Entries tagged with “teen”.

Garik was long-accustomed to rising before the Sun – as apprentice to the old shaman Temen, he needed to be ready to greet the new day if he was to practise his art. But this night saw him rising early even for him, shaken out of his cot by the keen-eyed spearman Relin, watching over the camp for the night as he so often did; and to Garik, it felt as though he’d gotten scarcely any sleep at all.

Of course, it had been difficult to find sleep in the first place, with anticipation and anxiety for his role in the day’s ritual warring in him. Perhaps what sleep he’d got hadn’t been very restful.

Well, it would have to suffice, one way or another. This was a very important day – the Turning Sun rite only came once a year, as winter began to give way to spring, and to be the junior celebrant in that rite was a once-in-a-lifetime happening in all but the leanest and grimmest times; any youth would only be chosen twice if there were no others suitable to choose from.


“Master Saeed?”

It was far from the first time he’d heard those two words together; indeed, over the past few weeks, he rather thought he’d got used to them – at least so far as the combination no longer sounding bizarre and foreign. Yet this time, they gripped his attention more than usual. Not by volume – or, at least, not by great volume; that they were spoken so softly was, in fact, part of what seized his attention. He hadn’t heard them said so hesitantly since the first few days.

Nor had he ever heard them used here.


Saeed looked over to his robe, draped some time ago over the back of a chair in his workroom. In moments like this, a little dignity could be a precious thing.

But he abandoned the notion after only a moment’s thought. Dignity was all very well, but he was sodden with his lover’s seed. Even if the robe managed to obscure all of it, which was unlikely given how much of the stuff had landed on his neck and chin, the smell of sex permeated each breath he took and couldn’t fail to fill the whole room.

Besides, if he put the robe on without first taking a bath, it would need such a thorough laundering that there might not be much fabric left, afterwards.

So be it; the sabrecat would trust to the dignity of his own person and demeanour, and dare anyone else to comment on his state.


Everything was perfect, of course.

Lazuli was getting used to that. Kenji Amber was a raev; perfection was a driving goal in his life. In this case, the perfection in question seemed to be that of a plan coming together. From school to home to dinner, transportation went without a hitch. They had a table reserved, and Kenji had ordered ahead; appetizers were laid on not two minutes after they took their seats. The meal itself took longer – he hadn’t ordered that on Lazuli’s behalf – but they had something to nibble on while they waited.


It wasn’t all that comfortable. It wasn’t even all that discreet – if anyone saw them there in the garage, and especially on the bed of Mom’s truck, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out they were up to something. But it was away from prying eyes, and specifically the prying eyes of Blake’s little sister.

“You’re sure about this, stripey?” The rat gave the edge of Mom’s emergency blanket a twitch, spreading it out a little better.

“It’s okay, Flynn. I’m not twelve.” Blake smiled, reaching out to touch the other youth’s jaw. “I haven’t done it before, sure, but I know what it is.


(This entry is in the Felidae collection. To navigate the chronology: << First | < Prev | Last >> )

Just under a dozen feline teens paused. Five boys and half a dozen girls turned, looking over their shoulders.

“Go on, girls,” said the middle-aged lynx man. “It’s just the boys I’d like to hold on for a bit.”

That was very unusual, and of course the girls were curious, but even if it hadn’t been obvious in his words, the coach’s hard gaze carried a clear dismissal; they filed off the pool deck and into the female showers. The boys shuffled in place, exchanging glances – well, four of them exchanged glances; the lion was a bit apart, and while he received a few wary glances, he himself kept his attention on the coach.


(This is the last entry to date in the Felidae collection. To navigate the chronology: << First | < Prev )

It was just a simple doorbell. The lion had heard it from the outside of the door, like now, plenty of times before. But this time, it sounded somehow momentous. Not exactly foreboding, but significant.

Maybe it had to do with the boy standing with him, a year older at seventeen, dressed like him in a fine shirt, tie, slacks, and blazer, the tall cheetah carrying a Tupperware tray.

“Hey, Sig?”

“Yeah?” Sigmund von Klausen replied, the word bearing more than his usual touch of German accent. Or maybe he had actually said “ja”.

“…Thanks.” The biggest thing he was thanking the runner for, of course, was yet to come, but he still had to say it.

The taller, slimmer boy bumped shoulders with him, smiling. “It’s all right, Mike. I’m happy you trust me for this.”


(This entry is in the Felidae collection. To navigate the chronology: << First | < Prev | Next > | Last >> )

It was a busy road at a busy time of day, at least for a residential zone; it was no thoroughfare, but on such a nice spring afternoon on a Saturday, there were plenty of people walking along the sidewalks.

So nobody really paid much attention to the lion youth padding back and forth in front of one nice house. He was in good shape, well-dressed, a handsome enough teen that nobody was likely to think him a troublemaker. The package he carried was thin and wrapped with white paper and a red ribbon, nothing to be concerned about. Just a boy working up the courage to give something to his sweetheart.

Well, Mike Thorntree thought, they’d be half-right there, at least. This was not an easy thing to make himself do. The other bit was kind of out of his hands.


(This entry is in the Felidae collection. To navigate the chronology: << First | Next > | Last >> )

The door opened, the door shut. A few car doors likewise opened and shut. The engine started, the car backed out onto the street, and then it sped off into the distance.

In the house it had left behind, at the living room window looking out onto the road, a snow leopard of about sixteen let the blinds slip shut and slid down onto the seat of the couch. He was a fairly tall lad, slender and toned, though his thick, pale-grey, darker-spotted fur made it difficult to see.

He couldn’t quite conceal the mixture of envy and longing on his face as his host stepped into the living room. Travis Hale was reasonably fit and knew it, but the panther he was visiting was in better shape than many grown-up athletes. At five foot nine, Aaron was pretty tall for his age, and he was solidly built, neither his light vest nor his rich, dark pelt concealing the smooth contours of muscle. As competition for dates, he was devastating.

Even as a prospect, he was pretty intimidating.


(This is the first entry to date in the Felidae collection. To navigate the chronology: Next > | Last >> )

“All right, folks,” the big lynx called out. “We’re gonna have to wrap up there. Remember, extra practise next week to make up!”

“Bye, Coach!” the five feline youths and half-dozen girls called out, more or less in unison. They made their way over the tiled floor, fur dripping onto the nonskid rubber mats as they filed into their respective shower rooms.

“Man. I know it’s his kid’s birthday and all,” said one of the boys, a tiger. “But couldn’t he have let us know before that it’d be a short practise? Gerry isn’t picking me up for pizza til six.”

“You need a girlfriend, Jon,” the ocelot chimed in, grabbing his shampoo from the locker. “Isn’t that right, Mike?”