This choice: "You're the small one, as you shrink exponencially smaller!" • Go Back...Chapter #5"You're the small one, as you shrink ex... by: OdinAshcroftFA   ...it is taken from you. Dwindling and diminishing strike true. Smaller to each conquest, strength reduced to its weakest. Smaller and Smaller, until you're as small as the spoiled pup you are on the inside. That shall be my curse, my rhyme! Let the punishment fit the crime..."
***
Sometime later, after long and very rough round after round of practice and play, the team finally began to disperse, until evnetually it was only Fang, and the burly brown bear Burton, walking back home together, and that was only happening because the husky ursine's home being on the same path as the looming lupine's. But then, normally Burton had to hustle his fuzzy ass to keep up with Fang, but tonight, that wasn't the case. It seemed that even the big bad wolf had found a limit to his normally bottomless endurance and stamina, sweat glistening on his shaggy mane of headfur as well as on his snout, and seemed to be panting a little, though it was at the moment being drowned out by Burton's much more audible form of gasping. Of course, whereas Fang went for power through solid muscle, Burton's regimen fell more in a power-gut sort of style, a style best supported given his ursine nature as well as his penchant for eating. He could take a solid Grande Grand Slam from the local Denny's without missing a beat just like he could take a triple grand slam from three tacklers at once. He was a very SOLID individual. Either way, finally finding his third wind (his second having been used up in that last couple of rounds, he was unable to let his normally physically perfect teammate get away without taking a stab at this peculiar state Fang was in.
"Say, Fang, I guess we were really at it tonight. I've never seen you like this, man. You getting sick, or what?"
Fang huffed and stood up straighter, imposing frame looming easily over the shorter bare as he bared his fangs in an agressively "friendly" grin
"Fuck no, fit as a goddammned fiddle, Burton. Nah, I just think my "extra curricular" practices over at my place might be draining far more outta me..."
The bear would grin lecherously, getting the tone in the wolf's voice
"Oh? What...or who...would these practices be on?"
"Your Momma Bear" Fang shot back without missing a beat
"DUDE!"
"Kidding, Kidding, Easy, Baby Bear-Ton...Nah...you've seen those two Foreign Exchange Students in Professor Raschoft's Cultures Class?..."
The bear stopped in his tracks, the wide and toothy grinning wolf walking on, his hands tucked deep into his football jersey as he would swish his tail proudly...only for Burton to come hustling after him, breathily gasping
"THE SISTERS!? YOU SCORED WITH THE FUCKING TWINS!? Dude, NO one's been able to pick up one of them, much less BOTH of them..."
Fang would look back, his wild mane spattering sweat on the gaping bear's face, winking, the infamous fang bared
"You're looking at the fucking Muscle God who DID!"
Burton let out a roar of laughter, clearly prideful of his teammate's great success, and without a though, slapped the big black furred wolf's broad back with a great resounding thump, meant to be a measure of congratulatory machismo. What Burton HADN'T expected...was Fang to stumble forward beneath the sudden blow by the bear. Burton blinked. He hadn't thought he put THAT much power into his slap on the back, looking at his large hand, flexing the fingers before looking back...and up at a very pissed off looking Fang, eyes burning bright and teeth bared in a snarl. Burton held up his hands in reflex, his fur practically losing several shades of color as he stammered.
"S-sorry, Fang! I-I meant to pat you on the back! S-S-Sorry man!"
Fang would take a step forward, and Burton took a few steps back...but Burton would just stand there as Fang took a deep breath, expanding up and out to even larger looking proportions...only to deflate as he let out a calming breath, the bear beginning to breath again as well as he would wipe his brow as the fury he'd seen diminished to just frustration and annoyance...which was vented by a suddenly slug to the brown bear's left shoulder, practically numbing it on contact. The bear yelped and whined, rubbing his arm as Fang would turn suddenly, and stomp off to his house, which was not too far off from the pair. Burton would scowl after the wolf, muttering
"Jeezuz man, you didn't have to punch me that fucking hard...not my fault I don't know my..."
Burton stopped and looked after the looming lupine, making yet another observation. Normally, Fang's clothes were in the body hugging, "practically painted" on style, the wolf being known to leave very little to the imagination, being of the "flaunt it if you got it" mindset, but right now, from his jacket, to his pants, and even his shoes, seemed to be slightly lax on him, seeing wrinkles in fabric here and there. Shortness of breath, eskewed sense of balance, weight loss? Maybe the wolf was getting sick. Burton then slapped his hand on his face and made a disgusted face.
"Ah shit, and that fuzzball got sweat all over me, BLECH!"
***
"Dammit, BURTON"
Fang snarled as soon as he slammed his front door behind him, his back still tingling from that fuzzy fatass's lumbering blow. He hadn't realized how much FAT hurt, but then, with how much the bear puts away in a single sitting, one can only imagine how many layers of muscle and mush was built up in the bear's body...got to keep an eye on that bear. If he ever got ideas to challenge the wolf...well, Fang would see to it who was the Alpha of the Pack, and it clearly was NOT Baby Bear-Ton...
Wanting to get his mind off things, he would begin to strip right there and then, seeing how he lived alone normally, it was not a surprise he left his clothes about, much like a lot of things. His Letterman's jersey was slung onto a lazy chair, his worn old sneakers was kicked off back to the door, hitting it with dual thumps. A flick of his fingers and the belt was undone and tossed onto a doorknob, landing perfectly. Stretching out, Fang began to pose for his own pleasure, bones and joints a popping as he reached down and undid his jeans, pulling them down all while scrunching his large socked toes, slipping the jeans off. He tossed them aside without caring where they landed...not at all noticing how easy it was to slide his pants down. Normally, there was a bit of resistance, as if his pants didn't want to come off a fucking perfect specimen like him! But, they'd been pulled down without any resistance...actually, they might have even slipped a bit down on their own as soon as he removed the belt. But Fang, as "perceptive" as he was, it went by without notice, next being his t-shirt, which was normally like a second skin, especially when he works as hard as he had tonight, sweat soaking it entirely. Oh, sweat had soaked through, but Fang frowned as it seemed to have wrinkle here and there...and grunted.
"Well shit...stretched another one out...ah well..."
It was off and flung onto a lamp without a second thought, leaving him in just his old socks and a pair of tight red boxer shorts, which he murrled in a mirror, posing and flexing quite a bit, as it would accentuate his firm backside and definitely brought attention to his hefty wolfmanhood, which he would of course, stroke and fondle, mmmming. Still quite a hefty piece of wolfmanmeat in his hands. Though, he frowned, something was...off. He couldn't put his finger on it. Shrugging, he made his way to the kitchen, but as he made the reach for the kitchen door handle, he tripped! Snarling, he looked down...and saw his old socks seemed to have gotten a bit stretched out as well. They were definitely called "old" for a reason, darkened by sweat and stains, and hole-y, but it would appear that the elastic had finally lost the battle, as the socks seemed to bunch a bit at his ankles, and even a bit of extra fabric beyond the toes. Huffing, he reached down and tugged them off, flinging them to the trash bin, scoring two perfect baskets with each one. Flexing his large sweat bare furred feet upon the cold tiled floor, he would pull the kitchen door open and snatch himself a can of beer. Thumping off to the living room, dropping down onto his couch with a thump, mmmming as he popped open the can, kicking his meaty heels up onto the coffee table before the couch, airing out those damp behemoths he called his wolven soles, mmmming as he found a nice warm buzz already rushing through his mind as he tipped back the second can. He wasn't drunk yet, oh far from that, but combined with his exhaustion and odd sense of fatigue, the addition of alcohol was helping lull the big black furred beast to slumber...which he would begin to nod off, but not without a brief mental pause of contemplation...awfully literative a description when concerning Fang, but still.
He was feeling so tired, so exhausted, so weak...was he sick? And something else was wrong...something...off balance...off scale? He looked at his boxer shorts and looked down with a sleepy eyebrow. He would reach down, a thumb claw hooking upon the hem of the boxer shorts...and tugged on it, seeing that there was some slackness...but the wolf's mind was overridden with self-pleasure as the other fingers rubbed upon his bulge...and with that, Fang drifted off, half emptied beer can in one hand, other gently cupping his own lap, the big black wolf went to sleep with a big ole grin on his fuzzy muzzle. But Fang was in for quite a surprise...or more appropriately, quite the rude awakening when...  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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