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Admittedly, when Shadow gets an offer that requires him to live in the city, he doesn’t put much thought into choosing an apartment.
His requirements are minimal: manageable fees, no broken windows, a door with a functional latch. Living in a podunk town had its pitfalls, up to and including a lack of functional fixtures.
It’s a nice job with nice benefits. Could he afford to move somewhere nicer? Yes, but he doesn’t believe in wasting money. For three years, it is perfectly serviceable. There are occasional power outages on the grid, but the internet is fast enough to excuse blips.
On one particularly gloomy morning, Shadow happens to overhear a racket. He’s standing outside when Morgan, his friendly, full-bodied neighbor, pokes her head out. “Sorry about all this, love. My furniture’s a bit too wide for the doors.”
Shadow shrugs, exhaling in the opposite direction so as not to get smoke in her eyes. “Hardly your fault.”
Morgan giggles, long snout twitching fondly. “You’re a sweet boy. I’ll miss you.”
He’s going to miss her too, but he’s never been any good at expressing himself. Shadow grunts to convey acknowledgement, saluting.
With the complex strategically placed outside of the heart of Westopolis and comparatively affordable rent, it won’t be long before someone snatches the unit up.
Case in point, before the month is over, Shadow hears noises again. He’s not sure which one of half-dozen creatures milling about are moving in, but they’re a social bunch.
A week later, things settle down. Either his new neighbor keeps odd hours or they’re rarely home—it’s blissfully quiet.
For a while, the status quo is maintained. Shadow goes to the office five days a week, works his ass off, drinks afterwards until he feels a little less like strangling his shitty colleagues, then he drags his sorry ass home, blacking out until his alarm rings so he can do it all over again.
Saturdays are for craft projects and catching up on soaps. Sundays are spent doing meal prep and laundry.
He finds himself outside between loads, appreciating the breeze. With the sun low in the sky and the humidity index milder than usual, it’s easy to get lost in thought.
It’s a surprise when his neighbor steps onto the balcony with a yawn, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Shadow assumed he was a smoker—they both had ashtrays placed outside, but his neighbor’s was messy, piled high with butts while his own is neat, due to be dumped on Tuesday.
“Fancy meeting you here,” is the greeting lobbed at him by his fellow hedgehog, lanky where Shadow is solid.
Shadow snorts, unamused by the flirtatious tone. “I live here.”
“Me too. What a coincidence.” He turns around, spines resting against the railing. Green eyes dart over to him, lashes seductively set at half-mast. “I’m Sonic, and you are?”
“What’s it matter to you?”
“Do I need some sort of reason to ask?” After a beat, Shadow sighs, offering his name. “Lovely.”
“Boring. Unimaginative. Self-explanatory.”
“You are terrible at making polite conversation.”
It’s far from the first time Shadow has been told, but Sonic isn’t his boss. Irritably, Shadow snuffs out a half-finished cigarette and stalks inside, slamming the door shut.
The following Sunday, someone knocks on the door. Despite the fact that Shadow isn’t expecting company, he opens it, scowling as he spies his neighbor. Pettily, he keeps the chain in place.
“Our last chat ended poorly,” Sonic says, brandishing an expensive bottle of wine. “I’m here to try again.”
Shadow’s eyebrows twitch. It’s true that he doesn’t have any warm, fuzzy feelings for Sonic, but the scale is quickly tipping from indifferent to annoyed. Regardless, he lets Sonic in, patting himself down for his carton immediately.
Just his luck, it’s empty. He has every intention to shoo Sonic off so he can go to the store before Sonic hands him a cigarette; in an odd twist of fate, they smoke the same kind. Sonic cradles a lighter between his paws until they’re lit, leaning on the railing with hefty glasses of wine swirling.
Sonic clinks them together with a lopsided grin, terribly sly. “The weather’s better this time. Must be fate.”
Shadow rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you believe in that tripe?”
“Fortune telling, you mean? Yes and no. Nothin’ wrong with believing that the world works in mysterious ways. Magic is fun. I like magic. And luck.”
Sonic takes a long sip followed by a stiff drag; he isn’t so bad when he’s quiet. He’s certainly easy on the eyes. Shadow shoves that thought to the back of his mind, downing his drink so fast he gets dizzy.
“I’m surprised. You seem like the sort of guy who appreciates nice things.”
Tongue blunted by the liquor, Shadow jabs a claw into Sonic’s chest. It’s exposed, peach colored fur peeking through the panels of his button-down. “I don’t know why, but you irritate me.”
Sonic laughs. “Wow. Appreciate you coming right out and saying it.”
“You can’t expect me to believe this is the first time you’ve been told.”
“Of course not, but most creatures try to be delicate. The honesty is refreshing.”
Shadow grimaces. Increased exposure is making it worse, not better.
All things considered, the evening is pleasant. Sonic does enough talking for both of them. Shadow’s lips drift up at an angle Sonic victoriously considers a smile, beaming at him in return. It’s been a long time since Shadow has been so relaxed in the presence of someone else.
In retrospect, he should have been suspicious.
Six months after Sonic moves in, Shadow wakes up in a cold sweat. It’s hardly the first time he’s dealt with oppressive nightmares, but it is the first time he feels the pounding both inside and outside of his head.
Upon reflection, it isn’t that he feels it—he hears it. He pops three pills dry whilst glaring at the wall he shares with Sonic. A glance at the clock tells him it’s two a.m. Too damn late for all this noise.
The sounds are muffled and therefor inconclusive, but consistent enough for him to theorize. Shadow is willing to bet an exorbitant amount of cash that Sonic is having sex despite the fact that he has no evidence.
It is with gritted teeth that Shadow goes to the convenience store. He chain-smokes three cigarettes and purchases earplugs.
Shadow might be an asshole, but he isn’t going to report Sonic for a single bout of fervent intercourse.
Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action.
The finch at the desk pretends to be apologetic when Shadow files another noise complaint about his neighbor, but the problem is this: everyone else has rescinded their comments.
Enough is enough. If Sonic thinks he can flirt everyone in this building into submission, he’s got another thing coming.
“Open the damn door,” Shadow snarls, aware that he’s attracting attention. He looks like a burglar or a snotty ex, stopping by every hour waiting for the blue idiot to wake up.
He strikes gold at sunset, coming face-to-face with baggy eyes and a cranky scowl. “Seriously, dude? You know what time I went to bed.”
“Indeed,” Shadow says, tearing holes in Sonic’s already ratty t-shirt. “Either you need to get a new bedframe or a new girlfriend.”
“Wouldn’t help,” Sonic mutters, throat hoarse; in the interest of appeasing his neighbor, he’s already bought three. “Don’t have a girlfriend.”
After a beat, he drags a paw down his face, struggling to keep his eyes open.
“Look. I’ve talked to management. I’m gonna install acoustics soon. I’ll move the bed. How about I buy you some fancy noise-cancelling headphones and we call it even?”
Shadow bristles. “I hope your dick rots off from all the sex you’ve been having.”
“It’s good to want things.”
For weeks at a time, serenity reigns. Sonic is pleasant on the evenings where he stops by the chat, offering Shadow goods that have been foisted upon him.
They meet outside of the building on rare occasions when the stars align. Shadow fusses when Sonic oversteps his boundaries, but he never does manage to catch a glimpse of Sonic’s partner.
One day, the elevator breaks. Shadow spies a silhouette near the stairs—two of them, in fact, legs so slotted together so tightly they’re bordering on indecent—and is about to brush past them to begin the traitorous climb when he realizes he recognizes the taller creature.
It’s Sonic.
Caught out, Sonic hums, paws resting on the stranger’s waist. Their gender is neutral, but their face is pretty, plastered with make-up and inarguably well-dressed. For that matter, Sonic also looks good, but then, he usually does. Infuriatingly enough, he’s aware.
“You’re out late,” Sonic purrs, trailing behind Shadow, stomping to put space between them.
“Had a project to finish,” Shadow gripes, half a floor away.
“Be careful,” the blue bastard shouts. “One of the stairs is wobbly.”
Shadow catches himself before he falls, but he audibly falters. The pretty thing on Sonic’s arm giggles.
Shadow might not be able to hear the bed banging anymore, but there is no longer any doubt about how Sonic lines his pockets.
Following a bumpy year of ups and downs, the status quo is restored. Sonic drinks with him twice a month at minimum, saving Shadow from total isolation.
The next creature to insert themselves into his life is Rouge. They’re coworkers of a sort, given that they work for the same company, but Rouge works in a different department on a different floor and she’s gossipy.
They meet at the bar, where the bat asks him if she can spill her guts about something juicy. Blithely, Shadow says, “Whatever,” and she decides to count that as permission.
Delighted, Rouge prattles on. Her voice is husky, borderline seductive.
When Shadow raises an eyebrow, she giggles, reading between the lines. “Relax. I can tell I’m not your type.”
Whilst true, the assessment rankles. “My type,” Shadow intones, claws twitching.
Rouge unflinchingly pushes her breasts into him, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Men.” After a beat, she peels away, aware that she’s making him uncomfortable. “Don’t worry. It’s not that obvious. I’ve got a nose for this sort of thing.”
Later, it comes to light that Rouge is bisexual and an equally unapologetic sex fiend.
Shadow considers himself lucky that she isn’t his neighbor.
They have an unspoken agreement to meet at the bar on Tuesdays, but Shadow doesn’t take it personally when Rouge doesn’t show. She’s clever and she’s an excellent communicator. No harm, no foul.
When she mentions Sonic’s name in passing, Shadow’s blood runs cold. He has every intention of warning her off of him, but Rouge pulls a face before Shadow can get a word in edgewise. “I don’t mess with camboys. I’m friends with a fan of his, that’s all.”
Shadow squints, lips pursed at the unfamiliar term.
Rouge laughs, pulling out her phone. “I swear, you act like such an old man sometimes.”
Wisely, Shadow chooses not to remind Rouge that he has ten years on her.
Following minutes of tapping and scrolling, she points to a social media page with one of her acrylic nails. There’s a photo of Sonic embedded in the center, well-lit and incredibly flattering.
Against his will, Shadow finds himself muttering. “He looks better in person.”
Rouge elbows him, bright-eyed. “You like him.”
“Absolutely not.”
She has lots of fun pushing Shadow’s buttons, but he’s drunk, chugging shots to process everything she tells him about sex work and streaming.
In the end, Rouge walks him home, stunned by the sight of Sonic himself opening the door when he hears Shadow retch.
“Yikes,” Sonic says, dragging Shadow’s sorry ass inside. “Rough night?”
“You could say that,” Rouge hums. Idly, she realizes Shadow was right—the pictures didn’t do him justice.
“I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Thanks.”
Rouge bites down hard on her bottom lip to resist the urge to snap a picture. It’s sweet, the way Sonic dabs at Shadow’s mouth with paper towels, griping at him to sit still so he can peel off Shadow’s grimy clothes and tuck him in bed.
The words free trial stare back at him in bold text, daring him to click the button.
“You’re above this,” Shadow tells himself, damn-near poking a hole in his laptop screen, chewing an unlit cigarette into bits. It tastes vile, but smoking, as a habit, is disgusting.
He’s above putting his credit card information on some dubious site to watch his neighbor’s sex tapes, or he should be. In the end, fatal curiosity wins out. Shadow has suffered auditory cast-offs of Sonic’s work for a year and a half—a peek behind the curtain can’t hurt.
Immediately, he is accosted by cozy pastels and warm lighting. It occurs to Shadow that he has never seen the inside of Sonic’s apartment, and for good reason. It looks like a sex den.
Sonic is clearly the star of the show, but his bed partners are incredibly varied. Generally speaking, Sonic seems to go for creatures shorter than himself, speaking to them in low tones. On occasion, he has humans over, but in those videos, there’s no penetration.
The earliest posted video dates back three years, showcasing a crude, dim bedroom that quickly becomes more polished.
The whole page is bad for Shadow’s health. Watching previews scroll by so that he can choose two complimentary videos is giving him a headache.
In the end, he closes his computer.
The website is a ticking time-bomb. Shadow forces himself to reopen it in the afternoon—it’s a Saturday, after all. The idea of watching this while Sonic himself is padding around, even if Shadow has earbuds crammed in, is a concept too humiliating to fathom.
He selects a video from early on in their tenure before they knew each other well. Shadow expects corny dialogue and equally corny background music, but it’s tasteful, all sensual angles and extended foreplay. Sonic damn-near dances with his partner, peeling off her gloves with his fangs, baring his own paws to set his claws on her hips.
Casual, unhurried grinding leads to low gasps and reedy keens. Sonic reminds Sasha or Sara or whatever the hell her name is—Talia, according to the description—to keep quiet even as he switches gears, sliding down the length of her to massage her breasts, slowly drifting to her clit.
It’s good stuff, really good, targeted at an audience more interested in the concept of being pleasured than being treated like faceless objects. Sonic’s profile had an indicator showing that he was in the top 0.1% and now, Shadow understands why.
Shadow finds that his bottom lip has been bitten bloody when he releases it, staring at the ceiling with fire in his loins. It’s been ages since he jerked off—the process frustrates him. Unfortunately, either he deals with this or he sits around with an ache he can’t ignore and he refuses to waste precious free time.
Mindlessly, Shadow restarts the video. He gets unlimited replays on the videos in the trial; he’s going to get the most out of his selection. Shadow cranks the sound up until he can hear Sonic breathing in his ear, until the rustle of clothing subsumes him.
Lotion makes for shit lubricant, but there’s no way in hell Shadow is going to go to the corner store when he feels like this, damp and bristly and more than a little aroused. Shadow sinks slick claws into his cunt with a hiss. “That’s it, baby,” Sonic murmurs, talking to Tonya.
Shadow and Thea curse in tandem, although Shadow has to use his imagination to fill in the gaps. Sonic is taller than him, but not by much—he wouldn’t have to bend that far to get at Shadow’s crotch.
“Fuck,” comes out in a bark as Shadow presses his thighs together, ejaculate trickling down his wrist. He wouldn’t call the orgasm satisfying; it was perfunctory. Required. A means to an end.
Shame swallows Shadow as he cleans up the mess, closing the browser window and clearing his history to boot. He blasts music as loudly as he can stand it, cleaning to keep his mind from wandering.
Creatures bump into him from behind all the time, whether on accident or on purpose, so Sonic isn’t particularly alarmed by the gesture. He is alarmed when he turns around to see that it’s his neighbor who skidded into him, dark fur darker with his temperature at a fever pitch.
“Good grief,” Sonic says, tone dripping with concern as he slings Shadow’s arm over his shoulder. Shadow gripes, but he’s too boneless to fight Sonic off, essentially allowing Sonic to cradle him. Sonic absconds after he purchases medicine, patting down Shadow’s pockets for his keys.
Sonic has half a mind to ask if Shadow has anyone he can call—family members, friends, whatever. He has since met Rouge in a formal capacity, which was to say that she crashed one of their kickbacks, but Shadow called her a polite acquaintance.
Despite the fact that Sonic has a job that requires him to be on camera, he isn’t self-absorbed. He’s confident to the point of being cocky, loud and proud about the features that put him on the map.
He has always had keen observation skills, relying on his ability to interpret signals. Sometimes, Shadow is painfully easy to read. Most of the time, it’s a little bit like talking to a brick wall. Still, Sonic likes challenges, fond of the bickering nature of their conversations.
When Shadow takes to looking at him, Sonic refuses to let it go to his head. Shadow doesn’t stare long enough for Sonic’s fur to stand on end, but the idea of such a cagey guy finding him attractive makes Sonic shiver.
Currently irrelevant. Right this minute, Mr. Dark, Handsome, and Broody looks like death warmed over, inhalations wheezy. Sonic soaks a rag in cold water, wringing it out before he places it on Shadow’s forehead. “Y’know, the phrase ‘work is killing me’ is meant to be hyperbolic.”
Shadow coughs, hacking until he manages to dislodge phlegm. “Had a new hire to train. Deadlines got tight.”
Sonic pinches his arm, drawling sarcastically. “And I’m sure no one else was available to help.”
“If you—”
“—want something done right, you have to do it yourself, I know.” He sighs. “Hungry?”
“Tired.”
Sonic stands up to make soup, turning off the burners afterward. He cancels his evening stream in the interest of flopping on Shadow’s couch, falling asleep after he answers the urgent messages.
It’s when Shadow starts to cry in his sleep, apologizing, that Sonic feels like an intruder, smoothing down Shadow’s quills until the pinch in his brow flattens out. It’s tempting to slide into bed behind him, offering Shadow comfort the best way he knows how—physically—but Shadow would probably deck him if he tried and Sonic isn’t interested in ruining what they have.
Is it pathetic to jerk off to his sad, lonely neighbor who’s running a fever? Absolutely. Which is why Sonic doesn’t do it, but the fact that he thinks about doing it fills him with shame. For the better part of two days, he nurses the surly bastard back to health, fighting the urge to kick Shadow while he’s down by teasing him.
“You’ve been staring at that wall a lot,” Amy comments, eyebrows raised.
She knows him too well and that’s the only reason Sonic doesn’t try to change the subject. They dated in middle school the way that young, naïve things do, wide-eyed and fumbling. Amy had been the one to ask him out and she was also the one to break up with him.
“I think we’re better off as friends,” she confessed, and they’ve been close ever since.
“It’s my neighbor,” Sonic mutters, forcing himself to look at the floor. “He just got over this nasty cold and—why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” Amy asks, green eyes glittering, mascara-caked lashes batting at him like she needs to know every detail.
He pushes her away when she gets too close, embarrassed. “Don’t try to make this into something romantic.”
Amy giggles, switching out his desk lamp with. They have a quarterly arrangement to freshen up the feng shui. Her words, not his. “Why, because you have commitment issues?”
Sonic rolls his eyes. “No—because it’s not like that.”
“You want it to be, though,” Amy sing-songs, drawing hearts on the exposed portion of his chest. “You can’t fool me.”
“It takes two to tango.” After a beat, he adds, “Sometimes more.”
“Why is it always about sex with you?”
Defensively, Sonic says, “I’m good at sex.”
“Right.”
“Ames, c’mon.”
At age twelve, they determined they weren’t meant to get married and live happily ever after, but that didn’t mean they were averse to helping each other out. Begrudgingly, Amy is forced to admit that Sonic is indeed very good at sex, even if she knows she’s just stroking his ego.
Amy forces Sonic to stop pumping his fists and wagging his tail by wrestling him into submission, waiting for him to say, give, give, give, so the conversation can continue.
“Seriously, it’s not like you to play it safe. Why not give it a shot?”
Morosely, Sonic resumes staring at the wall connected to Shadow’s apartment. “If the universe could give me a sign that he was interested, I would.” Unimpressed, Amy stares at him flatly. Sonic holds up his paws. “It’s not about me, it’s about sex in general. As far as I can tell, the only thing this guy cares about outside of work is the Reckless and the Ravishing.”
Amy gasps, reflexively punching Sonic in the arm. He yelps; Amy’s strength is no joke. “If you do wind up dating this guy, we have so much to discuss.”
Fat chance, Sonic thinks, but he offers her a breezy, nonchalant response, refusing to burst her bubble.
Sonic is repairing furniture for a friend of a friend of a friend when his phone rings. Tuesdays are unusual days for unknown social calls and there’s nothing on his calendar—he almost lets it roll to voicemail. “‘Lo?”
“Hiya, Blue,” a sultry voice says, slurred by alcohol. “Don’t ask how I got this number.”
Rouge is the type of creature with connections. He would rather not know.
“Shadow’s with me and he’s so, so wasted. I mean, I am too, but like. It’s bad. Can you come get him so he doesn’t kill me?”
“Sure,” Sonic says, mouthing an apology to his acquaintance, promising to swing by some other time to finish the job. “Where are you?”
He knows all of the hotspots in Westopolis; as soon as she rattles off the name, he pivots, making for the metro. It’s a ten-minute ride then a two-minute jog to Kyree’s.
The place is packed. Several creatures recognize him, winking. Politely, Sonic waves, weaving through the throng until he arrives at the core.
A number of girls are dancing, as expected. Rouge is egging on the show and she has Shadow glued to her hip, but he doesn’t seem upset. “Those heels look like they hurt,” Shadow mutters, tone tinged with envy.
“I’m sure they have nicer ones in your size,” Sonic says, butterflies dancing in his stomach as Shadow turns to him, glazed. He forces himself to focus with a shake of the head. It is with a frown that he grabs Rouge’s shoulder. “Did you slip him something?”
Guiltily, her gaze skitters to the side. “He said he needed help relaxing.”
Sonic sighs, kneeling. Rouge pushes Shadow onto his back despite Shadow’s half-hearted protests, mindful of Sonic’s spines as he gets settled.
The walk home is quiet. When he puts Shadow down to pull out his keys, Shadow grunts, but it comes off like a whine. Sonic is grateful that Rouge called him—the bar sharks biding their time wouldn’t have waited much longer.
He peels Shadow out of his suit and makes to leave, but his eyes snag on a glowing screen. Sonic tries to tell himself that this is an invasion of privacy, but the color scheme is alarmingly familiar.
Upon closer inspection, a video is stuck on the end-slate, something he filmed months ago. The indicator tells Sonic that it has been replayed six times. A garbled username he doesn’t recognize rests next to a faceless avatar icon.
At long last, the universe has given him a sign.
Shadow is mulling over the best place to bury Rouge’s body when a knock comes at the door. “How do you feel about threesomes?”
He slams the door without bothering to answer the question; Sonic is obviously fucking with him.
Astoundingly, his pest of a neighbor refuses to be ignored, precariously climbing from balcony to balcony. Shadow hisses as he flings open the door, holding out his arm to drag Sonic inside. “You’re insane.”
“It is imperative that I receive an answer to this question,” Sonic says, far too chipper for a man who easily could have fallen to his death.
“The prospect holds no appeal,” Shadow says, voice gruff. He can’t even fathom the concept of exposing himself to one creature—the ridiculous bastard in front of him—let alone others.
Sonic straightens his spine, gaze oddly intense. “I doubt it, but just to make sure, you’re not, like. In denial, right?”
“Pardon?”
“About being attracted to men,” he clarifies. “You’re older than me and it happens sometimes, so I figured I’d ask.”
Shadow’s claws furl into fists, irritation burning in his throat. “All of these inane questions are starting to piss me off.”
Exasperated, Sonic sighs. “Fine. Let’s try this. Stop me if I do anything you don’t like.”
Shadow is about to ask what he’s up to when Sonic squeezes him, tongue plunging so deeply down Shadow’s throat he splutters. Sonic pulls away to let him breathe, using both paws to cup Shadow’s jaw as he delves in again.
Shadow doesn’t have anyone to compare Sonic to, but Sonic is presumably a good kisser. He goes low and slow, introducing teeth at a pace that feels natural, massaging Shadow’s glutes until his tail twitches. Dazed, Shadow manages to snap, words reedy. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Giving you head,” Sonic says, blunt like it’s a foregone conclusion. “You watched those videos the most.”
Shadow simultaneously goes hot and cold, punching Sonic squarely in the snout. Blood streams from his nostrils. “Get out.”
“Can we at least—”
“Get out,” he snarls, throwing Sonic on his ass.
Shadow puts the pieces of the puzzle together bit by bit, working off of foggy memories. He had gotten up early, frustrated by such-and-such colleague breathing down his neck for updates. He answered a swathe number of emails at dawn, blowing off steam using the method that’s been working for him for the better part of six months: masturbating to Sonic’s videos.
A hasty shower followed suit. Agreeing to drinks had been automatic. Under duress, Rouge confesses that Sonic was the one to pick him up from the bar. Shadow shouldn’t have left his laptop open, but Sonic also shouldn’t have looked.
Shadow smokes a cigarette down to the filter, smoking a second in quick succession. His glare is sharp enough to scare off almost everyone but Rouge, who apologetically approaches after hours.
“Not your fault,” he says, furious with himself most of all. He never should have clicked on that link or subscribed. Shouldn’t have done something like this with someone he knew.
She leans against the façade of the building with him, head tilted back. “Here’s what I don’t get. Your dream scenario fell into your lap. Why didn’t you let it happen?”
Shadow snorts. “Weren’t you the one who said you didn’t mess with camboys?”
Rouge laughs. “I’m me. You’re you. Everyone has different standards.”
They meander into other topics of conversation after that, discussing fashion and trends. Shadow puffs until he feels settled in his own skin, reminding himself to trim his claws.
“You’re distracted,” Willow says, lounging in lingerie while Sonic fiddles with the lights.
“Something on my mind,” he says, Willow’s perfume thick in his nose. It’s been sensitive since Shadow broke it, healing at an odd angle. Rescheduling the shoots had been a pain in the ass, but downtime provided clarity.
Sitting around feeling sorry for himself wasn’t an option. He tried. He failed. It’s time to move on.
When someone bangs on the door, Sonic has every intention of ignoring it. However, the knocks get louder and so he disentangles himself, grateful that they haven’t started recording.
“I put a notice on the door for a rea—”
A kick to the shins disturbs his balance, but the pain is offset by the pleasure of Shadow’s lips against his own, fangs sharp.
Sonic loses himself in groping and grinding until Willow asks what the hell he’s doing. “Sorry, you’ve gotta go,” Sonic says. For one terrible moment, Shadow freezes. “Not you,” he whispers.
Willow makes a snide comment about being jilted for some old man. In response, Shadow stalks inside to gather his things, throwing Willow’s hastily packed bag onto the landing. If Willow is expecting sympathy, he doesn’t get it—Sonic is too busy laughing, boyishly delighted by the display.
Sonic struggles not to unfurl as Shadow climbs into his lap, endearingly clumsy. “This is great and all, but I’m supposed to be streaming,” he groans.
“What, am I too far outside of your target demographic?”
Bruisingly, Sonic flips him over, biting down so hard Shadow grinds into the mattress. He shoves a pillow under Shadow’s hips without thinking about it. “I’d rather not have this on camera.”
Shadow shivers, lips drifting into a crooked smirk. “Don’t want to show your adoring public anything less than your best?”
He spanks Shadow, expecting it when Shadow kicks him. “Just—give me a minute. Five, tops.”
Vague attempts at strangulation are made as Sonic fires off excuses. This is going to earn him a ding on his account, but at this point, it’s a slap on the wrist; they can’t afford to let him go.
Sonic tears Shadow’s clothes off as soon as he’s finished, amusement written all over his face despite the boorishness of the gesture. “Impatient much?”
“I’m aware of your schedule, erratic though it may be.”
He briefly loses focus because all of the blood in his head rushes to his cock. “If you’re trying to turn me on, it’s working.”
Shadow grimaces, appalled. “Narcissistic pig.”
Sonic ruts against Shadow’s thigh, riding high off of a moan Shadow fails to stifle. “What can I say? I like being liked.”
The conversation dies after that, what with Sonic nipping at every inch of fur Shadow has exposed and Shadow quite literally tearing out Sonic’s quills. It hurts, but the sting is delicious. Sonic nuzzles at him, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Frankly, Shadow smells pungent—a stressful day at work would do it to anyone—but Sonic appreciates it, rambling aimlessly.
He’s so busy talking to himself that he doesn’t realize anything is amiss until he feels Shadow shiver. Warily, Sonic looks up, flustered to realize Shadow is blushing. No, blushing doesn’t cover it—he’s red all over. He looks worse than he did when he was sick.
“Stop staring,” Shadow snaps, flinging an arm over his face.
“Now you’re being unfair,” Sonic whines, blindly reaching for lube. He keeps it in pumps in various places all over the apartment, unwilling to break away from the action to reapply.
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere with me.”
Sonic waits until crimson eyes are trained on him, expression pinched. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he taunts, jabbing in two cold claws, nails meticulously blunted.
This is his territory. Scissoring Shadow open until Shadow grinds into his paw pads is a breeze. Sucking at Shadow’s clit, waiting for Shadow to scratch at the sheets and his shoulders because he feels electric is a matter of when, not if. There we go, is what Sonic thinks as Shadow starts to click and keen, furious about the betrayal of his body.
“You’re such a virgin,” Sonic hums, playing Shadow like a violin. He expects the retaliatory jab, glowing with pride. Sex is an art form. A communication style. A dance but also a fight. He likes it like this, rough and brutal in a way most creatures aren’t open to.
“And you’re a prostitute,” Shadow says, quite literally spitting on Sonic. “You don’t see me complaining.”
“Who said anything about complaining?”
Despite Shadow’s insistence that he can take anything Sonic can dish out, Sonic laps and laves until Shadow is buttery for him, orgasm-blank and less tense. Even with a condom between them, Shadow’s tight, wet heat makes Sonic cross-eyed, delirious with want.
“Do you use toys?” Sonic asks, painfully curious.
“I would never debase myself by purchasing such things.”
“You pay for porn on the internet, but the idea of owning a dildo bothers you?”
Shadow huffs, quills mussed. “Flesh is more appealing than silicone.”
Sonic wonders if Shadow knows how hot his voice is. This is doing absolutely nothing to keep Sonic from blowing his wad.
“Okay, so here’s the deal,” he says, thrusting fast and hard, intertwining their digits as he starts to pant. “Once forwards, once backwards, last round in the shower—unless you’re not up for it?”
Shadow, proud creature that he is, rises to the challenge. “Your stamina doesn’t scare me, harlot.”
Sonic groans. “We’ll work on your dirty talk next time.”
The promise of next time has Shadow clamping down, howling as Sonic fucks him through the aftershocks. Being rolled onto his stomach feels vulgar. Sonic bending him in half makes it worse. He finds himself muttering about how mind-numbingly wet Shadow is, how well he’s taking it.
By the time Sonic props Shadow against the tile, he can barely keep his eyes open, grip so tight as to be bruising. “Still with me?” Sonic asks, lapping at tear-tracks.
Shadow musters a half-hearted scoff. “Finish what you started,” he grunts, gripping Sonic’s spines like handlebars.
This is ruination at its finest, pleasure at its peak. Sonic’s cock is a dozen times more satisfying than his claws and he knows how to use it. Over and over again, he hits Shadow’s sweet spot under the hot spray, compliments oozing in a downpour. It’s filthy and tacky, a baptism of sorts.
Shadow expects it when consciousness ebbs away, overstimulated in the extreme.
Some time later, he finds Sonic lounging next to him in bed with a cigarette perched on his lips, which makes Shadow want one. Wordlessly, he holds out a paw.
“No way. You know how annoying it is to get the smell out.”
“What if I offer to pay your deposit?”
Sonic laughs. “You’re so stubborn. I’ll carry you outside.”
“I can walk.”
Amused, he points to the sliding door. “Go ahead.”
In silence, he watches Shadow stumble, cursing under his breath. It’s all too easy to picture cum oozing down those thighs of his, equal parts fawn-like and deadly.
Sparing Shadow the humiliation of a walk of shame, Sonic offers Shadow his shoulder. Outside, they stare at the skyline, too smoggy to see the stars.
“So?”
Shadow hurls the lighter at Sonic’s head. Aggravatingly enough, Sonic catches it. “Do you want me to applaud?”
“Checking in with one’s partners after sex is common courtesy,” Sonic drawls, snarky but sincere.
Purely to show off, Shadow exhales in a ring. “It was…” he trails off, unable to find the words to describe the experience. Terrifying. Wonderful. Exhilarating. Anxiety-inducing. Beautiful. “Fine,” is what he settles on.
“I’ll take it.”
“Minus five points for your shitty attitude.”
“Out of how many?”
“A possible five hundred.”
“Wow. That’s the worst grade I’ve ever gotten and I got kicked out of school.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
Sonic winks. “Luckily, I have other talents.”
Shadow snorts, begrudgingly sporting a bemused smirk.
epilogue
Shadow is painfully monogamous, which is fine by Sonic—for once in his life, he doesn’t feel like sharing.
There’s only one problem: “What are you going to do about your channel?”
“Ditch it,” is the reply that rolls off of Sonic’s tongue without hesitation, brow furrowed as he considers what a pain in the ass paying the bills is going to be. He has plenty of money in savings and Tails handles his stock options, so it won’t be a problem for a while, but still.
More important than money is the looming threat of boredom, not to mention his hyperactive libido.
With a sigh, Sonic turns to Shadow, paws on his hips. “How do you feel about being recorded?”
“I thought you said—”
“Personal use only,” he interjects, looking into the middle distance.
Shadow, for his part, is stunned. He barks out a laugh, rather impolitely wagging a claw in Sonic’s face. “I’ve met peacocks less egotistical than you.”
“It’s not about me, it’s about—” Sonic attempts to cut himself off, but it’s too late; he’s already said too much. “Whatever. If you don’t want to, we won’t.”
Shadow pretends to mull it over for five minutes, then he snottily turns the tables. “What if you make a new channel?”
Sonic huffily rolls his eyes. “Masturbating alone is boring.”
“You won’t be alone. Obviously.” This time, it’s Sonic’s turn to gape. “That’s my condition. Take it or leave it.”
On one hand, Sonic is impressed. On the other hand, it’s discomfiting to realize that someone is capable of matching him beat for beat. Shadow wants to watch him squirm, losing it on camera for thousands of people to see. “You’re crazy.”
“So are you.”
In the end, they shelve the discussion. Sonic has freelance gigs to attend to and Shadow has a proper job. With Sonic’s channel on indefinite hiatus, they’re free to explore, and, more importantly, bring their relationship to light.
Sonic demands to have a party. Shadow caps off the attendance at five creatures themselves included, which Sonic whines hardly classifies as a party, but relationships come with concessions and so five it is.
Amy and Shadow get along like fire and gasoline, chatting about an obscure soap opera that aired decades ago. Initially, Knuckles is uncomfortable—he gets tense around strangers and he’s graceless around girls, but Amy is familiar, at least, and Shadow is something of a gym rat, or he used to be. Common ground makes for good casual conversation.
With the aid of alcohol, everyone lets loose. Rouge pulls Amy and Knuckles into her arms, planting fat, wet kisses on both of their foreheads, which results in squirming on both ends.
Confident that their guests are preoccupied, Shadow snatches Sonic’s wrist. Sonic is nowhere near sober himself, but he’s steady enough to follow without stumbling, giggling when he realizes where Shadow is going. “The closet, really? Isn’t that a little too on the nose?”
“Rouge doesn’t know how to mind her own business,” Shadow grunts, smoothing back his quills before he sinks to his knees. “You’ll keep quiet if you know what’s good for you.”
Sonic wonders how he’s supposed to do that when he’s being treated to such a glorious sight. He expects Shadow to pat down his pockets and extract a condom, but he doesn’t, palming at Sonic’s slit until he unfurls.
He expected Shadow to be a prude, but here he is, toeing the line of propriety. It’s point-blank impossible for Sonic to refrain from babbling when Shadow starts sucking at him in earnest, laps not so much cautious as unpracticed.
Shadow knows what he wants, isn’t afraid to take it for himself, but he doesn’t know what to do. Sonic guides him gingerly, struggling not to sink in deep and dirty, offering feedback so Shadow can figure out what’s working and what isn’t. He pulls away to goad Sonic, unwilling to be treated like he’s delicate.
“You’re such a brat, I swear,” Sonic mutters, jerking his hips once and only once to prove a point. Shadow chokes, clutching his throat as tears well up, shooting Sonic a glare. He’s gorgeous when he cries. It makes Sonic want to do it again.
“So do it,” Shadow rasps, alerting Sonic to the fact that he said that aloud.
Fucking Shadow’s face is lovely, smeared as it is with snot, drool, and tears. Every few thrusts, Sonic pauses to let Shadow breathe.
Watching Shadow swallow his spend is a religious experience. It’s the least Sonic can do to help Shadow cum, staining his pretty little panties. They look debauched when they exit the closet and they very definitely smell like sex.
Sonic thinks about watching recordings of Shadow over and over again in the wee hours of the night so he can study every curve, figuring out what Shadow likes the most. He thinks about saying, he’s mine, to a crowd of faceless strangers. Shadow is willing to risk his job to join him on stream purely because he’s possessive.
It’s heady stuff.
Amy is the one to break up the party, picking up on the fact that Sonic is deeply distracted. Shadow is half-asleep in his lap and Knuckles is on the verge of collapse, exhausted mostly because Rouge keeps teasing him. They exchange numbers and excuse themselves, mess manageable but present.
Without opening his eyes, Shadow says, “You’re cleaning this up.”
“Okay.”
“You owe me.”
Sonic chortles. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Cash or credit?”
“Sexual favors.”
Taken aback, Sonic balks, tugging on Shadow’s tail. “Was that a joke? It was, wasn’t it?”
“Fuck you.”
“Aww, c’mon, don’t be like that. You’ve all but told me you’re desperate for my body. It’s too late to take it back.”
Shadow bites him. Unfortunately, Sonic finds Shadow’s penchant for biting sexy.
They collapse on the couch. Sonic starts snoring and Shadow’s breath evens out, chest stuck in a rhythmic rise and fall. It’s warm, swelteringly so, but Shadow could get used to it, the creature comforts of city life with someone he not only trusts but is compatible with.
Taking things one day at a time is all they can do.