Chapter Text
By the time Sonic finishes walking his friends home, it’s late.
He raises a fist to stifle a yawn, startled by the sound of a dumpster lid slamming open. The stores closed hours ago and the closest bar is the one he came from. Logically, he knows that an animal is probably rifling through the trash, but he can’t help double checking—old habits die hard.
Nosiness pays off; inside, a hooded figure is scarfing down day-old discards, grime smeared all over the muzzle. When Sonic shines a light in their eyes, the poor thing hisses, deftly dodging him.
He might have put on weight, but he’s still speedy. He knows this city inside and out, cutting the kid off cold with his paws raised. “Listen, I’m not gonna rat you out. I’m here to help.”
It’s obvious that the other creature doesn’t believe him, hackles raised. It’s difficult to tell with the streetlights flickering and their clothes in tatters, but Sonic thinks they're a hedgehog.
“You don’t have to trust me,” Sonic says, careful to keep his voice level, “but if you wait here, I’ll bring you some food and fresh kicks.”
“Kicks?” The depth of his voice tells Sonic he’s an adolescent who’s short for his age or otherwise a late bloomer.
“Shoes,” Sonic clarifies, body language casual. “I would let you shower at my place, but you seem too cautious for that.”
As expected, the stranger scoffs.
Sonic more than half-expects him to leave, but he’s gnawing at his claws when Sonic returns. Crimson eyes light up as he whiffs fragrant spices, eagerly digging in. Sonic doesn’t realize he’s staring until the other hedgehog shifts, paranoid. “It’s all yours,” Sonic says, offering reassurance.
Sonic waits for the young man to glut himself before he peels off grimy socks filled with holes, grimacing at the state of his paws before he rolls on a new pair. Sonic’s old shoes are oversized—better than nothing.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Who cares.”
“Hi, Who Cares, I’m Sonic.”
A huff serves as a precursor to a mild, humorless laugh. “You sound like somebody’s dad.”
“I’m old enough to be your dad.”
Apparently, this is a landmine—his expression promptly goes sour. Shadow makes Sonic promise not to call the cops before tersely introducing himself.
“I assume you ran away from home?”
Red eyes widen. It is with pursed lips that Shadow swallows back an obvious question. He has a general sense of how late it is and he’s distantly aware he looks like shit.
The food wasn’t poisoned or anything and it will last him for the rest of the week if he’s careful. With that in mind, Shadow seals the container and tucks it under his hoodie, waiting for Sonic to leave so he find a safe place to flop.
“If you’re here tomorrow, I’ll bring the bath to you.”
Shadow has no idea how Sonic intends to accomplish such a feat, but twilight is burning and he can’t afford to waste time. He pivots on his hindpaws and slinks into darkness, grateful for the act of kindness.
Sonic pulls out a collapsible container filled with warm, sudsy water and a portable clothing rack, draping a towel over it with a beatific smile whilst asking Shadow to strip.
He hisses, offended. “You are a creep after all.”
“Just trying to help,” Sonic drawls, aiming to get the dirt and debris out of Shadow’s quills. “You’re welcome to wash yourself if you like.”
Shadow undresses hastily, dumping the bucket over his head. Sonic sighs as Shadow shakes himself dry, holding out a fresh stack of clothes.
He’s much cuter clean, patches of red fur vibrant. “How long have you been on the streets?” Sonic asks, taming the bits Shadow allows him to touch.
“Few years,” Shadow grunts.
That explained the stunted growth.
“How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
Younger than I thought.
Sonic is surprised no one is looking for Shadow. He’s remarkably clean for a kid on the run—his family situation must have been dire.
“I know a place where you can stay.” Shadow shoots Sonic a cagey glare, bundled in his hilariously oversized sweater. “Relax. It’s public housing. Friend of mine runs the joint.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“That’s okay.”
Either he’s desperate or Sonic has earned his trust—when Sonic starts walking, Shadow follows him, careful to keep his quills covered.
He turns around at several points to make sure he hasn’t left Shadow behind; he’s been told on numerous occasions that he walks too fast for the average creature. However, Shadow keeps pace, far from winded. The perks of youth.
Sonic rings the doorbell, waiting dutifully. Lanolin opens the door and she immediately purses her lips, expression softening when she realizes someone is standing behind him. “That’s no way to greet an old friend.”
“Your visits encourage pandemonium,” is her flat response before she turns to Shadow with a smile. “Hello. I’m Lanolin.”
“Shadow.”
“Come on in, Shadow.”
The door sweeps open and Shadow is introduced to a space that is, design-wise, halfway between a military dorm and an apartment complex. Bunk beds line the walls of the rooms. Colored pencils and books are strewn about. Adults wrangle youths of various shape and size.
Lanolin explains that the cutoff is twenty, but they help with post-exit education and job placement. The promise of three square meals a day and a roof over his head seems too good to be true, but Lanolin assures Shadow that they will make him earn his keep.
The clamor begins as soon as the tour is over. Dozens of creatures rush over to Sonic, crashing into him. They hang off of his arms and hug his legs, clinging to whatever they can reach.
“Now, now. You all know as well as I do that you need to form a line. Wouldn’t want Ms. Lanolin to fuss at me.”
He is met with a series of loud, disappointed groans, but the children obediently snap into place, terrified of retribution.
Sonic plays to his heart’s content, cheery. He’s stronger than he looks, capable of swinging teenagers onto his shoulders, giggling at their embarrassed blushes and shy skittering.
Shadow points at the display from afar, appalled. “Does he do this a lot?”
Lanolin nods. “He’s got a fondness for strays.”
It takes Shadow a while to adjust, not because he’s socially incapable but because he doesn’t do well with crowds.
Jewel explains that Shadow needs more alone time than others. He participates in mandatory group activities, but they give him solitary chores. He graduates from weeding to the kitchen in record time, especially enamored with Ty’s exercise block.
Within six months, two of the older residents are off to start new lives. On cue, Sonic arrives with someone new, a kangaroo he found abandoned somewhere.
She’s too young to know anything other than her name. It’s heartbreaking.
Shadow feels for her.
“Rotten philanthropist,” he mutters.
Sonic leans against the brick façade with a grin, paws tucked into his pockets. “Worked out in your favor, didn’t it?”
It hasn’t been long, but Shadow has gotten noticeably taller. Given another year or two, he would probably hit Sonic’s shoulder, no further.
Shadow doesn’t mean to lash out, but Sonic makes him feel complicated. He’s obviously nice, well-groomed and well-intentioned, but there’s something about the glint of his fangs and his sly expressions that makes Shadow want to pull out his quills. He chalks it up to a generational divide, bad associations with men in their thirties.
For good measure, Shadow says, “I don’t like you.”
Sonic shrugs, nonplussed. “You don’t have to like me. I’m happy you’re safe.”
Sonic happens to stop by for Shadow’s sixteenth birthday, or, more accurately, the anniversary of his arrival.
Per Shadow’s request, it’s a casual affair, but the kids bake cupcakes for him. He slides the icing off before eating two, scowling at the gunk caught in his claws.
Sonic swipes the icing off of his napkin, winking at Shadow as he licks his lips. “Since you didn’t want it.”
Shadow sticks his snout into the air, swallowing back the illogical urge to stomp. Sonic is right, he didn’t want it, but that didn’t give Sonic the right to take it without asking, let alone swallow it so salaciously. “This is the reason you’re fat, old man.”
“Hey now,” Sonic tuts, “I’m not fat, I’m loveably fluffy.”
Mindlessly, Shadow snaps, fussing under his breath until Sonic pats him on the head. He goes quiet after that, mind uncomfortably blank.
Later that night, long after the sun has gone down, a mule named Priscilla sneaks into his room. “You have a crush on Mr. Sonic, don’t you?”
She’s younger than him, thirteen or thereabouts, but she’s a veteran. Apparently, Sonic found her while he was foraging for berries in the mountains, carrying her down on his back on account of her broken legs. Priscilla still walks with braces, but she’s well-coordinated, quiet and balanced.
Shadow doesn’t understand why they’re having this conversation, let alone at such a late hour. “Go to bed,” he grunts, rolling over to shut her out.
Unfortunately, Priscilla is persistent.
Shadow curls into a ball. As soon as he realizes Priscilla isn’t going to give up, he kicks off the blankets, chasing her into the playroom for some semblance of privacy; the yard is off-limits after hours.
Annoyed, he scowls. “Do you have a crush on him?”
Priscilla nods. “That’s how I can tell,” she mumbles, morose. “Mr. Sonic doesn’t see me like that, though.”
“He doesn’t see me that way either.”
Priscilla shakes her head. “You’re different.”
At this point, Shadow is convinced that she’s delusional, but she clearly needs a friend and it’s late, so he turns on the kettle to make tea and he joins her on the couch, listening to her love story.
It had been a romantic introduction, as far as these things go. Her parents failed to account for the difficulty of the climb with a child in tow and they died on the trail. Given a few more days, Priscilla herself would have wasted away, starvation and pain swirling miserably.
“Mr. Lee says it’s the Suspension Bridge Effect,” Priscilla explains, gesturing fluidly. “When you’re in trouble and you see someone nice, your wires get crossed. He keeps telling me I’ll grow out of it.”
“That’s stupid,” Shadow mutters, taking a swig.
Excitedly, she punches him in the arm. “Right?”
After a moment, Priscilla calms down, apologizing. Shadow explains that it didn’t hurt and so she continues, kicking out her legs to keep them from going stiff.
“I get it, though. He wants me to move on. He keeps telling me to talk to kids my age, so here I am. I wanted to talk to somebody who gets it.”
Shadow longs to tell her that she’s mistaken, that she’s read the situation all wrong. Whatever closeness she’s perceived between them is the product of an overactive imagination.
“Whatever,” is what Shadow winds up saying.
After all, Priscilla is not completely off-base.
Shadow has seen Sonic exercise, knows he’s not unfit, but there’s a difference between having nagging, unidentified frustrations over Sonic and having a label for those feelings, especially when Sonic lifts his shirt to wipe his sweat.
There’s nothing special about the motion. The kids don’t him pay a lick of attention. A handful of teenagers stare. Those stuck squarely in the middle stick out their tongues and blow raspberries, eager to garner any kind of response from creatures they respect.
“I can’t believe it’s almost your birthday again,” Sonic remarks, chugging water to hydrate. “Time flies, huh?”
For Shadow’s part, this year has been hellish in a way that his time on the streets wasn’t. Tortured by colorful daydreams, it could, at times, be difficult to separate fiction from fantasy. The dorms afford no privacy and the only creature he can trust is Priscilla. Even then, Shadow would rather not talk to her about this kind of thing, giving her space to put the past behind her.
Eventually, Shadow snorts, dragged back to the present by Sonic stretching, continuing to expose fur.
“You can’t expect me to believe that you remember everyone’s birthday,” he says, looking away with extreme deliberation. He forces himself to keep his breaths steady, pulse racing traitorously.
Sonic laughs. “Well, sure, but my birthday is only a few days after yours.”
Shadow twitches. “How old will you be?”
He leans over, smirking as he curls an arm around Shadow’s waist. “Why? Gonna buy me a present if it’s a milestone?”
“I’ll cook for you regardless.”
Sonic blinks at him, taken aback. Shadow, too, is bewildered by the offer—he didn’t mean to say that.
He pushes Sonic away to continue the conversation without flushing from head to toe. Sonic attempts to backpedal so Shadow can prioritize his own birthday, but Shadow refuses, stubborn to a fault.
In the end, they compromise. It’s a menu filled with spices, junk food offset by baked vegetables. Lanolin signs off on the fees and everyone is excited about it, calling it Sonic and Shadow’s Summer Bash.
The party goes off without a hitch, especially with Sonic coercing his friends into helping. There’s a slip-n-slide outside paired with a temporary pool and an inflatable castle. The kids with sharp appendages have to be careful, but they’re willing to take precautionary measures to play.
It’s late by the time Sonic actually gets to sit down and eat, gobbling finger-food whenever he’s close enough to the table to snag snacks, but he’s a host first and a guest second, sighing as he collapses.
They’re alone and the awareness of that fact forces Shadow to refrain from jiggling his legs. It’s heady, the way Sonic relaxes around him, the way he trusts Shadow not to give away his secrets. “And here I thought you liked crowds.”
“Even extroverts get tired,” Sonic says, mindlessly grabbing a slice of cake. He eats it in three bites, licking icing off of his lips. Sinful bastard. “Not that I am one.”
Shadow snorts, spooning chili out of a pot and onto a freshly grilled hot dog.
It is with glistening eyes that Sonic holds it up, taking a bite before he continues. “What? Don’t believe me?”
“I do.” Internally, he chastises himself. Sonic’s breath probably smells terrible and Shadow still wants to kiss him. “For you, socializing is an escape.”
Startled, Sonic stops eating. Likewise, Shadow stops sipping soda. He wonders if he has crossed the line, if this is one of those things Sonic doesn’t appreciate having said aloud.
After a beat, Sonic straightens himself out. A sad, somber smile graces his face. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
Shadow doesn’t know what compels him to stand up and chastely brush their muzzles together, but awareness hits him like a ton of bricks. In the next instant, he runs for the hills without looking back.
If he stops, Sonic will catch him.
──── ୨୧ ────
It’s difficult to talk Jet out of anything, especially when he’s convinced it’s a good idea—he’s too far up his own ass to be reasoned with.
“How many times are you gonna turn forty?” Jet taunts, waggling his eyebrows. It is with a sigh that Sonic concedes, mentally preparing himself to go to a strip club.
If there’s one good thing Sonic can say about the haughty birdbrain, it’s that he knows how to gather a crowd. Not too many, not too few, just enough to bring in fat wads of cash to tip the dancers well.
Sonic feels his age as he settles into a chair, twice as old as the creatures winding themselves around the poles. He’s deeply inebriated by the time Jet and Rudy call someone over. “Another hedgehog,” Jet says. “Lucky you.”
He wonders how in the hell Jet got it into his head that he had some sort of preference—they slept together, for god’s sake.
It’s true that this particular hedgehog is his type, physically. He’s always had a thing for thick thighs. Warm hues, too.
It occurs to Sonic that he knows this particular hedgehog. Recognition dawns on Shadow’s face at the same time Sonic stands up, snatching Shadow's wrist before he can bolt. “You’re alive.”
Shadow doesn’t attempt to pull away, but he does speak. “Let go,” he mutters, crimson eyes flicking to the encroaching security guards.
He lets go. A moment later, he hisses. “What are you doing here?”
Shadow snorts. “What does it look like?”
Dressed in a skimpy outfit, it’s obvious that he’s working. Still, Sonic can’t wrap his head around the concept—this is terribly out of character.
“I’m doing my friend a favor,” Shadow says, gesturing for Sonic to following him. “One week only. As always, you have the devil’s luck.”
Jet and the rest of the crew whistle, wishing Sonic good luck. They’re too drunk to understand the severity of the situation and it’s too loud in the club to explain. It’s easier to let them believe he’s been snatched up by an overzealous young thing.
Sonic scowls with his arms folded over his chest, as infuriated as he is relieved. “I thought for sure I was gonna see your body turn up in an alley somewhere.”
Shadow doesn’t have the heart to tell Sonic that almost happened. He had gotten into a fight with some idiot four months after he left the shelter and his fat mouth had gotten him stabbed. Left for dead, he was discovered coincidentally. The paramedics managed to give him a blood transfusion in time.
“I’m fine,” Shadow insists, voice a low rumble. “Everything’s fine.”
Sonic grabs his face with both paws. Shadow meets his gaze with tense shoulders, unsure what to expect. “A friend, you said?”
“Yes.”
“Are you staying with them?”
“No.”
Slowly, Sonic releases him. “Do you have a place to stay?”
Shadow snaps his fangs. “I’m not a kid anymore. I’m not your responsibility.”
Sonic looks him up and down, taking in the lurid marks around Shadow’s neck. “True,” he agrees. “Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”
Three years ago, Shadow would have had a creeping nervous breakdown over this kind of confession. As it stands, he's not sure he’s conscious. It hurts when he bites his tongue and the tang of iron swirls in his mouth, and so he chooses to accept this surreal reality.
“How do you feel about coming to my place?”
It is only after Shadow takes a deep breath that he realizes that Sonic isn’t propositioning him. “I have to meet my quota.”
Wordlessly, Sonic hands him a folded wad of bills. It’s a lot, enough for two days.
“So?”
“Give me five minutes.”
Sonic waits by the employee entrance for exactly five minutes, prepared to storm in and drag Shadow out if need be, but Shadow emerges fully dressed, clothing light to suit the weather.
They walk in silence. Sonic blames the alcohol for his reticence. He doesn’t trust himself to handle the situation delicately without a clear head and he can’t risk scaring Shadow off again. Shadow seems relaxed, at least. Settled in his own skin.
He unlocks the door with a yawn, kicking off his shoes. Shadow follows suit, neatly lining both pairs up before he pads inside, drinking in the decor. Sonic’s condo isn’t dirty so much as it is lived-in, books piled up on all of the tables. His tchotchkes are unique. Photographs are abundant.
It is exactly the kind of place Shadow envisioned Sonic living.
“Guest room’s upstairs on the right,” he says, holding out a glass of water with an inquisitive look. When Shadow declines, Sonic takes a swig, heading to the left. “Feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”
“I’m not.”
Sonic shifts for a moment before he shrugs, tossing a hopeful glance over his shoulder. “G’night. See you tomorrow?”
Shadow nods, swallowing thickly.
Despite the eventful evening, Sonic wakes up at sunrise. He has half a mind to go for a jog before he remembers he has company, or at least he hopes he does.
When he peeks down the hall, the door is still closed. Pancakes freeze well, so Sonic fires up the coffee pot and gathers ingredients.
By the time he finishes tossing the salad, he hears the floorboards creak. Pleased, Sonic heats up the skillet, butter sizzling in a matter of minutes.
“You’re up early,” Shadow mutters, quills unkempt.
“Why waste away the day in bed?”
Shadow opens cabinets until he finds a mug, filling it. Shadow revels in the scent before he takes a sip, soothed by caffeine.
“I hope you like chocolate chips.”
“No preference.”
“Boring,” Sonic teases, multitasking by ripping open the bacon to fry it as well. The eggs come last. Shadow sets the table without being asked. It’s a joint effort, effortless despite years apart.
Sonic expects to hear some sort of snide comment about his appetite—it’s a surprise, then, when Sonic catches Shadow staring, tearing himself away with sheer power of will.
Theorizing whilst worrying about a teenaged vagabond was one thing. It is another thing entirely to have confirmation of the fact that Shadow’s caustic words were the result of tangled thoughts, made worse by hormonal intensity.
Sonic puts his utensils down, stretching out his legs. “Care to tell me what happened that night?”
Shadow bunches his shoulders, anticipating confrontation. “I made a mistake,” he says, admittance hanging in the air while he picks at his food.
Experience has taught Sonic to wait things out. He chews thoroughly, body language relaxed.
It is in stilted bursts that Shadow continues, taking it back to the beginning. There are pieces of the puzzle missing, but Sonic gathers enough information to form a picture. An unmentioned mother. An abusive father in the upper echelon of the corporate sphere undertaking shady deals. Shadow’s refusal to submit to their whims had seen him beaten and bruised, numbing his sense of pain.
“Rouge is the one who saved me the second time,” Shadow says, winding down, scoffing affectionately.
“Your friend,” Sonic posits.
He nods.
“Presumably, she wasn’t the one who…” Sonic points to his neck.
“No.”
“Your taste has gotten worse.”
Shadow glares. “It’s nice not to think.”
Sincerely, he’s lucky to be alive.
Sonic massages his temple until he feels a little less like throttling all of the bad influences in Shadow’s life. “Do you have a job?”
“Yes.”
“How do you feel about divvying up the chores?”
Shadow frowns. “Why?”
“Because I want you to stay,” is Sonic’s blunt reply, no longer willing to take chances. “You don’t have a permanent address, right?”
He shakes his head.
“Then I don’t see any reason for you to decline.”
Shadow has to hand it to Sonic, he’s clever. “I’m not some charity case you can swoop in and save.”
“You’re an emotionally repressed twenty-year old who would rather gamble with your life than be vulnerable. If you don’t get your shit together now, when are you going to?”
Caught-out, Shadow flinches.
Lanolin called it a fondness for strays.
Shadow wonders if this constitutes as being fond.
The process of moving Shadow in isn’t a process at all—he crams his whole life into a duffle bag.
Unwilling to focus on the depressing nature of that, Sonic pivots to the positives. Shadow’s eating preferences are close to his own with a lean towards sweet over salty. As much as Shadow tries to deny it, his eyes light up when Sonic leaves pastries on the counter, nibbling on them all day to make the treats last longer.
They’re five months into a stint that sees Shadow’s fur filling in, winter coat thick. It’s when Sonic tells him it’s time for a bath that Shadow goes hot and cold, declining on principle.
“Sorry,” Sonic says, smile dangerously sunny. “Didn’t mean to give you the impression that I was giving you a choice.”
It’s the edge in his voice that has Shadow hiding his face. How dare Sonic do this to him? Shadow has spent years advocating for his independence, and for what? To crumble in the face of his adolescent crush?
“Don’t touch my scars,” Shadow mumbles, turning around once he’s certain his muzzle isn’t rosy.
“Alright.”
The water is the perfect temperature, sudsy and steamy, smelling vaguely of salts. It’s easy to close his eyes and let Sonic preen, plucking out dead spines and trimming fur. He gives Shadow a warning before he rinses Shadow off, reminiscing on days gone by.
If Sonic found out that someone else in his inner circle was doing something this intimate with someone Shadow’s age, he would have kicked them in the teeth. All the same, he can’t bring himself to stop. The ginger way Shadow leans into him, the way he’s learning to trust—it’s addictive.
“Y’know, it’s almost Christmas,” he remarks, toweling Shadow off slowly, admiring his hard work. “What do you want?”
For a beat, Shadow says nothing. Then, he speaks in such a slurry that Sonic doesn’t catch what he says. When he’s asked to repeat himself, Shadow snarls. “Why?”
“Hm?”
Shadow doesn’t know who he’s more upset with, Sonic or himself. “You know what I want.”
“Do I?”
Emerald eyes meet burning red irises. Shadow swallows back a wave of furious tears. “Now you’re just trying to humiliate me.”
“I’m not.” Sonic is clothed lightly where Shadow is bare, but both of them are outside of polite parameters for Mobian customs. “I don’t think you knew what you wanted back then.”
“I knew,” Shadow hisses, clamping his claws around Sonic’s wrist.
“You said it was a mistake.”
It was. Shadow had been disgusted with himself. Not only had he acted on impulse, his brain refused to release the moment. The daydreams had gotten worse, exponentially more perverse. He wanted more and he knew Sonic wouldn’t give it to him.
“What if I told you I wanted discipline? What if I said I wanted something I don’t think I deserve?” Sonic falters, bewildered. “See?”
“You’re selling yourself short.”
Shadow scoffs, slapping away Sonic’s paw when Sonic reaches for him. “This discussion is over,” he says, closing his door and locking it for good measure.
Rouge jabs her fork into Shadow’s spaghetti, slurping loudly before she speaks. “I’m astounded you haven’t jumped that old man’s bones.”
They’ve spent the better part of two days shopping for accessories, landing on a set of winter gear that Shadow approves of. Sonic’s color palette is delicate, or so he says, quite literally comparing fabric to a swatch.
Shadow scowls. “It’s not a sex thing.”
“Uh-huh,” she drawls, waving her utensil in his face. “You’re his sugar baby that he dotes on for no reason whatsoever.”
The term burns like a brand. His ears go pink at the implication. “It’s not like that. I’m serious.”
Rouge heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Right. It’s a chaste relationship with a man twice your age who rarely makes you pay for anything so that you can build up your savings account.”
“I buy groceries,” Shadow grunts.
“Occasionally.”
Defensively, he says, “I cook most of the time.”
She groans. “You are so not helping your case.”
“What the fuck do you want me to say?”
“I want you to climb into his bed after you give him that and see if he says no.”
“I’m not going to force myself on him.”
Rouge flicks Shadow in the forehead. “It’s only forceful if you keep going after he sets boundaries. To me, it seems like you’re both letting the age thing get in the way.”
Shadow can’t deny that. Hero worship and respect are key components to his hesitance.
“So?” Rouge asks, brow lifted.
“No promises.”
“Better than nothing, I suppose,” she hums, freshening up her lipstick after she’s done.
With restless energy coursing through his veins, Shadow winds up in the kitchen for hours. Sonic whistles at the spread of food. “What are we supposed to do with all this?”
Shadow bites back the rude response of, You’re going to shove it down your fat gullet. The root of the problem is that Shadow thinks Sonic’s bulk is hot; his knee-jerk reaction to lust is making whoever he’s attracted to angry.
“We can freeze whatever we don’t eat, donate anything that won’t fit to the shelter.”
Sonic beams. “Are you going to visit with me?”
“If I’m not busy.”
“You’re always busy.”
Instead of saying anything, Shadow takes a seat, picking and prodding, preoccupied. He waits for Sonic to polish off his second plate, settling in with a mug of spicy hot chocolate before he offers his gift.
“Aww, you shouldn’t have.”
Shadow shrugs. He wanted to—no further discussion required.
Sonic tries everything on, pleased. The hat is designed to cover his ears and precious little else, fastened with strings he ties into a bow. The gloves are mitten-style, graced with colorful accents. The scarf, too, is well-suited to his fur, cream-colored and soft.
Unlike Rouge, Shadow isn’t good at wowing and wooing. He doesn’t know how to bat his eyelashes or flaunt the goods. He knows how to earn himself a broken nose, how to get glass smashed over his head in bar fights. He knows how to get creatures who are bigger and broader than him to pin him down and bite him bloody, fucking him until thoughts leak out of his brain.
He waits until Sonic’s eyelids start to droop, following him down the hall.
He climbs into Sonic’s bed. He expects Sonic to tell him to leave.
When Sonic lifts the covers and tells Shadow to come in, Shadow is so stunned, he lies down. Sonic runs warm, fumbling for the fan remote to keep from sweating. As soon as he gets settled, Shadow shivers, on the verge of tears.
Fuck, he thinks, overwhelmed with emotion.
In the morning, Shadow slams his paws on the table with so much force, the coffee cups rattle. “I’m going to be abundantly clear. I need you to fuck me.”
Sonic blinks at him, nowhere near awake enough for this. “Wow.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“Shadow, it’s seven o’clock.”
“And?”
Sonic sighs, dragging a paw down his face. “As much as I would like to applaud your progress, I have a few questions.”
Shadow takes a seat with his arms folded, silently entreating him to continue.
“What are you expecting out of this, specifically?”
“Sex,” he deadpans, abruptly concerned that Sonic is going senile.
“I got that part,” Sonic groans, lazily waving a paw. “The last time we talked about this,” overstatement, “you implied that you had certain…inclinations.”
Shadow gnaws on his lower lip, releasing it with a hiss. “It’s not a requirement.”
“But you like it rough.”
He nods.
“Do you usually go for older men?”
“Always.” It’s an easy admittance. The sleazier they were, the better. Shadow deliberately bagged antithetical creatures, aiming to overwrite Sonic.
“Did they call you names?”
“Sometimes.”
“And you?” Shadow blinks at Sonic blandly. “What did you call them?”
He closes his eyes, running the record back. His memories are muddled, foggy thanks to the violence. “I don’t know.”
“What about me?”
Shadow has thought about this dozens of times. Possibly hundreds. Guilt swarms around his head like a bundle of bees, buzzing incessantly. “Doesn’t matter,” he says, throat hoarse, praying he hasn’t given himself away.
Sonic knows good and damn well that Shadow is lying, but that’s enough for one day.
By the time Sonic emerges dressed for his jog, Shadow is gone, ostensibly out to get some fresh air himself.
January first comes and goes. With the dawn of the new year comes new routines.
“What’s got you so busy lately?” One of Sonic’s coworkers asks, elbowing him with a knowing look. “Finally got a girlfriend?”
Sonic laughs the question off like always, escaping at a breakneck pace.
Shadow all but moves into his room, sleeping in his bed more often than not. They kiss and pet mostly, careful to keep things above the belt. The pace drives Shadow crazy. Sonic can only blame his age—in his twenties, he would have kicked a potential partner to the curb for dragging things out like this.
Still, it feels appropriate. Shadow deserves to be wined and dined. To be spoiled.
Two days before Valentine’s, Sonic clears his throat. “I’ve been thinking,” he says, waiting for Shadow to put down his phone before he continues. “I made dinner reservations.”
Shadow nods, acknowledging the fact that Sonic is hedging.
“And, well. I bought you something.”
Sonic has never felt more like a dirty old man than he did snooping around Shadow’s closet to confirm his size and overnighting the package to himself. Luckily, he’s the one who brings in the mail.
He watches Shadow open it, muzzle warm as he holds up gauzy fabric. It’s an invitation and a promise. A down payment.
“How do you feel about French food?”
“Fine,” Shadow says, mentally absent.
Sonic feels frumpy in formal clothing, but Shadow seems to like what he sees, so he considers it a win. Shadow, on the other hand, is beautiful, makeup immaculate. He’s keen and healthy and he’s wearing the lingerie Sonic bought him—which Sonic can’t afford to think about right now.
Their conversation is vapid, a useless trade of information sponsored by wine. Sonic eats light and Shadow can hardly stand to eat at all, too busy thinking about stuffing his mouth with other things.
They manage to make it home in one piece, pleasantly buzzed. By the time Shadow straddles him, Sonic is raring to go, hungry for it and terribly eager.
It occurs to him that he’s wanted this for a long time, longer than he’s comfortable admitting. As Shadow grinds into him, gripping his gut with both paws, they moan, overdressed for what they’re about to do.
Sonic rolls on top as soon as he’s naked, hovering. Shadow looks lovely, sharp-eyed and ravenous, palming at himself through his underwear. “Who said you could touch?” Sonic hums, tone quizzical but firm.
Shadow’s lashes flutter. You’re going to be the death of me, Sonic thinks, coming unsheathed faster than he has in decades.
He spends an undue amount of time groping Shadow’s chest, burying his nose into his tuft. Shadow’s bush is similarly thick, which is just the way Sonic likes it, and he nips at Shadow’s hips for good measure, damn-near bracketing him with a single paw.
“All that cooking you do and yet you never seem to gain a pound,” Sonic says, smacking Shadow’s flank in punctuation.
Shadow pants, drool trailing down his chin. “We can’t all be gluttons.” He means to come off chastising but he sounds enamored.
Sonic smacks Shadow again, harder this time. Shadow is flushed, soaked when Sonic tests the waters. “Brat.”
He peels the bottoms to Shadow’s knees before he delves in properly, sucking at Shadow’s clit until he thrashes with desire.
“Do you think about me when you masturbate?” When no answer comes, Sonic flicks his wrist, aiming for Shadow’s sweet spot. “C’mon, don’t be like that. You were doing so well.”
Shadow sinks his teeth in with a fervency that reeks of pure arousal. As Sonic suspected, buried beneath the urge to be subdued was a praise kink.
“Why ask if you already know the answer?”
“Because I want to hear you say it,” Sonic purrs, pulling away to stroke his cock.
Shadow’s head hurts. Sonic has brought him to orgasm once and he’s teetering on the edge of a second. It’s only a matter of time before he slips, letting all hell break loose.
At least he can die with the experience burned into his retinas.
“Every chance I get,” Shadow confesses, gasping as Sonic drags his tip around the rim. “Fuck,” he barks, bracing himself, claws digging into the mattress.
“Good boy,” Sonic says, slamming in without fanfare, mindful of the way it makes Shadow sob.
He claps a paw over his mouth to keep from screaming as Sonic picks up the pace, delirious with pleasure. Shit, he’s huge, Shadow thinks, unable to form syllables. Give it to me, Daddy, please, fuck—
Immediately, Sonic freezes.
Shadow wants to die.
He attempts to extricate himself. Sonic bares down. After several seconds, Shadow snaps. “Please tell me you didn’t have a heart attack balls deep.”
Sonic musters a chortle, throbbing in Shadow’s cunt. “It’s fine, it’s just. I didn’t think you would actually do it.”
“You knew?”
“I assumed. I don’t exactly have the moral high ground here.”
If it came down to a court case, Sonic would be the one to receive flak, not Shadow.
Not that it would. Frankly, Shadow is glad to have it out in the open. “Does it bother you?”
Sonic shrugs. “Not as much as I thought it would. I’m the closest thing you have to an authority figure. You like being manhandled and the idea of having a pretty thing in my lap isn’t terrible.”
Shadow shivers, bucking his hips to meet Sonic’s slow, steady thrusts. “Nasty old man.”
“Good thing you’re into nasty old men.”
Good thing indeed.
He nibbles at Shadow’s ears until Shadow comes undone, pulling out to drip down Shadow’s thighs. Shadow forces Sonic to stand up so he can rest against the curve of Sonic’s abdomen, sucking at various parts of him until his cock comes back to life. It’s sweltering under Sonic, the heat has Shadow sweating like a pig, but it’s good, it’s so good, and Shadow loses himself in it, being used. Being called Sonic’s slutty boy.
Sonic spanks and strokes and bruises, intentional about location. He wants Shadow stinging, not limping. Sore, not harmed. “Say thank you, baby,” he says, sucking hickeys into Shadow’s neck, bite marks deep enough to be visible through dark far.
Shadow murmurs obediently, drifting into unconsciousness.
epilogue
They’re discussing birthday plans for what feels like the fifth time when Sonic rolls over, lazily scratching at Shadow’s midsection. Shadow forces himself not to think about flushing his birth control down the toilet. They’re reckless enough as it is—he never asks Sonic to wear a condom. Doesn’t want him to.
“When is your birthday?” Sonic asks, pushing a blunted claw into Shadow’s navel.
Shadow snorts. “June nineteenth is close enough.”
“What, really?”
He shrugs. His sack of shit genetic provider never bothered to celebrate the damn thing.
“What a crazy coincidence.”
In the interest of ease of access and agreement on activities, they decide to go to the shelter. Jewel still owns the place and Lanolin is still an administrator, though they’re getting on in years.
Amidst the crowd of unfamiliar employees is someone Shadow recognizes: Priscilla.
She no longer wears braces, walking with impressive ease. “Surgery,” she explains with a wink. “Technology has come a long way.”
To say that they catch up is an overstatement—Shadow politely listens to Priscilla’s colorful stories, illustrating her travels around the globe complete with pictures. “I almost eloped with some guy in Spagonia. Thank god I came to my senses.”
In response, Shadow snorts in amusement.
Eventually, Priscilla elbows him, tugging on Shadow’s shirt so she can whisper into his ear. “I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so.”
Shadow purses his lips, momentarily failing to connect the dots. Everything comes back to him a rush. Startled, his gaze flits to the door, eager to put space between himself and Sonic.
“Don’t worry, it’s not obvious. I’ve just got a knack for this sort of thing.”
He sighs. “Do you still…?”
Priscilla giggles. “No way, you can have him. I don’t think I could handle someone like Mr. Sonic.”
Impressive intuition. Shadow is obsessed with the guy, for fuck’s sake, and even he would like to shake Sonic down and force Sonic to tell him his story in detail. As it stands, Shadow has made his peace with rare spats, arguments blowing over as fast as they crop up.
Sonic rounds the room, making his way over to Priscilla only once he’s certain Shadow is out of sight. They exchange greetings and he ruffles her hair fondly, proud to say that the average twenty-something does nothing for him.
It feels like a moot point when they have their one-on-one celebration the following weekend, what with Shadow dressed in a slinky dress perched on his knee. They have a private booth to themselves in an upscale restaurant, and it’s a thrill, flirting with propriety like this.
Sonic uses one paw to toy with Shadow’s thin necklace, the other lecherously creeping up the slit. “Do you remember what you promised?”
“Two glasses of wine, half an appetizer, one full entree,” Shadow gripes.
Sonic pinches Shadow’s thigh. Narrowly, Shadow refrains from rubbing his legs together.
“Behave,” he says, tone brooking no room for argument.
It drives Shadow crazy when Sonic gets like this.
He hand feeds Shadow until he feels sick, groaning with his head in his paws. “Good boy,” Sonic purrs, massaging him, drinking in the hiccups Shadow unleashes. “Don’t you love it when I fill you up?”
Shadow’s panties are soaked through. “Yes, Daddy.”
“You want more, don’t you? Wanna be bigger for me. Rounder. Filled with my pups.”
“Fucking—Sonic,” Shadow hisses, too horny for games. “Close the check. Right now.”
Vindictively, Sonic bites him. “Ask nicely.”
“Please,” comes out through gritted teeth, fangs exposed with the effort of clenching.
He pays in cash, leaving a hefty tip. They all but race each other back to the car. Sonic struggles to drive safely what with Shadow unfastening his pants from the passenger seat, climbing into Sonic’s lap as soon as he pulls into the garage. He gives Shadow what he wants: a teaser for the evening.
Shadow brings the best and the worst out of him, reminding him what it’s like to be alive. Giving him the tools he needs to move on.
It’s everything he never knew he needed, but now that he has it, he can't let go.
Screw the naysayers. Damn the critics. Sonic is his for as long as Shadow will have him, whether this is a passing craze or an eternal partnership.
He’ll take whatever he can get.