James tossed the book aside, unable to get past the few sentences before his mind wandered off with distracting thoughts. He dragged his paws across his face in the vain attempt to wipe them away. But wipe them away he couldn't. They danced in his brain, needling him whether he was awake or not. He picked up the book again, muttering in exasperation about the heat. Airing his shirt with his free hand, James picked the book back up and attempted another read, though his frustration still pricked at him. Closing his eyes for a moment, the image reappeared. The wox smiled for a moment before his eyes opened wide, the heat feeling even more unbearable than before.
Until recently, the library was a place of solitude and quiet for the wox. A place in which he could peruse and read the tomes on the shelves at his leisure. He spent days on end snuggled into a nook of the library. It was a nice little area, shut off from most of the room by a curved, tall bookshelf. Only if you craned your neck or glanced over at the right time could you even notice it. And that's how James liked it. He would open a thick novel and revel both in the words on the page and the smell that only books could make in solitude. Truly, for the bookish canine, it was a paradise.
But, much like Eden, temptation is hard to avoid.
For the past few weeks, a fox had been coming to the library. He didn't seem the bookish type, cutting a striking figure in his fashionable attire. He was always dressed quite fashionably, usually in some form of low-cut V-neck, his chest only being shielded by a white tee beneath complimented with form-fitting jeans. He wasn't sure why at first, but James kept a watchful eye on the newcomer.
The fox didn't do much of note. He'd meander around the bookshelves for a few moments, his fingers running along each of the books' spines, almost lazily, before he would stop and pull the book off the shelf with a single digit. The type of book never seemed to matter. Indeed, the curious fox barely ever seemed to look at the title before he took a chair at the nearest empty table to James' hidey-hole. With a flourish, he'd open the book up and appear to be fully engaged with its contents, though never seemed to stray more than a few pages in the time he stayed.
As the weeks went on, James paid less and less attention to his own books, becoming ever more watchful of the fox stranger. With more confidence, he would have strode over and asked him why in God's name he kept picking books out at random, with the books barely having anything to do with the previous one he'd picked and not finished. Why he always stretched up, revealing his toned arms and sharp teeth in dramatic yawn, as if to show off to the wox. Which was absurd since he couldn't see him looking at him. And how he maintained such a magnificently alluring tail. So many questions burned within him as he peered round his protective corner.
By the end of the second week, the fox's tail was not the only thing on his mind. Every week, the fox came in with a new look which, as always, drew the eye. The fox always seemed to accentuate his fluffy, yet broad-shouldered chest, his toned legs, his shapely rear, and, most frustratingly of all, his bulge.
Admittedly, James couldn't be blamed for noticing, as the fox seemed to make it a point of principle for his equipment to be put into trousers that were, to be frank, not up to the job of keeping such large tools inside. From his cranny, James could peek out and see the fox spreading his legs wide apart as he read, letting his trouser snake have some wiggle room within its denim prison.
His reading of a few chapters to potentially a whole book in the few hours he regularly achieved at the library had, by the beginning of the third week of the fox's arrival, been reduced to only a few sentences read and re-read. The wox would shake his head to refocus himself, to once again allow himself to be enveloped in another world woven together by words. He was transported again off to faraway lands, to adventure, to space, back in time, through the stories he held in his palms.
And yet his eyes returned, time and time again, to the fox.
It was on a slow, humid Sunday afternoon when it happened. The height of summer made the library a muggy place to be, even more so with the air conditioner on the blink. James had taken his place in his usual spot, which was now more akin to an oven than the usual cool refuge, being right beneath the said broken air conditioner.
He panted, the heat having made him unbutton the top of his shirt, as fanning himself with his barely read novel had not been nearly enough. With neither stories nor gentle relaxation bringing him any respite from the heat, James was about to call it a day when a water bottle, glistening in condensation, appeared in front of him.
'Need a drink?'
James nearly jumped out of his fur. The fox he'd been watching for weeks was now standing over him, looking down at him. A smile that brimmed with confidence grew on his face as he proffered the water again. James, mumbling thanks, unscrewed the cap and drank deeply.
'Seen you here all the time. Are you a librarian or something?'
'No,' James replied, handing the water bottle back half-drunk. 'Just an avid reader.'
Up close, James had to keep his eyes respectfully on the fox's face. But now, up close, good lord...
He had a low, almost rough, timbre to his voice that was effortlessly charming. His bright, pale blue eyes were piercing, yet the inviting grin made them look kind and attentive. He looked effortlessly confident standing above the auburn wox, blocking him off from the rest of the library as he stood in front of his little nook.
'I see,' He responded, but did not move away. 'Though I haven't seen you do much reading lately.'
James blushed, his eyes looking anywhere now but the fox in front of him. 'I have absolutely no idea what you're -'
'Oh, I think you do,' He smoothly interrupted, a smug look on his face as he looked down at the blushing canine. 'I think you
very
much do.'
Without thinking, James' eyes flitted down to the fox's bulge. It was indecent how hard it was pressing against his trousers. The wox saw it throb, swelling beneath the material. He involuntarily licked his lips.
'I've seen you.' The fox said, stepping forward, his hand reaching out and cupping James' face. He thought he would pull back, yell out, do something. But he didn't. He leant into the touch, a small whine coming from who knows where within him. His eyes were focused on the bulge. He had smelt it before, a general sense of the fox's scent, but now he couldn't escape the muskiness that emanated from the fox. It was enveloping him, drawing him in like a pitcher plant. He didn't even notice the fox's hand move up to behind his head, not forcing, but adding that gentle reminder he was in control. James salivated as his nose came within mere millimetres from the fox's cock.
'My name's Kino, by the way.' He said as casually as if he were meeting James on the street. 'J-James.' He answered, wiping away the spittle from his maw.
'Nice to meet you, James.' He grinned, gently playing with James' ear. 'You look like a thirsty boy, James. Are you a thirsty boy?'
James nodded drowsily, his tail wagging and thumping against the soft chair behind him. Kino grinned and, taking the half-drank bottle to his lips, drained the rest of its contents, finishing with a satisfied "Ahhh."
'Oh, sorry,' Kino apologised, placing the empty bottle on the top of the bookshelf. 'Guess we're all out of water.'
He gave the wox a smug grin, his paws tracing down his body towards his crotch, gently rubbing it as the wox began panting and salivating in desperation.
'But I'm sure I have something else you'd like to drink. Would you like that?'
'Ye-yes, I'd like that a lot, Kino.' It was true. He was thirsty. He had been thirsty for weeks. And he wanted what the deliciously sexy fox could provide.
