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Three's a Crowd

Sneak Peek

There really is nothing like the smell of a book store. The aged stories and history while the fresh print and pressed all culminate together into that spectrum of warm parchment and must. The oak floors creaked and groaned with the slightest movement, the warped wood worn and varnish shuffled away from the decades of foot traffic. The shelves and book cases, China cabinets overflowing with books and story related knickknacks, lined the walls and halls. The store had that cozy feel with cute reading nooks in each window for customer to lounge in, a play corner with a colorful rug depicting a train for the kids to play on while their parents perused, and stained glass window ornaments to catch the light from the dusty windows and add to the magical atmosphere.

Various antique clocks ticked away, their rhythms slightly out of sync form one to the other as they droned on, a silent clock in the background kept itself wounded with magnets, golden orbs swinging around a central mechanism all held in a glass dome. The front desk was made from dark stained wood, the cash register an old brass typewriter pull crank device, but next to it glowed a bright white plastic screen for people's digital wallets. That was the only modern thing on the desk though, like some mechanical weed that sprouted from the wires that wormed their way through the piles of books and papers. A green lamp like you'd see in an old bank teller's office glowed on a book where a slender and elegant hand traced along the words.

Those white fingertips slid across the text with purpose, his pristine claw tips brushing against the yellowed pages of the book. His white fingers gave way to dark furred palms, almost like fingerless gloves that formed a gradient going up his arm. They went from dark blood red to a bright crimson coat. The fox bobbed his head with his music, his headphones in his ears as he read his book behind the counter. The fox had a duo of antlers though, the photo of his parents behind him showing a buck and a vixen explained his heritage and mixed form. His emerald eyes glistened as he picked up the book, becoming engrossed in the story. He sat up on his stool, crossing one leg over the other and showing off the best of both his father and mother's traits. Long slender legs yet firm with young muscle, the delicate spackling of white spots like a fawn trickled over his tail, his undercoat a bright, creamy peach red. He wore a simple blue shirt with some purple jeans that hugged his hips well and showed off his cute foot paws, the soles a golden yellow that shown against the same type of patterning as his hands.

The phone rang and the fox deer blinked, the old phone rattling with its brass bells. He set his book face down to keep it opened to the correct page as he answered.

“Merlin's Magical Emporium, Merlin speaking, what can we conjure up for you today?" Merlin smirked, the greeting rolling off his lips smoothly. “Yup, we're open already…Yup, I'll be here for some time. I'm going to probably go to lunch here in a bit, but I should be done by the time you arrive…of course! See you then. Goodbye now."

Merlin put the phone back in the cradle and picked his book back up, flipping to the next page with a flick of his thumb. Just then the bell to the store rang and he was pulled from his reading once more, this time opting to snag one of the handmade bookmarks to close his book.

“Hey Michael!" Merlin greeted his rabbit friend with a smirk as he entered his bookstore. “What kept ya?!"

“Hey, Bitch!" Michael joked back. “The line at the sub shop was murder. You ordered it with extra pickles, right?" Michael winked at the deer fox as he came to the front counter.

“You better not have," Merlin rolled his eyes.

“Man, all these years and it's still this easy to get your goat?" Michael chuckled slyly as he scooped the subs from the paper bag and handed one to his friend. “Seriously, you need to be better at reading people."

“Hey, I'm great at reading people," Merlin fake pouted as he unwrapped his sandwich and took a big bite out of it. “Besides," he grumbled as bread crumbs flew from his teeth. “Didn't you strike out last time at the bar?"

“I was just joking man," Michael chuckled, tossing his floppy ears back. “Learn to lighten up. What? Does that stool got a stick right where the cheeks should go? Looking awfully stiff."

“I don't have a stick up my ass," Merlin swallowed his sandwich and murred. “Thanks again Michael. I couldn't leave the shop unattended even if it is dead."

“No problem dude!" Michael tore open his sub and took a big bite, his buck teeth sinking into his bread and crunching through the greens inside. Michael was Merlin's childhood friend and they had stuck together after graduating. One of those friendships you make when you've known each other forever. Though, Michael was Merlin's opposite in a lot of ways. He was a jock, and he played the part well. His dusty blond hair was sun-bleached from being outside all the time, his ear tips taking on the same light shade. His light brown fur and dark eyes complemented each other, and his lighter undercoat contrasted them nicely. His fur was covered in spackling like Merlin's, only his wasn't because he never grew out of his fawn coat. No, Michael's markings were more like freckles that covered his body.

“So," Michael smirked as he sucked the sub sauce from his fingers, the last of his sandwich in his maw. “You need me to stick around and help you with some of the heavy lifting?"

“I can handle restocking the shelves, don't worry about it," Merlin waived off the bun's concerns.

“Come on, you paid for the grub. The least I can do is help you around the shop for a bit." Michael lifted his arms and flexed. Michael was quite muscular, his physique hidden beneath his shaggy fur.

“I'm fine, really," Merlin smiled. “If I need someone to help me lift things and open jars I'll give you a ring."

“Yeah? Ya promise?" Michael smirked and leaned into the table, bouncing his brows.

“What kind of promise would that be?" Merlin chuckled.

Michael kicked himself, that was kind of a stupid line. Then again, how do you suddenly turn on the charm with someone who knew you shat your pants in the third grade? There was simply too much history for him to fake his way through flirting like he normally did.

“You going to come over tonight?" Merlin asked.

“Come over?" Michael blushed. “To your place?"

“Uh, yeah," Merlin chuckled as he tucked his book beneath the counter for later. “It's game night. Remember?"

“Oh! Fuck, yeah," Michael smacked his forehead. “That's right."

“You didn't forget did you?" Merlin cocked a brow.

Just then, Michael thought of a brilliant pickup line!

“I mean, I made plans," Michael smirked.

“Seriously Michael!" Merlin puffed up. “I've been trying to get this game night shit going for forever now."

Michael flinched. In reality, he didn't have plans. He was going to say he made plans to go out with Merlin, but suddenly it felt like the wrong time to bring up.

“Y-Yeah…sorry…" Michael mentally kicked himself. “Next time?"

“Sure, whatever," Merlin rolled his eyes, but then the bell to the door rang, alerting them to a new arrival.

“Hello," the man entering announced his presence, taking his sunglasses off and clipping them to the collar of his button-down. The arctic fox had silvery hair, his ears tall and tipped with black, the left one had a bar piercing. His fur markings were mostly hidden, but a golden ring of fur circled the base of his neck, giving him the appearance of wearing a gold chain. He had a leather jacket and pants, his boots creaking against the old oak floorboards. He was slightly shorter than Michael, but something in his swagger made the rabbit feel shorter.

“Hello," Merlin smiled, running his hand through his hair and slicking it back up. “You were the caller on the phone. Um…what was your name again?"

“Waylon," the arctic fox's voice had a husky quality that gave the impression he had a cigar or two in his day. “I was asking about your rare antiquities collection?"

“Of course, anything in the case behind me catch your eye?" Merlin hopped off his stool and gestured to the temperature and humidity controlled case.

“Let me see," Waylon pulled out a monocle from one of his jacket pockets. He closed an eye and peered. “Ah, I do see something quite remarkable."

“Which one?" Merlin asked.

“I wasn't talking about the books, cutie," Waylon winked at the fox.

“Oh my," Merlin's tail hiked up, waving behind him slightly. Michael had his jaw on the floor. Who even was this Waylon guy!

“Listen," Waylon started. “I have a patron looking for that first edition there in the case," the fox pulled out a platinum credit card. “How's about I get that book and your digits?"

“S-Sure thing," Merlin smiled and rung up the book. It was a fairly informal process, but the blatant flirting made it so much more so. Michael stood there frozen, forgotten as the two foxes finished up their transaction.

“Thanks, cutie," Waylon smirked. “So what's your name?"

“I'm Merlin," the fox blushed.

“Well Mer," Waylon flicked his sunglasses open and pulled them up to his face. “I was only passing through on business, but maybe I just found a reason to stay."

Michael watched as the love of his life was flirted with, his heart pounding in a mixture of rage and desperation. He felt it building and he couldn't hold it back.

“Merlin, will you go out with me!?" Michael finally blurted it out. His sudden outburst causing the air to become thick.

“Michael?" Merlin furrowed his brow. “I mean…What?"

“Oh? Did I step on into a complicated relationship here?" Waylon lowered his sunglasses.

“No," Merlin shook his head. “I mean…I don't know…I…seriously Michael? I don't need you to joke around right now."

“Oh…um…Sorry…" Michael's ears drooped.

“Dude, I don't need saving," Merlin shook his head.

“Didn't know I gave off that kind of impression," Waylon looked at the bun, his eyes glaring at him from over his lenses. His seafoam eyes giving off a dark gleam. “I'll be seeing you around."

Waylon pushed his glasses back up and left the shop.

“What the hell Michael!" Merlin snapped at his friend. “Were you trying to ruin my chances?"

“No! I mean…No!" Michael put his hands up.

“Were you serious about all that?" Merlin shook his head. “Did you really mean it or were you just playing a bad joke?"

Michael felt his face burning, his skin crawl with heat as Merlin gave him a way to profess his feelings, and an out. This was it, he could say what he was feeling.

“No…I mean…Yeah…a joke. Sorry," Michael scratched the back of his head. “Hey, I'll hit you up for next game night soon."

“Okay," Merlin's brow was knit in thought. “Whatever you say. Talk soon."

“Yeah," Michael huffed and kicked himself as he left the shop.

Around the corner the arctic fox was watching, the book he recently purchased glowing in his hand.

“Game on, bitch," Waylon growled under his breath at the oblivious bun.

***

“God! I'm so fucking stupid," Michael slammed his head against the bar. “Larry! Get me another?"

“Hey, Mikey," the bloodhound behind the bar nudged him. “Someone got you a drink."

“Huh?" Michael lifted his head and noticed the drink. “Who did that?"

“Me," Waylon smirked, sitting at the stool next to the bun.

“Oh! It's fucking Casanova over here!" Michael grumbled.

“Come on now, why you picking a fight?" Waylon smirked. “I'm just trying to buy you a drink."

Michael gave Waylon a sour look, his inebriated state made it impossible for him to think too quickly.

“Fine!" he snatched the drink and started gulping it down. “But only the one drink!"

***

Michael was pinned up against the wall of the bathroom stall, his lips smacking against Waylon's as they made out. Waylon's body was so much like Merlin's. His fox body lacked the extra curves Merlin's buck ancestry gave him, but fuck if he didn't look like his lifelong crush through his drunken eyes.

Hot breath mingled as they made out in the stall, liquor hot on the bun's breath, but mysteriously absent on the arctic foxe's.

“Merlin…" Michael moaned.

“Call me whatever you want big bun," Waylon moaned as Michael kissed and sucked on the fox's neck, the smell of warm fur filling his nose. That fur was soft, silky like Merlin's. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine it was the right color.

The bun's athletic shorts hit the floor, his ten inch shlong flopping forward, showing he didn't suffer from whisky dick. It smacked Waylon's chest before the bun forced him around. The fox gave a sexy little growl, pulling his leather pants and underwear down to expose his tight ass. It wasn't as round as Merlin's, but fuck it was beautiful. Michael spat on his dick and lined it up with that winking hole and shoved forward, his cock sliding into that arctic ass!

“Oh fuck," Michael groaned, his hips already moving in a rhythm as he sank deeper into Waylon's hole. The fox grit his teeth as the bun worked his hole open, the pleasure blooming through the pain before he felt pleasantly full.

Michael's hips smacked against that tight ass, those buns bouncing against Michael's hips as he sank deep, that hole gripping his cock as it drooled deep inside him. This wasn't the first time Waylon had taken a dick this big. Michael could tell he was a pro, and he didn't need to hold back.

Waylon's claws raked over the wall of the stall, or at least one hand did. The other pulled the book from his jacket, the pages glowing as he huffed the spell out in hushed tones. It just sounded like gibberish to Michael, the gargling response of a bottom in bliss.

But then , suddenly it felt like that ass was working him harder, slurping on Michael's cock, his balls bouncing and boiling with need. The bun had jerked off that morning, but now it felt like he had been edging for a fucking year! He needed to bust and he wouldn't be denied.

“Fuck Merlin!" Michael shouted as his balls drew up and his prostate flexed. His powerful athletic cheeks flexed as he shot stream after stream of cum deep into that fox.

“That's right bitch! Bust it! Bust it nice and deep! Give it all to me," Waylon shoved back making sure Michael couldn't pull away, but he didn't have to. The bun was so high on his orgasm, he would rather die than pull away form that hole milking his dick.

Michael had never cum so hard or so long in his life, each shot progressively harder and more intense. It was like he was jizzing his entire balls into that hole, but then he felt like he was cumming form deeper inside him. He didn't care, he just lived in the fantasy that he was fucking Merlin, his hips grinding harder and harder.

To Waylon though, the thrusts were getting weaker and weaker as he pushed back harder and harder.

“That's it you dumb, fucking faggot, give me all that essence! All of it!" Waylon snarled, fucking back as his veins pressed up against his skin. “I'll fucking drain you dry until you're nothing but fuck dust!"

Michael didn't quite understand, but he felt weaker. It was like each shot of cum was getting stronger and his body was diverting all its strength into cumming. Then he felt a waning ache through his body as his dick clenched and he opened his eyes.

“What the fuck!" Michael watched as the fox he was cumming into was steadily getting bigger, his body wider and himself diminish with each beat of his heart. Already his hands were getting too small and weak to hold onto the fox, crunching into themselves, deflating and shrinking back as his body shrank. Even his voice was getting higher and weaker as he pleaded. He tried to push away, but he noticed his hips had fused with Waylon's ass, his own heartbeat pumping his essence into the growing fox.

“Fuck yeah bitch!" Waylon slammed his ass down on the floor, pinning the shrinking bun as his essence fueled his body and it's growth. “Yes! More! Bigger! EVERYTHING YOU FUCKING HAVE!"

Energy surged into the arctic fox as Michael kept dumping his essence one diminishing squirt at a time. The bun couldn't pull out even if he wanted to, his dick and Waylon's ass had merged together, the magic in that book fusing them together as one. At some point Michael passed out, his body no longer strong enough to keep him awake as his organs were made into cum, his mind liquidating and surging up into that fox. Waylon flexed his ass muscles, each time another gulp of the bun's essence was shot deep into him. Nearly effortlessly the fox stole everything from him, Michael's shots rubbing up against his prostate over and over before everything he was slurped up into that hole.

Waylon stood up, only a small sweat stain marking the place where Michael once was. The arctic fox growled, feeling all that energy and power surging into him. It was like every cell of his body was orgasming, gorging itself on that mass and size. The fox's veins bulged, his body inching upward, his muscles crunching and flexing, getting larger. His claws extended, his fur got shaggier like Michael's. His ears rose up higher, one bending at the tip while the other staid straight, his pristine white fur gained splotches of brown, giving him dark lowlights that accented his musculature. His clothes tore, his leather jacket riding up to expose his lower back, corded muscle being hidden under a shaggy mat of fur.

Waylon continued expanding larger and larger, his boots blowing out as his feet extended outward, his toes getting thick and strong like Michael's once were. His spine elongated as he crested another half foot taller, his body growing much wider to accommodate all that mass that was packing onto his frame.

Then it was over. Waylon stood there, looking in the dirty mirror of the bar bathroom and chuckling darkly. The jacket he wore rode up his forearms and would never close again. One wrong flex and he was sure he would tear out the back of it. Then he felt a little fluttering in his belly. It was Michael's soul, his entire existence trying to break out of that abdominal wall. The bun's non corporeal form glowed like a firefly caught in a trap. Waylon grinned darkly and flexed his abs, that soul crushing and juicing out into his veins. Golden light surged through Waylon's circulatory system, his mind filled with all of Michael's memories and skills, everything he was, was now his to use. His entire life was his as well. If he truly wanted, Waylon could step into Michael's old life as if nothing had changed. Everyone would remember him as Waylon, the jock fox bunny hybrid. The sexy juggernaut of elegant athleticism.

He gripped the sunglasses on his shirt and slipped them on, his massive foot paws making the ground rumble as he walked out of the bar.

“Sorry Michael," the fox bun growled. “I got a game night to crash."

***

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