Dystopian Lust & Knots

“Fuck!”

Russel cursed under his breath as the Doberman flattened himself to the wall, his slim tail tucked down as bullets flew by. They skimmed past him, though his assailants had a good idea he was there, the wall to his back broken and crumbling, though it remained a mere remnant of a war he’d been too young to fight in back then.

Would he have fought in it, if he had been of age? If his mother had not protected him and cradled him close, hiding deep within the bunker while death raged overhead? It was a question Russel knew the answer to, though not the answer to the question of which side he would have ended up fighting on. For that was something that so very rarely actually seemed to be the choice of the individual in question.

The canine slunk down, the red rays of sunset cast over the half-ruined city of Devras. It had possessed another name, once, but that was not spoken anymore. Like anthros, places could change and he didn’t want to hold on to the memories of the past any more than others did. 

Yet moving forward was not any better as he dodged between buildings, the street stretching out before him in a crush of pitted tarmac. It looked like something had smashed into it, a long time ago, though the cars still littering the street betrayed the fuel shortage that had come about, leaving many stranded. Of course, the windows had been smashed in for many and some were even burned-out husks, but they’d still provided shelter for some weary souls in the early days of the new world, he was sure.

Russel grunted, wiping the back of his paw across his muzzle. A gleam of spit settled on his black fur, though it swiftly dried. Even then, heat clawed at the city, as if it was being boiled from the inside out. 

“Ah… To hell with this.”

Even though the dog was sure he was already in hell, it was better to get out of his current one. The backpack with the straps digging into his shoulders was, at least, heavy with food and his raid had been successful. The idiots roaming the streets, guarding it supposedly, were slower on the uptake more often than not, no more than common thugs. That didn’t mean they were dangerous, but they were easily tricked by the savvy, even if they were perhaps best avoided with their weapons and muscle at better times.

Times were not better for Russel, though the Doberman looked forward to having a full stomach once again, despite forgetting what it was like to eat to the point of being overly full. His stomach simply had never felt that sensation, or it had been so long ago that the world had been tumbling down around him and he simply could not remember all the way back to those years.

He scaled a wall easily, plant life having taken over where it reclaimed the land and dug into every little hook and grip there was to be had in what had, once, been an anthro-made structure. His chest heaved and Russel puffed air out quietly as he ducked in through a broken window, diving into the belly of the building. Thankfully for the canine, he knew that part of the city well and there was a bridge connecting that one to the next, if he only climbed up to the fourth floor. It wasn’t very high to escape the thug-like guardians, but he’d likely avoid them if he was quiet about it.

The building may have been an office block at some time, with broken desks and dark-screened computers cast to the ground, some personal affects and shattered glass littering where he walked. Yet Russel took every step carefully, even as glass crunched under his large boots. They moulded to the shape of his hind paws, giving him a low heel that, at the very least, allowed him something a little stabler to find even tiny ledges with. Any advantage was required in a world like that – but, oh, how he wished it was not so.

Russel exhaled. He had a home to get back to, though the rush of adrenaline and the gun in his paw were familiar enough to him they no longer set his gut roiling sickeningly. It was not a world he belonged in, though he’d heard the country, the wild lands, were even worse than the cities. Russel didn’t truly know what to believe anymore: who would? Who could have ever imagined the world crumbling to such an extent that he felt even his sense of reality, his grip on what kept him sane, slipping through his fingers?

“Hey, big dog.”

He jerked, eyes wide. Damn him! The wolf squatted in a window frame, smirking darkly before slipping inside, his soft, grey fur allowing him to blend well with the miserable squalor in there. It did not match his personality, however, not as he showed his white teeth in an easy grin, the kind of lightness that always had seemed to come so easily to Blake.

“How long were you watching me?” Russel grunted, though the canine couldn’t deny just how his heart skipped a beat in the mere presence of the wolf, the world around him seeming ever so slightly brighter for the fact of Blake’s presence. “I’m losing my edge.”

“Nah, you have everything under control,” Blake said smoothly, hopping down and moving away from the exposure of the window frame. “Douche-snout and his gang down there had your scent but lost it in the alleyway.”

Russel snorted.

“Not hard to, with how it reeks around here.”

“Yeah,” Blake acquiesced. “C’mon, let’s haul tail out of here.”

Russel grunted and rolled his eyes, though there was no real ill-meaning in it, not at all. It was just how the wolf was, always treating everything as if it was an everyday occurrence, like it wasn’t heart-stopping, in a very bad way, to have bullets flying when there was a gun Russel wasn’t even confident shooting in his own paw. He looked down, fingers shifting on the warmed metal, and holstered it at his hip, the safety on. It was just a pistol, which was far from the best, but he took what he could get and carry easily, preferring close combat, paw to paw when forced. But only when forced.

It was better when he acted. It was better when he didn’t have to think. And it was better still when he didn’t have to let instinct reign in combat at all.

He’d rather avoid it, following Blake closely as they sprang up the old stairs and across the walkway to the next building. Maybe they’d been joined at one point, or maybe it had been put in after the war. Either way, a new war for the streets raged while regular anthros tried to live their own lives.

“Hey, don’t think like that,” Blake murmured, dropping down into the next building, another office-like structure for something long forgotten. “Come on, c’mere.”

Russel went gladly into his arms, though the Doberman swallowed the soft whimper that threatened to rise in the back of his throat. It tightened there and he grunted through it, though Blake seemed to know what was going on with him anyway. He tightened his grip around the dog and squeezed.

“Hey, I got you. Look, they’re fucking off now, hear that?”

Only, Russel couldn’t hear the thugs anymore, the guardians. They’d moved away, on to something else. They may not have even realised right then that Russel had stolen some of their supplies, but they likely would when it came to cook. Warehouses and supermarkets had been well-guarded in the early days, but gang wars and those just trying to get by had made it so forces became scattered where they had once been concentrated. So, what remained for the living could still be snatched up, if they were brave enough to take it for themselves.

Still, that was not what the Doberman wanted to focus on. He inhaled deeply, burying his nose in the crook of Blake’s neck. Russel was not the tallest of canines, standing at maybe five-eight, while the wolf towered at an easy six-foot-five. But it felt good to be against him once more, feeling the wolf’s hope pulse through his chest with every beat of his heart, like it was the only thing holding him steady in that rhythm alone.

“Breathe through it.”

“I know what helps.”

Russel tipped his head up to him imploringly, his folded ears twitching. There were some dog anthros, regardless of “breeding”, as if anyone cared about that anymore, that cropped their ears and their tails, though that was the less extreme side of body modifications. There were other things going on, though Russel had been a little disappointed that cybernetic limbs were not an option, considering how much research and designed lab space had been lost. That was undoubtedly one of the great tragedies, when he didn’t focus on the enormity of all the lives that had been lost.

“Ah.”

Blake smiled kindly, though Russel swore he felt heat rising from the wolf, the air crackling between them with tension. But did the wolf even know how good he looked, how wonderful he felt against Russel? 

Sure, maybe it was a cheap thing and an easy out to go for closeness and intimacy in the face of so many trials…but Russel was far from the first to seek that warmth. Sometimes, having that connection with Blake was the only thing that kept him going. And it terrified him to rely on someone that much.

Only, it was a system of giving and taking too, Blake whining softly as Russel’s lips found his, heated and desperate. The wolf was gentle at first, letting Russel lead the way, but he didn’t hold back once it was clear the Doberman knew exactly what he wanted. The throbbing pulse of adrenaline raced through his body, though not as demanding as it had been when bullets had been flying. It needed an outlet, something wholesome and something satisfying – something that reminded them both that they were so much more than the life they had been thrust into.

“Mmph… Russel.”

Oh, how he loved hearing his name on Blake’s lips. As light as the wolf’s voice was usually, it became lower and gruffer when he was turned on, or even when he was serious. Yet his paws gripped the wolf’s jacket, his own pack weighing too heavily on his shoulders like it was no more than a burden he needed to shuck to feel whole and clean and satisfied all over again.

Blake backed up, drawing the canine along with him into a side room. It could have been a manager’s office at one time, though it had served as a home for a rough sleeper another time more recently. The piles of blankets were still there and Russel had taken care to wash them, for at least some laundrettes worked after power had been restored to some parts of the city. Funnily enough, not all that many anthros seemed to be concerned with holding power over things like that, so they carried on peacefully, allowing the pockets of communities to thrive. 

As long as they didn’t try to disrupt (even accidentally) the battling powers and forces within the city, they could get by. Barely.

But Russel cast all that aside as they tumbled down alongside a desk that was, surprisingly, still at least mostly whole. Only a corner was chipped and crushed, strangely, but Russel didn’t care how that had come to pass. His slim tail wagged back and forth, though the blossoming joy spreading through his chest was not to be contained. It was to be let out, in the name of hope, to give him something to fight for, something to keep his chest rising, each and every day.

End preview.

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