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The Cat and the Dog

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            Feliz Florence honestly wasn’t sure how he’d ended up in this situation. Getting jumped by a crowd of thugs wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind, especially considering he was a cop. At first he tried to run, but it wasn’t long before he was cornered.

            He felt like he knew who had round up the goons, but it didn’t make sense; he hadn’t yet done anything to provoke the killer he was assigned to catch. Feliz watched as one of the men that circled him pulled out a knife, and he felt his blood run cold as he remembered that he left his gun at home since he hadn’t thought he’d need it.

            “Wh-whoa, hey, mang. We can talk this over.” The Mexican police officer stammered nervously as he held up his hands somewhat. “Look, I’m a cop, and I wouldn’t fuck with me if I were you!”

            There was no response. The thugs didn’t seem intimidated or even slightly worried, not until they all turned to the sound of a motorcycle blocking the exit out of the alley they’d chased their intended victim into.

            “Oy, Mexican!” A gruff voice shouted. Those two words were apparently the only words necessary to make the dangerous men glance at one another and back away from Feliz, who was rather confused.

            “M—… Mexi—… Oh. Oh, because I’m… Right, yeah, no—I HAVE A NAME, YOU KNOW!” He wailed back in frustration.

            “Shut up and get on!” His rescuer barked. With his adrenaline still pumping and his fear of being murdered still readily apparent, Feliz didn’t argue with the aggressive order. He ran past the thugs eagerly and practically dove onto the back of his savior’s motorcycle.

            “Get me out of here, ¡amigo!”

            “Hold on tight then, gatito.”

            Despite being almost disoriented by being called a kitten, Feliz again obeyed his command, wrapping his arms around the torso of the man in front of him. With a loud rev and a pop, the motorcycle started, and they were zooming down the street before Feliz could even say adiós to his would-be killers.

            “Hey, uh,” Feliz started after a moment. “Gracias. For the quick rescue, I mean.”

            “I owed you a favor, that’s all.” The man responded. Suddenly, things started to click in Feliz’s head, and he jolted a bit.

            “Wait, you’re… You’re not the handsome guy I saved at Taco Bell, are you?”

            “Somehow, just by mentioning the restaurant, you made it sound like the stupidest thing ever.” The not-so-stranger said. “But you think I’m handsome?”

            Feliz’s face flushed ever so slightly. “Err, no, that’s, uh… Did I say that?” Even though he wasn’t looking at the dark-skinned man, it was easy for the plainclothes officer to sense that he was likely smirking.

            “Name’s Peter. Peter Groves. Yours?”

            “Feliz.” After a brief pause, Feliz realized he’d forgotten to say his last name. “Er, Florence.” Then, realizing it sounded as though he was correcting himself, he said, “No, Feliz Florence. Mierda, I can’t talk, ha.”

            Peter snickered quietly, but said nothing. It began to dawn on Feliz that he had no idea where he was being taken, and that neither of them had a helmet on. He didn’t want to bring up the latter since he was usually the kind of guy to repeatedly stick his entire upper body out of the passenger side window of a car, but for some reason he couldn’t help himself.

            “Y’know, mang, we really should be wearing helmets.”

            “That won’t be necessary.”

            “With how fast you’re going, you’re going to wish you had one when someone’s scraping our brains off of the pavement.” Turning his head away, Feliz made a face directed at himself; one of disbelief and scolding, for he had no idea when he’d become such a party pooper. “Where are you taking me, anyway?”

            “I have something to show you.”

            An alarm bell went off in Feliz’s head, but he ignored it; for some reason, he doubted that Peter had meant that to be a malicious statement.

            The Mexican officer put a little bit more focus into his fingers, discreetly feeling around. All he learned from doing so was that Peter felt like he had amazing abs. It was at that point that Feliz began to feel uncomfortable; he couldn’t explain why, however. While it wasn’t fear he felt, he couldn’t quite put a name to what exactly the source of his discomfort was.

            It was only a few minutes later that Peter stopped the motorcycle. As soon as the engine was stalled, Feliz jumped off of the bike, wanting to get away from the other man to alleviate his own discomfort.

            “Are you alright?” Peter asked as he, too, got off of the bike.

            “Sí. Sí, estoy bien.” Feliz responded, reverting to Spanish unintentionally. His heart was fluttering in his chest, and he wasn’t sure why. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the dark-skinned man behind him, but he froze up a bit when he felt Peter close behind him, close enough for the Mexican to feel his breath on his ear as the man spoke in a low voice,

            “Come with me.”

            Feliz turned around after he felt Peter back off, and saw that they had stopped in front of a rather run-down looking house. It seemed abandoned.

            Feliz asked, “Why are we here?”

            Peter replied, “Come inside. I want to repay you.”

            Feliz responded, “You don’t have to do that, mang.”

            Peter replied, “I insist.”

            Though he felt nervous and worried that he was about to make a terrible mistake, Feliz followed the taller man into the abandoned house, only to discover that it wasn’t abandoned after all. Inside sat a rather large group of men, all sitting around a sturdy table in the middle of the room. Some of them smoked cigarettes or cigars, and all of them were wearing leather jackets, like Peter.

            “What is this?” asked Feliz.

            “Meet my gang. These are the Dominance Dogs.” answered Peter.

            “Your gang? You brought me here to see your gang? I’m a cop, you know that, right?”

            “Of course.”

            Feliz gave Peter a strange look. “You don’t think that showing a cop your gang’s hideout is, I dunno, a bad idea?”

            Peter stepped closer to Feliz, who did his best to mask a small flinch. “No, I honestly don’t.” He said in a low voice.

            Something about Peter’s tone was almost hypnotic to Feliz, who subconsciously leaned in a little bit closer.
            “Why?” He asked, his voice lowering as well.

            “Because I don’t think you’ll tell anyone.” Peter leaned in as well, and the two of them slowly, slowly, began moving even closer to one another.

            “What makes you think that?” Feliz’s voice was a drawling whisper at this point, and his heart was beating in his ears, and he suddenly felt quite clammy. He felt a faint feeling of tightness somewhere, but paid it no mind as his face was inches from the face of a man who only less than an hour ago had been a complete stranger.

            “This,” The leader of the Dominance Dogs emit a short, breathy whisper against the lips of Officer Florence, and then suddenly their lips were smashed roughly together.

            Feliz’s eyes widened, and for a moment he fought to get away. But it only took a few seconds for him to succumb, and his heterochromatic eyes drifted shut. The feeling he felt in that moment was unlike anything he’d ever felt. He wanted more. He needed more. So he kissed back, breathing deeply and ever rapidly through his nostrils, feeling the air hitting the tiny space between Peter’s face and his own.

            The two stood in the center of the room making out viciously for a good forty seconds that felt like an eternity to Feliz. Peter’s hands found their way to Feliz’s hips, where one of them reached down a bit further, checking to see if Feliz was into what was going on. Hearing Feliz let out a wet gasp upon contact and feeling the now-trembling Mexican lurch into his caress, he didn’t even have to think about the hard ridge he felt to know the answer was that he was totally into it.

            Feeling a tightness in his own pants, Peter pulled Feliz close, with his hand on the officer’s backside. He thought about how uncomfortable his partner must have been when he felt the tightness of Feliz’s skinny jeans, and said in a controlled, dominant way, “Te quiero.”

            Feliz, blinded by the passion and ecstasy of the moment, only held the taller man tighter, pressing their bodies closer still as he shivered.

            Placing his hands on Florence’s thighs, Peter lift him up and moved over to the table in the middle of the room. He sat the Mexican down on it and then pushed him down roughly before his fingers flew for the button of Feliz’s black jeans.

            With shaky hands, Feliz began unbuttoning the crème dress shirt he wore under his brown jacket. He let his head roll back, only to discover that everyone he had seen when he entered was watching this little spectacle with a poker face. They seemed to be paying full attention, and seemed to be viewing it seriously. His mind was torn from this, though, when he felt a hard tug on his lower body. He reacted quickly, his left hand which wore his usual white fingerless glove and blue-gemmed silver ring flying up and grabbing the edge of the table above his head.

            It was only while he felt Peter struggling to remove his skinny jeans that Feliz finally began to feel nervous. He wondered how exactly he had got himself into the situation at hand. One minute he was having a normal day as an officer of the law, believing full well that he was straight, and then all of the sudden, there he was lying on a table about to have his brains fucked out by a tall African-American man who was the leader of a goddamned gang.
            What a weird fucking day, he couldn’t help but think.

            At the same time that Feliz finished unbuttoning his own shirt with one hand, Peter finally got the Mexican’s lower body free from the tight black pants, which he proceeded to carelessly toss behind himself, followed next by his own leather jacket, and then his belt.

            With a gulp, Feliz squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his grip on the table. He had an idea of what was coming, and he knew it was going to hurt. He heard a snap from Peter, and lift his head to see him pointing at one of his lackeys.

            “You,” He said gruffly, “Bring them.”

            Obediently, the gang member rushed off, which seemed ironic to Feliz, since they were supposed to be dominant. However, he supposed, there had to be one more dominant than the rest; an alpha dog… and it just so happened that this alpha appeared to be Peter Groves.

            The gang member quickly returned with two objects that Feliz couldn’t make out, but one looked like a bottle and the other like a little translucent square, and the sound of the bottle squirting onto Peter’s fingers gave Feliz a flooding sense of relief that didn’t last for long, as it was interrupted by the startling sensation of something cold and slippery digging into him.

            “Ah—,” The Mexican choked out a surprised sound as his body twitched almost violently from pain and shock.

            “Sorry,” Peter grumbled in a low, gravelly voice, “I don’t give warnings, and I like it quick and rough.”

            “Tómame,” Feliz gasped, “Tómame, por favor—

            “Patience, gatito.” Peter snickered, shoving another digit into Feliz and watching the man squirm.

            “Dios…” Florence panted over and over as he felt Peter spreading his fingers inside of him. His entire body was shaking at this point; he was quivering like a leaf, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

            “Estás listo?” Peter asked after what felt like a millennium.

            Feliz nodded feverishly. “Sí, sí, sí. P-por fa-favor.

            After a pause, Peter removed his fingers from Feliz, and the trembling officer lay on the table listening to the sounds of pants dropping and plastic tearing. At least he’s not an animal, Feliz thought, he’s using lube and a condom…

            Peter’s hands clamped down onto Feliz’s slender, bony hips, and there seemed to be another forced pause, as if the dog was giving his “kitten” time to prepare for what was to come next. Feliz now used both hands to tightly grip the table, trying to ready himself. The powerful tingly sensation of sexual excitement swelled up all at once, hitching his breath, which Peter took as an okay to proceed.

            Feeling Peter drive himself in slowly, the muscles in Feliz’s body all tightened. He couldn’t stop the loud gasps and grunts from escaping his throat.

            “God, that’s good,” Peter groaned, a guttural noise if anything, “But I don’t know if we’re going fast enough.”

            Feliz opened his eyes for a moment, raising his head. He was hardly able to protest before he felt Peter slam into him as hard as he could, and in response he threw his head back and let out a loud cry of utter rapture.

            “Much better—that way— isn’t it?” The tough man asked a rhetorical question in between pants as he started to roughly fuck the police officer on the table. Every individual hump shook Florence to the core, and he could feel his breaths rapidly becoming uneven and ragged, sweat dripping down his face.

            He was already on the edge, he could feel it. His head was swimming in cloud nine, and his muscles were tightening up. So it was no help to his messy state when he felt Peter’s leather-gloved palm tighten around the shaft of his arousal.

            “Nono—” Again, he had no time to protest, as he cut himself off with a loud moan as Peter’s hand started to move up and down in time with his thrusts.

            “Mmn,” Peter continued his rough movements. He knew that his sly little “cat” couldn’t handle very much more, but he loved listening to him trying to contain himself, with his body twitching uncontrollably and his breaths loud and high-pitched.

            “POR FAVOR!” Feliz screamed almost hysterically, “Me voy—ME VOY A—!

            Sensing they were both about to finish, Peter gave one more powerful thrust, strategically rougher than those before it, and Feliz choked out a loud scream in orgasm.

            For a long moment, all that could be heard was the two of them gasping in exhaustion, Peter laying over Feliz on the table. Gradually, Feliz began to regain his senses, and with them came a sense of shame and embarrassment. He realized he was lying on a wooden table naked but for an unbuttoned shirt and his coat with another man wearing nothing but a wife beater and, he just realized, sunglasses, laying on top of him between his legs, and he wanted to die. He moved his head and saw that the gang members were still there watching calmly, and that only added to his inner turmoil.

            “There,” Peter finally spoke. “Was I right?”

            “Right…?” Feliz asked breathlessly.

            “About you keeping this our little secret.”

            Feliz closed his eyes. He struggled to speak.

            “¿Gatito?”

            “Sí.”