then he flopped down and rolled over with a contended little sigh, wriggling deeper into the middle of the bed, and displaying his fuzzy white belly.
He didn't exactly look like a hooker with a heart of gold in need of a brave and romantic rescue.
Maybe Hobbes was a warrior prince. In battle no one was fiercer or deadlier, but at home he was indolent and sensual, letting himself be plied with only the fluffiest roasted marshmallows and the moistest tuna and mayo sandwiches, hand-fed to him by his favorite pleasure slave.
Calvin had belonged to him since childhood, and sometimes he didn't know if what he felt was love or fear. But he knew that being allowed to serve him intimately, to be at the mercy of those mighty jaws, the powerful paws that could split a man's skull with a single blow, and be met with only gentleness and softness was pure awe.
Calvin sank gracefully and respectfully to his knees, before approaching his master. In his loin cloth he had concealed a capsule of fast acting poison, and he had been tasked to slip in into Prince Hobbes' food. Only then would this tyranny end!
But without a strong leader, chaos would break out. Could Calvin bear the responsibility of starting a civil war? Or was he fooling himself, afraid of the freedom he had never experienced, or grieving the thought of destroying this magnificent person?
Slowly he shuffled closer on his knees, his head bowed, and his hands folded behind his back. Prince Hobbes pretended to be above noticing him, only the tick of his tail tip revealing his awareness, and warning his slave not to disrupt his sunbathing.
"How may I serve you, Master?" Calvin the slave murmured.
Prince Hobbes cracked a lid, turning a blazing yellow eye on him.
"Would you like... tummy nuzzling?" the slave daringly suggested.
"Okay. No tickling," the prince responded with his customary haughty confidence. His arrogance was Calvin's only protection against being discovered.
Sitting at the side of the bed, Calvin could easily reach Prince Hobbes with his face. He enlaced his fingers as a ward against temptation, and leaned over. Lurking under his trepidation was a sick thrill at being granted this intimacy with the creature who might as well be his god.
The longer hairs on Hobbes' belly caressed his face first, so lightly he almost didn't feel them. He closed his eyes, and slowly turned his head right and left, savoring the spots of sensation dancing over his skin. It was strange, but he could feel the pinpricks of pleasure erupting sympathetically all over his arms and the skin of his back. Tiger acupuncture.
He leaned further forward. Under the longer hairs, Hobbes had a thick, downy layer of fur. Calvin could bury his face in it completely, without pressing against flesh. He had once had the misfortune of witnessing a man accidentally poke the warrior prince in the stomach. His years of loyal service had not protected him from swift and lethal retribution, and the blood had sprayed 20 yards.
Calvin shivered, and the movement rubbed his skin against the deep fur deliciously. It was beyond human understanding how something so sweet could be so deadly. Tufts of fuzz tickled his ears in a maddening way, becoming undifferentiated softness when he turned the side of his head down, and being just exactly not enough stimulation when he nuzzled with his nose.
On his closed lips and eyelids the sensation was extremely magnified. The hairs were soft and nice, but as soon as he stopped moving he couldn't feel them. When he moved with too steady a motion, the drag of fur grew and grew like a raging stream turning into a thundering river, until the intensity overloaded him, and he couldn't distinguish it from pain.
He whimpered, and tried hitting that spot in his ear-canal again, without getting his eyelashes tangled, but the stimulation always hovered between too much and elusive. Maybe rubbing chin first would make the tips of Hobbes' fur hit his face and ears just right...
"Hee, hee, hee," Hobbes giggled, and Calvin froze in terror. His body instinctively chose to play dead. He knew to his bones that a mere human could never evade the reflexive strike of a tiger. He had the poison in his lap - if he crushed the capsule between his fingers, they would both inhale it and die, but if death were certain anyway, what did he have to lose?
But his arms hung limply at his side, not obeying his will, and his hands were numb. The only muscle moving in his body was his heart, trying to beat its way out of his throat.
The prince moved so swiftly Calvin's dazed senses couldn't follow, and he found himself with his faced smushed against the mattress, and a heavy paw on the back of his neck. He could just feel the teasing prick of claw-tips against his skin, hinting at the threat of penetration.
He did not want his spine torn out from his still living body.
"I said no tickling," Hobbes purred at him. He playfully extended his claws slightly. It felt like he pierced his skin, and there was a trickling down the side of his jaw. Sweat or blood?
Calvin wanted to apologize, to beg for mercy, but at that came out was a pathetic whimper.
Hobbes laughed gruffly, and stepped down from the bed, his long stride easily reaching the floor. His furry legs and stomach stroked down Calvin's back, and Calvin whimpered again.
Looked like he was going to live. And the prince was too, he decided - he couldn't face going on with no more tummy nuzzling, ever.
At noon on Thursday, Calvin packed a blanket and a frisbee, and Hobbes packed a huge picnic basket with hot pockets and toaster pastries and tuna sandwiches and four cans of soda, and they went and hung out in the quad to play a rousing game with friends (Calvin) and stare at pretty girls while lounging in the shade and guarding the food (Hobbes).
While Calvin was learning a new bike trick from Hashim, Hobbes climbed a tree, and a crowd of their snickering friends stood around, pretending not to be eagerly waiting for Calvin's reaction.
Fireman Calvin wasn't fazed. He didn't have his ladder, but he never met a kitty he couldn't rescue from a little predicament like that.