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Why Me?

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Napoleon was kissing Illya soundly. The little imp was whimpering in Napoleon’s mouth, and that was doing unspeakable things to Napoleon’s always tinder-like libido. How sexy, how incredibly exciting, how wonderful was his lover!

How noisy. A loud thump sounded on Illya’s side of the bed. A very loud thump. Definitely not a sound that the small, lithe body could possibly produce. At least, not while he was kissing back as if it was going out of fashion, like he was presently doing. Bothered (oh, how much!) Napoleon risked a glance past his lover’s lily white, slender body. Here, on the floor, near his little Illya’s side of the bed, lay a… THING. One of those cursed THINGS.

They had been plagued by the erratic appearance of the THINGS for some time now. The THINGS had a knack for appearing at the most inopportune moments, like now. They chose to burst in their lives just when they were less welcome… Not that anyone could welcome one of the THINGS anyway, but well… Napoleon would have been less annoyed had they appeared, say, at breakfast, or when he was brushing his teeth before going to bed… Well, almost anytime (except, of course, during a Waverley briefing!) the THINGS would have seemed innocuous, even humorous…

But when he was occupied in thoroughly ravishing his blonde, slim, frail, tender (am I forgetting some accurate description?) partner and lover, the THINGS were more than a mere annoyance.

They stank to high heaven!

Luckily, Illya had been so engrossed in mapping Napoleon’s tonsils that he had not noticed the noise heralding the intrusion of one more of the THINGS.

This blessed state of ignorance was not meant to endure. Another thump, this time on the bed itself, made Illya jump. So much so as the THING happened to materialize straight on his rump.

“Ouch, that hurt! Napoleon, I never realized you were into S and M!”

“I’m not, growled Illya’s dismayed lover. “It’s only one more of those THINGS.”

“Oh, no!” grunted Illya, brushed his left buttock to get rid of the THING. “What is it this time? Another lurid story where I get abused and raped by my father, my brother and my three uncles at a very tender age? Or a variation on how Thrush kidnapped, abused, raped and thoroughly terrorized me, so much so that you had to thrash it out of me? That bit on how you forced me to accept sodomy to cure my hang-ups nearly had me throwing up last week, you know!”

Picking up the THING, Napoleon opened it and began to read. After a moment of pregnant silence (well, the only thing they could get pregnant while doing IT together!) he said, his voice strangely subdued, “Hummm… No. This is not your run-of-the-mill story. You are, as usual, the main focus, but it seems to run on quite different lines. You are a…” His voice trailed off, and Illya eyed him warily.

‘I’m a…? Don’t tell me I’m a prostitute, and you’re my trade, and you redeem me from a life of sin and we ride happily into the sunset, hand in hand, and c…”

“Illya! Mind your language, please! No, nothing so rude. (Although they *had* encountered this self-same plot in one of the THINGS that had alighted on their bed the previous week. Napoleon had been laughing for days!) No, it’s just that you’re a… a were-unicorn! Now, of all the ridiculous notions… A were-u-u-u… nicorn!!!”

Worried that his mate might die laughing, Illya generously thumped his back, which adequately covered the sound of another of the THINGS materializing smack on Napoleon’s crotch. And adequately so, because this time the THING was no reading material. It was a beautifully crafted, engraved, precious-looking, leather cockring – with a very optimistic size. The double bang theory being what it is, the object was followed immediately by a second one, a beautifully carved, etc., dildo, with totally unrealistic expectations. It arrived on Illya’s navel, and both men stared at the THINGS with eyes that were beginning to cross.

In fact, and despite the annoyance – the irritation – of the unexpected, often untimely, intrusions of the THINGS, to say that their love life had been curtailed by them would be inaccurate. They had often found inspiration in them, but they were beginning to find them a little overwhelming. A little obtrusive. And the THINGS kept getting sillier and sillier. Like this were-unicorn business.
The mood had obviously been broken. Napoleon was laughing his head off, and Illya was sulking. A were-unicorn! As Napoleon had said, of all the silly notions…!

Illya, as Napoleon well knew, was not a were-unicorn. Only a human being could have been that. And Illya was not a human. In a fit of pique, he turned back into his true form. The lithe, slender shape escaped Napoleon’s attempts to restrain it. Illya pattered clumsily to the bathroom, and turned the taps with his mouth. Of course, his fin-like forepaws were almost useless in a human’s house.
Napoleon followed him, unhappy at the turn of events, for he had a very thorough, soon-to-be very painful erection to take care of. And the fin-like forepaws of his mate were going to be MOST useless in this occurrence.

Seals were not made for dry land, and seals’ paws were no use in masturbating a human. Once wet, the were-human regained his sleek gracefulness, and Napoleon, mollified, enjoyed the sight of his little pet having a good time in his native waters.

Reflecting ruefully that he could be classified as having bestialistic tendencies, Napoleon nonetheless manipulated himself to release while watching the seal’s games in the water. He knew that it would turn into a human sometimes soon, and be very tired, and totally useless, so there was no point in waiting.
And, to tell the truth, Napoleon looked forward to explaining to Illya some of the finer points of the equine anatomy that this last THING had been jabbering about. He wondered if they would apply to seals too…

But this is another story. If you’re good enough, we might envision to tell it someday…